Palace of Tears

by Anna King

  ‘You’ll get chilblains doing that,’ Nellie said reprovingly.

  Emily turned towards her mother and laughed.

  ‘Don’t you start. Doris has already remonstrated with me for leaning my elbows on the table in the café. I must be slipping into bad habits.’

  Returning her daughter’s smile, Nellie came towards the fire.

  ‘And how is Doris? Is she still thinking of leaving the munitions factory? Maybe you could get her set up with the Winters? You keep saying you need help, and Doris was telling me the other night how good it would be if you two could get a job together…’

  ‘Mum,’ Emily sighed, blowing her cheeks out in frustration. ‘You know as well as I do that Doris would never go into service…’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with being in service,’ Nellie interrupted sharply.

  ‘I didn’t say there was. But if Doris wouldn’t contemplate it before the war, she’s certainly not going to change her opinion now. Look… Oh, sit down, Mum, please.’ She waited until Nellie, her face stiff, had reluctantly sat down before continuing. Then, taking a deep breath she said, ‘Mum, I know you want me to stay with the Winters, and I know why. But it’s not going to happen, Mum. No titled gentleman is going to visit the house, take one look at me, and immediately drop onto one knee and propose. It’s a lovely notion, and I’ve often thought about it happening myself – usually when I’m day-dreaming, or engaged in some particularly tedious job. Or even to make the time pass more quickly. But it’s pure fantasy, Mum. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, we all do it at some stage. There’s no harm in it, as long as we keep a tight rein on reality.’

  Lowering her gaze, Nellie bit down on her lower lip. Emily was right of course, but… Patting her daughter’s hand, Nellie smiled ruefully.

  ‘All right, love, you must do what you think best. But you will give them plenty of notice, won’t you?’ Seeing the reproachful look on Emily’s face, she added quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t do anything underhand. Now I really must get on with my baking.’ She had taken only a few steps towards the scullery when a thought entered her mind, which stopped her dead in her tracks. Spinning around, her hand going to her throat, she asked anxiously, ‘You… you aren’t thinking of joining Doris in the munitions factory, are you, love?’

  Seeing the look of horror on her mother’s face, Emily smiled broadly.

  ‘Good heavens, Mum, of course I’m not. And if you could think that for even a minute, then you’re crediting me with more courage than I possess.’

  Left alone, Emily sank down into the soft cushions of the armchair, and with a contented sigh closed her eyes. Wriggling around to make herself more comfortable she murmured softly, ‘Make the most of it, me girl, you won’t get many chances to laze around after next week.’ With her own advice ringing in her ears, and the soft voice of her mother singing in the scullery, Emily fell into a light sleep.

  * * *

  The following Tuesday when Nellie came downstairs there was a letter lying on the mat. Thinking it might be from Lenny, she picked it up eagerly, her face falling at the beautifully scripted handwriting. Placing it on the table, she called up the stairs, ‘Emily. There’s a letter for you. It must be from Mr Winter.’

  ‘All right, I’m coming down,’ a sleepy voice called back.

  As Nellie stoked up the fire she waited for Emily to tell her the contents of the letter. She didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘They’ll be home at the end of the week as planned. Well, Sunday afternoon to be exact.’

  Nellie heard the disappointment in Emily’s voice. More surprising, though, was the disappointment that she herself was feeling. She had become used to having her daughter at home and was now loath to let her go. She had come to terms with Emily’s decision to leave the Winters’ employ, and was now looking forward to having Emily home for good. Even so, she would still have to work out her notice and, once back in the large house in Gore Road, who knew whether she might not change her mind when she was back in the familiar, comfortable surroundings. Surprisingly enough, this thought disturbed Nellie more than she would have imagined; that, and the fear of being left on her own. Suppressing the gnawing anxiety that had suddenly gripped her, she said lightly, ‘I’ll get breakfast started while you read your letter.’

