It Begins in Betrayal

by Whishaw, Iona;

  Mary sat frozen, staring at the paper, seeing nothing but the reels that played in her own head. Father sitting them down, telling them Agatha had died. She turned her head and stared at the settee where she and Lucy had sat, remembered her shock and sadness. Remembered her utter confusion about how to respond because of how Lucy had been so monstrously betrayed by the sister they had loved. She heard the faint sound of a motorcar on the gravel. Tilly! She threw the paper down and went back down the hall toward the front door and threw it open, surprising Tilly who, dressed in a neat wine-red suit and blue hat, was a stark contrast to the dishevelled and wild Mary, still in her nightwear, her hair out of its pins and streaming down her back.

  “Tilly! Oh my God, Tilly!” Mary was crying out, her voice breaking. “She’s alive!”

  LANE WAITED PATIENTLY in the post office for Ames to return with the letter, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might want to use the telephone, and thinking about her meeting with Dunn. She felt as she had sometimes after a mission in which she had had very little sleep. Dazed and emptied. Her initial despair had turned to a dull grey ache that permeated every part of her body. She could not seem to muster a single thought to save herself. It had seemed utterly clear when Angus was talking, persuading, his voice and manner all reasonableness. His deep timbred tone delivered a message of such inevitability that her anger just washed against it like waves against a rock cliff. She played through her interview with Dunn over and over, as if sooner or later some gleam of hope would shake loose.

  “It would be just a short-term assignment. We’re hardly asking you to go under as a spy. We just need someone who can make a few contacts inside for us. You’d be quite free when the job is done.”

  Lane doubted that. “Why can’t you leave me alone? I’m asking you again, have you engineered this ridiculous business with Darling just to get at me?” She had felt rage, fuelled by a growing sense of her own powerlessness.

  “Don’t be absurd. That is another matter entirely. Here’s the thing, Miss Winslow”—he had said this with an exaggerated show of courtesy—“the Soviets will trust you because of your father. During the war, when we were all chums, he had contacts that were quite high up. It would be dashed useful to cultivate some of these relationships.”

  Lane had been silent. She was being asked to exchange her freedom for Darling’s. She had heard her father’s clipped and superior tone in her head: “You should try to develop the seat your sister has. She’s magnificent on a horse.” She felt herself being pulled down and down, back into the Special Branch, back into the tension of a life she had chosen only because it was her contribution to the war effort, back further, to the father who had disliked her and preferred her sister. A sister who was now living a life of her own choosing in South Africa. The utter unfairness of it all had struck her forcefully.

  “These charges against him are nonsense. Where did they come from?”

  “My dear,” Dunn had said, shrugging, “quite legitimately from a man who saw him do it.”

  “You’re lying. It’s got your greasy fingerprints all over it. You’re using him to cover something up.”

  “Goodness, you are sharp. I’m quite pleased, really. We need girls like you.” His voice had hardened. “I’ll give you a day or two to think about it, and then I’m afraid I’ll need a definitive answer if I’m to find a way to help him out of his little troubles.”

  “I want to see him. Where have you taken him?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, but, as usual, you are engaging in an overdramatic interpretation of events. I haven’t taken him anywhere. His legal man and the police have perfectly good access to him, and are continuing the dance of defence and prosecution so necessary in our great judicial system.” Dunn had stood up and taken out a card. “You can reach me here on, say, Friday?”

  She thought about the card, now sitting like a bomb in her handbag, and felt as unwilling to touch it as if it were coated in cyanide. Then, she realized, something had shaken loose. Higgins and the detective . . . she struggled to remember his name, Sims, that was it, had access to Darling. Higgins she knew had nothing, but Sims . . . she had not met him. He could be just tightening up the case against Darling . . . why not? What had he got to lose? Or he could be someone who really wanted to get it right. She had not been encouraged by Darling’s description of his first meeting with Sims. He’d come in utterly confirmed in his belief in Darling’s guilt. Either way, she would have to find him and talk to him.

