Edward Marston - Instrument of Slaughter

‘That won’t change their minds. Conscription is an infringement of our human rights. Nobody can make me put on a uniform and kill people.’

‘What if it gets worse?’ she asked, dabbing at tears with a handkerchief. ‘You saw those awful things they painted on the wall of Cyril’s house. Suppose they do that at the bakery? And it’s not only you that suffers, Gordon. Because they just don’t understand, my parents keep saying that you ought to join up. As for the women at work,’ she went on, ‘they’re already passing remarks about me. I’ve got some good friends at the factory but there are some nasty ones as well and they keep taunting me for getting engaged to a coward.’

‘I’m not a coward!’ he protested.

‘I know that, Gordon. But lots of people think otherwise.’

‘They can think what they damn well like. The only person whose opinion I respect is yours. As long as you support me, Ruby, I can face anything.’

‘And so can I!’

In a display of ardour, he pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. Then she huddled into his shoulder and they lapsed into silence again. An old lady with a dog went by, casting a disapproving glance at him. When an old man shuffled past, he couldn’t resist shooting Leach a look of scorn. Instead of sitting on a park bench — he seemed to imply — an able-bodied young man should be abroad with his regiment. The baker had been subjected to so many contemptuous stares that he took no notice of them. Ruby, however, did. The old man’s hostility jolted her.

‘How can he be so unfair?’ she wondered.

‘Ignore him, Ruby.’

‘I can’t stand that look they give you. They don’t know what a kind person you really are. You wouldn’t dream of hurting any of them, yet they turn on you as if you’ve done something really horrible.’

‘In their eyes, I have. I’ve stood up for pacifism.’

‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Ruby — and one day, God willing, people might realise that.’

‘I’m so proud of you, standing up for what you believe in.’

‘Cyril did that,’ he reminded her, ‘and he paid with his life. I’ll never forget that. He’s been my inspiration. It’s the same for Fred and Mansel.’

‘I’m only interested in you ,’ she said, pulling away to look into his eyes. ‘Nobody else matters. You’re everything to me, Gordon. That’s why I can’t wait to become Mrs Leach.’

He looked at her with sudden intensity as an idea whirred away in his brain. The date for their wedding had been set in the summer. If he was compelled to join the army — or imprisoned for refusing to do so — then the marriage might not even take place. Patient years of waiting would come to nothing. Their mutual passion would fall cruelly short of consummation. It would be unbearable.

‘I love you, Ruby,’ he said, impulsively.

‘And I love you.’

‘Do you know what we should do?’

‘What?’

‘We should get married.’

‘But it’s already been arranged. We’ve even worked out the guest list.’

‘No,’ he said, grasping her hands, ‘we should get married now . There’s such a thing as a three-day licence. It’s what some soldiers have been doing before they get sent abroad again.’

She was distressed. ‘But they don’t do it properly in a church.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘It does to me, Gordon. I’ve set my heart on a church wedding. Auntie Gwen has already started making my dress.’

‘There’s nothing to stop you wearing it at the register office.’

‘It’s not the same.’

He was crestfallen. ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’

‘You know that I do. I want it more than anything else in the world.’

‘Then we should be man and wife sooner rather than later.’

‘Everyone I know has been married in a church.’

‘That’s the ideal place, I agree,’ he said, ‘but you have to look at the situation we’re in. The law says that I should be called up. One way or another, we may be separated. We must face facts. I may not be able to marry you in the summer. If we have a wedding with this special licence, we can not only be together,’ he stressed, ‘but I’ll be exempt from conscription. Married men are not liable to be called up.’

Ruby looked at him but it was not in the usual adoring way. For the first time in their long courtship, there was doubt in her eyes. While she loved him enough to marry him, she had the strange feeling that she was not only being deprived of the joy of a church wedding; she was being used as an escape route.

Joe Keedy was late arriving at the place where they’d agreed to meet. His diversion to Maud Crowther’s house had taken time. When he finally turned up, he found Harvey Marmion waiting for him in the car. On the drive to the photographer’s studio, they were able to compare notes. Keedy went first, talking about his encounter with Waldron and of his unexpected discovery that so repellent a man could, inexplicably, arouse romantic interest in a woman. He spoke about her with admiration. Maud had struck him as someone who’d worked hard all her life and retained more than a vestige of her once handsome features as well as her natural buoyancy.

‘What did she mean, Joe?’ asked Marmion. ‘When she told you that it wasn’t what you might think — what was she trying to say?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Perhaps they just play cards together.’

‘Oh, I fancy there’s more to it than that,’ said Keedy with a smile. ‘I could tell from her tone of voice. When I first mentioned Waldron’s name, she flared up and called him a good-for-nothing. As we went on to talk about him, however, she slowly mellowed and referred to him with real affection.’

‘It could still be an innocent friendship.’

‘Then why are they both so anxious to keep it secret? Waldron was scared stiff in case Mrs Crowther’s son ever found out about it. In the son’s place, I certainly wouldn’t be happy. I don’t mind admitting it. If my mother ever got involved with someone as revolting as Waldron, I’d be very upset.’

‘It’s not a fair comparison,’ Marmion pointed out. ‘Your father is still alive so your mother is not a widow. If a woman is on her own after years of having a man about the house, she could get very lonely. It may be that Mrs Crowther sees things in Waldron that eluded your sharp eye.’

‘It was my sharp nose that turned me off him. He stank to high heaven.’

‘Digging graves is not the most salubrious occupation.’

‘I can only think that he cleans himself up before he calls on her.’

‘That’s a matter between the two of them, Joe. The question remains. Do we or don’t we treat him as a suspect?’

Keedy pondered. ‘We keep his name on the reserve list.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It’s because he could have been away from the Weavers Arms long enough to visit his lady friend and to commit a murder. Waldron may not be very bright but he has a low animal cunning. It all depends on when Cyril Ablatt was killed.’

‘Post-mortems can never be that precise,’ said Marmion, sighing. ‘The best they can do is to give us an approximate time. I’ve sent someone to find out when Ablatt actually left Devonshire House yesterday. That will give us a rough time frame in which the murder occurred. However,’ he added, thoughtfully, ‘from what you’ve told me about Waldron, I’m not sure that he’ll ever get off a notional reserve list of suspects.’

‘I still think we should keep probing, Harv.’

‘We will, I promise.’

It was Marmion’s turn to deliver a report and he recounted details of his visit to the library. Keedy was interested to hear that he’d taken such a dislike to Eric Fussell. As a rule, Marmion was a very tolerant man, able to work effectively with nauseating superiors like Superintendent Chatfield and to give most people the benefit of the doubt. Yet, in the short time they’d been together, he’d obviously taken against the librarian.