Cherry Tree Lane (5 page)

‘They weren’t in this morning,’ the manager said. ‘I’ll have to fine them for that. I presume they’ll be back on Monday.’

‘I’m … er … not sure. Their old aunt is very ill and she’s got money to leave them. We can’t afford to upset her.’

‘Then I’d better strike them from the rosters this coming week.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’d be best. I’ll let you know when they’re back.’

Still furious, Bart went round to the shop, only to find that Mattie had no wages owing, either. He made the same excuse about an old auntie to cover the coming week and, he hoped, keep the job safe. He softened up the man by doing his own shopping there, seething with resentment at having to pay out more money when he’d already given the housekeeping money to Mattie.

If he went on at this rate, he’d not have enough left for his week’s ale money and would have to dip into his savings. He hated to do that.

He dumped the shopping on the kitchen table, surprised at how untidy everything was. He wasn’t used to living in a mess.

But he didn’t have time to stop and deal with that now. He gobbled down some bread and ham, then went out again.

As he walked along the street, he bumped into one of their neighbours.

‘I saw your girls at the station yesterday,’ she said. ‘Where were they going?’

He stopped dead. ‘You saw the three of them?’

‘No. Only Nell and Renie. Yesterday morning.’ Her face was full of curiosity. ‘Didn’t you know they were leaving?’

‘Not till I got home from work. Sudden bad news. Old auntie ill. Which train did they catch?’

She frowned. ‘Was it the nine o’clock or was it the next one? No, it was the nine o’clock. They nearly missed it, anyway. The young man who went with them came racing down the street at the last minute.’

‘Young man? Which young man?’

‘Don’t know his name. You’ll know him by sight. He’s at the Works – does upholstery, I think. Nice-looking young fellow.’

No stopping her gossiping, he thought, but what did he care about that? The only thing he cared about was getting his girls back. The first thing was to find out about this fellow.

At the railway station he found out who had been on duty on Friday and was relieved to find it was the brother of a fellow he knew slightly at work. He went round to the man’s house to ask if he’d seen three lasses catch a train on Friday morning.

‘No, not three. There were two hanging around the station. I remember them clearly because they looked so anxious. Pretty pair, they were, darkhaired, tall. A man came rushing in at the last minute and bought three tickets, then they all ran for the train. He had a suitcase. They didn’t have any luggage.’

‘Where did the train go to?’

‘Bristol. But they only booked as far as Wootton Bassett.’

‘Did you recognise the man?’

He frowned for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’ve seen him before. He’s at the Works but I don’t know which section he’s in.’

‘Thanks.’ Bart walked slowly home, trying to work out what the hell was going on. He’d ask around, find out if any of the upholsterers were missing. He hated that lot, thinking they were better than men like him, dressing fancy, not getting their damned hands dirty. If Nell had taken up with one of them, he’d make the bugger regret it.

But where had Mattie gone if she hadn’t been with the others? You’d have thought the three of them would have stuck together. They usually did.

Where the hell
could
she have gone? She didn’t have any relatives that he knew of and her closest friends were her sisters.

He’d find her and marry her off to Stan, and do it in the registry office, pay whatever was needed to marry the next day, like someone at work had done. He wasn’t taking her back into his house, that was sure. But he still intended to get his money for her from Stan. He was owed. He’d taken her in, hadn’t he?

Well, Wootton Bassett wasn’t that far away. He’d go and find out where they’d got to and by hell, he’d bring Nell and Renie back.

At the pub Bart bought himself a pint and waited for his friend to join him. Stan was half an hour late, by which time Bart was finishing his second beer. He waved the empty glass to show he wanted another and pointed to the seat next to his, which he’d kept in the face of several attempts to commandeer it.

‘Get that down you, lad.’ Stan dumped a foaming pint in front of Bart, sat down and took a long pull of his own beer. ‘How’s your Mattie? Is that cold of hers better yet?’

Bart hesitated, but it had to be done. ‘When I got home today, I found she’d run off.’

Stan blinked as this sank in. ‘What do you mean, run off?’

