But Mary knew he meant every word. She had gone from prison to the doghouse.
To Mary’s amusement, Lilian, who buzzed about all the time at home, loved strolling. They were guests in a boarding house a few minutes from the promenade in Llandudno and they went for walks – strolls – each morning and afternoon, ambling up and down the prom and the pier, joining the crowd that watched when the steamer docked from the Isle of Man.
Dadda had provided ample spending money and Lilian, who was nothing if not sensible with the housekeeping, had blithely announced on their first day that they were jolly well going to spend the lot even if it meant they had to stop an extra week to do it.
This morning they had ambled along Invalids Walk and through Haulfre Gardens and now were returning, arm in arm, for one of Mrs Davis’s ample dinners when Lilian stopped dead – stopped speaking, stopped walking.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mary.
Charlie stood at the gate.
‘No, you can’t take her for a walk,’ Lilian snapped. ‘Her father would never forgive me.’
She was flustered but standing her ground. Mary’s arm felt warm as Lilian clamped it to her side, as if expecting Charlie to drag her away.
‘Then you’ll have to come along.’ He sounded breezy, but his rough-edged frown and intent gaze said he was as determined as Lilian. ‘I haven’t come here to be given a clip round the ear and sent home.’
‘You shouldn’t be here at all. Why are you here, anyroad? What’s our Mary to you? You’ve not seen her since that time you spirited her off in your motor car.’ Lilian’s posture slumped slightly as she looked at Mary. ‘Please don’t say you’ve been seeing him on the sly. Oh, Mary, what have you done?’
Her heart pumped hard, refuelling her body with vigour. Charlie had come looking for her. He had come to find her. He cared about her. Mary’s chest hitched. Tears weren’t far away, but they were tears of relief and gratitude. Charlie cared; he cared. She felt herself emerging from the weighty shadow of disapproval. She wasn’t alone any more.
‘Mother, please, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m vexed at you, our Mary, for thinking it could be.’
‘Don’t speak to her like that,’ said Charlie.
‘I’ll speak to her any way I choose. I’m her mother and I’ve her welfare at heart – which is more than you have, Charlie Kimber, or you’d leave her be.’
Charlie’s genial features turned to stone. ‘I think, Mrs Maitland, you’ve forgotten whom you’re addressing.’
Mary died a thousand deaths. She felt Lilian’s body stiffen, then the tiniest slackening, as if something inside her had crumpled.
‘I believe you owe me an apology,’ said Charlie.
‘Oh, Charlie – no.’ Mary made a move towards him, or tried to, but, crumpled or not, Lilian’s restraining arm didn’t budge.
‘Nay, love, he’s right,’ said Lilian. ‘I should apologise for being rude to my betters. I apologise, Mr Kimber. I shouldn’t have spoken out – and doesn’t that tell you something, Mary? You’ve got yourself tangled up with a lad your own mother can’t speak her mind to.’
Panic snaked through her. She had no control over what was happening. She remembered all those people piling into her cell, grabbing hold of her. Her heart had thudded then, and it was thudding now.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Lilian. ‘Let’s get you indoors.’
She found herself being borne resolutely through the gate. Lilian snapped at Charlie over her shoulder.
‘You’d best stop out here, sir. Mrs Davis won’t want strangers in her house.’
Mary stopped dead. She faced Lilian.
‘I want to speak to him.’
‘No, you don’t, lady. Your dad would throw a fit if he knew.’
‘Well, he doesn’t know and he needn’t unless you tell him.’
‘I’m not keeping your mucky secrets for you.’
‘He’s come all this way.’
‘That doesn’t mean you have to speak to him. He’s in the wrong. Don’t put yourself in the wrong an’ all.’
‘He’s my friend. We saw a lot of one another while I was at the clinic.’
‘My dear girl, oh, my lovely girl, it’s all make-believe. Your heart will get broken and the longer you let it go on, the worse it’ll be.’
‘We’re just friends.’ But it wasn’t true. He had used friendship to court her, but it was his staunch support, his belief in her, that had won her heart. Yes, her heart. If her feelings had been in any doubt, seeing Charlie today had swept them aside. He had defied every convention to find her.
