These improvements should have allowed Mam to take life easy. Instead she was on the go all the time and losing weight in spite of an increased appetite, waking very early, saying she had slept badly when she’d been dog tired the previous evening. Later, Lily would see the legacy as the start of Mam’s decline, but she was young and knowing there was money in the bank gave her a sense of quiet satisfaction.
Mam was not satisfied. She was restless and unhappy but outwardly unchanged. Lily worried because their better living conditions had done nothing to ease Mam’s mind. But there was nothing she could do to calm Mam. Mam would not be dictated to.
And she refused to give a crumb of information about Lily’s father. Trying to hate did not take away the need to know. Lily could do all she had sworn to do – take responsibility for hers and Mam’s daily living but she found she could not hate the man who was her own true father. She needed to know and all she had to go on was that he was alive and had no children and the hint that his mother’s name was Lily.
The only comfort was that when she asked Howard Willey-Leigh for the name of his mother, he said, ‘Eveline.’
Mr Leigh had not bought a house in Macclesfield, but all the same he spent more time in the town than before, staying at the Bull’s Head Hotel in the Market Place for days on end. Mam too seemed to be playing some elaborate game, going out with Mr Leigh openly, almost defiantly.
She would say, ‘Last night Hah-d took me to the pictures. The Hammonds were there.’ Or, ‘Hah-d and I went for a run in his car. We went to the Setter Dog. Very popular with motorists. Ray Chancellor and his father were in the bar. Hah-d and I were chatting with them.’
Lily’s dislike of Mr Leigh was growing. His habit of winking at her behind Mam’s back as if they shared a secret was becoming more pronounced and alarming. He did it every time he saw her. It should have been obvious to him that she avoided his eye. Now that she was older, instead of blushing and looking away she put her nose in the air and gave him what she hoped was a look of contempt.
For a widower who had so much money, Mr Leigh was very interested indeed in theirs. He said to Mam, ‘If it were mine, I would buy more stock, paint the shop, dress the window!’ He said, ‘Let me help you, dear. I have good connections with a wholesaler in Cheetham Hill in Manchester. We could buy cheap and sell dear.’
‘We? We could buy?’ Mam said, stopping him in his tracks.
He flashed his teeth. ‘I mean you, Elsie. You could buy from my friend. I will bring you samples – take you to Manchester if you wish. I am sure you can trust my judgement. I know what sells.’
Mam smiled and said, ‘I’ll speak to John Hammond. He’s the financial brains.’ But Mam took advice from nobody.
And now, the mesmerising trick wasn’t working. Some things would not be put to the back of Lily’s mind. Every day she asked herself what she could do about her state of shame – unbaptised, illegitimate.
Nanna must have told Grandpa that Lily had learned the truth, for one Saturday afternoon, soon after Mrs Chancellor’s funeral, Grandpa took her aside at Lindow. He sat in his armchair while Lily stood by the fireplace. ‘Well, Lily,’ he began. ‘You’ve found out?’
‘Yes, Grandpa,’ she said.
‘Nanna said you were ashamed of your mother.’
‘No. I said things to Nanna I wouldn’t say to anyone else, that’s all.’
He sighed, but his eyes were warm and bright with pride. ‘Good lass!’ He took her right hand in his hard, bony ones. ‘It has been a great burden. Not being able to tell you. You must believe that.’
‘I understand, Grandpa. Really I do.’
‘I have prayed. And Our Lord has answered my prayers. You are a child without sin or stain.’
Her face was burning. ‘But I’m not! I was born in sin, Grandpa. I can’t be right until I’m baptised. I can’t be baptised as Lily Stanway.’
He held fast on to her hand. ‘You can! Stanway is a good name. It is my name. You can be baptised in chapel or church. Any time you want.’
‘But I don’t want Lily Stanway on my baptismal certificate. My father was not Tommy Stanway.’
He shook his head, but Lily didn’t expect him ever to understand, so she asked, ‘When St Paul says, “The sting of death is sin and the strength of sin is the law” – what does it mean?’
