Chapter Forty-Two
Beneath the caking of dried tears, Carrie’s skin felt tight and hot. She dabbed cream on and gingerly smoothed it in, before going to the kitchen to warm the pot.
MOTHER WITH NO MERCY
It was her own fault for opening it. The moment she saw the letter on the mat, she had known this was another bitter accusation, and hadn’t there been a voice inside her suggesting that here was her punishment for striving to pull her life back together? Coming on top of her meeting with Billy, it had left her wanting to wrap her arms over her head and hide from the world, but she must make herself presentable for three o’clock. As she carried the tray down, she plastered on a smile and tried not to meet Ralph’s sharp eyes.
There was no avoiding him that evening, though, when he asked, ‘How’s old Weston?’
‘Fine, thank you. He sends his best.’
‘And you got there and back all right? Or was it … difficult?’
Don’t tek this the wrong way.
‘It was good to be out.’
‘You didn’t look well when you got back. You looked like you’d been crying.’
‘I had a bit of a weep, I must admit.’
‘It was too much for you. You’re best off being a homebody.’
‘No, Ralph, honest.’
He lifted his eyebrows, silencing her. But she refused to be silenced.
‘It’s not what you think. The tears weren’t because of going out. They – they were tears of joy. I was thinking about Mam squeezing my hand, only slightly, but I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Mrs Jenkins squeezed your hand? When?’
‘Yesterday. Isn’t it wonderful?’
Later, when Carrie went in to kiss Mam goodnight, she was surprised to find Ralph sitting at the bedside, leaning forward as if speaking into Mam’s ear. As Carrie came in, he sat back. Mam’s hand lay inside his. He held it up.
‘No squeezing,’ he remarked, getting up to leave the room. ‘Don’t be long.’
She stepped aside to let him pass. She had never seen him in here before and her surprise melted into gratitude. She knew he found Mam’s condition disturbing. The good news, however, had apparently made him perceive her differently, making her more acceptable to him. Carrie fetched a deep sigh. There was no Joey and that would hurt her for ever, but at least she and Ralph and Mam might have the chance to be a proper family.
Carrie woke, not knowing what had disturbed her, only knowing something had. The only sound was Ralph’s breathing. Then she heard something, a brief sound, indistinct, unidentifiable. She shook Ralph’s shoulder.
‘Wake up. I heard something.’
Before she could blink, he had pulled on a jumper and thrust his feet into a pair of shoes.
‘Stay here,’ he murmured and was gone.
She slid from the bed and bundled herself into her dressing gown, before opening the bedroom door a crack to listen. She couldn’t hear anything. She thought of Mam, defenceless, so she flitted along the landing, sliding into the front bedroom, whispering, ‘It’s only me. Nowt to worry about.’
That was where Ralph found her a few minutes later. ‘False alarm, but you did the right thing, waking me. The flat’s secure; so is the shop. Why are you in here? I told you to stay put.’
‘I had to be with Mam. Supposing there had been someone.’
‘Not worth putting yourself at risk for. Bed, Carrie.’
‘I’ll stop here a while with Mam.’
‘Bed, Carrie.’
What Adam had asked her to do wasn’t going to be easy, with Ralph keeping everything under lock and key. Carrie had Evadne’s old set of keys for the Lloyds, including those to the small drawers in the office desk, but not to its deep drawers. Somehow she must get hold of those keys when the goods from the Withington house arrived and she had reason to be across the road. She was fearful and determined both at the same time.
On Monday, however, when she had hurried through her domestic tasks so as to be available for an afternoon in the office, Ralph said she wouldn’t be wanted until tomorrow at the earliest.
‘I’ll be at the Lloyds all evening,’ he said. ‘I want to take a good look at the Withington haul.’
Her heart bumped. Here was her chance.
When Ralph left, she flew into Mam’s room and peeked through the curtains, watching him cross the road and walk up the steps. Then she ran down to the shop and into the office, shutting the door before she reached up to the brass gas bracket. There was a soft pop and she regulated the flame.
Taking the heavy delivery book from the shelf, she sat behind the desk and opened it. It was a large volume, dating back several years, but if all she had to do was discredit Mr Larter, then it was only the newest entries that mattered. He had arrived on the scene at the same time as Ralph was starting up the auction room. It opened for business in September last year and Ralph had spent all that summer preparing by buying suitable stock; she knocked off another couple of months for good measure and flicked back to April 1920, where she found a bold, scrawly script that must have belonged to Joseph Armstrong. No – she had gone back too far. The auction room preparations hadn’t started until after his death. She turned the pages until his writing disappeared, her eyes lingering on his final entry. He had written it with no idea it was his last one.
Concentrate, concentrate. Each entry contained date, name and address, price and a description of the article. She applied herself to her task, reading aloud in a soft murmur to help her remain focused, trying not to be distracted by the frustration of not knowing what she was looking for. It was all very well for Ted Geeson to say she might recognise it when she saw it, but he wasn’t the one poring over these lists.
