by Polly Heron
‘Know him, do you?’ asked the inspector. ‘Don’t bother denying it. It’s written all over your face.’
‘I don’t know him,’ Aaron said stiffly, ‘but he looked familiar. I’ve seen him somewhere, but I can’t think where.’
‘Very convenient.’
Aaron started to say, ‘It’s true,’ but what was the point? ‘You wanted me to see him,’ he realised. ‘You wanted to see if I recognised him.’
‘And you did. Thank you for confirming our suspicions.’
‘What suspicions? If you’d only tell me what’s going on—’
‘You aren’t doing yourself any favours, Abrams. This innocent act is wearing thin. What’s going on there?’
They both turned to look in the direction of the front of the police station as a loud voice – a child’s voice, but still jolly loud – was raised in a howl of fear and rage.
The moment they set foot inside the cop shop, Jacob clapped eyes on the man from Chorlton Green and all his worst fears swooped over him. Miss Watson and Mrs Atwood had just pretended to be kind, pretended to be taking him to see Mum, but really it was a plot to get him into the police station to be arrested. Hell’s bells and burnt toast, and every other swear word you could think of.
‘You tricked me!’ he howled. ‘You tricked me!’ He hardly knew what he was doing as he swung round and confronted Miss Watson. Her eyes were wide with shock. Well, bully for her. Had she really thought he would meekly let himself be handed over to the police. ‘You brought me here to be arrested. You – you…bitch!’
In the shocked silence that followed, a ripple ran through Jacob’s face, widening his eyes as he realised what he had said. ‘Bitch’ was a bad word, a Thad word. He had never said it before in his whole life, not even about a lady-dog, not even when he had had Thad there to protect him. Some words you just didn’t say and ‘bitch’ was one of them, and now he had said it, and in a police station an’ all.
Panic streaked through him and he tried to run. It was a stupid thing to do – he knew he didn’t stand a chance – but what else could he do? A hefty hand landed on his shoulder, sending fear streaming through his veins. Pure fear, dead cold. Tears burst out of him. Tears and snot and panic flew in all directions.
Then – different hands, a kind voice, Miss Watson’s voice filled with concern, even after what he had called her. Concern he didn’t deserve. He didn’t deserve anything. He was an bad ’un, like Thad. Aye, and he would end up in the reformatory, like Thad. Old Rostron would be glad to see the back of him.
And he had wanted to turn over a new leaf, he really had. He had wanted to leave all that stuff, all the Thad stuff, well and truly behind him. He had ached to be like Mikey. Mikey was good fun and everyone liked him and he had his head screwed on right. He would never have got himself into hot water like this.
Not like Jacob. Not like stupid, pathetic Jemima.
‘What’s all this?’ A copper loomed over him, cramming his gaze with tunic and gleaming buttons. ‘What d’you mean by coming in here and using foul language about a lady?’
‘I’m sorry, officer,’ said Miss Watson. ‘He’s with us. I don’t know what’s got into him.’
‘I’ll take him outside,’ said Mrs Atwood.
As Jacob turned towards the door and freedom, a gasp was wrenched out of him, dragging his lungs halfway up his gullet. He made a lunge for the door, but a hand swiftly pulled him round and he found himself looking, not at a tunic, but at a tweed jacket and waistcoat. He caught a whiff of tobacco. He didn’t dare raise his eyes.
‘Now this is interesting,’ the man said. ‘Who is this lad? He recognised the prisoner. It’s no surprise that Abrams recognised him, but this boy?’
Astonishment jerked Jacob’s head up. Behind the man he recognised from Chorlton Green was Mr Abrams, with a copper standing beside him in a way that suggested – nah, not possible. Mr Abrams couldn’t have done owt wrong.
The suited man gave him a little shake, not a hard one, but a meaningful one. A don’t-mess-with-me shake.
‘How do you know this man?’
For a split second, Jacob thought he meant Mr Abrams, but he didn’t. He meant the chap from the bench on the Green.
‘I – I don’t know him.’
‘Yes you do and don’t tell me otherwise. I saw you recognise him. I saw your eyes and mouth pop open. So tell me the truth. How do you know him?’
