The Legacy Read online

  The wagon’s flap was pulled open and a policeman who looked inside shouted that there was a woman on board. At the same time Evelyne heard a voice asking, ‘You the gyppo they call Freedom Stubbs?’

  They were already putting the handcuffs on him by the time she stepped down. He made no effort to escape, did nothing to stop them handcuffing him, and said not one word. They hauled him roughly towards the police van, and even though he made no effort to evade arrest, one of the policemen brought his truncheon down hard on the back of his neck. He slumped forward, and they dragged him like an animal into the cage at the back of the van, locking and bolting it just in time as the mob appeared at the top of the village street.

  The men and women were quieter now and, seeing the uniformed police encircling the van with truncheons at the ready, they kept their distance. ‘Keep on walking now, come along, get back to your homes, the show’s over. Come along now, keep walking, everybody keep walking.’

  Slowly, they moved in groups past the police van, their interest directed first at the van, then at Evelyne. The women shot foul looks at her, then turned their faces away.

  Hugh walked to his daughter’s side and laid his hand on her arm.

  ‘Don’t touch me, this is your doing, this is down to you; Hugh Jones, I’d have thought you had more sense.’

  Lizzie-Ann passed by and heard Evelyne’s words, and muttered an abusive, bitter, ‘gyppo lover’. The other women nearby picked up the phrase, murmuring quietly but clearly as they passed the wagon, ‘gyppo woman, gyppo lover.’

  Hugh stood still, head bowed, and Gladys whimpered and slunk to his side. The police van was cranked up and the engine chugged into life; then it headed for the police station with Evan Evans, flushed and apologetic, hurrying alongside.

  Evelyne walked, head held high, back to Aldergrove Street. She knew they were all looking at her, talking about her, and she kept her eyes straight ahead. She was comforted by the thought that behind them all the caravans would be silently moving out, at least they had not torn the campsite apart.

  Hugh wanted Gladys gone; he wanted to talk in private with Evelyne, but Gladys clung to his arm. He sat her down, then folded his arms, staring hard at Evelyne. She met his gaze head on, defiant.

  ‘Now, Evie, out with it, we have a right to know.’

  In a quiet, dead voice, Evelyne told them the truth.

  ‘I was at a boxing match in Cardiff, remember, Da, the time I went by myself? I don’t want to go into the details of how I got there, but I went to a boxing fair. There was a riot, and I was leaving, but I had to go back inside the tent for my bag, I’d lost my handbag.’

  Gladys stood up and demanded to know what on earth this had to do with Willie’s murder. Evelyne pushed her down and leaned over her.

  ‘Because when I went back I saw a poor gypsy girl being raped, not by one but by four lads. An’ they’d worse than raped her, they’d taken a bench leg to her.’

  Gladys screeched at the top of her voice, ‘You sayin’ Willie had something to do with it?’

  ‘I saw him, he was on top of the girl… it was me that pulled him off by his hair, and I’d swear to it on the Bible, you want me to swear it on the Bible?’

  Gladys shook her head, repeating over and over that she couldn’t believe it - not that boy, not her sister’s boy, he wouldn’t do a thing like that.

  ‘He did it, Gladys, he was one of those lads, the poor girl. I’ll never forget her face.’

  Hugh brushed Evelyne aside. ‘That’s enough now, come on, Gladys, I’ll walk you home.’

  He helped Gladys to the door, and just as he went out he gave Evelyne a heart-broken look. She couldn’t meet his eyes, the look was filled with so much hurt, why hadn’t she told him?

  Freedom sat in the small village gaol that had only ever housed the poor lunatic who had bashed his mother’s head in. Evan Evans ponderously filled in all the forms. His prisoner was to be taken directly to Cardiff to answer the charges there. Evans had to endorse the charge-sheet accusing Freedom of the murder of Willie Thomas.

  Doc Clock, very irate, appeared to report the theft of a golf fob watch. He was insistent, never mind the ruddy gypsy, his new gold fob watch had been stolen right off the chain he had just put it on. Evans took down all the particulars, and waited until the Doc left, before he tore up the description of the fob watch. ‘He’s not had a watch attached to that chain for more’n fifteen years. We should have a word with the Medical Board, he’s past it, the silly old fool.’

