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?’
This time Evelyne was so startled that she yelped. There in front of her was Miss Freda with a large tray of toasted scones.
‘Shush, not too loud, yes it’s me, Miss Freda.’
Freda beamed at Evelyne, her frizzy hair trapped beneath a frilled white cap.
‘I work here now, I’m not supposed to talk to the customers, but I will bring you over some cakes … shusssh … then maybe we can meet and talk, yes?’
‘That would be nice.’
Evelyne was thrilled to see Freda, but a little worried about Freddy and Lady Primrose, at the next table. Freda gave her a little wink and scurried to her customer’s table, getting a stern look from a stout woman with an enormous bosom who was taking up her position at the pay desk.
While Evelyne eavesdropped on the conversation between Freddy and Lady Primrose, several waitresses passed her table, each depositing a cake in front of her with a wink. She ate her way through a piece of strawberry gateau, a cherry pie, and a large white meringue filled with fresh cream, and still they kept coming.
Rising to his feet, Freddy leaned once more across the table.
‘Can we meet this afternoon? I can’t bear being apart from you, it’s been three whole days, will you call me and I’ll arrange a room?’
‘You’d better leave, darling, they’ll be arriving … I’ll call you, I promise.’
Evelyne hid behind her napkin as Freddy walked past her table. One of the waitresses blocked him from view as she laid a paper bag by Evelyne’s plate.
‘Freda says for you to put the ones you can’t eat into this, but careful, she’s got eyes in the back of her head.’
Evelyne looked at the woman behind the pay desk while the waitress cleared Freddy’s teacup. She slipped three cakes into her paper bag and put it beneath the table. As she raised her head she found the woman with the huge bosom looming over her.
‘Your bill, madam.’
Had she been spotted? Evelyne flushed, but the woman pivoted on her heel and made her way around the room, depositing more of the little pink slips on other tables.
Freda sidled over to Evelyne. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I’m here, room twenty-seven … I mean, suite.’
‘Here? You are staying here? Well, I’ll see you later.’
She whizzed away through the swinging kitchen door, thinking to herself that Miss Evelyne certainly must have more money than she knew what to do with.
Holding her bag of cakes close to her side, Evelyne gave two shillings to the stern-faced woman with the bosom, and her sixpence change clattered down a chute. She struggled to get it out with one hand, afraid to lift the other to reveal the bag of illicit cakes.
‘Do come again.’
Turning quickly away she bumped into Sir Charles Wheeler, who stepped aside and apologized then surveyed the room from behind his monocle. The cashier beamed and led him to a small booth, murmuring that she felt sure Sir Charles would find it suitable. He sat with his back to the room and opened a copy of The Times.
Evelyne pressed the lift button and waited. The brass was so highly polished it was like a mirror, and she adjusted a stray curl of hair … then her heart stopped.
David Collins strode in to the hotel, paused to smile at the manager, flicked his gloves off and walked towards the tearoom. He looked handsomer than ever, wearing the latest Prince of Wales single-breasted suit, a tie with a Windsor knot, and carrying a brown trilby. With an ingratiating smile the fawning cashier directed him to Lady Primrose’s table.
The lift gates clanked open.
‘Do you want to go up? Madam, up?’
The snooty bellhop doubled as lift attendant during teatime.
‘Third floor.’
Evelyne stepped out of the lift and the boy nearly caught her coat as he slammed the gates shut behind her. On the carpet outside her room lay a newspaper, and looking up and down the corridor she saw that there was one outside each door. At least something was included in the price of the suite.
The headline ran in big, black print: ‘Gypsy to stand trial for killings.’ Ed Meadows paid his twopence and opened the paper as he made his way to the tearoom.
‘Yes, have you booked a table?’
Ed stared around the room then pointed to Sir Charles’ table. The cashier was aghast, the man looked dreadful in a shabby suit and down-at-heel shoes. She was about to stop him when Sir Charles laid down his newspaper, turned, and gestured for the new arrival to join him.
‘Well, guv, that’s the gyppo up the spout, you seen the ‘eadlines, they got ‘im not fer one murder but free … I dunno, what a bleedin’ waste.’
Freda stood by the table as Ed looked over the menu. ‘You got eggs an’ bacon, somefink like that, eh?’
Sir Charles raised his eyebrows and turned to Freda. ‘Welsh rarebit, for two please, and a pot of coffee.’
Her legs aching, Freda moved off, jotting down the order as she went. She was tired and wanted to sit down, but she had hours to go yet.
Ed leaned across the table. ‘I just come from Taffy and his manager’s place, the man was cut bad an’ I’d say it’ll open up again first bout he has, be at least five weeks before he’s healed up, an’ he’s pudgy, you know, not in good nick at all.’
Sir Charles frowned. ‘You think the knockout was fixed, what?’
Ed spread his chubby hands and sighed. ‘Guv, that gyppo could’ve ‘ad ‘im in round one, what a fighter, it’s tragic — it’s bloody tragic. Far as I could make out old Taffy was bleedin’ surprised to floor the gyppo ‘imself. Now, ‘is manager was givin’ me the old story, yer know, about Taffy’s bein’ famous for ‘is left uppercut, but I said, I said, do me a favour, mate, the punch was a wide, open-‘anded right, couldn’t ‘ave floored a flyweight wiv it, never mind a big’un like Stubbs.’
Sir Charles mused, fiddling with his cutlery. ‘So … we forget about Taffy, what? He may be useful as a sparring partner, but I doubt anything else.’
‘You ask me, guv, ‘e’s ready fer the knacker’s yard. I got a theory, see the ‘eadlines? Now, yer know the police was after ‘im — what if he got tipped off and done a runner, like? Hadda go down ‘cause ‘e knew the law was on to ‘im? That’s the way I sees it.’
‘Either way, old chap, we come out the losers. Pity, really felt that fellow Stubbs was champion material, damned shame, but then these gyppo fellows are not to be trusted … Ah, jolly good, breakfast!’
Freda placed the Welsh rarebits in front of them. Ed stared in horror. ‘Gor blimey, what in hell’s name is this?’
Freda put down the coffee-pot and a jug of hot milk.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
Sir Charles nodded, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Try it, Ed, it’s quite tasty.’
Ed poked at his plate, then sighed. ‘Fair breaks me ‘eart. What a fighter, they’ll ‘ang ‘im … We goin’ back ter London then, guv?’
Sir Charles carefully cut through his toast. Yes, they would return first thing in the morning, he had some relatives he might call on. Ed looked at the orchestra and began to hum along, ‘Tea for two …’ Then he took an enormous mouthful of rarebit, chewed and pulled a face.
‘Sooner the better, I’ve ‘ad enough of Wales, Welsh rabbits an’ all … can’t taste any meat in this, more like cheese ter me.’
***
During her lunch break Freda went to Evelyne’s suite. She took a great interest in the furnishings, then flopped down on one of the single beds, exhausted. To Evelyne she seemed happy-go-lucky as she related, with little shrugs, the story of her business failing and the fact that she was working to save for another shop. Secretly, Freda wondered where Evelyne was getting the money to stay at the Grand. Perhaps she had some cash to spare, and they could go into partnership together.
‘So why are you here, Miss Evelyne? Ah, I know, you are getting married, is that it?’
Evelyne laughed. ‘Far from it.’ She explained at length why she had come back to Cardiff, while Freda lay with her eyes closed, listening. She didn’t mention Jesse and Rawnie by name, just the basic facts of Willie’s murder.
‘I’m a witness you see, Freda, that’s why I’m here, I know he didn’t kill that boy. Freedom is innocent, and I want to help him.’
Rolling over on the bed, Freda propped her frizzy head on her hands and scrutinized Evelyne. ‘But it is not just one killing, is it darling? Perhaps he did not kill this Willie boy in your village, but what of the three murdered here in Cardiff? Goodness, I’ve read terrible things, such scandal, everyone has been frighted, it’s like Jack the Ripper.’
Freedom Stubbs was no Jack the Ripper, Evelyne told her.
Recovering some of her energy, Freda sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. They didn’t reach the floor.
‘We shall go to see him, that is what we must do. But first, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, your dress is very drab, you must look smart, not like a schoolteacher, really smart … do you have the money for some clothes?’
Evelyne answered evasively, not that sort of money, and studied her reflection in the mirror. Freda looked her up and down, she was so thin and had grown even taller. For a small price, she suggested, she could alter Evelyne’s clothes, perhaps they could buy some second-hand things.
‘You will feel more confident, and I can do it very cheaply, what do you say?’
Smiling sweetly as Evelyne agreed, Freda took out a tape measure, saying that she never went anywhere without it. She departed with two pounds ten shillings of Evelyne’s money, assuring her she could do wonders with it.
When she had left, Evelyne counted her remaining money. She had been ‘paid’ with two five-pound notes last time she had been in Cardiff, and now she was putting them to good use. As Freda had taken most of her few clothes to alter she couldn’t go out, so she lingered in yet another soapy bath, her thoughts on David. She wondered if he knew what was so obviously going on between his wife and his best friend Freddy.
The following morning Evelyne was astonished at how fast Freda had worked. Her hemlines were up, and the new buttons on her old coat made it look quite nice.
‘I will have a dress ready soon, your skirt and blouse will do for now, and perhaps if you can give me a few more shillings you can have a nice new hat.’
The desk sergeant remembered Evelyne, but refused her permission to see Freedom. Miss Freda launched into a furious speech about citizens’ rights, and said that if he didn’t allow Miss Jones to visit the prisoner, she would write to all the newspapers. After that they were kept waiting for half an hour, but permission was granted. They were sent to another building, where again they were kept waiting, until a tall prison warder with a set of big keys on a waistchain approached them. ‘Miss Evelyne Jones, please?’
He led her to a bare room where Freedom was sitting at a wooden table, handcuffed, an officer standing beside the door. Another officer stood outside, where he could see into the room through a small window set in the door for that purpose. Freedom had no idea why he had been brought out of his cell and sat, head bowed, staring at his hands. His hair was unruly, uncombed, and his face already dark with stubble.
As the officer left he locked the door behind him, after informing Evelyne coldly that she had ten minutes. Freedom was stunned and made to rise, but was immediately pushed back into his chair by the officer. Evelyne sat in an identical chair opposite Freedom. Now that she was here she didn’t know what to say to him and could see that he was dumbstruck by her appearance. She could smell him, his heavy body odour, for the man had not been allowed to bathe since his arrest.
His shoulder-length hair was greasy and hung limp, and when he lifted his hands to move it back from his face she could see his handcuffs.
The presence of the police officer loomed over them both, and for a good two minutes neither said a word. Evelyne placed her hands, with the neat, square, shining nails, on to the table. ‘I have come to say you were with me the night Willie was in the picture house. They say in the papers that you’ll be standing trial for all the killings and that you’ll hang.’
Freedom looked into her eyes, and then turned to look at the prison officer. His voice was so quiet, she had to lean forward to hear. ‘So be it, and I thank thee for coming, God bless you.’
Evelyne leant even further across to him, trying to make him look into her face, but his head remained bowed. ‘You can’t just accept it, you can’t, because I know you didn’t …’
Freedom looked up, his face was hard, and now his voice was firm, though still not loud. ‘You know nothing, go back to your village, manushi, go back, this is not your business. Forget what you know — she must never be mentioned, understand me?’
She knew he meant Rawnie, and she leant back against the wooden chair. He was prepared to say nothing, prepared to hang … she couldn’t believe it.
‘Will you do nothing? Freedom…’ His name sounded hollow and foolish, and he turned to the officer and jerked his head for the door to be opened. The officer banged on the door with his wooden baton and it was unlocked from outside. With a hesitant look at the officer, Freedom waited to be allowed to stand.
‘Do you have proof that you were not in Cardiff for the other killings? Freedom? Where were you? Freedom?’
Standing, Freedom dwarfed the prison officer who only came up to his shoulders. He didn’t look back but walked straight to the door, and it was not until he bent his head to avoid the doorframe that he turned to look back at her.
His dark eyes were expressionless, black, his powerful arms bound by the handcuffs. He was like a magnificent wild beast trapped by man, unbowed and undaunted. He gave Evelyne a quick, unfathomable smile, then he was gone.
Miss Freda linked arms with Evelyne as they walked away from the prison. The girl was silent, her body stiff, her hands cold to Freda’s touch. One of the prison officers had walked through the waiting room and mentioned to another that the gyppo killer had not said a word during his time in the jail.
‘That his woman in there with him, is it? She’ll do no good, he’s for the rope and he knows it.’
Miss Freda still did not know the truth behind Evelyne’s visit, surely it could not just be because she believed the lad innocent, there must be more than that.
In the middle of the street Evelyne suddenly stopped, her face angry, eyes blazing.
‘They’ll not hang him, Freda, I won’t let them, he’s like a child in there, a foolish, stubborn child.’
Together they returned to Freda’s small lodgings. The room was cluttered with hatboxes, and in pride of position in the centre of the room was Freda’s sewing machine. From the garret window Evelyne could see a long line of men waiting for the dole, and there were children begging in the street.
‘I won’t let them hang him, he’s innocent, I’m going back, and I’ll keep going back until they take me seriously and do something about it.’
Freda patted her arm soothingly and at the same time tried to measure her for a sleeve.
‘I don’t want a new dress, Freda, I’m sorry, I’m not going to walk away from him, I’m going to make him see sense, I have to.’
Frightened that Evelyne would ask for her money back, Freda wanted to weep. She was so short of cash that she’d already spent the two pounds ten on back rent. ‘You seem so sure he is innocent — I know, don’t get angry … I know you say you were with him, he could not have killed that boy in your village, but Evie, what of the others?’
Evelyne still stared down at the growing line of poverty-stricken, unemployed men. ‘He’s killed no one, I know it, there are things I can’t speak of… but I will, I’ll make him let me.’
Back at the prison, at first the warder was most unhelpful. Evelyne refused to budge, she had to see Freedom Stubbs, and it was her right. The prisoner was entitled to a lawyer. She opened her purse and took out a shilling. ‘And you’ll have another after I’ve seen him.’
She was taken to the visiting room and told to wait. At long last, after two hours, she heard the footsteps of the warder returning.
‘You got two minutes and then he has to go back, I’ll lose me job, ma’am, I’m trusting you to behave yourself.’
Evelyne clenched her fists, nodded her head. Another fifteen minutes passed before she heard the sound of keys turning, iron doors opening and closing, and then heavy footfalls. Freedom was ushered in, head bowed, lips tight.
‘He didn’t want to see you, ma’am, so much for all your trouble … now, you, sit down, I’ll be right outside the door.’
They were alone, and she sat opposite him. ‘We’ve got two minutes, so let’s not waste it. Will you listen to me, Mr Stubbs? If you won’t help yourself then I am going to do it, whether you like it or not.’
His teeth were so tightly clenched she could see a muscle twitching at the side of his mouth. He refused to look up.
‘Now then, I have the time of the murder at the picture house, and I know for certain I was with you. Now where were you on the other occasions? I’ll check out your whereabouts and try to prove you were not in Cardiff when the other lads were killed. Are you listening to me? Will you not stand up and fight? Fight for your own life?’
Still he was silent and she could feel his anger. She leaned forward, whispered, ‘I’ll give you my word I’ll not mention Rawnie, or Jesse, I’ll not ever say their names, and that’s God’s truth.’
Her face was close to his, her hands on the table, and he moved so fast it shocked her. His shackled hands reached over and grabbed her wrists hard, hurting her, and she was frightened.
‘Woman, go away, you’ve no business here.’ For the first time he looked into her frightened face, and then he moaned, rubbed her wrist softly.
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you, girl, I’ll not hurt you.’
She swallowed, he was still holding her wrists, she could see where the handcuffs had cut into his skin. She eased her hands away.
‘Do you not understand? They’ll say you’re a gyppo lover, just like I heard them screaming at you when I was inside the wagon. You’ll be treated like dirt — you’ll get no respect, they’ll drag your name in the muck alongside mine.’
She slapped the table between them. ‘I don’t care, I want to help you, can’t you understand that, I need to help you?’
He cocked his head to one side and looked at her, repeating the word ‘need’ as a question. Evelyne bit her lip and felt the tears welling up. She sniffed. ‘Oh, you won’t understand, but I never see things through, you know? I’ve not even taken my examinations, I’m not a qualified schoolteacher, and then, well, last time I was here … I’ve never had the fight in me, not for myself. I’ll fight for you, I want to see you released, I want to give you your name, Freedom.’
A tear trickled down each of her cheeks, and he lifted his hands to wipe them away, but she recoiled. ‘I don’t know what I’m crying for. It’s you that should be weeping, will you not stand up for yourself, man? I’ll stand alongside you, I give you my word, and I’ve got a bit of money for a lawyer.’
The key turned in the lock, and Freedom stood up. He was walking to the door of his own free will. At the door he stopped, his back to her, and his voice was so soft she could only just hear it.
‘Take your fight, manushi, take it for yourself, there’s naught ye can do fer me. Don’t come back, I don’t want to see you again, I won’t see you … walk away if you know what’s best, and get your teaching qualifications.’
He was gone, the visiting-room door stood open and the warder was looking at her. ‘All the same, ungrateful animals, you wasted your time. Go on, love, go home.’
She handed him his shilling, and he looked at it, then looked her up and down. He shook his head. ‘Keep your money, lovey, you look as if you could do with a good meal inside you, now go on, go home.’
Freda watched as the coppers, the shillings and a half-crown tumbled out on to the sewing-machine table. ‘You love this man, Evelyne, is that what it is?’
Evelyne was stunned, her mouth dropped open. She had never thought of that. ‘Good heavens no, he’s a gypsy, Freda, but that doesn’t mean he has no right to a fair trial… Oh, I feel so good, elated, you know. I’m doing something really worthwhile, and what’s more I’m going to see it through … I’ll be at the hotel, I’ll leave the dresses and things to you, just make sure you make me look like a real lady.’
Freda was rendered speechless. She wondered if Evelyne was one of those suffragettes she’d read about, they were always going on about people’s rights.
‘Remember, Freda, if I look good in court then people’ll want to know where I got the clothes from, you’ll be back in business, what do you say?’
Freda picked up the money and was already delving into her pattern book as Evelyne ran down the wooden staircase.
Ping! went the desk bell, and Mr Jeffrey whipped round, picked up the key to suite twenty-seven and banged it on the desk.
‘Will you want a table reserved for dinner, Miss Jones?’
Evelyne turned to him, and for the first time she wasn’t in any way ashamed or embarrassed. ‘Not at those prices I won’t, thank you.’
She was off to the lift before Mr Jeffrey could close his open jaw. Good God, she’s got herself a suite and now she was acting up like she was a duchess.
The lift-boy was about to clang the lift shut on Evelyne’s coat when she turned and gave him a look. ‘Just you try it, lad, an’ you’ll get the back of my hand. Time you learnt some manners.’
Ed Meadows was tapping on Sir Charles Wheeler’s door when he overheard Evelyne’s remark. He turned to her and grinned.
‘Good on yer, gel, cheeky little blighter, ain’t ‘e?’
Evelyne smiled, picked up her evening newspaper and put her key in the door.
‘You from round these parts, are you?’
Evelyne had already opened her door and gave him a rather frosty look. Being friendly was one thing, but he was a little too chatty. ‘I’m from the valleys, good evening to you.’
Getting no reply from knocking on His Lordship’s door, Ed waddled towards Evelyne.
‘I’m from London, suppose you can tell by me accent I’m not Welsh, I’m up ‘ere wiv me guv’nor, name’s Meadows, Ed Meadows.’
He brandished a rather dog-eared card at Evelyne.
‘Boxing promotor and trainer, ‘Ackney, London.’
Evelyne took the card and gave a curt nod, then realized she was behaving a little rudely.
‘Evelyne Jones.’
As they shook hands, Sir Charles appeared at the door of his suite. He was dressed in a plum-velvet smoking jacket. Ed Meadows turned, then stepped back and introduced Sir Charles to Evelyne. Very debonair, Sir Charles strode up to Evelyne and kissed her hand. ‘Charmed to meet you, are you staying long?’
He wasn’t frightfully interested whether she was or not, and was already heading back towards his open door. Ed beamed at Evelyne and followed the guv’nor, telling him before Evelyne could open her mouth that she was from the valleys. About to enter his suite, Sir Charles smiled. ‘What a coincidence, we were there only the other night. Well, nice to meet you, good evening.’
