Verity had ventured up to her room in the attic a few times, when she knew the woman was out for the afternoon, in an effort to discover something more about her. But she was always disappointed. The room was as neat and tidy as the housekeeper was, the white counterpane smoothed as if she’d taken the flat iron to it, her navy-blue uniform dress hung on a hanger behind the door, her stout, highly polished black lace-up shoes tucked beneath the dressing table. Beside her narrow iron bed were a few library books and an alarm clock. Verity hadn’t been rude enough to look in drawers or open the wardrobe, but she had hoped to see a few photographs or something which might suggest the woman had family and friends.
‘Yes, she was looking for you. She wanted you to accompany her to Selfridges. She wasn’t best pleased, Verity,’ Miss Parsons said, pursing her lips in disapproval.
Verity knew she would get a lecture later, and it wasn’t fair because whenever her mother went to Selfridges she only wanted to look at dresses or try on hats, and her role was to just stand there and be admiring. There was no point in even trying to get Miss Parsons on her side, she always seemed to relish Verity being in trouble.
‘I’ll go and read in my room,’ she said, and walked quickly up the backstairs to the entrance hall.
Meeting Ruby had made a huge impact on Verity. It wasn’t just that she was from a completely different way of life, however fascinating that was, but it felt as if she’d been intended to meet the girl for some specific reason as yet unknown to her.
That was why she paused in the hall; she was trying to see her home as Ruby might see it. She thought her new friend would be awed by the large semi-detached, three-storey house with a basement. Even from the front gate it looked rather grand, with the manicured front garden, the stone lions on each side of the wide stone steps, and the impressive front door at the top of them.
Once inside, the entrance hall was spacious, the floor tiled black and white like a chequerboard. A glass door opened on to the front veranda, with her father’s study next to it. Then, at the back of the house, overlooking the garden, were the drawing and dining rooms. The staircase was wide with polished wood banisters and a beautiful stained-glass window at the turn of the stairs, halfway up.
At Christmas time her father always had a big tree delivered for the hall, and her mother made garlands of holly and red ribbon to decorate the banisters. All the presents, including those for people who joined them for Christmas Day lunch, would be arranged around the tree. Until last Christmas Verity had thought it a completely magical time, and that she was lucky to have such a wonderful home.
But on Christmas Night something had happened that spoiled that belief for ever. Verity had tried to blot it from her mind, but she couldn’t, and she lived in fear of it happening again. Once she wouldn’t have dreamed of going out alone, but now outdoors – even alone – seemed a great deal safer, even if she did incur her mother’s wrath by going out without permission.
She moved on then, turning to run up the stairs to her bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was beautiful – a large room overlooking the back garden, and decorated in soft peach and cream. She had a wardrobe full of clothes, a huge doll’s house complete with a whole family of dolls living in it. She had hundreds of books, jigsaw puzzles, games, dolls and other toys, all sitting neatly on shelves, yet she hardly touched them now. Something dark and bad had entered this room at Christmas and she could still feel its presence, even in bright sunshine.
Yet it wasn’t so obvious today, after meeting Ruby. She knew her parents would be horrified if they knew she’d been fraternizing with what they would call ‘a guttersnipe’, but Verity had really liked her and, regardless of their opinions, she fully intended to see Ruby again tomorrow.
Cynthia Wood sipped her pre-dinner gin and tonic and looked out on to the garden reflectively, wondering what to do about Verity. It was dusk now, Miss Parsons would be ready to serve dinner soon, and if Cynthia was going to punish her daughter by making her stay in her room without any dinner, then she had to act now.
She really couldn’t be bothered with this sort of confrontation, but she knew Miss Parsons was likely to tell Archie what had taken place when he returned home from his business trip. He would be angry if she hadn’t taken a firm line, both with her and Verity.
