‘I’m only sayin’ it for your own good—’
‘
Maggie
.’ Sarah pushed her lips tightly together, turning her head on her shoulder before she said, ‘Leave it, Maggie, please. I know you mean well, but leave it.’ There was a tone to her voice that conveyed her feeling better than any bellow could have done.
‘Aye, all right, lass.’ Even Maggie knew when she had said enough.
The three women were sitting waiting for Rodney when his knock sounded at the front door at just after ten the following morning, and when Maggie lumbered into the hall Sarah got to her feet, walking across to the blackleaded fireplace and staring down into the fire, her hands resting on the frilled mantelpiece.
How could she be worried to death about Rebecca on the one hand, whilst longing to see Rodney’s face so much it hurt? Her mind kept seesawing from one to the other of them, and it didn’t help that Maggie suspected how she felt either. She couldn’t talk to her about it, she just couldn’t, beyond assuring Maggie that she knew exactly how she stood with regard to any possible romantic attachment between Rodney and herself. And she did. She hadn’t needed Maggie to point out that he wouldn’t look at her twice.
As she heard his deep male voice, and then footsteps coming along the hall, she turned, forcing a smile to her face as Maggie, then Rodney, came into the room.
‘Good morning.’ His eyes were warm as he nodded first at her, then Florrie. ‘I’m sorry I’m a bit late, but I couldn’t get hold of Donald last night, he was at some function or other.’
‘That’s all right, you aren’t late,’ she said quickly.
‘Sit down, lad, sit down.’
‘No, I won’t if you don’t mind, Maggie, I’ve things to do, but I wanted to let you know how things stood as soon as I could. It appears she’s already making progress, and they’re as sure as they can be at this stage that she’s going to be all right. Of course they don’t want to get your hopes up only to have them dashed if she has a relapse, but from what Donald was able to tell me, I don’t think there is much chance of that. However . . .’ He paused, and his voice was a little gruffer as he said, ‘They aren’t too hopeful about the baby, so be prepared for that. Rebecca was damaged quite badly internally.’
‘Oh.’ Sarah stared at him as her hand fluttered to her throat, and her senses registered what he was saying. ‘They said they didn’t know if she would miscarry.’
‘They still don’t, but perhaps . . . Perhaps it would be kinder all round if she did,’ Rodney said flatly. ‘Anyway, regardless of that, Rebecca herself will need to stay in hospital for weeks yet, certainly until the child - if she goes full term - is born.’
‘But she’s out of danger?’
‘Yes, I think so, although she is still very ill, Sarah.’
‘Oh, thank you, thank you for finding out and everything.’ She said what she should have said the night before, and it was easy. He was good, he was so good, and it wasn’t his fault she loved him.
‘That’s all right, I was glad I could help in some small way. If you need me, you only have to shout.’
Now what did that mean? Maggie asked herself grimly as she stared at this tall handsome doctor she had always felt a warmth for, the essence of which had its core in the way he had stood up to Matron Cox that night in Hatfield’s infirmary. What was he really thinking; or more to the point, what did he think about her lass? He wouldn’t dally with her feelings would he, or worse, use them to his own advantage? Even the nicest of men - and the lad was nice, she’d give him that - could be right so-and-sos when they felt the urge, and Sarah was enough to stir any bloke from sixteen to sixty, and aye, above. He had the sort of face that gave nothing away, and if he did like the lass, he wasn’t letting on, but to come charging up here like that . . .
Her thoughts made her voice abrupt as she said, ‘Aye, thanks, lad, from me an’ Florrie an’ all. I suppose you’ve got to be gettin’ back to London pretty quick, eh? You bein’ a busy man, an’ all.’
‘In a day or two. I’ve got one of the locums I use standing in for me at the moment, so there’s no rush.’ His glance went to Sarah. ‘If you are ready to leave on Sunday, you’re very welcome to ride back with me, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah smiled, but it was strained. ‘I’ll see how Rebecca is first if that is all right?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Perhaps he shouldn’t have come? Maybe he had made himself look ridiculous chasing up after her, but once he had heard the news from Lady Margaret he had just wanted to see how Sarah was taking it, knowing how she felt about Rebecca. He had wanted to be near her, helping in any way he could. ‘Well, I must be off. I hope you find Rebecca much improved when you visit her today.’ His voice was brisk, professional.
Maggie saw him out, and when she returned a few moments later her voice was unusually subdued as she said, ‘That was nice of him, offerin’ you a lift back, lass.’
Sarah nodded quietly but said nothing. She would travel back by train. She had lain awake for some hours last night, Florrie and Maggie keeping up a medley of snores and grunts either side of her, and she had done some serious thinking. Rodney was a kind man and a generous one, but she couldn’t let herself be persuaded that that kindness and generosity, when extended to her, meant anything more than they did when extended to anyone else.
It had disturbed her greatly that Maggie had suspected how she felt about him, she acknowledged silently. She couldn’t abide people who wore their hearts on their sleeves, and she would die - she would just die - if Rodney guessed how she felt. So, it was safer not to be alone with him; besides which Rebecca needed her for a while yet, and Lady Margaret had indicated that she expected her to be in Sunderland for at least a few days until the situation clarified.
No, she would go home by train, and she would treat it as the first step in dealing with this thing that had come upon her. She had her job, she had her work at the hospital, and that was more than enough to keep her busy at the moment and stop her from thinking too much. It would have to be.
And later that day, when she was sitting by the side of Rebecca’s bed and the dark brown eyes fastened on hers with recognition this time, she remembered her new year’s wish.
‘Rebecca?’ She hardly dared hope that what she was seeing was true. ‘Rebecca, it’s Sarah. You’re safe, darling, you’re perfectly safe. Everything is going to be all right.’