  She would make notes of questions she would put to him, and anything she ought to share with him from her visit to Norfolk with Sandra . . . perhaps a witness dying mysteriously would interest him.

  LANE WAS RECALLED from reliving her ghastly visit with Dunn by the sound of Ames on the line. “Miss Winslow, Got it! I haven’t opened it yet. I thought I’d better do it in your presence, as it were. Would you like me to read it to you?”

  “Fire away, Constable.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “BELTON, IS THAT YOU?” WATSON had pulled the telephone receiver into the sitting room and was watching the street cautiously from behind the drapes. Anthony had gone to work, but he was nervous. He had to try to make this call after Belton got home from his job, whatever it was, but before Anthony got back.

  “Yes.”

  “Watson here.”

  “Ah. I thought you sounded familiar.” He was suddenly cautious. “What is it?”

  “I’m not quite sure how to put this. Has anyone been to see you about the crash?”

  There was so long a silence at the other end of the line that Watson was going to ask if Belton was still there.

  Finally, “Why?”

  “Well, someone has been to see me. And I think someone’s talked to Neville Anthony. I saw him for a drink the other night. He’s not saying anything, and I was told not to say anything. Not to anyone, not even a member of our crew.”

  “Yes.” Belton was non-committal.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Belton asked. He sounded nervous.

  “Oh come off it, man. Has someone seen you or not? I don’t like all this secrecy, especially since that girl came round. Neville is sitting on something as well.”

  “What girl?”

  “A nice-looking girl. Said she was looking for information about the crash because they were reviewing the file or some damn thing. I asked her for identification, and then she just blurted out that Darling had been charged with murder and she was trying to reach everyone who was there that night.”

  “What? The skipper?” Belton said.

  “She never came round to see you?”

  “Certainly not. I would have sent her away with a flea in her ear, I can tell you. What a ridiculous idea. Who’s he meant to have murdered?”

  “Evans. See, I thought that as well. I thought Evans was badly wounded. Neville helped drag his body back to where we were. He would have seen. Damn. I should have asked him, only . . .” It didn’t do to let on that Anthony actually lived on the Bromley Road with him. Or, and it came to Watson just now, that Nev had said nothing when he’d reported his outrage that Darling had been charged with Evans’s death. Hadn’t Nev seen how badly Evans had been hurt? He could set them straight. But Nev had said nothing and was increasingly away from home, drinking Watson knew not where.

  There was another silence at the other end of the line and then the sound of a chair scraping along a wood floor.

  “Something is wrong. I had some man come round a few weeks ago and bring that damn crash up right out of the blue. Said I was not to discuss it with anyone. When I asked why, and what the hell it mattered after all this time, he said it was confidential, and I was obligated under official secrets to keep quiet if anyone came round. I agreed because he looked official, but I was pretty puzzled about the whole thing. Why should this be coming up now? Didn’t Darling do a report on it?” Belton asked.

  “I had the same visit,” Watson said. “We
must all have. Anthony, you, me, probably Salford. I should ring him. It’s ridiculous we can’t talk to each other. The man really put the wind up me, I can tell you, with his official secrets. Said I could be arrested. I was really frightened when the girl came round. How long has it been? Nearly four years now, and suddenly all this hush-hush business. And now I am beginning to think there’s someone following me. I think I will give Salford a call.”

  “Too late, I’m afraid. I saw a notice in the obits. He died less than a fortnight ago. Some sort of accident.” Belton said.

  “Good God, I hadn’t heard. Poor devil. He was married I think, but I don’t know of any children.”

  “I don’t want to sound ridiculous,” Belton said nervously, “but should we be worried? I mean, what sort of accident, I’m wondering now.”

  Watson had looked away from the window and now looked back and saw Neville approaching the house. What had Belton said? Well, it didn’t matter. “Someone’s at the door. I have to go.” He hurriedly went back into the hallway and hung up the receiver just as the key went into the door. He went across into the kitchen and leaned over the sink, trying to catch his breath. He remembered now what Belton had said. We should be worried, he thought, we absolutely should.

