Cissie licked her dry lips. ‘About twenty-five pounds up to now and he called by yesterday to say that he needed more.’
‘Twenty-five pounds!’ George was horrified. ‘But why the hell would he need that amount of money?’
Cissie’s eyes were brimming with tears. She would not admit that she was a little afraid of her own son, but she was. ‘Well, he’s been kicked out of his lodgings by all accounts and he has to live, doesn’t he? He says that his adoptive parents won’t help him any more – and I am his birth mother, after all.’ She faltered to a stop as George shook his head.
‘I’m sorry to say this, Cissie, but I think he’s playing you for a fool. He knows you feel guilty for not being there to bring him up – through no fault of your own, may I add – and he’s out to bleed you dry. Well, it’s gone quite far enough now. If he comes back asking for more money I shall deal with him next time – whether he’s your son or not!’ Then as Cissie’s hot tears brimmed over and spilled down her cheeks, his voice gentled. ‘Look, pet, you must realise that this can’t go on? Hugh is young, fit and healthy. He could work for a living if he had a mind to, or even enlist in the Army. God knows he’s the right age, but he won’t make any effort while you keep supporting him, will he?’ George was secretly devastated that Hugh had milked them of such a huge portion of their life’s savings, and yet he could understand why Cissie had indulged him. He would probably have done the same had he been in her shoes, but enough was enough and now he intended to put a stop to the man’s sponging. It would be interesting to see if Hugh still bothered with Cissie then, when he had nothing to gain from her but her love.
‘But what shall I say if he comes asking for me?’ Cissie was wringing her hands together. ‘He usually comes when he knows you will still be over at Treetops.’
‘Just tell him that I’ve moved the rest of our money and you don’t know where it is,’ George advised. ‘Then he’ll have to come and ask me for it – and believe me he’ll get short shrift. Will you do that for me?’
She nodded. ‘Of course, but I’m hoping he won’t come asking again.’ She pottered away to put the kettle on then as George pretended to go back to reading his newspaper.
It seemed no time at all before the day of Ben’s departure dawned, and after saying tearful goodbyes to everyone at Treetops, Sunday and Tom drove him to the Trent Valley railway station. Their hearts were heavy. However, they were surprised when they arrived there to find an almost carnival atmosphere. A brass band was playing outside and young men with happy smiling faces were enjoying being the centre of attention. They looked as if they were going on holiday or on some great adventure rather than to fight in a war, and were clearly relishing being treated as heroes.
The platform was teeming with all the newly enlisted boys, some looking not old enough to be going, Sunday secretly thought. And then suddenly they heard the train chugging into the station, belching smoke and steam, and the faces of the women fell and tears began to spill as they hugged their menfolk to them. Who knew if they would ever come home again.
‘Please take care of yourself,’ Sunday implored as she threw her arms about Ben. ‘You must know that I love you.’ She so bitterly regretted the way she had treated him when she had discovered that he was Tom’s son, but it was too late to turn the clock back and she could only pray that he would return safely so that she could prove to him just how very much he meant to her.
He nodded as he gave her a hug. He had forgiven her for the cold way she had treated him when she discovered that he was her husband’s son. It had been no hardship, for in truth Sunday was the closest thing to a mother he had ever known, and until then she had doted on him.
‘I’m only going to do my training,’ he teased her as he gently wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘I shall no doubt be back for a short while on leave in a couple of weeks’ time.’ He turned to Tom then and shook his hand.
‘Stay safe, son,’ Tom muttered thickly and then Ben was throwing his kitbag on board and clambering into the train after it. The platform began to empty as the other young men followed suit and then the air was filled with shouts of, ‘Goodbye, stay safe!’ as the train began to pull away. Sunday and Tom stood there waving until it was out of sight then sadly made their way back to the car, missing Ben already.
