Promise Made (16 page)

‘You can stop as long as you like,' Alice said generously. ‘You know we are always pleased to have you.'

‘Yes, you're both very good.' Frances put Charlie down. He ran off to join Danny, who was playing with a kitten at the far end of the long kitchen. ‘Sam came to see me while Dan was in Ely. He has told me I don't need to worry about money. I think he was a bit annoyed that I had asked Dan to see to things for me, but he didn't make a fuss. He was kind . . . generous . . .'

‘You sound surprised,' Alice said. ‘I should think he is devastated. I would expect him to do everything he can for you. After all, Charlie is his only grandchild.'

‘Yes . . .' Frances looked thoughtful. ‘He was much nicer than I expected. Sometimes . . .' She shook her head. ‘It doesn't matter. I telephoned Emily. She says she will come down for . . .' Frances sat down at the kitchen table. Her hands were trembling. She gripped them in her lap. Her thoughts were disjointed, jumbled up in her head. ‘I'm sorry. I feel a bit odd.'

‘Well, of course you do,' Alice said. She glanced at Charlie, who seemed quite content playing with his cousin and the kitten. ‘Does he know?'

‘I've told him that Daddy isn't coming home,' Frances said in that calm flat tone. ‘But I don't think he understood. He was more upset because Sam took his dog away with him, but I didn't think I should bring it here – and Sam said he would bring it back as soon as I decided to come home.'

‘We've got plenty of animals here to amuse him,' Alice said, smiling as she saw the children turn their attention to the train set Daniel had set up for his son. ‘Charlie will be all right with us, Frances, but he is bound to start asking questions one of these days.'

‘Yes, I expect so,' Frances said but there was no spark in her. She was devoid of any emotion, though Alice guessed that it was simmering inside her, kept down by the barrier she had built to deaden the pain.

‘Shall I make a cup of tea?' Alice asked. It was difficult to know what to say to Frances. She appeared so much in control, but Alice sensed that underneath there was a well of pent-up emotion that was going to boil over sooner or later.

‘Yes, thank you,' Frances said. Her eyes travelled around the huge, old-fashioned kitchen with its pine dressers and blackleaded cooking range. Alice had bunches of herbs hanging from a wooden bar overhead, and her copper pans were burnished brightly on their rack. Danny's toys were scattered all over the floor at one end, and a dog had just come in from the yard, its paws making muddy prints on the floor. It settled in front of the fire, sure of its place. ‘This is very nice. Where did you get all that blue-and-white china?'

‘I collect it,' Alice said. ‘Mum gave me that big meat plate and the tureens, but I bought some of it from the fair on Midsummer Common in Cambridge. I went in on the train once and they were auctioning it off a few bits at a time. It was fun, because they toss bits in the air and keep lowering the price until someone bids for it. I bought a basketful for a pound.'

‘Oh . . .' Frances seemed shocked and Alice knew she must be thinking of her bone china dinner service at home. ‘You were lucky.'

‘Well, it isn't china,' Alice said. ‘It's only earthenware, Fran, but I like it.'

‘It's nice,' Frances said. ‘It looks comfortable . . . homely.'

‘Thank you.' Alice beamed because she took that as a compliment. She was well aware that her kitchen wasn't neat and ordered like Frances's, but it was comfortable. She kept her front room pristine, but they only used that at Christmas and sometimes on a Sunday if her parents came to dinner. ‘I'm always so busy, and Dan is in and out all day, Connor too. It would be difficult to keep us all tidy.'

‘It is a home,' Frances said. ‘Our kitchen used to be like this once – but I had it all changed.'

‘You're more modern than us,' Alice said. ‘Very smart. If I lived in the village I wouldn't mind something like you have – but here the animals and the boots bring in mud all the time.'

‘Doesn't that drive you mad?'

‘No, I don't bother,' Alice said and laughed. ‘It all gets scrubbed off first thing in the morning – but then they start bringing it in again.'

