Without a Trace (43 page)

‘“Do that again and I’ll hit you!” Sylvia screamed out. When I glanced at my daughter, she had the copper stick in her hands and was holding it, ready to strike Gribby. I remember, she was wearing a flowery red crossover overall over a dark-green jumper, her face was flushed from the steam in the kitchen and her hair had gone into tight curls.

‘“You’ll never lay a hand on my mother again or you’ll be out on your ear so fast you won’t know what’s hit you,” she snarled.

‘My face was stinging. I was icy cold from my wet clothes, but I was so proud of my daughter being so bold and brave in standing up for me.

‘“Yes, she’s having a baby,” Sylvia carried on, jabbing the copper stick at Gribby. “And we’re going to look after him or her between us. If you don’t like the idea of that, there’s the door,” and she pointed the stick at the back door. “Go and get yourself another job and another home, but just remember no other family will tolerate your interference or your bullying.”

‘“How can you speak to me like that when I’ve given my whole life to you and your family?” Gribby whined. “I’m only worried that everyone in the village will be talking about your mother. She won’t be able to bear that. And I don’t interfere or bully either of you. I don’t know how you can say that.”

‘“You don’t know any other way!” Sylvia shouted. “You bullied Granny and Grandpa, then Mum. But you won’t do it to me. I won’t stand for it.”

‘She didn’t stand for it either.’ Christabel opened her eyes again, seemingly unaware she’d been going back in time and reliving the scene. ‘When my baby was born and Gribby saw how dark-skinned she was, she looked at me with utter disgust. But I’d confided in Sylvia some time before, and she picked the baby up to cuddle her and gave Gribby a look that would turn anyone else to stone.

‘Gribby went mad, saying terrible things I can’t repeat. But Sylvia ordered her out of the room, and took charge. I didn’t think of it at the time, but I came to realize later that she never, ever left Gribby alone with the baby.’

‘You think she was afraid Gribby would smother her or something?’

‘Yes, I think so. I wasn’t doing well with feeding her, and I remember Sylvia told me she thought it was best I put her on a bottle and then she could do the night feeds so I could get strong again.’

‘Was that in preparation for Sylvia taking her away with her?’

‘No, I don’t think so, not then, only so she could take the baby into her room at night. I think she thought Gribby might come into my room and do something while I was asleep. Sylvia locked her door. I know, because I tried to go in there one night.’

‘So Sylvia was looking after Petal right from the start?’

‘Oh yes, she said even before Pamela was born that she’d say the baby was hers so people wouldn’t talk about me. Sylvia never did anything in half measures, so I think she believed if she was going to tell people it was her baby then she must act like its mother.’

‘DI Pople said that she registered Pamela’s birth. Did she tell you she was going to?’

‘Oh yes. She made me promise I would keep a constant eye on the baby that day because she couldn’t take her with her. She also told me I wasn’t to tell Gribby where she’d gone. I’m not sure why that was.’

‘Maybe she was already planning to run off and didn’t want Gribby taking the birth certificate from her?’

‘Perhaps.’ Christabel shrugged. ‘But you must understand that, back then, I didn’t believe Gribby could hurt anyone – well, no more than a slap, like she gave me. But Sylvia did. A couple of days before she left she said, “It’s not safe for Pamela here, I’ve seen the look on Gribby’s face, and she hates her.” I told her she was over-reacting but she just shook her head and said, “You’ve always been blind to her faults.”’

‘But did she tell you she was going to take Petal and run away?’

‘Yes, the day before. Gribby was out doing something to
the car. Sylvia was washing some baby clothes in the sink. “I’m leaving with Petal tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t try and stop me, Mother, I know it’s for the best. She’s registered as my baby now, so you can’t do anything. If you gave Gribby her marching orders, I’d stay, but I know you can’t do that, she’s got too strong a hold on you.”’

‘Where was she planning to go? Did she have any money?’

‘She wouldn’t say where she was going, but she had money in a post office account from when her grandparents died. She said she’d contact me as soon as she was settled, and that if I made Gribby go she’d come back.’

‘Did she contact you?’

‘Yes, she called from a phone box. If Gribby answered she always put the phone down. She would tell me that Petal had got a tooth, or was eating solids, things like that, but never about where she was. Always the same question: had I made Gribby go? Of course, I hadn’t. I couldn’t, she was too strong for me to deal with.’

‘Constance, the Church Army sister who befriended her in Whitechapel, said she thought Cassie was waiting for something. Was that for you to get rid of Gribby?’

‘I would imagine so. I got lower and lower during that time. Guilt, sorrow and fear are a potent mix and I now suspect that Gribby was feeding me something to keep me calm and under control, as everything seemed very cloudy and disjointed. About the time Petal would have turned three Gribby talked about getting a private detective to find her. She kept saying she was sorry she’d been nasty about the baby, that it was just the shock and she wanted to make amends. She even talked about doing up a bedroom for Petal, and how wonderful it would be to have a small child in the house again.’

‘Did the detective find her?’

‘Not that one. We hired several, and they all drew a blank. They weren’t that good, I suppose, just took my money and sat on their backsides. I had my last phone call from Sylvia on Petal’s fourth birthday. She said there was no point in her ringing me any more because nothing was going to change. She had to think of Petal’s future, school and such like. She was tired of sitting on a platform for a train that would never come.’

Molly could almost hear Cassie making that last remark. ‘That must have been just before she came to Somerset.’

Christabel began to cry then, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘If only I’d been braver,’ she whimpered. ‘We could have had a good life together. We didn’t have to stay out on the marsh. We could have sold the house and moved anywhere we fancied. Now I’ve lost both my daughters and I’m going to prison. All because I was gutless.’

