Convenient Women Collection

by Delphine Woods

  ‘Now, Mrs Lewis.’

  Suddenly, Mrs Lewis flounced out of the room without a nod or curtsey. When Cat looked at Ruth, the woman’s face was softer; dare she say it – impressed? Cat was sure she saw a little smile brighten Ruth’s face before she raised her cup to her lips.

  ‘I must say, the house looks a treat this year. Osborne never usually goes to so much effort.’ May, who was still smirking from the drama, directed her grin towards the festively decorated mantelpiece. She reached for a leaf of holly, rubbing her thumb down its smooth centre. She let go of the branch, and it sprung back into place.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cat said, though she was not sure whether it was her place to take credit for the state of the house, for she was not the mistress of it. Yet.

  ‘Where was it you said you lived?’

  ‘We have houses in Cheshire, Gloucestershire, and London.’

  Of course, they did. Cat forced her voice to be light. ‘And where will you be spending Christmas?’

  ‘Cheshire. And you?’ May said, fixing her sharp eyes on Cat once again. ‘Where will you be spending Christmas, Miss Davies?’

  ‘What a question!’ Ruth said, finally joining the conversation. Her voice came out as annoyed rather than amused. Perhaps the combination of a woman like May Harlow and the lateness of the hour were getting too much to withstand. Cat did not imagine that vicars’ wives were used to staying up until the small hours of the morning in such hostile company.

  ‘Miss Davies will be here, of course. You know that.’

  The bitterest of smiles, the kind that never reaches the eyes, pierced Ruth. ‘Quite,’ May snarled, then returned her attention to Cat as if Ruth was not worth bothering with.

  ‘What kind of Christmas did you have last year, Miss Davies? I imagine a very different one than what you will be experiencing here.’

  ‘Well, I attended church, of course.’ She smiled at Ruth and felt a thrill ripple over her skin as Ruth returned the gesture. ‘But I am afraid it was not a happy occasion. In truth, I do not wish to think of it, Mrs Harlow. I hope you will understand. I wish to think of only happy things now, and I am certainly very happy in this house.’

  ‘I should say you are.’

  ‘I cannot quite believe I will be celebrating here.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  Ruth’s smile dropped. She glowered at May. Did that mean Ruth was now on Cat’s side? An enemy turned defender? No matter how strained the evening had been, this at least might have made the whole ordeal worthwhile.

  During the long silence, Mrs Lewis returned to the room. She pushed too hard against the door so that it crashed into the wall, and as it swung open, an icy draught blew in from the corridor – almost as icy as Mrs Lewis’s face.

  Without a word, Mrs Lewis poured tea into Cat’s new cup, though now the liquid was too dark, and as Cat took the cup into her hand, it felt only lukewarm.

  ‘You may go, Mrs Lewis. We have no need for you anymore.’

  Scowling, Mrs Lewis trudged out of the room, tugging the door behind her so that it slammed against its frame once more. Ruth tutted and shook her head. May looked somewhat forlorn to see her one ally leaving.

  Cat raised her cup. ‘Here’s to a wonderful Christmas.’

  The Turners had insisted they go home, not wanting to cause a fuss, but Osborne would not allow it. Send his own vicar out into the blizzard with his good wife beside him? What kind of Christian would that make him? No, there was a perfectly decent bed upstairs for guests (several beds, in fact, Cat almost added) and so adamant was he, that the Turners did not struggle for long. Chuckling from a little too much wine and brandy, Mr Turner staggered up the steps, pushed along by his wife, as both of them looked over their shoulders to thank Osborne for his kindness.

  Meanwhile, May and Cat waited at the foot of the stairs in steely silence for their men to join them. Stephen and Osborne lingered in the great hall, not quite ready to end their conversation. Finally, Osborne laughed, clapped his friend on the back, and brought his bleary eyes towards the women.

  ‘Your husband has been humouring me with tales of London.’

  May extended her delicate, gloved hand, and Stephen kissed it, then placed it in the crook of his arm. ‘I do not want to know half of what my husband busies himself with in the city.’

