Without Sin (21 page)

‘Here we are,’ Percy said, opening the gate into the tiny front garden of a cottage in a row of similar houses. He opened the front door and stood aside for her to enter.
‘Please,’ he said, smiling down at her, ‘come in.’

Meg stepped into a small, dark hallway and waited whilst Percy closed and bolted the door. ‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘whilst I light a lamp and then I’ll show you
round.’

The cottage was small, but clean and neat and tidy. It could have been cosy, but to Meg’s eye it lacked a woman’s touch. There were no pretty cushions on the sofa, few ornaments, and
what pictures there were on the plain, whitewashed walls were dark and dreary. Meg itched to place fresh flowers on the sideboard and to light a cheery fire in the grate in the small front parlour.
The room looked as if it was never used, merely dusted once a week, the square of carpet in the centre brushed and the hearthrug shaken. But as she followed Percy through the hallway again and into
the long, narrow kitchen at the back of the house, she realized that the front room was the only sitting room.
He must use it
, she thought, yet
it looks so forlorn, so unloved
.

The kitchen, too, was sparse, adequate only for a single man’s needs. The feeling of loneliness made Meg shudder. Used to family life and even to the workhouse, where it was impossible to
be alone for more than five minutes in the day, Meg couldn’t imagine coming home to an empty house and a cheerless grate. It must be awful, she thought, to have no one to talk to, no one with
whom to share the day’s news.

A tiny twisting staircase led up out of the kitchen to two bedrooms.

‘The first one’s mine, but this is a spare room. There are sheets in the cupboard. I hope they’ll not be damp,’ Percy added worriedly. ‘No one’s been in here
for a long time.’

Meg smiled and glanced around her. It was the largest bedroom she had ever slept in. ‘It’ll be fine, Mr Rodwell. I’m very grateful.’

‘Please –’ he gestured towards the small fireplace – ‘light a fire. I had both chimneys swept only last month, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting it
going.’

‘It doesn’t seem right to be lighting a fire in a bedroom in summer,’ Meg murmured.

‘Well, we’re into September now.’ Percy smiled. ‘And nights start to turn a little autumnal. Besides, it feels cold and musty in here. Not being used, I expect. No, no,
Meg. Light a fire, do – it’ll help air the room. There are sticks and coal in the backyard. You do that and make up the bed while I find us something to eat.’

Half an hour later, Meg sat on the bed watching the shadows cast by the flames dancing on the ceiling. She felt herself growing drowsy. The bed felt so comfortable and she was warm . . . She
shook herself awake, yawning and rubbing her eyes, then went down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom and stepping straight into the kitchen.

Meg gasped in surprise. The table to one side of the narrow kitchen was laid and Percy was placing steaming dishes of meat and vegetables on top.

‘Come and sit down, Meg.’

‘Oh, Mr Rodwell. I never thought – I mean – of course, living on your own . . .’ Her voice trailed away, not quite sure if she was saying the right thing.

‘Needs must, my dear. Of course, it would be nice to be married. To have a wife to come home to . . .’ Now it was Percy’s voice that faded away and he bowed his head and
clasped his hands together to say grace.

He began to serve the food, but Meg jumped up. ‘Please – let me.’

When she had finished serving them both, she sat down again opposite him and they smiled at each other. They ate in silence, yet it was a companionable silence. At the end of the meal, Meg stood
up. ‘Now, I’ll do the washing up. You go and sit in the front room and read your paper. That’s what—’ She stopped suddenly. She had been about to say,
‘That’s what my father liked to do,’ but she bit back the words that reminded her so cruelly of happier times.

‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Meg,’ Percy said, ‘but it’s chilly in there and it’s hardly worth lighting a fire at this time of night just for one. I
usually sit in here until bedtime.’ Meg glanced around, but there were only the two wooden chairs that they had sat on at the table. There was no easy armchair for the man of the house.
‘I always light one on a Sunday, but we can light one tonight if you like, now that you’re here too,’ he added. There was suddenly an eager note to his voice and he even half rose
out of his chair, as if to go this very minute to fetch paper, sticks and coal.

‘No, no, please, don’t trouble on my account. If you don’t mind, when I’ve washed the pots, I’ll go to bed. I – I am rather tired.’

