Angel Meadow (54 page)

“My name is Millicent Hayes, Mr O’Rourke.”

Dear sweet Christ, would you look at the pair of them? A bog Irish prize fighter and a tight-buttocked, poker-backed, strait-laced virgin. He’d bet his life on the last, since he was certain she’d known the touch of no man.

“Miss Hayes.” O’Rourke bowed his head impishly over Millicent Hayes’s hand. Clever, thought Mr Bellchamber. Polite, not pushy, though any man could read what was in Millicent Hayes’s eyes.

She was slightly breathless when he let go of her hand which she put to her throat as he looked enquiringly down at her.

She drew a deep breath, her hand still to her throat, her voice still breathless and Mr Bellchamber saw the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of O’Rourke’s mouth.

“I have a job for you, Mr O’Rourke, but . . .”

Abruptly she stood up, her silver grey eyes, which a moment ago had the texture of velvet, turning to the lawyer.

“We can’t talk here, Mr O’Rourke,” nodding in the direction of Mr Bellchamber. “I wonder if you would care to take me to lunch?” And though he hadn’t a brass farthing in his pocket Michael O’Rourke professed himself delighted.

Mr Bellchamber was horrified. He had seated himself as O’Rourke came into the office and now he stood up again, putting out a hand as though physically to restrain his client but she gave him a look of frozen disdain before turning to beam at O’Rourke.

“Send me your bill, Mr Bellchamber, if you please,” she said over her shoulder. “I have no further use for you.”

They sailed from the room, the spinster and the Irish labourer, passing the open-mouthed clerks and the chap who had returned the Irishman to his – somewhat diminished – former self, with the casual aplomb of gentry ignoring peasants.

“Great God alive,” Mr Bellchamber whispered. “What in hell’s name have I done?”

For the first time in her life Millicent Hayes had fallen under the spell of a man. She had been bitterly disappointed in her brother’s business friend, Philip Meadows, who, since the evening of the dinner party had been ardently pursuing Nancy’s simpering, empty-headed hussy of a sister and to whom, if what Nancy hinted at, he was about to announce his engagement! But now, though she did not consciously think of it that way, she had a man of her own. He was not a suitable man, of course, not a gentleman, but as she revealed to him what she had planned for him, that did not matter, for when it was over, she assured herself, she would never see him again. It wasn’t as though he were about to be introduced to her friends or family. She and Michael needed to meet, naturally, to discuss and plan what she had in mind and the best way to go about it, and they had done so frequently since she had met him in the lawyer’s office. She found him charming!

In the beginning she found it disconcerting to oblige him with cash, quite a lot of cash, so that he might pay for their lunches, tip the waiter, hail cabs and even, since he had to put up somewhere, settle his hotel bills which were quite astounding. She had never stayed in a hotel so she was not competent to judge prices and values, but even so his bills seemed exorbitant. She paid, knowing it would be worth it in the end. It was necessary to her plans to have him in Manchester. He had chosen the hotel himself, the best in Manchester, the Albion, where Mr Meadows stayed when he was in the city on business and she admitted to herself it was very pleasant lunching there.

Michael O’Rourke, who had never had more than two farthings to rub together in his whole life, discovered the power and pleasure of money, lots of it, and liking it, was unwilling to give it up, even when Millicent Hayes told him what she required of him.

She only wanted him to kidnap his own bloody kids, the daft bitch! She would give him money to take them away, she told him, she didn’t care where as long as they were out of her home. After all, they were as much his as anybody’s, she added. He had a right to them, she proclaimed, since he was the father of both of them, a revelation that had sent her reeling when the ignorant slut who was Nancy’s sister had revealed it to her. He hadn’t even known about the second one, nor would he have cared if he had, though he didn’t say as much to this soft-headed cow. She only wanted him to keep them both until they were old enough to fend for themselves, she pleaded beseechingly; find some woman to see to them until then. She didn’t expect him to bring them up alone, of course, but she’d make it worth his while if he quietly removed them from Riverside House. Anything to get them out of her father’s house where they did not belong. Children of trollops and hussies, the two of them and better they had been drowned at birth like unwanted kittens. Even her brother’s son was unwelcome, though he at least had Hayes blood in his veins, as would the new brat when it arrived. But the other two were interlopers and must go and who better and more natural to take them than their own father?