  Once out in the solitude of the scullery, Nellie stood over the stone sink, her hands tightly gripping the cold, damp rim. Dear Lord, how was she going to manage without Emily’s comforting presence? What if he was out there somewhere, watching, spying on her, just waiting for his chance to get her on her own? A wave of nausea spiralled up into her throat and she swallowed quickly, her eyelids blinking furiously as she tried to keep calm. When the spasm had passed she splashed her face with cold water, silently cursing herself for her weakness. As she set about making the tea and getting the breakfast ready, Nellie thought back to the day when she had walked into Hackney police station and she shivered. Her action had surprised even herself. She would never have believed she’d have the courage to report Alfie to the police. But, oh, how good it had felt. For the first time in her life she had been proud of herself, and when she had seen that same pride reflected in both Emily’s and Dot’s eyes, she had wondered why she hadn’t done it sooner. Yet the very next day she had woken up in a cold sweat, terrified at what she had done.

  The following week, when she had returned to the hospital for a check-up, she had discovered where her new-found courage had stemmed from. On her discharge she had been given a small bottle of medicine to alleviate the pain of her bruised ribs. She hadn’t asked what it was, and had only taken it for a couple of days, but it had been long enough for the morphine to make her do something completely out of character. And sometime soon she was going to have to pay the consequences, for her husband would come after her, of that she had no doubt; it was just a matter of time.

  ‘They’re bringing a cousin back with them.’ The sound of Emily’s voice cut through Nellie’s tortured thoughts. ‘Apparently the woman, Cynthia Denton, has just lost her husband. Well, she hasn’t lost him exactly. He was reported missing some time ago, and now he’s been officially listed as dead.’

  ‘Oh, the poor woman, how terrible.’ Nellie, her face and voice bearing no sign of her inner turmoil, came back into the room to hear Emily’s news.

  Emily’s eyes flickered as she read on. ‘As she has no income, Miss Rose has suggested that she return home with them and take up residence in their house. She goes on to say that at last I’ll have some help, but asks me to be understanding about Cynthia’s role, as she isn’t used to heavy work.’ Throwing the letter down on the table, Emily sat down heavily on the hard-backed chair and began to drum her fingers on the table. ‘In other words, I’ll still be expected to carry on as usual, while this cousin of theirs flicks a duster here and there.’

  Nellie’s eyebrows rose at the hostility in her daughter’s voice, her mind thankfully shifting from her own problems for the time being.

  After a silent breakfast Nellie laid down her empty cup and said quietly, ‘Now that they’ve enlisted the help of their cousin, it’ll be easier for you to tell them you’re leaving.’

  Raising her eyes Emily asked, ‘You really don’t mind me giving in my notice, Mum?’

  ‘No, I really don’t.’ Taking a sip of hot tea, Nellie smiled over the rim of the cup. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot, and you’re right. Mind you, there’s still a chance of meeting a gentleman of means. I suppose if they can’t find a taxi, they’ll use the trams.’

  Emily’s earlier feelings of anger had quickly disappeared and, shaking her head, she said affectionately, ‘Oh, Mum… You never give up, do you?’

  Nellie smiled back, her thoughts racing. Even if Emily handed in her notice, it would be a month before she could return home. And if Lenny didn’t come back, she would be on her own during that time. Feeling her hands begin to shake, Nellie quickly rose to clear away the table. It was only a month, she kept telling hers
elf, just four weeks. She could manage until then. She continued to reassure herself for the rest of the day and throughout the long, sleepless night, but the fear had taken a tight grip on her mind and body; and it wasn’t going to go away until she had Emily back home for good.

  * * *

  On Friday morning, as Nellie was preparing to go to one of her regular cleaning jobs, there was a loud knock on the door.

  Thinking it would be the milkman, Nellie picked up the tin can by the door and opened it with a smile. Then the smile faltered, as she came face to face with a complete stranger.

  ‘Good morning, are you Mrs Ford?’

  ‘Um… I mean, yes… Yes, I’m Nellie Ford. How can I help you?’

  The woman on the doorstep smiled.

  ‘My name is Cynthia Denton. I believe my cousin, George Winter, has written to your daughter about me.’

