The Cockney Girl

by The Cockney Girl (retail) (epub)

  Desperate that Florrie should not launch into another life story of one of her neighbours, Leonore closed her ears, opened her bag and took out her purse.

  ‘You’ll need some fare money to fetch her,’ she managed to butt in quickly, as Florrie paused to draw breath.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Florrie, put out by Leonore’s gesture. ‘I just told yer, Miss Feldman only lives round the corner. Wasn’t yer listenin’ to me?’

  At that moment, Rose turned into Burton Street. When she saw Leonore Worlington standing on her doorstep being talked at by Florrie Baxter, she did her best to hide her bewilderment at what was going on.

  ‘’Ello,’ she said simply, taking out her key. ‘Yer’d better come in.’

  ‘I’ll come in with yer, if yer like,’ offered Florrie, stepping in front of Leonore, blocking the way between her and the door. She was now almost bursting with anxiety to find out what was going on, and manners would certainly be no barrier to her. ‘Case it’s bad news about your Charlie.’

  ‘No thanks, Florrie, I’d like to speak to the lady in private. And,’ she added sharply, ‘Charlie’s just fine.’ She nodded a brisk thanks and goodbye to her neighbour, unlocked the street door and elbowed Florrie unceremoniously out of the way. ‘In ’ere.’

  The last Florrie was to see of the meeting was Leonore stepping inside Number 8 and the door being closed firmly in her face.

  Leonore followed Rose blindly along the dark, narrow passage.

  ‘Mind yerself on the mat,’ said Rose. ‘It’s a bit raggy.’

  * * *

  The kitchen was stiflingly hot. Rose threw open the back door, letting in a fraction more light and air from the tiny back yard. ‘It’s the range. I ’ave to keep it going to ’eat up the water, an’ for cookin’ an’ that,’ explained Rose.

  ‘And it has been so very warm again today,’ said Leonore, dabbing her face with a cologne-scented handkerchief.

  ‘I don’t suppose yer used to sittin’ in back kitchens, an’ I don’t suppose yer ’ere to chat about the weather neither,’ said Rose, hiding her trepidation by busying herself with the kettle, and being unusually curt. ‘Why don’t yer sit yerself down. I’ll make us a cup of tea an’ then yer can tell me whatever it is yer’ve got to say. An’ then yer be on yer way.’

  Even though she felt she had every right to speak in that way, Rose felt ashamed at her rudeness.

  ‘Let me say first that we all appreciated round ’ere what yer did for Mabel Lawrence when she ’ad ’er bit a trouble. But that apart, I’d still rather yer got it over with, whatever yer’ve got to say, an’ left. I ain’t got a lot of time for the Worlington family at the minute.’

  Leonore forced herself to look at Rose, not to drop her head in shame. ‘Mrs Fairleigh, I would also like to make something clear before I say what I came here to say. You may not believe me but I share your feelings entirely about the Worlingtons. I too have grown to loathe what my husband and sons stand for.’

  ‘That ain’t my business, now is it? ’Ow many sugars?’

  ‘None thank you. Just a little milk.’

  Rose poured the tea and sat at the table opposite Lady Worlington. ‘So. What it is then?’

  Leonore turned her cup round and round in its saucer, studying the steaming liquid as though it were an intricate work of art. ‘Jess has had her baby,’ she said.

  ‘I figured she would ’ave. Is everythin’ all right? They well, are they?’ Rose did her best to keep the excitement from her voice. She didn’t want this woman having anything to hold over her or use against her.

  ‘Yes, very well. Sylvia Rose. She was born on the sixth of June.’

  ‘My little Jessie, a mum,’ said Rose. Unable to help herself, she began crying.

  ‘Don’t distress yourself, Mrs Fairleigh, please.’ Leonore put down her cup and went to reach her hand out in comfort to Rose. But she couldn’t. She had no right. ‘I’ve brought you good news. Please, calm yourself.’ Leonore clapped her hands together in exasperation. ‘I’m finding all this very difficult. You see, the whole thing has had to be arranged in a rather unorthodox manner, and I do not want the people who have helped me getting into trouble for their generosity.’ She leant forward. ‘Do you follow me?’

  ‘I ’ave to tell yer,’ said Rose, wiping her eyes on her apron, ‘I don’t understand a word yer sayin’.’

