***
By the time Clarrie got back, the pub was crammed with drinkers and the atmosphere raucous. Some of the men had been there for hours. Olive was barely coping with the demand in the sitting-room, rushing between the bar for drinks and the kitchen for clean glasses. Lily was washing up and making Harrison dry.
‘Where the devil have you been?’ she demanded, face flushed. ‘Harrison could’ve done it quicker on one leg.’
‘It’s treacherous out there with snow on top of ice,’ Clarrie panted, going to the fire to thaw out her numb hands.
‘Don’t think you can stop by the fire doing nowt,’ Lily said sharply. ‘Go and help that useless sister of yours; she’s as slow as a carthorse.’
Clarrie exchanged looks of sympathy with Harrison and left the kitchen. She found Olive on the verge of tears.
‘It’s so noisy and they all keep shouting and I can’t remember what they’ve ordered,’ Olive whimpered in the passageway, clutching a full tray. ‘And that witch Lily says I’m not quick enough.’
‘Here, give that to me,’ Clarrie said. ‘Which table?’
‘One to the right of the door, I think,’ Olive sniffed.
‘Go in the kitchen and offer to wash the glasses. Tell Cousin Lily she deserves to put her feet up.’
‘She doesn’t deserve any such thing,’ Olive protested.
‘If it gets you out of waitressing, then don’t complain,’ Clarrie replied, taking the tray in her frozen fingers.
She swung into the sitting room and weaved her way to the waiting table.
‘Where’s the red-headed lass gone?’ one of the men asked. ‘That bonny little elf.’
‘Gone to help Father Christmas,’ Clarrie answered, offloading the glasses.
‘She was ganin’ to sit on me knee,’ he chuckled. ‘She promised.’
‘Our Clarrie will sit on yer knee, Billy,’ his friend said, nudging him. He was a regular called Burton who sometimes played the mouth organ. ‘She’s the friendly type.’
‘It’ll cost you twice as much,’ Clarrie joked. ‘That’s one and threepence.’
Billy paid up and Clarrie hurried to the next table calling for her.
She never stopped all evening, rushing between the two rooms, squeezing through crowds of drinkers with trays sloshing with beer. Some of them tried to grope her, others declared they were in love, a few grew abusive and Jared told them to temper their language or they could go elsewhere.
Clarrie began to feel faint for lack of food, but Lily would not let her stop to eat till they closed, telling her it was her own fault for missing tea. She knew with sickening dread that come closing time there would be drunken fighting in the street outside. The trick was to get them out before it started. There was a desperation to the men’s drinking, as if they could blot out the drudgery of long hours at the yards and factories with beer and spirits. For a few hours, this dismal pub with its bare floors, dirty windows and rickety tables was a haven between the tyranny of the factory hooter and their cramped, smoky homes. Clarrie realised all this, yet it angered her. She had seen what drink did to a man; it began as a way of escape and ended up consuming him. If she had been Jared, she would have sent half of them home hours ago. The atmosphere was changing from jovial to loudly aggressive, with arguments breaking out and fizzing like striking matches.
When Jared finally called last orders there was a clamour for more drinks. Olive appeared with a tray of clean glasses and handed it to Jared behind the bar. She looked exhausted and her hands were red raw from hours of washing. Clarrie felt a pang of guilt at the sight of her once beautiful musician’s fingers so swollen. But uncomplainingly, Olive helped Clarrie load up a full tray.
As they moved towards the bar door, a man stepped back unsteadily and barged into Olive, who knocked Clarrie’s tray out of her hands. The next moment glasses were crashing to the floor and beer was spraying everywhere. There were cries of protest as men looked round or pushed out of the way.
‘You stupid bitch!’ the swaying man growled, his jacket drenched. It was Hobson, normally a quiet man and a foreman at Armstrong’s armaments factory. He took hold of Olive and shook her hard. Olive half screamed.
Clarrie caught the man’s arm. ‘It was my fault. Please leave her.’
‘Me new jacket — two weeks’ bloody wages — ruined!’ he ranted drunkenly, not letting go. Olive looked terrified.
‘I’m sorry,’ Clarrie said, trying to calm him. ‘But it’ll sponge down. I’ll do it for you.’
