Nobody’s Darling

by Nobody’s Darling (retail) (epub)

  Pray for the soul of Edward Miller, late of this parish, and laid into consecrated earth, on this day

  28 December

  in the year of Our Lord,

  1893

  Crushing the picture to her breast, Ruby allowed the memories to flood in. ‘I still miss you, Dad,’ she murmured. The tears threatened but they didn’t flow. Since coming to this house, Ruby had shed too many tears. And so she reverently replaced the envelope and its contents, saying in a soft voice, ‘If you’ve got any influence up there, will you bring Mam and me back together, for I can’t get to her no how?’ She hoped the Lord was listening. And, with that thought uppermost in her mind, she sat at the table.

  An hour later, when she had eaten, washed the dishes and then lazily bathed herself at the kitchen sink, Ruby wrapped herself in her night-robe and, nursing a cup of steaming cocoa, settled down by the fireside. The warmth made her feel tired. ‘Shan’t be long before I’m off to my bed,’ she murmured. That was another habit she had started; talking to herself was something she had never done before. But then, she had never felt the need. There had always been someone to talk to; in fact there had been times in that little parlour on Fisher Street when the noise was deafening. Now it was the silence that was deafening.

  * * *

  Oliver Arnold saw how quiet and nervous Cicely had been all night and was genuinely concerned. Luke, on the other hand, was full of himself. Since Jeffrey Banks had suffered a small breakdown in health and had been persuaded by Cicely to take himself away on an extensive tour of Europe, Luke had been left in joint charge of the foundry, together with the general manager, a most respectable and conscientious fellow who had been in Banks’s employ for some years. Unfortunately for Luke, he and the fellow had a mutual distrust of each other, and he could see no opportunity to further his underhand activities. But he wasn’t too perturbed. He still had his father’s trust and was continuing to rake in a very handsome profit from his false accountings. In fact, the fraudulent practice of buying inferior raw materials and doctoring the figures was now so cleverly accomplished that discovery grew less and less likely. Consequently he grew more and more confident.

  It was true he was disappointed at not having been put in sole charge of Banks’s in his father-in-law’s absence. But then again, he could wait. If there was anything he had learned, it was the art of patience; especially when it had been intimated by Jeffrey Banks that he might not want to take up the reins again on his return. In which case, Luke’s main motive for marrying Cicely might not have been in vain after all.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Oliver asked her. She looked so pale and worn it worried him.

  ‘Why, yes, I’m fine thank you,’ she answered with a smile. ‘Although the child is particularly restless in this last month. I won’t deny I’ll be glad when it’s born.’

  ‘Of course. As you say, it will be a good thing when it’s born.’ He himself was hoping she would produce a boy to make him proud. But, looking at Cicely now, he couldn’t help but wonder whether she was strong enough to bear any child. For all her assurances, he still wasn’t convinced that everything was as it should be. At the dinner table she had barely spoken a word, and now, when the three of them were seated in the drawing-room, he was compelled to voice his fears. He had grown very fond of his daughter-in-law. She was gentle and kind, considerate to a fault and immensely affectionate towards himself and his darling Ida. In fact, she was everything Teresa could never be. It was to Cicely that he addressed himself. ‘I know it isn’t any of my business, and I hope you’ll forgive me, my dear, but…’ He paused, still unsure about voicing his fears. Determined though, he took a deep breath. ‘Is there anything wrong between you and my son?’ From the corner of his eye he saw Luke stiffen.

  Cicely was visibly taken aback and, before she could answer, Luke’s abrasive voice cut in. ‘Wrong?’ he said in a shocked voice. ‘Good heavens no. Cicely and I are perfectly suited.’ He grinned. ‘If that wasn’t so, do you think we’d be making you a grandfather?’ He leaned over from his chair and fondly stroked the back of Cicely’s frail hand. ‘We’re still as much in love as on our wedding day, isn’t that so, my lovely?’ he asked in his most charming voice. The touch of his bare skin against hers was nauseating to him, but he forced himself to endure it a moment longer.

  Cicely’s answer was a polite nod which did not altogether satisfy either of the men.

