Ragamuffin Angel (39 page)
When the door had closed behind the other three Gladys looked at Dan, who hadn’t been able to prevent himself from sinking on to the sofa, his head in his hands, and she said, ‘I don’t believe the lass I met on New Year’s Eve is capable of what your mam has just accused her of, Dan. You know your mam. I don’t like to say it but she’s a devil at times, a real devil. She’s jealous of the lass, that’s what this is all about.’
Dan didn’t answer, but as he raised his head, his eyes skimming over the crumpled paper in his hand, Art came back into the room and he and Gladys watched Dan’s face slowly stiffen. They looked anxiously at each other and then back to Dan before Art said, ‘What is it? What does it say?’
Dan didn’t reply for some moments and then he seemed to have to drag his eyes from the so-called report. He stared at them both for a second or two more and then shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t believe it, any of it. This Mr Simmons must have the wrong girl.’
‘Let’s have a look.’ Art now scanned the single sheet of paper, Gladys peering over his shoulder, and when he had finished he said, ‘Apart from this Mrs Pegg’s allegations there is nothing to suggest Connie has done anything wrong, even if it turns out she does own this shop or whatever in Holmeside, and reading between the lines this housekeeper seems to have her own axe to grind. Who knows why she was dismissed from the Grand other than what she’s said to this half-nowt Mam’s dug up? Folk always have a whinge when they get the push from somewhere, you know that as well as I do, Dan. Look at the trouble we’ve had at our place with one or two who turned nasty.’
Dan stared at his brother. Art was avoiding the main issue. If, if, this report was true and Connie’s name was on the deeds to some kind of business or other, who had put it there? And more importantly, why? He suddenly felt sick. He had to go and see her.
He wasn’t aware that he had spoken the last thought out loud until Art said, ‘Think about it, man. Think over what you’re going to say. You’re seeing her tomorrow night; take her out somewhere instead of bringing her here, somewhere quiet, and have a long calm talk. Don’t go about it like a bull in a china shop.’
It was good advice but Dan knew he wasn’t going to take it. He could no more have spent the rest of the evening sitting in Art and Gladys’s parlour or working on the stock report for the William Street warehouse he’d brought home than fly to the moon. He needed to talk to her, now, tonight. He’d be stark staring barmy by morning if he didn’t.
His face must have spoken for him because Art sighed heavily, his tongue coming over his lips before he said, ‘Aye, well maybe I’d do the same thing in your shoes, but go easy, eh? Mam’s a cunning so-an’-so and John’s as bad, and anything they’ve had a hand in will have more muck under the surface than Jarrow slake.’
Dan nodded. He knew that. Aye, he knew it full well and that was one of the reasons he had to see her tonight. If she could look straight at him and say it was all lies he would believe her word over that of his family any day.
It didn’t occur to him until later – much later – that the ‘if’ in his mind had been a seed planted by his mother, and that it had already taken root.
John was hard put to keep the smile off his face as he drove his mother home to Ryhope Road. They could easily have walked the short distance to Art’s place, but since Edith had acquired her small Ford – at the exorbitant cost of some £500 – she liked to be seen in it whenever possible. He didn’t blame her. Apart from the Rotheringtons and one or two other leading lights in the town no one he knew owned an automobile, although he had read in the paper a few nights back that some 130,000 cars had been registered in the United Kingdom. His mother was a canny body. He nodded mentally at the thought. She knew what was what all right. It wasn’t enough to acquire wealth, you had to display it – it had to be seen if you wanted respect. That was something his father had never fully understood.
He couldn’t remember how old he was when he had first started eavesdropping on his parents when they had thought he was abed, but their rows had been bitter. His mother had had to push and push to get them where they were now; his father had been too soft, that had been his trouble. Too bothered about the workers and their rights and such. Rights! They had no rights except those they were allowed by management, and if he had his way they’d be running a tighter ship right now, but it was a constant fight with Art and Dan putting in their twopennyworth.
