Clara leant even closer. ‘You will. One day, you will. I mean to have Percy’s child and I will.’
‘Your – your brother wouldn’t let you.’
‘Huh!’ Clara stepped back now and her tone was scathing. ‘Him! He’ll not stop me. He’ll do anything I say. There are things I could tell you – tell the world – about my dear brother. And one day I just might. But for now he’ll do anything I say. And the first thing he’ll do is give you notice. You haven’t paid your rent for this quarter yet, have you? Well, if you read your lease – Percy’s lease – you’ll find that if you default on your rent, you’ll be evicted. We’ve only to send in the bailiffs and you’ll be declared a bankrupt.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘And I dare say we’re not the only people you owe money to.’ When Meg did not answer, Clara nodded. ‘I thought as much.’
She turned towards the door. ‘You’ll be hearing from Mr Snape very soon. But think about my offer, won’t you? If you agree to my proposition, I’ll see that you keep the shop and your home. And I’d see that you got all your customers back. That’s something we could think about, isn’t it? You see, I can be very generous when I want my own way. Very generous.’
As the shop door closed behind her, Meg was left staring after her. Sell my baby? She wants me to sell my baby to her because she thinks it’s Percy’s.
Meg closed the shop early that day. She walked home in a trance to sit before the fire in the front room, the outrageous proposal whirling around in her head. It was a monstrous idea and yet it was a way out for her. The solution to all her problems. If she gave her child to Clara Finch, she would be free. She could leave here. She could go anywhere and start her life over again. She had no ties here now, none at all. Jake was lost to her and the bitter truth was that Philip would never leave his wife and jeopardize his career. There was nothing left for her in South Monkford.
And yet . . . And yet . . .
For days Meg pondered Clara’s offer. Days in which the number of customers dwindled yet further until she saw no more than three during the whole of one week. And then they only bought small items of underwear. Meg was at her wits’ end and she spent the whole of Sunday pacing up and down her front room.
If I don’t get any customers this week, she decided in the early hours of Monday morning when she’d tossed and turned, sleepless through the night, I’ll do it. She can have it. What do I want with a baby anyway?
She was tired and listless when she opened up the shop. To her surprise, at five past nine the shop doorbell clanged, as if awoken from a deep slumber. Meg looked up and smiled. The woman approaching the counter had never before entered the shop, but Meg recognized her. Mrs Davenport’s husband was the current mayor of South Monkford and his lady mayoress needed numerous outfits and hats to attend functions throughout the year.
‘I’m looking for an evening dress. I don’t suppose you have anything, but I thought I’d ask before I went into Newark or Nottingham.’
Meg beamed. One of the last deliveries from her main supplier had contained three dresses suitable for evening wear and Meg was sure that at least one of them was the woman’s size. ‘I’ll show you what I have, Mrs Davenport. Please, would you care to come into the fitting room and I’ll bring them through to you.’
The next hour was happily spent whilst Mrs Davenport tried on all three dresses, but the effort was worthwhile for she left the shop having purchased two.
‘I needed something rather urgently. We have a grand dinner to attend at the weekend and another early next week in Newark and my dressmaker wouldn’t have the time to make two complete outfits. However, she will have time to make the alterations. Could you have both dresses delivered to Miss Pinkerton?’
‘Yes, madam. I’ll see she has them by tonight,’ Meg promised. Since Percy’s death she had made even more use of the fussy little spinster who was so clever with her needle and thread. She had even tried to persuade her to tackle making men’s suits, but Miss Pinkerton had been thrown into a tizzy at the very idea. ‘Oh, I couldn’t. I couldn’t possibly fit gentlemen.’ The little woman had blushed at the mere thought.
Ten minutes after Mrs Davenport had departed the bell clanged again and another customer entered the shop. She made several purchases of underwear. After her came yet another and the steady stream of women customers went on throughout the day. By five o’clock Meg was tired but elated. If things went on like this . . .