‘Oh aye? Listen, love. He’s young and rich with nowt to do but enjoy himself. He goes to those meetings—’
‘He goes because he cares. He takes his responsibilities as heir seriously.’
‘He goes because it makes him feel dashing and modern, and he enjoys the young company and – yes, I will say it – he loves being with the girls. Why wouldn’t he? But he’s not like us. He’s had everything handed to him on a plate and now, because he attends meetings, he thinks he’s doing summat worthwhile.’
‘It is worthwhile.’
‘I’ll tell you what he’s doing. He’s enjoying mixed company without any pesky old ’uns keeping an eye out.’
‘You wanted me to attend meetings to meet someone suitable.’
‘Aye, love,’ Lilian answered. ‘Suitable.’
There was a sharp silence.
‘I’m going to see what he wants.’
Lilian gave her a look. ‘And nothing I say will stop you? Then how about what he said? Demanding an apology from me like that. It was humiliating.’
‘Mother, I’m sorry—’
‘Blind, that’s what you are. Blind.’
Mary took a step.
‘No, you don’t, not on your own. I’m coming with you and don’t kid yourself I won’t report every last word to Dadda, because I will.’
Charlie’s face lit up as they approached. Mary didn’t dare look at Lilian.
‘Fifteen minutes, Mr Kimber,’ Lilian said loudly, ‘and then we must head back yon for us dinner. Our Mary wants bonnying up a bit. Powky as a stick, she is, poor lass.’
Mary willed Charlie not to rise to the bait. He indicated a bench along the road.
‘Oh aye, tek the weight off us feet,’ said Lilian. ‘Oh, no you don’t – I’ll walk in’t middle, and I’ll sit in’t middle an’ all.’
To Mary’s relief, Lilian clamped her lips together and said not another word. She plonked herself in the centre of the bench. Mary sank down on one side, Charlie sat on the other.
‘When Uncle Edward and I came home from our trip, I went to the clinic and heard you no longer worked there,’ he began, ‘so I went to the agency, thinking they’d have helped you find another job, but they told me about the prison sentence. I couldn’t believe my ears. They told me about the hunger strike.’ Leaning forward, he looked across the implacable Lilian. ‘You poor girl, what you’ve been through. I went to your house, but no one was in. Then I remembered Emma works at that shop near the agency, so I tried there. I threw the family name around until they let me speak to her. She didn’t want to tell me where you were, but I made her.’
Lilian came back to life. ‘You coerced her? She’s just a child.’
‘There was no coercion. She told me willingly enough …’
‘Our Emma? Never!’
‘… when I told her she could be a bridesmaid.’
The cards had been good to Greg. Not that he believed in luck. If good things happened, it was because you made them happen. Equally, if bad things befell you, it was your own fault for slipping up – either that or someone had it in for you and they had worked to bring you down, in which case it was still your fault, because you shouldn’t have let your guard slip.
From that thought, it was an easy step to picturing Mr Jonas. Of all the moneylenders to be ensnared by, Jonas was the worst. He was ruthles
s. They all were, but other moneylenders didn’t chop off the tip of your finger if you failed to pay up at the appointed hour.
He had met a fellow that had happened to. Barrington, his name was. They had met just the once, at a country house on the Continent. The lady of the house was the middle-aged English widow of a wealthy frog, who kept her house full of company. If you were the friend of a friend, that was all the introduction that was required. His hostess was like an overblown bloom, past her best but clinging to the remnants of her loveliness by buying popularity and paying a personable young chap to dance attendance in public and, so it was widely assumed, roger her senseless in private. Of course, payment wasn’t supposed to enter into it, but everybody knew that was what it came down to. Those gold collar studs sported by Trevelyan were known to be a gift from Moira, as were the glossy new evening togs, not to mention the monogrammed cigar box, the monogrammed dram-flask, the monogrammed Meerschaum and – Greg recalled how he and some other fellows had pretended to throw up before laughing themselves silly – those coy cufflinks, one monogrammed JT, the other MdeV.
