The Street Orphans

by Mary Wood

  Martha coming through the door, announcing that the doctor was here, gave Ruth no chance to answer.

  Lord Bellinger rode across town, his horse picking its way through the cobbled streets of Blackburn. The air hung heavy with smoke, and a glow coming from the east of the town, where the witch’s factory was, gave him the satisfied feeling that at least – though it was all over for him and his detested wife – it was over for the witch, too. Ha! And for the despicable Lord Rollinson . . . Marry that scum! He’ll be shunned by everyone. Christ, why didn’t Marcia know Rollinson would be there – or maybe she did? Maybe she wanted me to turn up with rape in my heart, only to be confronted by Frederick.

  ‘Damn and blast!’ His own voice came back at him. Tears of anger and fear stung his smarting eyes and, as the lowering smoke caught in his lungs, his voice rose. ‘I’ll kill you, Marcia, you slut – I’ll bloody kill you!’

  Reaching his home, he handed his horse to his man and took the steps two at a time. The door opened without him knocking on it. Shoving the butler out of the way, he demanded that a bottle of whisky be brought to his study. He needed to think.

  Watching the golden liquid being poured, Bellinger sat in the high-backed winged chair near the blazing fire. ‘Where is Lady Marcia?’

  ‘She’s in her sitting room, M’Lord.’

  ‘Don’t inform her that I am home. I want a few moments to myself.’

  ‘Very well, Sir. Do you need me to stay in attendance?’

  ‘No. Just leave the bottle there. I won’t need anything further tonight.’

  The whisky went down in one. Its warmth did nothing to soothe the anger that was boiling like a furnace inside him. Grabbing the bottle, he lifted it to his lips and drank more than half of its contents without taking a breath. Rage tore through him now. The drink churned and fuelled his irrational thoughts. His hands itched to be clasped around Marcia’s neck: he’d squeeze the life out of her.

  Marcia jumped as the door crashed open. Terror clutched at her. ‘W – what happened?’

  ‘You know what happened, you bitch! It was all a trap.’

  Simon leapt across the room towards her, slamming the door with a force that seemed to rock the whole room. Putting her hands up to shield herself, Marcia screamed, ‘Don’t touch me, I – I warn—’

  His hands grabbed her hair and she was forced to the floor. Simon was on top of her. Her scream was strangled in her throat as his hands grabbed her neck – she couldn’t breathe!

  ‘I’m going to kill you, my fair scheming lady. You’re going to die! Do you hear me?’

  Her eyes bulged and felt as if they would burst. She tried to move, but all her strength had gone. The last thing she saw, before going into the blackness that called her, was Bellinger spitting in her face. She never felt the glob of spittle land.

  Sweat rolled off Bellinger. His heart pounded. Beneath him, Marcia’s face looked ugly, contorted. She was still; very still. Her eyes stared, unseeing. He’d done it! God! I didn’t mean to. I – I didn’t . . . I was just going to punish her. The vomit projected from his mouth as he stood up. What now? What now? Oh God!

  Only one solution presented itself to him.

  He passed no one on his way to the stable. Entering, he turned to the left, to the place where his guns were stored.

  The bang shook the stable building.

  39

  Frederick & Ruth

  A Deep Loss, but a New Beginning

  Ruth took Amy’s hand. It had been two months since the fire. And now they stood in the churchyard, within sight of the grave that held those who had caused it all, but Ruth felt no pity for them.

  A tear plopped onto Amy’s cheek. Larry stepped forward and took her into his arms.

  ‘Ashes to ashes . . .’

  Is that what our Lettie is? Ashes and dust? Naw, she’d never be that. A sound filled Ruth’s head: Lettie’s beautiful voice singing ‘Amazing Grace’. She smiled. That’s what Lettie had shown – a beautiful grace that carried her through the last weeks of her life; and she felt proud that she and Amy had been able to help her.

  Amy stepped forward and threw a handful of earth. The sound reverberated through Ruth. An arm came round her, and she looked up into Frederick’s beautiful face. She’d forgiven him for trying to manage her life for her; and for his misguided protection of her, in not telling her the truth about the boys.

