by Nancy Carson
‘But what, Jane?’
She looked candidly into Aurelia’s eyes. ‘I think Mr Sampson is in serious money trouble, Mrs Sampson. Far be it from me to carry tales, but he owes money to the butcher, the baker, the milkman, the grocer, the greengrocer and God knows who else. I have all hell’s game…They’ve all refused us tick. I ain’t been paid for nearly three months either, and Lord knows if these men working here on the house will ever get paid if that’s anything to go by.’ She shrugged. ‘But that’s their problem. I’m only concerned about meself. I’ve thought about giving me notice in, Mrs Sampson, but, if I do I reckon I’ll get ne’er a penny what’s owed me. At least if I stop here there’s a chance as I might. Meanwhile, it’s a roof over my head.’
‘I didn’t realise it was as bad as that,’ Aurelia remarked. ‘How’s his business doing? Do you know?’
‘I don’t know a thing about his business, but I reckon it’s his business what’ll have to cough up for all this work what’s going on here, if he’s going to pay for it at all. Who knows? Maybe it’ll cough up to pay me an’ all.’
‘I’m very sorry you haven’t been paid, Jane, but I can’t help you there. The big problem for me is that I don’t know Maude Atkins’ address. Do you know it?’
‘No, Mrs Sampson. And I’m that sorry.’
‘Is there a note of it somewhere?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Do you think you could find it out for me?’
‘I don’t see as how I can without asking Mr Sampson direct, and then he’d be sure to wonder why I’d asked, so he wouldn’t tell me any road.’
‘Well, look, Jane, if you get me a piece of paper and a blacklead I’ll write down my address, so that if you do find out you can let me know. I’m desperate to see my son.’
‘I bet you are, Mrs Sampson. Hang on a bit and I’ll go and fetch some.’
* * *
Chapter 30
A week or so after Harriet’s funeral and his subsequent visit with Marigold to Aurelia’s humble new domicile, for which he was paying, Algie Stokes decided to visit her to see for himself how she was faring. He was due to give her conscience money anyway, so she and Christina could live at some level of comfort, because it was not fair to expect Marigold to hand money over, as Marigold had already pointed out. He was actually in two minds about seeing her alone, but mindful of his paternal responsibilities, he felt he ought.
So, on his way home after work, he rode his bicycle to Talbot Street. Having dismounted in the street, he wheeled the machine through the entry at the side of the house and, in the backyard, leaned it against the wall under the window. As he knocked on the back door, he could hear Christina wailing.
‘Algie!’ Aurelia greeted with a warm smile. ‘Come in, come in. This is a surprise. If I’d known you were coming I’d have smartened myself up. Christina, do be quiet!’
‘Come off it, Aurelia. If you were wearing a hop sack you’d still look lovely.’
‘I’ll take the compliment, Algie, even though it’s not true. Thank you.’
She was wearing a grey day dress, obviously old and demoted to working attire; certainly not up to her standard of recent times, but of far better quality than Marigold would have worn on washing day. Over it she wore a soiled apron. Her hair was pinned up, but loose hanks were waywardly adrift, giving Algie the impression of a rather fine-looking but unkempt working girl. Her hands, too, he noticed looked red, neither as smooth nor as well manicured as before.
‘Up to your neck in work, I see. I always thought Monday was washing day.’
‘Not at this house, Algie. I get to use the boiler, the tub and the mangle, but only on a Tuesday.’
It was Tuesday, but she was ironing. In that small parlour laundered baby clothes abounded, as did sheets, pillowcases, towels, napkins, dresses, blouses, skirts. She had draped stockings and other sundry items of feminine underwear over a wooden rack hanging from the ceiling above the fire grate. In a special cast iron cradle attached to the front grid of the fire a smoothing iron was heating up, ready to replace the one she was using that was gradually cooling down. A blanket laid across the table formed a suitable surface on which to iron all these things.
‘Christina, do be quiet,’ Aurelia said again, impatiently. ‘Uncle Algie has come to see you and you’re creating such a din. He won’t be at all impressed.’
‘I expect she’s fed up,’ Uncle Algie suggested.
