by Rosie James
‘Well, the first rule in business is that you never invest anything that you cannot afford to lose,’ Reynard said. That is the essence of sensible gambling, Miss Martin. And if you are saying that you do not want to invest, then we should go no further with this.’ He folded his arms as if about to dismiss the class. Then – ‘Gambling is exciting but it is dangerous, so think about it. Think very carefully. Are you prepared to take a risk – even a small risk? Do you have that spirit of adventure, that spirit of daring in you? And, if you do have, Miss Martin, will you allow me to invest some of your money on your behalf? My stockbroker is a very wise, very clever businessman, and he and I together would decide where to place your bet.’ Reynard allowed a moment to pass before the final shot. ‘Because nothing significant, nothing at all, is achieved by leaving money under the bed.’
What could Lexi possibly reply to that? Mr McCann was forcing the required answer from her. She swallowed over a dry tongue. Was she prepared to gamble with her hard-earned cash – and maybe lose it? That thought sent shivers right down her spine. When she’d come here tonight she’d had no idea what might be suggested … how should she respond?
Then she remembered the other thing Mr McCann had just said. That you should only pay out what you are prepared to lose if things did go wrong. Lexi gazed down at her money and came to a quick decision.
He could have half, she decided recklessly – so if her gamble paid off, her money could become twice or three times its value. Just because she had bought and sold shares in a company at the right time. Mr McCann had said so and he was so clever with his own money, surely he must know what he was talking about.
And he was right – the thought was exciting! She, Lexi Martin, was excited.
Sitting bolt upright in the chair, she cleared her throat. ‘I have come to a decision,’ she said, her words trying to match the importance of the proceedings. ‘I am prepared to … to lose half of what I have earned. If you will invest it for me, Mr McCann.’
‘Excellent! Excellent!’ he exclaimed. ‘That is the spirit! And – just one other thing … when you enter the economic world, Miss Martin,’ he said, ‘you must understand that there is no sentiment in business and that you trust no one. Everyone is out for their own ends and what they can get, and they don’t care how they get it.’ Reynard choked over his own words for a second. Why did he persist in stabbing himself like this every now and then. He went on more slowly.
‘You have just agreed to give me half of all this money, Miss Martin,’ he said. ‘Half of your precious cash. How can you be sure that I will not go away and spend it on myself? How can you be certain that I can be trusted?’
Lexi looked him straight in the eye.
‘Because you are Johnny’s dad,’ she said simply.
After she had gone, Reynard sat where he was for a moment, mulling over the advice he’d given the girl. He sighed heavily. Of all people, he was the one best placed to warn her against trusting others … even those you thought you knew very well …
Then he stood up decisively. He would do the very best he could with Miss Martin’s savings.
With her half-empty money box tucked safely in a large carrier bag, Lexi made her way back home, hoping her mother was somewhere out of sight when she got there so that the box could be returned to its usual place without exciting any attention. Lexi did not want to tell Cecilia about tonight’s meeting with Mr. McCann, or the special reason for it, because she would just not understand. Lexi knew that.
But Johnny would understand, and she would be telling him all about it when she wrote to him
Chapter Eleven
A few days later, Anna sat with her hand over her mouth, staring at the calendar on the wall.
4th August 1914
The country was officially at war with Germany.
With her heart as heavy as lead, Anna went over to the window and stared out. It was unseasonably cool – cold even – and there was a strong wind, making the branches of the trees sway violently, and leaving everything disarrayed and out of place. Which is exactly what will happen during this war, she thought grimly … nothing will ever be the same again.
But to Anna, the most worrying thing which had been in the news for a long time was that so many young men were responding to Lord Kitchener’s huge poster campaign urging everyone to enlist. To fight for their country. ‘Your country needs YOU’ it said, an accusing finger pointing out like a weapon. And it seemed to be working because boys scarcely out of school were turning up to add their names, neighbours and friends jockeying each other to join up as if it was an exciting thing to do. It was even said that somewhere an entire local cricket team had gone en masse … as if to enjoy a jolly time together, perhaps expecting cricket teas thrown in! Anna shuddered at the naïve innocence of such loyalty to the realm. Anna did not believe in war, whatever the reason for it. In war, people got hurt.
