The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘Oh, Carrie.’

  She raised her head to see Letty smearing tears away. Carrie managed a flimsy smile.

  ‘Look at us, Mrs Jenkins,’ said Letty. ‘What a pair. You’d best go, Carrie, before we cry enough for your mam to float away.’

  She went downstairs. The neighbours who had left them alone after their bad news had been clucking round ever since she had stumbled into the street yesterday, banging on doors and crying out for help. Food had appeared: bubble-and-squeak, calf’s foot jelly, a dish of dripping. Sheets had been lent – ‘If your mam’s bedfast, you’ll need these,’ – and the hearth had been scrubbed clean.

  Mrs Clancy from next door sat in the kitchen, working on Mam’s darning. ‘How is she?’

  ‘No change.’

  Mrs Clancy snipped off her thread. ‘I’ll pop up and keep her comp’ny with Letty.’ She heaved her bulk out of the chair.

  As soon as she was gone, Carrie grabbed her shawl and slipped out, grateful not to have to explain herself to anyone, especially Evadne. The two of them had sat up with Mam last night. At breakfast time, Letty and Mrs Hardacre and their Joanie had piled into the house, complete with a basket of bread, eggs and jam. Mrs Hardacre set about scrambling eggs, then ordered Carrie to bed in Miss Reilly’s old room, soon to regain its former status as Evadne’s bedroom when she quitted the schoolhouse. Carrie had been sure she wouldn’t so much as snooze, but had fallen deeply asleep.

  Evadne had already left. Had she gone to see her grandfather? She would want to tell him the news, but surely it could have waited … or was Carrie a hypocrite to think so, given that she was creeping out?

  She hurried to the park, forcing herself to slow her steps as she approached, not wanting to look flushed and breathless. Billy wasn’t there and she felt a lurch of disappointment. No use telling herself she was early. No use remembering how, at sixteen, she had all but swooned with pleasure when Billy said, ‘It’s the sign of a gent to be a few minutes early so you never keep your young lady waiting.’

  Arriving at the bench where they had sat on Friday, she struggled to pull her thoughts together. Mam lying immobile in bed and Mr Armstrong struck down dead. Carrie hadn’t really known him, other than to find him agreeable company.

  ‘Mind you don’t leave me on my own with him,’ Mam used to say. ‘I don’t want him getting any daft ideas.’

  Now he was dead and no one knew how it had happened.

  ‘Hello, Carrie.’

  ‘Billy.’ Her heart gave a little leap and then plummeted. How awkward he looked. ‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’

  He perched on the edge of the bench, tilting forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. She hadn’t expected that. She had expected him to look at her. Normally he loved to look at her and she basked in his admiration. She wanted to shake him, to make him look, but that wasn’t keeping your hands to yourself. Billy hadn’t exactly kept his hands to himself whenever he had managed to get her on her own. And now he wouldn’t even look her way.

  ‘Have you heard about my mam?’

  He looked up. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. What a shock.’

  ‘I thought perhaps you hadn’t heard. I thought you’d come round if you knew.’

  His gaze fell away. ‘Don’t go on, eh, Carrie.’

  He might as well have slapped her. She came to her feet.

  ‘Let’s go over to the trees. This bench feels too public.’

  Billy sighed, but he got up and slouched along beside her. How many times had they disappeared behind a tree for a quick cuddle? Now he was behaving like an oaf.

  In the shelter of the trees, she launched into what needed saying.

  ‘Billy, the last thing I want is for anything done by my family to hold you back, but what’s done is done and we have to get on with our lives. You, me and the baby. I know you were shocked when I told you I were expecting, but you got used to it and said you didn’t mind.’

  ‘I know what I said.’

  ‘We can’t leave it to get wed. I’ll start showing. We need to get fixed up for next Saturday and you have to book the registrar.’

  ‘Who says it’s mine anyroad?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The baby. How do I know it’s mine?’

  Carrie’s heart shrivelled. ‘Of course it’s yours. There’s never been anyone but you.’

  ‘I don’t know that, though, do I? I mean, you went with me willingly enough—’

  ‘Billy Shipton, you know fine well this baby’s yours.’ Fear ribboned through her.

