She’d barely spoken to Winifred since.
And she hadn’t lasted a week before she’d cleared her husband’s clothes out of the large wardrobe in their bedroom.
Chapter 37
September 1911
‘I’m sorry.’ The young policeman held his helmet close to his chest and fidgeted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his bicycle which was propped uo outside the shop window. ‘It looks as if the perpetrator has fled the county.’ He glanced from Winifred to Ethel. Her mother had her back to them, rearranging the shelves in the stockroom. ‘Of course we’ll pass on any details of the murder we have to the forces in the other counties around.’
Winifred flinched at the word, the awful instant image of her father lying on the same spot that the man now stood. She forced back the tears that came so easily and blew her nose, nodding her acknowledgement to him. ‘Thank you.’
He raised his voice. ‘But I’m sorry, Mrs Duffy, we have very little to go on—’
‘I understand, Constable.’ Ethel still didn’t turn and, for a moment, Winifred wondered if her mother was crying. But her next words were final and decisive. ‘I suppose you’ll never find out who did it.’ She became still, her hands resting on the tins of soup on the shelf. ‘Or who took the money.’
‘The same person, Mother.’ Winifred couldn’t stop herself. ‘Whoever took the money, whoever the coward is, he killed Dad for it.’
‘Yes.’ Now her mother did turn around. She walked to the shop door and held it open. ‘No doubt you’ll tell us if you have more news, Constable.’
After he’d left Winifred glared at Ethel, her rage making her tremble. ‘How could you be so cold? Your husband was murdered in a vile way…just for money.’ She pointed to the floor. ‘We found him lying there, Mother. We slept while he lay there dying.’
Ethel said nothing.
Winifred straightened up and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Your husband, my father, is dead. Everything has changed. Just for once show you have a heart.’ She waited for a response but Ethel’s face was impassive.
‘I don’t understand you…I just don’t.’ Winifred walked out of the shop and upstairs to her room.
Gradually, all signs that John Duffy had lived above the shop vanished. But Winifred managed to rescue and hide the old sepia photograph of his parents that had been in pride of place above the small table at his bedside.
The unsmiling couple were standing, her grandmother holding on to a hard-backed wooden chair. They weren’t touching.
The deep bonnet her grandmother wore was decorated with a line of flowers at the brim, almost hiding the centre parting of her hair. However hard she tried, Winifred couldn’t see if, beneath the large bow and frill, Granny’s hair was swept into a bun or side coils.
Carrying the picture with her to her bed, she climbed in under the covers, pushed the pillows behind her and drew up her knees, studying the man who’d gambled away all the family’s money.
Her grandfather was handsome. The mutton-chop side-burns extended almost to his jaw. The moustache didn’t hide the confident smile on his lips, which wasn’t echoed in his eyes. Winifred thought he looked cold, uncaring of the woman by his side who was clinging to the chair. He stood stiffly, shoulders pulled back, chin raised over the high starched collar, fastened at the neck with a large tie. His dark single-breasted and semi-fitted coat was slightly pulled back by the way he had one hand to his waist. His other arm, loose by his side, followed the line of the mid-thigh coat. Winifred peered closer; she couldn’t tell if he had a waistcoat on, or what his trousers were like. except they appeared to have a narrow checked pattern.
She stretched out her legs and settled back on the pillows. She took a long breath and stared across at herself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. However hard she tried she could see no resemblance to either of her grandparents. Why had she not noticed before? Why now? She bit hard on her lower lip, blotting out that horrible morning. ‘Oh, Dad,’ she murmured, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. ‘Oh, Dad.’
In the next bedroom she heard her mother moving around, the rattle of the curtains being drawn, the closing of drawers and, finally, the squeaking of the bedsprings. Winifred suddenly had an unwelcome picture of Ethel in voluminous nightgown and unbecoming nightcap, and wondered how her father had ever been attracted to the woman he’d married. There’d been no more children after herself, no brothers or sisters. As a child she’d desperately wanted a sister, someone to lie next to in bed and share secrets with.
