by Anna King
Nellie shook her head and took her coat down from the back of the door.
‘No, love, it’s nothing to do with our visitor, though I admit she was rather unpleasant. No, it’s only my time of the month, something all women have to put up with… Emily! Emily, whatever’s the matter, you’ve gone as white as a sheet.’ Nellie looked in alarm at her daughter’s pale face.
Quickly recovering herself, Emily forced a smile to her lips.
‘It’s nothing, Mum,’ she answered lightly. ‘Probably just wind. I shouldn’t have eaten such a big breakfast.’
When the door closed after her mother, Emily dropped down in the armchair, her mind and stomach racing. With all that had happened these past weeks she hadn’t realised she was late. Her monthlies were regular, always had been, but not this month. Feverishly calculating when she had been due, her stomach churned at the realisation that she was ten days overdue.
Yet even in the first frantic moments of her discovery her thoughts didn’t turn to herself, or even to her mother and what it would mean for them. Instead she saw a smiling face with orange hair and heard a loud infectious laugh. It was almost as if Doris was here in the room.
Dropping her face into her hands, Emily began to rock back and forth whispering, ‘No, no, please, I can’t be, I can’t. It was only the once, please don’t let me be pregnant… please…!’
Even as she prayed she heard fragments of the familiar, chirpy cockney voice saying, ‘You’re me best mate, Emily… I love Tommy… I told him, Em, and he didn’t push me away…’
Wrapping her arms round her waist, Emily groaned loudly as she continued to rock her body in anguish.
‘Oh, Lord, I’m sorry, Doris. I would never deliberately have hurt you… I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me, Doris… And please, please try and understand, and not hate me… please…!’
Chapter Thirteen
It was two days before Christmas and, as Emily rose tiredly from her bed, she thanked heaven that most of the festive preparations were already done and that, as in the past, she would be going home on Christmas Eve to be with her family. Though this Christmas it would just be her and her mother. Easing her legs over the side of the bed she yawned, then shivered as the coldness of the room hit her exposed skin. Reaching for her dressing-gown at the bottom of the bed, she quickly wrapped it round her shoulders, while her mind raced on the tasks that she still had before her. But all such thoughts vanished as her feet touched the icy floor and a wave of nausea rushed up into her throat.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to regulate her breathing, but it was no use. Running over to the washbasin, she just had time to remove her soap and flannel before throwing up. When the spasm was over she wiped her mouth and, wrinkling her nose in disgust, carried the basin at arm’s length from the room and up to the first-floor landing to the water closet.
Later, when she was washed and dressed in a pale blue work frock, she looked at the bedside clock and sighed. Only quarter past six, and already she felt as if she’d done a day’s work. Giving herself a brisk shake, she took a last look at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, tucked a stray curl into the bun at the nape of her neck and left the room.
Passing through the hall, she stopped for a brief moment to admire the huge Christmas tree, decorated with tinsel and coloured baubles, her eyes slipping to the small pile of gaily wrapped presents arranged at the foot of the tree.
She had decorated this same tree from the age of fourteen, a task she had always enjoyed, but this year the festive sight held no joy for her.
Walking into the icy kitchen she shivered violently, hurrying to get the iron range alight and some warmth back into her bones. This achieved, she set about filling the kettle for a much-needed cup of tea, when another wave of nausea swept over her. There was no time to race to the closet and she was forced to lean over the sink and retch miserably, thanking God that there were no witnesses to her wretched discomfort. She was reaching for a cloth to wipe her mouth when a voice from behind set her already frayed nerves jangling.
‘Is there something you wish to tell me, Miss Ford?’
Emily jerked in surprise, her head swivelling round in panic, while her mouth opened and closed futilely.
Cynthia Denton stood behind the large wooden table, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes staring fixedly on the young woman at the sink.
‘Well, Miss Ford. I’m waiting for an answer.’
