Meg’s eyes widened. ‘Oh! How very grand we’ll be tonight. I know the posh folks drink wine, but I never have. Oh, Mr Rodwell, what a treat.’
‘Please,’ he said hesitantly, ‘won’t you call me Percy?’ Then he added hastily, ‘Not in the shop, of course, but when we’re here. On our own.’
Meg’s green eyes sparkled and Percy Rodwell was lost.
Twenty-Six
‘Hello, lad, what yer doing here?’ Albert Conroy greeted Jake on Sunday afternoon as he opened the gate for him. ‘Can’t keep away from us, eh?’ He laughed wheezily.
Jake grinned. Like Meg, he had always had time for the old man whom many ignored. ‘Something like that, Albert. You all right?’
‘Oh ar, same as ever,’ Albert said, resigned to his lot. He would never leave the workhouse, but there was no use in railing against what he couldn’t change. He closed the gate and limped painfully back to the door of his lodge. ‘Like a cuppa, would yer? Kettle’s on the boil.’
Jake laughed. ‘I don’t remember a time when your kettle wasn’t on the boil. Go on then.’ Still chuckling, Jake followed the old man into the tiny room that was old Albert’s home. Carefully, Jake laid a package on the table. ‘I’ve brought you some eggs. Don’t worry, I ain’t pinched ’em. The missis said I could.’
Tears filled Albert’s eyes. ‘Aw, lad, that’s kind of yer. A’ yer sure? Don’t you want to give ’em to – well – to someone else?’ It was a long time since anyone had thought enough about him to bring him a gift.
Jake wrinkled his brow, pretending to think. ‘No, can’t say as I do. Go on, you daft old devil. I brought ’em for you.’
Albert sniffed and touched the package with trembling fingers. ‘Thanks, lad.’
Moments later they sat together, Albert in the dilapidated armchair, Jake perched on a stool with a loose leg. Jake stirred the tea in the cracked mug, looking down into the swirling, dark brown liquid.
‘Penny for ’em, lad.’
There was a silence before Jake said dolefully, ‘I don’t reckon they’re worth a penny, Albert.’
‘Wha’s up? Don’t tell me you’re missing this place.’
Jake smiled, but it wasn’t his usual wide grin. ‘No. I miss some of the people, but no, not the place, even though it’s the only home I’ve ever had.’
‘Are they good to you, these folks you’re working for?’
Jake nodded. ‘Aye, the mester’s all right. She’s a bit of a tartar, but Meg warned me about her . . .’ His voice trailed away and Albert watched his face.
‘Ah,’ the old man breathed. ‘It’s that lass, is it?’
Jake’s head shot up. ‘What?’ He met Albert’s steady, knowing gaze and realized denial was futile. He glanced away and sighed as he nodded. ‘I don’t know what to do. She won’t listen to me.’
‘How d’yer mean?’
Jake sighed. ‘She’s run away from here—’
‘I know that. I saw her the night she came back when he –’ Albert jerked his thumb towards the master’s room – ‘was going to lock her in the punishment room. She took off then and I ain’t seen or heard from her since.’
There was a long silence between them until Jake blurted out, ‘It’s because of her mother. Meg doesn’t . . . approve of her mother being with old man Pendleton.’
Albert shrugged philosophically. ‘Can’t blame the poor woman for seeking a bit of comfort. Had enough sorrow in her life just lately to turn her mind, if you ask me.’ He sniffed. ‘I like that little lass, but I reckon she ought to be grateful that someone’s being kind to ’er mam and looking after her. And he does look after his lady friends, yer know. I’ll say that for ’im.’ Albert sniffed. ‘Though I ain’t got much else to say in his favour.’ There was a pause before the older man pressed Jake to say more. ‘Why’s she so upset about it?’
‘She – she says it’s not how her mother brought her up. Meg feels betrayed, I suppose.’
‘Aye, aye,’ the old man murmured. ‘And so soon after her dad ran off. Must have hit the lass hard. They’ve both brought her up to believe one thing, then she sees ’em doing the opposite. Both of ’em. It’s a lot for a young lass to come to terms with. And, aye, mebbe to forgive an’ all. You’ll have to understand that, Jake.’
