Orphan of Angel Street

by Annie Murray

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Stevie woke her the next morning, poking his fingers experimentally in her ears and nose, trying to prise open her eyelids, enchanted at the novelty of finding her in his bed.

  Light filtered through the curtains. The soreness between her legs was a reminder of what otherwise would have seemed a crazed dream. That she had seen James Adair in that state, what he had done – what she had allowed him to do – seemed impossible in the morning light. Thinking only of himself he had taken from her the innocence a woman was supposed to prize.

  But her body had taken in the enormity of what had happened. Her head ached and her limbs were like lead. She felt numb and shrunken inside.

  ‘Stevie – don’t,’ she pleaded as he kneaded at her face. She rolled over, shielding her head with a moan. If only she could just lie here all day, bury herself and hide from everyone. Most terrible was the thought of facing Margaret Adair. Their friendship now could never be as it was: she could never confide this to her. If only she could just disappear and never see either of them again! But she knew that somehow she had to rally herself, act as if nothing had happened, look after Stevie.

  Once she left her room, the night before did seem to fade into unreality, especially when James Adair came to find her in the nursery. He drew her out of the door so they could still see Stevie pushing a little wooden trolley. He was his usual reserved, courteous self.

  ‘I came to invite you to dine with me tonight,’ he said politely. She saw he was nervous, left hand smoothing his moustache, which increased her feeling of bewilderment. ‘If you would like to join me?’

  ‘I . . .’ She felt like weeping and couldn’t meet his eyes. Was he completely barmy? Even his look seemed to contaminate her. She spoke very quietly. ‘No – no, thank you.’

  ‘I see.’ He became curt. ‘Are you dining with Paul Louth?’

  Mercy nodded. She knew Ruby was watching them.

  There was a pause, then he said, ‘I could order you.’

  She couldn’t look up. She just stared at the floor in silence.

  ‘Very well then,’ he said savagely. ‘I’m glad to know you’ve made such a fine friend.’

  Mercy watched him stride away. What have I done? she wondered. Everything felt desolate, as if nothing good could come of anything now.

  She moved over quickly and picked up Stevie’s little coat to go outside. She didn’t want to be with anyone today.

  James Adair found himself pacing the promenade deck alone for the umpteenth time of the voyage.

  When he thought of the night before, need stirred in him again, the relentless, imprisoning gnaw of it. Yet that piercing mixture of agony and shame he had seen in Mercy! She who had always been so clear-eyed, sunny-faced, looked so drained this morning, was unable even to meet his eyes.

  He slammed his fist down on the side. Damn her! She’d wanted him all right last night, hadn’t she? It had been – he smiled grimly – extraordinary. Not just the satisfying of his desire but the fulfilment so longed for by his hungering soul. So what the hell was the matter with the girl, giving him those hangdog, hostile looks?

  He turned, touching his hat to a couple walking towards him. Very queer fish, women, that was the truth of it. All he knew was that it was right, what had happened. Intended. It was an experience that had burnt through his life, brief, illuminated. And it had had to happen here. At home it could never be. Not in his real, morally confined life. This period on the water was his special gift from life, his epiphany . . .

  A surge of panic interrupted this lofty thought. He hadn’t made her promise not to say anything to Margaret! Of course she wouldn’t, surely – how could she? It would cost her her living, she must see that! But he knew he must say it. ‘You mustn’t say a word to Margaret, you know, Mercy. You do know what would happen, don’t you?’

  He felt euphoric again suddenly. The supple loveliness of her moved in his mind’s eye, still his, for a short time yet, left to enjoy.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Paul looked closely at her across the table, dishes of tomato soup and crumbled bread on plates between them. Mercy could barely eat.

  ‘Yes. ’Course I am,’ she said dully.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said, so kindly that her eyes filled with tears which had waited all day to be shed.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Paul sounded really concerned. ‘Mercy what is it?’

  ‘Nothing – honest.’ She wiped her eyes and forced a smile. ‘It’s just tiredness. Stevie was restless last night, sorry. Look.’ She tried to divert him, holding out her arm. ‘The oil all came out.’

