Ellie Pride (22 page)

In the crush of the crowd that had gathered to watch the launching of the new liner, Ellie felt herself being pushed closer to Henry’s side. On her left hand, beneath the softness of her fur-trimmed leather gloves, she could feel the diamond engagement ring he had given her.

They were to be married the Saturday before Christmas, and for Ellie that day could not come soon enough.

Several yards away Ellie could see Josiah Parkes standing next to Henry’s father. Immediately, she stiffened. Since his attack on her she had taken great care never to be alone in his company.

A good stout bolt now secured her bedroom door from the inside, and Ellie suspected she owed its welcome appearance to Lizzie, although her maid had never openly said so.

In order to defeat the chill of the damp November day, Ellie was wearing a new winter walking dress, over which she was wearing a matching coat, and
over that she was wearing the sable furs her aunt had recently insisted on having remodelled for her. They were beautiful and expensive clothes – the pretty leather boots she was wearing with them handmade, just as her gloves were, cut from the finest leather, but Ellie was chokingly conscious of the fact that every stitch she had on had been paid for with Josiah Parkes’ money, like all her other clothes, and the food she ate, and the roof over her head.

‘Ellie, I do not understand you,’ her aunt had complained when Ellie had insisted that she did not want or need any more new clothes. ‘You cannot shame your uncle by appearing at such an important occasion in last winter’s things.’

A brisk wind was blowing in off the sea, and Ellie burrowed deeper into her furs, unaware of how stunningly pretty she looked with her new hat framing the delicacy of her face, and the wind bringing some much-needed pink to her cheeks.

‘Those are fine furs you are wearing, Miss Pride. Sables, are they not?’

What was it about Elizabeth Fazackerly that jarred against her so, Ellie wondered guiltily as she forced herself to smile and respond as politely as she could, and not to pull away as Elizabeth leaned forward and removed her glove, stroking her fingertips over the soft fur, a look of such open acquisitiveness in her eyes that Ellie felt repelled.

It had been her aunt who had insisted on giving Ellie the furs, even though she had tried to refuse.
‘Look, Ellie,’ Henry was commending her urgently, ‘she is about to be launched.’

Obediently Ellie turned her attention to the huge ship in front of them, a frisson of emotion shivering down her spine at the awesome spectacle.

Henry’s eyes were shining, his whole expression animated.

‘You cannot know how much I long to be back at sea…to return to Japan,’ he breathed as they watched the vessel released from her moorings. ‘Oh, Ellie, I’m sorry,’ he checked himself, his face flushing. ‘I did not mean—’

‘It’s all right, Henry,’ Ellie assured him.

‘You are the best of girls,’ Henry told her simply, ‘and I am the luckiest of fellows to be marrying you, Ellie.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the eminent surgeon Mary had begged to travel from London to Preston to examine Gideon’s injury began, ‘but I’m afraid that whilst the wound has healed well, the tendons are irreparably damaged, and Mr Walker’s hand –’

‘Is useless!’ Gideon supplied bitterly for him, raising himself up on his pillows, whilst Mary looked on in silent helplessness. ‘I am useless! Better that I had died than been left like this!’

‘Gideon, no, you must not say that,’ Mary protested, white-faced. She understood his pain, and the frustration he must be feeling, the apparent destruction of his dreams, but to wish away his life…

‘Must I not? Why, when it is the truth? What is the point in my being alive now?’

Pleadingly, Mary turned to Sir Gregory, the surgeon. ‘Surely it is too soon yet to be so sure. There could be much improvement…and…’ Her voice trailed away as he shook his head.

‘I wish I could be more optimistic, but I would not be doing my duty were I to offer you false hope. The tendons are severed; the damage is total.’

Five minutes later, as Mary escorted Sir Gregory down the stairs, she pressed him again.

‘Surely there is something that could be done.’

‘I’m afraid not. I wish I could tell you differently. I am sorry to be the bearer of such sad news about your…’

As he paused, Mary’s face pinkened slightly. ‘Mr Walker is not actually related to me…as…as such,’ she explained self-consciously.

‘Indeed? Then all the more credit to you for your concern for him. He is a most fortunate young man.’

