A Daughter's Ruin

by Kitty Neale

  Chapter 9

  Constance and her father had sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours before the doctor had come to speak to them. He confirmed that her mother had suffered a stroke, and then her father insisted that she was transferred to a private hospital. The doctor had agreed, but asked that they wait a few days, as moving her at that point might affect her recovery.

  They had been in to see her, sat by her bed, but she hadn’t responded when they’d spoken to her. After five painfully quiet hours, they’d returned home. Still feeling sick with guilt, Constance flopped onto a sofa while her father went to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a whiskey.

  ‘Your mother seemed fine this morning. You saw that for yourself before you went out.’

  ‘Yes … yes, she was, but … but …’ Constance stammered, and then unable to hold it back any longer she blurted, ‘It was my fault, Daddy. My fault that Mummy had a stroke.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course it wasn’t.’

  ‘But it was,’ Constance insisted, racked with guilt.

  ‘Explain yourself,’ her father demanded, his brow now knitted.

  Constance hung her head in shame and struggled to find the words.

  ‘Well?’ her father snapped impatiently.

  His sharp tone jolted Constance and she looked up at him, holding her breath as she tried to think of the right thing to say.

  ‘She … Mummy … She heard me talking to Ethel,’ Constance said and paused as the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She’d dreaded this moment and now the terrible news she was about to break was made even worse by her mother’s stroke.

  Constance swallowed hard, her mouth dry with nerves and under the scrutinising glare of her father, she anxiously continued. ‘Mummy heard me talking to Ethel about the baby,’ she said in almost a whisper and then braced herself for her father’s reaction.

  ‘Baby! What baby?’

  Constance chewed on her bottom lip. She wanted to cry or run from the room. She wished she could turn back time and make this all go away. But she couldn’t, so after drawing a long, deep breath, she summoned the courage and finally said, ‘I … I’m pregnant, Daddy.’

  Charles’s eyes widened in shock and then he ran a hand through his grey hair as he said angrily, ‘I can’t believe this. First your mother has a stroke, and now this.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Constance uttered, fighting to hold back tears.

  ‘Sorry! It’s a bit late for that,’ he barked. ‘Who’s the father? He’ll have to marry you.’

  ‘He won’t, Daddy. He refuses to accept the baby is his.’

  ‘The scoundrel. I’m not standing for that. What’s his name and where does he live?’

  Constance had known her father would want to know the man responsible for this but she hadn’t wanted to tell him. But with no other choice she said, ‘His name is Albie Jones and he lives in Battersea. He … he’s Ethel’s grandson.’

  ‘Ethel! Ethel our cook?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy.’

  ‘My God, this gets worse, but like it or not, he’ll marry you, I’ll see to that,’ he said, with barely contained fury.

  ‘But I can’t prove it’s his …’

  Constance watched as her father quickly drank his whiskey before pouring another, and downed the second glass too. He then drew in a deep breath as though to calm himself and said, ‘Right, I’ll have a word with Ethel.’

  Constance ran after him and called out, ‘Ethel didn’t know, Daddy. She’s as shocked as you are.’

  Her father didn’t pause as he pulled open the basement door and went downstairs, Constance in his wake.

  ‘Oh, sir, how is your wife? Is she going to be all right?’ Ethel asked worriedly as she rose with difficulty to her feet.

  ‘I hope so, Ethel, but I have other pressing matters to talk to you about. My daughter tells me that she’s having a baby, and that your grandson is the father.’

  ‘I know, sir. Constance told me earlier, and it came as quite a shock.’

  ‘Quite so, but worse, it seems the young man is refusing to accept responsibility.’

  ‘Constance told me that too, and I’m stunned. I never would have thought it of my Albie.’

  ‘The young man is clearly a good-for-nothing wretch, Ethel, but I’ll see to it that he marries Constance, and when he does it will make your position here untenable.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I realise that. And anyway, it’s time I retired.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’

  ‘But that’s not fair, Daddy,’ Constance interjected. ‘None of this is Ethel’s fault.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was. The fault lies with you and this young man. Now come, Constance,’ he demanded, turning to go back upstairs.

  Reluctantly, Constance followed her father and once back in the drawing room she asked, ‘Why can’t Ethel stay, Daddy?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? She’s related to the man you’re going to marry, so we can hardly employ one of his relatives as our cook. Now give me his address and I’ll go to see him before I return to the hospital.’

  Constance felt tears welling in her eyes as she wrote it down, guilt once again swamping her. She still felt she was to blame for her mother’s stroke, and now there was the added anguish that she had caused Ethel to lose her job.

  ‘What do you want?’ Albie asked suspiciously, eyeing the smartly dressed man and the black Bentley parked outside. The bloke didn’t look like a debt collector, or CID. He looked like a nob.

  ‘Are you Albie Jones?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘My name is Charles Burton Blake. I’d like to talk to you about my daughter, Constance.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to you. I know what she’s accusing me of, but that baby ain’t mine,’ Albie said defiantly.

