by Annie Groves
Gideon stared at him. Ellie was pregnant? A dozen feelings slammed down on him, all of them unwanted.
Somehow or other he managed to escape from Will Pride, shrugging himself deeper into the cashmere coat he had bought. A real toff’s coat, his men had called it, mocking him, and yet at the same time they obviously wanted to remind him that he was still one of them, despite his inheritance. Gideon had also seen the wary respect in their eyes. He was a rich man now – a man who, by virtue of his birth, had no need to ape the manners and customs of a better class because he was in fact a part of it, and subconsciously, although Gideon himself wasn’t aware of it, that knowledge showed in all manner of subtle ways. The ease with which he wore the cashmere coat was simply one small outward manifestation of the man he had become.
Ellie pregnant! Nearly seven months, Will Pride had said, implying with his usual coarseness of manner that her impregnation had been perhaps the last act of her dead husband.
Nearly seven months. Abruptly Gideon stopped walking, suddenly oblivious to the freezing cold. A sweat heated and then chilled his skin as he did some mental arithmetic. By God, but what he was thinking had to be wrong! If it wasn’t, there was no way that she would not have let him know, and come knocking on his door demanding her due. Widowed and virtually destitute, according to Will, she would never have passed up on the opportunity to feather her nest at his expense. That was the kind of woman she was, he knew that! Angrily he reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. As he opened it his hands were shaking.
FORTY-TWO
White-faced, Ellie looked at her brother. John had, as he had promised, come back to find out if Minaco had returned.
‘John, something has to have happened to Minaco,’ she insisted. ‘It’s nearly midnight. She would never stay out this long.’
John looked away from her, feeling uncomfortable. Ellie, despite the fact that she had been a wife and was soon to be a mother, was sometimes surprisingly naïve. John might be younger than Ellie but he recognised that he knew a great deal more about the world than she did. The Japanese girl had been her husband’s mistress, a girl who, according to Ellie, Henry had rescued from being sold into prostitution. She was a pretty little thing, with her exotic features and her tiny delicate body. John had seen the way men looked at her when she was out with Ellie, and the way she had looked back at them, searchingly, hungrily, somehow. But he still couldn’t bring himself to suggest to Ellie that she might simply have taken up with some man, leaving Ellie to be responsible for bringing up the bastard child she had had by Ellie’s dead husband.
‘Look, I know you’re concerned, but let’s wait and see what morning brings,’ he suggested.
‘John!’ The look Ellie gave him reminded him sharply that she was his elder sister. ‘It’s below freezing outside. There isn’t any way…We have to inform the police,’ Ellie told him firmly.
John heaved a small sigh. ‘Ellie, it’s close on midnight. Most sensible people will be in their beds.’
‘I know that, but Sergeant Johnson lives six doors down, and I’m sure he’d understand if you went round and explained to him what has happened.’
John knew when he was beaten.
After he had gone, complaining that Sergeant Johnson might understand, but that he feared that Mrs Johnson, his formidable wife, might not be best pleased at being woken at such an ungodly hour and on such a cold night, Ellie went upstairs to check on the children, pausing halfway to ease her aching back and get her breath.
Maisie was fast asleep in the bed she and Henrietta supposedly shared, snoring slightly. Henrietta, as Ellie had known she would, had crept out of her own bed and was curled up under the covers of Ellie’s, lying there so still that Ellie knew immediately that she was awake.
Helplessly, Ellie gathered her into her arms and held her tight, sitting on the bed and rocking her to and fro. There was such a bond between them, not because she was Henry’s child but because of her circumstances, Ellie suspected. She could see so often in Henrietta’s too knowing and worried eyes the same fears and miseries she knew she herself would have felt in her position. Ellie ached to be able to protect her from every harm that could befall her – as she had not been able to protect either herself or her own sister and brothers.
Her own child, unwanted and burdensome, moved in her womb as though resenting the attention she was paying Henrietta.
