by Anna Jacobs
Because he was almost at the end of his schooling now, he began to plan for a future he’d enjoy. And as soon as he was earning a living, he’d leave home, even if he could only afford to rent one room.
He’d once mentioned that he’d be leaving home when he was older, and his mother had grown quite agitated, begging him not even to think of it.
When she calmed down, she said confidently, ‘Anyway, you can’t do that till you’re married, dear. Your father simply won’t allow it.’
But he still wasn’t sure he wanted to marry, not if it meant living a duplicitous life.
The trouble was, Nathan knew his mother shook with terror on the rare occasions when she annoyed her husband, and wept in secret afterwards. Sometimes he was able to divert his father’s attention elsewhere.
On his optimistic days he felt there had to be some way to persuade her to let him go, some way to encourage her to stand up for herself. At his more realistic moments he understood that she would never willingly let him go.
Nor would his father.
At the age of seventeen, as he was about to start his final year of grammar school, Nathan was summoned to his father’s study. Unusually, his mother was there as well, but she avoided his eyes and concentrated on her needlework, so he knew this wasn’t about something pleasant.
‘Sit down, lad. We need to have a serious talk with you about your future.’
He didn’t like the sound of this. His father never said ‘discuss’ or asked his family what they wanted; he just ordered them all around. Saying nothing, Nathan took a seat and waited.
‘After you leave school, you’ll need to find a job.’
‘I was hoping to go to university to study science.’ That was another way of finding things, he felt, making discoveries about the world.
‘What? No, no! I’m not having that.’
Nathan’s dreams crashed in flames at the staccato certainty of his father’s tone. He’d been planning to get his teachers’ and his mother’s help during the course of the year to persuade his father to let him study science.
‘Apart from anything else, I don’t approve of what goes on in universities. Students lead an idle life for several years when they should be learning good working habits so that they can support themselves and their families after they marry. And now that women are allowed to study there, it’s even worse. Who knows what such females get up to?’
He waited a minute but Nathan knew better than to interrupt or comment at this stage.
‘No, in my opinion, universities are a waste of time for all but the idle rich! Better for people like us to start as we mean to go on, my boy, by working hard at a real job.’
‘I do work hard at my studies, Father.’
‘Yes, your school reports have been excellent, I’ll grant you that. I’d not have let you stay on till eighteen otherwise. But we must look to the future now and plan what you’re going to do for the rest of your life. Therefore, when you leave school next summer I’ve arranged for you to start work in my friend Frewen’s accounting firm.’
His father still had that look on his face and that tone in his voice, so Nathan knew his dreams were going to be dashed whatever he said or did. He kept silent only with great difficulty, for all his years of practice, because this was so important to him.
‘You’ll inherit our family firm one day, so you’ll need a thorough training in accountancy. I don’t believe that this training should be done initially by a family member. No, best you experience other ways of doing things before you come to work at Perry’s and learn our ways. At the same time, you’ll make various useful contacts at Frewen’s. It’s important to know the right people.’
As his father outlined the steps by which his son would gradually rise to become a chartered accountant like his father and grandfather before him, Nathan fought to control his anger and sorrow.
He succeeded, but vowed that one day he would find a way to be free and do as he liked with his life. In the meantime he was, he realised suddenly, enough like his father where money was concerned not to throw away what would be a very comfortable inheritance one day. And if that meant he was mercenary, so be it. Being sensible was a better way of describing it, wasn’t it? Especially when your mother needed you so desperately.
His father looked at him across the big desk in his study. ‘Well? You’re very quiet. Have you nothing to say about what I’ve arranged?’
Nathan forced suitable words out. ‘I’m still taking it all in, sir. I’m … um … grateful for your help.’
His father gave a tight little nod. ‘Good. You will start work at Frewen’s on the Monday after you finish your last year of school. And, of course, you’ll also start studying to become a chartered accountant. It’ll be a busy few years for you but well worth it. Oh, and I’ll warn you now not to plan to get married until you’re fully qualified, because I won’t have it. Later on your mother and I will help you find a suitable wife. But not yet.’
The fire of rebellion flared up again for a few moments at this further, quite gratuitous edict, but Nathan fought it down once more.
Thank goodness his thoughts were his own. Even his father couldn’t control those.
But when he was safe in bed, he couldn’t hold back a few tears, even though men were not supposed to cry. He had wanted so much to go to university, to explore the foundations of the physical world, to learn interesting facts about the universe, to meet other people.
To get away from his father.
That final year at school seemed to fly past. As the months ticked by, Nathan became quieter than before, standing at the edge of groups, not rejected but not fully a part of them, either, because they were making all sorts of exciting plans and no one considered accountancy exciting.
He didn’t have the carefree confidence in life that his classmates did. Couldn’t feel like that after his big disappointment. Especially when he heard them discussing universities and which ones to try for.