‘That’s nothing,’ said Trevelyan. ‘She’s having my dick monogrammed next week.’
That remark had made Greg look at him with new eyes. Apparently, the lapdog wasn’t as tame as dear Moira supposed. Perhaps it wasn’t so easy after all, being a kept man. The other fellows might josh about the going rate for a gold cigarette case, and Greg’s contributions to those conversations were as lewd as anyone’s, but, by the stars, what a price to pay.
It was at Moira’s country house that he and this Barrington chap had crossed paths in the wee small hours in a sitting room well away from the raucous partying that was another of the things that was apparently meant to make Moira appear youthful and vibrant. Greg, who had found all the company he wanted in a decanter of the finest French cognac, wasn’t pleased when Barrington walked in, but since he was clearly in search of the same sort of company, they proceeded to drink themselves into oblivion, swapping the odd remark.
The subject of money came up – or the lack of it. They agreed that living the way they did could be a bugger when funds dried up.
‘Things are pretty dry at present,’ said Greg, ‘or I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Me neither. Haven’t had a decent win in ages. Looks like it’ll be back to the moneylenders for me.’ Barrington held up his left hand. ‘I ’spect you’ve been wond’ring how this happened.’
‘How what happened?’ Greg peered. ‘Oh, that.’ The top joint of Barrington’s little finger was missing. ‘Born like it, were you?’
‘Nah. A snake called Jonas did it. Sliced it off. Well, not him personally, but his people. Vicious people he’s got. Know him, do you? If you don’t, you’re a jammy sod. If you do, take it from me: if he says to cough up by such a date, make damn sure you do. If you don’t … chop, chop.’
He had never seen Barrington again, but a year or so later he heard he had blown his brains out. Had Jonas lurked somewhere behind Barrington’s desperate decision?
Since quitting Jackson’s House, he had done well at the card tables and paid Jonas a hundred or so, but how long would it keep him sweet? It had bloody well better be for a decent amount of time, because he wasn’t sodding well wasting his skill on lining that bastard’s pockets day in, day out.
As he adjusted his bow tie, he vowed Jonas wouldn’t receive a penny more until he had relined his coffers with sufficient caboodle to keep him in comfort and firewater for the autumn.
That night, he lost. Badly.
‘Whatever possessed you?’ Lilian asked. She dumped the groceries on the kitchen table and glared at Mary in a mixture of vexation and despair. ‘Do you know what the neighbours are saying?’
‘I don’t care,’ Mary claimed bravely, though it shook her to see Lilian agitated.
‘Well, you should. There was enough talk when I married your father, most of it started by Granny, I might add, about how I could have had the butcher but I fancied linking myself to the Kimbers. And you know what they’ll say about you, don’t you? Like grandmother, like granddaughter, that’s what.’
Indeed, Granny was the only one in favour. It was Martin this and Martin that, as if it had been a match made in heaven, when everyone knew Martin Kimber had made a nitwit of himself by eloping with a pretty face.
‘You’re always on about needing summat to write about,’ said Granny. ‘What about how love conquers all?’
She felt like cringing, but Dadda or Lilian would be certain to pounce. Love conquers all: was that how Granny saw herself? It was a far cry from the way the rest of the world saw her and Grandfather Martin.
Was Mary alone in seeing equality between herself and Charlie? They had started as friends; they had interests in common. This was the twentieth century. The status of women was changing – and if it wasn’t, it should be.
‘Get your mother to invite me to tea,’ said Charlie.
But, ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Lilian cried. ‘Us inviting a Kimber – what sauce! It’d be social climbing.’
‘It’s his idea, not mine.’
You didn’t keep the heir waiting. Mary was duly authorised to invite her intended for that Saturday.
Saturday morning saw Lilian separating eggs, whites for macaroons, yolks for maids of honour. The butcher’s boy came whistling along with tomorrow’s joint and a tongue for today’s tea.
‘That’ll want careful boiling,’ Mrs Bethell decreed in an ominous voice, ‘else you’ll never peel the skin off. I’ll get off now and give our Frank his dinner and I’ll be back later.’
