Читать книгу The Keepsake - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 7

Regarding it as too chancy to commit his intentions to paper, besides not being much of a letter-writer, Marty’s only option was to roll up at Etta’s address on his first afternoon off and hope to encounter her. Sadly, his optimism was outweighed by reality. Not daring to venture as far as the mansion he hung around its imposing gates until nightfall, waiting so long that he missed the last carrier and had to walk the fifteen miles home alone in the pouring rain. Thankfully he had Sunday off too which meant he could sleep in, but this failed to salve the bitter disappointment of not seeing her.

His mother, able to read him like a book, said upon his late-coming to breakfast and the drenched clothes that were steaming over the fire, ‘I hope you’re not up to divilment, Marty Lanegan, out capering till all hours.’

Knowing she would disapprove he felt unable to confide, mumbling into his dripping sandwich that it was the fault of his chum Joe who had forced ten pints down his neck.

But this did not hoodwink his mother. ‘Well, you’re drunk with something, that’s for sure, but it’s certainly not beer, there’s not a whiff of it about you.’

Ashamed that she knew he was lying to her, that he had pursued Etta when she had forbidden it, Marty dared not look up from his breakfast. However, this did not deter him from doing exactly the same on his next day off.

To his utter devastation, this attempt was also to end in another drenched failure, and to make it even worse there was a working day to follow. Consumed by thoughts of Etta, teased by the porter and the page alike for his grand ideas, he sought a feminine ear to air his chagrin.

Although wounded that he failed to detect her own heartache while he spoke longingly for another, Joanna was relieved that his expeditions had not borne fruit and she could afford to be magnanimous. ‘Ne’er mind, Bootsie,’ she comforted gently. ‘Sit down there and have a piece of this chocolate cake with a cup of tea. It usually helps to take my mind off any troubles.’

‘Ah, you’re a good pal.’ Martin showed gratitude and accepted the offer. But he was too obsessed with thoughts of the beautiful Etta to be touched for long by this softhearted gesture. Sipping his tea, his mind far away, he told Joanna, ‘I’m not giving up, though. Next time I’m off right up to the door if I have to.’

Joanna controlled her hurt, murmuring lightly whilst inwardly praying for failure. ‘Oh well, third time lucky.’

True to his declaration, Marty did indeed venture much further on his next day off. Using trees and shrubs as cover, he darted from one to another until there was nowhere left to hide, just an expanse of lawn up to the palatial stone residence. Thank heavens that after three weeks of rain the sun had come out. Crouched behind a huge rhododendron, he peeped around it to look up at each mullioned window, trying by sheer willpower to lure Etta to one of them.

Instead, to his horror, three dogs came bounding over from nowhere, hackles raised. He came instantly upright. They sniffed him excitedly, the hound, the Labrador and the flea-bitten terrier, circling him in distrust, but they did not bite, at least not yet. Encouraged, he voiced a cheery greeting, though he could have murdered the canine intruders; at which point they seemed to decide he was no threat and began to snuffle around the bush instead. Keeping a nervous eye on them, he crouched again behind the foliage, whereupon the Labrador proceeded to thrust its smiling, fish-stinking muzzle into his face. Head averted in disgust, he entreated it gently at first, ‘Good lad, off you go now.’ Then when this did not work, he hissed more forcefully, ‘Bugger off!’ With a hurt expression the Labrador lolloped away, the terrier pelting after it. Martin cast an eye over his shoulder to locate the hound, found it cocking its leg against his back and lashed out at it. ‘Wha – you filthy sod! Take your purple bloody testicles elsewhere. Go!’ Luckily it did not retaliate to his rash outburst but loped after its companions, leaving him to flick disgustedly at his soiled jacket.

In the house, others were under chastisement too.

‘Ow! Blanche, are you trying to assassinate me?’ Etta jerked her handsome head out of reach and rubbed the spot where the hairpin had almost lanced her scalp.

‘Sorry, miss!’ The maid was contrite and paid more attention to her task of getting her mistress ready for her afternoon outing. ‘I was just diverted for a second – the dogs seem to have found something interesting in them bushes over there. I just thought it might be a robber.’ She glanced anxiously again at the window. ‘I’m sure I saw a man.’

Etta was immediately rushing to view the scene, hair only half done. Straining her eyes for a sighting, she fixed them on the bush in question where the dogs did indeed seem to be converging.

Blanche was peering out too now. ‘There!’ She caught a glimpse of the intruder’s face. ‘I knew I saw somebody! Shall I inform the master, Miss Ett?’

‘No!’ An excited Etta grabbed her. ‘He’s come to see me. I want you to take a message to him.’

Blanche was aghast. Warned to keep watch on her mistress after the recent escapade to London, she was not so treacherous, but was nevertheless alarmed. ‘Is that wise?’

‘Do you want me to marry that gormless goblin my father has in mind?’ demanded Etta.

‘Oh heaven forbid, miss!’ Loyal to the young woman, Blanche detested the suitor as much as did the bride-to-be.

‘You’d rather I was with a man who loves me? Well, that man is there. His name is Mr Lanegan and he’s waiting for me to elope with him.’

Blanche gasped, clamped a hand to her mouth and spoke through her fingers. ‘It’s that one you asked me to post the letter to a few weeks back!’

‘Yes!’ Eyes bright with zeal the mistress patted the maid’s fat arms and went on breathlessly, ‘Oh, Blanche, I knew he’d come – now, be quick and finish my hair, then I want you to pack as much as you can into a small valise – we don’t want my father to be suspicious. Take it to Mr Lanegan and ask him to go to the village and wait by the stone cross.’

Of a similar age to her mistress, Blanche was quickly infected by the romance. ‘Ooh, but what will I say if I encounter the master and he asks where I’m off with a bag?’

‘Tell him I’ve sent you on an errand with some old clothes to the almshouses.’ Etta rushed back to the dressing mirror. ‘Whilst you’re doing that I shall set out as if for my afternoon expedition as planned and no one will be any the wiser.’ She hoisted her shoulders to express utter delight.

‘And what’s to become of me, miss?’ With a wistful expression, Blanche inserted a swift collection of hairpins. ‘I mean, I’ve been with you all this time and I know how you like things done, and unless this Mr Lanegan’s got a lady’s maid lined up for you I’d like to be considered…’

‘And I’m determined you shall, Blanche, you’re most valuable to me.’ The girls had played together as children and Etta genuinely cared for her. ‘But for the moment I don’t want to arouse suspicion by us both going out laden with luggage. I promise to send word of my address later, but until then I shall have to manage without your help.’

