by Jack Murray
Agatha told him.
When she’d finished, Kit sat back in his chair, head swimming with images of a drunken Betty Simpson attempting to drive. The fact that this was only marginally less astonishing than the fact that Ryan and Caroline Hadleigh were sweethearts was a tribute to just how far this case had spun wildly off its axis.
The two women were sheepish-silent while Kit pondered on what he had heard. Almost to himself he said, ‘That does explain some things which were troubling me.’
‘Really’ said both ladies in unison.
‘Yes, Ryan was definitely taken aback when I told him that Caroline Hadleigh was working in the house and could be implicated in the recent robberies.’
‘What do you mean implicated, Kit? She’s the Phantom. It all fits,’ said Mary somewhat exasperatedly. There was absolutely no reason that the feted Phantom couldn’t be a woman. She was just about to give Kit a piece of her mind when Kit spoke again.
‘Of course, Caroline Hadleigh may be the Phantom. I’m not ruling anything out. I just don’t want to rule it in and ignore any other possibilities.’
‘Such as?’ asked Agatha, equally unhappy at the implication of Kit’s words on the gentler sex.
Kit shot her a look. Both Mary and Agatha were watching him intently. A part of him wanted to reveal his thoughts but the anger was still too recent.
‘You can be as angry as you wish. I’ll sleep on this and we can discuss tomorrow morning. I want to see if this reaches the morning papers, and how it is portrayed. I also want to know what happens to Jellicoe. We’re playing a bigger game here. And fundamentally, whatever I may be thinking, I do not have a scintilla of evidence to back it up.’
Mary frowned a little but decided to let it rest. She had hardly covered herself in glory this last few days, and it was not the time to pitch up and make battle. Agatha looked no more pleased than Mary but said nothing. However, she had long since mastered the dark arts that can make a chap feel completely in the wrong even when he is utterly blameless. And an art form it surely is. Mary observed Agatha like an apprentice observes a master.
Such advanced techniques can, in the hands of an amateur of course, resemble mere petulance or, worse, a huff. A chap, if he has anything to him, will immediately discern such trifling behaviour for what it is, and disregard it as peremptorily as good manners allow. Beware, though, the expert female practitioner. The manner of Agatha had, historically, suggested little form on this course. Any handicapper would have been taken in and been forgiven for believing this to be a weak nag rather than an uncommon thoroughbred.
All of this left Kit surprised by the meek acceptance of his aunt that she had behaved badly: the sorrowful tilt of the head; the mournful glance up, suggestive of, but not quite achieving tears and the silence that spoke volumes, and rather loudly, too.
Kit felt wretched. He trooped out of the room accompanied by Mary. A swift glance by Mary as she went through the drawing door, unseen by the guilt-ridden Kit, confirmed that the recovery in Agatha’s spirit was as swift as it was complete. She was already pouring a generous amount of sherry into two glasses.
When they reached the front door in the hallway, Kit looked down at Mary, with an overwhelming feeling of regret. Had he been too harsh? Would she think him heartless and cruel? Thankfully, one look from Mary established that he had been forgiven and he left the house, feeling once more, happy and relieved and utterly oblivious to the manner in which the two women had so artfully manipulated his good nature.
-
It was just nearing midnight when Detective Sergeant Ryan made it back to his flat near Vauxhall station. The air was dagger-cold and the streets empty yet full of life, hidden, lurking around corners and in doorways. Ryan hated the area, but a sergeant’s wage was not enough to afford much more. He would move at the first opportunity.
His apartment building would have been non-descript had it not been so noticeably ugly. There were boarded up windows, tiles missing and damaged brick work, the rest of the features were just plain unsightly.
The brightness and beauty of the building captured Ryan’s mood perfectly as he walked like a pensioner towards the steps leading up to the entrance. He opened the front door and virtually staggered up the staircase to the second floor where he had a one bed, one room flat.
At the top of the stairs he paused. He held back and looked through the railings. There was someone outside his flat, sitting on the floor of the corridor. With a shock he realised who it was.
Caroline.
