by Maggie Ford
Suddenly she was frightened. Could she really walk off alone into the wide world? With Michael, it would be no obstacle. Without him…
‘Dora! You have to come with me! We’ve never been parted.’ There was a stubborn look on the girl’s face. ‘I want to stay here.’
‘We might never see each other again.’
‘You’re not running away from prison. You can still come back and visit.’
‘Once I’m gone, I’ll never come back.’
‘Not even to see me?’ Moisture began to glisten in her young sister’s eyes. The sight made her feel close to tears. Angrily she sniffed them back.
‘Then stay here!’ she shot at her, the words catching in her throat. ‘See if I care!’
Mrs Lowe was coming – the tell-tale quick tread of short footsteps beneath a fleshy body, not plodding, like Bertram Lowe, for despite her weight Mary Lowe was light on her feet, as many chubby people are.
‘Dora, I’m asking you one last time,’ Ellie pleaded. ‘Let’s leave here now, together, you and me?’
Still Dora shook her head, her face creasing, tears now slipping down her cheeks. ‘Stay here, Ellie,’ she begged. ‘With me. Please?’
‘No, I can’t!’
‘I won’t know what to do without you. I shall miss you so.’
‘I can’t help that.’
The door to the room opened. ‘What do you think you are doing here?’ came the high-voiced demand. Ellie spun round on the woman.
‘Do you mind? I came to talk to my sister!’
The woman gasped, looking lost for words, as Ellie swept past her, only just managing to stop herself from saying, ‘Goodbye, Dora,’ over her shoulder and giving her intentions away.
* * *
It was dark as she let herself out through the kitchen and through the back gate to the alley, in a warm coat and with a veil keeping her straw boater in place.
Florrie was upstairs attending to her employers and their dinner guests. Mrs Jenkins was in the little cellar no doubt seeking out some special cheeses to go with the wines chosen for later. Only Rose had been there in the kitchen, bent over the sink washing up the used pots and pans.
The girl had looked up as Ellie passed. ‘What’s all that?’ she’d queried, seeing the two big bags Ellie carried.
‘Old clothes,’ Ellie had told her. ‘Doctor Lowe wants me to give them to someone who needs them. Be back in about half an hour, so no need to tell Cook. She’ll be too busy seeing to them upstairs to listen to you going on.’
Now she struggled along the road, the bags swinging against her skirt. At the corner of Cambridge Road she put them down and waited. There was no clock nearby to show her the passing of time. If Michael had suggested she wait by the pub on the corner of Bethnal Green Road, there’d have been a clock there. But perhaps he thought walking that far on a dark November night might be a little risky for an unaccompanied female.
The cold began to creep through her coat as she waited. Leaving her belongings on the pavement, she started pacing to keep warm, up and down, a few yards this way, a few yards that, counting each turn. After forty turns her heart had really begun to sink. He wasn’t coming.
Finally she stopped counting. What was the point? She should have known from the moment she arrived that he wouldn’t be coming. Well, if the truth were told, she had known deep down inside her. Stupid fool to imagine he would. His creature comforts mattered more. Like all men: spineless!
Racked between anger and despair she continued pacing. Give it a little while longer, then she would go. But she didn’t want to go. What if she missed him by a few minutes? She’d never forgive herself. Her mind’s eye saw him now, waiting, disappointed; what would he do? Go to where she lived, or had lived, to see if she was there. No one had seen her go except Rose. What would she say? Where would he know to look? And she could hardly go looking for him. But if he’d wanted to be, he would have been here by now – would probably have already been here waiting for her, if he’d loved her strongly enough.
Saturday evening, Cambridge Road busy with traffic, the whole world looking for a pleasurable night out. Couples dressed to go somewhere threw glances at her as they passed. She felt conspicuous. Making up her mind, Ellie stooped and grabbed up her bags. But where to go? Her old neighbour, Mrs Sharp, came to mind again. She would go there – see what happened. Yes, that would be her best bet. Her heart like a sodden lump of clay, she turned her face in the direction of Bethnal Green Road, the place she had once known so well.
