The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Armstrong? A great pleasure.’

  She found herself shaking hands with an honourable. Mr Larter’s educated voice and polished manner were a powerful reminder that she was nobbut a girl from Wilton Lane. She felt as if she should curtsey. Worse, she felt as if Mr Larter thought so too.

  ‘What did you want, Carrie?’ Ralph asked.

  She glanced at Arthur. ‘I came to remind Mr Renton about the tea.’ The men were ignoring the blood, so she did too.

  ‘Never mind that. Go back upstairs.’

  It was dismissal, and blunt dismissal at that, but she didn’t care. All she felt as she guided her massive bump from the room was waves of relief.

  Approaching Adam Armstrong’s office, a secret smile playing across her lips, Evadne was triumphant. It had been a bitter blow when Ralph had turned down her offer to work for him, but he had evidently thought better of it.

  ‘I’m pleased you’ve seen sense,’ she had told him with calculated condescension, determined to rub his nose in it. ‘I’ll make myself available immediately.’

  ‘No need. Wait until the next auction.’

  But she wasn’t going to be put off. She had no way of knowing when the Honourable Mr Larter would call to see the auction room and that meant she must be there as often as possible.

  ‘I must familiarise myself with the administrative processes, which I expect could stand some improvement. Perhaps an hour each morning. I can easily organise that.’

  So she had made this appointment with Doctor Armstrong, certain of his agreement. After all, his own brother stood to gain.

  ‘Time off to do another job?’ he said. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘I would naturally make up the time here by working in the evenings. After all, it can hardly be said to matter when administrative work gets done.’

  ‘In that case, you can do Ralph’s administrative work in the evenings after you’ve fulfilled your obligations here.’

  ‘My grandfather—’

  ‘I’m aware that Major Baxter pulled strings to get you this position; but now you come under my authority, no one else’s.’ He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I do understand family loyalty, however, and I know how much this would mean to Carrie; so I’ll come to an arrangement concerning the auction days, if your presence at them is so vital. I’ll speak to Ralph.’

  She forced herself to say, ‘Thank you,’ although the words nearly choked her.

  She flounced out of the office, hating Doctor Armstrong for lording it over her. As if she cared tuppence for this stupid job! But she couldn’t afford to jeopardise it. Not only did she need the income, it also provided a roof over her head, and a pleasingly elegant roof at that, even though it was marred by sheltering a hospital.

  Just let him wait. She pictured herself sailing into Adam Armstrong’s office to wave her resignation under his nose. She would make sure she did it with her left hand too.

  Carrie flew to Mam’s bedside, clutching Mam’s hand in both her own and pressing herself as close as she could to the motionless body, wishing with all her heart that Mam could squeeze her hand or pat her arm, anything to give her comfort; but even had Mam been capable of such a gesture, Carrie couldn’t possibly have told her what had happened downstairs. Not for anything would she worry her with that.

  The afternoon was dark and sleety. When she got up to draw the curtains, each splatter of sleet seemed to land inside her heart.

  When Ralph came upstairs, she fetched his slippers and hung up the waistcoat and jacket belonging to his suit, while he changed into the knitted pullover and comfortable tweed jacket he favoured in the evenings.

  ‘Smells good,’ he observed, taking his seat at the table.

  ‘Hotpot, with jam roly-poly and custard for pudding.’

  ‘Proper cold-weather food.’

  ‘About what happened—’

  ‘Not at the table, Carrie.’

  Don’t speak to me like that. I’m not a child.

  Later, when she had finished clearing away and came to sit by the fire with her knitting, Ralph folded his newspaper and looked across at her from his armchair.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you’d sold something.’

  She felt confusion bloom in her cheeks. She laid down her knitting, giving herself a moment even as she asked herself why she should need any such thing.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have said.’

  ‘Aye, you should. Why didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It weren’t on purpose.’

  ‘Who bought it?’

  She perked up. ‘A dear old lady, a Miss Deacon. She’d wanted one for ever such a long time and her brother had left her some money.’

