by Maggie Hope
‘Look, lass,’ he said in a gentler voice, ‘get away back to your own folk. I’m telling you, there’s no future here for you. Matthew is going to marry Joan Hunter. I’ll give you time to pack your things and I’ll take you up to the main road. I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
Joan Hunter? No, there was some mistake. ‘No, it’s not true. Mr Fortune, I can’t go. I can’t! I’m carrying Matthew’s bairn. It’s your grandchild, Mr Fortune. He is going to marry me, not Joan Hunter.’
Havelock sighed. ‘I might have known. He’s been spinning you a yarn, has he? Well, you’re not the first to have his by-blow as you must have heard when you lived in my house.’ He strode to the door. ‘I’ve told you, lass,’ he went on with a return to his former attitude. ‘I can’t help it if you don’t believe me. And if you won’t come with me, you can walk to the main road. I’ll be sending Bill and Sam round in the morning, and if you’re not out they will have instructions to throw you out.’
Hetty stared after him from the doorway as he disappeared along the path into the gloom. Oh Lord, what have I done? What am I going to do? she wondered. She stood there with the wind biting into her. At last she came to a decision. Going back into the house, she turned off the paraffin stove and ladled herself out a plateful of stew. First of all she had to eat, she couldn’t go out and face the world with an empty stomach. She ate methodically though she had to force the food down, then poured a little water into the bowl and washed her plate and fork.
There was nothing much to pack for she had brought nothing with her when she came. Matthew had bought her a change of clothes and though the skirt was already tight it would do. She changed into clean clothes and bundled up the ones she had been wearing and wrapped them in the brown paper the new ones had come in. She was ready. She considered leaving Matthew a note but decided against it. Now she had to get to a village. Maybe she could even catch a bus to Saltburn.
Though she only had the four shillings she had taken with her that day she met Matthew in Bishop Auckland. Well, she would manage for she couldn’t stay where she was. Not for poor Mr Oliver to have to come and evict her in the morning. She could not embarrass him in that way. She turned off the lamp and, not even glancing behind her, went out of the door and along the path. There was a moon luckily, and after a few minutes her eyes grew used to the moonlight and she could see the way quite clearly. Her parcel under her arm, she walked along, keeping a weather eye open for Matthew. But the path was deserted. At that time of the evening most people were indoors eating their evening meal, she supposed.
The last stretch of the path widened until it became a track and then an unmade road. And at last she was at the top, breathing heavily but at the side of the main road, the Whitby to Saltburn main road, she surmised.
Turning right, she trudged along in the dark but for the headlights of the few cars which drove past her, illuminating her way, and the few coming in the opposite direction, almost blinding her with their lights. She felt she didn’t care if she had to walk the whole way to Saltburn or perhaps Loftus, that was nearer, wasn’t it? Was there a lodging house in Loftus? She didn’t know, she knew very little about the place except that it was an old mining town. Well, she would find out when she got there.
She refused to think about Matthew or his father or the situation she had found herself in. She only knew she had to find herself a place to stay and tomorrow she had to find work. And then, she thought bleakly, she would have to find a mother and baby home for the time when she couldn’t work. There were a few months left to her. If she worked and saved as hard as she could she would be able to pay a little and then she would not have to go into the workhouse.
Matthew was stamping angry, so angry he could have killed Hetty. How dare she up and leave him like this? Didn’t she know how much he was giving up for her? Only that afternoon, Joan bloody Hunter, proper madam that she was, had issued him with an ultimatum.
‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’ she had shouted at him. For a minute he couldn’t remember what it was he had done but she wasn’t slow in reminding him. ‘Those were my friends we were supposed to be lunching with. I won’t be stood up again, do you hear me, Matthew Fortune? What sort of a fool do you think I looked?’
Matthew had been tempted to reply to that one: ‘No bigger fool than you already are, and an ugly one at that,’ but he managed to bite the words back. What he had done was turn on his heel and walk out. So God knows what sort of temper his father would be in when he went home, for no doubt he had heard all about his son’s shortcomings from old man Hunter’s little darling. He’d forgotten about the lunch date. These days his mind was filled only with Hetty. He could hardly believe she was finally his, had to tell himself constantly she was there waiting in the cottage for him.
