by Emma Hornby
In desperation, she focused her concentration on the flowers once more; following tradition since the park opened, they formed the name of Bolton’s current mayor. But her distracted stare refused to linger on the letters for too long and, all too soon, her mind strayed to thoughts of the abhorrent words she must soon speak. That terrible, existence-shattering truth …
‘Hello. Miss Nightingale, isn’t it?’
The easy tone from close by had her whipping her head around as though the speaker had yelled the greeting into her ear.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Jewel squinted up in surprise. She glanced to the man’s side but the mischievous toddler she’d first seen him with in this park was absent.
‘How are you?’
‘I … I’m well, ta.’ She nodded in confusion when he indicated if he could sit. He lowered himself on to the step beside her and her brow creased. ‘You called me Miss Nightingale. How do you know my name?’
‘You don’t remember?’
Her frown deepened. ‘Remember …? But we’ve never passed words.’
‘Yes, indeed, that much is true.’
‘Sorry, I don’t under—’
‘No need to apologise; after all, you’d had quite the shock that day, when you …’ He paused to clear his throat.
Realisation brought embarrassment to her eyes and heat to her cheeks. She recognised his voice now all right. ‘The day I walked in front of a passing cart?’ she finished for him quietly.
‘Yes, well.’ He shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘We all make mistakes.’
Was that a hint of amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth? she asked herself. Anger rose within her. He was mocking her? Just who the hell did he believe himself to be to even think of taking such a liberty with someone he barely knew? As far as she could see, it was no bloody laughing matter. Sod him, too. Sod them all! She rose abruptly.
‘Oh. I do hope you’re not leaving on my account?’ he asked, almost disappointedly.
She released a soft snort. This one didn’t half think a lot of himself. ‘I’m due in work.’
‘You’re employed at Mr Powell’s premises in the square, is that so?’
‘That’s right.’ She rearranged her shawl, nodded a stiff farewell and set off across the grounds.
However, after only a few steps, Jewel found herself reluctantly turning back towards him. He was her uncle’s acquaintance – and a gentleman, to boot. Bernard wouldn’t be best pleased to learn she’d acted rudely towards him. And when all was said and done, he had come to her aid that day, had carried her back to the umbrella shop. ‘I … well, your assistance after my accident … Thank you.’
The man stared at her for a moment. Then, smiling, he held out a hand. ‘Maxwell Birch.’
She felt her hand slip into his. ‘Jewel.’
‘What an interesting name.’
‘So I’m told.’ Surprising herself further, she resumed her seat beside him.
‘You have some time to spare after all?’
‘Aye, mebbe. Well, a little.’ Colour touched her cheeks again. She shot a sidelong glance to see him smiling wryly and, this time, her own lips twitched in response.
She would have guessed him to be in his middle fifties. A slight dusting of grey at his temples correlated with her assumption, although this only added agreeably to his looks. His broad upper arms and shoulders and firm-looking thighs showed her he took care of his physical fitness – no doubt chasing around after his live-wire daughter helped with that. Besides the laughter creases around his deep brown eyes, his open face was unlined. Perhaps his nose was a little too large and his lips a little too thin but, nonetheless, he cut an attractive figure.
Bringing her gaze back to the flowerbed before he noticed her staring, she said, ‘Sorry, Mr Birch, for being short with thee earlier. It’s just—’
‘You believed I was poking fun at you,’ he observed mildly. ‘I wasn’t, you know. It was simply my attempt to lighten the mood but, evidently, it failed miserably.’ His smile broadened. ‘You see? We do all make mistakes from time to time.’
‘Aye.’ But God above, me more than most, she added in her mind.
‘Your uncle is most fond of you.’
A stirring of pleasure chased away Jewel’s misery. She smiled. ‘He told you that?’
‘He didn’t have to. It was clear to see upon him realising that the girl lying by the roadside was his niece.’ Maxwell turned fully to look at her now and all traces of laughter had left his face. ‘I’m senior clerk at the Bank of Bolton, and it was during my meeting with Mr Powell that the incident occurred.’
