For Better For Worse

by Pam Weaver

  *

  Annie went straight to the children’s ward but was stopped at the door by the sister. ‘Visiting hours are from two till four,’ she said sternly.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ cried Annie desperately. ‘That baby they found on the convent steps. It’s mine.’

  The sister took a step backwards. ‘Yours?’ she said coldly.

  ‘Please, I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.’

  ‘You’re lucky the baby didn’t die,’ said the sister tartly.

  ‘Oh thank God,’ Annie cried. ‘Thank God they found him in time. Can I go in now?’

  The sister barred the way into the ward with her arm on the door. ‘Have you any idea how cold it was last night?’ she said crossly.

  By this time, Sarah had caught up with Annie.

  ‘And have you seen a doctor? If you ask me, running down the corridor like that is a bit stupid in your condition.’

  ‘Is it him?’ cried Sarah. ‘Is it Edward?’

  ‘Edward?’ said the sister, her tone softening, and then turning back to Annie she said gently, ‘You’re the mother of that kidnapped baby, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, can I see him now?’

  The sister didn’t move. ‘I’m sorry dear, this baby is a newborn baby girl.’

  As she heard the words, Annie fainted clean away.

  *

  Bear sat at his kitchen table with a sheaf of papers. Garfield was eating his fish ’n’ chips. It was still quite early, but from the moment he had arrived in Worthing, Garfield had complained that he was starving. He was a studious-looking man with slicked-down hair and round-rimmed glasses. He was in plain clothes. He had a brown pinstriped suit and wore a white shirt with a brown diagonal striped tie.

  Bear had gone to Worley’s on North Street, which had the reputation of being the best fish ’n’ chips in town.

  They hadn’t bothered with the niceties. The two men ate with their fingers out of the chip paper and each drank beer from a bottle.

  ‘So Ada met Royale when he came out of Lewes prison,’ said Garfield.

  ‘In a black Bentley,’ said Bear. ‘And the road sweeper said he saw a large black car and the driver, a woman, was putting a child on the back seat.’

  ‘That makes the main suspect Ada Browning.’

  Bear nodded.

  ‘What beats me,’ said Garfield, ‘is how this normally law-abiding woman could be persuaded to aid and abet him in taking his child.’

  ‘When it comes to charm,’ said Bear, ‘Henry Royale’s got it by the bucketload.’

  ‘Next question, where would the pair be going?’

  ‘Did you find out if she was splashing the cash?’

  Garfield shook his head. ‘Not since she bought him the car.’

  ‘No tickets to go abroad?’ said Bear hopefully. ‘Hotel booking?’

  Garfield licked the end of his fingers then wiped them on the newspaper before screwing it into a ball. ‘No, nothing.’

  Kaye’s suitcase rested on the dresser. Bear wiped his fingers on a tea towel and placed it on the table between them. ‘This belonged to the victim of the motor accident. The case had burst open on impact. Bits everywhere. Apparently it took them ages to pick everything up.’

  At first, the contents stuffed untidily inside seemed disappointing. Apart from a change of clothes, some underwear and a nightdress, the only thing of interest was a large envelope. Bear opened it, but it only contained a signed copy of a contract for the BBC. It was muddy and had clearly been fished out of water.

  Bear whistled as he read it. ‘She was destined for great things. This is a television contract for a series of six murder mystery plays, each lasting for an hour.’

  Garfield looked impressed. He was smoothing out a crumpled sheet of paper which had been in the case but not in the envelope.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Bear.

  ‘Not sure,’ Garfield frowned. ‘It looks like some sort of property sale.’

  They scrutinised it together. It was hard to make head or tail of it because it was only the second sheet of what must have been a two-page letter. It was signed M. Frantzen, solicitor.

  ‘No address,’ said Garfield, ‘but look at the name at the top.’

  ‘Henry Royale,’ said Garfield. He shrugged. ‘So how did she get hold of it …?’

  ‘Beats me,’ said Bear, but it looks as if he’s been instructed to sell a property. ‘Who would have thought it? I often wondered how a so-called ordinary family man who didn’t have a job could afford such expensive suits. Maybe this is the answer.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He fleeces women for their money and buys property,’ he said. ‘The crafty devil was empire-building.’