Jacob’s mouth twisted as he chewed his lip. How could he get out of this?
‘Come on, son,’ said the man. ‘I’m a police inspector and you’re obliged to tell me the truth. We know about the thefts. We know about Hobart Carstairs – or Bunny, as you probably call him.’
‘Bunny?’ It came out as a squeak. Really? Bunny? Behind the thefts?
‘And we know the part played by Bill Thompson here.’
Bill Thompson: the man from the Green? Jacob squirmed. He had to escape, but he was trapped. If he had never followed Thad’s lead in the first place, Shirl would never have picked on him, and he wouldn’t be here now. A great wave of fear and guilt washed over him. He didn’t understand what was happening; he didn’t care what was happening. All he knew was that he would end up in the reformatory.
If Shirl didn’t kill him first.
Molly rushed to Jacob as he threw himself into a corner and slid down the wall into a sobbing heap on the floor. She tried to put her arms round him, but he shook her off.
‘I’m Inspector Woods,’ said the plain-clothed officer, ‘and I want to question this boy.’
With a howl, Jacob scrambled to his feet and huddled close to Molly.
Vivienne stepped forward. ‘Not without an adult who is known to him.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Aaron.
‘You’re under suspicion yourself,’ said one of the policemen.
Aaron? Under suspicion? That was another shock to contend with. Aaron was the most steadfast, trustworthy man she knew. How could anyone suspect him of anything? Suspect him of what?
Putting her arms around Jacob, Molly offered, ‘I will.’
‘You helped save Cropper,’ Jacob wailed, ‘but you can’t help me, Miss Watson. No one can.’
Molly intercepted looks flying in all directions between the various adults; not as Jacob’s supporters on one side and the police on the other, but as baffled, concerned adults in the presence of a distressed – no, a distraught child.
But Vivienne murmured to her, ‘It’s better if I do it.’ To Inspector Woods, she said in her clear, confident manner, ‘I’m Mrs Atwood from the Board of Health. This child is Jacob Layton, whose family is known to me. I’ll remain with him for now, but you may not question him until Mrs Rostron arrives. She is—’
‘I’m aware of who she is, thank you. A sensible woman. Fetch her, would you, Constable Timms?’
‘You’ll find her at the Bowling Green,’ said Vivienne, ‘but she might not be immediately available, as she’s with Daniel Cropper, who came close to losing his life last night. Miss Watson, would you kindly fetch Jacob’s mother? She ought to be here too. She has yet to be reunited with her son, Inspector. Moreover, as his mother, she should be present while you question him.’
Molly remembered Mrs Layton from yesterday evening. ‘Mrs Layton might be a little emotional.’
‘A hysterical mother is the last thing we need,’ commented Inspector Woods.
‘On the contrary, sir,’ said Vivienne, ‘a hysterical mother is precisely what this situation calls for. Her presence will provide a constant reminder to you that you are dealing with a child.’
The door opened and another policeman walked in. ‘The van’s here to take the prisoner.’
With a shriek, Jacob hurled himself across the confined space towards the door, and straight into a burly copper just the other side of the threshold, who propelled him back in.
‘What have you done, son?’ the burly copper asked with a grin. ‘Pinched an apple off the market?’
Inspector Woo
ds had clearly had enough. He barked out orders in all directions. ‘Get Thompson out of here. The sooner he’s locked away on remand the better. Mrs Atwood and young Layton, sit on those chairs over there. Constable Burton, guard the door. If that young whippersnapper gets to his feet, sit on him.’ This was said with a kindly glance in Jacob’s direction, but Jacob was hunched over as if he had stomach-ache. ‘Sergeant, get Mrs Layton’s address from these ladies and bring her here, then bring Mrs Rostron as soon as she’s free. Miss Watson, please remain here. I need a statement from you about last night.’
‘If you can wait for your statement,’ Molly suggested, ‘why don’t I go and sit with Danny Cropper, so Mrs Rostron can come here at once?’
‘Very well.’
Molly glanced at Aaron, seeing frustration and concern in the taut lines of his body and the darkness in his eyes. He hadn’t been offered the chance to help. What was he suspected of doing?
