The Cobweb Cage Page 14

  *

  Marigold had been given an extra couple of days at home after Easter. The new baby had arrived, and Mrs Roberts planned to spend several weeks with her mother at Old Ridge Court.

  'As it's so near your home, and my mother has plenty of maids to help, as well as Baby's new nurse, you could go and visit your mother. Once we've all settled in Miss Baker wants to visit her sister, so you can take charge of the children while she's away, and see your own family when she's back. It all fits in very conveniently.'

  Richard immediately suggested meeting her in Hednesford.

  'We won't have seen one another for several weeks,' he urged on their last afternoon together before Marigold left Oxford.

  'I have to go home during the vacation, but I mean to be in Birmingham for a week. Is there any way you could have time off and come to spend a few days there with me?'

  'I couldn't!' Marigold was shocked and at the same time disappointed. Was he, after all, just like the young men her mother had warned her about?

  'Then at least we can meet when I am on my way to Birmingham. Marigold, it gets harder to let you go every time. It's not enough, seeing you just for a couple of hours once a week.'

  He was sitting with his arm stretched along the back of the seat, and as he spoke he dropped his hand to clasp her shoulder. He turned her to him and slowly drew her into his arms.

  Although he often lifted her in and out of the car, he had never kissed her. Now Marigold knew with a tremor of wonder that he was about to do so.

  She sighed deeply, and smiled trustingly up at him. Keeping one arm about her shoulders, he traced the delicate lines of her face with his fingers, looking all the time into her eyes.

  'You are so incredibly lovely,' he murmured, his mouth slowly approaching hers. She could see the fine hairs of his lashes, long for a man, and smell on his skin the clean, expensive soap he used.

  His breath fanned her cheeks, and then, as she moved slightly and instinctively raised her face towards his, he pulled her hard against him. His lips, firm and demanding, confidently claimed hers.

  For Marigold every other sight and sound and feeling vanished. She could hear nothing except the beating of his heart against hers, and feel nothing except the strength of his body and the warmth of his lips.

  At last he released her, and with a sigh of pure contentment she laid her head against his chest.

  'My beautiful Marigold! I want you with me all the time, every day of my life!'

  The sheer impracticability of that brought her down to earth. It was a dream, an impossible fantasy. But if dreams were allowed to become too strong it could prove astonishingly painful when they dissolved, as they invariably must, into reality. She raised herself from where she had leant against his chest.

  'It's time to go back. Miss Baker wants to go out tonight, and I said I'd be back early.'

  'But you'll meet me while you're at home?'

  'I'll try.'

  'Where is Old Ridge Court?'

  'Near Rugeley, why?'

  'How will you get home?'

  'I could go by train, but it's only four miles, I shall probably walk.'

  'I could drive you home from there. What day will you be going? I can arrange to go to Birmingham the same day.'

  They planned where to meet, and despite her fears that something would prevent it Richard was there waiting for her.

  He leapt out and kissed her eagerly, then lifted her up into the motor car and swung the starting handle. Soon they were bowling along, and came over the brow of the hill, looking down across Hednesford.

  'Please stop, I really ought to get down here, Richard,' she said urgently.

  *

  As she sat with her back resting against the trunk of a silver birch, sorting out the flowers she'd gathered, Ivy heard the chug-chug of an engine. For a moment, so absorbed was she in her task, she thought it was the steam plough Johnny had taken her to see at Pye Green earlier in the Spring. Then she realised it was a motor car approaching the bend in the road just below where she sat on Rawnsley Hills.

  There was a small patch of level ground, covered with close-cropped turf, just after the bend. Ivy watched as the motor slowed and came to a stop. The two people in it were talking so intently they had no idea she watched them.

  Then as the man moved slightly and his companion was revealed Ivy caught her breath in surprise. She narrowed her eyes. Yes, it was Marigold. The sly creature, driving in a motor car with a man, and none of them at home had the slightest idea of it!

  After a moment's thought she dragged a rather crumpled sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal out of her pocket. Using a flat stone as support, she quickly sketched the man's profile. He had a high forehead, a strong nose, and a determined chin. She considered the drawing carefully, her head on one side. It was good, despite the unevenness of the stone. She made one or two slight changes, drawing his brows a little straighter, sketching in a flopping lank of hair, adjusting the angle of his jaw and making his lips fuller, and was satisfied. Anyone could recognise him.

