‘In all the years you’ve known me, I’ve never taken what wasn’t mine,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘Since I was old enough to carry a money-bag, I’ve trudged round the streets, knocking on every door of every property you own… aye, and sometimes I’ve had a fist in my face for the trouble, but never once have I let you down. Never once have I dipped a finger into that money-bag, however fat it bulged and however heavy it weighed; it was always brought straight home to you… every farthing that crossed my palm.’ He gasped as though someone had stabbed him through the heart. ‘And now you say I’ve thieved from you? Never! Not while there’s a breath left in my body would I steal from anyone… let alone my own father…’
He stopped when he saw the twisted grin on Luther’s face, and it made him remember with a falling heart that this man was not his real father. Suddenly all the anger emptied from him, and in its place there was anguish. He shook his head and continued to stare at the old man, but there was pleading in his voice now. ‘You know I would not steal from you,’ he said quietly.
The old man was breathing hard, his pig-like eyes fixed on the other man’s face. He hated him. Oh, how he hated him! At the same time, he needed him. ‘All I know is, there’s money missing!’ he growled. ‘And if you ain’t got it, then who the bloody hell has? Answer me that, go on! There’s four guineas missing here.’ He gestured towards the numerous piles of shiny coins spread out before him. ‘Four guineas, I tell you, and you don’t leave this room until they’re accounted for.’
He leaned forward and crooked his bony arms round the neat piles of money, protecting it, coveting it, his eyes fixed on his stepson’s face. He made a strange sound, like that of a wounded animal, dropping his face into the money and swivelling his eyes upwards. ‘You’re robbing me,’ he accused in a pitiful voice, ‘robbing a helpless old man of his livelihood.’
‘No!’ David took a step forward, stretching out his hand as though he might touch the old man, but a hard forbidding glare stopped him in his tracks. Taking the ledger from under his arm, he opened it at the relevant page and slid it on to the desk. ‘I swear to God… I checked every coin. There’s no mistake, see for yourself.’ Grabbing the pile of cloth money-bags from the corner of the desk, he turned them upside down one by one. ‘Examine the ledger again,’ he begged. ‘It’s all there, I tell you.’
Luther waved his arm impatiently. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘Not satisfied with stealing my money, you’re trying to tell me I’m senile into the bargain, is that it?’ He cocked his head to one side as if he had just realised something awful. ‘You want me put away, so you can take everything!’ His back stiffened and he swept the money towards his chest. ‘You and that wife o’ yourn… you want me put away. You want to finish me off. That’s why you took the boy away from me… sent him away to sea.’ ‘Now you’re imagining things.’ David’s anger was returning. ‘Matthew went to sea of his own accord. As for putting you away, nothing could be further from my mind, Father. Even if I didn’t love you as I do, I know my duty. As long as I live, I’ll take care of you, you can be sure of that.’
‘Fine words, easy said. I’ve no doubt you’ll “take care of me”… and I know why, you canny bastard!’ Luther laughed without opening his mouth, making a deep rattling sound that was frightening to hear. ‘You’ll “take care of me” because you see yourself as getting it all when I breathe me last, don’t you, eh? Well, you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.’ He paused, enjoying the confusion on the younger man’s face. Suddenly his withered features crumpled into a surprising smile. What he said was even more surprising. ‘In all truth, I can’t see that you’d steal from me,’ he muttered cautiously, smiling deeper when the other man visibly relaxed. ‘Mebbe you lost the money,’ he said, ‘but no matter. It’s only four guineas. I’ll stop it from your wages at the end of the month.’ It pleased him to see the shock his words delivered, and before David could protest, he lied, ‘You’ve been a help to me since my old bones went crook, and I’ll see you get your dues when the time comes. But there’s something else playing on my mind at the minute.’ He sat back in the chair. ‘You know the land that’s coming up for auction?’
‘You mean Tobias Drew’s properties?’ The old man had pointed the article out to him some time ago, but David had thought it unwise to consider such a large project.
‘I intend to bid.’
‘You know my thoughts on that, Father. You’ve already built your holdings up to over a hundred houses, plus some useful parcels of land. I’m worried that you’re taking on too much.’
