The funeral service was brief. It was clear the vicar had never met Gloria Reynolds or Elsie, her daughter, and that he hadn’t been given much information about their characters or personality. Gloria’s son tried to say a few words but broke down soon after he started and went back to sit beside his sister.
The hymn chosen was ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling’, and from what Bonham knew now about Gloria it was appropriate. She’d helped other women, not for money but because she was a loving, kind person. No wonder Albert had dropped in to see her frequently. Bonham thought he might have too, if he’d known her.
Albert had said little about his wife, but Bonham couldn’t remember any case before when the wife of the accused hadn’t telephoned or turned up to see him to try and help prove her husband’s innocence. That, to him, spoke volumes about her character.
Bonham was entirely convinced now that Albert was innocent of the crime. All he had to do was to find something, or someone, to prove it to the police.
It was so cold standing at the graveside that many of the mourners left immediately the interment was finished. Bonham watched the daughter, Janice, and the son, Paul, allowing themselves to be embraced by people, and as the crowd thinned he approached Paul.
‘May I offer my condolences?’ he said, shaking the young man’s hand. ‘Frank Chivers. I’m afraid I didn’t know your mother very well, but my late wife liked her very much and I know how sad and appalled she would be at Gloria’s death.’
He knew it was underhand to lie about who he was. But if he was to save Albert, he had to get a little closer to the family.
‘It was good of you to come,’ Paul said, and his greenish-brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears. ‘My sister has arranged for us to go back to the Black Swan. I hope you will join us.’
The lad’s manners were impeccable and made Bonham feel ashamed of deceiving him. ‘I would like that, thank you,’ he said.
Around twenty or so people went back to the private room at the Black Swan. A fire had been lit and it felt quite cosy; only a few sat down, everyone else gathered in groups, taking glasses of sherry from the waitress who circulated. The conversation was very muted.
‘My brother tells me your late wife knew our mother.’
Bonham was startled to find Janice at his elbow, he hadn’t seen her approach him.
‘Yes, that’s right, I just wish I’d met Gloria too, she sounded like such a lovely woman.’
‘She was kind and giving, always ready to help people,’ Janice said. ‘I don’t know how Paul and I are going to cope with losing her and Elsie. It feels like the bottom has fallen out of our world.’
‘How did you feel, hearing the police had arrested her neighbour, Albert Speed?’
Bonham waited, fully expecting vitriol and rage. But to his surprise Janice shook her head.
‘It’s nonsense. Albert could no more have set that fire than I could. He and Mum were great friends; I know Mum was really fond of him, and I got the impression he felt the same.’
‘One can’t always be sure two people feel the same,’ Bonham said carefully.
‘I saw them together on at least ten occasions and, take my word for it, they were great friends. He was good for Mum, a great listener. He did little jobs for her, and she made him laugh, something I don’t think he got much of at home. As far as I’m concerned, the police have made a huge blunder.’
Bonham gulped. After what the girl had said, he knew he had to come clean about who he was.
‘I agree totally,’ he said. ‘But in view of what you’ve just said, I have to admit the truth about who I am.’ He managed to tell her in just a few well-chosen words, but the shock on her face made him feel ashamed at having tried to hide his real identity. ‘You are right, Janice, Albert Speed is a kind and gentle man and he was fond of your mother. But I hope you can understand why I felt I had to come here today and meet you and your brother? And why I couldn’t say straight out that I was defending Albert?’
‘You should be ashamed of yourself. It was underhand,’ she said sharply. ‘But as there were police at the service keeping watch, both my brother and I feel that even they know they’ve got the wrong man.’
‘I need to tell you also that Katy, Albert’s daughter, wanted to come and pay her respects today too. She liked your mother very much,’ Bonham said, ‘but she didn’t dare come in case it made you angry.’
‘Yes, Mum told me about her, too. She said Katy was a sweet girl who, luckily for her, took after her father, not her shrew of a mother.’
Bonham half smiled at the reference to the shrew. ‘I need to push the police into looking harder for your mother’s real killer,’ he said. ‘If you or your brother can help with that in any way, I’d be so grateful.’
‘You do know what Mum was involved in?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Bonham said.
‘Well, it seems to both Paul and me that it has to be one of those evil men.’ She looked at Bonham defiantly. ‘It’s a good job our father died, or he would’ve been the prime suspect.’
‘Did your mother ever say she’d seen anyone suspicious hanging around?’
‘No, but then she wouldn’t, she always tried to protect us kids. She never talked about her life with Dad, and so we never told her how much we all remembered about it.’
‘Just before the fire, and over Christmas, did she seem worried about anything?’
‘No, not at all. She was her usual happy self, thrilled to have the three of us home for Christmas. She’d gone to town on the decorations and presents because the shop was doing so well. We discussed booking a holiday cottage in Devon for us all in August, and she mentioned she was going to London on a buying trip in February. She wouldn’t have been making plans like that if she was worried about something.’
‘Would you be prepared to speak out for Albert if it comes to trial?’
