Friendship's Bond (37 page)

‘Do no damage to try.’

‘You said you wouldn’t say anything to Leah!’

‘Nor will I . . . at least not until I try the idea out at Hill Rise where Leah won’t see, then if it works I’ll claim the whole thing came from me. Now while you store the rest of those portions in the cool cupboard I’ll take this lot along to the scullery for scrubbing, then perhaps you might offer a man a cup of tea.’

Chapter 33

She had given Edward Langley his cup of tea. Watching his cart leave the yard Ann felt a twinge of guilt. He had helped with the scouring of dairy utensils, had even returned them to that building while she scalded tea in the pot waiting on the hob. Had it been so obvious she wished to be left alone? He never refused a second cup from Leah. She had tried to be conversational but her mind had continually turned to the question of the newspaper and what it might contain. If she were alone she could snatch a moment to look through its pages. If there was anything of significance she could read it before Leah returned from making deliveries. She had liked to do this for herself a couple of times a week saying it kept her in touch with folk and Alec, as usual, had gone along with her.

Edward Langley had thanked her for the drink and for a moment it had seemed he would say something else, but then he had turned abruptly and left without a backward glance. He thought her rude, her attitude unfriendly. Ann sighed. He could be forgiven for that but who could forgive her?

Back in the living room she took the paper Edward had left and placed it on the table. The title page was filled with news of the offensives being launched by Allied troops, of every hard-won step. Ann briefly closed her eyes, thinking how every victory demanded its price, one paid by the lives of men and the heartbreak of families left behind. Had Alec’s parents paid that price? Ann turned page upon page, her glance passing rapidly from headline to headline searching without knowing what she looked for. And then she saw it.

A small paragraph tucked in a corner of the centre page carried the heading; R
ussian
R
oyal
F
amily
, N
ew
P
roceedings
.

Ann’s eyes flew over the lines of print.

It is reported the ex-Tsar, his family and a few retainers currently being held in a house in Yekaterinburg are to be tried by the Presidium of the Divisional Council.

A few retainers! Ann stared at the words. No one was named, no indication of who those people were. This latest news to come out of Russia told Alec no more than any of the accounts he had read before.

‘What are you reading?’

Ann felt colour rise to her cheeks at Alec’s quiet question. How could she tell him she was looking for what he had not shared with herself and Leah the night before?

‘Edward . . . Mr Langley . . .’ She hesitated awkwardly. ‘Leah forgot to buy her newspaper last night so he brought across his copy.’ Then glancing across his shoulder towards the scullery she asked, ‘Where is Leah?’

‘She decided to spend a little time with Mrs Carter, the death of the woman’s son is still of much grievance to her. Grandmother Leah thought sharing that grief might in some way relieve it.’

As she and I might have helped relieve yours had we been given the chance! Ann pulled herself up shortly. This was happening too often; it was not for her to chastise, even mentally, when she could not face up to her own shortcomings such as failing to recognise the friendship offered by Edward Langley.

‘No doubt you have seen the report rumoured to have come from Russia.’

‘Rumoured?’

‘Of course, what is reported there is not the truth.’

It was stated with quiet conviction yet Ann recognised it was said out of a need to believe.

‘That council,’ Alec went on, ‘those people do not have the right, they will not, they cannot put the royal family on trial. The people will never allow that to happen. The Tsar is the Little Father of all the Russians, he is loved by all and would never willingly cause harm to any one of his subjects.’

Yet some in that country held him to blame; why otherwise would the family have been taken away and imprisoned? And the retainers mentioned, were they also blamed, held responsible for the misery and hunger of the common people? Was Alec’s worry to do with this? Ann stared at the newspaper. She had never directly questioned Alec about his parents, their reasons for sending him away. Should she do so now? Ann turned to look at him directly, asking firmly, ‘Alec, are your parents in the employ of the royal household?’

‘No.’

