by Anna Jacobs
‘If he touched you I’d kill him.’
‘And then they’d hang you. Your father was shot dead for machine breaking. Your brother was transported. They’d say violence runs in your family and blame you, not him, because he’s a gentleman.’ She paused for a moment, waiting to let her words sink in, seeing the moment when Jack understood exactly what they’d be facing if they married.
He looked at her, misery in his eyes.
‘Don’t say anything. Just walk back with me to Parson’s house and then go home to your family. Be glad you have them.’ Because she had no one and never could have.
At the Parsonage gate he stopped and took both her hands in his. ‘If you’re ever in trouble, you’ll come to me, won’t you?’
She nodded, not daring to try to speak.
‘And if I think of a way round this, I’ll come to you.’
She shook her head. There was no hope for them.
‘One kiss?’ His voice was rough with longing.
Again she could only nod.
So he bent his head and took her in his arms, brushing her lips with his, then deepening the kiss until it felt as if they had touched one another’s soul.
As they pulled apart the tears spilled out of her eyes and with an inarticulate murmur she ran inside.
He didn’t even try to brush away his own tears as he walked home. Hadn’t his whole life shown him that the rich could do as they pleased? That he could not have what he wanted most without hurting those he loved? But not even his father’s death and his brother’s transportation had been as painful as losing Emmy.
One evening George went up to check why Peggy had not come down with the other girls who were waiting for clients of The Golden Swan, his newest business venture with Marcus Armistead and a much bigger place than the first one. He found her room empty and, although she was normally the tidiest of girls, her possessions strewn all over the place as if someone had ransacked it.
Worried, he checked all the other attic bedrooms quickly but found nothing, then glanced at the stairs that led to the upper attic. No, Peggy couldn’t be up there! Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check. They’d had an intruder once.
He found Peggy’s battered body lying on a blood-spattered bed in the ‘quiet room’ at the top of the house, the one they used for men with strange tastes. She was tied to the bed and the ropes had bitten deep into her wrists, as if she’d struggled desperately to escape. Why had no one heard her? When he looked into her mouth he found bits of lint and realised she must have been gagged.
It took him a few minutes to pull himself together because he’d had a fondness for poor Peggy who’d reminded him of Madge Carter. Then he started thinking. And worrying. Marcus Armistead had been the last one to see her. Surely he hadn’t done this?
Not wanting to upset the other girls just as customers would be starting to turn up, George went downstairs and said he could find no sign of Peggy. ‘I’ll give her what for when I see her.’
His partner came in later and George took him into the office to say baldly, ‘Peggy’s dead, been murdered.’
‘What? How can she be? I visited her myself earlier today.’ Marcus smiled reminiscently. ‘She’s a most obliging young woman.’
‘Was, not is,’ George corrected.
‘How did she die? Who killed her?’
‘Some bastard tied her up then beat her to death - broke her neck, it looks like.’
‘Did she not cry out? Surely someone must have heard something?’
‘She was only a little woman. He had her tied up and gagged, poor little bitch. I can’t believe such a thing could have happened inside my house.’ Just when they were doing well, when he was so proud of running a clean and orderly business that served only gentlemen.
Marcus began tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘Some villain must have sneaked in. We’d better get a guard for the back door as well as the front. What are we going to do about this?’
George stared at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean? Report it to the authorities, of course. This is murder.’
Marcus raised one eyebrow. ‘George, my friend, do we really want them involved? They might close us down.’
‘Not with a gentleman like you involved.’
‘But the last thing I want is to be publicly associated with The Golden Swan, you know that. It’ll stop me bringing my friends here. And they spend freely.’
George stood scowling at the floor, seeing his fine new business destroyed. It didn’t take much to get a place a bad reputation - and its owner with it. He made an exasperated noise in his throat. ‘We’d better get rid of the body quietly, then.’
Marcus nodded. ‘I think you’re right. You’ll have to do it, though. I don’t know this area and,’ he grimaced down at himself, ‘I’m not exactly the strongest of men.’ With hardly a pause he went on, ‘Now, about Saturday, I’m bringing . . .’
It was only as George was wrapping up the body that it occurred to him that Madge had died in almost exactly the same way, beaten to death, and he stopped what he was doing to frown at poor Peggy’s battered face. Surely it couldn’t have been the same person who killed them? No, of course it couldn’t. What was he thinking of? Madge had died on the moors near Northby. That was miles away from here.
Then the thought came unbidden: Marcus visited Northby sometimes and he had been here earlier today. George shook his head. No, Marcus was an undersized fellow. Any woman could fight him off for long enough to scream. It had to have been someone bigger, someone who’d taken Peggy by surprise. Besides, why would Marcus damage his own business? No, it didn’t make any sense at all.
George disposed of the body by leaving it on some waste ground in the small hours of the morning. He couldn’t hide the fact from the other women that Peggy had vanished suddenly, or that he had gone into the girl’s sleeping quarters in the lower attics and packed up her things himself. ‘Found herself a protector, the lucky bitch,’ he told them.
But although they did not question this openly, they did a lot of muttering to one another and stopped talking when he went near them for the next few days.
