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Authors: Alanna Knight
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dining-room table, Archie caught the boy’s eye and saw anger and hatred there which included his new and lovely young stepmother.
Paul was unimpressed by Clara’s eagerness to have him love her and to take the place of his mother. There was only ten years between them, and he treated her with a cold politeness that verged on insolence.
Looking out of the window, Archie sighed. At least his lovely Clara had no reason for concern as, frowning, she turned and asked him: ‘I wonder what they want; perhaps a donation to one of their charities.’
If only it had been that simple. Had Archie been permitted to see beyond that lovely face framed in dark curls, and into the brain with its thoughts that surged like dark waters beneath, he would have seen another version. A strange, terrified woman he had never met and would hardly have recognised.
That other Clara, born Ethel Wyner, was the child of a millworker and an office clerk whose goal in life was to gain the lower rungs of the local social ladder. He worked himself into heart failure trying to make a fortune. Her mother had kept her good looks (Clara’s sole inheritance) and took as her second husband a man who was the exact opposite of her first. Jabez Bodvale was a great strong brute of a man, manager of the site labourers on the new railway line.
The marriage was very soon a disaster for both Clara and her mother. Bodvale had no intentions of being faithful,marrying Honor believing that her late husband was a toff and she might have come into a bit of money he was eager to lay hands on. Sentimental only when drunk, he tried to win sympathy for the misfortunes of his early life, but she wasn’t interested, never listened. He soon realised she was a disappointment and he sought other women of his own kind.
But the main target of his lewd desires was her little twelve-year-old daughter, Clara. Her mother never knew, nor would have believed, much less understood, what was going on in that bedroom when he went to kiss his ‘wee girl’, as he called her, goodnight and tell her a story. And Clara had no means of finding the right words to confide in her mother any detail of his secret midnight visits. Sometimes she was too disgusted to think about them in the bright light of day. But mostly she was too terrified, for he had sworn that if she ever breathed a word, he would kill not only her but her mother too.
‘Both of you, don’t forget that!’
But as she matured into womanhood and showed signs of becoming a great beauty, Jabez was obsessed by her. When her mother Honor died of cancer, Clara was fourteen, trapped in the house with him, living a nightmare with this great brute whose only sign of tenderness was to swear that she must never leave him. Every bit of her was his alone and he swore that he loved her above all living things on God’s earth. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her at his side for ever.
There was no escape. She ran away several times but he followed her, dragged her back to her prison and locked her in. Then one day the police arrived, two uniformedconstables, like the ones crossing the lawn beyond the windows of Lumbleigh Green at that moment. Bodvale was one of a notorious gang of robbers, long sought by the police. One of them had been taken and promptly turned Queen’s evidence.
He was going to jail. It was a miracle for Clara. Her prayers answered, her wildest dreams come true. The policemen come to take Bodvale prisoner were transformed into angels of mercy.
She was free at last. Oh, how her heart rejoiced, she could have danced for joy! She even laughed at his last words as, handcuffed, he struggled and swore and tried to get back to her.
‘You’re not free of me, lass. You’re mine, always have been and always will be. Never forget that. I’ll find you. As long as we both live, I’ll track you down. No one else will have you. I’ll kill you first.’
Clara didn’t mind, didn’t believe for a moment that
Paul was unimpressed by Clara’s eagerness to have him love her and to take the place of his mother. There was only ten years between them, and he treated her with a cold politeness that verged on insolence.
Looking out of the window, Archie sighed. At least his lovely Clara had no reason for concern as, frowning, she turned and asked him: ‘I wonder what they want; perhaps a donation to one of their charities.’
If only it had been that simple. Had Archie been permitted to see beyond that lovely face framed in dark curls, and into the brain with its thoughts that surged like dark waters beneath, he would have seen another version. A strange, terrified woman he had never met and would hardly have recognised.
That other Clara, born Ethel Wyner, was the child of a millworker and an office clerk whose goal in life was to gain the lower rungs of the local social ladder. He worked himself into heart failure trying to make a fortune. Her mother had kept her good looks (Clara’s sole inheritance) and took as her second husband a man who was the exact opposite of her first. Jabez Bodvale was a great strong brute of a man, manager of the site labourers on the new railway line.
The marriage was very soon a disaster for both Clara and her mother. Bodvale had no intentions of being faithful,marrying Honor believing that her late husband was a toff and she might have come into a bit of money he was eager to lay hands on. Sentimental only when drunk, he tried to win sympathy for the misfortunes of his early life, but she wasn’t interested, never listened. He soon realised she was a disappointment and he sought other women of his own kind.
But the main target of his lewd desires was her little twelve-year-old daughter, Clara. Her mother never knew, nor would have believed, much less understood, what was going on in that bedroom when he went to kiss his ‘wee girl’, as he called her, goodnight and tell her a story. And Clara had no means of finding the right words to confide in her mother any detail of his secret midnight visits. Sometimes she was too disgusted to think about them in the bright light of day. But mostly she was too terrified, for he had sworn that if she ever breathed a word, he would kill not only her but her mother too.
‘Both of you, don’t forget that!’
But as she matured into womanhood and showed signs of becoming a great beauty, Jabez was obsessed by her. When her mother Honor died of cancer, Clara was fourteen, trapped in the house with him, living a nightmare with this great brute whose only sign of tenderness was to swear that she must never leave him. Every bit of her was his alone and he swore that he loved her above all living things on God’s earth. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep her at his side for ever.
There was no escape. She ran away several times but he followed her, dragged her back to her prison and locked her in. Then one day the police arrived, two uniformedconstables, like the ones crossing the lawn beyond the windows of Lumbleigh Green at that moment. Bodvale was one of a notorious gang of robbers, long sought by the police. One of them had been taken and promptly turned Queen’s evidence.
He was going to jail. It was a miracle for Clara. Her prayers answered, her wildest dreams come true. The policemen come to take Bodvale prisoner were transformed into angels of mercy.
She was free at last. Oh, how her heart rejoiced, she could have danced for joy! She even laughed at his last words as, handcuffed, he struggled and swore and tried to get back to her.
‘You’re not free of me, lass. You’re mine, always have been and always will be. Never forget that. I’ll find you. As long as we both live, I’ll track you down. No one else will have you. I’ll kill you first.’
Clara didn’t mind, didn’t believe for a moment that
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