Ragamuffin Angel (38 page)
Yes, he had said all that, Connie told herself on the first Monday in March when she awoke in the early hours and lay snuggled beneath the bed covers with just Mary’s snores disturbing the silence, and she believed he had meant it – she did. So why, why, hadn’t she been able to bring herself to tell him about the second most important thing in her life after him – her fledgling business? She had wanted to. A hundred times it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the property in Holmeside which, on Mr Watson’s advice and with the bank’s substantial backing, was now hers. But if she had there would, of necessity, have been further explanations. Explanations that would have had to encompass the letter, Colonel Fairley’s degrading treatment of her, everything. And she didn’t want to talk about such ugliness.
She had discussed the matter once or twice with Lucy. during their Tuesday afternoon teas which had now become a regular occurrence, but her friend had been careful to venture no opinion as to whether she should inform Dan of the full facts relating to her decision to leave the Grand. Dan had accepted her account that she wanted a change and was looking for something new, and, in the meantime, helping out a friend of a friend who had required the services of a temporary housekeeper. She had told him this in the first week of their acquaintance and the subject hadn’t risen again except for the odd casual remark easily deflected.
She hadn’t felt so bad about it all when Mr Watson had still been negotiating on her behalf, but since the matter had been signed and sealed some five weeks before she had become increasingly disturbed. She should have told him then, the very day she had become the mistress of the rundown three-storey property which had been operating as a somewhat seedy café for years. Connie twisted under the covers and drew in her breath on a long hard sigh.
And she couldn’t pretend to herself any longer that her reason for not doing so was purely because of the repugnance she felt at mentioning the circumstances of her departure from the hotel. It was more than that. Oh, Dan . . . His name was laden with self-recrimination. How could you love someone and yet not trust them? She was horrible, she was. She should trust him; he was fine and upright and honourable, and yet. . . She didn’t, not wholly. He was a Stewart, wasn’t he. The Stewarts had hated her mother, the name Bell had been like a profanity to them, and if she told him about the letter and what the Colonel had tried to do he might just believe she was. . . loose. Immoral. Following in her mother’s footsteps. Even that she had encouraged the Colonel to behave as he did. And she wouldn’t be able to bear it, she wouldn’t, if the look on his face changed and the light in his eyes died.
But she was going to have to tell him her true position soon, once the baker’s shop and tea-rooms opened. Mary had left the Grand on the day Connie had signed the contract, and since then both girls – along with Mary’s two oldest brothers who had been laid off from the pit since Christmas and were desperately glad of the existence wage Connie paid them each week – had been hard at work renovating the dilapidated interior of the premises. Mary’s brothers had been invaluable in ripping out all the old furnishings and taking up the rotten wooden boards on the ground floor, whilst Connie and Mary had cleared the basement and painted the walls and ceiling before scrubbing the dirt and filth of years from the huge flagstones that made up the floor.
The two upper floors had been filthy but empty, having been used as living accommodation by the former owners, and beyond stripping the walls of layers of faded wallpaper and then scrubbing them – along with the grimy floorboards – they had left them alone. It was imperative to get the basement – wherein the proposed bakery would be housed – and the ground floor – which would consist of the shop and tea-rooms – ready first. She was having nightmares about the expenditure to date and they needed to start making money.
Once cleared, they had found the basement and ground floor quite spacious, being some 65 feet in depth and 25 feet wide, and once the plumber had made a hole in the existing lead pipe and wiped the new joint into place with his moleskin, fixing a brass tap on the other end of the new pipe in the basement, the supplementary water supply was established. Similarly, the gas man extended the gas pipe from the small kitchen to the rear of the ground floor down into the basement, and once everything was established Mary’s brothers built several provers – cupboards with a little gas jet at the bottom – out of wood for the bread and tea-cake dough, and the big ovens were brought in along with the other equipment.
