A Step Too Far

by Meg Hutchinson

  But there was no bomb had deprived those still believing Katrin Hawley ignorant of her adoption. Let them bask in their misconception. She snapped the box closed. Time added flavour to the dish of revenge and revenge was a dish she would eat well of. But not yet.

  Replacing the box beneath its soft lavender shroud she returned to the living room.

  There was something must take preference even over revenge.

  Arthur Whitman frowned at the letter on his desk. What the hell had brought this on? Reading it again more slowly he tried to fathom the cause then rang for Katrin.

  ‘You know what this is?’ He waved the letter as she entered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why? Is it due to your father?’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘On account of his leaving for Australia.’

  Of his leaving, not our leaving. Katrin noted the disparity. ‘Why would my father leaving for Australia have any bearing on my resignation?’

  ‘Well, it’s not because of your going with him!’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then is it so you can go stay with relatives somewhere, will travelling into work here take too long, is that why you are giving notice?’

  ‘No, it is neither of those reasons.’

  ‘Then for God’s sake what is? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blow, it’s just this has come at a bad time.’

  Could there have been a better time? No, Mr Whitman, I think not. Katrin had dwelt on that very question, pondered it well before writing the letter.

  ‘The fact is, Katrin, this will make the move to Australia that much more harrowing by my having to take time every few minutes to explain the ins and outs of everything to a new secretary. If it’s a question of salary . . .’

  ‘It isn’t!’ Katrin’s answer came quickly. It must appear she wanted no discussion, no real delving into her decision to leave Prodor.

  ‘So what is it, Katrin, why are you resigning?’

  This was the moment. Lowering her glance, fingers twisting together, she allowed silence to enhance an entirely fictitious air of misery.

  ‘I have to. Please don’t say any of this to my father, I don’t want him learning . . .’

  Whitman’s frown deepened. ‘Learning what, Katrin? Surely there is nothing a father should not know about a daughter he loves as Jacob obviously loves you.’

  ‘That’s just it!’ With all the quality of an established actress, Katrin let her words rush on a broken sob. ‘It is because he loves me I cannot see him shamed, I will not let my disgrace become his, that is why I ask you to let him leave for Australia without knowing.’ Shoulders drooping a perfect emulation of despair, Katrin turned to leave.

  ‘One moment.’

  She paused. There was recognition in his voice, he had guessed the reason of her resigning.

  ‘Katrin,’ He spoke quietly. ‘The shame you would not have your father suffer, is it the shame of pregnancy?’

  A shudder of sobs her answer, he asked, ‘The child you are carrying, is it mine?’

  There had been no striving on her part to get him to believe her murmured yes, and no questioning on his, just a quiet acceptance.

  Holding the blue dress against her, Katrin laughed softly. Deceiving Arthur Whitman had been so easy. She had wept a little, protested he should not have to answer for her mistake. But it had been no mistake; getting him to make love to her had been well planned. She would be Mrs Arthur Whitman.

  He had asked was she prepared to marry him. No ‘I love you, Katrin’, no ‘Please be my wife’, no kiss, just a bald ‘The child will need a father and a stable home, I am prepared to provide that, are you in agreement to marriage?’

  He had not come to her side of the desk, made no effort to comfort her tears and made no claim as to fault lying with him; but as with running the everyday business of Prodor he had set wheels in motion by telephoning her father and asking permission to visit the family home that evening.

  There had been no opposition from Jacob. He had accepted the story of his daughter and her employer having been in love for some time, that both wished to be married before he left for Australia and had happily offered congratulations. He added smilingly that his consent would not be needed in a few weeks, that Katrin would have come of age, but it was nice to be asked.

  ‘The child will need a father and a stable home . . .’

  ‘Yes.’ Katrin’s voice was as icy as the stare in her eyes. ‘There will be a stable home, but not a father. You see, my dear Mr Whitman, your secretary is not pregnant.’

  ‘I ’eard there’s to be a weddin’ ’

  Quite distinct, the words floated to Katrin.

  ‘Bit rushed an’ all. You asks me there be more to it than ’as been said. Be my bet a weddin’ll be followed by a christenin’, and that won’t be in no nine months time.’

