by Martina Cole
It was said so simply, so honestly, that he didn’t have the guts to answer her. Instead he walked from the room.
Dr Carlton had imbibed a generous amount of whisky and was waiting now in the morning room for a light lunch to be served before the serious business began. The old woman, Mrs Horlock, was like a cat on hot coals. He sighed. It was never a nice business this, but needs must when the devil drives. The older woman should be hardened to it by now. He remembered her from years back when she’d worked for a much more illustrious client. She’d had no qualms about holding the chit down then, while he saw to the business in hand. Got softer as she got older probably. Well, she’d need her wits about her today. He’d have a quiet word with her before the off. The girl would be nervous enough without the old woman frightening the life out of her.
He hated these jobs, but twenty pounds was twenty pounds, and who was he to sneeze at it? He got out of his seat with difficulty and poured himself another whisky. Just to fortify him. His hands were shaking again this morning, and he wondered, as he did every morning, if he was coming down with a cold.
Cissy saw his bloated, red-veined face and breathed in the whisky fumes on serving his lunch, and went straight down the stairs to give the information to Mrs Horlock.
‘He’s drunker than a Saturday night sailor! Bleeding old git!’
Mrs Horlock sighed. ‘Maybe the food’ll soak it up a bit.’ She didn’t hold out much hope. ‘Mr Dumas will be here soon anyway.’
She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and looked at the clock. It was just twelve. He was due at one and she’d made up her mind. Hadn’t she done enough to the Cavanagh family, what with Eileen and now Briony, without being part of murder as well? She was going to talk him out of the abortion.
Isabel, sitting outside her husband’s house in Ripple Road in a hired cab, was also waiting for him to arrive. Her hands were trembling at the thought of what she was going to do, but she took deep breaths and channelled her mind on to the job in hand. She was going to wait all day if necessary and then surprise him with her presence. She had convinced herself that by doing this, she could achieve some kind of power over him. Force him to give her a child. She had considered going to her father with her information and demanding he do something about it, but she knew it would be futile. He would never countenance a scandal of any kind. And a divorce? She laughed ruefully to herself. It would be unthinkable. His own sister had been married to a brute who had attacked her on more than one occasion. Isabel could remember, as a child, a badly beaten woman arriving in a governess cart of all things at nine in the morning, her face a bloody pulp. Her father had ordered a doctor, then given her aunt a dressing down for being a slovenly wife who had obviously asked for her husband’s hand and had got it.
No, she would have to deal with Henry himself, threaten him with her father. It was a threat that would frighten him out of his very wits. She knew her family’s social status gave her a small hold over him, and it was a thrilling feeling. If only she could control her own fear! With Henry, it did not do to let him know you were afraid of him, or indeed of anything. He hoarded that type of information away like a squirrel, dragging it out of its hiding place when the time was ripe. Oh, she’d learnt a lot from Henry Dumas. An awful lot.
She saw his cab arrive and braced herself. She would give him fifteen minutes before she entered the house.
Henry looked at the doctor in dismay. The man was drunk!
‘Shall we adjourn to the bedroom, Mr Dumas?’ Carlton’s voice was slurred.
Henry looked at the man quizzically. ‘Why on earth should I go up there?’
Carlton waved a hand at him. ‘Sorry, Dumas old chap, got meself a bit puddled there. Always the same with this kind of job. Nasty business.’ He’d remembered at the last minute that Henry was only there to pay him. Imagine asking him if he wanted to be there! In his drunken state this struck him as hilarious and he laughed aloud.
A silent Henry watched the doctor walk from the room with exaggerated care. He poured himself a brandy and sat down to wait. Upstairs Briony, Mrs Horlock and her mother were arguing furiously.
‘I’m not gonna let them do it, Mum. It’s wicked!’
Briony’s face was white. The strain was beginning to tell on her and Molly felt her heart go out to the child.
‘Oh, Briony, you don’t understand! What are we gonna do with another child in the house? Now your father’s gone, and your wages too ... we’ll end up back in the dockside slums.’