  The next hour was whiled away in small talk when Arnold inquired after Cicely’s father and she in turn replied. ‘He’s enjoying the sights of Paris, I believe.’ Luke had little to say but was busy in thought. And his thoughts were of Ruby. Only last night he had teased her home address out of her red-headed assistant. Since then he had spent a sleepless night and many an hour planning how he might show himself at her front door. This very night he meant to do just that, and was deeply excited.

  Though his sexual needs were rampant and there were any number of women eager to satisfy him, it was always Ruby who fired Luke’s imagination. He detested the way she had come up in the world and made a name for herself. He loathed ambition in a woman because it was unseemly. But he could forgive it in Ruby. Especially if, after all this time, she was to receive him with favour – a beautiful woman who was also clever. He smiled to himself. It would be a new experience for him.

  As for the docile and irritating Cicely, he had never really been able to touch her in the way he liked to touch a woman. In her present state, large with child and cumbersome of movement, she was even more repulsive to him. He wanted Ruby. He had always wanted Ruby. The more he thought of her, the more he savoured her. She made him feel good inside. She fired him with longing. Just now, his cowardly spirit was glowing from the wine he had downed at his father’s table and he could hardly wait. Oh, yes, he wanted Ruby like he had never wanted anything in his life. And tonight he would have her!

  * * *

  Johnny wasn’t surprised when the bell rang on the wall above his head. With his stable work finished and the groom gone home some hours since, he had taken a moment to sup a warming brew of tea with old Thomas.

  ‘There you go,’ Thomas muttered from the depths of his chair. ‘The buggers are ready to be tekken home.’ He was snuggled into a blanket, with his feet tucked into a muffler on the floor and his gloved hands wrapped round the hot mug which Johnny had just given him.

  ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’ asked Johnny, thrusting his arms into his coat. It was a bitter night outside – but not in here, not when he had piled the stove high and the room was cosy.

  Thomas was his old crusty self. ‘Away with yer!’ he grumbled. ‘I may have been retired from my work, but I don’t take kindly to you staying over whenever yer think I’m falling apart. Well, I ain’t dead yet, so bugger off. Go on. BUGGER OFF!’

  ‘Now then, old fella,’ Johnny gently chided, ‘it’s not because I think you’re falling apart that I stay over, and well you know it,’ he lied. In fact, he was staying over more and more these days. And now that Maureen was more able to negotiate the stairs with the help of her mam, he wasn’t needed quite so much at home. He smiled to himself. Women were an independent lot, he thought. And his mind flew straight to Ruby.

  ‘Aye, well, just remember, young man, there’s many a trick left in the old dog yet!’ Thomas raised his head proudly, but the plain truth was that he didn’t have so many ‘tricks’ left. Until recently, he was able to do any number of tasks around the stables, but now he was riddled with gout and even walking was becoming painful.

  Not wanting to hurt the old fella’s feelings, Johnny went along with him. ‘I know that,’ he answered. ‘All the same, you can’t deny there are times when two pairs of hands are better than one. Especially when a mare might be foaling. And then, like tonight, when we know there’ll be need of the carriage. So stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

  ‘And don’t you be so bloody lippy.’ Thomas sank his chin into his neck and began muttering, ‘Anybody’d think
I were on me last legs, so they would. What with you and that snotty-nosed lad they’ve put at my beck and call, I’m watched like a sodding ’awk!’

  Kindly ignoring him, Johnny checked the fire and drew the curtains against the night. ‘I’ll not be long,’ he promised, ‘I expect it’s Miss Cicely wanting to be run back to Preston New Road.’

  Thomas laughed out loud. ‘Yer stubborn bugger! You know very well it ain’t “Miss Cicely” no more.’ He jerked his head up, saying in a snooty voice, ‘It’s Mr Luke and his wife… that’s who they are. Why can’t yer bring yerself to say his name, eh?’

  Johnny gave no answer. Instead, he strode across the room and halfway out the door when Thomas guffawed, ‘’Cause he’s a bastard, is that it?’

