No matter what the cost, Otis Hewetson was determined to be allowed to become as much a young woman as was Esther. At once! Now! She would stun Jack Moth into noticing that she was no longer a girl.
LANDING STAGE, PORTSMOUTH.
Grandmother, The organization here is surprisingly gd. More of that anon. I prepd for a sea-bathe but the Solent Waters are chilly. I know that you set great store by immersion in sea-water, and I promise that I shall try again. Into the fray. I shall not let you down. My love to Aunt K. & all children. Yrs with gt affction, Vicky
‘Voilá!’ Jack Moth flourished the neatly parcelled towel as he presented it to Victoria Ormorod.
‘Jack Moth. I never thought to see my towel again and that I should find its cost added to my hotel account.’
He made a funny tragic face. ‘Madam, did you doubt my ability to complete so simple a task?’
‘Simple to a woman, true, but I know few men who would know how to go about the laundering of a towel.’ She indicated that he might take the seat opposite. ‘I am awaiting a tray of tea and sandwiches from the pier tea-house if you would care to join me.’
In a flash he cunningly moved the chair closer to her and sat down. ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure. Waves lapping, sunshine, the smell of ozone in the company of the most extraordinary woman I ever set eyes on.’
‘Mr Moth! Are you always so forward with acquaintances of five minutes?’
‘Not forward, but eager. Five minutes or five years, I know everything I ever need to know about you. That you are extraordinary and if I live to be a hundred I shall never meet the likes of Victoria Ormorod again.’
Her eyes crinkled when she laughed at his nonsense.
A small boy with oiled hair dressed in a long white apron brought her tray of tea and sandwiches, went away, then brought another for Jack.
Hungrily he bit a dainty sandwich in two and put the whole in his mouth. ‘Tell me about Victoria Ormorod.’
‘Two minutes ago you said that you knew everything about Victoria Ormorod.’
‘Everything I ever need to know. Tell me what I wish to know: where you live, what you like, have you a cat, do you like boiled fish, can you play the violin?’
‘Jack Moth, I shall tell you nothing until you tell me what I wish to know.’
‘I lay the book of my life open before you.’
‘What I wish to know is, who laundered the towel?’
He placed his hand on his breast. ‘I swear before my Maker that John Clermont Moth did launder the aforementioned towel.’
She refilled her cup, exaggerating her expression of doubt as she did so. ‘Unassisted?’
‘Well, M’Lud, it depends on your definition of “unassisted”. It was necessary for me to take my sister into my confidence and it was she who versed me in the art of twisting out the water. I say, did you know how jolly heavy a towel of this size is when it is waterlogged?’
‘Yes, I know very well, having wrung out many a towel by hand.’
‘Then you are a laundry-maid by night and a princess by day.’
‘Is this a piece of information that you wish to know?’
‘It matters not one jot. If you are a laundry-maid then I ask only to have the privilege of meeting you here again tomorrow.’
The lightheartedness went from her face. ‘I did tell you that my time here is not my own. I have work to do. Don’t look so downcast, I have enjoyed our al fresco meal enormously. It seems ages since I had such a jolly companion.’
Suddenly Jack Moth saw the possibility of her walking away from the pier and him never seeing her again. ‘Please. Meet me at least once. I must beg at least that.’
‘I cannot promise. I often do not know where I shall be from one day to the next.’
‘But I cannot let you simply walk out of my life.’ He reached out and clutched at her fingers. ‘At least give me an address. I haven’t the least idea where you are from. I will tell you mine, and my college if you wish it.’
She looked down at his hand and looked a bit perturbed, though she did not withdraw her fingers, and said, ‘Jack Moth. Jack Moth.’
‘Whilst I am in Southsea with my family, I stay at Garden Cottage, Sussex Road.’
‘I must go.’
‘May I walk with you?’
She signalled to the table boy.
‘Oh, I see that he has put both trays on one bill. I hope that you will not kick and scream if I settle it.’ Without waiting for his reply, in a manner that was both masculine and delicately feminine, she gave the boy a florin, picked up a small document case and the brown-wrapped towel, and held out her hand to Jack. ‘Thank you for your company, Jack Moth.’ Had any other woman done such a thing as to settle a bill like that, Jack Moth would have been acutely embarrassed and affronted. But this woman, this bold Victoria Ormorod, paid for his lunch as though the action meant nothing. And he let her.
