‘Beth Ward!’ Maisie was appalled, although she was in no doubt as to Beth’s well-meaning motives. ‘Shame on yer. Whenever are we so poor that we can’t afford to ask a visitor to share us refreshments?’ She stared at David Miller, who appeared to have been rendered both startled and shamefaced by Beth’s words. ‘What! I should be most upset if yer didn’t taste o’ my apple macs, Mr Miller,’ Maisie assured him. ‘What’s more, I urge yer to take as many as yer like,’ she affirmed. Whereupon the poor fellow was obliged to shovel two of the attractive-looking pastries on to his plate, and to make all manner of appreciative noises, while Maisie insisted, ‘Now then, ain’t them the best apple macs you’ve ever tasted, sir… ain’t they?’
In between indelicate mouthfuls he was quick to assure her that they were indeed the most delicious cakes he had ever tasted; which they were, because his mother had never been renowned for her baking, and since her sad demise some few years after the death of her first husband, the Miller household comprised only himself and his stepfather, and an old woman who professed herself their housekeeper when in fact she was a woman from the town who called in each day to flick a duster about and serve their stodgy meals. Mr Reynolds had chosen the woman on the basis of her most valuable quality – that of grudgingly accepting the most meagre of remuneration for her time and trouble. She was slow and sometimes slovenly. But the old man made no complaint, especially when he thought of the money he was saving. He often sang the housekeeper’s praises, even while he was choking on her ‘apple pies’. David however, had no fondness for the woman. He decided that if and when he took himself a wife, he would be rid of the housekeeper once and for all.
In between enjoying Maisie’s cakes and replying to her polite but meaningless conversation, David Miller could not help but enjoy the cosy atmosphere in this tiny room. The smell of fresh baking mingled with carbolic soap and blacklead hung in the air, and for some reason he did not understand, it created a great longing in him. He missed his mother. He missed feminine company, and above all missed having another person who might intervene when his stepfather took it into his mind to be downright awkward and argumentative. His mother had often found cause to intervene. As far back as he could remember, she had been the one to keep Luther Reynolds in his place. She praised him when he was good and she scolded him when he was bad. She mothered her cantankerous second husband in the same way she had mothered that thin, uninteresting and timid boy who was her only child. And, even though he was not Luther Reynolds’ blood son, they had been a family. And he did miss that, so very much.
David Miller was not a passionate man; he was content to live a quiet unassuming life. Oh, there were times when his stepfather’s cruel and demanding nature caused him moments of rebellion, making him wonder whether he should move out and make some sort of life for himself. But these moments were few and far between. It was not in his nature to be wholeheartedly rebellious, so he soon shrugged off these uncomfortable feelings. Besides, his stepfather was old now, and leaning more on his stepson with every day that passed; and even if that young man grew tired of his miserable life in that mausoleum of a house with the fiercely cunning, ageing scoundrel, how could he even begin to change things? Where would he go? What would he do? Apart from collecting rents, noting down whether a roof was becoming dangerously neglected or floorboards were rotting, and serving notices on tenants who were in arrears, he had no particular skills to speak of. But lately something was happening to him, disturbing the measure of contentment he had found within his own soul. That something was Beth.
Whenever his frugal and wasted life became darkly unhappy, and he would lie awake at night thinking of his childhood, certain memories would come to him – dim and happy memories that brought images of his mother into his mind. She, like himself, was not handsome, but was a tall reed-thin creature with a large face and small eyes, and a way of showing her disapproval without saying a single word. Yet, where his stepfather had never in the whole of his life shown the slightest kindness, his mother had had a warm, quiet heart. On certain occasions, mostly when he had read a Bible passage particularly well, or had sat silently throughout one of his mother’s female gatherings, she had shown her approval by allowing him to put his two skinny arms round her neck and kiss her ever so politely on the cheek. Now, whenever his loneliness threatened to engulf him, he would remember these occasions. Even now, after all these years, he could recall that certain satisfied look on her face, the smell of camphor that lingered about her, and the feel of her skin under his mouth. That was the clearest memory of all: the feel of her skin under his mouth. Warm it was, and rough, like the leather binding that encased the Bible.
