All My Mother's Secrets

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘Look, I understand how things are,’ he said, before she could say anything else. ‘Why don’t we meet next week at two o’clock at the park gates? You can bring your sisters along with you and I will bring my brother, then there won’t be anything to worry about, will there?’

  Sunday couldn’t come around quickly enough and the whispered conversations between the sisters in their bedroom every night that week only seemed to make each day drag a little more, building the anticipation of what was to come.

  With Clara sworn to secrecy, Kiziah and Emma had agreed they would all meet up with the two Austin brothers at the gates to Hyde Park after lunch, without mentioning it to their parents. It wasn’t that they were going to lie, as such; they just weren’t planning on telling the whole truth.

  ‘Sometimes it’s best not to tell Mum and Dad everything,’ Kizzy said, giving Clara’s hand a little pat. Emma nodded in agreement. Clara was a sweet and trusting girl who’d been brought up to be truthful, but if Dad got a whiff of their plan, they’d be forbidden from setting foot outside the house. He was protective of his daughters, to the extent that he’d once slapped Kizzy after word reached him she’d been dawdling down a back alley with one of the delivery boys from the grocer’s. It was nothing more than a bit of hand-holding and sweet talk, but the way Dad had walloped her had taken the wind right out of her sails. Kizzy had steered clear of boys after that, just to keep the peace.

  And the message to Emma was clear – don’t even think about dallying with the local lads. It was fine when the girls were Clara’s age, but now they were young women, it just didn’t seem fair. Mum wanted a quiet life, so she wasn’t going to fight their corner, but they weren’t children any more and it was only natural that they should want to go courting, so this was a good compromise.

  ‘If we all stick together, he won’t suspect anything, and in any case, we can all keep an eye out for each other, can’t we?’ said Emma, after church on Sunday morning.

  ‘I don’t want to be a gooseberry with you two getting all pally with those Austin boys, though,’ said Clara, twiddling a lock of her hair, as she sat on the bed.

  ‘You won’t be!’ said Kizzy, kneeling down beside her and clasping her sister’s hands. ‘I will make sure you won’t be left out. We can have a laugh at all the hoity-toity ladies and their ridiculously expensive dresses.’ Kiziah leaped to her feet, stuck her nose in the air and pretended she was strutting along with a walking stick.

  Clara looked slightly mollified.

  ‘And if you don’t like that,’ said Emma, ‘we can take a stale crust and feed the ducks!’

  Clara nodded in agreement, and the plan was set.

  Mum called them down to lunch – a cheerless affair of boiled neck of lamb with some carrots and gravy so thin it looked – and tasted – like dishwater. The girls did their best to eat with gusto but, if the truth be told, Emma’s appetite had all but disappeared.

  ‘You’d better not be sickening for something,’ said her mum, reaching for the big red book on the shelf over the range. ‘I can mix you up a tonic.’

  ‘No!’ said Emma, rather too vehemently, knowing her mother’s foul-tasting home-made medicines only too well. ‘I’m fine, just not feeling that hungry today, that’s all.’ Her stomach was full to bursting with butterflies at the thought of spending the afternoon with Arthur, in any case.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Kizzy, putting her knife and fork down in the middle of her plate, in the hope of bringing the meal to an early conclusion. ‘Why don’t I take you and Clara out for a nice long stroll. Down Hyde Park way, perhaps? That might sort you out . . .’

  ‘Oooh, yes!’ chimed Clara. ‘That would be lovely.’

  Mum looked at all three of them. ‘Well, as long as you are back in time to help me finish off the ironing, I don’t suppose I mind being left here on me own.’

  Dad looked up from his plate, where he was struggling with the last of the scraggy end of the lamb. ‘Just remember you’ve all got work in the morning, so no staying out late.’ He couldn’t wait for opening time, when he could sink a decent pint, and then this bloody awful meal would be a distant memory.

  The three girls almost skipped up Holland Park Avenue, they were so excited. At one point they considered hopping on a horse-drawn omnibus, but Kizzy told them to save their money, so they could at least afford a cup of tea while they were out.

