The Journey Page 10

  “That was so good, Lucy,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to be with you like that.”

  But Lucy had not yet heard the words she yearned to hear. “Do you love me?” she asked hesitantly. “Really love me?” Somehow she couldn’t be sure, even now.

  He laughed. “That’s a silly question.” And then, as though to dismiss the thought, he kissed her mouth. “Didn’t I just show you how much I love you?”

  Lucy drew away. “But you didn’t say it. All the time we were making love, you never once said you loved me.”

  “I did! I’m sure I did.” Bloody women, he thought. Are they never satisfied?

  “Say it now.” Lucy needed convincing.

  “What? Say what?” Anger trembled in his voice.

  “That you love me … say it!”

  “Jesus, but you’re a persistent bugger.” Suddenly amused, he grinned down on her. “But then you always were a spirited devil. It’s what I liked most about you.”

  “Say it then.” Melting to him, Lucy traced his lips with the tip of her finger. “If you don’t say it, I’ll know you’re not serious about us.”

  Twice he opened his mouth to say it, but telling a woman that he loved her did not come easy, mainly because his idea of love and hers were not the same. Where she might think of something precious to them both—a sharing, giving emotion, with a deep-down need, to build a life together—he was a cold, selfish man who saw his own needs to be of paramount importance.

  Now, as he looked into that small, upturned face with the appealing brown eyes and the sunlight dancing off her long unkempt hair, he had to appease her. “Silly bitch, o’ course I love you!” Snatching her to him, he held her there for what seemed an age; until she drew away, to divulge a secret which shocked him to the core.

  “Frank, I’ve got something to tell you.” She was so nervous, she could feel herself trembling.

  He kissed her again. “Have you, now. Well then, you’d best tell me, hadn’t you?”

  She nodded. “When you were here before …” She hesitated, not knowing whether he would be pleased or angry. Yet, if they were to be married and start their own home together, he would have to know, and so she told him in a rush. “We have a son, Frank. His name is Jamie, and oh, he’s so beautiful.” As she gabbled on, intent on getting it off her chest, she did not see how the light in his eyes had dimmed, or the set of his jaw had hardened. “He has such a look of you, and oh, just now he’s beginning to learn to walk …”

  She was silenced when he suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are you saying, Lucy?” His hands dug into her skin, hurting her. “A son? You’re telling me that you have a child?”

  “That’s right, Frankie—we have a child. He was born nine months to the day you went away. I had no idea that I was expecting. I wanted so much to let you know about him, but I couldn’t, because I didn’t know where you were.” Her voice faltered. “I called him James—Jamie—after your middle name. Jamie Baker, he is—but now we can change it to Trent.”

  Only a few minutes ago, her heart had been singing, but now she could see what a shock it was to him, and she was fearful.

  “It’ll be all right,” she gabbled. “We’ll get married and rent a little house and I’ll work at Haskell Hall like now, and oh, Frankie, it will be so wonderful …”

  She paused, hope smiling in her eyes. “It will be wonderful, won’t it?”

  The man didn’t answer straight away. His mind was feverishly working. A child? A bastard to keep his feet tied to the ground while he broke his back working to keep him, and her. He didn’t want that. Besides, how could he be sure it was his? He only had her word for it. For all he knew, he could be taking on another man’s throwaway.

  “Frank?” her small voice persisted. “It will be all right, won’t it?” Lucy had always realized that if he ever came back, the news would be a shock, but she had hoped that, in the end, he would be overjoyed to have a son.

  “Of course, and why wouldn’t it be?” His quick smile belied the rage inside. If she thought he was staying now, she’d soon find out different.

  “And you’re not angry?”

  “Angry?” He held her close as though he would never let her go. “How could I be angry? I won’t deny it was a shock, but what man wouldn’t be pleased to know he had a son waiting for him?”

  Lucy was thrilled. “We’ll be a proper family, and I’ll make you happy, I promise.” Even though there was still that little voice warning her to be wary, Lucy had to believe him.

  “Where is he, this son of mine?”

