Читать книгу The Keepsake - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 8

Wounds knitted, awareness restored, after his ghastly experience Marty felt he had lost a fortnight, but in fact had been lying there only a couple of days. According to Uncle Mal, his mother had barely left his side during those first perilous hours, spooning water through his split lips, performing the most intimate tasks, though he could remember little of them. He still ached in every crevice but now felt able enough for action after his midday mug of oxtail broth.

Forming each move gingerly to lessen the hurt, he rose from the threadbare sofa and waited a while to steady himself whilst his parents, younger siblings and Uncle Mal watched intently. ‘Sorry for putting you through all this, Ma.’

‘Isn’t that what mothers are for.’ Aggie’s heart bled for him, and she sighed. ‘’Tis a shame she never even managed to leave you a wee keepsake before they took her.’

Tottering to the mirror above the fireplace Marty grimaced at his pasty reflection, carefully examining the encrusted lesions. ‘What need have I of trinkets when I’ll soon have a real, flesh and blood keepsake – and now I’m back to normal I can go retrieve her.’

‘Normal, says he!’ A howl came from his father’s chair, making the smaller children jump. ‘There’s nothing normal about you. What ignoramus would set himself up for another whipping like that? Sure, he must’ve beat the brains out o’ ye.’ Redmond was grumpy and tired; he, too, had just been sacked, for taking a nap in work time.

Martin made allowances, his reflection displaying nausea. ‘She’s in danger, Da, I have to –’

‘Did you witness her father whipping her?’ demanded Redmond.

‘No, he –’

‘He reserved his punishment for you, and quite frankly I can understand why!’ After trudging eight miles home with no pay for his morning’s work, Redmond was abnormally uncharitable. ‘What a damn fool to think you could get away with stealing his daughter!’

There was only so many allowances Marty would make. ‘She’s consented to marry me,’ came his obstinate reply.

‘Then she’s as disobedient a child as you, and if she takes a good hiding she thoroughly deserves it!’ Redmond turned to vent his exasperation on his wife. ‘He gets this off you! Letting him have his own way in everything…’

‘I do not!’ Aggie was having none of this. ‘Did you not hear me warn him about flashing the tackles over that girl? But will he ever listen? He will not!’ She in turn chastised Marty. ‘Look what your ambition’s done, setting us all against each other! What happened to that nice young woman you were stepping out with a few months ago?’

Marty gaped. ‘Bridget? Why, you said you didn’t want me consorting with a chocolate-basher, said you wanted better for me!’

‘There’s better and there’s downright ridiculous!’ Aggie united with her husband to warn their son, ‘Now, I forbid you to pursue this crazy notion. I’ll not have you putting yourself in danger again – do you hear?’

Looking worn, Marty turned away from the mirror, wincing. ‘I hear, Ma, I hear.’

‘But do you heed?’ His father jabbed a finger. ‘Because if you disobey then there’ll be nobody to scrape you off the floor next time, and I refuse to have this household upset in such a fashion again. I’ve never heard such rubbish – you’ll be better directing your energy into finding a job and making it up to your mother!’

‘Why, of course I will, that was my intention.’

‘And you will leave that girl alone!’

His son heaved a sigh. ‘Have I any choice?’

‘Aye, you can do as the mammy and I say or you can sling your bloody hook!’ With that his father slumped back in his chair, his energy spent.

Seeing his mother about to set into him again, Marty held up his hands in surrender. But nothing would divert him. He was determined upon this union more than ever.

First, though, he must arrange the marriage licence. Still equipped with the uniform he had worked so hard to pay for, and which was the smartest clothing he possessed, he wooed his mother into sponging and ironing it into shape, saying he was going out to find new employment. Instead, armed with the forged letters, the money from the jewellery and an air of confidence, he presented himself at the register office. Here, much sweating was to take place whilst all the paperwork was gone through, though in fact it all turned out to be very simple and his request was duly granted. Unable to give a specific date for the wedding, he rejoiced to hear that the licence would last for three months. Still, he was wise enough to recognise that the hardest part was yet to come – not just the rescue of Etta but the acquisition of more money, for this arrangement had almost cleaned him out. Hence, the next hours were given to seeking work, though with poor result. Finding it impossible to acquire even the lowliest of jobs with no reference, Marty was pushed into the drastic measure of returning to the place from whence he had been dismissed. Presented with an abject apology, perhaps Mr Wilkinson would take pity and scribble a few lines in order that Marty’s family might not starve?

On the other hand he might not. The intrepid suitor found himself once again ejected, and whilst it was not under such violent circumstance as before, it left him under no illusion as to his lack of worth.

