The Keepsake
Sheelagh Kelly

For my dear daughter, Gayle.

Epilogue

Neither woman felt in the mood for a party. It was impossible to concentrate on the trivia of bunting and buns for the Peace Celebrations after four, almost five gruelling years of shortages, the agonising worry over one’s husband, one’s son, yet Etta and Aggie had decided they should make some sort of effort for the children’s sake. Dressed in black, each was silent, going over the business of sandwich-making automatically, scraping knives across bread, their thoughts otherwise engaged by memories. The room was silent, its only other occupant fast asleep in his fireside chair, pipe on chest, his nose and cheeks burnt bright red after an accidental nap under a blazing sun.

‘Marty used to like these when he was a boy,’ murmured Aggie, even in her best attire looking haggard as she stacked another round of condensed milk sandwiches on the plate with its paper-lace doily. ‘Of course, that was before he developed expensive tastes. Nothing was ever good enough for him after that.’

Etta gave an absent smile, deep in her own thoughts as she sawed and sliced, contributing to the pyramid of sandwiches. It seemed like a lifetime ago that, after being let out of prison with all charges dropped, she had staggered back into this kitchen, thrown herself into Aggie’s arms and sobbed out her misery, to be just as dramatically assuaged by a letter which told of the petition to the Commander in Chief, organised by her mother, her meek little mother who had never uttered a defiant word in her life but had rallied her influential friends to save her daughter’s husband. Whether this had swayed Sir John French’s decision one could not say, but, with a telegram to confirm the reprieve, it had not mattered. For whatever reason, Marty had been spared execution. Had Etta but known it then, that even in such wondrous moment of relief there would be three more years to suffer…

‘God!’ An agitated Aggie paused abruptly in her task to rest her hands on the table and to shake her head, her face grim. ‘I know I said I wasn’t going to mention it and spoil the children’s party, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over the shame. That boy…’

Etta paused too, looked at her sympathetically and parted her lips to speak, but her mother-in-law announced, ‘No, don’t say a word! I don’t even want to think about it, not today.’ And she got on with her frivolous chore.

‘Any more plates, Granny Lanny?’ fourteen-year-old Celia tripped in to ask.

‘I’ll give you Granny Lanny!’

The young woman laughed coquettishly, and, carrying the plates that were thrust at her, returned to the tables that had been set up in the street, from where others’ happy laughter could be heard.

‘I suppose we’d better join the party then,’ sighed Aggie, smoothing her grey hair and casting a harassed glance at Red still asleep in his fireside chair, then at the empty one opposite. ‘Much as I don’t feel like it. Seems disrespectful to be kicking up our heels just after a wake.’

Etta sanctioned the need for them both to have fun. ‘I don’t think anyone would begrudge us after the hardship we’ve been through.’

Red woke up then with a grunt, cast his glowing face about him in mild surprise, before picking his pipe off his chest and puffing it back to life.

‘I should buy you a lace waistcoat,’ his wife chided him sourly. ‘’Twould save you the trouble of burning the holes in it.’

Red gave a philosophical brush at his chest. ‘Have I missed the party?’

‘No, we’re still waiting on himself,’ replied his wife, looking somewhat aggrieved.

All looked round as the back door opened.

‘Oh, here you are at last,’ chided Aggie. ‘I thought I’d have to come and dig you out.’

‘I can’t help it, it’s what you do go feeding me!’ A grumbling Uncle Mal shuffled in at the speed of a tortoise, his twig-like hand upon a stick, having to summon help from Etta in negotiating the shallow step up from the scullery.

‘My feelings exactly!’ A younger male head poked itself round a different door and a voice chipped in, ‘Is there nothing more interesting to scoff? Christ, I was stuck on condensed milk and bully beef for four years – this is meant to be a celebration, ye know, Ma.’

A grossly indignant Aggie put her hands on her hips and beheld Etta. ‘Didn’t I tell you he always wants what he can’t damn-well have?’ Feigning violence, a sparkle in her eye, she advanced on her grinning son.

‘Call her off, Da!’ begged Marty, but at the first sign of laughter Red fell instantly asleep, awaking every few seconds to issue a brief spurt of amusement before falling asleep again and again and again. ‘I was only asking, Ma!’ Marty yelped.

‘And I’m only telling!’ She smote and jabbed him. ‘I haven’t the money to waste on you after emptying my purse on the wake!’

‘Nobody said you had to,’ objected her son, laughingly trying to fend her off, bending this way and that to avoid her flailing hands.

Aggie pressed forth the mock attack, poked and prodded him till he shrieked for mercy in a boyish falsetto, whilst her blue eyes sparkled with delight at having him home. ‘I’m damned if I’m having your Aunt Joan, God rest her, sitting up there in her heavenly abode complaining to Uncle John that I didn’t give them the very best send-off!’

‘So we have to make do with a crummy shindig!’ taunted Marty, green eyes twinkling as, having left off, his mother now came back to re-launch the assault. ‘Ah, don’t just stand there, Ett, save me, save me!’ And for the benefit of his amused audience that now included little William, who had just come in and joined the game by helping Granny smack Father, he danced this way and that to avoid her blows.

‘I shan’t lift a finger,’ announced Etta loftily, maintaining a steadying hold of Uncle Mal’s arm. ‘I thoroughly agree with your mother.’

‘Oh, fine wife you turned out to be!’ accused Marty, finally allowed to escape from Aggie’s clutches, but his eyes were warm as they locked with Etta’s dark brown ones. And for a moment they were to remain like this, each sharing the same thought, silently wondering what it had all been for, those years of suffering, when here they were in this little house as if he had never been away? Was Marty returned to a better world? A world fit for heroes? Different, certainly, but better? With all his heart he prayed so, not from any selfish desire for, unlike many, he had walked straight into a job that enabled him to rent a modest house, and so he didn’t have to rely on his parents, and could feel like a man. No, his prayer, his fervent hope, was that his less fortunate comrades had not been trodden and pounded into the French earth simply to add to its fertility…for a second the nightmarish memories that he had managed to suppress for today’s celebrations now came rushing back, the thunderous bang and whistle of artillery, the smell of burnt flesh, the pitiful cries of the dying that would ever reverberate…

But he fought them, for he was not dead, he was here, alive, with his dear, brave wife and his beloved children and his parents and siblings and his brothers-in-law, all of whom had survived – few families could boast that – and here he would be, forever. Just in time – for Etta had gauged his flicker of despair causing her smile to falter – the warmth of contentment flooded back into his gaze, he and she composing their smiles as a more serious outpouring came from his mother, who undid her apron and tidied her hair for the party.

‘As if I haven’t enough expense with that blessed brother of yours rushing a wedding upon us – Holy Mother, I’ll never get over the shame, never!’ Aggie stopped in her tracks to press her cheeks in horror at the thought of Jimmy-Joe’s impending fatherhood. Then her eyes were all of a sudden directing fake malevolence at Marty again. ‘And I swore I wasn’t going to let it worry me today, and now you’ve gone and reminded me of it, thank you very much!’ And in an unstoppable attack she began to drive him towards the front door. ‘Out, out with ye now, and not another word of complaint – go and have a party in your own street if this one isn’t good enough for ye!’

‘It’s good enough!’ cried Marty, covering his head and backing away, trying not to trip over a giggling William. ‘Please don’t hit me, Ma, I’m begging ye!’

‘My God, he’ll have the –’ Red crashed into a few seconds of unconsciousness before finishing his sentence – ‘polis on us with his daft goings-on.’

‘Are we off then before all the food’s gone?’ croaked Uncle Mal.

A happy Etta shook her head laughingly, then slowly and patiently began to guide the frail nonagenarian towards the front door.

Managing to control his affliction, Red arose to shuffle after them, an expression of disbelief upon his burnt face. ‘’Tis a fine thing if you’ve only your belly to worry about, and you nudging your century!’ And to Etta, ‘If I’d known he was going to live so long I’d never have taken the ould bugger in. I can’t believe he’s still walking round with this flu knocking people off right, left and centre, like poor Johnny and Joan.’

‘Neither can I,’ marvelled Etta, and to her charge, ‘Tell us your secret, Uncle Mal.’

With painful slowness, the old man cupped his ear with a bony, liver-spotted claw.

‘What’s your secret for a long life?’ she repeated in louder tone.

‘Keep breathing,’ said the ancient, with a mischievous grin.

And to fond laughter, the Lanegans moved out into the sunshine, to join in the Hope Street celebrations.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Epilogue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

About the Author

Also by Sheelagh Kelly

Copyright

About the Publisher

1

Marty Lanegan was skylarking his way along a corridor of the grandest hotel in York, lolloping like an ape for the entertainment of a workmate to have him double up in laughter, when his antics were stalled by a furious argument. Abandoning his audience, he paused to listen and to grin at the choice insults which jarred with this Edwardian elegance, that were hurled like clubs between father and daughter. He knew this to be the relationship for he had witnessed the arrival of the scowling but very handsome young lady and her papa late yesterday afternoon, and had opined to the rest of the staff that she looked a proper handful.

‘You mean you’d like a handful,’ the page had leered.

Well, that was no lie. She was the most stunning girl Marty had ever seen: hence his unusual keenness for work this morning. He was about to put his eye to the keyhole when the door opened, forcing him to leap back or be bullocked aside by the angry gentleman on the point of exit.

The boot boy sought to explain his proximity. ‘I’ve just come to check if there’s any shoes need cleaning, sir!’

This was met by suspicion, the man’s cane held at a threatening angle. ‘Somewhat late in the day for that, isn’t it?’ It was well after breakfast.

Marty’s reply displayed just the right blend of courtesy and helpfulness, delivered with the faintest lilt of Irish brogue. ‘Some guests forget to leave them out, sir, so I make constant trips up here. I like to provide good service.’

‘If it was that good you’d be aware that you’ve already done ours,’ growled the man, who, with his bearded face, corpulent build and eyes that bulged with rage, was the spitting image of the King, though his manner was anything but royal. Ramming on his bowler and shoving the cane under his arm, he turned his back on the servant, locked the door and marched to the stairs, but not before both he and Marty heard the sound of a heavy object hitting wood.

Struggling to contain his mirth, the boot boy appeared to go obediently on his way. But a crafty glance over his shoulder told him that the other had descended and, upon hearing noisy sobs, he crept back to employ the keyhole. Maybe he could be the one to comfort her…

They were not the feeble kind of tears but loud wails interspersed with frustrated yelps and thuds, as if she were punching some substitute for the one who had angered her. He was still bent over trying to catch a glimpse of anything other than the bedroom wallpaper, when someone nipped his trim, uniformed buttock, shocking him upright.

The culprit stifled a giggle as her victim swivelled in dread. ‘What’re you up to, Bootsie?’

‘Ye daft mare!’ He scolded the chambermaid in a forced whisper, and then grabbed her to tussle and tickle her, chuckling good-naturedly. ‘I thought ’twas her daddy come back.’

Annoyed to learn that his attention was for another woman, Joanna’s laughter dissipated in a blunt Yorkshire response. ‘You lecher! Spying on that swanky lass – I might have known!’

‘I’m just checking she’s all right, that’s all!’ The tone was innocent, but the cheeky sparkle in Marty’s eyes showed otherwise. ‘They were going hammer and tongs at each other and then he left in a hurry and locked her in.’ Keeping his voice low, and oblivious to Joanna’s jealousy, he shoved his cap to the back of his head and bent to the keyhole again. ‘Maybe he hit her – she’s still bawlin’.’