She went over to the sink to start preparing the vegetables for tonight’s dinner, trying to shake off her despondency. At least the boys were well out of the way for the next few weeks, so no chance of them doing anything silly – though Alfred had never made any secret of the fact that he’d go to war when the time came. That was going to mean an almighty tussle between her employer and his elder son! Still, Alfred was well out of it for the moment, and from the letter Anna had received from Johnny, it seemed that both her boys were enjoying their stay away on that island.
Anna’s shoulders drooped for a moment. The house was so empty with neither of them here, and there was still more than a month to go before they came home.
But at least dear Lexi came in regularly – to bring the rents, of course – but also often to bring something else Cecilia had made for Mr McCann.
Upstairs in his study, Reynard’s mood mirrored that of his housekeeper. This was a bad day, a very bad day indeed. Although he had never been in much doubt that this war was inevitable, he’d tried to hang on to a thread of hope that it could somehow be averted. That those in power could wave a magic wand.
But it was not to be, and now the country was in it up to its neck. Reynard leaned forward, his head in his hands. The government were already setting up state-run munition factories where women were taking the place of the men who’d gone to fight. Women were also being recruited as manual workers, drivers, railway guards … the world was going mad.
And now, there was talk of a new Defence of the Realm Act that would allow the government to take over the coal mines, the factories, shipping … private owners having no say in the matter whatsoever. Would anything ever be the same again?
Reynard ran a hand through his hair. What would become of the country at the end of it all? Britain was the world’s economic super power, with enormous wealth and resources – but for how much longer? War was a costly business, and it seemed to Reynard that the country wasn’t prepared for it. The nation had woken up too late. It had taken too long to start arming troops, while Germany … for years Germany had been ready to spend on militarizing their economy. Germany was ready, no doubt about it.
And what about him, Reynard McCann? Was he prepared and ready to face the market panic which would undoubtedly ensue, was he ready to face a personal financial crisis? He gritted his teeth. Of course he knew he would be affected, like everyone else. He already paid income tax, and tax payers would be expected to cough up much more to support the war – that would be the first step the government would demand of the wealthy, especially property owners. Property owners like himself would be the first victims.
Reynard groaned out loud. Sometimes, in some circumstances, it wasn’t worth having so much money.
Then he stood up and pushed his chair back. He didn’t mean that. He would weather the approaching storm … well, he’d come through a few before, hadn’t he …
Monday, 10th August 1914
Dear Johnny
Thank you very much for your last letter. You brought everything about your little island to life, I almost felt as
if I was there with you. (I wish I was!)
Sorry I’ve been a bit late in replying, but the days seem to fly by. My hours at the sweet shop seem to increase every day – though I’m not complaining! – and of course there’s always plenty to do at home because my mother is doing four nights at the laundry now.
Something horrible happened at the shop last week. A man came in and ordered a lot of sweets and chocolate, as well as some cigarettes, and then accused me of giving him the wrong change. I knew I hadn’t, but he insisted that I count it all up again in front of other customers, so everything went back on to the counter and we repeated the process. I felt really bad because he was saying I was trying to diddle him out of his money. Anyway, he was proved wrong because I had given him the correct change, and fortunately Miss Lewis came in just in time to see what had been going on. The man didn’t apologize for what had been his own mistake, just left without another word. And although Miss Lewis patted me on the back afterwards I knew I had gone as red as a beetroot. It’s horrible to be wrongly accused and I didn’t get over it for a bit.
But you will be pleased to know that I still find time to go to Bert’s Place now and then. I don’t stay very long of course, but he’s always so pleased to see me and the other day he’d been so busy it took me quite a long time to do the count for him before I left. I thought of you while I was there, wishing you were with me so I could buy you a custard tart! Though from what you said in your letter, you are having quite nice food.
