Don’t Cry Alone

by Don’t Cry Alone (retail) (epub)

  ‘And you would still leave me?’

  He smiled again, a sad, lonely smile that told her he was still not hers. She believed he never would be. ‘Come with me, if you want to,’ he whispered. He owed her that much.

  ‘Not as your wife though?’

  He shook his head, ‘Is that so important?’

  Now it was her turn to lapse into thought. Being the wife of Tyler Blacklock was important. But she would never admit it.

  During the year they had been together, she had seen him time and again in the dark quiet hours when he believed himself to be unobserved. She had watched him, standing by the window, tortured, lonely, a man in pain, a man in love. But it was not her he was in love with. ‘No,’ she lied. ‘It’s not important.’

  Relieved, he drew her into the haven of his arms. ‘You’re a good woman,’ he told her.

  She laughed dryly. ‘But not the marrying kind, is that it?’ ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know who she is, Tyler. I only know that she has your love, and that she is a very lucky woman.’ She asked a question then that tore him apart. ‘Why aren’t you with her instead of being with me?’

  He shrugged his shoulders, but gave no answer.

  ‘She’s married. Is that it?’ She saw the agony in him. ‘Oh, Tyler, I’m sorry. You’ve been good to me. I should learn to mind my own business.’

  Drawing her tighter to him, he assured her, ‘If you want to come North with me, you can. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I want to come with you,’ she told him. ‘Don’t decide to settle there though, will you?’ She shivered. ‘North seems a long way away, and they tell me it’s cold there.’ When he laughed, she tugged at his arm. ‘The bed’s still warm though.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, gently freeing himself. ‘In a while.’ Disappointed, she turned away and slid back between the sheets. From there, she peeped at his tall muscular figure, so solitary, always alone. Except for the woman he kept hidden in his heart.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘To hell with you!’ Luther Reynolds clenched the sides of the chair, his large fists curling and uncurling, and his fiery dark eyes glaring at the determined face of David Miller, the stepson he had come to resent with such bitterness that he could taste it. Yet he must contain the depths of his feelings, his hatred, his fervent wish to see his stepson come to a sorry end. It wasn’t easy, having David under the same roof. But there were times when he had to hold his tongue, if only to ensure that he could keep on using this fool for his own ends.

  It amused him to see how the gullible idiot deferred to him, even when they were in the midst of a vicious argument. David Miller was never vicious though; he was too lily-livered for that. ‘Useless! That’s what you are,’ the old man screeched now. ‘You never were any bloody good to me.’ He moaned aloud and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘God give me strength,’ he yelled, instantly turning his attention back to the younger man who stood before him, and whose woebegone expression would have been comical were it not so pitiful. ‘What the hell are you staring at me like that for, you ungrateful bugger?’ shouted the old man, thrusting his powerful frame forward in a threatening gesture. ‘If it weren’t for me giving you a roof over your head after your mother had the gall to die on me, you would have ended up in the bloody workhouse! And what thanks do I get, eh? None at all, that’s what. None at all. Nothing but whining and whinging, trying to run my life… My life! Bloody cheek. How would you know what I’m capable of? You’re useless. Do you hear me, Miller? I said you’re useless.’

  Here his voice took on a devious note and his eyes slanted so that all light and expression were shut out. ‘Where is she? Where’s that wife o’ yours, eh?’ When David appeared to ignore the pointed question, he asked again in a lewd voice,’ Worn her out, have you? Oh, I heard you again last night… pushing your attentions on her… mating like dogs. But there aren’t any brats to show for it, are there? You still haven’t proved yourself a man, have you, eh? With three years to make your mark, your wife’s belly should have been permanently swollen.’

