The Corpse Wore Red

by Pat Herbert

  “Whenever is this weather going to improve?” muttered Bernard. “Now the snow’s stopped, we’ve got the gales. Our summer in Blackpool seems a long way off now, doesn’t it?”

  Robbie agreed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve known a winter this bad since that one eleven years ago. Remember that?”

  “Don’t I just?” said Bernard. He looked around at the desolate graves under the lowering sky. “I almost wish we hadn’t bothered to come back here. I mean, what will we achieve by getting double pneumonia?”

  Robbie, whose nose was bright red and dripping an icicle, snorted. “Well, it was your idea to come back. I had no intention of bothering again. I mean, there’s nothing here, is there? That café does a nice Bovril, though.”

  “All right, Robbie, we’ll go there in a minute. But are you sure you don’t sense anything? Anything at all?”

  Robbie shrugged. “All I can sense at the moment is this bloody wind. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I know where it’s going. Come on, let’s go and get that Bovril.”

  “Oh, all right. If you’re sure. I mean, that girl you saw, she’s not here again, is she?”

  “I would have said, Bernie. Come on, let’s go.”

  Reluctantly, Bernard began to follow him back towards the cemetery gates, but then Robbie stopped suddenly, nearly tripping his ecclesiastical friend up in the process. “Watch what you’re doing, Robbie,” grumbled Bernard.

  “You shouldn’t be right on my heels like that.”

  “What have you stopped for, anyway?”

  “Shhh!” said Robbie, turning to face the grave.

  “What’s up? Can you sense something?”

  “It’s that girl again. Dressed exactly the same. No coat. Red dress, black stockings.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Just standing there, staring at me. It’s Alice Troy, all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As far as I can be. I only know her from her pictures in the papers. Yes, it’s her right enough.”

  “I can’t see anything. Is she saying anything?”

  “Stop bombarding me with questions,” grumbled Robbie. “Let the dog see the rabbit.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  Bernard stepped a little away from him, and started to pace up and down. He watched as his friend seemed to stare into space, the wind whipping around him. It didn’t appear to be worrying him now, though.

  After a few minutes, Robbie turned slowly back to him. “Well, that was very enlightening, I must say.”

  “Really? Did she speak?”

  “No, of course not. Why can’t ghosts, if they’re determined to haunt us, learn how to communicate properly?”

  “Has – has she gone now?”

  “Yep,” said Robbie uncommunicatively.

  “And?”

  “Nothing. She just looked at me.”

  “That all?” Robbie was visibly disappointed.

  “Come on, let’s go. And this time, try not to bump into me.”

  The path between the graves was too narrow to walk abreast, so Bernard followed dutifully behind, keeping a respectful distance.

  ***

  The Bovril was very welcome. They sat facing each other in the rather grim setting of the workman’s café on the hump bridge leading into Lewisham High Street, their hands warming around the steaming mugs.

  “So, Robbie, are you telling me that you didn’t learn anything from that poor girl’s ghost?”

  “Not as such. But she looked very sad. She would be of course, having been cut off cruelly with her life just beginning. Not to mention her poor baby.”

  Bernard shuddered. “It’s a wicked world, right enough. But I can’t and won’t believe Howard Drake killed her.”

  Robbie sipped his drink slowly. “I don’t really know about that. He had the motive and was seen leaving the scene of the crime. Bang to rights, as they say.”

  “But it’s just circumstantial. I’ve been reading up on the case, going over it with a fine-tooth comb. There was that jealous boyfriend of hers, remember? Peter somebody. He had just as strong a motive. He claimed the baby was his. And the more she denied it, the more likely he’d be to lose his rag. Stands to reason.”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t seen leaving the scene of the crime at the crucial time. He had an alibi anyway. He was out of London working, I seem to remember.”

  “You have been doing your homework.”

  “Celia has been talking non-stop about it,” he muttered, finishing off his drink. “I’ve been force-fed nothing but Howard Drake and Alice Troy for days.”

  Bernard almost laughed. “She has got a bee in her bonnet, hasn’t she?”

  “Hmmph!”

  “Look, Robbie, she’s as concerned as I am about the fate of Howard Drake, but I don’t think he’s any threat to your relationship.”

  “Well, we’ve had two major rows about him already. In fact, I’m not sure if I’ll be seeing her for a while. We seem to be getting on each other’s nerves at the moment.”

  “Oh, Robbie, I’m so sorry, you’re very keen on her, aren’t you?”

  “I haven’t given up just yet. Once all this silly nonsense is out of the way, and the woman sees sense, then I’m sure we can pick up where we left off.”

  “I don’t suppose poor Howard would describe the scrape he’s in as ‘silly nonsense’.”

  Robbie’s brow was dark. “He shouldn’t have gone to bed with the girl in the first place, then he wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “It’s unlike you to take the moral high ground.”

  “When all’s said and done, he is a married man.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m not excusing him. But it’s a far cry from being an adulterer to being a murderer,” Bernard pointed out.

  “It’s all the same, Bernie. Once you start going off the rails…”

  “All right, have it your own way. I can’t be bothered to argue with you when you’re in this mood. But the bottom line is do you want to see Howard Drake hanged?”

