Alley Urchin

by Josephine Cox

  ‘All right, Emma my beauty. There’s no reason for me to stay now, is there?’ He smiled down on her, his blue eyes boring into her face, ‘Not when you’ve spoiled my fun.’ He turned to look at Rita Hughes, who was softly crying and for whom he had always felt a certain repugnance. ‘Sorry, girlie,’ he said without feeling, ‘but y’see . . . Nelly’s a better bet.’ He now glanced at Nelly who was beside him. ‘Ain’t that right? Through you . . . I’ll definitely achieve so much more.’ Nelly giggled foolishly, taking his words to mean that he loved her as she loved him, heart and soul.

  But Emma was under no such illusion. She recognised his words for what they really were, a threat against herself and against his father, her husband. She knew in her heart that he would stop at nothing to get to her in any way he possibly could. Nelly was such a way, a poor gullible creature with a heart of gold, and it was filled with love for him. He knew well enough that Emma adored her friend Nelly. That she had watched out for her all these years, and that it would bring her the greatest joy to see Nelly free and settled with a good man who could give her the love and care she so much deserved. To see her entangled with a monster like Foster Thomas was devastating. He was cruel to the point of being sadistic, and Emma knew that he would use Nelly, break her spirit in the process, then fling her aside as though she were nothing.

  Emma was tempted to accuse him loudly of these things in front of Nelly, to show him up for what he was and to goad him into revealing his real character. But she gritted her teeth and said nothing, because she suspected that to belittle him in front of Nelly would only fire that foolish young woman to leap to his defence. Instead, she opened the door wider and stepped back for him to pass. As he did so, he leaned down to murmur in her ear, ‘It’s too late, Emma. I have her! I’d rather have you . . . but one thing’s for sure, I’ll make you suffer. All of you!’ Then, as he blatantly bent to kiss Nelly full on the mouth and she, with adoring eyes, followed his long lean figure as it went down the steps, Emma was frantic. When he turned round to tell Nelly with an intimate wink, ‘I’ll be back for you, girlie,’ Emma’s worst fears were realised.

  ‘I won’t listen to you!’ Nelly pressed her hands over her ears, before running to the far end of the room to which Emma had brought her. Emma deplored the havoc Foster Thomas had already wreaked here: Nelly growing more agitated by the minute, and Rita Hughes quietly serving the customers, with a look of abject sorrow on her face, the light gone from her eyes. Foster Thomas had a great deal to answer for, and if Emma had her way, both these foolish women would see him for what he was. Yet Nelly was besotted beyond the point of reason, and Rita Hughes would not even discuss the matter. Whatever Rita’s thoughts, she obviously intended to keep them to herself.

  ‘The man’s no good for you, Nelly!’ Emma argued now. ‘Can’t you see that he’s using you? Using you to hurt me. Oh, Nelly . . . be sensible. He’ll only break your heart.’

  ‘He won’t!’ yelled Nelly, taking her hands down and flinging herself into the cane chair. ‘Foster Thomas loves me. And I love him!’ Then, in her anger, she said something that cut Emma’s heart to the quick. ‘You’re jealous, that’s all! Don’t think you’re the only one who can have a husband, Miss High and Mighty . . . with your fancy house and all your money!’ At once, a look of horror spread over her face, and when she saw how deeply wounded Emma had been by her cruel words, it seemed for a moment as though she might go to her and make amends. But when Emma murmured in a tearful voice, ‘Oh, Nelly . . . Nelly,’ her back stiffened, and the resolve returned to her face. ‘You’ve got it all, Emma Thomas,’ she said in accusing voice, ‘and you’re carrying your lover’s child to prove it!’ She turned her eyes from Emma’s face because she could not bear to see the pain she had caused. Yet Nelly was convinced that Foster Thomas did love her. She was certain also that Emma would stop her from seeing him if she could. Well! In these past months she had earned her ticket-of-leave, and she had the right to choose her own employer. For the first time in her life, Nelly was head over heels in love, and being convinced that her man truly returned her love, she was adamant that nothing would come between them, not Emma, not anybody. Oh, she loved Emma like she was her own sister, but what she felt for Foster Thomas had seeped into her every nerve-ending, every bone of her body, and it had given her life new meaning, and a fresh purpose. How could she let it be spoiled? Emma hated him, she knew. And, truth be told, there was every reason, for wasn’t she herself a witness to how he had taken Emma when she was desperately ill and lying unconscious? But he was drunk at the time! She had questioned him on this very issue, and he had told her how he was filled with remorse that he should have done such a dreadful thing. Oh, he was no angel, Nelly knew that. But then, neither was she.

