by Beezy Marsh
‘You come up to her from the side, so she can see you, and then she won’t get scared,’ said Henry. Emma followed close behind him, reaching out her hand to feel the animal’s muzzle – it was soft and warm. Henry grabbed a handful of hay from a heap in the corner and showed Emma how to feed the horse, with her hand flat. She giggled as Nell took it from her, her big teeth grazing against the flesh of her palm: ‘It tickles a bit, don’t it?’
‘And who’s this you’re bringing into my yard?’ a voice boomed across the cobbles.
Henry and Emma spun around to see Charlie D – the big fella from the pub – standing full square, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat. He pulled out his fob-watch and added, with a beady eye on Henry: ‘You’d better be getting out again or I’ll dock you a shilling, boy.’
‘Sorry, Charlie,’ said Henry. ‘I’m just showing one of Will Chick’s girls around. I’ll be back off out in just a tick.’
Charlie D came over, slapped Henry on the back and started laughing. ‘Of course, it’s all right, I’m only teasing, she’s welcome here any time.’
He turned to Emma: ‘How’s that father of yours?’
‘Fine,’ said Emma. ‘Working in Hampstead at the moment.’
‘Ah,’ said Charlie D, stroking his bushy beard. ‘Not seen him in the Bridport lately and he owes me a couple of bob. You tell him old Charlie D is waiting to see him back at the card tables now, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ she said, realizing, to her horror, that if she passed the message on, she’d have to explain to her dad how she’d come to be chatting to Charlie D in the stables at Silchester Mews in the first place.
Emma didn’t mention her little ride in the hansom cab to her sisters – it was none of their business and, in any case, Kiziah would probably only use it to stir up trouble after their spat. Besides, the person she really wanted to hear from, Arthur, hadn’t been in touch at all, which bothered her. Henry was nice and all that, but Arthur was the one she was really interested in.
Imagine her delight then, the very next day, when a little note arrived at the laundry with one of the workmen delivering the lunch from the pub around the corner. He tapped the side of his nose and slipped it, silently, into the pocket of her apron as he handed over the bread, cheese and beer for the women. Emma waited until everyone was busy tucking in at their ironing boards before turning her back and unfolding it: ‘Meet me at seven tonight in the park, Arthur.’ And he’d even added a little kiss. It was a secret meeting, just the two of them! So, he was keen on her, after all. There was just one problem: how was she going to slip out of the house unnoticed?
After mulling it over, she decided to rope Clara in on the plan. ‘I’ll give you a penny for covering for me and another for coming along and just hanging around somewhere close by – that way, if anyone sees us, you can say we were out for a walk together and just bumped into Arthur.’
Clara wasn’t too certain: ‘But what if Dad finds out? He’ll belt the both of us, that’s for sure.’
‘He won’t ever find out,’ said Emma. ‘And we won’t tell Kizzy either because she’s bound to let it slip out of spite that Arthur hasn’t asked her to meet up.’ She was barely able to disguise the note of triumph in her voice as she spoke. Yes, Kizzy, her beautiful older sister, was not the one that Arthur wanted, despite all her showing off.
That evening, Kizzy sat darning some socks by the range and Mum was doing extra washing, as usual, when Emma stood up and announced she needed some air: ‘I don’t know, I’m feeling like I could be getting one of those stuffy headaches. Do you fancy coming for a quick stroll out with me, Clara?’
Clara leaped to her feet. ‘Yes, that would be nice, it’s a warm evening.’
Mum glanced up from her washboard. ‘Well, you could do worse than seeing if you can dig your father out of the pub while you’re out, too, if you go down that way.’
‘Well, we’ll be off then,’ Emma said, grabbing Clara by the hand, marching down the hallway and out through the front door, before Kizzy could open her mouth to say she wanted to join them.
Outside in the street, some of the old fellas were sitting out on chairs, talking to each other, while boys played kick the can and the girls swung a huge skipping rope across the width of the street and called on Clara to jump in. Emma remembered how much she’d loved playing those games when she was a girl, but she was too old for that now, she was about to be someone’s girlfriend – her skipping days were over. Clara made to join the game, just for a minute, but Emma touched her arm: ‘Remember, we’ve got important business tonight’ – and they hurried off towards the park.