  The roads were chock-full of carriages, with people wearing their Sunday best, out for a ride. It was a warm day and Emma could feel little beads of sweat gathering on her brow as they strolled along. She only had one best skirt, of black wool, the same as Kizzy, which was quite hot in the afternoon sun, and she’d put on her finest blouse, which had some lacework around the collar. She’d done her best to tame her wavy hair, pinning it up above her ears and pulling the back into a low bun under her hat. Kizzy had pulled the sides of hers up but put the rest into a long ponytail, secured by a ribbon, and she wore her hat at a slightly jaunty angle. Emma had to admit, her sister looked really pretty in her blouse. Kizzy had made it herself, with lots of pin-tucks down the front, and lace trimmings on the cuffs. She had a sort of glow about her, whereas Emma just felt a bit flustered, to be honest.

  Arthur was leaning nonchalantly against the park railings, puffing away at a smoke, while Henry looked almost anxious, pacing up and down, with his hands in his pockets. He waved at them as they walked up, while Arthur just raised his hat.

  ‘Couldn’t have picked a nicer afternoon for it, could we?’ said Arthur, breaking into a grin.

  ‘Well, Saturday afternoon might’ve been better for me, to be honest,’ said Henry, ‘because I did get a bit of earache off the boss for missing out on fares.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Emma, ‘do you drive one of those omnibuses?’

  ‘No,’ said Henry, with a laugh. ‘I’m a cabbie and Sunday is normally one of my busiest days out in the hansom.’

  ‘Oh, Gawd, I’m sorry . . .’ said Emma, who always felt the need to apologize for something or other, even when it wasn’t her fault.

  ‘It’s fine – nothing to worry about,’ said Arthur, chipping in. ‘He’ll make it up with a double shift, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Henry, thrusting his hands back into his pockets. ‘Charlie D will see to it that I do. That fella will get his pound of flesh out of me, and that’s no lie.’

  ‘Isn’t he the one who runs the card games down in the Bridport?’ said Emma, remembering the big bloke with the bushy beard and the commanding manner from a few months back.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him,’ said Arthur, with a laugh. ‘He runs a lot of things around our way, but his main job is running the stables. He’s the master, runs a lot of the horses for the hansom cabs on behalf of Mr Felstone and generally does his bidding on other things too . . .’

  ‘Who’s Mr Felstone?’ asked Emma. He sounded intriguing, but Kiziah stifled a yawn: ‘Oh, I don’t want to spend the day talking about boring work! That’s men’s talk, Emma. Let’s go and feed the ducks.’

  They set off together, with Clara linking arms with her two sisters, so that Arthur and Henry were forced to walk at either end of the line. Arthur walked beside Emma and Henry started chatting to Kiziah as they headed down towards the duck pond. Clara had brought a hunk of stale bread with her in the pocket of her pinafore and she tore great lumps off it and started throwing them into the water, so that all the ducks came flocking towards them.

  ‘Fancy a ride in the rowing boats down on the lake?’ said Henry, looking over at Emma. ‘That might be fun . . .’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure; I don’t know how to swim,’ she began.

  Kiziah rolled her eyes: ‘You’re not sailing the seven seas, Emma! Of course we want to go on the rowing boats. It sounds wonderful, the best fun ever. Come on!’

  She grabbed Clara by the hand and marched off towards the Serpentine at the other end of the park, with Arthur trailing in her wake.

  Henry fell into step beside Emma
. ‘I can stand on the side with you, if you like,’ he said. He looked at her in such a sweet and caring way, Emma found herself blushing.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, honestly. I was just being silly before,’ she said. ‘It’s only a rowing boat, just like Kizzy said.’ She glanced over to the water’s edge, where Arthur was paying a man to take a boat out. Kiziah was standing right by him but gazing in the other direction. Then he started rolling up his sleeves and Emma noticed that Kiziah had turned and was watching him intently. She glanced away again when he caught her looking at him.

