by Iris Gower
He frowned grimly. Another thing, Sally Benson had doubtless told Mali the whole gruesome story, which accounted for some of her anger and bitterness towards him.
Bertha let him into the conservatory and there was a look in her dark eyes that told Sterling she knew the truth. Everyone had known it except himself, he thought bitterly.
‘Sterling, how good of you to come and see me.’ Bea’s voice was light, insubstantial and he was appalled to see how frail and ill she looked. She sat down with a small sigh and the thin hands, clasped in her lap, were trembling.
‘Bea, why didn’t you come to me, tell me you were in trouble?’ Sterling said without preamble. ‘Do you think you had the right to go to Mrs Benson like that without even consulting me?’
Bea’s face grew even paler and deep shadows etched themselves under her eyes.
‘You’ve found out,’ she said in a strangled voice. She bit her lip and looked away from him as though ashamed and Sterling felt an almost overpowering sense of pity for her. Before he could move towards her she spoke again.
‘Sterling, I’m going to be married to Dean Sutton,’ she said slowly. ‘Please, won’t you just forget everything that passed between us and leave me to enjoy what I may of my life?’
So that was it, she found it inconvenient to give birth to his child when she was planning to marry someone else. And yet there was a pleading for understanding in her eyes and he could not ignore it. He moved to the door.
‘Then I can only wish you every happiness,’ he said formally. ‘Goodbye.’
Outside, he took deep breaths of the cold air, telling himself that what Bea did from now on was none of his business. And yet the sadness in her eyes haunted him and suddenly he wished to God that he had never become involved with Bea Cardigan.
It was late afternoon and Mali was sitting in the office waiting for Mr Waddington to return from lunch. All day she had been trying to pluck up the courage to tell him of her proposition and the fact that she had been more busy than usual had not helped matters.
She pushed the ledger away from her and covered her face with her hands. She felt slightly nauseous and even though she knew the reason for her state of sickliness, she still could not quite believe that she was going to have a child.
They had been very kind to her at the infirmary, telling her that Davie could be kept in longer than necessary if she was unable to manage, but she knew how much he wanted to come home and she could not deny him that. And so it was imperative that she speak to Mr Waddington today.
She sighed and rose to her feet and stared out into the coldness of the yard. The trees were all bare now, the branches standing out against the sky like skeleton fingers, and Mali shivered. But it would be spring again when her baby came, she thought with a mixture of apprehension and joy.
The door opened but it was not Mr Waddington as Mali had expected. It was Big Mary, carrying a tea tray.
‘I wanted to speak to you, cariad,’ Mary said, putting the tray down on the desk. ‘Now please do not be offended but it’s just that I’m worried about you, see?’
Mali felt her colour rising. ‘Why are you worried, Mary, I’m fine,’ she replied quickly. ‘Dad’s accident was a terrible shock of course but I’ll get over it, I’ll have to.’
Mary folded her huge arms over her ample stomach and stared at Mali, shaking her head gently. ‘You can’t hide it from me, girl.’ She spoke firmly. ‘Now come on, don’t try to pull the wool over the eyes of Big Mary, you know that I’m on your side, always have been. Perhaps I can be of help.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mali stumbled slightly over the words as she watched Big Mary pour the hot fragrant tea.
‘I’ve seen it in your face for some time now, cariad, you’re going to have a baby,’ she smiled. ‘I doubt if anyone but me has noticed it, mind. And none of my business of course but you need to take care of yourself at such a time, see a doctor at least.’
‘What will I do, Mary?’ It was a relief in a way to talk to someone older and wiser. ‘I’m so tired all the time and soon I’ll have Dad to look after, I just don’t know how I’ll manage.’
Mary smiled widely. ‘Don’t take on so, there’s always ways to work these things out. When you’ve had the child, you could find a good girl to mind it for you. As to your dad, he might get strong and well again once he’s home, but face one problem at a time, see.’
Mr Waddington entered the office bringing with him a gust of cold air. ‘Did Sally Benson give you the papers you required?’ he asked, taking off his coat and seating himself in his chair.
‘Yes, thank you sir.’ It was Mary who spoke. ‘And there’s a good fresh pot of tea there to warm you up.’ She left the office then, closing the door behind her, and Mali knew the time had come to speak to Mr Waddington.
‘I’d like to put some money into the business,’ she said. ‘I have over a hundred pounds. It’s Dad’s compensation and as far as I can see it’s the best way of investing it.’ She saw Mr Waddington nod approvingly and was encouraged to go on.
‘It’s enough to buy some new boilers, which will be a good start. Then I mean to reorganise things, make everything work more efficiently.’ She paused. ‘If you’ll let me.’
He leaned forward and took her hand. ‘My dear girl, I’m more than willing, indeed, I’m delighted. You’ve become indispensable to me, don’t you know that? I couldn’t manage without you now.’
‘Then you accept?’ Mali said incredulously and Mr Waddington clasped her hand more tightly.
‘I think you’d make me an admirable partner,’ he said. ‘You have youth on your side as well as a good fund of common sense. And you have a flair for business that is rare in a woman, and so I accept gladly.’
