Without a Trace

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘But did she tell you she was going to take Petal and run away?’

  ‘Yes, the day before. Gribby was out doing something to the car. Sylvia was washing some baby clothes in the sink. “I’m leaving with Petal tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t try and stop me, Mother, I know it’s for the best. She’s registered as my baby now, so you can’t do anything. If you gave Gribby her marching orders, I’d stay, but I know you can’t do that, she’s got too strong a hold on you.”’

  ‘Where was she planning to go? Did she have any money?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say where she was going, but she had money in a post office account from when her grandparents died. She said she’d contact me as soon as she was settled, and that if I made Gribby go she’d come back.’

  ‘Did she contact you?’

  ‘Yes, she called from a phone box. If Gribby answered she always put the phone down. She would tell me that Petal had got a tooth, or was eating solids, things like that, but never about where she was. Always the same question: had I made Gribby go? Of course, I hadn’t. I couldn’t, she was too strong for me to deal with.’

  ‘Constance, the Church Army sister who befriended her in Whitechapel, said she thought Cassie was waiting for something. Was that for you to get rid of Gribby?’

  ‘I would imagine so. I got lower and lower during that time. Guilt, sorrow and fear are a potent mix and I now suspect that Gribby was feeding me something to keep me calm and under control, as everything seemed very cloudy and disjointed. About the time Petal would have turned three Gribby talked about getting a private detective to find her. She kept saying she was sorry she’d been nasty about the baby, that it was just the shock and she wanted to make amends. She even talked about doing up a bedroom for Petal, and how wonderful it would be to have a small child in the house again.’

  ‘Did the detective find her?’

  ‘Not that one. We hired several, and they all drew a blank. They weren’t that good, I suppose, just took my money and sat on their backsides. I had my last phone call from Sylvia on Petal’s fourth birthday. She said there was no point in her ringing me any more because nothing was going to change. She had to think of Petal’s future, school and such like. She was tired of sitting on a platform for a train that would never come.’

  Molly could almost hear Cassie making that last remark. ‘That must have been just before she came to Somerset.’

  Christabel began to cry then, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘If only I’d been braver,’ she whimpered. ‘We could have had a good life together. We didn’t have to stay out on the marsh. We could have sold the house and moved anywhere we fancied. Now I’ve lost both my daughters and I’m going to prison. All because I was gutless.’

  Molly’s heart swelled with sympathy for this broken woman. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would change Christabel’s life, but she got up and went to her and took her in her arms.

  ‘I get angry with my mother, too, because she stays with my father, who’s a terrible bully,’ she said softly. ‘I suggested we got a flat together in Bristol, but she won’t leave him, so I know how Cassie must have felt. I’ve been weak, too, working for Dad without a proper wage, letting him control my life. If it hadn’t been for Cassie’s death I’d still be the same, so I understand how it was for you.’

  ‘You are such a kind girl,’ Christabel said into Molly’s chest. ‘I hope that, whatever they decide about Petal’s future, she’ll be allowed to keep in touch with you.’

  ‘If I’m asked my opinion about you at the trial, I’ll say what Cassie would’ve said, that you were weak, but that that isn’t a crime or a sin. And if I can play any role in Petal’s life, and I do so hope I can, I’ll find a way that you can share in it, too.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The train to London was crammed with people going Christmas shopping. Molly had brought a book for the journey, but she couldn’t concentrate because of the butterflies in her stomach, so she stared mindlessly out of the window.

  Miss Gribble’s murder trial was to start at the Old Bailey tomorrow, Tuesday, 6 December, and George would be meeting her at Charing Cross Station today to take her to the hotel he’d found for them both to stay in until the trial was over.

  She didn’t know if it was the trial or meeting George that was causing the butterflies. Both were scary, but in different ways. At the trial, she just had to answer questions truthfully but in front of a great many people. With George, there would be no one observing or commenting, but ever since the day he had rescued her from Mulberry House he had rarely been out of her mind, and she felt it might be love. He hadn’t made his feelings clear to her, though, and now they would be alone together every evening for the duration of the trial she felt it was time to push things forward. However, if she made a move on him and he didn’t respond, she was going to be so embarrassed.

  She felt they were meant for each other, and George had said something similar in his last phone call to her about today’s arrangements. ‘It was always you and me,’ he’d said. ‘We held hands when we went into school the first day. We always told each other our problems. You were my partner in ballroom-dancing lessons.’

  She’d joked that they could hardly base their future on such flimsy connections. But, after she’d put the phone down, she was sorry she hadn’t just agreed with him.

  It was very cold. Under her new red houndstooth-checked coat she wore a twinset and a straight wool skirt with a petticoat beneath that. Recently, since it had turned cold, she had taken to wearing slacks when she went out of the hotel, but Mrs Bridgenorth had said they weren’t smart enough for London, so she just had to put up with an icy bottom and legs. At least her feet were toasty, in fur-lined boots.

  Looking out the window and seeing sheep huddling together for warmth in the muddy fields, she smiled, remembering the song ‘Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea’, which Petal had woken her with this morning.

