by Tania Crosse
If only Gilbert felt ready to reveal their relationship to his mother. Anna yearned for his next visit, her heart empty and aching. Lady Ashcroft was quite kind to her nowadays, exchanging pleasantries and talking to her in an open and friendly way. Anna felt encouraged and was sure Gilbert had waited long enough. Although Lady Ashcroft might not be overenamoured of the situation, Anna was convinced she would soon grow used to the idea. But so far there had been no mention of Gilbert’s next visit.
‘Lady Ashcroft wishes to speak with you,’ Mrs Davenport announced with a disapproving wrinkling of her nostrils one afternoon. ‘About her trip to London, I believe.’
A trip to London? It was the first Anna had heard of it. But, ah, yes! That was why Gilbert wasn’t coming down! Well, that made sense. She supposed Lady Ashcroft was entitled to go and stay at the family home in London, but it meant that Anna probably wouldn’t see Gilbert for another month, and her heart dropped like a stone.
‘You wanted to speak to me, I believe, Lady Ashcroft,’ she said politely a few minutes later.
‘Yes, Anna, dear.’ The older woman’s tone was so exceptionally amiable that it took Anna by surprise. ‘Now do sit down while I explain.’
Anna obeyed, perching on the edge of the chair Lady Ashcroft had indicated. Perhaps … Had Gilbert spoken to her about them at last? If he had, his mother’s friendly attitude was certainly encouraging! Anna could have shouted with delight.
‘You have shown yourself a good worker,’ her employer went on. ‘But you have also proved your intelligence and your integrity in many ways. I may not say very much, but I observe. And I know that my son holds you in high esteem also.’
Her son. Gilbert. Oh. Anna’s heart began to beat a nervous tattoo in her breast. Was Lady Ashcroft about to say that she approved of their relationship? Oh, please God, may it be so!
‘You may have heard that I am, of course, going to London. And I should like you to accompany me. I had asked Mrs Davenport first because of her seniority, but I am happy to say she declined as she still feels bereft after the loss of her mother. And to be honest, I believe you would make far better company for me.’
Anna was tongue-tied with happiness. London! As Lady Ashcroft’s companion, personal maid, whatever! And she would see Gilbert again, too! She could scarcely contain the pure joy that rushed through her veins.
‘You will even attend the wedding. There will be others in a similar position to yourself, but I will explain all to you, and I am sure I can rely upon you to conduct yourself accordingly.’
A society wedding. Oh, that would be wonderful! ‘Of course, Lady Ashcroft. May I ask who’s getting married?’
‘Why, Sir Gilbert, of course. Did you not know?’
Every muscle in Anna’s being froze rigid, the happy smile remaining fixed on her face while her dreams crumbled around her. Gilbert? Getting married to someone else? It couldn’t be true! A shard of ice had speared her heart and Anna felt as if she was about to faint. But she mustn’t. Lady Ashcroft mustn’t see the sudden agony that had sliced her in two.
‘No. No, I didn’t,’ she somehow managed to drag the words from her suddenly dry throat.
‘Well, Mr Jackson and Mrs Davenport know better than to gossip about the private matters of our family,’ Lady Ashcroft smiled back. ‘And it has all been arranged rather hurriedly. The reason being that Lady Francesca’s poor father has just been diagnosed with cancer and is not expected to live many more months. He wants to see his only daughter settled before he dies, and this marriage, well, we’ve been discussing it for years, really. Before Francesca’s dear mother died. She’s a lovely girl and will soon be all alone in the world, so the sooner the marriage settlement is finalised, the better.’
Anna had sat, numbed with disbelief, as Lady Ashcroft’s explanation filtered through to her brain. In one fell swoop, all her hopes of a glittering future with the man she loved lay in tatters. She just couldn’t comprehend it.
‘I … I don’t understand,’ she murmured, her lips feeling like rubber. ‘You make it sound more like a business arrangement.’
She saw the woman’s eyebrows arch in mild surprise but then a wistful smile shadowed Lady Ashcroft’s face.
