crying. She had only one goodbye to say, it cried in her throat, the sound of the train’s steam hissing and the ‘chunt, chunt’ of the engine drowned her words, ‘Goodbye, Da, goodbye, Da.’
BOOK TWO
Chapter 13
EVELYNE walked up the stone steps of the police station in Cardiff and stood at the high counter. The sergeant on duty gave her a pleasant smile. ‘What can I be doing for you, ma’am?
Taking a deep breath, Evelyne coughed. ‘I have information regarding the murders of the four boys. I would like to make a statement, and I am prepared to go to any court and swear on oath that what I have to say is God’s truth.’
The sergeant rubbed his head and leant on the desk. ‘And what murders would these be, young lady?’
‘The gypsy revenge killings … my name is Evelyne Jones. I want to make a statement.’
Half an hour later, after she had related everything to the sergeant, she was taken to meet the detective chief inspector. The sergeant held the door open for her and placed a stack of forms on the inspector’s desk.
‘I think you’d better listen to what this lady has to say, sir.’
The inspector listened attentively to every word, nodding his head and refilling his pipe. He puffed and stared at a spot on the wall just above Evelyne’s head.
‘And that, sir, is the truth. I was with Freedom Stubbs the night he is supposed to have killed Willie Thomas, and I’ll stand up in court and say so.’
The inspector tapped his pipe and began to scrape at the bowl. He chose his words carefully, because asking this tall, stiff young woman if she was ‘familiar’ with the gypsy was a delicate matter.
‘I know him only as someone who helped me on the night of the rape, that is all.’
The inspector felt she was withholding something, she knew more than she admitted, but he had to take her statement and pass it to his superiors. The statement took an hour and fifteen minutes to complete, and Evelyne’s meticulous handwriting and perfect spelling impressed everyone.
‘I see you’ve put no address down, Miss Jones, where are you residing in Cardiff?’
Unable to think of where she would stay, Evelyne bit her lip. A large poster behind the inspector caught her eye — it was an advertisement for a charity ball at the Grand Hotel.
‘I’ll be at the Grand, Sir.’
He looked at her for a moment then carefully wrote down the name of the hotel.
‘Will Mr Stubbs be released now?’ Evelyne’s innocent question made them laugh, it wasn’t as simple as that. The man was charged with murder and one statement was not good enough. There were, after all, three more murders with Freedom Stubbs the main suspect in each case. ‘Will I be allowed to see him?’ The men flicked sly glances at each other and then back to Evelyne, looking at her from top to toe. One of the uniformed men said it could possibly be arranged.
‘Thank you for coming in, Miss Jones, and we will contact you at the Grand Hotel if we feel it is necessary.’
As Evelyne walked out of the office, she heard a chuckle behind her and the inspector speaking to one of the officers, ‘I’m sure Miss Jones will be at the Grand, lads, I’m sure.’
She felt humiliated, and realized she had accomplished nothing, and they were laughing at her behind her back. She took a deep breath, decided she would have a good breakfast and think about what she should do next. She would have breakfast at the Grand, and book a room there.
When she reached the Grand Hotel she realized why the inspector had been cynical about her staying there; it certainly lived up to its name. Even the steps up to the lobby were covered with thick-pile red carpet, and there was so much braid on the uniformed doorman’s jacket he looked in danger of being tied up in it permanently. He inclined his head to her, haughtily, and swung open the big brass doors with ‘The Grand’ painted on the glass in gold.
Once inside, Evelyne felt even more overpowered by the ornate building. The lobby was busy with residents and porters everywhere, and a bellhop loudly calling a name, trying to deliver a telegram. The head clerk Mr Jeffrey, wearing an immaculate black jacket and pinstriped trousers, looked up sharply as Evelyne tentatively rang the bell on the desk.
Evelyne almost dropped the cardboard suitcase when she saw the prices of the rooms. A heavy smell of perfume wafted past her nose, and a woman with two tiny parcels tied up with ribbon held her hand out languidly for her key. The clerk grovelled and bowed, placed a key into the kid-gloved hand and gave Evelyne a sidelong look.
‘Room twenty-nine, Lady Southwell.’
Evelyne glanced down at the brochure and noted that
her Ladyship had a suite on the third floor.
‘Do you have a room vacant on the third floor?’
‘The third floor is suites only, modom.’
Evelyne was getting hot, a flush creeping up from her
toes.
‘I’ll have a suite, then.’
The suite was decorated in different shades of pink, the twin beds draped and canopied with tiny, fluffy pink mats beside them. The bathroom was huge, marbled, and more luxurious than any she’d ever seen in a magazine. Bath salts, courtesy of the hotel, stood in a neat row. The water smelt lovely and she stayed in the warm, scented bath until her skin wrinkled.
Her scrubbed face shining, Evelyne walked through the lobby, aware of Mr Jeffrey’s scrutiny. She gave him a small, prim nod and nearly walked into a palm tree. A painted board on an easel announced the opening hours of the various dining-rooms.
‘The Grand Hotel is pleased to offer guests the choice of three dining rooms …’
Evelyne chose the tearoom. The small tables were painted white and laid with white linen cloths, the upholstered chairs also in white, and there were potted palms scattered around the room. A trio played on a corner stand, and the few customers spoke in whispers.
Evelyne selected a table at the far side which gave her a good view of the whole tearoom and the lobby from behind one of the palms. A waitress in a neat black dress with a frilled white cap, pinafore and cuffs promptly placed a menu in front of her. The toasted teacakes and pot of tea tasted better than anything she had ever made at home, with jams in tiny individual pots. Hot water was brought to freshen Evelyne’s teapot without her even asking, and she ordered another round of teacakes. She was loading butter on the hot bun when she heard a familiar voice.
‘My darling, forgive me, I’m late, but I simply couldn’t get away earlier, children’s wretched teaparty — have you ordered?’
Evelyne peeked around the large potted palm to her right and saw Freddy Carlton just about to sit down at the next table. He seemed to have aged. His neat moustache was waxed at the ends, and he wore a pale blue shirt with a stiff white collar and narrow black tie with his brown pinstriped suit. She could just see a tiny gloved hand as Freddy raised it to his lips and kissed it as he sat down. Parting the thick leaves of the palm tree, Evelyne peered through.
‘We don’t have long, dearest, I have some shopping to do. I’ve ordered tea, are you hungry?’
Evelyne let go of the palm. Lady Primrose laughed softly, and Evelyne saw Freddy lean closer to her. She was sure Freddy kissed her, and in public!
‘Is it you? I saw you from the staff door, is it you, Evelyne?’