The door closed behind them and Evelyne entered her own suite. She bumped the door closed with her behind and tossed the keys on to the bed. Typical Londoners, think there’s only one valley … and then she pulled up, and Sir Charles’ words click-click-clicked in her brain. Surely that titled gent couldn’t have been to her valley … but it would make sense, that man … Evelyne fished in her pocket for Ed’s crumpled card, bit her lip, and then before she could change her mind she strode out of the suite and along the corridor.
Dewhurst opened the door to Sir Charles’ rooms, and stiffly enquired if she had an appointment. Behind him Ed Meadows bellowed, ‘Who is it?’
Sir Charles was sitting at a small desk. There was a big fire in the grate and there were so many doors leading off the main room that for a moment Evelyne thought she had got confused, perhaps he lived at the hotel, surely he wouldn’t have all this space just for one person? He fixed his monocle into his left eye and looked at Evelyne. ‘Ah, yes, now what can I do for you?’
Evelyne’s nerve almost deserted her, but she blurted it out as fast as she could. Had they been to the Freedom Stubbs fight? She was a friend of his and he was in prison, but he wasn’t guilty and she wondered if they could advise her what she could do. Her knees buckled slightly as she finished, she could feel the flush creeping up her cheeks.
Sir Charles leaned back in his chair and his monocle popped out. He swung it on the end of the black ribbon round his neck.
‘Dewhurst, bring the young lady in. I’m sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t catch your name …? Ah, Evelyne, yes, yes of course, a drink, dear? What would you care for?’
Evelyne said sherry because it was the first thing that came into her head, and Dewhurst placed a chair for her close to the desk and backed out of the room. Ed Meadows moved to stand behind Sir Charles, and asked Evelyne what she knew of the gypsy and how was she involved. ‘They say he’s killed four lads and you say different, that right?’
Sitting in the cosy, firelit room, Evelyne told them what she knew, took them right back to the first time when she had seen Freedom fight Dai ‘Hammer’ Thomas. She was taken aback because Ed Meadows kept interrupting her, asking all sorts of questions about other fights she knew of, had she seen him fight anywhere else in Wales? Did she know about the knockout in the ring the other night? Sir Charles eventually put his hand on Ed’s arm and, looking directly at Evelyne and speaking very slowly, asked again why, exactly why, she had come to see him.
‘Because he’s innocent and I can prove it. I’ve offered to go into court, and I just don’t think they’re going to pay any attention to what I have to say, but I know he didn’t do those murders.’
Sir Charles listened intently to Evelyne’s story, then excused himself, leaving her alone with Ed.
‘ ‘E’s a bit of a toff, but ‘e’s a real gent, know what I mean, a true blue, an’ take it from me I know what I’m talkin’ about, nothin’ he don’t know about the game, he’s even bin to America, United States of America, you know, oh yeah, ‘is Lordship’s a real pro, was a fighter ‘imself, see.’
They both turned to the closed doors, and Ed, without stopping except to swallow gulps of his frothing black Guinness, continued. ‘Nineteen-o-eight there was the Aussie fella, Jack Johnson, Gawd almighty what a fighter ‘e was, saw that big’un with Jim Jefferson, nineteenten, July fourth, you heard of the Great White Hope? I was there for that wiv ‘im, ‘e took us both over. But yer fighter knockin’ ‘em all into the corners is Dempsey, the man’s a joy ter watch, a joy ter watch, I was there, an’ guess who was sittin’ not two rows in front of me? Special cordoned-off area — Ethel Barrymore, yes, on my life Ethel Barrymore, the famous actress, was watching Dempsey fight, bloody marvellous … pardon the language, miss.’
Behind closed doors Sir Charles gave quiet instructions for Dewhurst to go down to reception and ask about this Miss Jones, find out how long she’d been staying, et cetera. When he returned to the drawing room Ed beamed at him. ‘My God, this gel knows about fighting, your Lordship.’
Evelyne hadn’t actually said a word, but she smiled, looking into her sherry glass. Sir Charles replaced his monocle and with his long fingers he drummed on the top of the inlaid writing desk. ‘Tell me, dearie, this Freedom fella, what is your relationship with him?’
She placed the glass on top of the desk and sat up very straight. ‘There is no relationship, sir, not even a friendship, I simply do not want to see an innocent man hang.’
She could feel Sir Charles’ eyes carefully noting everything about her from the top of her hair to the scuffed shoes. She was glad Miss Freda had altered her clothes, at least she looked respectable, if not fashionable.
‘You say you are prepared to go into the witness box? He is a Romany gypsy, isn’t he?’
Evelyne nodded, bit her lip. She knew he was trying to imply that there was something between the two of them, and it made her angry.
‘I don’t wish to sound rude, dearie, but, well, you don’t look, if you will excuse my saying so, you don’t really look like most of the clientele in this establishment. I was wondering if you will excuse my rudeness for asking, how you are able to stay at the Grand?’
Evelyne stood up sharply, her hands gripped at her sides, her face taut. ‘It is no business of yours, but I was left a legacy, and I am quite able to afford the price of this “establishment”. I may not look like the so-called “ladies” I’ve seen parading around the lobby, but I wouldn’t care to dress like them anyway, not that my legacy would run to that height of fashion. I have no other motive but to help a man whom I believe is innocent. There is nothing sexual about my friendship with him, I am only interested in justice. I am sorry to have wasted your time but I took you to be a gentleman who could possibly guide me in what I should do. I can see I was wrong, excuse me.’
Ed Meadows rose to stop her, but Sir Charles laid his elegant hand on Ed’s arm again. Evelyne reached the door, turned and thanked Sir Charles for the sherry and then turned abruptly and walked out.
‘Why d’yer behave like that, sir? I fink she was a true ‘un moment I hear her givin’ that snotty lift-boy a bollockin’.’
Sir Charles smiled, raised his whisky glass. ‘On the contrary, I would say she’s magnificent, she’s a tigress, Ed m’boy, but we have to be very sure, I’d say that gel will make a first-class witness, and from what I’ve read to date the boy will most certainly need that, plus a lot more. Go and check on a chap called Smethurst, he’s a lawyer, we’ll need the best there is — or the best Cardiff can provide.’
From the hotel lobby, Ed Meadows asked if Miss Jones would care to have dinner with him, as Sir Charles had suggested it. Evelyne said she had a previous engagement and Ed apologized for disturbing her, but thought he should mention to her that His Lordship had already set the wheels in motion. He was hiring a lawyer first thing in the morning to act on behalf of Freedom Stubbs. He was going to pay a visit to the prison himself, and Ed added that he hoped she was not affronted by his invitation to dinner. Evelyne felt awful and would have liked to change her mind, but she knew she had nothing suitable to wear so she thanked Ed again and said perhaps another time.
Miss Freda had taken Evelyne at her word. She had been round the second-hand shops, run-down tailor’s shops, bespoke tailor’s, pawn shops. With an eagle eye for a bargain she bartered and argued and scrimped, and saved a penny here, twopence there. There was a dreadful pink satin ballgown that she could pull the beads from and hand-stitch instead round the collar of a fawn suit, the pinkish beads setting off the fawn of the jacket.
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Accustomed to rising early, Evelyne was sitting on the window-seat with her legs curled beneath her when Freda arrived at seven-fifteen. Poor Freda looked pale, with deep circles beneath her eyes, but she had brought four garments, all finished down to the buttons. She was able to double her money on each item, but she didn’t feel she was cheating Evelyne, she had cut and sewn all night long and she would defy anyone to tell what or whose they had once been.
Freda hid in the bathroom when Evelyne called down for some coffee to be sent up to suite twenty-seven, and stayed there until the waiter delivered the steaming pots.
They discussed Evelyne’s outfits and talked about what sort of hat she needed to go with each. Evelyne counted out the shillings and pennies, double-checked it and handed the money to Freda, then she went into the bathroom to brush her hair. Returning to the bedroom she found Freda curled up like a dormouse on the unmade bed, so deeply asleep, she didn’t even stir when Evelyne slipped the eiderdown round her tiny shoulders.
The rest of the day was spent in shopping and carefully choosing material and one pair of shoes that would be suitable for all the outfits.
Ed Meadows was waiting in the lobby when Evelyne got back, and he rushed her up to Sir Charles’ suite.
Freedom Stubbs had turned down Sir Charles’ offer to take over his case, refusing point-blank, although thanking Sir Charles for his time and obvious expense. Sir Charles had pulled many strings and had his motorcar waiting to take Evelyne to the jail. She must talk to him, tell him he was being foolish and would hang for it unless he accepted their offer.
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***
Ed Meadows sat in the front of the car with the chauffeur, and gave Evelyne details of the offer, making it sound simple and, of course, to Freedom’s advantage. Sir Charles wanted Freedom to sign a contract to be under his sole management.
‘We reckon he could be a contender, see Evie, me and the guv’nor want to train ‘im, like, get ‘im ready. It’s a fair contract, all the money ‘e laid out for the court case, legal fees and what ‘ave you, would be comin’ out of whatever ‘e’d earn as a boxer.’
Evelyne, clutching the contract, was led through the jail to the visiting room. This time the prison officers were cordial and called her ‘ma’am’. Freedom was brought into the small room in handcuffs, but he had bathed and shaved. His hair was shining, and was braided down his neck. He sat, head bowed, opposite her, and the officer told Evelyne quietly that she could stay as long as she wanted.
One officer was left on duty inside the room, as usual, and another outside the door, but this time the room was not locked.
‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Freedom? You know how much trouble I’ve been to, and Sir Charles, you can’t say no, you must be out of your mind.’
Freedom looked down at his hands and pursed his lips. Evelyne leaned over and whispered that no one was concerned about anyone else, nothing had been mentioned about anyone else’s involvement, no names. All they were interested in was his innocence or guilt.
‘You are innocent, I know it, I can stand up and prove it in Willie’s case, but you’ll have to say where you were on the days when the other lads were killed.’
Freedom shifted his weight but still he would not
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look up and meet her eyes. He remained silent, infuriating Evelyne.
‘Sir Charles Wheeler’s no ordinary man, he can help you in your boxing, all you’ve got to do is sign this contract an’ he’ll make you a contender.’. Having misunderstood what Ed Meadows had said, Evelyne had no idea what ‘contender’ meant. Freedom smiled, still with his head down, his eyes averted.
‘You sign this and he’ll take all the court costs out of what he’s agreed to pay you. It’s a chance for you, you can’t throw it away.’
Still he said nothing, and she tried cajoling and various other approaches.
‘Do you not want to box, is that it?’
Freedom lifted his head and stared at her, then turned to face the prison officer. ‘Aye, I want that, I just don’t want no one else to be involved.’
She knew he was thinking of Rawnie and Jesse, and she couldn’t believe it. Her temper got the better of her. ‘You are a fool, you know that, a stubborn fool, I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath on you!’ ‘
‘And I don’t know why, you tell me, I don’t know why I deserve this, no one has ever fought for me before, why you, what do you want?’
‘Because you’re innocent, that’s why, I’d do it for any man who was about to hang when I knew he shouldn’t.’
She laid out the contract and read down the detailed, neatly typed pages. She turned it over, Sir Charles was guaranteeing Freedom a wage, and a fair one as far as she could see.
‘Is there something here you don’t agree with, is it too long a contract, is that it?’
Freedom rubbed his head, glanced at the attentive
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prison officer and then said in a barely audible voice, ‘I can’t read, I don’t read.’
Evelyne could see his embarrassment, and she got up to ask the officer if she could move her chair round the table to discuss the contract with the prisoner.
They sat close and she whispered each clause of the contract, her finger tracing the lines. He sat, head bent, staring intently at the pages.
‘He promises to give you accommodation at his estate outside London for the time you will be training until the time you desire to find your own establishment. These costs will be deducted from your wages together with the costs this case will incur. He also wants you to have a suit ordered for the trial, and …’ Evelyne looked at him, his face close enough for her to touch. He was not paying any attention to the contract but looking at her closely, scrutinizing her face. She turned back to the papers, blushed, coughed, and started again.
‘Clause four, this one down here, says you will be contracted to Sir Charles for five years, after that time you will be free either to renew your contract with him or not, as you choose. This contract is valid for all parts of the world.’ As she turned the page her hand brushed against his, and he moved his handcuffed wrists further way.
‘He, Sir Charles, that is, has the right to bring all contractual obligations here assigned to termination at any date he so wishes.’
She opened her bag, and the officer moved a step into the room. She held up a pen, then looked at Freedom. ‘You going to sign it? You have to, it’s the only chance you have, and I think it’s a pretty fair deal.’ Freedom nodded, and with her hand guiding his he signed his initials, ‘F.S.’
Evelyne promptly folded the contract and slipped it
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into her handbag. Freedom looked at her with a strange expression, then he looked away and kept his voice low as he said, ‘You gimme your word they’ll not try to bring in my friends.’
Evelyne snapped her bag shut and nodded her head. ‘You have my word, and I want yours that you’ll give Sir Charles any information not concerning your friends that’ll help you, will you promise me that?’
Freedom promised, and she gave the officer a look to let him know the meeting was over. She went to walk straight out, but then she stopped, bent her head towards Freedom and lightly kissed his cheek. It was a friendly gesture, there was nothing sexual and no intention of it being so. As the door closed behind her she turned back and saw him through the small window. He held his handcuffed hands over his face, and he seemed defeated.
When Freedom took his hands away from his face the tears were wet on his cheeks. He was crying, without a tremor, without a sound. His dark eyes blinked, and with one gesture the tears were gone, and he rose and lifted his hands to the officer. He was ready to be returned to the cells.
***
Sir Charles Wheeler brought Ed sharply down to earth. The fact that Freedom had signed their contract was no reason for celebration. They still had to prove the boy innocent and that was not going to be easy. He turned to Evelyne, checking his watch, and told her that they had a meeting with the lawyers in one hour. He didn’t exactly dismiss Evelyne, but he told her he had things to do, and Dewhurst hovered at the door to usher her out. ‘Have you the finances to remain here, Miss Jones? As I recall, you had only booked in for three days. The
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case could take a considerable time to get to court and you are the star witness.’
Evelyne was in a bit of a dilemma. Basically, she did have the money, but that would mean dipping into her precious legacy, and she had always taken great pains not to touch it unless absolutely necessary. But if she said she didn’t have it, would Sir Charles pay for her room, or would she be moved elsewhere?
Sir Charles took her silence to mean she did not have enough money, and with hardly a pause for breath he turned to Dewhurst and gave instructions to have Miss Jones’ account at the hotel given to him. He did not even wait for her to thank him, but strode into the study with Ed at his heels.
Evelyne wanted to dance along the corridor, she could still stay here, and for free. She could have as many baths as she liked, as many cream cakes, and all paid for by Sir Charles.
***
The lawyer’s office was dark, wood-panelled and lined with books. One whole wall was taken up with yellowing documents. The desk was claw-footed and covered in more of the same thick, yellowing documents. Smethurst swept into the room wearing his gown, having come directly from the court. His domed head was framed by a strange fringe of orange hair sprouting out at the sides, but the thickness of his eyebrows made up for the lack of hair on the top of his head. Mr Smethurst was a junior partner, but Evelyne decided that if he was a junior then the senior partners must all be really ancient.
Smethurst, Humphrey George, Esquire, had a booming voice, and his flabby hand gripped Sir Charles’ in a pulverizing handshake. ‘Charlie, well, Charlie, sit down,
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sit down old chap, you must be Miss Jones, seat, take a pew all of you, be back in a tick.’
They could hear his booming voice as he called for someone named Ethel to get the kettle on the boil for tea. He returned quickly, minus the gown and pulling on a Harris tweed jacket, almost the colour of his hair. His baggy trousers and heavy brogues were covered in mud. His Old Harrovian tie had worked its way around to the back of his neck, and the collar of his crumpled shirt stuck up. He and Sir Charles had been at school together.
‘Right, I’ve done a bit of prelim on this, and I’m afraid things don’t look too good, not good at all … Ahh, Ethel, thank God, I’m parched … tea, everyone? Oh, and Ethel some ginger nuts, there’s a good gel.’ He poured tea and talked constantly as it slopped into the saucers, then waved the milk liberally over the whole tray.
‘Now, my gel, let’s take a look at your statement, jolly well written and clear as a bell, but we have one problem the opposition will be on to like hawks… How long have you known this fella? Two — no, don’t interrupt me, tell me when I’ve finished. Right, point two, you state you were at a boxing match up on Highbury Hills, right? Yes, now I have to have witnesses to that fact, witnesses to say you were not, not, with the gypsy people, but there under your own steam, so to speak, and that before that date you had no connection with the … the er … chap, Freedom Stubbs. These two points are extremely important because what they will throw at you is that you were, you are, fabricating the whole story to enable us to get the chap free … so I will have to ask you certain … delicate questions, that will no doubt be asked by the prosecution council.’
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Smethurst listened attentively to Evelyne as she stated clearly that until the time of the first boxing match she had never set eyes on Freedom Stubbs.
‘So tell me, what does an attractive young woman like you want to take up with this gypsy for?’
Evelyne was up on her feet and banging on the desk in fury at Smethurst’s insinuations. He leaned back and raised his eyebrows. ‘So I am to take it that there is no romantic connection, purely a platonic friendship on your part with this gypsy, yes? Have you ever had any form of sexual relationship with him? And, further, do you intend to do so should this lad be set free?’
Evelyne banged the desk again, saying she had never ever had such thoughts and nothing was further from her mind. All she was interested in was Freedom’s innocence. ‘I saw that girl, I saw the girl the lads raped, and I believe in British justice, they will not let an innocent man hang.’
Smethurst gave her a slow hand-clap and pushed his chair back from his desk.
‘I think, Charlie, she’ll be wonderful, and as you said, like a tigress, but I’m afraid, Miss Jones, you’ll have to control that temper of yours. In the witness stand it is imperative that you behave like a lady at all times, never raise your voice — never — just answer clearly and concisely, understand?’
Suddenly he threw a question, like a dart, towards Evelyne.
‘So who do you think killed those miners, hum? Any ideas?’
She swallowed and looked down at her hands, licked her lips and lifted her head to stare straight into Smethurst’s bright eyes.
‘I have no idea, sir.’
He chucked the pencil down and opened a drawer,
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took out some toffees and unwrapped one. ‘That was a lie, but don’t… no, don’t argue with me, I don’t want to know, just tell me whether Freedom Stubbs himself is innocent.’
Evelyne kept her voice level, her eyes fixed firmly on Smethurst. ‘He did not kill those lads.’
‘Good, good, because I don’t think he’s guilty either. Right, let’s get started, yes?’ He flicked a look at Sir Charles who caught it like a tennis player and with a brief nod to Evelyne instructed her to wait in his car.
Smethurst waited until the door closed behind Evelyne before speaking. His manner changed slightly, he grew quieter, less expansive. He unwrapped another toffee. ‘I think, Charlie, it’s best that you let Miss Jones settle her own accounts at the hotel. By all means hand her the finances, but I don’t want it known you are paying her way. Secondly, I shall check all the alibis the fellow has and then get back to you, leave the statements of Collins and Lord Carlton to her … Oh, and fix the gypsy up, you know, get him a suit, looks better if he’s respectable, I think that’s about it for now.’
As Sir Charles rose to leave, Smethurst rocked in his chair.
‘You still see that chap you used to adore at school, Willoughby something-or-other? Still fond of him, are you?’
Sir Charles prodded the floor with his cane. ‘Killed in action, Ypres.’
‘Oh, sorry, nice fella … so, Charlie, you think you’ll have a champion, do you?’
Sir Charles smiled softly, leaned on his cane. ‘When have I ever been wrong? So, what do you think our chances are?’
Smethurst sniffed, sucked at his toffee. ‘Not good, but then I have never lost a case. I’d like to get Freddy Carlton’s statement sewn up, and that other bloke, Collins. Push those through, they are rather important.’ Sir Charles already had the door open and his trilby sat on his head at a jaunty angle. He tapped his cane. ‘Leave it to me … Thank you, Ethel, for the delicious tea and ginger nuts, good afternoon.’
***
Smethurst rocked backwards, then swivelled round in his chair. He thought Sir Charles was still the unfathomable gent he had been at school. The question of fees hadn’t even arisen, but he was sure he would make a fair amount.