  ‘Oh… oh, yes, please, come in.’ Slightly flustered, Nellie moved to one side to allow her visitor to enter. ‘Please, won’t you sit down.’ When the woman was seated at the table, Nellie asked, ‘May I get you a hot drink? It’s very cold out today.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be most acceptable. As you say, the weather is dreadfully inclement.’ Taking off her leather gloves, Cynthia Denton laid them in her lap and smiled. ‘Is your daughter at home, Mrs Ford? I’d like to make her acquaintance.’ She gave a short laugh before adding, ‘I’m sorry, I seem to have caught you at a disadvantage. I should have let you know I was coming on ahead of my cousins, but it was a last-minute decision on my part.’

  ‘No, really, it’s quite all right,’ Recovering her aplomb, Nellie hurriedly put the milk can on the floor and said, ‘Emily, my daughter, is visiting a neighbour. She’ll be back shortly.’ Almost before she’d finished the sentence, the door flew open to admit a smiling Emily.

  ‘Bbrrr, it’s absolutely freezing outside. It’s a wonder Mrs Riley’s chickens are still laying, they… Oh… ‘

  Nellie came forward quickly, saying, ‘This is Mrs Denton, Emily. You know, the Winters’ cousin.’

  ‘Oh, yes, how do you do.’ Emily held out her hand in greeting, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to call here. It had been arranged that I would get the house ready for the Winters’ return.’ A look of panic came to her eyes. ‘Goodness, they haven’t arrived back early, have they?’

  Cynthia Denton gave a tinkling laugh.

  ‘Please, Miss Ford, don’t alarm yourself. As I was just explaining to your mother,’ she inclined her head towards Nellie, ‘I acted on the spur of the moment. It was very remiss of me, I know, but as I’ve arrived early, I might as well get acquainted with the house. After all, it is going to be my home.’ Another tinkling laugh accompanied her words, but Emily was quick to notice that the laughter didn’t reach the woman’s eyes.

  Taking stock of their unexpected visitor, Emily saw a slim woman in her thirties, dressed in a dark blue coat, adorned at the neck and cuffs with black fur. Beneath the blue hat was short, black, wavy hair that was tucked neatly behind her ears. But it was the eyes that caught Emily’s attention. They were a greenish-yellow colour, which reminded Emily of a cat watching its prey. When she shivered, it had nothing to do with the cold. Their visitor was also taking stock, and she wasn’t liking what she saw.

  Cynthia Denton was thirty-five years of age. She was attractive and, like all women of her class, well educated. Yet despite her affluent appearance, Cynthia was on the verge of poverty. Her late husband, a lawyer by profession, had always kept her in a comfortable lifestyle – a lifestyle that was shattered the day he signed up. He had had a tidy sum put by, but over the two years he had been away, Cynthia, thinking that the war would end soon and that her husband would return to his profitable profession, had quickly gone through the nest-egg. The dwindling fortune had caused her some alarm, but not sufficient to curb her spending. She had reassured herself that the money would be replaced, if not doubled, when her husband returned home and set up practice once more. The thought that he might be killed in action hadn’t ever occurred to her. But since the telegram three months ago, she had cursed him every morning upon waking, for dying and leaving her in such dire straits.

  Forced to give up her fashionable three-storey house in Kensington, Cynthia had swallowed her pride and returned to her former Surrey home. And since the day she’d arrived, her mother had never missed an opportunity to remind her daughter that she was in their debt.

  When Cousin George and Rose had first written to ask if they could come to stay, Cynthia had been incensed, knowing that her mother would expect her to wait on them like a common servant. But their visit had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Listening to their talk about the house in Hackney, and their problem with finding suitable staff, a problem with which her mother had sympathised, Cynthia had seen a way of getting out of the intolerable position she endured in her parents’ home.

  Her interest had been furthered by talk of Matthew, her ears pricking up at every mention of his name. She had met Matthew on several occasions at social functions, when they had both had partners. Now it seemed that they were both free. Of course, with Matthew away fighting, he might come to the same end as her departed husband, but she was willing to take that chance. She had nothing to lose, after all. There was an alarming shortage of men to be found these days, and every opportunity had to be grabbed at the first chance.

