Sensing the tremor of rage run up Clews’ spine Edward placed a restraining hand on the man’s arm.
‘Ar, I don’t be clever as some or as quick wi’ words, but I be smart enough to know
you
be naught but a liar. If them things be your’n how come you ain’t never worn ’em to chapel? I’ll tell y’ why . . . cos they ain’t your’n, you took ’em from the chap you killed then tipped into Devil’s Pool.’
‘Arthur, you can’t go saying such!’ Edward’s hand tightened as he spoke the warning but it was the look on Thorpe’s face that grabbed his attention. Sheer arrogance burned like fire in eyes which had dropped their guard.
‘He thought to take my place.’ Thorpe stared at the men in his living room. ‘The fool thought to be pastor but the chapel is
mine
. It is decreed by heaven only Thomas Thorpe may serve there,
he
is the Chosen, the man called by God Himself to minister there, to conduct His divine service, so you see . . . he had to die.’
Thorpe had murdered that man! Edward’s mind reeled. He had killed him in cold blood and now he was parading in the clerical robes he had stolen from him.
‘The Lord’s word has to be obeyed.’ Thorpe raised the prayer book to his lips, his eyes glittering fanatically. ‘It was His will, nothing must stand in the way of that.’
‘My God Arthur, did you hear what he said?’ Edward’s incredulous question was clear yet all that Clews heard was a whisper, a murmur soft in his mind: Sarah . . . Sarah.
Across the room Thorpe laughed, a high-pitched manic screech which seemed to bounce from wall to wall. ‘That slut!’ he screamed at the murmured name slipping from Arthur Clews’ tongue. ‘Stupid bitch thought to become the minister’s wife, thought that opening her legs would put a ring on her finger! Marry . . .’ He laughed again, a piercing half-crazed laugh that rang in his listeners’ ears. ‘Thomas Thorpe would not stoop to marry among the lowest of the low, a common foundryman’s daughter.’
‘Y’ wouldn’t marry her but you’d tek her to bed often as chance were given!’
‘A whore who hoped to better herself by marrying the minister,’ Thorpe raved on, not hearing Arthur, ‘she thought we were going to Darlaston to talk with the minister there, to ask would he perform the wedding ceremony, but that could not be allowed, the trollop had to die before she could make trouble.’
‘Wait, Arthur!’ Edward held Clews securely then looked across to Thorpe, saying quietly, ‘Sarah Clews had to die.’ At Thorpe’s nod he asked, ‘Who killed her?’
Eyelids closed, the prayer book pressed again to his lips, Thorpe stood for a long moment like a soul in rapture. Then lifting his face as if to the sky he said exultantly, ‘The Lord’s Chosen . . . the instrument of heaven: Thomas Thorpe was granted that privilege.’
Edward looked at the man still floating on a cloud of ecstasy. Thorpe saw murdering the girl as some sort of reward. Christ, he must be insane!
‘Let go o’ me Edward, I’ll kill the filthy swine.’ Arthur Clews struggled to throw off Edward’s grip.
‘Tristan Reuel Gaylord . . .’ Mindless of the other two men Thomas Thorpe laughed dementedly. ‘He thought to steal my place as minister, to take my chapel, he thought to blacken my name as did the other two . . .’
Three! Edward’s brain rocked at this new information. Thorpe had killed
three
times: Gaylord, Sarah Clews . . . but who was the third victim?
‘The other two.’ He tried to sound matter-of-fact. ‘You said Sarah so who is the other, was it a man?’
Thorpe fingered the fringes of the stola, straightening each until they lay in perfect symmetry each side of his chest, then turned towards the door. ‘I think I’ll go see her now; tell Leah Marshall I killed her daughter.’
‘You go get the constable, I’ll wait here and don’t go a worryin’, Edward, I be more’n a match for Holy Joe.’ Arthur Clews pulled savagely at the arm twisted behind Thomas Thorpe’s back.
‘I don’t know Arthur, he’s a sly one.’
‘He be welcome to try puttin’ one over on me if’n he be daft enough but I tells him clear, should I see so much as the bat of an eye I’ll lay him out cold.’