He waited. This was the point when even the most ardent supporters backed down.
‘I would, gladly,’ she said, without any hesitation. ‘Elsie and I both knew Albert was married, but we secretly hoped he’d leave his wife and maybe he and Mum could be happy together.’
‘Were they having an affair?’ he asked gently. He knew such a question was likely to offend.
‘No, they weren’t. Albert was far too proper for such a thing and I think Mum might have been too badly bruised for an affair, anyway. But she used to light up when he called. I’d never seen her do that before with anyone.’
‘Thank you, Janice,’ he said. ‘You are delightfully direct, and if I might just have your address, I will be in touch in a few days’ time. Meanwhile, I am so terribly sorry for your tragic loss, it must be well-nigh impossible to come to terms with. But I must say too that I really admire your strength, grit and humanity. Few people would consider the plight of someone like Albert at such a time in their lives. You, your children and your brother will all be in my thoughts in the coming months.’
‘Just speak to Mum’s friend Edna before you leave?’ Janice asked, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘She is the one person who knows the backgrounds of all the women she and Mum helped.’
6
Katy looked all around her before even stopping at Edna’s gate. It was the evening of the funeral, and she thought if anyone was going to be spying on Edna, tonight was the time they’d do it. But the street was deserted; it was too cold for anyone to be out, so she knocked on the door.
When Edna opened the door it was clear she’d been crying. It was not just that her eyes were suspiciously pink, but there was sorrow and dejection in every line of her body. As soon as the door was shut, Katy put her arms around the older woman to hug her.
‘It must’ve been awful for you,’ she said comfortingly. Edna leaned into her, shoulders heaving as she started to cry again. ‘But I bet you are glad you went, and I’m sure Gloria’s children felt better for you being there.’
‘Oh, Katy!’ Edna said after a few moments. She straightened up and dabbed he
r eyes. ‘I was quite proud of myself for holding it together all day, but a little while ago, when my Claire phoned, I couldn’t hold back any more. She couldn’t come today, and my son was abroad. Gloria was like a second mother to them both. Just as I was to Gloria’s children. Claire has taken it very hard and she wanted to talk over the past.’
‘About their father?’
Edna shook her head. ‘Oh no, we never speak about him! She talked mostly about all the good times we shared with Gloria and her children. She said what hurts her most of all is that she never told Gloria how she felt about her, and now it’s too late. I know just what Claire means; I feel the same, and all those good times are gone forever.’
They moved into Edna’s living room at the back of the house and sat down, Katy on the sofa and Edna in an armchair.
‘Your father’s lawyer came to the funeral,’ Edna said. ‘Such a nice man. Janice had quite a long chat with him; she admitted to me just before I left that both she and Elsie had wished Albert would get divorced and marry their mother. Gloria and Albert weren’t having an affair, I hope you realize that? They were just good friends. Janice intends to make a statement to that effect for your father. She said too that I must help in any way I can.’
Katy felt a huge sense of relief. ‘But how do you feel about that? Are you still scared?’ As much as she wanted Edna to support her father, she didn’t like the idea of the woman being frightened.
‘Yes, I am scared, but I must help. We all agree that Albert would never set a fire; he mustn’t be punished for something he could never have done. We set out to save women from bad men, so we must support the good ones. I’m going to the police station tomorrow. And meanwhile, I have something I want to give you.’
Katy watched in puzzlement as the older woman got out of her chair, turned it away from the wall and began unzipping the loose cover and rummaging inside. She pulled out a grey notebook.
‘You probably think I’m suffering from paranoia, Katy, but the information in this book could get people hurt.’
‘What’s in it?’ Katy asked. ‘Something to do with the women you’ve helped? If so, shouldn’t it go to the police?’
‘If I felt I could trust the police not to go blundering in, I would give it to them. But I can’t. Yes, it is to do with the women. In fact, it’s a complete record of who they are, where they once lived, what their husbands did to them, and where they are now – at least the ones we know about. But it could cause immense distress in the wrong hands.’ She opened the notebook at the first page. ‘See here, Susan Mitchell, of Highgate, two children aged four and six. I picked her and her children up outside Camden Town tube station in August, two years ago. She was on crutches. Four weeks earlier her husband had pushed her down the stairs and broken her leg. He then kicked her all over and left her lying in terrible pain, completely helpless on the hall floor, while he went out. Her six-year-old got a neighbour and she took Susan to hospital. Luckily for Susan, our friend there put her in touch with us. She didn’t contact us straight away, not until her husband hit her again and broke her ribs. She was trying to stop him beating her little son!’
‘Oh, Edna!’ Katy exclaimed.
‘It was him turning on the children that made her realize she really had to get out,’ Edna said. ‘That is often the trigger for making a final decision. As I said to you on the phone, many women stay and put up with appalling injuries, because they have children and nowhere else to go. Usually they have no money, either. Almost all of our women were living in north-west London, as Gloria and I were, too. They came to us through our contact at the Whittington Hospital in Archway.’ Edna looked back at the notebook. ‘I brought Susan down here; she stayed with Gloria for two nights before I got her and the children into temporary accommodation. By the time her leg and ribs were mended, she’d been fortunate enough to find a live-in job as a housekeeper where her children were welcomed. I heard from her last summer, and she sounded very settled and happy, in Scotland. Like Gloria and me, she had not attempted to get a divorce or any maintenance payments for the children, out of fear of her husband.’