  “YOU’RE LIKE THE flaming king of England,” the guard said. He didn’t even bother with the cell window, but opened the door right up. “Another visitor. I never thought Canadians could be this much trouble. Thought you were a mild-mannered people.”

  “We are, but only in our native habitat. Who is it this time?”

  “Might be your brief. Short man. Can I have that book when you’re done?”

  “You can. Shall I tell you who did it?”

  “Very funny. I’ll give you an extra fifteen minutes.”

  HIGGINS WAS LOOKING more worried than usual. “Ah. Thank goodness. You’re alive anyway,” he said, shaking Darling’s hand.

  “I should hope so. I’m mighty relieved to see you. That inspector came to see me twice. Once to try to bully a confession out of me, and then again asking me to go through the whole crash. I must say I felt a bit hopeful about that. Has something developed? Is that why you’ve been allowed to see me?”

  “I’m not sure. I went to the Canadian High Commission to ask them to pressure the Home Office to tell us where you were, and I just got a note delivered to chambers saying I could see you here. It’s a blasted nuisance to have to motor all the way up here.”

  “Have you talked to that inspector, Sims?”

  “No. I telephoned him and left a message, but he’s apparently relocated to the War Office. They’ll pass it on. I expect I’ll get a call late today or tomorrow. I hope you’re right about him. Right now we’ve not much to hang on to.”

  “What about Miss Winslow? Will she be allowed to see me?”

  “I thought she had been. She got notice that she could see you. She hasn’t been?”

  “No. When was this?”

  “A day ago or so. Oh, and of course, you weren’t to know. She and Mrs. Donaldson went to see Salford up in Norfolk, but he’d died. Some sort of rail accident. Apparently his missus was a mess. A bit paranoid. She thought someone had been in the house. Probably nothing taken, thought she thought a letter was missing. Miss Winslow made much of something she said. Apparently the Salfords had been in Paris in the spring, and he thought he saw a fellow crew member and was very surprised. Then it turned out it was just someone who resembled him. According to Miss Winslow he got a bit funny after that. Anyway. We’ll never know. Poor fellow got knocked over by the local train.”

  Darling frowned. “That by itself might not mean much, though I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good man,” he said. Why hadn’t Lane been to see him if she had received permission? Then he looked intently at his lawyer. “Higgins, you’ve got to keep her from meddling. She’ll put herself in danger before you know where you are.”

  “If I’m honest with you, I don’t see how anyone can stop her. I confess I was a bit worried she’d be in the way, but she’s been very resourceful. We were turned away from the War Office empty-handed, and the woman officer we saw slipped her what we came for on the QT, the addresses for the other airmen. Can’t think why, but there you are.”

  “She said she was going to find people the minute they got the addresses, but this thing with Salford dying puts a new complexion on it.”

  “She did get a start on it but was cautious enough to take Mrs. Donaldson with her. She was a bit shaken about Salford. She put it together with Watson behaving so strangely. I still think she’s making a bit too much of these circumstances.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” Darling stood up and paced, his hands in his pockets. “She’s got good instincts. She’s . . . she’s helped me with one or two things. But she will absolutely go haring off if she thinks she can help me. You’ve got to stop her. She’ll put herself in danger without thinking twice about it. I mean it.”

  “I understand your concerns, Darling, but we’ve got bigger problems if we can’t find a way to get you off. If you’re going to be fussing, I’ll make sure she’s got me or someone else with her. How’s that? It sounds like I should find Sims. What you’ve said about him is the only sliver of light we’ve had. I’m assuming there’ll be no trouble with me coming here again. Though I wish they’d move you closer. The petrol alone . . .”

  “Yes, sorry about that. Don’t come unless you absolutely have to. They’ve been feeding me and giving me ghastly penny dreadfuls to read. I won’t say I’m not worried, I am. But I just can’t, I suppose, bring myself to believe that they’ll hang me for something I didn’t do.” Darling stood up as Higgins was collecting himself to leave. “Well, thanks, Higgins. If there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, I’m sure you’ll find it.”