  It was such a silly song, by Max Bygraves, but Petal loved it. She was a good singer, so much so she was singing the first verse of ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ solo at the carol service in St Mary the Virgin on the Sunday afternoon before Christmas.

  Molly was sure she’d be crying with pride when she heard her.

  The question of what was going to happen to this child was another huge worry. It made the questions of whether George cared for her, and whether she would be struck dumb when she was asked questions at the trial pale into insignificance. Mr and Mrs Bridgenorth loved Petal, but they still saw her stay with them as a temporary arrangement, until something more suitable turned up. So far, nothing had, but Molly almost had heart palpitations whenever the children’s officer visited, afraid she’d come to take her away.

  Christabel was to be a witness in Miss Gribble’s trial, but the solicitor for the prosecution had told Molly that she wasn’t going to be charged with any crime. It was quite clear to everyone who had questioned her that she’d had no knowledge of her husband’s murder, and that the later crimes of abducting Petal and imprisoning Molly had been done without her knowledge or help.

  ‘She’s been punished terribly for her weakness already,’ the solicitor had said sympathetically. ‘Her husband and older daughter murdered, the younger one taken from her. She’ll have a sad and lonely life in her house on the marsh. Even if she sells it and moves away, the sadness will go with her.’

  Molly totally agreed with him, and it made her sad, too. Not for the first time, she wondered what Cassie would’ve made of it all. Molly suspected she would be angry that, after all she’d gone through to keep Petal safe, her little sister’s future still hung in the balance.

  When Molly stepped off the train at Charing Cross, George came haring through the crowd and enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘I thought today would never come,’ he said. ‘Sarge asked why I was so excited about a trial – after all, I’ve been to dozens of them. He must have forgotten I’ve always had a thing about you!’

&nbs
p; Molly glowed. ‘Well, I’ve had a thing about you, too,’ she responded. ‘No wonder Londoners think Somerset folk are very slow!’

  He carried her case and shepherded her down into the underground to make their way to the hotel, which he said was in Russell Square. ‘Sarge told me about it. He stayed there a couple of times while he was at trials in London. I was surprised at how nice it was. Your room is right next to mine, and there’s a bathroom just opposite.’

  Molly wondered if the closeness of their rooms would mean he’d be trying to get into hers. But she decided she wouldn’t mind if he did.

  The hotel was nice; nothing lavish, but the reception, with its highly polished floor and desk and shiny brass fittings gave a very good impression. It was lovely and warm, too, and Molly’s bedroom was clean and cosy, with a thick red eiderdown on the bed and tapestry curtains.

  She and George went out in the evening to get something to eat, but it was so cold they went into the first place they found, a small café with a very limited menu.

  ‘Sausage and chips, egg and chips, fish and chips, ham and chips,’ George read out. ‘It wouldn’t do to hate chips in here, would it?’

  ‘Good job I love chips, then,’ Molly said. ‘My dad never allowed us to have them, he said they were a wasteful way of cooking potatoes. I could never see that, unless of course you count eating more than you would with plain boiled ones because they taste better.’

  ‘He’s a very opinionated man,’ George said thoughtfully. ‘I went into the shop yesterday before I left and, just to be polite, I told him I was coming up to London for the trial. It’s been the talk of the village, of course, because the local papers rehashed all the stuff about Cassie’s death and Petal disappearing the minute they found Reg Coleman’s body. They portrayed you as a heroine for rescuing Petal from Miss Gribble.’

  The waitress came over to them at that point and they gave their order for sausages and chips and a pot of tea.

  ‘So what did he say?’ Molly asked once the waitress had gone.

  ‘“Waste of taxpayers’ money giving the woman a trial,” and he said it in that snooty way he has. “They should take her out and hang her. Can’t think what they need you there for either. You should be down here investigating who has been stealing my coal.”’

  Molly laughed because George had sounded exactly like her father. ‘So who has been stealing his coal?’

  ‘No one. Your mum has just been putting more on the fire because it’s cold. She told me so herself. When he goes out to the pub she goes down and fills up the coal scuttle.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have to be carrying coal scuttles up the stairs at her age!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘He said four years ago he was going to get a gas fire put in. Do you know what stopped him?’

  ‘The cost of the fire?’

  ‘No, because some women were talking in the shop about how much less work there is without a coal fire. Hardly any dusting, and no clearing out ashes or laying the fire. He went right off the idea then, afraid Mum might spend part of her day sitting down reading a book.’

  ‘Surely not!’

  ‘I promise you. He made out that a gas fire costs more than a coal fire to run, but that just isn’t true. But I’m going off the subject … did he ask about me?’

  ‘No, but I asked if he had a message for you, and he said, “Why would I send a message?” I pointed out that being a witness is a horrible ordeal for most people. Guess what he said?’

  ‘That I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in other people’s affairs?’

  George grimaced. ‘You know him so well. I don’t know how you stood him all those years. He’s utterly joyless.’

  ‘I thought about leaving so many times, but Mum was always the problem. I thought he’d be nasty to her. Is she all right, George?’

