Hannah Wyatt had the greatest respect for Dr Grant, as he’d taken care of her mother in her final years and shown care and patience. He was close to seventy himself now, small, thin, his face heavily lined, but he still had a brightness in his eyes and the energy of a much younger man.
‘Yes, of course. When Mrs Brook first came to me, I guessed she’d had a lot of sadness and heartache. I don’t know why she went to work in the Red Griffin, such a low dive. The owner is the kind of man you wouldn’t want to run into on a dark night. I’m not surprised he beat her and attempted to rape her, that’s about what I’d expect from such a man. Should we call the police? All her belongings are still there.’
Dr Grant looked thoughtful. ‘Leave it to me, Mrs Wyatt. I need to stress to them that Mrs Brook is in no fit state to be interviewed. I think they’ll take my word for her injuries, then arrest him and collect her belongings. I’d like to say she can give evidence against him when she’s better, but I’m not sure she can recover from this.’
Mrs Wyatt gasped and caught hold of the bannister to support herself. ‘Oh no, Doctor, she can’t die! She’s too young, and I know she’s got a young man who adores her. He came here searching for her.’
If the doctor wondered why a woman would run out on a man who loved her, he didn’t ask. ‘In that case, if you know how to contact him, do it as soon as possible. Sometimes even the sickest person can recover if they have a good reason to do so.’
He told her to keep Mrs Brook warm, make her drink as much as possible, and then he gave her some medicine in a brown bottle. ‘Give her two spoonfuls now, and again at six. I’ll come back this evening to see how she is.’
After the doctor had gone, Mrs Wyatt went back to see Mabel, and was alarmed to find her delirious. She didn’t appear to know who Mrs Wyatt was, and she was muttering. She caught the name Agnes and something about forgiveness.
Mrs Wyatt sponged Mabel down, somehow managed to get the medicine into her mouth, and a little water, then put another blanket on the bed.
It was alarming to think such a lovely young lady could die, and a terrifying responsibility to try and prevent it. But she still had the card Mr Kellaway had left with her; she must go back to that telephone box and ring him.
Mrs Wyatt wasn’t used to using a telephone. A lady answered the phone at the solicitor’s and said Mr Kellaway was in court, but would she like to leave a message? Mrs Wyatt panicked a bit, stumbling over her words and perhaps not making a lot of sense.
‘Now who is sick?’ the woman asked. ‘I can tell you are upset, but give me their name. That’s good. I heard you. Mrs Mabel Brook. Now tell me where she is, and who you are.’
‘Mr Kellaway knows me, he came to my guest house in Exeter,’ Mrs Wyatt blurted out. Then, suddenly realizing that perhaps she shouldn’t tell this woman too much, she apologized and put the receiver down.
The thick fog of earlier was lifting now, but it had grown colder still. Mrs Wyatt hurried back home, hoping she’d said enough so that Mr Kellaway would come as soon as he could.
Thomas got the message from his secretary, Miss Gibson, when he got back from Dorchester court at four thirty in the afternoon.
He blanched. ‘Mrs Wyatt sounded scared, you say? Did she say why Mabel had come back to her?’
‘She could barely string a few words together. She sounded really panicked. Who is Mabel Brook? Is she a relative?’
‘She’s the woman I love,’ Thomas said simply. ‘And I must go there now.’
‘Will you still be able to keep your appointments tomorrow?’ Miss Gibson asked.
‘I doubt it, so you’d better cancel them – or ask if they’ll see someone else.’
Miss Gibson was a forty-year-old spinster and she wished, just once in her life, a man might have said ‘she’s the woman I love’ about her.
‘I hope it isn’t as serious as it sounded,’ she said gently. ‘Do drive carefully, Mr Kellaway, it’s awful weather. Don’t worry, I’ll sort out your clients.’
27
Thomas loved his new automobile, but to drive over fifty miles on a dark, stormy evening was a frightening experience.