‘I doubt that he thinks so. He has lost the use of his right hand, after all,’ Mary said sadly.

‘A sad business, I agree, but it does not do to dwell on such things. And Mr Walker has survived a tragedy in which many unfortunate souls lost their lives,’ Sir Gregory returned loftily. ‘As I have already said, Mr Walker will, with perseverance, regain some limited use of his hand and, thanks to your splendid nursing, ma’am, he has recovered marvellously in every other way. There are those
who would consider that he has been very fortunate,’ he repeated.

Sensing Sir Gregory’s disapproval of Gideon’s bitterness, Mary explained gently, ‘Mr Walker was hoping to begin his formal training as an architect and he has been working very hard towards that goal. However, now –’

‘An architect!’ The surgeon shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid that is totally out of the question, in view of the injury to his right hand.’

Mary waited until he had stepped into the hansom cab that was to take him to his train, before going back upstairs to Gideon.

It was almost a fortnight now since she had first brought him here unconscious to Winckley Square, and from the moment he had first recovered full consciousness he had demanded to know how badly injured his hand was.

The surgeon from Preston’s infirmary had been blunt and to the point. Gideon’s tendons had been severed by the accident, and he was lucky that, thanks to Mary’s devoted nursing, he did not have to lose the hand itself. As to the fact that it had set stiff like a claw, the surgeon was sorry, but there was nothing that could be done.

In desperation Mary had set about finding out the name of the most experienced and knowledgeable surgeon in the country in the hope of getting a more optimistic opinion, and although he had refused to let her see it, she knew just how much Gideon had been hoping that Sir Gregory would
be able to tell him that he could regain the use of his hand.

She could well understand how sharply bitter his disappointment must be. She felt it for him herself.

From the moment he had been well enough to do so, Gideon had railed about being there. Soon he would be insisting that he was going to leave – unless she could find a good reason for making him stay…

Upstairs in the large airy room Mary had brought him to, Gideon lay on his bed, staring with burning eyes up at the ceiling. So now it was final, incontestable. He was to be a cripple. Not an architect. A cripple. Why had he ever been fool enough to listen to Mary, to believe that he might realise his dream?

What future was there for him now? He couldn’t even work as a bloody cabinet-maker any more, never mind anything else. No, he would end up like the poor legless rag-dressed war veteran sitting in the marketplace selling matches!

When he heard Mary coming back upstairs he deliberately turned his head away from the door, feigning sleep, but in the darkness behind his shuttered eyelids all he could see was his clawlike hand and the broken shards of his shattered dreams, and beyond them, in the shadows, the careless, uncaring, taunting face of Ellie Pride.

‘Ah, Mary!’ Edith Rigby smiled at her neighbour as Mary was shown into her drawing room where several women were already gathered. ‘I am so glad you could make it. I was a little concerned when you weren’t able to attend our last meeting, especially since you have always been such a stalwart supporter of our cause. Christabel Pankhurst gave a very lively talk.’

‘Yes, I heard about it,’ Mary agreed. ‘It seems we are becoming increasingly militant.’

‘And you do not approve?’ Edith questioned her.

Mary gave a small sigh. ‘It is not a matter of approving or disapproving, Edith. I am just concerned for the success of our cause.’

‘As indeed are we all,’ Edith agreed firmly.

There was a lot of news to be exchanged and plans to be made, and it was early evening before the meeting finally broke up.

Mary, who was one of the last to leave, was just on the point of doing so, when Edith said quietly to her, ‘Mary, please don’t go yet. There is something I wish to discuss with you. Of…of a private nature.’

Doubtless Edith was going to ask her if she was able to make an increased donation to their cause, Mary reflected as she waited discreetly whilst Edith said farewell to the last of her guests.

‘Mary, come back into the drawing room. I shall ring for fresh tea,’ Edith told her.

Following the other woman back into the room,
Mary tried not to look impatient. The meeting had taken longer than she had anticipated and she was anxious to return home to see how Gideon was. He had, understandably, been very low following the surgeon’s visit.

‘No, thank you, do not trouble to order tea for me,’ she told her hostess.

