For My Brother’s Sins

by For My Brother's Sins (retail) (epub)

  ‘I sneaked past the desk an’ asked a maid what number your room was,’ panted Bertha. ‘Oh, Dickie you’ve got to help me!’ She fell against him and he reeled at her strong odour. ‘He saw me in the Spread Eagle tonight. I managed to get away but he ran after me. This was the only place I could think to run.’

  Dickie didn’t have to ask who he was. ‘Ye led him here? You bloody stupid fool!’ He shoved her out of his way in order to lock the door, but the reflex came too late. Bearpark, with no warning knock, thrust his way into the room. He had barged thus into every room on his way up until he had reached the correct one.

  ‘Look, Mr Bearpark you’re making a …’ Dickie stumbled back as the man swept him to one side.

  ‘I don’t want you, I want her!’ The intruder strode up to a whimpering Bertha and grasped a handful of her hair, snapping her head backwards. ‘You thieving little slug! Think you can do the dirty on me?’

  ‘Isaiah, please … agh!’ The plea was cut off as his hand squeezed her jaw.

  ‘Very naughty girl to run away like that. I shall have to teach you a lesson.’

  Dickie crouched by the bed, watched Bearpark’s hand rise and fall. Bertha screamed his name, then sagged as the blow caught her cheek. She swung by her hair from Bearpark’s fist. His hand came up again, the fingers bunched. Bertha moaned, ‘Dickie!’ The word emerged in a bubble of blood.

  He cowered there seeing history replay itself. Seeing not Bertha but Torie falling under the merciless blows. Seeing himself cringing like a coward while his friend was beaten to death. Bertha moaned again as Bearpark’s fist smashed into her body, the aimless punches landing anywhere with painful effect: breast, stomach, face. She began to retch. The vomit spilled from her bleeding lips and dribbled down the ragged bodice. He continued to hit her.

  Dickie’s stomach rebelled at the sound of the blows on her misused, defenceless body. Why could he not move? Help her! his mind shouted. He’s too big, he argued back, he’ll hit me. Get him! Get him! Now, while his back’s turned. You can take him by surprise. He searched around frantically for some weapon. His swimming vision landed on the enamel jug. He leapt for it, tipping the water onto the floor.

  Bearpark stalled as the jug came down on the back of his skull. But he remained on his feet. His face came round to look at Dickie, wearing an expression of bemused disbelief. Dickie hit him again swiftly and waited for him to go down. He didn’t. Dickie started to back away as Bearpark dropped his hold on Bertha and stumbled after him. He held up the jug again and clanked it down on Bearpark’s temple. The man stopped dead – then staggered on. Judas! why wasn’t he going down? thought Dickie, filled with panic. He sought wildly for something else, some more effective weapon, backing away as Bearpark came on. There was nothing.

  His back was pressed to the wall now. Frantic, he threw the jug at Bearpark … who came on. In a last fit of desperation Dickie grabbed the bowl of water from the washstand at his side and flung the contents into Bearpark’s face, then with all his remaining strength crashed the enamel bowl over the bullet-shaped skull. Bearpark’s eyes glazed over – but he was still vertical. Dickie held his breath. The man took a tottering step forward, raised his arm – then went down, his head striking the corner of the brass fender with a stomach-churning crack.

  Dickie slumped down the wall into a quivering heap beside the unconscious Bearpark, his breath coming in rapid hiccups, his shirt saturated with the sweat of undiluted fear. Bertha moaned and rolled over. He ran the back of his hand over his mouth and scrambled up to help her, lifting her onto the bed and taking out his handkerchief to mop her bleeding face. She whimpered as the linen touched her smarting lips.

  ‘It’s all right, Bertha.’ He pressed her down as, suddenly conscious, she tried to rise. ‘I’ve knocked him out. He won’t bother us for the moment.’ He dabbled the handkerchief in a puddle of water on the linoleum, and tried to clean her face. She moved her head away feebly and took it from him. ‘I’ll do it. Thanks, Dickie – for stoppin’ him, I mean.’ She craned her neck to look at Bearpark’s sprawling form. ‘I’d best get away while he’s still out.’ She swung her legs over the side of the bed, rose – then flopped back. ‘Ooh, I feel giddy.’

