The Loom Part 8

Stephen heard the crash as he limped painfully across the hall. His leg was still sore even after five months of convalescence. The doctors were optimistic that it would heal completely, in time. He hoped they were right. He was sick of limping around, not able to ride. He'd been lucky though; d.a.m.ned lucky. If it hadn't been for Darkie Hammond he'd be dead now.

The scream made him forget his pain for a moment. He hurried across the hall and into the library. I should have known, he thought when he saw Raymond.

Raymond was standing, staring at the ladder on the floor. Stephen didn't notice Leah at first, because she was hidden behind a large chair. When her head hit it she almost lost consciousness. She lay for a few minutes, too stunned to move. Then Stephen saw her shoe sticking out from behind the chair.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!' he said, pushing Raymond aside angrily. 'What have you done this time, you young monkey?'

He bent over her and gave a sharp gasp. Blood! Her eyes were closed. Surely she's not dead, he thought in fright. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed gently at the wound on her forehead. He breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes opened.

'Get Mother, quickly,' he said to Raymond. Raymond shot off calling for Jessica.

Leah was aware of being lifted gently and placed on the couch. She'd closed her eyes quickly again when she saw Stephen. Now she opened them again to find him bent over her. He was so close she could see where he'd cut himself shaving, the length of his spikey black eyelashes, and why hadn't she noticed before that his eyes were a deep blue and not brown as she'd thought?

He was still holding the handkerchief to her head. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She'd never been keen on men, except their Darkie and he wasn't a man, really, only a boy. Also the Hammonds were not p.r.o.ne to demonstrations of affection, even her mother who she knew loved her, had not kissed her since she was a little girl and was sparing in any close contact, just as she was.

'Are you all right?' Stephen said. He was still leaning close and she flushed. He smelt nice, too. Most of the men she knew smelt terrible.

She nodded and struggled to sit up and then collapsed back with a groan.

'Just stay where you are. Mother's coming.'

This made Leah recover a little. Stephen noticed her look of alarm.

'It's all right, no need to worry.'

Stephen was seething inside. This was the final straw. It couldn't go on! He was quite sure that this had been another of Raymond's pranks.

'What on earth's the matter?' Jessica hurried into the room and over to the couch. She stared down at Leah, frowning. Not more trouble, surely? When was it going to stop? She noticed the red-stained handkerchief.

'Good heavens,' she said, taking the handkerchief off Stephen. He stepped aside as she examined the wound.

'Oh, dear, what a nasty gash; I think it's going to need a st.i.tch or two,' she said. 'How on earth did you do this, Leah?' Her voice was stern.

'It's my guess Raymond had something to do with it,' Stephen said angrily.

'I asked Leah, Stephen.'

He ignored that. 'Ray was in the room when it happened.'

'It's true, Mrs. Townsend. I was on the ladder and Master Raymond shook it when I was getting down,' Leah said. Mrs. Townsend frowned again and glanced over at Raymond who was standing by the door.

'Raymond?'

'I didn't mean to, Mother, honest.'

'I'll see to you later young man. Go to your room and stay there.' She turned back to Leah, who was whiter than the handkerchief, although most of it was now stained with blood. 'Call the doctor Stephen, please.'

When Stephen had gone she sat down on the chair next to the couch.

'What were you doing up the ladder, Leah?'

'Getting a book, Miss,' Leah had forgotten all about elocution lessons.

'A book?' Mrs. Townsend looked very disapproving.

'Aye, Mr. Townsend said I could.'

'Oh, he did!' Jessica frowned again. She'd have a word with George about this. She didn't believe in giving too much leeway to servants. They got above themselves and this one was altogether too pretty, even though she was very young. When she was older there'd be too much temptation there. She'd seen it happen!

Leah sensed Jessica's displeasure. Now she was worried. She hoped she didn't lose her job because of this. She realized suddenly just how much she loved it at the Hall; loved the sewing, even the mending. She had been recruited to do some cleaning upstairs as well because it was hard getting help nowadays. All the girls and young women wanted to work in the factories especially munitions. They made more money there. She didn't mind the cleaning here, though. It was even a pleasure to polish the furniture. She wasn't allowed to clean the silver, because that stuff you had to use on it made your fingers all black. Now all this might come to an end. It was Raymond's fault and she could kill him, she really could.

Jessica stood up and stared down at Leah for a moment, looking extremely annoyed. Miss Fenton hurried into the room.

'Oh, good, Miss Fenton. Would you mind taking Leah upstairs? Stephen's gone to call the doctor.'

'Is she all right?' Miss Fenton said, looking worriedly at Leah lying on the couch, her face white, eyes frightened.