A sound: her shoulders went rigid. The shop bell jingled; the door closed. She shut the book, sprang up, lunged for the gas bracket, then threw herself beneath the desk, banging her elbow. Pain darted up her arm, but she ignored it, curling tightly inside the knee-space and not a moment too soon. The door opened. A couple of footsteps, then a pause followed by the soft pop as the gas caught and the darkness gave way to a glow of light. She pulled her knees closer to her chest.
Ralph came over to the desk, his trouser legs and highly polished shoes appearing in front of the knee-space. Carrie pressed herself against the wooden panel that covered the back of the space. What if he sat down? Then he stopped moving. Damn! She had left the delivery book on the desk. Ralph was meticulous about putting things away; she could practically hear him thinking he hadn’t left it there. Please let him blame Mr Renton. Thank goodness she had at least shut the book. He started moving again. She detected sounds, the book being returned to its shelf, the jingling of keys, then a clatter as the key ring fell to the floor, landing just inside the knee-space.
Horrified, her insides turning to water, she watched Ralph’s hand and arm swoop down, but fortunately his face remained above the level of the knee-space. The next moment, a drawer slid open and she heard papers rustling, then the drawer shut and the key clicked in the lock. A few more moments and the light went out; the door closed.
She didn’t dare make a sound. She waited as long as she could bear it before crawling out of her hidey-hole. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened, but all she could hear was the rushing of her blood.
Slowly, she turned the handle. The door didn’t budge.
Evadne jolted awake. She had dozed off sitting bolt upright on the nasty little bed, waiting to be locked in, longing to be locked in, because being locked in was the only way of being safe. She was cold and stiff and her neck hurt. She was frightened too. She had been frightened ever since she arrived here, though she had tried her hardest not to let it show, knowing instinctively that it would be the worst mistake she could make.
The women here were … she shuddered. She had never come across such hardness before, that knowing glint in the eye, that half-smirk that said you had better watch out. The women who weren’t like that were timid shadows, d
esperate not to draw attention, watching the intimidation and cruelty and thanking their stars they weren’t on the receiving end this time.
Her educated voice and air of gentility, her elegant carriage and smooth hands, had instantly marked her out as different, and here of all places it wasn’t good to be different. Hoity-toity was the least unpleasant thing she had been called, and some of the words used against her had been so offensive that her skin had ended up a blotchy mess of outraged white and distraught puce. In her first desperate twenty-four hours, she had feared that the verbal abuse might destroy her. Yet just a day or so later she was immune to it, because the physical threat was worse.
She had been pushed and slapped and tripped. Yesterday, when she was at the top of the stairs, a pair of meaty hands landed on her shoulder blades, delivering an almighty shove that would have sent her downstairs head first, causing untold damage, except that she had managed to grab the banister and jerk herself to a halt, practically wrenching her arm from its socket in the process.
Later, she had made one of her dreaded visits to the water closet. Half a dozen cubicles lined a damp, stinking room. The doors had no locks and Evadne had quickly perfected the art of securing the door with an outstretched foot. But someone had climbed up inside the adjoining cubicle and poured a chamber pot all over her, transforming her into a shrieking, flapping madwoman. Far from taking her side, the wardresses had curled their lips in disgust and made her strip to the skin to be hosed down with freezing water.
Did Alex have any idea what he had condemned her to? Why had he done it? Grandfather hadn’t been near her, hadn’t written, hadn’t visited. He had probably left the country to escape the scandal. Funny how she had pinned her hopes on him all these years, clinging to the belief that he would do the decent thing. No matter how many times it had failed to happen, she had never stopped believing. Well, she had stopped now.
The only person who had attempted to visit was Ted Geeson, but she had refused to see him, felt too ashamed. She recalled how he had insisted on escorting her back to Brookburn from the Lloyds. She remembered slamming the door in his face, refusing to hear a word against Alex. And she recalled him swinging into that poky room in the magistrates’ building and declaring himself her friend.
The person she wanted to see was Carrie. For years, she had thought Carrie didn’t matter to her, but now she remembered a young Carrie, her face glowing with adoration as she gazed at the big sister she worshipped; she remembered, too, an older Carrie, growing away from her.
All her fault. Carrie had a loving heart. She would have adored Evadne to this day if Evadne had provided her with half a reason. If she had been less absorbed by her own dire situation and paid Carrie some attention, they could have been friends.
Why hadn’t Carrie visited? She hoped with all her heart it was because Ralph had forbidden it. She couldn’t bear to think that Carrie had abandoned her.
A scuffling sound in the corridor made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Someone was there. What did they have in store for her now?
Carrie stood transfixed, almost light-headed with disbelief. She was locked in. She had to get out before Ralph came home. A fresh thought turned her cold all over. Suppose he had already finished at the Lloyds; suppose right this minute he was looking for her upstairs. How could she explain getting locked in the office?
She fought down panic. Think, think. Feeling her way across the darkened room, she found the window, fumbled with the catches, but they were stuck. Her fingers turned clammy with effort and skidded off the frame. Heat seared through her hand as a fingernail ripped, but she wouldn’t give up. Taking Ralph’s heavy glass paperweight from the desk, she used it to tap the catch. It started to give. She tapped harder and it slid back. She felt a surge of desperate relief and set to with a will on the other catch, forcing it to give.