‘She’s not the only one.’
He smiled wistfully. ‘I thought I’d call to see how you are, and pay you some money,’ he said over Christina’s wailing. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be so busy.’
‘Busy?’ she said. ‘What with spending all morning in that brewhouse, washing and drying…But it’s been such a good drying day, I thought I’d try and get it all ironed as well. Trouble is, I’ve singed no end of things because the iron was too hot. I’m hopeless, Algie, I really am. But at least I won’t have so much to do tomorrow, and maybe I can take Miss Noisy here out for some fresh air, if the weather holds. It’s what she needs – it’s what we both need, rather than being cooped up here all day, every day.’
He wasn’t entirely convinced that he had chosen a good time to visit. She seemed troubled. ‘I wondered if you needed anything else, that’s all,’ he said diffidently, and handed her two sovereigns. ‘Is it enough?’
‘More than enough. Thank you so much, Algie.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘So long as you can afford it.’
‘Business is improving, thank God, so don’t concern yourself. Our move to the new factory went well, we’ve installed new tooling and machinery.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘I’ve got a mortgage hanging over my head, but I’ve got a lot more confidence in the future. Not so for Benjamin, I hear.’
‘Oh?’
‘The word is that he’s getting rid of workers because of a downturn in business and a lack of money.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me, Algie. Yet you should see the work he’s having done on his house.’
‘Well, let’s hope he can pay for it…Look, I’ll go,’ he said resolutely. ‘This is obviously not a good time—’
‘No, stay, Algie,’ she was quick to interject. ‘Do stay a while longer. I’ve seen nobody all day and it’s so lovely to see you. I’ll make a pot of tea if you like.’ She picked up the child. ‘Would you hold Christina for me a moment?’ He obliged happily, and she moved some things yet to be ironed, which were occupying a chair. She gestured that he sit on it. ‘The kettle should be hot already so it’ll soon boil. How’s Marigold, by the way? I haven’t seen her since last Thursday.’
‘She’s well. Very likely ironing, like you.’
‘I bet she doesn’t get anywhere near as flustered as I do. I need a maid,’ she said jokingly.
‘If I could afford a maid for you, I would.’
‘Bless you, Algie, but I didn’t mean it like that. I was just making fun of myself, because I’m so hopeless at doing things. But I’ll get used to it. I’ll have to.’
‘I suppose when you’ve always been used to having servants…’
‘Well, yes. It’s one thing organising servants but it’s another doing what they do.’
Algie bounced Christina on his knee while Aurelia lifted the kettle onto a gale hook and swung it over the fire. This child is mine, he thought to himself, and she’s a lovely little thing – a part of me and a part of this woman here. The child ceased mewling, enjoying his smiling attention.
Aurelia turned around and reached for a teapot and tea caddy from a cupboard at the side of the grate. While she placed them ready to use, he watched her, secretly admiring her figure and deportment.
‘It’s so lovely to see you, Algie, really,’ she repeated, and sat down at the table facing him, gazing into his eyes. ‘But Tuesday is not a good day. Another day would be better.’
‘Listen, it’s my responsibility to give you money for your keep. What day do you suggest
I bring it?’
She smiled appealingly. ‘Well, Monday is Mrs Coles washing day next door, so she’s always on the yard – she might jump to the wrong conclusions. Tuesday is my washing day. Wednesdays I’m usually ironing and mending. Thursdays Marigold generally comes. Fridays I go to the shops to buy groceries – but I’m usually finished by dinner time. So Friday afternoons are all right as a rule. Saturday and Sunday I suppose you spend at home…I find Sundays so boring. So boring I might even have to take up going to church.’
‘So you’d like me to come on Friday afternoons, then?’
‘Only if you can – if you want to.’
‘Friday is as good a day as any. It’s when we fetch money from the bank to pay the men.’
She smiled again, her eyes glistening expectantly. ‘Will you come after work? I’ll make sure Miss Noisy there is asleep. It’s a pity you can’t come later in the evening…Sorry, Algie, that came out all wrong. Of course you can’t come here of an evening.’
The kettle sighed and Aurelia sighed with it.
