At home, and she still thought of the house she had lived in with Willie for the last four years as home, she had felt driven to remove even the merest speck of dust before it could settle. She’d felt that if she kept the house and all the furniture spotless, the uncleanness she felt in herself would get better.
It hadn’t of course. How could it, when the perpetrator of that uncleanness had had free rein over her body and her mind? But she was free of that now . . . except in her head.
‘Pass them plates that are warming on the hob, lass.’ Florrie’s voice was quiet, her mind preoccupied. Maggie had written Sarah a nice cheerful letter from both of them the day before yesterday, and they’d been feeling cheerful then, but in the space of a few hours today she felt as though she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her. First she’d seen Maud in the grocers when she was getting the taties for dinner, and the other woman had been full of how Matron Cox’s brother had contacted her to ask how her sister was doing.
‘He’s having a terrible time of it with his sister apparently,’ Maud had said complacently. Her own sister was doing fine. ‘Keeps takin’ off, so he tells me, they had to get the law involved the last time. Found her just a few miles away from here, I mean it makes you wonder, don’t it’ - Maud was right, it did make you wonder, and Florrie hadn’t stopped wondering since - ‘an’ then she played up somethin’ rotten when they took her back to him. He’s just about had enough from what I can make out, an’ his poor wife is at the end of her tether. He said they’re gonna get Christmas over an’ then have a think again, but it’s really upset him, poor fella. I suppose he’ll feel responsible if they lock her away again, but I reckon it’s the best thing all round, meself.’
The conversation had left Florrie feeling frightened and slightly nauseous; then on her way home from work that night she’d seen Willie hanging about at the corner of the street. He’d scarpered when he set eyes on her, and just as well, Florrie thought now, her mouth grim, but it didn’t bode well. No, it didn’t bode well at all. Her and Maggie couldn’t keep Rebecca hidden away for ever, the lass would be fed up to the teeth in a day or two, but she didn’t fancy the idea of her leaving the house either.
It was as they were carrying the plates through from the kitchen to the sitting room that the knock came at the front door, and Florrie knew instinctively who it was. ‘You go in there, lass,’ she said quietly as she handed Rebecca Maggie’s plate and opened the sitting-room door, ‘I’ll get that. It’s likely for them upstairs.’
Rebecca nodded, saying, ‘I’ll come back for your plate in a minute, Florrie.’
‘No, you leave it and get on with your dinner. I’ll bring mine through in a minute.’ She waited until the door was shut behind Rebecca before she walked to the front door and opened it.
Willie’s eyes looked behind her, and when he saw she was alone, he said, ‘Took your time, didn’t you.’
‘What do you want?’ Florrie made no pretence at amity.
‘What do you think I want, you stupid bitch—’ And then, as Florrie went to shut the door, he thrust his beefy shoulder against it as he said, ‘Oh no, not this time.’
‘You’d better clear off afore I call the police.’
‘Go on then, go an’ call ’em.’ He knew, and she knew, she wouldn’t do that when he was on the doorstep.
‘I’m going to shut this door—’
‘Not afore I see me wife.’
‘She doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Let her tell me that.’
Florrie heard the door to the sitting room open, and she just prayed it wasn’t Rebecca, but it was Maggie’s voice that said, ‘What’s up, lass?’
‘Shut the door, Maggie.’
Maggie shut it, and quickly, but not before stepping out into the hall herself and joining Florrie on the doorstep, where she glared at Willie and said, ‘I thought we’d seen the last of you. The lass wants nothin’ to do with you, understand?’
‘Says you.’
‘Aye, says me, an’ her an’ all.’ Maggie thumbed at Florrie, and now Willie’s lip curled as he said, ‘An’ you think I’d take any notice of two old bent bitches like you? Queer as a nine-bob note, the pair of you.’
‘What?’ Maggie’s face had gone scarlet with outrage and disbelief, and she glanced at Florrie for a moment, who was looking equally shocked, before turning back to Willie and hissing, ‘You dirty-minded little blighter you. You filthy pig. Florrie’s bin like a daughter to me.’
‘Oh aye, that’s what they all say.’
Quite what Maggie would have done next was anybody’s guess - she looked ready to explode - but in that moment the door to the sitting room opened again, and Rebecca’s voice could be heard saying nervously, ‘Maggie, Florrie? What’s happening?’
The change in Willie’s voice and posture was immediate. ‘Hallo, lass.’ He gestured at Florrie. ‘I was just askin’ her if I could have a word with you, that’s all. I was worried about you.’
‘Worried about her!’
Maggie was beside herself, but Rebecca’s hand had gone to her throat as she whispered her husband’s name, her eyes wide and fearful.
‘Please, lass.’ Willie’s expression had taken on the pathos of a puppy waiting to be kicked. ‘Just talk to me a minute, Rebecca, that’s all I’m askin’.’
‘There’s . . . there’s nothing to say.’ But she was nervous, uncertain. She had never seen this side of Willie.
Maggie and Florrie had never seen it either, but they both considered it the best bit of acting they had seen for many a long day.
