‘Oh, I don’t want to!’ the other woman protested, yet she was greatly relieved that Beth had spelled it out. ‘But lately the business hardly brings in enough to keep me, let alone pay Cissie’s wages.’ She went on to assure Beth that: ‘Should business pick up, I’ll be knocking on your door, I can promise you that. Cissie’s a good worker, and the customers like her merry chat.’
Beth nodded, and smiled, and wondered what would become of them all. She politely finished her tea while listening to Moll’s tale of woe, and then she left the woman with a few kind words of reassurance before leaving the premises with Cissie and the boy laughing and chatting beside her. They did not yet know what had transpired, and so thankfully were unaware of the hardships that lay ahead.
* * *
On the following Monday morning, Beth walked the half mile into Blackburn town centre, where she reported to the offices of Marriott and Pikesley, the firm of solicitors who had taken care of Luther Reynolds’ affairs when he was alive, and now were in charge of executing his will. Beth was extremely nervous as she was shown into the waiting room by a young woman with an authoritative air and an irritating habit of screwing up her nose in order to save her tiny spectacles from sliding over the tip of it. ‘I’ll keep that for the moment,’ she told Beth, taking the long brown envelope in which was the letter informing her of the time and place of the will-reading. Beth had been tempted to stay away and wait for the bad news to come to her, but at the last moment had decided she would rather face it head on. ‘There are some magazines on the table,’ the young woman said in a squeaky voice. ‘Mr Marriott won’t be too long.’
The hard wooden chair struck cold as Beth sat down. The room was surprisingly austere, as the partners in this firm undoubtedly raked in a considerable income from their many business clients. The walls were an unwelcoming shade of green, the carpet threadbare in places, and apart from the half-dozen chairs positioned around the walls, there was only one other piece of furniture – a rather scratched and unattractive small oval table in the centre of the room.
Half an hour later Beth was still waiting, and growing increasingly anxious. She wondered whether Cissie and the boy were all right. Normally, young Richard would be in the middle of his lessons by now, but Beth had found it necessary to give the tutor notice, and she herself had taken over responsibility for Richard’s schooling. Although she enjoyed the challenge, she was well aware of her own limitations. The situation was not to her liking, but it was the best solution in the circumstances.
Sitting in that cold, unfriendly room, chilled to the marrow and convinced that soon she would be told to leave the house in Buncer Lane, Beth was besieged by all manner of doubts and anxieties. This past week she had trudged from one end of Blackburn to the other, searching for rooms where she and the children might set up home. Every answer was in the negative. ‘Sorry dear, we don’t take children’ or ‘With no man, how are you going to pay the rent? Oh, no, I’m afraid I can t help you. No one with any room to let was prepared to take in a woman with two children and another on the way, and, in all truth, she could not really blame them. After all, they had a living to make, and even Beth could not see how she would be able to pay the rent after her meagre savings were depleted.
Cissie was an angel… going out early in the morning to lend a hand to anybody that needed it, and returning each night with a few coins that she would give to Beth – ‘To keep us out of the workhouse’ she would say with a wry little smile. Beth had also earned her keep by taking in two of her neighbours’ children and charging one shilling each child for five mornings’ tuition. She would have recruited more, but there was much suspicion of Luther Reynolds’ daughter-in-law. It was too well rumoured how she had been the cause of the tragic fire in Larkhill when three people lost their lives. The people of Buncer Lane had long kept their distance from the feared and disliked Luther Reynolds, and saw no reason to acquaint themselves with the woman who had been a mere lodger in one of his rundown properties.
The sound of the heavy oak door opening into the reception area startled Beth out of her reverie. But what happened next shocked her to the core. She heard footsteps coming closer, ever closer. In a minute a man was at the reception desk, his voice addressing the young woman. ‘Arnold Thomas Reynolds, to see Mr Marriott.’ His voice came to her out of the past, striking dread to her heart. In her confusion, Beth heard the woman’s polite reply, ‘Mr Marriott has a client with him, but he won’t be long, sir. Mrs Miller is already here, in the waiting room. If you would care to join her I’ll inform Mr Marriott that you’re both here.’
