All My Mother's Secrets

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘Indeed, I am,’ said Henry, giving Emma a wink. It meant they got to see each other during the week, more often than not, which had only made Emma realize how fond she was of Henry these days. The strain of working so hard had started to show in his face, which was looking drawn, and so she’d taken to bringing him a bite to eat in the stables if he was doing a double shift.

  Henry wasn’t like some of the other cabbies with their hirelings; they’d just bring them in and walk off down the pub, leaving the grooms and the stable boys to get them out of their heavy harnesses, brush them down and give them their feed. Not Henry. Even if he was working a double, he’d make time to unhitch Nell, walk her into the stable and give her a drink, even before a drop of water passed his own lips.

  The flies troubled the horses something rotten that summer, no matter how hard the stable boys worked to keep the stalls clean, digging over the straw with their pitchforks. The dung heap lurked in the corner of the mews and stank to high heaven, which can’t have helped, either.

  Emma watched Henry running his hands down the horse’s fetlocks and lifting her hooves to check for any stones Nell might have picked up on the roads, which could lead to lameness and infection. Then he rolled up his sleeves, took up a brush and started to groom the horse, from her head all the way down her flanks, as she munched away at clumps of hay from her hay net. Some of the horses had to be tied to each side of the stall to keep them still, but not Nell. And Henry had a look of such concentration on his face, it was as if everything else was lost to him, except making sure Nell was well cared for.

  ‘Show me how you do that,’ said Emma, who’d always been rather afraid of horses; they were such huge animals and she’d seen carts overturn when they took fright. But now, with Henry beside her, she felt brave enough to get closer. He gave her the brush and she put her fingers through the leather hand strap, allowing him to guide it down onto the horse’s coat.

  ‘You stroke downwards, quite firmly, and you can talk to her at the same time if she looks like she’s getting jumpy,’ he said.

  Nell whinnied a bit, making Emma laugh. ‘I think she likes it.’

  ‘’Course she does,’ said Henry. ‘How could she not like you paying her attention?’

  A lock of hair had fallen down over his forehead and his face was flushed in the heat of the afternoon. Emma turned to him; their lips were just inches away from one another.

  She moved closer still.

  ‘I wish every day was like this in the stables,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t think I’d earn a penny, though, because I wouldn’t want to leave.’

  Then, she kissed him.

  18

  January 1904

  The banging on the front door was loud enough to wake the dead, never mind the whole street.

  Emma and Henry were toasting muffins in front of the fire in the front room with Clara, while Mum and Dad drank their cuppas in peace in the scullery, when there was such a loud knock, the door practically flew off its hinges.

  ‘What in the name of God Almighty?’ yelled her father, storming into the hallway to answer it.

  Emma and Henry rushed out to follow him, to be greeted by three burly shapes looming across the front doorstep, with their hats pulled low and their collars up, to cover their faces. One of them was carrying a shillelagh and he waved it towards Dad’s face.

  A thick yellow fog hung in the air, muffling the shouts of ‘Who’s that?’ and ‘Keep the noise down!’ as their neighbours complained about the disturbance on a quiet Sunday teatime.

  ‘Mr Felstone says he’s been patient enough with you and he wants his money,’ said one fella, whose front teeth appeared to be missing. ‘You’ve got until the end of the week or we’ll be back.’

  Mum marched out of the scullery, her hands on her hips, as Dad shrank back into the house.

  ‘Don’t you come around here threatening us!’ she shouted, waving a knitting needle near their faces. ‘Or I’ll have the law on you!’

  ‘Tell your wife to keep her trap shut, or we’ll do it for her,’ said a smaller, ratty-looking bloke with pockmarks on his cheeks. ‘You know what you owe and it’s time to pay up.’

  Mum slammed the door shut and leaned against it, clasping her hands to her chest, as if she was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Tell me, Will,’ she said, with a look of terror. ‘What money are they talking about?’

  Dad sat down on the stairs and put his head in his hands. ‘It’s me gaming debts, Susan. Got a bit out of hand since Arthur left, that’s all.’

