Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  ‘Come with me, my lady, you’re going to help me wash the dishes,’ he said forcefully. His eyes met Katie’s and she looked away, her colour high. Mary envied them for the unconscious simplicity of their love. Between them stood no barriers, they could marry tomorrow if they wished.

  ‘You’ve been very silent.’ Brandon’s voice startled her and Mary turned to him, trying not to look too closely into the expressive blue eyes.

  ‘And you’ve scarcely looked at me.’ She lifted her chin defiantly, determined not to make matters easy for him.

  ‘If I look too hard, I might feel like ravishing you,’ he said, but his voice was cold. ‘Perhaps such experiences are commonplace events in your life.’ His tone was insulting, his eyes running over as though she was a floosie on sale to any man. She drew a quick breath, feeling pain sharp and searing within her. Whatever she had expected from Brandon, it was not his cold cynicism.

  Before she knew what she was doing Mary’s hand had lashed out, catching Brandon a blow across his cheek. His response was immediate: he caught her wrists and held them fast with one hand while the other traced a line along her cheekbone, slowly moving to her throat and then, deliberately, he outlined her breast. Mary gasped as though cold water had been thrown over her.

  ‘Stop it!’ she said in a low, furious voice. ‘I’m not a piece of meat to be touched and inspected by the likes of you.’ She struggled to move away but he held her fast. Deftly he undid the small buttons on her bodice – his mouth was warm, giving her excruciating pleasure, his tongue teasing her nipple. Warring against the desire running through her was the fear that someone would walk in and see what they were doing.

  ‘Please, don’t do that!’ she whispered urgently and then his mouth had captured hers, his lips powerful and demanding.

  Suddenly he released her and, shivering, she buttoned her bodice. She glanced up at him but he seemed to have lost interest in her entirely. He moved to the door, pausing in mid-stride to call out to Mark, ‘I’m going now.’

  Mark reappeared from the kitchen. ‘Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to neglect my visitors.’ He smiled. ‘My attention was distracted by the lovely Katie and no one would blame me, I’d wager half my pay on that. My girl is the most beautiful in all of Sweyn’s Eye.’ His eyes were alight and his voice shook with pride.

  ‘I’m sure,’ Brandon said dryly. ‘Be down at the press tomorrow at seven o’clock prompt – there’s plenty to do.’ He glanced at Mary, his gaze penetrating. ‘And don’t go running to my brother this time, Miss Jenkins. It won’t do any good, because we keep the press guarded since the unfortunate fire that destroyed almost a year’s work.’

  Mary rose to her feet, anger lending her strength. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s not my habit to carry tales, mind, not to anybody.’

  Brandon ignored her as he went outside and she could hear the low murmur of the men’s voices but not the words they were saying. She imagined that she might be the subject of their conversation and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. How could Brandon believe that she would talk to his brother about him? What had she ever done to make him distrust her so, she wondered miserably.

  ‘Sure and don’t you look like you lost a guinea and found a farthing! What’s wrong, Mary?’ Katie was drying her hands as she entered the room from the kitchen. She looked concerned and Mary closed her eyes for a moment, unable to frame a reply.

  ‘What is it, Mary, not feeling ill, are you?’ Katie came to her side and rested the back of her hand against Mary’s forehead. ‘You’re very hot, so you are.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Mary protested. ‘Just a slight headache, that’s all. It’s nothing, so don’t go looking so worried.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Perhaps I’ll put the blame on the meal I just ate, the cook’s attention was not entirely on the food.’

  Katie returned Mary’s smile. ‘I’ll tell Mark about you, so I will and him working hard in the kitchen an’ all. Ah, here he is now.’

  Mark appeared uneasy and Mary knew with a sinking feeling that Brandon had instructed him to say nothing about their plans in her hearing. She looked at him levelly.

  ‘Whatever Mr Sutton says, I’ve never once been a cleck,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve repeated nothing, told no one anything at all, you must believe me.’