Except that she wasn’t. There was a smell of cooking. He lifted the lid of the pan which stood on the paraffin stove, it was still warm. So she hadn’t been gone long. Damn! If he’d only got here earlier he would probably have caught her. But it wasn’t safe coming in daylight, it might get back to his father where exactly he was disappearing every evening.
Rage welled up in him. When he found the bitch he’d show her who was boss. He’d beat her until she begged for mercy. Banging the door to after him, he stalked out of the bungalow, making for his car which was parked discreetly on a layby on the main road.
Once there he debated where she would go. Whitby? But no, she knew no one there. More likely she’d make for her usual bolthole, Saltburn. He roared through Loftus and on to Saltburn, only realising when he got there that she wouldn’t have got so far, not on foot, and if there had been a bus he would have passed it. Turning back, he drove more slowly, watching for her.
Hetty was at the bus stop in Loftus when he found her. The last bus for Saltburn had just come in and she was about to board when Matthew took her arm.
‘There you are, darling,’ he said, and the passenger in front turned his head and grinned when he saw the young toff holding the girl with a bulky brown paper parcel in her arms.
Hetty opened her mouth to protest but Matthew bent and spoke softly in her ear. ‘You don’t want a scene here, do you?’ He slid his hand to the back of her neck under her hair and gripped it, drawing her away from the queue. The pain was so excruciating she had to follow.
‘Good girl,’ he said quietly. He led her to the car and they got in. Only then did he release his grip. Hetty sat back in the seat, her parcel on her lap. If she hadn’t been taken by surprise … What? What would she have done? She couldn’t think any more, she was too tired. Her legs ached; there was another dull ache in the small of her back.
‘It’s no good, Matthew,’ she said. ‘Your father came to see me.’
‘Father?’ How in hell had he found out about her?
‘He said you would never marry me. He said that he was sending Mr Oliver and Sam in the morning, and if I wasn’t out by then they would throw me out. I told him about the baby but he only laughed. He said—’
‘Never mind what he said,’ Matthew snarled. ‘I’ll do what I bloody well like, I don’t have to ask him!’ He sounded like a rebellious schoolboy, she thought. But he was far from that. Hetty sat there, bone weary. She stared out of the window at black nothingness. She didn’t bother to reply.
‘He didn’t tell you anything else, did he?’
‘You mean about Joan Hunter?’
‘It’s not true, you know, I won’t marry her,’ said Matthew. And in that moment he knew it was the case. No matter if the Hunters owned the crown jewels. And he wondered at himself, even laughed inwardly at his own stupidity. He glanced down at Hetty. She was lying against the seat in just the same position she had been in when he’d brought her down from Durham. Her eyes were closed, in the faint light from the dash he could see that. She was fast asleep.
Matthew turned the car round once again and set off. Not for Saltburn but Redcar, there were plenty of boarding houses there. He would face his fath
er in the morning. When Hetty woke next day, it was a minute or two before she could think where she was. A strange bed, a strange room, cheap dark furniture, a rickety wardrobe, a washstand with a jug and bowl sitting on it. There was the sound of the sea, waves beating against the beach. It must be high tide, she thought fuzzily. Memory came flooding back to her. She turned her head to the pillow next to hers but Matthew had gone. She remembered waking up as the car pulled up. Oh, she must have been truly exhausted to follow him to this house, let him book a room. Where were they? This wasn’t Saltburn, the sea was too near, not at the bottom of a cliff. Getting out of bed, she went to the window and looked out. It was Redcar. There was the pier, the familiar beach. They were on the front at Redcar. Well, now was her chance, while Matthew was away.
The door was locked! She couldn’t believe it, it must have stuck. She rattled the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. She bent and peered at the lock. It was locked all right.
‘Hey!’ she cried. ‘Let me out, somebody, let me out!’