  Some ladies in the most beautiful white dresses with ornate lacework were sitting on a bench nearby. They were shielded from the sun by hats with huge brims, which almost appeared to be floating above their curls. Occasionally, one of the ladies would raise a gloved hand to her face and whisper something. Emma suddenly felt ashamed of her clothes and her hat, which wasn’t in the least bit fashionable, and shrank under their gaze. Kiziah turned and stared at them and seemed to grow taller, swishing her auburn ponytail and carrying her head high as Arthur held out his hand for her to get into the boat. She stepped lightly, like a ballerina, and took up her seat with barely a wobble. Emma tried to follow her with as much poise as she could muster and Clara, well, she fairly clattered into that boat like a baby elephant; at least it didn’t capsize. When Emma looked over, the women were tittering. ‘Just ignore them,’ Kiziah said. ‘Snooty lot, they’re no better than us!’ And she gave them a little wave, which left the two women open-mouthed.

  Arthur and Henry took up their places opposite the girls and began to row slowly out into the middle of the lake to join at least a dozen others who were paddling gently up and down, as the sunlight dappled the water. Emma forgot to be scared; she was too busy marvelling at how strong Arthur was, his muscles flexing with every stroke of the oars. Kiziah closed her eyes and let her hand trail languidly over the side as Clara started to hum ‘Row, row, row your boat’ – she’d learned that in the bath-tub in front of the fire, as a baby.

  ‘So, how long have you been a seamstress, Kizzy?’ said Arthur.

  ‘Almost too long.’ She laughed. ‘But it’s better than working in the laundry like Emma and Clara.’ Emma bristled at that comment. She wanted to say something back, but she couldn’t. It was as if Kiziah had stolen her thunder.

  ‘You must be very skilled,’ Arthur went on. ‘I can’t imagine what’s it’s like making all those tiny stitches.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s the only thing I have ever been good at,’ said Kiziah, with uncharacteristic shyness, batting her eyelids at him. ‘To tell the truth, Arthur, I got the sack from the laundry and I didn’t want to go out charring and my family needed me to have a wage. But what about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m a jack-of-all-trades in the decorating business, plastering, painting, always plenty of work to be had,’ he said blithely. ‘Not like Henry, here, who seems to be in love with his blooming horse when the whole world is getting on the omnibus or that new tuppenny tube.’ Everyone in the neighbourhood had been talking about the new railway line which ran in a deep tunnel under Notting Hill Gate and had recently opened a station at Shepherd’s Bush.

  ‘People will always need cabs, Arthur,’ said Henry, stiffly. ‘That’s just the way of things in London, especially in Theatreland or when it’s raining, which seems to be half the time, don’t it?’

  They all laughed at that, although Emma had seen the cabbies and their horses standing waiting for fares in the pouring rain, soaked through. And she knew it was no laughing matter to be stuck out there in all weathers, not to mention the pea-souper fogs, which made you feel you were choking.

  ‘I’d like to see you in your cab, Henry,’ said Emma, before she knew what she was saying. She wanted to make him feel a bit better after Arthur’s comment to him, which had seemed rather mean.

  ‘Well, you can come and visit me at the stables any time,’ said Henry, his nose crinkling a bit as he gave her a little smile.

  Just then, Arthur caught a crab with his oar and splashed some water over her blouse, making her gasp in surprise. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Emma, forgive me, that was clumsy,’ said Arthur. He pulled a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and she took it and dabbed at the wet patch on her front. He did his best to be gallant about it but Kiziah was smirking, as if she found it terribly amusing to see her sister soaked like that.

  ‘Oh, don’t fuss, Emma,’ she said. ‘It’s only a splash of water, you’re not drowning!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Henry. ‘It will soon dry.’ He beamed at her: ‘You’re still wearing the prettiest blouse in the park this afternoon.’

  Arthur gave his younger brother a sideways glance and they rowed back to the edge of the lake in silence.

  16

  May 1900

  The sound of the horses clattering up and down the cobbles and the wheels of the carts rolling down the road was just a part of everyday life for Emma: the milkman and the tallyman and their wagons, the beer dray coming to and from the pub around the corner and the deliveries from the coal lorry, with blinkered carthorses hauling prime Wallsend by the hundredweight.

  But since the park outing with Arthur and his brother Henry, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves had brought Emma to the bedroom window, peeking out expectantly from behind the curtains in case she caught a glimpse of his hansom cab trotting by.

