Sins (53 page)

Ella woke up slowly and reluctantly. Her hand was lying on top of the bedclothes, against her flat belly. Tears trickled from between her closed eyelids. She had to do what she had done, but there was still grief and guilt to be borne. Her child would never be born now, but better that than to have a mother who later tried to kill it in her madness.

Someone was standing beside the bed.

‘Christ knows what was in that ruddy pre-med. You’ve been out for nearly two hours.’

Oliver. What was he doing here?

Ella’s body jerked beneath the bedclothes as she struggled to sit up, realising as she did so that ‘here’ wasn’t a hospital bed, but instead the bedroom in the flat Oliver was renting.

Vague memories stirred, disembodied and out of focus.

‘The kid’s still there,’ Oliver told her abruptly.

Still there? She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

‘I couldn’t let you do it.’

He
couldn’t?

Finally Ella found her voice. ‘That decision wasn’t yours to make.’

Oliver shrugged her argument aside. ‘The kid’s mine. And another thing: no kid of mine is going to grow up not knowing who its dad is, or not having my name.’ Like he’d had to do. ‘That means that we’re going to have to get married.’

Married?
Her and Oliver?

‘No,’ Ella refused immediately.

‘Yes,’ Oliver insisted, adding unkindly, ‘You haven’t got any choice now. I can’t see that posh family of yours putting an announcement in
The Times
to tell the world that you’ve had a little bastard.’

Ella flinched.

‘You can’t mean it. I told you what happened to my mother,’ she reminded him desperately.

Oliver wasn’t going to be swayed. ‘I do mean it. We’ve created the kid between us and there’s no way that he’s
going to grow up like I did, not knowing who his proper dad is. Once he’s been born, you can do what the hell you like–walk out, divorce me, do whatever you like, but the kid’s going to be mine and he stays with me.’

Four days, four days, nearly five, nearly a week, and Robbie had grown weaker with each hour of every one of them. He looked frighteningly small and fragile beneath the hospital bedclothes, his eyes huge in their hollowed sockets above his sunken, waxen cheeks.

‘Uncle Drogo?’ His voice, so thin and frail, the effort of speech so obviously draining what little strength he had, tore at Emerald’s heart. She loved him so much Why had it taken her so long to realise what a truly precious gift he was?

‘He’ll be here soon,’ she answered him.

She mustn’t let it hurt that Robbie seemed so much brighter whenever Drogo was here.

When Drogo did arrive a few minutes later, what she saw in his face, the exhaustion, the tension, the fear and the longing to cling on to hope, were, she knew, all mirrored in her own.

Since Sister had a rule that only one of them was allowed to be with Robbie, Emerald bent down to kiss her son’s forehead and then turned towards the door.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten
but the very thought of food made her nauseous. Stepping out of the hospital into the September sunshine was as disorientating as seeing people going about their normal day-to-day business, oblivious to her pain, to Robbie and the twin powers of life and death that fought over him.

She had barely left the hospital since Robbie had been admitted, relying on Drogo to bring her clean clothes and other necessities. Up ahead of her she saw a small church. Without intending to, she walked towards it. The doors were open, the scent of incense heavy and sweet on the air. A head-scarfed women emerged from its dark interior.

On impulse Emerald stepped inside and then halted. She was an intruder here, someone who had no place and no right to be here. The only time she went to church was if she was attending a wedding–or a funeral. A shudder ripped through her.

Her eyes were accustomed to the gloom of the interior now. She watched as a woman walked past her, crossing herself and then lighting one of the waiting candles, sheltering the frail flame from the cold draughts of the church.

Robbie’s life was like that candle, flickering helplessly at the mercy of his illness. Like the candle he too needed someone to protect him and guard the flame that was his life.

Emerald walked unsteadily toward the candles, her hands trembling as she reached for one.

‘I’m sorry, God,’ she whispered as she tried to light it, ‘but I haven’t got a headscarf.’ Would it count against
her, against Robbie that she was in God’s house with her head uncovered? Would he inflict a terrible punishment on her for her lack of respect?

‘Will it be someone special ye’ve come to pray for, then?’

It took Emerald several seconds to interpret the Irish accent of the woman now standing next to her. Small and elderly, her eyes were sharp and curious.

