by Jana Petken
The scandal has hurt John. His Sinn Féin and Catholic News were boycotted for a day. The people in the parish are saying that they cannot trust a prominent republican member such as him when he has so callously thrown over his badly injured fiancée, who was a victim of war.
“To be honest, I didn’t expect folk to take this so seriously,” Danny said.
“I’m happy they are. That’s the very least John Grant deserves,” Patrick said harshly. “It certainly makes sense of the other letter we read.”
Susan rose again, leaving the table without explanation. When she returned, she was holding another envelope. “You may as well read this one aloud while you’re at it,” she said, handing the letter to Danny.
Dear Mrs Carmody,
I can only imagine your anger and disgust at my son John’s behaviour towards your poor daughter. No woman should ever be abandoned after official announcements about her forthcoming marriage have been made. I will get straight to the point. I have instructed my son, in no uncertain terms, that he must return to London and beg for Jenny’s forgiveness. His conduct was despicable, and I am deeply ashamed to call him my son.
The scandal he has caused amongst the good God-fearing people of Dublin will be quashed; by God, on my life it will. John will not be allowed to succeed at anything until he has set right his wrongs.
My family and our neighbours in the parish are praying solidly for dear Jenny’s recovery. We give you our word as good Catholics and staunch Irish folk that she will be well cared for in the bosom of our family. I shall send a telegram to you the moment my son departs Ireland. I predict he shall be with you in Greenwich before the week is out.
Sincerely yours,
Shaun Grant
Danny whistled, exclaiming his surprise. “When did this arrive?” he asked Susan.
“Yesterday morning.”
“Jenny, what do you intend to say to John?”
“I still haven’t decided,” she answered, biting her lip as always.
For a moment, Danny listened to Minnie’s rant about how Jenny should show John the door or, better still, not allow him to enter in the first place. Minnie was obviously against the marriage now. His mother was all for it. And the situation was made more difficult still because of the two women’s meddling. Jenny might be swayed by John’s promise of a good life. Maybe she’d think that marriage to him was better than no marriage at all. But she didn’t know about Kevin’s letters from the Western Front or the falsified replies that he’d received.
He glanced at Patrick. Did he know about the correspondences? Obviously not. He’d be furious if he did.
“Make him suffer – and don’t wear your scarf or shawl. Hold your head high and let him see you as you really are. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Minnie was saying.
Susan was trying to decide what gown Jenny should wear for her meeting with John. “Of course you’ll accept him, but only after you are promised a home that befits you – perhaps in our old neighbourhood – and it should have a housekeeper and cook. You won’t be able to do household chores in your condition.”
“Mam, please,” Jenny said, looking fed up with the conversation.
“And he should buy you a motor car so you don’t have to walk anywhere. Oh, it will be wonderful to go back to Dublin. We’ll be right back to where we started.”
It seemed to Danny that his impending marriage had been forgotten in the feverishly fast-paced discussion about John’s upcoming visit and his mam’s ambitions. He cursed inwardly. She was inexcusably dabbling in the lives of three people. She had to be stopped, but by whom? He was under threat of death if he so much as breathed a word to Jenny about Kevin.
After catching Patrick’s eye, he motioned to him that he wanted to talk outside. Patrick was leaving in the next day or two. If anyone knew how to get some money together for a wedding in Wales, it would be him.
Both men left the room without the women making a single comment or asking a question as to where they were going. Danny suspected that they would be there until the early hours, discussing Jenny’s future with John.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jenny waited until she was sure that her mother and granny had left the house before donning her warmest clothes. She stood for a moment in front of the full-length mirror and smiled at the unfamiliar woman staring back at her. She had not worn her coat, hat, shawl, leather boots, and elbow length gloves since leaving Ireland, which seemed so long ago. Her appearance was immaculate and affluent, and apart from a little discolouration around her eye, she was perfectly normal in appearance. She was a little anxious but ready to go outside.
She knocked on Danny’s bedroom door. Having been given his job back at the shell-dressing depot, and an additional three days off to fully recover from his injuries, Danny had agreed to accompany her to Hatton Garden in Central London. Jenny wasn’t sure what he had said to the supervisor at work, but she wasn’t surprised that he had forgiven Danny for his leave of absence without permission. Her brother could charm just about anyone when he had a mind to. He had a way about him – and of course, no boss wanted to get rid of male workers – they were like gold dust.
It would be a long walk and bus ride into Central London. Danny thought it a little overambitious for Jenny’s first outing, but she had brushed off his concerns. She was tired of being an invalid, of taking potions and pills, of constantly complaining about her lot, and of looking at four walls. It was time she did something to change things, she had told him.
“Do you have the ring, Jenny?” Danny asked, putting on his overcoat.
“It’s inside my purse, and that’s hidden underneath my coat. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Why don’t you wear it?”
“I don’t want to,” she said.
They walked arm in arm at a sedate pace towards Tower Bridge. Danny was still a little sore, and Jenny was a little unsure of her footing on the frosty ground.
“Don’t be overly optimistic about how much you might be offered for it,” Danny warned as they discussed their destination. “I can’t imagine the diamond trade being at it its peak, what with consumer consumption in decline.”
