by Martina Cole
What was it Tommy had once told her? Possession was nine-tenths of the law? Well, the Dumases had the law on their side and she knew that if they chose to use it, she would have nothing at all. No child, no house and no money.
She saw her baby again in her mind’s eye. His big long body, the red tinge to his downy hair, and knew he was still hers in so many ways.
Biting her lip, she made a pledge to herself. She could do nothing about her son now; she was too young, too vulnerable and far too poor. What she would do was to let herself heal physically and then work out a plan of action. If it rested with her she would never be vulnerable again, never be in a position to be overlooked by anybody, least of all Henry and Isabel Dumas who had both used her.
For different reasons maybe, but they had used her just the same.
Isabel had left the child sleeping and made her way up to Briony’s bedroom with light feet. She had not felt happiness like this for years. The sheer act of looking at the child made her into a happy carefree woman. She bounded through the bedroom door with a large grin on her face.
‘How are you feeling, Briony?’
The girl in the bed turned to face her and immediately Isabel’s expression changed. Briony looked ill and drawn. Her eyes were dead and even that glorious hair, which usually crackled with a life of its own, looked dull and flat.
Isabel went to her and embraced her, all concern.
Being taken into the arms of the woman who now had her child made Briony’s shoulders heave. Tears seemed to burst from her eyes. These hands, so soft and gentle, the hands that had held her and petted her throughout her pregnancy, were the same hands that would caress and protect her son. Would hold him when he cried, would rub a sore knee better. The very touch of the woman whom Briony both loved and despised brought out the tears that needed to be shed.
Isabel held Briony tightly to her. She stroked the hair that her son had inherited, whispered endearments. She realised that in her own excitement, in her own longing for a child, she had forgotten the very person who had made all her dreams possible.
It would take all her tact and diplomacy now to right the enormous wrong she had done. But one thing was for sure: Briony Cavanagh would not get her child back. Isabel could no more part with him than she could cut out her own heart.
When the crying subsided, she kissed Briony’s cheek and under pretext of plumping up her pillows, tried to be as normal as possible.
‘Are you feeling better, dear?’ Her voice was all kindness and sympathy.
Briony nodded.
‘I have heard tell that many women get crying fits after a birth. It’s natural.’
‘How’s the child?’ Briony’s voice seemed harder than Isabel remembered it.
‘Oh, very well. A big healthy child. Briony, how can I ever thank you for what you’ve done for me? I look at him, and everything in my life has taken on a new meaning. I’ll give that boy the earth if he wants it. I’ll give him everything he wants and more. Much more.’
Briony nodded, gratified to hear that. She could hear the love and the want and indeed the need in the other woman’s voice as she talked of the child, and already it seemed he was long gone from her.
‘Is he a good baby?’
Isabel heard the little tremor in her voice and found it in her heart to pity this girl-woman in front of her.
‘Oh, he’s a perfect little boy. Sleeps on his tummy, as young as he is. Not a day old! He pushes his arms from the swaddling and turns himself on to his stomach. He’s a baby who knows his own mind already. Like his mother, I would say.’
Her voice was jocular, and it pleased Briony to hear that, as Isabel knew it would.
‘And Henry, what does he think of the child?’
Isabel took a small breath.
‘Henry wants what I want. His opinion is nothing in this.’
Briony nodded again. It was as it should be. If Isabel had said that Henry was pleased with the child it would have troubled her. If the child was to stay with the Dumases, as it was, she didn’t want Henry Dumas to stake too large a claim. For the child’s own safety.
Isabel swept the hair from Briony’s forehead and smiled. ‘I know it’s hard to give him up, dear. If I had birthed him, it would break my heart to give him up. But it’s all for the best. After all, what would you do with a child, no man and no money? What would your mother and sisters do?’
Even as she spoke the veiled threat, Isabel felt a disgust with herself that was forced down by her need to keep what she had taken. It would do no harm to remind Briony of the consequences of any rash actions.
