by Anna King
How proud he’d been a year ago when he’d carried his new bride over the threshold into this house, a house he’d bought outright, not rented like those of his colleagues. They hadn’t had the good fortune to have acquired savings, as he had done. It had taken every penny he had to purchase the house, a modest little two-bedroomed terrace in the more salubrious part of Mile End, an action he had never regretted. There was something about owning one’s own home that gave a man a feeling of importance, and this at least was one thing he had in common with his father.
Closing his eyes wearily, he thought back to the first time he’d seen Amy. It had been his day off, a Saturday. George had called round and asked if he would like a walk over to Victoria Park. He’d gladly consented and the pair of them had set off happily, a wicker hamper – tucked under George’s arm. After they’d eaten the sandwiches and drunk the flask of lemonade, Bertie had stretched out on the warm grass while George had run off to play football with some children. He had laughed at the sight of George running around after the tatty ball while a dozen or more small boys had tried unsuccessfully to retrieve their prized possession. Turning onto his stomach, he had first noticed the small blonde girl sitting under a large oak, her green eyes studiously reading a gaudy magazine. Without stopping to think, he’d called out to her and had been rewarded by a shy fleeting smile. Emboldened by the girl’s response, he had moved nearer and struck up a conversation. She’d told him her name was Amy White, and that she worked as a counter assistant at Boots in Stepney. He had been captivated by her gentle demeanour and before he’d left the park they had made arrangements to meet the following Saturday. They had married a year later. The first six months had been wonderful, and then she had begun to change in her attitude to him. He tried to pinpoint the exact date the subtle change had begun, but found it impossible. All he knew now was that they had slowly begun to drift apart. She no longer wanted to hear about his work; in fact the mere mention of yet another arrest seemed to bore her utterly, and she hadn’t tried to hide the fact. Then had come the turning away from him in bed. At first he had been sympathetic, but very soon the flimsy excuses had worn thin. Now she jumped whenever he tried to touch her and endeavoured to keep out of his way as much as possible. Then had followed the threats of leaving, but when he had tried to find out the reason, she would merely shrug her shoulders and walk away, saying she hadn’t meant it.
‘Oh, Amy! Amy, come back! We’ll work it out. Whatever is troubling you, we can work something out.’ The time was now two-thirty. Where could she have gone? To his knowledge, she didn’t have any close friends she could be with at this hour, but then what did he really know about her acquaintances? With the hours he worked, nights as well as days, she could have a dozen friends he knew nothing about, especially if she wanted to keep him in the dark. Pushing the nagging thought of another man to the back of his mind, he closed his eyes.
‘Just for a few minutes,’ he whispered wearily. ‘Then I’ll go and look for her. She’s probably changed her mind and is frightened to come home. Just a few minutes’ rest, that’s all I need.’ Stifling an enormous yawn, he settled himself down more comfortably in the soft armchair.
* * *
The bright sunlight streaming in through the net curtains made Michael screw up his gritty eyes in discomfort. With a supreme effort he opened them and stared around, wondering where on earth he had landed himself. Groaning out loud, he pulled himself to a sitting position, then winced as a sharp pain tore across his head. Gingerly now he swung his legs to the floor and held his aching head in his hands, staying motionless for a few minutes as he tried to get his brain in working order. He could remember clearly walking out of the lodge and making his way down to the Whitechapel Road – after that, everything was a blur. Then looking across the room, he jumped with surprise at the sight of Bertie, still dressed in his uniform, slumped in the armchair opposite. Dear God in heaven, what was he doing here? And where was ‘here’ anyway? Vague memories of the night before began to return, and he groaned aloud. The neat sitting room with its cheerful flowered wallpaper and the orderly furniture must mean that he was in Bertie’s home. But why? Well, whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to stay. He’d best be moving before his nibs woke up. Standing up carefully, he checked his pockets to make sure he had the price of a cab, then walked on tip-toe across to the front door and let himself out.
