Without Sin

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Get to bed at once,’ Meg told him. ‘And I’ll fetch the doctor.’

  ‘Don’t worry the poor man,’ Percy murmured, holding onto the counter to keep himself upright.

  Meg held a cool hand to his forehead. ‘You’re burning up, Percy. Go straight home and get into bed. I’ll close the shop early and go to the surgery. Maybe there’s something he can prescribe.’

  The front hall at the doctor’s home, which served as a waiting room, was crowded. Louisa drew Meg through into their private quarters at the rear of the house. ‘If you don’t mind coming into the kitchen,’ she whispered as she led the way, ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea, though I’ll have to keep answering the front door.’

  ‘Of course,’ Meg said. ‘But you mustn’t bother about me, Louisa. You’ve enough to do.’

  Louisa smiled. ‘If I can’t make a cup of tea for a friend, then it’s a pity. Besides, I’m ready for one. I’ve been on my feet for two hours answering that door and placating frustrated patients.’

  ‘I really can’t stay long, though,’ Meg said, peeling off her gloves and sitting down at the table whilst Louisa bustled about the kitchen, though still alert for the sound of the front-door bell. ‘I’ve sent Percy home to bed. He’s got this dreadful influenza. He looks terrible.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Louisa turned sympathetic eyes on her friend. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m sure Philip will visit him. It might be quite late, though.’

  Meg shook her head. ‘Percy doesn’t want to trouble him. I’ve just come to see if Philip can give me something for him. That’s all.’

  ‘Here’s your tea. I’ll just slip in to see him between patients and ask, shall I? It’ll save you waiting if you want to get back to Percy. Excuse me a moment.’

  When Louisa had left the room, Meg looked about her. The kitchen was large, yet still cosy. Louisa was obviously the perfect housewife. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air and judging by the remnants of their evening meal, taken before Philip started evening surgery, she was also an excellent cook. The house was vast, and though Meg had only seen Philip’s surgery, their private sitting room and the kitchen, she imagined that all the other rooms were just as spacious and well furnished.

  A sudden wave of envy swept through her. Why should Louisa have all this whilst she, Meg, lived in a poky little house with an old man as her husband? Once Percy had seemed a ‘good catch’ – a well-respected businessman in the town with his own shop and house. But then she had found that he didn’t own the shop and that, whilst the townsfolk patronized it, he was nevertheless something of a figure of fun. Meg sighed. Now why couldn’t she have captured someone like Philip? He was handsome as well as clever and he was revered in the community, whereas she feared that since the court case folk were secretly sniggering about Percy and his child bride. Why, why, why . . .

  Louisa came hurrying back into the room. ‘Philip says you’re not to wait. Go home and he’ll come and visit after surgery.’

  Meg pushed away her envious thoughts and tried to smile, though it did not reach her eyes. Louisa, however, misinterpreted the shadow in her eyes as concern about Percy. She touched Meg’s arm. ‘Philip will come as soon as he can, my dear.’

  When Meg arrived home, Percy had got into bed, but he was shivering uncontrollably. She stood by the bed looking down at him dispassionately. Lying there, his eyes closed, Percy looked gaunt and sickly. The ruthless thought crept its way unbidden into her mind. If he dies, I’ll be left this house and the business . . .

  ‘Water,’ he whispered through cracked lips. ‘Please . . .’ Ill though he was, Percy Rodwell was the epitome of politeness.

  Meg smiled and laid her cool hand on his forehead. ‘Philip’s on his way to see you. He’ll tell me what I should do. But first I’ll light the bedroom fire. It’s so cold in here. That can’t be good for you. And I’ll heat a brick . . .’

  When she had been ill as a child, Meg remembered her mother heating a brick in the oven, wrapping it in a piece of cloth and placing it in the bed at her feet. She remembered feeling cosseted and loved by that one simple action.

  By the time Philip, heavy eyed and grey with weariness, arrived, a cheerful fire was burning in the bedroom grate.

  ‘He asked for water,’ Meg said as she led the way upstairs, lifting her skirts daintily, ‘but I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Yes, plenty of fluids. He must drink plenty, but hot drinks would be even better.’

