Bow Belles

by Bow Belles (retail) (epub)

  ‘If I do, will you promise you won’t try and come into the house?’

  John frowned, remembering how happy he had been that morning. He had had it all worked out in his mind. On Sunday, he was going to ask Bridie and Dermot to look after the children while he took Kate up to the West End to a theatre and dinner. Then, if his courage held, he was going to ask her to marry him. If she wouldn’t leave her family, he was prepared to take them all on, even the father, and to hell with Alex Browning. It would be a small price to pay for having Kate as his wife. All day he had gone around with a foolish smile, inviting comments from all who saw him, not to mention the knowing looks from his gran. Now it seemed as if his dreams were about to be shattered.

  Feeling strangely vulnerable and more than a little afraid, he swallowed hard before replying hoarsely, ‘If that’s what you want, Kate, you have me word I won’t try and force me way in.’

  When the door slowly opened to reveal her beautiful face, he nearly broke his word, so strong was his desire to grab her in his arms. Forcing himself to keep his distance, he waited for her to speak, all the while conscious of the sickening churning of his stomach.

  His homely face and the bewilderment in his deep blue eyes brought a rush of longing to Kate’s tormented soul. It took all her strength to remain calm. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she managed to say, ‘I’m sorry about the note, John, but I didn’t have any choice. You see, my dad’s had a bad accident and is in hospital. But when he comes home, he’s going to need a lot of looking after, so I won’t be able to visit you any more.’

  A wave of relief flooded John’s body. So that was it! Thank God! And here was him thinking… ‘Bloody hell, Kate, why didn’t you say so in the letter? Me gran’s almost demented with worry. But look, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll all help. We…’

  ‘No, John,’ Kate interrupted him firmly, steeling herself to be strong. ‘It’s not that simple. Look… this is very difficult for me, and I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s only fair that I be honest with you. I’m very fond of you. You’ve been very good to me and the children, and I’ll always be grateful for the kindness you’ve shown us over the past six months. You and your grandparents came into our lives at a time when we desperately needed friendship and comfort, but that’s all I ever wanted from you: to be your friend. If I ever led you to believe any differently, then I’m sorry. Like I said, I never wanted to hurt you, but it’s obvious you imagine there’s something more between us, and that just isn’t true; at least not on my side.’

  Stopping for breath, Kate looked away, unable to bear the look of pain in his eyes. With a supreme effort of will, she forced herself to continue with the lie; a lie that could possibly save John’s life. Above all, she had to be convincing. Just one slip of the tongue, or the slightest sign of distress or faltering on her part, would immediately alert John to the truth. Even now, in the midst of his hurt, a glimmer of suspicion shone in his shrewd eyes. Drawing on all her remaining strength, she gave an impatient sigh.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, John, don’t look at me like that! I can’t help it if you got the wrong idea about us. And please don’t delude yourself this is any of Alex’s doing. If I felt anything for you other than as a friend, I wouldn’t let anything Alex had to say stand in my way. Besides, Alex doesn’t live here any longer. We had a blazing row last night and he’s gone to live with a woman. I doubt if he’ll be back. I know you never liked him, but you have a lot to be grateful to him for. Because if he hadn’t cottoned on to how you felt about me and opened my eyes to the truth, I would have gone on seeing you and raising your hopes without realising it. At least this way you’ve found out early on that I could never return your feelings for me, and like Bridie’s always saying, better now than later.’ She started to close the door, afraid she would break down and spill out the whole, terrible truth. ‘Goodbye, John. Give my love to Bridie and Dermot. Tell them both that I…’

  It was too much; she couldn’t bear any more, and she quickly closed the door on the tight, red-faced hurt of the man she loved. She braced herself for a further assault on the door, but all she heard were John’s footsteps slowly walking away: away and out of her life.