‘St Paul was a Jew. He was speaking to the Corinthians of Jewish law. The commandments.’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘All right. Now, if you were a savage, and if you had never heard of God – and if the habit of your tribe was to make graven images, or …’
‘Or break commandments?’
‘Yes. If you did this and you did not know you were breaking God’s law, God would not hold you responsible. Your sins would be pardonable. Once you know it is the law, that law creates the very sin it defines.’
‘I don’t see.’
‘Look, our Lil, if they bring in a law in Macclesfield to say you can’t do something … if they forbid you to drive a horse and cart up Churchwallgate, for instance, then if you did it you would be breaking the law. But the day before, it wasn’t the law. It’s knowing you broke the law that made it a sin.’
‘So God won’t let me or Mam into heaven?’
‘No! No, lass! You are too young to be asking such questions!’
But he had clarified everything for her. She had looked up illegitimacy in The Universal Home Lawyer, which stated that: A bastard is regarded in law as having no natural relationship with any person except his mother. And further on it said: A bastard has no surname until he has acquired one by reputation; he usually takes his mother’s but there is nothing to prevent his taking his father’s. He may of course be christened like any other child. When his birth is registered the father’s name is not to be entered in the register except at the joint request of the mother and father who then sign the register together.
There was a lot about claims on the estates of fathers who die intestate, and over and over again it said that a bastard had no rights to anything of the father’s unless he either adopted the child or, marrying the child’s mother, made the bastard child legitimate. This latter could only be done if the natural father had signed his name on the birth register. It said, ‘sign the register together’ specifically. And there was no father’s name on her birth certificate.
Her father had not wanted his name to appear. And since Mam knew about God’s laws, in the eyes of the church Mam was a sinner. Lily was nobody until she was baptised and she wasn’t going to get baptised until she was legitimate. But she had her iron will. She must try harder to put that insoluble problem out of her mind.
Elsie had been patient for a year. Tonight she’d ask outright, ‘When are we going to be married?’ She’d go straight to the point.
Lily was at Lindow for the weekend and, for the first time ever, Frank was going to spend a whole night with her here at the shop after he’d been to the Friday-night meeting of the Licensed Victuallers in the Angel. Gossip could not hurt anyone now that a year had passed. It was time they started being seen together, little by little, preparing the way for marriage. They were breaking no commandments.
Elsie stood in front of the long mirror and cast a critical eye over her figure. She was wearing only French knickers, her suspender belt and fine silk stockings. He used to like to see her like that. In the old days, when his needs were greater. Used to …
She did a half-turn at the hips. Seams were straight. A thrill went through her. Good God, she was not a blushing bride. Now then, what about the rest? She put her hands on her hips, drew her shoulders back and tried to appraise her body. She was in good shape for a woman of forty-one. Her waist was small. Her bosom was as full as it ever was; maybe a fraction lower but Frank said she had the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. When she asked how many he’d seen, he used to tell her he had seen plenty on statues and in paintings but never more beautiful than hers. Used to …
There
was a jar of Pond’s cold cream on the little table. She loved the scent of it. So did Frank. She stuck her fingers into the open jar, scooped it and massaged it into her neck and her breasts to make herself ready. She would excite him beyond endurance tonight. She’d ask for an explanation of why his attentions had waned. These days he came round when Lily was at home and sat talking to Lily for as long as he could, content to be a friend to them. He came on Wednesday afternoons but often he was in a hurry to leave, saying he had to keep an eye on Ray – Ray, who had never returned to school but had taken to work like a duck to water. Ray was eighteen.
Remembering how demanding he used to be, she accused him of being unfaithful, but he swore to her that she was the only woman for him. However, a man who is too sure loses interest, so she’d tried to make him jealous, being seen with Howard. Last week she told him that Howard had hinted about marriage. All that had achieved was Frank’s mirthless laugh and his declaration, ‘Leigh doesn’t want a wife. He wants an income.’
She was gratified, seeing his red face, the tight mouth, but he did not say, ‘Marry me,’ so she asked, ‘What have you against Howard?’
