Aggie clicked her tongue and shared a despairing glance with her husband. Both had feared it would come to this.
‘He charged out saying he was gone for good. I thought he was just saying it to frighten me…but I’m beginning to think he meant it.’ Etta appeared sick and afraid. ‘I don’t know what to do, I’ve hardly any money once this week’s rent’s paid.’
Red felt responsible for his son’s behaviour and, rapidly alternating between sleep and wakefulness, was to react with logic. ‘Aggie, give the lass some cash out o’ the tin.’
‘Is that all the pair of you are worried about?’ demanded Aggie. ‘Paying the rent? The lad could be kilt, I tell yese!’
Red swooned again.
‘I’m sure not,’ Etta was quick to say, jiggling William, who was showing apprehension over the raised voices. ‘Otherwise I’d have contacted the police.’
‘The hospital!’ barked Aggie.
‘I’ve already checked there,’ her daughter-in-law assured her.
‘Ach, your man’ll be fine enough!’ retorted old Mal dismissively. ‘’Tis plain as the nose on your face what he’s at – a law unto himself as usual.’
Awake again, Red tended to agree. ‘Aye, now come on, deary, how much is this rent?’
‘Six and six.’
‘Six and six!’ shrieked all in unison, provoking the baby to tears and worsening Red’s narcoleptic fit.
Etta reared defensively, jouncing William even harder. ‘Well it wasn’t my idea to move to such a large house! Martin was the one who insisted upon it – and now he runs off and deserts me!’
Despite the baby’s noise, Red fell in and out of sleep, his wife throwing up her hands in despair. ‘Well, for sure, we can’t find that amount,’ sighed Aggie, joining Etta in trying to calm William. ‘I could maybe spare a florin…’
Etta was quick to refuse. ‘Thank you, but I can survive for now. By staving off the rent collector this Friday I can hang on to my funds another week. By that time Martin should be back.’ And, fighting her anxiety, she smiled and kissed the baby’s wet cheek in an attempt to show she believed it.
For two Fridays after Martin walked out, Etta did manage to avoid the rent collector, but on the third week running she was finally spotted crawling on all fours beneath the window.
‘Have you found it yet?’ The man’s voice yelled through a gap twixt sill and lace curtain, obliging her to freeze. ‘Yes, you on your hands and knees! I presume you’re down there looking for the money you’ve dropped. That’s if one takes the charitable view, of course. Anybody with a suspicious mind might think you’re trying to get out of paying.’ When Etta still did not move, he concluded, ‘I’ll be back next Friday. If I don’t get what’s owed you’ll be evicted!’
Relating this to her mother-in-law later, after first making sure the coast was clear, Etta declared it, ‘The most embarrassing moment of my life – oh, I could kill your son for what he’s put us through. Well, I shall just have to pawn this to raise the money.’ She tugged at the gold locket and chain around her throat. ‘But if he doesn’t come back soon I’ve no idea how we’re going to cope.’
Aggie voiced the obvious. ‘You’ll just have to find a job.’
‘How, with four children?’ demanded Etta.
Unimpressed by her son’s abrupt departure, even though she was worried about him, Aggie felt a sense of responsibility. ‘You can leave them with me.’
Whilst not overly thrilled by this offer, Etta mulled it over and eventually saw it was the only solution. ‘I suppose I must until your son decides to turn up. But what kind of employment should I seek?’
There’s a thing, thought Aggie, for the girl was patho-logically workshy.
Uncle Mal sought to help and, with a palsied hand, reached out to tap one of the boys. ‘Here now, Jimmy-Joe, get that press off your father, he can’t read it while he’s asleep.’ The nine-year-old prised the newspaper from his sleeping father’s grip and took it to the old man, who instructed him to hand it to Etta. ‘There’s a list of jobs on the front page.’
Etta thanked him unenthusiastically, then, whilst her children skipped and toddled in the evening sun, she perused the situations vacant. House maid? No, she just could not face that. Ah, this was more like it, a high-class store required a seamstress for its ladies costume department. Naturally inclined towards needlework, it seemed perfectly reasonable to take this direction. She pointed it out to Aggie. ‘Should I apply, do you think?’
