The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  But when she stumbled into her explanation, he took her breath away with the words, ‘I know you’re in trouble, child. Didn’t Billy tell me so himself?’

  ‘Then he said it’s his?’ If he had, it would help heal things between them … wouldn’t it?

  ‘He said you’d say that.’ Father Kelly’s bland features stayed the same, but there was a glint in his eyes. ‘He also said he has no way of knowing.’

  ‘That’s not true! He’s the only boy I’ve ever—Father, you have to believe me.’

  ‘Ah, the word of a girl who has fallen from grace. You see my difficulty?’

  ‘I’m not lying!’

  ‘There’s been a girl in confession recently, seeking absolution for sins of the flesh. Would that have been you, Carrie Jenkins?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘If it wasn’t you, then it should have been. You, an unwed girl, and now paying the price.’

  That put her back up. She might have apologised for not confessing to her and Billy doing it, but the suggestion that her baby was included in the sin sent fire shooting through her veins.

  Silence rolled round the room. Father Kelly sighed.

  ‘I went to see Billy in his sickbed and took the opportunity to have a word with him about letting you down. But after hearing what he had to say, I’m wondering just who did the letting down.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t. So you’ll not help? I hoped you’d talk sense into him.’

  ‘Did you now? And here’s me thinking I could talk sense into you. If you’ve a babby on the way, and don’t know who to call the father—’

  ‘But I do—’

  He sat back in his chair, pressing his lips into a crinkly line. He steepled his pudgy fingers and patted the tips together. ‘Carrie Jenkins, what are we to do? You say the child is Billy’s and he says he doesn’t know. The sad truth is you need help. You and your babby need help. Will you let me help the both of you?’

  She pressed the flat of her hand to her chest. She nodded.

  He uttered a throaty chuckle. ‘That’s a relief. You’re a good girl at heart and I knew you’d be sensible, so I’ve already written to the sisters.’

  A frown tugged at her brow. Evadne?

  ‘So it must be the good Lord himself who brought you here in time to hear the news. They’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ The hair lifted on her arms. ‘Are you talking about—?’

  ‘Adoption. Of course. And when you come home, you can make a good confession and start again with a clean slate like the decent girl you really are.’

  How kind he sounded, but his kindness was a trap. His voice faded in and out of her hearing as her ears filled with the desperate beating of her heart. Springing up, she made a dash for the door, wrenching it open so hard she stumbled backwards. Sick with terror, she ran through the streets. Could he send her to the sisters? Could they force her to part with her baby?

  Swinging round the corner of Wilton Lane, she stopped short at the sight of Ralph Armstrong approaching her front door. He liked her – more than liked her. She thought of the presents she hadn’t wanted from him. She thought of pretending they were for Mam; she felt the chilly squeeze that pretending gave her. But Ralph Armstrong was persistent and maybe he was hers for the asking.

  Her heart slammed, locking Billy out for ever, a feeling that was followed by a whoosh of relief that made her skin tingle all over. She would never have been able to trust him again. He was weak and she was strong. She had a baby and an invalid mother to provide for, and provide for them she would.

  ‘Mr Armstrong!’

  Forcing a smile, Carrie walked towards him. She would give the orchid corset to Letty. She would give herself to this man because she had to, for her baby’s sake, and she would let him think she was doing it willingly, because that was how it had to be if she was going to ensnare him.

  But she drew the line at handing herself to him on an orchid-coloured plate.

  Once Carrie had accepted his advances, it amused Ralph to watch her agonise. Would she confide her shameful secret? He wasn’t bothered either way. He would accept the child as his own and that would bind her to him all the more, out of gratitude if she had told him, out of guilt if she hadn’t; so he would win, whichever decision she made. He smiled to himself.

  He brought muslin sachets of lavender.

  ‘To go between your mother’s sheets after they’ve been washed.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll put one on her pillow at night,’ said Carrie. ‘Lavender is soothing.’

  ‘You could pop one in your clothes drawer.’