His application at the adjacent railway station met with no better luck. Dallying aimlessly by the ticket barrier, to be assailed by clouds of sulphurous smoke, the soot-speckled rush of passengers, the tuneless medley of carriage doors being slammed, the shrill whistle, the chugging and heaving of a departing engine and the cold echoing emptiness that ensued, a benighted Marty racked his brain for a solution. The rescue of Etta would be hard enough, for she could have been locked up or even sent away. However, putting himself in the father’s shoes, he doubted if the arrogant Ibbetson would expect him to turn up after such a trouncing, which would at least lend him an element of surprise. So, acting on this theory, he had decided simply to turn up at the mansion and wait for his willing partner to appear. He would wait even if it took forever. But to maintain her safety, he must have a regular income…which brought him back to the here and now.

He cast his despondent gaze aloft to the glass roof of this vast structure, and its elaborate cast-iron arched supports that extended along the length of the platform in an elegant curve, like the ribs of some leviathan, and he sighed – Jonah, trapped in the belly of a whale.

Another train came rackety-racking alongside the platform, and more tourists alighted, porters toting their belongings to the lobby of the Royal Station Hotel. He pictured Etta’s arrival with her papa that fateful day, wondered what she was doing and if she felt this miserable too. With unfocused eyes he stared as passengers came flooding through the barriers, those unable to afford a cab hailing the services of barrow boys. The scene was re-enacted many a time before the solution hit him. Why, of course! Whoever said that he could not be his own employer? Excited now, his mind began to race, to form a plan, plummeting briefly as he hit a snag: to be a barrow boy one must have a licence – another blessed licence – and whatever the price he was unable to afford it. Still, he remained optimistic enough to accost one such carrier who was standing idle, asking, ‘Eh, chum, how much is a licence?’

‘’Bout half a crown, I think –’

Marty groaned.

The shifty-looking informant then admitted, ‘– but I haven’t got one.’

Marty perked up. ‘That’s in order, is it?’

‘Aye, but it means you only get a job when the permit-holders are all busy. And you have to watch out for Custard Lugs,’ he indicated a man with huge, yellow-tinged ears, ‘he carries a life-preserver and he’ll use it if he thinks you’re trying to weasel your way in.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of his way!’ Grinning his thanks, Marty left the station, feeling more buoyant than when he had arrived and celebrating with a pennyworth of fish and chips. All he had to do now was to acquire a barrow.

Had he not been a popular sort, with very little cash the acquisition might have been impossible, but he knew just where to go. One of his many friends was a collector, preferring that term to a fence of stolen goods, from whose treasure trove was unearthed a rickety barrow.

‘Needs a wheel.’ Bill’s guttural Yorkshire accent emerged from the shadows as he turned to poke around again in the shed. ‘But I must have summat here that’ll do.’

Marty was delighted. ‘Trouble is, Bill, I don’t have any cash. Can I pay you when I’ve put it to work?’

Still searching, Bill said he could, then reached into a cardboard box. ‘How about a cheese?’

‘To act as a wheel?’ asked Marty with a laugh.

‘Dozy sod – for your mother. Tell her I’ve got some nice bacon an’ all – oh, there we are!’ Bill found a suitable wheel which, affixed to the barrow, was to provide Marty’s salvation. He had a barrow, he had a job; now he would have Etta.

Before anything else, he had to conjure an excuse for his parents as to why he might be absent for the next couple of days. It would not work. They would guess at once what he was up to and prevent it. Instead, speaking enthusiastically about the barrow, he explained the difficulty he might have in touting for custom without a licence, and that if he happened to be very late home on his first day they must not worry. They seemed very pleased with his enterprise and he hoped they would not be too concerned when he failed to show. He hated lying but could not hope for them to understand the strength of his feelings for Etta. It was she who commanded his thoughts as he trundled his barrow to the pub in Long Close Lane early the next morning, to be stashed there until his triumphal return.

Everything was in order with the room. How fortunate that he had paid the month’s rent in advance. Checking for the umpteenth time that the key was in his pocket, he embarked on his rescue expedition. Admittedly he was terrified of such a powerful man as Ibbetson, but his love for Etta overcame all, and the notion that he was taking the first step towards their reunion filled him with cheer as he set off on his fifteen-mile hike. Occasionally, this lightness of spirit was to evaporate along with the runnels of sweat on his brow as he struggled through the August heat wave that had suddenly flared, plodding along dusty roads and rolling countryside with his jacket slung over his shoulder, hour after hour after hour, his feet on fire, his legs fit to buckle, his throat parched. But, eventually arrived at her gate just after noon, he was imbued with a sense of such overwhelming achievement that instead of lying low and waiting for her to spot him, he summoned every ounce of courage, donned his brass-buttoned jacket and marched proudly up the driveway towards the massive front door. He would show just how serious he was and let Ibbetson admire his pluck.