  She had been confidently optimistic on the journey to London, but now she wasn’t so sure of herself. This lovely young woman, decked out in what was obviously cast-off clothing, but still immensely attractive on its wearer, was nothing like Cynthia had imagined. Of course her cousins had described Emily as being beautiful, but she had imagined that description to be clouded by affection. Nor was she the subservient creature that Cynthia had pictured in her own mind. This woman, who was holding her gaze without faltering, was clearly not the usual run-of-the-mill servant.

  Still, the mother seemed pliant enough. Shifting her gaze, she said to Nellie, ‘Forgive me for asking, Mrs Ford, but have you been in an accident?’

  Nellie jumped, her face reddening at the sudden enquiry. But before she could answer, Emily, wanting their visitor to leave, said quickly, ‘I’m sure you want to be on your way, Mrs Denton. Please don’t let us keep you.’

  Cynthia’s head jerked back sharply at the dismissive tone in the young woman’s voice, and though her natural instinct longed to give the young scut a good dressing- down, she warned herself to tread carefully. The last thing she wanted was to be left with her elderly cousins and a large house to take care of by herself. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to remind Miss Ford of the proposed change in her status.

  ‘Yes, you’re quite right, I do have a lot to attend to.’ Rising to her feet she turned to Nellie. ‘Thank you for the refreshment, Mrs Ford, it was much appreciated.’ She smiled sweetly before turning to Emily. ‘My cousins have told me all about you, my dear. They were most anxious that you should have some help around the house and, now that I’m here, I can relieve you of the more mundane chores, letting you get on with what I think is called the “heavy work”: is that the correct terminology?’

  Her face set tight, Emily answered, ‘I believe so, though I have always considered all the work to be of equal importance – and would expect it to be divided so.’

  Putting her gloves on with precise movements, Cynthia picked up her handbag and prepared to leave.

  ‘If you would fetch the keys for me, I’ll be on my way. I have a taxi waiting outside.’ When the keys were silently handed over Cynthia said, ‘Thank you. Though why Cousin George couldn’t have had another set made, I can’t imagine. Still, it has enabled me to make your acquaintance before you resume your duties. So much more informal, don’t you think?’

  Emily held the door open wide.

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll take my leave.’ Somewhat disconcerted by Emily’s aloof manner, Cynthia sought to adopt a friendlier attitude, deeming i
t best for the moment not to antagonise the girl.

  Flashing what she deemed to be a bright smile, she said lightly, ‘Thank you, Miss Ford. Oh, that does sound so formal, doesn’t it. May I call you Emily?’

  ‘Miss Ford will do, Mrs Denton.’

  At the curt tone, Cynthia’s hackles rose. Clutching her leather bag tightly under her arm, she looked towards Nellie, who was quietly watching the tense scene. Still adopting a friendly guise she remarked sweetly, ‘What a beautiful blouse, Mrs Ford, and such a lovely shade of blue. I couldn’t help noticing it the moment I entered. My cousin Rose had one just like it, though I haven’t seen her wear it for a few years now.’

  Emily saw the hurt, embarrassed look that crossed her mother’s face and was instantly on the defensive. Her eyes blazing dangerously, she said curtly, ‘Good day to you, Mrs Denton.’

  At a loss for a suitable reply, Cynthia inclined her head, and with a sweeping movement she glided past

  Emily and over the polished step, the door banging so hard behind her that she was forced to drop her haughty demeanour and step quickly into the street.

  ‘I don’t like her, Emily, but then I’m no good at judging character. You’ve only to look at your father to know that.’ Nellie was staring out of the window at the figure getting into the waiting taxi.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, I didn’t think much of her either.’ Emily’s voice was grim. ‘Still, it makes matters easier, doesn’t it? Because with Lady Muck in residence, I’ll be able to give notice without any further misgivings. Oh, what’s the matter, Mum, are you in pain?’ The sight of her mother holding her stomach brought a fresh wave of anger to Emily’s already agitated state. ‘Is it because of her? You don’t want to take any notice of the likes of that one, she’s not worth upsetting yourself about.’