Without Sin (40 page)

She was worried as to how she would cope when her time came, to say nothing of caring for the child afterwards. What would happen to the shop?
If there’s a shop left by then
, she
reminded herself bitterly. The bills were mounting. Her suppliers were pressing for payment and the quarterly rent was overdue. Any day she expected a visit from Mr Finch or his solicitor.

It was neither of them who came into the shop one morning, however. Clara Finch stood in front of Meg and stared at her, her gaze running slowly up and down Meg’s bulging body.

‘So he left you pregnant, did he?’

‘Yes,’ Meg answered, aware that the ‘he’ Clara was referring to was a totally different ‘he’ from the one in Meg’s mind.

‘When is it due?’

Meg licked her lips calculating swiftly. The whole town knew when Percy had fallen ill and then died. ‘About – about the end of May, I think.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Meg frowned. ‘Do?’

‘Yes, do? You are hardly in a position to bring up his child, are you? Are you going to have it adopted?’

Meg gasped. That thought had never entered her head. It was her child, her responsibility and after the initial shock, she had accepted the fact. ‘No. Of course I’m not.’

Clara leant towards her and there was menace in her face and in her action. ‘That child should have been mine. I should be carrying Percy’s child – not you. You never loved
him, you scheming hussy. You robbed me of my husband. And you robbed me of the chance to have his child.’

There were tears in Clara’s eyes, tears of anger, tears of frustration and longing. She had never felt such loathing towards any human being as she did at this moment. The pain of
Percy’s rejection of her had been nothing compared with the hatred she now felt for Meg.

Slowly and deliberately she said, ‘I want that child. I want
his
child. I loved him and I’ll love his child. I can give it everything you can’t.’

Meg gasped. She felt the urge to laugh outright. If only Clara knew the irony of the situation. Here she was, demanding that Meg hand over the baby to her because she thought it was
Percy’s. What would she do if Meg were to tell her that it wasn’t? But all Meg said was, ‘You must be mad. Give my baby to you? Never while there’s breath in my
body.’

Clara leant even closer. ‘You will. One day, you will. I mean to have Percy’s child and I will.’

‘Your – your brother wouldn’t let you.’

‘Huh!’ Clara stepped back now and her tone was scathing. ‘Him! He’ll not stop me. He’ll do anything I say. There are things I could tell you – tell the world
– about my dear brother. And one day I just might. But for now he’ll do anything I say. And the first thing he’ll do is give you notice. You haven’t paid your rent for this
quarter yet, have you? Well, if you read your lease – Percy’s lease – you’ll find that if you default on your rent, you’ll be evicted. We’ve only to send in the
bailiffs and you’ll be declared a bankrupt.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘And I dare say we’re not the only people you owe money to.’ When Meg did not answer, Clara
nodded. ‘I thought as much.’

She turned towards the door. ‘You’ll be hearing from Mr Snape very soon. But think about my offer, won’t you? If you agree to my proposition, I’ll see that you keep the
shop and your home. And I’d see that you got all your customers back. That’s something we could think about, isn’t it? You see, I can be very generous when I want my own way. Very
generous.’

As the shop door closed behind her, Meg was left staring after her.
Sell my baby? She wants me to sell my baby to her because she thinks it’s Percy’s.

Meg closed the shop early that day. She walked home in a trance to sit before the fire in the front room, the outrageous proposal whirling around in her head. It was a monstrous idea and yet it
was a way out for her. The solution to all her problems. If she gave her child to Clara Finch, she would be free. She could leave here. She could go anywhere and start her life over again. She had
no ties here now, none at all. Jake was lost to her and the bitter truth was that Philip would never leave his wife and jeopardize his career. There was nothing left for her in South Monkford.

And yet . . . And yet . . .

For days Meg pondered Clara’s offer. Days in which the number of customers dwindled yet further until she saw no more than three during the whole of one week. And then
they only bought small items of underwear. Meg was at her wits’ end and she spent the whole of Sunday pacing up and down her front room.

If I don’t get any customers this week
, she decided in the early hours of Monday morning when she’d tossed and turned, sleepless through the night,
I’ll do it. She
can have it. What do I want with a baby anyway?

