Anna Jacobs (16 page)

Another gentleman who’d been standing further back moved forward into the light. “Quite right, officer. May Mr Fleming and I come in now, though? It’s rather a cold morning.”

Reginald inclined his head to the other man, whom he recognised as a doctor who treated mainly the more affluent citizens of Tinsley, and turned back, going behind the counter and lowering the flap into place, then standing waiting, hands resting on the polished wooden surface. Let them speak first.

“Where are they?” Fleming asked at once, staring round.

“Where are who, sir?”

“My daughter and that scoundrel who’s trying to take advantage of her.”

“There are no scoundrels in my police station and your daughter isn’t here, either.”

“You’re lying!”

The constable was surprised. People said that Fleming was a cold fish, but today the fellow seemed very agitated about something. He turned to the other gentleman. “I know who Mr Fleming is, but may I ask who you are, sir?” He knew the man by sight, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Besides, he was enjoying causing these delays, enjoying it very much.

He’d suspected during the latter part of the war after rationing had been set up, that Fleming and a few others of the town’s so-called leading citizens had been obtaining extra food on the black market, thus swelling the coffers of war profiteers, something he couldn’t abide. Sadly, he’d never been able to prove that. But this felt like striking a blow against them and their like. Who were they to ride roughshod over those who’d put their lives at risk to protect England?

Fleming spoke in a tense, clipped manner. “This is Dr Tolson, who has come to assess my daughter’s condition. I’m afraid she’s not been herself since her mother’s death and I’m very worried about her.”

“Oh? When I saw her yesterday, Miss Fleming seemed perfectly sensible and rational to me.”

The doctor took another step forward, speaking in a patronising tone, “These cases can be like that, Constable, seeming sane one minute then the next quite irrational. We’re worried that without treatment Miss Fleming may do herself harm.”

Reginald Yedhill decided then and there that he was completely on Miss Fleming’s side. If he’d ever seen wickedness wearing the cloak of respectability, here it was now. “Well, I’m still convinced that she’s as sane as the next person, and so I’d say in a court of law, if I had to.”

Behind the door, the two listeners smiled gleefully at one another and Vic mouthed, “Good man!” at Pearl.

“Could I see my daughter, please?” Fleming asked.

“As I’ve already told you, she isn’t here, sir,” Reginald repeated.

“She was seen coming in.”

“Oh? Who by? I arrived here in the small hours of the morning, when most
respectable
people were in their beds.”

“I don’t take kindly to this prevarication, Constable.”

“I’m telling you the simple truth, Mr Fleming. Your daughter is not here.”

Ernest looked round and his gaze settled on the door at the rear of the room. “Are you hiding someone in there?” He pointed his finger.

Reginald decided that he too could speak as if the others were lacking normal understanding, so slowed down and exaggerated each word. “I’ve got no one
hidden
in there, Mr Fleming, just two people who are helping me with inquiries, and your daughter certainly isn’t one of them.”

Fleming looked at the doctor and rolled his eyes to show his disbelief, then turned back and spoke very quietly and icily. “You’ll have to prove that to me, Constable.”

“Are you calling me a liar . . .
sir?”

“I’m saying that my daughter was seen coming into this police station. I’ve had a man watching it ever since and she hasn’t come out, therefore she must still be in here somewhere.”

Reginald Yedhill had been called upon to keep calm in the face of insults, adversity and violence during his long career in the force. He was glad of that now. He looked up at the picture of King George, something he occasionally did in moments of stress. His monarch’s calm, slightly smiling face, with its neat moustache and beard, looked back at him, as if to say, “You are
my
representative here, invested with
my
authority.” That gave Reginald courage, as it always did. “I take exception to your accusations, sir.”

“And I take exception to your concealing my daughter from me.”

Reginald had a little think, drumming his fingers on the counter and considering his options. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer without being accused of deliberate obfuscation.

Behind the door Vic looked at Pearl. “Time to go out?”

“Yes. I don’t want Uncle Reginald to get into trouble.”

Vic opened the door. “I’ll go first.”

