Frankie's Manor

by Frankie's Manor (retail) (epub)

  Frank spun on his heel, his face alert. ‘Is that true, Princess? You’re not gonna get married after all?’

  Rose saw the delight flare in his eyes and turned back to the window. She didn’t know how to answer, nor could she trust herself to speak. Everything had happened so suddenly: this time yesterday she had been full of plans for the future with Jack, and now, less than twenty-four hours later, her life seemed to be in ruins. Added to her heartache was the gnawing worry that she might be pregnant. Her monthly show still hadn’t appeared, and she didn’t know what to do. Her safety net had been snatched from beneath her so abruptly that she still hadn’t taken it in properly. She knew Jack wanted to marry her as much as ever, but she couldn’t forgive him for the way in which he had behaved. Even if the unexpected transfer had happened as he had said, there was still no justification for him accepting it when he knew the unhappiness it would cause Mary. For that alone Rose couldn’t forgive him.

  A shudder ran down her back and her arms came up around her shoulders. She had promised Mary faithfully that she wouldn’t go back on her decision to remain in London, and there was no chance that she and Jack might get back together – even if Jack changed his mind about the transfer, the damage had been done. He had betrayed her trust and, in doing so, had killed something inside her, something that could never be replaced.

  Yet still her tortured mind raced on blindly.

  If only Frankie had found this house sooner, had offered Mary the chance to move in with him, maybe Jack’s announcement wouldn’t have come as such a blow. Then Rose wouldn’t have minded where she lived, as long as she could visit Mary regularly and have her to stay for holidays. But, as Mary had stated, this house, lovely as it was, wasn’t the type of home she was used to. Yet you never knew with Mary. Maybe if Rose had supported Jack in the proposed move, she might have changed her mind. Goodness knows, her aunt loved Frankie as if he were her own son, and in time, perhaps, she would have adapted to her new surroundings.

  A dry sob caught in Rose’s throat.

  All that was conjecture now. She had made her decision and now she must stand by it. But it was going to be hard. Loving Jack as she did, and dear God, how she loved him, it was going to be hard to get used to life without him. But love wasn’t always enough. You had to have trust, too, and Jack, in the one sneaky act she had ever known him commit, had destroyed that.

  She felt Frankie come up behind her and continued to stare out of the window, afraid to speak in case she gave way under the strain. But when his arms came round her she folded into the familiar, comforting embrace and let her tears flow.

  Holding her close to his chest, Frankie stroked the copper curls tenderly, all the while murmuring soothing words. Yet even as he spoke, he couldn’t stop the powerful surge of exultation that was raging through him. It was just as well Rose couldn’t see his face, for she would have seen the triumph blazing in his eyes, perhaps questioned it: it went much further than the situation warranted.

  Frank clasped the slender body even more tightly. He would look after her, see that she wanted for nothing. And in time he would find someone for her. Someone better than the gullible bastard she had fallen for. His Rose was worth more than that, and he was going to make sure the next man in her life was one of whom he, Frankie Buchannon, approved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Rita, have you got a minute, please? There’s – there’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘Yeah, course, Rosie love. What can I do for you?’

  The two women were having their dinner break in the kitchen, much to Dixon’s annoyance. Sally’s shift wasn’t due to start for another hour, and there had been an unexpected rush of customers. At the moment he was running the bar with only the elderly potman’s help.

  Casting a wary look over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening Rose felt her face begin to burn and her hands tremble as she asked, hesitantly, ‘Do you know of anyone… anyone that… that gets rid of unwanted pregnancies?’

  Rita’s jaw dropped open in amazement. The thick-cut sandwich she’d been holding fell from her fingers. ‘Gawd, blimey! I thought Sal was just being a cow, but you are, ain’t you? You’ve gone and got yerself into trouble. Aw, Rosie… Oh, I am sorry, love. But what about your feller? He’ll stand by you, surely. He’s mad about you, love – I’ve seen the way his eyes follow you whenever he comes in here: I wish someone’d look at me like that.’ She wiped her hands on her skirt, and added, ‘Look, I know you’ve had words – bleeding hell, who doesn’t? Oh, don’t look so surprised, Rosie, you can’t keep much secret round here, but to try and get rid of a baby… Does Jack know about it?’

