The Great Betrayal

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘I know it! And you’ll be there?’

  She stiffened indignantly. ‘You calling me a liar?’

  ‘No! Course not! It’s a deal then.’ He reached for a key from the board behind him. ‘Three minutes, that’s all. I daren’t risk any more. The custody sergeant will blow a gasket if he finds out!’

  Inwardly rejoicing, Dolly followed him along the row of doors to the cell where Sidney was being held. All she had to do now was talk Prisoner 7221 into the rest of her plan.

  Sidney looked up as footsteps approached in the corridor and came to a halt outside his cell. Was this his breakfast? Lumpy porridge and a mug of weak tea. Hardly something to look forward to. A key turned in the lock, and the door opened to reveal his sister-in-law and Constable Bluitt.

  ‘What the . . .’ he began.

  But before the constable could speak, Dolly winked and said, ‘Very bad news, I’m afraid, Sid!’

  Dolly was pushed into the cell, and the constable said, ‘Three minutes. I’ll be back!’ He locked the door when he left.

  Sid said, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Dolly put a finger to her lips. ‘I thought you’d like a visitor so I told him your ma had died. Make sure you look miserable after I go.’

  Suddenly, he was beaming at her. ‘I shall be miserable after you go! You’re like a ray of sunshine, you are!’

  ‘Stop smiling, Sid. You’re supposed be getting bad news!’

  He adjusted his expression and said, ‘What news, if any, about Don?’

  ‘None yet. So far, so good!’

  ‘So there’s no one at home.’

  ‘Not even me because you two didn’t pay the rent and I couldn’t pay it because you went off with my ring. My wedding ring. And I know it’s worth a lot and I want it back!’

  ‘I don’t know where it is!’ He tried to look offended, but his mind was on other things. Firstly, how pretty she was; secondly, how she was not really married to his brother; and thirdly, either Don would be on the run forever or else he’d be caught and banged up for years. So . . . maybe Dolly was suddenly available.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ Dolly told him, grinning.

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘What you were thinking. I’ve had enough of the Wickham brothers, but we don’t have time for all this nonsense! I’ve got a proposition for you, and if you don’t agree I’ll tell the police that you know where the ring is and they’ll get it out of you. You’ll have another black eye!’

  He blustered briefly, but his heart was not in it. By the time Constable Bluitt returned, Dolly knew the truth.

  ‘It was easier than I expected,’ Dolly told Lydia while George and Adam were safely out of earshot, playing in the garden with the kitten. ‘Poor old Sid! His eyes lit up when he saw me, but he wasn’t so keen when I told him what I wanted.’

  ‘Which was . . .?’

  ‘Which was to know where he’d hidden my ring! He told the police he’d sold it, but I gave him more credit than that. More fool me. He’d sold it all right and left the money with a mate! Can you believe that?’

  ‘Left it with someone? But he’ll never see the money again!’

  ‘Hard to believe, but Sid’s stupid enough to do it. So we can kiss goodbye to the money. I could have strangled him.’

  ‘What was it like in there? How did he seem?’

  ‘They’d roughed him up a bit, but nothing out of the ordinary. A black eye and a missing tooth . . . But I reckon he deserved that for tricking me into parting with my ring.’

  ‘But it was stolen property!’

  Dolly shrugged. ‘Not by me! I didn’t steal anything. Don gave it to me, and I didn’t ask any questions. Anyway, I needed it more than Glazer’s! They’ll be getting the insurance. I’ve not got a penny to my name and . . .’ She stopped for breath. ‘Anyway, one thing’s certain. The money’s gone. I’ll not see any of it. I was going to do a deal with him – I’d visit him in prison once a month . . .’

  ‘Dolly! How could you? Visit a prison?’

  ‘Why not?’ Dolly shrugged. ‘I’d have taken him cakes or sweets in return for half of the money. I’d have kept my part of the bargain – for me and the baby – but it wasn’t to be.’

  Lydia was shocked by Dolly’s logic, but secretly full of admiration. In more ways than one, Dolly was a revelation.

  Dolly gave her a scornful look. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same if they catch Don?’

