by Mary Wood
‘I haven’t been given a choice. Now, I must get back to little Alice. Try to get some rest. Cyrus is with Rowena; he may come back later, so don’t be frightened if you hear a noise.’
During the few times that the policeman had agreed to her going to check on Alice, Flora had been encouraged to see her child sleeping peacefully and her breathing less laboured, but as she entered the room now, she found Alice agitated and plucking at the sheet that covered her.
‘What is it, darling? Mummy is here.’
Alice smiled. The smile turned to a cough. Blood splattered the white sheet. Flora gasped as she saw Alice’s eyes roll back into her head as she went to breathe in. But the air didn’t fill her body.
Flora grabbed her and held her daughter to her. ‘Alice, breathe. Breathe . . . Oh, Alice, no . . . Noooo . . .’
Collapsing into the chair beside the bed, Flora rocked backwards and forwards, holding her child’s body close. All of who she was drained from her. Nothing mattered any more. Nothing would ever matter again. In that moment she was filled with hate: hate for her brother, and hate for her mother and father; and yes, hate for God, whom she’d begged things of so many times in her life, and who had left her alone and abandoned. For in His act of taking her child, He had cut her loose, and that filled Flora with dark despair.
PART SIX
London, 1920
Cyrus, Flora and Harold
Jealousy Knows No Bounds
Chapter Thirty-One
Flora stood in the Salvation Army church hall. The delicious smell of stew cooking in the large pans mingled with that of unwashed bodies and clothes, as the poor and misplaced persons lined up to be fed. Some, she knew, had been put out of their homes for non-payment of rent, due to their man not coming home from war, and the slowness of the powers-that-be in sorting out widows’ pensions. Others were ex-soldiers who were no longer able to work. Their bodies or minds, and sometimes both, were broken. It was all a pitiful sight.
Her own plight was such that she had been forced here, seeking food for herself and Freddy. But she had ended up becoming a volunteer when she realized that, as bad as her own situation was, there were others much worse off.
In doing so, she had found solace for her heartache, a way of coping with all she had on her plate. But then her heart was so fractured that she’d found her pain too deep to visit and had kept it locked within her.
As she filled bowl after bowl with the stew, the folk holding them out to her merged into a mass of human need that seemed insurmountable. And yet the room wasn’t a cheerless place, but held laughter and kindness, and a sense that she’d always found in the East End: that we are all in this together.
Here, the worries about her bills, and the loneliness that engulfed her at home, faded and became almost insignificant.
‘When’s the baby due then?’
The woman in front of her, whose hair was matted to her head, and whose teeth showed decay, smiled out from a weather-beaten face as she asked this.
‘Oh, not for months yet. I am just about five months pregnant.’
‘And you have the lad there, too. Not much between them, is there?’
Flora blushed at this.
‘Sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean anything. Just passing the time of the day.’
‘No. It’s all right. I – I, well, I am coping with a lot at the moment.’
‘You are? Well, you should try walking in my shoes.’
Flora could only give a weak smile. To this woman, in her ragged, unwashed state, without a bed to call her own, she knew she must appear to be one of the privileged. Without warning, her smile turned to tears.
‘Oh, I – I didn’t mean . . . Are you all right, Miss?’
Flora shook her head. ‘I don’t think I will ever be all right again, but I’m trying to cope, like the rest of you. I am walking in your shoes, more than you will ever know.’
‘Carry on, Gladys, get some bread from the basket and go and sit and eat your dinner.’ Emma, one of the soldiers – as members of the Salvation Army were called – took Flora’s arm. ‘And you sit down and have your meal, too, Flora. Have you eaten since you last came here two days ago?’
Swallowing hard, Flora shook her head. ‘Freddy has, though. I am taking care of him.’
‘We know you are. Don’t look so scared. We all admire what you are doing, and how you are coping. You have been through a lot. You know, we would feed you without you having to work for it.’
‘I know. But I feel better for helping those worse off than me.’
