Frankie's Manor Read online

  ‘Don’t worry, old girl. Our Rosie wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. She thinks the world of you. I tell you, she’s just showing us she can’t be ordered about. She’ll be back soon. And I promise you she ain’t gonna marry that copper. You have me word on that.’

  Mary gazed tearfully into the compelling brown eyes. What she saw there sent a chill up her spine. ‘Frankie! You ain’t gonna hurt the lad, are you? I mean, just ’cos I don’t want him to carry on seeing Rose, it don’t mean I’d want any harm to come to him.’

  Frankie chuckled. ‘Who me? Hurt someone! Now, Mary, you know me better than that. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, me. And anyhow she can’t do anything without your say-so. You’re still her legal guardian, and until she comes of age she’s gonna have to do what you tell her. Besides, there’s more than one way of skinning a cat. Now, then, you sit there, drink your port, an’ stop worrying. I’ve said I’ll fix things, and I always keep me word, don’t I, Mary?’

  Mary didn’t hear him. A sudden worrying thought had entered her mind. She had never formally applied to be named as Rose’s legal guardian. She had just brought her home and brought her up. Rose had been registered at school under her father’s surname, and when anyone had queried Mary’s relationship to the child, Mary had simply told the truth: that Rose was her dead sister’s child and that she was looking after her niece as the father couldn’t be found and she had no other living relative.

  A chill closed around Mary’s heart. She had no legal hold over Rose. But, then, she had never imagined she would need one.

  Chapter Seven

  Hurrying through the dimly lit streets, Rose could just see the outline of Jack’s shadowy figure up ahead.

  Behind her she heard stealthy footsteps, but her own didn’t falter. She knew whose they were: one of Frankie’s men was trailing her, and the thought gave her comfort. The streets around this area weren’t the safest place to be at night, and even though Jack was in earshot, if anybody was lurking in a nearby alley, a would-be assailant could easily jump out and overpower her before she could cry out for help.

  If Rose was concerned about being accosted, Jack on the other hand was praying for such an occurrence. He couldn’t remember ever being as furious as he was at this moment, and nothing would have pleased him more than if some thieving bastard tried to tackle him. The savagery of his thoughts shook Jack to the core. Blast Buchannon! The man brought out the very worst in him! Then, Get a hold of yourself, man, he admonished himself. Don’t let Buchannon drag you down to his level.

  Yet still Jack’s anger raged. And it was fortunate, indeed, that any opportunist didn’t cross his path that night.

  He had barely let himself into the two-roomed flat he rented in a large house opposite the Berger’s paint factory in Morning Lane, when a soft knock sounded on the front door. ‘Who the bloody hell’s that at this time of night?’ he cursed, beneath his breath. The two other occupants of the house, an elderly couple on the second floor, often came to him with their problems and usually he was only too pleased to help, but tonight he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. Even so, he composed his features into a pleasant smile, which turned to genuine delight when he saw who his late-night visitor was.

  ‘Rose!’

  Now that she was here, Rose was undecided what to do or say next. It hadn’t been easy for her to walk out on Aunt Mary and Frank, but even if Jack had been just a casual friend she would have done the same. The couple she had left behind her couldn’t be allowed to think they had the right to dictate whom she saw and when.

  And Jack wasn’t merely a casual friend. The outrage and fierce protectiveness that had gripped her when Mary and Frank humiliated and jeered at Jack were a final indication of Rose’s true feelings.

  ‘Are you coming in, love? Or have you just come to tell me it’s over between us?’ The deep voice was laden with uncertainty.

  When Rose looked up into those sombre grey eyes, filled with love and a silent plea for reassurance, she knew where her future lay. It wasn’t fair to keep Jack hanging on any longer – but what was she going to do about her aunt? Then his hand came out tentatively and touched her arm. All the love and tenderness she had repressed for so long finally spilled out and, with a muffled cry, she buried her head against his broad chest.

  Tenderly Jack led Rose towards a brown and yellow-patterned settee, gently lowered her on to the sagging cushions and dropped to his knees in front of her.

  ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. I mean about how Aunt Mary spoke to you. It was only because Frankie was there. She would never have been so rude otherwise.’

  ‘I know, I know, love, and I do understand. She was only speaking out of loyalty to Frank, and if I hadn’t been so bull-headed about staying, none of this would’ve happened.’