Lying on her side she curled her hand under her wet cheek. The loneliness hovered, waiting to return, to bring dreams that made her cry even in sleep. How long it would be before she’d be able to see Conal? He’d understand. She’d be able to talk to him, to tell him how she felt.
Chapter 38
Two of Bertha’s sons were loading some of Florence’s bits and pieces on to a handcart when Winifred arrived at Wellyhole Yard. They grinned at her and touched their foreheads before heaving an old trunk on top of two wooden crates.
Winifred smiled at them. ‘It’s good of you to help, boys,’ she said.
The taller of the two shook his head. ‘S’no problem.’
The youngest blushed, didn’t speak.
Winifred hurried up the stairs, avoiding the sticky flypaper pinned to the low landing ceiling that twisted and turned as she passed. There was a slight niggle of worry inside her. Unless they were going to make more than one journey, she’d expected more of her granny’s things to be already loaded.
Florence was sitting in her chair in her usual place by the window. The plain black blouse and voluminous skirt made her look even tinier than she was.
‘I’ll miss here you know, ducks. They’re a friendly lot.’
‘You’re not having second thoughts?’ Winifred asked. Not one stick of furniture had been moved. ‘I thought you were bringing more than what’s on the cart?’
Her grandmother smoothed the silvery roll of her hair above her forehead and settled a black broad-brimmed hat firmly on her head.
‘I’m having a fresh start, Winnie. I’m leaving this lot for the next tenant. Bertha’s sister’s moving here. She’s got nothing to her name, no man; her husband got run over by one of them new-fangled trams in Huddersfield. And her with four bairns to look after.’ Florence pressed down on the arms of the chair and stood. ‘I came here all those years ago, a lot poorer than I am now. The least I can do is to help someone who’s in the same boat as I was then.’ She looked around. ‘Funny job. I’ll miss this house as well.’ She laughed as Winifred wrinkled her nose. ‘Go on with you; I’m only joking.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come on, ducks, help me on with my coat and let’s go. I can’t wait to see your mother’s face when I walk in the shop.’
Both Misses Johnston were fussing around the cart when the two of them made their way out of the house. The elderly spinsters spoke in unison in curiously refined voices that belied the shabby, old-fashioned dresses and metal curlers under white cotton turbans.
‘Come back and see us sometimes, Mrs Duffy.’ And, ‘We’ll miss popping in to see you,’ they said. One of them gave a long sniff that pinched in her nostrils before they pronounced, ‘We’re not sure how we feel about the new woman who will live here.’
Florence gave them a warning look, indicating the two boys with a slight tilt of her head. ‘I know you’ll be as kind to her as you’ve been to me.’ She hugged each of them in turn, despite their looks of alarm and flushed faces as she approached them. ‘I have no doubt of that.’
There was quite a crowd to wave them off. Winifred noticed there wasn’t one door that wasn’t bursting with people and she swallowed against the lump in her throat.
‘You sure you’ll manage the walk, Granny?’ She linked arms with Florence.
‘I’m positive. I never expected to leave here except in a coffin.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘That won’t happen now, thanks to John and you, Winnie.’ There were tears threatening.
She laughed and wiped them away with her handkerchief. ‘Come on, best foot forward.’
Followed by cheers, and shouts of good will and an excited group of three barking dogs leaping around them, they left the yard. Stopping only to hug a weeping Bertha, they walked slowly behind the rattling handcart.
‘Your mother’s face’ll be a picture when these two turn up at the door.’ Florence gave a low chortle, indicating the boys in their ill-fitting brown hobnail boots and ragged clothes, who were shouting with laughter and pushing the cart in lurching fits and starts along the road.
Winifred pressed her grandmother’s arm to her side and smiled. But she knew life was going to be more difficult than ever before.
Chapter 39
‘Why don’t you come downstairs, Granny?’ Winifred leaned on the doorframe of Florence’s room.
