A Daughter's Shame

by Audrey Reimann

  He went fast and angrily out of the shop on to Jordangate. The usuals were in the Swan: a butcher and a few taxi drivers. They hailed him, broad smiles on their faces, but Frank ordered a pint of Adshead’s and went to sit in the far corner. He wanted to be left alone, to brood about Elsie. How could she? How dared she? Putting him down in front of our Lil, and weeks since they’d had that big quarrel.

  When she and Lily were on holiday he’d missed them. Then, a couple of days after she got back from Southport, he went round to the shop on Wednesday half-closing day. For two weeks they had been out of his life and he’d done nothing but think of them, missing Lil and hungering for Elsie. It was the first time that Elsie had not been available to him; her first absence since he came home from the war. And it came to him, when she was not there, that he needed her.

  Elsie was the biggest part of his life. Always had been. Ray was a trial, a worry, but he was growing up fast. In two or three years’ time he would settle down, marry or want to live away from his father. When all risks of Ray and Lily’s being thrown together were over, Elsie was the only person he could share his life with. It would even be seen in the town in a year or two as a good thing for a respectable widow to marry a man of substance, a JP. He was on the point of telling her this when he went to the shop in high spirits. If Lily was there he’d enjoy their company for an hour or two and return to Elsie late at night. If Lily was out he’d make love to Elsie. He was as eager as a young blood for an afternoon in bed with his woman.

  Elsie was waiting for him, dressed in red; a close-fitting, high-buttoned dress that showed off every curve of her beautiful body. She also had the haughty look on her face that told him she was annoyed about something. He grinned and went to her with arms wide.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ She backed away, spitting the words.

  ‘What?’ He dropped his arms. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘You dare ask?’ The blue eyes flashed. ‘You make me sick!’

  He stood still. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nellie Plant. That’s what. And your son. Nellie Plant’s son.’

  ‘Oh, hell.’ He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and thumped down on to it. There was nothing he could do but tell the truth. Elsie stood with her back to the fireplace like a commanding officer, waiting, eyes glinting. He chose his words with care. ‘Listen, Elsie. I made a mistake. Once. And I regretted it as soon as I’d …’ He stopped and looked at her, hoping to see some understanding in her eyes. Seeing only scorn, he looked down at his hands, abjectly. ‘I spent a foolish evening drinking with Nellie. I hadn’t gone round with the intention … One thing led to another …’

  ‘My word! Didn’t it lead to something? I’ll say it led to something!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was sorry then.’

  ‘Five years ago,’ she said. ‘That takes us back to when you and I were seeing …’ She gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘When we were seeing a lot of one another. You were coming round three nights – Wednesdays and Sundays if Lily was away.’ Her eyes were blazing. ‘Wasn’t I enough for you?’

  He had to be straight. ‘I didn’t tell you because you’d be upset.’

  ‘Upset? You thought I’d only be upset?’ She waited for a few moments before she reached for a cigarette, struck a match and lit it. Then she sent a stream of smoke out, fast, right in front of his nose. ‘I tell you, Frank, I was sick! I saw your signature and hers on that register and I went outside and vomited!’

  ‘Nellie means nothing to me!’ he said. Then, because she looked away, ‘It only happened once. I’ve taken care of them.’

  ‘Haven’t you just?’ She came to stand by the table. ‘Well, you can start taking care of your first indiscretion, can’t you?’

  He could not continue to apologise for something that was over and done with while she refused to show understanding. She had not asked why he’d signed the register for Nellie’s child and not for Lily. He’d been in Germany, clearing up the aftermath of a war, when Lily was born. Hadn’t she remembered that? The army didn’t give compassionate leave to a man whose mistress gave birth. He said, ‘If you mean you and our Lil, I do take care of you.’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘You want for nothing.’

  ‘We want a lot. The difference this time is we’re going to get it.’

  ‘Get what? What can I do?’

  She didn’t speak for a moment, but her head went high as she looked down her nose at him. ‘You always said you wouldn’t stand in my way. Well, I’m going to get married.’ She waited a second or two for her words to sink in then, ‘Did you hear me? I said I’m getting married to a man who loves me. To Howard.’