A drop of wax from the wavering candle spilled onto the table as Emerald tried to hold it steady, followed by the slash of a tear.

‘My son. He’s very ill. It’s my fault.’

‘Sure, and there isn’t a mother in the land who doesn’t think that when her little ones ail. Even the Blessed Mary, I dare say.’

As she spoke the old woman nodded in the direction of the statue of the Madonna several yards away.

‘’Tis to her ye should make your prayers, for she well understands the tears of mother.’

‘I haven’t got a headscarf,’ Emerald whispered. ‘I don’t—’

‘’Tis what’s in your heart ye have always wanted to hide, but there’s no place for that in here. A mother’s heart is always open to her child, no matter that that child be blinded by its own foolishness. All ye need is to cast aside pride and have faith.’ The old woman’s hand curved round the flickering candle flame, allowing it to steady and grow. ‘Go to her now and open your heart to her, and she will hear you.’

Emerald turned to look at the Madonna and then turned back to the old woman but she had gone.

Praying to a statue? Heavens above, how her set would laugh.

Emerald took a deep breath and picked up the candle. As she kneeled in front of the statue the air around her seemed to sigh and settle.

How did one pray to her? The only prayers Emerald knew was the kind that came from the Book of Common Prayer.

Open your heart, the old woman had said.

‘I’m sorry about not having a headscarf. So silly, as I have such pretty and smart ones at home, but of course Drogo wouldn’t think to bring me one.

‘It’s my son, Robbie. Robert. He’s dreadfully ill and it’s all my fault. I don’t deserve to have him spared for my own sake but please spare him for his. I’ll do anything, be anything, give anything, if only Robbie doesn’t die. I’ll be the best mother in the world, if you let him live. I’ll do everything I can–anything–to make him happy in future. Please, please don’t let Robbie die.’

Candle wax sizzled in the drip of her tears as she leaned towards the Madonna from her kneeling position, pleading for her son’s life.

It was a long time before she finally got up and made her way back out of the church and into the sunshine.

‘Emerald.’

‘Mummy.’ At the entrance to the hospital Emerald gazed at her mother.

‘Drogo telephoned yesterday to tell us. I came as quickly as I could. He said that you’d probably gone out for some fresh air.’

‘I told Drogo not to tell you. There’s no point in you being here. Robbie really only wants Drogo, and the doctor says that he must be kept quiet and not have too many visitors.’

Her mother’s hand was on her arm and somehow Emerald didn’t have the energy to shake it off.

‘I didn’t come here for Robbie, Emerald, much as I love him. I came for you, and for myself.’

‘What?’

‘You want to be with Robbie, don’t you, because he’s in pain? Because he’s your child. Well, you are my child, and being a mother doesn’t stop when your child becomes an adult, you know.’

‘It’s my fault that Robbie is so ill.’

‘Mothers always blame themselves when their children suffer. I blamed myself terribly when I thought I might lose you before you were born, and then when you were born safely and you rejected me I told myself it was my own fault because I’d been so afraid when I first knew I was carrying you.’

‘You wanted to get rid of me, I suppose?’ Emerald suggested tiredly.

‘No, never that, never for a minute, but I was afraid of what your birth would mean for all of us, for you, born illegitimate and with no father, for Luc who adored Robert and who believed Robert was his father, for myself, and for Robert, who already had so many hurts of his own to deal with and who I believed would want to bring our marriage to an end. I went home to Denham—’

‘To see Rose, I expect. You always loved her more than you did me.’

‘Not more, Emerald, just differently, because you see I believed that Rose and I were very similar. We’d both been rejected and hurt by those who should have loved us. We were both outsiders, unwanted and unloved. I saw in her so much that I’d felt myself. Rose wanted me to love her, whereas you, it seemed to me, did not.

‘I felt you hardly needed my love, you had so much from Robert, who adored you from the minute you were born, and from my grandmother, who saw in you a great deal of herself.’

‘It made me angry when you always fussed over Rose instead of me. I wanted you to put me first.’

‘All of you come first, Emerald, each and every one of you. When you have more children of your own you will understand what I mean.’

