Jenny Telfer Chaplin

by Hopes

  From the quick indrawn breath and the look on Nellie’s face Hannah grinned, taking it that her barb had struck home and this was indeed news to Nellie.

  “For all Ah ken the pair o youse might weel end up in jail. So hae nae fear. Ah wouldnae want tae join ye. Frae this day forrad ma lips is sealed.”

  Having completed her task to her own satisfaction, the self-righteous Hannah turned and called back from the doorway: “As far as a Christian name goes, why don’t ye call her Becky? Ah had an auld Aunt Becky and see her, talk aboot being lucky! Aye! She was that lucky in everythin she touched in this life that folk used tae say o her that if she fell in the Clyde she’d come up wi a gold watch. Aye! The name Becky should dae that puir faitherless bairn jist fine. For let’s face it, if anybody ever needed a bit o luck in this life ye can take it frae me it’s gonnae be that puir wee innocent bastard.”

  With the noise of the slammed door still ringing in their ears Nellie and Meg looked at each other and almost in unison said: “Right! Becky Bryden it is.”

  Nellie bustled around the kitchen preparing a pot of tea and said: “Right, Meg, one way and another, between the pair o us, we’ve battled our way through this bit o bother jist fine and dandy.”

  A wan-faced Meg nodded and, exhausted, fell back. The pain and trauma of the night faded and she slipped into a dreamlike state …

  Alex Cartside was so much more sophisticated than anyone Meg had ever met before. His polished manners and refined speech attracted her right from the very first time she saw him standing at the podium lecturing the class on the finer points of diction – “So necessary for a teacher to give a good example to her pupils.”

  She was thrilled when in the second week he had complimented her in front of the whole class on her excellent speech and speaking voice. Their accidental meeting in Miss Cranston’s on Sauchiehall Street was the high point of the third week at the Normal School and she readily agreed to his proposal that they meet at Kelvingrove Art Gallery. There, he said, he could expand her horizon, discussing with her the excellent art, and thus making her a better teacher.

  The visit to the gallery was very pleasant and at the afternoon tea which naturally followed Meg was charmed and readily agreed to further meetings.

  Miss Euphemia Edgar, the spinster teacher who had taken Meg in when her parents died and with whom she still lived, warned her against ‘any romantic entanglement’ which would end her career in teaching. Meg had laughed. Alex was a lecturer at the Normal School, a good ten years older than she; he was simply good-heartedly interested in helping her become a better teacher.

  However, as the meetings went on Meg was aware that while still formal and proper Alex now occasionally held her hand and once daringly put his arm round her waist. The first kiss in the twilight walking in Kelvingrove Park startled but thrilled her and she found herself kissing him back. Meg declined the next invitation, but Alex had pulled her aside after class and apologised, saying he had been carried away by the moment and that it wouldn’t happen again. Their next meeting was again formal but in subsequent meetings they moved to amorous caresses and before Meg stopped to think they were in his rooms and it was too late to think.

  In mid-November she discovered she was pregnant. Alex’s response to the news shocked her. He implied that she, a woman of loose morals, couldn’t possibly be sure the baby was his, and that anyway he was moving back in with his wife from whom he had had a temporary separation. He was resigning his post at the Normal School and taking up a similar post in Canada in the New Year.

  Meg left Miss Edgar’s comfortable home saying her older sister needed her and she moved in with Nellie.

  Later that day after copious amounts of tea Nellie sighed.

  “Why on earth ye had tae gie everythin away like that, it fair beats me. Honest tae God the mair Ah think aboot it, the angrier and mair het-up Ah get. Tae think o aw the chances ye had that Ah niver even got a look at … ye were clever; ye got tae stay on at school efter Maw and Paw died and that dried up auld spinster o an English teacher wi the posh talk and stuff took ye in. Ye even got tae begin yer training for tae be a schoolteacher. A schoolteacher by God – and then …”

  Meg eased herself up on the bed and reached out a detaining hand.

  “Och, Nellie, don’t. Please don’t go on and on about it.”