The youngest of his girls, another rather small woman, ran away a few days later.
None of the others would say why.
Still sure the girls knew something, he took one of them aside and offered her ten guineas to tell him.
‘Ten guineas and a coach ticket to London,’ she insisted. ‘And not a word of this to Mr Armistead. What’s more, you’re to put me safely on the coach yourself.’
He hated to lose her. But he also hated not knowing what had happened and worrying that it might happen again. He needed to know. ‘All right.’
He didn’t believe what she told him at first. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces fell together.
When he was putting her on the coach, she turned and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re all right, George, but that other fellow is poison. Get rid of him. He’ll bring you down.’
But he couldn’t get rid of Marcus Armistead who had sunk a great deal of money into this enterprise. And if he challenged him, who knew what Marcus might do? The rich could get away with all sorts of things.
Did nothing in the world ever go sodding right?
He’d have to bide his time and see what else he could find out, but he wasn’t going to put up with any more murders, by hell he wasn’t! George didn’t like anyone upsetting his girls - anyone at all.
And if it really was Marcus doing it, well, rich men could go missing as well as poor little whores. But before he did anything he had to find some proof.
16
Jack went home burning with resentment and despair. Of course his mother saw something was wrong and sent the others to bed early.
‘What’s wrong, son?’ she asked, laying one hand on his shoulder.
Only as she spoke did he look up and realise they were alone. ‘Is it bed time already?’
As he started to get up, Netta pushed him dow
n again and sat beside him on the wooden settle his father had made for them. She kept hold of his hand, clasping it tightly in hers and looking earnestly into his eyes, not saying anything.
From the front room he could hear Meg murmuring to her little daughter. From upstairs the creaking of beds showed that the children were not yet asleep. He sighed as he studied his mother’s face. She was looking older recently and her hair was fully grey now with none of the rich brown colour left. Why had he not noticed that change? He could remember her hair shining in the sunshine once and his mother smiling at the world with her hand linked in his father’s arm. Not only his younger brothers and sisters, but memories like that, together with the pity he now felt for her, were what tied him to her, even though Meg said he was a fool to give up his own life.
The old resentment against his father surged up again and with it a strong desire to be left alone. ‘Go to bed, Mam. Leave me be.’
She shook her head. ‘No. Something’s upsetting you. I’ve never seen you so low before, son. Is it -’ she hesitated ‘- a woman?’
He nodded, then said in a tight voice, ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to worry. She won’t have me.’
Netta’s mouth fell open in shock. ‘You’ve asked a lass to wed you without telling me? Who is she? Do we know her?’ When he didn’t answer, she asked in a sharper tone, ‘What did you think would happen to the rest of us if you got married?’
‘I’d worked it all out and -’
‘Well, I’m not having it!’
Anger surged up in him. ‘It’s not just your decision, though, is it? And it’s more than time you thought about me and what I need. I’m not without a man’s natural feelings, you know. I’d like a wife and family of my own. I’ve wanted it for years and well you know it.’
She pressed one hand against her mouth, moaning behind it. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? Still her. The whore’s bastard!’
‘Don’t ever talk about Emmy that way!’ Jack jerked his hand away and went to stand with one foot on the brass fender. As he stared down into the dying embers of the fire, he said more gently, ‘Emmy’s not at all like her mother. Do you think Parson would have her living in his house if she wasn’t a decent lass? You’ve never even given her a chance.’
Netta’s tone became piercingly shrill. ‘Parson can have who he wants in his house, but that one’s never coming into mine! Never! If you bring her across the doorstep, I’m leaving.’
Meg’s voice interrupted them from the doorway that led to the tiny hall. ‘She’d never leave. She’s bluffing you, Jack, been doing it for years. If you want to get wed, you do it. I’ll welcome your wife with open arms. An’ we’ll manage, too. It’s not just you bringing in the money now. There are my wages coming in as well, and Shad’s, an’ Ginny’s looking for work.’
Netta spat the words across the room. ‘Your wages, Meg Pearson! You’re a fine one to talk! It’s not just wages but another mouth to feed, a child to care for, that you’ve brought us. You can only work because I look after your Nelly. You’re one of the burdens our Jack carries - an’ so do I.’
Meg gave her a bitter look. ‘I more than earn my keep and Nelly’s, and well you know it. You take most of my wages every week. Don’t think I don’t know about the money you’ve got saved under the floorboard now. I’ve seen you putting coins in there. We all know about your little hiding place, actually, Jack as well.’
Netta folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, someone has to think of the bad times. What if you came home with another babby in your belly? What’d happen to your wages then?’
‘The only baby I’ve ever had was born to my husband, an’ he’s the only man I’ve ever had as well. If Ben hadn’t died I’d not have come home at all. Do you think your nagging makes for a happy home? And when will you admit we’re not lacking food in our mouths or clothes on our backs?’
‘It doesn’t matter what we’ve got now. Good times don’t last, and I deserve a bit of comfort after the hard life I’ve had.’