She nodded. Puzzlement had brought her brows together at the sudden seriousness of his tone. ‘It was fortunate that he was close by, that he spotted me, aye.’
‘Miss Nightingale …’ He paused to run a hand through his thick hair.
‘Yes?’
‘It was I who alerted your uncle. I saw it happen from the window.’ His voice dropped. ‘I saw it all.’
‘You did?’ She swallowed hard when he nodded. Further words deserted her. She could only stare at him dumbly. Then was he aware it had been no accident, that she’d intended for that horse to hit her …?
‘Why did you do it?’
Oh, he was aware all right. His quiet question hung between them. She closed her eyes.
‘Miss Nightingale?’
‘Yes?’ she whispered.
‘What on earth prompts a young woman such as yourself, with her whole life ahead of her, to attempt … Why?’ he repeated.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Nay.’
‘However, you don’t deny it?’
Jewel opened her eyes. They were blurry with tears. ‘I did intend it, you’re right. It were a mistake, mind; I see it now and I regret it. It were nowt but a second of madness.’ What was she doing? Why in the world was she admitting this to him? He had a way of putting you at your ease, making you comfortable in his presence … Sudden panic gripped her. She turned wide eyes to him. ‘You’ll not tell anyone – not the police?’ Suicide was, after all, a criminal offence. ‘Surely not my uncle? Please, I … I were wrong, I know it now. I’ll never do it again, nay, never.’
‘I rather think you should be the one to tell—’
‘Nay. I can’t!’
‘Miss Nightingale.’ Maxwell’s voice was low, gentle. ‘Your family would be only too willing to help with whatever it is that troubles you, I’m certain.’
‘Please …’
‘You must understand my predicament. If you were to attempt something similar and the results next time proved disastrous, I would never forgive myself for keeping my silence—’
‘I shan’t. Mr Birch, I told thee, it were but a daft, brainless mistake.’
‘Be honest with them. I’m sure—’
‘I’ll be going now.’ On shaky legs, she rose and backed off towards the park gates. Scalding tears clogging her throat threatened to choke her. To think she’d believed that things couldn’t get any worse. Here was just another of her sins set to be exposed. Her mother would die from the shame of it all, she would, without doubt.
Maxwell called her name but, shaking her head, she turned and hurried away.
He thought her insane. Of course he did, and who could blame him? Perhaps she was. She didn’t even know herself any more.
Troubles ran on in her mind, unrelenting as she trudged through the dank-coloured streets. The gentleman she’d just fled from believed her capable of attempting self-murder again, at any given time, and was worried that he was privy to the fact. That she’d dragged yet another innocent being into this putrid mess! Just how many decent people’s lives would she taint or ruin completely before all this was over?
Right now, she didn’t class Benji as being half to blame. She’d been the one to agree to lie with him, after all. She was the elder, supposedly had more common sense. Hadn’t he been
after her for months? She’d been well aware of it; his hungry eyes and hands when he was around her made it impossible not to be. She should never have let herself get into the inebriated state she had, shouldn’t have let herself – let the two of them – get into the situation they had.
Without question, fault lay with her. However much people would hate her once the truth got out, it wouldn’t even begin to touch the level of black loathing she carried for herself.
*
Benji was lounging behind the counter looking bored when Jewel entered. She glanced around. ‘You here alone?’
‘Aye. I ain’t sure when Mam and Father will be back – they’ve gone calling on a sick friend or summat – but Aunt Flora should be here shortly, thank God.’ He released a theatrical sigh. ‘It ain’t half dull in here.’
He looked like a spoilt youngster who had been told he couldn’t go out to play. God above, to think she was to have a child with him … He was nowhere near mature enough for this – well, obviously he wasn’t, he was fif-bloody-teen! she reminded herself, angry tears threatening. Just what the hell was she going to do?
‘Make a fresh sup, eh, Jewel?’
