Ironmonger's Daughter Page 18

  ‘It’ll soon go round,’ Helen said.

  Connie wanted to pour her heart out about her new love and the problems it was bringing, but she knew it was not the right time. She decided to change the subject. ‘Molly seems better lately, Aunt.’

  Helen allowed herself a brief smile. ‘The brace she’s wearin’ seems to ’ave ’elped a bit. I don’t like ’er sittin’ around the place though. She gets so bored. The labour exchange is tryin’ ter get ’er fixed up wiv a suitable job, soon as she gets the okay from the ’ospital.’

  ‘What about Uncle Matt?’ Connie asked.

  Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘The debts are worryin’ ’im, I know they are. What wiv Christmas an’ all. ’E’ll get a few more coppers at the markets, but even wiv ’is dole money it won’t get the fings we need this year.’

  ‘Ain’t Uncle Matt’s firm openin’ up again, Aunt?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Nah! It went out o’ business. It’s a shame really. My Matt’s a good French polisher. ’E’s tried’is best ter get a job in the trade, but there’s not much call fer French polishers round ’ere. Most o’ the cabinet makers are over the water. ’E’s tried over there, too, but they take on all the local people. They get to ’ear of the jobs first, yer see.’ Coals fell in the grate and Helen stretched. ‘Oh well. I’d better be gettin’ back. I’m feelin’ tired an’ I’ve gotta get up early.’

  Connie bade her aunt goodnight and locked up when she had gone. The difficult and upsetting day had weighed heavily upon her and, as she tossed and turned in her bed, mixed up thoughts were twisting in her mind. Maybe Robert would be able to tell her about the money? She must ask him as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Before sleep overtook her, Connie said a silent prayer for her mother.

  That same evening a conversation took place in the Kentish village of Kelstowe between the two men of the Armitage family, both sitting before a log fire. The smell of boiling resin from the pine logs filled the large oak-beamed room. Peter clutched a glass of Scotch whisky while his son Robert toyed with his near-empty wine glass.

  ‘It’s no good, Father, I’ve got to get away. I’m feeling stifled in the village. Mother’s still trying her best to get me married off to that dreadful Marchant girl, and everyone I meet asks me about when Eunice and I are going to set a date. I think mother must have made it all look too obvious.’

  Peter had a serious look on his face. ‘Is it certain, the flat?’

  ‘Oh yes. It will be available after Christmas and it’s mine if I want it, and I do. I’d be close to work. After all, Great Dover Street is only five minutes from the factory, and I’d have some privacy.’

  ‘Away from Eunice Marchant, eh?’ Peter grinned.

  ‘And the village, Father. It’s all getting on top of me lately.’

  Peter looked at his son closely. ‘Is there a girl somewhere in all this, Robert?’

  The younger Armitage shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. ‘Now you’ve asked, it so happens there is.’

  ‘Someone in London?’

  ‘Yes, Father. It’s a girl I met at the factory.’

  Peter’s face took on a puzzled frown. ‘The factory?’

  Robert nodded. ‘I’d planned to tell you both. You’ll have to know sooner or later, though what mother’s going to say when she finds out I hate to think.’

  ‘Go on, Robert.’

  ‘It’s Connie Morgan, Father.’

  Peter stared incredulously. ‘Connie Morgan? You don’t mean that young girl who serves at the table?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘But she’s a factory girl. She’s only . . .’

  ‘She’s only what, Father? Only working-class? Only a Cockney girl with no breeding? Would you prefer me to marry someone like Eunice Marchant? I can’t build a marriage around dinner parties and who’s currently in favour with God knows who. Surely you know me better than that. Christ! I’d expect mother to adopt that attitude, not you.’

  ‘Listen, Robert,’ Peter began. ‘We both have your welfare at heart. It’s natural we want the best for you, and for that reason alone I think it’s about time you learned a little of our family history. First though, you’d better fill your glass, and fill mine while you’re at it. What I’m going to tell you is not very pleasant, to say the least.’

