The Legacy (40 page)

Gladys couldn’t even say the girl’s name. She shuddered as Hugh put out his big hand to her, not even looking at her. ‘Come here, come here, whassamatter with you? Come here.’

Gladys wouldn’t move, she muttered that he was drunk and that he knew how she hated it, the drink.

He stood up, almost stumbled, straightened up and put his cap on. ‘I’ll be away then, goodnight.’

Gladys bit her lip as Hugh tried clumsily to open the door. He swore, and kicked it.

‘We’re going to have to talk, Hugh, a proper talk, not now, when you’re sober.’

He turned on her and glared, he wasn’t drunk, that was what was wrong with him, he wasn’t drunk. ‘I don’t belong here, Gladys, I never did.’

Gladys let rip, afraid of losing him, afraid of having him. She became hysterical, her voice shrieking, ‘She’s not coming back, Hugh, you’ve been waiting for her to come home. Well she’s gone, and you walk out that door you’ll not come over my doorstep again. She’s no good, you’re well rid of her.’

Hugh gave her such a look that her blood froze. ‘You’re not fit to clean her shoes, woman.’

Gladys burst into tears and Hugh strode out into the wet, dark street. As he turned the corner into Aldergrove Street he quickened his pace, the lights were on in the house, the lights … Evelyne had come home.

He ran the last fifty yards like a young man, round into the back alley, overturning milk cans, till he burst into the kitchen.

‘Evie? Evie? Evie …?’

It was Hugh that had left the gaslights burning. He laboured for breath, realizing the house was empty. Pain shot up his left arm like a red-hot poker, shooting and burning.

‘Evie? Evie} Oh God, gel, come home.’

He picked up the newspaper, his breath heaving in his chest. The gas lamps lit the picture like a Chinese lantern, the faces alive, looking at him, and it was the face of Freedom, with the black hair, the arrogant slanted eyes and high cheekbones that made the second burning, stabbing pain rip up his arm and across his chest. He felt his arm stiffening, he couldn’t bend it, he couldn’t bring the paper closer to his face, his mind couldn’t control his limbs, couldn’t make them work. Hugh felt himself falling, unable to stop himself. His outstretched hand, gripping the paper, crashing into the dying embers of the fire. He couldn’t move his hand away from the coals, the paper caught light and still he couldn’t move.

Freedom’s face burnt in front of him, the paper curling and browning as the flame crept slowly, slowly, towards his daughter’s face. Then they were both gone, small, black flecks of burnt paper fluttered from the fire. Hugh could see her, see her with her bangles and her beads standing at the pithead, her little parcel of clothes tucked under her arm. Dark, heavy slanting eyes, black hair - the gypsy girl and Freedom were one.

Gladys took over the funeral arrangements and buried Hugh. The whole village walked behind the coffin. The choir and the brass band sang and played their hearts out in their farewell to the Old Lion. No one even attempted to contact his daughter; Gladys had told them all that on the very night Hugh had died he had been with her, and had disowned Evelyne. He was ashamed of her and wouldn’t have wanted her at his burial. Gladys did concede to having Hugh buried alongside his dead, she couldn’t do otherwise. He was with his sons and his wife.

The small headstone bore just the family names and dates. All the fragility and hardships of life, the laughter, the love, all contained in the silent, sad grave. Summer was coming, and cornflowers were scattered across the fields beyond the cemetery, but no flowers lay on this plot of freshly dug earth, there had been no one who cared enough to place them there.

The owners of the mine had already taken over the house in Aldergrove Street. They made a half-hearted attempt at tracing Evelyne who was still unaware of her father’s death. It was as if there was nothing, nothing left of the Jones family but a list of names on a grave. How the Old Lion would have roared one last time with rage, but he lay with his sons, his wife, in silence.

Sir Charles had installed Freedom in one of the rooms in his vast suite at the hotel until they were ready to depart for London. They had been very busy, signing release papers, giving press interviews, settling accounts. They were now ready to leave Cardiff first thing in the morning, and Sir Charles had arranged a small dinner.

Freedom had not spoken to Evelyne since the trial, even to thank her. He had asked about her many times, but was always dissuaded from calling on her personally.

‘Wouldn’t look right, Freedom, remember how they questioned your relationship with her in the courtroom, I don’t want you ever to be seen together, is that clear? You will be able to thank her at dinner before we leave, that will have to suffice.’