  ‘Aye, well, that were before. You know what they say. Blood will out.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Knowing about your dad, well, who’s to say what kind of person you really are?’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t trust me any more because of Pa?’

  ‘Well … who’s to say?’

  ‘I am, for one! And you for another. How long have we known each other? And we’ve been courting from the moment my mam said I were old enough.’

  ‘There’s my job to think of, and my future.’

  ‘And mine, and the baby’s – our baby’s.’

  ‘Like I say, I don’t know it’s mine.’ At last he looked her full in the face, his eyes resentful, mouth sullen. ‘I mean, if you’ll do it with me …’

  ‘We’re engaged. And I’ll remind you we’d been engaged a whole year before I let you go all the way.’ Dropping her voice, she hissed, ‘There’s never been anyone else. Why are you doing this? You know the baby’s yours.’

  He shifted from foot to foot. ‘There’s nowt more to be said. I’m sorry you’ve got yourself into trouble, but I’ve got myself to think of. I’ve got a good job; I’ve got prospects. Do you know how hard it is for someone like me, who left school at thirteen, to get a clerking job in the town hall? It’s bad enough being surrounded by bloody grammar school types – and you want to lumber me with a father-in-law that was executed. Have you any idea what that could do to me?’ He walked away, tossing words over his shoulder. ‘Leave me be, Carrie. It’s over. I’ve got enough to worry about without you.’

  Ralph stood motionless behind the tree. Sharp as a knife, his glance flicked after the cowardly lying bastard scurrying away as fast as his feet could carry him. Billy, she had called him, Billy Shipton. Well, he was going to follow Billy Shipton, but he mustn’t let Carrie glimpse him. God, but it was hard, when all he wanted was to scoop her up in his arms and crush her to him, breathing in her scent, learning it, learning her, discovering how she felt in his arms, beneath his hands.

  This afternoon he had been on his way to call on her when he saw her leaving the house. He had followed her instead, and a bloody good thing too, given what he had just witnessed. The muscle flexed beneath his black armband, worn for convention but worn also to wrench at the heart of the delectable Carrie Jenkins. He had used many different approaches with women, cocky lines for brassy females, heartless flirting for eager maidens, smooth seduction for married women, but this was the ultimate. ‘How do you do? My father died in your kitchen.’ It made one hell of an introduction.

  He had gone to Wilton Lane to make polite enquiries after the mother. The police had informed him that she had taken bad ways. Still breathing but immobile and unable to speak – like one of Adam’s dummies. She would be better off dead, poor bitch. Pity he hadn’t had time yesterday to finish her off. With luck, she would have snuffed it in the past few hours. That would be good, another reason for Carrie to learn to lean on him.

  Instead, he had found himself following her. She had entered the park, and he was indulging in a hectic fantasy about what he could do to her in the bushes once he got her trained in his ways when he realised she was here for an assignation. He bunched his fists. He wasn’t going to stand for this. He slid among the trees as Carrie and the young man came over. If they were after some privacy for a spot of canoodling, he would break the bloke’s arms. No one got a feel of his girl. But it turned out they had sought sec
lusion for a different reason. She was pregnant – and now she was jilted.

  She was still standing there. Ralph could see the side of her face, the curve of her cheek. Her pallor shocked him. He burnt with protectiveness – and anger. He longed to tell her that being abandoned by the faithless Shipton was immaterial because she had Ralph Armstrong looking after her interests now.

  He moved stealthily away, then lengthened his stride as he set off after Billy sodding Shipton.

  ‘There you are, Carrie! Where’ve you been?’ Mrs Dunnett bustled across the road. ‘Father Kelly’s come to give your mam the last rites.’ She sketched a quick sign of the cross.

  The last—? No – absolutely not. Wrenching herself out of the shock of her meeting with Billy, Carrie dashed indoors and upstairs at such a lick she tripped over her feet, but she hardly had time to bark her shins before she was up again. She flew into the bedroom, where the sweet aroma of incense enveloped her. There was Father Kelly, and Mrs Clancy, Mrs Hardacre and Letty were all on their knees round the bed. Four faces turned her way, but not the fifth, not Mam’s.

