The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘Properly.’

  ‘Properly. I’ll remember in future. I don’t want to let you down.’

  In the bedroom, Joey began to cry and she started to rise.

  ‘Not yet,’ Ralph ordered.

  ‘He’s crying.’

  ‘And we’re talking. I think your husband comes first, don’t you? I want to know what else you and Letty have been planning.’

  ‘Nowt – nothing. Ralph, he’s hungry. It’s past his feeding time.’

  Ralph got up from his armchair. He stepped across and leant forward, one hand on each arm of her chair, trapping her. He bent right over, forcing her to shrink into the back of the chair. Dislodged, the antimacassar flopped against her hair.

  ‘Tell me.’ His voice was quiet, almost tender, but his eyes were cold and insistent. His breath settled on her face, warming it and bringing a trace of the mulligatawny that had seen off the end of Sunday’s mutton. ‘I can see it in your face, so tell me.’

  She fought a desperate urge to wriggle. ‘Letty’s asked me to be her bridesmaid – her matron of honour.’

  Ralph swung upright. ‘And you didn’t tell me before because …? Come on, Carrie, don’t gawp. That’s part of your Wilton Lane vocabulary, isn’t it – gawp? I know about women and weddings. You should have been babbling about it even before you brought my slippers. Hasn’t she done well for herself? Is that it? It’s one thing for you to be friends with an unmarried girl from Wilton Lane; I can just about tolerate that. But if her husband isn’t up to snuff, that’s the end of it.’

  Carrie’s heart gave a dull thump. ‘It’s Billy Shipton.’

  ‘Billy Shipton?’

  ‘The one I—’

  Ralph crashed his fist down onto the chenille-covered table so hard that water slopped over the top of the vase of daffodils in the middle. ‘I know who Billy Shipton is, thank you!’ All at once he was leaning over her again, speaking right into her face, making her blink. ‘How long have they been engaged?’

  She was too alarmed and confused to remember and didn’t know whether she could have told the truth anyroad. ‘Not long.’

  ‘How long is not long? And you didn’t see fit to mention it? Dear God.’ He flung himself away from her, scrubbing his face with his hands. ‘To think I’ve been agonising over—’ He swung round to face her. ‘And all along Billy flaming Shipton has been hovering in the background.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. You mek it sound like—’ And she had to stop because hadn’t Billy done his best to turn it into precisely what Ralph was making it sound like? ‘He’s Letty’s fiancé now. Him and me – that’s long over. You know that.’

  ‘You still kept it secret, though, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t like it. I don’t like it either. I don’t want my best friend marrying my old fiancé. It’s an odd thing to happen.’

  ‘It can be as odd as it likes from now on, because that’s an end to it between you and Letty.’

  ‘Oh, Ralph, me and Letty have been friends all us lives.’

  ‘Letty and I,’ he corrected remorselessly, ‘and all our lives.’ He sighed darkly. ‘I’m not having my wife hobnobbing with some female whose husband isn’t fit to associate with me.’

  ‘Billy’s a town hall clerk.’

  He clicked his tongue. ‘He could be the Lord Mayor of Manchester for all I care. I’m not having you being friends with the wife of your old fancy man. Do I make myself clear?’

  Not to see Letty again? Not to be friends? It was unthinkable. Yet what had she expected, once Ralph knew about Letty and Billy? She hadn’t let herself think about it. Coward.

  A louder cry with a distinct element of surprise – Joey wasn’t accustomed to being kept waiting, and that was something else that was her fault – made Carrie glance round, every nerve end jumpy with the need to tend her baby.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Ralph. ‘I think you need reminding of your duty.’

  He reached out for her and when she uttered a protest, cuffed both her wrists inside one strong hand, and proceeded to flick her buttons open. Her heart sank. She made an attempt to wriggle free, but he held her fast. She didn’t want this, not this way, not on the floor, with the baby bawling in the background, not – not with this man. Bile rose in her throat. Not with this man.

