My Father, My Son

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Rachel erupted. ‘And you’d take it, wouldn’t you? You’d be quite happy to play second fiddle to that wastrel just as you’ve always done. For heaven’s sake assert yourself for once and do something!’

  ‘What d’you expect me to do? I’ve no power to say who’ll be elected apart for my personal vote.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to do something!’ She banged her chest.

  ‘What?’

  An indecisive hiatus. ‘I don’t know yet… but I’m not going to stand by and let him snatch this one from under your nose!’

  ‘But you didn’t seem to mind the idea of me being second-in-command to Ridsdale,’ he pointed out.

  ‘That’s entirely different! Ridsdale is a gentleman. Ridsdale hasn’t done what your so-called friend has done to you over the years, aping your every move – anyway, the main item isn’t about whether you’ll be Jack Daw’s Sheriff, it’s that Jack Daw shouldn’t be Lord Mayor at all!’ And Rachel swore to herself that nor was he going to be. To her, Russell’s post of Sheriff was to have been the pinnacle of all she had ever worked for: recognition of her true status. She wasn’t going to be robbed. She hadn’t decided how, but by heavens he wasn’t going to filch her husband’s glory this time. ‘Oh, by the way, she wants you to take her down to the hospital in the car. She thinks she’s broken her ankle – a pity it’s not her neck!’

  * * *

  ‘Hello, Mrs Danby, do come in!’ Rachel greeted her client with a charming smile and directed her to the front parlour. ‘I shan’t keep you a second, I must just pack this hat away before it comes to any harm. It’s for the new Lady Mayoress to wear at her husband’s inauguration.’

  Mrs Danby took the offered seat. ‘Mrs Daw is a neighbour of yours, I believe?’

  Rachel laughed gaily. ‘Oh, I wasn’t referring to Ella! Her tastes are far less stylish than this, poor dear.’ She put the hat in a box and pressed the lid on. ‘In any case, I don’t think for one moment the Council will be unwise enough to invest her husband as Mayor.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ Mrs Danby’s genuine interest stemmed from the fact that her husband was a councillor too.

  Rachel’s tapered fingers flew to her lips. ‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped out… I wouldn’t want to prejudice his chances, him being an acquaintance of my husband. But well, for me he’s much too radical, too much for what he calls “the working man” – as if someone who doesn’t hold a shovel doesn’t know what work is.’

  ‘Yes, I must admit I find that most galling as well,’ agreed the other. ‘My husband’s worked tremendously hard in his post as Treasurer but people never seem to appreciate how difficult a job it is.’

  ‘Oh, some do, Mrs Danby,’ corrected Rachel. ‘Russ speaks very highly of Mr Danby. In fact he was singing his praises only the other night. It made me quite cross to tell the truth.’ Mrs Danby frowned. ‘Oh, not that I don’t agree with him,’ added Rachel swiftly, ‘but I do think we women are never given the credit for our men’s success, don’t you? I’m very much aware how loyally you have supported Mr Danby.’

  ‘It’s most kind of you to say so,’ responded the other with a gracious inclination of her head.

  ‘Merely your due – no, I’m only sad that there won’t be many such compliments for poor Ella should her husband be elected.’

  ‘You think she’s unsuitable for Lady Mayoress?’ Mrs Danby removed her gloves a finger at a time.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t intend to imply that at all! Ella is a great friend of mine… no, it’s just that… well, one can’t help comparing her to the present holder of the office – such a placid creature. Ella is much more outgoing, a quality some people – not me, naturally – but some people find overpowering in a woman. But I hope they won’t judge her too harshly, she’s got some fine qualities – a most courageous woman, Mrs Danby. There’s not many would spend weeks in prison in support of one’s beliefs.’

  ‘Prison?’ breathed Mrs Danby.

  A grave nod from Rachel. ‘A tragedy that no one in her home town is aware of her pioneering. Our local press didn’t seem to regard it as important enough to warrant news space – and of course, Ella is much too modest to tell anyone of her bravery. She was arrested in the capital whilst marching in support of the Suffragettes – had a really dreadful time of it in prison.’

  Mrs Danby was thoughtful. ‘And what was Mr Daw’s attitude to this?’

