Eliza was none too pleased at the knock on her door midway through the afternoon when she was about to tuck into a cake, and was even less pleased on looking from the window to see Probyn’s sisters. Having no intention of sharing the delicacy she put it in the larder before inviting the visitors in.
Whilst Ethel remained her usual grim-faced self, Meredith donned a friendly smile. ‘Hello, Eliza, I hope you don’t mind us dropping in? We’ve just come to see how our nephews and nieces are.’
‘They’re fine, why shouldn’t they be?’ A suspicious Eliza indicated for them to sit down, but refrained from offering a cup of tea just yet.
Meredith gave a chuckle and lowered herself onto the sofa alongside Ethel. ‘No reason at all, though I know they must be a handful for you, what with you having three of your own – Hello, Edwin.’ She nodded at the invalid who sat by the fire.
Eliza leaned back in her chair. ‘The day I allow a bunch of children to get the better of me is the day I turn up my toes.’
This attitude tending to confirm what Mrs Rushton had written, Ethel did not share her sister’s diplomacy. ‘I’m all for firm handling, but if I hear they’ve been mistreated—’
‘Eh, who do you think you are?’ Eliza reared.
‘I’m the children’s aunt and as such I’m concerned about their welfare. If you can’t cope I’d rather you let them come to live with me.’
‘Aye, and I’ll bet you’d rather have the army pension that comes with each of them and all!’ Eliza rose as a signal for them to leave. ‘Well, you’re not getting it.’
Ethel and Meredith rose too, the latter trying to calm the hostile atmosphere. ‘Eliza, our concern isn’t monetary—’
‘Oh no, you don’t have to worry where the next penny’s coming from, you’re neither of you poor widows like me!’ Eliza gave haughty examination of both women’s smart clothes. ‘How would I exist if I lost all those pensions?’
‘But surely the children come fir—’
‘They’re doing well enough!’ A thought struck Eliza and she narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll bet one of these busybodies round here has been spreading gossip about me, haven’t they?’
‘We have heard things we don’t like, yes,’ admitted Meredith.
‘I knew it!’ Eliza spat viciously. ‘Wait till I get my hands on them.’
Ethel had not been a prison wardress for nothing. Drawing herself up to her full height and using every ounce of her strong character, she warned, ‘I hope that attitude doesn’t suggest that you’re going to take it out on the children because, by jingo, if we get to hear of it you’ll be in gaol before you can draw breath!’
Unnerved by Ethel’s unyielding face, Eliza was not so free with her own threats now, though she was still very annoyed. ‘I treat those children as my own! Ask Clem. Anybody that says otherwise is a liar. Examine them all you like, you won’t find a mark on them that wasn’t accidental.’
‘That’s a very shrewd way of putting it,’ replied Ethel, planting herself firmly on the sofa again. ‘And seeing as how you’ve offered we’ll take you at your word. They’ll be coming out of school soon, won’t they?’
Taking her sister’s lead, Meredith sat down too.
Eliza heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose that means I’d better put the kettle on then.’
After what seemed like hours to those waiting in the frosty atmosphere, the children finally came home, first Eliza’s own two, followed by Beata and Mims, neither of them spilling excitedly through the door in the manner of old, but each presenting a wary face around the kitchen door, obviously to test what kind of mood their stepmother was in. Probyn’s offspring brightened somewhat upon receiving their aunts’ warm greeting and answered the summons to come and stand by Aunt Ethel’s knee.
‘Oh, your hair’s grown since I last saw you,’ remarked Meredith to Beata.
Touching a shoulder-length auburn lock, Beata merely nodded.
‘Where’s Marmaduke?’ asked Aunt Merry.
None of them dared answer. Eliza would be angry at hearing he had not been at school all day.
It didn’t take much for their stepmother to guess. ‘Oh, don’t tell me, he’s gone wandering off again.’ She turned to the women with a sarcastic laugh. ‘I’d better find him sharp or the gossips will be accusing me of doing away with him.’
‘What do you mean “gone wandering”?’ enquired Meredith.
Eliza made a disparaging gesture. ‘He’s always skiving off! Sometimes he’s gone for days.’