  Leonore laughed with relief at Rose’s refreshing candour. She wasn’t used to such things at Worlington, and she sometimes forgot how much easier it was to be honest. She decided to follow Rose’s sensible example and explain truthfully and directly about all the circumstances and negotiations which had finally resulted in Jess and Sylvia being lodged with the Garnetts.

  Rose too was relieved. She was relieved that Jess had had her baby, that her daughter and grandchild were well, that they had a clean place to stay, and that Leonore Worlington was obviously making sure that they would not suffer because of her no-good son.

  ‘I nearly forgot. I have something for you,’ said Leonore, taking a small tissue packet from her bag and handing it to Rose.

  Rose unfolded the paper and took out a lock of pale golden hair.

  ‘She is not as auburn as Jessie, or you, but she has a mass of curls,’ said Leonore, smiling at the image she had of her beautiful granddaughter. ‘I wanted to have a photograph taken for you, but it wasn’t wise for Jess to take her to the studio. People gossip so in the country.’

  ‘Not only in the country,’ said Rose, wiping a fresh lot of tears away with the edge of her cuff. ‘An’ don’t think I ain’t appreciated yer comin’ ’ere. Thanks. It can’t ’ave been easy for yer.’

  ‘Compared to what Jess has been through over these last few months, it has been simplicity itself.’ Leonore was near to tears herself. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said, brightening at the prospect of doing something useful. ‘Why don’t you travel back with me? Come and see Jess and the baby. She’d love to see you, I know she would.’

  ‘Wouldn’t really be a good idea yet awhile,’ said Rose regretfully. ‘It might ’ave been ’ard enough for yer to ’ave come ’ere an’ seen me, but it’d be an ’ell of a lot ’arder for the likes of me to travel down there.’

  ‘I am sorry, I didn’t think. If it’s money,’ Leonore picked up her bag, ‘I could help.’

  ‘No, it ain’t that.’

  ‘Mrs Fairleigh, I have offended you.’ She let the bag slip to her feet. ‘I am truly sorry.’

  ‘No, I ain’t offended,’ said Rose, trying a smile. ‘An’ me name’s Rose.’

  ‘Thank you, Rose. And please, you must call me Leonore.’

  ‘Well, Leonore,’ said Rose, sighing loudly and topping up their teacups. ‘It’s like this. ’Ow would I explain where I was goin’? Or where I was? We don’t do a lot of travellin’ round these parts. Mind yer, ’opping’ll be startin’ next month. I could’ve gone down then and no one would’ve blinked an eye.’

  ‘Is something preventing you, Rose?’

  ‘I ain’t ’ad me letter this year, ’ave I?’ she answered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. ‘An’ I don’t suppose Sir George will be welcomin’ none of us Fairleighs to Worlington no more.’

  Leonore drained her cup resolutely. ‘Things are changing at Worlington, Rose. The birth of young Sylvia has made me a very determined woman. Very determined indeed. I do not intend to let my husband cause any more difficulties for my granddaughter. For our granddaughter, I should say. I will ensure that you get your letter. I’ll go to the bailiff myself and instruct him to send it immediately. George doesn’t have a single idea what goes on on the farm anyway. I even oversee the farm accounts nowadays, you know.’ She smiled wondering at how she herself had changed so much over the years, and how she was talking so freely to this woman. ‘My husband is either too drunk or too busy with his horses to worry about little details like the running of the estate.’

  ‘There’s plenty of men round ’ere like that,’ said Rose symp
athetically. ‘Too busy boozin’ to do a decent day’s work. That’ll never change, but yer right, some things are changin’. I don’t understand what’s ’appenin’ in the world ’alf the time. D’yer know they was actually celebratin’ round ’ere when they ’eard war ’ad broke out? The copper stood on the corner of Burton Street an’ announced it, an’ they all went barmy. Dancin’ an’ singin’ all night down The Star they was.’ Rose shook her head sadly. ‘Celebratin’ cos their ’usbands an’ sons are gonna go off to war.’

  ‘It was the same at Worlington, Rose. And in the village.’

