by Irene Carr
Inevitably, the affair did not remain secret for long. Annie Scanlon did not probe, but watching the girl, seeing her excitement and happiness, Annie guessed in the first
week that there was a man, was sure at the end of the second. Then she saw them at their lunchtime strolling one day. Tomlinson saw them meet when Charles, recklessly eager and casting aside secrecy, waited for her across the street from the office. And one of the labourers at Ashleigh’s glanced out of the window of a public house as they passed and next day the entire warehouse knew —except Vincent Ashleigh. All those who knew kept the knowledge to themselves as if participating in some unspoken conspiracy, but the one who found out and who really mattered was not one of them.
On a Saturday afternoon Charles handed Katy down from a cab in the middle of Newcastle, both of them laughing. He turned to come face to face with a tall lady in a stylish gown with a flowered bodice and narrow skirt that reached down to touch her neat little shoes. She wore a befeathered hat with a wide, shady brim and Katy knew dress and hat must have cost well over a sovereign — probably four or five times what she was paid for a week’s work. She saw the smile of amusement on Charles’s face turn to one of surprise and he said, ‘Good Lord, Mother. I didn’t expect to see you in town today.’
Eleanor Ashleigh’s eyes were sharp, her smile thin-lipped and put on like the hat. ‘Your father wanted me to go with him to the country but I changed my mind. I decided to go shopping instead.’ She gestured with a gloved hand to where a liveried boy stood, half hidden by an armload of parcels. But her gaze had never left Katy and now she asked, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me,
Charles?’ He did and Eleanor Ashleigh nodded and smiled, then murmured, ‘Merrick? I don’t recall the name. Is your father in business in Newcastle?’
Katy answered, ‘He works in Swan Hunter’s yard at Walisend.’
Eleanor kept her smile in place and pressed her: ‘Are you at finishing school?’
Katy did not know what she meant, had no experience of a life spent learning the social graces and practising them at balls and other glittering functions. Charles tried to come to her rescue but was no good at manufacturing excuses on the spur of the moment. He could only speak the truth: ‘Katy works in the office — at Ashleigh’s.’
‘I . . . see,’ said Eleanor slowly. The smile was brittle now. ‘Well, I must go. Good day, Miss Merrick.’ And to her son, ‘I expect I will see you at dinner.’
Charles warned, ‘I may be late this evening.’
His mother’s glance flicked from him to Katy and back again. ‘Your father and I will wait up for you.’ All this time the cab Charles and Katy had left, with its head-hanging horse, had stood at the kerb, the driver hoping for another fare. His foresight and patience were now rewarded as Eleanor told the boy, ‘Put those in the cab.’ And when the parcels were loaded Charles tipped the lad and handed his mother into the cab. She did not look back or wave as the cab wheeled away.
Charles said, ‘That’s torn it.’ And then, philosophically, ‘Still, they would have to find out some day.’
Katy, mouth drooping, whispered, as many a girl had done, ‘Your mother didn’t like me.’
For once Charles lied, or possibly he hoped against hope: Of course, she does. She’s bound to!’ He believed that. ‘I expect she was taken by surprise, that’s all.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘Cheer up. This isn’t going to make any difference to us.’ And he meant it.
He took her to a music hall that night, and afterwards to supper, but he failed to lift her spirits. Katy sensed impending doom. He walked with her to the corner of her street and kissed her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And she smiled wanly and left him.
He hailed the first cab he saw and it took him to his home. True to her word, Eleanor Ashleigh waited for him with her husband. They sat in armchairs on either side of the big fireplace in the drawing-room. Vincent Ashleigh was falsely jovial and challenged, ‘What’s this about you walking out with the girl in our office?’
Charles sat down on the chesterfield between them and smiled at his father. ‘I’m very fond of Katy.’
His mother said impatiently, ‘Oh, don’t be silly, a girl of that sort. She said her father works at Swan Hunter’s yard, but did not elaborate. I expect he’s a common labourer, or a—’ She stopped to search for the name of some trade she had heard mentioned, and found: ‘A riveter or something like that!’