  ‘I was just as bad. I should have stood up for you straight away, but I was so worried about upsetting Aunt Mary, I forgot about your feelings.’

  Gripping her hands, Jack smiled up into her despondent face. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that counts is that you came after me, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me, darling.’

  They gazed at each other lovingly for a long moment, neither wanting to break the magic. Although Rose had been to Jack’s home before, it had always been in the daytime, and only ever for a short time. But this was different – oh, so very different. In the cosy room bathed in soft light from the wall lamp, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world. It was a heady new experience for Rose, and when a delicious tingle of delight raced up her spine she shivered in glorious anticipation of the new, powerful emotions sweeping through her body. Giving vent to a nervous laugh she cast her eyes down and stuttered, ‘Goodness, Jack. This settee’s blooming awful. It could give you a bilious attack just by looking at it. I thought you were going to get a new one… I…’ She felt herself sinking into the old, cushioned seat as Jack sat down beside her. He gently lifted her chin to study her in awe, as if unable to believe his luck at having her here beside him. The intensity of his naked adoration humbled Rose, while at the same time it gave her new confidence.

  Lifting a hand to his curly, brown hair, she whispered shyly, ‘Did you mean what you said about marrying me, Jack? Or was that just a ploy to antagonise Frank?’

  Jack’s head flew back, sudden hope springing to his eyes. ‘Of course I meant it. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, but I didn’t think you…’

  Rose laid her fingers across his lips. ‘I didn’t think so either, Jack, not until tonight. I’ve been holding back because of Aunt Mary – Because I can’t see us all living together happily, especially not after tonight, and I can’t leave her on her own, she needs me. But… but I need you, Jack. I love you and I want to be with you, only… Oh, Jack… Jack, what are we going to do?’

  Impassioned with hope, Jack gripped the small hands and lifted them to his lips. ‘Rosie, darling, I never thought I’d hear you say those words, and I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’ll win Mary over, you see if I don’t. By the time I’m finished, she’ll think – Hell! I don’t know what she’ll think, but somehow I’ll make sure she comes round.’

  Rose laughed softly. ‘You’re a fool, Jack Adams, but that side of you only makes me love you more.’

  With a loud cry, Jack pulled her to her feet, and danced her round the small room. Unable to resist his impulsive, giddy mood, Rose giggled weakly as they waltzed past the two straight-backed chairs, round the small, oval table and past the crammed bookcase. Then Jack slipped on the mat by the fireplace, stumbled, tried to catch his balance and with a comical twitch of arms and legs crashed noisily to the floor, taking Rose down with him. They landed with a thump, both laughing uproariously. A furious banging started up from the ceiling below: Jack’s elderly neighbours’ good opinion of him didn’t extend to having their sleep disturbed.

  Smothering their laughter, Rose and Jack tried to get up, only to collapse again in a huddle. They lay still on their backs, trying to catch their
breath, then Rose propped herself up on one elbow and gazed at Jack as if hypnotised by his steady grey eyes. Bending her head she lowered her lips on to his, and when his arms came around her, she joyfully gave herself up to his embrace. There was no more holding back, no more hesitation, only a fierce, passionate desire to belong to him. All other thoughts were blocked from her mind as she gave herself to the man she loved.

  At the height of their passion, Jack, exerting every ounce of will-power, pulled away, fighting to stay in control. Rose wasn’t the type of woman to give herself lightly, but he must make sure she knew exactly what she was doing. If he took advantage of her now… oh, God, how he wanted to… and she regretted it later, she might never forgive him. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he said huskily, ‘Are you sure, Rose? You have to be absolutely certain this is what you want. I don’t want you to have any regrets. If you…’ Soft, willing arms enfolded his neck pulling him down on to the pliant body beneath him, and he hesitated no longer.

  It was done. There was no going back now.

  * * *

  ‘So, you’ve come home, have you? I don’t know why you bothered. It’s nearly morning.’

  Rose had left Jack at the door, refusing his offer to come in with her and slipped quietly into the house, hoping to go unnoticed, but Mary was waiting for her. She sat up in the brass bed, a majestic sight with her arms folded beneath heavy breasts, her plump face and neck quivering with anger. Her pale blue eyes, normally so benevolent when directed at her beloved niece, now glared at the young woman standing nervously in the doorway.

