She had called on Mrs Warburton, ostensibly to pay her respects. Bringing the subject round to the servant problem that was the consuming issue these days in those circles she was so desperate to infiltrate, she murmured her shock and sympathy at the news that her hostess had let Maisie go.
‘The trouble with girls today,’ Evadne declared as if she had personally lost half a dozen maids recently, ‘is that they’ve had their heads turned by the munitions. They got more money during the war and it’s made them forget their place.’
That was clever, blaming Maisie’s greed instead of Mrs Warburton’s depleted finances; and from there it had been but a few tactful steps to the possibility of a valuation, confidentiality assured.
She thought of Mrs Bentley and how that association had led to the introduction to Miss Kent, which had in turn spawned a meeting with the Howards, from whom Alex had purchased a ship’s decanter, though he had sent Evadne alone the second time.
‘Most men wouldn’t choose to do business with a woman, but Howard’s a different sort. It’s difficult for him to let another man see his hardship, though a lady such as yourself is a different matter. You might murmur something admiring about how his selflessness in parting with that carriage clock on the dining-room mantelpiece would make his dear wife’s life easier; I’m sure he’d lap it up.’
‘And I’ll suggest that it’s not as though something valuable would be disappearing from the sitting room,’ Evadne added, ‘so Mrs Howard will save face with the neighbours.’
Alex had given her a broad smile, shaking his head slightly, apparently admiring her astuteness. She tried not to be disappointed when all he said was, ‘Offer him fifteen.’
‘Guineas?’ He always offered guineas. It seemed a stylish and gentlemanly way to do business.
‘Pounds.’
Mr Howard was pleased with his fifteen pounds and Alex was pleased with Evadne, complimenting her on her ability to handle meetings with clients.
‘You have everything that is required: refinement, education and tact. You enable the client to sell without embarrassment and that is essential.’
She had modestly dropped her gaze. She would far rather Alex considered she had the qualities he needed in a wife, but if there was any justice in this world, that would follow.
Ralph dragged Adam along the landing, the pair of them grabbing and shoving, breathing hard.
‘Stop it, man!’ Adam hissed. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid!’
In the tangle, Ralph almost lost his footing, found it again, felt Adam trying to pull free, snatched him closer, increased his grip. They were at the head of the staircase down to the shop. He swung Adam round to hurl him down, intending for him to snap a few bones en route. Adam staggered and Ralph shoved, but Adam held on, struggling for balance, and the pair of them toppled, clattering downwards, struggling and punching all the way, yelling and swearing as ribs and shins, backbones and skulls banged on steps and walls.
They hit the floor with Adam underneath. Ralph felt the breath whoosh out of his brother’s body. He pushed himself up using one hand and one knee, pulling back the other arm, feeling the power flood into his fist as he prepared to slam it into Adam’s face. Adam bucked, pitching him sideways. Ralph threw out his hands to save himself from losing his teeth against the stairs, felt the sharp twang singing through his wrists and up his arms as his fingers snapped back under the impact. With a curse, he lunged, but Adam scrambled to his feet, chest heaving, body bent forward, one arm wrapped protectively across his ribs.
‘You’re mad,’ he rasped. ‘You’re bloody insane. What’s got into you?’
Ralph came to his feet and surged forwards, grabbing handfuls of lapel. He kept moving, kept charging, and slammed Adam into the wall. The glass shade tinkled on the gas mantle close to their heads. Ralph got in one heavy blow to the stomach and a sharp uppercut to the chin, relishing the crunch of bone on bone, before Adam launched himself, throwing his weight behind a massive shove that sent Ralph stumbling backwards, fighting for balance.
There was space between them, hot and heavy with anger and confusion.
‘Is this because I brought Mrs Jenkins home?’ Adam demanded, the question scraping on his ragged breathing.
‘You can’t leave any sodding thing alone, can you? I told you I was going to bring her back.’
‘The difference between us being that I actually did it.’