She was tired and listless when she opened up the shop. To her surprise, at five past nine the shop doorbell clanged, as if awoken from a deep slumber. Meg looked up and smiled. The woman
approaching the counter had never before entered the shop, but Meg recognized her. Mrs Davenport’s husband was the current mayor of South Monkford and his lady mayoress needed numerous
outfits and hats to attend functions throughout the year.

‘I’m looking for an evening dress. I don’t suppose you have anything, but I thought I’d ask before I went into Newark or Nottingham.’

Meg beamed. One of the last deliveries from her main supplier had contained three dresses suitable for evening wear and Meg was sure that at least one of them was the woman’s size.
‘I’ll show you what I have, Mrs Davenport. Please, would you care to come into the fitting room and I’ll bring them through to you.’

The next hour was happily spent whilst Mrs Davenport tried on all three dresses, but the effort was worthwhile for she left the shop having purchased two.

‘I needed something rather urgently. We have a grand dinner to attend at the weekend and another early next week in Newark and my dressmaker wouldn’t have the time to make two
complete outfits. However, she will have time to make the alterations. Could you have both dresses delivered to Miss Pinkerton?’

‘Yes, madam. I’ll see she has them by tonight,’ Meg promised. Since Percy’s death she had made even more use of the fussy little spinster who was so clever with her
needle and thread. She had even tried to persuade her to tackle making men’s suits, but Miss Pinkerton had been thrown into a tizzy at the very idea. ‘Oh, I couldn’t. I
couldn’t possibly fit gentlemen.’ The little woman had blushed at the mere thought.

Ten minutes after Mrs Davenport had departed the bell clanged again and another customer entered the shop. She made several purchases of underwear. After her came yet another and the steady
stream of women customers went on throughout the day. By five o’clock Meg was tired but elated. If things went on like this . . .

The bell sounded again and she looked up to meet Clara’s eyes. The woman stood before the counter, hands folded in front of her waist, her mouth pursed and her eyes hard. But today there
was a glitter of excitement in them.

‘So? Have you had a good day?’

Meg gaped at her as realization began to dawn, slowly at first and then in a rush. Seeing the understanding on Meg’s face, Clara smiled and nodded. ‘It could be like that every day
if you’d be sensible and give me what I want. You hand over your baby to me – boy or girl, I don’t mind what it is – and I’ll get Theobald to renew the lease on both
your home and this shop in your name. And I guarantee that you’ll have plenty of customers.
Just like you’ve had today.
’ She leant towards Meg as if sharing a confidence,
yet the action was more threatening than confiding. ‘You see, I made a lot of new friends through my war work and they’re more than willing to listen to my recommendations.’ She
paused and added with deliberate emphasis, ‘What
ever
those recommendations might be.’

Meg understood now how, little by little, her number of customers had dwindled and then, miraculously, had suddenly been restored.

‘So,’ Clara asked, ‘what about it?’

‘Is it – would it be – legal?’ was Meg’s only question.

Clara waved her hand airily. ‘Oh, we’ll let Mr Snape sort all that out. He’s always very helpful to our family.’ For a moment her face darkened. ‘He’s only
ever let us down once.’ And Meg knew she was referring to the court case which, whilst technically Clara had won, had not been the resounding success she’d sought.
‘Besides,’ Clara added, almost as an afterthought, ‘my brother and I own his office premises.’

Meg almost gasped aloud. Was there no end to the power the Finch family wielded in this town?

‘Well?’ Clara was pressing for her answer.

Unable to say aloud what she knew in her heart was a terrible, unforgivable thing, Meg merely nodded. Clara smiled triumphantly. ‘You’re very wise. You’ve made the right
decision.’

As Clara left the shop, all Meg could think was:
Whatever will Jake say when he finds out?

Meg was never far from Jake’s thoughts. Try as he might, he could not cut her out of his memory, or even out of his life. He hadn’t seen her for weeks, months now,
yet he knew that she was expecting a child, knew too that she was facing difficulties in her business. Part of him longed to help her, to give her whatever support he could. Longed, once more, to
be her friend. But another part – the harsher side of him – told him:
She’s made her bed, let her lie in it.

And now, on the same day that Meg gave her answer to Clara, Jake was about to become a father.