The bell sounded again and she looked up to meet Clara’s eyes. The woman stood before the counter, hands folded in front of her waist, her mouth pursed and her eyes hard. But today there was a glitter of excitement in them.
‘So? Have you had a good day?’
Meg gaped at her as realization began to dawn, slowly at first and then in a rush. Seeing the understanding on Meg’s face, Clara smiled and nodded. ‘It could be like that every day if you’d be sensible and give me what I want. You hand over your baby to me – boy or girl, I don’t mind what it is – and I’ll get Theobald to renew the lease on both your home and this shop in your name. And I guarantee that you’ll have plenty of customers. Just like you’ve had today.’ She leant towards Meg as if sharing a confidence, yet the action was more threatening than confiding. ‘You see, I made a lot of new friends through my war work and they’re more than willing to listen to my recommendations.’ She paused and added with deliberate emphasis, ‘Whatever those recommendations might be.’
Meg understood now how, little by little, her number of customers had dwindled and then, miraculously, had suddenly been restored.
‘So,’ Clara asked, ‘what about it?’
‘Is it – would it be – legal?’ was Meg’s only question.
Clara waved her hand airily. ‘Oh, we’ll let Mr Snape sort all that out. He’s always very helpful to our family.’ For a moment her face darkened. ‘He’s only ever let us down once.’ And Meg knew she was referring to the court case which, whilst technically Clara had won, had not been the resounding success she’d sought. ‘Besides,’ Clara added, almost as an afterthought, ‘my brother and I own his office premises.’
Meg almost gasped aloud. Was there no end to the power the Finch family wielded in this town?
‘Well?’ Clara was pressing for her answer.
Unable to say aloud what she knew in her heart was a terrible, unforgivable thing, Meg merely nodded. Clara smiled triumphantly. ‘You’re very wise. You’ve made the right decision.’
As Clara left the shop, all Meg could think was: Whatever will Jake say when he finds out?
Meg was never far from Jake’s thoughts. Try as he might, he could not cut her out of his memory, or even out of his life. He hadn’t seen her for weeks, months now, yet he knew that she was expecting a child, knew too that she was facing difficulties in her business. Part of him longed to help her, to give her whatever support he could. Longed, once more, to be her friend. But another part – the harsher side of him – told him: She’s made her bed, let her lie in it.
And now, on the same day that Meg gave her answer to Clara, Jake was about to become a father.
As they were getting into bed that night in their newly built part of the farmhouse, Betsy suddenly clutched at her stomach, bent over double and cried out.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Jake, who was already in bed, sat up.
‘I think it’s the baby.’
Jake flung back the covers, wrenched off his nightshirt and began to dress. ‘Get into bed, love. I’ll get the missis.’
Minutes later Mabel Smallwood walked calmly into the bedroom, Jake hovering anxiously behind her. ‘Now, lad, this is no place for you. This is women’s work. Off you go downstairs,’ she said firmly, ‘and leave this to us.’
‘But shouldn’t I go for the doctor? Or the midwife?’
‘Not unless we need them. No need for unnecessary doctor’s bills if we can manage perfectly well without them.’
Jake backed out of the room reluctantly. He raised his hand in a wave to B
etsy, but she was already too busy coping with another contraction.
For Jake the waiting, in the room below, was agony. He paced the floor, straining to catch any sound from upstairs. He tried desperately to keep his mind on his wife, on Betsy, yet try as he might he could not help thinking about Meg too. When he’d heard the news of her pregnancy his first unbidden thought had been that he wished the child was his instead of Percy Rodwell’s. He remembered that thought with shame. Yet still – even after all that had happened – he worried about Meg. She lived alone. What would happen when she went into labour? Would there be anyone there to take care of her?
He paced the floor harder, feeling guilty at even thinking of Meg at such a time. Betsy – he must think only of Betsy.
