Ragamuffin Angel Page 16

  Connie was still mulling the matter over when she walked into the restaurant a few minutes later. She was wearing one of the housemaids’ aprons, hastily acquired from the linen cupboard, over the plain blue dress that was her normal garb. Due to their managerial positions she and Mrs Pegg were not required to wear the frilled apron and cap which was the additional uniform for the rest of the female staff.

  The restaurant looked to be running on oiled wheels as usual. Only the staff knew of the feverish activity in the kitchen and the fact that they were two waiters short. There was an air of subdued gaiety among the diners sitting under the Christmas garlands strung across the ceiling, and for a moment, as Connie stared at the scene, it was impressed upon her how profoundly life had changed in the last year and how much she had to be thankful for. Then she was drawn into the thick of it and there was no time for further reflections.

  At half past eight, having been on her feet for two and a half hectic hours, Connie had a swift cup of tea in the kitchen and washed her face and hands in the large stone-floored scullery in preparation for the second half of the evening which would continue until well after eleven o’clock. Mary was up to her elbows in suds and conversation with one of the kitchen maids, and after quickly checking that her friend would wait for her so they could walk home together, Connie made her way back into the buzzing restaurant.

  What drew her eyes across all the other tables to focus on one at the far end of the room Connie didn’t know – it could only have been a sixth sense or some other inexplicable phenomenon – but there they were, the Stewart family. There was no mistaking them. She could only see their top halves, they were all seated, but the elegantly dressed figure of Edith Stewart was holding court, along with the five brothers who had come to the cottage that night and what looked to be four younger women, probably the brothers’ wives or sweethearts.

  The emotion attacked her first in the chest, causing her heart to thud so hard it actually hurt, and then it flowed up into her throat, causing her face to bleach and her ears to ring. Why hadn’t she considered that this might happen? They were a wealthy family, the sort who considered it providential to be seen at all the right places, she should have known their paths might cross again one day. But no, they wouldn’t have, would they, if she hadn’t been helping out in the restaurant. Oh, what was she going to do?

  And then, as if in answer to the unspoken cry, one of the heads turned. Connie recognised the young man immediately – it was the youngest son, the one who had held her the night they had attacked Jacob and then later rescued her out of the snow drift – and across the room and over the space of the intervening years their eyes met, the eyes of the smartly dressed, wealthy young man and those of the waitress.

  During the time it took for her to gather her wits and move she watched Dan Stewart’s mouth fall open slightly, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, and then she had whirled round, retracing her steps out of the restaurant doors and coming to a halt outside where she took great gulps of air to quell the feeling of faintness.

  He had recognised her. She leant against the lobby wall, her head pounding. But then she was so like her mother so perhaps that wasn’t surprising? And he had hardly altered at all. A bit heavier perhaps, but then he was older. Thirteen years older. Thirteen years.

  When she heard the doors to the restaurant open a second or two later she knew, without looking up, that he would be standing there. And when she did raise her head he was a yard away and staring at her, and then she realised he had changed. The boy was gone and it was the man who was fixing her with his gaze. And the man was tall and broad and – she felt a stab of betrayal at the thought – very handsome.

  ‘You’re. . .’

  ‘Connie Bell.’ Her head was well up now, her chin straining, and the stance was aggressive.

  Dan Stewart acknowledged this and understood the reason for it, but such was his bemusement that for the moment he was at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. This was the person who had haunted his dreams for years. As a tiny elfin child she had plagued his night hours with remorse for what his family had done to hers, and even as recently as a year ago she had come to point an accusing finger in his sleep. He had suffered because of this young woman, this stunningly beautiful young woman who was so like her mother. He had suffered the torments of the damned since John had told them that the family had been killed in a fire at the cottage.

  ‘I heard . . . There was a fire?’ He had to pull himself together, she would think he was simple. ‘I thought there had been a fire at the house in the wood?’ he managed fairly succinctly.

  ‘There was.’ It was pithy.

  ‘We thought you had all died, your mother and your family?’

