A Step Too Far

by Meg Hutchinson

  33

  Woden Place. The home of Arthur Whitman and her home for the past six months. Katrin glanced about the bedroom she shared with her husband. Elegantly furnished with a taste that of his former wife, she had made no effort to change it. That would come later – as would a change of residence. Though set at the prosperous end of town and facing the prettily laid out Brunswick Park, Woden Place was smart but not smart enough; marriage to a prominent businessman was only the first step.

  She crossed the thick Axminster carpet and drew open the drawer of a beautiful marquetry and rosewood bureau, taking from it the box and scarf she had brought with her on her wedding day.

  ‘What do you think of it, mother? Is Woden Place the home you dreamed you would one day live in?’ Yes! She smiled mockingly, her eyes steel hard. ‘But then, mother, your dreams were always small: Arthur Whitman for a son-in-law, this house to live in, that would have satisfied you, but not me mother, they do not satisfy me. There are steps yet to take, rungs on the ladder yet to climb and I intend to climb them all, right to the top.’

  Love? A sneer replaced the smile dying on her lips. ‘No, there is no love, mother, I did what you wanted, I married for wealth, for position, while Arthur married to give his name to a child which does not exist, love did not enter the equation, neither for him nor for me.’

  He had tried pretending. In the time preceding his departure for Australia, Arthur Whitman had made love to her, but even in the short space of two months what she had known was no more than physical satisfaction had happened on fewer and fewer occasions until it had stopped altogether. Was that because his mind was caught up in the illusion of having seduced an innocent girl?

  Innocent? She threw back the cream satin covered eiderdown. In the Biblical sense yes, but in the mind? Katrin Hawley had not been innocent of mind since that game of hopscotch in a junior school playground, nor would she let that asset slip from her now.

  She had fretted that the deviousness would fail, that Arthur would not believe the lies she told that there was no one the Labour Exchange Office could recommend for the post of works manager. But each time she had reported the line engaged, or made any excuse which delayed the threat of herself being relegated to an inferior position within management, Fate had played on her side and created some problem with construction of the machinery designated for Australia.

  Fortune had been her team mate. Slipping into bed, Katrin breathed contentment. Arthur had gone to Australia leaving Isaac Eldon and herself as they were.

  ‘As they were’ could become ‘as they had once been’.

  But for that to happen she had to find a way of getting Isaac Eldon gone from Prodor before her husband returned.

  ‘What about this weddin’ then? You and Whitman?’

  Katrin could have answered the question, told Alice Butler how Arthur Whitman had allowed himself to be seduced then been fool enough to believe himself a father-to-be. She could tell the girl now, months after that short ceremony attended only by Jacob Hawley, a church deacon and an altar server, both of whom had been requested by the priest to act as witnesses. She could tell Alice of living here at Woden Place and of the husband who so soon had stopped making love to his wife. Becky would no doubt view that as tragedy, but it was no heartache for a woman interested not in the man but only in what he could provide. She intended Arthur Whitman to provide plenty.

  She could tell but she would not, she would tell no one. It would continue to be thought she and her husband were deeply in love. She was the wife of the owner of Prodor and New Crown Forgings yet still of little influence should matters concerning dismissal of Isaac Eldon come to a head. He would be deemed of more value to the company than herself.

  She must see what could be done to bring about a devaluation.

  ‘I asked Mr Eldon could I ’ave a minute to come speak with you, I told him I hardly gets to see anythin’ of you since you wed.’

  ‘Things have become extra busy since Mr Whitman’s departure, it has meant my being here a great deal more than before.’

  Trying not to show her distaste for the oil-smudged overalls and smell of slurry, Katrin’s glance was brief and without interest.

  ‘Eh Kate!’ Alice breathed admiration. ‘This be a real turn up, don’t it Kate? I mean you there in old Whitman’s place, folk could take you to be really the boss ’cept you be a woman; but I bet you be boss along of Woden Place, that be a step up from Hollies Drive eh!’ She shook her turbaned head. ‘Who’d ’ave thought when we was kids together at school, who’d ’ave thought Kate Hawley would one day marry the owner of a factory and go to live in a house smarter even than your mother’s! Her would ’ave been real proud, can’t be no denyin’ of that. Pity her ain’t alive to see what you’ve made of yourself, Kate, her would ’ave been like the goose that laid the golden egg.’

