Her voice was shaking but Daisy spent no further time with her. It seemed more sensible to alert the police. The man might be in the house but she doubted it. The bedroom windows were all on the first floor and if he had wanted to get inside, she reasoned, he would have broken in through a ground-floor window. But he might still be wandering the streets and the police might catch him if they were alerted in time.
The telephone conversation took less time than she expected. As she was unable to give a detailed description of who they thought the perpetrator might be, the police understandably had little to go on and, at such a late hour, very few constables were available to ‘chase round the streets’, as they put it. They would, however, send someone round to take statements and tomorrow, in daylight, they would check out the premises where the assault took place.
Daisy then put her next part of the plan into operation and carefully swept each bedroom before allowing the occupant to walk about. Twenty minutes later they gathered in the kitchen, warmly wrapped, hands clasped around mugs of Ovaltine which, Daisy hoped, would calm their nerves and help them recover from the shocks they had suffered.
Dilys was understandably the worst affected as she had been physically hurt and this was the second time she had been under threat. Ten minutes later she was still shivering intermittently and her face was chalk white. ‘He might still be out there!’ she whispered. ‘He might be planning something else. Something worse!’
‘Dilys, dear,’ Monty said gently, ‘I know you hate to be contradicted but it could hardly be much worse!’
‘Of course it could!’ She glared at her brother. ‘He could be setting a fire! That would be worse!’
‘Oh well,’ he argued, ‘if you look at it that way I dare say he could be rushing in with an axe to chop off our heads!’
Dilys screamed.
‘Stop it!’ cried Daisy, exasperated. She glared at Monty. ‘You sound like two squabbling children! Haven’t we got enough to worry about without you two making it worse? The police will be here soon so let’s calm down and behave like grown-ups.’ If that’s possible, she thought. The hint of earlier family quarrels made her think that being an only child might have its compensations.
Abashed, Monty muttered an apology which his sister accepted with a bad grace and they relapsed into silence, sipping their Ovaltine and waiting for the police to arrive.
When a constable finally cycled up to the house nearly an hour later he was not in a very happy frame of mind. He made a whirlwind tour of the house and garden and declared the culprit ‘long gone’. He took down a few notes which he promised to pass on to Constable Cresswell or the sergeant who was dealing with the case. ‘When they’ve done looking for clues you can get a glazier to repair the windows.’ He gave them a brief smile. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about now so go back to bed,’ he advised as he climbed back on to his bicycle. ‘If you do have any more alarms, telephone at once and we’ll be with you as soon as we can.’
Hardly convincing, thought Daisy as she watched him go. But she did agree that a second visit seemed unlikely. She saw Dilys and Monty back into their respective bedrooms. When she finally fell into her own bed she promised herself time to think about Steven Anders but was, in fact, asleep within minutes.
The next morning found Albert, Hettie and a police sergeant discussing the recent events. Husband and wife sat on the sofa together looking up at the sergeant who sat on an upright chair. Hettie felt intimidated although she tried not to show it. In fact, she was put in mind of being sent to the headmistress while she was at boarding school for cheeking Mr Belling who had taught them geography. She felt that somehow the sergeant wanted to blame the family for what had happened and she resented it although secretly she was slowly coming to the same conclusion.
‘So,’ the sergeant said, ‘you have no idea who might bear your family some kind of grudge – because that is how it looks to me. Too great a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
Albert shook his head without answering.
‘We have been speaking to your late housekeeper,’ the sergeant continued, ‘and I was given the impression that somewhere in your past there was trouble with a son.’
Hettie stifled a gasp. What on earth had that wretched woman been saying? She glanced at her husband whose mouth had fallen open.
He stammered, ‘She had no right to discuss our family. No right at all. There is such a thing as confidentiality. My brother was much too lenient with her.’
‘On the contrary,’ he replied, ‘withholding information where a crime has been committed, can be a punishable offence.’
