The Pawnbroker's Niece Read online

  ‘But Billy’s OK and you’re going to get better, aren’t you?’ Her tone was anxious.

  ‘I treated him badly through no fault of his own.’ William closed his eyes. ‘As for me — the doctor says I’ve got to look after myself if I want to make old bones.’

  ‘You must do as he says then,’ said Rita firmly, remembering her mother saying that the man who admitted to being wrong was a rarity.

  ‘I’m not very good at looking after myself,’ said William with a sigh.

  Another thing Eve had said was that men were useless at doing that very thing. Rita smiled. ‘Then we’ll have to find someone to look after you when you come out, so you’ll stay out of mischief.’

  ‘I like that “we”.’ His voice was drowsy. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’

  She told him about Sam and how he’d helped her reach Cardiff. Also about Margaret’s letter from his brother being destroyed.

  William frowned. ‘So Alan wrote to Maggie. I wish I’d known, and whether he told her the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’

  He said, ‘Thanks for coming. Give my love to Maggie.’

  Her curiosity unsatisfied, Rita left.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Margaret was eager for news when Rita arrived home. ‘So how is he?’

  ‘Pale but smiling. He asked after you.’ Rita knelt on the rug in front of the fire, holding her hands out to the blaze, and thought how much more lived-in the bedroom looked with the shadows of the flames flickering round the walls and an open magazine and crochet on a small table.

  ‘Did he say anything about going back to sea?’ asked Margaret anxiously.

  ‘No!’ Rita was surprised. ‘The doctor said he’s to take things easy. I should imagine the work would be too strenuous on a ship.’

  Relieved, Margaret asked what else they had talked about.

  Rita hesitated, unsure whether to mention the letter.

  ‘Out with it!’ said Margaret, the glow of the fire illuminating the fine lines about her eyes and mouth. ‘I’ll only worry, and that’s not good for me.’

  ‘I mentioned the letter from his brother and he said something about him telling you the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’ Margaret frowned.

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you,’ said Rita glumly. ‘You’ll only worry more now.’

  Margaret did not deny that but decided she would try not to think about until she could ask William what he meant. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He said he wasn’t very good at looking after himself and I said…’ She hesitated.

  Margaret smiled faintly, ‘Go on!’

  ‘That we’d help him.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He liked the idea and sent you his love.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Margaret blushed. ‘He must be getting better. We’ll have to see what we can do to make his life brighter and more comfortable when he comes out of the nursing home.’

  But within days she decided something should be done before then and sent Rita to the yard to see how things were. ‘And ask for the account books,’ Margaret called after her.

  Rita found Mr Dixon in the cookhouse frying eggs. ‘We’re not doing badly,’ he said in answer to her question. ‘I could do with an extra man and there’s a machine I’d like to buy. It cuts hay into chop which would save time and labour. I know where one’s going second-hand if your aunt doesn’t mind forking out.’

  ‘I’ll mention it.’ Rita asked for the account books.

  ‘You’ll find them in the office.’ He reached into his pocket and handed a bunch of keys to her. ‘You could tell your aunt, too, a couple more slates blew off the roof in the storm last week and water’s getting in.’

  Rita thanked him and swapped the warmth of the cookhouse for the damp chill of the house. She picked up the accounts book from the office and then walked through to the sitting room. She remembered Alice and Ellen discussing music in here and wondered how long it would be before they received a reply to the letter Margaret had written to Alice about William’s illness. There were still ashes in the grate and she was reminded of Billy giving her the phoenix and what he had said about starting a new life. The padre had sent a wire to his ship but they had not heard anything from him. Her heart ached, thinking of him.

  She cleaned out the grate. Then went over to a window where the heavy curtains and dingy nets shut out the wintry sunshine. Standing on a chair, she took down nets and curtains from both windows before going upstairs. There were pools of water where the rain had come through on the landing and in Alice’s room. She mopped them up and placed buckets beneath the leaking ceilings.