  The man’s reaction wasn’t what Albie expected. Instead of arguing, or anger, he said dismissively, ‘Well, in that case I’m sorry for disturbing you. I do hope I can find the father though, because I intend to see that whoever marries my daughter will gain a great deal financially.’

  Albie liked the sound of that, and as the man turned to leave he quickly said, ‘Hold up. Come in and we can have a chat.’

  Charles smiled sardonically as he followed Albie into the living room. Albie’s mother Dora surged to her feet. ‘Mum, this is Mr Burton Blake and we’ve got a bit of business to discuss. It might be best if you leave us alone.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Charles said. ‘After all, what I have to say concerns your mother too. Do sit down, Mrs Jones.’

  Albie didn’t like it that this posh geezer was taking control of the situation, nor how his mother was looking at him agog. Unlike her, he wasn’t intimidated and said, ‘Why don’t you sit down, gov, and let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charles answered politely as he took a seat and looked around the room.

  Albie saw his lips curl in distaste which immediately got his back up. They might not be rich, but his mother kept the place immaculate. ‘Right,’ he snapped, ‘let’s get down to business.’

  ‘If you admit to being the baby’s father and marry my daughter, I will offer financial assistance.’

  ‘I’m quite capable of supporting a wife and family,’ Albie said defensively, though in truth he was very interested in the man’s offer.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you are, but getting married and having a child is an expensive business. I’m sure a couple of thousand pounds would help.’

  ‘Two grand! Are you kidding?’

  ‘I can assure you I’m not.’

  Albie lowered his head in thought. He didn’t want to get married, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that this arrangement might have its uses. Constance wasn’t much to look at – and intimidated him with her intelligence – but two grand! By the look of the Burton Blakes there was a lot more where that came from, and that could set Albie up for life. Surely, once marri
ed, he could tame Constance, put her in her place and show her he was the boss. There’d be no more of her going to college. She’d have to settle down to domestic life, do the cooking and cleaning, and that was sure to bring her down a peg or two. He still wasn’t sure though and shook his head, unable to come to a decision. ‘I need to think about it,’ he said.

  ‘Alfie, if this baby is yours you must marry the girl,’ his mother urged. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want your son or daughter to be born a bastard.’

  ‘Like me, you mean,’ he snapped, then, seeing the look on his mother’s face, he instantly regretted his words. It wasn’t his mother’s fault, it was down to his gran. ‘Sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have said that, and you’re right, I don’t want my kid born a bastard.’

  ‘Then marry the girl, Albie.’

  Struck by other benefits that could come his way by marrying into a wealthy family, Albie said, ‘All right, Mr Burton Blake, I’ll marry your daughter – but I want the money in my hand before I say any wedding vows. Also, as your daughter is unlikely to fit in around here, it’s probably for the best if we move in with you.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My wife is ill and in hospital at the moment. When she comes home she will require complete quiet and rest. The last thing she needs is any disruption, so it will be down to you to provide my daughter with a suitable home.’

  Albie was disappointed. He’d quite fancied living in that posh house with servants, until the thought struck him that his gran was one of them. The last thing he wanted was to have to see her, so he said amicably, ‘Fair enough. I’ll find us a flat.’

  ‘Good, and I think you should make the arrangements to marry my daughter as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yeah, all right. I’ll go the registry office in the morning.’

  ‘As soon as you have a date, please let Constance know.’

  ‘OK. I’ll call round tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Very well. And of course, you’ll be able to see your grandmother, though she sadly is soon to leave my employment.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about me gran,’ Alfie spat, annoyed that he hadn’t known that earlier.

  The man’s brow rose. ‘Have you had some sort of disagreement?’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I must go now. It’s close to visiting time and I want to get something to eat before I visit my wife.’

  ‘I can make you a sandwich,’ Dora offered. ‘I’ve got a nice bit of pork left over from our Sunday dinner.’

  ‘That’s very kind, but no thank you. I’ll call in at my club.’

  Alfie hid a smirk. His club. Blimey, what a toff, but if he played his cards right he could be joining their ranks soon. After all, he was marrying into money and he’d ensure that a lot more of it came his way.

  Charles had fought his anger and had planned what he was going to do if Albie Jones refused to accept responsibility for the baby. As he’d expected the young man had soon changed his tune when an offer of money came into the equation, and that spoke volumes about his character. Albie, as Charles had suspected, was indeed a scoundrel.

  Once the arrangements had been made, Charles had been glad to leave. The small house had felt claustrophobic, and though clean, the furniture was very tatty and old. Albie had said he was capable of supporting a wife and family, but from what he’d seen, he hadn’t done much for his mother.

  After a sandwich and a glass of whiskey at his club, Charles left for the hospital, finding when he got there that there was little change in Hettie’s condition. Her eyes opened and she tried to speak, but the words were slurred and impossible to decipher. He held her hand and told her that that she had no need to worry. He’d arranged for Constance to be married, so their good name wouldn’t be sullied, but he had no way of knowing if she understood. Of course, Hettie wouldn’t be happy about the family Constance was marrying into, but surely that was better than her being an unmarried mother.

