Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection

‘Did I say that?’ She liked to tell her story properly, and wasn’t finished yet. ‘Well, soon after she gave him the old heave-ho, his missus upped sticks and buggered off and nobody knows where she went.’

‘So where is Lucy?’ Frustration rose in him. ‘What happened to her?’

‘Oh, aye, you might well ask!’

‘I am asking, and I’d be obliged if you’d give me an answer.’ Trent had no patience with folks like this, especially after the travelling. He’d come a long way to get here, and no doubt he’d be going a long way back, sooner or later. So, there was no time to be wasting.

‘All I can say is, it’s a good job Lucy was the only child.’ Folding her fat little sausage arms, the woman rattled on: ‘Y’see, her mam had such terrible trouble bearing a child. Lost four of ’em over the years, she did, an’ as if that isn’t enough to be putting up with, ’er scoundrel of a husband ends up in some other woman’s bed. Shame on him, that’s what I say!’

‘That’s enough o’ the chatter, lady! All I want is the whereabouts of Lucy.’ Another minute and he might end up strangling the old biddy.

Not one to be bullied, she declared sharply, ‘Hold yer ’orses. I were just getting to that!’

‘For Chrissake, woman, get on with it, then! Where the bloody hell is she?’ When he now took a step forward, the red-faced woman took a step back.

‘She’s moved in wi’ Bridget.’

‘Who the hell’s Bridget?’

The fat little woman gave a wicked grin. ‘Everybody knows Bridget!’

‘Well, here’s one who doesn’t.’ When he took another step forward, she took another step back. ‘I couldn’t give a toss about Bridget. Just tell me where my girlfriend is, and I’ll trouble you no more.’

‘All right! All right! There’s no need to get aeryated. I already told you, I were coming to that.’

When he glared at her, she nervously cleared her throat and hurriedly explained, ‘Bridget is a woman well-known in these parts … particularly by the men, do you get my drift? Oh yes, she might be generous with her favours, but she charges well enough, and so do her girls, though o’ course we ain’t supposed to know about what goes on in that place. The bizzies’ll put her away if she’s found out, an’ none of us would want to be responsible for putting Bridget away, nor any of her girls neither.’

She took a well-deserved breath. ‘For all her wrongdoings, she’s gorra good heart, has Bridget, and she’ll help anybody in trouble. Lives along Viaduct Street, number twenty-three. You’ll find Lucy there.’

On seeing the question in his eyes, she quickly assured him, ‘No, she’s not one of Bridget’s girls. Lucy Baker is a stray lamb. She met up with a no-good fella who promised her the world then cleared off to sea, and then she had nowhere to go when her mam and dad split up, so Bridget took her in. Y’see, as I told you … Bridget’s gorra soft heart and likes to help such folks.’

As he hurried away, she called after him. ‘Hey! There’s summat I forgot to tell you!’

Edward was not in the mood for listening, however. ‘Silly old fool!’ he muttered, and ignoring her, he walked on.

Seeing him march away all the quicker, the woman shrugged her fat little shoulders. ‘Don’t listen then,’ she told his back. ‘It won’t matter to me. Anyway, I expect you’ll find out soon enough.’ The thought of him being caught unawares made her smile – until she recalled how he had nearly banged her door down and then stared at her so threateningly. Her hackles were up.

Shaking her fist after him, she yelled, ‘And don’t come bothering me again, Sonny Jim! I were busy at the wash-tub when you came pounding on my door with your damned questions. It’s no fun washing blankets, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you, eh? Oh no! You men with your damned questions. Go on! Bugger off and don’t come back!’

When he turned to scowl at her, she slammed shut the door and scampered back to her wash-tub, grumbling as she went. ‘If Lucy Baker gives that fella so much as the time o’ day, she wants her head examining!’ she muttered to herself.

When Edward Trent reached Bridget’s house, he knocked on the door with the same force that he had used in Kitchener Street. ‘You don’t need to knock.’ The woman who opened the door was in her late twenties, tall and slender, with a shock of dark hair and over-painted features. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here.’ She ushered him inside. ‘It’s down the passage and first left.’