He summed up his achievements and capabilities to himself one day. He was quite good at sport and very good at mathematics and science. He had a few friends, though no one really close, had no enemies that he knew of and was praised lavishly by his teachers for his hard work and his potential for academic success.
At the formal school dances, held in conjunction with the sixth form of the nearby girls’ grammar school, he’d met girls, pretty ones too. Dancing with them was pleasant, but none of them ever sighed over him, he could tell that, and he wasn’t strongly attracted to any of them, either.
He knew that he would get good results in his examinations, because he’d found the examination papers very straightforward. It was a bitter final blow that he could easily have got into a good university – Oxford or Cambridge, even.
Before he left school, his headmaster made one last attempt to persuade his father to allow this. Nathan could have told him it’d be useless.
All it achieved was to make the atmosphere at home very fraught.
And then suddenly school was over and the new clothes his father had bought him were brought to his bedroom on the Sunday evening. The school uniform was consigned to the attic.
There had been a discussion of whether he should wear a morning coat and top hat to work, as his father did, but his mother had prevailed by worrying gently that he’d look different from the other young gentlemen you saw in the various businesses, who all seemed to be wearing lounge coats these days.
Fortunately his father loathed the thought of his son seeming different in any way, so Nathan was allowed to dress as his contemporaries did. Thank goodness for that. It meant he would be wearing a bowler hat with a round crown and a narrow, curled up brim instead of a top hat, and a navy lounge suit instead of a frock coat.
On the Monday morning he got up early and put on the new clothes, sighing. They felt very different from his school uniform, especially the high, starched collar. It seemed as if he’d put on shackles.
He studied himself
in the mirror, grimacing at the sharp-featured face that stared solemnly back at him. His mother had been right about one thing. He had grown into his face, and his nose no longer looked quite as big. But still, no one would ever call him handsome.
He picked up the small leather purse his father had given him and shook it, listening to the faint clinking sounds of the coins inside it. This allowance was to last him for the first month. At the end of that time, he would start receiving regular wages and would be expected to manage on his own earnings. That would be good for him, his father said, teach him the value of money.
The allowance wasn’t generous. His father was never generous with money, except when he wanted something. But there was enough money for daily expenses with a little left over.
There was a tap on the bedroom door and his mother came in. ‘My goodness, you do look smart, Nathan darling.’
‘You’re not usually up this early, Mother.’
‘It’s not every day my son starts work. I thought you and I could have breakfast together. Your father is still asleep.’
That was one small mercy, at least.
By the time the meal was over, his father had got up. As taciturn as always in the mornings, he only nodded to his son as he accepted a cup of tea from his wife.
Nathan put on his hat, kissed his mother goodbye at the door and walked briskly down the street. He’d already timed how long it would take him to get to work and had decided to set off earlier and walk there to get some exercise, instead of taking the tram into town.
His father’s body was plump and soft, and he panted if he had to walk up many stairs. Nathan did not intend to become like him, not in any way if he could help it.
Just before nine o’clock, he entered the building where Frewen and Sons was situated and reported to Mr Sanderson. His father said the chief clerk was a shrewd old fellow, who would teach Nathan far more than any book ever could. He hoped so. He still enjoyed learning for its own sake.
He didn’t allow himself to sigh as Mr Sanderson got out some ledgers and began explaining how to make entries. Nathan already knew that from his occasional visits to Perry’s to help out when the office boy was on holiday. The system at Frewen’s was just as straightforward and could have been explained in five minutes, not fifteen.
He didn’t want to spend his life adding up columns of figures and writing in dusty old ledgers. But if he had to become an accountant, then he’d learn to deal with the account books properly. He could never bear to do things sloppily.
There was enough rebellion still simmering in his mind for him to go out at noon and suck in great deep breaths of fresh air. All morning he had watched the dust motes floating in the air of the office he shared with the other clerks and wished they were allowed to open a window.
He could tell already that the next few years would not be very interesting.
Part Two
1907–1911
Chapter Twelve
The seasons passed and Kathleen enjoyed her children’s early years. She also enjoyed living in her own cosy cottage, if truth be told, without anyone to tell her what to do or take up too much space in bed. She felt guilty at how little she missed Ernest. She played with her children, read to them and taught them as much as she could about dealing with life. You were never too young to learn.
She saw Rhoda nearly every day, except when her neighbour would disappear for a whole day, sometimes for two or three. Kathleen longed to ask about this but Rhoda had only explained her absences vaguely. ‘It’s my ladies’ group, dear. We’re helping other women, but the work we do is often secret so I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more.’
How did Rhoda help people? Kathleen would have liked to do something as worthwhile as that, because she felt she needed a purpose in her life other than caring for her children.
