She had killed her baby – Jack’s baby – and no matter how many times in the future she told herself it had been for the best, she knew she would never forgive herself for what she had done. Maybe she should have died, too. It would have been fitting if the murderer had in turn been murdered.
She made no sound, yet somehow Frankie became aware that she was awake. He leaned forward, caught hold of one hand lying on top of the blanket and raised it to his lips. ‘Hello, Princess. Welcome back to the land of the living. You had me worried for a while. The doctors told me you might peg out, but I told ’em, not my Rose.’ He gazed down at her, his dark eyes soft with love. ‘Now, then, you’ve got to rest. Here, look… I’ve had you moved to a private room. That other place they had you in was like a bleeding morgue.’
‘Frankie…’ Stretching out a slender hand she mumbled, ‘Drink, Frank… please… Get me some water.’
Frankie rose stiffly from the confines of the wicker chair, fetched a small tumbler of water and held it to Rose’s cracked lips. When she had taken a few eager sips, he laid her head tenderly back on the pillow. And when she gave a weak smile he had to fight down a fierce urge to gather her up into his arms for safe keeping.
Instead his hand reached out to the mass of damp, tumbling curls that had fallen over the pale, beautiful face. ‘You try and get some rest, Princess. The doctor said you need plenty of sleep.’
A look of alarm crossed Rose’s face. She grabbed at Frankie’s hand and wailed, ‘Don’t go, Frank. Don’t leave me here alone. I’m scared, Frank… I’m so very scared.’
‘I ain’t going anywhere, Princess. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise. Go back to sleep, Rosie love, go back to sleep.’
Rose’s eyelids fluttered then gradually closed and her breathing became even as she let herself drift off.
Frankie remained sitting on the edge of the hard bed until he was sure she wouldn’t wake, then gingerly eased himself up, ready to return immediately if she should stir. But the recumbent form was deep in the arms of Morpheus.
Crossing to a large window he stared out into the dark night, his tired mind in a whirl as he tried to find a way to make things right for Rose – and Mary. Mary, who had been told that her beloved niece had been involved in a road accident and who was now probably nearly out of her mind with worry. Yet how much worse it would have been to tell her the truth.
For now, Rose’s secret was safe as far as her aunt was concerned, but what of later? If that damned excuse for a doctor had done his work properly, there wouldn’t be any need for further lies but the bastard had botched the job from start to finish. Frank ground his teeth.
If it hadn’t been for Sally, Rose would probably still be lying in her own blood in a back-street room, unable to summon help. She had been left to die like a wounded animal caught in a trap. A surge of white-hot fury raced through Frankie. When he caught up with the man responsible, he would kill him. The man had hurt Rose, nearly killed her, and for that he would have to pay. A soft light from the corridor reflected Frankie’s face in the window. A face drawn with anguish as he contemplated how near he had come to losing his Rose. Behind him, Frankie could see the outline of Rose’s still body under a hospital blanket. It was a good job Sally had gone after her. Frankie’s brows knitted in bewilderment. He still couldn’t understand why Sally, of all people, had put herself out like that. It didn’t make any sense – but then nothing did at the moment.
At first, Frankie had been filled with rage against Jack Adams. If the policeman had shown his face a couple of hours ago, he would surely have done for him. But he’d had time to think more rationally since then, and the truth was that, in spite of his animosity towards Jack Adams, Frankie knew that he would never have left Rose if he’d known she was pregnant. In a strange way Frankie had nurtured a sneaking admiration for the young copper. He wasn’t a man to be intimidated, and the Lord knew, Frankie had tried, yet each time Adams had come back at him, matching word for word, insult for insult. If it had come to it, Adams wouldn’t have hesitated to exchange blows, even with a man renowned throughout the East End for his prowess in street fighting. No. Jack Adams wasn’t the sort of man to run out on a woman when she needed him. So for some reason Rose had kept her condition to herself. Why, Frankie wasn’t sure. Maybe, just maybe, she had realised she didn’t love Adams enough to spend the rest of her life with him, but Frankie didn’t think that was right. He had seen the two of them together – and the love that had emanated from them. He sighed heavily and pressed his forehead against the cool pane of glass. He didn’t hear anyone enter the small, dimly lit room, so when the soft voice cut into the silence he jumped. He spun round to face the intruder.
