by Weaver, Pam
They made him very welcome and, when he told them where he lived, someone offered to put him up on Fridays so that he could go to synagogue on Saturdays. Everyone, including John himself, agreed that to travel all the way from Worthing would break the conditions of the Law of Moses; but John, by now sorely tempted to revert to his real name of Isaac, could think of nothing he would like more than to be with his own people on the Sabbath. On the train back home he was a contented man, and the happiest he’d been since coming to England.
The night-nurse had done her rounds. Linton Carver still felt as if he was in a fog, but things were beginning to register at last. His breathing was easier since they’d filled the room with steam and it felt like he was emerging from a tight cocoon.
He’d been aware that young Ruby Bateman had been visiting him for some time. He couldn’t talk to her, because it taxed him too much, but he was comforted to have her sitting next to him, sometimes holding his hand. She had come every single day since he’d been here. Tomorrow he would try and communicate with her. Linton liked her. She was a rare beauty, all the more attractive because she was totally unaware of the effect she had on men. He hadn’t appreciated a good-looking girl for a long time, but now that his head was a little less muzzy, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to give her fatherly advice. Perhaps now that Nelson wasn’t there any more, she’d let him. Nelson never had a good word to say about the girl. Linton couldn’t understand why. Now if she was his daughter …
The door opened and someone slipped inside the room. The light was very dim, having been left that way so that he could sleep. Linton didn’t like sleep. When he slept, he relived the horrors of war all over again. In his dreams he could smell the mud, the shit, the rotting bits of the bodies of men who had once been his friends; and sometimes he could even smell the bloody gas again. If he wasn’t reliving the trenches, he was thinking about that girl in the farmhouse. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Every time he thought of her, the shame of what they’d all done overwhelmed him. God would punish him for his part in it. That’s why he fought to stay awake all the time. He was doing that now, staring at the cracked ceiling with its single light and plain white shade, and willing himself not to drift off.
A figure moved silently towards the bed and leaned over him. He couldn’t see the face because she was wearing a face-mask, but he smelled the cheap perfume. Matron wouldn’t like that. He’d heard nurses being told off for lesser crimes, like wearing hairslides or talcum powder. But perfume? He could almost hear Matron hissing, ‘Go home and wash, Nurse. This is not a brothel.’
He heard a rattle as she picked up his notes on the clipboard at the end of the bed to look at them. Then she slipped a cool hand under his head, lifting it slightly to remove the pillow underneath. When it had gone, he was lying very flat and it wasn’t so easy to breathe. The figure reappeared over his face again, and this time he looked up.
‘Goodnight, Linton,’ she said harshly. ‘It’s time for you to sleep.’
He didn’t recognize her, but for some reason he suddenly felt very afraid. ‘Do – I know – you?’
She shook her head and leaned closer. ‘But you remember Victor, don’t you?’
Panic rose in his chest. His eyes grew wide. He tried to shout, but his chest felt as if she’d put a boulder on it. He tried to sit up, but she had her hand on his shoulder. He felt the bed dip a little as she pressed the pillow over his face, and then he couldn’t breathe at all. As he struggled to free himself, the sounds of battle grew louder and louder in his ears. He could hear men screaming, the relentless pounding of the guns, and Captain Markham barking his orders: ‘Over the top, my lads. Over the top.’ He clawed the pillow frantically. He knew he was suffocating. His head was banging and the pain in his chest was terrible. Then he heard the girl in the barn sobbing again. She was begging them to stop, but then Nelson said, ‘Go on, lad. You know you want to.’ His strength was ebbing away. He fought it as long as he could, but it was no use. Gradually the sounds of battle and the sobs of the girl faded as he embraced the welcoming silence.
CHAPTER 29
Ruby was so anxious to tell her mother about the boat that she could hardly wait to get home that night. She burst into the house, making Bea, who was helping May with her reading, jump.
‘Sorry, Mum. Do you want me to finish that for May?
Bea shook her head. ‘Your tea is on the plate on the top of the saucepan. I’ll take May to bed.’