‘I do, but – but she’s doing the same thing herself now.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Talk about pot calling kettle black!’ When Albert looked puzzled, Jake went on. ‘She’s gone to work for Mr Rodwell, the tailor and – and she’s moved into his house.’ Jake’s face was tortured as he added, ‘She’s living with him, Albert. She’s living with him.’
The old man could find nothing to say except, ‘Aw, lad. Aw, lad.’
‘How is she? Have you seen her? Where is she living?’ The anxious questions tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth.
Jake perched nervously on the edge of the sofa in Isaac Pendleton’s office. The only occasions he had ever visited this room were when he had been in trouble. Usually such visits had ended with a thrashing or being sent to the punishment room across the yard, ‘for his own good’ as Isaac always put it.
‘It hurts me far more than it hurts you, boy.’ Isaac had always made a great play of being in loco parentis. ‘You have no father to guide you and so it falls to me to fill that role. It pains me, really it does, boy, but if you’re to make something of yourself in this world then one day you will thank me.’
At the time Jake couldn’t imagine that he would ever have reason to thank the big man who seemed to wield the cane with such relish.
‘It’s what your father – whoever he was – would have wanted me to do. He’d have wanted me to make a man of you.’ And the cane would swish through the air, landing on the thin trousers that offered no protection. The only solace Jake had ever had was that after Isaac’s ‘ministrations’, Miss Pendleton would seek him out and clasp him tightly to her ample bosom, promising that she would have words with her brother. ‘He’s too harsh on you,’ she would sob, stroking Jake’s hair. ‘You must try to be a good boy and not make him angry. He thinks it’s his job to mould you into a fine young man. And you will be a fine young man, Jake. Oh, you will be.’ And she would hug him all the tighter.
It was not lost on Jake that neither Letitia nor Isaac ever made reference to his mother. Perhaps, he thought sorrowfully, a young, unmarried girl giving birth in the workhouse and then dying and leaving her child to their tender mercies was not even worth a second thought.
‘Is she all right?’ Sarah prompted again.
Jake sighed. He hated having to be the one to tell the poor woman what her daughter was doing and, even worse, that Meg didn’t want to see her own mother. He tried to soften the blow, but without deliberately lying. ‘She’s been ill. Had a heavy cold and – and Mr Rodwell’s let her stay at his house.’
Sarah stared at him. ‘But – but – he lives alone, doesn’t he? I mean – he’s engaged to Miss Finch, isn’t he? She doesn’t live there, does she?’
Jake was obliged to shake his head.
Sarah was silent for a moment as the implications unravelled themselves in her mind. Then she covered her mouth with trembling fingers. ‘Oh no!’ she breathed. ‘You mean – you mean that Meg is living there alone with Mr Rodwell.’
Again Jake just nodded.
‘But what will people say? I mean, they’re saying enough about me. I don’t matter, but Meg—’ She paused again and her eyes widened. ‘This is all my fault, isn’t it? She’s doing this to pay me back.’ Sarah closed her eyes and rocked backwards and forwards. ‘She was disgusted at me and yet now she’s harming herself. No one will believe that nothing’s going on between them.’ Her eyes flew open again as she asked breathlessly, ‘Does Miss Finch know?’
‘ ’Fraid so.’
Sarah groaned, then she brightened visibly. ‘But maybe that’s just as well. She’ll either put a stop to it or – or give her approval and if his fiancée approves then people can’t think . . .’
Her voice traile
d away as she saw Jake’s solemn expression. ‘Nothing will stop the talk, missis. It’s already started.’
‘Now, Percy, I’ve come to get this matter sorted out once and for all.’ Clara appeared at the shop the following morning and faced Percy across the counter. ‘About this girl—’
At that moment Meg appeared from the workroom. Hearing the woman’s shrill voice, she came through at once. ‘You mean “this girl”, Miss Finch?’
‘I’m talking to my fiancé. This has nothing to do with you.’
‘I think it has everything to do with me, Miss Finch. Mr Rodwell was kind enough to give me a bed in his spare room for a couple of nights whilst I get the rooms above the shop cleaned out. Then I’ll be moving in here.’