  Hot, jealous rage swept through him. He jumped to his feet. ‘Willey-Leigh? He’ll bleed you white. Then he’ll be off, after bigger fish. You are not going to marry him.’

  ‘Oh, but I am. I’m going to have a husband. And a house!’

  ‘You can have a house any time you want!’ His fingernails were sharp as he clenched his fist. ‘You don’t need to get married to that …’ Now, his pride wouldn’t let him ask her to wait until the time was right. The mood she was in she’d delight in refusing.

  ‘Our Lil’s going to have a proper father. At last.’ She was triumphant.

  ‘I’m her father.’

  ‘Prove it!’ She tossed back her head, but her eyes never wavered. ‘I’ll tell her myself,’ he snapped back though he knew that he would not. How could he speak up now? It was far too late.

  ‘Too late,’ Elsie said. ‘She doesn’t want to know. She’d hate you for it. She wants Howard for her father. Howard is going to adopt her. Isobel, by the way. She doesn’t like the name Lily. She’s already changed that.’ She came a step nearer and put her face close to his. ‘It’s over, Frank. Finished!’ Then, because he made no reply, she said, louder, ‘Kaput! Ended!’

  He had never seen her like this. ‘What can I do?’ he asked, as a hot tide of anger rose in him. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You are not going to get away with it scot-free.’

  He had never before wanted to hit a woman. She continued, her face flushed with vengeance. ‘You’ll pay for her to go to a good school. St Ursula’s in Southport. They only take upper-class girls.’

  ‘I’d do that anyway.’ Jealousy, raw and painful, made him say, ‘Does Leigh know she’s mine?’

  ‘Nobody knows the truth except you and me,’ she said. ‘And I’ve a mind to tell Isobel that Howard is her real father.’

  He was shaking. ‘My God! You are vindictive.’

  She ignored him. ‘The school money has to be found. Howard’s having business troubles at present.’

  ‘At present?’ He gave a cynical laugh. Willey-Leigh had been borrowing through Cheshire Trading for years and still did not know Frank was his creditor. Nobody borrowed from a trading company if he could get a cheaper loan. Cheshire Trading charged ten per cent to high-risk customers like Leigh. Frank said, ‘Come to your senses, woman. Leigh hasn’t the means to keep a dog, let alone a wife and family.’

  ‘Not like you, eh? Keeping three families going and never missing the money. Setting women up in business. Paying for expensive schools …’

  Frank knew he must wait until Elsie saw through Leigh. There would be no cautioning her now. He said, ‘How do you think you’ll explain the little matter of school fees to Willey-Leigh? Where will he think the money is coming from?’

  She had the nerve to smile at him. ‘I’m going to keep working, though Howard doesn’t want me to. He wants to take the shop over.’

  At last, he could retaliate. ‘Like hell he will! The shop is my property. Always was. You are the lessee. The lease is not transferable.’ He returned her smile, with interest. He had enjoyed saying that.

  Elsie carried on as if he’d never spoken. ‘I’ve no intention of giving my shop up. But it doesn’t take as much as people think.’

  He gave a dry laugh. ‘No. Willey-Leigh thinks he’s marrying into money again.
The only attraction for that type is money.’ She went on smiling. He repeated, ‘What are you asking of me?’

  ‘You can pay the school fees. I’ll tell John Hammond that we’ve come to an arrangement whereby I pay you more rent so the money’s always there for the start of the term.’

  ‘It’s not your bank manager you’ll have to explain to. Stupid woman! I pay many a bill for my tenants under those arrangements. It’s your husband who’ll be asking the questions.’

  ‘I’ll make it look as if the shop takes more.’

  ‘False accounting?’ He laughed again.

  ‘Don’t talk daft. I’ve never had to account for what I do.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  Now, here in the Swan, he thought it over once again. Elsie was going to go through with this marriage. He’d stayed away, hoping she’d come to her senses. It was William Congreve who wrote, in The Mourning Bride, ‘Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned. Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.’ Elsie had more fury than hell. She’d refused to listen when he tried to tell her the truth that, though he’d signed the register rather than risk the scandal Nellie had threatened, he didn’t believe for a minute that Nellie Plant’s child was his.