‘I have arranged for two thousand pounds to be made available to you. Once you’re up and about I shall take you personally to see the banker and to find out how to write cheques. The house is going into your name as well. You’ll be a woman of substance and wealth. The next child you have will be born to something better than you were. The world’s out there waiting for you, Briony Cavanagh, and I have no doubt, no doubt at all that, you’ll be someone in it!’
Briony didn’t respond. She was more than aware of what all this talk was really about. It was about Isabel’s having the child in exchange for giving Briony comfort and money. The two things that had brought her to this house would now be used to trap her.
‘Thank you very much, but I just want to get back on my feet for now. I’ll think about the future then.’
‘As you wish. I’ve arranged all your menus for the next few days and I’ll pop in again tomorrow to see you.’
Briony knew the woman wanted to get away from her. Knew that she wanted to be back in her own home with the child.
Isabel kissed Briony’s cheek with hot feverish lips. Suddenly, she had to get out of here and away from this creature in the bed. Even as she thought it she knew she was being unfair. But like everything that is used for the wrong reasons, Briony was a source of annoyance. Isabel admitted to herself that a large part of her feelings was of guilt. As she walked to the door, Briony’s voice stayed her.
‘What did you call him, Isabel? What’s his name?’
She turned once more and smiled gently. ‘He’s Benedict. Benedict Dumas.’
Briony nodded and looked out of the window where she could see the roofs of the houses opposite and an expanse of blue sky.
She heard the door shut behind Isabel and clenched her fists together on the counterpane.
Benedict. Benedict, my son.
My flesh and blood.
It was not a name she would have chosen herself. It was a name for a child of the Dumases. Somehow, even the name made the gulf between Briony and her child wider.
Tommy Lane had had a good day. He was happy as he made his way up the path to Briony’s house. In his hand he carried a bunch of flowers. Red carnations, blood red. He knocked at the front door with a flourish. He was looking forward to seeing Briony. The door was opened by Cissy, and he took in the split second hesitation as she looked at him and deliberately walked back into the hall. He smiled at her.
‘I’ve come to see Miss Bricany Cavanagh.’
‘Well, I didn’t think you’d come to see me, lad.’
Her sharp cockney accent made Tommy smile.
‘I’m not sure what Mrs Horlock’s going to say about this, I’m sure.’
‘I’m not too worried about Mrs Horlock, love. You go and tell Briony that Tommy Lane’s here and wants to see her.’
Mrs Horlock appeared as if from nowhere.
‘You’re not seeing anyone, young man.’
Tommy sized the old woman up and decided she sounded more ferocious than she looked.
‘As I was just remarking to this young lady, you go and tell Briony that Tommy Lane’s here. I think she’ll see me.’ It was said with an air of confidence that made Mrs Horlock bristle.
‘She’s only just out of childbed. It ain’t seemly!’
Tommy rolled his eyes and started walking up the stairs. Cissy watched Mrs Horlock dart up behind him and threw her
apron over her head in shock, closing her eyes tightly.
The cheek of him!
Brushing Mrs Horlock off like a fly, he opened all the doors he came to until he found Briony. Holding out the flowers at arm’s length, he walked over to her with Mrs Horlock soundly berating him as she chased in behind.
‘It ain’t right, Miss Briony! This lout here needs a clout round the earhole. Pushing his way in and upsetting the whole house. Suppose the mistress had been here? What would have happened then, I ask you?’
Briony took the carnations and held them under her nose. She breathed in the scent of them and smiled. Her first real smile. Pointing them at Mrs Horlock, she snapped: ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, to all intents and purposes I’m the mistress here now! So take these flowers and put them in water, and then bring us some tea.’
Tommy stifled a grin at the look of utter shock on the old woman’s face. But she did as Briony asked her, taking the flowers with a snatch of the hand and a glare in his direction, before stamping from the room, slamming the heavy door behind her.
