The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (28 page)

His mind was a jumble of thoughts. He tried to concentrate, for in the next few minutes, the guard would come, and he would have to be ready for him. “Why are you doing this?” he asked his mother when she handed him money.

“Because you’re my boy and always will be. I love you… Now go.”

Joseph stared at her gruesome face, and she turned from him, struggling on lame legs towards the wooden bed. Once there, she lay down, covering herself completely with the two blankets, and faced the wall. Joseph watched her for a moment and then sidled up to the bed. He uncovered her head, and she stared into his eyes with a faint smile on her lipless mouth. He stared, mesmerised at the ugliness that held his eyes. She should have died in the fire, he thought. Her face would always haunt him unless he erased it from his mind, but he would never be able to do that whilst she lived. She was an abomination, a creature that had no right to live anymore! He’d suffered enough at her hands. He bent over her and cupped her head in his gloved hands. She smiled at him again.

“You don’t want to live like this, do you, Mum?” Her eyes widened, but she said nothing. “No, you want to go to him, don’t you, to Dad?”

Doreen Pickens sighed and closed her eyes. Joseph tightened his grip on her head and twisted it to the side with one quick jerk. The bone snapped and her head dangled in his hands. He placed her head back on the pillow and faced it towards the wall. He’d done the old cow a favour, put her out of her misery. He looked once more at the corpse and then covered her completely with the blanket. He would never have to think about her again.

Joseph rattled the cell’s bars with his mother’s bag, alerting the guard, who arrived a few minutes later with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand.

“Right, missus, said your goodbyes, then?” the guard asked him.

Joseph nodded his bowed head and then lifted it up and put a gloved finger to where his lips were under the veil. “Shh.”

The guard looked past him at the figure on the bed. “What, did you sing your little boy to sleep, eh?” he whispered. “He’ll be sleeping the long sleep tomorrow all right… begging your pardon, missus. Sorry for your loss.”

Joseph stooped lower and sorrowfully shook his head slowly from side to side.

“Right then, let’s get you away.” The guard ushered him out of the cell and into the corridor. “You’ll want to get the tram at the corner, I suppose.”

Joseph nodded again and then hobbled behind the guard through a long deserted corridor that led to the guards’ station. At the end of the corridor, the guard opened an outer door with bars. They went through it and then down two stairs, out another door, wooden this time, and into a reception area where the guards welcomed visitors.

Joseph saw the two guards, and his heartbeat quickened. They sat behind a glass window, smoking cigarettes and laughing about something. They lifted their heads every now and again to look at him and then carried on with their amusing conversation. This was taking too long, Joseph thought, beginning to panic. He was sweating badly, and he swore to himself. The droplets of water dripping down his face were sticking to the veil, making the veil stick to his face… No wonder he was sweating. Who wouldn’t, with all these fucking layers of clothing on! He swore to himself again; what the fuck was he supposed to do now? He barely moved his head but managed to glance up with his eyes. The escort guard was writing something in a large open book that sat on the counter. Joseph tried to dry some of the sweat around his lips with his tongue and then bowed his head farther, until it sat on his chin. The guard turned at last, swept his arm towards an open door, and ushered him through it. Thank fuck for that! Joseph thought, letting out a slow and silent sigh of relief. Outside, Joseph felt the fresh air trickling his face through the veil.

“Nearly there, missus,” the guard told him, urging him on.

They were in the outer courtyard, but Joseph couldn’t see much more than shadows through the thick veil and sweat dripping into his eyes. As he followed the guard, he wondered how his mother had managed to get around all this time; he almost felt sorry for her.

The walk through the courtyard seemed never ending. Joseph’s heart was pounding in his chest. His leg was hurting, making him hobble in a slightly different way to his mother’s crippled but even step. His heart beat even faster. He sweated again, even though the night was cold. In front of him was the misty shadow of the main entrance and the thick high doors that led to the outside world. The guard spoke to the gatehouse watchman for a moment, and then the doors were opened.

“You take care now, missus,” the guard told Joseph. Joseph nodded his head for the last time and walked into the night.