  Rachel drove home her spear. ‘Oh, he was far too busy with his “working men” to help his wife out of her predicament. It’s not hard to see why she’s fighting for women’s rights… disgraceful, the way he neglects her. I’m so lucky in that area, you won’t catch me having to carry banners, I’m perfectly happy with my husband and children – but that’s all by the by, I’m supposed to be attending to your millinery requirements, not gossiping.’ She feigned involvement with her measuring tape and Mrs Danby’s head.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that defending your friend is gossiping, Mrs Hazelwood. It seems most annoying to me, a man like that putting himself forward as a spokesman for the downtrodden when his own wife comes into that category.’

  ‘How I agree – though of course what I’ve said must go no further than these walls, Mrs Danby. I wouldn’t have Ella’s hurt made public for all the world.’

  * * *

  The following day, Mrs Danby held an at-home gathering for her female circle. Rachel was invited, but refused apologetically with the excuse that she had too many orders to complete. Whilst coffee was being served Mrs Danby happened to mention the matter of the Labour candidate who was in opposition against Mr Ridsdale, repeating all that Rachel had told her the day before. ‘But of course it was relayed to me in confidence and must go no further than these four walls.’

  Relying on this transmission, Rachel sat stitching her creations and smiling to herself. It would have been unwise to attend the gathering – if she had raised the subject it would have looked to those who knew about the situation as sour grapes. But with luck Mrs Danby would have done the job for her. Soon they would all be telling their husbands ‘in confidence, of course’ what a brute Labour’s man was and influencing the final vote.

  * * *

  Surely someone had tampered with the clock. Rachel was positive it had said that time several minutes ago. She leapt up, went to the window, peered anxiously through the lace curtain then strode back to her seat. It was the day of the Quarterly General Meeting of the Council – election day. She was alone in the front parlour, waiting for her husband to come home with the news. The younger children – not yet at school – had driven her insane in the kitchen, but in here the silence was just as maddening. Her hands were poised on a section of felt that she was meant to be turning into a hat, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

  A terrible picture kept jarring her mind – that of the Mansion House under Ella Daw’s tenancy. There would be all manner of roughs cluttering up its gracious rooms – and beer bottles on the priceless tables! This appalling vision caused her eyes to land on her own table. A finger of sunlight banded the highly polished mahogany, luring dust particles. The felt in her hand became magnetized towards the surface, launching her from the chair yet again. But however vigorously her elbow moved, the dust simply resettled on the strip of sunlit wood. Aggravated, she tugged at the curtain to barricade the offensive glare – then realizing that she had used Mrs Danby’s hat as a duster, gave the felt a hearty brush and forced herself to get on with her work.

  After what seemed an interminable period of stitching she finally heard the sound of the car as it turned the corner.

  Throwing down the hat, she dashed from the house to meet him… but was arrested by the expression Russ dealt her as the car stopped; his face was grim. She clasped her hands to her bosom in dismay as he emerged from the driver’s seat. ‘We lost,’ she lamented.

  ‘Lost? Lost what – d’you know some little… tearaway put broken glass right across the road down there! If I hadn’t seen it glinting I�
�d have gone right over it and cut these tyres to bits.’ He stooped to check the rubber.

  ‘Blow the tyres!’ she volcanoed.

  ‘Aye, I dare say they would’ve done.’

  ‘Russell, how can you accept this so calmly?’ She hugged her brown cardigan about her to ward off the November chill.

  ‘I’m not calm, I’m blazing mad. Anyway, I know who the culprit is. I shall give him a clipped ear’ole the next time I see him.’ He used his cuff to polish an imaginary smear on the wing.

  ‘Russell!’ She was about to flounce back into the house when he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around.

  ‘Now, is that any way for the Sheriff’s Lady to behave?’

  She stopped ranting, but was cautious. ‘Whose Sheriff are you?’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice response to my good news, I don’t think! A-a-ah!’ He laughed and hoisted her off her feet again. ‘Our new Lord Mayor is… J-J-James Ridsdale!’

  She squealed and locked her arms round his neck, whence he swung her round, equally thrilled. ‘Oh, come on, we’ll have to go tell the children, Biddy – anybody!’ Her face glowed.

