And behind the concealing door Sarah, in the darkness, sat tiredly down on the bottom step of the stairs, bowed her head and wept also.
Chapter Eighteen
The day that red-headed Annie Melhurst became Mrs Charles Benton was one that remained in many memories for a long time.
The weather was, for November, kind, though the pale sunshine held little actual warmth and the scurrying wind that ruffled wedding finery and nipped sharply at exposed ankles carried in it the cutting edge of approaching winter.
Inside the cold church, and in the odd, self-conscious atmosphere of such occasions, the two families gathered, strangers divided rigidly by the line of the centre aisle – like two armies, Molly thought suddenly – drawn up to face each other across a battlefield. Speculative looks flicked, as if casually, from feathered hat to buttoned shoe; glances clashed and slid from each other like silently crossed swords. If the matter were to be decided on simple numbers, then the Bentons were outclassed. Molly, her black hair reaching tendril fingers up and around the upswept brim of her little hat, which sported the curled ostrich feathers known popularly as “Kruger’s Ticklers”, cast a woman’s lightning glance over the gathering: Annie’s side of the church was already filled to capacity, while the Bentons, including Molly, Sam and little Danny, managed – thinly spread – only to take possession of the first two or three pews. But then numbers were not all, not in any battle, and if the Bentons were outnumbered they yet had heavy armaments to balance that; Molly knew that there was not a soul in the church who did not believe – whether they would openly admit it or not – that Annie had “done very well for herself”. In these class-conscious days even the separate classes had their own clearly recognized divisions, and the Melhursts – a seemingly enormous family from Canning Town whose way of life, according to Annie, embraced a kind of happy-go-lucky shiftlessness that did not admit to the necessity, or even the desirability of a steady job – were streets removed from the hard-working and respectable Bentons. Today, however, the Melhursts were putting on their very best front. An almost truculent air of scrubbed and shining respectability issued from their side of the church. Someone – and looking from the corner of her eye at Annie’s formidable mother, Molly had not much doubt who that someone was – had persuaded, bullied or threatened even the most distant and careless cousin into his best; and the peacock shades of choker and scarf, the rakish angle of cap and hat, the extravagance of feather and fur made the Bentons look not only few in number but a little dull besides.
In the body of the church someone coughed, and the sound echoed to the lofty roof; murmurs and whispers and subdued giggles bespoke a restless and excited congregation. In the front pew sat Charley, bolt upright in the place of honour, awaiting his bride with eyes half-closed against the glare of candles and his normally ruddy face totally colourless. Even the back of his neck, encased in a collar so stiffly starched and tall that it looked as if any sudden movement might decapitate him, looked sick. The spectacular festivities of the night before, in which half the young male population of West Ham had joined, had left him looking more like death warmed up than an eager groom; and neither the buckets of ice-cold water that Jack had obligingly poured over his head, nor the swallowing of enough Cockle’s anti-bilious pills to make him rattle had much improved matters. It was not just the tall starched collar that was keeping Charley Benton’s head unnaturally still this day.
His best man and older brother was in better shape, though Molly thought she noted a certain pallor that indicated that he too had enjoyed the celebrations. Behind Jack and Charley, Sarah sat beside Nancy and Edward, her statuesque figure encased in tasteful blue alpaca trimmed with fox fur, her hair swept fashionably up beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Beside her Nancy looked slender to the point of fragility, her small, neat head and arrow-straight back completely still. She was dressed in the colours of autumn, the blouse that Sarah had made her toning exactly with her stylish, slightly severe russet suit, a small brown boater set at a firm angle upon her smooth, folded hair. Somehow the sight of her sobered Molly; there was an unnatural tension in her stance, a line to her set, downturned mouth that twisted Molly’s heart. She was still watching Nancy when the crash of the organ brought her back to the occasion as Annie appeared at the church door.
Charley, standing now at the altar with Jack, squared his shoulders. In a whisper of lace and flowing silky white Annie passed upon her father’s arm, her head high, her eyes fixed on Charley’s broad back. She carried a great trailing bouquet of fragrant white flowers, the green fronds spilling gracefully from her hands almost to the hem of her dress. Beneath the veil her red cloud of hair glinted in the light of the candles. The lovely, sharp lines of her face showed clearly through the mist of lace. Rose, the eldest of her many sisters, followed, a fair, solid girl in lemon and green with a wide flowered hat and a worried expression. As they reached the altar the sound of the organ died and there was an excited rustling hum from the congregation, which quieted as the rector lifted a solemn eye and after clearing his throat twice to attract the groom’s attention from the tall vision in white that stood beside him, began the service.