He walked out into the police station. “We couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying, Mr Fleming. I don’t know why you think your daughter is here, but it’s simple enough to prove she isn’t.” He gestured to Pearl, who came out to join him, wearing Serena’s lumpy, ill-fitting coat quite openly. “This is my fiancée, Miss Diggle.”

Ernest lost control of himself, something that rarely happened, pushing past the constable with a growl of anger to enter the room at the rear. It took only a moment to check that no one else was there, and that there was no door through which Serena could have escaped. He stood for a moment breathing heavily, then turned and went back out to say in a tight, clipped voice, “It seems we were mistaken, Constable. I apologise for any inconvenience caused.”

The doctor lingered to say placatingly, “He’s very worried about his daughter. I’m sure you’ll excuse him for any—less than tactful utterances.”

Reginald leaned forward, hands on the counter and looked the doctor straight in the eyes. “I still can’t see why he should be worried about her. She’s a nice young lady, who seems perfectly normal to me. As
you
ought to be able to confirm, you being a doctor, sworn to help people and—what’s the phrase now?—do no harm.”

The doctor stared back at him in shock then swung round and left without a word.

Vic looked at Reginald and whistled. “You didn’t mince your words.”

“I’m too old for that. And what can he do to me, after all?”

Pearl had gone across to look out of the window. “They’re both getting into Fleming’s car.” She watched the car move a hundred yards down the road and stop in front of the railway station, so called, “Just come and look at this.”

The others both joined her.

“Well, he won’t find any sign of them there, either,” Pearl said.

“Clever idea of yours, Constable, to send them off to the next station,” Vic commented.

The older man smiled. “If I do say so myself, I’ve helped your friends. It’ll be up to Miss Fleming’s husband now to protect her, but if I can ever be of assistance—to any of you—remember that I might have come out of retirement because of the war, but I’m not too old to smell a rat.”

Pearl went over to give him a hug. “Thanks, Uncle Reggie.”

The two men shook hands then Vic and Pearl left.

“What do we do now?” she asked as they walked back towards the Hall.

“We wait. But if you’d care to start your new job by taking over the cooking, I for one will be very grateful, because I’m going to move into the Hall. I’m not leaving you and the other women there unprotected.”

“I’ll enjoy doing the cooking. As long as Mrs Lonnerden isn’t too fussy. I’m a plain cook and can’t do fancy stuff.”

“Marcus says his aunt doesn’t leave her bedroom these days. Anyway, Ada said she liked your cooking.”

“Ah, so you only love me for my cooking.”

He swung her round and pulled her close. “You know that isn’t true.”

She sighed and lifted her lips for a kiss. “The sooner we get married, the better, Victor Daniel Scott.”

* * * *

Marcus smiled at Serena as the train gathered speed. “Don’t settle down. We’re getting off two stations down the line to catch another train. How do you fancy being married in Oldham?”

“Anywhere. Do you know, your lip is bleeding?” She reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief. “Stick out your tongue.” She dampened a corner of the handkerchief on his tongue and used it to clean him up, something her mother had done with her as a child. But it was very different doing this to Marcus. Her breath caught in her throat as she touched him and he responded by growing very still, only his eyes moving as he studied her face. When they lingered on her lips, she felt as if he’d kissed her.

As the train began to slow down for the next station, he took a deep breath and moved across to the window. “I’ll just keep an eye on what happens here . . . Nothing but a trio of farmers loading milk and eggs . . . and no one got on or off the train. I think we’re clear of them.”

At the second station, he checked carefully before opening their compartment door and helping her out. “Wait here.” He went across to speak to the porter and a coin changed hands, then the waiting room was unlocked for them.

They had to wait half an hour for their train and it seemed to stop at every tiny station en route.

“I’ve never been to Oldham,” she said. “I’ve never been anywhere much, except in the books I’ve read.”

“I’ve an old friend living in Oldham. He’s recovering from war wounds, too, lost three fingers on one hand, but at least he’s still got the thumb and one finger so it won’t hold him back too much.”