Side by side they walked in the direction of the roadway: she did not look down as women did to make sure that they did not slip between the slats and into the sea; he searched wildly for some way of keeping contact with her. He dropped his bantering manner. ‘Look, if I were to write you a letter, where could I send it?’
‘Jack Moth.’ She scolded gently. ‘Just like your namesake, you are flitting too close to a flame. You will get burnt. Let our delightful meeting stay as one of those encounters – a memory for us to store away and bring out embellished and glittering for our grandchildren, who will never believe that we were once young enough for such nonsense.’
‘If it is nonsense to you, I am in earnest. You see me as just a young man who has been carried away, but you have made me wise. If you do not let me have your address, then I shall write to Beach Mansions and they will have to forward it to you.’
She smiled. He watched as the corners of her greenish eyes crinkled. She said, ‘Oh, what persistence. Very well. Anything sent care of this address will find me.’ She handed him an empty envelope upon which was a Hampshire address.
‘The Jarrett O’Mahoney Memorial Home?’
‘It is an orphanage. My grandmother rules there. Be careful, she eats young men for breakfast.’
He put the envelope into his inner breast pocket, holding it safe from without. ‘I shall come here again tomorrow. In case you do come.’
They had reached the front of the pier and were suddenly out on the pavement. ‘My hotel is just across the road, I must go, I have some people to meet there.’
Reluctantly he let her go and stood watching the sway of her hips and the movement of her skirt. She reached the roadway, stopped, put her finger to her lips with a pondering action, then she turned and came back to Jack Moth. ‘Do you know Portsmouth?’
‘Of course, I walk there almost daily, it’s scarcely a mile from where we are staying.’
‘Next Tuesday I shall be attending a meeting there – the town hall. You may not wish to be concerned, but that is where I shall be.’
He spontaneously clasped her hand. ‘Thank you, thank you. Have no fear, I shall be concerned if you are there.’ And she was gone, tripping lightly between the strolling parasols, errand boys and carriages.
—
Once Emily Hewetson had talked with the languid Mrs Moth – for whose condition she felt much pity; had observed Esther’s mature figure, dress and demeanour; and had met the mannerly and attentive Jack Moth, she thought that there was not the slightest harm in Otis and Esther going about Southsea in one another’s company.
It was, of course, Jack who had the most influence on her decision. If there was one thing, besides his physique, that the son had inherited from the father, it was charm. It was well-known in New Scotland Yard that if one wanted to extract information from a reluctant female witness, then Inspector Moth was the man to do it. He had charmed a confession from many thieves and at least one murderess. He had charmed the Hon. Anne Clermont from the bosom of her family. Add to the charm, the smile, the thickly-fringed eyes in a well-boned face and
the full, sensuous mouth, and you began to see how it was that both father and son were attractive to women. And, as women themselves sensed, were attracted by women.
He had gone into the garden whilst his mother and Emily Hewetson were being gracious to one another, and paid homage to Mrs Hewetson’s good looks and striking figure with his eyes.
Nineteen years old, thought Mrs Hewetson, and he has the manner of an experienced man. ‘You must take great comfort in having such a fine son to care for you,’ she said, accepting his homage.
She’s not half bad, thought Jack Moth, momentarily forsaking Victoria Ormorod in mind. You’d never believe she could have a daughter of almost seventeen.
Later, after dinner at The Grand when Otis had gone to her room, Emily Hewetson suggested to her husband that there would be no harm in the two girls spending time together, particularly as in any case they were bound to come across one another in such a small town as Southsea, and that he must agree that any other behaviour would be outré.
‘Mrs Moth wondered whether you would be willing to consult with her on a legal matter. She said that it was only minor, and that she would understand if you would prefer not to whilst you are on holiday.’
‘I trust you put her mind at rest on that score, Em.’ Knowing that she had already offered him to Mrs Moth.
