Angela, as instructed by Dolly, had got off the train at the mainline station, not the local one. Dolly didn’t want her running into a swarm of cops but didn’t tell her that, just that it would be too early to get a cab at the local station.
Angela arrived back at the manor at eight o’clock. The girls were about to run upstairs but she told them to stay quiet and not to wake up the house. She set about preparing breakfast, the girls helping her lay the table.
Angela hadn’t known any of the women to sleep in so late and she asked one of the girls to check if Helen of Troy was in the stable, wondering if they had all gone out for an early ride. The girls stayed outside, shouting that Helen was in the stable. Angela had fried eggs and bacon, sausages and some cold potatoes. It was all keeping warm in the oven when the women came down, bleary-eyed and still wearing their dressing gowns.
“Had a late night, did you?” Angela asked as she started getting out the plates.
“Yeah, we did have a bit of a night,” Gloria muttered.
“Aren’t you going riding today?” Angela asked. It was unusual for them not to be up and out by now.
“No. Stables have got some kids’ party so we can’t,” Ester said as she creaked into her chair.
“There was something going on at the station,” Angela said as she served the eggs and bacon.
“Oh yeah, what was that?” Gloria asked, as she poured the tea.
“I dunno, but there were loads of police and all along the lanes more patrol cars. They even stopped us in the taxi.”
Dolly walked in, her hair in pin curls. Unlike the others she was dressed. “Angela love, go and get the girls inside. They’re getting filthy out there in the yard.”
Angela went out without argument and Dolly sat down. She reached for the teapot, was just about to pour a cup when the sirens wailed. “Well, here they come,” she said.
The front doorbell echoed through the house, and Angela opened the back door. “There’s police all over the place! They’re even up in the woods.”
Dolly jerked her head at Ester. “Go and see what they want.”
Ester hesitated only for a moment before she pulled her dressing gown round her and they could hear her slippers flip-flopping as she went into the hall.
The Thames Valley police had pulled in every possible man and were searching every house within a five-mile radius of the station, not to mention every outhouse, stable and barn, even every greenhouse. Scotland Yard’s Robbery Squad was already at the scene of the raid as hundreds more officers were drafted in to the immediate area to assist in the search. No vehicle had been found, and no witness; the raid appeared to have happened without a single person seeing it.
The police interviewed the women and they all insisted they’d been at home together the entire evening, going to bed sometime after eleven. They had heard nothing and kept up a bewildered act that should have won an Oscar as they asked innocently what had happened. A murder? A rape? A kidnapping? But they were told nothing as the uniformed officers began the search. They looked through every cupboard, every chest and wardrobe, the roof, the chimneys, under the floorboards, the sauna area. The police were polite, but diligent, and staying there for almost eight hours until they had to move on. They found nothing.
By lunchtime the press were on the scene, and then it was headlines in the evening papers: the biggest train robbery in history had taken place and Thames Valley was using more than four hundred officers to comb the entire area. By now the police knew that a man masquerading as a police officer had daringly held up the train, and the robbery had been committed by possibly five or six others. They had been armed, and the public were warned that, if they were suspicious about anyone, they should act with caution as the men were deemed to be dangerous. The owner of the speed-boat had been arrested but released after questioning. The signal-box attendant, Jim, had also been questioned and released. They had, as yet, found no clues, and had no idea of the present whereabouts of the stolen money. The amount in question was not disclosed.
The women did not dare believe they had got away with it as the searches and questioning went on. Even Helen of Troy had been examined, though she had not actually been taken in for questioning, as Julia joked.
Everyone in the area who owned a horse got a visit from the police. Even the staff at the local stables were questioned and their horses examined, but in the darkness the train driver could only describe the horse that had been standing on the line as shiny and black.
Dolly knew she was a prime suspect, but they still didn’t take her down to the station for questioning. They didn’t take any of them in; they just continued to comb the area. Norma’s cottage was the only house that was not searched. They had a look at her three-year-old hunter, but she assured them he was in no way capable of riding across live cables. She suggested they maybe try the nearest circus.