  Her attention came back to the proceedings, as her turn came to help Lettie on her way, by throwing earth onto her coffin. She left Frederick’s side and walked with as much dignity as she could to the end of the grave, ignoring the pain the movement cost her and leaning heavily on her crutch. Frederick didn’t try to help her, for he knew this was something she wanted to do on her own for Lettie.

  With the thud of the dirt hitting the coffin, she imagined Lettie smiling – happy that both she and Amy were settled now.

  Looking up, Ruth saw that Mr Arkwright was standing next to Frederick. She hadn’t noticed him at the service. A young girl pulled her hand from his and moved closer to Frederick, who lifted her up into his arms. His face lit up with happiness.

  There had been some forgiveness. It seemed that Lady Marcia had visited her father on the day she’d died, the day of the fire. She’d told him that all would soon be resolved. That she was leaving Lord Bellinger and was going to stay with Frederick. That she and Frederick were in love, and always had been. She’d told him it had been Bellinger’s scheming – and the hold he had on her – that had caused her to tell lies about Frederick and Katrina. She told him that she feared what Bellinger was planning. That their factories were failing fast, and that Bellinger sought to gain all he could by discrediting Frederick.

  Mr Arkwright now knew the truth, but the knowing had taken its toll, as had losing all of his family. Frederick had tried to step in and help him, but the most help had come from Lady Eleonore, whom Ruth now saw step forward and take Mr Arkwright’s hand. He smiled down at her. They had long been friends, through Eleonore’s connection to Arkwright’s wife, and Ruth hoped that their friendship would deepen now and they might become more than a prop for each other.

  It hurt Ruth to think that Lady Marcia must have plotted for her to be attacked, and even killed, if what Frederick surmised was correct. However, taking care of Lettie had overridden that, and Frederick’s love had helped her through it all.

  As they left Lettie behind in the churchyard, Ruth’s heart was heavy. The sound of Amy’s sobs made her sorrow seem hard to bear. But then, when she looked back at her sister and saw her in Larry’s arms, and remembered his devotion to Amy and how they planned to marry, some of Ruth’s pain lifted.

  Later that evening the fire cracked and spitted, its glow giving out a comforting warmth. They were alone: Ruth and her earl. Amy planned on spending the night at her Larry’s house. ‘His mam’s away, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. And I reckon as that’s what you need an’ all, our Ruth – a bit of time alone with Frederick. I’ve told Martha to go to bed and leave you to yourselves.’ The little twinkle in her eye as she’d said this had amused Ruth.

  Frederick sat next to her on the sofa, his arm pulling her towards him. She went willingly into the comfort he offered and raised her head to him. Their kiss held all the promise of their tomorrows. A quiet wedding was planned in a month’s time, and then they were going to sail to Australia to see Seth and his family and set him up in a new life. Frederick had seen to it that money was sent to him, and they had heard he had plans to buy a farm.

  The insurance payout on the factory had been settled, and the building of a new one on the ruins of the old one was in progress. The ownership had passed to Amy and Larry.

  All of these thoughts floated from Ruth, as she lost herself in the deepening kiss that lit her body with a passion she knew she’d only ever touched on in the past.

  As they came out of the kiss, Frederick stood. She watched as he removed his shirt. His nod told her to undress, too. As she did so, his eyes
never left her. They burned desire into her, which took away her shyness. To her, Frederick was magnificent. His beautiful body glowed, and his desire for her was there for her to see. Her love for him filled every part of her.

  Once all her clothes had been removed, Frederick lifted her off the sofa and laid her down on the soft rug in front of the hearth. His hands stroked and kissed every part of her, lingering to caress her club foot as if it were a thing of grace and beauty, while his soft voice spoke of his love for her, and how lovely her body was.

  Inside, she burned with her need of him. When at last he entered her, Ruth’s world came together. All pain was forgotten. She had known love of all kinds – her ma’s, her da’s and that of her siblings. Dear Lettie’s and Martha’s love. The love of her beautiful Josh and his ma; and yes, Haydon’s and Lilly’s love. But nothing compared to this. Her body responded with all that she was.

