by Anna King
Cursing and doubled up in pain he was about to make sure she was dead when he heard shouts and the pounding of men’s boots approaching. Still racked with pain he gave Agnes’ inert body one last savage kick before heading back to the hut, and safety. He knew Molly was now lost to him forever, but there were plenty more Mollys in the world. He doubted she would tell anyone about the basement. Even if she did, who would believe her? They’d likely put any such tale down to childish hysteria, particularly when they didn’t find it. At the very worst the police might search the hut again, but it would be a perfunctory procedure. And the only other person who knew was Agnes, and he was sure she wouldn’t be doing any talking. A groan of pain burst from his lips as he staggered back to the hut. Ten minutes later he was safely settled down in the basement, confident his hideout would never be discovered.
The pain in his groin was easing, but his hand was throbbing badly. Glancing down at the dried blood and dirt that streaked the bandage he cursed profusely. That old cow had reopened the wound, and rubbed dirt into it. Well, she wouldn’t be doing any more harm now, would she? His glee was short-lived as he prised the linen cloth away from the wound, for it had stuck deep. It was just as well he had furnished the basement with creature comforts. Finding a bottle of brandy he took a deep swallow, then another to dull the pain before redressing the wound. Scrutinising the injury closely he sighed with relief. It looked clean, and it had stopped bleeding.
A loud noise brought his head upwards. So they were back, were they? Well, let them search the hut as long as they liked, he could stay down here for days, weeks even, if the worst came to the worst. He had enough food and drink to last him that long. Taking the brandy bottle with him he lay down on the double mattress and raised the bottle.
‘Cheers, lads. You work your arses off. I’m quite comfortable where I am,’ he said mockingly before finishing off the remainder of the brandy and falling into a deep sleep.
* * *
Molly heard the men as they entered the forest. Following the sounds of the deep voices she stumbled across Agnes. Sobbing with relief at finding the nice lady she threw herself across the still body crying, ‘Wake up, lady. The policemen are here. Wake up, lady, please, wake up.’
She was still trying to stir Agnes when Ted and John, followed closely by four other men, came across them. With a loud shout of triumph Ted bounded forward, scooping Molly up into his arms, holding the dishevelled, small body tight against his chest. Then he looked down at Agnes, his lips curling in disgust. Rounding on John he snarled, ‘I told yer she was in on it, but yer wouldn’t ’ave it, would yer?’
Before John could answer, Ted, still holding Molly protectively with one arm, stooped and grabbed the inert figure with his free hand.
‘Come on, yer wicked old bitch. Get up and face the music.’ When the figure stayed silent Ted pulled at her arm roughly. ‘Stop messing about, yer ain’t fooling no one…’ Then he staggered back as the fragile figure in his arms began to beat at his face and neck with clenched fists.
‘Stop it! Leave her alone. She ain’t done nothing wrong. She saved me from the nasty man. She’s a nice lady, she is, she is. An’ she’s me friend. The nasty man found us, an’… an’ he tried ter ’urt her like he ’urt Mrs Knight. But she hit him an’ told me ter run, so… so I did. Then I ’eard yer coming, just like she said yer would. Only the nasty man must ’ave ’urt her bad, ’cos she won’t wake up… she won’t wake up…’ She broke off sobbing and threw her arms tight around Ted’s neck crying, ‘Make ’er wake up, Mister. Make ’er better, please, make ’er better.’
Ted looked helplessly at John Smith, and the uniformed man was quick to notice the look was threaded heavily with guilt.
‘You get her out of here, I’ll send one of the men for an ambulance cart. Because in case you haven’t noticed, Agnes is badly injured.’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm, which wasn’t lost on Ted.
Nodding dumbly he pressed his face against the blonde head nestled on his shoulder. ‘Yeah, all right.’ He went to walk away then stopped. Looking to where Johnny was now kneeling beside Agnes he said, ‘I’m sorry. Yer was right all along, I…’
John didn’t even look up as he barked, ‘Just get the child away from here.’ Then, ignoring Ted, he shouted to the waiting men, ‘Spread out. He can’t be far away.’ Instantly the men sprang into action, their faces beaming with relief that the child had been found. As Ted walked towards the edge of the forest to where police wagons were waiting, he heard a resounding cheer echo through the forest as word quickly spread that the little girl had been found safe, and every man he passed patted him on the back or shoulder.