The door seemingly miles away, his resolve began to fray as he pictured the actions of those inside as they heard the crunch of an impostor’s feet along the gravel. He imagined eyes at every window, and steeled himself for the blows that must surely follow.

But lo and behold it was a kiss which greeted him first! Spotting him from her lonely seat by the window as she dressed for luncheon, Etta shoved aside her startled maid, rushed headlong down the staircase and across the hall, and before he even had a chance to ring the bell she had thrown herself into his arms and was pressing her lips to every sweating part of his face in joy and relief.

‘I knew it! I knew you’d come!’ And she grabbed his arm and hurriedly led him around the back of the house to a more secluded spot near the potting shed, with an anxious Blanche giving chase.

Unrestrained kisses were to follow, the maid averting her eyes, until Etta suddenly commented on the results of his previous beating. ‘Oh, your poor face! Have I hurt you?’

‘No, no! You make everything better.’ A rapturous Marty enfolded her, moulding his body into her soft, hot flesh, breathing in her scent along with the flowers, kissing and caressing erotically.

‘You shouldn’t have come to the front door!’ Her protestations interspersed more breathless kissing.

‘Are you saying I’m not good enough?’

Her face scolded him between kisses. ‘I meant why did you risk it? Father will be even more furious, I dread to think what he’ll do this time!’

‘Miss Etta!’ Blanche hissed a warning, but was ignored.

‘I won’t be cowed.’ Marty nuzzled the silky white neck. ‘I’ve decided to face him man to man, tell him I’ve got the licence for our wedding and he’ll have to kill me to prevent it!’

‘That is a distinct possibility!’ interjected another. They whirled to see her enraged father bearing down on them. Informed by a servant, Ibbetson had had no time to grab a weapon but his clenched fists promised retribution. Blanche immediately backed away.

Forewarned, Marty was prepared and squared up to his opponent – at least there was only the one this time – but Etta went to meet her father. ‘Please discuss this sensibly!’

However, Ibbetson had never been an articulate man.

‘Mother, stop him!’

Along with a gaggle of servants, Mrs Ibbetson had pursued her husband but, afraid of his fury, did no more than hover in the background wringing her hands.

Etta found herself swiped to the ground, much to Marty’s disgust, but before he could avenge her honour she was up again and yelling into her father’s face. ‘Oh, that’s right, cast me aside like the dirt you hold me to be!’

Ibbetson wrestled with her, at the same time grappling with Marty. ‘You behave like a guttersnipe, and you’ll be treated as such!’

Mrs Ibbetson moaned. Blanche burst into tears. The tranquil garden was rent by angry grunts and squeals.

‘Call yourself a gentleman!’ countered a furious Marty, trying to avoid hitting Etta, who insisted on sandwiching herself between the men. ‘You look down on me but I’d never spurn a lady in such a fashion!’

‘No, you’d just defile her so no other man’ll take her!’ yelled Ibbetson, managing to elbow past his daughter and grab hold of the young upstart, tussling with him, trying to aim a good punch, their struggle invading the flowerbeds where geraniums were trampled underfoot.

‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of!’ Face livid, Marty grasped the bigger man around the waist, hanging on grimly and pulling him in close to prevent Ibbetson landing a blow. ‘If you’d granted me the chance I would have asked politely to marry Etta, but you’re not a man for reason, are ye?’

Striving with effort, her nostrils tweaked by the anomalous perfume of crushed geranium, Etta heaved on her father’s tailcoat, trying to haul him off Marty, whilst her mother merely whimpered and hopped ineffectively from foot to foot. ‘Father, why in pity’s name won’t you allow me to marry the man I love?’

‘Because you can’t be trusted to make an intelligent decision! You’d sooner bring disgrace on this family – a boot boy, for deuce’s sake!’ Ibbetson staggered as his daughter almost succeeded in pulling him off balance, Marty still clinging on for grim death, both almost ankle-deep in soil.

‘Boot boy no more since you kindly had me dismissed!’ panted Marty, grimacing with the effort of trying to hang on and reassuring Etta at the same time as informing her father, ‘But I didn’t stay down for long – I’m to be my own boss!’

Etta might be impressed, but her father sneered. ‘If you think that entitles you to marry my daughter then think again! Now will someone remove this parasite from my land!’ With the assistance of footmen, a rebellious Marty was manipulated towards the exit.

Jerked back and forth by the violent jig performed by the men, Etta felt his jacket ripped out of her hands and threw them up in a gesture of exasperation, declaring stubbornly, ‘You can forbid it all you like, but Martin will be back for me! Lock me in chains, but I’ll get out somehow!’