  Connie heard the distant rattle of a train and the low note of a hooting tug as she tossed and turned in her bed. She felt desperately tired but sleep somehow eluded her. Pale moonlight entered the room and lit up the cracked ceiling. It played on the rickety dressing table and cast its shadows around the small bedroom. Down in the deserted street a cat dislodged a dustbin lid and the loud clatter was followed by a caterwaul. Connie leaned over and glanced irritably at the alarm clock on the chair beside her bed. It showed ten minutes past the hour of twelve. Slowly tiredness overtook her and she fell into a troubled sleep. She could see the misty figure of her mother standing in front of the mirror and brushing her long fair hair.

  ‘You must be good, child. I ’ave ter go out,’ Kate said, her face smiling mockingly.

  Connie stared down at the small figure who sat upright in a high-backed chair. The child was crying silently and tears dripped down on to her crumpled white dress.

  ‘No Mummy, no!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Hush, child. I ’ave ter go,’ her mother said, her face taking on a stern look.

  Now Connie was alone in the room. She sat stiffly in the high-backed chair, unable to move as the room closed in on her. She could hear the continual thumping noise that seemed to come from within her. It became louder, and suddenly she was fighting for breath. With a jerk she sat upright and threw back the bedclothes. Her body was bathed in perspiration and, as she fought to recover her breath, Connie heard the rat-tat again. Draping a blanket around her shoulders she hurried to the front door. The policeman had a lighted torch clipped onto his shiny belt and his pale face stared down at her. He brushed a clenched hand across his bushy moustache and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss. It’s yer muvver. She died a few hours ago.’

  Part Two

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had stopped raining, although thunder rolled in the distance and flashes of lightning lit the dark sky. The young woman walked quickly along the sodden pavement, her footsteps sounding loudly in the quiet street. She hurried up the half dozen steps and used a key to let herself into the house. Her arrival did not go unnoticed by the two elderly women who stood talking on the doorstep of the adjoining house. The larger of the two women, Gert, slipped her hands into the sleeves of her coat and jerked her head in the direction of the black-painted front door.

  ‘That’s ’er. That’s the one I was tellin’ yer about, Freda. She don’t look any older than my girl. She’s bin comin’ ’ere every weekend. Mind you, it’s none o’ my business, but it makes yer fink, don’t it?’

  Freda nodded. ‘Some o’ these young girls are shameless. If it was a girl o’ mine I’d kill ’er, I’m sure I would.’

  The large woman leaned forward, her eyes darting up and down the turning. ‘I’ve seen ’er leave ’ere on Monday mornin’s. ’E goes out later.’

  ‘What’s ’e like, Gert?’ the little woman asked, her curiosity aroused.

  ‘’E’s quite a nice-lookin’ fella as it ’appens. ’E’s well mannered an’ keeps ’imself to ’imself. I ain’t ’ad much occasion ter talk to ’im, ’cept ter pass the time o’ day, but I reckon ’e fancies ’imself a bit. ’E talks posh an’ ’is suits ain’t from the fifty-shillin’ tailors, that’s fer sure.’

  ‘I s’pose ’e’s one o’ them solicitor blokes. There’s a lot of’em livin’ round ’ere, Gert.’

  Gert shook her head. ‘No, I don’t fink so. All that lot carry briefcases. I’ve never seem ’im wiv a briefcase. I reckon ’e’s got a business or somefink. I reckon ’e’s werf a few bob by the look of ’is clobber.’

  Freda folded her arms. ‘It’s scand’lous the way some o’ them carr
y on.’

  ‘Yer right there, Freda. It’s disgustin’ what some of ’em get up to.’

  Unaware that she was being discussed by the two women, Connie climbed the stairs to the first-floor landing and let herself into the flat. After lighting the gas fire she took a towel and rubbed at her long blond hair. The fire soon warmed the room and she turned her attentions to making a pot of tea. Robert would be home soon and she wanted everything to be just so. She felt happy in a way she had never felt before and she luxuriated in the warm, comfortable feeling inside. He had made her feel wanted and needed, and she knew she loved him desperately.

