by Jonker, Joan
The next day, after feeding the baby, Evelyn left Eliza in charge and went into the city. She soon found the letting office in Moorfields and asked for information on six-roomed houses. The clerk gave her a list of addresses, saying the rent of each depended on the area in which it was situated and the condition of the property. After listening to Evelyn’s cultured voice, he recommended two that she should try first. They were in a good area, and as they were in sound decorative order, she could move in straight away.
From there, Evelyn went to order a pram to be delivered the following day. Then it was time to head for home before the baby started screaming to be fed. Once satisfied, Amelia settled down and would sleep for at least two hours, so Evelyn set off to look at the two houses. She wasn’t very happy about having to move to such a small place, but was afraid the Lister-Sinclairs could make her life unpleasant if she didn’t agree. One of the houses had a small front garden, and looking through the letter box and the windows, it seemed clean and bright. So she took the tram down to the letting office, was told the house was three shillings and sixpence a week, and was asked to pay two weeks in advance. She told the clerk she was a war widow and that her name was Mrs Sinclair. When the forms were filled in, she received a rent book and a set of keys.
Evelyn hated the house. It seemed so poky after the one she had grown used to. Nevertheless, having had to give Eliza notice, she found it impossible to clean and feed the baby, and keep up with the other washing and ironing, shopping and cooking. As she had no idea of the value of money, she bought the best of everything, even though she had no money coming in. It didn’t take her long to fritter her savings away. When she’d been in the new house a year she had to pay her first visit to a pawn shop. Over the next year, all the expensive ornaments, pictures and mirrors, brought from the house in Princes Avenue, found their way into that shop. She was too naive to realise the pawnbroker was only giving her a fraction of what the items were worth, and she would never have the money to redeem them. She lived from day to day in a dream world, thinking that somehow she would be taken back to the riches and wealth she loved so much and which she thought she deserved. She never blamed herself for her situation, it was always the baby who had ruined her life.
One day as she sat at the bare table, she thought of the empty larder and her empty purse. There was nothing left for her to pawn except the rings on her finger. She knew they were very expensive because she’d been with Charles when he bought them. The wedding ring she’d have to keep or people would think she was an unmarried mother, and common sense told her the engagement ring would be better sold to a jeweller than to a pawnbroker. It was a beautiful ring with a huge diamond in a claw setting. She had to get a good price for it because the money would have to last a long time. She couldn’t take it back to the shop it was bought from because they had known Charles. So she found another well-known jeweller’s, and for once stood her ground and refused the fifty pounds she was initially offered for it.
‘My husband paid four hundred pounds for that, and you offer me fifty? That is nonsense and you know it! I shall try elsewhere and am sure I’ll get what the ring is really worth.’
She was right, of course, as the jeweller was well aware. ‘What price were you expecting to get for it, madam?’
‘At least half what my late husband paid for it.’
The man removed the glass from his eye. ‘I’m sorry, madam, but you won’t get that from any jeweller. It is after all secondhand which lowers its value considerably. I would be prepared to give you one hundred and fifty pounds for it, which would leave me a very thin profit margin.’ He passed the ring back over the counter. ‘But perhaps you would like to try one or two other shops?’
Evelyn didn’t have time to try other shops, she’d left Amelia playing with a rag doll in her bedroom. The child was three now, and sensible for her age because Evelyn was very strict with her. She had been warned not to leave the room, and wouldn’t dare disobey her mother. They never had visitors, nor were they friendly with the neighbours. The women to either side had held out the hand of friendship to Evelyn the day they’d moved into the house, offering to mind the child while she got her furniture sorted out and was settled in. But all they had received in reply was a frosty stare, for she regarded them as being of a lower class than herself. They’d shrugged their shoulders and given up on her. Even now, after three years, she would pass them in the road without a glance. They felt sorry for the little girl because she was seldom taken out for a walk in the fresh air, even though there was a park nearby with swings which all the local children used. Except Amelia Sinclair.
‘I’ll take what you are offering, and would like to complete the transaction quickly, as I really must get home to my child.’