  It was almost true. The mark was hard to detect now amid the soft-edged pattern of leaves.

  As they ate she tried to pull herself together. Nervously she asked Paul questions about his day, trying to be jolly, joking about Stanley who was of course dining in first class.

  ‘And did Mr Adair want you to dine first class tonight?’ Paul teased.

  Mercy felt herself freeze. ‘Yes.’ She kept her eyes on her plate. ‘I said I’d rather be with you.’ She spoke so fiercely that Paul frowned for a moment.

  ‘He’s tolerant.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was only just short of snapping at him.

  ‘I thought you liked him.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ She cursed herself for sounding so alarmed.

  ‘I don’t mean anything! I just thought he was a kind employer. Mercy, what is the matter tonight?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Nothing, except that everything, everything was spoilt and dirty.

  They didn’t find the Petrowkis that evening. Mercy was disappointed. She was longing to be alone with Paul yet dreading it at the same time, afraid. There may be only one night left after this, she thought, as they went up on deck. And then he’ll be gone.

  ‘Let’s stay out all night,’ she said. Nothing would induce her to return to that terrible room early tonight.

  Paul gave his chuckle. ‘What, and have them find us frozen to death in the morning?’

  I shouldn’t mind if I was with you, she thought.

  The future, the idea of going on without him, returning with the Adairs, was utterly desolate. She found herself unable to joke any longer and fell silent.

  They walked along the boat deck, the lifeboats lined up between them and the sea. It was blowing hard tonight and Mercy and Paul both took their hats off for fear of losing them.

  ‘Let’s sit here!’ Paul said. A bench facing the stern of the ship offered a small respite from the buffeting. They had to sit close to hear each other speak.

  ‘Reminds me, when I come up here, of going to France.’

  Mercy looked round at him. Their faces were in the shadows. She was relieved to hear him talk. She desperately wanted things to be right between them. Here, in the darkness, she willed herself to think of nothing but Paul, so that these moments were the only ones that mattered, unspoilt by James Adair.

  ‘D’you think about the War a lot?’

  ‘Yes – even though I try not to. It never leaves you.’

  ‘Paul,’ she said, suddenly, ‘please don’t ever leave me.’

  For a second he was still. Then with a fierce motion he pulled her to him, almost knocking the breath out of her, and she was pressed into his arms, her head resting under his chin. She felt his trembling, the hard beat of his heart.

  ‘I love you.’ She knew somehow she must speak first. ‘I love you, Paul.’

  Afraid, she looked up. But everything she needed to see was there. The emotion in his face overwhelmed her.

  ‘Mercy—’ – his eyes were serious – ‘I was afraid that—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I felt too much, that you couldn’t possibly feel the same, not so soon. I’ve become so used to being alone – I mean, deeply alone, within myself. I had begun to think this was how it would always be. But you just came and . . . you make me feel complete – more human. As if with you is the only place I fit.’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes,’ she said, hearing him describe her own feeling. ‘Sort of coming home. I’ve never had a home before – not a proper one.’ She began to cry suddenly, brokenly. Paul rocked her, stroking her.

  ‘Perhaps with each other is the only way we can fit. I don’t know how – we’ll work out a way somehow.’

  When she had calmed a little, his face moved down to hers and their lips met, warm, searching, arms holding each other with such tender force. Mercy could hear a pounding in her ears as if her blood and the sea were one. She felt Paul’s frail frame in her arms, his eyes closed, face intent. She wanted to stay in this moment for ever, where no other thoughts and feelings, no other person could intervene.

  He rested his cheek against the top of her head and gave a huge sigh of joy and relief. She reached up and stroked his face.

  ‘You’re too gentle to fight, Paul. Too kind.’

  ‘No.’ His voice was profoundly sad. ‘No – I’m not. That’s the worst of it. It’d be good if we were all too gentle to fight. Mercy—’

  She turned her face up to him.

  ‘That’s better.’ He cupped her cheeks in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. ‘You’re so, so lovely . . . every time I see you I feel weak just looking at you.’