‘Mum,’ Ruby began again, when Bea returned about ten minutes later, ‘remember we said no more secrets? There’s something else I have to tell you.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s about Percy.’
‘If it’s about the boat,’ said Bea, ‘I already know.’
Ruby was startled. ‘But how?’
‘Silas Reed came to see me,’ she replied. ‘He told me that you’d been to see him on the beach. He said that when he told you he’d bought the boat and locker, he could tell by your face that it was a surprise.’
‘Oh,’ said Ruby. She didn’t know whether to feel angry or sad. After all, Percy had betrayed their mother most.
‘He’s a good man, is Silas,’ her mother went on. ‘He was very upset that Percy has gone off with the money. I told him he was under no obligation, but he wants to give us the occasional fish.’
‘That’s nice of him,’ said Ruby.
‘And I’m getting stronger every day,’ said Bea. ‘If I can, I shall get a bit of work myself in the summer.’
Ruby didn’t argue. She couldn’t imagine Bea getting a job and keeping it; her health was too up and down. But she gave her mother another hug and said encouragingly, ‘Perhaps our luck has turned the corner at last,’ even though she didn’t for one minute believe it herself.
The next day Ruby was about to go in and see Linton and clean his room, but the door was locked.
‘Mr Carver was found dead after the night-sister’s ward round,’ the sister told her. ‘I understand he was a friend of yours, and that it was because of you that he was admitted in the first place.’
‘Not exactly,’ said Ruby, trying to take in what she’d just been told. ‘My father …’ She faltered, remembering that Nelson wasn’t her father at all, but it would take too long to explain all that. ‘My father served in the same regiment with him in the Great War. My mother asked me to check up on him, because she was indisposed.’
‘The police may want to talk to you,’ said the sister.
‘The police?’ Ruby was shocked. ‘Why?’
‘Mr Carver wasn’t expected to live,’ said the sister, ‘but it appears that someone couldn’t wait. It looks highly likely that he was murdered.’
‘Whatever makes you say that?’ Ruby gasped.
‘His pillow was on the top of the bed and there were signs of a struggle. Somehow the water jug was tipped over.’
Ruby’s mouth dropped open. ‘But who on earth would want to do away with a nice old man like that?’
‘He wasn’t that old, Ruby,’ said the sister. ‘His war injuries may have aged him and, because you’re very young, he seemed old. Mr Carver was only thirty-eight. And I agree with you. I can’t imagine why someone would want him dead.’
Ruby shook her head in disbelief. How was she going to tell her mother?
‘If you know anything that might help the police with their enquiries, I urge you to tell them,’ said the sister, bustling away.
Close to tears, Ruby said, ‘Yes, Sister.’ Poor Linton. Who could have done such a wicked thing and, more importantly, why?
The police, when they finally got round to speaking to her, were thorough, asking their questions in an abrupt and efficient manner. Ruby was utterly truthful and held nothing back.
No, she had no idea why someone would have wanted to harm Linton. No, he had never talked about his war experiences, and the war had been over for sixteen years – surely no one would hold a grudge that long. No, she didn’t come back to the ward last night.
She had seen Linton in the afternoon, and in the evening she was at home with her mother. Yes, her mother could verify that: Newlands Road, on the corner. Yes, as a matter of fact, John was their lodger. Yes, she had been in Linton’s home. She had been there the day he came into hospital. Yes, it was she who had called the doctor. Yes, he lived alone. Well, he seemed to be able to look after himself. The place was very neat and tidy. It was only when his lungs played up that he had difficulty. No, he didn’t seem worried about anything. She knew he probably wouldn’t get better, but he had perked up a bit over the last few days. Relatives? Only Aunt Mabel. No, she wasn’t exactly a real aunt – she just called her ‘Aunt’. Mabel Harris. Yes, it was a different surname. Linton was related to her late husband; he was his nephew.
When they’d finished, the policeman asking the questions thanked Ruby for her cooperation. The one taking down notes totally ignored her as they walked off. She felt a little drained by the experience.