  Rose shook her head tiredly. ‘No, I didn’t tell him. There wasn’t any point, not now.’

  ‘No point?’ Rita almost shouted, then quickly lowered her voice, ‘Listen to me, love. If there’s a chance of you getting married, then bloody well grab it with both hands. There’s plenty of women with your problem – believe me, I know. But not many have the chance to marry the father. Most of ’em don’t even know who the father is. Now, I don’t know why the pair of you quarrelled, but I’m telling you, Rosie, compared with what you’re thinking of doing – well! Even if you don’t love him no more it don’t matter. There’s plenty who’d run up the aisle with a monkey in your condition, and your feller… Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’ She studied Rose’s ashen face, and sighed. ‘Was it really bad? Was he knocking you about? Is that why you called off the wedding?’

  Rose reared back in horror. ‘No! No, of course he wasn’t,’ she said, rushing hotly to Jack’s defence. ‘He never laid a finger on me.’

  Rita leaned back in the upright wooden chair and smiled wryly. ‘Yes, love, if you say so. But it ain’t his hands what’s got you into trouble, not on their own, anyway.’ Rose’s head drooped and Rita stared at the copper curls in sympathy. ‘All right, it ain’t none of me business why you don’t wanna marry him, though I still think you’re barmy – Yeah, all right, I won’t say anything else about it,’ she added, as Rose made to rise. ‘Sit still, an’ let me think a minute, will you?’ Drumming her fingers on the table, she asked quickly, ‘Have you tried hot baths and gin? That sometimes works.’

  Rose pushed back a strand of hair. ‘I’ve nearly scalded myself and I’ve got through a bottle of gin, but nothing happened.’ The smile wobbled and disappeared, then, with tears blurring her vision, Rose implored the other woman, ‘Oh, Rita, please, you’ve got to help me. I don’t know anyone else to turn to.’

  Unable to bear the girl’s despair, Rita got to her feet and paced the small room, deep in thought. ‘I don’t know, love. I’ve known women die at the hands of those butchers. It just ain’t safe. Look, won’t you try and make it up with—’

  Rose’s face was set against any further argument. ‘I couldn’t now even if I wanted to. He’s gone – Jack’s gone to Southampton. He left last week and, from what he said, I don’t expect him back.’

  Her lips trembled as she recalled their last meeting. He had been waiting on the doorstep the day she and Mary had returned with Frankie after seeing his new home. The usual insults had been traded between the two men, resulting in Jack marching away, only to return that night to plead his case once more. Rose had kept him on the doorstep: Mary was still in a volatile mood, and Rose, weary of endless arguments, had finally closed the door in Jack’s protesting face.

  But Jack wasn’t a man to give up easily, and for the next two weeks he had turned up at the house, in the pub, had waylaid her in the street, dogged her every step in a desperate attempt to win back the woman he loved. And every time she had felt herself weaken, there were her aunt and Frankie reminding her of what Jack had done. The pair of them went on and on at her, keeping up the pressure to persuade her to forget Jack and get on with her life. And with the extra worry of finding herself pregnant she’d hardly known what she was doing any more. Yet when she had realised Jack had taken her at her word and gone to Southam
pton she had been stunned. Because, somehow, even though it had been she who had demanded that he leave her alone, she had never thought that he would. The noise from the bar was becoming louder as the customers began to get tired of being kept waiting for service. Over the din Rose could hear Henry Dixon calling for them to get a move on.

  ‘Mr Dixon’s calling us, Rita,’ she said numbly.

  ‘Let him bleeding well call, then,’ Rita said harshly. ‘I ain’t leaving here till I get you sorted out. Look, love,’ she came to Rose’s side and took her hand, ‘have you thought about keeping it? I know it won’t be easy, what with you not being married. But you won’t be the first girl to have a baby without a ring on her finger. And it’s not like you’re all alone, is it? You’ve got your aunt and Frankie to help you out—’

  ‘No. No. They can’t find out. Look, leave it, Rita. I’m sorry I asked. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. I’ll find somebody myself and…’ She trailed off in a soft moan.

