TEMPLAR smiled down tenderly at the tiny infant she had just cradled to sleep, brushing back the fiery curls so like her own auburn tresses. Keri was the most important thing in her life, and for her she would gladly do anything. And if prices continued to rise as they were doing it could just come to that.

She sat down tiredly in the worn leather armchair, her bearing one of dejection and defeat. She just couldn’t manage any more. Keri was growing up all the time, and besides the food factor, she was getting too much of a handful for the elderly Mrs Ellis to look after. While she had still been a baby it hadn’t been so bad, but now that she was starting to crawl about her little fingers were into everything.

Templar buried her face in her hands, the tears of frustration and defeat coursing unheeded down her pale cheeks. What could she do? Oh, what could she do! If only Tiffany hadn’t died giving birth to Keri, they could perhaps have sought help from the baby’s father. But she had died. And Templar didn’t know who Keri’s father was. If only she hadn’t been working abroad two years ago, none of this would have happened, and perhaps Tiffany would still be alive. If only, if only, if only! How many times had she said the same things over and over to herself in the last year? And where did it get her? Nowhere!

She wouldn’t give Keri up, no matter what happened. She would rather starve first. She looked up quickly as a loud knock sounded on the door, glancing apprehensively at Keri as she began to stir. It had taken her a long time to get the baby to sleep, and if whoever it was at the door woke her up, she would give them a piece of her mind.

She got wearily to her feet, intending to open the door before her visitor repeated the loud knocking. Keri whimpered as she walked past and she lingered to give her a word of assurance. As if aware that her aunt didn’t want her to wake, the baby opened her green eyes, her tiny face creasing into tearful lines.

‘It’s all right, darling,’ Templar crooned softly, glaring resentfully at the door as the knocking resumed and the petulant voice of her landlady shouted through the rickety door.

‘I know you’re in there, Miss Newman!’ A harsh laugh accompanied this statement. ‘Where else would you be?’ she mumbled to herself, but loud enough for Templar to hear and be angered by it.

Templar opened the door angrily, standing in the doorway and effectively stopping the other woman entering as she attempted to walk in uninvited. A woman in her fifties, Mrs Marks was nothing if not curious. Templar was far too polite to call her nosy, but in truth that was actually what she was. Templar had had to put up with her unmistakable innuendoes about Keri’s parentage when she had first moved in, and she had never forgotten those hurtful remarks. The fact that she wasn’t really an unmarried mother had nothing to do with this woman, and Templar had chosen not to tell her that she was in fact the baby’s aunt and not her mother as everyone assumed.

If she could have found somewhere else as cheap and as convenient for her job she would have moved out long ago. But it was impossible. No one was willing to accept the unnecessary bother of a young baby in their house when they could get just as much money from a single person or a young couple. In fact Templar was surprised that Mrs Marks put up with the occasional noise Keri made with her crying. She had been told about it a couple of times, but how on earth was she supposed to quieten a young baby who was teething, and quite painfully too.

‘Yes, Mrs Marks?’ she asked stiffly.

‘Now don’t take that high and mighty tone with me, young lady,’ snapped the elderly lady, her breathing laboured from walking up the three long flights of stairs. ‘And you no better than you ought to be,’ she grumbled.

Templar held herself proudly erect, refusing to show that she was in any way affected by this woman’s barbs. ‘My morals have nothing to do with you, Mrs Marks,’ she replied coolly. ‘Now did you want something special, or is this just a social call?’ Templar hated letting this woman know she was getting under her skin, but she had had a hard day at work today, and then it had taken her over an hour to get Keri to sleep, and she hardly felt in the mood for pleasantries.

‘There’s no need to get cheeky with me, young lady. I came up here to tell you that Bert and me have been receiving complaints again. It isn’t good enough,’ she added for good measure.

Templar sighed heavily, running a harassed hand through her silky hair. ‘I’m sorry about the noise, Mrs Marks, but Keri’s teething, and I—–’

The landlady shook her head. ‘I’ve heard all your excuses before, and it makes no difference. That child does nothing but cry, and when it comes to receiving complaints from my other tenants then I’m afraid I have to do something about it.’

Templar gasped indignantly. Keri does not cry all the time, she’s a very placid baby. Goodness, you’d cry if you were in pain!’

‘Well, that’s as maybe,’ the woman shifted uncomfortably. ‘But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

‘To—–to leave—?’ Templar trailed off. ‘But I—I have nowhere else to go!’

The other woman’s face softened slightly. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said more gently. ‘If it was left to me I’d probably let you stay, but my Bert’s adamant about it. He wants your room vacated by the end of the week.’

‘But—’ Templar’s face was pale, her movements slow, ‘where can I go?’

‘Well, I’m sure I don’t know,’ Mrs Marks replied shortly. ‘Can’t that young man of yours help you out?’

She shook her head dazedly. She couldn’t ask Ken for help. He thought she was behaving stupidly anyway, insisting that she put Keri in a home and marry him. Until he had said that she had seriously been considering him as a prospective husband, but how could she marry a man who rejected a defenceless baby? The idea was unthinkable, and even if things did become so desperate that she did have to part with Keri, she certainly wouldn’t marry Ken. ‘No, I—–’ she broke off as Keri began crying, a loud choking sob that pierced the paper-thin walls.

Mrs Marks frowned deeply. ‘You see,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Not a moment’s peace. Oh, I feel sorry for the poor little mite, but I’d feel even more sorry for her if I didn’t have to listen to that noise all night.’ She turned away from the door. ‘Remember, the end of the week.’

How could she forget! Unthinkingly Templar picked up Keri, cradling her against the thinness of her own body. As if she realised something

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Deceit of a Pagan Carole Mortimer

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Deceit of a Pagan

Carole Mortimer