At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  – Bloody madman … he could of killed her … oo does he think he is?

  Someone asked if he was all right and he nodded. He could taste blood in his mouth and so he took out his handkerchief to wipe it away. Then they left him with Julia to await the doctor.

  Her outburst when she had come round had unnerved him. He had approached her to try and comfort her but she had shrugged off his hands and turned away from him, telling him again to leave.

  So here he was back on the street. He did not know what he should do next and decided eventually that he should head back towards the Temple. He had reached Guilford Street and was about to head back down John Street when someone grabbed him from behind, pulling firmly on his collar. Pemberton had been lying in wait! He started to struggle.

  – Calm down, sweetheart. I’m dusty enough as it is.

  – Roly! What are you doing here?

  – Shall we say I just happened to be passing?

  – Well, that’s highly unlikely, isn’t it?

  – No more unlikely than you being here.

  – Why are you here?

  – I blame myself really. I should never have let you go back to the Temple. And I should have been even more opaque about Mrs Pemberton’s current location.

  Adam thought back to his conversation with Blytheway the previous weekend. He had said that he had gone to Portobello Market and then taken an amble around Bloomsbury and visited every square.

  – You knew where she was living all along?

  – I may have done.

  – Then why didn’t you tell me?

  – It was for your own good. And look what knowing has done for you!

  – I was just passing. It was just a coincidence.

  Blytheway laughed.

  – Yes. Of course it was, dear boy. But you’ll have to do a lot better than that if there are repercussions.

  – What do you mean?

  – Oh, I don’t know. You get yourself into a street fight with Pemberton, a man who has cited you as a Co-Respondent, apparently over Mrs Pemberton, who happens to be the Respondent in the same petition. I can’t see what possible repercussions there could be. If you’ll forgive my language, you behaved like a bloody fool!

  – He was trying to steal Jenny’s diary.

  – I saw that.

  – And he kicked Julia unconscious.

  – I saw that as well.

  – What was I supposed to do?

  – Let us just say that you put yourself on the horns of a dilemma which, had I better control over you, would not have presented itself.

  They were walking westwards along Guilford Street.

  – So what are the repercussions likely to be?

  – Sometimes I think you are going out of your way to make my job as difficult as possible … In the first place you’ve made an even bigger enemy of Pemberton than he was before, if that is possible.

  They crossed the road to avoid the debris of a bombed building that spilled out into the road. Blytheway was brushing at his clothing as he walked.

  – You will also have to explain how you happened to be outside Mrs Pemberton’s house when the fracas erupted. If Pemberton chooses to rely upon this incident it will create a rather difficult question for you to answer.

  – Do you think he will?

  – Actually, I doubt it. How he managed to be drunk at nine in the morning I do not know. But he was. And he will be aware of that. The objective evidence is that he burst into his wife’s home, assaulted her and attempted to steal a diary in her possession. That assault carried on into the street where a host of onlookers were in a position to witness it. I allowed myself to get close enough – after Pemberton had run off and Julia was safely back in the house – and the general mood was not favourable to our friend. It would hardly look good for a senior KC to be seen acting in that way. I doubt that he will look back on it with any pride, and we must hope he will think it better to leave it out of account.

  – Where are we going?

  – I’m taking you back to Bedford Square. I think it best that you spend at least the next two nights with me.

  – I’m perfectly fine.

  – Your handkerchief tells me you’re not. And besides, Pemberton will be looking for you. No doubt he is waiting for El Vinos to open as we speak. It’s far better to wait until he sobers up.

  They were walking along Bedford Square now. Roly reached into his pocket and pulled out his house key.

  – I will ask Caldwell to go down and fetch you some clean clothes.

  – Roly? Why were you there?

  – You ask far too many questions! Let us just say that, from my window, I am still able to see Mrs Pemberton going in and out of the church – why, I do not know – and to watch you as, between Tuesday and Thursday of this week, you left chambers in her wake. I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation for it but part of me wondered whether perhaps you were trying to find out where she lived … Then this morning you gave her a longer start and then attempted to run up Inner Temple Lane. I would have left you to it, but a matter of minutes later I saw Pemberton stomping up from Stirrup Court in the same direction. I thought it might be wise to see what was going on. Come on in. Caldwell will prepare an early luncheon for us.

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  (Wednesday 2nd April 1941)

  His room was as dark as night and he had no idea what time it was. Adam rolled onto his side and fumbled for the bedside lamp. It was almost ten o’clock. He had grown used to Caldwell coming in and taking down the blackout shades and now, back in Dr Johnson’s Buildings again and with no need to set his alarm, he had slept on. Although still weak he felt refreshed. He hauled himself out of bed and started to dismantle the shades. The weather outside was bleak and a thin drizzle was spraying the side of the church.