‘I’m all right here, ducks.’ Her grandmother, sitting by the window in her new armchair, turned to smile at her. ‘I’m watching all the comings and goings in the ginnel. I wouldn’t mind a brew though.’
Winifred crossed the room and peered over Florence’s shoulder. The baker’s son was opening the back gate to bring in the bread for the shop. Something her father used to do. The flood of sadness in Winifred was unexpected. She dropped a kiss on her grandmother’s hair. ‘How about I cut you a slice or two of that?’ she said.
‘I’d like that, Winnie.’ Florence patted her hand.
Ethel was paying the boy when she went down to the kitchen. Without speaking Winifred took one of the loaves and sliced and buttered it.
‘I take it you’ll be paying for that.’ Ethel closed the back door and stood, fists on her hips.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Winifred didn’t look up. ‘And there’s something you need to know. I’m going to try to persuade Granny to come downstairs today. Except for going to the lavvy she’s been stuck in that room for the last week because of you.’
‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘Only been nasty every time she set foot in the kitchen.’ Winifred poured water into the teapot. ‘It’s got to stop, Mother. Just remember we own two thirds of this place between us, Granny and me. If we wanted to sell the shop…’ The implication might not be true, but she let the words sink in.
Ethel bristled, set her mouth but said nothing.
Winifred sighed. ‘Could you not just try? We talked about this before she came. It didn’t need that scene when she arrived, and it doesn’t need to carry on.’
She’d thought she’d won the battle; that there was no more to be said. That her mother had accepted the fact that Granny Duffy was entitled to live with them, would be living with them. She hadn’t realised that the resentment boiling in Ethel was so bitter that it would erupt at the sight of the old woman on the day she moved in. And she hadn’t cared who saw it.
‘I want none of that stuff anywhere I can see it.’ Ethel’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the handcart in front of the shop. She barred the way at the door, watched by a few interested customers inside. ‘Go round the back and then get it all up to her room.’
‘I haven’t come here to cause trouble.’ Winifred saw that Florence’s earlier excitement and willingness to confront her daughter-in-law had evaporated. ‘We’ll come in the back way.’ She made to move. ‘I’ll go round—’
‘No, Granny.’ Winifred stopped her. ‘Mother, do we have to do this now? Here, in front of customers? Remember your reputation, the reputation of the shop?’ Winifred had no qualms in throwing out the words her mother once quoted at her.
Ethel flushed but still said, ‘Why not let the world see what my husband reduced me to. Having to share a home with a woman from Wellyhole Yard. A dirty—’
‘Enough!’ The quick anger in Winifred made her voice rise. If her mother didn’t care who was listening well neither did she. ‘I asked Granny to come and live here because she’s entitled to; this is her home now, she owns part of it.’
There was a buzz of excitement from the customers.
Ethel’s face grew scarlet. ‘This is my home. Mine. Nobody else’s.’ She hissed the words. ‘When I think what I put up with—’
‘What? What did you put up with, Mother?’
Ethel ignored her. ‘That no good son of hers made sure I had no choice.’ She spat the words out. ‘After all the years of you and him. All the years I slaved for him. He did this for spite—’
‘Rubbish,’ Winifred interrupted. ‘Dad made sure that Granny has what she’s entitled to, that she’s safe and looked after.’
‘I’ll be doing no looking after.’
‘Nobody asked you to. Now, please move so we can bring her things inside.’
The two boys hurriedly unloaded the cart, and between them took everything to the back bedroom that Winifred had made as comfortable as possible for Florence.
Ethel stood in tight-lipped silence as they passed her.
Winifred knew the old woman was shaken but her voice was strong when, upstairs, Florence made a wry face at Winifred. ‘I didn’t think she’d be pleased, but I thought she’d have got used to the idea by now. It’s not going to work, Winnie, I think I should find somewhere else.’
