by Michelle Cox
When Fritz accordingly pulled up in front of Poor Pete’s, Henrietta was surprised to see that Rose was already standing outside, a scarf wrapped up tightly around her head and face. Why hadn’t she gone in? Henrietta wondered. Surely the door wasn’t locked? She had telephoned Mrs. Hennessey and told them they were coming, which had pleased the older woman immensely, especially when Henrietta suggested they come at 9:30 a.m., a half hour before opening time, as they both knew that once the clock struck ten, a couple of regulars would drift in to take their seats at the bar for the day.
Fritz opened the car door for her, and she knew that Rose was watching as she climbed out. If she had known that Rose would be waiting outside, she would have instructed Fritz to drop her off a block down the street to avoid such a showy arrival. Evidence of her new wealth always made her uneasy around the girls, not that she saw them that much. Fritz quietly informed her that he would wait around the corner, ready to retrieve her at her convenience. She thanked him in an equally low voice, grateful for his discretion. Besides Edna, of course, Fritz, with his trim, gray mustache and beard, was becoming one of her favorite servants. Unlike Billings, she didn’t sense that he judged her, and he had proven he could be trusted when she had asked him to take her to various locales, even ones of a more seedy nature like the Melody Mill, which is where she had gone to get the gun in the first place, without reporting these destinations back to Clive.
“Rose!” Henrietta exclaimed, embracing her now. “Why didn’t you go in? Is the door locked?”
“Did you bring it?” Rose asked, oddly looking at the pavement instead of her. “I can’t really stay.”
“Of course, I brought it. But can’t you come in and visit for a little bit? Mrs. Hennessey says she remembers you from the wedding,” Henrietta said, referring of course to her own wedding, which is where Stan and Rose had first met.
Indeed, Mrs. Hennessey did remember seeing Rose and Stanley together, she had intimated when Henrietta telephoned her to ask if she and Rose could stop by. Oh, yes, she would be tickled to meet the girl who had “caught Stanley’s fancy,” Mrs. Hennessey had said. “Thought it was odd, him dancing with a tart, beg your pardon, like,” Mrs. Hennessey had added, delighted to be gnawing on a tidbit of gossip. “I reckon she must not really be a tart, though, not if Stan’s taken up with her. Reckon his mother had a thing or two to say. But I did think so at the time, that she was a tart, that is,” Mrs. Hennessey had gone on to confide. “Gettin’ married, are they? Well, I never. We’ll just have to hear all about it, won’t we?” she said eagerly before Henrietta had finally found a chance to say good-bye and ring off.
“I don’t think I should,” Rose said, finally looking up at Henrietta.
“Oh, Rose!” Henrietta murmured, noticing the heavy purple-and-yellow bruising covering the whole right side of Rose’s face. “Oh my God, Rose, what happened?” Her first thought went to Stanley, but she instantly dismissed the idea of him as the perpetrator as being ridiculous.
“I fell?” Rose said.
Henrietta instantly dismissed this, of course, her mind racing, and eventually came to the obvious: Rose’s father, the very person she needed the gun for, Lucy had once hinted. Henrietta’s stomach roiled with guilt, knowing it had just been lying for months in her closet at Highbury, almost forgotten, actually. This was all her fault!
“Oh, Rose! It was your dad, wasn’t it?” she asked.
Rose did not answer but merely looked at her.
“Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault! I should have gotten the gun to you before now. I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, sweets. It ain’t your fault.”
“Of course, it is! I . . . I just didn’t realize that . . . that you really needed it. I guess I thought . . . oh, I don’t know what I thought . . .” Henrietta trailed off. How could a person live with someone whom they needed a gun to protect themselves against? Henrietta had seen abject poverty, but this was definitely an extreme.
“Don’t go blamin’ yourself, kid. Even if I had it the night I got this,” she said gesturing toward her face, “it wouldn’t have mattered. I always keep it under my pillow, and I wouldn’t have had time to run and get it. Smacked me in the kitchen. I was tryin’ to stop him from beatin’ Billy. Forget about it,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll get over it. It’s better than it was.”
Henrietta shivered and could only guess why Rose kept a loaded gun in her bedroom. What other evils did her father commit in the dead of night? Henrietta had heard of that sort of thing, too, in the shabby apartment building where they had been forced to live after her father’s suicide, but she didn’t want to think about it.