‘No, we won’t. I’ll think of something, Mum. Won’t I, Mrs Horlock?’
Briony turned pleading eyes on her in the hope she’d come up with something. Briony was frightened of having the child, but she was more frightened of the alternative. After Carlton had saved her from a miscarriage, it seemed evil to take the child now, why couldn’t her mother see that? And her a good Catholic as well. ‘I mean it, Mum. I’ll not let that doctor near me, I’ll ... I’ll scream the bloody house down!’
As she spoke he lurched into the room with his big black bag and three pairs of eyes looked at him.
All three registered the fact that he was roaring drunk.
‘Jesus in heaven, save us!’ Instinctively Molly crossed herself.
‘You’re drunk, man!’ Mrs Horlock reproached.
Carlton stood on his dignity. ‘Madam, I am never drunk. I had a medicinal whisky for medicinal purposes. Now if you’d be so kind as to hold down the patient, I shall begin.’
He opened up his bag and began taking out his instruments. Briony’s eyes widened to their utmost and she began to scream-high piercing screams that went through the doctor’s skull like a drill.
Both Mrs Horlock and her mother put out their hands to try and calm her. Briony, thinking they were going to hold her down, kicked out and, leaping off the bed, ran across the room, Carlton grabbed her flying hair as she passed him, and she screamed again as she was yanked backwards.
‘Let go of me, you old bastard! Let go of me, I say.’
Twisting around, she bit his arm. He let go, she opened the bedroom door and, running out, flew straight down the stairs and into the arms of a plump dark-haired lady who was standing in the hallway with Henry.
‘Oh, please don’t let them hurt me, missus! Please!’
She clung to the newcomer as her saviour. She looked kind, with those big brown eyes in a white face. Please God, Briony prayed, let her help me.
Isabel wrapped the child in gentle arms. Looking first at her husband, then at the two women and the obviously drunk man standing at the top of the stairs, she said, ‘What on earth’s going on here?’
Henry’s shoulders slumped and Briony heard a terrible groan come from him. It was as if he had been punched in the stomach with an iron fist. ,
Briony was sitting on the nice lady’s lap being petted, her mother and Mrs Horlock telling her everything she wanted to know. Henry was sitting by the window on a straight-backed chair, biting his knuckles.
Isabel listened to the two women with growing amazement, every so often looking down at the fiery head laid against her breast. She knew this child should repel her, but all she felt was motherly concern. That the girl had been coerced into her situation, she had no doubt. This beautiful child with the porcelain white skin and the glass green eyes should be outside in the air playing games, not sitting in this overstuffed morning room waiting to find out if she was going to be allowed to give birth to a child she should not be carrying in the first place. Isabel looked at her husband and felt an urge to rise from her seat and fell him to the floor with one heavy blow.
What he had done here was disgusting and cruel. And all the more so because this child had been handed to him on a plate by a father who needed to feed the rest of his family. Henry played on people’s poverty, the big Bible-thumping bully!
‘What do you want, my dear?’ She looked down at Briony’s face, her voice gentle.
‘I want to have the little baby, missus. I don’t want that doctor
near me.’
Isabel nodded. ‘But who will look after the baby when it arrives?’
Briony sat up straight on her lap and grinned. ‘Well, I suppose I will. I know a lot about babies, don’t I, Mum?’
Molly nodded, defeated by all that had happened.
‘That’s settled then.’ Isabel’s voice was brisk. ‘She’ll stay here, of course, until the baby comes, and then we’ll sort something out. Henry will pay the bills, don’t worry about that. I’ll see to it personally.’ Her voice was getting stronger. ‘I shall undertake to oversee everything myself. Mr Dumas will not be visiting here any more, so any belongings of his should be packed and ready for him to take with him as he leaves.’
Briony looked at her saviour’s face and smiled shyly. God had answered her prayers in the shape of Mrs Henry Dumas. Mrs Prosser Evans had been right. God was good. God was very, very good.