‘Now that they’ve finally gone,’ said the sister, coming up behind her, ‘I want you to clean that room, Ruby. Give it a thorough going-over. I’ll get one of the other girls to cover your other duties.’
Ruby wished the sister had said she could take a bit of a break, but with a heavy heart she collected her mop, bucket and cleaning things. First she took the bed linen and stuffed it into a canvas bag on trolley wheels, ready for the laundry; and then she began her systematic cleaning of the room. A couple of times she had the feeling that she was being watched, but apart from a fleeting shadow, there was no one around. She began by the door and worked her way round the room, so that nothing was missed. The walls, skirting boards, a chair, the locker, the overhead lampshade, the area around the light switches, the mattress and the bed itself – all were thoroughly washed down. It was as she turned the mattress that something, which must have been trapped underneath, fell on the floor and rolled under the bed. Ruby pushed the iron bedstead to one side and picked it up. She stared in disbelief. She’s seen one of these before. There was one in the envelope that had contained Nelson’s effects. In fact, it was identical. A home-made, imitation lead bullet. Even the inscription on the side was the same: Victory.
Ruby arrived back home in a sombre mood.
‘Dear, oh dear,’ said Bea when she saw her. ‘You look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found a ha’penny.’
Ruby explained what had happened to Linton.
‘Murdered!’ Bea cried. ‘Does Mabel know?’
‘I guess so,’ said Ruby. ‘She’s his only relative, so I presume someone’s told her.’
‘Murdered,’ Bea repeated. ‘How? Why?’
Ruby told her what the ward sister had said.
‘I’d better go round to Mabel’s,’ said Bea, snatching off her apron. ‘The tea is almost ready. Call John when the potatoes are done. I’ll eat mine later.’
May was playing outside with some of the other children. Ruby watched her mother leave, then checked the potatoes, before calling John and May for their meal.
An hour later, when Bea came back, Ruby took a plate from the top of a saucepan of boiling water. She put in in front of Bea. ‘Careful of the plate, Mum.’
‘Where’s May?’
‘In the scullery, having her wash,’ said Ruby. ‘John ate and went back into his room.’
John had got into the habit of keeping himself to himself. Bea often invited him to sit by the fire and he sometimes did, but not all that often. Ruby guessed he was still struggling to get over his homesickness and the loss of his wife and child. Tonight he had played a game of Snap with May while Ruby did the clearing up, but when the child was told to get ready for bed, he made his excuses and left.
Bea ate her meal slowly. It wasn’t until May was tucked up in bed that the two women had an opportunity to talk. Ruby was hoping to hear more about her natural father, but first they had to talk about Linton.
‘How did Aunt Mabel take the news?’ asked Ruby as she poured them some tea.
‘It wasn’t unexpected,’ said Bea, ‘although she was a bit shocked when the police told her somebody had murdered him.’
‘Did she have any idea who might do that?’
‘None at all,’ said Bea. ‘The poor man had a terrible life. He was barely in his twenties when he was gassed. He never had a lady friend, never got married, and he was ill on and off all his life.’
‘Mum,’ said Ruby, ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ She got up from the table and went to her coat, which was hanging on the nail on the back door. When she put the lead bullet on the table in front of her, Bea gasped.
‘I found it on the floor when I was cleaning Linton’s room,’ Ruby explained. ‘It’s like the one in the brown envelope they gave you when Nelson died, isn’t it?’
Bea went to the dresser and opened the drawer. Coming back to the table, she tipped the contents of the brown envelope onto the table. The grey bullet rolled towards its mate. They compared the two of them.
‘They both look hand-made,’ said Ruby, ‘and they are almost identical. What can it mean?’
Bea shook her head. ‘Perhaps it’s something to do with the war?’
‘It seems a bit odd that Linton had it in his hospital room,’ said Ruby. ‘I packed his bag to go to hospital, and he certainly didn’t have it when he left home.’
‘Someone could have brought it in.’
‘As far as I know,’ said Ruby, ‘I was his only visitor.’
Bea looked up. ‘So, what are you saying?’
‘I think the murderer gave it to him.’