  “Back at Bridget’s house. Oh Frank, she’s been so good to us. Some people say she’s the worst of the worst because she has girls who entertain, but she’s a good woman. You’ll see when you meet her. She has a helper by the name of Tillie who takes care of our son when I’m working …”

  “I see.” He stopped her there. “And you say she has girls who entertain?” He thought of Lynette, and smirked.

  Lucy nodded earnestly. “They’re my friends. Bridget looks after them … like she looks after me.”

  “Took them off the street, did she?”

  “Something like that, yes.” Lucy didn’t care for the way the conversation was going. “But they’re good girls … I mean, they’re kind and thoughtful, and they’ve helped me through a bad time. When my parents found out about the baby, they went crazy. My mam wanted to send me to a woman in the back streets who does away with unwanted pregnancies, and my dad said she was callous, and that we should wait until you came back and he’d make sure it got sorted out.”

  The memories had never gone away, though thanks to Bridget she had managed to push a lot of it to the back of her mind. Now though, it all came flooding back; the rows and upsets, and the terrible things that were said. Lucy had always thought her parents were happily married, when all the time they had just been “rubbing along,” as her mother had put it.

  When she told them she was pregnant, it was as though she had lifted a lid they had each been struggling to keep shut, and all the venom came to the surface. “Oh Frank, it was awful. In the end, they split up, and I found myself out on the streets. That was when Bridget took me in. She was at convent school with my mam, but she’s as different from her as chalk from cheese.” Tears filled her eyes. “Mam didn’t want anything to do with me, or her grandchild, but Bridget’s been both mother to me and granny to the bairn.”

  Frank curled his lip at this description of a “tart with a golden heart.” “Well, you’ve no need to worry now,” he lied. “I’m here and like your father said, it will all be sorted out.”

  In reality he was already wondering where he’d dropped his kitbag, so he could go back and collect it and be gone like the wind out of her. If he’d had any feelings for her at all, they’d been suffocated by the news she’d given him. A bastard waiting to claim him for life, women who “entertained”—and how could he be sure that Lucy herself had not “entertained” some man or another, and that’s how she came to be with child? Oh no! He might be a fool for a good-looking woman, but he was not fool enough to truss himself up like a chicken ready for the oven.

  “Frank?” Lucy could see he was deep in thought. “What’s wrong?” She knew he was thinking of the news she had just given him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Scrambling to his feet, he took hold of her hand and pulled her up to him. “I’ll get my kitbag, then we’ll walk back and you can introduce me to my son. Then we’ll make plans. It’s all going to be fine, Lucy.”

  They got up and walked on, and she nestled in the curve of his arm, a spring in her step and a song in her heart. Frank was back. Everything would be fine now.

  As they walked, Lucy was full of plans. “We’ll find a little house to rent with a good-sized garden, and we’ll sit outside and watch our son playing, then of an evening, we can see the sun going down. Oh, darling …” She looked at him and her heart was full. “I’m so glad you’re back
.”

  The man cared nothing for her dreaming. He had plans of his own, and they certainly didn’t include sitting around in a garden and watching somebody else’s kid playing. But he didn’t want Lucy to know what he was thinking, so he said all the right things and convinced her that if that was what she wanted, then so did he. And Lucy believed him.

  “Look!” Drawing his attention to the flock of sheep being driven to the brow of the hill, Lucy told him, “There’s Barney Davidson.”

  As he turned to see, Lucy gave him a playful push and ran on. “Race you to the lane!”

  “You little sod!” She had caught him offguard, and he was thrilled. This was what spurred him on, a spirited woman fleeing and himself in full chase: and when he caught her, what fun it would be. “Come on, Frankie boy,” he said to himself. “Get after her. Leave her with another mouth to feed and happen she’ll find some other poor bugger to take her on!”

  For a moment he stood his ground and watched her running, bare-footed, with the pretty shoes dangling from her hand and her hair flowing behind, and the sound of her laughter exciting him—and he had a moment of weakness. For one dangerous, fleeting moment, he actually thought she might be worth staying for. But when fear took over, the moment was quickly gone.

