‘No, Manny! Please . . . sit down.’ Emma had made up her mind. She would tell Manny everything, for who else could she turn to?
Without a word, the older woman resumed her seat and, before her resolve disappeared, Emma told her everything. She explained how things between her and Gregory had gone from bad to worse since he’d lost his work. She spoke of her deep abiding love for Marlow and of how she had kept a great distance between them, remaining as dutiful and loyal to her husband as any wife could be. She told of how Gregory had grown cold and distant, blaming himself for their childless state and for the loss of his livelihood, and of how he had turned to drink in his most depressed moments. She explained the impossibility of ever creating a relationship with his mother who ‘hates me beyond reason, Manny.’ And, finally, with the tears by now falling helplessly down her face, Emma gave an account of the night when Gregory hadn’t come home. She held nothing back and, in a whisper, she finished, ‘I’m sure I’m with child, Manny. Not Gregory’s child . . . but Marlow’s.’
‘Lord above!’ Mrs Manfred was shocked at the series of events just related to her, but even as the seriousness of the situation dawned on her, her only thoughts were for Emma. The very idea of condemnation never even entered her mind. ‘Does Gregory suspect?’ was her first question.
‘I don’t think so, Manny . . . not yet.’ But Emma knew it was only a matter of time.
‘And Marlow?’
Emma wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, her voice firm and determined as she replied, ‘Marlow doesn’t know. And he never will. He’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Sailed away to foreign parts.’ Now fully composed and feeling better having confided her secret worries to another person, Emma continued, ‘Gregory has to be told the truth, Manny. You see, when he discovers that I’m with child he’ll know it isn’t his. For a long time now . . . since before Marlow and I . . . well, you see, Manny . . . Gregory didn’t . . . he . . .’ Emma couldn’t go on.
‘All right, child. It’s all right. I understand.’ Mrs Manfred leaned forward and lifting both of Emma’s small hands into her own, she quietly agreed. ‘You’re right. There is no other way as far as I can see, but to put yourself and the unborn child at your husband’s mercy. Oh, but Gregory’s a good kind man, even in spite of his present distress. You told me earlier that he’d gone off to look for work in the quarries. Well, he’s not back yet, is he?’ she said optimistically, glancing up at the clock and pointing out to Emma that, as it was already well into the day and he hadn’t returned, that might just mean that he’d been successful. ‘You’ll see. Come tea-time, he’ll breeze in through that door with a smile on his face and secure work at last!’ She prayed it was so, for it would take a special man to accept not only that his wife had sought refuge in another man’s arms, but that she was also carrying that man’s child; and he wouldn’t even be able to get the satisfaction of leathering the fellow concerned, because by now he was in a far-off country.
In her heart, Emma wasn’t convinced by Mrs Manfred’s words, though she knew that the darling woman meant well. And, even though she had already decided that Gregory would have to be told, it wasn’t a prospect she was looking forward to. Mrs Manfred didn’t know how wrong she was about Gregory. Oh yes, he had been a ‘good and kind man’, but that was so long ago now that Emma could barely remember it. These days he was morose and silent. He was unloving and bitter, for he had lost all that he revered most: he had lost his work, his dignity and, above all, his belief in himself as a man – and it was that in particular which made Emma most fearful of his reaction to her confession. Just thinking how she might even begin to tell him left Emma trembling, so much so that she said now, ‘Perhaps it might be better if I’d done as Marlow wanted, and gone with him!’
‘Never!’ The mere suggestion of compounding what she believed to be a sin of the worst kind, was unthinkable to a woman of Mrs Manfred’s strict moral beliefs and, much as she adored Emma, she was convinced that there was only one course of action. ‘How can you even think of such a thing, child?’ she demanded. ‘What you two did was wrong enough, without seeking to make matters worse!’
There was little left to say; it was now just a matter of confessing to Gregory. At Emma’s request, Mrs Manfred agreed to stay over for one night. ‘But this is purely between you and your husband, and, of course, he must agree to my staying. There’s an early train out on the morrow and, once matters are resolved between you and Gregory, I’ll be on my way.’ Her fondness for Emma shone in her small brown eyes, as she assured her, ‘I’m only staying just so you know I’m near. Beyond that, it’s really no business of anyone’s but yours and Gregory’s.’ She did not want to intrude in their private affairs, but, when Emma had asked her to delay her departure until the morrow, how could she refuse her?