He leapt up the stairs and called out, ‘Caroline. What are you doing here?’
‘Ben,’ cried Caroline leaping up immediately and running into his arms. For the next few minutes Ryan comforted her, or was it himself? He held her tightly and they went inside his flat. It was only when he released her that he realised she was dressed in the clothes of the workman who had, earlier, passed them outside Rosling’s.
Ryan was relieved the flat had been cleaned earlier that day. His one luxury was to have a cleaner twice a week. The long hours and a natural male disinclination towards housework, even in such a small space, made the investment more than worthwhile.
They sat down, and Ryan went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Wisely he decided against asking the three dozen questions he wanted to ask her, instead letting her recover her composure and waiting for her to speak. Whatever she told him, he knew he would believe, because against all the training he was receiving, this is what he wanted to believe. The idea of Caroline as a kleptomaniac was more than he could bear.
They sat for a few moments drinking tea, looking at one another. Finally Caroline spoke, ‘You were outside the Rosling’s, Ben. Why were you watching that house?’ Her composure had returned, and there was a coolness in her voice that seemed at odds with her earlier reaction upon seeing him.
A voice screamed inside Ben’s head, why were you inside it? He gripped the cup so tightly he realised it might break.
‘We were given a tip off that the Phantom would target this house next.’
Caroline looked shocked. She leaned forward, ‘Ben, I know you have a lot of questions. I’m sorry, I’ve not been completely honest with you. But you’ll have to trust me. Please, I must know how you knew.’
Ben looked at Caroline. Frustration fought hand to hand with love. He wanted her to tell him everything and more, yet he was the one having to explain.
‘It was pure luck, Caroline. The fiancée of Lord Kit Aston somehow connected you to the other houses that were robbed. She followed you and saw that you were now employed, in disguise, as a lady’s maid to Mrs Rosling. Then she somehow managed to find a job in the house under an assumed name.’
‘Mary?’ exclaimed Caroline.
‘Yes, or Lady Mary Cavendish. She’s engaged to Lord Aston. He helped the old man in that chess case last month. He’s bright. The old man listens to him. He told us about you and that’s why we were outside. And then there was the robbery. Caroline, you have to hand over the diamonds. The police are looking for you. They have your description and Miss Carlisle has given a description of you in your disguise as Charlotte.’
Caroline nodded but, oddly, seemed less than perturbed by the latest development. In fact, the more Ryan had related about the night’s events, the more at ease she became.
Finally she looked at Ben and said, ‘You must believe me Ben, I didn’t steal any diamonds, not now not ever. But I can’t explain more than this.’
‘Of course I believe you, my love, but the evidence is…’
‘Misleading,’ interjected Caroline. ‘Look Ben, I need a place to stay. Can I stay here?’
Ryan thought for a moment. Then he had an idea.
‘It’s not a good idea, Caroline. It would create too many questions that I could never answer. I have somewhere, you’ll have to come with me.’
Caroline looked at him for a moment. He looked back at her. Could she trust him? She made her mind up immediately. She put her hand up to his
face and touched his chin.
‘I’m sorry Ben. Sorry for getting you involved.’
‘Don’t worry. Let’s get you to a safe place until we can figure out a solution.’
Ryan helped Caroline on with her coat. His mind was torn however. If he was helping a criminal escape, his career would be over. This much was certain. He couldn’t live with the secret. But he truly believed she was innocent. He believed there was an explanation. However, improbable this explanation turned out to be, his faith in her wouldn’t waver.
They moved towards the door when Caroline stopped him. She looked up into his eyes, put her arms around his neck and spent the next minute ensuring that Ryan would forever be on her side.
They moved quickly down the stairs, out of the door and into the wet night. Rain had begun falling in sheets. Puddles formed on the pavement, forcing them to run in a weaving fashion towards a taxi rank, nearby Ryan’s apartment. A sole taxi was waiting. They climbed in and drove off.
