The Cobweb Cage

by Marina Oliver

  'I have seen her, Henry! You forget, he had the impertinence to bring her here, into my presence, without so much as asking my permission. He knew, of course, I would not under any circumstances accept his fancy woman here.'

  'Richard loved her, and anyone seeing them together would know she adored him. He is gone, though you haven't the common decency to pay him normal respect, and you should be glad he left a son behind, something to remember him by!'

  'Henry, if you continue to speak to me in such a manner, I shall lose both my sons!'

  'Father, have you nothing to say? You let Richard go without making the slightest effort to understand. You didn't even see him, discuss it with him, or write to him.'

  'I've always left the children's upbringing to your mother,' Mr Endersby blustered.

  'Richard wasn't a child, neither am I. We're both adults, we're both full partners in the business. Surely – '

  His mother interrupted.

  'Richard is dead! Don't talk as if he were still alive! He's dead, and I had to hear it from her! I'm his mother but they couldn't tell me! She robbed me of him, and at the end she stole that from me too. She isn't anything but a whore!'

  She fought to keep control, but great tearing sobs erupted. When Henry and her husband went to her she pushed them both away, the new porcelain cups falling unheeded to the floor, and waving the men aside when they would have accompanied her, almost ran out of the room.

  'Father, I didn't know she was like this,' Henry said, aghast.

  Mr Endersby sighed and shook his head.

  'Sit down, Henry, there's nothing we can do for her. She needs an hour or two alone, then she'll reappear as though nothing has happened. If no-one mentions Richard she's able to manage, but I'm afraid there have been so many letters of condolence since people heard it's upset her a great deal. She's very – on edge.'

  'Does she really not accept they were married? Or believe the child isn't his?'

  'She was wild with rage when Richard married that girl. I'm not sure if she believes it was a sham or not, but it's what she says.'

  'I was there, and I promise you it was no sham.'

  'Perhaps she'll admit it one day. But please bear with her, don't leave in anger. That would be the end, she loves you both so much beneath her – well, rather odd manner.'

  'I won't go, I promise, whatever she says. But Richard was not reported officially dead. He could be a prisoner somewhere. He might still be alive. Doesn't she hope for that?'

  'She won't talk to me about it. I suspect she believes he is no longer her son, for he belongs to this girl, and if he came back it would not be to her.'

  'Does that matter if he's still alive? I believe he is, and you know we were almost like twins at times, able to read one another's thoughts. I'm sure I'd know if he were dead.'

  *

  It was the middle of July before Marigold had the courage to think about the future.

  'You're welcome to stay here with me for as long as you choose,' Lexie said to her.

  'I can't. It's so good of you, but it wouldn't be fair on you. I must make a home for Dick and myself, somehow. Perhaps I'll buy a small house in Hednesford and Mom and Dad could come and live with me. We'd have plenty of money and Mom needn't go out to work.'

  'Would your father agree to that? He seemed a very proud man.'

  'I know. He's been so dejected since Mom had to go out and work. He has these rages and headaches, and is then so morose it's frightening. He was so proud, beforehand, that he'd provided us with a good home. And it was good, Lexie, compared with many. If he hadn't been injured, perhaps he'd have been all right, we'd have got something even better.'

  'And Dick? Do you want him to live there, having the same sort of life you did, even though it could be a lot easier?'

  'No. But at the moment I can't think of anything better.'

  'Then you must stay here until you are able to make proper plans. You know I can't have children after the one I lost,' she added quietly, 'and I love having you and Dick here. If you'd like me to come and see Richard's solicitor, to find out exactly what the position is, whether you get a war widow's pension, for example, since Richard is posted missing, only presumed dead, and how much money you'll have to live on, I'll gladly do it. Or perhaps you'd prefer Archie to go with you?'

  'I'll write tomorrow. I'd rather you came, I think, Lexie.'

  That very afternoon, however, a letter came for Marigold, requesting her presence at the solicitor's office in Temple Row the following morning.

  Dick was left with Janie, who adored him and had become an unofficial nanny, while Lexie and Marigold took a cab to the office.