She was moving off when a cab rumbled to a stop by the kerb with the driver pulling energetically on the reins. A man leaped out and came towards her. ‘’Scuse me, your name Miss Jay?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve a note for you from Mr Michael Deel. He asked me to give it you.’
Dropping her bags she took the note from him, but before she could say anything he was back in the cab without asking if there was any reply, the vehicle moving out into the mêlée of other cabs and carriages.
Tears had already begun to well over. There was little need to read. She knew already what it contained; yet she had to open it, just in case.
Darling, I’m so sorry I can’t be there. Hope you haven’t been waiting too long. There’s been trouble at home. I don’t know how I managed to get this note to you, my father is so beside himself. I don’t care, I want to be with you, but I can’t, not tonight. He says I need not tutor you any more, Doctor Lowe will be making arrangements for another tutor to come. I want so much to be with you but hopefully you understand how things are at the moment…
Understand? Oh, yes, she understood, only too well. Screwing the note into a ball she tossed it away from her, seeing it land, a pale thing in the gutter. The last words he’d written were: ‘I love you, my darling, above all else. I’ll sort things out and come to you as soon as I can. Until then, I love you, love you, love you, my own darling.’
Resolutely Ellie turned her back on the note slowly unfurling among the other rubbish that lay there, and, picking up her bags, she walked away.
* * *
‘Ellie! Where’d you spring from?’
Mrs Sharp stood in the doorway, her gaunt figure in its grubby apron faintly silhouetted by the feeble kitchen gaslight that just about penetrated to the door. ‘What you doing ’ere this time of night?’
Ellie’s tears had dried as she struggled the distance to Bethnal Green Road and Gales Gardens. Now they threatened to overwhelm her again. She bit them back hastily. There would be a lot of explaining to do.
‘Whatever you got there?’ Mrs Sharp burst out, seeing the two heavy bags she had with her. ‘What’s ’appened? You orright, love?’
‘No I’m not.’ It was all she could say without bursting into tears.
Seeing her distress, Mrs Sharp was all concern. ‘You’d best come inside, luv, tell us what’s up.’
Sitting on a stool, a steaming mug of tea between the palms of her hands, Ellie felt she could hardly tell her that she had been left standing in the cold by the very man who had sworn love for her and to take her away with him.
Instead she hastily prevaricated. ‘I had to leave the place where I’ve been working. I couldn’t stand it any more.’
‘Were they cruel to yer then?’
‘No. It was just that I felt trapped. I left on a whim and now I can’t go back. I don’t really know where to go.’
‘At this time of night, I should think so. Whatever possessed yer ter go walkin’ out this time of night? And a Saturday too, wiv drunks an’ all sort of odd people about.’
‘Just things happening,’ Ellie said evasively. ‘I don’t want to go into it more than that.’
‘Oh, luv!’ sighed Mrs Sharp. Her refusal to go into more detail had obviously got the woman thinking all sorts of things, but Ellie couldn’t be bothered to set her mind at rest about what she was apparently imagining.
‘If that’s the case, love, you’d best stay ’ere tonight. Don’t ’ave
any bed ter put yer in, though.’
‘Anywhere will do.’ Ellie sipped her tea. It was strong enough to take the skin off her palate and not all that sweet, with only a small spoonful of condensed milk mixed into it, but it helped warm her. ‘I don’t mind even sleeping on the floor.’
‘Good Lawd, no! There’s the couch, such as it is. It’s soft anyway.’
Fortunately the Sharp family went to bed early, Mr Sharp, if he was home, not having been bothered to get out of his when she’d called.
With the house fallen quiet by ten o’clock, Ellie lay awake on the sagging couch that her host had termed soft but was actually lumpy, with springs breaking through the stuffing.
The house had a peculiar smell to it, one she had almost forgotten – of stale cooking and clothes in need of washing. She thought of the clean smells of the Lowes’ house, of furniture and floor polish and good fresh air.
