A Home for Broken Hearts, page 19
Matt was pleased to hear Charlie chuckle. A good swear word never failed to amuse boys of a certain age.
‘Look, I like a kickabout – so you know, if you fancy it, you and me sometime? We can recreate some great matches where my lot whopped your lot’s arses, there’s about a million to choose from. That’s if you fancy it.’
‘Cool,’ Charlie said, looking up at him. ‘Thanks Matt, that’d be cool.’
The bus stopped and they got off.
‘And I’m here, you know, if you want to talk about bloke stuff. Ask me. I’m a professional.’
Charlie smiled and nodded, slowing as they reached the school gates.
‘Before we go in there, promise me something, yeah?’ Matt asked Charlie as he pushed open one of the gates. ‘Be nice to your mum when you get in. Remember that she loves you more than anyone in the world, too.’
‘I know … I will.’ Charlie looked concerned. ‘I get angry with her, I get angry because she’s stuck. She’s broken and stuck and she doesn’t want to get out. I can’t even remember the last time she went out of the house, not for months though.’
‘Well maybe it’s a bit soon, mate,’ Matt said, assuming Charlie was exaggerating. ‘Cut her some slack – it’s still not a year since your dad died. Maybe she needs a bit more time.’
‘No, you don’t understand.’ Charlie was insistent. ‘She’s stuck and she wants me to be stuck with her and that makes me mad.’
‘Well then, it’s up to us to think of some ways to unstick her, isn’t it?’ Matt said, although he wasn’t exactly sure what it was that Charlie meant.
‘Us? Really?’ Charlie asked him.
‘Sure, it’s official. You are my best mate in London. Besides, I like a challenge, although I think your mum is doing pretty well by herself right now. New job, new lodgers – that’s not exactly stuck in the mud, is it? She’s really trying.’
‘Maybe.’ Charlie looked uncertain.
‘Right, so tell me – is your teacher a bloke or a bird?’
‘A bird,’ Charlie laughed.
‘Then we’re sorted.’ Matt winked at him. ‘Never been a woman yet I couldn’t charm.’
Chapter Twelve
Eliza’s hand trembled as it rested on the heavy steel door handle that felt cold beneath her heated palm.
On the other side of the door was the man who was her new protector, her father’s dearest friend, General Robert Wright, Commander of the Garrison of the Tower of London, believed to be a Royalist spy in the very heart of the Parliamentarian camp. His name was James Malbeck, he’d arrived from the north with a letter of recommendation from Cromwell himself, and his credentials could not have been better. But ever since he’d been taken into the garrison, where all of London’s arms and defences were stored and planned, the Royalists had seemed much better informed about their enemy. There had even been an attempt to fire the powder stocks, which if it had been successful would have seen the great White Tower burnt to the ground and London open to attack once again. Robert said that only someone with inside information could have known exactly where they kept the powder stocks, and how to break through the numerous iron doors and locks that stood between the Tower’s most precious secrets and any intruder. The miscreant had been quick and expert, caught with match in hand purely by chance, when the hour was almost too late.
‘It has to be Malbeck, Eliza,’ Robert told her a few nights after she arrived. ‘I know it’s him but I cannot simply accuse him. I need proof and I am not at all sure how to find it without him realising what’s afoot and fleeing before justice can be served.’
Eliza had rested her head on the old man’s knee as she sat at his feet and he stroked her hair. She was desperate to find a way to repay him for what he had given her, the greatest gifts that her young heart could imagine: fatherly kindness, a refuge for those who surely pursued her after what she had done, and most of all a good night’s sleep. She was safe at last, no Royalist would ever dare follow her to the very heart of the Republican cause.
Eliza longed to be able to help Robert, to help the cause, to help the country and root out the evil that lurked within the thick walls of the Tower.
It had taken her days to persuade her guardian to allow her to question Malbeck herself.
‘No Eliza, what sort of friend would I be to your father if I let you, an innocent child, put yourself in peril once again?’
