A Daughter's Shame

by Audrey Reimann

  Frank crouched over him, hands up and ready. ‘Get up!’ he snarled.

  Ray rolled to one side, and muttered, ‘For God’s sake! I give up!’ He snatched an arm cover from the chair and spat into it, a spatter of dark-red drops of blood staining the white linen. He looked up at Frank, bewildered. ‘What the hell … ?’ Then he came slowly to his feet to lean back against the door, the cloth held to his mouth. ‘Don’t try that again,’ he said in voice thick with phlegm and blood. ‘What in God’s name is the matter?’

  Frank went to the sofa table for the letter and thrust it at Ray. ‘Read this. Then you tell me what’s the matter.’

  Ray took the letter and after the first few lines looked at his father. ‘She’s in Edinburgh? Married to Magnus? His mother and father know nothing about this.’

  ‘Read on!’

  When he came to the end Ray looked at the photograph and smiled. Casually, he threw the letter and photograph into the empty grate. He looked Frank straight in the eye. ‘Lies,’ he said. ‘The girl’s mad.’

  ‘You deny it?’ Frank came towards him, burning with anger ‘No girl makes up a story like that.’

  Ray calmly put the flat of his hand on Frank’s upraised arm. ‘Calm down. I don’t deny I was with her. But as for forcing myself, raping her – giving her a baby. Bloody lies!’

  Frank knocked his arm away, and with his face inches from Ray’s and every impulse in him wanting to smash the smug look off his face, said, ‘Tell me the truth. Convince me or you’ll not get out of this room in one piece.’

  Ray gave him a contemptuous push, but he held Frank’s wrists and ‘I don’t want to hit you,’ he said. ‘The girl’s a liar! I took her out to dinner. She was knocking the drink back like lemonade. I had to take her home, put her to bed and get out before …’

  ‘And you didn’t … ?’

  Ray let go of his father’s wrists and gave him a push, making Frank drop into an armchair. ‘No, I damn well didn’t. If that girl has a baby it’s not mine. I‘m getting married in November. Sylvia won’t live here with you and a crazy old woman. We want the place to ourselves. You’ve four months to get out and find yourselves a house.’

  Frank threw himself into the car and headed for Lindow and as he went his anger turned against Elsie and grew like a fiery bush in his chest. His precious daughter had been neglected to become the prey of Magnus Hammond. He put his foot down hard. The car leaped and he raced down the Manchester Road to the Bollington turn-off. He must believe Ray. Ray would not jeopardise his chance of marriage to Sylvia Hammond. Ray must be speaking the truth. Frank could not even contemplate the thought that Ray was responsible. But why would Isobel think she’d been raped? Young girls had hysterics, didn’t they? Did she see Ray’s attention, putting her to bed, as interference? Believing oneself pregnant was a frequent delusion in young girls who had merely been kissed. Isobel imagined she had been seduced and was having a baby. It was a common enough self-deception.

  He had to slow down on the winding road through Bollington, and his anger simmered inside him as he asked himself what the hell had been going on while Elsie wallowed in self-pity.

  Well, she had wallowed for long enough – taken leave of her mind. She had no interest in her child, her business, her home. It was time she pulled herself together.

  He glanced right as he passed the churchyard and saw Elsie, sitting on the marble fender of her father’s grave, looking wistful, removing dead flowers from the urn. He pulled up on the grass verge, got out of the car and vaulted over the stone wall. Elsie looked up briefly without acknowledging his presence then went back to her task.

  Frank heard himself say, harsh and demanding, ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you where you should be? In Macclesfield, looking after your family? What the hell are you doing? What kind of mother is it who lets this happen?’

  She stood, the dead flowers in her hands. ‘I suppose the Hammonds told you.’ She put down the dead tulips beside a bunch of fresh primroses, brushed her hands one against the other and reached into her pocket for a letter, which she handed to him. He read:

  Dear Nanna and Mam,

  Magnus and I will be married by the time you receive this letter. We ran away to Scotland last week.

  Please forgive me for doing it this way but I am expecting a baby in December and we would not be allowed to marry if we asked permission. I love you very much and I would never willingly deceive you. I hope Magnus’s parents don’t make trouble and upset you.