‘Aw, I’m grateful, miss! But I couldn’t do it without the master’s say so, and he’s bound to ask me where you’ve gone.’ Rather more conservative of nature, Blanche envisioned herself being expelled and bringing shame on her parents, who also worked on the estate.

‘All the more reason that you don’t know what to tell him.’

‘I know the gentleman’s name.’

‘But you won’t divulge it.’ Etta sounded confident.

‘Not if I can help it.’ Blanche handed over a pair of earrings, saying anxiously as her mistress’s excited fingers fumbled in putting them on, ‘I hate to keep putting hurdles in your way, Miss Etta, but what about the coachman?’ The latter would be transporting Etta to this afternoon’s venue. ‘You know, the master’s –’

‘Got his spies everywhere,’ Etta supplied darkly. ‘Yes, I’m all too aware of that. I shall just have to risk it. By the time any tittle-tale reaches my father I’ll hopefully be far away. Now, shoo!’ The command was accompanied by a conspiratorial smile. ‘Before anyone should catch my future husband.’

Swept up in the excitement and anticipating someone far more eligible, Blanche was shocked to discover the individual of modest means behind the bush, and her first thought was that Miss Henrietta had mistaken his identity.

‘What’s your name?’ she demanded rudely.

Thinking the game was up, Marty rose and tugged his jacket straight, hoping she wouldn’t spot the damp patch where the dog had pissed on his back. ‘Lanegan, miss, I –’

‘Oh good grief, it is the right one then,’ muttered Blanche, and her suspicious frown turned to one of incredulity. Nevertheless, she shoved the bag at him and, to his delight, reported Etta’s instructions.

The latter meanwhile was summoning her transport, and, without a backwards glance, hurrying down the stone staircase and into the coach’s leather interior. Only at the gate did her composure slip when she banged on the roof and shouted for the coachman to make a detour from his previously instructed route.

Bag in hand, Marty had barely arrived at the meeting place when the vehicle pulled up and his beloved alighted. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time all over again. He felt he might choke with desire as her face came aglow at the sight of him.

Similarly smitten, Etta wanted to rush to him, but she restrained herself for now, first instructing the coachman firmly to ‘Wait here for me, I shan’t be long’ before approaching Marty at a casual pace.

Her expression told him not to do anything rash, so he followed her lead, initially just standing to admire her accomplished deportment, but especially the sweep of breast and buttock under the pink figure-hugging dress, the froth of white lace at her bosom, privately smiling at the ridiculously large hat, then turning to stroll alongside her as she came past, murmuring to him, ‘Just act as if we’re discussing the weather.’

Parasol aloft, she sauntered down the tree-lined country road, Marty alongside.

‘I thought we’d get the carrier,’ he told her, as they inserted some distance between themselves and the coach. ‘He goes from the village green so we’d best not walk too far. I know to my cost he’s a mean sort and won’t pull up except at the proper stop.’

‘He will for me,’ replied his assured companion. ‘I refuse to turn back for anything.’ She urged him to keep walking, then linked his arm daringly. ‘I thought you’d never come!’

‘This is the third time I’ve been here – third time lucky.’ He could smile now at how long it had taken, for during the interim he had accrued a few shillings. Normally his mother would be the one to benefit from his tips, but lately he had become a miser. In addition he had spent the last three weeks trying to earn money in other ways, though it was still barely enough to fund his elopement.

He dared not look over his shoulder at the straight road behind, but felt the coachman’s eyes boring into his back and said so. ‘Wouldn’t it have been wiser to send him away? He’s seen you with me now.’

‘In retrospect it might have been wiser not to bring him at all but I had to make everything appear normal. If I’d sent him home he’d guess of my intention to abscond and would run directly to my father. By telling him to wait for me I’ve ensured that he daren’t disobey – at least for a reasonable period.’

By the time the carrier came past they were fifty yards or so from the village, but Etta turned out to be right. At the commanding wave of her parasol the driver obligingly halted for the lady and her companion to get onboard, the other passengers shuffling up to make room. Huddled close together on the wooden seat, the horse clip-clopping onwards, she and Marty looked back along the arrow-straight road to where the coachman still waited obediently in the distance.

Marty chuckled sympathetically. ‘He won’t still be standing there in the dark, will he?’

Overwhelmed by happiness, Etta smiled and gripped his hand. ‘Don’t waste your pity, he’ll have none for us when he speeds off to tell Father the moment this vehicle disappears. But at least we’ve gained a head start.’

Her suitor felt a pang of concern, wishing he had planned this better. After the previously abortive attempts at elopement he had not visualised success this time and consequently had omitted to arrange anywhere for them to live. However, he didn’t tell Etta this, not with a cart full of people eyeing the mismatched couple suspiciously. In fact, under these strained circumstances, they were to say little to each other at all during the two and a half hour journey that followed.

Only when they were finally standing on the antiquated pavement of York and his young bride-to-be looked expectantly at him for direction did Marty confess. ‘Sorry, I haven’t managed to secure us any lodgings yet.’

Etta was unfazed, deliriously happy just to be with him, clinging to his arm and gazing up into his eyes. ‘Didn’t you say your work occasionally involves you having to sleep at the hotel? You can sneak me into the room where you stay.’

‘I’m sure Ned would be delighted.’

‘Who’s Ned?’

‘The bloke whose turn it is tonight.’ Despite the joke, Marty felt inept. ‘Besides, it’s the first place your father will look for us.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t enough money to pay for accommodation,’ said Etta. ‘I did manage to acquire some since we last met but in my rush to meet you I completely forgot it. I feel terribly foolish.’

‘No, you’re not.’ He patted her. ‘There’s only one thing for it. It’s risky, but if I can find out which rooms are unoccupied I could hide you in one of them for a day or so, until I can organise somewhere else.’

Her eyes sparkled, such intrigue adding spice to the romance. Marty, too, felt not fear but elation as they made their way from the busy Rougier Street, under a carved limestone arch in the Bar Walls, and on to the magnificent edifice that was the Royal Station Hotel. Advising Etta to wait in the sunlit grounds, heavy with the scent of roses, he affected a casual entrance to the hotel via the door marked tradesmen, as if arriving for work, yet his appearance drew amazement from the others. ‘Can’t stay away, Bootsie?’

