Without Sin (42 page)

During the following months, Meg was perhaps the happiest she had been since that dreadful night her father had come home with the news that they must leave their home. Eliza gave her plenty of
work and with practice, and under the dressmaker’s patient guidance, Meg became skilled with her needle and with Percy’s sewing machine. She rarely left the house during the daytime,
but took exercise as dusk fell.

So life continued in the little terraced house, and if Meg was not exactly happy, then at least she was content.

There was only one person she really missed seeing – Jake. It hurt her to think that he would not even know where she was and, worse still, that he wouldn’t even care.

Betsy considered herself the happiest woman alive. She had a husband whom she adored, she had the Smallwoods, who treated her like a daughter, and she had a beautiful baby girl of her own. If
she still harboured doubts about Jake’s love for her, she kept them buried deep. They never spoke of Meg, yet sometimes she caught Jake with a faraway look in his eyes and wondered if he was
thinking about the vivacious girl he had loved. Did he love her still? Betsy tried not to think about it. At such times she would draw his attention to the baby. His eyes would soften and he would
take the child into his arms and gaze at her as if he too couldn’t quite believe his luck. There was certainly no doubting Jake Bosley’s love for his daughter.

Letitia still came to the farm with the excuse of seeing the baby, yet Betsy knew it was still Jake that the matron came to see. Her gaze followed him everywhere and deep in her eyes there was
sadness and a look of longing. Betsy, fulfilled and ecstatic in her role as a mother, felt sympathy for the unmarried, middle-aged woman, who would never know motherhood. Happily, secure and
content now, Betsy did not begrudge Letitia her visits to the farm and her time spent with her precious boy and his new daughter.

It was as if Letitia had adopted the child as her granddaughter and when Jake and Betsy asked her, along with Mabel and George Smallwood, to stand as godparents for baby Fleur, the matron wept
with joy.

They chose Fleur’s christening day with care. ‘We’ll have it on the Sunday nearest to the first anniversary of armistice day,’ Jake decided as he cradled his
daughter.

‘We’re the lucky ones. Me and the doctor. We came back, but there’s many a family with no cause for celebration. So many bairns,’ he murmured, looking down in wonder at
the child in his arms, ‘who’ll never see their fathers again.’

Betsy rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around Jake and the baby. ‘I know, but you’re here and you mustn’t feel guilty because you survived. You owe it
to all those men who died to make a good life – with us.’ Betsy was determined to drive any thoughts of Meg out of his mind. She was very afraid that he still thought of the strong,
wilful, passionate girl and she was right.

Even on the day of the christening, Meg was there, a shadow at the feast, though Jake prayed that no one else would guess. He had no idea where she was now and believed that perhaps she’d
left the district. It hurt him to think that feelings were so bad between them that she had not even said goodbye. He’d have liked one last chance to make things right. On this happy day, it
saddened him to think they had parted in such bitterness.

God bless you, Meggie
, he prayed silently,
wherever you are
.

Things might have continued happily if Clara Finch had not been so determined to get her own way. After several months she was still no nearer finding out what had happened to
the child she believed was rightly hers. In her twisted mind, she almost came to believe that he was hers, that she had actually given birth to Percy’s child and that wicked girl had snatched
him away from her.

At night she paced the floor of her bedroom, growing more and more agitated and creating her own fantasy world. ‘He’s mine, he’s mine.’ The words became like a mantra
which she chanted in her mind.

The boy – wherever he was – was growing without the love of his rightful mother. Christmas and New Year had come and gone. Time was passing and he’d be almost nine months old
already.

Theobald didn’t realize the depth of his sister’s inner turmoil. If he had, perhaps he’d have done something about it. But Theobald Finch was happy to turn a blind eye to
Clara’s ravings. He was content to rule the roost as the chairman of the board of guardians at the workhouse, to get his own way in the town council chamber, to drink with his friends, to go
to race meetings and to collect the rents from all the properties he owned in the town. The only excitement he craved, apart from seeing the horse he’d backed romp home in first place, was
the acquisition of more property.

‘There’s a row of houses in Laurel Street coming up for auction. Chap who owned them has died and the family want the money to divide between them,’ he told his sister one
evening over dinner, as they sat at either end of the long dining table. ‘Should we bid for them? What do you think?’