Arthur was leaning against the park gate post, drawing on a ciggie, when they arrived: ‘I thought you’d be alone,’ he said, looking over at Clara, his eyes narrowing a little.
‘Oh, we will be. Clara is just making sure I don’t get into trouble with my parents, that’s all,’ said Emma. ‘She can sit on a bench while we take a stroll . . .’ Clara looked at the floor and shuffled her feet about, embarrassed.
‘That’s good,’ said Arthur, beaming at Emma, ‘because I’d hoped to have you all to myself.’
Clara walked over to a bench and sat down and started fidgeting with her hands in her lap.
‘We won’t be long,’ said Emma. ‘You stay here – and we’ll be back in a while.’
Arthur offered her his arm and she took it as they wandered off, towards the bandstand. The light was fading and the scent of the first blossom on the trees filled the air.
‘I wanted to ask you about walking out with me, more often,’ said Arthur, turning to face her. ‘I want to spend more time with you, time when we can be alone together. Maybe I could take you up to the varieties at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire?’
Faced with the reality of having to tell her father, Emma was completely flummoxed. ‘I’m not sure, it might cause me so much trouble indoors,’ she said. ‘Can’t we just meet up like this from time to time?’
They had reached the bandstand now, and Arthur took her by the hand and walked her around to the back of it, near some bushes, before turning and pulling her to him. Suddenly, his mouth was covering hers and his tongue, probing and insistent, was pushing its way in between her lips. She’d never been kissed before and she found that she wasn’t enjoying it, not in the way she’d expected to, at least.
She put her hands up to his chest and began to try to push him away, but he was too strong. He enveloped her in his embrace and kissed her harder, so that she had no choice but to let his tongue explore the softness of her mouth. ‘I want you, Emma,’ he breathed, his hands running their way up her ribcage and brushing across her bosom. It was like being on a carousel with him, but she had no control over getting off when she’d had enough, she could see that now.
‘I’m not ready for that,’ she said, using all her strength to pull away. ‘I don’t know what you think of me, Arthur, but I’m not that kind of girl.’
He looked crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I thought you liked me,’ he said.
‘I do,’ said Emma, straightening her blouse. ‘I think of you all the time, Arthur. But we need to take things slowly. Perhaps you could come and meet my parents properly? We could get their permission for us to go out for walks together – that would be a start, wouldn’t it?’
He didn’t have a chance to reply because Clara came running towards them, screaming and crying, her hair and clothes all dishevelled. Emma ran to her sister: ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
Clara’s lip was cut and she was crying too much to speak at first, she just took great gulping sobs of air, as Emma threw her arms around her to try to comfort her.
Arthur ran to her. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘I shouldn’t have, but I left the park, just so I wasn’t spying on you two,’ she cried. ‘I only made it as far as Pottery Lane when two of them jumped on me and started pawing at me like a pair of dogs.’
Arthur’s green eyes blazed with anger:
‘Did you get a look at them?’
‘Just ruffians,’ said Clara, wiping her eyes. ‘Not from round here, I’d say. They wanted money and when I didn’t have any, they . . .’ She couldn’t finish the sentence and dissolved into a heap of tears.
‘I’m going to get some of the lads from the Bridport and we’ll find them and beat them black and blue!’ said Arthur, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘No one comes around here and messes with our girls.’
He made to leave but Emma grabbed him by the arm: ‘No! Wait! If you go and tell anyone about this my dad will find out we were here meeting you and then we’ll all be for it.’
Her heart was racing as she turned to Clara: ‘You can’t tell anyone about this, do you understand?’
Her sister looked up at her, the livid cut on her lip was swelling up now but she was such a good girl, she always did what she was told: ‘Yes, Emma, I won’t tell a soul, I promise.’