  ‘Thank Gawd our Ted ain’t old enough to go. But our Sammy, that’s me oldest boy, signed up straight away. When ’e saw the girls goin’ mad for the blokes in uniform, that was that. All ’is mates from the woodyard joined up together, Pals Battalion they called it. An ’ole lot of fellers from round our part of Poplar all joinin’ up together. Yer’d think they was goin’ off on a beano way they was actin’. An’ I know for a fact that some of ’em wasn’t nearly old enough. Yer know I don’t think they even thought about them poor so-and-sos in Belgium they’re meant to be ’elpin’. I don’t know.’ Rose looked at the little curl of golden hair nestling in her hand. ‘’Ark at me.’ She laughed unconvincingly. ‘I sound like Florrie the way I’m leadin’ off.’

  ‘My elder son has gone to Belgium.’

  ‘Robert?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leonore quietly.

  ‘It ain’t easy, is it?’

  ‘Rose, when I think about the pain he has caused you and your family, I feel so… Oh, I don’t know. I feel that I shouldn’t care about him. But then I feel so guilty. About my own feelings, and about what he has done.’

  ‘None of it ain’t yer fault, Leonore. We’ve all ’ad trouble with our kids at one time or another. My Charlie for one. Right cowson ’e was as a kid. Now ’e’s livin’ in Chicago. In America, if yer don’t mind. ’E writes every now an’ then. When ’e remembers. Doin’ all right for ’imself an’ all, ’e reckons. Savin’ ’ard to open a business. It’s a real dream ’e’s got. I ’ope ’e manages it one day. It’d be a right disappointment for ’im if it went wrong. Still, whatever ’e does, least ’e’s safe from this stinkin’ war, eh?’ Rose refilled the kettle from the single cold tap over the sink and set it on the range to boil. ‘Yer know I never thought of yer as a woman before,’ she said, looking at Leonore. ‘Not like the rest of us, some’ow. ’Cept when yer ’elped Mabel, I suppose. But now look at us. Sittin’ ’ere gabbin’. Just a couple of women worryin’ about our kids. Who’d ’ave thought it, eh?’

  * * *

  When Rose had waved her goodbyes to Leonore from the doorstep, she looked over towards the Baxters’ house. Sure enough, there was Florrie, pretending to polish up the knocker on the street door.

  ‘Get a good look, did yer, Florrie?’ Rose called to her neighbour. ‘Or shall I get Ted to write down all the details for yer?’

  Chapter 15

  Gossips

  Rose was glad to have Mabel Lawrence sharing her hopper’s hut. Mabel was company for her. She couldn’t have stood sleeping in the straw-filled bed all alone.

  At first Ted had been talking about going with his mum, but finally they had both thought it best if he stayed at home in Burton Street to carry on with his job. During the weeks since war had broken out, the woodyard had lost a lot of workers, and now, for the first time since he had started there, Ted wasn’t only the kid who did the sweeping up and ran errands; he was now a valued employee. But despite his new status, he was still Rose’s youngest, and she was as worried about him as ever, so he was placed very firmly under Joey Fuller’s supervision while his mother was away.

  The arrangements also suited Mabel, who was more than pleased to be sharing with Rose. She’d been dreading going back to Tilnhurst for the first time since her baby had died. And even though it hadn’t been easy, she had gone, as soon as they’d arrived, to visit the little grave with its tiny wooden cross. But at least Rose had been there with her. She’d been a real help to Mabel, not just like a neighbour, but like a friend, a good friend. She was always there if Mabel wanted to have a chat, and always willing to keep an eye on the children without being asked. Rose was a good, kind woman, and Mabel appreciated it.

  It was the evening of the first Monday of the harvest. They had only been in Kent since the night before, but once the two women had settled down into the routine of picking hops and doing their chores, it was almost as though they had never been away, as though nothing had changed. Everything seemed to be as it always had been. Indeed, for most of the Londoners staying in the Kent countryside, nothing had changed, even though the country was now at war.

  But for Rose there were many big differences in her life. And one of them was that she was now a grandmother.

  ‘I’m goin’ off for a little walk, Mabel,’ whispered Rose, picking up her shawl from the foot of the bed. ‘Gonna get a bit o’ fresh air, an’ blow some a this muck off me chest.’

  ‘All right, Rose,’ said Mabel, tucking the blanket round her children. ‘I’ll see yer later.’

  Rose pushed the hut door open. ‘Leave that bit of washin’, Mabel. I’ll see to it when I get back.’

  ‘Don’t worry yerself, Rose,’ said Mabel. ‘These two ’ave nearly gone off, they’re exhausted, bless ’em.’ Mabel stroked the hair of her two precious children. ‘I’ll be finished in ’ere then. So I can go out and do the laundry. Go on, yer take yerself off. Yer could do with a bit of time to yerself.’