Edward smiled grimly to himself. Chalk and cheese, that was these two: Thorpe small, almost weedy in stature while Clews was strongly built, his arms bulging with muscle gained from years of heavy foundry work. No, Thorpe stood no chance of getting away.
He waited until Thorpe’s hands were securely tied with the string drying line snatched down from the scullery.
‘Edward,’ Arthur Clews called as Edward was leaving. ‘Go to Leah Marshall first. Better for her to be told by you what this tripehound done to her wench than hear it from the police.’
Two minutes later, once all sound of Edward’s leaving had died away, Arthur Clews hauled Thorpe to his feet.
‘You ain’t goin’ to meet no coppers,’ he breathed, ‘you ain’t goin’ to see no doctor neither, there’s gonna be no let off for balance o’ mind bein’ disturbed. You killed my wench and you be goin’ to answer forrit.’
Outside the house Arthur Clews breathed a prayer of thanks that the sky was dark with promised rain clouds and for the fact Leah’s house backed on to cow pasture beyond which lay derelict ground. Going that way there would be next to no chance of meeting anyone.
Glad he had thought to gag Thorpe, he half dragged, half carried his reluctant prisoner. As he had guessed they met no other person. Coming to the edge of Devil’s Pool he glanced at the water, its viscous surface moving sinuously in the breeze like some huge black serpent.
Thorpe also stared a moment at the dark mass then began to struggle.
‘Won’t do you no good.’ Clews snarled, grabbing a piece of fallen rock and smashing it against the other man’s head. Working quickly he removed the thin rope from Thorpe’s wrists, wrapping it first about a larger heavier rock which he then tied round the neck of the unconscious Thorpe.
He glanced at the scudding clouds. It would take a minute or so more before Thorpe regained consciousness. He must not act before then. Arthur Clews’ mouth set determinedly. Thorpe must be awake so he could hear his sentence.
A groan told him his waiting was over. Clews scooped up a handful of water, throwing it in Thorpe’s face.
‘Y’be awake now.’ He snatched the befuddled man to his feet. ‘I wanted you to be awake afore I left you.’
Fully aware now, Thorpe felt the weight of the stone drag at his neck. ‘What . . . what do you think you are doing?’ His voice trembled. ‘Take this thing off my neck at once.’
‘Oh I ain’t thinkin’ any more, my decision already be med.’
Forcing Thorpe closer to the rim of the pool he hissed against the terrified man’s ear.
‘You put my wench in there, now you be goin’ to follow ’er, you gonna be given a taste o’ what it be like in that black hole.’
‘No . . . Clews, no . . . you can’t!’
‘Best leave that to us.’ The reply was firm. ‘I’m sure the inspector will ask should he feel we need help.’
After bidding William Price goodnight at the corner of Cross Street, watching him stride purposefully on along Holyhead Road, Edward said quietly, ‘You know where Thorpe is, don’t you?’
Beside him, cloaked in night’s darkness, Arthur Clews laughed briefly. ‘Ar I knows, but I don’t be goin’ to tell you lad. Be it enough for you to know that he got his dues.’
Arthur Clews had taken his revenge, of that he was certain. But what of Leah? On his way home to Hill Rise, Edward’s thoughts returned to his friend. There had been no gasp of surprise when she was told, no cry of shock; Leah had simply nodded. Why? He frowned at the answer which came. Leah Marshall already knew!
‘It were always in my heart you died of no accident nor would you ’ave teken the path o’ suicide.’ Leah Marshall touched the face of the photograph smiling from the mantelpiece. ‘Now the truth be out and the one who harmed you will be brought to justice in my world and in yours. Rest happy now my darlings,’ she smiled at each photograph in turn, ‘rest in God’s peace.’
At a sound on the stairs she left the neat front parlour, glancing concernedly at Ann coming into the living room.
‘I still thinks y’ should let me or Edward come along of you.’
‘No.’ Ann shook her head, ‘neither of you can spare the time away from the farm.’
‘But Stafford be so far away – too far for a young wench to go on her own.’
Ann smiled. ‘Leah,’ she said gently, ‘Russia is a long way but Alec and I managed so I’m confident I can manage a train journey.’
‘Well if y’ must, but you will both come back here?’
‘You know we would not leave just like that, you mean too much to both of us.’
