For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver
such friends before. Nat seemed to enjoy creeping up behind her in the butchers or the pub and shouting ‘Boo!’ or something silly like that. If only she could do something about him. She was sure he was still knocking his mother about but she knew that until Mrs Rivers made a personal complaint, the police treated all such incidents as ‘domestic’.
One ray of sunshine in a series of dark days was the fact that Mr Lovett had secured several orders. The number and the timescale was a bit daunting – six romper suits and five dresses in a little under three weeks – but if he paid her as well as he had done before, Sarah would give it a go. However, she was shrewd enough not to show her excitement just yet.
‘I’ve no money for materials,’ she said. They were in Mrs Angel’s shop and there were no other customers because Mrs Angel had pulled down the blind for a few minutes so that they could speak in private.
‘Just tell Mrs Angel what you require and I’ll settle up with her later,’ he said.
The relief Sarah felt was palpable. If she could carry on with this, life would be so much easier for herself and the girls. All she had to do was get through the next few weeks on what little money she did have, although after seeing Henry’s lovely house, it galled her that she still had this perpetual struggle. It wasn’t right that she and the girls should be scrimping and scraping, barely able to keep body and soul together, while Henry and that trollop lived so well.
‘So,’ Mr Lovett beamed. He was holding out his hand. ‘Do we have a deal, Mrs Royal?’ Sarah put her hand in his and shook it warmly as he added, ‘Then I shall be back in the middle of the month.’
As soon as he’d gone, Sarah rushed around the counter to hug Mrs Angel.
‘No need for that, dear,’ said the old woman, stepping back, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. ‘I only did what anyone else would do.’
‘You did more than that,’ Sarah insisted. ‘You are the only person in the world who has offered me any practical help and I can never repay you for your kindness.’
‘No need to,’ said Mrs Angel, getting a couple of bolts of material down from the shelf. ‘I hardly like to ask, but how did you get on when you saw your husband?’
Sarah told her briefly what had happened and explained that, given what she had seen, she wanted to claim maintenance for the children.
‘You’ll have to get a solicitor to deal with that,’ said Mrs Angel.
‘And that takes money,’ said Sarah sourly.
‘You can apply for a legal certificate,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘That means you don’t have to pay. Would you like me to ask around? I shall be discreet.’
‘You’re very kind, Mrs Angel,’ said Sarah, ‘but I don’t want everybody knowing my business.’
Mrs Angel nodded sagely. ‘My dear, it’s already in the paper. Didn’t you know?’
Sarah’s mouth went dry. Mrs Angel went into the back room beyond her shop and came back with the Gazette. The front page was dominated by a story about a woman’s body being found near the pier, but Mrs Angel opened it to page five and pointed to a small paragraph headed ‘Worthing man remanded in custody.’ In the brief article, she read that Henry Arthur Royale had been remanded in custody to appear at Lewes Assizes on two charges, one of bigamy and another of theft. Sarah felt the colour drain from her face. She had blanked everything else out and had been so consumed by Henry’s reaction and the way he’d treated Jenny; but now things looked really bad. Henry really had married that girl and, to top it all, he was being accused of theft as well.
‘When he comes up before the judge,’ she said, ‘I need to be in court.’
‘Haven’t the police talked to you, dear?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Then he must have been married to another woman,’ said Mrs Angel. ‘Don’t you see?’ she added as she saw Sarah’s puzzled frown. ‘Someone else has made a complaint.’
Sarah gasped. ‘You mean it’s not just me?’ She remembered the comment the desk sergeant had made when she rang the police.
‘If you make a complaint as well,’ said Mrs Angel, ‘they will get you to court.’
Armed with two yards of material and some embroidery silks, Sarah had plenty to think about as she walked back home. One thing was for sure. She would do as Mrs Angel suggested. She would report her marriage and go to court.
*
The detective who had interviewed Annie was terrifying. In his forties, and with a greasy, pockmarked face, he was very much a dominating force, aggressive and loud. Annie was respectful and did her best to field his questions, whilst at the same time, struggling not to cry.
‘Where did you get this bank book?’
‘I’ve already told you, from my husband’s drawer.’
‘You must have seen the name.’
‘I didn’t notice the “e” until you said.’
‘But it was obvious.’
‘I know. I can see that now, but I honestly didn’t notice at the time.’
‘Is your initial “K”?
‘No.’
‘Then you must have known the book didn’t belong to you.’
‘No … that is … Maybe I saw it but it didn’t really register. I was upset …’
He banged the book onto the table, making her jump. ‘I think you knew very well what you were doing, young lady,’ he shouted. ‘You saw a bank book with £500 pounds in it and you thought, Ah, I’ll have some of that.’
Annie was alarmed. ‘It wasn’t like that!’
‘So you passed yourself off as Mrs K Royale.’
‘No,’ Annie protested again. ‘I only wanted enough money to pay Mr West and to go and see my husband.’
‘But you haven’t got a husband, have you?’ he sneered. ‘I can see you are having a baby, but you’re not married. You’re living in sin.’
‘I am not!’ Annie cried indignantly. ‘How dare you say that! I am married and you’ve got my wedding certificate to prove it.’
The two men looked at each other, then DS Hacker closed his folder and stood up. ‘All right, Mrs Royal,’ he said. ‘For the moment we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt. We’re keeping the bank book, and the jeweller concerned doesn’t want to press charges, but remember that impersonation is a very serious offence. You are free to go.’
As they led her away from the poky little room and back to the entrance, Annie struggled not to give way to tears. She wasn’t going to give that horrible man the pleasure of seeing her break down, but when she reached the front desk all her plans went out of the window. A man and a woman stood up as she came through and the woman called her name. With a loud sob, Annie threw herself in her parents’ arms.
When she told the police why she had come, Sarah was shown into a small room near the reception area. As he opened the door, the desk sergeant shouted over his shoulder, ‘Constable, get Bear and get this lady a cup of tea.’
‘He’s with the relatives of that woman found by the pier, Sarge,’ said the constable.
‘Tell him all the same,’ said the Sergeant, nodding kindly at Sarah. ‘I think he’ll want to see Mrs Royal.’
The tea came first and Sarah struggled to control her hand. She was trembling. Perhaps she shouldn’t have started this. Maybe it would have been best to leave