‘I am an innocent no longer, Robert. I am a woman of nearly nineteen now and I am greatly changed.’ Her sooty lashes swept her cheeks as she lowered her lids. ‘I know much more of men than I would wish – but it cannot be unknown. I know that James Malbeck cannot take his eyes off me whenever we are in the same room. I know that if I tempt him but a little he will tell me much. I can get your proof for you, dear friend, please let me. Let me help the cause that I love more than my own life, which is worth so very little now.’
Robert looked down at the young woman whose head should have been filled with no more than pretty ribbons and making lace collars and dreaming of the man who would one day be her husband. But all of that had gone for Eliza now, and he saw that the only way he could soothe the fire that burnt in her breast was to let her have her way, for he was certain that she spoke true – she was as strong and determined as any man in his garrison.
‘Very well, daughter of England,’ Robert had told her solemnly. ‘You have your wish.’
Now, as Eliza pushed open the door, she felt as if her heart might beat its way out of her chest, but even as fear flowed through her veins like iced water she was absolutely focused on her intent.
‘What the … ?’ Malbeck did not complete his sentence as he saw who was interrupting him so late in his quarters.
‘Madam? Is there something amiss, do you require assistance?’ he asked her, his gaze roaming the length of her body as a wolf might appraise a lamb presenting itself for slaughter.
‘Yes sir.’ Eliza smiled temptingly as she locked and bolted the door behind her before leaning back against it, her hands folded behind her, her blade clutched within them, making sure that Malbeck would get the full benefit of the gown made for a meaner-figured woman that strained across the fullness of her bosom. ‘The something amiss is that there is no soul in the whole of this great castle who can amuse or entertain me. I come to you to relieve me of my predicament.’
Malbeck’s eyebrows soared and she could see him struggling with the realisation that the garrison commander’s ward herself had come to his room alone, something a respectable Puritan girl would never do. Eliza knew the men of the garrison talked about her and about what had happened to her on her long journey here. She knew that, sullied and mishandled as she was, many of them thought of her as fair game, and that it was only Robert’s protection that stopped them from trying their luck with her themselves. Now Malbeck looked as if he could not believe his good fortune.
‘So tell me, my lady, how might I best entertain you?’ He sauntered over to stand close to her, his gaze now openly seeking out the swell and valleys of her breasts.
‘Sir, I am dog sick of all these Puritans,’ Eliza breathed. ‘I swear not a one of them knows how to be happy. I pray God that Cromwell is vanquished and that we might have gaiety and laughter in the land again.’
Malbeck stepped back, snapping his gaze up to meet her eyes, and for a moment Eliza wondered if she had gone too far too fast. But Malbeck seemed amused and intrigued by her boldness.
‘Careful what you say, madam, by rights I ought to have you hung for what you have just uttered.’
‘Sir.’ Eliza watched him from beneath her lowered lashes. ‘It seems that I am at your mercy. Do what you will with me.’
Malbeck came another step closer to her, so that his thighs pressed her back into the door, his hot breath beating down on her skin.
‘Malbeck, if you value your life then I suggest you step away from the lady now.’
Eliza gasped as the figure of Captain Parker loomed out of the shadows. Instinctively she shied away from him, drawing her arms across her body and in doing so revealing what her hands had concealed.
‘You …!’ Malbeck stared at the blade, more shocked at the sight of the weapon than that of a man clearly familiar to him. ‘You meant to kill me? Parker – have you saved my life? Surely such a beauty could not kill a man.’
‘She’s done it before, sir, and I am certain she would do it again if she found it necessary.’
‘You!’ Eliza spluttered the word, overwhelmed by the storm of emotions that broke across her heart. ‘How? Why have you come here – do you intend to hound me to my grave?’
Captain Parker stepped forward, looking at her as a man might survey someone whom he had both missed with every waking moment and hoped never to see again.
‘Malbeck,’ he said, without taking his eyes from Eliza. ‘You are discovered, you must leave with me tonight and return to Oxford at the King’s command. Eliza my love, it breaks my heart to tell you this but yes, it is my mission to hound you to your grave. It is my duty to find the murderer of one Sir Edward Clancy, the King’s favourite, and bring her to the gallows.’