His headlights were not so bright, and the road to Exeter was narrow and winding. Fallen leaves and the driving rain made the road slippery. It was also very cold. But the need to get to Mabel as soon as possible made it bearable, and at least the appalling weather meant there was nothing else on the road, not even the occasional badger or fox.
He had read in The Times that Agnes Wellows was to be hanged at dawn this morning, and he wondered if that had any bearing on Mabel returning to Byways in such a poorly state. He had studied newspapers carefully since Mabel disappeared, and although there had been some articles about Agnes Wellows confessing to killing her son, her daughter-in-law was only referred to as the young Mrs Wellows, nothing that would alert anyone to her new identity as Mabel Brook.
There had been a very sympathetic article about returning soldiers suffering from serious injuries and shell shock, and how little was being done to help them, or their families who suffered with them. Agnes was mentioned in the article, saying it was understandable that she had felt her son would be better off dead. The journalist stated that many such damaged men had told him they wanted to die too.
On cold nights such as this, with heavy rain and high winds, Thomas often found himself slipping back into the nightmare of trench warfare; he fancied he could hear the guns again, and the cries of the wounded still lying in no-man’s-land. He had gone to his brother many a time to comfort him when he was suffering from a nightmare. But he and Michael were the lucky ones; they had money, a comfortable home with Aunt Leticia and futures to look forward to. Many ex-soldiers were sleeping rough, unable to find work, or trying to keep a roof over their family’s heads with so little money that the children went hungry.
Whatever had happened to the government’s claims that all soldiers would be returning to ‘homes fit for heroes’?
It was well after ten when Thomas finally got to Byways. He could see a light in a window upstairs, and one in the downstairs hall, so Mrs Wyatt was still up.
She greeted him warmly when she opened the door, and quickly ushered him in. ‘I’m sorry if my message alarmed you,’ she said. ‘But Mabel is gravely ill, and I felt I must call you.’
‘You did right,’ he assured her. ‘Now tell me what happened, before I go up to see her.’
‘Let me take your hat and coat first,’ she said. ‘You must be frozen, so I’ll make you some tea.’
Thomas was cold and very stiff after the long drive, although the warmth of the fire in Mrs Wyatt’s living room, and the welcome cup of tea, soon revived him. But her account of what had occurred at the Red Griffin sickened him. He vowed to himself that he would make that man pay dearly for what he had done to Mabel.
‘The doctor came again at seven this evening,’ she said. ‘He told me to give her a bigger dose of the medicine every four hours. He said he thought the fever would reach crisis point tonight, but if she survives that, she should get better.’
They went up then to see Mabel.
Thomas was horrified to see her pretty face blackened with bruising and to hear her rattling breath. She was unconscious but her lips moving, as if she was talking to herself, and her fingers were picking at the sheet. He leaned over her and heard her say the word ‘punishment’ very faintly.
‘She’s been like that since soon after I got her into bed,’ Mrs Wyatt said. ‘I’ve sponged her down many times today.’
‘You must be exhausted,’ Thomas said to her. ‘If you’ll just show me where everything is, I can take over. You must go to bed – that is, of course, if you don’t mind having a strange man in your house.’
She smiled wearily. ‘You aren’t strange, and my husband is downstairs in the parlour. Let me introduce you, and then I’ll show you where everything is.’
At one in the morning, Thomas once again sponged Mabel’s face, neck and chest with
cool water, becoming more alarmed by the minute at the sound of her laboured breath and the incredible heat coming off her.
‘Fight it, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘You can come out of this. Don’t even think of leaving me.’
The room was like an oven, and Mrs Wyatt had said he was to keep the fire going. Thomas stripped down to his shirtsleeves and mopped his own brow as often as he mopped Mabel’s.
She had moments of delirium when she called out his name, as well as Carsten’s and Martin’s. Agnes’s name popped out now and then, as did Clara’s and Joan’s. It seemed to Thomas she was reliving her whole life.