‘Oh, aye? Concerned for my health, are you? Or is it that you’re worried about having to work a bit harder for the grand wages I give you… wages that’s been strangled out of me by that bloody woman o’ yours?’
‘That’s uncalled for. I won’t deny I find it harder to keep pace, what with collecting the rents, keeping the books ready for the accountant, and overseeing the more recent purchases, like the six acres of land in Accrington which we’re negotiating to sell on. Then there’s the matter of Larkhill, and the houses that were made derelict by that tragic fire.’
‘Bugger Larkhill! If it weren’t for that bloody fire, you’d never ’a’ brought that damned woman and her brats to this house.’ Sensing he was going too far, the old man was more cautious. ‘Water under the bridge,’ he mumbled. ‘As for Larkhill, I don’t want to know. I ’ve told you… that’s your responsibility. I’m sick to death of the worry it’s brought, what with the leaseowners demanding money from me, when I’ve no bloody rents to collect there… I don’t know which way to turn. They want to finish me, that’s what it is! The buggers want to see me go under. I’ve asked ’em to sell me the land so I can develop it but they won’t see sense. They’re keeping me to the contract… wanting their pound o’ flesh. I tell you it’s an impossible situation! The agent knows you’ve got full authority as far as Larkhill’s concerned. Do what the hell you like with it, only I don’t want it being a bloody millstone round my neck. The authorities are already threatening me with letters claiming the derelict houses are a public danger.’
Unlike his stepson, who favoured building houses for sale or rent, Luther Reynolds was a cold and calculating thinker, a man who thought with his emotions; a legacy no doubt, of being starved of love for so many years.
* * *
Much later, when the children were asleep and the house was quiet once more, Beth lay in bed beside her husband. His head was lying in the crook of her arm and the flat of his hand was spread over the bulge of her stomach. On coming upstairs, he had turned to her for comfort, desperate to make love, needing to feel the growing swell of her body that was his own flesh and blood and, as always, he was moved to tears by it. He was quiet now, his physical needs satisfied, and the hurt cried out of him.
Beth lay very still. Her arm was aching from his weight, and her body was sore from his eager lovemaking. Inside her, there was a small life forming, something precious and wonderful; but there was also a deadness in her, weighing her down like a physical burden, a burden that grew harder to bear with every passing day.
The house was so quiet. So deathly quiet, the eerie stillness broken only by the gentle snoring of the man beside her. She turned towards the window. The curtains were partly open, allowing the merest glimmer of moonlight to creep in. Her thoughts began to wander. Somewhere out there, in a room perhaps much like this one, Tyler was with his woman. His image rose in her mind now. The years had not changed him too much; he was still as she remembered, the same virile, darkly handsome man who had won her heart, held her as close as any man could hold a woman. As close as he was now holding the other woman… the other woman. Her lips formed the words, a small cry. ‘Oh, Tyler.’ Torturing herself, she pictured him now, him and the other woman, lying in a bed much the same as the one she herself was lying in… making love. He whispering endearments in his lover’s ear, the joy of lying in each other’s arms… the ecstasy afterwards, the contentment of just being together.
Beth remembered it all as though it was only yesterday; it was etched on her mind and in her heart for all time. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She was curious as to how he felt when he saw her at the docks the other day. He must have noticed that she was with child. Was he just the slightest bit jealous? Maybe he was riven with guilt? Did he think her attractive still? Was there even the slightest echo of the love they had known? But, no, of course not! How could there be?
Turning from the window, she gazed on the face of her husband, a kind face and not unattractive, with its straight features and good skin, and the unruly mop of hair that tumbled over his forehead; he stirred in her arms, whimpering like a child, and pressing himself against her. Suddenly, the very touch of him was obnoxious to her.
Sliding her arm from beneath him, Beth got out of bed and, wrapping her robe about her shivering form, went first to the window, where she looked out at the moonlit night. Then, not wanting to return to bed, she made herself comfortable in the wicker armchair, her eyes gazing on her husband’s sleeping face. ‘How like a child you are,’ she murmured, unable to quell the feeling of disgust that he sometimes wrought in her. His needs were insatiable. Yet she had needs too. Needs he could never understand. She did not want a child to walk through life beside her. She needed someone strong of heart, someone to talk with, to make plans with, someone who made her laugh, who understood her in the way a man understands a woman. David could never do those things. He would not know how to.
