The Great Betrayal

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘It’s a shame, in a way, you being a reverend,’ she told him, her eyes shining with sincerity. ‘Never being able to have a wife or any children. You must find it lonely, and you seem like a very nice person.’

  Forgetting the ring, Willis paused, staring at her. Was she teasing him? ‘A very nice person?’ he stammered. ‘Oh! I don’t know about that.’

  ‘A very nice man,’ she elaborated. ‘Honest and true. My husband spoke very well of you. He recommended you, so to speak, when he wanted us to have a private wedding . . . but I’m forgetting. I’m distracting you. Carry on, please.’ She laughed. ‘Ma always says I talk too much.’

  ‘You could never do that!’

  Dolly tossed her curls to acknowledge the compliment, and Willis found himself wishing that she had never set eyes on Don Wickham.

  Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the notebook. First he wrote the date, then the two names. Donald Wickham and Jenny Ellerway. He underlined the names and considered what to say next. The pen nib was slightly crossed and not functioning very well so he must keep the ‘document’ as short as possible. While he deliberated, he sneaked a quick glance at Dolly.

  A very nice person – honest and true. Willis was not used to compliments and he was surprised how good it felt.

  In capital letters he wrote HOLY MATRMONY then squeezed a capital I between the R and the M. It was looking good, he thought, but was it going to be long enough to look convincing? ‘Date of birth for both you and your husband,’ he asked, suddenly inspired.

  Dolly told him and watched him write it down. ‘Do you need our address?’

  ‘Oh yes. Mustn’t forget the address.’

  ‘Number sixteen, Mansoor Street, Clerkenwell, London.’ She waited, then went on: ‘My mother disapproves of private weddings just because she wasn’t invited, so I have to show her the marriage lines to prove it was all legal and above board.’

  Ah! Her mother was going to scrutinize it. With an effort Willis tore his gaze from the delicious Dolly and concentrated all his efforts on the marriage lines which must be sufficiently convincing to satisfy a suspicious mother. He wrote:

  I hereby declare the above persons justly wed in the eyes of the church and may the blessing of the Lord go with them to the end of their days. Amen.

  Signed: Reverend Willis Burke

  He added the date of the ceremony and read it out and was gratified to see Dolly’s response. She clapped her hands in delight.

  ‘That’s quite wonderful!’ she cried. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. Don will be pleased.’

  He smiled suddenly as another idea came to him. ‘One more thing,’ he told her. Pulling open the drawer in his desk he produced a small stick of sealing wax and collected matches from his bedside candlestick. Carefully melting the wax, he allowed a few drops to fall on to the lower edge of the paper, then took off his ring and pressed it into the wax. The final effect almost took his breath away, and he wondered why it had never occurred to him before to use sealing wax. ‘There you are.’ He presented the paper with a flourish and a small bow.

  Dolly studied it, her eyes shining, with obvious satisfaction. ‘Thank you so much, Reverend. I’m looking forward to seeing my ma’s face when I show it to her.’ She peered closely at the seal. ‘Are those initials?’

  He nodded. ‘My signet ring.’ Then, without stopping to think, he said, ‘Do please call me Willis . . . if you’d care to, that is.’

  The words echoed in his head, and he instantly regretted them. Would a real vicar ever say such a thing? It seemed unlikely.

  It had obviously not occurred to Dolly. ‘I do care,’ she replied eagerly. ‘And you must call me Dolly.’

  She read the document aloud, relishing the words he had put together for her. For her and Don, he reminded himself guiltily. This sweet woman had thrown herself away on a man who, if he knew what was good for him, would soon move on and leave her and the coming baby on their own. She would be shocked and troubled by his summary disappearance, wondering why he had abandoned her and what she had done to deserve such treatment.

  As if somehow prompted by his thoughts, Dolly laughed and wrapped both hands round her swelling belly. ‘I wonder if the baby could hear those words I read out? I hope so because then he’d know we were married.’

  ‘You think it’s a boy then?’

  ‘I don’t mind, but Don wants a boy. Men always do, don’t they?’

