A Daughter's Ruin

by Kitty Neale

‘Something has happened and … Oh, dear, I really need to talk to Albie.’

  ‘Albie? What for?’

  ‘I … I need to tell him something. Will he be coming to see you soon?’

  ‘I dunno. I haven’t seen him in weeks.’

  ‘Please, Ethel, can you tell me where he lives?’

  ‘Look, love, I know you like Albie, but you shouldn’t go chasing after him. If he was interested in you he’d have let you know. As he hasn’t I don’t think he’d want me to give you his address.’

  ‘Ethel, please, you don’t understand. I must see him.’

  The woman’s tone changed. ‘I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.’

  Constance felt tears flooding her eyes as she croaked, ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

  ‘You’re pregnant?’ Ethel said, her eyes now wide with shock.

  ‘Yes and … and, now do you understand why I have to see Albie?’ Constance asked, juddering for breath and struggling to speak.

  ‘What for?’ Ethel asked, but then her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not trying to lay this on Albie, are you? If you are, you can forget it, young lady! He only spoke briefly to you once and you weren’t alone. I was there, as was Mary, so don’t you dare try to name my Albie as the father.’

  ‘But he is, Ethel. I saw him more than once and one evening he took me for a walk on the common. That … that’s when it happened.’

  ‘My God,’ Ethel wailed. ‘You’re not saying that he rap—’

  ‘No, no,’ Constance quickly interrupted. ‘I … I was willing. I should have stopped him, I know that, but well …’

  ‘Oh, you silly girl,’ Ethel cried, then sat up straight again. ‘Your parents! Have you told your parents?’

  ‘NO! I can’t. They’ll go mad.’

  ‘How far are you gone?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve missed a few monthlies so does that mean I’m about three months?’

  ‘Yes, it does and your parents will soon see for themselves once you start to show. At three months gone, you won’t be able to hide it for much longer.’

  ‘I know, and that’s why I have to talk to Albie. Once he knows I’m pregnant he’s sure to marry me and … and if we do it quickly …’

  ‘Constance, unless your parents know about the baby, I don’t think they’ll agree to the marriage.’

  ‘Mother would agree to anything when she’s drunk.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true. But first things first, you’re right – you have to see Albie. It’s Sunday tomorrow and he’ll probably be at home in the morning. I’ll give you his address along with directions. You should aim to be there before midday.’

  ‘Ethel, please, will you come with me?’ Constance asked hopefully. She didn’t think she’d have the courage to go alone.

  ‘No, love, I can’t. I’m not due any time off until next week.’

  ‘We could go in the evening, after you’ve finished work for the day.’

  ‘He may not be in then and it would probably be a wasted journey.’

  ‘You could ring him, tell him we’re coming,’ Constance suggested, desperate for Ethel’s support.

  ‘Ring him? Do you mean use a telephone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Miss, my daughter hasn’t got a telephone.’

  ‘She hasn’t? Why?’ Constance asked incredulously.

  ‘Not everyone can afford to have one installed, or to pay the rental.’

  Constance twisted her hair and frowned. She took having a telephone for granted. In fact, she took everything for granted: her parents paid for the clothes she wore, the food she ate, the home she lived in. Plus, they gave her a little allowance on top of that. When she married Albie all that would change and now she felt a shiver of apprehension. What would her life be like when they were married? Would they be poor, unable to pay for something as simple as a telephone? Desperately, she blurted, ‘Ethel, is there any way I can get rid of the baby?’

  ‘There are lots of old wives’ tales, such as sitting in a hot bath while drinking gin. I’ve never heard of that working, which only leaves an abortion. A doctor could arrange one under certain serious criteria but I don’t think you fulfil any of those. That just leaves an illegal abortion, but I’ve heard of women dying after letting some old crone butcher them.’

  Constance shuddered. With no other choice and her future uncertain, she took Albie’s address from Ethel. Surely he’d agree to marry her? She desperately hoped so.

