At this, Peggy turned to Anny, her face betraying her. ‘I knew it!’ cried Anny, with bitter triumph. She guessed it the moment Peggy had said ‘Better for everyone’. But she did not know if it were true, not until this moment, when Peggy’s guilt-ridden eyes gave it all away. She looked at the face of this young woman who had been her closest friend, her ally in a difficult world. She felt ice water run through her veins. Hate had replaced love in every fibre of her being. She spoke again to Peggy, in a low, unearthly voice, ‘You traitorous whore.’
Peggy flinched. A stab in the heart. Good! Anny felt she could kill her just by looking at her. Anny was panting with exertion, her skin shining with sweat, her eyes bright with hate.
Peggy muttered, ‘I shall come again soon, when you are better.’
‘No, you will not!’ shouted Anny, mustering energy for one last blow. ‘I never want to see you again. I curse you, Peggy, and I curse Jake Ashford. I curse you to lose everything you have and to a miserable life and a lonely death. I curse you, Margaret King!’
Chapter 23
Margaret sat on her bed and stared at the walls of her room. She knew she was tired but were her eyes deceiving her? She could swear that the walls were closing in on all sides, all four slowly but steadily moving towards her, to crush her. She closed her eyes to escape it and pictured instead her best friend’s face, twisted with hate, screaming at her. She jumped up from the bed and left the room. She had only been back from Shrewsbury for a quarter hour or so, yet she was rushing out of the door again. She could not bear to stay in that house. She could not bear her own memories. She walked hurriedly along the path to town, the summer sun beating down on her like a judgement and making her sweat. She wanted to rip off her bonnet and cloak and throw them down, feel the sun on her bare skin and the breeze in her hair. But not only was it unseemly, it would be drawing attention to herself and she could not risk that. It was several days since the blast, yet the town would not forget the accident so quickly, would never forget it, she guessed. She must remain incognito and calm herself down. She slowed her pace and caught her breath, trying to regulate her step with her breathing, two long steps for every breath: one, two, one, two.
I am behaving like a mad person, she thought. Is it in our family, this madness, as Father said? She thought of the walls closing in, of Queenie’s oddness, of what happened to her great-aunt Selina. Perhaps it was. Perhaps all the women of the family had this feebleness of mind. But then it occurred to her that whatever weakness ran in their female blood, it was corroded further by the acid of the King males. They destroyed things, by design or by carelessness. As she walked she decided that they would not destroy her. There was only one way to escape them and that was by leaving that place, for good. She knew where she was heading now, to Jake.
The very thought of him twisted her insides, not merely from her desire for him, but from the remembrance of Anny. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Yes, she could crucify herself for the rest of her life about Anny or she could buck up and realise she had done all she could. She had begged her father and her grandmother to withdraw the charges, she had confronted her brother to force him to confess and she had not stolen Jake from Anny: he had made that choice himself.
In the aftermath of the blast, Margaret had tracked down Mrs Woodvine, hired her a doctor. She’d gone to Mr Brotherton to ensure Anny was told, and when no family could be found to take Anny the news, she had gone herself. True, she’d made a mess of it, and it seemed little enough in the face of Anny’s pain, but it was all that was within Margaret’s power. Even if she sacrificed everything and walked away from Jake, what would that win Anny?
She thought of Jake. He had not contacted her since the day of the blast and she did not want to bother him, but she was restless and ached to see him. She wanted to make their plans, to escape before further tragedy could strike.
There was no escape for her friend. Anny’s father was dead, her mother ill and her imprisonment seemed certain, with nobody to speak for her and no other comfort for her. She did not blame her friend for her anger. But because Anny’s life was over, did Margaret’s need to end? Anny’s curse . . . Margaret’s eyes welled up and blurred her path ahead, the bridge on her left, the Tontine Hotel to her right. And then she was there, standing before the door to Jake’s lodgings. He was everything to her now, he was all she had left.
She knocked on the door. After a wait and the sound of heavy footsteps, it opened. There was his landlady, an obsequious smile on her face, which vanished.
‘What do you want?’ she said in a hard-edged tone.
Margaret’s shock made her pause. They had spoken before. Could the landlady not remember her? ‘Uh, good afternoon. I would like . . . is Mr Ashford at home?’