‘What do you think I bloody well mean? She’s run away. They all have, all three of ’em.’

‘But … Mattie and me are going to be wed. They’re calling the banns on Sunday.’

‘Yes. You’ll have to stop ’em.’

‘Where has she gone?’

‘Don’t know. But she didn’t go with the others. I’m telling everyone there’s an old auntie sick. I’m going to find my two and bring ’em back. You can go after Mattie and wed her like we agreed. Better do it quick at the registry office.’ He explained what he’d discovered so far.

‘If she didn’t catch the train to Wootton Bassett, where did she go?’

Bart shook his head, then a thought came to him. ‘She was allus going on about Bath, had a book about it, used to look at pictures of buildings. Maybe she’s gone there.’

Stan looked at him sharply. ‘But she was going to get wed. Why would she do that?’

Bart moved uneasily. ‘Mebbe I didn’t tell her as tactful as I should have.’

‘What did you say to her?’

‘I just … told her she was going to wed you.’

‘You damn fool. Didn’t I tell you to say I cared about her, wanted to wed her?’

‘I’m not good with words. Anyway, she’s allus done as she was told before.’

‘I’ve got to find her and put things right.’ Stan drained his beer. ‘Bath, you said?’

Bart nodded.

‘We’ll try there, then.’

‘She’d not have the money to get there by train. She must have set off walking. Maybe she was following the others. They went to Wootton Bassett. I’m going there tomorrow to find my girls.’

That made Stan stop and think. ‘I’ll go there with you. They must have some idea where she was going.’

Bart smiled. ‘Yes, someone will have seen them and then we’ll ask them about Mattie.’

Of course, his girls might not be there. But it didn’t matter how far Nell and Renie went, or how often they changed trains, they’d not escape him. He’d find them in the end.

The other one could go to hell, for all he cared, but it might be useful to have Stan with him, in case he had to force them to come home.

The curate’s wife noticed that Jacob Kemble and his daughter weren’t at the service on Sunday morning so stopped Luke as he was walking down the side of the church after changing out of his choir smock. ‘Is your father not well? It’s not like him to miss church.’

‘He’s … er … looking after Sarah. She’s not feeling well.’

Frowning, Jane watched him go. Luke had such a fresh open face, you could tell in a minute when he was lying. He had squirmed uneasily today, avoiding her eyes. He hadn’t stayed to chat to the other boys from the choir, either, but had run off through the village.

His clothes were looking as uncared for as ever, washed but never ironed, and his hair was chopped off roughly, as if someone had taken the shears to it. Such a pity his father was being obstinate! A man simply couldn’t manage on his own. Jacob Kemble needed a wife. And if the rumours were right and Miss Newington was about to sell the cottages in the village, then Jacob’s rent-collecting job would vanish and he’d be in even more trouble. She hadn’t been living here long, but Jane had made it her business to find out all about the villagers, every detail of their lives. It was her job to help her husband keep an eye on them.

She didn’t wait for Ernest, who was talking to some of the parishioners. She hadn’t been able to break him of the habit of gossiping with the poorer folk. As she walked slowly back to their house behind the church, she looked at it thoughtfully. It wasn’t a large house though comfortable enough. Jacob Kemble wouldn’t be the only one in trouble if the estate was sold. Miss Newington owned the house and let the curate have it for a very low rent, as the previous owners had done.

Would a new owner be as kind? Curates’ stipends were not generous.

You couldn’t rely on anything. People cared more about money these days than about doing their duty and living decent lives. She blamed the Boer War for that. Men from the village had gone away and come back changed, dissatisfied with life. They didn’t know their place any more.

Jacob Kemble, who now collected her rent every week, never had known his place. She didn’t like such independence in the lower classes and mistrusted men who read as widely as he did. The other villagers treated him as if he was someone special, but she couldn’t see why. She’d been saying to Miss Newington only the other day how badly he needed a wife, and the landowner had agreed.

Why hadn’t he followed her advice and found himself another wife? Those children needed a mother. She’d have another word with Miss Newington about him.

