When Day is Done

by When Day is Done (retail) (epub

  Not bad for Sid Maudsley, son of an East End costermonger, ex-market porter, deserter, gang member. He thought of his parents. His mother with her refrain, ‘We’re poor but we’re honest’ – where had that got them? Tatty rooms, cheap food, always scraping. Not for me, he thought. I’m rich and dishonest, and that’s the way I like it. He grinned again.

  Lottie was alarmed when Kate continued to sleep until the evening. She managed to rouse her briefly, and Kate drank the tea that she had brought, but Lottie was aggrieved that she asked nothing of how the other girl had managed alone, but sank again into sleep.

  It was light again when Kate woke and lay looking at the feet passing her window high in the wall. She felt light-headed and disorientated, as though she had been seriously ill for several weeks. As memories returned, it all seemed like a bad dream, until she got up and looked at the newspaper and knew that it was all too true.

  She thought of Rose cutting her dead, then of Gordon’s kindness. Her mind drifted over what she thought of as his strange behaviour on the bed, but returned to the memory of him holding her and comforting her. How kind he had been.

  She was sitting on the side of the bed feeling faint and dizzy when Lottie came again with tea. ‘You look terrible,’ she said. ‘How d’you feel?’

  ‘Just dizzy,’ Kate said faintly, and Lottie said briskly, ‘Well, you haven’t had nothing to eat. Drink this and I’ll do you a sandwich, then you’ll feel better. You’re probably over the worst.’

  For a moment Kate remembered Gordon saying, ‘This is the worst. It’ll get a bit easier every day now,’ and her mind went even further back, to Henry smiling at her and saying, ‘It’s always darkest before the dawn.’ Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she gulped the hot tea and resolutely turned her mind to the present.

  She managed to get her voice under control and said, ‘I’m all right. How have you managed, Lottie?’

  ‘Fine, really. D’you know, the missus got up and dressed herself. Just shows you. Mind you, she was ringing that dratted bell all the time, but I didn’t take no notice mostly. I’ll make you that sandwich.’

  ‘Is there any hot water, Lottie?’ Kate asked. ‘I need a good wash.’

  ‘Yes, you was sweating like a pig,’ Lottie said frankly, but she brought a can of hot water.

  Kate took off her nightdress, discovering that it was bloodstained and that there were also bloodstains on her legs. Too innocent to connect this with Gordon’s behaviour, she vaguely thought her period had arrived. She washed and dressed in clean underwear and her everyday dress, moving as though in a dream, then went into the kitchen. It seemed unfamiliar, as though she had been away for a long time, but she ate the sandwich Lottie had made and then, still moving like a sleepwalker, washed dishes and cooked the meals that Lottie suggested.

  ‘I haven’t told the missus you’re up,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll carry on seeing to her today,’ and Kate smiled at her remotely. She felt instinctively that when this merciful numbness had passed, the pain would be unbearable, so she worked automatically and remained in her own world. The feeling of unreality persisted even when she sat at the table with Gordon Trent. His manner towards her was as formal as ever, and he made no reference to the episode in the bedroom, even when they were alone. To Kate it merged with her suffering over Henry’s death and Rose’s rejection. As far as possible she tried to block off that time in her mind, although she still grieved bitterly for Henry, all the more because she was unable to speak of it and her sorrow was turned inward.

  She never bought the Echo now, or took any interest in the war news, but moved through the days like an automaton. Letters from Josie and Nell went unanswered, and she had no contact with Rose or Beattie.

  As the weeks passed, Kate was often sick in the mornings although she ate very little, and her periods failed to appear, but she only thought dully that it was because of shock. She was too innocent and inexperienced to connect it with the act in Gordon’s bedroom and to realise that she was pregnant.

  She had grown so thin that her clothes hung on her and concealed any sign of pregnancy, and Lottie was seriously worried about her.

  ‘You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,’ she scolded. ‘And you don’t seem to care about nothing. You’ve never got over that fever. You should go to the Dispensary, see a doctor,’ but Kate only murmured, ‘I’m all right.’