As Evelyn pushed the white five-pound notes into her handbag, her mind went back to the time she was getting as much money in her monthly allowance from Mr Lister-Sinclair. And she’d had no bills to pay out of it so it mostly went on clothes. She sighed as the tram came to a halt and she stepped on board. She would have to be very careful with this money, it would have to last until Amelia was old enough for school and she herself could look for work in one of the offices in the city centre. She had thought many times that she should be entitled to a pension from the Army; with Charles having been a Captain it would probably be a decent one. But she was afraid that with his father being down as next-of-kin, he would probably be notified if she put in an application. It was years now since she’d had any contact with the Lister-Sinclairs, or her own parents who had disowned her for blackening their name. Nor had she seen Gwen or Oscar, but that didn’t worry her because she’d hate them to know of her drastically reduced circumstances.
Amelia was holding the rag doll to her chest when Evelyn opened the bedroom door. ‘I’m hungry, Mother, can I have some bread, please?’
‘Yes, and I’ve got a treat for us. I bought some boiled ham, tomatoes and a nice crusty cottage loaf. And we’ll have real best butter on the bread.’ Evelyn found nothing strange in talking to her three-year-old daughter as if she were a grown-up, or that in return she was called ‘Mother’, not Mammy or Mummy. ‘I’ve also bought a cream sponge cake for dessert, so we are eating well tonight. But it’s only because it’s a special occasion, so don’t expect it every day. I’ll have to be careful with money.’
Despite her good resolutions, with money in her purse Evelyn could not resist the finer things in life, and in eighteen months the money she’d got for her engagement ring had dwindled to a few pounds – not enough to send her daughter to a high school in six months when she’d be five. The thought of any child of hers attending a corporation school filled her with despair. Neither could they stay on in this house because the rent had gone up over the years to four shillings a week, and it was such a draughty place it took two bags of coal a week to keep it warm. So once again Evelyn had to lower her sights, and was forced to move to a working-class area, with street after street of two-up-two-down houses occupied by families who were lucky if they saw a square meal once a week. There was a lot of unemployment there, dozens of men chasing after every vacancy. They would turn their hand to anything to put food on the table for their families, but life was hard and poverty was rife. Evelyn, with her knowledge of another lifestyle, hated it, and looked down her nose at everyone. The only person she felt sorry for was herself. Her misfortunes were not her fault, she decided. They were the fault of Charles for going away to war when he didn’t have to, and of Amelia for being born.
Once again a knocking on the window had Evelyn shaking her head to clear it of the memories. She pushed her chair back and, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hands, opened the front door to her daughter. There was no smile or greeting for the child, she just turned on her heels and walked back to the chair she’d vacated.
Amelia’s face was aglow as she followed her mother in, forgetting to close the front door behind her in her excitement. ‘Mother, you’ll be very pleased with me!’ She
put the newspaper-wrapped parcel containing the chips on the table, plus a large tin loaf. ‘I walked up the street with Miss Bessie from next door, and she said I was very clever for getting a large loaf for a penny.’
The slap was delivered so quickly, and with such force, it shocked the young girl who looked bewildered as she let out a cry before putting a hand to her cheek. The cry of pain was loud enough for Bessie Maudsley to hear as she rooted in her bag for her front door key. Bessie was a small, wiry woman, who seemed to do everything at the double. A spinster, she’d lived alone in the house next door since her parents had both died in their fifties. She had a job as a seamstress and worked five and a half days a week. The pay wasn’t much, but there was only herself to worry about and she managed fine. She was fond of her young neighbour who, to her mind, was too old in the head for her years, and wasn’t allowed to enjoy her childhood like the other kids in the street. And if she thought for one minute that Lady bleeding Muck was going to give the girl a thrashing, she’d be in next door like a shot. So she stood with her door key in her hand and listened.
