Gracie's Sin (17 page)

Rose went to see Matron, since the woman had seemed to get along quite well with Gracie at one time, in the hope that she might be more sympathetic. No such luck. Matron took the opportunity to complain at length about Gracie’s perfidy; how she’d taken advantage of a moment’s aberration in revealing personal details best kept private, to go off gallivanting all night without permission. If she’d got caught up in an air raid, she’d no one to blame but herself. It just went to show, Matron said, that you couldn’t trust anyone these days. Rose gave up and left the training camp, with no intention of returning.

It was as she made her way back through the woods that she came across her pet. Tizz was lying in the undergrowth. She’d been shot clean through the head. Rose sank to her knees with a sob and cradled her dear friend in her arms.

Rose found Eddie in the cellar, helping himself to another bottle of wine. She’d guessed that’s where he’d be. It was always the first place she looked. Only the tumult of her rage and the remnants of shock which still clung to her held the tears at bay. A voice in her head was telling her she should have stayed at the camp, that it had been a mistake to come back home at all. Yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to simply walk away, not after what he’d done. She had to know
why
! She had to understand. She was his little sister after all, all he had left in the world. Didn’t he care for her at all? She faced him, her heart breaking.

‘Oh Eddie, why? Why did you do it? It was you, wasn’t it? You killed my lovely Tizz. How could you? How
dare
you? Was this your revenge for my refusing to play your nasty little games with Mulligan? What has happened to you? Why are you behaving like this? Mummy would be so disappointed. She had such high hopes for you.’

Eddie glared at her out of bloodshot eyes. He could hardly focus but really didn’t need to. He could guess the look of censure and criticism which would be in those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and hated her for it. ‘What right do
you
have to tell
me
what my mother wanted? Just because you wormed your way into her good books and turned her against me.’

Rose gasped. ‘I never turned her against you. How can you say such a thing?’

‘Because she loved you more than she loved me. Everyone knew it.’ He struggled with the cork in the bottle he was holding, managed to yank it free and filled a wine glass till it overflowed, all over the stone flagged floor.

‘That’s not true. Mummy adored you. She loved us both and it would have hurt her terribly to see us squabbling and fighting like this. But Tizz was
my
dog. She belonged to
me
.’ Rose had to stop as her throat closed up, choking on unshed tears.

Eddie put back his head and laughed, instantly regretting the action as the movement sliced a jagged pain through his head, making him wince. A thousand hammers were beating against his skull and he knew who to blame for that. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to be cross-questioned by this little madam. ‘Who on earth gave you that idea? How can she be
your
dog? You own nothing, except what I’m prepared to let you have. Never did. Not even your own soddin’ name.’

Rose struggled to take in the import of these few cruel words. She didn’t understand what he was saying but felt as if something was uncoiling inside her head, as if she’d turned over a stone and found maggots beneath. She felt a sudden need to examine it further.

‘What do you mean, not even my own name? I think you should explain.’

‘I don’t need to
explain
anything to you.’ He sprayed wine as he spat the words at her.

‘Please, Eddie, I want to understand.’ And now her eyes did fill with tears. Angrily, she brushed them away.

Eddie picked up a bottle and threw it at her. It missed Rose by inches, splashing red wine all down the white cement wall. ‘Don’t lecture me. Right bloody cuckoo in the nest you were.’

Rose stood rooted to the spot, stunned by this outburst, by the entire day’s events. She was used to his gloom and depression, but he’d never before shown quite this level of violence before. What on earth was happening? She shook her head, desperately trying to clear it, to think. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean by cuckoo in the nest? Why do you call me that?’ Had something else gone wrong with these nefarious business affairs of his? Did he want her to leave? This surely couldn’t all be because she’d refused to keep Dexter Mulligan sweet? Was that why he’d shot dear Tizz, in retaliation?

Snatching up another bottle, Eddie began to wrestle with the cork. ‘I gave you a home and look what thanks I get? What gratitude have you ever shown me?’