  He had spent one foolish evening with Nellie, one foolish, drunken night, and even as drunk as he was, he thought he had taken the ultimate precaution of coitus interruptus. He’d gone to Nellie, low in spirits, when he thought his drives were fading. Would it be different with someone else? Would it increase his potency? Could he let a woman give him pleasure and relief without him wanting to finish the job?

  All it had done was prove that he and Elsie were a perfect match and that, no, he couldn’t let a woman merely give him pleasure and relief. Nellie wouldn’t let a chance like that pass her by. She had made a night of it, cooking a meal for him, wine and brandy too, and she had tempted him again and again, made him ready for more and more until he was sick with the food and the wine and sick with disgust at his own body. He signed the birth register under the threat that, unless he did, Nellie would tell Sarah. Then, when Sarah died and marriage was not on offer, Nellie made him dance.

  He’d have to see Elsie again and beg her to reconsider this mad idea of marriage. Surely she could see through Willey-Leigh. Leigh was a penniless humbug. He was nothing worse than that, thank God. He’d be a good stepfather to Lily. Elsie wouldn’t consider him otherwise. But as for means – he was a straw man. Then jealous blood rose again as he imagined Elsie in bed with Willey-Leigh. He thought of those sapphire eyes, heavy-lidded with desire, the softest skin in the world, the little noises she made … Would she make them for Leigh? He gave an ironic laugh. Elsie would soon find out what she’d married. Willey-Leigh was no use to a woman. Nellie Plant had said so.

  There was a flurry of dressmaking and packing for a quiet wedding in Grandpa’s chapel at the end of November. Isobel wanted to know who was providing what in all these wedding arrangements because Mam, though professing rapture, had been going about with a worried look on her face, talking to Isobel about what Mr Leigh could afford. She had even mentioned mortgages. In Isobel’s book the man provided the house and looked after his family, and here was Mam talking about running her shop and taking out a mortgage.

  Isobel pointed out the facts to Mam. Mr Leigh had a house of his own, in Southport. He must sell his house and buy one in Macclesfield, or else they must all go to live in his house in Southport. Mam became exasperated. ‘You silly girl. People are losing hundreds of pounds, on houses. It’s the wrong time to sell, Hah-d says.’

  But Mam was looking forward to her new standing as a married woman. She said, ‘I’ll show ’em! A woman needs a man at the back of her.’

  ‘You’ve managed without, so far,’ Isobel said.

  ‘That’s all in the past. We’ll be looked up to when I’m married. We’ll be respected, a proper family with a man at the head. You need a good background, too. You’ll be taken advantage of without it.’

  ‘Taken advantage of? Who would? And how?’

  ‘You’re growing. Soon men will be chasing you,’ Mam said.

  ‘Mam!’ Isobel retaliated. ‘Don’t be disgusting! I’d never … !’

  ‘Never do what I did? Is that what you mean?’

  Isobel blushed, then she saw that Mam had not taken it as a criticism. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Well, I did,’ Mam said. ‘It’s the old, old story. You’ll fall for it as well. It’s the easiest thing in the world to fall for the wrong man. You only have a few years for picking and choosing.’ Mam spoke in her sharp, don’t-argue-with-me voice. ‘A girl’s life can be made or broken by the man she marries.’

  ‘Nowadays girls make their own lives!’ Isobel said. ‘I’m going to try for law school. Put myself forward for a bursary if we can’t afford–’

  Mam wasn‘t paying attention. She had that eager look about her. ‘You must meet the best people. To do that you have to have a good family background or you’ll never be invited anywhere.’

  ‘I meet the best people already,’ Isobel protested. ‘At Archerfield.’

  ‘Hah-d doesn’t like the Hammonds,’ Mam replied sharply. ‘He doesn’t want you to spend your time with them once he’s your father.’

  Isobel was dreading the day Mr Leigh became her stepfather, for he was presuming his future powers, winking at her and standing close, letting his hand linger on her shoulder as if he had rights. This was the moment to put a stop to it, to tell Mam. But how could she ruin Mam’s happiness? Wouldn‘t she too be worse off? Should she keep quiet, become adopted and legitimate, with the new name she wanted and the prospect of university? She’d be out of Mr Leigh’s way at St Ursula’s in Southport.

