Yew Tree Gardens

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Does he do divorces regularly?’

  The old man laughed. ‘He does anything that’ll make him money, that one.’

  ‘I thought all lawyers were rich.’

  ‘Not him. Nearly lost his licence, he did, and got thrown out of his last place by the other lawyers because of it. Had to set up on his own then.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Got a nephew who was in the thick of it. Good as a play, it was, to hear what happened each day.’

  ‘Give me the name of his old firm and I’ll check it out.’

  ‘Why doesn’t your master do his own hunting for a lawyer?’

  ‘He’s lame. Can’t walk about much. Good master, though. Looks after us servants.’

  ‘You can’t ask more than that,’ the old man said.

  The talk moved to other topics and Horry let it, satisfied he’d found out something useful.

  Horry accompanied some of his new friends from the chophouse to a pub and enjoyed a pleasant evening, relaxing and chatting, drinking far less than his companions without letting them see that. He didn’t pick up any more information but they had a few laughs.

  After he’d finished a leisurely meal, Gil returned to his hotel room. The lift behaved itself, under the care of a fellow with grizzled hair and a lined face, who was perfectly civil but not interested in chatting.

  While Gil had been in the restaurant, a maid had turned down his bed and lit a small fire in the grate, putting a fireguard round it. The two gas wall lights on either side of the mantelpiece were lit but turned right down, so he turned them up again, took out his book and began to read.

  But he couldn’t concentrate because he continued to feel uneasy. Surely Renie should have contacted him by now? She’d definitely seen him in the foyer. If she didn’t at least push a note under his door tonight, he’d make enquiries about her openly in the morning, preferably from someone other than that manager. And he wasn’t leaving the hotel until he’d spoken to her.

  He wondered how Horry was getting on, hoped he’d found something out.

  When she realised she was locked in the storeroom, Renie was so shocked she couldn’t think what to do. She stood motionless, holding the oil lamp she’d brought with her, but it was a big room and the corners were still shadowy.

  It must be Judson who’d done this. She didn’t have the slightest doubt of that, because no one else would do this to her.

  But the note asking Renie to come down here had come from Miss Pilkins. How had he forced her to write it? Whatever threats he’d used, Renie thought the worse of her for giving in to him, because Miss Pilkins must have guessed what he intended to do.

  No wonder he got away with so much. He found people’s weak points and used them.

  And now he’d trapped her. Renie had no doubt about what he intended to do to her. She moaned and a few sobs escaped her, then she stiffened her spine. She couldn’t waste time crying, had to think what to do. Surely there must be some way of escaping? She went to the door, but it was a solid one and there was no key this side, no possible way of opening it with only her bare hands.

  He’d be back. She had to be ready, had to find something to use as a weapon. He wasn’t going to overcome her easily, she was determined about that.

  She checked the oil reservoir in her lamp. It was less than half full. She’d better explore this room before the oil ran out … try to find some way of protecting herself before he came back.

  Setting to work, she went round the room, searching, finding out what it contained. That turned out to be mainly piles of luggage – beautiful, expensive luggage. Not much use for defending yourself with.

  Methodically, listening carefully for sounds outside as she worked, she opened the cases and hatboxes, the trunks and the Gladstone bags. Most were empty. One or two contained crumpled or dirty clothing.

  There was nothing she could use as a weapon.

  Once she thought she heard a sound outside so went to the door and yelled for help at the top of her voice. But no one answered her call, so she must have been mistaken.

  In one suitcase she found some shoes with Louis heels. Better than nothing to hit someone with, she supposed. She thrust one shoe into her side pocket.

  But it was a forlorn hope and she knew it. Judson was a big, strong man. Unless she took him by surprise, and had a weapon, he’d easily overpower her.

  In the last corner, behind a cardboard box, she found a pile of old rugs and cloths. She nearly moved on, then decided to check underneath them and found a battered old lamp. One of its glass panels was broken and it should have been put in for repair. Could she use this? She had to fiddle with the spiky pieces of broken glass and cut her finger, but managed to wiggle a shard out. It was nearly as sharp as a dagger. She put that into her other side pocket.

  She should have thought of this use for the lamp she was carrying, only if she had used that one, she’d be in the dark.

  Could she really stick a piece of glass into someone’s flesh? She pulled the shard out again and pressed it lightly against her thumb. The edge was so sharp a drop of blood welled beneath it. She didn’t like the idea of using it, but if it was a choice of slicing him open or being ravished, she was definitely going to fight him every inch of the way.

  With a sigh she went across to sit on a box near the door and put out the lamp, because the oil reservoir was quite low now. She had some matches to light it again. You always took matches along with a lamp, in case it blew out.

  It was worse sitting in the darkness. She didn’t feel alone; her fears were crawling round her all the time and she felt literally sick with fear.

  After what seemed a very long time, Renie heard footsteps outside and saw a thin line of light coming from the other side of the door. Someone put a key in the lock and turned it.

  Heart pounding, she stood up and tiptoed across to flatten herself against the wall near the door. She had a stout hatbox in her hand.

