Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts

by Mary Gibson

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, madam, she’s not home, but I can give her a message—’

  ‘I’m afraid I must speak to her tonight,’ Eliza interrupted in her most cultured and persuasive tone. She would not be put off.

  The girl hesitated, then asked her to come in. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, Nellie was called away sudden and we’re in a bit of a two an’ eight tonight.’

  She was shown into a tiny front kitchen, filled with children, crowded round a square deal table covered in matchboxes in various states of assembly. There was a huge glue pot in the centre, containing several dripping brushes, the smell so pungent it made her light-headed. The fire in the range, coupled with the many bodies in the room, gave off a heat that was too stark a contrast to the cold outside and she staggered to one side, suddenly overcome with faintness.

  The young girl hurried to her side and, with surprising strength, guided her to the only spare chair in the room. ‘Bobby, get the lady a drop of water, quickly!’

  She was aware of a skinny boy darting from the table to the scullery, and then of a cup being put to her lips.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said between sips. ‘I’ve had a long journey and I’m just a little chilled. I’ll be all right.’

  The girl introduced herself as Alice, Nellie’s sister, and then, excusing the mess again, she explained they were finishing some home work. For the first time Eliza had a chance to look properly round the table. On one side sat the skinny little boy, dressed in what looked like hand-me-downs far too big for him; next to him was a well-built youth who, in contrast, had grown out of all his heavily darned clothes. At the end was her brother Charlie, wearing a collarless shirt, sleeves rolled up. He carefully replaced a glue brush into the pot and looked through her, without any sign of acknowledgement. Turned away from Eliza sat a young girl with auburn curls flowing down her back. Matty, after twisting her head briefly to see who the intruder was, quickly looked away and continued her work of glueing labels on to the box sides. All Eliza could see were Matty’s small hands, covered in a raw rash, deftly dipping and pasting, dipping and pasting. She was horrified. It seemed obvious that Nellie Clark was running a sweatshop and there was her daughter, just as she had feared, a rose among thorns.

  Nellie took the penny-farthing straight round to her back yard. The fog had grown even denser and her ride home had been slow and frightening. Hansom cabs and horse-drawn buses were upon her before she knew it, the warning clip-clop of horses’ hooves dulled by the fog. Even motor-car lamps seemed unable to cut through the soaking yellow miasma swirling about the riverside streets. She was bone-tired and grateful to be home. She had on her father’s old mackintosh, her old work boots and a flat cap covering her hair, which had frizzed up alarmingly in the fog. She dreaded finding a messy kitchen, still full of matchboxes and glue pots.

  ‘I’m back and I hope you lot have finished that bloody home work!’ she called out.

  She stopped short at the doorway. The sight of Eliza James sitting in her front kitchen, being ministered to by Alice and stared at by a table full of children, was more than she could take in.

  ‘Madam Mecklenburgh!’ The nickname was out of her mouth before she knew it. ‘Oh, sorry… Mrs James…’

  Eliza waved away her apology, but Nellie could see she was not happy. The woman looked ill; perhaps it was the heat of the kitchen, but her face looked feverish and the cup she held in her hand shook slightly. As she tried to stand up and tottered, Alice caught her.

  ‘Thank you, Alice, I’m not quite myself.’

  Alice took Nellie’s mackintosh, while Matty gave Nellie her chair, kissing her cheek as she did so and offering to make her a cup of tea.

  ‘Thanks, Matty, love. Mrs James looks like she could do with one too.’

  Matty gave Eliza a cold stare and went to the scullery to fill the kettle. Nellie remembered that night she’d first met Matty, when Nellie had been the intruding stranger and had to suffer the same mistrustful stares. Matty was fiercely protective of her family circle and, weary as she was, Nellie felt slightly irritated with Eliza for upsetting her. Apart from missing Sam, Matty had settled in happily to her new surroundings. Nellie hoped Eliza wasn’t about to throw a spanner in the works. She couldn’t imagine why the woman had turned up now with no warning. She certainly couldn’t have picked a worse time, and looking round at the state of the kitchen she doubted Eliza had formed a good opinion of her household so far.

  She decided not to apologize, but asked politely, ‘What brings you back to Bermondsey, Mrs James? I thought you were in Australia.’