Ellie wriggled to find a more comfortable place on the couch and thought of the soft bed in that lovely quiet room Bertram had given her – his own daughter’s room. Part of her yearned to be back there, until she thought of her father, the old hatred rising up afresh in her. She knew she’d sacrifice it all just to find him. If only Michael were with her.
There was no sleep in her. Not only was her mind filled with the way Michael had let her down; her hope of seeing Ronnie Sharp, of pouring out her heart to him, had also been thwarted.
‘Is Ronnie about?’ she had asked as she ate the cheese sandwich Mrs Sharp had offered her, the slices like doorsteps, the cheese – just parings – helped for taste by a generous dollop of yellow pickle.
‘Ronnie?’ had come the response. ‘Oh, he’s out, as usual. He won’t disturb yer coming ’ome. He’ll come through the back door into the kitchen when he does come. Yer know what it’s like when people are courtin’.’
‘Courting?’
‘Didn’t yer know? Been engaged since July. Nice gel she is. I expect they’ll get married about eighteen months’ time, soon as they’ve saved up enough for a place ter live. Probably round ’ere, I expect.’
Engaged! At the back of her mind, despite this terrible sense of despair over Michael, there’d been the faint hope that Ronnie Sharp might be there to show a little sympathy, even understanding, when told of what she’d been through. Not that she expected to fall into his open arms. After all, they’d never been remotely serious. Now, of course, his mind would be otherwise occupied, with no cause to concern himself with her. Anyway, if he’d been free, he’d never have taken the place of Michael…
Quickly she turned from that thought before it began to dominate her mind and prevent her sleeping. Burying her face in the cushion that served for a pillow, she closed her eyes tightly in an effort to think of something else, trying to conjure up some neutral vision of blue sky and green grass and trees – anything so as not to think of him, of how she’d been let down so abruptly without any heartfelt regret, it seemed, despite the words of love he’d written for someone else to deliver.
The scenes she tried to envisage behind her tightly closed eyelids were not working. Instead her brain began to play on how Bertram Lowe would react when he found her gone. That at least helped push away the thoughts that threatened to break her heart each time Michael’s name stole into her head.
Twenty
Bertram closed the door on his guests, having seen them safely into their coach. Doctor and Mrs Sedley were old friends. He and Howard Sedley had been at medical college together and had something else in common. Both had married into moderately good families. Both looked with envy upon others whom they felt had done even better than they. Both had wives who tended to feel awkward in other people’s company, and thus got on well together.
It had been a good evening, as always with the Sedleys, and for a while had swept away his present worries. Young Chambers had conducted herself admirably, waiting at table, and he intended to tell her so. It would make the girl feel well pleased with herself.
He slowly mounted the stairs to his room. Mary had gone up before him. In the hall, the long-case clock sombrely struck ten thirty. Mrs Jenkins was still bustling about down there. Once the house settled down she would turn down all the gaslights and retire to her own bed.
Reaching Ellie’s door, he paused, then tapped on it with the knuckle of his forefinger – very lightly so as not to alert Mary. It occurred to him that Ellie might be in need of company for just a short while before settling down to sleep, having been on her own the whole evening. Very often they enjoyed a little chat during the evening, usually earlier than this, except of course when he and Mary were entertaining friends or out being entertained by them. Then, as tonight, he would tap on her door and enquire how she was. She would come to the door and allow him in. He would recline for a while in her little silk armchair while she sat on her bed. They’d talk until she yawned, he taking the hint that it was time to leave.
This time there was no answer to his knock. Softly he called her name. Maybe she was already asleep. It was rather late. The last thing he would have dreamed of doing would be to walk in unbidden. Would she still be in her studio at this time of night? Mounting the stairs to the attic, he stole past the maids’ room to tap on the studio door. Getting no reply, he opened it and peeped in, feeling at liberty to do so, it not being a place where she slept.
Finding the room dark and vacant, he retraced his steps to her room. There was still no response to a fractionally firmer rap. Standing undecided, he gathered she must be asleep. Yet something didn’t feel right – maybe it was the quality of the silence from the room, maybe just a feeling, a premonition; he wasn’t certain, but there came an urge to speak to her.
