The two men exchanged helpless glances. In her present mood, Maude Brent was implacable.
Lionel and his new friends finally exhausted the pleasures of the beach and, crunching their way across the shingle, made their way unsteadily up the steps to the road level. A small cloud had now covered the moon and there was no reflection from the water so that the whole atmosphere seemed to Lionel to have grown more sombre. He shivered, squinting upward at the dark sky and hoping it was not an omen. He was not normally superstitious but a successful outcome to tonight’s adventure was crucial to the rest of his life and he did not want anything to go wrong.
He was killing time with his idiot companions, waiting for the moment when he would get his hands on the money that Maude would bring to the pier. He knew her well. Nothing would deflect her from rescuing him. Poor little Maude. She was besotted with him. He smiled into the darkness. Forgetting that he had shaved off his moustache, he put up a hand to stroke it.
‘Damn!’ he muttered.
‘Wossat?’ asked one of the men, clinging to the handrail as he pulled himself up and on to the road.
‘Nothing!’ Lionel slurred his voice as he slapped him on the back but in fact he was not drunk at all, simply pretending. Thank God it would soon be over. Once away from Hastings he could regrow his moustache, hopefully wash the dye from his hair and part it in the middle again. He was a vain man and preferred his original appearance.
Two of his companions were now spoiling half-heartedly for a fight and another was becoming morose. The latter clung to Lionel’s arm, trying to tell him about his unlucky past. The fifth man, younger than the rest, stood on the top step, unbuttoned his trousers and peed down on to the beach. ‘Look! A waterfall!’ he crowed, hiccuping with laughter. ‘Better than that Niagara thing they’ve got in America!’
Suddenly Lionel longed to be rid of them, despising their inane antics and pathetic schoolboy humour. He had allowed himself to be drawn into their group in the public house, partly because he was lonely and partly because he feared that resisting their invitation might look churlish and draw attention to him. All he could think about was collecting the money but now he needed to be alone to wait for whatever the next few hours would bring. These drunken revellers no longer interested him.
‘I’m off then, gentlemen!’ he said as he walked swiftly away eastward, in the direction of his room, praying that they wouldn’t decide to accompany him. One of them, he saw as he glanced back, was staggering after him but finally tripped over his own feet and ended up on the ground. Serve the silly blighter right! Lionel certainly didn’t want them to follow him, even at a distance. That would never do.
‘Oi! Dodger! Where you off to?’ another shouted plaintively but Lionel waved an arm without even turning back. He would hole up, until it was time, in his attic room above the barber’s at the far end of George Street. There his bag awaited him, already packed, and there was a small pile of coins on the mildewed sideboard in payment for the room. He was taking no chances. If he left without paying the rent the landlord might report him and the police, though hardly the most intelligent of men in his opinion, might just put two and two together and make four.
When he had the money from Maude he would stow it in the bag, sling it over his shoulder and stroll off. He planned to walk along through St Leonards and keep walking through the night until the buses started in the morning. The train would have whisked him away faster, of course, but there was more chance of being spotted once the alarm was raised. It was a pity about Jem. He hadn’t intended to kill him, just give him a bit of a beating to guarantee his silence. Jem’s mistake was fighting back. Stupid beggar! He shouldn’t have done that. Lionel had lost his temper. It just happened. A couple of taps on his head and down Jem went. Must have had a thin skull. It was an accident. Nothing more.
‘I’m no thug,’ he muttered resentfully. No need for Alice to have made such a fuss about it. Once the boy was dead, of course, he’d had to get rid of him. He should have thought more about the tides and where they would take him. Hadn’t expected him to show up again so quickly. Lionel took a few deep breaths and made up his mind to forget all about it.
And poor Maude. She’d assume he was dead, killed by those wicked kidnappers. No doubt she’d weep over his grave . . . Oh no! He grinned suddenly. There wouldn’t be a grave! Maybe she’d spend her life in widow’s weeds like Queen Victoria. God bless Her Majesty!
