Her throat constricted hard and tight and her voice was breaking. All she could do was whisper, ‘Magnus, I’m sorry. You said, ages ago, that you wanted to be a good man. Do good things. You don’t have to marry me.’
He said, ‘It’s not just because you are having a baby. I’ll tell everyone it’s my baby. I’ve been told I can’t have children because of haemophilia. You’d be giving up everything if you marry me.’
Control had gone. Hot tears were streaming down her face. ‘Ask me again. Please.’
He had not heard what she was saying. ‘I’ve enough love for two. Couldn’t you come to love me?’
‘Look at me, Magnus! Yes, I’ll marry you.’
He turned his face back from the window, saw her tears and reached out as she went into his arms and felt his thin, soft cheek wet against her own. And it was she who had to make the move to kiss him, because his eyes were blind with tears and he was trembling violently as he tried to hold her to him. His soft mouth was hesitant and light and unpractised and he was shaking because he so wanted to do everything right.
And a fierce, protective love welled up in Isobel – a love that had nothing of physical passion in it, a love that made her want to make Magnus happy, made her want to be deserving of his great love and the sacrifice he was making for her.
They were crying and laughing and Isobel tried to be practical. ‘We won’t be allowed to marry. You are under twenty-one. I’m eighteen. Your mother is afraid of losing you – and I’d have to ask my stepfather.’
He slid his fingers under her jaw and lifted her face to look into his eyes. Behind his tears they were full of pride and love. He said, ‘I don’t care about anyone else in the world – not my mother, not my father. Only you. We won’t ask. We’ll elope tomorrow.’
Magnus planned it over bowls of chicken soup and plates of meat-and-potato pie in the Ship Inn. ‘We’ll run away to Scotland,’ he said.
‘Gretna Green?’
‘Anywhere in Scotland as long as we can prove we’re over sixteen.’ He was like an excited child. ‘Bring your birth certificate.’
The colour drained from Isobel‘s face again. Her spoon clattered into the soup plate. ‘Do I have to?’
‘What’s the matter?’
The shame of her birth would have to be shared with Magnus. Her lips were numb as she pushed the bowl away and looked down at the checked tablecloth. ‘You don’t know it all, Magnus,’ she said. ‘You can change your mind if you don’t want to marry me when I tell you this.’ And then she told him, quickly, that her birth certificate was her adoption certificate, and that her mother had never married. ‘It was the scourge of my life. You can’t imagine how it feels, to have no father.’
Every time he made to say something she lifted her hand to stop him, until the tale was told and she could look at him but his eyes were shining as he reached for her hand. ‘Don’t apologise for your mother, Isobel and I won’t apologise for my father. I found something out about him. God knows what our parents got up to when they were young. Mine as well as yours.’
Magnus must have discovered the photographs of Mam. Isobel said quickly, ‘Don’t tell me, Magnus.’
‘They all have a past. Your mother. My father.’ He smiled. ‘Now us.’
She said. ‘It won’t matter when we’re married.’
‘You said it, “When we’re married”. I’m going to burst with pride.’
They must get back to reality. Isobel said, ‘How can you go missing?’
‘I have a medical appointment in Edinburgh in the middle of next week. I’ll say I haven’t had a holiday for ages. I’ll tell them that I’m going to stay with my uncle.’
‘You can’t expect your uncle to tell lies for you to his own sister.’
‘We won’t tell Uncle Mack. We’ll stay in the North British Hotel on Princes Street. I’ll ring Father from there. He’ll think I’m at Uncle’s.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘Let’s go into town and buy your rings.’
She must come down to earth again. ‘What will I do about the shop?’
Magnus said, ‘Will Miss Duffield look after it for a week while we elope? The shop is your mother’s worry. Not yours.’ He lifted her hand again and this time held fast. ‘You can’t go on working any longer.’
A little nerve started to pull at the corner of her mouth. ‘How much will it all cost? Have you enough money?’