He cherished the memories, for they were the only ones in his life when he had actually touched another human being; except, of course, when as a small boy he was made to shake hands with the pot-bellied whiskered gentlemen who came to see his father. His mother’s touch was somehow different, though. She would always be smiling, while often the gentlemen would be scowling. Besides, he had been allowed to embrace his mother, and to actually kiss her! Now, though, these few pleasant memories had been replaced by another.
On that day when he had taken Beth into his arms, it was as though she had awakened a new man in him, a stranger to himself, a man who was no longer content with memories. A man whose hands had felt a different kind of skin against him… smooth like silk, and warm as the blood that ran through his own veins. When he had lain Beth on the bed, her long rich hair had trailed across his arm, sending shivers through every part of his being. Oh, how he had longed to stay in that room with her, to see her being undressed, to savour all the delights that he imagined hidden beneath those cumbersome garments. That night he had not slept. Instead, he had paced his own bedroom, up and down, up and down, remembering… imagining… wondering. Only when his father had rapped the adjoining wall with the handle of his walking cane had he made himself be still. But he could not be still inside. Nor had he been still ever since.
He had come to a decision. A remarkable decision, which greatly excited him but also terrified him beyond belief. He had vowed to take Beth for his wife. Without revealing the name of his intended, he had said as much to his stepfather the very next morning. At first, and in the cruel manner which David might have expected, the old man exploded into laughter. ‘You! Wed!’ he screamed, his bloodshot eyes wide with astonishment. ‘Never! You’re not man enough, you bloody fool.’ But then he had grown thoughtful, regarding his stepson with narrowed scathing eyes, as though seeing another facet to his character, and the stepson had stood his ground, meeting that old villain’s scrutiny with unswerving courage.
‘Say what you will,’ David had replied with admirable dignity, ‘I mean to take a certain woman for my wife.’
‘Who is she, you fool? What’s her name?’ the old scoundrel wanted to know. Adding with the light of fear and suspicion in his eyes, ‘A fortune-hunter, eh? Some bright-coloured bitch who’s seen an easy living for herself, that’s what she’s all about, I’ll be bound.’ He laughed again, saying in a grating voice: ‘You always were a fool. So! You’ve found a woman, have you? Huh! I don’t believe it. What woman would want a sop like you for a husband, eh? Unless, as I suspect, she’s not after you at all. Happen it’s me the bitch is after, eh? Me… an’ what few guineas I’ve managed to put aside for my old age.’
Little more was said that morning, except for David’s confirming his intention to take a wife, and assuring the cynical old soak that: ‘She’s no fortune-hunter. Nor is she afraid of hard work. She is a woman of strength and beauty, and I could find no better.’ He had left the house to the sound of Luther’s cruel laughter following him down the street.
Over the next few days, he had suffered many jibes and commands to, ‘Fetch her here. Let a man take a look at her. After all, if she’s everything you say, we don’t want you frightening her off, do we, eh?’ It was painfully obvious that the old man thought his stepson to be suffering delusions, and t
hat there was no wife, nor ever would be. Not that the old man was bothered about that, because he liked things the way they were, him in his own house with his hoard of shiny guineas, and his stepson doing as he was told for a wage that kept him totally dependent on the old fellow – and without the backbone to change the situation.
‘I am right, don’t you think, Mr Miller?’ Maisie’s voice cut across his thoughts.
‘Oh! I do beg your pardon,’ he apologised with a reddening face, straightening his back and looking from the bemused Beth to Maisie and back again. ‘Somehow my attention has strayed, but I do assure you it was not meant as an insult.’ He was appalled that he should have allowed himself to be sucked into such a deep and distracting avenue of thought.