“I’m aware of that, Danny, but Dad insured the ring the day after John put it on my finger, and its value was incredibly high. And gold and diamond mining is expanding.”
“How do you know that?” Danny asked, surprised.
“How? Because we have a grandmother who can’t help but share every bit of information in the newspaper, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. I’m sure she does it to keep her mind active. I can’t blame her, really. She doesn’t have much else to occupy her time.”
“She does have Mam whining in her ear all day long.”
“You might be right there,” Jenny said, chuckling. “Anyway, even if the ring’s value has decreased, it will still generate enough money to serve our purposes.”
“This is a grand gesture. You’re being very generous,” Danny said, giving Jenny’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Who’d have thought that we’d be the best of friends, eh? You were always so contrary with me and everyone else. Yet it seems you’re turning out to be a nice person after all.”
Giving him a playful nudge, Jenny said, “Perhaps we’ve both grown up … or it could be that our disasters have taught us the value of family and friendship. I couldn’t have recovered so well had it not been for your care and company. I’m eternally grateful to you.”
“Sure, you’re going to make me cry,” Danny said, blushing. “Do you remember all the daft fights we used to have at the dinner table? My black was your blue. My right was your wrong.”
“And the glass of water I threw over your head. Remember that? Never in a million years did I think that we would be friends. You were a wee tyke,” she reminded him. “Thank God for Patrick. He always had a knack for refereeing our arguments without taking sides.”
After crossing the bridge and walking a mile or so, they stopped for a cup
of tea. They were about three streets away from Charterhouse Street and their objective, Jacobson’s Fine Gold and Diamond Emporium.
The old Jewish man who opened the door to Jenny and Danny introduced himself as Mr Jacobson. He was not at all the sort of man that Jenny had expected to be doing dealings with. He was at least eighty years old, shuffling with the aid of two walking sticks and wearing eyeglasses which were so thick and frosted over with age that she wondered how he managed to see though them.
She and Danny were shown to an oak table and were then invited to sit in the plush armchairs facing it.
Mr Jacobson addressed Jenny. “My son will be along shortly, Miss.”
She gave him a luminous smile, feeling relieved that the kindly old man would not be appraising her engagement ring.
“I have to say, this is exquisite. I don’t very often see art deco rings. They are still so modern and rare,” the younger Mr Jacobson remarked after having a good look at the ring. “I have seen a couple of similar designs with sterling silver bands, but never one in white gold.”
“My fiancé had it made for me. He designed it himself,” Jenny said proudly. “He knew how much I loved sapphires and, of course, what woman doesn’t desire a sizeable diamond.” Jenny waited. The man’s questioning eyes stared at her shawl-covered head and then her face. He was probably wondering about her and about why she was selling the ring, but she saw no need to enlighten him.
“You say it was valued at two hundred pounds?” he eventually asked.
“That’s right. Two hundred and twenty-one pounds and sixteen shillings, to be exact.”
Mr Jacobson examined the ring again, using the magnifying glass. Jenny’s heart was thumping with guilt, but it was also soaring in anticipation.
“To sell your engagement ring is unthinkable. John is returning, and your wedding plans will go ahead as though they had never been suspended,” Susan had stated when Jenny broached the subject of the ring three days earlier.
She glanced sideways at Danny. He was nervously perspiring and as white as a sheet. She squeezed his hand.
“So … what will you offer me for this fine piece?”
No answer.
The jeweller had been given enough time to ponder over his decision, she thought, watching him scribbling on a piece of paper. He either wanted it or didn’t. It was all a bit of a palaver.
Looking up, he said, “You must understand that prices have fallen …”
Jenny put her hand up, palm towards him. “Mr Jacobson, my time is very valuable. There’s really no need to recite all the reasons as to why you are not going to give me what the ring is worth. So kindly tell me the amount you are willing to part with, and I will decide if I deem it sufficient for my needs.”
“I can give you a bank draft for one hundred and ten pounds. No more, I’m afraid.”
Danny gasped. Jenny fought to keep her sheer delight and surprise from the diamond merchant. She had expected less than one hundred pounds. Sighing as though disappointed, she said, “I’m not happy with that amount, but I suppose I must accept, things being as they are.”
Twenty minutes later Jenny and Danny accepted the paper bills from the bank teller in London County and Westminster Bank. Before leaving, Jenny ushered Danny to a quiet corner and handed him thirty pounds. I hope your wedding plans go better than mine did,” she said. Then she tucked the rest of the bills inside her purse, strapped on to her by a leather belt underneath her coat. “Now you can stop worrying about how you’re going to get to your own wedding.”
Danny’s hands were shaking as he put the bills into his jacket inside breast pocket. “You’ve no idea how much this will mean to Anna and me. I can give her a grand time after we’re wed. She’ll have a proper honeymoon, and when we come back to London, I’ll look for our own place. Somewhere close to you and small. One bedroom will suit us fine; we don’t need a mansion. Ah, Jenny, I can just picture it all now.”
“Well, I just hope I haven’t made a huge mistake. I can’t say I want you to move out after you get married, but I understand why you would want to. I’m not familiar with your Anna, but I don’t see any woman putting up with Mam and Minnie’s constant bickering for power.”