  Johnny looked at him for a moment. Suddenly he was angry, but didn’t know who he was angry at. ‘Well, it was you who said it this time,’ he chuckled. ‘But you’re right. Luke is a bastard and I’ll not deny it. See you later.’ Before Thomas could retaliate, Johnny was gone running down the stairs two at a time and smiling to himself as his anger faded to amusement. Thomas was always a law unto himself. But what he’d said was true. Johnny couldn’t bear the name of that man on his lips. Thomas had hit the nail on the head and no mistake. Luke Arnold was a bastard, and as far as Johnny was concerned, he would never be anything else. Cicely might not know it, and then again it might be a mercy that she didn’t, but her husband was cheating on her at every turn. The man was worse than a street cur, chasing after bitches on heat.

  Luke Arnold was making other enemies too – men on the foundry floor. Since Ted Miller was killed, no man had dared to set themselves against their employers, but there was a growing unrest. Things were being muttered about. When questions were asked, fear stilled the men’s tongues and as yet nothing damning had carried beyond the foundry walls. But everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the voices grew louder and the truth spilled out. Johnny hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll take care of her. I always do.’ Luke appeared suitably offended at his father’s concern. He smiled at Cicely and draped his arm round her, drawing her close to him. ‘She’s very precious to me,’ he said. Then he shook his father’s hand and hurried Cicely into the waiting carriage.

  Oliver Arnold stood by the door as Johnny manoeuvred the carriage out of the drive and on to the main road. ‘I wonder, Luke, have you really changed?’ he asked the emptiness. ‘Or is it just an old man seeing only what he wants to see?’

  Sadly he turned and went inside that great quiet house. Lately, he too had sensed the simmering atmosphere at the main foundry. He had long toyed with the idea of reviewing the situation of Luke’s free hand there. He was suddenly glad that he had not yet succumbed to Luke’s wishes and given over even more responsibility.

  ‘But then, he has done nothing to rouse my suspicions,’ he reminded himself. Still, he mused, there was something, and perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to keep a closer eye on things in the future? He may be old, but Oliver did not see himself as a fool. In his heart, he had always known that the only real worthwhile person in his life was the young girl who slept soundly upstairs. Ida was his everything, and unbeknown to anyone but the solicitor concerned, he was already taking steps to protect her inheritance from his greedy grasping son.

  * * *

  Easing the carriage into the kerb outside the big house on Preston New Road, Johnny jumped down to help Cicely out. He was surprised when Luke remained inside. ‘See the lady into the house,’ he told Johnny. ‘Then you can run me into town. I have urgent business there.’ He smiled sweetly into the dimly-lit street. ‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he called to Cicely. ‘Don’t wait up. I could be some considerable time.’

  Cicely’s answer was to pause in her steps and turn to look at him. She said nothing for a moment then she softly pleaded, ‘Don’t leave me, Luke. Not tonight.’ She had not felt well all day. In spite of his callous treatment of her, there were times when she desperately needed him, but he was never there. When he merely smiled and waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal, she stared at him in a strange manner. In that moment Cicely recalled Ruby’s words. ‘He’ll make your life a misery,’ she had warned. And Ruby had been right.

  ‘Please, let me get you inside, out of the cold,’ Johnny urged. Earlier, he had wondered whether Cicely knew of her husband’s womanising, and now he saw his answer. It was there in her sad face. And he loathed the fellow even more.

  Once Cicely was safe inside and her maid attending to her, Johnny returned to the carriage. ‘Hurry, you fool!’ came the other man’s voice. ‘Take me to Derwent Street.’

  Johnny was shocked when the destination was given. ‘That’s where Ruby lives,’ he muttered to himself as he took his place up front. Maureen had told him that Ruby was renting number four Derwent Street. Oh, the times he had been tempted to go and see her. The times he had walked along Montague Street and stared into the long broad street where Ruby had set up home. But always he came away. Later, when Maureen asked if he had managed to see her, he replied angrily, ‘If Ruby wants to see me, she knows where I am. I’ve never been a man to go begging.’