'Yes, I think so. She might be a little concussed, though. She'd better stay in bed for a day at least. We'll just see what the doctor says.'

Miss Fenton nodded and helped Leah off the couch and put her arm around her.

'Come along, dear, and we'll get you to bed,' she said kindly.

Jessica raised her eyebrows. She watched as the two went out of the library. There was always something unpleasant happening here, she thought. What with Raymond and Marion, Stephen's injury and now this she felt quite demented at times. If only this terrible war would end! After Ypres and the American involvement everyone had been buoyed up with hope, but the fighting still went on. They were saying it would be over soon but they'd been saying that for nearly four years.

She sighed and picked up a book, which had fallen on the floor. Jane Eyre! She'd read that book, years ago. So romantic: all codswollop of course. She wasn't the romantic type; never had been. She placed the book on a nearby table and walked slowly to the door, still deep in thought.

Neil Preston didn't believe in getting killed, so he'd conscientiously objected to the war and become a pacifist. He was standing on a soapbox when Marion first saw him, giving a speech about the evils of war. A large tomato hit him squarely in the face and he stepped off the soapbox quick smart.

'No need for that,' he shouted, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

'b.l.o.o.d.y coward,' someone yelled.

'Make the conchies go,' a woman, in a black cloche hat and a fierce expression on her face, shouted and shook her fist at Neil.

Marion admired him even though she didn't really agree with his views. You had to have backbone to go against the majority. That's why she admired the suffragettes. She would never understand how women could oppose the suffragette movement! It was funny the way she had always wanted to side with the underdog. Neil was no dog, though. He was quite handsome in a rough sort of way.

Neil was aware of Marion in the crowd and her admiring glance. She stood as the people dispersed and he smiled across at her. He had strong white teeth and an attractive smile. She smiled back, timidly. Mother would kill her if she knew she was here on her own!

'Can I buy you a cup of tea, Miss,' Neil said, taking his cap off. He had thick black hair, which curled over his collar. Marion stared at him, mesmerized. Her stomach fluttered.

'Oh, no, no thank you. I'd better get on, it's late.'

She nodded to him and walked off.

She'd seen him again, the next time on the same corner. She'd gone there on purpose to see if he was still giving his speeches. He was and spoke well in a deep resonant voice, but again was forced to stop under a barrage of rotten fruit. He saw her standing there again and again invited her for tea. She agreed and they were now on quite friendly terms.

Marion bit her bottom lip, thinking a little apprehensively of what she was about to do. She was going into Manchester today with her father. Thank goodness the war had prevented her from being sent to Switzerland to finishing school, but she was to go to London instead. She glanced at the clock. Father would be leaving in a few minutes so she'd better hurry. Jessica had been going to go with her to do some shopping, but had not felt well for the last couple of days. So, with strict instruction to be careful she had given permission for Marion to go in with George.

Marion had written to Neil to say she would meet him at their usual rendezvous, a little cafe just off Collins Street. She shouldn't really be doing this. Neil was out of her cla.s.s, but the war had made a difference to society.

Everything was changing, especially with regard to women! Women were doing men's jobs, many were VATS working overseas and even more were attending university, except her. Marion was still angry with her mother, so this was a bit like getting her own back. Besides, she liked Neil!

He was waiting for her on the corner, spruce and his hair slicked back.

Why didn't you wait in the shop?' she said.

I wanted to see you walking up the street,' he said with a wide smile. 'You're allus the best looker on it.'

He had a broad accent. It was catching and Jessica had looked at her in horror one day when Marion said 'nowt'.

'Get on with you,' she said. Neil grinned. He liked her using the dialect.

'We'll go and have a cuppa, then, shall we la.s.s,' he said, linking her arm in his. She shivered and not only with the cold. 'We can't stay in the cafe all day so what about coming back to my place?'

'Oh, I couldn't, Neil. It wouldn't seem right.'

'Don't worry. There'll not be any one there that knows you.'

'Mm...' Should she? She felt a tight knot in her stomach again. She knew what Neil had in mind. She wasn't sure about that, though.

'It'll be all right,' he urged. There was a hopeful light in his eyes.

'If you're sure,' she replied doubtfully.

They seemed to walk for miles through streets of small terrace houses, which became narrower and dingier with every step. At one point they were followed by a scruffy band of street urchins.

'Ee, look a t'posh 'un.'

'Aye, she's a sw.a.n.ky piece, an' all.'

Neil landed out to cuff one as they rushed by, dirty and k.n.o.bbly kneed.