The officers had laughed. It was the audaciousness of the crime that couldn’t help but hook them all in. It was called the Wild West Hold-up by the Sun and from then on every paper referred to the raid in cowboy terms.
In some ways Norma was disappointed that when all the excitement had been happening—a raid at her local station no less—she had been on duty outside a cinema in the West End for some big charity event when the crowd had got out of hand but nothing much had happened apart from her getting soaked as it had rained all night long. Luckily, by then she had replaced her lost cape and hat.
The police now believed that more than one horse had been involved. They had discovered the scattered hoofprints in and around the lake but, as the riding school took pony treks up that way, it became more and more difficult to ascertain how many horses there had been, let alone from which direction they had come. The women had been using the same routes as the stables so the ground was covered in hoofprints.
There still remained the fact that not one vehicle had been stopped by the roadblocks put up within ten minutes of the raid. But as the motorway was only a short distance from some of the narrow lanes, they could not exclude the possibility that the robbers had slipped through.
The village was agog, the lanes filled with sight-seeing tourists who hampered the police, as did the riders from all the local stables. The ribbons cordoned off certain areas and officers were retained on day-and-night duty, digging up wells, searching every inch of the railway lines, every tunnel and pothole, every drainpipe.
On the fourth day, Dolly almost had a fit when she saw John and his workmen filling the skip over the lime pit. They were stacking it with rubble from the old greenhouse. It remained half-filled and she just hoped that by the time it was moved the lime pit would have done its job.
The women gardened, hoed the vegetable patches, pruned trees, appearing unfazed by the continued search. But the paranoia was starting. They were worried about the dustbin liners filled with money and imagined that the police were just waiting for them to collect them.
Julia was eventually instructed to visit Norma, to ensure the safety of their precious money. She almost had a heart attack when she called on her because, as Norma opened the door, she could see three uniformed coppers sitting in her kitchen. “Hello, Norma. Long time no see,” Julia said breezily.
“I meant to call you,” Norma said, stepping back. “Come on in, coffee’s on.”
“No, I won’t. You’ve got company.” Julia remained on the doorstep but gave a little wave to the men who clearly recognized her from their stints searching the manor.
“Don’t be stupid, come on in.”
“Another time,” Julia said, but the officers began to file out, thanking Norma for the coffee. As Julia hesitated and then went into Norma’s hall, Norma hurried past her down the path. The officers stopped, as she called after them, “It’s just a thought, but have you searched my barn?”
They grinned. “Why? You telling us you got the money, Norma?”
“No, I’m serious.” Norma kept her voice low, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “That bunch from the manor, they’re all ex-cons, you know. She’s one of them.” Norma looked back along the path. “I just remembered she asked if she could store some gear and I said she could. But I just hadn’t expected quite so much. Have a look for yourselves.”
Norma unlocked the barn door and opened it. The officers peered inside to see stacks and stacks of black rubbish bags tied tightly at the neck. They went in further as Norma hung back. “Look, you have a search around. I’ll go back and keep her talking, just in case.”
Julia moved fast, her heart pounding. She almost flew down Norma’s cellar steps, checking to see if the bricked-up coal chute had been damaged. She peered into the small, dark cellar. “Stupid, don’t be so bloody stupid,” she muttered to herself. The end of the chute was bricked up and even had stacks of boxes pushed up against it. Just as her heart slowed down, it suddenly started hammering again as feet crunched on the gravel outside. They were standing right by the coal-chute door. Would they see that it had been dislodged and then replaced?
Julia tried to keep her breathing under control. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. She went back upstairs and looked out of the kitchen window. Norma was smiling as she returned from the barn with the police officers. Julia spun round when Norma breezed in through the back door. “You want a biscuit?” Norma asked brightly.
“No thanks. I’ve got to get back, help out, the builders are proving a bit expensive so we’re doing a lot ourselves and you know what it’s like. Moan, moan, moan, who’s doing their fair share becomes the high point of every meal.”