‘More children? I don’t want more children. I just want Robbie to live—’

Emerald broke off as she saw Drogo come hurrying out of the hospital, calling her name when he saw her, demanding urgently, ‘Come quickly, both of you.’

Emerald’s race to Robbie’s room was greeted with disapproving looks from all those who saw it, but she didn’t care.

She hadn’t wasted time asking Drogo what had happened. Every second lost in getting to Robbie’s side took an extra breath of life from him. If he was to die then she must be with him, to hold him and warm him and keep him in her arms until he had been fully taken from her.

The first thing she heard as she pushed open the door to Robbie’s room was a young nurse exclaiming
cheerfully, ‘And you’ve really eaten all that ice cream by yourself, have you? Are you sure?’

And then Robbie’s unmistakable voice–a mere whisper, it was true, but still Robbie’s voice–confirming, ‘Yes. I have.’

Emerald put her hand to her lips, afraid to say his name, afraid to do anything other than simply stare in disbelief at her son, who was propped up against his pillows, with a tray, a spoon and an empty tub in front of him.

It was just over a month since Robbie had left hospital, but Emerald was still going into his bedroom several times a night, just for the relief of knowing that he was there safe and alive.

Any minute now he and Drogo would be returning from their walk around the neighbourhood to see how other people’s bonfires were growing compared to their own in the back garden of Lenchester House.

The bond between the two of them had, if anything, strengthened. Robbie worshipped Drogo and would spend every minute with him if he could.

From the drawing-room window Emerald watched as they walked towards the house together. Robbie was even beginning to sound like him.

When Robbie had been lying desperately ill in hospital, and she had thought she would lose him, she had made a promise. Now Emerald decided it was time for her to fulfil it.

She had to wait until Robbie was safely out of the way, which meant that she had had to get Drogo’s support
in sending Robbie upstairs to make a list of the fireworks he most wanted.

As soon as he had gone Emerald closed the drawing-room door and leaned against it, blocking Drogo’s exit as well as Robbie’s unwanted return.

‘There’s something I want to discuss with you,’ she told Drogo.

‘About Robbie?’

‘About Robbie,’ she agreed. ‘Robbie practically worships you, Drogo.’ It was a hard admission for her to make but it had to be done. ‘In fact, I believe he would rather spend his life with you than with me.’

She moved away from the door, unable to bear the steady intensity of Drogo’s concentration on her.

She’d wanted to lead up to things slowly and carefully, hoping that Drogo might guess what was coming and do the asking for her, but now suddenly she was too impatient to wait, too anxious on Robbie’s behalf to delay.

‘Once upon a time you asked me to marry you,’ she began as lightly as she could.

Drogo inclined his head. ‘And you told me that I was the last person you’d want as your husband. Definitely not your choice of Prince Charming.’

Emerald exhaled a breath of mingled impatience and irritation. ‘I was just a girl then, Drogo. Now I’m a mother, Robbie’s mother. And the fact is, well, if you still want to, then now I will marry you.’

‘For Robbie’s sake?’

‘He adores you. He talks about you night and day. He’s a boy, Drogo, and he needs a man in his life, a father, and the father he would want is you. I know that.

‘You need to marry,’ she pointed out when he said nothing. ‘The dukedom needs an heir, and I’ve already proved I can produce a son. I know what being your duchess will entail.’

She looked at him. What was he thinking? It was impossible to know from his face. Watching him, it came home to her how much he had grown from the awkward young Australian she had baited so cruelly. He was a man now, confident, at ease with himself. Something happened low down in the pit of her stomach, a keening ache that caught her off guard and stung colour into her face.

‘So if I say yes, then I get Robbie, I get an heir and I get you. But what do you get, Emerald?’

‘Me?’ She was honestly confused by his question. ‘I get Robbie’s happiness. He loves you, Drogo. He needs you and so do I, on his behalf.’

He still wasn’t saying anything.

‘I know you may find it hard to believe that I genuinely want to put him first, but something’s changed for me. I’ve changed. When it thought I was going to lose him I realised how much I loved him. I made a promise, a vow that if only he lived, then I would do everything I could to make him happy and keep him safe. Can’t you see, Drogo? If you don’t marry me then one day you will marry someone else, one day soon perhaps, and then Robbie will lose you.