He dealt them as carefree a laugh as he could. ‘Aye, I love it so much. No, I just nipped in to ask Joe if he wants to go for a drink tonight. Is he about?’ Told that the page was upstairs, he made his way there. ‘It’s Wilko’s day off too, isn’t it? Nobody to catch me then!’

But upon finding Joe there was no mention of beer. Marty used a different fib. ‘I just came to collect something I left behind the other day – busy, are we?’

Joe took the opportunity to slouch against the wall, nibbling a hangnail. ‘Nah, there’s not that many in.’

‘What about that grumbling old sod in eighty-four?’

‘Gone, thank God, and not so much as a farthing tip.’

‘Got somebody better in there now?’

Joe shook his head, winced and spat out the hangnail. ‘Nobody at all, as far as I know.’ He studied his bleeding finger then sucked it.

Not wanting to compromise his friend, Marty merely nodded, whilst working out how to get hold of a key. After chatting a few minutes more he said a cheery farewell to Joe and padded downstairs to the lobby. Having scant luck until now he could scarcely believe it when he saw that the area behind the reception desk was deserted. Knowing it would not be so for long, he dashed in, grabbed the key and was outside pressing it into Etta’s hand before anyone had noticed its absence.

‘You’ll have to do this on your own,’ he instructed, escorting her as far as he dared towards the east entrance. ‘But it shouldn’t be too difficult, nobody’ll dare to challenge someone like you. Just march through as if you own the place and go to room eighty-four.’ He told her where it was.

‘And you’ll meet me there?’ Etta asked eagerly.

‘If I can, but I’m not meant to be at work until tomorrow so if I’m accosted and can’t manage it don’t worry, just lie low till morning.’

For the first time she showed apprehension. ‘But how will I survive alone?’

His green eyes turned thoughtful. ‘Maybe we could buy some food now before you go in.’

She clicked her tongue and dealt him a gentle shake. ‘I meant how will I survive without you? I ran away so that we could be together.’

‘And we will be, always!’ His cheery grin encouraged her. ‘This is only for a short while until I get us somewhere permanent. I can’t stay out all night, my parents will be suspicious. But I promise I’ll try my hardest to spend some time with you.’

‘And what of my valise?’ She pointed to the bag he was holding. ‘Am I to carry it myself?’

Agreeing this might attract attention, his worry soon evaporated. ‘Why, it’ll give me just the excuse I need to come up!’ And he urged her on her way, saying he would follow.

Watching her enter, he feasted his gaze on the hips that curved from the nipped-in waist. That she did not come out was a good sign. After a tense wait for the coast to clear – not just of superiors but of workmates too, for he did not know just who to trust – Marty saw an opportunity, grabbed it and pelted to Etta’s room, tapping urgently on the door until she unlocked it.

Then they were free to indulge their passion, if not to its ultimate conclusion – although Marty certainly tried. With Etta’s breast crushed to his, her lips returning his hungry, grinding kisses, working him into a lustful frenzy, he was positive that she was equally aroused. Hence, whilst one of his hands cupped the small of her back, moulding her groin against his, the fingers of his other hand sought out the buttons at the nape of her neck. To his frustration they were the very devil to undo – and there seemed thousand upon thousand of them. Frustrated but undeterred, he moved his attention to other regions, running his hands around her buttocks, kneading and pulling her into even deeper intimacy. When she did not stop him, but returned his amorous kisses whilst moving her hands as freely over his body, he put one of his feet against hers, and then the other, inching forward, compelling her to walk backwards until she felt the bed pressing against her legs and had no option but to fall back upon it with Marty atop her. After a brief grunt of impact they resumed kissing, his movements becoming ever bolder, grasping handfuls of silken pink material and eventually managing to hoist the hem of her petticoat.

But a farmer’s daughter, even a gentleman farmer’s daughter, could not fail to have learned a little about the facts of life. Though flushed and excited, her eyes glazed with desire, Etta squirmed violently at the more intimate intrusion. ‘Martin, what are you doing? Put that away!’

‘Sorry! I thought you wanted – oh, Etta, I’ll be so careful!’

But she was fighting him now, grabbing his shoulders, straining to lever him from her. ‘I’ve seen the stallion brought to the mares! It’s for one reason only and I’ve no wish to be in foal!’

‘But they say that can’t happen the first time! Please let me, sweetheart. I can’t stop now, you’ve made me want to explode!’ He fell upon her again, planting fervent coaxing kisses all over her face and neck, trying to manoeuvre himself into position.

‘Martin, you can stop and you will!’

Alarmed that her loud protestation would fetch witnesses, her ardent suitor issued a gasp of frustration and allowed himself to be displaced as, with a last growling heave, Etta hurled him to one side and dragged down her skirt, her breast rapidly rising and falling.

There was a moment’s silence during which he lay beside her and sulked. Then, with a scissor movement he leapt up and stalked across the room, his back to her as he adjusted his clothing. ‘I’m sorry I misunderstood – we are to be wed, after all.’

‘And once we are then you shall have the matrimonial benefits,’ came her firm reply. ‘But I won’t escape from one bully to saddle myself with another.’

Grossly affronted, Marty wheeled about. ‘How can you compare me with him? I adore you!’

‘But you don’t respect me,’ she retorted.

‘I do!’ Then his objection gave way to serious contemplation, which terminated in a grin of self-confession. ‘Well, sorry…I did get a bit carried away.’ He rushed to her side again, stroking and petting her in an unthreatening manner. ‘It’s just that I’ve never wanted anyone so much as I want you, Etta.’ His eyes showed it. ‘I thought you wanted me in the same way.’