Hettie felt her insides tremble. This was the past returning to haunt them, she thought fearfully. It was Albert’s fault. He should never have married that dreadful woman, and their son was another mistake.
Albert drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly. ‘Miss Dutton was right to an extent . . . that is, I did have a son, Stanley, by my first wife but he has long been gone from our lives. He now lives and works in Ceylon.’
After a silence Hettie saw that Albert was unable to continue so she leaned forward. ‘Stanley was a very wilful child and he grew into a troublesome young man who . . . who went off the rails.’
The sergeant was now all attention. ‘Go on.’
Albert was staring down at his folded hands. ‘His behaviour became bizarre . . . and bordering on dangerous. That is to say, we thought him a danger to himself and to others. He was quite wild and Monica, that was my first wife, thought he needed medical attention but she was terrified he would end up in an asylum.’
Hettie was now in shock for the second time that morning. When she married Albert she told him she did not want to hear a word about his son or his first wife. She wanted to start afresh as though nothing had happened before her marriage to Albert. It was the only way she could reconcile herself to what she had been told by others about her husband’s stormy first marriage.
The sergeant held up his hand while he caught up with his note-taking. Hettie glanced at Albert and thought him strangely pale. This, she knew, must be very painful for him.
Albert said, ‘So we sent him abroad to an old friend of mine – an old school friend in fact. He agreed that the discipline of the hard life out there would almost certainly help the boy.’
‘The boy, Mr Pennington? How old was your son at this stage in the story?’
‘Just nineteen.’ His voice shook. ‘Stanley didn’t want to go. He begged us . . . but we were desperate and Monica was so afraid for him. The mental aspect . . .’
‘So he might have felt you were abandoning him.’
Albert hesitated. ‘We were, I suppose . . . if you look at it like that.’
‘But you did it for the best.’
Albert nodded slowly. ‘We never heard from him. He never answered our letters but John, that’s my friend, he wrote once or twice but then even he gave up. I hoped Stanley would marry. Sometimes the love of a good woman will settle a young man . . .’ He shrugged.
Hettie said, ‘Don’t blame yourself, Albert.’
‘After he’d gone my wife had a . . . a breakdown of some sort. The doctor said it was guilt. She became depressed and . . . and was found in the river thirteen months later.’
Hettie put an arm round his shoulder and he glanced up at her in surprise and suddenly it was her turn to feel guilty. Maybe all those years ago she should have allowed her husband to talk to her about it. Perhaps she should have steeled herself to listen while he unburdened himself. The fate of his son and his wife must have weighed on his mind.
The sergeant looked from one to the other. ‘Would you be surprised if this son decided to return to England . . . and if so, is he capable of these acts of what might be revenge?’
Hettie almost held her breath. If this Stanley was back in England it was possible that he was trying to punish the family for what happened years earlier. She shivered. If he had stolen from Dilys and terrified Montague, what was he planning for
his father?
Her stomach churned.
Albert said, ‘I dare say he might but . . . after all this time we didn’t expect to see him again. Do you think we are in any danger, sergeant?’
‘Hard to say but best be on the alert. Sensible precautions. You know what I mean.’ He glanced through his earlier notes. ‘Your sister thinks she may have recognized the man who was in the soup kitchen queue.’
Hettie said, ‘She thought he whispered her name. So it could be Stanley. Does that mean you might be able to catch him?’
‘If he goes back for more soup we might be lucky. I’ll put one of my men on it – in civilian clothes, naturally. A uniform lurking nearby would set alarm bells ringing for him! We’ll get your sister-in-law to identify him and Bob’s your uncle!’
‘She’s in a frightful state about all this. I don’t think she’ll want to be anywhere near him!’
‘If she wants him caught and put away she’ll make the effort! So – his name’s probably Stanley Pennington. Now we’re getting somewhere. Thanks for your help. I’ll get back to the station.’