  ‘Stay there a minute,’ he told her. ‘If he wakes up I’ll crown him again.’ He laughed despite his trembling hands. ‘Blood and sand, he takes some putting to sleep.’ He began to stuff his clothes into the portmanteau, lifting the edge of the linoleum to retrieve the long row of sovereigns he had hidden beneath it. His valuables he took from various corners of the room. Bertha watched him, her hand pressed to her head. ‘Where will yer go now?’

  ‘God knows.’ Between Bearpark and the detective he didn’t know which way to turn. He only knew he had to go from here. ‘Are ye ready to move?’

  She stood up carefully. ‘Aye, I think I’m all right now.’ He busied himself with his packing. ‘What about you? Where will you go?’

  She shrugged. He reached into his pocket. ‘Listen, I’ve got an address of a place in Leeds.’ He copied from the notebook onto a scrap of paper. ‘The woman there owes me a favour; she’ll see to it ye come to no harm. Take this as well.’ He gave her four sovereigns. ‘Sorry I can’t give ye any more but I need everything I can lay me hands on.’

  ‘Oh, Dickie!’ She twined her arms round his neck.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now come on, we’ll have to disperse before Growler wakes up.’ He pushed her to the door, bending over the unconscious Bearpark before he left. He placed his fingers to the man’s temple, then looked up at Bertha wearing a discommoded grimace. ‘Oh, shit!’ ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked worriedly.

  ‘Nothing, nothing. Everything’s fine. You get going.’ He stood up and pushed her out, then locked the door and leaned on it, staring down at Bearpark. Now where the hell did one hide a body around here?

  * * *

  Nettleton blew his nose and moved out of the way as a grubby creature brushed past him in the reception area, then turned to watch her rapid exit. Without checking on his notes he had lost count of the hotels he had visited. If Feeney wasn’t here it was most likely that he had left the city altogether. This theory had been strengthened by Feeney’s non-appearance at the tea shop. Maybe this search was futile, as that episode had been, but as he had done most of the city’s hotels he might as well complete the task.

  ‘Yes, sir can I be of any assistance?’ The hotelier paraded an obsequious smile, which Nettleton did not return.

  ‘Have you a man named Richard Feeney staying here?’

  When the hotelier showed reluctance to divulge this information Nettleton produced identification. The man dropped his servile attitude and consulted the register, flicking back through the pages. ‘No … no, there’s no one of that name here.’

  ‘Mind if I take a look for myself?’ Nettleton reached for the register without waiting for permission. He ran a finger down several columns, then retraced its path. R. Freemason. He tapped the name thoughtfully, then looked up at the hotelier. ‘Can you give me a description of this person?’

  ‘I cannot divulge any personal information about one of our guests,’ replied the man then, as Nettleton impatiently placed a coin between them, grabbed it and said, ‘Tall chap, Irish, very suave, dark hair … oh! and two black eyes.’

  Nettleton’s interest was instantly stirred. ‘What room is he in?’

  ‘Thirteen,’ said the man. ‘It isn’t his lucky day is it?’ He referred to a number of keys which hung on a board behind him. ‘His key isn’t here so he must be in. Do you want me to send someone up?’

  ‘No need to trouble yourself,’ said Netteton, moving to the staircase. ‘I’ll find him.’ R. Freemason – R. F. – Richard Feeney. They never learned, did they?

  Outside room thirteen he paused, then put his ear to the wood, tapping lightly. There was no sound from within. He knocked again, waited, then tried the handle; it resisted his pressure. From amongst the fluff in his pocket he pulled a strip of metal, ben
t at one end into a right angle. With this he gained entry to the room.

  The curtains had been drawn together, making the room very dim, but after a glance at the bed, he could see there was no one here. He started across the floor. His foot kicked something which rolled along the linoleum and at the same time encountered the puddle of water and he skidded, an involuntary curse escaping his lips. Righting himself he looked around for signs of Feeney’s occupation; a suitcase or something. There didn’t seem to be anything.

  Nettleton went across to the wardrobe and flung open the door – and came eye to eye with a corpse.

  Chapter Fifty

  This climbing down drainpipes was becoming a habit, thought Dickie as he sat nursing a tankard in the Spread Eagle. It was all very well escaping, but where did he go now? All his money was tied up in the house or at the bank. He still had a great deal of money on him, plus his valuables – watch, cravat pin etcetera – but was loath to leave his long-awaited riches behind. Yet he must decide one way or another. Oh, Dusty I’ve gone and done it again. He lifted his hands from the tankard to cradle his reeling head. What the hell am I going to do? Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and his head shot up.

