Heath stared at her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t fancy you working the tinplate, Mary,’ he said slowly. ‘But the boss did say he could find you a place at the Beaufort.’
Mary refilled Heath’s cup, her hand suddenly trembling as she settled herself opposite him. ‘Not too proud to do anything, me.’ She smiled. ‘But separating the sheets is a skilled job, those slices of tinplate are like razors.’
Heath nodded. ‘I’ve seen the cuts for myself, women slashed across the knees and ankles when a sheet has slipped. You’re too clever to waste your life doing that sort of work.’
Mary leaned forward and ruffled his hair. ‘Needs must when the devil drives, Heath,’ she said wryly.
In the silence she thought about Brandon’s offer to work and felt warm inside. So he did care a little, after all.
Mary served Heath his meal and then hurried upstairs to her room. She changed from her rough flannel dress and faded pinafore into a neat serge coat and skirt and a high-necked lace-trimmed blouse.
Heath was still sipping his tea, hunched wearily over the table, and her heart contracted with anxiety. She rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘I shan’t be long.’ She moved to the door and stood there a moment staring back at him. ‘Now, if you must go out tomcatting tonight, get a little bit of shut-eye first, mind.’ He grinned and waved her words away airily, but he did not speak and with a sigh, Mary left the house.
The air was fresher now with the coming of evening and as Mary made her way towards the tram terminus, she wondered if she was choosing the right time to visit Mrs Delmai Richardson. But then what time would be right? Her task was a difficult one and nothing would change that fact.
The tram was crowded and Mary jostled aboard staring unseeingly at the bright advertisement for Ogden’s cigarettes. She sank into a seat and tried to frame the right words in her mind, words that hopefully would give her time to find the money she owed Mrs Richardson.
Up on the hill the air was balmy and sweet as wine. The breeze carried with it a hint of salt blowing in from the sea that spread out like a vista of dull blue glass, as pure and unruffled as the surface of a mirror. Mary paused, looking around, her heart beating swiftly. Brandon Sutton lived in one of the fine houses overlooking the bay and overwhelmingly she felt the gulf between them, even though sometimes he acted as though he and she were equals.
She wondered what he would think if he knew of her dreadful background. The poverty and misery of her past was a sickness she hoped she had left behind, but at times like this when she was worried it rose up again to confront her like a gaunt threatening spectre.
Almost without thinking, Mary had walked up the driveway and knocked on the door of the gracious Richardson household. She was admitted almost at once and stared around her in wonder. The interior of the building was beautiful, the tasteful curtains that matched the cushions on the sofa and chairs were soft to the touch. Mary sat stiffly on a high-backed chair, shoulders straight and hands clasped in her lap.
‘Miss Jenkins, sorry to keep you waiting.’ Delmai Richardson entered the room with the air of someone wasting valuable time. She was dressed in a fine silk gown which fell away to reveal white skin and slender arms decorated with thick gold bracelets. Her eyes were misty, as though her feelings were well hidden from prying eyes. She seated herself and lifted her head, remaining silent as she waited for Mary to begin.
The tension in the room was almost tangible and Mary realised with a sinking of her heart that Mrs Richardson did not intend to make the interview easy for her. She took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly, but there was no answering response from the other woman.
‘It’s about the arrears,’ she began haltingly. ‘I’m sorry, but this is the first time I have fallen behind with the rent as you know. It’s entirely due to unforeseen circumstances.’
Delmai Richardson looked at her coldly. ‘I believe you have lost your position as overseer at the Canal Street Laundry.’ Her words fell like stones into a pond and Mary’s confidence began to melt away.
‘Yes, but it was through no fault of my own,’ she explained hurriedly. ‘The laundry is under new ownership and my services were no longer required.’