‘Aw, think nothing of it,’ Maisie said cheerfully. ‘You got to thinking, an’ was carried away. There ain’t no shame in that. I do it meself, y’know, all the time,’ she explained, trying to put him at his ease and, at the same time, hoping to keep him here a little longer. She was no fool. Maisie would have given a whole batch of her apple macs to wager that what this hapless fellow was thinking about so deeply was her Beth. She had seen it from the minute the poor man had collected her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. She had seen it when he put his burden down on the bed. And she saw it now, as he stared into Beth’s face with such longing that it showed in his eyes as naked as a newborn babe. ‘All I said was… Beth’s got a glow on her. She’s mending well, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He smiled, embarrassment fading. All the while he was speaking, he never once took his eyes away from Beth; he continued to stare at her with a hunger that kept him to the edge of his seat. ‘Your aunt is right,’ he said quietly, believing what he had been told, that Beth was a recently widowed niece come from London to stay with her dear aunt until the child was born. ‘You certainly do have a glow about you. And I really am delighted that you seem to be recovering so very well.’
For a long moment, Beth stared back at him, her dark eyes growing serious and her voice betraying her deeper appreciation for what this man had done. ‘I have you to thank for that, Mr Miller,’ she told him kindly. ‘But for you, I might have lost my child.’ The light in her eyes dimmed with a kind of fear that touched him so deeply that he actually leaned towards her and put out his hand. When Beth thought it best to ignore the gesture, he fell back in his chair. ‘Nonsense!’ He gave a small laugh to hide his self-consciousness at having betrayed his feelings like that. ‘I’m only glad that you’re recovering so very well. Now, shall we let the matter end there?’ He glanced at Maisie, who was eyeing him curiously.
‘No,’ Beth replied. ‘I’m afraid the matter cannot end there, Mr Miller. As I say… you have my deepest gratitude. But there is still the matter of the doctor and his fee.’
‘Oh, but you mustn’t worry yourself about that,’ he said, his confidence returning. ‘No, not at all. Put it out of your mind, please. I have no intention of asking for compensation.’ He turned to address himself to Maisie. ‘I hope I did not give that impression?’ he asked with a frown.
Maisie was suitably relieved. ‘Well, now, that’s exactly what I told her, Mr Miller!’ she cried jubilantly. ‘That good man don’t want no such thing, I told her… what he did, he did outta the goodness of his heart.’ She turned to Beth. ‘Didn’t I tell yer eh? He won’t want you fretting over such a little thing as money. Ain’t that what I said, eh?’ she lied.
All the same, Maisie was secretly relieved to hear the gent say the very same, because she hadn’t cared for being beholden to her rentman, any more than Beth had. The trouble was that while Maisie had certain principles as far as stealing was concerned, she had no such qualms about taking that which was offered; while Beth was another kettle of fish altogether. Beth was a woman whose strong principles would not let her accept something for nothing, although she herself was generous to a fault. Maisie had seen these qualities, admirable or otherwise, ever since Beth had been under this roof, when she had insisted on paying her way and doing more than her share of housework, in spite of being heavy with child. To tell the truth, Maisie wondered how she had ever managed before Beth came to live here.
‘There you are!’ David Miller said with some relief. He sensed an ally in Maisie. It surprised him too, especially in view of the fact that he had been obliged to convey his father’s threat to have them evicted. He regretted that very deeply. In fact, there were any number of things that he was coming to regret.
‘Maisie?’ Beth’s face was serious as she addressed the little woman.
‘Yes? What’s bothering you, lass?’
‘I wonder… could you do me a great favour?’
‘Well, o’ course I can, darlin’, if yer tell me what this favour is.’ Maisie’s curiosity was plain on her face as she got up from her chair and went to Beth’s side. ‘What is it, lass? What’s bothering yer?’
‘My sewing-box.’ She met Maisie’s surprised look with a dignified half-smile. ‘Would you be a sweetheart and fetch it for me?’ Under normal circumstances, Beth would never have asked anyone, especially Maisie, to do something which she herself was quite capable of doing; but she had little strength in her just now, and was afraid that the long steep climb up those narrow stairs would drain her of the small amount of energy she had left. The thought of being confined to her bed again was not a happy prospect. Besides, her concern for the well-being of her unborn child was paramount.
