The Promise (7 page)

Chapter Four

Just after six in the morning Mog slipped in through the back gate to the shop yard. It was a beautiful morning, with the promise of another hot day ahead. Birds were singing, and at any other time she would have been reminded how lucky she was to have got away from Seven Dials and to have a loving, hard-working husband.

But she had barely slept with anxiety about Belle. Although back in the days when she worked as the maid in Annie’s brothel she had taken care of six or seven girls in exactly the same predicament as Miranda, it had never come easily to her. It was a foul, shameful business, and even worse for Belle to witness it when she was pregnant herself.

Mog wished with all her heart that there was an alternative for unmarried women who found themselves in this position. But if they didn’t go along with an abortion, without support from their families or the father of the child they were likely to find themselves cast out on to the streets, the workhouse the only place that would take them in. If their baby didn’t die from neglect during the birth, it was likely to be placed in an orphanage, or farmed out to someone who saw child rearing as a profitable business and showed no tender care.

But Mog’s main fear today was that if anything had gone wrong last night, Belle would be in serious trouble. The law might turn a blind eye to anyone helping a prostitute through such an ordeal, but not a lady of quality.

Women did die from these barbarous abortions, if not while it was happening, then later when infections set in. Belle might not be guilty of aiding and abetting what Miranda had done, but if the girl died, her family would need to blame someone and Belle would be their scapegoat.

All was quiet and the back door was open a little to let in air. Mog pushed it open a little further to look in. Belle was fast asleep on the floor, wearing only her chemise, her hair tousled and one slender arm tucked around her head. The blonde girl on the makeshift bed was equally peaceful. She was wearing an old cotton nightdress trimmed with lace which Mog had made for Belle. Her colour looked good, not too pale, nor flushed and feverish.

Relief flooded through Mog. There was no blood, mess or anything to suggest anything out of the ordinary had taken place in the room. She could see a covered bucket outside in the yard, and guessed that any evidence was in there.

Despite her relief that all was well, there was something about the blonde girl which made her look through the door again, and to her shock she recognized her as the daughter of Mrs Forbes-Alton. Until just a few days ago all she knew of this woman was gossip: that she was bombastic and liked to keep a finger in every pie in the village. Mog had finally met her at a meeting which had been called to start a knitting group to make useful items for soldiers at the front. Mrs Forbes-Alton had been there with her two daughters, and Mog remembered them clearly because they looked so uncomfortable when their mother began to sound off as if she was running the entire show.

Mrs Fitzpatrick, the wife of a famous concert pianist who had blue blood running through her veins, had made a tentative suggestion that maybe Mrs Jenkins, who ran the village haberdasher’s, could advise women what to knit and give instruction to novices as she was something of an expert.

Mrs Jenkins agreed she’d be happy to do that, and would offer a discount on any knitting wool purchased from her.

‘Oh no,’ Mrs Forbes-Alton had boomed out in her plummy voice. ‘We can’t have anyone profiting from our venture. We should buy the wool wholesale.’

Mog had seethed along with a great many other women because Mrs Jenkins had lost her husband in the war in South Africa, and just a few weeks earlier had seen both her two sons enlist. She was big-hearted, generously knitting clothes for every new baby born in the village, and had helped countless young women make their wedding dresses. Everyone knew she would be struggling to make ends meet now her sons had gone to war. But as one woman pointed out, she’d probably knit more items than anyone else in the village.

That afternoon at the meeting, both the Forbes-Alton girls had been impeccably dressed and looked the very picture of shy docility. That made it even harder for Mog to imagine that the older and plainer one had been having a secret love affair.

After the meeting feelings were running very high about Mrs Forbes-Alton and it was said that this was how she always behaved, belittling the efforts of anyone else, but doing very little herself. They said she was boastful and mean-spirited and treated her servants appallingly. So it was somewhat ironic that Belle had rescued Miranda, and saved that ogre of a woman some richly deserved shame and humiliation.

Now Mog knew what Miranda’s mother was like, she felt even more sympathetic towards the daughter. She’d probably been brought up by servants, with little interest and affection from her mother. It was no wonder she fell into the arms of the first man who said he loved her. But she’d paid a very high price for a little fleeting happiness.

