Kitty Little (10 page)

‘He’s asleep. I doubt it would be wise to wake him. You know how he hates to be disturbed.’

She was always the one to suffer the full force of his anger. Charlotte understood, since only in sleep was he free from the knowledge of what he had lost: a cleverly garnered business and fortune that was now gradually crumbling away. Yet she dreaded his temper. Even his friends were drifting from him, for none knew how to deal with his increasing irascibility.

And there was also the most painful loss of all - his manhood.
 

‘He likes his tea prompt at six,’ Mrs Pursey stoutly informed her.

Charlotte met the housekeeper’s icy glare and considered holding it till she’d forced her to back down, but where was the use in aggravating the woman? For all there was no love lost between them, she needed Mrs Pursey. Without her, she would be even more of a prisoner of Magnus’s whims and demands. Shrugging her shoulders, Charlotte stepped aside. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I was forgetting.’

Far from releasing her from his tyranny the accident had made her an even greater prisoner of it. Instead of being married to a successful businessman with rising status and fortune, she was now tied to a cripple.

Entering her own bedroom, Charlotte locked the door carefully behind her and gazed about her with the desperation of a mouse caught in a trap.

Chapter Six

Trains were shunting and puffing by in every direction, whistles blowing, steam belching, people jostling and rushing to find a seat while Kitty stood bewildered on the platform, frozen with indecision. Finally gathering her courage, she stepped onto the train. It was here, hunched in a corner of a carriage, that Archie found her. She was astonished, filled with a rush of gratitude as he flung his bag on to the overhead rack and dropped into the seat beside her, breathing heavily.

‘How did you know where to find me?’

It took several minutes before he could gather enough breath to speak, by which time the train was steaming steadily out of the station. ‘You told me yourself once, remember? That you’d take a train to Scotland and see where you ended up. This is the Glasgow special. Ergo, here you would be. In any case, I slipped your taxi driver a guinea and he supplied me with your destination while you were extricating yourself from Clara’s tantrum.’

Kitty stared at him for a moment, then even as she began to laugh her eyes filled up with tears. He handed her a large check handkerchief.

‘No water works. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? An adventure.’ Archie had told Clara that he would find her and bring her back, but secretly he was delighted that Cussins had finally blotted his copybook.

‘I didn’t imagine it quite like this though. All that shouting and accusation, as if I were the guilty one.’ She shuddered. ‘Is it all calm now? Is Frank furious? Did Ma really collapse or was it all show?’ Kitty didn’t ask why her own mother had chosen to betray her in such a terrible fashion. Any discussion on that score would be far too painful. ‘And why are
you
here? I thought you hated scenes and didn’t have the energy for adventures.’

‘To answer your questions in order. Absolute pandemonium. Frank swears innocence and is threatening to follow you to the ends of the earth to bring you back, or else sue you for breach of something or other. Clara is blaming it all on the drink she’d consumed at the party, as well as indulging in hysteria, largely because the guests are fleeing from the house like rats leaving a sinking ship. And you’re right about my abhorrence of scenes though it all proved rather entertaining in a macabre sort of way. As for an “adventure”, well, here’s your chance Kitty-Cat. Couldn’t let you disappear over the blue horizon by yourself, now can I? Chocolate?’ And grinning, he offered her a Nestles bar.

Faced with such stalwart friendship, Kitty found the rush of tears were now for quite a different reason and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could manage as she took the proffered piece.

They sat nibbling the chocolate as the train picked up speed till it seemed to thunder along, pounding in time to the questions in her head, questions she couldn’t answer.
I’m running away! I’m running away! Where shall I go? Where shall I go?
 

‘Had you any particular spot in mind?’ Archie asked, as if he’d heard.

Kitty gazed at the photographs lining the walls of the carriage,
The Forth Bridge. Blackpool Tower. Margate Sands.
There was a taste of ash and soot in her mouth, an aching pain in her chest and a great empty void in her head, as if thinking were something she didn’t dare risk, in case it resulted in other pictures, the kind she had no wish to see. ‘I don’t know. I thought I’d get off when I saw somewhere I fancied.’