‘Thank you, Manny.’ Emma was grateful all the same. What she had to do wouldn’t be such a lonely thing with Manny so close by. ‘I can’t make your sleeping arrangements too comfortable, though,’ she apologized, ‘because the back bedroom still hasn’t got a bed in it. I think there’s a small spare bed in the loft, so perhaps when Gregory comes in . . .’
‘You’ll neither of you put yourself out for me!’ interrupted Mrs Manfred. ‘I’ll be quite cozy snuggled up in this here armchair, afront of a small cheery fire.’ As Emma began to protest, she put up a halting hand. ‘That’s settled!’ she said. ‘I’ve put up with far worse in my time!’ When Emma smiled, she smiled back and soon they were both laughing. To Emma, it felt wonderful. Thank God for friends such as Manny.
At five p.m. Tilly Watson came round to see old Mrs Denton, leaving Emma and her visitor to enjoy her little lad’s antics. First of all she took up a tray prepared by Emma and then she carried up the bowl and toiletries with which to wash the old woman. ‘I’ve never known such fuss in all me born days!’ she cried in exasperation when, finally, she brought down the soiled linen. ‘She gets more and more cantankerous! It took me ten full minutes to get her to use that blessed bedpan. She’s more of a baby than that little fellow there!’
‘I don’t know what she’d do without you, Tilly,’ Emma said affectionately, ‘she doesn’t deserve you.’
‘Aye, well, I get paid for me troubles,’ came the twinkling reminder, ‘though if your fellow don’t get work soon, happen even that won’t go on, eh?’
Emma smiled, saying, ‘Well, she won’t let anybody else within an inch of her, Tilly, so I don’t know what would happen in that event.’ All the same, thought Emma, Tilly wasn’t far from the truth.
On her way out, Tilly remarked in an intimate manner, ‘Between you and me, that old fox has a big tin box underneath her bed, and she screams blue murder if I even touch it with me toe. I wouldn’t mind betting it’s stuffed full o’ banknotes!’ Whereupon they all laughed, but none of them would have been surprised to discover that Tilly was right! Mrs Manfred believed it to be of small consequence, since Emma was secure financially because of her marriage settlement and Emma gave her no reason to think otherwise. Emma wondered whether Gregory suspected old Mrs Denton might be hiding a sizeable nest-egg. Still, they were not desperate yet and whatever old Mrs Denton had or didn’t have, she considered to be none of her business.
On the stroke of six, Gregory burst in through the door, his face brighter than Emma had seen it in a long time and he actually rushed forward to grab her by the waist and swing her round. ‘They took me on!’ he shouted jubilantly. ‘The buggers took me on!’
‘Oh, Gregory!’ Emma was overjoyed at his good news. ‘That’s wonderful!’ The thought that perhaps her ordeal might not prove to be as fearful as she’d anticipated, fleetingly crossed her mind. Oh, but there was time enough for that later, when he had washed and eaten and they were in the privacy of their bedroom. Somehow, the knowledge that Mrs Manfred would be downstairs made Emma feel much braver and this seemed the perfect moment to raise that particular matter. ‘Gregory,’ she said, adjustin
g her dress which, in his exuberance, Gregory had made uncomfortably tight across her middle, ‘Manny’s come to visit.’
‘Oh. goodness!’ He followed Emma’s smiling eyes to where Mrs Manfred sat. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, going towards her, ‘I didn’t even see you there.’ Mrs Manfred told him that her employment with the Crowthers had been terminated, and he offered his sympathy. ‘Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that, Mrs Manfred,’ he said, with such polite and genuine concern that Mrs Manfred wondered how Emma could possibly describe him as a changed man. In fact, when Emma explained how she had invited Manny to stay the night and delay her departure until the morning, he made no objection whatsoever. ‘There’s a narrow bed up in the loft,’ he said, ‘I’ll bring it down and set it together in the back bedroom before I go out.’
‘Before you go out?’ Emma was already on her way to collect his meal from the oven, when his words pulled her up short.