  Mr Thane, the elderly solicitor, ushered them in and busied himself arranging chairs for them.

  'Mrs Endersby, thank you for coming so promptly. I didn't know – what with the baby, that is – well, you too, Mrs Cranworth, I am delighted to see you, although – but first I must express my condolences at the death of your husband, Mrs Endersby.'

  'He isn't dead.'

  Marigold had wondered sometimes if her inner conviction that Richard was still alive, somewhere, was the sort of fantasy all women had. But the solicitor's apparent certainty stiffened her resolve never to admit that there was no hope left.

  Mr Thane coughed nervously.

  'No, no, of course not! That is, naturally you will feel, wish, to believe he is still alive. There is a difficulty, though.'

  'What do you mean? Difficulty? How is this?' Lexie asked, seeing that Marigold was not listening.

  'It relates to the ownership of Endersby and Sons. Under the terms of the agreement when the partnership was established, both Mr Richard and Mr Henry Endersby had twenty percent of the capital, as did their mother, with the remaining forty percent belonging to Mr Endersby, their father,' Mr Thane said fluently, thankful to be talking about matters he understood.

  'Yes, I know this,' Marigold said, dragging her attention away from thoughts of where Richard, if he was alive, could be.

  'Well, Mr Richard Endersby made a will before he went to France, leaving everything he possessed to you. But I am afraid that under the terms of the partnership agreement he was not free to dispose of his share of the firm without a majority agreement by the rest of the partners. In the event of that agreement being withheld, and without his guarantee that he would not dispose of his share, his share would revert to the remaining partners in equal proportions.'

  'That's monstrous!' Lexie exclaimed.

  'So Richard is not here to give such a guarantee, but it is because he is not here that the terms of his will are being put into effect,' Marigold said thoughtfully.

  'Precisely,' the unhappy Mr Thane had to agree. 'My dear, I am most terribly sorry, for I know it is not what your husband intended – '

  'Surely we could fight this?' Lexie interrupted. 'It's quite unreasonable, and as Mrs Endersby says, illogical.'

  'You could bring an action, but in such a case who knows what the law would decide? It's possible they might refuse a judgement until all likelihood of Mr Endersby still being alive is gone. They could order the income to be frozen so that no-one benefits from it. I asked you to come here so that I could suggest, with the greatest respect, that you permit me to approach Mr Endersby's parents with a view to asking that you be allowed to continue using the income, as you were able to do when he was alive, until the matter can be finally resolved.'

  'They have power to do that?'

  'Yes, if they do not seek to declare him dead. If they did that the matter would change to your detriment.'

  'They'll do anything to disown me,' Marigold told me. 'His brother came to see me when he returned to Whittington, before he went to France. Richard's mother hates me. She even tried to say we were not properly married. I can prove we were, so she will declare her son dead rather than see me have his money.'

  'But that wasn't Richard's only income, was it?' Lexie asked.

  'No. He had invested a small legacy from his grandf
ather, and surplus income from the firm, which could bring in about two hundred a year.'

  Marigold laughed harshly.

  'That's more than my father ever earned. More than the whole family earned. I don't want riches, Mr Gordon. I married Richard because I loved him. I want to give his son everything he had – and a loving mother too! We can live on four pounds a week, and I'll work too. Somehow I'll send Dick to Eton, and Oxford! He won't suffer because a bitter old woman hates me. Thank you for telling me. Lexie, shall we go?'

  *

  'That damned dog! Poppy, look at him, he's got my drawing again!'

  'You must have left it on the floor. He's too little to climb up on a chair.'

  'He doesn't when we're here, but I'm sure he does when we're all out.'

  'Then he'd steal food, not measly bits of paper with scribbles all over them!'

  'They are not scribbles! They're not! My teacher says I'm the best artist she's ever seen at any school.'

  'I suppose she's been to every school in the world!'

  'You're a spiteful, jealous cat! You think because you go out to work now, you can do what you like. Well, you can't with my things.'

  Poppy shrugged. She was used to Ivy's sudden flares of rage. Just as she was used to Ivy disappearing whenever there was work to be done.

