To Pru, space wasn’t nothingness, for in the nothingness there was something – patterns. They formed as she stared, unblinking, at the figures lying on the floor.
She sensed, rather than saw, the movement of one of them and prayed it was Freddy. Stealing herself to focus, she felt relief flood through her as she saw that it was.
‘Ma? Ma?’
‘I’m here, son. You’re all reet, lad. Get yourself up. Hold on to the chair. I – I can’t help you, I’m too shaky.’
As Freddy rose, she saw him hesitate. His eyes fixed on the bulk that was Abe. ‘Is – is he dead, Ma? What happened?’
She told him what she’d done.
‘Oh, Ma . . . Ma.’
She knew Freddy must feel groggy, because he swayed, but she didn’t move to steady him. She couldn’t. She had to stay sitting or she would collapse. ‘Don’t worry, lad, we’ll sort it.’ Sort it! How am I ever to do that? ‘Have a check, will you? See if he’s breathing.’
The silence that followed held all her future years. Would there be any? Or would she hang for Abe’s murder?
‘No, I can’t feel him breathing. He – he . . . Oh, Ma, he’s dead!’
‘He tried to rape me, then he hit you, Freddy. It was self-defence. I – I didn’t mean to kill him, only stop him. Go for the doctor; go on, take five shillings out of me purse and tell the doctor he has to come at once.’
Before Pru registered anything further, she was being questioned by a doubting policeman. She couldn’t stop her tears. She cried for Freddy, and for Abe, and she cried for herself. The policeman took no notice. He’d been summoned by the doctor to attend a suspicious death, and now he thought he knew it all, without listening to her.
‘Look, Missus. You need to tell me the truth. Everyone knows that you were Abe’s woman, and now you’re trying to say he raped you? That’s like saying a husband rapes his wife. It don’t sound right.’
‘He hit my son. My son tried to stop him—’
‘Your son said he saw you bent over the table, and that he asked Abe to stop. Any son would say that, if they saw their mother in such a position.’
‘Aye, and any mother would protect their son – and that’s all I did. I hit Abe to stop him attacking my son.’
‘But your son can’t remember you hitting Abe, so he must have been unconscious, which would mean the threat to him had passed, and yet you still hit Abe with an instrument that was likely to kill him. That is cold-blooded murder. I’m arresting you, Prudence Hatton, for the murder of Abe Manning . . .’
Flora’s jubilation had her skipping along the road. She couldn’t wait to tell Aunt Pru about Cyrus, but as she rounded the corner she was surprised to see Pru’s house in darkness. Coming up to the door, she saw a note pinned to it. Under the light of the street lamp, she read: I’m at Aunt Rowena’s, Freddy.
A frown creased Flora’s brow. Why should Freddy be with Rowena? Had Pru been called away or something? Unable to think of a reason, but knowing that something was wrong, she ran around the corner to Aunt Pru’s old street and banged on Rowena’s door.
The news that met her saw Flora standing rigid with shock. ‘No! No, how . . . ? I mean . . . Oh, dear God!’
A sniffle gave her the realization that Freddy was near. Rowena called out to him, ‘Come through, me darlin’, come and see Flora.’
The door to the kitchen opened slowly. Freddy sidled through, looking afraid. His red face and swollen eyes spoke of his anguish. His bruised chin and cut lip shocked Flora.
‘Freddy, it’s all right. I’m here for you. We – we can sort this all out.’
‘How? Oh, Flors, how?’
She couldn’t have said how it happened, but Freddy was in her arms. Stroking his hair, she tried to soothe the sobs that racked his body. ‘We’ll find a way, I promise you, my darling brother, we will. I’ll find a good lawyer, and I’ll get Daddy to pay. I’ll make him – even if we have to blackmail him with exposure as your father.’
‘No, I can’t do that, Flors. He’s ill and, well, I—’
‘Not even for your mother? We can, and we will, Freddy. Listen to me. Aunt Pru needs all the help I can give her. It all looks bad for her, but we know she would never have done this if . . . well, if she wasn’t forced to.’
‘You think it’s my fault, and it is. I shouldn’t have interfered.’
‘I would think less of you if you hadn’t, and I’d have come home to find that Aunt Pru had been hurt by Abe and you had done nothing to help her.’
‘I – I liked Abe, Flors. He was all right most of the time. He was good to us, though I think he has hurt Ma before; she had bruises sometimes, but this time I – I think it was me that made him angry. You see, once I realized what was going on, I lost my respect for him and couldn’t bear to be in the same room. I – I shouldn’t have treated him like that. It led to this, I’m sure of it. I heard him shout about me being disrespectful. I should have—’
‘Stop it, Freddy. This isn’t your fault. Everything you are saying is quite natural. I felt the same, when I realized. I lost respect for them both at times, but I was away most of the time at school and I coped with it. Then I began to understand more, as I got older. You shouldn’t expect anything of yourself, other than to have been repulsed by how Abe used your mother. Because he did.’
It came to Flora then how damaging Freddy’s view of everything was, for Aunt Pru’s case. He must have said things without realizing how harmful they would be.