Ralph stepped forward. ‘And what for, eh? Not for the old dummy’s benefit. If all you wanted was those bloody exercises, you could have sent one of your precious nurses to the hospital. No, you haven’t done this for your patient, have you? You did it for Carrie.’
‘I did what you were in no hurry to do.’
‘And why the hell should I be when my wife’s busy with her new baby?’
‘It must have torn Carrie apart, knowing her mother had been sent away.’
‘And you’d know, would you?’ Ralph saw caution spring into his brother’s eyes.
‘I know Carrie is devoted to Mrs Jenkins.’ Adam tugged lightly on his sleeves, moved his neck inside his collar, tidying his appearance, though it would take a lot more than that to remove the hectic red marks on chin and cheekbone.
He thought it was over. The bloody fool thought a bit of argy-bargy and it was over. ‘And you’d do anything to ingratiate yourself with Carrie, wouldn’t you?’
‘I’d best go.’
Ralph blocked his path. ‘I don’t think so.’ His blood raced and his heart gave a twist of excitement. ‘I saw the way she looked at you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t try it on with me. I know what I saw.’
Bloody hell, it was Molly all over again.
‘Carrie’s feelings for me are nothing more than gratitude. She endured a difficult birth. The horror of that, and the joy of motherhood – that’s a powerful combination. Of course she feels warmth towards me, but it’s only gratitude.’
‘Gratitude, eh? And what is it called when the doctor gazes at his patient in a certain way?’
Adam stiffened, the implication leeching the colour from his face. ‘She’s my sister-in-law, of whom I’m very fond.’
‘She’s your brother’s wife that you’re panting over.’
He flung himself on Adam once more, employing such force that they were propelled across the floor and crashed into a table. Ralph threw several punches in quick succession, his aim tight and true, giving Adam no time for anything beyond instinctive defence. Adam managed to spin away, immediately turning and flinging himself bodily into Ralph.
They were pummelling and wrestling before they hit the floor, their breath bursting out in loud pants and grunts as they slogged away at one another. Adam was on top, but Ralph bucked and heaved him off, hanging on as Adam staggered up. Ralph yanked him back down, simultaneously flinging his leg across Adam’s body. He threw himself into a sitting position across Adam’s chest, fists ready to bombard him with blows.
Instead, he found himself being pulled in the other direction. Some interfering bastard had grasped him under his armpits and was hauling him clear of the struggle. Well, not for long. Ralph wheeled round, throwing the idiot off and sending him flying, ready to kill him barehanded if it was Arthur bloody Renton daring to intervene.
But it wasn’t; it was one of the ambulance men who had brought back that damn waxwork; and his colleague was hanging on to Adam, an altogether easier job as Adam was obviously happy for the fight to be over. More fool him. Courtesy of the man drawing Adam away, Ralph leapt across and landed a hefty punch to his brother’s guts that doubled him over with a groan. Adam pulled free and threw himself once more at Ralph.
This time both ambulance men set about wrenching Ralph away, but it wasn’t until a third set of arms – Renton’s, sod him – joined in that Ralph felt the odds turn against him. Even now, pushing him up against the wall wasn’t sufficient. They had to clobber him to the floor and throw themselves on top of him.
‘Get out, sir! Just get out!’ yelled one of the ambulance men.
Ralph caught a glimpse of Adam wiping away sweat and smearing blood across his face, before he straightened himself and left.
Renton and the ambulance men eased their hold on him, only to find themselves hurtled aside the instant they dropped their guard. He sprang to his feet.
‘Get off my premises!’ he roared at the ambulance men. ‘Go on – now! – if you know what’s good for you.’
‘We ought to make sure the patient—’
‘Bugger the patient! Sod off!’
Ralph made a move towards them and they practically fell over their feet in their haste. He swung round to fix Renton with his hardest stare. He saw the moment when Renton realised that pitching in had been a godawful mistake.
His voice neutral, Ralph ordered, ‘Back to work.’