  ‘You sent it round, of course.’

  ‘Of course. It’s all written up in the book. I’m sure I did everything right.’ She felt her pulse skitter. When had she become so jumpy?

  ‘I’ll check.’ He unfolded the newspaper with a flick.

  Her hand hesitated over her knitting. ‘Ralph?’

  ‘Mm?’ He looked over the top of the newspaper.

  ‘About this afternoon …’

  ‘What of it? It’s all cleared up now that you’ve admitted what you did.’

  Admitted? As if she had done something wrong. She felt a spurt of resentment. She wasn’t going to back down. ‘What you did to poor Mr Renton—’

  Ralph lowered the newspaper to his lap, his eyes boring into hers.

  ‘I was … shocked.’

  ‘How do you expect me to react when I have reason to believe I’ve caught a thief?’

  ‘Even so …’

  ‘Even so – what, Carrie? What do you think I should have done?’

  ‘Sent for a policeman, I suppose.’

  ‘Good job I didn’t or you’d have ended up looking an even bigger fool. It would have made a fool of me as well and I wouldn’t have appreciated that.’

  She flinched, but she wouldn’t stop. ‘You hit him.’

  He laughed, a mirthless sound. ‘Well, if he has ever entertained any idea of doing the dirty on me, he’ll never think of it again.’

  The shock and upset that she had been suppressing ballooned inside her chest. Lifting swimming eyes, she burst out, ‘You frightened me,’ and, to her disgust, she began to cry. She couldn’t help it. She scrabbled in her pockets for a hanky and mopped at her face, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

  He sat on the arm of her chair and pulled her to him, which was what she had been aching for ever since she had fled to Mam’s bedside, but now that it was happening, it felt wretchedly uncomfortable. She felt squashed and cramped. The baby was squashed too, squeezing her insides out of the way.

  ‘Are you all right now? I don’t know whether to tell you not to cry or to cry it all out. Which is best for the baby?’

  She pulled herself together, trying hard to manage it without any inelegant sniffing, but that proved impossible, and he thrust his handkerchief into her hands. He continued to soothe her and as her tension released, her heart filled.

  It was only later, lying awake in the middle of the night, too huge to sleep, that she realised that in amongst all the soothing things Ralph had said, not once had he said he was sorry for upsetting her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rocked by resentment, Ralph showed Alex Larter the premises he rented at the Lloyds. It didn’t take long: a sizeable outbuilding for storage and an office off the big public room where the auctions were held. Larter was having a look only to emphasise his right to do so. That it was only what Ralph himself would do, had their positions been reversed, was beside the point.

  ‘You should have received the first consignment,’ said Larter.

  ‘It’s here.’

  ‘Good. The sooner we start selling these goods the better. And how is the lovely Miss Baxter shaping up?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  She was a bloody nuisance, if ever there was one. Her offer to be available in the mornings had come
to nothing, and instead she was turning up in the evenings, which was a damn nuisance because it drew him away from his fireside. The sight of her made him want to skin Alex Larter alive. He still didn’t know what Larter had in mind for her, and that rankled too. He had allowed Evadne into the auction office and showed her how it ran. Of course, she had immediately declared she could organise it better, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again, not after he had told her in no uncertain terms that it was his way or not at all.

  ‘My way, or bugger off back to Brookburn,’ had been his exact words, and her face had paled at the language.

  But she was tenacious, he had to give her that, and much as it galled him to admit it, she was proving useful. She had a knack for using the typewriter. He gave her letters to type and she was working her way through the next auction list, deciphering his notes. Typewritten catalogues for the punters would make the auction room look good, and the task kept her out of his hair.

  ‘A quick one before we eat?’ suggested Larter, leading the way into the bar. He had offered Ralph dinner this evening, though the invitation hadn’t included Carrie. Not that Ralph would have permitted Carrie to be entertained in public when she was on the verge of dropping the baby, but the absence of an invitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Alex Larter wouldn’t demean himself by socialising with a girl from Wilton Lane, even if she were now the wife of an associate.