When he was not being led around by Sir Charles, Freedom sat alone in his small servant’s room. He was free, but he wondered if he had simply exchanged one cell for another; his life, he knew, was no longer his own. It had been accepted without question that he would accompany Sir Charles when he returned to London. He would miss his people, miss his life, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Evelyne had dressed and changed for the dinner. She wore the dress Sir Charles had bought for her, the green ribbons in her hair, but the diamond and emerald necklace had been returned to the jeweller’s. She had been just about to leave her suite when the telephone rang. The receptionist had been trying to get a call through to the village post office for her. Evelyne had tried so many times, and had asked them to keep trying, but the line was always busy. It was the only one in the village apart from the doctor’s and the police station.

She ran to the phone, excited, she wanted to hear her Da’s voice, knew he would make everything all right, she had decided to go home.

Sir Charles was flushed, his familiar laugh filled the room, and the champagne flowed freely. He congratulated Ed and Miss Freda, but he couldn’t help thinking that Ed was making a mistake. As sweet as Miss Freda was, to Sir Charles’ critical eye she was a bit of an ‘old boiler’. Ed seemed overjoyed so Sir Charles assured him that of course there would be a place for Miss Freda on the estate.

Lady Primrose and David arrived. The fact that he had ‘spoken up’ for the gypsy had given David a new social standing. Society admired him for it, as they did Lord Frederick who was also expected. Sir Charles smiled to himself. No one would ever know how he had twisted their arms.

Lord Freddy arrived with a magnum of champagne. They had been photographed in the hotel lobby and Freddy had given a rousing speech about ‘British Justice’. He enjoyed the limelight, and he shook Freedom’s hand, congratulating him.

Miss Freda constantly turned to the doorway, expecting to see Evelyne, but still she didn’t arrive. Sir Charles beckoned her and suggested perhaps she should fetch the heroine to share in the celebration. Freedom went to Miss Freda’s side and suggested that he should go to her. She blushed, having to crane her head to look up into his face. She told him Evelyne’s room number and sighed. It was all so romantic.

Freedom slipped from the room and leant on the thick, flocked wallpaper in the corridor. He felt hot and the shirt and tie made his neck hurt, as if he was still bound and cuffed. He appeared relaxed and able to take care of himself, even mixing with the people in Sir Charles’ suite, but all the faces and voices, the handshakes and the pats on the back, combined with the camera flashes to make him feel like roaring.

Two housemaids in their black dresses with white caps and pinnies scuttled past Freedom with lowered glances and nudges. He blushed and walked down the corridor to Evelyne’s door. He pulled at his collar, ran his fingers through his hair. When he knocked he found the door was slightly ajar. He was not sure what he would say to her, how he would say it, but it was to Evelyne that he owed so much, far more than to Sir Charles.

He tapped again and then pushed the door open. He had begun to think she wasn’t there when he noticed the bathroom door. He moved silently across the room and pushed the door gently.

Evelyne was huddled in a corner on the marble floor, her face pressed against the tiles, pressing hard so the white, ice-cold tiles hurt her cheeks. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t speak, she just wanted to press her body so hard against the walls and floor that it would disappear. Freedom knelt beside her, reached for her hand. It was as cold as the tiles, and she withdrew it and hugged her arms around her. He reached to turn her face towards him, and felt her straining against him, trying to hide her face.

‘What is it, manushi, what is it?’

He lifted her easily from the floor and held her in his arms, carried her into the bedroom like a child. She was so close, he could feel her cold cheek against his neck, and he sat down, cradling her in his arms. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked into her face. She was like a mute, staring helplessly at him, and he didn’t know what to do to help her. ‘What is it? Tell me, tell me?’ Freda opened the door.

‘Come, darlinks, Sir Charles is waiting, everyone has arrived.’ Her face creased with worry as she saw Evelyne; ‘My God, what is wrong? Evelyne … Evie, are you sick?’

Firmly but gently, Freedom told her to leave them alone, he would take care of Evelyne. She went straight back to Ed and whispered that something had happened, Evelyne was sick. Sir Charles beckoned her to his side. He asked her quietly where Freedom and Evelyne were, and Freda told him that Evelyne was sick, but it was all right because Freedom was taking care of her. Sir Charles’ monocle popped out as he straightened up, angry.

