Waxwork by Peter Lovesey Read Free Book Online Page B

must deliver you to the Sheriff shortly before eight in the morning on, er … ’ He picked up a piece of paper and studied it.
    â€˜Monday, 25th June,’ said the prisoner.
    There was a sepulchral silence in the room.
    The governor put down the paper and stood looking at her. From his expression, he was more surprised than annoyed by the interruption. He returned to the fireplace. ‘Doubtless you are resting your hopes on a reprieve.’ His eyes turned to a small plaster bust that stood on the mantelpiece. ‘The Sovereign has been known on occasions to exercise clemency on the recommendation of the Secretary of State for the Home Office. My advice to you, for what it is worth, is to put all such thoughts out of your mind. I have had the unhappy duty of meeting a considerable number of people in circumstances identical to yours at this moment. I have observed that those who endure the experience best are the ones who reconcile themselves to meeting their Maker. The prison chaplain, Father Hughes, is already known to you. I urge you to be guided by his spiritual advice. You are a member of the Church, I trust?’
    She nodded.
    â€˜Good. Then I hope you will unburden your soul to him.’
    She said nothing. She had said nothing, either, to the chaplain each time he had visited her in the cell. The tracts he had given her were unopened. The wardresses knew and no doubt the governor knew as well, but he did not press the matter.
    â€˜You may also receive visits from your next of kin. That would include your husband, father, mother—’
    â€˜My parents are dead.’
    â€˜Cromer, it is customary to address me as “sir”. I am sorry about your parents. However, it must be a consolation that they were spared the distress of this time. If you have brothers or sisters—’
    â€˜Sir,’ she said in a steady voice, ‘I have no desire to see them in this place. My husband, yes. I believe I am also entitled to visits from my solicitor.’
    The governor distractedly groomed his moustache. ‘Indeed, I was coming to that, but I caution you again that it is most unwise to base any hope on a judicial release from your sentence. Is there any other matter you wish to raise with me?’
    â€˜Not for the present, sir.’
    â€˜There will be opportunities, anyway, of speaking to me again.’
    With that, the governor had gestured to them to lead her away. Before they had closed the door he had gone to a cupboard and taken out a whisky glass.

FRIDAY, 15th JUNE
    C RIBB HAD SLEPT BADLY . His brain had floundered for hours in the shallows of oblivion, producing aberrations that jerked him awake. Once he was being ushered in by Jowett to Sir Charles Warren, but instead of the Commissioner at his desk, there was a camera facing them and the little figure that emerged from under the black cloth was female and grey-haired and wearing a crown. He had sat up in bed with such a start that it had disturbed Millie. He had not told her his dream. Instead he had gone to make tea and when he returned with the cup he had distracted her by suggesting they planned a visit to the theatre. He had known she would rise to that. The Mascotte at the Haymarket with Miss Lottie Piper. Millie was so quick with the suggestion that they both laughed. Later, in the darkness, Cribb was troubled. She had not asked him the reason for Jowett’s visit. He had always been frank with Millie. It was as if he was buying her silence for the price of two theatre tickets.
    He knew if she heard about this she would jump to the wrong conclusion. She would think the Commissioner had singled him out because he was the best detective in the force. Millie had never doubted it, always believed they were on the point of promoting him. It was no use telling her Warren had gone to Jowett because he was the Judas of Monro’s team and Jowett in a blue fit had blurted the first name that sprang to his