by Annie Groves
Silently they stared at one another. Ellie’s hair had been dragged from its pins when the policeman had first made a lunge for her. There was a scratch on her cheek and a dirty smudge, but all Gideon could see was the heart-aching delicacy of her face with its huge eyes and soft mouth. Her skin was still as creamy pale as he remembered – and oh, how he did remember.
Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes. Gideon. Gideon here. Gideon rescuing her; protecting her!
Silently she greedily absorbed every visual detail of him: the familiar features of his face; the new mature breadth of his shoulders. If she hadn’t known, looking at Gideon now she would have assumed that he came from a class well above her own. A class to which he had been elevated via his relationship with Mary Isherwood?
‘Ellie…oh, thank goodness!’ Ellie heard Iris exclaiming, as she took hold of her and bestowed her warm thanks on a still-silent Gideon.
‘It was nothing,’ he said tersely when Iris continued to thank him.
‘On the contrary, it was very much an act of nobility and humanity,’ Iris protested warmly. ‘Poor Ellie, I am so sorry –’
‘If I were you I would make all haste to leave whilst you still can,’ Gideon broke in brusquely. ‘The police officers are obviously not in any mood to show leniency.’
Ellie noticed that as Gideon spoke he was looking towards the front of the Free Trade Hall where the violence had first broken out, and she could sense that his thoughts and attention were elsewhere. He had obviously not noticed her when he had stepped in to help her. Had he done so, would he still have intervened or would he have left her to her fate?
As he turned to walk away, Ellie saw him glance down at her left hand. Without knowing why she instinctively covered her wedding and engagement ring with her right hand.
One of the first things she had done with the money she had earned from her sewing had been to repossess her mother’s ring, and the small stone glinted in the warm sunlight.
THIRTY-THREE
Ellie looked up in surprise as she saw Henry coming up the front path. His head was down and his expression concealed from her, but instinctively she knew that he was upset. It was only three o’clock in the afternoon, and he normally did not arrive home until at least seven in the evening. Feeling alarmed, Ellie put down the dress she was altering for one of Iris’s friends and went to greet him.
‘Henry, is everything all right, only –’
‘Ellie, I have just discovered the most dreadful thing.’ Henry interrupted her, his voice shaking. ‘My father has…oh God, Ellie, he has committed the most horrible crime.’ And to Ellie’s dismay, Henry began to cry, huge dry sobs convulsing his body.
‘Henry, please, come and sit down and let me get you something to calm you a little – a cup of tea, perhaps,’ she offered soothingly, though her alarm had now turned to sharp fear.
She had been married to Henry for long enough to recognise that her husband was given to frightening bouts of depression, when he became convinced that the whole world had turned against him. Now, inwardly dreading the thought of Henry sinking into another of his sad moods, she began gently, ‘I know how much your father upsets you, Henry. But you –’
‘No, you do not understand,’ Henry stopped her hoarsely. ‘It is not me, Ellie, it is them.’
The wild look in his eyes was increasing her fear. His movements had become agitated and uncoordinated, and he was obviously very disturbed. His face, which had been unnaturally pale, was now burning bright red.
‘Henry…’ she began.
But he refused to listen, crying out despairingly, ‘Ellie, my father is a murderer and I cannot bear to know that I am his son…that I carry his evil in my blood. Because of him there are women who have been widowed, children who have been orphaned, men who have died the most terrible deaths.’ Flinging himself into a chair, Henry buried his face in his hands. ‘It is the truth, Ellie. I found out about it today. I had been on an errand and when I returned my father and George were in my father’s office. The door was open and…’
Blenching, Henry covered his face with his hands and rocked his body to and fro in a state of obvious mental agony. Eventually he calmed sufficiently to explain.
‘My father gave orders that one of our ships, the Antareas, was to be scuttled in the South China Sea, in order that he could claim the insurance monies. News had just come through that the ship had gone down, and my father and my cousin were laughing, boasting about how easy it had been for the captain to do their dirty work for them and pretend to the authorities that the ship had been boarded by pirates and then sunk.
