‘Sign here!’
The paper shoved ungraciously across the desk Saran released the other woman’s hand and as Bridget bent to sign turned towards the nurse re-entering the room.
It had felt like being caught in a dream. Sat at the bedside of the sleeping girl, Saran watched the face which had held such a hopeless lost look, the dark-circled hazel-green eyes empty of all save deep unhappiness when she was brought to that doctor’s office. Remembering now, Saran felt again the pain-filled surge that had rushed through her, snatching at her breath, tipping her heart sideways. The child had stood silent beside the white-aproned nurse, her small hands twitching nervously, her whole thin frame jerking visibly when the doctor told her sharply to hold her head up.
The child had obeyed like some wound-up toy then those vacant eyes had filled with tears and the thin arms had reached out, one word whispering across the room.
Her own breath quivering as it had then, Saran’s veins quickened with the same overwhelming rush, but now pity was mixed with happiness.
Bridget Minch had given one sideways glance to Saran’s own face then had taken the trembling child into her arms, hurrying her out to the waiting hansom, and only when the sanatorium was out of sight did she release her. Then, the veil still lowered over her face, she had smiled, her voice low as she said, ‘Take her, Miss Chandler, take your sister.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Livvy Elwell spoke quietly, breaking the reverie. ‘I mean, why say she was her daughter?’
‘I asked the same.’ Saran touched gentle fingers to the fair hair so like her own. ‘The woman was forbidden ever to see or communicate with Miriam, she had to take the chance Zadok had given no name to the institution, and that they therefore would list her under his name.’
‘But at least Zadok paid her keep.’
Saran shook her head, the pain of the full story still raw in her mind. ‘No, not Zadok. That was done by Bridget. She knew he had wiped his hands of the child, put her away for life knowing, when the promised fee did not arrive, that she would be turned out on the streets. Bridget could not bear that. Out of all the children her husband had used and then sold on, this girl was the only one she might have the chance to help, so though the thought of being found out terrified her she sold anything it was hoped he would not miss, putting as much of the housekeeping to the proceeds as she dared, and that way found enough for Miriam to be kept at that place. But even so she was put as a maid in the scullery.’
‘But why not just turn her out, why did Zadok Minch put himself to so much trouble?’
Meeting Livvy’s eyes across the bed, Saran’s face showed the strength of her feelings. ‘He could not take the risk of her telling anyone of his vileness, of what he was trying to do with her, how she had been stripped, how his filthy hands were stroking her when my mother burst into that bedroom, how he whipped her to death before Miriam’s eyes then did almost the same to her when she screamed, whipping her until she went into so deep a shock she could not speak; but there was always the danger she would recover her voice, therefore it was the institution for her. No doubt she was handed over with a host of lies about delusions and self-torture.’
‘The scars on her back . . . that was how he explained them! May the man rot in hell.’
‘She never did tell anyone.’ Saran’s eyes sparkled with silver tears. ‘She never spoke a single word from that day, not even her name.’
Sighing heavily, Livvy rose. ‘Thank God Bridget Minch remembered it, and thank God Gideon Newell told her of you. We all have a lot to thank that man for.’
Kissing the brow of the sister she was almost afraid to lose from her sight, Saran followed the other woman downstairs. Alone in the bright kitchen the echo of Livvy’s words played in her mind. They did all have much to thank Gideon Newell for, but when she had tried to express hers he had simply nodded then turned and walked away.
Luke had brought the answer. Gideon Newell would come to Brook Cottage.
Nerves throbbing more than they had in that sanatorium Saran smoothed her green skirts for the tenth time. This was ridiculous, she told herself sharply. Gideon Newell was not some monster from a childhood fairy tale, he was a perfectly ordinary man, so why did her hands shake and her heart beat like a drum? Because Gideon Newell was no ordinary man, not to her: he was the man she loved.
Luke had refused to stay with her. ‘This be your business, Saran,’ he had declared emphatically. ‘I’ll have naught to do with it one way or the other.’
He had never refused her anything before but in the question of the Coronet Tube Works he had proved adamant. The tube works was hers, she must do with it as she saw fit; all he would say was she should ask the advice of Gideon Newell.
Would he tell her what Luke had already told her, that she must run her own business her own way? Should she even ask his advice? He and Luke had enough to think about with their own works.
The knock at the door ended the thought abruptly. Saran’s hands brushed her skirts again, then fell to her sides as she admonished herself for being a fool. She would say exactly the words rehearsed so many times in her mind . . . no more and no less.
‘Luke said you wanted to speak with me.’
Yes, I want to speak with you, I want to tell you I love you. Blushing at the words springing silently to her mind, Saran led the way towards the parlour she had furnished with pretty chintzes and deep comfortable chairs, the gleam of amber-shaded lamps casting a glow whose gentle light usually served to calm but tonight seemed to add to the turmoil inside her.
Why did he not sit! Twisting her fingers together, conscious of the even stare of those blue-grey eyes, she sought for a way to begin.
‘Has . . .’ she swallowed but the tightness in her throat refused to release its grip, ‘has Luke intimated what it is I wish to speak with you about?’
