by Pam Weaver
‘Next.’
The receptionist at the Old Town Hall was a tight-lipped woman with a severe hairstyle and a lazy eye. A young woman with a small child on her hip walked to the desk and began speaking in hushed tones. Annie, who was next in the queue, had been directed there from the police station after the desk sergeant had explained that Henry had been sent to the magistrate’s court which was held in the Old Town Hall. It was so annoying. If they had told her that straight away, she would have been here a lot sooner, but instead they had kept her waiting in a bare room for twenty minutes and then a detective had asked her a lot of questions. Had she seen the other Mrs Royal before that day? Did she know Mr Royal had been married before? Where did she meet Mr Royal? How long had she known him? The questions went on and on.
The young woman moved away from the desk and the receptionist called a second time, ‘Next.’
Annie explained that she had come here to see Henry. She addressed one eye before realising that the woman was actually looking at her with the other. It was most disconcerting and even more so when the woman told her she was already too late to see Henry.
‘Mr Royal has already appeared before the magistrate and is now in the cells,’ she said, lifting her head. ‘Next.’
Annie was aware of other people behind her in the queue but she hadn’t finished yet. ‘In the cells?’
‘He’s been sent for trial at the next Lewes Assizes,’ the woman said curtly. ‘And before you ask, no I’m afraid you can’t see him. Not in here anyway. Next.’
‘But how long will it be before the trial?’ Annie asked. A man shuffled towards the desk.
‘Three weeks,’ said the woman.
Annie stayed rooted to the spot. Three weeks? Henry would be stuck in jail for three weeks when he hadn’t done anything? ‘So what do I do now?’ said Annie, more to herself than to anyone else.
‘You can visit him once he’s been transferred,’ said the woman. ‘You don’t have to apply for a permit for prisoners on remand. Next.’
‘Thank you,’ said Annie faintly. She moved out of the way and the man shuffled forward again.
‘If you want my advice,’ the receptionist muttered, ‘you’ll choose your friends more carefully next time.’
Annie felt her face flame and she turned on her heel. ‘Well, nobody asked you for your advice so I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ she snapped.
The woman looked deeply offended, but with head held high, Annie walked back to the door, ignoring another person in the queue muttering a breathy, ‘Well, really …’
In desperate need of refreshment, Annie wandered into the café next door. She felt a bit guilty being so rude to the woman in the town hall, but how dare she judge her. Henry was innocent, and even if he was caught up in something, she wasn’t going to be a doormat, nor the brunt of other people’s ill-informed opinions. Sitting in the window seat and watching people going about their normal business had a calming effect. She had resisted having a quiet cry all morning and when at times her hands had a visible tremor, she’d made a point of gripping her handbag on what was left of her lap so that no one would see how upset she was. She wasn’t about to let that silly old cow in the town hall reduce her to tears now. The waitress put the teapot in front of her and the rattling teacup and saucer brought her back to the here and now.
‘Nice day,’ the waitress remarked.
Annie managed a thin smile and her mouth said, ‘Yes, yes it is,’ and at the same time thinking, well, it may be for you but my world is falling apart …
Left to her tea and her own thoughts, Annie wondered about little Jenny and her mother. Henry had insisted it was all trickery, but the child had seemed genuinely upset. What sort of a mother would expose her child to such an awful scene? If she had something against Henry, why didn’t she confront him when they were on their own? What the woman said couldn’t possibly be true, and yet the magistrates had believed her story. They must have done if Henry was to be sent for trial. Annie’s eyes drifted towards the newsagent across the road and in particular the billboard outside. What if the newspapers got hold of the story? She shuddered at the thought of being the object of shame and gossip and gripped her cup with both hands to stop them shaking the tea onto the tablecloth as she pictured herself trying to dodge the reporters in the same way people did on the Pathé newsreels.