  At first, she’d told herself that she was just being foolish; she wasn’t really looking out and hoping to see Henry. Besides, she was still sweet on Arthur, she was certain of that, but he hadn’t been around to the laundry since the weekend because he was working on a house up in Hampstead with her father. Kiziah had feigned disinterest when Dad told Mum he’d be late back because he was doing some extra work for Mr Felstone, the housebuilder, along with a team of lads including Arthur Austin. But Emma knew her sister well enough to notice little blotches of colour rising above the collar of her blouse when Arthur’s name was mentioned. She was blushing.

  When Dad had left and Mum was tidying up in the scullery, Emma followed her sister up the stairs.

  ‘You fancy Arthur, don’t you?’ she whispered to Kiziah, as they entered their bedroom.

  Kizzy spun around and said indignantly, ‘I do not!’

  ‘Because I saw him first, Kizzy, and he asked me out to the park, not you,’ hissed Emma, giving her a sister a little prod. ‘Never mind all your hair tossing and little smiles at him.’

  ‘Don’t you shove me!’ cried Kizzy, pushing Emma hard, so that she sat down on the rickety bed, next to Clara, who was putting her hair in plaits, ready to go to work.

  ‘Do that again and I’ll give you what for!’ shouted Emma, springing to her feet.

  ‘You girls better not be fighting up there!’ came a voice from the foot of the stairs. The walls and floors in their house were as thin as newspaper, and a cross word would be heard streets away, so their mother wouldn’t stand for any argy-bargy. ‘Or I’ll bang both of your heads together. Get to work, the pair of you!’

  ‘See!’ whispered Kizzy, triumphantly. ‘You and your big mouth. If you start causing trouble, we’ll all be for it. Just keep your trap shut, Emma, and stop imagining things.’ She flounced out of the room and down the stairs, banging the front door shut, for good measure.

  Emma brooded on how much she disliked her sister all day. Kizzy had been trying to get Arthur to notice her, she was sure of it, and the thing was, she wouldn’t admit it, which made it even worse. Emma knew that Kizzy was the more striking, with her beautiful mane of hair and her sparkling blue eyes and her dainty little neck. She made Emma feel leaden and dull and quite plain by comparison.

  She found herself kicking along the cobbles on the way home, lost in her thoughts, just as a gleaming black two-wheeler rounded the corner, pulled by a silver-grey horse. The carriage stopped beside her and she glanced up to find herself gazing into Henry’s eyes. He lifted his bowler hat as he smiled at her: ‘Fancy meeting you here! Can I give you a lift so
mewhere?’

  ‘I was just on my way home,’ she began, ignoring the floaty sensation inside her; she felt as if she were on the boat on the Serpentine again.

  ‘I’m just on my way back to the stables. Why not hop up for a ride? I can show you around, like I promised the other day . . .’

  He reached out his hand to her and before she knew what she was doing she was climbing up to sit next to him, on the driver’s seat of his hansom cab. She’d never ridden in a carriage before; it was quite high up, and some of the local kids came chasing around, shouting for her to chuck them a penny. She felt a bit like a princess, sitting up there. ‘Don’t be daft, you lot!’ she said, ‘I’m not made of money.’

  Henry flicked his long whip and said, ‘Get on,’ and the horse trundled on, down Manchester Road, before turning through a narrow archway into the stables in Silchester Mews. It was a hive of activity, with half a dozen horses being led into their stalls for the night, while others were being hitched into waiting cabs. ‘It’s a shift change,’ said Henry. ‘I’m bringing her in but I’m taking another one out, to make up for Sunday.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Emma. ‘I hope it was worth taking the day off.’

  He turned to her: ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world!’ He did have a look of Arthur about him when he smiled, so of course she thought he was handsome.

  He jumped down and started to undo the buckles of the harness holding the horse in the shafts of the carriage, as a stable boy brought a bucket of water for the animal to drink. Arthur patted his horse and said, ‘I’d better introduce you to Old Nell, here, or she’ll get upset with me.’

  The cobbles were black and greasy with bits of straw all over the place, and the smell of the dung heap was quite overpowering, but Emma loved seeing so many animals in one place. She peered into the stable block to see a row of stalls, filled with horses munching on their hay; others stood patiently in the yard, as the grooms brushed them down, making their coats gleam.