Vintage Love (135 page)

“Where did you meet him?” Elizabeth asked sharply.

She took a deep breath. “I’ve told lies enough. If you must know, I was a barmaid in a tavern where he appeared.”

Elizabeth eyed her incredulously. “You were a common barmaid?”

“I prefer to think I was an uncommon one,” was Becky’s reply.

“That is disgusting!” her sister-in-law said. “And Mark married you! No wonder he is unhappy.”

“I do not think my past has anything to do with it.”

“I knew from the start you were not right for him,” the older woman said angrily. “Now I understand why.”

“Mark does not want my past known. That is why he invented the Birmingham story. You will do well not to let him know I’ve told you the truth.”

Elizabeth sat there looking white and ill. “You would burden me with this!”

“I’m tired of pretense!”

The thin woman rose. “You should not have tricked my brother into marriage in the first place. Then there would have been no need for pretense.”

“I didn’t trick him,” she replied hotly. “He pursued me and begged me to marry him!”

“Physical infatuation!” Elizabeth said with disgust. “It can make fools of the best of men!”

Also on her feet, Becky said, “I offer no apologies or excuses. Mark and I could be happy if he would allow it.”

“He probably drinks because he hates himself for marrying you,” Elizabeth told her. “And I do not blame him. You have brought shame to us. From now on I propose to speak with you only when I must. I shall remain under this roof solely to support my brother in his dire straits.”

“I do not care if you remain or leave!”

“I’ll remain,” Elizabeth said. “And I shall keep your guilty secret for my brother’s sake. Not for you!” And with that she marched out of the house.

Becky knew this was probably the beginning of a more tense situation in the fine house. Even if Elizabeth kept the information to herself, there would now be fresh acrimony between her and the spinster. And if Mark kept on with his drunken behaviour, life would be almost impossible for her.

She was in this mood when she went again to see private detective, Phineas Pennifeather. The old man sat droopily at his desk in a gray mood.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gregg,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have only found out one thing. As I suspected, your sister and this Alfie Bard returned to London a few months after they left here. He placed her in a well-known brothel. But she remained there only a month or two before he took her away. I have not been able to trace her from that point on.”

She was encouraged. “At least you have found that much out. Did you learn anything about her? Her health or state of mind?”

“I talked with the woman who operates the place,” the private detective said. “She told me that your sister was often in bad humor. That she and this Alfie had serious quarrels whenever he came to see her. She thinks that is why he took her away. He hoped to place her somewhere else where she would be happier.”

Becky mourned, “I’m pained to know she was introduced to such a way of life.”

“It was bound to happen once she placed herself in that fellow’s hands,” Phineas Pennifeather sighed.

“But she was in good health?”

“Yes, I think so,” the old man said, but he seemed rather uncertain on the point.

“You will keep up the search,” she begged.

“I will,” he said. “But I believe they are no longer in London. I shall have to try the other large cities in England. That will take time and money.”

“I’ll find the money if you give the search your time,” she said.

“Depend on me, ma’am,” the private detective said. “I shall dedicate myself to finding your unfortunate sister.”

When she left the detective’s, she was in a strange mood. All her past seemed to come flooding back to her, and she had a great urge to see the tavern again, and talk with Mr. and Mrs. Crown. When she reached her carriage, she told the driver to take her to the tavern. He looked surprised but did not question her orders, and he showed the same discretion when they arrived in the narrow street where the tavern was located. She told him to wait for her.

She made her way into the tavern awkwardly and did not feel at ease until she saw the Crowns behind the bar. Then she rushed the rest of the way in. Mrs. Crown saw her and a smile spread over her wart-covered face as she came around to take her in her arms.

Hugging her, the big woman said, “I knew you’d come back one day!”

“She always claimed that,” Luther Crown said, the thin face with the black eye patch bright with pleasure. “I said you were done with us.”

“I shall never forget you or your kindness!” Becky declared.

“My, but you look the young lady,” Mrs. Crown said with admiration. “And you speak and carry yourself so well!”