  Mark looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sure the boss just thinks that the less anyone knows, the better it’ll be for us all. It was a bitter blow to him to have all that work destroyed in the fire and he means to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

  The joy seemed to have gone from the day. Even the elation at the result of the auction had disappeared and Mary wasn’t sorry when Katie looked at the clock ticking on the mantelpiece and said it was time they were going home.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Mark said at once and Katie gave him a soft loving smile.

  Mary made a point of walking on ahead, but she was acutely aware of Mark and Katie, hand in hand behind. She had never felt so alone in her life and though she begrudged Katie nothing, the Irish girl’s happiness served to highlight her own misery.

  She was forced to hang around outside the Murphy household, waiting for the couple to say their good nights, and she looked up at the crispness of the sky, clear for once of the pall of smoke from the works. The wind was dry, driving westwards, with the result that the stars were clear and bright in the heavens. From down the end of Copperman’s Row came the sound of Dai-End-House playing his accordion and Mary felt her eyes mist with tears as the plaintive sounds of the music filled the air.

  In bed, she lay awake for a long time, her mind twirling like a leaf caught in the current of a fast-moving stream. She could see Brandon plainly in her mind’s eye; she knew every line of his face, every curve of his body like a lesson learned by heart. She ached to hold him in her arms, to put her head on his shoulder and have him smooth her hair with affection. His passion he had given her, but never his love.

  ‘Mary, are you awake?’ Katie’s voice was little more than a whisper. Mary turned over in the darkness and the bedclothes rustled around her like leaves swept along in the wind.

  ‘Yes, I’m awake,’ she replied. ‘Is everything all right?’

  There was a soft sigh from the other side of the room and then the pad of feet against bare floorboards. Katie pushed aside the curtain, holding a candle that shimmered in the breeze.

  ‘I’ve got to tell someone or I shall burst with excitement.’ She sat on the edge of the bed, tucking her feet up under her nightgown. ‘Mark has asked me to marry him!’ Her eyes shone in the candlelight and her skin was translucent as though the happiness within her radiated outwards like the rays of the sun.

  ‘I’m very pleased for you, but not at all surprised,’ Mary said gently. She leaned forward in an uncharacteristic gesture and kissed Katie’s cheek. ‘I know you’ll be happy, he’s a good man,’ she whispered. ‘Now go to bed and let’s get some sleep, is it?’

  But long after Katie was slumbering softly, her breathing regular and even, Mary lay awake staring into the darkness, her heart aching at the injustice of Brandon’s accusations.

  * * *

  Monday was clear and bright but with frost rimming the edges of the windows and drawing patterns on the glass. Mary dressed warmly, knowing that she would be standing in the marketplace for the best part of the day. She hardly had time to speak to the Murphys except to remind Katie to take more calico up to Muriel at Ty Mawr and to do all she could to help.

  ‘How are you at buttonholes?’ Mary paused in the doorway, bracing herself to meet the full blast of the cold morning air.

  ‘I’m fine, sure I am, but don’t ask me to work one of them sewing machines, have me fingers off so I would.’

  ‘Well, you tell Muriel to leave all the hand sewing to you and concentrate on the seams and such.’

  It was as cold as Mary feared and she hugged her shawl around her as she walked down Market Street, her head bent against
the wind. She felt heavy-eyed and still out of sorts, for most of Sunday had been spent working on her accounts. The results were enormously cheering and yet in her present mood she sometimes wondered if the struggle was worth it.

  The square was already alive with people and Mary stared around her in surprise. It was unusual in such bitter weather for customers to be abroad so early. As she moved towards her own stall, she suddenly saw the reason for the press of people and her heart almost stopped beating. The stall that she had sold to Jake Zimmerman was open for business, but what drew Mary’s gaze was the lines of calico petticoats and the piles of woollen undergarments – all at slightly lower prices than her own stock.

  ‘Jake Zimmerman, you low-down schemer, how could you do this to me?’ Mary said desperately. The man shook his head, covering his face with his handkerchief, his eyes watering with the cold. As if from nowhere the slight frame of Alfred Phillpot emerged, his long face full of triumph.

  ‘You see, Miss Jenkins,’ he spoke with false joviality, ‘no one gets the better of the Cooperative Movement, or of me.’