  “No. I don’t believe in capital punishment, I never have. But if he’s guilty, he’ll have to abide by the law of the land, until it’s changed. And I don’t suppose it’ll be changed in our lifetime, and certainly not in his.”

  “It doesn’t look good for him, does it? Didn’t you get any idea what Alice wants?”

  Robbie stared down at his empty mug. “No, I told you. I got nothing.”

  “But she’s a restless spirit. She’s trying to tell us something.”

  “I agree. But it may not be what we think. I mean, she may just want to make sure we know Howard did it, in case he gets a reprieve at the last minute and she wouldn’t want that.”

  “I don’t believe you want him to get off, Robbie, and that you know something you’re not telling me.”

  “If that’s what you think, then I can’t stop you. Another Bovril?”

  20th April 1957: Wandsworth

  Flora Drake watched as her husband came up the front garden path, retrieving his door key from his trousers pocket as he did so. Her face was dark with suppressed anger. Earlier that day she had been so happy. But, in the space of a few hours, her whole world had come crashing down. She turned as he entered the room, a smile on his face, preparing to rush into her arms which were usually outstretched to greet him. But this evening they were stiffly by her side.

  He put his key and newspaper on the newly polished table and walked slowly towards her. She backed away until she was up against the window.

  “What’s wrong, my darling?” he said, standing in the middle of the parlour. “Has something happened? It’s not your mother again, is it?”

  “My mother? What has she got to do with it? Why bring my mother into it?”

  Howard removed his hat and scratched his head, mystified by her strange behaviour. “Into what exactly?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s adding insult to injury, that is.”


  Howard sat in one of the daintily antimacassared armchairs and stared at his wife, the wife he loved and thought, up until that moment, he knew inside out. She had never behaved so strangely towards him before.

  “Look,” he said, after a moment. “Let’s start again. What is it you think I’ve done or not done? I’m really in the dark about this. Something has upset you and it seems I’m the cause of it.”

  “You’re the cause of it, all right.” Flora was giving nothing away. She wanted him to condemn himself out of his own mouth.

  “Could you, maybe, edge me into a category?” He was hungry, and it was after six o’clock. What was more worrying, there was no welcome smell of cooking that usually greeted him on his return from work.

  “Do you mean to say you have no idea what the matter is?”

  “No, I haven’t. But if you tell me, I’m sure I can put it right at once.”

  “That would be a pretty tall order, Howard,” she said. “But since you persist in saying you don’t know what I’m talking about, let me just say I had a visitor this afternoon. The visitor was a complete stranger to me, and, I may say, not a welcome one.”

  “Oh, my dear!” said Howard, full of concern. “It wasn’t one of those wretched door-to-door salesmen, was it? Those people can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “For goodness sake, Howard. It wasn’t a salesman.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “It was a young woman, a very young woman.” She waited to see his reaction. Not a flicker. His face remained unaltered. No blush of recognition. Nothing. Very well, she thought, she would have to be more explicit.

  “She was in the family way, and she told me you were responsible.”

  The look on his face told its own story. Every word that girl had told her was true, Flora had no doubt now. She had clung to the possibility that the girl was lying for some warped reason of her own, but she had known all along that this had been a false hope.

  “I – I can explain….” he began.

  “I think explanations are pointless, don’t you? What’s done is done. You managed to get the wretched girl pregnant, something you haven’t managed to do to me.” She paused, staring at him coldly. “Until now.”

  Howard looked at her and his jaw dropped. Had he understood what she was saying to him? Until now.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know what I mean. You got that girl pregnant and now, at last, me too. Just when it’s all too late.” She burst into tears.

  Howard put his head in his hands. Of course, he thought, it was all too late now. Much too late.

  14th June 1957: Margate

  Danny Blowers whistled as he braked his motorbike outside the Seaview Hotel in Margate. He was hoping to surprise his girlfriend. He had an unexpected day off from the tobacconists, and knew that May was finishing her catering duties at midday. She had told him she would be driving back to London with her boss sometime that afternoon, so he wanted to make sure he caught her before they left. It would be so nice to spend the rest of the day together by the seaside. He looked around as he removed his helmet. It was a glorious day, not a cloud in the sky, and warm too. A perfect June day.

  He walked into the reception, and was immediately suspected of being a courier by the young receptionist.

  “No,” he laughed, “I’m here to pick up my girlfriend.”

  The receptionist tittered. “Sorry, sir,” she said. “What room’s she in?”

  Danny smiled at her. What pretty blonde hair she had. “Oh, no, she’s not staying here, at least not anymore. She was one of the catering staff with the conference being held here. It’s supposed to finish today, and she told me she would be leaving at about twelve o’clock. He looked at his watch. It was nearly ten past already.

  “I see, sir,” said the receptionist. “In that case, you need to go to the kitchens in the basement. I think they’re clearing up down there at the moment.”

  “Many thanks, flower,” said Danny.

  The young receptionist blushed. She watched the handsome young man head towards the stairs, and thought that his girlfriend was very lucky indeed. She must be the pretty brunette who all the men fancied.

