A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (13 page)

The next morning Ruth appeared happier, not her old self, but in a better mood. She chided him for his night on the town and laughed with him about his male weakness. The week was nothing more than a collection of days strung together in sensible order, as nothing interesting happened.

It was on Saturday that the phone down the hall rang and when Ruth answered it, it wasn't long before she was shouting Harry. Royle took the telephone handset from Ruth and answered it carefully, with a simple yes. It was a very bright and breezy Alan Parry on the other end of the line.

"Harry, great to speak to you, hope all is well, me yes fine, couldn't be better. I'm calling to make certain that you get tomorrow's paper, you'll like it, trust me".

Harry Royle smiled both at Ruth and at the now silent handset still resting in his hand. Parry had been like a force of nature, a hurricane blowing through and leaving confusion in his wake. Ruth raised an eyebrow. Harry shook his head and smiled in return. It wasn't until the following morning that the reason for the cryptic telephone call was revealed. ‘Arrest this man' screamed the banner headline. Beneath it was a picture of Captain Mandell and the caption beneath this read ‘Murderer, Despoiler, White-slaver, Liar and Coward'. Harry and Ruth read the article in near silence only punctuated by the odd bout of stray laughter. The newsman had really gone to town and pulled no punches when it came to Mandell and the whole sordid racket. Harry appeared as an innocent pawn in the game and under his picture a double underlined and bold typed sentence read. ‘Bring this innocent man home and serve justice'. It was enough to make the couple reading it, toast each other's good health, in lukewarm tea.

Within days, the word was that the whole slave-ring had been broken wide open. Mandell was under close arrest and was to face both military court martial, as well as civilian prosecution for his crimes. It took time, but one morning found Harry Royle standing in the dock listening to a not guilty verdict being passed on his alleged crime and a retraction of the previous, guilty of murder verdict. A cheer went up from the public gallery as his friends celebrated his moment. Harry Royal felt he might have a future at last. And would have been blissfully happy, had Ruth been in the courtroom to hear the verdict. She had stayed out all night and had missed Harry's moment. This was the first time she had done this and the act of thoughtlessness on the woman's part stung him deeply. He still disliked her lifestyle choice, but respected her and cared for her. Royle knew that it was unlike Ruth not to be there for him, considering even Johnny had sent a telegram, silly, but it had made him grin like an idiot that morning. Ruth Marker's absence hurt and he mentally cursed her poor judgement in letting him down, after going through so much together. On the steps of the court, he suddenly found a firm hand enclose his own and shake it. Looking up Alan Parry was beaming. The man had a photographer and next Sunday's vindication article's leading picture was captured, with the hook of an arm and a click of a camera.

"Can I buy you a drink Alan?"

Parry smiled and shook his head."

"Can't right now Harry, must dash they've just pulled a woman out of the Thames."

"Well, another time."

With another smile and a good hearted wave of his hand, Parry and his photographer Nicholas Halley disappeared inside a black cab and were gone. Harry Royle took a deep breath and enjoyed the feeling of filling his lungs full of free air. As he stood at the bottom of the steps, he could see his friends running down towards him, eager faces full of smiles.

He suddenly felt a tight grip on both his arms and heard a voice from behind, which spoke in a Mancunian accent that made his blood turn to ice.

"Harold Royle I am arresting you for armed robbery with violence."

Another voice equally cold summed up the situation.

"You're nicked mate."

With this, he was frogmarched quickly away from the court steps and pushed into a waiting car. Within a short time, he found himself sitting handcuffed to a detective on the north bound train. In all the excitement of clearing his name of murder, he had forgotten about the Manchester robbery, of which he was, of course, guilty. His shoulders hunched, he felt broken.

During the next few hours, he felt that nothing could make him feel worse than hearing those words spoken on the court steps. He was wrong. Twelve hours after his arrest Mr Moncrief came to visit. The man had bad news and didn't attempt to dress it up. A woman's body had been pulled from the Thames, she had been stabbed with what appeared to be her own knife, as she wore an empty knife sheath on her leg. Moncrief told him that Jenny had wanted him to know this, because Ruth Marker was still missing. Harry felt all the air leave the room and the four walls closed in on him. The man went on to say that he was very sorry, but he had no further information concerning Ruth's whereabouts, and he was equally sorry that he could do nothing about the police charge and that it would have to stand, despite Johnny wanting things otherwise. Harry thanked Moncrief for coming. The old man quietly left the room.

Harry would later have no recollection of the rest of that night or even the following day. Not until he was driven through the gates of Strangeways prison did he reattach himself to reality. Harry Royle became a model prisoner, as he waited for his trial. He knew in his mind that once inside the courtroom, he would be able to explain and the charge would be dropped, once time served had been taken into account. He reasoned that the theft of the weapons from the army base was different to the ironworks robbery. To his mind, he had given the army his all and they had failed him. Not just Mandell, but the whole structure and command. They had been far too quick to judge him. He had expected more for his loyal years of unquestioning service. His time at the prison was frustrating, as all he could think of was what had happened to Ruth, and why nobody had been to see him.

The day came for his moment in court. This time, as he stood there, he knew things would be all right, in a short time he would be free to find his own answers. It wasn't until the trial began to unfold that he realised that he wasn't just being charged with his part in the Ironworks robbery, but also the assaults on the clerk and the young girl, crimes he hadn't even been aware of at the time. The prosecution painted a picture of a desperate man on the run using any means he could to avoid capture. It was pointed out to the jury that had he been innocent he would not steal, lie and beat people to stay free. The jury shook their heads and avoided his eyes. The young girl and the clerk were paraded before the court. The girl had a twisted lip where a large signet ring had bitten into her mouth. The jury learned that her face would be scarred for life. The clerk now walked with a stick, not from the attack, but it looked bad all the same. Welsh Eric came into Royle's mind's eye. Harry remembered the young Welshman not following him out of the ironwork's gates and the man wore a large distinctive gold ring.