  Nellie brushed Meg’s hand aside and shouted: “Och, Nellie, nothin. This is somethin Ah hae tae say and God help me Ah will say it. It makes me fair boil wi rage when Ah think how bloody stupid ye’ve been. Where were aw yer brilliant brains then when ye were daeing the business wi him? Was aw yer high intellect and yer high-falutin manners doon therr skeeterin aboot in yer knickers?”

  Meg’s face became even paler and she gasped.

  Seeing the effect of her diatribe on her sister, Nellie relented somewhat.

  “Och, listen, hen, what’s done cannae be undone but wi yer lover by noo over the seas tae the colonies tae escape his responsibilities, God alone knows what on earth ye’ll dae noo. But one thing Ah dae ken. Ye’ll no be able tae stay here in ma hoose. Ma ain tribe o bairns will be back frae across the landing the morn’s morn and Ah’ll need tae introduce them tae their new wee sister Becky. Apart frae onythin else ma man could be arriving back frae the high seas any day noo. He’s gonnae be surprised enough tae see another new bairn – although mind you the way he went on at the hochmagandie on his last leave it shouldnae be as big a surprise.”

  Meg blushed at her sister’s use of the coarse old Scotch word for intercourse. “It was fortunate that this trip took him away for just over the nine months.”

  Nellie snorted. “Rab will deal aw right wi another mewlin wean, but the one thing he couldnae stomach is your fancy Kelvinside speechifyin, yer prissy manners, and yer high-falutin ideas. Naw, naw. Rab jist couldnae deal wi a high and mighty lady o quality such as ye’ve turned intae over the years. So ye’d better start thinkin aboot where it is ye’re gonna be livin, since ye cannae see yersel back wi yer teacher freen, and ye havenae the ghost o an idea as tae whit ye’re gonnae dae tae earn an honest crust.”

  ***

  Chapter 2

  Nellie’s words sank into Meg’s already sore, troubled brain. For the rest of that memorable day and far into the night, as Meg tossed on a sleepless pillow, the words kept on hammering their relentless message at her.

  Early next morning Meg barely had time to sip at the cup of hot, sweet tea Nellie handed her before Nellie said: “Well? Reached any decisions yet? At least ye’ve had time to sleep on it …”

  “Sleep on it! Sleep on it did you say, Nellie? With all this on my mind?”

  Nellie waved her sister’s words aside with a dismissive gesture. “Hmph! Ye’ve probably had a hell of a lot more sleep that me. Ah wis up and doon the hale night attendin tae that mewlin brat o yers.”

  Meg bridled. “Her name is Becky, if you don’t mind, not mewling brat.”

  “Listen, hen, Ah don’t give a damn whit her bloody name is, but whit Ah dae care aboot is this … ma man Rab could come roisterin back frae the high seas ony day noo. Ye’ll hae tae be weel clear o ma hoose before then. Surely ye can understaun that?”

  Meg sighed. “I know, I know, so you don’t need to keep harping on about it. As to my own instincts … I’d love to stay on here with wee Becky, but I know I can’t. It’s impossible.”

  “Impossible is right. At least that’s somethin we can baith agree on. Too bloody right it’s impossible. Right, noo we’ve settled that, what exactly is it that ye’re plannin tae dae for tae keep yer ain body and soul together? No tae mention haein the means tae go slippin me the odd half-croon backhander for looking efter yer wee b… er for feedin and clothin yer wee Becky.”

  Silence greeted this and Nellie went on: “Ye’ll need tae get a job o some kind and the good God above alone kens whit that will be. For there’s one thing for certain sure, ye’ve certainly buggered up yer chance o iver reachin the giddy heights of social superiority o being a sch
oolma’am.”

  “Nellie, would you please, please stop going on about my lost chances? If anyone on this planet earth is aware of what a horrendous mess I’ve made of my life it is me. When I think of how easily men can wriggle out of their paternal responsibilities I could weep from now till Kingdom Come.”

  “Aye, ye were right stupid aboot that scunnersome lout that left you to fend for yersel with a bun in yer oven. Ah’ve been lucky wi ma Rab. He works his fingers tae the bone slavin away on the high seas on that boat jist tae feed and clothe oor squad o weans. Never a cross word passes his lips even if every time he gets back Ah’ve got another new bairn waitin for tae greet its faither. Aye, one mair mouth tae feed disnae bother him, and ye can thank yer lucky stars for it, otherwise Ah’d no hae been able for tae take wee Becky aff your hands. Aye, a man among men, that’s ma guid man Rab.”