Charles shrugged, ‘I don’t know what her father does. To tell you the truth, I don’t think she gets on with him.’ Charles had gathered that from odd comments made by Katy and the way she dismissed Barney in a few words. She had not run him down, would not wash the family’s dirty linen in public.
‘I expect he’s thrown her out,’ put in Eleanor. ‘And I can guess why: staying out to all hours with young men.’
‘That’s not so!’ Charles defended Katy indignantly.
‘How do you know? I know what trouble I have with the maids here. They’re forbidden followers but given half a chance they will have some young man hanging around the kitchen door — and inside it and worse, I shouldn’t wonder. You must give her up.’
‘I will not.’ Charles jerked to his feet, flushed and angry.
Of course you must!’ Eleanor flared at him, ‘That sort of girl will wind up in the family way and blame you!’ ‘No!’ Charles swung on his heel.
His father rose now and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Steady on, old boy. I think we’re all getting too worked up about this. I can’t see any harm in two young people keeping company but you’re both too young to think of being serious. Let’s think it over for a week or two and then we’ll talk again.’ He caught a furious glance from his wife at this treachery, but ignored it except to frown at her, the message clear: Leave this to me.
Charles was mollified by his father’s attitude and answered, ‘That’s fine by me.’ He believed his father hoped the affair would blow over but he was sure of his feelings about Katy. He would not, could not, give her up.
He reported as much to her next day. ‘And in a week or two I’ll be taking you home to meet Father — formally, I mean — and have tea.’ Katy was not so sure but he insisted, ‘You’ll see. Just wait a week or two.’
It took just a week for Vincent Ashleigh to resolve the problem. At the end of that time Charles received a telegram from Admiralty ordering him to join a cruiser lying at Portsmouth at once; she was about to sail for the China Station.
He waited for Katy to come out of the office at noon, not caring who saw them now. When she came running he showed her the telegram glumly. At first she did not understand, or did not want to, and asked, ‘Does this mean you have to go?’
He explained to her patiently that it did, and straight-away: ‘When the Navy says “now” that’s what it means, not tomorrow or next week. I’ll pack my kit and take a train south tonight.’ He went on quickly, ‘This doesn’t mean we’re finished. Lots of chaps have to leave their girls at home for three years or so. It’s just one of the things about the Service. I’ll write to you. Will you wait for me?’
‘Yes.’ Katy wanted to cling to him but that would not be seemly. She had to hold his hand and look up at him. ‘I’ll wait. I’ll write.’
She was at the station that night. He had told his parents, ‘We’ll say goodbye here,’ and he had left them standing on the steps leading up to their front door as the Lanchester and its chauffeur carried him away down the carriage drive. So he and Katy had a few minutes alone in the dimness of the station and they clung to each other, kissed and repeated their promises. Then the train came in and pulled out again a few minutes later, bound for King’s Cross and carrying Charles. Katy was left alone, to cry herself to sleep that night.
It was a day or two later that she had to take a sheaf of letters into Vincent Ashleigh’s office. He was not there, had been called away in a hurry to some minor emergency in the warehouse, so she left them on h
is desk. As she did so she saw a handwritten letter already on the blotter, its ripped open envelope lying alongside. She could not help seeing that it was headed, ‘Re: Sub-Lt Ashleigh.’ From that name her eyes were drawn to the rest of it, which read:
Dear Vincent,
It was good to hear from you again. Of course, the Service cannot give weight to one person’s wishes rather than another’s, but in this case the interest of the Service will be served. I have found a berth for your boy, as you requested. He is a promising young officer and I’m sure he will do well on the China Station. Thank you for your invitation. I will take you up on the fishing when I am next in your part of the world.’
Katy went back to her desk and sat staring unseeingly in front of her. She saw what had been done to Charles and herself and knew why. After a time the hurt became anger and she slid off the high stool and made for the door. Annie Scanlon called, ‘Here! Where are you off to? I’ve just asked you twice for that Wilkinson invoice and you’ve taken no notice!’
