by Anna King
Now she had a man in her life. And not just any man, but a man of means, a real gentleman.
The only fly in the ointment was Kenneth’s wife.
Kenneth had been very open about his marital status right from the start and, as their friendship had blossomed, brought about by their mutual interest in young Micky Masters, Kenneth had confided in her that his wife’s health, which had never been robust, was now so bad the doctors had told Kenneth to prepare himself for the worst. It was that evening that he had taken hold of her hand and, his eyes locked onto hers, had asked her gently if she would wait until he was free. A tingle of excitement ran up her spine as she recalled the intimate moment.
‘Well, come on, woman, out with it.’ The loud voice jerked Agnes back to the present and the naked curiosity that filled the faces of the two women. They were both smiling at her as if they were close friends, but their eyes slyly mocked her. Agnes recognised the look at once; after all, it was a look she had witnessed hundreds of times over the years. But now things had changed. Now she was the one holding the upper hand and she revelled in the new experience. It had been a very long time since she had felt any self-worth or respect for herself. Now she had both and she wasn’t such a fool as to imagine that these women had suddenly become her bosom friends. Still, she was only human, and the desire to show off quickly overcame her reticence. But she must be careful how much she divulged. Kenneth had been most insistent about their relationship remaining a private matter between the two of them. But once Kenneth’s wife was dead, there would be no more need for secrecy.
Assuming a superior air, Agnes straightened her back and, with her head held high, said, ‘As a matter of fact I do have a gentleman friend, but I can’t say any more at the moment.’ She hesitated, then, unable to maintain her lofty attitude and desperate to talk about Kenneth, her mouth opened and the words she had fought to keep quiet came tumbling out in a rush of excitement. ‘Oh, all right then, I’ll tell yer. But yer’ve gotta promise ter keep it to yerselves.’
Both women edged closer to the counter, their faces agog with excitement.
Looking first over their shoulders to make sure no one else was about to enter the shop Agnes took a deep breath. ‘Like I said, I can’t say too much at the minute, but let’s just say I might not be working ’ere fer much longer. My gentleman friend is very comfortably off, an’ once we’re married he’ll expect me ter stay at ’ome, especially with the little one ter…’ Agnes broke off, her face registering her horror at the near slip she had made in referring to Kenneth’s niece.
But the inference hadn’t gone unnoticed. Immediately Mabel exclaimed, ‘Bleeding ’ell, Agnes. Yer ain’t pregnant, are yer? Gawd love us, yer can’t be, not at your age.’
Before the startled Agnes could reply Nora Parker snapped loudly, ‘’Course she ain’t too old, Mabel. There’s plenty of women that’s been caught out ’cos they thought they was too old ter get pregnant.’ Cocking her head to one side she added slyly, ‘An’ yer only in yer early forties, ain’t yer, Agnes?’
Agnes’ face had turned scarlet, both in embarrassment and deep despair. It had been her life’s wish to have a child of her own, but as the years had passed by she had reluctantly resigned herself to the fact that she would never have the joy of hearing a child call her mother. There was also the fear that one day soon Ellen would announce she was pregnant and that would be her undoing. The thought of watching Ellen’s stomach swell, and Arthur strutting around as the expectant father was enough to make Agnes’ insides knot in silent agony. She wouldn’t be able to bear it, she knew she wouldn’t. Yet now she was to have a second chance. Once Micky was out of the way leaving Kenneth the chance to rescue the little girl from the squalor in which she lived, then she, Agnes Handly, would become a mother to the orphaned child – once Kenneth was free to make her his wife. And maybe, just maybe, she might still have a child of her own one day. Though deep down she knew that her chances of becoming a mother at her time of life were very slim.
Gathering her startled wits she said bitterly, ‘No, I ain’t pregnant. Chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?’
The raw, naked pain on Agnes’ plain face momentarily silenced both women, causing them pangs of guilt as they remembered how they had treated Agnes in the past. Nora Parker cleared her throat as if preparing to speak, but no words came. In those few moments it was as if a veneer had been stripped from Agnes’ face, leaving in its place an anguish so painful to behold that both women dropped their gaze, a genuine feeling of sympathy engulfing them.