Smarting over his ignorance of her own feelings, Joanna hissed, ‘Why don’t you just knock and find out?’ And with that she rapped briskly on the door before hastening away with her trolley, leaving him to panic.

He was set to run but the occupant was already at the door, her crying stopped and her voice eager with enquiry. ‘Who’s there?’

Still unnerved by Joanna’s action, Marty gave rapid apology through the barrier. ‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to distur—’

‘Don’t go!’ Her entreaty was swift but polite, its melodic tone permeating the wood to spellbind him. ‘Could you possibly help? My father’s gone out and taken the key in error. I’m locked in.’

Marty knew it was no error. He would be in deep trouble if he got involved in this. ‘I’m only the boots, Miss er –’ He broke off, not privy to her name. But her voice sounded lovely, stroked him persuasively as she begged again.

‘Oh please! Couldn’t you find a spare key and let me out?’

Wanting to assist, his face contorted with indecision, he glanced along the corridor to where a bad-tempered Joanna was darting in and out of a room changing the bed linen. She would have a key. Still, he dithered for a second, playing with his chin. Why had the girl’s father locked her in? It was too impertinent to ask, but he did not like the man who, gentlemanly attire or no, looked an arrogant brute. Thus decided, he straightened his cap and said, ‘Hang on, miss, I’ll just go see what I can do.’

Hurrying to accost the maid he explained the situation. ‘We have to help her, Jo.’

‘I don’t have to do anything!’ Edging her way past him to gather dirty linen, Joanna remained cross, white petticoats frothing under the sober dress as she marched to and fro.

Marty tried to cajole sympathy, leaning his attractive head close to her plain one and nudging her arm suggestively. ‘I always took you for a kind soul. How would you feel if your da locked you in against your will? Bet you’d want me to come and rescue you.’

For once his rough-diamond charm was lost. Ignoring the smell of buttermilk soap, those kind eyes, the winning smile, Joanna condemned him as a faithless friend. ‘It’s not my dad, it’s hers, and we shouldn’t get involved unless we want to lose our jobs!’ She stamped off with her bundle of sheets.

Thwarted, Marty grimaced and returned to apologise to the prisoner. ‘Sorry, miss, I tried to get a key off the maid but she wouldn’t be involved.’

There came a snort of frustration that condemned him as useless and the sound of a body slumping to the carpet. Squinting through the keyhole he caught a wisp of dark hair against the backdrop of pastel wallpaper. ‘Maybe your father won’t be long.’

Her reply was dull. ‘He’ll be out all morning.’

Upon learning this, Marty relaxed somewhat to enjoy the romantic notion that he was helping a damsel in distress. He was intrigued to know why she had been locked in, and difference in status had not prevented him from flirting with female guests before, given the encouragement. Some ladies found him attractive, though heaven knew why; personally he saw a gypsy when he looked in the mirror, a face that lacked the finely chiselled features he himself admired, with eyes that were somewhere between grey and green. When he was happy they appeared green, when sad they were grey – that was, if one could see them under those heavy lids. His hair was of a nondescript colour too; one might be kind and call it brown but it was the insipid brown of dried winter undergrowth and its texture similarly wiry, so that whenever he removed his hat it sprang back into place like trampled grass, no amount of oil able to control it. He disliked everything about his looks. Still, to his favour he had decent teeth and was taller than average, and he had learned that charm compensated for any other lack of attribute.

Leaning against the door, he voiced a bold and teasing statement. ‘Your father took the key on purpose, didn’t he?’

There was a pregnant pause, then the glint of an eye as she tried to assess her impudent Samaritan through the aperture.

Marty felt no need to apologise, but did offer an explanation as to how he had guessed. ‘I saw him leave. He seemed quite aggrieved.’

She fixed her glittering dark eye to his green one.

Concerned that he might have overstepped the mark, he added quickly. ‘I hung around ’cause I felt worried about you.’

‘Did you, really?’ She sounded grateful.

Encouraged, Marty prolonged the bizarre method of conversation. ‘It’s remiss of me to have to ask, miss, but could you tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing?’

‘I’m Henrietta Ibbetson.’

When he did not automatically introduce himself in return, she prompted, ‘So, who are you?’

‘Oh, like I said, I’m only the boots, miss.’ The quality of her voice had him glued to the keyhole. If the hotel manager himself had come round the corner Marty could not have torn himself away.

‘You must have a name.’

‘I’m flattered you’re even interested, miss.’ Marty grinned to himself – that’s right, lay it on thick.

‘Why, naturally I am!’

‘Thank you, miss. It’s Martin Lanegan.’

‘Martin, I’d love to see you, but even with this unyielding timber between us I can tell by your voice that you’re a very kind person, very likeable.’

His belly tightened at the artlessly seductive tone.

‘And that’s why I feel confident in throwing myself upon your mercy.’

I’d like to throw myself on you, thought Marty, imagining the gorgeous creature on the other side of the door, but he said, throatily polite, ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Might you perhaps find a key at the reception desk?’

The lascivious thoughts vanished. He gasped at the very suggestion. ‘That’s more than my life’s worth, miss! If you’re not here when your father comes back –’

‘But I will be! I swear it. It’s not that I wish to run away, but that I don’t care to be caged like an animal.’

He endured mental argument, desperate to ingratiate himself but not so keen as to risk dismissal. ‘I know it’s none of my affair, Miss Ibbetson, but why did he lock you up?’

There was a slight pause whilst Henrietta wondered how much to divulge. He was, after all, just a lowly employee. But it was essential that she lure him to her side. How else was she to keep the arranged rendezvous with her beau at King’s Cross?

Keeping this latter part to herself, she injected her sigh with feeling and made a half-confession. ‘My father plans to marry me off to an individual of his choosing, a man I find utterly loathsome.’ Her tone endorsed this revulsion. ‘Two days ago I ran away to my aunt’s in London…’ It had been during her escapade that she had met a more promising match, one who, upon hearing her story, had vowed to help. She should have gone with him there and then but had thought it wiser to go to her aunt’s and to meet him in a few days’ time. ‘…but she betrayed me and Father came to take me home. We arrived too late in York to continue our journey so he booked us in here. He hasn’t let me out of his sight other than to sleep and to breakfast. He’s killing two birds with one stone by attending some business whilst in the city. We’re to catch the afternoon train home. At which point I shall be condemned.’ But if this dolt would only comply she could be well on her way to her assignation at King’s Cross before her father even returned. ‘I’d be eternally grateful, Martin, if you could find it in your heart to assist.’

Enthralled that his name had never sounded so wonderful than on these lips, Marty came alive to make a bold decision. ‘I’ll be quick as I can!’

A gleeful Henrietta gave herself a congratulatory squeeze.

It was no small task Marty had set himself, for the sentinel on the desk was as keen as Cerberus at guarding his post. Much subterfuge and the assistance of another colleague was required to lure him away and for the boot boy to make his daring foray, knowing that if he were caught with the key he would be sacked without reference. The reward, however, was immeasurable.

The brief preview he had had of Miss Ibbetson could not have prepared him for the full magnificence. Upon his excited entrance to the suite he was dealt a vision of pink candy-striped organdie, a tantalising glimpse of bare skin through a diaphanous sleeve, a figure as sumptuously uphol-stered as the room that was normally forbidden to him…Yet it was not any rich accoutrement that so enchanted. The eyes that had been but a glint through a keyhole now totally impaled him, transfixed him to the expensive carpet that his feet were not permitted to sully, as glittering and radiant as lighted coals in a face that brimmed with intel-ligence – even though at this minute she was gawping at him like some yokel.

Henrietta caught her breath. She had been poised, hat in hand, ready to flee, but upon seeing Martin there came a surge of every corpuscle in her veins, like a spring tide, which swept away all the repressive debris of her previous existence and brought her so overwhelmingly alive that she feared she might choke upon this ecstasy. All reason suspended, utterly immobile with shock, she let the hat fall, unable to perform any task other than to stare at him, totally oblivious that her jaw was hanging open.

A brief awkwardness ensued, arising not from difference in rank but from the palpable desire that exuded from both, each embarrassed at having been caught so unawares.

Normally self-assured, Henrietta fought the constriction in her throat and tried to thank him for liberating her, but found herself stricken dumb. The way he was looking at her, his eyelids droopy as if on the verge of slumber, but the look within them tugging at her abdomen, igniting all manner of extraordinary feelings…

Marty noted that she seemed in no hurry to escape now; her eyes still adhered to his face. Something had occurred to change her mind. He could only hope that she felt the same thrilling emotions that bound him captive. What in God’s name was happening here?

Eventually breaking free of his trance, suddenly self-conscious under her probing gaze, only now did he think to whip off his cap before enquiring, ‘What will you do now, miss?’

Henrietta watched the masculine fingers remove the cap, the springy hair beneath, her eyes fixed to the sensual bow of his mouth though barely hearing the words it uttered, whilst her own murmured vaguely, ‘What?’ Then, suddenly aware she had been holding her breath, she exhaled on a note of laughter, a happy sound that rippled his belly with its exquisiteness. ‘Oh…I haven’t the slightest idea!’ Her plan abandoned, she had forgotten all about the one she had promised to meet, indeed could not even recall what he looked like – certainly not so desirable as this green-eyed young man before her. Oh, he was lovely. Lovely! Ignoring the uniform that labelled him minion, her gaze pored over him, constantly lured back to those eyes, which promised kindness yet at the same time danger.

Marty echoed her affectionate laughter and the two stood admiring each other for a while, before she said with a smiling shrug by way of explanation, ‘I’m just desperate to escape.’

Until these words, both of them had forgotten her irate father. Misreading her companion’s hasty grab for the door-knob and his expression as one of self-concern, she prompted him, though not without a tinge of disappointment. ‘Yes, it’s unwise to let him find you here! I’m truly grateful for your assistance but I should hate for you to lose your job.’

But instead of running away as she had feared, Marty shut the door from the inside and leaned with his back to it, a triumphant twinkle in his eye. Secure that his feelings were reciprocated, his reply was gallant. ‘It’d be worth it. I’m not worried for meself, but for you.’

Her beam was so radiantly affectionate that he wanted to snatch her in his arms, to press the whole length of his body against hers. But that would have been just too brazen. Besides, enough was happening in his trousers already. If that was what she could do to him merely by looking…

He mirrored her smile then strolled over to the window, tapping his cap against his leg and appearing to take an interest in the view, though his thoughts were still consumed by the girl behind him. ‘It’s inhuman to treat anyone in such a fashion – outdated too.’ For heaven’s sake, they were four years into the twentieth century. ‘Most fathers are very particular when it comes to the one who marries their daughter,’ briefly, he pictured his own wedded sisters, ‘but they usually take account of her feelings on the matter.’

Henrietta wandered over to stand beside the tall figure, her eyes staring out across the beautifully laid-out grounds in full flower, and beyond the river to the Minster that dominated the city, its ancient pinnacles etched against a summer sky. Considering the hotel’s juxtaposition with the railway this room was very quiet. She wondered if Martin could hear the rapid thudding of her heart. ‘There my father differs, I’m afraid.’ Her face was less vibrant now, her tone hollow. ‘For he sets his entire store on my brother, John; he places no value on my opinions at all.’

Electrified by her proximity, angry on her behalf, Marty tightened his grip on the cap, whacked it against a piece of furniture. ‘Then the man’s not only cruel but blind and stupid.’ That was audacious indeed.