‘Oh, Martin, I do.’ Hardly able to breathe through passion, she put a hand to his cheek, holding his droopy-lidded gaze earnestly. When the subject of marriage had first been aired she had asked her mother what to expect. Mother had refused to discuss it, saying that it was all rather horrid but a wife must put up with it. None of her friends could enlighten her either. A determined Etta had finally gone back to Blanche, who had previously refused to be drawn but being of a lower class and the dispenser of bawdy jokes must surely be more conversant with such matters than herself. Despite professing to know little more than her mistress, amid great embarrassment, Blanche had finally been coaxed into detail, and had likened the marital act to what happened amongst the animals. ‘Or so I’m told! I’m dreading it myself.’ Etta had found it repellent too then, but the thought of such a union with Marty was utterly different. ‘But I want to be married first. I don’t think you understand how shameful it is for a woman to bear a child out of wedlock. You see, I’ve witnessed one of our maids being sent packing for such a reason.’

‘Do you realise how insulting that is?’ It was his turn to accuse now. ‘You’re insinuating that once I’ve had what I want I’ll leave you in the lurch!’

‘I didn’t mean that, I know I can trust you. It’s just…’

‘It’s just you think I’m a lying tinker.’

‘No!’ Disturbed, Etta struggled to conjure a plausible answer, hating that sullen frown upon Martin’s brow, eventually admitting in a little voice, ‘It’s…I’m frightened.’

Overwhelmed with love, he hugged her then. ‘Oh, you poor little thing! But I’ve explained to you, nothing awful will come of it.’

‘Is that what you say to all the girls?’

‘No!’

‘There must have been plenty – you seem very experienced.’

‘There hasn’t! Well, only one.’

A small voice. ‘And did you love her?’

He shook his head, ashamed to tell the truth, that the girl had only been someone liberal with her favours and had meant nothing to him. ‘I didn’t know what love was until I met you, Etta. The last thing I want is to hurt you.’ He cradled her dark skull, kissing the top of it. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘I do.’ She suddenly regained her passion, grasping his arms, her face close to his. ‘Oh, we can do it if you want!’

Marty was not so noble as to refuse and his question was academic. ‘Are you sure?’

At her nod he was instantly eager and upon her again, Etta returning his passion, even removing some of her clothing for him and welcoming the intimacy she had refused before. But at the vital moment he sensed that her invitation still veiled a modicum of doubt and he gave an agonised groan. ‘Oh God, Etta, you’re not going to stop me again, are ye?’

‘No, no, go on!’

Still, as he examined her face he saw fear, and, barely able to contain himself, gasped,

‘Oh Christ, look, it’s no good if you feel like that. I won’t go all the way, just grip it between your thighs like this –’

An anxious query. ‘Is that all right?’

‘Yes, yes! Now, stay with me!’ And hanging on to her tightly he set the bed rocking.

It was over quickly and afterwards he remained on top of her, lungs heaving, breath hot upon her neck.

Etta remained slightly stunned. ‘Gosh…I didn’t expect…that was very pleasurable, wasn’t it?’

His body shook in silent laughter and he nodded into her shoulder. Fancy a lady saying that to him!

She tensed. ‘Are you mocking me?’

He lifted his face rapidly to deny this, his eyes warm with love and sated desire.

Still, somewhat guilty for leading him on, she asked tentatively, ‘Did you mind very much that we weren’t able to do it properly?’

‘Ah, God love you, my dear, dear sweetheart!’ Marty dealt her a resounding kiss. ‘That was as close as dammit.’ He moved to give her breathing space, though not too far, their bodies remained in contact. ‘And very pleasurable for me too I might add.’ He could hardly believe that he felt so relaxed as to say such a thing, but Etta felt like a part of himself, always had from the minute they’d met.

‘And you don’t mind that I’m making you wait?’ Her dusky eyes examined him.

Satisfied now, he was able to give a genuinely kind reply, his mouth only inches away from hers. ‘Of course not. Much as I want ye I’m sure I can hang on a few days longer. But I warn you, once we’re married I’m going to make up for lost time.’ He pretended to gnaw on her neck, making animal noises.

Etta giggled and moulded herself to him. ‘Could we just shuffle over a little? It’s rather – is it meant to be so wet?’

‘Ach, sorry!’ He gave an awkward laugh and hauled her across the rumpled bed where they lay contentedly for a while, their lips occasionally touching, tasting, reiterating their love for each other, enjoying the closeness. Then, giving her a last rapturous kiss, Marty patted her, rolled off the bed, adjusted his clothing, and in a happy manner went to retrieve the paper bag he had discarded upon entry, coming back to hand it to her.

Now discreetly covered, Etta sat up expectantly and, with dark hair all awry, peered into the bag. ‘What’s in here?’

He threw himself on the bed again to watch lovingly. ‘Gingersnaps! While I was waiting down there I managed to cadge them from a pal at the station. Sorry, there’s no tray of tea to go with them, I daren’t risk that. Nor will there be anything else until tomorrow morning when I can maybe sneak something from the kitchen. I’ll fetch you some water, though, before I leave.’

Handing him a biscuit and nibbling on one herself, she smiled contentedly, hardly taking her eyes off him all the time she ate, which precipitated another bout of kissing amidst the crumbs. But this could not continue forever. If Martin should lose his job how would he support them? So, reluctantly, they prepared to bid each other adieu.

Coming back to reality, Marty gave a muttered comment on the bed. ‘Good grief, look at the mess we’ve made o’ this.’ And he dragged off the counterpane. ‘Grab the other edge.’ Even as he said it he wondered if she might take umbrage at his order, but she seemed not to mind as she helped to turn it over.

A long night ahead of her, Etta showed reluctance to let him go, hanging on to his coat sleeves in concern. ‘What if Father should arrive in your absence and drag me back – would you come after me?’

He cupped her face and gazed into it, swearing solemnly, ‘Darlin’, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Well, at least as far as my poor old barking dogs will carry me.’ The joke about his sore feet was accompanied by a reassuring hug and a chuckle. ‘Ah, don’t fret now, with a bit o’ luck we’ll have you out of here before anyone notices. And now I must be gone too.’ After first sneaking off to fetch a jug of water for her, Marty finally took his leave. Clinging to him until the last second, Etta planted frantic kisses upon him, declaring she would go to bed early so as not to feel hungry and locking the door behind her beloved as he went home with a spring in his step.

‘I’m glad to see you looking happier,’ said his mother when he arrived, though there was more than a hint of suspicion in her eye.

Inwardly laughing at her understatement, Marty dealt her a blithe shrug. ‘No point being miserable, Ma.’ And, with a happy ruffle of his little brother’s hair, he sat to partake of the family meal, his own being consumed in no time.

