‘Sergeant Lamb would like to talk to you, Sergeant Martin, Constable Davies. He’s in the lodgers’ sitting room.’ Betty poured a cup of tea, put five sugars and a dash of milk into it and handed it to the sergeant before pouring the same for Huw.
‘Is the doctor still with Megan?’ Lloyd asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Has he said how she is, Mrs Morgan?’ Sergeant Martin questioned.
‘Mrs Palmer came into the kitchen when I was making the tea. She said Megan’s injuries are bad.’
‘You only had to look at her to see that much.’ Huw took his tea and walked unsteadily out of the door. The sergeant followed him.
Betty poured two more cups of tea, handed one to Lloyd and carried the other over to Victor. She nudged his elbow as she set it on the table in front of him. If he saw her, he didn’t acknowledge her.
‘Did Mrs Palmer say anything else, Betty?’ Lloyd abandoned his tea on a side table.
‘No, but I’m sure the doctor will be in to see you as soon as he’s finished, as you’re the nearest thing to a family Megan has in Tonypandy.’ She opened the door and almost walked into Sergeant Martin, who entered and resumed his place in front of the cold hearth.
‘I wanted to tell you that we are doing everything we can to catch whoever did this to Miss Williams, Mr Evans,’ he said solemnly. ‘We have every available man out in the streets. And it can only be a matter of time before we arrest her attacker –he is bound to be heavily bloodstained.’
Lloyd glanced at Victor, but his brother continued to lean, silent and unresponsive, against the wall. ‘I hope you catch him before he does what he did to Megan to some other poor girl.’
There was no way of knowing whether Victor had heard him or not, as he kept his back turned to them. The sergeant went to the door. He opened it and the doctor appeared in the hall. Much to Lloyd’s irritation they held a hurried and whispered conversation before the doctor joined him and Victor.
‘How is she?’ Lloyd rose from the sofa.
Victor finally turned around. ‘Will she live?’
‘I understand that you and Miss Williams were engaged, Mr Evans,’ the doctor answered.
‘Are engaged,’ Victor insisted vehemently.
‘I’ll not lie to you; she’s been the victim of the most vicious assault I’ve seen perpetrated on a young girl. She’s sustained several blows to the head; one to her temple was particularly severe and probably caused her to lose consciousness. I don’t think any bones are broken, but until she comes round, it’s impossible for me to hazard a guess as to the extent of the damage to her brain.’
‘Was she raped?’
The doctor was taken aback, not by the question, but by Victor’s self-control. He might have been enquiring about the weather. ‘She’s been violated. Raped, torn and damaged. I’ve had to stitch wounds over her entire body and I’ve given her a strong sedative. She should sleep for at least twenty-four hours, but she’ll be in considerable pain when she wakes. Mrs Palmer and Mrs Evans are washing and dressing her now. I’ll call back in the morning.’
‘No,’ Victor broke in harshly. ‘I’ve begged and pleaded with her to leave this house and she wouldn’t. But I’ll not leave her here one minute longer. I’m taking her home.’
‘Mr Evans, I’d advise most strongly against moving her.’
‘Victor only has to carry her up the hill,’ Lloyd reminded him.
‘The distance is immaterial. She needs rest, care and quiet.’
‘Which she’ll get in our house,’ Victor affirmed. ‘I’ll wrap her in an eiderdown and keep her very still when I carry her.’
‘If you’re determined to move her, I suppose I could take her up to your house in my car. And she is sedated,’ the doctor added, as if he were trying to convince himself that it was safe to move Megan.
‘I’ll run up to the house and ask Joey and Dad to make up the bed in the spare room. I’ll be back to give you a hand to carry her up.’ Lloyd gripped Victor’s shoulder.
‘There’s no need, Mr Evans. I’m sure that your brother, wife and I can manage between us.’
Victor knocked on the door of the dining room, which Mrs Palmer had transformed into a makeshift surgery. Megan lay stretched out on a sheet that covered the table. Joyce and Sali had dressed her in one of Mrs Palmer’s nightdresses because Joyce couldn’t bear to rummage through Megan’s things to look for a clean gown. They’d also wrapped her in a blanket. All that could be seen of her was her bandaged head, and Victor blanched when he saw the extent of the injuries to her face.