Delmai Richardson waved her hand, dismissing Mary’s words. ‘That is none of my concern.’ She spoke quickly, as though dealing with a matter that was distasteful to her. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Jenkins, that I shall have to ask you to vacate the property as soon as possible. I’m sorry.’ She twitched her skirt into place, folding out the creases in the fine silk as though she had nothing more important to occupy her mind.
Mary’s mouth was dry. Fear grew black and threatening, beating at her like wings. ‘Can’t you give me a little more time?’ she asked, her voice quivering in desperation. The other woman rose and moved towards the window, staring outwards as though forgetting Mary’s presence but with every line of her body rigid and unbending.
Mary rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for your time.’ She spoke calmly as she walked slowly towards the door, hoping even now for some softening in the other woman’s attitude but Mrs Richardson did not even turn to look at her.
Mary left the house and walked blindly down the drive. She could not think or feel; she was numb inside and in spite of the warmth of the evening, her hands were icy cold.
She heard a rush of sound and wondered if it was in her own head, then looked up quickly and was startled to see an automobile bearing down upon her.
‘Hell and damnation!’ The voice was heavy with an American accent, and for a moment Mary thought it was Brandon Sutton leaping out of the driving seat and hurrying towards her, but it was Dean who took her by the shoulders and stared down into her face.
‘What are you trying to do, honey?’ he asked in agitation. ‘You almost caused a nasty accident just then. Come and sit down for a minute, you look properly shaken up.’
Mary allowed herself to be led towards the car and she sank gratefully into the seat, realising that she was trembling.
‘Good thing I always slow down at that corner leading to Rickie Richardson’s house,’ he said more gently. ‘Otherwise I might have done you a real injury. Come on, you can stop shaking now, it’s all right.’
She found his arm around her shoulder strangely comforting. Dean Sutton was a generously proportioned man, his bulk reassuring against her arm. And he had been a good employer to Billy, even visiting him at the prison. Apparently he was doing all he could to get Billy a pardon and for that much at least Mary felt she owed him a debt of gratitude.
That there was no love lost between Brandon and his brother Dean was none of her business, since family squabbles were best left to those concerned. She became aware that Dean was studying her closely.
‘Are you all right, not hurt at all, are you honey?’
Mary sighed, knowing that she must confide in someone. ‘I’ve lost my job,’ she said. ‘But then I expect you know that. Your father gave me the sack – well at least he made it impossible for me to stay.’ She shrugged. ‘Now I’m in arrears with my rent and Mrs Richardson wants me to pay up or get out. I don’t know what to do.’
His arm tightened around her shoulders and he leaned towards her, his eyes unreadable in the dimness of the twilight.
‘The devil he has! I’m the owner, not my father, and if you want to be reinstated, just say the word.’ He smiled slowly. ‘But nothing is ever as bad as it seems,’ he said softly. ‘As a matter of fact, I can offer you a better position right now.’
Mary looked up at him, not daring to hope. Could her problems be solved this easily? ‘What would you want me to do?’ she asked quickly. ‘I’m not experienced at anything but the laundry, mind.’
He laughed. ‘It’s as easy as pie! All you have to do is just take complete charge of Sutton’s drapery store in Wind Street. You will be expected to see that the girls do the repairs correctly and be pleasant to my customers. That wouldn’t be too difficult, would it? And the wages will be better than at the laundry, I’ll warrant
.’
Mary could scarcely believe her luck. She shook back a strand of hair that had come free from the pins and her heart was warm with thankfulness. ‘Well, I don’t know why you should be so kind,’ she said unevenly, ‘but if you think I’d be suitable for the job, then I can’t say no.’
Dean laughed in triumph. ‘That’s the spirit! I knew I could count on you.’ His hand began to caress her shoulder and Mary moved a little uneasily.
‘Your problems are all solved,’ he said. ‘You now have a job and a new home, all in one fell swoop. Isn’t that just fine?’
‘A new home? I don’t quite know what you mean.’ Mary was bewildered and she tried to move away from him, but Dean held her fast. He put his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his.