‘Gilbert and Francesca have known each other all their lives,’ she said with infinite calm. ‘It has always been assumed that they would marry. It will be good for both our families. I think Gilbert has dragged his feet slightly, but, well, under the circumstances, he has accepted his duty. You know …’
She broke off, her voice wreathed in sadness, and even through her own tearing anguish, Anna felt compelled to look at her again. Lady Ashcroft’s head was held high as if she was determined to remain dignified, her expression totally controlled.
‘In our world, we are brought up to accept certain things, no matter what our own feelings. My own marriage was more or less arranged, you know. I …’ She hesitated, lowering her eyes, but seemed resolved to continue. ‘There was someone else, but I did what was expected of me. And I did come to love Sir Hugh. We had a very happy marriage. Which I am sure Gilbert and Francesca will, too. One cannot always follow one’s heart’s desire. Gilbert understands that. And I believe you are sensible enough to understand it, too.’
Anna blinked at her, still reeling with shock. Had Lady Ashcroft guessed how she felt about Gilbert? How he felt about her? But why torture her by making her go to the wedding? Surely she wouldn’t be so cruel? But perhaps it was her way of making Anna accept the situation, just as she herself had evidently once bowed to family pressure.
Somewhere at the back of her mind, Anna felt some sympathy with the woman who sat so regally in the other chair. She might always seem so detached and in control, but she had hidden regrets, too. Had spent her entire adult years living a lie. And now, recognising, perhaps, that Anna shared the same pain, she had finally revealed her misery when it was a lifetime too late.
But that was then and this was now. As a young woman, Lady Ashcroft might have given in, but Anna jolly well wouldn’t have done! She’d have fought for the man she loved, but now … but now … A horrible coldness broke over her. There was nothing she could do, was there? It was all arranged. Why, oh why, had fate been so cruel? Was there any point in trying to speak to Gilbert on the telephone? In trying to talk him out of it? Her heart rose on the crest of some reckless hope, but was instantly dashed to smithereens. If Gilbert was going to rebel, he would have done so long ago.
‘Yes, Lady Ashcroft,’ she heard herself say. ‘Will that be all?’
‘Yes, thank you, Anna. And, Anna, I shall expect all I have told you to remain secret between us. I should not have told you had I not felt able to rely upon your complete integrity.’
Their eyes met across the room, sharing some deep compassion. Anna nodded briefly and then walked slowly out of the room. She felt oddly calm, her heart numbing as the pain became too deep to bear. Gilbert was lost to her for ever.
He’d had all day for the anger to fester inside him. He’d needed a drink, even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock in the morning. But he hadn’t touched a bloody drop since the day Anna had walked out, and there was none in the house. At least, he didn’t think there was. He stumbled into the kitchen, flinging open cupboard doors, rifling along the shelves, not caring when he knocked over crockery or sent jars crashing to the floor, smashing open and spilling the contents over the lino. But nothing. Not even a thimbleful of cooking sherry at the bottom of a bottle.
He staggered back, falling against the table, and stared at the scene of destruction. The room looked as if a bomb had hit it. He threw up his head with a bitter, ironic laugh. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it, with a bomb? God, his head was beginning to ache already. He felt stifled, suffocating. He must get out. And he groped his way to the front door.
He couldn’t catch the bus to work. All those people crowding in on him, happy in their own little lives. Not knowing how he suffered because he had risked his life to save some stra
ngers. And how he suffered! It was a bloody living hell. And now his daughter blamed him for his wife’s death, and the girl had turned against him. Oh, he must find her, talk to her, explain to her. She must understand. She was all he had left.
He had wandered the streets, panic, sorrow, hatred and guilt washing over him each in its turn. As soon as the pubs opened at lunchtime, he ordered himself a pint and a chaser, downing them like a man who’d been lost in the desert for days. And he was lost. Lost in a desert of emptiness. Loneliness. He had to have Anna back.
‘No, sir,’ the barman’s lips loomed in his face. ‘You’ve had enough. You’ve been drinking ever since I opened, and I’m about to ring the bell for last orders.’
‘An’ I wan’ … another … bloody drink!’ Vince slurred back.
‘Sorry, sir, but I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘I said … I wan’ … another … drink!’ And he slammed his fist on the bar to emphasise the point.
