Annie was screaming, ear-piercing screams that made Ted feel as though his heart was being wrenched from his body. He ran down the stairs after her and gathered her into his arms. Just a short while ago, in what now felt like a different universe, it had been he who was unable to cope with events, he who’d not known how to handle the situation. And now it was the other way around – he was the strong one. His actions just now, at the top of the stairs, had proved it, hadn’t they?
He looked at the man lying twisted and broken at the bottom of the stairs. Bertram’s neck was at a horribly unnatural angle. His eyes were open and staring, horrified, at them.
‘What have we done?’ Annie screamed, pulling herself away from Ted as she knelt beside the inert body. ‘He’s … oh my God! He’s dead! Bertie’s dead!’ As if she could no longer bear to look at her one-time fiancé she turned away and buried her face in her hands, sobbing, her shoulders heaving.
Ted realised that Fred was still there, standing gaping at the scene before him. How long had he been in the station house? How much had he seen and heard? He stood and took a step towards the boy. ‘F-Fred, it’s not what you think …’
‘If that fella’s dead, then this is a matter for the police,’ Fred announced, pulling himself upright. ‘I saw what happened. I saw it all and I’ll tell it all, too.’ Before Ted could say anything more the lad marched self-importantly out to the ticket office, and Ted heard him lift the receiver to make a telephone call.
‘Dead, dead,’ Annie was saying, rocking herself back and forward where she knelt beside the body.
‘Shh, Annie. It’ll be all right. I’ll make it all right,’ Ted soothed, sitting behind her and once more wrapping his arms around her, hoping that somehow he could absorb all the horror of the situation from her. But the fact remained that a dead man lay in his sitting room, and the cause of his death was the fight at the top of the stairs. And they’d been fighting over Annie.
As he held her, he could feel the unmistakable swell of her belly, in which his child nestled. He spread out his hand over it and felt a small movement beneath his fingers – the baby fidgeting, twisting, making itself comfortable. It was incredible to think that was his child, his and Annie’s, a little person in its own right, moving independently, making its own decisions. Suddenly everything became crystal clear to Ted. Whatever happened, however this tragedy played out, the most important thing was to protect Annie and their child. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.
‘You’ll be all right,’ he whispered, pressing his face against hers. ‘It’ll be all right for you and our child, Annie. Trust me.’
‘Oh Ted, Ted, what are we going to do?’ she moaned.
‘Shh. Don’t you worry. Leave it to me.’
Fred poked his head into the sitting room. ‘Police are coming. You can’t go nowhere, or do nothing, they said. You got to stay right here till they come. I’m gonna wait outside till they come. Can’t stand to look at that.’ He nodded at the corpse and ducked out again. Ted heard the ticket-office door slam.
There was nothing more to do but wait and do his best to comfort Annie and work out exactly what he needed to do and say to ensure her safety and the future of their child.
It was only ten minutes before the local Lynford policeman turned up on his bicycle. Ted had persuaded Annie to move to the sofa, and there they had sat, arms around each other, while they waited.
The policeman, Sergeant Potter, a red-faced man who both of them knew well, took one look at the body of Bertram that still lay in a tangle at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I shall have to call in reinforcements,’ he said pompously. ‘I shall use your telephone to do so.’ He went out to the ticket office to make the call, then returned to Ted’s sitting room. Fred Wilson came in behind him but seemed too agitated to come in the room where the glassy-eyed corpse still lay.
‘It’s all right, lad,’ Sergeant Potter said to Fred. ‘You’ve done your duty in calling the police. You can go home if you like, and I’ll be round tomorrow to obtain your witness statement.’
The boy heaved a sigh of relief and left the room. Ted heard his footsteps running down the road away from the station. If only he and Annie could run, too! But he had to stay, and face whatever was coming, and do what he could to make things right for Annie and the baby.
Potter sat on an armchair opposite Ted, notebook and pencil in hand. ‘Now then, Mr Morgan. Tell me in full detail everything that happened here this evening.’
This was it. Everything rested on Ted getting this right. He took a deep breath.
‘Miss Galbraith came here to see me. Mr Watson-Clarke followed. We f-fought. We were fighting at the top of the stairs, when Mr Watson-Clarke f-fell.’