He slid his hands gently beneath the blanket and lifted her tenderly into his arms. Megan’s head lolled towards his chest but otherwise she didn’t move. Holding her close not to jar her, he carried her into the hall, past Sergeant Martin and outside to the doctor’s car.
Sali walked up the stairs behind Victor. She could hear Lloyd, Mr Evans and Joey walking around the spare bedroom, and when she entered, Lloyd and Joey were straightening a tapestry blanket over the double bed they’d made up with clean sheets and blankets. Mr Evans was behind the door filling the jug on the washstand with water and Sali was touched to see that the men had forgotten nothing. They’d cut a piece of soap for the soap dish, set out a saucer of salt and a new toothbrush – the last one in the cupboard –and hung a clean flannel and towels on the stand.
Lloyd folded back the bedclothes and Victor lowered Megan into the centre of the bed. Sali helped him to settle her, still wrapped in Joyce Palmer’s blanket, on the mattress and pillows.
‘Leave the blanket around her,’ Victor stopped Sali from folding it back. ‘The doctor said we shouldn’t move her more than necessary. And I’m sure Mrs Palmer won’t mind if we keep it for a day or two.’
‘It’s a warm night,’ Sali warned, as he covered Megan with the sheet, blanket and bedcover. ‘We’d better fold some of the bedclothes back.’
‘I was surprised the doctor allowed you to bring her back here.’ Joey was holding on to the doorpost as if he couldn’t trust himself to remain upright without its support.
‘I certainly wasn’t going to leave her where she was.’ Victor touched Megan’s hair, which was stiff with dried blood, and smoothed it back over the bandages.
‘Look after her, boy.’ Billy Evans laid his arm around Joey’s shoulders and they went downstairs.
‘Will you sleep with her tonight, Sali?’ Victor asked.
Sali unbuttoned the top buttons at the neck of Megan’s nightgown, folded back the blanket and thick bedspread to the foot of the bed and pulled the sheet to Megan’s chin. ‘It makes more sense for you to stay with her, Victor.’
‘We’re not married -’
‘Only because her father won’t give you permission. She’s your girl. If you don’t stay with her tonight, none of us will get any sleep for your pacing.’ Lloyd took a box of matches from his pocket and set it beside the extra candle he’d laid next to the candlestick on the bedside cabinet.
‘If you need me for anything in the night, Victor, just call out.’ Sali straightened her aching back and rubbed it. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘I’ll join you in a few minutes, sweetheart.’ Lloyd pushed the door closed after she left and looked from Megan to Victor. ‘A word of advice.’
‘What?’ Victor asked grimly.
‘If you want to keep your sanity, forget about whoever did this to Megan. Concentrate on her, on getting her well again, and leave it to the police to track the monster down.’
‘The police!’ Victor dismissed scornfully. ‘She was living in a houseful of policemen. The chances are it was one of them who did this to her.’
‘You can’t go round making wild accusations, and there’ll be hell to pay if one of the officers hears you saying that. If there’s any justice in the world, Megan will be able to tell us who did this to her when she wakes.’
‘And if she can’t?’
‘You have to leave it to the police,’ Lloyd reiterated.
&
nbsp; ‘I can’t leave it, Lloyd. You have no idea how I feel ...’
There was a strange expression in Lloyd’s eyes and Victor recalled the bruises Sali had sported when she had first come to live with them, her reluctance to disagree with anything that was said, or speak unless she was spoken to and above all, her pathetic eagerness to please everyone around her. It had taken months of coaxing just to get her to laugh at Joey’s bad jokes.
‘I know exactly how you feel, Victor,’ Lloyd said. ‘And, believe me, for both your sakes, the only thing you should be concerning yourself with now is getting Megan well again.’
Victor looked at his brother. ‘I can’t promise anything beyond that I’ll try.’
‘Just keep thinking about Megan, and how she’ll feel when she wakes.’ Lloyd left the room.