'b.u.g.g.e.r off, you little sods,' he called at their retreating backs. 'Go on, scram or I'll belt the lot of you.'

They turned, poked out their tongues and made rude signs. Marion blushed. She didn't like Neil's language, either. Her unease increased. She'd never in her life been in a place like this: dirty streets, the gutters filled with questionable refuse, and the smell! She took out her handkerchief and kept it pressed to her nose. She'd never realized just how heavenly lavender smelt!

Another thing was troubling her. She'd changed her mind about the other unmentionable thing, but how could she back out now? She'd no idea where they were and had a feeling that Neil would be very angry if she voiced her doubts. How was she to know that Neil lived in one of the worst parts of Manchester?

When they finally arrived at Neil's lodgings, Mrs. Dunbridge, his landlady eyed Marion suspiciously. What was a little well-dressed madam doing here with Neil, she thought, when Neil introduced Marion as his cousin? Cousin my foot! She was the Queen of England if that was Neil's cousin.

They went up narrow, gloomy stairs to Neil's room under the disapproving eye of Mrs. Dunbridge. He opened a bilious looking green door and pushed Marion in. Before she could resist Neil grabbed her and pulled her close, but not before she had a glimpse of a filthy room with an iron bed in the corner and a chest of drawers with the leg off it leaning at a drunken an angle. She saw the handle of a chamber pot under the bed and shuddered.

Neil seemed to be unaware of her repulsion and ground his body into hers, forcing her head around and trying to kiss her.

'No, no, stop. Please Neil, you're hurting me.'

'Just relax, Marion. I'm not going to hurt you.' He continued to kiss her and she didn't like that either. His lips were too wet and he poked his tongue right into her mouth. She wanted to retch! Up close little postules of white covered his face. She didn't find him at all attractive now. Why had she come? How she wished she was back at Hyndburn and the pink satin coverlet up to her chin. She'd stay there for a week if she could only get away from here. She tried to push him away again. He held her tighter.

'Now, now, don't go putting on airs. We both know what you want, don't we?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she gasped. 'I want to go home and if you don't let me go I'll scream.'

He immediately put his hand over her mouth. 'Keep your b.l.o.o.d.y gob shut,' he hissed, 'Or you won't open it again for a week.'

She began to tremble. He was frightening her. She couldn't really blame him for what he'd thought. If she was fair she'd had a vague idea that was what she wanted, too. But not now! All she wanted was to get as far away from Neil and this depressing place as quickly as possible.

He still had his hand on her mouth.

'Well? Are you going to scream,' he asked. She shook her head.

'Good.' He slowly took his hand away and she immediately let out an ear-splitting shout. He jumped back as though he'd been shot. Then he hit her; slapped her hard, right across her face with such force she slammed against the door, then slid to the floor. She screamed again and began to sob.

There was a sudden loud knocking on the door.

'What's going on; I'll have no marliking around in my place. Do you hear me Neil?'

'It's all right, Mrs. Dunbridge.'

'Let me out,' Marion shouted. Neil pulled her away and tried to put his hand on her mouth again and she bit down, hard. This time he yelled and they struggled together, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

'You b.l.o.o.d.y b.i.t.c.h,' he hissed. 'I'll get you for this.'

Mrs. Dunbridge was going frantic on the other side.

'If you don't open up Neil Preston I'll call the police.'

'All right, all right, hold your horses.' Neil glared at Marion and opened the door. Marion got up hastily and straightened her clothes.

Mrs. Dunbridge took one look at Marion, then turned to Neil.

'Ee, I've a good mind to send for the police anyway, you good for nothing coward. I've heard all about you, carrying on about not going to war. Well, I think that's just what you need. A good dose of what the lads at the Front are getting. Well, I'll not have you here any longer so you can b.u.g.g.e.r off.'

She turned to Marion, who cringed at the look. 'And what the likes of you are doing with the likes of him I'll never know. You should be ashamed of yourself. Now go on, get out of me house, both of you, and you,' and she pointed a bony finger at Marion, dirt so thick under the finger nail a paint sc.r.a.per would have found difficult to dislodge, 'You just get back where you belong and the quicker the better.'

Before she'd finished Marion was down the stairs and out on the street. She ran and ran for about ten minutes. All she wanted was to get away. Luckily, as she turned down a street with the laughable name of Primrose Lane, she saw a police- man and in no time she was at the Police Station.

She sat and waited on a wood chair, strangely exhausted, but intensely happy and relieved and listened as the policeman explained on the phone, to her father at his office. Then she was whisked home in the Bentley, her father admonishing her all the way about her irresponsible behaviour and the evils of men.

CHAPTER TEN.