Luck Be a Lady

by Anna King

  Luck Be A Lady

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Copyright

  Luck Be A Lady

  Anna King

  In loving memory of my sister, Barbara Masterson.

  I would like to thank the staff and carers at Farmfield Hospital for the love and dedication they showed towards Barbara; as do all the family. We are all very grateful for the joy and affection you brought into Barbara’s life.

  My thanks to a very special friend, Susan Bull, who nagged, pushed and threatened me with emotional blackmail if I didn’t deliver a chapter to her every week. Thanks, Sue.

  I’d also like to thank my children, Tony and Vicki, for creating the name of Rebecca Bradford. They would prefer money, but they will have to make do with my thanks.

  Chapter One

  Rebecca Bradford walked from the scullery into the front room carrying a steaming mug of tea and a small plate of digestive biscuits, then paused, her eyes looking longingly at the comfortable armchair drawn up by the fire, her body feeling the softness of the worn, sagging chair, then, sighing, she opted for one of the four hard-backed chairs tucked neatly under the dining table. Dunking one of the biscuits into the mug, she ate the softened digestive with relish, realising just how hungry she was. Immersing the last half of her biscuit, she muttered a soft ‘damn’ as the biscuit dropped into the tea. Scooping the soggy mess out of the mug with a spoon, she laid it on the side of the plate, wondering why it was that she couldn’t eat a dry biscuit, yet couldn’t eat it once it had been dropped into her tea.

  Resisting the impulse to fetch another one, she removed the last remnants of the broken biscuit from her mug, drank the remainder of the tea, picked up the mug and plate, and was making her way back to the scullery when her eye once again caught sight of the armchair by the fire. Dithering with her conscience, she went over in her mind the work she had already done that day and the jobs that still needed doing. Being a Friday, the bulk of the weekly housework had been done, until Monday, when she would start all over again. There was a clothesline full of washing drying in the cold October wind out in the back yard, the house was sparkling, and the lamb stew for dinner was simmering away nicely on the stove, so why shouldn’t she have ten minutes’ rest? Her conscience eased somewhat, she was across the room and ensconced in her favourite armchair before she could change her mind. Raising her eyes to the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, she saw it was just on three o’clock; plenty of time for a bit of a rest before taking her cousin Maude her afternoon cup of tea in bed before bringing in the washing.

  Easing off her slippers, she tucked her legs under her bottom, thinking that if she was going to have a rest, she might as well do it in comfort. Gazing into the glowing fire, Rebecca let her thoughts roam free, travelling down the years, glad that her memories could be recalled now without the heartbreak which had accompanied them for so many years.

  Yesterday, 10 October 1912, had been the fifth anniversary of the death of her parents and two younger brothers – all four of them taken by an outbreak of smallpox in the small town of Frinton in Essex that had been their home since birth. Why she, Rebecca, her elder brother Phil and her sister Amy, the youngest child, should have escaped the deadly disease remained a mystery. The priest who had resided over the funerals had solemnly announced it was God’s will and not to be questioned by mere mortals. But Rebecca, then fourteen, had not only dared to question God’s will, but had screamed her defiance against the Almighty’s haphazard disregard for human life, shocking the parish priest into momentary silence, a state of shock that had been very brief. Rebecca smiled wanly into the fire as she recalled the red-faced priest’s outrage as he had ordered her to get down on her knees and pray for forgiveness. But the young girl, instead of being brought low in the face of the priest’s murderous countenance, had refused to be cowed in the presence of such revered authority, continuing her tirade until she was dragged away to her room by an embarrassed Phil, who now saw himself as head of his depleted family, and therefore accountable for his sister’s outburst. Rebecca had never forgotten her brother’s actions; even now, years later, she still harboured a small degree of resentment against him.

  Being the eldest, Phil, to Rebecca’s mind, should have stood by her, comforted her and protected her from the priest’s wrath, but Phil, then seventeen, had been a weak youth, easily intimidated and terrified by any form of authority. Now, five years on, her brother was still the same – the weak youth had grown into a weak man. If Phil had been made of sterner stuff, they wouldn’t have had to take the offer of help from Richard Fisher, a distant cousin of their late father. Feeling the old resentments stirring in her body, Rebecca forced herself to relax. It wasn’t Phil’s fault he was the way he was, nor could the past be changed, so it was no good rehashing past events, it was the future that counted – still…!