‘Over my dead body,’ Clara spat. ‘You should be back in the workhouse, where you belong.’ Her lip curled. ‘I’m sure you could usurp your mother’s place if you smile nicely at the master. He likes young flesh. Only trouble is, he can’t often get it.’
‘Clara! Really, that’s quite enough.’
She rounded on Percy. ‘There’s no one here. None of your precious customers, who, let me tell you, will soon stop coming in here when they hear about your carryings on.’
‘And what carryings on would those be, Clara? And from whom are they going to hear it?’ Percy’s tone was deceptively mild, for there was a warning glint in his eyes. But if she saw it, Clara took no notice.
‘Percy, I’m warning you. Get rid of this girl. If you don’t – then – then—’
‘Then what, Clara?’
‘Our engagement is at an end.’
Meg stood still, hardly daring to breathe. She had not expected matters to come to a head so quickly. It was what she wanted, but not like this. Miss Finch – and her brother – could do untold harm to Percy and his business. And that was not what Meg wanted at all. She moved forward to stand beside Percy. It gave the impression that the two of them were ranged on one side, facing Clara together.
‘Oh, please, Miss Finch. If you really don’t want me to live here, then . . . then . . .’ She forced the tears to fill her fine eyes and spill down her cheeks. ‘Then – I’ll go back to the workhouse. But, please, don’t ask Mr Rodwell to dismiss me. I’m trying so very hard and I do want to better myself.’
Now Clara turned her vitriol against Meg. ‘Oho, I’ve no doubt you want to better yourself, girl. But don’t think I can’t see through your schemes, even if Percy here is too blind. I know what you’re up to.’
As if mystified, Meg shook her head and widened her eyes innocently. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Miss Finch. All I know is that my father has betrayed his wife and family and now my mother . . .’ She gulped and pressed her fingers to her mouth, as if the shame was too much to be spoken of aloud.
‘Exactly. Your mother is no better than she should be. And you, I’ve no doubt, are going down the same path to ruination. Well, you’re not dragging my Percy with you. Not whilst there’s breath in my body, you’re not.’
Percy’s voice was calm, yet there was an unusual firmness in his tone as he said, ‘No one is dragging me anywhere. I can make up my own mind, especially about my business. Meg—’
He got no further for Clara interrupted him with a wild screech. ‘Oh, “Meg”, is it now? So I was right all along.’
Percy continued as if she had not spoken. ‘Meg will remain in my employment and she will continue to live in my house. In my opinion,’ he went on, his steady gaze meeting Clara’s hostile glare, ‘the rooms above here are quite unsuitable for anyone to inhabit.’
Clara gave a gasp and tottered backwards. She seemed about to fall, but she recovered herself. Pressing the palm of her hand to her chest as if she had a terrible pain there, she rasped, ‘I do declare, Percy, you’ve quite taken leave of your senses.’
When he made no move to go around the counter to her or even to say anything further, her eyes narrowed and she nodded. ‘Very well then. You leave me no alternative. I will not be a party to this – this disgrace. As I said, Percy, you may consider our engagement to be at an end.’
They stared at one another for a few moments before he nodded slowly and said quietly, ‘As you wish, Clara.’
With one last surge of energy, Clara Finch shook her fist at him. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, Percy Rodwell. Wait till my brother hears. Then we’ll see if you will still have a business.’
As the sound of the shop bell died away after Clara’s indignant departure, Meg said, ‘Oh, Percy, I didn’t want that to happen. Go after her. Make it up with her. Please. I couldn’t bear to be the cause of you being unhappy.’
Slowly, Percy turned to look down at her and there was a note of surprise in his tone as he said, ‘Don’t worry yourself about that, my dear. In fact, all I am feeling at this precise moment is an overwhelming sense of relief.’
Twenty-Seven
Percy closed the shop and they set off along the street.
‘I’ll just call in at the General Stores,’ he said. ‘Get a bottle of wine. This calls for a celebration.’
Meg looked up at him. ‘A celebration?’ Even she was surprised. ‘You mean – I mean – I thought you’d be devastated.’
‘Do I look devastated?’
‘No,’ Meg agreed, trying to keep her face straight. Percy was smiling, but then that was his right. She must not let her own feelings show, the flutterings of excitement in the pit of her stomach as her plan began to form and take shape and, yes, began to happen.