Ellie didn’t need to read the newspapers to know that hard times lay ahead. Evidence of the financial hardship caused by the long summer of strikes was all around them: the crowd of women waiting to buy up the unwanted food from the closing market stalls grew larger every week, and Ellie had overheard several groups of mill girls discussing whether or not they would be better off moving to Liverpool, where at least the docks were still bringing money into the city.
Once this so wrongfully conceived child had been born she was seriously contemplating approaching one of the town’s employment agencies to see if there was any casual domestic work going. Her Barclay aunts would love that – their sister’s daughter scrubbing other people’s floors – but Ellie knew she would rather do that than beg them for the charity they were obviously bitterly reluctant to give her.
Something had hardened in Ellie over the last few months, so that, phoenix-like, her spirit had become strong and honed.
‘I’m cold,’ Henrietta told her, shivering in her arms.
‘Yes, so am I,’ Ellie agreed, kissing the top of her head. ‘Let’s go downstairs and sit by the range, shall we?’
What he was doing was crazy, Gideon told himself savagely, and what he was thinking was even crazier. Why the hell should he leap to the conclusion that Ellie Pride’s child was his just because of that time…?
He paused before crossing the square to let the horse pulling the milk float plod past him. The beast’s breath was a fiery white plume on the frozen air, and he could hear the milkman cursing that the milk had frozen in the churns.
It was too early for any of his neighbours in this wealthy part of town to be abroad, but the town itself, as he crossed it, was shivering into reluctant morning life.
Only the youngsters, predictably, were enjoying the icy conditions, laughing as older people skidded on the frozen slides they had made on the pavements. As he walked through the market he overheard some wag commenting that they would need to bring icebreakers into Preston’s dock if the freeze continued.
Shivering, Ellie blew on her numb fingers as she tried to sew. Overnight the temperature had dropped even lower and, despite her best efforts, it was impossible to keep the house warm. All three of them were huddled round the range, which she dare not keep at more than barely alight for fear of running out of fuel completely.
Sergeant Johnson had been round before going on duty this morning and promised to report Minaco’s disappearance.
Despite Ellie anxiously pressing him he had refused to say what he thought might have befallen her.
Ellie tensed as someone rapped demandingly on the front door knocker.
The street was clean enough, its houses decently maintained, Gideon acknowledged as he noted the white-stoned steps and polished doorknockers of the houses he had passed, but it was still a mean, narrow little street of poor-quality housing, thrown up to house the millworkers, and without any pretence of being anything other than meanly utilitarian. He could almost feel the cheap lace curtains twitching as he strode past them, and he told himself that he should feel pleased that Ellie was demeaned by having to live in such circumstances.
As he knocked on the door he told himself too, as he had told himself a thousand times since last night, that what he was thinking was impossible, but something had still driven him to come here.
Expecting to see either her brother John or Sergeant Johnson standing on her front doorstep, Ellie stared in silent, shocked disbelief at Gideon, unable to do anything other than simply step back when he walked past her into the narrow hallway, shutting the door firmly behind him.
She could see the way he was looking at the surroundings, her home, and immediately her body tensed in defiant pride.
The door to the kitchen was open and, as though he sensed its relative warmth, he headed for it, coming to an abrupt halt as he walked inside and saw Maisie and Henrietta seated at the kitchen table, eating their thin porridge.
Of the two of them Henrietta was the neater eater, Ellie acknowledged. The little girl was finicky and delicate in her ways, instinctively copying the way Ellie herself ate, whilst Maisie, despite Ellie’s exhortations to her not to do so, simply crammed her food into her mouth, uncaring of the mess she made.
Gideon stared at Ellie, unable to stop himself from demanding harshly, ‘Your hair – what’s happened?’
Instinctively, Ellie’s hand went to her shorn locks. ‘I sold it – I needed the money,’ she told him sharply.