When he’d gone Albert and Hettie sat in shocked silence for some time. Albert poured himself a large whisky and sat down with it, waiting for his wife to say something.
At last she said, ‘Do you think it was a mistake to . . . to send him away?’
‘You didn’t know him as we did. You would have wanted to get him out of your life. We told ourselves it was for his own good. That it would sort him out.’ He took a large gulp of his whisky and closed his eyes. ‘Monica was afraid of him. He had moments when he was almost violent and he threatened us on several occasions. It was frightful. We were trying to hide the fact from family and friends because . . .’ He shook his head.
‘You were ashamed of him?’
‘Partly, but also ashamed of ourselves for not being able to deal with the problem. I made the decision and I was the one who had to tell him. After he’d gone I thought it was all over and we could lead a normal life but . . .’
Hettie waited but he didn’t finish the sentence. ‘You told me Monica died. You didn’t say she drowned herself.’
‘You said you didn’t want to know the sordid details, remember?’
‘No, I don’t remember.’
‘Well, take it from me, Hettie, you did say that and I was grateful for that because all I wanted to do was forget about him. It was a nightmare. I wanted to pretend it had never happened! How could I ask you to marry me with such a tragic past?’
They sat for some time in a brooding silence, avoiding eye contact.
Finally Hettie glanced at her husband. ‘I wonder why he’s come back to England. I wonder what happened to him over the past years.’ She looked at him fearfully. ‘Do you think he’s come back looking for revenge?’
He swallowed the rest of his whisky and stared into the empty glass. ‘It’s beginning to look that way.’
Hettie felt the heat drain from her body as she studied her husband’s face. He had not been strong enough to deal with the problem twenty years ago and he was no stronger now. Weaker, in fact. She shuddered as the realization hit her – Albert’s worst nightmare was with them again.
Now that Dilys was staying with them, Daisy felt able to take a few hours off and go home to her mother. She sat sipping tea while Martha wrapped up a plum tart she had made for the Penningtons.
Daisy said, ‘You’d like Steven, Ma. He speaks very nicely and he always looks clean and neat.’
‘Nice fingernails?’
Daisy smothered a laugh. Her mother had a ‘thing’ about men’s fingernails. ‘Very nice.’
‘Fingernails tell you a lot about a man. If he doesn’t take pride in his fingernails then he has a low opinion of himself and you should be warned. I read that in a magazine. Teeth, too.’ She laid the tart gently in the basket for Daisy to carry back with her.
Daisy steeled herself to tell her mother about the night’s events. ‘We had a bit of a scare last night,’ she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. If her parents knew exactly what was going on they would insist that she came home at nights so she had decided to play down the event. ‘Some idiot threw stones up at the back of the house and broke a window.’
Her mother stared at her. ‘Lord love us! Whatever next? Poor old Monty. Must have given him a bit of a fright.’
‘It gave us all a bit of a fright but the police came and sorted it out. They reckon it was the same chap that burgled Dilys. They’ll catch him in no time.’ She held her breath but there was no protest. She rushed on, reverting to the subject of her tea with Steven Anders. ‘He said he can’t wait for Saturday to come and neither can I. He must be quite clever, mustn’t he, to work in a solicitor’s office?’
‘You’d think so.’ She fixed her daughter with a stern look. ‘Just remember what I’ve told you. No larking about. No kissing and cuddling – leastways not yet. You hardly know him and he might have a reputation with the ladies. Good-looking men often do, so just be warned. Don’t allow any liberties until you know him better.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, Ma. You told me when I was going out with Tim from the dairy.’
‘I don’t care, Dais. You can’t hear it too many times . . . And remember what happened to young Tim?’
‘His pa warned him off me. I didn’t do anything. Tim was too young to start courting.’
‘Well he was, wasn’t he?’
‘He’s only a year younger than me!’
‘But he’s a boy and they grow up slower than girls. How old’s this Steven fellow?’
