Without Sin

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Well – no – I – er – no, I didn’t.’

  ‘Then it will be our little secret.’ She made it sound as if there was much more to hide than what had actually happened. ‘We must think of Louisa and Percy.’

  Without another word being spoken, she fetched his gloves and handed them to him. He left the house, but as she closed the door after him, Meg was still smiling.

  I’ll get my revenge on you yet, Louisa Collins.

  Another Christmas came and went and life in South Monkford settled into a routine. Percy and Meg worked side by side in their shop. To the surprise of them both – though neither of them ever voiced their private thoughts to the other – the number of their customers grew steadily as they increased the range of their stock. Meg had secretly worried that the scandal of the breach-of-promise court case would seriously affect their business. And, though he said nothing to her, Percy had been concerned too. But their fears had been unfounded. Even Theobald Finch continued to frequent the shop, though they never saw Clara. In fact, very few people of the town ever saw Miss Finch. She ventured out rarely and when she did she travelled to Nottingham, where, incognito, she could shop away from the nudges and whispers. That the townsfolk of South Monkford had better things to think of now never occurred to the embittered woman.

  Meg threw herself into work at the shop and at home. She learnt as much as she could about the business and persuaded Percy to teach her tailoring. At first he was reluctant. ‘Oh no, it’s no job for a woman. How would you do the measuring? No gentleman would like that.’ But Meg was insistent and at last he allowed her to learn how to use the sewing machine. She filled her days deliberately. That way she had little time to think. She refused to dwell on the past, nor would she plan the future. She just lived from day to day, being a good wife to Percy and helping him to build the business.

  That way, little time was left for her to think of Jake.

  At the farm Jake couldn’t believe his luck. Every morning he woke to marvel at his good fortune. He was well fed and doing a job he loved. And best of all, little Betsy – who had always been one of his favourites at the workhouse – blossomed before his eyes. And if his nights were disturbed by haunting dreams of a fiery red-haired girl with a wonderful smile, no one would have guessed it from the wide grin that was permanently on his face. Only if they had thought to look a little closer would they have seen the sadness deep in his brown eyes that would never quite go away.

  At the workhouse, for the first time in many years, Isaac slept alone in the vast double bed. Much to Ursula’s glee, no one replaced Sarah Kirkland in the master’s affections and the lonely, obsessed spinster began to cherish hopes once more.

  I knew he always loved me best, she told herself. He needs me. I was right to stay here – to devote my life to caring for him. He’ll turn to me again. I know he will. I just have to be patient and wait . . .

  So it was Ursula who took the master his meals, who ran errands for him, who whispered tales about the inmates into his ear. Things, she said, that he ought to know, had a right to know. Yet to her chagrin he hardly seemed aware of her existence. And certainly he never invited her into his bed again.

  ‘I know what you’re up to.’ The matron was not so blind as her brother.

  ‘Up to?’ Ursula assumed an innocent expression. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Pandering to him. Running after him. Well, it won’t work. He was fond of Kirkland. Really fond. And he’s missing her.’

  ‘He’ll forget her.’ Ursula smirked. ‘And when he does, I’ll be there.’

  Letitia cast her a disbelieving glance, but said no more. She was not a cruel woman though at that moment she was tempted to say: He’ll never take up with you again in a month of Sundays. But Letitia held her tongue. If anything, she felt sorry for Waters. The woman had wasted her life, choosing to stay in the workhouse instead of making a life for herself outside its walls as Isaac would have helped her to do. But no, she’d rejected his offer, preferring to stay near him, forever hoping that one day he would . . .

  Well, he wouldn’t, Letitia knew, but she would say nothing against her brother. They were bound together by shared secrets from the past. And there were things, too, that Ursula Waters knew, so it would not do to cross her. Letitia was obliged to be content with her lot – she had made her bed and she had to lie in it. Isaac had been good to her and she was grateful to him. She was lucky – she knew she was. And she had her little boys to love and cherish.