That evening, Cissie finished her chores at Treetops and set off for Primrose Cottage, leaving George to help Tom stable the horses. She strode through the copse thinking that she wouldn’t be able to take this short-cut for much longer. Once the nights started to darken there was far more chance of tripping over a tree root or something and hurting herself, so she tended to skirt the woods then. She had gone about halfway when Hugh suddenly appeared like a spectre from behind a tree. Her heart sank into her boots. He must have been waiting for her, and she cursed herself silently for coming this way. Even so she greeted him with a smile.
‘Hello, son. How are you?’
He fell into step beside her. ‘Not too bad as it happens although I do have a favour to ask of you.’
Cissie thought she knew what was coming although she remained tight-lipped.
‘The thing is,’ Hugh went shamelessly on, ‘I have this friend who I borrowed some money off some time ago and the long and the short of it is, he needs it back. I wouldn’t ask normally but this chap can cut up a bit rough, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I was wondering if perhaps you could see your way clear to giving me another loan. Just until I find another job, of course.’
‘Oh, Hugh, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I can’t,’ Cissie told him nervously.
His face darkened. ‘Do you mean you can’t – or you won’t!’ he asked, and he put Cissie in mind of a spoiled child. Suddenly, she understood that George was right. This had gone quite far enough.
‘I mean I can’t,’ she answered levelly. ‘I told George about the money I had already lent to you and he wasn’t too pleased, so he’s moved it and I have no idea where he’s put it.’ Then as guilt swamped her again, ‘But I could let you have the few shillings I have in my purse …’
‘A few shillings! That’s no good to me. I need some real money,’ he snarled, then to her shock he caught her arm and swung her about. ‘I find it hard to believe your husband would hide your own money from you. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?’
Her anger suddenly rose to match his then as all the dreams she had harboured about him slipped away.
‘I am, as it happens, but even if I did know where it was I wouldn’t give you any more,’ she stormed back. ‘Do you realise that you haven’t even asked me how I am – if I’ve had a good day; if everything is all right! And why haven’t you? Because you don’t really give a damn about me, that’s why. I’m just the mug that’s been handing you money left right and centre. Well, it stops now. If you want to build a mother-son relationship with me, I’ll welcome you with open arms. But if you only want me as a means of getting money, then I’m sorry I ever came looking for you!’
She watched his lip curl and was transported back in time. He was so like his father, she wondered if there was any of herself in him at all. But then she decided that she should give it one last try and she reached out to him. ‘Hugh, you’re young and healthy. Surely you could get a job somewhere, and if you’ve nowhere to live you could always come to me. I would never see you out on the street.’
‘Live with you?’ he ground out mockingly. ‘A common whore? No, thank you very much. I’d rather sleep in the gutter.’
She recoiled as if he had slapped her and as he turned to leave she took hold of his sleeve in desperation, to stay him, begging, ‘Please don’t go like this!’
The next thing she knew, a fist was flying towards her and when it caught her squarely on the chin, the blow lifted her momentarily off her feet. And then as she flew backwards, she fell awkwardly and heard a loud snap before pain sliced up her arm. Her forehead connected with a large rock hidden in the grass, and instantly she felt something wet and sticky running
down her cheek. ‘Hugh … help me,’ she implored weakly. She could vaguely see the outline of him leaning over her, but now darkness was rushing towards her and as she sank into it she knew no more.
Hugh stood towering over her as his heart pounded with panic. She looked in a bad way and the ground beneath her head was rapidly turning scarlet red. Her arm was at an unnatural angle too, and he didn’t think she was breathing. God damn it!
Swiping the sweat from his forehead on the back of his sleeve, he tried to steady the rhythm of his heart. If she was dead, he would be tried for murder and he didn’t fancy ending his life dangling from a hangman’s noose. What should he do? He couldn’t go into town without the money he owed. The bit about the man he owed it to being a bad lot had been true at least. It never occurred to him to run for help – he only cared about himself. But what to do? What to do?
