When she still made no reply beyond bending down and drawing the still weeping Peggy to her feet, wrapping one of the bed covers round the shaking girl as she did so, the rage that gripped him created a red mist before his eyes. As his fist came out to punch her in the face she amazed him for the umpteenth time that night by lifting her knee and hitting him a blow between the legs that felled him to the ground like a log, a shrill scream escaping his lips as he writhed and groaned at her feet, clutching himself as he felt the pain tear him apart.
Sarah wasn’t surprised to see Lady Margaret, closely followed by Lady Harris, burst from their rooms as she led Peggy onto the landing, and to Lady Margaret’s query of ‘What’s happening, what is it?’ she said nothing beyond glancing down at the young maid who was cradled against her. But when the children emerged from their quarters she shut the door of Sir Geoffrey’s suite behind her, gesturing their way before she said, ‘I think it might be better if you went in to see Sir Geoffrey alone, ma’am.’
‘Sarah?’
‘I’m sorry, Lady Harris.’ As Lady Margaret sent the children back to their rooms with a sharp admonition, she answered her employer’s unvoiced question with a weary shake of her head. ‘It was Sir Geoffrey you heard, and I think matters are self-explanatory, don’t you? As you can see, Peggy is very distressed.’
‘Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?’
‘I’m not
suggesting
anything, Lady Harris.’ The old lady’s face was imperious and her voice sharp, but Sarah refused to be intimidated, her tone equally sharp. ‘The facts speak for themselves.’
‘How
dare
you accuse my son—’
And then Lady Harris’s voice was cut off as Lady Margaret muttered angrily, ‘Oh, open your eyes, Mother-in-law, for goodness’ sake. This is not the first time Geoffrey has behaved in such a fashion, and no doubt it will not be the last.’
‘
Margaret
.’
‘Yes, Margaret. Poor, plain, left-on-the-shelf Margaret.’ The other woman’s voice was cutting now, with an edge that suggested deeply held-in fury. ‘You think I don’t know how others see me, Mother-in-law? How your son saw me when he agreed to marry me?’
Lady Margaret was talking as if she was completely unaware of Sarah and Peggy’s presence on the landing, and as a sound from inside the room came to their ears, a thud followed by the tinkle of breaking glass, Margaret’s back straightened, as though preparing to do battle. ‘You talk about rights for women, don’t you - social and political change for all the classes? How can you be so - so
hypocritical
?’
‘
Margaret
.’
As Lady Harris’s eyes flicked to Sarah and Peggy, Sir Geoffrey’s wife seemed to grow another few inches in stature, and her face was calm, composed even, as she said flatly, but with a voice heavy with meaning, ‘They know all there is to know, Mother-in-law, so stop fooling yourself. One has been molested, if not raped, by your son, and the other has fought off his advances for the last few days whilst aiming to keep matters civil. And I am tired,
tired
of fighting a fight I can never win.’
‘Margaret, you’re mistaken—’
‘No, I am not mistaken. Would that I was.’ There was a softness in the younger woman’s voice now that could have been pity as she looked into the face of her husband’s mother. ‘But more shocking than that, I have realized tonight that I no longer care. Times are changing, it is no longer necessary to suffer degradation and humiliation.’ She turned now and looked straight at Sarah. ‘You will see to her?’ She meant Peggy but didn’t acknowledge the young girl by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Thank you, Miss Brown.’ Lady Margaret was the noble lady again, stiff and cold, and this façade did not change as she glanced at Lady Harris. ‘If you wish to confer with your son that is your prerogative, of course; as for myself, I have no such wish. If you see him you may inform him I shall be leaving in the morning for Cheshire, and I shall take William and Constance with me. Good night, Mother-in-law.’
She walked back along the corridor, stopping before she reached her own rooms and entering those of the children, whereupon she shut the door gently.
‘Do you see what you have done?’
It was to Sarah, and not the weeping Peggy, that this remark was directed, and as Sarah opened her mouth to remonstrate, Lady Harris continued, ‘I hope you are satisfied with your night’s work?’
‘Me?’ It was so unfair, so ridiculously unfair, that all Sarah could do was gape at the furious little woman in front of her.
‘I feel I have harboured a viper in my bosom—’
‘Lady Harris, your son has just raped a fifteen-year-old child whom he lured to his room with sweet words and false promises.’
‘
How dare you!
’
‘I dare because it is true.’ Sarah took a long deep breath and prayed for composure. ‘Peggy was foolish, very foolish, to put herself in such a vulnerable position, but the blame for this atrocity rests on Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders. He raped her and then he tried to attack me when I intervened. That is the truth, Lady Harris, and it is up to you what you do with it.’
She was aware of Lady Harris’s open mouth as she turned, with Peggy in the crook of her arm, and walked towards the back staircase, and also that her worthy employer would not appreciate the scapegoat answering back.
It was one thing to further the cause for women’s liberation and social change on a general level, quite another when those same principles were called for in one’s own household, Sarah thought grimly. Lady Harris was a product of the old class system - a dyed-in-the-wool aristocrat, despite her connections with Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters. And what was Peggy after all? Merely a servant, and as such, expendable. That,
that
was reality.
Sarah suddenly felt an acute pang of homesickness for Sunderland in general, and Maggie, Florrie and Rebecca in particular, and the feeling persisted long after she had settled Peggy into bed after giving the girl a drink of hot milk containing a sleeping draught, and gone to her own room.
