by Kitty Neale
KITTY NEALE
Family Betrayal
This book is dedicated to my dear cousin, Roberta Carter, a woman whose courage in the face of illness has been an inspiration.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Nervously, the young woman approached Drapers Alley. She had been told all but one of the houses were empty, yet still her heart thudded with fear.
Had her informant lied? It was possible. There was still venom – spite aimed at her family – locals who wanted to see her, and them, brought low. For a moment she froze, wanting to turn and flee, but she had to risk it – had to tell her mother the awful truth.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she entered the narrow passageway, skirting the iron bollard that barred all traffic but that on two wheels. The sign was still on the wall, the alley's name, but now her eyes widened. Her father had ruled here – followed by her brothers after his death – and no one had dared enter their domain without permission. She'd been gone for only just over six months but already the D in ‘Drapers’ had been crudely painted out so that it read ‘Rapers Alley’. Yes, rape may have been one of their sins, it was certainly possible, yet worse had been done – much worse.
The fact that the name had been defaced was all the proof she needed that her brothers had gone, and the tension at last left her body. To one side of the alley a towering, dirty factory wall cut out light, the atmosphere it created grim with foreboding. Above the high wall the upper floors of the factory were visible, lined with a myriad mean, grimy windows. Though it had closed many years ago, it was a building that had dominated her life from childhood, and visible as soon as she stepped outside the front door. She hated it, had longed to see grass and trees, but unlike her nephews, she hadn't been allowed the pleasure of playing in the local park.
Her eyes avoided the factory building and the horror of what would be found inside. Instead she looked to the left and for a moment paused to take in the small row of six flat-fronted workers' houses. They appeared smaller, shabby with neglect, yet the first in the row, number one, stood out as different. This was her parents' home – a home she'd been forced to flee in fear of her life.
As she crossed the narrow cobbled alley, her gaze fixed on the house, a ray of spring sunlight pierced the gloom. Like her, it had dared to penetrate the alley and it momentarily illuminated her mother's window. Was it a good omen? Did it mean she'd be safe? God, she hoped so.
The brass door knocker and letter box gleamed, but instead of smiling, her lips thinned. Now that her mother was alone, she'd expected her to change – to give up her obsession with housework. Her mother had dusted, polished, swept and scrubbed every hour of the day, excluding any opportunity to show her children an ounce of affection.
For a moment she hesitated outside the street door. What if she'd been lied to? What if her mother wasn't alone? Come on, she told herself, show a bit of spunk. You've come this far and nobody would have dared to call it Rapers Alley if they were still around.
Her hand lifted slowly to the small lion's-head knocker and, after rapping three times, she involuntarily stepped back a pace.
The door slowly opened. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ she said, and seeing the smile of welcome on her mother's face, her eyes filled with tears as she stepped inside. What she had to tell her mother would break her heart.
Chapter One
Drapers Alley, South London, May 1962
Dan Draper was fond of relating the tale of how he'd found the alley, and on Saturday morning he was repeating it again as he sat facing his youngest son. Dan's pug-nosed face was animated, his huge tattooed arms resting on the table.
At twenty-four years old, Chris Draper was a replica of his father. He shared his light brown hair and grey eyes, along with his tall, beefy build, both of them standing at six foot. But so far his nose remained unbroken and his good looks were intact.
‘Yes, you've told me, Dad,’ Chris said wearily as he cut vigorously into his rasher of crispy bacon.
Dan carried on as though he hadn't noticed the interruption. ‘I'd had a few beers too many and my bladder was bursting. It was sheer chance that I cut into this alley for a slash. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw the name. Blimey, it was like fate. Not only that, I saw the potential straight away. With narrow entrances at both ends, cut in half by the bollards, the only thing that can get through is a bike.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘This alley is as good as a fortress.’
Chris nodded, hardly listening as his father rambled on. He looked at his mother, Joan, her hands busy as always polishing the brass ornaments. She appeared distant, unreachable, but Chris was used to this. In his childhood it had upset him, but he was a man now, and he didn't need displays of motherly affection, or so he told himself. She was a tiny woman, two inches less than five foot tall and as usual, she aroused his protective instincts.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ he asked.
It was his father who answered. ‘Of course she's all right. Why shouldn't she be? Now then, where was I? Oh, yes, there was only one house empty in the alley at the time and I had to tip up a backhander to the council to get it. Gawd, despite homes being in short supply, you should have seen your mother's face when she saw it. We'd been living in a flat with a shared bog so I thought she'd be excited, but instead she nearly had a fit. All right, this place is small and it was a bit of a squash to fit us all in, but at least we had it to ourselves.’
‘Yeah, I was only a kid, but I can remember when we moved from that dump of a place around the corner.’
‘A year later your mother dropped a girl, making it a tighter squeeze. After giving me five sons it was a bit of a shock.’
