Don't Cry Alone

by Josephine Cox

Genres: Family Life

Synopsis

Beth is a woman of rare courage and fortitude, but there is danger and heartbreak to be endured before she can find peace and happiness...

Don't Cry Alone is an unforgettable saga from Josephine Cox, of the power of love, hope and jealousy. Perfect for fans of Rosie Goodwin and Cathy Sharp.

'Hailed quite rightly as a gifted writer in the tradition of Catherine Cookson' - Manchester Evening Post

Beth Ward and Tyler Blacklock share a love they know will last forever. But Beth's mother, Esther, is jealous of the girl and seizes an opportunity to be rid of her daughter. Banished in disgrace from the family home, Beth takes the northbound train and alights at Blackburn, friendless and alone.

On this day, Fortune smiles, for Beth is taken in by warm-hearted Maisie Armstrong, a widow with two children. Money is scarce, but love abounds in the cosy house on Larkhill, and Beth is content there to await the birth of her child. But she cannot forget Tyler, and is tormented by the belief that he has betrayed her.

What readers are saying about Don't Cry Alone:

'Wonderful! Totally believable. Complex story of highs and lows, laughter and tears. Completely absorbing, it's an emotional roller coaster. I loved it'

'This is a story of heartache, caring, loss and coming together. A story that warms the heart, that turns out well, as good stories should, and [leaves you with] a smile'

'Kept me gripped throughout. I enjoyed the book immensely, an excellent love story with lots of twists and turns'

Release date: January 19, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 355

Sample

Returning his stare with fierce dark eyes and a resolute expression on her lovely face, Beth reprimanded him in a quiet voice. ‘You have no call to say that, Ben.’ Her voice trembled slightly and at once the young man was filled with remorse. ‘You know it isn’t infatuation I feel for Tyler. I love him!













































































And he loves me.’ A hard look came into her eyes as she continued, ‘I won’t let her













































































break us up . . . however hard she tries, or whatever threats she might use against me.’ She glanced beyond him to where the howling wind was driving the rain into the carriage window. For a long unsettling moment she seemed entranced by the viciousness of the elements outside their safe haven. When she looked back into his face her expression was darker than the night. In a low foreboding voice she murmured, ‘God forgive me, but sometimes I hate her.’



‘No,Beth. You don’t mean that.’ He shook his head from side to side as though to will her words away. When she remained silent he took her hand in his, squeezing it so hard that she actually winced. ‘You are your own worst enemy,’ he whispered, his alarm betrayed in his voice.



He thought how exquisitely lovely she was, yet how dangerously rebellious. All the same, in spite of her tempestuous nature and even his own secret envy, he adored her. There was something very special about his sister. As far back as he could remember, she had entranced him with her spirit of adventure and her forthright nature. Her sense of fun and mischief was a joy to behold. As children, with only two years between them, they had been close, revelling in each other’s company. His own nature was not so bold, not so defiant as Beth’s. Where she led he followed; where he hesitated, she encouraged; and when Beth was made to suffer long lonely periods of isolation by their mother, he was her knight in shining armour, raiding the larder in the small hours and braving the dark to creep down to the cellar with a hunk of cheese or a muffin, which he would then feed under the door in tiny pieces.



As the years passed and matters worsened between their parents, Ben and Elizabeth looked to each other for comfort. They confided their childish secrets in each other, always hoping desperately that things might come right between Richard Ward and his wife. But they only worsened. Over the years, Beth and her mother came actively to dislike each other. It was a sad thing but inevitable, and, as much as Ben loved his wayward sister, he loved his mother more, so he learned not to take sides. In many ways he was like his father, preferring wherever possible a life without upheaval. Physically, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Richard Ward, being of the same squarish build and with light brown hair, although his father’s locks were now somewhat thinner and faintly marbled with grey and, where Ben was of average height, his father was a lumbering giant of a man.



