He stared at her for a several moments before slowly he nodded. ‘Very well, then, but –’ he wagged his forefinger at her – ‘there’s just one thing.’ Meg held her breath as he continued, ‘You’re not staying here any longer. Until we’ve got those two rooms upstairs habitable, you are coming home with me.’ He smiled archly at her. ‘I’ll risk my reputation, if you’ll risk yours.’
Meg laughed and thanked him prettily, but she did not voice what she was thinking.
Whatever was Miss Finch going to say about that when she heard? As hear she surely would.
Twenty-Three
Clara Finch had plenty to say. From the workroom, where she was carefully sewing buttons onto the jacket of a suit, Meg heard it all.
‘Percy Rodwell, have you taken leave of your senses entirely?’ the woman almost screamed at him. ‘You mean to tell me that you’re going to let that slut of a girl live over the shop? You’re trusting her to be alone here? Well, I declare I’ve heard everything now.’
Percy’s tone was calm. ‘The girl is no slut. She and her family have hit hard times.’
‘No slut, you say. Like mother, like daughter, I say.’
In the workroom, Meg winced and her resolve against her mother hardened.
‘I really couldn’t pass comment on her mother, Clara,’ Percy was saying, his voice low. ‘I’ve never met the poor woman, but just remember she’s lost her husband and two of her children. Can’t you find it in your heart to be a little more sympathetic?’
Clara snorted in a most unladylike manner. ‘You make it sound as if her husband died. Well, I don’t know what that chit of a girl has told you, but he didn’t.’ By now Meg had crept closer to the door leading from the workroom into the shop. It was ajar and she peeped through the open slit to see Clara prod Percy in the chest with a sharp, bony fingertip. ‘He ran off with another woman. Morals no better than a tomcat’s, if you ask me. And now the mother has taken up with Isaac Pendleton.’
‘Clara,’ Percy cut in, ‘nobody is asking you.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence and then her voice shrilled. ‘Percy Rodwell, how dare you speak to me like that?’
‘My dear—’ Percy began.
‘Don’t you “my dear” me,’ Clara shot back. ‘The scheming little hussy is taking you for a fool, Percy. But if you’re too blind to see it, then so be it. But don’t come running to me for sympathy when she runs off with all the takings.’
‘She won’t do that,’ he said confidently and the listening girl felt a warm glow of gratitude flood through her.
‘Don’t my opinions count for anything with you, Percy?’
There was the slightest of pauses before Percy answered. It sounded to Meg as if he was having to force the words out. ‘Of course, my dear,’ he said mildly, ‘but I think I am a better judge of character than you give me credit for.’
Clara’s laugh was hard and brittle. ‘You’re a fool, Percy. A fool over a pretty face. Just like a lot of men. Though I’d’ve thought better of you. But . . .’ She paused deliberately, then added, ‘If you won’t listen to me, your fiancée, then perhaps you’ll listen to my brother.’ Percy did not respond this time and Clara added pointedly, ‘Don’t forget, my dear –’ the endearment was heavy with sarcasm – ‘that he owns these premises. I think he has a right to say who occupies them, don’t you?’
Meg heard the swish of the woman’s skirts as she moved and then the sound of the shop doorbell. Now, through the crack, she could see Clara standing near the door, her hand on the doorknob, about to leave. Then she saw the woman turn back to deliver one last parting shot. ‘Don’t force my brother to do something we might all regret, Percy.’
She left the shop, slamming the door behind her so that the bell bounced crossly.
Meg pulled open the door and stepped into the shop. ‘Oh, Mr Rodwell, I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m so sorry. I should leave at once.’ She moved closer to him and looked appealingly up into his face. Huskily, she said, ‘I can’t bear to be the cause of trouble between you and your fiancée.’
Percy was still staring at the closed door through which Clara had departed. ‘Don’t concern yourself, my dear,’ Percy murmured.
Behind the round, steel-rimmed spectacles, Percy’s hazel eyes had a thoughtful, far-away look.
For the rest of the day there was a tense atmosphere in the shop. Customers came and went and were served with the usual polite efficiency, yet between Percy and Meg there was constraint. They were both waiting for the arrival of Theobald Finch. Meg didn’t know what to expect and Percy did not share his thoughts with her. Yet they were both jumpy, and each time the shop doorbell clanged they turned towards it, holding their breath until they recognized the newcomer.