  ‘Nellie, I have to speak my mind.’ Eliza, seeming to gather strength, burst out, ignoring Nellie’s question, ‘I’m not sure if you know of my connection with Charlie and Matty, but I am their sister and I strongly object to the conditions you’re keeping them in! This is sweated work! I’ve fought my entire life to stop this sort of slavery and I will not have my family involved in it! I don’t know how Sam could think of leaving them with someone as irresponsible as you, but I won’t have it!’

  Nellie felt the combined intake of breath in the room, as the boys’ eyes widened and grew eager, just as they did when they gathered round a street fight. Matty, who was bringing in the tea, overheard Eliza’s last remark, and stood, cups in hand, hesitating in the doorway.

  Alice’s fear-filled eyes were locked on to Nellie’s. Perhaps if she had spent an easier day, Nellie’s response might have been more diplomatic, but she’d had enough. Eliza, in spite of her agitation, was an imposing figure, carrying an air of authority acquired over years of public speaking, as she sat there in her fine clothes, talking in that carefully doctored accent, but Nellie was not to be over-awed in her own kitchen. She stood up and for once in her life she was glad she’d inherited her father’s strong frame, rather than the bird-like bones of her mother.

  ‘You won’t have it?’ The scorn she felt was real as she let rip. ‘Who the bloody hell d’you think you are? Coming into my house, accusing me of running a sweatshop! We’re all just mucking in to keep us in house and home, if you must know, though it’s none of your business!’

  Eliza tried to interrupt, but Nellie’s anger froze the woman in mid-flow, and she fixed Eliza with her ice-blue eyes. ‘Sam’s told me all about your so-called “connection” with these children, and there ain’t none!’

  She banged the kitchen table for emphasis and the glue pot toppled. The boys leaped to catch it, obviously not wanting anything to interrupt the show. Nellie’s voice grew steelier as her indignation took hold. ‘You haven’t been near nor by them in years! They could’ve been starving in the street, for all you knew, and you’ve got the bloody cheek to blame Sam for putting them with me?’ Eliza had no chance of interrupting; Nellie didn’t pause for breath. ‘Where were you when your mother died and the poor boy had to cope on his own? Where were you when he marched off to war? Well, let me tell you, even your own mother didn’t trust you with these children! She was the one who asked me to take them in, not Sam!’

  Now she could see that she had hit her mark. Eliza sat open-mouthed, all her righteousness evaporating. She seemed to shrink in size and the cup of water dropped from her hand, smashing on to the hearth as she crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Alice, get the salts! Boys, help me get her up!’ Nellie marshalled them and the kitchen exploded with activity. ‘Matty, put those teacups down and stopper that glue pot!’

  When Eliza came round, Nellie offered her the hot sweet tea, which she drank gratefully, surrounded by six anxious faces.

  ‘I don’t think you’re the ticket, Mrs James,’ Nellie said more gently, her anger paling at the thought Eliza might be truly ill. ‘You’ve caught a chill. Where are you staying?’

  Eliza gave the name of a hotel near London Bridge.

  ‘I’ll send Charlie to get you a cab,’ suggested Nellie.

  ‘No, I don’t want to trouble you any more,’ Eliza said weakly. ‘I can walk to Spa Road Station and get
a train from there.’

  The small station, built into one of the railway arches at the end of Spa Road, was the halt before London Bridge, but Nellie was doubtful Eliza would be up to the walk. ‘It’s no trouble, you shouldn’t be hanging about for trains in this weather.’

  Nellie gave Charlie the eye and he shrugged on his coat, nodding once to Eliza as he left. Nellie decided it was best to send the other children to bed. ‘Matty, love, come over and say goodnight to your sister.’

  Matty walked sullenly over to Eliza and said dutifully, ‘Good-night, Eliza.’

  Eliza grasped her hand. ‘How you’ve grown, Matty, since I saw you last!’

  Nellie could see that Matty was uncomfortable, squirming her hand until she released it from Eliza’s grip. Walking up to Nellie, she reached up to kiss her goodnight and whispered, ‘I ain’t going with her!’

  Nellie was unsure if Eliza had heard; given the woman’s agitated state, she doubted it.