Henrietta looped her arm around Rose’s. “Come on. Let’s go in. At least have a cup of coffee.” Rose offered no resistance this time and allowed herself to be led into Poor Pete’s.
“Mrs. Hennessey?” Henrietta called out as they stepped into the dim interior that smelled of stale cigarettes and spilled beer, which no amount of scrubbing was ever able to eradicate.
“Oh! There you are!” came a cheerful voice attached to a plump woman who appeared from the back room and hurried out around the bar. She was a middle-aged woman with gray hair, which was braided and tied up neatly behind her head in an old-fashioned style. She wore a simple housedress with an apron—Henrietta could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Mrs. Hennessey without an apron, her own engagement party and wedding being two of them—and thick, old-fashioned black boots. She had fleshy cheeks that wobbled slightly as she almost ran toward them and bright dark eyes that lit up at the very sight of Henrietta, a reaction that caused Henrietta to instantly feel more than a little guilt that she had waited so long to visit.
“Hello, Mrs. Hennessey,” Henrietta said weakly as the older woman hugged her tightly to her massive bosom, as if she were a lost doll.
“Here you are, girl! Finally!” Mrs. Hennessey exclaimed, using their old nickname for Henrietta as she clutched her. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? Bless you, you poor thing!”
Henrietta smiled at Mrs. Hennessey’s familiar phrase—everyone was always referred to as a “poor thing” by Mrs. Hennessey. She eventually released Henrietta, but not before grabbing hold of one of her hands and holding her at arm’s length as if to better survey her. Proudly, she looked her up and down as if Henrietta were her own creation.
“Just look at you, girl. All fancy now. You’re beautiful, you are. But then you always were. Me an’ William could see that early on. An’ now you’ve got all the clothes an’ the jewels, too, just like a princess,” she said eagerly and paused for just a split second before charging on. “But we’ve been so worried, we have. Elsie’s told us bits here an’ there, about how you went to a castle an’ all over in England on your honeymoon, an’ weren’t we impressed! ‘That’s our Henrietta,’ I says to William. ‘She’s made us proud,’ I says to him. But then we was so sorry to hear the inspector’s dad passed so sudden. Awful, wasn’t it? Had to read it in the paper. Woulda been nice to hear it from you yourself, like, but I suppose you’ve been busy. But, never mind. Least you’re here now, ain’tcha? An’ this must be Rose!” she exclaimed, finally breaking her stream of words to take a quick breath. She turned to observe Rose, standing forlornly off to the side. “I recognize you,” she said knowingly and wagging a finger at her. “Stan sure does go for the beauts, don’t he?” She put her hands on her hips. “My, my. Look at those legs! Always did think you two was gonna get married,” she said to Henrietta, obviously referring to Stanley. “But William didn’t think so. Not that he woulda minded, like, but he thought you should catch someone better. No offense to Stanley,” she said, glancing quickly in Rose’s direction. “In fact, I says, ‘What’s wrong with Stanley?’ ‘Nothing,’ says William. ‘Stanley’s a first-rate lad. Kind a boy I’d be proud to call me son,’ he says. ‘Just don’t see him with our Hen. An’ he were right, weren’t he? Never mind that you broke Stan’s heart, the poo
r thing. S’pose that’s all water under the bridge, ain’t it? Now that he’s found you, a course,” she nodded at Rose. “Saw you two dancin’ at the wedding. Thought it was odd he weren’t dancin’ with Elsie, but then, Elsie was busy with the lieutenant an’ hurt her ankle, an’, well, everything happens for a reason is what I always say. Ain’t that right? ’Cause look at you now. Engaged!” Mrs. Hennessey paused to take a deep breath. “What did you say your family name was? Rose what? Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph!” she said suddenly in a low voice, noticing Rose’s bruised face. Without asking, she gently tugged the scarf back to reveal the full extent of Rose’s injuries in the dim light. “This ain’t Stanley’s doin’, is it?” she asked, shocked. “Can’t believe it of that lad!” She looked worriedly from Rose to Henrietta.
“No, it wasn’t Stan,” Rose said, taking a step back from Mrs. Hennessey’s reach. “I fell.”
“Tsk, tsk. Like that, is it? Well, you don’t need to tell me the whole story, but not much gets past me, working in a place like this,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the bar. “Seen it all in here, an’ not much of it nice; is it, girls?”
“Maybe we could have some coffee?” Henrietta suggested, taking advantage of the fortuitous break in Mrs. Hennessey’s torrent.
