The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  ‘No good will come of such things, you mark my words,’ as the measurer’s tight-lipped wife was heard to remark more than once during the festivities.

  ‘Thank you for so much for making the evening such a splendid success,’ said Lady Worlington, balancing precariously on the beer platform. ‘Sir George is too tired to thank you personally’ – a few bold souls stared openly at the drunken man slumped over the table at the far end of the barn – ‘but he wants you all to know what a pleasure this evening has been. For us all.’

  ‘I thoroughly agree,’ whispered Robert. He was standing behind Jess, nuzzling into the back of her neck. They were at the back of the crowd, having got there just in time to hear Lady Worlington’s goodnight speech.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Jess half-heartedly, ‘they’ll see yer.’

  ‘Let the world see,’ he replied, squeezing her waist. ‘Let them all know how I feel about you.’

  ‘Listen. Yer mum’s talkin’.’

  ‘I told you. I don’t care about anyone but you, Jessie Fairleigh. I love you. You’re going to be mine forever.’

  Jess unclasped his hands from around her waist and turned to look at him. ‘Yer said that before. Before we… Aw, yer know what I mean. But yer do really mean it, Robert, don’t yer?’ She closed her eyes. ‘Cos I ain’t never done that with no one before. Never. Even though yer thought I ’ad.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him earnestly, imploring him to believe her. ‘I didn’t know we was doin’ it the other time, honest. No matter what yer think.’

  ‘If you say so, but there’s no need to play games with me, Jessie.’

  ‘I ain’t playin’ no games. I mean it. I didn’t know. I was ’it over the ’ead, an’ yer know I was. It’s important to me, Robert, that yer believe me.’

  ‘Sssh. Calm down. We’ve gone over all of this. It doesn’t matter any more, Jess. You’re mine now. I told you. I love you.’

  “Ow about yer intended then? Julia whatever ’er name is. ’Ow about ’er?’

  ‘And how about your intended? Jack, isn’t it? How about him?’

  Jessie turned her back on him.

  Almost everyone present, with the exception of a few determinedly po-faced homedwellers, were clapping and cheering, thanking the Worlingtons for their generosity.

  ‘’E let me down,’ said Jess. She was glad Robert couldn’t see her face. ‘’E ain’t nothin’ to me no more.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Robert said, wrapping his arms round her waist again. ‘My very own hopping girl. Let’s go back outside for a while.’

  * * *

  ‘Leave the bottle there, Tyler. We won’t be needing you any more tonight.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the elderly butler, inclining his head, not quite humbly. ‘Goodnight, Master Paul. Master Robert.’ He backed out of the billiards room and closed the big double doors after him.

  Paul loosened his collar, kicked off his boots and fell back into one of the winged armchairs by the fireplace. ‘God, I’m tired.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You did spend the whole evening dancing with my fiancee.’

  ‘You can talk,’ scoffed Paul. ‘What you were up to with that red-haired girl takes far more energy than a few turns round the dance floor.’

  ‘Well, you know what Father says,’ said Robert, dropping into the chair opposite his brother.

  They were now so familiar with Sir George’s advice that they actually spoke the words in scornful unison:

  ‘If you boys want a bit of fun, get yourselves a cockney girl. Save the decent girls for marriage.’

  ‘Well,’ said Robert, raising his glass in salute to his father’s portrait over the mantelshelf, ’the old bugger was right for once.’

  Chapter 11

  I Didn’t Realise

  ‘Aw, no. When did it ’appen, Mum?’ Bewildered by the news, Jess stopped picking to look at her mother.

  ‘In the night,’ said Rose simply.

  ‘Why didn’t yer tell me earlier?’

  ‘Yer got in so late again yer was in no fit state to listen.’

  Jess blushed and looked away, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

  Rose carried on plucking the hops from the thick, prickly bine, throwing them into the bin one after the other; there was no speed or enthusiasm in her actions this morning.

  ‘Mabel woke up an’ the poor little mite was gone,’ she said, her voice dry and toneless. ‘Dead in ’er arms it was.’ She paused. ‘Blessin’ really. It ’ad got right bad again, God rest its little soul. It would never ’ave lasted the winter in London.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Jess. Listlessly she began to toss hops into her bin. ‘I thought it was gettin’ stronger, doin’ well, with the fresh air and milk and that.’