Ted acknowledged the men’s camaraderie and walked on. The only thing on his mind was to get Molly back to her brother as soon as possible. But mixed with his elation at finding Molly there was a deep feeling of guilt for the contemptible way he had treated Agnes.
He was nearing the roadway when he came face to face with Arthur. ‘Thank God!’ cried Arthur. Then he smiled at Ted. ‘Take her home, Ted. Ellen’s waiting for you, for you both. I’ll stay here and help in the search to find Stokes.’ Then he did something Ted wasn’t expecting: Arthur put out his hand in friendship, and Ted took it.
They gripped hands tightly and looked deep into each other’s eyes – and what Ted saw there said more than any words could.
Then Arthur was gone, marching into the forest with three other men. Ted watched until they disappeared from view before taking Molly to one of the waiting police wagons.
Chapter Twenty-six
As the police wagon made its way back to Hackney more and more people began to come out of their homes to watch its progress, proving beyond question the unequalled validity of the East End grapevine. And the reception they received couldn’t have been more tumultuous than if the Queen herself was riding amongst them. Ted and the constable driving the wagon found themselves the heroes of the hour, and, despite their best efforts, neither man could stop his wide, soppy grin. Molly, on the other hand, seemed oblivious of the attention she was receiving; the only thought in her mind was seeing her brother again. Despite Ted’s assurances that Micky was waiting for her, Molly wouldn’t believe it until she saw him with her own eyes. Being possessed of a kind nature she couldn’t help but think of the two ladies who had tried to help her and been hurt in the process, but her prime concern was to see Micky. To hear his voice again, even if he started to tease her, or even shout at her, although Micky had rarely shouted at her. When the wagon stopped outside a bakery she looked up at Ted, puzzled.
‘Why we stopping ’ere, Mister? The lady… I mean Agnes, said Micky was staying with you an’ yer mum. You don’t live ’ere.’ Squirming in Ted’s grasp Molly cried in alarm, ‘Yer’ve been lying ter me, ain’t yer? And that old lady what ’elped me get away from the nasty man. Yer’ve both been lying ter me. Something’s ’appened ter him, ain’t it? That’s why ’e didn’t come back fer me that night, ’cos he couldn’t…’
Ted easily caught hold of the flailing arms, saying warmly, ‘We ain’t been lying ter yer, love, honest. He was staying with me and Mum, but then he decided he wanted ter be with Ellen, you know, the lady that Micky used ter work fer?’
But Molly was no longer listening or struggling. Instead her eyes as wide as saucers stared past him to the alley that ran down the back of the bakery. Then, with an ear-splitting scream that caused Ted to flinch, she shouted, ‘Micky!’
Ted’s head swivelled on his shoulders as he followed her line of sight, and there, looking incongruous and pitiful, clothed in one of Ted’s nightshirts that hung down to the boy’s ankles, stood Micky, a look of disbelief on his face, as he stared back at the girl he had thought he’d never see again. Beside him, her hand on his shoulder, stood a smiling Ellen, looking as though she was trying her hardest not to let her emotions get the better of her. But, like Ted and the young constable, she couldn’t stop the trembling of her lips, nor the tears of joy that were slowly rolling dow
n her cheeks.
Then Micky was half running, half stumbling, as he ran to his sister. Molly had already jumped down from the wagon and ran, her little legs pumping furiously as she raced towards her brother’s outstretched arms.
‘Molly… Oh, Moll, I thought yer was dead.’ Micky’s voice shook as Molly propelled herself into his arms, the impact of her body catching the still drowsy Micky off balance. But Molly hung onto his neck for dear life, and down the two of them went, then lay on the bumpy, cold cobbles, holding each other tight, afraid to let go for fear that someone or something would separate them again.
More people were still spilling out onto the streets, mainly the women, for their menfolk were out with the search party, and on each of their faces was the relief and joy that only a mother could feel for the safe return of a child, any child. The young constable who had driven Molly and Ted home saw the crowd begin to gather and quickly took control.