  As they continued to sit there, Ivy began to sketch the car. They didn't see many in Hednesford, and it was something new. She enjoyed the challenge of using unfamiliar objects as models, and getting every last detail accurate.

  But before she could complete it the man got out, walked round the motor car and lifted Marigold down. As he held her she stretched up and kissed him, then they walked away together, hand in hand.

  Ivy pushed herself back against the silver birch, knowing that if she kept still they would be unlikely to see her in the dappled shade. But they did not look her way, and soon vanished along a track winding amongst the trees, which eventually led down into the town.

  Ivy pondered, then smiled slowly to herself. Hastily she gathered up the flowers, bundled them into an old shopping bag she'd brought with her, and scrambled down the hill towards the motor car.

  An hour later Richard returned alone to find her absorbed in doing another more detailed drawing of his motor car.

  'Hello, there. What's that?'

  She smiled shyly up at him.

  'I was drawing,' she told him, holding out the sheet of paper.

  'This is incredible!'

  He studied the crowded page, with several drawings of his motor car from different angles. In between she had crammed more detailed sketches of certain parts, and he marvelled at the sure touch she exhibited.

  'I wanted to do it for Marigold,' she said, and watched intently as the shock registered on his face.

  'Marigold?'

  'My sister. I saw her with you earlier, I thought she'd like a picture of your motor car. My name's Ivy.'

  'So you're Marigold's sister?'

  'I drew you, too,' she said hesitantly, taking the paper from him and turning it over. 'Before you and Marigold went for a walk. I was sitting up there.' She gestured vaguely behind her. 'Look, don't you think it's like you?'

  'Yes. Yes, it is, very good.'

  'I wish I had the money for some good paper, then I could do proper drawings. I'm sure Marigold would like one of you in your motor car. I didn't draw her in it, I can do that any time, I've often done pictures of her.'

  He looked at her suspiciously. Was this innocent looking child, with her smooth dark hair and pert lips, no more than seven or eight years old, trying to blackmail him? Surely not!

  'Sometimes Mrs Nugent buys my drawings. Do you work for her too? This isn't her motor car, it's a black one, so you can't be her chauffeur.'

  'No, I don't work for her. But I – met your sister at Old Ridge Court, and when I saw her today I offered her a lift. It's a long way for her to walk.'

  'Would you like a drawing of your motor car?'

  'Would you sell me that one?'

  'If you want.'

  'It's good. Yes, I would like it. How much does Mrs Nugent pay?'

  'A guinea,' Ivy said quickly.

  'A guinea!' This was outrageous, and by now Richard's suspicions were hardeni
ng. But it was becoming clear that if he did not silence this child, she could make trouble for Marigold. He was well aware of the prurient speculation there would be if their friendship was talked about. Mrs Roberts would no doubt be horrified. He dared not risk the chance that Marigold, through her friendship with him, might lose her job.

  'I'll buy it for half a crown,' he offered.

  Ivy shook her head. 'Mrs Nugent will give me a guinea. 'Specially if I make it tidy, and put Marigold in it, like she was.'

  'A guinea then.'

  He dug his hand into his pocket, frustrated and angry. He'd like to tell the obnoxious little brat to do her worst, but he wanted to spare Marigold. If he had the drawing Ivy could not cause trouble.

  'Here's a sovereign, and two sixpences.'

  'Thank you. Here's the drawing. I'll be able to buy some really nice paper now. I must be going home for my dinner. Goodbye.'

  He watched as she picked up the old shopping bag and walked sedately away. She didn't turn round, and he marvelled at her self-possession. How could Marigold, who was so sensitive, so kind and thoughtful, have a sister who could so effectively blackmail strangers?

  He was in no doubt about her intentions. She had known precisely what she was doing. Give me money or I'll cause trouble for my sister!

  Swiftly he climbed into the motor car and drove away. Should he warn Marigold about Ivy or trust the child would now be satisfied? It would be several weeks before they could meet again, and he dared not write to her. There was nothing he could do.

  *

  To Marigold's delight she found Johnny at home.

  'Johnny, I didn't know you were coming today,' she said happily.