Emma’s mind was whirring. ‘We’ll just say you tripped and fell and busted your lip, you clumsy clot, and I will not let you out of my sight again, I swear. I will never make you come out like this again, I promise you, Clara. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’
Arthur thrust his hands deep into his pockets and kicked at a stone as they walked out of the park and muttered to himself, ‘Well, I’m still going to have a look up and down the lane to see who I can see. It ain’t right to have girls being bothered like that.’
Emma turned her back on him and put her arm protectively around her little sister as they walked away, back to Manchester Road, back home, where they belonged. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for her silly ideas of having a boyfriend: ‘No one will hurt you ever again, Clara, I promise you that. I will always be there to protect you.’
‘There’s a visitor for you, Kiziah!’
Mum stood with her arms folded, eyeing Arthur Austin when he came calling the following Saturday afternoon, cap in hand. She knew his mum, Jane, from the laundry, and what’s more, she knew that she’d never married. Jane had raised her kids properly, of course, but the Chicks were a very respectable family.
‘I was hoping I might have a word with Mr Chick first,’ he said, stepping over the threshold, as Emma stood, open-mouthed, at the top of the stairs. Kizzy was there in the hallway, looking as pretty as a picture, her hair flowing over her shoulders, some needlework in her hand.
Dad ambled out of the scullery, stroking his whiskers. ‘What brings you here, Arthur?’
Arthur straightened his collar and came straight to the point: ‘I wanted to ask your permission, sir, to take your Kiziah out from time to time . . .’
17
August 1901
It was a lovely summer wedding.
Emma would always remember that, and how her sister scrimped and saved to buy the offcut of claret silk from the draper’s to make a beautiful bodice for her big day; how she sewed it in the scullery every evening, until it was finished.
Emma never told Kizzy that Arthur had kissed her first and she had turned him down. After what had happened at the bandstand that evening, she knew she wasn’t ready for boyfriends just yet and he had made his choice – her beautiful, funny, spirited older sister. And although Kizzy could have been triumphant about Arthur, when it came to it, she wasn’t. Instead, she held Emma’s hand and asked her: ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me walking out with him? I know you saw him first.’
Dad had taken some persuading to let Kizzy go out with Arthur. In fact, he’d almost said ‘No’, but Kizzy was his favourite and she’d wheedled round him to be allowed to go to the park on Sunday afternoons and then, once in a while, to the new varieties at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, as long as she didn’t come home late.
After a few months, Dad was singing Arthur’s praises at every turn: ‘He’s a clever lad, that Arthur Austin. He’s got plans for the future, that one, and a good career too. He’s a hard worker, never misses a day and always happy to buy a man a pint or lend him a bob when he’s running short.’
And that, thought Emma ruefully, was probably what lay behind Arthur’s newfound popularity with her father. Dad was spending more and more time at the card tables, but with Arthur by his side his debts never quite caught up with him.
Six months later, Arthur called round again, to seek permission to marry Kiziah, and the next thing anyone knew, they were walking up the aisle, with Emma and Clara behind them, as their bridesmaids. Arthur acted as if nothing had ever happened between them – that was the thing which hurt the most, to be honest. He had just moved on and only had eyes for Kizzy; he planned to whisk her off to a new life in Acton, where lots of new houses were being built.
‘The air’s better down there, so they say,’ said Arthur, as everyone in the Black Bull raised a toast to the happy couple. ‘But we won’t be strangers, will we Kizzy?’
She looked up at him and said: ‘’Course not.’ She was Mrs Austin now, leaving the Potteries and Piggeries for a new life and she glowed with delight on her big day.
‘You know, you will meet the right man soon, Emma,’ said Kizzy, handing her the bridal bouquet, a spray of lily of the valley. Kizzy looked around her and glanced over to where Henry was drinking with his mates, giving Emma a little nudge.
