Frankie's Manor

by Frankie's Manor (retail) (epub)

  A twinkle of merriment sparkled in Rose’s blue eyes. ‘They didn’t half run! I thought for one terrible moment they were going to stampede right out of the house.’ Then she let her head fall back and laughed out loud.

  Mary took a long gulp of tea and looked around at the debris lining the kitchen. Plates smeared with cake and jelly were stacked in the sink, while equal deposits of the sweet treats had been trodden underfoot on the tiled floor. Streamers tangled across the table and balloons floated inches from the ground where they had been left abandoned by the small guests. In the far comer of the room, gaily patterned wrapping paper, which had contained Ben’s presents, now lay forgotten in screwed-up bundles, the contents strewn across the table and work-tops to be sorted out and put away later that evening.

  ‘Gawd help us! What a bleeding mess!’ Mary shook her greying head in dismay and blew out her fat cheeks. ‘You’d think there’d been a hundred kids here, instead of ten. Well!’ Using the table as a lever, Mary hauled herself up from her chair. ‘This won’t get things done, I’d better make a start.’

  Rose looked exasperated. ‘Don’t start that again, Auntie. Myrtle and Jane will be back soon. They’ll deal with it.’ Myrtle Fisher and Jane Wilson were the live-in maids Frankie insisted on employing, much to Mary’s annoyance. Even after all this time Mary couldn’t get used to being waited on. Seeing the obstinate glint in her aunt’s eyes, Rose sighed fondly. She had given Myrtle and Jane the afternoon off to placate Mary, who had insisted the party should be organised and run by the family. But enough was enough. If the two women came back to find everything done they would start worrying again about the security of their jobs. ‘Please, Auntie. I’ve already had Myrtle complaining – well, not complaining,’ she improvised hastily as Mary sat down in anger, ‘more concerned, Jane too. The poor things are worried you’ll do them out of a job.’

  Appeased, Mary gave a loud grunt. ‘All right, then. I’ll just clear the table, though. I can’t stand looking at a mess.’ But if the truth were told, Mary was worn out and looking forward to putting her feet up for forty winks, but she’d never have admitted it.

  And when, some ten minutes later, the two women returned from their afternoon outing, Mary made a great show of reluctance at handing over the clearing up into their capable hands.

  Rose and Mary were in the process of trying to coax the excited children in from the garden for their bath when Fred Green and Joe Perkins came to collect their guv’nor for their regular night out at Frankie’s club.

  Dragging him away from the two protesting children, so that he could get himself ready for his night out, Rose and Mary sought to restore order to the now overtired and fretful youngsters. An hour later, with Frank gone, the children bathed, fed and fast asleep, Rose left Mary resting with her legs up in the living room, and went into the library to read.

  Selecting a slim volume from the well-stocked shelves she settled herself by the window, but let the book lie unopened in her lap as her mind happily replayed the events of the day. She couldn’t believe Ben was three already. Where did the years go? As normally happened when Rose started thinking of her son, she remembered the trip to Paris and a soft smile curved her full lips. She didn’t know who had been the most surprised when Frankie had ended up in her bed after a late night’s drinking and dancing at one of Paris’s elegant night-clubs. For the previous four years of their marriage, they had, by unspoken agreement, maintained the relationship they had always enjoyed. Rose had her bedroom, and Frankie had his. If the servants had thought the arrangement odd, they had never made any comment, and Mary had wisely kept her own counsel. However, on that morning in Paris, when she had come bursting into Rose’s room and found Frankie lying alongside her niece in the sumptuous four-poster, her face had spread into a grin of pure delight before she tiptoed out of the room.

  Idly fingering the spine of the book, Rose stared lazily out over the garden. Her life hadn’t worked out as she had once expected, but she was happy and contented. Frankie was a wonderful father to both their children, and if at times Rose’s mind wandered to Jack, she firmly shut down on such thoughts. Everything she had she owed to Frankie, and not even in thought would she ever betray him. The love she felt for him wasn’t the wild, passionate love she’d experienced in her younger days, but it was a deep love nonetheless, which she would always cherish.

  Rose was just starting on her book when there was a discreet knock at the door. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Buchannon, but there’s a woman asking for you. She says her name’s Sally, madam.’ Myrtle, a plain woman in her mid-thirties, stood in the doorway, evidently displeased at the arrival of the unexpected guest.