‘Want us to take ’en outside for you, eh, Barry?’
‘Get your flaming hands off me! I can find the door myself, thanks very much!’
He lurched outside, knocking over a chair in the process. What could he do now? Go home? No, he couldn’t bear it. The empty house. No Freda. No Anna. Silence ringing in his ears. His head was pounding. Torturing. And that young bitch across the road knew how he could get his life back. Get Anna back home where she belonged!
Where was he? Must have fallen asleep. Peered through sore, red-rimmed eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was in the park behind their home. Huh! Hardly a home. Not anymore. Just a horrible, mean little dwelling with not even a proper bathroom. If that Fred Shallaford hadn’t found them the place, they might’ve got one of those brand-new council houses with all mod cons!
Those bloody Shallafords! He looked at his watch, blinking his eyes into focus. Nearly half past five. Ethel would be on her way home from work soon. And she knew where Anna was!
He was waiting, alert as a fox, and sprang out in front of her and had her pinned up against the wall before you could say ‘knife’. She was staring up at him, eyes wide and bolting with terror. Well, let her suffer. She’d made him suffer enough!
‘Where is she?’ he spat. ‘Where’s my Anna?’
Ethel gazed up at him, her face white. ‘I-I doesn’t know,’ she finally stammered.
‘Oh, yes, you do! She writes to you! I saw a letter this morning!’
He banged Ethel’s head back against the wall and watched her wince and suck the breath through her teeth before she looked back at him.
‘The post don’t arrive till after I leaves for work,’ she retorted, bunching her lips in defiance. ‘I really doesn’t know—’
‘Liar! You’ve known all along where she is. Now tell me!’
His fist drove into her stomach, for by Christ he’d get it from her. She doubled up, leaning over his arm, and he forced her shoulders up against the wall again. Her face was twisted in pain, eyes screwed shut.
‘I doesn’t … know,’ she groaned. ‘She writes, but she don’t give no address, I swears it.’
‘Tell that to the marines! Joined at the hip, you two!’
This time, his fist smashed across her face, and there was an ominous crack. Through the black fog of his fury, Vince heard her scream. The force of the blow had bent her over to one side, and when he dragged her back up, blood was streaming down from her nose. Vince took her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll.
‘Now, where is she?’ he bellowed in her ear.
He waited, breathing hard, giving her a chance to recover. He could feel her shaking, tears of desperation escaping from beneath her closed eyes.
‘I doesn’t know,’ she moaned, spluttering through the blood that was dripping into her mouth. ‘An’ if I did, I damned well wouldn’t tell you!’
That was it! Vince stood back, letting her slide down to the pavement. She knew! Of course she knew! In a red flash of rage, his boot flew out. He couldn’t stop it. Fury overtook him, rampaging through his deranged mind. He had to teach her a lesson! For everything that had happened.
‘Hey, what the hell …?’
A man’s cry in the evening calm, footsteps pounding towards him, shook Vince from his explosion of anger. He stood back, breathless, gazing in disbelief at Ethel curled up in a ball at his feet as she tried to protect herself. Dear God, what was he doing?
He took flight, running down the street. Paused at the corner to glance over his shoulder. The man had stopped, was bending over Ethel. Then another figure joined him and the first man took up the pursuit. Fast on his feet, speeding, catching him up.
Vince catapulted forward, drenched in a sweat of fear. Run, run, get away. Leap onto a passing bus. Out of the maze of backstreets to the main road. Nothing must stop him. If he was caught, he would be done for. Ethel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just so angry.
The main road. At last. There was a bus. On the other side, just pulling away from the stop. Salvation. He could easily dodge the traffic. The way was clear, and he blundered out into the road.
The lorry driver saw the man run straight out in front of him, and slammed on the brakes. But he knew it was too late and shuddered at the loud thud.
Mr Jackson looked up in irritation at the repeated ringing of the front doorbell, and scowled. ‘Who the devil can it be at this hour?’
‘Impatient, whoever it is,’ Mrs Davenport grumbled.
