The Birthday Present (18 page)

For a little while she rocked gently in the new chair, imagining her daughter sitting there surrounded with cushions and a rug for her lap. When Marie was finally taken from her, Clarice would sit in the rocking chair and imagine that she was Marie and that somehow they were close to each other. Closing her eyes she said softly, ‘Please God don’t take her too soon.’

Seven

Steven ached all over and was finding it hard to breathe. They had knocked him down and kicked him and left him unconscious in the gutter. Apparently he had been discovered and brought to the hospital where he now lay in extreme discomfort and trepidation. But anger simmered within him and there was a desperate longing for revenge.

For the time being, however, Steven was pretending to be unaware of his surroundings because a nurse was standing by his bed, describing his injuries to a young policeman who no doubt waited, with his trusty notebook at the ready, for the gory details of the attack.

‘He was found early this morning, Constable, by a market porter on his way to work. Gave the poor chap quite a turn because he thought he was a dead body. No one knows how long he was lying there. He’s got—’

‘Hang on a minute. I can’t keep up!’

‘Oh, sorry.’

No doubt a slow writer, thought Steven.

The nurse continued at a slightly slower pace. ‘He has two broken ribs, as far as we can tell, and received a severe blow to the head which led to concussion. Sister said it was a nasty beating  . . . there are various contusions. He still appears to be in a stupor and we can’t get a word out of him.’

Steven clutched gratefully at this snippet of information. A stupor. He would prolong it while it suited him. He needed time to plan his excuses.

‘So you don’t know who he is.’

‘No, we have no idea, but he was wearing decent clothes, his hair’s been well cut and his shoes weren’t cheap.’

Damn. Steven almost groaned. He had been hoping to remain anonymous but it looked as though they might ferret out the truth. If he could leave the hospital without revealing his identity it might be possible to tell the family that he had had a serious fall somewhere. That way they need never find out about Markham’s thugs and his own humiliation at their hands.

The policeman said, ‘Then someone will be asking about him. That type always do. He’ll be a ‘missing person’. Shouldn’t be difficult to find who he is and why they picked on him. Just a matter of time.’

‘He must have been quite good-looking – under all the bruises.’

Good for you, thought Steven, holding back a wan smile which would have been painful considering the split lip and aching jaw. He wondered what he looked like and shuddered. What grieved him most was his inability to inflict similar injuries, which he could have done if there had been only one attacker. Two made it pretty impossible to retaliate with much effect.

The nurse said, ‘When are you coming back? I’d reckon another hour or so before he comes round. If he knew his attackers you might find them. They must be animals, the men who did this to him.’

When he was alone again, Steven began to consider his options. If he named them, it would become known that they had put him in the hospital and that would offend his dignity and damage his self-respect. If he was unable to claim that a bad fall had been responsible, his family would find out and whatever they said by way of sympathy, they would be thinking it served him right for his profligate ways and might teach him a lesson. That would be hard to live with.

What he really wanted was to search out each of his attackers separately and beat the living daylights out of them but if he did, they could name him and then the whole story of the debt would come out and he, Steven, might even get arrested for assault. To confuse matters even more, he still owed Markham money.

With a groan that was a mixture of pain and frustration, he turned over cautiously in the bed and almost immediately fell asleep.

Mrs Granger came into the room with her hands outstretched in welcome. ‘My dear Miss Paton, this is so good of you. William tells me you are going to visit me and read to me. That will be such a treat.’

‘I will be coming fairly regularly,’ Rose told her, ‘But not immediately because I have to go to France for a—’

The old lady’s expression changed. ‘To France? Oh dear! Are you sure?’ She sat down and Rose did the same. ‘I don’t entirely trust the French, you know. My mother didn’t like them at all.’

‘I have to go with a friend,’ Rose explained, ‘who is not well enough to make the trip on her own. Most likely it will take less than a week and I’ll be back. But I thought I would read to you for an hour today before I go.’

‘Well I’m most grateful, Miss Paton. Now what are you going to read? My mother loved the Greek legends – King Midas and those Argonauts and the man who had wings and the bull in the cave  . . .’ She frowned. ‘Do you know those stories?’

Rose confessed that she had never heard of them. ‘But I thought you—’

‘I used to read to the boys when they were young.’ Mrs Granger smiled at the memory. ‘They loved adventure stories. Tales of “derring do”!’