Norma poured more coffee. I’m not good at lying, Julia thought, it’s written all over my face. “What are you doing, Norma? Shopping me to your friends?”
Norma gave a big false laugh. “No, they just asked if they could look over the barn.”
“Oh dear,” Julia said. “It’s still full of Mother’s things.”
The back door opened and one of the officers stood leaning on the doorframe. “Thanks, Norma, we’ll be on our way.”
Norma jumped up and hurried to the door. “Any problems?” The officer shook his head and went down the path to where his mates were waiting.
Julia pushed back her chair noisily. “Thanks for the coffee. Maybe we can have dinner one night?”
Norma flushed. “Sure. I’m back in London for the rest of the week but maybe after that?”
“Scared of being seen with me in front of your pals, are you?”
Norma flushed even deeper. “No, of course not, but right now this place is worse than Scotland Yard. Every copper in the world seems to be down here and they keep on dropping in.”
Julia just stopped herself from muttering, “Two-faced cow.” Despite her feelings, so long as the money was hidden on her property, they needed to keep Norma sweet. She smiled, cupping her face in her hands. “Stay cool, darlin’, nobody really gives a fuck who you screw. I like you, Norma, don’t turn away from me. Don’t make me not trust you.”
Norma leaned against her a moment, and whispered that she was sorry. “Please see me when I come back next week. Please?”
Julia was smiling as she backed down the path. “Can’t wait until then. You take care now.” She wanted to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She hated the touch of Norma now, but at least the money was still safe, for a while.
They were all lulled into a false sense of security as the days passed and the newspapers stopped screaming out headlines about the robbery. It was now slipping back to pages five and six. They all remained at the manor, waiting. Dolly continued to make them work around the grounds and the house so they were always on show.
Gloria took more and more interest in the children. She turned out to be wonderful at making up games and puzzles. She had unending patience with them but, even so, the waiting was getting to her.
Julia rode every day and sometimes encouraged one of the others to take Helen out, but Dolly was wary of letting the police see that they could all ride so even that created arguments. Julia had started drinking heavily in the evenings. She had sold her mother’s house and still had a few hundred left over after paying the bills at the nursing home. She was generous with the money and gave them all a few quid but spent most of it on vodka and always had a half-bottle close at hand.
Ester was the moodiest. She stayed in bed until midday, refusing to help out as she felt it was all a waste of time. Connie began to work out for hours in their gym. She kept well away from John and even further away from Jim. She painted her nails, bleached her hair, content to spend the time daydreaming of a successful career in the movies. She was planning to go to Hollywood with her share of the money, and the dressing-table mirror became the camera. Jim had been questioned so many times his nerves were in shreds but he never disclosed to the police that Connie had spent time with him in the signal box. He did this not to protect her but his job. In the end he had to take two weeks’ leave as he was in such a state, and was given sleeping tablets by his doctor.
As the days and nights dragged on Dolly never mentioned the robbery. She was like a rock: calm and always pleasant, trying to keep their nerves from fraying.
One evening Ester freaked and started yelling that she wanted her cut now. If the others wanted to stay then they could, but she was leaving.
“You stay here, Ester, we all stay here until the cops give the place the all-clear. Whether it’s weeks or months, we stay on, and we divide it up when I say so and not before.” Dolly was icy calm, her eyes flicking from one woman to the other. “Let it all out now because nothing will change my mind. You knew this was how it was going to be. Just wait.”
Angela loved the house. She didn’t mind cooking and cleaning and enjoyed working in the gardens—and she adored the little girls, who were filling out, rosy-cheeked and boisterous, the only people unaware of the growing tension and the reason for it.
DCI Craigh and his men had read the reports on the robbery in the papers and heard more about it from mates connected to the Robbery Squad at Scotland Yard. They had tipped them off about the women straight away, especially their dealings with Dolly Rawlins. DI Palmer had actually roared with laughter as Craigh had read out the details of the robbery and wondered aloud if Rawlins could possibly have any connection with it.
