Teresa was what Mrs Norton scathingly called ‘a modern young thing’, and she tried the housekeeper’s patience daily, but as it was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain the services of staff for below stairs, Mrs Norton had to bite her tongue most of the time. Teresa now displayed what Mrs Norton called her ‘forwardness’ when she said, ‘Are you all right, ma’am? You look like death warmed up, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I’m fine, Teresa. Just take care of Miss Joy, and keep her in here until I return.’ As Teresa sat the little girl down at the table, Esther turned to Monty. ‘I need to talk to you now.’
Once in the hall, she shut the door to the dining room and took hold of Monty’s arm, marching him along towards the door that opened onto a corridor leading to the kitchens. ‘What are you doing?’ He tried to swing her round to face him, but she resisted. ‘Esther, what is it?’
‘Wait.’ She knew Mrs Norton, Osborne and Cook would be having their breakfast, and when she said what she had to say she wanted them all together, where she could see their faces – especially Monty’s. Theobald was a pervert, a pervert of the worst kind, one who preyed on little ones; and the older staff had worked for him for practically a lifetime. She needed to know if they knew and, if they did, whether they had mentioned it to Monty. She couldn’t believe he would allow Joy to be in the house if he had known, but she needed to be sure, and the only way to prevent half-truths and lies was to confront them all together and watch their reaction.
She was shaking, she could feel it, and she wanted to be sick, but as they entered the corridor she ignored Monty’s questions. She had to find out what they all knew, before she saw Theobald again. Her fingers tightened on the sharp steak knife that she’d slipped into the pocket of her dress from the dining table. She didn’t think Theobald had managed to do anything to Joy – the child’s demeanour had been too normal and happy for that, after her initial words when Joy had first seen her in the doorway – but the fact that he had been pleasuring himself by using her baby’s innocent little body was beyond endurance. She would kill him, she would. The filthy, dirty beast.
Like Monty and Teresa, the rest of the staff stared at her in concern when they entered the kitchen, but before anyone could say a word, she said, ‘Sit down, all of you; you too, Monty, and listen to me.’
‘Dear, you’re not well. Let me—’
‘Sit down, Monty.’ Her composure had slipped, and now she took a deep trembling breath before she said more quietly, ‘Please.’
Mrs Norton, Osborne, the cook and her sister and the new kitchen maid, who had been employed at the same time as Teresa, sank down into their seats. And as Monty took a chair to one side of the table, Esther said, ‘I just found my daughter in Mr Wynford’s room. He had her on his lap and he was sexually aroused.’ It was deliberately bald and unadorned. ‘Who among you is aware that he is depraved and sick in this way?’
For a moment no one spoke or moved a muscle. Shock registered on every face.
‘You must be mistaken.’ Monty stared at her. ‘He wouldn’t with a child so young as Joy.’
Mrs Norton and Osborne exchanged a glance – a swift momentary glance, but Esther caught it. ‘Mrs Norton?’
‘Ma’am, it’s not my place to say.’
‘He was using my daughter for his sexual gratification, and it is only by the grace of God that I got there before things got out of hand. Do you understand?’ She glared at them all. ‘Do you?’
‘Esther, calm down.’
She swung round on Monty so quickly, and with such fury, that he visibly jumped. ‘Don’t tell me to calm down. Did you know he is that way inclined? With children?’
Monty’s denial was just a fraction too long in coming and held no weight. Esther stared at him. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said flatly. ‘I have no idea who you are – who any of you are.’
‘Ma’am, please.’ It was Fanny Kennedy, the cook, who spoke now. Of all the staff, she was the one who was quite besotted with Joy. Never having had children of her own, she had been delighted when the little girl had taken to her so readily. ‘It’s not like you think, not really. The thing is, as the master’s got older he’s started to’ – she cast a glance at Mrs Norton and Osborne, but they seemed transfixed – ‘become inclined towards . . . well, women of the night, if you get my meaning, and . . . ’ Fanny didn’t know how to continue.