  Rose’s forehead furrowed. Could it be… Goodness, it’d been years. She closed her book. ‘Show her up, please, Myrtle.’

  While Rose waited for her unexpected visitor, she paced the library floor in nervous excitement. Surely it couldn’t be Sally Higgins! Why, she hadn’t seen or heard anything from her since… A shadow of pain flitted across her face, then she straightened and shook herself briskly. That was all forgotten now. Dead and buried firmly in the past. A sudden shudder rippled through her body and she felt a moment’s fear, then Myrtle reappeared and behind her stood a stranger, a shabby, frightened-looking stranger. Then the woman spoke, eight years rolled away and it was like yesterday again. ‘Wotcher, Rosie. How’s life been treating you?’

  Rose swept forward, her hands going out to grasp Sally’s own. ‘Hello, Sally. It’s good to see you again after all these years. Oh, come in, sit down.’ Rose indicated a green leather chair. ‘Myrtle, bring up a tray, please. And put some birthday cake on it, and a pot of tea.’ She hesitated and turned to where Sally was perched on the edge of the armchair. ‘Unless you’d prefer coffee, Sally?’

  Sally gave a small, harsh-sounding laugh. ‘I’d prefer a drop of whisky, but tea’ll do for now, thanks, Rosie. That all right with you, ducks?’ She shot a questioning look at the hovering maid.

  Myrtle Fisher sniffed disapprovingly and left the room. Left alone the two women made small-talk, both looking up in relief when the maid came in with a heavy tray. ‘Shall I inform Miss Miller you have a visitor, madam?’

  ‘What? Oh, no, Myrtle. No, leave Miss Miller to rest. She’s had a tiring day.’

  Sally glanced up, her eyes inquisitive. ‘Miss Miller? That your old aunt?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Mary lives with us.’ Rose replied briefly.

  Sally nodded, her gaze wandering around the room. ‘She’s done all right for herself, ain’t she? You both have. Mind you, Frankie always did say he was gonna make it to the top. And you know our Frankie, always gets what he wants, don’t he? And Gawd help anyone who gets in his way.’

  Rose said nothing. Cautioning herself to remain silent for the moment, she ignored the alarm bells ringing inside her head and busied herself with pouring the tea.

  Under the pretext of helping themselves from the tray, Rose and Sally took the opportunity to take stock of each other. Sally saw a beautiful, self-assured woman, elegantly dressed in a navy velvet skirt and pale blue silk blouse, fastened at the neck with a small gold brooch. Rose saw a haggard, shabby woman with bloodshot eyes and flaccid skin, who bore little resemblance to the vibrant, attractive girl she had once worked alongside. She felt an overwhelming stab of pity for her former workmate, who had obviously fallen on hard times.

  Stuffing a large piece of fruit cake into her mouth, Sally glanced up, then flushed at Rose’s pitying stare. ‘Sorry, Rosie. I ain’t eaten since this morning. In fact, I ain’t had a decent meal in a long while. Still, I suppose you already guessed that. You being educated an’ all.’

  Rose put down the china cup she was holding. ‘No, it’s me who should be apologising, Sally. It was unforgivably rude of me to stare. It’s just… Well, I never expected to see you again. And you turning up like this…’ She spread her arms wide in a gesture of confusion. Then, noticing Sally hungrily eyeing a crystal decanter on the walnut sideboard
she rose quickly to her feet. ‘Would you like a drink? I mean, a proper drink. In fact, I think I’ll join you, it’s been rather a hectic day.’ Rose chatted on, aware that she no longer had anything in common with this woman, and wondering guiltily how long Sally was planning to stay. If Mary was to come in now! ‘We had a party earlier on, for Ben’s birthday. That is, my son, Benjamin. He was three today. The entire house was turned upside down for most of the afternoon.’ Sally grabbed the proffered glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp, then held it out to Rose. ‘Cheers, Rosie. I’ll have the same again, if you don’t mind.’

  Rose refilled the glass then resumed her seat, trying to think of something to say.

  Sally’s nerves had been soothed somewhat by the whisky, and she gave a low laugh. ‘Don’t worry yourself, Rosie, girl. You don’t have to keep up the chit-chat, I ain’t planning on stopping.’