Still eating, Agnes watched him shrewdly. ‘Would you be in a rush to go out by any chance?’

‘Ah no, I was just famished,’ he replied with an innocent, languorous gaze. ‘Tired too. I think it’ll be an early night tonight.’ He thought of poor Etta, alone and hungry, then turned to his father who was also still eating. ‘Da, would you mind very much if I get down and have a little look at the press before bed?’

Granted permission, he went to sit on a more comfortable chair. It was fortunate that the ‘houses to let’ section was on the first page so that he would not appear to be hunting for something. Having opted for furnished lodgings as he possessed no furniture or artefacts of his own, he sat back to peruse, though it turned out to be an unsatisfying read. Most of the rents were beyond his pocket, for until he was safely wed he still had to pay his dues at home, not just to make things look normal but so as not to deprive his mother. Behind the newspaper, he machinated over how to boost his funds. What if he were to pawn something? In his wardrobe was a decent greatcoat which would be hanging redundant throughout the summer months, along with one or two other items of winter clothing. Maybe combined they would raise enough to secure a property, or at least rooms. His mother did not hold with pawnbrokers, opining that borrowing money was a slippery slope to get on to, not from any high-minded ideal but out of contempt for the interest rates they charged. Whenever his father was out of employment she would work doubly hard herself. Even in the usual course of her day she took on others’ laundry or mending, accepting anything rather than having to resort to money-lenders, so there would be no danger she might need the clothes for this purpose. The only difficulty would be in sneaking them out of the house. He cast his eye again over the column of vacancies, taking mental note of suitable addresses.

Earlier than normal, with a nonchalant yawn he bade others goodnight and went to bed alongside his younger siblings, where he lay for another hour planning his next move and imagining himself with Etta, which took him to the brink of tumescence, at which point he forced himself to think of other things and shortly fell asleep.

In the morning he made a bundle of the coat and other items to be pawned and tied it with a belt. As it transpired, it was not so difficult to smuggle it past his mother. After breakfast, during which he folded some bread and butter and slipped it into his pocket, he simply went back to his room, opened the window and dropped the bundle to the pavement, before hurrying outside to retrieve it as he went off to work. On his way, he called at a pawnbroker’s, one that was not too close to home; it wouldn’t do for Ma to spot his best coat in the window. Having thought of everything, and quite happy with the five shillings raised, he hurried onwards, his keenness not for work but to see his beloved.

It was relatively swift and easy to get to her, for his first act upon arrival was always to go and check the corridors for boots. Today, after collecting a few items in order to feign normality, he tapped on her door using the special knock they had arranged. Within seconds he was inside, the boots were tipped onto the floor and Etta was in his arms.

Relations were even better this morning, for she was wearing a nightdress which revealed every soft curve, her body warm, her black eyes heavy with sleep and looking more seductive than ever. In seconds, without even removing his boots, let alone his uniform, he was in the bed with her, repeating yesterday’s excursion. Ecstatic to see him, Etta proved most willing, but eventually pushed him away with a scolding laugh, telling him, ‘Enough! I’m absolutely famished. They’ve been baking bread since the early hours and the scent of it has been driving me insane.’

His senses otherwise engaged, only now did Marty notice the aroma that elevated from the bake house, and apologised for the flattened offering he had provided, but she didn’t seem to mind, devouring the bread and butter with gusto and asking between bites, ‘Did you manage to find us a home?’

‘I did! Or rather I soon will have. I’ve three addresses lined up, so one of them should come up trumps.’ At her look of excitement he added, ‘Sorry I won’t be able to afford a whole house…’

‘Rooms will be fine,’ she assured him, munching happily. ‘Providing I’m with you.’ She seemed unable to tear her eyes from him, her roaming gaze making new discoveries. ‘Your fingernails are beautifully clean considering what you do for a living.’

Surprised by this sudden tangent, he looked down at his hands. ‘Thank you. I always wear gloves when I’m handling boot polish; can’t abide filthy nails.’

She nodded approvingly and, still munching, returned to the subject in hand. ‘So, when will you have news?’

‘I’ll try and go in my dinner hour.’

‘You know, we should really be arranging our nuptials too.’

‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’ He gave her a kiss. ‘But I haven’t time to do that and look for rooms, and my priority is to get you out of here.’

‘My priority too.’ She gnawed her way through the crust. ‘You can’t imagine how bored I’ve been – so I think I shall go for a walk and at the same time visit the register office.’

‘Ye can’t go out! What if you’re seen? It took me so much trouble getting you in here…’

Etta gave a petulant sigh. ‘Oh, all right. Perhaps it would be more fitting for the groom to apply.’ But her despondency did not last long, as she informed him excitedly, ‘Since Father dragged me away from you I’ve been putting our enforced separation to good use by reading up on the subject of matrimony. Apparently, if time is of the essence, as it is with us, one requires a licence. Once we have that we may marry after one full day elapses. We’ll also need written consent from our parents – now, that’s something I can be doing whilst you’re away, I’m very adept at forgery. Though it might be rather suspicious if I use the hotel writing paper for both letters!’

Marty laughed and said he would compose his own on more suitable paper. ‘But how much is all this going to cost?’

Etta had missed this practicality. ‘Oh, I’m not sure – but don’t worry, I’ve some jewellery in my bag we can sell.’ At his objection she overruled him. ‘I insist! Everything is worthless compared to being your wife.’ The last mouthful of bread consumed, she leapt from the bed, soon dancing back to him with some earrings and two brooches. ‘There are lesser items too if you think you’ll be able to get anything for them, a blouse, a skirt…’

Reluctant even to accept the jewellery, he told her, ‘What sort o’ man takes the clothes from his wife’s back? I’m not even sure I should be taking these. You realise I could be accused of stealing them?’

‘Really?’ She projected shock. ‘How disgusting. Should I write a note of authenticity?’

‘Might be an idea.’ After studying the precious items for some seconds, he put them in his pocket. ‘But I won’t sell them, I’ll pawn them; that way I can retrieve them later.’

She replied lightly as she flopped down beside him again, ‘I shan’t want them, I told you they mean nothing.’

Now that everything had been discussed, she cuddled up to him for more kisses. But soon they had to part again, Etta to pace the room in boredom and to survive on the brief visits that her lover paid her whenever he could.