  “Humph. At this rate it’ll be . . .”

  “I know,” sighed Darling. “The train . . .”

  LANE LEANED AGAINST the rail across the street from the War Office. She was holding the letter, which she had copied verbatim, asking Ames to stop and repeat several times, and now she looked at her watch. It was nearing four. Would he come out by the main door? She did not want to go in, fearful of meeting someone she knew. She hoped to waylay him as he went home for the day. She shook her head. It was ridiculous. She had no idea what he looked like. Should she try to find Captain Hogarth? It was a risk. Anyone new brought in to a situation, the full dimensions of which she could barely understand, would be a risk. Finally identifying that her real fear was another meeting with Dunn, she cast that aside. He did not have offices here, and she hadn’t got much time.

  “I’d like to see an Inspector Sims,” she said to the man at the reception window. He glanced up at her, lingered for a moment, and then looked down at his list.

  “I’d like to help you, love, but he’s not on my list.”

  “I believe he might be one of the men from the Yard that’s been seconded over here. Is there a set of offices where they work?”

  He shook his head and smiled genially at her. “You’re a pretty little thing. Can anyone else help you? Me for example,” he looked her up and down.

  “I’ll see Captain Hogarth, please,” she said, ignoring him.

  The man looked down his list and then picked up the phone, winking at her. “You can sit over there.”

  Relieved to be out of leering range, Lane sat and reread the letter. This was it, really. This is what had begun it all.

  Dear FL Darling,

  You’ll be surprised to hear from me. I’ve not contacted any of the old team since the war ended. I just wanted to get on with my life, if I’m honest. The thing is, I’ve had a very odd thing happen, and I knew you’d want to know because I know how broken up you were about Jones and Evans. I know you blamed yourself, though certainly no one else did. The thing is, I was in Paris a couple of weeks ago with the wife, and I could swear Jones was in the Tuileries drinking coffee. It was an awful shock, I can tell you. I went right up to him and said, “Jo
nes, is that you?” And the man just looked at me with a blank stare and came back at me with French.

  I tell you, Darling, it was him, large as life and dressed in a very expensive suit, what’s more. I know him as well as I know my own name. I beat a polite retreat, of course. He must have his reasons. I wondered if he’d had his memory knocked out of him in the crash and wandered off in the wrong direction, and the French picked him up and he just lived on, being someone else. I haven’t told anyone else. It’s his business if he wants to be a frog now, but I thought you should know. It might be one less thing you have to feel bad about.

  I hope you are well, old chap. If you ever come back across the pond, I hope you’ll come visit. The wife has heard every story about you there is to tell. She’d be thrilled to meet you!

  Until then, very best

  Harold Salford, wireless man, as was.

  “MISS WINSLOW?”

  Lane looked up at Captain Hogarth, who was smiling down at her. She jumped up.

  “Captain Hogarth. Thank you for remembering my name. I don’t think I gave it to reception. I’m sorry about being unannounced, only I . . .”

  The captain was shaking her head, and pointing toward the door into the main offices. “Come in. We can discuss whatever it is in private. He’s an awful piece of work, isn’t he?” She whispered as they passed the reception window. “It’s only because I outrank him by several layers that he treats me with any respect.”

  “I suppose men have had a hard time accepting women into the officer’s corps, or the ranks, for that matter,” Lane observed.

  “Oh, they’re all right, most of them. Good thing about the army is that your rank must be respected. Of course some resent it. But men died in the war, and we moved up.” She ushered Lane into the office they’d occupied the week before. “Now, how can I help?”

  “First I must thank you for your help the other day, I . . .”

  “Rubbish. Think nothing of it. I could see that pompous little man you were with wasn’t going to let you peep. I suddenly thought, why not. I’ll show him. Besides . . . the work you did . . . But there, we’ll draw a veil, shall we? Now then.”