‘Oh for goodness sake, I’ve spent the last seven years of my life showing my appreciation for your taking on Papa’s role, exactly as he asked you to. We’ve looked after each other as a brother and sister should. We’ve both grieved for the loss of our parents, yet it wasn’t my fault if Mummy caught that terrible disease from me and died, or that Papa died of a broken heart.’

Finally wrenching off the cork he took a slurp of wine direct from the bottle, rocked back on his heels, then tottered forward a step or two towards her to snort his contempt directly in her face. ‘Dad didn’t die of a broken heart. People don’t, for God’s sake, except in trashy novels. He took a handful of pills because he couldn’t bear to live without Mum for another day. So of course it was all your fault. If you hadn’t caught that dratted disease in the first place, neither would she. But then if you hadn’t ever been born, she’d never have wanted you in the first place.’

Rose took a step back on a nervous little laugh, not liking the direction the conversation was taking, and he still hadn’t explained about her name. ‘I think you’ve got that the wrong way round, haven’t you? She must have wanted me, else how could I ever have been born in the first place?’

Eddie put back his head and laughed, a harsh, sadistic sound that echoed around the vaulted recesses of the cellar. ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong.’ He waved the bottle at her, savouring the moment. ‘
My
mother was not
your
mother at all. You were not my parents’ child.’

 
Rose began to tremble. ‘I don’t understand. What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that you were adopted. She picked you out from a children’s orphanage. You’re nothing but a bastard. So, like I say, even your name isn’t your own. Who the hell knows who you are, or cares for that matter. I certainly don’t.’

Rose felt as if she were standing outside of herself, watching and listening to a conversation between two complete strangers. As if she’d suddenly moved on to a different plane and was no longer a part of the real world. Even the questions were coming from some part of herself over which she had no control. ‘Why? Why did she do that?’

‘Because she felt like being charitable, I expect.’ He burped loudly and then the words just poured out, as if he’d taken the stopper off a bottle of poison. ‘Or maybe she thought a new baby might make her feel young again. She’d been a bit below par for a long while. I was seventeen and certainly didn’t want a baby around. I did my best to put her off the whole idea but Dad would have given her the moon, if he could. The moment my mother held you in her arms, that was that. You were brought home, the papers signed and from then on she showed no further interest in me. The pair of them doted on you in a quite nauseous manner. I became like an outcast just because I wouldn’t join their adoration society. Of course, it was only because you were such a novelty. If she’d lived, I’m sure she’d have grown bored with you too in the end, as she did of everything else, including me, her only son. So, I really don’t care if you are lonely, whether you stay or leave, live or die. You’re not my sister. You’re no relation to me at all!’

Rose was staring at him, stupefied, as all her known world crumbled to dust before he eyes. Yet what he said must be true. It explained everything. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why keep it a secret?’

He chuckled, though not with any sign of amusement in the red, puffy eyes that glittered with rage. His moment of lucidity over he staggered towards her, losing his grip on the bottle in his hand, which fell to the ground and smashed, as he lunged to grab her arm. ‘Fact is, I put off telling you because I didn’t want you to go off in a huff. I liked keeping you here. Beholden! Forcing you to wait on me, hand, foot and finger. I enjoyed anticipating this moment, when I would eventually tell you the truth.’ He pushed his face to within an inch of hers. ‘You’re not my sister, so I can treat you how I wish, whether you like it or not. D’you hear me? D’you understand what I’m saying?’

Rose was too shocked to even think of a reply. She just gazed back at him, dumbstruck.

