Paradise Court (30 page)

She brought Grace down one day when she knew Maurice was at work in the cellar. She called him into the bar. ‘Shh!' she said. ‘Try not to wake her.'

His footsteps were heavy on the stone steps. He stared at the child, who was indeed stirring in her sleep. She opened her dark eyes and turned her head towards him.

‘She can see your watch chain shining in the light.' Jess smiled as Grace freed one tiny hand from her fine white shawl and stretched it out towards him.

Maurice, mesmerized by Grace's dark stare, dare not move. At last he reached in his pocket and released the chain from the watch. He swung it gently towards her and let her catch its cold, shiny links. He glanced shyly at Jess. ‘She looks like you,' he said.

There had been a sudden and drastic change from his freewheeling, quick-thinking pattern of old, which still had to operate while he was at work, or out and about. With Jess, however, things took on an intensity; not because she made much of Ernie's tragedy, rather because she was determined not to be defeated by it. She battled on for him, and seemed to Maurice to be living and breathing in a different sphere from mere mortals, where all trivialities fell away, leaving only her true self, pure and unadulterated. He was in danger of worshipping her, he realized, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

One sunny weekday morning before Christmas, he took her and Grace off to the park. Then he invited her along to a new Gaumont talkie, and got Hettie to back him up in making her go. He told her he was worried she would make herself ill over Ernie. ‘You done everything you could. You done your very best,' he said.

‘And it weren't good enough.'

They walked together after the picture had finished, back up Duke Street in a world of their own.

‘Jess, you gotta stop hurting yourself over it. Sewell's working on an appeal, ain't he?'

‘We need new evidence.' She thought of Ernie in the condemned
cell. He was gentle with visitors, asking for news, never talking of his own situation. He'd told Frances that, when it came to it, he'd want her to write down a letter from him to Duke.

Maurice held her close. They stood outside the lively yellow warmth of the Duke. Strains of music filtered through the closed windows and doors. ‘Come home with me,' he said softly.

In the empty house they made love again, with great passion between them. The ache of grief made her cry in his arms, and her tears healed the loneliness of his youth. He loved her clean smoothness, the slant of her shoulders, the curve of her back. She took his strong body to her, a little afraid of its power. They entwined. She was all softness until she pressed back against him and returned her female desire for his longing. Then she vied with him for pleasure, stroking and kissing him, and sighing as he held her. He looked down at her; her eyes looked deep into him with full consciousness of what she desired. What he could give, he gave, overjoyed by their union, their clinging limbs, their warm touch.

This time, the way back to cold reality was slow and gentle. They lay in each other's arms, murmuring to one another. He told her she was the best thing to happen in his life, kissing her eyelids, her forehead. She said she'd been wary of him at first.

‘Too pushy?' he asked.

Jess nodded. ‘I ain't used to all that attention. I lived a life below stairs, remember.'

‘And wasted you were too, girl!'

She laughed.

‘What about your pa? Ain't he made a fuss of you when you was little?'

‘Not much.' She remembered winning the school races for him and bringing home the prize. ‘It was all Rob, Rob, Rob with him, ‘cos he was the first boy. Who wants three girls on the trot?' She said it without bitterness. ‘I ain't complaining.'

‘Well, you got plenty of attention from me from now on, if you want it?'

‘Is that a question?' She turned on her side and propped herself on one elbow.

‘If you like.' He was teasing, stroking the corners of her mouth and reaching across to kiss it.

‘Funny sort of question. What was it again?' Her laugh, so rare of late, lit her up.

‘Let's get married, Jess.'

She fell suddenly serious. ‘You mean it? You don't want no more time to think?'

‘I been thinking about it since I first clapped eyes on you.' He wanted to sweep her along. ‘Say yes, Jess. Just say yes!'

She sat up in bed, hair tumbling about her shoulders, spreading her arms wide. ‘I ain't gonna say no, Maurice, am I?'

‘What are you on about?'

‘Ain't I sitting here in your bed thinking we're bound to get married some day?' Strangely, it hadn't been a large question in her own mind. Then she realized that it was because she trusted him. ‘Just as soon as you got round to asking me!'

‘Say yes!' he demanded.

‘Yes'.