‘Like a bitch on heat!’ Spittle flew from her father’s lips to his beard, showing just how deranged she had made him and causing her mother to reel in shock, the servants too. ‘I wager he doesn’t know how many more there’ve been, queuing up for your favours. He wouldn’t be so keen then!’

Etta gasped, could hardly speak from outrage. ‘And you’ve turned every one of them away! How dare you humiliate me in such a vile manner? What chance have I had to do such things of which you accuse me when I’m forever in thrall to you? I have no value to you other than to be bartered to some rich man, no matter how charmless or ugly, just so long as the union brings you more power!’

This pulled him up slightly, but only to offer derision. ‘I don’t need some flibbertigibbet to imbue me with power! I’ve worked damned hard to build all this and I don’t intend to lose it to some Tom, Dick or Harry on whom you’ve conveyed your favours!’

‘Pybus, this is intolerable, I beg you, desist!’ entreated Mrs Ibbetson, a more genteel person altogether than her husband, braving his wrath to snatch at his arm and condemn him with a whisper. ‘It’s unforgivable that you address Henrietta like some common…she’s our daughter.’

‘And how many times I’ve wished she wasn’t!’ retorted Ibbetson, but his wife’s quiet rebuke had acted as a turning point. Wrenching himself free of Marty, he thrust the hapless youth into the arms of the servants who awaited the order to eject him. But their master signalled them to linger. Brushing and tugging his clothes into some semblance of order, only just able to control his fury, he issued his daughter with an ultimatum. ‘One last chance – and I’m being more than generous in the face of such wilful provocation. But first I shall have an honest answer: did this scoundrel at any time take advantage of you?’

Etta toyed with the idea of saying yes – which would, in effect, mean that no other man would want her and she would be of no further use as a bargaining tool – but it would also spell another beating for Marty and she could not bear that. ‘You asked me once before. I told you that I intend to guard my honour until I marry. But, let me inform you, Father, I would die before I wed a man of your choosing. This man here, whom you have so cruelly handled, he is the only one I shall marry!’ She went to Marty’s side and clung to him.

Driven to distraction by this girl who, since babyhood, had never done as she was bidden, Ibbetson ranted, ‘You imbecile, he’s only after your wealth, can’t you see?’

‘What wealth?’ Etta reflected her father’s exasperation, her face pink and her hair tousled from the fray. ‘I have none, other than that which you deign to bestow!’

Ibbetson clutched his scalp and gave a delirious moan as if trying to understand how all this had come to pass. How could she depict him as such an ogre, after all he had given her? He got on well with his son John, didn’t he? Tremendously in fact, for John had never repaid his generosity and advice with ingratitude or confronted him at every turn of the way, as had this chit here, but gave him all the admiration that was due. Etta seemed only to want to hurl it back in his face, the ultimate display of that ingratitude being here and now in her choice of husband, this damned upstart, this lowest of the low.

A lethal expression on his face, he made as if to grab Marty again, but Etta’s mother intervened with a shriek. ‘Pybus, must you resort to murder? For nothing short of it will stop them. They are determined to wed.’

It was an unusually brave move for Isabella Ibbetson, who had allowed herself to be passed mutely from an overbearing father to a domineering husband, and, having learned how spitefully childish Pybus could be if not exalted as the font of all wisdom, preferred to buckle under for the sake of a quiet life. Her prayers that Etta would take this example had been unanswered, but she loved her wilful daughter, empathised with her reluctance to be bartered, and, even if it might be too late, sought to fight her corner now.

Marty saw the mother properly for the first time now, a striking woman with dark looks, and threw her a look of gratitude for her support, though it quickly became evident that she had not an ounce of Etta’s staying power.

Receiving a glare for her disobedience, Mrs Ibbetson sighed and meekly stepped aside for her husband to do his worst. But at least he seemed to have taken her remark to heart. Confining any further violence to his voice, he barked at Etta whilst addressing her via his wife. ‘Very well! The unmanageable baggage wants her own way, and she shall have it.’

Thinking there was some trick, Etta did not move, scraping away the hair that was clinging to her glistening brow and exchanging looks with Marty.

But her father said again, directly this time, ‘Off you go then! If that’s the way you want to repay everything that’s been lavished on you, there’s no point in dallying. After all, what use are you to me if you won’t do as you’re bidden?’

Still she was hesitant. ‘With your blessing?’

‘Blessing be damned! I hope you both rot in eternal damnation!’

Galvanised into action, she replied hotly, ‘As you wish, Father! Blanche, go and pack – you shall come with me, of course.’

An admiring Blanche made to accompany her to the house but the master blocked their progress. ‘She shall not! The servants are my property, and I didn’t buy you those clothes so you could pawn them to subsidise your fancyman.’

Alternating between relief and anger, Marty rejoined tersely, ‘I can support my own wife, Mr Ibbetson, we need none of your help.’

