Pauper's Child

by Meg Hutchinson

  It was something of a mystery. Her nightly ritual completed, Sabine moved to the bed, the bed she had slept in alone for so many years. Staring at the blue silk cover, her eyes saw the blue of a silk gown, a gown lying at the feet of Emma Ramsey. The woman she had killed. But she had had to die; no chance could be taken of her babbling to the police what she knew of Oswin Slade’s death. Nor could the risk of her talking of that other thing she knew. Now it would never be spoken of.

  Glancing across the room, Sabine smiled at the photograph on the giltwood table. ‘I did it for you,’ she whispered. Picking up the heavy frame she looked once more into the past, into those distant years before coming to Wednesbury, at a young girl who smiled up at her from a bed of grass. Julia Montroy, her sister, her pretty sister… her lover! She had never quite recalled when childish games, the tumbling together down a grassy bank, had become play of a different sort, when her hands had first touched that tender figure, stroked flesh hidden beneath layers of clothing, but gradually, slowly, one piece at a time, the clothing had been discarded and deep among the copse of trees close to their home, both naked, they had made love. All of one summer they had visited the copse, two innocent sisters walking hand in hand, but in the secret shelter the innocence had dropped away. They had both been hungry for the pleasure the touching of breasts could bring, for the ecstasy of fingers stroking a stomach, of probing into the soft warm moisture of the vee at its base. The ending of summer had meant no more excursions into the copse but the heady pilgrimages to the altars of passion had not ceased. As sisters they had shared a room, and in the night hours as the rest of the house slept they had shared a bed.

  They had been such satisfying days and nights, she and Julia exploring new and exciting paths to pleasure, until one day Julia had found a new interest, one they could not share. She had found a man.

  Sabine’s eyes closed on the memory, on the pain which had turned to anger, on the jealousy which had become a poison in her blood. Then as memory flooded her mind once more with words, she looked again at the photograph.

  Jason Sanford was a fine man, Julia had said, he had asked her to marry him and she had said yes. Julia had been flushed with the joy of it. Sabine’s lips pressed hard together. Sitting on her bed, Julia had prattled on about what was to be, of the happiness Jason Sanford had brought into her life and the love he would bring to her future. That had been the moment she, Sabine, had asked the question, the question that had brought the babbling to a sharp halt.

  ‘Have you told him about us?’

  The span of years since putting that query was wide but the satisfaction of it felt as real as on that night.

  Julia had stared at her with wide eyes. Her fingers stroking the smiling face, Sabine watched yesterday’s scenes play again.

  ‘How could I tell him that!’ Julia had cried. ‘Jason must never know. Maybe he would not understand that what had begun in that copse was simply a game, a perfectly innocent game between two young children.’

  The laugh Sabine had given on hearing those words rang again in her mind.

  ‘A game!’ she had answered. ‘Immoral conduct… the indulgence of lewd and carnal behaviour… that can hardly be called a game and in no one’s eyes could we be seen as children. Maybe in that first month or so what we did might be viewed as a silly childish prank… but at seventeen years old? No, Julia, at that age it becomes an obscenity, a gross uncleanness. In the eyes of society we have committed a social evil; to them incest is worse than harlotry, and when it is practised between two women then it is seen as being a thousand times worse.’

  The picture in Sabine’s mind showed a pretty face crumpling with distress while another, slightly older and far less pretty, smiled in triumph.

  ‘Think of it, Julia.’ The words with which she had pressed her case returned as if said just moments ago. ‘Think of your fiancé should he find out his wife is a lesbian.’

  ‘But he won’t.’ Julia’s eyes had filled like lakes. ‘Nobody knows but us and we will never speak of it. Promise me, Sabine, promise me you will never tell!’

  ‘I did promise you, my dearest.’ Sabine touched her lips to a mouth parted in a smile. ‘I promised, and I kept my word, I never told Jason Sanford of what we had done together. But I could not let him have you, my darling; the thought of a man’s hands touching those sweet breasts, his mouth taking the nipples my mouth had taken, his fingers stroking where mine had stroked between your legs; that he should enjoy the delicate pleasure that was mine, that should always be mine.’