Mali smiled at him gladly, excitement rising within her. She had done it, persuaded Mr Waddington to take her into the business. Then her heart almost stopped beating as she remembered there was something else she must say. It was only fair what Mr Waddington knew exactly what he was taking on.
‘I can see by the expression on your face that a confession is coming,’ he said with a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘Don’t say another word for I need you whatever your responsibilities may be. You see my dear I’ve no family, no one at all, and I’m getting old and tired so I can only thank God for sending you along.’
Mali stared at him in bewilderment. ‘But you don’t understand, Mr Waddington . . .’ she began and he held up his hand for silence.
‘I understand more than you think, my dear, after all I’ve grown to know you since we’ve been working in the office together. I knew there was something troubling you even before your father’s accident.’ He paused and sighed. ‘And it doesn’t matter one jot to me, all I care about is your welfare and the fact that my laundry will survive. Now you have the rest of the day off and tomorrow too if you like, and don’t worry about our little deal, I shall call into my lawyer’s office on the way home, which will be a good excuse to have a drink instead of returning to an empty house.’
Mali stared at him in dumb gratitude, her heart so warm that it seemed to fill her being. Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed Mr Waddington’s thin cheek.
‘You won’t be sorry and that’s a promise,’ she said softly.
When Mali arrived home, she was surprised to find Rosa sitting beside a glowing fire and for once the kitchen was neat and tidy, the table freshly scrubbed and the floor swept. Thankfully Mali sank down into a chair and closed her eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the silence and warmth and familiarity of the little room.
She had meant to tell Rosa off in no uncertain terms for her slovenliness and here she was acting like a reformed character, which was just as well, for Mali did not feel she would have the strength to face a quarrel, not just now.
‘I’ve been down the infirmary.’ Rosa’s voice broke into her thoughts and Mali reluctantly opened her eyes. Rosa was staring down at her hands, a strange expression on her face, and suddenly Mali was uneasy.
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‘What is it, is Dad worse?’ she asked, her heart beginning to beat rapidly. Her hands were clenched so tightly against the arms of her chair that the knuckles showed white. She breathed a little more easily as Rosa shook her head.
‘No, it’s not that, it’s just that tomorrow, they’re sending Davie home.’ The silence stretched long and empty and Mali felt fear mingling with her relief. She did not know if she was strong enough to face Dad every day, knowing that his life was in ruins.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Davie stared out of the bedroom window into the shadowed court below and the voices of the children playing in the cold cobbled street made the house seem silent and empty, closing him in. He lay back on his pillows, not quite sure where he was. He knew he had been sick for a long time for he well remembered lying in the infirmary with the nurses and doctors fussing over him. And he must still be sick, for see how his hands, old man’s hands, trembled incessantly.
He felt he should rise from his bed, for surely he must be going to work in the copper, otherwise he would have no wages to buy bread for Jinny and their baby Mali. He pushed back the bedclothes and saw that he was bandaged heavily and gasped as though a jug of cold water had been flung into his face. Memories teased at his mind but he pushed them away, falling back into bed, weak tears running down his cheeks.
Time passed slowly and he heard a movement downstairs, so he wasn’t quite alone after all, Jinny was there looking after him. He pushed himself upright once more and though his arms trembled, he managed to maintain his balance. He was sitting up straight, staring at himself in the mirror, or was it himself?
This creature confronting him was old and grey, a man without life or substance and Davie felt nothing but disgust as he stared at the reflection wavering before his eyes.
The thought crept into his mind and grew larger, dominating him, and he knew it was the goal to which he must put all his strength. He must try to remember what it was.
There were footsteps on the stairs and then the door opened but it was not Jinny who came to him, this was a girl with straight bright hair and plump breasts, and she was smiling at him as though she feared him.
‘Davie, why aren’t you resting? It’s me, Rosa. Don’t you know me now that you are properly awake?’
Something stirred in his mind but he did not want it to be roused so he shook his head. He felt ashamed suddenly, wishing to hide himself, wanting this girl, this stranger, to leave him alone, but she was pushing him back into bed, bringing water to wash him as though he was a baby.
‘I’ll get you some nice dinner soon, Davie love.’ She smiled and brushed back his hair. ‘It’s rabbit stew, your favourite, and you must eat it all up and grow strong again for Rosie.’
He turned his face away and stared at the wall and a line of black dampness caught his eye, taking his mind off the nearness of the girl. He stared at the damp patch, making up patterns in his head and he thought he could see the devil. Yes, there was his beard, and his cloven hooves, and Davie was suddenly too tired to think any more.
She went away, closing the door softly behind her, and he sighed with relief. But soon, it seemed, she was back. Smiling down at him with blank eyes. He obediently ate the food she spooned into his mouth for he knew he must grow strong to face the task he had set himself, but what was it? The thought that had been so clear eluded him now.
‘There, you’ll be well and strong for me, soon, Davie boyo.’ She put her cheek against his and he looked away from her pink smoothness with difficulty, she had been sent by the devil to try him, that much was clear.
‘Get thee behind me Satan.’ He whispered the words so that she would not hear them.
