The Birthday Present

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘Come in!’ He turned.

  She looked flustered, he thought wearily. Not another problem!

  ‘It’s three men,’ she told him. ‘One says he’s Mr Markham’s brother, whatever that means, and they say they want to speak to Master Steven and he won’t go down and talk to them and they say they won’t go away until he does!’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘To be honest with you, they scare me. Two of them look like they mean trouble, if you know what I mean. Should we call the police?’

  Marcus stifled a groan. ‘I’ll deal with it, Miss Evans. Leave it to me.’

  Before he could change his mind, he went along the passage and into his brother’s room. Without prevarication he said, ‘Listen to me! There are now three of them gunning for you downstairs and this has got to stop. Miss Evans wants to call the police and I don’t blame her.’

  Steven reddened. ‘It’s hardly my fault. I didn’t ask them to come round here.’

  ‘Obviously not but they’re here because of you and you know it.’

  ‘They’ll go away. They’ll give up.’ It did not sound at all convincing.

  ‘If you believe that, Steven, you’re a fool!’ Marcus told him angrily. ‘You owe them money and they won’t give up. If they don’t get you now it won’t be long before they do. And you might not survive it!’

  Steven shrugged. ‘I’ll take my chances! It’s none of your business.’

  ‘I’m making it my business! Now here’s what I propose – and this is your last chance, Steven. I’ll write them a post-dated cheque right now for every penny of everything you owe them but only if you agree to go into the army and we go together to the recruitment centre. What do you say?’

  Steven stared at him, white-faced. ‘The army?’ He hesitated.

  Marcus said, ‘If you don’t like it you can always buy yourself out later on – that’s up to you, but personally I think you’ll make excellent officer material . . . but it’s decision time. If you don’t agree right now I won’t be making the offer again.’

  Steven said, ‘You’ll pay all of it? You promise?’

  ‘Don’t insult me, Steven.’

  ‘I’m sorry . . . I just don’t . . . It’s a big step.’

  ‘A uniform, regular pay, travel, adventure, friendships . . . prestige even!’ He smiled. ‘Give it a go, Steven! Get those bastards off your back and make something of yourself. I can see it now. One day you’ll be an officer and a gentleman!’

  ‘Spare me the glittering future, for God’s sake!’

  Marcus watched various expressions flit across his brother’s face and began to pray. Let him see sense, he begged. Let him see that this is an honourable way out of his predicament. Aloud he said, ‘We’ve got the rest of the family to think about, Steven. Haven’t we got enough to worry about with the fiasco at the wedding? Poor Letitia needs all our attention right now and Lord knows what’s going to happen next. You under threat from Markham’s “heavies” is a burden we can do without.’

  Steven’s smile was a little crooked. ‘You can get yourself killed in the army! Is that the plan – to get rid of me?’

  ‘I don’t need to. If you hang around here you’ll get yourself killed anyway. They’ll find your body in a back alley – and sooner rather than later! London isn’t healthy for you at this moment. Think carefully, Steven.’

  His brother was wavering. ‘How will you get the money?’

  ‘I’ll get a loan from the bank. My credit is good. And I’ll pay off all the interest. You’ll start a new life, Steven, with nothing to hold you back. Think yourself lucky.’ He searched for anything else that might help persuade him. ‘No one else need know, Steven. Just you and me. The army can be your idea entirely. I’ll be as surprised as anyone.’

  The silence lengthened and just when Marcus thought his gamble had failed, the men outside rang the bell again – a long, continuous ring that carried a distinct threat.

  Marcus said, ‘They won’t give up, you know, and it’s no use complaining to the police because Markham’s brother is entitled to ask for what you owe. And if you run you have no money, no way of earning a living. I believe my offer is your best way out of this mess. Now make up your mind!’

  Steven shuddered as the bell began again and then abruptly surrendered. ‘On your head be it!’ he said ungraciously.

  ‘My shoulders are broad!’ Marcus held out his hand. ‘You’ll make it!’

