by Maggie Ford
Their maid Mary had already gone and was now working in a shop. Julia didn’t know which shop and didn’t much care. Mrs Granby had refused point-blank to leave, declaring she’d stay without pay until the family had to vacate the property. Mr Grantham the solicitor had kindly written to them enclosing a list of what he considered might be respectable lodgings.
‘You cannot take a chance with your accommodation, dear ladies,’ ran the words. ‘Mr Longfield would not have wanted to know that his family were living somewhere unsuitable.’
A pity he didn’t think of that before he gambled everything away, Julia thought bitterly as she read out the list to her mother who’d been sent into a welter of weeping by it.
Mr Grantham had no doubt kept his thoughts to himself regarding the underhanded way her father had mortgaged the house to pay off his debts. But they hadn’t been paid off, had they? He’d used the money instead to continue gambling on the stock market, always in the hope, she guessed, of hitting the jackpot – much as a punter at a race meeting might behave, always believing the next bet would be the one to see him right. Her father had been no better than that gambler, yet had cut such a figure of haughty respectability, looking down his nose at others, even his own wife. Now he was dead and all his assets, including the roof over his family’s head, were being repossessed. So much for respectability! She had nothing to thank her father for.
The rented accommodation she’d finally found after rushing around yesterday like a demented chicken was on the top floor of a three-storey tenement just off Bethnal Green Road. It consisted of a living room hardly large enough to swing a cat, two tiny bedrooms and a narrow kitchen with hardly anywhere to hang washing. The only lavatory was a shared one in the back yard, so that they were obliged to trek all the way downstairs to it. The whole thing was thoroughly distasteful and embarrassing. Their only washing facilities were the kitchen sink and a tin bath that hung on the wall.
She had put down the required first month’s rent with money from her own allowance, aware with a small pang that there’d be no more allowance from now on. All the family had left was their collective jewellery to keep them going for a while but that would take time to sell and once gone there would be no more.
She had suggested pawning it all for the time being, but that reaped a horrified reaction from her mother. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead going anywhere near one of those dreadful places,’ she had said, adding incongruously, ‘I’d rather die!’ But Julia had been far too worried to see the funny side.
Her father had even allowed his life insurance policy to lapse, and along with all the other problems with creditors and banks, she had no idea where they stood at the moment. It had left her reeling, on top of having to contend with her mother’s grief, her sisters’ helplessness and having to take James out of his private school with no money to pay for any further education for him.
She felt sorry for her brother, knowing that his school chums would be discussing among themselves what might have gone wrong in his life. Having to leave school was a terrible comedown for him, on top of the shock of his father’s death. Julia felt anger rise up in her. The whole situation was a comedown for them all.
She let her gaze wander again around the warehouse, wondering why she’d bothered to come at all. There was nothing here but a collection of odd boxes probably containing imported goods and, stacked in one corner, quite a few bolts of dress material.
Curious, Julia went over to examine them. There was cotton, sateen, muslin, velvets of all colours, as well as nainsook from India, a fine soft cotton fabric she found pleasing to the touch. There was silk too, fine silk, some plain, some printed, feeling smooth and slippery as she ran a finger along each bolt. There were others whose names rang bells in her head – voile, chiffon, ninon, tussore.
As she touched each roll of fabric an idea began to form in her head. Quickly she went back to the desk to look for any of the appropriate receipts. Papers appeared to have been stacked in neat piles but nothing more.
It all looked as if those who had worked here saw no point in coming back to work now that their employer was dead and his business bankrupt. They hadn’t been paid and, with creditors clamouring for money, it didn’t look as if they would ever see the humble colour of theirs.
Fred followed her gaze. ‘I got back ’ere after the ’ospital took him ter see if there was anything I could do,’ he said lamely. ‘But it was all out of my depth so I thought best to leave it as it was.’
Julia nodded absently and he went on, ‘Yer father seems to ’ave sent off a tidy batch of stuff the day before. That’s why there ain’t all that much stuff ’ere, I suppose. He might have bin expectin’ more ter come in but I don’t know much about it. I told his workers ter go ’ome and contact yer father’s accountant who’d pay ’em off. And I telephoned his accountant and solicitor about the sad news, taking the liberty of looking up their telephone numbers in his address book there. That was afterwards. Yer see, I stayed at the ’ospital till yer father died, which was ever so quick…’
He broke off in confusion, adding quickly, ‘Begging yer pardon, Miss Longfield, I didn’t mean…’
But Julia wasn’t listening. ‘How much of this stuff do you think we can move out of here?’
Fred broke off to stare at the stack of material. ‘Why?’
‘Because I think I could make use of it.’
‘All of it?’
‘As much as we can load into the car in say an hour.’
Fred pursed his lips in doubt. ‘It ain’t ours… yours… ter shift.’
‘It is until the place is padlocked as far as I’m concerned,’ she said almost in defiance. ‘Now come and help me!’
‘We won’t get the boxes in the car,’ he said as he moved to help. ‘They’re too bulky and take up too much room.’
