‘Precisely,’ said Leonore triumphantly. ‘One of the other reasons I thought of you, Mrs Garnett.’ Leonore sniffed appreciatively. ‘They smell wonderful.’
Mrs Garnett stood up and fetched two pretty blue and white plates from the gaily painted dresser.
Leonore held up her hand, ‘Oh please, I didn’t mean you to do that.’
‘Hospitality, that’s all,’ said Mrs Garnett as she put two of the warm scones on each plate, with generous helpings of jam, then spooned out big measures of thick yellow cream from a white china basin. She placed one of the plates in front of Leonore. ‘Then there’s the baby,’ she said.
The women were outwardly calm, breaking open their scones and spreading them with the rich cream and fruit-laden preserves. Inwardly their minds were racing; neither was used to such delicate negotiations.
‘Nearly two months old,’ said Leonore, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘Sylvia. A beautiful little girl.’ She did her best to make everyday conversation. ‘These are excellent, Mrs Garnett.’
The gardener’s wife nodded her thanks. ‘And the baby’s father,’ she said. ‘He’d be wanting to visit, I suppose.’
‘No,’ said Leonore, avoiding Mrs Garnett’s questioning look by pretending to concentrate on her scones. ‘It isn’t like that.’
‘Poor girl,’ said Mrs Garnett, standing up. ‘I’ll pour us some tea to have with these.’ She went over to where the pot stood on a trivet at the side of the range. ‘Been abandoned by some no good, has she?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Something like that,’ said Leonore quietly.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Garnett, shaking her head. ‘It’s a tough life and no mistake.’
‘Especially for a girl like her, with nowhere to go.’ Leonore didn’t care about playing shamelessly on the kindly woman’s emotions; she was doing it for Jessie and Sylvia. She was sure Mrs Garnett would give in to her better nature sooner or later. ‘Won’t you help her, Mrs Garnett?’
‘No disrespect, m’lady, and I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate you sorting out a position for our Milly. But now all the children have left home, it’s hard enough feeding ourselves on Garnett’s money.’
Leonore blushed at George’s meanness. He kept all his workers short of cash. ‘You would, of course, be well paid for your trouble. And Jess is tall and strong. She’ll be able to help you with all sorts of jobs. Think about it. The extra money. And her helping you about the place.’
‘I suppose it is a waste our Milly’s room being left empty,’ said Mrs Garnett, taking the dirty plates and cups over to the deep stone sink by the window. ‘And I wouldn’t mind some help.’
‘Splendid.’ Leonore could have sung with joy. She stood up before Mrs Garnett could ask any more questions, and walked over to the door. ‘The scones were wonderful, Mrs Garnett, thank you. Thank you very much indeed.’
Leonore stepped outside into the warm summer sun and took a deep breath of sweet country air. ‘She’ll love it here, I know she will. So different from the place she is in now.’ As though it was an afterthought she added, ‘Oh, I should have mentioned, she’ll be arriving on Monday. I’ll make sure she has everything she needs for the child.’
With that she made her escape, before the gardener’s wife could change her mind.
As Mrs Garnett closed the bottom half of the cottage door behind Lady Worlington, she wondered whatever her husband would think. But then she thought about having some company around the place again. She’d like that. Although she was pleased Milly was settled and happy in London, she really missed having her daughter to talk to. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.
She went back to her baking. As she shaped and pummelled the bread dough with her firm countrywoman’s hands she grew more and more to like the idea of Jessie staying there with them. And it would brighten up the cottage no end having a baby around the place.
Mrs Garnett set the bread to rise by the range and wondered at how the world was changing around her, and whether she would ever have a grandchild of her own. She shook her head and sighed. Things were certainly different to when she was a girl. There was her Milly in London, the first one in the family ever to go that far from the village, and now a stranger was coming to live with them. A young girl with a baby and no husband.
She poured hot water from the kettle into the deep sink and got on with washing the baking tray and the dishes. She wondered if either of the young women, Milly or Jess, realised how fortunate they were to have been employed by the Worlingtons. Lady Worlington was a real lady, who cared about what happened to the people who worked for her, even casual labourers like Jessie Fairleigh.