‘I love your practical ways. I’ll go to the bank and draw out enough cash. I haven’t a lot of money – about four hundred pounds all told.’ He smiled broadly, hugely pleased with himself. ‘Can we live off my wages at present? I come into a trust next year, when I’m twenty-one. It should bring in about ten pounds a week at three per cent, less tax.’
‘We can manage on much less,’ she said. ‘I’ve saved a hundred pounds. We may have to live off our savings if you get the sack.’
For the journey Isobel wore a green linen dress and high-heeled shoes of tan leather. She appeared older and more sophisticated, but her nerves were jangling when she left Macclesfield for Manchester the next morning. Magnus, bold as brass, was going to ask his father to drive him to the station to catch the eight o’clock to Manchester’s London Road station from where he would take a taxi to Exchange Station. Yesterday he’d given her ten pounds to book first-class seats on the eleven o’clock Flying Scotsman.
At Exchange now, she put her case on the train and stood on the platform, waiting for him, sick with fright at what they were doing and afraid too that Mam or Nanna might come looking for her or start a police hunt.
Then she saw him, struggling along with his two sticks, red-faced, trying to keep up with the porter who strode ahead of him carrying two leather cases that were monogrammed MJH. Relief and love flooded through her as she ran to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Have you had to walk far?’ She had to shout, there were so many people on the platform. ‘No hitches?’
‘None so far. I’m not used to it.’ He was out of breath but he had a big, silly smile on his face. ‘Everything going to plan. Got your rings on?’
Isobel pulled off her glove and showed him her left hand where a thin gold band shone new and bright under the antique opal and diamond ring he’d bought yesterday. Then she insisted that he took her arm and leaned on her to walk the last fifty yards to their carriage.
Six hours later the train drew in at Edinburgh’s Waverley Station, and they followed a porter into a lift behind the taxi rank on the station. The lift whisked them up to the hotel, where they trekked along miles of corridors and steps to the reception. Magnus booked them in as man and wife before ordering afternoon tea to be sent up in half an hour.
The strain was starting to tell on Magnus. He was pale and there were deep shadows under his eyes when they reached their suite of rooms. There was a large marble bathroom, with a claw-footed bath that had brass taps and a showering contraption, and a huge heated towel rail in shiny chrome that was big enough to dry a week’s washing. In the sitting room was a table, writing desk and three deep armchairs. Magnus dropped, fatigued, into one of the chairs and fell back, eyes closed.
Isobel went into the bedroom, which overlooked Waterloo Place and the enormous bronze statue of the Iron Duke on a rearing horse in front of Register House. She unpacked, all the time wanting to pinch herself, to keep looking in the glass to be sure she really was here in a Scottish hotel bedroom. The high bed was made up with white starched linen. Would Magnus want to wait until they were legally man and wife before he took her to himself?
Magnus came in. ‘The tea’s just arrived,’ he said.
‘Did they ask for proof that we were married?’
‘No.’ It was an effort for him to speak. He was weary and drawn. Being strong and determined all day had taken its toll.
She said, ‘All right?’
He got on to the bed and put his head back against the pillows. ‘I’m tired. I have to rest.’ It was five o’clock in the evening. His eyes were closed. ‘Come here.
Give me a kiss. Then let me sleep for a couple of hours,’ he said.
She was afraid for him now. ‘What do they do at home, Magnus? If you get overtired?’
‘Mother fusses,’ he said. ‘I only need rest.’
Isobel knew a stab of fear as she kissed his cheek. He was asleep. What if harm came to him? His mother fussed he said, but there was a need for fuss. She was strong and energetic and her sickness and fainting spells would pass. Soon she’d want to walk for miles. Magnus had no stamina.
He slept on while she untied his shoes and discovered that they were specially made. She saw his poor, twisted feet and deformed ankles. His feet were cold and she warmed them in her hands. Then she took his jacket off, unfastened the studs on his high starched collar and slipped off his shirt. She pulled off his trousers and left the woollen vests and long underpants on to keep his bony frame warm. Still he slept. She rolled him over, wrapped a warm pullover round those feet and pulled the covers and eiderdown over him. He was making contented, gruff little sounds as she did all this but he didn’t open his eyes or speak and when all was done Isobel went to the window to close the curtains before she tiptoed out of the room.