‘Forgive me, Algie. I’m feeling quite sorry for myself. You have no idea how utterly miserable I am. Benjamin has taken my son away from me. I have nobody to love, and nobody to care for save for Christina…and nobody to care for me…’ Her eyes misted with tears. ‘Everything just seems hopeless, Algie.’
‘We care for you, Aurelia. Marigold and me.’
‘I often think about how we were – you and me. Just think – what if this little love nest had been at our disposal two years ago, to do just as we please. What we wouldn’t have given for this place…’
‘I know.’
There seemed no doubt that she was feeling fragile and unloved, clutching at straws.
‘Have you seen anything of little Benjie since?’ he asked. ‘Marigold told me Benjamin had sacked the nanny and was keeping him at Maude’s.’
‘I’ve seen nothing of him, Algie,’ she replied. ‘I presume he’s thriving, else I’m sure Benjamin would’ve let me know. I wish with all my heart and soul I could see him, though, if only for five minutes. I’m waiting to hear from Jane, our maid. She was trying to learn Maude’s address, so I could go along and visit her. You don’t know where she lives, I suppose?’
‘I wish I did. I’d tell you.’
‘I’m sure Benjamin is still seeing your sister Kate, you know. He’s often going to London, apparently, even though he’s got no money.’
‘Well, Aurelia, he’ll come a cropper with our Kate and no two ways.’
‘I hope he does,’ she affirmed. ‘It’s no more than he deserves.’
‘There’s only one person in the world our Kate cares about – and that’s Kate.’
The kettle was boiling, and Aurelia stood up to make the tea.
Algie decided that as soon as he’d drunk it he must go.
* * *
Another month passed, a month in which Benjamin Sampson’s financial affairs deteriorated further. Because of mismanagement, the fortunes of the Sampson Fender and Bedstead Works were in steep decline. Creditors were clamouring for money, threatening court action, hellfire and damnation, but there was no money to pay anybody.
Perhaps now was the time to consider remortgaging Holly Hall House, so Benjamin duly made an appointment to see the manager of his local bank. The bank manager perused the company’s books but, with his trained eye for accountancy, was not impressed. He asked Benjamin how his company hoped to repay a mortgage when, patently, the company seemed to be on the verge of bankruptcy. The best option open to the company, he suggested, might be to sell the house. Then Mr Sampson could purchase or rent something a little lowlier with his own money, and use the money the company made from the sale to pay off some of its debts.
Frustrated by the bank’s response, Benjamin’s next port of call was the premises of Allbut and Dean, architects. It was an act of desperation to throw himself on the mercy of Clarence Froggatt. Clarence received him courteously, despite the fact that he did not have an appointment, and ushered him into his private office.
‘I was so sorry to hear about Harriet,’ Benjamin smarmed. ‘I do hope you are getting over the sad loss, and that your baby son at least is thriving.’
‘Thank you, Ben,’ Clarence replied, wary of Ben’s capacity for sycophancy. ‘I must say, the support and good wishes I’ve had from people everywhere has been overwhelming.’
‘She was such a lovely girl, Harriet. Good natured—’
‘She certainly was…’ Clarence interjected, unwilling to pursue this tack. ‘Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure, Ben?’
Clarence’s seeming unwillingness to discuss his loss succeeded in putting Benjamin a little off balance, but he recovered himself quickly. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Clarence…My firm is financially embarrassed right now, and I’m looking to borrow some money. I understand that your fortunes have changed radically, and so I wondered if you are able to be of assistance.’
‘Well, that rather depends,’ Clarence replied. ‘Let me make it clear from the outset, though, that it has never been my intention to lend money. That’s the job of the banks. I am rather developing a property portfolio.’
‘Then a mortgage on my house might be of interest?’
Clarence forced a smile, picked up a pen and held it over his inkwell, but more for effect than any intention of making notes. ‘I trust your house is paid for?’
‘My father paid for it years ago – technically it is owned by my firm, but yes, the firm paid for it in full.’
‘Have you approached your bank?’
‘I have, but the bank is unwilling to consider it…frankly.’
‘But if your bank won’t consider it, why do you suppose I should?’