Michael O’Rourke listened patiently, nodding with the gravity of a priest in the pulpit, his face composed into the lines of how he imagined a responsible father would look. Milly darlin’, as he now called her, to her secret delight, had not the vaguest notion of what his life had been before he met her. The viciousness, brutality, depravity, sheer bloody hunger as money meant for food was spent on drink in his downward spiral into the world he knew before Mr Bellchamber’s bully boy found him.

No, Michael O’Rourke had other plans. Plans of his own and they did not include the offspring of the Brody sisters, even if he had fathered them.

“Milly darlin’,” he said tenderly, deliberately softening his Irish brogue as he took her hand and brought it to his wide, curving mouth. He pressed his lips to her knuckles, smiling to himself to see the colour flood beneath her skin and the shiver of delight that rippled her angular frame. They were lunching yet again at his hotel as she made her last-minute plans known to him, drinking the champagne he had ordered and Milly was ever so slightly tipsy, whether by his nearness or the sparkling, expensive glasses of golden, fizzing liquid he had encouraged her to drink.

“Ye look as bonny as a star in the heavens wi’ that sparkle in yer eyes, so yer do,” he murmured, his blue eyes narrowing in what even Millicent recognised as . . . as a lovely but wicked expression. No, not wicked, mischievous, for they were so beautiful, such a deep and brilliant blue, a blue she had seen in another face but could not for the life of her remember where. His eyes were smiling, the thick black lashes surrounding them almost meshing together, hypnotising her, so that the coarseness of his features, the lumpy, broken nose, the veins in his cheeks, the slight stubble on his chin, since he needed to shave twice a day, went unnoticed. His elbows were on the table, as were hers, their faces no more than twelve inches apart and more than one diner wondered at the incongruous sight of what seemed to be a pair of lovers,
mismatched
lovers, with their feelings so boldly, so improperly on view.

“Michael, please . . . there are people watching,” she tittered, her heart thumping delightfully in her breast.

“To be sure I find I don’t care, me darlin’.”

“
Michael!
 ”

“No, sure an’ it has ter be said, an’ I’m after sayin’ it, Milly. We’ve only known one another a wee while but . . . well . . .” He ducked his head in a pretence of shyness but actually to hide the expression in his eyes and to avoid the one in hers.

“’Aven’t I come ter think the world o’ ye. No, don’t speak, mavourneen. Don’t I know yer worth a dozen o’ me but can I ’elp me feelin’s, fer aren’t I a man an’ you a bonny woman.”

“Michael, please, you must not . . .” Millicent Hayes was so flustered, so enchanted, so overwhelmed by this man’s declaration of his feelings for her, which, in her ignorance of men, she saw as genuine, she completely lost the good, hard-headed sense she had been born with. She was not attractive to men, she had recognised that before she was twenty and had hoped for no more than a suitable marriage with a suitable man, not love, of course, but a solid relationship on which to build her life. Now, almost overnight, she was being swept along on a tide of something she had never before experienced. Her body seemed to be all of a tingle, from her neatly coiffed head to her sensibly shod feet, and there was the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach which excited her. This man thought she was bonny and when she was with him she was! She felt womanly and now she felt desired and the feeling went to her spinning head so that when he stood up and held out his hand to her, she stood up with him and took it.

He led her out of the restaurant and across the foyer which was packed with guests coming and going and so they were not noticed. Still leading her by the hand, smiling inwardly at the pixilated look on her face, he took her up the wide staircase and along the luxuriously carpeted hallway to his room. Inside he locked the door behind them.

She began to take alarm then, for though she was, for the first time in her life, sexually awakened to a man she was not ready for this.

“Michael, I think we should go downstairs again,” she trembled. “This is not right. Only married couples should be alone together in—”

“Sure an’ won’t that be remedied as soon as may be, me darlin’,” revealing at last the preposterous plan he had formulated, “but while we’re waitin’ let’s you an’ me get a taste of it.”

“Michael, you can’t . . .”

“Now then, Milly, never did I tekk yer for a prick-teaser.”