And then it came to him. He’d get as far away from here as he could with whatever money he had in his pocket, and then first thing in the morning he would enlist in the Army and be shipped abroad. Rather that than be hanged. Rummaging in his pocket with shaking fingers he withdrew the contents and hastily counted the coins there. Not a great deal but he’d go straight to the railway station and get on the first train that pulled in. Then without giving his mother another glance he set off as fast as his legs would take him, leaving her lying there in a pool of blood.
‘I’m home, pet,’ George called wearily as he arrived at the cottage that evening. He was later than usual as he’d stayed behind to do some of the jobs that Ben would normally have done, and now all he wanted was a nice hot cup of tea and his bed. He was surprised to find the kitchen empty. Normally the kettle was singing on the hob by the time he got back and Cissie was bustling about the place, but tonight only silence greeted him. He checked the upstairs, thinking that she might have gone up for a lie-down, but the rooms up there were deserted too so he came back into the kitchen and scratched his head. He knew that she had left Treetops some time ago. She should have been home long since.
After filling the kettle he placed it on the range and stood in the window looking for her, but by the time he had measured the tea-leaves into the pot and the kettle had boiled, there was still no sign of her. With a resigned sigh, he lifted the kettle from the range and placed it on the trivet. Perhaps Sunday had called her back for something. Oh well. There was only one way to find out, so he set off back the way he had just come.
‘No, I haven’t seen her since she left after we’d got the children tucked into bed,’ Sunday told him with a worried frown. ‘Perhaps she just decided to go for a walk?’
‘I doubt it. Look up there.’ George pointed to the heavens where angry black clouds were scudding across the sky. ‘I reckon we’re going to have a storm afore long an’ Cissie hates thunder an’ lightnin’.’
‘I’ll come with you and we’ll have a scout round for her. She can’t have gone far,’ Tom volunteered.
‘I’ll come too.’ Sunday moved towards the door but Tom shook his head. ‘No, you stay here, lass. One of the little ’uns might wake up an’ need you.’
Seeing the sense in what he said she nodded, but a knot of fear had formed in her stomach. ‘She might have taken the short-cut through the woods,’ she said then, and George scowled.
‘I’ve asked her not to go that way but you could well be right,’ he agreed and he and Tom set off. Because of the approaching storm it was unnaturally dark and by the time the men reached the edge of the woods they were wishing they had thought to bring a lantern.
‘You take that side o’ the path an’ I’ll take this,’ Tom suggested, and straining their ears for any sounds they set off below the trees, calling Cissie’s name. They were almost halfway through the woods when George said, ‘What’s that ahead? There’s somethin’ lying at the side o’ the path.’
They hurried forward and Tom was appalled to realise that it was a body. Whose he couldn’t tell, for it was far too dark by now and thunder was rolling above them … but it was definitely a woman. George was immediately in a terrible state, because he feared it might be his wife.
‘You get the top half and I’ll get the legs,’ Tom called to George above the crash of the thunder. ‘We have to get her out of here and we may as well head back to Treetops, that’s the nearest.’
Between them they lifted the dead weight and laboriously retraced their steps, but they had gone no more than a few yards when a sheet of lightning filtered through the trees and George gasped. ‘My God, it’s Cissie,’ he rasped. ‘And she’s covered in blood. She looks in a bad way, God help her.’
‘Just keep going,’ Tom answered breathlessly as a torrent of rain poured out of the black clouds and dripped through the trees onto them. ‘We need to get her back to the house as soon as possible. She must have tripped and fallen.’
Somehow they managed to get out of the woods without incident, their burden becoming heavier by the minute. They could see the lights of Treetops shining through the gloom now and redoubled their efforts to get their precious cargo out of the rain.
Before they had even reached the door, Sunday flung it open. ‘Bring her into the drawing room,’ she ordered. ‘Then you fetch the car and go into town for the doctor, Tom.’