‘I think we should get ’em indoors, Sir.’ Jerking his head towards the groups of women heading their way he said, ‘They mean well, but under the circumstances it’d be better if the children could spend some time alone together before facing…’
His words were rudely cut off as a man wearing an overcoat, already busily scribbling on a large pad of paper, tried to pass them, but the constable blocked his path. ‘Now, now, Sir. Leave the youngsters in peace, they’ve been through enough without being pestered by you lot.’
But the journalist wasn’t to be put off so easily. Here was the story of a lifetime, and he was determined to get first-hand information and interviews before any of his rivals turned up.
‘Come on, mate. Just a few words with the kids. It ain’t often stories like these ’ave an ’appy ending.’
‘I said no, and I mean no. You’ll have plenty of time later to get your story. Right now they need a doctor, not a nosy reporter badgering them with a load of questions… Hey, you there.’
A loud bang and puff of smoke caught the constable’s attention. Muttering angrily he headed towards the man about to take another photograph of the children still locked together on the ground. It was a poignant sight, and one that would earn the photographer a good deal of money. He was preparing to take another one when the uniformed man blocked his path.
With the policeman’s attention diverted elsewhere the reporter grinned and started towards the alley.
‘No yer don’t, mate.’ Ted swung the man around, pushing him backwards.
‘Now, ’ang on a minute,’ the man protested, then stopped as he stared into Ted’s face. It was the face of a man not be trifled with, and the reporter knew when he was beaten. Besides, his associate had already taken a photo of the Masters children, while he himself would write the headline above it, plus a story to accompany it. He had been one of the first journalists to cover the story of the missing girl and the murder of Lily Knight, so he had more than enough information to warrant the front page of his newspaper.
Throwing up his hands in defeat he grinned good naturedly. ‘All right, all right. No need ter get stroppy.’ Tipping his hat to the back of his head he said, ‘I know when I’ve met me match. You’d better hurry up and get the pair of ’em indoors before the rest of the bloodhounds turn up. They’re front-page news at the moment, the pair of ’em, an’ yer can’t keep ’em all away – as big as you are,’ he laughed.
Ted smiled back. ‘Don’t bet on it,’ he said then he was striding down the alley to the three people that needed him most at this time; two of whom he already loved, and the third… Ted gave a mental shrug. He didn’t think he’d have much trouble in learning to love Molly Masters.
Bending down he lifted both children into his arms with ease. Then with a loving glance at Ellen he followed her indoors, kicking the door behind them with his foot, and the sound of the door closing gave him the feeling of security. Soon, very soon, their privacy would be invaded. It was only to be expected. The doctor had already been sent for. But until he arrived Ted had the children and Ellen all to himself. And he was going to make the most of that time.
* * *
For the next five days Agnes drifted in and out of consciousness, thus preventing the police from questioning her as to the whereabouts of Kenneth Stokes. The exhaustive search of Epping Forest had proved fruitless. It seemed as if the hunted man had disappeared from the face of the earth.
The only other person who might have helped them was the child, Molly Masters, but she too had had little information to help them find the man who had abducted her. It had been left to John Smith to tackle the delicate task of questioning the little girl, much to the chagrin of his inspector who had already had his nose put out of joint when the case had been taken over by Scotland Yard.
In the presence of a doctor, John had tried to get Molly to tell him where Kenneth Stokes had taken her, but each of his questions had been met with a stone wall. It was as if events from the time she had been taken from Lily Knight’s house until Agnes had led her to safety had been blanked from her mind. The doctor had explained to John that such cases where a child was concerned was perfectly normal. The trauma Molly had been through had left a profound and lasting effect on the little girl. The doctor had gone on to say that in his experience some people, both adult and children, had recalled unpleasant memories given time, while others never had – it all depended on the individual concerned.
Which didn’t help the police at all.
At the moment the Masters children were staying at Ted’s house, with Nora Parker fiercely guarding the children from prying eyes and nosy reporters, of which there were an abundance.
