Without Sin

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘No, Meg, it doesn’t. But a lot of folks round here’ll say you’ve got your just deserts.’

  ‘And you’re one of them?’ she flashed back.

  Jake sighed heavily. ‘Meg, you know how I once felt about you, but you changed so. Where was the lovely girl I met when you first came to the workhouse?’ His tone was pensive as he added in a whisper, ‘Where did she go, Meggie?’

  The unexpected use of her pet name – the name she had been called as a little girl by her family – brought sudden tears to Meg’s eyes. Impatiently, she brushed them away as she answered tartly, ‘She grew up, Jake. She just grew up.’

  Jake’s gaze held hers as he shook his head slowly. ‘But she changed, Meg. It was more than just growing up. She changed.’

  ‘Well, you can talk. You’ve got your feet well and truly under the table at Middleditch Farm, haven’t you?’ She leant forward. ‘Don’t you realize, Jake, that you’re every bit as bad as me? You’re trapped for life there now, whether you want to be or not. You’re just a replacement, Jake, you and Betsy, for the daughter they lost.’ She moved round the counter and stood close to him, smiling coquettishly. She traced her forefinger down the side of his face. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she asked huskily, ‘that you really wanted to marry Betsy. You did it to please them, didn’t you?’

  Jake stepped back from her as if she’d slapped him. His face twisted with disgust and anger, yet, despite it all, her nearness disturbed him. The feelings he’d once had for Meg, though he thought them buried deep, were still there. No matter what she did or what she said, as long as he lived he would never be able to kill his love for her completely. And he hated her for it. Loved and hated her at the same time.

  ‘Don’t judge everyone by your own standards,’ he spat at her, ‘ ’cos you haven’t got any.’ He thrust his face close to hers. ‘You might be able to seduce a feller like Percy Rodwell, but you don’t fool me.’ He paused and then added with deliberate emphasis, ‘And I’d’ve thought the doctor would have had more sense, an’ all.’

  Now Meg was genuinely shocked. ‘What – what d’you mean?’

  ‘Just because we live a bit out of town doesn’t mean we don’t hear all the gossip.’ He nodded. ‘Market day’s a good place to hear all that’s going on and then there’s the race meetings when they’re on . . .’

  ‘And what’ve you heard?’ Meg asked between gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh –’ Jake tried to make his tone nonchalant – ‘just that when Percy was ill, the doctor visited him more often than he visited any other patient. He attended his funeral and came here afterwards to visit you.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ she snapped back. ‘And he brought his wife with him.’

  He shrugged. ‘Mebbe she’d heard the rumours, an’ all.’

  ‘There was nothing to hear,’ Meg countered, but an ugly flush crept up her neck and into her face. Seeing it, Jake knew the truth.

  He turned and left the shop, wishing he’d never come near her. He vowed that he never would again.

  She could rot in hell for all he cared.

  Forty-Five

  At the end of Meg’s first week running the shop alone, her fears were realized when Theobald Finch called in just as she was about to close for the evening.

  He raised his hat to her. ‘Mrs Rodwell.’

  Meg managed to summon up her most brilliant smile, yet her heart was thumping. She guessed what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth. Theobald cleared his throat. ‘I find myself in something of an embarrassing situation. My sister is insisting I give you notice at once. Both here and at the house you occupy. The tenancy agreements, as you no doubt now know, are still in the name of Mr Rodwell’s father with a note of transfer to his son, Percy, some seven years ago.’

  Meg said nothing. Her hands were clammy and her knees were trembling. She felt sick.

  ‘The lease expires,’ Theobald went on, ‘in three years’ time.’

  There was a long, ominous pause before Theobald added, ‘I shall be unable to renew the lease in your name at that time.’

  Meg found she had been holding her breath and now she released it. ‘So,’ she said heavily, ‘you’re giving me three years?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Unless, of course, you wish to leave before then. There is a clause in the lease which allows you to give me three months’ notice.’ His tone was hopeful. If she were to do that, his life at home with his sister would be much easier.