Dripping water over the floor the two men did as they were told and once Cissie was laid gently on the sofa Tom shot away to get the doctor as George dropped to his knees at the side of his wife.
‘Is … is she …’ He found that he couldn’t say the words.
After feeling for her pulse, Sunday gave a small sigh of relief. She knew what he had been thinking and she had feared the same.
‘There’s a pulse but it’s thready,’ she told him in a shaky voice, then pulling herself together with an enormous effort she ordered, ‘Go and fetch me a bowl of hot water and some towels. We must get her out of these wet clothes and cleaned up a little. And while you’re in the kitchen ask one of the maids to run up to my room and fetch one of my clean nightgowns.’
George was trembling so much that he barely heard her and she had to bark the orders at him again before he sped away to do as he was asked.
‘Who could have done this to her?’ he groaned miserably as later he helped Sunday to strip the sodden clothes from his wife’s inert body.
‘She might just have fallen over a tree root or something and banged her head,’ Sunday pointed out. ‘But never mind that – we must stop this bleeding. Hold that towel over the gash while I wash her.’
Sunday gently undid Cissie’s blouse and slid it down her arms – and it was then that they both saw the bruises forming there, black and purple against her pale skin.
‘That’s a hand-print if I’m not very much mistaken,’ George ground out as anger coursed through him. ‘She’s been attacked, the poor lass! And look at her chin! Someone has thumped her, I can tell. There’s another bruise forming there and her lip is split. She’ll be black and blue in a few hours’ time.’ He wept, and didn’t care who saw him.
‘But who would want to hurt Cissie?’ Sunday asked him. ‘She never did anyone any harm in her whole life, bless her.’
George clamped his lips together as a thought occurred to him. Hugh! Could it be that he had waited for her yet again – and turned nasty when she refused to give him any more money? If it was him I’ll find him and kill him with my bare hands, and sod what happens to me, George silently vowed. Then he and Sunday, having done all they could for her for now, sat and built up the fire, waiting for the doctor as George prayed for his wife to survive.
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Next train leaving is bound for London, sir,’ the ticket clerk told Hugh as he stood before the booth at Trent Valley railway station. He was soaked to the skin and shivering with fear and cold, but there was no time to think of that now. He must get away. Pushing the wet coins across the counter, he waited impatiently while the clerk got his ticket.
‘Should be here in ten minutes or so,’ the friendly clerk informed
him. ‘You timed that nicely, sir.’
Hugh ignored him and strode away, intent on getting onto the platform. He had literally a few pence left in his pocket now, not even enough to buy a meal let alone anywhere to stay when he got to the capital. Still, it was only for one night, he consoled himself. He’d book into a hotel then slip away without paying first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it and he doubted it would be the last.
Meanwhile the clerk was watching him go with an offended look on his face. Some people have no manners, he thought to himself, then lifting his newspaper he settled back in his seat and forgot all about the rude fellow as he became immersed in the news again.
In London, Kitty was preparing to go out although Maggie couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about it. Maggie couldn’t blame her. The things Kitty had confided to her were haunting her and she desperately wished that she could help her friend, but Kitty had been adamant that the secret must remain between just the two of them.
All of a sudden she blurted out, ‘Why don’t you let me come with you? Nothing could happen if I was there, and we could tell a white lie. We could say that Ruby had decided that you weren’t to go out on your own again.’
‘It wouldn’t work.’ Kitty sighed. ‘I know you mean well and I’m grateful for your concern, really I am, but I think it would only make things worse. The men I’m entertaining have told Richard that if I don’t do as they wish, they will send the photographs to the newspapers.’ She shuddered at the thought of it. ‘Can you imagine the shame of it? If you really want to help, Maggie, will you pour me a large glass of wine? It relaxes me and dulls what lies ahead. Still, it won’t be for ever. Richard says the men concerned will soon tire of me and be off in search of fresh prey, and then we can become a real couple and start to plan our lives.’
The Little Angel Page 34