At night, they never stopped. John needed the stars to guide him northwards, and so they had walked as shadows under the moonlight, through back gardens and deserted village streets, setting dogs barking and geese honking. They traipsed across crop fields and amidst flocks of ghostly sheep, their bellies moaning for food, their mouths stinging for a drink, their feet aching for rest.
At least the rain had washed them clean the first day. There was no trace of the dead man’s blood on either of them now, and Cat’s cuts had been swilled with the rainwater so dirt had not infected them. The pain in her head had been replaced with an ache in her hips, and it was getting harder to lift her feet. She tripped many times; at first, John helped her up, but now he let her stagger.
Last night had been icy, but good for star spotting. John had tugged her into a forest, where the thinning canopy had not hindered his view of the North Star. Now, only the moon remained in the pale blue sky where the sun was beginning to rise. John slowed once again, uncertain of where to walk without his astrological guide.
They followed some sort of path through the trees. To their right, the hillside fell away. Through the tips of the branches, they could see the valley below, the cluster of villages, the patchwork of fields. Birmingham was a long way away; the air was clean here, and the sun fell in bright, straight beams upon the green grass. She inhaled, drinking it in, feeling her lungs expand unlike they had ever done before.
‘John.’ She stopped and held out her hand for him. He came closer but did not touch her.
‘What is it?’
‘Look. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
He grunted and continued to walk. He led them away from the cliff edge and further into the woods. Thick tree roots contorted the ground, hidden under layers of amber leaves, waiting to trip her up. They startled game birds, which in turn, surprised them as they flew away, shrieking. Squirrels ran along the branches, blackbirds rustled in the undergrowth, and spiders weaved their silken threads around holly leaves. So much life! She had never seen anything like it before. She slowed, watching the world around her, and her fatigue took control.
It was like dirt was under her eyelids as she blinked. Her feet dragged, stumbled. Tears pricked at her, making a lump in her throat that she tried to swallow, but could not.
What had she become? A whore, a thief, a poisoner, a murderess. Out here, it was heavenly; the landscape around her served as a reminder of the hell to which she was destined. Above, in the calm, clear skies, her mother looked down on her – what did she think of Cat now?
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, leaning against a tree trunk, swiping the tears off her cheeks.
‘Come on!’ John shouted from ten feet away.
She tried to push herself forward, but she fell to her knees. She heard him puffing as he strode towards her, gripped her under the arms, and yanked her to her feet.
‘I need sleep.’
‘No time.’ He pulled her along behind him, and she closed her eyes and let herself be led as she thought about all the promises she had made and broken.
When she opened her eyes again, she cried out with relief. Water. So much of it. Her tongue ached for it, and she dived from John’s grip towards the edge of the pool. She was on her knees at the water’s edge when John gripped the collar of her dress and pulled her back.
‘It’s stagnant.’
‘Don’t care.’ She lunged for it again, and again he shoved her away. She had no strength to fight him this time and stayed where he had pushed her, staring up at him. Her tears fell once more, and she let them trickle into her dry mouth.
Laudanum! She had the bottle in her bag … just a small sip of it would quench her thirst. She opened her case.
‘None of that. You’ll be asleep, and I can’t carry you.’
She slammed it inside her bag again and yelled in anger. John stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, his lips thin and straight. He looked dreadful. His cheeks had hollowed. His eyes had shrunk into his skull. He was angry and bitter and exhausted, like her.
‘Where we going?’ she said. How had she not asked before? She had followed him without question; her mind blurred from the trauma and fatigue and agony. How bizarre that they were so far from home, that she had let herself be taken away so easily.
‘Liverpool.’
Liverpool? Such a long way! Another town, dirty, drunken, infested.
‘Why?’
John sighed. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He took off his cap and rubbed his head, and his cropped hair bristled under his hand. ‘To get the boat.’
‘The boat?’ Why would they need a boat? She imagined a tiny sailing boat made of sticks and paper, the like of which her brother used to make when he was little to take to the cut and let it float amidst the barges.
‘The boat to America.’
She could not understand anything today. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but still, she could not comprehend.
‘We’re going to America, Cat.’
She smiled at such an absurd notion, and her dry lips split and bled. She tasted the fresh, metallic zing on her tongue.
‘We’re not.’
‘We are.’ John slumped onto the ground beside her and brought his foot over his knee. The sole of his shoe was caked in mud and dead leaves, and he removed the flick-knife from his sock and started to slice off the dirt.
‘Why?’
‘Because we can’t stay here, can we? They find that dead man and they’ll come looking for me.’
‘They won’t find you.’
‘That’s right. They won’t find me in America.’
She watched him jab at his shoes, muck flicking in all directions.
‘I don’t want to go to America,’ she said.
‘I told you, it’s a new world out there.’
‘You’ll marry me out there?’
He sighed again, angrier than before. ‘I haven’t the money. We’ll need to save for my family again, seeing as we had to leave it all behind.’
She focused on the meaning hidden in his words. He couldn’t think that …? He wouldn’t make her …? After he’d promised the officer would be the last one?
‘I won’t go, John.’
