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Upon learning this, Marty relaxed somewhat to enjoy the romantic notion that he was helping a damsel in distress. He was intrigued to know why she had been locked in, and difference in status had not prevented him from flirting with female guests before, given the encouragement. Some ladies found him attractive, though heaven knew why; personally he saw a gypsy when he looked in the mirror, a face that lacked the finely chiselled features he himself admired, with eyes that were somewhere between grey and green. When he was happy they appeared green, when sad they were grey – that was, if one could see them under those heavy lids. His hair was of a nondescript colour too; one might be kind and call it brown but it was the insipid brown of dried winter undergrowth and its texture similarly wiry, so that whenever he removed his hat it sprang back into place like trampled grass, no amount of oil able to control it. He disliked everything about his looks. Still, to his favour he had decent teeth and was taller than average, and he had learned that charm compensated for any other lack of attribute.
Leaning against the door, he voiced a bold and teasing statement. ‘Your father took the key on purpose, didn’t he?’
There was a pregnant pause, then the glint of an eye as she tried to assess her impudent Samaritan through the aperture.
Marty felt no need to apologise, but did offer an explanation as to how he had guessed. ‘I saw him leave. He seemed quite aggrieved.’
She fixed her glittering dark eye to his green one.
Concerned that he might have overstepped the mark, he added quickly. ‘I hung around ’cause I felt worried about you.’
‘Did you, really?’ She sounded grateful.
Encouraged, Marty prolonged the bizarre method of conversation. ‘It’s remiss of me to have to ask, miss, but could you tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing?’
‘I’m Henrietta Ibbetson.’
When he did not automatically introduce himself in return, she prompted, ‘So, who are you?’
‘Oh, like I said, I’m only the boots, miss.’ The quality of her voice had him glued to the keyhole. If the hotel manager himself had come round the corner Marty could not have torn himself away.
‘You must have a name.’
‘I’m flattered you’re even interested, miss.’ Marty grinned to himself – that’s right, lay it on thick.
‘Why, naturally I am!’
‘Thank you, miss. It’s Martin Lanegan.’
‘Martin, I’d love to see you, but even with this unyielding timber between us I can tell by your voice that you’re a very kind person, very likeable.’
His belly tightened at the artlessly seductive tone.
‘And that’s why I feel confident in throwing myself upon your mercy.’
I’d like to throw myself on you, thought Marty, imagining the gorgeous creature on the other side of the door, but he said, throatily polite, ‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Might you perhaps find a key at the reception desk?’
The lascivious thoughts vanished. He gasped at the very suggestion. ‘That’s more than my life’s worth, miss! If you’re not here when your father comes back –’
‘But I will be! I swear it. It’s not that I wish to run away, but that I don’t care to be caged like an animal.’
He endured mental argument, desperate to ingratiate himself but not so keen as to risk dismissal. ‘I know it’s none of my affair, Miss Ibbetson, but why did he lock you up?’
There was a slight pause whilst Henrietta wondered how much to divulge. He was, after all, just a lowly employee. But it was essential that she lure him to her side. How else was she to keep the arranged rendezvous with her beau at King’s Cross?
Keeping this latter part to herself, she injected her sigh with feeling and made a half-confession. ‘My father plans to marry me off to an individual of his choosing, a man I find utterly loathsome.’ Her tone endorsed this revulsion. ‘Two days ago I ran away to my aunt’s in London…’ It had been during her escapade that she had met a more promising match, one who, upon hearing her story, had vowed to help. She should have gone with him there and then but had thought it wiser to go to her aunt’s and to meet him in a few days’ time. ‘…but she betrayed me and Father came to take me home. We arrived too late in York to continue our journey so he booked us in here. He hasn’t let me out of his sight other than to sleep and to breakfast. He’s killing two birds with one stone by attending some business whilst in the city. We’re to catch the afternoon train home. At which point I shall be condemned.’ But if this dolt would only comply she could be well on her way to her assignation at King’s Cross before her father even returned. ‘I’d be eternally grateful, Martin, if you could find it in your heart to assist.’
Enthralled that his name had never sounded so wonderful than on these lips, Marty came alive to make a bold decision. ‘I’ll be quick as I can!’
A gleeful Henrietta gave herself a congratulatory squeeze.
It was no small task Marty had set himself, for the sentinel on the desk was as keen as Cerberus at guarding his post. Much subterfuge and the assistance of another colleague was required to lure him away and for the boot boy to make his daring foray, knowing that if he were caught with the key he would be sacked without reference. The reward, however, was immeasurable.
