Instrument of Slaughter

everything away.

‘I’m going out,’ he said, taking his overcoat from its peg.

She was hurt. ‘You’re going out again, Eric?’

‘Yes — and I can’t say when I’ll be back.’

Gerald Ablatt was pleased when he had an unheralded visitor. Since he’d got back from the shop, all that he’d done was to sit in the kitchen and read the Evening News. The report of the latest crime had depressed him. His spirits rose slightly when Caroline Skene called. Inviting her in, he took her into the living room and they sat side by side.

‘I didn’t expect to see you again,’ he said.

‘I came earlier but you weren’t here. One of your neighbours told me that you’d opened the shop. I couldn’t believe it.’

‘It’s true. I had to get out, Caroline. I just couldn’t stay here and brood. It was too painful. I needed to work, and, if I’m truthful,’ he confided, ‘I needed to get away from Nancy for a while.’

‘Then you did the right thing, Gerald.’

‘I’m sorry you had a wasted journey.’

‘But I didn’t,’ she said, brightly. ‘Since I was in Shoreditch, I thought I’d go and call on Nancy instead. I spent the afternoon there with Mrs Fry.’

He was puzzled. ‘Elaine Fry — what was she doing there?’

‘She’d come to sit with Nancy to offer consolation. Apparently, it was Jack’s idea. He asked if she could go over there.’

‘How did she seem?’

‘Frankly, she looked ill. The woman is quite haggard.’

‘I know,’ said Ablatt, deeply sympathetic. ‘The last time I saw her was at Nora’s wedding last year and she was almost at death’s door then. Well, you were there. You must remember how she had to keep sitting down.’

‘What I recall is that her husband was very attentive.’

‘He needs to be. Percy Fry is a good man. He carries his troubles lightly.’

‘Does he?’

‘It’s not just the sick wife, Caroline. They lost their only child as well.’

She was taken aback. ‘When was this?’

‘Oh, it was years ago,’ he explained. ‘The boy was no more than nine or ten at the time. He died of rickets. He just wasted away as his mother seems to be doing. She blamed herself, of course.’

‘Most mothers would. They’d think it was because of a deficiency in them.’

‘I don’t know the full details. According to Jack, they don’t like to talk about it and I can understand that. But it makes it all the more remarkable that a woman who nurses a lasting sorrow could find time to comfort my sister.’

‘You know her better than I do, Gerald.’

‘I knew them both when they lived nearby,’ he said. ‘Elaine was a customer of mine. I used to sole and heel her shoes but Percy always repaired his boots himself. He’s that kind of man — very independent. He’s a bit like your husband.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’

‘Wilf always liked to do things for himself.’

‘That wasn’t because he was independent. It was simple, old-fashioned meanness. He gets it from his mother. Wilf would never part with a penny unless he has to,’ she said, lips pursed. ‘He’d always rather do things himself, whether it’s mending shoes or cleaning windows or sweeping the chimney. The trouble is he can’t do any of them properly. Still,’ she continued, lowering her voice, ‘while we have a moment alone, there’s something we need to discuss.’

‘What’s that, Caroline?’

‘It’s the funeral — have you had any thoughts about it?’

‘No,’ he replied, a little flustered by the question. ‘The body hasn’t been released to us yet.’

‘What about Nancy?’

‘She’s in no state to make any decisions.’

‘Then you’ll have to choose the hymns and the order of service.’ Ablatt looked bewildered. ‘Unless you’d like some help, that is? I didn’t know Cyril that well,’ she said, softly, ‘but I was very fond of him and I’ll do anything I can to help with the arrangements.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m not trying to interfere, Gerald. If you’d rather do everything yourself, I’ll stay out of your way.’

‘No, no,’ he said, reaching out to take her hand. ‘It’s kind of you to offer. I need help from someone — thank you, Caroline.’

She sighed with satisfaction. ‘That’s settled, then.’

‘The truth is that I’m all at sea at the moment. I was going to ask the vicar what to do.’ He sighed. ‘It’s strange the way things work out, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Cyril never expected to die, of course, so he couldn’t plan ahead for his own funeral. If he’d done so, my guess is that he’d have wanted Father Howells to take the service rather than the vicar.’ He glanced sorrowfully at the newspaper. ‘But that’s not possible now, is it?’

The Reverend James Howells lay on the bed while a nurse took his blood pressure. Head heavily bandaged, he had various tubes attached to him and was under almost constant supervision. His parents were in the nearby waiting room, hoping for the slightest improvement. The vicar was with them, offering succour, leading them in prayer and telling them time and again what an asset their son was to the parish. Cards and messages of goodwill had come flooding in by hand, showing the anguished parents how popular the curate had been. Only close family members were allowed to visit the single room where the patient was kept, but that didn’t stop a stranger from slipping into the hospital and finding out his whereabouts. Wearing a white coat by way of disguise, he lurked in an alcove from which he could keep the room under close observation. When a doctor and nurse emerged before going off in the other direction, he saw his opportunity and moved swiftly forward.

Before he reached the room, however, the door opened and a third person came out. Legs apart and hands behind his back, the uniformed constable was there to prevent any unauthorised visits. The stranger was baulked. As he walked past the policeman, he manufactured a smile.

‘Good evening,’ he said, pleasantly.

Then he headed for the nearest exit.

Gordon Leach felt as if he were being crushed between two millstones. On one side of him was Mansel Price and on the other was Fred Hambridge. The three friends were in the bakery, discussing the forthcoming marriage. Price was unequivocal. If Leach betrayed his principles and joined a non-combatant corps, the Welshman threatened to assault him. Hambridge took a more reasoned approach but his quiet reprimands were just as wounding as Price’s belligerence. The two of them kept on at Leach until the latter could take no more.

‘That’s enough!’ he yelled. ‘You’ve made your point.’

‘So what’s your decision?’ asked Hambridge.

‘Gordon has got to tell Ruby that he can’t do it,’ said Price. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t have the guts to do that when she came up with the idea.’

‘It wasn’t Ruby’s idea,’ said Leach. ‘It was her father’s. Mr Cosgrove was only trying to find a compromise.’

‘Remember what Cyril used to say. We never compromise.’

Leach was outnumbered. With Ablatt resurrected, he was up against three of them and his resistance cracked. It had been an article of faith for all four of them that they wouldn’t assist the war effort in any way. Joining a non-combatant corps would, in essence, be almost as bad as joining the army. It was easy for Price and Hambridge to maintain their extreme position. They only had to think of themselves. Price’s family lived in Wales and took little interest in him. Hambridge’s parents supported him in his stance. Leach’s situation was more complicated. After apparently being spurned by Ruby, he’d been forgiven in the wake of the attack on the curate. She’d been so concerned for his safety that she came to assure him that she still wanted to marry him and that