‘I knew the second officer on the Antareas, and many of the ordinary seamen, and my father has murdered them,’ Henry told her brokenly, ‘sent them to their deaths for money.’
‘Henry, please, you must not upset yourself like this,’ Ellie tried to comfort him, but in truth she was as shocked by what Henry had told her as he was himself. ‘Are you sure you did not misunderstand your father,’ she asked him gently.
Henry sprang up, almost throwing off the caring hand she had placed on his shoulder. ‘No. My father convicted himself with his own words. I wish to God he had not.’
Worriedly Ellie asked him, ‘Henry, do you think you ought to tell someone? I mean, if your father has –’
‘Of course I should!’ he responded savagely. ‘But how can I? The deed is done and all my reporting the truth of it will do is destroy the business, and us with it, Ellie. I can do nothing, other than suffer the burden of knowing the truth.’
As Henry railed and wept, Ellie tried to make sense of what he was saying.
‘I shall sleep in the dressing room for the time being, Ellie,’ Henry announced. ‘I cannot think of sleeping soundly, knowing what my father has done.’ He gave a deep shudder. ‘And I do not want to disturb you.’
Silently digesting his statement Ellie knew that she ought to mind more than she actually did.
‘And as for my father’s desire for a future heir,’ Henry continued bitterly, ‘let him find himself one amongst my cousin’s brats, for he has always considered George to be closer to him than I am. They are two of a kind, and I thank God that I do not have a son to be corrupted into their darkness and greed. A blood sacrifice! Although no sacrifice could ever wash away my father’s guilt, not if the South China Sea were a hundred times the size it is.’
Ellie looked a little anxiously over her shoulder for Henry, whilst trying to listen politely to the conversation of her hostess Lady Brocklebank. She and her husband, Sir Aubrey Brocklebank, had invited a large company of their fellow Liverpool shipping line owners to their Cheshire country estate at Nunesmere Hall, ostensibly in order to celebrate the completion of their new home and Sir Aubrey’s birthday, but in reality, as Ellie had discovered, so that the gentlemen could discuss the increasing possibility of war with Germany and just how it would affect their business.
‘Such a pretty gown, Mrs Charnock,’ Grace Brocklebank complimented Ellie with a warm smile, as she admired the dress that, had she but known it, had originally been Cecily’s, re-trimmed and altered by Ellie. Thinking of Cecily made Ellie smile as she remembered her visit the previous week to see Cecily and her new baby daughter.
The baby had been so pretty and so sweet that Ellie had not been able to resist picking her up, and when she had, the most unexpected surge of tender maternal love had swept over her.
Not that she was likely to have a child, even if she hadn’t taken measures against conceiving. For over a month now, Henry had been sleeping in his dressing room.
Henry – where was he? Ellie’s anxiety returned. Her husband had been behaving so oddly lately, alternating between outbursts of truly terrible rage, when he railed furiously against his father, and periods of deep withdrawal, when he refused to speak to anyone.
‘Ellie, my love…’
Ellie smiled as her hostess moved away to talk to her other guests, to be replaced by her Aunt Parkes. Was it her imagination or was her a
unt looking even frailer and less of this world than ever, Ellie wondered worriedly.
She had heard and seen nothing of her Uncle Parkes, and had been too relieved to question why, but then she had learned from Elizabeth Fazackerly, who had quite obviously delighted in passing on the information to her, that her uncle was reported to be spending far more time than his professional services necessitated with a newly widowed client.
For her own sake Ellie was glad that she was no longer the focus of her uncle’s unwanted attentions, but at the same time she was forced to acknowledge how unpleasant and humiliating the situation must be for her aunt.
‘Really, Ellie, in many ways I am glad that your poor mother is not here to see how ungrateful her children have been – apart from you, of course,’ her aunt smiled, patting Ellie’s arm fondly. ‘According to your Aunt Simpkins, Connie is behaving disgracefully!’