  Then she went into William’s room, took down the curtains and stripped the bed. Looking at the walls she decided the room needed brightening up. She would speak to her aunt about buying paint and wallpaper for this room and the sitting room downstairs.

  When Rita broached the subject of repairs to the roof and redecoration to the two rooms, Margaret said, ‘You think I’m made of money?’ Her tone was mild, so the girl pushed the issue.

  ‘You could use the profits from the yard.’

  Margaret looked up from the accounts and laughed. ‘Any money coming in is going out again. Still, we have to speculate to accumulate. Tell Mr Dixon to buy his cutter and if he knows an honest roofer to get those slates fixed.’

  ‘The decorating?’

  ‘I’m sure Sam could splash a bit of paint about.’

  Rita smiled, thinking that was a good idea.

  ‘Maybe he could also help them up at the yard one day a week. I’m sure we could spare him.’ Margaret’s tone was dry.

  Rita found Sam in the bedroom across the landing. She had been as astonished as he was when Margaret had given him Donald’s old room. ‘Time it was used. He’d have never wanted it to be a shrine,’ she had said.

  Sam had replied that it was real man’s room and treated everything in it with respect. When Rita entered he was sitting on the bed with the ship in a bottle in his hands. ‘Have you seen this?’ he said.

  ‘Of course I’ve seen it, dafty!’

  ‘What I mean is, really seen it. It’s a work of art.’

  ‘Yes, it’s very nice. But put it down! There’s a couple of jobs for you up at the yard.’

  He returned the ship in the bottle to its place and gave her his full attention. She told him what her aunt had said and immediately Sam perked up. ‘I’d enjoy doing both. I feel like a spare part round here sometimes.’

  So the following Wednesday afternoon when the shop was closed Rita and Sam went to the yard. She showed him William’s bedroom first. He stood in the middle of the room, eyes narrowed, gazing round, before nodding. ‘He was a sailor like your Uncle Donald, you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I know exactly what I’d like to do with this room.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, relieved. ‘I can leave you to see to buying what’s needed, then?’

  He agreed.

  They went to see Mr Dixon and she told him what her aunt had said. The yard manager eyed Sam up and down and his lips twitched. ‘I’m sure we can find something for you to do, lad, and it’ll put a bit of muscle on you.’

  Rita returned to the pawnshop and told her aunt that everything had been set in motion. Margaret asked if there had been any letters from Alice or Billy. The girl shook her head, gazing out over the street. ‘You keeping your eye on things?’

  Margaret’s crochet lay still in her lap. ‘Yes. There’s the constable. He’s been more attentive since the brick came through the window. He said he’s given the McGintys a warning, although they deny responsibility.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re telling the truth. Mr Brodie and I did wonder if it was an act of revenge on Jimmy’s part for you hitting him with the cane.’

  ‘Good God! I never thought of that,’ said Margaret. ‘I’m glad there’s the Atlantic Ocean between us if that’s so.’

  ‘We’ve got Sam now to protect
us,’ said Rita seriously.

  Margaret laughed. ‘He wouldn’t scare a cat.’

  ‘I reckon he’ll surprise us one day,’ said Rita. ‘In the meantime we could buy one of those wire mesh guards to put over the window.’

  ‘People won’t be able to see what’s on display,’ said Margaret, shaking her head. ‘And it’ll cost money. No, I think it was Jimmy, as you’ve said, and there’s no need for us to worry about any more bricks coming through the window.’

  *

  A fortnight later Rita went to the yard to hang the clean curtains and make up William’s bed, he was due home in a couple of days. Sam had been busy and now she had the chance to see what kind of job he had made of the painting.

  Her eyes widened in wonder as she surveyed first the sitting room. ‘But it’s marvellous! I knew you were good at drawing but I didn’t realise you were so talented, Sam.’ He had not just distempered the walls in a delicate shade of peach but painted curls and whorls and leaves and flowers.

  He looked gratified. ‘I enjoyed doing it. It relaxes me. I hope Mr Brodie likes it, and what I’ve done to his bedroom.’

