When the Bough Breaks (11 page)

‘My turn to get it,' Beth said running into the passage by the front door then returning with one envelope, ‘Mur . . . rur. That means mister. Do you have it, Mrs Hawthorne?' In the beginning she had simply called Kathie ‘missus' until she had started to feel at home with the name Hawthorne.

‘You can't go on forever calling me Mrs Hawthorne. You're one of us now. How would it be if you called me Auntie Kathie?' Beth's face flushed with some sort of emotion, but Kathie wasn't sure what. ‘Don't you think that's better?'

‘Cor Mrs – Auntie Kathie. Cor! I never had an auntie. Aunties are people you don't just know for a little while.'

‘Did neither of your parents have any sisters – or brothers?'

‘Tilly don't have no one.' She couldn't cope with the bubbly excited feeling and remember how to speak at the same time. Then her thin little face broke into a beaming smile. ‘But now I got an auntie, I got an Auntie Kathie.'

The letter appeared to have been forgotten, but remembering she was still holding it she passed it to Kathie then climbed back on her chair to finish her toast and marmalade.

Looking at the two girls, so different and yet already really fond of each other, Kathie felt a tug of satisfaction. Skinny little Beth might be the runt of the establishment, but she was fitting in more firmly with each passing day.

When on the following Saturday morning they asked if they could go as far as the common to play she decided it could do no harm.

‘Yes, I'll trust you to be careful. Listen for the clock at the Hall to strike twelve and then start to walk home. And promise not to talk to any strangers.'

‘Silly Mum,' Jess chuckled, ‘there won't be anyone on the common except us.'

‘Promise me, anyway.'

So they set off happily. Until that morning they had been allowed to play in the lane, but in sight of the cottage. At Westways the morning seemed to pass quickly. The sound of Sarah and Sally chatting and laughing as they worked, and the knowledge that Jess had a playmate, ought to have raised Kathie's spirits; but she felt horribly alone. Most of the hours of her working day she found satisfaction in what she did – and pride in the knowledge that she was keeping their business going – but occasionally she would be overtaken by an empty feeling bordering on despair. It must be the same for thousands of women, she told herself. In fact she was luckier than so many, for she knew that she was carrying on Den's work for him. But on that morning it was hard to feel lucky. There was only one way to win her battle and that was to work doubly hard. So that was what she did, until she heard the clock on Sedgewood Hall chime and then strike midday.

‘Time to knock off, girls,' she called to them. ‘Your envelopes are on the kitchen table; you can collect them when you go in to change. Leave your hoes; I'll probably do a bit this afternoon.

By a quarter past twelve they had gone, eager for their afternoon of freedom. But there was no sign of Jess and Beth. Surely it shouldn't take them all this time to get back from the common.

About fifty yards from the garden gate of Westways the narrowing lane finally gave up all pretence of being anything more than a track as it rounded a bend to the right. Never before had Jess been allowed to go to the common without an adult but, playing alone, the idea had never entered her head. Kathie had been so sure that the two of them together would come to no harm. But why else would they be so late? If, from Westways, she had heard the Hall clock strike midday then Jess and Beth couldn't possibly have missed it.

Without even going back to shut the back door, she set out to look for them. As she reached the bend in the lane they came into view. Something must be wrong! Jessie's face looked flushed and, surely, Beth was crying.

‘What happened? I was worried.'

‘Was a horrible man, Mum, kept shouting. And he's going to beat Oliver. Wasn't Oliver's fault; he said he wasn't allowed. But I persuaded him.'

Kathie had no idea what Jess was talking about or who Oliver was – or the horrible man who shouted either – but her overwhelming emotion was relief.

‘Well, I'm glad you're both OK. Now let's get home and you can tell me all about it.' With one small hand in each of hers they started back to the cottage.

‘He told Oliver to go to the study and get the cane out ready, then sit and wait. Probably beating him by now. And he was so miserable,' Beth croaked.

