Two for Sorrow (56 page)

‘Just passing, were you?' Edwards asked sarcastically, glancing back towards Scotland Yard, but some of the suspicion had gone from her face and Josephine sensed that she'd chosen the right approach.

‘Something like that. Look, Mrs Baker, I don't presume to know anything about your life or your relationship with your husband, but it must feel very lonely to be the only one left who knows what it was like to live through that time. I imagine an experience like that creates a bond which is difficult to break, for good or bad.'

‘It's broken now, that's for sure.' Her tone was still aggressive, but she sat down again and looked at Josephine with a new interest. ‘It was a relief at first, but I was stupid to think that it could ever be over. You're obviously clever enough to say the right things, but I suppose it's Amelia you really want to know about, rather than Joe.'

‘Is it possible to know about one without the other?' Josephine asked. ‘Surely she made him whatever he became. You must have felt as if she were still in the room with you all these years.'

‘It was finding out what happened to her that really destroyed him,' she said, so softly that Josephine could hardly hear her. ‘We might have been all right eventually if it hadn't been for that, but he always blamed himself for allowing Amelia to carry on with what she was doing until it was too late. When he heard about the hanging, it was as if she'd come back to torture him herself. He never got rid of that image once he knew about it, awake or asleep.' That was understandable, Josephine thought, remembering how she had felt as she stared at Holloway's brand new execution shed: there could be few things more horrific than imagining those last terrible moments for someone you loved. ‘I suppose you've been told the official version,' Edwards continued bitterly. ‘Everything mercifully quick, Amelia calm and dignified until the last—an efficient job all round, in other words.' She laughed scornfully. ‘It wasn't like that.'

‘How do you know?'

‘One of the hangmen got himself into a lot of trouble after the execution, drinking and brawling and shooting his mouth off. They say that hanging Sach and Walters was the start of it all, but I don't know how true that is. Anyway, Joe got to hear the rumours that were going round. Of all the ways that people found to taunt us after what had happened, that was the most damaging. Like I said, he never got over it.'

‘And what were the rumours?'

‘The whole thing was a bloody mess. None of the officials at the prison were used to executions, and they had no idea how to cope. Amelia collapsed screaming as soon as the hangman and a couple of warders dragged her up and told her to pull herself together. Then they brought Walters through her cell to get her to the ropes, and that set her off again.' Edwards
shook her head, and Josephine wondered how she had lived with this knowledge herself, knowing that it was her evidence which had effectively sent Sach to the gallows in the first place. ‘Mad with fear, she was, and Walters couldn't have been calmer.'

‘I can't help feeling that a calm woman going to the gallows is the insane one.'

Edwards nodded in agreement. ‘Amelia couldn't even walk the few paces to the scaffold,' she said. ‘She was helpless and barely conscious, and the warders had to drag her there. There was no last-minute peace before she died, no standing calmly on the trapdoor waiting for someone to pull a lever. They virtually had to throw her down the hole.'

How could anyone ever say that death was instantaneous, Josephine thought, trying to imagine the terror that Amelia Sach must have felt, the humiliation of dying so close to the woman she had grown to hate, knowing that—at the last moment—their roles had been reversed and she was now the weak one. ‘They must have been the longest few minutes of her life,' she said. Glancing to her right, she saw how deeply the story had affected Edwards, despite the effort she had made not to show it; God knows what it had done to Jacob Sach's mental state. ‘And you knew all this at the time?' she asked gently.

‘Soon afterwards. Everyone made sure we did. I suppose the hangman was only trying to ease his own conscience by talking about it, but people should think about how it will affect those left behind before they open their mouth. Amelia might have been dead, but we weren't.'

Josephine couldn't decide whether this last comment was directed at her or not. ‘No wonder there was such a backlash against hanging women,' she said.

‘Some women, perhaps. No one worried when it was just drunks and prostitutes who got desperate, but the minute that middle-class women started getting convicted for murder, people started to say that hanging was wrong.' She shrugged. ‘I didn't notice any clamour of indignation on Walters's behalf, not that I'm defending her.'

‘Was Jacob—Joe—the reason you stayed in that house, even after Amelia tried to get you to give up your own child?'

‘I wasn't exactly flooded with offers,' she said, and there was a trace of the old sarcasm back in her voice. ‘I had nowhere else to go. But yes, I would have been sorry to leave him, not that I could compete with her in his eyes.'

‘Did he ever ask you to lie to save her?' The fact that Jacob Sach had spent the rest of his life with the woman who testified so convincingly against the wife he supposedly loved was one of the many things which Josephine had never understood about the case. ‘And would you have done it if he had?'

‘I offered to, but he said no. He said he didn't know how else to stop her doing what she was doing.' She noticed Josephine's expression, and added quickly: ‘I don't mean he wanted her to hang—of course he didn't. But neither of them ever believed it would come to that, and Joe thought that if she had to go to prison for a bit, it would frighten her so much that she'd knock it all on the head and they could go back to the way they were, just the three of them. I'm not trying to make excuses for him: he was a bastard to me and a bastard to his kids, and if he hadn't been such a waste of space, then perhaps Marjorie would still be alive. But nothing would ever convince him that he hadn't put the noose around her neck himself.'

Josephine hesitated, wanting to move the conversation from Jacob Sach to his wife, but reluctant to aggravate Edwards.
‘You must have got to know Amelia very well,' she began cautiously.

‘I was her servant, not her friend.'

Precisely, Josephine thought: if someone ever wanted an accurate picture of her, they'd be much better off talking to her maid in Inverness than to Lydia or even Archie. ‘Even so, you lived under her roof. What was she like?'