  She hesitated, before making the correct response. ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘Shall I call round tomorrow to ask after Mrs Jenkins?’ he offered, his insides lurching with desire at the way her teeth grazed her lower lip. ‘Half-seven?’

  Sure enough, when he got there the next day, there wasn’t a neighbour in sight.

  ‘Are we alone?’

  ‘Well, there’s Mam, of course, and my sister’s in the parlour. She calls it her sitting room. She’s used to nice things.’

  Stuck-up bitch. Ralph clamped his mouth shut to prevent the words growling out. Soon it would be Carrie who had the best of everything and the snooty sister needn’t come crawling to him for handouts.

  ‘Doesn’t she want to play chaperone?’

  ‘Evadne says she’s got enough to worry about and what I do is my lookout.’

  ‘She ought to look after you.’

  ‘Are you and your brother close?’

  Now there was a question he hadn’t expected. He briefly considered melting her heart with a touching description of brotherly devotion but, even though he wasn’t generally fussed about the truth, that was one lie he wasn’t prepared to tell.

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly, ‘so that’s something we have in common.’

  ‘Oh, but I like Doctor Armstrong,’ Carrie exclaimed.

  Heat scorched through him, but he spoke calmly. ‘I mean, we each have a sibling we’re not close to.’

  ‘Oh.’ She accepted the rebuke with a quick lowering of the eyes and he gulped as her lashes caressed her cheeks.

  Later, rising to leave, he touched her arm, gently but firmly drawing her to him. Her eyes clouded with alarm and confusion. Such beautiful eyes. He held her gaze, making her wait. He bent his head towards hers, saw the fleeting expression of determination as she accepted that she must kiss him, then he drew back, gave her a load of claptrap about not taking advantage, and left.

  Two days later, after she had time to grow more scared about her situation, there was a glimmer of desperation in those lovely eyes as his lips closed over hers. Forcing down the powerful urge to plunder her mouth, he kept the kiss tender, though his insides damn near exploded with the effort of reining himself in.

  When the kiss ended, he looked down at her, sensing she was expecting him to apologise so she could murmur something like, ‘Don’t be sorry – I’m not.’

  He asked candidly, ‘Was that what you wanted?’ and when she blushed and looked away, he thought he would burn up with desire.

  He listened as she admitted to her previous engagement, careful to show no emotion as she told her tale of being jilted because of her father, even though his muscles were so tense his whole body felt sore.

  ‘The thing is, if you and I are …’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Courting,’ he prompted. ‘I know I don’t take you out, but that’s because you’ve got your mother ill upstairs. But make no mistake, we’re courting strong. I don’t care what your father did and I don’t care that you were engaged before. What I want to know is, do you still have feelings for this Shipton bloke?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Look at me when you say that.’

  She raised her eyes. There was defiance in them. ‘I don’t love Billy any more, not after what he did to me.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. And what about me? Are you on the rebound? Yo
u must know that for me this is the real thing.’

  Her eyes flickered. ‘For me an’ all. With Billy—’

  ‘Enough!’ he barked, making her flinch. The vehemence took him by surprise too. It hurt like hell to hear her speak of another man, another engagement. He wished he had pounded the life out of Billy Shipton. Maybe he still would. ‘That’s the last time you speak his name, do you understand?’

  And so he drew her along, wrong-footing her, saying the unexpected, forcing responses from her. The cleverness of it added an edge to his pleasure that made him anticipate even more keenly his eventual triumphant possession of her, the mere thought of which made him groan aloud in the darkness of his thoughts.

  Carrie might have been stupid enough to open her legs to that cowardly Shipton bastard, but she had done it in good faith and Ralph had confidence in her status as a decent girl who would find it immeasurably difficult to go through with it when it came to the point of surrendering to him. Even so, he wasn’t having her pulling away at the vital moment. The best thing all round would be to get her relaxed and willing with some booze.