  ‘Poor little thing, it was only six months old. Didn’t stand a chance.’ Rose tossed the bine she’d finished stripping to the ground, without bothering to look where it fell. She picked up a fresh, heavily laden stem and slowly began to remove its fruits. ‘Yer know ’ow it is,’ she said. ‘Sickly babies like that. They ain’t strong enough to get over it when they get ill. Even bein’ down ‘ere can’t ’elp the likes of them.’

  ‘It’s ’elped you though, Mum, ain’t it?’ Jess asked anxiously. ‘Yer gettin’ a bit better now, ain’t yer? Yer look better.’

  ‘A bit, I suppose. I ain’t as tired as I was. But I’m surprised yer’ve ’ad time to notice.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mum.’ Jess couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze.

  ‘Why not? Way yer’ve been behavin’ lately, yer ain’t ’ad time for no one but yerself. It’s like yer’ve turned into a stranger.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean nothin’. I never realised the baby was so bad, honest.’

  Rose looked at Jess. Her tone became hard. ‘There’s a lot of things yer ’aven’t realised lately. Yer know yer ain’t even bothered to ask me ’ow I’ve felt for days. Do yer know that?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Look, Jess, I know yer right cut up over Jack goin’ missin’.’

  ‘No, I…’

  ‘Don’t bother lyin’ to me, Jess. I know ‘ow it’s got yer down, but it don’t ’elp runnin’ round actin’ like yer’ve been doin’ these last couple a weeks.’

  ‘No, Mum. Sorry.’ Still she kept her eyes downcast, focused only on the bin that was still almost empty.

  ‘An’ so much for yer ’avin’ a bin of yer own, eh? That would’ve been a right waste a time, wouldn’t it?’

  Jess bit her lip. She kept mechanically picking away at the hops.

  ‘An’ yer do know I ’ad to feed that monkey an’ the canary again last night? Well? Don’t yer?’

  ‘No, Mum. I didn’t think. An’ I said I was sorry.’

  ‘Yer all right goin’ off gallivantin’ with them gels every night, ain’t yer?’ Rose looked across at her daughter, trying to see her reaction. Giving her the chance to answer her truthfully. ‘Yer think about that all right.’

  Jess kept her head down, and a lock of hair fell on to her face. She swallowed hard. She had to change the subject on to safer ground. ‘Can we do anythin’ to ’elp Mabel?’ she asked.

  ‘No, we can’t do nothin’ at the minute, but there’ll be plenty to do when we get back to Burton Street next week. Lady Worlington’s sorted ’er out for now. She let ’er pack up early an’ go ’ome.’

  ‘I didn’t realise she’d already gone.’

  ‘No, course yer didn’t. Yer was still asleep. Yer got in late again last night. Remember?’

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’

  ‘So yer should be an’ all.’

  ‘I don’t mean to upset yer or nothin’, Mum.’

  Rose stopped what she was doing and took hold of Jess by the shoulders, forcing her to look at her. ‘Yer’ve never done nothin’ to upset me in the past, Jess. Nothin’. Yer’ve always been a good kid. An’ I’ve always been proud of yer. But I’ve got enough trouble worryin’ about them boys gettin’ in bother without you
startin’ an’ all. Jack Barnes let yer down, an’ everyone knew all about it. Yer felt ashamed, I know. But a lot of people get let down. Yer young an’ yer pretty, yer won’t ‘ave no problem findin’ yerself a bloke. If yer pull yerself together, that is.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So yer keep sayin’. But sayin’ it’s easy. I only ’ope yer mean it, that’s all. Get yerself sorted out.’

  ‘I do mean it, Mum, really.’ Jess fought back the tears that were threatening to spill on to her cheeks.

  Rose shook her head sorrowfully, then let go of Jess and went back to picking the hops. ‘I’ve ’ad enough of all this lark for now,’ she said. ‘It’s over, right? Let’s forget it. Just yer be’ave yerself.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘An’ yer can liven yourself up an’ all. Yer ain’t picked ’ardly anythin’ this mornin’.’