  George leaned across the table, put one finger under her chin and tilted her face up. ‘She’s fine. For some peculiar reason, he’s been nicer to her, or at least so she tells me. She reckons he was always jealous of you girls, wanted her all to himself.’

  ‘That’s obscene.’ Molly laughed.

  ‘Since I’ve been in the police force, I’ve come across lots of men like your dad.’ George smiled. ‘They lash out because they feel inadequate. They say nasty things because they think it makes them sound like big men. Deep down, they’re insecure little twerps, but the saddest thing of all is that they don’t see what they’ve got. Like your dad: he’s got a lovely wife, two daughters to be very proud of – especially you – and a good business. Though it’s a wonder he’s got any customers, he’s so rude or offhand to most of them.’

  ‘I wish I could go home to check on Mum, but it’s difficult. She’d be upset if I didn’t make the peace with him and stay there, but I know I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘You could always stay with my folks and get a job locally. That would satisfy your mum.’

  The waitress chose that moment to come with their meal, giving Molly time to think about how she could hint to George that she wanted more from him than just friendship.

  ‘Would it satisfy you? I mean, me being in the spare room?’

  Molly was aware that the question hadn’t come out in the seductive way she’d intended but, considering the length of time they’d known one another, she would’ve expected him to at least laugh. Instead, he blushed furiously and looked very uncomfortable.

  She was mortified, yet at the same time she felt indignant that he couldn’t rise to the occasion with a joke, some banter, anything that would stop her feeling like a first-class idiot.

  It had spoiled the evening. George changed the subject to ask how Petal was, and Molly did her best to sound animated and happy when, inside, she felt hollow. George went on to tell her about two farmers in a neighbouring village who were caught up in a bitter feud. It had started when one of the farmers found his prize-winning sheepdog dead, apparently poisoned, and he was so convinced the other man had done it out of jealousy he retaliated by setting fire to his hay barn.

  Normally, Molly would’ve been all too eager to hear the full story, but she wanted George to be the way he had been at the station, when he’d hugged her, to see that light in his eyes that said he thought the world of her and was excited to be alone with her in London for a few days. So she didn’t show any enthusiasm for his story. In fact, she yawned and looked pointedly at her watch.

  They barely spoke on their way back to the hotel and, although George hesitated outside her door, shuffling his feet and looking sheepish, he didn’t say anything more than goodnight and that she shouldn’t get too worked up about being cross-examined in court the next day, as she probably wouldn’t be called for a day or two.

  Molly slept soundly despite everything, and woke refreshed. After a very big cooked breakfast she and George decided to walk to the Old Bailey, as it wasn’t very far and they would be sitting down waiting for most of the day. Molly wasn’t one to keep up bad feeling with anyone, so she chatted normally, as if the night before had been a pleasant one.

  George was in his uniform, as he was officially on duty as a witness, and he looked very smart. ‘Once witnesses have given their evidence they can watch the rest of the trial,’ he explained as they walked along. ‘It’s quite interesting watching and listening to the two opposing barristers. Sometimes, they’re just like actors, only playing to the jury instead of an audience. But I doubt I’ll be here to hear the closing speeches and the verdict. I expect I’ll be summoned back home.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Molly said. ‘I thought we had a week or so up here.’

  She purposely didn’t say ‘together’, in case that was too familiar.

  ‘Unfortunately, police witnesses are usually called right at the start. This case is a bit more complicated than most, as Miss Gribble has pleaded not guilty to abduction, claiming that Christabel had the right as Petal’s mother to go and get her from Cassie. She claims, too, that she never touched Cassie; she just tripped over and fell. She’s also pleading
not guilty to murdering Reg Coleman, though how she can maintain that story I don’t know, not when his body was found in the garden.’

  ‘I suppose she could claim that someone else killed him and put him in the ground. How are they going to prove it was her after all these years?’

  ‘I think the forensic team have got something up their sleeve and, besides, when the jury hear she locked Petal upstairs for months and was going to leave you to die of starvation I can’t see them finding her not guilty of stabbing and burying Reg when she alone had the motive and opportunity to do it.’

  ‘Whatever happens, it’s going to be tough for Christabel today,’ Molly said. ‘I’d hate to be in a position like hers. Miss Gribble is almost like a mother or big sister to her, and she must have loved her.’

  ‘I’m hoping that now she realizes just how badly she’s been betrayed, and that Miss Gribble stole her whole life it will make her speak out when she is called to give evidence.’

  ‘It’s funny to think such a weak woman could produce a daughter like Cassie,’ Molly said. ‘She used to tell me to stand up for myself and demand my rights. I used to think I was weak, just like my mum.’

  ‘You are like your mum in that you care about other people,’ George said, taking her arm as they crossed a busy road. ‘That isn’t weak. And you’ve got to remember that women of your mum’s age were told from birth that being a good wife meant never criticizing or opposing their husband.’

  ‘I suppose that’s okay if you’ve got a reasonable husband like your dad.’

  ‘Don’t ever tell my dad that! Mum is the boss in our house. She’s just good at making him think he is. She was even the one who proposed!’