  ‘What you sayin’, Nora?’

  Katrin tensed. How had word got out? Whitman? That was unlikely, he was too wrapped up in the forthcoming trip across the world to have indulged in talk of his marriage. Who then? She had told no one other than her father. That must be it; he had been like a cock with two tails, so pleased and proud at the marriage his daughter was making. He had probably shared the news with the people at Titan and from there it would reach Wednesbury faster than any train.

  ‘What I be sayin’ is, there be a babby in the belly, why else would things be rushed?’

  Katrin smiled. The oracle was wrong this time; Nora Bates’ tasty gossip would prove to have no foundation.

  ‘Best not let Mary Turner ’ear you talkin’ like that, her won’t be pleased.’

  Mary Turner! Those women were speaking of Becky.

  ‘Pleased or no, time’ll prove whether what Nora Bates says be true or otherwise.’

  ‘What do Isaac Eldon ’ave to say?’

  Katrin listened attentively.

  ‘Ain’t been able to find out.’ Nora was obviously peeved at the gap in her knowledge. ‘Isaac Eldon don’t be a man given to talkin’ overmuch, not that is ’cept a body don’t get a job exact to his likin’, then ’appen he goes on summat chronic.’

  ‘What about that wench of his? Surely her’ll ’ave said summat?’

  Pausing only to rebuke a woman complaining the tea break hardly allowed time to drink a cup without it being shortened by the queue being held back while folk gossiped, Nora went on. ‘Like yourself I expected Miriam Carson to ’ave spoken, ain’t every day you ’ave a brother gettin’ wed now is it, but seems her be keepin’ as close a mouth as does her father.’

  So Becky was to have her wedding.

  It would be told first hand, once Becky and Alice finished night shift and returned to daytime hours; in the meantime she could think of the effect word of her own marriage would have. Sipping the hot sweet tea Katrin smiled. Nora Bates had propounded gossip with relish; that of her employer marrying his secretary would have the woman in raptures.

  But her wedding was not to be conducted in the office of the town’s Registrar, hers was to be no rushed affair. Nora Bates would undoubtedly look for a hole in the corner reason, the one quoted for Becky; but she would find no babby in the belly accounted for Katrin Hawley’s marriage.

  Arthur Whitman and Nora Bates; swallowing her tea, Katrin smiled into the cup, they were both in line for disappointment.

  32

  Becky and Robert Eldon were married. Katrin had spent a week wondering would the idea she had put that evening be accepted, would it be carried through or dismissed? But now it was an accomplished fact, Becky Turner was Mrs Robert Eldon.

  She had not attended the wedding. Becky had protested her disappointment but accepted that Katrin had to be present at a meeting in Birmingham. That too had been a lie.

  Isaac Eldon would no doubt be aware there was no such meeting scheduled. But then he knew also her dislike of him, and that that dislike would deter her from being a guest at any function he and his family attended.

  ‘Becky didn’t wear her
white dress.’ Alice had reported in the few days her friend had stayed home with her new husband. ‘It wouldn’t have been right. She said “White be for purity, it means a girl ain’t never done what I done afore being wed, it says her be pure. But I ain’t pure, I sinned and to wear a white frock would be adding to that sin in the eyes of God, it would be the same as lying to Him and I won’t do that, I won’t!”’

  ‘But did her mother not ask why Becky would not wear white?’

  ‘Didn’t ’ave to.’ Alice had grinned. ‘Becky couldn’t go wearing a white frock which had a dirty great ink mark splashed across it. Seems the two little ’uns had found a bottle and were painting pictures with it and like always they began to squabble and just at that moment Becky brought her white dress into the living room so her could iron it the bottle were flung across the table.’

  Fabricating a frown she had commiserated. ‘Oh how awful, poor Becky.’

  ‘That ink went nowheres near that frock.’

  ‘But you said . . .’