  Mr Beshaley sat in Rawnie’s wagon. He swung his gold watch on its chain, fingered it and replaced it in the pocket of the checked waistcoat that matched his suit. He had used that watch to bribe people on several occasions, but he had always been able to steal it back. ‘Ye think he got himself away then, do ye?’

  Jesse shrugged and put his feet up on the shelf, Freedom would be all right, he murmured. Mr Beshaley pursed his lips, what a wasted night it had been, all this way and for what, to be almost mobbed. He had never even got a chance to talk with Sir Charles Wheeler -maybe to get him interested in one of his other boxers.

  Rawnie, with her skirts hitched up over her bare knees, smoked a hand-rolled cigarette clenched between her teeth. Perched up on the boards she held the reins loosely between her fingers, clucking for the horses to move on, then flicked a whip across their backs. She began to sing, low, husky, as if she had not a care in the world.

  Mande went to poor theory, all around the stiggur sty,

  Mush off to Mande, I takes off my chuvvel,

  I dels him in the per,

  So ope me duvvel dancin Mande cours well.

  Inside Rawnie’s caravan Jesse was held by her husky voice, he smiled at Beshaley, and lowered his thick, black eyelashes.

  ‘Freedom always was a loser, tonight he proved it.’ He joined in singing with Rawnie, their voices as soft as each other’s. Beshaley shivered, they seemed so close, these two, and he felt like an intruder. He couldn’t wait to get to Swansea. The pair of them unnerved him.

  Hugh climbed the stairs, heavy-hearted. He could see the gaslight beneath Evelyne’s door. Before he reached the door she opened it and stood, hands on hips. ‘Well, what have you heard?’

  Hugh shifted his weight and mumbled that they’d taken the gypsy to Cardiff, and the word was he’d be hanged.

  ‘What if I was to tell you he didn’t do the killings, none of them, it wasn’t him?’

  Hugh said that was for the courts to decide. Evan Evans was in the pub telling everyone that the gypsy had said not one word, which in Evans’ eyes proved that he was guilty.

  ‘If what you said about Willie is true, then so help me God I’m for the gel, but that’s no reason to slit a man’s throat - more than one.’

  Evelyne snapped that more than one boy had raped Rawnie, and turned to go back into her bedroom. Hugh caught her arm. ‘Tell me how you know so much, miss? Why you had the papers, why you showed your fist to your father in front of the whole village?’

  Evelyne pulled her arm free and pushed past him, back into her bedroom snapping that he’d no need to worry, she’d not been touched by any of them.

  ‘Where you goin’? Evie?’

  She kicked the door to behind her, shouting that she was going to Cardiff. Hugh kicked the door back open again, his temper rising. ‘Like hell you are, you stay out of this, you’ve done enough as it is.’

  Evelyne was pulling clothes out of a drawer and throwing them on her bed. ‘It’s you who’s done it, Da, you, you’re power-mad since you got into that union. They hang him and they’ll hang an innocent man.’

  As fast as Evelyne took out her clothes, Hugh stuffed them back in the drawers, his temper mounting, and he shouted that she was not to leave the house.

  ‘I was with him, Da, the night Willie was killed, I was with him, and I’m going to say so, he couldn’t have done it.’

  Hugh pulled her roughly to him, his hand raised to strike her, and she stared at him, stony-faced. �
�Go on, hit me if it’ll make you feel better, I was with him but not in the way you think. God help me, I went up there to warn him.’

  Hugh slumped down on to the bed. He couldn’t understand her. He shook his head and rumpled his hair. She still opened and closed the drawers, taking out what she needed. She brought a cardboard box out from under the bed.

  ‘Don’t get involved, gel, trust me, leave it be : . . unless … does this lad take your fancy, is that it?’

  Evelyne threw up her hands in despair. ‘No, I just know he didn’t do it, and I can’t live with myself knowing what I know … Oh, Da, I should have told you before, everything, but I just couldn’t, I just couldn’t.’

  He patted the bed beside him and she sat close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Slowly, piece by piece, she told him about the night in the boxing tent in Cardiff. The terrible humiliation she had suffered, the money she had taken from David, money she’d been so ashamed of, and at last her bitterness came to the surface. She made no sound, but he knew she was crying and he cradled her in his arms.

  ‘Being poor, Evie, is nothing to be. ashamed of, one does things in a life that’re much worse.’