  The clock on the mantelshelf struck seven and Connie stretched out her stockinged feet and wriggled her toes in front of the glowing fire. The last few months had been terrible. When her mother died it had left her feeling desolate. She had been expecting it, but the rat-tat on the door and the sight of the policeman standing there in the early hours of the morning had left her shaking violently. At the funeral Helen had been overcome with grief and had almost collapsed at the graveside. Connie remembered walking back to the chapel behind her aunt and uncle. Helen had seemed to have suddenly become frail and aged and she leaned heavily on Matthew as they walked along the gravel path against a biting wind. A few days after the funeral Helen had gone down with influenza and had lost her cleaning job. Matthew had been doing very little portering on the side and money was short. As for Molly, she had seemed immune to all the misery around her and seemed unaffected by the death in the family. She had, after all, never been close to her Aunt Kate. Her attitude had been reserved throughout.

  It had been a terrible end to the year. And then, only the day after the funeral, Michael came home on leave. She recalled how he had been sympathetic to her feelings of grief at first, but his attitude had changed very soon. He was no doubt eager to prove himself after his last attempt at lovemaking, and he voiced the opinion more than once that life had to go on and it was no good becoming too morbid. Connie remembered how angered she had become. She had wanted to explain to him that it wasn’t just grief and emptiness that assailed her. It was more than that. Her thoughts were now centred on someone else: a person who had entered her life and who made her feel like a woman and who had become so close to her that every minute of the day she wanted to be by his side. How could she tell Michael that she had found the love she had never dreamed possible with someone else? She had been quite unable to bring herself to tell him the truth. Michael had become upset and angered at her refusal to talk about getting engaged. Her weak excuse that she was too young had only incensed him and they had rowed constantly during his leave. Connie recalled how he had tried to kiss her with passion and how her lack of response had only angered him more. He had left her in tears of frustration at her dilemma, and he had spent part of his leave drinking with his mates.

  Then there was the last evening of Michael’s leave. He had been drinking heavily and was in a foul mood. They had been to the pictures and had walked home in stony silence. The recollection of what happened next filled her with anger and sadness. Michael had forced himself upon her, kissing her roughly and clumsily attempting to arouse her. She had recoiled from his actions and pushed him away. His face had turned white with rage and he raised his hand to her. Their eyes met in burning anger and he suddenly slumped back. They both knew it was all over and he turned without another word and walked unsteadily out of the street.

  A key in the lock and the front door opening and closing cut short her recollections. Robert’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and he entered the flat, his face showing relief.

  ‘Hello, darling. I was hoping you’d be here.’

  She went into his arms and let him squeeze the breath from her body. Their lips met in a lingering kiss, and she felt the comfort and protection that only he could bring her.

  ‘I only just caught the train. The next one wasn’t for another two hours,’ he said as she nestled her head against his chest.

  ‘I’d still be ’ere, Robert. Yer know I would. Now sit down and let me get yer a nice cuppa,’ she said, smiling at him.

  Robert took off his coat and threw it over a chair and then slumped down beside the fire. ‘I couldn’t get out of it, Con, I had to go. You know what it’s like when it’s family.’

  ‘Did it go all right?’

  He ran his fingers through his fair hair and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Mother still isn’t happy about it. Her plans for me have come rather unstuck, but I managed to convince her that it’s my life and I’ve got to run it, not her. She seemed to think my taking a flat was tantamount to disowning my family. There were a few tears, but it was all right. She saw it my way in the end.’

  ‘What about yer farvver, Robert?’ she asked.

  Robert sighed deeply and stretched out his legs.

  ‘Father was okay,’ he answered. ‘He could understand why I needed to get away. In fact, he thought it might be better for me to become a little more independent. Nice of him, wasn’t it? Anyway, I’m glad it’s over. Things were getting a little strained at home.’

  Connie smiled sympathetically and then hurried into the kitchen. Soon she came back with the tea, and as they sat facing each other Connie eyed him over her cup. She understood how he must have felt. She had faced a difficult situation within her own family just a few weeks ago. Helen had called in to see her and had seemed anxious to have a quiet chat with her. Connie vividly recalled what had been said.

  ‘’Ow yer gonna manage now, girl?’ Helen had asked. ‘I mean, yer muvver’s money paid the rent. Now that’s finished what yer gonna do?’

  ‘I’ll manage, Aunt ’Elen. I’ve got some of Mum’s money put away, an’ I’m gonna look around fer anuvver job. The lan’lord said I could take over the flat, as long as the rent was paid regular.’

