Norah’s hand is on my shoulder. I like it there.
But then the door opens and Giles arrives with the tea tray.
“Tea,” he announces in that old-fashioned manner my parents taught him.
I’ve heard that he’s given in to needing spectacles full-time now and that his hair has turned mostly grey. I like to picture him entering the room with charm and elegance. He’s always been tall and distinguished and he is loved by employer and servant alike. Giles is a great butler and I know he cares for me. This is a good thought for a tired and weary soul.
“Thank you,” Norah says, and I hear her making room for the tray by moving the morning papers.
I hope she doesn’t throw them away without reading some of them to me. Much as I hate the articles about the battles raging, or the beautiful buildings being blitzed in cities, it gives me time listening to Norah and I like that very much. We are usually alone when she shakes out the paper and starts her tutting. If I’m brave enough I ask her to read the headlines and first few paragraphs. I do enjoy hearing about Vera Lynn, Winston Churchill or the Royal family. I usually ask her to gloss over the other realities.
“I’m glad to see you are in one piece and that the doctor is satisfied that you are both in good health,” Giles says, pouring liquid into china. “We were all happy to hear that you were travelling again – until there was that fire. Are you doing all right now, sir?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, Giles. Did I ask you if all was well with your family?” I know he has a big soft spot for his many nephews and nieces. Some of his own were sent to Italy at the same time I was. Others are scattered at the whims of Monty and the other generals. There is a stirring of tea. “Has there been any word of your nephews or cousins?”
“Thankfully, all is fine for now, sir. There have been letters from them all recently. Of course a lot of what they say is censored but there’s always whisperings that the allies are pushing on and doing well. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all true. It’s so hard to tell what is happening so far away. I suppose we must have faith that things are going to be better soon. I have too many people to worry about in these sad times. And I never dreamt that you’d be in danger again, sir.”
“We’re home in the manor, and thankfully we’re safe and sound. You can thank the good Lord and Norah for that.”
“Is whatever work you’re doing very dangerous?” Giles asks, a shake in his usually confident voice.
“We don’t think so,” Norah says. “It was a shock, but we’re both fine. Nothing to worry about at all.”
“And Mrs Davenport’s disappearance?” Giles must see my startled face because he adds, “It was in the newspapers, sir. I’m very sorry.”
“Charlotte will be found soon, God willing,” I reply as I wring my hands together. “She’s made of strong, stern stuff. As we all know, it’s not unusual for Charlotte to be absent and causing worry.”
“It’s all this new-found freedom the womenfolk have, sir,” Giles says. “The politicians and the churches are right to fear for the moral fabric of this country.”
“Arrah now, Giles, us women aren’t all bad. Mrs Davenport will turn up.”
Giles makes a noise in his nose. He wishes to disagree with Norah but no argument starts between them.
“There will be some men coming around the house,” Norah says after a few seconds. “They are to assess if we need protection.”
“Gracious!” Giles says.
“We don’t want to worry you,” she says. “Just, if you see strange faces at the door they are probably sent by General Ashfield. We’ll introduce you and let you know what’s happening.”
“Thank you. Will they need beds made? I can tell Cook to do it.”
“Cook would not be pleased,” I say, trying to make light of the taste of danger in the room. “And we might need protecting from her.”
“Let me deal with Cook,” Giles says in that droll way of his. “How many might be here?”
“Two at least,” Norah says. “But they won’t be sleeping on the job, I hope.”
“You’re not to worry everyone, Giles. This is a precaution.” I sound afraid and I’m angry at myself for sounding fearful. “The army has given us a little thing to do and it seems that it may have hit a nerve. Once these louts realise that I’m blind and not doing much of any consequence, they’ll all go away.”
“If you say so, sir.”
The doorbell rings and Norah scuttles out to answer it, calling back, “That’ll be a delivery from Fredrick of Eve’s first letter. He said it was on its way.”
Giles hands me the cup and steadies it in my grasp. “I'm worried for you, sir,” he says. “You must confide in me if you need to. I have a pistol under my pillow and I’ve no fear of using it.”
“A pistol?” I whisper.
“There’s not many good men left to serve. But I’ve been in this household since you were a lad and I aim to keep you safe when you are under my care. I promised your parents that I’d do my duty.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Dear Giles. I know that you are just the best sort. I’ll be fine. But might I ask a favour of you?”
“Anything, sir.”
“You might keep a special eye on Miss Walsh. She’s a woman after all.”
“Of course, sir. Of course. But she’s more than capable. I’ve seen her tackle Cook and the groundsmen together.”
“Formidable!” I chuckle.
“She has a very steady manner. We all respect her.”
“That’s good to know, Giles. And very much appreciated. I wouldn’t like any harm to come to her under my roof.”
“I understand completely,” he says. “We all wish only the best for your future now, sir. You mustn’t put yourself in any more danger. You’ve given enough for this country. Too many families have given more than their fair share.”
“I went to Armagh for selfish reasons, Giles. Very selfish reasons. I never expected us to be in any danger at all. If I had known I might not have moved from this chair. I do feel a little shaky. Mrs Davenport’s disappearance has been a terrible shock.”