‘Mary, this is not an easy subject for me to raise,’ Edith began, looking acutely uncomfortable as she folded her hands neatly together on her lap. ‘However, I have been asked to raise it by…by your concerned friends. We…we all appreciate that you have an interest in Mr Gideon Walker and his wellbeing, but…well, to be frank, my dear, there is some concern that you should have this young man living beneath your roof with you. I mean, it is not as though he is related to you in any way, and you are a single woman and…’

As Edith’s voice trailed lamely away, Mary could feel her face starting to burn.

‘Gideon is the son of an old…friend of mine,’ she announced firmly. ‘Naturally I feel that I have a duty to her and to him to do whatever I can to help him. His injuries are such that he is no longer able to begin the…the studies he had planned to take up, and –’

‘Mary, my dear, we are simply thinking of your welfare. There is already talk in the town.’

‘Talk? What kind of talk?’ Mary challenged her.

Unable to meet her gaze or answer her, Edith Rigby looked away.

‘If I am not permitted to show Gideon the…the natural affection and concern of…of a godmother, because –’

‘A godmother? You are his godmother,’ Edith pronounced in relief. ‘Oh, well, in that case…No one realised that that was the relationship between you.’

A little guiltily Mary acknowledged that she ought immediately to have corrected Edith’s misunderstanding, but now unfortunately it was too late! And besides, there was no way she wanted anyone to guess what her real feelings for Gideon were. How shocked they would be. How shamed she would be! Not even Gideon himself could be allowed to know. If he did, she had little doubt that he would reject her, and she didn’t think she could bear that. No, better to have what little she did have of him in her life and her home than to have nothing of him at all, even if their relationship was not and could never be what she really secretly yearned for.

‘So, Gideon, how are you feeling today?’ Mary asked warmly as she walked into his room.

When he got up from the chair where he had been sitting she could see how thin and drawn he looked.

‘How do you think I’m feeling?’ he challenged
her acidly. ‘I can’t use my bloody right hand, and no amount of pills or potions will ever change that!’

‘No, I’m afraid it won’t,’ Mary agreed calmly, taking advantage of his momentary silence to continue, ‘I have a proposition I wish to put to you, Gideon. It has long been my desire to visit Florence, but up until now I have been hesitant to go because of the lack of a suitable male travelling companion to accompany me.’ She could see that Gideon had started to frown. ‘Since, as you have said yourself, you are no longer able to pursue your studies or return to your work, it occurs to me that you would be the ideal person to accompany me. I would pay you, of course, and everything would be done in a proper businesslike way. You would be
chef d’affaires
, so to speak, the comptroller of my travelling household and responsible for the safe conduct not only of myself but also of my luggage.’

Gideon was openly glowering now.

‘I have told you before,’ he burst out angrily, ‘I do not want your charity.’

‘Indeed not!’ Mary returned smartly. ‘And I’m afraid that I must correct your misapprehension that you are about to be offered it. Charity in the form of engineering for your benefit a job that does not exist is simply a luxury I cannot afford, Gideon! This is not charity. It is a genuine offer of a job, and your acceptance of it would not only benefit you, it would benefit me as well.’ Emotion filling
her voice, she whispered, ‘You cannot know how much it would mean to me to go to Florence. It would be a pleasure beyond any price.’

Her use of the word ‘pleasure’ made Gideon’s mouth twist with cynical contempt. ‘Pleasure’ was not something he was ever likely to experience now, was it? The damage to his hand had destroyed for ever all his hopes for the future, all his plans.

‘I shall leave you to think about it,’ Mary told him gently. ‘I have to go out for a few hours, but on my return we can discuss it again.’

Mary’s step quickened as she hurried into the house and out of the raw November wind. By now, she hoped, Gideon would have had time to calm down. She was eager to talk to him about her plans for them both. They would use Mr Thomas Cook’s services to organise their journey…

Mary hurried across the landing at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door to Gideon’s room.

Empty!

Gideon could not have gone! But as she stared around the room Mary knew that he had.