‘Of course,’ Percy said, understanding. ‘You can’t have been sleeping very well for the past few nights.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Just how long have you
been sleeping at the shop?’

Meg bit her lip. ‘Nearly four weeks. For the first two nights I slept in the scullery.’

‘You must have been frozen out there.’ Percy was appalled. ‘Even summer nights can be very cold. Why ever didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wish now I had, but – but—’

Gently he said, ‘You thought I would send you back to the workhouse.’

Meg nodded and Percy sighed. ‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘if I’m honest with you, that’s very well what I might have done. At least, I would have encouraged you to go
back there until we could have sorted out somewhere for you to live.’

‘I was – I was going to ask you if we could
both
live above the shop. My mother and me. But when I got back to the workhouse, on the very night I was going to tell her of my
idea, well, she’d – she’d—’

Percy patted her hand. ‘There, there, don’t distress yourself. Now, you get to bed. I’ll see to the pots—’

‘No, no, please let me do them.’

‘Very well. But then you must get some rest.’

The following morning Meg awoke with a sore throat and a throbbing head. Her nose itched until she sneezed again and again and her eyes watered.

She dressed and went downstairs.

‘My dear girl,’ Percy said at once when he saw her. ‘You look dreadful.’ Then swiftly he rephrased his tactless remark. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but you do look
ill.’

‘I think I have a cold cubbing,’ she said thickly and sneezed again.

Percy stepped back quickly. ‘Oh dear, I do hope the sheets weren’t damp. Look, you must stay at home today.’

‘No, I’ll be all right,’ Meg said, wiping her eyes and sniffing loudly.

‘No, no, I insist. Besides,’ he added swiftly as he saw she was about to argue once more, ‘it doesn’t do to be in the shop with a heavy cold. I know because I’ve
had to be there on a couple of occasions when I really should have stayed away. The customers don’t like it.’ Then hastily, lest she should think that all he cared about was his
customers, he added, ‘And you’ll get better much quicker if you rest. Have a day in bed, Meg.’

‘A day in bed!’ Meg squeaked. Usually a healthy child, she could not remember ever having stayed in bed during the daytime.

Percy smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, go on. Spoil yourself. Tell you what, before I go to the shop I’ll fetch you some fresh lemons. Put the juice in some hot water and drink it as hot as
you can. And I think –’ he went towards a kitchen cupboard and pulled open the door – ‘ah yes, I thought so.’ He picked up a jar and held it out to her.
‘There’s some honey here. Hot lemon and honey. That’ll help.’

Meg wiped her eyes. Whether her tears were a result of her cold or sprang from his thoughtfulness, even she could not tell.

Meg slept most of the day away, but towards late afternoon she had two visitors. The first was Clara Finch, who banged on the door until, woken from a deep sleep, Meg staggered downstairs to
open the front door. Bleary-eyed, her hair hanging unkempt about her face and dressed only in her nightgown, Meg opened the door, to be pushed roughly aside as the other woman barged her way
in.

Slamming the door behind her, Clara leant against it and surveyed the barefoot girl before her.

‘This is a fine how-de-do.’ Her mouth tight, her cold eyes raked Meg from head to toe. ‘No wonder Percy was reluctant to tell me where you were. Well, you might fool him, miss,
but you don’t fool me. You can get your things together and get out of this house this minute.’

Meg sneezed, loudly and juicily. Clara pressed herself back against the door, but there was nowhere to go. ‘Really, girl,’ she admonished, ‘haven’t you a
handkerchief?’ Meg sniffed and Clara answered her own question with an exasperated sigh. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Here, take mine.’

Meg took the clean delicate lace handkerchief that Clara held out to her. She blew her nose, saturating the tiny square of linen in seconds.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely. All her ‘ems’ sounded like ‘bees’ as she added, ‘But I’b not going anywhere. Mr Rodwell gave be perbission to stay
in bed today. I’b sure I’ll be a lot better toborrow. I’b only staying here till the roobs above the shop are ready.’

