by Darry Fraser
‘No! Hurry!’
He pressed his lips to her forehead and sprinted out.
Annie Rutherford stared at her. ‘What happened at Miss CeeCee’s?’
Linley shook her head and sobbed. ‘I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to say.’
Annie, her face a grim mask, turned back to Millie. ‘Then best you tend that baby of yours, and our other children, if you would. I will tend my friend.’
Ard realised he was staring at the ceiling, at a moving ceiling. For moments it looked as if it would fall on him, and then that he was floating up to meet it.
Close your eyes. Too tired to look any more, to make sense of it.
Visions crowded under his eyelids. Teeth bared, stinking breath blasting over him, his skull cracking a thud on the boards as he was flung to the floor. Grappling. Rolling in the clutches of a mad thing. He’d tried to toss it off, to hurl it across the room. Something had slipped across his forehead, a ripping slice and then warm liquid had begun to run into his eyes.
Rolling. The weight on his chest had vanished. Then another thud landed like a hammer-blow and had borne deep in his side. A hissing breath left his body.
Fast-moving footsteps retreating. Then nothing. Blackness.
Now he waited again. Heard nothing. Something sticky bothered his eyes.
He brought up a hand, tried to focus. Fingers. He touched his face, saw blood. Touched again, higher up. More blood. He sucked in a breath as he felt an open wound, raw, squelchy …
Pain was building high up in his back. He couldn’t reach it on his side, couldn’t find the energy to try to stand. He moved his head and saw a bed. A chair.
He waited some more. Tired.
He focused on a booted female foot. And another. And a pale green dress. As he squinted harder, trying to keep a focus, he recognised the deathly pale face of CeeCee Seymour.
Forty-Seven
Esther Bailey had run as fast as her boots and her stays would let her. She hadn’t moved this fast in years, though if truth be known, she still wasn’t moving at a run.
She’d picked up her skirts and stumbled over the uneven path, sometimes veering on to the road to avoid other pedestrians. One leg seemed like it couldn’t keep up. Her breathing was laboured.
Too many mutton pies and lardy cakes.
Carts and carriages had passed her but she hadn’t thought to flag one down until she stopped to heave in her breath. And then a kindly soul stopped for her. Not only did he take her to the doctor’s, he promised he’d go on and report to the police, especially with a little help from her sharp tongue. But she cried her thanks and alighted inelegantly at the doctor’s rooms. The man had gee-upped his horse and his cart leapt forward, on his way to the coppers, he’d said.
From there things were a blur.
The doctor ordered her to stay in his rooms with his wife. He mounted his own horse and took off to the address she’d given.
But Esther was in a hurry to return home. She insisted the doctor’s wife should let her go, promising that a cool drink of water was all she needed, that a calm walk home would soothe her nerves until she could make herself a cup of tea in her own kitchen.
There wasn’t much the woman could do but agree, and Esther made a more sedate journey home, but her mind was still in turmoil.
Gareth Wilkin lifted the heavy kettle onto the stove. He shoved a log into the fire and watched as it took, the flames reaching through the hole before he clanged the tamp back down on it.
He stared at his hands, still shaking. He hadn’t been seen by anyone, coming into the yard by the alley behind the house. But the moment he eased open the back door, his limbs started to shake uncontrollably.
His hands had blood on them. Blood was on his clothes. He lurched back outside and worked the water pump, doused his head and neck then turned his face up to swallow mouthfuls.
Thirsty thirsty.
Tea is what he needed, plenty of sugar in it. That’s what he needed. Sugar that Esther kept atop the stove. He staggered to the kitchen, cursing his foot. Boot would have to come off, if he could manage it himself …
Reaching for a pannikin, shaking, fevered, he knocked other crockery from the shelf. China crashed to the floorboards, splintering, shattering. Bloody stuff in his way. He had to stop the shakes. Once he stopped the shakes he’d think about what to do next.
Had he killed them both? He’d only grabbed the woman by throat and shaken her.