“Oh yeah! she’s a real Annie Get Your Gun, Gov. I mean, can you see that frosty-faced bitch riding a horse? That’s how they reckon it was done, you know. Rawlins’s got to be over fifty, nearer sixty.”
Craigh pulled a face but he had sent in a report. He received no feedback so presumed Dolly must have been questioned and dismissed as a suspect. Still, he wondered whether, even if she had not played a part in it, she knew who had, but this was not his department and he had other, more pressing things to worry about. One in particular. George Fuller, Dolly Rawlins’s lawyer, having received no reply to his original letter regarding the damage to Rawlins’s property, now sent in a reminder, requesting an update. Craigh was confronted by his irate chief as he, too, had received a memo from his superior. The ten-thousand-pound claim was ludicrous, and Craigh insisted that no way had they created anywhere near that amount of damage. He had hoped the claim was just for show, and it would simply be forgotten. He was told to discuss it further with Mrs. Rawlins, and if necessary get an estimate of their own. Craigh and Palmer reckoned she would probably back down if offered a deal, perhaps a quarter of the estimated damages.
It was early evening, and the girls were being bathed and changed ready for bed. The women were all watching television. They were more tense than usual because the police had returned yet again and the skip covering the lime pit had been removed, leaving only the corrugated-iron sheets in place. Gloria had eased a part of the sheet back and prodded inside. She had felt a thick lump about three feet down but she was satisfied the mailbags had disintegrated. Still, it made them all uneasy.
Out riding and not far from the bridge, Julia had seen the frogmen searching the lake and was worried they would recover the shotguns but Gloria assured her there would be nothing to incriminate anyone, no fingerprints, no serial numbers.
They all were certain they had never handled the guns without gloves and Gloria recalled that she had cleaned them thoroughly before the raid. However, the pressure of the hunt getting so close made the tension, a constant undercurrent, rise to the surface again. Dolly continued to calm them, telling them everything going on was only to be expected. But they were all volatile, tempers flaring easily, and when, two nights later, the lights of the patrol car flared across the window, they immediately tensed.
Dolly peered through the curtain and drew it back tight. “It’s cops and not local. It’s that DCI Craigh and his sidekick.”
“What do they want?” Gloria asked. She sounded scared.
“We’ll find out. All of you get in the kitchen and stay there. Let me talk to them.”
DCI Craigh examined the front door and looked at Palmer. “How much did she claim for this? I reckon this stained glass was already broken.”
Palmer looked at the door and stepped back. “They done the roof. The place is looking good.”
“Yeah, and it’ll be looking a lot better if she gets that ten grand.”
Craigh rang the doorbell and the lights flooded on in the hall. He peered through a broken pane. Dolly was coming toward the front door. Just as she opened it, the children came running down the stairs in their slippers and dressing gowns.
“Come in,” Dolly said pleasantly, opening the door wider for Craigh and Palmer to walk past her. They looked at Angela halfway down the stairs with a bath towel in her hands.
“I’ll just say goodnight to the girls then I’ll be right with you,” Dolly told the policemen, gesturing toward the drawing room. She kissed Sheena and scooped her up in her arms.
“Will you tell us a story?” Sheena piped up, and Dolly said she couldn’t right now but Angela would. She stood at the bottom of the stairs as they ran along the landing to their bedroom. “Night, night, Auntie Dolly.”
Craigh looked around the ramshackle room. A fire was burning low in the grate. “Great old house this, isn’t it?” he remarked.
Palmer looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, needs a lot done, though. These old places always cost a bundle to fix up.”
“Bloody cold.” Craigh rubbed his hands. He sniffed, taking in the torn velvet curtains and the threadbare carpet. Clearly there was not a lot of cash floating around. “Whose kids were they?”
“Dunno,” Palmer said, as he sat down on a lumpy old sofa. He rose to his feet immediately as Dolly walked in and closed the door.
“So, what do you want?”
