Both George and Cissie were dressed up in their Sunday best and just for a second she hesitated and straightened her bonnet before answering, ‘I’m hoping you will be able to help me. I’ve come here on a very personal matter an’ wondered if you’d spare me a minute of your time to speak in private.’
The man frowned. His hair must have been very dark once but it was peppered with grey now.
‘May I ask what it’s about?’
Cissie cleared her throat. ‘It … it’s very personal, as I say, an’ it concerns both you an’ your wife.’
He regarded the couple solemnly for some seconds more, then deciding that they looked respectable he said, ‘Very well, I’ll put the closed sign on the door for a few minutes. It’s never too busy at this time of day, luckily.’ He came from behind the counter, locked the door, turned the sign and then said: ‘Would you follow me?’
He opened a door that led from behind the counter and they found themselves in a very cosy sitting room where a woman sat embroidering with her feet up on a stool.
‘Hello, dear. It’s never time for your tea break already, is—’ Her voice broke off as she saw the visitors and she looked questioningly at her husband.
‘This is Mr and Mrs …’ Realising that they hadn’t been properly introduced, the man glanced towards George who had taken his hat off.
‘Branning,’ George told him and the man nodded.
‘This is my wife, Emma. Would you both like to take a seat?’
Cissie and George perched nervously on the edge of a very comfortable sofa and George gave a covert glance about the room. It was nicely furnished, and he deduced that the shop must do well. Everything here, from the curtains hanging at the window to the rugs on the floor, spoke of quality.
‘So, how may we help you?’ the woman asked then and Cissie couldn’t help but notice that she looked rather fragile and unwell, which was borne out when she started to cough. Cissie thought she must have been a very pretty woman in her day but now her once-fair hair, which was piled neatly on top of her head, was faded, as were her blue eyes.
Her husband was instantly at her side handing her a glass of water and a handkerchief, and when the bout had passed she smiled at them apologetically. ‘Do excuse me. I’ve been under the weather for some time and I’m ashamed to say my husband here has been marvellous and waits on me hand and foot. But there … you haven’t come here to listen to my troubles.’
Cissie cleared her throat, wondering nervously where she should begin, but when George gave her hand a squeeze, she took courage and told them: ‘What I have to say concerns your son.’
She saw the Tates exchange a worried glance before Mr Tate groaned, ‘Oh dear, we had no idea he was back again. What has he done now?’
Cissie was slightly confused. What did he mean, back again? But she carried on, almost afraid to stop. ‘Many years ago, thirty-four to be precise, I gave birth to a child in Hatter’s Hall. He was taken away from me immediately. I can explain the circumstances of my being imprisoned there another time.’ Cissie paused to dab at her sweating brow. This was proving to be even more difficult than she had imagined it would be. ‘I … I believe that that baby, who was taken from me against my will, was the boy you took from there to bring up as your own – and I suppose after all this time, I just wanted to put my mind at rest and know that he was safe and well. I have never forgotten him, you see? So I hope you will forgive me for this intrusion. Believe me, I have no wish to upset you.’
Again, the Tates glanced at each other and Cissie saw that there were tears in the woman’s eyes. This had clearly come as a shock to her, which Cissie supposed was quite understandable.
‘We did adopt a baby boy from the asylum,’ Mr Tate tentatively admitted. ‘Although we have no way of knowing whether that baby was the one you gave birth to.’
‘Oh, I have it on very good authority that he is,’ Cissie gabbled on. ‘We went to Hatter’s Hall to look at the files and the superintendent there advised us to talk to an elderly lady who helped to run the nursery there at the time my son was born. She was able to direct us to you, and if your son was born in May 1881, then there is every likelihood that he is the right one. But please believe me – I haven’t come here to try and take him away from you. You are the parents who brought him up and I have no rights whatsoever over him. As I said, I just need to know that he’s safe and well – and perhaps you could tell me what he’s like. Is he married? Does he have a family of his own? Has he brought you joy?’
She stopped talking abruptly and flushed, and Mrs Tate smiled at her. ‘We have never kept the fact that he was adopted from our son,’ she told Cissie. ‘And in answer to your questions, yes, he is safe and well – as far as we know. No, he isn’t married and no, he doesn’t have any children – not to our knowledge anyway.’
Her husband took up the tale. ‘What my wife is trying to tell you is that Hugh, our son, isn’t here at present. He’s somewhat of a wanderer, you see,’ he said, his face grave. ‘Some weeks ago we had words – rather harsh ones, unfortunately – and I told him that it was time he stood on his own two feet.’ The man paused and appeared to be choosing his words carefully. ‘The thing is, Emma and I took him when we found that we could never have children of our own, and for a long time he fulfilled a need in us and we doted on him. Looking back, that was probably where we went wrong. Anything within reason he asked for he had, but he was such a delightful little boy that it was hard to deny him. But then when he became older we noticed a change in him. He became somewhat of a bully, I’m afraid, and got in with the wrong crowd. We sent him away to a boarding school but eventually he was expelled from there so we got him an apprenticeship with a local plumber, so that he would have a trade. That didn’t last long either. Hugh wasn’t one for getting his hands dirty.’