Clara’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘If you think I’m going to stand by and let you move in over the shop, you’d better think again.’ She took a step towards
Meg and then, remembering the girl’s cold, pulled back. ‘The workhouse is where you belong, girl. You and your kind. And I’ll see you back there, no matter how long it takes me. I
know what you’re up to. You think you can wheedle your way into Percy’s affections. Getting him to feel sorry for you and bringing you home with him. What will people say? Have you
stopped to think what harm it might do to his reputation? To his business, even? When folks get to know you’re here – alone in this house with him – his business will suffer.
Specially, this new venture of his with ladies’ apparel. What self-respecting lady is going to frequent his establishment with a little slut like you behind the counter to serve them?’
Her beady eyes narrowed. ‘I can see your game. You think he’s a good catch, don’t you? A bachelor with a nice little business. You’re no better than your mother.’

‘I’b not like by bother,’ Meg cried thickly. She sneezed and, to her frustration, tears ran down her face. She didn’t want Clara Finch to think she was crying, but this
heavy cold was making her feel wretched.

‘No?’ Clara raised her eyebrows. ‘So you intend to try to get a ring on your finger, do you?’ She held out her bony fingers, on one of which was a solid gold band inlaid
with the blue enamel initials CF and PR. Between the two sets of letters were two tiny stones, a ruby and an emerald. ‘Well, this is his ring and that’s where it’s staying. On
my
finger.’

Before she could stop herself, Meg said, ‘He doesn’t seeb in buch of a hurry to get the wedding ring to go with it onto your finger, though, does he?’

Shocked, Clara gasped. ‘How dare you? Just wait till I tell Percy how rude you’ve been to me. You might as well pack your bags this very minute. You’ll be out on the street by
nightfall.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘Back in the workhouse even quicker than I could have hoped.’ With that, she pulled open the door and left, slamming it behind her.

Meg sneezed and groaned aloud. How could she have let her foolish tongue run away with her? She went into the kitchen and cut one of the two lemons which Percy had left on the table. Then she
squeezed the juice into a mug and added a teaspoonful of honey and poured hot water into it from the kettle that was kept permanently on the hob. Carefully, she carried the mug back up the stairs
and snuggled back beneath the bedclothes. Sipping the liquid, she found that the tang of the lemon cleared her blocked nose and the honey eased her sore throat. The fire, built up that morning by
Percy before he left for work and added to by Meg with the coal he had left, was still casting a warm glow about the room. It crackled comfortingly and shadows danced on the ceiling and walls as
the daylight faded.

Meg leant back against the pillows and sighed. Warm and drowsy, she was about to drift into sleep when another knocking at the front door roused her.

‘If it’s that old biddy back again, I’m just not answering it,’ she muttered, frowning, and pushed herself further beneath the bedclothes. But the knocking persisted and
then she heard a voice calling – a young voice, a voice she recognized. ‘Meg? Meg, where are you?’

‘Jake!’ She sat up, flung back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. ‘I’m coming,’ she called. ‘I’m coming.’

‘What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asked as she opened the front door. ‘Come in, quick, before all the gossiping old biddies down the street see
you.’

Jake stepped inside and pulled off his cap. He glanced around the small hallway and peered through the half-open doorway into the front room. ‘Nice little place, Meg. Getting your feet
under the table, are you?’

Did she imagine it, or was there a trace of sarcasm to his tone?

‘Don’t you start,’ she pouted. ‘I’ve just had that dragon of a fiancée of his round here telling me to pack mi bags.’

‘Can’t blame her. News travels fast – half the town’s talking about the pretty young lass old Mester Rodwell has taken on in his shop and moved into his house an’
all.’

‘He’s not that old,’ Meg retorted.

Jake stared at her, his face sober now. ‘I was only joking. Oh, Meg, you’re not really setting your cap at him, are you?’

Meg stared back. The thought hadn’t entered her head. Oh yes, she’d made up to him, but only to get a job, to get the rooms over the shop to live in. She’d never thought about
anything further than that.

But now she did. First Miss Finch and now Jake was suggesting so much more. Meg’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and a slow smile began to spread across her face.

‘And what if I am?’ she said softly.

Disgust flitted across his face. ‘You’re not serious?’

Her only answer was to shrug.

‘How can you even think of doing such a thing? Specially after the way you’ve treated your own mam. You’ve called her all sorts and yet now you’re thinking of climbing
into an old man’s bed. Ugh!’

‘I wouldn’t do what mi mam’s doing,’ she cried hotly. ‘Oh no! If I get into Percy Rodwell’s bed – or any other man’s – there’ll be a
wedding ring on mi finger first. You can take bets on that, Jake Bosley!’