Craigh looked at Palmer, cleared his throat. “It’s about that claim for the damage we’re supposed to have done to your property, Mrs. Rawlins.”
Dolly couldn’t help smiling with relief.
Ester drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, her eyes on the closed door. “What you reckon they want?”
Julia poured herself a large vodka. “We’ll find out soon enough. Any of you want a drink?”
“No, and you’re hitting the bottle a bit too hard.” Ester pushed back her chair angrily.
“Where you going?” Gloria asked her.
“To the toilet, if that’s all right with you.” Ester opened the kitchen door silently and peered into the hall.
“Don’t go in there, Ester,” Connie said hesitantly, but she was already out, listening at the drawing-room door.
Craigh was still standing with his back to the fire, and Dolly was sitting in a big, old winged armchair. She gave a soft laugh. “So what you here for? You want to make a deal, is that it?”
Ester froze. The kitchen door opened wider and Gloria peeped out. Ester scurried back, pushing her inside. “She’s making a fucking deal with them,” she hissed.
“What?” Julia said in disbelief.
“I just heard her. Connie, get out the back and see if they’re alone—see if they got any back-up. Go on, do it.”
Connie opened the back door and slipped out. Gloria had dodged behind Ester and gone into the hall to listen for herself. Ester followed then pulled at her arm. “Go and search her room,” she whispered. Gloria glared but Ester pushed her hard, pressing her ear against the door.
Dolly’s voice could be heard clearly. “No way! You must be joking. I’ll do a deal but not for a quarter. Let’s say half.”
Craigh looked at Palmer and then back to Dolly. “You’ll get it in cash.”
“Oh, it has to be cash,” Dolly said. She got up from the chair and moved closer to Craigh. “Fifty percent.”
“I can’t do that,” Craigh said louder.
Ester dived back into the kitchen as Gloria scuttled down the stairs after her.
“Look at this lot! Fucking passports—she’s got Kathleen’s kids on hers and there’s one for Angela.”
Julia could feel her legs turning to jelly. “Oh, shit.”
Ester looked at Julia. “She’s doing a deal for fifty percent of the cash, I just heard her. She’s going to shop the lot of us! How much proof do you want?”
Ester shoved the passports under Julia’s nose and then looked back at the closed door. “Right. We got to get that money. You, Julia, get Gloria’s car, get over to Norma’s, take Gloria with you.”
Connie came back in from the yard shaking. “There are police in the lane with dogs and some up in the woods but they’re not heading toward us, they’re just sort of sniffing around as usual.”
“Shit.” Ester walked to the deep freeze and opened it. She delved inside, brought out a huge twenty-pound frozen turkey and carried it to the sink, turning on the hot water. Julia was putting on her coat, heading for the back door, as Ester removed a .45 pistol from inside the bird. She dug further and scooped out the cartridges.
Julia grabbed her wrist. “Jesus Christ, Ester, what are you doing?”
“She’s selling us right down the river! What the hell do you think I’m doing? Go and get the money, as much as you can, and we’re getting out of here. I said we couldn’t trust her! I warned you! Now do it.”
Again Julia hesitated but Gloria gave her a shove. “I’ll come with you, let’s go.”
Dolly was chuckling at Craigh, and then she patted his arm. “All right, you win, gimme three grand and we’ll call it quits. You should have been a market trader, you know. But it’s got to be cash.”
On Dolly’s last line, just as she placed her hand on Craigh’s arm, Ester walked in, the gun held in her right hand, her arm pressed close to her body.
Dolly turned, smiling, toward Ester, feeling buoyant because she knew now they had nothing to worry about. Craigh and Palmer weren’t there because of the robbery and she couldn’t wait to have a laugh about it with them all.
Then she saw the gun.
It was all over within seconds. Dolly was faster to register Ester’s intention than either police officer and, as Ester raised the gun to fire at Craigh, Dolly moved in front of him, protecting him with her body as she screamed one word, “No!”