But Henrietta did not appear to judge it thus, merely dealing him a smile that was both sad and happy at the same time, and saying with feeling, ‘It’s the worst thing in the world to be bullied, don’t you feel? Not that someone of your physical stature would be troubled by that, of course.’

Marty bared his white teeth with a rueful chuckle. ‘You don’t know my superior.’

Dazzled by his smile, she matched it. Henrietta had never made any distinction between the ranks. Just because someone was forced to do menial work did not lower them in her estimation. ‘I suppose we all have someone above us. May one ask how old you are?’

Considering her own mature appearance, Marty added fifteen months to his age. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

She looked wistful. ‘So in all things that count you are your own man. You could walk out and find employment elsewhere, go wherever you choose. There are four more years before I come of age – not that it would matter, I should still be at that despot’s command.’

Shamed by her truthfulness, he admitted, ‘Well, as a matter of fact I’ve a few months to go yet – but it wouldn’t make a difference what age I was either, Mr Wilkinson would still dub me a shirker.’ He grinned impishly. ‘Maybe I am or I wouldn’t be up here dallying with you.’

‘Well, I’m very glad you are – here, I mean.’ Now perched on a dressing stool, her eyes having abandoned the landscape in favour of her attractive companion, Henrietta marvelled at how easily she could converse with him. ‘Tell me more about yourself.’

‘I’d hate to delay your escape.’

‘We’ve ages yet. Have you always been a boots?’

‘God forbid!’ He was delighted by the fact that she had said we, as if they were going together. ‘I’ve only been here a year or so. It was a drop in station from my last job, but I’d had that since leaving school at fourteen and was going nowhere, so I decided there was a better chance of promotion in a hotel. It’s hard to put your heart into cleaning boots but I intend to work my way up. I was joking about being a shirker by the way.’

‘Of course,’ affirmed Henrietta. ‘But you must have enjoyed your last job if you had it for five, six years?’

He was about to correct her then remembered he had already said he was nearly twenty-one and fobbed her off with a quick, ‘Thereabouts – but these are lovelier surroundings. York’s a grand place, isn’t it? I wasn’t born here ye know.’

‘I’d never have guessed.’ Her eyes teased.

‘That obvious, eh?’ Marty pretended to be crushed. ‘And here’s me thinking I’d got rid of the accent.’

‘Oh, don’t ever lose it!’ she begged him. ‘It’s so pleasant on the ear.’

‘Some folk would disagree. There’s many can’t stand the Irish.’ He paused to weigh his words before adding a confession. ‘Especially if they’re tinkers to boot. Ach, now I’ve told ye. We only came to live in a house after me grandparents died.’

‘How romantic!’

Comforted by her reaction, he chuckled. ‘Not what some would say. The insults I’ve suffered…’

Her face oozed sympathy, then she turned slightly sober. ‘Well, that’s something we share, although I doubt the insults come from your own father.’

Marty was about to make a joke but saw it was not the time. ‘I’d like to think you get on better with your mother.’

‘Hardly – well, that’s a lie, we are really quite at ease when we are permitted to be on our own. Unfortunately that’s a rare occurrence. He is always there to spoil it.’ She looked wistful. ‘The trouble is, Mother’s a very weak person. That might sound harsh, but it’s something I learned very early in life from studying the way she bent to his will, even to the detriment of her children – well, not so much John for he was Father’s favourite, but in my case…’ Henrietta moved her head slowly from side to side, then from her lips poured a torrent of information on her childhood, injustices she had suffered, her feelings on these and on her family, to which Marty listened mesmerised.

‘Far from issuing words in my defence,’ went on Henrietta, ‘Mother saw me as the defiant one, begged me to take what she saw as the easy path instead of fighting his regime. Not once have I seen her stand up to him, not even when he dismissed dear old Nanny, the person who really was more of a mother to me, who raised me from a babe…’ She scowled in memory of that awful crime. ‘It’s so long ago but his callousness infuriates me still. He said she wasn’t required any more; sent her packing without a care that some of us might love –’ Verging on tears, she broke off in mid-sentence to disguise her emotions with a giggle. ‘I can’t believe I’m confiding all this to a total stranger!’

‘You can’t?’ One lithe buttock resting on the dressing table, Marty leaned towards her and laughed even more heartily, relaxing into his normal mode of speech. ‘I can’t believe I’m eejit enough to ruin me chances with the most beautiful girl I ever met by telling her I’m from a family of tinkers.’

‘Oh, but surely they can’t be classified as such!’ Henrietta reached out quickly to press his arm, the gesture loaded with affection, before it was just as quickly withdrawn.

Wanting to grab her too, despite his enthralment Marty shrewdly divined that his comment on her beauty had gone undisputed, though there was no hint of arrogance in her manner and, as one with no belief in his own attractiveness, he envied her that.

‘You did say they live in a house these days,’ she reminded him.

‘Aye, for seven, eight years or so.’ Might he have laid the romantic gypsy thing on a bit too thick? He spoke more truthfully now. ‘I suppose we were never strictly part of that community anyway, we tended to travel alone, though I can’t deny it was the rover’s life. Back and forth twixt Ireland and Yorkshire. As a nipper ye kind o’ get sick of it, moving round different schools and the like. I was glad when Da settled for the buffer’s life.’ Rubbing the edge of the dressing table, he studied the hand that rested temptingly close to his, then exclaimed, ‘Eh, don’t let on to anyone here, will you? I’ve never told a soul – man nor woman nor beast.’

‘Then I shan’t either. But even if they still dwelt in a caravan it wouldn’t make any difference about the way I feel towards you.’ She herself saw beyond the gypsy, detected some indescribable quality of spirit.

‘Wouldn’t it?’ His green eyes shone and his question was superfluous; had he thought it would affect their miracu-lous rapport he would never have used the approach. Boldly, he grabbed her hand. ‘That’s such a relief. I just wanted you to know everything about me so’s you’re fully aware of what you’re getting into.’ It was a gross presumption but one that he was confident to make and that Henrietta would accept.

She shook her head in happy amazement, her little pearl earrings trembling. ‘It’s so strange but I feel as if I already know everything there is to know – as if we’ve been acquainted for years!’

‘I feel like that too,’ declared Marty, his eyes running over her dark tresses – the only coarse thing about her – that were swept up at the front and fastened in an elegant twist to frame pale symmetrical features. She reminded him of a ballerina in a painting he had once seen. ‘Or is it all my imagination? ’Cause I can’t for the life of me believe a girl as lovely as you could bring herself even to talk to me.’

Something flickered over Henrietta’s face. The light went out of her eyes as they retreated under dark lashes. ‘You seem to set great store by my appearance –’

Not yet realising that her mood had changed, he laughed and butted in. ‘Well, if you’ve been taking the ugly pills I can tell you they’re not working.’

But she would not look up at him. ‘– because that’s the second reference you’ve made to it.’

Taken aback at her sudden coolness, Marty cocked his head and studied her pose for a second, wondering why his intended praise had for some strange reason inflicted huge displeasure. ‘Begging your pardon, but what’s so wrong with that?’ Having sisters, he was not inexperienced in the ways of females, was aware that their moods could turn from honey to vitriol at the drop of a hat, but never had he known one who eschewed compliments.

Eyes still downcast, Henrietta picked at her satin skirt and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just poured out my heart telling you of the lack of regard my father has for me, yet you –’ She broke off, angry and hurt at having her joy ruined so quickly.

Still frowning and totally confused as to how a remark on her beauty could be so misconstrued, Marty was desperate to make things right but did not know how. What did her father have to do with this? Then, as he continued to stare at her forlorn figure, his heart plunging from its former heights to hang like a leaden pendulum in his chest, he was suddenly granted a deeper understanding of this beautiful creature. Confident she might be in her looks, but the years of parental neglect had left Henrietta with the assumption that she was worthless for anything other than to adorn the house of some magnate, to be used as bargaining power for her father’s gain. His heart went out to her and he cupped her hand gently in both of his. ‘Of course I think you’re gorgeous, and I can’t deny that was the thing which first attracted me – but it’s not the only thing – and I don’t mean your clothes or your wealth.’

‘My father’s wealth,’ she reminded him.

‘That’s as may be, but it doesn’t count. It wouldn’t matter who or what y’are, I’d still like you…more than like.’ His voice was tenderly coaxing. ‘I thought, I hoped you felt the same.’

She forced her woebegone eyes up to meet his droopy-lidded gaze, her belly performing a somersault as she admitted in a little voice, ‘I do.’

‘And what was it attracted you?’ he asked gently.

‘Well, the way you –’ She broke off, her pink lips curling in a half-smile of self-mockery.

‘The way I look,’ provided Marty, smiling too now as he gave her hand an accusing but playful shake. ‘So it’s not just me that’s guilty, is it?’

‘No.’ Under his teasing, Henrietta melted, fighting back the tears.

‘I mean, it stands to reason that it’s a person’s physical appearance that first attracts someone, doesn’t it? Though what the devil you see in me is anyone’s guess,’ he added incredulously.

She rose then. Tapered little fingers stroked him, as did her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, I didn’t mean to sound harsh or arrogant or ungrateful, it’s just that –’

‘I know,’ he told her kindly, going so far as to caress her cheek with his knuckle, wanting to go much further and pull the pins from her hair and the clothes from her body, forgetting that he should not even be there at all. ‘It might be the first thing that attracted us but we both know it goes far beyond that, don’t we?’

She nodded, blinking away the moisture of emotion. Their eyes held each other adoringly for a while, both still reeling from the impact of their meeting, trying to understand what had happened to them but unable to voice it, until the magnetic charge between them became too strong to resist and they finally pressed their lips together, tentatively at first, but quickly yielding to such fierce passion that it terrified them into breaking away, although not completely.

Marty swallowed, took a deep breath and emitted a delighted laugh. His hands gripping her waist, his eyes unable to tear themselves from hers, he pondered on their glittering depths. ‘So what now, Miss Ibbetson? Or should I say Henrietta?’

Equally ecstatic, she said, ‘I think you should, especially after that. But call me Etta, I much prefer it.’ Then she sighed and laid her head against his warm chest, leaving it there even though one of his metal buttons hurt her ear. ‘You know, I really do wish you had a caravan, then you could spirit me away.’

He rubbed his chin atop her head, breathing in her scent and smiling. ‘Ah, now don’t go making rash statements like that or I might.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘You are?’ He pushed her gently away so that he could read her face.

‘Completely! Caravan or no, I can’t wait here for Father to get back. I’m desperate to leave…but not without you. I never want to leave you, Martin, ever.’ She squeezed him tightly.

Marty let out a happy roar. ‘To think when I came to work this morning the only thing I had in mind to tackle was boots! Little did I know I’d be kissing me future wife.’

‘And I my future husband!’ Etta laughed emotionally, and they hugged again amorously.

Marty was on the verge of announcing that he would run away with her there and then, but how could he do this with no funds? He was lucky if he earned nine bob a week. He wondered if she had any money, but was not about to appear so mercenary for that would indeed ruin his case. Still wondering how to broach the subject, he was forestalled by Etta who urged excitedly, ‘Let’s leave this minute!’

‘Oh, that’d be really bright, us walking through the hotel lobby together. The manager’d be delighted.’ He grinned to show he was ribbing. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’re about to sacrifice everything, without me losing my job too?’

‘There’s nothing for me to sacrifice but wealth, and that means absolutely nothing.’

‘It might when you’ve nothing to eat. If I walk out of here I’ve lost my income. How would I support you?’

