A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller

by PR Hilton

  York was a bustling city and Royle didn't like being on show. The crowded pavement and constant traffic of cars and bicycles made him feel uneasy. He crossed the bridge over the river Ouse and decided to turn left and head further into the city. He had noticed gardens of some kind across the road but hadn't wanted to continue playing the tourist amid the sea of unknown faces. Not knowing who was looking at him, put the hunted man at an unfair disadvantage. Harry's face had been all too often on the front pages of newspapers and seeing the headlines linked to faces tends to stick in people's minds.

  He walked down Lendel, past the GPO office. The shops he passed meant nothing to him and his mind raced for a bolt-hole in which to hide until things quietened down. He knew he had money, though not a huge amount, still it was enough. He also knew he couldn't chance big hotels. He needed a room, just for a day or two and then he would head for London and home. He walked on, as Lendel gave way to Coney Street and then he took a left onto Market Street, pushing his way through the people crowding on the road and pavement. So many different shop fronts and names. He moved slowly, without purpose and only spurred on by the need to escape, but to where? He found himself standing on Parliament Street and walking down the oddly named Pavement.

  A sign on the left said The Shambles and he assumed that it would mean more market type crowds, he moved ahead onto Fossgate. Glancing up he noticed a pub sign, The Foss Arms. It was a tiny pub and he almost didn't go inside, as he thought it might be hard to leave in a hurry, but loud voices behind forced his hand and he pushed open the door. The public bar had enough people in it in which to blend in without being obviously out of place. Harry pushed his way to the bar and ordered a drink. The man behind the pumps pulled a pint with the practised ease and the public warmth of a man used to going through the motions. Harry paid and decided to sit in a corner away from the elbows at the bar. No one seemed to notice him and the talk had remained undisturbed by his quiet intrusion. Royle smoked and took his time with his pint of Yorkshire ale, which he found he liked. He decided that once again he would need a map, but now things were different and asking for a map, well people were more than a bit jumpy, with all the talk of German spies. Asking for a map might be like waving a red flag in front of a bull, not a good idea unless you like running and he was sick to his stomach of that.

  He was deep in thought when an abrasive voice made him look up.

  "You're new, what you here for? You not doing your bit Mr? No uniform, not injured are you? I'm Vera, by the way."

  Harry Royle looked up at the young woman standing over him. She was blonde courtesy of a peroxide bottle and he judged her to be in her early to mid-twenties, not unattractive, but brassy and harsh with it. Too much make-up and too much life, too soon, was Harry's personal opinion, but she could be useful. He smiled at her and indicated that she could sit down.

  "Not so loud, Vera. My name's Manley, Peter Manley and I'm here on the QT, you know, Hush Hush."

  With this, he touched his nose in a kind of ‘need to know basis' and she giggled. She sat down and made a big thing of smoothing down her skirt and trying her best to flash some stocking-top in the process. Offering to buy her a drink, Harry walked over to the bar and used the time it took to be served and return, to think things through. The next hour was spent in lies and petty flattery. By the end of the hour, the girl was much impressed with the mysterious Mr Manley and Royle liked that a great deal. Vera Watkins was a girl in love with adventure and Hollywood. He told her that he was on the way to a place he was unable to name for certain reasons and that he needed a room for a few days. Vera told him that she knew of at least one room on Granville Terrace that was going begging and agreed to walk him over there, as her flat was nearby on Thomas Street.

  Mrs Tanner was a no-nonsense kind of woman. She'd seen a lot of life and had lost a husband and two sons during the Great War. She stood on the top step eyeing up the newcomer. Harry had given the woman the same flannel he'd given to Vera and it appeared to work. She showed him to his room, just as soon as she'd got rid of the girl and closed the front door.

  "Now young man, I'm not so daft as some I could mention and you'll get nowhere with secret work talk. I didn't come down with the last shower. That Vera, well she's a bit what you might call fast and fancy-free and a bit too free and not fast enough, if you get my meaning. Still your life is just that. Looking at you, you look tired and in need of a good feed. I'll not ask too many questions, but will be keeping my eye on you, my lad, so mind your P's and Q's. Leave the soft talk for them as wants it and pay me in advance and we'll get along famously."