Across the road from Ryan’s apartment building, in a side street, a car sat in the shadows. Inside, a man lit a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He smiled as he thought of the money he was going to receive for his hour’s work. Tidy. Very tidy. He started up his car and drove off in the same direction as the taxi. However, just ahead of him, another car had also pulled off the kerb, evidently following the taxi. As the first car made pursuit, it splashed an old tramp, leaning drunkenly against a lamp post.
‘Bloody hell,’ shouted the tramp, staring down at his wet clothes.
Moments later the second car roared past the tramp, right through the same puddle providing the poor man with an even more impressive dousing than the first car.
The tramp stared at the car flying off in the pursuit of the first. He regarded his soaked clothes once more.
‘You’ve got to be bleedin’ kidding me,’ he said sorrowfully, before looking back up at the second car receding into the distance.
‘Bloody police!’
Chapter 26
February 18th, 1920: London
It was after one o’clock in the morning when the phone rang in Johnny Mac’s office. Rusk was alone on the office and answered it. The voice at the other end of the line was instantly recognisable.
‘No, it’s Rusk, Mr McDonald. Can you wait, I’ll get him for you.’
Rusk rushed outside to the factory floor. Not many men were willing to keep Wag McDonald waiting, and Rusk was certainly not keen to join the hardy minority that had tried and lived to regret this folly. An unwearied patience, and the leader of the ‘Elephant Boys’ were not, in any way, synonymous.
He found Johnny Mac standing upstairs on a gantry overlooking the floor. He was looking down at the ant-efficient activity below him. He put a cigarette to his lips. A different brand from the one they were producing, noted Rusk. He didn’t blame him. He cared little for this brand either. Rusk hurried towards Johnny Mac and told him who was on the phone.
A minute later, an impressively quick Ulsterman was back down in his office picking up the phone saying, ‘Hullo, Wag, it’s Johnny. What can I do for you?’ He tried not to sound out of breath lest the gangland leader think him nervous. In truth he was a little bit of both.
For the next two minutes Wag McDonald explained exactly what he could do for him. Throughout, what was by McDonald’s high standards an exciting and colourful monologue, the Ulsterman said nothing, remained motionless, listening intently, nodding periodically and widening his eyes in surprise frequently. It was obvious McDonald had quite a story to tell and Rusk, looking on, was desperate to know what it was. Finally the call finished, and Johnny Mac looked up, grinning eerily at Rusk.
‘You’re not going to believe what’s happened.’
Rusk was all too willing to believe that he would not believe what had happened. This much was clear, even if little else was.
‘So,’ started the Ulsterman, ‘this Phantom, you remember that thief from a few years back, has nicked some diamonds from some ‘nob in town. It turns out he is, in fact, a she. It’s the daughter of the guy they banged up. So far so good. Wag’s man in the coppers has told him that she made off tonight with the diamonds underneath the noses of the flat fleet who were waiting outside. You’ll love this next bit, one of the coppers turns out to be her boyfriend.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Rusk in either delight or shock. He didn’t know which either.
‘No, it’s true. And there’s more. It turns out the copper is none other than, one, Sergeant Ben Ryan.’
Rusk looked mystified for a moment. He half smiled but he was really buying time while he searched his memory for why this was important. Johnny Mac’s smile faded a little as he realised, not for the first time, just what a moron Rusk was. A thin shaft of light finally penetrated the gloomy darkness of Rusk’s mind
‘Bloody hell, Ryan.’
‘Yes,’ said the Ulsterman sourly, still irritated by the slowness of his colleague. ‘Guess where he’s taken her?’ The look on Rusk’s face was more than Johnny Mac could withstand and he decided to answer his own question rather than endure the treacle-slow gloop that passed for Rusk’s thinking capability. ‘He’s only gone and taken her to our boy Ryan’s house.’
Even Rusk, dear Rusk, could see the implications of this. And he asked the question that was in Johnny Mac’s mind and implied within the order the Ulsterman had just received from Wag McDonald.
‘Do you think she has the diamonds on her?’
Johnny Mac looked up at Rusk meaningfully, ‘I think Wag would like us to find out.’.
