by Anna King
Bemused, Emily turned to face her.
‘Did I? How extraordinary. I don’t remember speaking.’ Then, putting out her hand, she said affably, ‘Good luck in your new employment, Mrs Lawson. I hope you’ll be very happy here… By the way, you said you were sleeping in. Well, obviously you are, or you wouldn’t be needing my room. What does Mr Lawson think of your new arrangements?’
The woman was regarding her with puzzled eyes.
‘I’m a widow, ma’am. Me ’usband was killed six months ago.’
‘Of course, how stupid of me, I should have guessed. Well, goodbye again, Mrs Lawson.’ Emily shook the woman’s hand again. ‘And good luck.’ She avoided adding that Mrs Lawson would need it.
Carrying her suitcase, Emily took one last look round the hallway, her eyes straying up the long flight of stairs for the final time. Then she took a deep breath and opened the heavy front door. Descending the stone steps awkwardly, she reached the pavement and paused. It was as if she were waiting for something – or someone – but she didn’t know who.
Shrugging, she lifted her case and began to walk towards the park. Passing through the wrought-iron gate, she rested the suitcase on the grass for a moment before picking it up and walking on. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet when she heard her name being called, and was both surprised and alarmed at the sudden surge of gladness that swept over her.
Lowering the suitcase back onto the grass, Emily waited until Matthew caught up with her.
‘Lord, Emily, I didn’t think you’d leave straight away.’
‘I didn’t think there was anything to stay for,’ she replied much more coolly than she was feeling.
Disconcerted by her aloof manner, Matthew scratched at the back of his head, before hesitantly holding out a large brown envelope.
‘You forgot your wages, plus a week in lieu of notice. Please take it, Emily, it’s the least my aunt could do after the shameful way she’s treated you.’
Taking the envelope from his outstretched hand, Emily uttered a low laugh.
‘I’ve no intention of refusing it, sir. As you say, it’s the least your aunt could do: besides which, I earnt it.’ She was smiling again, smiling and nodding her head to put him at his ease. Yet she didn’t feel like smiling. She wanted to cry – no, not cry, that was too… too…! She wanted to howl, long and loud. And to scream and shout, and behave in the way Cynthia Denton had expected of her. Vulgar and common – she wished she was vulgar and common. She had found that such women were much happier with their lot. Maybe it was because they held nothing back. No silent resentment, no repressed anger. It all came out in a torrent of loud, and often foul, language. It must be wonderful to let go in such a way.
But Emily had been brought up as a lady. And ladies kept their inner feelings locked up inside themselves – to fester and gnaw away at their very soul. Fortunately she had also benefited from her early upbringing in Fenton Street – that, together with Doris’s vociferous company over the years, had instilled in Emily an added strength, a gutter instinct of survival that no well-bred lady could ever hope to understand.
‘Let me drive you home, Emily. You shouldn’t be walking in your condition.’
Now Emily did laugh out loud.
‘Shouldn’t be walking! You do have a sheltered view of life, Matthew. Did you imagine I’ve been lounging around with my feet up these past months? I’ve been awake since six o’clock this morning. I’ve cooked, washed a pile of bedding and hung it out to dry in the garden. I’ve ironed a mountain of clothing, and been down on my knees scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom floors. The last of which I did early this morning. It doesn’t do, you see, to have the hired help littering the house with buckets of dirty water and the like – it sets a bad tone.’
‘Don’t, Emily. Don’t be like this, it doesn’t become you.’
‘Doesn’t become me! What does become me?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘To be thrown out like yesterday’s rubbish? To be cast aside, like so much discarded clothing that is no longer required…?’
A pair of arms enveloped Emily, pulling her close and directing her faltering steps towards a park bench. She didn’t even try to struggle free.