  In the face of Kate’s indifference, Mildred had decided that she was getting better. She dressed every day and sat for hours at her desk, studying her account books and totting up columns of figures. Lottie reported that sometimes there were huge ledgers on her desk which she had never seen before. ‘I don’t know where they’ve come from,’ she said.

  ‘Probably from her safe,’ Kate said indifferently. ‘They’ll be her father’s.’

  ‘I think she’s going barmy,’ Lottie said, but Kate made no comment.

  Mildred had resigned herself to having her meals served and her rooms cleaned by Lottie, and Kate rarely left the kitchen except to do some cleaning. Lottie looked after the Barry sisters too.

  One day she confided to the young man she was walking out with that the house was driving her mad. ‘I’m that worried about Kate, but she doesn’t care about nothing. She’s in the kitchen all the time, the missus is in her rooms, and the two fellows just go their own way. If it wasn’t for Miss Ethel and Miss Isabel I’d go outa me mind.’

  ‘You want to get outa there,’ the young man advised. ‘Sounds like a madhouse to me.’

  ‘But I couldn’t leave Kate,’ Lottie protested.

  ‘Why not? You’ve got to look after number one, girl. There isn’t nobody’ll do it for you. D’yer think they’ll care about you if the place goes to pot? Anyhow, the war’ll soon be over and there’ll be plenty of places,’ he added.

  In July Mr Culshaw gave notice, saying that he was to be married and was renting a house in Anfield. ‘He’s as much of a mystery man as the other feller,’ Lottie said, but she was pleased that neither Kate nor Mildred did anything about letting his room. ‘Less work and one less mouth to feed,’ she said to Kate, but Kate as usual said nothing. She went about her duties keeping her grief to herself, as she had kept her love for so many years.

  The tide of war had turned in favour of the Allies, but the newspapers were not allowed to print much about the successes. Hopes had been raised many times before only to be dashed, and it was felt that caution was necessary. Back in 1916 when British journalists were still being refused permits to visit the Front, the French had helped them and given them information. Journalists were now using their French contacts again, and since they were forbidden to write about British success, they told instead of victorious French actions, thus forcing the British authorities to allow publication of British victories. Suddenly it became clear that at long last the war was coming to an end, but to Kate and many others the news was bittersweet.

  Kate was still eating little and showing no sign of her pregnancy. Only Gordon suspected it, and he treated her with tenderness when they were alone. Now with only three of them at the table, he joined Lottie in trying to coax Kate to eat, and Lottie decided that he was a good, kind man.

  Kate felt the cold, and in September she started to wear her winter coat, so that even the more knowledgeable people never suspected the truth. It was only when the butcher’s wife came to call on her nieces that she saw the slight thickening round Kate’s waist, in spite of her loss of weight elsewhere. Even then she found it hard to believe, and when she told her husband her suspicions he laughed at her.

  ‘Don’t be daft, woman,’ he said. ‘Kate! A born old maid if ever I saw one. She’s never even walked out with a lad.’

  ‘I know. I can’t believe it myself. Unless she’s been took advantage of.’

  ‘No, we’d have heard about it,’ the butcher scoffed. ‘She’d o’ been screaming blue murder.’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t that, it’s a growth,’ Mrs Dyson said. ‘Either way, Albert, I
think we should get our girls out of there. Lottie’s told them she thinks the missus is going out of her mind, never moving out of her room and not seeing none of her friends, and now there’s only that one other lodger, that young man. We’ll have to do something.’

  Josie, too, was concerned about affairs at the guesthouse, and when her letters to Kate had gone unanswered for a while she wrote to Lottie to ask for news. Lottie would have been pleased to pass on some responsibility, but she had never kept up with her reading and the thought of writing a letter, especially to another country, daunted her. She intended to write but kept putting it off.

  The Dysons decided to suggest to their nieces that they opened up their house again. Both felt, although they would not admit it even to each other, that the sisters had saved a considerable amount of money by living in the guesthouse, but if there was any scandal there they might well get the blame for recommending it.

  ‘I think this place will be closing,’ Mrs Dyson said to her nieces. ‘And now the war’s nearly over, so they say, you’ll be able to get plenty of servants. Young Lottie would go with you and look after you, I’m sure, and me and your Uncle Albert will see to everything for you.’