  ‘Right, Mum.’

  Mother and daughter stood by their bin, silently picking the hops, side by side in the bright autumn sunshine. Children ran along the rows shouting and whooping, enjoying the simple pleasures of the countryside, which all too soon would be coming to an end for them. Women called to each other, exchanging stories and wisdom, gossip and laughter.

  ‘I was tellin’ yer about Lady Worlington,’ said Rose as cheerily as she could manage. She couldn’t stand the atmosphere between her and Jess any longer. ‘I’d never ’ave thought it of the likes of ’er. D’yer know what she’s gone an’ done for Mabel?’

  Jess didn’t answer; she could only think about the harvest almost being over and about Mabel returning home to the filth and dirt of the East End with two children instead of three. And that she too would be going home. Away from the green fields and the bright, smokeless skies of Kent. But worst of all, she’d be going away from Robert.

  ‘Jess. I’m speakin’ to yer.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Gawd ’elp us. With all yer sorrys, Jess, yer gonna drive me barmy. I said, “Do yer know what Lady Worlington’s done for Mabel?”’

  ‘No. What’s she done?’

  ‘So yer are listenin’ then,’ Rose said sharply. Her patience was beginning to wear very thin. ‘Well, she’s not only paid Mabel a good whack – right fair an’ without taking off any of ’er subs. But she’s gone an’ paid their train fares back to London, an’ all. Out of ’er own pocket. An’ she’s arranged to ’ave the baby buried in the churchyard at St Mary’s down in the village. Mabel really liked that. She said it was better than layin’ the dear little scrap in some pauper’s grave in London. An’ she’ll be able to see it every year when she comes down ‘opping.’

  ‘It’s so sad, Mum. Poor Mabel.’

  ‘That’s life, girl,’ said Rose, pulling a fresh bine from the tangled bundle at her feet, and wondering if she would ever hear from Charlie again. ‘Losin’ them yer love.’

  * * *

  ‘Get a move on, Jess. We’ll never get packed up before Joey gets ’ere if yer don’t ’elp.’ Like the other women, Rose had all their belongings spread out on the grass outside the hut. They were all airing and sorting, swapping and passing on clothes to one another before they bundled everything up into crates and boxes for the journey home.

  ‘She ain’t caught lazyitis off that Elsie’s mob, ’as she?’ butted in Florrie.

  Rose ignored her neighbour, straightened up from her task and rubbed her hands deep into her back. ‘Yer ain’t ill, are yer, gel? Yer lookin’ a bit peaky.’

  ‘I’m all right, Mum.’

  ‘I ’ope so. That’s all I could do with, you goin’ sick. I’m a bit better, but I won’t be able to do that much for a while yet. Yer gonna ’ave to pull more than yer fair share for a while when we get ’ome.’

  ‘I told yer, didn’t I? I’m all right.’

  ‘Don’t yer raise yer voice to me, Jessie Fairleigh.’ Rose wagged her finger at her daughter. ‘If it’s that Jack yer still mopin’ over…’

  Jess turned away from her mother and ran inside the hut. Even from outside Rose could hear her trying to stifle her tears. She shook her head and went inside to her daughter.

  ‘Don’t know what all the fuss is about,’ said Florrie to anyone who cared to listen. ‘Jack’s gone missin’, yeh, but she’s ’ardly been short of company now, ’as she? An’ she won’t be alone for long in Poplar neither, way she’s carryin’ on. Yer mark my words if I’m…’

  The sight of Elsie drawing back her fist ready to punch Florrie in the face had a remarkable effect on her. It stopped her talking instantly.

  * * *

  ‘Come on, dopey, stop cryin’. Give yer ol’ mum a cuddle.’

  Glad of the chance to release her feelings, Jess sobbed uncontrollably into her mother’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t break yer ’eart, Jess. I know it ain’t been easy for yer. Yer’ve been right let down over Jack, but yer’ve gotta get over ’im. An’ runnin’ around all hours with them gels ain’t gonna get yer nowhere. Just get yer self a bad name, yer take it from me. Look at that one from Awerley Street. Right reputation she’s got ’erself, an’ no real fault of ’er own. Few vicious tongues waggin’ an’ that’s it – ruined. Yer’ll just ’ave to get yerself another feller, that’s all. Now come on, yer big lump, we’ve got things to do.’