‘It’s grand, Emma,’ he said, seeming to her more like his old self than he’d been for a long time. ‘Look at that!’ He pointed first to the clay on his boots, then to the clay beneath his fingernails. ‘I’ve got work again! Work! I can hold my head up alongside any man, at long last. I feel proud . . . proud to be fetching home a wage!’
‘But you’re surely not going out without a hot meal inside you?’
‘My stomach’s that excited, it would just churn over at the sight of any food. No! I shall get myself washed and changed, give the old ’un the good news, get that narrow bed down . . . then I’m off to spread a bit of cheer and hope in the alehouse. I’ve been drowning my sorrows far too long, Emma, now, I’ve some celebrating to do!’
In less than an hour, he was gone. He didn’t kiss Emma goodbye in the manner of old, before hard times had come on them; neither did he walk out with a surly face and without a word, as he had done of late. Instead, he smiled, waved his hand and, before he turned away from Emma at the door, leaned forward to murmur in her ear, ‘It seems our luck is changing, eh? Happen other things will fall into place as well. We shall see . . . we shall see. Expect me home afore eleven.’ Emma was left in no doubt as to what he meant; though, before such intimate relationships could be resumed, he must be made aware of the situation. If there was any kind of a choice, Emma would have taken it, but there was not, and the issue must be faced head on. It was the only way.
‘I’m surprised he’d choose to go off drinking,’ remarked Mrs Manfred with concern in her voice. ‘I never took him to be a drinking man . . . though I can understand how he turned to it in his worst hours. Still an’ all, I should have thought he’d want to celebrate his good news here, in his own home, with you.’
Before Emma could voice her own concern and as though she had heard Mrs Manfred’s words, another voice pierced the air as that dreaded rhythmic knocking began to shake the ceiling. ‘If my lad’s gotten a taste for the drinking, Emma Grady, it’s on account of you . . . you’ll pay for your sins, you’ll see! The Lord punishes the wicked in his own way!’
Being used to such abuse, Emma paid no attention, but Mrs Manfred was appalled. ‘For two pins I’d go up there and give her a piece of my mind! she declared, her face uplifted and her eyes glittering. ‘You let her get away with too much, my girl!’
Seeing her old friend seething with indignation and listening to that voice from above still screaming out its vile abuse, Emma couldn’t help seeing the humorous side of things. ‘Oh, Manny!’ she laughed. ‘Do you really think I dare let the two of you at each other’s throats? Like as not, you’d have the whole street out!’ Whereupon, the stiffness in her old friend’s face melted away and the homely features began crinkling into a smile. It only took Emma to begin gently giggling and the two of them collapsed into fits of laughter.
‘Oh, ssh, child!’ came the broken warning, as Mrs Manfred composed herself. ‘Or she’ll be down them blessed stairs and laying that stick of hers about both our shoulders!’
Smothering the laughter which insisted on bubbling up inside her at the comical image presented by Mrs Manfred’s words, Emma promptly offered to brew up a fresh pot of tea. Then she asked, ‘Perhaps you’ll cast an expert eye over my sewing, Manny, and tell me where I’m going wrong?’ Emma despaired of ever being truly able to master the art. In fact, since her marriage to Gregory, Emma had had many regrets regarding her limited experience in domestic matters, for every new task she had to learn seemed like a milestone which, without Mrs Manfred’s constant help; she would never achieve.
‘Of course, child. It’ll be grand, eh? You and me aside o’ the fire and spending a cozy evening together,’ came the smiling remark. ‘I can’t think of anything more lovely.’ And Emma agreed – unless it was an evening spent in Marlow’s adoring arms!
When eleven o‘clock came and went, Mrs Manfred made the announcement that, try as she might, ‘I just can’t stay awake another minute.’ Emma lit her a candle and led the way upstairs to the back bedroom. ‘Sleep tight, Manny,’ she said, lighting the dresser candle from her own and feeling the bed sheets to ensure they were not damp to the touch.
At the door, she turned to receive a peck on the cheek and the warning, ‘I don’t know if it is wise to tell Gregory the way of things . . . not at such a late hour and when he’s only just returned from a public bar.’
The very same thought had occurred to Emma. ‘Don’t worry, Manny,’ she said with a wry smile, ‘bad news can always wait. At least till morning.’ After which she went quietly back downstairs, tidied away the crockery, washed up, put a little more coke on the fire and settled down in the chair to wait.