  Having not managed to get a word in edgeways, he swallowed his excuses, paid the woman her money and at teatime sat down to his first decent meal in months. Rene Tanner turned out to be a bit of an armchair philosopher and enjoyed putting the world to rights, particularly the BBC and what she called their la-di-da ways. Royle had practically jumped for joy when he discovered among his papers one covering his exemption from services, because of his flat feet and a weak chest. He had shouted a silent thank you to Johnny, Devon and the old Russian and had confessed all to Mrs Tanner during their meal together. Her eyes had lit up upon seeing the exemption certificate and her whole attitude had changed. They'd laughed about it once Harry had confessed to being embarrassed about his lack of manly attributes.

  He left his happy landlady later that evening and made his way back to the Foss Arms in search of a decent pint and a place to think through his next move. He had worked out that he would ask Mrs Tanner for a map the next morning, as she now seemed happy with his story. This time, he decided to avoid the public bar and go straight to the smoke room. Inside it looked to Royle as though it hadn't changed in an age and he smiled as his eyes took in the dark wooden interior and old solid furnishing. The fire flickered and crackled and he leaned through and ordered a pint.

  No sooner had he sat down at the small round table, than a pair of feminine hands covered his eyes. If it hadn't been for the odour of cheap scent, he would have reacted in a more violent manner. As it was, he simply pulled Vera's hands away sharply. The woman reacted badly and slumped into the opposite chair like a sulky teenager. Before he could say a word, the silence was interrupted by a large brutish man who had strode in from the public bar. The man obviously liked his own way, and he, like Vera had something of the teenager about him, despite being over thirty and standing a good two inches taller than Royle's six foot two. Harry noticed the man's dirty clothes and work boots and his hands as big as shovels. The newcomer looked as strong as he seemed slow. The big man took hold of Vera's shoulder and shoved her roughly.

  "What you playing at V, you know you're my girl and don't you ever forget it, messing with trash like him. What are you doing that for?"

  She aimed red-tipped fingernails at his cheek, but he ducked out of the way, so she hurled words instead. Words that were just as sharp and cutting.

  "Charlie when will you be told? I'm not your girl. I'm no ones, girl. I'm just having a good time, same as anyone. You are so damned stubborn, that's what you are."

  Harry, amused, sat back and watched.

  "You've always been mine and you know it, always."

  "Not since we were seven, seven years old, we were kids playing, Charlie, at Haxby Road school, not real, not ever real."

  Royle eased himself slowly out of his chair, as he noticed the man moving around the table towards him in a lazy circle. Suddenly Charlie lunged at Harry, who jumped backwards and out of his reach. Beer glass and table hit the floor as the big man leapt at Royle, his two huge fists seeking a target, a target they would never be nimble enough to find. Each time the man lunged, Harry ducked or weaved and instead of exchanging a blow, he would strike with a little slap. And each slap further enraged the man mountain. By this time the public bar had lost its small crowd to the smoke room, as they lined the walls hungry for decent entertainment. The charade played out for another few minutes, until tiring of it, Royle snatched a jacket
from the back of a chair and threw it over Charlie's head. With a swift push with his foot, Harry sent Charlie reeling over a corner table. Amid praise, laughter and friendly back pats, Harry pushed out through the street door and into the cold night air.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Vera had followed and she quickly linked his arm. Not wanting to draw attention, Harry moved quickly up Fossgate and allowed the blonde to steer him through the dark little streets. Within a few minutes, she was gently guiding him through the doors of the Picture House on Coney Street. He paid and she smiled. They silently took seats towards the rear and he lit up a cigarette.

