The Bermondsey Bookshop

by Mary Gibson

  Once he’d left, they sat in silence, holding hands. ‘Nora, I’m sorry. I don’t know what devil made me ask him about Paul. I’m always the same. You warned me what would happen.’

  ‘He believed you, Kate. He has no idea about my visits and that’s all I care about. My boy will never come home. But so long as I can see him…’

  Kate thought this was scant comfort, but she wouldn’t ever put Nora in danger of losing it again.

  17

  A Pair of Gold Earrings

  In the following days the atmosphere in the house was chilly. Her father was polite to her, asking questions about her whitesmithing at breakfast, but he would leave straight afterwards for his office and spend most evenings either working or having dinner with clients. Kate felt she’d endangered everything about her new life and now she was determined to keep a curb on her curiosity. Nora spoke no more about Paul, almost as if there really was a chance the maid would overhear and tell her husband. Instead she and Nora spent the time finalizing plans for the bookshop’s anniversary dance at Rotherhithe Town Hall. It was to be a much bigger affair than the last, which had felt more like a local Saturday-night dance. For this occasion, all the literary lights who’d lectured or written for The Bermondsey Book had been invited, so Nora felt it was essential for Bermondsey to put on a good show.

  She’d also insisted Kate have a new outfit. It was the most sophisticated thing she’d ever owned. A black silk evening dress, low cut at the front and back, with thin shoulder straps, a straight sequined bodice and transparent layers of voile over a skirt, which finished just below the knee. It was daring and mature, and she’d had her hair cut into a curly bob to complete the look.

  On the night of the dance, she stood in front of Nora’s mirror, shocked at her own transformation. She could see nothing of the Boutle’s tin basher in the young, well-to-do woman reflected back at her.

  ‘You look lovely!’ Nora said. ‘But it needs something gold to lift it.’ She took a chain from her own neck and held it against Kate’s throat. ‘No. Spoils the neckline.’ Then she dangled it against Kate’s cheek. ‘Yes, some gold earrings might do it. Let’s see what I have.’

  Nora retrieved a large jewellery box from her dressing table and placed it on her bed. Pulling out several drawers, she rifled through her collection, setting out pairs of earrings on the bedspread. ‘Nothing’s quite right.’ She got up. ‘There are more in the safe in Chibby’s office. If I can remember the combination!’

  She left Kate looking through the black-velvet-lined drawers of earrings. She pulled out the last drawer. As far as she could tell, there was nothing different here, just more gold hoops, studs and dangling earrings. If her father was that strapped for business cash, she thought he need look no further than his wife’s jewellery box. She reached to the back of the drawer and her hand found a larger earring, which she pulled up and swung in the light from the bedside lamp. It was a heavy, solid-gold teardrop, pierced with a filigree pattern. She went cold. She felt around in the velvet-lined drawers, pulling out everything to find the matching earring. But she knew she would find nothing. For its twin was tucked safely away, with the rest of her inheritance, in a box at the back of her own wardrobe. This was her mother’s earring.

  When Nora returned with more treasures, Kate’s hand closed firmly around the golden teardrop.

  ‘My goodness, you’ve had a thorough search!’ Nora said, eyeing the bedspread. ‘I told you there was nothing.’ She opened the mahogany box she was carrying. ‘Look! Here are the real old beauties. These are my inheritance – or what’s left of it!’

  In the end Nora abandoned the idea of earrings altogether and instead teased the sides of Kate’s hair into dark kiss curls. The deep black of the dress was relieved with a long string of pearls. As she looped them twice around Kate’s throat, Nora said, ‘These were my mother’s.’

  *

  How she got through the evening Kate didn’t know. Martin’s compliments and sweet words as they arrived and danced barely touched her. Even seeing Johnny and being introduced to Pamela, who clung to his arm as if she owned him, couldn’t reach her. She’d dropped the second earring into her black beaded bag and had brought it with her. It dragged on her arm and burdened her heart as though it were made of lead rather than gold. She spent the entire evening wishing only to get back home to check it against her own earring. Perhaps, after all, she’d been mistaken. When she and Martin sat for a drink, she found herself constantly feeling the bag for the teardrop nestled within the black silk.