Forget Meg, he kept telling himself. She’s not worth the ground your Betsy walks on. He loved Betsy, really he did. He wanted to protect her and make her happy, yet it was always Meg’s face that haunted his dreams, Meg who was never far from his thoughts. Even when his wife was giving birth to their beautiful daughter, it was still Meg whom he could not forget.
Forty-Seven
During the third week of June Meg’s son was born in the bedroom she’d shared with Percy. It was a difficult birth and the midwife insisted that she needed a doctor’s help.
‘I’m sending for Dr Collins,’ she said firmly after Meg had laboured in vain for nine hours.
‘No,’ Meg had tried to protest, but exhausted by her efforts she was too weak to argue any more.
An hour or so later Philip entered the bedroom reluctantly, though he had no choice but to attend. There would have been raised eyebrows and questions asked if he had refused. And to send for another doctor would have taken too long and possibly endangered the lives of mother and baby.
Meg was in too much pain to care who was there. It was not until afterwards that she realized the irony. Philip had helped to bring his own son into the world.
Clara Finch was her one and only visitor. She came the day after the birth and stood by the side of Meg’s bed.
‘You shouldn’t be feeding him yourself,’ she said. Her face showed her distaste as she watched the tiny child suckling greedily at Meg’s breast. Meg realized that the woman was afraid she would change her mind. Once her baby was born, in her arms and suckling at her breast, Meg’s maternal instincts might be so powerful that . . .
She looked up at Clara. She stared at the thin, bitter face of the woman standing over her and wondered how she’d ever thought she could give her child up to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, but there was a new note of determination in her tone. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Finch, but I can’t let you have him. He’s my baby and, whatever you do to me, I’ll never let him go.’
Clara’s face contorted with rage. If it hadn’t been for the baby in her arms – the child she thought was Percy’s – Meg believed the woman would have attacked her. Weak after the birth, Meg knew she would have had no defence. As it was, Clara – for she would not harm the child – had to content herself with an angry tirade and dire threats.
‘I’ll ruin you. You’ll be homeless. Yes, yes, that’s it. You’ll be back in the workhouse where you belong. And this time there’ll be no foolish Percy Rodwell to fall for your charms. Oh yes, and then we’ll see, because you’ll have no say in what happens to your child. Remember, your life in there is ruled by the master and—’ she paused as she delivered her final, triumphant blow – ‘by the board of guardians.’
Meg gasped. The woman was mad, quite mad. Did Clara really think that if she had Meg put back into the workhouse, she could then just take her child? Meg blanched. Remembering now just how it had been, she realized that with the co-operation of everyone concerned it was entirely possible. Illegal, probably, but Clara would not let that worry her. She had Mr Snape to worry for her about that.
As she left the bedroom, Clara shook her fist at Meg. ‘You’ll live to regret this. I’ll have that child. One day – mark my words – I’ll have that child.’
As she heard the woman go down the stairs and bang the front door behind her, Meg laid her lips against the baby’s head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘So sorry that I ever thought of giving you away. Forgive me.’
The baby slept in her arms, calmly unaware of the drama his arrival into the world had caused.
When she felt well enough, Meg walked to the surgery to see the doctor. There was nothing unusual about a young mother visiting her doctor and Louisa welcomed her with open arms.
‘Let me hold him. Oh . . .’ As she took the baby boy into her arms, Louisa’s eyes shone and her face took on a soft glow. ‘Oh, Meg, he’s lovely – beautiful. How lucky you are.’ For a moment her face clouded. Longing showed clearly in her face.
‘What’re you going to call him?’
‘I – haven’t decided on a name yet.’
‘You’re not calling him after his father, then?’
Meg gave a start and then realized that Louisa meant the name ‘Percy’. She shook her head. ‘No.’
Shyly, Louisa said, ‘Well, some mothers call their baby boys after the doctor who attended them. I mean, you did have a bad time and Philip . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
Meg almost laughed aloud. If only you knew, she thought. Instead she said brightly, ‘I’ll ask Philip what he thinks.’