Bloody dark-haired bitch stomped on me foot. Lucky I didn’t pass out … was the only thing stopped me takin’ off outta there before that O’Rourke bastard arrived …
But she’d slipped, banged her head. He hadn’t done nothing. If she hadn’t tried to rush by him, shouting her head off at the other slut …
Just lucky I got that young bloke by surprise. Left the knife in him, somewhere, bugger it.
And still he didn’t have the brat. Even when he’d scampered off, he had no clue where the young bitch had gone. He’d just crabbed his way back to Esther’s place, fast as he could.
Sweat popped off him. His tongue felt swollen. He had to piss but—
Coppers coming for me for sure… Should leave, else be hanged as quick as look at yer.
Tea. Rum. Bah! Esther wouldn’t have rum. Sugar’d have to do.
He couldn’t wait. He needed a brew. He sloshed water from the kettle into the pannikin. The tea looked only lightly steeped but it was just hot enough.
Thirsty thirsty thirsty.
He reached up and dragged down her special tin to the table, then poured straight from the container into his cup, enough to suit his tastes. He stirred it with a finger. He hadn’t had sugar for a long time …
A noise at the front door!
He scuttled back out to the laundry room and hunkered down beside the boiler, the warmed cup in his hands. Esther wouldn’t come looking for him, and he knew the coppers wouldn’t be along yet … there’d been no one to go running for them.
He had a bit of time.
He must be mad. Otherwise why wasn’t he running for his life?
Because I still have a chance at grabbing that brat and me two hundred pounds.
Forty-Eight
James charged through the gate of the little house. In three bounds, he landed at the doorway and swung back the unhinged door. It banged against the wall inside.
‘CeeCee!’ he yelled. ‘CeeCee!’
A voice rasped from the second room. ‘In here.’ Ard, his voice a wheezing breath.
James flew into the bedroom. Ard was on the floor sidling towards CeeCee. Her prone form was partly hidden by him and partly by the bed. He ran to her, collapsed to his knees. Slid in blood. It was everywhere. Everywhere. Aghast, he checked her as quickly as he could. His hands came away clean.
‘Not hers,’ Ard whispered hoarsely. ‘My scalp torn, lots of blood …’ He tried to sit with a shoulder propped against the bed, hanging onto his side.
Something clattered to the floor by Ard. A knife.
James eyed the gash on his forehead, the blood still running in streams. ‘Jesus, man.’ He reefed into his pocket, withdrew a handkerchief and pressed it into Ard’s hand. ‘Hold this on it—stop the flow.’ He tried to see the wound in Ard’s side.
Ard brushed his hand off. ‘I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry.’ His voice was breathy, a gurgly sound.
Christ, no! James tore his glance back to CeeCee.
‘I should have got him.’
‘Hush yourself.’ James stared down at CeeCee’s face. She looked serene. Bruises on her neck.
A blow to his gut from within burst the breath from his body. He stilled, couldn’t see her chest rising and falling. He reached out a shaky hand and held it under her nose.
Can’t tell. Can’t tell.
He couldn’t feel her breath, her life …
‘Miss Linley, your baby needs to be fed. Give him here.’ Annie walked back into the kitchen.
Linley looked around in a panic. She’d
held on to Toby so tightly for so long she didn’t know if she could let him go.
‘And go and round up them kids of ours and we’ll set to with some supper for them. Dr Wilson says Millie will be fine, one day soon.’ She wiped her hands down her apron and opened her arms.
‘I can’t think straight, Annie.’ Linley held out Toby.
‘You’ve been thinking straight all along, and we need you to do that a wee bit longer.’ Annie took Toby, opened her blouse, and sat down by the stove. ‘More wood on the cooker, too, if you please.’
Linley followed orders. She stuffed logs into the stove and then went out the back to gather the three toddlers and brought them inside. Annie told her they could have the remains of the cake, heated up on the stove and dipped in some warm tea. She rocked back and forth in the chair while Toby nuzzled peacefully.
‘Keep working is best, Miss Linley.’
‘Just Linley, please.’ She helped the children onto their little chairs and began to dish up the cake, her hands shaking. ‘I’m so very clumsy at the moment.’
