London Lodgings

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Coffee,’ he snapped as he sat down. ‘And be quick about it.’ Tilly frowned, once again aware of the anger that was simmering in her. How dare he be so ill-mannered to her? It was he who owed her a bright good morning, he who should try to heal the silence between them, since he had left her alone all evening again and returned to the house in his cups. She tightened her mouth and used her new-found courage, and displayed it by paying him no attention at all. It was quite extraordinary, really, how everything was having an effect on everything else, she thought. It was like that silly game Dorcas had played with her all those years ago with dominoes. Tilly, with great effort, would stand them on edge and set them up in long rows like soldiers and then, just as she put the last one in place, Dorcas would flick her forefinger at the front one and over they would all go in a row. Tilly had wept bitterly the first time Dorcas had done it, but then had learned to find it funny. She did now as she contemplated how her early morning anger at Dorcas and her spoons had spilled all down the line so far; she was still going to knock Mrs Leander over – oh, indeed she was – but here she was first tilting at Frank. And she lifted her chin and waited to see what he would do as she sat with her hands unmoving on the table on each side of her plate.

  ‘Coffee,’ he shouted. ‘Are you deaf, you stupid creature? Coffee, for Christ’s sake –’

  ‘There is no need to blaspheme,’ Tilly said stiffly and still did not move her hand towards the coffee pot and Frank gawped at her and said, ‘Eh?’

  ‘I said you need not blaspheme,’ Tilly repeated, though her courage was beginning to ebb because now her father had become aware that something was going on and had lifted his head from his journal.

  ‘Stop being a fool,’ Frank said sharply. ‘I’ve no head for it this time of the morning. Give me my coffee and be quick about it.’

  ‘I shall not,’ Tilly said bravely. ‘You may pour your own coffee if you need it.’

  ‘Pour his own –’ roared her father and slammed his paper down. ‘What are you about, girl? What are you sitting there for if not to deal with the coffee? Give the man his cup and let’s have a bit of peace here. Can a man not read his paper in decency at his own table? You make this house sound like an alehouse, the pair of you.’

  ‘I have not raised my voice,’ Tilly said, not sure when her bravery would run out. It was already seeping away through her feet. ‘Only you two are,’ for Frank had roared, ‘Coffee!’ again, even while Austen was speaking.

  And still she sat with her hands idle on the table before her, and stared at them both with her lips compressed.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Austen shouted and slammed his fist on the table. ‘What’s bitten you, you fool? Are you running mad all of a sudden to make such a drama at the breakfast table?’

  ‘I hope only for a little politeness,’ Tilly said and her words were clipped, making her sound fierce, she knew, when in truth she was simply terrified of her own temerity. ‘“Please may I have my coffee,” perhaps.’

  ‘He asked for his coffee, you idiot! What more do you want? A written order?’

  ‘He demanded it,’ Tilly said. ‘I wish for politeness, please.’

  Frank threw up both hands. ‘Please, please, please,’ he bawled. ‘Coffee, coffee, coffee. Will that do?’

  ‘No,’ Tilly said in a small voice. ‘You continue being impolite, Frank, and it is not becoming to either you or I –’

  ‘Becoming!’ Frank shouted and jumped to his feet. He reached across the table and seized the coffee pot, pulling it off its small spirit lamp where it had sat bubbling sullenly. ‘So much for becoming! See how becoming this is!’ and he slammed the pot down on the table so that it tipped over and the streams of thick brown fluid splashed everywhere. Austen joined in, shouting at the top of his voice, and outside there was a clatter of heels and Mrs Leander appeared at the door. Still Tilly sat, her face white now with a mixture of shock and determination and sheer cold terror. She was sure that someone would hit her next; but she sat tight and waited, trying not to flinch as Frank loomed over her and her father went on shouting.