‘You? You who have ruined me, who have destroyed my life, come to drag me once again from safety and kindness,’ Eliza sobbed, her eyes welling with tears. ‘Why you? Why?’
‘Because I would have no other man handle you roughly again, my love. I must do my duty to King and country, but I will see you are treated kindly and fairly. I will protect you.’
‘Protect me as you drag me to my death?’ Eliza cried.
‘Though the pain of it will surely kill me, I must,’ Captain Parker told her.
Suddenly there was a frantic hammering on the other side of the door.
‘Help me!’ Eliza screamed, flinging herself against the door that she herself had barred.
‘And now,’ Captain Parker said with grim determination, ‘we must away.’
‘Oh that’s awful,’ Ellen said, looking up at Allegra.
‘Yes, I know – the description is far too sketchy and half-hearted, it won’t do at all. We will have to go back and rewrite that section, otherwise the readers will feel cheated.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that – I meant Eliza being captured and dragged off by Captain Parker. Surely he won’t see her hanged, not if he loves her. Surely he’d rather hang himself, wouldn’t he?’
‘Would he, though?’ Allegra mused. ‘We already know that he’s a scoundrel. Handsome he might be, and a sensational lover to boot – but he forced himself on Eliza and now is racked with guilt. Perhaps he’d rather see her dead, and not have to think about her at all.’
‘Really?’ Ellen was dismayed. ‘But I mean, doesn’t he love her, wouldn’t he do anything to save her? He is going to rescue her in the end, isn’t he?’
‘Who knows?’ Allegra smiled. ‘But I can tell you one thing, Ellen. It’s best that we don’t know, because if we don’t know then neither does our reader.’
‘Ohhhh.’ Ellen sighed with relief. ‘But in the end he’ll save her.’
‘Perhaps not. In life there isn’t always a hero to save a damsel in distress. Perhaps it would be better if we made Eliza clever enough and brave enough to save herself. Women don’t always need men to rescue them, you know.’
Allegra raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at Ellen, but it was a glance that went over the other woman’s head as she turned in her chair to gaze out of the window to the bottom of her garden, where her thoughts so often seemed to be drawn these days. Ellen could see splashes of colour in the untamed greenery. The vivid blue of the irises that she had planted when they first moved in sang out against the lush green of the unkempt grass, and the hot orange of lilies burned brightly in the sun, brought on early by this unlikely June heatwave. Across the fence that was starting to rot and which sagged at one end since spring storms had battered it, Ellen could see her neighbour’s washing drying on the line. She had a new dress, hanging limp and still in the dead heat of the morning. Red cotton, buttoned down the front and belted at the waist, the sort of dress that made other women look smart and sexy. Ellen would see her neighbour sometimes, walking down the road in one of her outfits. She always walked purposefully, as if she had somewhere really important to go. Ellen tried to remember the last time she had had somewhere important to go.
‘Do you hope for a hero?’ Allegra asked her out of the blue.
Ellen turned back to her. ‘Me? A hero? Whatever makes you say that?’
‘Well, your husband took care of you and your son for so long, and now you are all alone and putting up with strangers in your home in order to make ends meet. Don’t you wish some handsome man would come and whisk you off, take you away from all this? To float through Venice in a gondola, perhaps, or take you by the hand and lead you along the Great Wall of China. Or even just to kick pebbles on the beach in Suffolk. Don’t you wish for something to happen, something unexpected and wonderful to take you out of this house and away?’
A brief image of sea stretching into a boundless sky flashed into Ellen’s mind’s eye and she felt her heart contract.
‘I don’t suppose I’ve really thought about going anywhere,’ she said mildly. ‘I suppose that all I’ve thought about for the last year is how to stay here. So no, I don’t long for a hero …’ Ellen paused, thinking again about the way that Matt had looked at her this morning. He couldn’t have been looking at her that way, she must have imagined it. Young sexy men didn’t look at frumpy older women like that. It was simply impossible – she looked terrible and old and unkempt and he looked young and fresh and as if he could have any woman he wanted. And yet, just for that split second, their eyes had met and she had felt like her fantasy version of herself, standing in her white dress in a hay barn on the brink of ravishment.
