Two for Sorrow jt-3

by Nicola Upson

  ‘Miss Price—what can I do for you at this time of night?’

  ‘Don’t you mean Miss Sach?’ Lizzie was gratified to see that her words had temporarily ruffled Bannerman’s composure, and she pressed home her advantage by throwing the letter down on the desk in front of her—Gerry’s letter, which she had waited all day to open, holding on to it as some sort of salvation from the misery of her daily life, only to find that its contents destroyed the very fabric of her existence. She waited impatiently while Bannerman read it through, taking her time and going back over some of the earlier paragraphs, and wondered how she could ever have trusted or respected the woman in front of her.

  ‘Geraldine shouldn’t have told you any of this,’ she said calmly when she had finished. ‘It was irresponsible and reckless of her, and I’m sorry you’ve had to find out in this way.’

  ‘Of course she should have told me,’ Lizzie shouted, incensed by the lack of remorse in Celia Bannerman’s voice. ‘Don’t transfer all your shortcomings on to her—she’s not to blame. It looks like she’s the only person in my life who’s ever told me the truth, and thank God she did. At least there’s someone I can trust.’ She paused, then said more quietly: ‘I assume by your attitude that it is all true? And you knew all the time?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true, and I know how hurt you must feel, but …’

  ‘You have absolutely no idea how I feel—none of you. You all think you’ve been so clever, managing my life for me and treating me like a child, but this is where it stops. You can keep your precious school and your career—I won’t stay another day in this bloody prison.’

  ‘Stop being ridiculous, Elizabeth, and calm down. Where on earth would you go?’

  ‘To find Gerry. We’re going to be together—she’s got money, she’ll look after me until I can find a job.’

  ‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid,’ Bannerman said, and there was a coldness in her voice now that frightened Lizzie. ‘This is the last time you’ll be hearing from Geraldine.’

  ‘What do you mean? What’s happened to her?’

  ‘Nothing, as far as I know, but your parents’—Lizzie looked scornfully at her for using words which no longer applied, but she carried on oblivious—‘your parents and Lady Ashby all agree that your relationship with Geraldine isn’t … well, appropriate. I have to say, I think they’re right.’

  Lizzie stared at her in disbelief. ‘You really think you can keep us apart, don’t you?’ she said, snatching the letter and holding it up to Bannerman’s face. ‘But she means what she says in here, you know. She loves me.’

  The older woman laughed softly. ‘Oh, my dear, you’re so young, but you must understand—Geraldine Ashby has responsibilities. Money doesn’t solve problems in the way you think it does. It creates them.’

  ‘Don’t fucking patronise me,’ Lizzie said, shocked by her own anger, but Celia Bannerman continued her relentless denial of everything that Lizzie had ever taken for granted, slowly eroding her confidence and her ability to fight back.

  ‘Geraldine has no more control over her origins than you do. She may think she’s free to do as she likes at the moment, but her future is already mapped out for her, and it doesn’t include the servants’ daughter.’ She paused, making sure that she had Lizzie’s attention. ‘And it certainly could never include the child of a convicted murderer. I’m sorry to have to speak to you in this way, but, since you’ve raised the subject of your past …’

  Before she could hear the rest of the sentence, Lizzie stormed out of Bannerman’s office. Fighting back tears, she ran down the corridor, past the notice board where she had collected the letter that morning, and back to her own room. On the landing outside, a group of third-year girls paused in their conversation to look at her, but no one said anything and Lizzie shut the door behind her, relieved for once to have made herself too unpopular to bother with. She tore open the top drawer of her desk and rifled through it, desperate to find the only thing which could convince her that her past and her future were more tangible than she now believed them to be. The pile of letters and photographs was tucked right at the back, and her instinctive decision to hide them as if they were something to be ashamed of seemed to Lizzie to underline the truth of Bannerman’s words.

  When she left the room again an hour later, she thought only of Gerry. In all the years she had known her, Lizzie had never questioned their love; now, by analysing what it meant to her, she had let it slip through her fingers, and the loss of innocence was more painful and more final than any revelation about her mother could have been. Since coming to Anstey, she had understood what it was to miss someone: Gerry’s absence was like a constant fog over her life; it was there when she went to bed and when she opened her eyes again in the morning, and it lifted only when she saw the handwriting on an envelope. To miss someone with hope was bearable, but to have that dark ribbon of grief stretching endlessly ahead of her with no prospect of a reprieve was more than she could bear. As she opened the door to the gymnasium and walked quietly across the floor, she hoped that Gerry would forgive her.

  Acknowledgements

  It would take a lifetime to do justice to the creative contribution which Mandy Morton makes to this series: her ideas, research and suggestions along the way have made each book—and the joy of writing it—far richer than it would otherwise have been. And a lifetime’s fine.

  Many people have been generous with their time and knowledge, and I owe particular thanks to: Jenny Elliott from the Royal College of Nursing for helping to recreate the Cowdray Club as it would have been in 1935, and Susan McGann, Archives Manager, Royal College of Nursing, and staff at the London Metropolitan Archives for further information; Birmingham Archives & Heritage Service, and all who have given information on Anstey Physical Training College; staff at Cambridge University Library for tracking down so many accounts of the Sach and Walters case; Peter Cox for taking us in off the street in Finchley and helping with the history of Hertford Road and the Sach family; Fiona and Catherine Cameron, Pat Wythe, Julia Reisz, Richard Stirling and Sally Morgan for supplying details of Inverness, pre-war Walberswick and other locations in the book; and to Sir John Gielgud, who was kind enough to talk to me at length about Josephine Tey and, in so doing, created one of the mysteries on which this book is based.