  She could barely get the words out: ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It started off as a fiver, but with the interest on the loan it’s double that by now,’ said Dad, staring at his hands, as if the money might magically appear from somewhere to dig him out of this hole.

  ‘Oh my God!’ cried Mum. ‘We’ll be out on the streets! Where are we going to get that kind of money? How could you? You bloody fool!’ She turned her face to the wall and started to cry, as Emma and Clara went to comfort her.

  Henry stepped forwards and put his hand on her shoulder: ‘Mrs Chick, I work with Charlie D, maybe I can talk to him about it, see if there’s a way to sort this out . . .’

  ‘It’s no use!’ said Dad, leaping to his feet. ‘D’you think I haven’t tried calling in all the favours under the sun with Charlie? He’s a good bloke an’ all but he works for Felstone and when his boss calls in the loan, the loan has to be paid, as sure as eggs is eggs.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Henry, puffing out his chest a bit. ‘I’ll help pay it off. But we need to talk first, man to man.’

  ‘What do you mean “man to man”? You’re little more than a boy yourself!’ Dad scoffed.

  ‘I’m young, yes, but I have a good job and I’m earning a decent wage,’ said Henry. ‘I’m offering to help you pay off your debt but now seems like a good time to ask you something which has been on my mind lately . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I would like to ask your permission to marry Emma.’

  Emma gasped; she couldn’t believe her ears. They spent as much time as they could together, and Dad accepted him in the house now – albeit with a bit of a grumble from time to time – but marriage wasn’t something they had ever discussed. Even though she was nearly twenty she still needed her father’s permission, and she knew he’d never give it.

  ‘Marry my daughter?’ Dad’s face had twisted into a sneer. ‘Marry her? What kind of a future can you give her?’

  ‘A better one than you,’ said Henry, staring him down. ‘At this rate, all you can offer is the workhouse or the soup kitchen at the Mission Hall. I’m offering to help pay off the debt and I will be a good husband. We can get married later in the year . . .’ He hesitated and glanced over to the doorway, where Emma was helping to support her mum, who looked as if she was about to faint with this latest turn of events – ‘If Emma will have me.’

  Dad turned to Emma: ‘Well, he’s got some brass neck.’ He stroked his whiskers, weighing up the offer. ‘Do you want to get married to him?

  ‘Yes,’ Emma whispered, knowing that this was what she wanted, more than anything in the world, ‘I do.’

  Henry was as good as his word and, with Charlie D acting as his broker, handed over his savings of a pound that Friday, with a promise that he’d pay back Mr Felstone at a rate of five shillings a week; it was just enough to keep the bully boys away from their door. Meanwhile, Dad promised to stay away from the card tables and also chucked a couple of bob a week into the pot, which was the least he could do. Mum still wasn’t speaking to him.

  No one was exactly sure how long it would take to pay off the debt because the loan continued with exorbitant interest, at whatever rate Mr Felstone saw fit to impose. They were caught, like flies in amber.

  Henry worked double shifts every day in the week and on Sundays too, and Emma couldn’t help but notice how much thinner he was looking. He never lost his spark, though, and all that spring, they’d snatch what moments th
ey could in the stables together.

  One Saturday afternoon, she arrived from the laundry with some bread and cheese for him and he was waiting for her, with Nell in her stall. As Emma drew near, he swept his hair from his forehead, dropped down on one knee and pulled a little silver ring out of his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘It’s just a token, until I can afford to buy you a proper ring, Emma,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to ask you properly all the same, so will you marry me?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Emma, slipping the silver band onto the third finger of her left hand as her heart skipped a beat. ‘Yes, I will marry you, Henry, because I love you with all my heart.’

  He pulled her to him and they kissed until Nell started nudging them.

  ‘Oh, I think she’s jealous,’ said Henry, patting the horse on the cheek. ‘Or perhaps she’s reminding me, there’s something else too . . .’

  He fished inside the other pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a little brass charm of a horse on a gilt chain.