  ‘I see.’ Meg raised her head defiantly and, with what she hoped was the right degree of businesslike attitude, she said, ‘I will give the matter serious thought, Mr Finch, and instruct my solicitor accordingly.’

  As Theobald raised his hat and bade her ‘Good day,’ Meg could have sworn that a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was so sure of himself, she thought. So sure that she was beaten.

  Meg felt sick. Every morning when she got up she had to rush to the bowl on the washstand to retch into it. It left her feeling pale and shaky. It’s the worry of the business, she told herself. Since Percy’s death the number of customers was diminishing noticeably with each day that passed. Meg hadn’t had a woman customer for over a fortnight and even the number of men coming into the shop was less and less. Even regular customers whom she had heard declare to Percy that they would never dream of going anywhere else for their new suits now never entered the shop.

  Of course, Meg was no longer able to offer a made-to-measure service and perhaps that had affected the sales more than she’d thought possible. She’d advertised in the local paper for an experienced tailor but there’d been no replies. Not one.

  Worse than anything, Meg had no one with whom to talk over her troubles. Jake was lost to her and she wouldn’t dream of going anywhere near Louisa, even though she longed to see Philip.

  Was it because of him that the townsfolk were keeping away from the shop that was now hers – at least for the next three years? Philip was well liked and respected in the town. Perhaps, even if they hadn’t believed the gossip, they were cold-shouldering Meg because of it. Just in case the rumours had some truth . . . Oh, they were true, all right, Meg thought bitterly, but he wasn’t man enough to leave his wife and set up home with her. His career, his standing in the community, were too precious to him. He wouldn’t give up everything for love. She despised him for it and yet she still ached for his touch, the feel of his strong, firm body next to hers . . . Meg lifted her head defiantly. I don’t need him, she told herself. And I certainly don’t need Jake. I’ll make such a success of this business that in three years’ time Theobald Finch would be a fool to turn me out – whatever his sister says.

  Meg held a sale of all the menswear in stock. She plastered sale tickets in the windows, but still her only customers were strangers from out of town, who came into South Monkford on market day. They knew nothing of the scandal surrounding the pretty young woman behind the counter in the tailor’s shop. Gradually she reduced the stock and was able to order more women’s clothes. Then she advertised in the local paper once more, informing all her customers that there’d be a grand reopening with discounts on all sales on the first day.

  She worked hard, rearranging the interior of the shop and transforming the workroom into a fitting room for ladies to try on dresses, coats and hats. She re-dressed the window and, from one of her suppliers, bought a mannequin to grace the display.

  On the day of the sale Meg awoke early and rushed once more to the bowl. It’s just anxiety, she told herself. There’s nothing wrong with me that a good few customers coming through my door today won’t put right. Unable to face breakfast – even nibbling a dry piece of toast made her feel queasy again – Meg left home early. Excitement churned in the pit of her stomach. Today would be the turning point in her life. She was sure of it. She had some lovely new stock. Fine silk underwear for the ladies of the town and now, too, she had the more serviceable type of garments worn by farmers’ wives.

  As nine o’clock came, Meg opened the
shop door and looked out onto the pavement, fully expecting to see a few women queuing there to be first to acquire the generous bargains.

  There was no one in the street and by ten thirty, she was losing heart. No one had come into her shop even though it was market day and the centre of the town was buzzing. At twelve o’clock she tried to eat the sandwiches she had brought with her, but her stomach heaved at each bite. She gave up and contented herself with a cup of tea whilst standing mournfully near the window to watch the people hurrying past.

  She was in the lean-to scullery outside the back door when she heard the bell clang and eagerly she hurried back into the shop.

  Betsy was standing uncertainly just inside the door. Meg’s welcoming smile died on her lips. ‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said unnecessarily. Betsy’s face turned pink, but she moved towards the counter. ‘I wondered if you stocked –’ the girl lifted her head with a show of bravado and stared straight into Meg’s eyes as she added proudly – ‘special dresses?’ She demonstrated, holding her hands out in front of her. ‘With plenty of room in them?’