Striding down the corridor, Sir Charles burst into Evelyne’s suite without knocking. Ed followed, with Miss Freda close on his heels. His voice rose in anger, ‘I want you out of here this instant, you hear me? Out! Did anyone see you come in here? Did they? Answer me, man, did anyone see you enter?’

Freedom was standing by the bed on which Evelyne lay curled like a child, her face as white as the bathroom tiles. Her hands were clenched to her sides, her eyes staring, oblivious to everyone in the room. Freedom moved silendy to Sir Charles and gripped him by the shoulder, blocking his way. He hissed. ‘You treat me like I was a guilty man! I done nothing wrong - I came to bring her to you, I’ve not laid a hand on her.’

Frightened for Evelyne, Miss Freda went to her side. It was as if she were frozen. Freedom left Sir Charles rubbing his shoulder where the pain of that grip still burned, and walked softly to the bed. ‘She has grief inside her, Miss Freda, let me talk to her.’

Sir Charles gave Freda a small nod, but did not move from die room. Ed still hovered behind him. They were all slighdy in awe of Freedom’s contained strength, his power.

Freedom moved close to Evelyne, placed his hand on her head, then bent low, crouching down to look into her vacant, faraway eyes. ‘Manushi, let it go, don’t hold it inside you, it will hurt you more. Embrace it, love it, grow from it, release your pain.’

Evelyne did not move, but her mouth quivered and she formed the single word, ‘Da’.

Freedom whispered, ‘Is it your father? Then see him, hold him, kiss him goodbye.’

Sir Charles stepped closer, ‘If the girl’s father has died, really I think we should leave her alone. Come along, everyone, please.’

He waved Ed and Freda out, and then waited for Freedom. There was a fleeting moment when no one was sure how Freedom would react to being ordered from the room. The dirk eyes flashed, but then he bowed to Sir Charles’ wish and walked out.

It was not in Sir Charles’ nature to show emotion. He coughed, then spoke from where he stood, ‘Can you hear me, dear? You have a good cry, and then if you feel well enough, join us when you can.’

Evelyne neither moved nor spoke. Sir Charles sighed, ‘We leave Cardiff first thing in the morning, you are welcome to join us, I am sure I will be able to find some employment for you … Miss Jones? Ah, well, perhaps this is is not the time to discuss it … but, should you need anything, you only have to call.’

Evelyne couldn’t hear him, only the soft words of Freedom cut through her pain … She began to picture her beloved Da. He was standing on the mountain, his arms open wide, laughing his wonderful, deep, bellowing laugh. She did not hear the door close behind Sir Charles. She knew what she had to do, and she rose from the bed as if every limb was stiff. She began to pack her clothes.

Sir Charles bade everyone farewell and surveyed the debris of the party. He sighed, he was tired out. He instructed Dewhurst to leave everything for the hotel staff, they both needed a good night’s sleep before the journey.

On his way to his bedroom he passed Freedom’s door. He paused and tapped lightly, inched the door open. Freedom lay sprawled across the bed, naked apart from a sheet draped across him. His long hair splayed out across the pillow; he looked like a Greek god, his handsome face more beautiful in sleep than any man’s Sir Charles had ever seen. He swallowed, embarrassed at his intrusion on the sleeping man, and closed the door softly. His skin felt hot; he owned that creature, owned him, at least for the next five years.

The following morning Sir Charles and his chauffeur were packed and ready by seven. They departed with Freedom for the railway station, leaving Ed to arrange transport for all their luggage.

Freda was waiting in the lobby with her few possessions when Ed came down. He looked harassed, mopping his brow with a bright red handkerchief. It took four porters to carry Sir Charles’ luggage from his suite to the waiting taxi.

‘Have you seen Evelyne, Ed? Have you seen Evie?’

‘I just went into ‘er suite, she must ‘ave already left wiv Sir Charles … now, don’t get me muddled, love, I got a lot ter think about … Gawd almighty, you see ‘ow much luggage I got to take charge of? His Lordship’s offered her work on the estate so don’t you worry yerself none, Gor Blimey, thirty-four cases.’

Miss Freda sighed, relieved to hear Evelyne was coming with them. ‘He is a good man, Sir Charles, and with all of us together it will be like a family, Ed. Just like a family, won’t it?’

Ed paid no attention as he ticked each pair of suitcases off the list. Satisfied all was well, he picked up Miss Freda’s case.