  Almost blindly she groped her way back to the table and sat down, shaking uncontrollably. The soft glow of the lamp lit up the whiteness of her face as she focused her attention on the gentle light, still amazed at the consummate performance she had just delivered. She should go to bed, but she was afraid to; afraid to surrender to the darkness of sleep in case she awoke to find him standing over her. How could she have been so blind for so long? Why hadn’t she seen what Alex was really like? Why hadn’t she recognised the demons that lurked behind that handsome, smiling face? ‘Because you didn’t want to see,’ her mind shot back at her. ‘You didn’t want to see, because deep down you knew all along, you just didn’t want to admit what he was really like. And now you’re doomed to a lonely, loveless life because Alex will never leave you in peace, and there’s not a thing you can do about it, not unless you want Bridie, Dermot and John’s deaths on your conscience.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Kate jumped as Alice crept silently into the room.

  ‘Goodness, Alice, you made me start!’ Kate said, her voice sharper than she’d intended. ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’ she finished inanely.

  ‘Sleep? I can’t sleep! I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.’ Even in her genuine distress, it was obvious that Alice hadn’t lost her sense of the theatrical.

  In spite of herself, Kate smiled. ‘It’s all right. It was only one of the neighbours calling to see how dad was.’ The lie slipped out easily. It wouldn’t do to tell Alice that John had been here, because then Alice would want to know why Kate hadn’t invited him in, especially after what had occurred. Kate had no intention of burdening her sister with what had happened after she’d left for the hospital; the poor girl was scared to death as it was.

  ‘I—I thought it might be Alex,’ Alice said tremulously, her eyes darting fearfully to the door. Then her expression changed to one of suspicion. ‘What neighbour? We’ve never been that friendly with them before, so why should they start calling now?’

  Kate thought hurriedly. ‘It was Mrs Morris from next door, if you must know. And it’s not true that none of the neighbours has ever shown us any friendship. Mrs Morris was round here first thing to see if she could help, remember? Besides, you know she works during the day, and so do most of the neighbours. They don’t have time to keep popping in and out for cups of tea. Now, get yourself off to bed, you look worn out.’

  Still Alice hesitated, and when she came closer and wrapped her arms tentatively around Kate’s neck and said, ‘Will you be coming up soon?’ Kate’s heart went out to the normally high-spirited girl.

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’ She patted her sister’s arm gently, looking up into her pale face and stricken eyes that still held a look of terror, and did something she hadn’t done in a very long time. Wrapping her arms round her slim waist, she gave Alice a fierce, protective hug, and when the embrace was returned there rose in Kate’s breast a fresh surge of anger against the man responsible for bringing all this misery and fear into their lives.

  Alone once more, she began to take stock of her life. It was true what Alice had said about their neighbours. But, as she herself had pointed out, they weren’t being unfriendly; it was just that they didn’t have the time for socialising. Yet there had been many times in the past when both Mrs Morris from next door and Mrs Standish from number twenty-five had been at hand to offer help, especially in those first few months after her mother’s disappearance. Both women had been very fond of Florrie, and had loudly voiced their opinions that there was something very fishy going on. It was strange, Kate mused, but up until this minute she had forgotten all about the fuss the women had made at the time. It had been a perfect opportunity for Kate to develop a friendship with them, and she would have if it hadn’t been for Alex and her dad insisting they didn�
�t want nosy neighbours knowing all their business, effectively discouraging any further offers of help. But she couldn’t really blame William; he had only gone along with Alex’s wishes, just as he’d always done.

  Running her fingers abstractedly through her hair, she imagined the lonely life ahead of her. She would have to give up her job because, whatever happened, her dad would need looking after. She couldn’t trust Alice to take care of him, and without her job she would be solely dependent on Alex’s promise to provide for them. But, niggling away, the thoughts she had tried to suppress finally came rushing to the forefront of her mind. And with the knowledge came a torrent of scalding tears. Her mum was dead. There could be no more pretending, no more searching. It was finally over. Her mum, her beautiful, carefree, lovable mum was dead, and there wasn’t even the small comfort of a graveside where the many who had loved her could mourn. And he’d known all along. He had stood by and watched her walk the streets, showing Florrie’s photo to every passer-by, all the time knowing the woman she was searching so desperately for was already dead. He was a monster! A heartless, vicious, murdering monster, who imagined himself to be immune from justice!