“I hope they find her, sir.”
“Yes.”
The tea is as only Giles can make it: never too hot or too cold. I drink it and think of Charlotte and I listen to Giles tidy the room. If she is found, do I want her back here in my home? Do I know my wife at all? Why did I think she would be a good wife? What did I love about her? She liked to travel and that was something I used to enjoy. Egypt, India and Africa were all on the agenda. Now, there is a war and I can hardly face leaving my house. Could I possibly still love Charlotte after all we’ve been through? My heart beats in my chest and I heave air into battered lungs and know that I’m glad to be alive. She tried to stop all of that. Would I be sad if Charlotte stopped breathing? What has happened to her? Do I want to find out?
The clip-clop of Norah’s heels return and I picture Charlotte coming though that door instead.
“It’s what I thought it was,” Norah says. “I’ll read it to you now. Apparently Eve tried to make out that she couldn’t write. She was told that she’d be sent back to the general prison from the infirmary until she was able to … and suddenly this first instalment was handed over. Fredrick said that the guards saw her sit up all through Sunday night writing. Thinks herself a novelist!”
My fist curls into a tight ball and my heart hurts with the thought that the woman with me might be my wife and not Norah. I have answered my own fears. As Norah starts to read, I decide that I never want my wife back. Never.
Chapter 7
Eve Good
2nd July 1944, Sunday
Death is the only reason for being a Sinful Rose and it is the only way you can leave.
There is much debate about when, where and how the Sinful Roses came to be. Yet, in 1944 the Sinful Roses survive and thrive. They talk a lot about how somewhere in the annals of history, women became tired of being victims and decided that they wished
to create victims instead.
Since this time, every effort has been made by powerful men to slash and burn the Sinful Roses. They say that every male-dominated structure works on the basis of the principle of working together: settlement, farming, masonry, armies, politics, capitalism or socialism. Yet, the true nature of man is to hunt alone, and it is believed that really it was the female of the species who harnessed the art of co-operation. It was the female gender who sculpted history but also the one buried by those who rose to write it.
The Sinful Roses blame historians for obliterating the innate power wielded by women. They believe that the act of female solidarity was labelled sinful and criminal. This ethos of co-operation then needed to evolve to become immoral, as nothing is as effective, or as powerful as murder. Naturally, when threatened, man wished to stamp out the Sinful Roses.
Each Sinful Rose knows her true purpose. The need to remove tyranny is thrust upon her. Once she makes the decision to rise above her situation, she contacts those she heard of at her mother’s breast. To even whisper the Sinful Roses’ name makes you a dangerous woman, and there is no greater honour than to be accepted into the fold. As a Sinful Rose, a beleaguered woman becomes a weapon. She joins a coven of her own kind. She thrives and blossoms and is no longer alone. A Sinful Rose will always be a Sinful Rose and they must support others who wish to join. The price is simply to honour and help other Sinful Roses.
With all of this in mind let me begin my story.
It was the autumn of 1932 when it all started. I wrote and they replied, inviting me into her den of sin. I strode through the mounds of dried oak leaves and the arched veranda’s paint peeled under my gloves. I summoned the courage to use the brass knocker of the house.
The door opened.
A distinguished woman stood there, perhaps about fifteen years older than me.
“Welcome, Eve. I’m Lydia.”
I stepped in.
She shut the door, turned and walked into a large parlour. I followed.
The curtains were drawn across the bay windows and the room was as dark as the furniture. There was one other woman in the room, and she was sitting there scowling at me.
A portrait of an elderly woman loomed from over the marble fireplace and she wasn’t smiling either.
I perched on the edge of an uncomfortable chair.
“What a beautiful room,” I lied, smiling at the two women.
The second woman, around my own age – twenty-five – snapped, “Hullo. I’m Alice Longmire.” She struck a match and lit a long cigarette.
I nodded a greeting. I knew that in her haughty opinion I was not worthy of being there. But these were the women I’d fantasised about meeting. These were leaders in the female army who would brighten up boring days. They were going to understand my needs and take me into their club. Finally, I had found an affinity with others.
Alice’s dark curls and high cheekbones were beautiful. Despite her being fairly young, there was a life lived in those piercing dark eyes and I wondered how someone like her was involved in all of it. I was annoyed that her opinion mattered to me. I presumed that these women would support me but it was obvious that Alice did not to want to bother. She smoked and wouldn’t look at me.
I slipped off my gloves and hat and placed them on my lap.
Lydia stared and I found the sweat rise on my temples despite the autumnal crispness in the house. I am ashamed now to admit that I was afraid then. Fearful of what was beginning and that I had simply walked into such trouble.
“To your good health!” Lydia said. She sipped from the crystal glass and a hand touched grey hair that swept back into a tight bun.
