‘Who was that with you? I saw you. I saw you kissing him. I’ll kill him. Tell me . . .’ He shook her. ‘Who was it?’
Mary Ann gave a nervous laugh and tried to make light of it. She was afraid and yet a feeling of exhilaration flooded through her. He must really love her to get so jealous.
‘It was only Dan.’
‘Dan who?’ he shot back.
‘Dan Ruddick. He walked me home, that’s all. One of them always does.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked harshly. ‘One of them?’
‘One of the Ruddicks. I lived with them before I came here. Didn’t you know?’
His grip began to slacken a little, but a new fear was creeping through Mary Ann’s veins now. Did he not know who she was? Did he not know her background or her terrible past?
He was calmer, but his tone was still sharp as he asked, ‘Why did you live with them? Are they your family?’
‘Sort of. They took me in after my parents . . .’ She hesitated only momentarily before adding, ‘Died.’
‘The Ruddicks?’ he said slowly and thoughtfully. ‘They live in Waterman’s Yard, don’t they?’
Quietly, Mary Ann said, ‘Yes.’
‘And your surname is?’
Almost inaudibly, she said, ‘Clark.’
‘Mary Ann Clark.’ He said the name as if realization had just come to him.
She looked up at him, desperately afraid now that she was going to see his face twisted with anger and revulsion, but it was expressionless as he stared down at her for what, to Mary Ann, holding her breath, seemed an interminable age.
Then slowly, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. ‘You poor little thing. I never realized who you were. What a dreadful thing to happen to anyone. And to someone as sweet and lovely as you.’
Joy and relief flooded through her. She put her arms about his waist and buried her face against his chest. ‘Oh Randolph, Randolph. You do love me.’
He drew her to the hearth and they lay down together. That evening his lovemaking was gentle and giving and, more than ever, Mary Ann believed herself secure in his love.
Twenty-Six
‘Mary Ann? Whatever are you doing creeping about the house at this time of the night?’
In her flight from Randolph’s arms back to her own room, Mary Ann froze at the sound of Edwina’s voice.
It had to happen. Night after night, she had been going to Randolph’s room for several weeks now and it was only a matter of time before another member of the household caught her. Mary Ann didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry that that person was Miss Edwina.
‘Are you ill, my dear?’ Edwina came towards her and then, as she saw her more clearly, ‘Why, you’re still fully dressed.’ Mary Ann saw Edwina’s mouth tighten as she asked, ‘Have you only just come in? Oh really, Mary Ann. No wonder you are so tired sometimes during the day. And there I was blaming myself for having perhaps expected too much of you, involving you in teaching too. You really must come home earlier than this. I shall have to speak to Bessie—’
‘No,’ Mary Ann interrupted. ‘No, please don’t do that. I . . . I won’t let it happen again, Miss Edwina. I promise.’
‘Well,’ Edwina said doubtfully. ‘Just mind you don’t. Run along now and get to bed.’
Her heart still thumping, Mary Ann sped along the corridor and up the back stairs. She would have to tell Randolph what had happened. Maybe he would agree to tell everyone the truth now.
But in the morning, Mary Ann rose with tired eyes to hear from the servants’ gossip that Mr Randolph had left The Hall early that morning and would not return for four or five days.
‘Where’s he gone?’ Mary Ann asked, without thinking.
‘That’s no concern of yours,’ Mrs Goodrick snapped, ‘or of mine.’ A slow smirk stretched her mouth, but what purported to be a smile did not reach the woman’s eyes. ‘Not that I don’t know, of course.’
‘So?’ Mary Ann stood her ground. ‘Where has he gone?’
Mrs Goodrick raised her forefinger to wag in Mary Ann’s face, but before she could do so, Clara said smugly. ‘He’s gone to Yorkshire again, I bet.’
Mary Ann wheeled around upon the hapless housemaid. ‘Yorkshire? Why? Why’s he gone to Yorkshire?’
‘Ah,’ Clara said. There was a glint in her small, piggy eyes that sat in her round, podgy face. The girl suffered from facial acne and, this morning, the crop of spots around her chin was particularly fiery. ‘That’d be telling.’
At that moment the bell above the door tinkled and Mrs Goodrick smoothed down her white apron. ‘That’s the mistress wanting me in the morning room. You two, get on with your work and be quick about it.’