  An hour later, accommodated at the best table the dining room offered, Ralph was enjoying braised beef in onion sauce and a second glass of full-bodied red wine when there was a flutter close by and he glanced up to see – bloody hell, Evadne.

  ‘Forgive me for disturbing you. Good evening, Mr Larter. What must you think of me? I do assure you, I wouldn’t normally barge in unannounced.’

  There was the tiniest fragment of silence and Ralph wondered whether Alex Larter might be about to cut her dead, but Larter courteously rose to his feet, prompting him to remember his own manners.

  ‘I can’t imagine a more pleasant interruption, Miss Baxter,’ Larter said, the smooth bastard.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ralph demanded.

  She held out a page of notes. ‘I can’t make out your writing here … and here. I was on my way to see you in the flat, but I noticed you here. I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Won’t you join us?’ Larter offered, to Ralph’s surprise.

  Another flutter. ‘You’re most kind, but I couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘At least sit down while Armstrong deciphers his scrawl.’ Larter pulled out a chair and Evadne sank gracefully into it. When Ralph had read out a few words that seemed to him perfectly legible, Larter added to Evadne, ‘Please join us for coffee in, shall we say, half an hour. I insist.’

  And the hoity-toity Evadne, who by rights should have delivered a disdainful refusal, accepted in a voice that sounded a little breathless. The men rose as she left, then resumed their seats.

  ‘My,’ said Larter, ‘she’s eager.’

  Had there been space in the glory-hole Ralph called his office, Evadne would have danced. She could hardly believe what had happened – and yet why not believe it? She had earned it, enduring those dreary evenings slogging away at the blasted typewriter, trying to eke out a job she could have polished off in half the time. Each evening, she had crept through to the public rooms in the increasingly desperate hope of seeing the Honourable Mr Larter; and now it had happened. And he had invited her to return for coffee. What could be better? All it needed to make it perfect would be for Ralph to be called away because Carrie had started the baby.

  Although coffee didn’t last as long as Evadne would have liked, she could tell by Mr Larter’s friendly interest that she had made a favourable impression. Ralph sat back and let them get on with it, which just showed what a graceless oaf he was.

  ‘You have an interest in fine things?’ Mr Larter had enquired.

  ‘I have a certain appreciation of them. As a child, I lived with my grandparents. You’ve seen my grandfather’s house. He possesses some beautiful pieces.’

  ‘You won’t learn much, hidden away in Armstrong’s office, clacking away on that infernal machine.’ He turned to Ralph. ‘What d’you say we take her on a valuation? I’ll escort you myself, Miss Baxter, if you don’t consider it improper.’

  Her heart had felt ready to burst as she murmured demure acceptance. The coffee pot ran dry and, although Mr Larter politely offered to call for more, she sensed their tête-à-tête was over and gracefully took her leave.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Mr Larter promised, and she hurried away lest her blushes betrayed her.

  Now, she slipped into her outdoor things and locked the office. She sighed, feeling lighter of heart than she had since she couldn’t remember when. She could have skipped like a child. Goodness, how silly, she could actually feel a certain elasticity in her step—

  ‘Evening, miss. It’s going to be another sharp night.’

  Oh, lord, not him again. Ted Geeson had taken to hanging about outside the Lloyds to see her back to Brookburn. The first time, he had declared stubbornly, ‘A lady like yourself ought not to be out alone after dark.’

  ‘I don’t require your company, Geeson,’ had been her unyielding response.

  ‘Then happen I’ll walk along behind, miss, just to keep you in my sights, so to speak.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she had snapped. ‘I’m perfectly safe.’

  ‘Aye, that’s true, with me watching out for you.’

  The third time he had waited for her, Ralph had been leaving at the same time and Evadne had pointed out Geeson to him. ‘He’s the Brookburn groundsman. Irritating fellow, he insists on watching me all the way back, so don’t be alarmed if he seems to follow me.’