  It had been his first night back in the Temple since Blytheway had hauled him away the previous Friday. Roly had administered a stiff scotch and after a light lunch had bundled him back up to the first-floor bedroom before returning to chambers muttering about work to be done. Adam spent the rest of the day and much of the weekend in bed. He was still weak; there was no work for him to do and his desire to watch the comings and goings from the church had been blunted by his altercation with Pemberton. He was happy to lie low for a while, and so he stayed in bed and read.

  Blytheway had been preparing a case that was due to start on the Wednesday and had a conference out of chambers on the Tuesday. Adam was plumped up on his pillows eating toast when Blytheway came to see him before heading out. A cold breeze crept in through the slightly opened window.

  – I should be back by mid-afternoon and then Caldwell and I will take you back to the Temple.

  And then he was gone. Adam had chewed on the last few pieces of toast, finished his tea and gazed out of the window at the greening branches swaying there. Then he went back to reading his latest book, Montaigne’s Essays, which Blytheway had pressed upon him the previous day.

  – Sometimes I think we should all be Pyrrhonian Sceptics: “all I know is that I know nothing, and I’m not even sure about that.”

  Later that day Caldwell and Blytheway had taken Adam back to the Temple. Caldwell had made some sandwiches as an evening meal. He had put up the blackout shades and then they had left him alone. Adam had opted for another early night. And now it was after ten on the Wednesday morning and he was still not dressed. He took off his pyjama top and went over to the sink to wash his chest and face. Caldwell had cleaned his dusty suit and so he put it on and made his way down to Lamb Building for another day of idleness.

  His tray in the Clerks’ Room was empty but for a white envelope addressed to him and marked “By Hand, Confidential”. It was from Jones, who had received a letter from Betty Sharples that morning. She was not prepared to come to court again. He had tried to telephone Adam but he had not been in Chambers. He would be out at court all day but it might be possible to contact him this evening. Adam ran two steps at
a time up to Blythway’s room – his defence was falling apart – but Roly had already left for court. He fumbled for his cigarettes and headed across to his own room. It was almost eleven o’clock.

  He opened the window and gazed down on the church. Julia had been and gone – if she dared to go there anymore. The drizzle persisted and a few black-jacketed barristers were scurrying up towards the courts or across towards Inner Temple Library. He fixed his pin into a cheap cigarette, lit up, took in a deep mouthful of smoke, spluttered awhile, and then blew what was left out onto the masonry around his window. His left hand was trembling again. He lit another and then three more in succession as he leaned out of the window and decided what to do next. There had been no sign of Gabardine for the last few days.

  By noon he had made up his mind. He grabbed his raincoat from a hook by the door, took a paperback from his bookshelf and headed out of Chambers and down towards Temple Tube. On the platform he let three trains go before boarding. He wasn’t being followed. He changed to the Piccadilly line at South Kensington before alighting at Green Park. He came back into daylight on the park side. The rain had stopped but heavy grey cloud, like a dirty snowdrift, hung over the gardens. He had no appointment. He was in no hurry.

  This was where he and Julia had met that first time. The railings had gone. He stepped down onto one of the pathways and walked towards the tree where they had first embraced without caution. It was still there. He wanted to carve their initials into it. Instead he walked on. The wind through the wires of the barrage balloons made high-pitched singing noises, and there were trenches cut into the lawns surrounded by sandbags. He had last been here in December. Then it was sparse and bare. Now life was returning to the trees – and to the walkways, as young lovers and mothers with prams promenaded aimlessly about. Fifty yards to his left was the park-side entrance to the Stafford. He walked on by. Finally, at the other end of the park he found a large tree and leaned back against it, looking towards the tube from where he had come. There was no sign of Jackson or Gabardine. No one else seemed to have any interest in him. He waited there for half an hour. It was past one in the afternoon. Why couldn’t Blytheway have been in Chambers? He was no doubt out earning big money on some fashionable but frivolous brief somewhere.

  He walked off around the perimeter of the park taking an indirect route towards Shepherd Market. It was the first time he had been there in daylight. He knew his way now. It was after two in the afternoon. He found his way to Clarges Street and pressed the bell to her flat.

  ****

  Betty was still in her dressing-gown. It had been over a week since the last raid and that had been good for business. She was not expecting company. The ringing started again, more insistently this time. She was up to date with the rent. She smoothed down her hair in the looking-glass, wrapped her gown more tightly round her, put her key into the pocket and nudged her slippers onto her feet. She yawned as she made her way slowly down the stairs. She decided she was quite hungry.

  Adam Falling was framed in the doorway when she opened the door. The pale white light from the street made him half-silhouette. He was better dressed than she remembered him, but thinner again. Her eyes were drawn to his face. He was pale and his skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones; the cheeks hollow, the eyes a pleading blue, staring into hers.

  She tried to close the door on him but he was too quick for her and, with unexpected strength, pushed it open again and then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  – Betty, we need to talk!

  – I’m scared, Mr Falling.

  – And you must call me Adam!