  So as not to disturb Mabel’s youngsters, Rose mouthed her goodbyes and closed the hut door softly behind her. She walked across the Common towards the path through the orchards, pulling her old knitted shawl more tightly round her shoulders against the chill of the dewy autumn evening.

  ‘So where d’yer think Rose’s off to, Elsie?’ asked Florrie, craning her neck to get a better look as she squatted by her fire, stirring her pot of stew.

  ‘I dunno, Florrie, but if yer don’t stop gawpin’ at ’er and watch yer frock yer’ll be up in flames, yer nosy cow.’

  Florrie pulled her skirts clear of the crackling faggots but chose to ignore Elsie’s other remarks. ‘Right mystery that Rose is lately. Ask ’er about Jessie an’ all yer get is, ‘‘She’s gone into service.” Service, if yer don’t mind. Well, if yer ask me, it was all a bit sudden. Never even mentioned to our Winnie that she was goin’ into no service. Never said nothin’. Did she say anythin’ to yer Lilly about it? Mind you, since Lil lost ’er job at Warner’s I don’t suppose she saw that much of Jessie before she left.’

  ‘Florrie,’ said Elsie, apparently fascinated with the task of repacking her pipe bowl with matted strings of dark brown tobacco. ‘I can’t even begin to think ’ow many times yer’ve tried to pump me about Jessie. Now I’ll tell yer again. I don’t know nothin’, right. An’ even if I did, I’d ’ardly tell a bleed’n’ big gob like you, now would I?’

  ‘Flippin’ charmin’, I’m sure. I’m only interested.’

  ‘Aw, shut up, Florrie, an’ keep yer nose in your cookin’ pot, an’ out of everyone else’s soddin’ business.’

  * * *

  When she was sure that no one had followed her, and that she was completely alone, Rose opened the little wooden gate to the garden of the Garnetts’ cottage. The top half of the kitchen door stood open.

  Rose looked over the top into the cosy room, aglow with lamplight. She saw a scene of contentment: the big wooden table set with a vase of bright flowers, the cheerful plaited rugs in front of the range, and Jess, sitting in the rocking chair next to the crib, singing her baby to sleep.

  Rose stood there silently watching, waiting until Jess stood up. Then she spoke.

  ‘’Ello, Jess, love.’

  ‘Mum!’

  Rose rushed in and grabbed hold of her daughter in her arms. They didn’t say anything else, just held each other close and cried. Mrs Garnett looked down from the landing to see who had come to visit. When she saw
who it was, she smiled, and, not wanting to disturb the reunion, went back into her bedroom, quietly closing the door.

  Eventually Rose held her daughter away from her at arm’s-length. ‘Let me look at yer. Me little Jessie. A mum. ’Oo’d believe it, eh?’ Rose walked over to the crib and gently stroked the sleeping child’s downy hair. ‘An’ she’s so beautiful. A little angel. Just look at them little fingers. She’s the image of yer when yer was a baby, Jess.’ Rose bent forward and placed a tender kiss on her grandchild’s forehead. ‘I’ll leave ’er be till she wakes. Let ’er get ’er rest, eh?’

  Jess stood next to her mother, looking down into the crib at her sleeping baby. ‘I’m so pleased yer ’ere, Mum. I can’t tell yer. Mrs Garnett an’ ’er ’usband, they’ve been real kind to me. An’ Leonore.’ She paused, glancing sideways at her mother. ‘Lady Worlington, I mean.’

  ‘Leonore. Yeh, I know. Go on.’

  ‘Well, she’s been real good to me an’ all, but I’ve missed yer so much, Mum, I really ’ave.’ Jess gripped the side of the crib, her knuckles white, her face tense with the pain of remembering. ‘All the time I was in that ’orrible place I thought about gettin’ out and runnin’ back ’ome to yer at Burton Street. I didn’t know ’ow I’d ever get away from there, but I knew if I didn’t I really would go mad.’ Jess’s voice faded to a hoarse whisper. ‘That ’appens in there, Mum. I’ve seen it for meself.’

  ‘Jess.’ Rose bit her lip, trying desperately to stop herself from crying again. ‘If only I could ’ave ’elped yer, love. Yer know I would ’ave, don’t yer?’