She pulled her shawl around her and departed.
‘She’s coming back?’ Mary asked with a sense of foreboding.
‘Just to lend a hand.’
Emma arrived home from the shop. Dadda had written a letter, explaining that Mr Charlie Kimber was visiting and so Emma had been given special permission to be home for the occasion.
As four o’clock approached, Mary and Emma made sandwiches.
‘Proper sandwiches, not butties,’ said Lilian. ‘Thin slices, no crusts.’
‘Shouldn’t Mrs B be doing this?’ Emma whispered. ‘I thought she was coming back to help.’
A shriek had them hurrying to the front room. Ozymandias, King of Kings was sprawled in ginger splendour on the best chair, untroubled by Lilian’s horror.
‘Emma, put him out – Mary, the upholstery brush—’
Mary took charge. ‘Emma can finish the sandwiches. I’ll sort this out.’
Mrs Bethell returned as they were disappearing upstairs to change. Not a word had been said, but they all reappeared decked out in their Sunday best. You developed certain instincts when you were a poor relation.
The clock on the mantelpiece pinged the hour and everyone sat up straighter, but nothing happened and Mary felt deflated. At one minute past, the knocker sounded, causing a feeling of anxious bustle to descend on the Maitlands’ seldom-used front room. This was worse than going to Ees House. It ought to be easier to have Charlie here, but it wasn’t.
But at the sight of his easy smile, Mary felt a wave of relief and pride. He was so genial, so likeable. He would put everyone at their ease. Her family would warm to him and the social gap between them wouldn’t seem so wide afterwards.
‘It’s kind of you to invite me,’ said Charlie.
‘Our pleasure, I’m sure,’ Lilian replied in self-consciously refined tones that made Mary curl her toes inside her shoes.
‘How are things at the town hall, sir?’ Charlie asked.
Mary sat by with Lilian and Emma, hands in laps. She caught Charlie’s glance. Did he expect her to chip in with an opinion? That was what she would have done at the agency, but it wasn’t how she behaved at home. At home, Dadda spoke and everyone listened.
She noticed Lilian’s eyes flicking in the direction of the clock. The moment there was a gap in the conversation, Lilian shook the little ornamental brass bell and Mary stared in horrified fascination
as the door opened and in hobbled Mrs Bethell, done up like a dog’s dinner in a vast apron.
‘Tea, if you please, Bethell,’ said Lilian.
Mary felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. Then mortification streamed through her veins. Pity, too. Poor Lilian, trying to be genteel.
Mrs Bethell returned, bearing a huge tray, which got the better of her at the last moment and she plonked it down with a clatter of china.
‘This looks splendid,’ said Charlie. ‘Your maid has done us proud.’
‘I believe the girls made the sandwiches,’ said Dadda, ‘and Mrs Maitland is a dab hand at cakes.’
‘Then I must try a bit of everything.’
Mary leapt in before Dadda, thickheaded male that he was, could commit the ultimate blunder of adding that their supposed maid was actually the daily char. ‘Won’t you tell us about the Olympic Games, Charlie?’
‘The Olympics …’ Charlie talked and the Maitlands listened politely like the poor relations they were.
Chapter Nineteen
No wonder Grandfather Martin and Granny had eloped. Being engaged to Charlie was surprisingly uncomfortable. Both families disapproved – apart from Granny, and her triumph was as hard to bear as the displeasure. The Kimbers wanted a long engagement, which meant Dadda and Lilian did too, and Mary, more than willing to prove their strength of feeling, would have agreed, only Charlie insisted upon marrying at once.
‘We’re sure it’s what we want, so why wait?’
She found herself agreeing, not just because she was eager to marry him, but also because she couldn’t leave the house without being stared at.
Lilian found it difficult too.
‘All those years when you were an office girl, it got harder and harder for me to smile and say “Congratulations” to other women when their lasses got wed. I used to dream of you finding a young man. I wanted people to say “She’s done well for herself” because you’d got a fellow who had a steady job with prospects. Now they’re saying it, but you should see the looks on their faces.’
The Poor Relation Page 20