  As he drove into Derwent Street, visions of a certain night came into Johnny’s tortured mind. Visions of Ruby, all dressed up as a lady and dancing in this bastard’s arms? The more he thought about it the more furious he became, until he was ready to drag his seedy passenger onto the street and leather the hell out of him.

  ‘Here. Stop here,’ came the instructions from behind. Johnny visibly relaxed. The carriage was coming to a halt halfway down the street, some way from the house where Ruby lived. So, whoever Luke Arnold was visiting at this late hour, it certainly wasn’t Ruby. But then Johnny knew all along that she would never really entertain such a low creature.

  Climbing down to the pavement and coming to the front of the carriage, Luke stared up. In the light from the street lamp, his face was a study in cunning. ‘Wait here,’ he instructed. He laughed then. ‘Don’t grow impatient. I might not be in such a hurry to go home tonight.’

  Johnny’s answer was deliberately to turn away and busy himself with the tangled leather reins. He thought of how Luke had left his wife without a second thought, and it was all he could do not to jump down and put his fist in that grinning mouth. He heard low laughter and unstable footsteps moving away, and shifted his dark brooding eyes towards that detestable figure going down the street. He watched how it lumbered along, squinting in the dim light, noting the door numbers, then cursing before moving on; moving ever on, towards the top of Derwent Street.

  When suddenly he stopped, Johnny’s heart missed a beat. Slowly, he edged the carriage on, placing it where he could see more easily. ‘Whoah, there,’ he hissed in a harsh whisper, gently tugging at the reins as the horses strained their great bulging muscles to go on. When the carriage was halted almost opposite the house where Luke was waiting, Johnny leaned forward in his seat and focused his anxious eyes on the top panel of the door. The number four was clear enough. ‘No!’ he muttered, his suspicious eyes fixed on that door in disbelief. ‘It can’t be Ruby’s house.’ And yet Maureen had definitely said number four. Craning his neck, he watched Luke knock on the door and he waited with baited breath, to see who might answer. He prayed it would not be his Ruby.

  * * *

  When the knock came on the door, Ruby was deep in thought, toying with the idea of going to see her mam tomorrow, when she would thrash this thing out once and for all. But then she recalled Dolly’s innocent words on her last visit here. ‘Our Mam says we ain’t to talk to you. She says you’ve chosen what you want and you ain’t welcome in her house ’til you come to your senses.’ The child had been close to tears, asking, ‘Why don’t our mam love you no more, Ruby?’ These were harsh words that stuck in her heart like a clenched fist.

  The knock came on the door again. ‘All right,’ she called impatiently. ‘I’m on my way.’ Hurrying down the pa
ssage, Ruby gasped at the cold that lingered there. Drawing her robe tighter about her, she leaned her ear to the door and asked, ‘Yes? Who is it?’ She still hadn’t got used to living on her own, and was always wary.

  The voice came back in a hoarse mutter. ‘It’s Lenny,’

  ‘Lenny!’ She was thrilled. At last, he had found his way to Derwent Street. It was a start. Happen her mam wouldn’t be far behind. Taking the big iron key from its nail above, Ruby slid it into the lock and flung open the door. The night was pitch black and the man’s shadow was vaguely familiar. Her ready smile lit up the darkness as she quickly ushered him in. ‘I’m glad you decided to visit me,’ she said. Even as she spoke, a terrible suspicion flickered through her mind. But there was no time to satisfy herself that it was Lenny because the shadow was suddenly in the passage and the forceful weight of his body was sending her backwards.

  In the half-light, Ruby recognised the intruder, ‘Luke!’ She struggled but his arms were like steel bands locked round her.

  ‘Oh, so you haven’t forgotten my name then?’ he leered, his smile dark. His warm breath fanned over her face and she realised with horror that she was in terrible danger. ‘Been dreaming of me, have you?’ he chuckled, bending his head to hers and pressing his mouth to her neck. He laughed out loud when she fought like a wild thing. ‘Now, now. Let’s not spoil it,’ he murmured, pressing his hand over her lower face and propelling her backwards into the parlour. ‘It’s been a long time, Ruby my love, and we’ve a great deal to catch up on, wouldn’t you say?’ Against his brute strength she was helpless.