  ‘Hadn’t we better keep it secret until Bertie gets home?’ quizzed Russ. ‘I’d like him to know first.’ His son was going to be so proud! Though bursting to impart the tidings, Rachel agreed. ‘Oh, he’ll be absolutely chuffed to death!’

  * * *

  There was no such greeting for Jack Daw, only Ella’s condolences. ‘Never mind, lad, we’ll have our Labour Lord Mayor yet – maybe next year.’

  The glasses that had been intended for festivity were now employed in consolation. After his announcement, Jack had simply picked up a newspaper which he was now perusing with that familiar unreadable expression on his face. ‘Aye, maybe…’ He knew that the leaked report over his bid for the Mayorship had come from a member of his own party. It had been done with the best of intentions; the person responsible had assumed that the publicity could only help to fight the Conservatives’ claim to the post. He had been wrong. In fact, the press had been the main contributors to his downfall, their leader columns damning his involvement with the unions and also raising the issue of his wife’s imprisonment.

  Ella went over to perch on the arm of his chair, holding a glass of beer for him. It had turned out that her ankle was not broken, but badly sprained. ‘D’you think it was because of me that you didn’t get it?’

  He took the beer from her and gave a rare smile. ‘No – I rather thought my face wouldn’t fit. The Council got a letter from the York Traders’ Association objecting to my election because I’m too biased towards the working class.’

  She hugged him. ‘Aw, poor lad. I felt sure you’d win. So sure that I couldn’t help doing a bit of swanking in front of Rachel. I suppose we’ll suffer for that as well.’ She frowned thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe we already have.’ An enquiring eye rolled up at her. ‘Could Russ have had anything to do with you not getting it?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that to a mate.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, but I’m not so sure that Russ would put friendship before ambition – and I’m damned certain Rachel wouldn’t.’

  ‘And what could our resident aristocrat do to influence the vote?’

  ‘I don’t know… but I am aware she wasn’t over fond of the thought of you being Mayor. If she could’ve done something to stop it then I know she would.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t be turning supposition into reprisal. It’s possible that Ridsdale would’ve won despite the smears from the press.’

  ‘Maybe. But if I thought…’ For the moment her face darkened with intent. Then it resumed its natural mien. ‘Well, it looks like we’d better go round and offer congratulations.’

  ‘You can go on your own,’ said Jack. ‘I’m buggered if I’m off there to have her gloat. I’ll get round to shaking Russ’ hand some time.’ When the result of the vote had been announced he and the rest of the Labour councillors had walked out in protest. With a regretful look at each other, he and Ella took solace in their drinks.

  * * *

  Excitement had kept Rachel awake for most of the night. Even now the thrill was still active. Her eyes gleamed as she buttered her breakfast toast and jabbered on about robes and ceremonies and luncheon at the Mansion House – and what would she ever find to wear?

  ‘I thought it was kind of Ella to come round and congratulate us, didn’t you?’ contributed Russ during a pause in her babble. Jack hadn’t accompanied her, but he had shaken hands over the yard wall when their journeys to the privy had coincided.

  ‘I don’t know about kind – she looked as though she was going to choke with jealousy.’ It had come as a bonus to find that Jack hadn’t even been offered the post of Deputy Lord Mayor.

  ‘Oh, now be fair, Rachel. The lass must’ve been disappointed, and upset about some of the things that were printed in the press. She didn’t have to come round, but she did.’ He donned a look of puzzlement. ‘Though I didn’t quite get that funny remark about having a stabbing pain between her shoulders when you asked how her ankle was.’

  Rachel had understood it all right. More puzzling was whether someone had told Ella of the remarks Rachel had made to Mrs Danby or whether the inference on back-stabbing had been a feeler. Far from experiencing guilt over it, Rachel felt a surge of pride at having got the better of Ella at last. The only bad thing about it was that now everyone knew that Rachel lived next door to a convict – still, one had to make sacrifices. ‘Oh, I don’t care what Ella throws at us! I’m so happy!’

