Angel Meadow (55 page)

The sun lay in rich, golden shafts across the breakfast-room carpet. Ellen had opened the window a crack and the mindless, repetitive crooning of a wood pigeon carried on the mild air from the trees surrounding the house. The green of the foliage was turning now, to flame and scarlet and gold, its beauty a pain to the heart and yet a joy to the eye and the soul. The horse chestnut trees had been a glory in the spring and summer with their thickly clustered brilliant cascades of pinky white flowers, and still were in autumn, though now they were clothed in yellow and deep gold. Conkers were beginning to fall, collected by the children and threaded on a string as Alfie had shown them, since he was an expert at the energetic conker duels fought at this time of the year.

Mr Longman and his thirteen-year-old twin sons, Thomas and Joseph, could be seen raking the fallen leaves, a trial, since they were so wet with the recent rain, Mr Longman glancing up into the branches irritably as more fell on his head and shoulders. He couldn’t keep up with the dratted things, he was heard to say and would Joseph stop larking about like a fool and fetch the wheelbarrow. Chrysanthemums of every colour, from coppery red, yellow, bright orange and white, stood tall on their stiff stems in the flowerbeds, nodding companionably beside lavender and white asters, all as neat and perfect as Mr Longman – who was a perfectionist himself – could make them. He knew old Mrs Hayes liked a few cut flowers from the garden and “mums” were splendid at this time of the year.

It all seemed so safe, so unchangeable, so secure, so immune to the dangers of the outside world, that when the cab drove in at the gate and up the drive to the house they none of them had any premonition of what was to come. Though the breakfast-room was at the side of the house the drive curved in a wide sweep from the gate, past the breakfast-room window and beyond to the front door where it was lost from view.

“Who the devil can be calling at this time of the day, and on a Sunday, too?” Josh exclaimed irritably. After Nancy and he had taken a careful turn round the garden in the mellow morning sunshine they had been looking forward to a visit to the nursery and, though Josh had not said as much to Nancy, or to anyone, to seeing the sweet, enchanting face of the child who was Nancy’s niece. He loved his son, because he was his son, though sometimes it was disconcerting to see Evie Edward’s pretty face looking back at him and to discover her gentle ways in the boy. He often thought that if it had not been for the volatile and darting restlessness of Nancy’s daughter, his son would play as happily with Ciara Rose’s dolls and teddy bears, with his games and books and the two placid dogs, Scrap and Button who crept up to the nursery each day to doze before the fire, instead of the wild “adventures” as Kitty called them, which often left the boy white-faced and sick with fright. Only yesterday they had eluded Miss Croston and finding a rotten piece of piling on the river’s edge, the water of which was dangerously high, had been about to go “sailing”. Had it not been for the quick thinking of Charlie and Jack who had, from the stable yard, seen the pair of them go past, and alone, they might have been drowned. He often wondered what they were to do with Nancy’s daughter who, at six years old, and after a careful upbringing, was as wild as a young colt.

But the little one who was not only her cousin but her half-sister was an absolute joy, sunny-natured and affectionate, with no sign of the alarming tantrums with which Kitty rocked the nursery. She was beginning to crawl about the floor, her delight in her own mobility pasting a wide grin on her rosy face and exposing the two pearly teeth of which Nanny Dee, as though she herself were alone responsible, was so proud. She usually made a beeline for Freddy who greeted her as rapturously as she did him, after looking about furtively to make sure Kitty was not watching, which, he already knew, would cause a jealous fuss.

The sound of the door bell pealing rang through the house. After a moment there was a murmur of voices outside the breakfast-room door, which Ellen had closed behind her, then silence as the parlourmaid showed the caller into the drawing-room and went away, apparently to tell his mother, Josh thought, or . . . or . . . who the devil could it be? No one with any understanding of the social niceties which prevailed among their friends would dream of calling at this hour so . . . so was it an emergency, some crisis, but then surely the master of the house, himself in fact, would have been summoned?

He and Arthur exchanged glances, their eyebrows lifted, then turned to Nancy as though for enlightenment.

“Don’t look at me, my darling. I haven’t the faintest idea. Oh, unless it’s Annie or Mary . . . perhaps Jennet has . . . but then Tilly would have fetched me and . . .” Her voice bcame anxious and she struggled to get to her feet.