Bitterly, Connie hunched her shoulders against the cold and cast an angry look towards her aunt. They were going to visit the parish poor, a task Connie loathed.

Shivering she pulled her thin, shabby coat closer to her. Only the previous day a large parcel had arrived from Hoylake, containing some of Ellie’s clothes that she had sent for Connie. But after taking one look at them, Aunt Simpkins had declared that they were far too good for a wicked girl like Connie to be permitted to wear, and had refused to allow her to have them.

Connie longed to cry, but she was not going to give her aunt the satisfaction of seeing her do so. The coat Ellie had sent had been in the prettiest colour and had had a thick fur collar. Connie’s eyes ached with the pressure of her forced-back tears.

In another few weeks Ellie would be getting married and she, Connie, was to be her bridesmaid. Her Aunt Parkes was having her dress made for her.

Lucky Ellie. Enviously Connie kicked out at a stone in the road. Why couldn’t she have been the one to go to Hoylake and Ellie be forced to live here with horrid Aunt Simpkins?

Connie had decided that she was going to use the opportunity of the wedding to beg her Aunt Lavinia to let her take Ellie’s place and live with her. Connie soon became lost in a wonderful daydream in which she was the spoiled and pampered niece of the Parkeses.

Ellie was the meanest sister anyone could have! Had she been in Ellie’s shoes she would immediately have sent for her sister to be at her side whilst she prepared for her wedding, Connie told herself virtuously, but, of course, Ellie was far too selfish to think of her!

Nauseously, Gideon leaned against the wall of his cold bedroom. His whole body ached, not just his injured hand. It even hurt him to breathe, the cold raw air burning his lungs.

He had not thought of pain or discomfort, though, when he had dragged himself down the stairs and out of Mary Isherwood’s house, determined only to reject her charity.

The damp air in his lodgings, left empty and unheated for weeks, made him shiver. He looked at the empty grate, but he felt too ill to go down and get sticks and coal to light it.

He was shivering violently now, his teeth chattering
audibly, whilst the inside of his head felt as though it were on fire, clouding his thinking.

Somehow he managed to find the strength to crawl into his bed, pulling the damp bedding around himself, and then lying there, half in and half out of consciousness, whilst John’s dog, who had been at Mary’s with him and whom he had collected before leaving, jumped up onto the bed and curled up next to him.

When Gideon woke up it was light. He was shivering and there was frost on the window, his breath vaporising in the icy cold. Rex was still curled up around his feet. Gideon’s whole body felt stiff, and his hand ached and throbbed. He threw back the bedclothes and frowned to realise he had gone to bed in his clothes.

His head throbbed with fever, but he ignored both it and the pain in his body as he forced himself to go downstairs into the yard. The fire had to be lit and he had a business to run, although God alone knew how the hell he was going to do it.

Reaching for the shovel, he winced as he automatically tried to use his right hand and the shovel fell uselessly to the floor. Cursing savagely he tried again, clumsily attempting to use his left hand.

Half an hour later, in a raging temper, his face as burning hot as his body was freezing cold, Gideon gave up any attempt to use the shovel and instead started to pick up individual pieces of coal with his left hand.

‘Morning, Gideon. How’s thee hand this morning? T’usual, is it?’

Ignoring the landlord’s cheery enquiry, Gideon nodded his head, picking up his gin as soon as it was poured and demanding another before heading for the seat that had become his. It was over a week since he had left Mary Isherwood’s.

Will Pride, coming into the pub and seeing him, frowned a little.

‘In here every day he is,’ the landlord told Will as he saw the direction in which he was looking. ‘Standing outside waiting for me to open this morning, he were. Aye, and back again come tonight, he’ll be.’

Picking up his glass, Will made his way over to where Gideon was sitting.

‘Let me get thee a drink, lad. What’ll it be?’ he asked amiably.

‘Gin,’ Gideon told him curtly.

‘You don’t want to be drinking spirits,’ Will told him warningly. ‘If tha wants a drink –’

‘If you don’t want to buy me a drink, Will, then I’ll get my own,’ Gideon retorted, struggling to his feet.

‘Nay, lad, I didn’t mean that!’ Will told him, also hastily getting to his own feet. ‘Sit thee down whilst I go to the bar.’