  ‘Good grief! What the devil’s happened to your eyes?’ Sonny would never have known his brother had it not been for the lazy grin that followed the initial apprehension.

  Dickie balanced his chair on its back legs. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t my little brother. The eyes? Ah well, ’tis a rough hole is this, anything can happen to ye. I trust ye had the foresight to notify your next of kin before ye ventured in?’

  There was the ghost of a smile from Sonny who placed his drink on the table. ‘Can I sit down?’

  Dickie touched his chest. ‘With me?’

  Sonny ignored the satire and pulled out a stool. Just lately, he’d been plagued by an urge to meet with his brother again. He had looked in a lot of places before this one.

  ‘You’re the last person I expected to meet in a place like this,’ said Dickie, watching him drink. ‘I thought ye’d gone on to better things.’

  Sonny eyed the other’s expensive clothes. ‘And who was the one who was always saying he’d be out of this slum the first opportunity he got?’

  Dickie surrendered a grin and sampled his drink. ‘Truth is, I don’t feel at home anywhere else. Now, what’s your reason for coming?’

  ‘To see you,’ said his brother. ‘I thought it was high time we made our peace.’

  ‘Why now all of a sudden? Not that I don’t welcome it,’ hurried Dickie. ‘But what brought about the change of heart?’

  ‘I’ve had one or two changes of heart lately,’ replied Sonny seriously. ‘The most important one being about Peggy. I’m going to divorce her, Dick. I know it won’t be easy, but I feel it’s for the best, as you are wont to say. Our marriage is in ruins – taking for granted we ever had a marriage in the first place.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Son,’ said Dickie honesdy. ‘I truly am. I know I behaved like a right bastard to ye … if there was some way I could make it up.’

  Sonny silenced him. ‘I’d prefer not to resurrect all that. Let’s just say I realise now there was wrong done on both sides. I couldn’t believe what people were saying about Peggy – or wouldn’t.’

  ‘But ye do now?’

  ‘There’s no need to listen to others now. I’ve seen for myself what she is.’ Haltingly he told Dickie all about his wife burning his paintings. Even his brother was shocked at this display of viciousness. ‘There’ll be hell to pay, naturally, when I broach the question of divorce, from the church and from Peggy herself, but I’ll see to it that she’s well provided for.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about your piece o’ good luck,’ said Dickie.

  ‘Didn’t I always say we’d have someone famous in the family one day?’

  ‘Did you? I thought you were talking about yourself.’ Sonny smiled. ‘Or in your case read infamous. Are you still consorting with your nymphs of the pave?’

  Dickie made a circle of his mouth. ‘Please, don’t drag that up, I’m still haunted by it. So, what will ye do after the divorce?’

  ‘I’m going to start a new life.’

  And me also, brother, pondered Dickie, knowing now where the route of his escape would take him.

  ‘I’ve got someone else,’ Sonny continued. ‘After the divorce we’ll marry.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’ enquired his brother.

  Sonny’s grey eyes held a spark of mirth, knowing that there was no danger in imparting his sweetheart’s identity. ‘Yes, it’s Josie.’

  ‘The maid? Ah well, each to his own, I always say.’ Dickie finished his drink.

  ‘I realise she wouldn’t fit your lordship’s idea of a companion,’ said Sonny. ‘But she happens to be one of the nicest people I know. She’s been a good friend to me when I needed one. I feel comfortable with her … and she adores the children. She’s been more of a mother to them than Peggy ever has.’

  ‘Won’t there be a few shocked expressions when ye tell them you’re going to wed the maid?’ asked Dickie.

  ‘Why should there be? However far we rise we’re still someone’s servant.’

  ‘I was thinking of Grandma,’ replied Dickie.

  ‘Well, let’s be realistic – no one would be good enough for Grandma,’ grimaced Sonny. ‘Can you imagine what it’s like living with her permanently? I’m glad of my studio I can tell you. Anyway, I’ve a sneaking feeling that Mother already knows about Josie and me. She never got on with Peggy so I daresay she’ll welcome the change. Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘I’d say yes, but I haven’t time to tarry here,’ said Dickie.

  ‘As a matter o’ fact I was just thinking o’ going when you came in.’

