The Legacy l-1

by Lynda La Plante

  Evelyne had dressed and changed for the dinner. She wore the dress Sir Charles had bought for her, the green ribbons in her hair, but the diamond and emerald necklace had been returned to the jeweller’s. She had been just about to leave her suite when the telephone rang. The receptionist had been trying to get a call through to the village post office for her. Evelyne had tried so many times, and had asked them to keep trying, but the line was always busy. It was the only one in the village apart from the doctor’s and the police station.

  She ran to the phone, excited, she wanted to hear her Da’s voice, knew he would make everything all right, she had decided to go home.

  Sir Charles was flushed, his familiar laugh filled the room, and the champagne flowed freely. He congratulated Ed and Miss Freda, but he couldn’t help thinking that Ed was making a mistake. As sweet as Miss Freda was, to Sir Charles’ critical eye she was a bit of an ‘old boiler’. Ed seemed overjoyed so Sir Charles assured him that of course there would be a place for Miss Freda on the estate.

  Lady Primrose and David arrived. The fact that he had ‘spoken up’ for the gypsy had given David a new social standing. Society admired him for it, as they did Lord Frederick who was also expected. Sir Charles smiled to himself. No one would ever know how he had twisted their arms.

  Lord Freddy arrived with a magnum of champagne. They had been photographed in the hotel lobby and Freddy had given a rousing speech about ‘British Justice’. He enjoyed the limelight, and he shook Freedom’s hand, congratulating him.

  Miss Freda constantly turned to the doorway, expecting to see Evelyne, but still she didn’t arrive. Sir Charles beckoned her and suggested perhaps she should fetch the heroine to share in the celebration. Freedom went to Miss Freda’s side and suggested that he should go to her. She blushed, having to crane her head to look up into his face. She told him Evelyne’s room number and sighed. It was all so romantic.

  Freedom slipped from the room and leant on the thick, flocked wallpaper in the corridor. He felt hot and the shirt and tie made his neck hurt, as if he was still bound and cuffed. He appeared relaxed and able to take care of himself, even mixing with the people in Sir Charles’ suite, but all the faces and voices, the handshakes and the pats on the back, combined with the camera flashes to make him feel like roaring.

  Two housemaids in their black dresses with white caps and pinnies scuttled past Freedom with lowered glances and nudges. He blushed and walked down the corridor to Evelyne’s door. He pulled at his collar, ran his fingers through his hair. When he knocked he found the door was slightly ajar. He was not sure what he would say to her, how he would say it, but it was to Evelyne that he owed so much, far more than to Sir Charles.

  He tapped again and then pushed the door open. He had begun to think she wasn’t there when he noticed the bathroom door. He moved silently across the room and pushed the door gently.

  Evelyne was huddled in a corner on the marble floor, her face pressed against the tiles, pressing hard so the white, ice-cold tiles hurt her cheeks. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak, she just wanted to press her body so hard against the walls and floor that it would disappear. Freedom knelt beside her, reached for her hand. It was as cold as the tiles, and she withdrew it and hugged her arms around her. He reached to turn her face towards him, and felt her straining against him, trying to hide her face.

  ‘What is it, manushi, what is it?’

  He lifted her easily from the floor and held her in his arms, carried her into the bedroom like a child. She was so close, he could feel her cold cheek against his neck, and he sat down, cradling her in his arms. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked into her face. She was like a mute, staring helplessly at him, and he didn’t know what to do to help her. ‘What is it? Tell me, tell me?’ Freda opened the door.

  ‘Come, darlinks, Sir Charles is waiting, everyone has arrived.’ Her face creased with worry as she saw Evelyne; ‘My God, what is wrong? Evelyne … Evie, are you sick?’

  Firmly but gently, Freedom told her to leave them alone, he would take care of Evelyne. She went straight back to Ed and whispered that something had happened, Evelyne was sick. Sir Charles beckoned her to his side. He asked her quietly where Freedom and Evelyne were, and Freda told him that Evelyne was sick, but it was all right because Freedom was taking care of her. Sir Charles’ monocle popped out as he straightened up, angry.

  Striding down the corridor, Sir Charles burst into Evelyne’s suite without knocking. Ed followed, with Miss Freda close on his heels. His voice rose in anger, ‘I want you out of here this instant, you hear me? Out! Did anyone see you come in here? Did they? Answer me, man, did anyone see you enter?’

