Palace of Tears

by Anna King

  He had been so excited when Emily had told him that she was going into service. All he could think of at the time was that he would at last have a room to himself. But, like most things in life, the reality was rather different from the day-dream. For a start, he hadn’t realised that he would miss his older sister so much. The small house had seemed even smaller without Emily’s presence, and what little laughter there had been in the fraught atmosphere of his home had disappeared completely the moment Emily left it. Then there were the noises and muffled arguments coming through the paper-thin wall of his parents’ bedroom every night, always ending with the sound of a hand or fist connecting with bare flesh, and then silence.

  The first time he had run away, Lenny had been caught by the local bobby and hauled back home. That escapade had earnt him a thrashing from his irate father, and it was only the intervention of his mother and Mrs Button that had saved him from serious injury.

  The next time he had left home, he had been more careful, keeping a watchful eye out for the sight of a blue uniform. For three days he had wandered the streets, picking up a few pennies from stall-holders and shop-keepers by running errands, and curling up on a bench in Victoria Park at night, until guilt at knowing how his mother would be worrying, plus an empty belly and stiff joints from sleeping rough, had driven him home again. That time his father had merely given him a hefty clout round the head, which had knocked him off his feet and halfway across the room, before the burly figure had stomped off down to the pub.

  Over the years there had been many more occasions when the young boy, unable to cope with the tension and the presence of the surly brute who was his father, had packed a few things into a carrier bag and taken off without a word. He soon became quite adept at looking after himself. During the day he would find a few hours’ work at one of the various markets, and at night there were plenty of run-down hostels where you could get a bed for a couple of coppers – that is, if you weren’t too fussy about the company, or the filthy mattresses strewn around the hard, dirty floors. For an extra penny, you could get a lumpy pillow and a moth-eaten blanket, but Lenny never bothered with those so-called luxuries. Inevitably, though, the novelty would wear off and he would start to miss his mother, so back home he would go, until the next time.

  But he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running away every time things got too much for him to cope with. He was a man now… But that was the trouble – he wasn’t a man, he would never be a man, not in the proper sense of the word.

  Slumping onto the single brass bed, Lenny stared down at his hands, his whole body churning with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Why was he like this? He had tried to act like an adult – nobody would ever know just how hard he had tried – but he just couldn’t do it. His sister was the one who possessed all the courage and gumption that were lacking in himself. He knew it, everyone in the street knew it. Brushing back a lock of fair hair from his eyes, he looked at the open door. Down below he could hear his mother bustling around the scullery preparing something for him to eat before she went out. In his mind he pictured his father’s big fists punching that frail, defenceless body and he shuddered. He hated him… hated his dad with a force that frightened him. And yet, sometimes, when he was in a good mood, his dad was kind, and then Lenny loved him. Confused and tired, he tried to grapple with his tortured emotions. You couldn’t love someone and hate them as well, could you? Wearily he shook his head. There was nothing he could do at the moment. He’d just have to wait until Emily came home. Emily would take charge… Emily always took charge. A sudden thought came to him, bringing his back up straight. He could go and meet her from the house where she worked. He knew the way. He’d been there on several occasions, when he’d helped out in the gardens for a couple of bob. A smile lit up his face. That’s what he’d do. As soon as his mum left for work, he would go and meet his sister and tell her what was going on. Like Mrs Button said, someone had to look after their mum. Excited now that he was going to do something positive, he waited until Nellie had brought him a sandwich and a mug of tea. Gulping down the last dregs from the mug, he finished off the cheese sandwich and laid down on his bed, his ears pricked for the sound of his mother’s departure. In his mind he went over the quickest route to his sister’s place of employment.

  If he cut through the back turnings and across Victoria Park, he could reach Gore Road in about twenty minutes. Comforted by his plan, his eyes began to flicker with tiredness and, somewhere between listening for the front door to bang shut and working out what he was going to say to his sister, he fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Emily, Emily, Miss Rose is calling for you.’ The small girl dressed in a plain grey dress, over which rested a starched white pinafore, raced down the narrow hallway, almost knocking over the tall young woman who was crossing the hall, her arms full of freshly ironed linen.

  ‘For goodness sake, Mary, you nearly had me over. Look where you’re going in future, and stop your shouting. I’ve told you before about that.’

  The small girl tossed back her head defiantly, her pert face taking on a look of resentment.

  ‘Well, it won’t matter after today, will it? This is me last day here, an’ I won’t be sorry to see the back of this place. There’s loads of work going, now the men are away fighting. I can easily get a job in one of the factories, and it’ll pay more than the measly few bob I get here.’

  Trying hard to hang on to her temper, Emily Ford hugged the laundry closer to her chest and replied harshly, ‘Well, you haven’t finished here yet. And if you want your wages, you’d better get on with your work. There’s still the drawing-room and bedrooms to clean before the dust-sheets go over the furniture, so you’d best get on with it, unless you want to stay on after your time.’ Mary Dawkins, maid to the Winters since she’d left school, flounced off down the corridor.

