The Cobweb Cage

by Marina Oliver

  There was time to make plans, decide which few possessions he would take, what sort of job he could do, and which part of America he would prefer to go to; time to compose the explanation he would need to give the solicitor, the people he would have to contact. He supposed, thinking of it for the first time, the military authorities might also have an interest in his survival.

  Almost he changed his mind and determined to sail for New York from Cherbourg without going back to England at all. He would encounter problems, delays, and such irritations that he knew would make his task there twice as difficult.

  In the end he determined to go unannounced to Hednesford, and search alone for Marigold's grave. Depending on what he found and whether he could trace her family and discover how they fared, he would then decide on his future actions. Five weeks after Marigold had left St Moritz he followed in her footsteps back to England.

  *

  Marigold was away just over a week. During the journey home she felt numb, her anguish tempered by the knowledge that Richard was alive and happy.

  She mourned her loss of him, the life that might have been hers. She never wavered in her determination to protect him from the distress he would suffer if she shattered his present contentment, his new marriage.

  At one point on the long train journey across France it occurred to her that Richard's second marriage would be bigamous. Then she shrugged. Who would ever know? It was chance she had discovered he was still alive, or she might have married Bill which would have been equally wrong.

  That was the only moment when she doubted the rightness of her decision. She had more than once toyed with the idea of marrying Bill, more for the sake of his influence and control over Ivy than because of any love she bore him.

  Now she knew she could never have gone through with it. Even if she had not discovered Richard was still alive, she could not have lain in Bill's arms, accepted his embraces, without feeling the revulsion of betrayal.

  It never occurred to her to apply the same standards to Richard. She knew he had loved her, but still considered his wish to marry her an oddity, an abberration most of his own class would have condemned him for if they had lived together in normal circumstances. As his parents had originally rejected her, she reflected. Their change of heart had been largely because they wanted Dick, and Mr Endersby had approved her business venture.

  Business would have to be her reason for living now. Poppy had gone and she might never see her again. Her feelings for Ivy would never be the same. Johnny had his own family, and although they were friendly they were not close to her as her sisters had been.

  She still had Dick. One day she might tell him about his father, one day she might suggest they meet, when age had dulled desire and the revelation of Dick's existence would not ruin Richard's newfound happiness.

  She arrived in Birmingham still in a dazed, numbed state. It was the quiet lull just before tea-time and there was no-one in the reception hall. She walked straight through into her office.

  Bill was seated at her desk writing letters. He looked up with a frown as the door opened, then seeing who it was tossed down the pen and rose to greet her.

  'Marigold, you look worn to a thread!' he exclaimed. 'Let me ring for some tea.'

  She permitted him to help her off with her coat, then she removed her hat and cast it down on a side table.

  She did not speak until tea had been brought, and Bill, seeing her total abstraction, had poured her a cup.

  'Did you find him?' Bill asked anxiously.

  'Yes. He is happy with this girl. I left them alone,' Marigold said tonelessly.

  'You didn't tell him you were there?' Bill exclaimed. 'Why ever not?'

  'How could I? They were happy, about to marry. I could not spoil that happiness.'

  About to protest, Bill suddenly realised the strain Marigold was under. She had made her decision and it would be wrong to try and argue with her. He did not know the full details of their marriage, no one could, so how dare they advise? He wished he had not more unpleasant news to impart.

  He could not delay for long.

  'How is Ivy?' Marigold asked with an effort.

  There was no point in trying to soften the blow.

  'She left the day after you did,' he said now. 'I'm sorry, I didn't think I needed to keep a close watch on her.'

  'Where is she?' Marigold asked tonelessly. Bill reflected wonderingly how, only a few days earlier, such news would have caused her anxiety and distress and stimulated a flurry of action as she sought to undo whatever harm Ivy had done to herself or others.

  'She followed Poppy's example and fled to Scotland. She is waiting there to get married. I would have sent the police after them but I had no authority.'