* * *
Garnett was not as sure as his wife about having a lodger at the cottage, especially a foreigner with a baby. But he let himself be persuaded for his wife’s sake; she had had a hard time lately, suffering from the harsh tongues of the village busybodies. So it was for his wife that he was finally prepared to give the girl a chance, to see if a bit of young life around the cottage would cheer up his beloved Susan.
Like Matthew Garnett, Jess was also unsure about she and Sylvia living in the cottage. No matter what Leonore Worlington said about them, the Garnetts were country people, homedwellers when all was said and done. Jess had had enough experience of the villagers of Tilnhurst not to trust any of them. And when Leonore explained that she would be paying the Garnetts for Jess’s board and lodging, she was even more anxious about the arrangement. But in the end she knew she had no option: rather than set eyes again on Mrs Roberts and the asylum, she would even prefer the shame of going to the workhouse and throwing herself on the mercy of the Board of Guardians. At least Leonore had saved her from that indignity.
But it was still with much trepidation that on the Monday morning Jess climbed into the little carriage and sat down next to Leonore. Lady Worlington had engineered things so that Garnett drove them – the fewer people who knew about her not entirely official arrangements with Ralph Hamley the better.
As the carriage drove through the hated gates of the asylum, Jess tore off the loathed starched uniform cap, the mark of her so-called immorality, and flung it with all her strength high into the air. She didn’t turn round to see where it landed. She refused to look back; she was on the road to her new home, going towards a future that would be better – it had to be – for her and her little daughter. But she still couldn’t help worrying what new hell she might be letting herself in for.
Jess needn’t have worried. From the moment she saw the little thatched cottage with its neat garden full of flowers and vegetables growing in orderly, well-tended rows, and the brightly painted green shutters standing out against the freshly whitewashed walls, Jess was sure everything would be all right. Then when Mrs Garnett came rushing out to greet them, her round face full of smiles and kindness, she knew that her life could begin again.
* * *
Jess and Sylvia quickly became honorary members of the Garnett household. It soon felt as though they had lived there for years, as though the asylum had been part of a bad dream Jess had woken up from and had almost forgotten.
Jess was a clean, willing worker and her singing made the whole place come back to life, just as Mrs Garnett had hoped it would. It was a real pleasure for her to see the young mother and baby flourishing on the fresh air and freedom.
Jess woke every morning full of thanks that she did not have to wait for the wardress to unlock the doors and make her leave her baby in that dreaded dungeon of a nursery. But she still had two regrets, two places of darkness in her life: the places which were filled with remorse about Rose and sadness about Robert. She so wanted to be with Rose, to show her the granddaughter she knew she would love, but she understood that her release had been irregular, and that she must wait until Leonore said it was safe before she could contact her mother.
And then there was Robert. She would often see him in the distance, riding around t
he grounds on his big chestnut horse, dressed in his finery. He never saw her; she always kept well hidden from him. She still couldn’t understand his callousness. How could he have abandoned her so cruelly? How could he have forsaken his own child?
And so Jessie’s days passed, happily enough, but still with the sadness deep inside her.
* * *
Leonore shaded her eyes with her hand and peered into the cottage window, hoping to see the baby; instead she saw Jess sitting at the table, crying.
‘Jessie. What’s wrong?’ she asked, pushing open the door.
Jess looked up at her baby’s grandmother, her eyes red from tears. She hurriedly dried her face on her sleeve. Sniffing loudly she said, ‘I didn’t expect nobody to be about. Mrs Garnett’s gone to the market, see. I’ll finish these spuds right now. I’ve nearly done ’em.’
‘I’m not that hateful matron, Jess. I’m not trying to catch you out.’ Leonore moved closer. She put her hand gently on Jess’s shoulder. ‘I don’t want to see you upset like this. It’s not Sylvia, is it? She’s not ill?’
‘No, she’s beautiful. Really beautiful.’ Tears began to flow down her cheeks again. ‘I’d love my mum to see ’er. An’…’ She couldn’t help it, she had to say it, even though Leonore had been so good to her. ‘An’ I don’t understand why Robert don’t want us.’