‘He didn’t bother to tell me!’ She tossed her head. ‘And I didn’t bother to ask! It’s only tea and cakes at Miss Maude’s. It might not last.’ She crossed her fingers and hoped it would.
‘Well, just be sensible – and if he does ask you out again, you tell him to collect you from here so I can get a look at him.’
‘Yes Ma!’ said Daisy but she made a note not to mention him again until matters between her and Steven were a little more definite.
While Dilys, Monty and Daisy were enjoying their plum tart, Hettie and Albert were eating silently without speaking, each one busy with their own thoughts and afraid to air them. Hettie was struggling to swallow each mouthful but unwilling to share her fears with her husband. She was, in fact, terrified of the developing situation for which she held Albert responsible. He had behaved foolishly and his mistakes were coming back to haunt them. She was almost blameless, she told herself bitterly, but now she was embroiled in what promised to be a dangerous exchange between father and son. After what had happened to Dilys and Montague, she had no doubt that she and Albert would be the next victims.
But why, she argued, should she be punished for something Albert had done years before she even met him? It was grossly unfair so why had he so far failed to see this and to find a way to place her in a safer environment? Because, she told herself angrily, he was so selfish and was only thinking of himself.
He glanced up from his plate and she noticed that he was having no difficulty eating.
‘Nice piece of cod,’ he said.
‘Is it?’
‘Don’t you think so, dear?’
‘I haven’t given it a thought, Albert. Too much on my mind, I suppose. Too busy wondering what is going to happen when your wretched son gets round to us!’
He laid down his knife and fork then sighed. ‘I was afraid of this – that you would panic, Hettie. Try to understand, dear, that if he tries to reach us, the police will be on to him in a flash. They said they would keep an eye out for him, remember?’
‘And you think that is good enough? I don’t. I think he will find a way to . . . to hurt us. And what have I done to deserve such treatment?’ She gave him a challenging look but her insides were tense. ‘Why don’t you think about me for a change?’
‘Think about you in what way exactly?’
Hettie hesitated, seeing a red flush creep into his face. It would
n’t do to push him too far, she thought desperately. He was the right age for a heart attack. ‘It doesn’t matter. Forget what I said. Forget that I’m afraid. Don’t give me another thought!’
She closed her eyes, annoyed with herself for allowing her resentment to be so obvious when he already had so much to regret. Pushing back her chair, she scrambled to her feet and, ignoring his cry of, ‘Wait, Hettie!’ almost ran from the room.
She locked herself in the bathroom and burst into angry tears but even while she sobbed, she realized that he had made no effort to come after her, and her sympathy for her husband began to evaporate further. He was a weak man. Always had been and always would be. Drawing a deep breath she dried her eyes on a nearby towel and stood up. Staring at her reflection, she said, ‘It’s up to you, Hettie. He’ll do nothing.’ But what could she do? What should she do?
Minutes later the idea came to her. Safety in numbers. She would ask her sister-in-law to come and stay with her for a few days. Then there would be three of them in the house and if the son tried anything they would outnumber him.
When approached, however, Dilys was not willing to stay with them. Her voice on the telephone was high with indignation. ‘Come and stay? Are you mad, Hettie? Haven’t I been through enough already – first in my own house and then here with Montague? Why should I put myself through anything else?’
Hettie cursed her stupidity. She had been a fool to ask.
Dilys said, ‘Why don’t you come to me? That would make more sense, surely. We could go back to my house. I can’t face many more days here with Montague and the wretched Daisy. She does her best but . . .’
‘But suppose this man—’
‘He’s not likely to come back here, is he? You and Albert are the only ones he hasn’t upset and you’re the ones to blame!’
‘I’m not to blame! It was nothing to do with me.’
‘You’re right, Hettie. I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. Look, come to me and we’ll offer Miss Gray money to stay overnight for, say, one week. If we share the cost we can make it worth her while. She can’t be that well off, can she? Just nights. Safety in numbers!’
The Penningtons Page 12
