‘It won’t do any good.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’ Tyler recalled the name which Tom Reynolds had uttered that night. He spoke it now. ‘Who is Matthew Armstrong?’ he asked pointedly. ‘And why was Tom Reynolds so fired up when he talked of him?’ At the mention of the name, Ben smiled, a strange sad smile, but still he said nothing. ‘I want to know, Ben,’ Tyler persisted. There were other things he wanted to know, but they could wait. ‘Are you going to tell me exactly what happened?’ He sighed out loud when Ben actually nodded. ‘Everything, Ben. Tell me everything.’
‘All right. I have to admit that it’s all been a terrible burden to me,’ he murmured, his gaze dropping to the table. ‘Maybe it would be a good thing if I purged myself before I’m called to a higher judgement.’
The words had shaken Tyler, for he had had no idea that beneath the booze and the devil-may-care attitude that was characteristic of Ben, there was also a man of some faith. ‘Let’s start with Reynolds,’ he suggested. ‘What were you discussing that night?’
‘You’ll talk with my mother… give her a message from me?’ Ben wanted reassurance. When Tyler gave it, he outlined the message he wanted Tyler to take to Esther; a message of love and regret from a son to his mother. Afterwards, he lapsed into a long soul-searching silence before starting: ‘I hadn’t intended meeting up with Reynolds. It was he who sought me out. He came to the club and, oh, he was in such a strange mood, Tyler… thirsting for blood almost.’ Here he shook his head as though trying to rid himself of the memory.
‘Whose blood?’ Tyler wanted to know. ‘Was it Matthew Armstrong’s blood he was thirsting for?’
Leaning his head back, Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling, and groaned like a man in pain. ‘He was just a boy,’ he cried. ‘Reynolds wanted me to believe that I’d be doing away with a man not worth the air he breathed… a “villain of the worst order”, he called him.’ He looked at Tyler now and there were tears coursing down his face. ‘He was just a boy, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. Frightened out of his mind, he was. I could feel the poor little sod shaking like a leaf. Just a boy… and I was only a heartbeat from ending his life.’ He paused. There was so much more to tell about how his reason fled with his fury at Reynolds; about how Reynolds had boasted that murder was so easy, and didn’t he know better than anybody, because hadn’t he murdered his own father? Other things too… how he had come into a fortune. And worse… much worse… how he had caught up with Beth, and was intent on taking her for himself. All of these things Ben intended to reveal now to Tyler. And, while he was at it, he would ease his conscience about his sister.
But the thought of Tyler’s learning the truth about Beth put the fear of God into Ben. Tyler should know that she had never married Wilson Ryan. He had every right to be told the truth… that Beth had been turned out of the house when it was discovered that she was carrying Tyler’s own child. Ben realised how cruel he had been in deceiving Tyler all this time. This was his opportunity to put it right, but he was afraid that Tyler would be tempted to pull the head off his shoulders for the part he had played in turning Beth out of the house that night.
He looked at the man now, a lonely man, a man hardened by what he had lost. Ben’s courage almost failed him as he stared into those green eyes. He couldn’t easily confess to what he had done. But, if he didn’t, then he must go back to that cell and acknowledge himself for the coward he was. Yet how could he tell Tyler where to find Beth when he didn’t know himself? Although it was common knowledge that Tom Reynolds had come into a sizeable inheritance left to him by his father in the North of England, and that he had spent some considerable time there, he had not told Ben where he had seen Beth… only that she was in dire straits, and he meant to take her for himself.
It was that which had preyed on Ben’s mind as he travelled to commit murder; that, and the fact that Reynolds had sent him to slaughter a mere boy. It was Tyler who had set him thinking, in the carriage when he had pointed out what a scoundrel Reynolds really was. It was Tyler who had made Ben stop and take stock. And so he opened his heart to Tyler now, recounting everything that had been said between himself and Reynolds. And as he talked, he felt better; but when he came to explain about Beth, he saw how Tyler was made to suffer, and Ben knew he would never forgive himself for it.