  ‘Have you forgotten, Dolly, that if they catch him he’ll probably get the death penalty!’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ She put a hand to her mouth to hide her trembling lips.

  After a silence, Lydia said, ‘What about that constable? At ten o’clock by the Fox and Hounds . . .?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished them unsaid, fascinated by the idea of the secret rendezvous, but actually reluctant to hear any further details.

  ‘Oh, that.’ Dolly, recovering, pulled herself together and tossed her head. ‘I just shan’t be there. He’ll realize he’s been had and serve him right! He’s a policeman and should behave himself and not let himself be sweet-talked by pretty women! He’s hardly going to tell anyone, is he?’ She giggled. ‘Being cheated by a silly little thing like me! If anyone found out he’d look a real mutt.’

  ‘He’d probably get the sack!’ Lydia was beginning to feel sorry for him.

  ‘Serve him right.’ Dolly shrugged.

  Lydia allowed her mind to wander, and suddenly she narrowed her eyes. ‘John told me years ago that his mother was dead. I wanted to meet her. That was obviously another of his lies.’

  ‘Not really.’ Dolly winked. ‘It was me that lied. Mrs Wickham died years ago.’

  That evening, after their meal, Leonard Phipps asked to speak to Lydia in private and, sensing a problem, Dolly quickly agreed to keep an ear open for Adam in case he awoke while Lydia and her lodger spoke in the front room.

  They sat down, and Leonard cleared his throat nervously. ‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid,’ he began. ‘The unhappy fact is—’

  ‘It’s about my husband, isn’t it?’ Lydia clasped her hands against her chest. ‘Please tell me straight, Mr Phipps.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but as a friend . . .’

  She did not deny this, but waited impatiently for the bad news she knew would follow. How, in the circumstances, could the news be otherwise?

  He leaned forward a little. ‘Your husband was apprehended earlier today . . .’

  ‘Oh God!’ She swallowed convulsively.

  ‘In the High Street in Durham.’

  ‘Durham?’ Lydia closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of her husband, his hands manacled, being roughly manhandled by his triumphant captors. He would be broken . . . humiliated. Although he had caused her such heartbreak, the part of her that still loved him was appalled.

  But Durham? What on earth was he doing in Durham, she wondered – unless he had friends there who might have been sheltering him. She said nothing, but her thoughts raced. So this moment signalled the end of everything – her marriage, John’s freedom, her son’s happy life. Life as I know it is at an end, she thought as she tried to slow her breathing. She felt cold and dizzy.

  As though he had read her thoughts, Leonard said, ‘He’d been living rough on the streets, sleeping in an alley . . .’

  Lydia held up a shaking hand. ‘Don’t! I can’t bear it!’ Living rough on the streets? She tried to imagine her husband unshaven and in need of a wash. How he would have hated it. Poor John.

  ‘He’d broken into a house soon after dawn – in search of food, presumably – but the household were roused by the noise and he fled up the stairs and climbed out of the window . . .’

  Her eyes widened in horror as she pictured the scene, but at that moment the front-room door opened and her father put his head round the door to bid them goodnight.

  ‘Thought I’d have an early night, Liddy,’ he said.

  They both said goo
dnight and waited until they heard his footsteps on the stairs. Liddy leaned back in the chair and put a hand to her head. ‘Please go on,’ she said faintly.

  ‘I’m afraid it gets worse, Mrs Daye.’ In halting tones he explained that there had been an accident. The wanted man had tried to escape by running across the rooftops with several policemen scrambling after him. ‘One of the officers grabbed at his jacket and there was a scuffle and . . . both men rolled down the roof and fell to the pavement. The officer was injured – two broken legs – but your husband . . . I’m sorry, Mrs Daye, but he was killed.’

  Lydia stared at him, breathless with shock. Killed! Killed? There must be some mistake, she told herself desperately. ‘Mr Phipps, are you saying that my husband is dead?’

  ‘I am. I’m so sorry. It was an accident. They were both taken to hospital, but your husband was pronounced dead on arrival. The injured sergeant may never walk properly again.’

  ‘Poor man. How dreadful!’ She tried to stand, but her legs failed her and she fell back in the chair.