To Molly, used to a more lengthy and complicated ceremony, it all seemed over almost before it had started; suddenly Charley was slipping the ring on his Annie’s finger. Molly saw a flutter of lace in Sarah’s lifted hand, but across the aisle the display was nowhere near so discreet; Annie’s mother was openly crying. Molly blinked, aware of a flutter of as-yet-unidentified emotion; then, as the new husband’s big hands lifted the fragile barrier of lace from his wife’s face and he bent to kiss her, Molly knew suddenly that what she was feeling was shamefully close to envy. She fought it down; it wasn’t only Charley and Annie who deserved better from her than that. Sam’s big-boned hands were folded quietly about a battered prayer book, his golden wedding ring gleaming dully in the candlelight.
Mr and Mrs Charles Benton turned from the altar and led the way out of the church. Annie, as she passed, caught Molly’s eye and winked happily. Molly, her wayward emotions back under control, smiled back.
Then they were out in the chill, sunny air. Charley and Annie climbed aboard the little shining ribbon-and-streamer-decorated trap that had been hired, complete with a white pony whose harness rang with tiny silver bells and a resplendently uniformed driver, to take them at the head of a motley procession of vehicles – from farm wagons to little coster carts – through the streets of Canning Town to Alfred Road and the party that everyone in the neighbourhood had been looking forward to for weeks.
The wedding celebrations encompassed almost the whole street. Doors stood open up and down the road, neighbours who had not come to the church, but who had no intention of missing the party, crowded the pavements waving and shouting as the little jingling trap spanked past. In Annie’s house almost every stick of furniture had been cleared from the parlour and a large and battered piano had been installed. The food had been laid out next door; roast meats and pies, jellies and trifles; while in the kitchen the men broached a much-needed cask of beer and the first, thirsty gulps went almost without swallowing down throats dry as the Sahara from a day’s abstinence. Some way down the street, in the house of Annie’s Aunt Hilda, the older members of the family were gathering; every chair in the neighbourhood had been lined against the walls, and elderly aunts and uncles settled themselves comfortably, the talk already turning to births, deaths and marriages. Those with younger legs who were unlucky enough to get caught were sent scurrying along the road for a plate of goodies and a glass of claret; “a big one, mind, save you going again—”
In such a family atmosphere, Sarah, Nancy and Edward, together with Molly and Sam, were left for a short while as a small island isolated in a sea of good-natured greetings and laughing, back-slapping reunions. But not for long; Annie exploded from the crowd, her long dress trailing, her eyes brilliant with laughter and happiness, threw her arms about her new mother-in-law then hugged Nancy with the mock-di
smayed exclamation “Another sister! As if I haven’t got enough already! Come on, all of you. Mum and Dad are dying to meet you.” She kissed Molly and gave Danny a finger to grasp. “We’ve got plans for you, too, little monkey,” she said, “we’re not going to have you spoiling your Mum and Dad’s fun,” and with her free hand she caught the flying curls of a passing sister who stopped, willy-nilly, with an injured shriek. “Betsy, take Moll to Aunt Hilda’s. There’s a cot there,” she added, smiling to Molly, “in a nice quiet little room. You can feed him there too if you like.”
“Oh, Annie, how kind—”
“We aim to please,” Annie grinned. “Couldn’t have our Moll missing all the fun could we? Don’t worry. The old’uns’ll be downstairs. They’ll listen out for him.”
Molly followed little Betsy to Aunt Hilda’s. With the baby settled comfortably upstairs she spent a few busy moments before a dingy mirror in one of the other, empty, bedrooms. It had been a long time, she realized suddenly, since she had enjoyed this kind of excitement. She stepped back and smiled a little into the mirror, not dissatisfied with what she saw. Her sweeping dark blue velvet skirt nipped her tiny waist fashionably small; the matching little bolero jacket cast glints of blue into her wide, blue-grey eyes; the high-necked, softly frilled blouse beneath it complemented perfectly the small face above it. Her hair, as always, resolutely went its own way regardless of her efforts and stubbornly resisted being smoothly upswept as it should, but beneath the little hat with its curling feathers, the effect, she told herself, was not altogether bad, even if it were not strictly fashionable. Happily she slipped down the stairs and along the street to Annie’s house, where she found Sam, Sarah and Nancy awaiting her with her first glass of claret.
