Ironmonger's Daughter (21 page)

‘Will you stay with me tonight, Connie?’ he asked her urgently. ‘I need you.’

‘Where can we stay?’ she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

‘Just say you will.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she whispered.

They reached the Strand Palace Hotel and without hesitation Robert guided his companion through the swing doors into the warm interior. ‘Leave everything to me. It’ll be all right,’ he said softly.

As they reached the reception desk Robert turned to Connie, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth and said loudly, ‘Don’t worry, dear. We’ll get the first train tomorrow morning.’

The night clerk gave Robert a strange look. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said in a tired voice.

‘We’d like a double room for one night, please.’

The clerk spun the register. ‘Is there any luggage, sir?’

‘No,’ Robert replied unconcernedly. ‘My wife and I are passing through London. We can’t catch our connection tonight.’

Connie felt uneasy. Robert had handled it all so calmly. Maybe this was where he usually took his girlfriends. No, of course not, she reasoned. It was just his confident manner. He had been the same in the restaurant. Everything he did was handled with supreme confidence. Even when the night clerk gave him what Connie thought was a disbelieving glance she noticed that Robert did not falter. She watched as he signed the register and reached for his wallet, then he smiled reassuringly at her as they waited for the porter to arrive to show them to their room.

At last they were being escorted along a thickly carpeted corridor and taken up to the fourth floor in a metal-walled lift. The elderly porter was dressed in dark trousers and a yellowstriped waistcoat. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he led the couple to their room. He had seen it all before. His powers of observation had become highly developed over the many years he had been in the hotel’s employ. He had given the couple no more than a casual glance, yet he had noted certain details. The young man was probably well off: his suit was expensive and his manner confident. He was no stranger to hotels, but it was all new to the young lady. She looked uneasy, even scared. Can’t be more than eighteen, he guessed. She was not wearing a wedding ring and there was no luggage, no overnight bag. The young lady’s clothes were clean and tidy but not expensive. She seemed too scared to say much in case she said the wrong thing. Poor kid. She would most likely live to regret this night. Then maybe not. Ah well. ‘’Ere we are, sir, madam. There’s a bell if yer require room service. A very good night ter yer both.’

 

The early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains and Connie opened her eyes. Robert lay beside her, his right arm folded across his chest. His left arm was beneath her neck and as she moved her head he grunted and stirred. Gently she slipped her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the large bath towel that was lying on the floor beside the bed. Quickly Connie wrapped the towel around her and peered out into the street below. There was no clock in the room but she realised it must still be early. One or two taxi cabs drove past and a few people ambled along the wide thoroughfare. The morning was bright and she could see the white coating of frost on the roof tops opposite. She looked back into the room at Robert’s slumbering body and then crept out into the bathroom. Soon she was under the jets of steaming water and she closed her eyes and held her face up to the shower head. It felt glorious just to stand there, letting the hot water run over her body. It was much better than the tin bath at her flat and even the local baths, she thought, as she began to lather herself with the scented soap in the dish.

It had been a wonderful night, and he had been a wonderful lover. Connie had found him gentle and considerate and she had experienced a pleasure that was new and exciting. She now felt a real woman, and she smiled warmly to herself.

Robert had been careful, too, and she remembered the act of love with a deep sigh. He had reached for her in the darkness and joined with her gently at first and then with an urgency that brought her to a climax that lingered and then died slowly. It was a feeling she had only dreamed about, and as she stepped from the shower and towelled herself dry Connie could not help but make the comparison. The night spent with Michael had left her feeling irritable, drained of passion and unfulfilled; this morning she felt light, almost as if she were floating, and her body tingled.

Robert was awake now and he watched her as she walked back into the bedroom with the towel wrapped lightly around her. He climbed out of bed and without any show of selfconsciousness took her to him and kissed her gently.

‘God! But you’re beautiful, Connie,’ he gasped as he squeezed her to him.

‘So are you,’ she whispered. ‘You’d better get dressed. You’re temptin’ me again, Robert.’