  She smiled. ‘Do you? I couldn’t tell.’

  For a few seconds their lips met in quick, playful kisses, then at length, urgent, passionate, the strength of their feeling expressed wordlessly.

  Later they walked together again, arms wrapped round each other. They strolled back and forth, along the gently rolling deck, amid all the noises of the ship. There was a half moon tonight, as if it had been rubbed away as in a child’s drawing. Nothing else mattered to Mercy, not the coldness of her hands and feet, nor James Adair or even Stevie. The only important things were Paul and what the two of them felt for each other.

  He stopped her in the middle of the deserted promenade and took her in his arms again, smiling joyfully into her face.

  ‘You look happy,’ she said.

  ‘Happy isn’t even an adequate word.’

  ‘Paul.’ Her face became painfully anxious. ‘Am I good enough for you? I don’t feel . . . you know, I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. I’m not . . .’ The reality of last night crashed back in on her. It was so raw, recent. I’m not what you think, I’m spoilt, she wanted to tell him. I’m not worthy of you.

  ‘A good enough person?’ His tone verged on anger. ‘How can you ask me that? You’re the only person. You’ve made me feel whole again – I can’t get near anyone else. Nobody. But with you everything’s different, I love you Mercy, more than I thought I’d ever be capable of loving anyone again.’

  ‘But I’m not good,’ she insisted. She couldn’t look at him. However much she wanted to put it out of her mind, the stain of James Adair was on her. Her face burned with shame.

  Paul shook her lightly to make her look up. ‘Mercy,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t think like this, please. Whatever could you have done that’s so bad? Isn’t it that things have been done to you? And perhaps you should think about whether I’m good enough for you. I’ve killed other men. Not perhaps, but certainly. I’ve seen men fall under my fire and that’s the truth. Think of that and ask yourself if I’m worthy of you.’

  ‘But—’ She was glad he couldn’t see the red in her cheeks. She had had her innocence taken from her.

  ‘What is it?’

  She looked into his kind, loving eyes. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Look, what difference does anything make here – where we’ve come from, what we’ve done or been? I told you, we’re all just people. All the same fundamentally. That’s all that matters.’

  She gave in, falling into his arms. ‘I love you so, so much. This is the happiest I can remember being ever!’

  ‘Yes.’ He kissed her eyelids, nose, lips. ‘Me too.’

  They stayed out very late, as late as Mercy could possibly waylay him, though that took very little effort. Neither of them wanted to let the other go. When they finally returned inside their hands were stiff with cold, cheeks raw from the wind. They talked and touched, kissed, warmed each other for hours. Time fled past.

  Mercy felt her insides turn with apprehension. Stevie! She had completely forgotten about him! But when she reached the door of her room all was quiet.

  ‘It’s nearly twelve fifteen!’ Paul said.

  ‘Marvellous nanny, I am.’ Mercy rolled her eyes. ‘Still, it sounds as if there’s been nothing wrong.’

  ‘I should have reminded you.’ He rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘On a night like tonight though, it’s hardly surprising we forgot.’ Mercy looked up, loving his smile, his wide mouth, loved every atom of him. She reached up to kiss him and they held each other again.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy, Paul.’

  ‘And me. I can’t believe how much.’ He squeezed her tight, then released her. ‘Tomorrow night?’

  ‘How can you even ask!’ She poked him, teasing. ‘I wish it was now.’

  He went to his door and she watched him. They blew each other a kiss. He waved before he closed his door.

  Mercy turned to go inside and saw James Adair moving fast down the corridor towards her room.

  In panic she rushed inside and shut the door, locked it, and stood inside, panting loudly, her heart racing.

  In a moment she heard his knock.

  No! She was trembling. It was so late – surely he hadn’t been waiting, watching them even? She stood with a fist clenched to her lips. A terrible helplessness washed over her. What could she do? He was her employer. If she didn’t do as he asked could he refuse to let her back on the ship for the return voyage? Leave her stranded? She could run out and shout for help, but then everyone would know – Paul would know. She was trapped. Unless she just ignored him – perhaps he would be shamed into going away.