  Ivy ran towards the Chase. It was one of the evenings when she met Sam and his brother and Eddie after they'd finished work, and she was late.

  They'd found a secret hollow on Brindley Heath, overlooking the Tackeroo Railway being built to carry building materials to the army camps, and met there. Ivy had been intrigued to see that rubbing in the cream had the same odd effect on Billy and Eddie as it did on Sam. Boys were peculiar, she decided, but if their strange predilictions produced money for her, why should she object?

  When she reached the hollow she heard laughter, and slowed down. Perhaps it was someone else, not Sam. She crept up the bank, slithering on her stomach for the last yard or so, until she could peer through a screen of gorse down into the soft, moss-strewn dell.

  Sam and two soldiers were sitting on fallen logs, smoking.

  'Sixpence apiece, I tell yer. 'Er's a cute wench, ten, but looks younger.'

  'Sixpence, just ter look at a kid's boobs?' one of the soldiers laughed.

  'A shillen' for aase as well,' Sam offered.

  'Nah. Plenty o' gals in Hednesford an' Rugeley willin' to lift their skirts, for no more'n a shillen all the way.'

  'But them's not innercent li'l virgins,' Sam winked. 'I'll promise that, or yer can 'ave yer money back. Five bob, all the way?'

  The soldiers shook their heads, laughing at the crestfallen lad.

  'Never thought virgins anythin' ter write 'ome abaht, anyroads,' one said, rising to his feet. 'Gi' me a good inventive whore any day. Damn sight more fun.'

  'Good try, lad, but keep 'er ter yerself!' the other said.

  Ivy could scarcely contain her anger until they were out of earshot. Sam threw himself down on the ground when the soldiers left, face down with his head on his arm. When she thought it was safe Ivy crept down towards him.

  'I hate you, Sam Bannister!' she shouted suddenly, at the same time unleashing several sharp kicks at his ribs.

  'Eh? What the devil? Ivy, what's got inter yer? Leave be, yer little besom!'

  'How dare you only give me threepence! I expect you make Billy and Eddie pay you sixpence, and keep half of it yourself! That's why you wanted to get all your other pals as well! You're a cheat, Sam Bannister!'

  'Eddie's sick an' Billy won't come no more,' Sam said gloomily. ' 'E's found 'isself a wench up in Cannock, says she don' charge at all, an' gi's 'im a better time.'

  'Then if you want to experiment with your pesky cream, you'll have to give me a shilling each time! It's you being greedy drove Billy away, and fancy asking those soldiers for five whole shillings! What on earth made you think they'd pay that much?'

  Sam almost told her, but his cautious, timorous nature balked at having to put it into words.

  'It's no good anyway,' Ivy declared, and turned to stalk away.

  'Ivy, don' go, I'm sorry, I'll gi' yer a shillen, 'onest!'

  Sam at that moment envied his brother Billy with all his heart. No-one wanted to walk out with him. They all reacted as Poppy Smith had done when he tried to show them he admired them. Yet Billy, three years younger, already had a wench who, if Billy's claims could be believed, provided him with undreamed of delights as often as he wanted.

  It was, he recognised with sick despair, only his trickery with the cream that obtained for him Ivy's compliance. And that, after all, wasn't very satisfactory by now. It had been a thrill, at first, caressing her body, especially when she'd permitted him, on pretence of rubbing in cream, to fondle her bottom.

  But now, when her breasts were beginning to be obvious, he wanted more. Yet he didn't know how to suggest it. Somehow he knew she'd refuse. It was with a muddled sense of introducing the idea to her through someone else that had made him approach the soldiers as they walked towards Hednesford for their evening's entertainment. That had got him nowhere, had probably lost him the little he had.

  'A shilling, each time?' Ivy said now, after a long silence.

  Sam almost gobbled in excitement as he agreed. He'd find the money somehow, filch a few more pennies from the till, or fill up some of the jars of cream with cheap substitutes, and sell the real stuff by himself.

  'But I 'ain't got a shillen ternight,' he remembered.

  'Then you'll have to wait till Sunday.'

  Ivy turned and walked away, and despite Sam's pleas as he followed her right back into the town she was adamant.