Her mother-in-law shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘It’s that or starve.’
Etta felt her hackles rise at such lack of sympathy, overlooking the fact that Aggie was being more than generous by offering to mind her children. She stood abruptly. ‘I’d better not waste any more time then.’
Gathering her brood, she went home to pen a formal application and was gratified to receive a reply on Monday asking her to come for interview that afternoon. Donning her best attire, she took the children round to their grandmother’s then made her way into town.
Upon following directions from an assistant in the ladies department to an almost bare vestibule with wooden seating, she found three other applicants outside the interviewer’s office. Etta observed them from the corner of her eye, wondering if they needed the post as desperately as she. Waiting in line to be interviewed, she watched each of them go in and come out, searching their faces for signs of triumph or disaster. Then it was her turn. Summoning a smile, she entered to face her inquisitor, who sat behind a desk.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Lanegan, please be seated.’ The prim-looking woman in the gabardine costume smiled up at her, bolstering Etta’s confidence.
‘Thank you,’ she sat on the wooden chair. ‘But as a matter of fact it’s Mrs’
‘Ah…’ There was a swift change of mood, the middle-aged spinster frowning and briefly perusing the letter of application. ‘My secretary must have made some mistake, we don’t normally have occasion to employ married women…’ She glanced up again, saw the pretty young woman’s anxious expression and underwent a rethink. ‘Still, as you are here I feel obliged to examine your references.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any,’ confided Etta.
The other blurted a little laugh of disbelief. ‘But I cannot employ you without!’
Etta explained hurriedly, ‘I’ve never required payment for my efforts before.’
A supercilious, rather disbelieving smile twitched the interviewer’s lips. ‘Then how am I to know you are suitable?’
Somewhat taken aback by this tone, Etta delved into her bag and fetched out an embroidered handkerchief, offering humbly, ‘This is a sample of my work.’
‘Very pretty.’ The woman allowed it a cursory glance before handing it back. ‘But I should require much higher qualification than that little scrap – do you even have the proof that you stitched it yourself?’
At first shocked by the implication that she was a liar, Etta was then suffused with fury and embarrassment, but managed to bite her tongue and said tightly, ‘I was unaware when I came for interview that my character would be called into question. Perhaps you’d care to contact Mrs Isabella Ibbetson of Swanford Hall? I am sure she will verify my fitness to work in your establishment.’
A knowing smile from the interrogator. ‘A pity you didn’t see fit to acquire the lady’s commendation in writing before you came here.’ But then, moved by the glint of moisture in Etta’s eyes, she chose to relent. ‘If you wish to return with such a letter I should be happy to set you on as a trainee.’
‘And what remuneration could I expect?’ Etta inwardly chastised herself for appearing so desperate.
The interviewer was incredulous. ‘You expect to be paid in addition to receiving the benefit of our experience? Oh no, my dear, it would require a good deal of training before you could hope to earn anything.’
Etta’s heart sank and she said abruptly, ‘That’s no good to me, I have children to feed.’
The other’s face
lost any trace of nicety, resorting to its former primness. ‘Then, my dear, I suggest you alter your forthright views before you next apply for work. Please ask the next applicant to come in as you leave.’
Etta remained in her seat for a moment, feeling helpless and absolutely seething. Then she rose as majestically as she could and turned about with a caustic, ‘Goodbye.’
Relating the entire debacle to her in-laws, she embellished it with sweeping gestures and finished with the declaration, ‘I don’t know who on earth she thought she was, treating people with such contempt!’
‘Sure, you’re in good company,’ quoth Mal. ‘Red knows all about that, don’t ye, son?’
‘I surely do,’ sighed Red, whose agricultural work had become increasingly irregular due to the use of new tech-nology. ‘There’s no greater disrespect than being replaced by a machine.’