‘Splendid! Because you won’t get it. You!’ He jerked his head at Blanche. ‘Back to the house, unless you want to forfeit your livelihood.’

‘Don’t treat her like a chattel, she’s a human being – Blanche, stand your ground!’

But, recognising the futility of siding with Etta, the maid instantly complied with her employer’s demand.

‘Now let’s see how keen you are to take her on, Mr…whatever your name is.’

‘Lanegan,’ provided Marty through gritted teeth.

‘Hah! I thought I detected a touch of the bog-trotter. I suppose you’re a damned Roman Catholic into the bargain, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ Marty was defiant, though he rarely went to church and neither did his parents.

‘Didn’t know that, did you?’ Ibbetson took delight in the look of slight surprise on his daughter’s face.

‘Martin’s religion has no bearing on anything.’ Etta became haughty.

Ibbetson gave a nasty laugh. ‘Let’s see what bearing it has when he lands you with a brat every year!’ His tone lightened. ‘But if you still want him badly enough I’ll allow you to walk out of here with the clothes you stand up in, which is more than you deserve. I wouldn’t like to guess how long one dress will last, mind.’ He saw the flicker of alarm on his daughter’s face as she realised what she was about to sacrifice, and drove his point home. ‘But then maybe, after what you’ve just learned, you’d care to reconsider, to admit that you’ve been an ungrateful fool and put this ridiculous notion out of your head, say goodbye to this bog-Irish fortune hunter, in which case we’ll say no more about it.’

Etta tried to appear dignified. ‘Presented with such generosity of spirit, Father, you leave us no choice.’ She took Marty’s arm and headed for the gate.

Her mother panicked – this was not what she had intended at all. ‘Henrietta, don’t be so rash! Will you not consider your mother? For I must stand by my husband in this, there shall be no return.’

‘I’m sorry, Mother.’ Etta turned a pitying expression on Mrs Ibbetson, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Say goodbye to John for me when next you see him.’ Then she turned away to hide her distress.

‘Pybus, you cannot allow her to go!’ The mother clutched her cheeks in anguish.

Ibbetson was unnerved too at his bluff being called, though he did not let it show. ‘You were the one who said she was determined. Well, let’s see how determined she is when she has to fend for herself.’ And to his daughter: ‘Don’t come begging to us when you find your boot boy doesn’t earn enough to keep you in scent!’

Etta rounded angrily on her father, fighting tears of rage at the blithe manner in which he rejected her. ‘If you think that by spoiling Martin’s chances of finding work I’ll come back to you –’

‘You think I’d have you back?’ Ibbetson gave an uncaring snort. ‘Once you get beyond those gates that’s it – and that fellow doesn’t need my help in losing a job, he’ll do that for himself by his reckless attitude.’

‘I know you, you vindictive wretch!’ stormed Etta. ‘The minute I’m gone –’

There was no chance to say more, for at her father’s declaration of ‘Enough of this!’ she was bundled unceremoniously from the grounds along with her lover and the gates clanged shut in her astonished face. There was nothing else for it but to walk away.

Behind the barricade, watching her go, Etta’s father remained furious. Her mother was only sad, her voice caught with emotion. ‘We’ve lost her.’

‘Rubbish! She’ll try crawling back when he finds he can’t manage her either and throws her out.’

In response came a miserable shake of head from one who knew: both husband and daughter were as stubborn as each other.

Ibbetson turned dismissively to march back to the house, the servants scurrying ahead. But his daughter’s ingratitude had wounded him deeply. He could never forgive her.

Elated at having won, Marty would have tackled the fifteen-mile return hike with aplomb, but how could he drag Etta all that way in those flimsy little shoes? Especially after such extreme upset as she had endured.

‘We’ll bide here for the carrier,’ he told her kindly, even though he had little cash to spare, as he led her to a bench on the village green. ‘Hope it’s not too long a wait.’

Etta nodded and sat beside him, constricted, chafed and sweating in the corset that held her upright like a fist of iron but could not prevent her overall subdued bearing.

It hurt to say it but he felt he must. ‘There’s still time to go back if you’re regretting –’

‘No!’ Her upper lip beaded with sweat, she hastened to reiterate her love for him, trying to appear her bright self. ‘I’m not in the least regretful. You’re all I’ve ever wanted and will want, truly.’ She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s just so sad to have to leave Mother…’

‘Aye…but you mentioned she didn’t have much to do with bringing you up.’ He remembered Etta voicing her sense of loss at the dismissal of her old nanny.

Her head came up. ‘That doesn’t matter! She’s still my mother. Imagine how you’d feel.’