  ‘You could be right,’ said Garfield. ‘But where the devil is the house?’

  ‘I have a feeling the answer might lie with his other wives,’ said Bear.

  Thirty-Four

  Ada stared anxiously out of the cottage window. Where was Henry? He was supposed to have been here by now but there was still no sign of him. Surely the car hadn’t broken down? She shook her head. Impossible. Motors of Mayfair were one of the most reliable dealers in the country. Had he hit traffic? Yes, that must be it. He was supposed to have been here the night before last. Where was he? At least the baby was quiet now. She had prepared herself well, but there was so much to remember and it was years since she’d dealt with small babies. She’d made sure she had everything before she took the baby. Bottles, boiling pan, teats, nappies, nightdresses and day clothes, cardigans and bedding … it had cost a small fortune and the shop assistant’s glowing opinion of her was embarrassing to say the least.

  ‘Your daughter is so lucky to have someone like you,’ she said again and again. ‘You are so generous, madam.’

  She’d been a bit worried that the cottage might be damp, but the rental agent had arranged for some cleaning woman to come and lay the fire. Once it was lit, the place was quite cosy.

  She’d watched the house in Worthing for a couple of days. Nobody noticed a well-to-do woman strolling in the area, and as luck would have it, the grandmother had made it so easy when she left the pram outside the sweet shop. She’d parked up and hurried along the pavement. There was a crowd outside the shop, probably getting their off-ration sweets, and she’d hesitated. But then there was a bit of a to-do because somebody had jumped the queue and Ada seized her chance. The little girl standing next to the pram had given her a puzzled look when she’d undone the pram straps.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ she’d asked.

  ‘I’m taking him to live with me.’

  The child had stared at her. ‘His mummy won’t like that.’

  Ada put her finger to her lips and hissed. ‘Be quiet or I will eat you up.’

  ‘Are you a wicked witch?’ The child’s voice was small and frightened.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Ada snapped and the child’s eyes had grown wide with fear. She felt a bit guilty about that, so she’d left her with one of Henry’s sweets. ‘Don’t eat it until Mummy says,’ she said as she slipped away without anyone seeing.

  She’d laid the baby on the back seat and hoped he wouldn’t roll off. Luckily he didn’t, but he was upset when she’d got him back to the cottage. His nappy was rank and she struggled to get him clean. She couldn’t face washing it, so she’d put it into a galvanised bucket and left it outside the back door.

  She didn’t even know the baby’s name. Had Henry told her? She couldn’t remember. Probably he had, but it was always difficult to concentrate when Henry was around. She longed to feel his strong arms around her and his mouth covering her with kisses. He never noticed the wrinkles. With Henry, she was young again.

  Once at the cottage, she’d made up the feeds, careful to boil the glass bottles thoroughly first. He was difficult to feed but eventually she’d managed to coax him. He stared at her with rather puzzled wide eyes, so she’d kissed his forehead because he was Henry’s baby. He couldn�
�t finish the bottle, only managing four ounces, and when she sat him up he burped, but then he cried when she wrapped him in a shawl and laid him down. The noise gave her a headache and it was ages before he finally dropped off to sleep, sweaty and breathless.

  She put on the radio but couldn’t concentrate. Suddenly, with a start, she heard the announcer say, ‘Here is a repeat of an SOS message for Henry Royale of Horsham. Will Henry Royale, last known to be living in Horsham in Sussex, please go to Horsham Cottage Hospital where his wife Kaye Royale, also known as Kaye Hambledon, the well-known writer, is dangerously ill.’