  Rose felt ashamed. She hadn’t realised how transparent her feelings were. Wanting to make amends she said hurriedly, ‘Don’t be silly. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

  Sally stared fixedly at the earnest face and grinned wryly. ‘Always the lady, eh, Rosie? And what’d yer husband say if he came home and found me here?’

  Rose took stock of the situation. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said firmly, ‘I don’t know what Frank would say, Sally, but as he isn’t here, we won’t worry about it.’ More briskly now, she asked, ‘How are Rita and Henry? Are they both well? I often think about them and—’

  ‘Huh! Don’t make me laugh, Rose.’ Sally’s voice had turned bitter. ‘I bet you ain’t given them a minute’s thought since the night you left the Red Lion. Oh, don’t bother denying it,’ she added quickly as Rose started to protest. ‘I don’t blame you. I would’ve been quick to shake off the past if I’d been in your shoes. Still, seeing as you asked, I’ll tell you.’ Fast becoming easier in her surroundings, Sally walked over to the sideboard and poured herself another drink. ‘As a matter of fact, good old Henry threw me out of the pub a couple of years back.’ She winked broadly. ‘Caught me with me fingers in the till. Oh, I ain’t denying it. I was caught bang to rights. I needed the money you see, Rosie, to pay for me drinking. Your old mate’s turned into a soak, but then you’ve only got to look at me to know that, ain’t you? And, as far as I know, poor old Reet might have gone down the same road ’cos I ain’t seen her for years.’ As the whisky worked its way through her system, Sally became aggressive. ‘In fact, I ain’t seen her since the night after your dear husband beat the shit out of Henry for letting you show your tits in public an’—’

  ‘No! I don’t believe you.’ Rose’s angry cry cut across the room. Her cheeks flaming, she glared up at the shabby figure.

  ‘Oh, he did, all right. Poor old Henry couldn’t see straight for weeks afterwards. Frankie nearly killed him. And as for Rita… Well, she got such a fright when I told her how I’d found you, she did a runner. ’Cos if Frankie ever found out it was her who found you that old butcher, she’d have gotten a lot worse than Henry did. She upped and legged it. She sent Henry a note saying she’d found a better job, just in case Frankie came asking after her. No, I ain’t seen hide nor hair of the poor cow since then. For all I know Frankie caught up with her, and if he did… well! Poor old Reet won’t be telling any tales now, will she?’

  Rose faced the smirking figure, her blue eyes suddenly hard. ‘That’s enough, Sally. Frank hasn’t harmed Rita. He had no cause to. I never told him anything. So if that’s all you’ve come to say, then you can go. I’m grateful for what you did for me, Sally, but—’

  Sally whirled on Rose, crying, drunkenly, ‘Grateful! I should bleeding well think you are grateful. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead now. You and your bastard! I always said I was a fool to get involved and I was right, wasn’t I?’ Breathing heavily into Rose’s stricken face, she went on, ‘I thought you was better than that, Rosie. I know we never got on but you was always fair. Shit! You’re just like all the rest, ain’t you? When the chips are down, you don’t wanna know. Well, I’ve got news for you, Rosie, girl. You owe me plenty, and I think now’s a good time for you to start paying back the debt, don’t you? I’ve kept quiet all these years but, like I said before, I ain’t had a lot of luck lately. So, what d’yer say, Rosie? You gonna help an old mate out, or not?’

  Pale but calm, Rose studied the intimidating figure with a confidence she was far from feeling and answered, ‘You’re right, Sally, I do owe you something. Although I didn’t realise at the time that you wanted payment for helping me. If I had known sooner, I would have seen you were properly compensated.’

  The quiet dignity in the cultured voice brought shame to Sally’s worn heart. She sank back into the armchair and began to cry. At once, all bitterness left Rose and she dropped to her knees beside the distraught figure. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sally. Truly I am. I didn’t mean that. It was a terrible thing to say. And I should have come to thank you. I knew where you were. I have no excuse for not coming to find you, Sally. I thought Frank had seen you…’ Her voice trailed off miserably. How stupid she had been. She should have known better than to imagine Frank going out of his way to thank Sally. He couldn’t stand her. But what of Henry and Rita? Could what Sally said be true? Rose considered what to do next. Oh, Lord. She should never have agreed to see Sally. Yet what else could she have done? As Sally had so forcefully pointed out, Rose owed her a debt of gratitude, and now that debt was being called in.