  Reluctantly Steven shook his hand. ‘Thanks. It’s a deal,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  As soon as Rose heard the news her face lit up. ‘But that’s wonderful! We could go to Colonel Fossett and ask his advice. He’d know all about it because he’s a colonel – or rather was – in the Royal Artillery. He’s often in The White Horse and always talking about his army days.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He speaks very highly of his regiment and says his army career was the highlight of his life.’ She frowned. ‘I think he trained at Woolwich.’

  Marcus was obviously interested and she went on. ‘He was decorated twice. He showed us his medals one evening. “For courage under fire” or something like that. He must have been awfully brave.’

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. ‘I wonder if he’d give Steven a reference. It won’t be that easy getting him on to the officers’ training course – if that’s what they call it.’

  ‘Why not? Steven hasn’t got a criminal record or anything bad like that. He’s been stupid but he’s got a lot of good qualities.’

  ‘And he’s had a decent education. That will count in his favour.’ Her comment finally registered with him. ‘What do you mean, he’s been stupid?’ he asked, his tone defensive.

  ‘Mixing with the wrong people – men like Andrew Markham.’ As soon as the words were uttered Rose silently cursed her careless words.

  ‘You mixed with him!’ cried Marcus. ‘Does that make you stupid?’ He glared at her. ‘You lived in his flat with his ex-girlfriend who was then murdered by him! It could very easily have been you, Rose. It’s easy to criticize my brother but you were so determined to become a star that common sense flew out of the window as soon as you met Markham. You took a big risk! How stupid was that?’

  Shocked by his tone, Rose could think of nothing to say because he was right. He had warned her about the kind of people she was mixing with and she had ignored his well-intentioned words.

  Seeing that she was shaken, Marcus pressed home his advantage. ‘It ought to be clear to you by now that the stage is not a suitable profession for a well brought-up woman. I’d like you to think about it, Rose – for your own good.’

  Rose snapped, ‘Anyone would think you were my father!’

  ‘If I were I’d be in Pentonville!’

  For a moment they glared at each other. Rose was appalled. She knew she should accept his criticism as fair, but she also knew that if she agreed with him Marcus would expect her to give up all her dreams of stardom. Her vision of the glitter of the footlights would be extinguished forever. How, she wondered, had they reached this point? They had been talking about Steven’s career and now, suddenly, they were at loggerheads over hers!

  ‘If I have a talent surely I should use it!’ she said.

  Marcus said nothing.

  ‘Are you saying I don’t have talent?’ She regarded him with disbelief.

  ‘If you want the truth, Rose, you do have some talent and you are young, pretty and precocious . . .’

  ‘Precocious?’ Was that good or bad? she wondered.

  ‘ . . . but you have to understand that girls like you are ten-a-penny and men like Markham eat girls like you for breakfast! They will flatter you for whatever they can get – and I’m sure you know what I mean by that, Rose.’

  She weighed his words carefully. He thought she was precocious and she had some talent. That was hardly reassuring. Rose felt a tightening in her throat. Marcus was forcing her to face something she had tried not to accept; something she had forced to the back of her mind when Connie tried to warn her.
/>   Looking back she realized that Markham had made it clear that her legs were too skinny and he didn’t even value the songs she wrote. Her voice didn’t matter either, apparently. As long as he could have his way with her – then she would be allowed to appear on stage and could try to convince herself that she was ‘a star’. Markham had intended to bill her as a virgin so that the men could drool over her but that was a mixed compliment – if indeed it was meant to be a compliment.

  The painful truth hit Rose like a blow in the stomach and, sick at heart, she blamed Marcus. She had tried to help him with Steven’s army career and this is how he had repaid her – by destroying her confidence and ruining her future plans. For a moment she closed her eyes while she rallied her defences.

  Opening them, she said coldly, ‘I think Letitia might appreciate my presence more than you do!’ and stalked from the room with her head held high.

  She paused on the landing to prepare herself for Letitia’s needs but also to begin to come to terms with the horrid truth that she had no talent and would never be a star. How could she bear it, she wondered, washed by a wave of self-pity. ‘I hope they catch you!’ she told the absent Markham. ‘And they can string you from the nearest lamp post for all I care!’