  She looked up into his sad face and asked if he was thinking of little Davey, and he nodded his head. He still held his big arm around her shoulders, but he stared vacantly ahead. After a moment he rose and walked to the window, drawing back the curtains to look out into the dark night.

  ‘I was quite a lad, you know, when I was a youngster. Easter fair was always a night out for the lads. She was telling fortunes in a small booth - not like they have now, it was decorated with painted canvas, sort of draped - and you paid a ha’penny for a palm reading. By God, Evie, she was a beauty, not like your ma, different, exciting to young bloods, and we was all after her. See, we couldn’t lay a finger on the local gels, not without their mothers coming around with their rolling pins … Anyways, I set out to capture the little dark-eyed wench, all the while cocksure of myself, telling the lads I’d have her. She said I was to come back at midnight, she’d leave the caravan door ajar. Well, I had my night with her, and the next day three of ‘em came prancing down the street, seems she wasn’t no ordinary gyppo, but one of high blood. They dragged me out and up to their fields and all of them set on me, even the old man threw in a few punches. I was handy with me fists so I gave as good as I got, but me pals hadda carry me home.

  ‘Next morning, black-eyed and aching all over, I made my way to the pithead, an’ she was there, waitin’ with a small bundle under her arm. Seemed the family threw her out, see, an’ there she was waitin’ for me with her bangles and beads and the little bundle tied up with string.’

  Hugh turned from the dark window. He seemed heavy, sluggish, and eased his body down on to the bed and lay flat, his eyes closed. ‘Maybe if the lads hadn’t been gathered around I’d have acted different. I just laughed at her, Evie, told her to be on her way with the rest of her vermin.’

  He leaned up on his elbow and fingered Evelyne’s slip which was lying across the bed. ‘Her eyes went black, like a cat’s, and she lifted her hand and gave me some kind of sign, she didn’t scream or shout, it was husky, her voice, that’s what made it worse, the strange softness of her words … She cursed me, Evie, said I’d have no sons to bury me.’ He put his arm across his face and his whole body shuddered as he wept, his voice muffled. ‘By Christ she was right, I’ve seen them buried. God help me, Evie, she was right.’

  Now it was Evelyne’s turn to hold her father gently, wipe his tear-stained face. She said that maybe it was fate, fate that made her cross the path of the gypsies.

  ‘I’ll leave for Cardiff on the first train, Da, all right?’

  **

  The mist clung to the top of the mountain, the grey rain drizzled, making grey, cobbled streets shine. As Evelyne turned at the corner to wave to Hugh at the bedroom window, he felt a terrible sense of loss, as if he would never see her again.

  Evelyne passed three women standing at the water taps. They turned their backs to her and whispered. Evelyne held her head high and walked on.

  ‘You’ll not be teaching my kids, Evelyne Jones, you dirty gyppo lover.’

  A group of men leaving their house for the early shift called to her and raised their fists. ‘You should know better, Evelyne Jones. Our lads not good enough for you, eh?’

  Their laughter echoed down the wet street, and she hunched her shoulders as if to defend herself from their malice. She crossed the street so she wouldn’t have to face another group of women who stood waiting for the post office to open. They, too, stared at her then turned and whispered to each other. She gave them a frosty smile and almost bumped into Lizzie-Ann dragging the two kids and a pramful of laundry.

  Evelyne stopped, and Lizzie-Ann had the grace to blush - she had, after all, thrown a clod of earth at Evelyne the night before. ‘Well, where you off to at this hour, thought a woman of leisure like you would have a lie-in of a wet morning?’

  Evelyne murmured that she was on her way to Cardiff.

  ‘Going to see your boyfriend, are you? Better make it fast before they hang him.’

  Evelyne looked into Lizzie-Ann’s face. Her hair hung in rat’s tails, her coat was’ stained, her legs bare and her shoes so worn that her heels, red and raw, were showing. ‘That’s right, go on, take a good look at me, Evelyne Jones, nothing a few pounds wouldn’t put right, but then you’re such a tight bitch, you’d not a give a beggar a farthing.’

  Evelyne banged her cardboard box on top of the pram and pulled Lizzie-Ann to her by the lapels of her coat.

  ‘What have I ever done to you, Lizzie-Ann, to make you talk like this? Tell me now, I don’t deserve it and you know it.’

  Lizzie-Ann pushed Evelyne away, her voice rising hysterically.

