by Tania Crosse
‘Gilbert, we have to talk,’ she said as she set down the tray. Her voice was controlled, perfectly polite but dry, and she marvelled at how calm she felt.
‘Oh, yes?’
He cocked a casual eyebrow at her, and she wanted to curl her lip. He wouldn’t be so smug when he heard what she had to say!
‘Gilbert, I’m pregnant.’
She watched him, waiting for his reaction. His face stilled, then the muscles around his mouth twitched and he suddenly leant forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray before lounging back in the chair.
‘So? What’s it got to do with me?’
His expression was superb, just like a little boy who had been caught red-handed and yet insisted on denying his offence. It made Anna want to laugh with withering contempt, but this was no laughing matter.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ she repeated scathingly. ‘You’re the father, that’s what.’
He shrugged, spurring Anna’s disdain to a squall of rage, but she must remain in command.
‘How do I know that’s true?’ he scoffed, though she could hear the caution in his voice. ‘It could be anyone’s.’
‘So you admit you slept with me, even though you had no intention of marrying me? And who else am I supposed to have befriended living out here and working all hours? And I’m sure there’d be witnesses to our secret outings, the girl at the Two Bridges Hotel, for instance. But don’t worry. I’m not out to make trouble.’ She paused, noting the look of relief on his face. What a coward he was. It strengthened her resolve. ‘There won’t be any scandal. I’ll go away. But I’ll need an allowance.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t expect me to live on thin air, do you? Or your child?’ she retorted. ‘Nothing extravagant. Just a moderate allowance so that I can live without worrying where the next meal will come from or how to pay the bills. And you can come and see the child whenever you want.’
She stopped then, studying his face. He seemed to be considering her request, even though his expression was somewhat guarded. Her heart took courage.
‘I’m sorry this has happened, Gilbert,’ she said, her tone softer this time. ‘But just set up the allowance and no one will ever know. I swear I’ll never tell a living soul who the father is. For Frankie’s sake. In the few weeks we’ve known each other, we’ve become good friends. She idolises you, and I wouldn’t want her to know what a lying cheat you really are.’
She couldn’t help the bitter scorn she had lent to her final words but she regretted them instantly. As Gilbert came round to her side of the desk, the eyes she remembered as light and teasing were now livid with anger. She gulped and stepped backwards, but she must stand her ground. She stared up at him, her jaw set.
‘Frankie must never, ever know!’ he growled at her. ‘Do you understand?’
She blinked at him, too frightened by his attitude to answer. He must have taken her silence as a refusal, as the next moment he grasped her about the throat. She drew in a squealing gasp, and the image of her parents grappling at the top of the stairs flashed across her mind.
‘Do you understand?’ he repeated, caution flung to the winds as, in his maddened rage, he raised his voice to a shout. ‘If Frankie ever finds out, I swear to God I’ll kill you! Got it?’
He shook her until her head spun, his fingers pressing deep into her neck. She tried to nod but it was impossible with his hand choking her. He released her with such a forceful jerk that she staggered backwards with a cry of fear, toppling over a chair that crashed noisily to the floor. She let out a short scream as she fell, landing awkwardly on her back over the piece of furniture. Then, as she began to pick herself up, she saw Gilbert’s eyes swivel fearfully towards the door. There were footsteps, and the next instant, the door opened and there was Lady Ashcroft, her face stretched in horror.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ she demanded.
Anna glanced from her mistress to Gilbert, who was standing there dithering and looking so miserable that Anna’s contempt spiralled. It was his own fault this had happened. If he had done as she had suggested, no one would have been any the wiser. But now …
Anna dragged herself from the floor. ‘He’s got me pregnant, that’s what,’ she spat accusingly. ‘Made me believe we’d be married.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a total lie, Mother,’ Gilbert babbled evasively.
