by Anna Jacobs
“We’ll certainly do our best to set things in order, but I’m not sure yet how much money there will be, so apart from Pearl and Vic, I daren’t hire any more staff.”
“That’s double what we had before,” the maid pointed out.
“And I’m not going to sit down and expect to be waited on,” Serena said quietly. This was one things she was sure of.
“Nor I,” Marcus said.
“Well, then, there you are,” Ada said again. “Things can only get better.”
There was the sound of a hand bell ringing, then ringing again.
“Drat her!” Ada muttered under her breath. “She knows we’re trying to get you settled in.”
Marcus took a quick decision. “How about making something for us to eat, Pearl?”
She nodded and went off, followed by Gladys.
He looked at his wife. “Come along and meet my aunt, Serena. She may not be polite, but it’s proper that she meets the new mistress of the house.”
He gave Serena a little tug and escorted both women along to the other wing. “You go in first, Ada. Call out if she’s not decent but otherwise, just announce us.”
She rolled her eyes and went into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. “It’s Mr Marcus and his new wife, ma’am, come to see you.”
“I’m too tired.”
“We won’t keep you a minute.” Marcus led the way inside, determination clear in the set of his face. “Aunt Pamela, I’ve brought my bride to meet you. Serena, this is my aunt.”
Serena was shocked by the old lady’s appearance. Pamela was sallow and so thin that she looked more like a skeleton dressed in skin. Her eyes had a yellowish tinge to them and weariness showed in every line of her body. “I’m sorry you’re not well. I didn’t mean to trouble you.”
Mrs Lonnerden stared at her. “Well, you’ve got good manners at least.” After chewing the side of her lip, she asked, “Serena who?” When her visitor didn’t reply, she added sharply. “Who were you before you married, girl?”
He waited for Serena to speak and when she didn’t, said it for her. “She was a Fleming, Aunt.”
“You’ve married that man’s daughter?”
“Yes. But Serena had run away from him and she doesn’t like him any more than you do.”
Pamela scowled at them. “Well, blood will out and I’m sorry to be connected to him in any way. He’s a rogue and opportunist, if ever I met one, and it was he more than anyone who got my Lawrence into trouble. How could you do this to me, Marcus?” She tugged out a sodden rag of a handkerchief and mopped her eyes with it, but more tears followed.
Serena went over to the bed. “Don’t cry, Mrs Lonnerden. Fleming isn’t my real father.”
Pamela stared at her open-mouthed, so once again, Serena explained.
When she’d finished the old lady nodded and closed her eyes, “That’s all right, then.” She let her head drop back against the pillows. “I’d like something to eat now. That new girl who’s doing the cooking has a nice light hand with the pastry. I’m too tired to talk any more, though.”
As they moved towards the door, she added, as if speaking to herself. “I’m so glad you’re not his daughter.”
They shut the door quietly behind them.
“She looks ill,” Serena said. “Very ill.”
“She’s a bit better than she was,” Marcus said. “I think she wanted to die after she lost Lawrence, but we’ll feed her up a bit. Give her another month or two and she’ll be telling us how to run our lives.”
Serena wasn’t so sure. His aunt had the same look in her eyes that Serena’s mother had had for the last few weeks, a distance, as if she was no longer quite of this world.
When informed that Hudd and another man were asking to see him, Ernest nodded to Ruby and told her to show them in. He waited until the door was closed to ask, “Well?”
“Your daughter’s come back, sir,” Hudd said. “She got off the train only half an hour ago with Mr Graye. Went off in a cab but fortunately I looked down Bridge Lane as we were walking here along Yorkshire Road and saw them going into Redway’s rooms.”
“Hmm. Go and keep watch on Redway then, and let me know who else goes to see him. He’s up to something and I want to know what. One of you can bring me the information while the other keeps watch. It’s only a five-minute walk from here.” He waved his hand in dismissal and when they’d gone began to tap his pencil on the desk. So she’d come back, had she? That was rather stupid of her. And what was she doing with Graye?
Hudd would find out for him. Very useful fellow, Hudd.
A few hours later, Ruby knocked on her master’s door again and showed Hudd in again.
He barely waited for the door to close before he said, “Ches Westin just went in to see Redway, sir.”
“Who is Ches Westin?”
“A burglar, been in prison for it. Redway defended him last time, got him a reduced sentence on compassionate grounds.”
“Wait for Westin to come out and persuade him to tell you what he was doing there.” Fleming smiled, or rather the corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes stayed cold.
“Yes, sir.”
Half an hour later, Hudd was back again, this time sporting a bruise on his chin.
“What happened to you? I hope you didn’t draw attention to yourself.”
“We took Westin down the back alley. He—er—struggled a bit. You’ll not believe what he told us, though, sir.”
“I won’t if you don’t tell me.”
“He burgled your offices just before the fire. Got his face burned, he did, getting out. Arnold’s keeping him safe in the cellar of your other place in case you want to question him yourself.” He grinned. “Good thing that didn’t burn down, eh?”
“Did the fellow take anything from my rooms?”