He frowned suddenly as he noticed a young woman on the beach, staring out to sea. He smiled grimly. He knew her sort. Do anything for a few coins. Probably had found herself in the family way. She wouldn’t be the first and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Was she going to drown herself? Losing interest, Lionel walked on, smiling to himself. Soon he would be rich and he would have the pick of any woman, anywhere in the world!
He glanced back. She was still there. Excited and full of plans for a wonderful future, Lionel didn’t give her a second thought.
At ten to two the three people in the sitting room were quietly contemplating what was to come. Maude, her face pale and drawn, looked at the detective writing something in his notebook, and wished she had not needed to flout his wishes on the business of the paintings, which were stacked in readiness in the hall, waiting for the taxi to arrive so that she could take them to the pier entrance and deposit them. She knew he believed he was doing his best but his ultimate aim was to catch the criminal and hers was to bring about her husband’s return.
She glanced at Derek Jayson, liking what she saw. He had been very kind to her, trying to act as a go-between for her and DC Fleet and eager to help her in any way he could. If only she had had a brother like him. How much easier it would have been for her to be able to rely on a close family member.
She glanced at the clock. ‘Not long now.’ She imagined the taxi driver checking his watch and yawning. Still, he had insisted on double pay for the trip so he wouldn’t complain.
The policeman nodded without answering. Derek Jayson smiled, leaned across and patted her arm. ‘It’s going to be all right, Mrs Brent. You’ll see.’
The detective rolled his eyes at this blatant oversimplification of the negotiations ahead. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Maude tried to imagine how Lionel was feeling. She hoped he knew how near he was to being set free. And he would be able to thank her for that. If she had been guided by DC Fleet and the bank manager, things might have looked very different.
‘But if he’s not there?’ she asked again. ‘Lionel, I mean. What will we do?’
‘He will be, Mrs Brent,’ Derek Jayson told her soothingly.
‘I’ve been praying,’ Maude told him. ‘Perhaps we should pray together.’ She bent her head and, after a moment’s hesitation, the men joined her. ‘Dear Lord,’ she began earnestly, but just then there was a timid knock on the sitting-room door. Maude jumped and they looked at each other in surprise.
Derek Jayson said, ‘Who on earth . . .?’ and then called out, ‘Come in!’
Mrs Hurst appeared. She was still in her night clothes and slippers and her head was covered in curling rags. Maude stared at her.
‘I’m ever so sorry to intrude, but I was looking out on to the street and I noticed a woman lurking about outside. She kept looking up at the windows and I thought . . . Well, you know, it’s rather late!’
Maude jumped to her feet but DC Fleet put up a warning hand. ‘I’ll check this out,’ he told them. ‘It may be connected with the kidnap.’
‘They may have sent a message!’ Maude cried, and a faint wash of colour swept across her face.
The detective shook his head. ‘Please don’t get your hopes up, Mrs Brent. It may not be good news.’
He left the room and Derek Jayson said, ‘We must have faith!’
‘It might be Alice.’ Maude clasped her hands.
‘Would she dare?’
‘I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt until we know exactly—’ She broke off as footsteps sounded in the
hall and DC Fleet came in dragging a reluctant Alice.
‘You’re hurting me! Let go of my arm!’ The young woman looked terrified but the policeman held on to her.
He said, ‘She only wants to talk to you, Mrs Brent, but I’ve told her I have to be present. Time is running out and if there is any—’
Maude cried, ‘Alice! Do you know where Lionel is being held? If so you must tell us at once. Everything else can wait.’
They all turned towards Alice, who looked as if she might faint with fright. She looked beseechingly at Maude and burst into tears.
Maude stepped forward. ‘Please release her, DC Fleet. She won’t run away – will you, Alice?’
She was rewarded with a shake of the head. Reluctantly the policeman relaxed his grip and she snatched back her arm and rubbed it with her hand.
Derek Jayson hesitated. ‘Shall I make her a warm drink?’ he suggested and Maude suspected that he found it hard to deal with the emotions.