‘Take your bowl of stew into the kitchen. Then, if you feel strong enough after, you can help with the washing up. Like I say, you needn’t do anything, but I can see that wouldn’t sit right with you.’
Freddy didn’t stir as Flora ate her stew. The incident had rocked her and touched her vulnerable side, leaving her exposed to her emotions and bringing her troubles into focus.
For three months she had coped by suppressing her feelings, existing solely for Freddy and trying to keep her head above water. Her neighbours had been wonderful, and many mornings she had woken to find a box of coal or a sack of potatoes on her doorstep, besides the odd loaf of bread, freshly baked and wrapped in greaseproof paper. Mags had helped, too. She had given Flora regular sums of money, but didn’t know the extent of the debt that Flora was in. And a little money had come in from Cyrus, who had found some music-teaching work.
She had vowed that she would pay Mags back every penny, and somehow she had persuaded those she owed money to – the coal merchant, the grocer, the bank and others – to accept promissory notes until her house sold.
But now everything was coming to a head. Later today she would see Cyrus, her beloved. Would that be a help, or a rubbing of salt into her wounds, as their meeting would be brief, and then he would have to return to his mother’s? Oh, how I wish the courts would decide, one way or another, what is going to happen.
However, this paled against what she had to do when she left here – visit her darling Alice’s resting place.
When she left home later, leaving Freddy in the care of Rowena, who had been more than happy to help her out, Flora didn’t relish either of the ordeals facing her. One was upon her now, as she stood in the churchyard, gazing down at the mound of earth that covered her child.
The wind howling through the trees that shielded the graveyard from the road sounded like the wail of the hundreds of mothers whose children lay in this earth. As it whipped around her, the wind mocked her, lifting her skirt, and trying to remove her hat from her head. But Flora paid no heed to its antics, for her inner self was detached from her body and lay in the little box, with her Alice.
When she fell to her knees, the rugged ground snagged her stockings, but she didn’t care. Today she was here to tell Alice that the grandfather she had never met had died three days ago. ‘Today is his funeral, and I have been told to stay away until everyone has gone. And then your daddy and I have to be at the reading of the will, by order of his solicitor. Most likely that is to hear that we are cut out of it. But, Alice, I can’t feel an ounce of sorrow. Even remembering my father before Aunt Pru took me off to stay away from home and live at school – the only time that I felt loved by him – doesn’t give me any sadness at his passing, only a bitterness that consumes me, and has done since you left me, my darling.’
Not one of her family had sent their condolences to Flora, or had attended the funeral of her child. But for dear Mags, Alice would have had a pauper’s funeral.
‘I’m selling our home, Alice. I have to. Now that you no longer skip from room to room with your joyous cries of happiness, the place is dead to me, too. I don’t know what I am to do. Nor what will become of little Freddy and your new brother or sister, who is now moving in little flutters, to remind me that he or she is going to arrive in a few months. I don’t want to leave you here, but tomorrow I will hear the judgement of the court and may have to run away, once I have the money from my house sale
. You see, Alice, my darling child, I cannot live without your daddy. I can’t . . . I can’t. These last weeks without him have been hell.’
‘Flora!’
Turning, she saw Cyrus standing on the path. He walked towards her. ‘I knew that I would find you here, darling. Let me help you up, you look like a lost soul.’
Cyrus looked more beautiful than ever, with the rays of the sun lighting up his body. For a moment Flora thought he was a mirage, but then the touch of his hand on hers trembled through her. ‘Oh, Cyrus. Cyrus.’
They clung together. ‘I’ve missed you so much, my darling. How cruel that we had to part, when we most needed each other. Mother has had almost to lock me in, to keep me in her apartment with her. But we jeopardized so much if we didn’t make our parting seem absolute.’
‘I know. Your letters arriving every day helped me. I was glad to hear that you have managed to earn a little, to keep you and your mother going, but you shouldn’t have sent any to me. I’ve been all right.’