  Stephen was as handsome as Osborne and just as tall and broad. For a second, Cat imagined the two of them as boys, raking up the city streets in search of something beautiful and sinful. She imagined their charms, the way girls might have dreamt and sighed about them, the way they would have discarded everything once it had pleased them, as all young, wealthy men like them always did.

  Stephen’s green eyes flicked to Cat, hard, like his wife’s. They stayed on her only for an instant, but the disgust in them was enough to make Cat flush.

  ‘Goodnight, Tomkins.’ Stephen shook Osborne’s hand and then guided his wife up the stairs. Neither of the Harlows said another word to Cat.

  Osborne slumped against the bannister, a grin spreading to his ears. His eyes were swimming, his cheeks ruddy, his hair fallen out of its hold. He unfastened his tie and tilted his head as he looked at her.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  The Harlows’ voices had faded to nothing. The air was still and quiet around them.

  Osborne shook his head. ‘You are a wonder to me, Catherine.’

  ‘How so?’

  He stepped closer, his feet unsteady on the floor. ‘A button maker's daughter.’ He laughed, but it was gentle. ‘No one would ever think it of you.’

  ‘I fear May Harlow does not take to me.’

  ‘May is …’ he shook his head and couldn’t find the word. ‘May is Stephen’s wife.’ He shrugged. ‘I do not care a jot what either of them thinks, of you, of me, of anyone at all.’

  His hand flopped into hers, and he pulled her up the stairs. She walked the hallway by his side, until they came to her room. They stopped by the door.

  ‘Did you enjoy tonight?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied.

  ‘You know,’ he lifted her curl of hair that had dropped from its pin and twisted it around his finger, ‘you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’

  She could not hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes to his feet, concentrating on the shininess of the leather.

  ‘Catherine,’ he breathed, and his breath was hot and tangy.

  His lips brushed against her earlobe, his teeth catching on the gold earrings he had gifted her earlier that day. She tilted her head so that her neck extended in front of him, inviting his kisses. He gripped her upper arms and moved her against the wall. His leg came between hers, and a deep moan rumbled from his chest.

  She placed her palms on his shoulders and gently pushed him away. ‘I cannot, Osborne.’

  ‘But, I–’

  ‘Do not make me. That is what he used to do.’

  Osborne clamped his lips together. They had whitened, and the frown had come onto his forehead as it always did at any mention of Jonathon Murphy.

  ‘I would be a good Christian, Osborne. I have been given a new life here with you. It is like I am reborn.’

  ‘You are,’ he urged, coming closer again.

  ‘Then let me be who God would have me be. Let me be a good woman. Do not drag me to sin.’

  ‘I would not, you know I would not.’

  She cupped his cheek and brushed her hand over his hot brow. ‘I do not deserve this, Osborne. Sometimes I think it must be a dream and that I will wake and I will be back in town, back in that place with–’

  ‘You are not dreaming.’

  ‘I must go back eventually. I must return to it all.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, seemingly sober now. His eyes were bright and focused as he spoke. ‘You will not go back. I promise.’

  She was about to say more, but he put a finger over her lips.

  ‘Sleep well, Catherine.’

  He kissed her cheek, bowed to her, and wa
lked down the hallway towards his wing for the night.

  The following morning, only she and the Turners had been to breakfast; Osborne had been sorting business matters inside his study, and there had been no sign of the Harlows.

  If slightly awkward, breakfast had cemented Cat’s hopes that last night had brought her and Ruth closer together, and an easy conversation about the weather and their plans for the New Year had finally, after several cups of strong coffee, ensued.

  Before noon, Osborne had found Cat and his guests in the parlour, happily chatting over cups of tea, and had suggested they go for a stroll, what with the weather being so crisp. And so, as Nelly helped her into her outdoor clothes, Cat asked what had happened to the Harlows that morning.

  ‘They rang at eleven. Then they had their food in their room.’ Nelly said it with a frown. ‘Still in their nightclothes, they were, when I went in with the tray.’ She shook her head in astonishment. ‘Her maid’s very off. Thinks herself better than all of us here.’