Ellie flushed with a mixture of pain and guilt at the mention of Connie. Connie was still refusing to have anything whatsoever to do with Ellie, despite the many pleading letters she had sent to her, and only Ellie knew how much the gulf between them was hurting her.
‘At least you have done as your mama would have wished, Ellie, and made an advantageous marriage,’ her aunt approved.
Just for a minute Ellie wondered what her aunt would say if she were to tell her just what that advantageous marriage entailed: the hours Ellie had to sit sewing, just to earn enough so-called ‘pin money’ to keep herself clothed and decently fed – and not just herself. Maisie was also now her responsibility, Mr Charnock having flatly refused to pay her wages any more, claiming that she was useless and should be turned out.
‘Have you seen your uncle, by the way, Ellie?’
‘I believe that he and the other gentlemen have adjourned to the billiard room,’ Ellie replied diplomatically.
She knew that Henry, his father and cousin had accompanied their host and the other shipping magnates to discuss the current political situation, but Ellie was only assuming that Mr Parkes had gone with them, and was not escorting Mrs Nathan Withington, his widowed client and apparently the object of his current attentions, on an exploratory walk of some secluded part of Nunesmere’s gardens.
‘Oh yes, of course.’ Her aunt looked pathetically relieved. ‘The gentlemen have much to discuss, I expect.’
‘So you think it will definitely come to war, then? I read in The Times that Germany is rapidly preparing for war with us. But –’
‘There is no doubt about it,’ Sir Aubrey confirmed. ‘I have it on good authority that it is no longer a matter of if, merely when, and that is why I have asked you to join me here today, gentlemen. I think I am not exaggerating in saying that between us we represent the pride of Liverpool’s mercantile shipping lines.’
There was a chorus of ‘Aye’s.
‘And that being the case, I know you will share with me my concern to protect not just our interests, but also those of our country and our countrymen in the coming confrontation,’ he continued sternly. ‘That is our duty and it must be our guiding belief!’
‘I have heard that you have already secured verbal commitment from those in authority for Brocklebank’s to keep essential food supply lines open, if it should ultimately come to war,’ one of the other shipowners challenged their host.
‘That is indeed so, and I congratulate you on being so well informed. But my endeavours have not been just for my own shipping line, my dear sir, but for all of us. It is important that we all play our roles in this war, gentlemen.’
‘Aye, and even more important that we make a good profit from it!’ someone else chipped in.
Another rash of handclapping and cheers greeted this comment, quickly shushed by the stern look their host gave them.
‘It is all very well to speak amongst ourselves in such terms and, of course, in jest,’ he told them, ‘but in the eyes of the world it is our patriotism we will want to stress and to be remembered by.’
‘Aye, but patriotism is all very well, just so long as it pays,’ someone cut in.
‘Oh, there is no doubt about that,’ Josiah Parkes commented smoothly, ‘and I am sure Sir Aubrey will be the first to acknowledge it.’
‘Negotiated a good few fat contracts for him, have you, Parkes?’ someone else chuckled knowingly.
‘Mr Parkes is not, in actual fact, my solicitor,’ Sir Aubrey broke in calmly, ‘although he is someone I always prefer to have on my side of the table!’
Everyone laughed, all of them familiar with Josiah’s reputation for being an extremely shrewd negotiator.
‘But it is true, is it not, Brocklebank,’ Jarvis Charnock demanded, ‘that you have secured certain promises of contracts to ship necessary food supplies into the country in the event of war being declared? There is a good deal of talk –’
‘There is always talk,’ Sir Aubrey stopped him.
‘Talk, aye,’ Jarvis told him aggressively, ‘but if there is a profit to be made then it seems only fair to me that we should all have a share in it.’
‘It seems to me that there is no reason why we should not combine both our duty to our country and our duty to ourselves and our shareholders to run a profitable business,’ Sir Aubrey soothed.
‘Well, just so long as we all get a chance to get a slice of the pie, Brocklebank, and it isn’t just sliced up between a favoured few…’ Jarvis Charnock replied belligerently.