  There was only one thing that saddened her these days. She didn’t see Jake as often as she would have liked and even less since Sarah’s death. He hadn’t been to the workhouse since then and she missed him. Oh, how the matron missed seeing her special boy.

  Forty-One

  When Britain declared war on Germany in August 1914 the news came as a shock to the people of South Monkford. Events outside the town rarely troubled the serenity of their lives, but now events in a far-off country, which should have had nothing to do with them, had turned their cosy world upside-down. In a fever of patriotism young men, and even not-so-young men, rushed to volunteer. Sons, husbands and fathers – all were swept up in the fervour to enlist.

  At Middleditch Farm Betsy and Mrs Smallwood were in a permanent state of anxiety lest Jake should be caught up in the excitement.

  ‘He won’t go, will he?’ Betsy said a dozen times a day.

  ‘I hope not.’ Mrs Smallwood was unusually patient with the young girl’s fears and constant questions. Betsy was only voicing Mabel’s worries.

  At last it was George Smallwood who dared to speak out. ‘You’ll not do anything daft, lad, will yer? Like joining up?’

  Jake’s face was sober. ‘I’ve decided . . .’ he paused and George, Mabel and Betsy stared at him, ‘not to volunteer, but of course if they bring in – what do they call it?’ He looked at George, who said, ‘Conscription.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. If they bring in conscription, then of course I’ll have to go.’

  ‘Mebbe you’ll not have to, lad,’ George said. ‘They’ll need workers to stay on the land. There’ll likely be food shortages if it goes on for very long.’

  ‘But they say it won’t,’ Mabel put in. ‘They say it’ll be all over by Christmas.’

  ‘Aye well, I wouldn’t hold mi breath, love, if I was you,’ was George’s only reply.

  Jake said no more, but silently made up his own mind. If conscription did come in, he would go then – even before they sent for him. He would answer his country’s call.

  ‘We’ll never cope with all these orders for suits, to say nothing of the underwear they’re buying,’ Percy said worriedly. Nothing was too good for their menfolk when they went to war, and wives and mothers flooded into the tailor’s shop demanding the very best for their loved ones. ‘What on earth they want new suits for to go into the army, I don’t know. Mind you, folks are very particular round here, but they’ll not be given a chance to wear them. Once they’re given their uniform, that’ll be it. They’ll not see their own clothes again until . . .’ His voice faded away. Already news of the carnage at the Front had reached the town.

  ‘Just be thankful they do, Percy,’ Meg said. ‘And we’ve nearly sold out of ladies’ hats. Poor Miss Pinkerton is working through the night sometimes just to keep up with the demands.’

  Percy sighed. ‘I expect the ladies want to look their best when they wave their menfolk off. To give them a pretty memory to carry with them.’

  ‘Is there any chance we could get a contract for making uniforms?’ Meg was thinking of their own business, thriving in spite of – or rather because of – the war. ‘I could help you.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Percy shook his head. ‘That’s very specialized and besides –’ he shuddered, the thought abhorrent to him – ‘I wouldn’t want to.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want to?’ Meg repeated, surprised. ‘But there must be a lot of money to be made.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to make money out of such a tr
agedy as this war is going to be,’ Percy said righteously.

  Then you’re a fool, Meg wanted to say, but for once she held her tongue. She was revelling in the turn of events. Her recent life had been just a dull routine of housework and working in the shop. Even learning tailoring skills had palled. But now there was some real excitement. ‘We’ll have to take on more staff. Can’t you advertise for a tailor? It’s you who needs the help making the garments. I can cope with serving the customers. But you’ve been working every night for weeks.’ She stepped closer to him and smoothed back a lock of his hair – hair that was thinning prematurely, she noticed.

  Percy looked askance at her. ‘Take on someone else? Oh no, I couldn’t do that. Besides, this rush is only temporary.’

  But the demand for new suits, new clothes of all description was a surprisingly long time in diminishing. After weeks of working late into the night every night, by November Percy was looking tired and even thinner.

  ‘I’m calling the doctor,’ Meg declared and refused to listen to Percy’s weak protests. ‘You must stay in bed all day tomorrow and I’ll get Ph— Dr Collins to call to see you.’