Why was he making this so difficult? Saran watched the curt nod. Had he already decided, like Luke, that she should be responsible for herself, make her own decisions? Well, if that was so she should begin right now. Drawing a deep breath she looked at the man who smiled at her only in dreams.
‘Mr Newell,’ she said, praying her voice would not tremble, ‘the iron works you and Luke have on Monway Field I believe does not have the capacity to produce enough metal to meet with the orders placed your way, this results in a loss of business. The Coronet Works, too, has that problem, therefore I suggested Luke discuss a merger, one works producing only iron, the other concentrating on tubes; a joining between us—’
‘No!’ The vehemence of the word seemed to vibrate from every part of the tiny parlour, bouncing from glass vases set above the fireplace, ringing from crystal pendants hanging from the pretty amber lampshades. ‘No!’ He said it again. ‘There can be no merger between us!’
Taken aback by the veracity of the reply, Saran took a moment before asking, ‘Why? Why will you not join with me – is it because I am a woman?’
The question hanging between them it seemed he would turn and leave without answer, but of a sudden his hands clenched and his brows drew together, words grinding like pebbles between his teeth. ‘Yes, yes, it is because you are a woman! But you are not any woman, you are the one woman in the world I could not stand to speak with every day, to look at and be with . . .’
The almost savage virulence, the cold anger drawing the handsome face into peaked lines, the eyes which seemed to burn with fury were too much to bear and Saran turned away, a soft cry trapped in her throat. He must hate her so much.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, ‘I should not have asked you to come to this house. I . . . I did not realise you felt so strongly . . . please forget the joining of . . .’
‘I can forget that easily enough, for that is not the joining I want.’
The anger had gone as swiftly as it had flared, the words spoken so quietly he could have meant only himself to hear. But it was not what he said had the heart turn in her body, it was the way he had said it, with a tende
rness, a softness which was almost a yearning. Turning quickly she saw, for one unguarded moment, the echo of that tenderness reflected in the look he played on her, but on the instant it was masked.
But her own emotions were not so easily hidden, and when she turned to face him her eyes sparkled with the sheen of tears.
‘Saran! Saran, for God’s sake!’
It was the cry of a man at the end of his tether but as he swept her into his arms Saran felt no pity, only a wonderful heady joy, an exquisite rush along every tingling nerve.
‘Saran!’
The whisper became a kiss as she lifted her face to his, a kiss whose demand rocked the world.
‘Now you see!’ He released her abruptly. ‘Now you see why I could not stand to be with you every day, it’s because I love you. Perhaps, now it has been said, I can forget it.’
He loved her. He did not hate her, he loved her! The room about her was filled with a golden haze of happiness and she smiled. ‘Gideon, I don’t want you to forget, I don’t want you ever to forget, because I love you, I think I always have.’
For one eternal moment Gideon did not move, then, with a catch of breath that might have been a sob, he snatched her to him, his mouth crushing hers, his arms locked about her as if he would never release her again.
‘Oh, my love,’ he whispered when his lips left hers, ‘my one love, I’ve wanted you so long.’
Held against his strong body Saran felt her whole world settle into place.
‘But there be one walks beside you, his future locked with yours. Give him your trust, for through him you find what it is you seek.’
A whisper in her mind, the words of Harriet Dowen returned. It had been Gideon had persuaded her to meet with Zadok’s widow, through him she had found her family.
‘through him you find what it is you seek’
The words persisted, and now she understood. Her family had not been all she had longed for – she had longed for love, the love of the man who held her now.
‘give him your trust’
Lifting her lips, her eyes closed beneath his kiss. For the rest of her life he would have that trust.
‘The Coronet Works?’ It was a lifetime later she asked the question. ‘Will you agree to their being joined?’
‘The only joining I want is ours . . . in marriage,’ Gideon smiled, ‘but if merging the businesses is what you want then, if Luke agrees, so will I.’
‘And Luke, he will be a full partner?’
His eyes filled with love he caught her again in his arms, his words a gentle song against her hair. ‘Not in everything,’ he murmured. ‘Luke will be a full partner but only in the business. You, my dearest, are mine alone, I will never share you with anyone . . . my darling little sixpenny girl.’
About the Author
Meg Hutchinson left school at fifteen and didn’t return to education until she was thirty-three, when she entered Teacher Training College and studied for her degree in the evenings. She lived for sixty years in Wednesbury, where her parents and grandparents spent all their lives, but now has a quiet little cottage in Shropshire where she can indulge her passion for storytelling. It is a passion that has reaped dividends, with her novels regularly appearing in bestseller lists.
Also by Meg Hutchinson
Abel’s Daughter
For the Sake of Her Child
A Handful of Silver
No Place of Angels
A Promise Given
Bitter Seed
A Love Forbidden
Pit Bank Wench
Child of Sin
No Place for a Woman
The Judas Touch
Unholy Love
Peppercorn Woman
The Deverell Woman
Writing as Margaret Astbury
The Hitch-Hiker
The Seal
Sixpenny Girl Page 38
