Frankie's Manor

by Frankie's Manor (retail) (epub)

  Dazed, Frankie felt behind him for a chair and let himself sink down onto it. ‘She’s gonna be all right, then? Rosie’s gonna be all right?’ His voice sounded weak as he took in the news. Then, relief flooded through him, leaving him trembling. ‘And… and the baby? Is it gonna live? I mean, I don’t want to get Rose’s hopes up if…’

  Thomas Maitland’s lips twitched into a thin smile. ‘As far as I can tell at this moment, the child has a good chance of survival. But, as I told you before, there is always a danger of renewed haemorrhaging. Especially approaching the sixth month. But we are aware of the problem, and we will carefully monitor Miss Kennedy’s progress. If you wish, I can arrange for a private midwife to be in attendance on her when she returns home.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, that’ll be fine. Like I said before, whatever it takes to get Rose back on her feet.’ Frankie got up unsteadily and shook the doctor’s hand fervently. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, Doctor. If you ever need anything, well, you just have to ask.’ Frankie began to leave, then stopped by the door.

  ‘Yes, Mr Buchannon? Is there something else you wish to ask me?’ Dr Maitland’s genial tone sparked Frankie into life. Fiddling with the brim of the bowler hat he held between his fingers, he kept his gaze on the floor as he asked, ‘Would she be… I mean, Rose. Would she be strong enough to get married? It wouldn’t be anything special, I mean, no big fuss, or anything like that. Just a simple service. Would she be able to cope, or…?’

  Thomas Maitland’s eyes widened at the unexpected request. Then his lips spread in a delighted grin. ‘But that is excellent news, Mr Buchannon, excellent. It’s just what Miss Kennedy needs at this particular time. Well, well, well. Oh, this is delightful. But I thought you said the father was…’

  Frankie interrupted, ‘The father doesn’t come into it. It’s me I’m talking about… that is, if Rose’ll have me. I ain’t asked her yet. Well! Is she up to it?’

  Spluttering in confusion, the elderly doctor stared in amazement at Frank. ‘Am I to understand that you plan to marry Miss Kennedy, and take responsibility for her child?’

  Discomfited by the other man’s open admiration, Frankie fidgeted, then his dark, brooding eyes locked with those of the physician. ‘You could say that, Doc. Only don’t go looking at me like I’m doing something noble. It ain’t like that. If she’ll have me, it’ll be in name only. She’s gonna need someone to look after her, and I ain’t having anyone call her kid a bastard. So! What d’yer think, Doc? How soon d’yer think she’ll be strong enough?’

  The doctor was lost for words. Then he recovered himself. ‘Good Lord! Well, this is certainly a surprise. As for your question…’He spread his hands wide in perplexity. ‘Well, certainly not at the moment. Maybe in a few weeks—’

  Impatient, now, Frankie butted in, ‘Look, Doctor, all she’s gotta do is say, “I will.” Surely she’ll be able to manage that.’

  The doctor considered the tall, handsome man, with new respect dawning in his faded blue eyes. ‘There is a small chapel in the hospital grounds, though I’ve never heard of a wedding being performed there. I daresay the chaplain would be happy to oblige if asked. It would make a pleasant change from the duties he is usually called upon to perform.’ He went to the door and held it open. ‘I shall make the necessary enquiries on your behalf, Mr Buchannon, but I must, in all conscience, point out that Miss Kennedy is in a very low state of mind and is not capable of making any major decisions. Of course, the news that her child is still alive may or may not ease her mind, bearing in mind what she tried to do.’ The doctor saw Frankie’s eyebrows draw together in anger, but he was not intimidated. ‘You have said that the child is not yours, and that your relationship to Miss Kennedy is more in the line of close relative. And while I applaud your excellent motives, I think it would be unfair and unethical to impose such a momentous decision upon her while she is in such a low state. In all probability, she doesn’t know what she is doing or saying at the moment. Her recent experience was harrowing, to say the least, and the medication she has been receiving has most certainly clouded her judgement. Surely it would be better if you waited until she was sound in mind and body before undertaking such a step? Even if it is for the best possible motives.’