‘Freddy, I will get that lawyer, I promise. Now, listen to me. Until you have spoken to him, you are not to speak to anyone – not even a policeman, if he asks you questions. You need help to sort out your thoughts. Abe’s actions were never kind. He did what he did so that he could have what he wanted from your ma. There’s proof of that in how he didn’t marry her, and give Pru her rightful status. Aunt Pru was vulnerable when Abe took advantage of her; she was poor, very poor. She couldn’t even feed you. Abe knew that and used it. Don’t like him. Don’t ever like anything about his memory. Try to think of everything from your mother’s point of view, and then you will be instrumental in helping her prove her innocence.’
‘Oh, Flors, I’ve already said things.’
‘They can be unsaid. You were in shock. We’ll save Aunt Pru.’ As she said this, Flora wasn’t sure it was the truth. The hopelessness of how everything sounded, when Rowena had told her what had happened, struck her once more and her own tears spilled over.
As sobs racked her body, Freddy implored her, ‘Don’t cry, Flors. I promise I will do all you told me to. You’ve helped me. And whatever it takes, we will save Ma. We will.’ And Flora was reminded of what had often happened behind enemy lines: that showing weakness helped those weaker than you to become strong.
‘I’m thinking, girl, that the pair of you could use a drop of me rum. Home-made it might be, but it finds the cold places that need tickling, and I think you both have those at this moment.’
‘Oh, Rowena! Maybe you’re right. I’ve had a funny “return-home” day. I’ve felt despair and happiness, and complete devastation, all in the space of a few hours.’
Taking the small glass, and not objecting to Freddy taking the one that was offered to him, Flora drank the treacly liquid in one gulp. Her own coughing and spluttering on doing so were nothing compared to Freddy’s, as he copied her in downing his drink in the same way. And this, despite everything, got them all laughing. It gave Flora the hope that Freddy did have the strength to get through this. She wondered how she would fare, but then she had the prospect of Cyrus coming to see her, and that would help her.
Pru woke from a fitful sleep. The stale air of the cell clawed at her, but now there was something different about it – alcohol? The cold steel of the handcuffs that bound her sent a chill through her body. God help me. God help me!
But no answer came to her prayer. The dank walls of the dark prison cell only echoed her despair.
The sound of drunken breathing came to her. Peering through the half-light, she saw a woman lying on the bench opposite. Her snorts told that she was asleep, but the moment Pru moved and the chain around her ankles clanged, the woman sat bolt upright. ‘What’s your game?’
‘Nowt, I haven’t got a game – I’m just getting meself comfortable.’
‘’Ere, I knows you. You’re Abe Manning’s woman, ain’t yer?’
‘I’m Pru Hatton, as runs a school for the poor kids.’
‘I knows that, but I also knows yer sleep with Abe Manning. Everyone knows it. What’re yer doing in here then?’
Pru didn’t answer. Inside she screamed against the way she was perceived, and against the vile things that had happened, and asked God: How could this day, which had started so wonderful with the return of Flora, end so horrifically? And then she begged of Him once more: Help me, help me . . .
‘Cat got yer tongue, then? Here, are yer crying? That’s not going to ’elp yer. Not in ’ere, it ain’t. Yer’ve to be strong, or the bastards ’ave the upper-hand.’
Pru knew the woman: a bag lady, who lived from one drink to the next, often stealing from the local shops, but for all that, not a bad sort. ‘I’ve done sommat terrible, Ivy, lass. I’ve killed Abe.’
‘What? Killed ’im? Good riddance. It were ’im as put me out of me ’ouse. I were only a few weeks behind on me rent. But if what you say is right, you’re in for it, girl. And to my mind, you shouldn’t be admitting it. In ’ere, you have to be crafty. Never admit anything. Now, tell me: how did this all come about?’
Somehow it was a relief to Pru to unburden herself.
‘That ain’t murder; it’s self-defence, and defence of your young son – and under provocation, too. I know these things. I’ve bedded in these cells with the best of them, thieves, murderers and prostitutes, and I’ve learned a thing or two. Now, have you told the bobbies that you did it?’
‘Naw, I haven’t said much at all. I’ve said I had to save me lad, that’s all, but they weren’t for believing me.’
‘That don’t matter. They have to have proof. You need someone to sort them bobbies out for you. You need a good lawyer, girl. But they cost money.’
A small grain of hope took root inside Pru. She had some money. It wasn’t much, but maybe she could borrow some more to put towards it. Her thoughts turned to Flora. Now that Abe was gone, the lass was the only person Pru knew who had money. Flora had an allowance that she hardly touched. And if she could, Flora would help her, Pru knew that. She had to – there was no one else she could turn to. Oh, aye, I’ve plenty as would stand by me and speak for me, I knaws that, but none of them could do owt to help me predicament. But then would speaking up for her even help? Didn’t it all look bad for her? Even Ivy identified her as the woman who slept with Abe Manning. How would that sound, in a court of law? It’s hopeless, hopeless . . . I’ll hang! Oh God, no! . . . Help me – please don’t let me hang!