by Mary Gibson
‘Eliza,’ was all he said by way of greeting. Taking the chair she offered him, he put his despatch case carefully at his feet as though he suspected she might run off with that, as she had run off with his son. It exasperated Eliza, more than anything else he could have done, and she launched in on the attack.
‘Ernest, why on earth do you care that William is with me? You wanted to send him away!’
‘I see we’re to have none of the niceties of polite society.’ Ernest flushed. ‘Not that I’m surprised.’
‘Reverted to the gutter, you mean?’ She would let him get away with nothing, not now that she’d broken the shackles.
‘You left me, without warning or explanation, taking our son halfway round the world. I haven’t seen you for over two years. I would think that deserves at least some humility and explanation on your part!’
How haughty he was! She’d forgotten just how different his public persona was from his behaviour with her. A man of the people, he had been called, and once she’d believed it too.
‘You threatened to take my child away! I don’t need to give any other explanation for why I chose to escape with him, rather than give him up to strangers.’
‘And yet you did exactly that with our firstborn?’ he asked in the open-ended way he had, laying a trap for her to fall into. But she had already decided she would never divulge to him Matty’s whereabouts.
‘I was much younger then, and I was in awe of you.’
‘And you are no longer?’
She sighed; she had no desire to talk about their relationship. The only thing that interested her was how best to keep William with her. ‘I’m very grateful to you.’
‘Grateful!’ He slammed his fist on to the tea table, rattling the fine-bone china teacups and saucers. ‘Next you’ll be bobbing me a curtsey! It’s you, Eliza, who could never escape your ridiculous ingrained ideas of class. Don’t try to cast me as that particular villain!’
That would be too easy for him and she wouldn’t allow it. ‘I’m not talking about our class differences, Ernest. What I know is that as a man you wanted to own me and I found that I didn’t want to be owned!’
He appeared stunned. ‘But I gave you every freedom!’
‘For a woman who used to be your housekeeper, perhaps, but never the freedom of an equal.’ She tried to slow her breathing, wishing the struggle over. Still she dug deeper into her stubborn reserves of emotional stamina. ‘What is it that you want, Ernest?’
‘Want? What I want is a say in how my son is raised. As I told you in Australia when he was born, I wish him brought up a gentleman.’
‘And there you have it. I can’t bring him up as a gentleman, can I?’
‘Eliza!’ His exasperation erupted. ‘You were never maternal!’
‘And you were never paternal!’ She knew now that she would win. When she’d asked him what he wanted, she knew he hadn’t been completely truthful. No doubt he did want William brought up a gentleman, but she suspected a deeper motive; she’d seen through his bluster. He wanted her back. If he’d answered, ‘What I want is you,’ she might have relented and lost, but he hadn’t.
‘I will bring up our son, Ernest.’ She was implacable now. ‘If you wish to ensure he’s given the education of a gentleman, then pay the fees of a good day school; I won’t have him sent away! If you like, I will bring him to see you.’
That was her offer, her bluff. She couldn’t go back to him, but she would be part of his life again. At least she’d allowed him his pride; let them both pretend it was only William he was interested in seeing.
He looked at her, letting fall the wounded veil of haughtiness. His dark eyes glowed with a softened light. She had hurt him, but he still loved her. Abruptly, he rose, picked up his despatch case and turned to her. In the dusty light of the long sash window, she noticed the grey flecks in his dark hair, the sagginess around his eyes. She felt pity, but wouldn’t relent.
‘Very well, Eliza, we’ll do as you suggest… How is the child?’
‘He’s thriving, he’s determined and clever… and he has a temper… like you.’ She got up and went to him, putting out her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ernest, that I hurt you.’
He nodded. ‘I didn’t realize you felt so caged, I wish I had known…’
Then he turned briskly away. ‘Perhaps you’d care to visit me in Mecklenburgh Square, next time you’re in London… and bring the boy?’