Victor stared down at Megan. Whatever the doctor had given her to make her sleep was working. She hadn’t stirred since he had lifted her from the table in Joyce Palmer’s dining room. He went to the window and opened the curtains. A full moon shone down from a clear night sky. He returned to the bed and shielded the candle with his hand. The moonlight was sufficient. He blew out the candle, stood still, stopped breathing and listened hard. Megan’s chest rose and fell slightly as she took light, shallow breaths. Moving slowly and cautiously, he lay fully clothed on top of the sheet next to her. Turning on his side, he stared at her, and began to pray to the Virgin Mary and all the saints he could think of that she’d open her eyes and recognise him in the morning.
The shrill screech of a police whistle shattered the dawn calm of Pandy Square. The milkman’s horse whinnied, backed in the shafts of the cart and reversed it as Constable Shipton charged out of Mark Hardy’s hut. He blew his whistle again and beckoned to the police officers running into the square. Jenkins and Johns were the first to reach him, but Sergeant Martin was close on their heels.
‘In here.’ Constable Shipton pushed open the door. Johns retched when he saw Mark Hardy lying on his back in the middle of the empty hut, a cut-throat razor in one severed hand, his other hand connected to his arm only by a flap of skin. Blood had pumped out of his wrists, forming thick puddles on the floor and there were splashes on the walls around him.
‘Look.’ Shipton prised open the hand that was barely attached to Mark’s arm and unwound a silver chain from his fingers. Entwined in the broken links was an engagement ring. ‘It’s Miss Williams’, isn’t it?’ He looked to the officers around him for confirmation.
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it before.’ Gwyn Jenkins watched a louse walk along the razor held loosely by the severed hand. It stopped at a clot of blood.
‘She used to wear it round her neck. Under her blouse,’ Shipton reminded them.
‘If it was under her blouse, how come you saw it, Shipton?’ Sergeant Martin asked.
‘I can’t remember.’ Shipton shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Probably when she was cleaning our bedroom, it must have fallen out of her collar.’
‘Jenkins, you stay here.’ Sergeant Martin looked up at the officers who’d been alerted by Shipton’s whistle and were crowding around the door. ‘The rest of you, back to the lodging house. Johns, get the undertaker, and close the door behind you. We don’t want any more people tramping in here. It’s not a bloody peep show.’
Johns nodded and did as the sergeant asked.
‘Everyone knew this bloke was a lunatic,’ Shipton gabbled. ‘He went mad when his wife and kids died and the rest of his kids were taken to the workhouse. He was always sitting in his doorway, drunk as a lord, yelling about the Evanses and blaming them for the strike and killing his wife. That’s probably why he picked on Victor Evans’ girl.’
‘How come you decided to search this hut, Shipton?’ Sergeant Martin asked quietly.
‘I saw blood on the doorstep. You said that Miss Williams’ attacker would be bloodstained. I put two and two together.’
‘There are stains on your uniform, and scratches on your face,’ the sergeant observed.
‘I got caught up in the ruckus in the Empire. More blood flowed there this afternoon than in the slaughterhouse last week.’ Shipton backed towards the door. ‘Here, you don’t think that I had anything to do with this -’
‘This what?’ Sergeant Martin looked him coolly in the eye.
‘This suicide, and Miss Williams’ attack. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Mark Hardy attacked her, stole her ring, came back here and slit his wrists.’
‘Virtually cutting one hand off and then the other.’
‘Yes,’ Shipton agreed quickly.
‘Bit difficult to cut one hand off when the other’s severed from the arm, wouldn’t you say?’ The sergeant switched his attention from Shipton to Gwyn Jenkins. ‘Jenkins, did you see this razor here when you dropped Hardy off yesterday evening?’
‘No, sir, the hut was empty.’
‘Completely empty? You’re prepared to swear to that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Those scratches on your face? How did you get them again, Shipton?’
‘I told you, at the Empire -’
‘I’ve never seen a collier with long fingernails, not even in the strike.’ The sergeant picked up the razor with two fingers. He held it, still dripping blood over the floor.