She always marvelled at how soldiers who’d been wounded seemed able to make new lives for themselves and just—carry on.

“I wonder—can you manage to get out on your own? If anyone’s following us, they’ll be inquiring about a couple. Travelling separately may help confuse them.”

His words shocked her. “Do we really need to be that careful?”

“It doesn’t hurt to take every possible precaution. Here’s your ticket.” When she nodded, he opened their inner compartment door, took down their bags from the net luggage rack, then picked his own up and vanished along the corridor.

On the platform in Oldham he walked straight past her and went to deposit his suitcase in the left luggage office, so she did the same. She turned away from the counter and for a moment couldn’t see him. Panic washed through her in a great wave. She took a few steps to one side, saw no sign of him, moved forward and caught sight of him studying the newspapers on the bookstall.

He looked up, gave no sign of recognition but paid for a newspaper and walked out of the station. She put the left luggage ticket into her purse and followed him outside, her heart thudding in relief.

Not until they had turned a corner did he stop and grin at her. “Thank goodness for an intelligent woman!”

She couldn’t smile back. The way he’d behaved this morning showed how certain he was that Fleming would try to pursue her and that sent cold shivers all over her body.

Marcus’s voice was soft in her ear. “Cheer up, Serena. It’s simply a question of being cautious until we’re married. After that, he’ll not be able to do anything so will probably leave us alone.”

She didn’t even need to think about this. “I doubt it. I’ve heard him boast many a time about how he’s got his own back on someone, even though he’s sometimes had to wait years to do it.”

“In that case, we’ll stay on our guard.”

“I can’t believe he’d treat me like this. It’s like some penny dreadful tale.”

“I can believe anything after what I’ve been through in the past few years.” For a moment or two he stared into space, looking sad, then smiled at her and pointed across the road. “Look, there’s a café over there. I’m hungry if you aren’t.”

She wasn’t in the least hungry, but she was thirsty and drank three cups of tea while toying with a piece of toast. Marcus finished his meal off and hers too.

Afterwards they went into the registry office and arranged to be married by special licence the following day.

“Don’t want to wait an hour longer now the war is over,” Marcus told the clerk cheerfully.

“There are a lot of folk saying the exact same thing, sir. May I wish you both well?”

“Thank you.”

That was the moment when all this seemed suddenly real for Serena and she swallowed hard as she looked at him. Tomorrow she was going to marry this man, share his bed . . . How did you really know what a person was like? Most people would have thought Ernest Fleming a good husband and provider.

She realised Marcus was looking at her questioningly and said quickly, to distract him, “What shall we do about a room for the night?”

“We’ll go and see my friend. I’m sure Den will be able to put us up. Denholm Rawlins is his proper name, but he always shortens it to Den. Before we go to see him, though . . . ” He looked at her speculatively.

“What?”

“Do you have to keep wearing those dowdy clothes or can you come out of hiding now?”

This was one thing she was sure about. “I’d love to come out of hiding.”

“What are you wearing to get married in?”

“Pearl’s lent me one of her frocks.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about that.”

“Well, it’s—not my sort of colour or style. It’s a bit—bright. Though it
is
better than any of the clothes I’ve got.”

“Why don’t we go and buy you a pretty new outfit of your own, then? There must be something ready made. You’ve a nice slim figure under all those lumpy clothes.”

“Ought we to spend our money until we know how we stand?”

“We definitely ought when it comes to a wedding outfit. You only get married once. Call this my wedding present to you.”

“I’ve nothing to give you in return. And I’ve left my bankbook with my things at the Hall.”

“You’re giving me yourself. That’s more than enough.”

She looked at him, doubtful that she was much of a gift to anyone, but he couldn’t be faking a smile as warm and friendly as that . . . could he? Then she remembered her annuity and wondered, with a sinking feeling, if he was thinking about that. He’d made no bones about the fact that her money would be useful.

“We’ll also book in at a photographer’s and record ourselves for our descendants to laugh at.” He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “I do want children, don’t you? Not straight away, but eventually. I was always sorry to be an only child.”