She wiped the paperweight on her skirt and put it back, before applying her fingers to the window frame to throw up the sash. Her muscles clenched and strained; the wood squeaked; there was the tiniest movement. Her vision blurred and her hands felt as though they were going to snap off at the wrist, but with a jolt that vibrated up her arms, the frame started moving and she managed to raise it in small, painful jerks.
Massaging her wrists with fingers that felt like rubber, she realised she would need to stand on a chair to climb out, so even if she could heave the sash shut behind her, she would still be leaving evidence behind. Tomorrow, while Ralph was shaving, she would have to filch his keys and sneak downstairs and set the office to rights.
Placing the chair beneath the window, she climbed out in the cold darkness and jumped down. Pain twanged through her ankle as she landed in the yard. Stretching, she yanked on the sash and pulled it down as best she could.
Inching her way across the yard, she felt her way around the delivery van, stubbing her slippered toes against a crate. Her hands found the wooden planks of the gate and the smooth weight of the padlock. There was nothing for it but to put her meagre weight behind the nearest crate, wiggling her back into position and heaving with all her strength. The crate scraped across to the wall and she clambered up, sitting astride the wall before letting herself down the other side.
She still had to get back indoors. The air nipped her flesh and her feet were starting to freeze. Hugging herself, she scurried round to the front of the shop. Well, she couldn’t just stand here, awaiting Ralph’s return, so that left one choice. She ran over the road to the Lloyds, plunging straight through the door that led to the back part of the hotel, where Ralph would be working.
He looked up from a table crowded with items in silver, brass and cut glass. ‘What are you doing here? You look frozen.’
She pretended to laugh. ‘I didn’t think I’d need a coat. I came to see how long you’ll be.’
‘Miss me, did you?’
‘I wondered if you’d like some supper. I came in such a hurry I forgot my key and I’ve locked myself out.’
‘Eager to see me, eh?’
Her cardigan was fastened, but she pulled the edges closer together. ‘Will you want supper?’
‘A bit of sustenance is always welcome, especially when it’s provided by the wife who couldn’t face an evening without me. That’s the best kind of fare there is. Come here.’
‘Ralph, no.’
‘I’ve told you before. You don’t say no to me. Look, there’s a dining table over here. How appropriate for a spot of … sustenance.’ He swept the matching chairs aside, caught her wrist, pulled her to him. ‘I remember another table where you made yourself very amenable, Carrie Armstrong.’
Chapter Forty-Three
‘Good morning, Mrs Armstrong,’ said a smooth voice, and Carrie’s pulse skittered. So much for keeping an eye on the office door while she searched. She thrust the ledger into the deep drawer at the bottom of the desk, guilt flaming in her cheeks.
‘Good morning, Mr Larter.’ How long had he been standing there?
‘Are you looking for something?’
‘No. That is, I just found it. Thank you, anyway.’
His eyes never left her face. ‘That drawer contains business information. You don’t require access to that.’
‘No, I … Ralph lent me his keys because I needed fresh paper and I looked in here by mistake.’
‘But you said you’d found what you were looking for, and you won’t find paper in there.’
‘Is there a problem?’ And there was Ralph in the doorway, his presence causing Mr Larter to take a step inside, making Carrie feel hemmed in.
‘I discovered Mrs Armstrong delving in a drawer she had no business opening in the first place,’ said Mr Larter, ‘and then she lied about it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, man,’ Ralph said impatiently. ‘She’s in a tizzy, that’s all. You make her nervous.’
Mr Larter lifted a single eyebrow. Then he strode from the room, obliging Ralph to clear out of his way.
After that, Carrie tried to concentrate o
n her work, but it wasn’t easy after nearly being caught by the very person she was hoping to incriminate. She didn’t even have the consolation of having discovered anything useful. Or she might have seen umpteen pieces of relevant information, but how on earth was she supposed to recognise them? You’ll know it when you see it, my foot!
It was time to get the dinner on. She fastened her coat and put on her hat and gloves. Would the fog have lifted? First thing this morning, she hadn’t been able to see across the road to the Lloyds. Now she emerged into a depressing mist that sucked the colour from everything, leaving the world uniformly grey, but at least she could see over the road.
Something caught her eye at Mam’s window. A movement? A figure? It was gone before she could look properly. Carrie knew Mrs Randall would have played merry hell and docked her pay for gazing out of the window. Should she confront Mrs Porter? It had taken her a long time to get used to giving instructions to the char, but she would never be able to reprimand her. She mustn’t say a word to Ralph, because he would expect her to lay the law down.
‘Mrs Armstrong.’
She spun round. Mr Larter was right behind her, standing a shade too close, fingers of mists curling around him. The chill seemed to have deepened the indentation of his scar.
‘I apologise for upsetting you and making you lie on the spur of the moment. Good thing Armstrong was there to explain away your confusion, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Well … yes.’
‘So pleasant chatting to you, Mrs Armstrong. I trust there won’t be any repeat of the … confusion.’
He raised his hat and walked away, leaving her staring after him as the mist blurred and then swallowed his tall, aristocratic figure. What did he mean? Did he suspect her of … something?
The Deserter's Daughter Page 31