‘Ethel, I think, dear heart, we’d better get the press on our side for this one, start calling them, would you?’
The case was by no means easy, and if the truth be known Smethurst felt they didn’t stand a chance in hell of acquittal. The gypsy was, after all, charged with not one murder but four … but, by Christ, it would make headlines, and with the society mixture Smethurst knew he had a very potent cocktail.
***
Evelyne could feel her whole body tense up. Her mouth went dry, but there was no turning back now. The operator was on the line, and with an encouraging nod from Miss Freda she went into her carefully rehearsed speech. ‘Would you please put me through to Lord Frederick Carlton’s residence, the number is Cardiff five-five-four …’
Miss Freda moved closer, listening. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s going through, don’t get so close, you make me nervous.’
Miss Freda edged away. Evelyne went red, swallowed. ‘Hello, is that you? Er’, you may not remember me, but my name is … oh … oh yes, I would like to speak with Lord Freddy Carlton please … Evelyne Jones …’
‘What did he say? What, what?’
Evelyne hissed, ‘It was the butler, shusssshhhhh …’
Freddy reached for the phone, irritated. These newfangled things were a dreadful intrusion on one’s privacy. Even more so with a friend like David Collins. One was forced to accept calls from God knows who, and on reverse charges. He snapped into the phone. ‘Yes, speaking … who is this? Who …? No, I’m sorry …’
Freddy was about to replace the phone. ‘Evelyne who? Who?’
Frantic, Evelyne looked at Miss Freda. ‘Oh, please don’t put your phone down, sir, not until you have heard what I have to say, it’s very important.’
Miss Freda was gesticulating wildly. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece.
‘You don’t ‘ave to shout, darlink, they can hear you as if you were in the same room, don’t shout.’ Evelyne started again.
‘Do you recall the boxing match? With the gypsies? The night there was a … hello? Hello, are you still there? Oh, Freda, I can’t hear him now, there’s no sound at all coming out.’
Freddy glanced across the hall towards the drawing-room, hoping his wife would not appear as usual to ask who was on the telephone. He spoke in hushed tones. ‘Now listen, dearie, I don’t like you calling my private number, firstly, and secondly I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of admitting to being at some wretched boxing match, is that clear? Now, please do not call me again.’
As he had expected, Heather came in from the garden, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. She paused, eyebrows lifted. ‘Something wrong, dearest?’
Freddy covered the phone with his hand, smiling. ‘No, no darling, just a call from the club, snooker game.’ Heather smiled, knowing perfectly well it had nothing to do with a snooker game. She went in to the drawing room where her mother, Lady Sybil, sat in her wheelchair, playing patience. ‘Who’s he talking to?’ ‘Just his club, Mother, nothing important.’ Freddy waited until the door closed behind his wife, then turned back to the phone. ‘Are you still there? Hello?’
Miss Freda handed the telephone back to Evelyne, whispering that he was back on the line again. Evelyne started to shout again, but lowered her voice when Freda waved frantically.
‘I said, sir, that perhaps David Collins will help, you see it is imperative that you act as my witness, my witness … He is charged with murder, and he is an innocent man.’
Freddy tried to control his voice. ‘And David Collins is sick, you must not at any cost disturb him. I won’t allow it, do you hear me? And I think you have a nerve, yes, a bloody nerve, calling here. We want nothing to do with you. Is that perfectly clear?’
Poor Freddy sensed the drawing-room door opening behind him, heard a bang as his mother-in-law’s wheelchair was wheeled out, and was almost beside himself. ‘I am sorry, I really cannot discuss the matter any further, the answer is no, and please do not call again.’
He replaced the phone and strode along the hall.
‘Going out, dear?’
‘Yes, yes, I have to go to my club. If David calls, tell him I need to talk to him.’
Heather pushed her mother’s chair into the hall, watching Freddy grab his trilby and slam out of the front door without a backward glance. Lady Sybil sniffed and rattled the vast array of beads on her chest. Her thin wrists clanked with rows of bangles.
‘For someone who has never done a day’s work in his life, he certainly does rush about, doesn’t he? Really, always amazes me why you put up with him, dear, what on earth has he ever done for you?’
Heather sighed, sucking in her breath over her protruding teeth. ‘He married me, Mother.’
Evelyne replaced the phone.
‘Well, Freda, that was dreadful, he wouldn’t even listen to me.’
Not one to give up, Miss Freda paced the room. ‘Next we find this Tulip girl, she will also be a witness, yes? Come along, Bianco’s still thrives, we will ask there.’
Tulip? Yes, the owner of Bianco’s remembered her very well indeed, he could describe her in detail. He rolled his eyes lewdly and made clucking sounds as he talked.
‘Do you know where we could find her?’
He sighed, sat down, and shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I’m sorry, the lady is more than likely pushing up the tulips herself. She died, oh, one year, maybe less … but I knew her well, many nights she was here, but…’
They returned, crestfallen, to the hotel, and took the lift to Sir Charles’ suite. As they knocked, Sir Charles swung the door open. ‘Well, how did it go, dearie? You have good news?’
Evelyne sighed and shook her head. Far from it. She told him the bad news, that neither Freddy nor David would act as witnesses, and that Tulip was dead. She had never before seen Sir Charles angry. He muttered under his breath and swung his monocle about by its ribbon. He paced the room and asked her to tell him once more, right from the beginning, what had taken place. All through her story he drummed his fingers and wandered around the room.
‘Freddy, or His Lordship, as he is now, wouldn’t stand up in court because of the possible scandal, but the gossipmongers would like to know just how familiar he is with David’s wife. I saw him, saw him with Lady Primrose, she doesn’t love David …’
Sir Charles replaced his monocle and sat down, interrupting Evelyne’s bitter tirade. ‘Lady Primrose Boyd-Carpenter? Getting me rather confused, my dear. Now repeat what you just said with a little logic so I can piece it all together.’
Evelyne felt as if Sir Charles’ magnified eye was boring into her as she repeated her story yet again. He threw back his head and roared with laughter, which took her completely off guard.
Dewhurst carried in the telephone from the study, trailing the long cord. ‘Mr Smethurst for you, sir, I apologize for interrupting but it is long distance and rather urgent.’
Smethurst was very pleased with himself, so far the story Freedom Stubbs had told him was checking out. The killings that had taken place in Cardiff could not have been committed by their client. In each case he was in another town, and in two instances he was actually in a boxing ring. Sir Charles replaced the receiver. It was more’important than ever that Evelyne’s story checked out one hundred per cent. ‘Now you are sure, absolutely sure, that David Collins’ wife is having some sort of liaison with Lord Freddy, yes? Am I right, yes?’
Evelyne bit her lip. Never one to gossip, she hated the sound of her own voice saying it. ‘Lord Freddy was engaged to Lady Primrose before David. After the war, when David came home, they married and had a son, but David had changed, and Freddy and Primrose were friendly even then. Now, well, I have seen them being very familiar actually in the tea room here at the Grand.’
‘Good God, the tea room, well, well.’
She felt he was laughing at her primness, but the next moment he opened his wallet. ‘I want you to purchase a very special evening gown. It’s essential that you look absolutely stunning. Off you go, and remember, a stunning creation, I think something green to go with your colouring.’
He didn’t even look at the amount he had given her, just handed her three notes. They were five-pound notes, and Evelyne didn’t know what to say. Dewhurst ushered her out of the suite, and Sir Charles got to work immediately, making calls to Lady Primrose and to Freddy Carlton.
Ed rushed in, looking crestfallen. ‘Gor blimey, I just ‘eard, not one of them toffs will admit to even being at the fight, that’s our defence up the spout, ain’t it?’
Sir Charles covered the telephone with his hand. ‘Ed, my old chum, don’t be such a defeatist, do you really think I would give up so easily? You know the Wheeler family has relatives all over England, rather distant, of course, but I intend to pull family strings.’ He listened to the telephone. ‘Yes, dearie, I’m still here … oh, thank you.’
Ed sat on the edge of his seat.
‘Hello, my dear gel, is that Primrose? Why, it’s Charlie, yes, I am in town … oh, only just arrived; goodness, it must be so many years … how’s your mother? Oh, she is? So sorry …’
Sir Charles appeared to be in the throes of one of his usual social calls so Ed made for the door, but Sir Charles stopped him.
‘Ed, pass the word to Miss Jones that she is to be here in my suite prompt at nine o’clock, not a minute before, thank you … Hello, Primmy? You still there?
Ah, now then, I know it’s short notice, but could you make it this evening? Oh, splendid, splendid.’
Finding no answer at Evelyne’s door, Ed went down to reception and left a message for her — nine o’clock sharp, not a minute earlier or later. They were to dine in Sir Charles’ suite. Just as he was licking his lips at the thought of a nice, frothing beer, he was called back to the desk. Sir Charles wanted him to collect a small package from a local jewellery store.
Freda had not been one hundred per cent certain about the gown, and nearly fainted at the price tag, but Evelyne was sure, and she bought it.
‘Oh, Evelyne, I could make it for a quarter, no a tenth of the price, I could, I really could.’
The pair returned to the hotel, exhausted, and Evelyne collected her keys. As she read the message she turned to Freda in horror. ‘It’s tonight, the dinner’s tonight. Oh, Freda, I’ll never be ready!’
As tired as she was, Miss Freda worked on Evelyne like a little beaver. She laid out the long satin gown, the white gloves and the tiny, embroidered handbag. Evelyne sat in front of the dressing-table mirror in a pure silk underslip, and Miss Freda began to brush her hair, which fell to below her waist. Freda had to get down on her knees to brush out the ends. They had shampooed and scrubbed the hair until, when dry, it shone like gold.
A tap on the door sent Evelyne rushing this way and that as she was nowhere near ready. ‘Who is it? I’m not dressed!’
‘Miss Jones, it’s me, Ed, I got somefink for yer from Sir Charles, it’s just for ternight, ‘e says, but for you ter use it.’
At Evelyne’s nod Miss Freda opened the door, peeked round it and took the parcel from Ed. As she shut the door he tapped again.
‘It’s Miss Freda, ain’t it? Evelyne said you was helping her, like, are you available ternight for a few drinks, there’s a good dance hall wiv a band?’
Blushing and tittering, Freda said she would be delighted.
‘Oh, Evie, I have a date myself, now I have to rush … Oh, my hair, oh, my dress … Oh, can you manage without me, darling? Oh, he said to give you this, for tonight, from Sir Charles.’
Not two minutes ago Freda had been too exhausted to move. Now she leapt about like a young girl.
Evelyne was delighted to be left alone. She opened the brown paper and looked at the leather case, then inched open the lid and gasped. It contained a necklace of diamonds and emeralds with matching bracelet and drop earrings.
At eight o’clock sharp Dewhurst ushered Lord Frederick Carlton into Sir Charles’ suite, accompanied by what Sir Charles at first presumed was his mother, only to discover it was his wife. The short, squat, dumpy woman wore a frightful dress, and more diamonds than the royal jewels.
‘Freddy, old boy, how delightful to see you, come in, come in, and Dewhurst, champagne immediately.’
The champagne, well chilled and in tall, fluted crystal glasses, had just been served when Dewhurst announced David Collins and Lady Primrose. Freddy blushed, not expecting to see them, and quickly rose to his feet. David was obviously slightly drunk, but even so he looked as handsome as ever. He wore the new-style dinner jacket, but then he would, he had always been obsessed with fashion. Lady Primrose wore the latest fashion, a very short sequinned dress with a small cloche hat to match. The sequins on her dress were rose pink at the top, shading down to almost plum colour at the hem. She wore dark velvet slippers with a small heel, and fine silk stockings. She looked stunning, more beautiful than Freddy had ever seen her. His heart lurched inside his chest, and he had to gulp champagne to stop himself shaking.
Sir Charles went straight to Lady Primrose and called her ‘Primmy’, kissing her affectionately on the cheek, then took her hand and guided her into the room.
‘Do you know my cousin Lady Primrose? Yes, I’m sure you do, and her husband, David Collins?’
Dewhurst slipped in and out serving champagne and then passed a trayful of tiny squares of crisp brown toast topped with caviar. He squeezed the lemon himself to ensure that none of the guests had to get their fingers sticky. Tiny lace napkins were placed on knees, everyone smiled and gradually the atmosphere relaxed.
Lady Primrose gave David a slight warning look as she saw him accepting another glass of champagne. They had had the most awful row earlier about his drinking. If it wasn’t his drinking, it was his erratic, often violent moods. He had even accused her of telephoning Freddy when it was Sir Charles on the phone. He was jealous, and with such tantrums he exhausted himself. He had become more like a child than ever. She hoped he would behave himself this evening, Sir Charles being her mother’s sister’s son, and so immensely rich. She wanted at all costs to keep on the right side of his family. Their own finances were being depleted fast. One day she might have to turn to Sir Charles for assistance.
David leaned back on the velvet sofa and crossed his legs. He always felt a flicker of irritation when he was announced as Mister David Collins. He was, after all, a captain, not that anyone ever remembered or gave him his rank. How he would have loved a title; still, he hadn’t done too badly, he was married to one. He gave Freddy a shifty look. Rather be married to Lady Primrose without a lot of cash than be married to the homely Heather, fortune or no. He could see that Heather was wearing a couple of hundred thousand pounds around her squat neck.
Sir Charles was the perfect host, giving his complete attention to his guests. He made each one feel like the most important person in the room, but somehow he seemed to ignore David, laughing and joking intimately with Primrose, chatting about the times they had met as children. ‘Remember, Primmy, the day I beat up that stable lad? Gawd, it was funny, even funnier now to think I am so closely associated with boxing. Do you ever go to any of the matches? Jolly good sport, not that the ladies enjoy it of course, it’s very much a man’s game.’
Sir Charles caught a slight look of panic passing between David and Freddy. He gestured to Dewhurst to refill the glasses and stood with his back to the fireplace. Freddy still sat about ten inches away from his dumpy wife, his eyes constantly straying to Primrose, who was being delightful, telling a witty story about the time when she drove to London to be presented at court. As she spoke her head shimmered and glistened with sequins. She took a cigarette and placed it in a long holder, and Freddy leapt to his feet with his lighter. He touched her hand slightly and she quickly withdrew it, promptly moving across the room to stand closer to Sir Charles who took out his fob watch and told them they were waiting for his special guest and then they would dine. He had ordered dinner to be served in his rooms, if that suited everyone. They could adjourn to the ballroom for more champagne and a twirl round the dance floor after dinner. Lady Primrose began to giggle and display her new dance steps. Her movements were beautifully co-ordinated as she danced the Charleston.
Sir Charles took the opportunity to cross the room and stand by David looking down at him and murmuring that he must get his tailor’s name, he liked the cut of David’s trousers. He studied this handsome man, noticing the slight, nervous tremor of his hands. ‘You were cavalry, weren’t you, Captain? Yes?’
David’s hand tightened on his champagne glass and he pursed his lips.
‘Your chaps had a bad time of it, heard your regiment was one of the first up front, dreadful carnage. I was lucky, they started bringing in the vehicles by the time I made it over there. Bit of shrapnel in the eyes, that’s why I have to wear this, but I was one of the lucky ones.’
Primrose could also see the signs — David’s face had paled, and his whole body was shaking slightly. She danced over to Charles and tried to change the subject. ‘When are you going to get yourself married, Charlie? You’ve been on the society lists as a catch from the early days.’
Sir Charles laughed his wonderful, infectious giggle. ‘Never found the right one yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still huntin’, ya know.’
Primrose sat next to David and gripped his hands, whispering for him to hold on, not to start it here, not tonight.
‘Good heavens, Charlie, aren’t we ever going to dine?’
As if on cue there was a tap on the outer door, and Sir Charles checked his watch. Exactly nine o’clock.
‘My last guest, and then dearest we will dine immediately.’
Dewhurst opened the door. The whole party turned expectantly. Sir Charles took a fraction of a second to realize that this really was his little Miss Jones before he leapt to attention and bowed, his hand out to draw Evelyne into the room.
Dewhurst had not given her a second glance when he opened the door, which deflated her a little. ‘Miss Evelyne Jones, Sir Charles.’ Sir Charles greeted her with his arms open wide. ‘Well, my dear, do come in, I am so thrilled you could come … now, let me introduce you … Lord and Lady Frederick Carlton … my cousin Lady Primrose … and her husband, Captain David Collins.’
Freddy had the most awful sick feeling in his stomach, but he swallowed, forcing a smile. He should have known something was up, but all he did was bow and gesture for his wife to step forward.
Heather was so nervous she didn’t recognize Evelyne immediately, but as she came closer to shake hands her piggy eyes widened in amazement. ‘Oh, but we’ve met before.’
Sir Charles gave one of his infectious laughs, and turned to Primrose and David. ‘Isn’t she stunning? Quite beautiful, absolutely beautiful, my dear. Now, give me your hand and I think if you don’t mind Evelyne dearest, we shall go in to dine straightaway.’
David bowed low over Evelyne’s hand, she could smell his lavender perfume and his silky hair was the same as ever. He had not recognized her.
‘Where on earth did you find this stunning gel, here in Cardiff?’
Already guiding Evelyne towards the dining room, Sir Charles was holding her hand tightly, giving her great comfort. ‘Oh, I thought, dearest, you said you had once stayed with David, in his father’s house, am I wrong?’
She looked directly at David and saw awareness dawning. For a moment he looked panic-stricken, flicking nervous eyes towards his wife, but she was laughing with delight at the elaborate dinner table.
‘Oh, Charlie, you are so clever, what a delightful table … oysters, too! Oh, you are such a delicious man, you really are.’
Sir Charles seated everyone, putting himself at the head of the table and David on Evelyne’s left. He still held her hand. Suddenly Sir Charles leaned so close she could feel his breath. ‘My dear, you have surpassed yourself, you look like a queen. I shall not leave your side. Quite, quite lovely.’
David could not take his eyes off Evelyne, he was confused, trying hard to collect the jagged pieces of the picture which were gathering like a storm in his head. She was dazzling; could it be that funny girl, could it really be that girl he had taken to the fight that night? Her cheeks were flushed, the rest of her pale skin translucent. Her dark eyes, like the sea, looked even more green because of the rich colour of her satin gown. The emeralds and diamonds glittered, but it was her hair that outshone everything, like gold, so simply done, a single braid to below her waist.
Freddy looked at Primrose with beseeching eyes, but she refused to look at him, afraid David would do something embarrassing. Under the table he felt for her foot, but she pulled her satin-clad feet back beneath her chair, giving him a cool, tight look of disapproval. She found it hard not to stare at the girl, who stood head and shoulders above her. It was obvious to everyone there that Sir Charles was smitten. Only Primrose knew how very strange this was, as she had heard family rumours about him … well, she thought, they must be wrong.
‘May I propose a toast to my dear friend Evelyne, ladies and gentlemen, will you raise your glasses?’
Dewhurst had filled their champagne glasses, and they all toasted Evelyne. Sir Charles gave the hovering waiters a discreet signal to begin serving then slipped an arm around Evelyne’s shoulders and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t be nervous, just follow me, do whatever I do.’
Again he was close to her, and she smiled into his piercing, unsettling eyes. He was a strange kettle of fish — she never knew where she stood with him. She would never have believed he could be so familiar, but it did give her confidence. At one point he made her turn her head so that he could straighten one of her earrings which had become entangled in a stray curl. His fingers brushed her neck and he allowed his hand to linger for a second too long, then he turned his attention back to his guests. They sat quietly, not sure how to react to Sir Charles’ ‘lady’. Seeing him so intimate with her made them even more uncomfortable.
Occasionally Evelyne shot a sidelong glance at David. He seemed oblivious to everything, even to his food now, and was staring, stony-faced, at the wallpaper. His only gesture was to lift his wineglass to his lips, his movements neat and delicate. When the next course arrived Evelyne had to pay close attention to Sir Charles, it was a thick lobster bisque. She watched as he used the big, round spoon from the right-hand side of his place setting, and Evelyne followed suit, using the same outward strokes, and did not once scrape the plate. The dinner seemed to go on for ever, the conversation stilted and extremely strained, David’s withdrawn silence affecting them all. Lady Primrose battled on, trying to encourage the party spirit, and told them funny little stories about her two sons, Clarence and Charles, or Charlie, as he was known.
‘We named him after you, didn’t we, David darling? David?’
Lady Primrose smiled, but her quiet voice had an edge to it.
