Woman from Dover

by Annand, Betty

  “Oh, yes! Yes, that would be wonderful. I have the address here in my purse.” She took it out and gave it to him.

  “And whom shall I say it is from?”

  “Tell him it’s from Gladys.”

  The gentleman escorted her outside and since it had begun to rain, held his umbrella over her while he hailed a cab.

  As Gladys was being escorted out of the theatre, the actors exited the stage. A few seconds later they came back on and began the fifth act once more. It was all Toughie could do to concentrate on his lines, and he was relieved when the play was over.

  “Well, none of us will ever forget our last performance in London, will we, Angelo?” a heavyset, dark-skinned man, whose features were much like those of the young man he was talking to, said jokingly.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Vic, but if that was who I think it was, I had no idea she was still alive, let alone living here in London. I have to find her.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?” his uncle replied.

  “She’s not just any old friend, Uncle. She’s the girl I told you about. I don’t think we could have survived without each other.”

  “Having seen the hellhole you lived in, I can understand how you feel, but you know we are leaving in two days, so don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

  Before Toughie could reply, there was a knock on the dressing room door. When Angelo opened it, the elderly gentleman handed him the piece of paper Gladys had given him containing the address of James’s flat and said, “This is from a lovely young lady by the name of Gladys.” Then, after explaining what had happened, he complimented them all on their performances and left.

  “I’m going to see her!” Angelo said to his uncle while reaching for his jacket.

  “But the hour is late. Tomorrow would be better, don’t you think?”

  “I can’t wait, Uncle. I must go now.”

  “Beware how you behave, Angelo. You have to think of Rosa, you know.”

  “Don’t worry. I just want to see her once more. I shall be back before morning.”

  Toughie had given up hope of ever seeing Gladys again, and if she hadn’t called out his name he wouldn’t have recognized her. She looked more like one of the high-society ladies who often came to see their plays than the Gladys he had known in Old Nichol. However, it had to be her; no one else knew him by that name. He wanted to run after her when she was being escorted out of the theatre, but he had been with the troupe long enough to know that no matter the circumstance, the play must go on.

  Now his heart was racing as he flagged down a cab and gave the driver her address. Once seated in the coach, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. The thought of seeing Gladys again brought back memories of the days following her disappearance. She had come to his junkyard every day to see what progress he had made on his shed. When two days went by without a seeing her, he thought she might be ill, so he went to her house, but neither she nor her parents were there.

  Toughie had a foreboding feeling of hopelessness as he went from one drinking establishment to another looking for Tonnie and Bert. When he finally found them, they told him that Gladys had run away from home two nights before, and they had no idea where she went.

  Although they shed a few tears, Toughie knew they were lying; Gladys wouldn’t have left Old Nichol without telling him first. He suspected foul play but had no proof. Tonnie and Bert had been drinking steadily for two days, and he was almost certain they had acquired the money to buy their booze by selling Gladys to one of the rich reprobates who often visited the slums looking for young girls.

  He looked everywhere in Old Nichol for her to no avail. He knew if she had been kidnapped she could be anywhere—even in another country. Therefore, it would have been futile to begin searching outside the ghetto. Although he had worked hard trying to earn enough money to make his shed into a home for Gladys, he didn’t have it ready in time to save her, and he blamed himself for her disappearance. He thought he had lost the love of his life forever.

  “Here we be, sir,” the driver called down from his seat, interrupting Toughie’s thoughts. As he got out of the cab, he realized they were in one of the most prestigious neighbourhoods in London. He paid the man but forgot to ask him to wait. He hadn’t realized how hard it was raining until the cab had left.

  He checked the address Gladys had sent him to confirm he was at the right place. There was no light showing in the building, so he figured she thought he wasn’t coming and had gone to bed. He was about to leave but changed his mind and, taking hold of the knocker, he banged it a few times.

  When that didn’t work, he banged it harder and harder while calling her name until a man wearing a nightcap stuck his head out a window in the building next door and hollered, “What’s going on there? Stop that infernal racket.” Toughie replied he was looking for a lady named Gladys and was informed in a loud voice that he had better bloody well look for her in the morning. Toughie reasoned that if someone from the next building could hear him, Gladys could too. He only had a quick glance at her in the theatre, but he could tell she was very well off, so he wouldn’t blame her if she had changed her mind.

  When Gladys arrived back at the flat, she was still in a state of shock. She thought she would never see Toughie again, but there he had been looking even more handsome than she had imagined. She made herself a cup of tea, but when she was carrying it over to the table, the cup slipped out of her hand, fell to the floor, and broke. Until then she hadn’t realized she was shaking. After mopping up, she began to worry that the elderly man might not have delivered the note she gave him. She decided if Toughie didn’t come, she would return to the theatre in the morning and attempt to find out where the actors stayed when they were in London.

  By ten o’clock, she was certain he wasn’t coming. Not only was it probably too late, but the weather had worsened and she doubted anyone would go out on such a stormy night if he didn’t have to, so she went to bed.