‘Ellie, my dear, are you asleep?’
A foolish question: if she were asleep, would he expect an answer? But if she were asleep, she wouldn’t be aware of him if he crept into the room just to make sure. Biting his lips, he did just that, opening the door cautiously to peep round it. The curtains were drawn but the gas jet on the wall had been turned down to a spluttering glimmer behind its glass shade, just enough to see by. Ellie liked to sleep with some light in the room.
Bertram peered towards the bed. Suddenly he knew why he’d had that strange feeling about there being no answer to his knock: the bed was empty. For a second, alarm spread through him. Had Michael Deel come to the house and she’d stolen out to meet him? It was the only possible answer. But it was late. Surely they wouldn’t still be out.
With a sense of panic Bertram hurried to the landing window. If they were outside, he’d see them. When she came in he’d demand to know what she thought she was up to. But there was no one there. It was nearly eleven.
Panic began to grow. They had got wind of his meeting with Michael’s father and run away together. But who would have told them? Who could? A name hit him: Mary! But of course! She had always wanted to see the back of young Ellie. How could she have done this to him, knowing how he felt about the child?
Fury consumed him. This was absolutely the last straw with his wife. But before he tackled her, he would telephone Doctor Deel, though what he was going to say at this time of night he had no real idea.
The clipped tone of Henk Deel had no sleepiness in it. Bertram felt almost a childish relief. ‘Bertram Lowe here,’ he began tentatively. ‘So sorry to trouble you this time of night, but would your son Michael be at home?’
There was a short silence on the other end of the wire, then the man’s voice, a little surprised: ‘Yes, he is; do you wish to speak with him?’
‘No, not really.’ Flustered, Bertram forced his brain to work fast. ‘I merely wanted to confirm that he will not be tutoring Miss Jay from now on.’
‘That is correct. But we spoke of this when we met.’
‘Yes, we did. Of course we did. I forgot. But has your son posed any objections?’
Another small silence, then: ‘I have spoken to him at length. I have explained the situation to him as it stands and he understands – that
, and also where his duties lie. And now I think that is all we need to say on the matter, Doctor Lowe. It is closed.’
This last was said unusually tersely, a sharp reminder of the awkward meeting that had taken place.
‘I’m – I’m sorry to have bothered you at so late an hour,’ Bertram stammered. Muttering, ‘Thank you,’ he replaced the earpiece on its hook.
Glad to have done with the telephone call, his relief at having found Michael Deel at home was immediately clouded by anxiety. If not with Michael Deel, then where was Ellie?
With all sorts of awful thoughts going through his head, he puffed his way upstairs to Mary’s bedroom and thumped on her door. He saw that she was still in her wrap, her hair loose where young Dora had been combing it for her, no doubt the one hundred strokes that took up a good deal of time – the poor child must be weary. But this wasn’t the time to think of that.
‘Ellie has gone!’ he burst out. ‘What have you said to her?’
Mary’s expression was one of surprise but also a picture of innocence. ‘Why should I have said anything to her? I have nothing to say to her, nor, if God is willing, ever will.’
He ignored that. ‘Has Dora seen her?’
‘When?’
‘While we were at dinner. Has she seen her sister this evening?’
From the room Dora shook her head. ‘No. I spent most of the evening chatting to Rose.’
Mary swung round on her. ‘You know you are not supposed to chat to the lower—’
‘It doesn’t matter about that!’ Bertram cut in. ‘Ellie is not in her room or in her studio. I shall need to speak to the staff. Now.’
‘It’s late; everyone has gone to bed.’
‘Even so…’
He turned abruptly and, going upstairs, thumped on the girls’ door. As Rose came to it, sleepy-eyed, he leapt in: ‘Have you spoken to Ellie Jay this evening?’
The girl shook her head; a sleepy voice called, ‘What is it?’ and Chambers came to peer over Rose’s shoulder.