‘You could get another job! I’d help.’

‘Etta, I’d love nothing more than to run away with you right now, but one of us has to be sensible. I can’t promise to keep you in the manner to which you’re accustomed but I can at least hang on to the job I have. Now, we must think of a plan. Where are we to go? Where are we to live? I couldn’t raise enough for a month’s rent so quickly, not to mention what it’d cost even to secure the key.’

‘But you won’t allow these stumbling blocks to come between us, will you?’ she implored him with little kisses.

Marty closed his eyes in ecstasy, fighting carnal urges. ‘Do I look as if I’d give up so easily? I’m going to have to enlist help, that’s all.’

‘From your parents?’

He sobered. ‘Ah, no, I certainly couldn’t take you home just like that.’ Nor could he allow her to think this was some jolly jape. ‘It might be that your father’s not the only one who doesn’t take kindly to this. I don’t mean any insult, I’m sure Ma and Da’ll be fine once they get used to the idea of me marrying a lady – if the shock doesn’t kill them first – but I can’t just spring it on them. Besides, what kind of a man would I be if I expected my parents to look after us? No, but I have quite a few friends I can turn to.’

‘I knew you’d be popular!’ She hugged him.

‘Thanks, but nobody’s that popular when he’s asking for cash.’ He tried to clear his mind but it was difficult with her pressed so close. His eye caught the carriage clock on the bedside table. ‘God in heaven, I’ve been in here almost an hour!’ How the time had flown. ‘I’ll have to get this key back. Now, sweetheart, nice as it is we’ve got to stop all this cuddling and be practical. How long before himself returns?’

‘I should think at least another hour.’

‘Then I’ll have to make a start on our relief fund.’ He attempted to disentangle himself.

‘I have a few coins hidden!’ An adoring Etta made a grab for her portmanteau, hurling clothes right, left and centre before pressing the money into his hand. ‘Sorry there’s so little but I spent the rest on my last escapade.’

Marty accepted the few shillings with grace. ‘Never mind, this’ll be a big help, though we’ll need just a bit more.’ He gave her a quick kiss. ‘So let me go about getting it, and the moment I do I’ll be back to whisk you away.’

Overjoyed, she clung to him all the way to the door. ‘Oh, surely I must be dreaming!’

‘And I must be crazy!’ Loath to drag himself away, Marty kissed her heartily, dealt her one last adoring look, then, peeking into the corridor to check that it was clear, rushed back to his proper quarters.

On the way down, however, he encountered the pageboy, whom he knew received plenty of tips, and, without preamble, demanded excitedly, ‘Joe, me old mucker, lend us some cash. I’ll pay it back soon as I can.’

The trusting youngster fished a couple of silver threepences out of his trouser pocket. ‘No rush.’

‘Thanks, but I meant a bit more than this.’ Needing to shout it from the rooftops, Marty grinned and in an excited whisper revealed his intentions. ‘You’ll never believe this. You know the stunner? She wants me to run away with her!’

Joe gave an impassive nod and made to move on. ‘Right…sorry, Bootsie, can’t stop, that lady in room one-two-five’s just rang down to ask if I’ll go slip her a length. She can’t get enough of –’

‘I’m not codding ye!’ Marty pressed a delaying hand to his friend’s chest, hissing with bright-eyed enthusiasm, ‘We’ve really clicked. Her dad locked her in and –’

‘Oh aye, Joanna’s just been ranting on about that!’ Joe rolled his eyes in amused exasperation. ‘Proper disgruntled she was.’

‘Will you stop bloody wittering on!’ Marty displayed urgency. ‘I have to think of a way to get her out o’ here before he comes back.’

Joe laughed aloud then. ‘You soft article! A lady like her’s not really interested in the likes of us. She only spun you a line to get you to unlock the door. Joanna told u—’

‘Ach, I haven’t time to sod about!’ Marty rushed away, muttering that he had to get some money together.

Watching the other retreat, the little pageboy shook his head knowingly, dismissing Marty’s outpouring as fantasy. ‘She’ll be vanished by the time you get back!’ he called after him.

‘Don’t bet on it!’

But down in the basement Marty was to be shown equal disrespect. Having been reliably informed by Joanna, everyone was of the opinion that he had taken leave of his senses.

‘I know she’s lovely,’ said a motherly chambermaid, ‘because she asked me to do up her corsets and gave me sixpence for my troubles –’

‘Blimey, I’d’ve done ’em for nowt,’ interjected one of the boys.

‘– but I rather think she’s teasing you, dear,’ finished the maid.

‘Aye, she’s having you for a mug, Bootsie,’ sneered a waiter.

‘But will you lend us something, please, please?’ Clutching his cap to his breast, Marty dropped to his knees, shuffling in this fashion around the workers and making them all laugh.

‘Here you are then, I’m happy to bet on a certainty.’ Casually, one of the porters dropped a florin into the outstretched cap.

Others gasped at the munificent gesture. ‘Bloody hell, I’ll have some if you’re chucking it about!’

The contributor’s face creased in mockery. ‘Nah – I’ll be getting it back in ten minutes when Bootsie finds out she’s done a flit!’

Ignoring the ridicule, Marty lauded his benefactor. And as others good-naturedly followed suit he blessed these too, even knowing it was done out of jest, for they would soon be laughing on the other side of their faces.

‘Eh, we’ll look daft if he runs off to Timbuktu with her,’ joked one of the boys, nudging his neighbour.

‘We won’t be running that far.’ Marty got to his feet, looking smug.

‘She might not be but you will! When her dad comes back you’ll find yourself travelling to Timbuktu on the end of his foot.’

Marty remained smiling and chinked the coins now in his hand. ‘Mock if you will! But Etta and myself will be using this for a deposit on a home.’

Alas, this drew more than raucous guffaws.

‘What’s this infernal racket? Boots!’ Marty jumped and shoved the coins in his pocket as his superior appeared and everyone hurried about their work. ‘I might have known you’d be at the centre of it!’

‘Sorry, Mr Wilkinson.’

‘You will be! The gentleman in room one-twenty has made a complaint that his dirty shoes are still in the corridor.’

Marty retreated quickly with an apologetic bow. ‘I must have missed them, sir. I’ll go fetch them now.’

‘Jump to it, boy – and return those whilst you’re at it!’ Wilkinson pointed to a lone pair of ladies’ shoes, which Marty quickly seized.

‘Yes, sir, I’ll see to it immediately!’ The errand gave him just the excuse he needed to go upstairs again.

On the way his luck increased, for not only was he able to replace the key but he met Joe struggling under the weight of two cases and whispered urgently to him, ‘When you’ve done that will you keep watch for me? I need to know if that Ibbetson gadger comes back – he hasn’t been past already, has he?’

Joe said not that he knew of, adding that he would act as lookout so long as he was not needed. ‘You’ll get me hung, you will!’

‘Hanged!’ corrected Marty with a grin, and, thanking him, he galloped off to Etta’s room.

Yet at the point of entering he stalled – not simply because her father might be there but more because he feared his friends could be right. Had he indeed been fooling himself, caught up in the moment? What could a ravishing, wealthy young lady like her see in him? Moreover, how could he be idiot enough to expect her to give it all up?

But the doubt was transitory. Once inside, everything was all right again. More than all right. In her relief Etta threw herself at him, sparking off a feverish bout of kissing.

Reinvigorated, Marty said cheerfully, ‘Right, get your hat on, missus! We’re off.’

Giggling and giddy with happiness, she ran to where the hat still lay on the carpet. It was whilst she was picking it up that her father’s voice intruded, startling the elopers.

‘What the deuce are you doing in here?’ It emerged as through a megaphone.

Wheeling to face the imposing presence, Marty blanched – the wretch must have passed Joe on the way. Under threat, he thought quickly, seizing and brandishing the kid slippers that he had thrown aside on entry. ‘Just returning the lady’s shoes, sir!’ He hoped the father did not recognize the lie.

But ownership of the shoes was of no concern to Ibbetson. ‘The door was locked – you must have let yourself in!’ Stick raised, the man advanced upon the slender youth.

Alarmed that her newfound romance was to be spoiled before it had chance to flourish, Etta butted in whilst trying to appear calm. ‘There’s nothing untoward, Father, he was passing the room and I commanded him to fetch me something to drink, which involved him also fetching a key. It was stifling in here, I almost passed out.’

Marty chipped in to endorse this. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to ignore the lady’s discomfort, sir.’

‘You are impudent, boy! I shall have you dismissed!’

‘For saving me?’ Head erect, Etta glided forward, desperate to run but knowing that would ruin everything. As things stood, all was not completely lost. ‘I should rather imagine the hotel owner would thank his employee for such quick thinking. He wasn’t the one who locked me in.’

With her father’s wrath successfully deflected from Martin, immediately she became humble, though it was against her nature. ‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean that to sound in any way defiant. I’m merely trying to explain that the young man was simply doing as he was bidden. Please, Father, you’ve never been unfair to our own servants.’ Etta laid a steadying hand upon his arm, trying not to reveal her true anxiety. How were they to get away now?

Marty was thinking the same thing. Wisely, in the face of Ibbetson’s fury he dropped his gaze to the carpet and stood meekly awaiting his fate, though under the surface his mind whirred like clockwork for a solution.

After what seemed like aeons, though his colour remained high, Ibbetson grudgingly decided, ‘Very well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You may keep your job – but only because we shall shortly be gone and I shan’t have to encounter your detestable face again. Now get out and send a porter to transport our bags immediately to the platform!’

With the man gesticulating for him to leave, Marty gave hasty thanks and obeyed. Henrietta’s heart sank into despair as he dealt her not so much as a glance.

By now, though, thoroughly infatuated, Marty had no intention of abandoning his prize. Cursing his laxity at not seeking her precise address, he raced downstairs, and, after bewailing his luck to his colleagues and submitting to their friendly teasing, he threw himself on their mercy yet again. Scribbling on a crumpled bit of paper and electing the chambermaid as his go-between, he begged her, ‘Jo, do us a favour! Slip her this message before she lea—’

‘He must think I’m barmy!’ Open-mouthed, she advertised her scorn to the laughing assembly.

‘Ah, go on!’ Fraught with desperation, he tried to cup her face. ‘Please! I have to get her address or she’s lost to me forever!’

She craned her head out of reach. ‘And you expect me to care?’ Was he really so insensitive? Could he not tell how much she wanted him herself?

‘I thought you were a pal?’ he beseeched her, but she just pushed him bad-temperedly out of her way and left.

No one else seemed keen to take the risk, laughing off his frantic attempts as pure whimsy. After an infuriated pause there came a brainwave. Swearing and rummaging through a drawer he finally came up with a piece of chalk. Then, grabbing a tray he scrawled something on the underside and rushed from the side exit. Swearing and dodging his way through a collection of laundry hampers that were being off-loaded, he bounded around to the hotel’s main lobby which opened onto the station platform, heading for a spot that Etta would have to pass.

But she was already well on her way, albeit unwillingly, being half dragged by her father after the porter who carried their bags. Hovering anxiously with his tray, Marty silently urged her to turn around, but Etta marched onwards stiffbacked to the waiting train. Panic rose. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t! Almost at the point of risking everything, he was about to yell out for her not to leave, when, miracle of miracles, she turned crossly to take issue with her father for manhandling her into the carriage and at last spotted Marty. In this same instant he tilted the tray to reveal the chalked entreaty underneath: IF YOU WANT ME TELL ME WHERE YOU LIVE.