  It had been almost two years since the night he had fallen asleep in her home. She had seen Philip rarely since, and then only in public, when she would smile at him coyly and be gratified by the look of embarrassed confusion that coloured his face. He was a nice man, she told herself, and she shouldn’t make sport of him. Yet, it was so tempting. Her life was so dull and what harm could a little flirtation with Louisa’s husband do? It would just serve her right, Meg thought, still unable to forgive.

  And now, with Percy’s exhaustion, there was an excuse – a genuine reason – to send for him, but she had to make sure he would come. She wrote a polite note and sent it by an errand boy to Philip’s surgery asking him to visit. I will not be at home, she wrote, as I must keep the shop open. The front door will be unlocked.

  Meg smiled to herself as she folded the note and handed it to the grubby urchin to deliver for her.

  The following morning Percy insisted, ‘You must go to the shop. You must be there to explain to Mrs Heane why her son’s suit isn’t ready. The poor woman was in tears when she ordered it. “It might be that last suit I ever buy for him,” she said.’ Percy sighed heavily. ‘I suppose I can see now why they’re wanting the best for their boys. It might be the last chance they get. Tell her I’ll have it done tomorrow without fail.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Meg countered. ‘I’m waiting here until the doctor comes and as for you working today or tomorrow, well, we’ll see what he says.’

  Meg was gratified by the startled look on Philip’s face when she opened the door.

  ‘I thought—’ he began.

  ‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to be here, but I didn’t like to leave him. Once my back is turned, he’ll be out of that bed and struggling to the shop. And he really isn’t well. He’s been working so hard.’ Her tone softened as she noticed the dark circles beneath Philip’s eyes. ‘As you have too, I can see.’

  He stepped into the house with a sigh. ‘There’s a lot of illness about,’ he murmured, as he pressed himself back against the wall of the narrow hallway to allow her to lead the way up the stairs. He was overwhelmed by the surge of emotion that coursed through him at her nearness. And worse, as she lifted her skirts to climb the stairs in front of him, he caught a glimpse of her neat ankle and the curve of her calf. He closed his eyes and paused for a moment, catching hold of the banister rail to steady himself. Then he took a deep breath and followed her, keeping his gaze firmly on each tread of the staircase.

  At first, Percy refused to obey the doctor’s advice. ‘I can’t stay in bed. I have work to do. Meg can’t cope alone in the shop and there are suits to finish and . . .’ He groaned, closed his eyes and lay back against the pillows.

  ‘Two days in bed, that’s all I’m asking,’ Philip said. ‘If you feel better, then you can get up, but I would still advise you to stay at home for at least another two days after that.’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Percy moaned.

  ‘If you work yourself into an early grave, the suits won’t get made, will they?’ Philip said bluntly. ‘And you’re not being fair to Meg,’ he added, though he kept his gaze firmly on his patient, not daring to meet her eyes. ‘She can no doubt manage the shop alone for a day or two, but if you get really ill, how would she cope then? Have you thought of that?’

  Percy sighed. ‘I hadn’t looked at it like that.’

  ‘Then I think you should.’

  ‘All right.’ Percy capitulated with a weary smile. ‘I’ll do as you say, Doctor.’

  ‘Good. And I’ll make you up a tonic.’ Now he was obliged to glance at Meg. ‘Perhaps you could collect it from the surgery later. I’d offer to drop it in, but I’m so very busy.’

  ‘Of course,’ Meg said evenly.

  It was almost dark by the time Meg left the shop and made her way towards the doctor’s house. She raised the heavy brass knocker and let it fall with a loud thud that echoed through the house. She waited several moments before she heard light footsteps beyond the door. When it opened, she saw Louisa holding out both her hands in welcome.

  ‘Oh, Meg, I’m so glad to see you. Come in.’

  ‘I’ve only called to pick up some medicine for Percy,’ Meg said stiffly as she stepped into the hallway.

  Louisa closed the door and stood facing her. ‘Meg,’ she began tentatively, ‘can’t we let bygones be bygones? Can’t we be friends again? I am more sorry than I can ever put into words about what happened between us.’