In the sitting room she sat at the window for half an hour, eating ham sandwiches and drinking tea, gazing out at the houses, tenements, churches and university all huddled and piled on a steep, rocky crag – and the New Town that was fronted by the shops of Princes Street on her right. It was more beautiful than she had imagined it.
She went to check on Magnus and found him sleeping soundly, his breathing deep and regular. Relief flooded through her. Sleep, good food and fresh air should do the trick. She tried to read but could not stop thinking about the shop and Mam and Nanna. She would send letters to them on the day she married Magnus. And it was on her mind, the whole time that Ray Chancellor must be stopped before he wrecked the lives of any more girls. But who would believe her?
There was only one person she could tell – only one who would know she was telling the truth because she had nothing whatever to gain and everything to lose by opening her heart. She went to the desk, found pen and paper and began: Dear Mr Chancellor … She would post it with Mam’s letter.
At nine o’clock she tried to wake Magnus, but he muttered, ‘I’m so tired–’ and fell asleep again. She stood at the window, watching the sun go down behind the great greystone castle on its purple rock high above the city. She prayed for Magnus, that he would be well and standing beside her tomorrow and as she prayed the clouds went from white and pewter to molten gold and copper. The setting sun cast a red haze over the well of the gardens below. Lights were twinkling on the darkening hill while the sun’s last rays flashed orange fire off the hundreds of windows on Princes Street.
The next morning her prayers were answered. Magnus was better. They went to the registry office and discovered that they could marry, by special licence, the day before Magnus’s hospital appointment.
‘When will you tell your parents?’ she asked.
‘When we get home.’
‘Won’t you write? Or speak to your father on the telephone?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I know what I’m doing. Mother would try to stop me.’
That night Magnus made love to her. He was gentle and had been told, Isobel supposed, that a wife was usually slow to respond, so they spent hours embracing and kissing and whispering loving words before he decided that she was ready for him. He spent another ten minutes fiddling about with himself and then with her. She had to ask him to stop what was becoming an irritation because she wanted him to get on with it – get it over and done with. It was all over in seconds once the final act commenced.
Magnus was very proud of himself. He kissed her warmly and patted her belly, saying, ‘Mother was told by a specialist that I’d never be able to do this. And here I am. Married. And our baby growing in there,’ as if he really were the father.
Afterwards, Isobel lay for an hour, unable to rest and glad that Magnus was pleased with her; wishing with all her heart that he were the father of her baby. And wishing that her first experience of lovemaking had been with her husband, on their wedding night; wishing that she had never known the fiery need that Ian had aroused in her and that Ray had so callously satisfied. But she made a promise to God, in her prayers that night that she would not think about fires and passions. She was Magnus’s wife. Theirs might not be a true love match but she would repay Magnus a thousandfold for saving her child from the shame and disgrace of bastardy. Her child would grow up with a father who was a good, kind man. When her prayers were said she felt better. After all, how big a part of marriage was spent loving and thinking of love? Five per cent? She would put her heart and soul into more important things, the parts of marriage that mattered to her; a home, a child and a father for her child.
The seven days flew. They spent the weekday mornings in travelling by tram or train to fishing villages where they’d walk for a little way along sedate sea fronts or stand on rocky headlands outside harbour walls, where high, powerful waves crashed and broke. But a quarter-mile walk in the breezy air on the coast was enough to tire Magnus, so they’d search for a cafe with seats by the window, and over cups of coffee, pancakes and treacle scones would sit and talk about the young King’s abdication last December or about the newly crowned King, his brother, the Duke of York. Then they would read The Scotsman and talk about the terrifying Adolf Hitler. They were like an old couple who had been married for years.