A joyous recognition came to her eyes, igniting a spark of optimism that regrettably was not to last, for at this same time her father spun round too and Marty was compelled to vanish. When he dared to poke his head out again, Etta was in the carriage, out of sight. He wondered miserably, as the train chugged away, if she had deciphered his message or if he would ever see her again.

Ignorant as to the extent of his agony, his colleagues told him mildly, ‘Forget about her, Bootsie. The likes of her won’t fret about thee – oh, and we’ll have our money back if you don’t mind.’

‘Aw, don’t be mean!’ Now that the rival had been disposed of, Joanna allowed her compassionate nature to shine through and she gripped his arm. ‘Cheer up, Bootsie, me and my friend are off to the theatre tonight, you can come with us if you like.’

Normally Marty would have accepted, but he was just too devastated and did not even acknowledge the invitation, much to his admirer’s hurt. He emptied his pockets but, though glum, his tone showed he was not beaten. ‘I wonder if her address is in the register.’

‘Eh, don’t let Wilko hear you!’ They grouped round to recover their contributions.

Marty remained pensive. ‘She mentioned her dad’s a farmer…’

There was a cackle from the porter. ‘Aye, but not just some clod-hopping smallholder! Haven’t you heard of him, you dummy? He owns half the Yorkshire Wolds!’

Unfazed, Marty declared. ‘Well, he doesn’t own me and I’m going to find her, you see.’

There was no time for the others to enquire how he was going to do this, for their superior came in then to give everyone a dressing down and to make sure the boot boy was kept busy for the rest of his shift.

But that didn’t stop his mind being preoccupied, and this mood was to last long after Etta had gone.

It was still with him when he travelled home along Walmgate that evening, a different environment completely to the one he had just left. Abounding with public houses, the thoroughfare reeked of stale beer fumes and the effluvia of tanneries and skin-yards, alleviated only by the more appetising aroma of fish and chips. Ahead of him, a small boy clanked along with a bucket and shovel, stopping occasionally to scrape a pile of dog excreta from the pavement into his bucket. Two hatchet-faced, greasy-haired slatterns called insults at each other from opposite sides of the road, one threatening to, ‘Tear the black heart out of yese!’ Cringing from such unfeminine behaviour, Marty ducked into a side street and onwards to the tiny terraced house in Hope Street with its soot-engrained bricks, its dull bottlegreen door and lopsided shutters, the feeling of discontent plain on his face.

His mother was quick to comment on this as he came through the door. ‘Bad day, son?’

He barely glanced at her as he went to wash his hands. ‘I met the girl I want to marry, Ma.’

With two children helping her to lay the table and another smaller one using her leg as a support, Agnes Lanegan smiled, arched an eyebrow at her husband and replied facetiously, ‘I’d better starch the best linen then, though you don’t look too happy about it.’

‘That’s because her father doesn’t want her to marry me,’ revealed Marty, hanging up the towel. ‘Thinks she’s above us.’

‘You weren’t codding us then?’ His mother bridled and pursed her lips.

His normally mild-mannered father showed indignation. ‘The poltroon! My son’s good enough for anyone…lessen ’tis the daughter of the hotel manager of course, now that would be taking expectations a bit too far.’ His eyes told that it was meant as a jest. Then he noted his son’s expression and his jaw dropped. ‘Christ, she’s not, is she?’

Marty paused and took a deep breath. ‘No…but her father does have a bob or two.’ Always able to confide in his parents, he was honest with them now, telling them everything that had occurred and rendering them dumb with such astonishment that he had to fill the gap himself. ‘I still can’t believe it happened so fast! Like an angel she is, an angel.’

His parents looked at each other, betraying dubiety, Agnes breaking the silence first. ‘But she’s left the hotel, ye say?’ She plucked the loose, tanned skin of her throat, anxious that he might be courting trouble.

Marty nodded sadly and tugged down his shirt cuffs.

Somewhat relieved, Mrs Lanegan shared a look of sympathy with her husband, saying kindly to her son, ‘There are finer fish in the sea than have ever been caught. Here, come sit down, I’ve some nice kippers – Uncle Mal, come for your tea now!’

Great Uncle Malachy cast a rheumy eye from his evening newspaper. ‘Tea? I only just had breakfast.’ But he ambled obediently to sit with the children at the table.

Pulling out a chair, Marty looked wan. ‘I don’t think I can manage anything.’

‘Sure and you will!’ Serving him directly after his father, Agnes patted his shoulder lovingly. ‘Get that down ye, it’ll make you forget about Miss High and Mighty.’

He looked up from his seat, slightly annoyed. ‘No it won’t.’

‘Watch your tone, boy,’ warned Redmond Lanegan, his eyes suddenly hard.

‘Sorry, Mammy.’ Marty was contrite whilst remaining obstinate in his ambition. ‘But I couldn’t forget about Etta even if I tried. She’s the one for me and I’m the one for her.’

‘Her father doesn’t seem to agree,’ Agnes reminded him.

‘Then he can lump it.’

The parents glanced at each other in dismay over this all too familiar stance. Marty had always lived life like a terrier fighting the leash: he knew there was something better to be had just over there, if only he was allowed to get at it – and, God, help them, he had spotted something over there again.

‘Martin, I’m warning you, put this out of your mind at once!’ Grim-faced, Mrs Lanegan turned to her husband for backing, which was granted, though it did not the slightest to change their son’s mind. Marty picked at his meal, not offering any further argument, but it was clearly evident in his posture.

Planting herself on the wobbly dining chair, Agnes damned him. ‘Ever since you were a bit of a boy you’ve always wanted what you can’t have! I’ll never forget that time you set your heart on a great big cooking apple – pestered and pestered till I bought it for you, even after I’d warned that it wouldn’t suit your taste. Then you took one bite, made a face and said you didn’t want any more – after I’d emptied me purse to get it for you!’

‘And you made me sit and eat it if I recall.’ Marty cast a dour grin at his younger siblings. ‘But this isn’t the same at all, Ma.’

Seeing his wife open her mouth for another volley, Redmond commanded tiredly, ‘For the love of Mike, leave it, woman!’

And knowing what tiresome repercussions even a tiny argument could bring, she complied, though with bad grace as she repeated primly, ‘Always wanted what you can’t damn well have!’ before getting on with her tea.

Taking his father’s raised voice as a signal to desist, Marty offered not another word, quarrel giving way to the brusque scraping of knives and forks.

Old Uncle Mal, searching for something to divert open warfare, ran his tongue around his gums and announced, ‘You’ll be pleased to hear my diarrhoea’s cleared up, Marty.’

‘We’re overjoyed,’ yawned Redmond, as there was a groan of disgust from his wife and sniggers from the youngsters.

But they were an affectionate family and the bad feeling did not last for more than a few hours, Mrs Lanegan clamping her son’s shoulder as she served his usual supper of bread and tea, and, without resurrecting the topic, telling him quietly, ‘Everything’ll turn out for the best, you’ll see.’

‘Aye, lookit, Marty!’ His face wreathed in ambition, Mr Lanegan displayed a picture of a motor car in the book he had been reading. ‘How d’ye fancy driving along Walmgate in that? ’Twould get the neighbours talking sure enough. Aye,’ he gazed longingly at the picture, ‘we shall have one of those some day.’

Marty dealt him a fond but half-hearted smile, knowing it was just his father’s way of taking his mind off Etta. As if it would.

Apparently this was to remain a concern to his parents, for as Marty finished his supper and was on his way to bed he overheard his mother trying to reassure her husband, ‘Don’t go fretting yourself about it, dear. ’Twill be just another of his passing desires. She’s gone from the hotel, so there’s not much he can do about it. You know what he’s like. In a few days he’ll have set his sights on something or somebody else and forgotten all about her.’

No I won’t, thought her son grimly as he continued up the stairs. I won’t even be able to sleep for thinking about her. And he was right.

The next morning, exhausted and grumpy, Marty was ready to bite the head off the first person who crossed him. As this turned out to be the head porter he held his tongue and was glad he did, because after being upbraided for having his mail directed to the hotel, a letter was shoved into his fist.

Knowing immediately who it was from, he tore it open, receiving a jolt as he read the grand-sounding address of the correspondent: Swanford Hall. The note was brief and obviously scribbled in a hurry, but its content was wonderfully explicit. Etta wanted him.

2

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.

3

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.

4

The next thing he knew it was tomorrow, light streaming through the thin curtains, his body drenched in sweat and his garments plastered to him. Coming round, he stretched uncomfortably, then, feeling the stack of hot coals beside him, rolled his head to view his sleeping partner through a misty veil and smiled when he saw she was not asleep at all but was grinning back at him, her eyes more alert than his.

His first words were unromantic. ‘God, isn’t it clammy?’

Propped on one elbow, Etta agreed. ‘That’s what woke me – that and the birds. I’ve been watching you for ages.’ She trailed tender fingers down his sweating face, then dabbed her lips to it.

Smothered by her long hair, he chuckled and fought a gentle way out. Few sounds came from outside. ‘It must only be about five.’ He kicked off the covers, the erotic musk of her body wafting up to arouse him into kissing her, she meeting him willingly. But the room was like an oven, forcing him to break away abruptly with a grunt of discomfort.

‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ll just have to open the window.’ He clambered over the bed and reached through the curtains to open the sash, though this was to provide little relief and he groaned as he slumped back beside her and tried to flap some air inside his shirt.

‘I don’t mind if you take your clothes off.’ Etta dipped her mouth into the socket of his eye then licked the salt from her lips.

His lazy grin exuded sensuality and he ran his hands through his hair to relieve his perspiring scalp. ‘I can’t vouch for what would happen then.’

‘I think it already has happened to some extent.’ She rolled a coquettish eye at his groin.

He gasped – ‘You’re shameless!’ – but immediately leapt atop her, eager to find out the extent of her invitation, and was ecstatic upon finding that she did not push his hands away this time, no matter how intimately they pried.

The heat of the day was forgotten as an inner heat took over, overwhelming Etta to such a pitch that in her thrashing she almost rolled off the bed. Between frantic laughing kisses she urged him to stop only so that she might take off her underwear. All self-consciousness gone, both rapidly divested themselves of this last barrier, then hurled their fevered bodies back together, rocking and chuckling and moaning, and, amidst passion, pain and apology, forged their blissful union.

Sweat trickled off Marty’s body as, finally, he rolled away from her and lay there panting and victorious, whilst Etta shifted onto her side and continued to kiss him, quiet, loving little kisses on his shoulder, nestling and nuzzling, both of them thoughtful, marvelling at what had occurred. Inevitably, though, much as each loved the other they were forced to move to the outer edges of the mattress, spreading their naked limbs to try and catch what little draught came through the window, yet maintaining contact with each other by the tips of their fingers. The air was pungent with their odour.

‘I’ve no hat.’

Marty chuckled at the inappropriate comment. ‘And do you always wear a hat for this kinda thing?’

‘For our wedding! I must have one.’ On the point of going to luncheon when he had come to rescue her, she had not been wearing outdoor clothing. It had only just begun to register now what dire straits she would be in when the climate changed. And, ‘Oh, look, my dress is on the floor!’ She beheld the crumpled garment with dismay.

He threw off his languor and leapt out of bed, giving the dress a shake and hanging it on a peg. ‘The creases’ll drop out by afternoon. I shall have to sponge me suit an’ all, it’s carrying half o’ your father’s garden.’

‘You’re so capable.’ She ran admiring eyes over his naked muscles.