‘Though machines are not all bad,’ mused the old man. ‘If ye’d money to burn ’twould be novel to have one that did everything for ye.’
‘Sure you’ve got one already – ’tis called Aggie.’ The speaker sipped her tea then steered the conversation back to its course. ‘So will you write to your mother for a reference do you think?’
‘Most certainly not!’ Etta beheld her as if she were mad. ‘I said that merely to put the abominable woman in her place. I have absolutely no intention of lowering myself to ask my mother for a reference!’ It was too shaming. ‘Besides which it would be utterly pointless. The minute Father spots my handwriting on the envelope he’ll tear it up.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Red tried to project optimism but only succeeded in annoying Etta.
‘I do!’
‘Better humble pie than starvation,’ cut in Uncle Mal as Red fell asleep.
‘That’s true,’ admitted Etta with a sigh. ‘I didn’t receive as much for my locket as I’d expected, barely enough to buy food for another week – and even that depends on whether the rent collector manages to catch me. Oh heavens, the confounded fellow will be here again on Friday, what on earth am I to do?’ She rubbed her face vigorously, then, over the tips of her fingers, threw a look of resignation at her mother-in-law. ‘I have little choice, do I? I shall have to go now and write to Mother. I do hope she won’t keep me waiting too long for an answer.’
Etta’s wish was granted, a response coming within twenty-four hours of writing. It appeared that Red had been correct in saying that Pybus Ibbetson would not destroy his daughter’s letter without reading it, for, tellingly, the reply was delivered to the correct address. However, once opened, its content was less heart-warming; not only did it bear Etta’s original letter in eight pieces, but an instruction from a senior manservant, obviously dictated by Ibbetson himself, advising Etta that the occupants of Swanford Hall had no desire to correspond with her.
Hating herself for being persuaded into this humiliating surrender by her mother-in-law, Etta was terse when Aggie enquired if she had heard anything of benefit from her parents. ‘That depends on one’s viewpoint,’ she said archly. ‘I certainly consider it a benefit that I shan’t have to grovel to that pig again.’
Though sympathising with the girl’s hurt, Aggie rebuked her. ‘’Tis no way to speak of your father.’
‘Would you prefer that I call him louse?’ demanded Etta. ‘You certainly don’t expect me to compliment a man who ignores the plight of his destitute grandchildren?’
‘You laid that out in your letter, then?’
‘No, I didn’t even mention it to Mother, but they must realise I have children! I’ve been married for seven years – at least I was married until that other pig deserted me. Now I’m totally at a loss as to how I should describe my marital state.’ She saw Aggie’s lips tighten and added vehemently, ‘I’m sorry, I know he’s your son, but the mess he’s left us with…I could kill him!’
Aggie dealt a weary nod of acquiescence.
‘By Friday we could be homeless!’
Her mother-in-law pondered this. With Maggie and Elizabeth in service now, only the two boys still at home, there was more room. ‘I suppose you must move in with us then.’
If the tone of Aggie’s offer had been reluctant then Etta’s response was equally so. ‘Oh, I think we’ll keep that as a last resort.’
‘There’s thanks for you,’ sniped Aggie to Uncle Mal
‘Yes, it did sound most ungrateful, I do apologise,’ said Etta. ‘But you have little enough space as it is – and it would feel as if I were giving in. I don’t see why I should lose my home through no fault of my own.’
Aggie denounced the idea. ‘Seems crazy, you spending money to rent and heat a place that’ll be empty most of the day. I mean, it’ll be well past the nippers’ bedtime by the time you’re home from work, ’twould make more sense and kinder too if I put them to bed here.’
‘I suppose it would, but then I should never see them at all.’ Etta remained entrenched in her decision. ‘No, I should prefer to maintain my own residence, and for that I must find a job.’ This, of course, involved backing down a little. Swallowing her haughtiness she queried meekly, ‘Would you mind taking care of Willie and collecting the others from school whilst I go and search?’
Aggie showed virtue. ‘Mind? They’re my grandchildren, for pity’s sake.’ And she took possession of the baby. ‘Will I mash some brains for his dinner?’