Nodding, he entwined her in comforting arms, coaxed her head back to his shoulder and was thoughtful for a while. ‘It’s not the same, I know, but I’m sure mine will welcome you as her own once she gets to meet you in person. And my da’s a lovely man too.’ Perhaps, again, it was the wrong thing to have said, her father being quite the opposite. He rested his chin atop her perspiring scalp, imagining the initial commotion his parents would make. But they were good people, and once they had evidence of Etta’s love for their son they would take her to their hearts.

Reassured, Etta cuddled up to him, ignoring the fact that it was far too hot, feeling the heat of his body searing though her bodice, to her heart. Away from the angry voices the atmosphere of the village was one of calm, barely a sound other than that of the hover flies suspended in the sultry air around their heads. Her demeanour gradually relaxed and her mind began to drift.

‘I wonder what John will say when he learns of this,’ she murmured. ‘I know he was beastly to you, but only at father’s instigation and because he sought to protect me; he and I used to be close until recent happenings.’

Marty thought he understood. ‘I suppose you would be if there was just the two o’ yese.’

‘I believe there was some sort of crisis when I was born. At any rate, Mother couldn’t have any more. But of course that doesn’t mean we are Father’s only children.’ At Marty’s frown, she added, ‘He has a mistress – in fact more than one.’

‘How do you know?’ asked her amazed partner.

Her head still upon his shoulder, Etta wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, gossip, you know.’

‘It might be just that,’ offered Marty.

‘No, I followed him one day, witnessed his indiscretion for myself. I feel so sorry for poor Mother, who shows him such devotion – yet I deplore her weakness for allowing it to happen. I tried to tell her, but it was obvious she already knew and was turning a blind eye. I’d never countenance anything of that nature in my marriage.’ It was not merely a declaration but a warning.

Marty was quick to squeeze her and voice his own fidelity. She hugged him back, and to pass the time whilst they waited for the carrier asked about his brothers and sisters, whom he had named before but she had forgotten. He listed them: Louisa, Bridget, Mary and Anne, all of whom were older than himself and married, Elizabeth and Maggie still at school, Tom and Jimmy-Joe the youngest – and that was not to mention the dead ones in between.

Etta chuckled. ‘My word, do you think we’ll have such a clan?’

He wondered how to respond. ‘Would you want to?’

She toyed thoughtfully with one of his brass buttons. ‘Well, maybe not quite so many – and not for years. For now I’ve no desire to share you with anyone.’

He gave vigorous accord. ‘I’d never say anything of the sort to my parents, but too large a family drags you down. All your money goes on feeding and clothing them and there’s none left over to spend on things for yourself.’

‘And what would you like for yourself?’ Etta quizzed with a smile of interest.

Marty grinned, but bit his tongue upon cognising that he had painted himself into a corner: how could he confide his dream of a big house and servants with good-quality furniture and a suit of clothes that didn’t have to be kept for best? It wouldn’t matter that it was pure fantasy; Etta would think that her father had been right about him only being after her for her money, and that just wasn’t true at all. Knowing how touchy she was about her looks, he couldn’t even admit that part of his dream had been realised in a beautiful bride-to-be.

But then to his relief he did not have to speak. Alerted by the rumble of a cart, Etta jumped up to hail its driver. ‘Are you by any chance going near York?’

The grizzled waggoner tipped his hat. ‘All t’way there, lady.’

‘See!’ Etta turned to Marty, her dark eyes refilled with their usual sparkle. ‘Luck is smiling on us already.’

Belying his rough appearance, their saviour showed respect for the young lady’s dress and rubbed the seat clean with his hat. The sight of Marty’s bruised face caused a moment of doubt, but, a shrewd judge of character, the waggoner quickly weighed the situation and a quiet smile accompanied his invitation for the happy couple to board. It appealed to his anarchic nature that he might be helping them elope, their murmured conversation during the journey confirming his suspicions.

Martin wondered aloud if they would be in York before the register office closed, thus including the waggoner in their conspiracy.

‘I don’t want to dash your hopes, but old Snowy doesn’t walk much faster than a man these days. However,’ he gave a reassuring smile and tickled the horse’s geriatric rear with his whip, ‘we’ll give him a try – gerrup now, Snowy!’

‘Aye, gerrup, Snowy!’ Marty and Etta shared a loving laugh at their simultaneous command, even though it made no difference at all to the horse’s stride.

Against all odds, they did reach their destination just in time to visit the register office, the waggoner bestowing them a wink of good luck as they thanked him and rushed away to make an appointment to marry.

But at the last minute, Etta had a bout of nervous superstition and urged her suitor to enter alone lest all go awry. ‘When they see how young I am – oh, I feel so self-conscious, I can’t bring myself to go in!’