Mr Tate took a breath before he resumed. ‘Then he started to gamble and would regularly disappear for weeks at a time, only coming home when he wanted money. This went on for several years until finally when Emma became ill I decided enough was enough. He is a grown man, after all, and needs to take responsibility for himself now. And so the last time he came home looking for cash to pay his debts, I refused him and we had a bitter row. And that is the last we saw of him, although I have no doubt he will return to try his luck again when he thinks we have had time to calm down.’
Cissie was shocked. This was not the picture she had painted of her long-lost son at all and yet she had no reason to doubt the couple. They seemed perfectly genuine people.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said in a wobbly voice. ‘I feel somehow that I am the one responsible for what you’ve been through.’
‘Nonsense, my dear. If Hugh is indeed your birth son, no blame can be attached to you whatsoever. The child was taken from you and it was our choice to adopt him and to bring him up in the way we did. The question now is, what do you want to do? Do you want us to tell Hugh that you’ve been here enquiring about him, if and when he returns? I know he’s always wondered who his natural mother was.’
Cissie felt her heart leap. ‘Yes, I’d like that – and if he should wish to meet me, the decision will be his then. If, of course, you have no objections?’ she added worriedly. The last thing she wanted to do was bring these good people yet more heartache. She fumbled in her bag then for the address she had written down and passed it to Mr Tate.
‘This is where I live, and thank you both for being so very understanding. My turning up out of the blue must have come as a very great shock to you and I wouldn’t want to cause any conflict between you and Hugh. After all, you have loved him and been the best of parents, whereas I never even got to hold him.’ Her voice faltered for a second.
Another coughing fit shook Emma Tate’s frail frame then and George and Cissie hastily rose.
‘We’ve taken up quite enough of your time now,’ Cissie said. ‘Strange as it may seem, now that I know he is alive and well, I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders, ev
en if he hasn’t turned out quite as you hoped he would. He has clearly been blessed with loving parents and I couldn’t have asked for more for him, so thank you from the bottom of my heart!’
With that, she and George said goodbye to Mrs Tate then followed Mr Tate back into the shop. He shook their hands, opened the door for them and they hurried back to the car with Cissie taking great gulps of air.
Once they were on their way home, George dared to ask, ‘All right, are yer, pet?’
Cissie wiped a tear from her cheek but she was smiling. ‘Very all right,’ she said. And as they motored on their way, Cissie spent the time trying to build a picture of her errant son in her mind.
‘You mark my words, this could end in war,’ Tom observed worriedly as he sat reading the newspaper in the kitchen at Treetops one morning towards the end of June 1914. Banging and hammering was echoing from the hallway where workmen were installing a telephone and everyone was very excited about it. It seemed incredible to think that soon they would be able to lift a receiver and have a conversation with someone who was miles away. George had to raise his voice to make himself heard. ‘The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated on the twenty-eighth of June by a young Nationalist while they were on a visit to Sarajevo.’
‘I can’t see how that would cause a war or involve us,’ Cissie commented as she refilled his cup with fresh coffee, deciding that she must look at an atlas to find out where these places were.
‘I just hope you’re right,’ Tom muttered but the headline preyed on his mind and he had a bad feeling about it in the pit of his stomach.
In the hallway, Lavinia sighed as she saw the telephone being installed. So much had changed over the years and it brought home to her the fact that she was getting older. Now there was a large airfield in Weddington in Nuneaton, and noisy aeroplanes often dotted the sky. There were trains – great beasts that belched smoke and steam and could take their passengers all over the country, and now the installation of telephones. None of these things had even been heard of when she was a child. But like George, she too had read the headlines in The Times that morning and she shared his concerns. It was as if great stormclouds were gathering and heading their way. The assassination of the Archduke could well herald a clash of opposing forces and then all hell would be let loose. It was such a pity, she thought to herself, when for the first time in her life she had the love of a good man and happiness was in sight, but for now all any of them could do was wait, and hope and pray for peace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Must you go out this afternoon?’ Maggie asked as she looked at Kitty’s pale face. There were dark smudges beneath her friend’s eyes and Maggie thought she had lost a little weight. She had certainly lost some of her sparkle and now like Ruby she rarely ventured out of bed before lunchtime, unless she had singing practice or rehearsals. In the last week alone she had performed on stage five nights, and on the evenings when she hadn’t worked Richard had taken her out to dinner. Or at least, that’s what Kitty had told her. Maggie suspected that Kitty had probably been at his studio modelling yet more clothes, and now she was becoming curious as to why they hadn’t seen any of the photographs in the magazines which Ruby read so avidly. She had asked Kitty as much only the day before and the girl had almost snapped her head off.
‘Richard told me that most of my modelling shots will go into magazines in Paris and France,’ she had told her tetchily and Maggie was wise enough not to pursue the subject although instinct told her something was amiss.