‘And?’
‘Well, they’ve got younger. The . . . the girls who come to the house.’
Esther felt she was in the middle of a nightmare. ‘Come to the house? You mean here? This house?’
‘In the past, ma’am, aye. Not since he was took bad of course, but before . . . ’ Again Fanny glanced at her fellow servants for help.
This time it was Osborne who said flatly, ‘We’ve been aware of what has gone on, ma’am, but it’s not our place to object. None of us’ – he inclined his head towards Mrs Norton and the cook and her sister – ‘are getting any younger. The young ’uns could get something else, no doubt, but we’re used to our going-on here, and the thing is’ – he took a deep breath – ‘and begging your pardon, ma’am, the master is a spiteful man. If we said a word out of place, we’d be out on our ear even though we’ve given him good service for years.’
Esther was holding onto the back of a chair now, for she needed its support. Turning to Monty, who had got to his feet when she had shouted at him, she said, ‘And you? Wasn’t it your place to object, either? And don’t tell me you haven’t been aware of what he was doing, and with whom. You are living here. You have been living here for some time.’
Monty’s mind was racing. The last few days he had felt he was on the brink of breaking through Esther’s reserve and wariness, and he had begun to hope that perhaps Theobald was right and they could persuade her to take up residence here permanently. Osborne had followed his instructions that any letters Esther wrote were not to be posted, but given to him; and likewise that she was not told about any telephone calls to the house that might be made. It had been fortuitous that when this Caleb fellow had called, Esther had been out in the gardens with Joy. Osborne had also lain in wait for the postman each morning, and brought any letters addressed to Esther straight to Monty, whereupon he’d burned them, telling himself it was for Esther’s own good. Here, under Theobald’s roof, she could take up her rightful station as a lady; with that working scum, she would be reduced to little more than a menial.
Quietly, and in a tone that aimed to remind Esther who she was, he said stiffly, ‘Come along to the drawing room, and we will discuss this in private.’
‘I think not, Monty. I want the truth, and I want it now.’
‘I refuse to—’
He got no further before she swung round, saying, ‘Then my daughter and I are leaving.’ But not before she had given Theobald his due.
‘Wait.’ He caught her arm. ‘Yes, I knew your fa—’ He corrected himself, ‘I knew Theobald availed himself of a certain type of woman, but so do a great deal of men, Esther. Surely you know that? Especially ones in your . . . in Theobald’s position, who have no wife. It is indelicate to say this, but a man – even an elderly one – has certain needs.’
‘With children?’ She disengaged his hand from her arm.
‘Of course not. I’m not saying that.’
‘But you knew the way he was inclined? No’ – as Monty went to speak, she held up her hand – ‘don’t lie. You knew, and you let me bring Joy here.’
Looking straight at Fanny Kennedy again, she said, ‘How old were these girls? Please, I need to know. You won’t lose your job, I promise you, but I need to know.’
‘We’ve thought as young as nine or ten, ma’am,’ Fanny whispered, tears now running down her face. ‘Maybe younger.’
Mrs Norton was also weeping, but Esther’s eyes were fiercely dry. Looking at Monty again, she said, ‘I hate you. I shall hate you to my dying day.’
Even knowing it was the end and that he had lost her
for good, he tried one last time. ‘He wouldn’t have hurt Joy; she’s little more than a baby.’
Pushing him away, Esther ran out of the kitchen and down the corridor into the hall. Taking the stairs two at a time, she flew upstairs and burst into Theobald’s room.
Theobald’s initial shock and anger at being discovered in a compromising position had given way to a determination to convince Esther that she had been mistaken in what she had seen, and the longer she was in coming to see him, the more he persuaded himself that she had perhaps noticed nothing at all.
He would not let her take Joy away, he had been telling himself in the last few minutes. From the moment he had seen the child he had burned for her; he could think of little else. She filled his days and caused him tormented nights. If only he had known she would grow into such an enchanting creature, he would never have sent Esther away. That was the thought that haunted him. He could have had Joy here, under his roof. Watched her. Played the grandfather. Picked his moments.