‘Oh, Jessie.’ Leonore sat down next to her. She reached out and stroked Jess’s hair, then rocked her until she had cried out all her tears. ‘Listen to me,’ she said, lifting Jess’s face until their eyes met. ‘I admit I do not understand the behaviour of my sons, either of them. But I also want you to know something about Robert.’ Leonore swallowed hard. The words did not come easily. ‘Jess, Robert still does not know about Sylvia, nor does he have any idea that you were even pregnant. I swear to you.’
‘What?’ Jess gasped.
‘And, I am ashamed to say, I feel he isn’t worthy of knowing about her, even though he is her father. He is too much like his own father for you to trust him.’ Leonore bowed her head. ‘Jessie, I am telling you this although it shames me to do so. He would disown all knowledge of you. Both of you. That would suit him. And you would be back in that place. Worse, you would be moved to somewhere far away from here. But there’s something else I have to tell you. Robert has accepted a commission in the army. He is preparing to join his regiment shortly. It seems that war will be declared on Germany.’
Leonore watched Jess go to the corner of the comfortable, neat little kitchen and take her sleeping daughter from the crib. She felt so terribly sad for Jess, for all her pain and suffering, and she felt almost unbearably angry at her son. She could see how much Jess loved the child, and knowing how badly Robert had treated her was agony for Leonore. Leonore too felt pain all right, she felt the pain of a mother who knows her son to be a bad man, just like his father.
Jess kissed Sylvia tenderly on her forehead and handed her to Leonore. ‘I want me mum to know that me and the baby’s all right. That I’m out of that stinkin’ place. Please. Please find a way to tell ’er for me. ‘Specially if there’s gonna be a war.’ Jess rubbed her hands over her salty cheeks. ‘I know yer ain’t meant to tell no one about us bein’ ’ere an’ everythin’, but please I want ’er to know. Will yer go to see ’er for me? Yer did promise me once.’
‘Yes, Jessie. I’ll tell her for you.’ Leonore kissed Sylvia and handed her back to Jess. Then she stood up to leave.
‘Ta,’ said Jess quietly.
Leonore was halfway down the path when Jess called out to her, ‘’As ’e married that Julia girl then?’
‘No, Jess,’ said Leonore simply, ‘he hasn’t.’
* * *
Lady Worlington instructed her chauffeur to drive her to the station. He was a recent employee of the Hall, an outsider, and far less likely to gossip than the coachman. She told him that she was going to London where she had some shopping to attend to. He was to meet the 11.20 at Tilnhurst station the next morning, as she would be staying the night in Belgravia with her cousin Amelia.
As Leonore had hoped, Sir George was as uninterested as the driver had been in the minor details of her excursion into town. It was quite usual for her to go on shopping expeditions with Amelia. At least, that’s what he thought. Over the years, shopping had provided a very useful cover for Leonore and Amelia to continue their clandestine work in the London slums. But today’s shopping masked a very different venture, even though it was in the same locality in which she and her cousin did much of their work. Today, Leonore was going to Poplar to see Rose Fairleigh.
* * *
With the help of a sketch map provided by Jess, Leonore took a cab to the comer of Burton Street, then made her way on foot to Number 8.
The sight of such a grand lady walking past her window was more than Florrie Baxter could bear. Peering from behind the curtains at the stranger, like most of the other residents of Burton Street were doing, wasn’t good enough for Florrie. She went right outside to discover what was going on.
‘Can I ’elp yer, dear?’ she enquired, tripping down her front doorstep in her anxiety to speak to the woman. ‘Yer lost or somethin’, are yer? Yer ain’t from round these parts, I know that.’
‘No, I’m not. And thank you, but I’m not lost.’
‘Visitin’ someone then, are yer?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
‘What?’ Florrie was almost bursting; she really couldn’t imagine what was going on – a posh lady like her in Poplar? ‘Visitin’ someone, yer say? In Burton Street? You?’
‘Yes.’ Leonore did not want to be rude to the woman, but equally she did not want to broadcast her intentions to the whole neighbourhood. She was all too aware that if the wrong person were to find out about Jessie, then her safety at the Garnetts’ would be in real danger.
‘Well, yer’ve found the right person ’ere, all right,’ said Florrie enthusiastically. ‘I know everyone around ’ere. Everyone. I can tell yer if yer goin’ to the right ’ouse. If they’re ’ome and that.’ She paused briefly for breath. ‘If yer like, that is.’