  He cocked his head sideways and looked at his stepson with a wicked expression on his face. ‘She doesn’t like it, does she, eh? That fancy wife of yours doesn’t like you touching her, does she? Well, I can’t say as I blame her because if I were a woman, I wouldn’t like your paws on me either… and that wife of yours is no ordinary woman either. Special, isn’t she? Too bloody good for the likes of you, wouldn’t you say? Haughty and beautiful, isn’t she? Proud, that’s what she is… too sodding proud. No woman on this earth has any right to be proud, least of all one who comes to her husband with three brats in tow. But she’s proud all right. And you’re going the same way, I can see that! But you’re making a mistake if you think you’ll ever be a better man than me. You’re too weak. You’ve always been too weak… got no spunk, and never have had. So don’t think you’re man enough to tell me what to do. What! Even bent and old like I am, I’m a better man than you’ll ever be.

  ‘I’m going to that sale, because I want that land. I want it badly, and I can’t trust you to get it for me. Oh, yes, I mean to be there. I’ll show the buggers that old man Reynolds isn’t done yet. I can still give them a run for their money. Every time they put in a bid, I’ll be there to force the scoundrels beyond their limits… and I’ll keep on forcing until that land deed has the name of Luther Reynolds written on it. It’s land I’m after, not houses. I’m done with buying houses built on somebody else’s land. You never really own any part of it, don’t you see? Look at Larkhill. I’m buggered every which way I turn because the ruins are mine, but the land beneath is somebody else’s. I can’t rebuild without paying through the nose for the privilege, and even if I did build, getting rent is like getting blood from a stone!’ He jerked his head angrily. ‘I’m caught between a pig and a poke, blast it. It’s land that makes the profit. Land, that’s what I want. And don’t you tell me I’m not fit to go to this bloody auction!’ His eyes were bulging out of his head, and if he could have easily sprung from the chair, he might have locked his hands round the younger man’s throat.

  As it was, he sat bolt upright, his cane propped against the chair and his legs jutting rigidly before him. ‘I’ll be there, I tell you. What’s more, you’ll be taking me, because if you refuse I’ll have the lot of you out of this house before you can turn round… you, that haughty bitch you married, and the three bastards she brought with her. Now then, what have you to say to that?’ His lips clamped together and he raised one corner of his thin mouth in a spiteful leer, his large bald head nodding deliberately to and fro while he waited for the younger man’s response.

  ‘If David doesn’t take you, then I will.’ Beth’s quiet voice defused a situation that David was incapable of handling; she knew that. Worse, Luther Reynolds knew it also. Now, when the old man jerked his head round in astonishment, she looked past him to smile encouragingly at her husband, saying, ‘Forgive me for interrupting, David, but I was within earshot and, as you know, I take great exception to Mr Reynolds’ particular brand of cruelty.’

  Beth’s forthright remarks brought a roar of laughter from the old man ‘Oh! “Cruel” am I?’ he said mockingly. ‘How’s that then… pray do tell me, Mrs Miller?’ He laid emphasis on the ‘Mrs’, at the same time bowing his head in a servile manner. ‘And why would you want to take me to this auction? Do you see yourself as being given some sort of payment, eh? Or perhaps you’ve an idea that you might worm your way into my affections, is that it? Well now, if that’s your little game, you can bloody well think again! You’ll not get a penny of my money. Not now, and not ever. I’m warning the pair of you… my solicitors have got their instructions. When I’m put beneath the ground, every penny I own… every piece of property, every square inch of land, every stick of furniture and even the clothes on my back… it’s all to go my son. My real flesh and blo
od.

  ‘Your real “flesh and blood”?’ Beth made a puzzled face. ‘Oh! You mean the son who deserted you when he realised you might be a burden on him? The son who helped himself to your money before running off? That brave young man who hasn’t contacted you these many years? Why, of course you must leave all your worldly goods to him. It would be unthinkable for you to consider David here, who has been more of a son than you ever deserved… the stepson who stayed by your side when your own son deserted you; and who even forgave you when his beloved mother died because of your neglect.’ There was a cold fury in her voice now.

  ‘Shut your mouth, woman!’ His eyes grew bulbous and a small trickle of spittle crept from the corner of his mouth. ‘Shut your wicked mouth, or get out of my house, do you hear?’ He lurched forward with intent to swipe at her but lost his balance and was thankful to fall heavily back into the chair. After enjoying so many years of unquestioning servility from David, it infuriated him to know that Beth did not feel threatened by him.