“A folder, sir, with information about Miss Fleming in it, he said. He gave it to Redway just before we caught him. Pity, that.”
Fleming sat very still and quiet, even though inside he was extremely angry. He’d not have expected Redway to break the law. And if the lawyer reported him to the police and it came out what was inside the folder, that’d be—difficult. Damnation! He should have kept that folder in the cellar of the other place. “I want to question Redway and get that folder back. Wait till he’s closing the office tonight and keep him in his rooms, then send for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One moment.”
“Yes, sir?”
“If he should get hurt, just a little, in the struggle, I should not mind. Come and fetch me when you have him safely held.”
Hudd nodded and left.
Ruby knocked on the study door. “Your meal is ready, sir.”
“I’m not hungry. Tell Cook to put something cold on a plate for me for later. I’ve a headache, so will just sit quietly in here for a time. Don’t disturb me. I’ll ring when I want you.”
She backed out quickly and quietly, wondering what he was up to now. He had that look on his face, the one that usually meant someone was going to get into trouble. She’d seen it time and again over the years of working for him. Going back to the kitchen she passed on the message to Cook.
“You and me will eat his dinner, then,” Cook said at once. “I know how to appreciate a good piece of roast beef even if he doesn’t.”
But Ruby couldn’t eat her meal in peace because the door bell rang again, and the same man went in to see her master. Fed up of all this, she hesitated, then bent her head to the keyhole.
What she heard had her backing away in dismay.
Justin sat on after his visitor had left, reading through the folder’s contents very carefully. Not until the Town Hall Clock chimed seven did he realise what time it was. He locked away the folder in his bottom desk drawer and only then noticed the piece of paper that had fallen out.
Unwilling to delay a minute longer, since he was already late for dinner at Evadne’s, he picked the paper up and put it on the side
table, slipping it under some other bills for safety then going to lock up for the night.
He looked up the stairs as he went out and wasn’t surprised to see that all the lights were switched off. He must be the last one out of the building tonight. Not for the first time.
As he was locking the front door, the world exploded in pain and darkness and he could feel himself falling . . .
He regained consciousness to find himself securely tied to a chair in his office, with a man standing guard, wearing a muffler round his face to hide his identity. Justin had a fair idea of who the fellow was, however, and knew with a sickening lurch of his stomach why he’d been captured.
Groaning, he closed his eyes again, and let his head loll as if he wasn’t fully conscious.
Footsteps came in, someone heavy.
“Is he unconscious?”
Fleming, as Justin had expected.
“Came to a minute ago, then groaned and went off again.”
“You hit him too hard. Give him a shake. I need to ask him a few questions.”
Justin suffered the shaking and let himself open his eyes, feigning bewilderment and dizziness.
Fleming thrust his face close and asked in that chill, quiet tone that rarely changed, “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“You and I both know what I’m talking about, but if you wish my men to beat the information out of you, then they’ll no doubt oblige.”
For a moment Justin held silent, but he couldn’t see any way of avoiding Fleming finding the folder. “It’s in my bottom desk drawer. The key is in my pocket.”
Fleming extracted the bunch of keys and went round to the other side of the desk. The first two keys didn’t work, but he calmly continued inserting them until he found the key that did. Opening the drawer, he took out the folder, glanced at its contents and nodded.
At the door he beckoned to one of the men and murmured something quietly.
Justin looked at him in sudden fear as he caught the words “better dead”. Surely Fleming wasn’t going to have him killed?
The door closed behind Fleming and the man came back in, beckoned to his companion and whispered to him in turn. The second man looked absolutely terrified and Justin heard him say,
“No! I’m not committing murder for him or anyone.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’re in it now and you’ll be in worse trouble with him if you don’t do it than if you do.”
Hudd’s voice. The man who did all the dirty jobs for Fleming. Justin’s guts suddenly turned to churning liquid terror as Hudd went out and came back with an oil lamp from the storeroom. He opened the oil reservoir and scattered its contents on the rug.
“I’ll pay you anything you like to let me go instead!” Justin said.
The two men looked at him and the one who had protested looked pleadingly at the other, but he shook his head and muttered, “Much as my life’s worth.”
All too quickly Hudd set the rug on fire and left the room without a word. Justin tried desperately to pull free from his bonds, but his arms were tied very tightly behind him to the chair and he couldn’t loosen them at all, nor could he move the heavy chair more than an inch or two with his feet tied to it. He looked round in rising panic . . .
The newly-weds were fêted by their staff and friends, and there was even a small wedding cake, thanks to Pearl’s mother, though it didn’t contain many currants and the layer of icing sugar was so thin as to be almost transparent. Still, they made a ceremony of cutting it and eating a piece each. Then the staff left them alone.
As the time for them to go to bed grew closer and closer, however, Marcus could see Serena glancing at the clock then glancing again two minutes later, her face wearing that glassy expression he’d seen slide over it in her father’s presence. There could only be one explanation: she didn’t want to share his bed.
And he didn’t want a woman who was merely “doing her duty” as the saying went. Either they made love because they both wanted to or they didn’t make love at all. He was quite sure in his own mind about that. And yet, before they married, he could have sworn there was something between them, some spark of attraction which could be fanned into a blaze if they both gave it a chance.