Meg made a scornful noise in her throat. ‘You don’t deserve anything, Mam, an’ what’s more, you’ve no right to prevent our Jack from marrying the lass he loves.’ She turned to him and asked more gently, ‘It’s Emmy Carter, isn’t it? I’ve seen you looking at her in church. She has a sweet face an’ I don’t blame you for wanting to live with someone who knows how to smile. You call Mam’s bluff, our Jack. Bring your lass home and tell her she can like it or lump it.’
‘Don’t let her talk to me like that!’ Netta wailed, clutching his arm.
But for once he was unsympathetic. Meg was right. They would manage somehow if he married. Especially with Mrs Oswald’s money behind them. He had to persuade Emmy to marry him, not for the money but because he didn’t think he could live without her. ‘Go to bed now, Mam. It’s getting late.’ Then he went back to staring into the fire.
Sobbing, Netta stumbled up the stairs.
He thought he was alone until he heard the soft sound of Meg’s felt slippers on the stone-flagged floor. She came to stand beside him and laid one hand on his shoulder, a light butterfly touch. The hand was removed almost immediately. Funny, he thought, Meg doesn’t like to touch anyone now except for her child.
‘It is Emmy Carter you care for, isn’t it?’ she repeated.
He nodded.
‘And does she care for you?’
He smiled. ‘Oh, yes. I’m sure she does.’
‘Then don’t let Mam ruin your life, Jack!’
‘How could I bring Emmy home to that?’ He jerked his head towards the back bedroom where his mother slept with Ginny. ‘She’d make our life a misery.’
‘She makes everyone’s life a misery anyway because she has to have someone to cling to. First Dad, then you. An’ yet she can’t even be kind to them when she’s got them.’ Meg sighed and stared bleakly into the dying fire. ‘I’d get out if I could see any way to do it, Jack.’
‘Where would you go?’
‘I don’t know. I’m a good worker, but there’s Nelly. I have to be able to look after her.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Any road, I won’t leave you on your own with Mam—well, not unless she drives me mad with her moaning and nagging. Eh, I’ll be no good for work in the morning if I don’t get some sleep.’ She yawned and padded off towards the front room where she and her child slept.
Jack stood there, losing himself in his thoughts again until the embers sighed and settled still lower, making him realise how late it was. He went up to the bedroom he shared with Shad and Joe. They were asleep, huddled together in the middle of their bed. He got into his own, but it felt cold and lonely.
It was a long time before he got to sleep and Emmy’s face filled his dreams.
The following day when everyone was at work, Netta Staley left her granddaughter with a neighbour and went to the Parsonage, knocking on the back door and asking to see Emmy.
Cass called out, ‘It’s Jack’s mother to see you, love. Go and sit in the garden with her for a few minutes. It’s a mild day and you’ve been looking downright peaky since that attack.’
So Emmy went outside, hoping desperately that his mother had come to tell her it was all right for her and Jack to marry. But the expression on Mrs Staley’s face burst that small bubble of hope almost immediately. ‘You’d no need to come. I’ve already refused him,’ she said wearily.
‘I’m here to make sure of that.’ Netta glared at her, arms akimbo. ‘How he can even think of wedding such as you, I don’t know. You look like your mother. I used to see her playing in the street when she was a little lass. All the lads used to look at her even then, she was that pretty. But she was rotten inside! An’ so are you. It’s born into women like you an’ I’m not having a decent lad like my Jack caught in your snares. I’ll kill you myself first. They might hang me, but at least he’d be safe then.’
So virulent was the hatred on her face, so vicious her tone, that Emmy took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Think on!’ Netta sai
d, moving forward to thrust her face close to Emmy’s. ‘My Jack’s not for such as you. An’ that’s all I have to say.’ She turned on her heel and strode out of the garden.
Emmy stood there for a moment or two, shaken by the encounter, then returned to the house, feeling quite wretched. ‘I’ll go and dust Parson’s study,’ she said, her voice breaking on the last word. She fled from the kitchen.
‘What’s that dratted woman been saying to her?’ Cook wondered aloud. But she was making a cake and did not dare let her attention wander.
A few minutes later Gerald Bradley went into his study for a book and found Emmy there, clutching a feather duster and sobbing quietly but despairingly. ‘What’s wrong?’
But she couldn’t answer him, she was weeping so hard.
He guided her towards a chair and she went with him like a limp rag doll, almost collapsing on it. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, child? Has that man come after you again? Surely he wouldn’t dare do anything while you’re in my house?’
She shook her head blindly.
‘Tell me,’ he insisted.
The words came slowly at first, interrupted by sobs, then the story gathered momentum and she unburdened herself to him.
After she’d finished he sat with his head bowed, then sighed and looked across at her. ‘I think you’ve made the right decision, Emmy,’ he said at last. ‘It hurts now, I know, but you’re young still and one day, when you’re living somewhere else - a place where people don’t know about your mother - you’ll find a man who doesn’t have Jack’s problems.’
She stared at him, misery clamping itself around her like a leaden shell. ‘I’ve loved Jack Staley for years, since soon after we came to Northby. I know I couldn’t love anyone else.’