Clara turned away, but as the door closed behind the cook, Mary Ann reached out and grasped the girl by her hair, almost wrenching the white lace cap from the girl’s head. ‘You just tell me what you mean, Clara Dobson, else I’ll pull your hair out by its roots.’
Clara let out such a shriek and then began to scream so loudly that Mary Ann let go of her hair at once. ‘Shut up,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll have the whole household down here.’
Clara backed away from her, her mouth wide in a series of shrill cries. ‘Get away. Get away. Don’t touch me.’
The kitchen door burst open and Mrs Goodrick hurried in again, swiftly followed by Edwina.
‘Whatever’s going on?’ the cook began. ‘Stop that silly noise, girl.’
‘She was going to kill me. She’s a bad ’un. She’ll murder all of us in our beds. Just like her father did.’
‘Clara!’ Edwina’s voice was shocked. ‘I will not have such talk in this house. You will apologize to Mary Ann this instant.’
Clara was crying now. Great wracking sobs were shaking her whole body. ‘It was ’er, Miss Edwina. She pulled me hair. Just ’cos I wouldn’t tell her where Mr Randolph has gone.’
‘Mr . . .?’ Edwina began, astonishment in her tone. Then Mary Ann felt her questioning gaze upon her. Quietly now, Edwina said, ‘I think you’d better come with me, Mary Ann. Mrs Goodrick, will you deal with Clara, please?’
With that, Edwina turned and left the kitchen. Subdued now, Mary Ann followed her. Edwina led the way up the stairs to the privacy of her own bedroom. She opened the door and stood aside for Mary Ann to enter the room. Then she closed the door.
Mary Ann stood in the centre of the pretty bedroom, a mutinous look on her face. Edwina leant against the door for a moment and Mary Ann felt her watching her. Edwina crossed the room to the window and sat down in a chair. She did not invite Mary Ann to sit down, but left the girl standing where she was.
‘Now,’ Edwina began. Her voice was still low. Edwina rarely raised her voice but now there was steeliness to her tone. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
Mary Ann glanced at her. Edwina’s eyes were shrewd and knowing and for a moment Mary Ann held her breath. There would be no point in lying to Miss Edwina, she thought. Edwina would know and she would then be in deeper trouble.
If only, she thought, Randolph had not gone away. And without telling her too. He might have said something last night, but as she remembered the previous evening, she knew that all such thoughts must have been driven out of his mind. Just like there had been no room for anyone else in her mind but him.
‘Why are you smiling, Mary Ann?’ Edwina’s voice cut into her erotic memories of their passionate lovemaking.
‘I just . . .’ Mary Ann began hesitantly. ‘I just wanted to know where Ra—, where Mr Randolph had gone, miss. That’s all.’
Edwina’s eyes narrowed, and even Mary Ann, for all her boldness, found the young woman’s gaze disconcerting.
‘And why should that concern you?’
Mary Ann manufactured a disinterested shrug, but she knew that she could not deceive Edwina. Not for long. Already, Mary Ann could see the realization dawning in Edwina’s face. Then Edwina closed her eyes momentarily and gave a low groan and murmured
, ‘Oh no. Not again.’ She sighed and stood up and then she crossed the room towards Mary Ann and put her hand out to take the girl’s arm gently. ‘Come. Sit down with me. We must talk and I want you to be absolutely truthful with me, Mary Ann. For your own sake, my dear, as much as anyone else’s. Do you understand me?’
Mutely, Mary Ann nodded and allowed herself to be led towards the window where Edwina pushed her gently into a chair. Then she sat down beside her. ‘Tell me, am I right in thinking that you had been to Randolph’s study last night when I bumped into you on the stairs?’
Edwina’s gaze was penetrating, yet not angry or unkind, just dreadfully anxious.
Mary Ann swallowed and her eyes widened. There was nothing else she could do but whisper, ‘Yes.’
‘And?’
Now Mary Ann turned rebellious. ‘And what?’
‘What happened? Did he try to . . . try to . . .?’
The truth burst from her lips. Why should she keep it secret any longer? Why shouldn’t the whole world know the truth?
‘He didn’t try anything. Randolph loves me. He said so. We’re to be married. I know he wants to marry me.’
