The Legacy l-1

by Lynda La Plante

  ‘And that, sir, is the truth. I was with Freedom Stubbs the night he is supposed to have killed Willie Thomas, and I’ll stand up in court and say so.’

  The inspector tapped his pipe and began to scrape at the bowl. He chose his words carefully, because asking this tall, stiff young woman if she was ‘familiar’ with the gypsy was a delicate matter.

  ‘I know him only as someone who helped me on the night of the rape, that is all.’

  The inspector felt she was withholding something, she knew more than she admitted, but he had to take her statement and pass it to his superiors. The statement took an hour and fifteen minutes to complete, and Evelyne’s meticulous handwriting and perfect spelling impressed everyone.

  ‘I see you’ve put no address down, Miss Jones, where are you residing in Cardiff?’

  Unable to think of where she would stay, Evelyne bit her lip. A large poster behind the inspector caught her eye — it was an advertisement for a charity ball at the Grand Hotel.

  ‘I’ll be at the Grand, Sir.’

  He looked at her for a moment then carefully wrote down the name of the hotel.

  ‘Will Mr Stubbs be released now?’ Evelyne’s innocent question made them laugh, it wasn’t as simple as that. The man was charged with murder and one statement was not good enough. There were, after all, three more murders with Freedom Stubbs the main suspect in each case. ‘Will I be allowed to see him?’ The men flicked sly glances at each other and then back to Evelyne, looking at her from top to toe. One of the uniformed men said it could possibly be arranged.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Miss Jones, and we will contact you at the Grand Hotel if we feel it is necessary.’

  As Evelyne walked out of the office, she heard a chuckle behind her and the inspector speaking to one of the officers, ‘I’m sure Miss Jones will be at the Grand, lads, I’m sure.’

  She felt humiliated, and realized she had accomplished nothing, and they were laughing at her behind her back. She took a deep breath, decided she would have a good breakfast and think about what she should do next. She would have breakfast at the Grand, and book a room there.

  When she reached the Grand Hotel she realized why the inspector had been cynical about her staying there; it certainly lived up to its name. Even the steps up to the lobby were covered with thick-pile red carpet, and there was so much braid on the uniformed doorman’s jacket he looked in danger of being tied up in it permanently. He inclined his head to her, haughtily, and swung open the big brass doors with ‘The Grand’ painted on the glass in gold.

  Once inside, Evelyne felt even more overpowered by the ornate building. The lobby was busy with residents and porters everywhere, and a bellhop loudly calling a name, trying to deliver a telegram. The head clerk Mr Jeffrey, wearing an immaculate black jacket and pinstriped trousers, looked up sharply as Evelyne tentatively rang the bell on the desk.

  Evelyne almost dropped the cardboard suitcase when she saw the prices of the rooms. A heavy smell of perfume wafted past her nose, and a woman with two tiny parcels tied up with ribbon held her hand out languidly for her key. The clerk grovelled and bowed, placed a key into the kid-gloved hand and gave Evelyne a sidelong look.

  ‘Room twenty-nine, Lady Southwell.’

  Evelyne glanced down at the brochure and noted that

  her Ladyship had a suite on the third floor.

  ‘Do you have a room vacant on the third floor?’

  ‘The third floor is suites only, modom.’

  Evelyne was getting hot, a flush creeping up from her

  toes.

  ‘I’ll have a suite, then.’

  The suite was decorated in different shades of pink, the twin beds draped and canopied with tiny, fluffy pink mats beside them. The bathroom was huge, marbled, and more luxurious than any she’d ever seen in a magazine. Bath salts, courtesy of the hotel, stood in a neat row. The water smelt lovely and she stayed in the warm, scented bath until her skin wrinkled.

  Her scrubbed face shining, Evelyne walked through the lobby, aware of Mr Jeffrey’s scrutiny. She gave him a small, prim nod and nearly walked into a palm tree. A painted board on an easel announced the opening hours of the various dining-rooms.

  ‘The Grand Hotel is pleased to offer guests the choice of three dining rooms …’

  Evelyne chose the tearoom. The small tables were painted white and laid with white linen cloths, the upholstered chairs also in white, and there were potted palms scattered around the room. A trio played on a corner stand, and the few customers spoke in whispers.

