by Nancy Carson
‘I’ve been away from business. I’ve seen no such correspondence.’
‘Furthermore, since your dwelling, Holly Hall House, and the house your mother occupies in Himley, are also assets of the company, they are to be duly offered for sale forthwith to help pay off creditors.’
‘So where am I to live, for God’s sake?’ Benjamin queried, disgruntled. Suddenly, the whole world, with all its emotional and financial savagery, seemed to be conspiring against him.
‘Meanwhile, you may continue to occupy the house,’ Oakley replied evenly. ‘You may retain personal necessities such as clothing, etcetera, but furniture and furnishing you may not dispose of meanwhile. Already bailiffs have taken an inventory of the house. You will obviously need to make other living arrangements very soon, as will your mother.’
‘You’ve been to my house already?’ Benjamin queried, horrified.
‘We are in possession of appropriate authorisation,’ Oakley replied.
Benjamin noticed how quiet it was everywhere. The place seemed like a morgue. He took his leave of Mr Oakley and ventured downstairs into the factory. All was silent, save for a couple of chirping sparrows that had got in and were flittering about in the rafters. The men had gone. There was no clanging of metal, no banter, no conversations. Nothing was being made. The place was deserted, cold, soulless. Despondent, he made his way upstairs again to his own office, avoiding Oakley. Looking furtively over his shoulder, he took the petty cash box from the safe and emptied its contents into his pockets. Without counting it he estimated he had collared about fifteen pounds – a useful sum. Still managing to avoid further contact with Oakley, he picked up his bag and quietly left.
His next port of call was the house the company rented for Maude. He needed to be comforted, to be consoled, appreciated by the only woman he now realised he could depend on. She was a gem. She doted on him, had given up all she had for him. Why had he not valued her more? Why had he taken her so much for granted? He wished he’d gone home for his gig to run around in. Instead, he would have to take a tramcar, and he detested travelling on tramcars. Nonetheless, a tramcar it would have to be for now, so he waited for the next one to come along.
As he walked up the entry at the side of Maude’s house, he sensed something was wrong. He tried the door, but it was locked. He looked up to see if her bedroom window was open, but no window was open. He peered through the scullery window, and saw that no fire burned in the grate. No plate, no cup and saucer, no telltale signs of occupation whatsoever could he see. In a blind panic, he hammered on the door with his fist – several times.
No Maude.
A middle-aged woman with grey hair, wearing a shapeless black frock and a soiled apron, was watching him from the back door of the adjoining house.
‘I reckon yo’ll find as ’er’s gone,’ the woman said.
He knew her name was Ivy Morris; they had passed the time of day on other occasions. ‘What d’you mean, Mrs Morris – gone?’
‘Like I say, ’er’s gone, and took the babbies with ’er, an’ all. About nine yest’d’y mornin’. The bailiffs was ’ere. ’Aived her out lock, stock an’ barrel, they did. I watched ’em. Sid it wi’ me own eyes.’
‘D’you know where she went, Mrs Morris?’
‘Not a clue, my son. ’Er was never one to spend time gossipin’ wi’ me. But ’er took the two babbies and ’er was carryin’ a bag full o’ stuff.’
He shrugged. ‘I had no idea. If only I’d been here…Still, she knows where to find me. So I think I can guess where she’s gone.’ He smiled, at once relieved to realise she would have sought refuge at Holly Hall House. ‘Thank you, Mrs Morris.’
‘Ta-ra a bit,’ was the reply.
He hurried up The Inhedge, towards Top Church – anxious to get home, since that was where Maude was bound to be. As he sat in the clattering tramcar back towards Brierley Hill, he decided it would be as well to visit his bank. There were no funds in his firm’s account, but he still had a few pounds in his personal account. It was time to withdraw what money he had before the liquidators got their filthy hands on it.
Benjamin walked away from the bank with almost fifty pounds – the entire contents of his account. Then he boarded another tramcar for home.