  ‘You’re out of your mind,’ Frank was bawling. ‘You hear me? I’ve not just got a wet dishrag who’s as much use as a wife as a dead codfish, and saddled myself with Christ knows what sort of misery, but I’ve got to deal with madness into the bargain! You mind your manners, Madam, or by God, I’ll –’

  ‘You’ll what?’ Tilly said as steadily as she could, and lifted her chin to stare at him. Her neck was shaking uncontrollably. Could he see it? she wondered. But he was oblivious of all but his own anger.

  ‘You’ll see –’ he shouted. ‘Oh, my God, but you’ll see. Unless you show me a very different face tonight when I return, believe me, I’ll –’

  ‘And unless you show me a different face, Frank, one that is not drunken and disgusting, you won’t see me at all,’ Tilly said loudly. ‘For I shall lock the doors against you, so there! You go to your office and give some thought to the way you behave to me before you return tonight. You have been unconscionably unkind this morning, speaking to me as though I were less than your servant and then abusing the breakfast table as you did. I deserve an apology and if you do not return sober at a decent hour to deliver it to me, then –’

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ Frank said and whirled on his father-in-law. ‘I will have no more of this. Set her to rights, or I tell you, I shall not be answerable for what will happen. Take a warning, man. I was beguiled into this marriage with your daughter and by God I’ll beguile myself right out of it unless you set this hellcat to rights. And don’t think you’ll get rid of my right to her dowry if you fail. I’ve suffered enough misery already – I’ve earned that pittance – when I get it –’ And he was gone, slamming out of the room and then out of the house as Austen stared after him in speechless rage and Mrs Leander stood by the breakfast-room door looking at Tilly with a calculating expression on her face.

  Chapter Five

  TILLY WAS ACTUALLY standing with her hand on the green baize door, on her way down to the housekeeper’s room and the kitchen, when she realized what a mistake she was making. It would be much easier to be stern and impose her will on Mrs Leander in her own morning room, rather than on the older woman’s territory, and she turned to go back there to ring her bell and summon her.

  And then she stopped again. Perhaps it would be better to make her stand under the eyes of Mrs Cashman and Eliza and even the slattern who came in to do the scrubbing and the extra dirty work by the day, and so display to them as well as to Mrs Leander the fact that Tilly was the mistress of this house. It was a difficult decision; but then any urgency to make it was taken out of her hands, for her father came stomping down the stairs on his way to the front door.

  She stood very still, hoping, absurdly, that he wouldn’t see her standing there and would just go on his way, but of course he did see her, and stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs gazing at her. And then jerked his head towards the morning room and said gruffly, ‘In there. I have to speak to you.’

  She followed him meekly. Strong as her new bravery and intentions of standing up to the people who usually oppressed her might be, they were not up to defying her father. His authority was, after all, unassailable; and she went to her chair beside the fire, which was at last burning properly and warming the cold room and sat there with what equanimity she could muster.

  ‘Now, Madam,’ he said and faced her across the table. And then a little surprisingly he said no more. She looked back at him, her face as smoothly free as she could make it of any expression apart from the politely receptive, and waited.

  After a moment he moved sharply and sat himself down in the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace, flicking up his coat tails behind and then leaning forwards with one hand on each of his podgy knees and his legs spread wide. There was something about the posture that she found alarming and she had to try hard to prevent herself from shrinking back in her chair.

  ‘The thing of
it is, it’s high time you learned the truth of your situation,’ he said and shook his head like an irritable horse. ‘Yes. The truth.’

  ‘And what is that, Papa?’ she said warily, still sitting very erect.

  ‘Why, that you aren’t quite the lady of ease you may think yourself, Madam.’

  She was started. ‘Lady of ease? Me? But I go nowhere and do nothing apart from –’

  ‘Aye, I know, I know. You do nothing. As for going nowhere – well, that is up to you.’

  ‘I would run this house if I were allowed to,’ she said with sudden spirit. ‘And I intend to tell Mrs Leander so this very morning. She has prevented me from dealing as I should with domestic matters and –’

  ‘I’ll hear no words against her,’ Austen said with a spurt of his familiar harshness. ‘Don’t you go thinking you can take over where your mother left off.’