  Evelyne selected a table at the far side which gave her a good view of the whole tearoom and the lobby from behind one of the palms. A waitress in a neat black dress with a frilled white cap, pinafore and cuffs promptly placed a menu in front of her. The toasted teacakes and pot of tea tasted better than anything she had ever made at home, with jams in tiny individual pots. Hot water was brought to freshen Evelyne’s teapot without her even asking, and she ordered another round of teacakes. She was loading butter on the hot bun when she heard a familiar voice.

  ‘My darling, forgive me, I’m late, but I simply couldn’t get away earlier, children’s wretched teaparty — have you ordered?’

  Evelyne peeked around the large potted palm to her right and saw Freddy Carlton just about to sit down at the next table. He seemed to have aged. His neat moustache was waxed at the ends, and he wore a pale blue shirt with a stiff white collar and narrow black tie with his brown pinstriped suit. She could just see a tiny gloved hand as Freddy raised it to his lips and kissed it as he sat down. Parting the thick leaves of the palm tree, Evelyne peered through.

  ‘We don’t have long, dearest, I have some shopping to do. I’ve ordered tea, are you hungry?’

  Evelyne let go of the palm. Lady Primrose laughed softly, and Evelyne saw Freddy lean closer to her. She was sure Freddy kissed her, and in public!

  ‘Is it you? I saw you from the staff door, is it you, Evelyne?’

  This time Evelyne was so startled that she yelped. There in front of her was Miss Freda with a large tray of toasted scones.

  ‘Shush, not too loud, yes it’s me, Miss Freda.’

  Freda beamed at Evelyne, her frizzy hair trapped beneath a frilled white cap.

  ‘I work here now, I’m not supposed to talk to the customers, but I will bring you over some cakes … shusssh … then maybe we can meet and talk, yes?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  Evelyne was thrilled to see Freda, but a little worried about Freddy and Lady Primrose, at the next table. Freda gave her a little wink and scurried to her customer’s table, getting a stern look from a stout woman with an enormous bosom who was taking up her position at the pay desk.

  While Evelyne eavesdropped on the conversation between Freddy and Lady Primrose, several waitresses passed her table, each depositing a cake in front of her with a wink. She ate her way through a piece of strawberry gateau, a cherry pie, and a large white meringue filled with fresh cream, and still they kept coming.

  Rising to his feet, Freddy leaned once more across the table.

  ‘Can we meet this afternoon? I can’t bear being apart from you, it’s been three whole days, will you call me and I’ll arrange a room?’

  ‘You’d better leave, darling, they’ll be arriving … I’ll call you, I promise.’

  Evelyne hid behind her napkin as Freddy walked past her table. One of the waitresses blocked him from view as she laid a paper bag by Evelyne’s plate.

  ‘Freda says for you to put the ones you can’t eat into this, but careful, she’s got eyes in the back of her head.’

  Evelyne looked at the woman behind the pay desk while the waitress cleared Freddy’s teacup. She slipped three cakes into her paper bag and put it beneath the table. As she raised her head she found the woman with the huge bosom looming over her.

  ‘Your bill, madam.’

  Had she been spotted? Evelyne flushed, but the woman pivoted on her heel and made her way around the room, de
positing more of the little pink slips on other tables.

  Freda sidled over to Evelyne. ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’m here, room twenty-seven … I mean, suite.’

  ‘Here? You are staying here? Well, I’ll see you later.’

  She whizzed away through the swinging kitchen door, thinking to herself that Miss Evelyne certainly must have more money than she knew what to do with.

  Holding her bag of cakes close to her side, Evelyne gave two shillings to the stern-faced woman with the bosom, and her sixpence change clattered down a chute. She struggled to get it out with one hand, afraid to lift the other to reveal the bag of illicit cakes.

  ‘Do come again.’

  Turning quickly away she bumped into Sir Charles Wheeler, who stepped aside and apologized then surveyed the room from behind his monocle. The cashier beamed and led him to a small booth, murmuring that she felt sure Sir Charles would find it suitable. He sat with his back to the room and opened a copy of The Times.

  Evelyne pressed the lift button and waited. The brass was so highly polished it was like a mirror, and she adjusted a stray curl of hair … then her heart stopped.