  'Came by train,' he said with a grin. 'You're grown up a lot, Sis.'

  'And how are you getting on, lad?' his father asked.

  'I've got more lads under me, in the new works,' he said proudly. 'And I drive the motors to the customers,' he added.

  'You can drive a motor car?' Poppy asked eagerly. 'Oh, will you take me out in one? Please, Johnny! It's what I want most in all the world!'

  Marigold felt a stab of guilt. Richard would be delighted to give her sisters rides in his car. But she daren't tell them about him. It was bad enough that Mom thought she was not seeing him any longer. Perhaps Poppy would never achieve her ambition.

  'I realised I hadn't been home since before Ivy's birthday, and might not see you again till after yours, Marigold, so I brought presents for you all,' John said proudly. 'Where's Ivy?' he added.

  'She went to meet Marigold, but must have gone the wrong way. I expect she's gone off in one of her dreams, looking for flowers,' Mary said.

  'Still likes flowers, does she? Good, I've brought her a book on plants. It isn't a new one, I found it at a sale, but it's got every single plant ever known in it, I should think. She can have it later.'

  As well as a shawl and a parasol for Marigold, he'd brought Poppy a cookery book, Mary a shawl, and for his father there was some tobacco and an intricately carved pipe.

  When Ivy returned, just as Mary was carving the chicken she'd roasted on a spit over the range, she was carrying a huge bunch of flowers, but she dropped them immediately and insisted on showing Marigold and Johnny her latest drawing.

  'Look, it's a drawing of Pa.'

  After dinner, as the others exclaimed over what was a very lifelike portrait of John, bent over his carving, Ivy was poring over the book Johnny gave her.

  'Mom, this book says what plants poison us!' she said excitedly. 'And which ones are good for curing illnesses! And how to make ointments and medicines!'

  'I didn't bring it to make you into a doctor,' Johnny said with a laugh. 'I thought you'd like it to copy the pictures, and find out what all these flowers you bring home are.'

  Ivy nodded, and smiled shyly up at him.

  'I will. It's the best present I've ever had,' she reassured him.

  *

  The next week after dinner Ivy slipped away. Sunday afternoon was the best time to find Sam Bannister alone. The Potters always went to visit their daughter in Heath Hayes on Sundays, and Sam was alone in the room where he slept behind the chemist's shop.

  When he came to the back door he was rubbing his eyes.

  'What d'yer wanna wake me up fer?' he grumbled.

  Ivy pushed past him.

  'Why are you asleep in the middle of the day? I've got sixpence for that ointment you told me about.'

  His eyes lost all trace of sleepiness and grew sharp with suspicion.

  'Where'd yer get such a lot o' money from?' he demanded. 'A tanner? You? Show me, then.'

  'Not unless you promise I can have some. You said you'd give me some for sixpence.'

  'Oh, all right. But I gotta put in on.'

  'No! I don't let anyone see my scars!'

  'Aw, give over, Ivy! Nobody cares abaht yer flippin scars but yerself! Yer'd let a doctor see 'em. It's on'y so's it gets put on right. See, it don't work if it's done wrong. Yer wouldn't want ter waste a tanner, now, would yer?'

  Suddenly Ivy made up her mind.

  'I'll let you put it on if you'll show me how to distill things. My book says lots of things have to be distilled, but it doesn't say how to do it.'

  'Why should I show yer? I 'ad ter work 'ere for years before I were shown 'ow ter do it.'

  She sighed. 'How much do you want?'

  Sam guffawed. 'What d'yer think I am? Proper daft? Yer still 'aven't shown me yer tanner. If yer's got that, which I doubt. I don't believe yer's got more!'

  Ivy was about to reveal the untold wealth she had acquired from Richard a week ago when she paused. Sam had an unusually crafty look in his eyes.

  'I have got it, so there,' she retorted. 'But if you don't believe me – '

  'I was goin' ter suggest summat else.'

  'What?'

  He gulped. 'This is a deadly secret. Yer gotta promise never ter tell anyone! Never, or the devil'll come an' get yer! It's magic, yer see.'

  'Oh, do get on with it, Sam! We're wasting time, and the Potters could be back any minute.'