Edward was nowhere to be seen. Children seldom stand on the same ceremony as their elders and he was out in the street kicking, punching and rolling in the gravel as if he had known his companions all of his life. As Molly joined the group so did Charley, kissing his mother and sister and slapping Sam on the back. Sam looked a little tired, but then, thought Molly with sinking heart, he almost always did. Nancy’s high-boned face was unusually flushed, and her dark eyes were shining. Excitement – and the claret – had shaken her from her usual cool detachment. Yet still, to Molly, there was something disturbing in the way those bright eyes wandered ceaselessly about the room, never resting for long on one face, never giving away the thoughts behind them. As Molly watched, Nancy tilted her head, and with a kind of defiant finality in the movement drained her glass. Sam, smiling, proffered his, scarcely touched, and with no hesitation she took it and tossed it back.
Over the heads of the crowd Molly caught sight of Jack’s earnestly-bent head. He was talking to a group of equally serious-faced men. Unreasoning exasperation stirred in her. She lifted her glass and drained it. Sam, with an apologetic glance in her direction, drifted to the outskirts of the group around Jack. Molly reached for another glass of claret.
Afternoon turned into evening in a noisy, hot, jangling haze. She spoke to people whom she did not know, and half the time in the hubbub could not hear a word of what they said in return. She laughed a lot, her smoke-blue eyes jewel-bright behind their sweeping lashes, and her glass seemed to empty and refill with remarkably little effort. She found herself to her own surprise extremely popular with the younger male members of the Melhurst clan. In Annie’s house someone’s uncle was well settled at the piano, upon which the empty beer glasses were lined up like skittles. The room was hot and crowded; a young man grabbed Molly and swung her into a stumbling attempt at a waltz. Laughing, she held him up as long as she could, then deposited him in an empty chair. Before she could make good her escape, however, the piano crashed discordantly again and she found herself dancing in a fast whirling circle partnered by an elderly man who wheezed and panted and declared to all who would listen that he could dance all the youngsters under the table, see if he couldn’t. Later, still breathless, she joined the surge of people who swept along the street to the house where Charley and Annie were about to cut the wedding cake. There was no sign of Sam in the crowd. Nancy was standing near the table, half-leaning against a tall young man who had his arm about her waist. The speeches were delivered, the cake cut, and to roars of approval the bride kissed the groom, very thoroughly. In the hubbub Jack fought his way to her side with a slice of cake and yet another glass of claret. She accepted both with appreciation. He then stood in a silence so awkward that it almost tempted Molly to ask what on earth he had found to talk so volubly about to the menfolk. However, a moment before she was driven to such impolite lengths he did manage finally to ask was she enjoying herself, and was Danny settled happily? She said yes, rather shortly, to both questions, her irrational irritation exacerbated by the twinge of guilt she felt at not in fact having looked in on the baby for a while. Before either of them could say more a tall and buxom girl with blonde hair and china-blue eyes and a neckline that drew the gaze of every man in the room sidled up to Jack and said in a small baby-voice that grated Molly’s nerves like a file, “So here you are, you naughty boy. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come an’ dance, darlin. You promised you would.”
The colour in Jack’s darkly weathered face deepened painfully. “I’m talking, Dolly—’’ His voice had that oddly helpless note of a strong man faced with a woman he does not quite know how to handle.
“Don’t worry yourself on my account.” Molly was brusque, “I was going anyway.” And beneath Dolly’s china-blue, calculating gaze she turned on her heel and left.
Jack’s question about Danny had for the moment put thoughts of Sam’s whereabouts from her mind. She had fed the baby earlier, but had not checked on him since. She slipped along the cold, dark street to Aunt Hilda’s and there, in the little room upstairs, she found them both. Danny was sound asleep in the cot; Sam lying neatly on top of the small bed that occupied the other half of the room slept also, his thin face shadowed, his breathing difficult. The sight sobered her. She pulled a thin blanket over him. He sighed and stirred but did not wake. Quietly she left them, shutting the door gently behind her and leaning for a moment, listening. The sounds of talk and laughter drifted up from below. In the dark garden, Edward and his new friends, taking full advantage of their unaccustomed freedom, were shrieking like banshees. She wondered for a moment if perhaps it would be best after all to wake Sam and the baby and take them both home. She gave a slight, rebellious shake of her curly head. They were safe and comfortable and she, for the first time in an age, was enjoying herself. She went back to the party.