  ‘Go on, Alice will take you up to bed.’ Nellie put her arm round Matty’s shoulders. ‘Everything’s all right now,’ she reassured her.

  Now her anger was spent, Nellie began to feel sorry for Eliza. When they were alone, she tried to explain. ‘I think you might have got the wrong end of the stick, Mrs James. We had to take in home work after my dad died – but we’re on our feet now and this was our last lot of matchboxes.’

  Eliza nodded slowly. ‘Perhaps I jumped to conclusions, but there are things we must talk about, Nellie, things that you’re not aware of.’

  Nellie gazed at the older woman. ‘I’m sorry if it upset you… what I said about your mother, but it’s the God’s honest truth. She did want me to look after them when she was gone and Sam wouldn’t have enlisted otherwise.’

  ‘The war has changed everything,’ Eliza said sadly, ‘and with Sam gone, I’m their nearest relative.’

  ‘Their place is with me,’ Nellie replied firmly. ‘I made a promise.’

  27

  Mother Love

  Eliza insisted she must return the next day and speak to Nellie again. Nellie agreed, mostly because she wanted Eliza gone. She felt she’d been ambushed in her own home and only when she heard the disappearing cab wheels hissing down the damp cobbles of Vauban Street did she allow herself to relax. She sank into the chair lately occupied by Eliza and found that she was shaking. Alice sat opposite her and they were both silent for a long moment, then Alice voiced what she had been thinking.

  ‘Could she take Matty and Charlie away from us?’

  Nellie shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Al, but she’d have a bloody good fight on her hands if she tried.’

  ‘She would know about the legal side of things, I suppose?’ ventured Alice. ‘What if we’re breaking the law, keeping them?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d be bothered with that, I mean she hasn’t cared about them up till now. No, I reckon it was just seeing them doing the home work did it, more to do with her principles than the kids, if you ask me. Sam always said she put her own work first, why would it be any different now?’

  Nellie didn’t want to worry Alice with her own fears, but she suspected if it came to a court of law, Eliza James would seem the most respectable guardian. She felt suddenly alone, caught in a net of bewildering responsibilities and doubtful if she were up to a battle with Eliza. If only Sam were here! But there was nothing to be done about it that night, so they extinguished the gas lamps and went upstairs to bed, being careful not to wake Matty. As they were undressing, Alice said quietly, ‘Oh, Nellie, I never even asked about Lily!’

  The events of the evening had completely pushed Lily from her mind. ‘Poor thing was still sitting out in the yard!’ Nellie whispered. ‘I ran for the midwife and by the time I left, every-one had turned up. Just think of it, she might be a mother by now!’

  She felt guilty that she hadn’t spared her friend a thought. She could only hope Lily’s labour would be an easy one and again she felt a stirring of resentment at Eliza’s intrusion. She and Lily had talked so often about the day when they’d be married and have babies of their own, yet Eliza had managed to deflect all the attention to herself. Nellie suspected that had always been the way with Eliza.

  She spent a sleepless night. Waking with the dawn, she crept out of bed, leaving Alice to sleep on, and went downstairs to light the fire. She’d just got a good blaze going when there was a rather hesitant knock on the front door.

  ‘Not again!’ she said to herself, exasperated that Eliza should have returned already when they’d agreed to meet at a coffee shop during her lunch break.

  She was wrapped in an old dressing gown of her mother’s, and her hair hung down in a plait, but she didn’t care. If the woman couldn’t keep to the agreement, she couldn’t expect royalty treatment. Nellie flung open the door.

  ‘It’s a boy!’ Betty Bosher stood on the doorstep, beaming. ‘I’ve just popped home for a few bits, but I had to come and tell you!’ she explained.

  Nellie threw her arms round Betty. ‘A boy! How are they both? Come in!’

  Betty came in, saying she couldn’t stop long. Lily had begged her mother not to leave her alone with the fussing McBrides.

  ‘The midwife said the fall had brought on the labour, but once she started, it was quick! He was born early hours and he’s the face cut off of Jock!’

  ‘Oh, Betty, I’m so pleased for her, I can’t wait to see him! I’d go up in my dinner break but I’ve got to see Sam’s bloody sister.’

  Betty was puzzled until Nellie explained which sister.

