He tried to curb his impatience at the whining voice. It wasn’t the child’s fault. ‘Because I’m not very good company tonight. It’s better you go up now.’
‘What, at six-thirty?’ bawled an astounded Bertie from reflex.
The man’s resolution collapsed. ‘I don’t care what blasted time it is, just do as you’re told!’ Immediately, he felt brutish at the looks of alarm and tried to repair the damage. ‘I didn’t mean go straight to bed… Biddy might tell you a story if you treat her kindly, won’t you, Bid?’
‘I will indeed, sir. Off ye go, children an’ we’ll take our milk upstairs.’ A story would give her a chance to sit down.
‘Biddy’s useless at stories,’ objected Bertie.
Russ dithered, groping for something that would make the boy happy again. ‘Tell you what, Bertie! You can spend an hour or so with the birds’ eggs, how’s that?’
Partly mollified, Bertie was about to do this, when Charlie spoke. ‘Can I see your eggs, Father?’ He had asked before and when his father had refused he had not considered it too important – they were only a load of empty shells, after all. But when he had mentioned the collection once to Bertie and his half-brother had threatened to stab him in his sleep if he ever so much as touched the cabinet, it had become imperative that he be permitted to see inside it.
Russ had sunk back into thoughtfulness. ‘What?… Oh no, I’ve told you before, they’re very delicate and Bertie’s used to handling them.’
‘I swear I won’t touch them,’ Charlie persisted. ‘I’ll let Bertie open the drawers and just look at them.’
Russ felt weary. It would have been so easy to say, ‘Oh, suit your bloody self!’… but then he looked at Rachel’s son. No, he couldn’t heap this indignity on Bertie too. ‘No! I’ve said no, now will you please do as you’re bidden and go for a story!’
With only a slight delay from Charlie and a look of triumph from his half-brother, the children trooped after Biddy. However, Rowena tiptoed back to stand before her father’s seat, her expression transmitting her worry. ‘Is it because of what Becky did that you’re angry with us?’
He smiled as convincingly as he could and reached up to stroke her cheek. ‘I’m not angry, lass, just a bit tired that’s all. Why, what’s our walking accident been doing this time? I didn’t notice too many arms and legs missing.’
‘She didn’t mean it. She’s just so fond of Charlie that she finds it hard to keep him secret… you’re not too mad, are you?’
The indulgent smile wavered as the realization hit him between the eyes. Oh God, his own child! He had blamed Jack Daw and it had been one of his own… Somehow he managed to resuscitate his smile, though it was a lacklustred effort. ‘No, I’m not mad… who did she tell?’
‘Well, first it was Aunt Ella… and after she’d told her, I took him round – I felt sorry for him not being able to go out and meet anybody and I knew Aunt Ella would keep the secret. We sneaked him out the back way, no one saw him… but then Becky went and told Mrs Phillips too.’
She couldn’t have chosen a better distributor, thought Russ dully.
‘But I told her off and she’s promised not to tell anyone else… Father, why don’t you want anybody to know about Charlie?’
‘I told you, he’s not meant to be here.’
‘Oh well, don’t worry,’ comforted Rowena before she left. ‘Mrs Phillips wasn’t very interested.’
* * *
Whilst her daughter was uttering this opinion, Rachel was mouthing one of her own. ‘I’ve just one thing to say to you, Ella Daw!’ Her slight figure trembled with passion as she faced Ella over her neighbour’s threshold. ‘I think you’re despicable, devious and downright vindictive!’
‘That’s three things,’ replied Ella calmly, further infuriating Rachel.
‘Oh, you think you’re so witty! Well, I know it was you who wrote that letter to the Mayor and don’t think I don’t know why!’
Ella relaxed against the jamb. ‘If you know what reason I might have to be so spiteful then I’d be grateful if you’d let me in on it.’
Rachel opened her mouth, then shut it again, conscious of her slip.
‘It wouldn’t be because you think this might be my way of getting revenge?’ hazarded Ella. ‘For robbing my Jack of his Mayorship.’
‘I don’t know what you’re insinuating! Your husband lost the vote because he was unsuitable for the job. I don’t see how it could have been any of my concern.’
