The house on Bedford Square was a large solidly built terraced dwelling, with an imposing front entrance at the top of a wide flight of steps. There were fluted half-columns either side of the door, and an air of moderate grandeur about the house which told the visitor that here was a family who had risen from the ranks and would yet accomplish even greater achievements. Every room in the house was stamped with the same message; strong stalwart furniture in darkest oak, tall display cabinets filled with delicate china and the odd piece of best silver, carpets and rugs of best quality weave. There was even a housekeeper – although she was also cook, chambermaid, waitress and dogsbody all rolled into one. Esther had supplied the unfortunate creature with several different styles of caps and aprons to be worn over her basic black uniform, and expected the highest standards from her at all times. Coming from a lifetime in the workhouse, the servant was well versed in humility. She was given bread and board, and a liveable wage, and so made no complaints and gave no trouble. Surprisingly, Esther was quietly pleased with the woman, and had not yet made her a spectacle in front of guests. But then, she would have been hard pressed to find another such natural dogsbody and consequently was loath to do or say anything that might induce the woman to seek work elsewhere.
In spite of her mother’s obvious disapproval, Beth had made a special effort to make her own room more cheerful. The floral curtains were sewn by her own hand, as were the pretty blue cushion covers and the small round doyly on the kidney-shaped dressing table. There was a red and blue peg rug beside the narrow bed, and two oblong framed prints hanging on the wall behind. The brown-painted window sill was brightened by a slim vase containing a colourful display of silk flowers, and the mantel cloth had long blue tassels that shivered and shimmered in the rising heat. The room was not too spacious. The bed, dressing table and matching wardrobe filled it to capacity.
In the quiet shadowy room, the booming tones of the grandfather clock in the downstairs hall sounded like a death knell. It had been a long day. Taking a clean towel from the drawer, Beth tipped a measure of cold water from the jug into the pink floral bowl on the dressing table; then she stripped off her clothes and washed herself all over. The cold water splashing against her bare skin made her shiver. After drying herself off, she slipped the cotton nightgown over her head, and sat before the dressing table mirror to brush her long heavy hair until it shone like polished chestnuts. Then she climbed into bed and lay with her eyes open, staring at the extravagant patterns on the ceiling panels, and wondering why she suddenly felt strangely afraid.
Some time later she heard the front door close. ‘Goodnight, Wilson,’ she murmured, ‘please stay away… you’ll only make life difficult for me.’ She had nothing against him, but whatever he and her mother might plan, Wilson Ryan was not for her. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Three
With her head held high and a fiercely determined look on her weasel-sharp features, Esther Ward swept silently down the staircase. Dressed in a long straight skirt of richest burgundy, and a starched white blouse with dainty lace ruffles at the wrists and throat, she made a small but imposing figure. Her tiny feet were clad in expensive black leather ankle boots, which had a thick crossover strap that fastened with an elegant silver button. Her fine brown hair was scraped back from her high pale forehead with such severity that the skin at her temples was plucked up by the roots. The thin strands were drawn into a long twisted coil in the nape of her neck, and secured there by an unusually pretty tortoise-shell clip. A trim handsome woman with strong penetrating blue eyes, her authoritative demeanour and the inherent sourness of her expression made her seem much older than her forty-six years.
At the bottom of the stairs she paused, turning her head this way and that, her small bright eyes darting in every direction as though afraid someone might be watching her. But there was no one. The house remained eerily silent. Her attention was now drawn to the grandfather clock in the corner of the hallway. Seeing that it was not yet six a.m., she showed her satisfaction in that familiar way she had of pursing her small tight mouth into a wrinkled mass and smiling secretly with her eyes. Glancing along the passage once more, she directed her gaze towards the kitchen door, in her mind looking beyond to the small room where the dogsbody lived. Realising that the creature would be rising from her bed any minute to set about her many duties, and afraid of coming face to face with her, Esther hurried along the hallway. It would not do for the lady of the house to be seen sneaking out like any common thief. Going to the tall oak stand by the front door – and cursing when she accidentally kicked against it – she took her black coat from its peg, then the small round hat, with the dark gloves inside. One by one she put the garments on, with the same meticulous attention that always created the utmost irritation in those who were made to witness it. First the coat, and the fastening of that long thin line of tiny cloth-covered buttons; then the hat, with its feather which must sit just above the right ear and pointing towards her forehead; now the gloves… one finger at a time, each pressed home with firm deliberation, until the tip of every finger was tightly encased; then the glove itself, painstakingly smoothed free of all wrinkles and squeezed snugly about the wrist.