  He bundled her up to her room. It was unlocked. He edged her in ahead of him before closing the door behind them. Weak sunlight was shining through the window onto her unmade bed. There was one chair in the room and she collapsed into it and started to cry. Adam looked around. He remembered the small chest of drawers. It had a looking-glass above it – he saw Jones’s letter still lying open there – a basin with some toiletries balanced on it, a large clay jug and a small wardrobe where, no doubt, she kept her clothes. Betty was sobbing.

  – I don’t want to go to that place no more, Mr Falling. It frightened me.

  – I’m really sorry about what happened, Betty. There was nothing I could do. Jones will have told you about it. I got hurt and my boss’s daughter was killed. She was only eighteen.

  – I had to buy some writing paper and borrow a pen.

  – I’m sorry …

  – It ain’t right!

  – I know. I’m sorry. You should have been told.

  – No! This ain’t right! You want me to go to that … that … place and tell lies. That ain’t right!

  Falling started coughing and slumped down on the unmade bed. He pulled out a cigarette and pin, lit up and started smoking. He looked so thin. He cupped the ash in his hand and reached out to put it the bin. He was gazing at her intently now. His voice when he spoke was soothing and calm. She remembered it from the first time she had met him. Warm and mellow. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Splaying it open, he pulled out a ten-pound note and held it out to her.

  – This is to say sorry. You can have this as well as the other ten pounds I promised you if you give evidence.

  – I really don’t want to …

  – There’s nothing to worry about. It will be easy. Over before you know it. Can I take you out for a spot of lunch?

  – I really shouldn’t, Mr Falling …

  – You must call me Adam. Just a bit of lunch? I’d like to talk to you. Get to know you better.

  Betty was looking at the ten-pound note. It would take a lot to earn that much money. And she would get another ten on top. Her stomach rumbled under her dressing-gown. She looked into Adam’s eyes again. A free meal as well?

  – Come on! Get dressed!

  She hugged her dressing-gown more tightly around her and looked from Adam towards the door. He did not move. She went over to her little wardrobe and pulled out her best dress. Still he did not leave the room. His eyes flickered from her face to her hips, and then back to her eyes. She sighed and undid the rope that wrapped her, letting her gown fall to the floor. She was standing naked before him apart from some pink nylon panties. Adam was still holding the ten-pound note out towards her. She opened a drawer, pulled out a brassiere and hitched it over herself. Then, imagining she was no longer being watched, she pulled her best dress on over her head. Adam was still sitting on the bed and smoking. She smoothed herself down, went over to her looking-glass, brushed her long blonde hair back into shape and looked again at Adam. Apart from her dignity, she was still naked.

  – You look beautiful!

  – I don’t go out for many meals.

  – We’re a bit late for a proper lunch but I’m sure I can find somewhere.

  He helped her on with her coat and offered his arm and she took it. Then, arm in arm, they made their way slowly down the stairs. She opened the door and they stepped out into Clarges Street and a chilly April afternoon.

  ****

  Adam guided her round the corner into Curzon Street. There was a Lyons’ Corner House in Coventry Street, only ten minutes’ walk away. They would keep to the back streets. He had been shaken more than he had realised by Blytheway’s gentle cross-examination the previous week. He needed to know more about Betty. She had to stop calling him Mr Falling. Sooner or later he would have to persuade her to say that Joe was killed in January 1940 rather than in May. He would also have to come up with a convincing explanation for (and description of) this earlier, fictitious death.

  Chapter Eighty

  (Thursday 3rd April 1941)

  This time he had set his alarm clock. It rattled into life at about 8.30 in the morning. The bedside table had been moved by someone, Caldwell probably, when he had been putting up the blackout shades. The hammer was swinging backwards and forward between the two chimes and, reaching for the button to silence it, Adam fell out of bed, la
nding heavily on his side. Winded, he lay on the floor for a while, the bells still ringing, and contemplated climbing back into bed. He had no particular reason to go into Chambers. There was nothing in his diary.

  It had been a late night. He and Betty had walked to Coventry Street and it was only as they got close to the Corner House that he had remembered that this was where the Café de Paris used to be. They had turned a corner and come upon the devastation. The rubble had been tamed to some extent but still it protruded into the road. There were barriers and warning signs; pieces of brick and scorched plaster still lay in the street. The temporary morgue had been closed but one could still see where it used to be.

  – This is where she died isn’t it?

  – Yes.

  – Was she pretty?

  – She was very pretty. She was a good person. She was going to help us.

  – Us?

  – Sorry me and Ju … me and my boss’s wife, her father.

  – What do you mean?

  – She was going to give my boss’s wife an alibi. She was going to give evidence against her father about this affair.

  – But you told me it was all true!

  – What’s true and what’s not true doesn’t matter anymore. Look at this mess.

  They stepped across an overflow of rock. Adam caught his trousers on some barbed wire and had to stop to detach himself.

  – What is true is that this young woman felt so strongly about the justice of it all that she was prepared to give evidence against her father in support of her step-mother. What is also true is that her body is now lying in the ground in Brompton Cemetery.