And what about Henry? This could ruin him. For the first time since it happened, Annie suddenly remembered his job. She would have to tell them where he was, but how could she? Once they knew he was in Lewes prison, he’d get the sack. He had already lost his freedom, and if she let him lose his job, he would be totally humiliated. It was grossly unfair. She couldn’t let it happen. As soon as she’d finished her tea, she would go round to the jeweller’s shop in the High Street where Henry worked now and make some excuse. But what on earth would she say? She could explain away a day or two with a bad cold or a hacking cough, but three weeks? Think, she told her jumbled brain, think carefully and logically. Rhodesia. He’d told her that he’d grown up in Rhodesia. She knew that much anyway. It was only as the detective asked her questions that she realised how little she knew about him. Did he have brothers and sisters? She didn’t know. Where was he educated? She hadn’t a clue. She’d told the policeman that Henry had been a POW during the war but when he’d pressed her on that one, she had no idea where he’d been. She’d never thought to ask and she’d never really realised before that even if she did mention something about his past, Henry always changed the subject. The policeman had exposed her lack of knowledge and she’d felt such a fool, but she’d made up her mind that as soon as Henry was back home, she’d make a point of finding out everything she could.
But for now what was she going to tell the people where Henry worked? If she couldn’t tell the truth, she’d have to make something up. What if someone out there, his mother or his brother, had sent for him? His father was dying … yes, that was it. She would tell them that his father was dying in far-off Rhodesia and that his mother had sent for him. He’d gone at once and he’d be back in three weeks. Of course he didn’t have the plane fare and there was no question of waiting to save up, so they’d sent the plane ticket by wire from Rhodesia. What with all the changes, it took four or five days to fly out there which was why he needed to go at once and why it would take at least three weeks to sort everything out. She drained the last vestige of her tea and took a deep breath. She was no good at lying. Her parents always knew when she wasn’t telling the truth. She thought back to 1940 and the last time she’d been with Ellen Slattery shortly before she was killed. They were both ten and supposed to be going to GFS after school. The Girls’ Friendly Society was fun, but Ellen had persuaded her to play Kiss Chase with the boys instead. They’d had a great time and when it was time to go home, they’d synchronised their stories. Ellen got away with it, but somehow Father had known that Annie was lying. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the unbearable sting of his wide hand as it met the tops of her bare legs. She’d been sent to bed with no tea and spent the next few days pulling her dress down to hide the bruise marks from his fingers, which were still clearly visible. This time she had to get her story right if the people Henry worked for were to believe her.
*
Sarah was going through the motions. She’d got the children up and Jenny to school, but she kept away from her sister. She was still annoyed with Vera that she had refused to have Jenny and Lu-Lu for a bit and she certainly didn’t want to have to talk about what had happened in Horsham. She did her shift in the pub, which was particularly unpleasant that day because someone had been sick in the gents, and then a little shopping. She avoided Mrs Angel’s shop because she couldn’t face putting what happened yesterday into words there either. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help wondering what Henry was doing now. She hoped his cell was freezing cold and that they’d taken away all his clothes. She hoped his bed was made of rusty nails and that he had rats for
company. Of course, in this day and age that was impossible, she told herself, but she wished for it all the same. The puzzling thing was, why had the police arrested him? If only she had stayed outside the back door a bit longer, then she might have heard.
Where did she go from here? She should jolly well make Henry pay for his children’s upkeep, but how did she go about it? Besides, if she flagged herself up to the welfare people, they might decide to take the kids away from her and if that happened, she couldn’t go on. Without Jenny and Lu-Lu, she might as well be dead. She had no money for solicitors and the like, so she was in a cleft stick.
Before picking Jenny up from school, Sarah went to the phone box to look in the dog-eared Directory Enquiries book for the number of the Horsham police station. Then she lifted the receiver and asked the operator to connect her. Once she had pushed the money in the slot and the operator told her she was connected, she pressed button B and heard a gruff voice saying, ‘Horsham Police. Desk Sergeant.’
‘I’m enquiring about Mr Henry Royal,’ she said in her poshest voice.
‘He’s been sent for trial at Lewes Assizes.’
Sarah swallowed hard. ‘On what charge?’