‘Yours, Shipton?’ He eyed the constable. ‘You attacked her, didn’t you?’
‘No!’ Shipton blustered.
‘You attacked her,’ Sergeant Martin repeated.
Shipton wrenched the door open so hard the hinges tore out from the rotting wood.
‘Why did you do it, Shipton?’
‘She was just like that other one, begging for it. Wainwright agreed. He had the knickers off the other slut. All I wanted was my share.’ He turned and started running.
‘After him!’
Sergeant Martin and Gwyn Jenkins raced out of the hut. Shipton dived down a back street that led to the river. By the time they reached the bank, he had gone.
Even the doctor began to worry when Megan didn’t wake the next day, or the day after that. On the third morning after Victor had carried her into the house, he opened his eyes to see that it was broad daylight. He’d slept for longer than he’d intended, but that was hardly surprising after two sleepless days and nights. Rain spattered against the window pane, signalling an end to the fine, warm spell of weather they had been enjoying. The light was grey, portending a damp, overcast day. He turned his head. Megan’s eyes were open and she was looking at him.
‘Good morning.’ The blank expression in her eyes terrified him and he could barely hear himself speak for the beating of his own heart. The doctor had given him so many warnings of potential brain injuries ... he held his breath, willing her to recognize him.
She looked from him to the room. Her bruised, swollen face creased in pain and from the desolate expression that filled her eyes, he saw that she remembered.
‘You’re safe in our spare bedroom.’
She looked at her arm and saw that she was wearing one of her own nightdresses. ‘The yard ... my clothes ...’
‘Betty Morgan packed your things and brought them up. Sali and I have been looking after you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Did you see who attacked you?’
Tears fell from her eyes. ‘I ... tried to fight ... I tried ...’ She fumbled at her neck. ‘My ring ...’
‘We’ll find it.’
‘And if we don’t?’ she cried.
‘Then I’ll get you another.’ He laid his hand lightly, tenderly around hers. ‘I love you, Megs, I didn’t realize just how much until I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Victor, was I -’
‘It doesn’t matter, Megs. You’re alive and we have each other, that’s all I care about. We have one another and you’re alive,’ he repeated. He realized Lloyd was right. The only important thing was Megan.
‘Victor -’
‘Just get well, my love.’ He brushed her forehead with his lips. ‘I can’t bear to see you lik
e this. Please, get well.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Two days after Megan woke, the doctor pronounced her weak but out of danger and told her that she could sit up in a chair in the bedroom if she felt strong enough. Before the relief had time to sink in, Sergeant Martin arrived to question her. The only times Victor had left the bedroom was when the doctor had examined Megan, and Sali had helped her to wash and change her nightgown, and he categorically refused to allow Sergeant Martin to talk to Megan in private.
Victor set a chair at the furthest point from the bed as possible given the confines of the room and, leaving the dressing-table stool for Sali, sat next to Megan on the bed throughout the sergeant’s interview. He was quickly irritated by the sergeant’s manner and his repeated assertions that Megan had to recall something about her attacker.
‘Megan has told you all she can remember, sergeant,’ he broke in, when he could feel his temper rising. ‘It’s time you went so she can get some rest.’
But even as the sergeant closed his notebook and returned his pencil to his pocket, he persisted in his interrogation. ‘You are absolutely certain that you never saw the man’s face or anything else that could help us to identify him, Miss Williams?’
‘I am sure, sergeant.’ Megan was holding Victor’s hand with both of hers. ‘As I said, what little I can remember is confused and mostly pain, but I know that he hit me from behind and I never saw his face.’
Victor studied the sergeant. If he hadn’t heard him declare that he would do all he could to track down and arrest Megan’s assailant, he could have sworn that Sergeant Martin looked positively relieved at Megan’s failure to provide any clues.
‘Miss Williams has had enough for one day,’ Sali said firmly. ‘She needs to rest.’
The sergeant finally left the chair. ‘Thank you, Miss Williams, I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to talk to me. Mr Evans,’ he gave Victor a hostile glance.
Sali opened the door and stood rather pointedly holding it.
Winners and Losers Page 39