  Emily watched her go, her expression thoughtful, before leaving the hallway, her steps taking her towards the room known as the Study. Turning her back to the brown mahogany door, she knocked it open with a swift thrust of her buttocks and entered the room.

  It was a large, airy room and Emily’s favourite, for it overlooked the long, winding garden and the small orchard at the back of the three-storey house. At this time of year, with winter beginning to set in, the trees were bare, as were the rows of flower beds. But in the late summer months, when the trees were heavily laden with apples and plums, and the flower beds were bursting with a riotous assortment of colours, Emily would open the wide, glass doors and drink in the fresh sights and smells of nature at its very best. And always she would find herself wishing that her mother and Lenny could be here with her. The only view from the back to-back terraced house in Fenton Street was of their neighbour’s yard backing onto their own.

  Walking swiftly, she crossed the room and laid the sheets and linen on the corner of the long window-seat adjacent to the patio doors, intending to sort the laundry into individual piles.

  Instead, she eased herself onto the plush red upholstery and, resting her arm on the windowsill, gazed out over the barren garden. She shouldn’t have gone for Mary like that, especially knowing it was her last day. But that was the exact reason why she had spoken so harshly to the younger girl. Sighing softly, Emily cupped her chin in her palm. She wished this was her last day. It wasn’t that she was unhappy here. Both Mr Winter and his sister Rose had always been very kind to her, but after nearly six years in service Emily was restless, and a little resentful. She was supposed to have a half-day off a week, and one whole day every fortnight, yet today would be the first time she had been home in two months.

  She was very fond of her employers, but sometimes she felt they were taking advantage of her good nature. Miss Rose in particular had become very clinging during the past year. The elderly woman was terrified that a bomb would drop on the house. She jumped at every loud noise, and many a night Emily had had to leave her bed to sit with the frightened woman until she fell aslee
p. It was because of his sister’s fears that Mr Winter was shutting up the house for a few weeks. But who could tell if they would return at the end of the month? If Miss Rose got herself settled comfortably at her cousin’s house in Surrey, then Emily’s employers might well decide to remain there until the war ended; and by the looks of it, that could be years away. Stifling a yawn, Emily found herself hoping that the elderly couple would stay on at the Surrey house. That way she would be set free without feeling guilty about leaving them.

  Turning her head slightly, she looked over her shoulder at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was ten-thirty already, and she had a dozen things to see to before the house was shut up for the duration of its owners’ absence. And, according to Mary, Miss Rose was asking for her, even though Emily had only left her a short while ago. And it wasn’t only Miss Rose who was constantly taking up her time. Mr Winter, too, seemed to be depending on her more and more these past few months. If someone were to ask her to define her job now, she would be hard-pressed to give an answer. When she had first started at the house, it had been as a maid of all work. Back then there had been two other maids, a cook and a housekeeper to run the household. The cook had left three years ago, having found herself a more lucrative position, and Emily, then sixteen, had been asked to take over her duties until the post could be filled. Eager to please, she had made such a good job of the cooking that somehow the post of cook had become hers, without the extra wages to go with it.

  Mrs Banks, the housekeeper, had been the next to leave, her departure rather hasty, after a heated altercation with Mr Winter. Emily had never found out what the row had been about, and she hadn’t even realised she was slipping into the woman’s shoes and taking on her duties as well. It had just sort of happened. Then last year Betty, the under-housemaid, had upped and left and was now, so Emily had heard, working as a bus conductress. Like the other servants, Betty hadn’t been replaced although, to be fair to the Winters, they had advertised the post in the Hackney Gazette, but so far there had been no replies. Nor would there be, not with the way things stood at the moment, with factories and businesses crying out for women to take the men’s place on the work front.

  Now Mary was leaving too, and if the Winters did stick to their plans and return at the end of the month, Emily would find herself running the house single-handed. Which would please her mother no end, for Nellie was inordinately proud of her daughter’s rise in status. The fact that Emily had only been given a five-shilling rise to compensate for the extra work didn’t seem to matter to Nellie. Emily had broached the subject of getting more help with Mr Winter, but each time she was told that the matter was in hand, and there it seemed set to remain. She heartily wished that her employers weren’t so kind, because then she would have been able to hand in her resignation with a clear conscience. But as things stood, and feeling a genuine affection for them both, she found herself bound by loyalty and obligation to stay with them for as long as they needed her.

  Then there was her mother to think of, who seemed desperate to have Emily remain where she was. Thoughts of her mother brought a worried frown to Emily’s face.

  In spite of assurances to the contrary, Emily knew things weren’t right at home. Her dad was up to his old tricks again, she was sure of it. Shaking her head slowly, she thought back over the years before she had come here, her eyes hardening as she recalled the strange noises coming from her parents’ room during the night. Once, nearly out of her mind with fear, she had banged on the wall, shouting at her dad to leave her mum alone. It had gone eerily silent, but the noises had stopped. She never heard them again, but every morning she would come downstairs, holding a bleary-eyed Lenny by the hand, not knowing what to expect, and there would be her mother, standing in the scullery or laying the table for breakfast, a smile on her face as she pulled her children against her stomach for a morning cuddle.

