Josie’s eyes had widened but now she said urgently, ‘You can’t believe that was right, lass. You can’t. You’ve more sense than that. I can understand about . . . the workhouse, but not going to live with your own kith and kin.’
‘Aye, well, I’ve no folk left, lass.’
‘You have now.’ Josie hugged her again and repeated, ‘You have now, all right? Let me help you. Please, Lily. And it’s not charity, it’s not. I . . . I’ve been a bit low recently, I’m missing home I suppose, and having you around will be wonderful. And we’ve always got on, haven’t we?’
‘But lass--’
‘No buts. Not one. Look, I’m doing all right now and if the position was reversed you’d do the same for me, you know you would.’
The tears were pouring from Lily’s eyes again but when Josie pushed her towards the carriage and the other two inside reached out eager hands to pull her up, Lily didn’t protest.
She was at the end of her tether, Josie thought, and who could blame her? If that place in there wasn’t hell on earth she didn’t know what was. Those poor people, and they all looked starving. As she joined the others it was to find Nellie had her arms tight round Lily’s slumped body and was saying over and over again, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ and Gertie was leaning forward holding one of Lily’s limp hands.
Josie looked at the three of them, taking in Lily’s closed eyes and the mortification and shame that was coming off the older woman in waves and, making a quick decision, she poked her head out of the carriage window and called to the driver, ‘Do you know a good pie and peas shop anywhere round here?’
‘I don’t right off, ma’am, but ten to one there’ll be one a couple of streets away if not at the end of the road. Them and the gin shops is what keeps folks alive round here.’
‘Could you drive to one, please?’ Settling back in her seat again Josie said quickly, ‘Do you fancy giving that man back there another gliff, Lily?’
‘What?’ Lily raised herself, taking the handkerchief Josie was holding out as she said again, ‘What do you mean?’
‘How about we get enough pies and stuff for all those people back there and take them in? For the people in the other rooms too - there are people in the other rooms?’ And at Lily’s nod, Josie continued, warming to the theme, ‘We’ll get milk for the baby and children, and beer for the others too, and bread and oh - masses of stuff. Yes? If we gave them money old Howard might well find a way to take it off them, but he can’t stop food going in their bellies today. If nothing else they’ll eat till they’re full for once.’
‘You an’ your sister come with me an’ at least you’ll go home with full bellies the night.’ Vera’s words came back down the years and Josie realised she had never really forgotten them, or what it had meant that night, so long ago now, when she had eaten her fill for the first time she could remember.
‘Do you mean it?’ Lily sat up straighter. ‘There’s a good few of ’em, you know,’ she added through her tears.
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Josie grinned. ‘Do you fancy giving Howard and his wife one in the eye then?’
‘Do I ever, lass. Do I ever.’
By the time the carriage returned to Hanging Row the four women were sitting with parcels of pies wrapped in newspapers which reached to the ceiling, or so it seemed, and the good-natured driver had cans of peas, along with several of milk, propped next to him on his seat. Josie had also bought beer, fresh loaves of warm bread, chunks of cheese and a large barrel of biscuits, and now there wasn’t sight of a tear from Lily, caught up as she was in the excitement.
It was the Howards’ daughter who opened the door again. This time Gertie stayed with the carriage and horse, and the driver came with Josie into the room in which the Howards were; Lily and Nellie distributing food into the other rooms. It was evident the driver had expected trouble after Josie had told him what was occurring when they were waiting outside the pie shop, but the Howards were like a pair of lambs as Josie encouraged everyone to eat and drink in the room in which Lily had worked. It might have been something to do with the bulky figure standing guard in the doorway - the driver was a big man, and imposing, and he had large hobnail boots and enormous hands - but afterwards Lily said she was sure it was more to do with what Howard himself would have seen as a visit from the witch who had cursed him.
The thanks from the inhabitants of the grim sweatshop were heartrending, and even the driver’s stoical countenance was moved with compassion, the extent of which became apparent when, on reaching Park Place, he refused to take the money for the fares, even when Josie tried to press it on him.
‘What a nice man.’ As the four women watched the carriage depart Gertie summed up what they were all thinking. ‘And he looked so tough on the outside, didn’t he?’
Oliver didn’t look particularly tough on the outside; he was elegant and handsome, and with an undeniable air about him, but not tough. Josie turned to the others, her expression thoughtful. Would he have been touched like the driver had been by what they’d witnessed that morning? She didn’t know, she admitted silently, and that bothered her greatly. It also bothered her that she was going to have to oppose Oliver with regard to the one stipulation he had laid down about her helping Lily; namely that her old friend would not reside under their roof. It would only be for a short time, until Josie could find suitable accommodation, but at the moment the other woman was ill and in need of a doctor and that took precedence over everything. She didn’t want Lily disappearing again, and if she farmed her off somewhere that was exactly what would happen - she felt it in her bones. Lily needed to be with people who cared about her even more than she needed food and medical attention, but Oliver wouldn’t see it that way.