“Lord, yes! I forgot the coffee. Here’s me standing here yacking. Come on, take off your coats an’ sit down,” she said, gesturing at the tables. “Or do you want to come upstairs?”
Henrietta was about to say yes, knowing that the Hennessey’s upstairs apartment was much nicer than the sticky bar, but Rose spoke first. “No, I can only stay for a few minutes,” she said, unbuttoning her coat and pulling out a chair, its metal legs scraping loudly across the black- and-white tiled floor, which Henrietta had scrubbed, on her hands and knees, about a thousand times in her youth.
“Suit yourselves,” Mrs. Hennessey called, hurrying to the back room. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Sorry about that, Rose,” Henrietta whispered to her, as the two of them sat down. “She’s a little bit . . . well, odd. But she means well.”
Rose waved her hand, “Oh, I know that. Don’t worry; I don’t care.”
“Here,” Henrietta said, opening her purse and pulling out the gun. Rose clutched it quickly and stuffed it into her own bag in a matter of seconds.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Well, like I said, I’m sorry.”
“Forget about it.”
Henrietta paused, thinking. “Lucy said you aren’t working at the Melody Mill anymore. Why’s that? Did you quit?” she asked hurriedly, sensing Mrs. Hennessey would reappear any moment.
“I got fired,” she said bitterly.
“Fired? Why?”
Rose gestured at her face again. “Turns out the owner don’t like dames with bruised faces. Says it’s bad for business. ‘People come here to have a good time, dance’,” Rose said in a pseudo deep voice in an apparent attempt at imitating her boss. “‘They don’t want to see no dame with a smashed-in face who can’t keep her man happy. Puts ’em off.’ So I’m out of a job on top of it all,” Rose said sourly.
“Will he take you back?”
Rose shrugged. “Who knows?”
Henrietta sighed. “What does Stan say?”
“About my face or the job?”
“Either.”
“He doesn’t know about me getting fired. Not yet. Says he wants to kill my dad, which is a laugh.” Rose opened her handbag again and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to Henrietta, who shook her head. Rose shakily put one to her own lips and then fumbled in her purse for a pack of matches. She finally unearthed some and after striking one into a flame, unsteadily lit the cigarette that dangled now from her mouth.
“What are you going to do?” Henrietta asked, watching her.
Rose inhaled deeply, her good eye momentarily squeezing shut to match the bruised one. “I convinced Stan to move up the wedding,” she said, exhaling a large cloud of smoke as she leaned back in her chair.
Mrs. Hennessey bustled in then carrying a carafe in one hand and grasping three mugs in the other, which she set down roughly on the table in front of Rose and Henrietta. “Now just a minute while I find some milk an’ sugar. Don’t have no cream,” she said, hurrying back toward the room Henrietta knew served as the kitchen, though it was really more a large pantry. Not much food was ever produced back there. Poor Pete’s was mostly just a drinking man’s type of establishment. “What’s this you’re saying about the wedding?” Mrs. Hennessey called out from inside the pantry. “Wait for me! I want to hear it all!”
After a few moments, she bustled back in with a small pot of sugar that already had a spoon in it and a small, cracked pitcher of milk, which she also set down in front of them. “There you are!” she said, plopping heavily into a chair, gesturing at the carafe and mugs. “Help yourselves.”
Henrietta took the initiative and began to pour out three mugs of coffee.
“What didya say about the wedding? When is it?” Mrs. Hennessey said, nodding her thanks to Henrietta as she took the steaming mug she offered her and blew on it.
Henrietta saw Rose bite the side of her cheek before she answered. “Well, it was supposed to be in June at St. Sylvester’s, but we’re thinking of moving it up. As in maybe next week,” she said, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Henrietta, who had paused mid-stir of her coffee.
“Next week?” Henrietta exclaimed.
Mrs. Hennessey chuckled. “Well, you know what they say. Babies take nine months to come, except the first one, which can come any time!” she said mischievously.
“I’m not pregnant,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes. “No chance of that with ol’ Stan. He’s a regular saint.”
“It’s to get away from your dad, isn’t it?” Henrietta asked quietly.
Rose looked up at her, surprised, and then sadly nodded. She looked like she was about to cry.
“So that’s who gave you the shiner,” Mrs. Hennessey said. “Bastard.”
Rose gave a tiny false smile. “Yeah. It’s a secret, though, so . . . the wedding, I mean.”
