As Nell tidied the kitchen, arranging the pretty china she had bought in the Bull Ring Market on the small pine dresser, she tried hard not to think of Paul. He'd been so kind, so helpful, and she knew he would come sometimes to make sure they were all right. If she didn't see him too often perhaps the longing for him would eventually diminish. Seeing him frequently would simply keep her craving at fever pitch, and she knew there was no future for herself with him.
She sighed, and began to scrape potatoes. The stew was simmering in the big iron pot she'd found on a stall in the nearby market, and the appetising smell pervaded the kitchen. She had insisted on looking for a decent house, one with an inside tap and an oven in the range, even though it was more rent. She'd be able to cook properly, remembering the lessons her grandmother had given her. Perhaps they could afford roasting meat occasionally, and she could bake cakes, maybe even bread. Amy would not have to endure stale crusts spread with a scrape of dripping, and watery stew, her only taste of fruit or vegetables the half-rotten discards scavenged from behind the shops.
Restlessly she prowled around the tiny house, rearranging the things she had assembled during the past two weeks. Would it be better to have the beds against the other wall, facing the window? Would Amy like the flowered chintz curtains she'd made? She plumped up the feather mattress on Amy's bed again, and straightened the pillow with the lace-edged slip. Back in the kitchen she began to lay the table, using the tablecloth Marigold had given her from the hotel. She'd bought a secondhand set of four windsor chairs, though she hoped Pa would rarely want to sit down with them. Gwyneth and Edwina might visit, come to tea on Sundays perhaps. Even Paul might come and sit down for a meal.
She thrust the thought away. It was too intimate, too painful to think of him sitting down with her, eating food she had prepared. Then she heard the sound of a car drawing up at the end of the terrace. Amy was here at last!
*
Tom, on his way home, paused. Surely that was Nell's father just emerging from the Turk's Head? He staggered slightly, paused, then set off at a slow, careful pace along Ladywood Road. Odd, hadn't Ned told him his father had signed the pledge? Tom walked faster and soon caught up the man. It was Nell's father, and as he turned to see who was beside him the beer fumes wafted into Tom's face.
'Mr Baxter. It's a long time since we met. How are you?' Tom asked, stepping out of range of the alcoholic miasma.
'Who are you? Want summat?'
'Just to know how you are. Are you living back in Ladywood now?'
' 'Ere, I knows you! You was sweet on me little Nell once.'
'I used to work at the same factory,' Tom explained. 'Tom Simmons, remember me? Where is Nell now?'
'Why d'yer want ter know?'
'I'd like to pay my respects,' he replied stiffly. What a dreadful old man. Yet he wasn't all that old, he couldn't be much more than mid-forties, but he was sodden with drink, his eyes bloodshot, and his hands unsteady.
Mr Baxter guffawed, wheezed, and clutched at Tom's arm to steady himself. 'That's a laugh!' he chortled. 'Our Nell, respectable? 'Er's a pesky whore!' he snarled, his mood suddenly changing. 'I'd like ter know what 'er got up to in them foreign parts! Or what got up 'er! 'Er's a bitch! D'you know, 'er won't even cook fer 'er old Pa? Meks me do me own washin', an' never cleans me bedroom.'
'She's living with you?' Tom asked, surprised.
Mr Baxter's mood swung again and he winked at Tom. ' 'Er 'as ter, else 'er can't 'ave Amy with 'er. Them folks knows a gal needs 'er Pa ter look after 'er. But Nell's spitful, 'er teks all me wages, gives me 'alf a crown fer meself. Tom, lad, 'ow about a couple of bob? Jus' 'til Saturday?'
'I don't think you need it if you've been drinking in the Turk's Head,' Tom said curtly and turned away. He walked on, trying to shut his ears to the imprecations hurled after him. He could find out Nell's address from the factory and arrange to call round there when her father would be at work. Why hadn't she let him know she was back in Birmingham? It was the least she could have done after the help he had given her discovering what she wanted to know about her brother and father, even more after he'd offered to marry her and provide a home for Amy. Perhaps she was waiting until they could meet. Well, he'd be considerate and make that easy for her.
*
Gwyneth drew to a halt and waved. Nell broke into a run and scrambled into the car beside her.