  She had accepted his advances and his lovemaking all these months because he was her husband and she was grateful and he was entitled. And he was still her husband and he was still entitled – but her ability to accept had crumbled to dust. She loved Adam and nothing was going to change that. She couldn’t bear the thought of Ralph shoving his way into her, his relentless thrustings leaving her sore and burning.

  She tried to pull back. ‘Please, Ralph, no—’

  ‘No?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Are you saying no to me, Carrie Armstrong?’

  She swallowed. That was the one thing she must never say. He must never know she had tricked him into marriage, never know Joey wasn’t his. He must never know she loved someone else. And he must never know that man’s identity.

  ‘Are you saying no to me?’

  His voice was low and rough and Carrie had the oddest feeling that he wanted to be provoked. She willed all her senses into a state of dullness and prayed for the strength to keep the tears from gushing from her eyes, as, with no pretence of pleasuring her, he proceeded to take what he was entitled to.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Evadne accompanied Alex to town, where he had reserved a table in the elegant dining room at the Midland Hotel. She held herself proudly, feeling trim and fashionable, aware of what a handsome couple they made. Over drinks, she regaled him with the tale of her visit to Chester. When she expressed surprise at how well their items had performed, he dismissed it.

  ‘That’s Foster and Wainwright’s for you. We’d never have made those prices at Armstrong’s.’

  She reached for her handbag. ‘I must write you a cheque.’

  ‘Wait.’

  When she looked at him in surprise, he gave a little shrug and looked – goodness, she would never have expected it – vulnerable. Her heart skittered.

  ‘Use some of the money to treat yourself – please don’t be offended. You’ve given a lot of time to the business, far beyond what Armstrong pays you to do, and it’s only fair that you be rewarded. You’ve become an unofficial partner, as it were, and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of your good nature. Besides …’ He looked at her, as if assessing whether to continue; she felt a frisson of anticipation. ‘May I speak plainly? You’re a lady of quality and I know your current circumstances are unfortunate. I hold the major entirely to blame. My dear Miss Baxter – Evadne – I would take it as a compliment if you’d use some of the funds from Foster and Wainwright’s for your own purposes. You’re a beautiful woman and you deserve the best. I wouldn’t want you to feel yourself at a disadvantage if you were to be introduced to—that is to say, my mother will be passing through on her way to the Lakes …’

  His tact and understanding, combined with the uncharacteristic stumbling, not to mention the forthcoming introduction, were all it took to sweep aside her reluctance. Here was the real reason why he had wanted her to go to Chester – so that she would end up with a substantial sum in her bank account so she could kit herself out for maternal inspection. It was all she could do not to weep for joy.

  It was Monday before Ralph let Carrie out alone. After the business about Letty on Thursday evening, he had informed her at the breakfast table on Friday that she wouldn’t be leaving the flat again until he said so.

  She wasn’t sure she had heard properly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Precisely what I say. The woman can do the shopping.’

  The woman – that was how he referred to Mrs Porter. And Letty was Backstreet Letty. His rudeness, his callousness about those further down the pecking order, especially women, took her breath away. Was this what Joey would learn to do?


  She hadn’t been allowed to attend Mass yesterday.

  ‘But I have to or it’s a sin.’

  ‘You go to Mass because I say you can. You’re Catholic because I permit it. And if being Catholic means you answer me back, then I won’t want a Catholic wife any more. Think on. I’m the one you obey, Carrie.’

  To her surprise, they had gone on to have a pleasant day. Ralph had played with Joey and praised her cooking and in the afternoon they went for a walk. The days were lengthening; the air was milder and buds were shooting. Before they set off, he wedged a bag into a corner of the pram, refusing to say what it contained.

  They walked to Chorlton Green. Stopping in front of the memorial flowers, he withdrew from the bag a blue vase and a bunch of daffodils.

  ‘For your dad. It’s about time he had a proper vase. Here, let me.’ Crouching, he tipped a little water from other jars and vases into the blue vase. ‘Where shall we put it?’