The ground floor, Connie had decided, would be arranged and furnished in recherche style, the well-stocked shop at the front leading to a pretty tea-room, very tastefully fitted, and beyond that the kitchen. The scheme of decoration in each portion was artistic and harmonious, the counters being fitted with white marble slabs and the walls panelled with the same material to a certain height, whilst the floors throughout were laid with an effective design in red mosaic tiles. It was clean and bright and modem, Connie thought now as she saw it all in her mind’s eye, and with the tables and chairs for the tea-room being delivered in two days’ time everything was nearly ready.
She was slightly apprehensive regarding the wisdom of asking Mary’s mother, Ellen, a thin, shrivelled-up little mouse of a woman whose numerous pregnancies seemed to have sucked her inwards, to stand in as temporary cook. However, she couldn’t afford the wages an experienced cook was asking, and as Mary insisted her mother’s cooking was second to none, she had capitulated to her friend’s request that her mother be given a chance to prove herself. Ellen had agreed to start work each morning at 4.30 a.m., Connie and Mary joining her at 6.30 a.m. when they would all work in the bakery until the shop opened at eight. At that time Connie would retire upstairs to the shop with Mary helping both her mother and Connie as circumstances dictated. The tea-rooms would open at ten o’clock and at that point Mary would remain upstairs. By the time Ellen left at mid-day she would have baked enough produce to keep the tea-rooms and the shop supplied until they closed at 6.30 in the evening. At least that was the plan. Connie wriggled under the covers again. How it would all work out was another matter. In the meantime the two brothers would repoint and whitewash the outside privy and washhouse in the large backyard, repave the yard which was a sea of mud and broken paving stones, before turning their attention to decorating and making good what was to be Connie and Mary’s living quarters on the two top floors. But at least the roof was sound. Connie allowed herself a wry smile. Mr Watson had been most emphatic about that.
And then the smile faded as thoughts of Dan invaded again. She would tell him tomorrow evening when he called to escort her to Art and Gladys’s for tea. It was the first time she had accepted an invitation to return to his brother’s house – although they had asked her twice before – since the disastrous episode on New Year’s Eve, but she was suddenly quite sure she couldn’t go unless she had told Dan everything. She gnawed at her lower lip and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Tomorrow night would have to be the night. And he would understand, Dan would understand. He loved her, didn’t he?
Dan’s love was about to be put to the test.
‘Read that.’ Edith Stewart thrust the sheet of paper at Dan with some force, her small body rigid. ‘And before you ask it has all been verified.’
‘By him?’ Dan’s voice was scathing as he jerked his head towards John.
‘No, not by him. By an independent personage,’ Edith snapped tightly.
‘An independent personage? What does that mean?’ And then, as his mother continued to gaze at him with unfaltering black eyes, ‘I don’t believe it, you’ve had her investigated haven’t you! You’ve actually dared to authorise some dirty little gossipmonger to make up stories about her.’
‘Mr Simmons is not a gossipmonger; he is a reputable and experienced private detective with an excellent reputation,’ Edith said icily, ‘and you ought to be thanking me for preventing you from making what would be the biggest mistake of your life. The chit has hoodwinked you, Dan, and if you weren’t so infatuated you would see it yourself.’
‘I
’
m
warning you,
Mam.
’
’
m
warning you,
Mam.
’
They were all standing in Art’s parlour – Dan, Art, Gladys, Edith and John. Over the last eight weeks Edith had demanded Dan’s presence at the house in Ryhope Road at regular intervals and he had refused just as regularly, maintaining that if she wanted to see him she could come to him. And now she had done just that. But she was far from defeated, and John was positively cock-a-hoop. As soon as Dan had set eyes on his brother’s exultant face he had known it didn’t bode well.
‘You’re a fool.’ The cutting tone in John’s voice didn’t mask his jubilation. ‘She’s taken you for a monkey and you’re too proud to admit it, that’s it at bottom, but you won’t be able to do anything else when you read that.’
‘Get out.’
The darkness in Dan’s face caused John to take a step backwards, but it was Edith’s indignant voice as she said, ‘Get out? By, it’s come to this, has it? You’re telling your own brother to get out because of that trollop’s bastard?’ that checked Dan’s advance on his brother and brought him swinging round to face his mother, and now, as Edith watched the blood flow into her youngest born’s face, she knew immediately that she had gone too far.
