The Birthday Present (17 page)

He turned to go but Rose said, ‘What happened to him? The toff, I mean.’

‘Don’t rightly know. He disappeared. Never set eyes on him again. Police looking for him and everything. I reckon the chap did a runner.’

He grinned and wandered off, whistling under his breath, leaving Rose with something new to worry about.

That night Rose found Marcus outside the stage door. She tried to storm past him but he caught her hand and forced her to stop.

‘Marcus! How many times do I have to tell you I—’

‘I don’t care, Rose. I need to look after you.’

‘You don’t! I can look after myself. I always have done.’ She glared at a few spectators who were enjoying the argument. ‘Heard enough, have you? If there’s one thing I hate it’s nosy parkers!’

One of them laughed but the others drifted away, discomfited. Rose glared at him until he, too, finally followed them. She turned back to Marcus who was looking embarrassed by the exchange. ‘Oh! Have I embarrassed you?’ she cried. ‘Well, now you know how I feel when you keep appearing like my fairy godmother! If you have to look after somebody, look after Steven. He seems to be the one in trouble, not me! He owes Mr Markham money. Did you know?’

‘Of course. It’s nothing new. I’m tired of saving him. He has to learn the hard way.’

She remembered another grievance which distracted her from Steven. ‘And what’s this about you marrying me? How dare you tell Mr Markham such a whopping lie!’

He had the grace to look disconcerted. ‘Oh that! I just wanted him to know that you were important to somebody. That somebody was looking after your interests. I thought it might as well be me as anyone else.’

‘Indeed, then you were mistaken! I do not want him to think that I am about to be married to you or anyone else. He has to know that I’m dedicated to my career. If I marry I might have a child and then bang goes my future!’ She had started to walk home and he fell in beside her.

‘You would still have a future,’ he pointed out. ‘You would have a family and a devoted—’

‘I don’t want that, Marcus. I don’t want a family and I don’t want a devoted anything! I want fame and fortune. Can’t you understand? Don’t you want to be famous for your stage designs?’

‘Famous? Good Lord no!’ He sounded genuinely horrified. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’ After a moment’s thought he said, ‘Suppose you don’t become famous. What will you do?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘You might not be good enough. No one can guarantee you success.’

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the pavement and stared at him in disbelief. ‘Not good enough? But I can sing and I’m pretty and I’m going to learn to dance. Why are you being so unkind, Marcus?’

‘I’m not being unkind. I’m trying to save you from disappointment. You’ve set your heart on fame and fortune and it doesn’t just happen.’

‘You don’t like my singing, then?’

‘It’s fair enough but  . . .’ He shrugged. ‘You’re very pretty but you don’t know yet how well you will dance. Success depends on so many things like  . . . like luck. You might not be lucky.’

He had rattled her but she was determined not to show it. ‘Well, Marcus Bennley, for your information, I will dance well and I will be lucky. I don’t doubt it for a moment and I thank you not to be so gloomy. Now I won’t talk about it any more. Not another word!’

Minutes later they reached Connie’s house and Rose glanced up and waved to her. ‘I wonder what we’re having for supper,’ she mused. ‘Poor Connie is a terrible cook but I can’t bring myself to say so. She’s been so kind to me.’ Her mind gave another sideways hop and she frowned. ‘Tomorrow I have to go back to the police station to ask about my father’s sentence and where he is.’

‘It’s fifty days’ hard labour and he’s been sent to Pentonville.’

Her mouth dropped open with shock. ‘You asked the police about my father?’

‘I thought you’d want to know.’

‘I was going tomorrow! You really are the most exasperating man I know! It was none of your business.’

‘It is in a way, Rose, because I wanted all the ends tied up for you before we go to France with Marie and I’ve bought the tickets for this coming Saturday. She is fading fast and I’m terrified she will pass away before we reach Mother. I was trying to help. I’m sorry.’

He looked so forlorn that Rose’s anger disappeared and she at once forgave him and concentrated on Marie’s plight.

They arranged that the following day Rose would write to her father in prison and explain that she would be out of touch for an unspecified time. After she had posted the letter she would make her way to Victoria House and discuss the trip with Marcus and Marie. He wanted to make it as much fun for Marie as they could and Rose was eager to help. Naturally, in the circumstances, neither of them gave a second thought to Steven.