Bertie heard the door bang, and quickly jumped to his feet. ‘Amy? Amy, is that you?’ he called hopefully to the empty room before sinking back in his chair, a look of resignation on his stubbly cheeks. His eyes flickered to the empty settee and then back to the front door. Rubbing his face, he got up and walked into the scullery.
Chapter Twenty-five
Danny stood on a chair, his anxious face pressed against the cool window pane as he waited for his dad to come home. Suddenly his face broke into a huge grin of relief as he came walking across the lawn towards the lodge. ‘Mum, Mum, Dad’s home!’ he cried as he jumped down to open the door.
In the bedroom, Ruby heard the high-pitched voice and felt her stomach muscles tighten.
‘Mummy, hurry up, I want to go and see Dad,’ Florrie said impatiently as she waited for Ruby to finish buttoning the back of her dress.
The simple task completed, Ruby propelled her daughter gently out of the room. Going over to the dressing table mirror, she surveyed her face critically, making sure that the night of crying had left no trace. The past 48 hours were at last beginning to tell. She felt drained, completely worn out with tiredness and emotion, but with all that had happened during the past two days, it was the remark Michael had made about ‘one-legged help’ that remained firmly embedded in her mind. Although she knew he had spoken in anger and would be full of apologies as soon as she went to meet him, the words had cut deep, and she was more determined than ever to show that she was as good as the next woman. Stepping back, she smoothed down the front of her purple dress, then pushed a stray tendril back into the tight chignon at the back of her head. Lastly she picked up a black band and fastened it securely to the top of her sleeve. Then, taking in a great mouthful of air, she raised her head and opened the bedroom door.
Ignoring the painful churning in her stomach, she walked past Michael, who was rolling on the floor with the children, and into the kitchen. Taking the steaming pot of porridge from the stove, she carefully made her way back into the sitting room, depositing the heavy pot on the table at the far end of the room. ‘Breakfast’s ready!’ she called, making her voice cheerful for the sake of the children.
Michael eyed her warily as she calmly set the plates and bowls out, only a slight trembling of her hands betraying her agitation. Still holding the children, he walked to the table, quickly settling them in their chairs before sitting down himself.
‘Oh, Mum, not porridge again. I hate porridge!’ Danny cried in dismay.
‘So do I,’ echoed Florrie, banging her spoon on the table.
‘Now then, behave yourselves,’ Michael said sternly, ‘Don’t be upsetting your mother.’
Banging down a large bowlful of porridge in front of him, Ruby answered sharply. ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with my children, thank you.’
Sensing their mother’s mood, the children made a face at each other before applying themselves to their food. Michael too thought it wiser to keep silent, and picking up his spoon he began to shovel the porridge into his mouth, praying that he would be able to keep the sticky substance down. When the silent meal was over and the children were happily playing in their bedroom, Ruby began to stack the dirty dishes, her face composed as she studiously ignored the figure by her side.
Michael watched her set face and sought desperately for a way to break the strained silence. He’d have to say something soon. More importantly, he’d have to think up a suitable peace-offering. Unbidden, the solution sprang to his mind. It would bring the smile back to her face, but could he himself bear it? When his mug, still half full of strong hot tea, was
whisked out from under his nose, he made up his mind. Before he could give himself time to reconsider, he blurted out, ‘Are you not going to ask where I’ve been all night?’
‘Where you’ve been or whom you’ve been with is no concern of mine, ’ Ruby replied.
Michael’s eyes widened in surprise. Jasus, she thought he’d been with another woman! The knowledge that she still cared enough for him to be angry made his body slump with relief. He had the strong desire to laugh out loud, but curbed it, for he knew that if he gave rein to his mirth, his mug of tea that she was still holding would end up in his lap. Composing his face into a mask of contrition, he said humbly, ‘I’m heart-sorry for the way I behaved last night, sweetheart. I didn’t mean half of what I said, and as for what I said about… Well, you know, about you not being able to…’
‘You mean about not many places wanting to hire one-legged help?’ she finished the sentence for him.