  Ada switched off the radio. What did this mean? She would have to tell him of course. This would alter their plans. They only put out an SOS message if someone was dying. It puzzled her that Henry had never mentioned that his wife was a well-known writer. She racked her brains, trying to remember exactly what he had said. She’d listened to some of the evidence in that awful courtroom, so she must have seen Kaye, but she couldn’t remember what she looked like. It was hardly surprising. When Henry was around, there was no other light in the room. But now Kaye was ‘dangerously ill’. She didn’t fancy upsetting him the minute he walked through the door, but he’d have to know. Oh, where was he? She didn’t like being alone with a baby she didn’t know. She’d only agreed to take the boy because Henry was so desperate to be reunited with his child. He had told her how awful Annie was, her lifestyle and the way she had dominated him. Before his exquisite lovemaking, Henry could be so persuasive. In the cold, hard light of day, she’d kidnapped him, and if Henry wasn’t here to vouch for her, she’d be in serious trouble. She wiped a tear from her cheek. Oh Henry …

  Ada stayed by the window watching for him until night fell.

  * * *

  It was decided that Annie should go home with her parents. She’d protested a little because she wanted to be at Copper Beeches when Edward came home, but everyone agreed that what she needed most was peace and quiet.

  Bear had put a solitary policeman by the gate at Copper Beeches, which meant the reporters turned their attention to others in the town.

  Mr Dobbin arrived late that afternoon and waited in Kaye’s office until Sarah came downstairs. ‘I’m Mrs Royale’s solicitor,’ he explained as she came in. ‘I think we met once before.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘And I know that as well as being her solicitor, you were a dear friend of Kaye’s. I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘And I yours, my dear,’ said Dobbin. The doorbell rang for the second time since he arrived.

  ‘You’ll be wanting to talk to Lottie,’ said Sarah. ‘She’s taken my youngest daughter out for a walk.’

  Dobbin nodded. ‘You were with Kaye when she died?’ he said.

  ‘I was.’ She searched his face. He seemed to be desperately trying to control his emotions. She didn’t want to add to his sorrow. ‘The end was peaceful,’ she said quietly.

  He nodded again and blew his nose loudly into a large white handkerchief. The doorbell rang again. ‘What on earth is going on here?’ he asked.

  ‘We think Henry has snatched his son,’ said Sarah. ‘As you can imagine, the baby’s mother is distraught. The press and the telegram boy haven’t left us alone since it happened.’

  ‘Good God!’ said Dobbin.

  There was a slight pause before Sarah began again. ‘Mr Dobbin, could I ask you something? Did Kaye ever mention having a child?’

  ‘Her baby died at birth,’ he said, ‘but whether it was a boy or a girl, I have no idea. Why do you ask?’

  Sarah explained briefly what Kaye had said. ‘She was very anxious at the time,’ said Sarah. ‘She said, and I quote … “He killed Bunny Warren’s baby.”’

  ‘Bunny Warren?’ said Dobbin. ‘She was engaged to a Bunny Warren before she met Henry, but he was killed.’

  ‘I think he was the father of her baby,’ said Sarah. ‘Kaye was convinced that Henry murdered the child.’

  Mr Dobbin looked startled. ‘Perhaps she was delirious,’ he said, busying himself with some papers in his briefcase.

  Sarah sensed he didn’t want to be drawn in. ‘I expect you’re right.’ He was clearly disturbed by what she had said and Sarah regretted adding to the old man’s grief.

  ‘Mrs Royal,’ he said stiffly, ‘I am here because Mrs Royale directed me to take charge of her affairs should she die prematurely. I wish to go through some of her papers and I can see that with the baby missing everything could so easily get on top of you.’

  ‘We’re doing the best we can,’ Sarah said defensively.

  ‘Oh please don’t think I’m implying any criticism,’ said Dobbin quickly. ‘I’m here to lighten the load. Kaye left instructions about her funeral and my staff will see to any notifications and arrangements which have to be made. That should leave you free to deal with the repercussions concerning the baby.’

  Leaving him to it, Sarah found yet another telegram of condolence on the hall table. When Mr Dobbin said he would make all the arrangements for the funeral, Sarah was so relieved she could have kissed him. She was beginning to feel snowed under with all the telephone calls and letters which had come in the short while since Kaye had been gone. Although she and Vera had buried their mother, that had been a very quiet family affair. Kaye’s funeral was obviously going to have to be a lot, lot bigger and far more than she could have coped with. With one sentence Mr Dobbin had lifted a ten-ton weight from her shoulders.

  They tried to make the rest of the day as normal as possible. When Jenny came home from school, they all had tea. Vera had left early afternoon because she had to catch the bus back to Lancing in time to collect Carole from school. Mrs Goodall was just about to go when Bear turned up on the doorstep again.