Oliver did not see it that way. He returned home that afternoon feeling tired and irritable, having lost a great deal at the gaming table the night before - money he did not have in the first place. Instead of the serene, orderly household which had been his before he’d married, he felt as though he had walked into a bear garden, he flung at Josie moments before he stalked out of the house after growling that he would have dinner at his club.
He did not drive the horse and carriage to the Gentlemen’s Club in Oxford Street of which he was a member; he walked instead, and all the time his mind was worrying at his mountain of debts rather than the fact that he had left his new young wife in tears.
He had been a fool to be tempted by that game last night, he told himself wearily. He’d known it even before he’d sat down, damn it. But Stratton had made it difficult to refuse. The thought of the other man caused Oliver to walk more slowly, wondering for the first time whether Stratton knew Stella had been his mistress. It was possible. He was a wily old bird, Stratton. Oliver would have to be careful of playing against him in the future; last night he had felt something was amiss, but how could you accuse a lord of the realm and one of the Prince of Wales’s confidants of cheating at cards? Moreover he’d had no proof, just a gut instinct.
It was always Stratton who referred to the weekends he and other gay bloods had enjoyed at the Hogarth estate before his father lost everything, too. He had it on good authority that Stratton himself had been one of the young bucks who had broken his father in that last card-game, and then within days his parents had been lost at sea and he’d been left with very little more than the clothes he’d stood up in. His father’s gambling made his own losses of late appear small in comparison, although that five hundred last night was damned awkward.
Still, he’d been in deeper than this in the past once or twice, and hung on until Lady Luck had smiled at him again. Luck, and his undeniable talent in both cards and the profession he’d chosen, that was. He had some of the best names in the business on his books; talking of which . . . He stopped abruptly, frowning against the cold clear April sunlight as he tapped his gold-topped walking stick against one of the iron railings fronting a smart townhouse. Confound it, he hadn’t told Josie he had just secur
ed her second billing at the new Apollo in Shaftesbury Avenue. Considering it had only been open for a couple of months it reflected well on her, and at fifty pounds a week it wouldn’t do future engagements any harm at all. He had been right about her, she was going to be a star.
He adjusted his hat, tapping it forward on his brow. The last thought had not given him the pleasure it would have done a few months ago. His beautiful young wife had a mind of her own and that mind seemed set against him at every turn lately. Stella had been strong-willed but in a different way; at least she had seen eye to eye with him on matters of social behaviour and etiquette, but Josie seemed determined to make them a laughing stock with this last act of turning his home into a refuge for every Tom, Dick or Harry.
He started walking again, his blood pressure rising. Didn’t she realise that the associates and friendships she formed in her private life away from the stage reflected heavily on him? Philanthrophy had its place of course, and it was a mark of England being a civilised country that workhouses and such had been provided for those who needed them, but one didn’t take such people into one’s home. Vagrancy was next to Godlessness, and most of these people who populated the hovels in the city only had themselves to blame for their idleness. This woman, this Lily Atkinson, she was little better than a whore, from what he remembered. She had been only too willing to sport with him that night in Hartlepool. And now she was residing in his home and being fussed over by his staff and his own private physician. Damn it. Damn it.
‘Oliver? Oliver!’
It was a moment or two before Oliver heard the voice attempting to attract his attention. He was jerked out of his caustic thoughts, and on glancing across to the smart carriage and pair his gaze met a pair of saucy blue eyes set in a smiling face that was undeniably lovely.
‘You were far away. Is anything the matter?’ Stella Stratton said lightly. She knew from experience that such an attitude was the best line to take with Oliver. He loathed confrontation or emotion of any kind, and over the course of her liaison with this man, first before her marriage and then continuing afterwards at her insistence, she had constantly tried to hide her love for him, knowing he would find it an irritation. Desire and passion were the only emotions Oliver considered real, or had done before he had met that little chit who was now his wife. His wife. He had known that Stella herself would have married him at the drop of a hat and he had always insisted he wasn’t the marrying kind, and it was only when she had fully accepted that, that she had married Godfrey.
‘The matter?’ Oliver forced a smile. ‘Why should anything be the matter, Stella, and does Stratton know you’re out cavorting on your own without his driver?’
‘Oh, don’t be stuffy, darling, you know these little traps are all the rage.’ Stella’s languid hand took in the smart fashionable carriage and the two beautiful chestnut mares which had cost her longsuffering husband a small fortune. ‘Any woman who is anybody drives her own carriage these days; it’s such fun.’
Stella was wearing a tailored dress and coat in dove grey trimmed with silver braid, and her hat was of three different shades of grey with two curling silver feathers tilting low over her forehead. It suited her blonde hair and warm peach colouring, enhancing the blue of her eyes, and as always she had dressed very carefully, knowing her proposed ride would take her into the vicinity of St James’s. Since Oliver had finished their affair she had chosen the same route every afternoon she was in town, hoping for just such a meeting as had occurred today.
She hadn’t been able to believe it for days when he had cast her off. And she still hadn’t accepted it. She would not accept it, she told herself now as she smiled into the eyes of the man she loved. The reason for her dismissal from his bed after five years and more became clear when she heard the rumours that he was infatuated with one of his clients. Oliver, of all people! But she had also realised that with this new development, she couldn’t cause one of the scenes she had indulged in in the past when his eye had roved. She would lose him completely if she did. But she wasn’t beaten yet, oh no, not by a long chalk. Oliver belonged to her; she knew him inside out and no one could satisfy him like she did, certainly not some little baggage from the music halls.
