Goodnight Lady by Martina Cole Page A

she had felt a change inside her. She knew what was happening to her, had seen births enough times, even helped her mother with a couple, including the birth of her dead brother. It was as if all this had turned her into an old woman. She no longer felt the childish exuberance that shielded her from the horror of nights spent with this man. Now every little thing they had ever done stood out in her mind with stark clarity. She felt his revulsion towards her, saw it in his eyes and felt it in his touch. She knew with an inner certainty that she was dead already as far as this man was concerned. That her child, the little life he had sparked, was also dead. That he wouldn’t rest until it had been dragged out of her. She also knew that she was not having any part of it.
    ‘I want to see Eileen and me sisters, please. Could you arrange it?’ Her voice was low but strong.
    Henry cleared his throat and was about to protest when she spoke again.
    ‘I couldn’t understand what was wrong with our Eileen for a long time, but now I understand exactly, Henry. No amount of money is worth all this, is it?’
    It was said so simply, so honestly, that he didn’t have the guts to answer her. Instead he walked from the room.
     
    Dr Carlton had imbibed a generous amount of whisky and was waiting now in the morning room for a light lunch to be served before the serious business began. The old woman, Mrs Horlock, was like a cat on hot coals. He sighed. It was never a nice business this, but needs must when the devil drives. The older woman should be hardened to it by now. He remembered her from years back when she’d worked for a much more illustrious client. She’d had no qualms about holding the chit down then, while he saw to the business in hand. Got softer as she got older probably. Well, she’d need her wits about her today. He’d have a quiet word with her before the off. The girl would be nervous enough without the old woman frightening the life out of her.
    He hated these jobs, but twenty pounds was twenty pounds, and who was he to sneeze at it? He got out of his seat with difficulty and poured himself another whisky. Just to fortify him. His hands were shaking again this morning, and he wondered, as he did every morning, if he was coming down with a cold.
    Cissy saw his bloated, red-veined face and breathed in the whisky fumes on serving his lunch, and went straight down the stairs to give the information to Mrs Horlock.
    ‘He’s drunker than a Saturday night sailor! Bleeding old git!’
    Mrs Horlock sighed. ‘Maybe the food’ll soak it up a bit.’ She didn’t hold out much hope. ‘Mr Dumas will be here soon anyway.’
    She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and looked at the clock. It was just twelve. He was due at one and she’d made up her mind. Hadn’t she done enough to the Cavanagh family, what with Eileen and now Briony, without being part of murder as well? She was going to talk him out of the abortion.
     
    Isabel, sitting outside her husband’s house in Ripple Road in a hired cab, was also waiting for him to arrive. Her hands were trembling at the thought of what she was going to do, but she took deep breaths and channelled her mind on to the job in hand. She was going to wait all day if necessary and then surprise him with her presence. She had convinced herself that by doing this, she could achieve some kind of power over him. Force him to give her a child. She had considered going to her father with her information and demanding he do something about it, but she knew it would be futile. He would never countenance a scandal of any kind. And a divorce? She laughed ruefully to herself. It would be unthinkable. His own sister had been married to a brute who had attacked her on more than one occasion. Isabel could remember, as a child, a badly beaten woman arriving in a governess cart of all things at nine in the morning, her face a bloody pulp. Her father had ordered a doctor, then given her aunt a dressing