  When the evening was blessedly over and she was back in her room, she locked the door and took out the box containing her own inheritance. She laid Nora’s earring beside her mother’s. They were identical. Why the discovery of this second earring should have so upset her she wasn’t sure. Of course, it was natural her dad should still have some things belonging to her mum. She wasn’t even jealous that he’d given the earring to Nora. But the sight of the two earrings, together once more, filled her again with cold shock. She went to her dressing-table mirror and put them on. They were heavy, tugging on her earlobes; long, falling just below her jaw. She turned her head this way and that. The earrings swung, lit by her bedside lamp, their filigree pattern changing with every new angle. It was as she placed her hands on the dark oak dressing table and tilted her head to one side that she remembered something. The combination of smooth wood beneath her fingertips and a dazzle of gold in dim light sparked a long-cold memory, which now burst into flame. Her image in the mirror faded, replaced by a vision of her six-year-old self, crouched on the garret floor, black timbers smooth with age beneath her small fingers as they curled around the open hatch.

  How had she got there? She probed and saw herself waking in the night, all alone. She’d been sent to sleep in her own little bed because Daddy was coming home tonight. But it was too dark and cold up here on her own, she missed her mum. She opened her mouth to call for her, when she heard noises downstairs. Raised voices, angry, then a sharp cry, followed by a loud thud that made Kate jump out of her bed. She pattered on bare feet, making no sound, slipping to her knees by the garret hatch.

  What had she seen? She didn’t want to follow the memory any further. She looked up now, trying to quench the fire of remembrance, and, staring back from the mirror, she saw a face rigid with terror. The same terror she’d felt when she’d peered through that garret hatch into the dimly lit room below. She forced herself back into the body of her small self. There was her mother, lying on the rug, her head tilted at an impossible angle, her eyes wide, unseeing, staring up at Kate. In her ears were the long, golden earrings she always wore when she made herself pretty for Daddy coming home.

  Kate sat heavily at her dressing table, her fingers stroking its dark wood, as if she were smoothing out the pages of an old picture book. All the crinkles and rips were gradually forming into a clear picture. She saw a pair of hands, large, pale, freckled. She could not see any other part of his body, nor his face. Just the white cuffs of his shirt and the arms of a dark suit. The hands tugged at her mother’s ears, tearing the golden teardrop, so that a bead of blood seeped and then sat on her white earlobe, like a ruby. Kate let out a whimper. The hand hastily grabbed the other earring and then was gone.

  What happened next? She remembered curling into the smallest ball she could, her legs and feet caught up inside her nightdress, her arms wrapped around her knees, and there she had stayed, shivering, till eventually she must have crept back to bed and fallen asleep. The next day her life had changed forever. Though her aunt explained to her later that her mother’s death had been caused by a fall, she had never once remembered witnessing that death, nor that someone else had witnessed it too.

  *

  She wrapped the second earring in tissue paper so that she would know which had been with her father all those years and which had been safeguarded by Longbonnet. And the following day she set off for Bermondsey, telling Nora she was going to visit her Aunt Sarah. It wasn
’t a lie – she would go to her aunt’s – but first she went to the house at the end of East Lane. Longbonnet was home, opening the door dressed in the sacking apron she used when preparing her ‘supper delicacies’.

  Kate followed her into the kitchen, where the old woman briefly stirred a pot of trotters before putting a kettle on to boil.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Longbonnet asked as she poured them tea.

  Kate hadn’t slept well, and perhaps there were dark rings under her eyes, but she was surprised that Longbonnet had so easily guessed there was trouble. She took the earring out of her bag and laid it on the table between them.

  ‘Hmm. The one your mother left you. Don’t tell me Archie’s got you to pawn it already? I told you to keep it a secret!’

  Kate gave a weary smile and shook her head. ‘It’s still a secret, but I’ve got a question about it. You told me Mum gave it to you as part of my inheritance.’

