So many times she had told herself that, and each time she knew it was an impossible thing to do. It wasn’t just Tyler. It was her father, and her brother. It was Esther Ward, the mother who had never really been a mother. There was something in her that made Beth afraid. She had always felt that, although she never knew why. She suspected that something had happened many years ago between her parents, something strange and secretive that had left its mark on them both. There was no way of knowing what. From an early age, Beth had sensed the quiet sadness in her father, and the resentment in her mother. No! More than resentment. What she sensed in her mother was a dreadful loathing. If only Esther had shown her daughter the love she craved, Beth would have returned that love, and things would have been so very different. Whatever it was that had happened between Richard Ward and his wife, it must have been a bad thing because, to Beth’s mind, it had brought nothing good. Even the marriage itself was devoid of love. Even as these thoughts careered through Beth’s troubled mind, she was forced to compare her own marriage with that of her parents. Wasn’t it strange how history seemed to repeat itself?
* * *
The clock on the mantelpiece struck the tenth hour. The house was quiet. Beth felt refreshed after her bath, and content in the knowledge that all three children were safe in bed. This was the time she enjoyed most; when she could relax in the cosy drawing room, with its pale green walls and deep floral armchairs, and with the cheery fire-glow sending out waves of warmth that made her deliciously sleepy. It had been a long, tiring day… first this big house to be cleaned, then the uphill trek to church and Sunday service; next came the lunch, which took hours to prepare and only minutes to devour; this was followed by the inevitable mountain of washing up. There followed a short time for recreation, which Beth enjoyed with Cissie and Richard; then there was the mending to do, and the tea to prepare; afterwards, there were the children to wash and bed. In spite of it being claimed that Sunday was the Lord’s day and therefore a day of rest, all in all it was one of the most tiring days of the week.
Without realising it, Beth’s thoughts turned to her husband. She had hardly seen him all day. It crossed her mind that he might well be keeping out of her way after his failure to secure some kind of punishment for Matthew’s cruel and unacceptable behaviour earlier in the day. Suddenly, her thoughts materialised as David came into the room, bringing a cold blast of air from the outer hallway.
‘Ah! There you are, my dear.’ He appeared delighted to see her. Closing the door behind him, he strode into the drawing room, a broad smile on his face as he went straight to where Beth sat. Kissing her tenderly on the forehead, he remarked sharply, ‘What with one thing and another, I’ve seen very little of you today.’ Separating the tails of his jacket, he seated himself in the opposite chair, a frown creasing his forehead as he glanced about the room. ‘The lamp isn’t lit,’ he said with surprise. ‘Why isn’t the lamp lit?’ He rose with the intention of going to light the lamp, which was in its usual place in the centre of the table.
‘No… please. I would rather you didn’t,’ Beth told him.
‘As you wish,’ he said, returning to his seat.
Anticipating his question, she added, ‘I prefer the firelight.’
For a moment he remained silent, his curious brown eyes quietly appraising her; he thought Beth looked especially lovely tonight. She was wearing a taffeta skirt of burgundy, with a pretty close-fitting cream blouse that complimented her rich chestnut hair and dark eyes. As always, on a Sunday evening after she had bathed, she had left her hair loose. It tumbled over her slim straight shoulders in deep shining waves that reached almost to her waist, and her beautiful, heart-shaped face shone like a child’s. ‘You look very lovely,’ he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes betraying the need inside him.
The compliment might have delighted any other woman, but the whispered words made Beth’s heart sink. Tonight she had wanted to be alone with her memories. She raised her head, hoping he might realise how tired she was; her dark eyes were looking into his, exciting him all the more. In the firelight’s glow, her eyes appeared uniquely beautiful, shining and alive, possessed of magic. Aware of his thoughts, she quickly looked away.