“Exactly. Now stop where you are, sweetheart while I go and find out what the hell’s going on. Tilly must have gone upstairs for Mother or Milly but I’ll just take a look.”

Arthur pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

Nancy got laboriously to her feet and began to follow.

They had reached the door and opened it, the two men almost colliding with one another in their sudden haste, as though the strangeness of the call had awakened a small shred of anxiety in both of them, when the sound of feet running down the stairs brought them both to a halt just beyond the door. It was Millicent, her face still like wax but in her eyes glittered what seemed to be excitement and even as they stared at her in surprise, a hectic spot of red sprang to each cheek.

“Oh, there you are, Josh. I was just going to send for you. There is someone I want you to meet.” She put out a hand to the drawing-room door which was half open and an expression Josh could only describe as “arch”, lightened her face.

“Oh, yes,” he answered suspiciously. What in God’s name was up with Milly? She had been acting a bit peculiar for weeks now, fidgeting about the place, going out a lot, he recalled, first almost bubbling over with some inner feeling of what seemed to be rejoicing and then quiet and cast down as though that lovely bubble she had inside her had burst.

“Yes, do come into the drawing-room. You too, Arthur, and of course,” peeping triumphantly over Josh’s shoulder, “we must not forget Nancy.”

“Who is it, and what time does she call this, for God’s sake?” Josh spluttered, some animal instinct warning him that Milly was up to something and whatever it was he was not going to like it.

“Oh, it’s not a she, Josh.” And her eyes glittered with a dreadful animosity, directed not at him but over his shoulder at his wife. Nancy stood like stone, her hands crossed protectively over her distended belly, for unlike her first child this one was loved and wanted. Like Josh she had no idea what Milly was so pleased about, nor who the man might be – it seemed he was a man – in the drawing-room, but she was mortally afraid. The hatred in Millicent’s face raged almost out of control, swamping her brilliant eyes to the murky depths of an old, neglected pond and Nancy could feel her senses begin to reel at the impact of it. She put a faltering hand on Josh’s back and at once he turned and drew her protectively – her and her child – into his safe arms.

“Do come in, all of you,” Milly said, her voice high with hysterical excitement. “Oh, and Tilly,” for the parlourmaid still hung about, goggle-eyed, at the foot of the stairs, “fetch the mistress, will you?” Her gaze passed contemptuously over her brother’s wife, who would never be mistress in this house, not in her eyes at least.

“Yes, miss.” Tilly sketched a curtsey and, turning, began to climb the stairs but the whiplash of Josh’s voice stopped her on the third tread.

“Hold on, Tilly.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Let us just find out what you’re up to, Milly, before we drag Mother from her bed. I don’t want her upset.”

“Very well, you can go, Tilly. We will tell Mother later. Now then . . .”

With a dramatic flourish she flung open the door to reveal the burly figure of a man whose face at once split into a broad grin. He had evidently been having a look about him, for there was a dainty porcelain figure of a shepherdess in his hand and on his face an expression that said plainly that he was well satisfied with what he had seen. His free hand was in the pocket of his trousers and across his belly rested a gold watch chain which, with strangling horror, Josh recognised as his father’s. He wore a bowler hat on the back of his head from under which a riot of black curls fell.

“Top o’ the mornin’ ter yer.” He grinned, showing his good teeth, his only redeeming feature, for already the good living of the past weeks had put the gross weight back on him.

Nancy made a deep, inhuman sound in her throat and Josh felt her sway against him. Had he not had a firm hold of her she would have fallen.

“Oh, God . . . oh, Jesus God,” she whispered, every vestige of colour draining from her face, even her lips, as she froze in a thunderclap of recognition. Josh felt his own face become cold as the blood left it, for he too was almost brought to his knees with the knowledge of who the man was. He had only seen him once before at the Arts Treasures Exhibition many years ago and he had been no more than a youth then, but his description exactly fitted with what Nancy had told him of the man who had violated her. And if this wasn’t enough, the eyes of Kitty and Ciara Rose shone blue and glittering from his brutal face.