When he had finished, Tyler remained motionless for a while, his hands spread over his face as though he could not bear to look on the other man. To his watching companion, the silence was unbearable. In a way he would rather have had Tyler lunge for his throat across the table. Instead, when he looked up, Tyler’s expression was immensely calm, his eyes seeming to see straight inside the man before him. Then, without a word, he departed, his head high but his broad shoulders drooping as though they carried a great weight.
* * *
‘I only have a moment, Miss Mulliver.’ Tyler had been upstairs packing when he was obliged to answer the door to her urgent knocking.
The only other person in the house was Mrs Bates. His housekeeper was a dear lady, but once she was in her bed there could be an earthquake and she would happily sleep through it all. ‘Come in, come in,’ he urged. The night was bitter and the hall was losing its warmth. When he first opened the door, he had not immediately recognised Tilly Mulliver for he had seen her only once before on a certain night when he had been bold enough to call for Beth.
‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr Blacklock,’ Tilly started, ‘But you see…’ She paused, nervously looking up at him as she went on,’ It’s just that, well… it’s Beth. Do you know where she is? I must find her.’
He had been smiling, but now his face was both grim and curious. ‘Come through into the sitting room,’ he said, pointing the way with his arm and stepping aside so that she could precede him.
Once inside the pleasant room with its strong dark colours and brown leather armchairs, Tyler bade her sit down. ‘It’s cold out,’ he said. ‘Can I get you a hot drink? Or perhaps you might prefer a drop of good brandy?’ When she gratefully declined both, he sat in the chair opposite her, a serious expression on his handsome face. ‘It’s strange that you should come here seeking Beth,’ he told her, ‘because I was just packing my bag when you knocked on the door. I have a mind to travel North in search of her.’
‘You know where she is?’ Miss Mulliver sat up straight on the edge of the chair, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
‘No. Not exactly,’ he said with regret. ‘But there is word of her, and I mean to find her if it’s humanly possible.’
‘You know then… that Beth was never married to Wilson Ryan?’ All the way here she had prepared herself to confess how she had been aware for some time that he and Beth were betrayed, and that Beth had been disowned by the family on account of her being with child… his child.
His eyes grew dark with anger. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘How much do you know?’
‘Enough to break my heart,’ he confessed.
She looked away and for a moment made no reply, but then she informed him, ‘I don’t think you know it all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did you know that Beth was not Esther Ward’s daughter?’ The effect of her words on him was remarkable. Getting out of the chair, he looked at her long and hard, a stern expression on his face, an expression of disbelief. ‘Not Esther’s daughter?’ He shook his head, and a terrible thought came to him. He recalled how Beth had idolised her father. ‘And Richard?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Is Richard Ward her father?’
‘Oh, yes, there’s no doubt about that.’ She smiled in the knowledge that she had just left Richard with his long-ago sweetheart; but in the smile there was a tinge of sadness. Just as she had feared, he was lost to her now.
‘Then how… ?’ His brain was racing. He had learned so much tonight, and all to do with his darling Beth. He wanted to get out of here, to find her, to keep her safe forever. As God was his judge, he would not return
until he had found her!
‘Beth’s real mother is Elizabeth Manners… Esther’s sister.’ She paused at the shocked expression on his face. ‘It’s a long tragic story,’ she said. All that matters for the moment is that Elizabeth is seriously ill. Beth’s father is with her now.’ She stood up, her eyes appealing to him. ‘Find your Beth,’ she pleaded. ‘Make it soon. And God go with you.’
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he promised, ‘I will find her, Miss Mulliver. It’s my only purpose in life. Where will you be?’ Quickly he went to the desk and took up a pen. As she gave him the address of Elizabeth’s home, he scribbled it down, afterwards thrusting the piece of paper into his pocket. ‘Once I’ve seen you safely home,’ he told her, ‘I have a message to deliver to Esther. After that, I must get to the docks. There’s a certain young man I need to talk to.’ He stroked his face with finger and thumb, his eyes downcast and his thoughts returning to what Ben had told him… Tom Reynolds had been left a fortune… by his estranged father, and he wanted the Armstrong boy murdered. It was an idea, just an idea, but Tyler wondered about Matthew Armstrong. Why did Reynolds want him killed? And was there a chance that the young man might know enough about Reynolds to reveal where he could have met up with Beth?