There was also a heavy presence of newspapermen gathered outside the Hackney hospital where Agnes still lay unconscious from the savage attack on her by Stokes.
The police were on guard outside the private room in which Agnes lay. One of the few people allowed in to sit with her was Ted Parker. It was on the fifth day as he sat by her bedside, the guilt about the way he had treated her still heavy on his mind, when her eyes opened.
Seeing Ted by her bed, Agnes’ eyes widened in fear, and this alone caused Ted’s stomach to churn in shame. Quick to put her mind at ease he caught hold of the frail hand lying outside the starched sheets and said gently, ‘It’s all right, Agnes. I ain’t gonna hurt yer. I was wrong about yer, and I feel ashamed of meself when I think of the times I’ve gone fer yer. Johnny Smith kept telling me yer wouldn’t ’ave anything ter do with the likes of Stokes, but I wouldn’t listen. I should ’ave, ’cos he was right. Yer saved Molly from that pervert, an’ nearly got yerself killed doing it.’
Agnes felt the tenderness in Ted’s touch and voice and relaxed. She tried to speak but her lips felt as if they were glued together. With a weak movement of her head she looked at the pitcher of water on the locker by her bed. Ted saw her distress and instantly poured the liquid into a glass. Lifting Agnes’ head from the pillows he held the glass to her dried, cracked lips.
Gulping eagerly at the cool water Agnes spluttered and coughed, the action causing her to screw up her eyes in pain. Ted laid her back on the pillow, his face taking on a look of genuine concern.
‘’Ang on, Agnes, I’ll get a nurse or doctor. They’ve been waiting fer yer to come round.’
Agnes caught at Ted’s hand.
‘No, wait a minute,’ she croaked painfully. ‘Yer said Mo— Molly’s all right?’
‘Yeah, she’s fine, Agnes. And it’s all thanks ter you, yer…’
Impatiently Agnes squeezed Ted’s hand, motioning him to be quiet.
Quickly picking up on her signal he sat down again and said earnestly, ‘What is it, Agnes? You trying ter tell me something?’
Agnes nodded her head gingerly. Looking towards the closed door then back to Ted’s anxious face she whispered, ‘’Ave they found ’im?’
She didn’t have to name who she was referring to. Alert now, Ted moved closer to the bed. ‘No, they ain’t. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air. But you know something, don
’t yer, Agnes?’
Agnes’s eyes fluttered and closed, and for a heartstopping moment Ted thought she’d fallen back into unconsciousness. Then she spoke, but her voice was so weak Ted had to lean his ear against her mouth to hear what she was trying so hard to convey.
‘The hut, Ted. He’s hiding in the hut.’
Deeply disappointed, Ted drew his head back, gently stroking her hand. ‘Nah! They’ve looked there, Agnes. If he was there, he ain’t now.’
Again Agnes became agitated, her grip on Ted’s hand tightening.
‘’Ere, don’t go upsetting yerself, love. It ain’t your fault, yer…’
Desperate to make herself heard Agnes motioned for Ted to come closer. Again laying his ear against her mouth he listened, humouring her as she spoke disjointedly. Then he sat bolt upright as her words sank in.
‘A basement! Nah, there can’t be. The coppers would’ve found it by now if there was one. They’ve had the place upside down, they…’
‘No, it’s there… he… he told me.’ Agnes swallowed painfully. ‘More water, please, Ted.’
Ted moved like lightning to get the water. If Agnes was telling the truth it would explain a lot of things. But more important still, if Stokes was hiding in a basement beneath the hut in the forest, he wanted to be the one to find him.
Her thirst quenched, Agnes tried once more to make Ted believe her. ‘Thanks, Ted.’ Her claw-like hand gripped his, and Ted didn’t flinch at her touch, as he would have in the past. ‘Listen… I ain’t… ain’t going off me ’ead. He thought he was gonna kill me, otherwise he’d never ’ave let me in on his little secret. You go there, Ted. You go and look. Don’t… don’t tell the law… just go and see if he’s still there.’ Her eyes nearly closed, her grip on his hand loosening, she pleaded, ‘Yer know what I mean, Ted?’
Ted nodded grimly. Yes! He understood all right.