  ‘I’m leaving. I’ll report to the authorities and find new work in Fremantle.’ Nelly’s voice was cold and unfriendly, but still she could not lift her eyes to Emma. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d piss off . . . go on! Leave me be, and let me live me own bloody life!’

  Emma stared down at Nelly’s familiar brown unruly hair, and she could hardly see for the tears which swam in her sorry eyes. In a moment, she had taken a step forward, her hand outstretched as though she might stroke Nelly’s bent head. When Nelly sensed Emma’s intention, she looked up to meet Emma’s unhappy gaze. For a while, she said nothing, a great and terrible struggle going on inside her. Then, when Emma asked, ‘You don’t mean that, do you, Nelly?’ she got to her feet, quickly rummaged about in the room to collect a few belongings, then brushed past Emma, turning at the door to tell her in an angry voice, ‘You ain’t gonna piss off . . . so I will. Don’t come after me, and don’t contact me . . . ’cause I’ve washed me hands of yer. Yer turned yer back on my feller . . . so, you’ve turned yer back on what I want most in life. That tells me that yer ain’t the friend I took yer for. Don’t you ever interfere in my life again!’ She flounced out of the room, and slammed the door, leaving the only person in the world who genuinely loved her totally devastated by her parting words, ‘Don’t contact me and, don’t ever interfere in my life again.’

  That night, when Emma lay in her bed looking back on that most dreadful scene, she felt a deluge of sorrow within her that she had not experienced in a long, long time. She knew that she had no right to go against Nelly’s furious insistence that Emma should not contact her, and if truth be told, Emma was convinced that she could never change Nelly’s obsessive love for Foster Thomas . . . in the same way that Nelly would not change Emma’s own loathing for him. She had hurt Nelly badly, she had threatened what her friend saw as her only chance of happiness, and Emma wished that it could have been different. She feared for Nelly. But there was nothing to be done, except to pray that no real harm would come to her, before the truth of Foster Thomas’s character was revealed. Love was a cruel master. Who should know that better than Emma herself!

  Even while Emma cried herself to sleep, Nelly was settling down in the attic of a nearby inn where she had found work. She too was desperately unhappy because of the terrible things she had said to Emma. Yet she would stand by her decision now. She wouldn’t contact Emma and she wouldn’t retract any of those things which had been said, because she loved Foster Thomas too much to risk losing him. In fact, when she had found him to tell him how she had been so cruel in saying those things to Emma, he had been quick to defend her and to reassure her of his love. What was more, Emma had been wrong in saying that he was only ‘using’ her. Because this very day, he had asked her to marry him! The authorities were duly informed and soon Nelly would be Mrs Foster Thomas . . . a free woman. So much for Emma’s warning, she thought bitterly.

  Nelly was convinced that she would never come to regret the path she had chosen. But if it had been within her power to see where that path might lead, she would never even have taken the first step!

  Chapter Ten

  ‘It’s no use you keep worrying over Nelly . . . you’re only making yourself ill!’ Roland Thomas reached his
arms up to the wooden bar which Emma had arranged to be fitted to his bedhead, and with a determined effort he pulled himself up to a more comfortable sitting position. ‘She’s married . . . made her own choice, and I reckon she’ll have to live with it.’ He pursed his lips as he looked from Emma to gaze thoughtfully at the chequered eiderdown, and all the while he was cursing whatever ill-fortune it was that had brought him a son like Foster Thomas.

  ‘If only she would answer my notes, Mr Thomas . . . if only she would show willing to make amends between us, that’s all I ask.’ Emma was standing by the window, looking out on to the verandah and occasionally lifting her eyes to scour the distance beyond the road which led down to the sea. Always, when she let her thoughts wander over the horizon, the image of Marlow would flood her heart and, like now, she turned away. It was no use craving for what could never be. She had come to realise that much, and to be thankful for whatever blessings the Lord saw fit to bring her.