Chris heard his mother's tut of displeasure but she said nothing, having given up remarking on her husband's coarseness years ago. He looked around the immaculate room, knowing that the outside of the house bore no relation to the interior. In their line of business it would give the game away to flaunt their wealth, yet even so, inside there was every comfort that the business books could account for. Against one wall sat a deep red velvet sofa, the gold tassels along the bottom hanging just short of the Wilton rug. To one side of the small Victorian fireplace there was a matching
chair, but Chris's eyes were drawn to the radiogram, which, thanks to his mother's overzealous cleaning, looked as shiny and new as the day his father had bought it. With a small table and four chairs in the centre, the room was crammed to the rafters, yet from the brass fender to the ornaments, everything was sparkling. When they had first moved in there hadn't been a bathroom, just an outside loo, but his father had solved that problem by building an extension, one that took up half the yard. Chris smiled. He hero-worshipped his father and admired how clever he had been when installing the bathroom – one with a secret that only the male members of the family were aware of.
‘Oi! Are you listening to me or am I talking to myself?’
‘I'm listening, Dad.’
‘Right, well, we ain't done bad by Drapers Alley. Over the years, when your brothers got hitched, I saw off the neighbours and a few more bungs to the council made sure the boys got their empty houses.’ Dan leaned back in his chair, smiling with satisfaction. ‘It's all Drapers living here now, other than your cousin Ivy, but she was a Draper before she married that short-arsed git.’
Chris had to grin. It was true. Ivy had married Steve Rawlings, a bloke whose head came up only to her shoulders. Mind, with her looks she was lucky to get anyone to take her on. Ivy was the odd one out and could only be described as ugly. She was tall, big built, with a round flat face, piggy little eyes and thin, mousy hair. The trouble was, Ivy had an ugly personality to match and Chris would never understand why his father had secured a house for her in the alley.
There was a clatter of footsteps as Petula ran downstairs before bursting into the room.
‘Dad, can I have some money? Elvis Presley's latest record is in the charts and I want to buy it.’
‘I gave you a quid yesterday!’
‘Please, Dad,’ she wheedled.
Chris knew that Pet would get her own way. She'd been born when he was ten, and had quickly become his father's pride and joy. At first he'd resented this, but gradually, like all his brothers, he had fallen under his baby sister's spell. She had been a beautiful child, and even though she was now a gangly fourteen-year-old, it was plain to see that she'd be stunning as an adult. Pet's hair was almost black, sitting on her shoulders and flicked into an outward curl at the ends. With vivid, blue eyes, a cute turned-up nose, full lips, and slightly pointed chin, her features were in perfect symmetry. Luckily, so far Pet seemed to have no idea how pretty she was.
Petula continued to beg and as usual, she won, Dan putting his hand in his back pocket to draw out a ten-shilling note. ‘All right, but this is coming out of your pocket money.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she cried. ‘I'll be back soon.’
‘Hold on! Eat your breakfast first. I don't want you roaming around Clapham Junction on your own. Chris can go with you.’
‘Dad,’ she whined, ‘I'm fourteen years old and I'll be fifteen in December. I can look after myself now.’
‘You'll do as I say.’
Petula pouted, but her father's tone had hardened and she knew better than to argue further. She went into the kitchen, returning with a box of cornflakes. The pout was still there as she poured herself a bowl of the cereal, but she had a naturally light-hearted personality, and soon brightened when Chris winked at her.
‘I want to buy a record too so I might as well come with you,’ he said, his tone placatory.
Pet smiled, then turned to her father, saying, ‘Dad, there's a dance at the youth club tonight. Can I go?’
‘What time does it finish?’
‘Ten o'clock.’
‘Yeah, you can go, but one of your brothers will meet you afterwards to walk you home.’
‘Oh, Dad, there's no need for that. It's less than fifteen minutes away. I'll be fine on my own.’
‘You'll be met,’ he insisted.
‘None of my friends will be escorted home. I'll be a laughing stock.’
‘It ain't safe for you to be wandering the streets at that time of night, so either you're met by one of your brothers, or you don't go.’
Pet scowled, saying no more as she quickly ate her breakfast. Chris finished his, and they got up from the table simultaneously.
‘Right, we're off,’ he said. ‘See you later.’
‘Yeah, and keep an eye out,’ Dan warned. ‘Don't forget we've got a meeting at the yard later. I want you there by eleven.’
‘I'll be there. Bye, Mum.’
Joan obviously hadn't heard them, locked as usual in her own world, but nevertheless Chris still offered a small wave.