She smiled at having won her husband this small prize. ‘I said that I was quite sure that it would be no trouble to you at all.’
He gave her what almost approached a wink. ‘No trouble having a Clermont on the Hewetson, Batt books.’
‘You won’t charge a fee, Martin?’
‘Now, Em. You’re off again… sprats to catch mackerel, eh?’
‘If it is a small matter, and you do have the time. And…’ She smiled archly across the top of her sparkling wine-glass. ‘She mentioned that her son and daughter are to spend a week or two in Lyme Regis with an uncle of hers during the period of her lying-in.’
She sipped her wine, obviously teasing with a tidbit of gossip. He played along, puffing a little on his cigar, twirling it between his lips, his eyes half closed. ‘And?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, except that Mrs Moth’s uncle is Sir Norbert Clermont of Mere Meldrum.’
‘Is that a fact?’ He topped up her glass and his own.
Watching the rise and fall of her vastly exposed bosom, he wondered, as he always did, how it was that she managed to stop it spilling over and thus giving the world at large a view of those wonderful fruits. And noting the fat-cat satisfaction in her expression, he knew well that later on he would discover that the pink flush he now observed creeping slowly down from her cheek and neck would have painted and warmed her breasts, puckered her rose-buds and sharpened her fingernails.
If there were too many nights for his liking when she would not accept him willingly, those nights of the pink breasts were magnificent. There was no knowing when those nights would be, it was part of the mystery of that side of their life. He could give her anything, forgive her anything, do anything for her in the knowledge that she could unaccountably reach a pitch of desire when she would rake his spine with her fingernails. He knew also that an occasion such as this was the best time for persuading her to his way of thinking – better far than laying down the law.
‘And?’ He crooked a finger at her, beckoning her words.
‘And, Mrs Moth suggested that Otis might like to visit with them.’
A small frown puckered his brow. ‘Ah. D’you think that’d be the thing? I mean, it’s never been clear in my mind what those three were doing out in that dinghy. Why didn’t they hire a boatman?’
‘Let us not go over all that again. That was ages ago. Since this afternoon I am quite clear in my mind that it was merely a foolish, childish escapade. The boy wanted to practise diving, and in their innocence the girls saw no harm in wanting to do likewise. Of course, the boy should have known better, but I believe that his only crime was want of good manners in the presence of the girls. After all, it is perfectly obvious that Otis has come to no harm, and she saw no more than I had seen of my own brothers at that age.’
Martin Hewetson did have to admit to himself that that familiarity had not been a disadvantage: Em had not been overwhelmed at the sight of the male body on their wedding night as other young brides he had heard tell of had been.
‘Well, Em, I bow to your superior judgement. If they invite her, let her go.’
Emily Hewetson accepted another refill of her glass. She felt at her best. She knew that she looked her best. Young Jack Moth’s eyes had traversed her figure and injected her with a feeling of youthfulness she had not felt in ages.
Now, chinking his brandy glass against hers, Martin Hewetson, the opportunity having presented itself, judged his time exactly right. ‘I expect you want a bundle of money from me then. We can’t have Emily Hewetson’s daughter without the correct wardrobe for visiting country estates, can we? Buy her the very best, the prettiest, the latest fashion, buy her hats and get her hair done. No one will ever believe that she could be your daughter: you are bound to be taken as sisters. In that print and those tammies, they know that she’s your little girl, but with lace and pretty boots, your sister.’
‘Now then, Martin, a little flattery is always welcome, but don’t drown the oyster in sauce.’
He saw that his judgement had not failed him. He had hit the right note at the appropriate moment and managed what he had waited months to do, to get Em to take Otis out of those ridiculous girlish clothes.
‘Are you ready, my dear? I thought I would get some Madeira and sponge fingers sent up.’ This time he really did wink. It was a joke from their wedding night that meant nothing to anyone but themselves.
She nodded, smiling. ‘That would be very nice, Martin.’ She looked at him from beneath her lids. ‘You know how I do love Madeira and sponge fingers.’
Madeira and sponge fingers for afterwards… after young Jack Moth had felt the rake of sharp fingernails down his spine.
