A Daughter’s Courage: A powerful, gritty new saga from the Sunday Times bestseller. Kitty Neale
yes, of course,’ said Adrian as he pulled the door open wide and ushered Dorothy through to the lounge. ‘Here, take a seat by the fire. Can I get you a drink or anything?’
‘No, thank you. I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s really important I get in touch with Robbie. Have you heard from him?’
Adrian should have known this would have something to do with his brother. ‘No, I haven’t. I don’t know where he is and you’re not the only one looking for the scoundrel.’
‘Who else is looking for him? Is it the police?’
‘No, not that I know of. If Robbie wasn’t seen when he robbed the jeweller’s, the police won’t have him down as a suspect. It seems he’s got away with it, which surprises me considering the gossip.’
‘Gossip isn’t proof and anyway, people round here aren’t grasses,’ Dottie said with a sniff.
‘He’s been lucky then, but he’s still in trouble because the men looking for him aren’t the sort you’d want to pull a Christmas cracker with. It’s just as well he’s out of their reach.’
‘But, Adrian, it’s really important that Robbie knows something … something that’s happened. I have to speak to him.’
‘As I said, I honestly don’t know where he is now, but if he does get in touch, I promise I’ll let you know.’
Dorothy’s bottom lip began to quiver and Adrian could tell that she was about to cry. His heart went out to her and he said soothingly, ‘Don’t get upset. Robbie’s not worth crying over.’
‘But you don’t understand. I … I’m pregnant … and … and Robbie is the father.’
Taken aback, Adrian picked up his glass and downed his whisky. Yet more mess his brother had left behind, and as Robbie had moved on from Myra’s he really had no idea where he was now. But poor Dorothy, this was a terrible situation for her to be in, and as usual he would have to step in to sort out Robbie’s chaos. ‘Here,’ he said, feeling ineffectual as he offered Dorothy a handkerchief.
‘What am I going to do? I can’t be an unmarried mother. My mum is so ashamed of me and how will I support my child without a father?’
‘What has your mother suggested?’
‘Nothing yet, but I won’t give up my baby or go and see any backstreet murderer.’
Adrian could see that Dorothy was verging on hysteria. The girl was right to be worried though. It was going to be very difficult for her to raise a child alone. Then he had a thought.
‘Dottie, this child will be my blood too. I’ll be its uncle and, though Robbie may not be around to help, I am. I can help financially, make sure that you and your family are looked after, so please, calm down and we’ll work this out.’
Dorothy drew in juddering breaths and appeared to settle down a little, but then her tears resumed flowing and her nose started running, ‘I’ll still be labelled as a tart … and … and my child will be born a bastard!’
There wasn’t much Adrian could say to console Dorothy. It was true that she’d be labelled, yet if people knew what his brother was really like they would see that the pregnancy wasn’t this poor girl’s fault. As far as he was concerned, Robbie was the only bastard.
It was a cold December morning and Robbie’s head was banging. There were no curtains at the window and the sunlight streaming in was hurting his eyes. His mouth felt furry and he rolled over on the thin mattress as he tried to recall what had happened last night.
He had vague recollections of getting involved in some sort of drinking game with three miners, but couldn’t remember leaving the pub or getting home to the house he shared with two other families. At least he had a room to himself, not like the poor buggers with several kids between them, all crammed into one room per family. He was also thankful that he hadn’t woken to the sound of screaming babies again. His head was pounding enough without all that screeching adding to it.
He had moved out of his sister’s large house, glad to get away from noisy broods. Her place had been all right at first, but he was peeved when, to make money, his sister let two sets of Irish immigrant families move in without even consulting him first. Annoyed, he’d packed his stuff and left, but now it looked like he was no better off, because this boarding house was just as noisy.
Robbie had a sudden flashback to the night before. The miners had set a table up for cards. He had no memory of playing but thought he would have joined in. After all, it wasn’t like him to turn down a game. Suddenly he sat bolt upright in the bed, swore and scrambled for his trousers that were lying in a heap on the floor. He anxiously searched his pockets, turning them inside out. There was nothing in them, not a single penny. He couldn’t even remember it happening, but with a cold sense of dread he realised he’d lost all his money.
Had he lost it fair and square at the card table? Or did those miners rob him? Robbie couldn’t be sure, but either way he was in dire straits. The rent on this room was paid up for another two weeks, but he had nothing, no money for food or tobacco. He couldn’t even go back to Myra’s as he didn’t have the fare to get there.
Robbie sank to his knees, feeling hopeless. All the money he’d stolen had gone through his hands like water and he had nothing to show for it, just a sore head and a crappy room in a squalid house with no heating or hot water.
He needed money and fast. There was no way he would go back to working for someone else, slogging his guts out for them to reap the profits. It was a mug’s game. He’d have to do another robbery, and though it would mean more risk, this next one would be bigger and better than his last.
Alice put a few more lumps of precious coal on the fire before she sat in the armchair next to her husband. She’d heard Dorothy vomiting again that morning, but her daughter was never one to moan; instead she’d simply got ready and gone to work quietly. The whole business still worried Alice. It was a relief to know that Robbie’s brother had promised to help them out financially, but that didn’t take away the fact that Dorothy was unmarried.
‘Oh, Bill, the shame of it,’ she said softly to her husband. ‘Dottie won’t be able to hide her bump for much longer and then the tongues will start wagging.’
Alice didn’t expect any reaction from Bill, but it didn’t stop her talking to him. Every afternoon at one-thirty she would pour them both a cup of tea, and then sit and chat to him about the weather, or the neighbours, or whatever sprang to mind. Recently, the main topic of conversation was Dorothy’s unwanted pregnancy.
In some ways, Alice was pleased that Bill was apparently unaware of the situation. It saved him the pain of knowing what a terrible mistake his beloved daughter had made. He would have been devastated, she thought to herself, but at least this way he was oblivious to it. But at the same time she missed having her husband to share her worries and woes.
‘I know we’ve always been so proud of our girl, Bill, and don’t get me wrong, I will always love her, along with that unborn grandchild of ours, but if only she’d had a bit more sense. I mean, fancy getting herself in the family way. I thought I’d taught her better than that.’
She looked at her husband’s blank face. There had been a time when he would have loved to have a new baby bouncing on his knee, especially if it was a boy. Bill had always wanted a son, but after Dorothy was born Alice had never conceived again. Now a grandchild was in the picture and she could just imagine it: Bill kicking a ball around with his grandson in the back yard, making little boats to float on the lake in the park, or building a go-kart from a wooden crate together.
As she rose to her feet and went back to the kitchen and the next load of washing, Alice hoped against all odds that if one good thing was to come