‘Waiting?’
‘Waiting for you. For you to come along and give me a reason for living.’ He jumped up and pulled her onto her feet beside him. ‘With you I believe I can do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone. Because whatever I do, I’ll be doing it for you. With you. You’ll make me a better man than I could ever be without you.’
‘Shut up!’ She put her hands over his mouth. ‘Stop talking, William Kidd. I want you to kiss me again and keep on kissing me until I beg you to stop.’
He bent towards her as she said, ‘But – word of warning – that will never happen!’
They were interrupted by the sound of three sharp blasts from a ship’s horn.
‘Damn! I have to go,’ said Will.
‘When will you be back?’
‘In four days.’ He took her hand and they walked back towards the Gladstone Dock. ‘While I’m in Dublin I’ll arrange for somewhere for you to stay over there. I’ll buy you a ticket for the next crossing. I’ll sort out a room. We can get married there. I’ve friends in Dublin who’ll help us. Good people.’
She clung to him, unwilling to let him go.
Will kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll be back soon, my darling girl. I’m going to make it my life’s mission to care for you and protect you. Soon we’ll be together.’
* * *
It was pouring with rain. Too wet to walk by the sand dunes. And what was the point since Will would still be in Dublin. While Hannah longed to be with him, she knew that she had to try to put him from her thoughts until he returned. By then he would have worked out a plan. In the meantime, a sleepless night had led her to the conclusion that something bad was going on at Morton’s. It had been nagging away at her for some time and now she was certain. There was surely something nefarious happening. Were she to uncover some serious wrongdoing it might give her a reason to go to the police – something that they would have to act upon. That could help her mother and Judith.
Charles Dawson was a crook. As the word crook formed in her head she realised that that was indeed the way she now thought of her father. A criminal. A man capable of causing grievous bodily harm to his wife and daughter and who made their lives a soulless misery, would surely be also capable of some other crime. The more she thought about it the more she was convinced that he was involved in some kind of financial fraud.
She decided to go to the Picton Reading Room at the main library in the centre of Liverpool to try to find out something about the sender of the strange invoice. On the walk there she knew there was little risk of running into her father, as he avoided the heart of the city, claiming it was a cesspit of commerce and corruption. Hurrying along, she dodged the puddles on the pavement and jumped away from the splatter of passing cars and trams. It took longer than she’d expected to get there and she felt intimidated, standing in front of the grandiose William Brown Library with its six-columned portico. If it hadn’t been for the increasing intensity of the rain, she’d have probably chickened out of going inside. She scaled the steps and went in, trying not to be intimidated by the vastness of the place.
When she entered the Picton Reading Room, she was unable to prevent herself gasping out loud. The dimensions of the rotunda took her by surprise. Capped by a large dome, it rose through three levels with spiral staircases giving access to the higher galleries. She had never seen so many books before. Her father would be horrified and she took satisfaction from that knowledge. In the centre of the room was a tall wooden column bearing an enormous lamp in the form of an upturned bowl. So taken with the place, she lost track of time as she wandered among the shelves, awed by the volume and variety of books. Coming upon a collection of local street directories, she remembered the task she had come to do, and took down the latest volume of Kelly’s Directory. She thumbed through the pages looking for the address. She found Sutherland Street but there was nothing listed for number 101, the address on the invoice. The only businesses listed in Sutherland Street appeared to be retailers and none of them with street numbers higher than eighty-seven. Puzzled, she went off to find a librarian and asked him if it were possible to search for a company by name – perhaps since the invoice was handwritten it had been a transcription error. He pointed her to another directory and she carried the volume over to a table and settled down to search for Merseyside Maritime Services. Again, she drew a blank. The nearest she could find was a firm called Mersey Marine, which appeared to supply cranes and lifting gear for shipping. It was also in a different part of town. There was only one thing for it, she decided, now unable to suppress her conviction that something was amiss. She must go and look for what, if anything, was at 101 Sutherland Street.
It didn’t take her long to find a street plan and locate Sutherland Street. It was a long road leading down towards the docks near Kirkdale. She glanced at the clock. If she left now, she could pass that way without too great a diversion on her way to the Morton’s office at the Bootle docks. She was going to have to get a move on, as it was a fair distance and she had no money to pay for the bus or the tram to take her even part of the way.
Sutherland Street started out as a typical street of redbrick Victorian terraced houses. There were dirty-faced children playing hopscotch, skipping games and tag, while their mothers leaned in doorways chatting to each other. Hannah hurried past, checking the numbers as she went. There was little evidence of any commercial activity, other than a couple of corner stores, a greengrocer and a dairy. There was no sign of any building that could possibly be Merseyside Maritime Services. She reached number eighty-seven, which was a cobbler. Beyond it, were half a dozen more domestic dwellings but then the road ended, with another larger one intersecting it. On the other side, the street bore a different name. She retraced her steps and walked down the opposite side of Sutherland Street but found no sign of anything connected to Merseyside Maritime Services.
A woman leaning in a doorway looked at her curiously. ‘You lost, love?’ she called out.
Hannah asked if she knew where Merseyside Maritime Services might be.