  Willis felt a strong urge to warn her to be on her guard, but that was out of the question. He wanted to tell her that the father of her child was a not-so-clever thief who had accidentally killed an innocent man, but she looked so happy, with no inkling of what was in store for her. She would soon be an abandoned wife with a child born out of wedlock and a ‘husband’ who was a wanted criminal.

  He said hoarsely, ‘You’d best get along, Mrs Wick . . . I mean Dolly.’

  ‘Yes, I must leave you in peace.’ She began to fold the precious paper.

  ‘Best to roll it,’ he suggested. ‘So the seal doesn’t get damaged.’

  She did as he told her, then carefully tucked it into her bag. ‘I must be off,’ she said. ‘Oh! Do I owe you anything, Rever . . . I mean Willis?’

  ‘No. Normally, but not for you!’ He gave a little bow.

  Impulsively, she stepped forward and kissed the side of his face. ‘Thank you again.’

  A minute later Willis was alone again, with no wife and no child on the way. And no good prospects, he reminded himself with a sigh. It was a bad moment.

  Seven

  After supper that evening, Leonard offered to take George for a short walk ‘to settle his dinner’, as he put it, and Lydia watched them go with a feeling of relief. Since her father’s recent episode in the department store, she had been afraid to allow him out of her sight, and the prospect of half an hour on her own was one to be accepted gratefully.

  But she was not alone for long. She heard a key turn in the lock and was delighted to realize that her husband had come home.

  ‘John!’ She threw herself into his arms with a sigh of relief, burying her face in the cloth of his jacket.

  ‘Darling Lydia,’ he said, hurriedly extricating himself from her embrace, ‘I saw them leave – your father and the lodger. This is a bit of luck. We have to talk about something, and I was wondering how to get you on your own when I saw your father and Phipps go out. They didn’t notice me, thank the Lord!’

  ‘They’ve gone for a walk.’ She held him at arm’s-length, her face alight with pleasure. ‘Oh John, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re back. I have so much to tell you – about the other day when Father got lost and—’

  ‘Not now, dear!’ Gently, he disengaged himself.

  ‘But dearest, I was terrified. He was gone for hours and . . .’

  As she led the way into the kitchen she was still chattering excitedly until John snapped at her. ‘I said, “Not now!”’ He sat down then immediately stood up again and began pacing restlessly. ‘We have to talk, Lydia, and we can’t if you keep prattling on about your father! I don’t have much time.’

  ‘Talk about what?’ Seeing his expression more clearly she was finally alarmed. ‘You don’t have much time? But . . . what’s happened, John? Are you ill? You look thinner than I remember.’

  She reached for the kettle to offer tea, but he stopped her. ‘Forget the teapot for once in your life!’ Seeing her stricken face he took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. Listen, Lydia, this is just a quick visit. I can’t stop long, and I can’t explain why but—’

  ‘You said we have to talk about something? What is it?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t look so anxious, dear. I’m not ill, but I have a proposition to put to you. Sit down, for heaven’s sake, and listen.’

  Lydia sat down, her nerves jangling with anxiety.

  ‘My superiors are offering me a better job with more money . . . a promotion, but we have to move from here. I shall be based somewhere in Scotland or maybe Wales, b
ut it means we must move house. I shall have to go on ahead in a day or two and get settled in, and then I’ll send for you and Adam—’

  ‘And Father!’

  ‘Yes, all right. George, too. It’s all very hush-hush, as it always is, but you must wait here patiently and . . .’ He swallowed hard, then brushed a hand across his eyes. ‘We’ll all be together again before you know it.’

  ‘Oh, John!’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘I’m pleased for you for the promotion, but I don’t know how Father will react to being in a strange place.’

  ‘He’ll have to get used to it! And Lydia, there’s one other thing. I forgot to get your ring insured, so if you could please let me have it. Now. I’ll see to it and send it back before I leave. On second thoughts, none of your jewellery is insured. I don’t know how I could have overlooked it. Can you fetch the pearls and the gold bracelet . . . and the little silver locket.’