  Gladys woke with a start. At first, she thought she had dreamt that Toughie was calling her, but then she heard him again and realized he was outside her door. She jumped out of bed, but the knocking and the shouting had ceased by the time she reached the window overlooking the street. Unable to see directly below the window, she ran down the steps, unlocked the door and, heedless of her scanty attire, stepped out into the pouring rain.

  Toughie was just about to turn the corner when he heard her call. He turned, and when he saw her standing there barefoot, dressed in nothing but her nightgown with her hair hanging loose and her face wet with the rain, he knew she hadn’t changed. This was the Gladdy he remembered. They ran to each other, and when they met, he swept her up into his arms crying, “Oh my God, it is you, Gladdy. I can’t believe it!”

  Chapter Eleven

  As soon as they were inside the flat and had a lamp going, Gladys realized that she was only wearing a nightdress—a very wet nightdress that clung to her body like a layer of skin. Blushing, she told Toughie to take off his wet coat and hat and put more coal on the fire while she ran upstairs to change. She had brought along another nightdress but not a robe, so she took one out of James’s wardrobe. Fortunately, it was generous enough to render her decent.

  When she came back downstairs, she had her hair wrapped in a towel and was carrying her wet nightgown. Toughie had a good fire going in the fireplace, and his coat was draped over the back of a chair drying. She pulled another chair up close to the fire and laid her nightdress over it.

  For a few seconds, they stood staring at each other without a word. Then he reached out, took the towel from her head, and ordered, “Here, sit down and I’ll dry your hair.”

  He was still looking after her. With Toughie standing beside her and the pungent smell of steam from their wet garments—an odour reminiscent of the ghetto—a sense of nostalgia came over her, and she felt like a
girl again. Then Toughie interrupted her thoughts.

  “What’s this?” he exclaimed.

  “What’s what?”

  “Ha! Methinks there’s a little grey in here.”

  “Give me that!” Gladys said and grabbed the towel from him. “If there’s grey there, it’s you who’s to blame! I’ve been worried about you for . . . for how many years now?”

  “Twelve years, two months, six days, three hours, and let me see . . .” he said as he turned to look at a clock on the wall. “Eight minutes and twenty seconds.”

  “You just made that up.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe some of it, Gladdy, but not the years. It has been twelve long years since you left me. Why did you leave me, Gladdy? Why?”

  “I had to. Oh, Toughie, there’s so much to tell you.”

  He sat down on the divan and patted a place beside him. “Well then, I guess you better sit here beside me and get on with it.”

  “Please try not to hate me when you hear what happened, Toughie.”

  “I could never hate you, Gladdy.”

  “I know how hard you worked trying to make a place for us to stay so we could get married, but Ma and Da were so sick with drink they couldn’t push the cart anymore, and we needed money to buy food and pay our rent. Ma said that there was a man who would pay us enough money to fix up two places for us all on your lot and you could have all our junk to go with yours. She said he only wanted to spend a few minutes with me alone and all our problems would be solved. God forgive me, Toughie, but I could not wait any longer for you to build us a home.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me? I would have done something.”

  “It sounded so easy, so I agreed, but then, when she brought the man to the house, she let him in and left. The man was that horrid old Gaylord, the landlord, and I couldn’t go through with it, Toughie. He was such a big man and he sat down and blocked both doors. There was no way out! Finally, I decided to trick him into thinking I liked him, and I got behind him and grabbed hold of Ma’s old skillet from the stove. I used both my hands and swung that skillet as hard as I could, and I hit him right on his bald head. I killed him, Toughie, and I would do it again if I had the chance.”

  “My God! So that’s what happened to him. A constable was around asking questions, but they never found him. What did you do with him?”

  “Well, I guess Ma and Da found him when they came home. I wouldn’t be surprised if they stripped him, sold his clothes, and dumped him in the river. I wasn’t going to wait and see. I took a woman’s cloak and bonnet from the junk yard, stole Gaylord’s purse, and ran. I did leave some money for Ma and Da, but Ma didn’t deserve any after what she did to me.”

  “You should have come and told me, Gladdy. I would have gone with you.”

  “I know you would, darling. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to hang too if we were caught. Mr O helped me escape and I made him promise not to tell anyone. He walked me to a coach station and I got a ride to Dover where I met a wonderful lady named Millie McIver. She was a dressmaker and helped me in so many ways. There is so much more to tell you, Toughie, but just for now, hold me close.”

  Toughie took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss affected them both far more than he had intended. Afraid of what he might do if they stayed so close together, he got up and suggested they make a cup of tea before she continued.

  As they sat drinking, Gladys told him how she had worked as a lowly chambermaid at the Watt’s inn until she was promoted to their singing barmaid.

  “I remembered all those songs Ma used to sing in the bars for money, so I guess she taught me something useful after all. It was while I was singing there that I met Tom Pickwick. He and his friend, Keith, were both soldiers in officer’s training at the castle in Dover.

  “Tom’s father, Andrew, was a very rich man, and I was surprised when he didn’t object to our marriage. Oh yes, I told everyone my surname was Tweedhope. I thought there was less chance of being caught if I changed my name, and the only one I could think of was Bob and Sally’s.”