‘Because it’s a sound property, Clarence – and I’ve just spent a fortune on having it refurbished.’
‘Refurbished? No doubt this refurbishment has made the house more saleable?’
‘I would’ve thought so. A lot more saleable. It’s like a new pin. I’m not sure I want to sell it, though, Clarence.’
‘I could have a look at it, if you like, along with one of our surveyors, and give you some idea of its worth – as a home, I mean. The problem is, Benjamin, money’s tight these days, and mortgages are hard to come by. Therefore, I don’t think you’d have a ready market. On the other hand, it sits on a sizeable piece of land, if I recall.’
‘Four acres or so,’ Benjamin replied.
‘Which might be more suited to redevelopment. If I were to buy it, for instance, I would demolish the house and build several in its place on the land. But then, your property would only be worth what the land is worth.’
‘My father built that house,’ said Benjamin dejectedly. ‘For that reason I could never see it demolished. So it seems you’re unable to be of any help.’
‘So it seems,’ Clarence confirmed, and Benjamin thought he detected some smugness in his response.
Benjamin rose from his chair. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Clarence. It was good of you to see me.’
‘You’re welcome.’ They shook hands. ‘No doubt I’ll be seeing you around. At the cricket club next season, if not before? Anyway, I hope you’ll quickly find a way of overcoming your present difficulties…Oh, and when you see Kate Stokes, do give her my best wishes.’
‘Kate Stokes?’ Benjamin was dumbfounded at mention of her name. ‘Who on earth is Kate Stokes?’ he bluffed.
‘Oh, come on, Benjamin,’ Clarence goaded with a grin. ‘My dear chap, it’s common knowledge you’ve been…meeting her in London. People gossip, you know. Well, you know what my sisters-in-law are like.’
‘No, I don’t, but thanks for alerting me.’
* * *
Kate Stokes was losing interest in Benjamin Sampson. He was a pushover. She had him dangling like a marionette, pulling his strings in whichever direction she fancied. He was predictable, fawning, jealous, and no longer a challenge. In the game of love and intrigue, he was no match for her.
She was, however, flattered to learn that Clarence Froggatt had not forgotten her when Benjamin relayed the man’s best wishes.
‘But it’s a crying shame about poor Harriet, I reckon,’ she said.
They were sitting in the American Bar at the Savoy, under a canopy of gently drifting smoke, enjoying a cocktail, for Benjamin was keeping up his pretence of affluence. The bar was busy that evening with people evidently going to a show, who made a glorious effort to impress the public at large with their attire. Every male wore evening dress, and the combined frocks of the women were like a garden full of bright colours.
‘Anyway,’ Kate went on having sipped her manhattan, ‘how is Clarence?’
‘Supercilious as ever,’ Benjamin commented acidly. ‘Having money has certainly turned his head.’ He lit a cigarette and inhaled.
‘Money?’ She looked at him with wide-eyed, earnest curiosity. ‘What money?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? Apparently he was left a fortune by his uncle – his father’s brother.’ Smoke jetted from his nostrils as he spoke. ‘I thought I’d told you.’
‘No, you never said. How much of a fortune?’
‘I’ve heard a hundred thousand mentioned.’
She gasped with incredulity. ‘A hundred thousand?’
‘Whether it’s true or not, or an exaggeration, I don’t know. He’s hardly likely to confide in me. Anyhow, he lives in a great big house he’s had built in Stream Road in Kingswinford.’
‘Stream Road? That’s a swell address.’
‘About as swell as it gets in Kingswinford,’ he answered.
‘Good God. And now he’s a widower. So he’s back on the market – and quite a catch, if he’s got a hundred thousand. Women must be falling at his feet.’
‘I wouldn’t know, Kate.’ He put his cigarette to his lips and inhaled again. ‘I’m not that interested in Clarence Froggatt.’
‘Oh, but I am,’ she said, to deliberately goad him and enjoy his reaction, for it was about to become entertaining. ‘Perhaps I should write to him. Or I could pay him a visit. I reckon he’d be really pleased to see me. We were very close at one point. He was madly in love with me.’