Bea picked up one of the bullets and held it in the palm of her hand. The silence between them grew, until it was punctuated only by the slow tick-tock of the clock on the mantelpiece. They heard it whirring, and then came the dulcet chimes for nine o’clock.
‘If the murderer left this bullet for Linton,’ said Bea slowly, ‘and Nelson had one in his pocket …’ She looked up at her daughter.
Ruby finished the sentence for her. ‘Then Nelson was murdered too.’
‘I’ve seen another one,’ said Bea. ‘Mabel’s got one. She found it in Jack’s pocket after he died.’
‘Was Jack in the war?’ asked Ruby.
Bea nodded. ‘He was a mechanic. He was stationed with Linton for a bit. I remember Mabel telling me that he used to keep a weather eye on Linton.’
Ruby chewed the inside of her bottom lip. ‘How did Uncle Jack die?’
‘He didn’t die in the war,’ said Bea. ‘He was run over by a truck on the Littlehampton Road, when you were a little girl.’
‘Then do you think …?’ Ruby began.
They both held their breath, hardly able to comprehend where this conversation was going.
‘You’ll have to go to the police,’ said Bea.
Ruby shook her head. ‘It’s all a bit vague, though, Mum. I mean, what proof have we got, apart from these funny bullets?’
‘You must admit it’s a bit odd,’ Bea insisted.
Ruby nodded and, picking up one of the bullets, studied it more carefully. ‘What’s going to happen to Linton now? Is Aunt Mabel able to bury him?’
‘They’re hoping to arrange the funeral sometime next week,’ said Bea. ‘I don’t suppose he left a will, so everything will go to Mabel.’
It was then that Ruby remembered the envelope Linton had given her the day he went into hospital. ‘I think I’ve got his will,’ she said, giving her mother a brief explanation.
She had propped the envelope against the mirror in her bedroom and had totally forgotten it. She hurried upstairs to get it now. It had slipped down the back and fallen on the floor. Sitting back down at the kitchen table again, she opened it and took out a flimsy sheet of paper. The lettering was typed and was clearly done by an inexperienced typist. There were blotches and spelling mistakes all over the place. As Ruby read it aloud, she and Bea listened with mounting horror.
The streets of London were a far cry from the relative peace and quiet of Worthing. Percy love
d it. There was always something to do and it seemed that London never slept.
The night before he began his new posting, Percy made a decision to throw himself even more fervently into the cause. He told himself he wouldn’t care about the poverty; he would forgo the pictures and the pub with a happy heart because, from now on, he had a cause to fight for and a driving force in his life. He would make the BUF his whole reason for existence. It would be better than the choicest meal to him – its hold on him stronger than any family bond – and he would be happy to sacrifice the chance to have a sweetheart or a wife if that interfered with his purpose. He climbed into his bed with a warm glow. He’d show them. One day he would march down the streets of Worthing carrying the BUF flag, and every head would turn in his direction. They’d say, ‘There’s a man to be proud of.’ He took in a breath and let his chest swell. Right there and then he was in deadly earnest and, if necessary, he would be willing to die for his ideals.
He had been plunged in at the deep end when he’d arrived in the East End, but he mastered quickly whatever he was asked to do. If he stood on a soapbox at the corner of the street market, he had no trouble at all in gathering a crowd of eager bystanders. The working-class man felt downtrodden and neglected, feelings with which Percy was well acquainted. Successive governments had talked of disarmament and had put forward plans for growth, but it hadn’t filtered down to the ordinary man in the street. That man didn’t care for world politics; all he wanted was decent housing, and food on the table. Most of all, he wanted a job.
As part of his new role Percy had to check that the new recruits who had pledged to give five nights’ active service to sell the patriotic workers’ newspaper, The Blackshirt, fulfilled their commitment. He also helped with some of the other organizational jobs. It was he who found some old furniture vans and had them converted, so that they could move groups of stewards to the different venues quickly and cheaply. Mosley himself was making upwards of 150 speeches a year, so finding a way of getting supporters to attend the meetings as unpaid stewards was no mean feat.