by Carol Rivers
A SISTER’S SHAME
Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset.
Also by Carol Rivers
Lizzie of Langley Street
Connie of Kettle Street
Bella of Bow Street
Lily of Love Lane
Eve of the Isle
East End Angel
In the Bleak Midwinter
East End Jubilee
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster, 2012
An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK
A CBS company
Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2012
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN: 978-0-85720-829-3
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-85720-830-9
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-85720-831-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
This book is for you, Vic and Jess.
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to Anne and Norman for all your support, to Margaret and Jim, a long way away but always in my thoughts, and to Island History Trust and its wonderful work in preserving memories of a past and precious time – and from where the idea for this book first came. As always, many thanks go to my agent, Dorothy Lumley, to Emma, my editor, and to Maxine and the entire team at Simon & Schuster for such a creative and artistic production of the Rivers novels.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Isle of Dogs, East London, Summer 1934
Marie woke in a cold sweat. The dream was always the same. She was staring up at a stranger, who was standing in the middle of a room. There were beads of sweat on his heavily jowled face and his small eyes flicked suspiciously around. Beneath his large hooked nose was a thin, cruel mouth, which suddenly released an animal cry of fury. His concentration was focused on his victim: a small, cowering woman, her arms folded protectively across the swell of her belly. Her pleas for mercy were ignored as she stumbled away from his outstretched hands.
Marie cried out, but always her scream was silent. She was terrified, yet she knew the man could not see or hear her, that she was invisible. And then Marie saw what she dreaded most. The sobbing woman was grabbed and shaken with unbearable force.
How those powerful giant’s hands shook and squeezed. How they whipped across the delicate skin of her face. And when at last it was over and she lay still on the bare floorboards, again Marie tried to scream, to bring someone to her rescue. But, as always in the dream, she was a powerless witness, trapped in a haunting silence until she woke and returned to reality.
‘Marie? Marie, wake up.’
Marie heard her twin sister’s voice and found the strength to lift her head. In the dream she had been unable to move and it was with relief that she wiped the sticky wetness from her eyes. Her breathing was short and sharp as Vesta’s face, surrounded by a cloud of blonde curls, appeared in the faint light of the moon shining through the window.
‘Vesta, is that you?’
‘Course it is.’
Marie tried to sit up. ‘I was . . . dreaming . . .’
‘I should say you were,’ complained Vesta sleepily as she snuggled back down beside Marie. ‘You were shouting out loud.’
‘In the dream I can’t make any noise. I try to make someone hear me, but no one can.’
Vesta yawned, propping herself on the thin pillow. ‘So it was the same dream again?’
‘Yes.’ Marie pushed back her damp hair matted to her face. ‘This young woman is having a baby. A man beats her and she falls to the floor. If only I could scream and bring help.’
‘But it’s a dream, Marie. Not real life.’
Marie sat shivering in her flimsy nightdress. It was August and very warm, but she felt cold inside, and the sweat on her skin was pure fear. ‘Why do I keep dreaming the same dream?’
‘I don’t know. I never have dreams like that.’
‘You’re lucky.’
‘Well, it’s over now. Go back to sleep.’
Marie pushed away the bedclothes, trying not to make a disturbance. Their double bed always creaked when either one of them moved. ‘I’ll have to change me nightdress first. It’s wet through.’
‘Hurry up, then, or else we’ll be awake all night.’
Getting out of bed, Marie put on the light. The furniture in their bedroom was solid good quality, though none of it belonged to her family. It was all Elsie Goldberg’s, their landlady’s. Beside the wardrobe was a solid oak chest of drawers, on which stood their treasured Victor phonograph with its great brass horn and soft, velvety turntable. The heavy records they loved to collect were all in a box beside it and were nearly worn out as the twins played them endlessly.
After exchanging her damp nightdress for a dry one, Marie was reluctant to climb back into bed. If she were to lie awake in the dark, the dream might haunt her. Had Vesta gone back to sleep?
She stared into the long bevelled mirror on the wardrobe door reflecting her slender five foot seven inches, hidden under the thin cotton nightdress. Though she and Vesta were not identical twins, their mother had always dressed them the same. They both had tumbling, shoulder-length wavy blonde hair and blue eyes.
Marie smiled at the memory of the tricks they used to play on people. Only their mother, Ada, and Elsie had been able to tell them apart. But last June they had turned eighteen, and now they had their own taste in fashion; if one pinned up her hair, the other would wear hers down. If one wore a dress, the other would choose a skirt.