Hopefully she would recover physically in a few days with rest and good hygiene, but Mog knew that the mental scar of losing a baby, whether by accident or intent, was something that took a great deal longer to heal.

Belle stirred and opened her eyes as the back door creaked. She saw Mog and smiled, putting one finger over her lips and nodding towards Miranda, then got up and came out into the yard.

She closed the door behind her and taking Mog’s arm, led her over to a couple of wooden boxes where they sat down in the sunshine. ‘She’s going to be all right, I think,’ Belle said in a low voice. ‘She was very brave, didn’t scream or anything, and fell asleep soon after it was over, but I couldn’t go through that again.’

Mog put her arm round her and held her close. She hated that her Belle had been forced to see something so harrowing.

‘It doesn’t bear thinking about how it would have been for Miranda if she had gone home,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve met her mother and she’s a Tartar.’ She went on to tell Belle what she knew about her. ‘But what are you going to do with Miranda now?’

‘Let her sleep for as long as possible,’ Belle said, looking back at the door. ‘I won’t open the shop of course, not when I’m supposed to be at Lisette’s. I’ll walk her home later. Fortunately the friend she’s supposed to have stayed with isn’t on the telephone, so her mother won’t find out she wasn’t there. Miranda can pretend she’s just having a very heavy monthly and go back to bed.’

‘You’ll have to get rid of that.’ Mog pointed to the bucket.

‘I’m going to pour some turpentine on it and set fire to it later,’ Belle said. ‘I can’t do it now; it would be suspicious if anyone saw smoke at this time in the morning.’

‘I’ll take my hat off to you, you’ve thought it all through,’ Mog said admiringly. It never ceased to astound her how after all the humiliations and terrors Belle had been through she had retained her humanity, dignity, warmth and sense of humour.

She had loved Belle as her own from the moment she held her in her arms when she was newborn, and she would have continued to love her even if she’d lost her mind and her beauty. But to see her return to England and by her own force of will open the milliner’s she’d always dreamed of and make a huge success of it, that made Mog immensely proud.

Belle half smiled. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve had to plot something, but I don’t know whether I can tell Jimmy. How was he last night?’

‘He was fine, but then he’s always easy about everything. Not like some men that fly off the handle when their missus goes out. You got a fine one there.’

‘I know,’ Belle said glumly. ‘That’s why I’m going to feel terrible lying about going to see Lisette.’

‘Then don’t say anything much, just launch into telling him about your baby. He’ll be so thrilled about that he won’t think to ask about Lisette.’

Belle looked pensive. ‘I wonder if Miranda will keep in touch with me after this.’

‘Do you want her to?’ Mog asked.

‘Yes,’ Belle nodded. ‘I thought she was very snooty at first, but once that was gone I found we had a lot in common and I felt very close to her. I kept thinking that it was but for the grace of God I was never in her position. But I didn’t tell her I was having a baby, it didn’t seem right.’

Mog sighed. ‘No, but don’t dwell on that. You were there when she most needed someone. Now, if you don’t need me for anything, I’d better go home. Have you got anything you want me to take to wash? Don’t want Jimmy seeing you with anything suspicious.’

‘There’s a sheet and a towel,’ Belle said and got up to get them. ‘I’ll be home about one.’

As Mog opened the back gate a few minutes later with the soiled linen in a bag, she turned to Belle. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps in the eyes of the law you did wrong getting involved, but to me you have been brave and kind. I hope Miranda realizes that God must have been smiling on her to send her to you.’

Just after one, Belle locked up her shop, and tucking Miranda’s arm into hers they set off on the walk to the Paragon. There were a great many people flocking over to the fair, children running about excited at the music and noise coming from it. Miranda looked drained and pale, but she was in quite good spirits and not in any pain. Belle had slipped out of the shop earlier and bought some Hartmann’s sanitary pads for her, and it was a relief to both women that she wasn’t losing much blood any more.