Something in the older woman’s tone immediately set Emily’s hackles rising. Slowly straightening up, she lifted her head proudly and said, ‘I should have thought the answer was painfully obvious, Mrs Denton. I think in some social circles it is referred to as being with child, but as I’ve only ever heard that term used in romantic fiction, I’ll be more direct. I’m pregnant, Mrs Denton, about three months by my reckoning. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Cynthia Denton’s hands tightened across her stomach, her eyes hardening at the flippant tone of the young woman on whom she was, unfortunately, at least partially dependent for the time being. Nonetheless, Cynthia had an overwhelming desire to raise her hand and wipe the infuriating smug look from that attractive face. Oh, if only this blasted war would end, then there would be no shortage of help to be found. As it was, she needed this chit of a girl, for without her she herself would have to see to the running of the house. And she hadn’t left the drudgery of one house to endure more drudgery in this house. But she could wait. There would come a time when she no longer needed Miss Emily Ford, and when that day came Cynthia would take great delight in sending that young miss packing. For now she would have to tread very carefully. Swallowing hard, she wet her lips and said quietly, ‘There you are mistaken, Miss Ford. I had my suspicions, of course, but never having had any children myself, I wasn’t quite sure. But now that I do know, I have to ask what you intend doing?’ Seeing the quizzical look in those blue eyes, Cynthia squared her shoulders and added, ‘Do you intend staying on here until… well, until the baby is due, or is it your intention to return home?’
The quietness of the words, and the dignity with which they were delivered, caused Emily to lose some of her composure. She hadn’t expected this reaction, not from Mrs Denton, whom she knew disliked her intensely. Then her head cleared. Of course the woman was being charitable, she didn’t have much choice, did she? At the present moment, Cynthia Denton needed Emily for more than she herself needed this job. Her face set, Emily replied, ‘My plans for the future are no business of yours, Mrs Denton. That depends on Mr George and Miss Rose. If, after hearing my news, they want me to stay on, then of course I will. I shall inform them of my condition after breakfast; unless of course you’d like to do the honours? Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do, unlike some.’ With a curt nod of her head she turned back to the sink.
The dismissive gesture was not lost on Cynthia. A wave of hate surged through her and she found she was clenching her hands so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Breathing deeply through her nose, she turned to leave.
Emily’s voice came after her.
‘While we are being frank, I want to say that I know you dislike and resent me. The reason is obvious. You have no power over me, and that in itself must be very galling for a woman like yourself. But your feelings towards me don’t matter. You see, Mrs Denton, I dislike you as much as you dislike me. The difference is that I can walk out whenever I choose. You, on the other hand, don’t appear to have the same choices. But for now we seem to be stuck with each other. So until such time as our circumstances change, we had best make the most of a bad situation.’
Cynthia’s back stiffened but she remained silent. With a graceful sweep of her head she walked sedately from the room.
Left alone, Emily slumped against the cold sink, her head bowed. What on earth had made her say such cruel things? It wasn’t in her nature to be spiteful, even towards a woman such as Mrs Denton, who had shown from the start of their acquaintance that she r
esented Emily’s standing in the house and the affection shown to her by the Winters. But there was something about the woman that brought out the very worst in her.
Still, Mrs Denton’s question was a valid one. What was she going to do? She wasn’t normally indecisive, but the shock of finding herself pregnant had knocked her for six. Even now, when she was throwing up every morning, she still found it hard to believe that she was going to have a child. Her mother had already said that she would look after the baby while Emily worked. But it wouldn’t be fair to leave her with a small child, for what might be weeks on end. Besides, it was no good making any plans at all until she knew how her employers reacted to her news. If they did throw her out, she could take her mother up on her offer and apply for a job on the trams with Doris.
That is, if Doris was still speaking to her by then. Feeling somewhat subdued, Emily applied herself to her chores. After she had lit a fire in the dining-room and laid the table for breakfast she returned to the kitchen, her thoughts going back to the night when she had told her mother of her condition.