  ‘And of course you were devastated.’ The bitterness was tangible, and now his eyes narrowed and his voice was terse when he said, ‘Now that’s not fair, I –’

  ‘Fair?!’ Her voice cut him off and as she took a step towards him, her eyes flashing blue fire, the thought came from nowhere – totally inappropriate in the circumstances, he conceded in the next instant – that this young woman was quite magnificent. She knocked all the other women of his acquaintance, including those his mother paraded before him at regular intervals under the excuse of dinner parties and the like, into a cocked hat.

  ‘You ruined our family that night you and your brothers came for Jacob,’ Connie hissed furiously, her body bent slightly forward in her rage. ‘My mother had to –’ She stopped, choking on the words. ‘And then the fire took my granny and my brother. I hate you, I hate you all, do you hear?’

  And then she saw the stricken look in his eyes and stopped speaking, and there was a long moment of silence before Dan said, ‘I was fourteen years old at the time and I had no idea what I was getting involved in. That doesn’t excuse what we did, I know that, but there hasn’t been a day gone by since, that I haven’t regretted it.’ There was a longer pause. ‘I’ve wanted to say I’m sorry for years, Miss Bell. Please believe me.’

  It was the ‘Miss Bell’, that and the way the broad shoulders were hunched, that enabled Connie to take hold of herself and check further hot words. She nodded tightly, drawing herself up straight. She vaguely remembered, that night he had been holding her back from the fray, that he had been shouting for them to stop hurting Jacob. And it had been this Stewart who had lifted her out of the snow and gone for the doctor for her mam. She supposed she owed her life to this man. There was a feeling inside her that made her want to press her hand to her chest bone to ease its ache. The feeling was filling her, confusing her with the myriad emotions contained in it, and it was to check what she perceived as weakness that she said, her voice flat now, ‘You had better get back before they come looking for you. You might be sorry but I doubt if any of the others are.’

  ‘Art is,’ said Dan quickly. ‘He’s always felt bad about that night.’

  ‘As well he might.’

  ‘Aye, yes.’ There was an awkward silence before Dan said, ‘You. . . you work here then?’ as he glanced at the apron.

  ‘I’m the assistant housekeeper.’ It was very quick and very sharp. ‘I’m only helping out waitressing because a number of the staff are off with flu.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I didn’t think . . .’ His voice trailed away. ‘How long have you worked here?’ he asked quietly after a full ten seconds had ticked by without either of them saying a word to relieve the tense atmosphere.

  ‘Nearly a year.’

  He made a small movement with his head as he said, ‘You’ve a very responsible job for such a young lass. Not that I don’t think you’re capable of it,’ he added hastily, before she could say anything, ‘it’s just that most girls are more interested in enjoying themselves, having fun, than . . .’ He was making a right pig’s ear of this, by, he was. Her face would have told him that if nothing else.

  ‘I had to grow up quickly.’ It was said without any vestige of self-pity. ‘I was employed in the laundry at the workhous
e before this for eight years.’

  ‘Eight years?’ He whistled softly. ‘You couldn’t have been more than a child.’

  Connie shrugged slender shoulders. She had seen the house where he had been brought up and it was a world apart from how she had lived. No doubt he had been spoilt and cossetted from when he was a babby, mollycoddled and overindulged. Her mother had said that Jacob’s in-laws came from ordinary working stock originally, but the Stewart children would have been taken everywhere by horse and carriage when they were bairns for sure, escorted by their mother or maybe a nursery maid.

  Connie had seen such children dressed in their bonny little white suits and shining shoes, who, on dismounting from the carriage, would have been hurried past ragged, snotty-nosed urchins huddled on the pavement. The grown-ups would invariably ignore the ragamuffins especially if they were begging, putting a scented linen handkerchief to their noses as though to protect themselves from something contagious. But sometimes their precious charges would peer at the dirty gamins in much the same way they would stare at an oddity on view at the fair, or some strange apparition that wasn’t quite human, their plump, well-fed faces displaying curiosity oftentimes flavoured with childish distaste. How could she explain to someone like Dan Stewart that at twelve years of age she had been far from being a child?

