Gracie's Sin (16 page)

Until she’d said those words, no notion of any plan had existed in Rose’s head but, following the incident with Mulligan, she could think of little else for she saw that indeed it was true. She did have a plan, at least she could soon make one, if she wished. Hadn’t it been her very own friends who’d made the suggestion? She could join the WTC, just like them.

Acting on impulse she went straight to Eddie and explained how she wanted to do her bit for the war effort. He looked at her for a long stunned moment without speaking, eyes wide, brows raised, as if expressing surprise that she could nurture ambition of any sort. ‘
You
, work for the war effort? Don’t make me laugh. Who’d employ
you
?’

‘I’m seventeen. Quite old enough,’ she countered, struggling to stop her bottom lip from trembling. ‘Don’t you think I should at least try?’ It was one thing to intend to stand up to Eddie, quite another to actually do it. He always seemed to undermine her belief in herself, just by the scathing way he looked at her. Today he didn’t even trouble to answer her question.

‘Dexter Mulligan’s coming over this evening. Get to the kitchen and make him a decent meal this time. And serve it with a smile.’

‘Serve it yourself. I’m going nowhere near him.’

Eddie grabbed her by her wild, flowing hair, making her yelp. ‘Do as I bloody say, if you know what’s good for you, girl. I need a chance to put things right. If I go down for looking after number one, then you go down with me. That would mean losing our home as well as my job, and then where would we be?’

Rose wanted to say that she’d be free at last, but the fear and anguish in his eyes was filling her with a sad sort of pity for him. The thought of Eddie in jail was too awful to contemplate and, as always, she began to weaken. Wasn’t he her very own brother, whom she loved dearly? At least she had once. And hadn’t he provided her with a home for years, even if life wasn’t quite as she would have hoped? He’d surely learned his lesson and wouldn’t be so foolish as to steal anything from Lord Clovellan again. Wasn’t he saying as much? The least she could do was to support him when he needed her.

Rose agreed to compromise. She would do her best to be pleasant to Mulligan, so long as she wasn’t left alone with the man. ‘He gives me the shivers.’

‘You won’t be left alone with him, I’m sure of it,’ Eddie said, hiding a smile, then happily went to inform Mulligan that it was all set up. He was welcome to enjoy his sister, in return for the cancellation of all his outstanding debts. A clean start, that was all he needed.

‘She’d better be worth it, Eddie lad.’

‘Oh, she will be. She will be.’

Rose felt perfectly safe in the dining room as she served the food, pork chops that had taken all their spare coupons for weeks in advance. Mulligan expressed his appreciation by never taking his eyes off her. His hands too seemed to be everywhere. Whenever she brushed past, he would pat her bottom, smooth her hip, fondle her breast as she leaned over to pour the gravy and once lifted her skirt to check if she was wearing stockings or whether the golden colour of her legs was entirely natural.

‘Nice soft skin, though I do like suspenders and silk stockings. What a pity that the war has denied us these little pleasures. Course, I could always lay my hand on a few pairs for you, little maid, if you make it worth my while.’

Mindful of Eddie’s warning, Rose suffered his attentions with a steely resolve, for all she could feel herself blushing scarlet with embarrassment. ‘That’s all right. I don’t have any need for stockings.’ But worse was to come.

She brought out the home made apple crumble and placed it on a mat, preparatory to serving it.

‘I rather fancied a sweeter dessert,’ Mulligan said, the hard lines of his face twisting into the parody of a smile which looked more like a nasty leer.

Not at first understanding, and mindful of her promise to Eddie to keep his friend happy, Rose said. ‘I do have some sugar. I could make it sweeter for you, if you wish.’

Dexter Mulligan let out a great guffaw of laughter, in which the Pursey brothers gleefully joined in.

‘I meant, little lady, that we’d rather thought you might be on the menu. Now then boys, who wants the first bite? Would someone like to warm her up for me?’