  She opened the bedroom door and ushered the doctor inside. As he stepped past her into the room, his arm brushed her breast. He paused a moment and looked down at her. Their eyes met and locked in an intense gaze. She heard him sigh as he dragged himself away and into the room.

  ‘I – I’ll get that drink for him now,’ she murmured. ‘And I’ll make you something.’

  Without waiting for him to argue, she closed the bedroom door and went down the narrow stairs. She heated milk and poured it out into two cups. Then in each one she put brown sugar and whisky. She carried one through to the front sitting room and placed it on a small table by the sofa. Then she poked the fire, making the flames dance and spark. She turned the gaslights down low so that the room was lit by the glow from the fire. Then she returned to the kitchen and carried the other cup of milk up to the bedroom.

  ‘I’ve put a drop of whisky in it. Is that all right?’

  ‘For the moment, but once he starts taking this medicine I’m leaving for him, don’t give him any alcohol, will you?’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ Meg said meekly.

  ‘Give him his first dose before he settles down for the night and then four times a day after meals. That’s if he manages to eat anything, which I doubt very much. And I doubt either of you will get much sleep tonight. He’ll be very restless until this fever breaks.’

  Meg nodded. ‘I’d already thought I might sleep in the other room. I’ll probably disturb him all the more if I sleep in here.’

  Philip glanced at her. She saw the struggle of emotion in his eyes. Hoarsely he said, ‘But – but – you mustn’t be too far away from him. You must keep a watch on him.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Meg was indignant. ‘I will look after him, Philip. Really, I will.’

  A wicked little voice deep inside her whispered: Are you trying to convince Philip – or yourself?

  ‘I know you will,’ Philip murmured. He glanced back at his patient. ‘Send me word if you need me again.’

  ‘Thank you. And now,’ she added briskly, ‘you must come downstairs. I have a hot drink ready for you. It’s in the front room. You go and get it before it’s cold and I’ll be down in a moment when I’ve helped Percy with his.’

  She went to the far side of the bed and helped Percy to sit up against the pillows. She picked up the cup. Philip watched as she bent over her husband and held the cup to his lips. Percy sipped. Philip stood a moment watching the young woman’s tender ministrations. Then he turned and left the bedroom without another word.

  A few moments later Meg joined him in the small front parlour. Philip had finished his drink and was sitting staring into the fire. She sat beside him on the sofa.

  ‘What did you put in that milk?’ The small amount of alcohol coupled with his tiredness had already affected him.

  Meg chuckled. ‘Whisky. Like I put in Percy’s.’

  Philip rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘You’ll have me drunk. That wouldn’t look good to my patients.’

  They stared at each other, both remembering what had happened the last time she had given him whisky to drink.

  ‘I thought you’d probably finished for the night.’ She curled up her feet beneath her and half turned towards him, putting her arm along the back of the sofa behind his head – not quite touching him, but very close.

  He sighed. ‘As far as I know at this moment, I have. But if I get called out in the night . . .’

  ‘You’re working far too hard.’

  She leant
forward and smoothed back a lock of his fair, curly hair that had fallen on to his forehead. Slowly, he turned to look at her. ‘Oh, Meg,’ he whispered.

  Her mouth was only inches from his, her fingers still resting on his hair. She bent her head and kissed him, oh so gently, on the lips. A tender, featherlight kiss. She heard him moan and murmur yet again, ‘Oh, Meg, Meg.’

  He was kissing her ardently now, pressing her back against the cushions, lying on top of her . . .

  Afterwards, he was ashamed and contrite. ‘I’m so sorry, Meg. I – we – shouldn’t have done that.’

  Meg, her eyes shining, whispered, ‘But it was wonderful. I’ve never known it like that. Not with Percy . . .’

  ‘Don’t.’ Philip dropped his head into his hands and groaned. ‘Please – don’t. I feel bad enough already. I’m so sorry, Meg. It will never happen again, I swear.’

  ‘Why? I won’t tell a soul. No one need know.’