'I know it's not far, but I wanted to show off my new car!' Gwyneth said, with a selfconscious laugh. 'It's a Singer. Do you like it? Somehow I didn't fancy an Austin!'
'It's divine!' Nell drawled, and they laughed.
'I've hardly had time to talk to you in the last few days since you came back to Edwina's.'
'It's been busy. But what made you buy a car? You were terrified of driving before you went away.'
'Yes, but it seemed so ridiculous only ever to drive when I was running away from people, and then discovering I could do it when I really wanted to, that I bought this little car. I'm quite used to it now, and it's the only sensible way to get – to where I'm staying – after a day at the school.'
'We haven't had time to talk. I don't know much at all about what happened.'
'We'll treat ourselves to tea at the Kardomah and catch up with one another's news,' Gwyneth suggested.
Later, sitting over tea and cream cakes, she told Nell about her humiliating departure from Paris. 'He dragged me off, insisting on sitting in the dormitory while I packed, and even stood outside the ladies at the station while I went to the lavatory. Then back at home I was locked in all day. I tricked Mother when he was away helping the local miners during the General Strike, and stole his car. It was the only way I could travel while the trains were mostly not running. I left the car at Oxford station, and made a fuss about getting to London. I hoped someone would remember me when he went asking. Luckily I managed to beg a lift to Longbridge, and then met Timothy driving a bus. I'm staying with him now, that's why I need a car.'
'You're staying with Timothy?'
'Don't look at me like that! I know I said all sorts of things, but he was so kind, so helpful, and I do like him a lot, really.'
'Then are you staying with him permanently?'
'Not after my birthday. I'm going back to Paris, they said they'd have me back. Besides, after Christmas Timothy is going back to South Africa.'
'Would you go with him if he asked you?'
'I won't give up dancing, not even if he asked me to marry him, and he's made it clear he won't do that.'
'I wonder if Kitty will persuade her Italian to marry her?'
'Or if he'll tire of her before she goes on to someone else! What about you, Nell? Is Amy settling down?'
'Yes, she's so thankful to be out of that orphanage, though she's still scared of Pa. He isn't at home much, fortunately, and I make sure she isn't ever there alone. Edwina's being so helpful, Amy comes to the dance studio every day for her dinner, and after school. Edwina's starting a stage school, and her teacher for that's giving Amy elocution lessons, and she's a good mimic, like me. She talks like me now. She wants to join the acting class as well as a dancing one, and I think she could be good.'
'She's very pretty with that gorgeous red hair. Almost as pretty as you.'
Nell laughed. 'I'm still too skinny, even though I gorge myself on cream cakes. Have another?'
Gwyneth shook her head. 'No thanks, I have to watch it.'
'Gwyneth, you know Edwina's plan for us, working locally, doing solos and dancing together just some of the weeks along with whichever troupe happens to be in Birmingham? Well, I've had an idea.'
'You always did have plenty.'
'We form our own troupe, a specialist one. There are a couple of other girls, both good dancers, who can't easily leave Birmingham to tour, and probably some I don't know about who'd prefer to stay at home. We'll call it the Nell Gwyn Girls.'
'Nell Gwyn?' Gwyneth chuckled. 'I like that. And we wear orange costumes? I don't think strings of oranges round our wais
ts would be quite the same as Josephine Baker's bananas, though.'
'And it would be expensive throwing them out into the audience!' Nell signalled to the waitress. 'Let's go and talk about it to Edwina.'
*
By September the Nell Gwyn Girls was established, and performing in many local theatres.
'I know it's only for a couple of months, until I go back to Paris,' Gwyneth said. 'You can replace me afterwards, and who knows, one day I might tire of the Folies and we could start touring with it, our own act.'
During the day both Nell and Gwyneth trained dancers at Edwina's new studio on the Hagley Road. Edwina had moved to a smaller house nearby. Amy had joined a dancing class and was already doing small solo parts in the charity shows which were now an established part of Edwina's programme.