But perhaps Ernest Fleming had spoiled her for that sort of thing, made her feel marriage was a prison, rather than a partnership . . . perhaps she had only married Marcus because she felt he was the lesser of two evils. He didn’t know, couldn’t seem to work it out. First he thought one thing, then the other. What did he know of women anyway, after spending the last few years mainly with men? And he was tired, so very tired, with other things to worry about as well, so much responsibility lying on his shoulders.
Eventually he could stand her nervousness and monosyllabic conversation no longer. “It’s about time we went to bed, isn’t it?”
“What? Oh, yes! Yes, of course.”
“I wonder, would you mind changing the dressings for me first? I hate to keep asking you but it’s necessary.” Relief showed on her face. It was definitely relief.
“Of course I don’t mind. I’ll go and get a jug of hot water from the kitchen while you—um—
get ready.”
She was up and out of the room before he could speak. That decided it. He wanted her but he wasn’t going to force himself on her. He’d never do that to any woman. She needed more time to get used to him, and who could blame her? Her life had been turned upside down in the past few days.
Wishing things were different between them, he turned off all but one of the oil lamps, wondering if it would be possible to get modern gas lights this far out of town. Picking up the lamp from the nearby table he went into the hall, where he met Serena carrying a ewer of steaming water and some clean cloths. “I’m just in time to light you upstairs.”
They went up in silence, leaving the lamp which always stood on the hall table burning low.
In the bedroom, Marcus removed his trousers and put on his pyjamas, while she avoided looking at him by fiddling with the bowl. He rolled up the pyjama leg and let her tend to the largest wound which was still unhealed in the centre but was getting smaller every week, with pink healthy flesh building up again where the jagged crater had been.
“It’s looking a lot better.”
Strange, how normal her voice sounded when she wasn’t facing the possibility of him asking for a husband’s rights. He watched her tend the wound, loving the feel of her gentle fingers on his skin.
“Shouldn’t I check the ones on your body as well?”
He nodded and unbuttoned his pyjama top, wincing as she pulled the sticking plaster off.
“This one got bruised during your scuffle at the cottage the other day. It still looks red and tender, must be very sore.”
“I suppose so. You get used to the pain after a while and unless something happens to remind you, well, you just get on with things.” He watched her. “You’re very good at that, deft I think the word is. Better than some of the nurses I’ve had.”
“Am I really?”
She smiled at him, a real smile this time.
“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it. Serena . . . ”
Her expression grew wary. “Yes?”
“I think we should wait longer to consummate our marriage . . . until you feel more comfortable with me. I can see that you’re still nervous.”
She gave him a long look but it revealed nothing of her feelings. “Whatever you feel best.”
He didn’t know what was best, dammit, only that he wasn’t going to force her because he wanted to make her happy in bed.
She began gathering together the things she’d used. “I’ll just take these downstairs again.”
She stopped halfway down the stairs, swallowing hard, desperately willing herself not to weep because the others were still sitting chatting in the kitchen. Marcus definitely didn’t want her, wasn’t the slightest bit interested in making her his wife, however much he dressed it up as wa
iting till they knew one another better! He’d probably only married her for her money and for the convenience of having a wife to run his house. Well, why else would any man want her with so many younger, prettier women around?
And she didn’t know how to tell him that she thought they should make love, that she both wanted to and was afraid to, but that she wanted to feel she was really his. She knew she grew stiff when she was afraid or upset.
Why should he want her? No other man ever had in any sense, not her real father and definitely not her pretend father.
The baize covered door into the servants’ quarters opened and she summoned up a smile, starting down the stairs again.
“I’ll hold the door open for you, love.” Pearl smiled at her.
“Thank you.”
In the kitchen Gladys was yawning but she came to take the bowl and cloths from Serena.
“I can manage it. You look tired, Gladys.”
“No, no! That’s my job. You get to bed, ma’am.”
So Serena went slowly and reluctantly back up the stairs. She stopped outside the bedroom to take a deep breath and will herself to tell him what she was thinking, then went inside.
But Marcus was asleep, one hand flung across his eyes, his chest moving up and down slowly.
She tiptoed across to the bed and picked up her nightdress, not bothering to go behind the screen because he wasn’t awake to see her.
From the shadow of his arm Marcus watched as his wife took off her clothes. That at least he could allow himself. She had an attractive body, small and slender, with well-formed breasts and just a hint of a curve to her belly, as a normal woman should have. He could feel his body reacting to the sight of her and hoped she wouldn’t notice, because he was quite sure the sight of him erect would terrify her. She put on a lawn nightdress, which for some reason made her look both virginal and sensual. It was hard to keep breathing slowly and steadily, hard to pretend to be asleep because he wanted her quite desperately. It had been so long . . .
Blowing out the lamp, she sighed and got into bed, such a deep, weary sigh that he was glad he’d held back. Only when she was lying there with her back to him, did he allow himself to move, turning away from her and making a small noise as if merely stirring in his sleep.