Maisie straightened up. Her expression changed from concern to annoyance as she continued to look down on Beth’s lovely troubled face. Instead of giving her answer straight away, she turned about to face the visitor. ‘Excuse me, Mr Miller,’ she said in a firm though polite voice, ‘but I expect you’ll be wanting to be on yer way?’ She knew very well that Beth kept the remnants of her little nest-egg in that sewing-box. She was acutely aware of Beth’s present intention as well. However, Maisie had an intention of her own, and it was this… she was not going to allow Beth to give her few remaining shillings to this fellow. The determination in Beth’s face was reflected in her own as she waited for David Miller’s response.
‘I would rather stay a while longer,’ he replied with surprising boldness. ‘That is, of course, if you don’t mind?’ he remarked to Beth.
‘Oh, but I would very much like you to stay, Mr Miller,’ Beth replied at once. She was surprised when his responding smile softened the deliberate hardness in her heart. Not for the first time, she felt his loneliness. ‘Indeed, I insist that you stay,’ she told him, a sense of regret tempering her purpose when his smile broadened and his kind brown eyes lightened. In that moment it dawned on her that David Miller was attracted to her in a way she would not have imagined. But no matter! Soon he would be gone from this house, and her debt would be paid. Yet some deep instinct warned Beth that, however hard up she and Maisie were, their first priority from now on must always be to keep the rent paid as it fell due. It would not be easy, but once the baby was born the way ahead would be that much clearer.
Her dark eyes returned to Maisie, who was obviously most reluctant to do as she was asked. ‘Please, Maisie… the sewing-box?’
Sighing noisily, Maisie looked directly into those dark determined eyes and shook her head. ‘All right, lass, whatever you say,’ she returned impatiently. ‘But… well, I hope yer know what yer doing!’ she said in a low voice, hoping the rentman would change his mind and go. But he was too entranced with Beth to think of leaving. In fact, he had not taken his eyes off her these past minutes. Maisie doubted whether he had even heard a single word of what had just transpired. ‘Yer sure, now, lass?’ she asked pointedly.
‘Yes, Maisie, I am sure,’ Beth replied, becoming uncomfortably aware of David Miller’s quiet attention, and wanting him out of the house as soon as Maisie had brought the sewing-box and she was able to discharge her debt to him; with her grateful thanks, of course.
Without another word, Maisie hurried from the room. At the foot of the stairs she
paused to gather the voluminous folds of her skirt into her chubby fists, then with a frustrated backward glance climbed the stairs, loudly huffing and puffing, and seeming deliberately to take her time by way of protest at Beth’s decision to repay the doctor’s fee. ‘After all,’ she could be heard to mumble disgruntledly, ‘the rentman did it wi’out being asked… so he had no bloody right ter ask for it back!’ Oh, but he hadn’t asked for it back though, she reminded herself, because it were Beth’s idea. ‘Well, it ain’t one of her best, that’s for sure!’ she told herself as she paused for a breath on the steep stairway.
‘Mr Miller, I should be obliged if you would not stare at me so.’ Beth had grown increasingly embarrassed beneath his gaze. If she looked away, she could still feel the intensity of his eyes on her, and if she looked at him with an uncomfortable smile, he merely continued to stare at her in that intimate manner. It was all so unnerving.
‘Oh!’ At once, he also was embarrassed. ‘Please forgive me, Mrs Ward.’ The story he had been given by Maisie Armstrong was that, following the sad loss of her husband, this lovely young lady was left alone in the world, except for the child yet unborn, and her dear Aunt Maisie. Beth, whose name he had heard being spoken by both Mrs Armstrong and the girl, was far too young and beautiful a woman to be left on her own for too long. In her present condition, and finding herself inadvertently confined to the house, there had been little occasion for any man to see how incredibly lovely she really was. That in itself was most fortunate for him. However, it seemed to him that, as soon as the child was born, she would be inundated by determined suitors bewitched by her beauty. And if he was to wed this woman – which was an intention which had only been strengthened by his close proximity to her – then he should make his move now, before it was too late, and he saw her snatched from under his very nose, by some charming, worldly fellow, with the gift of the gab and dark, sultry looks that would sweep her right off her feet.
Don’t Cry Alone Page 17