The answer had been quick, with no trace of hesitation. The clear eyes fastening on her own were wide with the candour they always held. Ann’s tension eased. Alec’s parents were not employed in that household therefore they could not be among the people imprisoned at Yekaterinburg. So what exactly was Alec’s worry? As she was about to put the very question which would with luck produce an answer to cast light on the fear she knew haunted the boy—

‘Eh wench, what a to do!’

‘Leah came bustling in from the scullery, and her breathless exclamation drove all else from Ann’s mind.

‘Eh, I can’t believe of it . . . whatever be the world a comin’ to!’

‘Leah, what is it, what’s wrong?’ Ann was at the woman’s side.

‘A cup o’ tea wench,’ Leah panted, ‘a cup o’ tea afore I can bring meself to put tongue to it. Don’t need to look so scared lad, be naught amiss wi’ me.’ She looked at Alec, who had also moved quickly to her side. ‘But there will be with old Molly lessen her be took from the cart; be so good as to give her a feed then let her loose in the field for to stretch her legs.’

Leah took several swallows of tea before saying with a shake of the head, ‘No, I ain’t never knowed the like, not once in all the days the good Lord has allowed I live ’ave I ever knowed the like; I tells you, wench, Gabriel’s Hounds was runnin’ free in Wednesbury t’other night.’

Gabriel’s Hounds. Despite the anxiety of the moment Ann’s mind slipped back over the years to when she was a small girl, her nightdress barely reaching small bare feet, her eyes wide with wonder as she listened to her grandmother’s tale of the warning of Gabriel’s Hounds.

‘
Were barely on five of the mornin’ it ’appened. Your grandfather were on his way to the pit. He had reached the Black Bridge atop of which the aqueduct carries coal barges when he seen a little wench. No bigger than you, her seemed to be lost. Her made no answer to any question and when your grandfather made to pick her up and bring her to this house to be cared for until her folk be found, that little wench turned from him and walked straight through them dark black bricks leavin’ not a sign behind. Grandfather knowed he’d been given the warnin’ of Gabriel’s Hounds and he come rightways home not goin’ to his work at the mine. It were later that same day a collapse of coal underground trapped and killed some thirty miners.
’

Superstition! Ann smiled at the memory. Old wives’ tales! But Leah had not been given to such talk and as for pit disasters, she had lost her husband to one so what previously ‘unknown’ occurrence had her so disturbed?

‘I’d just left of Mary Carter . . .’ Leah held out her cup for a refill, continuing as she stirred the hot milky liquid. ‘I was halfway along of Meeting Street when Jinny Jinks comes a wavin’ of her arms and a callin’ my name. I stops the milk cart thinkin’ her be wantin’ of extra milk or p’raps another wedge o’ cheese, but all her asked was had I ’eard, had Ezekial Turley mentioned of it? I told ’er I’d seen neither hide nor hair o’ the man but her up and asked the same thing, had I ’ear of it? I admits I were a mite sharp wi’ Jinny but sometimes you needs be if any sense is to be got from ’er, but eh wench, the shock were mine on listenin’ to what it were had ’er flappin’ like a sheet in the wind.’ Pausing to swallow more of the hot refreshing liquid Leah glanced towards the scullery then, assured Alec had not returned, continued in a low voice. ‘Young Sarah Clews . . . Jinny said young Sarah Clews had been found dead.’

‘Dead!’

‘Ar wench,’ Leah nodded, ‘strangled, but not afore some man had teken of his pleasure, and that weren’t come by easy.’ Leah finished the last of her tea. ‘Tom Bissell and Charlie Tonks – it was them found the body – they reckons the clothes was torn near altogether off the wench which tells what ’appened had no consent of the poor little soul.’

Rape! Ann shuddered at the thought. The girl had been raped and killed. ‘But who . . . where?’

‘Tom and Charlie found ’er on the ’eath up along of St Peter’s Church.’ Leah answered. ‘And as for who done it, they says the police be huntin’ forra gypsy.’

Ann frowned. ‘Why would they think the killer was a gypsy?’

‘Cos the thing Sarah were strangled with was one of these.’ Leah touched the trinket about her neck. ‘What could speak more plain.’