Clara rose from the table, leaving her pudding untouched. She was especially agitated tonight. ‘Oh, I can’t enter into that now. I’ve far too much on my mind. You do what you
think best, Theo. I really don’t mind.’

Frowning slightly, Theobald watched her leave the room, but as the butler refilled his wine glass, he forgot all about his sister and her strange behaviour. ‘Women!’ was all he
muttered.

The news of her landlord’s death had thrown Florrie into a turmoil. ‘His family are putting the whole row of houses up for auction.’

‘You mean we’re going to be evicted?’ Meg’s face paled.

Florrie scanned the letter she had received from Mr Snape, who was her landlord’s solicitor. ‘No – no, it says we’ll be treated as “sitting tenants”, whatever
that means.’

Meg felt the fear subside. ‘I think it means the ownership of the properties will change, but they’ll take you on as their tenant. I heard Percy mention something about it once. I
shouldn’t worry—’ she began, but then stopped.

Florrie was looking up from the letter with troubled eyes.

‘What? What is it?’ Meg asked.

‘They – they want details of all the occupants of the house.’

The two women stared at each other and Meg felt her security slipping away. ‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered, her eyes wide.

Florrie bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. We must talk to Eliza.’

But Miss Pinkerton had no ready solution either.

‘You see,’ Florrie explained, ‘folks round here must be wondering whether little Robbie is really my grandson, since he’s here all the time. No one’s asked any
awkward questions yet, but . . .’ She left the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Meg finished the sentence for her. ‘But they might if you’ve got to put down in writing who’s living with you.’

Florrie nodded. ‘I’m a straightforward sort of person, Meg. Never been frightened to say what I think, but I’ve never liked telling deliberate lies. Oh yes, I’ve been
happy to go along with our little deception because it’s what others have chosen to think. I’ve never
had
to lie about you being here. So it’s never bothered me. But now .
. .’ Again she did not finish her sentence.

‘Well, I wouldn’t ask you to lie for me,’ Meg said in a small voice, hoping in vain that Florrie would offer to do just that. When the offer was not forthcoming, Meg sighed and
murmured, ‘Perhaps I should think about moving away from here.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t find them?’

The hapless private detective whom Clara had hired stood in the middle of her drawing room, twirling his trilby between nervous fingers. ‘I’ve made every endeavour, Miss
Finch.’

Clara clicked her tongue against her teeth in exasperation. ‘I doubt that, Mr Gregory, I really doubt that.’

‘I don’t think they can still be in this area, ma’am.’

‘You don’t think. You don’t
think
! Mr Gregory, I’m paying you to be certain. And then I’m paying you to find out where exactly they are.’ She paused
and her eyes narrowed. ‘Have you, for instance, asked Dr Collins if they’re still on his list of patients?’

‘Er – well – yes, ma’am, but doctors won’t divulge any information about their patients.’

‘But you did ask him?’

The man nodded. Clara’s eyes gleamed. ‘Then, to me, that means they’re still here somewhere. If they weren’t, he’d have said so. That wouldn’t be divulging
confidential information, surely.’

‘I don’t know . . .’

‘Well, I do. They’re still here. Somewhere – they’re still here, I’m sure of it.’ She was talking more to herself now than to the man. Suddenly she remembered
that he was still standing there, awaiting her instructions. She pursed her mouth and said sarcastically, ‘But it seems you aren’t going to find them if you have, as you say, made every
endeavour. So.’ She rose and went to a small bureau from which she extracted some money. ‘Here’s your final payment. I no longer require your services.’

‘Oh, but—’

‘No buts, Mr Gregory. If you haven’t found them after three months, then I don’t think you’re going to. I’ve paid you a lot of money and got nowhere and wasted a
lot of time in the process. Good day to you.’

Mr Gregory knew himself dismissed.

After he’d gone, Clara paced the floor. Where now? Who could she turn to for help? Not her brother. She hadn’t told him of her plans to take Meg’s child and bring him up as her
own. Theobald would be horrified, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t – stand in her way. Clara smiled grimly to herself. There were plenty of secrets from Theobald’s past that
she knew he would not want revealing. No, her brother wouldn’t have a say in the matter.

