Caroline
Was this really the place she called home?
Why couldn’t she take a leaf out of Frank’s book and turn the tables on him, force him to let her and Annabel go?
Betty seemed to think she could bulldoze through him, take Annabel and run, and Miranda said that she should be able to win custody, given his gambling and underhanded business techniques.
In any case, he didn’t even want Annabel, did he?
But they didn’t know Frank like she did. After years of this pattern, she was unable to see how to change it, how to stand up to him. He was right: she wasn’t quick-witted enough to get him to drop his claims over Annabel – neither did she have the funds to hire a lawyer to do so.
He would replace his first free servant with another, younger one, coercing Annabel to wash dead people’s clothes so that he could gamble away the pennies she brought in.
It would destroy Caroline to leave her daughter with such a man.
And suddenly, like a surge of yellow bile forcing itself up her throat, she felt the thrust of utter hatred that this one man was allowed to dictate the misery that was her life.
She sank lower into the sofa.
And that was when she saw it.
An envelope lay discarded on the table, the edge jagged from being torn open.
The opposite of official, it was small and handwritten, addressed to Mr Frank Brimstone.
As Caroline picked it up to put it away, she saw that there, beneath the envelope, was the letter itself. A single sheet of white paper.
After glancing over to the front door, she opened it.
Dear Mr Brimstone,
Just in case it has skipped your attention, I have just seen your wife having dinner with Angus Buchannon in Balmoral Castle, where he is the head gardener. Rumours are rife that they are more than just friends. Doesn’t your daughter share his auburn wavy hair?
Yours truly,
A friend
As if it were on fire, Caroline dropped the paper.
Her pulse began to race.
‘What?’
It was hard to breathe. Her hands flustered as she bent to pick the letter back up, her eyes blurring as she read and reread it.
Even though it was anonymous, it bore the mark of Miss Driscoll. Only she would make it her business. Exposing Caroline would threaten her position as assistant dresser.
And the palace would never know that Driscoll was behind it.
The letter must have arrived after Caroline had left for work. Frank had to have read it, stewed on it for a while, and then gone to the pub. She groaned as she thought of her inheritance money in his bank account. Would he see this as a sign that he could spend it?
But hadn’t she herself misbehaved, dancing with another man, taking a bath in his house, for heaven’s sake – she balked at the very thought she could have been so brazen.
She had let her guard down, forgotten for a moment that she had made vows to Frank.
But how would Frank play this? He needed her, she knew that now. Miss Driscoll hadn’t guessed how much Frank would put up with to keep Caroline’s income arriving into his lockbox every week. If Caroline knew Frank, he would use this to punish her, extract even more work hours from her.
Calmly, she got to her feet, clearing the table. If he found the place looking neat, at least it might win her a lesser punishment.
After tidying the living room, she padded upstairs to the bedroom and began to tidy his clothes, strewn over the floor and bed as usual.
But as she picked up his jacket, something slipped halfway out of the pocket, a folded bank receipt along with a few torn betting slips.
Whereas usually she would respect his privacy and tuck it back in, tonight she needed anything she could get, and in a single, swift movement, she opened it up.
There she saw the exact number that had been on the check that her uncle had left her, withdrawn from Frank’s bank account.
Frantically, she pulled out the betting slips.
Her eyes skipped over the time and place, only landing on the large amounts on each bet. Together they made up over half of her inheritance. Grappling through the other slips, she almost didn’t need to read them to know for sure: her money was gone.
The world shifted sideways.
How had he gambled away her precious inheritance?
What about her and Annabel’s trip? What about her dream, her escape, her freedom?
Her face scrunched with pain and rage and, unable to hold it inside any longer, she screamed, guttural and raw, as if someone had ripped out her heart.
How could he have done this to her?
THERE IS A MOMENT in everyone’s lives when the truth becomes painfully stark, the reality at once clear.
At that moment, Caroline knew what had been happening, as if she’d known it all along.
Dragging his clothes from the wardrobe, she began to shake them, turning them upside down. Loose change fell from pockets along with cards and betting slips, and then, with a clunk on the floor, one solitary key.
Hastily, she grabbed it and ran down the stairs to Frank’s office. She tried the key, felt the lock slide, and the door fell open in front of her.
A single bulb lit the small, square room, a desk on one side. The rest of the space was filled with bookcases and filing cabinets, neglected and messy with dusty books and old papers.
On the desk was a metal lockbox, and as she opened it, her world fell apart.
Instead of the banknotes and coins, the well-ordered finances of a family, there was no money at all.
The piles of letters were in fact bills and debts, various suppliers and investors wanting their money with increasing threats.
Another locksmith – clearly taking over work that Frank’s company had promised and then failed to deliver – said that he would ‘send round the boys’ if he didn’t pay up.
But most frightening were the letters from the money lender. Frank had made it sound as if the debt was paid off, but these notices made it clear that it was nowhere near done, especially with the hefty levels of interest accruing by the day.
Was this where her hard-earned wages were going?
Numbness came over her as she reached in for more last-notice bills, the house mortgaged to the hilt, borrowed against her new income.
Then came the sound of the front door banging against the wall, uneven steps staggering down the hallway.
At the end of the passage, Frank stopped as his eyes alighted on her through the open office door, his lockbox open, the desk festooned with a debris of loans, bills and betting slips.
Suddenly sober, he stood up to his full height and strode towards her. ‘You whore,’ he growled. ‘You dirty slut.’
But her anger was greater.
‘How dare you?’ she bellowed with a gruffness she never knew she had.