  By unspoken consent, Saturday afternoon was the appointed time. According to Carrie, the posh bitch was going to see her rich grandfather in Parrs Wood.

  There was some polite conversational pussyfooting around to start with. His breathing had been rushed all day and his throat was dry. Carrie looked terrified, poor little bitch, the colour gone from her face, eyes huge. Christ, he wanted to tear her clothes off and have her there and then.

  ‘You’re nervous,’ he observed frankly. ‘Here, have some.’

  She looked uneasy as he withdrew a silver hip flask from his pocket and unscrewed the top, tipped up the flask and swallowed. He took less than a mouthful, though he gave the impression of knocking back more. He rolled the Scotch around in his mouth, though not because he was savouring it. He prided himself on his fastidiousness and one thing he couldn’t abide was the stench of alcohol on a woman’s breath; but a few fumes of his own might make him less aware of hers.

  He poured three fingers into a glass and handed it to her. Her eyes were troubled: she didn’t want to drink, but couldn’t afford not to.

  ‘Knock it back.’ He spoke softly, but it was an order.

  She lifted it. The smell made her grimace. Then she visibly made a huge effort and did as she was told. She coughed, but he barely gave her time to recover before he pressed another few fingers on her, and another. It didn’t take long to get her drunk. She was soon swaying on her feet, her eyes struggling to focus, words slurring. His lips curled in disgust.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Don’t want you passing out.’

  Pulling her to him, he gave her a few rough kisses, tugging a response from her. His muscles quivered and heat poured through his body. He kissed her long and deeply, grinding her mouth all the harder when she tried to breathe. When she was half-senseless from alcohol and desire, he kissed his way down her throat. Kissing wasn’t enough. He wanted to bite her as well, had to restrain himself. His fingers twitched open the buttons on her blouse. Underneath, the top of a camisole bunched over the rim of her corset. The small hook-and-bar fasteners melted away under his fingertips and he slid his hand inside, groaning as her breast rolled beneath his palm.

  When she caught her breath in a loud gasp, all his nerve ends jangled. With his free hand, he cupped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, and plunged his mouth down over hers before throwing her hard across the kitchen table, swiftly lifting her skirt and petticoat and, with one deft flick, ripping apart the legs of her camiknickers. Shoving her thighs apart, he set his tongue to work. He felt her try to writhe but, flat out on the table, legs spread and dangling, all she could manage was a helpless wriggle that sent desire pumping through him. She was powerless and he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He leant over her to drag kisses across her mouth and face, smearing her skin with her own juices, then he unfastened his trousers and rammed his way inside her as hard as he could, jarring a cry from her. His body had craved this from that first instant of seeing her and it was all he could do not to explode inside her. He made it last as long as he could, dragging her hips towards him and pounding into her until release overcame him with such vividness that his legs crumpled.

  He slumped on top of her, his breathing ragged. He felt magnificent and he couldn’t wait to do it again. Carrie belonged to him now.

  When his pulse had subsided, he adjusted his trousers and went upstairs. The dummy was in the front bedroom. Walking round the bed, he knelt beside her and murmured in her ear.

  ‘Remember me? I was here the afternoon Joseph Armstrong came a-courting. Mine was the last face you saw. Are you listening? Carrie thinks you can hear. Did you hear the sounds she was making a few minutes since? I’ve just had her across your kitchen table. Christ, like a bitch on heat she was. Does she get that from you? I’m going to go down now and enjoy her delectable body all over again. Goodbye … mother-in-law.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  February 1921

  Carrie caught the eye of another pregnant young woman as they queued in the butcher’s. When the other girl said, ‘Eh, I’ll be glad when it’s over,’ she smiled, feigning agreement, though the truth was that this pregnancy couldn’t last long enough for her liking. She had been two months along in June when she was supposed to marry Billy. It was now February and she reckoned she was a fortnight overdue. Having supposedly got pregnant by Ralph in June, with the baby due in March, her relief and gratitude at having carried into February knew no bounds.