Florrie went to shut the door again but Willie was too quick for her. ‘Rebecca?’ He reached out his hands in a desolate little gesture as his foot stayed firmly over the threshold. ‘I don’t know what to say, lass, I don’t an’ that’s the truth.’
‘Goodbye will do.’ Maggie’s voice was grim and Willie had a job to keep his expression from changing, but there was too much to lose to do otherwise. But he’d take it out of Rebecca’s hide. By, he would that.
‘I want to talk to me wife a minute, that’s all, Maggie.’
‘All? That’s a sight too much if you ask me, Willie Dalton, an’ I’ve had enough of your foul mouth the night. She wants nothin’ to do with you, so you get your backside home where it belongs an’ leave her alone. You’re nothin’ to her—’
‘Maggie, don’t.’ Rebecca’s voice was tearful, and as it interrupted her flow Maggie turned to look straight into Rebecca’s face.
‘Don’t you see what he’s about, lass? What he’s tryin’ to do?’
He’d got her. Willie could see the indecision on his wife’s face. If he could just keep this up without strangling the pair of interfering old bitches in front of him, he’d got her. He’d always been able to control her. Always.
‘Rebecca, listen to me, lass. I’m nearly goin’ mad without you. Please, lass, come home just over Christmas an’ let’s talk about things. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for how things have been, lass, but it’ll be better now, as God is my witness, it’ll be better. Rebecca, we’re man an’ wife, lass . . . an’ there’s the bairn. Our bairn.’
‘Aye, there’s the bairn. An’ what bairn wants to grow up with a da like you—’
‘Maggie.’ Rebecca and Florrie spoke in unison, the one upset and bewildered, the other afraid that Maggie was playing right into Willie Dalton’s hands in making Rebecca feel sorry for him.
Shut up, Maggie. Florrie’s eyes willed her to listen but Maggie was having none of it.
‘It’s the truth, by all that’s holy, it’s the truth - the dirty unnatural swine. His mother knew what she’d spawned, she could never stand the sight of him—’
‘Maggie!’
‘His type aren’t capable of lovin’ anybody, don’t you see, lass? He’s flawed, sick—’
‘Stop it, Maggie.’ Rebecca took a step forward, glancing at Willie who was standing with his head hanging down, his shoulders slumped, but his foot still firmly in the door
. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll talk to him. I want to talk to him. It’s all right.’
‘Lass, listen to me—’
‘Maggie, I’m going to talk to him, he is my husband, don’t you see? Please, I have to.’
It was a dismissal, but Florrie had to practically drag Maggie down the hall and into the sitting room, and the minute the door was closed behind the two women, Willie raised his head, his face puckered as though he was going to cry.
‘I don’t know what to say to you, lass, beyond I’m sorry. I’m heart sorry. I must have been mad.’
‘Willie—’
‘No, listen to me, lass. It won’t happen again. There’ll be none of the other business if you come back, I swear it on me mother’s grave. I want us to be a family, you, me an’ the bairn. Please, Rebecca, you can ask me for anythin’ you want, just give me another chance, lass.’
‘I . . . I’ve only ever wanted us to be . . .’ She couldn’t say the word normal, and substituted, ‘happy’ instead.
‘We will be. Give me a chance an’ we will be. Remember when we was courtin’? You was happy then, weren’t you? We got on all right then, didn’t we, lass? I - I know the other isn’t right.’ He lowered his head. ‘But I’m done with that, I swear it. All this has made me see what’s important, lass. Come home.’
And so Rebecca went home. For Christmas. With Willie.
Chapter Fourteen
Christmas Eve dawned bright and bitterly cold, the bare London trees touched with a feathery mantle of frost that melted away once the weak white sunlight took hold.
Sarah had stayed up half the night altering the suit. It hadn’t proved as easy as she had expected - she hadn’t Rebecca’s special knack with a needle and thread - but now it looked just beautiful.
The post brought one last Christmas card for Lady Harris, and a little note from Maggie and Florrie, which she noticed from the postmark had taken three days to arrive. Sarah took it into the kitchen to read, toasting her toes on the boiler as she skimmed through the short letter which simply wished her a happy Christmas and said that they missed her. She suspected they had timed it to arrive that day in case she was feeling a little homesick on her first Christmas away from Sunderland, but what with sewing half the night, and knowing she had a full day at the hospital with the children, she didn’t have time to indulge any heart pangs. But it had been nice of them, lovely, she told herself, their thoughtfulness warming her heart as she made herself toast and tea. She had told Eileen she could have an extra hour in bed that morning, and Eileen being Eileen had stretched the hour into two.
Eileen’s sister came to collect the maid mid-morning, and proved to be a much more solid type than her flighty sister, nudging Eileen as they were leaving and reminding her to say thank you to ‘miss’. Lady Harris had left it to Sarah’s discretion as to whether she allowed the new maid any days off, and the allotted four had been more than Eileen had hoped for.