After a long moment when she fussily examined herself in the oval mirror, Esther was at last satisfied with her appearance. Straightening her narrow stiff shoulders, she peered once more into the mirror, her vivid blue eyes glittering triumphantly as she murmured, ‘So you think you’ve got the better of me, do you, Elizabeth Ward?’ She laughed, a low wicked sound that seemed to echo through the quietness of the house. ‘Don’t you ever think that, you little fool! Not ever.’ She sighed, and all the while her piercing blue eyes studied the image in the mirror, head held high, expression uniquely arrogant. ‘Better women than you have made the mistake of underestimating me, Elizabeth my dear,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Among them your own…’ She paused, a devious smile lighting the whole of her face. Then, with incredible swiftness, the smile became a frown and the eyes glittered like hard bright jewels. ‘Careful, Esther!’ she warned the image in the mirror. ‘After all these years there are things best not spoken aloud.’
She gasped when suddenly there was another image in the mirror, that of a woman taller than she, with long fair hair and homely features. She was staring at Esther with serious dark eyes, and the poker she held above her head was poised to come crashing down across Esther’s shoulders. For one terrifying moment, she thought the past had returned to haunt her. With a cry, she swung round, arms raised ready to protect herself. But then she realised her mistake, relief surging into every corner of her being. It was quickly replaced with fury. ‘Are you mad?’ she hissed, forcing her voice low for fear of waking the family. Lunging forward she wrested the poker from the woman’s nervous fingers and for one fearful second it seemed as though she might lay into the poor creature with a vengeance. But common sense prevailed, and she visibly relaxed.
‘Oh! It’s you, madam. I heard a noise and thought it was an intruder.’ The maid was shocked to find that her ‘intruder’ was none other than her mistress.
‘Idiot! Do I look like an intruder?’ Of the two of them, Esther had suffered the greater shock. She was already made nervous by the reason for her early rising. Lately she had become increasingly anxious about the continuing relationship between Elizabeth and the Blacklock fellow; it seemed that nothing she could do or say would bring the unfortunate matter to an end. For a long time she had resisted resorting to ‘unorthodox’ methods, but on learning that Beth was still defying her, all kinds of plans had begun to germinate in her mind. In fact, she had been rather pleased and surprised by the extent of her own deviousness. She bitterly resented being taken for a fool! And last evening that was exactly what Elizabeth had done, even recruiting her brother to deceive his own mother. Did they really believe she had accepted Ben’s story that his sister was asleep in her bedroom? Only Wilson Ryan’s presence had prevented a dreadful scene.
But the incid
ent had kept her awake for most of the night; this morning, as the dawn broke, she had suddenly realised what course to take. She had already learned that it was no use appealing to Elizabeth to see sense; nor did it presently serve any purpose to sully Blacklock’s character further… that only made Elizabeth spring to his defence. No. The answer was for Elizabeth herself to break off the relationship. Wilson Ryan would marry her tomorrow, if only she was made to see sense; Agatha Ryan had passed away last year and Maurice Ryan’s interest in the family business had diminished to the extent that much of the administration had fallen on the shoulders of his only son. One day in the not too distant future all of it would be his… and Elizabeth’s, if only she would say the word. The Ryan interests amounted to a considerable fortune, and a merging of the two companies would make a formidable and powerful alliance. Excited by such a prospect, Esther would stop at nothing to see it accomplished.