‘Thank you, Mr Jayson. That would be helpful.’ She turned to Alice and guided her to a chair. ‘Now, Alice, sit down there and forget about DC Fleet. And tell us at once if you know anything at all about where Lionel is and whether or not we can expect to have him back safely. What you can tell us may save his life.’
Alice drew a long breath and began to cry again. ‘Oh, Maude! How can I . . .? You must forgive me . . . That is, you won’t, of course . . . How could you?’
Exasperated by Maude’s gentle approach, DC Fleet stepped forward. ‘Answer these questions, Miss Crewe,’ he snapped. ‘Have you been in contact with Lionel Brent in the past twenty-four hours?’
‘No. I went to his lodgings but . . . He said it was over a cobbler’s shop but the woman . . . Oh God! Forgive me! I don’t understand what’s happening.’
Maude said, ‘Went to his lodgings? But how . . .? He doesn’t have . . . What are you talking about?’
He shook Alice’s shoulder roughly. ‘Miss Crewe, do you know where the suspect is right now?’
‘No. But I have to tell you, Maude, that . . .’ She scrubbed at her tears with both hands, gasping for breath. ‘It’s not what you think. He isn’t going to be killed. He . . .’
DC Fleet was losing patience with her. ‘Stop this nonsense!’ he warned. ‘You are wasting police time and that is punishable by—’
‘He isn’t? Oh, thank God!’ Maude cried.
DC Fleet, white-faced, stared at Alice. ‘You know something! What is it?’ He moved closer. ‘If you don’t—’
Maude pulled him back. ‘Stop browbeating her! You won’t frighten it out of her!’ She crouched beside Alice. ‘Please, Alice, we have to understand what is going on. All I want to know now is if my husband is alive. Can you answer that?’
‘He’s alive. Yes.’
DC Fleet said, ‘Ask her how she knows that.’
Maude hesitated, frowning. ‘Alice?’
‘Because he . . . Maude, we made it all up. I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean . . . At least we did . . . but I didn’t know about Jem.’
DC Fleet almost pushed Maude aside in his eagerness to obtain the information he needed. ‘What happened to Jem Rider? Did Lionel Brent kill him?’
At that moment Derek Jayson arrived with a cup of tea and a sugar bowl but the detective waved him away. He hovered uncertainly in the doorway, confused, staring at Maude as though expecting her to explain what was happening.
DC Fleet now held Alice’s shoulder in a fierce grip.
‘I don’t understand!’ cried Maude, turning towards the policeman. ‘Lionel hasn’t killed anyone. He’s been kidnapped. You’re not making any sense. Lionel never would do such a thing. He couldn’t.’ She turned to Alice. ‘Tell him! You know Lionel. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!’
‘He didn’t mean to. It was an accident!’ Alice covered her face with her hands.
Maude felt the first frisson of fear curling up her spine like ice. She heard the words but didn’t understand what she was hearing – although she knew she didn’t like it. Nor did she like the fact that Alice seemed to understand what the policeman was talking about. Alice, of all people!
Alice cried, ‘Maude, I know you’ll never forgive me, but I wish with all my heart that—’
‘Forgive you for what?’ What on earth had Alice done? What had happened to her? ‘Was it a man . . . That is, has someone assaulted you?’ If that were so, she could understand and, of course, she would forgive her – there would be nothing to forgive! But how was Lionel involved? He would never assault Alice. He would never assault any woman. In despair, she let the argument roll around her, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.
DC Fleet asked, ‘Is he going to turn up to collect the money, Miss Crewe? Yes or no? Will he be at the pier – in person?’
Alice screamed. ‘You mustn’t . . . Oh no!’ Her voice rose.
‘Tell me, Miss Crewe.’
Alice turned her gaze imploringly towards Maude, who could only shake her head.
‘Miss Crewe! I shall arrest you for withholding information if you—’
‘I . . . I expect he will but he wasn’t where I thought he was so I don’t know for sure. Oh, do you have to catch him? He’s not really a murderer. It was an accident! He told me how it happened.’
DC Fleet narrowed his eyes. ‘When exactly did he tell you?’