Edwina gasped and the colour drained from her face. ‘Did . . . did Randolph say that to you? Did Randolph ask you to marry him, Mary Ann?’
The girl stared at her. For a brief, terrifying moment, a sliver of fear crept into her heart. ‘Not yet. He hasn’t actually asked me yet. But he will. I know he will. That’s what people do when they’re in love. They get married.’
She knew her words must be like shafts through Edwina’s heart, reminding her of her own lost love, but at this moment Mary Ann didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. She was safe in Randolph’s love. It was an armour that shielded her, protected her and gave her strength against the likes of Mrs Goodrick and Clara. Even against Miss Edwina.
Edwina was shaking her head sadly. ‘Oh my dear Mary Ann. I am so sorry my brother has deceived you in this way. I should have known. I should never have brought you here. Into this house.’ Her mouth tightened and now there was a flash of anger in her fine eyes. It was not directed at Mary Ann, but at her absent, callous rake of a brother. Her next words were like a death knell to all Mary Ann’s hopes and dreams.
‘Randolph is engaged to a girl in Yorkshire and has been for the past twelve months. He will never marry you, my dear.’
Twenty-Seven
Mary Ann flew to her attic bedroom and slammed the door. She threw herself on to the bed and gave way to a storm of hysterical weeping.
‘Mary Ann, let me in. I’ve got to change my clothes.’ Clara’s plaintive voice was at the door, but Mary Ann did not answer.
A few minutes later there was a sharp rap on the door and Nellie Goodrick shouted, ‘Open this door at once or it’ll be the worse for you, miss.’
Still, Mary Ann made no reply. Only when Edwina knocked and said in her gentle way, ‘Please, Mary Ann, let me come in. Let me talk to you, my dear,’ did she respond, her voice muffled with tears, ‘Go away and leave me alone.’
She refused even to open the door so that Clara could come to her bed. She neither knew nor cared where the girl spent the night. Not until lunchtime the following day, when she heard that Randolph was back, did Mary Ann wash her face, tidy her hair, smooth down her dress and open the door to go downstairs. She marched straight through the great hall to Randolph’s den. Anger now carrying her along, she was determined to face him.
She didn’t even bother to knock but flung the door wide and stepped into the room.
‘What the . . .?’ he began, rising from his chair behind the desk. ‘Oh,’ he said then, sinking back. ‘It’s you.’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ she said and stood before his desk. ‘Is it true? Are you going to marry a girl in Yorkshire?’
Frowning, Randolph stood up again. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ she screamed at him. ‘When you seduced me in this very room. There . . .’ She flung out her arm towards the hearthrug. ‘Right there. You made love to me and whispered promises you didn’t mean to keep. How dare you say it has nothing to do with me?’
He moved around the desk to stand in front of her. His eyes glittered with anger and his mouth twisted in a sneer. His handsome face, even to the besotted Mary Ann, was suddenly ugly. ‘You didn’t really think I would marry you, did you? Not even you could be so naïve, surely?’
Mary Ann gasped, staring up at him, shocked now at the change in the man she loved. Then she narrowed her eyes calculatingly as she said, ‘What if I was to tell you I’m expecting your child?’
He returned her gaze with equal calculation. ‘Are you?’ he asked dispassionately.
‘What if I was?’
He shrugged. ‘You’d be taken care of.’ Then with a cold smile, completely devoid of any feeling, he added, ‘Just like several before you have been.’
‘I hate you,’ Mary Ann spat between clenched teeth, and she balled her fists and pummelled his chest. ‘I hope I never see you again as long as you live.’
He caught hold of her wrists and held her fast. ‘Mary Ann, my little Mary Ann.’ Now his voice was soft and seductive and his sudden change of tone was her undoing. She was trembling at his touch. She loved him, she couldn’t help it. However badly he treated her, she could not stop loving him. She gave a sob and fell against him. He put his arms around her and kissed her hair. ‘My dear, dear girl, you must understand, in my world, in my family, one cannot always marry where one’s heart lies. It is my duty, but I will always . . .’
