The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  She grasped the perambulator handle so fiercely her fingers burnt. ‘Joey’s not your son. Your baby was due in January. Joey didn’t come along until February and that’s because he’s not yours.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  She shrugged. ‘You’re the town hall clerk. Do the sums. I was two months along when we were meant to get wed.’

  Billy glanced at his fingers, his lips moving through the names of the months. She forced herself to fix her gaze on his face, because everyone knew a liar couldn’t look you in the eye. Then he looked up and when she saw his narrowed eyes, her heartbeats roared in her ears.

  ‘Nah.’ Derision lengthened the word into a drawl. ‘You told me you were due towards the end of January. So yon lad were born a bit into February – so what? You got your dates wrong or else the baby came late, one or t’other.’

  ‘At least you’re finally admitting responsibility,’ she flung at him. ‘You can’t denounce me without showing yourself up.’

  ‘Oh aye? I’ll have you know that Father Kelly is my witness that I couldn’t be sure I were the father.’

  The moment was broken by an excited cry.

  ‘Grandad – look what I found!’

  ‘Oy!’ said Billy. ‘That’s mine.’

  ‘It were just lying there, mister. Finders keepers. Tell ’im, Grandad.’

  Carrie swung the perambulator round and marched away.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The moment Evadne set eyes on the black marble clock belonging to Mr Browning and his sister, who lived along the road from Grandfather in the house with the monkey puzzle tree in the front garden, she gave a small gasp of delight. There was a similar clock on the mantelpiece in one of the rooms at Brookburn. Only yesterday Mr Weston had told her about it, pointing out various details; he had even suggested its value.

  Hence Evadne was able to murmur a few pertinent comments, tactfully phrased as questions. ‘The engraving, is it gilt? And is the mount bronze?’ She glanced at Alex, delighted to receive his nod.

  ‘Quite so. But this isn’t what you want to show us, is it, Mr Browning? I believe you have some china that belonged to your mother?’

  The china was examined and paid for.

  Driving away, Alex remarked, ‘One more visit to the Brownings, I think, if you’d be so kind? Perhaps you’d like to offer for that clock that caught your eye.’

  The price was on her lips. Dared she say it? She didn’t want to look foolish.

  Alex said, ‘You might offer twenty.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask, pounds or guineas?’

  ‘Pounds, I assume.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  She pulled herself together. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  What a good thing she had kept her mouth shut. Her valuation would have been way over and she would have undone the good impression she had made with her accurate remarks. The thought made her feel fluttery; she couldn’t bear to appear less than perfect. She must be careful in future. The Brookburn clock was bigger, with more engraving, and Mr Weston had said the bronze was Florentine. No wonder the Brownings’ clock was worth so much less.

  Let that be a lesson to her. She stopped dwelling on it and enjoyed the day.

  She had invested in a new coat and was wearing it for the first time. Having gone to Affleck and Brown’s with a picture in her mind of cream wool flannel, she had caught sight of a fabulously stylish ankle-length coat in crushed velvet of deepest damson with generous fur trim at the collar, wrist and hem. From that instant, no other garment would do. The appreciation in Alex’s eyes when he picked her up had been most gratifying.

  Best of all, when he drove her back to Brookburn, he not only came round to open the door for her as always, but also escorted her up the steps to the front door, which he hadn’t done before. He took her hand and it seemed he would raise it to his lips, but he simply bowed over it, then walked back to the motor.

  Watching him go, Evadne noticed Geeson, trundling a wheelbarrow along. He stopped and seemed to be looking at Alex. Then he looked straight at her. She turned and went indoors. Trust Geeson to ruin the moment.

  He was apparently intent upon ruining considerably more than that, however. First thing Monday morning, there was a tap on her office door. Others might work with their doors open, but not Evadne. She happened to be standing at the filing cabinet close by, so she opened the door herself.

  There stood Geeson. With his burly figure wrapped in his greatcoat and those big gloved hands, he looked at odds with the precise neatness of these surroundings, but instead of his seeming uncomfortable, it was Evadne who felt a twinge of discomfort. She hadn’t seen him indoors before. She was aware of the quiet strength of the man, a strength that she suddenly fancied lay in his heart and his spirit as much as in his muscles. She wanted him to twist his cap self-consciously, but he appeared composed, his weathered face grave.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ The words, politely spoken, nevertheless expressed her surprise, not to mention her displeasure. She was mistress of the cool put-down.

  ‘Might I step inside? Only this is a bit awkward, like.’

  ‘No, you may not. I can’t imagine what you have to say to me, but kindly say it and leave.’

  Geeson breathed in deeply; his wide chest expanded. ‘Very well, Miss Baxter. I couldn’t help noticing your companion on Saturday.’

  ‘How dare you!’

  ‘The thing is, I know Captain Larter—’

  ‘I doubt that very much. The likes of you can hardly claim to know a gentleman like that.’ Geeson’s eyes narrowed as her barb hit home. Good.

  ‘I mean to say, miss,’ he continued doggedly, ‘he was my commanding officer and I think you should be told that—’

  She swung the door shut in his face.