‘You look ill, girl, and I’m not surprised with that nutty old cow looking after you!’
He went to the window and opened it wide. ‘Get some air in here, for Christ’s sake.’
Briony watched him and felt a stirring inside her. She had needed a pick-me-up and it had come in the shape of Tommy Lane.
‘So how are you then?’
Briony smiled at him. ‘Not too bad, Tommy.’
He sat on the end of the bed and grinned at her. He knew instinctively that the child wasn’t in the house. There was no evidence of it anywhere. He took in the white face and the bound breasts and his heart went out to the girl in front of him. He immediately launched into a convoluted story that made Briony laugh despite herself and forget her own worries for a few moments. Mrs Horlock, bringing up the tea tray, heard the laughter coming down the stairs and decided that she would not press Briony about the boy. If he could cheer her up, he could move in for all she cared! She brought in the tray of tea, and a little while later a tray of sandwiches and cakes, without being asked. As Tommy ate another sandwich in one gobble, Briony grinned.
‘That means she likes you really, you got her angel cake.’
Tommy laughed. ‘I don’t care whether she likes me or not. We’re friends, ain’t we? Why can’t I visit a friend?’
He finished his sandwich and then asked Briony the question that had been in his mind since entering the house.
‘Where’s the baby?’
She sipped her tea delicately and the natural grace as she did this made Tommy want to grab her and hold her to him. To look after her.
‘Isabel - Mrs Dumas - took him last night.’
Tommy nodded.
‘Well, it’s for the best, girl. You’re only thirteen, you don’t want a nipper hanging around your neck at your age. Not only that, they can give him much more’n you could even if you had a man. Get yourself better, get yourself up and around. Start over again.’
Briony nodded at him, her face sad.
‘Come on, Bri, you don’t want to go worrying about what’s done. You just start worrying about what you’re going to do next. Now then, has she signed the house over to you?’
‘Oh, yes, and she’s put two thousand pounds away for me.’
Tommy gave a low whisde. What he couldn’t do with that! He had the lowdown now on how to run a good ‘house’. Once he had the capital, he would buy a place and run his own. He wouldn’t stay the rest of his life at Nellie Deakins’. He looked at Briony and a glimmer of a plan formed in his mind.
‘Would you care to invest five hundred in a little business venture with me, Bri?’
She was intrigued.
‘What kind of business venture?’
Tommy took a deep breath and began to speak. And as Briony listened to him, to his plans, to his dreams, she felt a faint stirring in herself.
Chapter Nine
Briony looked around her and took in first the high ceilings, then the grey and gold flock on the walls, and lastly the rather garish chandeliers on the ceiling. She looked at Tommy who smiled at her. She nodded her head, smiling back.
The small stocky man with the handlebar moustaches, Mr Tillier the builder, grinned at them, showing pointed teeth.
‘I knew you’d like it. I ain’t overdone it, see? Now Nellie’s place is nice, but it ain’t got no class. All that red and burgundy, it looks what it is. This place, it’s got a bit of class, and as you’re having only a select clientele, well then, Bob’s your uncle.’
He watched the young couple as they walked from room to room. The boy, or man as he tried to think of him, was cute. Cute as a nine-bob note, and as bent, but the girl - and she was a girl-was a completely different kettle of fish. He’d put her at no more than seventeen or eighteen, though he had heard through the grapevine that she was only coming up to her fourteenth birthday. Well, he mused, she must have pleased someone into giving her the money that she’d been spending like water. Her voice was nice, she spoke well, but it was forced. She still slipped in a ‘bugger’ or a ‘bleeding’ when she spoke to the young man.
He watched her climb the staircase. He was proud of the staircase. It curved round, and any of the ladies who walked down it would be shown to their best advantage. The chandeliers above it were of real crystal, their light giving off a bluish hue that made even the worst skin look good. As toms grew older it seemed the skin was the first thing to go with most of them, so good lighting was a priority for a class house.