Beth had seemed to inherit the best from each of her parents, with the same small shapely figure as her mother but with thickly lashed dark eyes that were reminiscent of her father’s – although, whereas Richard Ward betrayed very little emotion in his, Beth’s were alive and passionate. Her beauty was bewitching. She preferred to leave her long brown hair loose down her back, but more often than not was obliged to wear it in a plump soft halo around her head. Tonight, in her haste to recruit the reluctant Ben and whisk him out of the house before they might be discovered, her hair flowed like a shimmering mantle about her small straight shoulders.



The carriage had reached its destination and was drawing into the kerbside. Turning to gaze at his sister, Ben sighed aloud. He knew in his bones that tonight was a great mistake and cursed himself for his part in it.



Knowing how her dislike for their mother troubled him, Beth leaned forward to place an affectionate kiss on his forehead. ‘Forgive me,’ she said tenderly, ‘I should not have said such a thing.’ But I can think it, she told herself. There was no love lost between her and her mother. Beth knew also that her own opinion of Esther Ward was shared all over London – especially in the rundown tenements and neglected houses that were ruthlessly demolished in the name of progress and without thought for the unfortunate souls who lived there. ‘Let’s not talk about her,’ she said now, ‘but I mean what I told you, Ben . . . I won’t let her come between me and Tyler.’



‘Oh, Beth!’ he groaned aloud. ‘You’re so young . . . so vulnerable. She’s only trying to protect you.’ But he knew it went deeper than that. Esther Ward was a formidable woman who excelled in getting her own way. Her daughter, although possessed of a strong and determined character, was everything lovely and gentle in a woman. She had a compassionate heart, and as a rule she was very forgiving, but where her mother was concerned Beth’s heart was cold. Too many times as a child she had offered her devotion to Esther Ward, only to have it rejected. Her childhood memories were still too vivid, too painful. She had known the kind of sorrow that did not pass with the years; she had seen the dark and cruel side of Esther Ward, and she could not find it in her heart to love her in the way she loved her father. Ben had seen the strangeness between his mother and sister, and had never really understood it. There was something awful between these two . . . something frightening. But then how could he expect Beth to forgive a mother who would shut her in the cellar for days on end, a small frightened child whose every word, every action, was seen as being a wicked challenge to her mother’s authority? During these long periods of punishment even Beth’s beloved dolls, bought by her father, would be confiscated. Richard Ward rarely intervened, for if he did then he too would be subjected to an endless tirade on his failings both as father and husband. Now, predictably, he was little more than a figurehead – always ready to offer advice and encouragement, but devoid of spirit. All his business energies were channelled through his wife.



‘I don’t need protection from Tyler.’ Beth’s dark eyes burned with conviction. ‘He’s a good man. You know that, don’t you, Ben?’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘Strong and forthright. A man like Father once was.’



‘Well, yes . . .’ Ben was obliged to tell the truth. ‘I believe Tyler Blacklock is a good man. But like I said, you come of reputable stock while he’s . . .’ He paused, his face flushing with embarrassment when she sharply intervened to finish the sentence for him. ‘He’s merely a labourer working for my father!’



After a short poignant silence while each deliberated on this angry exchange, Beth revealed, ‘Your argument is not much different from Tyler’s. When I saw him last, he tried to convince me that I’d be better off without him. Like you, he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me . . . constantly reminding me how our family is on the up and up and one day I will come into a sizeable inheritance. Do you know, he blames himself for the rift between me and . . . her.













































































’ She bowed her head, remaining silent for a while, her memories too bitter for words. Presently, she looked up and smiled. It was a sad smile, one that touched Ben deeply. ‘Oh, I do love him so. And I know we could be happy together.’ For a moment, just one fleeting moment, she was tempted to confide her secret in him. Instead, her dark eyes blazed defiantly. ‘I wouldn’t care if he swept the roads for a living. He’s a good and decent man, proud and industrious. He was fifteen years old when they threw him out of that orphanage, eleven years ago . . . penniless, without a friend in the world. And look how he’s improved himself. Why! You know how the foreman expects Tyler to keep an eye on the site when he himself is called away, and every man jack in Father’s employ looks on Tyler with respect.’