  We will come home as soon as Magnus has seen the specialist. We will live at Bollinbrook Road for the time being until we find a place of our own. But I can’t carry on with the shop, Mam.

  Love from Isobel

  Fury rose in Frank again. Elsie did not even appear to be concerned. He wanted to shake her. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? How could you let this happen?’

  ‘It’s not my doing. She’s only done what I did.’ Then, calmly, she said, ‘I’m not ashamed of Isobel. Magnus loves her. He has married her. You never loved me. You made me into an adulteress.’

  Was this all she cared about? His anger made him shout. ‘My precious lass has eloped with a crippled boy with a transmissible disease. And you are moping about here, feeling sorry for yourself, wallowing in misery because your old father died?’

  ‘And my husband left me.’

  ‘Left you? He’s gone?’

  ‘He said we had to move out of the house because he wants to sell it. That’s why Isobel wouldn’t leave. She was hanging on to the house.’

  ‘It’s your house.’

  ‘I paid four hundred. Howard had to borrow the rest on mortgage.’

  ‘So if you paid him a hundred, the house would be yours?’

  ‘Isobel went to see him a week ago. He says he wants four hundred. And he wants a divorce.’

  Frank got hold of her arm and gripped it hard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have seen to Leigh.’

  Suddenly she drew back and shook his hand away as if he were a leper. Then she put her shoulders back and faced him, as bold as she used to be when she was a young lass herself. She tilted her head back in the challenging way she used to do, and her voice was sharp and quick. ‘I’ve had enough of you. And enough of everyone else. And I’m telling you now,’ and the old fiery light was in her eye as she continued, ‘I came down here to say goodbye to Dad. Not to listen to you, Frank.’

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘Everything’s different now. I’ve changed. I don’t want Howard. And I don’t want you. I have to get my courage up and go home. The only people who matter are my mother, Isobel and my grandchild.’

  She put the primroses in the urn on her father’s grave and stood back. Very softly she said, ‘Dad, I’m not coming back. As one light goes out another little light comes in, burning bright. Your great-grandchild, Dad. I’ll be a better grandmother than I was a mother. Goodbye.’

  Frank’s anger against her drained away. His heart turned over. He had never loved her as much as he did now. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. She picked up the old tulips and went towards the heap of dead flowers. Then she turned and said, ‘I think you should tell Isobel now. Tell her that you are her father. It would mean a lot to her to know. I can’t do it.’

  But he could not do it. Not now. Not with his precious lass believing she had been raped and was expecting Ray’s child. It could drive her to suicide. He said, ‘No. We can’t tell her. She must never know.’

  The premises Willey-Leigh called his Manchester factory were nothing more than a storeroom above a shop. It was not even a large storeroom and it was cramped with trestle tables, at which sat a couple of women, attaching cloth buttons to cards. Willey-Leigh was in a small adjoining office.

  Frank threw open the door. Willey-Leigh got to his feet, blustering, ‘What on earth?’ Then, seeing the anger in Frank’s face, he said more quietly, ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m going to give you a thrashing, Leigh.’
Frank slammed the door closed behind him and advanced.

  ‘Will you leave my premises?’

  ‘My premises.’

  ‘Are you off your head? I said, leave my premises.’

  ‘And I’m telling you, Leigh, that I own these premises. My company financed you. Cheshire Trading. I’m calling in the loan.’

  ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘I can. I’m going to ruin you. But for Elsie I’d have you declared bankrupt. Elsie can’t face the fact that you want a divorce. So, Leigh, you are not going to get a divorce. You are going to sign away any interest you have in Elsie’s house. I will purchase the outstanding loan and have the transfer deeds drawn up.’

  ‘You can’t do this …’

  ‘Oh, but I can. And when the property is returned to Elsie I am going to squeeze you dry.’ He laughed. ‘No, I haven’t finished with you.’

  ‘Get out. Get out or I’ll call the police.’