I have kept the most important bit until last, Johnny, which is that Mr McCann is going to invest some of my money for me! Do you remember him saying that he would give me advice on what to do with it? Well, a couple of weeks ago after I’d done the rounds, I went to the kitchen with my savings and he said I should invest it … in a company’s shares! He had to explain what he meant because I’d never heard of the stock exchange. Do you know anything about it? Anyway, now I have to be patient until the price of my shares goes up a bit, then I will sell at a profit! (I think I understand it all, but I trust Mr McCann to do his best for me.)
When I’m not thinking about all that, I am practicing my songs so that I’m ready for the Pump Room on the 8th of September. My first Tuesday! Help, help. My heart flutters every time I think about standing up there on that platform with everyone staring at me.! I do wish Dada was here, now, to give me courage - but knowing that you will be there on the day cheers me up, Johnny.
Isn’t it awful that I have got this far with my letter without mentioning the war? Everyone is very long-faced about it, reading the papers and listening to the wireless to hear the news. But nothing much seems to have happened here, yet. Perhaps this is the calm before the storm.
Of course school is closed now for the holidays, so I try and think of something for Phoebe and Joe to do in the afternoons. But they are good at entertaining themselves, and playing with the other children, and are quite happy for us to go over the fields sometimes.
I can’t wait for the 4th of September when you’re back again, Johnny … I wonder if you’ll be back in time to do the rounds with me!
We all send you our love – (especially me!) – and hope you are taking good care of yourself. Remember us to Alfred. I hope he is not annoying you too much!
With love, Lexi.
The whole of that August was turning out to be wonderfully warm and dry, and today, helped by a strong wind, the washing which Cecilia was hanging out on the line would soon be ready for her to bring back in. The simple act of pegging out all their towels and sheets never failed to give her pleasure, and she hummed to herself as she reached for the last item in her huge washing basket.
Then she stood up, and with her eyes closed against the strong sunlight, she put her head back and let the summer air fan her face for a few moments. In the peace and quiet of the little patch at the back which they liked to call their garden, the terrible war in which the country was now embroiled could not have seemed more remote, and Cecilia felt a pang of shame that she could actually still feel happy despite what was going on over there in France.
She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was just gone 10 o’clock and Lexi was due home from the shop in a few minutes. Phoebe and Joe had gone to the park with the other children. Cecilia yawned briefly. She hadn’t had any breakfast, so she and Lexi would have a boiled egg each in a minute, and sit and chat. It had been a hard slog at the laundry last night, so a little shut-eye wouldn’t go amiss before she started on the day’s mending.
Presently, she glanced again at the clock. It was nearly 10.15 – Lexi was a little late but that was nothing new. Still, Miss Lewis was so generous with her money and always paid Lexi more than she needed to for any extra time she did.
As she took two eggs from the pantry, Cecilia heard a step outside … good, they could have their breakfast in a minute. She turned to greet Lexi.
But it wasn’t her daughter – it was her husband.
Albert Martin was home again after a six month absence. And what had he brought with him this time? Only a puppy! A thin, brown little mongrel which barely moved from inside the old shawl covering it as Albert held it in his arms.
For a moment Cecilia was speechless. A puppy! They didn’t need a puppy! They didn’t need anything else to feed and look after.
Then Albert put the dog down and took Cecilia in his arms. And she could only respond in the way she always did, and for a few seconds they held each other closely.
‘It’s good to see you home again, Albert,’ Cecilia said, and he placed his lips on hers tenderly. ‘My Cissy,’ he murmured, ‘my own Cissy….’
Cecilia found her voice again. ‘But what, Albert, is that?’ she said, glancing at the dog.
‘I couldn’t leave it there by itself, Cissy, now could I?’ he said, only mildly apologetic. ‘It’s half-starved, poor thing, and it followed me for more than a mile. I knew you wouldn’t mind if I brought it home – and the babbies are going to love it, aren’t they?’
