A Dream of her Own (55 page)
‘Hev you found anything out yet, Frank?’
He turned towards her again and she saw him frown.
‘About the twins,’ she prompted. ‘You know ... whether it’s possible for them to hev different fathers?’
‘Nella, there’s barely been time—’
‘Of course. I’m sorry.’
‘But, yes, I think it is possible.’
‘It is? But how?’
‘I found a paper in the library at the Medical School, it’s about multiple births on the slave plantations in America in the last century.’
‘Multiple births?’
‘More than one baby.’
‘Of course.’
‘Anyway, it was noticed that in some cases twin babies born to black women could have different racial characteristics.’
‘Frank!’
‘One baby would be black like its mother and her slave partner, and the other would have fairer skin, sometimes almost white.’
‘But what can that mean?’
‘That the woman had been ... taken ... by the slave owner, or the overseer or some other white man.’
‘The evil bastards!’
‘It was not always rape, Nella.’
‘Mebbe not. But what choice did the poor women hev? Anyway, can any of this be proved?’
‘Not proved exactly, but I can make out a pretty convincing case. There’s a doctor at a university in America who I’m going to write to. He’s made a study of these births. When he replies, I promise I’ll put it as simply as I can. But you’ll have to tell her. Not me.’
‘Of course.’ Nella reached across in the semi-darkness and took his hand. She did not realize how tightly she gripped it. ‘When the child grows,’ she said, ‘that mark will grow. It will nivver go away, and Constance will nivver be able to forget what happened. She will know in her heart, whether you can find anything to prove it or not, that Gerald Sowerby is Beatrice’s father.’
Suddenly Nella remembered a promise she had made to herself the day she had found the little gold-coloured heart she had given Constance in the turn-up of Gerald’s trousers. She had vowed that if ever she discovered that Gerald Sowerby had hurt her friend then she would find a way to kill him.
‘Stay in the shadows, sweetheart!’
Nella reached for her husband’s hand and pulled him closer to her as they hurried up Westgate Road. He didn’t protest. In fact he hadn’t said a word, bless him, since she had placed a finger to her lips and mimed the need to be silent just before she opened the door to their room and led him quietly along the top landing, past his mother’s bedroom, to the door that led to the back stairs.
He hadn’t even questioned her when she had dressed him in the oldest clothes she could find in his wardrobe and wrapped a muffler round his throat and lower face so that he looked like a working man. He had watched, with smiling eyes, while she put on an old dress and pulled a woollen shawl up over her head like a beggar woman.
It was the outfit she wore in one of her acts when she took the part of an old street singer; and perhaps Valentino thought that that was what they were going to do now - go on the stage.
When they’d left, the restaurant had still been busy. Nella knew that Gerald Sowerby and his friends were there because, when Jimmy Nelson went home, she’d made some excuse to walk part of the way down the stairs with him until she could see through the arched entrance and look at the crowded tables.
In the family room Frank was working at his books as usual and had probably been quite pleased when Nella said that she and Valentino needed an early night. Please God he thinks we’re sleeping soundly now, she thought, instead of sneaking out the back yard of the restaurant and then hurrying through the streets towards Rye Hill.
She’d decided that they had to walk. They couldn’t risk taking the tram or a cab because a couple so distinctive - Valentino so big and powerful and herself so small and oddly shaped - would probably be remembered.
Her knees began to hurt as the way grew steeper and she had to rest for a moment on the corner of one of the streets that cut down at a right angle towards the river. She grasped the iron railings of the house behind her and breathed hard, motioning for her husband to wait by her side.
Before she had caught her breath she heard the clip-clop of hoofs on cobbles and the jangle of a harness. She looked down the way they had come and saw coach lamps cutting through the damp night air. Could this be Gerald coming home? It was probably about the right time. She looked round in panic and then realized with relief that they were there. This was the street where the Sowerbys lived.
She took hold of Valentino’s hand and pulled him round the corner. She knew that the cab would stop at the top of the street because the cab drivers were unwilling to negotiate the steep gradient of the streets that led down to Scotswood Road. So they should have time to reach the house before he did. But, almost immediately, they had to slow down again. The damp air had made the paving stones slippery; they would have to take care.
Nella heard the cab driver shout, ‘Whoa!’ and the cab come to a stop just as she and Valentino reached the Sowerbys’ house. She looked around ... she wanted to surprise him. She didn’t want him to be on his guard. The area yard ... that was it...
Swiftly she pulled Valentino down the stone steps until their heads would be hidden from street level. She could hear footsteps coming down the street towards them. They were slightly unsteady. There was a streetlamp not far away so they had to crouch low but, as the footsteps came nearer and nearer Nella raised her head and craned her neck round until she could peer up the street. It was Gerald - she was sure of it. They had got here just in time.
And then, as the bulky figure drew nearer and began to slow down a little, Nella wondered what she was doing there. Did she really intend to kill a man tonight? She glanced round at her husband, waiting obediently and unquestioningly a few steps below her. Valentino adored her; he would do anything she asked him to.