Mid-afternoon, Meg was alone in the shop whilst Percy worked in the back room. The bell clanged and Meg looked up to see Jake standing in the open doorway, grinning widely. There was no one in the shop to see, apart from Percy, so she hurried towards him, her hands outstretched.
‘Jake – how are you? How are you getting on at the farm? Have you settled in with Ron and his family? Oh, do tell me everything.’
‘It’s great,’ he began, closing the door and coming further into the shop. ‘They’re really nice people, the Smallwoods.’ He sounded surprised after what Meg had told him.
Meg sighed. ‘I suppose they are. It was my dad and Alice caused the trouble, if I’m honest.’ She changed the subject, away from painful memories. ‘Tell me what you’re doing.’
‘All sorts. I like the milking the best. Never thought I’d tek to cows, but they’re nice creatures when you get used to ’em.’
‘Do – do you help in the dairy?’
‘A bit, if the missis is short-handed. She’s got a girl working there, but Mrs Smallwood ses she’s useless. I reckon she’s going to get rid of her before long.’ There was a pause before he said, ‘I was thinking I might tell her about Betsy.’
‘Betsy! But she’s not old enough.’
‘She’s twelve – nearly thirteen.’
‘Is she? I thought she was only about ten.’
‘She’s very small for her age. But she’s wiry and stronger than she looks.’
‘She’ll need to be to work in Mrs Smallwood’s dairy,’ Meg said tartly. Her feelings towards the young girl were mixed. She knew she shouldn’t blame Betsy for the mix-up over Louisa Daley’s watch – the girl had been very ill and had hardly realized what she was doing. But if it hadn’t been for Betsy, Meg might now have been training to be a proper teacher with Louisa as her friend. But then, of course, there had been Bobbie . . .
Jake broke into her thoughts. ‘I’ve moved in with Ron and his family and I’ve got the little bedroom you told me about.’ He touched her arm. ‘I think about you when I’m lying in bed at night. Was it your bed? Is – is that where you slept.’
Meg nodded, a lump in her throat. ‘I ’spect so. I shouldn’t think the Smallwoods have refurnished the place.’
Jake laughed. ‘No, they haven’t.’ Then his voice softened as he said, ‘But I’m glad they haven’t if I’m sleeping in your bed. It – it makes me feel closer to you.’ Colour crept into his face as he added. ‘I – I miss you, Meggie.’
It was the endearing pet name her father had called her. When her family life had fallen apart, she had vowed never to let anyone else call her that. Yet for some reason she didn’t mind Jake using it.
‘And I miss you, but I’m glad you like it there,’ she said brightly. Then she added wryly, ‘Mind you don’t do anything to upset the missis and get yourself thrown out, that’s all.’
Jake’s face was sober now, the wide grin gone. ‘I’ve been up to the workhouse.’
Meg dropped her gaze and began to turn away, but Jake caught hold of her arm and held on to her, forcing her to remain where she was. ‘Meg, I’ve seen your mam. She’s desperate to see you – to know if you’re all right.’
Meg glared at him. ‘She should have thought of
that before she got into Isaac Pendleton’s bed.’
‘Oh, Meggie, don’t be so hard on her. What else has she got left?’
‘She’s got me,’ Meg said passionately and struck herself in the chest with her clenched fist. ‘I’d never’ve let her down. Not like she’s let me down.’ Meg was leaning towards him now, shouting in his face. ‘She brought me up to believe that I shouldn’t let a man – any man – touch me before I’d got a wedding band on me finger. And then just look what she does.’
‘Well–’ Jake shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other – ‘that’s different.’
‘Why is it?’ she shot back.
‘Because – because it just is. I mean – when you’re a young girl and it’s your first time an’ that.’
‘When you’re a virgin, you mean?’
Jake’s face flamed as he nodded.
Meg’s face twisted. ‘It’s no different. She’s – she’s a whore.’
Softly Jake said, ‘She’s still yer mam and she loves you.’
Now Meg pulled herself away from him. ‘Well, I don’t love her any more. I hate her and I never want to see her again. And you can tell her that.’