She felt his hold on her sister loosen and she pushed him firmly away.
‘What’s ganin’ on?’ Jared called over the din, only now aware of the fracas. People were already crunching over the broken glass as if it did not matter.
‘Just an accident,’ Clarrie replied, trying to steer the foreman away from Olive.
‘Are you all right, Mr Hobson?’
At once the man’s indignation was reignited.
‘Nah,’ he slurred. ‘Bloody lasses.’
For a moment, a glazed-eyed Hobson tried to focus on Clarrie. She could see he was very drunk. It was a look she had seen too often in Jock’s eyes, one of aggression and menace when he seemed not to recognise her. She let go. Fear must have registered in her own eyes, for the next instant he bunched his fist and punched her full in the face.
Clarrie staggered against the bar in shock. Olive screamed out loud. Jared rushed forward. Someone next to Hobson punched him back. Fighting erupted in the bar. Excruciating pain had shot up Clarrie’s nose. She doubled up in agony, clasping her face, unable to open her eyes. All around she could hear men bawling and punching each other. She sank down and pressed against the bar, trying to get out of the way. A heavy boot caught her on the hip.
‘Help me, help!’ Olive shrieked from close by.
Clarrie flung out an arm, still unable to open her eyes. Her sister grabbed it. She pulled Olive into her hold and they clung on to each other as the fighting raged all around. Minutes later, she heard Lily’s voice bellow over the brawling men.
‘Gerr off home the lot of you!’
Clarrie squinted up to see Lily shoving people towards the door with a broomstick. Soon the place was empty and the noise moved into the street. She heard Jared bolt the outer door and return.
‘Gerr up, the pair of you,’ Lily ordered, prodding the sisters with her broom. ‘What the devil happened in here?’
Clarrie staggered to her feet, her nose throbbing and pouring with blood. Before she could explain, Lily was berating them. ‘Dropped a tray, didn’t you? Look at all the broken glass. It’ll come out yer wages.’
Olive stood up and clung to her sister.
‘It wasn’t all the lass’s fault, my dear,’ Jared said, steering Clarrie on to a chair and thrusting a dirty handkerchief at her nose. ‘That Hobson was well out of order hitting her.’
The sight of her husband helping Clarrie seemed to madden Lily more. Her face was puce and her eyes glittered with anger. ‘You stupid man, letting it get out of hand!’ she snapped. ‘I can’t trust you with owt.’ Then she brought her face close to Clarrie’s and hissed, ‘Bet you were givin’ the man cheek. Were you?’
Clarrie flinched away. ‘No, I was trying to calm him down. He was having a go at Olive.’
‘You lasses!’ Lily bawled. ‘You’re next to useless.’ She kicked at an overturned chair. ‘This was an orderly place till you came here with your airs and graces, thinking yourselves better than the likes of the hard-working lads round here. They can tell when someone’s got their nose too far up their face.’ She glared at them with real loathing. ‘Well, you can clear up this mess on yer own!’ She shook the broom at them.
Clarrie had never seen her in such a state and feared she might hurt Olive. She stood up, swaying light-headedly, guarding her sister with an arm. ‘All right, we’ll do it.’
‘And I don’t care how long it takes,’ Lily snarled, ‘you’ll still get up just as early to stoke the fire.’
Clarrie clutched Olive to stop herself fainting. ‘Fire? But it’s Christmas Day.’
‘It’s no different from any other in this house,’ Lily declared. ‘And I’ve pies to make for Boxing Day.’
She shoved the broom at Clarrie and stormed out. Sighing, Jared fetched a rag from behind the bar and helped to clean up Clarrie’s nosebleed. It took them an hour to clear up the mess in the bar, tidy the sitting room, wash the glasses and put them away. Jared hovered about straightening tables and trying to help without his wife noticing. But she ordered him to take Harrison up the street to his lodgings and told the barman to be back at work in two days’ time.
As he went, Jared mumbled, ‘Best put a cold flannel on yer nose the night or you’ll have a bruise like a prizefighter’s the morra.’
When they finally finished, Lily had gone to bed, locking the pantry as usual before she went. Clarrie was past wanting to eat but Olive clutched her stomach.
‘I’m so hungry, Clarrie. She never gave me any tea.’