As he strode anxiously along the driveway of Holly Hall House, he was aware that the only sound he could hear was that of his own feet crunching the gravel beneath him. The house, so recently renovated and refurnished, seemed forbidding, uncharitable and mournful. He had felt the same dispiriting sensation he felt as he traversed the entry at Maude’s house, but now, here, it was infinitely heightened. There was no evidence of life. A shiver ran down his spine, terror at the prospect of solitude and at the final loss of dignity.
He tried the front door handle. The door was locked. He put down his bag, pulled his key from his pocket and unlocked it. Inside, he called out for Jane, then for Maude. No reply. Jane at least must be here, he told himself, so he scurried along to the kitchen, her usual retreat, then to her garret at the top of the house. All traces of Jane had disappeared; all her personal chattels had gone. Only her uniform and mobcap remained, strewn on her bed.
‘She’s gone,’ he remarked uselessly to himself. ‘There’s nobody here.’
He ambled back down the stairs, desolated and chilled, and made his way to his elegantly refurbished drawing room. He looked at the grand piano and recalled how Aurelia used to love to sit at it and play. She was an accomplished player, yet he never gave her any credit for it, never praised her, never said how much he liked what she had played; it was just something she did. He sat down, his head in his hands. For some time he pondered his predicament, how his actions, or even lack of any action, might have influenced the situation in which he now found himself. He owed money everywhere, money he could not repay.
From clogs to clogs in two generations…
There must be some way out, some escape, other than death.
Lying on a low occasional table in front of him lay folded a newspaper, the Birmingham Daily Post, a few days old. He reached for it and opened it up with a shake, prepared to glimpse through it to take his mind off his problems. However, it was hopeless; he could not concentrate. His eyes were scanning words, but they had no meaning. Mechanically, he turned the page, where just one word in a headline caught his eye. That word was ‘Emigration’. It introduced an article detailing the increasing numbers of people emigrating to America and Canada, lured by the prospect of advancement, and how, with the advent of modern steamships, voyage times had been cut to about seven days, considerably more comfortable than before, even travelling second class.
Benjamin sat bolt upright.
Here was the answer.
America.
He would go to America. He could leave all his troubles behind him, turn his back on them completely. He could start afresh, maybe even meet another woman like Kate – better than Kate. He could become a different person in America, with a different name if that’s what he chose. There were opportunities in America – glorious opportunities for a man like him. He could embark on a new career. Perhaps in the theatre. Yes, the theatre. There would be umpteen theatres in New York. He could try his hand at acting – half his life he’d spent acting. All those stunning chorus girls. All those beautiful actresses. All hot for it. The future suddenly had more appeal. Furthermore, he had nearly sixty-five pounds in his pocket; he could easily afford the fare.
He left the drawing room and ran up the stairs, feeling more elated than he had for many a long month. He began packing a suitcase with those clothes and other accoutrements he would need, and tomorrow, first thing, he would leave – for good. He would take a train to Liverpool. In Liverpool he would book a passage on the first available steamship bound for New York. The bailiffs, the liquidators, Aurelia, Kate, Maude, Algie bloody Stokes, Clarence bloody Froggatt – in fact, Brierley Hill and its entire mindless bloody population, could all kiss his backside.
* * *
Chapter 34
By early December, Clarence Froggatt’s son had gained perfect health and was developing into a robust little individual, fed by wet nurses during those first weeks of his tenuous existence. While Clarence was at business, Harriet’s sisters had also helped in caring for him, usually with a wet nurse on hand. But the daily ritual of conveying George to and from their home in Brierley Hill’s High Street was becoming a chore. Clarence therefore decided to employ a live-in nanny. So he advertised the post and, from the several candidates, he liked the look of an application from an experienced woman in her late thirties called Joyce Till. Joyce Till, it appeared, had recently been in the employ of Benjamin Sampson.