She realised that it was a simplistic question, but there was no point in trying to dress it up: Edwards would simply see straight through her. It seemed to take her a long time to decide how to answer, or even whether to answer at all, but eventually she said: ‘You could say that she was kindness itself. When I turned up on her doorstep, I was seven months pregnant and desperate. There was nobody I could turn to, and I knew nothing about having a baby. Have you got kids?' Josephine shook her head. ‘Then you won't understand what it's like to feel trapped by your own body. She took me in and looked after me, she explained what was going to happen when the baby's time came, and she made sure that I wasn't frightened any more. When I think about Amelia Sach, I think about giving birth to my first child. She was so gentle, so caring, and so in control—it's the only time in my life that I've ever felt truly safe. And she was a devoted mother. Lizzie adored her. So did my son. Nothing was too much trouble for her where they were concerned.'

Josephine had expected to hear that Sach was a good mother, but she had never dreamt that Edwards might regard the woman as some kind of sanctuary. She barely had time to consider the information before Edwards continued: ‘Or you could say that she was an obsessive, manipulative bitch who set out to destroy innocent lives and made a half-decent job of
it. I watched her with those other girls, you know, and she was so protective until the moment the baby was born; after that, there was no warmth, no compassion—just a cold, detached process until the kid was safely out of the house. She held those babies as though they were already dead.'

Edwards must have seen the confusion in Josephine's eyes, because she added: ‘There's no sense in trying to work out the truth from what I've just told you. The point is, you can never know what Amelia Sach was like because you weren't there. Just ask yourself—how would you feel if someone wrote a book about you in fifty years' time? Would that be an accurate picture? Would I know what you were really like if I read it?' She finished her coffee and put the cup down. ‘Don't think I'm trying to put you off what you're doing—it makes no odds to me, because things can't get any worse. But if I were you, I'd forget all about it. It'll only ever be half a story.'

Josephine looked at the woman she had cast as the pivotal figure in the Sach and Walters story, and saw only another casualty. ‘What will you do now?' she asked.

‘Bury them and move on. Find somewhere else to hide and live the lie again until someone else finds out.'

Josephine stood to leave, but this time it was her turn to be held back. ‘You said you knew Lizzie,' Edwards said, and there was an uncomplicated affection in her voice which hadn't been there when she spoke of anyone else. ‘I didn't know anything about her death until the police told me. What happened?'

Josephine hesitated, then chose the half of the story which was likely to give Edwards peace rather than further torment. ‘She had an accident in a gym. It was a physical training college, and she was practising on one of the ropes.'

‘But she was happy? I've never really forgiven myself for letting her or my son go just because Joe wanted a new start.'

‘Yes, she was very happy. From what I understand, she'd had a fabulous childhood and a lot of love. As hard as it must have been for you to give her up, she never suffered because of it. I'm sure it was the same for your son.'

Uneasy with the lie, she left Nora Edwards to her thoughts and headed back towards Scotland Yard. Archie must have been watching them, because he was already waiting for her on the steps. They walked in the other direction along the Embankment, and found a bench overlooking the river. ‘How did you get on?' he asked.

‘I think I learned more than I ever wanted to know,' she admitted, and told him about Amelia Sach's execution. ‘I'm not sure I want to live in a world where that can happen.'

‘I know what you mean, but if you try to take responsibility for something like that, you'll go insane. Believe me, I've lost enough sleep over it in my time.'

‘We're all responsible, though, aren't we? We've just come through a general election, for God's sake, and we're supposed to live in a democracy.' She waved a hand in the direction of parliament. ‘If that lot can't sort out a more humane way of punishing people, isn't that my problem? Shouldn't there be basic rights for everyone?'

‘And Marjorie? What about her rights?'

Josephine sighed. ‘I know what you're saying, and I don't have any arguments to that one.' She waited for a pause in the traffic over Westminster Bridge, and then asked: ‘Has Celia admitted everything?'

‘Yes and no. I'm afraid it's rather more complicated than
that. This is strictly confidential, but the woman we have in custody isn't Celia Bannerman.'

‘What?' Josephine looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. ‘Of course she's Celia Bannerman. I should know—I spent enough time with the woman at Anstey.'

‘With the woman, yes, but not with Celia Bannerman.'

She listened, incredulous, as Archie explained. ‘So you're telling me that half her life has been a lie?'

‘In the fundamental sense of her identity, yes; the personality and the achievements aren't an act, though—they're who she really is, as she went to great lengths to point out to me. We're waiting for Ethel Stuke to get here from Suffolk to confirm what she's saying, but I've no doubt that she's Eleanor Vale.'

‘But what about the information she gave me for the book? How could she have known all that?'

‘She'd spent enough time in Holloway to know how prison worked, and she lived with Celia Bannerman—they must have talked. I had another look at what you'd written, though; if you analyse it very carefully, there's not much there that isn't generally available, and as you've just found out yourself, a lot of it isn't even true.' He accepted a cigarette gratefully. ‘It's that speech I can't get out of my head, you know. All that talk about the nation's children, and she ends up being a bloody baby farmer.'

Josephine stared out across the river to the crescent-shaped façade of County Hall. ‘Do you think she had anything to do with Lizzie Sach's death?' she asked quietly. The thought that Lizzie might somehow have discovered the truth about her mother's execution as well as her crimes had haunted her from the moment Edwards described it to her.

‘I don't know. The police were satisfied at the time that it
was a straightforward suicide, if you can ever have such a thing.'

‘I'm not saying that Celia killed her—well, not Celia, but you know who I mean. I can't think of her as anybody else. I just wondered if she might have had good reason to want Lizzie dead—she was a link with the past, after all. She might have seen the real Celia Bannerman.'