Truth Will Out (25 page)

‘All done?’ Sydney asked him as he caught up with them.

‘Safe as houses!’ he replied.

As usual the three of them mooched back along the pier in the direction of the road but on reaching it made their way down on to the beach, crunching along towards what was left of the weekend.

Sydney said, ‘Quite a good house, wasn’t it, except for the idiot in row two snoring his ruddy head off until the chap behind him shook him awake. I’d have woken him up with something a bit stronger, given the chance!’

‘Still, we’ve had worse evenings.’ The comedian smiled into the growing dusk. ‘Got a laugh for the Chinamen joke. Sometimes that falls as flat as a pancake.’

‘Funny things, audiences. They either make your day or break your heart.’

The caretaker said, ‘I’ve got to have a word with the manager before long. Too much rubbish in the cellar. It’s a blooming fire hazard. Go up in a ball of flames, that place would.’

‘That would put us on the map!’ Sydney swapped his cloak and his bag. ‘Not that we need it. We’re already in the papers because of the murder.’

‘Funny business, that.’

The beach had emptied by this time and the deckchair attendant had collected the deckchairs and stacked them against the wall.

The caretaker said, ‘Well, here’s where I leave you. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ and went up the nearest steps.

Three minutes later Sydney also peeled off, leaving Alfie to finish his walk alone along the empty, darkening beach. Ahead he could just make out the shadowy shapes of the town’s famous fishing fleet drawn up on the shore below the East Cliff, and he could see the lights on the East Cliff Railway above him to his left. To his right as he walked, the soft waves, breaking with regular monotony, struck him as eerie and he quickened his footsteps.

A couple of hundred yards further on when he turned away from the water towards the town, he spotted a large bundle wedged beneath a derelict fishing boat.

At first sight it looked like old clothes – or maybe a tramp sleeping rough – and he hardly gave it a second glance, but as he passed it something made him peer into the shadow and that’s when he saw them – two feet but only one shoe. On closer inspection he saw that the shoe was an expensive-looking brogue. His thoughts moved in slow motion.

‘Good God!’ he whispered and his stomach churned. ‘No! It never is!’ Cautiously he leaned closer, breathing rapidly. He saw something else . . . Was it a hand? Almost afraid to look further into the gloom he forced himself to kneel and duck his head. He then realized with a sharp intake of breath that he was looking into a face partly hidden by seaweed.

Almost choking with shock he backed away and, scrambling to his feet, stared round in a growing panic. Seeing no-one who could help him, he tried to run towards the nearest steps, but his weight slowed him and the pebbles hampered his feet. Falling once, he struggled up again, afraid for his thumping heart, and began shouting for help.

Ten minutes later the beach was no longer empty. There was an onlooker in pyjamas and slippers, an ambulance and its driver, a police car and three triumphant policemen – and Ben Hemmings, who was writing in his notebook by the light of a torch held between his teeth.

Alfie, sitting on the ground with his head between his legs, was shattered by what had happened. He wanted to get up and go home but first he had to give a statement to the police. His heart had stopped racing but he felt sick and shivery and was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able again to stand up on a stage and make people laugh. As time passed he became aware of a growing sense of anticlimax among the people around him.

Lionel Brent’s body had been recovered. It was all over bar the shouting.

Next morning yet another taxi ride ended. Maude had to identify Lionel’s body and with confused emotions she followed the sergeant down to the depths and into the morgue itself. She thought fleetingly that not so long ago Jem’s mother had been forced to make the same journey to see her son. As they reached the door the sergeant handed her over to an attendant in a slightly stained overall who said, ‘Try not to let it upset you, Mrs Brent. It’s not nice but at least your husband is at rest now.’

The sergeant, who had not spoken a word so far, said harshly, ‘More than can be said for the policemen he injured!’ and gave Maude a resentful look.

In spite of her emotions, anger flickered. ‘So you blame me, do you? How on earth did you work that out?’

Taken aback, he said, ‘Well, no. I mean not exactly, but he’s hardly a hero in our eyes, Mrs Brent – the trouble he’s caused us. Not to mention what he did to Jem Rider!’