They stood in the open doorway, the three of them, Arthur with a comical expression of bewilderment on his face, Josh and Nancy clinging to one another as though they were buffeted by the waves of a stormy sea and Millicent Hayes smiled in jubilation.

“Aah, I see you remember Michael, Nancy,” she gloated. “I thought you might since both his children, to whom I am about to introduce him, bear a strong resemblance to him. The same lovely blue eyes.”

“Now then, darlin’, don’t yer be flatterin’ me,” Michael O’Rourke drawled, his eyes running nastily over Nancy’s swollen figure.

“Oh, I don’t think I could do that . . . sweetheart,” Millicent answered, amazingly, and Arthur gasped, shocked to the core, while both Nancy and Josh appeared to be struck dumb and paralysed.

At last Josh found his voice though when it came from him it was no more than a croak.

“What . . . the devil’s . . . going on?” he managed to say, still holding on fiercely to Nancy.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, brother dear, shall I? This gentleman,” with a smirk at the man beside her, “is Michael O’Rourke who I think your wife recognises, as he is the father of her child, and also of her niece, which is why I’ve brought him here. He has a right to see his daughters, wouldn’t you say, having been kept from them all this time.”

“Kept from them!”

“In a manner of speaking. Now, you can’t deny they are his children and so I am taking him up to the nursery.”

Nancy came suddenly to life. “Over my dead body,” she shrieked, tearing herself from the support and protection of Josh’s arms. Her teeth were chattering so vigorously she was forced to clench them together; nevertheless she still managed to demonstrate her virulent outrage. “This is the man who raped me on a grave in a cemetery making me pregnant. This is the man who dragged my young sister from one hell-hole to another before he killed her. He did this to me,” pointing to her scarred cheek, “smashing his pugilist’s fists into the face of a defenceless woman.”

She didn’t look defenceless now and Mick stepped back apprehensively as Josh caught her arm.

“His own mother disowned him and yet you have the bloody nerve to bring him here, you bitch. You planned this in your own twisted, jealous mind, didn’t you? But, believe me, you have made a grave mistake.” It appeared that the full blast of Nancy’s fury was aimed not at Mick, but at Millicent Hayes. She swayed forward like a leopard on the attack, throwing off Josh’s hand, her belly, in which the child twisted and rolled, swaying dangerously, her cheeks gone from white to blazing red fury.

“You foul hell-hag, I’ll kill you for this. Bringing this . . . this monster to my home.”

“
Your
home, madam. Since when has Riverside—” but Millicent got no further, as Nancy reached for her hair, dragged her forward and deftly butted her in the face as she had seen men do in her childhood.

“Michael . . . Josh,” Millicent shrieked as blood flowered from her nose and it was only then that Josh regained his stunned senses, his mind clearing of the bestial images of this brutish, smiling intruder with his hands on the soft, white flesh of Josh’s wife.

He strode forward and, though it was like trying to wrestle a tiger defending her cubs, managed to get a grip on Nancy’s shoulders, dragging her backwards, tearing her hands from Millicent’s hair, clumps of which came with them.

“Arthur, for Christ’s sake, ring for Ellen. Nancy, hush . . . hush, darling. Now stop this and sit down. The child . . .”

Nancy jerked convulsively, her mouth working, tears of shock and fury streaming across her face.

“No, by God, I won’t sit down. I won’t rest until this beast and . . . and this woman have gone from my home and you can tell Ellen I have no need of her.”

She never took her slitted, golden cat-like eyes from the couple who stood before her, her gaze slithering from one to the other, her shoulders twitching as Josh’s hands did their best to soothe her. She would not be soothed. She panted and the front of her gown heaved with the child’s movements.

There was silence for a moment or two, broken only by the sound of Milly sniffling and snuffling, then Josh, with a calmness he did not feel, let go of his wife, took his cigar case from his inside pocket, extracted a cigar, lit it, drew deeply on it, then blew its fragrant smoke into the air above his head.

“I wouldn’t mind one o’ them, Squire,” Mick O’Rourke was unwise enough to say.

“You can go to hell and quick as you like,” Josh snarled. “I don’t know what the bloody hell you’re doing in my house and I don’t want to know but, the sooner you leave it the better it will be for you since I intend sending for the police.”