The weather was mild as they stepped out into the alley but, dwarfed by the factory wall, they felt the sun on their faces only as they turned into Aspen Street. Chris swiftly looked both ways, but other than a few kids playing there was no one in sight. Nowadays he knew it was unlikely that there'd be any trouble, but even so he was cautious. With the enemies they'd made it was sensible to be vigilant, but Petula's desire for more freedom was becoming a problem. They were supposed to be running a legitimate business so did their best to keep her in ignorance of why she needed protection, but he worried that it couldn't last much longer. Pet was growing up and they'd need to come up with some sort of explanation for her. He'd have a quiet word with his dad later, but in the meantime Chris continued to keep a lookout, more so when they traversed a few more streets and reached Lavender Hill.
Halfway along the hill, past the town hall, the police station loomed, and Chris gave a wry smile as he glanced at it. The Drapers were notorious in South London and had once been thieves, but careful planning had ensured they'd never been caught. It had been a long time since they'd done a job, but the last one they'd carried out had been close. Tipped off about a large consignment, they had cracked a jeweller's safe, and only just managed to get away. Of course, it helped that the entrance to the alley wasn't wide enough to accommodate a police car, but they'd been raided on foot, the rozzers pouring through the gaps at both ends of the alley. He grinned. Of course the police had found nothing then, and never had – the Draper family outfoxed them every time.
Pet broke into his thoughts. ‘Look, there's Mrs Fuller.’
Chris saw the woman walking towards them, her mouth tightening as she drew closer. Nearly everyone knew their reputation and feared them, knowing better than to enter Drapers Alley without invitation. Some locals would come to them if they had a problem, and if Dan thought their complaint fair, he'd step in. His reputation was usually enough to put the shit up the troublemaker.
Betty Fuller was one of the exceptions. She had known Chris and Petula's father since they were both youngsters and felt it her right to enter the alley, although she did so rarely.
There was no fear on her face as she approached them. ‘Watcha, Chris – Petula,’ she said.
Chris merely nodded, but Petula said, ‘Hello, Mrs Fuller.’
‘How's your dad? Er … and your mum?’ she added as an afterthought.
‘They're fine, thanks.’
Chris knew that Betty Fuller was a gossip and he was anxious to get away, scowling when she said ‘Did you hear that someone done over the off-licence last night?’
‘No,’ Chris said shortly.
‘Oh, so it was nothing to do with you lot then?’
Chris stiffened, annoyed at the woman's nerve and the innuendo. ‘You must be joking. We run a legit business, and even if we didn't, we wouldn't be interested in a poxy off-licence. If I was you, Mrs Fuller, I'd nip that bit of gossip in the bud.’
The woman didn't pale at his implied threat. Instead she bristled, ‘It didn't come from me – I'm only passing on what I heard.’
‘Yeah, well, perhaps next time you hear any rubbish, you'll pass on that bit of info, and the fact that we won't be happy if we hear any more bad-mouthing.’
‘I suppose I could do that.’
‘Good. Come on, Pet,’ Chris urged, taking his sister's arm and pulling her forward.
Pet was quiet for a few moments as they walked along, but then she sa
id sadly, ‘When are people going to stop talking about us?’
‘Take no notice. The business is doing well and people are jealous because we've got a few bob. If anyone gets funny with you, let me know.’
‘I'm a big girl now and can stick up for myself, but I don't understand why everyone still thinks that our family are criminals.’
‘It's just gossip,’ Chris said dismissively. ‘Now come on, let's get a move on. There's a business meeting at the yard today, and you heard Dad: he wants me there by eleven.’
As they picked up their pace, Chris hid a smile. Yes, they had become so-called legit, but it hadn't stopped CID from having a go at the yard. They'd wasted their time because all that was on show were building materials and perfectly kept account books. Drapers Builders' Merchants, the family business, was a good front and a cover that served them well. Chris hoped it would continue to do so, especially as nowadays they had a more lucrative sideline, one that was out of the borough and more likely to attract the attention of the Vice Squad. So far they'd been lucky, and had kept the business well concealed, but they were ruffling a few feathers so were always at risk from their rivals.
‘What record are you buying?’ Pet asked as they reached Clapham Junction. Chris's thoughts had been wandering, and he had just grunted in response to his sister's chatter so now he floundered for a reply. ‘Er … “The Young Ones”.’
‘Not Cliff Richard and the Shadows?’
‘Yeah, that's it.’
‘Cliff Richard isn't bad-looking, but he isn't a patch on Elvis.’
‘I'm not buying it for his looks. I rate his backing group, especially Hank Marvin on guitar.’
They turned into the entrance of Arding and Hobbs, heading for the small record department at the back of the store. At nine thirty in the morning it was almost empty. Chris eyed the assistant, liking what he saw, and smiled as he and Pet approached the counter. It wasn't much fun being Pet's minder, but if this girl was available she'd be the ideal cover. She was young, pretty, and the sort of girlfriend his family would expect him to have on his arm.