‘Nonsense.’ Winifred made her voice firm but she knew how strong-willed her grandmother was; she needed to convince her to live at the shop all over again. ‘Anyway, you can’t go back to the yard, Bertha’s sister probably moved in as soon as we left. You’re going nowhere, Granny. I’ll make Mother see sense.’ One way or another her mother would have to accept the situation. And what did she mean, what she’d put up with, and having no choice? And after all the years of you and him. What was that about?
Outside, the sky became dark as though it was evening. A storm was coming, she thought absently. All at once she was tired. Perhaps she should have found somewhere else for her and her grandmother. The thought was dismissed in the next second; they had no money between them and most of this place rightfully belonged to them. She helped Florence out of her hat and coat.
‘See, I’ve made your bed up. Everything’s new. It’s a fresh start for you and it will all be fine, I’m telling you. Now, have a lie down for an hour. I’ll let you know when it’s supper time.’
But when she called up to her later, Florence refused to go downstairs. ‘I want no more trouble, ducks, so, if it’s all right with you, I’ll eat up here, in the peace and quiet.’
And, however much Winifred tried to persuade her, there was no moving her. Which, Winifred knew, suited her mother down to the ground.
‘So, today, I’m going to try to get her to come downstairs properly – here with us.’ Winifred stopped at the bottom of the stairs, balancing the tray carrying the cup of tea and the bread and butter. ‘And you will be civil to her, Mother.’
Chapter 40
October
It was over a month before Winifred felt able to leave Florence and Ethel alone without worrying about it. There was an uneasy silence between them, but she thought that was at least better than the snide comments from her mother. And, though she knew her grandmother was still grieving, she only spoke of her son to Winifred.
As the days passed the sour atmosphere took its toll. Winifred was desperate to get out of the house. She wanted some normality back in her life, to find out what was happening with the WSPU group, to talk to Honora about the next meeting. At least that was what she told herself; the thought of also being close to Conal made her breath quicken.
She knocked on her grandmother’s door.
‘Granny, I’ve brought you some tea.’
‘Just as I like it?’
Winifred smiled. ‘Strong enough to stand the spoon up in and two sugars.’
‘You’re a good girl, thanks.’
‘I thought I’d go out for a while.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you mind?’ Last night they’d talked for a long time about her father. Both avoided talking of his death. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Course I will, ducks.’ Florence turned her head and smiled. ‘Your
mother in the shop?’ To Winifred’s nod of confirmation her smile grew though the puffiness under her eyes showed she’d been crying. ‘Then I’ll have a lie in and sup me tea, and when I get up I think I’ll make some porridge.’
‘Already done. I made it earlier, nice and thick like you like it. It’s on the range when you’re ready.’
Her grandmother snuggled further down in the bed. ‘Thanks, Winnie. And wrap up warm, it smells cold.’
Winifred laughed. ‘I think you’re right. I’ll see you later.’
Downstairs Ethel fumed when she saw Winifred in her hat and coat. ‘I can’t run this place on my own, you know.’ She flung back the locks on the shop door. The keys on her belt jangled when she spun around to face Winifred. ‘I suppose you’re going to meet up with those people, those women. And I suppose it was on one of their disgraceful protests when you got that scar?’ she said. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed it, madam.’
But she showed no concern like any normal mother would. Winifred couldn’t help the thought but all she said was, ‘I won’t be long.’
‘I’m not looking after her.’ Ethel raised her eyes to the ceiling.
‘I’ve seen to Granny. There’s nothing she wants you to do for her. And I’ve been behind the counter for the last five days running it on my own because you said you had toothache.’ Winifred fastened the buttons on her black coat. She adjusted her hat; the scar on her forehead was now only a pale line but she was still conscious of it. ‘In fact, I’ve almost been running it for the last three months on my own, the amount of time you’ve come through from the back.’
‘I am still supposed to be in mourning.’ Her mother pushed past her, knocking her against the shelves. ‘How would it look if I just carried on here, day after day as normal?’
She’d put weight on since her husband’s death. It occurred to Winifred that if her mother carried on eating the way she was there’d be no room for the two of them, behind the counter anyway. The sudden humour twisted Winifred’s lips into a slight smile.
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