‘The night he came into the garden. He said if anyone ever asked I was to tell them it was an accident.’
Maude thought rapidly. Alice was claiming that Lionel was the man who had come into the garden at Fairways! If that were true, he had been free to come and go. Finally one of the pieces of the shocking jigsaw had fallen into place. ‘You mean while I was here, my husband came to Fairways? In the night? How was that possible, Alice?’
DC Fleet snapped. ‘It was all lies, Mrs Brent. Now would you please stop interrupting and allow me to question Miss Crewe.’
‘But the paintings! Time is short and—’
‘They won’t be needed. We can catch him without them.’
Alice said, ‘Jem sort of tripped and knocked himself out. He was unconscious, that’s all.’
DC Fleet flushed angrily. ‘You’re saying Rider slipped and fell and banged his head twice in the same place? You see my problem, Miss Crewe? He had two overlapping blows to his head! Really, you cannot be so naive as to—’
‘But he . . . he said it . . . it was . . .’ Alice stammered then fell silent before his withering tone and cold gaze.
He went on. ‘And Rider, already unconscious, somehow threw himself into the sea?’ The policeman regarded her scornfully. ‘Don’t try to make a fool of me, Miss Crewe. And don’t fool yourself. You and Mrs Brent have both been deceived. The man’s a wrong ’un!’
Still uncomprehending, Maude turned to Derek Jayson but at that moment the door flew open and Alison Cobb came in.
‘For heaven’s sake, keep your voices down!’ she told them urgently. ‘I could hear you upstairs. Do you want to rouse the rest of the guests?’ She caught sight of her brother and walked towards him. ‘Is that tea? If so I’ll have it.’
‘It’s for Miss Crewe.’
‘Who?’ She took the tea from him and sipped it. She saw Alice. ‘Who’s this?’
Maude began to explain, as calmly as she could, that Alice was Miss Crewe and that she was her companion who had come in search of her, but even as she spoke she was uncovering doubts. It seemed more likely that Alice had come to convince them that Lionel was not a murderer. Which made no sense unless someone was accusing Lionel of Jem Rider’s death, which they weren’t . . . Were they?
Everyone was talking at once and Maude put a hand to her head, which was beginning to ache. The detective had said they didn’t need the paintings and he seemed to be expecting Lionel to turn up at the pier and he also seemed determined to arrest him.
Earlier Maude had been full of nervous energy and ready to face the kidnappers with the paintings. Now she felt exhausted by the confusion and momen
tarily closed her eyes as a great weight settled over her – a weight she recognized. It was fear of the truth. She needed to know what was going on but she dreaded the truth.
She opened her eyes as someone touched her hand, and looked up to see Mrs Cobb’s brother leaning over her.
‘You look as though you could do with some air,’ he suggested. ‘Would you like to stand in the garden for a few moments? I’ll come with you. You might feel stronger.’
At that moment Maude saw a chance to delay the reality that awaited her and she nodded dumbly. No-one even noticed as he steered her out of the room, through the kitchen and out into the small back yard that he had elevated to a garden. There was nowhere to sit down and gloomy clouds had covered the moon. A cat appeared from behind a display of potted plants and rubbed itself against her ankles, but as she bent to fondle it, it sprang away and disappeared into the shadows.
He said, ‘There’s nowhere to sit, but if you wouldn’t object or misunderstand, I could put an arm round you. You must be feeling very disturbed by everything and I don’t want you to faint.’
Touched by his kindness, she said, ‘I won’t object, Mr Jayson. The fresh air is very welcome.’ She trembled a little as his arm went round her then leaned towards him, grateful for the support. ‘Rather like an oasis, this little yard,’ she said inconsequentially. It was a relief to be out of the fevered atmosphere inside the hotel.
‘A sea of calm,’ he agreed. ‘A chance to catch your breath.’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘It was kind of you to think of me.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t be more help.’
‘You and your sister have been more than kind. I’m afraid I’ve been an unwanted disruption.’
‘Not at all.’
Truth Will Out Page 16