Nora was the first one to speak. For once at a disadvantage she said softly, ‘Sorry, Agnes, we didn’t mean any harm, did we, Mabel?’ She looked to her friend for support.
‘Oh, no, Agnes, ’course we didn’t.’ Her eyes flickering to Nora, Mabel continued uncomfortably. ‘I mean ter say, we wouldn’t be deliberately spiteful, honest.’ Floundering now she glanced back at Nora, breathing a sigh of relief as her friend took over the strained conversation.
Anxious to change the topic of conversation Nora asked pleasantly, ‘Well now, ’ow long is Arthur and Ellen away for?’
Her composure back in place once more, Agnes made a great play of rearranging the display of cakes on the counter before replying, ‘They went fer two weeks, so they’ll be back at the weekend.’
Their purchases bought and paid for, the women prepared to leave, anxious to get outside so they could discuss Agnes and her gentleman friend in more detail. It was as they reached the door that Nora remarked casually, ‘I still can’t believe Arthur let Ellen talk ’im into ’aving a holiday. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came back early, especially as Arthur’s never been away from the place fer over 20 years. He’s probably worrying ’imself sick his business will go ter rack and ruin while ’e’s away. Mind you, I gotta say, Bill’s baking ain’t a patch on Arthur’s, though don’t tell Bill I said so. Anyway, see yer tomorrow, Agnes. ‘’Bye.’
No sooner had the women departed when the bell over the shop announced another customer, and it was one o’clock before Agnes had the chance for some time to herself.
With Bill minding the shop, Agnes took her dinner break in the kitchen. And as she ate a crusty cheese roll, she thought back over the past three weeks, her eyes and mouth softening at the memories. For the first time in 20 years she had a purpose for getting up in the morning, apart from going to work. Finishing her snack she wandered over to the mirror hanging over the sink and took stock of her reflection. And once more she marvelled at the difference a bit of hair dye and new clothes could make to a person’s appearance. She looked ten years younger, but, she reflected sadly, no amount of hair dye and new clothes could make her more attractive. She was still as plain as she’d always been. Then she brightened. Kenneth obviously thought her attractive. In fact he had been lavish in his compliments on her new appearance. Idly smoothing down the ruffles on her new white blouse she then inspected her hair. She had toyed with the idea of letting it hang loose, but had quickly dismissed the notion. The last thing she wanted was to look like mutton dressed as lamb. She had, however, left a few wisps of hair framing her face, giving her features a softer look. The rest of her hair was neatly plaited and pinned to the back of her head. Turning her head this way then that, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of frustration as she recalled all the wasted years. If only she hadn’t been so stupid as to hope that Arthur would one day rekindle the romance of their early days. And where had her hopes and loyalty got her? Cast aside, her heart broken, her self-esteem shattered. If only she’d had the sense to move on when the affair with Arthur had ended she could have been married, maybe even had a family by now. If only! The two most tragic words in the world. But, by some miracle, she had been given a second chance of happiness and she wasn’t going to waste it this time. Checking the mirror to make sure she had no crumbs on her mouth she suddenly recalled Nora Parker’s comment about Arthur coming back early and the memory of those casually spoken words brought Agnes�
�� head up sharply.
Arthur would never have consented to such an arrangement if she and Ellen, for once allied against the weak-willed man, hadn’t constantly kept on at him, day after day, until the poor, harassed baker had finally agreed, just to get a bit of peace.
Pouring herself another mug of tea, Agnes’ mind whirled anxiously, her thoughts going round and round her head like a pet mouse on a spinning wheel.