Her mind continued to dwell in the north as she began her nightly toilet, and she admitted to herself that she never felt entirely happy about Rebecca these days, when she had time to think about her friend. Not that married life was a bed of roses for anyone, of course it wasn’t. Even the Robertses, contented with each other as they had been, had had the odd hiccup in their relationship, when she had sensed things were strained. But it was more than that with Rebecca . . .
After washing and brushing her teeth, Sarah slipped into her long linen nightdress and climbed into bed, but her troubled mind was too active for sleep, Peggy and Rebecca both swirling round and round in her head.
Rebecca had changed in the last few months since Willie’s mam had died, Sarah acknowledged now, however much her friend tried to pretend otherwise. There was a nervousness about her, something elusive Sarah couldn’t quite put her finger on, but which was there nevertheless. And it had begun before the other girl’s pregnancy, so it wasn’t that.
Oh . . . Sarah turned over in the bed, thumping the top pillow, which seemed to have developed rocks in it, and twisting and turning as she tried to get comfortable. Life could be a complicated affair at times.
Many miles away, if Sarah had but known it, one of the objects of her restless thoughts was also enduring a sleepless night.
Rebecca lay very still in her marital bed, listening to Willie’s deep breathing punctuated by the odd raucous snore. She had learnt to lie still over the last months since Willie’s mother had died, knowing there was less chance of her husband waking then, and demanding his ‘rights’ yet again.
His rights. She clenched her hands into fists at her side, but the tensing of her body aggravated the bruises on the tops of her arms and legs and her torso, and she forced herself to breathe deeply and relax again.
Was there another woman in the whole of Sunderland who had been taken in like she had? Rebecca asked herself bitterly. She doubted it, that she did. Oh, she had been a fool, such a blind,
stupid
fool. But Willie had been so affable when they were courting. Not refined, no, even Willie’s undoubted ability at acting a part hadn’t been able to rise to that, but he had been polite, civil.
She had heard rumours he had something of a reputation for uncouthness, but he had never been like that with her . . . then, and she had taken that as a sign that he cared about her, respected her.
Had his mam known what he was like? She didn’t want to believe that. She had liked Willie’s mam in a way, and she’d thought the old woman had liked her. Surely, if Mrs Dalton had known, she would have warned her? But the old lady had wanted grandchildren. In fact her mother-in-law’s desire for grandchildren had been bordering on the obsessive.
Rebecca tensed as the fat bulk at her side snorted and stirred. It hadn’t been love or desire or any of those things that had prompted Willie to start courting her, she knew that now. He had seen a girlfriend as a way of placating his mam, and Rebecca had been malleable enough for his purposes. Oh, why hadn’t she seen it then? But she had wondered at times, she had to admit that. Occasionally she had caught a glimpse of something suspect in the dutiful son and ardent suitor, but she had closed her mind to it. She had so wanted to believe he loved her. And the security of a ring on her finger and her own home? Yes, that too. She answered the accusing voice of honesty silently.
She had had the fear she was too plain to get anyone else; that had been at the heart of her going out with Willie in the first place. So when he’d asked her to marry him, she’d nearly bitten his hand off, so quickly had she said yes. But she was paying for her pride, and her cowardice, now.
It was ironic when you thought about it - her mother-in-law had demanded a grandchild but hadn’t lived to see her become pregnant, and that same child had trapped her more effectively than anything else could have done. She had believed he’d stop the other stuff when he knew about the bairn, but it had been a vain hope.
As though in confirmation of the thought, the tempo of her husband’s breathing changed, and when, in the next moment, a large meaty hand clamped itself tightly over her left breast, Rebecca couldn’t stifle a moan of fear.
‘Waiting for it then?’ Willie’s voice was thick, he had sensed her terror and it was like an aphrodisiac, and Rebecca was already crying before he had even begun.
Chapter Seven
‘Landsakes . . . And all this was going on when I was snoring my head off? My husband, God rest his soul, always used to say I’d sleep through my own funeral.’
The remark was typical of Hilda and brought the glimmer of a smile to Sarah’s face despite the direness of the morning. She hadn’t slept at all, and had risen well before five in order to have a word with Hilda before the day began.
‘Mind you, I suppose at the bottom of me I’m not surprised, Sarah. I always thought Sir Geoffrey was capable of violence if he didn’t get his own way, he could be a nasty little child, although to go as far as forcing the girl . . . ?’
‘It was rape, Hilda. Nothing more and nothing less.’ Sarah’s voice was flat, and she gazed into the elderly cook’s quizzical eyes as she said, ‘And he would have attacked me if I hadn’t stopped him with my knee. One of the boys at Hatfield taught me that little trick.’
‘I don’t know, the things that go on in this household.’ Hilda drew in her lips and rummaged her cheeks before saying, ‘There’s never a dull moment, I can tell you. When the mistress was younger the house fair hummed with all her goings-on, but this is different . . . nasty. You know what I mean?’
Sarah didn’t answer beyond nodding her head slowly. Yes, it was nasty, it was very nasty, and it had all the potential to get still nastier, because she could see Peggy and herself out on their ears before the day was through. She bowed her head deeply, sagging back against the wide, flat footboard of Hilda’s bed as the apprehension she had been fighting all night reared its head again.
She didn’t want to go back to Sunderland with her tail between her legs - there were some at Hatfield who had resented her appointment with the Robertses, and still more with Lady Harris, and who would crow their heads off with delight if she did - but . . . She paused for a moment in her thoughts, then straightened her back, raising her head to glance at Hilda propped against her pillows and resplendent in a thick Victorian-style nightdress and severe hairnet. If she had her time over again she would do and say exactly the same.