They searched the kitchen but could find nothing edible, except for some stale piecrust that was being saved for Barny. Olive munched on it unhappily.
‘I hate her,’ she said miserably. ‘She was like a madwoman tonight. Why did Father never tell us how horrible his cousins were?’
Clarrie slumped on the bench beside her. ‘Jared’s not so bad and maybe Father never really knew Lily. He hadn’t been back in years. Don’t suppose he thought we’d ever meet them.’
‘Well he should have thought of it,’ Olive gulped, fighting back tears. ‘He should’ve thought where all his drinking and debts would get us.’
Clarrie closed her eyes, utterly spent. ‘It won’t be for ever.’
‘You always say that!’ Olive accused her. ‘But how is it going to change? We’re like slaves here. That witch will never let us go!’ She burst into tears.
Clarrie tried to put an arm about her, but Olive would not be comforted and shook her off.
‘I’ll run away,’ she said. ‘You can’t stop me.’
Clarrie sighed. ‘Where to?’
‘I don’t care. Anywhere! We should never have come to England. We should have gone with Kamal — anything but this. Now we’ll never get back to India!’
Clarrie knew that it was useless to argue when Olive worked herself into a state; it only made things worse.
‘Let’s go to bed while we can,’ she said, hauling herself up. The clock on the mantelpiece showed it was nearly midnight. ‘It’s almost Christmas Day. We’re going to enjoy it whatever Lily-no-stockings says.’
Olive pulled a face but followed her up the dark staircase to the attic. They had got used to climbing up and down without light, saving their candle for reading in bed the handful of Jock’s musty books that they had brought with them from Belgooree.
They put on extra clothing, gloves and woollen stockings against the icy cold and bedded down together. Olive allowed Clarrie to put her arms about her.
‘Tomorrow, let’s get out your violin and have some music,’ Clarrie whispered. ‘Brighten up the day.’
‘She won’t let us.’
‘We’ll get round Jared after he’s had a Christmas drink. He likes it when customers play music in the bar.’
They fell silent, Clarrie slipping into a half-doze of exhaustion.
Suddenly Olive struggled to sit up. ‘That’s it!’
‘What?’ Clarrie murmured.
‘She’s a drinker,’ Olive declared.
‘Who?’
‘Lily-no-stockings.’
Clarrie was startled awake. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Yes, I’m sure of it,’ Olive replied. ‘She keeps something in a big pickle jar in the pantry. Saw her pouring it into a cup once and she gave me an earful for looking. Said it was white vinegar and it helped her digestion. Drinks it every day before her afternoon nap.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ Clarrie asked, incredulous.
‘Because I believed her about the vinegar.’
‘Well, maybe it’s true.’
Olive shook her head. ‘That horrible man Hobson; he was drinking the same stuff. It smelt the same — like sour flowers.’
‘Gin,’ Clarrie gasped. ‘Hobson drinks neat gin; it’s colourless.’
‘Then that’s what she puts in her pickle jar.’ Olive was adamant.
‘But I would’ve noticed.’ Clarrie was puzzled. ‘I can tell a drinker.’
‘You’re not with her as much as I am,’ Olive pointed out. ‘She’s good at covering it up and she stinks that much of onions and cooking I only notice the other smell when she leans close and tells me off. She’s always more bad-tempered in the mornings before she’s had her vinegar.’
‘Well I never!’ Clarrie exclaimed.
‘She was swigging away in the pantry tonight when I was washing up.’
‘No wonder she came charging into the bar full of hell. That would explain her being so odd.’
‘Do you think Cousin Jared knows?’ Olive asked.
‘I wonder,’ Clarrie mused. ‘Perhaps that’s why he likes to employ young lasses in the bar — keeps her in the kitchen making pies.’
‘Bet he doesn’t know about the vinegar,’ Olive said. ‘She’s just as bad as all those common women who come in.’
‘They’re not common, they’re canny,’ Clarrie said, thinking of Lexy and her friends. ‘And at least they’re not hypocrites like Lily, pretending to be holier than thou.’
Olive smirked. ‘Gin-Lily, that’s what we’ll call her from now on. Gin-Lily-no-stockings.’