  ‘This is from Nell, to show she approves of us getting together,’ said Henry, fastening it around Emma’s neck. ‘She can be a bit jealous, so I thought I’d better include her.’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ said Emma. ‘Thank you, Nell, old girl!’ She grabbed a handful of hay and fed it to her, as a treat.

  Charlie D appeared in the doorway to the stable block. ‘Well, ain’t that a pretty picture, you two lovebirds!’

  ‘Oh, get out of it, Charlie!’ said Henry, making as if to shoo his boss away.

  ‘Look, call me soft if you like,’ said Charlie, grinning from ear to ear. ‘How about you borrow one of my cabs to take you to the church on time, Emma? Better than that – I’ll drive you there meself!’

  As the sun rose on a bright May morning, Emma rubbed sleep out of her eyes and jumped out of bed with excitement at what her wedding day would bring.

  Clara slept on, her fingers clutching the pillow, as they always did. She seemed much more like her old self these days. At least, she’d found a friend to talk to – Dora, from packing at Mr Ranieri’s – and they seemed to spend so much time together, giggling upstairs or putting their heads together wandering off down the street, arm in arm. It was a relief, after what had happened down Pottery Lane, to see her smiling and laughing again.

  Emma’s wedding outfit lay across the back of the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Kiziah had made the trip up from Acton last weekend specially to bring it for her, and check that it fitted right. She’d unpicked the seams of her best claret silk bodice – the one she had worn to walk up the aisle with Arthur – and took it in, to fit Emma, who was smaller and slighter than she was. She’d wear her best black woollen skirt as well and, with her boots polished up, she’d look her best.

  ‘You will look proper beautiful in it,’ Kiziah told her sister. ‘I promise.’ She didn’t get up their way much these days because she was working at a tailor’s shop in Chiswick and the hours were terrible. Arthur had been away in Hertfordshire, building some houses and, much to everyone’s disappointment, there had been no patter of tiny feet yet.

  Emma tried to imagine what married life would be like with Henry and got butterflies just thinking about it. They couldn’t afford to move out into a place of their own but Mum and Dad had said they were welcome to have the front room downstairs as their bedroom; it was the least they could do, given that Henry was still working his fingers to the bone trying to pay off Dad’s gambling debt.

  Mum came in to help her get ready, looking brighter than Emma had ever seen her: ‘You enjoy today, my girl. It’s the happiest day of a woman’s life.’ It was as if the wedding lifted all the misery of the debt and the past few months, for all of them.

  Emma started to cry, thinking that she could have made a mistake and gone with Arthur all those years ago, when Henry was there all along, and he was the right one for her.

  ‘Now, no tears, you’ll spoil that pretty face,’ said Mum, helping her into her corset.

  ‘Wait,’ said Emma, as Mum was buttoning her into her bodice. She reached down under her pillow and pulled out the little brass horse charm that Henry had given her. ‘I need to put this on, for luck!’

  Mum had bought white roses from the market and tied them into a little posy with some string, and Clara was to carry a single white rose of her own. Emma had never had flowers before – it was a luxury they couldn’t afford – so these were really special.

  Charlie D kept his promise; he turned up at her door in Manchester Road with a gleaming hansom cab, pulled by Nell, with white roses tied on to the lanterns. Emma gasped when she saw the cab. She could scarcely believe she was going to ride inside it, looking like a real princess. All the kids in the street started running around it excitedly and just about every front door was flung open so that the neighbours could get a look at the blushing bride.

  Dad was flabbergasted: ‘Charlie, my son, I think you’re losing your touch, ain’t you? Going all sentimental.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Charlie D, fixing his collar. ‘I’m just doing what’s right for the young couple, that’s all.’ He opened the cab door to Emma, and she climbed inside.

  Charlie D took Emma around the streets of Notting Dale a few times to show her off, as everyone stopped and waved at the bridal carriage. Anyone would think he was relishing the prospect of making Henry a bit nervous, as she was a full ten minutes late getting to St Clement’s Church on Treadgold Street.