‘The cheek of yer! Showing yer face round here.’
Then it dawned on her. The landlady had recollected her very well. She knew exactly who she was.
‘I would be most obliged if you could tell me if Mr Ashford is at home. I have an important communication for him.’ Margaret lifted up her purse and snapped it open, just as she had done the previous occasion she was here.
The woman snarled, ‘You Kings think your money can solve everything. I’ve got friends round here lost family because of you and yours. It’s blood money now.’
Margaret felt as if she had been slapped in the face. But she also believed she could not be blamed for her father’s mismanagement. That was simply unfair and, quite frankly, bullying. And she had had enough of being bullied. She jutted out her chin and said, ‘If you will not tell me if he is here, then I shall go and look for myself.’
‘Oh, will you now, missy?’ began the landlady, squaring up to Margaret, yet they were distracted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Then Jake appeared and saw Margaret, his face showing surprise.
‘Miss King!’ he said and smiled. ‘Do come in.’
The landlady said, ‘Not in here. I run a respectable house, me.’
Jake glanced at Margaret, then replied, ‘I was just about to go out in any case. Will you take a walk with me, Miss King?’
She nodded and Jake came out onto the pavement. His landlady slammed the door behind him. At the nearness of Jake and the horrid treatment of that woman, Margaret wanted to burst out crying but she controlled herself. Jake’s expression showed concern for her. ‘We shall find a quiet place to talk,’ he said and she nodded. Taking her arm, he led her over the street. Jake paid the toll for them both to cross the bridge. They went down onto the river path, walking away from town until they reached a secluded spot, then stopped. Margaret glanced about to see if anyone was around and then threw her arms round him and began to weep.
‘There, there. My darling, sweet girl.’
‘Oh Jake, I cannot bear it any longer.’
‘Surely not, my darling. You have so much to be happy about. You have me, for one.’
‘I know, but everything else is hopeless. The accident. The town blames my family. And rightly so! I saw Anny, and she too blames me. She also knows about you and me. She guessed it. Oh, she screamed at me, cursed me. She hates me. She was my only friend.’
He kissed her tenderly and it stopped her tears. Her desire for him was greater than her grief, in that moment.
‘We must leave,’ she said. ‘We must get away, before it’s too late.’
‘I wish I could make it all better,’ he whispered to her.
‘You could. You can, Jake. Let us run away together.’
‘Run away? Where?’
‘Paris. We could be together, walk the gardens, read poetry . . . and be far from the curse of the King family.’
Jake took her hands in his own and said, ‘Do you mean . . . could you mean, to elope, my love?’
‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she whispered and held her breath.
Jake sighed and squeezed her hands. ‘There is nothing I want more. But I have few funds and my father would not sanction us running
away together. He would expect a dowry from your father. I cannot rely on him to fund this trip for the sake of elopement. He would never agree. I do not have enough money, my love, and I know of no way to put my hands on such an amount as we would need for the journey.’
‘I do.’
‘Do what, my love?’
‘I know a way of finding the money. I can do it tonight. I can take it from my father’s office.’
‘That sounds like a terrible risk,’ he said, looking worried.
‘I would do it, for us. I know exactly how. Cyril’s crime and Anny’s descriptions have taught me where my father’s keys are and how to open the safe. I will do it for us.’
Jake smiled widely and kissed her again, this time with passion. ‘Then we shall go! Tonight, my love?’
She hesitated a moment. This night? Could she do it? Could she turn her life on its head this very night? What had she to stay for? ‘Tonight!’ she said.
‘Will it give you enough time? To pack a bag? To take the money?’
‘Yes. I intend to travel light.’
‘I shall meet you on the bridge then, by moonlight. What time?’
‘Midnight,’ she said and he kissed her again, so long and so slow, she thought she would melt.
It was the most romantic moment of her life. Nobody could feel this way and be wrong. It must be right.
They collected themselves and walked back, he to his lodgings to pack and she to Southover.