Henry waited until he knew Isabel had retired for the night before going to see her. He had eaten dinner at his club, trying to decide how to face the situation in hand. A few large brandies had given him the courage he needed but it was already failing as he listened at his wife’s door.
Isabel was humming. The annoyance he felt at the sound was so profound, it made his hands tremble and his heart beat a tattoo in his chest. She was laughing at him. In his own house, dammit!
Isabel, brushing her hair in front of her dressing-table mirror, turned in her seat to face him as he strode in without knocking. She was wearing one of the lacy chemises that had come with her trousseau. Her large breasts spilled out of the tiny garment, showing dark pink nipples. She smiled at her husband. She had been expecting him and had purposely waited up until he showed himself. She watched the flicker of disgust as he eyed her bosom, and her smile widened.
Raising one eyebrow, she spoke softly.
‘Why, Henry, this is the last place I expected to see you.’ The inference wasn’t lost on him.
‘I want to talk to you, Isabel, and this place is as good as any.’
She interrupted him easily.
‘No, Henry, you’ll hear me out. You picked this room because it’s farthest from the servants’ quarters, so what we have to say you do not want overheard. Well ...’ she spread her hands, ‘what I have to say had best be stated in private anyway.
‘From now on there will be some changes in our marriage. We will still function outwardly as man and wife, I expect your full support when socialising. In public we shall carry on as the devoted couple.’ She allowed herself another smile at that. ‘But inside this house I do not want to see you unless I absolutely have to. You disgust me, Henry. When I think of that child ... the position she’s in because of you. Well, I intend to look after the girl, and when the time comes I want the baby. I think the mother will be happy, and the child will have every advantage here with us. It’s your child after all, Henry Dumas, and your child should be brought up in this house, as you were.’
Henry’s face was white with shock and disbelief. He took a step towards her and she slipped from the chair and picked up a large cut-glass perfume bottle.
‘If you make one move to stop me, I shall go straight to my father and Mrs Prosser Evans, I swear that to you. If you touch one hair on my head, or indeed Briony’s, I will bring such trouble to your door your life will never be the same. I want a child, Henry. I want a child so desperately I am willing to take on a street urchin’s brat. So now you know what’s going to happen.’
Henry watched his wife, breasts heaving as she spoke. The vehemence in her voice was more frightening than anything he had ever experienced. He realised belatedly that she had an iron will, stronger even than his own.
Briony was looking forward to seeing Mrs Dumas; she liked her. She liked the softness of her hands and the nice smell that enveloped her. At breakfast today Briony had eaten two boiled eggs, with thick bread and butter soldiers, and washed it all down with a whole pot of tea. She had woken from her sleep ravenous, content in her child’s mind to let Mrs Dumas take over her life. Her belly was much better, and the reality of the child inside her had yet to hit home. Her mother was still to get her money, Henry was already a distant memory, and her sisters could all stay at Oxlow Lane. Her three main worries were over.
Mrs Dumas arrived promptly at ten-thirty. Briony stood up as Isabel entered the room, smiling widely.
Isabel looked into the deep green eyes and smiled back. The child was far too knowing already, but whose fault was that?
‘Hello, Briony dear.’
Briony waited for her to seat herself before sitting down too. ‘I’ve ordered some tea. I thought that today we could get to know one another better.’
Briony readily agreed. As Isabel listened to the child’s chatter about her earlier life, about her ambitions and dreams and hopes, she felt herself relax. She would enjoy looking after the girl, seeing that she rested properly and ate well. Her health was to be watched with the utmost care.
Isabel passionately wanted this child’s baby.
Chapter Seven
Briony was five months pregnant and she looked blooming. Her face and body had filled out becomingly and today she looked a picture of health and prosperity, her hair tied back into a neat chignon and her feet encased in kidskin boots with tiny pearl buttons. She wore a blue velvet dress with a lace cape around the shoulders.
