Without Sin (29 page)

But then Mr Henderson’s smile was deceptively benign. ‘But is it not possible, Mr Finch,’ he went on smoothly, ‘that in the early days of their – er –
romance, my client did have a genuine fondness for the plaintiff? Perhaps, it was only when she found that his poky little house – the place that had been Mr Rodwell’s home for the
greater part of his life – wasn’t good enough for her to live in, when she began to make demands about whom he should or should not employ in his business, when she began to threaten .
. .’ He paused and then said quietly, ‘Need I say more?’

Theobald Finch did not answer.

When all the speeches had been made, the witness heard and the plaintiff and the defendant had each appeared in the witness box to be examined and cross-examined, the judge
adjourned the case over the weekend whilst he made his decision. As Meg stood to leave, she glanced up and her gaze met Jake’s. She climbed the steps towards him, pushing through the
chattering crowd who were filing out.

Her immediate reaction at the sight of him was to smile, but that faded when she saw his solemn face, the censure in his eyes. By the time she reached him, her mood was belligerent. There were
enough people blaming her – she could tell by all the whispering and nudging – without Jake joining their number.

‘What are you doing here? Come to gloat, have you?’

Jake opened his mouth to make some biting retort, but then he closed it again. He was shocked by the look on her face. She seemed genuinely distressed as she pushed her way past him, down the
stairs, through the entrance hall and out onto the wide steps at the front of the building. She stood there, pulling in great gulps of fresh air as if she had not been able to breathe in the
confines of the courtroom.

‘He doesn’t deserve all this,’ she said as Jake came to stand beside her. ‘He’s a good man – a kind man – and that – that bitch is dragging his
name through the mud.’

‘And yours,’ he murmured.

She gave a wry laugh. ‘Mine? Oh, what does my name matter? My name’s in the mire already. But his? Like I say, he doesn’t deserve it.’

She turned and hurried away from him but not before Jake had seen the tears in her eyes. Perplexed, he stared after her and one of old Albert Conroy’s sayings crept into his mind.
‘Funny creatures, women. They take some understanding, lad.’

Well, Jake thought, his Meg did. He still thought of her as ‘his’ and probably always would. But had he misjudged her? Had he really got it all so very wrong?

On the day that the judge was to sum up the case and give his verdict, the public gallery was crowded again. Jake and George Smallwood were once more squeezed in at the very
back. The hubbub in the courtroom ceased abruptly as the door below opened and the judge entered to take his place. He shuffled his papers and cleared his throat.

‘This has been a difficult case,’ he said at last. ‘By the evidence presented, I am convinced that an engagement did exist between the parties and that that engagement was
subsequently broken. But who broke it off? That is the question.’ He cleared his throat and glanced around as if enjoying the suspense he was creating.
Get on with it
, Meg wanted to
shout, but she kept her lips pressed together.

‘We are told that the plaintiff threatened to end the engagement if her fiancé did not comply with her wishes in the matter of the employment of the young woman. One could’
– he spread his hands expressively – ‘deduce from this that, because her fiancé did not comply, then it was she who broke off the betrothal. The defendant took her at her
word, so to speak. Now, mindful of the vagaries of a woman’s mind . . .’ At this there was heartfelt laughter from the men in the gallery and the judge allowed himself a small smile,
‘we could assume that the lady did not mean what she said. That she was, indeed, only using it as a threat to get her own way.’ He paused and seemed lost in his own thoughts for a
moment. ‘But the defendant
did
take her at her word. Called her bluff, as you might say. But what follows makes us think that even if we believe the so-called threat, then the
defendant used this threat to break the engagement for his own ends. He had taken up with the girl and wanted to marry her and here, presented to him on a plate, was his excuse. He could, he
thought, release himself from the now unwanted entanglement of his engagement in order to marry the girl.’

The courtroom was silent now, hanging on the judge’s every word. He recapped at some length what had already been ably said by the two solicitors. One moment he seemed to be in favour of
Clara, the next on Percy’s side.

‘After much deliberation,’ he said at last, when the folk in the gallery were beginning to get restive, ‘I feel bound to accept the plaintiff’s story.’ He paused to
wait whilst the excited whispering from the women onlookers in the gallery subsided. Clara Finch’s face was a picture. Eyes narrowed, she smirked with satisfaction, and glanced across towards
where Percy was sitting with his head in his hands. Vindicated, she was almost preening.

