Without Sin (26 page)

Jake’s face was white. ‘But you don’t love him, do you?’

‘Love?’ She was scathing. ‘What do you know about love?’

‘I know I love you,’ he said simply and she gaped at him. He caught hold of her hands and held them fast. ‘Don’t do it, Meg. Don’t marry him. Marry me.’

‘You?’

‘Yes, me. Is that such an awful thought?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not an awful thought at all. It’s just that I – I hadn’t realized.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she squeezed his
hands in return. ‘Oh, Jake, I can’t.’

‘You mean you don’t love me,’ Jake said harshly.

‘I – I – oh, Jake, you shouldn’t ask me that. You really shouldn’t – not now.’

‘Come away with me. Come now. Ron and his missis’ll take you in . . .’

Meg was shaking her head and laughing, a little hysterically, through her tears. ‘If they did, they’d soon find themselves homeless when the missis found out. We’d all end up
back in the workhouse, Jake. She’d see to that.’

‘So – it’s no, is it? You’re really going to marry him.’

Meg bit her lower lip so hard that she drew blood, but she nodded, tears splashing down her cheeks as she did so.

‘Then it’s goodbye, Meg, ’cos I shan’t see you again if you marry him.’

‘Oh, Jake,’ she cried, ‘don’t say that. Please – I thought you were my friend.’

‘I am your friend. More than you will ever know.’

‘Then don’t desert me. Please, Jake.’

Slowly, he shook his head. ‘I can’t stand to see you marry him,’ he said huskily. ‘And I don’t like the way you’re treating your mother.’

‘But I went to see her. I did. Honestly. I waited for her in Albert’s lodge. But Waters came and told me that Mam didn’t want to see me. That she never wanted to see me
again.’

Jake’s face softened a little. ‘You went to see her? You really went?’

‘Percy said I should.’

Jake’s expression hardened again. He snatched his hands away. ‘Oh, so it wasn’t because of what I said, because
I
asked you to go and see her? Only because
Percy
–’ he spat out the name – ‘asked you.’

‘Oh, Jake, don’t – please don’t be like this. I can’t bear it.’

He pushed past her and opened the door, almost falling out into the dusk of evening in his haste to get away.

‘Jake, Jake, please don’t go. Not like this.’

But he did not answer her, did not even look back as he stumbled away, tears blinding him.

He had never been so hurt. Nothing in his life in the workhouse, not even the master’s beatings, had hurt this much. Meg’s arrival had brought him such hope, made him see that he
could escape from the shame of his birth. It had been she who’d encouraged him to seek a life outside the workhouse. But for her, he would still be locked away behind the high walls with no
kind of future. Her will, her determination, had given him courage, had given him hope and, yes, had given him someone to love, someone with whom he had dreamed of sharing the rest of his life.

And now, by some reasoning of her own that he would never understand, Meg was tying herself to a man old enough to be her father. Jake’s mouth twisted. He was sure that the only reason she
was marrying Percy Rodwell was for security. A security that he, Jake Bosley, a lowly paid farm labourer, born and raised in the workhouse, could never give her.

No one came to their wedding early the following morning. There was no best man, no bridesmaid, and the verger and a churchwarden were obliged to act as witnesses. As Percy and
Meg made their vows, their voices echoed eerily in the cavernous surroundings of the vast church. But Percy smiled down happily at his young bride, oblivious to the absence of relatives or friends.
Only, as they walked down the pathway after the ceremony, did Meg fancy she saw the figure of a woman hovering beneath the shadow of some trees and wondered – for a fleeting moment – if
it was her mother.

‘Percy . . .’ she began, turning to him to catch his attention, but when she looked back the figure – if it had ever been there – had disappeared.

There was to be no honeymoon – Percy decreed that the shop could not be closed – so they returned home, ate a hasty breakfast and went together to the shop.

About mid-afternoon, a stranger dressed in a black morning suit with a top hat and ebony cane entered the shop.

‘Mr Percy Rodwell?’ he enquired in a superior voice.

‘Yes, sir. What can I do for you?’ Percy hurried forward, almost rubbing his hands at the thought of the custom such a gentleman might bring to his shop.

The man produced a long, brown envelope, which he held out towards Percy with an exaggerated flourish.

‘I am from the firm of Baggerley, Snape & Proust, solicitors, and I am requested by one of the partners, namely Mr Snape, to hand you this letter personally.’