‘We don’t need them. I know nothing about spices or whatever, but a woman knows something about material and that will stack far more easily.’
Getting the bolts of material out to the car at the back was a nerve-racking experience. Julia’s heart was in her mouth lest someone of authority turned up. By rights this was no longer her father’s property; it could be claimed by his creditors. Taking it might be seen as theft, but since some of it would have to be left as there was no more room for it in the car, what remained would probably appease them. With all that her father owed, surely a few bits of material wouldn’t make any difference.
Maybe no serious inventory had been done on so little stock and she wondered why the place was so empty unless her father, unable to pay for other shipments, had been selling off all he could to help pay some of his debts.
As she worked, dragging the stuff from where it was piled up, she kept hearing the solicitors first words to her mother as he’d broken the news: ‘Your husband was financially overstretched, Mrs Longfield. True, the banks had accepted his personal guarantees for all his company’s debts but as his debt steadily mounted there was growing concern; and now, with his death, they are naturally looking to recover those debts.’
How could her father have been so stupid not to have seen how deep a hole he’d been digging for himself?
Tense laughter bubbled up inside her at the aptness of that thought. She immediately quelled it, bitter anger taking its place at her father’s stubbornness in keeping his problems locked inside himself, doing his own bookkeeping, ignoring any advice of his solicitor, his accountant, his bank, and especially keeping her and her family in the dark. And now here she was, pulling and tugging at heavy bales of cloth like a navvy, in the hope of saving something from this mess. Although she had no notion of what she was hoping to achieve; nothing but a vague, possibly foolish, idea that was forming in her head – an idea probably every bit as foolish as those her father had harboured and which had brought his family to this plight.
So absorbed was she by the tension of it all, the fear of being caught, that she suddenly realized that for the first time since reading Chester’s
cruel letter she’d forgotten about him.
Casting the memory of him from her, lest she be undermined by it, she forced her thoughts back to her task. This wasn’t the time to starting crying. Tears would come later at some odd, unexpected time when she was alone.
She squeezed one last bolt of grey wild silk into the car. It broke her heart to have to leave the rest of the beautiful stuff behind but there wasn’t an inch of space anywhere to fit in another. But all in all they’d done a good job.
The vehicle’s interior was packed tight from floor to roof, leaving only space enough for the driver, so she had to call a cab while Fred made off with their ill-gotten gains. Glancing at her little gold wristwatch – which would soon join the jewellery she hoped to sell – she saw that the hands were creeping towards nine o’clock. Glad to be away at last she was nevertheless filled with satisfaction.
She had given Fred the address of the flat she’d found. Now that she had paid the first month’s rent, it was hers to store in it whatever she liked. The material would be safe there, away from the prying eyes of those in authority. Whether or not removing it was illegal she had no idea. She knew that the family’s personal possessions, items of jewellery, clothing and the like, could not be seized. Maybe bolts of cloth might be lumped in with these, but it was best to be safe than sorry.
Between them, she and Fred humped the heavy fabric up the dark stairs, leaving it in a heap on the floor in one corner of the living room. She would decide where to put it all later. There wouldn’t be much furniture left anyway to take up room after the bailiffs had been at it.
As Fred drove her back for what would be her last couple of hours in her old home, the only home she’d ever known, she sat in silence in the back seat. The next few hours were going to be hard, trying to console her mother, comfort her sisters, and James too. He had been so very hurt by this turn of fortune, seeing his future falling about his ears, blaming his father, just as she too blamed him.
She knew little about her brother, separated as they had been from each other during their growing up years, boarded at different schools. How would she deal with him if he let himself be undermined by bitterness, by anger?
Julia felt her own anger rise. Damn his anger! She too felt bitter, all this her father’s fault. And Chester had done nothing to help, in fact had moved out of the scene so fast that it had taken her breath away. She had been so confident she could rely on him. Well, damn them all!
She stiffened her back against the seat. She had to win through somehow. But if only she had Chester to support her, comfort her. She suddenly felt herself wanting his comfort so badly at this minute.
Tears began to cloud her eyes, her throat closing up at the thought of him. She hated him with all her heart yet so wanted him. Unseen by Fred, intent on his driving, she fumbled in her little leather handbag for a handkerchief and let herself weep silently into it.
Six
Closing the door on her lovely home for the last time wrenched Julia’s heart enough to make her feel almost sick.
Standing in the hall gazing around at everything she’d ever known, so familiar, it had grieved her that for years she’d taken it all so much for granted that it had become virtually unnoticeable. It had always been there and so she had believed, without giving it much thought, that it always would be. Perhaps for the first time in her life she was actually seeing the furniture she was leaving behind. As she closed the door on it all there came a deep, slow sense of loss with the realization that she would never again see this decor, these lamps, the furniture she’d known so well.
At the gate stood their cases, with their personal items beside them. The two pieces of furniture her mother had been allowed to take, her little writing desk and a small dressing table that had belonged to her own mother, had been loaded onto a small van ready to be transported to the flat where they would live from now on. Her mother was crying, dabbing her eyes with an already soaked handkerchief, her body hunched, her head resting against Stephanie’s shoulder.