Feeling affluent once again, she and Danny hailed a hansom cab. Their next stop was Covent Garden. Jenny had read about a wig maker of some note, whose premises were right around the corner from the Royal Opera House. The shop was called Raoul. It had an upper-class ring to it, she thought. It made sense that its wigs would be of good quality. She had come up with the idea of having this treat a couple of days ago. If she was going to meet with John, she’d attend with a full head of hair.
One hour later, Jenny settled on a long curly wig, with almost identical colouring and texture as her own hair before the nurse in the hospital had cut it off. Removing the shawl from her head, she nervously watched the attendant’s reaction to her injuries.
“Will my condition be an issue?” Jenny asked.
The woman studied the damaged side of her head, covered by a cloth bandage to protect the wounds from dust or dirt, and then she took a close look at the entire head. Eventually, after some time, she said, “Usually we clip the wig on to a person’s hair but there are times, such as these, when there is nothing to attach the cloth mesh to. The wig will be well fitted regardless, but to make it even more secure and less likely to slip, I suggest you wear it with a lovely ribbon, which can be tied in a small bow around your neck. I can show you how to do this in such a way that it looks more like a pretty accessory rather than a necessity.”
“I didn’t think about that …”
“Oh, don’t you worry about a thing, dear. I will make it look wonderful, and by the looks of things, your hair is growing back nicely. In about a year’s time, it will completely cover all those concerns. Are you ready to try it on?” she asked.
Jenny nodded, encouraged by the attendant’s words.
First the wig and ribbon were fitted to Jenny’s head, and then the wig was combed throughout, until it sat in soft wavy lines down her back and around her face.
“What do you think, miss?” the woman asked.
Jenny let out an emotional sigh. It was beautiful. She looked beautiful. Shaking her head gently from side to side, she thought it felt comfortable, apart from being a little heavy.
“It’s perfect. I look almost like my old self,” she said in a cracked voice. “It’s truly marvellous.”
“It won’t move – I can promise you that. I make the best wigs in England,” the woman declared honestly. “My family has been in this business for almost twenty years. You’d be surprised at how many important ladies and gents have our hair on their heads.”
Jenny was overwhelmed with happiness. “How much is it?” she asked a tad overenthusiastically.
“It’s an expensive piece, this one, what with the length and thickness …”
“I don’t care. Please tell me how much.”
“Thirty pounds, dear.”
Jenny stared again at her image. Mam didn’t need to know how much she’d received for the ring or how much the wig cost. And it was none of Minnie’s business either. If John did turn up, she’d tell him that the ring had been lost on the night of the Zeppelin attacks. If he wanted her back, he’d just have to buy her another diamond.
“Would you accept twenty-five pounds?” she tried.
“Oh, I don’t think I can do that, but I’ll tell you what I will do for you. I have a couple of hats in my storeroom which are a little out of fashion. How about I give you one of them to complement your beautiful new hair?”
Jenny nodded. What a lovely idea. “I would like to leave the wig on my head. Would you style it for me, please?”
She smiled with contentment. Danny, waiting on the other side of dressing room curtain, groaned loudly at the amount that had just been mentioned.
Jenny shouted, “It’s my money, Danny, and I’m having it!”
After a cold lunch in a tearoom which ha
d run out of tea, Jenny and Danny decided to head towards Tower Bridge. Taking a shortcut through some back streets before reaching the Thames embankment had been Danny’s idea. It would take them half the time, he’d insisted.
Jenny’s head was thumping and itching. It felt as if worms were crawling all over it. She sat down and breathed deeply, just as Dr Thackery had taught her. Danny crossed the street, having spotted a bakery. They would take cakes home for Mam and Granny, he suggested.
Jenny shut her eyes and tried to will the throbbing pain to go away. She felt a feathery touch on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw two men standing in front of her. Glimpsing the glint of a knife in the hand of one, she opened her mouth to scream. In an instant, the other man had clamped his hand over it and was pushing her forwards towards the corner of the street. She tried to bite his dirty fingers but couldn’t open her mouth wide enough to bare her teeth. She wanted to scream but could only manage a muted sound from her nostrils.
She caught a glimpse of Danny’s back through the bakery window and willed him to turn around or for the baker to look outside. The man with his hand over her mouth quickened his stride. Jenny almost lost her footing when their legs became entangled. In the space of a few seconds, she had been taken out of Danny’s sight and into the dark entranceway of a building.
Frozen with terror, she allowed the man to search her coat pockets. The other reprobate with the knife glanced behind him and then told his friend to hurry.
“I think someone’s comin’.” He put the knife to Jenny’s throat. “Give my friend your money and you won’t get ’urt.”
Jenny was afraid to breathe. The knife was pinching her skin.
“I said to ’and the money over!” the man repeated. “You ain’t come out without none, ’ave you?”
His voice was rough, like he’d crawled out of a gutter. His eyes were menacing, without a semblance of human kindness in their light. She felt pain shoot up and down her arm as she was pinned to the wall by the other man. Both thieves were standing inches from her face.