  Meg gaped at her. ‘You? You’re expecting?’

  Her eyes shining, Betsy nodded. ‘I’m three months gone and Dr Collins says the sickness should stop soon.’

  ‘Sickness? What sickness?’

  Betsy smiled knowledgeably. ‘You get a bit of sickness when you’re expecting. Usually, just first thing in a morning.’

  ‘Sickness?’ Meg repeated stupidly. ‘First – first thing in the morning?’

  ‘Yes. But sometimes you can get it any time of the day. For a week or two I had it in the evening as well, but Dr Collins says it should all go after the first three months. Mind you, sometimes it lasts the whole nine months.’ Betsy pulled a face. ‘That’s what Mrs Smallwood ses.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Meg managed to say weakly, ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Betsy said, then asked again, ‘Well, have you got anything I could wear?’

  ‘Yes, one or two bits. They’re expensive though. It’s usually the toffs who buy special clothes . . .’ She left the sentence hanging, but the unspoken words said: Your sort usually make do and mend.

  But Betsy only smiled and her blush deepened. ‘Jake wants me to have the best and Mrs Smallwood said she’d treat me to a proper frock.’

  ‘Very generous, I’m sure.’ Meg was consumed with jealousy. Not only was Betsy married to Jake, but she had the Smallwoods treating her like their own daughter, whilst she, Meg, was struggling to run a dying business and facing eviction in three years’ time. She was hardly aware of what she was doing as she showed the garments to Betsy. When the girl finally left the shop, the niggling worry burst into her mind.

  Sickness? First thing in the morning? Oh no. No. No!

  Louisa opened the door at Meg’s ring. She took Meg’s cold hands into hers. ‘My dear. How are you? You’re looking very pale.’

  ‘I – I’ve come to see Philip. Professionally.’

  ‘You’ve timed it perfectly. The last patient is in with him now. Sit down, dear. I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  To Meg’s dismay, Louisa sat beside her in the hallway and kept up an incessant chatter. Inside her head, Meg screamed: Go away. Leave me alone. But instead she sat silently, nodding every now and again, though her mind scarcely took in what Louisa was saying.

  The consulting-room door opened and a man came out, nodded towards Louisa and left by the front door. Louisa got up and opened the door again.

  ‘Meg’s here, Philip. She needs to see you.’ Smiling, she held the door open. ‘Come in, Meg. I’ll leave you to his tender mercies. Come and have a cup of tea with us when you’ve finished here.’

  Mutely, Meg nodded, though she had no intention of staying in this house any longer than she had to.

  When the door closed behind his wife, Philip and Meg stared at each other. For a moment there was silence between them until Meg blurted out in a hoarse whisper, ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

  Moments later, when Philip had confirmed her worst fears, she sat down opposite him again. Now Philip’s face was as white as hers.

  ‘Well,’ Meg demanded, some of her spirit returning, ‘what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, it’s your child. You didn’t think it could be Percy’s, did you?’

  Philip gasped. ‘You – you don’t know that.’

  Meg smiled bitterly. ‘Oh, I do. Believe me, I do know.’

  If it was possible, he blanched even more. He swallowed painfully and now it was he who whispered, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to some back-street butcher to get rid of it, if that’s what you’re asking. And you a doctor!’

  ‘Of course I didn’t mean that,’ he said at once. ‘That thought never entered my head.’

  ‘Really!’ Meg’s tone was scathing. ‘Well, it had mine.’ She leant towards him. ‘D’you mean to tell me you’ve never been asked to do it?’

  He stared at her for a moment. ‘Oh, I’ve been asked, but I have never agreed. Whatever the circumstances – you’ve got a new life growing, Meg, and it’s precious. It has a right to live. Besides, it’s not the sort of thing . . .’ He said no more, but Meg knew. His precious career, she thought.

  ‘So, what’s its father going to do? Acknowledge it? Tell the world he’s had an affair with one of his patients? Leave his wife to marry the mother of his child?’ There was a brief pause whilst Philip stared at her, horror-struck.