The girl from Manchester came as a witness. Susan Brown was just as sweet as Harry had remembered her. She spoke the truth and by doing so condemned him. The car she had sat in had been the same car used in the robbery. The gun had been recovered from the car, but so far no trace of the money had been found. Statements were read out from hospital staff, concerning his escape and his taking a young nurse hostage with a scalpel. A police inspector read a short piece to the court. This consisted of police enquiries into Royle's supposed accomplices in the hold-up. The inspector explained to the court that no such persons had been found to exist and the flat in Denmark Road, was in fact simply a room in a normal family home and had never been let as part of a lodging house. Summing up his notes, the police officer stated that in his experience and informed professional opinion, Royle had acted alone. It was a very short case with an even shorter deliberation. Guilty as charged. The judge leaned forward and glared at Harry, as he pronounced sentence.

"Harold Royle you have been found guilty of armed robbery and will go to prison for eight years and for your shameless violence against innocent members of society, people who need to know that there is not simply justice, but retribution, you will have 20 strokes of the Cat of nine tails. You call yourself an innocent man and yet we have heard today from the truly innocent, how you have brandished a pistol, a medical scalpel and even an item of jewellery, to secure your criminal intent. You are a danger to the public at large and a disgrace to your country, at this time of war. A former non-commissioned officer in one of our leading regiments and you end up in my court exposed as a liar, a thief and a villain. Officer take the prisoner down."

Harry Royle was stunned at the outcome. The more he looked for answers to his questions, the less he liked the obvious replies. Sitting in the prison car returning through the dark streets to the grim Manchester prison, he wondered if there would be any coming back from this. A week later and he was being stretched over a wooden frame. His arms were tied, so he couldn't move, outstretched on either side. He felt shamed and humiliated. He was only thankful that he had been handed down the Cat of nine tails, at least he would be whipped like a man. He could, like so many other violent robbers, have be given the birch and beaten like a naughty schoolboy.

The men around him shuffled and spoke to each other in low mumbles, as they prepared to begin the punishment. He first heard the whip's tails swish through the air, as the man moved towards the punishment frame. Harry felt a foul tasting leather strap pushed between his teeth and he clamped down on it tightly. For a moment, he felt that that they had changed their minds, as nothing seemed to be happening. The next moment, the first stroke hit home. An animal grunt escaped from Royle's throat, as the whip ends tore the skin on his back. Blood trickled from the fresh wounds. He heard a soft swish as the whip was dipped into the brine and then another moments silence, before the next blow. The whole process was repeated.

A loud, clear voice counted off at his side.

"Two-Three-Four-Five-Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten."

Harry felt his senses swimming in the pain and the moments in between. He heard the man breathing heavily and everything seemed to move in a slower time frame before the counting continued once more.

"Eleven-Twelve-Thirteen-Fourteen-Fifteen-Sixteen-Seventeen-Eighteen-Nineteen-Twenty. Punishment carried out. Remove the prisoner and swill away the blood."

He suddenly felt his wrists freed and he slid down the frame onto his knees. His vision was just clear enough to see a thin stream of blood trickling between his bent knees. Strong hands pulled him to his feet and he felt a bucket of salt water hit his back and run down his legs. He was taken to his cell and placed on his stomach. He was told that each night his hands would be tied so that he wouldn't be able to turn over in his sleep. The pain hurt worse than any pain he could remember, but the shame burned even stronger.

He had heard grumbles from the other men, these concerned his supposed violence against innocents. He knew that all he could expect now was aggression from both guards and the other men. Harry's eyes focused on the concrete floor, as his mind became set on the course that would take him beyond the prison walls. Two thoughts drifted into his mind, one was of escape at any cost and the other, was that he was worth more than this. Over and over these thoughts repeated inside his head until sleep claimed him.

After a week and with his wounds healing well, Harry was allowed back into the system and expected trouble the very first morning of association. Instead of the expected animosity, he found respect and hands thrust into his to shake and be shaken in return. Royle was both puzzled and relieved. It wasn't until a man called Tony The Joke, took him to one side and explained that word had come down from The Smoke that had set everyone straight about Harry. Harry Royle allowed himself a smile and mentally thanked Johnny for coming through for him yet again. Things changed for Harry and he very quickly gained good solid contacts inside the prison. He was glad to be firmly back with the ‘us' and only having to now worry about ‘them', which was a great improvement.

Days passed into weeks and still no word from London and still no visitors. Not knowing what had happened to Ruth was playing on his mind day and night. It was a Thursday evening, during association that things finally came to a head. A warder by the name of Barker, known to the cons as Bastard Barker because of his disposition, walked in and on seeing Royle grinned from ear to ear.

Chapter 8

"Royle come here lad, front and centre, look lively now."

The prison officer stood and sneered at Harry and his own Guards stance. Harry looked at him coldly. The officer continued.

"Your work, it's not been chopping wood by any chance, has it?"

Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he was going to have to watch his temper, as the man was obviously intent on causing trouble.

"No sir, not me, I've been in the mailbag shop."

"Well isn't that odd, it's just that we had a nigger come around today and I thought he might have fallen out of the old wood pile."

The man smirked and then carried on.

"Yes, he said he wanted to see you, this darkie. I told him that you didn't have any time for a shoeshine."

Harry swallowed and tried to keep his temper in check.

"What was his name sir?"

The laughter stopped.

"Name Royle? Sambo's don't have names. I mean he could have been Mr Golliwog I suppose or even…"