‘Ruby, I’m sorry! It was a terrible thing to say. Will you not forget it?’ The tight look on her face was answer enough, and quickly averting his eyes he hurried on. ‘It was me Irish temper talking, and, talking about the Irish, I had the luck of it last night. If Bertie hadn’t found me walking the streets, I’d probably be locked up in a polis station this minute, or lying with a knife in me back down some dark alley.’
Ruby’s grim look vanished, to be replaced by astonishment, and when she pulled out a chair and sat down, he breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had crossed the first hurdle; now he had to go one step further and produce the peace-offering. He knew he’d regret it the minute the words had passed his lips, but if it made Ruby happy and was the means of bringing them closer again, he was willing to make the sacrifice. ‘Aye, you can look surprised; I was meself. This was the way of it. I’d had a skinful… Well, that’ll come as no surprise to you. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is waking up on a sofa with Bertie sprawled out on a chair opposite me. He must have found me and brought me home with him. Why, I don’t know, ’cos there’s never been any love lost atween the pair of us. But there you are, I’m grateful to him for looking after me as he did, not that he did it out of any feelings for meself. Still, in all, it was good of him. I was going to wake him to say thanks but thought better of it, so I left him asleep.’
Pushing the bowls away from her, Ruby asked, ‘You were with Bertie last night?’
‘Aye, aren’t I after telling you so? And I was thinking, there are some nice houses round that area. What would you say to looking at some of them?’
Ruby looked suspiciously at the unshaven face, searching for some sign of mockery hidden behind the question, but found none. God, he must be feeling guilty about last night, and not without good reason! Well, if that was the case, she’d make good use of it, as long as he didn’t change his mind tomorrow and try and wriggle out of it. She swallowed hard before replying, ‘You’re not just saying that to placate me? I mean you’d really be willing to live near Bertie and Amy?’
Michael looked deeply into her large blue eyes. Well, he’d done it now! The very thought of living close to his brother-in-law caused him to groan silently with dismay, but there was no turning back. Forcing a wide grin to his lips, he said, ‘Haven’t I just said so? We’ll have to work out what we’re going to do when we leave here. I was thinking…’ He paused… ‘If we put our money together, I could maybe get a stall down one of the markets. I know a lot of fellows who…’
But Ruby stood up quickly, sending her chair scraping along the floor. ‘No, Michael. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve finally decided. I’m going to start a business of my own. And I’m not just saying it out of spite; it’s something I want to do. Anyway, £200 is more than enough to buy a stall, or is it the thought of my being independent that worries you?’
‘Begod, Ruby, setting up in business is man’s work. What would you do, will you tell me that?’
Drawing a number of circles with her fingers on the table, she waited a while before replying, ‘I’m going to start a dressmaking business and aim for the working women who normally buy their clothes down the markets. I could make them dresses for the same price, but twice the quality. I plan to buy some advertising space in the daily papers, but of course I can’t do that until we’re settled. I’ve made my own clothes for years, so I’m qualified for the job. I’ll need to buy a new sewing machine, but I’ll soon recoup the money I spend once I get some customers.’
Michael fought to control his rising panic. The way things were at present, with her being welcomed back into the family fold and therefore once again under her father’s protection, the last thing he wanted was for her to achieve independence. He wanted her to depend on him for security, he needed that feeling of importance, no matter how misplaced. Joining his hands together, he said carefully, ‘And why did you learn to make your own clothes? I’ll tell you, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s because you didn’t like going into shops to buy any, wasn’t it? The last time you went was to buy your wedding dress, and you came back nearly in tears because of the stares you had to put up with; do you remember?’
When she remained staring fixedly at her hands, he exclaimed, ‘Ruby, from when you were a young girl you’ve been protected from the outside world. First with your parents, then when you came here, the auld girl took over where they’d left off. Whenever you’ve been out, there’s always been someone with you, either meself or your mother and Lily, and now you’re talking about going to the newspapers to put advertisements in, and having hordes of strange women come to you for their clothes. Think, woman! Think of what you’re planning to do. If you still want to go ahead, then I’ll not stand in your way, but if you do, then you’ll have to develop a thick skin, ’cos people are cruel, Ruby, in the main. People are cruel.’