  Another, sharper knock followed.

  ‘I need to see my son,’ he said, with icy politeness. ‘Open the door, please, Mercy.’

  Eventually she opened it a crack, starting violently at the sight of him even though she had known he was there.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ He sounded livid, pushed his way in straight away. ‘Expecting a knock from someone else?’

  ‘No.’ She could barely speak. She was shaking all over. At least she was fully clothed. She couldn’t be said to be offering temptation . . . If only she’d told Paul, if only – but how could she have done? James pushed her out of the way and closed the door, standing against it.

  ‘Please – no,’ she implored him. ‘Stevie’s not really asleep. Not in front of your son. It’s so late, and . . .’

  ‘And?’ The chillness of his voice gave her no clue to the reservoir of pent-up emotion which had built in him all evening, as the night grew later, knowing she was with Paul. ‘What’s the matter, my dear? I thought we’d come to an agreement?’

  ‘What? What agreement?’ What was he saying?

  He went and stood over Stevie, half-whispering so as not to disturb him.

  ‘Just for the voyage, we shall enjoy this little arrangement together. You won’t say a word to Margaret because if you do, when we reach England you’ll be without employment or references. When we get home, we shall resume life as it was and I shall not come to you again.’

  She could see his high colour, knew he’d been drinking and in some quantity.

  ‘Does that sound fair?’

  ‘Fair?’ she asked faintly. ‘How can it be fair when you ain’t – aren’t – giving me any choice?’

  ‘Oh, I think you have a choice, Mercy. You could just go now, out of here. Go on – go.’

  She looked desperately at the door. ‘Should I spend the night outside then?’

  ‘If you consider being with me a worse option, then yes.’ He stepped towards her as she was still wildly eyeing the door, and gave a heavy sigh. ‘It’s a torment to me, seeing you look at me like that, knowing you’ve been with him all evening.’<
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  ‘Mr Adair—’

  ‘James, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘I’m in love with Paul Louth!’ she gabbled. ‘And he loves me. I don’t want this. You’re spoiling everything. It’s wrong of you—’

  James actually flung his head back and laughed loudly. Mercy looked across at Stevie, praying he would wake, but there was no sound from him.

  ‘Paul Louth – you can be sure – wants just the same from you as I do, my dear. That’s students for you. Anyhow – if that’s what he wants at least I can give you some practice!’

  He put his hands on her shoulders with a kind of confidence which said he owned her. Hatred and fury surged inside her. She collected saliva in her mouth and spat it into his face, her eyes narrowed with loathing.

  ‘You don’t deserve your wife. She’s kind and sweet and a lady. But you – you may be a gentleman on the outside, but underneath you’re just filth, worse than filth.’

  Slowly, as if in a daze, James wiped her spittle from his nose and cheek.

  ‘I see.’ His voice was so cold with fury, Mercy felt herself go rigid with fear. ‘So it’s going to be different today is it, angel?’

  He was on to her before she stood a chance of moving, tearing at her, hurling her back on the bed, half winding her. His face was a grotesque mixture of lust and fury. He pulled her legs in the air and stripped her as she tried to kick at him.

  ‘Stevie – Stevie, wake up!’ she shrieked. ‘Look what your daddy’s doing. This’ll make you proud of him, won’t it?’

  ‘Shut up.’ James’s red face loomed close to her. He was holding her down with one hand, unbuttoning himself frantically with the other. ‘Just shut your mouth.’

  He lunged into her, face straining. ‘That’s it – now I’ll have you . . .’

  Mercy lay under him, squeezing her eyes closed. She was dry-eyed with loathing and disgust. Hold tight until he’s finished, she thought. Just hold on and it’ll be over and he’s never, ever going to do this again . . . Over and over she repeated it in her mind to his lunging rhythm: never, never, never . . .

  He rolled off her, leaving her curled up, wet with his sweat and juices and, at last, with her own tears pouring from her in a torrent of shame. He enclosed his sticky body in his clothes, disgust and horror settling on him like extra garments. He looked down at the pitiful little body on the bed.