  ‘I wonder where she gets it from?’ Cat met Nelly’s gaze in the mirror and smirked.

  Downstairs, the Harlows, the Turners, and Osborne waited for her. The dogs barked impatiently, and when they saw Cat, they bounded towards her, licking her fingers before galloping out of the door.

  Osborne headed the party, striding out into the grounds as the dogs raced past him.

  ‘I fancy the woods, don’t you, darling?’ May said to her husband and stopped so that the whole troupe had to stop too, out of courtesy.

  Osborne glanced at Cat. ‘It’s terribly muddy out there, May. You’ll ruin your shoes.’

  She swatted the air before her. ‘I can buy more.’ She gripped Osborne’s arm and tugged him along before anyone had a chance to protest.

  And so it was that May and Osborne turned left before reaching the avenue of chestnut trees, and led the way out of the field of sheep, with everyone else following diligently behind.

  Cat had seen Osborne disappear this way before when he had been on his horse – when she had been watching him from her window. A moment of panic engulfed her as she saw the mass of trees spread out before her.

  She should turn back. She should make some excuse of a headache or sickness, and run back to the house. Surely, no one would blame her, would they? But of course, May would be triumphant. This was a test, after all. A game. The glee at Cat’s fear was evident in May’s eyes as she turned back to see what was taking Cat so long.

  ‘You look rather pale, Miss Davies. Does the air not suit you?’

  All eyes turned to Cat.

  Osborne extracted his arm from May’s grasp. ‘Perhaps we should go the other way–’

  ‘Miss Davies is perfectly well, are you not?’ Ruth left her husband’s side and joined Cat. Amidst the folds of their skirts, Cat felt the woman squeeze her hand.

  Cat cleared her throat. ‘Yes, I am fine. Please go on.’

  May’s smirk fell. She reached for her husband and stomped behind Osborne into the mud.

  The woods were different from how she had remembered them. The trees were now entirely bare, skeletal. The leaves had turned to sludge in the November rains, and their footsteps squelched. The ground underneath her feet was uneven, with odd rocks sticking up and making her stumble. Ruth was there all the time, striding along with ease, holding onto Cat and keeping her upright.

  They came to a clearing in the trees. The view of rolling hills and hedged fields opened up before them. Small clusters of houses dotted the landscape, and faint chimney smoke was just visible in the low sunshine. The party stopped to take in the sight, quiet for a moment, enjoying the birdsong.

  ‘Where is Birmingham in relation to here, Osborne?’ May said.

  ‘To the south. A good thirty miles away.’ Osborne threw a smile at Cat who stood at the end of the line. She couldn’t entirely return it.

  ‘Will you show us the lake where it happened?’

  Osborne rolled on the balls of his feet. ‘I should not like to upset anyone.’

  ‘You shan’t. I’m sure Miss Davies would not mind seeing the place where you rescued her, would you, Miss Davies?’

  Cat shook her head.

  ‘Right … all right then.’ Osborne flicked the brim of his hat. ‘This way.’

  They walked for an age. It was no wonder, Cat thought, she and John had been lost. The forest turned and twisted in on itself like a maze. When she thought the cliff edge should be on their left, she soon discovered it was on their right. She had no sense of direction amidst the trees.

  Finally, they came through a dip between two mounds of earth, and then she saw the shine of sunlight on still water. It was smaller than she remembered – the lake was nothing more than a stagnant pool; a collection of rainwater running off the hillsides. The water was black, the mud vast and sucking underneath the surface. She remembered the taste of it then, the earthiness, the tang of mulch and decay on her gums.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ruth whispered.

  Cat pulled her gaze off the water and nodded.

  ‘Tell us again, Osborne, how it happened.’ May crept to the water’s edge and placed her hand on the tree against which Cat had once rested.

  ‘Well,’ Osborne cleared his throat. ‘It was the dogs who alerted me to the trouble. I came riding through there,’ he pointed between the mounds, ‘and saw two figures by the water, one of them … struggling.’