Jake shook his head. ‘I’ll do no such thing.’ He sighed and said gently, ‘Look, I can understand why you’re feeling hurt, but in time you’ll feel different.’
‘No, I won’t. I never forgive and I never forget.’
She turned away and went to stand behind the counter, but there was more between them now than just the physical barrier. Jake stood awkwardly, still near the door, whilst Meg stood behind the counter glowering, and that was how Percy saw them as he came in. He glanced from one to the other.
‘Jake’s just leaving, Mr Rodwell. Goodbye, Jake,’ she added pointedly and picked up a bolt of cloth, turning her back on him as she replaced it on a shelf behind the counter.
Jake nodded to Percy, pulled on his cap, and opened the door just as someone else was about to enter. He stood aside and allowed Theobald Finch to step inside, then left without another word.
‘Now, Percy, what’s all this about? You’ve quite upset the old girl, don’tcha know.’ Theobald said the last three words as if they were one. His glance alighted on Meg. ‘And – er – is this the young lady in question?’ He frowned as he added, ‘I know you, don’t I? Weren’t you the lass at the workhouse whose mam fainted?’ This was the second time that Theobald Finch had recognized her by remembering that incident. Meg bit her lip.
Percy leapt to her aid. ‘That’s beside the point, Theo. Meg has come to work for me here in the shop. As you know, I am expanding my business into ladies’ – erm – apparel and I need a female assistant.’
‘But surely, Percy, old man, someone a little older would be more suitable.’ They were talking about her now as if she wasn’t there, but Meg stood her ground, wanting – needing – to know just what was being said.
‘Meg is quick and willing to learn. I can teach her my ways. The way I want things doing.’
‘Well, yes, I can see that might have its advantages,’ Theo conceded.
Percy removed his spectacles, polished them and replaced them. ‘I really can’t see what Clara is so upset about.’
Theobald cleared his throat, glanced briefly at Meg and then dropped his gaze. ‘Give us a moment, girl—’
‘Her name is Miss Kirkland,’ Percy almost snapped.
Theobald Finch stared at her. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘now I do recall. Your family used to work for Smallwood. Is that right?’
Reluctantly, Meg nodded.
‘And your father seduced their young daughter?’
Rashly, and not knowing really why she did when her own feelings for him were so bitter, Meg leapt to her father’s defence. ‘Alice Smallwood was a flirt. It wasn’t all his doing. She – she led him on and – and he fell for a pretty face.’
Theo eyed her and nodded slowly. ‘And that’s not all, is it? Your mother’s taken up with Isaac Pendleton, I hear. And what about you? Are you setting your cap at Percy here? Think he’s a good catch, do you?’
‘Now, look here—’ Percy began, but Theobald held up his hand.
‘Percy, old chap, I think perhaps – in all the circumstances – it might be best if you dispensed with this girl’s services.’
Percy was quite calm and all hesitation gone as he said, ‘No, Theo. I’m sorry, but I will not. Meg is to remain here and she is to live in the rooms upstairs and if that doesn’t suit you then . . .’ He left the sentence hanging in the air between them, an unresolved contention.
‘Well now, let’s not be too hasty. Think the matter over, Percy, there’s a good fellow.’ Theo patted his future brother-in-law on the shoulder and, completely ignoring Meg, turned and strode towards the door, pausing only to say, ‘Think it over, I’m sure you’ll come round to our way of thinking, Percy, if you know what’s good for you.’ Then he pulled open the door and was gone.
Before the sound of the shop bell had died away, Meg said, ‘There’s nothing else for it.’ She looked up at Percy with soulful eyes. ‘I’ll just have to go back to the workhouse.’
‘I won’t hear of it. I’m not going to be bullied into doing something I don’t want to do.’
‘Oh, Mr Rodwell,’ Meg breathed, a catch in her voice, ‘you don’t know how much that means to me.’ She turned her bright gaze on him and Percy blinked.
Then she dropped her gaze and gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘But Miss Finch is your fiancée. I don’t want to cause trouble between you.’
She felt him touch her shoulder lightly and when she looked up at him again, she saw that he was smiling. Softly, he said, ‘I think the trouble was already there long before you arrived, my dear. You’ve just made me see things so much more clearly. Oh yes – so much more clearly.’