‘When we get home . . .’ He savoured the words. ‘When we get home, if you make the meal, I’ll light the fire in the front room and we – we’ll have a nice, cosy evening together.’ Suddenly, he was unsure. ‘Is – is that all right?’
She smiled radiantly. ‘Of course it is. Just what we both need.’ Thank goodness, Meg was thinking, that I had already planned a special meal tonight.
Percy stopped outside the grocer’s. ‘What wine should I get? White or red?’
‘But we’ve some left from last night—’
He waved aside her protest. ‘I want to celebrate,’ he said firmly.
‘Well, it’s roast chicken.’
His eyes sparkled. ‘My favourite,’ he murmured. ‘White, then.’
Left alone outside the shop for a few moments, Meg began to feel less confident. What if Miss Finch made real trouble for Percy? What if her brother was so incensed that he threw Percy out of his shop? What then?
‘Here we are.’ He was back beside her and her doubts faded. In the short time that she had known him, she had never seen him look so happy or relaxed.
Some time later as they sat opposite each other across the narrow kitchen table, Percy confirmed her thoughts. He raised his glass to her in a toast. ‘That was a lovely meal and I’ll tell you something, Meg, I don’t know when I last felt as happy as this. I feel as if I’ve been let out of prison.’
Huskily she said, ‘I know just how you feel. That’s how I felt the day I left the workhouse. And I owe all that to you. I’m only sorry that it’s caused trouble between you and your fiancée. You – you will make it up with her, won’t you? I mean her brother owns your shop premises. What if – what if he turns you out?’ At last, she was voicing her greatest fear.
‘I don’t think he’ll do that. He knows it would be difficult to find another tenant. The building needs a lot spending on it and Theobald Finch doesn’t like spending money.’
‘Haven’t you ever tried to – to buy it from him?’
‘My father – he started the business – tried to years ago, and I tried too, but the only way I was ever going to get it was to . . .’ His voice faded away.
‘What?’ Meg prompted. ‘Go on.’
Reluctantly, Percy admitted, ‘Theo promised to give me the title deeds to the shop on my marriage to Clara. It – it was to be our wedding present.’
Meg gasped. ‘And now you’ve lost that all because of me.’
‘No, no,’ Percy assured her. ‘You mustn
’t think that. You’ve done me a favour. I think I always knew marriage between Clara Finch and me wasn’t right, else why would I have kept putting off the wedding date every time she tried to suggest one? She would have had us married four years ago but I –’ he smiled sheepishly at Meg – ‘but I kept finding excuses.’
‘Did you?’ Meg said and smiled at him, her wonderful, breathtaking smile. It took poor Percy Rodwell’s breath away and left his senses reeling. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. There was a new-found certainty in his tone. ‘No, I won’t be trying to make it up with Miss Finch.’ He raised his glass. ‘I’m glad it’s happened. Truly I am. So, I want to make a toast, Meg. To my new assistant, to the new ladies’ wear and – and to freedom. Our freedom.’
Smiling, Meg touched his glass with her own. ‘Here’s to us, Percy,’ she said softly.
‘He’s broken off his engagement to Miss Finch. The missus heard it in town.’
On the following Sunday afternoon, Jake brought the news to the workhouse, to Meg’s mother. Sarah gasped. ‘Why? Is it anything to do with Meg?’
Jake’s face clouded as he shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘What have you heard?’
‘Just that Miss Finch was so angry about Mr Rodwell employing Meg and then taking her to live with him that she threatened him. If he didn’t get rid of Meg, their engagement was off.’
‘And?’
‘He insisted he wasn’t going to sack Meg and that she was going to continue living at his house. Meg’d asked him if she could live in the rooms above the shop, but Miss Finch wouldn’t hear of that either.’ Jake glanced at Sarah and debated whether to tell her the whole story.
‘You know the last time she came here?’ he began tentatively. Sarah nodded, tears filling her eyes. ‘The night after she found out about me and – and Isaac?’ she whispered. ‘That’s the last time I saw her.’
‘Yes. Well, she was coming to tell you that she’d had the idea of asking Mr Rodwell if you could both live above the shop. You and her. She said she wanted to look after you.’ As Sarah covered her face with her hands, Jake said swiftly, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that.’
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