The one thing they both still shared was a love of singing and dancing to the latest tunes. They’d made up a doubl
e act, and often talked about one day going on the stage. Their mother had made them promise to wait. She wanted to see them have a trade and they knew she wanted them to get married and settle down. She hoped their theatrical dream would fade.
As Marie sat on the edge of the bed, avoiding the most creaky bit, she gave a deep sigh. Her mother pulled them one way and their father the other. Hector had left his Kent home at fourteen to join a travelling theatre group. With his strong, clear voice he’d become a good singer and performer, taking many famous parts as the group toured the length and breadth of Britain. But after he’d met and married Ada, a Stepney girl, things had to change. With a wife and family to support, he only earned a few pennies busking on the streets of London.
‘Girls!’ he’d boom, using his powerful stage voice. ‘You can achieve anything with talent like yours. You’ll knock ’em dead!’
Ada would shake her head and purse her lips, and Hector would subside.
Marie frowned. She’d always known there was something – some pact between her parents – which meant that it was Ada’s word that counted, not Hector’s. But what was this secret? They never talked about it. And she knew she could never ask.
‘What are you doing now?’ asked Vesta impatiently. She wasn’t asleep!
‘Sitting with a straight back and improving my posture, like Dad taught us.’
Vesta pulled the bedclothes over her head.
Marie gazed again in the mirror. Her damp and tangled waves fell around her ears to her shoulders. She shook them back, stiffening her spine and lifting her chin. What would it be like to sing and dance on a real stage? She would give anything to become a performer! All she ever thought of was singing and dancing. She practised all the time, making her own the steps she’d learned in dancing class at school. She looked at pictures of ballet dancers in books in the library, trying to copy their elegance and poise. In her head, she saw herself and Vesta performing the popular songs of the day to the delight of a vast audience. There was never a moment when she didn’t think about a career on the stage. And yet she wasn’t unhappy at the factory. It was dusty and dirty work sometimes, but she liked most of the girls and enjoyed their company. Even so, how wonderful it would be to achieve the dream the sisters shared. Marie imagined herself staring out at the audience, the spotlights dazzling as they stood breathless and excited. She did a little twirl, followed by a curtsy, imagining the applause.
‘There’s an elephant in the bedroom!’ bellowed Vesta, throwing back the covers.
Marie came sharply back to the present. ‘I’m as quiet as a mouse!’
‘Mice don’t do curtsies in the middle of the night.’
Marie giggled. ‘They might.’
They both fell about laughing, until Marie switched off the light and climbed into bed.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ sighed Vesta as Marie lay beside her. ‘Now I can get me beauty sleep.’
‘Once, you would have got up and practised with me.’
‘Not in the night, I wouldn’t.’
‘You poor old lazy bones,’ smiled Marie, closing her eyes.
The minutes ticked by and Marie was still awake, thoughts whirling in her mind, one minute to the stage, the next to her nightmare. Who was the woman in it? Could it be herself? She’d read somewhere that people could have dreams that foretold the future. But she wasn’t anywhere near being married or even falling in love! Did she want to get married if that was the fate that awaited her?
She turned and flopped on her back.
Vesta did the same. In the darkness, they began to laugh again.
‘I’m wide awake now, thanks to the elephant,’ giggled Vesta.
Marie gave a yawn but it was Vesta who now kept her awake.
‘I can’t wait to hear Teddy sing,’ she breathed excitedly. ‘I hope he can see me from the stage. It’s going to be wonderful going to the Queen’s tomorrow!’
Marie, too, was excited. As a birthday treat from their landlady, Elsie Goldberg, who was more like a grandmother to them as they’d known her since they were very young, she and Vesta and Ada were being taken to see handsome singer and fellow-lodger, Teddy Turner. And though Teddy had been living at Sphinx Street for only six months, it was no secret that Vesta had a crush on him. As for Marie, he was too full of charm and not her type at all. Which was good, as they weren’t going to fight over him!
‘What shall we wear?’ asked Marie, knowing this was going through Vesta’s mind too.
‘I haven’t got a thing.’
‘Only half a whole wardrobe!’
‘But nothing to catch Teddy’s eye,’ Vesta sulked.
‘Perhaps we could go to Cox Street market after work?’
‘I’m fed up with second-hand clothes.’
‘Oh, pardon me for speaking,’ chuckled Marie, ‘but beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘We aren’t beggars,’ argued Vesta indignantly. ‘We take after Dad and are performers!’ Adding quickly, ‘Well, I do anyway!’
Marie spluttered. ‘Not if you don’t practise.’
‘I have to be in the mood for that.’
