Sheelagh Kelly - The Keepsake

Marty noted that she seemed in no hurry to escape now; her eyes still adhered to his face. Something had occurred to change her mind. He could only hope that she felt the same thrilling emotions that bound him captive. What in God’s name was happening here?

Eventually breaking free of his trance, suddenly self-conscious under her probing gaze, only now did he think to whip off his cap before enquiring, ‘What will you do now, miss?’

Henrietta watched the masculine fingers remove the cap, the springy hair beneath, her eyes fixed to the sensual bow of his mouth though barely hearing the words it uttered, whilst her own murmured vaguely, ‘What?’ Then, suddenly aware she had been holding her breath, she exhaled on a note of laughter, a happy sound that rippled his belly with its exquisiteness. ‘Oh…I haven’t the slightest idea!’ Her plan abandoned, she had forgotten all about the one she had promised to meet, indeed could not even recall what he looked like – certainly not so desirable as this green-eyed young man before her. Oh, he was lovely. Lovely! Ignoring the uniform that labelled him minion, her gaze pored over him, constantly lured back to those eyes, which promised kindness yet at the same time danger.

Marty echoed her affectionate laughter and the two stood admiring each other for a while, before she said with a smiling shrug by way of explanation, ‘I’m just desperate to escape.’

Until these words, both of them had forgotten her irate father. Misreading her companion’s hasty grab for the door-knob and his expression as one of self-concern, she prompted him, though not without a tinge of disappointment. ‘Yes, it’s unwise to let him find you here! I’m truly grateful for your assistance but I should hate for you to lose your job.’

But instead of running away as she had feared, Marty shut the door from the inside and leaned with his back to it, a triumphant twinkle in his eye. Secure that his feelings were reciprocated, his reply was gallant. ‘It’d be worth it. I’m not worried for meself, but for you.’

Her beam was so radiantly affectionate that he wanted to snatch her in his arms, to press the whole length of his body against hers. But that would have been just too brazen. Besides, enough was happening in his trousers already. If that was what she could do to him merely by looking…

He mirrored her smile then strolled over to the window, tapping his cap against his leg and appearing to take an interest in the view, though his thoughts were still consumed by the girl behind him. ‘It’s inhuman to treat anyone in such a fashion – outdated too.’ For heaven’s sake, they were four years into the twentieth century. ‘Most fathers are very particular when it comes to the one who marries their daughter,’ briefly, he pictured his own wedded sisters, ‘but they usually take account of her feelings on the matter.’

Henrietta wandered over to stand beside the tall figure, her eyes staring out across the beautifully laid-out grounds in full flower, and beyond the river to the Minster that dominated the city, its ancient pinnacles etched against a summer sky. Considering the hotel’s juxtaposition with the railway this room was very quiet. She wondered if Martin could hear the rapid thudding of her heart. ‘There my father differs, I’m afraid.’ Her face was less vibrant now, her tone hollow. ‘For he sets his entire store on my brother, John; he places no value on my opinions at all.’

Electrified by her proximity, angry on her behalf, Marty tightened his grip on the cap, whacked it against a piece of furniture. ‘Then the man’s not only cruel but blind and stupid.’ That was audacious indeed.

But Henrietta did not appear to judge it thus, merely dealing him a smile that was both sad and happy at the same time, and saying with feeling, ‘It’s the worst thing in the world to be bullied, don’t you feel? Not that someone of your physical stature would be troubled by that, of course.’

Marty bared his white teeth with a rueful chuckle. ‘You don’t know my superior.’

Dazzled by his smile, she matched it. Henrietta had never made any distinction between the ranks. Just because someone was forced to do menial work did not lower them in her estimation. ‘I suppose we all have someone above us. May one ask how old you are?’

Considering her own mature appearance, Marty added fifteen months to his age. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

She looked wistful. ‘So in all things that count you are your own man. You could walk out and find employment elsewhere, go wherever you choose. There are four more years before I come of age – not that it would matter, I should still be at that despot’s command.’

Shamed by her truthfulness, he admitted, ‘Well, as a matter of fact I’ve a few months to go yet – but it wouldn’t make a difference what age I was either, Mr Wilkinson would still dub me a shirker.’ He grinned impishly. ‘Maybe I am or I wouldn’t be up here dallying with you.’

‘Well, I’m very glad you are – here, I mean.’ Now perched on a dressing stool, her eyes having abandoned the landscape in favour of her attractive companion, Henrietta marvelled at how easily she could converse with him. ‘Tell me more about yourself.’

‘I’d hate to delay your escape.’

‘We’ve ages yet. Have you always been a boots?’

‘God forbid!’ He was delighted by the fact that she had said we , as if they were going together. ‘I’ve only been here a year or so. It was a drop in station from my last job, but I’d had that since leaving school at fourteen and was going nowhere, so I decided there was a better chance of promotion in a hotel. It’s hard to put your heart into cleaning boots but I intend to work my way up. I was joking about being a shirker by the way.’

‘Of course,’ affirmed Henrietta. ‘But you must have enjoyed your last job if you had it for five, six years?’

He was about to correct her then remembered he had already said he was nearly twenty-one and fobbed her off with a quick, ‘Thereabouts – but these are lovelier surroundings. York’s a grand place, isn’t it? I wasn’t born here ye know.’

‘I’d never have guessed.’ Her eyes teased.

‘That obvious, eh?’ Marty pretended to be crushed. ‘And here’s me thinking I’d got rid of the accent.’

‘Oh, don’t ever lose it!’ she begged him. ‘It’s so pleasant on the ear.’

‘Some folk would disagree. There’s many can’t stand the Irish.’ He paused to weigh his words before adding a confession. ‘Especially if they’re tinkers to boot. Ach, now I’ve told ye. We only came to live in a house after me grandparents died.’

‘How romantic!’

Comforted by her reaction, he chuckled. ‘Not what some would say. The insults I’ve suffered…’

Her face oozed sympathy, then she turned slightly sober. ‘Well, that’s something we share, although I doubt the insults come from your own father.’

Marty was about to make a joke but saw it was not the time. ‘I’d like to think you get on better with your mother.’

‘Hardly – well, that’s a lie, we are really quite at ease when we are permitted to be on our own. Unfortunately that’s a rare occurrence. He is always there to spoil it.’ She looked wistful. ‘The trouble is, Mother’s a very weak person. That might sound harsh, but it’s something I learned very early in life from studying the way she bent to his will, even to the detriment of her children – well, not so much John for he was Father’s favourite, but in my case…’ Henrietta moved her head slowly from side to side, then from her lips poured a torrent of information on her childhood, injustices she had suffered, her feelings on these and on her family, to which Marty listened mesmerised.