‘None of that is my fault.’ Her voice shook. ‘I am also a victim, remember.’

The attendant shifted from one foot to the other, obviously trying to think of something suitable to say but, giving up, he led her to the area where the bodies were kept. There were three, each on a separate table and each with an identity tag on one of the toes.

At the last minute Maude’s courage failed. Did she really want to remember Lionel as a body on a mortuary slab, she wondered? She said, ‘I’m assuming I’m his next-of-kin.’

The sergeant frowned. ‘You’re his wife.’

‘I may not be. I suspect he is – was – married to . . . to the woman we know as Alice Crewe. My solicitor has hired someone to investigate that possibility.’

The sergeant raised his eyebrows. ‘A bigamous marriage?’ He shrugged. ‘Please yourself. I dare say we can get hold of the Crewe woman.’

Maude tried to put herself in Alice’s shoes. Would she want to see Lionel like this? It would simply rub salt into the wound, she decided. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘If it’s not acceptable Alice can do it later.’

Walking to one of the bodies, the attendant waited for Maude to follow, then pulled back the sheet to reveal Lionel’s face.

Maude was relieved to see that he had been washed and his hair combed. She stared at him, unable to speak as she looked for the last time on the man she loved. It was Lionel, and yet it wasn’t. His features were the same but the closed eyes suggested sleep. His hair was very dark and he had no moustache. There was not the slightest glimmer of the love, the humour, the passion for life that she remembered. His flesh was pale, his hair a little longer than she remembered. She didn’t want to remember him like this, she told herself, but if she remembered only the happy times she would never recover from his betrayal. All that went before, she told herself, was nothing more than a happy dream and it had ended in nightmare. She was wide awake now.

ELEVEN

F
ive months later, as a dank November mist swirled outside Maidstone Crown Court, Maude and Biddy sat in their seats at the side of the court. The cloudy sky cast a gloomy pall over the room as it filtered through the large windows and the winter heating was not yet in operation. Maude was glad of her warm gloves but her ankles were cold.

Every seat in the room was taken, either with interested parties or members of the press, and the tension in the air was palpable if not oppressive. Grave faces were turned towards the judge’s table and only a few whispered comments broke the silence. For a long time Biddy had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with the trial but at the last minute she had capitulated, partly out of curiosity but mainly because Maude had insisted on being a character witness and Biddy felt she needed moral support.

‘Conspiracy to commit a fraud by way of a felony, namely kidnapping . . . accessory to murder . . .’

As the words rang out, Maude gasped. Accessory to murder? That was a lie. Alice knew nothing about it . . . Or did she? Maude thought about it and groaned. Of course! Alice had been told in the garden about the murder but had not reported it to the police – which presumably made her an accessory. She closed her eyes but then opened them, determined to watch Alice, who sat next to her brief, white-faced and visibly shaking. If she caught her eye Maude intended to give her a slight nod to reassure her that at least one person in the courtroom did not regard her as a monster. Alice had been booed as she arrived at the court and Maude felt that the jeers should have been for Lionel, not the unfortunate woman he had duped. Because she, Maude, had also been deceived by Lionel’s charm, she sympathized with Alice to some extent although Biddy, less charitable, was adamant that Alice deserved all that the court could throw at her.

‘Does the plaintiff plead guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty, my lord.’

Maude was half out of her seat before Biddy forced her down again.

‘Will Alice Dora Brent please take the stand.’

Maude sighed, but it was a sigh of relief that it was Alice and not her that was standing in the dock. Maude now had confirmation that her marriage to Lionel was bigamous and thus null and void. In view of what had happened she could only be thankful that she was not, and never had been, the wife of a criminal.

Alice’s voice shook as, bible in hand, she took the oath. ‘I promise to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’

Maude had wondered more than once over the past weeks and months, how she herself would have reacted if she had been in Alice’s shoes with the man she loved urging her to help him in what he presented as a daring and exciting plan that would transform their lives financially. If she had been in Alice’s position, with possibly very little money and few prospects, she might have been swayed by her feelings for Lionel.