Margaret rushed up the stairs to her room and began packing feverishly. She looked around at all her precious possessions. She was surprised at how easy it was to leave much of it behind. She quietly selected the most valuable items from her collection. Anything small, easy to carry and valuable. They would need as much as she could take to start their new life. With each step she felt empowered and trembled with excitement. Taking one last look at the room that had been home all her life, Margaret said goodbye to it and found she had never felt so free. Lifting her bag she turned to leave, only to find herself facing Lucy. Her heart stuttered as she realised how quickly her new life could end.
‘Lucy!’
‘Miss . . . What . . . ?’
Margaret lunged forward and gripped Lucy’s hand and pleaded with her, ‘Oh, Lucy, you must not say a word. I’m eloping, escaping this cursed family and starting a new life.’
‘But, miss, I—’
‘Lucy, I’m begging you. I cannot stay here. It is this family, this house. I believe it is rotten to the core. This family is poison.’
Lucy stared at her again, that unblinking, direct stare.
‘I believe you understand what I mean by that, Lucy. Is that true?’
Lucy continued to look and say nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
‘I thought you would. I know you have had some . . . trouble from my brother. Anny Woodvine and I were in the woods once, years ago. We saw him with you. We threw a rock to distract him. You got away.’
‘You did that, miss?’
Margaret considered embroidering the truth, to show herself in a better light. But she said, ‘No. It was not I. It was Anny. She was always like that. Always thinking of others . . . Oh, Lucy. Anny is in a terrible state. In that hellish place, the prison. And she has been so ill. When I went to her, to tell her about her father, she screamed at me. She cursed me.’
Margaret wanted to sob, but knew it was self-indulgence. It was Anny who had the right to weep, not her.
‘It inna your fault, miss. What your father did. What your brother did. None of it is your fault.’
‘That’s kind of you, Lucy. But, you see, that’s why I must go, before I end up like Anny, or worse, like my family. My only regret in leaving is that I cannot save Anny. Anny Woodvine never did a bad thing in her life. She is goodness itself. So brave and honest and true.’
‘She is, right enough. Good people, the Woodvines.’
‘Yes, good people. The opposite of my people. Mine are heartless. And cruel. I am sorry that I did not help you more. With Cyril. I am so sorry for that.’
Lucy looked at her feet. ‘There was nothing you coulda done, miss. I know he hits you. We all live in fear of him.’
‘But what he was doing to you that day, in the forest. It was unforgivable.’
Lucy still stared at her feet. She let out a long, heartfelt sigh, so affecting was it, that Margaret felt she must ask her, ‘What is it, Lucy? Is there something you wish to tell me?’
‘Oh, miss,’ whispered Lucy.
‘What is it, Lucy?’
‘It was worse, much worse than that.’
‘What is it?’
‘My shame and my disgrace.’
Margaret felt a chill run up her spine. ‘I am sure that is not true. Please, Lucy, sit beside me on the bed. Please, tell me.’
Lucy looked at the bed, as if considering the idea of sitting beside her mistress. But she did not. She did not lift her head but began to speak.
‘When I was a young’un, I decided I was going to save myself for marriage, not even kiss a boy till I met the right one at church. And then I pictured he’d treat me right and we’d step out together. One day, he’d ask me very polite like and very respectful, if I’d be his wife. That was my dream. But that will never happen now. Not now Master Cyril has stuck his filthy thing in me all those times and then one time, he gave me a life growing inside of me.’
Margaret covered her mouth and shook her head.
Lucy went on. ‘But the child died inside me. I lay in my attic room that winter night and it bled out all over the bed. Jenkins dealt with it and nobody was told. I had to wash out my own sheets. I could hardly stand up from the loss of it. The pain was summat terrible, both in my insides and in my heart. For I hated the child that grew inside me, put there without my saying so, without me wanting it. By that . . . that monster Cyril King.’
‘Oh, Lucy,’ Margaret whispered, tears coming now. ‘I am . . .’ But Lucy interrupted her. Lucy’s story, that had started as a trickle of words, gushed out like a flood.