Unaware that the front door was still open, Evelyn raged at her daughter who couldn’t understand why she’d been smacked for doing what her mother had asked her to do. ‘How dare you discuss our affairs with the neighbours when I have told you so often that you must not have anything to do with them? They are not our kind and I will not let you bring us down to their level.’ Poking a finger in her daughter’s chest, she growled, ‘Now do you understand what I’m saying, or do I have to knock it into you?’
Over my dead body, Bessie thought, rushing to knock on the open door. But she remembered to be careful what she said in case young Amelia suffered for it. ‘Is everything all right in there?’
It was then Evelyn noticed the front door was still open, and hissed, ‘You stupid child, you didn’t close the door behind you!’ Then her expression changed from one of anger to one of sweetness and light which didn’t sit well on her face because it was so obviously false.
‘Oh, hello, Miss Maudsley! Of course everything is all right. My clumsy daughter here bumped into the table and hurt herself, but it was nothing serious.’
Bessie stared her out. ‘I’m sorry if she hurt herself ’cos I’m fond of yer daughter. I’ll no doubt see her tomorrow and I can ask her meself how she is.’
With that veiled warning she turned back to her own front door. She’d be keeping her eyes and ears open in future, for she wouldn’t trust that two-faced villain as far as she could throw her. Apart from thinking she was better than anyone else in the street, she had that sly look about her and obviously wasn’t to be trusted. Now Bessie didn’t care what her neighbour did, she could pretend she was the Queen of England if she wanted, it was no skin off Bessie’s nose. But when it came to a child being ill treated, well, that was a different kettle of fish. She’d not stand by and see any youngster punished when they’d done nothing wrong. She’d mention it to Rita over the road, ask her to keep an eye out during the day while she herself was at work. The queer one next door was sly and needed watching.
Chapter Three
Rita Wells happened to glance out of her front window and saw Bessie Maudsley standing on her front step with her arms folded. The table had been cleared after their meal, the dishes washed and the two boys were out playing. Her husband Reg was reading the Echo, which was a ritual with him every evening and the one luxury he had in life beside his pint every Saturday.
‘Bessie’s standing at her door watching the world go by. She’s probably glad of the fresh air after being stuck behind a sewing machine in a noisy factory all day. So, seeing as I’ve cleared up and everywhere is tidy, I think I’ll go over and have a natter with her.’ Rita jerked her head back and tutted. ‘Don’t look at me like that! Anyone would think I was Cinderella and had told yer I was going to a ball in a glass carriage, the sour face on yer. I wouldn’t care if it was a case of yer missing me to talk to, but yer never open yer ruddy mouth until yer’ve read the paper from front page to back page. All I ever see is the top of yer head, and that’s not interesting enough to keep me in. So whether yer like it or lump it, I’m slipping across to while away half-an-hour with Bessie.’
Reg lowered the paper to his knees and spread his hands. ‘I haven’t opened me flaming mouth! If yer want to go and have a talk with Bessie, then by all means do so.’ He was a tall, broad man with black hair who loved his wife and kids dearly. He had a sense of humour too. ‘As long as ye’re back in time to make me a cup of tea and put me slippers on.’
Rita patted the top of his head. ‘I’ll be back long before yer bedtime, sunshine, I’ll only be half an hour. Unless Bessie has some exciting news for me, and then yer can make yer own tea and put yer own flaming slippers on.’ She got to the door and turned with a puzzled expression on her attractive face. ‘Ay, yer haven’t got no pair of slippers.’
‘I wondered when the penny would drop.’ He gazed at his wife’s bonny figure, curly mouse-coloured hair, and round happy face. It was a lucky day when she’d come into his life. ‘Go on, love, yer deserve a break. But give us a kiss first.’
‘Pucker up then, don’t leave me to do all the work.’ Rita bent to kiss him and found herself being pulled down on to his knee. ‘Ay, now come off it, Valentino, don’t be going all he-man on me. Not when I could be missing some juicy gossip.’
‘How can Bessie have any gossip for yer when she’s been out at work all day? You and Aggie see more of the neighbours than she does.’
‘I know that, soft lad, it was supposed to be a joke. Anyway, I’m off, and I’ll see yer when I see yer.’