Noon finally came and Marty approached his superior. ‘Mr Wilkinson, please could I go out in my dinner break?’

‘What’s so important that it can’t wait until this evening?’ Wilkinson had no reason to forbid it, he just liked to be awkward.

‘My aunt’s poorly. Mother asked would I call in on her, see if she needs anything. Of course, I could wait till tonight, but if she were to faint and then fall on –’

‘Spare me the long list of ridiculous consequences,’ replied Wilkinson tiredly, but with a smirk of amusement, for at heart he liked Boots. ‘Away with you before I change my mind.’

‘Aw thanks, Mr Wilkinson!’ Marty decided to chance his luck. ‘Er, she lives quite far away, could I tack an extra fifteen minutes on –’

‘I’ll grant you ten. Any more and you’ll make up for it at the end of your shift.’

‘Oh, I will, sir – thank ye kindly!’ Marty rushed off to inspect the rooms.

His first port of call was to be in what he regarded as a nice area, for if he couldn’t keep Etta in the manner to which she was accustomed then he could at least do his best. A stroke of luck occurred when he saw a friend who gave him a lift in his trap, thus saving him precious minutes. Taking this as a good omen, Marty was therefore pole-axed when his enquiry was rudely forestalled. Yes, there was a notice in the window advertising the vacancy, but it was accompanied by a proviso: No Irish.

Dismayed, he wasted no time in proceeding to the next address. Alas, these rooms had been taken at ten o’clock that morning. The third place on his list was closer to home in a street despised even by those of his own class. He had regarded it as a last resort but now dashed there, praying that no one would have beaten him to it. Time was running out. He would have to take these rooms even if they were bug-infested.

He was never to find out, for the rooms had already been taken. By now famished and despondent, he beseeched the woman who had answered his knock, ‘Do you know where there might be anywhere else to let – anywhere at all?’

She weighed up his smartly uniformed figure before directing him to a public house along the street. ‘I think they’ve a room going.’

Marty crumpled in despair. The Square and Compass was hardly the sort of place to bring a lady. For a second he considered the gold jewellery in his pocket, yet to be pawned. But no, Etta expected that would pay for the wedding; if he used it to rent somewhere better it might render them unable to marry and then where would he be? With little choice he thanked the woman and went to involve himself in swift negotiation with the landlord.

His return to the hotel was accompanied by mixed emotions. True, the room was not what he wanted for Etta – classed as furnished, it had the barest minimum of items and was somewhat jaded – but at least it was somewhere they could be together as man and wife. It was only two shillings a week, and they could always move later – a definite possibility for he had achieved an excellent price for the jewellery. The moment his workload allowed it, he dashed to tell her this.

Confined for hours like a restless zoo animal, unable to lace her own corset and having to leave it off, forced to occupy herself by brushing her hair a hundred times and inexpertly attempting to fashion it into different styles, an intensely bored Etta was relieved to see him back and even more thrilled to hear him voicing success. ‘You’ve found us rooms?’ She flung herself at him.

‘Aye!’ He swept her up, then tempered his excited response. ‘Well, room, singular – I’m sorry, everything else had gone, it’s all I could manage at the moment – but we won’t have to stay there long. Once we’re safely wed I’ll make a concerted effort to find something better.’ He hugged her tightly, releasing her to say, ‘You do understand you might have to be there on your own for a couple of nights, just till I can arrange the wedding? I’ll take you there when I get off work and make sure you’re safe, but I can’t sleep there, obviously, before we’re man and wife.’ Even if Etta had been willing he couldn’t let his parents down by living in sin.

She nodded, enthusing, ‘Oh, I can’t wait to go there!’

He crushed her again. ‘Me an’ all. How did ye go on with your letter of consent?’

‘Oh, that took me all of five minutes!’ She prised herself free and skipped away to fetch an envelope, which he put in his pocket.

‘That’s great.’ His arms soon encircled her again. ‘Only a few more hours to go.’

Etta pulled a face. ‘More hours of biting my fingernails to the quick, imagining my father’s going to turn up at any moment. I’ll have them down to my elbows before tonight.’

‘Ah well, you can chew on mine if ye like – well you did remark on how clean they were, I thought ye might find them tasty!’ He laughed as she grappled with him, joyful that she shared his sense of humour.

‘I might have to hold you to that! I’m absolutely ravenous.’

Marty admitted, ‘So am I, I didn’t have time for any dinner. Maybe I can get us something from the kitchen.’ Then, he squashed his lips to hers.

It was whilst they were torridly engrossed that someone rattled a key in the lock, forcing self-preservation to override passion. Tearing themselves apart, they turned to stare at the door in horror, having no time to run for the person was entering.

‘Oh, I beg your –’ Joanna had been about to apologise, but at the sight of Marty in the arms of another she broke off, her jaw dropping and her eyes wide in shock. Then, in the same instant she had spun on her heel.

‘Jo, wait!’ A panicked Marty raced to waylay the chambermaid, catching her and dragging her back into the room where he forbade any exit by leaning against the door. ‘Please don’t give us away!’

Joanna demanded to be past. ‘I want nothing to do with this!’

‘All right, but let me explain!’ With Etta an anxious spectator, he grasped the maid’s arms.

‘I don’t wish to know!’ Joanna wrenched free. ‘I just came to check that the room was fit for the next guest – and I see that it isn’t!’ She indicated the rumpled bed with the discarded corset upon it, then glared pointedly at Etta and Marty.

‘Guest? Oh, bloody hell!’ He clutched his head, before gauging her real cause for complaint. ‘Eh, it’s not what you think, Jo! Etta spent the night on her own –’

‘She’s been here all night?’ screeched Joanna.

‘She had nowhere else to go! She’s run away.’ Throwing a fond glance at Etta he decided to let his friend in on their secret. ‘We’re going to be married.’

Joanna’s homely face looked as if it had been smacked. She became very quiet, staring at him as his excited voice babbled on:

‘I’ve got us a place to live! We’ll be going there in a few hours – at least we were, but if someone wants this room…’ His words trailed away in despair.

‘They’re not coming until tomorrow,’ Joanna heard her own voice say dully. Why had she revealed this? She could have been shot of her rival in an instant by stating the room was needed now. But that would solve nothing, would only propel Etta further into Bootsie’s arms.

