Dangerous Decisions (21 page)

‘Why have we come to this dump?' Sybil wrinkled her nose in distaste as she saw the cracked oilcloth on the tables and the peeling green paint on the walls.

‘Because it's half empty.' Cora led the way to a corner and sat with her back to the few other customers. She couldn't afford to take any chances; it wouldn't be the first time a nosy type had tried to eavesdrop by lip-reading.

‘I'm not surprised, a bit of soap and water wouldn't go amiss.' Sybil took the chair opposite and after a disdainful glance at the floor kept her handbag on her lap. ‘I suppose you must have a reason for coming in here, but I can't think what.'

‘I need to talk to you – in private.' She turned as a slovenly waitress shuffled up, ‘Two teas, love.' Cora waited until she'd left and then said, ‘But we'll keep our voices down.'

‘I do like a mystery. Go on, girl.'

Cora gazed across at her – the shadows beneath Sybil's eyes were more marked every time they met. ‘First of all, do you still want to get out of Belle's?'

‘I'd give me eye teeth for it.'

‘Maybe, but would you be willing to take a risk, do something against the law?'

Sybil frowned. ‘How do yer mean?'

Cora leaned forward. ‘I've had a proposition.'

‘I thought you were well set-up with Johnnie.'

‘Not that sort you daft cow.'

‘What then?'

Cora bit her lip. She didn't know how she was going to put this. ‘The other night I met this bloke in the pub …' lowering her voice even further she began to talk, all the time aware of the growing shock in her friend's eyes. And she had to admit that when she was forced to put it into words …

Sybil's reaction was instant. ‘Come off it, he offered to give you that much money? It's a bleedin' fortune! You must 'ave been three sheets to the wind.'

‘I'm telling you. It's God's honest truth. Ssh …'

They drew back as the waitress slopped in front of them two earthenware beakers. Cora began to spoon sugar into hers and looked at her friend. ‘Sybil, he's on the level. He showed me some of the guineas.'

‘What, in the pub?'

‘He's not that daft.' She told her about meeting Ned again at St John's Church gardens.

‘You stupid bugger, you weren't 'alf taking a risk.' Sybil sipped at her tea and pulled a face. ‘Stewed, didn't I warn you this was a dump?' She put the beaker down. ‘So, did he give you any more details? About what he wanted you to do? Not that I don't find it all a bit much to take in. But you're nobody's fool, Cora, so he's either a damn good actor or as you said, he's on the level.'

‘Oh yes, he told me. And it knocked me for six, I can tell you. In fact I nearly told him where to go, but he gave me time to think about it – clever devil. Can you just imagine, Syb, what it would be like, not having to be beholden to anyone, knowing your future's secure?'

Sybil looked wistful. ‘I can certainly understand you being tempted.'

‘Well, anyway, I went to meet him again and said I'd do it.'

‘You haven't told me what it is yet.'

‘I will in a minute. The thing is I need someone to help me, someone I can trust. And that's where you come in. I'd make it worth your while, Syb. I'd pay you half – forty guineas.' Cora had told Sybil that Ned had offered eighty guineas. Not that she had any qualms about that. After all, she'd been the one Ned had come looking for, and she was going to be the brains behind the venture.

Sybil was staring at her in disbelief. ‘Forty guineas, you'd give me forty guineas?'

Cora took a sip of her tea. ‘It'd be more than enough for you to leave Belle's. Besides, I've been saving up for years. I've got a bit put away, and with what Ned gives me I'm goin' to get a flower shop and live on the premises. You could share if you like, we could even work together.'

‘But I don't know nuthin' about flowers.'

‘I do, I used to work on a flower stall.'

‘I can't believe it.' Sybil brushed away tears. ‘I never thought I'd ever get the chance ter … I'm sick of men and their mucky ways.'

Cora leaned over and touched her hand. ‘Honestly, Syb, I really do think we could do this.'

‘But you still 'aven't told me what it is. It ain't anything violent, is it? I've known folk murdered for less. If so, I'm having no part of it.'

‘What do you take me for?'

‘What is it, then?'

‘First of all, are you interested?'

Sybil straightened her shoulders. ‘I'm interested all right. But I'm still waiting to hear what I'd 'ave to do.'