‘David, I just said we call him after cousin Charles … you really must come and see the boys, will you be here long enough?’
Ignoring her question, Sir Charles signalled to Dewhurst to serve the main course. Primrose gave David a kick beneath the table. She was trying so hard, and in their precarious financial situation they really needed to keep on the right side of her rich, if rather distant, relative.
When the main course was served, Evelyne had to hide her smile as she saw Heather eating like a horse, everything before her vanishing at great speed. She made unconscious little ‘mmmm’ sounds of appreciation, which irritated Freddy. He frowned at her, making her peer around the table like a guilty child. Freddy’s fork clattered on to his plate when Sir Charles spoke out of the blue.
‘Any of you read about this gypsy chap, the one on the murder rap? Very interesting case, I have a personal interest in it.’
This game was partly at Evelyne’s instigation, although it saddened her. She was being used as a pawn, and she waited expectantly to see what the outcome of the evening would be.
The port and brandy decanters were placed on the table, and the ladies withdrew to the sitting-room.
‘Very nice dinner, Mother always says this is one of the best hotels … oh, coffee, and mints, tres bon.’ Heather gave a toothy smile as Evelyne poured the coffee. ‘I didn’t catch where you were staying? Evelyne?’
‘I have a suite here.’
Primrose began a slow dance across the room, swaying, moving closer and closer until she stood directly
before Evelyne.
‘Can you do the Charleston? No? Want me to teach
you? Come on, try it.’
She backed away flicking her heels out and humming the tune. Evelyne sensed that Primrose was laughing at her, the baby blue eyes were spiteful, glittering.
‘Thought your sort of woman had to know the latest steps.’
Evelyne continued pouring the coffee, held a cup out to Lady Primrose, who waved her hand. ‘No sugar, sweet enough, be-boop-be-doo.’
She. danced past Evelyne, whose cup went over and spilt down the glittering, sequinned dress. Lady Primrose didn’t shriek out, she didn’t move; the coffee made a dark brown stain, spreading and dripping over the beads. Her little delicate hand shot out and slapped Evelyne’s face. ‘I believe my husband should have done that to you a long time ago.’
The port went round for the third time, the cigar smoke swirled around the men’s heads. They were relaxed, enjoying the many witty anecdotes with which Sir Charles regaled them. He played the evening like a poker game, finally delivering his winning hand, card by card. He began by moving first the decanter, ashtray and his port glass to one side, and with the table cleared he leaned on his elbows on the table. ‘Gentlemen, now to the business of the evening, the reason I asked you both here.’
David leaned back, smiling, the drink had eased him. Freddy, sharper and more alert, had been waiting for something. His heart beat faster.
‘I want you both to stand as witnesses to Miss Evelyne Jones’ statement in court next week. You were, I am led to believe, both present at a certain boxing match on Highbury Hill. The fighter was a gypsy called Freedom Stubbs.’
Freddy leaned forward, pushing his glass away. ‘I am aware of the case, a murder case, but perhaps I did not make myself clear to Miss Jones. I really feel that my presence in court, particularly in such an appalling case, would be most distasteful, I have already stated my feelings on this …’
Sir Charles interrupted, ‘Rubbish, man, your word is essential. You both instigated the evening’s outing, am I not right? Miss Jones had no prior knowledge of this boxing match?’,
Freddy stubbed out his cigar. ‘I really couldn’t say, but judging by what I know of her she’s a little tramp, and the public outcry surrounding these murders would be frightful. The gel is a blackmailer, David here can tell you more … David? How much money did she demand from you?’
Sir Charles banged the table. ‘I don’t call twenty pounds a large sum, especially as the girl was more than likely owed twice that from her share of the Collins’ house.’
Nonplussed, Freddy turned to David.
‘You told me she had demanded more than a hundred, good God, I gave you over fifty towards it, David?’
David downed the remains of his port. His manner changed, he became surly, giving Freddy a foul look. ‘The way you carry on, old chap, I’d say you owe me a hell of a lot more, you think I’m blind as well as sick? Do you? Do you?’ He rose to his feet and lurched against the table, glaring at Freddy. ‘Not your money anyway, you don’t have a penny to your name, so what are you bleating about?’
Sir Charles poured more port. He spoke in a calm, conversational voice that was not raised in the slightest. ‘Now, now, let’s not get into a nasty argument, let’s just take things easy, shall we? Whatever marital problems you both may have they certainly wouldn’t look good spread across the Cardiff Herald … all that is required of you both is a simple statement saying you escorted Miss Jones …’
David turned his anger on Sir Charles. ‘Exactly what are you implying? None of your bloody business! What marital problems? Eh? What? What’s he talking about?’ He was on his feet, blazing, moving round to Freddy’s chair with his fist up and looking foolish and inept.
”Sit down, David! Sit, please, let’s not raise our voices, we don’t want the ladies upset… and I really don’t want to drag my cousin into any adverse publicity.’
David sat down again like a lamb, reached for his port and downed the remainder of the glass in one gulp. Freddy looked at Sir Charles. ‘The girl was brought to the fair by David, that is all I know, I had nothing to do with her, but if David agrees, then … David?’
David simply stared at Freddy.
‘If David agrees, I will go along with whatever he has to say. David?’
There was a short burst of humourless laughter from David, then he glared at Freddy. ‘I’m sure you will, always such a friend, I am not going into a bloody court and that’s final.’
Sir Charles smiled his thanks at Freddy and asked to be left alone with David. As Freddy closed the door Sir Charles picked up the decanter, carried it round the table and sat close to David, who reached for the port. Suddenly, Sir Charles’ hand shot out and gripped David’s wrist. ‘No more, old fella, I want a private chat.’ ‘I’ve got a headache.’
‘Dare say you have, this won’t take long … David, I would hate what I say ever to go beyond this room, but I want you, should I need you, in that courtroom.’
‘I don’t remember things, haven’t you been told? You put me on a witness stand and I’ll go to pieces.’
‘All you have to do is sign a statement, that’ll be good enough. I don’t want to have to subpoena you, then you’d have to take the stand, don’t make me do that … You know, David, you were not the only officer to turn tail, you were in the front line for six months, and your reputation was unblemished … I recall many officers — in particular poor old Ridgely — often spoke of you. Remember Ridgely, do you? Died of syphilis, I’m told.’
David went grey, his forehead puckered, and he turned terrible, pleading eyes to Sir Charles.
‘Face it, don’t be afraid, it’s over, no one blames you. But sadly, there are those who can never understand. There was nightmare carnage, human carnage, to face day in, day out. It can destroy any man …’ ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ Sir Charles rose from the table and carefully replaced the chair. He felt deep disgust for this shell of a man, a captain who had turned tail on twenty-five of his men. Not one survived. His voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Oh, I think you do.’
David stared at him, like a frightened child. ‘My lawyer will contact you for the statement. Now shall we join the ladies, Captain?’
Freddy had already joined the ladies. The atmosphere was decidedly chilly. A bowl of water and a cloth were brought by Dewhurst, and Freddy helped Lady Primrose try to remove the coffee stain. In furtive whispers he told her what had taken place in the dining room. ‘Charles knows about us, God knows how. David’s been drinking, you’ll have to get him home — he looks as if he’s going to throw one of his fits.’
They were joined by an ebullient Sir Charles. He gave Evelyne a small wink to say all was well, then sat with Heather, offering her the remains of the chocolates with a flourish. They discussed the family chocolate and toffee bsuiness, and he made a mental note to check out the Warner shares, perhaps buy a few. The company would be at an all-time low after the war, so the shares would be cheap.
Lady Primrose went to the open dining-room doors, then turned with a sigh, saying that she felt she should take David home, he was obviously tired. Dewhurst fetched wraps and coats, and everyone thanked Sir Charles politely. Evelyne was ignored, left sitting with her empty coffee cup. David seemed in a world of his own, his eyes vacant and a soft smile on his lips, but as they all left he turned back to Evelyne, raised his hand as though he wanted to say something. Primrose slipped her arm about his waist. ‘Come along, David, the car’s waiting.’
When he returned from seeing them out, Sir Charles clapped his hands.
‘All went as planned, dearie, we will have their statements first thing in the morning. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m away to my bed. Dewhurst, show the young lady out.’
Evelyne stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, then she tried to do the Charleston, holding on to the back of the chair. A sad, silly gesture, and she immediately felt foolish.
She replaced the diamonds and emeralds in their leather case. Like the jewels, she felt as though she had been hired for the night.
Ed Meadows walked Miss Freda home through the damp night. He was flushed from all the beer he had drunk, and Miss Freda was equally pink in the face from her numerous port and lemons.
‘Well, it’s been ever such a nice evenin’, Freda, perhaps we could do it again if you’d like, I mean, I don’t wanna be too forward. Are you walkin’ out wiv anyone?’
Tittering, Freda placed her hand over her mouth. Ed grinned.
‘You’re a lovely-looking woman, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed meself ternight, been a good time.’
Lifting her tiny hand to his lips he gave it a resounding kiss. She smiled sweetly, very much the lady. ‘I would like so much to see you again, I have had a wonderful time too.’
Ed rocked on his heels, he was so tickled. ‘Well then, we’ll do it again, g’night… Oh, Freda, I’m not married or nuffink, are you available, like?’
She patted his barrel chest and he caught her to him and hugged her expertly. She giggled and pushed him away, gave him a coy, sexy flutter of the eyelids and hurried inside.
Ed tottered back to his bed-and-breakfast hotel, singing at the top of his voice, ‘I’m ‘Enery the eighth I am, ‘Enery the eighth I am, I am …’
In her cracked dressing-table mirror Freda studied her reflection. Well, she thought, he’s not much, but then nor am I. She wished she hadn’t lied about her age, though. She put her curlers in, creamed her face and lay down in her tiny, single bed. ‘You’re never too old, darling, but you’d better reel this fish in fast.’
The Rolls-Royce glided soundlessly along the dark, wet streets. David sat hunched in a corner, staring out into the night. Lady Primrose had tried to hold his hand, but he shrugged away from her. She remained close, trying not to let her thigh press against Freddy’s as he, too, sat in the back of the Rolls. Heather was sitting in the front with the driver, and she spoke as if to the windscreen wiper. ‘Thought it was a good meal, didn’t you, dear?’
Freddy made no reply. He sighed, and Primrose looked at him. His face was haunted, he wanted her, loved her so dearly.
‘I want to see a doctor, some kind of specialist, maybe it would help me,’ said David, petulantly.
Primrose slipped her arm through David’s and rested her head on his shoulder. He was trembling, his whole body shaking.
‘Yes, dearest, that is a good idea.’ Tears came into her eyes. She couldn’t bear to turn to Freddy, she wanted him so much, loved him so much.
They were silent as the car drove on, the only sound the ‘swish, swish’ of the tyres on the wet streets.
Evelyne lay wide awake in bed. She was finding sleep hard to come by. She tossed and turned, and began to think of the village, her Da, which made her keenly aware of her loneliness. She could see Hugh’s big face, and would have liked more than anything to be wrapped in his strong arms. She was twenty-four years old, and had never known what it was like to be loved by a man.
SMETHURST and Sir Charles sat at a small corner table in the restaurant of the Feathers public house. Smethurst was slicing his cheese with delicate precision. The port was brought to the table. Smethurst wiped his mouth with his stained napkin, lifted his glass in a toast.
‘Well, here’s to this afternoon’s proceedings.’ Sir Charles sipped his port, noting that Smethurst had downed his glass in one. He swivelled round in his seat as Smethurst made an expansive gesture to the doorway. Standing talking to the head waiter was a stern-faced man wearing a charcoal overcoat and carrying a homburg. ‘That’s the opposition, old chap.’ Smethurst bellowed across the restaurant, ‘Jeffrey, will
you join us?’
Jeffrey Henshaw crossed to their table and introductions were made. Shaking Sir Charles’ outstretched hand, he politely refused to join them. He tapped his gold fob watch and cocked his head to one side, smiling at Smethurst, ‘I’d say you should be on the move, proceedings are due to start in fifteen
minutes.’
Smethurst laughed, stuffed another slice of cheese into his mouth, spattering Henshaw’s overcoat with flecks of it. ‘Just you remember you owe me more than one favour — Ethel Patterson, Jeffers, Ethel Patterson.’
Henshaw stepped sharply back from the table, pursed his lips and tapped his homburg against his thigh. ‘Listen, you old devil, you know what these committal proceedings are like, ruddy magistrates dither around and I’ve got a very busy day, so get those flat feet on the trot.’ He gave Sir Charles a stiff bow and strode off among the tables.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Sir Charles.
Smethurst picked up his battered briefcase. As he placed it on the table a cheese cracker crumbled under the weight.
‘I got him out of a very sticky situation with one of his clients, a Miss Patterson — very naughty lady. Well, old chap, this is it, I’ll call you soon as I have a result.’ Suddenly his manner was more subdued.
‘You sure you don’t want me along?’ asked Sir Charles.
‘Good God no, it could take hours. There’s a hellish lot of statements to be read and witnesses to call — no, no, I’ll be in touch soon as I have any news. I’m confident, we’ll get the lad off, be no problem … unless Henshaw plays a double hand, but I have a feeling he won’t. He wants the rope for Stubbs, but has to concede there’s no evidence on the first three charges. Won’t be as easy on the fourth murder rap, you can take my word for that… He’s got a long list of prosecution witnesses. Well, I’m off, thanks for a splendid lunch.’
Sir Charles watched Smethurst stride off, dropping his napkin on the floor as he squeezed among the diners. He wished he could feel as positive as his friend. Smethurst’s bulging briefcase, stuffed with what he had described as ‘hard evidence, old bean’, did not, in Sir Charles’ opinion, sound good enough to get Freedom Stubbs off three of the four murder charges filed against him.
Sir Charles had underestimated his old friend. Even Henshaw was slightly taken aback at the amount of paperwork and obvious private detection Smethurst had managed to do. Henshaw, of course, had access to the statements, but still he was impressed, and still slightly in awe of the man he had learned so much from.
Smethurst held forth, resting his elbow on top of a mound of papers. More and more were produced and waved around. The row of magistrates listened intently as Smethurst proved without a doubt that Freedom Stubbs could not have committed the three murders that occurred in Cardiff. Statements from witnesses proved that Freedom Stubbs was not even in the vicinity of Cardiff when the killings took place. A humorous throwaway line clarified his point.
‘Unless my client had an aeroplane, which I assure you he did not have, it would have been physically impossible for him to have been in Cardiff on the days in question. I therefore submit that there is no case against Freedom Stubbs on the first three counts of murder, and ask for those counts to be dismissed in view of the evidence I have laid before you. There is no case to answer, sir.’
Smethurst burst out of the court. Henshaw, close on his heels, held the door open to allow his colleague to exit without getting either his briefcase or coat caught. ‘Round one to you, old chap … but I guarantee your man will swing.’
Smethurst hailed a taxi and offered Henshaw a lift, but it was refused. The taxi passed him as he walked briskly down the street swinging his immaculate briefcase. Smethurst leaned back, patted his own bulging case and smiled. He had done his work for the dismissal of the first three counts, but Henshaw had established a prima facie case for the fourth murder. He was pleased with the dismissal and knew he had done well. He sucked in his breath. The contest between himself and Henshaw would certainly be interesting.
Sir Charles received the news of the dismissal by telephone. He wasn’t elated, more relieved. Smethurst assured him he was confident the trial would prove Stubbs not guilty of the fourth murder, and confirmed that he was well ahead with his preparations. They discussed expenses — Smethurst did not come cheap. There was no question of it all being done on an ‘old friends’ basis, Smethurst was one of the best barristers in Wales, and his fees reflected the fact … perhaps they were just a little higher \a149than usual but it was, after all, a difficult case.
As Smethurst replaced the receiver he rested his feet on his untidy desk. The first three young miners had all been found with their hands tied behind their backs, their throats slit from right to left. In all three cases they had been marked with a cross on their foreheads made with their own blood. Willie Thomas had been killed in exactly the same way, the blood mark on his forehead. Smethurst chewed his lower lip. He had been able to prove without a doubt that Stubbs could not have committed the first three killings … but Willie Thomas was different. Smethurst prowled his office’s worn carpet, ruffled his hair. Freedom Stubbs had been there, in the village. He knew how very important a witness Evelyne Jones was. Maybe Freedom didn’t knife Willie Thomas, but it was going to be a hell of a job proving he hadn’t had any part at all in the horrific murder. Smethurst’s strong evidence, Freedom’s alibi, depended on the jury believing he was actually with Evelyne at the time of the boy’s death. Miss Jones had a lot on her shoulders.
Evelyne tried to understand, but Sir Charles had to repeat himself twice and was losing patience. The first three charges of murder had been dropped, he explained. ‘Quite simply, Smethurst was able to prove there was no case against him. But he has been committed for the murder of William Thomas.’
‘When? Will it be soon? How long will he have to wait in gaol?’
‘Until the trial, gel, until the trial. Now we don’t want you going to see him, you must have no contact with him, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You are a very important witness, and you must behave impeccably until the trial. You can spend the time getting yourself some nice dresses, subdued, nothing too flashy, gloves and what have you, perhaps a hat…’
Evelyne accepted the money His Lordship gave her, money to pay her hotel bill, and for her clothes. Left alone, she couldn’t stop her hands shaking, she repeated over and over to herself that the charges had been dropped. What she couldn’t understand was why, if they believed her evidence, was Freedom still having to go on trial at all.
Freedom was as confused as Evelyne. Smethurst spoke very slowly, sometimes repeating himself two or three times. By now he had discovered his client was illiterate.
‘But I never killed the last lad, sir.’
About to leave, Smethurst gestured to the gaoler. He looked back as the strange, unfathomable eyes searched his face. Freedom seemed childlike in his confusion.
‘I’ll come in to see you again — until then, keep your chin up.’
‘Thank you, sir, thank you for everything you’re doing.’
The police officers and warders assigned to Freedom had nicknamed him the ‘Queer Fish’ because he was always so silent and unapproachable. They had segregated him very early on from the other prisoners awaiting trial. Many of the men were striking miners who had resorted to stealing and poaching to make ends meet. They knew he was being charged with the murders of their fellows and they constantly jeered and catcalled in the direction of Freedom’s cell. Every officer had to agree that he was a model prisoner — too good — he said neither ‘thank you’ nor ‘good morning’. He said nothing. His black eyes frightened some of the officers, and they had drawn lots to see who would be the ones to take him back and forth to court when the day came. No one wanted to start a fight with him. Even though he was handcuffed, he still looked as if he could be dangerous.
The exercise yard was cleared for Freedom’s solitary morning walk. Only he didn’t walk, he ran round and round and round, running until he was sweating and exhausted. He would then be taken back to solitary for a shower. One of the warders supervising him whispered that the man was ‘built like a brick shit-house with muscles standing out all over his body like a marble statue’.
Freedom knew they watched him, talked about him, and like an animal he stared back with his dark brooding eyes, and said nothing. Here, silence was his only defence against the world. No one could understand what the cell, the high brick walls and the key turning in the lock, were doing to Freedom’s mind. The cell closed in on him until his only relief was to pound his fists against the walls. He wrapped them in his blankets to muffle the sound. His morning run reminded him of his stallion, the way he used to toss his head and run round and round on the training rope. He was like a roped gry, an animal.
When the news leaked out that three charges of murder had been dropped, the prisoners banged on their cell doors with their tin mugs, screaming at the injustice. ‘You bastard, you’ll hang … They should hang yer, you gyppo scum!’
The press also got to hear of the murder charges being withdrawn and a small article appeared in the paper. They mentioned Freedom Stubbs by name as the gypsy being held in custody, and that he was now only being charged with the murder of William Thomas. Smethurst was furious, knowing the damage this information could cause to a jury. They could be prejudiced against Freedom before the trial began.
Tension mounted as the date of the trial grew closer. Sir Charles had spent the time staying with friends or out shooting. Ed Meadows was courting Miss Freda and they held hands like two teenagers, gazing into each other’s eyes and sighing. Ed was thinking about popping the question. Miss Freda was reeling in her fish, and had already made up her mind to accept if he proposed.
Evelyne spent her days wandering around the museums and art galleries. The trial was ever-present in her mind.