Nodding distractedly, she made for the door that led to the Powells’ living quarters. As she collected cups and spooned tea from the caddy into the small teapot, she rehearsed in a whisper the conversation she must have with her cousin: ‘Benji, listen, our night together …’ She paused to close her eyes, grimacing. Just uttering those words made her feel sick.
However, she must. There was no putting this off any longer. Best she made him aware of the circumstances before the rest of the family heard it. At least then, she’d be a little better prepared, would know his feelings on the matter. He might even come up with some sort of solution … She dismissed the last notion immediately. What in God’s name could he think up? There was nothing that would remedy this, was there?
The spoon clattered noisily as she threw it inside the cup with a cry of frustration. Splaying her hands on the table, she closed her eyes again, her breathing ragged. Hearing footsteps behind her, she forced herself to regain her composure, though her chest burned with unshed anguish. She rescued the spoon and reached for the caddy once more, saying over her shoulder, ‘Benji, you shouldn’t leave the shop; I’ll fetch the tea down.’
‘Well, when? I’m parched.’
‘When it’s bloody ready,’ she snapped, turning towards him, hands on hips. ‘You’ll think so, should your mam and father return and catch you leaving the business unattended. Go on, get back down, will thee?’
‘Customers are slow this time of day.’
‘Even so—’
‘We’ll be all right for a few minutes.’
She’d returned her attention to the teapot – now, at his last quiet statement, she swivelled around again. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ She frowned when he didn’t answer. ‘Well?’
Benji moved so quickly that Jewel didn’t have time to process what was happening until it was too late. His chubby hand groped clumsily at her breast and, after initial shock, blistering fury gushed through her veins. She staggered back against the table. Then she struck out with all her might, landing a deafening backhander across his stunned face. She moved in for a second time, sending his head swinging in the opposite direction as she slapped his other cheek, the sound like the cracking of a whip.
‘Listen to me, you foul little divil,’ she hissed through gritted teeth, shaking him by the front of his jacket as he whimpered and twisted, trying to break free. ‘Touch me one more time and I’ll cut them sweaty hands of yourn clean off. You understand?’
‘But I thought … after last time …’
‘Don’t speak of that, just you don’t! You thought wrong, by God you did.’ She flung him from her, then to her horror promptly burst into tears.
Benji stood scowling before asking after some moments, ‘What you upset for? It’s me should be bawling.’ He reached up to touch his tender face. ‘Bitch. I’ve a good mind to tell Mam you put your hands on me.’
‘Is that so?’ Though tears still streamed down Jewel’s cheeks, her voice was now void of emotion. ‘Not before I do, lad. Aye, it’s me what’s to do the telling – about you putting your hands on me.’ She nodded when his face paled. ‘Consensual it might have been, God help and forgive me, but it’s gone beyond a drunken fumble now. I’m with child. Do you hear me? I’m growing your bloody babby. There’s no getting out of this – not even for thee. We’re done for, lad.’
Whatever response she’d expected, it certainly wasn’t what she received – her cousin folded his arms, expression calm. ‘Happen it’s Jem Wicks tha should be spouting this to, not me.’
‘You what?’
‘You heard. Word has it you offered yourself to him, an’ all, not a week since. Not for the first time, I’ll bet.’
She couldn’t breathe. Though she tried to brazen it out, she knew the guilt in her voice gave her away: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Benjamin Powell.’
‘Aye, you do. Sneaking him in your rooms, eh, whilst your mam were abed above youse …?’ Shaking his head, he clicked his tongue several times.
‘Nay. Nay, that’s not … not right, I …!’
‘Aye, it is. Jem’s told all the lads at the mill. I overheard a few laughing and discussing it in t’ square.’
Jem … Lord, how could you? Jewel thought her heart would break in two. Could things get any worse than this?