  Carrie’s throat was so full she could barely speak. ‘Wherever there’s room.’

  He settled the vase and handed her the daffs. ‘You put them in.’

  She looked at Pa’s flowers through damp lashes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m surprised you never thought of it before. I give you enough pin money.’

  ‘I don’t like to fritter it. Spending when you don’t need to is swanky.’

  ‘That’s Wilton Lane talking.’ For once his voice held no sneer. ‘You mustn’t think that way any more.’

  When they arrived home, he said, ‘Fetch my slippers and put the kettle on; then why don’t you spend half an hour with Mrs Jenkins?’

  It was the first time he had ever suggested it and Carrie, accustomed to sliding off to see Mam virtually in secret, felt herself sag with gratitude.

  Later, Ralph watched her bath the baby, then they played cards.

  ‘You see how life can be when you’re a good wife,’ said Ralph.

  At the breakfast table this morning, he had said, ‘You may start going out again.’

  He made it sound so reasonable, as if keeping her in was any old common or garden thing to do.

  As she went round the shops, Carrie made plans. Sunday had shown her how good a life she and Joey could have with Ralph. If things weren’t always as good as that, was she to blame? She had entered into this marriage with her eyes open. But was it sufficient just to appreciate the material things? Was she guilty of not making an effort in other respects?

  She couldn’t have it both ways. She couldn’t be Carrie Jenkins from Wilton Lane and Mrs Ralph Armstrong. Ralph was entitled to expect her to pull her socks up when he married her. She must be a better wife. She must stop talking broad, for one thing, and stop harking back to Wilton Lane, for another. Moreover, much as it hurt, she must be gracious about losing Letty. She couldn’t be friends with the wife of her old fiancé. She couldn’t expect Ralph to put up with that; and much as it would hurt to lose Letty, it would be a relief to sever that link with Billy.

  If she did these things, that would make her a better wife; and then there would be more days like yesterday, and that would be good for all of them, especially Joey. He was more important than anything.

  For Joey. She would do it for Joey.

  As she was about to cross the road to the shop, something made her glance round, and there was Adam coming round the corner. He saw her at the same moment. Expecting to feel confused and panicky, she instead felt strangely unruffled. She felt warm and safe and thrilled. Her body, dry and dead to her husband’s touch, flooded with need. She longed to reach out her arms to him and feel his arms wrap round her.

  She wanted him to be Joey’s father.

  What was she thinking? Moments ago she had vowed to be a better wife. Now, with one look at Adam, all that was forgotten. But this was a basic truth of her life. It wasn’t simply that she had fallen in love. She had provided her son with the wrong father. What sort of childhood would Joey have, growing up under the glare of Ralph’s uncertain temper? Adam would make a wonderful father, loving, attentive and trustworthy. If her child could grow up to be like him, she would be more than happy. What sort of son would Ralph raise?

  ‘Morning, Carrie.’

  Adam tipped his hat to her. A simple gesture: she could have been anyone. But she wasn’t anyone. His face was a polite mask, but there was no disguising the emotion and vulnerability in his eyes. Her throat went dry; she gave him a nod. Could he see in her what was so obvious to her in him?

  ‘How is Mrs Jenkins?’

  ‘No change, but Doctor Todd is pleased her muscles aren’t wasting away.’

  ‘That’s thanks to you and your hard work.’

  It was too much. She didn’t want his praise – well, she did, but she wanted so much more. She glanced away.

  Adam took the hint or perhaps he felt the same. ‘I won’t keep you.’

  Touching his hat to her, he walked on. She knew she mustn’t watch him go, but she couldn’t help herself; then she saw Ralph standing at the shop window.

  As she crossed the road, the door was flung open.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Nowt – nothing.’

  ‘Come on, Carrie. He spoke to you. I saw him.’

  ‘He asked after Mam.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘When I say my brother isn’t welcome under my roof, that means you don’t have anything to do with him elsewhere, either. You’d know that if you weren’t so stupid. Get inside.’