  ‘I had no intention of saying anything to you except that it is my wish to take the housekeeping into my own hands. The dinners you have been getting lately have been execrable –’

  ‘By God, they are too!’ Austen was very much his old self for a moment and sounded it too. ‘I’ve told her the same thing. I tell you, if you can get a better cook to work down there and send up decent victuals you’ll hear no complaints from me. All I ask is that the house runs right and I have no part in any female fights and flurries over it. I’ll not have you upsetting Mrs Leander, for she is my good friend and you as a married woman yourself – well, let be –’ He looked away, and she thought, amazed, he’s ashamed. He saw from my face how disgusted I am by the way he uses that woman. The feeling that came to her then, almost of warmth for him, was a strange one indeed. She could not remember ever having felt so before. ‘Anyway, it is not of that I have to speak to you. It is of your – um – situation.’

  ‘My situation?’ she said carefully.

  ‘That display this morning – you must understand that it cannot happen again. You hear me? You must treat your husband with respect and obedience.’

  ‘And he should treat me with politeness and concern,’ she said hotly. ‘I will not be ordered about and sworn at like some kitchen maid. He shall say his pleases and his thank yous as any gentleman should, and mind his language, and not bring taproom talk to my breakfast table. And it would help, Papa, if you –’ Did she dare? She did. ‘– if you set him an example.’

  He stared at her and she was terrified. She’d gone too far, she must have done. But then, amazingly, he laughed, a short bark of sound that had little mirth in it, but which was a laugh none the less.

  ‘You’ll not change me after all these years, when that milk-and-water mother of yours failed! Though I must say there’s more to you than I once thought. I never imagined you’d boo a goose, but you did this morning and I cannot deny –’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I like to see some spirit in a woman, and you’ve never had an atom. Till this morning. But it’s ill-directed, that’s the thing of it. You cannot afford to anger your husband and so I tell you shortly –’

  ‘Cannot afford to?’ she said and frowned, unable to see what it was he was trying to say. He produced an impatient snort.

  ‘Aye, Madam, aye. Afford! These past two years have been a disaster for me and my affairs and so I tell you. That is just for your ears, mind, and no one else’s. But there it is. I invest high and take good chances and often times they pay me well, but the last two have not paid as I hoped. For all the growth that is happening in the town, those of us who deal in bricks and cement and suchlike are being hard squeezed. Mr Elgar and his houses –’ His face darkened. ‘– He spends more than any man need on his properties and cuts away at the profit till it is a waste of time for such as I. And that means –’ He got to his feet and started to prowl about the room and she watched him, still puzzled ‘– that your life is not so secure as you might suppose. The dowry I paid over to Quentin for you – well, clearly he has had no cause yet to use it, but when he does he will find it less rich than he supposed. I promised more than I was able to provide and there’s an end to it.’

  He turned on her then, his face its old and much too familiar sneering self. ‘I had thought when I saw you together before you were wed that he had a tendresse for you and would take you and be happy enough without a dowry. Of course he asked, as any sensible man would. But I thought – when he tries to use it, after they are wed, well, by then he will be so enamoured of his married life he will settle for what there is, hate me though he might, and I care little for any man’s hate.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘Or at least – are you telling me that you have cheated Frank of my dowry?’

  ‘I am,’ he said after a moment and stood still and glared at her. ‘What do you say to that, Madam? What do you say to that?’

  ‘I say it is – it is very wrong of you, Papa.’ She held his gaze as steadily as she could, very aware of the fact that her face had reddened unbecomingly.

  ‘Wrong? Wrong you say? Pah! It was all I could do! I can raise no money on this house, with that hellhound Elgar producing new properties so fast they all want ’em and old ones like this having small chance of changing hands, and my own business so sore beset. I did what best I could, Madam, to get you a husband. Who would have you, after all? A meagre drooping object such as you were! You have a little more spirit now, when it is too late, of course – when all the good it will do you is lose you the husband you have. You treat him shabbily again as you did this morning and you will be abandoned and so I warn you. You will have nothing but this house to call home, for I will not stand about here to take care of you. Why should I? You’re married now. You continue here and make the best of it. And that means treating your husband better.’