He slammed the knife together and dropped it beside him. ‘You will, and if you don’t, I’ll go straight to the police in Liverpool and tell them what you did to that man. It’s America or the noose.’
She stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘I can’t leave my sisters.’
‘They’re better off without you.’
She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach again. John rolled his eyes skywards.
‘You’re a mess, Cat. Jesus! You’re a murderer!’ He sprang at her. ‘What did I tell you? Pretend. It’s all pretend.’
‘He was going to kill me, John.’
‘He wasn’t. If you’d done it better … but no. You made him suspect.’
‘I tried, John. I can’t do it.’
‘You have to, so get used to it. We’re all liars, Cat, every single person in this world is a liar. You too. You have to make sure your lies work.’
Her tears dripped off her nose as she lowered her chin to her chest. ‘I can’t.’
‘Then, you’ll die.’
She cried into her arms, resting her head on her knees. She couldn’t take the cruelty, the truth of his words. She wept, and he did not comfort her.
She sobbed as she thought of that night, the pain and the terror. How did it all go so wrong? Why had she insisted on the man drinking the laudanum? He was a smart man; she knew that as soon as he came through the door. He was dangerous. If she’d just laid back, taken it, taken the money he’d given rather than try to rob him, he would still be alive and she would not be here, miles away from her home, about to be taken even further away to a foreign land.
Her tears slowed as the images played out in her mind. The sparkle of the cut glass … the pink of his flesh … the closed wardrobe …
&nb
sp; ‘Why didn’t you save me?’
She lifted her eyes from her skirts. John gazed at the water, silent.
‘John?’
She saw his jaw press together.
‘Why didn’t you stop him?’
He remained still. A ball of sickness fluttered up her throat.
‘My hair … you didn’t want me to wear the wig – no disguise. And less laudanum than usual. Why?’
Finally, his gaze dropped to his lap. He sniffed but did not answer. He didn’t need to. God! How had she been so foolish? So blind? All this time … years of doing his bidding because she loved him. How she had loved him!
‘You never had any intention of saving me, did you?’
His silence was her confirmation. She rushed a hand to her mouth, trying to stop the vomit but she couldn’t. The emptiness of her stomach slid out of her as thin, clear drool and trickled into the leaves.
‘I gave you everything,’ she whispered, wiping her mouth. She thought of the first time they’d met, the first time they’d made love, John’s promises of safety. She had believed him entirely. All the times she’d said she loved him. All the times she’d said she’d do anything for him – how he had preyed on that! All the times he’d promised to take care of her …
We’re all liars.
‘Was any of it the truth?’
Nothing.
It felt as if God was squeezing her lungs.
‘Your family?’
‘I’d never lie about them.’ His voice made her flinch.
‘Only me, then. You only lied about me. You never loved me.’
He faced her. Hard. Brutal. ‘I haven’t loved anybody for years.’
She stared at him as he got to his feet and brushed the leaves off his trousers. There was nothing in his face, no sadness, no regret. It was as if nothing had changed between them.
If only! If only she could forget the last few minutes of their conversation. If only she could keep believing he was the man who she thought he had been. If only she could trick herself into thinking he loved her.
But she couldn’t.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we need to keep moving.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘Come on!’
She grabbed the knife by his feet, flicked the blade open, and crawled away from him. ‘I’m not going with you, John.’
‘Give me my knife.’ He held his hand out.
‘Get away from me.’
‘You have to come.’
‘You’ll use me for a whore again, but I won’t do it!’ Her voice echoed through the trees. ‘You have ruined me, John!’ She could not stop the screams now. ‘You have taken everything I was and ruined it!’
‘You killed him, Cat,’ he said softly. ‘You ruined yourself.’
She charged at him, knife outstretched, aiming for his face. She would silence him. She would cut the lies out of his mouth so she would never hear them again. She would cut his heart out and tear it apart so that he would know her pain. She would beat and slash and pound him the way the officer had done to her until he was begging for forgiveness, until he was sorry.
His arm slammed into hers, sending the blade flying out of her grip before she could get to him. In an instant, he had fistfuls of her skirt and was dragging her towards the pool. She kicked and thrashed against him, yelling at him, but his face was blank and cold as he pushed her under the water.
The shock of it made her gasp. Water filled her mouth. She choked on it, beating on John’s chest, pulling on his arms that held her under. The ripples blurred his face. Bubbles of her breath broke against the surface. The noise of the water, the splashing, her racing heartbeat, her burning lungs, were all-consuming.
She was weakening. When her mother smiled down on her, she stopped fighting. Why would she wish to live anyway? What kind of life would there be without her mother, without her sisters, without John? She let him push her down further until the light ebbed and the water swelled in her chest.
The weight lifted. She felt herself floating upwards. Death cradled her, and wrapped its darkness around her once again …
She heaved the water out of her lungs. She felt it come out of her, warmer than when it had gone in. She sucked at the air, choking it inside of her, unable to get enough of it as leaves brushed against her lips.