At the moment he was gentle as a lamb - with her he always had been. But Frank had told her that before she had come into his life and given it a purpose, Valentino had shown signs of a developing a dangerous rage.
Those big hands, which could span her waist with room to spare, and which were so gentle when he picked her up and held her in his arms, could just as easily snap somebody’s neck - if she wanted them to.
Suddenly Valentino tilted his head a little so that the lamplight fell across his face. He was smiling at her. He thinks this is all a game, she thought. He’s an innocent. She felt uneasy; did she have the right to turn him into a murderer?
But then she remembered that just below them, on the rough concrete of the yard, Gerald had raped Constance and destroyed her happiness.
Gerald knew he’d had too much to drink. Russell and Carmichael had had to get him into the cab and he could barely remember the journey home. Then the driver had got down to haul him out and had hung on to him until he was steady enough on his feet to dig into his pocket for the fare.
Had he given the correct fair? He remembered digging into his pocket for his loose change and holding his hand out so that the driver could choose the coins himself. He hoped he hadn’t been cheated. If I find out he’s cheated me I’ll see he loses his licence, Gerald thought.
And then, even though the man had said, ‘Now get along carefully, sir,’ he’d shown no respect. The fug in his brain had cleared enough for Gerald to sense that he was laughing at him.
Whoops! The pavement was damp and greasy, and he found himself sliding down hill like a boy on a frost slide. He managed to grab on to the railings and right himself. He giggled. But, a moment later he sobered up as he anticipated the undoubted confrontation that awaited him with his father.
The old man had taken to waiting up for him. He’d have to face another interminable lecture about the evils of drink and letting it get the better of you. Sometimes his mother would be hovering on the landing bleating on about him neglecting his studies and how all she wanted was for him to qualify and be a respectable doctor.
Well, there was one thing she didn’t know yet. As soon as he was qualified he would be off to find a home of his own. He wouldn’t stay here and be treated like a child one minute longer than he had to.
‘My God, who are you?’
Gerald pulled up short just a few yards way from the steps that led up to his front door. A diminutive figure - a woman - seemed to have jumped up out of the ground and now she was standing before him, stopping him from going any further.
‘Get out of my way! Did you hear me? Be off with you!’
The woman had a shawl pulled up over her head. Gerald stared at her blearily. It looked like the old beggar-woman who sometimes came up the street from Scotswood.
‘Here,’ he said, and brought out a couple of coins and held them out to her. ‘Take this and go away.’
She raised her hand and knocked his viciously, sending the money flying. He stumbled backwards in shock. ‘Steady on,’ he said. ‘What’d you do that for?’
He had fallen back against the railings and he stayed there staring at her owlishly.
‘I know what you did,’ she said, and even in his fuddled state he detected the hatred.
He pushed himself upright. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know very well what I’m talking about. I know what you did that night and it’s time you paid for it.’
Gerald frowned; he thought he recognized the voice and yet it couldn’t be ...
‘Who are you?’ he asked, and he began to feel uneasy.
The woman pulled the shawl away from her face and let it fall down on to her shoulders ... her crooked shoulders ... and the look in her eyes turned his unease into fear. ‘You know who I am and you know why I’m here,’ she said.
Suddenly Gerald saw the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, confronted outside his own front door by this ridiculous creature who, for some reason, had got herself up in a strange collection of old clothes. If he was honest he did have some idea why she was haunting him like this: it would be something to do with the other maid she used to work with - the tasty baggage with ideas above her station. But this one was such an insignificant little bag of bones that all he had to do was push her out of the way.
He began to laugh. ‘Joke’s over,’ he said, and he raised a hand to give her a shove.
And then he felt his arm seized from behind and yanked with such force that he felt his shoulder dislocate. Spinning round in pain and fury, he found himself facing Valentino Alvini.
‘What ...? Where ...?’
Gerald was shaking with rage and fright. He realized that Alvini must have been waiting down the steps in the area yard - and so must the woman. That was why she had seemed to spring up out of nowhere. And, of course, the little witch was married to the big dimwit, wasn’t she? What a pair - a crookback and an addlehead. God help the world if they ever had children.
But he didn’t like the way Alvini was looking at him. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t going to hurt your wife. I just want her to get out of the way so that I can go home.’
Gerald saw the big man glance sideways and he turned to see Nella walking round to stand next to her husband.
‘Should I let him go home, Nella?’
To see the giant of a man waiting obediently for orders from the diminutive woman was so bizarre that, in spite of the pain in his shoulder, Gerald began to laugh. He held his right arm close to his body, supporting his elbow with his left hand and began to back away from them, all the time making strange choking noises that were halfway between a laugh and a sob.
‘No, Valentino, he can’t go home. This man hurt me.’
‘Hurt you?’ Valentino’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown.
By God he’s trying to think, Gerald thought, but his scorn turned to apprehension as he saw confusion begin to give way to anger ... and then rage.
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