-
‘I’m sorry it’s not much, Caroline,’ said Sally, looking around at their tiny living room. She certainly wasn’t lying thought Caroline, but she was too grateful, too well brought up and ultimately, too nice to say anything untoward.
‘Don’t be silly. I’m just sorry that I’ve disturbed you all.’
Sally gave her a hug and said ‘Nonsense. Will you be alright sleeping on the sofa? I don’t want to wake the kids.’ She motioned with her head towards the bedroom.
‘Of course, I understand. Are they still sleeping?’
‘Yes, would you like to see them?’
Caroline smiled and nodded. The two women crept over to the bedroom door and opened it. They both stood in the doorway looking at the two little figures curled up on the double bed. A little boy and girl, one sleeping silently, the other wheezily.
‘They’re beautiful. How old are they?’ asked Caroline.
‘Little Ben is just turned one and Alice is nearly five.’
They moved away from the door and back into the living room. Sally went to a cupboard and removed some bedding for Caroline to use on the sofa. She stole a glance at Caroline as she was sitting. Ben had a keeper here and no mistake. She was beautiful. Her blonde hair bubbled and boiled without any control, her graceful movement was almost cat-like and her voice was not just from another class but could have come from another planet. Yes, Ben had done well. But then, he always had.
Unlike Joe, Ben had been academic and performed well at school, so much so that he had won scholarships to attend university, only the War came. Much to everyone’s surprise he chose the police force after the War. Ben being Ben, there was no mistaking his potential. Yes, Ben had done well, alright and Sally was happy for him. Young Ben and Alice needed some cousins. Caroline looked up at Sally and saw she was smiling. Sally explained why.
‘We knew Ben was seeing someone but we’d no idea who. He was always a bit careful of saying much, like he was afraid if he did, it would go up in smoke. He really likes you, you know.’
Caroline smiled with relief as much as gratitude. There was a warmth, a sense of family here that she’d missed for so long.
‘He’s been so good to us, Caroline. Little Ben suffers from asthma,’ Sally paused for a moment to compose herself. Her eyes were milk-wet. She felt Caroline take her hand. ‘He’s helped so much, with money and the like. Joe works nights in a factory. I sew a little.
It’s just about enough but then when little Ben is bad. Well, it costs money for the drugs. A lot of money.’
‘Ben never said anything to me. If I’d known I would have helped. I will help, Sally, I promise you. When all of this is sorted, I promise.’
This was too much for Sally and she fell onto Caroline’s shoulder, sobbing. As Caroline comforted Sally there was a knock at the door. Sally looked up and said, ‘I wonder who that is? Ben didn’t say anything about coming back did he?’
Caroline shook her head and whispered, ‘No, he said he’d be back tomorrow at lunchtime. You don’t think it’s your husband?’
‘Can’t be. It’s too early. He’s not usually back until around five.’ She looked confused and then worried. She stood up and went over to the window. It was difficult to see who it was, but it was definitely a man. There was another knock. Not too loud, nor too insistent.
Unsure of what to do, Sally walked towards the door and said timidly, ‘Yes? Who is it?’
Silence.
The two women looked at each other. Sally’s eyes betrayed the panic she felt. Without knowing why, Caroline held her breath. There was another gentle knock at the door. Sally looked from Caroline to the door and back again, unsure of what to do.
Another knock. Less insistent followed by a voice.
‘It’s me, let me in.’
Sally looked at Caroline. She did not recognise the voice. But something in Caroline’s face suggested she did. Caroline turned to Sally and asked, ‘May I?’
‘You sure?’
‘I think so,’ replied Caroline. Taking that as a ‘yes’ she walked to the door and opened the latch. A man was standing there. Caroline gasped in shock.
‘You?’
Chapter 27
This was an unusual morning in the Aston household. For the first time in, well, a long time Kit rose first. A few minutes later, and also for the first time, he went into Harry Miller’s room and opened the curtains. Miller looked up from the bed in speechless-shock. The surreal nature of the morning doubled when he realised that Kit had placed a pot of tea on his bedside table.
