Someone Special (24 page)

‘If you work with me, let me share her, you won’t have any trouble, my dear. But if you defy me, try to keep the child from me and deny that she’s mine, I’ll have the law on my side, and sufficient money to make it relatively easy for me to become her guardian, if nothing closer.’

Hester tried to wrench her hands away but he hung on. He grinned down at her, looking suddenly devilish in the firelight. He would do it, she was sure, he would take Nell. She would have to agree, have to find some way of making Matthew agree; she could not bear to lose her baby, the only person bonded to her by unselfish, uncomplicated love.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ she said sullenly, looking at the floor. ‘But I won’t have her sent away to boarding school, I tell you straight.’

‘If I can find a decent school in the area she may go daily, but if necessary she will board,’ Mr Geraint said. ‘I want the best for her and you should, too.’

Hester tugged herself free and walked away from him, picking up the blackened old kettle as she passed it, filling it at the bucket, returning to stand it over the fire. These small actions gave her time to think, to decide how best to tackle the situation. She turned away from the kettle and sat down again, then looked up at him. He looked mocking, triumphant, yet there was uncertainty behind his smile. This really mattered to him, or it mattered now. By tomorrow, or this time next week …

‘Very well, since we both want the best for her I suppose I must agree,’ she said, unsmiling. ‘You’re blackmailing me, Mr Geraint, and doing it very successfully, but things don’t always work out the way one expects. I am one thing, Matthew quite another.’

The uncertain look fled. His smile was gentle, but triumphant.

‘Good girl! Leave Matthew to me. I’ll call for you early tomorrow morning to take you both down into Rhyl to the hospital.’

After he had gone, Hester went into the child’s tiny room and looked into that much-loved, sleeping face. Once only with Mr Geraint, and in her mind there had always been an uneasy suspicion that the baby could have been the older man’s. But Matthew had accepted that Nell was his, had welcomed her, adored her. She had simply grown accustomed to thinking of Matthew as Nell’s father, and thinking of Mr Geraint simply as … well, an experienced lover who occasionally desired – and took – his servant’s wife.

Was there a law which allowed a father to claim his child, to take her away from her mother? She knew nothing of the law, but Mr Geraint had seemed certain. She could not imagine Matthew allowing Mr Geraint to give the orders so far as Nell was concerned, not even if he were paying the bills. Matthew would say Nell was happy at the village school and doing well and there she would stay; he would say he wasn’t having anyone, not even the old man, interfering between them and their daughter.

That was the rub; their daughter. What if Matthew suspected …? what if Mr Geraint, in order to get his own way, told Matthew about that night on Rhyl beach, before she and Matthew had met?

Hester turned slowly from her sleeping daughter and went into her own room. In a daze of unhappiness and uncertainty she took off her cardigan and climbed into bed. What she really needed was a night’s rest to set her straight; perhaps in the clear light of day she would see a way out.

It had been a long day and a tiring one. Hester cuddled down in bed and was soon asleep.

She awoke because she heard a noise. Someone was thumping hard on the back door. Startled and scared, Hester sat up in the big bed, trying to make out from the amount of light coming through the curtains what time it was. Had she overslept? Was it Mr Geraint coming to fetch her for the hospital trip? But the old alarm clock was ticking solemnly, and in the faint light she thought it only showed seven o’clock.

Someone thumped on the door again. The clock must have stopped, Hester decided. Oh, dear heaven, she was in trouble already and she had only just woken up. She left the bed with a flying leap, grabbed her old coat off the back of the door, and slung it around her shoulders. She ran across the room, her bare feet slapping first on the linoleum and then on the tiled kitchen floor. She unbolted the back door top and bottom, then flung it open.

It was a damp, misty morning, and very early. The sky was grey and a heavy dew hung on the grass, drops spangled the creeper by the back door and Hester’s breath puffed out into the autumn air in little white clouds. The man who stood on the doorstep muttered something and lurched forward. Hester fell back a step.

‘Matthew! Whatever are you doing here? You should be in hospital. How did you get here? Here, let me give you my arm.’

She tried to take hold of him but was roughly pushed aside. Matthew shambled past her, then turned and grabbed her by the shoulders. His hair, rough and uncombed, fell across his forehead and his eyes were blazing with fury.