Percy blinked, glanced at the envelope and then at the man and then back to the envelope before stretching out trembling fingers to take it.

‘Good day to you, Mr Rodwell.’ Having accomplished his task, the man raised his hat and left the shop, leaving Percy holding the envelope as if it might burn him.

‘What is it?’ Meg asked, moving forward.

‘I – er – don’t know.’

‘Then hadn’t you better open it?’ she said practically. She slid her arm through his. ‘Perhaps some rich old aunt has died and left you a fortune. Have you got any rich
old aunts?’

Percy shook his head. ‘I – er – don’t think so.’ He was still staring at the envelope.

‘Go on, Percy. Open it. Do.’

He pulled open the flap and took out a single sheet of headed paper. As he read the letter, the colour drained from his face. When he looked up, his eyes were shocked. ‘It’s Clara,
Miss Finch. She . . . she’s suing me. For breach of promise.’

‘How can she?’ Meg demanded when the initial shock had worn off a little, though Percy was still trembling. ‘It was her who broke it off. I heard her myself
threaten that, if you didn’t sack me, the engagement was at an end. You didn’t break it off, Percy. She did.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so, but . . .’ His diffidence had returned. It seemed as if the very mention of Clara’s name robbed him of every scrap of self-confidence.

‘But what?’

He shrugged and said flatly, ‘I don’t know.’

‘What’re you going to do?’

‘See my solicitor, I suppose.’

‘It’s not one of them, is it? Snape and what’s ’is name?’

Percy shook his head. ‘No, no. I go to a Mr Henderson the other side of the town. It’s the firm my father always used. I was going to see him anyway soon about changing my will, so I
suppose—’

‘Go now, Percy. This minute. I can mind the shop.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Meg.’

‘It’s almost dinner time and we don’t get many customers between one and two. Go on, Percy.’

‘But he – Mr Henderson – might be at lunch too.’

‘Well, at least go to his office. If he’s not there, make an appointment for when he is.’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right, my dear. Of course you are. It was just – just—’

‘Just what?’

He took her hand. ‘This is our wedding day and I planned to close the shop early so that we could go home. Have a nice long evening together . . .’

He said no more, but she understood his meaning. Involuntarily, she shuddered and was mortified that Percy noticed.

He touched her cheek. ‘Oh, my dear, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

‘I know that,’ she told him. It was the part of getting married to him that she’d tried to blot out of her mind. She would do her duty to her husband, she would submit to him,
but not for her the joy of giving herself to the man she loved . . .

Her mind shied away from what she knew she must endure later. Now she said, ‘Do go, Percy. The sooner you go, the sooner Mr Henderson will be able to put your mind at rest.’

Mr Henderson was unable to put Percy’s mind at ease.

‘He thinks she has a case,’ Percy told Meg worriedly when he arrived back at the shop later in the afternoon. He’d waited through the firm’s lunch hour for an appointment
at two o’clock. By the time he’d talked to the solicitor and trudged back across the town, it was already four thirty.

‘Oh no,’ Meg breathed, her eyes wide and anxious.

‘We’ll close now and go home. I’ll tell you all about it there. But –’ Percy shook his head sadly – ‘it’s not going to be the kind of evening
I’d planned.’

Indeed, it spoilt their day. Neither of them could eat the special meal that Meg prepared and later, in their bed, Percy’s lovemaking was fumbling and over so quickly that he wept against
her neck.

Sleepless, Meg stared into the blackness and knew she had made the most terrible mistake of her life.

‘Oh, Jake,’ she whispered into the silence of the night, ‘what have I done?’

The case was the scandal of the district. Several months had passed since their wedding and now the case was due to be heard in the imposing courthouse in the town during the
first days of November.

Meg felt sick every time she thought about it.

At the workhouse Sarah was kept in ignorance of the events in her daughter’s life. Isaac threatened everyone who came into contact with Sarah that, should they breathe a word about it to
her, he would make their life utter misery. Since life in the workhouse was not easy by any standards, their tongues were stilled. So Sarah lived in blissful ignorance of Meg’s troubles,
believing her daughter happily married and well cared for. There was no doubting that the last of Sarah’s hopes was true: Percy cared for Meg deeply and refused her nothing. And Meg was
careful to play her part. She was a good and dutiful wife. She cooked, washed, ironed and cleaned his house and helped him in the shop. To their delight, the number of customers entering the shop
had increased rather than decreased as they had both feared might happen.

