A Daughter's Gift

by Maggie Hope

  Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. ‘Oh! I thought you would be coming in with me?’

  ‘You’re not too tired?’ Even as he said it he had the door open and they were in the room, the door closing softly behind them. It was a fairly small room, the double bed taking up most of the space, covers turned down invitingly. Elizabeth felt a thrill begin in the base of her stomach, and grow and swell.

  ‘I have no nightie,’ she whispered.

  ‘No need,’ Jack answered. His hands went to her blouse, opening the buttons one by one, slipping it over her arms and folding it carefully before laying it on a chair. He loosed her skirt and it dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it. He picked it up and laid it over the back of the chair. Then he kissed her gently: on the lips, the nape of her neck, the tops of her breasts where they swelled above her bust bodice. Pushing down the straps, he found the rosy buds and kissed them one by one, until they were hard and erect. He moaned with longing.

  Gently she pushed him down onto the bed and began undressing him. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she unstrapped the hated wooden feet, kissed the skin reddened from the day’s activities, gently massaged it. Then she slipped off her drawers and climbed into the bed with him and they lay, breast to breast, belly to belly, arms entwined around one another. She could feel his excitement mounting, her own body more demanding, an exquisite pain.

  When he laid her gently on her back and entered her she almost fainted, she felt the sensations were almost too much to bear. And afterwards, when he collapsed on top of her, she was filled with a great sense of elation and triumph, a happiness transcending even that she had felt that night in the Manor, the time he had first made love to her. And then, abruptly, she was deeply asleep as though nature knew she had reached the limits of emotion, at least for one day.

  Jack, his face close to hers as she lay in the crook of his arm, watched her in the moonlight which filtered in through the open curtains. It dappled her face, pale light and dappled dark, enhancing its beautiful planes and lines. She looked like an angel lying there, his angel. He would go through hell for her. Then he too fell asleep, deeply and dreamlessly.

  Sunlight streamed in the window on to the bed where they lay, moving across Elizabeth’s face so that she woke and blinked, wondering for a moment, but only a moment. She had such a deep feeling of well-being and peace. She felt Jack’s arm across her breast and turned to face him on the pillow.

  Jack slept on, his face boyish, untroubled. She took a finger and traced the scar which ran down his cheek, fainter than when she had first met him but still discernible. Funny how she hadn’t even noticed it yesterday – only his kind hazel eyes, his frank expression. She decided she liked the scar, it was all part of his character-filled face.

  Jack opened his eyes and gazed straight into hers. ‘Morning, my love,’ he said, his voice a caress. He kissed her gently, then with increasing passion, and once again Elizabeth felt herself carried away on an irresistible tide. They were interrupted by a discreet knock at the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  She answered as they remembered just in time that this was her room.

  ‘I have a message for Mr Benson, madam,’ a man’s voice said. ‘He’s not in his room.’

  ‘Oh? He must have gone for a walk.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’ There was just the faintest touch of disbelief in the voice. ‘Will I leave it with you, madam?’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  Elizabeth struggled with a fit of the giggles as she hurriedly pulled her blouse and skirt over her naked body. She sat on the edge of the bed to button up the blouse and Jack put a hand inside, tickling her, making her give a strangled yelp and stand up in a hurry.

  ‘Is everything all right, madam?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming.’ Elizabeth pushed her hair behind her ears and opened the door, just a crack, foiling the man’s attempt to see beyond her into the room. He handed her a note. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’ll see Mr Benson gets it.’ Closing the door, she collapsed in a heap of laughter.

  Downstairs the waiter said to the cook, who was breaking eggs into a large black pan on the range, ‘Didn’t even blush, the besom!’ The cook smiled reminiscently. She was a big-bosomed woman in her forties but she was still able to remember how it was when she was twenty and her sweetheart came home from the Boer War. And that poor man upstairs, from what she had glimpsed of him the night before, was lame, she dare bet from the last war, and in her opinion, deserved all the happiness he could get.

  Jack read the note then looked at Elizabeth.

  ‘They want us there by ten o’clock, petal,’ he said. ‘The police, I mean. Are you sure you’re all right about it?’

