Ragamuffin Angel

by Rita Bradshaw

  ‘No, you look!’ The constraint had gone; Edith’s true colours were flying with a vengeance, and as Kitty stiffened at the side of them Edith’s face was contorted with hatred as she spat, ‘You’ll do as I say, girl, or I’ll destroy you, and Dan with you. Do you want that, eh? He’s not marrying gutterscum, not while I’ve breath in my body.’

  ‘You can’t hurt us.’

  ‘No?’ Edith stepped back a pace and Connie watched her fight to gain control. Then she gave a short, bitter bark of a laugh as she said, ‘If he marries you it’s as good as dragging the Stewart name through the mud and I’ve fought too hard to get where I am today to let that happen. I’m sure the police would be interested to know a few facts about you and Dan, like the little matter of you being brother and sister?’

  Connie stared at her, her face bloodless, as she said, ‘That’s a lie and you know it.’

  ‘Do I? Prove it. I shall tell them you are my husband’s bastard, and that he had a stroke the night his other children went to the house of his fancy piece to force her to finish the relationship that was splitting their home and hurting their mother.’

  ‘It was Jacob.’ Kitty took hold of Edith’s arm, spinning the other woman round to face her. ‘You know it was Jacob; Henry was a fine, upstanding man. You can’t sully his reputation now.’

  Edith shrugged. ‘John will verify every word I say even now if I want him to,’ she said with dangerous quiet, ‘and even if he can’t, I shall say the knowledge of his brother committing incest is what sent him over the edge and caused the attack on Dan. That will put a different complexion on things, don’t you think? And Matthew and Gilbert will stand by me in this; they are greedy, those two. If I offer them enough, perhaps even my share of the business split between them, they will do as I say.’

  ‘You can’t prove this, it’s not true,’ Connie said numbly.

  ‘Maybe not.’ Edith’s eyebrows rose upwards but her voice was cold. ‘But enough mud will stick to soil any union you might have, I shall make sure of that. If you marry him you’re ruining us anyway, I have nothing to lose. And think of any children you might have; something like this would be a dark cloud hanging over them for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘You would do that? To your own grandchildren?’

  ‘Nothing that’s part of you has any claim on me. And I swear I shall do all I can to bring you down. If you love my son as you say you do then you will wish to spare him the indignity of a court case with all the ballyhoo that will follow. And it will, I promise you that.’

  Connie stared at the small woman in front of her and she found it impossible to understand how her Dan, her generous, warm-hearted, wonderful Dan could have come from such a person. Edith Stewart would do everything she had threatened, Connie had no doubt about that. She and Dan would have to sell up and move far away – if not for themselves then for the future of the children Edith had spoken of – and even then the tentacles of this woman might reach out to wind round their lives again. But they would do it; she would take Dan far, far away, because one thing was for sure – she would never let him get enmeshed in his mother’s clutches again. If Edith thought her threats and omens would make her relinquish Dan then she was wrong. It had only made her all the more determined that Edith would have no place in his life ever again.

  ‘You dreadful, dreadful woman.’

  Connie’s voice was low, and for a moment Edith didn’t seem to take in the softly spoken words, but then she stood stiff and staring as Connie continued, in the quiet, even tone which was more weighty than any screaming, ‘You are a truly low and common woman, do you know that? My grandmother used to say you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear and you are living proof of it. Well, you can do your worst, Mrs Stewart, your very worst, and do you know what? Dan and I will laugh at you! Aye, we will. Because we’ll have each other and that’s all that matters. We’re going to have a good life, Dan and I.’

  ‘You’ll live to rue this day.’ Edith’s voice was quivering with rage. ‘By all that’s holy you’ll be sorry, girl. You’ll be crawling in the gutter before you’re finished, like your mother before you.’

  ‘No, I’ll be living with your son, Mrs Stewart, and we shall watch our children and our grandchildren grow up free of any knowledge of you.’ Connie’s stomach was trembling, and as Edith took a step towards her and raised her hand, Connie had no chance to avoid the ringing slap Edith delivered across her face.