The moment she set foot inside the door Connie appeared. In her ancient dress and grubby apron it was hard to imagine that she had once been even remotely glamorous and, with Marcus’s words ringing in her ear, Rose was struck by the contrast of an ageing failed artiste and the successful woman she herself expected to be. She would hate to end up like Connie, she thought uneasily. Her hair was tied in rag curlers and her feet were encased in broken-down slippers.

‘I saved you a nice bit of bacon roll,’ she told Rose, ‘and a few spuds. Nice and filling, bacon and onion roll. My mother always made it on a Saturday. She reckoned it filled all the corners!’ She led the way into the corner that passed as a kitchen. ‘Mondays it was usually kippers and cabbage, Tuesdays was either bangers and mash or stuffed hearts. Pigs’ hearts, that is. Lovely, they are  . . .’

Rose took off her jacket as the plate was set before her. The suet crust looked cold and soggy but she thought the bacon might be edible. She was hungry and began to eat.

Connie sat beside her on a hard-backed chair that wobbled ominously, due to a missing strut beneath it. ‘Nice young man you were with!’ she remarked hopefully. ‘It looked like that Mr Bennley.’

‘It was.’ She poked at the bacon but as she did so cold bacon fat escaped from inside the rolled crust.

‘Stepping out, are you?’

Rose had a mouthful of bacon and could only shake her head.

‘Looks like a gentleman,’ Connie persisted with obvious envy. ‘Romantic, is he?’

‘Romantic? Certainly not.’

‘Don’t let our lord and master know about him. He—’

‘Your lord and master?’

‘Mr Markham. That’s his nickname here. He can be very jealous – and spiteful with it. But this Mr Bennley – is he good to you? Flowers and chocolate and things?’

‘Hardly!’ She sighed. ‘Mr Bennley interferes too much for my liking but he means well. He actually went to the police station to find out what happened to my pa. I am rather cross about that.’

‘And what has happened to him? Your pa, I mean.’

‘Fifty days’ hard labour. He’s in Pentonville.’ Sighing heavily, Rose added salt and pepper to her food but it made little difference. There were some pieces of half-cooked onion and she managed to swallow them down.

Connie pursed her lips, sucked in air, then shook her head for good measure. ‘Pentonville eh? I don’t envy him. Nasty reputation, Pentonville. I know a man – he was our next-door neighbour years ago when I was a girl – who went there. Spent hours, he did, on one of those treadmills. Walking up and up this giant wheel and getting nowhere. Agony, he said it was, on his legs. Torture’s what I call it. Mind you, you got a short break now and again and a cup of tea but it was soul-destroying. That’s the very words he used.’

Rose was staring at her in horror. ‘But Pa will never manage that. He has a gammy leg and limps quite badly.’ She frowned. ‘Perhaps that’s only for the very bad cases. My pa isn’t really
bad.
I mean, he’s not wicked. Not like some people. He hasn’t murdered anyone or burned down someone’s house.’ She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t much of a crime. I suppose you could call him a minor criminal.’ She glanced hopefully at Connie. ‘He might be treated with  . . .’ She searched for the word. ‘With leniency.’

‘He might be and he might not. I mean hard labour has to be hard, doesn’t it? Although if he’s lucky he might just do the oakum. Picking this horrible tarry rope for hours on end. Still, look on the bright side, eh. They have to be punished if they’ve done something wrong like your pa.’

‘He was led astray, Connie!’ Rose protested half-heartedly. Her mind was on other things by now.

‘They all say that, Rose.’ She gave a short snort. ‘I was led astray, m’lud! You can hear them all saying it.’

Rose pushed aside her plate.

‘Aren’t you going to finish it?’ Connie demanded. ‘Give it here. Waste not, want not!’ She took the plate and reached for a clean fork.

‘By the way, Connie, remember I told you I was going to France for a few days – well it starts Saturday and I may be away for the whole week.’

‘But you’ve paid me for your suppers.’ She looked anxious.