When Will returned with their drinks Gideon picked his up with his left hand and took a large swallow.

‘I’d ha’ thought thee’d be working this time of day, lad,’ Will told Gideon.

‘Working?’ Gideon shot him a mirthless look. ‘Oh aye, I’m in fine fettle to do that, Will Pride. See this?’ He held up his right hand. ‘Watch,’ he commanded, and reached for his glass.

‘Nay, lad,’ Will stopped him pityingly, as Gideon failed to grasp the glass. ‘But thee could still oversee apprentices and such,’ Will suggested.

Gideon looked at him scathingly. ‘Aye, I’m sure,’ he sneered, his voice starting to slur as the gin took effect. ‘Who the hell is going to want to be apprenticed to a crippled cabinet-maker? Have some sense, Will.’

‘But thee could tek on other men to do the work for ’e, Gideon,’ Will insisted.

Moodily Gideon refused to answer him. What craftsman worthy of the name was going to work for a crippled wreck like him when he could just as easily work on his own behalf? And besides, Gideon didn’t want to work building cabinets and the like any more; he wanted to be an architect. Somehow, through the foggy blanket of the gin the pain still managed to slice into him.

He emptied the glass and staggered to his feet, demanding, ‘What’s yours, Will, another bitter?’

‘Nay, lad, I’ve not finished this one yet,’ Will protested. ‘Wait up a bit.’

But Gideon wasn’t listening.

When he came back, the glass he was holding in his left hand held a double measure, and Will looked at him anxiously.

‘Look, lad, if it’s money thee needs, well, I’m
allus looking for an extra drover, thee knows that.’

Gideon gave a harsh bitter laugh. ‘Droving!’ His face contorted. ‘Aye, happen that’s all I’m fit for now, Will, but no thanks. The rent’s paid up until quarter day and I’ve got a bit put by.’

The bit put by was the money he had been saving towards his studies.

Gideon was still drinking when the landlord rang time. Staggering drunkenly to his feet, he finished his drink and called to Rex, who had been waiting patiently beneath the table.

The dog at his side, Gideon lurched out into the cold November air.

‘Ellie, there is a letter for you from your father. I expect he has written to congratulate you on your engagement.’

Beaming, Ellie took the letter from her aunt and opened it. Mr Parkes had left early to go to the city and the post had only just arrived.

‘Dear Ellie,’ her father had written,

I have had your letter informing me of your engagement, and I have some news of my own for you.

I am to be married this Saturday to Miss Margaret Chadwell, who you have met. I know you will wish me happy, and I wish that to you as well.

Yrs, your loving father, Robert Pride.

Ellie read the letter again, her hand trembling, tears blurring her eyes. Saturday, he had written, and today was Monday, which meant that he was already married!

‘Ellie, what is it?’ her aunt asked, seeing her distress.

Too upset to speak, Ellie handed her the letter so that she could read it for herself, which she did very speedily, putting it down on the table and saying wrathfully, ‘Well, I must say that I am shocked that your father has so quickly overcome his grief and found himself a new wife!’

Ellie wasn’t listening. Miss Margaret Chadwell – was she the redheaded woman Ellie had seen in his bed? Was that what he had meant by writing that she had met her?

‘I…I would like to telephone my father, if I may?’ she told her aunt.

‘Well, you know that Mr Parkes does not –’ Lavinia began, and then stopped, saying instead, ‘But perhaps in the circumstances he will not mind, Ellie.’

Ellie was trembling as she picked up the telephone, and gave the telephonist her father’s number. It was several minutes before she was connected and heard not her father’s voice but that of a woman, demanding to know who she was.

‘Ellie Pride,’ Ellie answered. ‘I…I would like to speak with my father, please.’

‘Oh, you would, would you?’ came back the truculent response. ‘Well, I’m afraid that won’t
be possible, seeing as your pa is still sleeping off celebrating our marriage!’

The moment she had heard her voice Ellie had known that the woman her father had married was the redhead. Her stomach churning sickly, she put down the receiver. How could her father have put someone like that in her mother’s place?