  Remembering his hands on her body, she shivered in renewed disgust at the loathsome memory. Damn him! Damn him to hell! Her fist came down on the table, her eyes still bright with tears glittered dangerously. His threats against the Kellys had been effective enough to prevent her from going to the police, but that didn’t mean to say he was going to get away with the foul deeds he had committed. She no longer wanted to see him in the hands of the law; this had become a personal vendetta.

  Turning down the lamp, she felt her way across the darkened room to the stairs, her face grim and determined, a fierce hatred burning in her heart. This was her fight, and she would fight it alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despite the warmth of the early August morning and the quilt swamping her body, the woman in the four-poster bed shivered uncontrollably, her teeth clicking violently as she endeavoured to keep warm.

  She was so cold… so very, very cold. Turning restlessly beneath the voluminous bed coverings, she drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms over her chest in a protective gesture, yet still she could feel the icy, freezing wind blasting every inch of her flesh. Trapped in the throes of deep slumber, she struggled futilely to release herself from the recurring nightmare, but was powerless to drag herself back to wakefulness. She moaned as the overpowering stench of unwashed bodies assailed her nostrils, feeling again the burning pain racking her defenceless body.

  They were hurting her; hurting and defiling her with unspeakable acts of bestiality. She could hear their cruel, mocking laughter as she pleaded for mercy, and while she begged for her life, a man stood watching from a distance, a tall, dark-haired man. Instinctively she turned to the stranger for help, then recoiled at the look of malicious glee stamped across his face that she sensed, rather than actually saw.

  ‘Ma’am, ma’am, wake up, ma’am.’

  The woman jerked, her body springing upright as she fought to get her breath while her heart continued to race with fear.

  ‘There, ma’am, there, it’s all right.’ Mrs Palmer, a stocky, homely figure in her late fifties, gently took hold of the shaking hands, looking down sympathetically at the distressed woman. ‘Was it the same dream again, ma’am?’ she asked, her motherly instinct coming to the fore.

  The woman’s breathing eased, her heartbeat slowly returning to a regular beat as she pulled herself upright. ‘Yes, Mrs Palmer, I’m afraid it was. Still, I’m awake now, so there’s no need for any further concern, thank you all the same.’

  Knowing herself to be dismissed, Mrs Palmer shook her head sagely and, placing a large serving tray over the woman’s lap, said firmly, ‘Now then, you eat your breakfast while it’s still hot. I’ll be back shortly to run your bath.’

  ‘Really, Mrs Palmer, that isn’t necessary.’ The protest was issued with more than a hint of irritation. ‘I’m more than capable of running my own bath, as I’ve told you many times.’

  ‘Gracious, ma’am, that would never do. Are you trying to do me out of a job?’

  ‘And please don’t keep calling me ma’am. I’ve asked you before to call me Anne.’

  Mrs Palmer’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘Now I know you’re trying to get me the sack! Why, the master would skin me alive if I were to take such liberties.’

  The blonde woman in the bed smiled sardonically. ‘I doubt that very much, Mrs Palmer. Robert wouldn’t know what to do without you. As he is constantly telling me, you’ve been with the family for more years than he cares to remember, and that without you the entire household would come to a standstill.’

  The elderly woman clucked impatiently at the fulsome praise, her obvious delight evident by the pink hue that flooded her plump cheeks contradicting the derisive gesture, before padding across the plush carpet into an adjoining room.

  Once the housekeeper had left, the woman stared listlessly at the contents of the breakfast tray, her stomach rebelling against the sight of the plate of eggs and crispy bacon. Pushing the plate to one side, she picked up the silver pot and poured hot tea into a gold-rimmed china cup and forced herself to eat a slice of buttered toast. From the closed room she could hear the sound of running water and the cheerful humming of Mrs Palmer as she happily carried out her duties.