Anna glanced across the kitchen as she put away the last of the china dinner service, and watched as Mr Jackson made for the door. Well, it would be nothing to do with her, and she didn’t really care. All she could think about was her conversation with Lady Ashcroft earlier that afternoon. She was still dazed, carrying out her duties mechanically. And yet the truth was slowly filtering into her brain. Gilbert was marrying some other girl. Some stuck-up flibbertigibbet who had stolen Anna’s true love because she came from a privileged family. And Anna’s life had been shredded into tortured ribbons. What was she to do? How could she get out of going to London with Lady Ashcroft? She couldn’t go to the wedding. It would break her.
She didn’t lift her head as Mr Jackson came back in. He or Mrs Davenport might see the tears she could feel welling in her eyes.
‘Anna,’ the butler said brusquely. ‘Look sharp. There are two policemen to see you. One’s an inspector. They’re waiting for you in the hall.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Come on in, Anna, love. Ethel be still abed, but she’s proper fine.’
Mabel’s expression was a mixture of warm welcoming and deep compassion, and Anna was so grateful. After all, Mabel could have turned against her after what had happened, but instead her friend’s mum had taken her under her fiercely protective wing for the second time in her young life.
‘Thanks, Mrs Shallaford. Is it OK if I go up?’
‘Of course it is, maid. You’m welcome any time, you knows that.’
Anna nodded and hurried up the narrow, uncarpeted stairs, to Ethel’s bedroom. Ethel had only been out of hospital a few days and was propped up on a mound of pillows, noisily working her way through the box of Quality Street Anna had brought her the previous evening. The bruising that had spread from her nose to both her eyes had faded from dark purple to green, and even to yellow on the edges. But when Ethel shifted in the bed, Anna noticed her wince from her cracked ribs and all but cowered with remorse.
‘I feel so awful about this,’ she muttered, ‘and yet you’ve all been so kind.’
‘Well, it weren’t your fault, Annie. An’ there weren’t no serious damage to me insides, an’ to tell the truth, I doesn’t think my mum’s fussed over us so much since I were a tacker, so it’s quite nice really. I’s just sorry I weren’t able to go to the funeral.’
‘The funeral?’ Anna started with surprise. ‘My father did this to you, and you wanted to go to his funeral?’
‘I wanted to support you, Annie.’ Ethel’s eyes were steady with earnest.
‘’E were your dad, after all. An’ you knows what the doctors said arterwards. About the way ’e were. Could’ve just been severe depression, or summat to do with ’is brain from the war. We’ll never know, I s’ppose. But come on. Park your bum on there,’ she smiled perkily, patting the bed.
Anna returned her smile somewhat ruefully as she sat down. Ethel hadn’t changed, despite the attack. There wasn’t an ounce of bitterness in her.
‘I’m still so sorry. Especially about your nose.’
Ethel gave a wry chuckle. ‘I never were an oil painting, so a slightly crooked conk won’t make much difference! An’ Bert’s mum wrote to ’en to tell ’en what ’appened, an’ Bert says ’e’ll still love me, an’ that’s all I cares about. Told ’is CO that I’s ’is fiancée so as ’e can ’ave some compassionate leave. Should arrive tomorrow some time.’
Her eyes were brilliant for the first time, Anna reflected, since the assault. Anna smiled back. ‘That’s great! How long’s he got?’
‘Just a few days, but it’s better than nothing. Won’t be able to get up to any hanky-panky, mind. Not that we would anyway,’ Ethel added hastily as she turned a shade of pink. ‘I means, a kiss an’ a cuddle’s OK, like in the back row at the pictures. But nort more. Don’t believe in proper relations afore marriage, us doesn’t, neither on us. Shows a lack o’ respect for each other, Bert says, an’ I agrees. Only wayward strumpets does that kind o’ thing.’
The words were spoken with conviction, making Anna’s heart buck in her chest. Ethel was nodding adamantly, and Anna prayed that her friend wouldn’t be aware of the strangling regret that clawed at her own throat. Ethel must never know her terrible, shameful secret. Ethel was all she had left, and she couldn’t lose her now. And yet she felt she had betrayed her on two counts, her father and her affair with Gilbert.