  Helen pursed her lips. There was another question she wanted answered. She was aware of Connie’s break up with Michael, and lately the girl had become very secretive about her comings and goings. She wasn’t eighteen yet and now that her mother was dead it was only right that the young girl should have someone to watch out for her welfare.

  ‘We don’t see much of yer at weekends, Con, an’ ter be honest, I’m concerned at yer stoppin’ out on Saturday nights,’ she said quietly.

  Connie felt her face flush. She realised it was no good continuing with the deceit. Her aunt had been like a mother to her for as long as she could remember. She had a right to know the truth.

  ‘I don’t know ’ow yer gonna take this, Aunt ’Elen,’ she answered, looking her squarely in the eye. ‘I can’t go on keepin’ yer in the dark. I’ve not said anyfing before, ’cos I know ’ow yer worry. I fink the world of you an’ Matt, as well as Molly. Yer my family, so I’m gonna tell yer. I’ve got a fella, an’ I fink the world of ’im too. ’E’s got a flat an’ that’s where I spend me weekends. I love ’im, Aunt ’Elen.’

  The elder woman looked hard at her niece. How like her mother she was. There was the same look in her eyes, the same tone in her voice that defied criticism and the same mannerisms and attitudes. It was uncanny. It seemed to her that the girl was already following in her mother’s footsteps, and if she was not careful she would make the same mistakes. There was one big difference between Connie and her mother, and of that Helen was sure. Kate Morgan’s daughter had compassion. It showed in her eyes, and it was apparent in her close friendship with Molly. The girl was overflowing with love. She lacked her mother’s hardness, and it could be her downfall.

  ‘Do I know ’im, Con?’ she asked.

  ‘’Is name’s Robert Armitage. ’E’s the factory owner’s son, Aunt.’

  Helen looked shocked. ‘Christ! Yer know what yer doin’, gel? They’re not our kind. That crowd live in a different world to us.’

  Connie returned her stare. ‘Listen, Aunt ’Elen. I know it’s not gonna be easy. We don’t talk the same an’, like you say, we’re worlds apart, but Robert makes me feel good. ’E don’t ask me ter change o
r alter the way I talk. ’E’s ’avin’ a bad time wiv ’is family over me, but it don’t stop ’im goin’ wiv me. I’m not gonna give ’im up, Aunt. ’E means too much ter me.’

  Helen averted her eyes from her niece’s burning gaze. ‘I only want yer ter be ’appy, gel. That’s all I want fer yer. If yer sure in yer mind that ’e’s the one, I won’t try ter put obstacles in yer path. I’ll say one fing though. Be careful. Don’t make the same mistakes yer mum made.’

  Connie reached out and touched Helen’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Aunt. I know what I’m doin’.’

  Helen smiled and leaned back in her chair. ‘So that’s why you an’ Michael split up.’

  Connie’s face was serious. ‘’E knew there was somebody else, I’m sure. I didn’t tell ’im about Robert though. I jus’ couldn’t bring meself ter tell ’im.’

  Helen was silent for a while, and then she asked, ‘’Ave yer spoke ter Robert about the money yer mum was gettin’ from the firm?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘Yes, I asked ’im about it, but ’e said it was an arrangement made years ago wiv mum an’ Robert’s gran’farvver. That’s all ’e knew.’

  ‘It all seems very strange ter me, Con. Is Robert tellin’ yer the truth?’

  ‘I believe ’im, Aunt.’

  Helen stood up and straightened her pinafore. ‘Don’t ferget what I said, Connie. Be careful. We don’t want you gettin’ yerself in trouble. I remember when yer mum got pregnant. She was goin’ ter get an abortion, but a girl out o’ John Street’ad ’ad one a few weeks before an’ she was found dead in a flat over the butcher’s in Bermondsey Lane. Whoever done it must’ave panicked when the girl started bleedin’ an’ left the poor cow ter die. It was in all the papers. I fink that made yer mum’s mind up not ter go through wiv it. Don’t forget ter look after yourself, Connie.’

  Night had fallen, and in the cosy flat in Great Dover Street the two young people faced each other across the table. The meal was finished and they sat drinking coffee and chatting happily. Outside it was raining again and the wind was rising. They fell silent listening to the record playing.