“Why a secret?” Henrietta asked, though she thought she could guess.
“Stan’s parents want a big church wedding. I’m converting,” she said wryly, as if this amused her. “So we’re going to get married by the justice of the peace next week, if Stan can figure out all the papers, that is, and find an apartment so that Billy and I can get the hell out of there. Stan’s gonna stay at his parents until we go through with the church wedding. No one’s the wiser, see?”
“And Stan agreed to this?” Henrietta asked incredulously. “What about Lucy and Gwen? Can’t you stay with them?” she suggested and felt immediately guilty that she was not offering them a place at the palatial Highbury. And yet, how could she? She could only imagine what Antonia would say, especially with her annual Spring Garden party coming up. It was times like this when it bothered her that she didn’t have her own home. While it was true that Antonia had basically given her and Clive a whole wing of the mansion for their private use, it’s not as if Henrietta could really ask people to come and stay. Like Rose, now, and Billy, or even little Anna, an idea that had occurred to her, actually, on the drive here. And she knew that it was pointless to bring this up to Clive, predicting that he would merely say something like, “Of course, you can invite whom you like, darling,” or some such thing, but she knew that it wasn’t that easy, especially where Antonia and even the servants, some of whom had their own prejudiced standards, were concerned.
“Yes, they’ve helped out,” Rose answered. “In fact, Billy’s back with them now, but we can’t live with them all the way until June. Their landlord is apparently already complaining. It’s either a quick wedding or I’m off to Indiana to live with my great-aunt. Last I knew she was in Fort Wayne; I’m hoping she’s still there. Maybe Billy and I could go live with her. Anyway, I sent her a letter just in case.”
“B
ut what about Stan?”
“What about him?” Rose challenged. “Look, sweets, I can’t take my ol’ man beating Billy one more time. He can do what he likes with me,” she said, looking away as she took another drag of her cigarette. “I can take it, but not Billy.” She looked at Henrietta steadily until her face suddenly crumpled and she broke down, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Henrietta, surprised by Rose’s rare show of emotion, reached over and gently put her hand on her back. “Oh, Rose. Don’t cry. We’ll figure it out,” she said softly.
“It don’t take no figurin’,” Mrs. Hennessey said calmly. “It’s easy. You move in here with us!”
“No!” Rose looked up suddenly and hurriedly tried to wipe her tears. “It’s all right. I’ve said too much. I’ll be fine,” she said in almost an irritated tone.
“It’s not charity, you know,” Mrs. Hennessey said matter-of-factly as Henrietta handed Rose her handkerchief. “Did I hear you say you was fired? Well, that’s perfect. You can work here till you get back on your feet. You can be the house 26 girl. Turns out we didn’t have the heart to replace Henrietta here when she married Prince Charmin’, an’ I’m terrible at it. William’s always goin’ on about me. Says I talk too much an’ don’t push the drinks enough. You’ll be a welcome change, you will,” Mrs. Hennessey said, looking pleased with herself.
“It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Hennessey,” Rose said genuinely, “but I really couldn’t.”
“Sure you can. Now, who’s this Billy? Let me guess—kid brother? You wouldn’t mind sharing a room with him, would you? We’ve got three bedrooms above this place, if you can believe it. Two whole rooms sittin’ empty, just goin’ to waste, they are. That’s practically a sin! So you an’ Bill move on in. In exchange, you can work some for me, or pay me, let’s say, five dollars a month if you find some other job. Stay as long as you like. I’d give you both rooms, but turns out Winifred an’ Roger are comin’ soon for a visit with little Prudence—the first time Winifred’s visited us since her wedding, can you believe it? So I’m havin’ a little party for them, an’ both of you two are invited, of course. Or, Rose, maybe you could help me with it? This way,” she barreled on, “you an’ Stan can take your time decidin’ when to get married, no need to rush if you don’t want to. Stan’s like a son to us; he really is, ain’t he, Henrietta? An’ so we’d like to do this for the two of you. An’ it turns out good for me, don’t it? I get some help around here an’ help with the party. An’ isn’t it strange that your brother’s name is Billy? Just like our Billy. Everything happens for a reason, as I say, an’ what more proof of that is there than this? It was meant to be, I say. It would be a real treat to have a Billy around again an’ have you around, too, Rose. I get lonely at nights, not that I’d expect you to stay in with me, but still, William’s always down here. So it might be nice.” Mrs. Hennessey stopped abruptly here and took a short breath.