  Holding the frame at arm’s length, Sabine stared at the pretty image, her grey eyes glinting. ‘I tried to tell you, Julia, to tell you he could never love you as I loved you, but you would not listen, so you see, my dearest, I had to do it. You ate the chocolates just like Emma did. I sat with you, I held your hand until the end came and when you slipped into your endless sleep I put the rope about your neck, I hung you from your bed post. But it was his fault!’

  Bringing the frame hard against her chest Sabine held it close, the gleam of her eyes brightening.

  ‘I never told him you had agreed to release him from his promise of marriage as you asked I should. That was too easy for him. He had taken your love from me and I wanted him dead, but before I could act I saw him go into the railway station and I knew, I knew he was leaving Willenhall, that he was going away with that slut. It took me years to track them down but at last I found them…’ Sabine laughed again, a hint of mania mixed with triumph. ‘I found them, Jason Sanford, private tutor to a boy… my letter finished that. They moved to Wednesbury, I followed and again I saw to it he lost his post as teacher, that he could not secure another. Poor Jason Sanford.’ She clutched the photograph, the laugh in her throat tinged with hysteria. ‘Poor intellectual Jason Sanford, reduced to slaving in a steel rolling mill. But that was not the end. I tortured him with threats, threats to tell his wife they were the cause of your “suicide”, that his withdrawing from his promise, his setting aside of your engagement had been too much for you to bear, that during the course of the night you had taken your own life. Oh, it was sweet, my dear one, sweet to watch the joy of living fade from his eyes, so gratifying watching the spirit die within him until he walked into the path of an engine carrying molten slag from that same mill. He thought his death would remove any threat from his family. But he was wrong, Julia, your handsome fiancé was so very, very wrong!’

  Bringing the photograph to where she could see it, Sabine smiled, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  ‘He thought his death would wipe out his debt to you but it was only a down payment; there would be many more before it could be finally written off. The slut he married, the child which was the spawn of his evil, they also must pay; but not so quickly, not in a few short months but for years as Jason had.’

  Drawing the tip of a finger along the line of the smiling mouth, stroking it across a pretty cheek, Sabine’s threatening madness glistened in cunning eyes.

  ‘It was so clever, Julia, so clever the way I made them pay. I had secured a post at the child’s school and for three years I made her life a misery, but with Jason ending his life I resigned. But I did not forget that woman and her daughter. I was in no hurry; revenge was sweet and the longer it was in the mouth the longer the enjoyment lasted. I left Wednesbury and I waited, waited until the time I guessed the pain to have eased for Jason Sanford’s family. It was during that time I married Edwin Derry and it took only a little persuasion on my part to get him to move his business to the town I had left. No one connected the wealthy Mrs Derry with a long gone schoolmistress. I soon became a woman highly regarded for her taste in all things and every woman of consequence followed my lead, so when my housekeeper obeyed my instruction to let it be known to the tradesmen I would not buy from any who gave the Sanford girl employment then the misery of that woman and girl began all over again. And I saw the girl…’

  Sabine’s high pitched laugh rang in the quiet of her bedroom
.

  ‘I saw her at Emma Ramsey’s house but she did not recognise me. You knew about Emma…’

  The laugh died, Sabine’s voice becoming low and heavy with remorse.

  ‘Oh my dearest, I’m so sorry! But you have to try to understand. Making love to Edwin – to any man – could never be the same as it was with you. A few minutes of groaning and pushing and it was over. There was no thought of giving pleasure to me; that a woman too, needed satisfaction was beyond his comprehension. It had been so long since the rapture I shared with you, the ecstasy you had given; so many nights of longing for the delectable touch of a woman’s fingers on my body, delight of a soft breast in my mouth, for the passion sending fire along my veins or the arrows of desire piercing my every fibre as your fingers slid along my legs to play between them, to satisfy that wonderful pain, that exquisite ache of pleasure. It was a relief when Edwin no longer came. I would not have to pretend any more; he had his pleasure elsewhere and I eventually found mine with Emma.’