“Did you see that big ugly cow?” one of the guards said later to his opposite number over a cup of tea. “That was a big bloody woman, or what was left of her. I never got a look at her face under that black mask, but I bet it was worse than old Frankenstein’s monster. Imagine living like that. I’d rather shoot myself in the mouth.”

“From what I’ve heard, she hasn’t got one.” The other guard laughed.

“She told me to shush my mouth when I went for her,” the escort guard put in. “Bleedin’ hell, how can Dobbs sleep the night before he’s going to die? It’s beyond me. There she was, the poor old bat, bringing him cake, and he faces the wall and falls asleep.” “He faced the wall and fell asleep because he couldn’t stand the sight of her, no doubt. Do you want to wake him up for the fun of it?”

“No, let him be. I’d rather eat my sandwich in peace.”

Joseph jumped on the first tram that came along. He sat at the back, head bowed and trying to go unnoticed by the people on the crowded seats and aisle. The sooner he got out of these clothes, the better, was his first thought. They smelled of his mother and made him feel sick. The coast… He’d head for the coast and then over to France on a boat. He looked at the money. There was quite a bit of it. His mother must have done all right for herself, he grunted with resentment. Maybe she sold the land or something. He didn’t care about that now. He was alive; that was the main thing. He’d beaten the fucking hangman’s noose and everyone else. He was alive!

The three men walked towards the main entrance of the prison with slow, sombre steps.

The stone-walled prison with barbed wire bordering the top of it was as grey as the morning sky. The entrance was a fifteen-foot-tall pair of solid oak doors, with one of them housing a smaller individual door for foot visitors and prison guards. The time was six forty-five, fifteen minutes before Joseph Dobbs’s execution. Mr Bats rang the bell on the small door, and all three waited in a line for it to be opened to them.

The prison warden faced them on the other side of the wooden doors, in the centre of the courtyard, with fear and disbelief etched on his face. He stood like a statue, waiting for the three men to approach, and said nothing when he shook hands with all three.

“Is the prisoner ready?” Bats asked in his cold, professional manner.

“I’ll get the sack for this! I don’t know how the hell this happened, but I’ll get the push and be lucky if I ever get a job again,” he blurted out, not answering Bats’ question.

“Slow down, man,” Bats told him. “What are you talking about?”

The three men looked at each other, puzzled, and then back to the warden.

“Well?” Bats asked him again.

“It’s Joseph Dobbs; he’s done a bunk right from under our noses.”

“Say that again!” John’s voice trembled.

“Joseph Dobbs escaped.”

“Christ almighty!” Mr Bats could only manage to say.

“How the hell did that happen… When?” Simon asked him?

The warden’s embarrassment had visibly knocked the air out of him, and when he answered, his voice was hoarse and trembling like a young girl’s.

“Last night. His mother came and went. Or at least, the guard thought it was his mother. She was all dressed up in that black garb. He didn’t think to check her bloody face when she left. Who would? Anyway, when the guard went into the cell with the priest a couple of hours ago, Dobbs’ mother was lying on the bed with nothing but a nightshirt on. The priest nearly vomited at the sight of her! Her face was all wrinkled up like a bulldog, and her mouth was open like a fish fighting for air on dry land. She’d been strangled. Bone stuck out of the sliver of black skin on her neck… Bloody horrible sight. Imagine doing that to your old mother!”

Simon and John stood open-mouthed, unable to speak or think until they heard Bat’s heavy authoritarian voice.

“What are you doing to find him, you and your useless troop of idiots?”

“There are men out looking for him, police and wardens. They’ve got his description and another description of what his mother was wearing when she came into the prison last night. He’s probably got rid of the clothes by now, though. I’m sorry, gents. He’s long gone, and it’ll be a devil of a job to find him.”

Simon walked down the street with John. Simon tried to even his stride on shaky legs. He had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, born out of shock and horror. He was praying; praying for Joseph’s quick capture, but at the back of his mind he was sure that Joseph’s escape would have grave consequences on all of their lives, and that now their problems were just beginning all over again.

Simon spoke first. “Christ, what am I going to tell your mother?”

“We’ll tell her the truth; she won’t accept anything less. Do you want me to come with you?”

Simon thought about it for a moment. “No. I’ll go alone. We need you to see what the police are doing about this. I don’t trust that prison warden. I suspect he’s clueless about the situation. We need to take matters into our own hands if necessary.”

John stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if the police are not doing their job, I’ll send a bloody private army after Dobbs myself!”

When Marie opened the door, Simon took a deep breath. In all the years they had known each other, he’d never lied to her, and he would not lie now. She was strong, he kept thinking, simultaneously trying to convince himself of this. She would cope with the truth, and as always, she would come up with a plan to protect Celia.

Marie was still in her night attire. Her hair was unkempt, and her eyes were swollen and red. She sniffed into her handkerchief and then gave Simon Ayres a quizzical look.

“Is it over already, so quickly? Did he cry? Did he die easily? Was his mother there?” She asked him these questions without pausing for breath or noticing the grey pallor of his complexion.

“Marie, sit down, dear. Don’t speak another word; just sit down.” Simon spoke with calm authority. “I have to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it. Joseph didn’t hang…”

After hearing the story, Marie staggered like a drunk to the drinks cabinet and poured them each a large brandy. It wasn’t yet midmorning, but she determined that she at least needed it to help her over the shock of it all.

“Simon, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe that a prison full of guards and men at the front gate were so neglectful in their duty. Dear God, Joseph is a murderer due to die this morning—a dangerous man. How could they have been so stupid? I’ll see to their dismissal myself, I swear I will!”

“It’s already done. The guards responsible have been sacked. The warden will be dismissed too.”

Marie gave a satisfactory nod of her head. “Well, I wish I could say that their punishment brought me some comfort, but I don’t think anything will make me feel better. I can’t bear to think about Joseph roaming the streets. When did you say this happened?”

“According to the warden, it was about ten o’clock last night.”

“Twelve hours ago. He’ll be long gone. They’ll never catch him now, will they?”

Simon sat beside Marie on the couch and held her hand. With his free hand, he pushed a tendril of hair away from her eyes, which were filling up with moisture.

“He could head north or to the coast. But he’s known in the north, and his picture will be on all the front pages of every newspaper tonight, so it’s more likely that he’ll try for the South and a ship to get him across the channel. The port authorities in Dover and Folkestone have been warned to look out for him, and his picture is being distributed all over the country as we speak. But like you say, he has a twelve-hour start. Marie, the most important thing right now is to decide between us what we’re going to tell Celia.”

Marie stood up and poured herself another brandy. She was as bad as Joseph Dobbs, drinking in the morning!

“Celia must not know he’s alive,” she told Simon with her back to him. “She must be told that he’s dead; otherwise, she’ll live in fear for the rest of her life, wondering if he’ll find her again. She’s not strong, you know that.”

“Joseph would be stupid to go after Celia. He has bigger problems to deal with. He’s on the run, and he won’t dare look for her here in London… or Kent, for that matter. And never in a million years will he find out that she’s in Spain. Why should he? No one knows, apart from you, John, and me. My main concern is that she may find out through other sources that we lied to her. Information on Joseph could come in any form, from a newspaper or from someone other than her who has seen a newspaper and, God forbid, meets her in some quirk of fate, but that’s highly unlikely.”

Marie handed Simon a brandy and sat back down beside him. “She’ll have to remain in Spain for as long as possible. She might find out the truth at some point in the future,—or never—but one thing is certain: she’s not ready to deal with it now. We’ll just have to convince her to remain with the Martinéz family and hope that we can catch the beast of a man and hang him before any more damage is done!”

Simon patted her on the knee and nodded to himself, saying, “It’s risky not telling her, but yes, I agree with you. You must go to her. Can I arrange passage for you?”

“No, I’ll go after Christmas. It’s only two months away, and that’s when I’m expected there. She has no need to know about any of this until she’s at least passed the holidays. I’ll tell her that Joseph is dead when I see her. She sounded so happy in her last letter. Please don’t ask me to spoil it all for her. She’s still coming to terms with everything, and I know her. First, she’ll want to come straight back home, and we can’t even consider allowing that. The farm isn’t ready for her, and she’s not ready for the farm. I still have all the furniture in storage, and the herd has to go back to the fields. There are broken windows to fix and bills to be paid, and I still have to tell her that she has a cousin. She’s not ready for any of this! And neither am I, now that I think about it.”