Smethurst worked on in preparation for the trial. This big, scruffy man was totally dedicated to his work. His scrupulous attention to every single detail was impressive. He knew he held a man’s life in his hands and, although he appeared almost buffoonish, he was an exceptionally intelligent and honourable man. He was also a kind man, and very patient.
The trial was to begin the following morning. Smethurst found a brief moment to explain everything to Evelyne.
‘We begin tomorrow morning. You must not be seen talking to anyone associated with the trial. You’ll be called to the stand when I am ready … but we’ll talk again before then, just remember all I’ve told you and don’t let him ruffle you. Answer clearly and concisely …’
‘How’s he holding up, sir? Is he all right?’
‘Well he’s getting a lot of stick from the other inmates, naturally, and he’ll more than likely have to take a lot more. Don’t you worry yourself about him … I take it you’ve not seen him, made no contact?’
‘No sir, His Lordship forbade it.’
‘Quite right … well dearie, I’ll take my weary body to bed, be refreshed for the battle.’
‘Will it be a battle, sir?’
Smethurst gave her a small pat on her shoulder, and one of his lopsided smiles. ‘Trust me … Goodnight.’
Evelyne tossed and turned all night long. Early the following morning, the first day of the trial, Miss Freda and Ed peeked round her door on their way to court.
‘I’ll come to see you later, tell you all about it,’ whispered Freda.
‘Now, now, Freda, yer know that’s not legal. She’s a witness, you gotta stay away — maybe I’ll just pop in though, eh! Ta-ta, gel.’
Left alone, Evelyne tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate for wondering how the trial was going. She prayed it would be over soon. She ordered lunch but couldn’t eat anything, and eventually she sat by the window, waiting for them all to return.
The gallery was packed with spectators. They were rowdy and jocular. As the court began to fill, Smethurst swept in, his wig already at a precarious angle. Henshaw, immaculate as ever, took his position at the bar, waiting for the judge to be seated. The courtroom became hushed. There was a silent moment while both defence and prosecuting counsels took out their papers. The tension could be felt by all as they heard the sounds of keys turning in locks, and Freedom Stubbs was led up from the cells.
He dwarfed the prison officers on each side of him. He wore a neat, single-breasted suit, white shirt and tie, courtesy of Sir Charles. His long hair, as Smethurst had instructed, was tied back off his face in a thong. He was handcuffed, and he kept his head bowed, looking neither right nor left. The clerk of the court stepped forward.
Henshaw began his opening speech for the prosecution. The court listened attentively. No reference was made to any of the previous murder counts. Henshaw made a blistering verbal attack on the accused man. He then proceeded to call his witnesses; miners who had seen Freedom’s fight with Dai ‘Hammer’ Thomas, men who had heard him threaten to take revenge. Evan Evans gave a stuttering, nervous statement regarding the arrest of the accused man. Smethurst didn’t let a single thing slip by him. He was in and out of his seat like a bobbing buoy, consistently attacking Henshaw for leading his witnesses, particularly in Evan Evans’ case. The man was so nervous he even had a problem remembering his own address. When it was time for Smethurst to cross-question Evan Evans he bellowed, and the poor man actually jumped.
‘When you arrested Freedom Stubbs did you find anything?’
‘Pardon?’
‘When the prisoner was arrested, did you find anything on his person?’
‘No sir, we did not, but we had a damned good look. We also searched the gypsy camp, found nothing.’
‘And could you tell us how the prisoner behaved? When arrested?’
‘He came along quiet like, after we’d got him.’
Smethurst smiled his thanks and resumed his seat.
The next witness was yet another miner who had witnessed Freedom Stubbs’ threatening behaviour after the fight at Highbury Fair. Morgan Jones revelled in the fact he had been called to the witness stand. He gave lurid details of Freedom’s prowess in the ring, drawing murmurs from the gallery as he lifted his voice theatrically. When Smethurst began his cross-questioning, he kept his voice low, hardly audible, to make the witness more attentive.
‘So you saw the prisoner threatening to take revenge, could you elaborate?’
‘Oh yes, sir, he pointed like this, and his face was terrible fierce. He said he would get each man there, I took it to mean he would kill ‘em.’
‘Thank you Mr Jones, but the fight was over, was it not?’
‘Yes, Dai Thomas was lying out cold, had to be hospitalized, he did, they thought he had killed him he was so bad.’
Smethurst then asked Morgan if he knew anything of Dai Thomas’ present state of health. Morgan elaborated, his fist raised in a boxer’s stance, telling the court that ‘Hammer’ was alive and well and fighting in Brighton. Morgan beamed around the court, waved to his mother in the gallery.
‘Tell me, Mr Jones, why, in your opinion, was the defendant still fighting after the bout with Thomas was over?’
‘Ah well, there had been some hanky-panky with one of the gyppo girls, and a few of the lads …’
‘Hanky-panky …? What exactly do you mean by hanky-panky?’
‘Well there had been a lot of beer flowing.’
‘Are you saying there was a certain amount of drunkenness?’
‘Oh yes, I’d say so … a few of the lads had got a bit excited …’
‘Excited? … I am sorry Mr Jones, I am still not exactly clear … What were these lads doing?’
‘Well, there was one of the gypsy girls, you know what they’re like, she must have encouraged them. They were … having their way with her …’
The court buzzed. Smethurst sighed … ‘Ahhhhhh, having their way with her! What, all of them? How many lads did you see with this gypsy girl?’
Morgan Jones huffed and puffed, rubbed his head, and coughed with embarrassment. ‘Maybe it had got a bit out of hand, but those lads paid for it.’
Smethurst ignored the reference to the boys’ killings. He bellowed, making Jones gulp, ‘You call raping an innocent girl “getting a bit out of hand.’”?”
The court erupted in loud boos and hisses. The judge called an adjournment for lunch.
Evelyne sat on her bed while Miss Freda tried to relate all the day’s happenings. Suddenly Freda burst into tears.
‘What is it, Freda? … Oh, for goodness’ sake, tell me! Have you any idea what it’s like for me, sitting here day after day, not knowing … why are you crying?’
Miss Freda gulped and sniffed. ‘Because … because I feel so sorry for him — Oh Evie, they say he’ll hang.’
Evelyne wanted to shake Freda, but she fought for control, told her that she mustn’t even think like that.
‘I’ve not been on the stand yet, Freda, just wait until I get my ten penn’orth in …’
Freda calmed down and blew her nose, while Evelyne wished she felt as positive as she sounded. Freedom was to be called to the stand the following morning.
In the early hours she woke from a nightmare, a terrible nightmare of a man swinging on the end of a rope. The man was Freedom.
Smethurst kept his eyes on Freedom and his fingers crossed as he was sworn in. He knew he was going to have to handle the man carefully. He had told Freedom to concentrate on him, to answer clearly, and above all to take care not to incriminate himself. He must make no reference to the other murders; he was on trial for the killing of William Thomas, and Thomas only. The handcuffs were removed and Freedom rubbed his wrists before placing both hands on the rail of the dock. If he was nervous he didn’t show it, but stood, head high, and looked directly at Smethurst, as instructed.
In the gallery the women whispered and nudged one another, and a woman’s voice was heard gasping, ‘It’s Valentino.’
Smethurst’s voice silenced the court. ‘State your name and occupation.’
Freedom’s voice rang out, sounding somehow incongruous when he said the word ‘fighter’.
‘You have been brought before this court charged with the murder of William Thomas. Are you guilty or not guilty?’
Freedom’s ‘not guilty’ met with a low buzzing from the court as if a swarm of bees had been let loose. The judge lifted an eyebrow and the noise subsided.
‘You are a Romany gypsy, is that true, Mr Stubbs? And you have been working as a booth boxer and fairground boxer for the past eight years?’
Freedom answered every question firmly. Miss Freda, in the gallery, leaned forward to catch every single word. She noted his strange unfathomable eyes, his face like a mask, no one could tell what he was thinking. Not until Smethurst mentioned Evelyne did she see a strange reaction. His hands gripped the dock bar tighter for a second and then relaxed.
‘Would you tell the court how you met Miss Jones?’
‘She helped one of the girls from my clan. The girl had been raped and beaten, and Miss Jones helped her, cleaned her wounds, she was gentle and kind.’
Freedom took Smethurst by surprise by continuing, without any encouragement, ‘If I am to hang, even though I swear before God I did not kill the boy, I take this time to say that no woman could have behaved more kindly or with such good intentions. If there is any man in this court who says different, he is a liar.’
Smethurst could see that the judge was about to interrupt. Freedom’s speech was irrelevant, and he coughed loudly. ‘I am sure everyone understands. As you said, Miss Jones was very caring and …’
Freedom interrupted calmly, his voice as loud and clear as a bell. ‘No sir, she was different. We have a word for non-Romanies, we call them “palefaces”. We do not trust them, we do not want them near our camps or with our people. Because she showed us respect and was gentle to a girl that had been raped, it is not right for people to say the things I have heard outside in the streets. They are calling her a “gyppo woman” …’
This time the judge interrupted and told Smethurst to control his witness. Smethurst glared at Freedom. ‘Please, Mr Stubbs, in your own words, tell us what happened, to the very best of your recollection. How you met Miss Evelyne Jones, and exactly what occurred on the night of the murder of William Thomas.’
Freedom explained in detail exactly how he had met Evelyne, what had happened afterwards. How, months later, he had been to the valleys for the boxing match. The spectators listened attentively. Freedom continued uninterrupted right up until the night of his arrest. Smethurst nodded, keeping a watchful eye on him, encouraging him to speak freely. Freedom finished by saying how he had been brought to Cardiff. Smethurst raised his hand to pull at his wig, a signal he had told Freedom to watch for — he was to remain silent.
Smethurst left a long pause before he raised his voice. ‘Thank you, Mr Stubbs. Now, I ask you, in front of this court, knowing you have sworn on the Bible to tell the truth — did you, Freedom Stubbs, take the life of William Thomas?’
‘No sir, I did not.’
Smethurst looked at the judge. ‘No further questions, Your Honour.’
A low buzz went around the court as Henshaw, taking his time, stood up to begin his cross-examination. He looked with chilling eyes at Freedom. His voice was softer, quieter than Smethurst’s, and the spectators all leaned slightly forward, afraid to miss a word.
‘Mr Stubbs, would you please look at exhibit number four, a photograph, and tell me what the mark across the deceased’s forehead means?’
Smethurst chewed his lips. Freedom was handed the blown-up photograph of William Thomas. ‘Yes, sir, it’s a dukkerin’s sign.’
‘I’m sorry Mr Stubbs — dukkerin?’ ‘Romany sign, sir, a dukkerin is what you call a fortune-teller. It is a curse sign.’
The court murmured and hushed immediately. Smethurst sucked in his breath. His foot tapped, and he gave Freedom a hard glare. He had already said too much. Henshaw bided his time, the spectators giving him their rapt attention.
‘Mr Stubbs, you say you did not kill William Thomas, a nineteen-year-old boy, a boy found with his hands tied behind his pitiful body, his throat slit, and a blood mark, a strange symbol daubed on his forehead, a Romany curse …’
The spectators murmured. Henshaw held up his hand for silence. Freedom appeared about to speak … but Henshaw continued. ‘You say you did not kill William Thomas, you swear this on the Holy Bible — tell me, as a Romany, are you a Christian?’
Smethurst swore under his breath. The buzzing grew loud again, and the judge hammered with his gavel to quieten the court room. He warned that, unless the spectators controlled themselves and behaved according to court rules, they would be removed. But the noise persisted, and shouts began from the gallery … ‘Liar — hang him — give him the rope … The rope, the rope …’
Two ushers approached the judge’s bench. He leaned down to listen for a moment, then gave a tight nod of his head as he agreed to the troublemakers being removed. Several men and three rowdy women were ejected. Their voices could still be heard arguing in the corridor. Henshaw raised an eyebrow to Smethurst as silence fell once more in the court.
‘I did not hear an answer to my question, Mr Stubbs. Are you a Christian?’
Freedom looked at Smethurst then back to Henshaw. ‘I believe in God, and the Devil, may he take my soul if I am lying.’
Henshaw stepped up the pressure. ‘Tell me, Mr Stubbs, are you or are you not the lover of Miss Evelyne Jones? Miss Jones, the only witness to give you an alibi for the night of the murder of William Thomas? Please reply to my question, Mr Stubbs. Is Miss Evelyne Jones your mistress?’
Freedom’s hands gripped the dock bar tightly. ‘No sir, she is not my woman.’
Henshaw turned round, shrugged his shoulders, tapped his pencil on the rail before him. This tapping was to become familiar, first the sharp end of the pencil, then the blunt end, tap-tap-tap …
‘So Miss Jones, a schoolteacher, is nothing more than a true friend to the gypsy people. Could you tell me why, if she was simply a friend, a woman you had met on only one occasion before, why, during a boxing match at Devil’s Pit three days after the brutal murder of William Thomas — I am referring, Mr Stubbs, to the night you were trying to avoid arrest — why did you … one moment…’ Henshaw perched a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of his nose. He picked up his notes. ‘If I may quote you, Mr Stubbs, “I drove my wagon through the crowd of people and helped Miss Jones up beside me” … end of quote. Do you recall saying that? So would you now please tell the court why you would take hold of a woman, by her waist I presume, and lift her into a moving wagon …?’
Freedom was nonplussed, unable to follow Henshaw’s train of thought, his complex questioning.
‘Perhaps I should refresh your memory again, Mr Stubbs. We are talking, are we not, of the night the police arrested you. If she was not your “woman”, not your mistress, why did you take hold of her in what I can only describe as a very familiar, if not barbaric, way?’ A woman waved from the gallery and screeched, ‘He could get hold of my waist any time he likes, ducks!’
Henshaw stared at the blonde woman leaning over the gallery. The court broke into laughter and the judge again rapped his gavel sharply and called for silence. Henshaw pursed his lips, removed his glasses, and sighed. ‘Again, Mr Stubbs, I have to ask you please to reply to my question. We are not here — although I must say, some appear to think so — we are not here for our own amusement. This is a court of law. I am waiting, Mr Stubbs.’
Smethurst carefully unwrapped a toffee. Henshaw had learned some of Smethurst’s personal tricks, he was playing to the gallery, condoning their behaviour. It was obvious that Freedom was at a loss. He gazed helplessly at Smethurst.
Tapping his pencil with an air of martyred patience, Henshaw repeated ‘Well, Mr Stubbs, we are waiting.’
‘She stood by me again, sir, she said they were out to kill me because they — the villagers — believed I had done the killing. There were many men trying to push the wagon over, I took her aboard the wagon because I was afeared for her life.’
‘Are you saying Miss Jones’ own people were turning against her?’
‘Yes, sir, they knew she’d been with me, and that lad was dead, and in the Romany way …’
Smethurst closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The court was in an uproar.
The judge called for a lunch break, and everyone filed out of the room. Freedom was led down to the cells. When he was brought back after lunch, Henshaw cross-examined him for the rest of the afternoon.
That evening Evelyne waited for Freda’s usual visit. She came into the hotel room and promptly burst into tears. ‘Oh, I feel so sorry’for him, Evie, he looks so alone, so alone … And that Mr Henshaw twisted him so, made everything he said sound so bad … he asks one question and leads it into another, and gets Freedom confused.’
Evelyne grew more and more nervous as Miss Freda described how cold and arrogant Mr Henshaw was. They both jumped with fright as someone pounded on the door, and they heard Sir Charles’ voice demanding admission.
‘Now look here, this isn’t on. You know you mustn’t talk to the witness, Miss Freda. Now please leave instantly … go along, out, out — and make sure no one sees you as you leave.’
With a fearful look at Evelyne, Freda hurried out. Sir Charles closed the door after her. ‘I shouldn’t be here either.’
‘How do you think it’s going, sir?’ ‘Not good, not good at all — they’re making him look like an oaf. Er … look here, gel, you and this fellow … er, you have been telling us the truth, haven’t you?’ ‘About what, sir?’
‘Well, this chap Henshaw’s pretty sharp, and he’s picked up that perhaps there’s more to your so-called “friendship” with this fella than meets the eye.’
Evelyne’s hands tightened in her lap. She swallowed hard. ‘If I had lied to you, I would not get on to that witness stand and swear on the Holy Bible to a lie. Everything I said to you, and Mr Smethurst, was God’s truth.’
‘Ah, yes, quite … well, I think you’ll be called soon. I suppose Smethurst will talk to you before then. I’d best be off… Goodnight.’ ‘Goodnight, Sir Charles.’
Evelyne lay down, hardly able to believe that after all she had been through Sir Charles had to ask her again. Her heart pounded and she began to worry. Mr Henshaw sounded even more threatening than Miss Freda had made out. He had obviously sown a seed of doubt in Sir Charles’ mind.
In the morning Freedom was led, handcuffed, from the jail to the waiting police wagon. A small crowd outside hurled rotting vegetables and abuse, and spat in Freedom’s face as he stared at them between the wagon’s bars. They raised their fists and gave chase as it moved off. Most of them then went to join the dole queues, satisfied that they were at least better off than the gyppo. Poor they may be, but they were free.
Freedom touched a slight swelling on his right cheek.
He had been taunted so much at breakfast — not by the prisoners but by the warders — that he had lost his temper and hurled his porridge at a particularly unpleasant warder who took delight in needling him constantly. He had made lewd gestures and implied that Freedom and his kind were up to no good. Freedom was beaten as he was dragged back to his cell. The warder, still dripping cold porridge, shouted, ‘They’ll hang you sure as I’m standing here, and, by Christ, I’ll pull the rope meself, you bastard!’
The wagon bounced and rocked over the cobbled side streets on the way to court. Freedom closed his eyes, breathed the fresh air into his lungs. As they drove through the back gates of the court yet another small group of people pelted the wagon. But a few girls stood by the gates waving flowers, calling his name. One blew him a kiss, and got a severe wallop from a man for behaving like a ‘gyppo bitch’.
Smethurst was very angry. Freedom was looking rough, his suit crumpled, and there was a bruise forming on his cheek. He handed Freedom his own greasy comb and told him to do something with his hair. Clean it might be, but long strands hung loose from the leather thong. Smethurst felt sorry for losing his temper. ‘The women in the gallery are on your side, lad. I wish we had a few on the jury. They’ll be tossing flowers at you before the trial’s over. Apparently you resemble that film actor chappie, Valentino.’
‘I never been to no picture house, sir.’
An usher gave Smethurst the nod that court was about to sit, and he rushed to his chambers to throw on his wig and gown. Henshaw was already waiting, spick and span, checking his appearance in the mirror. ‘So it’s the big day — your girl’s on the stand? Should be interesting,’
‘You get copies of those two statements? From Lord Carlton and Captain Collins?’
‘I did, old chap, I did. Personally I doubt if they’ll help, you’d need the prince himself to step on the stand to get your chap off this one.’
‘We’ll see, we’ll see — don’t count your eggs yet. Want a toffee?’
Henshaw smiled a refusal as the judge entered, muttering about the rift-raff outside the court. Smethurst joked with the judge. ‘They say my client’s the spitting image of this movie star, fella called Rudolph Valentino.’ The judge snorted, ‘Well, for the Lord’s sake I hope the press don’t pick that up, the wife’U be here next. She’s seen Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse twice.’ Smethurst nearly swallowed his toffee the wrong way as the judge swept out. ”Four Horsemen of the what?’
Henshaw laughed, checked he had his glasses and then winked at Smethurst. ‘Old boy’s wife’s a bit of a lady, so I’ve heard. Well, come on, let’s get on with the show.’
Evelyne was driven to court in Sir Charles’ Rolls-Royce. She was shaking with nerves and kept licking her lips because her mouth felt so dry.
At the court they were surrounded by newspaper reporters pushing forward to speak to Sir Charles. The flashes and bangs of the photographers’ lights made Evelyne jump.
‘May I ask you, Sir Charles, what your interest in this case might be? Please, Sir Charles, just a few words?’
‘I simply want justice done, that is all. Freedom Stubbs is an innocent man who has already spent too long in jail.’
Two police officers pushed the reporters back, allowing Evelyne and Sir Charles to enter. The massive marbled reception area of the Law Courts was daunting, and Evelyne would have found it awe-inspiring if she had not been so nervous. Voices echoed and people rushed hither and thither. She was thankful to see the familiar figure of Smethurst striding towards them.
‘Ah, you’re here, good, good — curtain up in about five minutes.’
‘Good God, man, can’t you afford a better wig, the tail’s over your left ear, looks dreadful.’