‘Good idea.’

‘I’m not sure how much money I have with me.’ She was rather worried about money.

Archie gave a little snort. ‘Don’t think about such boring practicalities now, old bean. Time for some shut-eye.'

‘It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?’

‘Absolutely.’

How could she have stayed after that fiasco? Her own mother betraying her, and after forcing her to agree to the marriage in the first place. Clara would have to deal with her own debts. She would make a new beginning, a new life for herself. Who knew where they might end up? So long as Frank, or worse, her mother, didn’t come after her, she’d survive somehow.
 

‘I do know of a place we could go,’ Archie sleepily commented, stretching his long legs out and folding his arms, preparatory to a doze.

Kitty looked at him with fresh hope. ‘Do you? Where?’

‘Quiet little spot in the Lake District. No one would dream of looking for you there, certainly not Frank Cussins.’
 

But even before she could ask for more details, he’d resolutely closed his eyes and settled to sleep. Taking the hint, Kitty tucked her cardigan beneath her cheek and, for once, did exactly as she’d been instructed without a word of argument.

The journey was long and hot and tiring. Kitty felt close to exhaustion as they alighted at the small station of Oxenholme, where they caught a connection to Windermere. There they found overnight accommodation in a small terraced house. The rooms were cramped, with only one shared bathroom for the five guest bedrooms and no sign of hot water from the rickety cistern, its major appeal being that it was close to the station.

‘At least it doesn’t smell of kippers,’ Archie whispered as they were shown to their separate rooms. ‘And you know where I am should you need a shoulder to cry on, old thing. Just tap on my door.’

Kitty felt grateful for his thoughtfulness. Since they didn’t want to encourage any awkward questions they pretended to be brother and sister, Archie and Kitty Emerson. It seemed sensible in the circumstances, though it was a decision she came to regret.

An appetising supper of mutton stew followed, and a welcome cup of tea if not the hoped for excellent night’s sleep. The night seemed filled with strange noises: footsteps on the stairs, bumps and knocks, gurgles in the pipes, much opening and closing of many unknown doors. Finally she heard Mrs Stokes, their landlady, call to the cat and draw the bolts. Even as silence settled Kitty tossed and turned in the strange bed, one moment hot, the next cold, her over-tired body becoming tangled in the coarse sheets while her mind replayed recent events with a painful clarity.

Why had Frank slept with Clara, her own
mother?
Had she repulsed him with her own shy reservations about sex? Or was she as lacking in charms as her mother claimed? Kitty felt diminished by Frank’s betrayal, as if she were a non-person, someone who wasn’t woman enough for him to desire.

She heard the clock in the hall strike midnight and still she lay wide-eyed, engulfed in misery. What was wrong with her? Was she so dull and stupid that even her own mother had to invent a father for her, and provide her fiancé with his physical needs? Kitty remembered Archie’s exhortations to tap on his door, should she be in need of a friend; an offer which he’d generously repeated as they’d climbed the stairs to their separate beds after supper. Moments later she was doing just that and, without waiting for a response, slipped inside.

‘Are you asleep Archie?’

‘If I was, I’m certainly not now.’ She heard the rustle of eiderdown as he started to sit up.

‘Don’t put on the light. I feel so awful. Will you hold me?’

‘Kitty-Cat...’

‘Please, just for a little. You’re my big brother after all.’ She slid beneath the sheets, pushing her shivering body close against the warmth of his. Wrapping her arms about his waist so that she didn’t roll out of the hard narrow bed, Kitty laid her cheek against his chest and realised with a small shock that he was naked. He wore no pyjamas. But then wasn’t it just like Archie not to remember to pack any.

Archie, thinking of the silk spotted pyjamas which remained unpacked in his velise, smiled ruefully in the darkness. He should have known that she would come.