‘Sarah.’ It was the faintest whisper from the colourless lips, and then Rebecca’s brown eyes filled with tears that spilled out over the poor battered face as Sarah bent close and took the hurt little body gently in her arms.
Chapter Sixteen
It was a full week later before Sarah felt able to leave Sunderland, but it was with the knowledge that Rebecca had indeed turned the corner and was going to make a full recovery . . . in time. The ‘in time’ was something the doctors had emphasized over and over again.
The doctor dealing with Rebecca’s case had asked to see Sarah the afternoon before she left - she suspected the sister had told him of her intended departure the next day - and she had known immediately she entered his office that it was bad news.
‘Miss Brown, do sit down, my dear.’ The doctor had reminded her of Rodney in a way, although he was much older and heavier, but his manner when he had greeted her, the gentleness and consideration with which he had spoken, had linked him in her mind with Rodney.
‘Is anything wrong?’ This was slightly ridiculous in the circumstances, and she had qualified it quickly by adding, ‘Something unforeseen I mean?’
‘Unforeseen, yes, but not in the sense of Rebecca’s physical condition, so please don’t be alarmed. Nevertheless, I do have some rather disturbing news which I feel might come best from someone who is close to her.’
Sarah had spent some ten minutes with the doctor, and had emerged shaken and worried at what he had revealed. She had walked along to Rebecca’s ward wondering how on earth she was going to broach the matter to her friend, and how Rebecca would take it.
Rebecca had been lying in bed, her eyes on the door, when she’d got there. Her face brightened at the sight of Sarah, and it was some minutes later, once the initial greetings were over and Sarah had asked her how she felt, that Sarah had said, ‘Rebecca, this might sound like a daft question, but did you ever see a copy of Mrs Dalton’s will?’
‘Her will?’ The stitches under her eyebrow were out, and the swelling had gone down considerably, but Rebecca’s face was still a mixture of colours from the bruising it had endured, and now she winced slightly on frowning as she said, ‘Willie’s mam’s will? No, I don’t think so. Why?’
‘There’s a problem with the house.’ Sarah paused, running her fingers over her mouth, but there was no easy way to say it. ‘I’ve just been talking to Dr Sanders; Willie’s solicitor had contacted him with some bad news, and he thought it might be better for me to tell you.’
‘Go on.’ Rebecca’s eyes were tight on Sarah’s troubled face.
‘It appears that the house wasn’t actually Willie’s,’ Sarah said gently.
‘What?’ Rebecca stared at her before she gave a little huh of a laugh. ‘Of course it was Willie’s, someone’s having you on, Sarah. Who else would it belong to if not Willie? We were living in it, weren’t we, and his mam had had it from when she first got married.’
‘I know, but it wasn’t as simple as that.’ Sarah took Rebecca’s hand and held it tightly in hers. ‘Apparently Willie’s grandfather, his mam’s father, did buy it for his daughter when she got married, but he only arranged that Willie’s mam lived in it, rent free, for her lifetime. On her death, this benefit was to pass to any children still living on the premises until such time as they married and moved away, or left for some other reason. Apparently this didn’t include any in-laws that might outlive Mrs Dalton’s natural children and wish to continue living on the premises.’
‘But that’s not right, it can’t be right.’ Rebecca’s face had gone lint-white between the bruising. ‘They can’t turn me out of my own home, can they?’
‘It wasn’t Willie’s, that’s the problem,’ Sarah repeated softly, ‘so it isn’t yours either. The solicitor told the doctor that Willie’s grandfather considered his daughter married below her station, and was displeased with the union. Whilst he wasn’t prepared to let his daughter or her children suffer, he wanted no financial gain to pass to her husband if he should happen to outlive Willie’s mam.’
‘But who . . . who does own the house if I don’t?’ Rebecca asked weakly.
‘It belongs to a nephew of Willie’s mam.’
‘But it can’t, it can’t.’ Rebecca’s eyes had filled with tears, her face crumpling. ‘After all I went through, everything that happened, they can’t take away my home.’
‘Rebecca, listen to me, it will be all right,’ Sarah said, her voice urgent. ‘I promise you we will sort something out when you are ready to come out of hospital, I promise you.’
‘But can’t I stay there and pay rent or something?’ Rebecca asked pathetically. ‘I don’t mind, I’ll manage somehow. There’s all my things - Willie’s mam’s things,’ she added as she burst into a storm of weeping, falling against Sarah’s chest as Sarah’s arms went round her.
Sarah waited until the worst of the weeping was over, making little comforting noises deep in her throat and holding Rebecca tight, before she said, ‘Rebecca, the house and everything in it, apart from your personal things like clothes and so on, belong to this nephew, and he wants to sell it as soon as possible. It seems he’s got money problems of his own, and wants the money the house will bring. He’s not prepared to rent it.’
‘Oh, Sarah.’
‘But you are not to worry, I mean it. I’ll sort everything, I promise you, and you trust me, don’t you? Don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’
‘The main thing is that you are going to get better, and there is the baby to think of too. If you get upset and depressed now, it won’t help. All your energies, everything has got to be put into getting better, and maybe it has all happened for the best anyway. Every time you were in that house things would remind you of Willie and what it used to be like. You want a clean start, Rebecca.’
Brave words. Sarah stared out of the window as the train sped south through a windy, snow-swept landscape, her mind gnawing at the conversation of the day before. The truth of the matter was, if anyone deserved something good from Willie Dalton, it was his poor widow. Rebecca had endured years of a loveless marriage, the last ten months or so degenerating into hell on earth, and for what? She hadn’t even been left with a roof over her head. And then there was the baby. The doctor had told her straight that a stillbirth was likely, and she knew they expected it to be an idiot, or disabled or something, if it was born alive.