Over the last few weeks Ruby had given them cause for worry too. She was drinking heavily now, sometimes swallowing wine as soon as she fell out of bed in the late morning and it was beginning to tell on her. Her hair was now lacklustre and she had gained a considerable amount of weight, which was no surprise really when Maggie considered how much she ate and drank. Her latest suitor had disappeared off the scene some time ago and it was then that Ruby had lapsed into depression. Maggie continued to be concerned about Kitty’s wages. Ruby paid her surprisingly little for the number of hours she worked and Maggie wondered if Ruby and Max weren’t exploiting her. Not that she would dare suggest that to Kitty. She was touchy enough as it was nowadays and nothing like her former cheery self.
Now Kitty swung her legs out of bed and yawned as she reached for her robe. ‘I have to go out,’ she answered in reply to Maggie’s question. ‘Richard will be expecting me and I can’t let him down.’
Maggie nodded without comment. A few days ago, she had found the tiny bottle of vinegar and the sponges in Kitty’s bag while she was changing the contents from that bag to another – and the sight of them had appalled her. Maggie knew what they were used for. Her own father had once forced her to use the same form of birth control. Thankfully, up to now the bottle was full which meant, Maggie hoped, that Richard hadn’t as yet taken advantage of her friend. But how long would it be before he did, she wondered. Not that there was anything she could do to prevent it, except to be there for Kitty.
It was very frustrating and sometimes Maggie wished that Kitty would just board a train and go home to Treetops. At least Sunday and Tom had kept her safe there. She herself would be out of a job, of course, if ever Kitty did decide to do that, for Maggie knew that she would never return to her home town. There was nothing there for her but unhappy memories of the abuse she had suffered, and the constant fear and misery of life with Stella and Victor Dawes. However, since being taken on at Brunswick Villa, she had been saving her wages religiously each week, and should Kitty ever decide to go home, Maggie felt confident that she would be able to find another job in London now.
There was a tap at the door then and Miss Fox entered the room just as Kitty disappeared off into the bathroom.
‘She’s up then,’ the woman said in her usual forthright way. ‘I thought she looked a bit peaky after last night’s performance and I wondered how she was today?’
‘She hasn’t said much,’ Maggie answered as Miss Fox stepped across to the purple velvet box on Kitty’s dressing table. She flicked it open and stared down at the sapphire pendant on a thin gold chain nestling inside it. It was from one of the finest jewellers in Bond Street.
‘It was left in her dressing room by one of her admirers last night,’ Maggie told her and the older woman shook her head.
‘She must have a whole lot of such baubles by now,’ she sighed. ‘It’s just not healthy for a young girl to have her head turned like this. Kitty might act the lady but underneath she’s nothing but a young girl, and I do worry about her.’
‘So do I,’ Maggie confided. ‘I’ve just asked her to stay in today and rest but she says she has to go to Mr Fitzherbert’s again.’
‘Hmm, he’s another one I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw him.’ Miss Fox snapped shut the box containing the pendant as if she’d like to shut Richard away with it. ‘No good can come of Kitty spending so much time with an older, more experienced man like him. I really don’t know what he’s playing at, but it will end in tears, you mark my words.’
Their conversation was stopped from going any further though when Kitty emerged from the bathroom.
‘Right, I’d best get on,’ Foxy announced. ‘Shall I ask Cook to prepare you something to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’ Kitty smiled at her, looking very young without her stage make-up and with her hair flowing about her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. ‘I’m not really hungry at the moment.’
Miss Fox twitched her nose disapprovingly and swept from the room to check on Ruby. The latter would probably be in a rare old state as well this morning if the amount of wine she had put away the night before was anything to go by.
It was early in the afternoon when Kitty arrived at Richard’s house to find him waiting for her.
‘Ah!’ He took her hand and drew her into the studio with a broad smile on his face. ‘I have something quite exciting to tell you.’
She
blinked, wondering what it could be as he settled her on the chaise longue and sat down beside her. ‘A contact of mine wants to meet you. He is the editor of a very well-known fashion magazine in Paris and he hopes to be able to get some of your lingerie shots into next month’s issue.’
‘Really?’ Kitty perked up.
‘Yes. There’s just one thing. He would like to be here when we’re doing the shots. Would you mind that?’
Kitty looked perplexed. ‘You mean he would see me actually modelling the underwear?’
‘Why, of course he would. But what you have to remember is there will be thousands of people seeing you in it if he decides to use your shots, so where’s the problem?’
‘I suppose if you put it like that …’ Kitty didn’t like this idea at all but she was afraid of upsetting Richard again. Only the day before, she had arrived early once more – to find him locked away in the studio with the same girl who had been there before and she was feeling rather jealous. He had that closed look on his face as well. It often appeared now when she didn’t do as he asked her and she was terrified of losing him.
Suddenly he was all smiles again. ‘That’s my girl,’ he encouraged. ‘I knew I could count on you not to let me down. But of course, if you do have serious reservations there are other models who would jump at the chance. I know Miss Hawkins would for a—’
‘Oh no,’ Kitty interrupted him quickly as a picture of Melissa Hawkins’s china-blue eyes floated into her head. ‘I’ll do it – but when is the man coming?’
‘This afternoon, as it happens.’ He twisted a curl that lay across her shoulder around his finger sensuously and her heart began to hammer at his nearness. He always had this effect on her and she had an idea that he knew it.
The Little Angel Page 27