Archie always seemed to be angry these days, and she seemed to spend a huge amount of time trying to appease him. Once upon a time, she would have sneered at any woman who did that, but the truth was she had become scared of him. Nowadays when he flew into a rage it was like viewing a really dangerous twin brother who was normally locked away.
Cynthia got up from her armchair by the window and looked at herself in the overmantel mirror. She had been a very pretty child – tiny, blonde and blue-eyed – but now, as a woman of forty-two, she could see her features were too sharp and birdlike to be thought of as pretty, and her once pink and white complexion was a little muddy, with many fine lines around her eyes. Other women envied her slender shape, and her dress sense, but in truth she would rather be envied for being fun, or for her intelligence, than for a shape that owed everything to being too nervous to eat much. Besides, anyone could learn good dress sense if they studied fashion magazines and browsed through Selfridges as often as she did.
Sighing deeply, Cynthia left the drawing room just as Miss Parsons was coming up the stairs from the basement.
‘I’m going up to tell Verity she’ll get no dinner tonight and must stay in her room,’ Cynthia told her housekeeper. ‘I think I’ll have my dinner on a tray in the drawing room, as my husband won’t be coming home tonight.’
‘Very good, Mrs Wood,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘I’m glad to see you being firm with her. Girls of her age do tend to be wilful and disregard parental advice.’
Cynthia was tempted to remind the woman she was a housekeeper, nothing more, and to keep her opinions about how to deal with wayward girls to herself, but she didn’t. If Miss Parsons was to leave, or to tell Archie what she’d said, neither outcome would be a happy one. Cynthia needed a housekeeper. Without one, she’d never be able to hold her head up on her bridge nights, as everyone who was anyone in Hampstead or Swiss Cottage had one. As for Archie, he would almost certainly slap her around because he loved Miss Parsons’ cooking and claimed his wife couldn’t boil an egg without burning it.
Without knocking, Cynthia went straight into Verity’s bedroom and found her lying on her stomach on the bed, reading a book.
‘No dinner for you tonight,’ she said sharply. ‘Perhaps being hungry will make you sorry you chose to ignore the fact I’d said we were going out together this afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ Verity said, sitting up on her bed. ‘I was just walking and forgot the time. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You know your father doesn’t like you wandering around alone,’ Cynthia said, irritably. ‘There are all kinds of dangers out there for young girls. We just want to keep you safe. Now promise me you won’t do it again?’
‘I can’t promise that, Mother,’ Verity retorted. ‘Situations just crop up sometimes and change things. But I will promise that in future if you’ve asked me to go somewhere with you, I will be there.’
Cynthia was quite aware that her daughter hadn’t given her the kind of pledge that she’d wanted, but it was enough for now.
‘Make sure you do,’ she said, and backed out of the room.
Verity smiled with relief as the door closed. It was clear her father wasn’t coming home tonight, as her mother hadn’t changed for dinner.
Verity couldn’t care less about missing dinner. She had no appetite, and she had some biscuits in a tin if she felt hungry later.
She’d got off lightly.
CHAPTER TWO
Verity felt quite relaxed as she left the house the next morning. Mother hadn’t told her they were going anywhere today, in fact over breakfast she’d been talking about sorting out her summer clothes in readiness for when the warm weather
arrived. Verity had offered to post some letters on the way to the library. Of course there would be trouble when she eventually came home, but Verity had already argued with herself that she wasn’t breaking a promise – and anyway, Ruby might be bored with her company within an hour or two so she’d be back by lunchtime.
She had chosen her clothes with care, wanting to make the difference between herself and Ruby less obvious. Last year’s navy-blue coat was well worn and too short, earmarked by her mother to send to the next church jumble sale, and the dress beneath it a dull, dark green one which she’d never liked. A navy beret pulled down over her ears completed the picture of a very ordinary girl, and though Miss Parsons had looked a little surprised at her appearance, she’d made no comment.
Verity had only been waiting by Hampstead underground station for a minute or two when Ruby came haring up the road.