She had asked for, and been given, a day off at the end of November. She remembered well that Saturday, and how she had followed her mother round the small house, starting to speak, then changing her mind and rambling on instead about trivial matters. Finally her mother had asked her directly what was wrong and, in a flood of tears, Emily had unburdened herself. With her mother’s comforting arms holding her tight, she had relived the night with Tommy Carter and the guilt she had since lived with. After the initial shock her mother had been wonderful, and had continued to lend Emily her support. Yet even though Nellie had shown no outward sign of hurt or disappointment, Emily knew that her mother was suffering.
Nellie still hadn’t got over the shock of Lenny signing up, and Lord knows that had been a bombshell to them both, especially the way they had found out – a scrawled message on a scrap of paper inside a brown envelope postmarked France. Nellie had raced down to the nearest recruiting office, frantically explaining about her son’s mental disability and begging the bemused sergeant on duty to locate and return her son to her. The man had been sympathetic but unable to help, saying wryly that the young man couldn’t be that simple, or he would never have got past the officer in charge at the time.
Since that day Emily knew that her mother had been going through torment. Every day the newspapers were filled with fresh lists of casualties, which Nellie would scan fearfully, her face dropping with relief when she failed to find her son’s name among them. She still couldn’t understand why, or how, Lenny had summoned up the courage to lie about his age and bluff his way through the recruiting office. Emily, though, could see her father’s hand in the affair – it would make more sense than the notion of Lenny thinking the whole thing up by himself. Neither of the two men had been seen since the night Alfie Ford had put his wife in hospital. It was too much of a coincidence to be ignored. But Emily had kept her suspicions to herself. She could see no reason to heap further worry onto her mother’s shoulders. As it was, from Emily’s point of view, both she and her brother, in different ways, had let their mother down very badly.
And now that Mrs Denton knew of her condition, she would have to tell Miss Rose, and she in turn, after a liberal dose of smelling salts, would inform Mr George. Sighing heavily, Emily rolled down her sleeves and picked up a silver tray containing Miss Rose’s early- morning tea and a plate of lightly buttered toast. As Mr George always took his breakfast in the dining-room at nine o’clock prompt, she had ample time to see Miss Rose first before preparing the elderly gentleman’s morning meal, though she wasn’t looking forward to cooking the scrambled eggs, kidneys and bacon that he looked forward to in the mornings. Even the thought of greasy food made her want to gag. Then there was the porridge to make for Mrs Denton… Oh, get a move on, woman. She chided herself irritably for wasting time.
Rallying herself, she marched quickly from the warmth of the kitchen out into the chilly hallway and up the stairs leading to her employer’s bedroom. Resting the tray on the carpeted floor, she took a deep breath, knocked once and entered.
* * *
‘Actually, it wasn’t half as bad as I’d imagined. Miss Rose was shocked – well, I expected that, but she took it much better than I thought she would. And Mr George – oh, he’s so lovely, Mum. He was embarrassed at first, you know what men are like about these things, but afterwards he was more worried about me. Told me to put my feet up and have a rest.’ Emily laughed at the recent memory, but the gay chuckle sounded hollow to her ears. All her chatter was simply a means of filling the silence. Every nerve in her body was screaming as she waited for the knock on the door that would herald Doris’s arrival. For when that ordeal was over there was no-one left to tell her news to. Because that’s all she seemed to have done these past months. Tell this person, then that one. It would have been quicker to take out an advertisement in the Hackney Gazette.
Then there were the neighbours to face. The women round here hadn’t been brought up to be tactful. If they had something on their minds, they came straight out with it. No hinting or double meanings with cockney women, and that suited Emily just fine, as she had never been one for subterfuge.
Her body tensed as footsteps thumped outside the door, then she relaxed as the wearer of the heavy boots moved on. With it being Christmas Eve, the street was even noisier than usual. Later on in the day, when the night began to draw in, many of the women in the street would don their thick shawls and coats and go down to the market in the hope of getting a last-minute fir tree, or a chicken for their Christmas dinner, at a fraction of its usual cost. If they were lucky they would find some bruised oranges and apples lying in the gutter with which to fill their children’s stockings. Sometimes the ruse worked, but at other times, when the traders had had a profitable day, the women would come back weary and empty-handed, to be greeted by eager children wanting to know where their tree was. Their small faces crumpling as they realised that, once again, Father Christmas wouldn’t be visiting them this year.
