by Iris Gower
Jamie’s hand touched her cheek. It was as though he’d read something of her thoughts. ‘Plenty of time, colleen,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘You are only a little bit of a thing yourself, yet; and you’ll know when you’re truly ready.’
She smiled up at him gratefully even as she wondered what was wrong with her. When had this strange fear begun to manifest itself, or had she always, secretly, been afraid?
She well remembered her wedding night; she’d been afraid then, too. Jamie had been loving and patient, and her fears had slowly been dispelled, to be replaced with the passion that seared her whenever she was in her husband’s arms.
But childbearing was something different; a new being might come between Jamie and her, spoil the closeness they had come to enjoy.
She caught Jamie’s hand and held it to her lips. Nothing must ever come between them, she thought fiercely – nothing.
The mists were slowly clearing from her mind. The darkness was rolling away, and Arian found she was staring up at a barn-like ceiling that loomed above her like a menacing, shadowy barrier between herself and the open sky.
She heard the hooting of a tug and then, as her ears became accustomed to the nearby sounds, she recognized the wash of the waves against the stone sea wall. She was, she guessed, in a warehouse on the docks, and, from the rancid smell, the stock around her was composed of animal skins.
She tried to sit up and realized that she ached from head to foot. Her throat was constricted, and she put up her hand to feel the weals embedded in her soft skin.
She pushed herself upright against a stack of boxes and saw that she was half-naked, her clothes hanging round her in shreds; and the memory of what had happened swamped her mind.
She felt a moment of pure hatred for the man who had violated her. Her hands clenched into fists, and her nails cut into the soft skin of her palms.
It took several moments for her to climb to her feet, holding on to the boxes and forcing herself up. She felt ashamed of what had happened, appalled at her own foolishness in being alone with Price Davies, a man she had known, deep within her, could be dangerous.
Her body burned with pain and humiliation. She felt bruised and battered and knew with deep bitterness she had only herself to blame. Perhaps the worst insult of all was that the coward had used her and then dumped her like a sack of potatoes, to face God only knew what fate at the dockside.
After a moment, she drew her tattered skirt around her and tied the edges together so that at least she was decently covered. Somehow she must make her way home, hide herself away until her wounds were healed.
Price would not get away with what he had done; but she would take her revenge in her own way and in her own good time. No-one else would ever know what had happened to her tonight.
The journey through the docklands was a nightmare. Once she was stopped by a drunken sailor and offered a handful of coins for a cheap stand-up. She stood her ground, staring at him with such hatred that after a moment the sailor had put his money away, appalled by her ferocious, almost deranged appearance.
How she reached her lodgings without being seen was a miracle, but at last Arian was safely indoors, the door locked and bolted behind her.
The first thing she had to do was to wash away all the dirt and the shame she felt at Price’s treatment of her. She knew she would never cleanse herself of the feeling of being used, half-killed just to satisfy a man’s lust.
The huge bath was a monument of luxury, an indication of the richness her employer had brought into Arian’s life. Eline Temple, along with her husband, owned half the county, and she wasn’t mean to those who worked for her.
She had been kind and thoughtful, finding Arian accommodation with just the right kind of genteel respectability and with a good landlady in the person of Mrs Maitland to chaperon and care for her boarders.
The disaster that had befallen Arian had been of her own making, brought about by her foolishness in consorting with a man she didn’t trust.
It was a luxury to lie in the warm water, feeling the smell and the touch of Price Davies washing away from her. Arian looked down at her body in dismay; she was covered in bruises that were slowly turning black. Her throat ached; but, as she felt her face gingerly with her fingertips, she came to the conclusion that there was no bruising to her eyes or nose. He had spared her that at least.
Later she lay in bed, wide-eyed, reliving the nightmare of the past hours, the violence of the rape, the awakening in the dark womb of a warehouse on the docks, the painful walk back to her lodgings. She vowed to punish Price even if it took the rest of her life.