‘Who are you?’ said the sergeant.
‘I’m his wife.’
‘Then you already know,’ said the sergeant. He sounded irritable. ‘Seeing as how you made the complaint.’
Sarah hesitated. What was he talking about? ‘But I’ve made no complaint,’ she said.
There was a pause at the other end. ‘Say your name again?’
‘Mrs Sarah Royal,’ she said deliberately.
The sergeant must have put his hand over the mouthpiece because although his response was muffled, Sarah heard him gasp, ‘Bloody ’ell. Call the Inspector. There’s another one on the phone.’
She hung up.
*
Back home and exhausted, Annie stood in her bathroom and put a cold flannel to her forehead. What a day. The meeting at the jeweller’s where Henry worked in the office went quite well, although she’d hated having to lie to them. She’d used her pregnancy to good effect and even had them fussing around her with a chair and a glass of water before she’d left the shop.
‘If there’s anything we can do to help, Mrs Royal,’ the manager had said as she left, ‘please don’t hesitate …’
Annie had kept her head down, not daring to look him in the eye, but she told him of her appreciation for his kind offer. It was so embarrassing and she went away full of shame, but for Henry’s sake what else could she do?
The next pressing thing was to find some money and her wedding certificate for Mr West and that left her with another dilemma. Henry kept all their important papers in the dresser drawer, but she didn’t have the key. Henry kept all the keys to himself, while she only had the front and back door keys.
After reviving her flagging energy levels with a sandwich, Annie tackled the drawer. She tried sliding a knife along the top, but as soon as it hit the lock, that was that. She found a bunch of keys in the outhouse but nothing fitted. She tried picking the lock with a piece of wire, but her attempt soon convinced her that she’d never make a good burglar. What looked easy on the Hollywood silver screen was far from simple in real life and it was also very frustrating. The emergency money was almost gone. If only she hadn’t bought that cake and magazine. True, the cake had only cost 3d, as did the Woman magazine – hardly high-class living – but right now every penny counted. And then there was that pot of tea she’d had this morning. Mr West already had five bob and the rent was due in two weeks’ time. Annie held her head in her hands. What on earth was she going to do? She wasn’t even in a position to earn any money. Who would employ a woman about to give birth? She lowered herself into a chair as her thoughts grew even darker. How was she going to visit Henry with no money? She hardly had enough to feed herself for three weeks, let alone travel all the way to Lewes. Then she remembered the gold watch Granny had given her for her birthday. She could pawn it for the time being. Once Henry’s trial was over and he was proven innocent, she could get it back. It was heavy, so it must be worth a bob or two. Annie searched the place high and low, but she couldn’t find it. It was all very puzzling. She had it on the day of her wedding because she remembered that Henry had remarked how much he’d liked it. She was sure she’d put it back in the box but it wasn’t there now. She racked her brains but she couldn’t remember seeing it again. Where on earth could it have gone? Having drawn a complete blank, there was only one other way forward. She had to open that drawer.
*
Angry and frustrated, Henry Royale lay on his cot facing the wall. How could he have ended up in such a place? He didn’t ask much out of life. A little money, a loving wife, a son … and yet it had come to this. He drew his knees up as he thought of Annie. Why, oh why, had she let that witch in? If he’d told her once, he’d told her a thousand times, ‘Don’t let anybody in the house while I’m at work.’ Of course, he’d never for a minute believed that Sarah would track him down, but if Annie had done as she was told, he could have bluffed his way out of it, same as he always did. And if she’d got a move on with the packing, they would have been long gone before the police arrived as well.
Lewes prison, No. 1 Brighton Road, turned out to be a castellated flint and brick building. Built in Victorian times for far fewer inmates, he and another 149 prisoners were incarcerated two together in a one-man cell, with the stinking toilet stuck in the middle of the room. Only a wooden lid kept the body odours in check and, from where he lay, it wasn’t very effective. They’d told him that if he’d been a convicted man rather than a prisoner on remand, he would have been put in isolation straight away. Frankly, he would have preferred to be on his own. He hated having no privacy and, to add insult to injury, he only had a thin mattress, a stained and smelly pillow and a prison blanket on his bed, so no comfort either. He didn’t even have any more of his favourite sweets. He’d eaten the last coffee crunch before he’d been remanded in custody.