‘Shop assistants have to live in, surely you know that, Mary? There are quarters above the Wind Street store where my girls are housed, but you, as a more special employee, would be required to live at my own home.’ His hand had slipped to her waist, he was drawing her closer to him and his breath was hot on her cheek.
‘Come on, Mary, you must see what I’m getting at. You’re all grown-up now. I’ve always admired you, so big and robust, so beautiful.’
Mary’s heart sank as she saw only too clearly exactly what Dean Sutton was offering her. ‘You want me to be your mistress, in other words,’ she said flatly and Dean did not flinch.
‘Is that so bad, honey? After all, Billy is behind prison walls; you must feel the lack of a man in your life and I would be so good to you.’
Mary climbed down from the seat of the car. ‘No trade, Mr Sutton,’ she said flatly and then she was running down the hill, like a caged bird suddenly set free, exultant and yet frightened all at the same time. Below her were the lights of the town twinkling like fallen stars and overhead the sky was huge, a deep indigo bowl; Mary felt insignificant as she ran towards the safety of her home.
* * *
It was cool in the kitchen, with the back door opening out into the softness of the night. Mary sat with her mending idle in her lap, wondering at the way the men of the Sutton family were influencing her life. She could not help but feel angry with Dean, he had been so confident that she would accept his offer without hesitation. True, he was a big handsome man, rich and powerful, and in other circumstances she might have found his attentions flattering.
She had no false illusions about herself. Chaste she was, but that was an act of providence and not one of will. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she thought of her response to Brandon’s touch – her defences were down when he held her close in his arms.
She remembered with a sense of pleasure the night when Brandon had helped her look after Heath. She had experienced joy and delight as potent as heady wine when she realised that Heath would live. And Brandon had shared it with her. She had almost succumbed to him then; he had reached out and touched her and she was aflame with desire for him.
She sighed restlessly, aware that she needed something more from life. She knew deep within her that she wanted love and the joy of a relationship built on solid foundations.
‘Fool!’ she said softly. ‘All you need is a good strong man to bed you.’ She had never realised except perhaps in the dimness of her dreams how moved she could be by a man’s caresses. But not just any man, she told herself firmly – not by Dean Sutton! It was his brother Brandon who had the power to stir her desires.
She heard a sudden noise and startled, rose to her feet. Her heart began to pound and as she stared at the figure in the doorway her eyes widened in surprise.
He was standing in her kitchen then, as though he owned the place, tall and proud. His dark hair curled around his face and his eyes were alight as they met hers. It was as if she had drawn him to her with the strength of her thoughts.
‘Brandon.’ The name was like a sigh leaving her lips. He stepped further into the room and the glow of the lamp fell upon his face. His cheeks had a sculptured look, his head was held high and his manner autocratic; for the first time, Mary realised that he was angry.
‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing.’ He spoke in a clipped hard voice and Mary fell back a step, her hand going to her bodice as though to still the beating of her heart.
‘What’s wrong, I don’t understand…’ Her voice faltered into silence as he stepped closer to her.
‘You certainly had me fooled, I could have sworn you really wanted me.’ He laughed shortly. ‘I believed when I took you in my arms that your passion was for me alone. I should have known that honesty in a woman in a rare jewel.’
Mary shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about, there’s no sense in what you say. What have I done?’
Brandon shook his head. ‘I saw you with my brother, he was holding you in his arms and making you a pretty proposition, I don’t doubt.’
Hot colour flooded into Mary’s cheeks. She could not look at Brandon – his words were so near the truth, so how could she deny them?
‘At least you have the grace not to lie to me,’ he said. He stood aloof from her, his face averted and Mary was so aware of his presence that it was as though a great light filled her being. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to understand that what he had seen was none of her doing, but his firm jawline and the coldness of his eyes as he turned to look at her was unnerving.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she tried to explain. ‘Mr Sutton was offering me a job.’