Now, as Esther stood panting in the doorway for a moment, before slowly approaching the bed, he followed the stratagem he’d decided on, despite her white face and burning eyes. ‘Hello, my dear.’ He was sitting propped up against the pillows, and his voice was weak and breathless. ‘That was a fleeting visit earlier.’
When Esther was a yard from him, she stopped, her hand tight on the knife in her pocket. ‘You filthy, dirty old man.’ She was bending slightly forward, and her voice was not loud, but a low hiss.
‘Wh-what?’ Forcing indignation and fury into his voice, he raised himself up a little.
‘You will never touch her again. Do you hear me? Never.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Monty had come running after Esther and now he stood just within the doorway, and as he said, ‘Come away, Esther’, Osborne, too, appeared behind him, wheezing slightly from taking the stairs faster than he had moved in years.
Esther ignored the two men behind her. Her eyes fixed on the swarthy face surveying her with feigned outrage – a face she had always disliked, but which now repulsed and sickened her – she stepped closer. ‘You’re unnatural,’ she said, her voice deep and guttural and not sounding like hers. ‘Depraved. Evil and sick.’
‘What is this?’ Theobald appealed to Monty. ‘What’s happened to her? She’s gone mad.’
‘I’m not mad.’ She was at the bedside now; the faintly sweet, musty smell that surrounded him these days assaulted her nostrils and caused bile to rise in her throat. ‘And you’re not, either. If you were, there would be some excuse for your wickedness. But no, you’re sane and in full possession of your senses. All those presents – the hours you’ve spent playing the sick invalid – all for one purpose: to harm my little girl.’
‘You have gone mad.’
‘I should have known. As a mother, I should have known, but then who would think such a base, terrible thing?’
‘Monty?’ Again Theobald appealed to his son-in-law.
‘He’s told me. About the girls that have come here. Children, I should say.’
Theobald’s face was red now and all trace of the feeble, infirm patient was gone. ‘You need a doctor,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘You’re insane. There are places that deal with women like you – institutions where you can be taken care of.’
Esther pulled the knife out of her pocket, standing over him and putting it to his throat before he realized what she was doing. ‘One move and I’ll press down,’ she said with a softness that was more threatening than any shouting. ‘I swear it.’ As Monty said her name, she added, ‘And you come any nearer, and I’ll do it. It’s over his artery – he’ll be dead in minutes.’ She didn’t quite know if this was true, but the threat worked because the two men behind her were perfectly still.
‘Admit what you were doing.’ She looked down into a face that, for the first time since she had come into the room, was showing fear. ‘You admit it, or so help me I will slit your throat right now. I mean it, and you know I mean it, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.’
‘You’ve got it wrong.’ And then as she pressed down into the flabby skin, so that the tip of the serrated blade pierced the skin, bringing a spot of blood, Theobald’s bravado crumpled. Whimpering, he said, ‘I didn’t hurt her, I swear it.’
‘No, but you would have. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but you would have, wouldn’t you? Like you hurt those children you have had here. Little ones you had brought to this very house.’
‘You don’t understand – they like it. Some girls are born that way.’
The urge to do what she had threatened was so strong she could taste it, but then she would be locked away, and Joy would be left alone. And she couldn’t take a human life. Even one as vile and sick as Theobald’s. But neither could he be allowed to carry on doing what he’d been doing.
‘Listen to me, Esther.’ Theobald’s voice was a whine. ‘I wanted to see you today, and it was to tell you I have changed my will. You inherit everything. Everything. If you and Joy stay here – if you agree to staying on as my daughter and granddaughter, as far as the world is concerned – then it’s all yours. Think of it. Joy would be set up for life. Look, on that table over there. It’s a copy of the will, signed and witnessed. My solicitor will confirm it’s genuine. It shows I mean what I say, doesn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t stay here for one more day for all the money in the world, but before I leave, I’ll see to it you never harm another little girl. I’m going to the police – do you hear me? And whatever it takes, I’ll see this through. I’m going to make your name a byword in these parts, and however you try to wriggle out of it, mud sticks. Remember that. Mud sticks, and you’ll have so much sticking to you that the smell will be with you forever.’