  ‘You’re just in time,’ said Father.

  ‘She isn’t—?’

  ‘Nay, love,’ said Mrs Clancy.

  Carrie squared her shoulders. ‘Then there’s no call for this.’ She looked straight at Father Kelly, aware of a flutter at her waist-level as the kneeling women caught their breath.

  ‘There’s every need,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I call on Doctor Cumming and ask him the likely outcome? And didn’t he say she’d be better off—?’

  ‘She isn’t going to die,’ Carrie insisted through clenched teeth. Her shoulders were clenched too, and the muscles in her arms.

  ‘That’s in God’s hands, child. And if she does, then her soul will be in a state of grace and what more could anyone ask? You wouldn’t deny her that, surely, a loving daughter like you?’

  She felt like hurling the chamber pot at him.

  Mrs Clancy shuffled along. ‘Come here by me.’

  She did as she was told. What else could she do? But she refused to listen to her mam being given the last rites. She bowed her head and stuffed her mind full of other thoughts.

  Carrie trailed home. She had been to the laundry and secured Letty’s old job, though, because of Mam’s condition, she had asked not to start until next week. She had made it sound as if that would make a difference. Would it? Her thoughts froze in fear.

  Miss Hopkins, the overseer, had sniffed and pulled at her immaculate cuff. ‘I’m not pleased, but I suppose, under the circumstances …’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was such a relief to have a job that she felt as though she were about to fall to the floor.

  Even so, as she headed home, holding her shawl round her as loosely as she could so as not to die of the heat, it was hard to feel glad. Laundry work was back-breaking. She knew how tough Letty had found it and Letty was no slacker. She pictured Letty working at Trimble’s and herself toiling in that steaming-hot laundry. Her shoulders shuddered and her shawl slipped.

  She turned into Wilton Lane. Women stood in little clusters up and down the street. They all turned and looked at her – because of Pa or because she had been after Letty’s old job? She didn’t care. It didn’t matter, compared to the worries she was dragging around with her.

  Mrs Clancy came hurrying to meet her. ‘Have you heard? Yon Billy Shipton—’

  ‘He’s been here?’ Oh, if only—

  ‘Nay, lass. He’s been beat up that bad he’s ended up in hospital.’

  Carrie’s chest tightened. Before she knew what she was doing, she had dodged past Mrs Clancy and started running. Then she swung round.

  ‘Mrs O’Leary’s in with Mam. Could you—?’

  ‘Wait, Carrie. Are you sure—?’

  She flew to the Shiptons’ house, where her urgent knocking was answered by a neighbour. She slipped past and rushed into the kitchen. It was empty. There were voices in the parlour – the parlour. Her flesh went clammy. Was Billy dead?

  She forced herself to open the door. Billy’s mam, his auntie, both his nans and another neighbour turned startled eyes towards her. They looked upset, but gossipy-upset, not stricken-upset. Carrie’s throat swelled and tightened, then released, leaving a sharp-edged ache.

  ‘I’ve just heard,’ she cried. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You!’ Mrs Shipton came to her feet. ‘Get out of my house.’

  ‘But Billy—’

  ‘I said, out!’

  ‘I only want—’

  ‘I don’t care what you want. You’re nowt but trouble.’

  ‘Come on, love.’ Auntie Mabel took her arm.

  Finding herself propelled to the front door, she twisted free. ‘What happened? How is he?’

  Auntie Mabel pushed her outside and took a step after her. ‘He were beaten up yesterday teatime. Took a real hammering, he did.’

  ‘Who did it?’

  ‘Dunno. Some bugger what crept up from behind and shoved him up an entry. He never stood a chance.’

  ‘Poor Billy. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Mabel! Are you coming back in or what?’ Mrs Shipton boomed from indoors. ‘I hope you’re not telling that girl owt. She’s not entitled.’

  ‘How bad is he?’ Carrie whispered. ‘Please!’

  ‘Terrible bruising, eyes all swollen, nose broken, poor lad. His teeth are bad and they say some ribs are cracked.’ Auntie Mabel wiped away a tear. ‘Now, go.’