‘Oh, I’ll agree it wasn’t any of your concern.’ Ella nodded with a mild expression and crossed her arms. ‘But that didn’t deter you, did it, Rachel?’
‘Don’t imagine you can wriggle out of this by slandering me!’ blustered Rachel, wagging a finger. ‘I know you wrote that letter and I just want to say that I’m never going to forgive you.’
‘That’s it, then, is it?’ said the unflappable Ella.
Rachel projected astonishment. ‘You’re not even bothering to deny it, are you?’
‘Why should I? You say you know it was me, well fair enough. Was there anything else, Rachel?’
‘Yes! From now on I forbid you to enter my house or speak to my children. I’ve put up with you for so long because I believe in being neighbourly, but I can’t forgive this. I want nothing more to do with you!’ With this, she marched out of the back yard.
On closing the door, Ella turned to face her husband, who was sprawled in an arm chair. ‘Did you catch all that?’
‘I’d want my ears syringing if I hadn’t. Why didn’t you just tell her it wasn’t you instead of putting up with all that slaver?’
She sashayed across the room. ‘Ah, but how d’you know it wasn’t?’
He snatched her arm as she passed and pulled her onto his knee. ‘Was it?’
She gave an inscrutable smile and prodded the tip of his nose. ‘You’ll both just have to keep guessing, won’t you?’
* * *
Rachel’s return to her own domain was heralded by another slam of the door. She was about to flounce past her husband when he enquired what she had been doing. ‘I’ve been telling the culprit just what I think of someone who stoops so low!’ She was still furious at Ella’s calm acceptance.
He groaned. ‘Not Ella?’
‘Who else?’
‘We don’t know for sure it was her.’
‘I do! She didn’t even bother to deny it.’
‘Oh…’ He wiped a thoughtful hand over his mouth.
‘I don’t know why you should be so surprised! She and that husband of hers were the only ones with a motive.’ Her eyes still smarted over the encounter. It was maddening how that woman always made her lose control.
‘I don’t take your meaning.’ Russ looked puzzled.
‘She knew I sabotaged her Jack’s chances of becoming Mayor – oh, don’t look at me like that!’ She gave a gesture of irritation. ‘Somebody had to do it. We couldn’t have him demeaning the title.’
‘But you never mentioned anything at the time… what did you do?’
She sighed emphatically. ‘Nothing, really! I just happened to mention Ella’s prison sentence to Mrs Danby – it was her who did all the damage.’ She reacted fiercely to her husband’s look of condemnation. ‘Whatever part I played, did it warrant this kind of reprisal? She’s totally ruined us!’
‘I’m not convinced it was Ella,’ said Russ worriedly, and told his wife what their daughter had said about Mrs Phillips.
A moment of doubt coloured Rachel’s cheeks. Then she shook her head. ‘No, if that were the case then why didn’t Ella just deny it? I’m positive it was her – the cat! I’ve told her not to come here again and mind you stay away from that husband of hers, he’s just as much to blame – put her up to it, most likely.’ She departed, leaving her husband in more of a quandary than ever over who the culprit was… but then, did it really matter?
Russ had set a precedent: there was nothing in recent civic records to suggest anything of this nature happ
ening before. But the stripping of his office was not the end, only the beginning of an even worse period of stress. For a start, when Russ had handed in his resignation and the accoutrements that went with the post, he had overlooked the Lady Mayoress’s staff that had hitherto taken pride of place in the best parlour. In the normal sequence of things it was to have been handed back to the Lady Mayoress next month, but now the only ceremonial handover that took place was when Rachel threw the ebony rod at her husband the next morning. ‘A lot of good this did me!’ It came at him like a lance as, finding no table set in the front room, he entered the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose the Lady Mayoress will have the problems I’ve had to contend with, but you might as well take it back to her!’
His gut shrivelled at the thought of having to knock at the door of the Mansion House. Stooping, he curled his fingers round the staff and propped it in a corner, saying he would drop it in on his way to work. As to the latter, it was going to take some courage even to open his door after that press report. Please God, nobody would reveal that to his children. They had not come down yet, didn’t know their father’s shame. He asked his wife now what they should be told.