‘Off y’ go then wench, the lad’ll be more than anxious for you to collect him. I just thanks God the whole thing be cleared up.’
Thomas Thorpe had not yet been found. Ann walked briskly towards the police station, as she did so reviewing the events of the past few days. Edward Langley and Arthur Clews had both made sworn statements that Thorpe had confessed to three murders, but without the confession of the man himself it was strange Alec was being set free.
But he was and that was all she cared about. The thought added a spring to her step as she walked into the small yet imposing police station. Inspector Allingham had said he would furnish her with a letter which would ease the process at Stafford Prison.
Constable Price handed her the sealed envelope but Ann was prevented from leaving by the inspector’s quick, ‘Miss Spencer, would you give me a minute in my office please?’
‘Good morning.’ A man dressed in grey pinstripe trousers paired with a knee-length grey overcoat, a high white wing collar and a dark tie rose to his feet. ‘My name is Sir Hugh Gresham. I have been sent to accompany you, that is if you will allow.’
The inspector answered Ann’s dubious look. ‘Everything is quite all right I assure you, Miss Spencer. Things will be resolved much more easily if Sir Hugh is with you.’
Deciding this must be usual or the police would not advise her to accompany this man, Ann allowed herself to be ushered out to the waiting automobile. The strangeness of being in a motor car for the first time kept her virtually silent as it sped along.
How far was it to Stafford Prison? It seemed they had been on the move for hours; the scenery had long changed from the jumbled buildings of town to peaceful countryside. She bit back the question as the car swept between high-pillared gates leading up to a large gracious house, its tall windows framed in cream stone.
Speechless, Ann stared at the huge entrance hall, its tiled floor set off with exquisite tables and voluptuous statuary. But it was the sitting room she was led into that made her catch the breath in her throat.
Silver-blue damask draped each window, the folds touching a vast carpet of the same colour. Set around a large ornamental fireplace settees and deep armchairs echoed the same beautiful shade of blue.
This couldn’t be Stafford Prison! Dazed and not a little afraid Ann watched Sir Hugh Gresham pull a tapestry cord hanging beside the fireplace.
‘I’m sure you would like some tea, Miss Spencer.’ He smiled affably then ordered tea and sandwiches from the manservant who answered the summons.
The cup felt like paper in her hands. China this fine must cost a fortune. Ann’s hands trembled as she accepted the tea.
‘Miss Spencer,’ Gresham said, settling into an armchair. ‘Would you be kind enough to tell me everything you know about Alec Romney, how you came to meet him. Was he alone or with someone else? Please, I ask you to think carefully, try not to leave out any detail no matter how insignificant it might seem to you.’
‘Is Alec here . . . can I see him?’
‘All in good time. Now, if you would do as I asked.’
‘It was in St Petersburg, the Ploschad Morskoy Slavy . . .’ Speaking clearly and calmly she related every moment of the time she and Alec had spent together finishing with, ‘And that was when Alec was arrested.’
He had listened without interruption then as Ann finished speaking said quietly, ‘That accords perfectly with what Alec himself has told us. Now I think you should see him.’
‘Alec.’ Ann was on her feet as the door opened and Alec entered the room. ‘Oh Alec, are you all right?’
‘Of course,’ he laughed, gripping her in a hug, ‘and you and Grandmother Leah, you are both well?’
‘Both happy you are coming home.’
‘Miss Spencer, there is something you have to know.’
‘Let me tell her.’
Was there the air of an order in Alec’s words? Ann frowned at the deferential way the older man retook his seat.
‘Ann,’ Alec sat beside her, his hand holding hers, ‘I have not been honest with you. I am sorry for that but circumstances forbade it. You see before I left my home my father swore me to secrecy. He felt the nearness of the country’s revolt and feared for our safety, so it was decided the family would leave one by one, each of us at intervals and in disguise as peasants. That way the Bolsheviks would pay no attention; it was the upper classes their sights were set on. I was to be the first followed by my youngest sister Stasie who would go via a different port. But it seems someone, probably a British embassy employee, got wind of my leaving from the Square of Maritime Glory, hence what took place there. The man chosen to see me safe to England was your father but with his death that had to be changed.’