Smethurst turned his wig round, only to leave the tail sticking out over his right ear. An usher was waiting to lead Evelyne round to the waiting area. Sir Charles went ahead into the courtroom as Smethurst, his gown floating around him, walked with Evelyne to a long bench.
‘Now just keep calm, and remember, don’t let Henshaw ruffle you. He’ll try his damnedest. Shouldn’t be too long a wait, and may I say you look charming.’
He strode off before she could reply or thank him for his compliment. She could see what looked like food stains down the back of his gown.
She became aware of a man scrutinizing her from the doorway. His cold eyes made her shiver, his drawn face was set and hard.
Henshaw detected how nervous she was, and knew instantly she would be putty in his hands. He followed Smethurst into the court.
One hour ticked by, then another. Evelyne paced up and down the marbled corridor. She walked to the far end and peered round the corner. There was another bench, with a number of men sitting on it, some with cigarettes in their cupped hands. Above them hung a ‘No Smoking’ sign in bold red letters. Evelyne returned to her bench and sat down again.
In the courtroom Smethurst was in fine form, his face flushed a deep red, his big hands waving in the air. He called for the defendant, Freedom Stubbs, to be brought into the dock.
The raised voices from the court made Evelyne’s nerves even worse. Suddenly the double doors were thrown open and an usher called her name. She dropped her handbag in her haste to follow him into the court.
Evelyne’s hand trembled visibly as she held up the Bible, standing ramrod straight in the witness box. ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’
Smethurst smiled at her. ‘Would you state your name and occupation?’
Evelyne’s voice wavered, and she got another encouraging smile from Smethurst as she answered, ‘I am a schoolteacher’.
‘So at the time of the murder of William Thomas you were a schoolteacher. Now then, would you, in your own time, please tell the court how you first came to meet the accused, Freedom Stubbs?’
Evelyne told the court how some friends had taken her to Highbury Hill for an evening’s entertainment. At this point Smethurst interrupted her. ‘I’d say that was a rather unusual evening’s entertainment for a respectable schoolteacher, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Jones? And just exactly who were these friends who suggested you go to this boxing match?’ He directed a half-smile at Henshaw.
Evelyne replied, ‘Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins.’
A murmur ran round the court at the mention of the high-society names. Sir Charles gasped and dropped his monocle. Smethurst had assured him that neither man’s name would even be mentioned in court. He slapped his kid gloves against his hand in anger — this was really outrageous.
Evelyne was in the witness box for almost an hour before they broke for lunch. She had hardly looked at the dock, at Freedom — she couldn’t. He had never taken his eyes from her face. As they led him back to his cell he tried to catch her eye, but she was being escorted from the stand by an usher.
The afternoon session began with Evelyne once more in the box. The court heard how she had helped Rawnie, but her name was not spoken. She had everyone’s full attention as she explained how she had collected the newspaper cuttings, how she had seen Freedom in her village and recognized him from the boxing match. She told the court why she had gone to his camp to warn him the police were looking for him. As she stated that on the night William Thomas was killed in the picture house, Freedom had been with her, the spectators stirred and whispered. Her voice was strong, confident, as she said that Freedom could not have committed the murder. She was calm and concise throughout the ordeal, and above all spoke clearly, accurately recalling dates and times. Smethurst turned to the judge. ‘At this point, Your Honour, may I say that both Lord Frederick Carlton and Captain David Collins have given statements to verify what Miss Jones has said, and they will both, if required, repeat their statements in court.’
Sir Charles gave Smethurst a furious look as he sat down.
Before Henshaw cross-examined Evelyne, he requested permission to approach the bench with Smethurst for a moment.
They spoke in whispers. Henshaw had picked up on the newspaper cuttings and he was going to find it impossible to avoid mentioning the previous murders. Smethurst gave Henshaw the go-ahead. He had been prepared for this, and it did not involve any change in tactics. He knew he could turn it to his own advantage.
Henshaw walked back to his seat and shuffled through his papers, waiting for the court to be brought to order once again. He took his time, lips pursed, carefully placing his glasses on his nose. He coughed lightly and appeared to be concentrating on his notes. In a blatantly sarcastic manner, he asked ‘Miss Jones, could you please tell the court where you gained your diplomas to teach?’
Evelyne flushed and replied that she had not taken examinations, but had taught at the junior school in her village.
‘So you are not, as you stated, a schoolteacher, is that correct? And at the time you visited Highbury Fair, what was your profession then?’
Smethurst jumped up and objected that the line of questioning was irrelevant and had no bearing whatsoever on the case. The judge dismissed his interruption.
‘So, Miss Jones, we take it that you were not in fact a schoolteacher but a pupil, am I correct?’
Evelyne unwittingly fell into the carefully laid trap. She admitted that she had actually left school because her family needed her at home. Henshaw gave a sarcastic smirk. ‘Ahhhh, I see, so now we have gone from being a schoolteacher to not even being at school. Dear, dear, this is all very confusing. Let us now take the reason why you were at the fair. As my learned friend stated, a boxing match is not really a fit place for a lady …’
Smethurst was on his feet, objecting in his booming voice. It was irrelevant whether or not a boxing match was a suitable place for a lady to be taken — indeed, if the great Ethel Barrymore frequented boxing matches he felt sure there could be no slur attached to his witness.
The judge had had enough and called Smethurst to the bar to reprimand him, saying that unless he curtailed his constant interruptions the court would be adjourned. Smethurst apologized and returned to his seat, then turned in astonishment as Evelyne blurted out, ‘I may not be a lady in your opinion, sir, but I assure you I was invited to the fair, unaware that there was to be a boxing match. I trusted my companions and I had no reason to believe they were taking me to anything more than an innocent fair. My companions were Lord Frederick Carlton and Mr David — Captain David Collins. Both gentlemen, I believe. So, in your rudeness to me you are also accusing two respected men of being less than gentlemen.’
This speech caused the gallery to erupt in loud shouts and a spate of hand-clapping. The judge pounded with his gavel and called for order. Henshaw’s mouth twitched with anger, he shuffled his papers and was about to move on to another tactic when Evelyne, after a glance at the judge, spoke again. ‘I’d also like, if I may, sir, I mean Your Honour, I would like to explain my education. It was partly private, and from Captain Collins’ aunt. Mrs Doris Evans was her name, sir, and it was Mrs Evans who first brought me to Cardiff, and that is where I met Captain Collins. Just so you don’t think I met him for the first time on the night of the fair.’
Henshaw snapped, ‘Thank you, Miss Jones. You are implying, I believe, that you were a friend of Captain Collins’ family?’
Evelyne again had the court in uproar when she agreed that Henshaw was correct, that she was a family friend, albeit a poor one.
Smethurst coughed and smiled at Henshaw behind his hand. He knew Evelyne had got him rattled, and it tickled him. Smethurst was also pleased to see the judge’s obvious delight in the witness.
Henshaw was aware that he had to get the situation back under his control. ‘Let us move on to Freedom Stubbs.’
From the public gallery a raucous female yelled that she’d move on to Freedom Stubbs any time they liked, and she threw down a single red rose. Again the judge resorted to his gavel to bring the court to order. He then announced a recess until the following morning and asked both Henshaw and Smethurst to come to his chambers.
Smethurst proffered a toffee to Henshaw just as the judge entered. ‘Now look here, you two, tomorrow I want no more of your baiting each other out there. Just conduct yourselves and your questioning in an orderly fashion. Is it true? Ethel Barrymore goes to watch fights? Where on earth did you get hold of that?’
About to reply, Smethurst stopped short as Henshaw slammed out of the room. It was in some way an omen, a foretaste of what was to take place the following morning.
Evelyne had been in the witness box for more than an hour, answering question after mundane question, but although she was tiring she maintained her concentration throughout. Henshaw was unrelenting, eventually bringing up the fact that Evelyne had kept newspaper cuttings of the previous murders. ‘You cut articles from the papers and kept them for no other reason than mere interest? I find that hard to believe, just as I find your statement that you went alone to the gypsy camp on the night William Thomas was murdered hard to believe. It was almost dark, it was, after all, almost eight o’clock.’
Smethurst had wanted Evelyne to watch every word. This time she made no reply. By not actually asking her a question, Henshaw had hoped to trip her up. He sighed, twisting his glasses around. ‘We are expected to believe an awful lot, Miss Jones, that you, just an ordinary girl, climbed a mountain to a gypsy camp to warn, warn, a man you insist you did not know, but you go alone, taking with you newspaper cuttings regarding that man’s possible association with certain murders …’
At this point the judge clarified that the defendant had been cleared of all charges relating to the aforementioned murders. He allowed Henshaw to ask again why Evelyne had collected the reports from the newspapers, and why she took them to Freedom Stubbs. Evelyne answered that Freedom was illiterate, he could neither read nor write, and he was not aware that he was wanted for questioning. Henshaw raised his arms and shook his head in disbelief. ‘You expect us to believe this? This preposterous fairy-tale? Wouldn’t the truth be rather that you were less than a stranger to the accused? I think, Miss Jones, you knew him well, more than well — he is illiterate, how did you know this? What I believe you did know was that the defendant was in your village for the sole purpose of killing William Thomas, is that not the real truth?’
Evelyne could hear Mr Henshaw’s breathing, the court was so quiet. Smethurst leaned forward, tense now. She kept her voice to a low whisper. ‘At the time I did not know whether or not Freedom Stubbs had any involvement with those other boys, but I had to find out…’
‘Could you tell the court why?’ ‘I recognized Willie Thomas, and I knew there could be trouble. I wanted it to stop even though I felt he should pay in some way for what he did to that poor girl. I just wanted to warn Freedom Stubbs, that was all.’
Henshaw shouted over Evelyne’s words, ‘You approve of murder, is that what you are saying?’
Evelyne’s temper snapped and she pointed at Henshaw, her voice rising. ‘I never said that! What I said was, that if anyone saw what they had done to that poor girl, I mean if anyone had seen Willie that night, like I saw him, on top of her, ripping at her clothes, they would believe he should be punished. I never said I approved of murder.’ She gripped the edge of the witness stand. She was so angry, angry because tears were running down her cheeks. ‘You keep putting words into my mouth, sir. I just went up to the camp because I wanted to warn him there could be trouble and there might be a fight.’
‘Mr Stubbs was there that night to do precisely that — fight. Miss Jones, have you at any time had sexual relations with the accused?’
All the spectators craned forward for Freedom and Evelyne’s reactions to this question. Evelyne picked up the Bible and held it high. ‘I am here because at the time of the killing of Willie Thomas I was with Freedom Stubbs, that is the sole reason I am here.’
‘I am sure it is, Miss Jones, but you have not answered my question. Did you and the accused have a sexual relationship?’
‘No! No, as God is my witness, I have not,’ Evelyne sobbed.
Women in the gallery blew their noses and shook their heads. To them breaking down was somehow confirmation of her love for Freedom.
There was a sudden commotion as Freedom tried to get out of the dock, pushing at the guards. He shouted, ‘Leave her alone! Leave her beV
He was dragged from the court. A scuffle broke out on the way to the cells. The judge broke off the day’s session.
Evelyne was driven back to the hotel in the Rolls. She knew it had not gone well. She was unable to talk to Sir Charles, who appeared more concerned about Freddy and David’s names having been, as he put it, ‘bandied about’.
After bathing and dressing, Sir Charles swept out of the hotel to dine with the Carltons. Evelyne watched from her window as he left. She felt drained, totally exhausted. Miss Freda could sense that she didn’t want company, and tried to cheer her up by saying she’d done well, but Evelyne knew she hadn’t.
‘Oh God, Freda, I was just dreadful. I went to pieces, I said things I was not to say … If he hangs, it’s my fault, my fault.’
Miss Freda shook her finger at Evelyne. ‘I watched, all through the trial. He sits with his head bowed, his eyes down … but for you, he held his head high, he didn’t seem afraid. So, you have faith too.’
‘I wish it was over, dear God how I wish it was over.’
Freda hugged her, kissed the top of her head and whispered that if it was bad for them, think what poor Freedom must be going through.
Freedom lay on his bunk. He could hear the other prisoners singing, ‘Swing me just a little bit higher, la-de-la, de-la…’ He pulled his pillow over his head. It wasn’t the rope he was afraid of, he didn’t think of it, all he wanted was for the night to come down, for the silence. Only then, when it was quiet, when all was calm, could he believe that she had stood by him. He wrapped his arms around the pillow and whispered her name. The pillow stank of prison. A month ago he had been able to dream, even wonder what she would feel like, smell like, close to him in bed. This night he could not dream, could not even hope.
The following morning the papers were full of the society names connected with the murder case. There was a large photograph of Sir Charles Wheeler and Evelyne pushing through the crowds.
Today was to be the summing-up, and Evelyne sat with Sir Charles on one side of her and Freda and Ed on the other. The court was packed to capacity.
Everyone rose as the judge took his seat and declared the session open. Henshaw gathered his meticulous notes, rose to his feet, his face stern. His voice rang out, ‘I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to look closely at the man standing in the dock. The defendant, a man known for his prowess in the boxing ring, a Romany gypsy, a booth boxer, a fairground fighter. William Thomas was nineteen years old, a young boy ready to start out in life. His life was brutally cut off, as brutal a killing as I have ever known. His hands tied behind his back, his throat slit, and to add insult to injury he was marked with a sign of a cross, a cross of his own blood smeared on his forehead. That mark, as we have heard in this court, is the symbol of a Romany curse. The accused man was heard, by witnesses, men brought before you in this court, to threaten — threaten revenge for an attack on one of his own people. This girl has not come forward, and we cannot ask William Thomas whether or not he did in fact rape this gypsy girl. So what do we have? We have, gentlemen of the jury, a defendant who wanted revenge. Freedom Stubbs was in the village, seen close to the picture house where this unfortunate boy was slain — seen on the actual night of the murder, and recognized by Miss Evelyne Jones, a woman with whom he was already on familiar terms, a woman we are expected to believe tried to persuade him to leave because she knew, knew, there would be trouble …’
Evelyne’s heart was pounding. She gripped Freda’s hand tightly. She could see the row of witnesses for the prosecution nodding their heads in agreement with everything Henshaw said. She looked only once at Freedom, and it was as if he sensed she was looking — he lifted his head and gave her the faintest glimmer of a smile. She bit her lips and stared at the floor.
Henshaw continued. ‘I beg you, consider the evidence that has been heard in this courtroom. This man is guilty, and he must pay the penalty. This is no Romany court, no eye for an eye or tooth for a tooth. I ask for nothing more than justice, and it is in your hands. You, the jury, must find this man guilty of murder in the first degree.’
Smethurst tossed his toffee-paper aside and began his speech in a low voice. ‘Oh, my learned friend is very persuasive and, looking around this court now, right now, I feel many people have already made up their minds that the man standing there, the man in the dock, is guilty.’ He swung his big, domed head from side to side, and gradually turned to look up into the gallery, not once directing his gaze at the jury. Instead, he looked over the assembled people with a faint look of disgust on his face.
‘Freedom Stubbs is accused of killing Willie Thomas, a boy who, as you have heard, raped and beat one of his people. Looking around this court right now I would say that any man here, any man confronted with someone they loved in the state that young girl was in, would threaten revenge. That is not to say that any person would actually go through with the threatened act. The defendant was not alone when this girl was discovered. There were at least forty other gypsy men at the boxing fair that evening — perhaps one of those men did take revenge, but we have a witness to prove that this man did not — could not, because at the time Willie Thomas was murdered she was with the accused.
‘My learned friend has taken pains to point out that the witness for the defence, Miss Evelyne Jones, was more than familiar with the accused man. Is there a woman here today who would not have gone to the aid of a raped girl? Who would not have felt a certain amount of disgust that William Thomas was not punished for this crime? We know he was scared, we know he went to the Cardiff police, terrified the gypsy people would take some kind of revenge. You have heard a statement made by William Thomas to the Cardiff Constabulary stating that he did indeed play some part in that poor girl’s rape. Miss Jones saw this girl, and has said, under oath, that she was raped and beaten. And what is the outcome? Her name has been blackened, she has been accused of being this man’s mistress, he her lover, and both have sworn on oath that this is not true … I say she is a woman who showed nothing more than simple, decent kindness to a group of travellers. Miss Evelyne Jones should be held up as an example to us all, instead of being belittled, her education sneered at because, as my learned friend pointed out, she had not the qualifications to teach at the school. We have had a witness stand in front of you and give glowing reports of her ability — a qualified man, a man with examinations, the present headmaster of that same school … But more, her character is without blemish, she is a Christian, a deeply religious, honest woman. She has not lied to this court, and her evidence is of the utmost importance. She has stated on oath that on the night of the killing of William Thomas she talked with the accused, that at no time could he have returned to the village, to the picture house, and committed murder.’
Smethurst was building up steam, facing the jury, his voice growing louder and louder as he swung his arms around. His black gown billowed like a bird, a big, dangerous bird. ‘Where is the witness to say the accused was at the picture house? Look at him, look at his face, the size of him — do you think you would forget that face? If this man paid over money for a ticket, don’t you think one person would remember? Come forward?’
Evelyne swallowed hard, and took a sneaky look around the court. All the faces showed rapt attention. ‘Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let no one mention the back door, the other entrance to poor Billy’s picture house, always better used than the main door.’
Smethurst was sweating, his hair sticking to his head, his face redder than ever. Now he banged hard on the bench, slapping it, punctuating his words, ‘ Where is the murder weapon?’ he demanded, bellowing, ‘The police questioned every man in that gypsy camp, searched every wagon, and they found nothing, nothing! No blood on any of the accused man’s clothes, and at no time after he was arrested did he try to escape. Is this the behaviour of a guilty man? This man is innocent … he stands in the dock for one reason, and one reason alone — he is a gypsy. Can you really believe that Miss Evelyne Jones could have an ulterior motive for coming forward? She is one of you, one of your kind, you in the gallery, and she had been mocked and insulted because she dared, yes, dared to come forward on behalf of the accused. She gains nothing, she wants nothing more than to see justice done … and you, the jury, if you have any reasonable doubt, then you have only one choice — only one — give this man justice, and pronounce him innocent. He is not guilty.”
Smethurst slumped into his seat. He had not referred to his notebook once. He sat back, exhausted.
The judge called for a recess until the following day, when he would give his summing-up. Evelyne wanted to weep — it was still, after all this time, not over.
The following morning, the judge spent two hours summing up the case. He then instructed the jury in their duty. His voice was chesty and hoarse as he patiendy explained to them that they must digest all the evidence they had heard. That they must be unanimous in their verdict, and if there was any reasonable doubt in any of their minds they had no alternative but to find Freedom Stubbs innocent. The jury filed out, and the judge went for a glass of port with Smethurst and Henshaw.
Evelyne, Ed and Miss Freda waited in the corridor, afraid to leave in case the jury came back in. None of them felt like talking — they just sat with their eyes on the ushers standing quiedy in a group by the entrance to the court. Evelyne wanted to scream. She clasped Freda. ‘Oh God, Freda, they’ve been out over an hour, it must be a bad sign, it’s a bad sign — Ed, do you think it’s a bad sign? Oh …’
Ed saw the spectators streaming in through the main doors. The group of ushers broke up and began directing people back into court. ‘Here we go, Evie love, this is it by the look of it. Come on, or we’ll miss our seats.’
Evelyne sat down, trembling, expectant. The clerk stood waiting for the judge, the ushers closed the doors.
‘Please be upstanding …’
The noisy clamour of everyone rising drowned the last words as Smethurst and Henshaw preceded the judge into the court. Smethurst did not so much as glance at Evelyne, or Sir Charles, who was standing at the back of the court.
The jury filed back into their seats, the foreman obviously nervous, twisting his cloth cap round and round in his hands.
The clerk of the court waited for the judge to settle himself, then stepped up to the jury foreman.
‘You have made your decision?’
‘Yes sir, Your Honour sir, we have, sir.’
‘And is it the decision of all of you?’
‘Yes, sir, it is.’
The clerk held out his hand for the slip of paper in the foreman’s shaking hand. He licked his lips. ‘Please tell the court your decision. Do you find the accused, Freedom Stubbs, guilty or not guilty of murder?’
‘Not guilty.’
The court erupted in one enormous cheer. Evelyne covered her face, the relief was unbearable. She repeated, ‘Not guilty, not guilty,’ over and over as if she could hardly believe it.