She felt the impact of the bullet like a stab from a red-hot poker, her blood splattering Ester’s face. DCI Craigh took a step backward, arms up to brace himself against the next shot. Palmer sidestepped at the same time, Dolly’s blood speckling his shirt. Ester’s body was rigid, her teeth clenched, her arm still outstretched. She pulled the trigger again. The second bullet spun Dolly a half-step backward and everything began to blur. She could hear a distant, distorted voice and then saw her own face.
“I have never committed a criminal act in my life.” The social services board looked toward the straight-backed Dorothy Rawlins.
Ester fired the third bullet.
“No, I killed someone who betrayed me, there’s a difference, Julia.”
Ester pulled the trigger again.
No pain now, she was urging her horse forward, loving the feel of the cold morning air on her face, enjoying the fact that she had succeeded in learning not just to ride but gallop flat out and jump hedges and ditches—at her age.
Ester fired again.
Dolly’s shirt was covered in blood. She was still on her feet, but the impact of the fifth bullet almost toppled her. The images and echoes of voices were fainter now and she could only just make out the figure in an old brown coat standing by a garden gate. “It’s me, Dorothy, it’s your auntie. Your mum won’t talk about it but that young lad, he’s no good. You got a good life ahead of you, grammar-school scholarship and everything.”
With the sixth bullet, her body buckled at the knees, her hands hanging limply at her sides. “I’ll always be here for you, Doll, you know that. I’ll always love you, take care of you. Come on, open your arms wide and hold me, hold me, sweetheart, that’s my girl. Come on, come to me, it’s all over now.”
At last she lay still. In death her face looked older: there was no expression—it was already a mask. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were wide, staring sightlessly. It had only taken Ester a few moments to fire six shots at point-blank range, but in those seconds Dolly Rawlins’s life had flashed from the present to the distant past. She had died a violent death like her beloved husband. Like him, she had not been expecting it; she had been confident, proud of herself and looking forward to the future, looking to make her dreams of a children’s home come true. Maybe that had all been a fantasy, maybe this was how it was meant to end. Fate had drawn these women together, and it was fate that it was Ester who killed her, Ester, who she had never really trusted. She had taken such care of them all, checking her back and sides just like Harry had done. And like him, she had faced death straight on, face forward.
Now her cheek lay on the old, dirty, stained carpet, blood trickling from her mouth and her body lying half curled in a fetal position. Her death had been as ugly as her husband’s, the only difference being that she had never betrayed anyone.
The sound of the shots brought the officers in the woods running toward the house, shouting into their radios as the others in the lane turned back toward the manor. A patrol car had already received the call and they in turn radioed for further assistance.
Within minutes, the manor was surrounded. Gloria and Julia were hauled out of the Mini, Connie was arrested halfway up the stairs, and Ester was handcuffed by DCI Craigh. She said not one word but stared vacantly ahead, her face drained of color.
One by one the women were led to the waiting patrol cars and taken away. They were in a state of shocked confusion. None of them spoke or looked at each other.
Dolly Rawlins lay where she had been shot, a deep, dark pool of blood spreading across the threadbare carpet. She had been covered by a sheet taken from the linen closet and the blood was soaking through it. Angela sat huddled with the little girls. They had heard the gunfire but did not understand what had taken place. For the time being, Angela was allowed to remain upstairs with them while the rest of the house filled with more police, plainclothes and uniform, and the women were led out.
Dolly Rawlins’s body was removed, after a doctor had certified she was dead, and taken directly to the mortuary. Angela saw the stretcher from the little girls’ bedroom window. They stared down, not understanding, and then Sheena asked Angela if she would read their favorite story, The Three Little Piggies.
“The big bad wolf huffed and he puffed but no matter how hard he tried, he could not blow the house down.” The tears trickled down Angela’s face as she closed the book. It was the end of the story.
The old coal chute at Rose Cottage was never opened by the police. Its black-painted door remained a charming, old-fashioned feature of the “olde worlde” cottage. So no one discovered the sixteen heavy-duty black bin liners tied tightly at the neck, each containing several million pounds in untraceable notes.