  She heard her own voice hollering the coming-together of her body and soul, as wave after wave of sensations overcame her, splitting her into a thousand fragments, then putting her together again, making her a complete and whole being. Now she was no longer ‘the cripple’ or ‘the witch’ – she was Ruth, the woman of love.

  That’s what her earl was giving her.

  She took all he gave, as she cried out, ‘My Earl. My love, my life . . .’

  Author’s Note

  Researching this book was an enjoyable experience, as it took me on some of the most beautiful car journeys not far from where I live.

  Ambling around the countryside, and over the stunning Bowland Hills, discovering tiny hamlets that time had forgotten, didn’t feel like work. Neither did a visit to see a working mill in the Saddleworth Museum and Art Gallery in the beautiful town of Uppermill, Oldham, which was followed by a leisurely boat trip along the canal, and then lunch. The latter wasn’t part of the research, but hey ho.

  The reason for the trip across the Bowland Hills was to trace the journey that Ruth and her family would have taken and to find a spot where it was possible for the accident that changed her life to have happened. I eventually found a place, and was excited to do so – until I remembered what I was finding it for! Then I closed my eyes and brought the scene alive in my mind, and shed a tear for what Ruth and her siblings had to face.

  A lot of imagination goes into a novel and, along with it, emotions are tapped into and released, as the characters that are created become real and their dilemmas affect me personally. But it is important to me that the story is based on solid research, as this keeps me realistic – everything I write, despite being fiction, has to be proven to me that it could happen. Then I can write with confidence, and allow the story to flow.

  I hope that shows through in The Street Orphans, and that you have enjoyed the book. My very best wishes and love to you all.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks, as always, to my darling husband, Roy. You are my rock and give me a love that I am privileged to have. And to our children, Christine, Julie, Rachel and James, their husbands and partners, our grandchildren, and our Olley and Wood families. You always encourage and support me in everything I do. Thank you. I love you all.

  To the wonderful team at Pan Macmillan: my editor, Victoria Hughes-Williams, and her assistant, Jayne Osborne; Laura Carr, Editorial Manager, and her team, especially Mandy Greenfield. And Kate Green, Senior Publicity Manager. I am grateful to you all. Without your faith in me, the support you give me, and the expertise you bring to my novels, I would not succeed. I especially acknowledge how you bring a clarity to my work where I may have muddied the waters, and yet retain my voice, and the care that Kate gives me when I am on tour. You all possess a special skill, and are a special team.

  To my agent, Judith Murdoch. Thank you. You always go the extra mile for me, Judith, and keep me enthused. Problems are halved once you begin to tackle them, and I feel in capable hands, as you have my best interests at heart. One in a million.

  An extra special thank you to my daughter Christine Martin and my son James Wood – both read so many versions of this book when it was in progress. They advised me on what was working, and held me back when I ambled down the wrong path. Your patience and enjoyment of my work helps me to keep focused. Thank you.

  An acknowledgement to those who helped to bring this book into being isn’t complete without thanking those who helped me in the days when I self-published: Rebecca Keys, freelance editor; Julie Hitchin, proofreader; and Patrick Fox, author and cover designer. Your support and help is never forgotten. Thank you.

  And lastly, but by no means least, a huge thank you to my readers. Especially to those who follow me on Facebook and those who have subscribed to my website. You bring me joy and encouragement every day with your comments and I love the happy community-feel that we have. I would like to give a special mention here to Katrina Stevenson, a reader and a friend. When we met, Katrina’s name inspired me to create my character, Lady Katrina. Thank you. Much love to all. Together, you help me to climb my mountain.

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  Mary Wood was born in Maidstone, Kent, and brought up in Claybrooke, Leicestershire. Born one of fifteen children to a middle-class mother and an East End barrow boy, Mary’s family were poor but rich in love. This encouraged her to develop a natural empathy with the less fortunate and a fascination with social history. In 1989 Mary was inspired to pen her first novel and she is now a full-time novelist.

  Mary welcomes interaction with readers and invites you to subscribe to her website where you can contact her, receive regular newsletters and follow links to meet her on Facebook and Twitter: www.authormarywood.com

  BY MARY WOOD