Alice’s face was chalk-white as she answered the preliminary questions – name, date of birth, marital status.

Maude glanced across at Emily Rider, who sat grim-faced with her daughter beside her. They had exchanged no words at the funeral of her son and Maude had no idea whether or not Jem’s mother had been aware that she and Derek Jayson had been present.

Looking again at Alice, Maude pitied her for the weight of guilt under which she was suffering. Not only had she ruined life for Maude and Biddy, she also had been indirectly responsible for ruining Emily Rider’s life. Maude thought back to the first time she and Alice had met – at that fateful interview Lionel had arranged for them. She could think of no way to forgive him his callousness in bringing them together, knowing as he did that, if his scheme worked satisfactorily, it would end in heartache for the woman who thought she was his wife.

Time passed slowly as Alice was questioned and cross-questioned and, as the whole truth emerged, Maude sensed that some of the women in the audience, and possibly a few of the jurors, began to sympathize a little with her position. Emily Rider was called to give her evidence and broke down in tears.

It was half past two before Maude was called to give evidence and the counsel for the defence allowed her to read out a short statement about Alice’s behaviour.

‘I would like to say,’ she began haltingly, but tears blurred the words she had prepared and it took a moment or two before she could continue. With an effort she steadied her voice and read on. ‘I would like to say that although Alice’s part in this tragedy cannot be excused in any way, I do know that she has a better side to her nature and I truly believe that her love for –’ she swallowed hard – ‘for Lionel Brent persuaded her to do what she did. The Alice I knew and loved was warm and friendly . . . She was, I am convinced, a sweet person in her own right but was unfortunate to meet a very charming and persuasive rogue who led her astray with disastrous consequences. I hope that in later years she may be given a second chance to make a happier life for herself.’

Emily Rider shouted, ‘Sweet words won’t bring my son back!’

The judge banged his gavel. ‘I will not tolerate interruptions in my courtroom. If you interrupt again, Mrs Rider, you will be led out of the room by court officials.’

Before Maude could return to her seat the lawyer for the prosecution stepped forward. ‘If Alice Brent is found guilty of these alleged crimes and is sent to prison, how would you regard her when she finally rejoins society?’ Seeing that Maude hesitated, she pressed her further. ‘Would you consider re-employing her as your companion, for instance?’

As the court waited for her answer, Maude struggled with her conscience.

The judge said, ‘I shall have to hurry you. It’s a simple question.’

Not for me
, thought Maude, anguished. Finally she said, ‘I would not do so. Not because of the alleged crimes but because of the personal issues between us . . . That is the fact that my marriage was bigamous and—’ There was a murmur in the court and the judge banged his gavel. Maude caught Alice’s gaze and hoped she understood. ‘The discovery of Lionel’s betrayal caused me such heartbreak that . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘The three of us shared a home but I was oblivious to . . . There is just too much between Alice and myself that must forever remain unsaid.’

She was allowed to leave the stand and sank thankfully on to her seat. Biddy patted her hand but she was clutching a damp handkerchief and Maude saw that she had been crying.

Derek Jayson was waiting for them when the session ended and they followed him silently to his motor car. When they were settled on the rear seat he said, ‘Alison wondered if you would both have dinner with us at Romilees – in our private quarters, of course. We haven’t seen you for a while and it must have been a long day. She thought you wouldn’t feel up to preparing a meal after your ordeal. I’ll take you home afterwards.’

They accepted the offer willingly. Little did he know, Maude reflected, how desperate they were for some cheerful company. She came to a decision suddenly. She had intended to sit through the entire trial in the hope of giving Alice some support but now she felt unable to do so. Her impromptu answer to the prosecution’s unexpected but searching question had cleared her fogged mind.
I’ve done all I can for Alice
, she told herself.
She must deal with her problems and I must deal with mine. Lionel is dead and we must both face the uncertain future alone
.

Ten days later the jury found Alice guilty on all the charges but the judge, taking all the facts into consideration, handed down a more lenient punishment than was expected. She was going to prison for eighteen months and Maude was grateful that it was all over.