  Replacing the cup in its saucer, the woman known as Anne Jones lay back on the plump pillows, her large green eyes sweeping her surroundings. It was a lovely room tastefully decorated in pale blue and gold with the elaborate four-poster as the central piece. Two royal blue armchairs stood either side of the large bay window, their curved legs nestling comfortably into the rose-coloured carpet. As she looked slowly round, she took in the enormous wardrobe that ran along the far wall and the small, beautifully polished bureau on top of which stood an inkstand and pens, neither of which she had ever used, and a rose Chippendale chair tucked neatly into the recess of the bureau.

  The bed stood opposite a white marble fireplace, the mantel of which was bare. Her eyes softened as she recalled the serene, dark winter evenings spent sitting by a blazing fire, a good book in her lap and contentment in her heart. When her gaze stopped at the dressing-table, her lips trembled slightly before she looked away. For this dressing-table, unlike most, had no mirror.

  ‘Ah, you’ve finished, have you?’ The bustling figure had re-entered the room, her cheerful smile disappearing at the sight of the almost untouched meal. ‘Oh, ma’am, you really should try and eat more; you’ll make yourself ill again… Oh, lord, I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean…’ Her voice trailed off into an uncomfortable silence as the blonde woman swept slowly past and into the bathroom, the infinite sorrow on her pale face bringing a lump to the housekeeper’s throat.

  As she set about clearing the tray, her mind went back to the day the master had brought the woman home. Nellie could still remember her shock at seeing the woman, who seemed to be nothing more than skin and bones. But it was her face and head that had caused the most stir. For every inch from the neck upwards had been swathed in bandages with only the eyes showing, beautiful green eyes that despite their dullness had nevertheless taken Nellie’s breath away.

  The master had offered no explanation of why he had brought a strange woman into his home, but simply issued orders that she was to be afforded the courtesy and comfort befitting all previous guests in the house. It was with great shame that the elderly woman recalled her own resentment at the unknown and unwanted stranger’s presence. Yet she had obeyed the master’s orders, as she had obeyed his father and mother before him, but even though she had been outwardly civil, inside she had seethed at being made to treat the shabbily-dressed woman as if she were of the gentry.

  For over fifty years Nellie Palmer had worked and lived in this house, coming here as a frightened ten-year-old girl to work in the kitchen, and never once had such a thing happened before. The old master and mistress had
always done their duty by the poor, donating money and clothing to the local parish in order to help ease the sufferings of the less fortunate, but they had never taken them into their home. It just wasn’t the done thing. But Master Robert had never laid much stock on social niceties. Even as a young boy he had always said and done exactly as he saw fit, seemingly unaware of the unspoken rule of the social divide, an attribute that had only served to endear him to those around him. And those who didn’t care for his way of life were quickly given short shrift. For if there was one thing the master couldn’t tolerate it was snobbery, or any form of pretension.

  Being the loyal servant she was, Nellie Palmer had accepted her master’s orders, if not without rancour, at least without question. Smoothing down the bedclothes she remembered the day she had started to warm to the silent, almost distant, woman. In spite of her resentment, Nellie had been avidly curious to discover the face that lay hidden beneath the bandages, but she had been sorely disappointed. For, with the bandages removed, the woman had taken to wearing a thick veil at all times, with strict instructions that no one was to enter the room unannounced.

  She had been installed in the house for nearly two months when one night Nellie, who slept in her own room two doors away, had been awoken by the sounds of muted sobbing. Annoyed at having her sleep disturbed, but never thinking to shirk her duty, she had gone to investigate the cause of the Jones woman’s distress, and the sight that had greeted her had melted her heart. The woman had been thrashing around and moaning, her hands flailing as if trying to ward off an unseen blow, and when Nellie had caught hold of them and they had grasped hers tightly, as would a child seeking reassurance from its mother, her kind heart had gone out to the unfortunate woman. She had sat by the bedside holding the sweating body until the master had arrived, and had been strangely reluctant to relinquish the woman to his care.