After a few minutes there were footsteps on the stairs, stopping outside her door. ‘Stop that racket, Mrs Smith, you’re upsetting my other tenants. Your husband says you have to stay in there. You’re not well, Mrs Smith, I could see that when you came in last night. Now behave yourself or I’ll be sorry I took you in. It was against my usual practice anyhow.’
Hetty stepped back from the door. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Let me out, please,’ she said again but in a normal voice which it took all of her willpower to achieve. ‘There’s nothing the matter with me.’
‘Now be a good girl, Mrs Smith,’ the woman said. ‘It won’t be long before your husband is back and then he’ll take you out for a nice dinner. He told me to tell you that. “Important business,” he said. Only a couple of hours, and that was nine o’clock. It’s half-past eleven now, he’ll be coming any minute.’
‘Please, I’m not his wife, I want to go home, let me out!’ said Hetty.
‘He told me you would say that,’ said the voice, and Hetty heard footsteps retreating down the stairs. She sat down on the bed, anger raging within her. By, Matthew had done some terrible things to her in the past but this beat cock-fighting! She went to the window but it was too high. She couldn’t get out anyway. When she tried it, it was stuck solid.
Chapter 23
‘Come in here at once, Matthew.’
The order was barked at him the moment he entered the front door of Fortune Hall. Groaning, he went into the study to face his father. But there was not only his father, there was Mr Hunter too. Both men had got to their feet and were standing together, faces red with anger.
‘Explain yourself, and by Harry, it had better be good or you will never see my daughter again!’ said Mr Hunter.
‘Is that a promise?’ Matthew almost said it aloud. For a minute he thought he had but it was only in his mind. He dragged his thoughts away from Hetty, the worry that she might somehow escape before he got back to Redcar. His head throbbed. On the way here he had called in at a pub and taken a few glasses of whisky, to fortify himself for the coming interview with his father. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about any of them. What did he care if he never saw Joan again? Never was too soon in his opinion.
Mr Hunter spluttered, going even more purple if that was possible. ‘You young pup, I said explain yourself!’ he repeated.
Matthew smiled. ‘Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what it is I have to explain?’ he said, in his most charming voice. If he needled the old fellow long enough, he might have an apoplexy.
‘Matthew!’
That was his own father shouting now. Matthew studied him. Unfortunately Havelock did not look very likely to have a stroke. Pity, that would have solved so many problems. Matthew was his heir, wasn’t he?
‘Yes, Father? If Mr Hunter means I missed a lunch date with his daughter then it’s quite true, I did. Pressure of business, I’m afraid.’ He could do with another drink. He noted that the others both had glasses in their hands. ‘May I?’ he asked, and went over to the drinks tray and poured himself a stiff one, downing it in one swallow.
‘And may I ask what business caused you to miss the theatre last night too?’ Old Hunter’s voice was tight, his fists clenched. Matthew felt it his duty to warn him.
‘Take it easy, old man,’ he said with a show of concern. ‘You don’t want to have a stroke, do you?’
‘You insolent, drunken …’ Hunter was fairly choking over his words. He turned on Havelock. ‘This is the end, you realise that? If you think I would let my girl marry a ne’er-do-well like him … why, I’d see her in hell first!’
‘Look, he’s joking, really—’
Havelock’s words were lost on Joan’s outraged father. Mr Hunter strode out of the room. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ he snapped from the doorway.
Matthew grinned and went to the tray to pour himself another drink. ‘Only trying to help,’ he mumbled.
‘Put that glass down,’ said his father. Matthew was so startled by his cold and quiet tone when he had been expecting a shouting match that he replaced the glass on the tray and lifted his gaze to meet Havelock’s.
‘Now get out of my house and don’t come back again. I never want to see or hear from you again.’
‘Oh, come on, Father, you don’t mean that?’ said Matthew, stretching his hand to the tray again.
‘Oh, but I do. You can pack your things and go.’ Havelock sat down at his desk and took his chequebook out of a drawer. ‘I won’t cut you off without a penny, but this will be the last you get from me. And don’t think you will get any from your mother. I will give orders that you are not to be let into the house again.’