She had no idea what he meant as she began to back away, coming with a thump up against the wardrobe, doing her best to regain that superior, better-than-thou demeanour with which she treated those she considered beneath her, which this man was, despite her fascination with him.

“I don’t know what that means, Michael, but this has gone far enough and I’d be obliged if you would unlock that door.”

“Would yer now.” He smiled and took off his jacket, throwing it on the bed, then before her horrifed gaze, since she had never before seen a man unclothed, he stripped himself naked and took hold of some dreadful thing that hung between his thighs and began to fondle it. She was not to know that it was the only way Mick O’Rourke could prepare himself to make love to a woman he didn’t fancy.

“Now ye, me darlin’,” he pronounced, his voice like silk, and when she refused he
did
it for her, fighting her over every garment, which
did
excite him until she cringed against the wardrobe door, doing her best to cover her nakedness with her two hands. On her face was a livid handprint where he had been forced to hit her.

“On the bed, me darlin’. Sure an’ we might as well do the ting in style.”

Ignoring her moans, he threw her on the bed, admiring her full breasts which took him by surprise, pried apart her legs with his knee and raped her with the same unconcern he had shown Nancy Brody.

30

“Whatever’s the matter with Milly this morning?” Arthur asked his brother and sister-in-law as he strolled into the breakfast-room. “She’s just run past me towards her room as though she were on fire and her face was as white as that tablecloth. Has she been here?”

Josh and Nancy looked up, surprised. Nancy was buttering toast and Josh had just passed her the marmalade, but they both stopped what they were doing to look enquiringly at each other.

“Yes, she was having breakfast but she did leave the table rather hurriedly,” Josh answered.

“She ate her porridge and—”

“No, she didn’t, ma’am,” Ellen interrupted. “She left half of it,” holding out the dish to prove it.

“Oh dear! Can she be sickening for something? I’d better go and see if . . .” Nancy pushed back her chair in readiness to rise but she was seven months pregnant, heavy and clumsy and before she could get to her feet Ellen was beside her.

“No, Mrs Josh, you stay there, lass, I’ll go.” They were all of them very fond of Mrs Josh and most solicitous of her condition. Josh, who had been about to stand up too, subsided, smiling.

“Thank you, Ellen,” they said in unison.

It was Sunday, a day of rest and relaxation in the Hayes household, or as restful as a house can be with three healthy, lively children in it. It was nine thirty of a beautiful autumn morning and since it had rained persistently for the past fortnight, drowning the garden and the meadows at the rear of the house, the bright and sunny day was doubly welcome.

Though it held the servants back, this late rising, since they didn’t know where they were with various members of the family drifting down to breakfast as they pleased, they were becoming accustomed to the less restrictive practices that the young Mrs Hayes had introduced since the master died. The old mistress always breakfasted in her room, usually around eight every day of the week. On weekdays, as Mr Josh and Mr Arthur were off to the mill or the warehouse by six thirty, breakfast was served at six o’clock. Once Mrs Josh had always joined them, saying that although her salon did not open until nine thirty there was always something to catch up on, and her carriage was waiting on the drive by seven. Now, with the joyous wonder of the coming child, due at Christmas, Mr Josh had prevailed upon her to stay in her bed until a decent hour since Miss Jennet was perfectly capable of seeing to anything that might need to be done in St Ann’s Square, which was only sensible.

The servants were all made up with the expected happy event. A baby, another child on the way, and though they had plenty of those in the nursery already, this would be a special child, a legitimate child of the master and mistress. Not that Mr Josh would cut out Master Freddy, who was his son, after all, his birthright tied up legally by his adoption, but a properly born child of the house would be a blessing. The old mistress thought so, they could see that, for she’d been a different woman since the news was broken to her. She had not cast off her widow’s weeds, of course, but she’d cast off the heavy burden of her melancholy, tripping round the house, the nursery, the gardens where she even pushed the baby carriage as though getting in practice, much to Nanny Dee’s chagrin. She seemed fond of the little girls, though they weren’t her own blood, and they made much of her, that Miss Ciara Rose holding out her little arms to be picked up, shouting a lusty welcome when she saw her. Aye, there was no doubt about it, Mrs Josh had brought a lot of love and laughter and happiness into this house, even if she was the most unconventional woman they’d ever known.