  Half an hour later, and feeling totally ineffectual, Charles left. He was aching to see Jessica, and to find consolation in her arms, yet he still had to talk to Constance so could only stay for about an hour. He hated this disruption to his routine, the inconvenience of his wife being in hospital, and the distasteful meeting he’d had with Albie Jones. He didn’t like the young man, and was determined that once he and Constance were married, neither of them would set foot in his house again.

  When he arrived at Jessica’s flat, he let himself in as usual, smiling at last as Jessica rose to her feet.

  ‘Darling, you look dreadful. What’s happened?’ she asked.

  He pulled her into his arms burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. ‘It’s been an awful day. Hettie had a stroke and I found out my daughter is pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, goodness, sit down, I’ll get you a drink and then you can start at the beginning.’

  ‘Just a coffee. If I have another whiskey I won’t be fit to drive,’ Charles said, sinking onto the soft plush sofa with a sigh. He told Jessica all that had happened, comforted by her sympathy. She led him to her bed, where, at least for a while, he could drown himself in her beautiful body and forget the horrors of the day.

  ‘Daddy,’ Constance cried, running up to him as soon as her father walked in the door. ‘You’ve been gone for such a long time. What happened?’

  ‘Allow me to take my coat off,’ he said abruptly, and after hanging it up he marched into the drawing room.

  ‘I thought you’d take me to see Mummy. Is she all right?’

  ‘After talking to Albie Jones, I didn’t have time to come home again before visiting hours. Your mother is about the same, with no perceptible change, and as for Albie, he’s going to the register office in the morning to arrange your marriage.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy,’ Constance said, ‘how did you persuade him?’

  ‘How do you think? With money, of course. And let me make this clear: as soon as you’re married you are to leave this house.’

  ‘No, Daddy, please, do I have to marry him?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘Of course you do. You’re pregnant with the man’s child.’

  ‘What if I refuse?’

  ‘I can’t force you to marry him, but if you don’t I will not support you, nor will I allow you to live here.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No buts, Constance. I have to admit I don’t think much of Albie Jones. I have no time for a man who has to be bribed to accept his responsibilities, but nevertheless you have made your bed and now you must lie in it. It’s up to him now to provide you with a home and you will no longer be welcome here.’

  Constance reeled with shock. ‘But can’t I come to visit you, and Mummy?’

  ‘I doubt your mother will want to see you, but when she recovers I’ll leave that decision to her.’

  ‘But … but the baby. It’ll be your grandchild.’

  ‘Yes, but when I think about the type of man who fathered the child my stomach crawls with distaste. Once you’re married, he too will never be welcome in this house. And as for your wedding, I won’t be attending.’

  With that her father walked out of the room, leaving Constance sobbing. She wished she’d never set eyes on Albie Jones, but now she would have to marry him. Worse still was the thought that he’d had to be bought – her father had to pay him to wed her. Feeling desolate, with no one else to talk to, Constance went down to the basement, hoping that Ethel could reassure her about the future.

  Mary had learned that if she kept quiet and stayed in the background, people seemed to forget she was there. It had served her well in the children’s home and saved her from many a beating at the hands of the other kids. It worked here too as she was able to listen in to a lot of interesting and revealing conversations. When Miss Constance came downstairs, Mary kept to a dim part of the kitchen and stood quiet as a mouse.

  ‘Oh, Miss Constance, you’re crying. What’s going on? I’ve been waiting ages to find out. Is it yo
ur mother? Has she taken a turn for the worse?’

  ‘I haven’t seen my mother, but my father said there’s no change in her condition.’

  ‘Well then, surely that’s a good sign?’

  ‘I hope so, and as for Albie, he’s agreed to marry me.’

  Mary stiffened. This was the first she’d heard of the arrangement and it seemed a bit sudden. Surely they barely knew each other.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Ethel said.

  ‘Yes, but he had to be bribed, paid to marry me.’

  Mary’s eyes widened. None of this made sense to her, but her ears pricked again when Ethel spoke.

  ‘I can’t believe it. I never thought my Albie would behave like this, first denying that the baby is his and now taking money from your father.’

  For Mary, everything fell into place. She wasn’t as thick as they thought, or as daft. She knew about sex – boys in the kids’ home had been fond of trying it on, but thanks to seeing another girl kick them where it hurt, she’d learned to do the same and they would back off in pain, holding their tackles. Now, if it had been Albie trying it on, she wouldn’t have minded. She would have happily had sex with him, but instead he’d been with Miss Constance.

  ‘My father said that Albie is going to the register office in the morning. Ethel, I know he’s your grandson, but I wish I didn’t have to marry him. I wanted to finish my education, to become a doctor or a barrister, but that’s impossible now. There’s no point in going to college any more and anyway, as I’ll be showing soon I don’t think I could stand the gossip and sniggers.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love. Though I’m not happy with the way Albie has behaved, taking money and all, he isn’t a bad lad and he’ll treat you right.’

  ‘My father said that as soon as I marry him, I’ve got to leave this house.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got something in common then. I’ll be leaving too.’