  Frank went a step closer. ‘Call the police? I don’t think you’ll be in any state to call the police when I’m done with you. We’ll find a solicitor’s office. Right now.’ He gripped Leigh‘s arm tight. ‘Then when you’ve signed over the transfer deeds I’ll take great delight in smashing that face of yours off the wall.’

  ‘You are mad! What have I done to deserve this?’

  Frank pushed Leigh hard against the desk, hearing the crack as his backbone struck the oak. Frank said, through gritted teeth, ‘You know what you’ve done!’ His anger was about to erupt. He must save it though, until he had forced Leigh into signing the transfer deeds. ‘You tell your wife that you want a divorce. What other dirty deeds have you done?’ He pressed harder on Leigh’s arms, forcing him back.

  Leigh was squealing. ‘It’s your son you want to threaten, Chancellor, not me!’

  Frank wrenched Leigh’s arm and, pushing his face close to Leigh’s, said, ‘What’s that? What’s my son got to do with it?’

  Leigh seemed suddenly to find strength. He jerked forward towards Frank, butting Frank‘s face with his forehead, freeing his grip, making Frank reel backwards until he came up against a cupboard, caught his elbow on the edge and crashed down heavily on the dusty floor.

  Frank put his hand to his nose. There was no blood. He was not hurt, but by the time he had sprung to his feet Leigh was away, past the women in the workroom, running like a frightened deer down the staircase.

  The street door was open, and from the top of the staircase Frank saw Leigh run through into the crowd. Frank reached the street at the same moment as a shout went up, ‘Watch out!’ The crowd parted, stopped at the sight of a man running crazily across the tram terminus and acres of square that was Piccadilly.

  ‘He’s gone berserk!’

  ‘What the Dickens?’

  ‘Look out!’ came the shouts.

  But it was too late. Leigh’s zig-zagging progress was halted. He had been struck by an oncoming tram whose driver was wildly clanging the warning bell. Frank pushed through to him. Leigh tried to scramble to his feet but collapsed and was being carried to the transport manager’s office, blood streaming down his face, crying and sniffing loudly, and pitifully.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On the day of Magnus’s appointment they went in the morning, by taxi, to the Royal Infirmary. Isobel was off-guard when, in Mr Meiklejohn’s consulting room, she found herself with an electric sense of attraction that alarmed her, face to face with Ian Mackenzie. He stood before her, tall and handsome in the dark suit and white coat that the pre-registration doctors wore.

  ‘How did you guess I was coming today?’ Magnus asked as the two cousins shook hands.

  ‘I didn’t guess. I looked up your next appointment.’ Hope and delight leaped into Ian’s blue eyes as he held out his hand to Isobel. ‘How nice to see you, Isobel.’

  She put her hand in his, heard the deep, educated Scottish voice, felt the shock of contact and said, for it had to be said at once, ‘Magnus and I were married yesterday. We are staying at the North British.’

  The light of welcome went out of Ian’s face as Mr Meiklejohn hustled her towards the door, saying, ‘All the same, I must ask you to leave your husband with us. We have lengthy tests to do. Perhaps you could return at four o’clock.’

  Isobel walked slowly back to the hotel, her confidence shaken by her involuntary response to Ian’s presence. She had no appetite for lunch but sat at the window waiting.

  The telephone rang in the sitting room at two o’clock. ‘Isobel? Ian here.’ There was urgency in his voice. ‘Can you come to the Infirmary immediately? Magnus is having a blood transfusion.’

  Fear, a sharp stabbing pain of fear, gripped her. ‘No! Why … ?’

  ‘There has been considerable blood loss since he was seen a year ago. We don’t know where it’s coming from – the tests aren’t complete.’

  Her hands were trembling, her mouth was dry. ‘Do you think that the journey – getting married – the strain has been too much?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason why haemophilia should prevent Magnus from marrying.’ There was a pause, then he said, ‘I’ve never seen him so happy. You have nothing to reproach yourself with.’

  ‘Ian … ?’ She wanted to say something, to explain something – but what could she say? Her voice wavered. ‘Thank you.’

  He hesitated for a moment before he said, ‘I may have done the wrong thing. Perhaps I should warn you.’