  Philip’s ardent lovemaking had awakened a passion in her that she had never known before. She had forgotten everything in the searing ecstasy of the moment. She couldn’t bear to think that this might be the one and only time she would know such a glorious feeling. ‘Please, Philip. I love you, I adore you . . .’ she pleaded.

  He lifted his head and gazed at her and she saw that his face was wet with tears. ‘Oh, Meg. We can’t. We mustn’t. Don’t you see? We’d hurt too many people. I’d lose my career.’

  ‘I’d never do anything to hurt you, Philip. Never. No one would ever know. Not from me.’

  ‘But people have ways of finding out, especially in a small town like this. And besides – more important than all that – we’re . . . we’re being unfair to Percy and to Louisa.’ As he spoke his wife’s name, he dropped his head into his hands once more, whilst, unseen by him, Meg smiled.

  Forty-Four

  Despite his good intentions, Philip couldn’t stay away from Meg. She was like one of his drugs, just as powerful and much, much more dangerous. Throughout Percy’s illness he continued to visit, knowing that for the moment at least the neighbours would not question why his pony and trap were parked outside for an hour at a time.

  Meg was in heaven. When he was not there, her body yearned for him with a physical ache. Thoughts of him filled her waking hours and her dreams at night. And in the brief, ecstatic moments they were together, all thoughts of Percy – even of Jake – and certainly of Louisa were driven from her mind. They couldn’t help themselves, neither of them. But whilst Meg had no conscience, Philip was being torn apart by their deceit and infidelity.

  ‘It has to stop, Meg,’ he said a hundred times, but day after day, drawn by his fascination with her, he called again.

  But on the tenth day, Meg opened the door with a worried frown on her face. ‘He’s worse.’

  The doctor hurried up the stairs and into the main bedroom. He found his patient sinking into unconsciousness.

  ‘Oh no!’ Philip felt guilt overwhelm him, whilst behind him, Meg stood uncertainly in the doorway.

  No one blamed the doctor for the deaths from influenza. The epidemic was worldwide. There had been several deaths already in South Monkford and now there was one more – Percy Rodwell.

  Five days after Percy’s death the armistice was signed, and whilst the whole country celebrated the end of the war Meg buried her husband.

  After the funeral, Meg returned to the darkened house and sat in the front room alone, waiting for Philip. The curtains had been drawn all day, as was the custom in the neighbourhood when there had been a death in the house. Even the neighbours had drawn their curtains as a mark of respect when the horse-drawn hearse left Percy’s cottage.

  She knew he would come. She was sure he would come, but when she heard the pony and trap pull up outside the door and she peeped through a crack in the curtains, she was disappointed to see Louisa sitting beside him in the trap. Meg watched as Philip jumped down and then assisted his wife to alight. Together they came towards the front door as Meg opened it to greet them.

  ‘My dear,’ Louisa said, holding out her arms. ‘We can’t tell you how sorry we both are.’

  Meg held herself stiffly in Louisa’s embrace. Over the other woman’s shoulder she met Philip’s gaze briefly, but he lowered his head and refused to meet her eyes.

  ‘Come in,’ Meg said in a flat tone. ‘I’ll – I’ll make some tea.’

  ‘Let me,’ Louisa offered. ‘You go into the front room with Philip. I’m sure there are things you need to discuss – to ask him. We both want to help, Meg, in any way we can. You have only to ask.’

  For a brief instant hysteria welled up inside Meg. She wanted to laugh and cry aloud: All I want is your husband. It’s me he loves now – not you. But she remained silent, gave a weak smile and opened the door into the front room.

  ‘Thank you, Louisa,’ she murmured. ‘There – there are one or two – business matters that I’m sure Philip could give me some guidance on.’

  Philip glanced uneasily from one to the other, but when his wife touched his arm and bade him follow Meg, he had no choice.

  Inside the front room with the door closed, he stood stiffly behind the sofa, at once putting a barrier between them. Meg smiled and held out her hands to him. ‘Why so distant? Come here.’

  ‘Meg.’ He frowned, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. ‘Don’t. Please, don’t. Not today of all days.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Meg was at once contrite. ‘You’re right, of course. We must let a decent interval elapse before—’

  ‘Before nothing, Meg.’ His voice was still a whisper, but there was no doubting the vehemence in his tone. ‘It’s got to stop. We can’t go on. I can’t go on deceiving Louisa and – and there’s my career . . .’