In a moment, he was beside her, his hands caressing her hair, his body pressing against her, the roughness of his jacket brushing against her face, abrading her skin, the warm smell of cloth invading her nostrils. Now, his hands stroked her neck, fell to her breast and followed the small tight curve there. He was breathing harder, then he was on his knees before her, his open mouth finding her lips, pressing… probing. His fingers wrapped themselves round her ankles, sliding upwards, making her skin tingle. Shame swept through her, shame, and disgust… and desire. Pulling away, she struggled from the chair, from his searching hands. But he would not be rejected. ‘Go to your bed,’ he told her. There was anger in his voice, and a love so desperate that it smothered her.
Without a backward look, Beth went from the room, along the softly lit hallway and on to the bedroom which she shared with her husband. She knew he would not be far behind her. She wished she could take her son and Maisie’s children, and go from this place. A woman with three children… where would they go? How would they live without money? Oh, she had the bag of coins beneath the bedroom floorboards, but it was no fortune, and with four mouths to feed it wouldn’t last very long. She was trapped! Who would offer a woman and three children a roof over their heads? She thought of Matthew, of her promise to Maisie. ‘Take care of the childer.’ Beth was convinced that Matthew would run away if she took him from this house, then what would become of him? She thought of Tyler, and there was bitterness. She remembered David’s kindness, and there was gratitude. He was her husband… for better or worse, he was her husband. And she was a woman. Where was the shame? There should have been none, but there was. There was!
She never watched him undress. Somehow, it made her feel wanton and increased her shame. Every sound, every movement, told her what he was doing… the shoes placed neatly side by side, the braces flicked down over his shoulders, the trousers carefully folded and laid across the back of the wicker chair, his footsteps coming to her over the creaking floorboards; every sound, every movement… he was touching her now, warm, tickling, smooth, his naked body moving up and down against her, his voice in her ear, soft and loving, fingers probing, his mouth on hers; the gasp of excitement when he entered her, jabbing, hard, growing excited. ‘I love you,’ he murmured. ‘Love me Beth… love me… love me.’ But there was no love in her heart. No love. Only a loneliness too painful to bear. Tears coursed down her face, but he did not know. There was much he did not know.
* * *
‘Shh!’ The old man slid his gnarled hand over Matthew’s face. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ His voice was like grated glass, near and frightening. The warm acrid stench of his breath was unpleasant to the boy. In the flickering candlelight, the withered features took on a grotesque appearance. Trapped beneath the twisted fingers, Matthew wriggled uncomfortably, his brown eyes round and bulbous with fear. ‘It’s only me… Luther,’ the voice whispered hoarsely. At once Matthew relaxed, his eyes creasing in a smile as he wondered what the old man was up to. When the fingers drew away, the boy’s spittle clung to them, making a delicate spidery line that soon snapped and fell apart. ‘Shh! Not a sound,’ the old man warned as the boy climbed out of bed and quickly dressed.
Holding the candle before him, Luther led the boy to the far end of the landing, his awkward movements impeding his progress. Intrigued, and a little afraid of the gyrating shadows that loomed like feathery figures on the walls beside them, the boy kept close to the bent figure, curiosity alive in him, and a strange excitement driving him on as it always did when he was with the old man. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked in a whisper. He had never been this way before.
Occasionally pausing to gather his breath, the old man half- turned and put his finger to his lips, his thick unkempt eyebrows throwing weird shapes over th
e sockets of his eyes. The gesture was enough. Matthew remained silent, going stealthily after the crooked figure as it squeezed through the tiny opening, then upwards with difficulty, climbing the narrow winding staircase that seemed never-ending. After what seemed an age, they came into a small room where the roof beams straddled above them like great barren trees, and the wind whistled through the tiny cracks where the moonlight shone through.
‘Where are we?’ The boy dared hardly speak. His every limb was shaking. Suddenly the old man grabbed him and whispered in his ear, ‘Shh! Shh!… look, there.’ He found himself looking towards the floor but could see nothing, and so shook his head. The old man’s face wrinkled into a grin. He pointed again, pushing Matthew to the floor. ‘Oh!’ He could see it now… the softest light in the room beneath. Carefully, oh so softly, the old man and the boy folded to their knees.