The young man released her and smiled as he sauntered into the bathroom. Connie could hear the water running as she dried her long hair on the towel. He must be very experienced, she thought. Did all young men carry those French Letters around with them? Michael didn’t use anything, although she hadn’t thought too much about it before. The girls at work always said that you didn’t get pregnant the first time. The older women had said otherwise and she remembered worrying over her next period, but she had taken comfort from the fact that sex with Michael had not really been completed. With Robert it had been perfect, and she was grateful that he had been careful. For herself, she had entered into the lovemaking with little thought of what might happen. Everything else had been forgotten. Now, in the light of day, she had time to reflect on last night. Robert might think I’m easy, she mused. After all, I’ve only been out with him twice. Her sudden doubts were interrupted as he came back into the bedroom. He dressed quickly and sat on the bed, watching as she tied her still damp hair back with a strip of black ribbon.

‘We’d better get down to breakfast, Con. I’ll get us a cab after and drop you home, okay?’ he said with a loving smile.

She nodded. Right at that moment everything was okay with young Connie Morgan.

The train rattled on through the winter countryside as Connie stared thoughtfully out of the carriage window. The trees had lost their leaves and they bent against the keen wind. The fields had been ploughed up and the hay gathered in for winter feeding. Above, the grey overcast sky shut out the sun and spread a gloomy light over the barren landscape. The only other occupant of the carriage had been an elderly gent who had alighted at the last stop, leaving Connie alone with her thoughts. How much would her mother’s condition have worsened? she wondered with a sinking feeling. The last time she visited the Bartletts had travelled with her and on that occasion her mother had been even less talkative than usual. Connie was glad she was alone today. She wanted time to sit quietly and think things over. It seemed that her life had suddenly become full of questions and quandaries. Much had happened during the past month, and she wanted time to gather her thoughts into some sort of order. Robert had added a new dimension to her life, but it would bring her problems, too. Very soon Michael would be home on his Christmas leave, and she realised it was going to be very difficult. She was feeling apprehensive about what might happen, but she knew that she would just have to take things as they came. Robert had told her during the cab journey home that he wanted to see her as often as possible and, when she mentioned Michael’s leave, he had become quiet and thoughtful. When she got home she had been plied with questions. Helen had looked at her in a funny way, as if she could read her mind. Connie resented the prying questions and she recalled the look on her aunt’s face when she told her that she had stayed at her friend’s house all night.

The train pulled into the station and Connie picked up the bag of fruit by her side and stepped down on to the platform. The wind was biting and she pulled up the collar of her coat as she left the station and began to walk along the long country road to the sanatorium. It took twenty minutes to reach the red-brick building which was set in its own grounds and surrounded by sheltering trees. As she walked along the gravel drive Connie began to sense that something was wrong. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach and in her mind she saw a picture of her mother on her last visit. It was as though she was giving up the fight. Her eyes had stared blankly, and she had hardly spoken.

As she entered the building and hurried up the wide stone staircase to the first floor, Connie knew that today her mother would be worse. Her high-heeled shoes sounded loudly on the marble-floored corridor, and when she entered the doorway to the ward the nursing sister was waiting. It was the same sister who Connie often spoke with during her visits, and on this occasion she barred her way. She smiled kindly and took the young girl’s arm.

‘Can you come into the office for a moment please, Miss Morgan?’

Connie’s heart sank as she followed the sister into a small room.

‘Sit down, my dear,’ the sister said quietly, moving a chair around.

‘Me mum?’ was all Connie could muster.

‘I’m afraid your mother has taken a turn for the worse. We’ve put her into a small private room. The doctor is with her at this moment. If you’d like to wait here I’ll ask him to have a word with you as soon as he’s finished.’

‘Is she dyin’?’ Connie found herself asking.

The sister looked at the young girl with large gentle eyes. ‘The doctor will talk to you soon, my dear.’

One of the nurses put her head around the door and beckoned the sister. Connie found herself alone in the room and she clasped her hands tightly and stared down at the whiteness of her fingernails. The room was quiet and peaceful and she glanced around. Over the small desk was a picture of Christ wearing a crown of thorns, and at the back of the desk a bunch of wilting red roses stood in a glass vase. Connie looked up again at the picture and shivered.

‘Please don’t let ’er die,’ she whispered aloud.

It seemed to Connie she had been waiting for ever when the door opened and a tall grey-haired man entered. Connie started to get up but he put his hand on her shoulder and then sat down facing her.