The woman snorted. ‘Never heard of it. It’s just houses round here. Try nearer the docks, love.’
Hannah thanked her and went on her way. A dead end. If she wanted to find out who or what was Merseyside Maritime Services, she would have no choice but to ask her father. But that was no choice at all.
As soon as she walked into Morton’s, she knew something was not right. She could hear voices coming from her father’s small private office. As she hung up her coat, Mr Busby looked up. ‘Your mother’s here,’ he said.
Hannah looked at him with wide eyes. Her mother never left the house any more and she couldn’t remember the last time she had visited the Morton’s premises.
Busby hissed at her. ‘Don’t go in. There’s been raised voices. In fact now you’re here I think I’ll slip out for a while. I have some errands to do.’
He pulled on his coat and left the building. Hannah suspected that he wanted to avoid witnessing any confrontation.
She slipped into her seat behind the desk, all thoughts of Merseyside Maritime Services now gone, replaced with anxiety for her mother. Something extraordinary must have compelled her to venture into the business realm of her husband, especially with her arm still plastered and in a sling. Hannah was amazed. Then she realised that perhaps that was the reason. Charles Dawson was less likely to strike his wife if they were in a place where others could bear witness. Straining her ears, she tried to make out what was being said but it was now a low rumble. The raised voices Mr Busby had mentioned had given way to a more controlled exchange. Hannah thought she heard her own name mentioned, but she couldn’t be sure.
She was about to get up to go and listen with her ear against the door, when it opened. Her father appeared, his body filling the space. Behind him she could just see her mother.
‘Hannah, walk your mother home. Then come straight back here. After her accident she shouldn’t be out of the house.’
H
er accident? Now he was trying to pretend to them all that it was an accident – knowing full well that she and Judith had been present in the house when he had struck Sarah. Hannah looked at her mother but Sarah avoided meeting her eyes.
Hannah grabbed her coat and shrugged it on.
It was only once they were out of sight of Morton’s that Sarah at last looked at Hannah. ‘I married a madman,’ she said. ‘Not only have I lived to regret it for my own sake but now for yours and Judith’s. I am paying the price for my own folly and it is my fault that you are soon to pay it too.’
‘What do you mean, Mother? Has he threatened you?’ She linked her arm through her mother’s undamaged one. ‘Should we go to the police?’
‘The police won’t care. They won’t bother with the likes of us. Their attitude will be that your father is within his rights. Coppers don’t care about women. They think they have more important things to do. And you know how plausible he can be. He’d have them eating out of his hands in no time while he plays the upstanding, God-fearing man worthy of respect.’
‘Then we have to leave. We could go away somewhere he won’t find us. Judith too of course. Will can arrange it all. We can all go to Ireland.’
Her mother looked at her with an expression halfway between cynicism and sadness. ‘And where will we find the money to get away? You know as well as I do your father keeps us all without a brass farthing.’
‘Will could help us. Or we could just go. Walk out. We could find shelter somewhere. I could get a job. Judith too. We can look after you, Mother. We could earn the money to get us all to Dublin.’
‘Silly girl. You always were a dreamer. I’ve made my bed and I have to lie in it. Maybe you and Judith can get away, but I can’t.’
‘I’ll never leave you, Mother.’
Her mother didn’t argue. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah,’ she said. ‘He’s going to try and force you to get married. And not to Will?’
Hannah nodded. ‘I hoped it wasn’t true. I didn’t think he’d get round to that for ages. Can he even do that?’
‘He who holds the purse strings has the power. Unless you run away, you have no choice but to obey him. I am going to pray that if he does this, he will choose wisely for you, since I’m powerless to stop him. Have you heard from Will?’
‘He’s in Dublin. Trying to arrange things. He’ll sort it all, Mother. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him as soon as he’s back.’
Sarah stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘I hope so, but I’m afraid it may be too late. I pray one day you will find it in you to forgive me for letting things get this bad. Now go. If you’re late getting back, you’ll provoke him.’
As she hurried back to the office near the docks, Hannah asked herself how one man had the power to ruin so many lives. She conjured up the image of Will Kidd with his eyes looking into hers and begged God that Will would be able to make things all right.
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah stood in front of her father, hands clasped behind her back, palms sweating. She tried to stop herself shaking, but the truth was, she was terrified of him. His violent outbursts towards her mother and herself were increasingly getting out of control and more and more often he had shown an unaccountable anger. Was he about to hit her again? Had she done something else he thought wrong? She’d been so careful. Perhaps he had found out about Will? Had one of the neighbours seen him when he’d called on her mother? Her heart hammered and she prayed her father couldn’t sense her fear.
Dawson smiled at her. It was a smile made by stretching his narrow lips apart to reveal small pointy teeth. A smile that failed to reach his eyes. It made Hannah think of a china doll she had been given as a child by her grandfather – a doll with a painted smile unmatched by its cold glass eyes that stared blankly into nothingness.
Fear of being struck gave way to a different kind of fear. Why was he smiling at her? What could he possibly want with her? Her mother’s words about the imminence of his plans for her to marry, chilled the blood in her veins and she felt her stomach clench.