‘I think I should hate that,' Frances said. ‘But Marcus never brought in any mud . . .' She choked back a sob, her eyes wet with tears all of a sudden. ‘I can't believe . . .' The tears were flowing now, running down her cheeks and into her mouth. ‘Alice . . . I don't want Charlie to see . . .'

‘I'll take you upstairs to your room,' Alice said. ‘You can have a lie down before supper, love.' She led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She opened the door of a large bedroom, which was furnished with a double bed covered by a white candlewick bedspread, a washstand, wardrobe and dressing table, and two mahogany chests of drawers that didn't match. ‘You have a good cry, Fran. I'll leave you to rest – unless you want to talk?'

‘No . . . I would rather be alone for a few minutes. I'll come down soon. I am sorry . . .' Frances gave a muffled sob. ‘I've been shutting it out, trying not to cry . . .'

‘You'll feel better if you let it out,' Alice said. ‘If you want me – or Dan – we're just downstairs.'

‘Yes, I know, thanks.'

Alice closed the bedroom door, standing just outside for a moment. Frances was crying now, sobbing as if her heart were breaking – which it probably was, Alice thought. Frances had been very much in love when she married Marcus. It hadn't just been the money, though some people thought it, but Alice wasn't one of them.

She went back downstairs to the warmth and comfort of her kitchen. Daniel was making the tea. He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

‘She's having a cry,' Alice said. ‘She will be all right in a while, Dan. We'll have a cup of tea, but I think we should leave her alone for a few minutes.'

Alone in the bedroom that wasn't hers, Frances sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her emotion. She had held it back all day, but Alice's sympathy had overset her. Finding herself a guest of her sister-in-law had suddenly brought it home to her. Marcus was dead and her life was never going to be the same again.

‘Surely you won't take Robert to a funeral?' Amelia asked. ‘Everyone will be under a shadow – and a small child will just be in the way.'

‘Robert could never be in the way in Alice's home,' Emily said, holding her temper on a thin string. Anyone would think she had to ask permission to take her son away from Vanbrough. ‘My family will expect to see him. Besides, I want him with me, Amelia. He is my son. I think you tend to forget that sometimes.'

‘I don't know what you mean, Emily,' Amelia said looking at her huffily. ‘Of course I know Robert is your son. I am well aware who his mother is – and his father . . .'

‘Just what are you trying to say?' Emily glared at her. ‘If this is a threat, Amelia, you might as well say it at once.'

‘Of course it isn't a threat,' Amelia said, a wary expression in her eyes. ‘I was merely suggesting that it might be better if you left Robert here with us while you visit your family.'

‘I am going to take him with me,' Emily said. ‘I do not wish to quarrel with you, Amelia – but Robert is mine and I shall do what I think best for my son. Excuse me, I have something to do before I leave.'

She walked from the room. There were a few things she needed to sort out at the home before she went down to Cambridgeshire. She was feeling angry and slightly uneasy. There had been an underlying threat in Amelia's words. Perhaps it was her own fault for allowing the situation to drag on. It might be better if she confessed the truth to Vane – but not now. She couldn't cope with that at the moment. All she really had time to think about was Frances.

It was so awful, Marcus dead in a car accident! Daniel had told her it was pretty horrific. Marcus had been badly burned and died on the way to hospital. Emily wasn't sure if her sister knew all the facts about the accident, because Daniel had told her that the police seemed to think it had been quite deliberate. Not an accident at all, but suicide. She hoped that wasn't the case, because it would probably all come out at the inquest, and that would be very upsetting for Frances.

Frances had always been the lucky one. When she was young, it had seemed that she always got whatever she wanted of life – but now it had all gone wrong for her. Emily wasn't sure how her sister would cope. Frances was inclined to be nervy, short-tempered and easily upset. She had relied on Marcus to look after most things, at least as far as business and money was concerned. Marcus must have left her some money, and perhaps a life insurance – though if a verdict of suicide was given she probably wouldn't get a penny of that . . .

Oh, why did things have to be so horrible? Emily had been thinking about Terry ever since she heard the news. The pain of his death had been so bad that she hadn't been able to face it for a long time. She could imagine what her sister was feeling now, and her heart ached for Frances. She couldn't wait to leave here, because she wanted to see her, to hold her and comfort her.