He went first and she followed at a quickening pace. It wasn’t often the younger men came to visit, and this one was handsome into the bargain, if a bit surly.

As she came into the room she quietly closed the door behind her. ‘The other girls are out,’ she confided. ‘Mandy’s having her hair done and Sandra’s got a day off. So I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me. I’m Lynette.’

His frown became a smile. ‘You think I’m a client, is that it?’

The young woman shrugged. ‘I hope you are,’ she replied. Giving him a knowing wink, she went on in silken tones, ‘You make a nice change. We normally get the older men here – the blokes who don’t get treated right by their own women … at least, that’s what they tell us.’ She chuckled. ‘So, what’s your reason for being here? Wifey kicked you out, has she?’

Thinking that here was too good a chance to miss, he led her on. ‘And what if she has?’

‘Well, I dare say I’d have to cheer you up then, wouldn’t I?’ As she spoke, she walked over to him and slowly, tantalisingly, began to undo the flies on his trousers.

‘Did I say you could do that?’ He was enjoying every minute.

‘I’m sorry. Was I supposed to ask?’

‘Not now.’ Taking her blouse by the shoulders he ripped it clean off her back. ‘It’s too late to turn back now.’ Leaning forward he kissed her neck, then wiped his tongue along her throat. ‘If you’re game, then so am I.’

For the next fifteen minutes they played and touched and he took her without feeling or shame, with an insatiable hunger, and in the same aggressive manner that he might sink his teeth into a fat lamb chop or swill back a tankard of ale.

Afterwards, while she was dressing, he threw a few coins on the bed. ‘That’s for your trouble.’ He threw down another. ‘And that’s for what you’re about to do.’

‘And what might that be?’ This time, Lynette was not so sure of herself. He had been unexpectedly rough and slightly cruel, and she was right to be wary.

‘Fetch Lucy Baker to me.’ He wagged a finger in warning. ‘One word to her about what we’ve just done, though, and your pretty face won’t be so pretty any more.’

Astonished that Lucy would know such a man, she told him, ‘Lucy isn’t here.’

She had hardly finished when he caught her by the throat. ‘You’d best not be lying to me!’ he hissed.

‘I’m not lying.’ Fearful, she began to struggle. ‘She skivvies at the squire’s house, Haskell Hall – all the way over in Comberton village. She’s there now. Let me go, please. I’m telling you the truth.’

Throwing her on to the bed, he stood over her. ‘What time will she be back?’

‘I’m not sure. Five, maybe six o’clock. She likes to work long hours. She needs the money for—’

‘Shut your mouth!’ Taking hold of her he yanked her up and held her close, kissing her mouth, her hair, her eyelids. ‘How do I get there?’ His voice resembled the soft, deadly hiss of a snake.

Cringing at his touch, she told him, ‘Across the fields at the end of this road towards the water-tower.’

‘How far?’

‘Take the bridle-path, alongside the brook, towards the village of Comberton-by-Weir. It’s signposted. Head for the hilltop, and you won’t go wrong. Once past Overhill Farm, go down the other side and you’ll find the squire’s house half a mile on. It’s called Haskell Hall. You can’t miss it – a big old house with great trees lining the way up to the entrance. It’s about a mile and a half in all.’

Throwing her aside he scowled. ‘Ah, well. I suppose I’ve come this far, another mile or two will seem like nothing.’

Before he left he warned her again. ‘We had our fun and that’s an end to it. But one word to anybody, especially to Lucy, and you’ll rue the day. D’you understand me?’

Fearing for her life, Lynette nodded. ‘I won’t say anything.’

‘Good girl.’ For an unbearable moment he stared her out. ‘I expect I’ll see you when we get back.’ Grabbing her hair in a bunch between his thick strong fingers, he drew her head back and kissed her throat. ‘Oh look, you’re starting to bruise.’ With a devious grin, he screwed a straightened finger into her forehead until she winced. ‘Not a word!’ he whispered. Then he went on his way, whistling merrily as he strode briskly down the pavement.

So far it had been a good day, he thought smugly.

Seeing Lucy would be the icing on the cake.