‘I’m surprised Aunt Flora’s not got wind of it yet …’
‘Don’t you dare try to threaten me,’ she choked out, disgusted at the smug look Benji now wore. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re saying. Despite what you’ve heard, me and Jem Wicks have never … You’re the only one I’ve ever … I’m telling our family the truth of things, whether you like it or not. Them believing me is another matter, but I have to—’
‘I’ll deny it, Jewel. Just so you know.’ Unnervingly, there was no malice in his words, only certainty. ‘And once you’ve finished with the telling, I’ll be the one informing them of a thing or two – that Jem Wicks is the father of the child you reckon you’re carrying.’
Helpless rage made her hands, hanging loosely by her sides, shake. She bunched them into tight fists. What she wouldn’t give to thump the pockmarked face before her to dust. She’d underestimated him, thought him but a simple kid, when all along … He’d likely planned this from the off.
Yet surely there was a way around it? she thought desperately. Jem would confirm what she was saying was the truth: they hadn’t lain together, had they? But how could she trust him now? She’d hurt him – humiliated him, even – it was true. Still, she’d have never believed him capable of such cruelty, never. Thanks to him, her name was dirt enough before the reality of her condition had even emerged. Could she rely on him to back her up? Did she even know him at all? It certainly didn’t feel like it now. Though Jem wouldn’t want folk assuming he’d fathered her child, that didn’t mean to say he’d help her expose Benji as the culprit. Jem might very well put it about that she’d had other lovers besides, or some other such fabrication – who knew what? As far as she could see, the lad she thought she knew was a stranger capable of saying anything.
Benji had outwitted her. They both knew it. Taking in his self-assured expression, a familiar emotion washed through her and she shivered: she really did want to die. Anything was preferable at the minute to this hell called her life.
‘What will you do, then?’
‘I’m telling them the truth, have to,’ she whispered.
‘You’re daft, that’s what. Everyone else will think it, too, for I’ll deny everything. Not that it’ll take much effort, mind – I mean, come on, who will believe at all that we … you know?’
Incredulous, she shook her head. ‘Why are you doing this?’ He didn’t answer and her voice broke as she added, ‘You’ll ruin me.’
‘Well …’
‘Well, what?’
Burying his hands in his pockets, Benji shrugged. ‘Say you were attacked by some unknown man. Tell folk you don’t know who it were and that, afterwards, you were too frickened and ashamed to speak up.’ He lifted then dropped his shoulders again. ‘Most won’t hold you to blame for bearing a bastard child in that way, will they? Not if you have them think it were no fault of yours.’
Despite her anguish and fury, she knew a trickle of relief at his suggestion. Why hadn’t she thought of something like that? Could it work? Some in the town would doubt her, it was guaranteed. Nevertheless … However, a thought struck her and her building hope dimmed. ‘And if the child should look like you? What then?’
Silence thickened the air between them. Benji broke their stare to look at the floor.
‘Hello? Hello?’ Flora’s puzzled voice drifted upstairs from the shop, slicing through the charged atmosphere like a hot knife through butter. ‘What the divil …? Where is everyone?’
‘What then?’ Jewel repeated in a whisper to her cousin.
Finally, he lifted his eyes. Neither fear nor worry, arrogance nor anger were reflected in their grey depths – there was nothing. They bore blankly into hers like those of a dead kipper.
‘Well?’ Jewel hissed.
As though he hadn’t heard her, he turned his head slightly towards the door. ‘Coming, Aunt Flora!’ he called downstairs. He continued staring at his cousin for some moments before walking from the room.
Jewel dropped into a chair at the table. She had to call on all the restraint she could muster to stop herself from grabbing the teapot and hurling it at the wall in a pique of anguish. Bernard’s newspaper, neatly folded, lay by her elbow and, instead, she gripped this in her two hands, squeezing with all her might, teeth gritted, which eased her bubbling temper a little.
She had a good mind to storm the shop and reveal all to her mother this instant. Yet where might that get her? It would cause a holy hell of trouble; should Mam believe her, she would understandably kick up war with Esther and Bernard – maybe even give Benji a well-deserved clout in the process. The family would be ripped apart and no one would suffer more than Flora as a consequence.