  'Married? Ivy? But who to?'

  'She left a letter. It was addressed to me. It seems she has persuaded the man who fathered her child to marry her. Why this couldn't have been the solution before, if he was free and willing, I cannot say, instead of involving Poppy in that despicable plot.'

  'She wanted to cause Poppy heartache, and possibly problems, I believe. She was so furious with her for daring to escape and marry. She never wanted any of us to leave her.'

  'Do you think she did poison George?'

  'Who can tell? I almost believe she is capable of it. Perhaps she only meant to cause him discomfort, embarrassment. I just don't know her any more. Poppy didn't love her as much as I did, and so she saw her faults more clearly while I tried to excuse them. Ivy didn't like that.'

  Bill regarded her with concern. She had let Richard go, now she had cast Ivy off. As if aware of his regard Marigold turned and smiled faintly up at him.

  'Drink your tea,' he urged, and she sipped obediently. It seemed to revive her.

  'Who is it?' she asked after a few moments. 'Who is Ivy to marry? Is it that student who runs her gallery? Will he be able to cope with her?'

  'It isn't Herbie, it's a much older man, Algernon Frobisher.'

  'I think she mentioned him once or twice. You say he's older? But a student?'

  'He has money. Whether he's a serious painter I don't know. Ivy boasts he is very wealthy, has his own house and studio. I made some enquiries. He's lived here for many years although he came originally from Wolverhampton, I understand. His money probably comes from factories there. I'm afraid he doesn't have a very savoury reputation.'

  Marigold shuddered slightly and held up her hand.

  'He will marry her, though?'

  'Yes, I believe so. Ivy boasted she would soon be back, after the three weeks they must spend there, and set up a salon for artists. I'm sorry, my dear. I feel I should have prevented her. Do you want to follow her to Scotland, try and persuade her to come back? I will come with you if you do.'

  'Why? She has chosen her own way of life. It must be what she wants. I hope she will at last be happy.'

  Bill's opinion was that Ivy had acted in a fit of pique and would soon be regretting it, but this was at least a chance for Marigold to be rid of her. He didn't want to risk that benefit despite his feeling of guilt, now he saw Marigold accept the truth about her sister.

  'You must have realised by now that whatever Ivy wants she manages to obtain somehow. You might have prevented this elopement if you'd locked her in her room, chained to an iron ring,' Marigold said wearily. 'I think I am grateful you didn't stop it. I need no longer feel guilty about her, no longer worry about her, no longer contrive ways of pleasing her. She has made her choice and rejected me. I can at last reject her with a clear conscience.'

  *

  Ivy stared at Algernon in utter astonishment. He gestured to her to leave the room.

  'I said go up to your studio,' he repeated in a bored tone. 'I prepared it for you so that you wouldn't have to get in my way.'

  'But – I don't understand, we have guests!' she protested, looking at the two girls who were seated, giggling together, on the sofa. 'Will you not introduce them? Don't you want me to order tea?'

 
; 'Rosa's the one with the big tits, Fifi has other – talents,' he drawled. 'Neither of them like tea. Now get out, unless you want to join in our little games. You could do with some lessons on how to please a man, you're a cold, lifeless little bitch.'

  Ivy, shocked and humiliated, fled. So this was what Algernon meant when he'd said there were conditions before he'd marry her. She'd been desperate to escape from the hotel, for once in her life terrified of possible retribution if Richard came home knowing what she had done to him. She'd been eager to show Marigold she too could marry a rich man, and Algernon was grateful to her for not claiming the child was his. He'd take her, he'd said then, but not a brat.

  In her attic studio, the door locked, she was aware of faint noises, raucous laughter and sounds of unbridled revelry coming from the big bedroom she shared with her husband. When the sheer astonishment that he could treat her so subsided, Ivy fumed helplessly. She realised she was afraid of Algernon. He was violent often, and rough in his conjugal demands. He'd hurt her more than once since that hasty journey to Scotland, while they waited for the residence qualification.