‘Ah!’ Tom Reynolds was curious to meet his stepbrother’s wife, especially as he suspected she might be due for an inheritance of sorts. ‘Then I’ll keep her company, but make sure you let Mr Marriott know I am a busy man and have come all the way from London for this meeting.’
Tom Reynolds! Shaken by the sound of that familiar voice, Beth had gone quietly to the door where she remained half-hidden from sight, her wide, shocked eyes watching as the man approached; the same slight figure, the shock of white hair, the inherent arrogance which had always infuriated her. It all came to her now… Arnold Thomas… Tom Reynolds… was Luther’s son! Panic took hold of her. Frantically, she searched for a way out. The only means of escape was by the door where she was now standing; it was the only way in or out of that small room. There was no escape. What to do? What to do? With every second he came nearer. ‘Take hold of yourself, Beth,’ she murmured. ‘What does it matter if he sees you? What does it matter?’ Oh, but it did matter! Just the sight of him sent shivers through her. Tom Reynolds had always gone out of his way to antagonise her. He was her mother’s closest ally, and would be only too thrilled to run back to Esther with the tale of her downfall. He was a bad sort, and Beth suspected he had created all kinds of mischief for Tyler and herself. He was a man without conscience, a man eaten up by greed, a man tarred with the same wicked brush as her mother. Thinking of it now, she was not surprised he had been created from Luther Reynolds’ seed.
She had to get away! He must not see her! Desperate, she flattened herself against the wall, her heart pounding. Maybe she could slip away as he came into the room? Perhaps he would go straight past? Too late! The room darkened as he appeared in the doorway. She swung round, her horrified eyes meeting his. For a long fearful moment he stared at her, his pinkish eyes bulging out of his head and his mouth partly open as though he was suddenly struck dumb. Then, drawing his thin lips back over his teeth, he smiled; a smile that spoke of evil. ‘Well! Well! Well! Elizabeth Ward,’ he hissed in a soft caressing voice. His eyes devoured her, looking her up and down, pausing with surprise when he saw that she was with child. But then he smiled again. ‘You are… David’s wife!’ He shook his head. He too had received a terrible shock, but he was a man of cunning and quick to adapt.
‘Sit down, my dear,’ he invited. ‘We obviously have a great deal to talk about.’ He stepped forward when she refused his invitation, his hand stroking her arm and his face close to hers. ‘Not so high and mighty now, are you?’ he murmured wickedly. ‘Not so proud, eh? I’m given to understand that my father left me everything.’ He laughed softly. ‘Isn’t it ironic that you could well be living in my house? Oh, but of course… I wouldn’t mind that, my dear. Not if you made it worth my while.’ He could not believe his good fortune.
It was the feel of his hand on her arm that snapped something inside her. Without a word, she thrust her way past him, colliding with the receptionist as she fled the room. She could hear the young woman calling after her, but was too shocked to reply.
* * *
The walk back to Buncer Lane gave Beth time to think, clearing her mind enough for her to realise that she could not stay in the house a moment longer. The shock had left her feeling physically sick. Why had she not realised before? Some years back, Tom Reynolds had confided in her in a moment’s weakness, explaining how he had walked out on his family years ago when, ‘I could see ther
e was nothing to be gained by staying.’ His North-country accent was still evident, even after living in the South for so long. He had chosen a career in land development, the very profession which came so naturally to Luther. Like father like son! Made out of the same mould. Why had she not seen the resemblance between the two men? Arnold Thomas, Tom Reynolds. Why had she not realised?
She had gone to the solicitors that morning, hoping against hope that Luther’s son might be persuaded to let her and the children stay in the house, at least until the baby was born. Now her every hope was dashed. Oh, he wouldn’t mind her living in his house. ‘Not if you made it worth my while.’ Beth was left in no doubt as to what that implied.
Fearing he might have followed her, she quickened her steps. She had to get home to the children. There were plans to be made, and quickly!