“I had training from a veteran actress,” Becky said. “That’s where I get me airs!” And she lapsed into her old nasal manner and then laughed heartily.

“The occasion calls for a whiskey all around,” Luther said. “I never drink in the daylight. But this winter afternoon is a memorable one and shall be an exception.”

They all three sat around a table near the blazing fireplace of the tavern, and Becky felt happier than she had in many a day. Then she had qualms about the driver and told Luther to take him out a drink.

Luther obeyed her and came back with the word,” “He was most grateful to you for the drink. And he’s put a blanket over the horse and he’s sitting inside the carriage, cozy enough, until you’re ready to leave.”

Becky said, “I won’t stay long.”

“There are so many things you must have to tell us,” Mrs. Crown said. “What is it like to be married to the fine Mr. Mark Gregg?”

“It isn’t all sunlight,” Becky told her.

“Nor would I expect it to be,” Mrs. Crown said bleakly. “I could tell he has a temper from the way he acted when he came in here drunk.”

Luther looked angry. “He’s not been cruel to you, lass. If he has, he’ll answer to me for one!”

“No,” she said. “He doesn’t mean to be cruel. The main trouble is his drinking and his basic nature. He has never truly been a happy man. And he’s had labor troubles lately at the yard.”

“We’ve heard about it,” Luther said. “A lot of the men were laid off, and a few lost their jobs.”

“He refuses to build any iron ships,” Becky said. “It’s a mad idea he has. And you know how stubborn he is.”

“Aye,” Luther said. “I can imagine.”

Then Peg asked the question which had brought her there. “Have you seen Peg?”

The husband and wife exchanged glances and then Mrs. Crown said in a quiet voice, “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes,” she said. “I must know!”

The buxom Mrs. Crown looked sad. “She came in here a few months ago.”

“On her own,” Luther put in. “Alfie doesn’t dare come in that door. He knows I’d see to him if he did.”

His wife said, “It was pitiful! Her face all painted and her clothes so cheap and gaudy. And she went about trying to sell herself to some of the customers.”

“She did that!” Becky gasped.

“She had no shame at all,” Mrs. Crown said grimly. “I expect Alfie beat all that out of her.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I went to her,” the older woman said. “And I told her we didn’t allow that kind of thing in here. Then I asked her if she’d been in touch with you.”

“And?” Becky said.

“She swore at me! Said something filthy! And then she turned and went out. She never came back again,” the woman said.

Luther spoke up, “I heard later that Alfie left London because the police were on his trail for a robbery. The story is he went some place North and Peg with him.”

“I have a private detective looking for her,” Becky told them. “And that is just what he told me.” She was relieved to have the private detective’s information confirmed. At least it showed he was honest, though she hadn’t really doubted this.

They continued talking for a few minutes, and then the door opened and another familiar figure came in. It was little Jimmy Davis, walking with crutches. He swung himself in and then shut the door and joined them in the main section of the tavern.

Becky ran and knelt before him and took him in her arms. “Jimmy! What luck that you should come here today!”

The bearded little man laughed. “I come here every day. It’s not luck it’s a chronic thirst that’s responsible.”

She stared at him. “Why are you using crutches?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“No.”

The little man looked bitter. “I was hurt in the strike. It’s my back. I’ll never work again, and I’m lucky to be able to get about.”

“It happened in the strike?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, leaning on his crutches. “One of the thugs hired by the company lifted me up and threw me down hard on my back. They thought I was going to die!”

“I didn’t hear anything about it!” she gasped.

The little man said, “I was lucky. One man lost an arm, and three of the old workers lost their lives. It was a bad strike; nothing came of it. Thanks to Bart Woods, the company won.”

“The law should do something about that!” she said angrily.

“The law seemed to be on the company’s side,” the little man said. “I don’t even blame Bart Woods. He couldn’t have come in if that Mark Gregg hadn’t hired him!” And then the dwarf looked upset. “I’m sorry Becky. I forgot he’s your husband.”

“I’m not blind to his failings, even though we are married,” Becky said.