  Meg’s mind was working rapidly, calculating. Suddenly, she smiled her brilliant smile and even Louisa gasped at the swift transformation from sulky pout to friendly warmth. She had forgotten just how beautiful the young girl was.

  Meg took her hands and squeezed them. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure. And I – I’m sorry now that I wasn’t at your wedding. When Jake told me you wanted me to be your matron of honour, I thought it was him trying to bring us together again. I’m sorry I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘I was hurt at the time, but let’s put it all behind us. Just one thing: Jake Bosley is the most honest boy I know. You can trust him with your life.’

  Meg’s mouth hardened and Louisa suddenly feared that she had just lost the tentative beginning they had made. Then Meg shrugged her shoulders and it was as if she was shrugging Jake off too. ‘I never see him now.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Louisa was surprised. ‘Then you won’t know.’

  Meg’s eyes were sharp with an interest she could not hide. ‘Know what?’

  ‘About him and Betsy?’

  Unable to speak, as a sudden inexplicable fear tightened her throat, Meg shook her head, her wide eyes fixed on Louisa’s face.

  ‘They’ve got engaged.’

  After a moment, Meg found her voice, but it was a high-pitched squeak. ‘Engaged? But – but Betsy’s only a child.’

  Louisa was smiling. Betsy had been one of her favourites at the workhouse and was a regular visitor to Louisa’s home now. She shook her head. ‘Not any more, she isn’t. She was always small for her age and looked a lot younger than she really was. She’s sixteen now.’

  Meg’s mind was in a whirl. Jake – her Jake, for he was her Jake – was going to marry Betsy. The depth of the emotion that swept through her startled her. She didn’t care about him any more, she told herself repeatedly, but now she knew that was all a lie. Foolishly, she had imagined that, even though she had married Percy to gain security, somehow Jake would always be there for her. He would always be her friend. That he would always love her and her alone.

  ‘But he – he doesn’t love her.’

  ‘Of course he loves her,’ Louisa said and Meg was appalled to realize she had spoken her thoughts aloud. She put her hand to her forehead and swayed.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Louisa’s arm was about her, leading her into their private sit
ting room. ‘There,’ she said, when Meg fell onto the sofa, ‘I’ll get some tea. I’m sorry, Meg.’ She stood looking down at the girl with a mixture of pity and concern. She hadn’t realized how deep Meg’s bitterness was. ‘I didn’t think it would be such a shock for you, that it would affect you so much. You’re happy for them, aren’t you?’

  Meg could not bring herself to reply.

  The day after Percy returned to work, Clara Finch entered the shop. Percy gaped at her for a few seconds before recovering his composure enough to say, ‘Good morning, Clara.’

  Her thin lips tightened. ‘Good morning – Mr Rodwell,’ she said stiffly. Meg watched in amazement as, her hands folded in front of her at waist level, Clara advanced towards the counter.

  ‘I’m setting up a ladies’ circle to knit balaclavas, scarves and gloves for the troops. We will be meeting each week at the Hall and I shall require a regular supply of appropriate wool.’ She sniffed. ‘Of course, I would normally have taken my custom elsewhere, but in these dreadful times one has to forget one’s own petty grievances and think of the greater good.’

  ‘Quite so – Miss Finch,’ Percy murmured. ‘I shall be happy to be of service. I will also undertake to supply the wool at cost price. Call it my contribution to your worthy endeavours.’

  Clara inclined her head. ‘Most generous. I will make sure my ladies know of your kind offer.’

  Meg wanted to laugh at the stilted exchange of conversation between the two people who had once been betrothed to each other. But instead she carried a selection of different coloured wools to Percy, gave a polite nod towards Clara and returned to her place at the other side of the shop. She watched as Clara picked out the colour of wool she wanted and Percy noted it, promising to keep a good supply in stock at all times.

  As Clara was about to leave, Percy bade her ‘Good day,’ and added pleasantly, ‘give my kind regards to your brother.’