Dan’s eyes were unblinking as he thrust his face down towards his mother’s and his words were forced out through his clenched teeth as he said, ‘All my life I’ve held my hand with you because you are my mother and as such deserving of respect. I watched you make Da’s life a misery from when I was old enough to take note of what went on in the house, and you’ve ruined the twins’ lives, and his’ – here he pointed to John without taking his eyes off his mother – ‘and Art only escaped because he had the guts to stand up to you. You’re a tyrant, you always have been. An egotistical tyrant, but you aren’t ruining my life like you’ve tried to do to all the others.’
‘Dan, Dan man, that’s enough, come away.’ Art had his hand on his brother’s arm, Gladys standing to one side of them with the fingers of one hand pressed over her mouth, but Dan shook him off, and none too gently, as he continued, ‘You’re dangerous, do you know that, Mam? Dangerous.’ He paused here for a few seconds before adding, ‘Get out, and take your lap dog with you.’
‘You’ll live to rue this day.’ Edith was spitting in her fury and John, bristling like the small dog Dan had accused him of resembling, looked all set to make a fight of it.
Dan hoped he would. His glittering gaze moved from his mother to his oldest brother, and the two men stared at each other for some moments before John moistened his lips and said, ‘Come on, Mam. You could talk till you’re blue in the face and it’ll do no good. He wants to play the big fellow so let him, let him.’
‘She’s the named owner of a property in Holmeside, did you know that, eh?’ Edith was determined to have the last word. ‘A workhouse brat, and she’s bought a place and doing it up? I ask you! She’s got a fancy man, and a wealthy one by the looks of it, who’s not averse to putting his hand in his pocket if it keeps her happy. She left the Grand at the beginning of the year and the next thing she’s in clover and playing Lady Bountiful.’
‘That’s not true, she’s been doing a temporary housekeeping job.’ Even as he spoke the words Dan knew he didn’t believe them. She never spoke about her work and every time he had asked anything – simple things, like what sort of day she had had or how long they wanted her to stay on – she had deftly changed the subject. It hadn’t seemed important, in fact he hadn’t even known he’d registered it, until now.
‘Temporary housekeeping job?’ Edith gave a bark of a laugh and her voice was full of contempt as she said, ‘I’ve heard it called some things in my time but never that, and while we’re on the subject you might like to have a chat with the ex-housekeeper at the Grand, her name and address are on that report. She’s a mine of information. Not content with servicing the owner the Bell girl looked after his uncle who was visiting at Christmas, and when Mrs Pegg objected to the goings-on she was dismissed without a reference. Years of faithful service and that was her reward. Mind, it was the wrong sort of service as far as Harold Alridge was concerned! And then when Alridge’s wife got involved and demanded the Bell chit be got rid of he paid her off, handsomely no doubt, but of course he wasn’t the only string to her bow. Not by a long chalk as present developments prove.’
‘I don’t believe any of it.’
‘No?’ Edith drew back a little, her small eyes gimlet hard as she surveyed the stricken face of her beloved son, her Danny-boy as she had referred to him when he was a little lad. And then she delivered her parting shot straight for the heart, allowing herself a scornful smile, her thin lips curling back from her strong white teeth as she said, ‘Then why don’t you ask her why she’s kept quiet about her good luck, eh? Someone’s pouring money in, lad – maybe she’s got a rich relation she’s shy of mentioning but I wouldn’t hold your breath about that.’
‘You’ve said enough, more than enough.’ Art now committed the unforgivable sin of taking his mother’s arm and manhandling her to the parlour door, jerking his head at John as he added, ‘You. Out.’
‘I won’t forget this, Art.’ Edith’s voice was a low hiss but she still had the presence of mind to turn at the door, her gaze seeking Dan’s deathly white face as she said again, her voice insistent, ‘Ask her, Dan, and look into her eyes when she gives you her answer.’
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