‘There must be a reason for it.’
‘There is – he’s simple! Doesn’t know when he’s well off. He’d rather kip in the hedge bottom than in a warm bed.’
During this, Ethel had been looking closely at the children, thinking what a wild, neglected little thing Mims looked, with her long and tousled light-brown hair, and now she pulled up the sleeve of the little girl’s shapeless black dress to see if there were any hidden bruises. Eliza gasped at the impudence but made no further comment.
Finding several abrasions, Ethel asked, ‘What are these?’
‘They’re just from playground frolics! Every bairn has bruises.’
Ethel’s face was grim as she turned back to her niece. ‘How did you get these, Millicent?’
Mims dared not reply, her hands nervously playing with the end of the belt around her middle that made the dress look like a tied potato sack.
Her aunt tried another tack. ‘Are you happy living here?’
Mims looked to her elder sister for advice, but Beata felt her stepmother’s eyes boring into her and was too afraid to give an honest answer. ‘Yes, Aunt.’
Ethel knew the sign of fear and tried to inject more kindness into her voice, unaware that to the children she still appeared stern. ‘You’re sure? You see, we’ve heard that you’ve been treated unkindly by your stepmother.’
Far from instilling confidence, her statement provoked terror. Beata wanted desperately to reply that Eliza was indeed cruel, but what if her aunt didn’t take them there and then? Eliza would make their lives a misery.
‘Are you happy, Beata?’
Beata tried to smile though her lips quivered. ‘Yes, Aunt.’
Faced with this answer, Ethel and Meredith were unable to offer solace. ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Sounding doubtful, Ethel looked into the two pairs of fearful blue eyes and told the girls, ‘Then you can stay here for now. But if you ever need us just tell Mrs Rushton and she’ll pass it on.’
‘Ah! I thought it might be that old bitch,’ muttered Eliza. ‘She’s nothing better to do than spread rumours.’
‘Well, rumours or no,’ said a grave Ethel, ready to take her leave, ‘we’ll be here to check up on our nephews and nieces again and if we find so much as one bruise…’ She allowed her voice to trail away though there was no doubting the threat in it. Reaching into her purse, she doled out coppers to the children. ‘This is for you to spend as you like, my dears.’ It was issued with another warning glare at Eliza. ‘Not for anyone else.’
Lips pressed together in a bloodless line, Eliza let the women out, then closed the door and turned to confront Beata and Mims, pointing a finger at them. There were no words, no smacks or punches, just that ominous finger and a pair of threatening black eyes. It was enough.
* * *
Ignorant as to when Ethel and her sister might descend on her out of the blue, Eliza made a concerted effort to curb her violence, and instead began to inflict the cruelty in more subtle ways, sending Beata on messages to the Co-operative Store for a bag of sugar at a quarter to nine, knowing she could not possibly get from the shop to the school by nine, and thus would be punished by her teacher for being late.
Out at work and ignorant of these sly tricks, Clem gave thanks that the corner seemed to have been turned and Eliza was getting along better with the younger ones these days.
Not so the neighbours. It seemed to Mrs Rushton and Fanny Gentle that their efforts to be kind to the Kilmaster children were hav
ing an adverse effect, for the kinder they were, the more cruel Eliza seemed to become, her devious methods fooling some, but not them. Watching her like a pair of hawks at every opportunity, the women tried their best to gather the evidence needed in order to bring an end to the children’s misery, but up to now Eliza had proved too clever for them.
Had they known what a source of irritation their constant looks and whispers had become to Eliza they might have felt a little less ineffectual.
‘They’re starting early today,’ she muttered to Clem.
‘Who?’
‘Those old busybodies. They’re bloody staring in this direction again!’ Pulling aside the net curtain, Eliza glared back at the women, who stood gossiping in a patch of early morning sunshine.
Recognizing that tone in her voice and wanting to maintain the peace, Clem advised her to, ‘Take no notice,’ as he himself made ready to leave for work.
‘I don’t!’ In turning to answer, Eliza spotted a surreptitious movement at the table; Mims had been about to palm one of her crusts off on Beata. ‘Don’t you dare!’
Caught out, Beata gave her sister a fearful look that told Mims she would have to eat the crust herself today.