With dawning horror, Rose saw that one of the Pursey brothers had got to his feet, his fat face wreathed in a lurid grin, his hands busily unbuttoning his trousers. In panic, her eyes flew to her brother. ‘Eddie?’ But he was moving away, over to the grand fireplace where he stood with his back to her, lighting himself a cigarette. Instinct told her that this was where he meant to remain, no matter what took place behind him.

Out of nowhere it seemed, hands were lifting her and Rose found herself placed on the dining room table, right next to the apple crumble. Her spinning brain seemed to be offering up a dizzying set of pictures, like snapshots leaping at her from every direction. The gaping trousers; the neglected pudding; the obstinate blankness of Eddie’s back; the leering grin of Dexter Mulligan as he rocked back and forth in his chair in what seemed to be delighted anticipation of what was to follow. Without pausing to think of the consequences of her action, Rose lifted the jar of custard still clutched in her hands and poured it into Mulligan’s lap, then smashed this treasured piece of Spode china over Joe Pursey’s head.

And that’s when it all started to go wrong, Eddie recalled, hours later, as he reached for another snort of whisky. In the pandemonium that followed Rose had stormed off, head high. He’d been forced to leave the Pursey brothers to clean up the slimy mess from their boss’s lap as best they could, while he gave chase to bring her back. He’d make her sorry for this display of temper.

Rose, however, had apparently vanished off the face of the earth. He hunted for her everywhere, even the dratted barns, to no avail. To say that Mulligan had not been best pleased when he returned without her, was an understatement. It had cost Eddie several bottles of Lord Clovellan’s best claret, not to mention one of his finest pure malt whisky in order to placate him. Now, grabbing the bottle, he emptied the dregs into his glass and gulped it down in one.

Drat the girl. Why did she always have to defy him? It had been a great relief when Mulligan had finally left, although making ominous threats that he wouldn’t forget this insult. He’d be back.

Eddie must have fallen asleep at this point in his self-pitying recollections because when he next woke his mouth tasted like sawdust, and the room seemed to rotate around him. The first sounds of a dawn chorus echoed in his head like gun shot. How he hated his life. Nothing had ever gone right for him, not since Madam Rose had come upon the scene. All his parents could ever talk about was how they must take special care of little Rose, how adorable she was, how Eddie mustn’t hurt her. They constantly reminded him how young and vulnerable she was, and how she deserved all their love. Maybe it was time he told her all about her precious parents, and the truth about herself. That’d change her tune.

They should never have died and left him lumbered with her.

He’d felt obliged to put a roof over her head, food in her belly, but what gratitude did he get? How did she repay him? By insulting his friends. This show of obstinacy was typical of her. But then she complained all the time, claiming she had too much work to do, objecting to Gertie or any other female he happened to take a fancy to. She scolded him like some sanctimonious schoolmarm if he slept in Lord Clovellan’s bed. But what good did it do for rooms to be left idle? As for his appropriation of a few neglected bits and pieces lying about the place, what of it. The cellars and lofts were stuffed with things that hadn’t seen the light of day for centuries. Who would miss them, and why shouldn’t he enjoy a few perks? She even nagged him for drinking the master’s whisky. At which thought, he pulled himself out of bed to go in search of a fresh bottle.

She’d no right to insult his friends, he thought as he staggered down the stairs. And it was highly dangerous to be on the wrong side of Dexter Mulligan.

Dawn was breaking as Eddie stumbled his way through the kitchen and almost fell over a chair, sending it crashing to the ground. In response there came a pandemonium of barking from the direction of the stables.

‘Bloody dog.’ That was another creature he hated. Her precious Tizz, bought by “Darling Papa”. Eddie wove his way over to the back door, picked up his gun which he’d left carelessly lying about after picking off one or two rabbits yesterday, and went out the door. He could put a stop that bloody racket, if nothing else.

Rose’s first task each morning was to let Tizz out of the stables and feed her. She would much rather have had the dog at the foot of her own bed, but Eddie had strong rules on the subject which must be obeyed. She didn’t greatly mind. She always enjoyed the morning ritual as Tizz made such a fuss of her, just as if she hadn’t seen her mistress for six weeks at the very least. She would jump up and lick her face all over, charge about in great excitement and roll over in the dust or the mud, before gobbling up her breakfast in double quick time, eager to face the excitement of the day ahead.

