‘No, no, John, not any more than I was when I was a runner. It all goes back to then.’
‘No! Never.’
‘Oh, yes, yes. There was a lot of stuff went missing presumably, and they’re still looking for it. I might as well tell you there’s somebody determined to get me one way or the other. They sent, you know, one of those anonymous letters to the customs and excise lot and this is what started it off. It’s nearly sixteen years now since that all happened.’
‘Oh, time means nothing to the pollis or to the excise. They’re like that sayin’ about the elephant, they never forget. Well, I must be off; I said I would be away two hours. I’ll have to put it in the night. By! They get their pound of flesh, don’t they?’
‘I thought you liked it across there.’
‘It’s a job, Freddie, it’s a job. I like gardening, but when you’re under an old fella like Bainbridge you get the muck and the grubbing jobs and he gets the smiles and the thanks for keeping the garden so lovely. D’you know somethin’?’ He laughed now. ‘She complained, the mistress, because she saw a blade of grass sticking up atween the paving stones.’
‘Never!’ Freddie was smiling too.
‘It’s a fact. Bainbridge took me almost by the scruff of the neck and bent me over that slab, saying, “Look there! That’s annoyed the mistress.”‘ He started to giggle now. ‘Me eyes were on a level with his bloated middle and I had a job to restrain me fist from diggin’ it in.’ When he turned to go he said wryly, ‘If you’ve got a hoard put away, Freddie, I wouldn’t mind risk-sharing it.’
Freddie thumped him on the back, saying, ‘Same cell in the House of Correction?’
‘Aye…aye, that’s where we’ll likely end. Goodbye, lad.’
‘Goodbye, John; and thanks for comin’.’
‘Freddie.’
‘Aye?’
‘Be careful. Ma worries about you. Although you’ve been in clover all these years she still worries over you.’
‘I’m a big lad now, John. I’ve been a big lad for a long, long time. Go on with you. You’ve got plenty to worry about without puttin’ me on your books. And keep those flags clean; don’t annoy the missis.’
The office to himself, Freddie sat at his desk and asked himself what was going to happen next. It felt as if a web was closing around him, a web of no silken threads, rather of steel hawsers. Since talking to Freeman he had racked his brains as to who might want him out of the way. He dismissed the Harpers: not one of them could write; although, like old Mr Wheatley they could have got someone to write the letters for them. That was a point…
Maggie had left early and when he arrived home he didn’t tell her what had transpired with John, but she in turn had something to tell him. ‘He’s wanting to rush things,’ she said. ‘And she’s more than half in agreement with him. All right, all right, all right’—her finger was wagging again—‘I know what you’re thinking and your thoughts are the same as mine, I might as well tell you now. But she’s young and headstrong and, as we’ve found out before, she’s amenable up to a point only. Remember when she was fourteen and I wanted to move her from that school to what I thought was one of higher standard: she went missing for a day, and then she told me that if I insisted on sending her to this place she would just walk out again, and she would have done. So, we’ve both got to go steady and meet her halfway. And another thing, about this invitation across the water to that house. I could no more go into that house where he had lived than I could sprout wings and fly. You mightn’t know it, Freddie, but I have nightmares still about that business. Many’s the time I wake up in a cold sweat ’cos I can see him goin’ down.’ When she put her hand across her eyes he immediately went over to her to allay her feelings and said, ‘As I’ve said before, it was either him, or you and me and her, because he certainly would have done for me with the child in me arms, he would have swiped me into the river, I knew that. Then you being a witness to it, you would have gone after me. It was self-preservation, so don’t let it worry you. I had thought you had put it out of your mind.’
She smiled wanly at him. ‘You don’t put a thing like that out of your mind, lad. You take a life and the loss of it is with you for the rest of your days, be the victim good, bad or indifferent. Anyway, you’ll have to go over with her yourself.’
‘Not on your life.’ He was on his feet now. ‘Remember the fear in me about that man, well, believe it or not, like you it still comes back at times. It was as if he was two different beings: one minute he was an ordinary man, the next an evil devil. It showed in his face. And—’ He turned about now and although he lowered his tone, he hissed, ‘And that fella’s that man’s son. There was a doubt about Belle’s parentage but there’s certainly no doubt about his, and that’s why I’m not happy.’
‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry on that score. He seems a nice enough fellow in his own way, and he’s more than likely taken after his mother’s side.’
‘Well, I don’t care which side he’s taken after, I’m not going across there. She goes on her own.’ And with this, he stalked out of the room.
Eleven
Belle went across the river on her own. Freddie put her into a hire keel at the quay, and she was met on the Shields side by Marcel himself. He it was who handed her up to the quay and led her to the waiting carriage. The driver, in livery, placed a footstool for her to mount; and then they were sitting side by side bowling through Shields.