Dawson gestured at an upright chair in the corner, signalling her to draw it near and sit down.
Perching on the edge of the seat, she tugged at the hem of her skirt, making sure it was well below her knees. Her father was still smiling that sinister smile. It was worse than his anger. A smile was so rare that she couldn’t help but feel suspicious – in fact she couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile at all.
‘Remind me how old you are, Hannah.’
‘I’m twenty-one, Father. Almost twenty-two.’
He nodded. ‘Good.’
She waited, too frightened to speak.
His eyes swept over her, lingering a moment too long on her bosom. She pulled her cardigan closed and folded her arms over her breasts. Why did he look at her that way? It made her squirm and want to run out of the room. At last his eyes settled on her face and his fake smile disappeared.
‘A good age to be married. Your mother had already had you at that age.’
She closed her eyes, dreading what was coming. All she could think about was Will and how he would be in Dublin by now. Would he have arranged her passage to Ireland, her lodgings, their wedding?
‘Hannah?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Well?’
She swallowed. He was baiting her, tormenting her. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.’ She looked at the floor, noticing, absently, how scuffed her shoes were. ‘Besides I know no one who might want to marry me.’ As she told the lie she suddenly thought that maybe he actually meant Will. Perhaps her mother had told Dawson about him and won him round to the idea.
But that faint fleeting hope was dashed when her father said, ‘Of course you don’t. And that’s how it should be.’
She swallowed again. Suddenly defiant she said, ‘Or who I might choose to marry.’
He snorted. ‘Choose? You? You have no choice. A woman is not capable of judging who would make her a suitable husband. A woman is made by God to serve her husband, her lord and master. The scriptures are clear: “Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man.” The only person fit to make such an important choice is your father. Just as Abraham chose Rebecca to be wife to his son Isaac. It is the gift of a father. A gift to God. And woman is a gift to man. The Bible has laid it out and we must follow.’
Hannah felt sick. ‘But, Father, marriage is a lifelong commitment. Surely I should not be forced to commit myself to a husband for whom I have no feelings?’
Her father stretched his mouth into another of his false smiles. ‘Your feelings are immaterial, Hannah. God will guide me to make the right choice for you. Your role is to show humility and do my bidding, then once married, you will do your husband’s bidding, just as every woman is intended to do. The Holy Scriptures have determined it this way.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling as though calling upon God himself. ‘Now let us pray together that this wilfulness will be driven from you and you will bow to the will of the Lord, as channelled through me.’
He reached forward and grabbed her by the collar, jerking her from the chair and pushing her down onto her knees. The sudden impact with the cold hard floor made her gasp, but she didn’t protest, knowing it would only make things worse.
Dawson took up his Bible and read a series of verses designed to demonstrate his contention that woman was made solely for man. He asked her to repeat the words after him and, shivering with fear, she did so. After about half an hour, her kneecaps aching, he permitted her at last to return to her chair. He flashed his sharp-toothed non-smile at her again.
‘I suppose you would like to know who the man is God has guided me to choose for you?’
Her mouth was dry and she began to shiver. ‘Have you chosen already, Father?’
He nodded. ‘It’s all arranged. I have spoken with the pastor and he is willing.’
Hannah’s chest tightened in fear and horror and she tasted bile. Not the pastor. Mr Henderson was
older than her father. A stern-faced widower with beetling eyebrows and a bulbous red nose. She’d never spoken to him, as she and Judith always kept out of the way whenever he visited their father. The thought of being such a man’s wife filled her with disgust and fright. ‘But… Father… he’s so old.’
Dawson laughed. ’Stupid child! Do you honestly believe such a great man as the pastor would be prepared to marry you – a silly young woman? While I can imagine no greater honour than for a man of such wisdom and so filled with God’s spirit to take a daughter of mine in marriage, I know that I could never be worthy enough.’ His obsequious tone made Hannah think of Dickens’s Uriah Heep
Hannah breathed again. No one could possibly be as bad as the pastor. But a future without Will in it was in any way unthinkable.
‘Pastor Henderson has however bestowed a great honour upon me and this family as he has agreed that you will be given in marriage to his son, Samuel.’
‘His son? I don’t even know this Samuel.’
‘There will be time enough for that. Samuel is his only son.’
‘Does Samuel himself have any say in this?’
‘Samuel lives his life by the examples set down in the Good Book. He will emulate Isaac, to whom Rebecca was given in marriage. I want you to read that chapter now. Tomorrow I will expect you to have read and understood their example. Now tell me in which book of the Bible you will find their story.’
Hannah wracked her brain, fearing his rage if she misremembered. ‘Is it Genesis, chapter twenty-four?’
Dawson bared his teeth in another faux smile. She’d never seen so much smiling from him before. ‘You have done well. Now go to your room and study it, until you know it backwards.’
’When will I meet him?’
‘So many questions. You will meet Samuel Henderson when I consider fit. Remember Rebecca went to marry Isaac without having met him. She followed the will of God and you will do the same.’
‘But I will meet him first?’
Storms Gather Between Us Page 17