‘No, it’s not, and you know it,’ Anna sneered back. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Ashcroft. You’ve been good to me, but your son tricked me. I wanted to go away without anyone knowing. All I wanted was an allowance for the child, and then he attacked me.’
She stood, rubbing her throat and wondering what would happen next. Lady Ashcroft’s face was like stone, as if she was trying to absorb the shock of the scene before her, and it was Gilbert who spoke first. He gave a mocking snigger.
‘Can you believe it, Mother? The girl’s trying to get money out of me. Blackmailing me for something I didn’t do.’
Anna caught her breath, feeling as if she had been hit by a sledgehammer. ‘But … but you didn’t deny it a few minutes ago,’ she stammered.
‘Oh, Mother, surely you won’t believe—?’
‘How dare you!’ Lady Ashcroft stepped forward as if she had suddenly come alive. But it wasn’t her son she was condemning. Anna shrank back. She had thought the woman might have accepted the truth. After all, she seemed to have guessed that there had been something between Anna and her son. But, oh, glory! How wrong Anna was.
‘How dare you accuse my son of such a despicable act.’
‘Oh, yes, it was despicable, all right! Leading me on—’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. Gilbert would never do such a thing!’
Her words were like cruel barbs and she stood up to her full height. Like an indomitable battleship. And Gilbert came to stand at her shoulder. Smirking.
Anna gazed at their united front, and knew she was beaten. Her courage crumbled, but she must make one final attempt.
‘No matter how saintly you think Gilbert to be,’ she said steadily, ‘it really is true. You can believe it or not, but he seduced me, I assure you.’
Lady Ashcroft knotted her lips. ‘Get out of my house, you lying little minx. Pack your bags and leave. And don’t expect a reference. And if you ever try to extort money from us again, I’ll have the police onto you.’
‘And perhaps they’d discover the truth.’ Anna glowered back. There was nothing more she could do. She raised her chin in the air, her face a picture of composure. She must remain dignified in this, the most dreadful moment of her life, as she made to walk calmly out of the room. But as she stepped around the impenetrable wall formed by Gilbert and his mother, she stopped dead. For Frankie was standing in the doorway, her face as white as a sheet. Dear Lord. Frankie had heard everything.
Anna’s heart sickened. ‘I’m so sorry, Frankie,’ she mumbled wretchedly. ‘It happened before I knew he was to marry you. Before I knew you existed. I loved him, and I believed he loved me. Honestly, I did.’
Frankie just stared at her, eyes huge in her pinched face, and automatically stood back to let Anna past. Anna raced up the stairs to her room, blinded by the tears that suddenly spilt down her cheeks. She grabbed all her possessions, stuffing them into her little suitcase, but with the extra garments Mrs Davenport had insisted she acquired, it wouldn’t shut. So she threw out all the new clothes even if they had cost her hardearned cash. At that moment, she really didn’t care about the money. And she wasn’t going to be needing the clothes again. What she’d need soon was a maternity smock.
She threw one last look about the heartless little room. They had hardly been happy times she had spent there, except when Gilbert … Oh, Mr Teddy! She had nearly left him behind, and now she squashed him into the case. Then she shrugged into her old gaberdine, took a deep breath, and gathering her pride about her, walked regally down the main staircase with her shoulders boldly braced.
‘You owe me a week’s wages and a week in lieu of notice,’ she announced coldly.
She heard Gilbert snort and she shot him a despising glance, holding his gaze insolently until she heard Lady Ashcroft’s stiff voice behind her.
‘Pay her, Gilbert,’ she commanded, and Anna wondered if, after all, she knew of her son’s weakness but simply would not admit it.
‘Oh, er …’ But he obediently took out his wallet and withdrew a five-pound note.
‘Six,’ Anna said levelly. ‘It should be six.’
‘Oh.’
She waited while he drew out another note, and then snapped it out of his fingers. ‘Thank you. It’s precious little after what you’ve done, but it’ll have to do.’ And then she turned to Francesca who was still quavering by the study door. ‘I really am sorry, Frankie, that you had to find out what sort of man Gilbert really is. And I wish you luck.’