  He stopped then and looked at her with his head tilted to one side. ‘Is all well between you in other ways?’ he said after a long pause.

  She was still trying to take in what he had said, and responded only with a frown and, ‘I’m sorry? How do you mean?’

  ‘Between the sheets, my girl! What else do you suppose I mean? A man needs his oats, not to put too fine a point on it, and it’s a wise wife that tries to feed him well. Certainly in the early days. Establish a good connubial habit and he will come to your bed long after less happy men have sought comfort elsewhere. It was a lesson your mother never learned.’ He scowled. ‘She was all prettiness and gasps and smiles and sweet kisses, but when it came to any real victuals for a hungry man all she could do was weep and wail and shrink away like some half-witted sea anemone. Be sure you learn from her mistakes – don’t let the light die out of these early days. It’s good, I take it? He’s happy with his – victuals?’

  She felt the colour drain from her face and pool in her belly to make her feel sick, and now all she could do was sit and stare at him. He stared back and then came round the table to stand above her. She could not look up; only directly ahead at the way his watch chain strained over his rotund belly between the edges of his coat, breathing in the smell of him, of tobacco and brandy and some other indefinable scent that she knew all too well as part of him and hated deeply. Her heart was beating hard and thick in her throat and she wanted to get up, to hit him and then to run from him. But all she could do was sit and stare at his watch chain.

  ‘Listen to me, girl. You may not think me much of a father, but I care enough for you in my own way. I did all I could to get you a husband, knowing you’d never snare one for the sake of your eyes, and now I’ll do all I can to help you keep the one I got you. Treat him better. Don’t be shrewish at him and make silly scenes over whether or not he says please, and don’t complain if he behaves like a man and likes his claret. Above all make sure your bed is the best one he can come to. If you don’t listen to me, then you’re three times the fool you always were and deserve no better than you’ll get. Which will be a life no better than your mother’s, though at least you don’t pickle yourself the way she does – or do you?’ He bent down and peered into her face.
‘Take a drop of gin do you, from time to time?’

  ‘No!’ she cried and leapt to her feet and ran. She must have pushed him aside though she had no awareness of doing so, and he called after her, but she had no idea what it was he said. All she could do was run and not stop until she was in her bedroom and the door shut safely behind her.

  She stayed there for the next hour, trying to collect herself. She didn’t know what had upset her most; her father’s blunt admission that he had no money available, or his prying questions about her life with Frank, and decided eventually that it was neither and both, and anyway, what did it matter? She had never had any sort of happiness in her dealings with her father, so why should she expect any now? All she could do was go her own way, and do her best.

  She had started the day determined to change things in this house, she told herself, and she would hold to that determination. She would face up to Mrs Leander, take the reins into her own hands, be a real grown-up person, she would, indeed she would. That conversation with her father had been just that, a conversation, no more. Nothing to concern herself about. She would push it out of her mind and get on with what she had planned.

  On an impulse she changed her gown. She had put on her usual morning dark brown without any hoop, but now she pulled out the green foulard trimmed with black braid down the skirt, and with the bodice fastening to match, and set it over a small hoop, but a definite one none the less. She pulled her waist stays in as tightly as she could without aid, and then after a moment’s thought added a black silk apron embroidered with red and yellow flowers; it symbolized her role as mistress of the household in a clear way while showing, in its obvious uselessness as a protection, that she expected to be tended by good servants. Her hair carefully draped about her ears and pulled back into a neat bun looked remarkably fine. She had been forced to do it herself in Dorcas’s absence, and it was a great comfort to find it was nothing like as difficult as she had feared it would be. Now she put on a neat fanchon-style cap in white broderie, setting it well back over her bun so that the black satin ribbons with which it was trimmed could settle nicely at the back of her neck, pinched her cheeks with hard fingers, added a little eau-de-cologne to the handkerchief she had tucked into her waistband, took a deep breath and went downstairs.