Instead she laid her face on the broad shoulder and wept, quietly at first, then with shuddering sobs. She let free all the hurt and anguish that seemed to be choking her. Between sobs she poured out all that had happened since their last meeting, the disjointed words tumbling over each over in her haste to unburden herself. She told Matthew about her parents, and about the brutal existence that her mother had endured for years. Yet, even as she bared her very soul, there was one piece of information she kept back – the night she had spent in Tommy Carter’s arms. That part of her life was too personal to share with this man – with any man. She simply said that the father was someone she was very fond of, but that she had no intention of marrying him. This piece of information was the only part that had truly concerned Matthew, and his hopes soared again now that he knew there was no immediate rival for Emily’s attentions.
When the spasm had passed, she gently disentangled herself from Matthew’s embrace, embarrassed now at the spectacle she had made of herself. Taking a white handkerchief from the pocket of her blue checked smock, she wiped her eyes and made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup.
‘Goodness, I am sorry, Captain Winter… I mean, Matthew. It still seems strange calling you by your first name. It’s a shame I won’t have the chance to get used to it.’
‘You could, you know, Emily. Get used to calling me by name, I mean.’
Her eyes widened slightly at the sudden change in Matthew’s tone, and when his hand tightened around her fingers, a light began to push its way forward from the deep recesses of her mind. It appeared to be coming from the long end of a dark tunnel, and it kept coming closer and closer until, with a startled gasp of surprise, the truth exploded into sudden brightness, hitting Emily squarely in the eyes and almost blinding her. She felt her cheeks begin to burn and started to rise clumsily to her feet.
‘I… I must be going, Captain Winter. Thank you for…’
Matthew too had risen, his face and manner seemingly at odds with each other, while he cursed himself for giving the game away. Now wasn’t the time to profess undying love. Not here, where they were in all probability being spied on from the house opposite. And not now, when he wasn’t sure of the future; or even if he had a future. In two hours’ time he would be back on the train to Dover, and by tomorrow he’d be in France. Back among the dirt and squalor, the fighting and the carnage. But whereas before he had been in danger of falling into a state of apathy, now he had hope. Not much, he warned himself. He could return on his next leave and find Emily happily married, but it wasn’t very likely. There weren’t many eligible men around these days, which was doubtless one of the reasons why that flighty piece back at the house had set her cap at him. He guessed that he had been the sole motivation behind Cynthia’s campaign to get rid of Emily. He shuddered inwardly.
God! He would rather face a Hun armed with a bayonet than the prospect of seeing her lying in his bed. But what was he doing standing here like a stuffed dummy, filling his mind with trivial matters when time was so precious?
Emily was standing awkwardly before him, her face pink and averted from his gaze. And suddenly he threw caution and common sense to the wind. This might very well be the last chance he had to tell Emily how he felt.
His heart pounding, and steeling himself for rejection, Matthew placed his hands on Emily’s arms and said softly, ‘I love you, Emily, and have done for some time.’
‘Oh, sir… I…’
‘It’s all right, my dear, there’s no need for you to be frightened. I’m well aware I’m old enough to be your father – well almost,’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘But I wanted you to know that, whatever happens, I’m here for you, no matter what. I don’t expect you to return my feelings. Indeed, I’d be amazed if you did. But will you think about it, Emi
ly? I’d take good care of you, and I’d look on your child as my own. You don’t have to say anything now, but…but, as I say, think about it while I’m away. And… and if you could imagine spending your life with me, then you would make me a very happy man.’
He searched Emily’s face for some sign – anything to show him that she wasn’t completely revolted by the idea of marrying him. Then a sudden thought struck him. He hadn’t mentioned marriage – oh, dear Lord!
With almost comic haste he spluttered, ‘When I say spend your life with me, I meant to say, will you marry me? Good heavens, Emily, I hope you didn’t think I was trying to take advantage of you.’
Now Emily did show a reaction, but not the one he had hoped, for she began to smile, and for an awful, heart-stopping moment he thought she was going to laugh in his face. Instead she laid her hand on his and said gaily, ‘Well, if that was your intention, I would say you were roughly nine months too late.’