Amy had settled down in the new house, and after the first few weeks, when she had trembled every time she saw her father, she began to ignore him. He wasn't often at home, for which Nell was thankful. She suspected he had a woman somewhere, but so long as he didn't bother them she didn't care. When she was dancing in the evenings Amy slept either at Edwina's or with her best school friend, Phyllis, who lived a few doors away and also came to Amy's dancing classes. Nell told herself that it was all working out in a very satisfactory way. She wished she could believe herself.
She began to doubt whenever she saw Paul. He was always friendly, always asked how Amy was, offered to help if she needed him, but the former warmth which she had unconsciously come to depend on was missing. It was even missing, she felt, when he drove them out occasionally on Sunday afternoons.
He'd suggested it one day when they met outside Edwina's school.
'I'd love to go to Sutton Park,' Amy exclaimed. 'Nell's told me a lot, but I haven't been for years and I can't remember much about it. Ma took us once, when you lived with Gran, Nell, but I'd only just started school and I can't remember much, just lots of green grass and trees.'
'If it's still warm enough I'll bring a picnic, we'll spend all day there on Sunday,' he suggested, and Nell couldn't bring herself to refuse. She'd shown them the cottage where she'd spent such a happy childhood, then they walked through the Park, admiring the pools and finding a shady spot under the trees near Bracebridge Pool for their picnic. Afterwards Nell pulled the patch-box out of her pocket and showed it to Amy.
'Gramps gave me this,' she explained softly. 'I never let anyone at home know, because I was sure Pa would take it and sell it. Gramps's grandfather, our Great-great-grandfather Perry, helped to make it. They lived in Wednesbury which is famous for them, he was an enameller.'
Amy exclaimed in delight, and took the tiny box carefully. 'Look, it opens, and there's a mirror inside the lid,' she said, showing it to Paul. 'Oh, there's a message inside.' She twisted the box round to catch the light, and slowly read out the tiny inscription 'It says "To my true love Nell." Nell, it can't mean you!'
Nell laughed. 'No, it was made about a hundred and forty years ago. He was married to an Eleanor and made it specially for her when they married, and as my name is really Eleanor even though I've always been called Nell too, Gramps thought it would be appropriate for me to have it. I've always thought of it as my lucky box. When I lost it everything went wrong, and then it was sent to me in Paris, and soon afterwards they said you could leave Barkingside.'
Reverently Amy closed the box and handed it back to Nell. 'Is it valuable?'
'Yes, I think so, but I would never sell it.'
'Tell me more about when you lived here.'
'There's so much! During the war there were soldiers in a big camp in the Park. We used to go picking blackberries in the fields, and Gran always seemed to be making jam or preserving the vegetables Gramps grew in the garden. She kept chickens and I used to collect the eggs. Gramps had a pig too, but I hated it when the poor thing was killed, it seemed like eating a friend.'
'And you went to school here. Was that different from in Ladywood?'
'I suppose so. We used to go for walks, looking at flowers and grasses and things. If the pools froze over in winter we skated, and we went swimming in summer in Keeper's Pool. The Park is very old. That pool's named after a man called John Holte who used to be King Henry VI's Keeper of Sutton Park.'
'You ran away after Pa fetched you home. You ran to your schoolteacher. I can't imagine running away to Miss Porter!'
Nell laughed. 'My teacher was the only person I knew here that I thought would help me, after Gran died. I'd been back in Birmingham for a year or so, and felt I couldn't bear it any longer. It was a difficult time. There had been a terrible thunderstorm and the dam of Longmoor Pool had burst, it overflowed into the other pools and all the shops in the Parade were flooded. But she couldn't very well hide me when Pa came. I had to come back.'
Amy nodded. 'I'm glad you did, Nell,' she said shyly, taking her sister's hand. 'You won't ever leave me, will you?'
Involuntarily Nell's glance flew to Paul's face. He looked cold, his lips compressed into a straight, narrow line. 'No, Amy,' she said gently. 'I won't ever leave you again.'
***
Chapter 25
It was late on Friday night when Tom left his office, carefully locking the door. His father had gone long ago. It was already dark, cold for late October, and he was tired. The journey from his new house was more than he'd expected, crowded onto the buses in the morning. He didn't care to take his car into the city for fear it would be damaged. To make matters worse he had to do his own cooking when he got back at night. A woman came in to clean and do his washing, but she wouldn't stay long enough to cook a meal, though she did sometimes prepare a stew or a pie he could heat up on his new gas cooker. It was a blessing he didn't have to wait for an old fashioned range to be lit and get hot. The sooner he could persuade Nell to marry him the better.