She was sitting on a bench by the boating pool in Barking Park, lifting her face to the weak spring sun. She closed her eyes as her mind drifted off to another place. Mrs Dumas had generously allowed her this hour’s freedom every day. A cab waited at the entrance of the park for her so she had no fears about walking home alone. Briony liked Mrs Dumas, or Isabel as she now called her, but this hour every day was Briony’s favourite time. Oh, she loved living in the house with them all, she loved Mrs Horlock and Cissy, but she craved her own space more and more as the days passed. The child had become more real to her, and she guessed, rightly, that it was the reason behind Isabel’s kindness to her. Because of the child she could have anything she wanted, and, being Briony, she used this to the full.
Hence the afternoons in the park without Mrs Horlock, Cissy, or that awful boy Mrs Dumas had employed to run messages. Briony shuddered as she thought of him, with his forever running nose and his big bulbous eyes. She had made Cissy get him a pair of boots because the sight of his callused feet sickened her. She knew she was being unfair to the boy. He was no more than eight, and his mother was probably glad of the few pennies he made a week, but Briony hated him. He was a reminder of where she came from, what she could be again, and he disturbed her for that reason.
She sat back on the bench and let her whole body relax. The child within her quickened and unconsciously she put her hands to her stomach. A tiny smile still playing around her mouth, she jolted upright as a familiar voice broke into her thoughts.
‘Hello again. I thought it was you.’
Briony opened her eyes to see Tommy Lane. He grinned as he saw her obvious surprise at his changed appearance.
‘Well, sod me! Ain’t you going to talk to me?’
His voice was deeper than she remembered. He sat beside her and looked her over, his eyes staying just a second too long on her bulging stomach. He took out a small cheroot. Briony watched as he lit it. He certainly looked different. He was dressed in a checked suit and wore a rather natty bowler hat. He was clean, shiny clean, and his hair was cut close to the head, with just the right amount of hair tonic on it. She was impressed. He was a very handsome boy.
‘Look, are you going to sit there gawping or are you going to talk to me?’
Briony grinned back at him.
‘You gave me a shock, Tommy. Last time I saw you, you was trying to save your arse. Now you look like...’
He took a puff on his cheroot and then clamped it between his strong teeth.
‘What do I look like, eh? A man of substance and fashion? At least, that’s what these togs are supposed to make you look like. The geezer in the sh
op said so.’
Briony relaxed once more and laughed.
‘Well, let’s just say you look all right, shall we?’
Tommy surveyed her once more through a haze of cheap tobacco smoke.
‘Looks like you got caught then?’
He motioned with his head towards her swelling waist and Briony put her hands to it.
‘Yeah, that’s about the strength of it. I’m going to be all right though, I’m being looked after by a nice lady who wants the baby when it comes.’
Tommy pricked up his ears.
‘I hope you’ve made a good deal for yourself? Nippers is worth a fortune. Especially if the mother’s a looker and ain’t got the clap.’
Briony looked so shocked Tommy felt guilty and tried hastily to make amends.
‘I didn’t mean that how it came out. But you’re obviously on the bash...’
Briony sat up straight. ‘Listen here, Mr Tommy whatever your name is, don’t you come and sit here and speak trouble into my face, I won’t have it! My business is my business, and I think I’ve said a bit too much to you already. If I want your advice, I’ll bleeding well ask you for it. Until then, either go away, or keep your trap shut!’
Tommy looked away. His face had reddened and he smoked his cheroot in silence. She was a funny little thing. He should clout her across the lug for talking to him like that, but for some strange reason he liked her. He had liked her since she had saved him from a nicking, and for that reason he would swallow her words.
‘Who’s the father then?’
Briony looked at him and sighed. He really was the nosiest person she had ever met.
‘A man.’
Tommy threw away the cheroot and laughed.
‘No! I’d never have guessed that! I mean, who is he?’
‘Never you mind. What about yourself? You’re looking prosperous, what work are you doing now?’