‘There’s no limit to my talents, but holding my water isn’t one of them – could I ask ye to turn your back for a minute?’ His bladder swollen to the size of a football, he was finally compelled to employ the chamber pot. ‘Stop your giggling! I can’t go if I know anyone’s listening to me.’

Successfully relieving himself, he enjoyed a lengthy scratch of his torso, raked his hands through his hair that was all stuck up from bed, then went to pour a drink from the jug, sharing the glass with her. Thirst quenched, he lay back beside her nude form, desire already beginning to rekindle.

But before responding to it he felt obliged to murmur amends. ‘Sorry.’

She rolled her head to search his eyes. ‘Goodness, what on earth for?’

Face thoughtful, his fingers gently strummed her belly. ‘Hurting you. I did, didn’t I?’

Etta wrinkled her nose and shook her head to reassure him. ‘Well, perhaps just a little – but it was glorious too.’ She threw herself onto her side to issue fervent kisses.

Encouraged, he grinned and snuggled up to her, to begin the whole sequence all over again. There was still no interruption from the outside world other than the grind of the iron-rimmed wheels of the milk cart.

Perspiring and happy, desire pitted against fragile flesh and overwhelming all, Etta and Marty were working their way towards another bittersweet union when there came movement from across the landing as the landlord and his wife prepared for the day ahead. Marty put a finger to his lips, but this only made Etta titter even more and he had to stifle her with his palm, whispering, ‘You’ll get us chucked out!’ Making sure she was over her laughter, he withdrew his hand from her mouth and rolled out of bed – but she nipped his bottom causing him to wheel round with a hiss of accusation, albeit amused. ‘Behave! Or there’ll be no breakfast for you.’

He had intended to save the cold beef for as long as he could, but, ravenous now, he went to fetch the paper bag from his pocket, he and Etta devouring its contents as if at a feast, ignoring the fact that the slices were slightly grey and curling up at the edges.

Afterwards, Etta urged him to perform the same courtesy as she had shown him whilst she used the chamber pot. Whilst doing so she heard muffled amusement. ‘What are you laughing at now?’

‘Sorry – I just didn’t know posh folk passed wind!’

She came at him in a giggling rush to unite yet again.

The hour to their wedding crept nearer. Feeling distinctly grubby, the bride-to-be coaxed the groom into procuring a bath from the landlord. When he replied that this would be deemed a most unusual request, she wheedled, ‘Oh, please, I can’t go to my most important day in such a state, can I?’

‘Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind sharing the water,’ he admitted. Concerned that the victualler might have overheard their bawdy antics, Marty nevertheless wanted to do all in his power to please her, and so, after donning his shirt and trousers, he went down to make his request which, as he had feared, was met by a laughing gasp of astonishment.

‘What does he think we are?’ the landlord demanded of his wife, then to the petitioner, ‘Get yourself down to the slipper baths!’

‘Normally I would.’ Marty could not give the true reason for wanting to look spruce. ‘It’s just that I’ve an important appointment and I don’t have that much time.’ Fishing into his pocket he took out the change from the sovereign that had paid for last night’s meal. ‘I’ll gladly pay you.’

‘Go on then,’ said the landlord grudgingly with an outstretched hand, and said he’d send the tweeny up. ‘But don’t make a habit of this.’

‘Thank you, we won’t bother you again,’ promised Marty. But as he turned to go the landlord’s addition made him blush.

‘And don’t make a habit of all that giggling racket at the crack o’ dawn, neither!’

Ducking in embarrassment, but stifling laughter too, Marty rushed back upstairs to inform Etta that, hereon, they must bridle their unrestrained lovemaking. Far from this affecting them, though, it only inspired another bout of gleeful kissing whilst they waited for the bath to arrive, and only when the maid and the landlord’s wife brought it in did they hastily separate, Etta whipping her left hand behind her back to hide the lack of a ring.

That plain and simple water could provide such ecstasy – Etta had never realised it before today. She sank into the lukewarm tub, luxuriating for so long that a sweating Marty had to beg for his turn. Whilst he watched from the bath, she took her time in dressing, eschewing the corset as too cumbersome.

‘And unnecessary,’ Marty added, observing her perfect form.

Unselfconscious in her nakedness, she bent to examine her legs and frowned at the red blotches that had sprung up overnight. ‘There must be a midge in here, I’m bitten to death.’

Marty chose not to correct her, merely nodded and scratched at his own flea bites, then finally emerged from the water and began to dry himself.

Stepping into the crumpled underwear she had worn in bed, Etta said she would have to purchase more. There were also other indispensable items she was missing, such as a hairbrush. ‘It’s fortunate I was wearing this yesterday.’ She held up the gold locket and chain that lay on the table. ‘I should be able to acquire several items in exchange for it.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t have you sell that!’ Anxious not to detract from his bride’s aristocratic appearance, Marty tied the towel around himself and went to fasten the chain around her neck.

Etta acquiesced with a smile and continued her toilet whilst he went to dress. Still unable to take his eyes off her, he studied the way she was sitting now in her rumpled bodice and drawers, hair about shoulders, a golden locket around her neck, one leg spread, the other raised on the edge of the bed whilst she picked at a jagged toenail, more like a scene from a bordello – not that he had ever been in one – and he thought how marvellous she was to remain genteel whilst being so sexually alluring and down to earth at the same time.

She turned to her hair, for now using his comb, but seeing how badly this coped with her severely tangled locks and pitying her, Marty said he would go to the shop to get those items necessary to her wellbeing.

‘Apart from the drawers,’ he said cheekily as he breathed on the brass buttons of his uniform and gave them a rub with his cuff. ‘I wouldn’t know what size and I’m not asking for those even for you.’ He donned the coat. ‘There, am I good enough for a wedding?’

‘Good enough to eat!’ Etta provided the money but showed reluctance to let him go, dragging him back to kiss him more than once, both of them groaning at the separation.

In his absence, Etta was to rack her brain as to how she could acquire a hat without actually paying for it. Only able to afford the common or garden variety, she rebelled against sullying her head with one of those. By the time Marty returned she had her plan. Under her direction, whilst she held the curls in place, he helped to insert her pins so that with such splendidly combined effort her hairstyle was not so unrecognisable from the one normally completed by her maid. Finally, checking both their appearances, she took Marty’s arm, voicing her intention to purchase the hat on their way to the register office and announcing gaily, ‘Let us be wed!’

A clock in town informed them that they had emerged far too prematurely, but with Etta intent on dragging him to every milliner in York this was just as well. Trying to be diplomatic, Etta said that he would be much too bored watching her try on hats and should wait outside if he preferred, in truth knowing that his bruised and lowly appearance would hinder her deception. Glad that she did not want him to accompany her inside, Marty sought out a patch of shade provided by a church spire. This was to be re-enacted at various other shops, waiting and wilting, his heart sinking every time she emerged empty-handed, worrying that a member of his family might spot him, until Etta eventually tried on a hat she approved.

‘Hallelujah!’ he declared, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘You could say you like it.’ She was rather hurt and cross, having taken so much trouble.

‘It’s grand,’ he was quick to say of the veiled and flowered creation. It worried him that she saw fit to squander what little they had on such frippery, but he would not have hurt her for the world. ‘Looks expensive.’

‘Only the best for my wedding day.’ She tilted the brim coquettishly to display silk roses and violets. ‘Doesn’t it go well with this dress? Thank goodness I was wearing one of my better ones when you rescued me.’ She laughed at his obvious dismay. ‘Don’t panic, I didn’t pay a sou. Aren’t I clever?’

His jaw dropped – surely she had not stolen it?

Etta spoke conspiratorially, her glittering eyes lauding her own acumen. ‘I explained my predicament to the milliner, told her how a wretched bird had defiled my own hat whilst I was on my way to a most important engagement – my maid found it simply impossible to remove that dreadful stain! I equipped them with my identity and told them to send the bill to Swanford Hall –’

‘Etta!’

‘– and to send a number of other hats on approval as they were all so delightful that I could not decide which to choose!’ She laughed softly. ‘Oh, I know it was mean of me but the woman was such a snob – besides, you never know, Mother might like them and coax Father into footing the bill. Serve him right, the miserable swine.’ Her face laughed but her eyes betrayed the pain he had caused her.

‘I always knew you’d be a handful,’ Marty chastised her, but warmly.

It then occurred to him that he had yet to acquire a much more necessary item than the hat and, hence, they went to visit the nearest jeweller.

By the time they had lunched, the occasion for which they yearned was almost arrived. Soliciting two strangers along the way to bear witness, Marty led his beloved to the register office.

In the slippery heat of the afternoon, reclining close beside him in their rumpled bed, after their finest, most passionate, most spiritual coupling to date, Etta leaned on her elbow, gazed into her beloved husband’s green eyes and said, tenderly profuse, ‘I’ve never in my entire life felt such happiness.’

Marty wholeheartedly agreed. He was a happy sort of person anyway, but for him too this elation was something special. Cupping the back of her hot skull he caught her lower lip between his, drawing it in and caressing it with his tongue.

Breaking free to recoup her breath, Etta threw herself back, stretching and purring. ‘Oh, how wonderful to be free of that tyrant! To do as I please, to know he can never dominate me again.’ Then she hurled herself back at Marty.

In the knowledge that he would have to go out and earn a living tomorrow, they lay entwined in love for the rest of that afternoon, undisturbed until a dray wagon came to deliver, whereupon the loud rumble of barrels being transferred from pavement to cellar caused them to rise and dress and Etta to tidy her hair. Pulling two wooden chairs to the window, they sat side by side to watch for a while, then, after the drayman had gone, just to lift their eyes beyond the roofs of the slum dwellings to the glorious sunlit day, and to smile contentedly at each other.

Had the position of the sun not informed him that it was almost time for tea, Marty’s grumbling stomach would have done. Still, he sat for a while longer, smiling at his bride and waiting.

Eventually she rubbed the knees beneath her silken gown. ‘Well…shall we dine?’

He brightened. ‘I was beginning to think my new wife lived on air!’

She laughed lightly, but made no move to rise.

After another short period of waiting, Marty prompted her. ‘So, are you going to get it then?’

‘I?’ Etta looked astonished.

‘Well it won’t appear on its own, will it?’ he said, amused.

She looked nonplussed – yes, it usually did.

He watched the incomprehension spread across her face, indeed, shared it.

After some indecision, she lamented, ‘I wish I could have brought Blanche, she’d know what to do.’ Then, before he could broach the distinct possibility that Etta might have to look after herself, she announced brightly, ‘No matter! We’ll eat at a restaurant until we can hire someone.’

Marty had no time to comment on the ridiculousness of this statement, nor opine that the sovereigns she had brought would not last long if she were intent on lavishing them on restaurants. She looked so excited and lovely that he could not bear to spoil things. He must let her down gently. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t fritter the money we have. Let’s go round to Ma and Da’s. They’ll feed us.’

‘But won’t they be furious?’ Etta knew how he had been dreading the event.

‘Highly likely, but I’ll have to make the confession some time. Best get it over with – and I doubt they’ll make a scene with you there.’ He raised a grin. ‘Then tonight we’ll make a list of things we need and you can go and buy them while I’m at work tomorrow.’

Looking bemused at this last statement, Etta nevertheless expressed a desire to meet her in-laws. ‘I do hope they like me.’

‘How could they not?’ He curled an arm round her and squeezed as they went to the stairs.