As they were getting into bed that night in their newly built part of the farmhouse, Betsy suddenly clutched at her stomach, bent over double and cried out.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Jake, who was already in bed, sat up.

‘I think it’s the baby.’

Jake flung back the covers, wrenched off his nightshirt and began to dress. ‘Get into bed, love. I’ll get the missis.’

Minutes later Mabel Smallwood walked calmly into the bedroom, Jake hovering anxiously behind her. ‘Now, lad, this is no place for you. This is women’s work. Off you go
downstairs,’ she said firmly, ‘and leave this to us.’

‘But shouldn’t I go for the doctor? Or the midwife?’

‘Not unless we need them. No need for unnecessary doctor’s bills if we can manage perfectly well without them.’

Jake backed out of the room reluctantly. He raised his hand in a wave to Betsy, but she was already too busy coping with another contraction.

For Jake the waiting, in the room below, was agony. He paced the floor, straining to catch any sound from upstairs. He tried desperately to keep his mind on his wife, on Betsy, yet try as he
might he could not help thinking about Meg too. When he’d heard the news of her pregnancy his first unbidden thought had been that he wished the child was his instead of Percy
Rodwell’s. He remembered that thought with shame. Yet still – even after all that had happened – he worried about Meg. She lived alone. What would happen when she went into
labour? Would there be anyone there to take care of her?

He paced the floor harder, feeling guilty at even thinking of Meg at such a time. Betsy – he must think only of Betsy.

Forget Meg
, he kept telling himself.
She’s not worth the ground your Betsy walks on
. He loved Betsy, really he did. He wanted to protect her and make her happy, yet it was
always Meg’s face that haunted his dreams, Meg who was never far from his thoughts. Even when his wife was giving birth to their beautiful daughter, it was still Meg whom he could not
forget.

During the third week of June Meg’s son was born in the bedroom she’d shared with Percy. It was a difficult birth and the midwife insisted that she needed a
doctor’s help.

‘I’m sending for Dr Collins,’ she said firmly after Meg had laboured in vain for nine hours.

‘No,’ Meg had tried to protest, but exhausted by her efforts she was too weak to argue any more.

An hour or so later Philip entered the bedroom reluctantly, though he had no choice but to attend. There would have been raised eyebrows and questions asked if he had refused. And to send for
another doctor would have taken too long and possibly endangered the lives of mother and baby.

Meg was in too much pain to care who was there. It was not until afterwards that she realized the irony. Philip had helped to bring his own son into the world.

Clara Finch was her one and only visitor. She came the day after the birth and stood by the side of Meg’s bed.

‘You shouldn’t be feeding him yourself,’ she said. Her face showed her distaste as she watched the tiny child suckling greedily at Meg’s breast. Meg realized that the
woman was afraid she would change her mind. Once her baby was born, in her arms and suckling at her breast, Meg’s maternal instincts might be so powerful that . . .

She looked up at Clara. She stared at the thin, bitter face of the woman standing over her and wondered how she’d ever thought she could give her child up to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, but there was a new note of determination in her tone. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Finch, but I can’t let you have him. He’s my baby
and, whatever you do to me, I’ll never let him go.’

Clara’s face contorted with rage. If it hadn’t been for the baby in her arms – the child she thought was Percy’s – Meg believed the woman would have attacked her.
Weak after the birth, Meg knew she would have had no defence. As it was, Clara – for she would not harm the child – had to content herself with an angry tirade and dire threats.

‘I’ll ruin you. You’ll be homeless. Yes, yes, that’s it. You’ll be back in the workhouse where you belong. And this time there’ll be no foolish Percy Rodwell
to fall for your charms. Oh yes, and then we’ll see, because you’ll have no say in what happens to your child. Remember, your life in there is ruled by the master and—’ she
paused as she delivered her final, triumphant blow – ‘by the board of guardians.’

Meg gasped. The woman was mad, quite mad. Did Clara really think that if she had Meg put back into the workhouse, she could then just take her child? Meg blanched. Remembering now just how it
had been, she realized that with the co-operation of everyone concerned it was entirely possible. Illegal, probably, but Clara would not let that worry her. She had Mr Snape to worry for her about
that.