  Shrugging her shoulders, she put her brother from her thoughts and let her mind return to the events that had transpired after the funerals. The turn-out had brought together family members none of them had seen for years. In fact there were a few the three children had never clapped eyes on in their lives. One of these relatives had been Richard Fisher, an overweight, over-familiar man Rebecca had disliked on sight. Not so her brother, who had remained in deep conversation with the pot-bellied man, both of whom had continually darted furtive glances in her direction. When the last of the mourners had departed, Phil, his face and bearing proclaiming his guilt and shame, but still desperately trying to appear the man of the house, had informed his younger sisters that their cousin Richard had kindly offered them all a home in the East End of London, miles away from their home and environment in Kent. Rebecca had listened in sheer horror at the unexpected turn of events. The thought of leaving their home had never occurred to her; not when she had an elder brother in a steady job at the local factory. She had assumed that Phil would take care of herself and Amy, and life would go on as before, as far as schooling and day-to-day existence were concerned. Amy, at the tender age of ten, had been totally bewildered. The shock of losing both beloved parents and two brothers in such a short space of time had left her in a highly emotional state of mind. The small girl had loved both parents, but had utterly adored her father, William – a quiet, shy man whom Amy had always been able to twist around her little finger – and, like most children, had made full use of her power. Now, with her father gone, Amy had transferred her allegiance to her big brother, desperate to continue to keep a male figure at the centre of her crumpled world. But Phil was no William Bradford, whose outward shyness had hidden a strong character and sharp wit, attributes Phil had not inherited. Fortunately, Amy had been too young to notice her brother’s inadequacies, needing only a man’s presence to cling to.

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p; Being of stronger character than her brother, Rebecca might have worn him down and shamed him into staying where they were and providing for them. But Richard Fisher had been a determined man, and Rebecca, as forceful as her personality was, had been swept along with his plans to rehouse them. In less than two weeks, Rebecca, Phil and Amy had been spirited away from their home and friends and ensconced in the comfortable three-bedroomed terraced house in Welbeck Road in Hackney.

  On the journey to the East End, Phil had gone on and on about how lucky they were to be getting a house at a very reasonable rent, pointing out solemnly that he wouldn’t have been able to keep up the mortgage on the house in Kent, and they should consider themselves fortunate that Richard Fisher had come along when he had, otherwise they would have been in dire straits before too long; and he had added that the job as assistant manager in Richard’s warehouse business paid a lot more than he had been getting at the small factory in Kent. All in all, things had turned out rather well for Phil. Rebecca had listened without comment, knowing her brother’s real reason for accepting Richard Fisher’s offer had simply been a means of absolving himself from the responsibility of looking after his sisters single handed. She had also been highly suspicious of their newly acquainted cousin’s seemingly generous offer, asking herself over and over why this man, who had never to her knowledge even visited her parents when they were alive, should be so concerned about their welfare. After all, they were strangers to him. When she had voiced her concern to Phil, he had simply shrugged her queries off, preferring, as always, to take the line of least resistance, and let others do the worrying for him.

  Rebecca’s mistrust had soon proved to be well founded. The house had been nice enough, and the rent half of what such property was normally leased at, but what their new benefactor hadn’t mentioned was the fact that he had an invalid sister in residence; a sister who had to be looked after twenty-four hours a day. Oh, he had been clever, had Richard Fisher. For years he had been paying a fortune for two nurses to look after his bedridden sister around the clock, and when, at his distant cousin’s funeral, he had set eyes on the strong, healthy Rebecca, his devious mind had sprung into action, for in the young girl he had found an unpaid nurse and housekeeper for his sister, leaving him free to set up residence in a smart flat in Stoke Newington and leave behind the sister he had come to despise.

  Her eyes fixed absently on the fire, Rebecca gave a short, mirthless laugh. The death of her parents had been a godsend to Richard Fisher. If she had been older at the time, she would have walked out on the first day when she knew what was expected of her. But then, if she had been older, she would never have left her home in the first place. She might not have been able to keep up the mortgage on the house, but she would have found employment and somewhere for her and Amy to live in the same area. Instead fate had decreed that she should end up looking after an invalid relation, destroying all her early hopes and ambitions for her future, for she could see no end to her present life at this moment in time.

  Shifting her gaze upwards, she visualised her cousin Maude lying in bed, her huge body comfortably buried under clean sheets, blankets and a thick eiderdown, her only concerns in life her food and comfort. The mental picture brought a tight grimace to Rebecca’s generous mouth. Being of a kind nature, Rebecca wouldn’t have minded looking after Maude, or anyone in similar difficulties. But Maude Fisher, like her brother, was a selfish, demanding individual, and had, from the very first moment of introduction, looked upon the pretty, golden-haired young girl as a servant, tolerated only to do her bidding without any thanks or appreciation for her efforts. And as the years passed, she had become more demanding, more truculent, and had even stopped making the effort to use the chamber pot by herself – a feat she was, Rebecca was sure, quite capable of. When Rebecca had first taken up the role of nursemaid, Maude had been able to walk to the indoor closet Richard had installed at considerable expense. But as she became used to Rebecca’s ministrations, Maude had become lazier and lazier, until now, as Rebecca had angrily told Phil a few nights ago, Maude would have her wiping her backside for her if Rebecca had been willing – which she wasn’t, and had told her cousin in no uncertain terms. The next day Maude had fouled the bed, leaving Rebecca no choice but to clean up the disgusting mess, a chore that had made her sick to her stomach for the rest of the day.