‘Mr Buchannon!’ A man in a black frock coat came towards him, his hand outstretched. ‘My name’s Dr Maitland. I was called in to help assist with your niece’s case. We met briefly when I first arrived.’
Confused and disorientated by lack of sleep and anxiety Frank grasped the hand. ‘I remember, Doctor.’
The doctor studied the man in front of him with interest. So this was the legendary Frankie Buchannon. Labelled a common criminal by some, he apparently had the power to order a high-ranking official from the medical governing body to summon one of the top doctors in London to save the life of a young woman who had placed herself in the hands of an abortionist – a crime in itself, and one that carried a severe penalty.
Thomas Maitland, a renowned obstetrician, surveyed the handsome, enigmatic figure, who had been instrumental in ensuring his presence here at one o’clock this morning, where he had found the young woman in question close to death. For the past two hours he had battled to save both the young mother and her unborn child, while Buchannon had paced the corridors of the infirmary like a caged animal.
Thomas Maitland was an experienced judge of human nature and he could see that here was a man who had been to the brink of despair and back. The cause of that despair was lying in the narrow bed behind them. The doctor walked over and looked down at his sleeping patient. ‘Has she woken since you’ve been here?’
Frankie rubbed his face, trying to think straight. ‘Yes. About half an hour ago. I gave her a drop of water – she was thirsty.’
The grey-haired man nodded. ‘My colleague, Dr Ramsey, tells me you’ve been kept up to date with what’s happening. Have you told your niece the news?’ Now he was looking directly into the dark brown eyes, and Frankie, summoning inner resources to ward off his increasing fatigue, answered flatly, ‘No, I didn’t think she was ready to hear it.’
Lifting the limp wrist, the doctor felt for a pulse and monitored it without the aid of a watch. ‘That, of course, is your prerogative, Mr Buchannon. Though in my experience it is sometimes better to impart unpleasant news as quickly as possible. However, I must say, informing a woman that her unborn child is still safe in the womb wouldn’t be my notion of bad news. But, then, my job is to save lives, not destroy them.’
A flicker of anger banished Frankie’s exhaustion. Meeting the doctor’s disapproving eye, he said, coldly, ‘And it ain’t your job to make judgements without knowing all the facts. People do terrible things sometimes out of sheer terror or panic. My Rose has never hurt a soul in her life, so you can wipe that sanctimonious look off your face. If you don’t think she’s good enough for your attention, then I’ll find another doctor to look after her. Someone with a bit more understanding.’
The elderly man stood his ground. ‘Please forgive my harsh statement, Mr Buchannon. You’re absolutely right, of course. But, like you, I am desperately in need of sleep. I’m not seeking to excuse myself when I say that we are all mortal and prone to human error. Please accept my apologies.’
Now Frank looked more closely and saw the red-grained eyes and tired lines in the other man’s face. ‘Yeah, all right, Doc. It’s been a bad night all round, ain’t it?’
The hostility eased and the doctor inclined his head towards the bed. ‘Is there no chance the young man in question
will stand by your niece?’
Frankie followed the doctor’s gaze. ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Doctor.’
‘Very well. You will know the circumstances better than I. Still, it would have made things much simpler if there had been a father standing by. She’s going to need an eye kept on her over the remaining months, especially to make sure she doesn’t make another attempt. She was lucky to have survived such an ordeal. Most women wouldn’t have been so fortunate.’ He shot a look at Frankie. ‘Has the nature of your niece’s condition been explained fully to you?’ He noted the fraught expression that crossed Frankie’s face. ‘No. We’ve all had our hands full these past few hours. Look… It would be better if we could talk somewhere more private, just in case Miss Kennedy should awaken unexpectedly. An office has been given over for my use and we can speak more easily there. It’s just down the corridor.’ he added as Frankie’s eyes darted anxiously to the sleeping Rose. ‘You need to be fully appraised of the situation if you are going to be able to help your niece.’ Holding the door open wide, the doctor waited for Frankie to pass, and Frankie, with another worried look at the unconscious form, slipped out into the hallway.