  Without another word, Lydia eased the diamond ring from her finger and watched him wrap it in a handkerchief and tuck it into the inside pocket of his jacket. As she hurried up to the bedroom for the rest of her jewellery, her mind was distracted by the prospect of moving from Lewisham. The very nice private school where she hoped Adam would be able to attend was now out of the question, but no doubt there would be somewhere suitable in Scotland or Wales.

  ‘But why so far?’ she asked him on her return, handing over the pieces for insurance.

  ‘Don’t cross-question me!’ he said sharply, slipping the items into various pockets. ‘I have to go where the job sends me. It may not be that far. I can’t say yet.’ Seeing that her lips trembled, he added. ‘It might be somewhere nearer, like Kent or Sussex or maybe Dorset – but it definitely won’t be London.’

  ‘It was just that there’s a very nice school where I hoped Adam . . .’ She stopped as his frown deepened. ‘I just thought . . .’

  ‘Well, don’t! I’ve enough on my mind without you whining about schools.’

  Whining? Hurt, Lydia regarded him unhappily. ‘But won’t moving mean we’ll have to sell this house? Father won’t take kindly to that. It’s his house, remember.’

  ‘You never let me forget! He’ll have to put up with it. If he wants to stay in this house we’ll have to leave him behind!’ Suddenly, he hurried into the front room, and Lydia followed him. He at once went to the window overlooking the street. Easing the curtain slightly, he glanced from left to right.

  She stared. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, her unease deepening. ‘Is someone following you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Are you expecting someone?’

  ‘No!’ Cursing inwardly at her perception, he went on quickly. ‘Look, Lydia, I know this has been a shock – a bit too sudden maybe – but I have no option. I need to move out of London soon.’

  ‘Need to?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Does that mean you’re in danger?’ Instinctively, she pressed a hand to her heart. ‘You are, aren’t you? Oh God! You’re in danger!’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Lydia. You always overreact. It simply means I have to go where they send me. My superiors decide. You’ve always understood that. We just have to accept it in my line of work.’ He drew a long breath. ‘I’ll be off now, but I’ll write to you and let you know how things are going.’

  ‘But John . . . Can’t you even stay the night? When will I see you again?’

  ‘A few weeks, maybe. Just be patient, Lydia. I’ll be working. I may even be abroad. If you don’t hear from me there is no need to fly into a panic. In fact, please don’t. You will attract attention to yourself, and who knows where that will lead. No one else needs to know of my plans, so for heaven’s sake don’t blab about what I have told you. Later you can explain everything, but not now.’

  The more he said, the greater her anxiety, but Lydia simply nodded. Then she said, ‘Don’t you want to see Father before you go?’

  ‘No.’ He stared round the room, then took down the key and began to wind the clock. ‘You can explain it all to your father in your own time. I’ll go up to see Adam, but I won’t wake him.’ He returned the key to its place inside the vase. ‘Wind it once a week,’ he reminded her, ‘and no more. It’s a delicate mechanism.’

  It had a terrible ring of finality, Lydia thought. As if John would never again be able to wind it himself. She rested her hand on the mantelpiece to steady herself. Stop this, she told herself. You are being ridiculous. You are becoming hysterical.

  ‘Trust me, Lydia.’ John smiled. ‘This really is for the best. I’ll send Adam a toy as soon as I can. But remember what I said. Do not panic. And do not bring Leonard Phipps into this.’

  Stricken with a nameless fear, Lydia sought for a way to delay his departure even for a few minutes. ‘Oh, but John, I haven’t told you about Father wandering off. The store had to send for a policeman, and for a while I thought . . .’

  He held up his hand. ‘Don’t write to me, dear. Understand?’

  ‘But John . . .’

  He caught hold of her arm. ‘No more letters to that previous address! As soon as I have the new address I’ll be in touch.’ He took another glance up and down the street. ‘Now I must go.’ He pulled her close and kissed her with a passion that surprised and alarmed her.

  When he released her, she said shakily, ‘What aren’t you telling me, John? There’s something more. I can tell. Please . . .’