  Lottie was approached and readily agreed, although she felt guilty at leaving Kate. I’ve got to look out for meself, though, like that feller said, she thought. He did it all right, scarpering as soon as I asked him about walking out serious.

  ‘When Miss Isabel and Miss Ethel go, there’ll only be the missus and Mr Trent to look after. You won’t need me,’ she said when she told Kate, and Kate agreed and wished her well.

  In the midst of the upheaval of the move Mildred fell ill again. At first it was only her old enemies, sick headaches and dyspepsia, but soon she was running a temperature and tossing in delirium.

  ‘I think you ought to send for her sister,’ Lottie told Kate. ‘I know they’ve fell out, but blood’s thicker than water and she mightn’t get over this. Then they might blame you for not telling them.’

  Kate, roused from her apathy by her aunt’s need, wrote a short letter to Beattie telling her of the seriousness of Mildred’s illness. The reply came a few days later, a bulky letter which made it clear that Beattie would not be visiting her sister.

  We are in dreadful trouble here. I am sorry about Mildred but I am very ill myself and quite prostrated. That dreadful man, that lawyer, says that all my money is gone and I must leave my lovely house where I came as a bride. He says he has been warning me for years but he was always a miserable, croaking man and I just didn’t believe him. I don’t believe it now. There was so much money, my dear husband was so clever. I’m sure there is some mistake or there has been some mismanagement or some wrongdoing. Rose says I must not say that.

  She is very cross with me, Kate, and says I should have told her, but why should I worry her when I knew it couldn’t be true? There was always plenty of money and still should be. That horrid man blames the war and my investments, but I know what I think no matter what Rose says. I’m sorry about Mildred but I am confined to bed and don’t think I will ever rise from it. I shall not be sorry to leave this vale of tears.

  Kate was as surprised as Beattie seemed to be that all that money had gone. What would they do? she wondered. How would Rose fare with poverty instead of the luxury she had always known? Mildred’s needs, however, were too pressing to allow her to spend much thought on Rose and Beattie.

  Lottie and the Misses Barry had gone, and only Kate now remained with the sick woman, but Mildred clung grimly to life. The doctor Kate had summoned was a gruff old Scotsman called from retirement by the war, and it was he who finally told Kate that she was pregnant.

  Mildred was now incontinent, and Dr McAndrew arrived one day when Kate had changed the bed and was lifting her aunt back on to it. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that on your own in your condition, lassie,’ he said, then, as Kate looked uncomprehending, he added, ‘You’re enceinte, aren’t you? With child.’

  Kate looked so stunned that he drew her out to the other room, where she now slept on a camp bed.

  ‘Did ye not know?’ he asked, and Kate shook her head. ‘I’m not married,’ she said foolishly, and he sighed. ‘Were ye ever attacked? Molested?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so,’ Kate stammered, and he said grimly, ‘Ye’d know all right if ye were, lassie. I think I’d better make sure. Loosen your clothes and lie down on this bed.’ Swiftly and gently he examined Kate, then said quietly, ‘You’re pregnant right enough, lassie. About five months. Now tell me what you were doing in May.’

  As they talked, Kate suddenly connected the time when she’d lain on Gordon’s bed in his arms with the fact of her pregnancy. ‘You must think I’m a fool,’ she said, but the doctor replied, ‘No, lassie, just innocent, and he took advantage of ye.’

  ‘No he didn’t,’ Kate said quickly. ‘He was just kind and – and loving. He comforted me.’

  The doctor patted her shoulder. ‘Then ye were lucky, lassie,’ he said. ‘But he must face his responsibilities. Is he still about?’

  ‘No, he’s on secret work. He comes and goes,’ Kate said.

  The doctor said grimly, ‘Well, the next time he comes, tell him I want a word with him. Who else have ye got apart from her?’ and he jerked his head at the door to Mildred’s bedroom.

  Kate said slowly, ‘Only another aunt, and my sister who lives with her, but Aunt Beattie is dying too and they are in trouble.’