His parents’ home was only in the next street, but, avoiding the more insalubrious shortcuts that he himself would have taken if alone, Marty led Etta in a roundabout fashion down and then up grimy rows of terraced buildings. However, there was no evading the fact that several occupants of this impoverished area were acquainted with Etta’s husband, for they called out to him along the way.

And, self-consciously, he answered, ‘Hello, Mr Bechetti. Good evening, Mrs Cahill.’

Breaking away from his peers, a small Yorkshire lad came to trot alongside his hero. ‘I like your new sweetheart, Marty. Better than t’old one.’

‘Such cheek! I’ll tell your mother, Albert Gledhill.’ Marty tried to sound scolding but the youngster only laughed and ran away, chanting, ‘Sweetheart, sweetheart!’

Feeling Etta’s inquisitive gaze he laughed off the impudent remark, but there was no way round what was to follow: the thing he had dreaded most.

Etta exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, there’s a drunkard fallen in the gutter!’ The man had been staggering some way ahead of them when suddenly he capsized.

Marty’s spirits sank. Bidding Etta to stay where she was, he rushed to attend the collapsed figure. However, after brief hesitation she disobeyed and wandered up to find the man unconscious and her husband anxiously patting his cheek.

But others were here to assist, one of them providing a wheelbarrow and treating this in somewhat cavalier fashion, she thought, as he announced with a bow, ‘Your carriage awaits, Mr Lanegan.’

Suffering deep embarrassment, Marty steadied the barrow whilst others loaded the body aboard. Then, with grim face, he thanked his helpers and wheeled the perpetrator away.

Much bemused that her husband assumed such responsibility, Etta padded alongside, querying apprehensively, ‘Where will you take him?’

‘Home.’ He struggled to keep the three-wheeled barrow level under the dead weight of its load.

‘You know where he lives then?’

‘I should do – he’s my father.’

Whilst a shocked Etta halted in her tracks, Marty carried on, though went only a little further before yelling through an open front door, ‘Ma! Can you give us a hand?’

Etta watched as Mrs Lanegan sauntered out and, with resignation as if this were a frequent occurrence, helped to transport the recumbent occupant of the barrow into the house.

She wandered in quietly after them and stood unnoticed as mother and son tended the drunkard, her eyes flitting briefly over the other residents who eyed her back curiously, before travelling to a row of empty beer bottles in the scullery.

His father deposited in the armchair, Marty clicked his tongue as Redmond slowly emerged from his trance. ‘Now he comes round!’ He turned an exasperated face on his mother, but at that point followed his wife’s gaze to the beer bottles and hastily sought to explain. ‘Sorry, Etta, it’s not the way it looks.’

Aggie turned a quizzical expression which quickly changed to one of astonishment at the vision in lilac silk and cream lace. There was no need to ask who this was. Her eyes hardened and flew to Marty as if demanding to know how he could have brought the Ibbetson girl here. She was unprepared for an even bigger shock.

‘Mother, I’d like you to meet my wife, Etta.’

Too deafened by the thudding of her own angry pulse, Aggie did not hear the collective intake of breath from her children and Uncle Mal, and also her husband, who was fully conscious though still a little dazed.

‘Did I hear right? Did he say wife?’ Redmond gawped blankly from one family member to the other, then promptly swooned again.

‘We were married today.’ Etta stared at the father in perplexed concern, yet, noting that none of the others seemed remotely worried and were more intent on her, she formed a tentative smile and extended her hand to her mother-in-law, for a second thinking that it might be refused. The other Mrs Lanegan was prematurely grey, and with her high cheekbones must once have been attractive but was now quite wizened. Clad in a faded dress, her chest was exceedingly narrow, giving the impression of frailness, but this was misleading for her lips were sanguine and her eyes lively and strong with that special blueness only encountered in a glacier as they fixed themselves on this intruder. Here was a woman who liked folk to keep their place, and heaven help Etta, who had come and upset all that.

But the handshake was accepted with a formal nod. Though devastated that her son had defied her to marry in secret and to one of such different class, Aggie was unable to express her wrath in front of so illustrious a stranger, and, summoning politeness, invited Etta to take a seat at the table that was set for tea, brushing deferentially at the chair to make sure it was clean. ‘Won’t you join us, Mi – I mean, Etta?’

Etta glanced apprehensively at Mr Lanegan who was once again conscious. ‘If my presence would not be too much of an imposition?’ Told that it wouldn’t, she thanked her hostess and sat down, aware that her every movement was under studious examination from several pairs of eyes.

‘Is she a fairy?’ whispered little Tom, entranced.

‘Sure, and she’d give the little people a run for their money, Tom.’

Etta turned her beguiling smile on the white-haired speaker, Uncle Mal, who had the weathered air of one who had lived all his life in the open and was poorly attired with a neckerchief in place of a collar, and trousers that were bagged at the knees, but otherwise had a pleasant manner and at this moment was directing the full force of it at her.

‘Put those eggs on!’ Aggie growled at one of her daughters, indicating the pan of water on the range, whilst she herself disappeared into the scullery with another child following, the youngest two staying behind to stare at Etta, in whom they seemed rapt.

Despite the childish scrutiny Etta felt a little easier with her mother-in-law gone, for of the pair Mrs Lanegan seemed the formidable one. Studying Marty’s father now she saw a delicate countenance framed in bushy brown hair, calm if watery eyes with a kind look about them, which Marty had obviously inherited. There was not a whiff of alcohol. Believing Marty when he had said things were not how they seemed, she could see that this man was no drunkard, yet was puzzled as to what might have caused the initial collapse plus the subsequent fleeting departures into unconsciousness she had witnessed in the few moments she had been there, deducing that his frail physique must be responsible. Whilst his wife only appeared to be fragile there was stronger evidence of it here in the pronounced slope of Mr Lanegan’s shoulders, his posture deplorable as he shambled out to the backyard, excusing himself to Etta as he went. That she smiled at him seemed to pacify Martin, who had been agitated since they entered. But she was not to be provided with an explanation just yet.

Murmuring reassurance to his bride and hoping Uncle Mal would not yield to his uninhibited penchant for describing bowel movements, the groom slipped away to the scullery where he disturbed Aggie in the act of trying to calm herself.

‘Mammy, I’m –’

‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!’ Nearly choking herself in trying to dispose of the sherry, which had come by dishonest means, she slammed the empty glass down and stabbed a finger at him, hissing the words through clenched teeth. ‘You treacherous spalpeen, you’re not sorry at all!’

‘I’m not sorry for marrying Etta, but I’m sorry you made me have to lie in doing it!’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault! God damn you – here, give me that bloody glass before your father gets back – that’s if he hasn’t collapsed again out there from the outrage!’ And she tipped another tot of the illicit sherry down her throat before hiding the bottle behind bags of flour and dried peas and reaching for the bread knife, which was first levelled threateningly at Marty before being used to more legitimate purpose.

Reappearing from the privy, Redmond found his wife carving a loaf, his son standing by shamefaced.

Shaking his head in disgust, he told the latter tersely, ‘We’ll have this out later. Back to the table with you, you’re neglecting your wife.’

In between discussing the hot weather with Uncle Mal, Etta had been examining her surroundings, a small but tidy room displaying religious pictures, many china ornaments of surprisingly high quality, gleaming brass oil-lamps with elaborate cowls, and lace antimacassars all pristine, but as her husband re-entered she turned to feast her attention on him as if he had been gone years. Marty sat beside her.

Competing for her attention, Uncle Mal leaned towards her mouthing boastfully, ‘I’m seventy-eight, ye know.’

Etta tore her eyes from Marty. ‘That’s a remarkable age.’

Then, a plate of bread and butter was delivered to the table and tea began. The pampered Etta might have no idea as to how meals were produced, but she could not fail to notice that there were insufficient boiled eggs to go round. Presented with one herself, she thanked her mother-in-law but said, ‘I do hope by our impromptu appearance we haven’t deprived anyone?’

‘No one in this family is deprived,’ replied Aggie firmly.

‘Of course, I didn’t mean to imply…’ Etta’s hands remained in her lap as she watched her mother-in-law deftly slice the top off one diner’s egg and give it to another, performing this thrice more until everyone had a share.

‘Nobody will go hungry. Please be at liberty to begin.’ Obviously unhappy, but, out of courtesy, not going so far as to voice this, Aggie passed around the bread and butter.

Etta removed the top of her egg and began to eat, her every mouthful under surveillance from those children who had already scooped up their meagre ration and were now reliant on bread.

Beside her, despite being one of the lucky few with a whole egg, Marty festered. Was his mother deliberately trying to make him feel guilty?

Both he and Etta were glad when the meal was over, yet it would be impolite for them to rush off after being fed and they were obliged to sit a while longer. Voicing more thanks, Etta moved aside to allow Martin’s sisters to clear her plate and others. They were several years younger than herself, their skinny, shapeless trunks belonging more to monkeys than women, yet Elizabeth and Maggie emitted an air of competence as they moved around the table, stacking the crockery and taking it away. Her eyes moved back to the ornaments on the sideboard upon which she commented to no one in particular.

‘I must say, you have some very handsome china.’

Before thanks could be issued, Uncle Mal raised white eyebrows and emitted cheerfully, ‘Those? Pff! They’re just Aggie’s gimcracks.’ He inflated his chest and hoiked up the waistband of his trousers. ‘You want fine china, ye should’ve seen the collection I used to have, shouldn’t she, Red? ’Twould have graced a palace –’

‘Probably did before you got your hands on it, Unc,’ joked Marty from the side of his mouth, then shrank at the glare from his mother.

Mal was oblivious. ‘– but that was before my dear Bridget passed away and her sisters grabbed the lot and I was forced to come and live here. Never left me so much as a spoon to stir my tea, so they didn’t…’

‘You’ve talent enough for stirring without spoons,’ accused Red, but Mal just heaved an emotional sigh and pulled out a handkerchief to mop at his glistening eyes. ‘God love her, she had real style, my Biddy. I’m not saying Aggie doesn’t try her best of course…’

Grossly insulted and too furious to sit still, with face a-thunder Aggie marched off to the scullery where, against habit, she aided her girls with the washing up.

Meantime, a child was ousted so that Etta could get to one of the more comfortable seats, the youngest planting himself at her feet.

‘Jimmy-Joe seems to have a fascination with your shoes, Etta,’ observed Redmond in his soft brogue, between taking puffs of a pipe.

Responding to his kind attempts to make conversation, she agreed and smiled down at the toddler, who played with the tassel on one of her kid shoes – but fondness swiftly turned to dismay when, with one crafty sleight of hand, the tassel was ripped from its moorings and was spirited away as Jimmy-Joe made his gleeful escape on all fours.

‘Catch that wee divil!’ Redmond signalled to Maggie, who grabbed the toddler before he managed to scramble between her stick-thin legs, upturning him and retrieving the tassel, which was apologetically handed back to its owner.

Marty saw Etta’s crestfallen face at the disfigurement of her only pair of shoes, and said hastily, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick it on when we get home. Have you any glue I can borrow, Da?’

Redmond gritted his teeth to smile contritely at Etta. ‘Why, to be sure.’

‘Will I fetch it?’ offered Uncle Mal, rising. ‘I want to go for a –’

‘Thanks, Uncle.’ Marty pre-empted any rude utterance.

‘– drink of water, anyway,’ finished the old man before tottering off.