‘You are Miss Morgan? Katherine Morgan’s daughter?’

Connie nodded, her eyes open wide.

‘I’m Doctor Phelps. You’re aware that your mother is suffering from Pulmonary Tuberculosis,’ he said in a very soft voice. ‘I’m afraid her condition has worsened. You see my dear, this disease affects the lungs but in your mother’s case her heart is also weak. I must ask you not to stay too long.’

‘Is she dyin’, doctor?’

The doctor looked at his fingernails. ‘She’s very ill. We’re doing all we can, but you must be prepared, child.’

Connie stood up quickly. ‘Can I see ’er now, please?’

The doctor nodded. ‘The sister will take you to your mother. Don’t tire her by staying too long.’

‘I won’t stay long,’ Connie promised, and she walked quickly out into the corridor and fell in step behind the ward sister.

Kate Morgan lay propped up against the pillows, her hands resting above the bedclothes. Her thin face wore a ghostly pallor, and her faded eyes were sunken. She turned her head slightly as Connie entered the room and bent over the bed.

‘’Ello, Mum,’ Connie said softly, her eyes filling with tears. She reached out her hand and touched her mother’s gently.

‘’Ow’s my Con?’ Kate whispered, her tired eyes searching her daughter’s face.

‘I’m fine, Mum. ’Ow yer feelin’?’

Kate closed her eyes briefly as if in answer and Connie sat down beside the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She noticed the small gold locket which rested on her thin neck, and she began to fight back tears. She knew the locket had a special meaning for her mother; it had always hung around her neck, except on certain occasions when it had been taken, in dire necessity, to the pawnshop. Now the locket was shining brightly against the wan skin, and as it rose and fell it caught the light and glistened.

‘I’ve brought yer some fruit, Mum.’

Kate nodded. Her hand lifted from the bedclothes and her bony finger pointed to the locker beside the bed. ‘There’s money – in there. Take it, Con. It’s no use ter me.’ Connie shook her head but her mother’s hand waved impatiently. ‘Don’t argue, child. Take it.’

Connie went around the bed and opened the locker. There was a small open envelope lying on the shelf. She removed it and saw the money. Kate’s eyes had now closed and her breathing was very shallow.

‘Mum?’

There was no answer. Connie backed away from the bed and became aware that the sister was standing behind her.

‘Your mother’s sleeping,’ she said. ‘I should leave now, my dear. We’ll contact you if there’s any worsening of her condition.’

Connie walked out into the long corridor and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. The sister walked along the corridor beside the young girl, and as they reached the ward office she turned.

‘I wonder if you could spare me a moment, Miss Morgan?’

Connie followed the sister into the office and stood while she slid open one of the desk drawers.

‘This came for your mother yesterday. One comes every month. There’s money inside. I know because your mother asked me to open the last one. I usually post the reply off for her. You see, she has to sign the receipt. She’s too ill to be bothered with this. As you’re her next of kin, maybe you could do it?’

Connie nodded as she took the letter and tore it open. Inside were five one pound notes, a stamped-addressed envelope and a slip of paper. Connie signed the receipt and put it into the envelope. Her eyes narrowed as she read the address. It was destined for the Armitage factory in Ironmonger Street.

Connie walked back along the road to the station, miserable and depressed, but like a dull ray of light through the darkness of her despair questions began to form in her mind. She had known for a long time that her mother received a regular sum of money, and she had once been told it came from insurance. Connie had had no reason to question her mother’s explanation, but now things were different. Why should the money come from the Armitage firm? What was the connection? Kate had never said anything about her father working there. There must be some reason for the firm to make the payments. Maybe Aunt Helen would be able to help her get at the truth. There were questions that had to be answered. Connie thought about the time when she had first seen her birth certificate and asked about the blank space where her father’s name should have been. Her mother had refused to answer her questions, dismissing them impatiently with the excuse that it wasn’t important. Why was there so much mystery surrounding him? What was the reason for her mother’s refusal to talk about him? Connie knew that her mother was slowly slipping away from her. If the secret of her father died with her she would have no family left, apart from the Bartletts. If her father was still alive, then she surely had the right to know his identity, however bad he had been, whatever he had done?