‘Matt, what’s happened? Why are you so angry? Nell was saved, it’s all right, she’s safe in her bed.’

‘Nell?’ His voice was hoarse. ‘What do I care about
your wretched brat? What are you doing in my house?’

He still held her shoulders; his face was so close she could see the little red veins in the whites of his eyes, the strong growth of his black beard, the line of spittle running down from the right-hand corner of his mouth. He looked old and ill – and as dangerous, she realised, as a mad bull.

‘Your house? Matt, it’s me, your wife … don’t you recognise me? And Nell’s your daughter, your child …’

He shook her again and pushed her from him. ‘You? My wife? I want none of ye,’ he shouted, his voice thick, slurred. ‘Get out of my sight, and stay out!’

Hester gasped as he pushed her away from him with such force that she collapsed into the easy chair. ‘You’re ill, Matt, you must go back to hospital!’

‘Ill? I’m not ill, but you will be if you stay. If you’re my wife, I can beat you to a pulp and chuck you in the river. I could stone you to death – in the bible they stoned adulteresses.’ He loomed over her, strong, square hands clawed. ‘I could tear you in pieces and feed you to the ravens … and I will, if you’re not out of my sight in five minutes.’

‘But Matt, there’s Nell …’

The name was like a red rag to a bull. He seemed to swell with rage and Hester, who had been frightened before, was almost paralysed with terror. If he wanted to, he could kill her and the child. He was insane, but that would not help her. She would run to Mr Geraint, he would take her in.

‘Don’t move!’ He had seen her involuntary glance at the door. ‘Stay there. I’m going up to the big ’ouse. I want you gone by the time I get back, you and your child, or …’

He drew a finger significantly across his throat.

‘What are you going to do up at the big house?’ Hester asked fearfully. ‘Who are you going to see?’

He was halfway to the back door, weaving, uncertain. He paused, turning towards her a frowning face on which she saw not only rage but unhappiness.

‘See? That’s none o’ your business. Just you get out!’

She waited in the chair until he had gone, then jumped to her feet. He knew! He knew about Mr Geraint, perhaps about that evening on the beach, though because of the accident he couldn’t remember exactly what he did know. But he knew himself wronged and would probably kill both her and the child if they stayed.

Where can I go? What should I do? The thoughts scurried around her mind, confusing her more than ever. If I decide to brazen it out and stay, Mr Geraint will try to take Nell … if Matthew doesn’t kill us both first. She ran into her bedroom and began dressing. Matthew was mad … Mr Geraint was bad, between them she was helpless. If Matt turned her out, then Mr Geraint would take Nell. He wouldn’t want Hester, she was just a woman, it was his own flesh and blood he wanted.

But Nell was her baby, the most important thing in her life. She could manage very well without Matthew, had done so for the first sixteen years of her existence. She could also manage without Mr Geraint; she had lived cheek by jowl with him for seven years and most of that time he had simply ignored her. But she could not imagine a life without Nell.

Dressed, she shoved a few things into a bag, then ran through to Nell’s room. The child was sleeping deeply, but Hester, after only the smallest of hesitations, shook her awake.

‘Get up, darling, and get dressed. We have to leave here in rather a hurry. Come along, don’t bother with washing … hurry, Nell darling, do hurry! If you hurry we can catch the first bus.’

She snatched some of Nell’s clothing and shoved it into the bag with her own, then ran into the kitchen
and got her small savings out of the teapot at the back of the deep pantry. Nell came through and began to make breakfast, but Hester stopped her.

‘No time, my dear, we’ve a bus to catch! Come along, I’ll explain as we go.’

As they left the lodge, the rain was just starting: a fine, misty rain which hid the castle from view and veiled the plain leading down to the sea. Hester took one last look at the lodge, then glanced towards the castle. All she could see was the broken tower at the end of the west wing, bleak and black above the mist.

‘Are we going to the hospital to see Dad?’ Nell asked as they almost ran, hand in hand, towards the bus stop. ‘Didn’t Mr Geraint say he’d take us?’

‘Yes, but things have changed. I’ll tell you all about it when we get there.’