‘As what, his kept whore?’ Brandon said in a low voice and suddenly Mary was as angry as he was.
‘All right, you have made up your mind that I’m a floosie,’ she said briskly, the hurt within her almost unbearable. ‘So what are you doing standing here in my kitchen?’
He looked surprised as though he expected her to make further protestations of her innocence, but Mary pressed her lips firmly together, unwilling to let him see the depths of her pain.
‘Heath told me something of your problems,’ he said briefly. ‘I came to offer help – an advance on Heath’s wages, let’s call it.’ He reached in his pocket and drew out a bag of money, laying it carelessly on the table.
Mary stared down at it. Pride was thick in her throat and yet she needed the house in Canal Street. It was more to her than bricks or mortar, it was a haven from memories of her past.
Brandon had described the money as an advance on Heath’s wages and for a moment she was tempted to accept the offer. As she glanced up at him their eyes met and she felt as though she was suddenly drowning in a turquoise sea.
He took her in his arms so suddenly that she could not move. His lips crushed hers but there was no tenderness, only passion and anger. For a long second of time Mary remained motionless, savouring his mouth upon hers, then his hand touched her breast and pain surged upwards bursting from her in a torrent of resentment.
‘No!’ She pushed him away fiercely. She picked up the money and threw it towards him, and the purse fell to the floor scattering coins in every direction.
‘Get out of here and leave me alone!’ she said more quietly. He shrugged and turned to the door, his look one of scorn. Mary scooped up the money and pressed it into his hand.
‘At least your brother was honest with me,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘He told me he would give me a job, but that I would become his mistress for which service he would pay me well and keep me in comfort. You come along with your thirty pieces of silver and expect a quick tumble on the mat by the fire as though I were a doxy. Who is the worst devil, I ask you?’
Brandon smiled but there was no humour reflected in his eyes. ‘I don’t need to pay for what you would have given me freely,’ he said harshly and then he had gone, striding away into the darkness and leaving Mary alone with her humiliation.
She closed the door sharply and paced restlessly around the small kitchen, her mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts that whirled blackly, merging into despair as she sank at last into her chair. An
d from it all, one painful fact emerged: Brandon thought of her as a floosie, a woman who would give her love freely to any man. Tears rose in her throat, her eyes burned but she would not cry.
She was riddling the ashes in the fire, preparing for bed, when Heath returned home. He looked better now with a healthy bloom of colour in his face and the old gleam was in his eye once more.
‘There’s a silly grin splitting your face,’ she said, staring at him. ‘Been out courting, have you?’
He nodded. ‘I have that and I think I’m falling for her,’ he said softly. ‘She’s a beautiful girl and good too, Mary, and there’s not many like that around these days, believe me!’
What was it in men that they put women into brackets of good or bad, according to whether they gave in to a man or not, Mary wondered. She folded her arms across her breasts. ‘Well, what’s her name? Do I know her?’ She tried to speak pleasantly, though the mood of black despair still hung over her.
‘It’s Rhian – I’m surprised you didn’t cotton on before now,’ Heath said gently. Mary unpinned her hair and it fell long and flowing down her back. She had been blind, so wrapped up in herself and her problems that she’d had no idea what was happening to her brother.
‘Well, she’s a bit spoiled, of course, and wilful, but I expect a man of character could handle her,’ she said at last.
Heath smiled. ‘Oh, I can handle Rhian all right,’ he said confidently. He perched on the edge of the table. ‘I’m going over to stay with her auntie for a few days next week – is that all right with you?’
Mary nodded. ‘Of course it’s all right, cariad, you’ve got your own life to live. You are not tied to me by any apron strings, mind.’
He leaned over and brushed the hair back from her forehead. ‘Mary, I am tied to you by so many bonds. You’ve been wonderful to me, taken the place of our mam; you’ve brought me up, fed me and clothed me and loved me. What more could I ask? Mary, I’m trying to say thank you!’
Proud Mary Page 13