  ‘I saw him follow you last time and managed to restrain my alarm.’

  Ralph had stalked across the road, leaving her staring after him. He had seen Geeson, who was then unknown to him, follow her into the dark and he had simply let it happen. What kind of brute was he?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ash Wednesday was early – it wasn’t even the middle of February yet. Valentine’s Day was this coming Sunday. Could the baby hold on until then? A Valentine’s Day birth would be ideal. Everyone would be so busy crooning over a honeymoon baby being born on Valentine’s Day, or else asking one another, ‘D’you think she’ll call it Valentine? Poor little bugger,’ that they would clean forget the birth was ‘premature’.

  As much as her bulk and a dull backache would allow, Carrie hurried through her morning jobs so she could get to midday Mass. The Trimbles had always been good about letting her use her dinner time on holy days to attend Mass and they extended the same kindness to Letty. Since marrying Ralph, Carrie hadn’t seen much of Letty and that grieved her. In the early days, she had done some of her shopping at Trimble’s, but once Ralph found out, he forbade her to go there again.

  ‘We Armstrongs have no need to use a cruddy little corner shop like that.’

  ‘Trimble’s is a good shop. I should know – I worked there long enough.’

  ‘You don’t live in the backstreets now, Carrie Armstrong, and you’ll not do your shopping in that place.’

  It had been difficult for her to see much of Letty after that. Letty was at work all day and Carrie’s place was at home with her husband in the evening. Even if Ralph went out for a pint, he expected her to stop indoors, and the time he came home earlier than expected to find Letty keeping her company, the crisp way he spoke to Letty made it obvious to Carrie that he didn’t expect to see her friend here again of an evening. Much to Carrie’s embarrassment, Letty evidently realised it too, because she didn’t suggest any more evenings together, though she still came loyally on alternate Wednesday afternoons to chat with Carrie while they sat facing one another across Mam’s bed, each gently stroking a limp hand.

  There had been more snow. Carrie slipped and had to catch her footing on the way to Mass. She was puffed out when she arrived.

&n
bsp; ‘Eh, look who it is! The size of you, Carrie Jenkins-as-was! You’re as big as the eighty-two tram to Oldham.’ And there was Mrs Clancy, fleshy cheeks ruddy with cold, eyes bright with pleasure. ‘Eh, you look ready to drop at any minute, chuck.’

  ‘It’s this coat. It’s bulky.’

  A pudgy hand reached out to finger the lapels. ‘Aye, that’s reet good quality, is that. He’s not short of a bob or two, yon chap. You’ve done well for yourself, lass.’

  ‘Too well to bother coming back to see them what fettled for your mam in her hour of need,’ said another voice, sounding chillier than the breath-steamed air.

  Fortunately, Letty came hurrying along and Carrie was grateful to go inside. As always on holy days, she and Letty slipped out after the priest’s communion. Today, with those unwelcome words still stinging her ears, she was glad to get out early.

  ‘There’s summat I need to ask you,’ said Letty as they trod carefully on the slippery pavement. ‘Would you mind if I walked out with Billy?’

  ‘You what?’ Carrie stopped dead. One of her heels caught a slippery patch, but it wasn’t that which caused the swooping sensation.

  Letty stopped too. Her cheeks, which had been rosy with cold, turned a dull red.

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Billy? My Billy?’

  ‘No, not your Billy. He’s not been your Billy in a long while.’

  ‘He’s asked you to walk out with him?’ Carrie didn’t know what to think. Her best friend and her former fiancé; her best friend and the man who had jilted her.

  ‘There’s not that many chaps left. There’s been a war, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘When? How?’ And why didn’t you say summat before? That was what she really wanted to ask. She thought of Letty and Billy getting friendly behind her back and her skin went all prickly.

  ‘Well, we got talking one day.’

  ‘Talking?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. You open your mouth and words come out. It were a while back. I hadn’t seen him in ages. It were the first time I’d seen him since he took that beating. Poor chap. He took a heck of a pounding.’