  Russ was euphoric too. Life had grown so very comfortable over these last few years and now it was going to be even more splendid. The only worrying aspect was whether his assistant could be trusted to cope while Russ took time off to perform his civic duties – And if you can say that’s your only worry, thought Russ, then you’re a very lucky man indeed.

  ‘Who will you be choosing as Under-Sheriff?’ asked Rachel, then studied him sharply. ‘You wouldn’t…?’

  Russ shook his head. ‘I haven’t decided yet, but I doubt Jack would take it even if I offered.’

  ‘But you won’t, will you?’ she pleaded. And when he was slow in answering, pressed him. ‘For me, Russ – please.’

  ‘Aye… all right, if it’ll make you happy.’ He nodded reluctantly, making her smile again.

  ‘Very happy. It’s bad enough living next door to him.’

  ‘Well, maybe you won’t have to for much longer.’ He smiled again. ‘I thought we might make a short move.’ She asked what he meant by short. ‘Oh, just around the corner.’

  ‘To one of the big houses? Oh, Russ – when?’

  ‘Well, not this afternoon – but as soon as one comes up for sale, we’re getting a bit cramped here and the business is doing well.’

  Rachel was still exclaiming her delight when Biddy came in bearing the latest screaming arrival and a fistful of letters. Her mistress unclasped ecstatic hands and returned to her breakfast. ‘Are the children ready for school?’ She always made certain that Robert and his sisters broke their fast at an earlier hour and a different table, giving the dilatory Biddy ample time to prepare them for school. Besides which, they were not the most perfect of tablemates on a morning – though she did permit them to take tea with her in this room.

  ‘Yes’b,’ said Biddy nasally and gave a rattling sniff, for which she was rebuked. ‘Sorry, ba’ab, I’ve caughd a code.’

  Russ quoted the words of a Yorkshire folksong as he took the mail from her. ‘Tha’s been a-courtin’, Mary Jane.’

  Biddy rumpled her brow and tucked the noisome baby under her other arm. ‘Oh no, sir!’

  ‘A joke, Biddy.’ Russ tossed a weary look at his wife as the maid departed. ‘Anybody who courted her would need his bumps feeling. I’ll just open these then I’ll be off to work.’ Downing the last drop of tea, he fetched an ivory dagger from the mantelshelf and began to slit the envelopes.

  The first three contained bills and after a slight m
urmur of acknowledgement Russ placed them to one side, reaching for another. This one was a letter. He did not recognize the handwriting and glanced at the sender’s address at the top of the page. What he saw produced a sudden, guilt-ridden flush and with as much equilibrium as he could muster he tucked the letter into an inside pocket.

  ‘That must be a large one,’ commented Rachel, glancing up briefly from her task of piling the plates.

  ‘Sorry, dear?’ He hadn’t realized she had been watching. His hands had started to tremble.

  She smiled knowingly. ‘You put all the others to one side but that one went in your pocket. You can’t hide your sins from me, Russ – I assume it was a bill?’

  Only slightly reassured he managed to utter, ‘Er… aye, it is a bit of a steep one.’

  She threw up her eyes. ‘What’s it for?’

  Speaking as casually as he could he began to slit another envelope to disguise his alarm. ‘It’s for the car. It broke down last week and I had to take it to the garage for repair. They charge the earth.’ His eyes were still adhered to the paper in his hand, but his mind would not leave the one in his pocket.

  Her brow quizzed him. ‘You never told me – how much?’

  Still faking involvement with the document in his hand he tried to bring his mental powers to order. ‘Er… sorry what did you say, love? Oh, five pounds it cost me.’

  She gave an exclamation of disbelief. ‘Five pounds! For a tiny fault?’

  He hoped she could not hear the tremor in his voice. ‘Who said it was tiny?’

  ‘Well you haven’t been without the car, have you? There can’t have been much wrong with it.’

  ‘It wasn’t so much that the fault was small – it was rather big actually – but the fact that they did it there and then, so that I wouldn’t have to be without it. Good service always costs, doesn’t it? Anyway.’ In slightly more collected fashion he opened the final envelope and bundled the lot of them behind the clock on the mantel. ‘I’d better be off. I’ll just go upstairs and get my coat out of mothballs, it’s white over out there.’