‘I sometimes get that feeling about you two,’ he said, darkly. ‘It’s bad enough when the public deliberately withholds evidence. When it’s my own officers doing it, I resent it bitterly.’ He regarded each of them in turn once more. His voice contained an unspecified threat. ‘What are the two of you keeping from me?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Marmion, straight-faced.
‘Nothing at all,’ added Keedy. ‘We wouldn’t
Horrie Waldron ended his working day by rolling himself a cigarette and locking up his spade in the shed. As he trudged toward the main gate, he reflected on the visit of Maud Crowther. He’d been pleased to see her at first, knowing that she’d taken the trouble to seek him out. But her decision to end his visits to her house had been like a slap in the face. He’d retaliated in the only way that he knew. He regretted doing that now. Maud deserved better of him. She’d taken great risks on his behalf. If the truth came out, he’d escape with a few broken bones, but she’d never be able to look her son in the eye again. That was far worse than a beating. Waldron saw now that his menacing behaviour had been both ill-judged and unfair. A spirited woman like Maud Crowther couldn’t be threatened. She had to be wooed and coaxed and stroked like a cat. Waldron needed a change of approach.
On the long walk home, he had plenty to think about. The first thing he had to do was to apologise and he could only do that in person. Barely literate, he’d never trust himself to find the right words for a letter. They’d need to speak but only after a lapse of time. When she walked away from the cemetery, Maud had been puce with anger and indignation. She needed time to calm down. Only then could Waldron even hope to wheedle himself back into her affections. To achieve the best result, the apology should be accompanied by a gift of some sort. That would absorb some of her ill feeling towards him. He spent the rest of the journey trying to choose a gift that would buy back her interest in him. While he accepted that he was only a diversion for her, Maud Crowther meant a great deal to Waldron. Only now that he’d lost her did he realise what she meant to him.
On his way home from work, he habitually called in at the Weavers Arms for the first pint of the evening. Stan Crowther served the beer then appraised him.
‘You’ve spruced up a bit, Horrie,’ he said.
‘My other working clothes were starting to hoot a bit.’
‘I noticed.’
Waldron looked around the empty bar. ‘It’s very quiet, Stan.’
‘We won’t see many people in here tonight,’ complained the landlord. ‘That bugger has scared them off. As long as he goes on cracking heads open, people will be too frightened to leave their houses in the dark.’ The gravedigger made no comment. He took a long sip of his beer. ‘Had a good day?’
‘It was neither good nor bad.’
‘My mother was going to the cemetery today to put flowers on Dad’s grave. I don’t suppose you bumped into her, did you?’
‘No, Stan, I never laid eyes on her.’
‘I think it’s morbid myself — going back to a grave all the time.’
‘It helps some people,’ said Waldron, absently. ‘I got nothing against it.’
‘I’ve only been there once since Dad died.’ When another customer came in, Crowther served him before turning back to the gravedigger. ‘My mother should have got over it by now. That’s what I keep telling her.’
‘Women have got minds of their own, Stan.’
The landlord chuckled. ‘You can say that again! I’ve been married for fifteen years now and I still can’t guess what my wife is going to do and say. She never does what I expect her to. Is that your experience of women as well?’
‘Yes,’ said Waldron, ruefully. ‘It certainly is.’
After finishing his pint, he put the tankard down and walked off to his digs. For some reason, spending the whole evening at the pub had lost its appeal. He felt the need to be alone. Waldron rented a small, dank, low- ceilinged basement room with a scullery attached to it, enabling him to make fairly basic meals. The scullery was also the place where he did his infrequent washing. He’d rigged up a line from one side of the room to the other. Hanging from it was the shirt, vest and pair of trousers he normally wore at work. Taking the trousers off the line, he held them up close to the light bulb so that he could examine them. Waldron let out a snarl of disappointment.
After a second wash, the bloodstains were still there.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
London was never allowed to forget that there was a war on. Apart from the fact that uniformed soldiers and sailors were always visible on the streets, there was the accumulated bomb damage. Emergency services were kept at full stretch. They were on duty that evening as a fleet of Zeppelins came up the Thames, cruising at ten thousand feet like a flock of giant eagles in search of prey. Laden with bombs, they’d come to inflict another night of terror on the capital. They had, however, been spotted and aircraft from the Royal Flying Corps were dispatched to intercept them. London was treated to a thrilling exhibition of aerial combat, with the smaller, faster and more manoeuvrable British planes trying to fly above the airships in order to bomb them or to get within machine-gun range. The dark sky was a kaleidoscope of bright flashes and sudden explosions. The sound of bullets and destruction reverberated across the heavens. When a Zeppelin blew up with spectacular effect, it scattered debris over a wide area.
The noise could be heard all over the capital. Percy Fry was holding the reins as the horse pulled the cart through Bethnal Green, reacting nervously to the clamour in the sky. At the end of the working day, he was giving Jack Dalley a lift home. The blacksmith looked upwards.
‘Listen to that, Perce,’ he said. ‘The Huns are back.’
‘Those bloody Zeppelins are a menace.’
‘They just keep on coming.’
They’d taken the cart because they had to deliver a gate they’d repaired for a customer. Fry intended to pick his wife up at Dalley’s house to drive her back to the forge. He listened to the pandemonium with foreboding.
‘It sounds as if it’s getting closer.’
‘Keep the bombs away from us,’ said Dalley, staring upwards. ‘We already have enough misery to cope with in our family.’
‘I hope that Elaine has been able to help.’
‘I’m sure she has, Perce. All that Nancy needs is someone to be there with her. To be honest, I’m glad that my brother-in-law went back to work. Having Nancy in his house all day was dragging him down.’ He glanced across at Fry. ‘It’s very kind of your wife to take over, especially when she’s not in the best of health.’
‘She’s bearing up, Jack.’
‘What does the doctor say?’
‘There’s not much he can do, really,’ said Fry, resignedly, ‘and it’s far too expensive for us to keep going back to him and trying new medicine. Elaine never complains. She grits her teeth and gets on with it. Having to help someone else is good for her in a way. It takes her mind off her own troubles.’
‘When there’s a death in the family, you need all the help you can get.’
‘Count on us, Jack.’
‘Thanks.’
As they picked their way through the streets, the distant commotion gradually diminished. The air raid seemed to be over and people were left to assess the damage, take the wounded off to hospital and douse any fires caused by incendiary bombs. The Zeppelins had retreated, still hounded by the British aircraft. Everyone knew that they’d soon be back. War now had an immediacy that was unthinkable in the early days of the conflict. Having invaded Belgium and penetrated into France, the enemy was now striking boldly at the very heart of Britain.
‘How many more of our soldiers will have to die before it’s all over?’ asked Fry, pulling the horse to a halt to let traffic go past at a junction. ‘It seems as if it could go on for ever.’
‘I blame the politicians,’ said Dalley, resentfully. ‘They didn’t put enough soldiers in the field at the very start. They were caught cold. Conscription should have been brought in a year ago. The only way to beat the Germans is with more men.’