  ‘Miss Bell –’

  ‘Look, Mr Stewart, I’ve work to do and your family will be waiting for you.’

  Again Connie cut him short, but in the same instant the doors to the restaurant opened and John Stewart was walking towards them, saying, ‘There you are, man. What do you think you’re playing at? She’s going mad in there, you know how she is. What’s the –’ And then his voice was strangled in his throat and he started so visibly he seemed to give a little jump into the air before freezing, his mouth falling into a wider gape than Dan’s had.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m not a ghost.’ Connie’s voice was full of icy disdain. John Stewart’s face had gone quite white and for a moment he had looked terrified. ‘Your brother was just about to join you, Mr Stewart.’

  ‘What the hell. . .’ And then, as he stared at her, he relaxed, swearing softly but forcefully which brought a terse ‘John, please’ from his brother which John totally ignored. ‘You’re the daughter. I see it now! You are the daughter, aren’t you. How did you get –’ He stopped abruptly, swearing again as he swayed and steadied himself with a hand on the wall.

  ‘Cut it out, John, I’m warning you.’ Dan’s voice was cold but there was hot colour in his face as he turned to Connie and said, ‘I’m sorry, Miss Bell.’

  ‘Miss Bell.’ It was said slowly, and with a relish that made Connie feel sick. ‘Well, well, well.’ The black eyes were moving all over her now, their light seeming to strip the clothes from her body and penetrate right through to her skin. ‘You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, that’s for sure. Like mother, like daughter, eh?’

  ‘You leave my mother out of this.’ Connie’s voice was steely, and strangely – considering how she was feeling inside – without a tremor. If the younger brother had changed then so had the eldest, but with John Stewart it looked to be for the worst. The face she remembered as good-looking was now of a mottled complexion, the nose red and faintly bulbous indicating a more than average penchant for drink. And he had gained weight, lots of weight, in fact he was flabby. Flabby and unattractive. Her nostrils flared with distaste. ‘You’re not fit to speak of her.’

  ‘Ah ha.’ The hard beady eyes were gleaming. It was for all the world as though the slender young woman glaring at him had just paid him a compliment. ‘Fiery little piece, aren’t you, but a bit of spirit can make life interesting. What say you, Dan, eh?’

  ‘I say you’ve already had enough to drink the night,’ said Dan tersely, his face flaming. ‘Why you had to start at home before you even got here I don’t know. Come away out of it before you make a bigger fool of yourself than you have already.’

  ‘What?’ John peered at his sibling, his head on one side. ‘Oh, so that’s the way of it, Dan, lad? By, it’d take more than you’ve got to handle this one.’

  ‘I suggest you go back to the restaurant now, otherwise I shall be forced to call for assistance and have you forcibly removed from the hotel for causing a disturbance. Now, Mr Stewart.’

  ‘Eh?’ John’s head swung back to Connie who was standing as straight as a ram-rod and eyeing him with unconcealed contempt. For a moment it looked as though he was going to turn nasty, his face flushing turkey-red and his mouth curling into a sneer, then he took a visible breath before making an exaggerated bow that almost had him stumbling drunkenly forward. ‘It’s been a pleasure to renew your acquaintance, Ma’am. A very real pleasure,’ he drawled slowly before giving a wide smile. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Dan gave Connie one last desperate look before he hustled his now unresisting brother back into the restaurant, but even after the doors had closed behind them Connie didn’t move for some moments.

  She found she was taking deep draughts of air as though she had been running or partaking of some other strenuous exercise which had pushed her to the limit, and she was silently talking to herself, warning herself to do nothing hasty, to be calm, to think. Nothing had changed, not really. She had known they were here, in Sunderland, hadn’t she? Of course she had. And, now she was free of the rigid confines of the workhouse, it wasn’t unlikely that some day she would have run into one or other of the Stewarts. It was just unfortunate that it had been all of them, in one fell swoop like that, and especially – especially – that hateful beast of a man, John Stewart.