  Vera seemed happy just to be sitting with him and so it didn't seem too much of a problem. Looking back to that night, Royle could never remember what film they had seen, all he remembered was the events of the next day. The evening had turned out all right and the woman hadn't been pushy. They had kissed and that too had been all right. She could certainly kiss and had obviously had plenty of practice, but he was happy to leave things with a kiss and a cuddle and no more. The comfort he needed, but beyond that, she was the wrong girl and he had Ruth on his mind. He had walked her towards the top of Thomas Street, kissed her goodnight and headed off to his own room.

  The next morning after breakfast he had asked about a map. Only to be told that his landlady had given it up with other paper for the last paper drive. York was in her head and so she had no need of maps. Harry had considered taking Vera out that evening. Mrs Tanner had told him that the De Grey Rooms were popular and that they were even on the BBC if that meant anything at all, which to her mind, it didn't.

  Not knowing which house Vera's flat was in, Royle decided to catch up with her in the pub later. He walked around and tried to get a feel for the little streets, looking in the shop windows as he passed. Later he found himself walking back in the direction of the station, having had a look at the Minster. There was a commotion ahead and Royle decided to investigate. It turned out to be a march past of those doing their bit. He caught sight of a group of women firefighters marching past what he now knew to be the Museum Gardens. The sight of all that patriotic eagerness hit a raw nerve and reminded him that he could and should have been marching off to do his bit, instead of ducking and diving to stay free. He despised his life, a life with no purpose. He spent some time in the Gardens, having turned away from the uniformed marchers after the noise had died down and the crowds had drifted away.

  Early afternoon found him sitting in the smoke room of the little pub on Fossgate. He had been drinking for about an hour with no sign of Vera when he heard raised voices from the public bar. He walked over and listened. It was a voice accustomed to asking questions and Harry knew it had to belong to a police officer. He leaned closer to the hatch and listened intently.

  "I will ask you again Sir, I need to know what time Vera Wakins left here last night and if she was on her own and also the whereabouts of Charlie Skeldrake and anyone else that might have been hanging around Vera the last few days? This is serious, the girl didn't go back to her lodgings last night."

  The voice, Royle now knew as the barman's, told the officer that he knew nothing of where either Charlie or Vera might be, but that she'd left with some new bloke who had only just started coming in. Harry tensed as he heard more questions answered. The barman remembered the girl telling this new man of a room going, over on Granville Terrace. The officer replied that he knew that would be old Mrs Tanner, as she'd taken down her sign and hadn't had a soul there in months. Harry Royle realised his own stupidity staying listening so long and eased away and quietly out of the door.

  He moved quickly towards Granville Terrace and his digs. It was just as he came in sight of the house, that he saw two uniforms standing outside the door waiting for an answer. Something made him head for Thomas Street, in the vain hope he might see Vera, but more uniforms were coming his way in the distance. Looking up he saw a bus, it was one of those small country buses. He jumped on and paid the fair to a place he'd only heard of in history, Stamford Bridge. He remembered vaguely that there had been an important battle there long ago, had it been Vikings? He couldn't remember, but at least he was out of the street. Picking up a stray copy of the local paper, he sat back and tried to relax, as the bus moved away from the area and any obvious sign of trouble. It might have only been just over nine miles away, but the journey seemed to take forever. The world at war appeared to have decided to be on a go slow, as far as Royle was concerned.

  Before he had gone inside everything had been one big rush. Now people just enjoyed the journey and chatted as though appointments didn't matter and death might be closer than ever before, but there were more important things for people to worry about. Harry mused that perhaps he was being unfair and judging with his mind set firmly on London behaviour, and anything else by comparison would seem to be at a standstill. Stretching his legs out, he noticed a pub, The Duke of York, he quickly decided that it might be a decent enough place to think things through and work out his next move. He supposed Hull might be a good place to make for.