Once in the roomy office, the doctor sank into a large leather chair, gesturing Frankie to another positioned at the other side of the large, walnut desk.
When both were seated, the doctor looked across the desk and steepled his fingertips beneath his chin. He thought for a moment then said formally, ‘First, Mr Buchannon, may we be entirely honest with each other? Miss Kennedy isn’t your niece, is she?’
Frank was astounded, but he collected himself and said, ‘What if she isn’t? I don’t see as how that’s any business of yours, Doctor.’
‘I’m afraid it’s very much my business, Mr Buchannon. When dealing with my patients, I like to know as much about the individual as is humanly possible, to ensure they have the best possible care. You see, Mr Buchannon, we doctors can only do so much. We can repair broken bones and sew up torn bodies, but ultimately, and especially in cases like Miss Kennedy’s, a complete cure can only be achieved if the patient has the support of a loving family. Of course, there are exceptions. Some patients have the strength to take care of themselves after they leave here. And though that is an admirable trait, to my mind nothing can compare with the love of a family – and loyal friends. Which are you, Mr Buchannon?’
For an instant Frankie was tempted to tell this superior-looking bastard to mind his own business. Then he remembered the doctor’s words: this was his business. In doing what she had, Rose had made her business known to this man, and if Frankie wanted his help, he would have to answer his questions.
Frankie had looked after his own affairs for too long to need to confide in others, but there was something about the elderly gentleman, observing him patiently, that reached out to him and broke down his reserve. He cleared his throat and, in short, terse sentences, he told of his relationship to Rose Kennedy, and of how it had come about. The doctor listened intently, his lined face seeming to relax a little as he became aware of the real affection Frankie felt for the young woman patient who had been thrust into his care.
When he had finished, Thomas Maitland adjusted his half-moon spectacles on the bridge of his nose, intertwined his fingers and said softly, ‘Thank you, Mr Buchannon. I appreciate your candour.’ Now his voice and actions became more businesslike. ‘With regard to Miss Kennedy, your charge, if I may refer to her as such, has a condition known as placenta praevia. It’s quite rare. The last study, made in 1896, suggests that the condition occurs in roughly one in a thousand pregnancies. In Miss Kennedy’s case, the placenta – or afterbirth, as it is often known – has become attached to a part of the wall of the uterus directly above the opening to the birth canal. This being the case, the slightest contact made with it through the vagina can result in copious bleeding, which is obviously what happened today. If the “doctor” in question had taken the time to conduct a simple internal examination, he would have been aware of the obstruction but, then, such men aren’t renowned for their thoroughness. The moment the instrument to abort the foetus was entered into the vagina it came into contact with the placenta and the subsequent haemorrhage occurred.’
As he listened to the doctor, Frankie felt a sensation of faintness steal over him. It shocked and frightened him: he had been inured to life’s unpleasantnesses from an early age. He sat up straighter in the chair, clenched his teeth and ground out, ‘Spare me the gruesome details, eh? All I want to know is if she’s… if Rose is gonna pull through this.’
He had expected a hearty reassurance and his heart began to pound at the grave look on the doctor’s face.
‘I won’t lie to you, Mr Buchannon. Abnormal pregnancies of any kind can be life-threatening to both mother and child.’