  He said, ‘Your guest will need to know. She was married to . . . Well, not married, but involved.’

  ‘I can’t tell her!’ Lydia panicked at the thought. ‘You must do it. I have to lie down. I have to get up to my room and rest. Please . . .’

  ‘I’ll speak to her, but there is one more thing, Mrs Daye. In the circumstances – you being the wife of a known criminal – my superiors have said I must leave these premises. It’s a compromising situation, you see. I hope you’ll understand that I meant you, that is, I mean you, no ill-will. It’s police policy.’

  She barely grasped his meaning as she struggled to her feet, and so she made no reply. As she swayed he stood up and moved towards her, offering the support of his arm, but she shook her head. ‘Don’t! I can manage alone.’

  As she crept slowly up the stairs the words rang in her head. I can manage alone. But could she, she wondered as she reached her room and threw herself on to the bed. Only God knows, she thought, but for Adam’s sake, I shall have to try.

  Thirteen

  Dolly took one look at Leonard’s face and jumped to her feet. ‘It’s bad news! Tell me. I have to know everything.’

  Briefly, he explained the situation, watching her face, seeing her expression change as realization dawned on her.

  She said, ‘Hell and damnation!’ then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So you should be!’ Dolly gave him a withering look. ‘Hounding a man to his death!’

  ‘He didn’t have to go up on the roof,’ Leonard protested. ‘Because of him one of our officers has two broken legs and his career is ruined. Wickham didn’t have to rob a shop either, so don’t blame the police for doing their job.’

  ‘I do blame you. You could have waited for him to come down.’

  ‘If he’d earned an honest crust instead of turning to crime, he wouldn’t been up on the roof in the first place!’ Breathless and defensive, he faced Dolly angrily. ‘And what about that man in the jeweller’s shop? He died because of your so-called husband! Donald Wickham was no saint, believe you me!’

  Shaken by his words, Dolly struggled to hold her ground. She folded her arms and spoke angrily, but inside she was trembling. ‘I suppose you’re satisfied now. You’ve ruined our lives, mine and Lydia’s! I hope you’re ashamed of yourself. All that snooping around and asking about the PSD. That was just a cover, wasn’t it? You were really after the Wickhams!’

  ‘I was doing my job, that’s all. And I was trying to help Mrs Daye to trace her husband, who seemed to have disappeared. No one knew then that he was a professional thief. Mrs Daye thought he might be in danger on behalf of the government. It was a coincidence, that’s all.’

  ‘So you say!’ She tossed her head, longing to sit down, but unwilling to let him see how deeply the news had affected her. ‘And stop calling him Mr Daye. His name’s Donald Wickham, not John Daye!’ When he refused to be drawn, she said, ‘What am I supposed to tell my child? His father died being chased by the police? That’s going to sound very nice, that is!’

  Leonard shrugged. ‘He brought it on himself.’ The truth was he felt truly sorry for the women, but he could not bring himself to say anything which might be construed as a criticism of the police force. Instead, he changed the subject. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’m leaving these lodgings as soon as I’ve packed my things. I shall be sorry to leave. Everyone here has been very kind, but the station is finding me alternative lodgings.’

  ‘The sooner the better!’

  ‘I’ll get on with my packing, then.’

  As soon as he left the kitchen, Dolly sank down on to a chair. She put her hands on her belly protectively. ‘Don’t you fret,’ she told the child. ‘We’ll be hunky dory, just the two of us. Your pa was a good man, but things went wrong for him.’ She nodded approvingly. ‘Yes. That’s it. It was all very sad, but these things happen . . . and he sent you his love and said be a good boy – or girl – and do what your ma tells you to do!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And don’t go falling off any roofs!’ she added as she stood up and reached for the kettle.

  First thing next morning Dolly set off to the paper shop with Adam and George, and while the former decided which sweets to spend his penny on, and George decided on a newspaper, she scanned the dozens of postcards on the notice board, in search of a job.

  Cot For Sale, orlmost brand new. 1 shilling. Will Deliver.

  Dolly thought it might be useful for when her child arrived, but then realized that she didn’t have a spare shilling so looked further.

  Window Cleaner. Fair prices. Up to first floor. Inquire at Number 3, Holden Street.