She had learnt to type and keep simple accounts, but had no way of using those skills. She felt so frustrated at times she could have screamed – if she’d been the screaming sort. Instead she told herself sternly to be glad of what she did have and stop wishing for the moon.
The trouble was the moon was so bright and beautiful, as were some of the places and activities she read about in the newspapers.
In almost no time, it seemed, Christopher was five and more than ready to start school. He was such a clever boy she’d have liked to send him to a better school than the one in the next village, with its two mixed classes, junior and senior, and its simple lessons.
She even got as far as asking Mr Seaton to pay the fees for a better school, but he refused point-blank to consider it. ‘We’re trying to keep your children’s existence a secret, Kathleen. It’s the safest thing to do.’
‘But—’
‘You must trust me on this. Anyway, how would you get your son to Swindon and back every day? Hmm?’
‘We could move nearer to town, or to another town. Change our surname. There must be a way.’
‘Well, I’m not risking it. We’re trying to keep you hidden, not send you where a certain person might recognise you or where you’ll stand out as a stranger. Besides, you have Rhoda just down the street here to keep an eye on things and send to me for help if you need it. Surely you wouldn’t want to leave her?’
Kathleen could only sigh at his solution of burying her and the children in a quiet little village, which didn’t even have a railway station. If there hadn’t been a library in the next village, she’d have gone mad from boredom in the evenings.
Or run away.
She still thought of doing that occasionally, when the tedium of daily life got her down, but common sense prevailed because she couldn’t think of any way to escape without being followed. It sounded easy in novels; it wasn’t easy in real life. And Mr Seaton was right about one thing. She didn’t want to move away from Rhoda.
However, she played her last card to see what he’d say. ‘I’m afraid the village school isn’t noted for giving a good education. I’m not at all happy about that.’
He sat frowning for a few moments, then said, ‘I’ll see what I can do to improve the local school. We don’t want Christopher to be badly educated.’
She didn’t believe him and thought that he was just pacifying her. And oh, she wished he’d sometimes mention Elizabeth when talking about her children’s future, because her daughter was just as clever as her son. But Mr Seaton only mentioned the little girl in passing and his thoughts were mainly on Christopher’s needs. The lad would, he assured her regularly, be his heir one day.
As if that was the only thing she cared about. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to work with his grandfather.
Mr Seaton would never change, she decided. Like so many men, he didn’t see women as important in the wider world, even his own granddaughter. And he ran his business in an old-fashioned way. Even she could tell that.
The world was changing. Rich people were replacing their horses with motor cars. And even poorer people were managing to see more of the world, do more things.
To everyone’s surprise, the schoolmistress in charge of the junior class at the school in the next village resigned and moved away during the summer holidays of 1907, and a much younger and livelier woman took her place in charge of the junior class.
Miss Tolver might not be the senior teacher at the school, but she certainly shook the whole place up, changing the books used to teach reading in the lower class to more modern ones. Where these came from, no one knew. But she wasn’t content with that and solicited donations from the better-off members of the community to buy extra reading books for the brighter children to practise on.
That meant the senior teacher had to buy better books for the older pupils as well.
‘And about time too,’ Rhoda said. ‘You must feel better about the school now.’
Kathleen had to wonder if Mr Seaton had had a hand in the abrupt arrival of Miss Tolver, but somehow she didn’t like to ask him outright. She knew Rhoda reported back to him from time to time, but trust
ed her friend not to betray secrets like her savings account.
That year, without her even asking, Mr Seaton increased her allowance to what it had been when Ernest was alive, saying gruffly that growing children needed good food and new clothes.
He came every few weeks to check on them. The children were invariably nervous in his presence. They knew he was their grandfather, but he’d stressed emphatically that they were not to tell anyone about that, so they were scared to even mention his name to people.
He always commented that they looked to be a healthy pair, but didn’t spend long with them and made no attempt to gain their affection or get to know them properly. In fact, he spent more time with Rhoda, with whom he seemed more comfortable.
Kathleen didn’t think he’d ever played with a child in his life. Which was his loss.
In 1910, when Christopher was eight, Mr Seaton didn’t turn up for the second month running. That wasn’t like him, so Kathleen asked Rhoda if everything was all right.
‘I’d have heard if there were any problems at Cumberland Villa, dear.’
‘Are you sure? He keeps our existence a secret, so they might not know to send us a message.’
‘He’d have found a way to let me know.’
‘Not if he’s dead.’
Rhoda stared at her in surprise. ‘He’s a busy man, dear, that’s all. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get ready to go to my meeting. My lady friends and I have rather a lot on at the moment.’
That evening Kathleen was looking out of her front window when she saw her father outside, standing in the shadow of the huge old tree just down the street. That was unusual enough to make her heart skitter in her chest. She’d not seen him since the funeral and she knew Mr Seaton had forbidden him to come near her, so her father was risking his job.