  Meg pressed her lips together for the sake of peace as she thought of her picture of Rab – a drunken, womanising, controlling man; the seafarer home from the sea with money in his pocket and ‘rarin to go’ on his usual jaunts to the many houffs and pubs of the City of Glasgow.

  After a short silence Nellie shook herself. “There’s ower much tae dae this morn for tae stand here bletherin. Whit in God’s name kinda job dae ye hope tae get?”

  Meg frowned and chewed her lip then quite suddenly her face cleared.

  “I think I may just have stumbled on an answer.”

  Nellie stared at her sister, a look of disbelief on her face. “Ye really think that woman would gie ye a job? Why on earth would she? Let’s face it hen ye’ve nae experience nor qualifications for tae work in a haberdashery, or any other dashery for that matter.”

  Meg gave a rueful smile. “If we’re being totally honest I’m not qualified for anything at all now, am I? But the thing is, Miss Martin, the elderly lady who owns it, she and I struck up quite a rapport when I used to buy some oddments in her shop while I was at the college in Dundas Vale.”

  Nellie rolled her eyes to heaven. “Listen, hen, Ah don’t care what it was that ye struck up the auld biddy, but Ah still don’t see why in God’s name she would gie ye a job. She’s no yer fairy godmother nor naethin is she?”

  Meg waved aside her sister’s words. “I became quite friendly with Miss Martin. I think she just needed someone to talk to. She used to tell me about her old mother and –”

  Nellie snorted. “Fascinatin stuff!”

  Ignoring her sister’s sarcasm, Meg went on: “Anyway be that as it may, the point is she once said, since I had a lovely speaking voice and compassionate manner, if ever I found teaching a class of unruly children was not to my liking she would be more than happy to give me a job. So there you have it! I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go and see her.”

  “Right, Meg. For the love o God dae it sooner rather than later afore the auld biddy changes her mind. Eh no?”

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Miss Petronella Martin was absolutely delighted with her new assistant. Not only did the desperate-for-paid-work Meg Spence treat her employer with the respect and deference due to an astute business woman of the social calibre of Petronella Martin, Meg with her careful vowels, absence of the Glasgow glottal stop, neat appearance, and pleasant manner also charmed the customers which was excellent for repeat trade.

  However, there was one thing on which they could not see eye to eye and this morning Miss Martin in a quiet spell between customers launched yet again on her favourite topic.

  “I’m only saying it for you own good, my dear Meg. It just isn’t natural, or even healthy, for a lovely young woman like you, with all the proper social graces, to spend all of her free time cooped up in that one room in your boarding house. You really do need to get out more. Go places, do things, meet people of your own age and social position. Perhaps even be introduced to some eligible young bachelors of good social and financial standing. Do face the facts, my dear Meg; you surely don’t want to end up like me, a spinster of the Parish, with neither husband nor child to call my own.”

  If Miss Martin ever met Nellie and her coarse speech and manners what on earth would she think? Oh My Lord, if she ever found out about Becky I’d be out of a job quicker than a flash. And as for meeting eligible young bachelors … well … my one adventure was, as it turned out, neither eligible nor a bachelor. I don’t think I’m ready to try that again for now.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Miss Martin peered at Meg, inches from her face, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Oh, yes, sorry, Miss Martin. I was miles away. But yes, I did hear what you were saying. You think I should get out more – escape from time to time from the confines of my poky little room.”

  Miss Martin sat back and nodded. “So you were listening after all. Well now, about that room in your boarding house … I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Recently I’ve been giving a lot of thought to your living conditions. A room in a boarding house with who knows what unsavoury characters to be met at the common meal table is not really suitable. Here is what I’ve come up with … just an idea, of course … but one which I think could well be of interest to you and advantageous both financially and socially. So let’s have our morning tea and I’ll explain matters to you in detail.”

  ***

  Chapter 4

  It had been a long, tiring, and indeed rather stressful day at the haberdashery … and not least on account of Miss Martin’s detailed outlining of her so-called master plan to have Meg leave her ‘socially unsuitable’ accommodation and take a room at Miss Martin’s home.