Her eye had become blacker and more swollen since he arrived, and the bruising was coming out on both cheeks. Yet despite her facial injuries, her hair was as glorious as ever, red-gold on the pillows in the soft light, little tendrils curling on to her overheated face.
He couldn’t count the number of times he’d lifted her with one arm and plumped up her pillows with his other hand, then poured a little water into her mouth from the jug by the bed. He wished he knew more about nursing; he felt so clumsy, comparing his efforts with the way he’d seen real nurses handle patients. Yet he felt that if it was possible to will someone back to health, he had the will of twenty men.
Outside, the wind was howling. When he pulled back the thick curtains and looked out on to the river, he saw the water level had risen, and still the rain came down in sheets.
Back at Mabel’s bedside Thomas took her hand in his and talked. He described their wedding, who would be there in the church, and afterwards the reception at his aunt’s house. Then he moved on to describing the house he imagined them living in, even going as far as telling her the colour of the drawing-room wallpaper, the stair carpet and what their bedroom would be like.
But there was no response to any of this. Her forehead was growing hotter and hotter as the night progressed, and her breathing was becoming still more laboured.
‘Don’t even think of leaving me,’ he implored her, his voice rising in alarm. ‘You’re my love, we’ve got so much to do together. I can’t live without you!’
He cried then, because there was no response. He leaned forward in his chair, rested his head on the bed beside her, and sobbed his heart out.
At first, he thought the light touch on his head was his imagination. But after a second or two, it dawned on him that it was Mabel’s hand and she was stroking his hair.
He had never felt such joy before.
‘My darling!’ he said, sitting up and taking her hand. Her eyes were still shut but there was something different about her, something he couldn’t put a name to. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Thomas.’ His name came from her lips like a soft caress.
‘I’m here, my darling.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’ve been here all along. You are going to get better now.’
When he put his hand on her forehead, he found it cooler and he knew the crisis had passed.
She had been spared. With tears running down his cheeks, he offered up a prayer of thanks.
Thomas stayed in the room with her for the remainder of the night, dozing in the chair. He awoke and went to the window to pull the curtains back just enough to see it was dawn. The wind had dropped, and the rain had stopped.
When he looked back at Mabel in the bed, he could see she was sleeping now, not unconscious like the previous day. Her breathing was still laboured, and the sight of her battered face made him wince, but he felt such joy that she had come through it.
A couple of hours later, Mrs Wyatt peeped round the door. ‘How is she?’ she whispered.
‘Past the worst,’ Thomas whispered back. ‘She’s sleeping peacefully.’
‘Come down and have breakfast with us, then?’ she said. ‘Sleep is the best healer.’
It was after ten before Mabel woke. She opened her eyes, looked at Thomas, and then smiled.
‘I thought it was a dream that you were here,’ she said.
‘No dream,’ he said, smoothing back her hair. ‘And you’d better promise me you’ll never frighten me again like that.’
She smiled. ‘I promise. But how did you find me?’
‘That’s a long story, and I’ll save it for when we are old and have nothing else to chat about,’ he said. ‘But let’s just say I must have walked every street in Exeter over the past weeks. I found out you’d stayed here before, though, just hours after you’d left. Unfortunately, you hadn’t told Mrs Wyatt where you were going.’
‘So how did you know I was ill?’
‘The lovely Mrs Wyatt telephoned my office, while I was in court. As soon as I got the message, I drove here. What a night! It was such wild weather that I was afraid trees would’ve fallen across the road. As it was, the road was slippery with leaves. Then I got here to find you were in an awfully bad way. But let’s not dwell on that,’ he said, conscious of how close he’d come to losing her. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘Warm and cosy,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid to move because of the pain in my ribs, but I think that’s all that’s stopping me from wanting to jump out of bed and hug you.’
‘You won’t be getting out of bed for a while,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m here to police that. Cup of tea? Or could you eat something?’