  In any case, she adored being pregnant. She felt radiantly healthy and marvelled at the sensation of the new life growing inside her, being nurtured by her own body. What could be more wonderful?

  She had certainly provided her baby with a good home and that was something to be grateful for; proud of, too. There was no scrimping in the Armstrong household. She still experienced the remnants of astonishment when she remembered the lavishness of their Christmas fare. It was easy to call it the best Christmas ever: it had certainly been the strangest, finding herself married to Ralph after years of looking forward to being Billy’s wife, and with Mam still bedfast and helpless. Adam had been right about that: there was no possibility of swift improvement, though the feeding tube had soon been discarded, thank God. After the first week or so, Mam had emerged from her unresponsive state, much to Carrie’s joy, but her joy had fizzled out when it became clear that Mam wasn’t on the verge of recovery. She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness, but when she was awake, if you could call it that, she didn’t respond – couldn’t, according to Adam. But at least she had the swallowing reflex, so she was able to mumble spoonfuls of food as long as it was mushed up like a baby’s.

  ‘Good practice for you,’ said Ralph, which was unkind, but Carrie didn’t say anything.

  She was determined to keep the promise she had made to herself the day she accepted Ralph’s proposal: concentrate on the good things. And there had been many good things. Ralph had seen to that.

  ‘I’ll always look after you,’ he had promised back in Wilton Lane the day after she had gone through with it. ‘You’ll never want for anything. We can get married immediately by special licence.’

  ‘Oh, but I want a church wedding.’

  ‘That would mean waiting for the banns. Do you want to wait that long?’ He had looked at her so intently that it was as if he could see inside her head.

  ‘No.’ She had eased away, terrified that the banging of her heart would reverberate through her body and into his. ‘Let’s get married as soon as we can.’

  Within days, having stayed up till all hours during the nights in between unpicking every lovingly embroidered S on the linen in her bottom drawer and replacing each one with an A, she was married and installed in the spacious flat above the shop on Wilbraham Road.

  Saying goodbye to her old neighbours had been hard. They were shocked that she was marrying a ma
n she barely knew and made no bones about saying so until she felt bruised all over.

  They weren’t alone in making their opinions clear. On her first morning in the flat, Father Kelly came knocking. To her eternal relief, he didn’t enter the shop, but had found the flat’s front door, tucked between Armstrong’s and the next shop. Carrie led him up the enclosed staircase.

  ‘So it’s living in sin now, is it, Carrie Jenkins?’

  ‘I’m Carrie Armstrong now, Father.’

  ‘Not in the eyes of the church. And this Armstrong fellow, he’s the father of your babby, I take it?’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘And him not Catholic. Is there no end to it, child? What would your mammy say?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘She’d say: Thank you for marrying a man who can take such good care of us.’

  ‘And is your poor innocent babby to be a heathen brought up outside God’s Holy Family? If you care about your child’s eternal soul, Carrie Jenkins, not to mention your own, you’ll get yourself properly married in the eyes of God. Shall I speak to Mr Armstrong on the subject?’

  ‘No, don’t.’ She might have only just found out how many sugars Ralph took, but she knew as certainly as if she had been born with the knowledge that he wouldn’t take kindly to being bossed about by anyone, not even a priest.

  Nevertheless, it played on her mind, but when she introduced the idea of a church ceremony, Ralph cut her off sharply.

  ‘I hope you aren’t about to use the words “really married”.’

  ‘No.’ How had he known?

  ‘Good, because I wouldn’t want you in any doubt as to your position.’

  And that was that.

  There was a lot of that was that. As Mrs Billy Shipton, she would, in true Wilton Lane style, have managed Billy, all the while letting him think he was boss. It wasn’t like that with Ralph. He was the master and she had to fall into line. She wanted to be the wife his position required, but it didn’t always come easily. As Billy’s wife, she would have known precisely what was expected, but Mrs Ralph Armstrong was a different person, and more than once in the early days she came up against a flash of annoyance that had her kicking herself for not knowing the ropes.