‘I thought you wouldn’t come,’ she yelled breathlessly while still fifty yards away. ‘But I came just in case you did.’
‘Why didn’t you think I’d come?’ Verity asked once her new friend was beside her.
‘Posh bints like you don’t normally even speak to me,’ Ruby said.
Verity wondered what ‘bints’ meant but she was so pleased to see the delight on Ruby’s face she didn’t ask. ‘I try to keep promises,’ she said. ‘I was in trouble yesterday for not being home in time to go out with Mother; I didn’t get any dinner.’
‘You’re lucky your ma cares where you go. I could stay away for a week and mine wouldn’t even notice I was missing.’
‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Cos she’s always drunk,’ Ruby said with a resigned shrug.
Verity had only seen two drunk people in her whole life. One was Uncle Charles two Christmases ago, and the other was their neighbour’s maid. The maid had staggered in through the basement door late one afternoon, mistaking their house for the one where she worked. Verity had been helping Miss Parsons fold up laundry at the time, and she thought the maid was ill, she hadn’t known strong drink made a person wobble about and slur their speech.
Miss Parsons had forcibly ejected the woman while berating her on the evils of drink and what drunkenness could lead a young woman to. Verity had watched and listened open-mouthed, and it had made a lasting impression on her.
As the two girls began to walk down the road towards Chalk Farm, Verity asked what her father thought about her mother’s drinking.
Ruby laughed. ‘I told you yesterday I ain’t got a dad. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me ma. She told me once that ’e was her sweetheart till she told ’im ’e’d got ’er up the spout, and then ’e scarpered.’
‘Up the spout?’ Verity queried.
‘In the family way,’ Ruby said.
Verity realized that meant having a baby, but she didn’t know babies could come without a couple being married. Until last Christmas she wouldn’t have had the least idea of how they got a baby either – or even wondered about it – but because of what had happened to her, she was now fairly sure it was something like that which made babies.
‘You seem to know about so much compared with me,’ Verity said, deciding that she was never going to learn anything new unless she admitted her ignorance.
‘I bet you knows loads of stuff what I don’t,’ Ruby said with a little grin. ‘All about other countries, the kings and queens of England, and what makes a “lady”.’
‘I suppose I do,’ Verity agreed. She had never been able to understand what point there was in being able to recite the list of kings and queens, long turgid poems, or knowing about the mountains in Africa or the longest river in the world. But knowing about how babies came or what the police did when they found a body could be very useful. ‘Most of the stuff I’ve learned at school seems pointless to me, but maybe there are bits that would be good for you.’
‘I’d like to talk nice like you,’ Ruby said wistfully. ‘And to look clean and neat the way you do. Reckon you could make me ladylike?’
Verity looked hard at her new friend for a moment. She was wearing the same boy’s tweed jacket and dirty dress as the day before, but she had made a real effort to look better. Her red hair was combed, she’d even tied it back with a strip of cloth, and her face looked well scrubbed. She wasn’t what anyone would call pretty, but there was something very arresting about her. Maybe it was her green eyes that sparkled with mischief, the few freckles across her small nose, or the way her plump mouth turned up at the corners, as if she was smiling constantly. It was certainly a good face.
Verity knew that a properly fitting jacket, dress and shoes would transform Ruby. She could easily smuggle these things out of the house for her, but she was reluctant to offer them in case she embarrassed her.
‘I’d love to help.’ She reached forward and took Ruby’s hand. ‘If you’d allow it, I’d bring you some clothes and some ribbons for your hair next time we meet, but I’m afraid that might make you feel bad.’
To her surprise Ruby laughed. ‘It wouldn’t make me feel bad, but if I went ’ome with new togs, ma would ’ave ’em down uncle’s soon as look at you.’
‘Why take them to your uncle’s?’ Verity asked.
Ruby shook her head, as if amused at the question. ‘’E ain’t my uncle, it’s what we call the pawnshop. Don’t suppose you know about that neither. We get money there by taking in things of value. We pay more to get ’em out again.’