A noxious smell filled the air as the other prisoner farted.
‘Whoops, sorry mate.’
Henry pulled the blanket over his nose. His cellmate, a skinny man with a broken tooth who had obviously been drinking heavily the night before, wasn’t the only animal to share his room. Before he’d turned his back on his fellow prisoner, Henry had seen at least two cockroaches running around the perimeter of the room.
The fat solicitor Annie sent seemed to think that if he was convicted, he’d get three months. Three months wasn’t too bad. There was a vague possibility he’d miss the birth of his son, but he’d be back with Annie before the child was more than a week or two old. He could have done with the man earlier but he’d arrived too late for the short hearing in the magistrate’s court where Henry had elected to conduct his own defence rather than wait. He realised now that he shouldn’t have been so hasty, but what was done, was done. Right now there were more pressing things to think about … like getting his story straight and winning the sympathy of the jury.
Six
Annie stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Her cheeks were pale and her lipstick reduced to a fading thin line. She took out her compact and began to repair the damage. This wasn’t what she’d planned at all. Until two days ago, she’d never even been in a police station before and now here she was waiting to be ‘interviewed’ again.
They’d made her tip everything out of her handbag, and then she’d watched them picking through her lipstick, powder compact, her purse, the wedding certificate and the brooch. They took the brooch and they’d already taken her bank book earlier on. Having put on her lipstick, she rubbed her lips together and wondered how much she should tell them.
Having stared at it for several days, she had managed to get the drawer open earlier that morning, but the wood had split when she’d levered it away from the lock. She’d gasped in horror knowing that Henry would be very cross, but once she’d calmed down, she’d told hers
elf it couldn’t be helped. Her hand had trembled, and after all that effort, the results were disappointing. The contents of the drawer looked a bit dull. Would the police be interested to know about the papers and the photographs? As she’d sifted through everything, the milkman had clinked the milk bottles outside the back door and she’d almost jumped out of her skin. She’d felt like a thief, but then she remembered Henry saying, ‘what’s mine is yours,’ and relaxed a little. Of course, he only said that when they were in bed together, and she knew he didn’t mean she could take his personal things when they had married, but hadn’t he promised ‘all my worldly goods I thee endow’? When her heartbeat had returned to normal, she’d lowered herself onto a chair and spread everything over the table.
There was a pretty amethyst brooch in the shape of a flower. It was in a blue box, the kind her father used in the shop. Henry must have been saving it for her for when the baby came.
The papers were completely incomprehensible, a neatly folded pile which looked as if she’d need the services of someone like Mr West to decipher them. There was one marked Southern Rhodesia Tobacco Company, which looked like it had something to do with shares belonging to Grenville Hartley. She also found a life policy in her name with the SunRise assurance company, the house insurance and her wedding certificate. She had known about the SunRise assurance company because the man came once a month for the premium.
The photographs were of Henry with another woman. Should she tell the police about that? Henry was much younger and in swimming trunks. He stood next to the woman who was wearing a one-piece bathing suit. She had a long cigarette holder in her hand and her hair was tied up in a white turban. She seemed vaguely familiar although Annie knew she’d never met her. Perhaps she was a film star? She certainly could have passed for one with her slim figure and long legs. Annie didn’t recognise the beach but it looked hot and sunny. They were both laughing and looked so happy that Annie couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, but she would keep that to herself no matter what. The other photographs were of people unknown to her; a man in a deck-lounger in a field and another of Henry standing next to the same man with the woman, this time without her turban. There was something written in pencil on the back of one of the photographs. ‘Priory Road, Chichester, August 1927.’ Having looked at them for some time, Annie decided that the unknown man was probably the woman’s husband and that they were friends of Henry’s from before she knew him.