  He gave her a long, enigmatic look, opened his mouth to speak, but apparently changed his mind. ‘Goodbye, dearest.’ He moved into the passage towards the front door, and she ran after him.

  ‘But you haven’t been up to see Adam!’

  He hesitated. ‘I can’t, Lydia. I just can’t. Give him a big kiss from me. Tell him Papa loves him and always will.’ He swallowed and added huskily, ‘Tell him to be a good boy always.’

  Startled by his tone, Lydia put out a hand to catch at his arm, but he pulled away, opened the front door and walked swiftly off without looking back.

  ‘John! John!’ she cried. ‘Dearest, wait!’

  She was strongly tempted to run after him, to clutch at his arm and beg him not to go, but from behind her she heard a small voice and, turning, discovered Adam halfway down the stairs. His eyes were wide with alarm, and she wondered how much he had heard. With an effort she tried to compose herself.

  ‘Adam, what are you doing down here?’ With tears in her eyes she picked him up, hugged him and carried him back upstairs.

  He didn’t speak until she had tucked him back into his bed. Then he asked, ‘Who was that, Mama?’

  So he had not heard enough to recognize his father’s voice. Thank heavens for small mercies, she thought. A white lie might be kindest. She had no desire to tell him that his father had been and gone without wanting to see him. She improvised hastily. ‘It was a man looking for his cat,’ she told him.

  ‘Is his cat lost?’

  ‘Yes, but he will soon find him, I’m sure.’

  ‘I wish we could have a cat, Mama.’

  ‘I know, dear, but then poor Papa will keep sneezing!’ She managed a smile, but her thoughts were unhappy. How long would it be before they were reunited with John? The doubts crowded in.

  As she tiptoed out of the room five minutes later, she heard her father returning with Leonard Phipps. Abruptly, she decided to say nothing about their forthcoming change of circumstances. What would she tell them, she wondered unhappily. It would all sound very strange. It was very strange. Lydia sighed. It was a very uncomfortable situation – frighteningly so, in fact. Perhaps she would be able to invent a plausible story that would raise no doubts or awkward questions. Slowly, she counted to ten and then took several deep breaths. She would wait until tomorrow, when she hoped her present panic would have subsided and she would feel more in control of her emotions.

  Later that evening Lydia struggled against the urge to give in to her misery and weep, but the thought of her father’s and Mr Phipps’ concern, if they saw her wi
th reddened eyes in the morning, stopped her. Instead, she poured a small glass of sherry and drank it down in one gulp, promising herself that it would strengthen her resolve. Eventually, she would have to tell her father they were leaving Lewisham – and to tell Mr Phipps he would have to start looking for new lodgings.

  But that could wait, she decided, until there was more definite news from John. Her father would find a move hopelessly confusing, and Mr Phipps would be disappointed at the prospect of finding other accommodation so soon. No need, she told herself, to make the situation worse than it already was.

  ‘What a mess!’ she exclaimed, fighting to settle her jangled nerves. ‘What a truly awful mess!’

  But it would be best, she thought, to let a few days pass until she herself had come to terms with the prospect, so that she could inform them in a calm and a collected way. There was no need for either of the men to know the extent of her own anxiety.

  She found a pair of her father’s socks and sat down in her usual chair, preparing to darn the heels, but before she had started Leonard Phipps had his own surprise for her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘about that strange letter you had about your husband’s place of work. If you wish it, I could follow it up for you. My brother lives not too far from Mansoor Street. In Bidmoor Road, in fact. It’s only a quarter of an hour’s walk from there, and I’ll be going over to see them tomorrow morning.’ He smiled. ‘They have a new baby – their first – and are keen to show it off to me. A little girl. Please God it will live.’

  For a moment Lydia was taken aback, and her instinct was to tell him that it no longer mattered, but that would require an explanation. Better not to make waves, she thought. Better to accept his offer to enquire at the PSD office. ‘That’s very kind of you . . .’ she began.

  ‘I’ll make a few enquiries for you at that address. I’ll be discreet, naturally.’