She had withdrawn the blade pressed against his throat and now, as she stepped back a pace, Monty came and took the knife from her, his face as white as a sheet. He still couldn’t quite believe that Theobald would have tried to molest Joy; she was only three years old, for crying out loud. And yet . . .
They had turned to leave the room when Theobald reared up in the bed, letting out an unintelligible roar that caused Monty to push Esther protectively behind him.
‘You stinking half-breed!’ Spittle was spraying from Theobald’s mouth as he snarled the words, and he appeared possessed as he lunged forward. ‘You: to threaten me with ruining my name. You! You’re scum, fathered by scum. Your kind litter the waterfronts looking for trade with men who aren’t too particular what they take, and your brat’s the same. Ready for breaking in already, she is. A ready-made little whore.’
Esther was struggling with Monty now, and Osborne had sprung forward to hold back Theobald, who was attempting to scramble off the bed, spewing out curses and threats as he did so. And then suddenly he collapsed, gurgling, on the covers, losing control of his bodily functions as his face and body twisted and contracted.
‘He’s having a fit, sir,’ Osborne said urgently to Monty, who was still having his work cut out to prevent Esther reaching Theobald.
It wasn’t until Monty had managed to bundle Esther onto the landing, where Mrs Norton and Fanny Kennedy were standing, their hands pressed tightly to their mouths, that he dared to let go of her. Pushing her into Mrs Norton’s arms, he said, ‘Take her downstairs, both of you, and keep her there by force if you have to.’ And then he turned back into the room, shutting the door and turning the key in the lock.
Osborne was leaning over the figure on the bed and, as Monty walked towards them, the smell of human faeces was so strong it made him want to retch. He knew what had happened. Theobald had had another stroke – a major one this time – and from the inhuman sounds coming from him, he was fully aware of what had happened.
As he helped Osborne drag Theobald further back up the bed, he looked down into the distorted face, which was demoniacal in its malignant helplessness, saliva trickling from the twisted mouth that had stretched up
wards to meet the dragging skin from the left eye. And he realized, with a little stab of shock, that he felt not the slightest shred of pity.
Theobald lasted another forty-eight hours, and during that time he was unable to make anyone understand what he was trying to say through his rasping grunts, his body as helpless as a newborn babe’s. Only one person understood, but Monty wasn’t about to call the solicitor to the house with regard to the will.
He owed Esther that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After knocking on the door, Esther took a deep breath, holding Joy’s hand more tightly as she heard footsteps inside the house.
‘Why, lass!’ For a moment Eliza just stared at the two of them, and then she beamed, reaching out and pulling Esther into the hall as she said, ‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, an’ no mistake. By, we’ve been that worried about the pair of you. I’d got it in my head you were being held prisoner, and all sorts.’
Theobald had breathed his last that morning, and only Osborne had been sitting by the bed when it had happened, Monty having gone to his room for a nap after remaining with his father-in-law since the stroke. It was strange, Esther thought now, as she allowed Eliza to usher them through the house into the kitchen, but she had felt she had to stay until she knew he was dead. Only then could she be sure Theobald wouldn’t revive and recover. Everyone had told her that was impossible, but the Devil looked after his own, and if anyone had sold his soul to the Devil, it was the man she had once thought was her father. She had to know he was in a place where he couldn’t hurt any more little girls. She’d had a long chat with both Osborne and Mrs Norton, in the hours when they waited for Theobald to die, and the housekeeper had admitted through her tears that many times after one of the ‘master’s escapades’, as they’d called them, the bedclothes had been blood-stained.
The Colours of Love Page 31