‘Just a lover then perhaps?’ Allegra asked her.
‘Oh Allegra – stop it!’ Ellen exclaimed. ‘I’m not at all sure it is seemly for a woman of your age to be constantly talking about sex.’
‘A woman of my age! Pah!’ Allegra was disdainful. ‘Let me tell you, my dear. The body might sag, decay and crumble all around but inside I still feel the same desires and impulses I felt when I was eighteen, which is why you should be making the most of what nature gave you while you still have it, instead of keeping it shrouded away like a museum piece. Besides, if anybody is allowed to be obsessed by sex, it is me – it is rather my stock-in-trade.’
‘I don’t keep myself shrouded away – I just like to be comfortable, and what’s the point of dressing up when you work from home?’
‘When you have a very desirable and probably willing young man cavorting around half naked in front of you, then I would say there is every point,’ Allegra told her, stroking the tips of her fine fingers from underneath her chin to the top of her décolletage, as if she were remembering a lover’s embrace. ‘I had a younger lover once. I was sixty-three, he was forty-two. I recommend it, it was most exhilarating. Be assured I’d be setting my cap at young Matthew if it wasn’t for the fact that your need is greater than mine.’
‘I don’t have any needs,’ Ellen retorted, surprised to find herself giggling like a schoolgirl. She looked at the older woman, who regarded her with a knowing smile that Ellen found quite disconcerting. ‘Besides, why would he ever be interested in me? He spends his whole day with a bunch of half-naked twenty-year-olds!’
‘Tell me what the best part about Christmas is,’ Allegra asked her.
‘Pardon?’ Ellen frowned.
‘The best part about Christmas is the anticipation. It’s looking at your presents, all so beautifully and temptingly wrapped, and wondering what might be concealed beneath. In most cases unwrapping the gifts is as good as it gets, usually there is something unutterably dull lurking beneath which requires you to look pleased and say thank you. But I think …’ Allegra appraised Ellen for an uncomfortably long time. ‘Young Matthew would find delights equal to if not more pleasing than anything he might see at work beneath your wrapping.’
‘Allegra.’ Ellen flushed, briefly picturing Matt’s hands on the buttons of her shirt, slowly undoing … no – rapidly ripping them asunder before burying his face in her soft flesh. ‘It is hot in here, isn’t it?’ she said, glancing at the open patio doors. ‘I think I need to buy a fan if the weather’s going to carry on like this. I can probably get it delivered with the next supermarket shop. Or maybe we could get one of those air-conditioning units …’
‘Ellen.’ Allegra spoke over her. ‘Ellen. I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I can’t help it, it’s the prerogative of an old woman like me to meddle. Besides, I find that I like you, which is most unusual for me. I hardly ever like anyone. So if you find my meddling goes too far I give you permission to tell me.’
Ellen looked into Allegra’s hooded eyes and tried to imagine ever talking to her mother the way that she talked to Allegra, and realised it would have been impossible. Whenever she spoke to her mother they discussed the weather, Charlie, Hannah’s latest achievements, the height of her parents’ neighbour’s privet hedge and her father’s back problems. They rarely talked about anything … internal. In fact now she came to think of it Ellen had never had that kind of friendship with anyone. At school she was bottom of the social heap, the shy, lumpy, awkward girl. At university she’d spent more time in the library than at the bar, and when Nick came along the friendships she had forged at the museum soon became redundant. This was what it was like to have a friend, Ellen realised. This wasn’t uncomfortable, it was good. It was good to be rebuilding her life in her own modest fashion, finding her way in the world from within these four walls, forming friendships with people she hadn’t known at all a few weeks ago. When she thought about it, a little bubble of pleasure rose in her chest. Nick had been so convinced that she would never be able to manage if left alone out in the big bad world that he had convinced her too, and yet here she was – not out in the big bad world exactly. But coping, no, more than coping … living. Nick would be so surprised, and, Ellen hoped, proud. She hoped he would be proud of her.