From somewhere in the lower regions of the house, laughter told Beth that Luther Reynolds was still awake. The thought made her shiver deep within herself. Glancing once more at the figure in the bed, she could not bear the thought of climbing in beside it. Instead, she curled deeper into the chair, closed her eyes and was soon asleep.
* * *
Downstairs, the old man gathered together the piles of coins and laid them in the tin chest. He then placed the ledger on top, and locked the articles into the sturdy cupboard beside the chimney breast. Afterwards, he returned to the desk, where he opened one of the smaller drawers, and from it counted out a number of shiny coins… totalling four guineas in all. Chuckling wickedly, he thrust them into his waistcoat pocket, collected the lamp from the desk top, and quietly departed the room. ‘I’ll go to Liverpool,’ he whispered as he hobbled up the stairs, ‘and I shall outbid all of them.’ His face was a study in cunning as he told the paintings of his ancestors, ‘It’s all for him… all for my son Arnold Thomas.’ He chuckled again. ‘The bugger said I’d never make a businessman. Well now, Arnold Thomas will eat his harsh words when he’s living in the lap o’ luxury.’
A small sound caused him to turn his head ‘What’s that?’ he said into the darkness. It was only the night, the sound of an old house creaking, and the dark deceit in his own cold heart. Unnerved, he pushed forward. His voice was the merest whisper as he stared down the landing towards a particular door, his mind imagining the two people behind it; two people he resented beyond words.
‘Sleep in a warm bed while you can, because you’ll be in the gutter soon enough, the lot of you.’ He chuckled as he went on his way. ‘Wherever you are, son, your old father means to find you, to put things right between us before his old bones is laid into the ground,’ he muttered. ‘I still ain’t forgiven you for what you said, but when all’s said and done, blood’s thicker than water.’ Discounting all the years during which his stepson had sacrificed a life of his own to follow an old man’s dictates, he pressed on to his bed. ‘There’s much to be done,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Much to be done.’
* * *
Two weeks later, on the morning of the auction, a determined knock on the door sent Cissie flying headlong down the hallway from the kitchen, with Beth in close pursuit; young Richard was already upstairs with his newly appointed day-tutor, and David was closeted in the den with Luther, going over the final details for the auction.
‘It’s two men,’ Cissie whispered, peering through the keyhole, her blue eyes squinting into the daylight and a look of mischief on her pretty face. Much to Beth’s disapproval, Cissie had lately taken to observing visitors through the narrow chink, seeming to derive great pleasure from the knowledge that they could not see her. She began giggling. ‘Rough-looking blighters, they are,’ she told Beth who was now alongside her.
‘Come away from there!’ Beth chided, tugging at the girl’s smock and edging her away. But then she opened the door and was ready to agree with Cissie; the visitors really were ‘rough-looking blighters’.
‘Top o’ the morning to yer,’ said the older one, grabbing his tatty beret off his black unruly mop of hair. ‘Would there be a Miss Elizabeth at this ’ere address?’
‘Yes,’ Beth replied in a curious voice. ‘There would.’
‘And is that yourself?’
‘It is.’
The fellow smiled a broad toothless smile, looking from Beth to his companion, then back again. ‘Ah, well.’ He dug deep into his jacket pocket, the grin fixed on his face and his bloodshot eyes regarding Beth with interest; at length he drew a mangled envelope from his pocket and, flourishing it grandly, explained, ‘This ’ere’s from a lad we come across in a foreign port.’ He made a loud noise through his cavernous nostrils. ‘The lad asked a favour of an old shipmate, and being as he was most polite, how could that shipmate refuse, I ask you? How could he refuse, eh?’ He glanced at his young companion; a thin scrag of a man, with a long thin nose and small sunken eyes.
‘Well, you couldn’t refuse, matey,’ this companion acknowledged. ‘Not seeing as how politely the young feller asked an’ all.’ He smiled at the other man, then smiled at Beth, then at Cissie who, struck with horror at the thin man’s strikingly unpleasant face, pressed herself closer to Beth.