  ‘Anywhere special?’

  ‘America.’ Dickie laughed at his brother’s face.

  ‘America? Hell, why there?’

  ‘Why anywhere?’ shrugged Dickie. ‘Because it’s the farthest place I can think of. Listen, Son, not to put too fine a point on it I’m in a spot o’ bother.’

  ‘Same old Dickie.’ But Sonny smiled as he said it.

  ‘’Tis a bit more serious this time. D’ye think ye could see your way clear to cash me a cheque? I’ve a bit o’ money, but not enough for what I need an’ I can’t get to the bank right now.’ Nettleton would be waiting there – if he wasn’t at the railway station.

  ‘Certainly.’ Sonny reached into his inside pocket. ‘How much?’

  ‘Ooh, say… five hundred.’

  ‘Five … you must be having me on! I don’t have that sort of money, and even if I did I’d not be carrying it on me, not round this den of thieves.’

  ‘Well, how much can ye manage?’ asked Dickie hopefully.

  Sonny counted all the money in his possession. ‘Four pounds, seven shillings and ninepence.’

  ‘God, such affluence – could I give ye a cheque for it?’

  ‘Surely,’ said Sonny, puzzled, then joked, ‘I hope it won’t bounce.’

  Dickie found it hard to smile when he thought of all that cash in the bank, virtually lost to him but he managed to conjure up an expression of gratitude. ‘Thanks, you’re a pal.’

  ‘I’m your brother,’ said Sonny.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ replied Dickie, and clasped his arm. ‘I’m sorry I never gave that fact its proper value before. I always learn too late, don’t I?’ He stood quickly. ‘Now I must go.’

  ‘Hang on, Dickie, I’m going to ask something of you.’ Sonny stood with him. ‘That’s a long way you’re going; we’ll maybe not see each other again. I think you ought to come home and say goodbye to Mam and Dad before you go.’

  ‘Sure, they’ll be glad to see the back o’ me. Won’t give tuppence for my goodbyes.’

  ‘Listen, listen! They’ve been talking a lot about you lately … well, not exactly directly about you,’ he corrected himself, ‘but your name has been creeping into their conversations.’

  ‘Oh, I c
an quite believe that. I’ll bet it wasn’t my given name, though.’

  ‘Seriously, I think they’d like to see you. It’s a long way to go to find out they want you to come home. Think about it.’

  ‘I am thinking. I’m thinking you’re mad to believe they want me home after all the trouble I’ve caused.’ He stared at his brother for a while, then blurted, ‘Oh, what the hell! They can only throw me out. Come on then, Son, lead the way.’

  Sonny suggested that they walk to Monkgate, the more time in which to patch up their differences, and in spite of Dickie’s fear of bumping into the detective he agreed.

  ‘How’re the bairns coming along?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘They’d be a lot better if they had a mother who cared for them,’ said Sonny. ‘Still, they’ll have that when I marry Josie. I can’t see Peggy wanting custody … well, she might want Nick, but not Rosie. I hope she’ll see things sensibly, I couldn’t stand a nasty court battle.’

  ‘Ah well, they have a good father in you,’ said Dickie. ‘An’ they’re real bonny kids, the pair o’ them. Ye know, when I saw that wee girl with Mam I could almost have taken her home. Ah, don’t fret yourself,’ he reassured his brother, ‘I’ll not be layin’ claim to them now. Even if I could take them where I’m going I know in my heart they’d be better off with you.’

  ‘One never knows, you might have a family of your own someday,’ replied Sonny, reaching into his pocket for a penny to give a destitute child then, realising he had given all his ready cash to Dickie, smiled apologetically to the urchin. Dickie noticed the gesture and tossed a sixpence into the air. The urchin caught it, and tugged his forelock.

  ‘One never knows,’ echoed Dickie with a smile. Oh, Dusty Miller, what shall we do about you?

  ‘I can see you’re mellowing,’ said Sonny as they passed Stonebow Lane. ‘There was a time when you wouldn’t even have noticed that little beggar, let alone given him anything.’

  ‘Ah well, I guess ye could say I’ve been doing some growing up lately. Gob, I think I’ve aged fifty years in the last couple o’ weeks.’ He wrapped an arm over his brother’s shoulder like he used to do. ‘Hey, d’ye remember the things we used to get up to when we were young an’ innocent?’