‘Do you have a Bible handy, Mrs Granger?’

‘A Bible?’ She frowned. ‘Most certainly I do. It’s on my bedside table  . . . Do you play the piano, my dear? William is a very patient teacher. Everyone says so.’

Rose thought how sad it was for Herbert Granger that his mother seemed unaware of his existence. Not that he seemed to mind. He accepted his mother’s lapses of memory with good-natured resignation. ‘I don’t play the piano,’ she admitted. ‘But I can sing.’

Mrs Granger smiled. ‘Well, dear, that’s better than nothing.’

Rose felt slighted. ‘I have a very sweet voice – so I’ve been told. I perform on stage. That’s my career.’ This produced not a flicker of interest from Mrs Granger so Rose hid her disappointment. ‘So, do you want me to read to you from the bible? I’m only here for an hour and I don’t want to waste your time.’

‘Oh you won’t do that, my dear. I’m always busy. William will tell you that.’ Her smile faded abruptly. ‘But do you have to go to France? They can be very perverse, the French. That’s what my mother believed. That’s her very word. And it’s such a long way and such a big country. And the English Channel  . . . well really!’ She tutted with disapproval. ‘Do give it some thought, Miss Paton.’

‘I will,’ said Rose. ‘Now what about that Bible?’

She was beginning to realize that the money she earned from her time spent with Mrs Granger was going to be well deserved.

Later that same evening, in Victoria House, Rose, Marcus and Letitia were together in the drawing room although Letitia sat apart at the small table in the window bay while Marcus and Rose sat on the sofa. The latter were discussing their forthcoming trip to France but Marie had gone to bed early with a headache, insisting that they would manage very well without her and she needed her beauty sleep!

Letitia had spent the afternoon at the dressmakers, trying on her wedding dress and finding it unsatisfactory in several ways. She now sat with a pencil and a sketching pad, trying to work out some improvements.

She glanced up. ‘What do you think, Rose? Can you spare a minute?’

Obediently, Rose crossed the room to peer over her shoulder. Letitia had kept the design of the dress a close secret but now she needed a little help.

‘The waistline was nipped in too tightly, Rose – I felt it was rather old-fashioned so I suggest keeping a line right down the front but not separated into skirt and bodice. What do you think?’

The sketch had been skilfully drawn.

‘It looks very nice – and certainly more modern,’ Rose hazarded nervously.

‘I’m glad you agree  . . . and there were three frills down the front of the skirt which looked rather overdone. A little excessive. I don’t want to seem flamboyant. The da Silvas would not approve of that.’

Rose said, ‘Is it white – or shouldn’t I ask?’

Letitia lowered her voice confidingly. ‘The silk is grey and white stripes. Very narrow stripes. And there’s no bustle as such but the jacket at the back is full and softly pleated over the hips.’

Rose was genuinely impressed. ‘It sounds wonderful! You will bowl Bernard over!’

‘Oh Rose, I do hope so!’

‘What will you wear on your hair?’

‘I shall wear it swept up, naturally, and I thought a cluster of white roses – silk, of course. Or do you think blush pink would be softer? I am wearing long gloves and carrying a prayer book and a single lily.’

Rose thought about it. ‘If you wore blush pink roses you could maybe match the gloves.’

Letitia looked at her, hesitating. ‘That’s a very good idea, Rose! Thank you. I’ll speak to the dressmaker tomorrow for her opinion.’ She smiled. ‘Now you may go back to Marcus. I’m sure there is a lot to talk about for your journey.’

Ten minutes later, Rose and Marcus had decided that they should reserve four inside seats in the ferry boat so that Marie could lie down if she was tired.

They were interrupted by the front door bell and Mrs Bray appeared to say there was a police sergeant at the door.

‘He says there’s been some kind of a to-do,’ she told them breathlessly, ‘and Master Steven is in hospital.’

Marcus left the room hurriedly and the two women looked at each other in alarm.

Letitia said, ‘I wondered where he was at breakfast this morning but I didn’t give it another thought.’

‘Maybe he was run down by a motor.’

‘At least he’s still alive or they would have told us.’ With a sigh, Letitia closed her sketching pad. ‘He was like this as a boy. Always in some scrape or other. After Mother left us he became worse. Mother always referred to his temper as ‘a short fuse’. She said he didn’t need to go looking for trouble because trouble came looking for him!’ She glanced up as Marcus re-entered.