Katy paused just long enough to say, ‘I’m sorry, Annie, but I’m finished.’ Then she walked out of there and into Vincent Ashleigh’s office. He looked up as she entered and frowned when he saw who it was. And she had not knocked before entering. Was the girl presuming on her acquaintance with Charles? He asked coldly, ‘Yes, Miss Merrick?’
‘I’m giving notice.’ Katy was icily calm herself on the surface, though raging inside. All through the ensuing conversation she did not raise her voice and Vincent remembered this later, but the bitterness and hurt came through. ‘I’m leaving today. Now. I don’t want to work here any more. I don’t want to work for you, or see you every day.’
‘What?’ Vincent gaped at her for a moment then pointed his pen at her: ‘You’re at liberty to go because I’ve had too much of your damned impudence!’
‘And I’ve had too much of your sly tricks. I saw that letter when I came in a few minutes ago.’
She did not say which letter but Vincent knew. He reddened and blustered, ‘Eavesdroppers don’t learn any good of themselves.’
Katy agreed, ‘I didn’t learn anything good. I found out what you had done to Charles and me. I know why you did it. I can guess what his mother thinks but this just —happened. I never set out to get him. He came here looking for me. I expect he can do better for a wife, I hope he will, and I expect she’ll be a fine lady, but she won’t care for him as I did.’ The tears were ready to come but Katy would never let him see them. She slammed out of the office, the first visible sign of her anger, and out of the building.
Vincent Ashleigh was left to fiddle with his pen and to come to the uncomfortable realisation that he had been rebuked by a quiet-voiced girl — and he felt guilty despite himself.
Katy did not return to her lodgings because she knew Mrs Connelly would be curious as to why she was not at work. Instead she wandered about the streets, unthinkingly following the routes she had taken so often with. Charles, and that caused more pain. She fed her sandwiches to the shrieking, diving gulls down by the river, because she was not hungry. At one point in the afternoon she whiled away an hour in a teashop. But she had been there, also, with Charles. She was relieved when she could go back to Mrs Connelly’s and hide in her room.
The next day she sought work but was unlucky. She saw that there was a vacancy for a girl advertised at Ashleigh’s but thought no more about it. But unknown to her, one of the other girls at Mrs Connelly’s, seeking a better job, applied for the post at Ashleigh’s and was accepted. On her first day in the job she had to go down into the warehouse and there the men told her about her predecessor. Mrs Connelly came on her that evening when she was excitedly recounting this scandal as she understood it: ‘Katy was going out wi’ this young toff that was the boss’s son so they got rid of her. I don’t know what she’d been up to but, you know . . She pointed up the hint with a nod and a sly wink.
Mrs Connelly demanded, ‘What was that?’ She listened and turned Katy out instantly. ‘I’ll not have your sort in the house, giving it a bad name!’
Katy was more bewildered and depressed than angry. When the girls came to her to commiserate — or fish for information — she told them nothing of Charles or the reason for her leaving Ashleigh’s. She only said defiantly, ‘I’m off to — to Scotland. There are plenty of jobs there.’ That was a bluff, a destination plucked out of the air, distant but having the sound of reality. It was another country but one she could go to — in theory. As she walked away with her cheap suitcase she knew there was only one place she could go. She had spent almost all of her small savings on new clothes. She had bought them when Charles started to take her out because she would not let him dress her but she did not want to embarrass him, either. Now she had what would pay her board for a week or so and that was all. She had to save that as a last resort. She had to find work.
Barney opened the door to her, stared open-mouthed at her for a moment as she stood with her case, then recovered to jeer, ‘I told you that you would come crawling back one day!’
Katy gave back to him, eye to eye, ‘I’m not crawling. I’ll work for my bed and board and I’ll be out of here again as soon as I can. If you don’t like that, I’ll walk out now!’
Barney hesitated. He looked around at his two sons, now adolescents, and at Lotte, the daughter still at home. Her sister, Ursula, had married a year ago and moved away. He appeared to be canvassing their opinion but in fact he was seizing a chance to think. His wife now and for the last three years was ill with bronchitis and confined to bed. Lotte was having to stay off work to care for her, was tired of the job and continually complaining. He saw her nod eagerly now. Barney was tired of coming home to her whining, badly cooked meals and a house in disorder.