  Connie’s head jerked back so hard her neck gave a loud crack, but other than raise her hand to her face Connie remained still. ‘Truly low and common,’ she repeated contemptuously, ‘but you can’t win. You can’t win, Mrs Stewart.’

  Kitty had sprung forward, grabbing Edith’s arms and yanking them back so hard the other woman’s bust was thrust forward like an obscene offering, and as Connie finished speaking Kitty said, ‘Are you mad? Stop this! Stop it, I say.’

  There was something of a tussle before Edith wrenched herself free, and through it all Connie was fighting the urge to throw herself on Dan’s mother and beat her fists into the small squat body. She wanted to hurt her, really hurt her, and the force of the destructive hate was so strong her ears were ringing with it. Only the knowledge that-her mental and physical control had to be seen to be superior to that of her enemy prevented her from acting worse than any woman of the streets. She wanted to be sick; she felt chilled inside and out, and through it all every fibre of her being was calling Dan’s name.

  Edith was half leaning against the edge of the elegant chiffonier now, steadying herself against the polished wood, and Connie’s voice didn’t falter as she looked at Kitty and said, ‘Would you mind seeing Mrs Stewart out, Kitty?’ for all the world as though the other woman was her housekeeper and she was asking her to show a guest out after a social call.

  It was plain that her attitude was further salt in the wound – Edith actually ground her teeth as she straightened herself, slapping at Kitty’s hand which had gone out to help her- and her voice was a low hiss as she said, ‘I’m going, don’t worry, but you’ll be hearing from my solicitors once I get the ball rolling and we’ll see how all your fine words hold up then, eh? You might not mind the filth flying, you were born into it when all’s said and done, but a man’s pride is a different thing. You’ll break him if you go through with this, you know that, don’t you? And the result of it will be on your conscience for the rest of your life.’

  Connie knew she dare not speak – one word and all her good intentions would fly out of the window and she would pummel the vicious little woman in front of her to the floor – and so she remained standing quite still in the middle of the room as Edith glared at her one more time before turning and walking to the door, Kitty on her heels.

  When was it going to end, all the striving and contending and fighting against the havoc Edith Stewart had incited – and still intended to incite – against her? Connie asked herself as the front door closed behind the two women.

  And then, almost in answer, she heard the shrill, drawn-out scream that froze her to the spot for a terrified moment, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing up in protest. And then she was leaping across the room, wrenching open the front door and coming to an abrupt halt on the small landing to see Kitty – her hand to her mouth and her eyes staring – looking down at the crumpled body at the bottom of the steep stairs.

  ‘Kitty?’ Connie grabbed at the other woman’s arm, shaking it slightly.

  ‘She went from top to bottom, lass.’ Kitty didn’t look at Connie as she spoke but continued to lean slightly against the wall, her eyes on the ominously still and twisted figure of her employer. ‘I always said her temper would get the better of her one day; just missed her footing and down she went.’

  As they started down the stairs, Connie leading the way, the door to the restaurant opened and Wilf stood framed in the aperture. He took in the situation at a glance, and as he looked upwards there was mingled horror and relief on his face as he
said, ‘By, lass, when I heard that scream . . . I thought it was you.’

  Edith was lying sprawled across the bottom stair and the floor and from the unnatural position of her head there was no doubt she was dead. Connie looked down at Dan’s mother from two or three steps up. Edith’s head was bent backwards so her face was uppermost, and her features were contorted in an expression which looked to be of shock rather than pain.

  ‘Dear God . . .’ As Kitty spoke she slumped down on the step on which she was standing, and Connie turned away from the sight of the distorted face to take the other woman in her arms, saying, ‘Come back upstairs, come on, you can’t do anything here. Wilf will see to things, won’t you, Wilf?’

  ‘Aye, lass. You take Kitty upstairs and make her a nice cup of tea.’