‘It was cos he was so miserable at that beastly school, Mum, that I knew we had to take him with us to play. We helped him climb back in and everything would have been all right if the horrible man hadn't been there in the woods and seen him getting back over the gate. D'you know what, Mum? Oliver looked like an animal in a cage at the zoo when we first saw him staring out through the bars of the gate. I told him that's what he looked like.'

‘He didn't start to cry till you said that,' Beth voiced her opinion bravely, ‘it was being in a cage like you said that made him cry. Now he's getting a whacking and the man said that afterwards he had to stay in his room all day for punishment. And we're going home to dinner and more play. It's not fair.'

‘When you've washed your hands you can start at the very beginning and tell me all about it.'

And that's what they did. There was a padlocked gate from the woods of Sedgewood Hall onto the track and that's where they found their new friend. Some children might have walked on by, but not Jess. So they stopped to talk and found the boy they called Oliver was seven and miserable at boarding school. That he had no friends was something Jess couldn't understand but she wasn't going to leave him lonely and crying. So, taking control (and Kathie could clearly imagine the scene) she helped him to climb the gate and off the three went to the common where they had a lovely morning and he forgot his troubles. Then when they got back the ‘horrible man' caught him and shouted at him and sent him to his study to wait to be caned.

The image triggered Kathie's anger. A man like that had no right to be in charge of young children – nor yet older ones, for what sort of an example did he set? She knew nothing about the school except that it had come from somewhere in the London area and all the boys boarded. She hated bullies and what else was he but a bully?

But the story wasn't over.

‘And you know what?' Jessie's voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I told him that it wasn't Oliver's fault; it was me who made him escape. His face was red as anything and his eyes sort of popped out. He shouted at us that we had no business to hang around in the lane. Didn't he, Beth?'

Beth nodded. ‘He said we weren't to go there again. He said it was, what was it he called it, Jess?'

‘Out of bounds. What's out of bounds, Mum? I told him it led to the common and he said I was pudent, no,
im
pudent. Then he said we were to get back to the village where we belonged and not to dare to hang about in the lane again. But Mum, even if he is at the Hall, he can't boss us and say we can't go in the lane. I told him we lived here and he said I was telling lies and if we knew what was good for us we'd clear off.'

Beth added, ‘Then he glared at us as cross as anything and stomped off up the track through the wood to give Oliver a thrashing. Do you think he'll make him go without any dinner?'

The ways of boarding school were unknown to all three. One thing Kathie did know was that he was a bullying newcomer and she meant to put him in his place. After lunch, leaving the girls with strict instructions that they were either to play on the grass or in the lane not too far from the house, she went to get ready for her intended outing. She ran a few inches of water in the bath, she even threw in a handful of lilac scented crystals, she scrubbed her hands in an attempt to get rid of all sign of her outdoor labours while her mind moved on to what she could wear that would make her more than a match for the man she was to confront. She indulged in imagining herself standing tall and proud in front of him, coldly bringing him down not just ‘a peg or two' but so that he saw himself for the worm that he was.

With the towel wrapped around her she went to the bedroom prepared for the next stage in her transformation. Yet, once stripped of the towel, she looked in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe and felt her confidence slipping away. Gazing at her naked body she hated what she saw. At the time she and Dennis had married she had been proud of her slim straight figure, even her small, pert breasts. But slimness had become scrawniness. Her breasts were worse than small, they hung like empty envelopes! Had she not been so underdeveloped, even if they'd sagged, at least she would have looked feminine. For a moment she closed her eyes, cupping the offending appendages and caressing the low-slung nipples trying to imagine it was Dennis who was awakening this aching need.

What in the world was she doing, wasting time when there was no time to waste? The last few moments had been a sheer indulgence, something her working life didn't permit. Night after night she had climbed into bed wanting nothing but oblivion, every muscle aching and her mind going no further than the tasks that would be waiting for her in the morning. But this afternoon was different. Her reason for a midday bath certainly hadn't been to sit here daydreaming; she meant to look her best – something for which she had little hope or expectation. She would tell Mr Horrid exactly what she thought of him. It appalled her to think that parents had entrusted small boys to the care of a brute who would cane an unhappy seven-year-old.