  ‘Emma!’ Remorse switched instantly to anger; Sabine’s mouth thinned. ‘We both enjoyed the afternoons spent in her bedroom. We could both give rein to the passions which boiled the blood. It was following one of our sessions I fell asleep. Emma said I talked of a sister, of lovemaking in a copse of trees, of you, Julia; but she vowed the secret would never leave her lips, made a solemn promise no whisper of it would ever be spoken. But when I learned of Sally Baker, the prostitute who had come to share those Thursday afternoons, of her having a blue silk gown, then I knew Emma must have broken her word, that the gift of that dress was a bribe for the trollop to keep her mouth shut. But prostitute or not, the woman had a brain, the bribery would not end there; sooner or later she would come to me. I would have killed her as I killed Emma and the foolish greedy Oswin Slade except a tram did it for me.’ Pausing, Sabine stared at the image in her hands, a slight frown creasing her brow as though listening, then shook her head.

  ‘No… no, my darling sister, your secret is not yet safe. Yes, those we are certain knew of it are gone but can we be so certain they alone knew it! What if they are not? What if Slade told Jason Sanford’s daughter? I was informed he was interested in the girl, that he intended to marry her; it is unbelievable he would keep secret the information he must have got from Sally Baker, or the sight he saw in Emma Ramsey’s bedroom. I cannot allow you to be jeopardised, your reputation must not be sullied…’

  Touching the photograph once more to her lips, Sabine smiled. ‘So you see, my dearest, Callista Sanford must die.’

  *

  ‘I came to see Daniel. One of the boatmen up from Liverpool asked did I know of a Leabrook Pottery. He had been asked to deliver a letter there and seeing as I was coming there myself I said I would deliver it for him.’

  Glancing at the handsome face of Michael Farron, Callista felt a surge of disappointment course along her veins to settle heavily in her stomach. He had been to the cottage to see Daniel and not herself. But why would he come to see her? They did no business together, they had no background of friendship that might give rise to a social visit; in fact they had nothing in common. Pushing a faint smile to her mouth she answered.

  ‘That was kind of you, Mr Farron, I know the Robertses will have appreciated it.’

  Damn her, couldn’t she see! Couldn’t a blind man see! Michael Farron’s fingers curled with the effort of controlling the feelings welling inside him but he managed evenly.

  ‘It was not only Daniel I hoped to speak with; I hoped also to speak with you.’

  A sudden weariness adding to disappointment was too much for Callista’s self-restraint and she snapped.

  ‘Mr Farron, if you came to discuss my intentions… as to how I will live or where then I must tell you bluntly it is no concern of yours! I have already said I will not be seeking the help of your uncle.’

  ‘Look, let’s leave Phineas out for once… please!’ Sharp though his answer had been, Michael Farron’s eyes held a kind of plea. ‘I know I acted rashly with regard to his friendship with you and so does my uncle, only he puts it a little more strongly than that: he says I have behaved like an idiot and if I am honest I can’t disagree with him; but I have apologised and will go on doing so for as long as you wish, only please… don’t make it a lifetime commitment.’

  The grin which broke across his face, the wide, almost boyish grin melted all of Callista’s carefully constructed resistance. ‘A truce?’ she said, a smile returning to her eyes.

  Feeling as he had so often as a boy on being given Phineas’s forgiveness for some misdemeanour, Michael nodded. ‘A truce.’

  ‘So, Mr Farron, what did you wish to speak to me about?’

  His grin fading to a smile he shook his head ruefully. ‘It seems I have already said it. It was to say I am sorry if my asking about your plans for the future was untoward. I did not mean to pry, it was simply my intention to offer help in any way I could and if you do not find it insulting then I make that offer now.’

  Blue stars! Callista looked into eyes smiling their repentance. They were like blue stars!

  ‘You do find it insulting!’

  Cheeks flooding with colour at what she had been thinking, Callista’s answer was flustered. ‘No… no, not at all, but there is no need… I mean I don’t…’

  ‘If it will help then, like the rain children sing about, I’ll go away and come again another day.’