  ‘Best get it over,’ she replied. The giggling had stopped but the joy of the evening and night were still there at the back of her mind, a buttress against the world. She had nothing to worry about with Jack beside her.

  In the event, the interview at the police station was brief. They simply wanted a statement from her saying how she had found Peart.

  ‘You were his wife?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘No,’ said Elizabeth, and Jack looked quickly at her. She lifted her chin. ‘My little sister was his foster daughter. I lived with him for a time as his wife.’ She heard Jack draw in his breath sharply but the sergeant took it in his stride, simply carried on writing it all down. Elizabeth realised he must already know she and Peart weren’t married, one way or another. After all, the area around Stanhope was fairly sparsely populated, he would know most things about everyone here. Her thoughts were interrupted as the sergeant handed her a pen and asked her to sign the statement.

  ‘There will be a post mortem, of course. And an inquest. We will let you know the date, Miss Nelson.’ He shook her hand and Jack’s and then at last they were ushered out on to the street.

  Jack was very quiet as he started the car and set off for Darlington. After about half an hour of driving he pulled into the side of the road.

  ‘Why, Elizabeth?’

  She just looked at him. Sometimes, when she looked back on it now, she couldn’t understand herself. ‘Because of Jenny,’ she said at last. He was still gazing at her, his brow furrowed, so she went on, ‘I was so worried about her. Oh, Jack, if you had seen the way she was when she lived on that farm with only him and Snuff.’ She glanced at the back seat where the dog was sitting, quite alert now after a few feeds and plenty of water. His head went up and he looked at her intelligently as she spoke his name. Oh, Snuff, she thought, if only you could talk. You know what it was like.

  Jack’s heart suddenly melted. She looked so worried, like a little girl caught out in something naughty. His Lizzie. He had no right to worry her, she had had a hard enough life as it was. What did he care about the past now? Best to let it go. He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I only wanted to understand better but it doesn’t matter. Now is what matters, now and the future. Today is the first day of our new life.’

  He put the car into gear and drove down the main road to Darlington, a well-surfaced road so he could pick up some speed. He began to whistle a local nursery rhyme, ‘Bobby Shafto’, about a long-ago Member of Parliament for Durham who went to London and left his sweetheart behind. Something Jack himself was never going to do.

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘I WILL NOT have that … that slut in my house!’ shouted Olivia. Her face was bright red, she was practically dribbling with rage. Jack, looking at her, wondered if she was going to have a apoplectic fit.

  ‘Sit down, Mother, do,’ he urged her. His mind had registered the insult to Elizabeth and he would deal with it later but for now, well, this was his mother and he was responsible for her well-being.

  ‘I won’t sit down! Don’t patronise me, Jack! I have told you I will not have it and I mean it.’ In spite of herself she sank into a chair, trembling.

  ‘A common foundling from the orphanage, a
pitman’s daughter,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Hardly a foundling when she knows her parentage,’ Jack pointed out. He waited patiently for his mother to calm down. He was certainly not going to give in on this no matter how many tantrums she threw. For that was all it was, he could tell as much now. Her colour was already improving.

  ‘A pit brat, I said,’ snapped Olivia, not exactly truthfully.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m going to marry her and you will just have to accustom yourself to the idea,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I won’t attend the wedding and you won’t bring her back to my house,’ Olivia insisted.

  ‘But this is my house, Mother,’ he observed quietly.

  ‘Oh, the cruelty of it!’ she gasped. ‘And will you put your own mother out on the streets?’

  Jack smiled. ‘As it happens, I have no intention of bringing her back here to live. We intend to live in Darlington where Elizabeth is a partner in a fashion shop.’

  Olivia clutched at the region of her chest where she imagined her heart to be. ‘That I should see the day …’ she whispered, a catch in her voice as she changed tactics. ‘That I should see the day when my own daughter-in-law should be engaged in trade. Oh, dear, dear.’ She found a wisp of lace handkerchief and held it to her eyes, her shoulders shaking.

  Jack eyed her, his lips compressed. ‘You’re wasting your time, Mother. You’re not going to change my mind. Elizabeth and I are going to be married at the end of the month.