  Meg watched him. His face was tortured. He was suffering agonies. He wanted her still, yet his conscience was crucifying him. She went to him and took his hands in hers. They were cold and trembling.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘Truly it is. I won’t ask anything more from you. It is at an end if – if that is what you really want.’ She was so sure that he would not take her seriously, so sure that he would not be able to resist her.

  ‘It – it is.’ The words came haltingly, as if he was forcing them out, and she could see by the look in his eyes that it wasn’t what he really wanted to say.

  They heard Louisa’s footsteps in the hallway and Meg released his hands and stepped away. ‘It’ll be our secret. I promise,’ was her final whisper as she went towards the door to open it for Louisa to carry in the tea tray.

  Placing it on a low table, Louisa poured the tea and handed round the cups. She kept up a flow of conversation, but Philip and Meg said little.

  ‘We must be going,’ Louisa said at last. She stood up and bent to pick up the tray, but Meg said at once, ‘Leave that. I’ve nothing else to do today. I shan’t reopen the shop until Monday.’

  ‘Very well, my dear,’ Louisa said, leaning forward and kissing Meg on the cheek. ‘You know where we are should you need anything.’

  Meg nodded, but as Philip gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, tears filled her eyes. She stood at the door as they climbed into the trap and moved away, then she closed the door and leant against it and allowed the tears to fall freely.

  When Meg visited Percy’s solicitors on the day after the funeral, as requested by Mr Henderson in a letter of condolence, a shock awaited her.

  As expected, Percy had left all his worldly possessions to her, but the shock was that his possessions didn’t amount to as much as she’d believed. It came as a thunderbolt to learn that Percy didn’t own the terraced house, but that he rented it from none other than Theobald Finch.

  Meg stared at the solicitor in horror. She licked her dry lips and when she spoke her voice came out in a croak. ‘I – I had wondered what might happen about the shop, but – but I hadn’t realized that he – he didn’t own his home. Oh, Mr Henderson, whatever am I to do? The Finches will throw me out,
won’t they?’

  Mr Henderson shuffled his papers and cleared his throat. ‘Well, well, I really couldn’t say. All you can do, my dear lady, is to continue running your late husband’s business . . .’ He paused and then asked, ‘You intend to do that, don’t you?’

  Meg nodded.

  ‘And we’ll just have to wait and see,’ Mr Henderson went on, ‘what happens when the lease comes up for renewal. I don’t think your landlord can do anything at all until then.’

  ‘And when is that, Mr Henderson?’

  The solicitor consulted his papers once more. ‘Ah yes, here we are. Your husband signed a new ten-year lease seven years ago, Mrs Rodwell, so there are still three years to run on both premises. The house and the shop.’

  ‘So,’ Meg said slowly, ‘I have three years before I shall be homeless.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, my dear lady. Perhaps Mr Finch will agree to renew the lease in your name.’

  Meg stood up. She pursed her mouth grimly. ‘And pigs might fly, Mr Henderson,’ she said bitterly.

  Meg reopened the shop on the Monday after Percy’s funeral. Her first customer was Jake. He came to stand in front of her, the counter between them.

  ‘So, what will you do now?’ he asked at last, offering her no polite condolences. His face was tight, his eyes accusing. ‘Now that you’re a woman of means?’

  ‘Huh!’ Meg’s expression was bitter.

  ‘What? Not the wealthy woman you thought you were going to be?’

  Meg glared at him. ‘Go away, Jake, if that’s all you’ve come for.’

  She banged a box onto the counter and began to unpack a quantity of men’s vests.

  There was an awkward silence. Meg tried to carry on with her work as if he wasn’t standing on the other side of the counter, but it was impossible. The tension between them grew until she burst out, ‘Oh, very well then, if you must know. The shop and the house weren’t his. He rented them both from Theobald Finch. So –’ she nodded as she watched the change on Jake’s face – ‘as soon as the leases run out in three years’ time, I shall be out on my ear. That please you, does it?’