The Great Betrayal (12 page)

Sidney said, ‘Who are you to grumble, safely tucked away in the motor?’

Don chimed in, his resentment growing. ‘Keep out of it, Sid. We’re all in this together. We all shared the money. Remember that!’

Sidney snorted. ‘But you got more than your fair share.
You
remember
that
!’

Willis said, ‘What? More than his
fair
share? How?’

Sidney glanced at his brother and thought better of repeating the accusation. ‘Forget it,’ he mumbled.

‘Nobody killed that man.’ Don insisted. ‘He fell and hit his head on the floor! I didn’t shoot him.’

Willis jutted his chin. ‘But why did he fall? Because you, Don, you stupid bugger, had whacked him on the head with the pistol! They’ll say it was the blow from the pistol that did for him. Likely it was, too!’

Stunned by the enormity of the disaster that had overtaken them, they all fell silent, each one a prey to fearful thoughts.

At last Willis said, ‘You’d better scarper, Don. They’ll be combing the streets for you. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘And if you get picked up it won’t be long before we all get nabbed. Make yourself scarce, Don, before it’s too late.’

Don frowned. ‘Easy for you to say, but I’ve got responsibilities. You haven’t.’

‘What? The women? For God’s sake, Don, how is it going to help them if you go down? They’ll see you arrested, sent down and hanged! Strikes me they’d be better off not seeing all that. Do them a favour, for the love of God, and disappear. Disappear, and don’t come back . . . ever!’

The words sent a prickle of fear into Don’s already burdened mind. Being a jewel thief was one thing – he had liked to think of himself as a daring, rather glamorous outlaw – but killing someone had never been on the cards. The death had shaken him more than he cared to admit. ‘Thanks a lot! What a miserable pair you are. All you think about is yourselves. And to think I trusted you!’ He glared at his brother. ‘If it wasn’t for me you’d be working for your living and the reverend here would be finding out what it means to do a full day’s work, scrimping and saving in a dead end job.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed.

‘I’m already in a dead end job,’ Willis reminded him. ‘I work all night for a pittance!’

Pale-faced, Don shook his head. ‘And that’s all you’d have if it wasn’t for me.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And don’t forget that you’re not squeaky clean either. A word from me and—’

Sidney pricked up his ears. ‘Why, what’s he done?’

‘Impersonating a clergyman is a crime. Not to mention driving the getaway car. So before you decide to get rid of me, just remember that you two aren’t exactly fireproof!’

There was an uneasy silence as each man considered these unwelcome truths. It was eventually broken by Sidney.

‘So what do we do now?’ he asked shakily.

Nobody had an answer.

Later that evening Willis Burke sat in his room with a blanket round his shoulders – not because he was cold but because he was frightened and had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The wrapped up gun was on the bed beside him. His meeting with the Wickham brothers had done nothing to reassure him and had ended in Don slipping away with a muttered excuse and Sidney stalking out later in a thoroughly bad temper, having told Willis his suspicions about the rings which Don had held back and given, for the time being, to his women.

Now, nearly two hours later, Willis was still a state of utter dread, wondering what he should do to protect himself from any possible consequences. He could disappear by moving to another part of London, or he could stay and hope that the police never made the connection between Don and the victim, because Don had threatened to betray his two companions if he were ever arrested.

‘He’ll grass us up!’ he muttered.

It also grieved him that he now knew that Don had certainly cheated him and Sidney by hanging on to a couple of diamond rings. ‘Bastard!’ he muttered. After all the things he’d done for that man! He shivered and pulled the blanket closer round his shoulders.

At that moment he heard the front door knocker and he froze. Was it the police? Desperately, he looked round for somewhere to hide. Beneath the bed was too obvious, but what about the wardrobe drawer? Could he fit in there? He rushed to the drawer and pulled it open, but then, remembering the gun, he paused and glanced back at the bed. ‘Hell’s bells!’

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

‘Mr Burke?’ There was tap on his door.

He called, ‘Just a minute!’ and prepared to climb into the drawer before realizing two things – that he had given himself away by saying ‘Just a minute’, and that the drawer was too small. Also common sense told him that if he did climb into the drawer he would never be able to then push it shut and that anyway the whole wardrobe would probably topple over. Or was that three things? Or four? He uttered a small squeak of fright then closed the drawer. He must brazen it out.