  As the door opened she swung it at Judson’s head, taking him by surprise and making him cry out.

  But as she swung it again, he grabbed her wrist with one hand and tore it away from her with the other, flinging it aside.

  She tried to pull away but he kept hold of her arm as he hung the lantern on a hook and kicked the door shut with one foot. ‘You’ll be sorry for that, you stupid bitch!’

  She didn’t answer, would have moved further away but his grip was too strong.

  When he swung her round to face him, she tried to surprise him by kicking him in a very tender place.

  He laughed as he avoided her kick and sent her flying across the room with one sideways sweep of his fist. She landed awkwardly on a trunk and hurt her side.

  His laugh was low and confident. ‘I like it when they fight.’

  She felt so sick with terror, she wondered if she was going to vomit. Hauling herself to her feet, she faced him from a slightly crouching position, one hand fumbling for the shoe in her pocket.

  When he grabbed her, she hit him with the shoe’s wooden heel as hard as she could.

  He roared with pain as it connected with his temple then thumped her again, sending the shoe flying one way, her the other. ‘That’s it! I might have made it easy for you, but now you deserve all you get.’

  This time she landed on her back, and before she could get up, he threw himself upon her, tearing at her clothes.

  She heard her blouse rip, then his hand started fumbling up her skirts. Desperation lent her strength and she managed to get the shard of glass out of her pocket. She lashed out blindly at his head, feeling it connect with something soft.

  This time his yell was of pure pain and for a moment the weight jerked away from her.

  It was enough for her to roll sideways and lunge for the door. Every second she expected him to grab her but he was making whining, moaning noises and clutching his face. Blood was dripping through his fingers, dark in the flickering lamplight.

  She flung the door open
and ran off along the dark corridor, knowing the way in her mind because she’d been here many times before.

  There were footsteps behind her, but he wasn’t yelling or making threats now, just running in silence, which was even more frightening. His feet thumped down one after the other, heavy, getting closer.

  She didn’t make the mistake of trying to look behind her. She put all her efforts into running faster. She had to get away, right away, because he’d kill her if he caught her, she knew he would.

  The watcher hiding in a nearby alcove put a hand to her breast and tried to still her pounding heart, praying poor Irene would get away from that brute.

  Doors banged from round the corner, but she didn’t follow them. She wasn’t moving out of this alcove until she was certain he wasn’t coming back.

  She was trying to do what she could to help poor Irene, but she didn’t want to do anything openly after the threats he’d made, so would have to be very careful. Only as a final resort would she act openly.

  It might already be too late to help, in which case she would never forgive herself.

  Oh, please, let her escape!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gil grew more and more anxious, and wasn’t at all sleepy, so didn’t even try to go to bed. He heard the sounds of movement outside his room from time to time, and walked up and down the corridor a few times to stretch his legs. Sounds grew fewer as people settled down for the night. He took out his pocket watch. Half past midnight now.

  By one o’clock it was completely silent outside and he hadn’t heard anyone passing by for half an hour. He still felt restless, so he went outside. It’d do his bad leg good to walk up and down the corridor again.

  He walked to the far end and back, then went to the head of the main stairs and stared down at the shadowy foyer. Lights there were burning low and a sleepy night porter was dozing in his armchair near the entrance. Nothing to see.

  Renie wasn’t coming to see him tonight. It was far too late for that. He should go to bed.

  As Gil reached his door, he heard something and stood still, listening hard. The sound came from the fire escape at the end of the corridor. Even as he turned to look, the door opened and a figure hurtled out. Renie!

  She saw him in the dimly lit corridor, stopped with an expression of terror, then realised who he was and rushed towards him. ‘Please hide me. Quick!’

  Already he could hear other footsteps. Someone was labouring up the last few stairs of the fire escape. Quickly he gestured to his room and followed Renie inside.

  ‘The lights!’ she said.

  He locked the door then moved towards the gas wall lights and turned them down to a dim glow. She was shaking so hard, he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. Her clothes had been torn and her face bruised.

  Someone had attacked her. Not difficult to guess who. He’d like to beat the brute to a pulp, only he could no longer do that, couldn’t even protect her physically with his stupid arm.

  The room was almost dark and he stood perfectly still. She must have been standing just as quietly.

  He stiffened as he heard footsteps outside. Once there was a soft moan, and as whoever it was passed the room, they could hear his rasping breaths. Judson, presumably.

  As his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, Gil saw Renie’s silhouette outlined against the faint glow from the street lamps and realised she was still shaking. He couldn’t leave her like that, just couldn’t.

  Giving in to instinct, he moved across the room and stopped beside her, whispering, ‘I won’t hurt you.’

  She turned towards him, shoulders hunched, arms crossed over her chest holding the torn blouse in place.

  He paused for a moment to give her time to back away if she didn’t want him to touch her. ‘My dear girl, what has that brute done to you?’

  Only then did he take her in his arms, holding her loosely, making sure she knew she could move away if she wanted to.

  But she didn’t pull away; she moved closer, shivering and trying to control her sobs.