‘Am I so dreadfully unattractive?’ Kitty whispered.

It was some seconds before he found his voice. ‘Are you asking me if Frank thinks so, old thing, or my opinion?’

‘Frank clearly finds Ma far more attractive than me. What does that say about my supposed charms?’

‘That the fellow needs his head examining.’ His arms came gently about her, rocking her as if she were a child. But she wasn’t a child, she was a woman, a living breathing, lovely young woman who’d barely set out on the journey of passion.
 

‘Do
you
like me?’ she softly asked. ‘I mean, if we weren’t just good friends and a sort of adopted brother, would you find me - attractive?’ Kitty tried to see his face, catching only the glitter of his eyes in a stray shaft of moonlight. They seemed to be studying her with an equal intensity.

‘A chap would be mad not to,’ yet despite his words, he shifted slightly away from her. Had she annoyed him by barging into his bed in this bold manner? Or was he finding the scent of the Pear’s soap that she’d used to wash herself with, far less intoxicating than Clara’s Ashes of Roses, as Frank must have done. Kitty felt awkward suddenly, naive and rather foolish.

‘I’ll take you back to your room, dear heart, you shouldn’t be here - like this.’ Archie made as if to get out of bed, but Kitty stopped him.

‘Not yet, I need to know what’s wrong with me.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, precious. Frank was to blame, not you.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘My dear love, I would do anything to prove how absolutely delightful you are. Anything in the world.’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course. What can I say to convince you?’ He stroked her hair, his voice soft against her ear, beating like a pulse in her veins.

Kitty stroked his cheek, placed a kiss on the naked chest, then on his chin and the roughness of his cheek. She found the acrid scent of his maleness oddly pleasing and strangely exciting. ‘Show me, Archie. I never let Frank even kiss me properly. Is it any wonder if he turned from me? Teach me how to make love. I want to learn how to be a woman.’

She felt his body grow tense. Was that because she repulsed him, because he thought her gauche? He seemed scarcely to be breathing. ‘I think you should go, Kitty. This isn’t right. What if the old dragon downstairs should come.’

Kitty stopped his protests with a kiss. A real kiss this time, clumsy and over-exuberant but full on the lips, like a child imitating grown-up passion. She felt a quiver run the length of his body, a shudder that could only be excitement and it both surprised and pleased her. Even so, an inner voice warned her that this was indeed wrong, that she shouldn’t be here in Archie’s bed. Stubbornly she turned a deaf ear to it, made reckless by her pain. What did convention matter when she’d been so betrayed, by her own mother and her fiancé?

Archie’s arms tightened about her, his mouth warm and demanding against her own, his tongue teasing hers, bringing with it a pulsing excitement she hadn’t expected. To Kitty the moment was spellbinding, a startling revelation, so very different from Frank’s fumbling efforts. Perhaps she wasn’t frigid after all. Maybe she just needed a little practice with the right man.

Kitty captured his face between her hands, speaking with a breathless urgency. ‘I trust you Archie not to
ever
hurt me. I trust you absolutely. Clara made
It -
no, I shall say the word -
sex,
sound so crude. It quite put me off. And Frank - Frank never inspired me. All my fault I expect.’

‘No, Kitty-Cat. Don’t ever think that.’ He groaned, his voice a hoarse whisper now, and even as he spoke he was peeling her night-gown from her shoulders.

She sat up suddenly and pulled it off in order to help him, smiling as his gaze fastened hungrily upon the nakedness of her breasts; smooth-skinned and rather small in her own estimation, though pertly uptilted, she felt gratitude for his admiring gaze. To her surprise Kitty recognised in his choked, ‘Oh God,’ that perhaps he might find her attractive after all. His eyes upon her were blessedly uncritical, non-condemning, not mocking her gangling limbs or flat chest as Clara had so often done. His reaction gave her renewed courage.

‘Do you really think me pretty?’

‘Kitty, for pity’s sake...’