‘Mr Snape,’ she said aloud to the empty room. ‘He owes me a favour. I’ll go and see Mr Snape.’

‘Do sit down, my dear lady.’

Mr Snape ushered Clara into his office with the sycophantic attention he gave to all his female clients. He kept his personal feelings well hidden behind his professional mask. He disliked Clara
Finch intensely. At the time of her case against Percy Rodwell, he had advised her not to proceed with the prosecution, but she had been adamant. They had all been left looking very silly and Mr
Snape was not a man who liked to be made to look foolish.

Nevertheless, he sat behind his desk and asked, ‘And how may I help you, Miss Finch?’

‘I want to find that young woman who married Percy Rodwell.’ She bit back any further explanation, but Mr Snape was not so easily deceived.

‘Why should you wish to find her?’ Mr Snape feared further trouble.

‘That’s my business,’ Clara snapped. ‘I just want you to tell me the best way to go about it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘She has something that rightly belongs to
me.’

Mr Snape frowned. ‘And what might that be?’

Clara opened her mouth. She was on the point of confiding in him and then thought better of it. All she said was, ‘That does not concern you. At least,’ she added, tempering her tone
for she realized she might very well need this man’s help over her plans to adopt the child – it wouldn’t do to antagonize him, ‘not for the moment.’

‘The usual way to find a missing person is to hire a private detective—’

‘I’ve done that. He was useless.’

Mr Snape sat staring at the woman in front of him, debating with himself whether he should tell her the information that had, by chance, that very morning come into his hands. He was dubious
about her intentions. Clara Finch was a nasty piece of work. Her brother was a shrewd businessman, but a decent enough chap in general, but she – well – she was a vixen. What could she
want with the widowed Mrs Rodwell? What did she mean when she said the young woman had something that rightly belonged to her? No doubt it was only some trinket or keepsake from the Rodwell house.
Surely it could do no harm to tell her the whereabouts of Meg Rodwell and her son.

‘As it happens,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers in front of him, ‘I think I can help you. I happen to know exactly where Mrs Rodwell is
living.’

Clara almost jumped to her feet. ‘You do?’ Her eyes gleamed with excitement and triumph.

‘Do you remember Mr Boyd? Your brother would know him. He owned quite a lot of property in the town and he was on the board of guardians.’

‘Yes, yes, I know of him.’ Clara was impatient to hear what she had waited months to learn, had paid good money to find out.

But Mr Snape was not to be hurried. ‘As you know, he died recently and his family wish to sell some of his properties, in particular, a row of terraced houses on Laurel Street. Your
brother is intending to buy them and asked me to make some enquiries about the occupants and so on.’ He waved his hand and paused, still debating whether he really should divulge the
information.

‘Go on,’ Clara insisted and Mr Snape sighed. The Finches were his wealthiest clients and the owners of his office.

‘One of the tenants there – a Mrs Florence Benedict – has a lodger—’

Mr Snape got no further for now Clara did jump to her feet. ‘It’s them. I knew it! I knew they were still here somewhere, though how I’ve never seen or heard of them I
don’t know.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Snape. Good day to you.’

Before Mr Snape could rise out of his chair to usher her out, she was gone, through the door and out into the street.

As she walked home, Clara felt like running and jumping for joy.

‘I’ve got you, Meg Kirkland,’ she muttered gleefully, refusing as ever to give the girl the name of “Rodwell”. ‘I’ve got you at last,’ she wanted
to shout aloud.

For two days Clara pondered how she could entrap Meg. Now that she knew where Meg and the baby were, she was in no hurry. She didn’t want to rush into doing something
that would not work so she had to be sure that every move she made was the right one. The only thing that concerned her was that, if she moved too quickly, Meg might leave the district, taking her
child with her.

‘I must think this out carefully,’ Clara muttered as she paced the drawing room alone. ‘And Theobald must know nothing of what I’m about until it’s done.’ Her
eyes narrowed as her thoughts moved from her brother to the workhouse. ‘That’s where she ought to be. Back in the workhouse, where she belongs. I’ll go and see Isaac.’ She
smiled grimly. ‘He’ll help me. If he wants to keep his job, he’ll find he has to help me.’