‘You take clothes into such a place?’ Verity was horrified.
‘People like me ma that needs a drink do,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ll show you one today, if you like.’
An hour or two later, Verity had learned about a great many more new things, including pie and eel shops, music halls, and potato and hop picking in Kent. Jellied eels sounded disgusting, but she would like to go to a music hall, and Ruby had made potato and hop picking sound like fun. She’d also peered through a very dusty window of a pawnshop and seen men’s suits, polished boots, a trumpet and assorted jewellery amongst mountains of clothing, bedding and books inside.
Some of the more conventional sights Ruby had shown her – Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, and the statue of Eros in Piccadilly – she’d seen many times before. Also, some of the theatres Ruby pointed out, speaking excitedly about the actors and actresses who had performed there, were ones where Verity had seen plays or shows with her parents. But she got a different perspective by hearing Ruby’s thoughts on them.
‘I loves to stand outside theatres and watch the toffs arriving,’ she said outside the Haymarket Theatre. ‘I ain’t never bin in a car or a cab. Fancy being rich enough to go everywhere in one! Or being rich enough to ’ave a fur coat, or a diamond necklace! Just the price of a ticket for up in the gods would buy me food for a week.’
For Verity it was commonplace to go about town in either her father’s car or in a cab. Her mother had both diamonds and a fur coat, and it certainly had never occurred to her that a theatre ticket cost as much as a week’s food for some people. Suddenly she felt ashamed that she had so much and Ruby so little. It wasn’t fair at all.
At home she had dresses she’d only worn two or three times before they were too small for her, and each mealtime there was so much food left uneaten. Granted that sometimes this was made into a meal for the following day, but mostly it went straight in the dustbin.
But as shocking as the inequality between her and Ruby was, it was nothing compared to discovering what Ruby’s mother did for a living.
They were sitting on a bench in St James’s Park, looking at the ducks on the pond, when Ruby said she often went through her mother’s pockets when she was asleep to get money to pay the rent and buy food. She said if she didn’t do this, it would only be spent on drink.
‘So how does she earn the money?’ Verity asked.
‘Selling herself, of course,’ Ruby replied.
‘But how? What way?’ Verity asked in bewilderment.
‘She lets men fuck her.’
Ve
rity was so shocked she could only gape at her new friend. She’d been told that word at school just a few weeks ago; the girl who told her said, though it was mostly used as a very bad swear word, it also meant the sex act.
‘You mustn’t say that word, it’s a really bad one,’ Verity protested.
‘Round where I live folk use it all the time,’ Ruby said defiantly. ‘Besides, it’s what ma does. And it ain’t no good you looking like that at me, all big eyes and stuff, cos you don’t know how ’ard it is to get respectable work when you’ve got a kid in tow. When I was born it was either that or the work’ouse. I’d ’ave bin taken off her and she didn’t want that. She did what she did cos of me, and I know she only drinks to forget what she’s become.’
As shocked as Verity was, she was also touched by Ruby’s understanding of her mother’s predicament and her loyalty to her. There was no bitterness at all, and it made Verity realize that she had no business to complain about her own home life.
To be told something like that was quite enough of a shock for one day, but then Ruby took her to Soho, and showed her where prostitutes lived.
‘There ain’t much to see during the day,’ Ruby explained as they walked through narrow streets and alleyways. It was a grubby, mixed sort of area, with very old buildings and some very seedy-looking shops, but there were proper businesses there too – printers, garment manufacturers, bookshops and haberdashers – and the streets were teeming with normal working people. ‘But come seven in the evening, it’s all change. There’s pros on street corners and in doorways looking for business, their pimps and other villains arrive to do their mischief, and there’s nobs too what come for the restaurants and nightclubs.’
‘Really?’ Verity was astounded to think that rich people would want to go slumming.
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