  Rita grabbed his hand and literally ran him upstairs. She gasped as she stood in the middle of William’s room, because here Sam had given full rein to his creative muse. On the wall facing the bed he had painted a ship in full sail against a pale-blue background.

  ‘What d’you think?’ He sounded anxious.

  She said delightedly, ‘I’m sure he’ll think it’s great!’

  Sam whooped and putting his arms around Rita he swung her round. ‘I really love you, Reet.’

  ‘I love you, too. Now put me down.’

  Immediately he did as told but kept an arm round her shoulders, hugging her against him as he gazed at his creation. ‘I’ve never been happier than I am right now.’

  ‘Well, you’ve cause to be pleased with yourself. You’re really clever.’ She kissed his cheek and he surprised her by kissing her right back on the lips. Then he released her, a faint blush on his cheeks. ‘Are we going to hang the curtains?’

  While they busied themselves, Rita spoke about doing something to build him up despite the strength she had felt in those arms that had lifted her. ‘You’re not the seven-stone weakling you used to be but you need more muscle if Aunt Margaret’s going to take you seriously as a protector.’

  ‘Yer mean I really should do some bodybuilding?’ He took a couple of monkey nuts from his pocket, shelled one and offered her the contents before cracking another shell for himself.

  She munched the peanuts. ‘You could learn ju-jitsu.’ He looked blank. ‘Oriental self-defence.’ She feigned a blow, holding her hand flat. ‘I’ve seen posters in Chinatown. You can have lessons.’

  ‘They’ll cost money.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to ask Aunt Margaret for some. You are working here as well as at the pawnshop so you deserve some pay as well as your keep.’

  Sam smiled. ‘That’d be good. I’ve enjoyed the painting and I like going to the docks with the men. We could do with a lorry up here, though. More deliveries would get done.’ He brought out more peanuts, taken from the heaps stacked up at the oil-refining and soap factory down by the docks. He had been told to help himself.

  Rita said she would mention the lorry to her aunt. Margaret almost blew a gasket, saying neither William nor she could afford one. Margaret had been thinking seriously about the future and knew she must talk to him. Her emotions were still in a tangle where he was concerned but she’d had an idea that she could not get rid of and, nervous as she was about broaching the subject, she felt she must.

  When she knew William was home and had given him a chance to settle in, Margaret went up to the yard. She had heard about Sam’s paintings and considered it a reasonable topic to break the ice.

  He opened the door to her and all the careful words she had prepared were forgotten. She was shocked by his appearance and wanted to put her arms round him, hug him tightly and then take him home with her. He needed building up if he was to cope with all the ills that plagued folk in the winter and killed many.

  ‘Come in, Maggie. It’s good to see you. Are you feeling better now?’ His voice was deeper than she remembered and seemed to resonate round the yard.

  ‘Yes! But you’ve lost weight.’

  ‘And you’ve put it on. It suits you.’ He grinned, taking her arm and helping her over the threshold. ‘Have you come to see Sam’s painting?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you.’ She was very conscious of that hand on her arm. ‘But yes, I’d like to see what the lad’s made of it. Rita seems to think he’s done a marvellous job.’

  ‘She’s right.’ William led Margaret into the sitting room.

  The last time she had been there she had thought it a cold hole, but now she drew in a breath and smiled. ‘It’s…it’s…’

  ‘Different,’ said William, smiling.

  ‘But so clean and cheerful and warm-looking.’

  ‘He’s a talented young man and Dixon speaks well of him. Says he’s willing to have a go at anything. Come over to the fire!’ William’s hand slid down her arm and took her gloved fingers. He led her over to one of the fireside chairs. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Now she was here Margaret knew it was going to be difficult to say what she wanted. It was so much easier for men, she thought crossly, removing her coat and hat. She sat down and gazed into the fire, wondering how William felt living on his own. She remembered Billy saying this had never been a happy house. Was it possible to get rid of the ghosts that haunted it and make a fresh start?’