  Harry Royle had often witnessed the scene in many a Hollywood western, where a good guy walks into a saloon and all conversation stops and every face turns to view the stranger. He had often seen this in films but never once had he expected to experience it in real life. As he allowed the heavy door to swing shut behind him, an obvious silence fell over the room. Faces looked straight at him and it took nerve for him to cross the scuffed wooden floor and order a drink. The man served him with a nod and Harry took the pint and sat down at a vacant corner table. He was glad to have brought the newspaper from the bus with him and hid behind it. No sooner had he done this, than the voices struck up conversations once more and all was as it had been before he'd made his grand entrance. He had been reading, well skimming the pages as slowly as he could and at the same time trying to come up with ideas. After about ten minutes the phone behind the bar rang. Harry jumped, startled, and hoped that no one else noticed. The barman answered it and after a brief conversation put down the receiver. He shouted across the room to one of the customers.

  "Hey, Ray you'll never believe what that lad of yours has gone and done now?"

  "What the hell's that bleeding Charlie done this time? I'll swing for that lad one of these days."

  "Snatched that Wakins girl, taken her off in his car and crashed the bloody thing out in the middle of nowhere."

  "He did bloody what? And with my bleeding petrol as well. She's not hurt is she? If she is…"

  "She's fine, tough as old boots that one, in fact by the sound of it, she's given him a right old leathering and the coppers are more interested in the petrol, and that's your department old lad."

  There was a good-natured peel of laughter rippling around the room, as Harry took in the meaning of the brief conversation. Ray got up and buying another half, sank it quickly and put on his coat to leave. The man joked with his friend behind the bar, who Royle now knew was called Tom that at least it hadn't been his car that Charlie had wrapped around a tree.

  Royle quickly followed the man out of the pub and once outside managed to get a lift back to York with him. It was later that same evening that Harry sat eating a hot meal with his landlady. His flight had gone completely unnoticed, as Vera had turned up just after the police started looking for her, so his odd behaviour had gone unseen and his cover was still intact. He had laughed inside when he'd realised that he had been running from himself. It was his own paranoia chasing him and if he wasn't more careful, he could end up jumpy and punch drunk. He knew that he had to relax and try to act naturally. He mentioned Vera and what had gone on to Mrs Tanner, who explained that not being one to gossip, she couldn't say anything. She then told him all she knew, because she could tell he was a decent sort and deserved to know the facts, as she saw them.

  The story was that Charlie had been far too drunk to do any harm to Vera and had simply scared her and got as far as a few miles into the country and run the ca
r off the road. She had a few cuts and bruises and a temper, but beyond that appeared to be in robust health. Mrs Tanner told Royle that the reason for the sudden concern was the fear that the young girl had been embraced by the arms of the Foss, which confused Harry, until she explained that a large number of people had fallen into the river Foss while under the influence, hence the tongue-in-cheek name of the pub. Harry's landlady still advised he steer clear of the girl but gave a smile which said she would be surprised if he took her advice.

  Two hours later found Royle walking alongside Vera on their way to the ballroom on St Helen's Square. Harry found Betty's very impressive and was more impressed that it was open late, reminding him of London and other days. The evening was pleasant and Vera proved to be a good companion, but there was no spark between them. Harry found her easy enough to be with but disliked her constant asking when he'd be going and to where. He was growing tired of all the hush-hush talk and was tempted to tell her the truth, just to get an honest reaction, but couldn't take the risk. His money was seriously getting low and he knew he would either have to run or get some cash quickly.

  Vera made his mind up for him when she casually mentioned that the police would need to have a quick word with him about the fight with Charlie. She said that it wasn't serious and she had told them that that it had all been Charlie, but coppers always had to cross their T's and dot their I's, so he'd have to call and see them, better that she said than to have them at old Ma Tanner's. With this, she had laughed at the idea. A sharp, brittle laugh that had got on Harry's nerves.

  Harry Royle had slept very poorly that night and by five in the morning had decided that it was time to get out of York. He knew that he was too hot to go straight back to London. He had hoped to get Vera to go with him as cover but now knew that this was a horse that wouldn't run. He had agreed the night before to a date at the De Grey Rooms, which sounded like a good place. Still he'd known when he made the date that it was one he would never keep. He had no plans, just a deep driving need to be gone from what he thought was a beautiful city and one he knew he wanted to see more of, but that would be another time and hopefully in better circumstances.