Jacob stood beside the sick woman, very worried. Should he be seeking help? Perhaps call in Mrs Henty? No, the curate’s wife would never keep the news of the stranger’s presence to herself, and he’d promised to keep the poor lass safe from whoever she was afraid of.

Her cheeks were hectic with fever and the startlingly blue eyes were one minute hidden, the next staring round without really seeing anything. Sweat was pouring off her. He wiped her face gently. In a few minutes, she’d be shivering, poor soul.

For the rest of Sunday and the whole of Monday, fever burnt through the stranger’s body. Jacob sponged her again and again, feeling embarrassed about seeing her helpless body. But it was the only way to cool her down. He tried to get her to drink but couldn’t get much down her and slowly began to despair of saving her life.

He did only the necessary work outside and wondered several times about calling in the doctor, because he was pretty sure she had pneumonia. But what could a doctor do about that? Nothing. Not even for a rich man. Besides, Dr Blair didn’t like coming out to visit patients at weekends. He’d only tell Jacob to keep the sick person propped up, as he’d told Mr Benness’s family last year, and try to get her to drink as much water as possible. Jacob was doing that already.

He kept seeing those scars on her back as he sponged her down and that only strengthened his resolve to keep her hidden. He wasn’t going to hand her over to someone who beat people like that.

During the next forty-eight hours, her fate would be resolved one way or another. It was in God’s hands now.

And Jacob’s.

Sunday morning saw a bleary-eyed Bart waiting at the station. Stan arrived at the last minute, having gone to church to hear the banns read first.

‘I don’t know why you still wanted them banns read today,’ Bart grumbled.

‘Because we’ll get her back and then she’s going to wed me. I’ll ask her properly this time and persuade her that I’ll look after her, make her happy.’

Bart looked at him sourly. Stan didn’t seem at all affected by their heavy night’s drinking, and looked fit and well. Bart felt like death warmed up. The train was on time but jolting along the track jarred his head and made him feel even angrier at his stepdaughter. He wouldn’t have had to waste time and money like this if Mattie hadn’t run mad.

‘I think you should belt the living daylights out of Mattie when we find her,’ he said to Stan. ‘Start as you mean to go on.’

‘I don’t believe in beating women. They can’t fight back. Besides, she must have had some reason to run off other than the marriage. She could always have said no to me, couldn’t she? What did you do to her?’

‘Me? I did nothing.’

They got out and stood there until the train had chugged slowly off into the distance. As they looked round, Bart saw the man at the ticket window start to slide down the wooden panel. ‘Hoy!’ He hurried across and put his hand out to stop him.

‘There isn’t another train for two hours,’ the clerk said. ‘I usually take my lunch early today, so look sharp. Where do you need tickets to?’

‘We’ve already got returns to Swindon. What we need is some information.’ Bart tried to speak calmly, to hide his anger, but it must have shown anyway, because he saw a wary look come into the clerk’s eyes. ‘We’re looking for my daughters. They came through here on Friday morning with a young man. Two of them, tall with dark hair, pretty.’

The man smirked. ‘Run away, have they?’

Bart thumped his fist down on the surface. ‘None of your business.’

He stopped smirking. ‘What did the man look like?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Which train did they come in on?’

‘The one that left Swindon at nine o’clock.’ Bart waited, tapping his fingers on the small counter outside the window, itching to grab the fellow by the collar and shake the information out of him. Only you couldn’t get away with that sort of thing these days like he had in his youth, because the damned police were always interfering. So he forced himself to wait.

The man had his head on one side and was eyeing them slyly. ‘It’s hard to remember. We get a lot of people through on Fridays.’

Stan slid a half-crown piece into the hollow in the counter but kept his forefinger on it. ‘Just a little something for your trouble.’

The man screwed up his eyes, looking into the distance and saying nothing for a minute or two, then shook his head. ‘I wish I could help you, but I can’t remember anyone like that. There were some women, just odd ones, and some men, both young and old. There was a young married couple, all lovey-dovey they were, couldn’t have been married long. But there definitely weren’t two pretty young women together. I’d have remembered that. There are usually older folk at that time of day, because the younger ones are at work.’