Seven

Frances let herself into the house. She hadn't taken anything suitable for the funeral when she left with Daniel the previous night. She felt a chill strike her as she walked in, because the kitchen range was out and she had never let that go out before. A shiver ran through her, because alone in this house, she felt misery building inside her. All she wanted to do was to get out of here as fast as she could!

She left the door unlocked as she went quickly through the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. She had packed her case and was about to leave when she heard something . . . a door banging.

Frances went out to the landing and looked down. As she did so the kitchen door opened and someone came out into the hall. Her heart caught with fright and then she saw that it was Sam.

‘You gave me a fright,' she said as she came down the stairs. ‘I was just getting a few things together . . .'

‘I saw the door open and thought I had better investigate,' Sam said. ‘Someone might have broken in. What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with Daniel?'

‘I am staying with him. I told you, I need a few things . . . clothes for the funeral . . .' Frances stared at him, the tears starting to form in her eyes. The grief and guilt was choking her and she couldn't hold it in. ‘Why did he have to do it? The police say it was deliberate. Why?'

‘Frannie . . .' Sam moved towards her, catching her in his arms. For a moment she was too distressed to move away and she let him hold her. ‘My God, you're so warm and soft, and you smell wonderful,' Sam muttered, pressing his mouth against her neck. ‘I've always wanted to hold you and touch you, Fran . . .'

‘No!' Frances pushed him away in revulsion. ‘Don't you dare to touch me like that! I hate you . . .' She was sobbing but angry too, her disgust showing in her eyes.

Perhaps it was the disgust that drove Sam past the edge of reason. He grabbed hold of her again, pressing her against the wall, his knee between her legs, clawing her skirts up above her waist. Frances struggled but it was no use. He was too strong for her and she couldn't escape as his hand moved up her thigh, his hand touching her, his finger pushing up inside her. She could feel the heat of his erection as he pressed himself against her and she knew what was coming next. With a great effort, she shoved hard against his shoulders, bringing one knee up sharply. Sam gasped in pain and staggered back.

‘Damn you!' he muttered, doubling over. ‘What did you want to do that for? It was just a bit of fun.'

‘To you perhaps.' Frances spat the words at him. ‘You were going to force me if you could, Sam, and don't deny it. You can think yourself lucky if I don't tell Rosalind what a brute you are.'

‘I'm sorry,' Sam said. ‘I didn't mean it to happen that way, Fran. You know I care for you. If you give me a chance, I'll look after you.'

‘Just get out of this house,' Frances said. ‘And don't come back until you're invited. I shan't say anything for the moment, because it isn't the time – but I might.'

‘I shouldn't have done it,' Sam said. ‘I'm sorry, Fran. I'll make it up to you. I'll give you this house just to show you how sorry I am.'

‘The house was a wedding present, but you never signed it over,' Frances said. ‘Just get out, Sam, and leave me alone.'

He looked at her for a moment and then turned and left her, slamming the front door as he went out. Frances stood where she was for a moment, feeling as if she might faint. After a minute or two she went into the sitting room and poured herself the last of the whisky from a bottle Marcus had left on the sideboard. She tossed it back in one go, feeling it sting her throat. The memory of Sam's hateful touch would linger in her mind for a long time, but she was lucky it hadn't been worse. She shuddered as she looked about her. She certainly didn't want to live in this house ever again, whether Sam gave it to her or not.

She pulled the kitchen door shut behind her, glad that she would be staying with Alice and Daniel until the funeral was over – and Emily would be here soon. She blinked back her tears. She couldn't let Sam make her weak. She had to be strong. She had to find a new life for herself and Charlie somehow.

‘I don't know what to do,' Frances said. Emily had her arm about her and they were alone, walking in the lane that led from the fen into Stretton Village. It was quite warm for the time of year, though the breeze was cool. ‘Sam scares me. I fought him off the other day but . . .' She held back a sob. ‘He apologized and said he would give me the house, but I don't want to be beholden to him, Emily.'