‘So this book has all the details of all the cases?’ Katy asked. She could see that if the police showed Susan’s details to her husband, he was likely to set off immediately to get her back.
‘Yes, but not all the women end up happily like Susan. You will find it disturbing to realize just how many women end up going back to their men. Some people claim that they are weak women, or even that they need the excitement of living with a volatile man. I wouldn’t make a judgement on that – there are as many different reasons for returning to the war zone as there are months in the year – but Gloria and I soon discovered we couldn’t save everyone.’ She handed the book to Katy. ‘Do what you will with this; all I ask is that you wait until I’ve moved away. I’m going to make my statement about Albert on Monday, then I’ll leave here within two weeks.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Katy exclaimed. She hadn’t expected that.
‘Yes, Katy, without Gloria I feel lost and very alone. I want to be nearer Claire and her children, so I handed in my notice at work today. This is just a rented house, so there’s nothing to tie me to Bexhill.’
Katy hardly knew what to say. She understood that fear and the loss of her dear friend were good enough reasons, but somehow she’d thought Edna valued her job too much to leave. She looked down at the notebook in her hands. ‘Then I wish you a happy new life,’ she said. ‘I’ll do as you say and hold fire with this until you are gone.’
‘I wish you every happiness in London, too,’ Edna said with a smile. ‘You get out and paint the town red; do all the living Gloria and I should’ve done instead of settling for marriage with a bully.’
Michael Bonham telephoned Katy at the office on Monday afternoon to tell her that Edna had called in at the police station that morning and made her statement.
‘She said Mrs Reynolds thought a great deal of Albert, and so did her children, and that it is completely illogical for anyone to think he would set fire to her house.’
‘Does that mean Dad will be able to get out of prison?’
‘I’m afraid not immediately, but I should be able to get bail for him at the next hearing.’
Katy wished she could tell him about the notebook Edna had given her. He could take it to the police so they could investigate the husbands in it. But she’d made a promise to Edna, and she must stick to it. Besides, she hadn’t read it all herself yet and another few days wouldn’t make much difference.
Katy felt quite sad on her last day at Franklin, Spencer and Marshfield. She took in a box of cakes to share round, and she was touched by how genuinely sorry everyone was that she was leaving.
‘I always thought you’d be here until you had your first baby,’ said Mrs Randolph in Accounts. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’
‘It was time to expand my horizons,’ Katy said, giving the woman a hug. ‘But I’m going to miss your mothering.’
In fact, she realized she would miss all her workmates, even dour old Mr Marshfield. Mrs Randolph might be her stand-in mother, but every single one of the staff had other qualities she was going to miss. She’d taken pleasure in shopping with the girls, or going for a drink after work. Friendly advice from the solicitors and articled clerks. Manicures during the lunch hour by Rachel, the telephonist. She’d learned so much working here, enjoyed lots of laughs along with moments of frustration and irritation. There had been times when she’d burst into tears and been comforted by someone, and then there was the chatter, learning a little more about each of them week by week. She just hoped that her new job would turn out to be as good.
The staff had organized a whip-round for her, and along with a big ‘Good Luck in Your New Job’ card, signed by everyone, they’d bought her a red leather vanity case for all her make-up and beauty products.
‘If you come back to Bexhill during the week any time, pop in to see us all,’ Mr Marshfield said as she w
as leaving. ‘And if the new job doesn’t work out, don’t be afraid to ask me for another reference.’
‘I’m going now, Mum,’ Katy said on Saturday morning.
Her packed case was in the hall, but her mother was cleaning the windows in the kitchen, her way of showing she wasn’t the least concerned or saddened at her daughter leaving home.
‘I’ll ring you on Sunday,’ Katy added.
She watched her mother on the little stepladder, her slender frame rigid as if she was using every bone in her body to show her indignation at her daughter leaving.
‘I might be at church,’ Hilda said.
‘Then I’ll ring until you do answer,’ Katy said. ‘You don’t fool me, Mum, I know you are sad I’m going. But don’t be like this, or you might lose me forever.’
Katy half turned to the door, expecting some sort of angry retort, but to her surprise she heard her mother get down off the stepladder. ‘I can’t help it if my worrying comes out like disapproval,’ she said.
As Katy turned to look at her, she saw a softness in Hilda’s face; her lips were quivering as if she was about to cry. She reached her mother in a few quick steps and put her arms around her. Hilda remained stiff, but she didn’t pull away.
‘I’ll be fine, Mum,’ Katy said softly, caressing her mother’s cheek. ‘Little birds have to leave the nest sometime.’
‘You’d better go now or you’ll miss the train,’ her mother replied.
The House Across the Street Page 8