‘Oh, my darling, I had to. You and Freddy are my world. And . . . our darling little Alice. Oh, Flora, it is so painful.’
She wiped his tears.
When he was calmer, Cyrus lifted his head. ‘There is some good news, darling. It is earlier than we thought, but after it was accepted that we had told the truth and the decision was made not to prosecute us, the solicitor that Mags engaged moved everything along, using our grief as leverage to get our case heard more quickly than would normally have happened. It has been judged that we should live apart, and that the children should stay with you, but can make visits to me and my mother each month.’
‘Oh, Cyrus. Cyrus. I – I can’t do that, I need you by my side.’
‘I know. I need you, too. We have no other options open to us but to run away. Once the house is sold, we will go to France. No one can touch us there. And with us both speaking the language, and having the colouring of the French, we can merge into that country without being too noticeable.’
‘Yes, yes, let’s do that, but we must tell no one. Not even your mother or Mags – no one.’
‘We can’t do that to my mother. She will know, and will visit us from time to time, but she is being forced to give up her apartment and is going to live with her sister permanently, so she will be safe from letting anything slip.’
‘And, thinking about it, I can trust Mags. I overreacted. I know she would never tell Harold. And we may need a contact here. I will also confide in Rowena. I want her to visit Alice for us, and keep her grave tidy.’
‘Yes, darling, it is difficult to cut ourselves off from everyone who loves us. I know it hurts that you have never heard from Ella. Maybe, one of these days, you will. Now, are you ready, darling? We have to go to the dreaded wolves.’ Bending down, Cyrus kissed his hand and touched the earth covering Alice. ‘You are always with me, my darling child. I carry you in my heart, and will take you wherever I go.’
This brought comfort to Flora, and she did the same, for Alice was always with them; they weren’t leaving her behind. And, with this thought, Flora felt stronger.
‘“This is the Last Will and Testament of the deceased, George Howard Roford, and witnessed by me, his solicitor, John Henry Wright. This Will supersedes all others written before 11th November 1918 . . .”’
A collective gasp from Flora’s mother, Harold and Francis interrupted the proceedings for a moment. Mother stood up. ‘What date did you say?’
John Henry Wright repeated the first two lines of the Will that he held.
‘But that isn’t my husband’s Will. I have a copy of his Will dated June 1902; he changed it to cut out F— I mean, that was the last time he updated his Will, to my knowledge.’
Pain zinged through Flora. Her mother had been about to say that her father had cut her out of the Will while she was still a child. What kind of man was he, to burden me with his sins? She looked over towards Cyrus, who was seated with Olivia on the opposite side of the room. They were all in her father’s study: Cyrus, his mother, Harold, Francis and herself and Mother. Mother had, until this moment, behaved with dignity. The kind of dignity that said she knew something with which she would triumph over them all.
Flora suspected this was the only reason Mother had agreed to sit in the same room as Father’s mistress and her son, or even have them in her home. There could have been nothing else that would have persuaded her to do so, other than that she must have thought she could finally banish them – and her daughter – from her life, and do so in a grand manner, by sending them packing from her own doorstep. Now she looked crumpled, and older than her years. Her eyes held fear and her body trembled. For the first time ever, Flora felt a small amount of pity for her mother, as she suspected there were shocks ahead for all of them in the revised Will.
‘I can assure you, Mrs Roford, that while I extend my sympathy to you for your loss and for what you are about to hear, this is the only, and, valid Will of your late husband. I drew it up personally, to his instructions, and witnessed both the validity of it and the fact that he was sound in mind and body at the time.’
The room fell silent.
With the rest of the formalities read out and out of the way, John Henry Wright cleared his throat.
‘“To my wife, Grace Mary Roford, I leave the house and all contents therein, plus a yearly income of one thousand pounds, which shall be paid from a trust fund set up for this purpose. On her death, this trust fund shall be closed and all assets remaining shall form part of her estate.”’
There was no protest from her mother following this. Flora could see her, and could almost feel the tension emanating from her pensive body.