Molly’s heart swelled with sympathy for this broken woman. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would change Christabel’s life, but she got up and went to her and took her in her arms.

‘I get angry with my mother, too, because she stays with my father, who’s a terrible bully,’ she said softly. ‘I suggested we got a flat together in Bristol, but she won’t leave him, so I know how Cassie must have felt. I’ve been weak, too, working for Dad without a proper wage, letting him control my life. If it hadn’t been for Cassie’s death I’d still be the same, so I understand how it was for you.’

‘You are such a kind girl,’ Christabel said into Molly’s chest. ‘I hope that, whatever they decide about Petal’s future, she’ll be allowed to keep in touch with you.’

‘If I’m asked my opinion about you at the trial, I’ll say what Cassie would’ve said, that you were weak, but that that isn’t a crime or a sin. And if I can play any role in Petal’s life, and I do so hope I can, I’ll find a way that you can share in it, too.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The train to London was crammed with people going Christmas shopping. Molly had brought a book for the journey, but she couldn’t concentrate because of the butterflies in her stomach, so she stared mindlessly out of the window.

Miss Gribble’s murder trial was to start at the Old Bailey tomorrow, Tuesday, 6 December, and George would be meeting her at Charing Cross Station today to take her to the hotel he’d found for them both to stay in until the trial was over.

She didn’t know if it was the trial or meeting George that was causing the butterflies. Both were scary, but in different ways. At the trial, she just had to answer questions truthfully but in front of a great many people. With George, there would be no one observing or commenting, but ever since the day he had rescued her from Mulberry House he had rarely been out of her mind, and she felt it might be love. He hadn’t made his feelings clear to her, though, and now they would be alone together every evening for the duration of the trial she felt it was time to push things forward. However, if she made a move on him and he didn’t respond, she was going to be so embarrassed.

She felt they were meant for each other, and George had said something similar in his last phone call to her about today’s arrangements. ‘It was always you and me,’ he’d said. ‘We held hands when we went into school the first day. We always told each other our problems. You were my partner in ballroom-dancing lessons.’

She’d joked that they could hardly base their future on such flimsy connections. But, after she’d put the phone down, she was sorry she hadn’t just agreed with him.

It was very cold. Under her new red houndstooth-checked coat she wore a twinset and a straight wool skirt with a petticoat beneath that. Recently, since it had turned cold, she had taken to wearing slacks when she went out of the hotel, but Mrs Bridgenorth had said they weren’t smart enough for London, so she just had to put up with an icy bottom and legs. At least her feet were toasty, in fur-lined boots.

Looking out the window and seeing sheep huddling together for warmth in the muddy fields, she smiled, remembering the song ‘Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea’, which Petal had woken her with this morning.

It was such a silly song, by Max Bygraves, but Petal loved it. She was a good singer, so much so she was singing the first verse of ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ solo at the carol service in St Mary the Virgin on the Sunday afternoon before Christmas.

Molly was sure she’d be crying with pride when she heard her.

The question of what was going to happen to this child was another huge worry. It made the questions of whether George cared for her, and whether she would be struck dumb when she was asked questions at the trial pale into insignificance. Mr and Mrs Bridgenorth loved Petal, but they still saw her stay with them as a temporary arrangement, until something more suitable turned up. So far, nothing had, but Molly almost had heart palpitations whenever the children’s officer visited, afraid she’d come to take her away.

Christabel was to be a witness in Miss Gribble’s trial, but the solicitor for the prosecution had told Molly that she wasn’t
going to be charged with any crime. It was quite clear to everyone who had questioned her that she’d had no knowledge of her husband’s murder, and that the later crimes of abducting Petal and imprisoning Molly had been done without her knowledge or help.

‘She’s been punished terribly for her weakness already,’ the solicitor had said sympathetically. ‘Her husband and older daughter murdered, the younger one taken from her. She’ll have a sad and lonely life in her house on the marsh. Even if she sells it and moves away, the sadness will go with her.’

Molly totally agreed with him, and it made her sad, too. Not for the first time, she wondered what Cassie would’ve made of it all. Molly suspected she would be angry that, after all she’d gone through to keep Petal safe, her little sister’s future still hung in the balance.

When Molly stepped off the train at Charing Cross, George came haring through the crowd and enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘I thought today would never come,’ he said. ‘Sarge asked why I was so excited about a trial – after all, I’ve been to dozens of them. He must have forgotten I’ve always had a thing about you!’

Molly glowed. ‘Well, I’ve had a thing about you, too,’ she responded. ‘No wonder Londoners think Somerset folk are very slow!’

He carried her case and shepherded her down into the underground to make their way to the hotel, which he said was in Russell Square. ‘Sarge told me about it. He stayed there a couple of times while he was at trials in London. I was surprised at how nice it was. Your room is right next to mine, and there’s a bathroom just opposite.’

Molly wondered if the closeness of their rooms would mean he’d be trying to get into hers. But she decided she wouldn’t mind if he did.

The hotel was nice; nothing lavish, but the reception, with its highly polished floor and desk and shiny brass fittings gave a very good impression. It was lovely and warm, too, and Molly’s bedroom was clean and cosy, with a thick red eiderdown on the bed and tapestry curtains.

She and George went out in the evening to get something to eat, but it was so cold they went into the first place they found, a small café with a very limited menu.

‘Sausage and chips, egg and chips, fish and chips, ham and chips,’ George read out. ‘It wouldn’t do to hate chips in here, would it?’

‘Good job I love chips, then,’ Molly said. ‘My dad never allowed us to have them, he said they were a wasteful way of cooking potatoes. I could never see that, unless of course you count eating more than you would with plain boiled ones because they taste better.’