Taking clean underwear from her drawer she started to dress. When she had the chance to get to town she would buy a better bra, but the one she put on had been bought from Miss Messer's drapery store in the village and instead of lifting the droop, it destroyed all hint of shape. She looked as straight as a lad. Fifteen years ago that shape might have been fashionable, but Hollywood with its glamorous women carrying all before them in twin peaks had changed all that. Her thoughts were tempting her where she mustn't follow; she forced herself to pull them back into line. What can I wear to face the lion in his den? It's not really high day or holiday, but I'll put my ‘outfit' on anyway. Her ‘outfit' was quite the most expensive thing she had ever possessed and as she took it from the wardrobe where it hung draped in an old sheet her mind carried her back to the trip she and Den (with two-year-old Jess in her pushchair) had had to Exeter. They had seen the outfit on a model in the window of a very exclusive establishment and Den had said it was absolutely made for her. Feeling wildly extravagant, they had gone in so that she could try it on without even asking the price. It was a fully lined suit of the softest tweed with a floppy-crowned cap of the same material, its exquisite autumnal shades flattering her colouring. For some three and a half years it had hung in her wardrobe, too good for ordinary wear and with special occasions few and far between. Today she would wear it to show she was a force to be reckoned with.

‘I shan't be long,' she called to the girls who were occupied on the grass trying to walk on their hands – without success but with peals of laughter. ‘Either stay in the garden or if you go into the lane, don't go further than just along here by the house.'

‘You look ever so posh, Aunt Kathie.'

Beth's spontaneous remark was just what Kathie needed as she started on her way.

Once out of the lane she turned up the hill, anger spurring her on. Then opening the heavy wrought iron gate she walked past the lodge and on up the long straight drive. On her left was what used to be a croquet lawn but was now a rugby pitch, a background to the cheers and jeers from the boys who watched the Saturday afternoon game. The heavy front door was wide open, something she hadn't expected. Immediately opposite the entrance, across the enormous hall, was a door bearing the sign ‘Headmaster'
.
What did visitors do? Ought she to cross the hall and knock on the door? Or would that wrong-foot her at the onset of the interview? Taking hold of the bell pull she tugged it with all her might, the clang seeming to echo through the building.

A moment later an elderly servant appeared, making no attempt to hide her displeasure.

‘Wretched man,' she was muttering, talking to herself, ‘Never about when you want him. Not my job to answer the door.' Then, saying nothing to the caller, she waited.

‘Good afternoon,' Kathie greeted her, her manner unnaturally formal. It suited her mood well that the servant was unfriendly; it added fuel to the fire of her anger. She couldn't have resisted responding to a friendly welcome. ‘I've called to speak to the headmaster if you will be so kind as to announce me. I am Mrs Hawthorne, a neighbour.'

‘Step inside. I'll find out if he's free.'

And a minute later Kathie was ushered into the presence of Mr Horrid. Her immediate reaction was surprise. The man who stood up from his seat behind the large oak desk didn't look like a child beater.

‘Mrs Hawthorne, I don't believe we've met.' He held out his hand. Kathie pretended not to notice it, and then felt ashamed that she could behave so childishly.

‘No, we haven't. But you met my little girls this morning. That's why I'm here. Well, in part, that's why I'm here.'

‘Little girls?' He frowned, obviously puzzled. But she wasn't to be put off so easily. ‘Won't you sit down.' He indicated an armchair then, once she was seated, again sat in his swivel chair turning it to face her. ‘That's better. Now then, what's this about your little girls?'

Jess had described him as huge and with a red, angry face. Certainly this man was tallish, but there was nothing burly either in his build or manner. He was quietly spoken; yet there was firmness in his tone that carried authority. Despite herself she felt her anger receding as she looked at him. Of course, she reminded herself, appearances can be deceptive. Jess had been quite upset – and she didn't upset easily.