  As the memories became clearer, Emily’s blue eyes misted over. It was a ludicrous situation. Everyone in the street knew what was going on, yet the subject was never discussed. Nor would it be, while her mother continued to shield the man who had systematically beaten her for years. If only her mother would confide in her, bring the whole sorry business out into the open, then Emily would be able to do something positive. Still, she comforted herself, her mother would be safe for the next few weeks at least, and during that time maybe, just maybe, she could talk some sense into her. It would be easy enough to find somewhere else to live for Nellie and Lenny, and if need be she, Emily, would leave this lovely house and move back in with her family. As much as she felt obligated to the Winters, if it came down to a choice between them and her mother… Well, there wasn’t any choice, was there?

  Aware that time was getting on, she moved restlessly. Oh dear, she really must get a move on. The quicker she was finished, the sooner she could get home. But it was so comfortable sitting here in the quietness of the room, looking out over the garden.

  It was another twenty minutes before she picked up the laundry once again and made her way across the landing and up the two flights of stairs that led to Miss Rose’s room.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Emily,’ Rose Winter said querulously. ‘Didn’t Mary give you my message?’ The elderly woman was seated on a padded chair, looking at Emily through the reflection in the gilt-edged mirror of her ornate dressing-table. Turning around, she tilted her head a little in order to look up at the attractive face that she was so fond of. Emily was wearing a plain navy dress with narrow white frills at the neck and cuffs, the latter having been added by Emily herself to relieve the severity of the dress that was also her uniform. Her chestnut hair was plaited and pinned to the back of her head, but as always tiny tendrils of hair had escaped the grips and lay in soft wisps on her forehead and cheeks. Rose Winter never tired of looking at the lovely face, with its large blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of the pert nose. Today, though, she was feeling her age, and the affection she felt was tinged with envy. Envy and a sense of desolation for her own youth, which was gone for ever.

  Aware of the scrutiny, and striving to keep her voice even, Emily replied quietly, ‘Yes, she did, Miss Rose, but as you know there’s a lot to be done before you and Mr Winter leave.’ She would have liked to add, ‘And only me to see to it all, because Mary is neither use nor ornament today,’ but instead she said, ‘I came as soon as I could.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know you’re busy, dear.’ The sharp blue eyes beneath the mass of white hair stared up at Emily. Rose Winter was entering her seventieth year, and although she was often to be heard declaring that she would soon be ‘pushing up the daisies’, she was going to remarkable lengths to ensure that she didn’t meet her maker just yet. And when her time came, she wanted to go peacefully in her sleep, not blown to smithereens by a bomb. Just thinking about the danger brought a tremor to her bones. The sooner she was out of London and installed in her cousin’s house in Surrey, the safer she would feel.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to remember why she had sent for Emily, her memory failing her for a moment. Then, as comprehension dawned, a thin smile came to her lips.

  ‘Has Matthew arrived yet, dear? He said in his letter he would be here about eleven. Oh dear, you don’t think something might have happened to delay his coming, do you?’

  Seeing the old woman’s plight, Emily felt her irritation fading. The poor soul was so frightened of being hit by a flying bomb that she was in grave danger of dying from a self-induced heart attack.

  Taking hold of the trembling hands in hers, Emily said soothingly, ‘Now then, Miss Rose, you know Captain Winter will be here as soon as he can. Besides, it isn’t quite eleven yet. Why don’t I get Mary to make you a cup of tea while you’re waiting. It’ll settle your nerves.’

  The white head bobbed in agitation. ‘Yes, yes, that’s a good idea. Oh dear, I’m sorry, Emily, you must be eager to get home. I’m sure your mother is anxious to see you, though how we’ll manage wit
hout you for three whole weeks I don’t know, I’m sure. Now, have you remembered that Captain Winter will be staying here during his leave?’ Without waiting for an answer she hurried on, ‘Once he drops us at Victoria Station he will be coming straight back here, so you can hand over the keys to him. I don’t know as yet how long he will be staying, but I shall remind him to drop the keys in on you at your home before he leaves, so that you can open up the house in time for our return.’

  Her eyelids fluttered nervously. ‘Dear me, Emily, this terrible war, I do so worry about Matthew. He’s the only child of our dear brother… You remember me telling you about him, don’t you, Emily?’ When Emily nodded, the elderly woman carried on, ‘He was killed at Khartoum when Matthew was five. My poor sister-in-law never got over his death. I think she only clung to life for the sake of Matthew, because once he reached adulthood she simply gave up on life. Poor Matthew was quite lost for a while. We were so pleased when he married, such a lovely woman she was. George and I were terribly upset when she died, and Matthew was devastated. We feared for his sanity at the time. But, as they say, time heals all… Though I’m not convinced of that particular piece of logic.’

  Emily watched the wrinkled eyelids flutter, then close, and for a moment she thought Miss Rose had fallen asleep. She was about to leave the room quietly when the quivering voice halted her.