‘It’s them… mating like dogs.’ Luther chuckled, an ugly sound. ‘She doesn’t like it, though,’ he rasped, his rubbery lips touching the boy’s ear. Instinctively, the boy pulled away. ‘See there.’ The words were mouthed; they must not be detected.
Intrigued, Matthew bent nearer to the light, pressing his face to the chink in the floorboards. For a moment he could not see clearly… and then he did! Far below, the tiniest candle-flame sending out the smallest light, flickering, subdued. In the bed, there were two figures; the man was paramount, rising and falling, moaning and whispering. Beneath him the woman’s face was pale and passive, her arms bent above her head, her rich hair spilling over the pillow. In a moment the man was still. The next moment he was climbing from the bed, the ferocity of his passion still evident on him. The woman turned away. Tears glistened in the flickering light.
‘There!’ The old man was beside himself with excitement, his hand trembling so that the candlelight danced and spurted like shooting stars. ‘Did you see?’ he asked in a whisper. ‘DID YOU SEE?’ He licked his lips, mouth hanging open, trembling. When the boy gave no answer, the old man took him by the arm and propelled him to the far end of the room, down the narrow stairway, through the tiny door and back to the safety of his own bedroom. ‘Say nothing!’ he warned the boy before leaving. ‘Or I’ll not take you again.’ He smiled, a wicked ugly smile, and then he was gone.
It was a long time before the boy could settle. There was a crippling sense of guilt on him. He had seen things this night that touched him deeply. He had seen two people making love. The experience had shattered him. He had heard the joy of one, and seen the tears of another. It was the tears that haunted him. ‘Why did you cry, Beth?’ he murmured into the silence. There was no answer. Only a deeper silence that sucked him in. Suddenly he was crying too, deep racking sobs that took him back to a night long ago, soon after his father was killed. He recalled he had suffered a terrible nightmare; so vivid that even when his eyes were open and he was screaming for his mammy, the nightmare would not leave him. Only when Maisie came to hold him and soothe his fears did he feel safe. She said something to him that night… something he would remember to his dying day. ‘Yer mammy’s here, darlin’,’ she had whispered, ‘and yer mammy won’t ever let yer cry alone.’
In his despair, Maisie came to him now, that familiar loving face with its bright violet eyes and a profusion of greying hair that was never in place. ‘Bless yer heart.’ He could hear her voice as though she was here in this room, her own unique aroma all around him. ‘There ain’t nothing wrong wi’ crying, sweetheart, but yer must always share yer troubles wi’ them as love yer. Don’t cry alone. Don’t ever cry alone.’ Oh, how he missed her, how he loved her. ‘Oh, Mam! Mam!’ His own cry opened a door in his heart and the crippling pain spilled out. Long into the night he sobbed, weeping for what he had lost, and for what he had become.
When morning dawned he knew he would never again follow the old man up to that room. He would get himself a job, and he would be the man his mammy had always hoped he would be. But he did not belong here, in this house. Right now he had no idea what would become of him, yet this much he did know – there was a sense of peace in his heart at last, and the bitter core of hatred had melted with his tears.
All the same, there was still a hardness in him towards Beth. Much as he wanted to, and much as he had been moved by her tears, he could not find it in him to forgive her. Deep down, he still blamed her for taking his mammy from him. The bitterness was still there. He believed it always would be. But not the badness, not any more. Not now his mammy had spoken to him.
Chapter Eight
On 14 July 1892, Maisie’s son boarded a merchant ship and sailed away from his homeland. The sun was shining, and the docks at Liverpool were thronged with people. People laughing, people crying, some boarding vessels, others disembarking, and others waving goodbye to their loved ones. In the distance, a band was playing, though the music was drowned by the lusty yells of porters and traders all plying for business.