  Rose gripped the door jamb, in trepidation. She knew that when her aunt had been drinking, she became a different woman: belligerent and nasty. Yet never had Rose imagined that side of her aunt’s character would be turned against her. Her eyes flickered to the empty port bottle on the floor by the bed and she felt the muscles in her stomach contract painfully.

  ‘On your own, are you? Or is your fancy man waiting outside? If he is, he’d better stay there, if he knows what’s good for him.’ Mary’s voice was strident and harsh. She sneered drunkenly, ‘Frankie’s man came back to let us know where you’d gone, as if we needed telling. Huh! Then Frankie went soon after, leaving me all on me own – as bleeding usual. Oh, I’m not blaming the lad, he had things to see to. But you… you an’ your fancy man had to go and spoil me big night, didn’t you? You couldn’t have put me first for once. Oh, no, not old Mary. Leave her, she’ll be all right. Give her a bottle an’ she’ll be fine.’ She paused for breath, her chins wobbling in a paroxysm of drink-fuelled outrage. And even though in Mary’s mind a voice shouted, ‘Go easy, woman, go easy. Leave it till the morning,’ she yelled, ‘Cat got your tongue, has it? Still, I don’t wonder at it. I’d be bleeding ashamed an’ all if I’d stayed out all night with a man. I thought you was better than that, me girl, but it seems I was wrong. Like I said, you’re just like your mother. She could never keep her hands off the men either.’

  Rose’s feet felt like lead. She stood inside the open doorway, biting her tongue, determined not to answer back while Mary was in this mood. ‘Please, Aunt Mary, don’t start. It’s only just gone twelve!’

  ‘Don’t start? Don’t bleeding start?’ Mary was screeching now, her heavy body thrown forward in the bed, her hands clutching at the gaily-patterned quilt as if for support. ‘How you’ve got the gall to stand there and act all innocent after what you’ve done this night, I don’t know. An’ don’t tell me you’ve been playing bleeding dominoes or just talking all this time. There’s only one thing a man and woman get up to all night, and that should only be after they’re married. Well! If you’re hoping this’ll make me change me mind, then you can bleeding well think again. I’ve said it once an’ I’ll say it again. That bastard copper ain’t setting foot in this house again, not as long as I’m in it. Oh, oh, that’s it! You turn your back on me! Why don’t you? Go on, then, go, get outta me sight. Go on, get on up to bed. It was hardly worth your while getting out of the other one, was it?’

  Heartsick at the sheer venom in Mary’s slurred voice, Rose turned away, in muted denial of what was happening. Bewildered by the turn of events she wasn’t even aware that she had begun to climb the narrow stairs until Mary threw a last scornful retort, spittle spraying from her mouth, at her retreating back. ‘An’, don’t you come crying to me if you suddenly find yourself up the spout, ’cos I won’t lift a finger to help you. And neither will Frankie. Not after you turned your back on him tonight. It’ll be either your fancy man or the workhouse. An’ he might not hang around now he’s got what he wanted.’

  Mary swung her swollen legs over the side of the bed and hobbled after her niece. Hanging on to the doorknob she shouted up to the slim figure, ‘I mean it, girl. I ain’t having any trouble brought to this house. I couldn’t bear the shame. Not after all these years of harping on about me wonderful clever niece. Gawd help us! The Virgin Mary couldn’t hold a candle to my Rose. Oh, no. Not my Rosie. And wouldn’t the neighbours have a field day to see me pure, innocent Rose come waddling down the street with a bastard bulging in her stomach. Well, I won’t have it, Rose! D’yer hear me?’

  Gripping the banister until her knuckles turned white, Rose bent her head against the ferocious attack. What could she say in her own defence? Nothing! And her silence only emphasised her guilt. Burning tears stung her eyes. Then, on legs that had turned to jelly, she stumbled up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.

  Chapter Eight

  When Rose came down the following morning, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She had lain awake most of the night listening to her aunt’s drunken ramblings and accusations and was in no mood to tolerate a squalid repetition of the previous night. She needn’t have worried. Mary, her plump face peaceful in sleep, lay sprawled on the bed, dead to the world.