  Freedom was standing by the bed on which Evelyne lay curled like a child, her face as white as the bathroom tiles. Her hands were clenched to her sides, her eyes staring, oblivious to everyone in the room. Freedom moved silendy to Sir Charles and gripped him by the shoulder, blocking his way. He hissed. ‘You treat me like I was a guilty man! I done nothing wrong — I came to bring her to you, I’ve not laid a hand on her.’

  Frightened for Evelyne, Miss Freda went to her side. It was as if she were frozen. Freedom left Sir Charles rubbing his shoulder where the pain of that grip still burned, and walked softly to the bed. ‘She has grief inside her, Miss Freda, let me talk to her.’

  Sir Charles gave Freda a small nod, but did not move from die room. Ed still hovered behind him. They were all slighdy in awe of Freedom’s contained strength, his power.

  Freedom moved close to Evelyne, placed his hand on her head, then bent low, crouching down to look into her vacant, faraway eyes. ‘Manushi, let it go, don’t hold it inside you, it will hurt you more. Embrace it, love it, grow from it, release your pain.’

  Evelyne did not move, but her mouth quivered and she formed the single word, ‘Da’.

  Freedom whispered, ‘Is it your father? Then see him, hold him, kiss him goodbye.’

  Sir Charles stepped closer, ‘If the girl’s father has died, really I think we should leave her alone. Come along, everyone, please.’

  He waved Ed and Freda out, and then waited for Freedom. There was a fleeting moment when no one was sure how Freedom would react to being ordered from the room. The dirk eyes flashed, but then he bowed to Sir Charles’ wish and walked out.

  It was not in Sir Charles’ nature to show emotion. He coughed, then spoke from where he stood, ‘Can you hear me, dear? You have a good cry, and then if you feel well enough, join us when you can.’

  Evelyne neither moved nor spoke. Sir Charles sighed, ‘We leave Cardiff first thing in the morning, you are welcome to join us, I am sure I will be able to find some employment for you … Miss Jones? Ah, well, perhaps this is is not the time to discuss it … but, should you need anything, you only have to call.’

  Evelyne couldn’t hear him, only the soft words of Freedom cut through her pain … She began to picture her beloved Da. He was standing on the mountain, his arms open wide, laughing his wonderful, deep, bellowing laugh. She did not hear the door close behind Sir Charles. She knew what she had to do, and she rose from the bed as if every limb was stiff. She began to pack her clothes.

  Sir Charles bade everyone farewell and surveyed the debris of the party. He sighed, he was tired out. He instructed Dewhurst to leave everything for the hotel staff, they both needed a good night’s sleep before the journey.

  On his way to his bedroom he passed Freedom’s door. He paused and tapped lightly, inched the door open. Freedom lay sprawled across the bed, naked apart from a sheet draped across him. His long hair splayed out across the pillow; he looked like a Greek god, his handsome face more beautiful in sleep than any man’s Sir Charles had ever seen. He swallowed, embarrassed at his intrusion on the sleeping man, and closed the door softly. His skin felt hot; he owned that creature, owned him, at least for the next five years.

  The following morning Sir Charles and his chauffeur were packed and ready by seven. They departed with Freedom for the railway station, lea
ving Ed to arrange transport for all their luggage.

  Freda was waiting in the lobby with her few possessions when Ed came down. He looked harassed, mopping his brow with a bright red handkerchief. It took four porters to carry Sir Charles’ luggage from his suite to the waiting taxi.

  ‘Have you seen Evelyne, Ed? Have you seen Evie?’

  ‘I just went into ‘er suite, she must ‘ave already left wiv Sir Charles … now, don’t get me muddled, love, I got a lot ter think about … Gawd almighty, you see ‘ow much luggage I got to take charge of? His Lordship’s offered her work on the estate so don’t you worry yerself none, Gor Blimey, thirty-four cases.’

  Miss Freda sighed, relieved to hear Evelyne was coming with them. ‘He is a good man, Sir Charles, and with all of us together it will be like a family, Ed. Just like a family, won’t it?’

  Ed paid no attention as he ticked each pair of suitcases off the list. Satisfied all was well, he picked up Miss Freda’s case.

  ‘Well, let’s be on our way, love, don’t want to miss the train.’

  Sir Charles was already installed in his private first-class compartment with Freedom. Ed and Miss Freda, helped by Dewhurst, settled themselves into the third-class compartment at the far end of the train. Picnic hampers, luggage, tickets, all caused such comings and goings that no one rnissed Evelyne. Freda and Ed presumed that she was with Sir Charles and Freedom, and if Sir Charles gave it a thought at all, he believed she was in the third-class compartment.