Holding her hand tightly in his now, he asked, ‘Excited?’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Then you’re not alone; I’ve hardly been able to contain myself for days. As I said to Grandmama, it won’t be like showing you your future home, it’s like bringing you home, to the house where you were born. It’s amazing, isn’t it?’
She remained silent. Yes, it was amazing. She had lain awake half the night thinking about it. You read stories that dealt with such tales but you knew they were the fanciful imaginings of the writer. Yet she had been and still was the main figure in this fanciful tale which was not fanciful at all but made up of stark reality.
She had realised over the past few weeks that her eyes had only of late been opened to reality. She traced this revelation back to when Maggie told her about a man who had been found dead in an alleyway down at the Low Lights. His death was the result of foul play, but the culprit had not been discovered. The poor man had left a wife, and nine children all under eleven years old. They had been previously classed as a lucky family for they had managed to rear all but one child; now, however, they were all in the poorhouse. Maggie had been distressed about this.
That was reality, as Maggie had pointed out her. And when the fishing fleet came into port with hardly enough herring among them to fill two creels and all those men had mouths to feed, that too was reality.
There was a lot of reality about, and she was just wakening up to it and realising more every day how sheltered she had been by that wonderful woman and that more than wonderful man who was now causing her pain, because she knew, no matter how he acted, he hadn’t taken to Marcel.
Of course, when she used her reason on this matter it was understandable. He had known his dreadful father, the man who would have definitely murdered her had he had his own way.
Yet here was Marcel looking into her eyes, his face soft and beautiful…and he was beautiful. She had seen a number of pretty men but Marcel’s looks went beyond that, he was beautiful.
He was saying, ‘You’ll find Grandmama ensconced on her chaise longue; she doesn’t get about very much these days, but’—he leant towards her—‘between you and me she loves being waited on…she’s been waited on all her life, spoilt. I’ve told her that…you’ll like her, and she’ll love you as I do.’ She was in his arms now and he was kissing her long and hard until the carriage, going over a rutted stretch of road rocked them both forward and almost onto the other seat, and they laughed like children.
‘Where are we now?’ She looked out of the wind
ow.
‘Oh, entering the salubrious part of the town; Westoe village. There used to be great fields between the village and the town proper but they’re building like mad now all over the place. Still, I doubt if they’ll get any further.’
‘They’re lovely houses.’
‘Wait till you see yours.’ He turned her to him again. ‘Of course you won’t remember anything of it, although if you did they would be pretty ghastly memories. I can recall when I first saw it I thought it was a dreadful place, so dark and dingy. But Grandmama performed her usual miracle with houses, she had it almost stripped bare inside, walls taken down, rooms extended, and then beautifully decorated. She’s an artist of sorts is Grandmama, very clever in many ways. Oh yes, in many ways.’
He turned now and looked out of the window, and when he didn’t speak for some minutes she said, ‘Marcel.’ And she had to repeat his name before he turned to her, his lids blinking, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying, ‘What is it? You look so sad.’ She could find no other word to express the look on his face.
‘Sad? Nonsense!’ And then he added, ‘Ten minutes more and we’ll be there. My dear—’ he took her face between his hands and there was a deep emotion in his voice as he said, ‘You are so lovely, breathtaking. I’ll soon be the envy of every man in the world.’
She did not contradict him for it was lovely to hear someone talk like this to her. No-one had ever done so before. At times Freddie had teased her about her looks: when she had put on something new and asked him, ‘How do I look?’ he had pursed his lips and put his head on one side, studied her, then said, ‘Passable, miss, passable.’ But then Freddie hadn’t been looking at her through a lover’s eyes…
When the carriage drew up on the drive in front of the house and she stepped out of it, she stood and gazed about her. She had tried to imagine the house but her imagination had fallen short of what she was looking at now. The house was so much bigger, built of warm pinkish stone, with deep mullioned windows and two tall stone pillars holding up the portico over the front door. His hand on her elbow, he led her up the three shallow steps to where a servant in green livery bowed slightly towards them, but Marcel Birkstead gave him no recognition. However, when a middle-aged woman came across the hall towards them and said, ‘Good day, miss. Allow me to take your cloak,’ he said to her, ‘Is Grandmama upstairs, Cummings?’
‘No, sir. She insisted on coming down into the drawing room.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ Then in an offhand manner he made a small motion with his head towards the woman, saying, ‘This is Grandmama’s maid.’
‘How d’you do?’
‘Very well, ma’am, thank you.’
‘Come along, dear.’ He again had his hand on her elbow, and she hadn’t really any time to take in the splendour of the hall, only that it was beautifully warm and that the warmth came from a great wood fire in a recessed fireplace at the far end.
She would have liked to stand and look about her, because no matter how it had changed this was the hall that Freddie had carried her across and amazed the two women by the sight of her. They were now entering the drawing room, and her first impression of it was that everything was blue from the ceiling to the carpet. He was leading her now towards where a lady was propped up on a chaise longue set some distance from but opposite another huge fire, and the next moment she was standing looking down into a face so delicately skinned it appeared like that of a china doll, and the round blue eyes helped the impression. And some part of her dared to be slightly amused when she realised that the lady was wearing a wig, because it was such a young looking wig in a beautiful brown shade, the hair lying in soft waves about the ears and supported on the crown by two pink bows.