She’d told him she would write; the weeks had passed and she’d delayed. She’d wanted to keep William to herself for as long as possible, but she had offered Ernest the compromise and now she must honour it.
Nellie was sitting up alone, late one warm Wednesday night, towards the end of May. She’d thrown up the sash window and opened the front and back doors to let some air blow through. The draught brought with it fetid odours from the Neckinger tannery. After a month of cold, grey days, summer had arrived today, with a sudden oppressive heat. She’d sweltered all day in the packing room and then come home to a steamy kitchen. Even though it was not laundry day, Alice had seized the opportunity to get it done and dried in the sunshine. The boiling copper’s humid heat still hung about the house. Now Nellie simply wanted to enjoy a few minutes’ peace in the cool breeze wafting through the house. These days she prized her moments alone, when she allowed herself to reread Sam’s letters and to send him her silent thoughts and prayers. Perhaps it was superstition, but she believed, wherever he was, he heard those unspoken words of her heart. After she’d read them all through, Nellie tidied his letters back into a bundle and she was about to extinguish the table lamp when her attention was caught by a shadow flickering past the open window. She went to pull down the sash, but a hand shot out to grab the window before she could fully close it. The face on the other side of the window broke into a grin, one that she’d once found charming but that now filled her with shock and dread.
‘Ted!’ Nellie gripped the window frame even tighter, trying to push it down, while he resisted. Eventually he said, ‘Ain’t you pleased to see me, Nellie?’
She stood rigid, but eventually his grip proved the stronger. Forcing the sash up, he coiled his long frame and slipped through the open window. He closed it softly behind him, turned and dipped forward, quickly snatching a kiss.
‘You could’ve used the front door, it’s wide open,’ she said, with a coolness that belied her racing heart. Pulling back, she deliberately wiped the kiss from her mouth. Every inch of her was trembling, but she was determined not to show it. ‘I’d best close it.’
She went to the front door, desperately trying to work out the best way to deal with Ted. She forced herself to stay calm, looking carefully up and down the street to check for nosy neighbours before closing the door. When she returned, Ted had untied the bundle and was reading one of Sam’s letters. All her studied calm vanished. Furious that he should touch something so precious, she dived to snatch it from him but he pulled it away, tearing the thin blue paper.
‘Give that to me, Ted Bosher,’ she hissed.
He tossed it back on to the table. ‘You must’ve been bloody desperate after I left if he’s the best you could do.’
‘You was glad enough of him the night you blew yourself up!’ she shot back, gathering up Sam’s precious letters.
Ted snorted. ‘He never did it for me!’
‘Don’t matter why he did it. He ended up in Tower Bridge nick because of you!’
‘Well, it wasn’t me shopped him.’
Nellie was stunned, not by his ingratitude but that he didn’t seem surprised. She’d always been suspicious about the mysterious informer who’d seen Sam at the arches.
‘If you did, you’re a selfish, ungrateful bastard and you can get out!’
‘I just said it wasn’t me! I swear to you, Nell. But I couldn’t help it if one my pals decided to steer the Old Bill in the wrong direction, could I?’
Once Nellie might have doubted Ted was capable of such a betrayal, but not now. ‘I d
on’t believe it was your pal,’ she said coldly. ‘Just go, Ted, and don’t come near me again.’
Ted threw himself down in her father’s chair and turned the scarred side of his face towards her. She hadn’t seen, in the dim light, just how bad it was. Now she gasped. He drew a long finger down it.
‘I didn’t get away scot-free, Nellie,’ he said quietly.
‘I’m sorry, Ted, but you did it to yourself. I’ve got no sympathy.’
He grinned at her. ‘Same old no-nonsense Nellie, eh? How long did it take Gilbie to step into my shoes, then?’
‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Ted. It won’t wash, not after five years and not a word out of you. What did you expect me to do, sit indoors and cry myself to sleep every night? And not that it’s any of your business. I’ve found the man I’m going to marry, and it ain’t you! Me and Sam’s engaged.’