  ‘You’re abandoning me!’

  ‘Mother, when I came out of Newcomb Hall you didn’t want me here, interfering with your way of life. You did everything to stop me. Well, now you can have your own way. Don’t worry, I’ll see to the upkeep of the old place. And as to Elizabeth, I doubt very much if she would want to live with you!’

  This last sally knocked Olivia speechless. She glared at her son, forgetting her bid for sympathy, her role of poor old woman.

  ‘Go then, get out! And I hope I never—’

  He walked to the door. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going, Mother,’ he said. Holding the door open he turned back to her and she gasped again at the cold, hard expression on his face.

  ‘I have one last thing to say. If you ever bad-mouth Elizabeth again, to anyone, I will get to hear of it and will take appropriate action. And the first thing I shall do is to throw you out of here. Do you understand me, Mother?’

  He stumbled slightly as he went out, having to lean heavily on his stick for a moment, but he recovered himself and continued on his way without looking back.

  ‘You shouldn’t, you know, Jack. You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. After all, she is your mother.’

  ‘I had to be hard,’ he replied. ‘But I promise, I’ll go back and apologise to her. After we are married, of course. And only on the understanding—’

  ‘Oh, Jack!’ Elizabeth interrupted him, and he smiled and took her in his arms. ‘Come on, we have more important things to talk about. Such as where we’re going to live!

  ‘There’s a nice house empty in West Auckland Road,’ she said. ‘If we were there, Jenny could carry on at the same school. She’s going so well, Jack.’

  ‘I’ll see about it next week,’ he said, lifting a hand to stroke her hair, loving the silky feel of it. He frowned. ‘First of all there’s the inquest to be got through, though.’

  ‘And the funeral. We have to go to that. Not you if you don’t want to but Jenny and I.’

  He looked as though he were going to protest but changed his mind. ‘You’re not going without me, I can tell you that,’ he declared.

  Elizabeth leaned against his shoulder. She had been surprised when she’d mentioned it to Jenny, had thought the child wouldn’t want to go to the funeral of the man she had feared so much. But her sister had insisted she wanted to.

  The inquest was simply a formality, the verdict death from alcoholic poisoning as expected. The funeral was arranged for a few days later, at two o’clock in the afternoon. On the morning they travelled up to Weardale together, Elizabeth sitting beside Jack in the front of the car, Jenny with Snuff in the back. She had wanted the dog to go, begged that he should be allowed to, in fact. Not actually in the church but back to Weardale and to Stand Alone Farm.

  ‘He’ll want to say goodbye,’ she said. Elizabeth and Jack had looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  ‘He’s only a dog, pet,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘I don’t care, I want him to go.’ Jenny could be stubborn when she liked.

  They arrived at the ancient stone church in Stanhope and went inside. There were no other mourners except for the police sergeant. Jenny held on hard to Elizabeth’s hand. They rose to their feet when the coffin was carried in and the vicar began the liturgy. Afterwards they followed it to the churchyard where Roger Peart, for that it turned out was his name, something which rather surprised Elizabeth, though she didn’t know why, was laid to rest.

  ‘The little lass gets the old place,’ said the sergeant as he shook hands with Elizabeth. ‘I made inquiries. Well, if there was no one else then it was up to us to put it in hand.’

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ said Elizabeth. And sadly, flatly, they shook hands with the vicar and Jack drove them up to Bollihope Common. As they drove away the sergeant stood by the side of the road and watched them out of sight. Then, whistling, relieved to be rid of the whole business, he turned for the police station. There was the more important job to see to of sheep rustling on the high moor. He reckoned it was probably an unemployed gang from further down the dale.

  Jenny sat quietly on the back of the car, looking out at the moor. Eventually, Jack turned the car down the lonnen to Stand Alone Farm, following the tracks made by the police vehicles that fateful Sunday. The gate was open, hanging drunkenly on its hinges, and Jack drove into the yard by the old muck heap. All three of them sat and stared around. The place looked even more derelict and abandoned, he thought. Dead grass the colour of hay filled the cracks between the cobblestones. In the corner a patch of rosebay willowherb showed purple against the lichen-covered stone.