  On Meg’s way back to her lodgings her employer’s words were still ringing through her head as she mentally considered the advantages and, yes, the very real possible disadvantages of such a move, involving, as it would, helping with the care of Miss Martin’s elderly mother. The more she thought about it the more Meg was inclined to accept the kind offer even with the strings attached.

  Yes, Meg thought. In many ways it would suit me very well. But there’s no need to make up my mind for a while yet. After all, once I commit myself to such a scheme that’s me locked in.

  As Meg quickened her steps along the darkening city streets she thought: Strange that remark Miss Martin made about my meeting up with unsavoury characters at the lodging house.

  The elderly spinster was more accurate than she might have guessed. It wasn’t only at the communal dining-table there was danger from unwelcome advances. It would not be the first time that Meg had been harassed and ogled by another tenant in an upper hallway. Even in the street on her way from work she had been accosted by men appearing from otherwise deserted alleyways.

  In allowing her thoughts to dwell on this troublesome aspect of her daily life, Meg felt she was in danger of losing the meagre self-confidence she had managed to dredge up after the debacle of her fall from grace and the horrendous trauma of having given birth to an illegitimate child. Perhaps what her sister Nellie had said, in her usual less than ladylike language, that as a ‘fallen woman’ she was indeed sending out the wrong signals to, “randy, gaspin for it, dirty auld men.”

  Meg was unsure what these real or imagined signals could be. However, being a lone, unaccompanied, obviously unattached, yet fairly presentable young woman living in a lodging house that was perhaps giving out an unintentional come hither look. Of course, those were the wrong signals the never ending stream of commercial travellers and other such casuals who passed through the rooming-house thought she was sending.

  That night at the evening meal while firmly ignoring the lustful stares of her known tormentors Meg instead listened politely to the conversation of the new arrival across the table from her.

  He proved to be a most interesting dinner companion with tales of his travels and amusing anecdotes. Alone at the table when the others had left, he bashfully and with boyish naivety confessed: “I’m a lay preacher. I don’t generally let this fact be known to casual acquaintances. I suppose I fear that because I’ve found G
od it makes me, in some people’s eyes, a sort of latter day goody-goody mama’s boy.”

  Meg and her new-found friend laughed at this and Meg, feeling herself to be on safe grounds with this sound, upright citizen, light-heartedly said: “Don’t worry, Mr Lay Preacher, sir, you’re dastardly secret is safe with me.”

  On that happy note Meg headed upstairs to soak her feet, aching after a long day standing in the shop, then to unpin and brush out her hair. Finally she sought the comfort of her single bed in the cell-like freezing room she now called home.

  Almost asleep, something brought her fully awake and she sat up in bed to peer round the room in the faint light afforded by the street’s flickering gas lamp outside her window. There it was again. A sound she couldn’t quite place.

  A mouse? Oh Lord, don’t let it be a mouse.

  Meg pulled the patchwork cover tight around her and over her head and lying down again tried to get back to sleep. The sound came again, but this time Meg, now fully awake, identified it. No mouse was big enough or clever enough to be trying to turn the key in her bedroom door. While she considered herself a coward, a shivering wreck of a woman when faced with a mouse she would be damned if any lustful man would ever again ruin her life. Meg, as she rose, was just in time to see a sheet of paper being slid through the wide gap under her door.

  This is no secret love letter, she thought. Any minute now my bedroom door key is going to be pushed from the lock to fall onto that paper and be slid back under the door into the grasping hand of whoever is there.

  She took hold of the key and quietly removed it from the lock. That done, she looked round the room for anything of sufficient weight with which to barricade her door. The rickety old chair certainly wouldn’t fit the bill nor would the wobbly cane bedside table. If she could possibly drag over the solid oak chest of drawers, however, that would do the trick. Using every ounce of her strength she dragged the piece of furniture towards the door. Before the chest was finally in place, with her bare foot she pushed the offending piece of paper under the door and back to its owner. With one last surge of energy the chest with a final thump was firmly in place. That achieved, a stream of the most vile, foul language was directed at Meg from the unseen, would-be lecher.