Rather than make a hasty decision, Clarence, in his infinite capacity for thoroughness, decided it would behove him to find out all he could about this Joyce Till, before granting her an interview. The obvious way would be to call on Aurelia and glean her opinion of the woman. Aurelia had written him a charming letter, prompted by the death of Harriet, and it bore her address. It would still be among all the other letters and expressions of sympathy he received at the time. Methodically, he had bundled them all together, tied up with black ribbon, and carefully stored them in a drawer of the sideboard in his dining room, in which he had never dined. He sought out the bundle. Sitting on one of his never-before-used dining-room chairs, he fingered through the small pile, stopping to read a few messages of condolence, which evoked poignant memories of dear departed Harriet.
Then he found the letter he was looking for. It gave her address as Talbot Street. He would pay her a visit.
By this time, Clarence had treated himself to a smart, shiny new black cabriolet, with the softest leather seats imaginable and India rubber tyres that made little noise as the vehicle rumbled over the cobbled surfaces of the roads. Once outside Aurelia’s house, he reined the horse in and tethered it to a gas street lamp, watched by several children still out playing in the darkness of the cold winter evening.
‘Keep your eye on the horse for me, will you?’ he requested of the kids. To minimise the risk of any mischief, he handed them each a penny, and they earnestly promised to comply.
He doused the gig’s lamps and ambled up the entry in the darkness. As he reached the backyard, he could see a glow from the curtained window of the house on the right, which indicated she was home. He tapped on the back door. It took a few seconds to elicit an answer.
‘Aurelia!’ he said, beaming. ‘Hello.’
‘Good God!’ she exclaimed with astonishment, seeing his face by the light of the oil lamp she was holding. ‘Clarence! What brings you here on a bitterly cold night like this?’
‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course you can come in.’ She stood aside to let him pass. ‘If I’d known you were coming I’d have dressed in something smarter.’
He smiled again and their eyes met. ‘Aurelia, you always look ravishing.’
‘You flatter me.’
‘Hardly flattery. It’s the truth.’
He stood for a few moments in front of the fire that was burning cheerily in the grate, his hands outstretched to warm them.
‘Can I get you something to drink, to warm you up?’
‘Oh, don’t trouble yourself.’
‘It’s no trouble. Of course it’s no trouble. But I’m afraid it’ll be limited to tea. I have nothing stronger.’
He sat down. ‘Tea, then. Thank you.’
‘I’ll have to fill the kettle. I’ll only be a moment.’
He smiled again as he watched her lift the kettle, a little flustered, turn around, a little flustered, and open the door to go out into the cold night, a little flustered. In a few seconds she returned from the brewhouse, shivered, and hung the kettle on a gale hook. She gave the fire a poke to induce more life into it, then swung the kettle gently over the enlivened flames.
‘How’s your little boy?’ she enquired.
‘He’s coming on well, thank you. When he was born it was touch-and-go. But he’s a plucky little chap, and right now he’s getting quite hale and hearty. You’d certainly think so if you could hear him howling.’
‘I’m so glad.’ She sat down facing him at the table. ‘But I can imagine how hard it is for a man, having to look after a baby on his own. Harriet’s sisters help, though, don’t they?’
‘They do. I take him to Meese’s every day on my way to the practice…And that’s the reason I’ve called to see you, Aurelia. It’s a bit much for him – all that toing and froing. For me too, if I’m honest. I’d prefer it if he could stay at home to be looked after. So I’ve advertised for a nanny,’ Clarence explained. ‘One of the applicants I like the sound of is a lady called Joyce Till. I understand you and Benjamin employed her for a while. I’d like to know what you thought of her before I see her. Is she clean, reliable?’
‘Well,’ Aurelia replied, relieved that he was not about to demean her by offering her the situation. ‘As a nanny she’s very capable. My son Benjie seemed to like her at any rate. With adults, though, she rather kept herself to herself, if you know what I mean. She was never one to stand around gossiping, but she was always deferential – a bit detached would be a good way of putting it. I never really got to know her that well, because she never really gave me the chance. As I recall, her character was impeccable. I imagine Benjamin would’ve given her a good character as well before she left.’