  Henry was waiting for her at the altar, in his best bib and tucker, looking the most handsome he had ever done, with Arthur as his best man. Both of them were smiling at her as she made her way up the aisle on Dad’s arm, but she only had eyes for Henry. Kiziah beamed at her little sister from the congregation, which seemed to include a few of the local urchins, who had run behind the cab all the way from Manchester Road and sneaked into the back of the church.

  Emma had practised her vows and had promised herself she wouldn’t weep, not on such a happy occasion. But as she gazed into Henry’s eyes and swore to be with him forever, she was overcome with emotion and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  It didn’t matter, because as Henry slipped a simple gold band on her finger, she knew the tears she was crying were tears of joy.

  19

  Acton, May 1934

  The road to recovery from scarlet fever was a long one – the illness had sapped so much of Annie’s strength, the doctor said she’d been lucky to survive.

  Aunt Clara moved back home once Annie had been given the all-clear, but before she did, she sat beside her on the edge of the bed and held her in her steady gaze: ‘Do you remember the stories I told you when you were so sick?’

  ‘Some of it, yes,’ said Annie, propping herself up on a pillow. She wasn’t even sure if she’d dreamed parts of it, because when she closed her eyes at night, she could see her mum and her dad, riding together on a hansom cab pulled by a beautiful grey horse, around the grimy streets of Notting Hill. She loved thinking about them together, so young and so in love until the war came along and took him away.

  But she wanted the story to go on and, especially, to know more about what happened to Kiziah and Arthur, her uncle. She only knew him as a haunted shell of a man, a victim of the horrors of war, but finding out about his past made her see him differently now. And her Aunt Kiziah sounded so spirited and determined. Where was she?

  ‘I’ve got some questions for you about Kizzy – things that don’t make sense to me, or maybe I was asleep when you explained them,’ Annie began.

  ‘Oh, Lord, I’ve probably said too much already,’ said Clara, twisting a handkerchief over and over in her hands. ‘I can’t answer any more questions, Annie. I just wanted you to know how much your dad loved your mum, that’s all, because it’s only right that you know that.

  ‘It’s not that I’ve done anything wrong . . .’ She glanced away for a second. ‘It’s just I don’t think you should mention any of this to your mum. She won’t want to rake o
ver the past, she’s got a lot on her mind, with you being so sick and everything.’

  Gazing at her aunt, Annie realized that unearthing one family secret had only led to another layer of hushed-up truths, too painful to talk about. Arthur had suffered so much in the war, and with Kizzy no longer there to help him, it was no wonder his nerves were shot to pieces.

  ‘I understand,’ said Annie. Mum’s hair seemed to have turned grey with worry, it was true, and she knew that something was up, because Bill seemed to be around the house a lot. He kept himself to himself and had started a little project; building some shelves to keep food away from the mice in the scullery. And they weren’t having a roast on a Sunday any more, but to save face with the neighbours, he still went out into the back yard every Sunday and sharpened the carving knife, with great flourish.

  He’d even taken it upon himself to advise George about getting a really good career, rather than just being a driver. With that in mind, George had got himself a job as an apprentice – albeit on a lower wage but with better prospects – to be a cabinetmaker, and he was only too pleased to show Bill what he had learned at work. The pair of them would stand about in that back yard for hours, sawing at bits of wood, hammering nails in. Annie was pleased that Bill had started to show an interest in his stepson; it was as if they had, after all these years, found some common ground.

  Deep down, Annie felt better, knowing at least something about her mum and dad’s past, and that made her look on her stepdad more kindly. Mum’s first love had been Henry Austin, her father, she was sure of that now. But the trouble was, in her heart of hearts, despite Aunt Clara’s warnings not to rock the boat, she wanted to know more.

  It was weeks before Mum would let her set foot outside the house, and when she did, people in the street greeted her as if she had just returned from a long and perilous journey: ‘Nice to have you back with us, Annie!’ and ‘Good to see you again, love!’ She got used to them giving her a cheery wave as she took a tentative stroll up the road, on her mum’s arm, and it was comforting to know that the whole community had been willing her to get better.