  Mary longed to lash out at the sneering face before her, but she forced herself to quietly open her stall and set out her goods for display. She must be calm, she told herself, and think matters out very carefully indeed.

  ‘I see your prices are a little high.’ Alfred Phillpot was behind her, his thin fingers lifting one of the calico garments with disdain. ‘We big traders can afford to cut prices, Miss Jenkins. Now perhaps you’ll see the error of your ways.’

  Mary turned on him fiercely, unable to curb her temper any longer. ‘And you’ll see the business end of my boot if you don’t get out of my way, you little cockroach!’ She spoke so fiercely that the man paled visibly. He backed away and the expression on his face would have been funny if Mary had not been so angry and upset.

  She did little trade that morning and once noon had come and gone she put up the shutters, locking away her stock securely.

  ‘Giving up, are you?’ Alfred Phillpot called from the safety of the stall. ‘Quite right too, the competition is too much for you, dear lady!’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Mary said and the man smirked.

  ‘Shut-my mouth, indeed, what a way for a lady to talk.’ He watched as she pocketed her keys and then turned to serve a customer, a sneer on his thin face.

  Mary walked towards the dock, breathing deeply, trying to think out her problem without anger clouding her mind. She would never give in to the man Phillpot or to his Cooperative Movement, she decided fiercely.

  At the water’s edge, she felt calmer. She stared down into the pewter grey sea as it rolled inwards and sighed softly. There seemed no answer – she could hardly cut her prices any lower or there would be no profit in the business at all. And yet she was determined she would sell her goods even if she had to hawk them from door to door.

  ‘Any why not?’ she said aloud. A seagull rose high in the sky, calling out a mournful protest at the sudden noise. Mary watched the bird in flight, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

  She would buy herself a horse-drawn van, that was the answer. Excitement mingled with fear raged within her, but she would do it, she vowed. She would learn to handle a horse quickly enough, especially if the animal was as docile as Big Jim. And then she would go round to all the outlying districts, selling her goods to the people who could not make the journey into Sweyn’s Eye.

  Yet how much would a large vehicle cost, she wondered? True she had quite a bit of money from the sale of the stall, but would it be enough?

  An imp of mischief lit her eyes with merriment. She could always sell the remaining stall to another trader in clothes and see what the Coop made of that! As she moved away from the docks her step was light. She had a fight on her hands and Alfred Phillpot and his accomplice Jake Zimmerman could both look out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The winter winds sighed mournfully in the branches of the trees, whining round the cottage that stood alone, small and yet solid in a garden stripped of verdure by the fumes from the copper works. But inside the house was bright, the gas lamps glowing white, the fires roaring in the gates. It was a comfortable house and one day, Rhian thought in satisfaction, it would be hers.

  ‘Come along, Auntie, it’s time you were in bed,’ she said gently as the old lady sat, head dropped onto her meagre breast, cap bobbing over her eyes, knitting fallen idle in her lap. She jerked into wakefulness and glanced at the clock and suddenly she was fully alert, her needles beating a tattoo, her eyes bright.

  ‘Nonsense, dear, there’s plenty of time for me to sleep when I’m in my grave,’ she said and Rhian sighed impatiently. Her aunt was just like a cat, napping one moment and full of life the next.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of cocoa, then?’ Rhian asked, but her aunt shook her head emphatically.

  ‘No, I don’t want anything. Don’t fuss, dear. I’ll just sit here with you until Heath gets home.’ Aunt Agnes smiled. ‘Fine young man that, a pity he seems to blow hot and cold. One minute he seems to want you and the next…’ There was more than a hint of malice in her aunt’s voice, Rhian thought angrily. She knew how to wound with words. Just because she was a vinegary old spinster herself, she wanted everyone to share the same fate.

  Rhian’s mood of impatience grew, for she had hoped to have the old lady tucked up fast asleep in bed by the time Heath came home – had wanted to snatch some time alone with him so that they could talk.