Well, what could Cecilia say? Without thinking twice, she filled a bowl with water and put it down on the floor. And in a trice the dog was lapping thirstily and didn’t stop until the bowl was empty.
Just then Lexi appeared at the door, paused for only a second, then almost threw herself into her father’s arms.
‘Dada!’ she cried. ‘You’re home again! Oh, I’m so pleased you’re here, Dada … I’ve got so much to tell you! And have you brought us a little dog? How lovely, Dada!’
For the next few minutes everyone spoke at once – while Cecilia spread a piece of bread with a bit of fish paste left over in the jar and put it on the floor for the animal who wolfed the food up straightaway.
Still holding on to her father, Lexi said breathlessly – ‘Are you going to stay with us a nice long time, Dada? I mean - will you still be here in September?’
Albert grinned down. ‘Well now, if work allows,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You know how it is - but why are you asking, Lexi?’
‘Because,’ Lexi said dramatically, ‘I am going to be performing in the Pump Room Dada. Can you believe it?’ And without waiting for Albert to put in a single word, Lexi went on to describe exactly what had happened.
‘We-e-ll,’ Albert said slowly. ‘Didn’t I always know that my beautiful daughter has the voice of an angel?’ Then he grinned. ‘And I shall certainly be staying home long enough to be there listening to you,’ he added. ‘No doubt about that. And I shall be so proud of my Lexi.’
Much later as they all sat around the table having their tea, Cecilia gazed at the children who were all hanging on to Albert’s every word and looking up at him adoringly. In just a few hours he had melded himself back into the family and it was as if he’d never gone away. And of course Phoebe and Joe had been beside themselves when they’d seen the puppy and realized that it was going to be theirs.
‘What’s it called?’ Joe asked, looking down at the dog which was curled up beneath their feet.
‘Well now
, to be sure – it’s ours so we must give it a name,’ Albert said, and in a very short time the name was chosen. The dog was to be called Lucky. Lucky Martin had instantly become one of the family, and almost at once the younger children took control, wanting to take it out at the back to play.
‘We shall have to buy her a collar and lead tomorrow, shan’t we?’ Cecilia said. ‘Now, just take care of her outside – though I don’t think Lucky will run off!’
With Phoebe, Joe and the dog outside, Cecilia glanced at Lexi. ‘Why don’t you and Dada go into the sitting room and chat about your songs’, she said? ‘I’m sure he wants to hear what you’ve chosen to sing. Maybe you’d like to go through one or two of them now,’ she added, passing Albert his bag holding his harmonica.
It took nearly an hour for Lexi to go through all her songs, with Albert accompanying her very softly, and presently, with tears in his eyes, he put down the instrument and put his arms around her.
‘That was wonderful, Lexi,’ he said, ‘and you know all these songs so well You’re word and note perfect and you soar up the scale like a nightingale! I’m not surprised they want you at the Pump Room’
Lexi leaned into him. ‘Thank you, Dada,’ she said softly, ‘but I know I’m going to be nervous!’
‘No, you won’t,’ Albert assured her. ‘As soon as you start singing, all those nerves will fly straight out of the window! Trust me, I know!’
And in the kitchen, leaning against the sink with her arms folded, Cecilia listened to the little performance with a lump in her throat. All those lovely, heart-warming songs … ‘After the ball was over, after the break of morn’ ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ ‘There’s a land I heard of once in a lullaby’ … Lexi’s little repertoire continued so smoothly, with no hesitation. But it was the final song which made Cecilia’s eyes overflow with tears … ‘The boy I love is up in the gallery, the boy I love is looking down on me, there he is, there he is, a waving of his handkerchief, as merry as a robin that sings in the tree.’ The tune was plaintive, romantic, and it never failed to touch Cecilia, reminding her of her own situation. Her own words might have been – ‘The boy I love is off on the road again, the boy I love is waving back at me, there he is, there he is, bidding me farewell again, as merry as a robin that sings in the tree.’