Etta nodded thankfully and prepared to leave. However, her exit was preceded by a tap and a halloo.
Aggie groaned at the arrival of her sister-in-law, then adopted a tone of welcome. ‘Come in, ’tis open!’
Joan’s beady eyes gleamed when they fell on Etta. ‘I hoped I might find you here! I’ve just come from your house – are you going there now? I’ll walk with you.’
Etta explained that she was going into town.
‘So you’ll have to make do with the poor relations,’ said Aggie.
‘Oh that’s all right, I’ll accompany Etta!’ said Joan hastily.
‘I’m afraid I shan’t be much company,’ replied her victim, and briefly explained her reason for going to town.
Joan touched her breast in shock. ‘How dreadful! I never thought Marty was one to do a thing like that – you shouldn’t have to lower yourself by going out to work.’
‘I have no alternative if I’m to keep a roof over our heads. Now I really must go and search for employment. I pray I’ll be luckier than on the last occasion.’
Informed of Etta’s failure at the department store, Joan again delayed the other’s exit. ‘But you should have come to me! I’d have asked my neighbour to put in a good word for you – here, let me write his name down for you then you can reapply for the post and mention that you know him. I believe he’s very big in the underwear department.’
Etta threw an involuntary smirk at Aggie, then declined. ‘That’s good of you, Aunt Joan, but I’ve no wish to be insulted again. I’m sure I’ll find something eventually. I shan’t return until I do.’ Thanking her mother-in-law for looking after the children, she left.
Spurning the employment agencies, for they would take a cut of any wage, Etta went about town, seeking posters in shop windows that might advertise for assistants. But the innate sense of optimism which initially led her to the better establishments gradually began to fade with each succes-sive rebuttal, forcing her to lower her sights and then to despair as afternoon turned to evening and still she had to find anyone willing to interview, let alone employ, a married woman.
There was, of course, a way to solve this. But Etta stead-fastly refused to deny her marital status to any of these petty dictators. She was married, her husband would be coming back…sometime.
It was past six o’clock, her abdomen was grumbling with hunger and her feet were dotted with blisters as she wandered the streets. The sunlight had weakened in its descent towards the irregular roofline of antiquated buildings, yet still the air remained stifling and, with the dust stirred up by traffic and no drink past her lips since morning, her throat felt l
ike parchment. Coming across a poster advertising for an assistant at a shoe shop, she sighed, not welcoming the thought of all those sweaty feet, but told herself that beggars could not afford principles and did as she should have done hours ago: she took off her wedding ring. It felt such a huge act of self-betrayal and she clung to one thought on committing the deed: in her heart she was married. Bracing her shoulders, she entered with a smile for the first person she encountered.
The male assistant at first looked piqued at the arrival of a customer at closing time, but, swayed by her beauty and her genteel request, personally escorted her to a tiny office in a corner of the shop, the lower half timber, the upper of glass, wherein sat a portly and balding individual. Her guide was very pleasant, tapping on the glass pane to make the request for her. ‘A young lady here to ask about the job, Mr Burdock.’
In his cashier’s absence due to sickness, it was left to the manager to tally up the day’s takings, and his expression upon looking up was frazzled. ‘It’s hardly conven—’ But at the vision of young beauty, his pasty, perspiring face immediately brightened, and, jumping from his chair and tugging at his waistcoat, he invited her to join him in the booth.
Etta did not resort to false hope, for the same had occurred at other establishments until they had heard she was married, and Burdock’s old-fashioned garb of frockcoat and winged collar announced that his views would be similarly inclined. However, this time was different in that she was prepared to lie. She beamed and squeezed her way into the cramped space. ‘Thank you, Mr Burdock, I’m most grateful to you for seeing me when you must be so busy.’
‘Not at all, Miss…?’
‘Lanegan.’ Etta did not disabuse him of her virgin status.
‘Please, be seated, Miss Lanegan.’ Obviously dazzled, Burdock offered her the one and only chair.
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