  A feeling of lassitude stole through Rose’s slender body. She had been extraordinarily lucky over the years. She had two healthy children, neither of whom she had dared hoped for following the trauma of Victoria’s birth. Then had come Ben, a child the doctors had warned her she would never be able to conceive after the botched abortion. Oh, yes, Ben had been a miracle in more ways than one. A tired old cliché that Mary was fond of repeating sprang to Rose’s weary mind: ‘Count your blessings.’ Well, she was counting them at this very minute. She had her children, a husband who adored her and a beautiful house with servants to do her bidding. Yes, she had been lucky. But one always has to pay a price.

  Shuddering, Sally looked up at Rose, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘You always was a lucky cow, Rosie. But what about the baby? How’d yer manage to wangle Frankie into bringing it up?’ A derisive note had crept back into her voice. ‘D’yer have to keep it quiet while Frankie’s about? You know, keep the kid out of his way. ’Cos I can’t see Frankie taking some other feller’s kid on. Not even for you. He might act like a good father when there’s company, but what about when you’re all here on your own? What’s it like then, Rosie? Go on, you can tell me.’

  The eager, almost gloating note in Sally’s voice brought Rose’s hackles up once more. ‘Victoria is Frank’s daughter, Sally. There has never been any doubt on that issue.’

  Sally’s eyes stretched wide. ‘Well, I’ll be buggered! Who’d have believed it? The great Frankie Buchannon getting lumbered with another man’s bastard and bringing it up like his own. Well, don’t that take the biscuit?’

  ‘Frank is Victoria’s father. And I’d strongly advise you against mentioning the subject again, Sally.’

  The two women’s eyes locked as the tension in the room rose, then Sally dropped her gaze.

  Rose left the room and went into Frankie’s study. When she returned a few minutes later she took Sally’s rough hand and pressed two large white five-pound notes into the coarse palm.

  Sally’s tears stopped instantly. She wiped her eyes with the edge of the woollen shawl, looked down at the notes and gave a watery smile. ‘Thanks, Rosie. Thanks a lot. Oh, look, I’m sorry if I was a bit nasty, I didn’t mean any harm. You know me, Rosie, always did have a mouth on me.’ The hostility had been replaced with oily gratitude, and Rose’s stomach lurched with distaste.

  Sally was preparing to leave, her effusive thanks overwhelming. ‘You don’t know what this means to me, Rosie. Thanks, mate, I really appreciate it.’

  ‘It’s al
l right, Sally. It’s the least I can do,’ Rose replied dully.

  A short time later, Rose watched dispassionately as Myrtle showed the unwanted guest out.

  Sally’s harsh voice carried up to Rose. ‘Cheers, darlin’. ’Ere, you want to see a doctor about that, ducks.’

  Myrtle looked down her nose at the blowsy woman, her disapproval evident.

  ‘And what might that be, madam?’ she enquired politely.

  ‘That poker you’ve got stuck up your arse. I’d see about having it out if I was you.’ The crude remark was followed by a raucous laugh. ‘Well, I’ll be off, then. But don’t worry, I’ll be coming back. Me and Rosie have got a lot of catching up to do. Ta-ta.’

  On the landing Rose’s fingers curled around the banister until her knuckles turned white.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘What’s up, Princess? You’re miles away. Got anything on your mind that I should know about?’

  Rose’s head jerked up guiltily. ‘No, of course not, Frank.’ Rose smiled at her husband. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking about what to buy the children for Christmas. It’s only a couple of weeks away, and I haven’t a single thing yet.’

  Frankie’s face relaxed. They were seated in the living room on this Friday evening in December, Frankie sprawled easily on the dark red chesterfield, waiting for Fred and Joe to arrive for their weekly visit to a reputable gaming house in the West End. Rose was anxious for him to be gone in case Sally turned up unexpectedly.

  In the three months since Sally had first reappeared in Rose’s life, she had taken to calling once a week, always when Frankie was absent, and always leaving much better off than when she had arrived. The strain of keeping the visits secret from Frankie was beginning to tell. The servants had been sworn to secrecy.

  But while Rose could control Myrtle and Jane, trying to keep Mary quiet was a different matter entirely. That rumbustious woman was incensed at what was happening behind Frankie’s back, and lost no opportunity to tell Rose what a fool she was being in handing over large sums of money to a woman whom Mary described as, ‘no better than she oughter be’.