Emily Hewetson went gracefully up the grand staircase, aware of the tingling that her exquisite new corset caused to her warm breasts.
THE ROCK GARDENS – SOUTHSEA.
Aunt Kate, As promised, a coloured picture. This must be quite an old view, as the trees are now much more grown. Yes, the accomm. is gd. Yes, I am takg some time off. No, I am not wrkg too hard. I shall write a long letter after Tues. Hope to hv. time to visit home on my way up country, Vicky
Victoria Ormorod was kept extremely busy during the next few days. This was the first time that her work had brought her to the joint towns of Portsmouth and Southsea. Although Portsmouth – with its railway, factories, crammed back streets, and busy shops, noisy market, and Royal Navy dockyards – was the more stimulating, it was the idle, affluent elegance of Southsea front that drew Victoria whenever she had time to spare. Here there was air to breathe. Smokeless, fumeless air that was ever moving, and filled with rustling sounds from the movement of shingle.
Already a watering-place at the time when the old Queen acquired Osborne just across the water, Southsea, with its ever-growing naval-officer population, steadily spread its fine villas into what had a few years before been open coastline. Walking the three miles of promenade – the Isle of Wight as a backdrop, the sea calm and blue, the air refreshing and warm, warships, fishing boats and sailing dinghies sliding or bobbing through the Solent channel for interest – anyone could see why naval officers, who had been quartered in the town, often, upon retirement, dropped anchor there.
But Victoria had seen the other side of the coin. She had visited the huddled terraces of the dockers who serviced the navy vessels and the dank yards of the rope-and sail-makers. She had spoken to women who made uniforms for naval officers and fashioned stays and corsets for their wives.
Victoria Ormorod, who had been brought up no differently from the houseful of orphans her grandmother cared for on charity, had not led a soft life but, compared to those of the stay-makers, it was sec
ure and luxurious.
‘Seven in the morning to seven in the evening, miss,’ a group of sixteen-year-old machinists had told her during their midday break – Victoria could not think of it as a dinner-break, for few of them had better than a quarter of plain bread and a drink from the factory standpipe – ‘Sometimes it’s only one-and-six a week that we’ve took home.’
‘That is quite illegal. Don’t you know that the Board of Trade lays down a minimum of thirteen-and-six?’ Victoria prompted.
‘That’s for over eighteens and for best work…’
‘And that’s if you don’t work in Portsmouth…’
‘Board of Trade rates don’t mean nothing here…’
‘Most you get over eighteen is half what they lay down…’
‘Portsmouth is the poorest paid you can get anywhere…’
‘And what about your unions?’ Victoria had asked.
‘Join a union, and you gets your minute’s notice…’
‘Tain’t fair, but like the master says, there’s three other girls waiting to step into your shoes and it’s better’n nothing.’
For a moment they had all clamoured to join in, letting their sense of injustice spill over for a few minutes till the factory whistle ordered them back to their machines.
And for a moment outside that factory, as she had done outside many others, Victoria Ormorod had applied an irritant to their sores of ill-use in the hope that scabs of apathy might not cover those sores. It was not easy for them, but to give in to the system was to make matters worse.
A VIEW OF LONDON. OLD HOUSES. HIGH HOLBORN.
Esther. It has all taken so long. Hwvr Ma is pleased. Otis trnsfrmd. Rather uncomftble. Can’t wait to get back to S.sea for our (almost) mutual b’day. Strange to be staying the night at home. All seems dull, except short vst from my Unc. Hewey. Back with you anon. (10 A.M. train). Yrs, O.H.
Thumping the King’s green head, Otis secured a halfpenny stamp on her card and put it ready to post so that Esther Moth would receive it by the first delivery. Otis and her mother had spent an entire day in gown and accessories’ departments, boot shops, and milliners’. Emily Hewetson had hired a cab for the day, costly but not so aggravating as trying to find one for hire at will. She loathed the grubby, smelly London cabs and their matching drivers, and set out on the shopping expedition for Otis’s new wardrobe with some irritation. But, by the time they went for high tea at Fortnum’s, her serene face showed her state of mind.
Goodbye Piccadilly Page 4