‘Sarah cleaned at Chapel House but I very rarely saw her; my hours of work did not coincide with the time the girl was there.’

‘You understands, Mr Thorpe, we have to speak to everybody who might have had contact, there might just be summat’ll help with enquiries.’

‘Of course.’ Thomas Thorpe nodded.

‘The girl were fetched to that house each time by a member of her own family and teken home by the same once her work were done.’

‘To the best of my knowledge, yes,’ Thorpe answered glibly. ‘On the odd occasion I arrived as they were leaving it was a younger brother collected Sarah but I cannot vouch it was always that one member of the family who came to escort her home.’

‘No, no, as you say, your work did not permit.’ The uniformed policeman wrote laboriously in his notebook then, his glance still running over the page, asked, ‘Apart from ser-vice in the chapel, did you see Sarah Clews at any time in the last week?’

Take your time, make it look like you’re digging deep. Not that you need have any concern.

A suitable moment having elapsed he nodded again. ‘Yes.’ It came uncertainly, another pause seeming to indicate a mental check. ‘Yes, yes I did.’ He met the policeman’s eye. ‘It was the evening before that, I was on my way to visit Jonas Beardsley along of Monway Sidings . . . he is too plagued with the rheumatism to get himself to the chapel so I try to go pray with him and his wife at least once a week. It was that evening I saw Sarah. I admit I did wonder as to the reason she was out on the heath alone and feeling in some way responsible for her safety I offered to turn back and see her home.’

‘Did her tek you up on that offer?’ The policeman licked his pencil.

Thorpe made a display of fighting self-condemnation. ‘No.’ The word seemed to force itself through barriers of reproach. ‘If only I had insisted.’

‘Don’t go blamin’ yourself Mr Thorpe sir, you wasn’t to know.’

‘That . . . that doesn’t make it any better.’

‘I appreciates your feelings, what with you bein’ the minister an’ all . . .’

Minister! Thorpe’s insides glowed like a gas lamp.

‘It must ’ave you feeling sort of protective of folk.’ The policeman was writing again. ‘Did her give any reason for not going home along of you?’

‘I . . . I really shouldn’t . . . she spoke in confidence.’

Glancing up from the notebook the constable looked Thorpe straight in the eye. ‘I be speakin’ in confidence when I says it be best you answer all y’can. This be a murder, Mr Thorpe, an’ minister or no minister you could be teken in for questionin’ along of the station.’

‘Yes . . . yes of course.’ Thorpe drew a long, suitably aggrieved breath. ‘It’s difficult to come to terms with breaking a trust . . . but then if it will help find whoever did this terrible thing . . .’

It wouldn’t! Of that he was
supremely
confident.

‘Sarah,’ he went on slowly, every word weighted with pseudo regret, ‘she begged me not to say . . . not to divulge her secret to her parents but . . . Oh Lord,’ he lifted both hands, cradling his face, ‘oh Lord, I wish now I had.’

The constable allowed a few seconds before saying quietly, ‘This secret, I ’ave to ask what it were?’

‘A . . . a young man.’

Did that appear reluctant enough? Thorpe smirked silently.

‘Sarah said she was going away with a young man, she knew her parents would not agree to a courtship between them so they were running away. She begged me not to tell.’

The constable wrote a further note, then asked, ‘This young man, did you see him?’

‘No. I offered to stay with Sarah until he arrived but she would have none of it, I had a member of the congregation to visit and must not keep them waiting, she said. If only I had ignored her, insisted she return home with me, she would still be alive.’

‘We all learns with hindsight.’ The pencil was licked again. ‘So you didn’t see any young man?’

Let the reply wait a little. Unwillingness to answer would lend plausibility to the illusion of regret on betraying a confidence.

‘Not,’ he paused, letting his glance drop away from the other man, ‘not directly.’

‘Then indirectly!’

The constable was becoming a little impatient. Thorpe let the reaction pass. Allow the man his moment, it was all he would get.