  ‘No,’ Meg said quietly. ‘I thought not.’ She came to a swift decision. She was taking a risk, but it was a calculated risk. She must play her hand carefully. Oh, so carefully. She sighed heavily as she stood up to leave, as if she were obliged to shoulder the whole burden alone. ‘Well, you’re a lucky man, Dr Collins, because the world will think it’s Percy’s. I know it’s not and you know it’s not, but no one else need know.’

  Philip too stood up. ‘You – you’d do that? For me?’

  She stepped close to him and looked up into his face. For a brief instant, in spite of himself, she saw the longing spark in his eyes. She was right. Even now, he still wanted her.

  ‘I’m not all bad, Philip,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Whatever people might think.’ She put her hands, palms flat, on the lapels of his jacket. ‘There are people in this world that, if I had the power, I would wreak revenge upon. I admit that. But you’re not one of them. Your secret is safe, Philip. I promise you that.’

  If anything, she thought, will win him back, this will. He’ll soon be calling on me again in the little house in Church Street. Now that she was to bear his child, when his own wife seemed unable to do so, she was so sure Philip would come back to her. But for now she must play the part.

  She kissed him lightly on the lips, turned and went towards the door.

  ‘Tell your wife I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.’ She paused, her hand on the doorknob. ‘Goodnight – Dr Collins.’

  Today had been a turning point in her life all right, Meg thought bitterly as she walked home through the dusk, but not in the way she had expected.

  Forty-Six

  When Meg could no longer hide her condition, the news spread through the town’s grapevine with amazing speed. More customers – mostly women – came into the shop but they bought very little and Meg knew it was only an excuse to gape at her and to gossip about her later with their friends.

  The sickness had abated, but now her waistline began to bulge noticeably. Her ankles swelled with standing behind the counter most of the day. But, worst of all, Philip had not been near her. Not once had he called at the shop or at the house. It seemed that he had taken her at her word and her scheme had misfired. Meg felt very alone and lonely with no one to care for and no one to care for her. If only, she thought, I still had Jake.

  She was worried as to how she would cope when her time came, to say nothing of caring for the child afterwards. What would happen to the shop? If there�
�s a shop left by then, she reminded herself bitterly. The bills were mounting. Her suppliers were pressing for payment and the quarterly rent was overdue. Any day she expected a visit from Mr Finch or his solicitor.

  It was neither of them who came into the shop one morning, however. Clara Finch stood in front of Meg and stared at her, her gaze running slowly up and down Meg’s bulging body.

  ‘So he left you pregnant, did he?’

  ‘Yes,’ Meg answered, aware that the ‘he’ Clara was referring to was a totally different ‘he’ from the one in Meg’s mind.

  ‘When is it due?’

  Meg licked her lips calculating swiftly. The whole town knew when Percy had fallen ill and then died. ‘About – about the end of May, I think.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Meg frowned. ‘Do?’

  ‘Yes, do? You are hardly in a position to bring up his child, are you? Are you going to have it adopted?’

  Meg gasped. That thought had never entered her head. It was her child, her responsibility and after the initial shock, she had accepted the fact. ‘No. Of course I’m not.’

  Clara leant towards her and there was menace in her face and in her action. ‘That child should have been mine. I should be carrying Percy’s child – not you. You never loved him, you scheming hussy. You robbed me of my husband. And you robbed me of the chance to have his child.’

  There were tears in Clara’s eyes, tears of anger, tears of frustration and longing. She had never felt such loathing towards any human being as she did at this moment. The pain of Percy’s rejection of her had been nothing compared with the hatred she now felt for Meg.

  Slowly and deliberately she said, ‘I want that child. I want his child. I loved him and I’ll love his child. I can give it everything you can’t.’

  Meg gasped. She felt the urge to laugh outright. If only Clara knew the irony of the situation. Here she was, demanding that Meg hand over the baby to her because she thought it was Percy’s. What would she do if Meg were to tell her that it wasn’t? But all Meg said was, ‘You must be mad. Give my baby to you? Never while there’s breath in my body.’