‘He’s a fraud – a phoney as the Americans say.’
‘Phoney? No more than any man who has to keep his end up.’
Frank said, ‘He’s been chasing women with money all his life. It’s your money he wants.’
‘Three hundred pounds? It’s pocket money to a man like Howard.’ She gave a delighted laugh. ‘You’re jealous! Jealous because Howard has his eye on me.’
But then, stirring up jealousy was no good. She used to be light-hearted, attentive, passionate. She’d be passionate tonight. She’d wait for him, here in her bedroom. When he got to the point, the no-turning-back point, she’d stop him and tell him that their lovemaking would end unless he did his duty by her and Lily. Unless he married her.
She must stop imagining that he had someone else. She must believe him when he said his working life grew more demanding as his appetites went down. He’d said, ‘Look at me. I’m grey-haired with responsibility.’ Perhaps a man’s desires left him as some women’s did in their forties. Her desires were strong. The terrible tiredness she lived with hadn’t dampened her needs.
Massaging herself and imagining his touch was exciting her, she rammed the lid down on the cold cream jar, slipped on a kimono and high-heeled shoes and went downstairs to set out crystal glasses and whisky for him, sherry for herself. She poured a sweet sherry, drank it and poured another. Tonight she would make him happy.
Frank bolted the back door and went into Elsie’s living kitchen.
There was a man’s dressing gown laid across the fireside chair, glasses and drink set out on the kitchen table. He grinned, seeing them, and went to the stair door, calling softly, ‘Elsie … !’
She’d be pretending to be asleep. He’d keep her waiting for a few minutes; anticipation would inflame her. He poured a whisky and drank it neat as he undressed. He was in the mood tonight. He almost laughed at the thought that she, Elsie, was always in the mood. It was a while since he’d felt like this, what with having to keep a watch on Ray, day and night, and minding his own reputation. If he were to become a magistrate, a justice of the peace, he had to be beyond reproach, and to this end he had raised his good name since Sarah’s death. He was a better man now – upright and impartial and seen as such by the people of Macclesfield.
Nobody could point a finger at him – nobody but Nellie Plant. If only he hadn’t been such a fool! He tied the dressing gown tight round his waist and poured another half-glass of whisky. Then he chuckled. Why imagine trouble? Nellie was satisfied with what he was doing for her. Ray was spending the weekend at Archerfield – and upstairs, waiting for him, exclusively his, was the woman whose kisses and body could rouse him as no other woman ever had or would. All her talk about marriage, silly hints about marrying Willey-Leigh, it was ridiculous. He’d seen them together at the Setter Dog. Elsie looked as miserable as sin in Leigh’s company. She was trying to make him jealous. That was all it was.
As for marrying … surely Elsie could see that it would be the worst thing for all of them? He was on the brink of having a real position in the town. He was respected for the way he’d conducted himself over Sarah’s death and the near-ruinous allegations against Ray. How could they marry without telling Lily that he was her father? It would be a terrible thing to do to her. He couldn’t tell his precious lass now that he was her father; that she had a brother, and that he and her mother had deceived her all these years. It would be madness to come out into the open.
And what would Elsie gain? They both had everything they wanted, without marriage. And the best of what he wanted was upstairs, waiting for him. He put the empty glass down. Whisky could wait. He could not.
He ran up the stairs and opened her bedroom door. There was a street lamp outside and she had left the curtains open so that the wan, pale lamplight shone over the bed where she lay, draped, kimono open, exposing those unbelievable breasts; heavy, milky skin.
Her eyelids were closed but fluttering. She was pretending to be asleep. Slowly he pulled the kimono open, and as the silk touched her skin he watched her breasts firming, her dark nipples become prominent, hardening and erect. He discarded the dressing gown and lowered himself over her, closing his mouth over one breast while he fondled and teased the other. He need only touch them to rouse Elsie. She opened her eyes.
‘Hello stranger,’ she said in a voice that was low and husky. Her lovely mouth was smiling and her sensuous hips were moving, writhing. He stood up and took off his gown quickly while she slipped her arms out of the kimono and unfastened the button on her silky knickers.