  ‘I’d like to see what you think of Sam’s work in my bedroom.’ William placed the tea tray on a gate-legged table in front of the fire.

  ‘Will I pour?’ she asked.

  He thanked her and sat down, and only now did she notice that there were more silver threads in his black curls. We’re both getting old, she thought sadly. ‘Rita told me that with just a few lines he’s created a ship.’

  ‘I imagine myself sailing away in her every night.’ His eyes gleamed.

  She handed him his tea. ‘Are you sorry you can’t go to sea?’

  ‘I’m a realist. Drink up, then I’ll take you to see my dream ship. First, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. When I’m solvent again I’ll repay you every penny you spent getting me on my feet.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. I did it for old times’ sake…for the good times.’ Her voice was low. ‘For a long time I wouldn’t think about them, but during the last few weeks I’ve had time to think and remember.’

  ‘I’m glad of that, Maggie. The bad and ugly should be buried and forgotten, leaving alive only the good.’

  ‘It’s not been easy,’ she whispered.

  He took the cup from her and placed it on the table. Then he drew her to her feet and into his arms. She looked up and saw an expression in his eyes that caused her pulse to leap with nervous excitement. She would have moved away but his arms tightened, and he drew her closer. His breath was warm on her cheek…her nose…her mouth.

  His lips moved over hers in a way that she could not resist and, when that kiss ended, he kissed her again, before his lips moved to caress her chin, throat and the hollow beneath her collar-bone. His hands slid up from her waist and paused just beneath her breasts.

  ‘Marry me, Will?’ she said in a throaty whisper.

  He froze and for a moment Margaret was frightened of she knew not what. Then he held her against him and kissed her hair before resting his cheek against hers. ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Can’t?’ Forcing her head up, she looked into his eyes and was shocked by what she saw. ‘What’s made you change your mind since the time you asked me? My terribly unsympathetic, judgemental, unforgiving behaviour? Or did you meet a pretty young nurse in the home?’ Margaret was so hurt she could not control her tongue.

  A derisive smile curled his mouth. ‘Trust you to think up another woman! It’s neither that nor
your behaviour. There are other reasons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Your money could prevent me from jumping at your offer.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. ‘Not for one minute! You’d have to be mad not to accept the chance of having your debt wiped out and me putting the rest of my money behind you.’

  ‘I have my pride, Maggie! Give me six months to pay off my debt and then ask me again.’

  ‘Six months! You want me to wait another six months?’

  ‘I want to make sure I get things right the next time I marry. What d’you say?’ His eyes held hers.

  Her head was in a whirl. ‘I think you’re daft.’ She reached for her coat and he helped her on with it, holding her against him.

  ‘I have to do it, Maggie.’ He kissed her ear.

  She closed her eyes and leant against him. ‘What if you don’t succeed?’

  ‘That depends on Billy.’

  He had surprised her again. ‘You think he won’t approve? We get on well.’

  ‘It’s not his approval I’m after.’

  She felt frustrated. ‘Don’t start your old tricks by teasing me.’

  He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I’m not. When you marry me I want you to have no doubts that I’m the right man for you.’

  She was baffled. ‘There’s no other man in my life!’

  William made no response to that but asked if she wanted to see Sam’s artwork upstairs before she left.

  ‘Another time,’ she said, in no mood to see inside his bedroom with no chance of sleeping in his bed just yet.

  He looked disappointed but she would not be persuaded so he saw her out. Her parting shot was that he shouldn’t forget to keep up his payments. She was still hurt he had turned down her proposal. She wanted him now, not in six months, but knew there was no shifting him once he had made up his mind.

  *

  It was four months later and the padre was marrying Sarah Turner. Rita posed in a dress of primrose organdie and she clutched a huge confection of daffodils, narcissi, hyacinths and trailing fern. She stood next to the matron of honour, smiling at the camera, aware that Margaret — whom she could see out of the corner of her eye — was far from happy. As the photographer signalled to the padre, Sarah and her bridesmaids relaxed. Rita excused herself and made her way across the church grounds.