  Ethel went back to bed, her mind in turmoil. She’d made excuses not to go with Constance to see Albie, knowing that if she was there her daughter wouldn’t allow them over the doorstep. She couldn’t believe that Albie had taken advantage of Miss Constance, but then again, the girl had said she was willing.

  She tossed and turned, worrying about how the Burton Blakes would react when they found out that Constance was pregnant. Would they disown her? If so, it would leave the girl totally dependent on Albie. If he was working in the factory, Ethel doubted he earned much, and it would be a struggle to support a wife and child. Of course, his mother would probably offer to give them a home, but living in that tiny terrace in such a run-down area would come as a shock to Constance.

  Ethel shifted her painfully throbbing feet as she thought about her own position. When it all came out, the Burton Blakes were sure to ask her to leave. They wouldn’t want to employ a servant who was related to Albie, but as she’d already decided to retire, Ethel wasn’t worried about that. In fact, if Albie could find her a decent-sized flat in this area, he and Constance could live with her.

  Yet even that would still come as a shock to Miss Constance, who was used to this large, beautiful house with staff to do the work. Ethel would have to teach Constance how to cook and clean, along with helping her care for the baby. Ethel smiled. It was a scenario she’d love. She’d be part of a family again, and now she was determined to put her idea to Albie as soon as she saw him.

  Ethel closed her eyes, her worries eased, and a soft smile of anticipation on her face now as she fell asleep.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Mummy, I’m going to see one of my friends from college,’ Constance said as soon as they’d finished breakfast.

  ‘Friend? What friend?’

  ‘Felicity Cunningham. You haven’t met her.’

  ‘I hardly think calling on someone at this hour of the morning is acceptable.’

  ‘Felicity won’t mind. She’s very clever and I need a bit of help with a maths equation.’

  ‘What about her parents? Surely they won’t approve of callers at this hour?’

  ‘Felicity lives alone in a flat on the other side of the common.’

  ‘A young woman living on her own. I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Hettie,’ Charles said as he stood up to leave the table. ‘Constance isn’t a child and there is no harm in her visiting a friend.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Off you go, Constance,’ Charles said, interrupting his wife.

  She smiled gratefully at her father, though felt a surge of shame that she was deceiving her parents. There was no other choice. She couldn’t tell them the truth, and after putting on her shoes, along with a warm coat and scarf, she hastily left.

  Constance waited ages for a bus, her feet turning as cold as ice before one finally arrived. She sat looking out of the window, so deep in thought that she hardly noticed the passing scenery. In reality, she didn’t really want to marry Albie, but life as an unmarried mother would be impossible. Her parents would disown her and probably throw her out, and she’d be left on the streets with no money and nowhere to live. She wouldn’t be able to raise a child penniless and alone, so like it or not, marriage was her only option.

  When the bus reached her stop, Constance frowned at the run-down area. It wasn’t hard to find Kibble Street and Constance paused as she took in the grey and dismal surroundings with no sign of any greenery, the narrow, flat-fronted terraced hou
ses without front gardens. Albie’s house was about halfway along and she stopped outside for a moment before knocking, wondering how he would react when he saw her.

  At last, drawing in a breath to steady herself, she knocked and it seemed only seconds later that the door opened. Albie’s brow rose when he saw her and she blurted, ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’ he asked, making no attempt to invite her in, ‘and who told you where I live?’

  ‘It was your gran. She knows how important this is.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you can tell my gran that I’m finished with her. I’ve found out what she did to my mum and I never want to see her again. Now what do you want?’

  Constance looked swiftly from side to side, then sputtered, ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

  Albie’s expression hardened, his voice harsh as he said, ‘So? What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘It … it’s yours, Albie.’

  ‘No, I ain’t having that. There are loads of blokes at that college you go to, and for all I know you could have had it off with any number of them.’

  Constance looked down to her feet and quietly responded, ‘But I haven’t. You were the only one.’

  ‘So you say, but can you prove it?’

  ‘No, but … but …’

  ‘Nah, I thought not. Now bugger off ’cos you ain’t laying this at my door.’