Her attention back on the gossips, anger had begun to bubble in Eliza’s breast. ‘Look at them, the dirty—’
‘I’m going now,’ announced Clem cheerfully.
Still fuming, Eliza let the curtain drop, then noticed that Mims was still dawdling over her crusts. In an instant she had flown into a rage, had grabbed the crust out of a terrified Mims’ hand and was trying to force it into the little girl’s mouth, vicious fingers screwing it all over the wriggling child’s face, having no effect other than to inflict a network of crimson scratches.
‘Eh! Eh!’ Clem strode up to intervene, taking Eliza by the arm and speaking in a gentle voice in an attempt to calm her whilst Mims sobbed and the others stood shocked to the core. ‘Simmer down! Don’t let a bunch of gossips get you worked up. They’re not worth it. Here, come on, sit down. Doris, pour your mother a cup of tea.’
At the sight of the bloody weals on Mims’ face Eliza instantly regretted her actions, her anger waning to a desperate moan: ‘You’ll be late for work!’
‘I’m not leaving you like this.’ Firm but gentle, Clem made her sit down and handed her the cup of tea that Doris had poured, his siblings wondering how he could show her such charity after she had behaved like a demon to Mims.
Only after making sure that Eliza had recovered did he check on Mims’ injuries, telling Beata to wash her sister’s face, then dabbing the scratches with ointment. Remaining in the house until he was sure that Eliza was all right, Clem finally went off to work, telling the children to keep out of their mother’s way and get on with their jobs until it was time for school.
Both inveterate gossips, Mrs Rushton was still engaged with Fanny Gentle on the corner when two small figures came past an hour later. ‘Hello, Beat, on your way to schoo—’ She frowned and waylaid the pair. ‘Hang on, what are all them scratches around your sister’s mouth?’
Smiling, Beata planted a hand between Mims’ scrawny shoulders in an attempt to move her on. ‘A cat jumped over our back wall and landed on her.’
‘Eh dear!’ Not believing a word of it, Mrs Rushton held Mims back to examine the angry weals more closely, saying in kind voice, ‘There’s no need to be frightened of telling me the truth, you know. If a person did this—’
‘No, it was a cat!’ Terrified that Eliza might see them talking to the neighbours, Beata grabbed Mims’ hand.
Fanny was taking an interest in the scratches too, tilting the little girl’s chin. ‘Must have been a vicious type of cat.’
‘It was. A big ginger one.’ Following her sister’s lead, little Mims smiled and moved on. ‘We’ll have to go or we’ll be late for school.’
‘Well, remember where we live. If ever you need help you know where to come.’ The concerned women allowed the pair to hurry away, Fanny muttering, ‘Aye, it’s a vicious cat all right, but one of the human variety.’
Mrs Rushton heartily agreed. ‘Aye … Oh, talk of the devil!’ Spotting Eliza leaving her house and hurrying down the opposite side of the street, both women dealt her a penetrating glare.
Though unsettled by their scrutiny, Eliza paused and made theatrical examination of her clothes, calling to the observers, ‘I thought for a minute I’d left me skirt tucked into me drawers the way you two are staring.’
‘You’re brazen enough to!’ retorted Fanny.
Eliza bridled and came across the road. ‘Eh, who do think you’re talking to?’ '
‘You!’ Mrs Rushton joined her friend in projecting annoyance.
‘We’ve just witnessed your handiwork on that bairn’s face!’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘You do! And I’m telling you it had better stop.’ Fanny took up an aggressive stance, her finger coming close to stabbing Eliza in the chest.
Eliza was defiant. ‘Did they say I did it?’
‘No, they said what you told them to say because they’re that bloomin’ frightened of you! Well, I’m warning—’
‘And I’m warning you!’ Recognizing that the no-nonsense stance was only a front to hide a soft nature, Eliza was not fooled by Fanny’s threats and now made her own stabbing motion, actually striking the midwife several times in her bony chest. ‘Keep-your-neb-out-of-my-business!’ And with barely concealed fury, she stalked off.
‘Arrogant cow!’ muttered Fanny, rubbing her chest, angry at her own ineffectualness.