Arian returned to work the next day. In her belt was a sharp-bladed knife. As she walked into the shop, she was acutely conscious of Price standing at the bench, one foot raised on a stool as he worked.
‘Morning,’ he said softly, and there was a hint of menace in his voice. ‘I see you found your way home, then; I knew you would.’ His mouth curled. ‘Sluts usually do.’
‘You have a bad problem; you have made an enemy of me,’ she said, anger pouring through her like wine. ‘I tell you this, you come near me again and I’ll kill you. I mean it.’
His eyes glinted. ‘You enjoyed it as much as I did,’ he said. ‘It was only your foolishness in attacking me that spoiled a perfectly good rogering.’
She was incredulous. She stared at his eyes, and saw that Price really believed what he was saying.
‘I’m more than capable of killing,’ she said coldly. ‘I shot my own father at point-blank range, so I wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of scum like you.’ It wasn’t quite an accurate account of what had happened that awful night at Honey’s Farm, but Arian hoped it would be enough to put the fear of God into Price.
It did no such thing. ‘Tut, tut, temper.’ He seemed unmoved by her revelation; perhaps he did not even believe her.
She turned away. Well, let him lay a finger on her again, and he would learn the truth.
Arian did not look at him after that; not once during the morning did she show even by a flicker of an eyelash that she was aware of his presence like a threat, hanging over her. She worked diligently on the built-up shoe she was making for a four-year-old child, trying to push all thoughts of Price Davies from her consciousness.
Eline came into the workroom and paused beside Arian, head on one side, a shawl draped about her shoulders and swamping her thickened waistline.
‘You’re looking peaky, Arian,’ she said in concern. ‘Are you sure you should be in work?’
‘My throat’ – Arian heard the croak in her voice with dismay – ‘it’s a little bit sore, but I’m feeling all right, really I am.’
‘I think perhaps you should take the rest of the day off,’ Eline said quickly. ‘I don’t want you going down with a fever.’
‘I’ll take Arian back to her lodgings,’ Price said, his voice casual.
Arian met his eyes, hoping he would take the venom in hers as a warning. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anyone to walk me home, thank you. I can manage quite well on my own.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
Price’s brazenness amazed Arian. Anger and disbelief at the man’s attitude warred within her, and for a moment she was at a loss for words.
‘No,’ she said flatly at last, and Price shrugged and returned to his bench.
Eline accompanied her to the door. ‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked, quietly. ‘Has Price Davies been pestering you with his attentions?’
Eline was an astute woman, and Arian recognized that she would have to tread carefully if she was not to give away too much.
‘I just don’t like him very much,’ she said, in a low, hoarse voice. ‘I’d rather not have him too close to me.’
‘I thought you were getting on rather well,’ Eline said. ‘Perhaps his . . . his attempts to begin more than a working relationship are an embarrassment to you?’
‘Yes,’ Arian agreed. ‘That’s it. I don’t want any involvements, not a
t the moment.’
‘Well, take a couple of days off,’ Eline said. ‘Give yourself a chance to get over your – your sore throat. Then come back to work when you feel ready. And remember, Arian’ – her voice was low – ‘you have the power to hire and fire whom you choose.’
It was clear Eline suspected there was more under the surface than Arian was prepared to reveal, but she was not a woman to pry.
‘That’s quite all right,’ Arian said. ‘I don’t want to go home, but I’ll bear in mind what you’ve said.’
And she would; the thought of getting rid of Price Davies was the only thing that would keep her sane. Too long spent on her own, thinking of the revenge she would like to exact on Price, would drive her mad.
It was a few days later that Eline approached Arian and invited her into her private sitting-room. Arian was prepared for the worst, a grilling about Price, a demand for an explanation as to why the workforce was not in harmony any longer, for the cordwainers had become aware of the tension.
‘Please sit down,’ Eline said. Arian obediently sat on one of the soft upholstered chairs that graced the sitting-room.