  Looking down on the smooth features, Rose found it hard to imagine that her aunt could have uttered such vitriolic words but she had, and they had created in Rose a new hardness.

  Not bothering to keep quiet, Rose set about her early-morning ablutions with relish. When she was dressed and sitting at the table with her morning cup of tea, she stared unblinkingly at the supine figure, wondering if she should wake her. Just as quickly she dismissed the notion. Last night she had taken her aunt’s abuse without retaliation, telling herself that it was the port talking. Nevertheless, the harsh words had cut deep, and even though Rose knew that her aunt would never willingly hurt her, the fact remained that she had, and badly. Maybe Mary wouldn’t even remember all that had transpired, but Rose would. Although time would eventually deaden the hurt, it would never erase the painful memory.

  Suddenly Rose felt a great desire to get away from the house – away from her aunt – for if Mary should wake now, Rose wasn’t sure that she would be able to stop herself from giving vent to the torrent of pent-up emotions battling for expression within her. And just to be on the safe side, she would stay away from her aunt for as long as possible. Instead of coming home for her lunch, she would get something to eat at the pub, and maybe by this evening Mary would have calmed down. Having decided on this course of action Rose felt marginally better, though not much. She picked up her bag, then stopped, her eyes filled with pain, to look down on the sleeping woman. She murmured, ‘Oh, Aunt Mary, how could you?’

  The sound of the front door banging penetrated Mary’s deep slumber and, with a startled jerk, she opened her eyes, only to close them again as a knife-like pain seared though her temples. She lay quietly for several minutes, trying to get her bearings, then gingerly opened one eye and groaned. Gawd Almighty, she felt bloody awful. There was a dull thumping in her head, and her mouth felt as dry as a bone behind lips that seemed glued together. Running a thick, furred tongue over her teeth she grimaced at the foul taste in her parched mouth and croaked hopefully, ‘Rose… Rosie, love. You there, darlin’?’ When no answer was forthcoming, Mary turned her head carefully towards the mantel clock and realised, heart sinking, that her niec
e had already left for work. ‘Bleeding hell, girl! You could’ve woke me with a cuppa before you left,’ she grumbled irritably, as she endeavoured to lift her heavy legs over the side of the bed. When her feet encountered the cold floor she shivered and reached for her black woollen shawl. Still muttering to herself, she waddled into the scullery, each step bringing with it fresh agony.

  It wasn’t until she was seated in the armchair with a large cup of almost black tea, that memories of last night began to filter into her fogged mind. And with the remembrance came the first stirrings of guilt. She found herself shifting uncomfortably in the chair as further recollections pushed their way down the hazy tunnel of her mind. ‘Oh, my Gawd! What’ve I done?’ Her hands trembling violently, she lifted the cup to her trembling lips. The events of last night were fuzzy, but she could remember enough for hot beads of sweat to form on her agitated face. Again she whispered piteously, ‘Gawd help me, what’ve I done?’ The knowledge that her bitter attack on Rose had sprung from panic at her niece’s open defiance in defence of Jack Adams did nothing to assuage the mounting shame that was consuming her. As an image of Rose, her lovely face stricken in pain, floated in front of Mary’s blurred vision her body seemed to grow heavier, the guilt weighing her down. With an oath she threw herself forward in the chair, as if to thrust away the memories that taunted her. Then her gaze alighted on the empty bottle, half hidden under the bed.

  The port. That was the cause of all the trouble. She never got nasty on beer, or even on just a few glasses of the sweet red wine. But she had consumed a whole bottle of it. Gawd help her, whatever had she been thinking of? And Frankie – he should’ve known better than to leave her alone with a full bottle. Now, now, none of that, she reprimanded herself sternly. Don’t go blaming Frankie. He didn’t force it down your throat. But she had been so bloody mad when that Jack Adams had spoilt her evening, and then Rose not coming back home till the early hours. Well, not exactly the early hours. Oh, sod it! She could think about the whys and wherefores till the cows came home, for all the good it’d do. The best thing would be to carry on as normal until she had the chance to talk to Rose. Yes, that was the thing to do, keep busy. Rose would be back in a few hours for her lunch so she’d get the place tidied up and open the back door and windows to let some air into the house. Her nose wrinkled in disgust: the place reeked of booze and Frankie’s cigars. The smell was worse than a docker’s armpit.