‘He’s ambitious, I’ll give you that.’ Ben’s face relaxed into a smile at his sister’s fierce defence of the man she loved. ‘And I believe he worships the ground you walk on, otherwise I would never have agreed to take part in this little escapade tonight.’ Releasing a long drawn-out sigh, he leaned back in the hard leather seat and raised his troubled brown eyes to the roof of the carriage. What he was doing was wrong, he knew that. And he reminded himself that, if they were to be discovered, the consequences – particularly for Beth – would be very grave indeed.



‘Please, Ben. I must talk with him,’ she pleaded softly. Only today she had overheard her mother arranging for Tyler to be dismissed from the Ward Development Company. Even now, Beth feared it might be too late. Perhaps he had already left the area.



Ben looked into his sister’s forlorn face, and the love he saw there made him both envious and afraid. For some inexplicable reason, it made him angry too. He wanted to destroy what Beth had with Tyler Blacklock, but, at the same time, hated himself for entertaining such destructive thoughts. Without a word he flung open the door and climbed down into the dark streets of a rain-swept September night. From darkened doorways and shadowy corners, narrowed shifty eyes watched his every movement. It was Friday, the day when most working men received their meagre pay packets. Whitechapel was a place where labourers gathered to talk and sup after a long hard week. But like all populous places, Whitechapel attracted other creatures, more scurrilous and lethal than the rats who scavenged the sewers beneath the city.



Glancing up at Beth, Ben’s voice carried a warning as he murmured, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ When she gave no response other than to plead with him to hurry, he shook his head, closed the door with a thud and called up to the driver, ‘Wait here. I won’t be long. And if you value the skin on your back, you’ll keep your eyes peeled. Guard her with your life!’



‘Don’t you worry, Guv, they’ll have to get through me afore they get to the lady.’ The driver of the carriage was a shrivelled old fellow, with leathery skin and a mouth full of crooked, decaying teeth. When he laughed, as he did now, it was a most unpleasant sight. He was still chuckling as the young man made his way over the cobbles and into the narrow alley where the flickering glow from the gas lamps threw sinister shapes before him. It was a haunted place, a place where it was impossible for the carriage to follow. At its farthest end the night was bathed in a yellowish glow by the light emanating from the windows of a public house. The misty evening air was filled with the sound of gruff male voices uplifted in a melodious rendering of the song ‘Danny Boy’. Deeply moved, and suddenly nostalgic, the carriage driver joined his own tuneless voice to the heartfelt crooning. ‘“From glen to glen and down the mountainside . . . for I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow, oh, Danny Boy, oh, Danny Boy, I love you so.”’ Like many of these dockers and labourers, he too had long ago left his old mammy back home in the green hills of Ireland. For the briefest moment a kind of sadness settled on him, but then his heart was gladdened by the singing. Oblivious of all else and forgetting the young man’s specific instructions, he was soon lost in the magic of it all, with his own comical discord soaring above the sound of voices issuing from the public house; all of this to the keen interest of two dubious-looking characters who ambled a little closer in order to peer into the carriage more easily.



Unaware that she was being observed, Beth closed her eyes and settled back in the seat, her mind heavy with thoughts of Tyler, and her troubled heart spilling over with love for him.



Was it really just a year since their first meeting? A smile played around the corners of her mouth as she recalled the incident in Regent Street. It was a few days before her twenty-third birthday – a day not unlike today, with the rain lashing down in a bitter cold wind that penetrated even the thickest layers of clothing. She remembered how desperately unhappy she had been, after fleeing from the house during a particularly harrowing scene between her mother and father. Listening from the hallway, she had desperately willed her father to assert his authority and for once – just once – win the argument. But as always he conceded to Esther Ward’s domineering nature. As a consequence a whole terrace of houses and the families living there became innocent casualties of what was arrogantly termed ‘progress’, but what was in fact just another means of making money . . . a ‘business transaction’ that took no account of homelessness and broken hearts.