The walls felt like they were closing in. I was out of my depth. While mending my life – and my dresses – my cousin Tilly had made it all sound much more glamorous and salacious. Joining the Sinful Roses was to be an adventure. But it was more like a ghoulish wake. My cousin Tilly also made going there sound scandalous. It had raised the adrenalin and moulded dreams, but now it all just seemed like a stupid notion. For the women before me seemed strange and I sensed that they meant business. Whereas I was there for the excitement. It was far from the glamour I was expecting or the welcome I presumed I’d be greeted with. In truth, the disappointment was fierce.
“Should I go?” I said. “Thank you for giving me an appointment, Lydia, but perhaps I should go?”
“You’re here now, and you cannot just leave,” Alice muttered and puffed on her cigarette, “Lydia wants to look after you.”
“I need to go,” I told them. It was so cold my breath made a frosty cloud. I had made a huge mistake coming here and I wanted to retreat. I knew immediately that was not possible. My eyes filled with tears. These women were strong, I could tell that my weakness would make them mock me, or worse it would make them angry.
Lydia coughed. “We know why you are here and you are welcome.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea at all,” Alice Longmire said. “Being barren is the only thing in her favour.”
“The Sinful Roses will not deprive very young children of a father,” Lydia explained.
Of course. I had mentioned I had no children in my ‘application’.
“You’re plain. But there’s more to you than meets the eye.” Alice stared at me. “I’ve done some digging about you and I don’t trust you one little bit. Lydia, I would do anything for you but this is too much.” She tied a silk scarf high and tight under her chin. “Lydia feels that you’re a woman of substance, who needs our help. But I’m not convinced. I sense you’re not what you seem. Mark my words.” She pointed her long nail at me. “You’d better not cause any heartache. I’m leaving now – but be in no doubt that I’ll take no nonsense from the likes of you.”
“Alice, if you want to go, then just go,” Lydia said calmly. “We all know what it’s like to be downtrodden for so long that you don’t know your own mind. We’ve all made a promise that, if we can, we will help others. The time has come for us to fulfil that promise. Talking and advising is all we are doing here.”
“Pah!” Alice left the room in a swish of red material, a coat she pulled from somewhere. It almost hit my face in her twirl of temper.
“If she didn’t agree to me being here, then why was I allowed to come?” I ask then.
Lydia leaned her bun against the high-backed chair, sighed and closed her eyes. “Alice forgets what it’s like to be scared. It’s been a long time for her and she doesn’t think we need to keep revisiting our sins. Unlike me, she doesn’t feel the need to atone.”
“I’m sorry that she doesn’t like me,” I told her. “I hate to admit it but I cannot go on the way that I am. But … I shouldn’t have come.”
Lydia’s knuckles went white on the arm of the chair. She sat forward, her eyebrows high and questioning.
“But you did come here, Eve Good,” she stated. “This is the beginning. You’re now involved. There’s no turning back of the clock.”
Going home to Newburn Crescent felt strange. The bus trundled back to where I came from. But nothing was the same any more. People chatted about the weather and about their children. I knew some of their faces, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
Alice’s words were ringing in my ears. “You’re plain.” The cheek of her!
I knew my husband John would agree. I could hear him spitting and saying, “What good are you?”
To him, I was not a car or something useful or terribly pretty. All of his pursuits were ones I cared very little about. Thanks to him, bearing children was top of my hate list. Mr John Good was a policeman who thought that he was part of the old money. He convinced my parents of his nonsense.
“Your father was tired of trying to find a match for his plain daughter. Now I’m stuck with you and have nothing to show for my bother.”
The blister on my heel must’ve bled. I could feel a trickle and a burning as I moved in my strapped shoes. The shoes were new and were far too tight on my feet.
It was my cousin Tilly who mentioned the Lydia woman to me. We were in her house, called Glensmal, in Inishowen. She dropped her into the conversation, nice as you like, when we were having a cup of tea.
“You must go to visit the infamous Lydia. Her women’s group are the talk of the country! She’s out of prison but she murdered her husband, you know.”
Tilly pressed her elegant hand on mine and I thought she must’ve been joking, but she wasn’t.
“People love a scandal, don’t they? They say that she killed her husband for the money!” She breathed in delight and then whispered, “Her husband was a policeman, but still she got a reprieve and only served some of her sentence.”
“I’ve got my reputation to consider,” I said.
Fantasies of my own rose to greet me. The excitement of actually being able to discuss the undiscussable gave me heart palpations. It sustained me for days and the thought of it I suppose still does. I know from being here in this prison that certain men find evil women exciting. Some come to visit the most hardened of us. I find that fascinating. An odd one comes to save our souls, but many find us sexually enticing! I laugh at that fact a lot. But back then I was an innocent in every way.
“I couldn’t possibly be seen with the likes of those criminals,” I said to Tilly, knowing full well I’d soon be on the next bus to the murderer’s address.
“But John might harm you badly,” Tilly warned. “No children . . . Eve, you need to do something. They say that Lydia talks about how she did it all the time. And that her patron, married to the rich Yank, left her that beautiful house. Imagine doing what she did and getting away scot-free and inheriting a place like that to boot? Is there any justice in the world? You must go see what she’s like, Eve, and then write to me here and tell me every sordid detail. You just have to go see what all the fuss is about!”
The Murdering Wives Club Page 4