  They'd been home for little more than a week and for much of the time he ignored her. Even when he forced her to submit to him he now had no words of tenderness. He mocked at her scars, talked of the money she could earn by her paintings and what he would do with it. He wasn't, it seemed, as wealthy as he'd once told her. So far she hadn't decided on her best course of action, but she was determined to escape from this hasty marriage and his humiliation of her as soon as possible, as soon as she could devise some scheme.

  *

  It was late when he reached London, so Richard booked into a hotel near Euston for the night, after visiting a barber to have his hair cut and his beard removed. It didn't feel right in a big city, unlike the Swiss Alps.

  He looked at this new London as he crossed the city by tube, and dined alone. He was intrigued by the new fashions, the short hair the girls now had, and the much greater freedom they displayed. It was far more widespread than he'd expected from seeing the fashionable visitors to St Moritz.

  The motor cars on the streets, very different from those he had driven before the war, reminded him of the plan he had devised during the previous tedious weeks.

  He would go by train to Stafford and then, since it would be difficult to travel about Hednesford in trains or the new motor buses, he would hire a motor car in order to look for Marigold's grave and, possibly, her family.

  The letter from Mary Smith had said they were to go and live with her sister. Surely someone in the street would know where she could be found. Until he could be certain of their address he did not wish to announce himself to the solicitor, although it was possible Mr Thane could give him some help. Whether it was irrational or not, Richard wanted to do as much as possible of the searching for himself. It was the least he could do for Marigold.

  He caught an early train the following day, and was in Stafford by mid-morning. It was an easy task to hire a motor car, and he drove slowly through the town.

  It had altered little in the seven years since he had last driven through it. Some shops had changed hands, a few new houses could be seen, but so far as he could tell no great alterations had taken place.

  As he began to drive up the long hill approaching Cannock Chase, a faint stirring of anticipation gripped him. At last, providing he could find the grave and it had been marked, he might discover whether he had fathered a son.

  He cast his mind to the days he had spent with Marigold. They had been so happy walking and driving together. He wondered briefly whether his father still kept racehorses at Rawnsley.

  Then he almost steered the motor car off the road.

  Ahead of him, new and bright and clean, overlooking the town from this slight eminence, was a small, elegant looking hotel set in pleasantly landscaped grounds. He braked sharply, and sat there, stunned. He must be dreaming. Why had his father opened an hotel?

  He shook himself. Endersby was not an especially rare name. The proud scrolled title 'Endersby's' which surmounted the portico did not have to belong to his father. It had been a shock, startling in its suddenness.

  Richard started the motor car again and drove on, looking towards the hotel and admiring its neat lines as he passed. It was obviously cared for, judging by its prosperous appearance and neatly tended gardens in which groups of chairs were set invitingly.

  A mile further on he halted again. He could not go on without investigating this mystery. At least he would ask to whom this hotel belonged. He might have lunch there.

  There were several large motor cars outside, he noticed as he drew up in front of 'Endersby's'. For a while he sat there, immobile, and almost started the engine and drove away again.

  'Don't be a fool,' he chided himself and leapt down. Stripping off his leather gauntlets he strode in through the door into a spacious, quietly elegant reception hall.

  A girl in a moss green uniform was sitting behind a desk and she smiled at him welcomingly.

  'Good morning, sir. Can I help you?'

  Richard was for a few moments unable to speak.

  'I wondered to whom the hotel belonged,' he stuttered at last, and when the girl gave him a startled look he went on swiftly. 'I used to know some people of the same name, once.'

  'I see. Mrs Endersby owns the hotel, sir, and several others.'

  Mrs Endersby? His mother? With the greatest effort Richard could not imagine his mother condescending to run an hotel, or even own one. If by some bizarre chance she had acquired one it would certainly not have her name emblazoned across it. It would be something discreet, tasteful and anonymous.