  Frankie swept past, his face set against all argument. ‘You just do your job, Doc, and leave me to worry about Rose’s welfare. And listen.’ He paused outside Rose’s room. ‘I’ve done some things in me time I ain’t exactly proud of, but the one thing I’d never do is hurt Rose. The only thing I want to do at the moment is give her me name and the security that goes with it. Once she’s well again she can decide if she wants to stay married to me, but whichever way it goes, she’ll still have me name, and her kid won’t be born a bastard.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Buchannon. You must do what you think best. But there is something you seem to have forgotten.’ Barely able to control his impatience, Frankie darted him a look of enquiry. Undaunted, Thomas Maitland continued, ‘You realise, of course, that I’ll have to inform the police of this business. Abortion is illegal, as you know, and the man responsible must be caught and put out of harm’s way as soon as possible. The next woman may not be as fortunate as Miss Kennedy.’

  Frankie took a step away from the door. ‘No! I mean, hang on. There’s no need for that. I’ll see to him, don’t you worry about that. We don’t need the police involved. We look after our own where I come from.’

  ‘That may be so, Mr Buchannon. But where I come from we leave such matters to the proper authorities.’

  Sensing that the man couldn’t be swayed, Frankie took a deep breath and said, ‘I respect your views. But is it really necessary to drag Rose into it? She’s suffered enough. I already know where the man lived – I made it me business to find out. Look, if I give you his name and his last known address, will you keep Rose’s name out of it – please?’

  The doctor hesitated for what seemed an eternity then nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Buchannon. But only on the strict understanding that I receive the relevant information.’

  ‘You have me word, Doctor.’ Frankie saw the man’s scepticism and felt a spark of anger. ‘It’s all right, Doctor. I may not be the kind of person you’d invite to dinner, but I’m a man of me word. You can ask around, if you like. I’m known round the East End and…’

  The doctor surveyed Frank coolly, then gave a dry chuckle of amusement. ‘I know who you are, Mr Buchannon, as do the majority of the staff. I’m sure they will give you all the assistance you require. Good day, sir.’

  * * *

  When Rose next woke, she was more lucid. As she took in her surroundings with a clear eye, and realised that it hadn’t all been a terrible dream, hot tears welled up. Weakened from loss of blood, her fragile body shook feebly with suppressed sobs. Within seconds Frankie was at her side.

  ‘Oh, Frankie. I killed my baby. I killed it. I’ll never forgive myself – never. Oh, Frankie, oh, I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt it, I didn’t mean to hurt my baby.’

  Frankie’s arms went round her, one hand tenderly stroking the mass of hair. ‘There, there, Princess. Give over. Listen to me, Rosie. Listen, will you.’

  Rose stared at him with anguished eyes.

  ‘It ain’t dead. Your baby ain’t dead. D’yer understand, Princess? It’s alive. It must take after its mother, ’cos the little sod’s still in there.’

  Rose couldn’t take it in. ‘No, it can’t be, Frank. The blood… There was blood everywhere. It couldn’t have survived. It’s just not possible.’

  Frankie held her tightly and explained, as best he could, what the doctor had told him. He ended, ‘You see, Princess? It’s all right. Everything’s gonna be all right.’

  Rose sank back on her pillow, a smile tugging at her lips. ‘You mean it, Frank?’ she whispered. ‘Really? You wouldn’t just say that to make me feel better until I was stronger?’

  Frankie kissed the pale forehead. ‘Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, Princess. It’s
the truth, I swear it is.’

  In an almost reverent movement Rose placed her hands over the small mound of her stomach. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it… Oh, Frankie.’ Her eyes shone with new hope, but then a shadow crept over her face, dimming the brightness. Frankie saw the change, saw the look of fear, and knew the reason behind it. He was humbled. That Rose, of all people, should be in fear of him wasn’t to be borne.