In the afternoons, while Magnus lay down, Isobel explored the city. She was entranced with Edinburgh, the city where you turned a corner and found unexpected spectacular views of hills and mountains and the wide sweep of the River Forth. She walked in the Old Town of old-fashioned shops and steep, cobbled and stepped wynds and closes. She ran down steep streets and steps from the castle to the ancient Grassmarket where the gallows used to stand. And walking and climbing under clear blue skies brought colour to her cheeks and her appetite back in force. The cool summer air went to her head like wine. It suited her, gave her energy. She glowed with health.
But Magnus seemed to be losing his strength. The good food, sea air and exercise should have made him fitter yet he could barely keep his eyes open after supper. And on their wedding night, the night before his hospital appointment, he said, ‘I’ll be glad when tomorrow is here. I’m done for.’
For the first time in his life Frank had been unable to work for a whole week. He felt as if he were a step behind everyone else. The doctors said gastroenteritis, and his ma said, ‘It’s all the nast!’ To his intense irritation she kept repeating, ‘The nast will out, Frank. Nast has to come out.’ When he asked what she meant, she just muttered, ‘Nast – like nasty’ and he wondered how much longer she could go on. She was bedridden but she kept everyone awake at night, laughing and singing in a croaky old voice. She had to be fed and washed and nursed round the clock by two nurses. He’d had Sarah’s old sitting room done out for her. He had put two beds in there – one for the nurse. And he’d ask the doctor to come and prescribe sleeping draughts so they might all get some rest.
Today, he felt better. It was a fine day, one of those hot, early-summer days that can burst out of a warm, wet month. He went downstairs and found on the hall table the letter that was going to change everything. He turned it over – a large brown envelope, addressed to him in Isobel’s forceful, sloping handwriting. On the back was embossed ‘North British Hotel, Edinburgh’. It had been posted in Edinburgh, yesterday. He slit it open, but pleasure had changed to apprehension. There was a smaller, square envelope inside, and a two-page letter. He pulled out the pages and started to read.
Dear Mr Chancellor,
When you receive this letter I will be married to Magnus Hammond. We have eloped to Scotland because we have no time to waste. Magnus has married me and saved me from certain condemnation. I am expecting a baby in December and I cannot tell anybody, not even Magnus, the name of my baby’s father.
The only pe
rson I can tell is you. I want you to know that your son is responsible. I cannot tell if he raped me but I did ask him to stop. Perhaps I did not fight him hard enough but I was very drunk from the wine and brandy and champagne Ray gave to me. Ray has enormous strength and can hold a girl down easily. I do know that had I been sober, had I been asked, I would never have consented to what went on, in my mother’s bed, on the night of Doreen Grimshaw’s wedding.
You may choose to do nothing. You may not even believe me, but if you have any doubts about your corrupt son please see the enclosed photograph, taken two weeks ago, in Southport.
You certainly cannot do anything about my disgrace – not with Ray engaged to Sylvia Hammond and with me, another of Ray’s cast-offs, married to Magnus Hammond. You must destroy this letter when you have read it. I do not wish to talk about it, ever again, to anyone, especially to you.
But you have often spoken about the good name of Chancellor and I want you to know what your son is capable of. What kind of people are you? What kind of name is Chancellor?
Yours truthfully, Isobel Leigh
The pages shook in his hands. Far worse than the thing he had dreaded had happened. His own son had raped his daughter. He looked at the photograph of Ray and the Grimshaw girl canoodling. It meant nothing. The Grimshaw girl had earned her reputation long ago. His feet were blocks of ice, his fingers were numb as he folded it all back into the envelope and rang the printworks. ‘Tell Ray to come home immediately,’ he said, and he put down the receiver and waited. He was ice cold, inside and out.
Fifteen minutes later the Delage drew up and Ray, full of smiles, came into the drawing room. ‘There you are, Dad. What’s the matter?’
Frank got out of his chair. ‘Close the door,’ he said coldly.
Ray looked surprised but he pushed the door as his father launched himself across the room and hit him under the chin with a closed fist that sent Ray staggering backwards, on weakened legs that gave under him as his head struck the door.
A Daughter's Shame Page 40
