The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (15 page)

Marie stepped onto the platform and slowly made her way towards the exit through the crowds who were still attempting to reach the platform. Mrs Baxter’s house was only a short distance away, but the rain had disappeared, leaving the air hot and muggy, and she found herself too overdressed to handle the weight of her bags comfortably in the air’s moist heat.

She walked down the narrow lane that led to the village main street and filled her lungs with the wonderful fresh smell of hops and wheat, freshly picked apples and potatoes. In the main street, the ice cream parlour was packed with queues of laughing children. Next door, Mary Shields had her hands full with a group of women taking tea. Across the street, the pavement outside the grocery shop was lined with wooden crates brimming with fresh fruit and vegetables. The Goudhurst Arms forecourt was as noisy as usual, and men drinking beer and playing dominoes waved to her as she passed. This was her favourite time of the year, and as she turned into the street where Mrs Baxter lived, she was reminded that life in the country hadn’t been all bad.

Mrs Baxter answered the door promptly and kissed Marie on the cheek before inviting her in. She then led her to her small front room, told her that Celia and the baby were sleeping, and offered her tea. Marie waved her hand to signal no, saying with a good deal of impatience, “Tell me everything, Mrs Baxter, everything you know. We’ll have tea later.”

As Marie heard the details, her flushed cheeks were the only evidence of her anger and disbelief. When the room grew silent, she found herself unable to speak. She gathered her thoughts, wondering what Simon would say.

“I would like to go to the police station right now and have him put behind bars,” she said at length.

Mrs Baxter shook her head. “Celia made me promise not to let you do that. She was quite adamant about it.”

“Honestly, Mrs Baxter, Celia is so stubborn at times. I swear she gets it all from her father! But as stubborn as she is, it doesn’t mean she’s always right.”

After she’d calmed down, she thought about Celia’s request a bit more and admitted that on this occasion, she probably was right. John was right too. Joseph had to be left alone so that they could do their job.

She peeked into the bedroom and watched Mrs Baxter lift the baby from a makeshift cot. Celia slept on, for they had agreed not to disturb her, but she had absolutely insisted on seeing her great-nephew.

“The main thing is that Celia and the baby are safe. Joseph Dobbs won’t get within ten feet of them; I’ll see to that!” Marie told Mrs Baxter as she returned to the room with tea and scones.

She waited for the tea to be poured, spending the time cradling the baby and examining every inch of his tiny body. He had a mop of black hair, ten fingers and toes, and a face that bore an uncanny resemblance to Joseph Dobbs.

“If only Joseph were as sweet and as perfect as him,” she said, forgetting Mrs Baxter for the moment. “But that’s the trouble with males: they have to grow up.”

“Thank goodness you’re here, Miss Osborne,” Mrs Baxter said, putting the tea in front of her.

Marie looked up and saw her, really saw her, for the first time since her arrival. Guilt spread across her face. She hadn’t thanked her for looking after Celia. She stared again into the old eyes and noticed what she should have noticed the minute she’d walked through the door: the poor woman was dead on her feet.

“Mrs Baxter, you look absolutely exhausted. Have you slept at all?”

“No… Well, a bit. I feel so guilty, you know, because I should never have left her those two days. She kept telling me to go, said I’d be needed after the baby… I shouldn’t have listened. I know what Joseph is. Celia’s body is covered in scars, so it is. I couldn’t stop crying when I saw her.”

“It’s all right, Mrs Baxter. Everything is going to be all right,” Marie told her, almost crying herself now.

“Please don’t hide anything else from me, Miss Osborne,” Mrs Baxter said unexpectedly. “I have a right to know what’s going on. I promise I won’t tell a soul!”

Marie walked over to the window and looked out into the little hedged garden. She should be the one feeling guilty. She had allowed Celia to remain at Merrill Farm all these months.

“I know you won’t. I’m sorry, Mrs Baxter. You have every right to know what is going on, and please don’t blame yourself—you’ve done so much more than what was asked of you. You really have been a gem.”

“Like you say, Celia is so stubborn,” Mrs Baxter said, wiping her nose.

“Yes, she is, and it nearly killed her. But it’s over now, and I’ll tell you this: she will never see that man again. I’m taking over now. Are you with me?”

Celia awoke to see her aunt sitting at her bedside with the baby cradled in her arms. She was gently rocking him back and forth. Her eyes roamed slowly round the room until they focused on the window. The curtains were drawn, but not completely, and through the small gap between them, the red glow of dusk flowed in. She lay there drowsily, feeling relieved, happy, and sad all at the same time. Her body ached all over, and she shifted position under the covers, trying to make herself more comfortable.

“You’ve woken up, darling,” her aunt whispered.