His breath exploded in a giant sigh of relief. If she could laugh with him, it was a start. Yes indeed, it was a start. He would say no more on the subject for now – except…
‘Emily, listen. I won’t push you for an answer now. I know it will take you time to come to terms with my proposal, but I want you to know that, whatever your answer, I intend to provide for you… Now, now, don’t argue. This has nothing whatever to do with my feelings for you. I’m doing it because it is what my uncle would have wanted, what he would have done himself, if he’d had more time. And look… he was rummaging in his trouser pocket, and when his hand emerged it was holding a key. This is a spare key to my house in Brixton. You know the address don’t you?’
Emily nodded, unable to speak. It was like a dream. She couldn’t take it in, and yet… Why did she feel so excited? So… so… happy, happy in a way she had never felt before? Oh, she needed her home, her mother, the familiar sights and sounds that would bring her back down into the real world. But Matthew was still talking, and she must hear what else he had to say. Matthew, Matthew. How easily his name came to her mind now. She felt the key being pressed into her hand.
‘Take it, Emily, even though you will probably never have a use for it. It will make me feel better knowing that, whatever happens while I’m away, you need never fear being homeless. And I’ll write to Palmer, the solicitor, as soon as I can, authorising him to send you a weekly sum during my absence. And if you won’t take it for me, then take it for George, for he would have been deeply saddened to see you left without any recompense for all the faithful years you gave him.’
She couldn’t answer, she was too full, too overcome with emotion to think straight right now. And when Matthew took her case and headed back towards the house, she followed him dumbly, like a faithful dog trotting after its master.
Leaving her side just long enough to collect the car keys from the house, Matthew helped the silent woman into the car. Running lightly round to the other side, he got in behind the wheel and started the engine. Then, with a wide grin on his face, he turned his head and waved towards the upstairs window, before releasing the brake and driving off.
Cynthia watched them go, her fingers curling into bunched fists. Letting the net curtain fall, she remained standing, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits of anger.
She had won. That common piece masquerading as a lady had gone. Now she had all the time she needed in which to persuade Rose to sign over the house to her. She would ensure that her cousin didn’t make the same mistake as her brother in failing to make a new will. She should be feeling very relieved and settled. Yet she hadn’t quite got all that she’d hoped for.
Suddenly she turned, the sound of a tinkling bell echoing through the room, the room that had once been Matthew’s on his visits. She could sense his presence in every corner, every part of the room, and at night she snuggled down in contentment in the bed he had occupied for so many years, her fertile imagination conjuring up the man himself to lie by her side. Well, she hadn’t lost him yet. Oh, no, the last battle was far from over, despite the scene she had witnessed from the window. The bell sounded again, more urgently this time, bringing a grimace to her stiff lips. She was about to answer the summons, then she stopped.
Flopping in an unladylike manner across the bed she thought savagely, ‘Let the old cow wait. I’m not her servant.’
* * *
Down in the basement Gladys Lawson sat uncomfortably on the single bed, her eyes fixed on the small bell jangling on the opposite wall. She was still waiting for someone to come and explain her duties to her, and was mulling over the angry scenes she had heard and seen in the short time she had been in residence. And when, some ten minutes later, with her nerves at screaming point and the insistent bell still ringing loudly, she placed her hands over her ears and wondered nervously what sort of a household she had landed herself in.
Chapter Eighteen
Emily had only been home a fortnight, and already the atmosphere in the small house had become unbearable. Coming down the stairs, she awkwardly lowered her swollen body into the sagging armchair by the fireplace, carefully ignoring the figure seated in the chair opposite. She needn’t have worried. The moment she sat down, Doris rose and left the room.