‘Accept the letter then, miss,’ the older man insisted, holding it out for Beth to take. ‘The lad said you might be glad of word as to his daring adventures. A nice enough lad… Matthew. Aye, that were it… the lad’s name were Matthew.’
‘Matthew!’ Cissie had only now realised that these two merchantmen had brought news of her brother. ‘Oh, Beth. It’s a letter from Matthew!’ In her great excitement she thrust herself forward and grabbed the older man by the hand, which she shook up and down, crying, ‘God bless you, sir. God bless the pair on you.’
‘Well, I’m buggered!’ said the scraggy one. ‘Whoever woulda thought a lad could leave such a pretty little gal to go off on some faraway adventure, eh?’ He glanced at his mate, then feasted his eyes on Cissie once more.
‘Thank you both,’ Beth told them, at the same time stepping between the men and Cissie; she did not like the way the younger man was regarding the girl. Reaching into her skirt pocket, she brought out a silver shilling which she placed into the older man’s hand. ‘Please divide that between you,’ she said. ‘And I really am most grateful for your errand.’
Knowing when he was dismissed, the older sailor turned to leave, taking the other fellow with him. Ramming the cap back on his head, he nodded. ‘Good day to yer, Miss.’
‘One thing.’ Beth hesitated to keep them lingering, but she had to ask, ‘The boy… Is he well?’
The sailor chuckled. ‘First of all, the “boy” ain’t such a “boy” no longer… life on board a ship in the middle o’ the ocean ain’t for no boy.’ He displayed his empty grin once more. ‘I reckon you’ll find this ’ere boy will come back a man. And, yes…’ He fidgeted and gave a sideways look to his mate ‘… yer could say as ’e were well. Aye, yer could say ’e were well enough.’ With that, he swung away and strode quickly out of sight, the thin fellow hurrying beside him. Once away from Beth’s searching dark eyes, he turned to his mate and said, ‘That boy does have the makings of a man, it’s true. But, like a man, he’ll need to learn that yer don’t break yer heart over them as you’ve left behind, ’cause yer tied to your ship fer as long as the cap’n says so. And yer learn ter keep the tears inside. That way, yer fellow shipmates don’t take
the tar outta yer, and make yer life one long misery.’ He shook his head forlornly. ‘Oh, aye… the lad has the makings of a man. But he’s still a long way to go, poor little sod. But then, we all ’ave to learn the hard way, more’s the pity.’ He grinned, ‘Still, we managed to keep all that to us selves, didn’t we, matey?’
‘We did right, I reckon, ’cause there ain’t no sense in causing upset, that’s what I say.’
* * *
‘What does it say?’ Cissie was impatient to know the contents of the letter. She was on Beth’s heels all the way back to the drawing room, and now, when Beth was seated in the big armchair and eagerly slitting open the envelope with the tortoise-shell letter-knife, Cissie was kneeling on the floor beside her. ‘Go on,’ she was urging. ‘Read it. Tell me what it says!’ Unfolding the letter, Beth swiftly ran her dark eyes over it. Satisfied that it contained nothing which might distress the girl, she read aloud:
Hello, Beth
I thote you and Cissie, and everywun there, wuld like to know how I wus geting on. Well, I’m on bord ship just now, and I’m keping watch with an old hand by the name of Mr Margetson. He’s a gud frend to me and the uther yung fellers. I’m wurkin hard and lurning to be a sailor, so you can be prowd of me.
I don’t know wen I’ll see you agen, but I’m sorry for the things I did, and I’m ashamd. Tell Cissie I luv her, and Richard. David is a gud man.
God bles all of you,
Matthew
When Beth finished reading, she sat still and silent for a moment, her heart aching, and her mind alive with memories of her old friend. She prayed that Maisie could somehow see how well her boy had done for himself, and how he had come to regret the hatred that almost destroyed him. When she raised her head, there were tears in her dark eyes; Cissie’s eyes, too, were bright and full. The letter had subdued them both. Without speaking, she crooked her hand round the back of Cissie’s head, pulling her close until the girl’s head nestled in the dip of Beth’s shoulder. ‘Oh, Cissie,’ she murmured, ‘aren’t you just so proud of your brother?’
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