  ‘You’ve always been too good, haven’t you? You give me a roof over me head but begrudge a shilling for food, you’re a hard one, Evelyne Jones, you always were …’

  Evelyne felt sick. She couldn’t fight Lizzie-Ann, there . was nothing to say. She picked up her cardboard box and turned away.

  ‘Don’t you turn your back on me, Evelyne … Evelyne… Evie!’

  There was such desperation in Lizzie-Ann’s voice, it made Evelyne turn. Old before her years, beaten, roughened, the prettiest girl in the village had gone, and in the big, pansy eyes was a terrible, heartbreaking desperation. For a fleeting moment Evelyne wanted to hold her, but the accusing voice persisted, ‘Where you going? Cardiff is it? Oh, well, all right for some, go on, there’ll be more than one person pleased. You should stay there, your poor Da can’t get up the courage to tell you he wants to get married, go on, you won’t be missed.’

  A few of the women joined in, chipping in their farthing’s-worth.

  Evelyne was already walking away, knowing Lizzie-Ann was trailing behind.

  ‘Take the deeds to Doris’ house, take them, just like you took everything, without a thank you.’

  Head high, she strode off, clutching her cardboard box in front of her. Lizzie-Ann broke down, propping her swollen, sagging body against a filthy brick wall. She cried out, but her voice was distorted with tears, ‘Oh, I wanted to go to London … oh God, I wanted to go to London.’

  ***

  Somewhere out of the past Evelyne heard the soft, sweet voice of her mother repeating, ‘Get out of the valley, Evie, don’t let it drag you down,’ well, she would get out, and she would never come back, there was nothing left for her here.

  As she paid for her ticket, her mouth trembled, and she had to bite her lip until it bled to stop herself from crying. She had only one goodbye to say, it cried in her throat, the sound of the train’s steam hissing and the ‘chunt, chunt’ of the engine drowned her words, ‘Goodbye, Da, goodbye, Da.’

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter 13

  EVELYNE walked up the stone steps of the police station in Cardiff and stood at the high counter. The sergeant on duty gave her a pleasant smile. ‘What can I be doing
for you, ma’am?

  Taking a deep breath, Evelyne coughed. ‘I have information regarding the murders of the four boys. I would like to make a statement, and I am prepared to go to any court and swear on oath that what I have to say is God’s truth.’

  The sergeant rubbed his head and leant on the desk. ‘And what murders would these be, young lady?’

  ‘The gypsy revenge killings … my name is Evelyne Jones. I want to make a statement.’

  Half an hour later, after she had related everything to the sergeant, she was taken to meet the detective chief inspector. The sergeant held the door open for her and placed a stack of forms on the inspector’s desk.

  ‘I think you’d better listen to what this lady has to say, sir.’

  The inspector listened attentively to every word, nodding his head and refilling his pipe. He puffed and stared at a spot on the wall just above Evelyne’s head.

  ‘And that, sir, is the truth. I was with Freedom Stubbs the night he is supposed to have killed Willie Thomas, and I’ll stand up in court and say so.’

  The inspector tapped his pipe and began to scrape at the bowl. He chose his words carefully, because asking this tall, stiff young woman if she was ‘familiar’ with the gypsy was a delicate matter.

  ‘I know him only as someone who helped me on the night of the rape, that is all.’

  The inspector felt she was withholding something, she knew more than she admitted, but he had to take her statement and pass it to his superiors. The statement took an hour and fifteen minutes to complete, and Evelyne’s meticulous handwriting and perfect spelling impressed everyone.

  ‘I see you’ve put no address down, Miss Jones, where are you residing in Cardiff?’

  Unable to think of where she would stay, Evelyne bit her lip. A large poster behind the inspector caught her eye - it was an advertisement for a charity ball at the Grand Hotel.

  ‘I’ll be at the Grand, Sir.’

  He looked at her for a moment then carefully wrote down the name of the hotel.

  ‘Will Mr Stubbs be released now?’ Evelyne’s innocent question made them laugh, it wasn’t as simple as that. The man was charged with murder and one statement was not good enough. There were, after all, three more murders with Freedom Stubbs the main suspect in each case. ‘Will I be allowed to see him?’ The men flicked sly glances at each other and then back to Evelyne, looking at her from top to toe. One of the uniformed men said it could possibly be arranged.