‘No matter.’
Linley slapped thick slices of cake in front of each delighted child, and splashed warm tea into a dish for them. ‘I really should get back around to the other house—’
‘You’ll do no such thing, Mrs O’Rourke.’ The doctor walked into the kitchen, his hat under his arm along with his bag. ‘If this woman’s attacker is anywhere around, you’re to stay put until the police come.’ He dusted himself off and put the bag down. He looked over at the three children. ‘No injuries there?’
Annie shook her head. ‘No, Dr Wilson.’
‘Good. Now, Mrs Cooke might have a fractured cheekbone. Naught to do for that. I’ve put a couple of stitches above her eye and another on top of her head. You know to keep them clean, Mrs Rutherford.’
Annie pressed her lips together and nodded curtly. ‘Yes, Dr Wilson.’
‘Any suppuration or fever, you’re to let me know.’ He turned to look at Linley. ‘I’ll prescribe something for your nerves, young woman.’
‘No, thank you. I’m quite fine.’ She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking.
‘I doubt that. I’ll leave a powder, for both of you.’ He opened his bag, reached in and withdrew an ampoule with a little stopper. ‘Only a smidgen in warm water.’ He handed it to Linley and walked out of the room.
Hammering blows on the front door gave Linley a start. She darted to the kitchen doorway and peered around the corner into the hall. The doctor pulled open the front door. Police. Three other men in uniform had dismounted and were marching up to the verandah.
‘Afternoon, Dr Wilson.’ The older man, with grey hair, long droopy moustache and big sideburns, looked around the doctor to Linley. ‘Miss, I’m Sergeant Love. We heard the assailant was from one of these houses. Which is it?’
Linley pointed out the door with a shaky finger. ‘Straight across.’
He nodded to the troopers, who turned and ran over the road. ‘We’ll come back here, directly,’ he said to Linley, and turned to the doctor. ‘If you’d be so good to stay a few minutes longer, doctor.’
‘Very well, sergeant.’
‘But our other house!’ Linley cried.
‘In due course,’ the older man called back over his shoulder.
‘A cup of tea, if you would, Mrs O’Rourke,’ the doctor asked, and took Linley gently by the elbow and guided her back into the kitchen.
Linley was shuddering so much she feared she’d scald him, or herself. He had to pour it himself, then he poured her a cup and ordered her to drink.
He set another aside for Annie and took a seat at the kitchen table. ‘You should be commended for your good work, Mrs O’Rourke.’
Bewildered, Linley hesitated a moment and looked to Annie.
‘’Tis Mrs O’Rourke’s aunt, Dr Wilson. She and her husband have begun this work.’
Stretched out in the chair, his legs crossed, he was mindful of the children and their sticky cake fingers close by. ‘It is a new concept. Not one that is thought of too highly at present, I might add.’ He tucked his chin to his chest, his lips in a firm line.
Annie threw Linley a quick look with narrowed eyes, then gazed at the suckling baby at her breast. She turned away to change him over.
Linley’s shuddering slowed. Her breathing calmed, vision cleared. With straightened shoulders and a voice still ragged in her throat, she said, ‘And I will continue the work, doctor. I don’t care if it is highly thought of or not.’
‘Good for you.’ He seemed not at all slighted by Linley’s remark. If anything, he seemed pleased by it.
‘We will care well for Millie Cooke.’ Linley’s voice had steadied.
‘I would think nothing less, Mrs O’Rourke.’
A voice called from the front of the house. ‘Doctor?’
Dr Wilson marched into the hallway and Linley followed.
Sergeant Love leaned in the doorway. ‘No reason to fear anything over the road,’ he reported, his eyes on his boots. ‘He’s not going anywhere, not now.’ His face was grey.
The doctor stared at the policeman. ‘I should take a quick look, in that case.’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Naught to do. Will need a pallet and a cart before the hour’s out.’ His voice was rough.
The doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘All the same.’ He jogged across the road and disappeared into Mrs Bailey’s.
