by Valerie Wood
It must be a mistake. Papa is a pillar of society. An upholder of what is right. She also recalled the outcry when her father discovered that Simon had stolen money just before he ran away. She put her hand to her mouth. Whatever would he say if he realized that she too had taken money from the cash box for her own use?
Mary came back with a jug of water and poured Eleanor a glass, then quietly cleared away the breakfast dishes. ‘Can I get you anything else, Miss Eleanor?’ she asked, and when Eleanor shook her head she went out of the room.
She sat for nearly half an hour, sipping water, meditating and making plans for all eventualities, and then got up and went to look out of the window. Outside their door was a black carriage. She took a sudden intake of breath. It was an enclosed two-horse vehicle with small barred windows at the side and a door at the rear, just like the one she had seen outside her father’s office. Sitting at the front was a uniformed policeman.
Eleanor turned as the door opened. She felt very faint and giddy. Her father stood there, his face even paler yet wearing an expression of disdain.
‘Eleanor, I have to go with these officers to answer some more questions.’ He hesitated. ‘I might not be back tonight. Will you pack a bag with a towel and my shaving things?’
She stared at him, then licked her dry lips. He looked away from her. ‘Would you hurry, please? These people are very impatient.’
‘Yes.’ She galvanized herself into action. ‘W-will you be gone for long?’
‘I don’t know.’ He was abrupt, as if he didn’t want to speak or think about it. ‘Write to your mother and tell her to come home. There are arrangements to be made.’
Tell her, she thought as she ran upstairs. How can I tell my mother to do anything? If she had decided to leave, why would she change her mind and come home to a position of shame? For that is what it will be, even if my father is innocent and proved so. Mud sticks and there will always be some who will say that there’s no smoke without fire.
She went to the linen cupboard and selected a towel, and then took out a second. He might be there longer than a day and a night. Will someone do his laundry, I wonder? She realized that her knowledge of court or prison procedure was woefully inadequate. In her father’s dressing room where his zinc bath and washstand were, she found his dressing gown, razor blade, shaving brush and soap and hunted in the bottom of the wardrobe for a small travelling bag which he occasionally used if he was away attending an out of town client. She unearthed it and began to pack, taking out a journal to make room.
Then she thought he might welcome something to read, and flicked through the pages. She dropped it with a gasp. There were pictures of women, not ladies, in it, most of them in various stages of undress.
‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘However did that get there?’
She hurriedly hid the journal in the wardrobe and placed a pair of shoes over it. I’ll have to hide or burn it later, she thought. I can’t risk Mary finding it.
A voice called up the stairs. It wasn’t her father but one of the policemen. ‘Come along, miss,’ he bellowed. ‘We haven’t got all day.’
She burst into tears as she ran downstairs and handed over the bag to her father. He took it without a word, but a frown creased the top of his nose and his eyes narrowed as he opened it.
‘I shan’t need this.’ He handed the dressing gown back to her and one of the policemen sniggered. ‘Was there anything else in the bag?’
‘No, Father,’ she lied. ‘It was empty.’
His face cleared. ‘Thank you, Eleanor. Write to your mother,’ he said again. ‘Goodbye.’
And he was gone. She stood by the closed door and stared through the top half, which was of stained glass in the shape and colours of a sunburst. She saw the top of her father’s head suffused with yellow and his jacket with purple as he climbed the steps into the police van.
Eleanor wiped away her tears and turned as she heard a sound at the top of the servants’ stairs to the basement. Mary was standing there. ‘I hope it’s not trouble, miss,’ she said. ‘Cook and me are right worried.’
Eleanor swallowed. ‘I’m sure it’s not,’ she said bravely. ‘It’s some kind of misunderstanding, I believe. That’s why my father has gone with those men. To try to shed some light on the matter. I expect him to be home in a day or two. In the meantime we must carry on as usual.’
Mary nodded and dipped her knee, but looked doubtful. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said. ‘Will you be wanting luncheon?’