  Unhappiness quivered inside her at the thought of him meeting another woman and yet that was the spectre that rose to haunt her each time she saw Heath preparing to leave the house. He would shave carefully with the long razor, making clean sweeps at the soapy lather with the gleaming blade, and then he would wash at the sink and the water would run down his well-muscled arms, over the strong column of his throat and down his bare chest.

  Rhian had never been on such intimate terms with a man before, not ever. To her all the accoutrements of masculinity were unfamiliar and fascinating. Yet Heath continued to treat her in an offhand manner, rather as though she was a dog to be petted and pushed aside at the master’s whim.

  She heard the latch on the back door lift and glanced quickly at her aunt, but the old lady had heard nothing and was nodding over her knitting once more. Silently, Rhian left the parlour and tiptoed down the passage into the kitchen.

  ‘Still up?’ Heath was taking off his coat and his white silk scarf and hanging them on the peg at the back of the door. ‘Little girls should be fast asleep by now. You’ll never be a beauty if you don’t get your rest.’

  ‘Want a cup of cocoa?’ Rhian disregarded his words, her eyes running over him as though she might find evidence of where he had been and with whom he had spent the evening. He shook his head and a curl fell on to his forehead. Rhian resisted the urge to push it back with tender fingers.

  ‘Nothing for me, thanks, I’m going up now. I’ve got to work in the morning and so have you, my lady.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me as though I was a little child,’ Rhian protested. ‘Look at me, Heath, I’m grown-up.’ She turned around in front of him and his eyes warmed as they travelled over her slim figure.

  ‘You sure are,’ he said with a smile in his voice, ‘outwardly at least.’ He tapped his head. ‘It’s just up here that you’ve remained a little girl.’

  ‘It’s not true!’ Rhian said angrily. ‘I’m as mature as you are.’

  Heath came towards her and took her in his arms, his body pressed against her and she felt the hardness of him and was afraid. She tried to disengage herself but he held her fast. He kissed her soundly and after a moment, her arms crept around his neck. She heard his breathing quicken and knew he was aroused. The thought gave her pleasure, but it was not a physical one. She liked the feeling of power that his passion gave her, yet strangely she could not respond to it. After a moment Heath released her, his hands hanging at his sides. ‘You see?’ he said and it was as though he h
ad proved a point.

  ‘I don’t see anything.’ Rhian was angry. ‘I thought we were walking out together, you used to come and meet me from the laundry every day, now you hardly ever come at all.’ Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks and Heath caught her in his arms, smoothing her hair and hushing her, his tone gentle.

  ‘Look, sit down by here, there’s a good girl,’ he said patiently. ‘I’m a man and I have needs and I’ve been used to satisfying them.’ He shrugged. ‘Mary didn’t keep tabs on me, she was always good like that though she knew full well I was out tomcatting as she called it.’

  He paused. ‘I can’t change my ways, Rhian, not even to please you.’ He rose to his feet. ‘But I’m waiting for you to be ready and then perhaps we’ll see us walking up the aisle together.’ His tone had lightened and Rhian had no way of knowing if he was joking with her or not. She stared at him from under her lashes, trying to picture him with another girl, but the image would not come. No, Heath was drinking down at the Mexico Fountain, he couldn’t have a woman – not him.

  ‘Now, let’s get your auntie up to bed, is it?’ Heath said with a smile. ‘You know what a performance that always is with me having to practically carry her up the stairs. After me, she is – you know that, don’t you?’ He smiled again and Rhian sighed with relief.

  ‘There’s a one for the jokes you are, Heath Jenkins,’ she admonished and for a fleeting moment thought she saw a look of irritation in his eyes. Then he was hurrying her to the door and she knew she had imagined something that hadn’t been there.

  When she lay in bed, Rhian wondered again about Heath’s nightly excursions. He could not be up on the hill with a girl, not in this bitter weather, she thought positively. And Heath was not one to pay a floosie for her services, he was far too fussy for that. No, he had no one else; he loved her, of course he did, it was just that he was a man and needed to be in the company of other men. She sighed and closed her eyes and fell into a dreaming sleep wherein she was clothed in white lace and Heath was slipping a gold band on to her finger and everyone was happy.