For a long time afterwards, Beth found it difficult, almost impossible, to forgive her father. But beneath her disgust and frustration, she could not help but love that gentle giant, believing him to be as much a victim as the people whose homes were swept away in the wake of her mother’s relentless pursuit of power. Yet, in spite of her love for her father, Beth could not entirely rid herself of a deep sense of outrage at his weakness. This outrage found many outlets – not least of which was Beth’s rebellious attitude to the position which her mother had arranged for her at the finest milliner’s in London. Convinced that she could be more gainfully employed, Beth had appealed to her father. He in turn had appealed to Esther. The astonishing result was that Beth found herself installed as clerk in the family’s land development business. It was during her work here that she discovered further details about her mother’s malign influence.



On that day when she had fled from the house, when Tyler’s swift and courageous action had saved her from being crushed beneath the wheels of a carriage and four, she had found him a wonderful friend and companion. It wasn’t long before that friendship deepened into a strong abiding love.



Leaning forward to look out of the window in the expectation that her brother might be returning with Tyler, Beth did not see the two suspicious characters stealing up ever closer to the carriage. Even as she watched the alley intently, their outstretched grimy fingers were reaching towards her.



‘Tyler! . . . Tyler Blacklock!’ His voice was lost in the din. Undeterred and anxious that Beth should be returned home before she was missed, he thrust forward, hastily elbowing any obstacle out of the way, to numerous shouts of ‘Hey! Steady on, mate’ and ‘What’s yer bloody game?’ Once or twice he was good-naturedly embraced and encouraged to ‘Give us a song, yer bugger!’ Explaining that he was in a hurry, his eyes smarting from the thick layers of pipe-smoke that swirled in the air like so much grey fog, he ploughed a way through to his quarry. The acrid stench of booze and sweat hung round him like a clinging vapour. Now, as he burst through the warm writhing barrier of bodies, he all but fell headlong into Tyler Blacklock.



Swinging round to face him, Tyler’s exclamation was one of astonishment. ‘Ben! What in God’s name are you doing here?’ His ebony-green eyes flicked over and beyond the young man’s head, as though searching for something . . . someone. Mingled relief and disappointment momentarily showed on his handsome features before he returned his quizzical gaze to Ben.



‘You might well ask,’ he gasped. ‘I’ve asked myself that more than once tonight. It’s Beth. She intended to find you this evening – with or without my help. And I certainly wasn’t going to let her roam the streets of Whitechapel on her own.’



‘What!’ Tyler was horrified. Grabbing the younger man by the shoulders he demanded, ‘Are you telling me you’ve brought your sister here . . . to a place like this? Good God, man! Have you lost your mind? Don’t you know there’s a murderer on the loose hereabouts?’ His eyes widened with fear and his grip on the other man became so ferocious that Ben actually cried out.



When Tyler impatiently shoved him aside and pressed his way through the multitude of burly figures that barred his path, Ben careered after him, calling out, ‘I’ve left her in the carriage, with strict instructions to the driver. She’s safe enough from any “Ripper”.’ His loud and desperate statement brought a stunned hush to all who heard it. There had been murders hereabouts, savage unspeakable atrocities that chilled the blood of ordinary decent folk. The ensuing silence, and the fearful murmurings that followed, sent a rush of awful anticipation through the hastily departing men. However, the revellers’ anxiety lasted only as long as they could see both the men who had so openly talked of the ‘Ripper’. This was Friday night and their pockets were jangling with the weight of coins. Every man jack there was merry with the flush of booze, his loins warm in anticipation of lying between the soft white thighs of some fortunate woman. Whether she would be his own long-suffering wife or one of the many painted floozies who fell too easily into a man’s arms, only the night, and the extent to which the flow of booze had dimmed the fellow’s wits, would tell. For now the hour was young enough and the company not too demanding. Soon, their deep gruff voices were raised once more in song, and the doors swung to behind the departing men, shutting out both the night and the creeping shadows.