  ‘Alb—’ Constance was cut off as the door was slammed in her face, and though she knocked on it again and again, it wasn’t opened. ‘Albie,’ she shouted, but there was no response.

  Curtains twitched, and a couple of women stood on their doorsteps surveying the scene, but Constance was hardly aware of them. Finally, she turned away, tears running down her cheeks. She had no idea what to do now. Albie had said she couldn’t prove the baby was his, and it was true, she couldn’t.

  Devastated by Albie’s reaction, Constance made her way home. She was lost, destined to be an unmarried mother, and with no other choice there was only one man she could turn to now: her father.

  ‘I heard all that,’ Dora said to her son. ‘Are you sure the baby ain’t yours?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Albie said, though he failed to meet her eyes. ‘She’s the first one who’s tried that tack, but I don’t suppose she’ll be the last.’

  ‘You’ve made a show of us with the neighbours. You should keep it in your bloody trousers.’

  ‘Leave it out, Mum. I’m a man and it’s what men do.’

  ‘That’s no excuse, and if you don’t take precautions it’s always the girl that gets lumbered. I feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to be an unmarried mother, and I hate to think that poor girl’s baby will be born a bastard.’

  For a brief moment Albie closed his eyes, but then he snapped, ‘Like I said, it ain’t my problem.’

  ‘Did you mean what you said about not seeing your gran again?’

  ‘Yeah, I meant it. I still can’t get my head around what she did. Why didn’t you tell me before now?’

  ‘I was tempted, many times, but you’ve always been so close to your gran and I didn’t want to spoil that for you. Even now, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.’

  ‘I was close to her, but that was before I found out what she did to you … to us. Now enough about the old cow. I’m gonna get dressed and go down the road for a couple of pints before lunch.’

  ‘Albie, are you sure that baby isn’t yours?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said resolutely as he turned to walk out.

  Dora’s eyes followed her son as he left the room. She wasn’t convinced that he was telling the truth, and though she hadn’t seen the girl, she didn’t sound like she was from around these parts. She’d sounded posh, upper class, so goodness knows where Albie had met her. He’d had so many girlfriends, none of them lasting for more than five minutes. Easy come, easy go, that was Albie, girls falling for his good looks. He was blond like Dora, but his features were his father’s, and she smiled sadly at that thought. Never had a day passed that she didn’t think about Billy, but at least she had Albie, his son.

  What Dora dreaded now was the day that Albie decided to leave home, and then she’d be alone – alone with nothing but her memories.

  It was past midday, Constance wasn’t yet home, and Hettie was glad when Charles had gone to his study. No doubt he’d be going out soon, but that didn’t bother her. She went over to the cabinet and poured herself a large gin, and then another after she gulped the first down. She strongly suspected that Charles had a mistress, but she didn’t care. In fact, it suited her. She’d always found sex distasteful, and at least this mistress kept Charles from her bed.

  It was his sexual demands that made Hettie take to gin in the first place; at least when she was in an alcoholic daze it wasn’t so bad. When Constance was a child, Hettie had only drunk in the evening, but nowadays, disappointed with life and her daughter, and often bored, she found comfort in alcohol at any time of the day.

  She was still determined to find Constance a suitable husband, and a wedding would be something to plan and look forward to, though it wasn’t going to be easy. Her friends had vivacious, attractive daughters, socialites who drew the attention of suitors, whereas Constance was plain, with no social skills or conversation. Hettie blamed Charles for this; he should have sent her to finishing school, but no, he seemed to prefer it that his daughter was a bluestocking who was more interested in studying for university than socialising.

  Hettie poured herself another drink. In a pleasant haze she began to fantasise about the wedding she would throw for Constance. It would be the social event of the year, her friends green with envy at the lavishness of the occasion, but then Hettie came down to earth with a bump. Charles was being very mean with money nowadays and would insist on a modest affair. Her friends, instead of being envious, would be tittering behind her back.