‘Oh, thank God – saved!’ He threw his face heavenwards with a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Jo. You won’t tell anyone she’s here, will you?’

Remaining stunned and dull of eye, she shook her mobcapped head slowly. ‘I’ve still got to prepare this room, though.’

‘I’m sure Etta won’t mind.’

Hurt and furious, Joanna flared then. ‘I should think she won’t!’ Still in awe of her upper class rival, she directed her hissed objection at Marty, ‘And I’m not having her sitting on the bed after I’ve changed it!’

Amused, but feeling pity for the maid who so obviously coveted Martin too, Etta responded quietly, ‘I shall endeavour to keep out of your way.’

‘And I’d better go before I’m missed,’ opined Marty. He dealt Etta a swift but adoring kiss, then indicated the garments that were strewn about the room. ‘It might be an idea for you to be packed and ready to leave.’

She sighed. ‘I was hoping to have them laundered…’

‘Perhaps Joanna would oblige,’ he said thoughtlessly.

There was a tight reply from the chambermaid. ‘Perhaps Joanna’s got enough to do. Perhaps on second thoughts she’ll come back when the sodding room’s empty!’

Watching her stalk out, Marty grimaced at Etta. ‘Maungy devil, she’s usually a pal.’

Etta beheld him lovingly and stole one of his words to rebuke him. ‘She cares for you, you eejit.’

He laughed, then frowned. ‘What? No, surely…’

His lover experienced a sudden flash of jealousy. ‘Was she the one who –’

‘No! I’ve never even regarded her as anything other than a workmate. Oh, bloody hell, Etta, how was I to know? She never said anything when I poured my heart out about you. What should I say to her?’

Without revealing her deeply possessive streak, Etta prescribed delicacy. ‘I think you’ve said enough. You could provoke her and she might tell.’

He shook his head. ‘No, she’s not that kind. I’d better go try and make it up to her somehow.’ He gave Etta a swift but devoted kiss. ‘I’ll see you later with some grub, and try not to fret.’ Juggling a collection of footwear, he hurried away.

He did catch up with Joanna, but whatever excuse he offered only seemed to worsen the atmosphere between them and, finally heeding Etta’s advice, he left her to cool off. Besides, there was work to be done, this keeping him so involved that he never got to discover whether or not she had returned to tidy Etta’s room.

Joanna had no intention of going back to that place of sin. In fact, by reliving every sequence of events she had worked herself into a fine lather and was by now so absolutely livid that she even contemplated telling the housekeeper about Bootsie’s subterfuge. But that would only get him the sack and it was not him she wished to be rid of. Instead, her anger making her physically ill, she approached the housekeeper with a request that she might be allowed to leave early. Presented with the chambermaid’s pallor and bloodshot eyes, Mrs Hardy was sympathetic and agreed. Joanna was on her way out of the hotel when she overheard a loud enquiry that halted her instantly.

‘Ibbetson,’ repeated the elder of the two gentlemen testily. ‘Check again.’

Transformed by excitement, she made a detour and crept back to lurk on the perimeter of the resplendently-tiled main entrance. The porter on the reception desk was polite and did as he was bidden, but his answer was the same as before. ‘I’m sorry, sir, there is no one of that name staying in the hotel.’

‘Then I shall search the place myself!’ boomed Mr Ibbetson senior. ‘For I have it on good authority that a member of your staff has abducted my daughter!’

With other employees looking fearful that there was about to be a scene, a delighted Joanna rushed forth to solve the mystery, moreover to rectify her own problem. ‘Excuse me, sir!’ she whispered confidentially, ‘but I think you’ll find the young lady in room eighty-four.’

No one had time to ask how she knew this, for with Ibbetson rushing off with his son in pursuit, Joanna’s superiors had enough to contend with in trying to keep this scandal from other guests. Withdrawing into the background, Joanna’s heart pumped with excitement as she awaited the ejection of her rival. With Bootsie safely tucked away in his rightful place there was no one to prevent it.

But the commotion had drawn a gaggle of observers who now smirked and gossiped and craned their necks to witness the fun, amongst them Marty. Joanna ducked out of sight, for he would instantly know it was she who had given the game away, especially now, as an even louder hullabaloo preceded the Ibbetson girl being dragged protesting down the grand central staircase, the thwarted bride-to-be digging in her heels and gaining a grip on the ornate ironwork, refusing to obey, only to receive a vicious rap from her father’s cane and her fingers wrenched free.

At the sight of his loved one so mistreated, the levity drained from Marty’s face. Immediately he elbowed his way through the watchers, intent on rescue, but Ibbetson had seen him too and roared to his son, ‘That’s him!’ And in seconds they had abandoned Etta and came rushing to tackle him. He saw the upraised cane, feinted to avoid it but only succumbed to a blow from Etta’s brother John. Whilst he was reeling from this the heavy silver top of Ibbetson’s cane thwacked his cheek, causing him to yell in pain, the crowd to gasp and Etta to scream.

‘Stop, stop!’ Horrified at the sight of blood upon her lover’s face she tried to get near, to save him, but the windmilling arms prevented it, knocking her off her feet. ‘Martin!’ Heroically she rose and tried again, but someone pinioned her arms. ‘Father, stop!’

But her screaming entreaties did no good, for her father and brother seemed to have lost all reason, ignoring the hotel manager who had finally been roused from his office and tried politely to intervene – lashing, punching and thrashing Matin with no one doing a thing to stop it, knocking him to the ground until his only recourse was to curl up like a hedgehog. Still they showed no mercy, the silver-topped cane berating him again and again.

Appalled to have brought this upon the one she loved, at first Joanna stood frozen to the spot, biting her lip in terror at the violence, but when no one ended it, when it seemed that Bootsie might even be killed, she found the courage to rush forth and protect his cowering body, imploring his attackers to desist, and only now did they do so, standing back to examine their work, panting with grim satisfaction at the vengeance meted out, the victim’s blood sprayed upon their clothes.

‘Martin!’ Etta screamed and struggled to be free, even biting one of the hands that imprisoned her in order to run to him. But she was not allowed to do so, her father and brother grasping a slender arm each and dragging her from the hotel, protesting and shrieking for her lover. ‘He’s injured! I demand to see him! You cannot keep us apart!’

‘I can and I will,’ came her father’s grim reply, his fingers digging into her flesh as she wriggled.