As Rita crossed the cobbles, she was hoping her next-door neighbour Aggie wasn’t watching through her window. She liked Aggie who had a heart of gold and was always the first to help in time of trouble. Her only fault was she couldn’t control her tongue. If there was anything on her mind, she came out with it, regardless of the consequences. If she took a dislike to anyone, she let them know in no uncertain terms. But if she took a liking to yer, she’d move heaven and earth to do you a good turn.
Bessie smiled. ‘Hello, girl, where are you off to?’
‘Nowhere, I’ve just come to keep yer company and have a natter.’ It was Rita’s turn to smile. ‘And if yer believe that, sunshine, then yer’ll believe anything! I’m here because I’m nosy. No, I’m not going to call meself nosy! Let’s say I’m curious about what was going on next door.’ She kept her voice low. ‘I saw yer going to the door, and I heard yer shouting in, but I couldn’t hear what yer said. Has Her Ladyship been up to something or were yer just being neighbourly?’
Bessie stepped back into her hall. ‘Come in, girl, before the whole street gets nosy about what ye’re doing standing on me step.’
When Rita followed her friend into the living room, she nodded. ‘Yeah, yer still keep it like a little palace. Yer should have got married, sunshine, and had a load of kids, ’cos yer’d have made a wonderful wife and mother. Still, yer know the old saying: If yer’ve none to make yer laugh, yer’ve none to make yer cry. There’s times I wish I’d never got married, even though I love the bones of my feller and the two boys.’
‘Go ’way, yer’d be lost without them.’ Bessie waved to a chair. ‘Sit down and take the weight off yer feet.’ She sat down opposite. ‘This is to go no further, girl, especially to Aggie. Not that I’ve anything against her, she’s a good mate, but yer know she can’t keep a thing to herself. And knowing how she feels about Mrs Sinclair, this would be right up her street. So, least said, soonest mended.
‘Anyway, I walked up the street this evening with young Amelia, who was really excited ’cos she’d gone to the baker’s and they’d let her have a stale loaf for a penny. God love her, she said her mother would be very pleased with her.’ Bessie shook her head sadly. ‘Her mother was pleased with her all right … so pleased she gave her a smack across the face that I could hear as I was looking in me bag for the door key. So yer can imagine it must h
ave hurt the poor lass if it was loud enough for that. Anyway, Her Ladyship mustn’t have known the front door was open, and gave the girl down the banks for telling the neighbours their business. It went something like this.’ Bessie put on a posh accent, looking comical as her mouth did contortions. ‘“How dare you discuss our affairs with the neighbours when I have told you time out of number that you must not have anything to do with them? They are not our kind and I will not let you bring us down to their level. Now do you understand what I’m saying or do I have to knock it into you?”’
Rita gaped. ‘Well, the cheeky sod! There isn’t a woman in the street who isn’t a better person than she is. They mightn’t have much money, and their clothes might be threadbare, but by God, they love their kids. They have a happier life than poor Amelia, ’cos it’s sticking out a mile her mother has no love for her.’ She tutted. ‘The cheek of the woman to say we’re on a lower level than her! Who the hell does she think she is?’
‘I was blazing meself,’ Bessie said, ‘but because I thought she might give the girl another smack, I kept me face all innocent like when I knocked and asked if everything was all right. And yer wouldn’t have thought she was the same person, she was all smiles then. Well, what passes as a smile for her. I think a good belly laugh would kill her! Anyway, I felt like having a real go at her, the two-faced so-and-so, but I thought better of it because of the girl. I wouldn’t want to get her into more trouble. The queer one made an excuse, said her clumsy daughter had bumped into the table and hurt herself. Well, as I’ve told yer, I didn’t want to cause any bother because I could hear the child sobbing. I was as polished as Her Ladyship, said I hoped her daughter hadn’t hurt herself badly but no doubt I’d see her tomorrow and could ask her then meself how she was. That was by way of a threat, and I hope it sank in ’cos I’d be in there like a shot if I thought the kid was being ill treated.’
