And All That Jazz Episode 13
Charlie followed on behind the prison officer, boots clanging on the walkway.
He’d only been in Winson Green for a week while he waited for his trial date to be set, but he couldn’t see how any man grew used to being there.
All through the day there was constant sound – men arguing, and the guards calling for meals, for the start of work and the end of work.
The noise only died down after lights out but, even then, someone would be whistling or weeping, the sound echoing, small and lonely, along the halls.
What would he do if he was found guilty?
Charlie gritted his teeth.
He would survive it, just as he had survived the trenches, bullets flying past him as he rescued the injured from No Man’s Land.
One of the other stretcher bearers had called him Lucky because, in five years of war, he’d suffered little more than scratches.
Surely if he could live through that . . .
The guard led him away from the main part of the building and into a corridor lined with offices.
Charlie glimpsed one guard with his jacket off, reading a newspaper, while others sat around a table smoking and laughing.
“What’s all this about,
Mr Garston?” Charlie asked.
“Quiet, now, Tonks.”
Garston was a decent man. Hard but not harsh.
Charlie had already worked out which officers you should never look in the eye, and which would give a man the time of day.
Good things to know if he was to be in there for any length of time.
His stomach sank at the thought.
Mr Garston stopped outside a room and pushed open the door.
“You’ve got ten minutes, miss,” he said.
Baffled, Charlie entered a grand office.
Dark wooden shelves filled with leather-bound books lined the walls.
Two women sat by the desk, one of them rising to her feet when she saw him.
“Lizzy?” His heart gave a jump at the sight of her.
She was just as beautiful as ever, though tired, her mouth pinched tight.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said.
“Oh, Charlie!” she cried.
Tears ran down her cheeks and he wished he could brush them away.
“Come and sit down, the pair of you. We need to talk,” Dora said.
Charlie recognised the other woman from that night in the club.
“It’s Mrs Vale, isn’t it?” he asked, and she nodded.
“You can call me Dora,” she told him.
Lizzy led Charlie to sit in the chair beside her.
“It’s thanks to Dora that we’re able to speak to you like this.” She smiled at her sister, her eyes warm.
A flush crept into Dora’s cheeks.
“I have a friend who gave us permission to visit,” she revealed.
Lizzy grinned, her old self shining through the tears.
“The governor, Mr Drury, was rather keen on Dora before she was married,” she told Charlie.
“We don’t have time for gossip,” her sister admonished her, then turned to stare at Charlie with piercing eyes.
“Excuse me for being so bold, but I must know,” she stated. “Did you steal Lizzy’s earrings?”
Anger boiled in his chest, nearly spilling out of him, caught only by Lizzy squeezing his hand.
She was smiling at him encouragingly, with a look of total trust.
If Lizzy believed in him, that was all he needed.
The fury ebbed away and he returned Dora’s stare.
“Mrs Vale, I promise you I took nothing from Lizzy’s purse,” Charlie affirmed. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life and I never will, especially not from Lizzy.”
Dora nodded, smiling briefly before growing serious again.
“But you weren’t entirely truthful, were you?” she said. “About your war service, I mean.”
He stared at the floor, then at Lizzy’s hands.
“I didn’t lie,” he responded. “I was at the Front with the other boys.
“But my family are Quakers and I was brought up to believe taking a life is a sin.
“I was a conscientious objector, but I still wanted to do my bit, so I became a stretcher bearer.”
He looked between them, holding their gaze.
“I’m not a coward,” he declared.
All he could see was Lizzy crying and smiling at the same time, but Dora started talking again.
“We don’t have much time,” she said. “We want to help, but you must think.
“How could those earrings have found their way into your pocket?”
The night was a blur.
The music and Lizzy, her smiling eyes, her hand slipping into his when they went outside to talk.
Then the club was busy as he walked back to the bar, people knocking into him, that tall idiot who’d accompanied Lizzy . . .
“Your friend, Freddie,” Charlie stated as he realised something.
“I’ve told you, he’s not my friend,” Lizzy protested.
“He knocked into me. I felt . . .”
He remembered a tug on his pocket, like he’d caught himself on something.
“He put them into my pocket! It must have been him,” Charlie cried.
There was a knock and the door opened.
Mr Garston peered inside.
“Sorry, ladies. I have to return him to his cell now,” he announced.
Charlie’s stomach lurched at the thought of being parted from Lizzy.
“Do you believe me?” he asked the two sisters.
“Lizzy always knew you were innocent,” Dora told him, getting to her feet. “Now I do, too.”
“We’ll do all we can to prove it,” she assured him.
“Come on, now, Tonks,” Mr Garston urged Charlie.
He grabbed his arm to lead him away but, before they reached the door, Lizzy stood on tiptoe and gave Charlie a peck on the cheek.
“Try not to worry,” she told him.
As Charlie was led back to his cell, all he could feel was the echo of her hand in his, of her lips against his cheek.
“Who’s a lucky lad, then,” Garston joked.
“I am,” Charlie replied.
To be continued…