‘So, if you wouldn’t do it for Mulligan, you can bloody well do it for me. Why not?’ And grasping the neck of her blouse he ripped it from her body, then he hit her. The blow sent her reeling and Rose fell to her knees some distance from him, jarring and bruising them so badly that for a moment she feared her legs might be broken. But the jolt served to bring her out of her stupor. She knew instinctively what would happen next. He needed to humiliate her, to re-establish his power over her. That was why he’d shot Tizz, out of revenge and a need for power. Yet still she defied him, and there was really only one effective way left to him. Even as these thoughts whirled through her head he was regaining his balance, lurching to his feet and staggering towards her. The one advantage she had over him was that he was drunk and she was stone cold sober. Rose glanced quickly about her, saw that she was within reach of the door and, gritting her teeth against the pain, pulled herself to her feet and flung herself towards it. His shout rang out just as she reached it. Too late. She was through. Summoning every ounce of her energy, she slammed the heavy door shut, cutting off his roar of anger for the cellar was, as he had so often told her, entirely sound proof.

Rose ran to her room, packed a few essentials, her Post Office account book in which was about fifty pounds given to her by her beloved mother, carefully locked up their part of the house and left before dawn.

Rose walked for miles, through Cardinham, passed Dozmary Pool where some said Arthur had retrieved the magic sword, and on over Bodmin Moor. The night was pitch black and freezing cold but then so was her heart. It seemed to be barely beating, shrivelled and near dead, lying like a stone somewhere inside her, but not for a moment did she hesitate, not even to glance back over her shoulder at the life she’d once led. That was behind her, which was where it must stay. If she dwelled upon things too much, or attempted to analyse too closely the dreadful events of this night, Rose knew she might never have the strength to go on.

It was two miles beyond Jamaica Inn that she hitched a lift in a cattle truck and left Cornwall altogether. The only trouble was, that because she’d been unable to wait for a reply to her query about joining the Timber Corps, she hadn’t the first idea where she was going.

The only towns of any size that she knew of were Plymouth, which was too close to home to be safe. Then there was Exeter, which her driver refused to go anywhere near because of the risk of bombing, and London, which was too far away.

He dropped her off sometime after noon in a quiet country area he called the Cotswolds, where he assured her there’d be plenty of work to be found. If, in her distraught state Rose thought beyond the overriding desire to get as far away as possible, the nearest she came to a plan was to work on the land. Labour was in short supply because of the war. She had gardening skills, knew how to grow tomatoes, keep chickens and could also cook, make jam and preserve pretty well anything you’d care to mention. Listing these accomplishments gave her courage.

So this seemed as good a place as any.

The truck driver was concerned for her. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I could take you all the way to Birmingham if you like. That’s where I’m going with this load.’

Rose knew nothing about Birmingham and after hours of jolting in the rattling old truck, longed for fresh air and to stretch her legs. Anything, she decided, would surely be better than the life she’d left. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said and, hoisting her bag up on her shoulder, gave him a brief nod of thanks and set off valiantly along a narrow road which led into a small village with the homely name of Lower Trencham.

The first farm she tried almost laughed at her request for work. The second shut the door in her face. The third was more kindly and at least gave her a glass of fresh milk, still warm from the cow but, sadly, although they’d be glad of her help, they couldn’t afford to pay her anything beyond her keep. Rose was sorely tempted to accept as the farmer’s wife had a merry face and a kind smile but common sense prevailed. She should be paid a proper rate for a day’s labour, otherwise how would she make any progress? She needed not only to survive but also to save for the future. Her savings wouldn’t last forever, and she’d no one to rely on now but herself.

Rose plodded on, knocking on every likely door in the scattered village, watching sadly as heads were shaken, listening carefully to any suggestions or advice offered as to who might be in need of a bit of cheap labour. But as dusk fell, hope and optimism faded and finally, driven by exhaustion and limbs that protested in every aching muscle Rose prised open a loose board and slipped into a barn, desperate for an hour or two of sleep.

To her great disappointment it was not filled with hay but rusty old machinery. A bitter wind whistled around the door and through the many cracks in the walls, and she was forced to put on every item of clothing she possessed in order to keep warm. Rose curled herself up tight, shut her eyes, and willed herself to sleep.