  Connie could feel Kitty shaking as they entered the flat again and the sensation was reflected in her own body. It wasn’t that she was sorry Edith Stewart was dead; she wasn’t, she couldn’t be, and she wasn’t going to be hypocritical, but the suddenness of it . . . One minute here in this world and then the next . . . And whatever had gone on in the past Kitty’s whole life had been wrapped up with Edith and the rest of the family. This must be terrible for her. And the sight of that face . . . Connie found she had to sit down very suddenly as her legs failed her and take several long deep gulps of air before she could rise again and see about making the tea for Kitty.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The wedding took place eight weeks later, and Father Hedley was aware of the opinions of some of the more conservative members of his congregation as clearly as if they had voiced them.

  ‘What have things come to? That lad’s poor mam barely cold an’ him gettin’ wed! Never should the Father allow it.’

  ‘An’ did you know the lad wasn’t of the true faith even? Admittedly he’s not a Hallelujah – even the Father, liberal though he seems to have gone, wouldn’t allow that – but a Protestant and a Catholic? Now what sort of marriage will that be?’

  ‘Mind, meself, I blame it on the war. Don’t know their place any more, the young. It’s all changed. Start of the end this is, you mark me words. Aye, start of the end.’

  Connie and Dan were oblivious to the murmurings, but even if they had put themselves in a position where the gossip was repeated it wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference. They wanted to be married at once, and they didn’t intend to let narrow prejudice or blind convention or anything else stop them. And everyone who really mattered saw it their way – Mary and Wilf, Gladys and the children, Kitty, Ann, even the twins and their wives surprisingly. Funnily enough it had been at Edith’s funeral that the twins’ wives and Ann – who had become close friends in the aftermath of the separation when Doreen and Ruth had refused to follow Edith’s edict to ostracise John’s wife – had made it plain where their sympathies lay, and Gilbert and Matthew had been unable to do anything else but follow suit.

  The wedding ceremony was conducted by Father Hedley at twelve o’clock, and although it wasn’t a grand affair, everyone agreed they had never seen such a beautiful bride.

  Connie had expected to be taut with nerves, but instead, once she had entered the church on Wilf’s arm and caught sight of Dan, tall and handsome although still painfully thin, waiting for her, she had floated for the rest of the day on a bubble of happiness.

  Dan had turned to watch her walk up the aisle, and on his face there showed such joy and naked adoration that there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Connie’s wedding dress was a simple, close-fitting, full-length affair, in a fine, delicately woven linen material, the ivory dress covered by a full-length cape edged with fur with a large soft hood that fell about Connie’s head and framed her face, and matched the fur muff in which her hands were tucked. The muff had served a dual purpose; to keep her fingers warm in the bitter cold of the February day, but also to conceal the small box she was carrying, in which reposed a tattered and frayed piece of cloth. But it was precious. More precious than all her success and wealth. They were still with her . . . Connie smiled as she approached Dan and took his hand. Her mother, her granny, her darling Larry, and Lucy too – all the people she had loved and lost. They were still with her, their images engraved on her heart and her soul.

  Can you see me, Mam? she asked silently as she took her place at Dan’s side in front of the smiling figure of Father Hedley. I love you, please know how much I love you. You made it possible for me to stand here today. You didn’t give up, you fought every inch of the way for us all. I love you, Mam. And Larry and Gran. Kiss them for me, tell them how precious they are . . . And for a moment, just for a moment, she could almost see them over Father Hedley’s shoulder, and they were smiling, her mother’s and her grandmother’s arms resting on Larry’s small, thin shoulders and their faces soft with love and pride:

  And then Dan’s arm went round her waist and he squeezed her close for a moment, and Connie raised her golden head to his dear face. The intensity of his love reached out to enfold her in a warm protecting shield and she relaxed against him for a blissful moment, before turning and handing her muff to Mary who was her matron-of-honour and looking very pretty in pale pink.

  Dan’s kiss was swift but passionate as the service ended, and it lit within Connie a desire equal to that of her husband. It continued to burn through all the laughter and fun of the celebrations that afternoon and evening at the restaurant, the tea-rooms having been cleared of chairs and tables for dancing, and then came the moment when all their guests had gone and Mary and Wilf and the baby had retired to their own rooms above the bakery.