  She disappeared, leaving Carrie to weave her way home, fighting waves of horror. As if things weren’t bad enough already. Back in Wilton Lane, she went indoors, her feet taking her upstairs. Her mind felt fuzzy; she couldn’t sort out her thoughts.

  She was aware of voices as she went into the bedroom. Her throat was dry, but she wanted to talk. She wanted to pour out what had happened. She wanted sympathy, understanding. After being rejected at Billy’s house, she wanted someone to treat her as if she was entitled to be upset.

  ‘We’ve got to do summat about your mam,’ Mrs O’Leary said immediately. ‘Mrs Clancy and me had to change the sheets again while you was gone.’

  ‘Lie her on newspapers,’ said Mrs Clancy. ‘That’ll save the bedding.’

  They looked at her. She had to shunt her thoughts around. ‘But that’s undignified.’

  ‘Well, lovey, shitting herself like a babby in’t exactly dignified neither.’

  ‘And think on,’ added Mrs O’Leary. ‘Some of these sheets are on loan.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask about Billy?’

  ‘Later, lovey. Your mam comes first.’

  Carrie caved in and cadged old papers from up and down the road. Now, when she was exhausted and busy, everyone wanted to ask about Billy until she was sick of repeating herself. At last she was home again, helping the neighbours rearrange the bed, the newspapers crackling as they were laid in position and Mam was settled on them. Then there was silence.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mrs O’Leary. She sounded pleased and Carrie experienced a terrible urge to shout at her. How could it possibly be better, with Mam lying so still that there wasn’t even the tiniest flicker of sound?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hoping against hope, Carrie counted out a heap of silver and copper for the second time. A knock at the door made her heart jump. Scooping the cash into the pocket of her pinny, she went to answer it, bracing herself to tackle the rent man but finding instead a stranger. A good-looking one too, with keen brown eyes and broad shoulders. He was crisply turned out in a smart three-piece suit of dark grey with a black tie. When he raised his homburg, she noticed the black band on his sleeve.

  ‘Good afternoon. Ralph Armstrong. My father—’

  ‘I thought you were the rent man,’ she blurted. ‘I were going to fob you off with a few bob less until next week—I’m sorry. How rude of me.’ Her cheeks burnt. ‘Won’t you come in?’

  ‘Thank you.’ He removed his homburg.

  Mr Armstrong’s son. Should
she have expected him? She led him into the kitchen, then wondered if she should have offered him a seat in the parlour.

  ‘This is where it happened.’ He looked at the hearth.

  ‘Yes. I suppose the police told you. I’m sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He looked at her expectantly and she sat, waving him into an armchair, suddenly ashamed. He was tall and handsome and everything about him was smart: the silk handkerchief sticking up from his breast pocket, the wing collar and black silk tie, the sharp central crease down the trouser legs. He was too good for their kitchen.

  ‘I’m Carrie Jenkins.’

  ‘I know. I should extend my sympathies too. I understand your mother is in a grave condition.’

  Somehow or other it all came tumbling out, not the really intimate horrid details, like the incontinence, but everything else, all about Mam’s condition and what was being done for her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she finished at last. ‘Here I am burdening you with my problems when you’ve your own sorrow.’ She had shed some tears; she felt about in her pocket for her hanky. Her fingers clashed against the coins. ‘Rent,’ she murmured, mopping her cheeks.

  ‘You said something about not having enough?’

  Damn. Her and her big mouth. ‘Things are tight at the minute. I left my job last week and I don’t start my new one till next Monday. My sister is moving back in, but she hasn’t tipped up yet.’

  ‘What is this new job?’

  ‘The laundry.’

  ‘You can’t go there.’

  That made her look straight at him. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I mean, you’ll ruin your hands. You don’t want to do that.’

  ‘No choice – now that really is the rent man,’ she added as someone knocked.

  Spilling the money onto the table, she swept it into one palm only to find her hand cupped inside Ralph Armstrong’s. His hand was warm. He tipped the coins into his other hand, exerting pressure when she tried to pull away.