  ‘All the more reason for me to see that young man as soon as possible,’ the doctor said. ‘I can’t get you any help, but be as careful as you can lifting her.’

  By the following afternoon, when the doctor returned, Mildred was unconscious. He shook his head. ‘She won’t come out of this, lassie,’ he said. ‘Who looks after her affairs? You’d better let them know.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kate said. ‘She liked to keep her affairs to herself.’

  ‘Then you’d better find out. Look through her papers. Are you sure there’s no one you can call on?’ Kate shook her head. ‘And there’s no sign of the young man?’ Again Kate shook her head, and the doctor urged her to look through Mildred’s papers right away. ‘And as soon as you see that young man, send him to me,’ he said.

  Kate could do nothing for her aunt, and feeling guilty and shamefaced, she went into the office and began to look through the papers. The drawers of the desk were locked, but she found the keys and eventually discovered a letter from a firm of solicitors in North John Street.

  She longed for Gordon’s return, but he had said that with the war nearing its end he would be busier than ever for a while. She was not dismayed about the coming baby. On the contrary, she was pleased, feeling that it would be someone belonging to her. She only wished that it could have been Henry’s child.

  Gordon had been in a dilemma wondering whether to clinch things by marrying Kate or wait to see what happened when the old aunt finally died. Better perhaps to wait to see just what she was worth, although of course there was also the other rich old aunt too.

  He thought of Kate’s condition, which she surely must know about by now, and decided to keep in touch with her but do nothing in haste. He wrote from Manchester, saying that he hoped that Kate was not working too hard and trying to eat more. ‘It seems the war will soon be over,’ he wrote. ‘Then I will be finished with this work and free to marry and settle down with you, Kate.’ He gave a box number for a reply and enclosed ten pounds for his rent.

  When Kate returned to her aunt after finding the solicitor’s address, Mildred was moving her head restlessly and plucking at the bedclothes. Kate was bathing her face when the doctor appeared with a short, squat woman. ‘This is Mrs Ludlow,’ he told Kate. ‘She’s not a nurse but she’s had a lot of experience and she can help you with your aunt.’

  He took the solicitor’s letter and told Kate to rest on her bed. ‘She won’t be long now,’ he said.

  Kate had only rested for an hour when Mrs Ludlow c
alled her. Mildred was making a strange noise which Mrs Ludlow said was the death rattle. ‘I’ve been at plenty of deathbeds,’ she said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  When Mildred eventually lay still, Mrs Ludlow said briskly, ‘She’s gone, love. Have you got clean linen so we can lay her out?’

  Kate brought the linen and did as instructed by Mrs Ludlow. As they slipped a clean nightdress on to Mildred’s body she said impulsively, ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I had no idea what to do.’

  ‘That’s what Dr Mac said. I was in the middle of me washing but he made me leave it. Nobody doesn’t dare say no to him when he’s got the bit between his teeth.’ She laughed.

  ‘He’s been very kind to me,’ Kate said.

  She soon had even more reason to be grateful to the doctor. Later in the day, Mildred’s solicitor arrived, closely followed by an undertaker, both sent by Dr McAndrew.

  The undertaker guided Kate through the arrangements that needed to be made for the funeral, while the solicitor went rapidly though the drawers and pigeonholes of Mildred’s desk and studied her account books. He found the deeds of her parents’ grave, but nothing about her husband, and it was decided that she would be buried with her parents and Kate’s mother in Anfield Cemetery.

  After the undertaker had gone, the solicitor opened the safe. As he studied the documents he’d taken from it he grew increasingly serious. Finally he put the papers in his briefcase, along with documents from the desk. ‘Have you any money of your own, Miss Drew?’ he asked. Kate told him about her savings account and the unspent wages in her room.

  There was money in a linen bag in a cash box, and he took it out. ‘I think this is rightly yours,’ he said. ‘Money owed to you in wages and disbursements, and there will be other expenses. There’s forty pounds there. If you will just sign this, and then I suggest you put most of it in your savings account.’ It was some years before Kate was to realise the kindness she had been shown by this usually meticulous professional man.

  Before the solicitor left he told Kate that he would study the papers and the will and speak to her again after the funeral, which he would attend.