  The history of crime and execution in the first half of the twentieth century is widely documented, but nowhere more vividly than in Albert Pierrepoint’s Diary of an Executioner, and I’m especially grateful to Stewart P. Evans for his extensive work on the subject. Books by Judith Knelman, Jerry White, Cicely McCall, Lilian Wyles, Sheridan Morley, Michael Mullin, Harriet Devine and Virginia Nicholson have all provided invaluable research for various aspects of the novel and, once again, I’m indebted to help and advice from Dr Peter Fordyce, Margaret Westwood, Dr Helen Grime, the staff at The Highland Council, and to John Stachiewicz and The National Trust for continued permission to quote from Elizabeth Mackintosh’s work and correspondence.

  Love and thanks to everyone who continues to care so much about these books: Walter Donohue and everyone at Faber; PD James; and, of course, my family, whose support and encouragement now is as important as it has always been.

  And to Gordon Daviot and Marda Vanne, whose correspondence and friendship are at the heart of Two for Sorrow, and who continue to inspire the series; some of the author’s proceeds from this series will go to the Daviot Fund to support the work of The National Trust in England.

  About the Author

  NICOLA UPSON is the author of An Expert in Murder, her first mystery featuring Josephine Tey, and two works of nonfiction. She has worked in theater and as a freelance journalist. She is the recipient of an Escalator Award from Arts Council England, and she splits her time between Cambridge and Cornwall.

  www.nicolaupson.com

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Notes

  Two for Sorrow
is a work of fiction, inspired by real lives and events.

  Amelia Sach and Annie Walters were hanged at Holloway Gaol in London on 3 February, 1903, having been sentenced to death by Mr Justice Darling at the Old Bailey, despite a recommendation of mercy from the jury. Theirs was the first execution at Holloway since its conversion to a women’s prison the year before, and the last double female hanging in Britain. The bodies of both women were removed from the prison grounds in 1971 and taken to Brookwood Cemetery in Surrey, where they are buried together.

  Most of the material included in Josephine’s untitled novel is reported in or suggested by the various newspaper accounts of the arrest and trial. When she died, Amelia Sach left behind a husband and young daughter, but their names were not Jacob and Lizzie, and their fates as depicted in Two for Sorrow are entirely fictional.

  In 1927, Mary Size became the first female deputy governor of Holloway Prison. Although her improvements fell short of her own ideals, the reforms she introduced—mirrors and photographs in cells, a system for prisoners to earn their own money and a prison shop, financial aid to help with debt and the provision of clothing on release—brought a new humanity to the incarceration of women and did much to bring the standard of women’s prisons more in line with those for men. Her story is told in an autobiography, Prisons I Have Known. Cicely McCall’s book on Holloway, They Always Come Back, was published in 1938, and I am indebted to her for providing the details of Josephine’s guided tour.

  Josephine Tey was one of two pseudonyms created by Elizabeth Mackintosh (1896–1952) in a successful career as playwright and novelist; it first appeared in 1936, paying tribute to her late mother and her Suffolk great-great-grandmother, and it is the name by which we know her best today. As Josephine Tey, although her output was small, Mackintosh wrote some of the most original and modern crime novels of the 1930s, 40s and 50s, including The Franchise Affair, The Daughter of Time (both re-workings of historical crimes) and Brat Farrar. One of her finest books, Miss Pym Disposes, takes its setting and some of its characters from Anstey Physical Training College near Birmingham, where Mackintosh studied during the First World War. The other alias, Gordon Daviot, was reserved mainly for plays and historical fiction, and was the name most widely used by her friends.

  For most of her life, Elizabeth Mackintosh lived in her hometown, Inverness, where she kept house for her father, but she loved England and spent a good part of each year south of the border or, occasionally, in Europe. Her time in London was usually spent at the Cowdray Club, a club for nurses and professional women where she was a member from 1925 until her death in 1952. As well as providing a convenient and comfortable base in town, the club gave Tey the names of many of her characters; look through the membership lists for those years, and you will find a Grant, an Ashby, a Blair, a Farrar and a Marion Sharpe. The club no longer exists (not because of murder or scandal, which are all my invention), but the building in Cavendish Square is still the headquarters of The Royal College of Nursing.

  Mackintosh is widely believed to have lost a lover at the Somme in 1916; although her early work supports this, her lifelong friend from Inverness, who was with her at Anstey during the war, knew of no such relationship, and Mackintosh shied away from close emotional entanglements. The most significant attachments of her later life were almost exclusively with women, many of whom she had met during the West End run of her phenomenally successful play, Richard of Bordeaux. From April 1935 to March 1936, one of those women—the actress, Marda Vanne—kept a diary, a year-long love letter written to Gordon Daviot. The words which Marta asks Josephine to read here are Marda’s, an eloquent expression of a real and lasting love.

  Praise

  “A new and assured talent; Nicola Upson is to be congratulated.” —P.D. James

  They were the most horrific crimes of a new century: the murders of newborn innocents for which two British women were hanged at Holloway Prison in 1903. Decades later, mystery writer Josephine Tey has decided to write a novel based on Amelia Sach and Annie Walters, the notorious “Finchley baby farmers,” unaware that her research will entangle her in the desperate hunt for a modern-day killer.

  A young seamstress—an ex-convict determined to reform—has been found brutally slain in the studio of Tey’s friends, the Motley sisters, amid preparations for a star-studded charity gala. Despite initial appearances, Inspector Archie Penrose is not convinced this murder is the result of a long-standing domestic feud—and a horrific accident involving a second young woman soon after supports his convictions. Now he and his friend Josephine must unmask a sadistic killer before more blood flows—as the repercussions of unthinkable crimes of the past reach out to destroy those left behind long after justice has been served.

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