  “I wish I had known. I might have found you. I thought of trying to find Sally and Bob in London, but they wouldn’t have known you were using their name either,” Toughie said.

  Gladys nodded before continuing, “But, to get back to my story. Tom and Keith were sent to India and were both killed before they received their commission. Sadly, Tom never saw our daughter, Dolly. Andrew was a very good father-in-law and grandfather, which helped ease my grief. There were some very happy years and some sad ones.

  “Poor Millie had a bad stroke and it left her paralyzed. Before that, she had made me promise that if she ever became so handicapped that she couldn’t tend to her toilette—vanity was her only fault—I would help end her life.

  “Oh, Toughie, if you could have seen how she looked at me as she lay there suffering, you wouldn’t blame me for what I did. I can still feel that pillow under my hands after all these years.” Tears were running down Gladys’s cheeks.

  Toughie wiped her tears away, and, instead of criticizing, he said, “Millie was lucky to have a friend like you, Gladdy. Your story is like the story Sally read to us called Cinderella. And now, here you are, a proper lady.”

  “And I’ve found my handsome prince at last.”

  Instead of agreeing with her, he changed the subject and said, “Good heavens, do you know it’s two in the morning? I really must go.”

  “I’m staying in London for another day. Please come back tomorrow and tell me where you have been and how you ended up a Shakespearean actor.”

  “I will try, Gladdy, but tonight was our last performance, and we are leaving for America in two days,” he replied.

  “America! Oh, Toughie, how wonderful. Dolly and I will come with you.” Gladys was so excited she couldn’t stop talking, and before he could interrupt, she added, “I’ve always wanted to visit America. So has Dolly, ever since we came here to the fair when she was just a little girl. But I’m afraid it shall take at least a week or two to settle our affairs and pack. Can you put off going until then, my darling?”

  Toughie frowned. “No. You can’t come with me, Glad—now or ever.”

  The quick and abrupt way he replied left no doubt in Gladys’s mind that he didn’t want her or Dolly. She realized that she had spoken impulsively and felt ashamed and embarrassed. “I am sorry, Toughie. That was such a stupid and presumptuous thing for me to suggest. Please forget what I said.”

  “It wasn’t stupid at all. I would like nothing better than to have you and your daughter with me, but it can never be. I’ve never stopped loving you, Gladys, but I didn’t think I would ever see you again, so a year ago I married someone else. Her name is Rosa. I can’t leave her, especially now that we are going to be parents soon. If only you had come to London two years ago. I’m so sorry.”

  The news was a shock to Gladys. She had thought that now that they had found each other again, they would spend the rest of their lives together. The realization of how vain she had been dawned on her, and she had to admit that it was a miracle that a man as handsome and talented as Toughie had remained single for as long as he had.

  Trying to keep her voice from breaking, she said, “Of course you can’t leave her. I understand perfectly.” Her tears came in spite of her efforts, and she cried, “Oh, Toughie, I remember the day I first realized I was in love with you. It was the first time I saw you, when you weren’t wearing that old overcoat and funny cap. You looked so handsome, and I swore that day that I would never love anyone else. I did love my husband, Tom, though, but not the same as I love you.”

  “I think the first time I knew how much I loved you was the time we were in Mr Scott’s butcher shop and his son, Jude, dropped that big jar of pickles. We were so busy scooping those pickles off the floor that I didn’t notice you had cut your hand until we had run
up the road and stopped to eat them. When I saw the blood dripping off your hand with the pickle juice, I was afraid you were going to bleed to death and I would lose you,” Toughie replied.

  Past memories of their childhood came flowing back, and the pair sat quietly, drinking in the details of each other’s face.

  Before he left, Toughie kissed her on the cheek and promised, “I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

  The following day, Gladys couldn’t relax. She could hardly wait to be with Toughie again. Finding him had been a miracle, but she knew that when they said goodbye this time, it was going to be forever. Shopping for sewing notions and yard goods helped occupy her thoughts for a short time, and she managed to find some very reasonably priced bolts of fabric and bought enough in different patterns and contrasting colours to last her for about a year, along with some pretty buttons and thread.

  When the store clerk addressed her as “milady” and wanted to know if she was taking her purchases home with her in her carriage, she couldn’t help but feel flattered. With her nose a little higher than usual, she answered that she didn’t have her carriage with her because she had come to London by train but would leave her address so he could see that her purchases would be delivered as soon as possible. She had spent more of her savings than she had intended and was feeling rather guilty when she left the shop.

  Arriving back at the flat, she was pleasantly surprised to find Toughie waiting for her. Wishing to spare Rosa’s feelings, Toughie hadn’t told her the truth about where he was going. Instead, he said that he wanted to spend the evening with some old chums because he might never see them again.

  After Gladys freshened up, they decided to go out to dine. Unwilling to eat in a nearby restaurant in case she might be recognized, Gladys suggested they take a ride on the omnibus to another location. She remembered riding on one when she came to meet the girls from Old Nichol and how much she had enjoyed it.