She had no time. No sooner had she arrived home to be greeted by two boisterous and inquisitive children, than a carriage drew up and out stepped Tom Reynolds. Cissie saw him from the sitting-room window. ‘Look, Beth,’ she cried, keeping out of sight. ‘There’s a man watching the house.’
On seeing who it was, Beth’s heart fell. Tom Reynolds had dallied on the pavement, his small sharp eyes taking stock of the house and, more particularly, the sizeable piece of land on which it stood. She could almost read his mind. Buncer Lane was in a good area for redevelopment, and where this house stood there was room for any number of smaller dwellings. ‘Come away, Cissie,’ she told the girl.
‘Who is he?’ she wanted to know, reluctantly following Beth and the boy into the kitchen.
Realising that she should pick and choose her words until she knew which way to turn, Beth replied, ‘He’s Arnold Thomas… Luther’s son.’
Sensing Beth’s nervousness, Cissie went on, ‘Did you meet him at the solicitors? Did the old man leave everything to him? Will he let us stay in the house, d’you think, Beth?’
She took a moment to answer. How could she explain?
‘Well, I don’t like him!’ the boy suddenly blurted out. ‘I don’t want him to come here and live with us.’
Forcing a smile, Beth told him, ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. It won’t come to that, I promise you.’
Cissie had been quietly watching Beth. She knew instinctively that something was wrong. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’
Realising that both Cissie and the boy were becoming anxious, Beth was determined that they should not know what was in her mind. When the knock came on the door, she told Cissie, ‘It’s a lovely day. Take Richard into the garden for a while. Mr Reynolds and I have much to discuss.’ Though her ready smile appeared to satisfy the boy, it did not altogether deceive Cissie.
Waiting until the boy had gone on ahead, Cissie asked Beth in a worried voice, ‘If he puts us out on the street… where will we go?’
‘He hasn’t told us to leave yet.’
‘But he will, won’t he?’
Beth shook her head. ‘I don’t know what will happen,’ she said truthfully. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the knock came on the door again. ‘Please, Cissie. Do as I ask and keep Richard happy in the garden until Mr Reynolds has gone. We’ll talk then.’
‘And will you tell me the truth?’ Cissie had been horrified to see how ill and anxious Beth had seemed on returning from the solicitors earlier. In her heart, she knew that Beth was not telling her everything. There was something going on here that was bad, and as far as she could see the worst thing that could happen was for Mr Reynolds to turn them out. Yet, she had the feeling that there was more to it than whether they would be turned out. She had seen the look in Beth’s eyes when the knock came on the door. She was keeping something back, Cissie was sure of it.
Beth looked at her now, her expression serious and her voice little more than a whisper. ‘There are things you should know,’ she said at length. ‘And, yes, I will tell you,’ she assured the girl. ‘Now, will you please do as I ask?’
Cissie regarded her curiously, thinking how strained and pale she was, and how the light had gone from her lovely dark eyes. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she said softly, leaving Beth to make her way along the passage, her heart in her mouth as she saw Tom’s shadowy image through the stained glass in the top half of the door. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and swung the door open.
His bold eyes appraised her, then he smiled slyly, saying in a hard voice, ‘I’m afraid you can’t object to my seeing my own property.’ When she hesitated, he waved an official-looking envelope in the air. ‘We need to talk,’ he added. Beth gave no reply, simply stepping aside while he came into the hallway. As he brushed past her, he deliberately touched her breast with his arm. From that moment on she was on her guard, her suspicions heightened.
He smiled at her, a crafty smile which put her in mind of Luther; then, faced with her stony expression, the smile slipped away. In silence he followed her to the kitchen, his narrowed eyes undressing her as she hurried along the passageway ahead of him. This was his house now, and as far as he was concerned, Beth came with it.