Cora looked at the other girl's crimson dress with its plunging neckline, at her hat with gaudy feathers. ‘Wear something different for a start, and now – promise on yer mother's deathbed not to breathe a word to anyone …'

The following morning, the two young women walked with some trepidation along The Mall, and eventually paused outside the large ornate gates to St James's Park.

Sybil glanced nervously over her shoulder. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?'

‘St James's Park, that's what he said.'

‘It's a flaming posh area.'

Cora took her arm. ‘Come on, we can't stand outside all day.' Even she felt some trepidation as they went through the entrance and saw the stretches of closely-cut grass, glorious flowerbeds and the glint of water from the lake in the distance. ‘Now this is what I call a park.'

‘Not for the likes of us, though.'

Cora glanced first at Sybil's lilac skirt and blouse bought yesterday from the market, and then down at her own navy skirt and high-necked white blouse. ‘Dress subdued, Ned said, but these other women look like fashion plates. At least we look respectable, and that's what he wanted. I suppose his boss must live close by.'

‘He won't be short of a bob or two, then,' Sybil said. ‘Which way do you think we should go?'

Cora considered and then decided to head towards the lake. ‘Poor sod, Ned's boss I mean. Fancy finding out your kid is somebody else's. Ever likely he wants rid.'

Sybil shuddered. ‘It sounds awful when you put it like that. Are you sure we should be doing this, Cora?'

‘Don't start that again,' Cora said. ‘I've told you, I'll ask Ned the question tonight, I promise. I want to know the answer as much as you do. But what we need to do now is to spy out the land. So we'll just stroll along like two respectable married women.'

Sybil held out her left hand. ‘At first glance you can't tell this is just a curtain ring.'

‘You'd soon find out if you wore it a lot and your finger went green. Now remember, we're looking for a middle-aged nanny in a grey uniform, pushing a navy Silver Cross pram. He said there's likely to be other nannies out walking, but the one we want is plump and she always comes just after eleven o'clock. Oh and she wears a flower in her lapel, apparently the mother likes the baby to look up at nice things.'

Sybil came to a stop. ‘Aw Cora, I don't like the sound of it.'

‘Look, you were brought up in a place not too different from where we're supposed to take the kid to. I was brought up in the workhouse. We survived, didn't we?' Cora was looking around her as they walked further into the park. ‘What we're looking for is somewhere I can't be seen from the path, somewhere near an entrance.'

‘And all I'll have to do after is slip away?'

‘That's the plan. I reckon the nanny will be too busy squawkin' ter notice.'

Sybil's face was mutinous. ‘I still feel sorry for the mother.'

Cora's reply was short. ‘Maybe, but I bet she's never done a day's work in her life, and she can 'ave other kids. We'll never get another chance like this.' She glanced sharply at her friend. ‘You're not getting cold feet?'

She shook her head. ‘No, I won't let you down, not now I've given me word. But you're to ask him, you know, what we talked about.'

‘Don't worry, I will.' Cora nudged her. ‘Hey look over there on that island. They're pelicans aren't they? I've only ever seen pictures of them in a book.'

Sybil shielded her eyes against the sun. ‘Fancy that. It's really beautiful 'ere, Cora.'

‘Yes, well we haven't come to admire the scenery. Hang on, I think that's her, coming straight towards us.' She glanced at the fob watch Johnnie had bought her. ‘And she's dead on time.'

The buxom nanny, her stride slow but steady, glanced over to them as the two young women passed by, and as she gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, Cora smiled and inclined her head. Once they had strolled on, she whispered, ‘Would you recognise her again, even without the flower?'

Sybil nodded. ‘I'll know her. She reminds me of that landlady I had, the one I reckon pinched my stuff.'

‘Right, let's turn round.'

They followed at a discreet distance as the nanny walked for at least twenty minutes. Although she gave a nod to a few other nannies she passed, Cora noted that not once did she stop to chat.

‘Do you think she always takes the same route?'

‘That's what we'll need to find out, Syb. Depending on what Ned says tonight, we'll come back tomorrow and the next day. Remember – no paint or powder, and iron your blouse and skirt before you come.'

‘Belle's goin' to wonder what I'm up to.'

‘Tell 'er you're off to visit a sick friend.' Cora slowed down. ‘Look out, she's leaving.'