Chapter Thirty-Four
IT WAS ROTTEN of her to think it, but this upheaval over the Layton child, and the way Vivienne and Miss Watson were all gingered up over it, made it easier for Prudence to introduce the idea of Vivienne’s being the daughter of her long-lost friend. It removed some of its impact.
Patience, of course, was thrilled, all the more so because she had met Elspeth all those years ago when she had travelled up to Loch Lomond for that holiday to see Prudence in her new surroundings. Patience’s delight, as touching as it was, was also painful to witness, but Prudence firmly set her guilt aside. This was a time for celebration, even if the true nature of the celebration had to remain a secret.
‘How did you work it out?’ Miss Watson wanted to know. ‘Vivienne said it just emerged through conversation.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time to discuss that later,’ Prudence replied. ‘I want to hear more of this rescue in which you were involved. What were the boys doing at the brook in the first place?’ Should she be ashamed of exploiting their misadventure? ‘I want you to know, Miss Watson,’ she added, ‘that I’m proud of you.’ And that wasn’t diversionary tactics. It was the plain truth.
As for Lucy – well, actually it was difficult not to feel a flicker of amusement. The child had been so self-absorbed that she was almost miffed at Vivienne’s supposed new identity and the incident by the brook. Honestly, did she expect all attention to be locked on her? Maybe it would make her view her position in a more realistic way. Maybe.
After tea, Prudence walked to the newsagent’s and sat in the little booth to place a telephone call to Lawrence to ask him and Evelyn to come round in the morning.
‘What’s wrong?’ he barked down the line. ‘Is it Lucy?’
‘It isn’t something to discuss over the telephone.’ Operators weren’t permitted to listen in, but one never knew.
‘We’ll be there in half an hour.’
‘Lawrence, wait—’
But he had hung up, leaving her to hurry home at an unladylike trot to prepare the household for the inevitable explosion.
‘If you wait upstairs, Lucy dear,’ said Patience, ‘Aunt Prudence and I will tell Mummy and Daddy for you.’
But Lucy said, ‘Thank you, Auntie Patience, but no. This is for me to do.’
‘Well!’ Prudence exclaimed. ‘What a turn-up for the books. I’m gratified to see you have some backbone.’
Lucy pursed her lips in something approaching a pout. ‘I’ve had backbone all along. How else could I have held out against naming the father?’
‘That’s not backbone,’ said Prudence. ‘That’s pure idiocy.’
Mother: Prudence Winifred Hesketh. Father unknown.
Who was she to talk? But it had been different for her. Her decision hadn’t stemmed from idiocy. It had been her only possible course of action.
When Lawrence and Evelyn arrived, Lucy faced them alone in the sitting room. Prudence set up the typewriters on the dining table and laid out her teaching notes, but her ears were flapping. Not that it would have taken much effort to hear Evelyn’s howl of distress.
Patience flinched. ‘Ought we to go in?’
‘Not yet. We should give them as much time as we can before lessons.’
‘How are we supposed to concentrate on teaching?’
‘We must. Our pupils rely on us.’
But Vivienne solved that problem.
‘Will you allow Molly and me to do the lessons tonight? We’ll do everything here in the dining room, so you can be as long as you need to in the sitting room.’
‘We appreciate the offer,’ Prudence began, ‘but—’
‘Good. That’s settled.’ Vivienne smiled brightly. ‘We’ve written notes about some made-up problem families and we’ll discuss them as if we’re in a meeting, while the girls have a go at writing minutes. Please let us do this for you.’
The breath caught in Prudence’s throat – goodness, when was the last time that had happened to her, if ever?
Shortly before their pupils arrived, Prudence and Patience joined Lawrence’s family.
Lawrence swung round, confronting them as if this was their fault.
‘She won’t tell us who the father is.’
Evelyn touched her temple as if warding off a bad head. ‘Lawrence, don’t, please. We’ve been over and over this. We have to decide what to do.’ Her normally complacent features mashed together.
‘If she won’t name the father, we can’t have a wedding,’ said Lawrence. He loomed over Lucy, who shrank into the depths of the armchair, fingers clutching the arm-rests. ‘It was Eric Fordyce, wasn’t it – wasn’t it?’