  ‘If that is what you want, Mr Reynolds, then I’m sure David can be persuaded to leave with his family,’ Beth told him icily; though in fact she despaired of ever persuading him to leave this house. She had long realised that while Luther Reynolds lived, David would always be there to pander to his every whim. But she was not intimidated by the old man’s manner which could sometimes be childishly cajoling, sometimes violent as it was today. Nor was she concerned by his threat to put them out of the house. Almost from the day she and the children had been brought to this large dilapidated dwelling on Buncer Lane, Luther Reynolds had made it painfully clear that they were not welcome. Not a single day or night had passed without him making life as difficult and miserable as was possible. But he had stopped short of throwing them out, because then he would only be punishing himself. Whether he liked it or not, this despicable old man was dependent on his stepson.

  ‘No, Beth.’ The gentle-hearted David was shocked by the cold vehemence between these two people whom he loved more than anything else in the whole world. ‘There’ll be no talk of us leaving. This is our home, and this is my father. He needs me.’

  ‘Need you!’ The old man sneered, but he was more subdued. ‘Have I ever said I bloody well need you?’ he demanded. Secretly, though, he was thankful that David had intervened. Although he would be glad to see the back of the lot of them, it wasn’t yet time. Lately, he had been of a mind to trace his son Arnold Thomas, but until such a day as he might be fortunate in that respect, he had no one except the lily-livered David. And, though he would never admit it, his stepson was the only person he could trust to handle his business interests.

  ‘Now, don’t be foolish, Father,’ David gently reprimanded. ‘If I wasn’t here to take care of things, how on earth would you manage? And what would happen to the business, eh?’ He knew only too well what would happen; no doubt his stepfather would have the daily help to come in and take care of him, but as far as the business was concerned, it would likely be whipped from under him by the many land sharks who would prey on the defenceless old man without the slightest compunction. The thought was horrifying to David.

  During these past ten years, he had learned a great deal about his stepfather’s business; not only did he trudge the streets collecting money, which he then took to the bank after it had been religiously recounted by Luther, but he was the one who made all the entries into the ledgers; he was the one who always met with accountants and reported back to his stepfather, who constantly grumbled that he was ‘too ill and racked with pain’ to weigh himself down with the burden of meetings and ridiculous men in ridiculous suits, with their ridiculous ideas that a man should always invest the money he earns with the sweat of his brow… ‘Twaddle!’ the old man would say. ‘There’s only one place for money, and that’s a safe place… a place where it can make a healthy profit without being subjected to the fluctuation of bonds and shares and suchlike. Never take risks. That’s always been my way.’ And he never did. He was too wily, or too much of a coward.

  ‘So you’ll do as I ask, and take me to the auction in Liverpool next week?’ Luther Reynolds sensed his stepson’s weakness, and he knew the argument was going his way. He was wily enough to recognise that he did need his stepson; more than David himself would ever know; or at least needed him until his own son could be found and persuaded home. All the things that bloody woman, Beth, had said were true, but his old mind was not so sharp as it once was. His body was fading and he had need of his own son beside him. Yes, Arnold Thomas had done a bad thing in deserting him just when he needed him most, and he had been a rogue of the worst kind to have stolen money into the bargain; but if he could only find his son, he would tell him that all was forgiven, and that he wanted him here, in his rightful place, at the helm of his father’s business.

  Unbeknown to his stepson, the old man had already been scanning the local papers with a view to hiring some kind of enquiry agent to search far and wide for the son who had absconded all those years ago, but as yet he had not been given the opportunity to do anything positive. However, it was only a matter of timing. Meanwhile he had to tread very carefully, because if David suspected that his talk of cutting him out of the business was more than just talk, there was no telling how he would react. Even a worm occasionally turns. He knew the man whom he had grudgingly raised from a boy. David was loyal to a fault, and in his naive understanding quietly expected the same kind of loyalty in return. The old man silently cursed himself for blurting out his intentions just now… about how he would leave nothing to David, yet everything he had to his own undeserving son. The woman knew he meant every word he said, but he was counting on the fact that she would never convince her husband of it. In future he must guard his tongue or risk everything. And it went without saying that, if he was not prepared to take a risk with his money, he most certainly was not prepared to take a risk which might lose him the one person he could trust. David might not be his real kith and kin, but he was honest, and he was hard-working… willing to be at his beck and call and to labour long hours, with only a pittance for his troubles. Luther knew that he might search long and hard, from one end of the earth to the other, but he would never find such an incredibly forthright and loyal employee. Instead, he might be cursed with one who would rob him blind and charge him three times the wages for the privilege.