She dragged herself free of him, anger surging through her once more. She was on a seesaw of emotion – one moment she loved him – the next she hated him and the violence of her passion frightened her. She wanted to hit him, to wipe that arrogant, self-confident smile off his face. She really felt in that instant as if she could kill him. ‘Duty?’ she screamed at him again. ‘What do you mean, duty? If you loved me, you wouldn’t be planning to marry someone else.’
Randolph spread his hands, as if in helplessness. ‘I have to, Mary Ann, but it doesn’t mean . . .’
‘Oh yes, it does. I’m leaving and I’ll never see you again.’
She whirled around and made for the door, but his voice followed her mockingly, ‘I don’t think you mean that, my dear. If I so much as crooked my little finger, I think you’d come running.’
‘Aw lass, whatever’s the matter?’
Mary Ann flew into Bessie’s open arms, weeping hysterically.
‘There, there,’ Bessie tried to soothe her.
Mary Ann clung to her, burying her face against the stout woman’s shoulders. ‘Oh Auntie Bessie, Auntie Bessie. He said he loved me. I know he loves me. They’re wrong. They’re all wrong.’
‘Who? Who are you talking about? Now come, lass. Stop that crying and tell me what’s happened.’ Bessie was firm now.
‘Perhaps I can enlighten you, Bessie.’ Edwina’s calm voice spoke behind them. Her tone was flat with disappointment and concern.
‘Oh Miss Edwina. I didn’t know you’d come with her. Come in, come in. Sit down. I’ll make some tea.’
Edwina held up her hand. ‘Please don’t trouble, Bessie. We need to talk to you before your menfolk come home. Mary Ann.’ Her tone took on a note of firmness, too. ‘Now stop that crying.’
But Mary Ann only wailed louder.
Bessie disentangled herself from the girl’s clinging arms and took hold of her. Gently she shook her. ‘Stop that this instant and sit down.’
Mary Ann’s cries rose hysterically until, with a desperate glance at Edwina, Bessie raised her hand and slapped the girl smartly on the cheek. The noise ceased and for a moment Mary Ann seemed not to breathe. Shocked, she stared at Bessie and then collapsed weeping into Bert’s big armchair.
‘I think I’ll make that tea, miss, if you don’t mind. I could do with some, ne’er mind anyone else.’
Edwina nodded and, whilst Bessie swiftly mashed a pot of
tea from the kettle that was already boiling over the fire in the range, she patted Mary Ann’s shoulder and talked quietly to her. By the time Bessie had poured out three cups of tea, the young girl’s sobs had subsided to inconsolable hiccups.
‘Now,’ said Bessie briskly. ‘Will one of you please tell me what is going on?’
‘I’m afraid it’s my brother, Randolph, up to his old tricks, Bessie,’ Edwina began as she took the cup and saucer handed to her.
Mary Ann felt them both look at her and then exchange a knowing glance between them. Then they began to talk almost as if Mary Ann were not present.
Edwina sighed heavily. ‘You know what he’s like. What he’s always been like. Two young girls have been dismissed in the past because they were pregnant, and in each case they swore that Randolph was the father of their babies. Another left, also pregnant, but loyally refused to name the father.’ Edwina sighed. ‘But I always had my own suspicions. Goodness knows how much my father must be paying out even now to help those poor girls.’
Mary Ann saw Bessie’s lips tighten and felt her glance upon her, but for the moment, she said nothing.
‘It seems,’ Edwina went on sadly, ‘that he has filled Mary Ann’s head with the notion that he is in love with her. The poor child believed he would marry her. Then she found out that he had gone to Yorkshire. She locked herself in her room. Not one of us could get her to come out. I was on the point of coming to you for help, Bessie, but then Randolph returned.’
‘Yorkshire?’ Bessie looked puzzled.
Edwina nodded. ‘That’s where Celia Thompson lives. Randolph’s fiancée. He’d gone to see her to . . . to discuss plans for their wedding.’
‘And does this Miss Thompson know about his philandering?’ Bessie asked harshly.
Edwina smiled wryly. ‘You don’t mince your words, do you, Bessie?’
‘Never have, miss, and I doubt I’ll start now.’ For a brief moment the two women shared an intimacy borne of their long knowledge of each other, which excluded Mary Ann. Then Edwina sighed heavily. ‘I doubt it. And I expect he’ll carry on just as before even once they are married.’
The River Folk Page 17