They waited until the nanny had disappeared and after a few minutes went out of the gates and began the long walk back to the nearest tram stop. Sybil was quiet on the journey, and Cora too felt thoughtful. When the time came to part and to make arrangements to meet the following day, she said, ‘Don't worry, Syb. I'll ask him the question.'

She watched her friend walk away, aware of how reluctant Sybil was to face the night's work at Belle's, and of how fierce her hope of escape. And so is my hope of achieving my dream, she thought. But there is a limit as to what even I would do for money. This morning, actually being in the park, had made the whole venture seem far more real, and she felt her first flicker of fear. What if it all went wrong …?

That same day at Faraday House, luncheon had been a family affair. Oliver had gone out immediately after breakfast and with Parliament now in recess, Jacob was able to enjoy some relaxation. Yet afterwards when they were taking their coffee in the drawing room, his expression was so serious and thoughtful that Helena glanced across at him with concern.

‘You look worried, Papa. Are there problems at Broadway Manor or with your business?'

‘No, it's nothing of that sort.' Jacob hesitated. ‘I was just thinking that perhaps this is an ideal opportunity – while there are just the three of us – for me to raise a certain matter, one that has been much on my mind.'

Beatrice replaced her cup and saucer on the coffee table and gazed across at him. ‘We're listening, Jacob.' She smiled reassuringly at him.

He looked at Helena who was sitting opposite. ‘My dear, I don't think you will be surprised at my confessing that I have lately been feeling rather concerned about your marriage. I was the one who encouraged the match and from my own observations, plus what you have told me, it now appears that Oliver has characteristics that are, how shall we say, rather unfortunate?'

‘There's no need to worry, Papa, truly.'

‘That may be so, at least to some extent. But I do find it difficult, as I am sure you do, to tolerate his coldness towards little Rosalind.' There was a pause. ‘One of my fellow members was a physician before he entered the House and I took the liberty of consulting him – in a non-professional way, of course. I merely mentioned being puzzled about a friend of mine.' Then in a quiet but steady voice he said, ‘Tell me, have either of you heard of the term cacaphobia?'

Feeling somewhat bewildered, Helena shook her head,

Beatrice frowned. ‘No, I don't think I have ever come across it. What does it mean?'

‘Let me just say that when I explained this so-called friend's aversion to any type of disfigurement, how he surrounded himself only with good-looking servants, that even paintings of his ancestors were concealed if their faces had the slightest blemish, there was no hesitation.' Jacob's expression was sad but resigned as he turned to his daughter. ‘It would seem that we, certainly in the case of your aunt and I, have been somewhat judgmental. The truth is that Oliver could be suffering from cacaphobia, a recognised medical condition. The name stems from the Greek word
kakos
.'

Beatrice looked puzzled. ‘And exactly what does
kakos
mean?'

Jacob's answer was short. ‘It translates as ugliness, and so cacaphobia is …'

‘A phobia,' Helena said slowly, ‘a fear of ugliness.' Shaken, she stared at him. ‘You mean – that his unreasonable behaviour is something he cannot help, that it is a form of illness?'

‘I wouldn't call it an illness exactly, more of a severe phobia.'

She was still feeling stunned. ‘And yet he has never mentioned it.'

‘A man is loath to admit to a weakness, Helena. It could even be that he isn't aware that it
is
a medical condition.'

‘I have certainly never heard of such a thing,' Beatrice admitted.

‘I imagine that not many people have.'

‘And is there any treatment or cure for it?' Helena's voice was tense. If only Oliver could see beyond Rosalind's flawed hands …

But Jacob was shaking his head. ‘Apparently not, at least at present. But I'm told that in medical circles, not least because of Dr Sigmund Freud's writings, that there is an increasing interest in psychology. So perhaps one day in the future …'

‘Oliver would never admit to it,' Helena was adamant. ‘He would not countenance any discussion whatsoever.'

Jacob gave a heavy sigh. ‘I fear I have to agree with you.'

Beatrice said with dismay, ‘Do you think Dr Haverstock knows of it?'

Jacob stroked his beard and frowned. ‘Possibly not, after all it was several instances that aroused my suspicions, and he would not have the advantage of those.'

There was a short silence before Helena said, ‘I suppose I ought to have felt some sympathy for his attitude rather than resentment.'