There was solid ground underneath her. She opened her eyes, squinted at the brightness, and saw two dark figures in the distance. Dragging herself away from the commotion, she found her bag and hugged it close; she must not lose her mother’s ring. She pulled herself towards a tree trunk and rested against it, gulping air as if it might again be stolen from her at any moment. Her vision cleared. She saw John scowling at her, a fresh cut bleeding over his eye. He was wild now, suddenly alive, fighting for survival, and his survival meant her death.
Another man, taller than John, broad and dark-haired, looked at her. He was the only thing between herself and John.
‘Help me,’ she begged, but her throat was unable to make a sound.
John pounced towards her. She braced herself, brought her knees up so she was in a ball, and waited for his attack. It never came.
Numbly, she listened to John denying all knowledge of her as cold water dripped off her head and dribbled down her bodice. She would have sobbed, had she had the energy, as she watched the man she had loved say she was a stranger to him.
Then, silence.
John’s horrified face.
The calm as the stranger raised the gun.
‘Scum.’
Chapter 31
December 1854. Wallingham Hall.
Inside the study, alone, Cat wrapped a small wad of notes into a parcel, bound it tightly, and sealed it with wax. Another instalment to be sent to Birmingham, Able Street, but it would not be long until she could stop buying Ruby’s silence; the girl’s disease had come back stronger. Cat had seen its marks on her welting skin and in the crumbling of her nose when Cat had personally delivered the first package.
She fixed the parcel and rang for Nelly.
‘Send this in tonight’s post.’ It would be a welcome New Year’s gift.
‘Your guests are here now, ma’am.’
Cat stood and let Nelly straighten out her scarlet satin dress.
‘You look beautiful, ma’am, all ready for Christmas.’
Cat kissed her maid on the cheek and ushered her from the room, asking her to tell her guests she’d be with them shortly.
She took a moment in the silence of the small space. She liked it here nowadays; no longer was it Osborne’s domain. She had fresh flowers in here now, framed portraits, beds for the dogs – it even felt cosier and homelier than the rest of the house. The ticking clock on the mantelpiece relaxed her. Studying the finances and writing letters occupied her otherwise idle hands and did not let her mind drift. The study had become her haven.
But now, she would have to become the hostess, would have to entertain and delight – would have to pretend.
Her gloves lay on the desktop. She slipped them over her naked fingers. Her diamond wedding ring waited to be worn, begged to be admired. She took it in her hand, felt the weight of it, then dropped it into the drawer with the bullets.
She coaxed her mother’s gold band over her finger instead. It was so thin it would barely be noticed, but Cat would know it was there. She held it to her heart then rolled her shoulders back, raised her head, and smiled as she glided out of the study, locking it behind her, and made her way to the drawing room.
Her guests rose when she entered.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘Not at all,’ Ruth said, as Mr Turner kissed Cat’s hand. ‘We’ve all been enthralled by your sisters’ stories.’
Lottie and Helen, both now taller than Cat, drifted to their sister to kiss her cheek. They too wore new scarlet dresses, and the three of them, with their golden hair, their beautiful faces, and graceful bodies, could have been mistaken for triplets.
‘
They are treasures to you,’ Ruth said to Cat, embracing her.
‘They are.’ Cat beamed at her sisters. They had quickly grown accustomed to life at Wallingham Hall. Most astonishingly, they had remained pure after all this time apart. Cat would never let them know what she had done to get them here.
‘Mrs Tomkins.’ Doctor Norton, dressed in an elegant dinner suit, bowed to her. She offered him her hand and a warm, tearful smile.
‘I am overjoyed you accepted my offer, Mr Norton.’
‘It is my pleasure.’
She inched closer to him, lowered her voice. ‘How is my husband?’
The smile dropped from his lips. ‘He remains unwell, Mrs Tomkins.’
‘His delusions persist?’
Doctor Norton nodded. ‘His lungs seem to be failing him too, but I do not wish to upset you on Christmas Eve.’
‘Please, Doctor, I must know the full extent of his illness.’
Doctor Norton scratched his nose, a habit, Cat had observed, he performed every time he was uncomfortable. ‘He suffers from suspected pneumonia. He is in the infirmary ward.’
‘What can I do?’ She grasped Norton’s hand.
‘Nothing, Mrs Tomkins. He is in the best place.’
She sighed and hoped it sounded melancholic rather than irritated. She would have preferred Osborne to have been suffering, to have been isolated in one of those sweating padded cells.
Bringing Norton’s hand close against her bodice, Cat whispered, ‘I am sure the Lord is watching over him.’
She felt Norton tense as his fingers grazed her stomach. She dropped her gaze when his cheeks flushed, and slipped out of his grasp as her sisters’ chatter and far-off singing floated on the air.
‘Carollers!’ Ruth said, hopping up from her seat and taking hold of Lottie and Helen’s hands, pulling them to the front door.
Cat and Norton followed them out to stand in the porch and watch the Christmas scene. It was the same song as last year, the same snow falling, the flakes shimmering in the light of the candle lanterns, but how things had changed! Her heart had been so raw; now, it felt like a lump of rock inside her chest. Only the sight of her sisters’ joy and the stirring inside her womb made her smile.
Convenient Women Collection Page 60