  ‘Where you gonna find somebody like that, love?’ Rita asked scornfully, although her face had fallen into lines of compassion at the look of desolation in Rose’s eyes. She was so young – so vulnerable. Rita thought swiftly: it was obvious that her young friend was determined to find someone to get rid of the unborn child and if she, Rita, couldn’t stop her, then she had to make sure Rose went to someone respectable – that is, as respectable as you could get in such a sordid business. She made up her mind, then asked sharply, ‘How much money have you got?’

  ‘Not a lot. I mean, I don’t have any savings of my own. Jack was seeing to that side of things. I couldn’t save anything on what I earn. Why?’

  ‘Because it’ll cost you.’

  Hope sprang into Rose’s eyes. ‘You’ll help me, then? Oh, Rita, thank you. You’ll never know how much I appreciate it.’ A great sigh of relief escaped her dry lips.

  ‘Don’t go thanking me yet, love. And, like I said, you’ll need money. The sort of person you’re looking for don’t come cheap – not a good one, anyway. Couldn’t you ask Frankie for a loan? He’s not short of a few bob, is he? You could always say you needed it for something special. You don’t have to tell him what for.’

  Hastily Rose stammered, ‘I couldn’t do that, Rita, it wouldn’t be right. I got myself into this mess, so it’s up to me to get myself out of it.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘How much will I need?’

  Busying herself with cleaning crumbs off the table, Rita said diffidently, ‘I ain’t sure. I’ll ask around, but you’ll probably need about five pounds, maybe more. Can you get the money if I find someone? You can’t wait too long, you know. How far along are you, anyway? About three months? Or is it more?’

  Rose nodded. ‘Just on three months.’ Suddenly she felt curiously detached from the situation. It was as if she was looking in on the conversation instead of being a part of it. ‘And don’t worry about the money. I know how I can get hold of it.’

  Rose turned towards the bar and walked in ahead of Rita. She took Henry Dixon to one side and said calmly, ‘About what you asked me a while ago, Mr Dixon. You remember. About me showing a bit more tit behind the bar.’ Before the astonished man could reply, she added, ‘Well, you give me a rise in pay and I’ll show as much tit as you want.’

  * * *

  ‘Remember I told you I was going to be home a bit late tonight, Auntie?’

  Mary glanced up from the cardigan she was knitting. ‘Yeah, I remember, love. Look, are you in any trouble, Rose? Only you’ve been acting strange lately. You don’t look too good neither.’ Laying down her knitting she said gently, ‘You know you can always talk to me, don’t you, love? What I mean is, if there’s anything troubling you, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course I would, Auntie.’ Rose felt the strain of trying to smile. ‘But there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just feeling a bit down. You know, what with Jack and everything.’

  Mary’s mouth softened into an understanding smile. ‘Ah, I thought it might be that. I said to Frankie it were probably that ’cos he’s noticed you ain’t been yourself lately, too. He don’t miss much, don’t Frankie.’

  Gathering up her bag from the table Rose answered flatly, ‘No, he doesn’t, does he?’

  As she went to leave, Mary hesitated then said awkwardly, ‘Now, don’t get angry, love, but I told Frankie you was working extra shifts, and he wasn’t too pleased. I told him we don’t need his help, even though we’re grateful to know he’s offered if we was to need it. But you know what he is. He’s never liked you working in that pub, and I agree with him there. Rose, love, I’ve been thinking. Now, I ain’t gonna say we can do without your wages, especially with me not being able to earn – though for all the extra time you’ve been putting in, you don’t seem to have much to show for it. But that’s beside the point. Like I said, I’ve been having a chat with Frankie, and now he’s settled in his new house… Well, you don’t have to worry about me being on me own so much. You could leave the pub and start looking for a decent job. You could even try and get your old job back. You was getting on well there, before you gave it up to take care of me. ’Cos, like Frankie said, we know where to find him now he’s not wandering round all over London. So if I needed anything while you was at work, I could always go to Frankie’s.’