  Longbonnet nodded and slurped her tea.

  ‘But how could she have done that when she died wearing it?’

  ‘Gawd spare us,’ Longbonnet muttered, setting down her cup and crossing herself several times. ‘What are you talking about, gel?’

  Why would the old woman have lied to her about the earring? This was what Kate had come to find out. She looked at the gnarled, large-knuckled hands now making the sign of the cross. They looked strong as a man’s…

  ‘I’m talking about the night my mum died. Yesterday’—was it only yesterday? It seemed a lifetime ago—‘yesterday, something happened and I remembered that I was there. I saw Mum… I saw her dead.’

  Longbonnet fixed her with dark, searching eyes. ‘Yes?’ she said, warily but not questioning the truth of it.

  ‘I woke up in the garret and I remember I saw Mum on the floor downstairs. She looked so strange, not moving, her eyes were open – but I knew she couldn’t see me. She was dead. And she was wearing these earrings. So how could she have given one to you?’ Kate repeated.

  The old woman’s gaze didn’t falter. Instead she reached for the earring. ‘She didn’t give it to me.’

  ‘Why did you lie to me? Did you go there that night?’

  ‘No, darlin’. I only wish I had. Your poor mother give me everything else, just as I said. But not this.’ She stroked the golden teardrop. ‘She kept back the earrings for something to pawn on the quick. I found this one in the lane, near Bessie’s house, the morning after she died. And I never told a soul, not a living soul, that I found it, nor that it was covered in that lovely girl’s blood. What happened to the other earring, I never asked. I just dropped this in a cup of gin, put it away for Bessie’s girl, like she would’ve wanted. It’s what I done and it seemed for the best, and you can blame me if you like, but I thought it was the safest thing to do.’

  Kate sat back. It had the ring of truth. But why safest? ‘I remember there was blood.’

  ‘Oh, shhh, shhh. Kate, don’t tell me. Don’t. I tell you, gel, blood’s called to blood, that’s why it’s come back to you!’ Now Longbonnet let out a wail, and a choked keening followed, almost as if the old woman had long forgotten how to cry.

  Kate grabbed the gnarled hands. ‘I’ve got to tell you! There was someone else there. I remember seeing the hands pulling off the earrings, and Mum’s ear must have ripped, because that’s where the blood came from. Didn’t anyone notice it? Didn’t they ask any questions?’

  Longbonnet shuddered and clutched Kate’s hand tightly. ‘I wasn’t there, love. Your aunt Sylvie took over. Said she’d found Bessie at the bottom of the garret stairs. Said she must have fell. I don’t think I ever believed it, but, gawd forgive me, what could I do? Did you see who it was, with your mother that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you know who it was?’

  Kate took out the other earring. Carefully unwrapping the tissue paper, she showed Longbonnet. ‘I found this. Me dad had it.’

  Longbonnet sucked in a sharp breath and pulled her shawl tightly around her.

  ‘Be careful, me darlin’. Nothing’ll bring her back.’

  *

  When she returned home, Kate was glad that Nora wasn’t there to question her. She rushed to her room and collapsed onto the bed. Retching, she put a hand to her mouth, finding with the other a handkerchief to stem the bile rising there. A cold sweat covered every inch of her skin and she slipped beneath the violet bedspread, pulling it up beneath her chin. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to banish the vision of those hands. The large, pale, freckled hands which only while talking to Longbonnet had she realized were those of her father. No wonder she’d never wanted to remember. But now she had, she found herself desperate to flee the person she’d longed for through all those empty years. For those hands had not been gentle.

  She felt her eyes filling with tears of sadness and regret. Her darling mum had been lying there dead, and those thick-fingered hands had treated her with nothing more than a frantic desire. And for what? Two pieces of gold. Kate covered her mouth to silence an anguished cry. There was nothing she could do for her mother now, but equally, there was nothing her father could do to stop her finding out what had really happened that night.

  As she let her tears flow freely, a soft knocking came at her door. ‘Kate, I didn’t expect you back so soon. Can I come in?’