‘Yes, thank you ever so much, miss.’ Eileen’s pretty pert face was full of smiles. ‘I’ll be back nice and early on the twenty-ninth, me dad’s going to drop me off when he visits me aunty in Lewisham. Don’t get too lonely all by yourself, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘I’ll be perfectly all right, Eileen.’ Sarah was smiling but her voice was cool. The new maid was slow in her work about the house but a sight too forward in every other respect.
‘Ta-ta, then, miss, and Merry Christmas.’
Sarah stood for a moment more, watching the two of them walking down the street, then stepped back into the house. She had plenty to do and she had to be at the hospital at midday. She was hoping there would be time, when she left the hospital later that evening, to call in at a couple of the good secondhand shops and have a look for a pair of shoes to go with Lady Margaret’s outfit, but if she couldn’t find anything she would have to make do with the pair she wore on Sundays and for best. They were nice, fashionable, but being brown, not quite right with the outfit. And she wanted to have a bath and wash her hair tonight before she went to bed, and press the suit ready for morning. Excitement gripped her again, and she found herself humming a Christmas carol as she collected her parcels for the children and made ready to leave.
As it happened, she was later leaving the hospital than she would have liked. One of the children who had taken a particular fancy to her was fractious and over-excited, and she didn’t feel able to leave until the little tot was soundly asleep. When she emerged into the foggy December night all the shops had long since shut, and the mercurial British weather had transformed the crisp bright cold of the morning into a bone-chilling dampness, curling wreaths of mist floating in the cold air.
The streets were almost deserted as she hurried home, although it was only just eight o’clock, and circles of dull gold from the street lamps cast an eerie glow on the wet pavements. By the time she reached Emery Place her heart was thudding and she was out of breath, and once in the house she leant against the closed door for a moment or two before walking through to the kitchen and warming some milk.
The problem of her footwear was still occupying half her mind as she drank the milk and ate two chocolate biscuits that Hilda had made specially for Christmas, but when a cat screeched somewhere outside, the sound jarring the peace and quiet of the warm kitchen, it reminded her she was all alone in the big house. But she was safe enough. She made a deep obeisance with her head to the thought. Lady Harris had shutters on all the downstairs windows that could be bolted each night, and the front door and the back door, which overlooked a small paved area surrounded by an eight-foot brick wall, had three bolts each, besides heavy mortice locks. Fort Knox couldn’t have done better. And then there was the telephone.
She washed her mug and put it away, and was just crossing the hall, intending to begin the procedure of locking up for the night, when the doorbell rang, making her jump. She stopped dead, staring first at the door and then glancing at her watch. A quarter to nine. Who on earth would be calling on Lady Harris at a quarter to nine on Christmas Eve?
When the sound came again she walked across to the door and put the safety chain on, before opening it two or three inches and peering out.
‘Well? Open the door, girl.’
‘Sir Geoffrey?’ In her surprise she almost did what he said, closing the door again and her hand reaching for the chain before it froze on the cold metal. What was she doing? What was she doing? Why had Lady Harris had the locks changed if not to keep her son out?
‘I’m sorry, Sir Geoffrey.’ He had been standing at the bottom of the steps when she had first opened the door, but as she peeped through the opening again she saw he was now on the top step and just inches away from her. ‘Lady Harris and Lady Margaret and the children are away.’
‘Are they?’ There had been the barest pause, but enough to tell Sarah the family’s absence was not unexpected. ‘No matter. There are some papers I need, and it is a matter of some urgency.’ And then, as he pushed against the door, ‘Is the chain still on? What are you thinking of, girl. Let me in.’
‘I - I can’t do that.’ She hadn’t seen Lady Harris’s son since the night he had raped Peggy, but now, as she met the light, speckled eyes, the intervening weeks fell away and she felt sick to her stomach. ‘Lady Harris left orders no one was to be admitted to the house in her absence.’
‘And you are following her directive to the letter? Very commendable, I’m sure, but I hardly think it applies to me.’ He paused, and as his tongue flicked briefly over his full bottom lip Sarah actually shuddered, the licentiousness she could read in his pale, unhealthy-looking face making her flesh creep.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Geoffrey.’
‘You will be if you don’t open this door, girl. I’ve never heard of such a thing.’
‘Lady Harris—’
‘Is your employer, and my mother, my mother, got it? I hardly need to stress where that places you with regard to who has the authority here. I’m going to tell you one more time. Open the do
or.’
‘I can’t do that, Sir Geoffrey. If you want to tell me which papers you need, I will phone Fenwick now and ask Lady Harris if it’s all right for me to get them for you, but I can’t open the door without her permission.’
‘Open it.’
‘No. If your mother had wanted you to have free admittance she would have given you a key.’
‘You conniving little upstart.’ It was soft and deadly, and in the same moment that a string of obscenities began to flow Sarah made to shut the door, but Sir Geoffrey was too quick for her, forcing his foot into the opening.
‘No, no . . .’ How long she struggled with the door Sarah didn’t know, but she was aware of an almost paralysing fear that the chain wouldn’t hold, her terror so great that it was strangling any cries for help she might have uttered.
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