She thought for a long moment before answering softly, ‘Oh I know that, Michael. I know that to my cost.’
He looked at her set face, at the pain in her eyes, and dropped his head. God Almighty, if he could only take back what he’d said last night! But he couldn’t, just as he couldn’t stop her from going her own way. He left the table and walked unsteadily into the bedroom.
* * *
Hardcastle Street, situated in a quiet position just off the Mile End Road, consisted of a neat row of terraced houses on both sides of the street. The majority of its tenants were made up of bank clerks and office workers, those people in the enviable position of being able to afford to rent or buy their own home. It was a different world from the tenements that occupied most of Mile End just a short way away. The people behind the lace curtains would do without food and clothing rather than give up their hard-earned status of respectability.
Ruby got off the tram at the corner of the road, her face aflame with embarrassment. In an effort to show Michael that she could cope on her own, she had insisted on coming by herself to view the house they’d picked out the week before to measure up for the curtains. Putting her head down against the cold, she hurried along, the familiar clicking of her leg echoing as she walked. Keeping her eyes studiously down, she didn’t stop until she’d reached the safety of number 11. Quickly inserting the key in the lock, she hurried inside. Her body was shivering, but her face was still warm from her experience on the tram. How mortified she’d felt when that man had tripped over her outstretched leg, and even worse when he’d started to shout at her, only to stop as he realised her handicap. His flustered apologies had brought the attention of the other passengers to her, and two elderly women sitting opposite had kindly warned other passengers of the obstruction in the confined carriage. She had fought down the strong impulse to alight and hail a cab, but had resisted, knowing that from now on this would have to be her form of transport. But, oh, the shame she’d felt as the kindly but prying eyes had stared! Slowly she crossed to an old wooden chair, the only piece of furniture in the house. Sinking down gratefully, she looked around the cold empty room, feeling tears begin to form.
Now, then, there’s no time for self-p
ity, she reproached herself. As Michael had so forcefully pointed out, she’d have to get used to the stares. And he had been right in all that he’d said. She had imagined herself so brave and self-sufficient when she’d first left home to go out into the big wide world, but what had she really achieved? She’d simply gone for one cosseted household to another. In all the time she’d spent with Mabel, she had hardly ever left the house except when she had company, and then the journeys had always been by hansom cab. But no more. From this day on she would use public transport, for it was the only way she would ever learn to steel herself against the sympathetic looks. Giving herself a mental shake, she stood up, briskly determined that she would conquer the shame she felt. It was a case of learning endurance or spending the rest of her life hiding behind the door of her home, and she wasn’t going to do that. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took out her measuring tape and began to size up the windows.
When she was finished, she wandered round the rooms, chiding herself for playing for time. The journey back had to be faced, and not only that one, but many more. She had to find a new school for Danny, and enrol Florrie, who was fast approaching school age. Moreover, she had to find time to visit the bank and arrange for the money Mabel had left to be legally transferred to the children. The bequests had been handed out by Sir Charles, much to her relief. She’d been terrified she would have to go to the bank for it, and, if so, Michael quite naturally would have wanted to accompany her to collect his own inheritance, and what if the bank manager had mentioned the three thousand? Shuddering, she closed her eyes at the dreadful thought. What explanation could she have given to Michael then? Still, it hadn’t happened like that, thank God, and in two weeks they would all be living here in a house that would herald a new start for them all, and in particular for herself. She’s already marked the store-room for her sewing machine and writing desk, and despite Michael’s scornful words she was determined to make a success of her venture. As to what he intended to do, she’d have to wait and see, because apart from that one mention of a stall, the subject of a job for him hadn’t arisen and she’d been wise enough not to push it – for now.