He lay back flat on the pillow, speechless. It was Jess who kissed him and got up, got ready to go home to Grace. ‘It ain't all plain sailing,' she warned.

Maurice's arm circled her waist as she sat again on the edge of the bed. ‘No need to remind me.'

‘But I love you, Maurice. Just remember that.'

‘Then I'm happy,' he said simply. In his direct, optimistic way, he didn't see what could possibly go wrong.

Frances had arranged to meet up with Sewell in the prison. It was the Friday before Christmas. She greeted him in a subdued mood, and, it seemed to him, defeated.
‘Never say die, Miss Parsons,' he reminded her as the warder showed them to Ernie's cell. They'd come for one last try to break down the barrier in Ernie's mind about events on the night of the murder. ‘The doctors tell me that sooner or later it will all click into place,' he said. ‘Like a camera shutter; click, as sudden as can be. And it will all be in place in perfect detail.'
‘I hope so, Mr Sewell.' Frances went and sat by Ernie's side of the table. His face lit up to see her. Then he fixed his attention on Mr Sewell, screwing his gaze on the solicitor's face.

Frances noticed that Ernie held the little photograph album sent in by Annie. It was open at the picture of Daisy with white flowers in her dark hair.

‘Now, Ernie,' Mr Sewell began. ‘You understand why we're here?'

He nodded. ‘To remember what happened to Daisy.'

‘That's right. Let's just think about that. We're standing outside the stage door. What colour is it, Ernie?'

‘Green. Dirty green.'

‘Good. Is it closed?'

‘Yes.' Ernie's eyes crinkled with concentration.

‘Good. Is there anyone there in the alley with you, Ernie? I know we've asked you before, but you're doing very well this time. Just take things slowly. Now, is there anyone in the alley?'

Frances put one hand over Ernie's and stroked it softly.

‘No, I'm by myself. I'm waiting for Rob. I know he'll be mad at me.'

‘He's not mad,' Sewell reassured him. ‘He's worried about you, but he's busy. He'll be back soon. He won't be mad.'

Ernie nodded. ‘I never meant to do it,' he whispered; the old refrain.

‘Do what, Ernie?' Sewell too lowered his voice.

‘I never meant to get lost. Tell Rob.'

‘He ain't cross,' Frances said. She grasped his hand tight. ‘You never meant to get lost. We know that.' She glanced up at the solicitor, a light in her eyes. ‘Now, Ernie, what happened while you was waiting for Rob? Did something scare you?'

Ernie's own eyes fogged over. He sighed heavily.

‘What do you see?' Sewell leant forward across the table. They'd met up with the same invisible wall, the boy was giving in.

‘What can you hear?' Frances urged.

‘A noise. Someone's screaming.' He gripped the photograph. ‘Daisy. Daisy's screaming. I can tell it's her. She's shouting. There's something wrong!'

‘Daisy's inside and she's screaming. The door's closed, Ernie. What do you do?' Sewell pushed hard.

‘I open it. I have to go in there, even if Rob comes along and I'm not there waiting for him. That's right, ain't it? I have to go in. Daisy needs me.'

‘That's right, Ern.' Frances could hardly breathe. There was a moment when she thought, No, we can't go on. We can't make him live through it all again. It's a cruel torment. Once was enough. But Sewell was firm. He pressed on.

‘She does. She needs help. Do you run inside, Ern?'

Ernie nodded. ‘The screams are loud now. I have to run. They're coming from her dressing room, where they get changed. No, now they've stopped!' Ernie jolted to a halt. He was trembling. His eyes filled with tears.

‘The screams have stopped, Ernie. Where are you now?'

‘In the corridor,' he said, dazed and slow.

‘Good. Do you see anyone?'

‘No. I can hear someone running off. I turn the corner. But I don't see no one.'

Sewell let out a sharp breath. What do you do now? Now that Daisy's stopped screaming and you've heard someone run off?'

‘I go in.'

‘Go in where?'

‘Into the dressing room –' He paused.

‘Who's there, Ernie?'

‘No one.'

Sewell nodded. ‘How do you feel now, Ernie? Daisy's not there. How do you feel?'

‘Scared.'