  Evelyne had caught the local steam train to the valley earlier that morning. She could not face goodbyes. She wanted the mountain, the clean air, it was as if she couldn’t breathe properly, her whole body felt constricted, tight. Hugh floated in and out of her thoughts as if she was going through her life, year by year. She could not really remember who had said, ‘Reach out and love him, hold him, release the pain’, all she knew was that she had to go on up to the mountain one last time.

  As the train wound its slow way through the valley she began to relax, as if Hugh would be waiting on the platform for her. Her head was light and she felt dizzy. She had to make herself breathe deeply, knowing that if she didn’t, she would come apart. ‘Hold on,’ she whispered to herself, ‘you are almost home.’

  The movement of the train rocked Freedom gently from side to side. He was sitting opposite Sir Charles, who had begun the journey in good spirits, pointing out views to Freedom but, receiving little or no response, he had fallen silent.

  Freedom stared out of the window and chewed his lip. He wondered if he should ask about Evelyne. Sir Charles had been openly irritated when he had ventured to ask after her as they boarded the train. He had told Freedom she would be with the others.

  ‘She’s on the train then, sir?’

  Sir Charles crossed his immaculately tailored legs. ‘Let us get something quite clear, shall we? Miss Jones was your only witness, your only alibi. You swore in open court that there was nothing between the two of you but the desire to see justice done. If you lied, you make a mockery of everyone concerned in your release, even the verdict. Without her testimony you would, most assuredly, have been hanged. If it was ever to be discovered that you both lied, then I would feel it my duty to hand you over to the police. I don’t want you seeing the woman.’ He stared hard at Freedom, his eyes glinting, and was met with a black, unfathomable, hooded look.

  Freedom leaned forward, but Sir Charles didn’t flinch. ‘All I asked was if she was on the train, I have not had time even to say thank you. I was innocent, I never cut no man’s throat… sir.’

  ‘Do not worry yourself over her, I shall find her work, I think we both owe her that much.’

  Freedom nodded and again stared out of the window. The matter closed, Sir Charles opened his writing-case. Freedom waited, leaning back, and through half-closed eyes he studied Sir Charles, as if willing him to sleep. The pen scratched on the paper, dipped in the inkwell … then the case was set aside and Sir Charles’ eyes slowly drooped, his head lolled on his chest.

  The moment he was asleep Freedom rose like a cat, stealthily slid the door back, and went silently out into the corridor. He made his way down the train, from compartment to compartment, until he reached the third-class section, searching for Evelyne.

  Ed Meadows looked up as the door slid open and Freedom bent his head to enter. ‘Hello, son, how’s the toffs’ section, then? Sit down, sit down, soon be time to take down the picnic hamper.’

  Freedom looked at the sleeping Dewhurst, then Miss Freda. He remained standing.

  ‘Sit down, lad, you’ll get a crick in the neck.’

  ‘I was wanting to pay my respects to Miss Evelyne, sir.’

  ‘None of your “sirs”, name’s Ed … Is she not wiv you?’

  Miss Freda looked concerned. ‘We thought she was with you … Ed, you said she was on the train, is she not with Sir Charles?’

  Ed went red, rubbed his balding head. ‘I went to her rooms, like, an’ she’d gone. I thought she was wiv you, ain’t she wiv you? Hey, where you goin’? Just a minute …’

  Freedom strode to the rear end of the compartments, opened the door.

  ‘She won’t be back there, lad, that’s the luggage … Freedom?’

  Ed stood up, then fell backwards as the train lurched. Miss Freda caught his arm. ‘Oh, Ed, Ed, I feel terrible, I should have gone to her.’

  Ed released her hand, about to follow Freedom, then turned. ‘You don’t fink ‘e’ll get off, do you? He wouldn’t, would ‘el’

  The train gathered speed, and Ed hung on to the strap above his head. ‘He couldn’t, could he? Freda, what do you fink?’

  Miss Freda felt wretched, but she shook her head. The train thundered into a tunnel, and Ed felt his way along the corridor in the darkness, banging against the sides. He kept telling himself the lad was just looking for Evelyne, but his heart was pounding. God, he wouldn’t run away, would he?