“He’s an evil man,” Jimmy said. “You deserved better. If only Davy Jones hadn’t been taken off as he was.”

“I think of him often,” she admitted.

She remained long enough to give Jimmy a drink and then left, explaining that she didn’t wish to keep the carriage waiting out there any longer. The three were loath to see her go and made her promise to return. She left them with mixed feelings. The reunion had been a happy one for her, but some of the things she had heard worried her. Peg had become a prostitute, there were no longer doubts about that. And her husband had been responsible for even darker acts than she had guessed. She had not been told about the deaths and injuries resulting from the strike. And she had no doubts that if she faced him with this he would simply deny it.

The night became bitterly cold. Mark came in looking weary and blue from the chill of riding home in an unheated carriage. He at once asked her to bring him a whiskey. She obeyed him and gave it to him as he took a stand with his back to the excellent log blaze in the fireplace.

He downed half of the drink and with some relish said, “I fixed Woods today! Gave him a present for his wedding next week. I turned down the Cunard contract.”

“His bid won?”

“Yes. But it did him no good. As managing director, I have the final say. Let he and the Kerrs fume as they like; I have the decision.”

Becky said, “They are bound to try and find a way to get you out of your position of authority.”

“They can try,” he said, his eyes burning too brightly. “They’ll find I’m not afraid of a fight.”

“Do you have enough other work to keep the yard busy?”

“If we run out of work, we can close down for the rest of the winter,” her husband replied downing the rest of his drink.

She frowned. “But what about the workers? They can ill afford to be idle in this terrible weather!”

He smiled nastily. “Let them do the same as me—live on their savings.”

“Most of them have no savings,” she said in despair. “No one knows that better than you!”

“There’s always the workhouse,” he said. “I suspect you’ve heard of it.”

“I know about it full well,” she said bitterly. “And I feel sad for those who must go there.”

“What were you doing at the tavern this afternoon?” Mark asked with an abruptness that caught her off-guard.

She hesitated, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t lie,” he said harshly.

“The coachman who drove me home tonight went by the tavern on an errand and he saw our other coach, the one I have assigned to you, standing in that mean street. He mentioned it to me.”

She listened in dismay. So the truth was out. She said defiantly, “All right. I did go back to see the Crowns today!”

“Water finds its own level,” he said sarcastically.

“Perhaps it does,” she said. “It’s the first time I’ve been there since I left them for you. I do not think I did anything wrong. They were my good frineds.”

Mark’s square-jawed face showed anger. “I have put a great lot of money in you. You have been my big investment. And I think it may have all been in vain. You will be what you are in the end!”

“I’m proud to be myself,” she said. “I only regret that I let you lie about me when I came here. And made me a partner to your lies.”

Her husband said, “I should have let you go on the streets like your sister. Though judging from your performance in bed, I doubt if you’d have been a success!”

She stared at him for a long moment of rage. Then she raised her hand and hit him across the face as hard as she could. She heard the sound of her blow and saw the blood spurting where his teeth had penetrated his upper lip. Then she ran off sobbing.

From that night on she and Mark occupied separate rooms. She was well aware that Elizabeth knew that she and Mark were no longer living as man and wife, and she had an idea the spinster sister derived a sour satisfaction from this. Fifteen months went by without much happening. At least not to Becky.

The private detective still had not located Peg nor Alfie Bard, and Mark had continued with his suicidal drinking. He now looked like a man of seventy, and his hand trembled as if he were suffering from some disease. He spoke only infrequently to Becky, although he maintained a friendly conversation at the dinner table whenever his sister was present.

During the Holidays he refused to entertain the Kerrs or to be entertained by them and their new son-in-law, Bart Woods. In February Vera gave birth to a boy, whom she called Donald. Becky called on the colorless young woman and congratulated her. Vera received her with cool disdain, which was meant to discourage any further attempts at friendship.

March of 1863 was unusually mild after a rather bad winter. Becky was at home writing a letter one afternoon when she had a visitor. She went down to greet Bart Woods in the parlor, and she saw at once that he had not come with good news.