‘You’ll have to present yourself some time, they can’t marry folk by telegraph – I’m joking!’ He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘How can it go wrong? We’ve already been granted the licence.’

‘It’s all very well for you, you’re almost twenty-one.’

Blushing, Marty was forced to admit then, ‘I exaggerated about the couple of months, I won’t come of age till next year – but I swear to God I haven’t lied to you about anything else!’ He crossed his heart.

Forgiving him this trespass, she was finally persuaded that their visit was mere formality, and, with time ticking away, agreed to come in with him for support. Still, she braced herself for an interrogation.

The superintendent registrar was not at all pleased to receive their request so late in the day, and throughout the brief interview there was to be great suspense.

But then, ‘We’ve done it!’ Marty broke into relieved laughter as, wedding arranged, they rushed away before anyone could call them back.

‘Almost!’ Etta squeezed his arm excitedly. ‘Oh goodness, wasn’t it such luck he could fit us in so soon? I wish tomorrow afternoon would hurry! What are we to do until then?’

‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished!’ exclaimed Marty, who had not eaten since breakfast.

‘Let’s visit a restaurant!’ At his look of dismay a crafty glint came to Etta’s eye. ‘I’m not so penniless as I made out to Father. After the last debacle I thought to be better prepared and I’ve managed to accumulate eight sovereigns.’ She laughed at his gasp. ‘Don’t ask where from! I had Blanche sew them into my petticoat.’ Then, taking his arm, she hurried him into the entrance of a dark, ancient passageway that stank of urine. ‘Shelter me whilst I retrieve some of it!’

His stomach cramped by intense hunger, Marty was not about to rebuff her extravagant gesture and shielded her with his body whilst keeping a lookout for peeping Toms. He cast furtive glances as she hoisted her skirts and attempted to rip the coins from the petticoat’s hem, but they were too firmly stitched. She cursed and applied her teeth to the linen, making him laugh at her antics until frustration drove her to urge him, ‘Well, you have a go!’

Wondering what an onlooker might think of him lifting a young lady’s petticoats, he nibbled and picked at the hem, which, between the pair of them, was finally rent and the coins retrieved, Marty having to chase some of them down the pavement as they all spilled free at once.

Then, still delirious with laughter and excitement at the thought of their coming nuptials, off they went to find a place in which to gorge.

An hour later, bloated with sausage and mash, strawberries and cream, Marty bestowed an adoring smile upon his bride-to-be across the white table linen, hoping he didn’t have gravy round his mouth and admitting he had never been in a place as nice as this. Moreover, there was another bonus. ‘I’ve still got plenty of time to nip home before it gets dark – I mean to Ma and Da’s.’

Etta’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t possibly think to leave me alone! I know you regard it as living in sin, but –’

‘Do I look that holy?’ He reached for her hand, laughing. ‘We’ll only be jumping the gun for a single night, that hardly constitutes living in sin. No, I meant just to reassure them. I’ll take you to our new home first, get you settled – got to go there to collect my barrow anyway – then I’ll call on Ma and Da and tell them I didn’t have such a lucrative day as I thought so I’ll have to go out again. You know, lay it on thick as to how I feel guilty at not bringing any money home after all the trouble I’ve caused them.’

‘You’re used to this, aren’t you?’ accused Etta with a smile.

He bit his lip. ‘No, I hardly ever tell them lies. I hate doing it now really but they’ve been so blasted obstrocu-lous over this marriage that it serves them right. If they supported their son he wouldn’t have to lie, would he? Though what I’ll do if Ma wants to feed me…’ He chuckled and, holding his distended stomach, pretended to retch.

Etta grimaced emphathetically as they paid for the meal and left the restaurant. ‘But they’ll still expect you to come home some time during the evening,’ she reminded him.

‘Not if I say I’m going to kip on a bench at the station so’s to be bright and early tomorrow.’ Marty looked smug.

‘Another lie for Judgement Day,’ teased Etta.

‘Well, only in part. I will be up bright and early, it’s not every day a fella gets married.’ He linked her arm as they ambled through the city, along narrow streets that boasted elegant Georgian architecture, its symmetry marred by the squat and decrepit medieval buildings that lurked between, their gable-ends plastered with garish advertisements, plus an array of striped awnings, even now at seven o’clock having to shade the goods in the shop windows against an unrelenting sun. ‘Mindst, we won’t be tying the knot until the afternoon, we might decide we deserve a lie in.’ A twinkle in his eye, he nudged her suggestively with his hip.

‘Well, I might,’ said Etta, ‘though I can’t see you being very comfortable on the floor.’

At this he looked blank.

‘We only have the licence, not the certificate,’ she reminded him archly. ‘It’s rather presumptuous of you.’