All that day, Thomas stayed with Mabel. She told him all the details of what had happened to her since leaving Dorchester.
‘I realized as soon as I got to Exeter that I didn’t want to live without you. I wanted to telephone you and apologize,’ she admitted. ‘I am so impulsive sometimes. I run away and jump into situations without thinking them through. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. But I hurt myself more!’
Thomas smiled at that. ‘Mabel, let me tell you something, once and for all. People really don’t care about this “station in life” thing any longer. The war, and better education for everyone, has changed our society from how it was in Victorian times. Anyone meeting you for the first time wouldn’t label you as anything but an attractive, intelligent, vivacious lady. So please, for both our sakes, do drop this idea that you’re not good enough. I want to marry you, and that’s that. I take you as you are, just as you take me as I am. Warts and all!’
‘Where are your warts?’ she teased him. ‘Will I find them when I pull your clothes off?’
‘Enough of such smutty talk,’ he said in a mock serious tone. ‘Until you are completely well, there will be no talk of removing clothes.’
Later in the day, he went out to telephone his office to say he wasn’t coming back yet. Then he spoke to Clara and told her he’d found Mabel.
That evening, Mrs Wyatt offered him a bed in one of her guest rooms, which he gratefully accepted.
On the second day, Mabel was well enough to get up, have a bath and eat a meal. Thomas really needed to get back to the office. But however much better Mabel looked and sounded, the doctor advised against taking her back to Dorchester with him.
‘It’s very cold in your automobile, and the road is bumpy. Her ribs need time to heal, and she shouldn’t be exposed to fluctuating temperatures.’
A police sergeant came that day, bringing with him the possessions Mabel had left at the Red Griffin. He spoke only briefly to Mabel, asking how she was, but to Thomas he had more to say.
He made it quite clear that charging Murphy with assault and attempted rape would only result in embarrassment and humiliation for Mabel. He said that a judge would rule that, by going to work in a rough public house with a lone bachelor landlord, Mabel had laid herself wide open to abuse.
‘I do not personally condone men hitting or forcing themselves on to women,’ he said to Thomas. ‘Murphy is an unpleasant character who deserves a good kicking. But sadly, the courts do not offer that little service.’
While Thomas was angry that Murphy had got away with it, Mabel agreed with the policeman.
‘I brought it on myself, I should’ve guessed what might happen,’ she said. ‘Now let us forget all about it.
I’ve got my things back, and I’ve got you too. My broken ribs are a reminder never to be so foolish again. And yes, you should go back to work. As much as I like you being here with me, it is a bit pointless now that I’m on the mend.’
A little later, Thomas said he had to go out. Mabel thought it was strange that he didn’t say where he was going. An hour passed before he returned. He had two boxes of chocolates, one for Mrs Wyatt and one for Mabel. But as he handed them over, Mabel noticed the knuckles on his right hand were badly skinned, and she asked him how he’d done it.
He seemed sheepish and said he’d banged it against a rough wall.
‘No, you didn’t, you punched someone!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who?’
Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer: Murphy. ‘But that was crazy! What if his chums had jumped on you?’ she asked.
‘That’s why I went when the pub was closed,’ he smirked. ‘When he answered the door, I told him I was the licensing officer and needed to ask him a few questions. He asked me in – he was a bit inebriated, I admit – anyway, once I was in, I thumped him good and hard. Once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. I told him it was from you. Once I’d knocked him down, I kicked him in the ribs too. I left then, leaving him lying on the floor of his living room, groaning and carrying on like a baby. But as I went through the bar, I turned a couple of the barrels on and left them running.’
‘Thomas!’ she reproached him. ‘I didn’t know you had that kind of violence in you!’
‘We all have, when someone hurts the one you love. Revenge gets the better of common sense sometimes. But I had an ace card up my sleeve – I’ve always boxed. Today I knew why I’d kept it up.’
He left about an hour later, promising to come back at the weekend, which was in two days’ time.
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