‘One day, but there’s no rush,’ said Emma, who still felt a stab of jealousy whenever she saw Arthur gazing adoringly at her sister. At least with them moving she wouldn’t have to see him so often, even if he was family now. There was so much guilt about what had happened to Clara that dreadful evening down Pottery Lane. It was all mixed up in Emma’s head – Clara getting hurt by those boys, Arthur kissing her in the way that he did. Her sweet, innocent sister was like a shadow, barely speaking much any more, and most nights, she’d wake up screaming in the bed next to Emma.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mum. ‘It must be her age, these night terrors. I ought to have a word with the tallyman and see if he can recommend a good tonic.’
He was a wily sod, that tallyman, and he could sell coals to Newcastle given half the chance. Emma was convinced that half of the little glass phials he touted were filled with nothing more than cochineal and tap water, but Mum was convinced he was genuinely helpful, and she was always checking up in her big red book, Consult Me for All You Want to Know, for advice on any kind of ailment. She’d had to buy that on tick as well; it had taken her the best part of a year to pay for it.
‘No, Mum,’ said Emma, with a sigh. ‘I don’t think that will help; it’s just nerves, I think, that’s all.’ Poor Clara. Emma had tried to talk to her about what had happened but she just clammed up or got angry with her:
‘It don’t matter now, in any case,’ Clara would say, turning on her side to face the bedroom wall. ‘What’s done is done.’ But the nightmares would return, with Clara waking up shouting ‘No!’, and Emma did her best to comfort her then, holding her close and stroking her hair until she went back to sleep.
There was no one she could confide in and, as the nights started to draw in, Emma found herself wandering the streets as dusk fell, alone with her thoughts. On one rainy evening, she was walking down Latimer Road, when a familiar voice called out from a passing hansom cab: ‘Need a lift, Miss Chick?’
She turned and saw Henry, smiling down at her through the rain, which had soaked right through his jacket and was dripping from the rim of his bowler hat.
‘It’s no kind of evening to be out on your own, Emma,’ he said, offering her his hand.
She climbed up next to him and he threw a blanket over her legs, to keep her warm.
‘How have you been lately?’ he said, his eyes searching her face, as Nell walked on.
‘Down in the dumps,’ she murmured. What was the point of pretending to be happy?
‘Me too, Emma,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a terrible week. People don’t want to take a cab with a grey horse, you know. They think it’s unlucky, that’s why Charlie D lets me have her on the cheap. But sometimes I struggle to cover m
y costs.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Emma, who realized she was being terribly selfish, wallowing in her own misery. ‘Can’t you change her for another horse?’
‘Wouldn’t be fair to the old girl,’ said Henry. ‘We’re a team, me and Nellie. Things will get better, but the weather gets us down a bit, don’t it?’ Emma nodded. It was as if he understood how she was feeling.
They sat for a while in silence, just letting the carriage rock them gently from side to side as the horse found her way back to the stables. Just before they arrived, Henry turned to Emma and blurted: ‘I know I wasn’t your first choice, Emma, but might you consider walking out with me? I think I could make you smile again, if you’d let me try. And you have such a pretty smile.’
There was a warmth to his voice and his face was open and honest, his brown eyes eagerly awaiting her answer.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
He may have been Arthur’s brother, but Henry Austin didn’t find much favour with Dad.
To his credit, he put up with all the grumbling about what a waste of time being a cabbie was every time he showed his face in Manchester Road.
‘I don’t know about you taking my daughter out,’ Dad would start complaining. ‘It’s not as if you could afford to keep her. A shilling a mile, is it? And how much of that goes to Charlie D?’
‘He takes eighteen shillings a week at the height of the season and half that in the winter,’ said Arthur, with a resolute grin. ‘I don’t do so badly, you know.’
‘Most people are getting on the omnibus these days, they can’t afford cabs. And what’s with that grey horse of yours? The best mares are all brown, everyone knows that!’ Dad mumbled into his tea, determined to press home his point.
‘Oh, do stop it, Will!’ said Mum, flicking her dishcloth in his direction, in irritation. She’d grown fond of Henry, who had a kind way about him. ‘Henry is doing the laundry deliveries and collections on Mondays and Fridays now too, which must be bringing in a pretty penny or two.’