‘Lawrence, stop!’ Evelyn insisted. ‘How many more of our friends’ sons are you going to accuse? She isn’t going to tell us and our haranguing her doesn’t help.’
‘She’ll have to go back to that home Prudence found,’ Lawrence declared.
‘Daddy…’ Lucy whispered.
‘You can’t come home with us,’ said Lawrence. ‘What would the neighbours say? Not to mention that I won’t have Felicity contaminated by this. That leaves…’ He glared at Prudence.
‘Maskell House,’ she supplied.
‘But, Daddy, Aunt Prudence didn’t want to leave me there.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Lawrence demanded.
‘Nothing that I could see.’ Prudence spoke mildly. Normally Lawrence’s raised voice was guaranteed to bring out her sarcasm, but not today. ‘I’m sure it’s eminently suitable.’
‘Then that’s where Lucy will go.’
‘You’re her parents and it’s your decision, of course,’ said Prudence, ‘but there is another possibility. Leave her here – for now, at least.’
‘Oh, Prudence.’ Patience’s hand crept across and touched hers.
Prudence grasped her sister’s hand warmly. ‘Let her stay for as long as is feasible. Provide her with some clothes that are on the large side, to conceal her condition. When is she due?’
‘She says December,’ said Evelyn. ‘Apparently…it happened only once.’
‘Only!’ muttered Lawrence.
‘Mummy!’ squeaked Lucy.
‘What do you say?’ asked Prudence. ‘May she stay here?’
‘Why would you have her?’ Lawrence demanded. ‘You, of all people, Prudence. You’re so judgemental. I should have expected you to sling us all out with instructions never to darken your doors again. You’ve always been so quick to point out what’s right and wrong, especially as it applies to other people’s behaviour.’
‘Sometimes it isn’t a question of right and wrong,’ said Prudence. ‘Sometimes it’s simply a matter of doing the best you can.’
After church, Molly was due at Mum’s for Sunday dinner, but first she went to Norris’s house, where Mrs Hartley, a frilled apron protecting her Sunday best, answered the door, flinching a little as she saw who it was.
‘Molly, this is a surprise.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Hartley.’
‘I don’t know about that, about it being good, not after the
way you’ve treated our Norris.’
‘I’ve come to see him. Is he in?’
‘Want to get back together, do you?’
‘Please, I need to speak to him.’
‘Who is it, Mother?’ Norris appeared in the narrow hallway. ‘Oh – Molly.’ His chin jutted forward. ‘What brings you here?’
Molly frowned. It looked like… ‘What happened to your eye?’
‘Nothing. Silly accident. I walked into a door.’
‘Can I have a word, please? In private.’
Mrs Hartley tossed her greying head. ‘Don’t mind me.’ She retreated along the hallway to the kitchen.
‘May I come in?’ asked Molly.
‘I suppose so. It’s better than standing on the step. The fewer people who see you, the better.’
‘Norris!’
‘Well, what did you expect after the way you were carrying on last time I saw you?’
Molly started to object, but changed it to, ‘Are you going to let me in, then?’
He stood back to permit her to walk in. There was a pause before the door shut behind her. Had he just stuck his head outside to see if they were being watched? She didn’t want to know. Without waiting to be invited, she went into the front parlour, stopping in the centre to turn round.
‘This won’t take long, but it is important. I want your assurance that you won’t tell anybody else about what happened to me during the war.’
‘I’ve already given that assurance to Tom and your dad. There was no need for you to send them round, you know.’
‘I didn’t. Tom wanted to come – and I imagine Dad did too.’
‘And what d’you mean by asking if I’ve told anybody else? You think I’ve been going round telling all and sundry, do you? Well, I haven’t. I haven’t told anyone at all.’
Relief trembled through her. ‘Apart from Aaron – Mr Abrams?’
‘Aaron, is it? Very cosy. You swore there was no one else.’
‘And it was the truth. Not that it’s any of your business, Norris. We aren’t engaged any more.’
‘Oh aye, you made that very clear. Canoodling in public, I ask you.’
‘We weren’t canoodling. I was upset and he was comforting me. There’s no need to look like that. It’s true. Come on, Norris. You know me better than that.’