Eleanor took a deep breath. ‘I don’t believe I will,’ she said. ‘I’ll have coffee and some bread and cheese in my room at midday. I’m going out now. Would you get my coat and hat from upstairs, Mary?’ She suddenly felt she hadn’t the strength to climb the stairs again, but she was desperate to get out of the house.
As she waited for the servant to come back, she fought to keep back more tears. I mustn’t cry in front of her, she thought. She will know there is something terribly wrong if I do.
Mary helped her on with her coat. ‘You’ll ask if there’s anything we can do, Miss Eleanor? We’ll be onny too pleased to help.’
‘Thank you, Mary,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m sure everything will be all right.’
‘Perhaps you should write to your mother,’ Mary said kindly. ‘You’re very young to be left alone. It don’t seem right.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘That is what I’ll do as soon as I come back.’
She walked without any real idea of where she was going. She wandered the length of the High Street, pausing to gaze down at the Old Harbour from Rotten Herring Staith, but not staying long as the men working at the warehouses looked at her curiously. She crossed over Blackfriargate and from there she turned into Humber Street and Queen Street and came to the pier.
She leaned on the rail and gazed down into the choppy water. The tide was high and the waves threw fine spray into her face, which hid the tears which she hadn’t been able to control as she walked. She fished for a handkerchief, patted her eyes and then blew her nose.
‘Good morning, miss!’
She turned abruptly; she was sure there had been no one near her as she’d walked across the wooden planking, but now the abominable Percy Smart was standing close beside her. Had he been following her, she wondered.
He touched his hat. ‘Sorry to hear about your pa,’ he said, and she thought that he didn’t look sorry, and in fact had a gloating smirk on his face which he didn’t attempt to disguise. ‘Your ma’ll be worried, I expect. All sorts of details come out in a case like this. Things to do with character, you know, not ’business in hand.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she retorted. ‘There is nothing about my father’s character that has anything to do with anyone else. Now will you excuse me? I’m sure you have other business to attend to.’
She turned away, but not before she saw his sly grin as he touched his hat again.
‘No,’ she heard him say. ‘I’m excused the office for ’time being. I work closely with Mr Kendall, you see, so I’m to appear in court for ’prosecution.’
Slowly she turned to face him. ‘Prosecution?’ she said huskily. ‘But – but he’s only gone to answer some questions. Nobody said …’ Her voice tailed away.
‘No, miss,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll find he’s not coming home for a bit. From what I gather, Mr Kendall will be charged with embezzlement.’ He nodded solemnly. ‘That’s a prison offence – or worse.’
Eleanor turned giddy and leaned against the railings. What was she to do? Whom could she turn to?
‘Can I walk you back home, miss?’ Smart held out his arm, elbow akimbo. ‘You don’t seem well. Hope I haven’t upset you?’
She put up her hand to ward him off. ‘No. Please leave me alone.’
Smart tipped his bowler again and gave a slight bow. His manner seemed arrogant now, as if he’d got the better of her. ‘I’ll wish you good day then,’ he said, and he turned and walked away.
She was trembling, her legs wobbly, and she wished she had never left the house. Then across from the pier she spotted a coffee house and two ladies going into it. She took a breath. Could I go in alone? Would it be all right? Not unseemly? She decided that she would anyway, whether or not it was unconventional.
Another two ladies were entering as she reached the door, and they held it open for her. They both smiled and said good morning, and she thought that perhaps this was something which ladies did, though she couldn’t recall her mother ever going out to a coffee house; but then, she thought, as she took a seat at a table in the corner, perhaps she did and never mentioned it. Father wouldn’t have approved.
My father disapproved of so much. Eleanor gazed down at the plain white cloth and waited for a pot of coffee which she had ordered. And yet he went out. He went to his club quite often and came home late, yet he didn’t like her mother to go to her meetings. Why was that? She frowned. Her head throbbed and she pressed her fingers to her temples. Was he afraid of gossip? Of her mother hearing gossip, even? And where had he been going the other night when he had gone off without supper and not in the direction of his club?