He bade Tilly Mulliver sit down again while he collected his portmanteau from upstairs. ‘Then we’ll be on our way.’ He delayed a moment. ‘I saw Beth myself, some time back… in Liverpool.’ He remembered how she was… smiling and seeming happy with her family… her family! ‘She was with child when I saw her,’ he went on. ‘There was a man with her, but I couldn’t see his face. And there were children… a girl, who could not have belonged to Beth, and a boy.’ The realisation ran through him like a hot poker, jarring every nerve in his body. ‘A boy!’ He smiled down on the woman’s surprised face. ‘Oh, Miss Mulliver, do you think that boy could have been my own son?’
‘It’s likely, but didn’t you say she was with child and that there was a man with her?’ She regarded him with a degree of sympathy. ‘After all this time, Mr Blacklock, you have to be prepared for the possibility that Beth has married and found happiness in a new life… a life with someone else.’ Cruel words, but they must be said.
He gave a single curt nod, not wanting to acknowledge what she had said, and yet weren’t her words the very same with which he’d been tormenting himself? If it was true that Beth had found contentment in a new life, he would not spoil it for her. Instead he would wish her well, and come away to live out his own loneliness, counting the regrets until the day he died. ‘We shall only know when we find her,’ he said with a half-smile, ‘and the sooner I get started, the sooner I can search her out, God willing.’
Chapter Fifteen
The boy’s laughter filled Beth’s heart with joy. Going to the kitchen window, she looked out into the snow-covered yard, her face wreathed in smiles as she glanced at the newly made snowman by the back gate. Since early light on this Sunday morning, Cissie and Richard had been hard at work, patiently scraping the snow from the flagstones and piling it up into the bulky misshapen thing which Richard had then proudly named after himself. ‘Richard Snowman,’ he said in a solemn voice, at the same time plonking one of David’s old caps on its wonky head. Cissie wanted to know how Richard knew whether it was a boy or a girl ‘snowman’, to which he promptly replied, ‘Because it’s wearing a flat cap, silly!’ There then followed a fierce snowball fight and much falling about, with the two of them covered in great wet clumps of snow that clung to their ears and hair, until Beth could hardly tell which of the three of them was the original snowman.
‘Come on in, you two,’ she told them now, going into the yard with a basket of damp washing between her arms. ‘It’s time to get ready for church.’ The washing had been done since yesterday morning but until now there had not been a single break in the weather. Beth had dried the urgently needed clothes in front of the fire, but the parlour was so small and prone to damp at the best of times.
‘Aw, Beth, do we have to go today?’ Cissie was having so much fun, neither she nor the boy wanted it to end.
‘And, anyway, it’s too cold,’ he protested.
‘Give over, do,’ Beth laughed. ‘There’s sunshine now, and anyway you can wrap yourself up warm and then you won’t feel the cold, will you?’ She was used to all manner of tricks. ‘We’re going to church and that’s that.’ She drew her long brown shawl tighter about her. There wasn’t much warmth in the sun and that was a fact.
‘Five more minutes then?’ Cissie asked.
Beth had to smile. She didn’t know who was the worst, her son or Cissie. ‘Go on then,’ she conceded. ‘Five minutes. But that’s all, mind!’ Maisie had insisted that the whole family go to church at least once a month. And ever since that dear soul was lost to them, Beth had tried to do the same.
As she pegged out the washing on the line, she could hear the squeals and laughter behind her, and occasionally a round fat snowball would come flying past her ear. Hurrying, she thought that Richard was right. It was cold! In a matter of minutes, her ears were frozen and her nose had gone numb. Suddenly, she was aware that she was being observed. Both Cissie and the boy were standing by the gate staring at her and seeming hugely amused. ‘What’s tickling you two?’ she asked. ‘I can’t be that funny a sight, surely?’ She was well aware of her swollen figure, but that would soon be gone.