Florrie was staring, unable to take her eyes off the woman’s clothes. They were the most beautiful things she had ever been so close to. The most wonderful things she had ever seen before. She smelt lovely as well. All fresh and flowery. And her hat. It was pale blue, big and broad-brimmed, with great sweeping feathers and a heavy lace veil. In fact, that was the only thing Florrie was not too keen on. The veil was a bit thick for her liking; she could hardly make out the woman’s features at all. Perhaps she had a horrible scar or something.
‘D’yer always wear a thick veil like that?’ Florrie asked, peering alarmingly closely at the woman.
When Leonore did not answer, Florrie decided she must be really badly disfigured to not want to talk about it. She was lucky she had money though, so she could afford to wear posh clothes and hide it. Florrie returned to her earlier, more promising line of questioning.
‘Go on, let me ’elp yer find the ’ouse. Yer tell me ’oo lives there, what their name is an’ that. An’ I’m bound to know ‘em. I know everyone around ’ere.’
In her desire not to draw any more unwelcome attention to herself, Leonore relented under Florrie’s pressure. Anything to get away from the woman. ‘Thank you for your offer of help,’ she said graciously. ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Fairleigh.’
‘Rose?’ shrieked Florrie. ‘Gawd blimey!’
Leonore looked around, embarrassed at the volume of the woman’s exclamation. ‘This is Burton Street, isn’t it?’
‘Yeh,’ said Florrie, barely able to keep her mouth closed with the amazement of it all. ‘This is Burton Street all right.’
‘Then I have the right place.’
‘’Ang on,’ said Florrie slowly. ‘Don’t I know yer voice?’ Florrie moved even closer to Leonore in her efforts to place her. ‘Let’s see, ain’t yer one of them charity ladies or somethin’? Is that ’oo yer are?’
Leonore fiddled with
her veil, making sure her face was covered from prying eyes.
‘Somethin’ ’appened to ’er ol’ man, ’as it? Bill ’ad an accident at sea? Been drownded dead, ’as ’e?’
Leonore grasped at the opportunity to quieten the woman’s escalating suspicions. ‘Well, yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I am from a charitable organisation. But I’ve not come about Mr Fairleigh. I’ve come about,’ she paused, looking for inspiration, ‘a private matter.’ She decided that was the most innocent of explanations. She couldn’t have been more wrong as far as Florrie was concerned.
‘Aw! That’ll be their Charlie then,’ said Florrie, delighted that she had solved the puzzle. ‘I knew they was lyin’ when they said ’e’d gone abroad. America they reckoned, if yer don’t mind. Bloody America.’
Leonore could not convince Flonie otherwise as she proceeded to launch into a knowing round of regret and recrimination directed at all ungrateful sons and their suffering mothers, most of which concerned her oldest child, Arthur, and her twins, Sidney and Albert.
‘Always knew ’e’d end up comin’ to no good, that one. Trouble to Rose from the day ’e was born.’
Leonore consulted her fob watch again. She was unused to standing about in the street, particularly when accompanied by someone as voluble as Florrie Baxter.
‘Yer keep lookin’ at the time,’ said Florrie, arms folded purposefully across her chest. ‘Yer in an ’urry, are yer?’
‘Well, actually I am rather.’
‘Tell yer what. ’Ow about if I goes an’ fetches ’er? ’Ow would that be? I could do that if yer want.’
‘Would you?’ asked Leonore, relieved at the prospect of a rest from Florrie’s incessant talking.
‘Yeh. She’ll be round ol’ Miss Feldman’s. Does for ’er, yer see. Jessie – now that’s Rose’s girl – used to light ’er fires an’ ’er gaslights for ’er of a Friday night. Before she went off into so-called service. Mind yer, believe that an’ yer’ll believe anythin’.’ Florrie spat venomously into the gutter, making Leonore wince. ‘Service,’ she sneered. ‘Do me a favour, don’t make me laugh. Tell us the old, old story, eh? Anyway Friday night’s the start of their Sabbath, see. Don’t do no jobs or nothin’. It’s their religion. Jewish lady she is. Got a few bob an’ all, I’ve ’eard. Sister of the bloke what owns the pawnshop. I dunno about you, but I’ve never seen a poor pawnbroker.’
The Cockney Girl Page 23