Beth stood alone, a quiet solitary figure, heavy with child, biding her time until she might be called to say goodbye. Just as she had predicted, Matthew had become a fine young man, tall and strong, and markedly handsome, with his wayward mop of brown hair and those dark violet eyes that still held a world of bitterness whenever they looked on her. As she gazed intently towards the small group that was her family, a great sadness filled Beth’s heart. In these past two years and more, since Matthew had been employed with David, distancing himself from the old man and returning to the family fold, Beth had never stopped hoping that one day he might turn to her with affection. But she had hoped for too much, and Matthew remained unforgiving, not actively unfriendly towards her but always out of her reach. It was a sorry thing, and one which caused her a few silent tears.
But for all that, Beth was delighted at the way he had come to share the love of his sister, Cissie, and her own son, Richard. His relationship with David also was a good one, in which he benefited from the older man’s advice and experience. When he expressed his desire to go to sea, David had attempted to dissuade him, saying, ‘It’s a hard life, Matthew. Much more demanding than overseeing a terrace of houses and collecting rents.’ He spelled out the dangers without being too alarmist, but it only served to make Matthew more determined to become a sailor. Eventually, it was David who found him a good ship and carefully guided him through the process. Now the day had arrived, and it was time for Matthew to say goodbye.
Beth never took her eyes off the little group; Cissie, who was now a young lady of exceptional prettiness and who was hugging her brother for the umpteenth time; and Beth’s own son Richard… now six years old and growing more like Tyler every day; and David, a quiet man, a man who was too gentle, a man still dominated by the monster who had raised him. In different ways she loved them all; even her weak-natured husband, who showered all of them with affection, and who was filled with excitement that, at long last he was about to become a father in his own right.
Beth looked forward to the birth of their child; with Richard growing so fast, she missed that special feeling of holding a small warm being in her arms. She would not claim to be content, because contentment came with having the man you loved lying beside you on a cold night; it came with that certain wonderful intimacy which Beth had experienced once long ago, and which was lost forever. Contentment came when your life was fulfilled, which hers was not. But she had found a deal of happiness in her family. If she had had it in her power to change anything in that one moment, it would be for Matthew to come to her as a friend. She was both proud and fearful for him and, as she continued to look on him, thought of the vast and mighty oceans he would cross, the loneliness of such journeys, and prayed he would not regret his decision to leave them.
‘Mammy! Mammy!’ Richard was running towards her, dodging between the legs of many passing travellers, a broad grin lighting his face and an air of excitement about him. In a moment he had gripped her hand in his and was pulling her away from the bale on which she had been resting. ‘Come and say goodbye,’ he urged, tugging at he
r with all his might. ‘David says you’re to come and say goodbye to Matthew.’ In his enthusiasm he lost his cap and when Beth stooped with difficulty to retrieve it, she almost lost her balance as he insisted on pulling her forward. ‘Quick, Mammy… quick!’ he cried. And so Beth allowed herself to be taken at an awkward pace along the wharf and on to where David and Cissie were saying their final farewells.
Unfortunately, when Beth was only a few feet away, Matthew raised his head and his eyes met hers. He appeared sad for a moment, but then his neck stiffened and his eyes grew harder. Beth sensed the hostility, and instinctively paused. At once, Matthew swung away and was quickly gone from sight, leaving Cissie chasing down the wharf to catch one final glimpse of her brother. ‘Oh! He’s gone, Mammy. Matthew’s gone.’ Richard was crying now, pressing his face into the deep folds of her skirt. Beth was crying too, crying inside, and she wondered whether she would ever again see the young man who had been left in her care. ‘God go with you, son,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll always love you.’ The tears threatened, but she fought them back. This was not a time for tears. It was a time for thanking God that Matthew had turned his back on the badness that might have dragged him down. Besides that small miracle, her own regret at having lost him seemed very small.
‘Well, the lad’s away,’ David emerged through the crowd to tell her. ‘All we can do is hope he’ll be safe. I would rather he’d stayed at home with us, but it was his choice, and he’s not a child any longer.’ Cupping his hand beneath Beth’s elbow, he looked deep into her eyes and said in a quieter voice, ‘Don’t feel bad. I’m sure he’ll turn to you, in his own good time.’
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