  ‘I knows what I said,’ Alice had replied. ‘Havin’ throwed that bottle the two little ’uns took off like Gabriel’s Hounds were barkin’ at their heels. They d’aint wait long enough to see where that ink landed so it were easy enough for Becky to place the frock in a patch of it then claim it were done by the bottle droppin’ right on the skirt.’

  ‘I still can’t help but feel sorry for Becky.’ Once again she had fabricated sympathy. ‘She did so like that dress, it is a shame she could not wear it.’

  ‘I d’aint say her d’aint wear it.’ In answer to Katrin’s puzzled look she had gone on. ‘Her mother come into the room just as Becky lifted the frock from the table, her took one look, grabbed it, took it into the kitchen and soaked it in cold water. It took some time before the stain faded and even then the whole frock finished up a shade of blue; but I reckon it took more time afore the arses of them little ’uns lost their redness, seems Mary pasted ’em good and proper.’

  So Becky had married in blue.

  And Robert Eldon!

  ‘Eeh Kate,’ Alice had gushed as though the thought had been spoken aloud, ‘it be a pity you couldn’t be there to see, Rob looked so ’andsome in his Navy uniform; Becky be lucky, there’s many a wench in Wednesbury would ’ave parted with her eye teeth as well as drop her knickers had it meant marryin’ Rob Eldon, and him, well a blind man could see he thought Becky were naught less than an angel.’

  Katrin met her own reflection in the dressing table mirror.

  So Robert Eldon thinks he has married an angel. What would he think when he saw that angel was fallen?

  But how could he be got to see? He could be told of Becky’s former lover, told of the American who had fathered her child but where would be the proof of that?

  Without that proof she had not truly taken revenge on Becky Turner, nor would the hate she held for that girl’s father-in-law strike as she had hoped. So was it to be left there? Was the desire of years to remain only part achieved? Lips white with pressure, Katrin walked from her bedroom. She could not let it rest there, she would not! Of all the people her heart cried vengeance on, Isaac Eldon was the one she would hurt most. Somehow she would find a way, see that extra step to ultimate satisfaction; and when she did then nothing on earth would prevent her taking it.

  Was she happy for Rob? Miriam Carson glanced at the photograph set in pride of place on the mantelpiece. He had been so pleased by his selection for the Royal Navy. Looking again at the photograph showing a young man with a thick crop of chestnut brown hair she smiled, remembering his first letter home. ‘I have only one regret so far as being in the Navy,’ he had written, ‘they clip a man’s hair closer than he shaves.’ But the Navy had done nothing to thin his smile – that still broke impishly across his face and his eyes laughed the same way.

  May God grant they remain so.

  Why had she thought that? Half-peeled potato forgotten in her hand, Miriam felt unease pull at her stomach. Why had that thought come again? There was no reason for it, yet push as she had that day he had wed, it had refused to release its hold and now it plagued again.

  Rob had walked on air all during that two-week leave yet she could not banish the feeling that something was not right. Perhaps it was simply because everything had happened so quickly.

  He had never written of Becky Turner, not one of his letters referred to her in any way nor had there been any courtship before his being called up, yet within that two weeks he had married her.

  ‘He be old enough to know what he be about.’

  Her father’s response had ended her attempt to discuss the impending marriage. Could it be he felt as she did, that the bed of roses Rob had made for himself might contain thorns? Was it a hint of such a feeling had him murmur quietly as they walked together into the Register Office, ‘Smile for ’im, Miriam wench, let ’im be happy while he can.’

  ‘. . . while he can.’

  There had been such an ominous ring to her father’s words and each time they returned to her they held a sense of dread. Fear of losing Rob to the war was a worry they all shared, that had to been the reason behind her father’s words. Draining water from the vegetable peelings, Miriam carried them out to one of the communal bins placed at intervals along every street for the collecting of any scraps which would provide food for pigs. She glanced along the row of houses clutched together as if to close away a world filled with anxiety, the constant fear of all you know and love being torn apart, the torment of war. As her glance carried along the huddled row to the Turner home, the presentiment she did not want yet could not prevent pricked along every nerve.

  Miriam walked into the living room.

  She looked at the photograph on the mantelpiece, the happy laughing face of her brother.