As they rushed out of the building and on to the dimly lit street, both men were instantly alerted to the scuffle taking place at the mouth of the alley. Dragged from his lofty place, the carriage driver was courageously grappling with one of the burly attackers, while inside the carriage an even fiercer struggle was going on. ‘God Almighty, she’s in trouble! Beth’s in trouble!’ Ben’s frantic cry soared above the din. Tyler was already running, but on hearing the shout, surged forward, his face set like granite and his powerful fists clenched in readiness. Leaving Ben to help fight off the rogue who was attacking the driver, he flung open the carriage door to launch himself on the dark bulky figure that was writhing with another on the floor of the carriage.



Tyler’s intervention was not a moment too soon. When the intruder pounced, Beth soon found herself pressed between the two seats, bucking and fighting, her small sharp nails scoring the podgy flesh of her assailant’s face and causing him to cry out. But he was not deterred by her spirited defence, seeming only to become even more excited. Thrusting his arms out to grasp her flailing fists into his own, he leaned into her, his putrid breath fanning her face. ‘Feisty little bitch, ain’t yer?’ he growled, his tiny smiling eyes almost lost in the ugly rise of pock-marked flesh above each cheekbone. Pinning Beth in a twisted painful position where she found herself unable to move, he inched his grotesque body forward, rising and falling on her in anticipation of imminent pleasures.



His hopes were swiftly shattered when an iron grip locked itself round the scruff of his jacket and hoisted him effortlessly through the air. ‘Hey! What the bleeding . . . ?’ His shout became a muffled moan when Tyler’s bunched knuckles caught him full force in the face. Reeling with pain he fell backwards, blood spurting from his nose. His instincts caused him to reach into his pocket. Tyler never saw the knife. He felt only the sharp searing pain as the blade sliced deep into his shoulder, then again into the soft flesh of his upper arm as the ruffian fell on him, drawing out the blade with the intention of sinking it deep into Tyler’s heart. But he hadn’t reckoned on the awesome strength of his opponent. During the ensuing bitter struggle, and though Tyler was badly injured, the ruffian was soon fighting for his own miserable life.



In desperation he pitched himself through the open carriage door to land with a muffled thud on the hard jutting cobbles below. Without pausing for a backward look, he seized his chance and fled down the narrow alley. Finding himself outnumbered, his accomplice soon followed suit, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing into the night, and the old man’s voice screaming after them, ‘Garn, yer cowardly buggers! What kinda rascal sets on an old feller an’ a helpless lady? Shame on yer! SHAME ON YER!’



‘You did well, old man,’ Ben reassured him, at the same time retrieving the old one’s cap from the cobbles and handing it to him. For all his bravado, it was clear the old fellow was badly shaken.



Beth was even more so. When Tyler drew her out from the small space beneath the seat where she had been trapped, she felt mortally ashamed. The front of her blouse was ripped open, exposing the milk-white skin of her breasts; her hair was dishevelled and there were angry red scratches running down her neck. In the soft light from the street lamp, she saw the look of horror on Tyler’s face as he lovingly folded her into his arms. His voice was low and trembling as he reassured her, ‘You’re all right, sweetheart. You’re safe now.’ When he felt her shiver against him, his voice became hard as he asked gently, ‘Did he . . . did that swine . . . ?’



She raised her head. The look in his eyes was terrible to see. ‘No,’ she murmured.



One word, just one word. It was enough. Relief flooded his face. ‘Thank God! I swear, Beth . . . there would have been no hiding place for him!’ Now he turned his anger on her, ‘What in God’s name was so desperately important that you could even think













































































of coming into Whitechapel . . . especially at this time of night?’



‘I had to see you.’ Her dark eyes were filled with pain. ‘I know I promised to think about . . . our relationship . . . to give it a week before we saw each other. But, oh Tyler, I don’t need to think about us. I love you.













































































I was so afraid you planned to go away.’



‘Without telling you?’ Half smiling, he shook his head. Suddenly, the pain was like a tide inside him. His shoulder was on fire and he could feel both blood and strength ebbing away. Even as his eyes sought Beth’s loveliness and his arms crushed her to him, his senses were dimming. When Ben poked his head into the carriage he was greeted with, ‘You should never have brought her here! For God’s sake, Ben, get her home.’ Slipping out of his jacket, Tyler wrapped it about her naked shoulders. ‘Take care of her, Ben.’