  With her naturally slim figure, and being sensible enough to choose dresses that were not nipped in too tight at the waist, Emma’s condition was not easily evident. But she knew that in another few weeks, when she came into the fourth month of her pregnancy, there would be no hiding it. Already Mr Thomas had remarked how pinched and pale her face was. He had put it down to one thing only. The very same issue which he was raising now. ‘Come and sit beside me, Emma,’ he suggested in a kindly voice.

  Emma turned from the window, momentarily surveying the bedroom, which was Roland Thomas’s own little world. Following the accident that had crippled him and which dictated the need for a downstairs room, Emma had chosen this one, because of its spaciousness and because it was always flooded with light. It was a lovely east-facing room, having large windows with a triple aspect, and from his bed Mr Thomas had a wonderful view of Queen Square. Emma had employed a man to work on creating a garden which was riotous in colour and, on a summer evening, when the windows were flung wide open, the scent from the shrubs and flowers would permeate the room. It was the most delightful room in the whole house, made even more pleasant by the chintz fabric and articles of light-coloured wood furniture which Emma had imported from England. Indeed, the decor of this room, and the drawing-room where Emma received her visitors, had made such an impression on certain people of social standing that Emma had built up a strong line of sales in various furnishings which she brought in from the homeland.

  ‘Listen to me, Emma.’ Roland Thomas reached out his hand to where Emma was now seated in the wicker armchair by his bed and, gently touching her shoulder, he went on, ‘Nelly went into that marriage with her eyes wide open. Oh, I know she’s prone to do silly things, and she often jumps in with both feet without looking where she’s going . . . but, she’s a grown woman! You can’t watch out for her forever, girlie.’

  ‘I know,’ Emma conceded, ‘but there have been rumours ever since she and Foster took on that small store in Perth. Word has filtered back that things are not well between them . . . and that doesn’t surprise me!’ Emma added bitterly, ‘But why won’t Nelly answer my letters? Every time the mail coach comes back, I feel positive that this time there’ll be a reply . . . but there never is.’ Of a sudden, Emma sat bolt upright in the chair, then she was leaning forward, her grey eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘I’m of a mind to go there, Mr Thomas,’ she declared. ‘I’m certain she’ll talk to me . . . if we’re face to face.’

  ‘No, girlie.’ Roland Thomas closed his homely brown eyes as though in pain, and shaking his head, he told her, ‘You’re only hurting yourself in thinking that. You’ve known Nelly a good deal longer than I have . . . and, by God, you’ve been through some terrible times together. But I’ll tell you this. In the years that I have known her, Nelly has shown herself to be foolhardy and stubborn. I’m fond of her too, you know that, Emma . . . but you can’t deny that if she sets her mind against some’at, well . . . she’s hard put to change it. And I know it’s painful for you, Emma . . . but the truth is that Nelly’s set her mind against you! You’ll drive yourself into the asylum if you don’t accept it. And you know as well as I do, that’s exactly what that no-good son of mine planned right from the start.’

  ‘But he’s using her, Mr Thomas.’ Emma felt so utterly helpless and wretched. ‘He has no feelings for Nelly! He’ll make her life a misery. And I must do something . . . I can’t just watch it happen and do nothing!’

  ‘There isn’t a thing in this world you can do, Emma. You’ve written to Nelly and you’ve offered both friendship and support. If she chooses to throw it all back in your face, then I’m afraid . . . you must respect her wishes.’ He saw how distraught Emma was, and he despised his son all the more for it. ‘Y’do see that, don’t you, Emma?’

  Emma reluctantly nodded, for she knew that he was right in what he said. She got up from the chair and, assuring him that she would try to put it all from her mind, she went to the door and was on the point of closing it behind her when Roland Thomas said in a strong convincing voice, ‘Mark my words, Emma, Nelly will seek you out, I’m sure of it. One of these days, she’ll come to realise what a good friend she has in you, and she’ll turn up on the doorstep. She will. You see if I’m not telling the truth.’