‘I am most exceedingly sorry, sir!’ The hotel manager tried to make amends, wringing his hands and hurrying alongside them, but was ignored by all, his voice drowned out by Etta’s.

‘You can drag me to the altar but you can’t force me to utter the vows! I’d cut out my tongue before that! I’ll run away again and again! You’ll never stop me – Martin, I’ll love you forever!’

Through a fog, Marty heard the declaration of undying love, formed a bloody, grimacing smile and attempted to nod, before entering a tunnel of unconsciousness.

Angry at being demeaned by the Ibbetsons, the manager came hurrying back, growling at those who huddled anxiously around Marty to ‘Remove him’ before shooing the rest of the staff about their business then forming an obsequious explanation for the guests who had been disturbed.

Hefting him between them, Marty’s colleagues struggled to convey his dead weight to the servants’ quarters, a frightened Joanna hovering alongside, the rest dispersing to chatter about the incident in shocked tones.

‘Oh, Bootsie, I’m sorry!’ With others laying him on a table, Joanna fetched a cold damp cloth to tend his injuries, wincing and whining as she dabbed at the blood. ‘I never meant to get you in trouble.’

‘I think he did that for himself,’ a porter comforted her, then clicked his tongue at the audacity. ‘The scallywag.’

A younger male conveyed admiration. ‘Good old Bootsie, I say. What a dark horse – how did you know he’d stashed her up there?’

‘I only found out by accident. I thought I was helping him out of trouble by getting rid of her.’ Joanna looked shifty, trying to convince herself as much as anyone. ‘I didn’t know they were going to half-kill – aw, Bootsie, please don’t die!’ She dabbed at him frantically, nauseated by the sight of blood on the cloth.

To the relief of all, Marty soon came round, and by the time Mr Wilkinson appeared he was sitting up, despite remaining shocked and in terrible discomfort. His superior was relieved too, although he showed no sympathy. Having received a personal grilling from the manager for his lack of supervision, his eyes were hostile and his request was delivered through gritted teeth. ‘Would you care to explain yourself?’

At the victim’s bruised and bewildered expression, Joanna answered for him. ‘I think he’s too dazed, sir.’

Wilkinson did not thaw. ‘Am I to assume that Lanegan has been consorting with a guest’s daughter?’

Unable to defend him, those supporting his battered carcass turned their eyes on Marty, who did not appear to know where he was, let alone what had happened.

‘I shall take your silence as an admission, Lanegan,’ hissed Wilkinson. ‘You will therefore remove yourself from the premises.’

Seeing that the boot boy still failed to understand, his friends exchanged looks. ‘You’re dismissing him, sir?’ ventured one brave soul.

‘I most certainly am.’

Feeling guilty, Joanna risked her own position. ‘But, begging your pardon, sir, he’s the victim of a dreadful crime.’

‘The only crime that has been committed here is that Lanegan has brought this hotel into disrepute!’

‘But he’s too ill to walk, sir!’

‘Then fetch a cart and convey him to those who care – and it does not take all of you to do it!’ Ordering all but two back to work, the furious Wilkinson strode away.

The page and the chambermaid studied their friend, who had begun to shiver. Marty beheld them too, but did not respond to their questioning for their voices were muffled as if emerging from a drainpipe. ‘Oh, look at his eyes,’ he heard Joanna say, ‘they’re right odd.’

Avoiding the nasty lesion, Joe pressed the victim’s brow. ‘He’s really cold an’ all. And he looks as if he’s going to throw – whoa!’ He jumped back as Martin spewed vomit, Joanna taking the full force of it.

Regarding her frontage in disgust, she did not cast blame – it did seem poetic justice after all – but stoically removed her apron and carried it between thumb and forefinger for disposal.

Whilst Joe tended Marty, whose teeth had started to chatter, she returned with mop and bucket and swiftly cleared the mess. Then the page suggested, ‘Away, we’d better get some transport and take him home to bed.’

Averse to consigning him to a handcart as their superior had suggested, they hailed a cab and with the jarvey’s assistance bundled him inside, a guilt-ridden Joanna pressing the shilling fare into Marty’s hand and closing his fingers around it.

‘We can’t send him on his own like a parcel,’ decided Joe. ‘Look at him, he doesn’t even know what day it is. One of us should go with him and explain to his ma what’s happened.’ When Joanna shrank at the thought of her own malicious role in this, he announced, ‘Right, I’m off then and bugger me job!’

Marty could not summon the words to thank him. He was hardly aware of anything as he was taken home in disgrace. Dazed, and barely able to hold a handkerchief to his cheek, he stumbled from the cab as, simultaneously, his mother responded to the knock on her door.

‘Mother o’ mercy!’ At the bloodied state of her son, Agnes Lanegan was instinctively protective and, along with Joe, supported him over the threshold to a chair. But then there came fury as the full tale emerged and she raged at him, ‘Didn’t I warn you about wanting things you can’t have? You damned fool, look at the state of ye! What the hell is your father going to say?’ But her ire was directed less at Marty’s actions, more at the callous treatment that had been meted out to him, and she was swift to see that her ranting was not doing an ounce of good.

Under the wide and watchful eyes of her younger children and her anxious elderly uncle, she and Joe transferred Marty to the sofa then she pounded upstairs to fetch blankets, which were snuggled about him. ‘Brandy! That’s what we need.’ Shoving a cup at Joe and sending him to the Brown Cow, she herself made a pot of tea, and whilst this was brewing she tipped the rest of the contents of the kettle into a stone hot-water bottle, wrapping this in a towel and tucking it at Marty’s feet, crooning and fussing. ‘Oh, my poor dear boy, what have they done to ye?’

Uncle Mal shook his head gravely. ‘Beat near to death, he is.’

Joe returned within minutes, the brandy being dribbled down the patient’s throat, followed by hot sweet tea.

‘Will I pour you a cup, Joe?’ Sounding vague, Aggie stood back to assess the situation. Though swathed to the chin in blankets, her son still shivered and trembled, teeth chattering, his face a swollen mass of lacerations, and he had not uttered a word. It deeply concerned her.

The page backed away. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Lanegan, I’d best return to work. I hope he’s soon recovered.’

‘Dear God, so do I, dear,’ muttered Aggie, but, looking at that trembling impostor, she feared her happy-go-lucky son might never return.