  ‘I don’t want you to go away.’ It had come out too quickly, the hint of desperation, of wanting him to remain must have rung in it! Embarrassed, Callista felt the tide of colour deepen. Now who was behaving like an idiot? The cottage door opening was like a blessing, providing her with a reason for not looking at him. Taking advantage of it to regain a little of her composure she went on.

  ‘What I mean is, although I appreciate your offer I have no need of it. I have been offered employment with Edwin Derry.’

  ‘Derry?’ Michael frowned. ‘But he’s in coal mines.’

  ‘Hardly.’ Callista’s glanced stayed on the cottage. ‘But I know what you mean, Mr Derry does own several coal mines.’

  ‘But a woman can’t work in a colliery!’

  She had to look at him; she didn’t want to for she knew the strange emotions at the pit of her stomach would churn again the moment her eyes met his. But to continue avoiding his gaze would indicate rudeness.

  ‘I have to differ on that point.’ She smiled briefly. ‘There are women in Wednesbury employed in that business, though not underground.’

  ‘But you aren’t going to push bogeys!’

  If he were not so serious the look crossing his face would have been amusing. But the man seemed to catch every nuance which played on her face, every inflection colouring her tone, and was misinterpreting most of them. Deliberately keeping the smile from her voice she settled for a shake of the head.

  ‘No, Mr Farron, I am not going to push wagons loaded with coal… or empty ones for that matter. Edwin Derry has interests other than coal mines, several others, so Abigail informs me. One of them is houses. My employment is to be as an accounts clerk recording the amounts of rent paid by his tenants.’

  Turning his glance past the dark hulk of the kiln, letting it ride over the heath striped with gold where the sun’s rays played tag with puffball clouds, Michael took a moment before asking quietly, ‘Is accounts clerk for Edwin Derry so much more agreeable than recording an antiques collection for my uncle? Why accept one and refuse the other… is it because of me?’

  The question was a quiet shock, the prick of a knife against skin; the truth it threw at her a sharp slap catching the breath in her throat. All these weeks, all of the time spent here at the pottery, she had told herself she had not accepted Phineas’s offer lest it create a fondness between them but that was not all of the truth. It was because of Phineas’s nephew. She could not take employment at The Limes for fear of Michael Farron, of meeting him there…

  Watching the shadows play across her features, Mich
ael Farron’s mouth clenched like a steel trap. She had told him what he wanted to know; she had given her answer. Turning abruptly he strode towards the cottage where Abigail had appeared in the doorway.

  Watching him go, Callista’s lips trembled, the remainder of her thoughts ringing in her mind.

  … for fear of him seeing a love she would be unable to hide!

  26

  She had watched him enter the cottage and she had watched him leave, his body tall and straight, flickers of sunlight gleaming like drops of liquid amber among his brown hair. He had not glanced at her as he strode to the horse tethered at the gate, not given a nod in her direction or cast a look across his shoulder as he rode away. He had ignored her completely. Only minutes ago they had stood together on the brink of friendship and now it seemed they were as far apart as ever.

  Dejection brought smarting tears to her eyes; Callista dashed them away. Had he thought her taking work with Edwin Derry a slight to his uncle? If he had only waited before turning away, if he had come to speak to her after leaving the cottage, she could have explained, told him she had not yet accepted the post Sabine Derry had spoken of, that in truth she had no liking for it. But he had not waited! Callista stared at the round bellied kiln, its bulk casting a great shadow on the ground. Like the shadows of her life: moving with her, dark and obstructive, hiding any gleam of light, destroying every hope of happiness. A life of shadows! Was it one on which no dawn of joy would ever break?

  Brushing her fingers across her cheeks, ensuring no mark of her misery rested on them, she walked slowly across the cobbled yard. She would not take the post of accounts clerk; tomorrow she would leave Lea Brook and its brief interlude of peace and contentment behind, tomorrow she would begin a new search. That much she could promise herself, but there was no promise the shadows would not follow.