‘But I loved it too, that child, for it was mine and part of me, and it was innocent, surely, as are all babes. And I would have loved it, if it had grown and come naturally, instead of weeping through like a bad monthly. Jenkins fished it out from the mess and took it away. I’ve always wanted to ask Jenkins what she did with the little thing. It would have been very tiny, as it was only a few weeks in. It might’ve been the size of a plum. Would it have had fingers and toes yet? Would it have had feelings or thinkings or memories? I sang to it as it bled out of me. I sang it the songs my mother had crooned to me when I was little, after we’d lost my father and the dark days began. The job here at the King house had come as a blessing, to help us survive in those difficult times. But I hadna been here long before I caught the whiff of evil in this house. I was only eleven when Cyril first grabbed me, sticking his tongue in my mouth on the servants’ staircase. I didna know what was happening to me. I never told a soul. I had to keep this job. How I hated him, how I hated all of you, I’m sorry to say, miss. But I had to keep this job, for my mother. I had no choice.’
Lucy fell silent. Margaret tried to think of the right words to say next. But what could she possibly say, to this girl who had been so cruelly used by Margaret’s own family? Nothing could make it better. Nothing could make it right. She could only stare at her own hands, wringing uselessly in her lap. Guilt-ridden hands, King hands, with the stain of Lucy’s sacrifice all over them.
‘I am so, so sorry, Lucy. I don’t know how to . . . I don’t know what . . .’
‘Dunna fret, miss,’ said Lucy, and though she still stared at the floor, she moved her hand and put it over Margaret’s own. ‘It never were your doing. It’s that Master Cyril. It is his crime.’
‘And not his only one.’
‘That’s right. Not his only one.’
Margaret looked at Lucy. ‘I know something else he did, Lucy. Another crime. I told
my father and my grandmother, but they have done nothing about it. I confronted him, but he did not care. My father threatened to send me to the asylum if I ever told a soul.’ But she wanted to tell Lucy, very much. What harm would it do now, now she was running away to Paris?
‘I know what it is, miss.’
‘I don’t think you do, Lucy. This is about Anny.’
‘I know all about it. Everyone knew he was after Anny. When I found out, I was grateful at first, that he’d moved on from me to another girl. But I liked Anny, we all did. I thought she would escape him, though. She was cleverer than me. Then, that morning he came to the kitchen door, and he gave these orders to me and to Paddy, about her waiting in the library and suchlike. It was all very queer. I knew that look in his eye, when he was up to mischief. Like he enjoys cruel thoughts and cruel deeds. So I fetched Paddy and we followed him. Very quiet like. We followed him to the office and we hid in the woods. Then we saw him go in. So we crept up to the window of Mr B’s room and we watched him. He took the money out of the safe. We crept around the office, ever so light-footed. We looked in the other window. We saw him messing about in Anny’s drawer. He took her bag out. He put the money in.’
Margaret’s eyes fairly popped. ‘You saw the whole thing? Why did you not come forward?’
Lucy glared at Margaret. ‘Do you think I am a fool because I am not your equal?’
Margaret hurriedly shook her head. ‘Oh no, no. I would never think that.’
‘Then you mun know, miss, that it would do no good. Who would believe us, a maid and a stable boy? Who would even listen? And we would lose our jobs.’
‘Yes, of course. You are right. I am sorry, Lucy.’
‘It was awful, though. To see Anny taken away and locked up. And then her father gone. I know what it is like to lose a father and I feel sorrowful for Anny in a heartfelt way for that. I admired her, too. To come from that low place in life and work her way up like that. I feel dreadful about it all. Anny dunna deserve that, nobody good does. Master Cyril mun pay for what he did. But he never will. And Anny will be sent away across the ocean. Or hanged. It is the way of things. When my baby perished, I knew it was his fault, but I felt bad for it too, that it was my fault it died, by letting it slip out of me. It’s like being careless, to lose hold of a child so easy, though I fought to save it, praying all the night through, that terrible night. Did it go to Heaven, my tiny babby’s soul? Surely it would, surely the Lord could not turn away such a small, innocent thing, despite the sins of the father and even those of the mother, myself. I felt a part of the fault, by working for this family, by staying on after Cyril’s ruin of me, for swallowing up my guilt and pretending nothing had happened. But I told you afore, miss, these are the hard choices of the poor. I did my best to save my babby but it died anyway. I did my best for it. That will have to be enough on Judgement Day.’
The Daughters of Ironbridge Page 24