  She was also furious. He'd been cheating her, and through his stupidity she had no money tonight. And by going to see Marigold she'd lost Sunday as well.

  Her anger turned towards Poppy, and Scrap's misdemeanours. He was a horrid dog, and Poppy was far too silly about him. Her mind began weaving plots, and by the time she reached home she was once more cheerful.

  *

  Richard felt himself falling, then his headlong descent was slowed by the upper branches of the trees. Surely he couldn't be making all that noise? The roaring and crackling of branches being torn asunder was far more than could be caused by one body.

  The moment of unconsciousness vanished. Of course, the plane had crashed. Was crashing, to judge from the noise, into the belt of trees surrounding the field he'd been aiming for. He must have been thrown clear.

  He felt some anxiety about where the plane was in relation to himself. Was he above or below it? And where was Frank?

  Desperately he tried to see what was happening, but apart from sensing that the plane was some way to one side, he could see nothing. He concentrated on trying to control his hitherto somewhat haphazard descent, and managed to halt his progress by grabbing a substantial branch.

  He tore off his goggles and looked round, spotting the aeroplane some twenty yards away, upended in the top of a tree. Frank, apparently unconscious, was caught up on a propeller blade and hanging helplessly upside down.

  Richard surveyed his own position. He was no more than twenty feet above the ground, in what he thought was a hornbeam, but he never had been much good at recognising trees. It didn't look a difficult climb, though, and he soon slithered down from branch to branch, jumping the final six feet or so and rolling over as he landed.

  Now to get to Frank. As he stood up and took the first step towards the aeroplane, a dull whooshing sound thumped into his ears, and flames suddenly erupted from the damaged fuel tank. Within seconds the flimsy structure was a blazing bonfire. He had no hope of reaching Frank, even if he'd had ladders and people to help.

  The shock of this explosion made him step back, and only then did he notice his leg was bleeding badly. His flying suit was torn from knee to shoulder, but whether it had happened during his contact with the tree or earlier he couldn't recall.

  Limping, and beginning to feel the pain, he turned and m
oved away from the burning plane. The flames would bring people soon enough, and if they were Germans he didn't want to be nearby.

  He made it round two sides of the enclosed field before the pain and weakness through loss of blood forced him to stop. As he looked back to where the plane now smouldered, there was a sound behind him. He turned, and beheld two villainous looking men covering him with a rifle and a revolver.

  ***

  Chapter 11

  It was a broiling hot day, and even now, in the late afternoon, Poppy wilted. It was too hot even to take Scrap for his walk, disappointed though he'd be. Thinking of the puppy, Poppy smiled. He was so changed from the pitiful bag of bones he'd been when she found him. Now his coat was glossy, he was fat as butter, and full of energy.

  Since she'd begun taking him up onto the Chase in the evenings, he'd realised the joys of running after anything that moved, whether it be birds, rabbits, or other dogs. And he was fearless. Though so tiny, he faced larger dogs with complete aplomb. Her only moment of panic for him was when he tried to tangle with a Staffordshire pit bull terrier. Fortunately the dog was old, well past his fighting days, and his owner had kept him out of sentiment. He was also remarkably tolerant of this noisy bundle of fur yapping ferociously at his heels.

  Grinning to herself at the memory, Poppy opened the back door. All was silent. Was Scrap too hot to come and leap all over her in his normal effusive greeting?

  Or had Ivy let him escape? Poppy felt a surge of such fury at the idea that had Ivy been there she would have done something dire to her sister.

  She went into the scullery and saw Scrap stretched out on the pile of sacking where he slept.

  'Scrap, what mischief have you been up to?' she asked, wondering why he should be so uncharacteristically tired.

  Then she looked closer. His head was lolling back and his tongue protruded oddly. Poppy, a nameless apprehension gripping her, knelt beside him.

  She stretched out her hand and paused. He didn't seem to be breathing.

  'Oh, no! Scrap, what is it?'

  She touched him, but his body was cold. Frantically she picked him up, but the tiny body was stiff and she felt a stickiness on her hands. Looking closer she saw he had vomited in his bed before collapsing. Her beloved Scrap was dead.