Freedom, standing in the dock, lowered his head and wept. The noise of the court was like a drum beating in his brain. A whirlwind whooshed around him, he was floating above everything, no voice was clear, no face — just hands grabbing, shaking his. He realized his handcuffs had been removed without knowing how. It was all a blur of confusion which climaxed in Freedom, surrounded by Sir Charles, Smethurst, Freda and Ed, walking from the court. He was free.
The press clamoured around them, camera flashes popped, the babble of voices asking him to look this way and that way, people screamed at him, wanting to know how it felt to be free. Crowds of women threw flower petals like a wedding party as they stood on the courthouse steps.
Sir Charles waved and smiled to the people, his arm around Freedom, then he held up Freedom’s right arm as if he was in the boxing ring. The crowd went wild, chanting ‘Freedom, Freedom, Freedom …’ and still he kept feeling it was a dream, that he would wake up, at any moment he would wake up in his small cell.
Ed pushed the people away as they moved down to a cavalcade of cars drawing up outside the court. Evelyne put her hands over her face as the flashing cameras blinded her, and she was separated from the main group. In the excitement Ed turned to Miss Freda, who was crying one moment and laughing the next, and shouted to her above the din.
‘Marry me, will you marry me?’
Freda flung herself into his arms and they were carried along by the crowd to the waiting cars.
Evelyne was helped into Ed and Freda’s car. Sir Charles had taken Freedom in the first car, which was now drawing out of the driveway. People ran beside the car, cheering, and Sir Charles waved to them as though he were the Prince of Wales himself.
Smethurst bundled himself into the last car and leaned back, satisfied with himself.
At the hotel, reporters hung around the entrance, more hovered inside the tearoom, and the cameras popped and flashed. They clustered around Sir Charles and Freedom, all talking at once, demanding interviews with the boxer. Sir Charles dominated the proceedings, while Freedom stood at his side.
‘Gentlemen, please, please stay back, we will give a press interview in the morning, please, please stay back.’
Freedom looked over the heads to see Evelyne standing to one side. She seemed as overawed by the whole experience as he was. He tried to catch her eye, but she was jostled by a group of women determined to touch Freedom.
Some large porters arrived on the scene and began to move the crowd out of the hotel. Sir Charles steered Freedom towards the lift, where the snooty bellhop, beside himself, bowed and flushed and smiled to the cameras at the same time. They were the first to get clear of the lobby.
The movement of the lift made Freedom’s heart lurch, and he put out his hands to steady himself.
‘Keep your hands off the sides, sir, or you’ll get hurt.’
The bellhop swung the gates open and Sir Charles stood aside for Freedom to go ahead of him. Dewhurst was hovering at the door of the suite, delighted but trying very hard to remain aloof and cool, as was his place.
‘Book a table for dinner, Dewhurst, take over the small private dining room. Tonight we will celebrate.’
The door to Sir Charles’ suite closed as the second lift reached the third floor, and Freda, Ed and Evelyne stepped out. The pair were so brimming with happiness and excitement that Evelyne’s quietness went unnoticed.
‘You comin’ in? We’ll ‘ave some champagne, double celebration, eh? You told ‘er yet, Freda? Come on, let’s get in there.’
Evelyne was at the door of her own suite before Freda gasped out that she and Ed were going to be married, then Ed pulled Freda’s hand and led her towards Sir Charles’ suite.
Evelyne let herself into her room and closed the door, welcoming the silence, the peace. She was exhausted. She threw her hat on to the bed. So much for Freda’s creations, no one seemed to have noticed her, never mind her clothes.
The bath water was running as Evelyne lay on her bed. She realized then that it was all over, she had finally seen something right through from start to finish. Freedom had been proved innocent, he was free, and instead of feeling elated she felt empty. While the trial had been on, she had had somewhere to go, something to do, and now she had nothing. She knew Sir Charles would be returning to London and, if Freda and Ed married, more than likely her only friend would be gone, too. She was alone, once more she was Miss Evelyne Jones, but now there was no ‘schoolteacher’ after her name. She had nothing.,
She closed her eyes and tried to think what she would do with her life. The truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted. She hadn’t thought much of home — her Da, yes, but not the village. The verdict would certainly make some of those bitches swallow their words. They all seemed so far away, it was hard for her to believe she had only been away for a matter of weeks. She made up her mind that she would put a call through to the post office, just to see how Da was.
Evelyne had no idea that while she was soaking in the bath the papers were streaming off the printing machines. Headlines declared Freedom Stubbs’ innocence, and there was a large photograph of Freedom standing next to Sir Charles. Below it was a smaller, single photograph of Evelyne. She was called the heroine, the woman who had brought about the gypsy’s release from jail.
EVELYNE may not have thought that anyone had noticed her clothes, but one person did, and was so bitterly angry she tore the newspaper to shreds.
Lizzie-Ann, with a charabanc full of miners’ wives, was on a day trip to Swansea. They had scrubbed their best clothes, begged or borrowed their fares for the trip to listen to a political meeting organized by striking miners’ wives.
The lecturer addressed the women, unaware that actually to be there some of them had spent their week’s food money. Their clothes were clean, why shouldn’t they be? They were proud women, women who would not in any circumstances plead poverty, and their men were proud too. They were there to prove that they encouraged their men to fight for their rights, to claim better wages, they were there to stand up for their striking men.
The naivete of the women, their belief that, by standing up and showing others, they would be followed went sadly amiss. The report that eventually found its way back to the powers-that-be claimed that, judging by the women who had shown up at the meeting, there was not so much hardship as was believed. The women showed no signs of exceptional stress, they seemed clean and prosperous, and it was noted that since the strike the death rate in the villages had dropped. Articles were written by various people stating that the men and boys were benefiting from the open-air life. The women, free from coal dust, began actually to enjoy regular hours. Schoolchildren now had a decent meal provided by the school every day, in some cases eleven meals a week, at a cost to the government of three shillings and sixpence per child. Special supplies of clothes and boots were sent to mining villages.
The state of the women’s minds was even harder to detect than their outward show of ‘prosperous, middle-class women’. The papers reported that they all seemed to be in good spirits, hard-working and running relief funds, collecting money from whist drives, women’s football matches, dances and socials.
None of the government officers seemed really to see these four hundred women or the miners for what they were, an embattled community fighting for its life. The more determined they were to win, the braver the face they showed to the world. As their fellows, the blacklegs, caved in under the strain of unemployment and returned to work, they were slowly breaking the fighting spirit. The ridiculous calculations of strike pay and poor relief screamed out by government propaganda nailed their coffins down.
The strike was almost over, but the women didn’t know it yet. As they travelled back to their villages they had high hopes that they had accomplished much for their men. The year was 1926, and it was a sad year for almost all the families of the largest single body of workers in the country. They had lost their battle and returned to work, caps in hands, defeated.
The Rhondda contingent was on the last stage of the journey. Tired, happy and ignorant, they passed around a bottle of gin they had clubbed together to buy. As the bus careered and jolted over the rough roads, the women sang their hearts out. ‘My Little Grey Home in the West…’ For some who had never travelled beyond their village, it was a day out to remember for the rest of their lives.
Lizzie-Ann cavorted up and down the aisle, hanging on as the charabanc rounded the sharp mountain bends. She was doing her old music-hall turns. She flopped into one of the empty seats at the back and saw a clutter of newspapers, a couple of days old, crumpled up on the floor. They had been used to wrap sandwiches in Swansea. The photograph of Evelyne stared up from the floor.
‘They only gone an’ freed the bugger, he’s been proved innocent … will you look at ‘er, all togged out for a dance an’ mixin’ with the posh people, an ‘er a dirty gyppo lover.’
One skinny woman stood up and said that in her opinion if a man was proved innocent in a court then that was the Lord’s word.
‘You’re only saying that, Agnes Morgan, because your old man’s been inside more times than you’ve had hot dinners, so siddown and shuddup.’
The rain started pelting down, and the bus bumped and rolled its way to the valley. Lizzie-Ann held a shredded piece of the paper. She smoothed it out on her worn skirt and studied the picture in minute detail.
Evelyne looked like a lady, standing there with a titled gent and wearing her fancy clothes. Lizzie-Ann couldn’t help but compare herself, her worn, red hands, her stockingless legs and her puffy feet encased in hand-me-down lace-up shoes with thick, unflattering soles. Lizzie-Ann couldn’t contain herself, she started to sob, her whole body shook, and all the bitterness and jealousy rose to the surface. ‘I hate her, I hate her guts! It should have been me, it should have been me!”
The rain was still bucketing down as the women made their way home. Depression hung over every house in the village, and none more so than at Hugh Jones’. He stared into the fire, shaking his head. He had failed, the men had trusted him and now they were to return to work for even lower wages. He pounded the mantelpiece with his fist. ‘Bastards … Bastards… You bloody bastards!’
Lizzie-Ann pushed open the back door and chucked in the torn and muddy newspaper. ‘Here, Hugh Jones, read what your own’s doin’, whilst we’re stuck here fightin’ for a livin’ wage, you should be ashamed of her. She’ll never step over my front sill again, that’s for sure.’
She banged the door shut so loud the curtains along the street flickered and faces peered out into the dark, rainy night.
Hugh picked up the paper, pressed it out flat on the table and saw his daughter’s beloved face crowned with a smart hat. She was staring arrogantly into the camera. Above her was a picture of Sir Charles Wheeler, one of them rich land-owning bastards, how could she? Hugh felt a shadow cross his grave, and slowly he picked the paper up and stared at the photograph of Sir Charles Wheeler. He was holding the arm of the boxer, Freedom Stubbs, above his head.
Hugh dropped the paper and grabbed his cap, the back door banged once more and the curtains along the street flickered. The neighbours watched the big, hunched figure of Hugh Jones walking down the street.
‘Probably goin’ to Gladys’s.’
But Hugh went into the pub. The place was empty apart from a few old’uns, and they sat hunched with their fags stuck in the corners of their mouths, playing dominoes.
‘Yaaalright, Hugh lad? I’ll have a half if you’re buyin’, and if you’re not, sod ya.’
Hugh paid them no attention. He carried his frothing pint to an empty table and sat down. The men’s hacking coughs and mutterings were accompanied by dull thwacks from the dartboard. Jim, Lizzie-Ann’s husband, with his skeletal frame, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, stole sly looks at Hugh, but Hugh seemed not to notice. He was drinking steadily, draining his glass and banging it down for a refill.
‘Ya gel’s gone off with a gyppo, we hear, Hugh boy. Like ‘em big, does she?’
The toothless old domino players cackled and coughed and went silent as they fingered their empty mugs.
Eventually, Hugh lurched out of the pub, and one old boy creaked to his feet and pottered over to drain the very last dregs from Hugh’s fifth pint.
‘All right fer some buggers, course, she hadda legacy, that’s wot’s carryin’ ‘im.’
Gladys could smell the drink on Hugh’s breath. She said nothing, but folded her arms. She’d not seen him this bad before. He had a tipple like the rest of the men, but he was well away tonight. ‘Have you eaten, lovey?’
‘The lad got off free, Gladys, the gypsy, they found him not guilty.’
Gladys pursed her lips.
‘Well, we know who we’ve got to thank for that, so the least said the better.’
Gladys couldn’t even say the girl’s name. She shuddered as Hugh put out his big hand to her, not even looking at her. ‘Come here, come here, whassamatter with you? Come here.’
Gladys wouldn’t move, she muttered that he was drunk and that he knew how she hated it, the drink.
He stood up, almost stumbled, straightened up and put his cap on. ‘I’ll be away then, goodnight.’
Gladys bit her lip as Hugh tried clumsily to open the door. He swore, and kicked it.
‘We’re going to have to talk, Hugh, a proper talk, not now, when you’re sober.’
He turned on her and glared, he wasn’t drunk, that was what was wrong with him, he wasn’t drunk. ‘I don’t belong here, Gladys, I never did.’
Gladys let rip, afraid of losing him, afraid of having him. She became hysterical, her voice shrieking, ‘She’s not coming back, Hugh, you’ve been waiting for her to come home. Well she’s gone, and you walk out that door you’ll not come over my doorstep again. She’s no good, you’re well rid of her.’
Hugh gave her such a look that her blood froze. ‘You’re not fit to clean her shoes, woman.’
Gladys burst into tears and Hugh strode out into the wet, dark street. As he turned the corner into Aldergrove Street he quickened his pace, the lights were on in the house, the lights … Evelyne had come home.
He ran the last fifty yards like a young man, round into the back alley, overturning milk cans, till he burst into the kitchen.
‘Evie? Evie? Evie …?’
It was Hugh that had left the gaslights burning. He laboured for breath, realizing the house was empty. Pain shot up his left arm like a red-hot poker, shooting and burning.
‘Evie? Evie} Oh God, gel, come home.’
He picked up the newspaper, his breath heaving in his chest. The gas lamps lit the picture like a Chinese lantern, the faces alive, looking at him, and it was the face of Freedom, with the black hair, the arrogant slanted eyes and high cheekbones that made the second burning, stabbing pain rip up his arm and across his chest. He felt his arm stiffening, he couldn’t bend it, he couldn’t bring the paper closer to his face, his mind couldn’t control his limbs, couldn’t make them work. Hugh felt himself falling, unable to stop himself. His outstretched hand, gripping the paper, crashing into the dying embers of the fire. He couldn’t move his hand away from the coals, the paper caught light and still he couldn’t move.
Freedom’s face burnt in front of him, the paper curling and browning as the flame crept slowly, slowly, towards his daughter’s face. Then they were both gone, small, black flecks of burnt paper fluttered from the fire. Hugh could see her, see her with her bangles and her beads standing at the pithead, her little parcel of clothes tucked under her arm. Dark, heavy slanting eyes, black hair — the gypsy girl and Freedom were one.
Gladys took over the funeral arrangements and buried Hugh. The whole village walked behind the coffin. The choir and the brass band sang and played their hearts out in their farewell to the Old Lion. No one even attempted to contact his daughter; Gladys had told them all that on the very night Hugh had died he had been with her, and had disowned Evelyne. He was ashamed of her and wouldn’t have wanted her at his burial. Gladys did concede to having Hugh buried alongside his dead, she couldn’t do otherwise. He was with his sons and his wife.
The small headstone bore just the family names and dates. All the fragility and hardships of life, the laughter, the love, all contained in the silent, sad grave. Summer was coming, and cornflowers were scattered across the fields beyond the cemetery, but no flowers lay on this plot of freshly dug earth, there had been no one who cared enough to place them there.
The owners of the mine had already taken over the house in Aldergrove Street. They made a half-hearted attempt at tracing Evelyne who was still unaware of her father’s death. It was as if there was nothing, nothing left of the Jones family but a list of names on a grave. How the Old Lion would have roared one last time with rage, but he lay with his sons, his wife, in silence.
Sir Charles had installed Freedom in one of the rooms in his vast suite at the hotel until they were ready to depart for London. They had been very busy, signing release papers, giving press interviews, settling accounts. They were now ready to leave Cardiff first thing in the morning, and Sir Charles had arranged a small dinner.
Freedom had not spoken to Evelyne since the trial, even to thank her. He had asked about her many times, but was always dissuaded from calling on her personally.
‘Wouldn’t look right, Freedom, remember how they questioned your relationship with her in the courtroom, I don’t want you ever to be seen together, is that clear? You will be able to thank her at dinner before we leave, that will have to suffice.’
When he was not being led around by Sir Charles, Freedom sat alone in his small servant’s room. He was free, but he wondered if he had simply exchanged one cell for another; his life, he knew, was no longer his own. It had been accepted without question that he would accompany Sir Charles when he returned to London. He would miss his people, miss his life, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Evelyne had dressed and changed for the dinner. She wore the dress Sir Charles had bought for her, the green ribbons in her hair, but the diamond and emerald necklace had been returned to the jeweller’s. She had been just about to leave her suite when the telephone rang. The receptionist had been trying to get a call through to the village post office for her. Evelyne had tried so many times, and had asked them to keep trying, but the line was always busy. It was the only one in the village apart from the doctor’s and the police station.
She ran to the phone, excited, she wanted to hear her Da’s voice, knew he would make everything all right, she had decided to go home.
Sir Charles was flushed, his familiar laugh filled the room, and the champagne flowed freely. He congratulated Ed and Miss Freda, but he couldn’t help thinking that Ed was making a mistake. As sweet as Miss Freda was, to Sir Charles’ critical eye she was a bit of an ‘old boiler’. Ed seemed overjoyed so Sir Charles assured him that of course there would be a place for Miss Freda on the estate.
Lady Primrose and David arrived. The fact that he had ‘spoken up’ for the gypsy had given David a new social standing. Society admired him for it, as they did Lord Frederick who was also expected. Sir Charles smiled to himself. No one would ever know how he had twisted their arms.
Lord Freddy arrived with a magnum of champagne. They had been photographed in the hotel lobby and Freddy had given a rousing speech about ‘British Justice’. He enjoyed the limelight, and he shook Freedom’s hand, congratulating him.
Miss Freda constantly turned to the doorway, expecting to see Evelyne, but still she didn’t arrive. Sir Charles beckoned her and suggested perhaps she should fetch the heroine to share in the celebration. Freedom went to Miss Freda’s side and suggested that he should go to her. She blushed, having to crane her head to look up into his face. She told him Evelyne’s room number and sighed. It was all so romantic.
Freedom slipped from the room and leant on the thick, flocked wallpaper in the corridor. He felt hot and the shirt and tie made his neck hurt, as if he was still bound and cuffed. He appeared relaxed and able to take care of himself, even mixing with the people in Sir Charles’ suite, but all the faces and voices, the handshakes and the pats on the back, combined with the camera flashes to make him feel like roaring.
Two housemaids in their black dresses with white caps and pinnies scuttled past Freedom with lowered glances and nudges. He blushed and walked down the corridor to Evelyne’s door. He pulled at his collar, ran his fingers through his hair. When he knocked he found the door was slightly ajar. He was not sure what he would say to her, how he would say it, but it was to Evelyne that he owed so much, far more than to Sir Charles.
He tapped again and then pushed the door open. He had begun to think she wasn’t there when he noticed the bathroom door. He moved silently across the room and pushed the door gently.
Evelyne was huddled in a corner on the marble floor, her face pressed against the tiles, pressing hard so the white, ice-cold tiles hurt her cheeks. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak, she just wanted to press her body so hard against the walls and floor that it would disappear. Freedom knelt beside her, reached for her hand. It was as cold as the tiles, and she withdrew it and hugged her arms around her. He reached to turn her face towards him, and felt her straining against him, trying to hide her face.
‘What is it, manushi, what is it?’
He lifted her easily from the floor and held her in his arms, carried her into the bedroom like a child. She was so close, he could feel her cold cheek against his neck, and he sat down, cradling her in his arms. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked into her face. She was like a mute, staring helplessly at him, and he didn’t know what to do to help her. ‘What is it? Tell me, tell me?’ Freda opened the door.
‘Come, darlinks, Sir Charles is waiting, everyone has arrived.’ Her face creased with worry as she saw Evelyne; ‘My God, what is wrong? Evelyne … Evie, are you sick?’
Firmly but gently, Freedom told her to leave them alone, he would take care of Evelyne. She went straight back to Ed and whispered that something had happened, Evelyne was sick. Sir Charles beckoned her to his side. He asked her quietly where Freedom and Evelyne were, and Freda told him that Evelyne was sick, but it was all right because Freedom was taking care of her. Sir Charles’ monocle popped out as he straightened up, angry.
Striding down the corridor, Sir Charles burst into Evelyne’s suite without knocking. Ed followed, with Miss Freda close on his heels. His voice rose in anger, ‘I want you out of here this instant, you hear me? Out! Did anyone see you come in here? Did they? Answer me, man, did anyone see you enter?’
Freedom was standing by the bed on which Evelyne lay curled like a child, her face as white as the bathroom tiles. Her hands were clenched to her sides, her eyes staring, oblivious to everyone in the room. Freedom moved silendy to Sir Charles and gripped him by the shoulder, blocking his way. He hissed. ‘You treat me like I was a guilty man! I done nothing wrong — I came to bring her to you, I’ve not laid a hand on her.’