‘I won’t go until you agree to see me. Tomorrow!’ She was adamant.



Gently pushing her into the seat, Tyler promised. ‘We will













































































talk, Beth. You have my word on it.’



‘Tomorrow.’



‘Soon.’



‘Tomorrow!’



In the lamplight her dark eyes appraised him, boldly studying his features, the handsome strongly chiselled features, the thick wayward hair that fell over his forehead like dark splashes against a bronze canvas, and the eyes, darkly green, intense. Now, her gaze fell to his chin, square and determined, the broad muscular shoulders . . . a sense of fear flickered through her. Something was wrong!













































































In an instant she was on her feet, her outstretched hands reaching towards the vivid ruddy stain that ran from his shoulder and was spreading even as she watched. ‘BEN!’ Her shrill cry echoed into the night. She glanced towards the doorway where her brother was already clambering into the carriage. ‘He’s badly hurt,’ she said, her dark eyes frantic.



One look at the wound confirmed it. ‘She’s right,’ Ben agreed. ‘You’ve lost a deal of blood.’ Ignoring the other man’s protests, Ben eased him on to the seat. ‘We’ve got to get you to the Infirmary . . . and quickly.’



‘No Infirmary!’



‘Don’t be crazy, man. You’re bleeding to death.’



‘Just get Beth home.’ Tyler’s only thought was that she should be taken home as quickly as possible after her frightening ordeal. He suspected also that she had defied her parents in coming here. Tonight’s experiences had only confirmed what he had always believed – that, in loving Beth, he would bring her nothing but trouble.



‘I’ll













































































be the one to decide when I should go home,’ Beth told him angrily. Turning to the driver, who was leaning in at the doorway, she ordered, ‘The Infirmary . . . and for God’s sake, hurry!’ Alarmed, he nodded and began to scurry away.



‘NO!’ Tyler’s harsh shout brought the driver back to the doorway. Realising that he was rapidly losing consciousness, and knowing how Beth would have insisted on accompanying him into the Infirmary, with all its consequences, Tyler appealed to her brother. ‘No Infirmary, Ben,’ he murmured. ‘Send the carriage to my home, number twelve Lewisham Street.’ In that moment before his senses slipped away, he saw the other man nod in agreement. Ben understood. He knew his sister better than most. All the same, the younger man was mortally afraid that, in complying with Tyler’s instructions, he was condemning him to certain death.



The remaining two office staff – an aged dogsbody by the unlikely name of Methias Worry, and a giggly young woman with a unique talent for soothing irate business clients – had each secretly hoped that the despicable little man might choose not to return. However, he did, and Richard Ward for one breathed a sigh of relief, for though Tom Reynolds was without doubt a born troublemaker, and somewhat evil in character, he was also extremely clever and meticulous in everything he did. Not one brass farthing escaped his eagle eye, not a single mistake was allowed to pass his scrutiny. Using his ill-gotten skills, he had slyly wormed his way into Esther Ward’s personal favour when he discreetly brought it to her attention that a certain Tyler Blacklock – on the payroll of the Ward Development Company – had ‘dared to set his cap at your daughter’. Then, not satisfied with causing enough mischief to rouse Esther Ward’s darkest suspicions, he had gone on to point out how he felt it was his ‘. . . bounden duty to report how I saw the young man in question, in the company of your daughter, strolling through Regent’s Park, with all the world looking on’. Later, when Richard Ward was in turn confronted by his wife, he felt obliged to question the source of her information. Realising that in Tom Reynolds she had discovered a snoop who might well be of use in the future, Esther Ward had refused to disclose the source. Consequently, Richard was obliged to demand an explanation from Beth herself – and so the truth was out.



Beth did not regret that. She regretted only that her love for Tyler had created an even deeper rift between her father and mother. She suspected that Tom Reynolds was at the root of it all and many was the time when she had been sorely tempted to accuse him outright, but she had no proof and knew how invaluable he wa