He followed them up the stairs and into the first bedroom. This was done out in deep blue and peach, the bed a large fourposter with deep blue velvet drapes around it. Hanging up on the wardrobe door was a woman’s wrapper of the same colour, as sheer as a spider’s web. This would be called the Blue Room. Briony checked that everything was to her satisfaction and, seeing a pair of ornate cherubs over the fireplace, their features picked out in gold leaf, shook her head decisively.
‘They’ll have to go, Mr Tillier. I don’t like them. A big mirror would be much more appropriate, I think.’
He nodded and wrote in his little notebook. She was cute all right. He’d thought they were a mistake himself. Although the walls to either side of the bed had large mirrors running the length of the panels, he thought that another mirror would not go amiss, especially when you thought of what the room was to be used for.
Both men followed Briony through the rest of the house. Each of them seemed to expect her to give the expert opinion and this she did, in a low voice that brooked no argument. There were now ten bedrooms of different sizes. The original six had been divided and rearranged and now there was plenty of room to accommodate ten men at a time. Briony walked down the stairs and through the hallway to the small offices set aside for herself and Tommy. Unlike the rest of the house these rooms were plain with good solid furniture. These were working rooms, and they looked it. Briony sat herself behind a mahogany desk and gently fingered the inkwells and the leather blotter in front of her. She was raring to go. In forty-eight hours she was opening the doors to the most select clientele she could gather. Thanks to Tommy’s knowledge of Nellie Deakins’ customers, they had arranged discreet invitations to the cream of London’s society. Briony looked at her tiny fob watch and stood up.
‘I have to go, Tommy, I’ll leave the rest to you. I want the cherubs gone by this evening, Mr Tillier. I’ll wish you both good day.’
She left them. Both men looked at one another and smiled.
‘How about a glass of madeira, Mr Tillier?’
‘That would be most excellent, Mr Lane.’
He took the proffered drink and was sorry the young lass had gone. She would have had the sense to offer him brandy.
Isabel sat in the park and chatted to Benedict in baby talk. She made a point of sitting away from the nannies and they allowed for this. Initially, they had praised the child and tried to strike up conversations, but once they found out
who Isabel was, they respectfully kept their distance as they realised she did not want company. Then the chatter about Mrs Dumas had reached their ears, through a grapevine of scullery maids, tweenies, and finally cooks and butlers, until the knowledge that Henry Dumas had saddled his barren wife with the child of an unmarried woman, supposedly a widow of good standing, had resounded around London. Now they watched her carefully, seeing her obvious love for the child, and were frankly amazed by it.
Briony got out of her cab and told the cab driver to wait for her. She walked into Barking Park with a feeling of excitement at the prospect of seeing Benedict. She was dressed all in lilac, her hair pinned up in glorious tendrils under a matching hat. She walked with a dignity that was envied by most of the women who saw her, and her small-breasted figure looked just right for the fashions of the day.
Isabel saw her walking towards her and smiled widely. Benedict noticed her and started to clap chubby hands together, crowing with excitement. Briony sat down on the bench and looked into green eyes so like her own.
‘How is he?’
‘Thriving. Look at him. He doesn’t stop eating and poor Sally is run off her feet looking after him. How are you?’
Briony peeled off her gloves and took her son’s hands in her own.
‘I’m OK. We open up soon, so I’m really busy.’
Isabel just nodded at this. The fact that Briony was to open a bordello shocked her more than she liked to admit.
‘How’s your mother?’
‘Funny you should ask that, I’m going to see her today. Eileen’s bad again. It’s a shame because she started to get well for a while. Kerry and Bernie are fine as usual, and poor Rosalee ... well, Rosalee never changes except to get heavier.’
‘Did your mother take Eileen to the doctor I told you about?’
‘Oh, him, yes. He wanted her put away, but we’ll never allow that. We’ll look after her.’
The two women were quiet now, both admiring the child in the perambulator.