  He cradled her against him with his good arm, and the bad arm chose that moment to jerk and flap about.

  He felt humiliated by that. Fine hero he made. He moved his lips close to her ear and whispered, ‘Sorry. I can’t help my arm.’

  Her voice was only just audible. ‘The arm’s part of you. It doesn’t matter. You’re normal and sane and kind. That’s what really matters.’ With a long sigh, she rested her head against his chest and they stood there for a few minutes, body against body, sharing comfort and warmth.

  Gradually he felt her relax a little.

  A few moments later, she took a deep breath and tried to move away, so he stepped back at once.

  ‘Don’t turn the lights up yet,’ she begged in the barest thread of a voice. ‘He might come back and see them.’

  ‘We’ll do whatever you want. Shall we sit down? There are two chairs.’

  But she said in a rush, ‘I’d rather you held me, if you don’t mind. It makes me feel safe.’

  ‘I’d love to. You could sit on my knee. You’re not a big woman.’

  Again, he had the satisfaction of comforting her.

  After a while, he said, ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  She did that in a halting whisper, giving the barest outline.

  When she’d finished her tale, Gil couldn’t hold back his anger. He’d seen the bruises and the torn clothing. ‘A man like that ought to be whipped and locked away for the rest of his life.’

  ‘Shh! Keep your voice down. He’ll probably go on being the manager of this hotel or one like it, and hurting other women. There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘There must be something.’

  They fell silent again. Her head was warm against him, her hair tickling his nostrils. It smelt of soap.

  ‘I’ll leave as soon as it’s light,’ she said after a while. ‘I can’t impose on you.’

  ‘Impose!’ He let out a mirthless snort of laughter. ‘It’s my pleasure to help you, Renie … and it makes me feel better. Since my accident, I’ve felt so … useless.’

  ‘Just because of your arm?’

  He could hear the surprise in her voice and that pleased him. ‘It makes me look like a badly made puppet.’

  ‘You’re a good-looking man still, with all your wits and in good health. What does that arm matter?’

  He relaxed. ‘You’re good for me.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes. You make me feel … whole again.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I’ve never forgotten you, you know. Not since the first time we met in Yew Tree Gardens. Tell me about your family. Are you going to them now?’

  ‘I’ve still not heard from Nell or Mattie. And Nell won’t be able to find me once I leave the Rathleigh.’

  He could feel the dampness of her tears.

  ‘I’ve remembered your sister’s loss. It’s hard to lose people you love.’

  ‘You’ve lost them too. I only stayed here because if Nell comes to the hotel, he won’t tell her where I am. He’ll probably forbid people to even mention my name. Only I have to leave now … and I may never find her again.’

  It was then the idea struck him, but he couldn’t just rush into it, so he held on to the thought and merely said, ‘We’ll think of something. But in the meantime, you’ll need somewhere to stay.’

  ‘I’ve got money, so I can get some lodgings. I’ve saved up hard because I never wanted to be dependent on someone like my brother-in-law again. I’ll be all right till I find another job, though it’ll be harder without references. Or I can start a little business.’

  He didn’t want to lose her and the cosy darkness was ideal for confidences, so he took a deep breath and said, ‘Or I could suggest something.’

  ‘Oh? Do you know someone who needs a maid? I don’t suppose I’ll find another job like the one I was doing here.’

  ‘Not a maid, no.’ He told her about the bargain he’d made with his moth
er to marry within eighteen months. Before he continued, he turned up the lights a little, wanting to see her face as he asked her. ‘I wonder if you’d consider marrying me instead?’

  She gasped and said nothing.

  ‘I feel very comfortable with you and I’m sure you’ll be good with Beth.’ He saw her expression soften and for the first time felt real hope.

  ‘I feel comfortable with you, too, but Gil … I’m not of your class!’

  ‘What does that matter if we get along well?’

  She was frowning again. ‘But your mother … doesn’t she care who you marry? It sounds as if anyone would do.’

  ‘I don’t think she cares greatly, as long as it’s someone respectable. She’s almost given up hope of me, you see. People like my parents feel a man should marry and have children. It’s what one does. Only I couldn’t marry just anyone, not now. I’d like to marry you, though. You make me feel … a whole man still.’

  ‘But—’

  He took her hand. ‘Don’t say anything or I’ll lose my courage.’

  Her face softened a little as she looked at him. ‘Does it take courage to ask me?’

  ‘To ask anyone, given my problems.’ He explained about his reaction to her. ‘I don’t want to marry a young woman of the sort my mother’s been introducing me to. I’m no longer the empty-headed young idiot I used to be. And anyway, none of them have made me feel … as if I could do all that marriage entails. In bed, I mean.’

  ‘Oh. I see. You would need to like the person you marry, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Definitely. And I want someone with … a bit of gumption. Someone like you.’

  She frowned. ‘But you hardly know me.’

  ‘Sometimes you feel at ease with another person from the very first moment. We’ve been like that, haven’t we? Able to talk to each other easily, even that first time in Yew Tree Gardens?’

  She didn’t speak but gave a quick nod.