  'Is there anything else, sir?' the receptionist asked, and Richard realised he had been standing speechless for several minutes.

  'Oh, I'm sorry. No. Yes,' he amended, suddenly making up his mind. 'Can I book a table for lunch? Just for me?'

  *

  'He beats me! He takes women to our bed! He – oh, Marigold, I can't even say what he does to me, it's too horrible! And when I wanted you you weren't there, I had to come chasing all the way to Stafford to find you!'

  'There was a crisis, the Manager was ill,' Marigold said, but Ivy ignored her and rushed impetuously on.

  'Please help me, let me stay here, away from him! Or I could go to Coventry and manage the hotel there. I daren't come back to the Hagley Road for fear he finds me!'

  Marigold hardened her heart. Her immediate instinct was to rush to protect her little sister, but when she recalled how that sister, when still a child, had wrecked her life and then Poppy's for no reason other than to prevent them from paying attention to anyone else, she could be firm.

  'You chose to marry him and must put up with his actions,' she said levelly.

  Ivy stared at her in consternation. Marigold had never before failed her.

  'Why?' she whispered? 'Why have you suddenly turned against me?'

  'Do I need to make a list?' Marigold asked, rising from the chair behind her desk and beginning to stride about the office. 'Isn't it enough that you wrote to tell Richard I was dead, and his child? You let me go on mourning for him and caused him years of misery. Dick has never known his father or a proper family life!' She swung round to face Ivy who sat immobile on the chair facing the desk, staring at Marigold. 'I don't know if you poisoned Poppy's little dog, or even George, and I don't want to know – I'd rather try to retain some belief that you are not completely evil. Then you try to spoil what you think would be a marriage between Bill and myself by telling me at last Richard is alive. It was spite made you say that, nothing but spite. You would never have told me if you hadn't lost your temper that day. I cannot go on for the rest of my life making excuses for you, feeling sorry for you, for ever guilty because you burned yourself – '

  'Algernon used to be sorry for my scars but now – he mocks me over them!' Ivy interrupted, a catch in her voice.

  Marigold regarded her coldly.

  'I blamed myself for y
ears for leaving you alone too long. But even then you were doing what you knew was wrong, because you were too selfish, too impatient to wait, too determined to have your own way just when and how you wanted it. We all gave way to you but it made you more selfish, more determined to be the centre of our lives. You didn't offer a jot of real love in return. Real love makes sacrifices.'

  At the thought of the supreme sacrifice she had made by giving up Richard, Marigold's voice broke.

  'Go! Get out of here! You chose Algernon, so go back to him and make the best of your life on your own! I am no longer tied to you!'

  Ivy was already at the door and had opened it. She turned to throw final words of defiance over her shoulder.

  'I won't let you get away with this, Marigold! You'll regret not helping me!'

  She turned, sobbing, and rushed across the entrance hall, ignoring the man just moving away from the desk as she brushed past him and almost stumbled. He glanced after her, startled, then turned and strode towards the door of the office which was closing quietly.

  Unceremoniously he opened it and Marigold stepped back, shaken by the recent scene with Ivy and his sudden unexpected appearance. Richard stepped inside the room, gently closed the door and held out his arms.

  The receptionist, aghast at these unseemly happenings at the sedate hotel, ran out from behind her desk and across to the office. Was he a madman? He'd seemed so peculiar, uncertain of what he wanted. Was he attacking her employer?

  Fortunately she was a brave young woman and delayed screaming for help until she had ascertained the true facts. When she saw her normally calm employer clasped in the stranger's arms, laughing and crying but obviously perfectly willing to be so ardently embraced, she withdrew and gently closed the office door. There was no need to summon help after all. She returned to her desk, pondering on this odd but exciting development.

  'Marigold! My beloved! They told me you were dead!' Richard gasped when he could speak coherently. 'All these years I couldn't bear it. I've felt so alone! Oh, but you're more beautiful than ever, my darling! It's like a dream!'