She let herself out of the front door, deliberately leaving it wide open. It was strange that no one tried to make her use the servants’ door, as if they all secretly acknowledged that she was indeed carrying the Ashcroft heir in her belly. She marched down the steps and out into the pouring rain.
‘Anna!’
She had vowed not to look back, but at Frankie’s desperate cry, she turned round. The other girl had run out after her, her pretty face creased with emotion.
‘Francesca, come back at once! Leave the little trollop to her own devices!’
It was Lady Ashcroft’s shouted command that halted her in her tracks. Well, it wouldn’t be Gilbert, would it, Anna scoffed? Gutless creature. Poor Frankie. Her face was distraught as she hesitated, dancing on the spot and glancing back over her shoulder towards the house.
‘Take care, Anna!’ she called from where she stood.
‘And you! Good luck!’ And then she muttered under her breath, ‘I think you’re going to need it as much as me.’
She turned away and began to walk purposefully down the long driveway. The rain was falling vertically as it had all day, with no wind to clear away the heavy clouds that sat over the moor in an immense slate-coloured dome. Anna trudged along, water already dripping from her nose and chin. Dear God, she was angry. Seething. Her fury driving away her despair. If she was to survive – and survive she would if only to show Lady Ashcroft and her precious son – she would have to make plans.
What were her options? Right now, she had little choice but to go to Ethel and call upon her family’s generosity yet again. Would they turn her away when they knew the truth? But she needn’t tell them. Not until she had sorted out her future. Hers and the child’s. Somehow, she would find a way to support them both. She had no idea how, but the first step was to go back to Number Sixteen. To the untidy, disordered house with its world of welcome and Mabel’s dreadful cooking. Anna’s dishonesty would cut into her conscience, but needs must when the devil drives.
Her shoulders ached from carrying the case, and she dragged herself up the steep hill on the far side of the Two Bridges Hotel. The sheeting rain had cut visibility to a couple of hundred yards, blotting out the view over the glittering thread of the West Dart. Only a handful of vehicles passed by on the road, their sidelights dull pinpricks in the gloom, and Anna jumped back to avoid the inevitable spray. Water was streaming down the road, the tarmac awash, and she bitterly regretted not thinking to collect her wellingtons from the servants’ rear hallway. The rain had soaked right through her strong, serviceable shoes, and her feet were cold and squelching inside her sodden stockings. She was beginning to feel so dispirited, and only the thought of seeing Ethel before the day was out kept her going.
The forbidding buildings of Dartmoor Prison loomed out of the murk over to her right as she approached Princetown, making her feel even more depressed. The rain had penetrated right through her gaberdine and she was drenched and shivering. The few minutes she spent in the Post Office drawing out her savings gave her little respite, and then she crossed over the road and made her way towards the station. A group of ponies huddled forlornly against the wall, their coats striped with dark, wet streaks. Poor things. Well, at least she would soon be in the waiting room. Would she be glad to get there!
The little station looked so inviting, and Anna gratefully went to open the door. And then she noticed the blackboard propped against the wall, chalk half washed off in the rain.
NO TRAINS TODAY. RAIL STRIKE.
Anna stared at the sign in disbelief and her shoulders slumped. Oh, sod it. She’d read about the strikes in the Tavistock Gazette but hadn’t taken much notice. Oh well, she’d just have to take the bus down to Tavistock instead, and catch a bus from there to Plymouth if the mainline trains weren’t running either.
She went to pick up her case again. And then stopped. The Princetown bus ran on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays. And today … was Wednesday. A tearing sigh fluttered at the back of her throat. It really wasn’t her day.
Come on. Pull yourself together. There was nothing else for it. She would have to walk to Tavistock. It was what, ten miles maybe? Not impossible, and she thought probably nearer than Yelverton, which was the alternative.