  Emma smiled, nodded to him, and softly closed the door. If only that were true, she thought sadly, realising how Foster Thomas was so cruelly right when he promised to make her suffer because, since that day when she and Nelly had parted on such awful terms, there had been no real peace in her life. Oh, if only Nelly would seek her out, Emma thought, as she composed herself to brace the long business meeting which even now awaited her in the study, in the form of her accountant and a representative from the Jackson Chandlers Company, a modest but promising little concern situated in Fremantle. Emma had challenged the Lassater Shipping Line in making a bid for Jackson Chandlers, which she saw as a natural addition to the newly formed Thomas Shipping Company. However she must be very cautious, because only yesterday she had received the news that Silas Trent had met up with the two shipowners whom he and Emma had discussed and it seemed that, for the right price, they were willing to sell. That would greatly deplete her financial resources and, though a Chandler’s business would be a great asset, she had to gauge the price right, without losing the chance of acquiring it altogether.

  As Emma bade the two smiling gentlemen good morning, her thoughts inevitably lingered on what her husband had told her. If only it could be true, she thought, if only Nelly would ‘turn up on the doorstep’. What a joyous day that would be.

  Three days later, on Saturday, the twenty-fourth of October in the year of our Lord, 1876, the promise which Roland Thomas had made to Emma came true, but instead of being the joyous occasion which Emma had hoped, the unexpected arrival of Nelly heralded a series of tragic consequences.

  The day had been particularly harrowing for Emma, because as yet she had been unable to replace Nelly satisfactorily in the store. Since Nelly’s departure, there had been one new employee after the other, a young girl from Bunbury, a lad who had served some time on a whaling ship, and a middle-aged woman from the prison. Each and every one of them had proved to be a disaster in one way or another. The girl had shown herself to be bone idle, the lad to be accident-prone, and the woman to have a weakness for thievery and argument. The last straw for Emma was when, that very morning, Rita Hughes was made to fend off a vicious attack from the prisoner, who had every intention of splitting Rita’s head open with a pickaxe. Apparently, Rita had quite rightly made the comment that the floorboards needed a fresh sprinkling of sawdust. The employee saw this as the very excuse she had waited for in order to pick an argument. She replied that she had other jobs to do, and if Rita Hughes wanted more sawdust down, then she’d better ‘do it yer bloody self. A raging row erupted and Rita Hughes was seen to flee into the street, to escape serious injury. Emma was given no choice. The woman had to go, and she herself was obliged to take her place. That didn’t worry Emma though, because she was never one to be afra
id of work.

  What did worry Emma was the way Rita Hughes appeared to be letting herself go in these past weeks. As a rule, she was meticulously dressed, her collar and cuffs always starched and sparkling, and her entire appearance of such trim smartness that was beyond reproach. Her hair, which was now more marbled with grey, would be neatly secured into a roll and fastened tightly in the nape of her neck. Her small dark boots were highly polished and she was most particular never to be seen with a hair out of place at any time during her long working day. The same pride and joy which she took in her tidy appearance was always extended to include the execution of every task she did, however demanding or menial. People used to admire her for it, and make regular comment on it. Now, however, their admiration had turned to curiosity and their comments had turned to whispering in little gossiping groups, about how sloppy Rita Hughes was becoming and how little she seemed to care for her appearance of late. ‘Why, you’ll never believe it,’ declared the butcher’s round-eyed wife, ‘but a pin actually fell from her hair and into the salt-bin only the other day. And did she take the trouble to retrieve it and to secure her hair from her face? No, my dears . . . she did not!’ There was much speculation and on two occasions at least, the customers had seen fit to complain quietly to Emma. ‘Whatever’s the matter with the poor woman?’ asked the kindly seamstress. ‘Is she ill?’ Emma promised that she would certainly have a discreet word with Rita, and so she did; after which Rita Hughes appeared to make a great effort to improve, or to be seen to improve. But Emma was not fooled. She knew well enough that Rita had been devastated by Foster Thomas’s preference for Nelly, though if she had her own suspicions as to his motive, she kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘Are you all right, Rita? You do look very tired.’ Emma was seated on the tall stool which was pulled up to the bureau in the back office; she was about to close the ledger after making the stock entries, when she glanced through the glass partition to see Rita Hughes gazing out of the window. ‘Rita . . . it’s been a very long day, I know –’ Emma was by her side now ‘– you go on home. I’ll lock up.’ Normally they would have closed the store some hours before, but this was the last Saturday in the month and the stock-taking must be done.