Jacob shook his head. ‘You have nothing to blame yourself for, Helena. How could you have known?'

Helena refused to regard Rosalind's tiny hands as any form of ugliness but as several minutes later she went upstairs to the nursery, she did wonder whether this new knowledge might help her to understand her husband more. She might never know the joy of sharing her life with Nicholas, but maybe if she could persuade Oliver to be a loving father … But as she crossed the landing and glanced towards her husband's bedroom, Helena couldn't help feeling that same familiar dread …

Cora had spent the evening at home. Tired after returning from St James's Park, she wanted time to recover her energy before she ventured out to meet Ned. And as in the darkness she walked along the pavement to the deserted St John's Church gardens, she could see him standing before the railings, the end of his cigarette smouldering. As she drew near, he stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. ‘You're late.'

‘Not much – only about five minutes.'

He frowned. ‘Timing is of the utmost importance, Cora. Tell me, the accomplice we discussed, you have found one?'

‘Yes, and she can be trusted.'

‘You have kept your word, she hasn't come with you?' He moved further out on the pavement and looked both ways up the road.

‘You don't need to worry. I'm on my own. And while we're on the subject,' Cora lifted her chin with defiance. ‘That night in the pub you promised to give me one hundred guineas. You didn't mention I'd 'ave to fork out to pay somebody else.'

She saw his eyes narrow. ‘How much are you going to be out of pocket?'

Cora thought swiftly. This bloke wasn't one to try and fool but she could risk adding on another ten. ‘I promised her fifty guineas.'

After a pause he said, ‘Then I suppose I shall have to reimburse you.'

‘I've got a question to ask you.' Cora's tone became hard. ‘We want – my friend and me, ter know more about it.'

He drew back slightly. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Where I'm to take the kid; if it's the sort of place those two women ran in East Finchley – you know that Amelia Sachs and her pal Annie Walters – well, hanging was too good for 'em. And I'm telling you now, I'll 'ave no part in baby killing.'

Oliver stared down at her in indescribable horror. That such a creature as Cora could believe him capable of being involved in murder. His plan might be an appalling one, but never could it be compared to that.

His voice was harsh. ‘What sort of monster do you take me for?'

‘You're doing what your boss wants, and getting paid a fair sum for it I'll be bound. He could be a right bad lot for all I know. I'm just saying,' Cora said with stubbornness. ‘I want a few more details.'

‘All right, I'll tell you. You'll be taking the baby to a house in Wandsworth – one with an excellent reputation. You can rest assured that she will be well cared for and eventually placed in recommended and respectable service.'

‘So it's a girl, then?'

Oliver nodded and watched Cora turn over the information in her mind. He saw no reason to mention that Rosalind would almost immediately be taken out of the country. Even he had been surprised at the ease with which a few discreet enquiries at his club had elicited the information he needed.

‘All right, then,' Cora gave a brisk nod. ‘I'll do it.'

He had never doubted that she would. ‘Excellent. Now did you identify the nanny?'

‘Yes, we picked her out early.'

‘So carry on checking her route and meet me here again on Saturday night. I shall then give you the first half of the money, fifty guineas for you and twenty-five for your friend.'

‘And we'll want it all in coins. Notes get more noticed, they'd draw attention.'

‘I had anticipated that.' He paused. ‘I want you to make your first try on Monday. Be sure to wait for the right opportunity, though. We can't risk other people being around.'

‘You needn't worry, I'll be careful.'

He remained by the railings watching until Cora was out of sight, then twenty minutes later using his late-night key he entered the empty and now familiar hotel lobby and went up to his room to change, welcoming the coolness of his own fine lawn shirt. Then he paused and stared into the cracked mirror. No, he was not a monster. Helena had been guilty of betrayal, of trying to foist her black-haired bastard on him. No man of honour could be expected to accept such a slur. Yet as he stood in the shabby room, even he had qualms now that the actual time was approaching. Then he hardened his heart. Yes, she would be devastated at first, but once he had impregnated her, once his young wife had another child and this time a perfect one, she would soon forget the first. With a shrug Oliver completed dressing, packed the second-hand clothes away and placed the leather bag behind the curtain, then turning to leave the dingy room, paused at the door and glanced back. It was his profound hope that soon he would be making his final visit and this whole necessary but unpleasant episode would be over.