Despite the worry of the impending court case, Percy was amused. ‘Nothing like a bit of scandal to get the ladies of the town through our door.’

‘As long as they keep coming once all this is over,’ Meg said wryly.

‘Oh, they will. We sell good-quality merchandise. They’ll keep coming back for more.’

Meg glanced at him but said nothing. She believed it was curiosity that, for the moment, brought the good ladies of South Monkford into Percy’s shop.

It seemed that Meg was right, if the number of women who crowded into the public gallery on the first morning of the case was anything to go by. By half-past nine the gallery
was crowded and several people were already having to stand to watch the proceedings when Judge Henry Ashton, an elderly, severe-looking gentleman, took his place.

Meg sat in the front of the public gallery. Percy had not wanted her to attend and they’d almost had their first argument over the matter.

‘I need you to stay at the shop,’ he had said.

‘Believe me, Percy, there’ll be no customers that day. They’ll all be at court and so,’ she had added firmly, ‘shall I.’

Although he said no more, Meg had the feeling that the real reason behind Percy’s request that she stay away arose from the embarrassment he might feel at her hearing all that would be
said in court.

She’d put her hand on his arm and said gently, ‘Percy, whatever happens in that court, I know the truth. I could see for myself that a union between you and Miss Finch would have
brought you nothing but unhappiness. Even if I hadn’t come along, I believe you should not have married her, though I can see that you would probably have done so eventually.’

Percy gripped her hand. ‘All I want you to know, my dear, is how very much I love you. You will remember that, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Percy.’

If Meg had been in love with Percy herself then Mr Snape’s opening speech on behalf of the plaintiff might have caused her considerable heartache. He spoke with theatrical eloquence of the
romance between his client and the defendant.

‘Here, your honour, we have something of a novel situation. This is the first time that such an action has been brought in the County Court in South Monkford. But, just in case any of you
are in any doubt, I can assure you that these proceedings are right and proper under section 64 of the County Courts Act of 1898, giving County Courts jurisdiction in such a case with the consent
of both parties.’ Mr Snape puffed out his chest, grasped the lapels of his gown and continued.

‘Your honour, I represent the plaintiff. Miss Clara Finch is a lady of genteel birth living under the protection of her brother, Mr Theobald Finch, a much-respected pillar of the society
of this town. He and his family have lived at the Hall in South Monkford for four generations. During that time the family has served this community in a variety of ways. I will not take up your
valuable time with all the positions of trust and authority which Miss Finch’s family has held over the years. Suffice it to say that Mr Theobald Finch is a town councillor and has served as
mayor on one occasion, with his sister, Miss Finch, acting as his lady mayoress. He is the chairman of the board of guardians of South Monkford workhouse and he is a churchwarden at St
Michael’s as well as a member of the board of governors for our local school. So, gentlemen, you see the kind of family of which Miss Finch is a much loved and respected member. She has
involved herself in good works in the town, supporting her brother in all that he does and being a devoted member of the church.

‘Now, as for – er – Mr – er—’ Here, Mr Snape paused and shuffled his papers as if the name of the defendant was not even worth remembering. ‘Ah yes
– Mr Percy Rodwell . . .’ He grimaced and spoke the name as if it pained him to do so. ‘His family has lived in the town for a much shorter period of time. His parents moved to
the town, I understand, in the year of 1868, shortly before Mr Rodwell’s birth. He was born, I understand, in the rooms above the tailor’s shop which his father rented, mark you, from
the Finch family. Eventually, Mr Rodwell followed his father into the tailoring business and became the sole proprietor on his father’s death in 1898. His mother, with whom the defendant
continued to live, died in 1903, and since that time he has lived alone in a small house on Church Street. Mark you well, then, gentlemen –’ Mr Snape made another extravagant gesture
around the courtroom towards Percy and his eyes came to rest with a benign smile upon his client, Miss Clara Finch – ‘the difference between the backgrounds of these two people. The
one, my client, coming as she does from a genteel, upper-class home, being a property owner and land-owner in her own right with a comfortable income as well as the sole beneficiary of her
brother’s will. The defendant –’ again the man’s tone changed rapidly from deference to derision – ‘is a man of – trade.’ The last word was spoken as
if its utterance left a nasty taste in his mouth and there was a ripple of laughter around the courtroom. The judge looked crossly over the top of his spectacles at the sound and the noise
subsided.