‘Fairs look like such good fun,’ Miranda said, looking across the heath towards it. ‘Mama doesn’t approve of them though. Amy and I have never been allowed to go. Once, a few years ago, we planned to slip out after dinner to go there, but she caught us just as we were opening the front door. There was hell to pay; she made us stay in our rooms for a week, and said only factory girls and strumpets went to fairs.’

‘That isn’t true,’ Belle said indignantly. ‘My husband took me last year and we saw a great many of the gentry there. It’s just harmless fun for everyone.’

‘Mama has very fixed opinions,’ Miranda sighed. ‘To tell the truth I’d marry almost anyone to get away from her.’

‘You don’t have to marry anyone to leave home,’ Belle exclaimed in horror. ‘You could get a job in an office easily enough, then find a room to rent. I know girls from your background don’t normally work, but now we’re at war, there are going to be far more opportunities for women. And you can bet well-bred ones like you will be chosen over ordinary ones.’

Miranda squeezed her arm. ‘You are so inspiring,’ she said. ‘As soon as I’m over this I’m going to start looking for a job. All Mama can do is cut me off, and the way I feel now that would be heaven.’

Belle thought that Miranda wouldn’t be all that happy when she found out what long hours most women worked, and how low their wages were. But she was glad she’d given her something to think about.

‘Before you get carried away by the notion of freedom, you must get your story for your mother straight,’ she said archly. ‘You can use that graze on your forehead as an excuse for feeling a little shaken, say you fell over this morning in Belgravia and you’ve got a very heavy monthly. Just in case anyone spots us together, it might be a good idea to say you saw me on the train and because you felt dizzy or something I walked back with you.’

Miranda nodded agreement. ‘You amaze me how you think of everything. But what if anyone saw the accident yesterday?’

Belle had given that some consideration already. ‘Well, I didn’t recognize any of the people who were around, and I’m sure if any of them had known you, they would’ve come forward. But if it should get back to your mother, just deny it was you. If she comes to me, I’ll back you up and say it was a stranger.’

‘I can never thank you enough,’ Miranda said softly. She had been very embarrassed when she woke up this morning; no one had ever been so kind to her before. ‘May I keep in touch with you?’

‘I’d be upset if you didn’t,’ Belle said. ‘I hope we’re going to become good friends.’

Then all at once she remembered that Mrs Forbes-Alton would never countenance her daughter being the friend of a shopkeeper, especially as Belle’s husband was a publican. It was also likely that in a few days’ time Miranda might get scared Belle would talk.

‘Of course, I’m not in your social set,’ Belle said lightly. ‘But you can always drop into the shop for a chat. And don’t for one moment imagine that I might betray you by talking about this. I promise you I will never say a word to anyone else. Mog, my aunt, knows, but we are both the same, tight-lipped and loyal.’

‘I know that,’ Miranda said. ‘I felt it as soon as you offered your help. I understand now why my mother’s friends talk about you. Despite being so young, you are a deep and fascinating woman.’

Belle laughed. ‘So what do they say about me?’

‘Well, your beauty has been remarked on many times, along with your wonderful, stylish hats. It went around of course, as I said yesterday, that you were French, and to most that means you are a little racy.’

Belle was amused by that. ‘Do you think I am?’

Miranda looked sideways at Belle and blushed. ‘Well, there is something about you … You’re worldly, strong and understanding of people. I hope one day you’ll tell me all about yourself. How you came to be in Paris, where you met your husband, and if you ever loved a man before him.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Belle said, though she suspected if she were to tell Miranda her whole story she’d have an attack of the vapours. ‘Maybe this war will also help to break down social barriers; it’s likely to if women of all classes have to muck in to help the war effort. I hope so; I haven’t got much time for all the present-day restrictions on women.’

‘It is so good to hear you say that. Mama is forever saying, put your gloves on, you must wear a hat, put your shoulders back, a lady doesn’t do this or that. That was one of the things I loved so much about being with Frank, even if he was a cad. I felt free because he flouted all the rules.’

‘Well, some of those rules were made to protect us,’ Belle reminded her. ‘But a man doesn’t have to be a cad or a scoundrel to be exciting and passionate. And now you know the worst of men, you can look for the best in future.’