  As the train sped out of the long tunnel into the light of day, Ed sighed with relief. He could see Freedom, way up ahead of him. He called out, but the noise of the train drowned his words. He ran on, bumping into the luggage piled high on both sides of the compartment. Freedom shouted back to him, ‘She’s not on the train!’

  He was pulling at the stiff white collar and tie, courtesy of Sir Charles. In a panic, Ed reeled from side to side of the train, grabbing at the straps. ‘Now, don’t go doing anything silly, son, we can contact her when the train stops.’

  Freedom slid open the big loading door in the side of the compartment, and Ed screamed at the top of his voice.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t, for God’s sake!’

  Desperately, Ed ran to catch Freedom as he stood poised at the open door, but he was still just out of reach when the train lurched and Ed had to hang on again. He could see the ground flashing past, and then Freedom jumped. Ed clung on for dear life to the side of the door, the wind whipping his cheeks, his jacket billowing out. He saw Freedom land, roll away from the wheels of the train, and in seconds he was on his feet running like a wild stallion. Trailing from the door where it had caught was Freedom’s tie.

  ‘Dear God, Freda, ‘e’s jumped the train, what the hell are we goin’ ter do?’ But there was nothing they could do, and Ed slumped down into his seat. He was beside himself. ‘I’ll get a bollockin’ for this, mark my words, ‘is Lordship’ll blame this on me. Gawd almighty, the bloody fool, what he go an’ do a fing like that for? What are we goin’ ter do? He’s just thrown away the chance of a lifetime … Gawd almighty, that’s me out of a job, us out of a place ter stay … Bloody hell, what a mess.’

  ‘He will have gone to Evelyne, she’ll make him see sense, you will see, Ed, he signed the contract, didn’t he?’

  ‘He’s a gyppo, Freda, nobody ever knows what those buggers’re thinking. We should ‘ave tied ‘im up, that contract don’t mean nuffink to them … it don’t mean nuffink … Oh, Freda, we just lost a champion, me ‘eart’s breakin’ … he’s gone, he’s gone.’


  Dewhurst slipped his bookmark into the pages of Crime and Punishment. ‘I think I’d better go and tell Sir Charles, he may want me to pull the communication cord.’

  Near tears, Ed watched Dewhurst bounce his way down the corridor. He gripped Miss Freda’s hand. ‘You watch Sir Charles get the law on ‘im, they’ll ‘ave ‘im back in a cell, the bloody fool.’

  From the opposite side of Aldergrove Road, Evelyne could see her house, the lines of washing billowing in the breeze. Two children sat playing on the doorstep. She turned, head bowed, to walk up the cobbled street towards the mountain. She had to pause, leaning against a wall to rest and give herself strength to continue. Looming high above her, high above the village, the mountain rose as if fighting through the thick mist of black coal dust.

  Her feet echoing on the cobbles caused a few curtains to nutter, and someone whispered, ‘Evelyne Jones is back’. She hurried on, passing Doris Evans’ house. Lizzie-Ann was just opening her bedroom curtains, and almost called out, but she clamped her hand across her mouth. ‘Oh God, please don’t say she wants her house …’

  But the hunched figure kept on walking, looking neither to right nor left.

  ‘She’s going up to the grave,’ Mrs Pugh murmured as she peered from behind her back-yard wall. All around were the sounds of the village waking, preparing for the morning shift, buckets clanking, clogs clattering. The mine spewed forth its blackened men, doors opened and slammed closed as the miners set off for their day’s work. Like a shadow, Evelyne quickened her pace towards the grassy slopes, as if the clean air drew her.

  ‘Hurry, Evie, it’s bath time, come on, gel, get the water on.’

  The church organist began his morning practice, squeezing out ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ from the old organ. Threading her way through the soot-stained tombs, she began to run. The grass, fresh with dew, glistened, the water drops holding small speckles of coal dust like black tears. Hugh Jones, Mary Jones, the stillborn baby, little Davey, all lay together in the shadow of the mountain. Will, Mike and Dicken, all gone. The grave, so tiny, so cold and grey. There was nothing for her to embrace, nothing tangible for her to hold and feel. Drained of all emotion, she stood staring at the names of her beloved family. Nothing to embrace. High on the mountain peak the sun broke, piercing the grey like a shaft of gold. Evelyne looked up and, hardly aware of what she was doing, began to run, higher, higher. She scrambled over bracken, stumbling, falling, but pushing herself on, upwards, higher, to the clean air, to the sun.