  The next two weeks dragged on and Rose’s spirits plummeted. There seemed no glimmer of hope that life for the Bennley family might ever return to normal. The doctor appeared every other day and concluded that Letitia’s condition was ‘no better and no worse’ than anyone could expect in the circumstances. Marcus was anxiously awaiting news from Wissant in answer to his letter, afraid that Letitia’s disappointment would adversely affect Marie. Mrs Bray was still unwell so that Miss Evans was fast becoming a fixture at Victoria House.

  Rose and Marcus had slowly reconciled with neither actually apologizing for the unfortunate argument. Rose had become aware, however, that the Bennleys had reached a low ebb and that everyone’s nerves were on edge. Reminding herself that she was an outsider and lucky to have a roof over her head, she had decided her behaviour was ungrateful and she was determined not only to make allowances but to do her best to improve matters.

  On Friday, thirteen days after the disaster at the church, Rose sat with Letitia, trying to raise her spirits but failing miserably. The unhappy woman, still in her nightclothes and dressing gown, sat in a chair by the window to catch the sunshine and beside her on the small table, a breakfast tray sat untouched. Rose had offered to read a short story from a ladies’ magazine but Letitia had shaken her head, saying that she needed to think.

  ‘The doctor said you mustn’t be allowed to brood over what happened,’ Rose reminded her gently.

  Now, abruptly, Letitia leaned forward. ‘I’m waiting for him to come,’ she said, ‘or for a letter to come. Something definite. I want to think about the future but how can I when I don’t know what is happening. Is he with Carlotta or not?’

  ‘We have no idea.’ Rose considered Letitia’s words. ‘Do you mean you expect him, even at this late stage, to refuse her? Does that mean you would give him a second chance?’

  Letitia shrugged slightly. ‘In my place, wouldn’t you at least expect a letter from him – an explanation . . . maybe an apology? Isn’t it strange not to hear anything from any of them? Surely his mother would want to contact me and express regret for what happened?’

  ‘I think we’ve all expected some contact from them.’

  ‘I need to know what is happening but I’m kept entirely in the dark.’ She shot Rose a keen glance. ‘Is anything being hidden from me, Rose? Would you tell me if it were so? Can I trust anyone to tell me what is going on?’

  Thankfully Rose could answer honestly. ‘If there is any news from that direction, Letitia, they have kept it from me because I know nothing at all.’

  Letitia nodded as if satisfied by her reply. ‘Miss Evans knows a woman whose fiancé was killed in an accident the day before their wedding. She went to a nunnery for three months for care and spiritual support but never left it.’

  Carefully Rose said, ‘Poor woman. How dreadful!’

  ‘The circumstances were different, of course, but . . .’ She shrugged again and sighed heavily. ‘I’m praying for guidance, Rose.’

  Ten

  That evening Rose took Marcus to meet with Colonel Fossett to learn a little more about Steven’s chances of an army career and it was agreed that Steven should visit him the following morning which was Saturday 12th July. The possibility of this new development in their lives gave Letitia and Rose something to talk about besides Carlotta and Bernard. It was Letitia’s view that Steven was too much of a rebel to knuckle down to army discipline and would, if he joined, soon find himself in further trouble.

  ‘He’s always been inclined to go his own way,’ she told Rose next morning, as they watched the two brothers setting off for Stoke Newington. ‘Even as a boy of three or four he would argue and if he failed to win the argument he would throw a tantrum. At one stage bedtimes were a nightmare. We had a nanny then for a year or two and the poor woman was often in despair over his antics. Steven hates to be criticized by anyone over anything so how will he fare in the army?’

  ‘They will knock him into shape, I suppose,’ Rose told her without much conviction. ‘People can change. Anyway Marcus says Colonel Fossett sounded hopeful and said if he thought Steven was a suitable candidate for the Military Academy he would write to somebody at Woolwich and try to arrange an interview for him.’