‘“To my son, Harold Michael Roford, I leave my share of the Roford mill and all assets and shares in that business that are held in my name at the time of my death. And the sum of five thousand pounds . . .”’
The pause held a horror-filled gasp and an uttered ‘What! God, what was Father thinking? Mother, that cannot be right!’
Flora feared for her mother, who had gone deathly pale.
‘Please allow me to continue, Harold. “To my son, Francis, I leave the sum of three thousand pounds.”’
‘Well, that sums up what he thought of me, the pigheaded sod!’
‘Can I please get through this without any further interruptions? Thank you. “To Olivia Harpinham”’ – another, more painful gasp from Mother – ‘“I leave the apartment in which she resides, all contents therein, and one thousand pounds annual income, from a trust set up for this purpose.”’
Flora was shocked. So her father had been Olivia’s landlord, and yet had made her pay rent and would have forced her to move out. Did he intend to change his Will again, but was not given the chance to do so? Or did he decide to leave it as it was and punish Olivia in life, but make up for it in his death? She sighed. I will never know.
John Henry Wright carried on, despite the noise Harold was making as he tried to comfort Mother, and despite Mother’s agonized wails. ‘“After a number of small legacies left to staff, all of which total one thousand pounds and are named in a separate list: to my son and heir, Cyrus Peter Harpinham, I leave the entire residue of my estate, with the proviso that he takes care of my beloved daughter, Flora Mary Roford, for the rest of her life.”’
The room fell silent. All Flora could think of was that her father had called her his ‘beloved daughter’, and had left her welfare up to Cyrus. He couldn’t possibly have known back then, could he?
‘I will contest it! This is preposterous! That man is a bastard son. I am the legal heir. My father couldn’t have been sound in his mind even to have considered wording his Will the way it is worded. It is cruel. Cruel, beyond words, to my mother!’
‘I’m afraid there is nothing to contest, Harold. I’m very sorry. I did try to talk your father out of this, and advised him to set up a lifelong trust fund for his illegitimate son, and for his daughter, but he would have none of it. I have carried this burden for
a long time, and many a time hoped that he would outlive you, Grace. I am so very sorry that you should have had to sit through that.’
Cyrus stood up. ‘I’m sorry, too. I agree that it was very cruel and humiliating, to both your mother and mine, Harold. I didn’t know our father, but I’m glad of that. I would very much like to meet you all, once I know the extent of my inheritance, as I would like to make things right.’
‘You – you bastard, born of a whore – can never make things right!’
This, from Francis, shocked Flora. She would have expected it from Harold.
‘I’m glad that my father is dead! I hate him more in death than I did when he was alive. I’m ashamed to be his son.’ Francis ran from the room. Flora wanted to go after him, but stayed still.
‘Get out! Get out all of you!’ Mother’s words turned into hysterical screams. Spittle sprayed from her mouth. Her eyes stared out, giving her the appearance of a wild animal. Flora’s nursing instincts came to the fore. She jumped up and slapped her mother.
‘You vile creature! How dare you hit my mother.’
‘I – I only wanted to stop her hysterics, Harold. I didn’t hit her for any reason other than a medical one. Mother, are you all right? This has all been a terrible shock.’
‘Just go. All of you. Just go!’
Cyrus hurried his mother out of the room. Flora ran after them. As she came up to them, she heard Cyrus say, ‘That was dreadful. Mother, how could you have liked such a man, let alone loved him?’
Looking pale and shocked, Olivia clung to Cyrus, then turned and hooked her arm through Flora’s, too. Flora looked over towards Cyrus. ‘Cyrus, don’t. We know ourselves how love can make you accept any situation.’
‘We do, but to actually plan that humiliation. Not that he could have known that his wife would outlive him, but his sons were most likely to, and were always going to hear that he didn’t think enough of them to leave them equal shares in his estate. I’m astounded by it all, and by my legacy, and cannot take it all in.’