* * *
Outside, the boy had soon forgotten their unwelcome visitor, enthralled by the toy which Moll Sutton had given to him and which he took everywhere. Lying flat on his stomach at the foot of the old apple tree, he chased the wooden tram up and down the tree roots which were pushing up from beneath the earth and making small hills. Cissie sat on a low branch, occasionally watching the boy and smiling at his antics, but her attention was drawn more towards the house. From her vantage point, she could see right into the kitchen without being observed. So far, she had not caught sight of Beth, and wondered about the conversation that might be taking place between those four walls.
‘I’m hungry.’ Richard paused in his play to look up at Cissie with appealing eyes.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ she told him firmly. Realising that Cissie meant what she said, he gave a small moan and resumed his game – only this time he was a make-believe train, chugging round and round the garden, until he was running full pelt and making noises which Cissie told him were ‘enough to frighten the dead’.
Remaining in her tree perch, she continued to watch the house. Soon her patience was rewarded when Beth appeared close to the kitchen window. But there was something wrong! The man was too close, too angry. He had come up behind her, and when Beth swung round, he spread out his arms to pin her there. She lashed out, and soon the two figures were furiously struggling. Realising that Beth was in difficulty, Cissie hurriedly scrambled to the ground, going at a run over the considerable distance that separated her from the house.
‘You’re a fool! Think what I’m offering you, Beth. You can stay in this house as long as you like. All I ask is that you keep me warm whenever I choose to stay.’ Tom Reynolds had her in an iron grip, and no amount of fighting or pleading on Beth’s part would induce him to let her go.
‘Never!’ She continued to struggle, twisting her face away from his, and trying desperately to push him from her.
‘Leave her alone!’ The loud cry made him swing round, his mouth open in astonishment as he found himself staring straight into a pair of ice-blue eyes. Holding herself tall and proud, Cissie told him, ‘Get out of here, or I’ll call a constable to you.’ She stood framed in the doorway, a slight but determined figure. He stared at the girl a moment longer, then turned to look at Beth. Her quiet smile infuriated him, but also whetted his appetite to have her. ‘I’ll be back,’ he shouted threateningly, ‘you’ve got four weeks to think over what I said. It will take me that long to put my own house in order.’ He laughed, straightened his cravat, then gathered his hat and cane from the table. ‘Four weeks, Beth,’ he reminded her grimly. ‘Think on it.’ He pointed his cane threateningly at Cissie. ‘Out of my way, girl,’ he hissed. When, glaring at him, she stepped aside, he went from the room, along the hallway, and out of the front door without a backward glance.
‘Are you all right?’ Cissie ran to where Beth was leaning over t
he sink, her hair dishevelled and her clothes in disarray. She had smiled at Tom Reynolds with defiance, but he had hurt her badly. ‘Come and sit down,’ Cissie pleaded. But Beth would not be persuaded. Instead, she went painfully into the drawing room from where she watched him climb into the waiting carriage. Leaning close to the window, her dark distraught eyes followed the carriage as it rumbled away down the road, its wheels spinning against the cobbles with increasing speed until in a moment it was out of sight. Cissie had come up behind her.
‘Garn, piss off!’ she called after it. Casting a sideways glance at Beth, she obviously expected to be chastised for using such strong language, but all Beth did was to shake her head in disapproval, thinking how Cissie’s remark had echoed her own sentiments exactly. All the same, she would have a word with the girl when the time was appropriate. For now, she was in considerable discomfort, her body aching from top to bottom and her mind feverish with the threat which Tom Reynolds had issued. Having satisfied herself that he really was gone, Beth put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘Don’t be worried by what he said,’ she murmured; it was enough that she herself was deeply concerned.
‘He said we were to get out in four weeks,’ Cissie reminded her. ‘Where will we go? We ain’t got no money, Beth.’
‘That’s for me to worry about,’ she said with a reassuring smile, thinking all the while that Cissie had only spoken what was on her own mind. Things were bad. Suddenly she was seized by a painful spasm that took her breath away. The smile froze on her face and became a grimace of pain. She quickly turned away before Cissie could see. It took all her strength and a great deal of will power to walk the considerable distance back to the kitchen, where she told Cissie, ‘Keep Richard happy while I wash and tidy myself.’
Don’t Cry Alone Page 38