  'Nah, they won't be back till it's dark. I'll give yer the ointment to cure yer scars fer sixpence, right? An' I'll show yer 'ow ter distill things. But I want yer ter try another ointment fer me – be a sorta experiment.'

  'I don't understand. Another ointment for my scars? Why should you give me that and show me how to distill stuff?'

  'Well, it's a sorta new ointment I've invented. Not fer scars. If it works I'll mek a fortune!'

  'But what is it?' She was growing impatient.

  'It's fer mekin' bosoms grow bigger!'

  Ivy stared at him in astonishment. He was red in the face and seemed to find it difficult to breathe.

  'That's daft!' she declared dismissively. 'Bosoms grow when you get older.'

  'No it ain't daft! I've bin readin' some old newspapers, an' there's lots of advertisements fer things like that. Some women'll pay pounds fer it!'

  'But what do you want me to do? I haven't started growing a bosom yet. Poppy has.'

  'Thass the point. It 'ud be no good tryin' it out on someone 'oo was already growin' a bosom, 'cause yer'd never know if it was the ointment causin' it ter grow. If yer started growin' one it'd prove it.'

  'What would I have to do?'

  'I'd 'ave ter do it, like the ointment fer yer scars. It 'ud need ter be done ev'ry week. Tell yer what, yer 'elps me do this experiment, an' I'll give yer the scar ointment in exchange.'

  'And show me how to distill things?'

  'Yer'll do it?'

  'If you show me how to distill things. Show me first, I mean. And other weeks you can show me how to make pills and ointments.'

  The bargain satisfactorily concluded Sam led her through into the small room between the shop and his own room at the back. Quickly he showed her the apparatus.

  'Yer 'as ter boil up the stuff in this, which is called the still, then the steam goes through 'ere, an' as it cools the water wi' the oils in it drops in ter
this bottle. After a bit the oils float on top, an' that's it.'

  Ivy was appalled. 'I can't do this at home. And I couldn't buy a still like this. How much does one cost?'

  'Pounds an' pounds. But sometimes I could do it fer yer,' he suggested, slyly generous.

  Reluctantly Ivy agreed.

  'But I'd want to come and watch,' she stipulated.

  Sam didn't argue.

  'I s'pose yer'll 'av ter, if yer don't trust me,' he said huffily. 'Now come and let's do the ointment.'

  Ivy followed him into the shop, which always fascinated her with the hundreds of different packages and little boxes neatly arranged on shelves which lined three walls. In front of the window, in which the gloriously coloured bottles were displayed, was a locked glass case holding a selection of more expensive soaps and perfumes. Another locked case in a corner held poisons. Sam took down a small jar from a shelf near the window.

  'Is that it? I could have bought it from Mr Potter,' she said in disappointment.

  'Yes, but it 'ud cost yer two and elevenpence farthin', an' I'm givin' it yer cost price. We won't use all of it now, any road.'

  Ivy began to roll up her sleeve. Sam shook his head.

  'No, I can't do it like that. Yer'll 'av ter come back in my room, where yer can lay down. Like on a doctor's couch,' he explained.

  It took him a considerable time, and many reminders that he'd already performed his side of the bargain in showing Ivy how things were distilled, before he persuaded her to remove her blouse and unbutton her liberty bodice.

  'It's on'y like when yer play 'ospitals wi' our Lizzie and Billy,' he reminded her.

  'I don't have to take my clothes off then,' she said petulantly.

  'Yer pushed yer skirt an' drawers down when yer said yer 'ad yer appendix out,' he reminded her.

  'Then why can't I just push my blouse up?'

  ' 'Cause then I can't get at yer arm prop'ly.'

  At last she was sitting on the side of the bed, naked from the waist up. She watched with critical eyes as he sat beside her and smoothed the first ointment into the scars left from the time she'd fallen against the hot bars of the fire.

  First he held back her smooth black hair and rubbed the ointment into the scar on her forehead. It smelled of a herb she didn't recognise, and something astringent which made her want to cough. Then he held her arm with one hand, turning it this way and that so as to reach the full length of the criss-crossed scars on her upper arm, shoulder and neck. Ivy rarely looked at them, normally shuddering away from the red, puckered flesh, but now she subjected them to a close scrutiny. She would need to know whether they were getting better.