The thought of his younger brother deepened the secret glow of satisfaction. He had spent the last few weeks – ever since his mam had got wind of what was afoot from Mr Simmons – keeping an eye on the Bell piece a few evenings a week, and the number of times his brother had made an appearance and they’d gone off somewhere or other had made his blood boil. A milksop like him with her! Dan would never know how to handle a red-blooded female like Connie Bell and he’d never satisfy her either. Her type needed it hot and strong and none too gentle. Oh aye, he knew how to treat her sort all right. A whore was always a whore however they tried to pretend otherwise. And there was Dan, with his holier-than-thou ideas, having been led right up the garden path. He had to give the baggage credit where it was due. But now she’d been rumbled; he’d seen the dawning knowledge in his brother’s stunned eyes and nothing had ever given him greater satisfaction.
He shifted in his seat, glancing swiftly at his mother sitting rigidly at his side, a tartan car-rug over her knees and her eyes fixed straight ahead, before concentrating on the road ahead again.
Dan had blotted his copy-book with their mam all right, and not before time. He had waited years for something like this. And it was all the sweeter for knowing that what had occurred tonight had left the road wide open for him with the Bell chit. His eyes narrowed on the wintry scene ahead. He was going to have her, and in the having of her he’d be sure to teach her a lesson she’d never forget. Her and her strumpet mother with their airs and graces; by, if anyone had it coming to them she did. The mother was out of his reach but Sadie had been used and worn out anyway. The daughter was still young enough to be everything her mother had been when he’d first seen her, aye, and then some.
All good things come to those that wait. As he drove the car through the big gates they had left wide open and on to the front drive of the house his crotch was damp with anticipation. And he had waited long enough.
‘Dan, this is a surprise.’ Connie’s voice was eager as she saw the big figure in the doorway to the living room, Mary – who had answered the knock at the front door – standing just behind him. ‘I thought we weren’t seeing each other until tomorrow evening?’
‘I need to talk with you.’
‘Of course, come in.’ Her voice was less delighted now; she had noticed his body was as stiff as a ramrod and that his face was set. Something was wrong, badly wrong. And she spoke the last thought out loud as she said, ‘Is anything the matter?’
‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’ Mary closed the door behind her a second after she had spoken, leaving them alone, and for a moment Connie wanted to call her back as Dan came fully into the room and she saw the look in his eyes. But that was stupid, she chided herself in the next instant. She had nothing to fear from Dan. Not Dan.
She had risen when she had first seen him, and now she indicated the saddle with a wave of her hand as she resumed her seat in the rocking chair without going to him and raising her face for his kiss which would have been normal. ‘What is it?’ she asked quietly as he stood in front of her without taking up the invitation to be seated.
‘It has been brought to my attention –’ Dan stopped abruptly. That was too pompous, too ridiculous. He wet his lips, looking down into her lovely face and feeling his heart thud to the point where it was painful as he said, ‘Connie, I have to ask you. . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you recently bought a property in Holmeside?’
There was a silence, a long silence, and then her voice came, small but surprisingly firm, as it said, ‘Aye, I have. I was going to tell you about it.’
Dear God, dear God. Dan had never been a praying man but he found himself praying now and he was entreating the Almighty that somehow,
s
omehow,
she would have a believable explanation for her new-found wealth. He continued looking at her for another moment and then stepped backwards, sitting down on the saddle with his hands resting on his knees as he forced himself to say, calmly and quietly, ‘How did you come by the means to purchase it?’
s
omehow,
she would have a believable explanation for her new-found wealth. He continued looking at her for another moment and then stepped backwards, sitting down on the saddle with his hands resting on his knees as he forced himself to say, calmly and quietly, ‘How did you come by the means to purchase it?’
She should have told him before; oh, why hadn’t she? Her guilt made Connie’s face flush as she said quickly, ‘I saved quite a lot. I started years ago, when I first went to the workhouse.’
‘You saved quite a lot.’ The words barely moved his lips. ‘How much does a property like that cost, Connie?’
She stared at him, her stomach churning and her joined hands pressed into her lap. ‘One hundred and seventy pounds.’ And as the amount registered in Dan’s eyes, ‘But Mr Watson said it was a bargain, being where it is and all, and it’s a big place. We . . . we’re turning it into a shop and tea-rooms, and there’s a bakery in the basement.’
‘We?’
And now his tone made her stiffen as she said, ‘Mary and I. And her brothers.’