Struggling with her own tears, Julia left the door keys by the iron foot-scraper to be retrieved the moment the taxi bore her family out of sight. She glanced at the car sitting at the end of the street, its occupants instructed to check the contents of the house to ensure that everything they had been ordered to leave was present.
Refusing to look back, though her soul ached to do so, Julia came to join her little family that now included her brother. He stood silent and tight-lipped, his young, good-looking features marred by bitterness, his hopes and plans for university now no more.
Mrs Granby was standing with them. She was going to her sister’s in Hoxton, not too far away, and had promised not to lose touch with her former employer’s wife. It had occurred to her that they were now on equal footing but she tactfully refrained from saying so. She’d tried to wave away the wage Julia’s mother had pressed into her hand, protesting that she’d stayed on out of friendship, but had finally accepted.
‘Here’s me address, Mrs Longfield,’ she said, handing her a slip of paper as they got into the taxi. ‘Now keep in touch, won’t you, Madam? If you need anything, please write. Me sister don’t have no telephone.’
Neither will we any longer, Julia thought bitterly as her mother did her best to stifle tears. She knew just how her mother felt. The parting was overwhelming her too, but she held back her own sorrow.
‘Thank you, Mrs Granby,’ she said on behalf of her mother who was almost falling into the taxi with Stephanie holding on to her. ‘You’ve been a good friend and we will keep in touch. And thank you for all your kindness in staying on with us.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ Mrs Granby gulped. ‘Take care of yourselves, all of you.’
She remained standing there as Julia climbed into the taxi and the vehicle whisked them away. With a last wave, Julia settled in beside her mother and put an arm about her shoulders. ‘We’re going to be all right, Mummy,’ she soothed. ‘Nothing lasts for ever, not even horrible things.’
Her hopeful words made very little difference to her mother who was still weighted down with misery by the time they reached their destination. Nor was the first sight of their new home likely to improve the woman’s feelings. Victoria’s face creased again at the sight of the upper windows of the flat, situated above a run-down-looking haberdasher’s in the street that branched off the western end of Bethnal Green Road.
With Stephanie and Virginia supporting her, and young James dragging his feet at the rear, it was left to Julia to pay the taxi driver. She turned hastily away from his sour expression at the size of her tip, reflecting that he was no doubt in better financial straits than they at this moment. Walking away from the taxi, she followed her family down the short alley beside the grubby-looking shop to a door that served the flats.
Stephanie’s face was a picture as they entered the dark hallway to the stairs. ‘Is this all our father’s solicitor could come up with?’
‘He didn’t have to come up with anything,’ Julia said sharply, but quickly mellowed, too unhappy to argue. ‘He doesn’t act for us now. We can’t afford to pay him any longer. It was nice of him to find this for us.’
‘But here!’ Stephanie burst out. ‘Surely he could have recommended something better than this? With father’s business gone we didn’t have to go on living this side of London. Couldn’t he have found something nearer the West End?’ Hating to face her old friends she now wanted to move as far away as possible, where no one knew her, reacting in a similar way to her mother.
‘This was all we could afford,’ Julia snapped as she began leading them up the stairs, the others helping their still drooping mother.
Yes, it was early days and grief would be with them for some time to come, thought Julia as she now led the way. But the sooner her mother began to face up to realities the better. What had happened couldn’t be changed and lamenting the past wasn’t going to help. It could even make things worse than they were.
She wasn
’t being hard. She too was nursing her own misery but she was not her mother and realized that she would never really know just how Victoria felt. She hadn’t much loved her father, but her mother had and was now thoroughly lost without him. That much she could understand.
Two flights of stairs, passing the first-floor flat on the way, brought them to their own door. Inserting the key, Julia opened it to step straight into the kitchen. Behind her she heard the shocked gasps of the others. And who could blame them, she thought.
‘At least the place is furnished and in a reasonable condition,’ she said quickly, but that didn’t seem to impress her family as they stood in the tiny space, five people immediately becoming a crowd.
To add to the difficulty, it was made even smaller by having three doors: the one they’d just entered; another to the living room; and a third Julia knew led to the narrow back bedroom which she had already told herself would be James’s. The larger front bedroom that led off the living room would be for the rest of them. Mother would be pleased! Julia almost smiled at the uncalled-for thought.
Under the small kitchen window that overlooked a back yard was a stained butler sink and a small wooden draining board, next to it a black gas stove, clean but old and against one wall a small wooden table with shelves above it.
On a hook near the sink hung the tin bath. Julia looked quickly away, remembering the spacious bathroom in their old house.
‘Through here,’ she said before any of them could speak, and led the way through to the living room.
It could have been worse, she told herself fiercely as she gazed about, trying not to think of the spacious, cosy home they’d just left; the home she had thought she would never leave until her marriage. Her mind flew instantly to Chester and she felt her eyes grow moist and her throat tighten.
