Page 50 of The Cursed Writer
The younger woman waved a hand, although Harry thought the motion was a shade reluctant. ‘Please do.’
Harry sat beside her. ‘I will come straight to the point, Cecily,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Last time we spoke, you expressed reservations about accepting charity, because you were afraid you would still be a pariah.’
Cecily’s gaze dropped to her lap, where Harry saw her hands were red and scabbed. ‘That is still the way I feel. It is better to be accepted somewhere like Circus Street than an outcast by society.’
‘What if I were to tell you I had not only the means to offer you a new life but a way to avoid becoming the subject of gossip?’
She looked up then, her expression suspicious. ‘I would wonder what was in it for you.’
Harry sighed. Clearly, Cecily had spent too much time with Joan already. ‘There is nothing in it for me. A benefactor has pledged enough money to find a new home for you and your baby, a long way from where you live now.’ She paused and took a breath, because this was the trickiest part of the proposition. ‘And I have in my pocket a second-hand wedding ring, which will allow you to claim a sadly departed husband as the father of your child.’
Cecily shrank back, horrified. ‘A dead husband? You cannot mean that!’
‘But I do,’ Harry said quickly. ‘It is only a small lie, after all, and one that will enable you to make a fresh start away from Circus Street. Think of the life you might have, Cecily,’ she urged. ‘Think of the life your child might have.’
‘My aunt would never allow it,’ the younger woman whispered, her expression torn.
‘She will,’ Harry said firmly. ‘But I have no intention of telling her about any charitable donations and nor should you. The money will become available to you only when you leave her house and agree to start again somewhere else.’
She sounded horribly overbearing but she did not plan to let the proceeds of John Archer’s generosity fall into the wrong hands. The cheque had been made payable to Oliver Fortescue and, when cashed, would enable Cecily and her baby to make a better future. If Cecily decided she did not want to take up the offer then the cheque would remain undrawn.
‘But where would I go?’ Cecily asked.
‘Wherever you like,’ Harry replied. ‘There are more new houses being built every day and many are available to rent. You might even be able to use some of the money as a deposit for a mortgage, if you are able to find work at a later date.’
At this, Cecily eyed her with even greater uncertainty. ‘A deposit. But that would be £30 or more. What sort of charitygives that much to one person, much less a – a fallen woman like me?’
‘An extremely generous one,’ Harry said, with complete honesty. ‘But the offer is there, all the same. All I ask is that you go somewhere far away from Circus Street.’
Cecily shook her head, her expression hopeful and wary at the same time. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?’
Harry reached for her hand. ‘Because you have been treated terribly – by your parents, by your aunt and by the man whose child you carry. But I don’t believe you should be made to suffer the consequences alone.’ She met the younger woman’s gaze and held it firm. ‘Have courage, Cecily – you are not without friends. Take the money and build a new life for yourself. You will never have a better chance.’
For a moment, Cecily seemed to waver. Then she looked away. ‘I’m afraid you have too high an opinion of me, Miss White. I have no courage, in fact, I am a coward. I – I cannot accept your offer.’
Harry’s shoulders sagged. From what she knew of Cecily Earnshaw, the last word she would use to describe her was coward. But she also knew obstinacy when she saw it. If such an opportunity could not induce the young woman to make a fresh start, then nothing would. ‘Then I am sorry for you both,’ she said quietly, and left the reading room.
Outside, the sky was still blue and the sun was still bright. Harry stood gripping the iron balustrade for several minutes, allowing the wind to buffet her while she gazed out to sea. Somewhere further along the pier, a band had struck up; snatches of music faded in and out on the breeze. The smell of salt danced on the air, mingled with the piquant scent of vinegar from an oyster bar not far from where Harry was standing. She allowed the wind to scour away her disappointment and, whenat last she felt less melancholy, she began to make her way back along the pier.
She had almost reached the clock when she heard her name being called. Glancing over her shoulder, she was astonished to see Cecily hurrying over the wooden slats. The young woman had one hand supporting her belly and was puffing with the effort of moving at speed. ‘Miss White, wait!’
Harry did as she asked. Cecily huffed to a halt, her cheeks rosy from the exertion and her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Do you truly mean it?’ she asked, half gasping the question as she struggled to get her breath back. ‘There is no catch?’
‘There is no catch,’ Harry repeated. ‘I promise. If you don’t know where to start then there are those who can help with that too.’
Cecily caught her lip between her teeth and gnawed at it. ‘My aunt will be angry.’
‘Then don’t tell her,’ Harry suggested as an idea occurred to her. ‘In fact, come with me now. We can take the train to London and you can stay with me while we make a plan.’
She almost regretted the offer as soon as it was made – her apartment was luxurious compared to the slums of Circus Street but it had only one bedroom. It was too late to take the words back, however. The other woman shuffled anxiously. ‘I can’t. I have some things in my aunt’s house – a few trinkets and what little I have left of my savings. It is not much but I would hate to leave it all the same.’
Harry understood her attachment to her possessions. Cecily had already given up so much already. Why should she also give up what little she had left? ‘We will go to collect them together,’ she said decisively. ‘And then we shall board the train and the next chapter of your life will begin.’
‘You are so brave,’ Cecily said, as Harry took her arm and led her from the pier. ‘Is there anything you’re afraid of?’
Harry considered her recent adventures in the fens, when she had been scared of many things, including a strange bobbing light she was still not convinced she could entirely explain. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But your Aunt Joan is not one of them.’
As Cecily had predicted, Joan took a dim view of her niece’s departure. ‘Who’s going to help me with the laundry tomorrow, that’s what I’d like to know,’ she growled when Cecily explained in a halting voice.