  ‘Tell me Detective, did you ever find those people who were running around the garden?’ Mrs Goodall said rather pointedly.

  ‘What people?’ said Bear, clearly puzzled.

  ‘The prowlers,’ said Mrs Goodall. ‘I’ve written it down.’

  ‘You mean there was more than one of them?’ Bear was surprised. ‘Can you describe them?’

  Mrs Goodall gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I already told your colleague, but it looks like nobody listened. What is the point of having a police force if they don’t do joined-up writing?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘One was a rather sneaky sort of a person. He wore a raincoat about two sizes too big for him. I saw him sitting on the wall a couple of times. Of course he was trying to look as if he wasn’t there, but I saw him.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Younger,’ said Mrs Goodall. ‘Much younger.’

  ‘If I send a constable round to your house …’ Bear began.

  ‘That’s what you policemen always say,’ Mrs Goodall snapped, ‘but nothing seems to get done.’

  ‘I promise I will look into it,’ Bear said.

  ‘Huh,’ said Mrs Goodall, tossing her head in the air.

  ‘Any news?’ Sarah asked him as her neighbour walked huffily back down the drive.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Bear, crossing the threshold. ‘How are you coping?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Annie has gone home with her parents, which is no bad thing.’ She told him about the abandoned baby.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘I could kick myself. I didn’t mention it because I knew it was a girl. I didn’t think about those damn reporters. I’m sorry. I should have told you.’

  She smiled. ‘We’re all doing our best,’ she sighed. ‘I just wish it was over.’

  ‘You and me both,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want to come in for some tea?’

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I came to give Annie an update, not that there’s much to say. I didn’t realise she’d gone back to her parents. Garfield and I have been looking through those papers we found in Kaye’s suitcase. Tell me, where did you and Henry used to live?’

  ‘We had a house in Littlehampton,’ said Sarah. ‘42 Pier Road. I loved it there. It overlo
oked the River Arun.’

  Bear felt a frisson of excitement but he kept his face serious. The address on the piece of screwed-up paper in the case was Pier Road. ‘Did you own the house?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Lord, no,’ she laughed. ‘We rented it and when Henry left me, the landlord put the rent up so much that I couldn’t afford it.’

  There was a movement behind her and Mr Dobbin came out of the house. ‘I’d best be off now, Mrs Royal,’ he said, raising his hat politely. ‘I’ve taken the few things I need for now; her birth certificate and Identity Card so that I can register the death, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift somewhere?’ said Bear.

  ‘That’s would be most kind, Detective Inspector Truman,’ said Dobbin. ‘I’m staying at the Ardington Hotel. It’s the Edwardian terrace by the gardens.’

  ‘I know,’ Bear smiled.

  They said their goodbyes and left. Sarah went back indoors. The girls played together nicely until eventually she told them to get ready for their bath. There was an argument about which book they should have for their bedtime story. ‘I want Babar the Elephant,’ said Lu-Lu.

  ‘You had that one last night,’ said Jenny. ‘I want Millions of Cats.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Sarah. ‘As a special treat, you can have both.’

  In the end she didn’t have to read both books. Lu-Lu fell asleep half way through Millions of Cats and by the time she’d finished the story, Jenny was asleep as well. Sarah put out their clothes ready for the morning and crept out of their room

  *

  After he’d dropped Mr Dobbin at his hotel, Bear had gone to see Annie straight away to apologise for the distress she had suffered because he hadn’t mentioned the abandoned baby and to give her an update on the progress, or more to the point, the lack of it. The Mitchells invited him in but he declined the tea they offered. ‘Being a policeman is a bit like being a vicar,’ he grinned. ‘We’re both awash with tea.’

  Judith smiled thinly and Bear made his apology.

  ‘No news?’ said Malcolm. They all looked exhausted. Annie was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was greasy and badly in need of a wash. She wore an old baggy cardigan with frayed sleeves and a skirt which looked far too big for her. Judith didn’t look much better. Malcolm, who was already hugging a glass of whisky, had a five o’clock shadow.