  She ought to have put an end to this familiarity months ago! Her position as wife of the factory owner rendered any such approach unacceptable. About to tell her so, the girl’s next words had Katrin thankful she had not made that plain.

  ‘I just had to tell you, Kate, I had to tell you, Becky’s had her babby.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ Alice replied. ‘Don’t know exactly what time, mother said the midwife were at the Turners night before last, and was still there when mother seen the little ’uns off to school.’

  This was what she had waited for.

  ‘Becky and the baby, they are both well? Has she had a boy or a girl?’

  The face developed a puzzled frown. ‘A lad, that much me mother were told when her called round to the Turners, but when her asked could her see Becky and the babby her were told there was to be no visitors for a while, Becky was tired out and the little ’un? Mother were told he be middlin’.’

  Chagrin sped along Katrin’s veins. If the child should not live, then the desire she had nurtured all these months would count for nothing.

  Taking a moment to force all trace of frustration from her next question, she spoke with pretended concern. ‘Has the doctor been called, has he said what is wrong with the baby?’

  ‘Mother asked the same. Said Mary Turner seemed as though her didn’t want to talk about it, in fact her almost showed mother the door. That don’t be the Mary Turner we knowed, that woman couldn’t never wear lipstick, her couldn’t keep her mouth still long enough to put it on; so why the sudden change, Kate? Why the refusal to say anythin’?’

  Why indeed? It was certainly not the way neighbours were usually treated and the Turners and the Butlers were long-standing friends. What Becky’s mother had said, was it true or was it a lie? And if the latter what could it have been intended to hide? Was the child somehow deformed? Was that the problem Mary Turner was keeping from her friends, the ‘sickness’ Becky’s child was suffering?

  ‘I think Mrs Turner is simply being protective.’ She smiled across the desk. ‘Having a baby can’t be the most pleasant of experiences and Becky hasn’t had an entirely easy time, not with morning sickness lasting for most of the nine months. I wouldn’t worry, Alice, give it a few days and Mrs Turner will be welcoming you in to see her grandchild.’

  ‘You probably be right.’

  ‘Alice.’ Katrin called to the girl as she turned to leave. ‘Will you let me know when Becky is recovered? I would like to visit.’

  Katrin smiled at the closed door. A visit that would enable her to describe to Robert Eldon the child of an American airman.

  ‘I called round to see Becky today. I wanted to offer some help p’raps with the cleaning or the washing; Becky’s lying in will add a great deal to the chores, especially with nappies needing to be scrubbed and boiled every day.’

  ‘How is the girl and the little lad?’

  ‘I didn’t get to see either of them.’ Miriam looked up from a dish she was lining with slices of potato.

  ‘Didn’t get to see ’em?’ Isaac Eldon slipped a packet of sandwiches into the pocket of his jacket. ‘How b
e that then?’

  ‘Her mother said Becky was tired and the child was not so well as it might be.’

  Taking up the thick wool scarf his daughter had knitted against the cold of winter nights standing fire watch duties, Isaac tucked both ends inside his jacket before answering. ‘There y’ go then, that be the reason you didn’t get to see the wench and her lad.’

  Reason maybe, but the truth? Miriam added a shake of salt and pepper to the sliced potato. Mary Turner had behaved oddly, it had seemed she did not want her there in that house and on hearing the baby cry had virtually pushed her out.

  ‘I spoke to a woman a couple of houses down the street who said that nobody had been allowed to see Becky or the child. I knew what giving birth be like, dad, I know it leaves you feeling worn out but that feeling is gone after a few hours of sleep.’

  ‘You be frettin’ over nothin’!’

  ‘No.’ Miriam’s reply was sharp and quick with anxiety. ‘You see the woman said something else, she said there had been no doctor call at the Turners, isn’t that strange, seeing a newborn child is poorly?’

  Cutting one thin slice of ‘Shag’ tobacco – all he allowed himself of the half ounce block – Isaac answered, ‘You know what gossips be, some of ’em talk so much their tongue gets sunburn.’