‘Do.’ Louisa smiled. ‘And I’ll put the kettle on. Come and have tea with me afterwards.’
When it was her turn to go into the consulting room, Meg stood for a moment inside the door until Philip looked up and saw her there with his son in her arms. She saw him start, the colour flood into his face and his anxious glance towards the door.
‘It’s all right. I’m the last patient. Louisa has gone back into the kitchen.’
But he was still agitated. ‘Why have you come? Is something wrong?’
‘No, but I wanted to ask you what you’d like me to call him.’
‘Call him?’ Philip said, a little stupidly.
‘Well, yes, I thought you ought to approve. After all, he is—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Philip held up his hand, palm outwards, as if to fend her off.
Meg smiled mischievously, enjoying Philip’s discomfiture. ‘Louisa suggested I should call him after my doctor. How do you feel about that?’
Philip’s look of absolute horror made her smile, but he misinterpreted her amusement, believing that was what she intended. He clasped his hands together. ‘Oh, please, Meg. Don’t do that. I beg you. There’s – there’s been gossip already and if – if you were to name him after me, then – then Louisa might begin to suspect.’
Meg put her head on one side, enjoying his discomfort. ‘But it was she who suggested it.’
Beads of sweat shone on Philip’s forehead. He caught hold of her hand. Tears in his eyes, he pleaded, ‘Meg, please. Promise me you won’t call him after me. It’d start the tongues wagging all over again. It could ruin my career. Look . . .’ He stepped closer. ‘I’ll give you some money. I’ll pay you a monthly allowance, if you like. Help you get away from here – anything . . .’
She stared at him, seeing him suddenly for what he was. A man who had given into his craving for her who yet was not man enough to stand by her now. He was selfish and self-centred. He’d been unfaithful to his wife, yet now all he really cared about was his precious career. He didn’t want anything to do with his son. He had not even looked at the baby once since Meg had entered the room.
He wanted nothing to do with the child – or her. He wanted them both out of his life.
He hadn’t loved her, Meg realized. He’d lusted after her. In a searing moment of truth, Meg saw herself too for what she had become. She did not like the picture. In the beginning she’d deliberately led Philip on, finding sweet revenge in seducing Louisa’s husband. She’d betrayed her kind and devoted husband when Percy had needed her most. She looked down at the sweet, innocent infant in her arms, the child she had been tempted to give away.
What sort of mother was she? What sort of woman was she? Shame swept through her.
By offering her money, Philip made her feel like a common woman of the streets, but she was worse than any of them. At least they did what they did with an open kind of honesty. She had been devious, manipulative, cruel to her poor mam . . . The list was endless. No wonder Jake – who’d once loved her – hated her. But no one hated her more at this moment than Meg herself.
She pulled herself free of Philip’s pleading hands and took a step back. But the distance between them was so much greater now than that one step. Meg lifted her chin and her green eyes sparked with resolution.
‘I don’t want your money, Philip. Or you. I’ll take care of my child.’ Her lip curled with contempt. ‘And don’t worry yourself. Your dirty little secret’s safe. I’d rather people think he’s Percy’s son than have you as his father.’
She turned and walked across the room towards the door, pausing only to say, ‘Oh – please give my apologies to your dear wife. I am unable to accept her invitation to take tea with her.’
When Meg felt well enough to reopen the shop, taking the child with her, customers were once more in short supply, no doubt under Clara’s instruction. At the end of the week a letter came from Mr Snape to say that her landlord required her to vacate both the shop and her home unless she could pay the two months’ rent she already owed and another month in advance. By the same post two letters came from suppliers threatening her with court action if their accounts weren’t paid within fourteen days.
Late that evening, carrying the baby in her arms, Meg walked to the little cottage where the dressmaker, Miss Pinkerton, lived, along the road from her own home. It was almost dusk when she arrived and the nervous spinster peered out of her front-room curtains before she opened the door to her.
Without Sin Page 32