‘He was set upon by three men,’ Marcus told them. ‘He can come home but he has to rest in bed for another day or two.’

‘That I would like to see!’ exclaimed Letitia. ‘When did he ever do what someone wanted him to do?’

‘I’ve sent for a taxi, then I’ll fetch him home.’

Steven came in half an hour later with an attempt at bravado which fooled none of them. He was moving cautiously, lowering himself into an armchair with a few groans.

Letitia stared at his bandaged jaw and left cheek and winced. ‘You look terrible!’ she told him unhelpfully. ‘Anyone would think you’d met a herd of stampeding elephants!’

Mrs Bray appeared and tutted at his battered appearance. ‘Shall I make you some hot milk?’

He rolled his eyes. Moving his mouth carefully he said, ‘I could do with a whisky! Make it a double!’ It came out as a mumble but Marcus guessed what he’d said and moved to the sideboard to pour the drink.

Letitia said, ‘Should you be drinking alcohol? Have they given you any medicines?’

Steven ignored her.

Rose said, ‘I hope the police catch them, Steven – I mean, whoever did this to you.’

Mrs Bray, her hands on her hips, shook her head. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to. Streets full of thugs! People robbing houses! Smashing church windows! And what’s the government doing? Nothing, if you ask me.’

Steven said, ‘There’ll be an extra one for dinner tonight, Mrs Bray.’

She nodded. ‘Did they starve you in that hospital?’

‘I couldn’t eat properly. My jaw  . . .’

Rose frowned. ‘Oh, you poor dear!’

Mrs Bray said, ‘I’ll make it an easy meal – invalid food! I’ll make soup followed by  . . . let’s see now  . . . fish pie with a mashed potato topping. You’ll manage that all right.’ She gave him a cheerful smile and hurried back to the kitchen.

Steven drank the whisky in three mouthfuls and held out the glass for a refill. Seeing that he was about to demand serious attention, Letitia rose to her feet. ‘Rose and I have things to talk about,’ she said by way of explanation and the two women made their exit.

Being left alone with his brother was not at all what Steven wanted. He knew there would be questions and he had not yet perfected his story. He drank the second whisky and handed back the glass. ‘I’m going to lie down,’ he said. ‘I need some sleep.’ He held up a hand. ‘No, I can manage the stairs, thanks Marcus. Just leave me in peace for a couple of hours. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be down in time for dinner.’ He gave Marcus a brave smile. ‘Don’t fuss, old chap. I’m a survivor!’

Saturday dawned and Rose was delighted to see blue skies and to note that the wind had dropped to a light breeze. The taxi took the three of them down to the quayside at Folkestone and Marcus carried Marie while Rose struggled with their luggage which they had reduced to a minimum but which still weighed a considerable amount.

Because the weather was good and the crossing promised to be a smooth one they sat on a bench on deck to enjoy the adventure. Marie was dressed warmly although it was midsummer, as they had been warned that there might be cooler winds out in mid-channel. Marcus also carried a travelling rug in case she needed it.

No one from the family had come with them – Steven because of his injuries, and Letitia because she had another meeting with the dressmaker who was having to make late alterations and was not happy about them. The wedding was only a week away – on the fifth of July – so Marcus and Rose were planning to return on the Wednesday in plenty of time to be of help and support to Letitia.

A few blasts on the horn announced that they were setting off and the crew dashed to and fro, casting off the ropes and coiling them on the deck in preparation for their arrival in Boulogne. Rose and Marie sat side by side while Marcus went below deck to find a warm drink for Marie. Fellow passengers crowded the rails and the general mood was festive. Rose could see that Marie was enthralled, her eyes shining, her hands clasped excitedly against her chest.

Rose said, ‘Your mother must be very excited – and Gerard also.’

Marie nodded happily. ‘I can’t wait to see them or the farm. Mother says there are cows and hens and some friendly pigs  . . . and they make their own cider and apple brandy – and I may have some of both!’ She laughed. ‘Not too much though or I may get drunk, like Steven.’ She leaned closer to Rose and lowered her voice. ‘I know he gets drunk sometimes and I don’t believe he was attacked by thugs. Why should anyone attack him? They didn’t steal anything from him. I think he may have got drunk and stumbled around in the road and been knocked down by a horse and cart or even a motor car! But don’t tell Marcus I said that. He’s rather strict with Steven.’