CHAPTER 9
Clarrie woke early on Christmas morning, frozen and aching. She no longer needed a hammer on the door, so used was she to getting up long before dawn. Her hip throbbed from where she had been kicked and her face pulsed with pain. Leaving Olive’s present at the foot of their bed for her to find on waking, Clarrie limped downstairs. She placed two gifts on the table; handmade handkerchiefs for Jared and Lily that she had cajoled Olive into embroidering with birds.
It was only when stoking up the kitchen fire that she caught sight of her reflection in the steel fender. She gasped in horror. Rushing to the cracked mirror in the scullery, in the dim candlelight she saw that the bridge of her nose was swollen and her eyes puffed up into two purple bruises.
She covered her face in shock, tears of humiliation flooding her throat. What would people say when they saw her? She wanted to rush away and hide. Back in the kitchen she fought down the urge to weep, tears stinging her eyes and making her nose throb. She pulled her shawl over her head and flung it across her face like a veil. Nobody would see what that brute had done to her or she would die of shame. She crouched by the fire, her pulse racing. She felt small and vulnerable and utterly insignificant.
‘Mornin’, Clarrie.’ Jared appeared yawning in the doorway. ‘Happy Christmas!’
Clarrie gritted her teeth, stifling a howl of misery.
‘Clarrie? What’s the matter?’
Slowly she turned to face him and pulled the shawl away from her face. She saw him flinch with revulsion.
‘I — I told you to put some’at on yer neb last night,’ he stuttered. ‘Let me have a proper look.’
She winced as he touched her face with awkward fingers.
‘I’d say it’s broken,’ he tutted. ‘You’ll have to learn how to duck quicker next time.’
She stared at him in disbelief. She was in no mood for joking, but he seemed quite serious. He whistled through the gaps in his teeth.
‘I’ve seen some beauties in my time, and this is one of them. Vinegar bandage, that’s what you need. Cures most things. I’ll get my Lily to fetch some when she comes with the keys.’ He stepped round her, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot Lily had measured out the night before and Clarrie had made and left to keep warm on the hearth.
She shrank into her shawl again, suppressing the urge to scream. Olive entered beaming and rushed over to thank her for the sketchb
ook and pencils. Her words died on her lips at sight of her sister’s face.
‘Oh, Clarrie!’ she gasped, flinging her arms about her.
‘What’s all the fuss about?’ Lily came in, looking bleary-eyed and foul-tempered. How had Clarrie never noticed before these tell-tale signs of her drinking? She pushed Olive out of the way and peered at Clarrie, her breath rank. ‘Goodness me, lass, what a state you’re in! You can’t come to church looking like that.’
Clarrie shrank further back, trying not to gag.
‘Fetch the vinegar, my dear,’ Jared said. ‘That’s what she needs.’
Lily hesitated. Clarrie and Olive exchanged knowing looks.
‘Vinegar be damned!’ Lily blustered. ‘I’m not wasting good preservative on a bit of bruising.’
Even Jared was open-mouthed at her callousness. ‘But my dear—’
‘Don’t my dear me!’ Lily shouted. ‘It’s the lass’s fault for upsetting the customer in the first place. Mr Hobson’s a respectable foreman. We can’t afford to go offending the likes of him. Let it be a lesson to her.’ She rubbed her forehead and turned bloodshot eyes on Clarrie. ‘Now get up and stop lookin’ so sorry for yourself. Olive, why isn’t the table set?’
Olive’s face looked anxious once again as she bent her head and hurried to obey. Clarrie pulled herself up, despair gripping her. Lily knew they would both do her bidding for they had no choice. Clarrie hated herself for being so cowed, but she no longer had the strength to resist.
The Belhavens left for church, leaving Clarrie to prepare the vegetables for dinner and carry on the pie making that Lily and Olive had started. When Olive asked to stay with Clarrie, Lily snapped, ‘Certainly not! You’ll say yer prayers for the both of ye.’
Left on her own, Clarrie quelled the desire to flee the house and escape to the park. How could she when she looked so unsightly? She somehow felt as guilty as if it were she who had been the drunken aggressor in a brawl. It made no sense, but the feeling of failure and having brought the attack on herself pressed down on her like a dead weight.
THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER:A wonderfully moving story of courage and enduring love: First in the India Tea Series Page 11