I don’t know my father, she thought, as she gratefully sipped the steaming coffee. There are aspects of him about which I know nothing. Did my mother really know him? Is that why she went away? Did she suspect that all was not well? She was suddenly stung by the possibility that her mother suspected that something might be wrong and had therefore left. But why did she leave me? Why was I left behind to face this disgrace? She felt the hot sting of fresh tears. I shall ask her, she thought. I won’t write. I shall go to Nottingham to seek her out and I’ll go tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Eleanor looked through her mother’s house-keeping books to find out when the servants were due to be paid. Cook, who was aged about thirty, would expect to earn twenty pounds if she was kept on, and Mary, who was a general maid, would expect about the same, give or take a shilling or two. They were paid annually at the end of November so were due to be paid in about two weeks. I will be there and back within that time, Eleanor reckoned, and if Mama returns with me, then she can decide what is to be done. If the worst happens and Father is imprisoned, then Mama and I won’t need so many servants. We could manage without a cook, at any rate.
It wasn’t that she was convinced that her father was guilty or not guilty; she had no idea at all how he could have embezzled money, but had decided to keep an open mind. I fervently hope that it is all a big mistake, for it would be so shameful. How would we ever hold up our heads again if it is true?
Next she looked round the house for items she could sell to supplement the money she already had. She secreted the objects already earmarked into a carrying bag, found a pair of sugar tongs which were hardly ever used, half a dozen silver teaspoons and an elaborate epergne which she knew her mother hated; it had been given to her on her marriage by a maiden aunt of her husband’s who had disapproved of her.
Once again she put on her coat and hat and sallied forth, this time to find a jeweller or silversmith who might buy the silver from her.
‘My mother no longer has need of these,’ she told the first shop owner, ‘and wonders if you would be interested in buying them from her?’
He looked at her from over the top of his round spectacles. ‘Do you have proof of ownership, young lady?’ he asked, though not unkindly.
‘W-well, no,’ she said. ‘My mother was embarrassed about coming, which is why I am here.’
‘Mm,’ he pondered. ‘I don’t usually buy in this way, but they are quality pieces.’ He offered what she considered to be a low price for the silver spoons and didn’t want the epergne, so she thanked him and to his surprise put them back into the carrying bag and said she would try elsewhere. Then she walked to Silver Street and chose at random a silversmith’s which had similar pieces in the window.
She gave the same patter as before and this time the jeweller didn’t question the origin of the items until he had carefully examined them. Then he gazed at her very solemnly and asked her the same question as the other had.
‘They belonged to my mother,’ she said plaintively, ‘but she has no need for them now, and I’m ashamed to admit that I am in dire straits.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear it,’ he said, his face creased with sympathy. He was an older man, old enough to be her grandfather, she thought, though she didn’t remember either of her own. ‘These are difficult times for such a lot of people.’ He sighed. ‘But they are good pieces and I can certainly sell them, though perhaps not offer you as much as you would like. Do you have someone you can go to? Some relative?’
She bit her lip and then spoke huskily. ‘To my aunt. I think she will give me a home.’
He nodded, and then said he would take all the silver, and offered her considerably more than the previous shopkeeper had done.
She tried to hide her delight; there would be enough now to take the train to Nottingham and some left over. ‘You’re so kind,’ she told him. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
He counted out the money in front of her and then added another crown. ‘I’m always beguiled by a pretty young face.’ He smiled. ‘But not a word to my wife!’
Eleanor thanked him again and went out of the shop with a great sense of relief. She decided there and then to buy a train ticket to Nottingham for the next morning. It was quite a distance across the town to the railway station, but she didn’t want to waste any of her precious money on a cab. The walk will do me good, she thought, and I can plan what to say to the servants to explain my absence. I feel so much more positive now that I’m actually doing something.