‘Come and ride with me, I’ll take you to wherever you’re going.’ She kept her voice casual and smooth, straightening the skirt of her dress as though her appearance was the only thing of concern. ‘We hardly seem to see each other at all these days. Are you in hibernation since your marriage?’
He stared at her, surprised at her nonchalant tone and the fact she had mentioned his marriage. It was true their paths had crossed but rarely since he had married Josie, but he had thought it was due to Stella avoiding contact for some reason of her own. ‘No, I am not in hibernation, Stella, merely busy.’
‘Not too busy to ride with an old friend, surely?’ Her voice held just the right note of hurt reproach and she saw him blink for a moment. ‘We are still friends, aren’t we?’ she added sadly.
‘Of course we are.’ But Stella knew as well as he did that it would be the height of indiscretion for them to be seen riding together. It would be a statement in itself, and although Godfrey might be dull and prosaic he was not stupid. In fact, he was an extremely intelligent man. And if something like this got back to Josie . . . ‘But I chose not to drive because I wanted a walk,’ he continued quickly, smiling to soften the refusal.
Stella bowed her head for a moment. ‘I miss you, Oliver, but I don’t suppose I should say that, should I?’
‘Stella--’
‘I know, I know.’ She interrupted him swiftly, one gloved hand raised in fluttering acquiescence. ‘But I can’t help it. We had some good times, didn’t we?’
For a moment the memory of his past life - when his home was his own and he was in control of all areas of his life, including his relationship with the woman closest to him - hit Oliver with a poignancy that took him unawares. He stared at Stella and she stared back, reading the naked sentiment with its touch of pathos in his face as her heart leaped. Was Oliver finding married life too claustrophobic? Stella lowered her head again, frightened he would read the elation in her eyes. Careful, careful, she warned herself. If she was going to get him back, and she was going to get him back, she had to tread carefully here. Oliver could be more autocratic than Godfrey at times, and if he suspected she still loved him . . . It was strange, considering Oliver was such a quick-witted man, that he had never really understood how she felt about him. But then, did she? He was an obsession, she supposed, but one which was enduring. ‘Anyway, I must be going if you’re sure I can’t persuade you to ride to your destination?’
Oh, what the hell! After that one initial outburst she had been damned good about their split, damned good, and after the way Stratton had dealt with him last night he didn’t owe her husband any consideration.
And Josie? He ignored the warning voice at the back of his mind, answering it with, Stella was an old friend - hadn’t she just said so herself? And if his wife hadn’t defied him - yes, defied him - he wouldn’t even be here right now. All in all he’d been dealt with abominably, and to give Stella her due she would never have presumed to act with such impropriety as Josie had done. And what was a carriage-ride, when all was said and done? They moved in the same social circle and it was going to be better for everyone, including Josie, if any awkwardness between the Strattons and themselves was overcome.
‘I’m going to my club. Is that out of your way?’ he asked.
‘Of course not.’ Stella smiled again, the feathers on her hat dipping and waving, and after just a moment’s more hesitation Oliver climbed up beside her.
Part 4
Old Ties and New Beginnings 1905
Chapter Eighteen
The last four years had seen mixed fortunes for Britain’s working class. Severe smallpox epidemics brought doctors calling for nationwide vaccination programmes as people died in their thousands, and when King Edward VII had an emergency operat
ion for appendicitis, thereby delaying the massive celebrations planned for his Coronation - and which his advisers had felt would be an uplift for everyone after the ravages of the smallpox - the King treated the poor of London to dinner. Over 456,000 diners at 700 venues throughout the capital sat down to a veritable feast, hundreds of entertainers being booked for the occasion.
Josie herself sang for the crowds at Covent Garden where the big hall was bedecked with flowers and Chinese lanterns, and in Lambeth no fewer than 6,000 people were fed plum puddings cooked over a fire in a trench. Everyone agreed there would never be another day to match it.
Less than two months after his operation Edward was crowned on a bright sunny summer’s day, but the following years saw much unrest for the new King at home. A state of emergency was proclaimed in Ireland; a new militant women’s movement led by a Mrs Emmeline Pankhurst caused furious controversy; the miners’ unions and others began to gain ground and demand basic human rights for the working man; and although the politicians claimed greater numbers of the poor were receiving relief in Britain than ever before, every winter saw thousands dying of malnutrition and cold. The working class was questioning with a vengeance the old order of things which said the rich got richer and the poor got poorer, and all over the country different factions were challenging the wealthy upper class, the employers and land owners, and not least the judicial system itself.
To those outside her immediate circle however, it appeared that Josie’s four and a half years of married life had been happy ones, untouched by the prevailing unrest. At twenty-two years of age she had blossomed into one of the most beautiful women in London; her figure slim and straight but rounded in all the right places, and her eyes and hair calling forth as much acclaim from the critics as her outstanding voice.
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