  ‘Give that rogue of a nephew of mine a kiss, he thinks himself too grown up to let a man kiss him.’ Rob had laughed the request then, taking her into his arms to say goodbye before returning to his ship, he murmured against her ear, ‘Watch out for Becky for me.’

  She had tried to do as he had asked, tried to draw Becky closer, to get her to feel truly a part of the Eldon family. But the girl who had once been so ready to spend minutes chatting was now quiet and withdrawn. Becky was no longer the girl she had known, but what had instituted the change? Was some secret behind the change in that girl?

  Miriam felt her heart twist.

  ‘Are you part of that secret, Rob?’ She held the photograph against her breast. ‘Is it one you know about or something waiting to break your heart?’

  ‘It were a real surprise.’ Alice Butler’s trill paid no mind to shoppers hurrying to find a last onion, maybe cabbage and potatoes from O’Connel’s market stall or, if heaven smiled, a sausage or two from Hollingsworth Butcher Shop. ‘Mother heard tell of it while her were at the cemetery on Sunday. Becky an’ me couldn’t believe it, but then on Monday Nora Bates were full of it, talked of nothin’ else but you and the boss gettin’ married, was her favourite topic all week; Becky and me both said it couldn’t be true, we said that somebody had got the wrong end of the stick, that it must be some other couple: But Nora weren’t havin’ any of that, her were positive there’d been no mistake, said Katrin Hawley and Arthur Whitman were the names had been called in that church.’

  ‘And Nora would make it her business to find out!’ Katrin’s answer was tart.

  Wrapped in a dull red scarf, Alice’s head bobbed like an overripe cherry. ‘Well, you knows Nosy Nora, her can get where castor oil couldn’t, speakin’ of which,’ Alice’s glance swept to both sides to assure herself no one was paying them attention, ‘Becky took herself a big dose of castor oil day before yesterday.’

  ‘Why did Becky do that, was she ill?’

  ‘Not afore her took that stuff, but her were sick as a dog afterward. Seems her remembered once hearing her mother and next door talkin’ of a woman who’d drunk half a bottle while sittin’ in a hot bath, said the babby the woman were carryin’ were born
within hours. Becky thought if her sat in hot water and swallowed castor oil then it would rid her of the one her be carryin’!’

  Anger tingled live along Katrin’s veins. Had Becky induced a miscarriage? To have the child removed would cheat her of a means of injuring Robert Eldon and also the despised Isaac.

  ‘Did . . .’ She paused, unswallowed anger blocking the words, ‘did it work for Becky?’

  ‘No!’ Alice snorted. ‘Bloody old wives’ tale be all that were, but true to form Becky believed it!’

  ‘But didn’t Mrs Turner wonder why Becky drank castor oil?’

  ‘Never found out. Becky chucked the bottle away afore gettin’ into the bath and as for the sickness, her told her mother it were most likely the fish her’d eaten earlier, said it hadn’t tasted as fresh as it might, anyway . . .’ she left the subject of Becky behind, ‘what about this weddin’ then? You and old Whitman, how long has this been goin’ on? When did he ask you? C’mon, I want to hear all about – Oh Lord!’ She broke off, her glance going past Katrin’s shoulder, ‘Here comes me mother, tell me later at work.’

  ‘When did he ask you?’

  Katrin excused herself quickly, the words a sting in her mind. Arthur Whitman had not asked nor would he ever have. He was marrying her because he thought he must, it was his duty. He would discover his mistake in trusting her, just as Jim Slater had found trusting her word had proved a mistake.

  A flush of elation had warmed through her when she had read the newspaper report of the findings of the Coroner’s Court.

  ‘The deceased was found to have a considerable amount of alcohol in the blood. It is thought due to the effect of this he stumbled, striking his head and causing the bottle he carried to smash against the wall. Upon falling, he landed on the broken glass thus severing a carotid artery. The verdict being death due to accidental causes.’

  Accidental causes! It would be ‘accidental causes’ would result in her own ‘miscarriage’. But unlike Becky’s her ‘child’ would be well and truly lost, but she would still be Mrs Arthur Whitman.