Eline sank thankfully into a chair and, not for the first time, Arian noticed that she was looking pale and tired. The shawl she continually hugged around her had fallen open, revealing Eline’s swollen figure.
‘I’m going to take time off soon,’ Eline said. ‘I need to rest before the baby is born.’ She seemed sad rather than elated, her eyes shadowed, her mouth etched with lines of weariness.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arian said quickly. ‘I don’t think I realized how far along you are – I mean the baby – it will be born soon?’
‘Quite soon,’ Eline agreed, ‘and in my absence I want you to take complete and sole charge of the workshop and the other workers.’
She smiled, and her features softened. ‘You are young, but already you have an air of authority, and you know how to manage people. You are quick to learn, and I want you to have your chance to rise to the top of the cordwaining profession. There will be a substantial rise, of course, and a house and staff of your own.’
Arian felt elated. This was something she had not imagined in her wildest dreams. ‘I’m honoured,’ she said quickly, ‘if you really think I can do it.’
‘I do, or I wouldn’t be offering,’ Eline said firmly. ‘Now, one thing, what’s really happened between you and Price? Is there a problem?’
Arian looked at Eline thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I’ll admit there is a problem, but one I’d much rather deal with myself.’
Eline seemed to relax. ‘I hoped you’d say that.’ She smiled. ‘That’s the stuff good managers are made of.’ She pointed to the desk. ‘Now, I think I should show you all the account books. You must see what we are owed by our various customers. You will be responsible for keeping the records of what is paid into the club each week.’
‘Not enough is paid in, that much is obvious to me,’ Arian said quickly.
Eline returned her smile. ‘No, not enough,’ she agreed, ‘but the object isn’t really to make money.’
‘I realize that,’ Arian said. ‘The object, as I see it, is to provide shoes for those who can’t really afford them while letting them keep their pride.’
‘Perhaps,’ Eline said, ‘but I want you to organize things better for me. At the moment it is all rather haphazard; payments come in irregularly, and it’s difficult to keep an accurate check on it all.’
Eline smiled. ‘My husband looks on the business as a way of saving some of his taxes, because the workshop does not make a profit, you see.’
Arian didn’t see, but she would, she vowed; she would learn the entire business from the inside out.
Eline took a red book out of the drawer and spread it open on the table. ‘Have a look, at your leisure,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a carriage coming to take me home in about half an hour, and I’ll tell you something, I’ll be glad to have a rest; my back aches like toothache.’
She handed Arian a bunch of keys. ‘These are yours to take charge of, and, Arian, I have every confidence in your ability to run a first-class enterprise.’ She smiled. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow you managed even to make a profit.’
Arian felt elated. ‘Why are you doing all this for me, when you have other, more experienced shoemakers working for you?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps because I see a little of myself in you, perhaps because I’m pleased to see a woman making a success of things; but most of all because you have the ability to assimilate all aspects of the shoemaking business.’
‘I’m not quite sure what you mean by that last statement,’ Arian said thoughtfully.
‘Some people are cobblers, some designers, some only see one straight track before them. You have vision; I think you will make a name for yourself some time in the future. You have courage, Arian, and I admire that.’
Eline rose. ‘I’m going to talk to the others in the shop, tell them what I’ve decided. They won’t like it, I warn you of that now; but it’s up to you how you handle things.’
Arian looked down at the keys in her hand and for a moment she was frightened. Of all the staff who worked for Eline, Price was the one she most feared trouble from. She squared her shoulders; she could handle Price Davies, she told herself. But a cold hand of doubt reached out and touched her shoulder. Arian shuddered; she could deal with the situation, she must – she had no option.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Eline sank on to the bed and closed her eyes. It was so good to rest. She felt tired and disillusioned with life, and it seemed she was in a trap with no way out. Here she was expecting a baby, the child of the man she really loved; but that man was not her husband.