‘Aye, well, she won’t be so cocky with our Stan,’ said an equally irate Mrs Rushton. ‘I’ll tell him to put on his uniform when he goes to see her. Eh, I hope the poor bairns don’t get into trouble at school for being late. It’s no good, I won’t be able to settle till I’ve had a word with their teacher.’ Parting company with Fanny, Mrs Rushton took the same direction as the Kilmaster sisters.
Upon their breathless arrival at school Beata and Mims were indeed quizzed over their lateness by the teacher on the door. Only the fact that this was Miss Carter, the kindest teacher in the school, spared them from punishment. Their explanation about the cat was viewed with the same disbelief as shown by Mrs Rushton, who at that moment appeared.
‘They couldn’t help being late, Miss Carter!’ Mrs Rushton looked anxious as she hurried up to the group.
‘Yes, I heard what happened.’ Miss Carter showed concern over the scratches on Mims’ face, then told them to run along to their desks.
‘It wasn’t a cat,’ said Mrs Rushton. ‘It was that stepmother of theirs.’
Miss Carter nodded gravely. ‘We’ve had our suspicions for some time. But there’s very little we can do. I’ve quizzed the children but they seem too afraid to speak up.’
‘I know. It makes you feel so helpless, doesn’t it?’ Her brow furrowed, Mrs Rushton turned to leave. ‘Well, I just wanted to inform you the reason they were late so that they don’t get punished twice.’
Sadly, Miss Carter replied that not all the teachers were as understanding, but she would try to protect the youngsters as best she could. Saying goodbye to the other she went to her classroom and, before registration, took Beata aside. ‘Now, Beata, I’m giving you this opportunity to tell me what really happened to your sister’s face. I understand how difficult it must be for you to speak out against an adult, truly I do, but I urge you to tell us what is really going on so that we can help you.’
Gazing into that understanding face, Beata felt sure that Miss Carter must have suffered such abuse herself, but that did not make it any easier to confess. She lowered her eyes and shook her head.
‘Very well.’ Miss Carter nodded, her eyes and voice extraordinarily kind. ‘But if ever you feel able you must come straight to me.’
Going to her desk, Beata gazed upon the teacher with devotion and for the rest of the morning sat nursing her crush.
* * *
All her prev
ious efforts to stop the cruelty thwarted, Mrs Rushton’s opportunity was finally to come at the weekend. Screams were heard coming from the Kilmaster house, travelling for yards through the open window. ‘She’s killing me! Oh, she’s murdering me!’
Immediately upon hearing this Mrs Rushton bellowed up the stairs, ‘Get your uniform on, Stan!’
‘It’s Sunday for God’s sake, woman!’
‘Crime doesn’t keep normal working hours! Can’t you hear what she’s doing to those bairns? You wanted chance to catch her in the act – well, come on!’
Grumbling, Mr Rushton nevertheless dragged himself out of bed, pulled his braces over his rumpled shirt, and donned his police tunic.
There were others assembled in the street, all eyes directed at the horrible cries from the Kilmaster house as the policeman strode across the road.
An angry thumping at Eliza’s door had her rushing to answer it, upon seeing the official uniform, blurting, ‘I’m right sorry for all the din! It’s our Edwin, he always kicks up a fuss when I change his dressing.’
‘Mind if I come in?’ Without awaiting permission a suspicious Mr Rushton elbowed his way past her and into the kitchen, his wife remaining on the doorstep, craning her neck to see inside.
But sure enough, Eliza had spoken the truth; there was the lad, a soiled dressing dangling from his leg, clean bandages and lint awaiting application.
‘It’s such agony for him,’ said Eliza apologetically. ‘I try and take it off as gently as I can but the wound weeps and the lint sticks to it.’ She went to finish her task as if to illustrate to the policeman the difficulty she had, making soothing sounds in response to Edwin’s cries.
Still frowning, Mr Rushton looked around at the other children, who were dressed for church, the girl’s shapeless black tunics today embellished with white lace attachments, the boys in starched collars and cuffs. They were obviously in trepidation, but immediately he enquired as to their wellbeing they donned false smiles and said they were fine.
A Different Kind of Love Page 46