‘If so, she didn’t enclose it with her letter. I suspect he dismissed her with no reference at all.’
‘And with no wages either, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Aurelia speculated.
‘What’s happened to Benjamin?’ Clarence asked. ‘I see his factory is boarded up, and the house is for sale by auction – later this week, I understand. Yet nobody’s seen him for weeks.’
‘So I believe.’
‘It’s as if he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. He came to see me – oh, some time ago – asking if I would lend him money. I had to refuse of course. Let’s face it, he’s hardly a good risk.’
‘Talking of nannies, Clarence,’ Aurelia said, reverting to the topic. ‘Maude Atkins, who used to be Benjie’s nanny, called to see me. She was in quite a state, poor soul. The bailiffs had just evicted her, because Benjamin hadn’t paid any rent on the house she was living in. She told me she’d left him, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. If so, she’d be available as a nanny…She said she was carrying Benjamin’s second child, and the poor girl had nowhere to go. I felt really sorry for her, in spite of everything.’
‘I don’t think she’d be suitable anyway, Aurelia, especially if she’s already got a child of her own, and another on the way. I wouldn’t want all that baggage – not in a nanny.’
‘Thankfully, it was she who brought Benjie back to me. I suppose you were aware that Benjamin was awarded custody of him when we divorced.’
‘So I heard. I meant to ask you about that…’
‘Really?’ She looked at him warily.
‘Yes, really…Do you mind if I speak frankly, Aurelia?’
‘Haven’t we always been frank with each other?’
‘Always…and I hope we always shall be.’
‘So what d’you want to ask me?’
‘Well, being perfectly frank, Aurelia, it’s common knowledge now that you had an affair with Algie Stokes, and had his child—’
‘Yes. Christina.’ She was looking at him with wide-eyed candidness.
‘And the affair provided the grounds for Benjamin to divorce you.’
She nodded.
‘So there was never any doubt about who should have custody of Christina?’
‘Of course not. I admitted my infidelity. I admitted that Christina was Algie’s child. There was no question of who should have custody of her.’
‘I suppose not,’ he answered diplomatically.
The kettle was bubbling and hissing as it spat beads of water into the fire. Aurelia rose from the table to make the tea, hoping the timely interruption w
ould stem the topic of her affair with Algie Stokes.
She had her back towards him as she spooned tea leaves into the teapot and doused them with boiling water. He watched her attentively. Her looks and figure were still exquisite. And she was personable. Yes, she had given him up, ended their engagement so she could be married to that rat Benjamin Sampson, but what a catastrophe it had proved to be.
The tea was made and she put the pot, cups, saucers, spoons, milk and sugar on a tray, which she placed on the table. She sat down again in a swish of skirts, smiling at him.
‘I’ll let it steep for five minutes before I pour,’ she said.
‘Tell me, Aurelia – this fling with Algie Stokes,’ he continued, persisting with his theme, ‘is it over?’
‘Yes, it’s over,’ she answered evenly.
‘You don’t see him anymore?’
‘It was over before he married Marigold.’
‘And he doesn’t call round here?’
‘Yes, he calls. Every Friday after work, as a matter of fact. He likes to make sure we’re all right, Christina and me. We talk, then he goes.’
‘Just a social visit then? Nothing more?’ he asked pointedly.
‘Nothing more,’ she affirmed, a little affronted.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking.’
‘No, I don’t mind you asking, Clarence. But can I be frank with you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t condemn me for my affair with Algie, because it seems obvious that you do. He meant a great deal to me – he still does. What we did – Algie and me – happened because we fell in love, not to provoke scandal, not out of promiscuity. We were very serious about each other, we intended to make a life together, but time and events turned our plans upside down.’ She shrugged to indicate her acceptance of those events. ‘He’s now married to Marigold, my half-sister, quite simply because she had a prior claim on him. I also think the world of her. It’s much less complicated for us all if Algie and I have nothing to do with one another now. So he keeps his distance. Instead, I enjoy the company of his lovely wife from time to time.’