Two minutes later, with a rapidly beating heart, he gave up, walked to the door and opened it about two inches. ‘Yes?’

‘A visitor for you, Mr Burke,’ said the landlady and to his intense relief he recognized the newly ‘married’ Dolly Wickham standing behind her.

Willis closed his eyes, uttered a prayer of thanks and smiled broadly. At that precise moment the devil incarnate, complete with horns and tail, would have been preferable to a police sergeant.

The landlady said, ‘Another one of your sisters, Mr Burke?’ and turned away, with a sly grin on her face.

Dolly came into the room. ‘What’s she sniggering about?’ she asked. ‘Does she think I’m your sister?’

‘No, no! Er . . . Take no notice, Mrs Wickham. The poor soul’s a bit . . . !’ He tapped his forehead.

‘How sad!’

‘How can I help you?’

‘I’ve come for my marriage lines, Reverend. Last time I came you were out.’

‘Marriage lines?’ Shocked, he somehow managed a light laugh. ‘Dear Lord! I clean forgot, but I’ll do it now. It’s no problem. Do sit down.’ He indicated the bed.
Marriage lines?
What on earth did they look like? ‘So how are things going with you and Don?’ He began to search for a notebook and, having found it, a pencil.

‘Don’t you have to fill in a form?’ Dolly prompted. ‘My ma’s marriage lines is a form, and there are squares, and the man filled it in with ink. Name and address. Witness’s signature. Things like that.’

‘Ah!’ He thought quickly. ‘But this, my dear young lady, is a private affair, and we do things differently.’ He found his penknife and began to sharpen the pencil. ‘And there need be no witnesses to a private ceremony.’

Dolly eyed the pencil with surprise. ‘It’ll have to be ink, surely,’ she protested, ‘because it’ll have to last all my life and . . . Well, it could be rubbed out if you do it in pencil. Not that Don would ever rub it out, but what I mean is . . .’ She held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness.’ What I mean is, ink looks more proper, don’t you think? More official.’

‘You’re right,’ he said, deciding not to argue with her because that would inevitably lengthen the proceedings and he desperately needed to satisfy Dolly Wickham and get her out of the way before his landlady could ask any awkward questions. ‘I’ll do it in ink, Mrs Wickham. Anything to please a lady!’

‘A lady? Me? Go on with you!’ she protested, but she looked pleased by the compliment.

He hoped he had successfully distracted her. ‘You’ll have to forgive me today. I’m all at sixes and sevens. Family matters.’

‘Oh dear! I am sorry. Not a death, I hope. I do hate funerals, especially if it rains. Even snow is better than rain. I’d rather be cold than wet, wouldn’t you?’

‘Er . . . yes. I mean no – it’s not a funeral.’ He found a pen and an inkwell containing dried up ink which he resuscitated with a little water from the tap in the corner.

‘Now please don’t talk to me,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake.’

‘Then don’t write me as Dolly,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s really Jenny.’

He nodded.

Dolly pressed two fingers to her lips and that was when Sidney caught sight of her ring and was reminded of Sidney’s suspicions. A question sprang to his lips, but before he could utter it Dolly gave him a smile of considerable sweetness.

‘It’s a shame, in a way, you being a reverend,’ she told him, her eyes shining with sincerity. ‘Never being able to have a wife or any children. You must find it lonely, and you seem like a very nice person.’

Forgetting the ring, Willis paused, staring at her. Was she teasing him? ‘A very nice person?’ he stammered. ‘Oh! I don’t know about that.’

‘A very nice man,’ she elaborated. ‘Honest and true. My husband spoke very well of you. He recommended you, so to speak, when he wanted us to have a private wedding . . . but I’m forgetting. I’m distracting you. Carry on, please.’ She laughed. ‘Ma always says I talk too much.’

‘You could never do that!’

Dolly tossed her curls to acknowledge the compliment, and Willis found himself wishing that she had never set eyes on Don Wickham.

Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the notebook. First he wrote the date, then the two names.
Donald Wickham and Jenny Ellerway
. He underlined the names and considered what to say next. The pen nib was slightly crossed and not functioning very well so he must keep the ‘document’ as short as possible. While he deliberated, he sneaked a quick glance at Dolly.

A very nice person – honest and true
. Willis was not used to compliments and he was surprised how good it felt.

In capital letters he wrote HOLY MATRMONY then squeezed a capital I between the R and the M. It was looking good, he thought, but was it going to be long enough to look convincing? ‘Date of birth for both you and your husband,’ he asked, suddenly inspired.

Dolly told him and watched him write it down. ‘Do you need our address?’

‘Oh yes. Mustn’t forget the address.’

‘Number sixteen, Mansoor Street, Clerkenwell, London.’ She waited, then went on: ‘My mother disapproves of private weddings just because she wasn’t invited, so I have to show her the marriage lines to prove it was all legal and above board.’

Ah! Her mother was going to scrutinize it. With an effort Willis tore his gaze from the delicious Dolly and concentrated all his efforts on the marriage lines which must be sufficiently convincing to satisfy a suspicious mother. He wrote:

He added the date of the ceremony and read it out and was gratified to see Dolly’s response. She clapped her hands in delight.

‘That’s quite wonderful!’ she cried. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. Don will be pleased.’

He smiled suddenly as another idea came to him. ‘One more thing,’ he told her. Pulling open the drawer in his desk he produced a small stick of sealing wax and collected matches from his bedside candlestick. Carefully melting the wax, he allowed a few drops to fall on to the lower edge of the paper, then took off his ring and pressed it into the wax. The final effect almost took his breath away, and he wondered why it had never occurred to him before to use sealing wax. ‘There you are.’ He presented the paper with a flourish and a small bow.

Dolly studied it, her eyes shining, with obvious satisfaction. ‘Thank you so much, Reverend. I’m looking forward to seeing my ma’s face when I show it to her.’ She peered closely at the seal. ‘Are those initials?’

He nodded. ‘My signet ring.’ Then, without stopping to think, he said, ‘Do please call me Willis . . . if you’d care to, that is.’

The words echoed in his head, and he instantly regretted them. Would a real vicar ever say such a thing? It seemed unlikely.

It had obviously not occurred to Dolly. ‘I do care,’ she replied eagerly. ‘And you must call me Dolly.’

She read the document aloud, relishing the words he had put together for her. For her and Don, he reminded himself guiltily. This sweet woman had thrown herself away on a man who, if he knew what was good for him, would soon move on and leave her and the coming baby on their own. She would be shocked and troubled by his summary disappearance, wondering why he had abandoned her and what she had done to deserve such treatment.

As if somehow prompted by his thoughts, Dolly laughed and wrapped both hands round her swelling belly. ‘I wonder if the baby could hear those words I read out? I hope so because then he’d know we were married.’

‘You think it’s a boy then?’

‘I don’t mind, but Don wants a boy. Men always do, don’t they?’

Willis felt a strong urge to warn her to be on her guard, but that was out of the question. He wanted to tell her that the father of her child was a not-so-clever thief who had accidentally killed an innocent man, but she looked so happy, with no inkling of what was in store for her. She would soon be an abandoned wife with a child born out of wedlock and a ‘husband’ who was a wanted criminal.

He said hoarsely, ‘You’d best get along, Mrs Wick . . . I mean Dolly.’

‘Yes, I must leave you in peace.’ She began to fold the precious paper.

‘Best to roll it,’ he suggested. ‘So the seal doesn’t get damaged.’

She did as he told her, then carefully tucked it into her bag. ‘I must be off,’ she said. ‘Oh! Do I owe you anything, Rever . . . I mean Willis?’

‘No. Normally, but not for you!’ He gave a little bow.

Impulsively, she stepped forward and kissed the side of his face. ‘Thank you again.’

A minute later Willis was alone again, with no wife and no child on the way. And no good prospects, he reminded himself with a sigh. It was a bad moment.

Seven

After supper that evening, Leonard offered to take George for a short walk ‘to settle his dinner’, as he put it, and Lydia watched them go with a feeling of relief. Since her father’s recent episode in the department store, she had been afraid to allow him out of her sight, and the prospect of half an hour on her own was one to be accepted gratefully.