Frightened for Evelyne, Miss Freda went to her side. It was as if she were frozen. Freedom left Sir Charles rubbing his shoulder where the pain of that grip still burned, and walked softly to the bed. ‘She has grief inside her, Miss Freda, let me talk to her.’
Sir Charles gave Freda a small nod, but did not move from die room. Ed still hovered behind him. They were all slighdy in awe of Freedom’s contained strength, his power.
Freedom moved close to Evelyne, placed his hand on her head, then bent low, crouching down to look into her vacant, faraway eyes. ‘Manushi, let it go, don’t hold it inside you, it will hurt you more. Embrace it, love it, grow from it, release your pain.’
Evelyne did not move, but her mouth quivered and she formed the single word, ‘Da’.
Freedom whispered, ‘Is it your father? Then see him, hold him, kiss him goodbye.’
Sir Charles stepped closer, ‘If the girl’s father has died, really I think we should leave her alone. Come along, everyone, please.’
He waved Ed and Freda out, and then waited for Freedom. There was a fleeting moment when no one was sure how Freedom would react to being ordered from the room. The dirk eyes flashed, but then he bowed to Sir Charles’ wish and walked out.
It was not in Sir Charles’ nature to show emotion. He coughed, then spoke from where he stood, ‘Can you hear me, dear? You have a good cry, and then if you feel well enough, join us when you can.’
Evelyne neither moved nor spoke. Sir Charles sighed, ‘We leave Cardiff first thing in the morning, you are welcome to join us, I am sure I will be able to find some employment for you … Miss Jones? Ah, well, perhaps this is is not the time to discuss it … but, should you need anything, you only have to call.’
Evelyne couldn’t hear him, only the soft words of Freedom cut through her pain … She began to picture her beloved Da. He was standing on the mountain, his arms open wide, laughing his wonderful, deep, bellowing laugh. She did not hear the door close behind Sir Charles. She knew what she had to do, and she rose from the bed as if every limb was stiff. She began to pack her clothes.
Sir Charles bade everyone farewell and surveyed the debris of the party. He sighed, he was tired out. He instructed Dewhurst to leave everything for the hotel staff, they both needed a good night’s sleep before the journey.
On his way to his bedroom he passed Freedom’s door. He paused and tapped lightly, inched the door open. Freedom lay sprawled across the bed, naked apart from a sheet draped across him. His long hair splayed out across the pillow; he looked like a Greek god, his handsome face more beautiful in sleep than any man’s Sir Charles had ever seen. He swallowed, embarrassed at his intrusion on the sleeping man, and closed the door softly. His skin felt hot; he owned that creature, owned him, at least for the next five years.
The following morning Sir Charles and his chauffeur were packed and ready by seven. They departed with Freedom for the railway station, leaving Ed to arrange transport for all their luggage.
Freda was waiting in the lobby with her few possessions when Ed came down. He looked harassed, mopping his brow with a bright red handkerchief. It took four porters to carry Sir Charles’ luggage from his suite to the waiting taxi.
‘Have you seen Evelyne, Ed? Have you seen Evie?’
‘I just went into ‘er suite, she must ‘ave already left wiv Sir Charles … now, don’t get me muddled, love, I got a lot ter think about … Gawd almighty, you see ‘ow much luggage I got to take charge of? His Lordship’s offered her work on the estate so don’t you worry yerself none, Gor Blimey, thirty-four cases.’
Miss Freda sighed, relieved to hear Evelyne was coming with them. ‘He is a good man, Sir Charles, and with all of us together it will be like a family, Ed. Just like a family, won’t it?’
Ed paid no attention as he ticked each pair of suitcases off the list. Satisfied all was well, he picked up Miss Freda’s case.
‘Well, let’s be on our way, love, don’t want to miss the train.’
Sir Charles was already installed in his private first-class compartment with Freedom. Ed and Miss Freda, helped by Dewhurst, settled themselves into the third-class compartment at the far end of the train. Picnic hampers, luggage, tickets, all caused such comings and goings that no one rnissed Evelyne. Freda and Ed presumed that she was with Sir Charles and Freedom, and if Sir Charles gave it a thought at all, he believed she was in the third-class compartment.
Evelyne had caught the local steam train to the valley earlier that morning. She could not face goodbyes. She wanted the mountain, the clean air, it was as if she couldn’t breathe properly, her whole body felt constricted, tight. Hugh floated in and out of her thoughts as if she was going through her life, year by year. She could not really remember who had said, ‘Reach out and love him, hold him, release the pain’, all she knew was that she had to go on up to the mountain one last time.
As the train wound its slow way through the valley she began to relax, as if Hugh would be waiting on the platform for her. Her head was light and she felt dizzy. She had to make herself breathe deeply, knowing that if she didn’t, she would come apart. ‘Hold on,’ she whispered to herself, ‘you are almost home.’
The movement of the train rocked Freedom gently from side to side. He was sitting opposite Sir Charles, who had begun the journey in good spirits, pointing out views to Freedom but, receiving little or no response, he had fallen silent.
Freedom stared out of the window and chewed his lip. He wondered if he should ask about Evelyne. Sir Charles had been openly irritated when he had ventured to ask after her as they boarded the train. He had told Freedom she would be with the others.
‘She’s on the train then, sir?’
Sir Charles crossed his immaculately tailored legs. ‘Let us get something quite clear, shall we? Miss Jones was your only witness, your only alibi. You swore in open court that there was nothing between the two of you but the desire to see justice done. If you lied, you make a mockery of everyone concerned in your release, even the verdict. Without her testimony you would, most assuredly, have been hanged. If it was ever to be discovered that you both lied, then I would feel it my duty to hand you over to the police. I don’t want you seeing the woman.’ He stared hard at Freedom, his eyes glinting, and was met with a black, unfathomable, hooded look.
Freedom leaned forward, but Sir Charles didn’t flinch. ‘All I asked was if she was on the train, I have not had time even to say thank you. I was innocent, I never cut no man’s throat… sir.’
‘Do not worry yourself over her, I shall find her work, I think we both owe her that much.’
Freedom nodded and again stared out of the window. The matter closed, Sir Charles opened his writing-case. Freedom waited, leaning back, and through half-closed eyes he studied Sir Charles, as if willing him to sleep. The pen scratched on the paper, dipped in the inkwell … then the case was set aside and Sir Charles’ eyes slowly drooped, his head lolled on his chest.
The moment he was asleep Freedom rose like a cat, stealthily slid the door back, and went silently out into the corridor. He made his way down the train, from compartment to compartment, until he reached the third-class section, searching for Evelyne.
Ed Meadows looked up as the door slid open and Freedom bent his head to enter. ‘Hello, son, how’s the toffs’ section, then? Sit down, sit down, soon be time to take down the picnic hamper.’
Freedom looked at the sleeping Dewhurst, then Miss Freda. He remained standing.
‘Sit down, lad, you’ll get a crick in the neck.’
‘I was wanting to pay my respects to Miss Evelyne, sir.’
‘None of your “sirs”, name’s Ed … Is she not wiv you?’
Miss Freda looked concerned. ‘We thought she was with you … Ed, you said she was on the train, is she not with Sir Charles?’
Ed went red, rubbed his balding head. ‘I went to her rooms, like, an’ she’d gone. I thought she was wiv you, ain’t she wiv you? Hey, where you goin’? Just a minute …’
Freedom strode to the rear end of the compartments, opened the door.
‘She won’t be back there, lad, that’s the luggage … Freedom?’
Ed stood up, then fell backwards as the train lurched. Miss Freda caught his arm. ‘Oh, Ed, Ed, I feel terrible, I should have gone to her.’
Ed released her hand, about to follow Freedom, then turned. ‘You don’t fink ‘e’ll get off, do you? He wouldn’t, would ‘el’
The train gathered speed, and Ed hung on to the strap above his head. ‘He couldn’t, could he? Freda, what do you fink?’
Miss Freda felt wretched, but she shook her head. The train thundered into a tunnel, and Ed felt his way along the corridor in the darkness, banging against the sides. He kept telling himself the lad was just looking for Evelyne, but his heart was pounding. God, he wouldn’t run away, would he?
As the train sped out of the long tunnel into the light of day, Ed sighed with relief. He could see Freedom, way up ahead of him. He called out, but the noise of the train drowned his words. He ran on, bumping into the luggage piled high on both sides of the compartment. Freedom shouted back to him, ‘She’s not on the train!’
He was pulling at the stiff white collar and tie, courtesy of Sir Charles. In a panic, Ed reeled from side to side of the train, grabbing at the straps. ‘Now, don’t go doing anything silly, son, we can contact her when the train stops.’
Freedom slid open the big loading door in the side of the compartment, and Ed screamed at the top of his voice.
‘Don’t! Don’t, for God’s sake!’
Desperately, Ed ran to catch Freedom as he stood poised at the open door, but he was still just out of reach when the train lurched and Ed had to hang on again. He could see the ground flashing past, and then Freedom jumped. Ed clung on for dear life to the side of the door, the wind whipping his cheeks, his jacket billowing out. He saw Freedom land, roll away from the wheels of the train, and in seconds he was on his feet running like a wild stallion. Trailing from the door where it had caught was Freedom’s tie.
‘Dear God, Freda, ‘e’s jumped the train, what the hell are we goin’ ter do?’ But there was nothing they could do, and Ed slumped down into his seat. He was beside himself. ‘I’ll get a bollockin’ for this, mark my words, ‘is Lordship’ll blame this on me. Gawd almighty, the bloody fool, what he go an’ do a fing like that for? What are we goin’ ter do? He’s just thrown away the chance of a lifetime … Gawd almighty, that’s me out of a job, us out of a place ter stay … Bloody hell, what a mess.’
‘He will have gone to Evelyne, she’ll make him see sense, you will see, Ed, he signed the contract, didn’t he?’
‘He’s a gyppo, Freda, nobody ever knows what those buggers’re thinking. We should ‘ave tied ‘im up, that contract don’t mean nuffink to them … it don’t mean nuffink … Oh, Freda, we just lost a champion, me ‘eart’s breakin’ … he’s gone, he’s gone.’
Dewhurst slipped his bookmark into the pages of Crime and Punishment. ‘I think I’d better go and tell Sir Charles, he may want me to pull the communication cord.’
Near tears, Ed watched Dewhurst bounce his way down the corridor. He gripped Miss Freda’s hand. ‘You watch Sir Charles get the law on ‘im, they’ll ‘ave ‘im back in a cell, the bloody fool.’
From the opposite side of Aldergrove Road, Evelyne could see her house, the lines of washing billowing in the breeze. Two children sat playing on the doorstep. She turned, head bowed, to walk up the cobbled street towards the mountain. She had to pause, leaning against a wall to rest and give herself strength to continue. Looming high above her, high above the village, the mountain rose as if fighting through the thick mist of black coal dust.
Her feet echoing on the cobbles caused a few curtains to nutter, and someone whispered, ‘Evelyne Jones is back’. She hurried on, passing Doris Evans’ house. Lizzie-Ann was just opening her bedroom curtains, and almost called out, but she clamped her hand across her mouth. ‘Oh God, please don’t say she wants her house …’
But the hunched figure kept on walking, looking neither to right nor left.
‘She’s going up to the grave,’ Mrs Pugh murmured as she peered from behind her back-yard wall. All around were the sounds of the village waking, preparing for the morning shift, buckets clanking, clogs clattering. The mine spewed forth its blackened men, doors opened and slammed closed as the miners set off for their day’s work. Like a shadow, Evelyne quickened her pace towards the grassy slopes, as if the clean air drew her.
‘Hurry, Evie, it’s bath time, come on, gel, get the water on.’
The church organist began his morning practice, squeezing out ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ from the old organ. Threading her way through the soot-stained tombs, she began to run. The grass, fresh with dew, glistened, the water drops holding small speckles of coal dust like black tears. Hugh Jones, Mary Jones, the stillborn baby, little Davey, all lay together in the shadow of the mountain. Will, Mike and Dicken, all gone. The grave, so tiny, so cold and grey. There was nothing for her to embrace, nothing tangible for her to hold and feel. Drained of all emotion, she stood staring at the names of her beloved family. Nothing to embrace. High on the mountain peak the sun broke, piercing the grey like a shaft of gold. Evelyne looked up and, hardly aware of what she was doing, began to run, higher, higher. She scrambled over bracken, stumbling, falling, but pushing herself on, upwards, higher, to the clean air, to the sun.
Freedom knew she would make for home. He had no thought for himself. He hitched a ride, then, to the consternation of the driver, jumped from the moving car. He ran the five miles down to the village, along the small, winding footpath, keeping up the steady, strong pace until his lungs were bursting. He saw the village below, pushed himself on. At the far end of the valley the mountain rose.
The streets were thronging with miners. Freedom was no fool; he knew what would happen if any of them caught him. He kept to the back lanes, his jacket collar turned up, his breath catching in his throat. He reached the corner of Aldergrove Road and saw a woman with three children slam the front door. Had he got confused? Was it the wrong street? He felt a tug at his sleeve and spun around.
Lizzie-Ann hugged her worn cardigan to her and stared up into his face. Her voice was strained, hoarse, ‘She’s gone up the mountain, gone crazy like her Ma.’ Backing away, she took a sly look over her shoulder, afraid to be seen talking to the gyppo. She was frightened of him.
‘There’s nothing here for her, nobody wants her back.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes.
Freedom gave her a small nod of thanks, but she turned on her heel and scuttled away before he could say a word.
Gladys Turtle was out of breath when she caught Lizzie-Ann at the water taps. ‘They say she’s back, Evie Jones, is that right?’ she gasped. ‘Have you seen her? And the gyppo? Well?’
‘By Christ, yer a moaning Minnie, Gladys Turtle, if I hadn’t two kids an’ another on the way I’d be off, now bugger off” and mind yer own business.’ Lizzie-Ann watched as the water spurting from the tap overflowed the bucket, ran over her worn, down-at-heel shoes, and trickled away down the cobbles. She whispered a prayer. ‘Don’t come back, Evie, please, oh, please …’
Although near exhaustion, Evelyne was still climbing, but now she gasped clean air into her lungs, heaving for each breath. Not far, not far now — she was almost there.
Her hair had worked loose, tumbling around her shoulders. She unbuttoned her coat. Soon she would be on the very peak, high above the valley.
Far below, Freedom began to climb. He couldn’t see her, but he had found her suitcase by the grave. Further on he found her scarf caught in a bramble bush and held it, standing poised and still, listening, shading his eyes to look up the mountain against the sun. He threw his jacket aside and moved on, his heart thudding in his chest. Alert as an animal he could sense her, knew she was not far. He climbed higher, and suddenly fear gripped him tight. He looked down — it was her coat, cast aside. For one terrible moment he thought it had been her, his manushi. He called for her, shouted. Her name echoed around emptily, no Evie answered back.
‘Evelyne … Evelyne … Evelyne!’
Rounding a shelf covered in man-sized boulders, he saw her, way above him, standing like a statue, arms up, hair blowing in the clean wind. She was turning, slowly, dangerously, her head back and eyes closed. At any moment she could fall, lose her balance. She was dancing with death.
His voice was low and soft, a whisper. ‘Is it a partner you’re wanting, Evie?’ He was terrified she would open her eyes and fall, but she smiled, head high, facing the sun. He inched towards her without a sound, closer, until he could reach out and catch her … he grabbed her by her long hair and pulled her to him. She turned on him like a wildcat, eyes blazing, and struck out at him, but he held her, took the blows … dragged her to safety, while she scratched and fought him every inch. When he had got her to a safe distance, he gripped her by the shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides … ‘Look, look, see how close you were, woman, you could have been killed.’
She struggled, kicked out at him. ‘Maybe that’s what I want, get off me, you bugger, let me alone, this is my business … It’s my life, God damn you!’
He didn’t mean to hit her so hard, her head snapped back and her mouth started to bleed. The shock made her still, calmed her.
‘You’re my life too, you’ll give yourself to no mountain.’
‘I’ll not give myself to you either, let me go!’ But she didn’t struggle any more, and he eased his hold until he simply held her in his arms. The wonder of the valley spread below them, as if only for them. He picked her up, gently, and carried her to a rock, sat her down.
‘What was his name? Your Da’s name?’
She turned her head away from him, touched her bleeding lip … after a moment she whispered his name, ‘Hugh, Hugh …’
‘Well, girl, call out to him, call as loud as you can, release it, release him …’
She shook her head, and Freedom cupped his hands to his mouth and called her Da … called for Hugh.
His voice came back with the name of her father, and she felt the tears inside. She threw her head back and, as if defying the mountain, she cried out for her father. ‘Hugh … Dal Da… Da. ‘
The echo thundered, boomed, the words meeting, joining, until the sound became a roar …
Freedom watched her, her face like a child’s as she cupped her hands to her mouth and called to the air. He let her rise, moving closer to the edge … ‘Mary … Will… Mike … Daveyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…’
She reached out to her dead, arms spread, calling to them, and when her grief broke through he was there at her side. All the tears she had not shed when she was a child, the tears for Hugh, for her family, for all of them.
She would never remember how long she had wept, only that he was there. He cradled her, rocked her like a baby and she felt safe, secure, and slowly, gradually, she was quiet.
‘I can feel your heart, manushi He laid his hand over her right breast. It felt as if it was burning through her … then he took her hand and laid it against his own heart. He laughed, lying back in the grass.
‘You laughing at me, man?’
He took her hand, kissed her fingers. ‘No, manushi, I’m not laughing … see, we gyppos, when we marry we don’t need no church, no service. Some of ‘em have ‘em, but most place hands to hearts … when they beat as one, well, then they’re married.’
She didn’t know whether he was serious or not, because he had such a strange smile on his face. But she could feel the imprint of his hand on her breast, as if her heart were on fire. She looked into his eyes, and he drew her gently to him. His kiss was so sweet, his lips hardly brushed hers, and it was Evelyne who reached for him, pulled him to her … the burning in her heart spread through her whole body, and she clung to him.
He reached over and slowly undid each button of her blouse. She didn’t resist, but lay still until it was undone completely, and he pulled it gently away from her breasts. Her skin was white, white, her breasts had the palest pink nipples he had ever seen … He bent his dark head and kissed each nipple in turn, then lay his head on her breast and felt the pounding of her heart.
He whispered, ‘Manushi, my manushi…’ Gently, unhurriedly, he slipped her boots off, untying each lace and easing them away from her feet, kissing her toes, light, featherweight kisses. He unhooked her skirt, and she did nothing to assist him, lying with one arm across her face, eyes closed. He lifted her in his arms and pulled the skirt from beneath her until she was naked, and then he laid her down on her skirt. She was frightened, afraid to open her eyes, to see him, see his face. He stood up and slipped out of his trousers until he too was naked, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he lay next to her, she could feel his heart and she waited, but he didn’t touch her. Her whole body was burning, her mouth dry, her heart pounding as if it were going to burst through her breasts.
She lowered her hand from her face and let it rest at her side. She could feel his skin. Slowly turning her body to face him, looking into his eyes, she put her hand to his heart. He smiled and laid his hand on her heart.
He made love to her gently, guiding her, making sure he didn’t hurt her or make her afraid, and when he was sure of her, knew by the movements of her body that she was ready, he let loose his passion. Evelyne rose with him, moved with him, and they were insatiable, their greed for each other consuming. She made love with a rage, until she was released by an explosion inside her body that in turn released her mind. It was such an exquisite emotion that she wanted it over and over again.
She slept safe in the crook of his arm. He studied her face. She sat at peace now, and she was his. He would never let her go, she was his manushi, his wife.
She was shy at first when she woke, covering her naked breasts with her hands. He made her take her hands away, telling her she was more beautiful than any wild-flower they could see. To assure her of this, he gathered wild cornflowers till his arms were filled with them and laid them over her body.
‘Oh, these were my Ma and Da’s favourite.’
There was no pain when she said their names. Her grief had gone as her loved ones had been embraced and kissed goodbye. Then together they laid cornflowers on the grave.
‘Now, gel, which way would you say London was?’
‘London?’
‘Aye, I’m to be a champion boxer, I signed a contract. Sir Charles said he’d give thee work … Come, give us yer hand, gel.’
Freedom had made a crown of cornflowers. She laughed when he set it gendy on her head! Then arm in arm they walked down from the mountain, away from the grave. Evelyne’s gentle, delighted laugh echoed back to them, like the soft whisper of Mary Jones …
‘Leave the valley, Evie, promise me …’