Frankie felt faintness threaten again as fear clutched at his very soul. ‘But you – you made me think she was gonna be all right. I mean, all that talk about wanting to know your patient so’s she could get the best treatment. You made it sound like—’
‘Mr Buchannon, please, don’t alarm yourself.’ The doctor was now leaning over the desk, his hands held out reassuringly. ‘I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t make you cognisant of all the dangers.’ Thomas Maitland stroked the lower half of his face before continuing, ‘Miss Kennedy has been exposed to danger by the loss of blood she has endured. This in turn increases the tendency to septic inflammation. As for the child – its life may have become endangered by asphyxia through the interference with the placenta, which may result in either prematurity or malpresentation – or both.’ He got up, came round to stand in front of Frankie and perched on the edge of the polished desk. ‘Please, Mr Buchannon, don’t look so despondent. I’ve painted a pretty dismal picture, I know, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Not so long ago, one in three mothers died from placenta praevia. Now, I’m pleased to say, with modem treatment, many more are saved… although the risk to the unborn child remains high.’
The muscles in Frankie’s throat seemed to have seized up. Up until a few minutes ago, he hadn’t cared if the creature growing inside Rose, for that’s how he thought of it, had been destroyed. In fact, he had been stricken to find it still lived – Jack Adams’s child. A bastard bred by a bastard!
But Frank knew, deep down, that if the child died, a part of Rose would die with it. And as much as he loathed the idea of seeing Rose raise Jack Adams’s child, such was the intense love he had for her that he found himself praying for the child’s survival. For only if it lived, would Rose ever become whole again – though if he thought for one moment that continuing the pregnancy would put Rose’s life at risk, he would tear the child from her womb with his bare hands. A Rosie half alive would be better than no Rosie at all.
And what about Mary? Rose was her life. If anything happened to her, the old girl would simply give up. Oh, God! What a mess. Three lives hung in the balance, and all because Jack Adams hadn’t been able to keep his trousers buttoned. Damn him to hell! Lights seemed to be dancing behind the backs of his eyes as Frankie strove to maintain a normal façade, but even his indomitable strength and tenacity seemed unable to aid him through this, his darkest hour. ‘Look, Doctor. Just give me a straight answer, will you? The only thing that interests me right now is whether Rose is gonna pull through this. I don’t care how much it costs. If you have to get another doctor in to help you, then get him. Money’s no object. Not where Rosie’s concerned.’
Thomas Maitland looked at the distraught man with pitying eyes. ‘Money has nothing to do with this, Mr Buchannon. All that can be done will be done, you have my word. But I can’t give you any cast-iron guarantee.’
Frankie stared at the doctor, his eyes beseeching. The awful fear that was tearing his body and mind apart had stripped away the tough, invincible surface that Frankie Buchannon presented to the world, leaving in its place a desperate, vulnerable man, who would do anything – anything at all – to save the life of some
one he loved.
‘You just do whatever it takes – get whoever’s needed. Just – just don’t let her die, Doctor. Don’t let my Rosie die. Please.’
Chapter Seventeen
The following forty-eight hours passed in a confused blur for Rose as she drifted in and out of sleep. During this fraught time, Frankie was hardly ever away from the small room where she lay.
A tearful, distraught Mary was now also keeping vigil over her unconscious niece, telling anyone who came within earshot that it was all her fault. She seemed to take a perverse comfort in berating herself publicly. And it was only after considerable effort, that Frankie persuaded her to be taken home for some much-needed rest.
He had ordered that no one on the medical staff should speak to either Rose or Mary unless he authorised it. He wanted the news of the baby’s tenuous hold on life to be kept from both women for the time being. It was still early days. He didn’t want to raise Rose’s hopes until he was sure the baby would survive: it would be so cruel if Rose was told her child lived, only to lose it soon after.
Now, on the third day since Rose’s admission, Frankie was again facing Thomas Maitland waiting to hear the doctor’s prognosis. A small ray of hope glimmered in him at the sight of the expression on the weathered face.
‘Ah, Mr Buchannon. Well, now, I won’t keep you waiting any longer. I’m pleased to say that Miss Kennedy’s condition has stabilised much more quickly than I at first expected. We doctors are often surprised at the resilience of some of our patients, and never more so than in Miss Kennedy’s case. The haemorrhaging has been checked and shows no immediate signs of recurring. If she is nursed carefully, and has the required rest, well… I have high hopes of delivering her of a healthy child in, say, five months’ time. The birth must take place early before further complications can arise. Mr Buchannon! Are you all right, sir?’
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