  David Collins strode in to the hotel, paused to smile at the manager, flicked his gloves off and walked towards the tearoom. He looked handsomer than ever, wearing the latest Prince of Wales single-breasted suit, a tie with a Windsor knot, and carrying a brown trilby. With an ingratiating smile the fawning cashier directed him to Lady Primrose’s table.

  The lift gates clanked open.

  ‘Do you want to go up? Madam, up?’

  The snooty bellhop doubled as lift attendant during teatime.

  ‘Third floor.’

  Evelyne stepped out of the lift and the boy nearly caught her coat as he slammed the gates shut behind her. On the carpet outside her room lay a newspaper, and looking up and down the corridor she saw that there was one outside each door. At least something was included in the price of the suite.

  The headline ran in big, black print: ‘Gypsy to stand trial for killings.’ Ed Meadows paid his twopence and opened the paper as he made his way to the tearoom.

  ‘Yes, have you booked a table?’

  Ed stared around the room then pointed to Sir Charles’ table. The cashier was aghast, the man looked dreadful in a shabby suit and down-at-heel shoes. She was about to stop him when Sir Charles laid down his newspaper, turned, and gestured for the new arrival to join him.

  ‘Well, guv, that’s the gyppo up the spout, you seen the ‘eadlines, they got ‘im not fer one murder but free … I dunno, what a bleedin’ waste.’

  Freda stood by the table as Ed looked over the menu. ‘You got eggs an’ bacon, somefink like that, eh?’

  Sir Charles raised his eyebrows and turned to Freda. ‘Welsh rarebit, for two please, and a pot of coffee.’

  Her legs aching, Freda moved off, jotting down the order as she went. She was tired and wanted to sit down, but she had hours to go yet.

  Ed leaned across the table. ‘I just come from Taffy and his manager’s place, the man was cut bad an’ I’d say it’ll open up again first bout he has, be at least five weeks before he’s healed up, an’ he’s pudgy, you know, not in good nick at all.’

  Sir Charles frowned. ‘You think the knockout was fixed, what?’

  Ed spread his chubby hands and sighed. ‘Guv, that gyppo could’ve ‘ad ‘im in round one, what a fighter, it’s tragic — it’s bloody tragic. Far as I could make out old Taffy was bleedin’ surprised to floor the gyppo ‘imself. Now, ‘is manager was givin’ me the old story, yer know, about Taffy’s bein’ famous for ‘is left uppercut, but I said, I said, do me a favour, mate, the punch was a wide, open-‘anded right, couldn’t ‘ave floored a flyweight wiv it, never mind a big’un like Stubbs.’

  Sir Charles mused, fiddling with his cutlery. ‘So … we forget about Taffy, what? He may be useful as a sparring partner, but I doubt anything else.’

  ‘You ask me, guv, ‘e’s ready fer the knacker’s yard. I got a theory, see the ‘eadlines? Now, yer know the police was after ‘im — what if he got tipped off and done a runner, like? Hadda go down ‘cause ‘e knew the law was on to ‘im? That’s the way I sees it.’

  ‘Either way, old chap, we come out the losers. Pity, really felt that fellow Stubbs was champion material, damned shame, but then these gyppo fellows are not to be trusted … Ah, jolly good, breakfast!’

  Freda placed the Welsh rarebits in front of them. Ed stared in horror. ‘Gor blimey, what in hell’s name is this?’

  Freda put down the coffee-pot and a jug of hot milk.

  ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  Sir Charles nodded, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Try it, Ed, it’s quite tasty.’

  Ed poked at his plate, then sighed. ‘Fair breaks me ‘eart. What a fighter, they’ll ‘ang ‘im … We goin’ back ter London then, guv?’

  Sir Charles carefully cut through his toast. Yes, they would return first thing in the morning, he had some relatives he might call on. Ed looked at the orchestra and began to hum along, ‘Tea for two …’ Then he took an enormous mouthful of rarebit, chewed and pulled a face.

  ‘Sooner the better, I’ve ‘ad enough of Wales, Welsh rabbits an’ all … can’t taste any meat in this, more like cheese ter me.’