Renton looked at him uncertainly, then nodded and turned away. Bloody fool, taking his eyes off the enemy. Ralph stepped forward and planted his heel squarely in the crook of Renton’s knee, bringing him down with a squawk that was instantly cut off when Ralph grabbed him from behind in a vicious headlock.
‘Turn against me, would you? Not a good idea.’
He shoved Renton’s head forward and down in a sharp movement, cutting off his air supply. He held the position for a long moment, and then kept on holding it while Renton twitched in panic.
He bent his face close to Renton’s ear. ‘It would be so easy. Just one quick move and …’
He administered a hard push to the back of Renton’s head, felt the neck bones crunch. Then he threw the hapless bugger aside and stepped over him, going to the stairs.
Sod waiting for the seven o’clock feed. He wanted Carrie and he was bloody well going to have her.
Chapter Thirty-One
After all this time it couldn’t still be adrenaline sloshing through his bloodstream, but it felt like it. Adam was dimly aware of the ice packs and antiseptic he would have prescribed for anyone else, but for himself he couldn’t be bothered. It was dark outside. The maid had been in to draw the curtains and make up the fire. Everyone was in the dining room, leaving a few on duty on the wards.
He reached for his pipe, set it down again. His mind was churning with images of Carrie and Ralph and the disaster the afternoon had degenerated into. It was his fault for taking it upon himself to fetch Mrs Jenkins home; but if he hadn’t, when would it have happened? It obviously hadn’t been top of Ralph’s agenda; quite the reverse. He didn’t want the poor woman under his roof, not that Carrie seemed aware of it. But it was in Mrs Jenkins’ best interests, Carrie’s too, and so Adam had done what needed doing, knowing that Ralph would be furious, but so what? He was pretty bloody angry with his brother for having banished the invalid in the first place.
Not that Ralph’s fury had been just because of Mrs Jenkins. It was because of Carrie and Adam too. Well, because of Adam, anyway. Ralph already suspected Adam of harbouring feelings for Carrie; now he suspected Carrie of returning those feelings. Pain came on Adam, swift and sharp, at the thought of Carrie’s being in danger of retribution. Was Ralph sure? Or did he merely suspect?
Come to that, was he sure himself? Had that moment truly happened? He scrubbed his face with his palms, then groaned as his hands aggravated the bruises and abrasions his brother had hammered into his face. Would Ralph – surely he wouldn’t raise a hand to Carrie? Of course not. He worshipped her. Much as Ralph resented his own attraction to Carrie, he also enjoyed the hopelessness of Adam’s position, relished being the one to possess Carrie.
And there was the operative word: possess.
The sitting room, which became more like an office the longer he occupied it, felt like a prison. Shrugging into his outdoor things, he ran downstairs and out into the chill of the evening.
‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘Oh, it’s you, Geeson.’ A good chap, the groundsman, solid and dependable. Admirable too, when you considered how he had carved out this new life for himself. ‘Yes, fine.’
Beneath the peak of his cap, one eyebrow lifted, shrewd and appraising. ‘Heading somewhere, are you?’
‘Not really.’
‘Walking it off, eh?’
‘S’pose so.’
‘Cold night for heading nowhere, sir. I could offer you a hot toddy, if you’d rather.’
‘Thanks, but no.’
‘Smells like rain. Bruised and cold, and wet to boot; or bruised with summat to warm you through. I know which I’d choose.’
He set off. He made good headway, could cover the ground at a pace that Adam knew must have cost him a deal of pain to build up. He didn’t look back and Adam liked him for it.
He followed, knocking as he opened the door to the cottage that went with the groundsman’s job, stepping across a lobby and finding himself in a kitchen-cum-sitting room.
Geeson, stirring up the fire, had his back to him. ‘Take a pew. Kettle’s on.’
There was a row of pegs on the wall. He hung up his things and took one of the armchairs by the hearth, various aches and pains insisting he lower himself into it gingerly. He wondered how easy it would be to stand up again.