  Abruptly he let go of her and went to the window. Standing with his back to her, he gazed out on to a dismal world, a bleak and lonely place for many. The view from the window was depressing, overlooking drab houses, poverty-stricken people. What kind of life would Rose have with a child to bring up on her own? Oh, Mary would do her best to help but she was getting on, and some days she could barely put her feet to the ground. Yet if he were to take care of them… If he asked, and Rose agreed to marry him…

  For years he had known that something was missing from his life. He had laughed off enquiries about his lack of a wife but he had longed for someone with whom to share his life. Someone who would give it meaning, give him children and purpose. But such a woman had never crossed his path. Those with whom he mixed were unlikely to possess the qualities he was searching for – the qualities Rose had. Her modulated way of speaking, the way she carried herself, her independence, her spirit, her knowledge. Oh, yes, her knowledge. For Rose had been born with a capacity to learn, to educate herself, and the short while she had spent at the private school on which Mary had spent her savings had reinforced the natural ability she had been born with. Rose had class, for which Frankie had always yearned but which he was wise enough to know he would never possess – no matter how much money he had.

  He would never find the woman he was looking for because he had already found her. She was here, watching him, waiting for him to speak, her lovely blue eyes filled with apprehension.

  How would she react if he asked her to marry him? He gave a silent, mirthless laugh. She’d probably think he’d been drinking. And what if he asked and was refused? Could he bear it? Was he man enough to suffer rejection with dignity?

  And what of the child – Jack Adams’s child? Would he be able to accept it as his own? To love it unreservedly. Because if he had any doubts, he mustn’t ask Rose the question. He could never show the slightest irritation or dislike towards Rose’s child, for she would be quick to notice.

  ‘Frank!’ His name had been whispered, almost fearfully.

  He spun round and said shortly, ‘Look, Rose, I’ve got to go out for a while. I won’t be long, I promise,’ he added hastily, at the look of alarm in her eyes. ‘There’s something I’ve gotta do. I’ll be back in about half an hour, honest.’ He needed a drink badly, and there was a pub at the corner where he could buy the Dutch courage he needed.

  Rose watched his familiar figure leave the room, and as he went, so did her peace of mind. While he had been here with her she had felt a measure of safety. She was still afraid – afraid of what she would face on leaving here but mostly of the future for her child. Now that it was safe, she vowed it would never, ever come to any more harm, not while she was alive to protect it.

  But how was she going to provide for it? She wouldn’t be able to go back to work, not with Aunt Mary the way she was. A baby needed a strong pair of arms and legs to cling to during childhood, and Mary, bless her, couldn’t provide that. But she would try. Oh, yes, her aunt would try her best – and hasten herself towards an early grave.

  Fresh tears poured down her cheeks. Oh, Jack, Jack, you shouldn’t have left me. But even as she thought it she knew she was being unfair. Before he’d left London, he had come round to the house every day and begged her – begged them both – but Mary had been adamant that she wasn’t leaving her home. And Rose, faced with the choice, had chosen her aunt over Jack.

  If she changed her mind now and wrote to him, what would the future hold? She would be for ever caught between the three people she loved most.

  She must have dozed off, for when she next opened her eyes Frankie was once again by her side, his face wearing an expression she had never seen before. Before she could speak he said awkwardly, ‘Look, Rose, I’ve been thinking. Now, it’s not going to be easy for you after you leave here. I know Mary’ll do her best, but it’s still gonna be difficult for you to try to find work and bring up a kid. So, what I was thinking was—’ He broke off, then went on, ‘Look, maybe we can do each other a favour. I mean… Well, Mary’s always on at me to get married and settle down, and you and the kid are gonna need someone to look after you, so what I was thinking was – Aw, shit! Help me out here, Rose, you must know what I’m trying to say?’

  Rose could only gape at him in amazement. Yet even as she contemplated the absurdity of his proposal, a warm feeling of well-being was coursing through her. Ever since she was a child, Frankie had been on hand to protect her. She remembered how one day, at the tender age of eight, she had come home from school crying because her teacher had been picking on her. Frankie had taken her on his knee, wiped away her tears and said, ‘You leave it with me, Princess, I’ll sort it out.’ And that teacher had never bothered Rose again. It seemed, on looking back, that he had always been there to ‘sort it out’, and now it seemed the most natural thing in the world to let him take control of her life. The desire to accept his offer was overpowering. To have Frankie with her always, to know she was safe and looked after. To have someone by her side who could tackle anything and anyone that came his way. Yet…

  She said tenderly, ‘Frank, it’s good of you to offer, and I do love you, Frank, I always have… but – but not in that way.’