  Connie and Dan had decided to have their wedding night at the flat before they left for a few days’ honeymoon at a very grand hotel in Newcastle. Now they were alone at last, and Dan turned from locking the shop door, walked across to where Connie stood waiting, and took her into his arms. His kiss was hard and passionate and free of all the restraints he had shown thus far, and by the time he led her upstairs she was trembling and moist.

  He was gentle, incredibly gentle as he tenderly peeled away her bridal dress and the silk underwear which had cost as much as the dress, and all the time he undressed her and then himself, he was raining kisses upon her upturned face.

  ‘You’re not frightened of me, my angel, are you?’ he asked softly when, their clothes gone, he drew her over to the brand new double bed they had bought the week before.

  Connie was trembling, she couldn’t help it, yet it wasn’t with fear-at least not any fear she recognised. The sight of his naked body had aroused so many different emotions in her that she couldn’t name them. Compassion, as the full extent of his suffering was revealed in the lean angular lines of his body; regret and a touch of erroneous guilt as her eyes took in the angry red scar at the bottom of his shoulder where John’s bullet had been dug out; apprehension and not a little awe at her first sight of a fully aroused, naked man; concern that she wouldn’t know how to please him, and many, many other feelings all came together to make her briefly stiff and unyielding.

  And then he began to stroke her and again shower gossamer soft kisses on her face and throat before slowly working downwards to her collarbones, the exposed peaks of her full breasts, her small waist and flat, taut stomach, and by the time he slid up the bed again to take her mouth she was ready to receive him.

  He became still the moment before he entered her, and then he said, his voice a whisper against the hot flushed skin of her cheek, ‘Don’t be frightened, my angel, I won’t hurt you.’

  And he didn’t.

  Instead he took her into a soaring world of love and light and belonging, a world where she was indelibly printed with the knowledge of what it felt like to be loved and to love back. And it was ecstasy.

  Epilogue

  Father Hedley was tired, very tired. The pews in front of the confessional box were still a third full, and yet he felt he must have seen every one of his flock three times over . . . bless them.

  He shouldn’t have enjoyed himself qui
te so much at Connie’s wedding reception the other day, he told himself soberly, as he sent Mrs O’Flaggerty off to say the first Joyful Mystery of the Rosary after her act of contrition. He was too old for such high jinks, aye, he was. But it had been a blessed day.

  He allowed his mind to rest longingly on his armchair and the vision of a steaming cup of tea and a shive of Mrs Clark’s seed cake before the sound of another penitent groping their way into the confessional box brought a long, silent sigh.

  ‘Pray, Father, give me your blessing for I have sinned.’

  It was Kitty McLeary. He moved his face closer to the grid to confirm the thought and then leant back again. He had been pleased when Kitty had started attending church again round about the time the war started. It did that to some people, drove them closer to God, but of course there were others that went a different way. Mind, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her in church for a few weeks, not since Mrs Stewart’s accident in fact, after which Kitty had moved in with Ida. Still, the lass had had a lot on her plate and she’d obviously taken heed of his admonition at the wedding.

  ‘Make your confession, my child.’

  Make your confession. Kitty shut her eyes tight for a moment. She could have gone into Newcastle or Gateshead to do this, but it had seemed . . . dishonest. But the Father was going to be shocked, horrified, and she valued his good opinion. She hadn’t realised how much she had valued it until the last eight weeks. Not that she regretted what she’d done or even thought it was wrong, but still . . . You couldn’t expect the Father to see it like that, him being a priest and all.

  ‘Father, I’ve . . . I’ve done something . . . bad.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Really bad, Father. At least, most people would say but then they don’t know.’

  What on earth had she done? Father Hedley settled himself more comfortably and said encouragingly, ‘It’s only the good Lord Himself, child, that was able to withstand the temptation of sin in this earthly realm. Make your confession.’