  Cat closed her eyes. Hands … those hands against her throat. The way his face blurred as she stared at him through the water …

  ‘How did he have her? Face down?’ May’s voice was high, thrilled.

  Osborne shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I can remember quite–’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, then I pushed him off and helped Catherine out.’

  ‘Was she breathing?’

  ‘No, no, she wasn’t.’

  ‘The kiss of life?’ May said, sniggering with her husband. Ruth tutted.

  ‘No. I rolled her over until the water came out of her. For a while I thought I might have lost her …’ Were those tears misting his eyes as he looked at Cat?

  ‘And the man?’ Stephen said abruptly, rousing Osborne from his emotions. ‘Why did you shoot him?’

  ‘Because he was trying to kill Catherine.’

  ‘But you got her out of the water. Clearly, he didn’t kill her, did he?’

  Osborne laughed breathlessly. ‘That was his intention. If it hadn’t been for me … And he tried to run for it. What else was I supposed to do?’ His voice ended on a squeal.

  ‘All right, Tomkins,’ Stephen said, ‘don’t work yourself up.’

  ‘Stop asking all these horrid questions then!’ Osborne pulled off his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, then set the hat in place once again.

  ‘A mighty good job you were here,’ Mr Turner said, his voice creeping into the silence, soothing the tension. He patted Osborne on the shoulder and turned to Cat. ‘What an ordeal for you, my dear.’

  ‘What were you doing here, Miss Davies?’ May said, daring to probe further.

  Cat was not sure how much of the story Osborne had told his friend. ‘I was lost.’

  A thin line wriggled between May’s eyebrows. ‘An odd place to be lost when you come from Birmingham.’

  May waited, but Cat could not respond.

  ‘Osborne said you used to work in a factory, is that right?’ May fingered the set of decorative buttons by her wrist. ‘I wonder if it was you who made these?’

  Cat ran her tongue around her dry mouth. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I shall know who to come to when one needs replacing.’ That cold smile again. ‘Did you know your attacker, Miss Davies? I heard he murdered a man in town.’

  ‘Enough!’ Osborne said. He inhaled shakily. ‘We must return to the house. It is too cold to be standing out here.’

  He stormed through the middle of them all, ending the interrogation. Cat looked for a smile from him, but he glared at the ground as he pas
sed her, and the party followed him all the way home in silence.

  Inside, Osborne did not stop to remove his coat or change his boots. ‘I’d have a word, Stephen, if you have the time? In my study.’ He marched out of the hall so that Stephen had to quickly throw his coat at Dixon and trot to catch him up.

  May dropped her cloak into her maid’s expectant arms and strolled towards the stairs. Her heels clipped on the wood and echoed through the hall.

  ‘Ghastly woman,’ Ruth said once the sound of the shoes had disappeared. Her husband stared at her, taken aback by her honesty in front of Cat, but Ruth ignored him.

  ‘Tea, Mrs Turner?’

  ‘That would be lovely, my dear. And then we must leave. Walter needs to prepare for the service tonight.’

  ‘Of course.’ Cat had forgotten it was Christmas Eve. At least, she reassured herself, there was only lunch to sit through with the Harlows before they too were due to leave.

  ‘I’ll tell Mrs Lewis to get the tea, and then I’ll join you in the drawing room. Please go through.’

  Cat did not take the direct route to the kitchens. Instead, she crept along the corridor towards Osborne’s study. She heard the heated conversation in grunts to start with until she came to the door and pressed her ear against it.

  ‘She is making a fool of you, Tomkins!’

  ‘It is you who is the fool, Stephen. Your wife has a tongue as sharp as a whip; she does you no credit.’

  ‘And you? What do you plan to do with this, Miss Davies? Are you even sure that is her true name?’

  ‘You are being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I? A factory girl from Birmingham, you say? Have you checked their records?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Everything she has told me is true. She has worked there for years, with her mother and her sisters.’

  A brief lull in the conversation. Cat imagined Stephen conjuring another argument against her.

  ‘Still. A factory worker, Tomkins!’

  ‘Her heart is above all others.’