Twenty-Four
Late that evening they left the shop together, Meg walking beside Percy along the street, clutching her belongings. They were pathetically few and Meg felt ashamed.
‘Here we are,’ Percy said, opening the gate into the tiny front garden of a cottage in a row of similar houses. He opened the front door and stood aside for her to enter. ‘Please,’ he said, smiling down at her, ‘come in.’
Meg stepped into a small, dark hallway and waited whilst Percy closed and bolted the door. ‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘whilst I light a lamp and then I’ll show you round.’
The cottage was small, but clean and neat and tidy. It could have been cosy, but to Meg’s eye it lacked a woman’s touch. There were no pretty cushions on the sofa, few ornaments, and what pictures there were on the plain, whitewashed walls were dark and dreary. Meg itched to place fresh flowers on the sideboard and to light a cheery fire in the grate in the small front parlour. The room looked as if it was never used, merely dusted once a week, the square of carpet in the centre brushed and the hearthrug shaken. But as she followed Percy through the hallway again and into the long, narrow kitchen at the back of the house, she realized that the front room was the only sitting room. He must use it, she thought, yet it looks so forlorn, so unloved.
The kitchen, too, was sparse, adequate only for a single man’s needs. The feeling of loneliness made Meg shudder. Used to family life and even to the workhouse, where it was impossible to be alone for more than five minutes in the day, Meg couldn’t imagine coming home to an empty house and a cheerless grate. It must be awful, she thought, to have no one to talk to, no one with whom to share the day’s news.
A tiny twisting staircase led up out of the kitchen to two bedrooms.
‘The first one’s mine, but this is a spare room. There are sheets in the cupboard. I hope they’ll not be damp,’ Percy added worriedly. ‘No one’s been in here for a long time.’
Meg smiled and glanced around her. It was the largest bedroom she had ever slept in. ‘It’ll be fine, Mr Rodwell. I’m very grateful.’
‘Please –’ he gestured towards the small fireplace – ‘light a fire. I had both chimneys swept only last month,
so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting it going.’
‘It doesn’t seem right to be lighting a fire in a bedroom in summer,’ Meg murmured.
‘Well, we’re into September now.’ Percy smiled. ‘And nights start to turn a little autumnal. Besides, it feels cold and musty in here. Not being used, I expect. No, no, Meg. Light a fire, do – it’ll help air the room. There are sticks and coal in the backyard. You do that and make up the bed while I find us something to eat.’
Half an hour later, Meg sat on the bed watching the shadows cast by the flames dancing on the ceiling. She felt herself growing drowsy. The bed felt so comfortable and she was warm . . . She shook herself awake, yawning and rubbing her eyes, then went down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom and stepping straight into the kitchen.
Meg gasped in surprise. The table to one side of the narrow kitchen was laid and Percy was placing steaming dishes of meat and vegetables on top.
‘Come and sit down, Meg.’
‘Oh, Mr Rodwell. I never thought – I mean – of course, living on your own . . .’ Her voice trailed away, not quite sure if she was saying the right thing.
‘Needs must, my dear. Of course, it would be nice to be married. To have a wife to come home to . . .’ Now it was Percy’s voice that faded away and he bowed his head and clasped his hands together to say grace.
He began to serve the food, but Meg jumped up. ‘Please – let me.’
When she had finished serving them both, she sat down again opposite him and they smiled at each other. They ate in silence, yet it was a companionable silence. At the end of the meal, Meg stood up. ‘Now, I’ll do the washing up. You go and sit in the front room and read your paper. That’s what—’ She stopped suddenly. She had been about to say, ‘That’s what my father liked to do,’ but she bit back the words that reminded her so cruelly of happier times.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Meg,’ Percy said, ‘but it’s chilly in there and it’s hardly worth lighting a fire at this time of night just for one. I usually sit in here until bedtime.’ Meg glanced around, but there were only the two wooden chairs that they had sat on at the table. There was no easy armchair for the man of the house. ‘I always light one on a Sunday, but we can light one tonight if you like, now that you’re here too,’ he added. There was suddenly an eager note to his voice and he even half rose out of his chair, as if to go this very minute to fetch paper, sticks and coal.
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