  Wickedness surged through him, and a sense of fun. There was no need to commit himself, not when he could have it all and walk away. Right now, Lucy wanted him to chase her and he would, and that was all right, because this was what he believed life was all about. Never mind responsibility. That was for other folks, not for a free and easy-living man like himself.

  With a shout to let her know he was right behind, he set off at the run.

  High on the hill, Barney saw the two of them careering across the field toward the style; Lucy in front and going like the wind, and the man fast closing in.

  He could hear the young woman’s merry laughter and he smiled. “Seems like she’s found a bit of happiness,” he told Jess, his red-setter bitch, who trotted beside him, keeping an eye on the sheep. “Lord knows, she deserves it after what she’s been through.”

  He knew Lucy because the two of them often chatted as she wended her way to work, and last winter, he had taken her along the lane in his cart because the hills were snow-covered. That was the very first time she had confided in him. After that, they had often walked the hills in the same direction, her going to and from the squire’s house and himself to the outlying fields where he would check his flock.

  As they got to know each other better, Lucy had confided in him more and more. Then one day when his lovely Joanne was walking with him, Lucy came along and joined them. The two women had got on so well that Joanne invited her up to Overhill Farm for tea, and it had been a very enjoyable evening.

  “I don’t know if that’s the boy’s father,” he told Jess as they strolled on, “but even if it’s not, Lucy seems content enough with him.”

  Just then he heard a scream and on looking down again, he could see that Lucy had taken a tumble as she climbed the stile; he could see her lying among the big stones there and she didn’t appear to be moving. “Good God! Looks like she’s hurt!” As he ran forward the dog bounded in front, ears pricked, sensing danger. Lucy wasn’t getting up! What the hell was the bloke playing at? Cupping his hands, Barney called out: “You there! Is she all right?”

  As Barney drew nearer he could see how the man was standing still, looking down on Lucy and not making any move to help her. Suddenly he threw his kitbag over his shoulder and, with a backward glance at Barney, he began walking away, slowly at first then quickening his steps, and now with Barney less than fifty yards away, he bent his head, lengthened his stride and took off at speed. “I can’t help her, I’ve a ship waiting!” he yelled as he ran. “I don’t even know the woman.”

  Barney had a choice; he could either go after the man and teach him a lesson he might never forget, or he could help Lucy, who was lying in a crooked position with her head oozing blood against a boulder.

  His choice was no choice at all. He had to help Lucy. By now she was groaning; trying to move but seeming unable to.

  Coming nearer, he began talking to her, soothing her as he fell to his knees beside her. “It’s all right, Lucy,” he said softly. “You’ve taken a knock to the head, but you’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll get you home to my Joanne. She’ll know what to do.”

  When Lucy gave no answer, he continued talking to her in a quiet voice, at the same time gently sliding his two arms under her slight form and collecting her to his chest. To him, she was but a feather in his arms, for he was a man possessed of strength that came from a lifetime laboring in the fields.

  The movement disturbed her. With dazed vision she stared up at him, her shocked eyes looking into his. “Where’s Frankie?” she asked brokenly, but her voice remained silent. Try as she might, she could not make her voice be heard. And now she closed her eyes and let herself drift. “Frank?” Where was he?

  “Lie quiet, Lucy.” Sensing her agitation, he guessed she was wondering about the cowardly man. “I’ve got you now,” he told her, “You’ll have to trust me.” All the way home, he kept reassuring her, until she was limp and senseless in his arms.

  Barney was a fit man who would have normally taken ten or fifteen minutes to reach his home from that particular spot, but Lucy was now a dead weight and with his every footstep she grew heavier in his arms, until home seemed a million miles away. “Go in front, lass!” he called to the red-setter. “Let her know I’m on my way.”