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Last night I rang my uncle and aunt to check that Magnus had not forgotten his appointment. He has always come to us, in Charlotte Square.’

  ‘Magnus hasn’t told them.’ Isobel bumped down onto an armchair, weak with fright and panic. ‘Would it be better if you rang … ?’

  ‘No. It wouldn’t.’ He was brisk and professional. ‘And I couldn’t. They are on their way to Edinburgh. They’ll go straight to Charlotte Square and Rowena will tell them that Magnus is in the Infirmary. I think that will be shock enough to greet them with.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She had been rebuked. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’

  His voice softened a little. ‘And Isobel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When my uncle and aunt return to Macclesfield, please have your things sent round to Charlotte Square. You are Magnus’s wife. We can’t have you living in a hotel for three or four weeks.’

  ‘Three or four weeks?’

  ‘If all goes well.’

  Magnus was attached at his bandaged forearm to a contraption of rubber tubes and metal and glass pipes on a high tripod stand, where an upended bottle of blood was being dripped into his veins. There was nobody in attendance and Isobel went to the bed and touched his cheek tenderly. ‘All right, are you?’

  ‘I’m used to it,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened.’

  ‘What’s gone wrong? Has it been too much … our marrying?’

  He put his free hand out to take hers and his eyes shone. ‘Marrying you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’ He made a kissing mouth. ‘Our nights of love! I can’t wait to get out of here.’

  Isobel let go of his hand. ‘Lie quietly, darling. You’ll weary from talk.’ She put her finger over his lips to hush him. ‘Rest.’

  ‘You love me in that way now, don’t you?’

  ‘Always. Forever.’ She would love Magnus forever, and she’d be a faithful and devoted wife. But she had seen Ian behind the glass panel in the door and her heart was pounding. She kissed Magnus’s face. ‘I have to go and talk to the doctors.’

  Ian led her to the consulting room, but it was Mr Meiklejohn who said, ‘How much have you been told about your husband’s disease?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything. I’m a good nurse.’

  ‘You should have been told,’ he said gravely, ‘Magnus has bled into the joints since he was a child. Now he is bleeding internally.’

  A shiver ran through Isobel. ‘What does it mean?’


  Mr Meiklejohn said, ‘We can detect blood in the bowel, stomach, kidneys and bladder, but when blood is lost into the lungs or peritoneum there is no effective treatment. There is no cure.’ He looked at her over the top of his glasses. ‘In Magnus’s case internal bleeding will recur.’

  Isobel was numb inside but she spoke in a determined voice. ‘I can nurse him. I have a diabetic mother.’

  He said, ‘Dr Mackenzie will teach you how to make observations and do the tests. This time it’s blood you’ll be looking for, not sugar.’

  ‘If I find blood?’

  ‘Transfusions are the only answer. The patient stays in bed until it stops.’

  Isobel tried desperately to think of questions she might wish she had asked, but all she could think of was to say, ‘What if he cuts himself shaving?’

  He spoke sharply. ‘You must learn to shave him yourself.’

  She persisted. ‘But what if he does injure himself? Bleed?’

  Mr Meiklejohn said, ‘You call a doctor. At once.’

  She would watch Magnus every minute, she promised herself. If anything should happen when they were on their own … ! She said, ‘Do you want to see Magnus here in Edinburgh every time?’

  ‘There are specialists in Manchester. Every bit as good as here.’ He put his hand out at this point, to shake hers. The interview was over. He said, ‘Dr Mackenzie will take you to the laboratory. He’ll show you how to collect specimens for testing.’

  There was nobody else in the little laboratory where Ian taught her what to look for in urine samples. ‘A smoky appearance indicates a slight loss of blood,’ he said. ‘If there are traces of pink or red you‘ll know what it is.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Magnus must use a commode. I’ll tell you how to collect a sample with a wooden spatula. Seal it in a waxed box and send it promptly to the Infirmary for analysis. Do this daily.’

  He watched her closely and Isobel wondered if he were looking for signs that she would find it all revolting. He said, ‘If he vomits you must look at it. If there are signs of altered blood – it looks like coffee grounds – then you have an emergency on your hands.’