This seemed to genuinely shock him. ‘You know I was nuts about you, Nell, the only reason I never come back is this.’ He jabbed at his face. ‘I was scared you wouldn’t want an ugly git like me on your arm.’ His voice had taken on that resentful, childish tone she remembered. He really did expect her sympathy.
‘The only ugly thing about you now is what’s on the inside.’
‘I don’t give a tinker’s whether you believe me or not! The truth is, I wouldn’t have come to see you if it wasn’t for our old friend, Madam Mecklenburgh.’ Light from the gas lamp picked out the gold flecks in his eyes and she was aware of him studying her reaction.
‘Eliza told me she’d met you in Hull,’ she said calmly.
Ted pulled an impressed face. ‘First-name terms with the great lady!’
‘She’s a Bermondsey girl, same as me.’
‘Was once, but I know where her loyalties lie and it’s not with her brother in France, you can be sure of that.’
‘I know all about the conchie work she does. Anyway, I never wanted Sam, or any of them, to go. It was their choice.’
‘When they had a choice!’ he flung at her. ‘So long as donkeys like him were lining up to get slaughtered, they let ’em choose. Different now they’re running out of cannon fodder, ain’t it? Did he think he’d be protecting you and the kids from the evil Hun? Idiot. The only ones he’s protecting are the profiteering bastards, getting rich off munitions.’ His vitriol seemed to sap him and he sank back. She observed his laboured breath and noticed how thin he was. Hardship had etched his face with lines she didn’t remember. The fire of his spirit seemed to be burning him up from the inside out. She hated him, yet she couldn’t forget that once she had loved him.
‘I’ll get you a drink and something to eat, then you can be on your way, Ted.’
As she passed his chair, he caught her hand. ‘I was hoping you could put me up, just for the night, till I get some digs?’
She had to give him that, the old unquenchable bravado was still there. ‘Well, you can’t stay here.’ She pulled her hand away. ‘Try showing your face at your mum’s, before you disappear again. She might take pity on you,’ she said tartly, as she disappeared into the scullery. She quickly brought him some bread, cheese and a bottle of beer, desperately wanting him to be gone. But he chewed the food slowly and after gulping the beer he seemed revived, sitting back easily in her father’s chair.
‘I’ve already been to see Mum and Dad today. Didn’t get a warm welcome from the old man.’
‘Can you blame him? Lily told me you stopped writing to your mum. You could’ve been dead! Do you know what that does to a mother? It’ll take a lot before your family trusts you again, Ted.’
He shrugged sullenly. ‘Well, whether you believe me or not, I’m back to stay. I’ve got war work of my own to do. I’ve joined the Bermondsey No-Conscription Fellowship and if the police come for me I’ll declare myself an Absolutist!’
‘Ted, for God’s sake, what’s the matter with you? They could shoot you! Why didn’t you just stay in Russia?’ It was obvious to her that Ted was not a coward, but why he would deliberately come home, to put himself in front of a firing squad, was beyond her. He seemed so careless of his own life, and of other people’s. He was silent, looking at her intently.
‘The fact is, Nell, I’d rather face an English bullet than a Russian one. I got myself on the wrong side of some dangerous people out there.’
Why he would tell her the truth, she didn’t know, other than that he had so few others he could confide in. She noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he picked up the beer and drained it.
‘Besides, Bermondsey is where my fight is. And I’m going to take on the munitions profiteers over at Woolwich, too. Now the bastard union’s sold us out to the government, they can’t even go on strike!’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘Eliza James says her sister’s a canary at the Arsenal?’
Looking into Ted’s dangerous sea-green eyes, a memory flashed before her of that day on Goodwin Sands when he’d almost got her killed. She saw the two bright claws of water closing round her, cutting her off from everything safe; she heard again the incoming rush of the tide as it swirled around her, threatening all she held dear.