Marty’s visage flooded with disappointment. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it is…’

Etta remained aloof for a moment, then could no longer maintain the charade and broke into peals of laughter at his chagrin, clutching his arm as if hanging on to life itself. ‘Do you seriously think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again? Of course you shall share the bed, tonight and always – oh, won’t it be wonderful never to be parted!’

He returned her laughing gesture, voicing agreement, but still in the dark as to whether she intended only to let him sleep beside her or to lift the embargo on their physical union before marriage. But at present nothing else mattered other than her vow to be his – as his warning glance told every other man who turned to stare at her, though secretly he enjoyed the kudos of having such a jewel on his arm.

They came out of town via the gnarled stone bridge at Castle Mills, over the scum-laden, oil-dappled broth that was the River Foss, where barges idled in the evening sun, and through the postern gate in the medieval limestone walls. Marty had deliberately brought her this way to avoid any drunken antics along Walmgate, renowned as the roughest thoroughfare in York. Some might have declared it a futile gesture when the room he had rented was over a pub, but he himself was pleased to find the saloon bar comparatively quiet, this being mid-week, albeit reeking of the usual beery fumes and tobacco smoke.

Still, he imagined it must be a shock for Etta.

‘It won’t be for long!’ he assured her again, seeing her face drop at the realisation that this seedy venue was home. ‘Had there been anything else –’

‘I’m sure it will be fine!’ Hiding her disappointment, Etta faked glee. ‘It’s all rather exciting, come show me the way!’

He led her up a dilapidated staircase and across a landing with nicotine-stained walls, apologising for the room’s bare boards and sparse furnishings, drawing the curtains to give them some privacy and repeating that this was purely a temporary lodging.

Etta remained optimistic. ‘I didn’t come here to admire the furniture.’ And, smiling, she opened her arms, into which he gladly stepped.

There followed a passionate succession of kisses. It was such a wrench to leave her, but with a regretful expression he unglued his lips. ‘I really should go and pacify the mammy and daddy now.’

‘Do they live far?’ She stroked him.

‘Only a hundred yards or so.’ His eyes crinkled in laughter. ‘That’s why I was so edgy in coming here, lest I was spotted. What will you do while I’m gone?’

Etta planted herself demurely on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. ‘I shall just sit here and contemplate my extreme good fortune in finding you.’

‘Aw!’ Overwhelmed with affection, Marty threw his arms round her again, then, knowing how dusty and sticky he himself felt from their journey, said, ‘I should fetch you some water so’s you can make yourself more comfy.’ There was a bowl and jug on a table. Grabbing the jug, he returned some moments later with a supply of cold water. ‘Sorry we’ve no tap of our own. Everything’s a bit primitive.’

She said this was of no matter. ‘Do I call someone to take it away when I’m done?’

‘No! Mustn’t let anyone see you’re not wearing a ring, I told them we’re already man and wife. I’ll shift it later. Oh, and I’d better light this, don’t want to leave you in the dark.’ After fumbling over the paraffin lamp, he looked about him, checking for any other addition to her comfort. ‘Er…there’s a whatsit under the bed if you need it.’ Then he blew her a last kiss, saying he would try not to be away too long. ‘Think of this, after tomorrow none of it will matter.’

He hurried through the dying light to his parents’ house, both happy and ashamed that they believed him when he said what a hard day he’d had and did not question when he told them of his plan to return to the railway station. There was no avoiding the meal his mother had kept for him, but luckily it was a platter of cold meat, which he was able to wrap and take with him saying he must get back without delay. It would provide him and Etta with breakfast.

On the way back he relieved his bladder for the night so as not to have to do it in front of his wife-to-be. Expecting that she might have fallen asleep after her gruelling day, he was touched to discover she had forced herself to stay awake for him, although she was in bed, the covers up to her chest and her long, dark tresses spread across the pillow.

She asked how things had gone with his parents, to be told that all was fine, then saw his eyes go to the dress and corset draped over the iron bedstead. ‘I had dreadful trouble unlacing without Blanche.’

‘Never mind, from now on you’ll have me to help you.’ He removed his jacket, gave it a shake, draped it over the back of a chair and went to wash his hands and face in the bowl using the sliver of soap that Etta had conjured from somewhere. Then, oddly self-conscious under her drowsy gaze, he snuffed out the lamp before unbuttoning his trousers, carefully laying these aside too and climbing in beside her.

Discovering that Etta, too, had left on her underwear, he refrained from cuddling her for the moment, not just because it was stiflingly hot but because he was unsure what she expected of him. ‘I’ll bet you’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ he blurted.

The dark outline of her head nodded sleepily. ‘But incredibly happy.’ She reached for his hand.

A little relieved, he lay back gripping her fingers, closing his eyes and murmuring how much he was looking forward to tomorrow.