  Evadne had worked out precisely when to ‘discover’ the papers that she had, with remarkable sleight of hand, removed from Doctor Armstrong’s notes before he and Doctor Todd set off for the conference in town. She disappeared upstairs to change from the smart skirt and blouse she wore for the office into her caramel wool, concealing the dress beneath her damson coat; then she hastened downstairs, waving the important papers and calling over her shoulder where she was going.

  Half an hour later, having delivered the papers, she headed purposefully for the shops, her heart singing. How wonderful it felt to have money to spend. She wished she knew the sort of occasion at which she would meet Alex’s mother. Did she require a new day dress for a smart luncheon or something beaded for evening? An evening dress would call for an evening coat or wrap – and matching shoes and long gloves – and an evening bag. All that would set her back a pretty penny. She could invest in that and rely on her caramel and damson to see her through a daytime meeting.

  But – there was no getting away from it – the caramel and damson, individually so lovely, together made the most frightful clash. She had known it before she splashed out on the coat, but it hadn’t stopped her. The coat had been irresistible.

  To be sure of appearing at her best for Alex’s mother, what she really needed was a new dress to complement her coat, something in cream or lilac, worn with a cameo brooch she could pass off as her grandmother’s – since Grandfather had never handed over Grandmother’s jewellery – and matching gloves in kid, and a handbag, perhaps in cream silk with lilac embroidery, or vice versa.

  Which, though? An evening ensemble or something divine for day? Alex had given no indication and it would have felt crass to ask. The fact was – she gave a sharp little gasp of bliss – she ought to have both. It was the only way to be sure.

  After that, it wasn’t such a large step to thinking that her caramel dress deserved a toning jacket to do it justice. Something hip-length, with wide turned-back cuffs and decorative top-stitching … and would it be impossibly extravagant to indulge in matching accessories? No point leaving the job half-done.

  This was her life the way it should be lived.

  Carrie peeled the potatoes and carrots, leaving them in water, and checked the meat. Then she fed Joey, delighted by his insistent tugging at her breast. Everything he needed, he got from her. The knowledge rendered her weak with love – weak and strong at the same time. With a final snuffle, he finished. She adjusted her clothing and laid hi
m against her shoulder, making gentle circles on his back until he emitted a little chirrup of a belch that made his tummy twitch against her.

  ‘Good boy,’ she cooed. ‘What a little lamb.’

  She ought to put him down. She would spoil him summat rotten if she didn’t. She could hear the admonishment in her head, as if spoken by Mam, but, oh, he was so warm and cuddly and she loved the smell of him, the soap and milk and powder that invaded her senses and made him hers.

  She settled back in the armchair, feeling the bobbly French knots in the embroidery on the antimacassar against the back of her head, and snuggled Joey to her chest, her favourite way for him to sleep. Her eyelids began to droop. She made a token effort to pull herself back from the brink, then gave in. The topside didn’t need any help from her to finish braising. With a happy sigh that made Joey’s body rise and fall with her chest, she dozed off.

  She woke, lifting a hand to secure Joey in place, her heart anticipating his murmur of response. Gently, she pushed one finger into his tiny palm for his hand to wrap around in slumber.

  Nothing happened.

  The beat of her heart turned to water. With the fingers of one hand splayed across Joey’s back to hold him in position, she sat up, her other hand supporting his head. She lifted him from her chest and settled him on her lap. There was no movement, no flutter, no gurgle, just the tiniest sensation of – flopping.

  Shock walloped her. It hummed through her bones. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, didn’t want to think. Then she was on her feet, Joey in her arms, and she was running along the landing and down to the shop, her throat swollen with words she couldn’t possibly say.

  She burst in upon a scene so ordinary it beggared belief. There was the furniture, same as always, the tables and cupboards and chairs, a circular table, its top deep enough to house shallow drawers, a dainty dressing table borne on slender legs that put you in mind of a wobbly newborn fawn. Winter light, grey with a sharp edge of dazzle, filled the windows, striking the hanging lustres on a cut-glass candlestick.