  No wonder they called it heartbreak. It was a physical pain, lodged deep inside his chest. Ralph had met enough men who had had bullets dug out of them, bloody great lumps of shrapnel in some cases, but there was nothing to be done about this injury. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe out.

  He battled with a mad urge to ask her outright. Suppose he did. Suppose he said, ‘Are you in love with my brother?’ But he would never humiliate himself like that. Besides, how could he bear to hear her answer? The bugger of it was that if she said yes, he would believe her, but if she denied it – what would he think then? He was tormented by the memory of bursting into the bedroom, furious with Adam for bringing that damn waxwork home, and seeing the starry bewilderment in Carrie’s eyes as she gazed at his brother. She had never looked at him like that.

  She was his perfect girl and she had never looked at him like that.

  Oh, he had known all along she wasn’t in love with him, and it hadn’t mattered. She needed him. She was tied to him. That she didn’t love him added a keen edge to his possession of her. Making love to her, knowing she didn’t love him, endowed the act with a strong sense of ravishment, which, combined with the great passion he felt for her, made him think he would go mad with desire.

  And now she loved someone else. His own bloody brother, of all people.

  It was Molly all over again. She had been his girl until she clapped eyes on Adam. Adam hadn’t wanted her, but Ralph had never forgiven him all the same. But Adam did want Carrie. Ralph had known it for some time and he had enjoyed it. It gave him a feeling of power. He might have lost Molly to Adam, who didn’t even want her, but Carrie was his and Adam could never have her.

  That was how it should be.

  Except that Carrie now wanted Adam.

  Christ Almighty, he longed to pound his sodding brother to a pulp, then scrape him up and start all over again. He had shoved Billy Shipton up an entry and given him the pasting of his life, but he knew there was no damage he could inflict on his brother that would assuage his anger and jealousy.

  And what of Carrie? Bl
oody bitch. He had given her everything and she had betrayed him. He loved her, he wanted her, he needed her. He would never stop loving her and he would never stop pretending he didn’t know of her attraction to another man, to his bloody brother. She had no idea he knew. He had used Adam’s high-handed interference in the waxwork’s return to explain why he had banned Adam from his home and, in her innocence, she had believed him.

  Yes, her innocence. Strange how he had never for one moment doubted her basic lack of guile, for all that she had foisted another bloke’s bastard on to him and had now fallen head over heels for his brother. She was a bloody bitch like all women, but she was a decent, uncomplicated girl at heart and he knew she would never give Adam the smallest encouragement.

  Not that she would get the chance.

  And not that her fundamental goodness would save her from suffering as she deserved. His perfect girl.

  Bloody bitch. Perfect girl. Bloody bitch.

  Letty nestled Mam’s hand inside both her own. It was Wednesday afternoon and here she was, same as every alternate Wednesday. No, not the same. There was something brittle about her that Carrie couldn’t fathom.

  Finally Letty said, ‘I’ve got summat to tell you. I hope you’ll be pleased.’

  ‘Course I will, if it’s summat good.’ What could it be? Not a new job; Letty was happy at Trimble’s.

  ‘It’s me and Billy. We’re engaged.’ Letty looked away, as if holding Carrie’s gaze was too much for her. ‘What do you think, Mrs Jenkins? Are you pleased for me? I know it must feel strange after all the time Billy and your Carrie were together, but it’s funny how things turn out, isn’t it?’

  He asked me to run off with him. Should she say it? Could she? And if she did, what might Billy say in revenge?

  ‘Spit it out, Carrie,’ Letty challenged.

  ‘It’s just that – well, you know he dumped me when things got difficult.’

  ‘And that were right unkind, but it was his mam more than him, and it’s not as though you didn’t fall on your feet. He’s a good chap, is Billy. You know that, don’t you, Mrs Jenkins, or you’d never have let Carrie get engaged to him in the first place.’

  Carrie’s heart yearned towards her friend. What should she do?

  Letty pushed away from the bed, her chair scraping on the floor. ‘If you’ve nowt to say, I may as well go.’

  Carrie reached out a hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s like you say; it’s a surprise.’

  Letty waited. It was a test. If Carrie didn’t say it, she would up and leave. But how could she say it, knowing what she knew? Yet how could she not say it, loving Letty as she did?

  ‘All I want is your happiness.’

  ‘And this makes me happy. So go on. Say it.’ Letty’s lip curled. ‘You can’t, can you? You can’t bring yourself to congratulate me. What’s the matter, Carrie? Were Billy meant to spend the rest of his life pining over you? Would you have been nowty no matter who he took up with, or is it because it’s me?’

  ‘It’s only that—’

  ‘—it’s a surprise. Aye, so you’ve said. What was you expecting, eh? I told you Billy and me were walking out. What did you think would happen?’

  ‘I never thought.’

  ‘Then let me tell you. Folks do their courting, then they get wed. Next news, there’s a baby. You don’t know what it’s like, Carrie. You set your sights on Billy when you were a lass and when he jilted you, you went straight off with Ralph.’

  ‘I did not—’

  ‘Some of us have never had a chap, and with so many dead in the war, lots of us—’ Letty’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘They’re talking about surplus women – a whole generation of girls who’ll never get married and have families, because there aren’t enough men to go round.’