‘I dare say you can make some story up, you usually do.’ And this was the extent of her advice.
He did not eat, but waited for the children to come down, which in his wife’s presence seemed aeons. When all were finally grouped round the table, he cleared his throat. ‘Erm, just in case anybody says anything to you at school, I’ll tell you now that I’ve stopped being Sheriff – there’s nothing wrong, it’s just that with having a business to see to I haven’t got sufficient time.’ Some of the children looked at him, though without undue interest, the rest carried on eating. He waited for them to ask for further information, but none showed particular concern. It was quite a relief.
‘I’ve a further thing to add,’ announced their mother, drawing his fearful eyes round. ‘None of you are to talk to Mr and Mrs Daw. I don’t mean that you can’t answer if they say hello, that would be impolite, but I don’t want you talking to them or going into their house – and don’t tell me you don’t go in because I know you do!’
‘Have they done something naughty?’ asked Rhona.
‘Yes, but that’s between grown-ups.’ As she said it, Rachel noticed the morning paper lying within easy access. Fearing it might contain another derogatory headline, she slipped it off the table and out of sight. ‘The only thing that should concern you is to remember what I said.’ She looked at each of them, lingering over Becky, whom she had rebuked last night for telling Mrs Phillips.
‘Yes, Mother,’ they chorused.
Russ decided to set off for work now, hoping there would be fewer folk about. There were, but the few he did encounter made it seem as if he were facing thousands. His exit came simultaneously with Ella’s and Mr Parker’s, who lived on the other side of Russ. They emerged rather comically like soldiers out of sentry boxes. Russ raised his hat and gave a weak smile, ‘Morning.’
Ella muttered a ‘Morning’ of her own whilst Mr Parker did not answer. Both took their time in coming out of their gates, apparently hanging back while Russ, head down, made a hasty escape to his car, knowing they were about to gossip about him. They had the courtesy to wait until he had wrenched at the starting handle several times and set off, before turning to each other.
‘Have you seen him?’ an eager Mr Parker asked Ella.
‘Who, the boy? Aye, I met him t’other day.’
‘And is it right about him being black?’ When Ella nodded, Mr Parker looked shocked. ‘Eh, what’s the man thinking of, bringing him here.’
Ella laughed. ‘Russ didn’t bring him, he came on his own – he’s been here a few weeks.’
‘Has he really?’ The elderly man’s eyebrows rose. ‘I never heard a sound, did you?’
Ella wondered if Mr Parker had expected to hear jungle drums, but merely shook her head. ‘They’ve kept him well hidden.’
A disapproving laugh from the other. ‘I’m not surprised! Mrs Parker’s disgusted. She says she won’t speak to Russ again and I’m inclined to agree with her – morning, Mrs Dixon!’ Another neighbour was just leaving her house. Guessing their topic of discussion, she came scurrying up eagerly, hoping to learn a bit more than the press had told her.
Russ didn’t have to look back to know they were watching his journey down the street, a journey that attracted more accusatory looks and pointed fingers, noises which sounded rather like boos. No, you’re imagining it, he told himself, hands gripping the steering wheel. As if you haven’t enough to worry about, you’re inventing things – it’s the car engine making those noises. Yet he was very glad of this armour-plating.
When he arrived at the shop there was concrete evidence of the public’s ill-feeling towards him: every window was smashed, and not content with daubing ‘Rat’ on the woodwork, the culprit had tossed the remainder of the paint, pot and all, through a shattered window, ruining every article on display. Determined not to be driven from the only position he had left, Russ despatched his assistant to fetch a glazier while he himself cleaned up the mess of paint. At least tomorrow’s business could progress as normal.
When he went home that evening there was another shock in store. He had parked the car, shouted a pleasantry to a couple of neighbours and been ignored – that wasn’t a shock after the reception he had had this morning. The shock came shortly after he and his family had eaten. A rap at the front door caused his wife’s hands to stop what they were doing.
Rachel’s eyes flew at him and she began to usher Charlie from the room. Russ sent Biddy down the passage, telling her, ‘If it’s more reporters, say I’m not in.’