She could have wept as she retraced her steps from the station and began to traipse along the road past the prison and out the other side of Princetown. If anything, it was raining even more heavily now. Her coat hung in a sodden curtain around her knees, water trickling from the hood and down inside her blouse.
Her spirits died inside her as she stumbled forward, one foot placing itself instinctively in front of the other, her vision blurred by the tears that had finally come, running down her cheeks and mingling with the rain. If only her mother hadn’t fallen down the stairs. If only her father hadn’t been changed from the man he once was. If only Hitler hadn’t dropped that bomb.
She didn’t see the pothole. Her ankle corkscrewed beneath her, and the next second, she was lying in the road, pain searing up her leg. It took her a moment to gather her wits. If she didn’t get up, she could be run over, and so she scrambled painfully to her feet. It really hurt to put her weight on her ankle. Oh, God, this was all she needed.
Her chin quivered and a desperate sob broke from her lungs. She tried to brush away the tears from her face, but it was useless. Everything was so wet. She hobbled on, her soul shattered into a million pieces. She’d never make it.
She reached the junction at last and set off down the main Tavistock road. But it was just the beginning. Her ankle throbbed, her little case now weighed a ton, every inch of her cried out in agony. She couldn’t go on. It was hopeless. She let herself sink down on the long, wet grass at the side of the road, put her head in her hands, and wept.
‘Oh, you poor girl. I sees you from my window, comin’ along the road, limpin’ an’ cryin’. You come on in to Queenie’s cott, cheel, afore you catches your death.’
Chapter Thirteen
Anna raised her head and peered through her wet eyelashes. With the rain battering all around her, she hadn’t heard the approach of footsteps and she was startled by the vision that had so suddenly appeared before her. She saw the muddy gumboots first, then the drab, shapeless skirt hanging over them, and finally the gnarled, wizened face that was looming over her, an old sack over the grey hair for protection. But what Anna noticed most were a pair of blue eyes so faded they were almost opal in colour, and yet as clear and bright as crystal.
The wrinkled face creased into a compassionate smile and the stranger picked up Anna’s little case, holding out her other hand to help Anna to her feet. Anna felt she couldn’t resist, as if she was under a spell. She stood up, and with the stranger’s help, hopped across the road. She was led through a gateway and along a stony lane between a bungalow and a stone wall. At the end, not that far from the road, s
tood a small, single-storey cottage. Just then, the humble dwelling appeared to Anna like a palace.
The old lady paused in the tiny porchway to pull off her wellingtons and push her feet into some worn slippers. Anna bent to take off her own shoes, but the woman stopped her.
‘No, cheel. Let’s get you off your feet first.’ And with a beaming smile, she took Anna inside.
The front door had opened directly into what was obviously the kitchen-cum-living room. Anna had grown used to the absence of mains gas at Ashcroft Hall and cooking on the massive range instead, and here in this tiny cottage, the arrangements were much the same, but with a far smaller blackleaded stove. The heat it threw out on this cold and miserable summer’s day was, to Anna, like heaven.
‘Take your shoes off now, little maid, an’ get they wet clothes off an’ all. You’m soaked to the skin. I assumes you ’as a change of clothes in that there case? Dry yersel’ on this.’ She went to a hook on the wall, unwound a rope from it and let down a drying rack from the ceiling. The woman then took a towel from the rack and hoisted the thing back up. ‘I’ll leave you a few minutes to get changed,’ she went on, ‘an’ then us’ll ’ave a nice cup o’ tea to warm us up.’
Anna mumbled her thanks, still too overwhelmed to think clearly. But she was engulfed in relief to be out of the rain, and obediently did as the elderly woman had instructed. She peeled off her sodden garments, aware of the rain clattering on the roof, and she took in the rough plaster on the inside of the stone walls, and the window sill that must be two foot deep. It was truly a delightful little cottage, and already its happy atmosphere was soothing Anna’s wounded spirits.