  Miss Duffield was a treasure, discreet and loyal, though Elsie knew full well that her sights were set higher than being a counter-hand. Miss Duffield wanted to buy the business for her niece. She had said as much, hinting that now Mrs Stanway was going to get married, and it being unusual for a married woman to continue to work, if at any time Mrs Stanway thought of giving up the shop, would she give Miss Duffield first refusal?

  Elsie merely smiled and said she’d keep it in mind. But she would not give the shop up. She couldn’t now. Howard was having business troubles. He had taken her to Buxton last Wednesday afternoon and there, after they had taken tea in the Winter Gardens, they walked up to the old baths and drank the waters and Howard told her that they must postpone their marriage for a little while because his business partner had been cheating. Elsie knew nothing about a partnership.

  There were tears in his eyes as he said, ‘I cannot swallow my pride, Elsie, and go begging for a loan.’

  ‘I don’t want you to borrow money, Howard,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want to start married life under an obligation to anyone.’

  ‘Then perhaps your father could contribute,’ he said.

  ‘Contribute to what?’ she asked.

  ‘Our marriage, dear. We will need a house. If your father contributed and I obtained a mortgage from a building society …’

  ‘I can’t ask Dad,’ she said. Howard would not have suggested it if he knew Dad. Dad thought that building societies were lower than money-lenders. You paid your honourable rent, in Dad’s book. The workhouses were full of people destitute through debt. She said, ‘We could live at the shop for a year or two. Until your business is on its feet.’

  ‘The shop is not your property, Elsie. I can’t be expected to live under Chancellor’s roof. Pay rent to that lecher? No. Unless we find somewhere suitable, it is our marriage that must wait.’

  So, either Elsie raised the money herself, or the marriage was off. She must not let all she had ever wanted – a husband, social standing and respectability – slip through her fingers. ‘Leave it with me,’ she said, ‘I’ve seen a house I like, in Bollinbrook Road.’

  One morning, early in November, Mam said to Isobel, ‘Don’t go to school today, love.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’v
e got the keys to a house in Bollinbrook Road.’

  ‘Opposite the cemetery? I didn’t think there were any houses there.’

  ‘Only one or two. Ours is ever so pretty from the outside. Half house, half bungalow. Pebbledash. A big garden, surrounded by farmland.’

  ‘Ours? Have we got it, then?’

  ‘Not yet. I want to see if you like it.’ Mam smiled, seeing Isobel’s excited face. ‘We’ll go to the solicitor‘s office afterwards.’

  Isobel went upstairs to change and Elsie gave instructions to the elderly Miss Duffield.

  She and Isobel reached Bollinbrook Road before ten o’clock, with Isobel chattering gaily all the way. ‘I never knew there was a house here,’ she said, for it was hidden from the road by a thicket of overgrown scented rosemary and hawthorn hedging. Woodland trees surrounded the garden, separating and sheltering it from the farmer’s fields. There was a little orchard, where apples and pears lay rotting and scented in the long grass and the lawns either side of the crumbling gravel drive had become meadows full of weeds, but there it was, in mock-Tudor splendour; a chalet-bungalow with the sun glancing off red pantiles and shining on leaded glass panes.

  Isobel’s face wreathed in smiles that would not go down. ‘I’ve fallen in love at first sight,’ she said.

  She turned the key in the front door with trembling fingers, and once inside almost ran from room to room, exclaiming with delight. Downstairs were three rooms, a square hall and a kitchen. From the hall a flight of polished oak stairs went to three pretty bedrooms with sloping ceilings and dormer windows. And there was a bathroom, white-tiled with a black-and-white tiled border. Isobel said, ‘Oh Mam! Look at this,’ at every turn until at last, done with the house, they went out of the back door. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  Then she left Mam sitting on a wooden bench in the garden, where the only sound was of insects buzzing about the dropped golden fruit. She went slowly round the house again, standing at windows to feast her eyes on fields and trees, and to delight in there not being another dwelling in sight. No shops or passers-by. It was utterly private; perfect in every detail.