‘And . . .’ The judge looked slowly round the whole courtroom before he said in ringing tones, ‘I award her the sum of – one farthing.’ He banged his gavel and
stood up to leave.

There was a stunned silence and then a loud guffaw of laughter from all the men present whilst the ladies twittered with indignation.

‘What does it mean?’ Jake asked George Smallwood. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It means, lad, that the judge felt compelled to find in her favour, as they say.’ When he saw that Jake was still frowning, he explained in simpler terms. ‘That he believes
Miss Finch’s story. That Percy Rodwell did break their engagement to marry Meg. But in awarding her only one farthing in damages he’s indicating that he doesn’t really blame Percy
one bit.’ George laughed loudly. ‘And I bet there’s not a man here who wouldn’t agree with him. Why, you’ve only got to look at that skinny spinster with her vicious
tongue and your Meg to side with Percy. He’s a lucky feller. That’s what we’re all thinking. Lucky to have escaped that biddy’s clutches and lucky to be married to that
young lass.’

Aye, my Meg
, Jake was thinking bitterly.
But she’s not ‘my Meg’ any longer. She’s Percy Rodwell’s
. And yes, Percy was a lucky fellow.

The unusual court case, the way it had been conducted and its surprising outcome were the gossip of the town for several days. Gradually, however, folk settled back into their
normal routine and other matters took their attention. But for some life had changed dramatically. Clara Finch rarely ventured out of the Hall. She had been humiliated in front of the whole
community and she felt she could never hold her head up again.

‘I told you not to be so daft, bringing an action against him,’ was her brother’s comment. ‘What can you expect when it’s men making the judgement?’

‘I expected justice,’ Clara replied through clenched teeth. ‘And I expected a little more support from you – my own brother. It was you who lost the case for me. Standing
up there and sounding as if you sympathized

with – with –
him
. I’ll never forgive you for that, Theo. Never!’

‘Well, it wasn’t my idea to bring the case.’ Theobald paused and eyed her speculatively. ‘Where did you get the idea from anyway?’

‘Why do you assume I got the idea from someone else?’ she snapped back. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got a mind of my own? Don’t you think I’m capable of
thinking for myself?’

Theobald’s answer was a disbelieving grunt. ‘Well,
did
you think of it for yourself?’

‘Not – exactly.’

‘So?’

‘Oh, if you must know I was taking tea in a cafe in the town with Letitia and—’

‘Letitia?’ Theobald was startled. ‘Letitia Pendleton?’

‘Of course Letitia Pendleton. How many other Letitias do we know?’

‘Well! You do surprise me.’ He cast her a keen look. ‘I thought,’ he said, and there was a pointed edge to his tone, ‘that she wasn’t good enough to be in
your company.’

‘No more she is,’ Clara snapped, ‘but if the wretched woman has the effrontery to join me at the table – without being asked, I might add – I can hardly make a
scene in a public place.’

‘Mm, well, you made quite a scene in a public court, didn’t you, my dear?’ If he hadn’t been her brother, Clara would have thought he was revelling in her humiliation.
‘But she’s not the vindictive sort,’ he murmured mildly. ‘Not Letitia. Now, if you’d said it had been Isaac’s idea—’

‘Oh, and you’d know that, wouldn’t you, Theo. If anyone’d know that, you would.’

Brother and sister glared at each other and, though not another word was spoken, ghosts from the past lay between them.

At last, Clara sighed. ‘It wasn’t Letitia.’

‘Ha!’ Theobald let out a sound of great satisfaction. ‘I thought not. Then who was it? Was it Isaac?’

‘No. She’d brought some woman with her from the workhouse. She works for Letitia – has quite a good position there, so I believe.’ Clara was at pains not to let her
brother think that she had been taking tea with a workhouse pauper. ‘It was this woman’s birthday. I forget her name. Walters or Waters or something like that. Letitia had brought her
into town as a treat. Well, it was her suggestion. “If it was me,” she said, “I’d sue him.” And I’ll tell you something, Theo. I’m not sorry. No, I’m
not. In spite of that horrible judge, I’m glad I let the women of this town know just what men are capable of. They’ll be on my side, I can assure you. And when I’ve finished with
Percy Rodwell and his fancy piece, he’ll wish he’d never been born!’