  She continued to breathe in and out for some seconds more until her racing heartbeat was under control, and then, as the doors to the restaurant opened to emit a laughing party of guests – one or two of whom stared at her a little curiously as they passed – she forced herself away from the wall against which she was leaning. She hadn’t let herself or her mother down, that was the important thing. She had conducted herself with sobriety. She hadn’t given in to the desire to strike John Stewart; she had behaved like a well-bred young lady. So why, knowing that, did she wish she had torn into him, kicking, biting, clawing at his face with her nails? Because she did. She did. The way he had looked at her . . . It had made her flesh creep.

  She adjusted the collar of her dress and smoothed down her hair, willing her fingers not to tremble, before walking swiftly in a semi-circle towards the other entrance to the kitchen. She really couldn’t go back into the restaurant, not tonight. She just didn’t trust herself not to empty a bowl of soup over John Stewart’s head.

  A cup of tea. That’s what she needed, a cup of tea to steady her nerves and deal with the quivering in her stomach.

  In the organised bedlam that was the kitchen no one noticed her entrance at first. She walked across and sat on a stool to the side of one of the ovens, and it was Mrs Merry, the cook, who glanced her way, caught, no doubt, by the rarity of a stationary human being in the midst of the hullabaloo. And then, at Mrs Merry’s exclamation of concern, several others turned to look at her, and within moments she was surrounded by friendly faces expressing sympathy.

  ‘Take a breather for a minute, lass, that’s the ticket.’

  ‘Eee, another down with this flu. Can’t say I’m surprised.’

  ‘White as a sheet, she is. She should never have come back the night, Mary. You should’ve told her.’

  ‘Death warmed up. You can’t fight this flu, that’s the thing.’

  The comments swarmed about her but Connie, although comforted by the overt sympathy, found it easier to say nothing, accepting the hot drink that was placed in her hands some moments later simply with a nod of thanks.

  ‘Connie?’ Once the pandemonium was back in full swing Mary sidled to her side, speaking in a whisper as she said, ‘What’s up, lass? It isn’t the flu, is it. You had a gliff or somethin’?’

  ‘Aye.’ Connie had to stop herself slumping but she wasn’t go
ing to let John Stewart win. ‘You could say that, Mary. It’s him, John Stewart, the one I told you about. The one who hurt Jacob. He’s eating here, with his mam and the rest of the tribe.’

  ‘Eee, no, lass.’ Mary’s head dropped to the side and she screwed up her eyes behind the spectacles before saying, ‘But he didn’t see you? He didn’t recognise you, did he?’

  ‘Aye, he did.’ It was bitter. ‘I look like my mam you see. I look just like her, and . . . and he liked me mam in a funny sort of way. You know:’

  ‘Oh, lass.’

  Mary went to put her arms round her but Connie stopped her with a lift of her hand as she murmured, ‘No, don’t, lass. It’s best they think I’ve got the flu, least said soonest mended. I’m going to go home, I don’t want to run into him again. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to control myself twice in one night. I’ll . . . I’ll see you later. All right?’

  ‘Aye, all right. I’ll get away as soon as I can. But are you sure you feel up to going home by yourself?’

  Connie straightened, and her voice was soft but firm and brooked no argument when she said, ‘I’m perfectly all right, Mary. It’d take more than scum like him to worry me, but this is a good job and I don’t want to spoil it by going for him, he’s not worth it. And he might try to provoke me to do just that. I don’t trust him. There’s something, well, sinister about him. It sounds far-fetched but there it is. I remember the way he looked at my mam all those years ago, it’s sort of stayed in my mind somewhere, but I didn’t realise what it meant until he looked at me in the same way tonight. He’s . . . dirty, mucky.’

  ‘An’ the others?’

  Connie shrugged, lowering her head. ‘There was only one other I met tonight, the youngest one.’

  ‘The one that pulled you out of the snow?’

  Connie didn’t look up as she nodded, saying, ‘Aye, him. He’s . . . Oh, I don’t know. He’s not like his brother at any rate.’

  ‘Perhaps he hides it better than t’other ’un?’