At any rate, she was bent on imposing her own wishes above those of Elizabeth. It was more than a matter of good taste now. It was to do with bringing that impossible young woman down a peg or two! Impatient, and furious that she had been discovered leaving the house at such an unearthly hour, she glared at the servant, saying in a low threatening voice, ‘You will say nothing about this to anyone. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, madam. But what am I to reply if anyone should ask your whereabouts?’ She was extremely anxious; it was unsettling to be part of such a conspiracy.
‘You will say nothing. I shall be back in the house before the family come down to breakfast.’
‘Very well, madam.’
‘Now get dressed at once. I will not have a servant of mine wandering the house in her night attire.’ She scrutinised the woman’s long fair hair, mentally comparing the thick strong hanks with her own thin scrapings. Strange how the woman put her in mind of someone else… someone she had not seen for over twenty years. A good and gentle woman whom she had greatly wronged, yet whom she believed had wronged her more. The memories she had kept at bay for so long suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Go away!’ she snapped. ‘And don’t ever let me see you with your hair loose again or I shall have to arrange for it to be cropped short.’
For what seemed an age, the other woman gave no answer, her clear gaze meeting Esther’s. Then, with a slight nod of the head, she murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Madam. It won’t happen again.’
‘I should hope not. Be off with you. And, remember – you saw nothing untoward this morning.’ As the woman turned away to go on silent bare feet towards the kitchen, Esther felt unusually disturbed. With curious eyes she watched until the kitchen door closed on the departing figure. There would be nothing said about the incident, she was certain of that. Yet she felt curiously unsettled by the whole encounter. ‘Fool!’ she muttered beneath her breath. ‘I’m surrounded by fools!’ After one last lingering look at herself in the mirror, she went quietly from the house.
* * *
‘You’re a bad woman, Esther Ward.’
In her tiny sparsely furnished room behind the kitchen, the maid tied on her apron and folded her long fair hair into a frilly white cap. As she made her way into the kitchen, there was a thoughtful look in her troubled eyes, a look of pain and regret. When she spoke again, it was in a soft sorrowful whisper. ‘Such a bad woman. So much unhappiness.’ Her eyes went up, towards the ceiling, and beyond to where Richard Ward lay sleeping in his bed. For a fleeting second her gaze grew softer, more loving. But then she looked away.
‘For what you did a long time ago, and for what you’re doing now, you’ll be punished one day, Esther Ward,’ she murmured, ‘and it’ll be the Lord who’ll do the punishing, I dare say.’ She glanced once more towards the ceiling, before straightening her back and telling herself briskly, ‘Come on now, Tilly, there’s a long day ahead of you, and no time for brooding.’ With a quiet song on her lips she went into the kitchen and was soon busily sweeping up the dead ashes in the grate.
* * *
‘There’s no answer, Mrs.’ The driver wrapped his thick knuckles over the edge of the carriage door and peered through the window at the small upright figure seated in the shadows. This was a curious to-do, he thought. What the devil was a fine-dressed lady doing out at this hour? And then to get him pounding on a door in Audley Street, while she skulked safely in the carriage? There was something very odd at work here, he thought nervously, something very odd. ‘I reckon it might be better if we were to come back later, Mrs… when the folks inside are up and about.’ When his passenger remained silent, he grew a little bolder. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if a bobby was to come along, walking his beat down this very pavement,’ he told her respectfully. ‘And, begging yer pardon, Mrs, but I don’t fancy explaining what I’m doing banging on this ’ere door, at a time when all honest folk should be abed… excepting carriage-drivers, o’course, who ’ave to trudge the cobbles at all hours in order to mek a living.’ Encouraged by her continuing silence, when she appeared to be deep in thought, he took the liberty of telling her, ‘That’s it then? We’ll come back at a more decent hour.’ He began to turn away.
‘We’ll do no such thing!’ Esther Ward’s sharp voice sailed from the shadows and stopped him in his tracks. ‘Knock on the door again. And keep knocking until somebody answers. But not too loud. We don’t want the whole neighbourhood awake.’