Sometimes she might even leap into Rosie’s arms like a demented puppy.

Girl and dog would stand in the morning sunlight, the one laughing, the other yelping and licking, punctuated by short, high-pitched barks; the pair so delighted to be reunited neither were prepared to end the embrace. To the dog, here was the person she would obey without question, follow to the ends of the earth and give up her life for, if called upon to do so. To the girl, the dog smelled deliciously familiar and comforting, the warm, hairy old body wriggling with ecstatic joy in her arms as the long tail batted back and forth. Her one friend in all the world.

It came as a surprise therefore when that morning Rose found the stables empty. After she’d looked everywhere and failed to find any sign of Tizz, she went to ask Eddie if, for some reason, he had already let her out.

She found him in the main kitchen, a newspaper spread out on the kitchen table in front of him, onto which jam was dripping from the thick slice of toast in his hand. ‘Eddie, have you seen Tizz? Have you let her out and fed her this morning for some reason?’

He ignored her, saying nothing at all.

‘Eddie, I’m asking you a question in a perfectly civil fashion. Have you fed Tizz?’

‘No, course I haven’t. She’s gone.’

Rose went very still. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

‘I’ve sold her. Tom Winterton was looking for a new bitch to work his sheep, his last one having died last week. So I sold him Tizz. Gave me a good price.’ Turning a page with careful precision, he took another bite of toast and continued with his reading, just as if she weren’t there.

‘But ...’ Rose could barely speak. Her mind seemed suddenly empty of words. The silence grew heavy as she dragged herself out of the depths of shock in order to respond. ‘How could you sell her? She’s far too old to work sheep. And she’s never been trained to do such a thing.’

‘Comes by instinct in a collie. She’ll be fine. Got a good few years in her yet.’

‘I’m not sure why you’ve done this dreadful thing but it isn’t fair. There are few enough people live around here and the girls at the training camp never stay longer than a few weeks. Tizz is the only friend I have.’ Rose hated herself for sounding like a tearful schoolgirl, but the thought of getting through each day without the dog, didn’t bear thinking about.

‘And whose fault is that?’ He was shouting at her now, thrusting back his chair to stand before her in a threatening manner, his face ugly with temper. ‘Who would want to be friends with a nincompoop like you? You always have to defy me and argu. All you had to do was be nice to Mr Mulligan.
Was that too much to ask
?’

Losing patience with him completely, Rose walked out.

She went straight to Ned Winterton and offered to buy back Tizz. The farmer looked surprised. ‘I haven’t got her, Rose. Why would I buy her for a working dog. She’s too old.’

‘Eddie told me he’d sold her to you, though he’d no right to do so. She’s my dog.’

‘Well, all I can say is I haven’t got her. Do you reckon he sold her to someone else? Though why anyone would buy her, I can’t think. She’s a nice little bitch, Rose, but too soft for a working dog.’

She tried several other farmers, sure she must have misheard Eddie, or misunderstood in some way, certain she would find Tizz in the end. On the way she called on the supervisor at the training camp to enquire where her two friends had been sent but was told that the WTC never handed out personal information of that sort.

‘I rather thought I might join the Timber Corps myself,’ she ventured.

‘And you’d be very welcome, dear. You could start your training here, right now.’

The prospect of having to remain in the area hadn’t occurred to Rose. The thought horrified her. ‘Oh no. I'd want to go somewhere different. Is that possible?’

The supervisor frowned at this suggestion but offered to look into the matter and let her know. Rose attempted to explain that she needed an answer this very minute, that she couldn’t afford to wait but the woman wasn’t listening. ‘Now I really must dash, dear. Busy, busy. Do bring over some more of those lovely tomatoes you grow so well. Delicious,’ and she marched away, blowing on her whistle to summon the new girls to their lorries.