  ‘Oh, Letty.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a surplus woman. I want to be a wife. I want children.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘When you’re a little lass dreaming of getting married, you say, “I’ll marry a handsome man and we’ll have four children and a house of us own.” You don’t say, “I want to marry a jilt.” You don’t say, “I want to marry the man who ditched my best mate.” But that’s how it’s turned out for me. I don’t want to stop at home for ever. I want to get wed. I want a proper life. Billy can give me that. He’s changed, Carrie. He’s grown up. He knows what he wants and so do I.’

  She made a last-ditch attempt. ‘I understand about getting married, but are you sure he’s right for you? Only him and me were together a long time.’ Her heart dipped into her belly as Letty’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure he’s not on the rebound?’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk. You’re the one what got wed on the rebound, if anyone did – hardly waited five minutes, you didn’t. And did I say one word against you? No, I never. In fact, I stuck up for you when folks tattled behind your back. At least Billy had the common decency to wait before he went courting again.’

  Carrie bit her lip. She couldn’t bear the thought of her beloved Letty marrying someone who didn’t love her with all his heart, but she didn’t dare put Billy’s threat to the test. ‘I wish you all the best, love.’ Scared of sounding resigned and sparking Letty off again, she forced a smile. ‘Billy’s jolly lucky and you can tell him I said so.’

  What a far cry from the squeals and hugs that had erupted when she announced her own engagement to Billy. Perhaps Letty remembered too, because she reached for her handbag.

  ‘I’ll be off. I just came to tell you the news. I’ll see myself out.’

  Did Letty hesitate in the doorway? Just for a smidgeon? But Carrie’s thoughts were so heavy her body couldn’t move. She wanted to slink away and hide.

  Billy would get to see the orchid corset after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  God, but he found Renton irritating sometimes. Sometimes? All the bloody time, ever since the slimy toerag had ganged up on him with those ambulance men to prevent him from jamming Adam’s brains into the cracks between the floorboards. It was galling to have to keep him in the shop, but he couldn’t sack the bastard. Renton was one of the team and much as Ralph would have relished the opportunity to knock his teeth out of his stupid head and stick them up his arse, he couldn’t do it. His mouth twisted into a sneer. Renton tried not to be obvious, but Ralph had noticed how he sidled away so a piece of furniture stood between them. Probably pissing himself with nerves.

  Look at him now, explaining the finer points of a satinwood china cabinet to a possible buyer. Ralph wanted to get Renton out of the auction room and back to the shop. Renton could get by convincingly there. When there were just the two of them, Ralph lectured him at length about various items on display and Renton had proved to have a good memory.

  ‘Never pretend to know something you don’t,’ he had instructed him on his first day and, give him his due, he never had.

  ‘Let me double-check that for you,’ he would say when faced by a tricky question and Ralph would put on his most urbane manner and step in.

  But Renton didn’t have the knowledge necessary for the auction room, where potential customers of all kinds, including fellow dealers, came early to view the pieces. Any question could be asked and an expert would soon spot Renton for the fraud he was. Ralph made his way around the room. The moment the punter moved on, he quietly dismissed Renton.

  There was a hum of anticipation in the atmosphere. Ralph looked about, pleased; alert too. Monthly auctions had started back in September and he had worked hard to procure suitable items, at the same time as keeping the shop supplied with stock. It had meant increasing the amount of time spent going out buying, sometimes on private valuations, other times at sales and auctions, and that had meant leaving Renton in charge of the shop, something he hadn’t found easy, but he had no option. There were times when he loathed this organisation he was part of. He didn’t like working with others, trusted no one but himself, and being told what to do made his blood boil; but under no circums
tances would he drop out. Not that they would have let him. Jonty Fellowes had wanted out and look what happened to him.

  Anyway, after lying low all this time, the rewards were about to start rolling in.

  Ostensibly, there was no difference between today and any previous auction day. Since September, auctions had been held monthly on Wednesday afternoons. From eleven, the auction room was open for viewing and people walked around, clutching Evadne’s typed lists and feigning lack of interest in whatever caught their eye. The Lloyds set aside a smart room where a light luncheon was served and the proceedings opened promptly at two. Ralph acted as auctioneer and he would never have admitted to anyone how much he loved it. He glanced round the room, gratified by the quality and variety of items available. He had to admit that Larter had pulled his weight, bringing in a significant number of pieces, though why he bothered taking Evadne on his valuations remained a mystery.

  All Larter would say was, ‘The delectable Miss Baxter is generously providing us with an insurance policy. Let’s hope for her sake we never need to use it.’

  Come to think of it, Ralph hadn’t seen Evadne. She was supposed to have arranged to have the day off from Brookburn. A table stood ready for her beside the small platform where his desk was. She had to record the sales; and before they started, she had to list the names and addresses of everyone who wanted to bid and allocate a number to each of them. Where the flaming hell was she?

  Larter approached him. ‘Problem?’

  ‘Evadne’s not here. It’s a bit rich, her being late when she was the one who mithered Carrie to put in a word for her.’

  ‘Miss Baxter is otherwise engaged today.’

  He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Providing us with insurance.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’