Later that day she packed a small bag of clothes and personal belongings and hid it in her wardrobe. Then she put money into an envelope to give to Cook to pay the tradesmen’s bills.
She hardly slept that night. Too many things were going round in her head: what she should say to Aunt Maud when she turned up on her doorstep, how she would explain to her mother that Papa had been taken into custody, what she should say in order to persuade her to come home.
She rose early the next morning, washing and dressing without waiting for Mary to knock. Her train was at nine fifteen and as her bag was quite heavy she had decided to ask Mary to run out and get a cab to take her to the station. She picked up the bag and her coat and hat and went down to the dining room, where Mary was laying out the sideboard with bread and hard-boiled eggs and a dish of marmalade.
‘Why, miss,’ Mary said. ‘Why ever are you up so early? It’s not yet eight o’clock.’
‘I’ve decided to go to Nottingham,’ Eleanor said brightly. ‘I thought of it all last night. There is no need for me to stay here alone, so I shall visit my aunt and return with my mother when she is ready to come.’ She handed Mary the envelope with the tradesmen’s money. ‘Will you give that to Cook, please? I don’t know if we owe anything for food purchases, but if we do then there should be sufficient there. Please ask her to obtain receipts. My father is most particular about that,’ she added, hoping to indicate that her father was still in overall charge of the household accounts.
‘Yes, miss.’ Mary stared at her, plainly bemused. ‘Is there anything we should be doing whilst you’re away?’
‘Erm.’ Eleanor considered. What would her mother have said? They rarely went away, so it had never been an issue. ‘Perhaps you could bring the sweep in to do the chimneys whilst there are no fires being lit, and then of course there will be the cleaning up after him. Have you plenty of sheets to use?’
‘Yes, Miss Eleanor. I was saying onny ’other day that it was time to have him in before ’winter sets in.’
‘Then it’s a good opportunity,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘Send for him to come as soon as possible, for I don’t suppose we shall be away for more than a week or two.’
‘Very good, miss. I’ll ask Cook to pack you some luncheon, for I dare say it will take some time to travel all th
at way. And shall I find a cab to take you to ’station?’
‘Oh, yes please, Mary. Say in about forty minutes? Then I’ve time for breakfast.’
She ate a good breakfast, for Mary was quite right: it was a long journey to Nottingham and she would be hungry before she got there. And of course she would be unexpected, though she was sure her aunt would offer her a late supper.
At the railway station she tipped the cab driver and gave the porter who carried her bag a threepenny bit, not knowing what he would expect. He plainly expected more, for he said, ‘Second class, is it, miss?’ and she agreed that it was. She had decided when buying her ticket that first class was more than she could afford. Second class carriages were no longer open coaches but closed against the weather, and although she guessed that the seating would perhaps be less comfortable than first class she was prepared to put up with that for the sake of saving money.
It would be nice to be extravagant once in a while, she mused, as she settled into her seat for the first part of her journey, but somehow I don’t think that I will have the opportunity for some time to come, indeed if ever.
Late in the afternoon, she was roused from slumber by the train screeching to a halt and a porter on the platform calling out, ‘All change.’ She hurriedly picked up her bag, and her hat which she had taken off, and spoke to the other passengers in her carriage who were waiting for the door to be opened. ‘Is this Nottingham?’ she asked someone, her voice thick with sleep. ‘Excuse me, is this Nottingham?’
The other passengers nodded and told her it was. One man offered the information that this was the new station, not the old one in Carrington Street. She stepped down on to the platform and gazed round. It was a large station, recently expanded by the Midland Railway, with links to Lincoln and London.
She was very tired and looked for a porter to take her bag and find her a cab, but all was hustle and bustle as passengers jostled each other to reach their destinations. Eventually she managed to find one and hurried after him towards the queue for horse cabs. Twenty minutes she waited until it was her turn; she gave the driver her aunt’s address, which seemingly was a good way out of town, and they set off. It was dark by now and she couldn’t see where they were going, although gas lighting cast an eerie yellow glow over some of the streets.