* * *
Inside the house, the insistent thumping on the door reverberated along the narrow gloomy passage and up the stairs to the damp but respectable bedroom where Thomas Reynolds believed he was still in the throes of a terrible nightmare; a dark and awful experience that night after night haunted his sleeping hours until he thought he would go mad, and which always ended with him swinging from the end of a noose. The constant rhythm of the distant muffled knocking on the door sounded like the roll of a drum, while the executioner prepared the gallows.
‘No! Go away and leave me be. I’m innocent I tell you!’ His eyes popped open, staring into the gloomy atmosphere of his room. The knocking continued, and he realised it was not part of his nightmare. Flinging the eiderdown from over his face, he pushed his head up on the pillows and wiped the back of his hand over his sweating forehead. It took a moment to compose himself, another to swill his hands and face in the bowl on the stand, then another to open the window and call out angrily, ‘Who is it wanting me at this Godforsaken hour?’
‘It’s a lady as wants yer,’ returned the relieved carriage-driver. ‘For Gawd’s sake, open the door, will yer? Afore we’re all arrested!’
‘A lady?’ Thomas Reynolds cast his bleary glance to where the carriage stood by the kerbside, its impatient occupant discreetly leaning out and looking up at him. On seeing that it was Esther, his mouth fell open and his eyes rounded like a fish’s. In a minute he had withdrawn into the room and closed the window. In what seemed an incredibly short time he had hurried from his modest little house, closed the door behind him, and was seated in the carriage beside the irate Esther who quickly gave instructions for the driver to: ‘Hurry away from here. Take the horse at a steady pace along the byways.’
No sooner had they left Audley Street behind than Thomas Reynolds had acquainted Esther with all the facts. ‘The girl will play our game,’ he said proudly. ‘And I have all the information regarding your daughter,’ he added slyly.
She was genuinely shocked by the revelations – that Beth should actually have gone into Tyler Blacklock’s room, and on more than one occasion. She wondered for a moment how much of the tale had been fabricated from the vivid imagination of this girl who – if Thomas Reynolds was to be believed – had taken great delight in recounting Beth’s visits in graphic detail. When in turn the information was relayed to Esther, she took a moment to reflect on it. Then, in a sombre voice, she asked, ‘And the man… Tyler Blacklock. You say he’s recovered?’ She was disappointed that he had not died from his wounds.
‘Afraid so. I’m sorry about that. I really thought those ruffians could do the job.’
‘No matter. In fact, it might be as well, because I’ve come to realise that there is a better way. Less dangerous, but markedly more effective, I think.’ And after she had explained it to him, he felt bound to agree. He would have stayed to discuss it at greater length, but, as always, when he had been given instructions and money had changed hands, he was quickly dismissed – with the reminder to: ‘Guard your tongue. And remember… if any of this should ever come out, I’ll see you behind bars before I’ll admit to it. You do understand what I’m saying?’ He understood all right! He understood only too well. Before he could reply, he was ousted from the carriage near Hyde Park and left to find his own way home.
* * *
It was ten minutes past eight when Beth came down to the dining room. Both her parents were seated at the breakfast table. As she came through the door it was her father who looked up to say with a warm smile, ‘Well now, you look bright and cheerful. Going somewhere special, are you?’ Anticipating a long conversation, he rolled up his newspaper and placed it beside his plate. Leaning back in his chair, he seemed to grow in stature. With his broad shoulders, soft hazel eyes and greying brown hair that curled at the temples, Richard Ward was still a handsome man. He was forty-eight years old, but carried his age well and had a childish quality that gave him an appealing air of innocence. Yet, beneath all of that he had a shrewd mind and a certain ruthlessness in business that belied his submissive nature at home. Still smiling, he regarded Beth with approval, thinking how lovely she looked. Certainly she had taken great pains with her appearance this morning, dressing in her favourite dark blue skirt, worn with a cream-coloured silk blouse over it and a pretty blue bolero that nipped in at the waist. Her shining brown hair hung loose down her back and her whole countenance was one of glowing excitement.
Don’t Cry Alone Page 6