  Rose snapped her handbag shut. ‘And how would you manage that, Auntie? Grantham Avenue is a good half-hour away by tram. And while the neighbours wouldn’t mind coming to fetch me from the pub in an emergency, I doubt if they’d be happy to go all that way even if they could be sure of finding Frank in.’ A sudden burst of impatience shot through her. ‘Look, Auntie, I’m in a bit of a rush and I’ll probably go straight to bed when I get in, so we’ll have a chat tomorrow.’

  Wounded by Rose’s offhand manner, Mary turned back to her knitting, but not before Rose had seen the hurt in the pale blue eyes. Instantly contrite, Rose threw her arms around the fat neck and said softly, ‘Lord, I’ve been a trial to you lately. But things will be different soon, Auntie, I promise. I’ve just got to get myself sorted out.’

  Mary brightened. That’s all right, love. I ain’t always a bundle of fun meself, now, am I?’

  Kissing the smooth cheek, Rose gave a small laugh. ‘You said it, Auntie. Now, remember, don’t wait up for me and I’ll see you in the morning. ’Bye.’

  She picked up a paper bag, which held her new working clothes, and glanced back at the placid figure, sitting so contentedly by the empty grate. She had a sudden wild urge to run back into the room, throw herself into Mary’s ample lap and unburden herself. But she checked the impulse: she knew better than anyone else how swiftly her kindly aunt could change into a cruel, vicious harridan.

  Pausing in the hallway she closed her eyes, terror draining every drop of energy from her. With an effort, she pulled herself together and made for the door. Then she looked back once again. This time, though, she didn’t see the benevolent Mary seated quietly in her armchair, she was confronted by a bloated, drunken woman, her red face filled with rage, and heard again the savage, hateful words that had been flung at her that ill-fated night.

  ‘Don’t you come crying to me if you suddenly find yourself up the spout, ’cos I won’t lift a finger to help you.’

  ‘It’ll be either your fancy man or the workhouse. And he might not hang around now he’s got what he wanted.’

  ‘… wouldn’t the neighbours have a field day to see me pure, innocent Rose come waddling down the street with a bastard bulging in her stomach.’

  ‘I won’t have it, Rose… D’yer hear me?… I said… D’yer hear me…?’

  Rose’s stomach churned but she lifted her chin, swallowed hard and left the small house quickly.

  After Rose had gone Mary sat quietly, her thoughts returning to a conversation she’d had with Frankie a couple of days ago. He’d asked if she and Rose would like to move in with him. Oh, he’d joked about being lonely on his own, but Mary thought that was nearer to the truth than F
rankie would admit. She hadn’t mentioned it to Rose yet, because she wasn’t sure how she herself felt about leaving her home. She had been prepared to move if Rose and Jack had found a place nearby, even though she hadn’t been happy about sharing a house with Jack Adams. So, she had reasoned, if she had been willing to do that, why wouldn’t she consider moving in with Frankie, a man she thought of and loved as if he was her own flesh and blood?

  Because, as she had said when they went to see the place, she would feel like a fish out of water in that massive, posh house. She wasn’t used to such luxury. Oh, Gawd! She didn’t know what to do for the best. She’d have to wait until Rose was in a better frame of mind before she broached the subject, although Gawd only knew when that’d be.

  Mary picked up her knitting once more, but her fingers remained idle.

  * * *

  ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day. Miss Goody Two Shoes, all dressed up like a tart just to rake in more money. I hope you’d jump in me grave as quick. I’ve only been off for a couple of weeks, stuck in me bed with a lousy cold, and you’ve already took me place, ain’t you? You little two-faced bitch.’

  Rose swept past the irate Sally to take an order from a young man who ogled her plunging neckline.

  ‘I’m talking to you, you stuck-up cow.’ Sally nudged Rose sharply in the side, which brought forth a cry of pain from her victim.

  Rose had opened her mouth to fight back when she felt herself grabbed roughly from behind. Her head spun round and her eyes widened in shock at seeing Frankie, angrier than she’d ever seen him, glaring at her. ‘So this is why you’ve been trying to stop me coming in for a drink. All that bollocks about wanting to be left alone for a while, I should’ve known something was going on. Well, you can get your things, right now. You ain’t stopping here looking like that. You look like an old slag.’