  She frowned as she questioned what friends she even had nowadays. Only one or two bothered to visit and then only on rare occasions, and invitations to call on them were few and far between. Hettie searched for a reason, but failed to realise that nowadays she was usually under the influence of alcohol by midday.

  Half an hour later Hettie stood up, intending to go to the bathroom, but she stopped in the hall and pricked up her ears. She was sure she could hear her daughter’s voice, but it sounded as though it was coming from the basement and she wondered what the girl was doing down there. She carefully opened the door and stood at the top of the stairs, listening.

  ‘Miss Constance, you’re back sooner than I expected,’ Ethel said, ‘but you look a bit pale. What happened?’ There was a pause then Ethel added, ‘It’s all right. We’re alone. It’s Mary’s afternoon off and she went out ten minutes ago. Now what did that grandson of mine say?’

  ‘He … he doesn’t believe that the baby is his. He told me to go away and then shut the door in my face.’

  Hettie heard her daughter’s words, but at first couldn’t take them in.

  ‘I can’t believe my Albie said that. Didn’t you tell him that he was your first and it had to be him?’

  ‘Yes, but he still didn’t believe me.’

  ‘You leave this to me, Miss. I’ll go and have a word with him. I’ll insist he accepts that the baby is his.’

  ‘Ethel, you … you can’t. Albie said to tell you that he knows what you did to his mum and that he never wants to see you again.’

  ‘Oh, God, no! Oh, God!’

  Hettie heard the sound of a chair being scraped back, and then her daughter’s voice again. ‘Ethel, you look dreadful. Sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water.’

  Stunned and sobered by what she’d heard, Hettie turned white with shock. Constance was having a baby, and the father was Ethel’s grandson. No! No! It couldn’t be true! She suddenly felt strange and came over all dizzy. Her vision began to blur and, within moments, her legs gave way. Hettie tumbled down the basement stairs and landed with a thump at the bottom.

 
‘Mummy!’ Constance cried when she turned at the sound to see her mother in a heap on the floor. She ran over to her and was relieved to see that, though she looked sheet-white, she was breathing.

  ‘Yo … nyum … ha …’

  ‘Ethel, she can’t seem to speak, and look, her face looks strange,’ Constance said, panicked and confused.

  Ethel struggled to her feet and joined her, saying, ‘I think it might be a stroke. Quick, run upstairs and fetch your father.’

  Constance jumped up, but had to step over her mother to get to the stairs. She dashed up them as fast as she could, panting when at last she found her father in his study. He looked dressed to go out and frowned when she blurted, ‘Daddy, come quickly.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong, Constance?’

  ‘It … it’s Mummy. She fell down the stairs and … and she looks odd.’

  Constance was relieved when her father didn’t pause to ask questions, but instead hurried into the hall. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the basement, Daddy.’

  ‘What?’ he asked, looking momentarily confused, but paused for only an instant before he took the basement stairs.

  ‘I think it’s a stroke, sir,’ Ethel told him without preamble. ‘You’d best call an ambulance.’

  ‘Hettie. Hettie my dear, are you all right?’ Charles asked, crouching with difficulty beside her.

  ‘Nu … yo … co …’

  ‘I think you’re right, Ethel. Her words are unintelligible and her face looks strangely lopsided.’

  ‘Like I said, sir, you should call an ambulance.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Constance, stay with your mother,’ he ordered as he struggled to his feet and went back upstairs.

  ‘Ethel, this is all my fault,’ Constance cried. ‘She must have heard us talking.’

  ‘There’s no point in blaming yourself, Miss.’

  ‘But it must have been such a shock.’

  ‘Maybe, but that wouldn’t cause a stroke. Now come on, no tears. It might take your mother some time to recover, and she’s gonna need you to be strong.’

  Constance sniffed, and dashed the back of her hand across her wet cheek. Her mother still looked dreadful, her eyes full of fear and befuddlement, but Ethel had spoken of recovery so at least that meant she wasn’t going to die. She held her limp hand, praying that an ambulance would arrive soon. Her father returned to wait with them until at last they heard the vehicle’s bell.