He turned back to Katy. ‘Right y’are. But you’re outa here afore long. I’ll see to that!’
Chapter Five
WALLSEND-ON-TYNE. JUNE 1907.
‘So you can pack your gear and get out.’ Barney Merrick bawled it, getting gloating enjoyment from it.
Katy had worked from dawn to dusk during the illness of her stepmother. Lotte had thankfully laid down the burden and gone back to her job and spending her evenings hunting for a husband. She had not expressed any gratitude to Katy, however. ‘Serves you right,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t have given so much lip to our dad.’ She smirked with self-satisfaction but Katy had never expected any thanks and ignored her.
She cooked, shopped, cleaned, washed, mended. She tended Marina, Barney’s new wife, all day long, ran errands for her and rubbed her with camphorated oil until she reeked of it. All the while Marina pointed out the shortcomings, to her eyes, in Katy’s running of the household. She wailed, ‘I’ll be glad when I can get out of my bed and put this house to rights.’
Katy never complained. So that Barney jeered, ‘Are you hoping I’ll keep you on here if you behave yourself?’
‘God forbid!’ answered Katy. She had entered into a bargain with her father and would stick to her side of it, was sure he would stick to his. Her grief at losing Charles and her anger at the way of her losing him, ebbed away, but she remained heartsore. She hugged that sorrow to her breast. There was no one she could confide in. She would not write to Charles Ashleigh. That episode in her life was closed, a mistake she would prefer to forget. She never received a letter from him so it was obvious to her that he had forsaken and forgotten her.
Katy was terribly wrong in that because he wrote several times, marking the letters ‘Please Forward’. Mrs Connelly burned them all: ‘I’ll not encourage her to practise her profession through my house!’
Marina finally rose from her bed out of boredom because her only intellectual activity was to stand at the front door to gossip with her neighbours and she was missing that sorely. On the day Marina pronounced herself fit enough for that, Barney announced to Katy, ‘I’ve been looking for a job for you and found just the place. You’re going to work as a maid for the Spargos in Sunderland. You’ve got aprons and
dresses that will have to do. You’ll get no more money outa me but I’ll buy your ticket — one way.’ Then he issued his ultimatum: ‘Pack your gear . .
Katy obeyed. She would miss the two boys who were awkwardly fond of her, but she could see trouble ahead between her and Marina. And she would be getting out of this, to a new job, a new start. She thought it would be better than her present situation — wouldn’t it?
Barney put her on the train for Sunderland. Katy wore her best dark grey dress and buttoned boots. On the way to Newcastle Central Station she caught a fleeting glimpse of the Mauretania, the huge, 32,000-ton liner, lying at her fitting out quay. Barney, who worked on her, said with pride, ‘She sails on her maiden voyage in November.’ Katy reflected that he thought more of the ship than he did of her. But that was nothing new; she was used to it.
Arrived in Newcastle, Barney strode along the platform ahead of Katy. She laboured after him with her cheap suitcase dragging at her arm, until Barney halted, threw open a door and gestured for her to climb in. He shouted above the hissing of steam and the clanking of shunting: ‘The Spargos will have somebody waiting for you at the station so you won’t have to carry that case far. They’ll be sending me ten bob of your money every month.’ That was half her pay. Katy did not answer, looked past him and he saw the contempt in her expression. So as the train started to move he warned her, ‘Behave yourself. Don’t expect me to support you again. If you get the sack I’ll report you to the pollis as a vagrant!’
That was meant to break through her uncaring mask and it succeeded. Katy had heard, vaguely, of vagrants and how the police could arrest them. She did not know what was the truth of the matter but feared the unknown. Barney saw the flicker of apprehension in the quiver of the young girl’s lip and nodded with grim satisfaction. Katy still stood at the window of the carriage, twenty yards away now, and he shouted across the widening gap, ‘Just remember!’