Celia smiled. “Hello, Auntie. When did you get here? What time is it?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock. Mrs Baxter told me that you’ve slept for most of the day.”

“I’m so tired…”

Marie handed the baby to her and rearranged the bed covers. “You’re a naughty girl. You didn’t wait for me,” she said, pointing to the baby. “What are you going to call him? I hope it’s not Joseph!” Marie said, making an obvious attempt to lighten things up.

“Sorry, Auntie, there wasn’t enough time to let you know. It all happened so suddenly.

Peter… I’m calling him Peter,” Celia finally told her.

“Yes, of course. Your father would have been so proud… Celia, Mrs Baxter told me how she found you. You’re a very lucky girl. Will you tell me what happened?”

Celia hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was too exhausted to talk, but she had to say something. She had kept so much from her aunt, and what did it matter now, anyway?

“He’s hit me a few times since Christmas, but this time I really thought he was going to kill me. You were right, Auntie; I should never have gone back. This is all my own doing.”

“Hush. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I promise, Auntie, that not even my stupid pride will make me go near Merrill Farm again, not for as long as he’s living there.”

Marie held Celia’s hand. “Please, darling, don’t get all upset again. There have been enough tears, and nobody is blaming you for any of this. Joseph’s the guilty one, and he’ll be punished.”

“Do you really think so? I don’t believe we’ll ever get him for what he did to Papa…”

Marie put the sleeping baby back into the cot. She turned then and sat back on the edge of the bed, again taking Celia’s hand in hers. “Yes, we will, believe me,” she told her. “Mr Ayres thinks so too. By the way, Spain is all arranged. Do you still want to go?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll tell you all about it when you feel a little better, but in the meantime, all I want is for you to get plenty of rest. Just you concentrate on getting better. You have a bright new future to look forward to and a beautiful son to take care of. When you’re both strong enough, you’ll get on that ship to Spain and your life will change forever. Joseph Dobbs has no life to look forward to, believe me!”

Although she wasn’t surprised by Celia’s question about Joseph’s future, Marie hadn’t quite known how to answer it. She was uncomfortable living with all the secrets that had been kept, and the many more that Celia would never know about, but as she watched her niece sleep, she knew that she was doing the right thing. She had to deal with Joseph Dobbs in her own way, and she couldn’t tell Celia what they were planning. She would be protected from everything that had to do with the whole sordid affair from now on, and only when it was all over would the secrets be revealed.

Chapter 17

J
oseph Dobbs set off for the village, dreading what he might find there. He had already determined that Celia was at Mrs Baxter’s house, and for the first time, he questioned his own actions. Maybe he should have stuck around instead of going to Dartmouth, he thought. Should he have played the concerned husband and held the stupid cow’s hand while she screamed blue murder spitting the baby out?

He was worried about two things on the walk into Goudhurst. The first was about old woman Baxter; she’d be spreading her poison all over the village, a village that he practically owned. She’d already turned people against him, and there was no doubt in his mind that the lies she probably told would be enough for some folk in the village to call in his debts. The second was Marie Osborne, who’d no doubt greet him at the door and give him one of her usual tongue-lashings. She was bound to be there, and she would want an explanation. Either way, he wasn’t relishing the thought of seeing either of the two old bags.

He walked up Mrs Baxter’s garden path and peered through a chink in the curtain. The room inside was dark, but he could just make out a figure lying in a bed. Celia was in there, no doubt about it, he decided. She had probably spun her lies by now and put on a grand show of self-pity. She was good at that, but he would tell the old busybody, and anyone else who wanted to put two pennies’ worth in, what Celia had done to him. That would shock the lot of them. He pushed his unruly curly hair from his forehead to reveal the small cut on his hairline. The whole village would soon know what a cow Celia Merrill was!

Mrs Baxter’s front door opened.

“Is my wife here? Has she had the baby yet?” Joseph casually asked Marie.

“Yes, Joseph, to both questions. You have a son.”

“A son, eh!”

“Yes, a son.”

“Well, are you going to ask me in? I want to see them.”

Marie shook her head. “Celia is very ill. She has a fever and is sleeping. So is the baby. I won’t wake them now.”

“You will! And you’ll get them ready to leave. I’ve come to take them home, where they belong,” Joseph told her.

“Where they belong? Why? There’s no one up at Merrill Farm to care for them. Where were you when Celia nearly died giving birth to your son? Tell me, what could have been so important to drag you away from the birth of your first child?”

Joseph opened his mouth and then shut it again. Marie’s hand, raised and inches from his face, was enough to convince even him that his defence would not be accepted.

“I…”

“Don’t bother answering, Joseph. It doesn’t matter anymore, because you won’t be taking them anywhere,” she said.