If she was to have any chance of a new life with Kenneth she would have to move quickly. Only last night Kenneth had pleaded with her again to put their plans into motion, but for some inexplicable reason she had continued to stall for more time. But now she realised there was no more time to prevaricate. Once Arthur and Ellen returned and, knowing Arthur, who must by now be champing at the bit to return home, they could well turn up any time now, she would have no opportunity to get Micky out of the way. She knew too, that, once the deed was done, she would have to leave her small terraced house. For once word got round, as it would surely do, she, Agnes, would no longer be welcomed in the East End. Her head drooped as the enormous consequences of what she was about to do hit her like a physical blow to her stomach. Then she stiffened her resolve. The plan was well worked out. Once Micky was out of the way, she would move into a small hotel, paid for by Kenneth, and there she would stay until they could finally be together. In the meantime she would put her house on the market with a reputable estate agency. Once the house was sold, the money earned would go into her bank account. She would feel easier in her mind once she knew there was a comfortable nest egg to fall back on if things with Kenneth didn’t go well.
Not that she expected that to happen, she rebuked herself sharply, but she of all people knew that life didn’t always work out as one expected.
Taking a deep breath, she swallowed the last of her tea and came to a decision. She would do it this evening. Yet even as she tried to convince herself she was doing it with the best of intentions, she couldn’t stop the nagging guilt gnawing away inside.
Chapter Ten
Micky hastened his steps, a huge grin on his face. Everything was going well for him. He had been able to have Molly with him over the Easter holidays as he had promised her. No one had questioned her presence, accepting at face value his explanation that he was looking after the small girl as a favour to one of his neighbours. The change in Molly had been nothing short of a miracle. That time, as brief as it had been, had given Molly new hope for the future. Micky’s grin widened, his whole body alight with happiness. Just this morning Ted had told him that next week he was going to trust Micky with the running of the stall in Hoxton, while he, Ted, looked for a regular pitch down Roman Road. It would only be for one morning, but if he did well Micky knew that Ted would eventually give him more responsibility. His step jaunty, Micky skipped along the pavement. He wouldn’t let Ted down, not ever. Although it would be some time before Ted would let Micky run the stall by himself full time. He had even gone so far as to say that come Micky’s 16th birthday, they would make permanent arrangements pertaining to the running of the stalls. Whistling under his breath Micky did a quick sum in his head. He would be 15 in May, so it would only be a matter of just over a year before he would be given the chance to be a proper stallholder. For the present though he had to content himself with the knowledge that he had a regular wage coming in each week. The only thing that worried Micky was the fact that he was deceiving both Ted and Ellen, the two most important people in his young life, apart from Molly. He’d lost count of the times he had nearly blurted out the truth to Ted as they worked side by side down the market, but mercifully he had managed to keep his tongue in check. Even though he was sure Ted wouldn’t turn him over to the authorities, Micky wasn’t sure of the law regarding minors. Maybe Ted would get into trouble if he knew of Micky’s living conditions and didn’t report it. No! Micky shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. Yet sometimes the need to unburden himself was so strong he had to leave the stall on some pretext for fear he might reveal the truth. Anyway, with his future looking set he would soon be able to look after Molly legally. His mind skirting around the many pitfalls he would have to overcome, Micky turned his attention to tomorrow, his half day off. He hadn’t told Molly yet, but now he had a few pounds put by he was going to get the Hackney Gazette and look for lodgings. He would have to be careful of course. The first sign of a nosy landlady and he would be off like a shot. There were plenty of places around the East End where the owners of the boarding houses asked no questions. And all he and Molly needed was one room – with a stout lock, that was the most important thing of all. If everything went well, he and his sister should be safely housed by the weekend. His grin broadened still further as he imagined Moll’s face when he told her he’d found somewhere for them both to live without fear.
As he approached the bakery he thought of Ellen and, as always when he thought of the pretty young woman, his heart gave a leap of happiness. He was old enough to know that Ellen was out of his reach, but that didn’t stop him from loving her.
Passing the bakery he was startled to hear Agnes calling his name. Stopping, he turned to face her, his eyes wary. He hadn’t set foot in the bakery since Ellen had gone on holiday, preferring instead to buy his bread from the bakers down Hoxton, rather than have to face that old bag. Now here she was framed in the doorway, her face radiating pleasure at seeing him. Micky paused. Life, since his parents had died, had hardened him and made him suspicious. But even if he hadn’t changed, he would have been wary of the hospitable welcome when he knew Agnes didn’t like him, had never liked him. He blinked, then looked again. She was still smiling at him as if he were a dear friend. Assuming a defensive stance he said guardedly, ‘Yeah, what d’yer want?’