  Eagerly Frankie seized her hands. ‘I know, Princess, I know. But it’ll be a start, won’t it? I mean, like you say, we love each other. So it won’t be the perfect marriage but you show me one that is!’

  ‘But, Frank, what about… well… you know…’

  A flush was rising steadily in her cheeks and he cupped her chin fondly. ‘Gawd! Princess, I ain’t never gone short of that. What I can’t get elsewhere is a wife and a family – well, not the sort I want.’

  Rose’s head was spinning, but in the midst of her confusion she had made up her mind. Her child would have security – she owed it that much after what she had tried to do. But there was still one question she had to ask. Gathering her limited strength, she said imploringly, ‘It’s Jack’s baby, Frank. You know that, don’t you? And after what I’ve done, or tried to do, I’ll… I’ll never let anyone hurt it. I intend to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to my child – Jack’s child. Do you understand, Frank? Think carefully at what you’re planning to take on because it isn’t going to be easy, not for either of us. And the baby mustn’t suffer – it mustn’t suffer any more.’

  Limp with relief, Frankie stroked Rose’s forehead. ‘Ssh, Princess. It’ll be all right, I swear – I’ll make it all right.’

  And Rose, weary and sick to the very core of her being, relinquished herself and her unborn child into Frankie’s hands.

  * * *

  Ten days later, Rose, looking pale but determined, in a two-piece cream outfit trimmed with seed pearls and a large cream hat that almost obscured her face, stood before the hospital chaplain, holding Frankie’s arm. She felt as if she were in a pleasant dream, comforting and reassuring. Beside her stood Frankie, looking more handsome than she had ever seen him in a black morning coat, black and grey striped trousers and a high hat. Seated in a bath-chair, thoughtfully provided by the hospital staff, sat Mary, resplendent in a new blue chiffon dress that she would probably never wear again, valiantly trying to cover her astonishment at the speedy turn of events. As she had told an amused Frank, everything had happened so fast she didn’t know whether to have a shit or a haircut.

  Explanations and discussions had been sidestepped by Frank, who organised, planned and executed all arrangements with such speed and dexterity that the two women had been swept along on a tidal wave of preparations. And such was th
e sheer force of his magnetic personality that questions had remained unasked and all doubts temporarily buried as the great day loomed nearer.

  Now was the final reckoning, and as the chaplain asked Rose if she would take this man in holy wedlock, Frankie held his breath, praying that his efforts would not be thwarted at the last minute. To his left stood Thomas Maitland, who had agreed to be a witness, and he, too, found himself holding his breath. But neither men need have worried. So caught up in the whirlwind of events was she that Rose answered quietly but firmly, sure that she was doing the right thing by everyone concerned.

  Then it was over. The little wedding party returned to the infirmary where Rose allowed the ward sister to help her remove her wedding finery, before she slipped back gratefully into the security of the narrow bed, tired but more content than she had felt in a long time.

  Seated by the bed, Mary held her niece’s hand, dabbing furiously at her brimming eyes with a large white handkerchief. Frank stood alongside her, his composure belying the overwhelming elation that filled every pore of his body. Rose was now his wife. After all these years, the three of them were a family again. A proper family this time, all legal and above board, and as he gazed down lovingly at the two women who were his life, he silently vowed that they would never be separated again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On a hot summer’s day during the last weekend of August 1902, Jack was aboard a crowded, stifling train heading for Victoria Station. It was just six weeks since he had taken up his new position as sergeant in the small village near Southampton, and he was desperately missing Rose.

  The job was all he had hoped for. The quiet village of Hemerly, its population numbering a mere 123, was a world away from the grim, dark back-streets of the East End. His three-bedroomed converted farmhouse was idyllic and peaceful, the perfect place to raise a family. But, for a man on his own, it seemed vast and mockingly empty.