Geeson produced a bottle of Scotch. ‘Courtesy of Jimmy Whitney’s folks.’
He nodded. Jimmy Whitney was their youngest patient, little more than a boy.
‘His dad’s a gent. New money, of course, which is probably why he likes to flash it about. Not that I’m complaining.’ Geeson flicked his fingernails against the bottle with a tinging sound. ‘I helped out when his missus drove their new Bentley into a ditch and Mr Whitney slipped me this next time they came.’
‘Decent of him.’
Geeson caught the kettle before it started to sing, poured a mix of hot water and Scotch into a couple of mugs, and offered one to Adam before setting down his own on a small table to free his hands to manoeuvre himself into the other armchair.
‘I’ve some ointment that might help,’ he remarked, using his mug to gesture at Adam’s face.
‘I’m all right, thanks.’
‘Permission to speak freely, sir? It fair pisses me off to see someone deliberately hanging on to an injury they could see off in half the time with a bit of treatment. Look at you. A cold compress would work wonders, but will you bother? It’s by way of an insult, sir, to them of us as have injuries we can’t do owt about.’
Fair enough. ‘I’ll apply ice packs when I get back – although,’ he added ruefully, ‘I’m not sure where to start.’
‘What happened? Walk into a door, did you? That’s what my sister allus says when her husband belts her one. A bad bugger, he is. Pity the war didn’t do for him. What about yourself, sir? Or tell me to mind my own business.’
Adam took a swig to buy himself a moment. He had a lot of time for Geeson. The man had intelligence and compassion and Adam knew that anything said inside these four walls would stay here.
He indicated his face. ‘My brother’s handiwork.’
‘The antiques bloke. Presumably not a punch-up over something precious?’
‘Something unspeakably precious. Carrie – his wife.’
‘You haven’t—?’
‘No.’ He would never attempt to take advantage of Carrie. Except that – there it was again, that moment in her room when the rumpus in the flat evaporated, leaving them together inside a vast silence filled with astonishment and realisation. They had shared a look, nothing more, yet that look had connected them, made them understand they were bound together. Carrie had felt it too, hadn’t she?
‘But your brother knows?’
He drew a deep breath, realised what he was about to do and quickly expelled it. He had no business sighing like a lovesick fool. ‘He guessed a while back. Then today … Long story, but I did something he should have done and it riled him.’
‘So the fight was over that, not his missus?’
‘I was about to say it was both, but the honest answer is, it was over
Carrie.’
‘Another man’s wife, son.’
He had gone from sir to son. Geeson had a few years on him, but not that many. Fifteen, tops.
‘Did she choose between you when she married him?’
‘She didn’t know I was interested. And I had no idea Ralph was.’
‘Or that might have given you the kick up the jacksy you needed?’ Geeson swirled the dregs of his hot toddy round the bottom of his mug. ‘Pretty poor excuse, if you ask me. If you couldn’t be bothered on your own account …’
A flush of resentment made his bruises burn. ‘Her mother was my patient.’
Levering himself up, Geeson took Adam’s mug and put the kettle on again. ‘You could have put her under Doctor Todd.’
‘Ditch a patient to pursue her daughter? I’d never do something so crass.’
‘Bet you wish now you had.’
‘I thought I was doing the right thing – hell and damnation, it was the right thing. I was going to get Mrs Jenkins’ treatment started and I also wanted to give Carrie time. I didn’t want to take advantage.’
‘So what did she see in your brother?’ Geeson thrust the replenished mug into his hands.
‘He must have laid siege to her. It happened quickly.’
‘That might seem romantic to a girl.’
Adam shrugged. ‘He married her by special licence. I wanted to rush round there and say, “Don’t marry him. Marry me instead.” Only, of course, I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
He had expected sympathy, not a challenge. ‘Well – decent chaps don’t try to steal other blokes’ girls, certainly not their own brother’s girl.’
The Deserter's Daughter Page 21