  Joanne was taking in the washing when the dog came running up to nuzzle her legs: A small, golden-haired woman with soft gray eyes, she greeted the dog with a stroke of the head. “What’s the matter, girl, eh?” she laughed. Jess was a devil for the play and leaping at her now, even though she had an armful of clean clothes. “No! Get off, you unruly hound.” The setter had run a long way at a fast pace and now her tongue was hanging out and slaver running from her jowls. Joanne feared she might drop the washing, and then: “You’ll slobber on the clothes, and I’ll have to wash the blooming things all over again!”

  When Jess continued to nuzzle her, Joanne dropped the clothes into the basket. Snatching it up into her arms, she chided the animal. “What’s got into you? Behave yourself!”

  Now, as she turned, she caught sight of Barney out of the corner of her eye; a distance from the house and treading every step with care, he was carrying what she at first thought was a dead sheep. “BARNEY!” Raising her voice, she ran forward. “WHAT’S HAPPENED?”

  Encouraged by the sight of home and his beloved, Barney hurried to her as fast as he could. “It’s Lucy,” he panted. “She’s taken a bad tumble. I reckon she needs a doctor and fast!”

  Running before him, Joanne opened all the doors and in no time at all, Lucy was laid on the spare bed, with a blanket over her. “You fetch the doctor,” Joanne instructed her husband. “I’ll get her out of these clothes and make her comfortable.”

  And so, while Joanne set about helping Lucy, Barney rode into the village of Comberton on his bicycle to fetch the doctor.

  By the time Joanne had bathed the wound on Lucy’s head, changed her into one of her own nightgowns, and tucked her up in bed, Lucy was more alert, though still dizzy and not yet able to focus properly. “Jamie!” Her first concern was for her son.

  Joanne quietened her. “He’s fine,” she said. “If you want, I’ll ask Barney to go over and bring him to you, but for now, he’s safe with Tillie, isn’t he? She’s taking good care of him.”

  Subdued, Lucy cast her mind back to when she fell. “I was running …” she tried to explain. “Frank … he …” She raised her head a short distance from the pillow and dropped it again as though it was too heavy for her shoulders. “He was behind me when I fell.” She tried to look into the room. “Where is he?”

  Joanne had no idea who this Frank was. She had never been told the name of Jamie’s father. “I don’t know,” she replied kindly. “I expe
ct he won’t be far away.”

  Lucy despaired. “He’s gone, hasn’t he?” she whispered sadly. “He’s gone—and he’s never coming back.” In her deepest heart she had always known he would be gone at the first opportunity, but she had so much wanted to be wrong. Her heart and her head had been at odds about Frankie from the day he had set his sights on her. It was so hard to give up hope, to see things as they really were.

  “I can’t answer that,” Joanne answered softly. “We’ll find your Frank, I’m sure, the minute Barney comes back.”

  However kindly her intention, Joanne’s assurances gave Lucy small comfort. Desolate, she closed her eyes and let the sleep roll over her. He was gone. Frank was gone; and it had all been too good to be true. He hadn’t even seen their son.

  When Dr. Lucas arrived he gave Lucy a swift yet thorough examination. “There doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage,” he concluded, “though I would prefer her not to be too active, for at least a week.”

  He handed Joanne a bottle of dark brown liquid. “Bathe the wound in this morning and night, but it must not be covered … fresh air is the best thing. Light food, and little exercise, but she must rest. A week of that, and I expect her to be good as new.” Having given his diagnosis and delivered the prescription, he bade them goodbye. “You know where I am if you should need me,” he declared, in that abrupt manner of any good doctor.

  Afterward, while Joanne went downstairs to put the kettle on, Barney told Lucy what the doctor had said. “It might be best if you stay here with us for the week,” he suggested, and Lucy thanked him. “If it isn’t too much trouble?” she said tearfully.

  “No trouble at all,” he promised. With a smile he added, “With three offspring and a yon Jess, I can’t deny we’re a noisy family at times, but I’ll make sure you’re not too disturbed. One of us’ll nip over to the Squire’s tomorrow morning and let ’em know you’ve had a little accident so they won’t expect to see you again for a few days, all right?”