  A stray piece of coal spat out of the fire onto the hearth, jerking Rebecca out of her reverie. Quickly picking up the glowing ember with the fire tongs, she threw it back into the blaze and shook her head in annoyance. Here she was, not five minutes ago, telling herself not to dwell on the past, and still she was doing just that. But she was only human, and sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Sighing, she closed her eyes. She had sat down for a rest, so she might as well make the most of it. Just ten minutes and then she would get the washing in and take a cup of tea up to Maude. The next sound she heard was the patter of rain hitting the windows. With a cry of alarm, she jumped out of the chair and headed for the garden, the only thought in her mind to get in the washing she had so laboriously slaved over for most of the morning. As she almost skidded through the dining room, Maude’s querulous voice floated down the stairs.

  ‘Rebecca. Rebecca, get up here now. I need the chamber pot.’

  Caught in mid-flight, Rebecca shouted back angrily, ‘Well, you’ll just have to hold on a bit longer. I’ve got to get the washing in before it gets soaked.’

  ‘I can’t wait. You get up here right now, madam, or else you’ll have to clean up the mess afterwards. I’m a sick woman, I can’t hold on…’

  Her voice at screaming pitch now, Rebecca yelled back, ‘Well, you’d better hold your backside together a bit longer, Maude, ’cos, I’m telling you now, you mess that bed again, and I’ll leave you to lie in it until after dinner. And don’t think I won’t, ’cos I’ve just about had enough of it. Do you hear me?’

  Without waiting for her cousin’s reply, Rebecca rushed out into the darkening dusk of the small back garden, grabbing frantically at the piles of sheets and towels blowing in the strong October wind. The rain was coming down harder now, and Rebecca could have wept, seeing all her hard work ruined.

  ‘Becky! Becky, you out there? Hang on, I’ll give you a hand.’

  Amy’s young voice was like music to Rebecca’s ears. Lifting her head over the bundle of washing in her arms, she saw her sister come flying through the back door and shouted, ‘Careful, Amy, there’s a patch of ice just…’

  Her warning came too late. Amy, all arms and legs, had already run onto the treacherous sheet of muddy ice. The next minute she was skidding past Rebecca and down the garden path on her bottom, her high screams of laughter and fright filling the air.

  The comical sight quickly restored Rebecca’s natural humour, her own laughs mixing with her sister’s wails. Five minutes later, wet and shivering with cold, they were both back inside the house, still laughing as they sorted through the washing.

  Luckily it was only damp, and as Rebecca set up the ironing board and heated the flat iron to dry the sheets, she said jovially, ‘You’d better get changed out of that dress, love, so I can put it in to soak. It’s covered in mud, but, oh, you should have seen yourself sliding down the path. I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages.’

  As if on cue, Maude’s peevish voice resounded down the stairs. ‘When you two have both finished having a good laugh, maybe one of you’ll help me get to me chamber pot. And a cup of tea would be nice. If it ain’t too much trouble.’

  Rebecca clapped a hand to her mouth. She had forgotten all about Maude. Well! So much for her desperate need for assistance earlier. Leaving the iron to heat up, she made for the stairs when Amy’s hand stopped her.

  ‘I’ll see to her, Becky. I’ve got to go up and get changed anyway. Besides, she’s always all right with me. Must be my dazzling personality, eh!’ With a low girlish chuckle, Amy ran up the stairs, calling out gaily, ‘It’s all right, Auntie Maude, I’m coming.’
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  Rebecca watched Amy go, her mouth curling into a soft smile. At fifteen, her sister was without doubt the sweetest, most lovable person Rebecca had ever known. She never lost her temper, was always amiable, and possessed a beautiful temperament which Rebecca envied. Everyone loved Amy, even that old battleaxe upstairs, and that was saying something. The only flaw in Amy’s personality was that she was too trusting. She could never see any bad in anyone, and although that in itself was an admirable trait, it could also be a dangerous one, especially where men like Richard Fisher were concerned.

  Her mouth tightening, Rebecca began attacking the mountain of washing piled on the kitchen table. Although Amy liked everyone, it was the men in her life that she gravitated to more than the women. It was as if, even after all these years, Amy was still looking for a father figure. Affectionate by nature, Amy was always cuddling and hanging onto Phil every chance she got, which was fine, he was her brother after all. But Richard – Rebecca would never call him Uncle, any more than she would call Maude Auntie – was, to her mind, a slimy individual. But as usual, Amy could see no wrong in him. Yet every time Rebecca saw Amy sitting curled up on the couch with him, or throwing her arms around his neck in greeting, her stomach turned over. More than once she had detected a look in the man’s eyes that was anything but fatherly. For that reason, she would never leave the two of them alone together. She had voiced her concerns to Phil, but of course it had been a waste of time. Phil had a cushy life now, thanks to his cousin, who had supplied him with a job and a roof over his head, and there was no way he was going to take the chance of rocking the boat, not even at the expense of his little sister’s safety.