31
A Dark Moon
Another sound had been drowned out by the echo of that rushing tide: the click of the latch as a key turned in the front door. Nellie was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the open kitchen door. She saw Ted’s gaze shift, suddenly, to the passageway behind her and his expression change, in an instant, from bitter to sweet. Like a spring slowly uncoiling, he stood up, all geniality, to greet Matty.
‘Ah, this must be the canary herself. We were just talking about you, weren’t we, Nellie?’
Nellie whirled round, to see Matty framed in the doorway. She wore her stage dress, with a fine chiffon stole of pale gold around her shoulders. Her height, and the elegant coil of her auburn hair, made her look much older than her fifteen years. Her hair shone like spun copper as she stepped forward into the pool of light cast by the gas lamp. Nellie could tell, from the confident way she strode across the room, that this was still ‘Matty on the stage’. Normally, as soon as she walked in after a night at the Star, that persona was dropped, along with her hat and coat. Nellie usually stayed up to make sure she had something to eat before going to bed, and Matty would always greet Nellie with a kiss and a scolding for waiting up. Stepping over the threshold of her home invariably restored Matty to their loving, contrary little canary once more. But tonight she kept her stage armour firmly around her.
‘How d’you know me nickname?’ she asked, with a wide bold smile, as though he was one of the audience.
‘Yours and a few thousand other lovely girls!’ Ted replied, falling in with the banter.
Matty shot a look at Nellie. Beneath the veneer there was little Matty, unsure of this stranger in their cosy kitchen.
Nellie jumped to the rescue. ‘This is Ted, Lily’s brother. He means the canary girls at the Arsenal.’
‘Oh, hello, Ted, pleased to meet you,’ Matty said, dropping the stole over the back of the kitchen chair and sitting down with studied poise. ‘Why were you talking about me?’ She looked brightly at Ted and back to Nellie.
‘I was asking Nellie if she thinks it’s right that your life’s worth half a man’s?’
‘Oh,’ Matty said, ‘that’s right, you’re a Bolshevik, ain’t you? Have you come to stir us all up?’ Her voice was mocking. But then she went on more seriously. ‘I know some of the women complain about the wages, but I’m really not sure my life’s worth twice my brother’s, when you come to think about it like that. Seems to me, if I walk out with thirty shillings a week and Sam’s fighting over there for eleven, then I’m paid too much. Anyway,’ she said with finality, ‘we’re not allowed to strike.’
‘Who cares?’ Ted said, standing up now, ready for a debate.
‘They’ll all care if they end up in Holloway,’ Nellie cut in. She needed to get Ted out. ‘Anyway, Matty, I’ll get you a bite to eat and then you’d best get on up to bed, love.
You’re on earlies tomorrow.’
Nellie turned to Ted with a look that brooked no argument. ‘Ted was just going, weren’t you, Ted?’
He didn’t reply. Instead he picked up his cap and moved to the door. As he passed Matty, he extended his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Matty, I’ve heard you do a great turn at the Star, maybe I’ll come and see you one night.’
Matty gave him her stage smile and inclined her head.
‘’Night, Nellie. I’ll see yer when I see yer.’
He brushed past her and she followed him down the passage.
‘Not if I see you first,’ she whispered to herself, as she shut the door behind him.
But his visit had shaken her. She feared this wasn’t the last she’d be seeing of Ted Bosher and that night she slept badly.
The next day dawned grey, cold and damp again. Yesterday had been a single day of summer and now it had vanished, taking Nellie’s peace of mind with it. Ted’s reappearance had left her unsettled and preoccupied. She was grateful that, at least, it was Thursday. Since Lily had left Duff’s, she and Nellie were in the habit of meeting up in the Green Ginger every Thursday night: it was a comforting ritual they allowed themselves. Little Johnny was left with Mrs McBride and Alice took over at home, while they shared news of Sam and Jock, and Nellie entertained Lily with the latest custard tart news. They considered it well worth the five pence a pint of Russian Stout, their favourite tipple.