‘What of? Is someone in there hiding?'

‘No. He ran off. I heard him.'

‘But you're still scared?'

‘Something's wrong. Something's happened to Daisy. I have to find her.'

‘Where? Where do you look?'

‘All over. I can't see her. But I know she's still here.'

‘Do you find her? Where is she?' Sewell glanced at Frances, willing her to keep her own nerve.

‘No, I can't find her!' Ernie looked wildly round, his eyes streaming with tears.

‘Not at first, no. But you keep looking?'

‘Yes. And the rail with the dresses hanging, I see it move.'

‘How? Did it move much, Ernie?'

‘A bit. Not much. One of the dresses falls down. I have to pick it up.'

‘You go over.'

‘I pick it up. It's caught. It's soft and silky, but it's caught.' Ernie gasped. ‘I'm pulling it hard. There's a noise.'

‘What noise?'

‘Someone hurting. A hurting noise. Behind the dresses. I have to kneel down to see. It's dark behind the dresses.'

Ernie paused again, but both Frances and Sewell stayed silent. They let him lead them on at his own pace now, through the terrible remembering.

‘I can feel something move, like a little animal moving. Something grabs my neck and pulls me down. My hat falls off. I lose my hat, Frances!'

‘It don't matter, Ern. We'll get you a new one.' She thought her heart would break.

Ernie went on. ‘It's Daisy lying down there moaning. Daisy's holding my neck and moaning. Her face is all white. She says something. Twice. I have to bend right down to listen. I see all the blood. I'm kneeling on the dress, getting it dirty. I lost my hat. There's a knife. I have to get it out. I have to be careful. It hurts. I take it out, quick as I can. She's not moving no more. She won't get up. Oh, she won't get up no more. I know it now.'

Racked by sobs, Ernie's head went down.

‘What next?' Sewell held steady. He put a hand on the boy's arm.

‘I have to go to meet Rob,' Ernie said blankly. ‘I have to go, don't I?'

‘You do. But before that, tell me one more thing, Ernie.' The
solicitor held on to his arm. ‘This is very important. What did Daisy say to you when you found her lying there?' He was after a final incriminating detail; Daisy's revelation of the murderer as she lay dying.

Ernie stared down at the photograph. ‘She said it twice. She said “Ernie” twice.' It broke him, the memory of Daisy whispering his own name as she died.

They stayed a long time to comfort him, and the warder didn't interfere. Frances told Ernie he was brave. Brave as Robert in the army. She said there was hope now. What he'd done had given them new hope. At last he sat quietly, his eyes full of trust.

They left the prison at last, and went straight away to Sewell's office. Frances allowed her own spirits to rise.

‘This is very good, ain't it, Mr Sewell? Ernie would never make it up.' She grew animated, standing up in his office and beginning to pace beneath the shelves of heavy, leather-bound law books. ‘They'll grant us an appeal now, don't you think?'

The solicitor smiled and nodded. He too stood up. ‘I think we have a very good chance. You can go home and pass on the news. I'll be in touch as soon as we have a date for the new hearing.' He was more than pleased with the outcome.

‘Before Christmas?'

He considered her eager expression. ‘I should say between Christmas and the New Year, Miss Parsons.'

Her face fell.

‘Yes, I know. It must be a torture for you all.' He came and shook her by the hand. ‘Never say die, Miss Parsons. We're doing all we can, believe me. This time everything will depend on the medical men, and on Ernie. So keep up his spirits as best you can.'

Frances promised and left the office. There was new energy in her stride as she walked past the clerk at his desk and the telephonist busy speaking into her mouthpiece. She took the first tram home and alighted outside Coopers'. Billy Wray stood selling the evening papers. He noticed her as she made a bee-line straight towards him.

‘Mr Sewell's managed to get up an appeal, Billy!' She was
breathless. ‘He was marvellous with Ernie today. He got him to remember every single thing about the murder. We're so glad you went and picked him out for us.'

People threaded between them, around his stall, down the close, or waiting at the kerb to cross the street. He felt jolted out of his own dull misery, back into life. ‘Listen,' he said. ‘I'll finish up here and you slip home. Give them the good news. Then meet me at Henshaw's and tell me all about it.'