As for Calvin, he was looking forward so much to having an heir, a son who would some day take over the Temple empire. His delight only served to fuel Eline’s terrible feelings of guilt; how could she let him believe that everything in the garden was wonderful when it was all a lie?
‘My darling!’ The door had opened and Calvin appeared at the side of the bed as if in answer to her thoughts. He fell on to his knees and took her hand tenderly in his. ‘Are you all right? Are you having pains? Is the baby coming?’
She smiled and touched his cheek. ‘No, silly, it’s not due for a few weeks yet.’ She looked up at him, but her eyes failed to meet his. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. I’ll sleep for a while and then, I’m sure, I’ll feel much better.’
‘My dear girl, whatever you want.’ Calvin kissed her forehead, pushing aside a stray curl, his mouth turning up into a smile. Eline touched his cheek briefly, the words of her awful confession trembling on her lips; and then, wearily, she closed her eyes.
When Eline awoke, it was to find that she’d slept for longer than she’d intended. She sat up and stared around the elegant room, feeling disorientated, wondering, for a moment, where she was. Then, remembering, she covered her eyes with her hands as a feeling of unhappiness swamped her. She was living a lie, and she felt she couldn’t bear it any longer; she must tell Calvin the truth, that the baby she was carrying might not be his. Any decision he might make then, she would abide by. Anything was better than this awful, tearing unhappiness and guilt. In any case, her disturbed emotions could not be doing her child any good.
She slid from the bed, staring out of the window unseeingly for a moment, undecided what to do next. A nice warm bath and a change of clothes might make her feel better, she decided; then, perhaps, a walk through the gardens to blow away the cobwebs that clouded her mind?
Eline reached out to ring the bell for the maid, and it was then that the pain caught her. She doubled up, clutching her stomach, gasping as the pain strengthened and tightened around her body. It was as though an iron hand was wrapping itself around her, gripping mercilessly.
But it was too early for the baby to come – weeks too early, she thought in panic.
With an effort, Eline pulled at the silken rope that hung beside the mantelpiece, and
somewhere in the deep kitchen regions of the house she knew a bell would ring and bring someone to help her.
She slumped back on the bed and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. How did women bear this tearing pain, time after time, giving birth to a brood of children?
Eline closed her eyelids tightly together, feeling sweat bead her brow; she heard a low guttural moan and knew with surprise that it was her own.
When the pain receded, she became aware of the frightened face of one of the maids staring at her from the doorway. The girl bobbed a curtsey, unsure what she should do next.
‘Send Lord Temple to me,’ Eline gasped, trying to resist the panic that was deepening as her pains increased.
‘He’s gone out, my lady.’ The maid bobbed a curtsey once more, her face white. ‘But I’ll tell the housekeeper to come, shall I?’
‘Just see that the midwife and the doctor are sent for.’ Eline regained some of her composure; there was no point in giving in to the fear that beat through her at the thought of being alone in her ordeal, with only strangers to tend her.
The maid disappeared and shortly afterwards the housekeeper knocked on the door. ‘Everything is under control, my lady.’
Mrs Mort was the antithesis of all her name suggested. She was plump and smiling, her cheeks pink, her eyes those of a startled baby, wide and blue. And more, Eline saw with a sense of relief, she was the embodiment of reassurance.
‘Come, my lady, me and Bella will change you into a fresh gown and get you as comfy as we can by the time the midwife comes.’
She talked smoothly and quietly, her smile motherly, and Eline was suddenly aware of how little she’d been involved with her staff. She had been remiss, had failed to get to know the people who worked in the house, and it was a wonder that she was being shown such kindness now.
‘Thank you, Mrs Mort,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m very grateful.’
‘No trouble at all. Fetch a basin of warm water, Bella!’ Mrs Mort addressed the maid a little sharply, for the girl was standing around, arms hanging at her side, as though she was at a loss what to do next.