The brief preview he had had of Miss Ibbetson could not have prepared him for the full magnificence. Upon his excited entrance to the suite he was dealt a vision of pink candy-striped organdie, a tantalising glimpse of bare skin through a diaphanous sleeve, a figure as sumptuously uphol-stered as the room that was normally forbidden to him…Yet it was not any rich accoutrement that so enchanted. The eyes that had been but a glint through a keyhole now totally impaled him, transfixed him to the expensive carpet that his feet were not permitted to sully, as glittering and radiant as lighted coals in a face that brimmed with intel-ligence – even though at this minute she was gawping at him like some yokel.
Henrietta caught her breath. She had been poised, hat in hand, ready to flee, but upon seeing Martin there came a surge of every corpuscle in her veins, like a spring tide, which swept away all the repressive debris of her previous existence and brought her so overwhelmingly alive that she feared she might choke upon this ecstasy. All reason suspended, utterly immobile with shock, she let the hat fall, unable to perform any task other than to stare at him, totally oblivious that her jaw was hanging open.
A brief awkwardness ensued, arising not from difference in rank but from the palpable desire that exuded from both, each embarrassed at having been caught so unawares.
Normally self-assured, Henrietta fought the constriction in her throat and tried to thank him for liberating her, but found herself stricken dumb. The way he was looking at her, his eyelids droopy as if on the verge of slumber, but the look within them tugging at her abdomen, igniting all manner of extraordinary feelings…
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.
‘Far from issuing words in my defence,’ went on Henrietta, ‘Mother saw me as the defiant one, begged me to take what she saw as the easy path instead of fighting his regime. Not once have I seen her stand up to him, not even when he dismissed dear old Nanny, the person who really was more of a mother to me, who raised me from a babe…’ She scowled in memory of that awful crime. ‘It’s so long ago but his callousness infuriates me still. He said she wasn’t required any more; sent her packing without a care that some of us might love –’ Verging on tears, she broke off in mid-sentence to disguise her emotions with a giggle. ‘I can’t believe I’m confiding all this to a total stranger!’
‘You can’t?’ One lithe buttock resting on the dressing table, Marty leaned towards her and laughed even more heartily, relaxing into his normal mode of speech. ‘I can’t believe I’m eejit enough to ruin me chances with the most beautiful girl I ever met by telling her I’m from a family of tinkers.’
‘Oh, but surely they can’t be classified as such!’ Henrietta reached out quickly to press his arm, the gesture loaded with affection, before it was just as quickly withdrawn.
Wanting to grab her too, despite his enthralment Marty shrewdly divined that his comment on her beauty had gone undisputed, though there was no hint of arrogance in her manner and, as one with no belief in his own attractiveness, he envied her that.
‘You did say they live in a house these days,’ she reminded him.
‘Aye, for seven, eight years or so.’ Might he have laid the romantic gypsy thing on a bit too thick? He spoke more truthfully now. ‘I suppose we were never strictly part of that community anyway, we tended to travel alone, though I can’t deny it was the rover’s life. Back and forth twixt Ireland and Yorkshire. As a nipper ye kind o’ get sick of it, moving round different schools and the like. I was glad when Da settled for the buffer’s life.’ Rubbing the edge of the dressing table, he studied the hand that rested temptingly close to his, then exclaimed, ‘Eh, don’t let on to anyone here, will you? I’ve never told a soul – man nor woman nor beast.’
‘Then I shan’t either. But even if they still dwelt in a caravan it wouldn’t make any difference about the way I feel towards you.’ She herself saw beyond the gypsy, detected some indescribable quality of spirit.
‘Wouldn’t it?’ His green eyes shone and his question was superfluous; had he thought it would affect their miracu-lous rapport he would never have used the approach. Boldly, he grabbed her hand. ‘That’s such a relief. I just wanted you to know everything about me so’s you’re fully aware of what you’re getting into.’ It was a gross presumption but one that he was confident to make and that Henrietta would accept.
She shook her head in happy amazement, her little pearl earrings trembling. ‘It’s so strange but I feel as if I already know everything there is to know – as if we’ve been acquainted for years!’
‘I feel like that too,’ declared Marty, his eyes running over her dark tresses – the only coarse thing about her – that were swept up at the front and fastened in an elegant twist to frame pale symmetrical features. She reminded him of a ballerina in a painting he had once seen. ‘Or is it all my imagination? ’Cause I can’t for the life of me believe a girl as lovely as you could bring herself even to talk to me.’
Something flickered over Henrietta’s face. The light went out of her eyes as they retreated under dark lashes. ‘You seem to set great store by my appearance –’
Not yet realising that her mood had changed, he laughed and butted in. ‘Well, if you’ve been taking the ugly pills I can tell you they’re not working.’