Agnes, her heart thumping at what she was about to do, managed a watery smile. ‘Well, that’s a nice welcome, I must say. And here’s me saving the usual bread and cakes Ellen always puts by fer yer.’
Thrown off balance by the kind words and friendly face of the woman who had always treated him like something you’d scrape off your shoe, Micky remained where he was.
Agnes immediately noted Micky’s suspicion and swallowed hard. This wasn’t going to be as simple as she had first thought. Micky might be a mere boy, but he had the intelligence of someone twice his age. A feeling of desperation gripped her. The plan Kenneth had outlined must be accomplished. With a supreme effort Agnes gave a wry smile. ‘Look, mate. I know we ain’t exactly been the best of friends, but I’m trying. Can’t yer give me another chance… eh?’
Still Micky hesitated. But his nature, kind by heart, was willing to give Agnes the benefit of the doubt. His eyes met Agnes’ as if trying to gauge her true feelings and saw true remorse mirrored in her eyes. What he didn’t suspect was the real reason behind the remorseful look. His body relaxed slightly, but his feet dragged awkwardly as he followed Agnes into the shop.
‘Thanks, Agnes. Ta. I’ve been buying me bread an’ cakes down the market, but they ain’t as nice as they are ’ere.’
Her back to him, Agnes grabbed the parcel she’d put under the counter earlier on, then, her heart hammering so hard she was sure the boy must hear it and realise the truth behind her actions, quickly handed it over. ‘There yer go, mate… Nah! Put yer money away, love,’ she exclaimed as Micky reached into his pocket. ‘It’d only go stale. Besides, Ellen never charges yer, does she?’
His face flustered Micky muttered, ‘That was when I was doing odd jobs, I don’t expect ter keep getting me grub fer nothing.’
Bustling quickly now in case someone came into the shop and witnessed the transaction, Agnes hurriedly ushered Micky out into the street. ‘Sorry ter rush yer, love, but I want ter shut up fer the night.’
Still feeling awkward and ill at ease, Micky was only too pleased to leave. Then he paused. Looking back at Agnes he smiled and said shyly, ‘Yer look nice, Agnes. An’ thanks fer the grub. See yer.’
Agnes watched him go, her hand clutching her throat. Those few s
imple kind words had thrown her completely. As the minutes ticked by her troubled mind was screaming that what she was planning was wrong. She still didn’t like the lad, but he’d never done anything to her, and just now, he had been so nice to her. And the words he had spoken had been genuine.
Then Kenneth’s face floated before her eyes, and before she could change her mind she let out a loud shout. ‘Stop ’im. Stop thief. The little bleeder’s nicked me supper.’
Micky was halfway down the street when Agnes’ strident voice reached him, and in that awful, heartstopping moment he knew, knew that his earlier suspicions had been right. In the split second it took to realise he had been set up he thought of going back and facing Agnes and her lies, then he thought of Molly and his feet took flight, his hand discarding the parcel of food as if it had suddenly turned into a burning flame. And as he ran Agnes’ voice followed him, high and screeching. Doors were flung open and people poured into the street to see what the commotion was all about. Then Micky was ducking and diving past them all, dodging their grasping hands.
Quiet now, Agnes watched until Micky disappeared from sight, a small crowd chasing after the young, terrified boy. To her surprise tears sprang to her eyes, making her blink. Then she stiffened as a loud voice boomed, ‘What’s up, Agnes? What’s all the excitement about?’
Police Constable John Smith, the local bobby, loomed in front of Agnes as if he had been conjured out of thin air.
Gulping nervously Agnes stuttered, ‘It’s that Micky Masters. He’s gone an’ nicked stuff from the shop. I just turned me back fer a minute, an’… an’ the next minute he’d grabbed an armful of stuff from the counter and legged it.’