But when the maid returned she was accompanied by another woman. The latter, seeing the look of indignation which Rachel gave the maid, said, ‘Excuse me for intruding on your meal, Mr and Mrs Hazelwood, but I should like to speak to you if you can spare a moment.’
Rachel assumed a false smile. ‘Of course – do sit down…’
‘Mrs Ingram,’ supplied the middle-aged woman, a kindly individual dressed in mauve, with plump breast and greying hair. She took a seat on the sofa.
Rachel excused herself for the moment and assisted Biddy in clearing the table. When the two were in the scullery she whispered, ‘I thought I told you not to let anyone in except those people I’m expecting!’
Biddy mouthed an apology. ‘I couldn’t stop her, ma’am. She just sorta wangled her way in.’
‘Who is she anyway?’ Rachel shook her head rapidly. ‘No, no! I don’t mean her name – I mean what does she want?’ When Biddy said she didn’t know, Rachel sighed loudly and returned to confront the woman who by now had set up a conversation with the children.
‘And how old are you my dear?’ She had turned to Lyn, who said she was nine and a half. ‘You are very thin.’ Mrs Ingram slanted her head to take in Lyn’s overall appearance. ‘Don’t you eat your meals up?’
Lyn replied, ‘Sometimes, if I like what we’re having.’ She looked the woman up and down. ‘My mother says if we eat too much we’ll get fat.’
Mrs Ingram’s eyes twinkled and she looked around at the group of faces as if searching for someone else. ‘I believe you have another young man staying with you?’
Rachel’s smile became fixed and she looked at her husband as Mrs Ingram added, ‘I should very much like to meet him.’
‘He’s not available at the moment,’ said Rachel immediately.
‘Mrs Hazelwood, I’m not here to pry but to help – I do realize that you will have had plenty of interference to suffer already. I really do sympathize with your plight.’
So kindly did she say this, that Rachel began to warm to her. She sighed and offered tea, which Mrs Ingram accepted. Then she sat down. ‘I hope you don’t think I’ve been overly rude. It’s been a most dreadful time.’
Mrs Ingram sipped her tea. ‘I quite understand, my dear, and as I said I’m here to help.’
‘Yo
urs is the first such offer we’ve received,’ confessed Rachel. ‘People are quick to point the finger but slow to offer assistance.’
A gloved finger was directed at the ceiling. ‘Is the child upstairs?’
Rachel closed her eyes and nodded.
‘Could we call him down?’ At Rachel’s obvious reluctance, Mrs Ingram said firmly, ‘Mrs Hazelwood, the last thing I want to do is intrude, but if we are to discuss his welfare and education then it is better that I meet him.’
‘Ah, so that’s it,’ said Russ, tapping a cigarette on its pack and lighting it. ‘You’re from the Education Department.’ Not giving her time to confirm this he added, ‘Well, there’s no need to be concerned, the boy’ll be going back to Africa at the end of August.’
‘We’ll see, shall we?’ Mrs Ingram smiled and, cup in hand, looked at Rachel, who went to the foot of the stairs and shouted for Charlie. While they awaited him, she rubbed her arms nervously and passed a timorous smile to the woman.
Mrs Ingram turned her face to the doorway as the foreign voice enquired what was wanted of him. ‘Oh, come in, my dear! How do you do? I am Mrs Ingram.’ She held out her hand and Charlie engaged it in a limp handshake, looking bemusedly from his father to Rachel and back to the furry-cheeked woman. Mrs Ingram continued to make polite conversation with him, asking him all about his journey here, had anyone questioned him when he had got off the boat? Did he like being here? What meal was his favourite?
Rachel found it hard to grasp the reasoning behind these queries – the woman had said she was here to help but as yet there had been little indication of this. She looked at the clock. ‘I don’t want to appear rude but…’
Mrs Ingram inclined her head. ‘Of course, my dear… do you think I might have a private word with you and Mr Hazelwood before I leave?’ Slightly puzzled, Rachel sent the children upstairs and shut the scullery door on Biddy’s prying ears.
‘Firstly,’ said Mrs Ingram, ‘let me say that the boy looks perfectly healthy…’
My Father, My Son Page 21