Thinking of Nell, he wasn't especially surprised to see Mr Baxter hovering on the doorstep of the office building. He'd had the impression the man had been loitering there once or twice lately.
'Tom Simmons? I wants a word with you.'
'Mr Baxter? What is it?'
Mr Baxter shuffled his feet. 'I'm desperate,' he said, lowering his gaze. His first aggressive words seemed to have abashed him. 'Nell, 'er won't give me any spendin' money. 'Er won't even buy me food.'
'Why should Nell support you? You have a job and earn your own money. I don't suppose Nell has much left over by the time she's paid the rent and bought things for herself and Amy.'
'You don't understand! I've been given the push! Old Forster med up lies an' chucked me out. 'E said I weren't doin' me job proper. Bleedin' liar!'
'I'm not giving you money to spend in the Turk's Head!' Tom said indignantly. 'Nell pays your rent and you've got four sons left. Go to them for help.'
'But you wants ter wed our Nell, don't yer? I could 'elp yer.'
Tom eyed him suspiciously. He couldn't imagine how the old reprobate might have any influence over Nell, but it was becoming imperative that he should have a wife, and he didn't want anyone but Nell. He wasn't making a great deal of progress himself, for he was hardly ever able to see her. It might be worth at least considering what Mr Baxter had in view.
'How?' he demanded brusquely.
Mr Baxter's eyes took on a crafty expression. 'It'll cost yer. Ten bob,' he added hurriedly.
Tom hesitated. The thought crossed his mind that marriage to Nell would mean being repeatedly approached by Mr Baxter for money. He wouldn't let it. Once they were safely married he'd make sure the wretched man never came near them again. He'd do it now, except that he would need Mr Baxter's permission to marry Nell. He had to put up with him in the meantime. Sighing, he reached into his pocket.
'Half a crown.'
'Ten bob!' They compromised at five. Tom handed over two half crowns and in return was told, with many winks and salacious nods, to present himself at their home on Sunday afternoon.
'Then it'll be up ter you, if you'm man enough!'
*
'Nell, I want you to marry me! I'm sorry for what happened before, I was drunk, a fool, and I wanted you so much. I'm off to the States in a couple of weeks, and I want you to come with me as my wife.'
'Andrew, I can't. I have to stay with Amy. And anyway, I don't want to marry you. It's got nothing to do with – what you did. If nothing had happened I still wouldn't want to marry you.'
'Are you still hankering after Paul Mandeville? He'll never marry a dancer, Nell, he's far too conscious of his position in society. Not like me, I'm a strolling player and we'd suit each other in every way. You could try for the Zeigfield Follies, they'd be pleased to have you with your experience in Paris. Or you could start singing with me, we could develop our own act.'
'No, Andrew. I can't desert Amy.'
'Bring her too. See how much I want you, Nell?'
She shook her head. 'I'm sorry, it's impossible, and it wouldn't work anyway. Oh yes, you're charming and handsome, but you're not what I want. I don't want to get married.'
'Come without! I thought it was your sense of decorum that would insist on marriage, but I'd be happy either way.'
'I wish you luck in America, Andrew, and one day I'd like to see it myself. But it's no good.' He smiled, and before she could move away, bent forward and kissed her on the lips.
'Marriage is in the air,' he said lightly. 'But it seems as though I'm not to be lucky. I had a letter from Kitty yesterday, she married her Prince a week ago. If you change your mind, write and tell me. Meggy will have my address. There won't ever be another girl like you, Nell.'
*
'I can't 'elp gettin' sack!' Pa grumbled.
'Can't you? You could at least try and find another job instead of sitting round moaning all the time, except when you can cadge drinks. You've been in the pub this morning, so you've had some money to spend. What happened to your signing the pledge?' Nell asked, exasperated. She brushed her hair back from off her forehead and sat back on her heels. Scrubbing the tiled kitchen floor was not her favourite job, but it was worse when Pa sat around moaning about his own lot.
The Glowing Hours Page 34