  She hastily wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, Nora. Come in.’

  ‘Oh, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?’ Nora sat on the bed. ‘I thought you didn’t seem yourself last night. Was it seeing Johnny with that little blonde thing on his arm? Are you still carrying a torch?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No!’

  ‘Hmm.’ She put a hand to Kate’s forehead. ‘You’re very hot and you’ve not even taken your clothes off! Let me help you.’

  Kate let Nora help her to change into a nightdress and went along with the fiction of a sudden fever. ‘Perhaps I’ve been soldering too much. It’s the metal fever come back, I expect.’

  ‘Oh, Kate. Chibby will be so upset. The last thing he’d want is for this whitesmithing of yours to make you ill!’

  ‘Don’t tell him!’ Kate pleaded.

  Nora patted her hand and pulled the covers up under her chin. ‘You have kept my secrets, how can I not keep yours?’

  ‘I’ll be fine by tomorrow. It’s just a little dose, nothing like I used to get at Boutle’s!’

  She desperately wanted Nora to go. She needed time to think. Longbonnet had warned her to be careful. But no warning could put the lid back on Kate’s burning desire to know what had happened to her mother. And now she’d convinced Nora her fever was mild, the woman seemed in the mood to stay. She brought water for Kate and sat back on the bed. ‘This Saturday is the school open day,’ she whispered. ‘If you’re well enough, will you come?’

  And thinking of those ungentle hands, she replied, ‘Nothing would stop me.’

  *

  The grassy terraces had been newly mown and the gardens were draped in bunting. Kate was surprised that, on this cold day, the children had been ranged outside the house to greet the guests.

  ‘They look perished!’ she said to Nora as they joined a stream of visitors ascending the shallow steps to the house. She spotted Paul, strapped into his chair, scanning the crowd for them. His face was pinched. ‘Why don’t they let them wear coats?’

  Nora looked pained. ‘It’s the policy. They believe in fresh air, the colder the better. It’s good for their lungs and circulation… so they say.’

  Kate privately thought it was the best way to give them all pneumonia, but Nora was obviously feeling bad enough, so she kept quiet. Beneath a pewter sky, they were kept waiting outside the entrance until Mr Woolf arrived to welcome them. The principal wore the same sandals and Aertex shirt as on their last visit, but had added a baggy old sweater.

  ‘Nice to see he’s made a bit of an effort,’ she quipped under her breath and was glad to see Nora smile.

  ‘The children have prepared a welcome!’ Mr Woolf clapped his han
ds and every child lifted a musical instrument of some kind. Recorders, small cymbals, bells and shakers – one child had almost disappeared behind a large drum. When they were ready, a music teacher led them in a folk song that was difficult to identify, as the recorders each seemed to be playing a different tune and the percussion section ignored the baton entirely. Paul caught her eye and grimaced. She daren’t laugh, in case she dented someone’s confidence. But she thought the teacher could have matched her pupils’ instruments with their abilities a bit more skilfully. It must have been torture for them. All they wanted was to see their parents. But even when the song was over, Mr Woolf kept a strict hold on proceedings, giving instructions about the duration of the visit before pairing children with their families and sending them off under the watchful eyes of teachers and nurses.

  Finally, Paul’s turn came. He was like a fizzing bottle of ginger ale ready to explode. Only when they were in a corner of the common room, surrounded by chattering groups, did he let the glass stopper off. His twisted arms grasped first his mother, then Kate, in an awkward embrace.

  ‘I’m so glad Daddy let you come to see me again!’ he said to Kate.

  She smiled. ‘What you been up to?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Recorder practice. I hate it. I’m no good at music, but they make us all do the same thing. It’s silly. I’d be better off doing my maths. That’s what I really like.’

  Nora stroked his hand. ‘Paul is very advanced in mathematics.’ He gave a little smile and was obviously pleased with his mother’s praise. ‘Have you been out of the chair much since we last saw you?’ Nora asked and Kate looked at his fragile legs, doubting they could hold even his feather weight.