  ‘Haven’t got any windows!’ she muttered.

  Honest Cleaner needed. 1 hour daily. References required. Ask inside for details.

  Frustrated, Dolly shook her head. She had decided to become a companion to a rich old lady, with accommodation for her and the child as part of the deal. She imagined herself on the way to the park, pushing the old soul in a bath chair with the child cheerfully trotting alongside. It might be a boy wearing a sailor suit. A girl would be dressed in frills with a lacy bonnet. The old lady would be a spinster with rheumatics but very sweet tempered with no family of her own and would take a shine to Dolly and the child and would die and leave them everything in her will. Inspired by this rosy picture, she pressed on with her search.

  Another card, with fading ink and curling corners, offered mongrel puppies for sale. Next to that, heavily pencilled, was a comparatively new card dated a week earlier:

  Washing and irening collected and returnd same day.

  ‘Same day? But suppose it rains?’

  Slowly losing hope, Dolly read on. There was a second-hand perambulator on offer, cast-off clothing to fit a five- to six-year-old boy, a singing canary in a wicker cage, and a pair of blue blankets, slightly faded. Fascinating, she thought, but hardly helpful. Discouraged, Dolly sighed. None of these advertisements sounded as though they were written by rich old ladies, but maybe they advertised some other way.

  George interrupted her investigation. ‘We’re on our way back, Dolly. Are you coming?’

  Adam waved a raspberry lollipop to show her what he had spent his money on, and Dolly hesitated. Dare she let them out of her sight while she read the rest of the advertisements? Probably not, she decided and gave in gracefully.

  ‘I’ve seen enough for today,’ she told him, and the three of them set off towards home.

  They were halfway there when it occurred to her that a rich but elderly and lonely old man would be almost as good as the sweet-tempered old woman.

  Lydia had spent a sleepless night, dozing fitfully between long hours of worry about the future. At first the problems had appeared insurmountable, but she’d still hoped that gradually some kind of plan might form in her mind. Mr Phipps had left them, and she had stripped the bed and cleaned up the room – not that he had left it untidy, but
because, since the recent revelations, she somehow felt the need to rid the house of a police presence. It had been humiliating to realize that now, in Leonard Phipps’ eyes, she was no longer a respectable citizen, but the wife of a criminal. And in her own eyes John Daye’s behaviour had lowered her in her own estimation and had sullied her family. Hopefully, her father had not realized the full significance of the events of the past few days, but he had said all along that John was not all he claimed to be. He had thought her husband a spy!

  ‘And I thought Father was being paranoid! Love is certainly blind!’ she whispered. And poor Leonard Phipps had had the thankless task of breaking her heart when he told her the truth. Yes. He’d had to go. She knew it was illogical, but she felt better now that the spare room was restored to its usual condition.

  By morning Lydia had worked out a possible plan of action. It was far from ideal, but it might see them through the next few months – by which time Dolly’s baby would be born and they could reconsider the future. First, however, she needed to gain her father’s approval, so immediately after the midday meal she drew him into the garden for a private conversation.

  ‘I’m wondering, Father,’ she began hesitantly, ‘whether or not we should offer Dolly the chance to live with us for a while – at least until she has her child. She seems to be without money or any means of support and appears to think she will get a job as a companion.’

  ‘She has a family, doesn’t she?’

  ‘They are apparently at loggerheads.’

  ‘She might get a job, you say, as a companion. Perhaps she will.’

  ‘And perhaps she won’t. At least, not in her present condition. If she were not . . . in the family way she would stand a better chance. Who would want to choose a companion who is about to . . . to become a mother, with all the disruption that will cause?’

  Her father paused to de-head three of the nearest roses. Having picked them, he examined the faded petals, lost interest and dropped them on to the ground. ‘She seems a nice enough woman,’ he said mildly.

  ‘I think she is, and she has also suffered at the hands of John or Don or whatever his name is. Was,’ she corrected herself. Realizing that she sounded like a shrew, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Father, but I’m finding it very hard to forgive my husband for what he has done. I try not to be bitter for Adam’s sake – I am terrified for the future if he should ever find out the truth!’