  ‘What about this one?’ Miriam laughed sticking out her tongue.

  ‘You ’as sense to keep it in the shade.’ Isaac packed the sliver of tobacco into the bowl of a smoke-browned briar pipe.

  ‘But what if it be true?’

  Slipping matches and pipe together into another pocket, Isaac met the worried frown.

  ‘And what if it be no more’n hearsay? Be sensible, Miriam wench, it stands to reason we, the child’s father’s family, would ’ave been told were aught amiss with that little ’un. Now,’ he smiled, ‘you just worry over that “poor man’s goose” you be cooking, I be lookin’ forward to a plate o’ that when I come home.’

  ‘Do you have to go back? You’ve been at that works from first light, surely someone else can manage for one night at least.’

  ‘Ar wench, likely they could.’ Isaac nodded buttoning his jacket. ‘But it were Isaac Eldon give promise it would be him would oversee the settin’ up of hydraulic feed to them machines bein’ installed at New Crown Forgings, and I reckons a promise be a promise. For that reason if for no other I ’ave to see the project through to the finish.’

  Miriam returned to her cooking. Slicing bullock’s liver she had queued an hour to get into the dish, she covered it with another layer of potatoes, and then one of sliced onion before adding sage mixed with lard and finally two slices of bacon which was her own weekly ration. She could have eaten it when serving the rest with mash and Oxo gravy to Reuben and her father but using it to make ‘poor man’s goose’ would see that ration go further.

  Carrying the prepared dish to the fireside oven where it would bake slowly, she pondered her father’s dedication and his pride in his work.

  Pride and dedication! Firelight splintered by tears spread a thousand slender darts. Isaac Eldon had a wealth of both.

  34

  No visitors permitted into the Turner house.

  Katrin mulled over the girl’s latest communiqù. It had been a simple matter to check on the time Alice’s shift ended and coincide her own leaving to match.

  ‘Isaac Eldon had said nothin’.’

  Watching water rush into the bath, Katrin heard again the bewildered tone in Alice’s voice.

  ‘He ain’t never spoke of Becky nor of that new grandchild of his. Nosy Nora says Mary Turner be like a bulldog, won’t let nobody through the door, her told Nora to bugger off and mind her own business. That bit give we all a laugh; but the other, Mary’s keepin’ everybody away, I thinks that be strange, what d’ you think Kate?’

  Turning off the taps, Katrin reached for a pretty glass flagon half filled with tiny pearlised grains. She held them in her hand a moment, their delicate perfume drifting like a scented cloud.

  ‘Madame understands they are offered only to our most privileged clients . . .’

  The assistant at the London dress shop Arthur had taken her to had fawned, producing the Helena Rubinstein Beauty Casket when it seemed she might lose her frightfully expensive sale.

  Katrin had consented to a church ceremony, agreed to wear white, albeit the silk shanting suit she had finally purchased was a very pale shade of cream. But she had opted for a church wedding for the reason Jacob Hawley believed. Her mother had always dreamed of seeing her girl walk down the aisle in a bridal gown. Jacob had smiled, taking her hand in his the evening Arthur had come to ask permission to marry her. But she had not done what was asked because Violet would have wished it, she had done it for him, the man who had been a father to her, the one man she felt any love for. She had asked him to stay here in Wednesbury, to tell Arthur Whitman he must find someone else to go with him to Australia, to let that someone be Isaac Eldon. But for once in her life Jacob Hawley had turned a deaf ear to her request. But it was not a lifetime separation, he would return – and so would Arthur Whitman!

  Dropping the grains into the bath, she watched them circle then melt into the water, blending with it like so many crystal tears. Tears she had so often shed after finding she was— But those days were over, she was no longer that hurt little girl, she was a woman, a woman who would avenge those tears a thousandfold.

  Katrin’s thoughts dwelt on the return of her husband and the problem she had not yet resolved: how and why Isaac Eldon had to go.

  ‘He ain’t never spoke of Becky nor of that new grandchild. I thinks that be strange Kate . . .’

  Strange was an understatement. Was Isaac Eldon privy to whatever it was had Mary Turner bar everyone who attempted to visit Becky and the child?