  So, with the exception of the boy Matthew, who was marked with the same ruthless stamp as himself, he grudgingly tolerated the ‘intruders’ brought under his roof, and whom he had come to resent beyond reason; perhaps because he saw in them his own failure as a family man. Or, and this was more likely, he found Beth too lovely, too desirable, too much like the women he had longed for as a young man, and never had the fortune to find. Twice he had wed, and neither woman had truly satisfied him. Beth stood before him now, a dignified creature, her slim shapely figure taut with anger, her wild brown hair loose to her shoulders, and her dark flashing eyes daring him. He wanted her! Had wanted her since that first day. But wanting only frustrated him more. Want was all he could do, for his body had long ago ceased to function in that way. But his mind was quick, and his memories were all intact; and the longing never really went away, that awful persistent longing that could find outlet only in frustration and anger, and a wish to do bad things; to hurt and to insult like he did now while he waited for David to concede defeat and agree to take him to the auction after all. ‘I don’t want you here,’ he snapped at Beth. This is between me and him. What the hell has any of this to do with you, anyway?’

  ‘Oh, but it has everything to do with me,’ she replied. Realising the vindictive nature of this man, and knowing how he had conditioned her husband since he was a child, Beth felt obliged to look out for the interests of those she loved. Less than one month after she and David were married, and knowing that he himself would never have the courage to ask, Beth had gone to Luther Reynolds with a certain proposition. ‘Either you increase my husband’s wages to reflect the work he does o
n your behalf, or I might find it my duty to persuade him to look for other employment, perhaps with one of the many property owners hereabouts.’ She hoped such a threat would put the fear of God in him, not least because he had a particular loathing for competition, and the idea that his own stepson might join forces with the opposition and take with him all manner of secrets was too much to stomach. The princely sum of one guinea a month was agreed on, and though it was not as much as Beth would have liked, it was a welcome increase, and one that positively staggered her disbelieving husband.

  As a result, she had been able to put away a few shillings every week, and over these past three years the shillings had mounted until now the bag of coins which she kept hidden under the bedroom floorboards had swollen to a tidy sum. Her biggest regret was that she found it necessary to keep its existence from David. Somehow she could not help but suspect that he would think it immoral to squeeze extra wages out of his stepfather, only to hoard them beneath the floorboards.

  Beth had soon discovered that David Miller had many weaknesses, but the one that concerned her most, and gave her reason to fear for the future, was his blind love for and loyalty to the monster who had raised him. It was an unnatural devotion which, to her mind, could end only in disaster. A strange relationship, it was built on love and hate, uniquely tender on one side, and unspeakably cruel on the other. More and more, Beth found herself acting as the buffer between them, and curiously enough, at times when she sought to protect him, it seemed as though she was actually having to fight her own husband.

  She looked at him now, a pathetic and solitary figure almost like a small boy as he stood before the man who had always dominated and manipulated him; certainly, there was an air of obedient subservience as he fidgeted uncomfortably, his dark brown hair falling lankly over his forehead and vivid brown eyes large with sadness. He seemed so thin and haggard. Beth remembered how Maisie had said David Miller was ‘going on forty I shouldn’t wonder’. The fact was, he was ten years younger. David had been eighteen when his mother died, after a surprisingly short illness, which Luther Reynolds had insisted was, ‘Nothing more than a cold.’ The weight his stepfather had put on the young man’s shoulders had made David seem much older than his twenty-eight years. Never once had he shown him any kind of affection. And still David would not hear a word against his beloved stepfather.