  ***

  During her lunch break Freda went to Evelyne’s suite. She took a great interest in the furnishings, then flopped down on one of the single beds, exhausted. To Evelyne she seemed happy-go-lucky as she related, with little shrugs, the story of her business failing and the fact that she was working to save for another shop. Secretly, Freda wondered where Evelyne was getting the money to stay at the Grand. Perhaps she had some cash to spare, and they could go into partnership together.

  ‘So why are you here, Miss Evelyne? Ah, I know, you are getting married, is that it?’

  Evelyne laughed. ‘Far from it.’ She explained at length why she had come back to Cardiff, while Freda lay with her eyes closed, listening. She didn’t mention Jesse and Rawnie by name, just the basic facts of Willie’s murder.

  ‘I’m a witness you see, Freda, that’s why I’m here, I know he didn’t kill that boy. Freedom is innocent, and I want to help him.’

  Rolling over on the bed, Freda propped her frizzy head on her hands and scrutinized Evelyne. ‘But it is not just one killing, is it darling? Perhaps he did not kill this Willie boy in your village, but what of the three murdered here in Cardiff? Goodness, I’ve read terrible things, such scandal, everyone has been frighted, it’s like Jack the Ripper.’

  Freedom Stubbs was no Jack the Ripper, Evelyne told her.

  Recovering some of her energy, Freda sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. They didn’t reach the floor.

  ‘We shall go to see him, that is what we must do. But first, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, your dress is very drab, you must look smart, not like a schoolteacher, really smart … do you have the money for some clothes?’

  Evelyne answered evasively, not that sort of money, and studied her reflection in the mirror. Freda looked her up and down, she was so thin and had grown even taller. For a small price, she suggested, she could alter Evelyne’s clothes, perhaps they could buy some second-hand things.

  ‘You will feel more confident, and I can do it very cheaply, what do you say?’

  Smiling sweetly as Evelyne agreed, Freda took out a tape measure, saying that she never went anywhere without it. She departed with two pounds ten shillings of Evelyne’s money, assuring her she could do wonders with it.

  When she had left, Evelyne counted her remaining money. She had been ‘paid’ with two five-pound notes last time she had been in Cardiff, and now she was putting them to good use. As Freda had taken most of her few clothes to alter she couldn’t go out, so she lingered in yet another soapy bath, her thoughts on David. She wondered if he knew what was so obviously going on between his wife and his best friend Freddy.

  The following morning Evelyne was
astonished at how fast Freda had worked. Her hemlines were up, and the new buttons on her old coat made it look quite nice.

  ‘I will have a dress ready soon, your skirt and blouse will do for now, and perhaps if you can give me a few more shillings you can have a nice new hat.’

  The desk sergeant remembered Evelyne, but refused her permission to see Freedom. Miss Freda launched into a furious speech about citizens’ rights, and said that if he didn’t allow Miss Jones to visit the prisoner, she would write to all the newspapers. After that they were kept waiting for half an hour, but permission was granted. They were sent to another building, where again they were kept waiting, until a tall prison warder with a set of big keys on a waistchain approached them. ‘Miss Evelyne Jones, please?’

  He led her to a bare room where Freedom was sitting at a wooden table, handcuffed, an officer standing beside the door. Another officer stood outside, where he could see into the room through a small window set in the door for that purpose. Freedom had no idea why he had been brought out of his cell and sat, head bowed, staring at his hands. His hair was unruly, uncombed, and his face already dark with stubble.

  As the officer left he locked the door behind him, after informing Evelyne coldly that she had ten minutes. Freedom was stunned and made to rise, but was immediately pushed back into his chair by the officer. Evelyne sat in an identical chair opposite Freedom. Now that she was here she didn’t know what to say to him and could see that he was dumbstruck by her appearance. She could smell him, his heavy body odour, for the man had not been allowed to bathe since his arrest.

  His shoulder-length hair was greasy and hung limp, and when he lifted his hands to move it back from his face she could see his handcuffs.

  The presence of the police officer loomed over them both, and for a good two minutes neither said a word. Evelyne placed her hands, with the neat, square, shining nails, on to the table. ‘I have come to say you were with me the night Willie was in the picture house. They say in the papers that you’ll be standing trial for all the killings and that you’ll hang.’

  Freedom looked into her eyes, and then turned to look at the prison officer. His voice was so quiet, she had to lean forward to hear. ‘So be it, and I thank thee for coming, God bless you.’