  ‘Oh, my gawd, she’s not turned up again, has she?’ she gasped.

  ‘Of course, you would know her, Betty, I forgot you were Mr Gilbie’s cousin.’ Nellie could see that Betty Bosher, born a Gilbie, shared the family prejudice against Eliza.

  ‘She’s the sort needs to remember where she come from, but Michael spoiled her rotten and shit was his thanks.’

  Betty never minced her words. Her straightforward bluntness could sometimes wound, but Nellie knew Lily’s mum saw things straight. ‘Betty, I know you’ve got to rush, but can I ask your advice?’

  ‘What you worried about, love?’ She sat down solemnly at the kitchen table. ‘Come on, I’ve got time for a cuppa.’

  She told Betty all that had gone on with Eliza the previous night, finding it a relief to unburden herself. She waited, while Betty drained her tea.

  ‘Lizzie Gilbie picked you for a good ’un, didn’t she?’

  ‘I suppose she did… But what should I do about Eliza? Sam didn’t want the kids to go to her, nor to his Uncle George either!’

  ‘Good job an’ all. George and that wife of his ’ave got no idea where kids is concerned. He’s such a miserable git, they’d ’ave had no life at all. But my advice is, you should meet Eliza and listen to what she’s got to say—’ Nellie went to interrupt, but Betty held up her hand. ‘I’m not saying you give her the kids! No… just give her the chance to tell you…’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  Betty didn’t answer; instead she got up.

  ‘Chances are, she won’t want them anyway. Her sort have got no time for kids…’ Her face suddenly lit up. ‘Talking of which, I’d better get back to me daughter and grandson!’ Betty was again all smiles and Nellie thanked her.

  ‘Go on, then, Nanny! And tell Lily I’ll be round to see her and the baby tomorrow!’

  As Betty hurried down the street, Nellie called after her, ‘What’s she named him?’

  ‘John, after his dad!’

  Nellie went to work in her best navy coat and skirt, nearly new from the Old Clo’ market. The cut was good and the cloth a fine wool, with braided collar and cuffs. She’d taken up the skirt to a more fashionable length above the ankle and was determined that Eliza James would see not a speck of custard powder on her shoes, so she had her best small-heeled black tie-ups in a bag ready to change into at dinner break. Once at the factory she carefully tucked every inch of her abundant hair inside the white mob
cap, wrapping the factory smock tightly around her. She knew she’d looked a state yesterday, with her frizzy damp hair and old mac. God knows what Eliza must have thought of her – today at least she could make a better impression.

  As soon as the dinner hooter sounded, Nellie rushed to clock off, dashing down to the Jamaica Road coffee shop, where they’d agreed to meet. Eliza wasn’t there when Nellie arrived, and for a brief moment Nellie hoped she might have changed her mind, that she would just disappear and leave them all in peace, but then she remembered the look of longing on Eliza’s face as she’d held Matty’s hand and said goodnight to the indifferent young girl. No, she didn’t think Eliza would give up. Nellie chose a window seat, going over in her mind her talk with Betty. Was it true Eliza needed to remember where she’d come from? Nellie disagreed; from what she knew of her, Eliza was a woman who remembered all too well, and every remembrance came with a good dose of guilt. This wasn’t someone ashamed of where she’d come from. If that was the case, why devote her life to improving conditions for those who still lived there? No, in Nellie’s mind, Eliza hadn’t escaped with a good riddance on her lips. Hers was more like a chosen exile, long regretted. Perhaps now she simply wanted the chance to make amends?

  Nellie had a good view of the street and was surprised when she saw Eliza stepping off a tram at the nearby stop; she’d expected her to come in a cab. Eliza paused briefly, looking around, then walked briskly towards the coffee shop. She was carrying her overnight bag, which Nellie hoped meant she would be leaving straight after their talk. She came through the door, looking a different woman from yesterday. Here was the controlled, composed figure Nellie remembered from three years earlier. Eliza smiled as she sat down, her first words an apology.

  ‘I’m so sorry about my behaviour yesterday, Nellie. I jumped to conclusions about the home work. I of all people should know that sometimes there is no choice about how to put food on the table. I know you’re a good girl and you’re only doing your best.’