Emily least her head against the back of the chair and sighed. God! She couldn’t take much more of this. It wasn’t so bad when her mother was at home, for Doris spoke quite freely with Nellie. But left alone with Emily, she clammed up, avoiding being in the same room if at all possible. Emily’s normally placid nerves were in tatters and she knew that her poor mother was exhausted, from trying to keep up a cheerful appearance, as well as from attempting to keep the peace between the two young women sharing her home. It wasn’t right. Her mother had spent her life walking on eggshells around her father, and it wasn’t fair to expect her to endure this oppressive atmosphere at this stage of her life. Especially now, when Nellie had just begun to realise how good life could be, without having to stop and think before she opened her mouth.
It was no good. She would have to have a word with Doris. And what would she say? Start talking to me or sling your hook? Doris, like herself, had nowhere else to go.
And yet that wasn’t true in Emily’s case. She squirmed uncomfortably on the threadbare cushion, her eyes darting almost furtively to the bedroom above, where the key that Matthew had given her was hidden among a mass of trinkets in an old biscuit tin that served as her jewellery box. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell Nellie what had happened between her and Captain Winter for, as she kept reminding herself, it didn’t seem real, and the more time went by, the more she began to think that she had imagined the whole episode. But if Nellie knew, then her hopes for her daughter would soar once more, and Emily wasn’t going to risk disappointing her, for she didn’t yet know how she felt herself.
He probably felt sorry for you, a voice in her head niggled at her. After all, the weekly sum he promised hasn’t materialised, has it? And God knows she could have done with it right now. For as things stood at the moment, her mother was the only one working, and her wages barely covered the rent. Oh, she wouldn’t have carried on taking money from Matthew, she wasn’t made that way. But a little help until she was back on her feet would have made life a lot easier for them all. With an impatient shrug of her shoulders, Emily turned her thoughts back to the woman who had once been like a sister to her.
Before the accident her old friend wouldn’t have tolerated the situation. She would have slept rough rather than stay under the same roof as someone she’d imagined had betrayed her.
But it was different now. Doris was different now. In fact, nothing seemed the same any more.
Moments later Emily’s eyes flew open as the front door slammed. She hadn’t realised she was falling asleep. Good Lord, she’d only just got out of bed. She made a feeble effort to rise, then decided against it. She didn’t feel at all well. The lower part of her back ached something awful, and she was so tired. She imagined that if the house suddenly caught fire, she w
ouldn’t have the energy to flee. Even the mundane task of brushing and twisting her long hair up into a bun at the nape of her neck was too much trouble now. Instead she had let it fall around her face and shoulders these last few days. She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed this morning and was still in her nightdress. But who cared? There was no-one to see her disarray. She was rapidly settling into full-blown self-pity when the first pain struck.
She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as the contraction seized her stomach.
Minutes later another, more protracted pain brought her head down almost to her knees. Sweat began to break out on her face. Lord! She had asked her mother repeatedly what contraction pains were like, and how she would know when it was time. Her mother had smiled wryly and answered, ‘You’ll know, dear. Believe me, you’ll know.’
And she was right. It felt as if a giant hand was inside her, clenching her innards into a tight ball.
When yet another pain struck, barely three minutes after the last one, Emily felt a wave of panic. Breathing shallowly, she raised her eyes to the mantel clock. It was only just gone nine o’clock. Her mother had gone down to the market, and from there she was going to see one of her old employers to find out if she could get some morning cleaning work. She might not be back for hours yet.
Trying to still the mounting fear, Emily attempted to reassure herself that it would be all right. Babies didn’t come that quickly, or that easily. Her mother would be home in plenty of time.
The thought had barely crossed her mind when she was doubled up once more, and deep in her heart she knew she was in trouble. Her baby was struggling to be born and she was on her own.
Bravely she tried to rise from the armchair to summon help, but succeeded only in making it to the floor. Dot! She could knock on the partition wall for Dot. But no sooner had the idea entered her head than she remembered that her neighbour had gone away last night to spend the weekend at her sister’s house in Essex. Whimpering like a wounded animal, Emily began to crawl towards the door, but she felt so ill, so tired. A sudden rush of warmth between her legs brought tears of mortification to her eyes. She’d wet herself.