  Miss Evans had been called in again to look after them as Mrs Bray was still unwell. Now she brought a tray of tea into the garden room where the sun was already very warm and where the two young women were chatting. For the first time since the day of the disrupted wedding, Letitia had felt able to abandon her nightclothes and dressing gown and had come downstairs wearing a softly flowered dress and had tied back her long dark hair with a matching chiffon scarf. Rose had at once congratulated her on her appearance – and had been rewarded with a resigned smile.

  Now Letitia said, ‘I thought I heard the telephone earlier, Miss Evans. Who was it? Anyone important?’ She spoke casually but Rose knew at once that she had hoped it would be Bernard even though she had insisted that she would not speak to him.

  Miss Evans looked flustered. ‘No. It was a foreign gentleman and I’m sorry but I couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was saying so I put the telephone back on its rest.’ She set out cups and saucers. ‘Why do foreigners speak so fast? It’s impossible to catch their meaning most of the time. And there were crackles on the line, as though someone was walking on dried acorns.’ She shook her head. ‘If there’s one thing I hate it’s newfangled gadgets. I daresay the telephone has its place but it will be the end of good letter writing, you mark my words.’

  ‘A foreigner?’ Rose said. ‘A wrong number, probably.’

  Letitia looked anxious. ‘I hope it wasn’t bad news from Wissant. Could this man have been French, Miss Evans?’

  ‘French? I daresay he might have been –’ she tossed her head – ‘but he might also have been German or Chinese or double Dutch!’

  Rose said soothingly, ‘If it was important he will certainly ring again.’

  No sooner had she spoken than another ringing sound echoed through the house but this time it was the front door bell and Miss Evans snatched up the tray and hurried to answer it.

  What happened next startled both women as a man erupted into the garden room without invitation. He carried a bottle of what looked like champagne which he set down on the table. No one spoke and for a long moment he stared fixedly at Letitia then held out his arms.

  ‘At last! My beautiful daughter!’

  Rose stammered, ‘Gerard? But what on earth . . .’

  Letitia had risen from her chair. ‘Gerard . . . ?’ She stared at the stranger – a handsome man with olive skin and dark brown eyes; a man with hair as dark as her own and a manner that brimmed with confidence. Before she knew what was happening he stepped closer, put his arm
s around her and kissed her passionately.

  ‘No! Don’t!’ she cried, shocked.

  She struggled to free herself and he at once took a step back. Still holding her at arms length, however, he was undeterred by her reaction. ‘So beautiful!’ he murmured. ‘Mon dieu!’

  Letitia pulled herself from his grasp. ‘I don’t want . . . that is, you have no right to . . .’ She cast a desperate glance in Rose’s direction but received no help from that quarter.

  Rose could see how delighted Gerard was to see his daughter and felt instinctively that probably this was his only chance to win her over. Letitia’s self-confidence was at a low ebb after Bernard’s rejection of her. Could her father save her from the despair she felt?

  Gerard turned to Rose, his dark eyes shining. ‘Is she not beautiful, my daughter? My lovely Letitia?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  Letitia was still shaking her head but words had failed her. Gerard released her but took hold of her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

  He said ‘That man – this Bernard – ’e is an utter fool! First I make ’im pay for ’is disrespect and then . . .’ His stern face broke into a smile. ‘And then I take my daughter ’ome to see her mother. Back to France, ma petite, where you belong. With Mama and Papa!’

  Rose had also risen and she watched breathlessly as Letitia struggled with her confused feelings. She was obviously hugely impressed by her father’s unexpected arrival and his dramatic announcement, but from lifelong habit she wanted to reject him.

  Rose, the memories of the farm at Wissant still fresh in her mind, was willing Letitia to give in gracefully to her father and take the chance of a new life.

  Letitia hesitated. ‘Gerard, I . . . that is . . .’

  ‘Not Gerard!’ He scolded. ‘Papa! I am your father.’

  Various expressions darted across Letitia’s face and Rose could only guess at the struggle going on in her mind. As she searched for words her father returned her to her chair and then, determined to stay close to her, pulled another alongside for himself. He gave Rose a brief smile and she hesitated, wondering if she should retreat and leave father and daughter together, but at that moment Miss Evans appeared, red-faced.