The bus came after what seemed years to Hester, and they climbed aboard and took their places on the top deck. As they passed the lodge she looked down and saw, with real horror and fear, Matthew coming out of it. Even at a distance she could see his anger, as though it could not help but show itself even in his gait. He came out of the gates and she saw that there were tears running down his face. He looked miserable, uncertain, but then he caught sight of her and the sadness went. He gave a bellow which she could not hear for the bus’s engine, she just saw his mouth gape, saw his chest swell with the intake of breath, then he set off in pursuit, stumbling and waving his arms. Hester’s heart began to gallop, but no one noticed Matthew and the bus drew inexorably ahead, leaving him, at last, clinging to a tree, his head sunk on his chest, the picture of despair.

The blow on the head has affected his mind, Hester told herself. Matthew was always gentle, always good. Perhaps I should have stayed? But she knew it would never have worked, not once Mr Geraint had decided that Nell was
his. He must have deliberately told Matthew, turned the poor man’s brain, then the fall had finished the job.

‘What were you looking at, Mum? Was it Mr Geraint, come to take us to Rhyl? He won’t be pleased that we’ve gone on the bus, you know.’

Hester jumped. She had almost forgotten Nell was there, sitting quietly beside her. ‘Oh, I was just looking back. Now as soon as we reach Rhyl, dear, we’ll get on another bus … We shan’t go to the hospital today.’

To her horror tears threatened to close to her throat. She made a little choking sound and fell silent, struggling with herself. She must remain calm for Nell’s sake.

Nell took Hester’s hand timidly. Her small fingers tightened until the knuckles gleamed white.

‘Mummy, is Daddy dead? Is that why we’re running away?’

Hester clutched at the straw her daughter unwittingly offered. ‘Oh darling, I’m afraid he is. We have to go away, we can’t stay at the lodge without him. Just for a little while, until things are settled, we’ll live somewhere else.’

Nell quietly detached her hand from Hester’s and bent her head. Her hair hung forward so that it was impossible for Hester to see her face, but she could see the big, hot tears falling on to the small, clenched hands.

Matthew had woken in the early hours, when it seemed that all the other patients in the hospital slumbered. His clothes were in a rough, string-fastened parcel on a chair at the foot of his bed, so it was a simple matter to pick it up and take it along the corridor until he came to the lavatories. With considerable difficulty, he dressed himself. He was still stupid with sleep and could not remember how he came to be in hospital, though he supposed vaguely that he must have been ill. The only thing he could remember was that his wife was an unfaithful
slut and an adulteress and that the child he had adored was the woman’s bastard and nothing to him.

He walked to the lodge. At first the dawn air was cool and misty, but it began to rain long before he arrived. By the time the lodge came into view he was beginning to feel the heat of anger and disappointment stirring in his belly once more. There was some man … he couldn’t remember who he was or why they had fought – had they fought? The man had told him about his wife, about the child, and he had known it was true. Now all he wanted was to confront her and get rid of her, ‘see her off’, he said to himself.

She came to the door. She looked so clean and white-faced, so innocent somehow. But he knew her now, he could see the black heart which she tried to deny with her soft smile, the dark passion which she hid beneath a pretence of obedience. He pushed past her; she tried to take his arm. He avoided her until he was in the kitchen, then grabbed her, told her what he thought of her, shook her, saw the fear blossom in her gaze, saw her lips tremble, her eyes fill.

She was tearing him in two! Half of him wanted to crush her underfoot, to see her dead for dishonouring him. The other half wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her, tell her it was all a mistake, that he knew her too well, she was no man-hungry siren.

But that was the fool’s way, the coward’s way. The cuckold’s way. Yes, that was it, she had cuckolded him and now she was looking at him with her big, innocent eyes, as though she didn’t understand why he was incoherent with rage.

Even so, he had been tempted to give in, to shrug, to say it was a mistake, and take his place in the easy chair, tell her to put the kettle on, to make him a cup of tea. But there was that man, whoever he was. He would enjoy thinking that Matthew Coburn was content to be
cuckolded, to be deceived. And there was the child, the cuckoo in his nest. How he had loved her, admired her! He had been so proud. She had the look of the Coburns, he had told himself a hundred times, and she had her mother’s bright, enquiring mind and quick intelligence. She would go far.