‘The deceased’s name is Watson Clarke?’
‘Bertram Clarke-Watson,’ Annie corrected him, dully.
Potter jotted down some notes. ‘Hmm. You were fighting. I must ask you, Morgan, and you must reply truthfully. Did you push this Clarke-Watson fellow down the stairs on purpose?’
‘I did not want to fight him,’ Ted replied. ‘But he wanted to fight. He said … things about Annie that I could not accept. We fought. At the top of the stairs. And then I-I pushed him, to get him away from her. I pushed him, and he fell. I-I didn’t mean for him to fall. I just wanted to p-protect her.’
Annie was staring at him with an open mouth as he made his confession. Ted dared not look at her.
Sergeant Potter nodded. ‘That ties in with what young Fred Wilson said on the telephone. That you shoved the man with some force, after a lot of shouting.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I need to ask – why were you fighting?’
‘I love her.’ Ted reached a hand to Annie who took it and squeezed, lending him strength. No need to say anything about the baby.
The policeman nodded. ‘Must say I can’t imagine you fighting, Morgan. Not your way at all. But then, if you love this young lady, then I suppose that might change the way you behave. And today was the last day the railway was open, wasn’t it? I imagine emotions could be running high.’
Ted swallowed, and nodded, but didn’t trust himself to say anything more. He glanced over to the body. It lay facing into the room, towards the sofa, the eyes still open and staring accusingly at him.
Sergeant Potter must have noticed, for he rose and picked up a rug that lay folded on a footstool and draped it over the body.
‘Morgan, I am sorry but whatever the extenuating circumstances I shall have to take you in for questioning. As soon as the police van from Michelhampton arrives, you’ll need to come with us there. I’m afraid until we’ve completed investigations we shall have to hold you, on suspicion of manslaughter.’
At least he’d said manslaughter and not murder. There was the death penalty for murder. Ted swallowed hard and nodded his understanding.
The sergeant closed his notebook. ‘Well. While we wait for the other constables, I suggest we all have a nice cup of tea. What do you say, Morgan? Perhaps Miss Galbraith could make herself useful?’
Annie stared at him but then stood and went out to the kitchen to make the tea without a word. While she was out of the room Sergeant Potter pontificated on the effects of the closure of the railway on Lynford’s businesses. With a man lying dead not five feet away. Ted barely listened. It was all too surreal for words.
At long last the police van arrived from Michelhampton, bringing two more policemen. Right behind it was an ambulance, and Bertram’s body was swiftly loaded onto it, once the police had examined the scene and taken a few photographs. With the ambulance and body gone, Sergeant Potter took a brief statement from Annie.
‘There was a fight. We were all at the top of the stairs. I-I don’t quite know how Bertram fell,’ she said.
‘It’s all right, my dear,’ Potter said. ‘We will find out all the details from Fred Wilson. If he was at the foot of the stairs, he was in a better position to see all that happened anyway.’ He patted Annie’s knee. ‘You need trouble yourself no further. Now then, how are you to get home this evening?’
‘I-I’ll telephone my father. He has a motorcar.’
‘Good idea. I suppose you can stay here until he comes. Now then, Morgan. Let’s be having you.’ He recited Ted’s rights to remain silent and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Ted held out his wrists and allowed the policeman to put them on. The metal felt cold and uncomfortable against his skin.
‘Annie!’ She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shocked, filled with tears. ‘Look after yourself, won’t you? And look after … the child. Whatever happens … th-that’s the most important thing. Do whatever is best for him or her. Whatever that entails. Promise me.’
She nodded. ‘I promise, Ted, but you’ll be all right. It’ll be put down to a terrible accident. Won’t it, Sergeant?’
‘That’ll be for the courts to decide, I expect,’ said Potter. ‘Come along, Morgan.’ He took a firm hold of Ted’s elbow and led him out of the room, through the ticket office to the front of the station, where the police van was waiting.
Ted glanced over his shoulder and said a silent farewell to the place that had been his home and his life for sixteen years. This was not how he had imagined leaving it. But then, he’d never quite been able to imagine leaving the place for the last time. Whatever happened now, to the station and the railway, no longer mattered. None of it was important, after all. All that mattered was Annie and the child she was carrying.