  ‘Mary Turner be like a bulldog, won’t let nobody through the door.’

  Would ‘nobody’ include the wife of Wednesbury’s most important industrialist?

  The answer could well be yes!

  So the wife of that industrialist must call when the ‘bulldog’ was away from the kennel!

  Jacob had been so thoughtful in the choice of special gifts he had hung on the ‘Katrin tree’. He had always tried to give her something useful and the one he had placed there some years ago would certainly be that.

  ‘I be in half a mind to take the risk . . .’

  Alice’s words had given her the idea. ‘I be of a mind to go round there while the dragon be out. I could tell Isaac Eldon I ’ave to go to the chemist to get a bottle of summat for mother’s women’s troubles. He won’t argue with that ’specially when I promises I’ll be back at work afore dinnertime be over. Becky’s mother don’t be forty yet so her has to help with the war effort same as everybody else. Her works at the Civic Restaurant and though Becky be lying in it don’t mean Mary can take time off; her must be at that restaurant from around ten in the mornin’ to about three in the afternoon. In the meantime Becky be on her own, that don’t be no hardship, after all givin’ birth don’t mean you be crippled, Becky can manage ’til her mother be back.’

  Becky would be alone, just her and the baby in the house! Katrin glanced at her watch. A few minutes to twelve. It would raise no eyebrows if she left the office now. Slipping into her coat, lifting her bag onto her shoulder she reached for the plain cardboard box. It had been a brilliant idea replacing the gas mask with the item she was taking to the Turner house; an everyday thing, a gas mask had to be carried wherever you went so would raise no eyebrows, unlike the gift it housed.

  A gift? It could be called that.

  Would Becky see it as Jacob Hawley had meant it to be seen? Would she see the contents of this box as ‘something useful’?

  She had not come to this street in so many years. Katrin glanced at the smoke-grimed houses hunched together as if each was trying to hide behind the other. Queen Street! Distaste became a sneer in her throat. Despite its grander name it was no different to Cross Street; both were dism
al. Was it any wonder Violet had moved to Hollies Drive at the first opportunity?

  Doors hereabout scarcely ever being locked had been another tit-bit revealed by Alice Butler; really, if this venture proved a success she should thank the girl.

  If it proved a success. Katrin smiled as the door swung open. Everything so far seemed to say it would.

  Calling quietly, she moved from the scullery into the living room. Table, chairs and a worn sofa jostled for space with a dresser boasting an assortment of crockery. Opposite a sleepy fire dozed beneath a large kettle, its bottom and sides blackened from years of being hung over burning coals.

  A fire, a steaming kettle, but no Becky! Katrin hesitated. Hadn’t Alice said something about ‘lying in’? Did that mean Becky would be in bed? Guessing the only door in the room would be shielding the stairs, she crossed quickly to it trying to keep her footsteps as quiet as possible on steps which, though uncarpeted, were bleached almost white with constant scrubbing.

  She called again softly on seeing Becky in the third bedroom. Why did she not answer? Katrin moved further into the room.

  Becky had not answered because she was asleep, as was the infant in her arms.

  Looking at the tiny bundle, a smile curved Katrin’s lips. Each movement deft and silent, she opened the gas mask container and lifted out the Brownie box camera which had been that gift left for her on the ‘Katrin tree’. Becky would be thrilled with a photo of her baby. She could probably get a shot of Becky before she woke. A photo of her asleep with the child across her breast would make a beautifully tender picture.

  Focusing quickly, she played in on the sleeping pair. She had thought the click would waken Becky, but when it did not she poised the camera again. Several shots would be better than a single one, they would provide more chance of success. Not much could be seen of the baby, just the dark fuzz of hair peeping above the white knitted blanket. Reaching to the sleeping bundle she gently drew the cover from the tiny occupant, drawing a quick involuntary breath as, disturbed by the touch, the head turned and the eyes opened, so brown they could almost have been black. Katrin almost forgot her reason for drawing the blanket aside then, as the baby snuffled, she brought the camera close gaining several takes before the eyes closed. Perhaps one more of Becky with the face of her son showing clearly as her own. A memory to treasure.