As he lifted his head and stared at his father bleakly, it slowly dawned on Matthew that Havelock meant every word he said. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll make up with Joan. I’ll—’
‘You will not! Do you think you would even get the chance? If so, you’re a fool as well as a blackguard.’
‘But what will I do?’
‘I don’t care what you do, but if you’re not out of this house in ten minutes, I’ll call the men and have you thrown out.’
Fifteen minutes later, Matthew was on his way across the moors, his entire worldly possessions in two suitcases in the boot of his car. There was the cheque from Havelock in his pocket. Fifty pounds, that was all. And of course the twenty-five pounds a month from his grandfather’s estate. A measly twenty-five pounds! How was he supposed to live on that? Yet somehow, Hetty still occupied most of his thoughts. He hadn’t even one left to spare for his own predicament.
He had thought to slip into his mother’s room before leaving the Hall. She was snoring softly and he had opened the drawer of her dressing table but the chequebook was gone. He supposed his father had found one cheque missing and decided to put the rest in a safer place. Damn him! He could threaten Havelock, could tell the police about the drugs and the blank signed cheques. But what could he prove? Besides, his father would surely come round, eventually and welcome him home once more? He always had in the past. But for now he was going back to Hetty. His body tingled with excitement as he neared Redcar.
‘You’re still here, then?’ said Matthew. He dropped his suitcases on the floor, closed the door behind him and clutched her to him.
‘I could hardly go anywhere else,’ she pointed out when she’d got her breath back. ‘What did you tell the landlady? Did you say I was off my head?’ She strained back from his embrace, glaring up into his face. And strangely, in that moment, she saw how like he was to Richard, something she didn’t normally notice. Oh, Richard, she thought sadly, but suppressed the thought for now she was carrying Matthew’s child, how could she possibly think of Richard?
She had had it all planned that as soon as he opened the door, as soon as he dropped his guard, even for a minute or two, she would run down the stairs and out into the street, and nothing, nothing at all he could do would ever force her back into that room
. She would shout for help to the holidaymakers, she would call the polis, oh aye, she would. She gathered herself up to do it now the door wasn’t locked. And then her gaze fell on the suitcases. She looked back at him in disbelief.
‘Matthew? You’ve left home?’ No, she thought, she was jumping to stupid conclusions again. She couldn’t look at him, she knew there would be mockery all too clear in his eyes. Her face burned with anticipated humiliation at what she knew he would say. She braced herself.
Instead of speaking Matthew picked her up bodily and carried her to the bed. He was scrabbling at her clothes and his own and her heart dropped. He was going to force her again, oh, she didn’t think she could stand the unlovingness of it. She tried to slip to the edge of the bed, away from him. She didn’t care that she was half undressed, she couldn’t stand it.
‘No, Matthew,’ she said.
‘No?’ He laughed softly and nuzzled her neck, and the unexpected gentleness of it took her breath away for the second time in the space of a minute. ‘But I love you, don’t you see?’ he asked softly. ‘You’re all I have left. And I don’t care, I want no one else. I’ve left home for you, we’ll never be parted again.’
Her treacherous body responded to his. Maybe it was the deep need she had to be loved, to be wanted. Oh, she was well aware of her own weakness. She forgot her anger at being locked in, or at least it was dulled. This was the father of her baby and the bairn needed him. She had no right to deprive a child of his father. If only the father had been Richard.
Of course, the next day was different. It always was. Matthew’s rapid changes of mood made her constantly apprehensive. ‘Hurry up and get out of that bed,’ he said, pulling back the eiderdown and letting the cold air which blew through the cracks in the window frame make her shiver. ‘We’re not staying here, I won’t spend another night in this flea-ridden place.’
‘Fleas? There aren’t any fleas,’ she replied, but dragged herself out of bed and began to wash in the water from the jug. Its coldness revived her a little. She stretched, thankful that today there were no stiff places or bruises from his lovemaking as there usually were. She felt better than she had for a long time; even his coldness failed to get her down.