Her beautiful hair – but there was something about the soft way it curled into her neck and those little feathery tendrils that made him want to…
Gideon frowned as the child put down her spoon and climbed down off her stool to go to Ellie’s side. Automatically Ellie bent down to pick her up.
‘What’s this?’ he asked her tersely. ‘A travelling circus?’
He had a vague memory of Will saying something about Ellie having with her a woman who had been Henry’s mistress, along with her child, but he had not paid much heed to that part of his tale, being more concerned with his news of Ellie’s pregnancy.
Anger flashed in Ellie’s eyes as she held Henrietta tightly. She had become very defensive about people’s comments regarding the little girl, whose exotic mixed-race heritage made her the subject of their curiosity.
‘No,’ she told him sharply, ‘this circus, as you so rudely and disparagingly refer to them, are my maid, Maisie, and –’
‘Your what? Your maid?’ Gideon checked her in grim disbelief. ‘My God, now I’ve heard everything! You’re renting just about the cheapest decent house you can find, and you’ve brought your bloody maid. What’s wrong – and don’t tell me you need her to fasten your stays?’ He gave her a look that made her face burn. ‘After all, the whole world can see that you aren’t in any need of them.’ Out of the corner of her eye Ellie saw that Maisie’s bottom lip had begun to quiver. She hated loud male voices, and immediately stopped eating, and burst out, ‘Why is that nasty man shouting? I don’t like him, make him go away!’ And then proceeded to suck her thumb as she always did when she was distressed.
Unable to conceal his surprise, Gideon stepped closer.
Immediately, Ellie moved between him and the table, telling him quietly, ‘Please don’t do that. You’re frightening her.’
The look of realisation in his eyes made her put her arm protectively around Maisie’s tense shoulders.
‘And the young ’un?’ Gideon demanded, nodding in Henrietta’s direction, although, of course, he already knew what she was going to say.
‘Henry’s child,’ Ellie told him quietly, lifting her chin.
Gideon could feel his heart starting to pound too heavily. There was something here in this shabby poor room he didn’t want to recognise or acknowledge, something that ripped away the tissue he had packed around the wound Ellie had given him and left it raw and exposed. For these – these pathetic pieces of human flotsam, she had love and compassion to give, and to spare. Suddenly he was reminded of his own mother, Mary; suddenly and unwantedly he could see an unmistakable connection between the two women.
‘And the one you’re carrying?’ he asked her savagely, nodding in the direction of her swollen belly. ‘Seven months gone, I hear you are, so it must have been conceived in August. Just before your husband killed himself, so they say.’
Something dangerous had entered the room, Ellie recognised, as her body poured with sweaty heat and then shivered in the grip of intense cold, something very dangerous.
‘If indeed it is your husband’s,’ Gideon finished with menacing softness.
Ellie tried to speak; tried to pull her glance away from the compelling hold of his but it was as though, somehow, something beyond her power was stopping her from doing so.
Gideon knew the truth the split second he looked into her eyes and saw the sick despair there. Ellie was carrying his child.
‘It isn’t his, is it?’ he challenged her hoarsely. ‘It’s mine. My child…conceived that night…Ellie?’ he beseeched her urgently, but it was too late. She had pulled away from him, clutching Henrietta defensively to her.
‘You have no right to say such things,’ she told him, her voice shaking, ‘and no right either to be here. I want you to leave. Now…Immediately.’
She had begun to shake, the little girl in her arms clutching at Ellie’s gown so that she unintentionally dragged the fabric over the tight swell of her belly.
The small, mean house, its cold air, the pathetic signs of Ellie’s attempt to give it some homeliness and comfort, the way both girls were clinging anxiously to her, tore at Gideon. He wanted to hate her, deride her – she deserved that he should – but instead he was overwhelmed by a sickening sense of shocked confusion.
Unable to trust himself to speak he swung round and strode towards the door.
Ellie held her breath until she heard it open and then close behind him as he left.
Henrietta’s hand touched her face. ‘Mama crying,’ she said solemnly.