When the clock struck midnight and still there was no sign of Gregory, Emma told herself she might just as well go upstairs to bed. ‘Like as not he’s gone off to some fellow’s house, till the early hours,’ she murmured into the half-darkness. Anyway, she decided, there was nothing to be gained by staying down in the parlour. So, placing the mesh guard in front of the fire, she took up the candlestick from the sideboard, clutched a handful of skirt to lift up the hem of her dress and slowly, all the while listening for footsteps at the door, she mounted the stairs.
Judging by the loud and rhythmic breathing sounds as she passed first Mrs Manfred’s room, then old Mrs Denton’s, it seemed they were both deep in slumber. As she closed her own bedroom door behind her, there was a strange and eerie moment when Emma felt utterly alone in the world. So real did it seem that, for a while, she felt panic-stricken and began trembling. But, reminding herself that this upper room was always chilly, Emma shrugged her shoulders, put the candle down on the stool and started to undress.
Of a sudden, there was a scuffling and rattling at the front door, with the sound of Gregory’s voice rising muffled through the letter-box. ‘Open the door, yer buggers. I’ve lost my key!’
Quickly, Emma flung her shawl about her shoulders and was halfway down the first short flight of stairs when the sound of the front door being flung open to crash loudly against the passage wall rocked the house. ‘The buggers were in my pocket all the time!’ came Gregory’s jubilant shout and it sounded even stranger from drink than Emma could ever remember.
‘Who’s that? Gregory! Where’s my son?’ Emma winced as old Mrs Denton’s angry voice sailed through the house.
‘It’s all right,’ she called out, ‘it’s nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep.’
‘Who are you to tell me what to do, you little trollop!’ came the indignant retort. ‘Where’s Gregory? Gregory!’ she called even more loudly.
As Emma carried on down the stairs and along the landing, the back bedroom door opened and a tumbled grey head peered out. ‘Is everything all right, child?’ asked Mrs Manfred.
‘Yes, it’s only Gregory . . . thought he’d lost his front door key,’ replied Emma in a whisper. ‘Goodnight, Manny. You’d best get back to sleep if you want to be up bright and early,’ she reminded her.
‘All right, lass. Goodnight, God bless.’ As she disappeared back into her room, Mrs Manfred’s tho
ughts were troubled. She’d had no idea what Emma had to put up with, and, although it went against everything in her upbringing, she half wished that Marlow had taken Emma with him. There was a bad situation here. But, deep down, Mrs Manfred believed that Emma would cope. She’ll make the best of a bad job, she told herself, the lass always does.
From the top of the stairs, Emma peered down, holding the candle out at arm’s length. ‘Are you all right, Gregory?’ she asked in a loud whisper.
‘Course I’m all right, sweetheart,’ he began stumbling up the stairs. ‘Never felt better in all my life! There were two other fellows tekken on at the quarries today. By! We’ve done some bloody celebrating!’
‘I can see that.’ Emma hated to see a man so affected by drink. ‘Be quiet as you come up. You’ve wakened your mother.’ She wondered how in God’s name he’d be fit to go to work the following day. It was likely he’d end up losing the job which was the very cause for his celebration.
‘Don’t you worry about the old bugger!’ came the retort, as he fell up the last few steps. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’ As he mounted the top tread and came on to the landing, he grabbed hold of Emma to stop himself from reeling backwards down the stairs. ‘I think I’m drunk,’ he chuckled, his breath fanning out over Emma’s face and turning her stomach. ‘Hey, look at you, you little vixen!’ he said with delight, on seeing that Emma had removed her dress and beneath the shawl her shoulders were bare. ‘Oho! Waiting for me, were you?’ he asked, roving his hand over her upper arm and leaning forward as though he might kiss her. ‘You be a good girl and get the bed warm, eh?’ he said with a sly wink. ‘I’ll just look in on the old ’un . . . see she gets off to sleep, eh?’
Without a word, Emma turned to leave him groping along the landing towards old Mrs Denton’s room. The touch of his hand on her naked skin had seemed somehow revolting to her. She would go to bed, feign sleep and hope to God that her drunken husband would be so exhausted by the time he got into bed, that the idea so evidently uppermost in his mind would come to nothing!
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