‘I’ll do that,’ he said. He liked to take his time these days. He was not as quick as he used to be, but it was better now – it lasted longer. He grasped her ankles, lifting her off the bed as he slid the French silk thing down over her hips and cast it aside. Then he eased her legs back, bent at the knees, to put the soles of her feet flat on the bed and wide apart. Her blue eyes were narrow and inviting, her full red lips parted.
He couldn’t wait. And neither could Elsie. She would be hot and slippery, and thoughts of delaying techniques were gone as he lowered himself on to the bed and went into her slowly, and felt her drawing him up and high inside while she made that lovely soft moaning.
‘Elsie …’ He gripped her hips, came out of her and said, ‘Quick …’ Then he sat up on the edge of the bed, picked her up easily and lifted her bodily on to himself so that she was facing him, straddled across him, hands on his thighs, feet splayed, knees gripping his hips.
He edged forward, deeper into her and she put her arms round his neck and wrapped her legs about his body. ‘How’s that?’ he said, and grinned as he heard her quick in-drawing breaths, felt the movement of her muscles sliding up and down on him. ‘Oh, Elsie! Elsie …’ he cried, then stopped himself. He was going too fast.
His mouth was on hers now and their tongues were moving, warm and deep, as he slowed down. He pulled away and watched her face, dark eyebrows drawing together with the heightening of her pleasure. He placed his hands on her rounded hips, gently lifted her and let her down, moving in time with him, slowly, her muscles holding and reaching for him, her beautiful, sweet-scented breasts pressing into the skin of his chest and her breath coming fast and hot on his neck.
‘Good girl! Not so fast …’ he said, and he disentangled her and made her hollow her back and put her hands on his knees to steady herself. Then he watched her face as he closed his mouth over the firm, creamy breast. She had been rubbing stuff into herself. The scent was filling his head as felt the nipple swelling on his tongue, filling his mouth. He took the other one next, and she moaned again with pleasure and contracted deep inside where he could feel her every little movement.
Her eyes were closed, her mouth was red and full and at last she was making those whimpering noises that told him she was ready; those sounds that excited him so. He
loved the noises, the taste of her, his intimate knowledge of her body. He knew every inch of her, every secret part of her. He could not hold back, for blood was pounding in him as he paced his movements inside the hot, slippery …
‘Elsie! I love you! Oh God … I love you,’ he cried out as he went harder, higher, streaming into her.
He was making her cry out for him. ‘Frank! Oh, love … My God!’
And they were mingling, coming together, subsiding and tightening again and again, high inside her until it was done. Then he held her there, sticky and salt-tasting, gasping for breath after release.
He was glad he was no longer a young man. When he was young he could spend himself twice and no more. Now, it would take an hour, or longer, to reach a second climax. And if she let him have his way, a third. And Elsie? She was more than a match for him.
He held her fast into him. When she made to move, to ease off him, he kissed deep and hard and bruising before he stopped and said, ‘Stay there, woman. Until I’m ready. I’ll tell you when to get off.’
But now Elsie knew she had missed her chance, being too ready to please. It was four o’clock in the morning before they sat, she in her kimono, he in the dressing gown, in the kitchen, eating cheese butties and drinking the sherry and whisky. Frank was relaxed and happy when he had taken all he wanted of her. She had always been able to ask anything of him, so now she replenished their glasses, held hers towards him and said, ‘Well, drink to us.’
‘To us? What do you mean?’
‘I think it’s time you made an honest woman of me. Married me. I’m willing.’ She said it like that; flat and bald. When it was said she added, ‘I’ve waited a long time.’
‘For marriage? To me?’ He looked surprised, as if it was the last thing he expected. ‘The only reason to marry is to bring up children.’
‘I’ve brought your daughter up without a husband.’
‘She’s nearly grown up. So’s Ray.’ He made a sheepish smile and took a sip of his drink. ‘It would harm all of us, telling them now.’
A Daughter's Shame Page 22