‘And the housekeeping job?’
Connie raised her chin, but there was a pleading note in her voice as she said, ‘I left the Grand in January and I’ve been working on the place in Holmeside ever since. I wanted to tell you, Dan, and I was going to. I swear it.’
There was only a matter of some two or three feet separating them but they could have been worlds apart, and now Connie’s voice was rushed and high. ‘Listen to me, Dan, please listen. I went to the bank with the money I’d saved, seventy pounds, and saw the manager, Mr Bainbridge. He said the bank would help me –’
‘Who is Colonel Fairley?’
‘What?’
The name was like a blow right between the eyes, and as Dan saw her face change, her skin blanch, he stood up in one savage movement and walked over to the mantelpiece, resting one arm on it as he stared down into the glowing fire and said again, his back to her, ‘Who is Colonel Fairley? Or perhaps I should say, what is he to you?’
‘He is nothing to me.’
‘Then let me rephrase the question,’ said Dan harshly as he swung round again. ‘What was he to you during the time he was staying at the Grand? You don’t deny he stayed at the Grand?’
‘Of course I don’t deny it.’ Anger was replacing the sick horror and apprehension. The worst had happened; he had heard something and drawn his own conclusions and she was being hung, drawn and quartered. He hadn’t come here tonight for an explanation, Connie thought bitterly. He’d already made his mind up about her long before he’d stepped through the door. She rose now, her head back and her violet-blue eyes as hard as sapphires as she said, very clearly and loudly, ‘Colonel Fairley is a relation of Mr Alridge’s and he made improper advances to me which I reported.’
‘To the police?’
‘To Mr and Mrs Alridge.’
‘And they did what? Asked you to leave? Isn’t that a little odd with you being the innocent party? Oh come on, Connie, what do you take me for?’
‘You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?’ she said cuttingly. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard about me or from whom, but obviously you’d rather believe them than me. You think I’m bad, don’t you? That’s what this is all about. Well, don’t you?’
He stared at her in silence for what seemed a long, long while and then his voice was flat without the harshness of before, but the words terrible-sounding to her, as he said, ‘I don’t know what to think and that’s the truth of it. Look, read this and then tell me it’s all lies.’
When he thrust the piece of paper he had drawn out of his pocket at her he thought for a moment she wasn’t going to take it, but then her hand reached out, her eyes still holding his for a good ten seconds, before she lowered them to the neatly typed words, asking immediately, ‘Who is Mr Simmons?’
‘That’s not important.’ And then, as her eyes met his and held, ‘He is an investigator, a private detective.’
‘Hired by?’
‘My mother.’
Connie nodded slowly. She might have guessed. And then, her heart racing, she read down the paper. Oh this was clever, it was, it was clever. There was just enough truth here to make the lies perfectly believable. That horrible old woman had actually hired someone to poke and pry into her private affairs. How dared she.
How dared she.
And then running to Dan with the tittle-tattle and him soaking it all up. She hated him. She hated the lot of them. She had been stupid, so, so stupid, to think Dan was different. He was just like the rest of them.
How dared she.
And then running to Dan with the tittle-tattle and him soaking it all up. She hated him. She hated the lot of them. She had been stupid, so, so stupid, to think Dan was different. He was just like the rest of them.
‘This is not
all
lies.’ She thrust the paper back into his chest so hard he was caught off balance and took a step backwards. ‘I do own a property in Holmeside and I did leave the Grand because of Colonel Fairley, but it was as
I
said, not this Mr Simmons or Mrs Pegg. Mrs Pegg was a hateful woman and she always resented me. But I am not going to say any more and you can think what you like. If you had really’ – she couldn’t bring herself to say loved – ‘cared for me you wouldn’t have believed such wicked lies.’
all
lies.’ She thrust the paper back into his chest so hard he was caught off balance and took a step backwards. ‘I do own a property in Holmeside and I did leave the Grand because of Colonel Fairley, but it was as
I
said, not this Mr Simmons or Mrs Pegg. Mrs Pegg was a hateful woman and she always resented me. But I am not going to say any more and you can think what you like. If you had really’ – she couldn’t bring herself to say loved – ‘cared for me you wouldn’t have believed such wicked lies.’
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