Percy and Meg settled into a contented routine. Each day they worked together in the shop until mid-afternoon, when Meg went home to the little cottage to prepare an evening
meal and to do her housework. On Monday evenings she washed. On Tuesdays she ironed. On Wednesdays she cleaned the bedrooms and on Thursdays she cleaned the downstairs rooms. On Saturday evenings
she lit a fire in the front room and they sat together companionably, Percy with his newspaper and Meg with her sewing and mending. On Sundays, when the shop was closed, they attended morning
service at church and then after lunch they went for a walk, if the weather was good, or again sat together in the front room. And at night in the privacy of their bedroom, Meg would open her arms
to Percy and submit herself to his trembling lovemaking.

It was a quiet, well-ordered life and Meg told herself it was what she wanted. She closed her mind to her former life. She determined never to think of her father or of her lost little brother.
And she hardened her heart towards her mother.

If she doesn’t want to see me
, she told herself,
then I don’t want to see her. I’ll never think of her again. I won’t even think about that place and the people
she’s chosen to live with. I shall wipe them from my mind
. The master, the matron, Louisa Daley, Waters – all of them. Even poor old Albert had to be banished from her thoughts, for
if she were to allow herself to think about him, then unbidden memories of the others at the workhouse would creep into her mind.

But there was one whom, try as she might, she could not banish from her mind or her heart. Jake Bosley refused to be forgotten.

Though she was unaware of it, Jake was finding it just as hard to put Meg out of his thoughts. He buried himself in his work at the farm, labouring from dawn to dusk and falling into his narrow
bed in the little room in Ron’s cottage. But even there he could not forget her. Where he slept had been her room, her bed, even. Her head had rested on the very same pillow he now used. Her
young, lithe body had made the hollows in the mattress where he now lay. Her hand had touched the doorknob. She had washed in the bowl and ewer on the washstand, and she had brushed her hair,
staring at herself in the cracked mirror. And his pledge to keep away from her, to let her get on with the life she had chosen, was thwarted by the kindness of his employer. Mr Smallwood had not
forgotten their conversation about Jake’s clothing – or rather the lack of it.

Just before Christmas, he said, ‘Now, lad, I promised you a Sunday best suit and the missis has agreed. We hadn’t realized that you’d only got the clothes you stood up
in.’ He made a sound of disapproval. ‘What that place is coming to, I don’t know.’ He nodded his head in the vague direction of where the workhouse stood across country from
his farm. ‘You’d think the parish could run to equipping a young lad out when he ventured into the world. Anyway, ne’er mind about that. We don’t mind forking out for a new
suit for you.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘You’re a good lad and we’re pleased with the way you’re shaping up, so we hope you’ll stay with us.’

Jake, feeling suddenly happier than he had done for months – ever since Meg had married Percy Rodwell in fact – beamed. ‘Oh, I will, sir. You and the missis have been very good
to me.’

‘There’s just one other thing. I know you like living with Ron – and they like having you – but he tells me his missis is expecting another bairn.’ For a brief
moment there was an expression of envious longing in the older man’s face, but it cleared quickly as he went on. ‘And they’re going to be a bit short of room. We wondered if
you’d consider moving into the farmhouse with me and the missis. There’s . . . there’s . . .’ again a fleeting glimpse of deep pain, ‘only the two of us
now.’

Jake hesitated, torn between wanting to stay with Ron and his family in the house where Meg had once lived and yet at the same time longing to be freed from her ghostly presence in his room in
the long night hours.

He smiled up at his employer. ‘I’d be glad to, sir. I’ll try not to be a trouble to you and your wife.’

‘Oh, you won’t be, lad, no more than . . .’ George cleared his throat and swiftly changed the subject. ‘Just one other thing. The missis will expect you to go to church
with us every Sunday. You’d do that for her, lad, would you?’

Jake grinned. ‘Of course, sir. I’ll be able to show off me new suit.’ As they walked across the yard together towards the house to tell Mabel Smallwood what had been arranged
between them, George put his arm across the young man’s shoulders and they laughed together.