THIRTY-FOUR
Gideon cursed as he lost his grip of the pencil he was holding awkwardly in his left hand.
He was working on his accounts and wondering anxiously if he had overstretched himself. The rental income from his properties had turned out to be less than he had anticipated.
His left hand ached from the unfamiliar exercise of writing, but Gideon had no option other than to do his own bookwork. Unlike Mary, he was not in the position to pay someone else to do it for him.
Thinking of Mary caused him to stop work and frown. He had heard that she had been released from prison and that she had returned home in very poor health.
He tried to ignore the unwanted thought that it would cost him nothing to go to see how she did. Why should he, he asked himself irritably, but somehow he found himself pushing his books to one side and standing up.
It was a Saturday evening and already there was a certain rowdiness about the crowds gathered outside the public houses.
The air was full of summer sunshine and the talk of labour problems and strike action. Men weren’t earning enough to keep their families fed, and Gideon had every sympathy with them!
He cut through the market, where they were loading the last of the unsold cheeses onto carts, and then through the streets, past the Co-operative Society’s shop, where they were pulling closed the shutters as the final customers left, shawls pulled around their heads despite the heat, clogs clattering on the cobbles. Only the working classes shopped at the Co-operative Society. ‘Ladies’, like Mary, bought their provisions from Heaney’s on the corner of Fishergate and Chapel Street, and Gregson’s of Hope Street, famous for its cured hams.
According to Will Pride there had been a falling-off in his brother’s business since his marriage to Maggie.
‘Too sharp by half, she is – argy-bargied with half of our Rob’s customers or more, and fell out wi’ ’em!
‘Have ye heard about our John?’ he had asked Gideon. ‘Left Hutton, he has, and gone and got hisself apprenticed to some photographer. Caused a right to-do with Lyddy’s stuck-up family! Wanted him to go to be a schoolteacher, they did!’
Will had given an amused snort!
Gideon arrived at the house just as the doctor was leaving, and when Mary saw him her pale face lit up immediately.
‘I won’t stay,’ Gideon began.
But Mary overruled him, insisting, ‘I have been thinking about you such a lot lately, Gideon, and I am so pleased that you are here. Let’s go into my sitting room. I’ll ring for tea.’
A little uncomfortably Gideon fol
lowed her, noticing as he did so how much weight she had lost since he had last seen her, and how very frail she looked.
Once they reached the sitting room, she sat down, her hand going to her mouth as she began to cough.
‘Look, I can see that you aren’t well,’ Gideon began gruffly. ‘I’ll leave now and perhaps come back another time.’
‘No, Gideon!’ Mary protested.
The arrival of the tea tray kept them both silent then, but once the maid had gone, Mary begged him, ‘Gideon, please don’t go. You don’t know…I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have you here.’ To Gideon’s embarrassment, tears filled her eyes, and she had to put down the teapot as her hand started to shake.
‘Miss Isherwood,’ he began awkwardly, ‘I –’
‘No, please don’t call me that,’ Mary stopped him fiercely.
She was so obviously overwrought and upset that Gideon’s anxiety for her increased, but before he could tell her that he thought she ought to rest, she announced abruptly, ‘Gideon, there is something I must tell you. I have tried so many times to do this,’ she continued in a low nervous voice. ‘I have lain awake at night, rehearsing the words I must say, and trying to imagine –’ She stopped and bit her lip, her eyes bright with tears. ‘If I don’t tell you now, Gideon, it may soon be too late. My doctor has told me that…that he believes the weakness in my chest has been exacerbated by my confinement in prison and that there is nothing he can do…’ Turning her head slightly away from him so that her voice was muffled, she whispered, ‘My condition is terminal.’
Gideon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mary was telling him that she was going to die! A huge surge of angry denial swept over him. But before he could voice it, she was continuing.
‘I grew up as a very lonely young woman.’ She spoke slowly as though even the effort of talking was tiring for her. ‘I was under the rule of an extremely strict and unpleasant father, who made no secret of the fact that he considered me to be a poor substitute for the son he had wished to have.’