But she would not look up at him. ‘– because that’s the second reference you’ve made to it.’
Taken aback at her sudden coolness, Marty cocked his head and studied her pose for a second, wondering why his intended praise had for some strange reason inflicted huge displeasure. ‘Begging your pardon, but what’s so wrong with that?’ Having sisters, he was not inexperienced in the ways of females, was aware that their moods could turn from honey to vitriol at the drop of a hat, but never had he known one who eschewed compliments.
Eyes still downcast, Henrietta picked at her satin skirt and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just poured out my heart telling you of the lack of regard my father has for me, yet you –’ She broke off, angry and hurt at having her joy ruined so quickly.
Still frowning and totally confused as to how a remark on her beauty could be so misconstrued, Marty was desperate to make things right but did not know how. What did her father have to do with this? Then, as he continued to stare at her forlorn figure, his heart plunging from its former heights to hang like a leaden pendulum in his chest, he was suddenly granted a deeper understanding of this beautiful creature. Confident she might be in her looks, but the years of parental neglect had left Henrietta with the assumption that she was worthless for anything other than to adorn the house of some magnate, to be used as bargaining power for her father’s gain. His heart went out to her and he cupped her hand gently in both of his. ‘Of course I think you’re gorgeous, and I can’t deny that was the thing which first attracted me – but it’s not the only thing – and I don’t mean your clothes or your wealth.’
‘My father’s wealth,’ she reminded him.
‘That’s as may be, but it doesn’t count. It wouldn’t matter who or what y’are, I’d still like you…more than like.’ His voice was tenderly coaxing. ‘I thought, I hoped you felt the same.’
She forced her woebegone eyes up to meet his droopy-lidded gaze, her belly performing a somersault as she admitted in a little voice, ‘I do.’
‘And what was it attracted you?’ he asked gently.
‘Well, the way you –’ She broke off, her pink lips curling in a half-smile of self-mockery.
‘The way I look,’ provided Marty, smiling too now as he gave her hand an accusing but playful shake. ‘So it’s not just me that’s guilty, is it?’
‘No.’ Under his teasing, Henrietta melted, fighting back the tears.
‘I mean, it stands to reason that it’s a person’s physical appearance that first attracts someone, doesn’t it? Though what the devil you see in me is anyone’s guess,’ he added incredulously.
She rose then. Tapered little fingers stroked him, as did her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, I didn’t mean to sound harsh or arrogant or ungrateful, it’s just that –’
‘I know,’ he told her kindly, going so far as to caress her cheek with his knuckle, wanting to go much further and pull the pins from her hair and the clothes from her body, forgetting that he should not even be there at all. ‘It might be the first thing that attracted us but we both know it goes far beyond that, don’t we?’
She nodded, blinking away the moisture of emotion. Their eyes held each other adoringly for a while, both still reeling from the impact of their meeting, trying to understand what had happened to them but unable to voice it, until the magnetic charge between them became too strong to resist and they finally pressed their lips together, tentatively at first, but quickly yielding to such fierce passion that it terrified them into breaking away, although not completely.
Marty swallowed, took a deep breath and emitted a delighted laugh. His hands gripping her waist, his eyes unable to tear themselves from hers, he pondered on their glittering depths. ‘So what now, Miss Ibbetson? Or should I say Henrietta?’
Equally ecstatic, she said, ‘I think you should, especially after that. But call me Etta, I much prefer it.’ Then she sighed and laid her head against his warm chest, leaving it there even though one of his metal buttons hurt her ear. ‘You know, I really do wish you had a caravan, then you could spirit me away.’
He rubbed his chin atop her head, breathing in her scent and smiling. ‘Ah, now don’t go making rash statements like that or I might.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘You are?’ He pushed her gently away so that he could read her face.
‘Completely! Caravan or no, I can’t wait here for Father to get back. I’m desperate to leave…but not without you. I never want to leave you, Martin, ever.’ She squeezed him tightly.
Marty let out a happy roar. ‘To think when I came to work this morning the only thing I had in mind to tackle was boots! Little did I know I’d be kissing me future wife.’
‘And I my future husband!’ Etta laughed emotionally, and they hugged again amorously.
Marty was on the verge of announcing that he would run away with her there and then, but how could he do this with no funds? He was lucky if he earned nine bob a week. He wondered if she had any money, but was not about to appear so mercenary for that would indeed ruin his case. Still wondering how to broach the subject, he was forestalled by Etta who urged excitedly, ‘Let’s leave this minute!’
‘Oh, that’d be really bright, us walking through the hotel lobby together. The manager’d be delighted.’ He grinned to show he was ribbing. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’re about to sacrifice everything, without me losing my job too?’