The washing-up done, Aggie was forced to return and to undergo dialogue with Etta, perching herself uncomfortably on a dining chair. Informed of the vandalism and seeing an unrepentant Jimmy-Joe bound for Etta’s other shoe, she snatched his dress and hauled him back, advising the rest of her youngsters, ‘Take him out to play for a while afore bed.’

Excited by their brother’s choice of bride, the children were loath to miss any crumb of information and had to be forced outside, twelve-year-old Elizabeth tutting sulkily, ‘Just call your slave in when you want any more washing-up done!’ Then quick as a sprite she ducked outside to escape retribution. However, nothing of much import was to follow, the topics ranging from the hot weather to Etta’s outfit, which Aggie deigned to compliment. Her daughter-in-law was indeed a very pretty girl, she could see how Marty would have fallen for her, and she went so far as to say this, Etta’s response being equally gracious.

Uncle Mal re-entered then, carrying the glue-pot, which he placed on the table for Marty to collect when he left.

Whilst the old man lowered himself into his chair, Aggie resumed the chit-chat, but the polite conversation was halted by an agonised yelp.

‘Sat on me nuts,’ explained a pain-faced Uncle Mal.

Redmond cleared his throat noisily, signalling for his wife to say something. Marty wanted to die and dared not lift his eyes from his shoes. Etta fought laughter and pretended she had not heard, saying, ‘It’s remarkably light still, isn’t it? The children must appreciate these summer nights.’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ nodded Redmond, puffing embarrassedly at his pipe and brushing at his trouser leg to remove imaginary specks.

‘Right, enough of this codology,’ said Aggie from her seat at the table, her tone quiet but determined, her eyes on the newly married couple. ‘I want to know where we stand.’ She dismissed her husband’s look of quiet recrimination. ‘We’ve a right to know if the girl’s father’s going to come around and knock us flat.’

‘He won’t come here,’ said Etta, beating Marty to this disclosure. ‘He’s washed his hands of me.’

Holding her daughter-in-law’s eyes, Aggie saw the flicker of pain in them and allowed slight compassion into her voice. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but I can’t say I’m not relieved that my son isn’t to get another beating on your account.’

Etta felt immediately challenged, a sense of rivalry forcing her to declare, ‘And so am I. It wasn’t my intention that he should receive the first.’ She looked at Marty’s father to include him in her answer, but to her dismay he seemed so uninterested as to be nodding his way towards sleep, and so she addressed herself solely to the matriarch. ‘Your son is very dear to me, Mrs Lanegan.’ It sounded idiotic saying that when she was Mrs Lanegan too, but at that moment she could never contemplate addressing this woman as Mother; nor, she felt, would the other countenance it.

‘Dearer than your parents, obviously.’ Aggie remained cool.

Marty showed slight annoyance at the hurt inflicted on his loved one. ‘Ah well, what’s done is done.’

‘Doesn’t mean it can’t be undone,’ retorted Aggie. ‘You’re both under age.’

He looked aghast. ‘You’re not saying – Ma, surely you wouldn’t have the marriage revoked?’

Aggie rapped the table, jolting her husband awake, and projected her full ire at them.

‘God almighty, is that all you’re bothered about? Don’t you know you could be sent to prison for this, the both of yese?’

The newlyweds were flabbergasted.

‘For making false declaration! You’ve both presumably told the registrar that you had your parents’ consent when that’s a patent lie.’ Aggie watched the horror spread over their young faces, letting them stew for a while.

Etta was on the verge of tears at the thought of being parted from her beloved. ‘Oh, I beg you not to be so cruel!’

‘Cruel?’ Aggie’s temper was rising. ‘You turn a son against his parents, make him lie like a serpent to them, and you tell me I’m the cruel one!’

Marty fought to save the situation. ‘Etta didn’t mean it like that, Ma! Aw, you wouldn’t really ruin our happiness? Not after all Etta’s been through. I’ve told her how great you and Dad are, how you’d understand why we had to do this, that you’d take her to your hearts!’

‘Aggie, stop torturing them, they’ve learned their lesson.’ Redmond’s quiet intervention put a stop to this, leaving Etta surprised that he had been listening after all, and also grateful when he told the pair, ‘We won’t give you away, there’d be little point, the damage is done. Oh, but you’ve hurt us, Marty, by doing it this way.’ He shook his head, his voice bitterly accusing. ‘You surely have.’

Marty dropped his eyes to the multi-hued clipping rug at his feet. Etta too showed repentance, but both were utterly relieved.

Studying her daughter-in-law’s face, Aggie tried to read if her motive was genuine or whether this was all just a big adventure. Only time would tell. After an awkward period, she enquired with a sigh, ‘So, are you thinking we’ll put the pair of you up?’

Again it was Etta who delivered hasty reassurance. ‘Oh no, Mrs Lanegan, we have a place of our own.’

‘Thought of everything, haven’t ye?’ Aggie looked piercingly at her son.

Marty was beginning to tire of the interrogation, saying to Etta, ‘Maybe we’d better go now – thanks for the tea, Ma.’

‘Our pleasure.’ The reply was ironic, Aggie rising with the couple, as did Redmond and Mal. ‘Are we permitted to know where you live?’

‘Long Close Lane,’ Marty told them. ‘The Square and Compass.’

Withholding their opinions, his parents merely nodded, but it was obvious what they were thinking.

Etta and Marty took their leave of Uncle Mal, the old man wishing them, ‘Good luck now to the pair o’ ye. Aye, good luck.’

Accompanying them to the door, Aggie cast her eyes at the neighbours who had dragged chairs onto the pavement to enjoy the evening sunlight, gauging their inquisitive reaction to her elegant guest. What would they say when they found out Marty had married Etta?

‘Come to dinner on Sunday,’ Redmond suddenly invited.

Marty glanced at his mother, who nodded her permission. But when she had closed the door on them Aggie crowed at her husband, ‘Sure and what did you tell ’em that for?’

‘Ach, they’re a pair of blasted eejits but I feel sorry for them,’ admitted Redmond, going back to his chair and his pipe. ‘The poor girl, it must have been a terrible shock to find out where Marty was taking her.’ He stalled Aggie’s objection. ‘I don’t mean here, you goose! I mean the room above that filthy pub. What a comedown for her.’ He cocked his head with a thoughtful air. ‘I like the lass, she seems genuine – a real looker, too.’

‘A lively and good-looking animal indeed,’ agreed Uncle Mal and chuckled wryly. ‘My, who would’ve thought the likes of us’d be marrying into quality.’

‘Aye, though how long it’ll last now that she’s heard your uninhibited talk – sat on your nuts indeed! What a thing to say in front of a lady.’

‘She can take us as she finds us,’ scoffed Mal. ‘She’ll hear worse.’

‘That’s for sure.’ Redmond noticed his wife was quiet. ‘And what did you make of her, Ag?’

Mrs Lanegan remained grim. ‘She strides too proud for my liking.’

‘Heavens, what a relief to be out of there!’ exclaimed Marty, gripping his wife’s hand as they made their way home.

Etta agreed, but smilingly. ‘Still, the ordeal is over now.’

‘That wasn’t a true indication of my mother’s nature,’ he hastened to say.

‘I fear she didn’t like me very much.’

‘It was just the shock. Once you get to know each other…’

‘It didn’t help that I was unsure how to address her.’

Understanding why Etta might not feel much warmth towards his mother after that display, Marty just shrugged.

But Etta was more interested in his other parent. ‘Your father –’

‘Ah, yes,’ his expression changed. ‘You must want to know…’

Etta thought she already did in part. ‘He appears to have suffered ill-health for a long time. His bearing is very stooped, as if –’

‘That just stems from years of being hunched over driving a caravan back and forth across the Pennines.’ Marty went on to divulge his father’s true affliction. ‘He has this illness that makes him fall asleep all the time. He can be anywhere, at home, talking to you quite normal like, or even walking down the street, when he’ll just drop off.’

‘Goodness! How debilitating.’ Etta’s face was grave.

‘The worst thing is, people think he’s a drunkard.’ Marty saw her cheeks flush upon recalling that this was the term she herself had used for his father. He smiled and patted her hand. ‘Ach, it’s a reasonable assumption. In fact, he’s abstemious – those beer bottles ye saw were Uncle Mal’s. No, Da has very few vices at all, and you’ll rarely hear him say a bad word about anybody else – apart from me.’ He grinned.

Along the way he provided her with more information. Redmond was unable to keep a post for long once an employer discovered his habit of falling asleep on the job, so relied on casual labour, agricultural or otherwise. He also indulged in a spot of hawking. ‘So don’t think because you find him home in the middle of the day he’s a slacker –’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t!’

‘– when the work’s available he drives himself like an ox, and he’s a grand man even if he is my father.’

‘I thought so too,’ smiled Etta.

‘Just a bit of a dreamer whose dreams come to nothing – unlike those of his son, whose all come true.’ He grinned again and squeezed her acquisitively.

But even having equipped her with this knowledge, Marty was aware how disconcerting it could be when Father slipped into a narcoleptic state. ‘You’ll still find it strange when he nods off during a conversation with you, but try not to worry, it’s not because he isn’t interested. Ye’ll get used to it, as we all have.’ His face altered as he envisaged the depleted sherry bottle. ‘Well, Ma sometimes gets worked up about it, says she’s sure he could prevent it if he had a mind – ’cause often days’ll go by when it doesn’t affect him at all. If she seems bad-tempered towards ye it’s only ’cause he’s been keeping her awake all night with his funny goings-on, nightmares and things. Must’ve been terrible for her all these years. Anyhow…’ his voice faded into the night.

Etta was left to utter the last word on the topic as they reached the pub overlooked by the medieval city wall. ‘Well, it was very kind of them both to invite us to dinner on Sunday. I shall look forward to it.’

Marty was unconvinced, but nodded and led her up the creaky staircase to their room. ‘Ah dear, work tomorrow – how I’m going to miss ye.’

‘Better make the most of it then.’ Etta shoved him playfully then pelted upstairs. With him hot on her tracks, they slammed the door on the world and went early to bed.

5

What torment it was to leave her the next morning. Mother had always been the first to rise at home, having breakfast ready for when he came down and making sandwiches for his pack-up, but Etta was as yet unused to the household programme so, out of love, Marty rose at five and, besides looking after himself, took a slice of dry bread and a cup of water over to her bed. But at least being his own boss gave him the privilege of deciding what time to start work and he could sneak back into bed and devote half an hour or so to the more vital husbandly duties before finally dragging himself away from her to earn a living.

However, his assumption that possessed of a barrow he would automatically have money in his pocket was to be quickly disproved, as hour after hour the licence-holders took precedence. In fact, by midday he was beginning to feel rather grim, having watched an endless procession of locomotives arrive without him earning so much as a farthing. Previously able to filch dinner from the hotel kitchen, now he had only a paltry wedge of bread to see him through the afternoon. Time and again hope soared as another train disgorged those passengers who were unable to afford a cab and hailed the barrow boys instead, at which point a mad rush for custom would ensue with Marty hovering on the periphery, only to feel like the runt of the litter as the permit-holders grabbed the spoils.

By four o’clock in the afternoon he had collected just a measly sixpence and a spattering of lime from one of the dirty pigeons that perched on the overhead iron supports. Only the thought of Etta kept him going. Hardly a minute had gone by without him thinking about her; not merely lusting – though it was difficult to concentrate on anything else – but also wondering if she was coping with her unfamiliar role as badly as he was. Last night they had drawn up a list of household commodities, which his wife intended to purchase today. He wondered if she had done so yet, and pondered whereabouts she was now…

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