  Rose still wasn’t completely fit, but it wasn’t her health that was worrying her now. She was frowning as she and her daughter went outside to get on with packing away their things for another year. She so wanted to tell Jess she didn’t think it was Jack’s fault that he had let her down; that something terrible had happened to him, and that somehow their Charlie knew all about it. But she neither knew where to begin, nor what she would be unleashing if she even mentioned it. Anyway, all she really had to go on were a bit of yellow cloth and a few unfounded suspicions. Suspicions that, if she was only half right, could do terrible damage to them all. More terrible than telling a few white lies ever would. But she wanted desperately to know the truth about Jack and her Charlie.

  And Jess wanted the truth as well. She wanted to stop lying to her mother, wanted to tell her what she had really been doing when she’d said she’d been out baking potatoes in the oast houses with Win and Lil or hanging around with the young girls from the other huts. She wanted to tell Rose that she and Robert loved each other, and that she didn’t care about Jack any more. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, in fact. She had Robert now, he was the only one she cared for. She wanted to tell her mother that Robert had promised he was going to come for her last night, and even though he hadn’t, he would still be coming for her any minute now. He would come for her as they were about to leave, and she would have to say goodbye to Rose and explain what had happened in front of all the others. But she would understand. Jess knew she would. She had to.

  * * *

  ‘It’s a rotten turn-out over Jack Barnes all right, Rose,’ said Joey Fuller, as he leant in the doorway of Rose’s hut drinking a tin mug full of tea. ‘She was like love’s young dream on the journey down ’ere, going’ all soppy over ‘im. Pity, eh? She’s such a smashin’ gel.’ He flung the dregs of his tea on to the grass outside and handed Rose the mug for packing. ‘Don’t look like she even wants to go back now. Look at ’er moonin’ about over there. Upset an’ shown up rotten at the same time, poor kid. Anythin’ I can say to ’elp?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, Joe,’ said Rose, wiping out the mug with a bit of rag. ‘Yer know ’ow these young gels carry on nowadays.’

  ‘It’s all a mystery to me, Rose.’ Joey lifted the tea chest Rose had finished packing and set it outside the hut. ‘I thought Jack was right gone on ’er. But not even a word. I ain’t surprised Clara don’t know where ’e is, but even Cyril ain’t got a clue.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t surprised either, Joey. Us mums an’ dads are the last to know anythin’. I ain’t ’ad a word from my Charlie. Not a word. I really don’t understand ’em at all sometimes.’

  Rose went around the little hut aiming final flicks of her coa
rse apron at any stray cobwebs and dust she’d missed up in the dark corners.

  ‘Could eat yer dinner off this floor, Rosie Fairleigh. Yer a good ’un an’ that’s a fact.’

  ‘Yer know me, Joe, clean ’ome an’ clean livin’,’ said Rose primly. ‘Right.’ She shoved Joey outside and stepped out to join him on the grass. ‘Take these cages off me.’ She took a last look into the dark interior, slipped the padlock on to the door latch, and turned the key. ‘That’s that job jobbed for another year.’ She took the dusty turban from her hair, folded it and pushed it deep into her apron pocket. ‘An’ that’s me fit, an’ all. I’ll just go an’ liven Jessie up, then we’re ready.’

  * * *

  Even Elsie Dorkin and her brood were ready to leave before Rose could persuade Jess to take her place on Joey’s cart.

  ‘The sooner we’re back in London with my Bill the better,’ said Rose to no one in particular, shoving her daughter unceremoniously on to the wagon. ‘I’ve got enough on me plate without all this.’

  As the little coster’s cart bumped its way along the farm track to the lane which would take them towards home, Jess kept her eyes fixed on Worlington Hall. Any minute now Robert would come galloping towards her, shouting his love for her in front of everybody, begging her to stay with him in Kent. He couldn’t be like Jack. He couldn’t. She couldn’t have been fooled twice by lies, could she? Not after what she’d let Robert do to her.