A Fallen Woman. Nancy Carson

just beginning to burn. He managed a grin of defiance, as much as to say, ‘That didn’t hurt me, but I can hurt you a great deal more.’

      ‘I imagine it’ll come as a bit of a shock to her, eh, Stokes, your common little wife and mine being as thick as thieves and all that?’

      ‘Pick up your fancy hat and sod off,’ Algie rasped, frustrated that Benjamin still heedlessly chose to insult Marigold’s name. ‘And if you think you’re going to cite me as co-respondent in your divorce, you’d better think again. If there’s any divorcing to be done, Aurelia will be divorcing you, and she’ll cite Maude Atkins…and I’ll be the one to see to it.’

      Empty threats. Algie knew it, even though he’d said it. How could he be party to such proceedings without incriminating himself anyway in Marigold’s eyes?

      Benjamin picked up his hat and patted the dust off it. ‘Aye, a fool and his money are soon parted,’ he snorted truculently. ‘Anyway, you’ve as good as confessed to the affair. Your reactions have given you away, and no mistake. You and my wife had a fling and she bore your bastard. It’s as straightforward as that.’

      ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Sampson? Sod off now if you don’t want another hiding.’

      ‘Another hiding?’ He grinned provocatively. ‘The first assault could get you in jail, Stokes. I might just decide to pursue that as well while I’m at it. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers on both counts in due course.’

      Benjamin turned and walked away. Algie watched as his adversary unhitched the gig, clambered aboard and donned his dusty hat. Listening to the click-clack of the horse’s hooves fading into the distance he felt sick, weary, frustrated at the prospect of what all this would inevitably do to Marigold. Poor, unsuspecting, innocent Marigold. It would floor her. It would be the end of the contented married life they had both slipped into, and so easily taken for granted. He also felt ashamed that he had never seriously conceded that little Christina might be his own, when now it seemed a certainty. And if so, he was taking no responsibility for the child, a fact that ran utterly against the grain of his principles.

      Algie seemed rooted to the spot. He stood for some minutes in a state of bewilderment, his mind awhirl with everything Benjamin had said. Over and over, he relived their conversation, inventing things he might have said instead of the things he had. The problem was not about to go away, though. How would he broach this unbroachable subject with Marigold? Marigold did not deserve what she was about to get. How could he possibly confess to her that he had fathered a child with her own half-sister who was now also her best, her closest, friend? Worse, Aurelia’s despised father had also married his own mother soon after her widowhood; so technically, Aurelia was his stepsister…yet by the same chalk, so too was Marigold.

      Marigold’s relationship with Aurelia, to whom she was devoted, would be ruined. It would change Marigold’s perception of him forever, her esteem for him would collapse, and he would have to work extremely hard to regain it.

      He made it to the building with the skew-whiff chimney pot and entered his tiny office. He closed the door, unaware that the eyes of the men he employed were upon him, wondering why he suddenly looked so pale and preoccupied after the visit of his business rival Benjamin Sampson. He sat down, looked up at the ceiling as if for inspiration, then put his head in his hands…and silently wept.

       Chapter 8

      Some half an hour later, Algie spoke to the men, two of whom were in the workshop in the building with the skew-whiff chimney. One of them was Whitehouse.

      ‘I have to go out, Harry,’ he said morosely. ‘I might be an hour or so. Keep an eye on things, eh?’

      ‘Summat amiss, gaffer?’

      ‘Something’s cropped up,’ Algie answered, giving nothing away.

      ‘Summat to do wi’ that weasel Sampson, eh?’

      Algie nodded glumly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

      He grabbed his bicycle that was leaning against the wall near the door, and wheeled it outside. Once on the lane, he cocked his leg over the saddle and pushed off.

      He had to see Aurelia. It was vital. They must talk about this calamity that had so unexpectedly befallen them, form some plan of action, for it concerned her as much as it concerned him. Besides, he needed her considered advice as to how they both should handle this desperate situation before ever he mention a word to Marigold.

      As he rode, he was oblivious to the streets and the streets’ activities. His mind, his thoughts, were focused entirely on the immediate problem and the depth to which he was implicated. He dreaded the inevitable aftermath.

      At Holly Hall, breathing hard from his exertions, he rounded a huffing steam tramcar that had halted to drop off and pick up passengers. He was careful not to entrap his narrow wheels and tyres in the equally narrow and perfectly fitting channel in which the flanges of the tram’s wheels rolled. Even in his preoccupation he was aware that to do so would ensure a painful and ignominious tumble, and he did not relish a painful and ignominious tumble. Ignominy was already knocking hard on his door.

      He passed the turning that led to Kingswinford, and soon arrived at Holly Hall House, the home of Benjamin Sampson. There was no sign of Benjamin’s horse and gig, so he decided it was, after all, a reasonably safe time to approach.

      He rapped on the brass knocker. Eventually a maid, neat and tidy, unfamiliar, plain and mature, opened the door to him.

      ‘Is Mrs Sampson in? I’d very much like to see her.’

      ‘Who shall I say is calling, sir?’

      ‘Algie Stokes, if you please.’

      She nodded and half closed the door. He waited agitatedly, tempted to push it open a little to glean what reaction inside the house his appearing might engender. Yet he did not; he had too much respect for Aurelia. Within a few short moments Aurelia herself was at the door, holding Christina in her arms. At the sight of mother and daughter, his heart lurched, and no wonder; here was a woman he had previously known as intimately as a man can know a woman, and she held in her arms the very consequence of that profound intimacy.

      ‘Algie! This is a surprise.’ She began to feel excitement at his unexpected presence, till she saw his troubled demeanour. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

      ‘We need to talk.’

      ‘Come in, please come in,’ she said, stepping aside to allow him entrance. ‘Let’s go in the sitting room…’ She turned to the maid. ‘Jane, would you be so kind as to brew us a pot of tea? I take it you’ll take a cup of tea, Algie?’

      ‘I’d love a cup of tea. Thank you.’

      Jane duly scurried to the kitchen, while Aurelia led Algie to the small sitting room.

      ‘I assume Benjamin’s not here?’

      She turned to him and smiled. ‘Of course he’s not.’ She closed the sitting room door behind them and they stood facing each other.

      Algie looked intently, benevolently, smiling at the child that was evidently his, sitting up attentively in its mother’s arms. He reached out and ran his forefinger gently down her cheek. ‘Hello, little Christina,’ he said softly. ‘You’re just as beautiful as your mother, you know…’

      Christina bashfully hid her face against her mother’s shoulder.

      ‘Gracious, are you shy of Uncle Algie?’ Aurelia cooed.

      ‘Not “Uncle”, I believe,’ he remarked gently. ‘Not strictly “Uncle” at any rate.’

      Their eyes met.

      Aurelia regarded him with unease, at once comprehending, and with her comprehension came the first feelings of guilt that she had never let Algie know that Christina was his