‘You’ll have to remember our routines if you want everyone to know who we are,’ Marie said determinedly. ‘We won’t see our names up in lights at the Queen’s unless we’re really good.’
‘Course we will,’ protested Vesta. ‘We’re natural performers, silly.’
Marie admired Vesta for her confidence, though when it came to practising their act it was a different matter. Vesta believed it all came naturally, without much effort. And in a way, it was true for Vesta, who was a bit of a show-off, like Hector. But Marie made her sister practise in any spare half-hour they had, even when walking home from the shoe factory where they worked. In their long hours spent at Ellisdon’s, they didn’t have much time for themselves.
As Vesta’s breathing deepened, showing she had fallen asleep, Marie wondered if they would ever have their spot in the limelight. But when sleep finally overcame her, her last thoughts were of the woman in her dream. Who was she and why was that horrible brute attacking her? It was only she who had this nightmare. Never her twin, Vesta.
Chapter 2
‘I can’t wait for tonight!’ Vesta linked her arm through Marie’s as they made their way home from the factory the next day. ‘I hope we sit in the front row.’
‘Elsie knows one of the usherettes, so we’re bound to get good seats.’ Marie hurried their steps a little. It was almost one o’clock and the market would be well underway.
‘Elsie knows everyone from her years at the Cubby Hole,’ Vesta agreed. ‘Being the landlady of such a popular pub must have been very exciting.’
‘Yes, but hard work and long hours.’
‘I wish we’d known her husband,’ Vesta sighed. ‘She says they made a success of the pub together. Joe was the love of her life.’
‘She must have been very upset when he died.’
‘Elsie isn’t the type to show it,’ Vesta pointed out. ‘Perhaps we turned up at the right time and made up for her loss. She says we are like family to her. Don’t forget we were only seven when Mum and Dad first came to the island and she gave us two rooms over the pub.’
‘Until she retired,’ Marie added thoughtfully, ‘and moved us all to Sphinx Street along with her.’
‘Do you think Elsie is rich?’ Vesta glanced quickly at Marie.
‘Don’t know. She told Mum that Sphinx Street was left to Joe by his parents. They were wealthy Jewish people, who owned a theatre up north.’
Vesta nodded. ‘Elsie does wear all that gold jewellery.’
Marie smiled. ‘Elsie is our fairy godmother. She took the Haskinses under her wing, lucky for us.’
But for Elsie’s kindness ten years ago, Marie reflected, when she had taken pity on the poor and homeless Haskins family, newly arrived on the Isle of Dogs, they might have lived a very different existence from the comfortable one they now enjoyed.
Not that Elsie ever acknowledged
her role as their benefactor. All she ever said was that if her late husband, Joe, wasn’t around to enjoy the fruits of their labour as hard-working publicans, then she was glad her best friends could.
‘I believe she’s got a soft spot for Dad,’ Vesta confided. ‘Being in the entertainment business, like her Joe, who was once an actor.’
Marie smiled at this. ‘Dad isn’t really a performer now.’
‘Well, he was once,’ Vesta reminded her. ‘He was very famous in his time and had a lovely voice.’
Marie didn’t really believe he’d been that famous. But it was true that he had a lovely deep voice and knew lots of songs, and he could also recite many passages from literature. Sadly for her father, however, the modern audiences were going to the pictures to enjoy the talkies now. They didn’t bother so much about the music halls or travelling groups that had been popular a generation ago.
‘Talking of nice voices . . .’ Vesta continued eagerly, ‘sometimes I can’t believe we’re living in the same house as Teddy Turner. Just imagine, he’s only one ceiling above us.’
Marie laughed. ‘You’d think he was royalty, the way you go on.’
‘He might not be royalty but he’s gorgeous,’ Vesta insisted. ‘And he has a lovely voice.’
‘You haven’t heard him sing yet.’
‘I have!’
‘When?’
‘The other morning,’ Vesta replied. ‘He was coming downstairs and sang a line from “If I Had A Talking Picture Of You”. Then he gave me a smile that made me knees knock.’
‘He doesn’t make my knees knock.’
‘He doesn’t sing to you.’
‘I’d laugh if he did.’
‘You’re so unromantic, Marie. Anyway, what would he be doing at the Queen’s tonight, if he couldn’t sing?’
‘Any hopeful can sing on amateur night.’
‘Not if they don’t want to risk people throwing rotten veg at them.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Do you know he’s got a job at that new club, the Duke’s, near the Queen’s?’
‘Doing what?’ Marie asked.
‘Singing, of course.’ Vesta stopped abruptly. ‘Why are you so against him?’