Some time later she found herself part of a group of young people that included Nancy and her tall young man, who was by now quite comically unsteady on his feet. The talk was loud, the laughter louder, and the noise altogether deafening. Molly found herself watching Nancy. Something had changed in the thin, boyish face; the light in the dark eyes was reckless, the smile too ready. Her long brown hair had come unpinned – deliberately or by accident, wondered Molly? – it hung, straight as rain, down Nancy’s back, swinging as she moved, making a shining, silky shawl for her slender shoulders. In her hand was yet another empty glass. Then Molly became aware that she was not the only one to be watching Nancy. A tall, compellingly ugly young man with dark, diamond-sharp eyes and a crooked, unkind mouth stood still as a drawn figure, leaning against the wall. He watched her steadily for some moments before pushing himself gracefully from the supporting wall and moving through the crowd to Nancy’s side. He slid an arm around her waist and detached her with no difficulty from her tipsy young escort.
“Come on, sweetheart. They’re dancin’ down the road.”
Nancy looked up at him, her eyes wide and intensely focussed upon the unsmiling, arrogant face, her body tensed against his arm. Then her lashes swept downwards and her head drooped in an oddly submissive gesture. He smiled then.
Alarm bells rang in Molly’s mind. Dangerous. This one was dangerous.
“Nancy—”
�
�Dancing!” The whole crowd was seized by the word, swayed as one towards the door, and Molly found herself swept along with them. Nancy, within the confident circle of the strange young man’s arm, did not look up at Molly’s call.
They surged down the street to the house where music pounded through open door and window. Someone had produced a banjo; the music changed tempo suddenly, irresistibly. It was country music; intemperate, hand-clapping, foot-tapping rhythms that infected them all. With a whoop they were off, galloping, swinging, stamping their feet. Molly found herself whirled off the ground, passed from one to another, laughing breathlessly. Out of nowhere a chain was formed and hand to hand, left to right, they wove and swung. Faster and faster. The weaker spirits dropped out and leaned, panting, against the walls, clapping and calling encouragement to the others, including Molly, who danced on as though bewitched, as though they would never, could never stop. She caught a glimpse of Nancy whirling wildly with the man with the face of a bandit, her hair tangling them both in a silken, flying net, then she lost sight of them as she herself was drawn back into the weaving, dancing line. She lifted her eyes dizzily, missed a step and almost stumbled as there, swinging towards her, head and shoulders above the crowd, his honey hair wild, his brilliant wilful blue eyes fixed upon her, came Harry, alive again and laughing.
The music receded, something thumped terribly in her head. Reality faded. He came to her, caught her in strong hands. She relaxed to an awful, exhilarating vertigo, closing her eyes against the spinning, splintering lights. His body was warm and hard as rock; to feel it against hers brought her alive, when she had not until that moment realized that she, too, had been dead. She laid her face into his strong neck, breathing him, her lips on smooth, warm skin. The banjo had died almost to quiet, the excitement had drained at last to a lulling waltz. Hard hands, possessive almost to the point of pain, would not release her, nor did she want them to. And it was Jack who held her, hardly moving. She knew it, had known it all along. For long, suspended moments they remained so, vividly aware each of the other, of breath and blood in unison. She could not lift her head to look at him. He had set her on her feet with savage care, stood now with his face resting lightly on the damp mass of her hair, his eyes closed. They moved, bemusedly, to the distant sound of the music. They were not alone in such indiscretion; hardly anyone could now be said to be truly dancing and some sly hand had turned down the lamps. He held her hard to him with that perilous and irresistible strength that she remembered so well in other hands; hands that, like these, were scarcely aware of their own power. Time stopped. The world withdrew. With no volition they found themselves near the door; which of them first moved towards it would have been impossible to say. They slipped together down the narrow, darkened passage, through a tiny scullery and into the frosty, star-brightened back yard. She it was who stopped, just beyond the door, and slipped quietly and inevitably into his arms, her face lifted for his kiss, and it was he, long minutes later, who broke away, shaking like a girl.
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