Belle’s impression of her was that of an elderly child, if that could have been possible; but only until the elderly child opened its mouth, and the voice that said, ‘Well, my dear, so here you are,’ gave the lie to the appearance, for even in those words it conveyed a note of authority. And it went on, ‘And I can see the reason for all the fuss. Do sit down, my dear. Did you have a pleasant journey?’
As Marcel Birkstead placed a chair for Belle she answered, ‘Yes, it was very pleasant.’
The old lady was staring at her now and her chin was moving in small jerks as if in agreement with her thoughts. And then she said, ‘Ring for tea, Marcel.’
Belle watched him go to the side of the fireplace and pull on a thick red betasselled cord that apparently disappeared into the ceiling. Then returning to his grandmother’s side, he said, ‘You’re very naughty to come downstairs, you know that,’ and she glanced at him sideways for a moment, then said, ‘My dear boy, I have never been naughty in my life, and you know that.’ When he laughed she laughed and Belle smiled.
At this moment, and for the first time that she could remember in her young life, she was feeling very ill at ease. She had imagined that the training she had received from Miss Rington had prepared her for all occasions: she knew how to enter a drawing room, and how to leave it; she knew the correct greeting with which to address a lady or a gentleman; but she knew now that that training hadn’t taken into consideration an occasion such as this one, for she doubted if Miss Rington had ever met such a personage as she was now sitting beside.
The tea must have been ready and waiting, for there came a tap on the door and the butler entered carrying a heavily laden tray, and behind him a maid, in a grey uniform and wearing a tiny white frilled apron and a cap to match, pushed a trolley.
When the servants had departed the old lady said, ‘Are you used to pouring tea, my dear?’ And Belle’s answer was rather stiff: ‘Yes, quite used to it, madam,’ she said.
The delicate pencilled eyebrows moved upwards; the head inclined towards her, which was permission that she should go ahead and pour now…
After two cups of highly scented china tea the old lady said, ‘Do eat a sweetmeat. I know it isn’t usual to eat with tea but I have never stuck to rules, have I, Marcel?’ She turned, as though for confirmation, towards her grandson, and he, smiling at her, said, ‘No, Grandmama; you have never stuck to rules. You are a rule unto yourself.’
She returned his smile as if he had paid her a compliment…
The tea over, the bell again rung, the servants having taken away the trolley and the tray, the old lady turned to Marcel, saying, ‘I understand Yarrow thinks that Prince’s leg has worsened. Would you like to go and see for yourself.’
It was a veiled order and he smiled at her, saying, ‘Yes, of course, Grandmama; but you could have got me out of the way with a less subtle excuse.’
The old lady’s lips puckered, her hand wagged at him and he went out laughing. And now as if she had shed the wig and the enamelled face and definitely her autocratic manner, she held out her hand towards Belle, saying, ‘One can never be oneself in front of men, old or young, relations or not. Now, my dear, come and sit closer to me.’
Belle drew her chair to the side of the couch and, taking the extended hand, she waited while the round blue eyes remained fixed on her in silence for a moment. Now, the voice low, the old lady said, ‘Let me say how glad I am that Marcel has chosen you to be his wife. I have never felt happy with any of his acquaintances before. But you, my dear, with this very, very, strange connection with this house, and the story is strange, isn’t it?’ She did not wait for an answer, but went on, ‘I found it at first quite improbable until I remembered the man Gallagher, and how I was against the marriage of my daughter from the first. Yet…yet, it must be said, that he loved her and loved her dearly. And such was she that she made a different man of him during the short time they were together. But recalling that he had no use for his own son, my dear, dear Marcel, it is understandable that when his second wife, your mother, did what she evidently did, his reaction should be horrific, even to the extent of destroying you. But it seems, and I have been thinking a lot these past few days, that destiny has turned the wheel and that you should come back into this ho
use, your rightful place. Of course, my dear, as you see it now, it wasn’t then, because from my daughter’s death he had let it go to rack and ruin. And your mother must have found it so dreary. No wonder she sought consolation elsewhere. But, my dear’—Belle’s hand was being shaken up and down now—‘I want you to promise me one thing. You see, I love my grandson very much. He has been for the past twenty-one years or so my life-spring, and he is very precious to me, and I would do anything to bring him happiness. So, my dear, will you promise in a way to take my place, because you know’—she now took her free hand and, in a long sweep that started from her brow, drew it slowly down the shape of her body underneath the silken cover—‘I am a very old lady, but, as I said, I want a promise that you will always love him and care for him…yes, and care for him as it says in the marriage service, in sickness and in health.’
The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret) Page 26
