‘But that woman is her grandmother!’ George said angrily. ‘How could she treat a child that way? And just how long was she intending to keep her like that?’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘Mrs Coleman was taken straight to an asylum. She’ll be seen by a psychiatrist and, in due course, we might have a better idea of what her intentions were. Miss Gribble may give us some answers; she is, by all accounts, devoted to Mrs Coleman. She’s something of a dragon but, it appears, not insane. Her injuries are superficial and later today she’ll be taken to Holloway Prison, where she’ll be held on remand while we ascertain the full extent of her crimes.’

‘Then, if I may, I’ll be off to see Molly and Petal. I’ll be staying another night in Rye. I’ll be at the George if you need me.’

‘Before you go, do you have an address for the Church Army lady? We might need to contact her as a character witness.’

‘She died back in winter,’ George said. ‘Just as Molly got the job here. If you need a character witness there are dozens of people back in Sawbridge who’d be happy to tell you what a good, honest person Molly is.’

‘Well, thanks for the statement,’ said Sergeant Wayfield. ‘Please pass on to Miss Heywood that we’re all hoping she’ll get well soon.’

‘I’ll thank her for doing your job for her, too, shall I?’ George asked, unable to resist making a jibe.

Wayfield looked him up and down, his mouth bent into a sneer. ‘If she’d come in here with that photo and explained to us that she felt the girl’s mother lived near here, we would have checked it out. As it happens, we’ve already found the child’s birth registration, and her name wasn’t Petal March but Pamela Coleman. It was a home birth and the father’s name is marked as unknown, as the mother wasn’t married.’

George decided to quit while he was ahead, and said goodbye. The police here seemed to be annoyed with him for muscling in on their territory. It didn’t seem to have occurred to them that, if he hadn’t acted as he did, Molly and Petal might be dead now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ted Bridgenorth arrived at Charley Sanderson’s address in Bethnal Green and winced when he saw how squalid it was. It was a shabby, three-storey terraced house in a row of eight equally run-down ones. The other side of the street had fared even worse for, though the bomb sites between some of the houses had been cleared of rubble, weeds had taken over, and only partially covered the piles of dumped rubbish.

As it was a pleasant day a great many people were sitting out by their front doors on boxes or chairs, and dozens of children were playing in the street. A gang of children had surrounded the car as he drove into the street and, though they appeared to be admiring it, Ted wished he’d come on a school day instead of a Saturday, as they might just let his tyres down while he was talking to Charley.

He rapped on the door of number twelve.

‘There’s no one in. Who you after?’ a strident female voice called out from the street.

‘Charley Sanderson,’ he called back. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Well, I do ’is washing, so I ’ope I do.’ A woman with red hair broke away from a group of other women and came towards him. She was in her twenties, an attractive, shapely woman with a look of Rita Hayworth.

‘Are you his girlfriend?’ Ted asked. He really hoped Charley hadn’t been playing fast and loose with other women, but he wasn’t the kind to tell tales or to cause trouble for another man.

‘No fear,’ she laughed.

‘Well, that’s good, as I came to tell him that Molly’s in hospital. I sent him a telegram, but I think he must’ve been away as he didn’t get back to me. Do you know how I can get hold of him?’

She moved in much closer to him. ‘Is it an emergency?’ she whispered.

‘Well, yes, something really nasty has happened to Molly, and she needs him.’ Ted thought the woman was being a bit odd, but then he wasn’t used to London girls of her class.

‘Then you’d better go round and knock him up at Balaclava Street,’ she said. ‘’E’ll be at number five, it’s only a couple of streets away. ’E’ll be with ’is mate Alan.’

She gave him directions and, as he was getting back in the car, she leaned forward to speak to him through the window. ‘Is Molly ’is sister?’

‘No, his girlfriend,’ Ted replied.

To his surprise, the woman spluttered with laughter.

Ted drove off, a little puzzled by the woman’s attitude, but found Balaclava Street easily. It was almost identical to the first street he’d been to, and equally squalid, except that the houses here were only two storeys.

He rapped at the door of number five and was just about to rap again when the door was opened by a very attractive young blond man wearing a pair of trousers but with his chest and feet were bare.

‘What can I do for you?’ the young man said.

Ted was taken aback by his effeminate manner, and the way he spoke. If this was Alan, he understood why the red-haired woman had laughed. ‘Are you Alan?’ he asked.

‘Yes, who wants to know?’

‘I was told that Charley Sanderson is your friend. Is he here?’ Ted asked. ‘I have a message for him.’

‘Charley!’ Alan yelled, still looking at Ted. ‘Someone to see you.’

Ted heard someone’s feet coming down the stairs. When the man got to the hall he was buttoning up his shirt. His feet were bare, too.

‘I sent you a telegram,’ Ted said hesitantly, so shocked he wanted to drive off in his car. ‘You didn’t reply.’

Charley looked puzzled for a moment, and then suddenly apprehensive. ‘Oh, couldn’t place you for a moment,’ he said, then flashed that wide smile of his. ‘It’s Mr Bridgenorth, from the George in Rye. I haven’t been home, so I haven’t seen a telegram. Don’t tell me something has happened to Molly?’

‘It has, I’m afraid.’ Ted hastily told him the bare bones of it. ‘We heard this morning she was going to be all right, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a letter, a phone call or visit from you.’

Charley’s eyes were wide with shock. ‘Of course! I’m just sorry I didn’t get the telegram. I would’ve come straight away. What a terrible business!’

The young, blond man was standing just back from Charley, his anxiety showing clearly in his face. Ted had met other homosexuals since he’d been in the hotel trade and didn’t have a particularly strong view on homosexuality. His attitude was, each to his own, as long as no one wanted to try anything on with him.

But this was totally different. Both he and his wife had got the distinct impression that Molly and Charley loved each other. Molly would be destroyed if she knew he preferred men to women.

‘I must go now,’ Ted said, unable to get away fast enough. ‘It’s busy at the hotel, and my wife and I had planned to visit Molly this afternoon.’

He saw Charley glance over at Alan. He couldn’t have looked guiltier if he’d been caught in the act.

As Ted got into his car Charley shot over to him and leaned in at the window, just as the redheaded woman had.

‘I know what you are thinking, but it’s not like that,’ he said.

‘Oh, really?’ Ted raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday?’

Charley turned scarlet. ‘Alan and I are just friends, nothing more,’ he insisted in a shrill voice. ‘I love Molly and want to marry her.’

‘I don’t doubt you care for her, as my wife and I do, too,’ Ted said. ‘But I saw for myself how it was between you and Alan, and marrying a woman you have no physical desire for is doomed from the start.’

‘You don’t know how it is with Molly and me,’ Charley said belligerently. ‘I ought to knock your block off for suggesting I’m homosexual.’

‘Charley, stop right there,’ Ted said firmly. ‘I know, and you know, so there’s no point denying anything. I don’t give a damn about your preferences, but I do care about Molly. So you’ve got to be fair to her and let her down gently.’