  ‘What about the sheep? I forgot about them,’ Jenny said, suddenly worried. Her voice broke the silence; no animals called, no birds twittered here.

  ‘It’s all right. The farmer down the road is looking to them,’ said Jack. ‘Look, flower, do you want to stay in the car while we go in?’

  ‘No, I’m coming,’ she said, and scrambled out of the car. ‘Come on, Snuff,’ she commanded. But he didn’t want to. He crouched down on the seat and whimpered then gave a little wag of his tail just in case she was angry with him.

  ‘Leave him, Jenny.’

  Elizabeth remembered vividly how the dog had been when she’d found him here, and no doubt he did too. Thank goodness he was looking more his old self. At least his backbone didn’t stick through his coat now. She took hold of Jenny’s hand and steeled herself to follow Jack into the big living room-cum-kitchen.

  There was no sign of the horror that had been here the last time she’d called. The police had cleaned everything up. But the room was cold and cheerless. Bits of hay and old leaves had drifted in through the holes in the bottom of the door.

  Jenny went straight to the staircase. After a startled glance at Jack, Elizabeth followed her and Jack came after them.

  Jenny stopped in front of what had been Peart’s bedroom door.

  ‘Oh, come on, pet,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You don’t want to go in there, not today.’

  ‘I do,’ said Jenny. ‘There’s something I want you to see. I can go in myself if you don’t want to. I know you hated it in there.’

  Elizabeth blushed. She looked helplessly from her sister to Jack and back again. Scenes flashed through her mind, the nights she had lain there, enduring what Peart did to her, the sexual act without love, not caring what she felt but only about his own satisfaction. She had endured it for Jenny’s sake. How had her sister known she hated it so much? Elizabeth hadn’t realised she had betray
ed her feelings so clearly. She looked at Jack. Oh, loving him was a world away from that. She knew she could never, ever endure that again.

  ‘Now then, love,’ said Jack, and his voice was calm and ordinary and reassuring. ‘We’ll go in with you, there’s nothing to hurt anybody. Come on, let’s get it over, whatever it is Jenny wants.’

  The room was cold and bare, the bed unmade, a fusty smell coming from the bedding so that they wrinkled their noses. Jack went over to the window and opened it wide.

  ‘Just been empty and closed for a long time,’ he said, smiling. He and Elizabeth watched as Jenny took hold of the bottom of the iron bedstead and pulled it out of position.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll help you with that,’ Jack said, but he was too late. Jenny had already moved it out of her way. Under the bed was a dilapidated old trunk and this too she wanted moved, allowing Jack to help her this time.

  ‘Shall I open it for you?’ he asked but Jenny shook her head absently. She was gazing at the oblong patch of clean floorboards which stood out from the rest because they had been underneath the trunk. She evidently saw what she was looking for because she knelt down and inserted a finger in a knot hole. She pulled but was unable to lift the board.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Jack, kneeling albeit awkwardly with his disability. He could get sufficient leverage, however, and easily pulled up the board.

  Elizabeth gasped. She had been in this room so often, cleaned it regularly when she lived here, and she had never realised what was under the bed. Under the floor there was a cavity and in that cavity a biscuit tin with a picture of a plump girl with roses. Jenny gave a grunt of satisfaction and seized upon it, holding it tight in her arms.

  ‘I knew it was there!’ she cried. ‘I’ve seen him go in it many a time.’

  She jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed and took the lid off the tin. Inside were letters, half a dozen at least, all addressed to Elizabeth. ‘Oh!’ Jenny gasped with surprise and disappointment. ‘I thought he kept money in it.’

  Elizabeth didn’t hear her. She had stepped forward and picked up the bundle of letters. She recognised Jimmy’s hand immediately and a great wave of anger and grief washed over her; anger at Peart who had kept the letters from her and grief for Jimmy. If only she had got the letters she might have seen her brother before he went to Devon. Now she would never see him again. She began to weep, great gulping sobs which she found herself powerless to control.