Ellie felt her whole body shudder. Henrietta had never called her anything other than ‘Ellie’ before. Still holding her, she sank down into the rocking chair beside the range. Why, oh why hadn’t she immediately denied Gideon’s challenge?
FORTY-THREE
‘Ellie, I know that things don’t look good, but try not to give up hope. I mean…’
Ellie stared blankly at her brother as his voice faded away uncomfortably. He had arrived less than an hour after Gideon’s departure, to tell her that as yet there had been no news about Minaco. As she listened to him Ellie realised guiltily that for the past hour she had barely given the Japanese girl a thought.
That was the effect Gideon had on her. He made her selfish. Her mother had always said so.
‘Look, why don’t you go upstairs and try to get some rest?’ John suggested. ‘Mr Kershaw has given me permission to stay with you. He knows how anxious you are about Minaco.’
Silently Ellie headed for the stairs. The child in her womb had been moving vigorously all day as though…As though what? As though it sensed the presence of its father? Inwardly deriding herself, Ellie climbed the stairs, and entered the small cold bedroom.
Down by the docks the men surveyed the small pathetic bundle of flesh and bones, frozen stiff in death, the icy fingers clutching the photograph of the man she had loved.
Gideon stared around the elegant silence of the Winckley Square drawing room. Ellie Pride was carrying his child!
He could have other children, he reminded himself angrily. Other children with a wife far more suited to that position than the likes of Ellie Pride! He was a wealthy man now and she was a widow and a social outcast, who didn’t have the sense not to burden herself with even more responsibilities than she already had – that exotic-looking child, that girl who quite plainly was not in full possession of her wits.
His child! Gideon thought of his own childhood and of Mary.
A discreet tap on the door caused him to swing round.
‘Will you be requiring luncheon today, sir, only Cook…’
‘No, thank you, Fielding. But…No, it’s all right,’ he told the bemused servant. ‘I have to go out and I do not know how long I shall be.’
‘Gideon!’
John Pride looked surprised as he opened the door to him, and Gideon grimaced to himself as he stepped past Ellie’s brother. His presence was a complication he had neither expected nor wanted. Now that he had made up his mind he was in a fever of impatience to have the matter settled just as soon as it could be.
He could not, would not, turn his back
on his own flesh and blood. His own child! He would talk to Ellie, persuade her to hand the child over to him. He would bring it up himself. He would settle a sum of money on Ellie and she could do what she chose. He could hire servants to take care of his baby – a nursemaid…a governess…
There was no sign of Ellie in the cold parlour John showed him into, and Gideon was just about to ask for her when there was a loud banging on the front door. Excusing himself, John hurried to answer it, leaving the parlour door open as he did so.
‘Sergeant Johnson!’ Gideon heard him exclaiming, his voice faltering as he asked, ‘Have you found her?’
Found her? Gideon’s whole body tensed as he felt the ominous silence.
‘It’s not…not bad news, is it?’ he heard John’s voice falter whilst his own insides felt as though they were being squeezed in a vice. Something had happened to Ellie!
‘I’m afraid it is, John,’ the other man confirmed gravely. ‘A young woman’s body has been found –’
Gideon was through the door before he could stop himself, his face ashen. Ellie dead, and it was his fault! He was to blame. He had driven her, the mother of his child, the love of his life to – The love of his life? In a flash of awareness Gideon recognised that his fear, his despair, his gut-wrenching sense of loss and anguish were not for the child he had come here to take from Ellie into his own protection but for Ellie herself…his Ellie.
‘John, I heard someone at the door. What has happened? Has Minaco been found?’
As Gideon heard Ellie’s voice from the top of the stairs, the blood flowed hotly back into his numbed body as relief flooded over him. It was not Ellie who was dead. It was the poor Japanese girl who had been Henry’s mistress. He should have realised that for himself, Gideon acknowledged.
The police sergeant was looking uncomfortable. ‘Someone will have to come and identify the…ahem…the person,’ he began apologetically.