  Danny entered the kitchen and the first person he saw was Alice. She was sitting at the table, counting the cutlery. There was nobody else in the room.

  “Why hello, love,” he said. “You’re Alice, aren’t you?”

  Alice looked up in surprise. “Yes, that’s me. You here to see May? She’s not expecting you. I’m sure she would have told me.”

  “No, I want to surprise her. I got the afternoon off and thought I’d bike down here and take her out for the afternoon. It’s such a lovely day.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t really noticed,” she said.

  Danny sat at the table and helped her put the knives away. “Where’s everyone?” he asked, looking around as if expecting people to pop out from cupboards or from under chairs.

  “They’re all loading up the van,” Alice told him. “Told me not to strain myself.”

  Danny looked at her closely. She was still as pretty as he remembered her but he noticed dark circles under her eyes. She looked pale, too, and thinner than he remembered, which was ironic considering the condition she was in.

  “May told me, you know,” he said.

  “Told you?”

  “You know, about the baby.”

  “Oh, that. Yes, well, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Oh, but I do worry. You poor thing. What’re gonna do, petal?”

  She shrugged, as she started to count the dinner spoons. “Not much I can do, is there?”

  “There’s one option, of course, if you can get hold of enough brass. Do you know anyone who could help you out?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t intend to get rid of this baby,” she said.

  “Have you told your mam and da’?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I’ll go away so they won’t find out. It would kill them.”

  “They may be all right about it, you never know. Once they get over the shock. You’re still their bairn. They won’t turn their backs on you, I’m sure.”

  “You don’t know my parents.” Alice tried not to cry as she fought back the lump in her throat. He was a kind man, even if he had ignored her at Scarborough. Again, she couldn’t get over how lucky May was to have got him.

  Danny stretched out his hand and gently stroked her cheek. “Poor love,” he almost cooed.

  “You don’t need to feel sorry for me,” she said with an effort, pushing his hand away. “He’s going to marry me, you know.”

  “The father? But isn’t he married already?”

  “Yes, but he loves me!” This time she didn’t hold back. The tears came thick and fast as she sobbed loudly.

  Danny took her in his leather-clad arms and hugged her. As he did so, May walked into the kitchen.

  10th August 1957: Stockwell

  May Stubbs looked around the poky little flat that she and Danny shared. Although they had only moved in ten days ago, she was already regretting it. The flat was so small, that everywhere she turned she bumped into him, or so it seemed. It was also dark, hardly allowing the sun to peep through the shabby-curtained windows, apart for about ten minutes at four o’clock in the afternoon. It had been a mistake to take the place. The rent was exorbitant for what it was, and they could only just afford it between them, leaving little over for extras each week. The inevitable was happening, they were starting to get on each other’s nerves. At least Danny was able to escape to work all day, but for her there were periods between jobs when she had nothing to do but sit around the flat and wait for him to come home.

  She was off to Liverpool for another conference in a couple of days, but the time was hanging heavy. Since the death of Alice Troy, she had become moody and melancholic in equal measure, as if her friend’s fate had diminished her in some way.

  May had upset her parents when
she had told them she was going to share a flat with Danny. They liked him very much, but they didn’t approve of the arrangement. “Living over the brush” they called it, whatever that meant. Their moral outrage was hardly surprising, of course. They were of a generation who frowned on such goings-on. But they were only concerned for her happiness when it all came down to it, only May just saw them as old fuddy-duddies stuck in the past. The times were changing, and all she wanted was to set up home with her handsome and kind Danny. She wasn’t doing any harm to anyone, was she?

  Of course, it would have been better if they had got married first, but whenever she raised the subject, he had always hedged. Yes, they would one day, he said, when they had saved up enough money. He said it wasn’t fair to start married life without some money put aside and it wasn’t fair to bring children into the world they didn’t have the means to provide for. May had pointed out that there was more than a chance that a child would come whether or not there was a ring on her finger and if so, what would he do? Shove it back in and put a cork up there? That had shocked him, but he hadn’t budged an inch.

  It was mid-afternoon and Danny wasn’t expected back before seven that evening. Evenings were the busiest times at the tobacconists, apart from the early mornings, and his boss usually liked him to cover the late shift. He trusted him with the keys to lock up. That was all well and good, but what was she supposed to do in the ‘black hole of Calcutta’ all these hours on her own?

  It was an overcast day and the rain was beginning to trickle down the window. She was already depressed, and the rotten late-summer weather wasn’t helping her mood. Life had been good earlier in the year, but things had gone downhill ever since Alice Troy’s murder. In fact, even before that unhappy event. From the moment Alice told her about the baby, May had been unhappy. She resented Danny’s concern for Alice too, interpreting his interest as more than just sympathy. Never that confident in the way she looked, she knew that Alice was much the prettier and she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that Danny secretly preferred her friend. Although her reflection told her she was looking very good these days, she didn’t believe it. She always expected the mirror to tell her there was someone fairer in the land, like in the fairytale. And that someone was, of course, Alice Troy. Her nemesis.