“I will.”

“No, you won’t Joseph. You’re not welcome here. I know what you’ve done and I’ll call the police if I have to!” Marie waited for his reaction. “Did you hear me? I said you should leave!”

Joseph squirmed uncomfortably on the doorstep. He hated when she got the better of him. He stared at her neck; he’d love to wring it, shut her up for good. He said instead, “Yes, I heard, but look, Marie, I’ve only just got back from Dartmouth, and I was worried sick when I didn’t find Celia at home. She was perfectly fine when I left her. That’s why I went to Dartmouth.”

“Are you sure about that, Joseph?”

Joseph tried not to look away from her. He would have to have his best poker face on if he was to get out of this one, he decided. “Yes, of course I’m sure. She was fine when I left her. Anyway, what’s the problem here? What? Is she first woman on the planet to give birth? Jesus Christ, it can’t be that difficult!”

“She had a difficult birth.”

“Yes, well, so did the Virgin Mary but that didn’t stop Jesus Christ from becoming a big strong man, did it? Look, just get my wife and son out here. I need them to come home. Come with us if you like. You know you’re welcome. I’ll get Mrs Baxter to tidy up a bit, make it nice and cosy for Celia and the baby. We’ll be like one big happy family. What do you say? Will you wake Celia… or will I?”

“For the last time, I am not waking her, and neither will you. I’m not allowing her to go back to the farm, and you are not going to see the baby. Do I make myself clear?”

Joseph’s face turned a deep scarlet. He was trying to control his temper, he really was, but Marie Osborne wasn’t making it easy for him. It suddenly dawned on him that Mrs Baxter had already spun her web of lies. She had probably been to every hovel in Goudhurst by now, slagging him off to everyone she met. He’d see to that old cow one of these days.

“I said get her,” he spat. “I won’t say it nicely again. Just do as you’re told, woman!” “No, I won’t.”

Marie’s demeanour and tone of voice stilled Joseph’s tongue. He followed her eyes, which were looking past him, and turned to see a crowd gathering at the small picket fence at the bottom of Mrs Baxter’s path. He clenched his fists, wondering what to do next. He knew that if he stood there any longer, he’d look like a prize idiot, but he also knew that if he walked away, she’d have won. He’d never be able to show his face in Goudhurst again.

“Lost your tongue Joseph? I thought you liked an audience,” Marie said, interrupting his thoughts.

“No, I haven’t lost it. I just don’t happen to like all these people knowing my private business, so you should let me come in before the whole bloody county finds out what you’re doing to me. All I’m asking is to see my new baby. It’s any father’s right, and Celia’s my wife; she should be at home with me, not here. You have no right to keep me from her or my son.” He turned to the crowd, larger now than before. “Well, has she?” he asked them.

“I’m her blood relative,” Marie told him, “the only one she has left, and I say she will not go with you, Joseph! You lost any right to her the first time you hit her, and I only wish I’d interfered a lot sooner. Your wife’s lying in there bruised and battered, and it’s only by the grace of God that she and the baby survived. Did it make you feel like a man, Joseph, when you punched and kicked a pregnant woman? Did it give you pleasure, make you feel good about yourself?”

Joseph took a step forward and raised his fists, but he quickly gained control when he heard the rising rumble of voices behind him. “Celia’s a liar!” he shouted in desperation. “I’ve never laid a finger on her, and nobody here can say I did!”

“She says you did, and that’s good enough for me… and you’re the liar, Joseph, and a coward into the bargain! So you can stop your ‘I’m a good husband’ act. You’ve never been a decent man or a decent husband. I want you to leave. I’ve got nothing more to say to you, and if you ever come near this house again, I’ll make sure that the police are called immediately! Think yourself lucky. If it hadn’t been for Celia’s unwillingness to press charges, you’d be in prison already. Now, do we understand each other?”

Joseph looked once more to the crowd and noted that there was no sympathy for him amongst the horde of onlookers. Not one person had stuck up for him. “I will go, but this isn’t over. I’ll be coming back.”

Joseph turned on his heel, walked back down the path, and brushed aside the open-mouthed villagers that got in his way. Marie Osborne wouldn’t get away with this, he thought on his walk of shame. He turned the corner at the end of the street, wiped the sweat from his forehead. She might think she had outsmarted him, spouting off all goodness and light like a fucking nun instead of the whore she really was, but he would shut Marie Osborne up for good one day, her and the rest of the Goudhurst peasants who weren’t fit to lick his boots. He walked on, thinking that they were a bunch of simpletons who had nothing better to do than poke their noses into other people’s lives. He was Joseph Dobbs, and he’d be rich soon. Then he’d see whose side they took.