Linley wrung her hands. What about CeeCee? Would he hurry? Would he please hurry?
Not a minute later, the doctor ran back. ‘Quite correct, Sergeant Love, we should waste no more time. I will accompany you gentlemen to the other house immediately. Let’s go.’
The sergeant whipped off his hat. ‘Mrs O’Rourke, we will need questions answered at a later time.’ He tried to clear his throat.
‘Get along with you, sergeant.’ The doctor ushered the officer back to his horse, the others already mounted and waiting. He turned, plonked his hat on his head and touched the rim briefly. ‘Good day,’ he said to Linley, who had followed outside.
She wrung her hands. ‘Will you let me know as soon—’
‘When I have something to tell you, my dear Mrs O’Rourke.’ The doctor mounted and wheeled his horse about. ‘You are safe here,’ he said to her. ‘You’ll have no trouble from the occupant of that house. But do not venture there for any reason.’
The sergeant urged him to follow them. They rode off, and that relieved Linley only a little. She stared malevolently at the little house across the road, then paced back to the kitchen, her heart a lump inside. Instinct was to go to CeeCee, but her job was to stay with Toby, keep him safe, and help keep these others safe.
She sat with the children, who chattered at their little table.
Annie rocked with her eyes closed, tears trickling out. ‘They didn’t leave a bloody copper here, though, did they?’
Linley squared her shoulders. ‘We don’t need a copper here now, Annie. Wilkin won’t be back.’ She blinked hard to moisten her dry, scratchy eyes. The boulder in her chest weighed on her, and her shoulders rounded in a physical response. It felt like her heart had gone to lead.
‘Little you know of this type of man,’ Annie said.
Linley knew enough. But she understood what the doctor had said to her—Wilkin was no longer a threat.
Annie reached around and from behind the stacked logs beside the stove, she withdrew a small axe. ‘For splitting kindling.’ She leaned it against her chair.
Violence was as close as it had always been.
Linley turned her attention to the children, who played a game with their soggy cake.
Esther watched in angry confusion as the troopers stormed her home. She clutched at the fence palings of a house at the end of her street, fearful that if she didn’t, she’d fall over and pitch face first into the dirt.
What were they looking for?
Holding on to forestall any more lightheadedness, she watched as the three officers stumbl
ed back out of her place minutes later. One of them gagged raucously in her front yard. The closest of his mates grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back to the road where their horses waited. Their constable, or whoever he was, stepped—at first tentatively, then with more resolve—across the road to Mrs Cooke’s house. They garnered a fourth man, the doctor, who rushed into her house, only moments later to exit, mount up and ride away.
She waited till they were out of sight, then breathed a deep lungful and walked steadily towards her house. Her feet burned in her boots. Bunions. They’d need a good soaking in some salts.
At the first crossroad, she wondered if she shouldn’t go around the back way, deny the sticky-noses any sightings from the front of her house. God alone knew what a mess those troopers had made of Mr Bailey’s house … and to be openly sick in the front yard—disgusting. They needed reporting, the lot of them.
She’d report them, all right.
What were they looking for?
Oh no.
Her steps faltered. No, she wouldn’t report the police for anything.
You’re a fool, Esther. It’s your brother who needs reporting, and the sooner the better.
She stood for a moment and stared. Her house stood sentinel over its tiny frontage and the road that passed by it.
Her brother. No wonder she thought of him as an imbecile. He had endured much as a young boy. Their father, a violent, vicious man with dark and vile tendencies … She shuddered. Had Gareth gone that far in his own madness?
Oh, please, dear God, surely not.
She knew his own memories of that horror would be strong. For herself, she kept her own vigil. No man had touched her since her father. And even if they had, she would have been in no physical shape to accommodate them, such was the brutal legacy of her father’s treatment of her. In dear Mr Bailey, she had found a much older man who wanted only affection, as he could not engage in a physical relationship with a woman. A blessing for her, in a way, but she did feel the keen loss of never having borne a child. That overriding sorrow made her reluctant to enjoy anyone else’s children.
That was before little Jane had tottered across the road.