‘What did you say? Oh speak to me Davie, tell me you’re feeling better.’ He looked up at her briefly, afeared of her.
‘I’m getting better,’ he said, his voice hoarse, and the words were like a lesson repeated, without meaning or substance. He must humour her or she could inflict pain, terrible pain, even now he felt a burning in his back and legs and in his vitals.
‘I’m getting better,’ he said again and saw the woman smile so he knew she was pleased. He heard her footsteps hurrying down the stairs and he groaned as he lay back on the pillows.
‘Jinny.’ He spoke his wife’s name, wanting her, needing her strength. But she did not come to him.
When he next opened his eyes, darkness had fallen but the gas light was on, throwing a soft glow over his bed. He saw the bowl of soup standing thick and unpalatable on the table beside his bed. He stared upwards and memory came like flood water.
Jinny was gone, he had married her and filled her belly with child and in the bringing forth of his daughter, Jinny’s light and joyfulness had been extinguished for she had never recovered her strength after the difficult, tearing birth. The doctor had made it abundantly clear that there must be no more babies and Jinny had cried bitterly, feeling she’d failed her husband. But it was his fault and Davie knew it in spite of well-meaning neighbours talking of the will of God.
At first their marriage had been one of passion and love and laughter, they had enjoyed each other, but then Jinny had begun to miss her farmland home on the green slopes of the valley twenty miles removed from Sweyn’s Eye, and though she returned home on visits, it was not enough and she became thinner and some of her joy and laughter vanished. Until she had learned that she was to have a child, then her cup of happiness had overflowed and the next few months were the happiest Davie had ever known.
As the years had passed and their child had grown up to womanhood, Jinny had become weaker, as though her role in life was ended, and so it was that the lung disease had found a ready victim, taking Jinny with such ease that Davie had known his wife no longer wanted or needed to live.
He saw the door slowly open then and his eyes were riveted on the vision entering the room. He felt warmth and happiness burst inside him as he reached out his arms to her.
‘Jinny,’ he said softly and she drew nearer to him, taking his hand in hers, rubbing his cheek, kissing the top of his head, and there were tears spilling down over him.
‘It’s me, Dad, Mali.’ Her voice trembled and Davie’s image of his wife wavered in his mind and disappointment was hard and cold as stone lying upon him, crushing him.
‘Mali.’ He said her name and she sat carefully beside him, looking up now into his face, her eyes, green like sunlit pools, staring into his.
‘You are going to be well, Dad, quite soon now, for I’m going to look after you.’
Her voice was strong and vibrant, so alive that it hurt Davie’s senses for he was half shadow, ready to move through the gates of this world and into the next. He knew his daughter would never willingly relinquish him to the darkness for which he craved and so it must be done in secret; his escape from the soft prison of his bed needed cunning.
He was aware of Mali kissing his cheek, he felt her love but he did not know the words to speak to this girl whose strong hold on life seemed to anchor him. He smelled the soft clean smell of her and as her silken hair touched his hands, he knew that she too must be released from the burden that was himself.
‘Rosa’s making you a cup of tea, hot and sweet as you like it, Dad,’ Mali said gently.
He heard her words distantly for he felt as though his sight was fading and he knew that reality must not be allowed to draw too close.
He lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, and he felt he knew every line of it, every crack formed a pattern for him to study. At his side he heard his daughter sigh and felt her distress but he could not help her, how could he when he could not even help himself?
He must have slept then for dawn was creeping into Sweyn’s Eye when he awoke. He heard a milkman rein his horse, calling to the creature loudly as though to waken the dead. Boots were ringing against the cobbles, men going to work in the copper sheds. Davie raised his head a little, feeling the heat of the furnace on his face, lifting in his mind’s eye the we
ight of his ladle, tipping with skill and strength as befitted a man, a whole, living man.
His daughter brought him breakfast, slops, bread soaked in milk, baby’s food. But he ate it willingly enough for today he meant to carry out his plan of escape and for that he needed to be clever.
‘Will you be all right with Rosa for an hour, Dad?’ Mali asked. He noticed then that she was very smart in a thick coat that seemed to hang loose from her shoulders as though it was several sizes too big for her.
She brushed back his hair and he chewed on some bread, not wanting to make the effort of replying to her question. She moved away from him at last, carrying the tray awkwardly.
‘I shan’t be long, Dad, just got to get some books to work on at home, right? The doctor is coming to see you later on today and we must have you looking your best for his visit so I’ll give you a shave.’ She was making an effort to smile. ‘You could do with a real good scrape, that beard of yours is growing almost down to your knees.’
He tried hard to listen for the banging of the door but he was very tired, he wondered if there had been some medicine put in with the bread and milk, something that would make him sleep, for his eyes were closing, the sounds of the street outside fading into the distance and he could not fight the weariness that washed over him like the sea over pebbles on a beach.
Davie roused himself from the dream that he was on a ship with the wind rising and the sea running swift and deep against the bows. He could feel the waves pounding, hear the wind screaming but perhaps the noises were only inside his own head.
But then there was Jinny’s voice and she was calling him to come to her but he could not see her through the storm. He sat up abruptly and the taut burned flesh of his back tugged at him painfully.