‘Give over, Richard. That’s not a nice thing to say!’ Cissie reproached the boy. She was suddenly stricken with guilt. ‘He says you look like Father Christmas,’ she explained sheepishly.
‘Well, you do, don’t you, Mammy?’ the boy wanted to know.
‘And how’s that?’ Beth asked, with some curiosity.
‘Because you’ve got a fat belly and a red nose,’ came the innocent observation.
At that, Beth was obliged to burst out laughing. Yes, that was exactly what she did look like. Relieved that she had seen the funny side of it, both Cissie and the boy ran to her and hugged her hard. ‘Hey!’ Shaking them off, she warned, ‘We don’t want the baby arriving just yet,’ adding with a twinkle in her eye, ‘at least, not until after we come back from church.’ As she expected, her remark brought wails of protest. ‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘Your five minutes are up. I’ll expect you to be ready and waiting by the time I’ve finished hanging out this washing.’ She watched as they ran indoors. What would she do without them? she wondered. Those two were the light of her life.
* * *
Less than an hour later, after walking the few hundred yards to the little church where Maisie had been married and was now buried, Beth and the children were seated in a pew, listening to the sermon; it was a moving one on love and friendship, and companionship with our fellow man. Unfortunately, Beth and her children had seen very little of that since moving back into Larkhill. The neighbours had gone out of their way to show contempt for ‘that one as wed David Miller’, and it was a sad thing for Beth. But she did not let it get her down, for that would only make matters worse. Instead, she showed a certain dignity, which only served to alienate her neighbours further.
These past months had made heavy demands on Beth’s savings, and so when they came to pay their respects to those gone before, there was only a small posy of white winter chrysanthemums for Cissie’s mammy; these were laid reverently on the cold hard earth beneath the cross which bore her name. Then, all of them chilled to the marrow, the little trio began its way home.
As she went along, with the boy running ahead and Cissie walking quietly beside her, no doubt thinking of her mammy, Beth’s thoughts went to David. The flowers which she had brought to Maisie were half of a bunch acquired cheaply from Moll Sutton’s shop. The other half she had taken only yesterday to the grander churchyard some two miles away, where David was buried with his stepfather. It seemed a lifetime since the tragedy, when in fact it was only weeks. Both she and Cissie had often spoken about the way things had come about. But now Beth had learned to put the past behind her
. That way she had managed to come to terms with all that had happened in her life. One thing she was thankful for, and that was the fact that Tom Reynolds had not put himself out to track them down; although she could hardly believe her good fortune, because he was not a man known to give up easily. She believed also that he was secretly enraged that his father had left part of his inheritance to Matthew.
‘Why don’t people say hello to us?’ Richard asked, when one couple hurried past, their faces deliberately turned away.
‘’Cause they don’t know no better!’ Cissie retorted angrily. ‘That’s why.’
‘Now, Cissie,’ Beth reprimanded. ‘If people don’t want to talk to us, that’s their right.’ She pretended it didn’t matter, but it did. Very much. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t gone out of her way to make friends, because she had.
The house was bitterly cold when they returned. But then it wasn’t so surprising, when part of the outer wall was missing, and a sizeable chunk of the ceiling above the main bedroom was open to the skies. Still, Beth and the children had worked hard to make a home of sorts here and, to a certain extent, they had succeeded. Some of the furniture was still intact in the house, although it needed a deal of repairing and airing before it could possibly be used; however, Beth had grown useful with a needle and thread and, once they had thrown out the rubbish, scrubbed the place until it shone and lit a fire to air everything, the little house actually began to look cosy. Confining themselves to that part of it which was undamaged, they had made good use of the tiny scullery and the front parlour. Having found numerous old blankets, two eiderdowns and an assortment of old rags, Beth had then recruited the children to help by draping them across that part of the wall which let the weather in. Before the recent snowfall it had worked quite well. But only last night, Beth and Cissie had found it necessary to poke at the billowing ‘walls’ with a broom, in order to expel the snow which had found its way in through the gaping holes and crevices.
Don’t Cry Alone Page 43