‘How dare you cash my inheritance and gamble it away?’ She stormed around the desk towards him.
‘You convinced me to help you give up gambling, only to stab me in the back. How could you take advantage of me, stealing the one thing that was mine?’
A barrage of names flew from him, but she let them pass over her, her rage unstoppable as she raised her voice over his, raucous after the years of silence.
‘You guilted me into believing that you saved me, when it’s been me who’s saving you.’
His tone shifted, calmer, conciliatory. ‘Let’s call it even, shall we?
I’ll pretend nothing happened in Scotland, and you wipe the slate clean on the inheritance?
’ He took a step towards her, reaching for her arm.
‘Come on, love. Let’s sit down and talk about it.
Didn’t I give Annabel a real dad – someone who didn’t desert you? ’
‘You call that a good dad? You ignore Annabel, treat her as if she isn’t worthy of your attention. Her real father spent one day with her and gave her more genuine love than you’ve given her in thirteen years.’
‘She saw him, too?’ His voice lowered, rough with anger.
‘We both saw him.’ Embattled tears came to her eyes. ‘He brings me joy, Frank. Something you have only ever taken away from me.’
‘But I went through so much for you and the girl. You were lucky—’
Bellowing at him, she sputtered, ‘I know, Frank! I know! How many times do you need to remind me how much you’ve done for me?
Well, I have more than compensated for all you’ve done.
You have bled me dry, first by taking my income every week, then by making me work on your moneymaking schemes.
’ She kicked a cardboard box on the floor.
‘Mending dead people’s clothes, Frank? You got me to do the lowest unpaid jobs in the world. ’
She walked up to him, standing tall beside his slouched form.
‘And now you’ve taken my inheritance, my one means of escape.
’ She glowered at him. ‘Did you do that on purpose, Frank? Steal my money so that I could never get away from this workhouse of a life I live? Or was it your goal to hold my daughter ransom? If that is the case, Frank, you’re even more of a monster than I thought, threatening to take her away from her mother. ’
Suddenly furious, he snarled at her, saying, ‘You never understand anything, do you, with that bird brain of yours.’ He tapped his head.
‘If you leave, I’ll keep everything, and not just Annabel – I’ll take your precious dignity, your moral high ground, the lot.
You’ll never be able to hold your head up again.
What kind of a woman deserts her child? Annabel and me, we’ll be fine, but what about you?
’ He took out a finger and jabbed it into her shoulder. ‘You’ll be lower than the low.’
Staggering back, she felt her will weaken, but then she remembered one of the notices she’d seen in the lockbox. Scrabbling around on the desk, she put her hand on it and pulled it out.
‘What happens once the bank realizes I’m not living here anymore?’ She waved the remortgage agreement at him. ‘You took out all you could, backed by my job. If I tell them that I no longer live at this address, you’ll find yourself without your precious family home.’
His face contorted with anger. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Oh I would, if you took Annabel. I’m sure with the help of my friends I could come up with even more ways to stop you in your tracks.’ She watched him wince, and then she added, ‘Who knows, there might even be a few misdemeanours hidden away that would land you in jail.’
This must have struck a raw note, as he jerked back defensively. ‘It’s that American, isn’t it. I knew she was trouble. You’re too good for the likes of her.’
‘No, I’m too good for the likes of you, Frank.’
Furious, he grabbed the mortgage letter from her. ‘Just get out,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I should have known right from the start that you were a bad woman, damaged goods.’
But she didn’t care what he said. She stood her ground. ‘And Annabel?’
‘Take the girl. You can both go,’ he sputtered at her, clutching the door for support as she pushed past him into the corridor.
There, she took a deep breath, gazing over his family ornaments and locksmith junk, taking in the smell of the dead people’s clothes coating the inside of the house like a filthy film of decay.
‘You’d better not come looking for her, Frank.
I know the name of the bank, and they won’t be pleased to know your breadwinner has just left you.
’ She picked up her handbag and coat and headed for the door.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow for the rest of our belongings.
I’m sure it won’t be too hard for you to make sure you’re out.
’ And as she opened the front door, she turned and muttered, ‘Now, finally, you can leave me and Annabel in peace.’
Her last vision of him was one she knew she’d never forget. He was slouched on the floor, his face in his hands. His game was over. And like a prisoner stepping out of her cell for the first time, she walked out into the night.
The air was cool, reawakening, and as Caroline walked to Betty’s house, all she could feel was a new sense of freedom.
It was Miranda who opened the door, pulling Caroline inside as she saw her face. ‘What happened?’
But then Annabel appeared on the stairs behind her.
Caroline rushed up and gathered her daughter into her arms. ‘Did you have a lovely evening?’
She laughed. ‘Mum, did you know Miranda hasn’t a clue how to do the washing up?’ Pointedly, Annabel shook her head at Miranda as she led them into the kitchen. ‘I had to show her how to do it, and it’s her who was supposed to be looking after me.’
There was a pause, Miranda’s eyes on Caroline.
And then a great grin came across Caroline’s face. ‘Well, you and I will have to teach her together, because we’re going to be staying with Miranda and Betty for a while.’
Miranda took Annabel’s hands to do a little dance of delight, and Caroline looked on, laughing at the easiness of the place.
Perhaps tomorrow she would tell her daughter what happened. Even though Annabel wasn’t keen on Frank, Caroline knew that she wouldn’t necessarily take well to the news of divorce. Guilt flooded her, only for her to push it aside.
Why had she let shame dominate her life, when it should have been fairness, justice, and perhaps a little happiness, too?