‘Doesn’t matter, Connie. You keep the money. It’s not your fault I shan’t be eating them and Mr Bennley is going to pay me for the trip and everything.’ She sat back. ‘Imagine me in France! I can hardly believe it. I just wish it wasn’t going to be so sad.’ Briefly Rose explained the reason behind the trip. ‘It will be interesting to meet Marcus’s mother and her new husband but I can’t stay away too long because I don’t think Mr Markham’s going to be very pleased. I’ve only just started at the Supper Room and I’m taking time off.’

Connie narrowed her eyes. ‘Talking of him, how d’you get along with him, Rose? He can be rather demanding. Some men are like that. He certainly was with me. Couldn’t take his eyes off me.’

Rose considered, her head on one side as she tried to analyse her feelings towards her employer. ‘He’s quite nice but  . . . he’s rather intimidating when he wants to be. I thought he liked me but now I’m not sure.’ She decided not to tell Connie about the way Marcus had interfered on her behalf because it made her feel foolish.

One way and another she was beginning to feel depressed and after a few more minutes she made her excuses and went to bed.

While Rose was drifting into an uneasy sleep, on the other side of the Channel Clarice Feigant lay wide awake, thinking about her daughter’s approaching visit and trying to keep calm and not give way to grief. She had to be strong for Marie’s sake because she wanted her last days or weeks to be happy. She told herself that she must never let her daughter see just how devastating her death would be to the whole family.

‘Gerard, are you awake?’ she asked in a low voice, not wishing to wake him if he had been fortunate enough to find sleep. There was no reply and she trusted him not to pretend. He understood how anxious she was about the forthcoming visit and how much she valued whatever time the three of them would have together, and he, too, wanted Marie’s stay with them to be as pleasant as possible. They understood that the end was inevitable but Clarice had notified their local doctor that her daughter was coming in case, towards the end, Marie needed medical assistance of any kind to ensure a peaceful, pain-free death.

No one would ever know how much pain Letitia had inflicted on them by her attitude towards Gerard but they had lived with it now for many years and had come to accept that nothing would change. The knowledge that Gerard was Letitia’s father had effectively broken the family and Clarice deeply regretted telling the truth about it. It had been a mistake, she now realized, but at the time Gerard had longed to see his daughter and she had thought it only fair that he should, especially after her divorce.

Sitting up, she glanced down at her husband, his weathered face and black hair dark against the pillow. He was handsome in a French way, with dark eyes and defined cheekbones that gave him an almost saturnine appearance which belied his warm heart and passionate nature.

She slipped out of bed, slid her feet into her slippers and went downstairs. Sometimes it helped her to sleep if she drank warm milk and she went into the big farmhouse kitchen where the ancient stove still gave out a little heat. Pouring milk into a pan she left it to warm and wandered to the back door and out into the yard.

There was a brand new rocking chair which they had bought from the local ‘cabinet maker’ whose work was sturdy but unsophisticated. It creaked as it rocked but it was a soothing sound and the chair would last for many years. It was a present for Marie but now Clarice sat in it. It had been a warm day but the night air was cool with no wind. Tomorrow the temperature would rise and there would be high humidity. Fortunately the old farmhouse had been built to keep out the summer heat so that July and August would always be bearable.

Gerard had reminded her that July the fourteenth was the
Fête de la Fédération
, when the revolutionaries had stormed the Bastille fortress in Paris. There would be celebrations throughout France and even the smallest villages would remember Bastille Day with a party and a few fireworks. Hopefully Marie would be able to sit in the rocking chair and watch the display from a distance. Would God spare her that long, she wondered, with the familiar frisson of fear.

Clarice stared out over their land which lay still and secretive beneath the clear night sky. The farm stretched ahead towards the village of Wissant on the Opal coast, near Boulogne. Beyond the little fishing village, the wide currents of La Manche separated them from England’s southern coastline – and beyond that, London and her family.

‘What will you think of our farm, Marie?’ she murmured.

Currently they had two pigs, a small vineyard, a small orchard with apples and pears and three large meadows in which they grazed milk cows and a few sheep. She hoped against hope that Marie would live long enough to become close to Gerard. He had grown from a young man to middle age without the joys of family life. He had missed so much. At least she had enjoyed the children when they were younger and had many happy memories. Gerard had nothing but he had never once reproached her.

‘But soon, Gerard, you will meet with Marcus and Marie,’ she murmured into the darkness, ‘and also young Rose who has so impressed Marie. If Marie loves her then I will love her also.’