Normally Emily was sympathetic to the mood of the street, but on this occasion she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pay much heed to what was going on outside her front door.
‘Have they heard from Captain Winter yet?’
A feeling of irritation stole over Emily. She knew the real reason that lay behind the innocent question. Trying to keep the exasperation from her voice, she sighed, ‘Mum, don’t keep on, please. I’m just as worried as you are about Lenny, but like I’ve told you before, there’s nothing Captain Winter can do about it. Lenny could be anywhere over there. France is a big place, you know. Besides, Captain Winter doesn’t write to me, so I couldn’t ask, even if I thought it would do any good.’
Ever since Nellie had learnt of her son’s enlistment she had tried everything she could think of to get him back home to safety. Her last hope had been Captain Winter, thinking that he might meet up with Lenny and use his influence to have him discharged from the army. Emily shook her head with impatience. The way her mother had asked, it seemed that she imagined there was only one spot where all the troops were converged, making it a simple matter for Captain Winter to find Lenny and send him home.
Nellie flushed and nibbled at her bottom lip, painfully aware how idiotic her request had been. Emily didn’t understand, how could she? The concern she felt for her brother didn’t come anywhere near the stomachchurning fear that a mother felt for her child’s safety; no matter how old that child was. But she would understand one day. Putting Lenny from her mind, she asked quietly, ‘Would you like me to stay, love?’ Nellie looked anxiously at her daughter. Emily’s face was pale and drawn, and Nellie wasn’t sure if that was due to Emily’s condition or to the task that lay before her.
‘No, it’s all right, Mum. This is something I have to do myself. And, knowing Doris’s temper, it might be better if you weren’t here when I tell her.’
Nellie’s eyes widened in alarm.
&nb
sp; ‘Good Lord, Emily, you… you don’t think she’ll turn violent, do you? I mean, well, you’ve been more like sisters than friends. Surely she’ll understand.’
Emily’s lips parted into a wry smile.
‘From what I’ve heard, sisters aren’t always renowned for their closeness. Anyway, it has to be done, and… and I want to get it over with. It’s bad enough that I did what I did, but what makes it worse is that Doris still thinks I’m going to leave the Winters and apply for a job on the trams with her. She’s talked about nothing else for months. Oh, Mum, I’m so confused. I don’t seem to know what I want at the moment. One minute I want to stay on with the Winters, the next I want to come home for good. I just wish I could settle on what I want to do…’ The words ended on a spiralling note that reflected her growing panic. She was visibly shaking at the prospect of facing Doris with her news. Telling her mother and her employers had been bad enough – but Doris! She shuddered, her hands and body twitching in agitation. Trying to hide her emotion, she held her hands out over the blazing fire, concentrating on the leaping flames, anxious suddenly to have the coming confrontation over and done with.
‘What time is Doris coming?’ Nellie’s voice cut into Emily’s tortured thoughts. Giving herself a mental shake, Emily looked up at the mantel clock and said, ‘I’m not sure. I think she said her shift started at eleven and it takes over an hour and a half to get to Woolwich, so she should be here soon, it’s gone nine already. When I saw her last week she said she’d pop in to see us before going to work today. That’s why I came home so early. I had to get up at five this morning so that I could get everything done before leaving. Miss Rose was upset that I was leaving so early on Christmas Eve, because I normally stay on until after dinner. But I couldn’t put off telling Doris any longer. I just want it over and done with.’ Her haunted eyes stared up at Nellie.
‘I should have told her straight away. I’ve had plenty of opportunity, since Mrs Denton came to live with the Winters. I don’t like the woman, but at least her being there has made it easier for me to get time off. I’ve seen Doris half a dozen times since I found out I was pregnant, but I kept putting it off. Now keeping quiet has only made things worse. I never realised before what a coward I am… And I am, Mum, yes… yes I am.’