the end of the following week that she persuaded her father to take her strolling in Hyde Park. She walked under her parasol, imitating her mother, and watched to see if any heads turned her way. There were guardsmen in red coats, nursemaids by the dozen, pushing prams or accompanying young children, ladies and gentlemen in scores. There were even two policemen patrolling ponderously, side by side. Then, out of the crowd, a tall, hard-faced man appeared. The woman on his arm was expensively dressed, but blowsy.
‘ Father! Cecily said clearly. ‘That is the burglar who tried to steal from us last week!’ She pointed a finger.
‘ Him?’ Charles said, startled.
The policemen paused in their pacing. ‘What was that, Miss?’ one asked.
The man was still walking towards them. Cecily was hidden from him by the taller men. ‘I saw that man burgling our house last week,’ she repeated.
Charles stepped into the man ’s path. ‘A moment, sir, if you please. I want to talk to you.’
‘ What the hell d’you want?’
‘ My daughter saw you stealing from my house a week ago,’ Charles charged him.
* * *
For a second Jasper did not associate this poised, fashionably dressed fifteen-year-old with the girl in the dressing-gown, her hair down her back. Then he recognised her — and, at the same time, saw the policemen close in on him, cutting off escape. He determined to bluff it out. He laughed. ‘That’s a lot o’ nonsense! When did you say this was?’
‘A week ago today, last Wednesday,’ Charles answered, sounding uncertain now: perhaps Cecily was mistaken.
‘ That settles it, then,’ Jasper claimed. ‘I was at home with my wife all that evening, wasn’t I, love?’
‘ Course he was,’ Flora backed him up, stoutly. ‘I never heard the like, accusing an honest man on the word o’ some empty-headed young lass.’ She tossed her head.
‘ Are you sure, Miss?’ one of the policemen asked Cecily.
‘ 0’ course she isn’t.’ Jasper grinned, but his eyes glared at her. ‘Little lasses make mistakes so I’ll say no more about it.’
Little lass! ‘I haven’t made a mistake!’ Cecily replied hotly. ‘He is the burglar and he has a picture of a slut tattooed on his chest. Look and see.’
‘ Will you come with us to the station so we can confirm what you say, sir,’ one of the policemen said. It was not a question.
Jasper knew it and ran, but the crowds hindered him. Charles gave chase, shouting, ‘Stop! Thief!’ The cry was taken up and a strolling dandy leaped on Jasper, tripping him, and they both crashed to the ground.
Charles was on him at once, and then came the policemen, with handcuffs. ‘All right, sir. We’ve got him.’
* * *
On the day of the trial Cecily received a letter from Estelle Beaumont, her erstwhile governess, in which she said she had secured a position with a good family in Hampshire and was happy. She thanked Cecily for all she had done and the girl went with her father to the court in a happy frame of mind. Flora lied determinedly to save Jasper, but the evidence of Horace and Cecily, particularly her knowledge of the tattoo, was damning.
Jasper was sent down for twelve years and was lucky it was not more. When sentence was pronounced he glared at Cecily and bawled, ‘You little bitch! I’ll see my day with you! I’ll swing for you!’ His curses came back to her as he was dragged down to the cells.
They were echoed by Flora, but Cecily gave her a cold glance of contempt and turned her back. ‘Can we go home now, Father?’
‘ Of course.’ In the cab he said, ‘You did very well.’ Then, ‘Did his threats upset you?’
‘ He’ll feel differently after twelve years. And, anyway, he’ll be an old man then.’
She did not lose any sleep over it and soon forgot the affair.
Jasper would not.
7
DECEMBER 1902, NORTHUMBERLAND
‘Ah! You villain! I shall not surrender myself to you!’ Liza, soon to be seventeen and playing the part