Ironmonger's Daughter Page 24

  Connie felt her eyelids at last begin to grow heavy. She turned on her side and let her head sink into the lavenderscented pillow. She did not hear the door creak open and shut, nor the words that were whispered in her ear. She did not know Robert was in the bed beside her until he began gently stroking her hair as he moved his body close to hers. She opened her eyes and saw his face next to her, smiling in the pale moonlight. Her arms reached for him as he kissed her neck and her ear and sought her open mouth.

  ‘I needed you, Con,’ he whispered.

  ‘Hold me,’ she said, her voice coming out husky.

  The wind whistled and powdery snow lifted from the swaying tree. She caught his hot breath on her face and felt his warm body against hers. She closed her eyes and let his kisses and his caresses shut out the cold night.

  In the bedroom at the back of the house Peter Armitage snored noisily, his sleep fortified by the brandies he had consumed during the evening. Claudette lay awake, her eyes gazing at the ceiling, her thoughts centred around the man who had on certain occasions come to her bed and loved her with a sensuous passion she had never experienced within her dull, monotonous marriage. Her lover was wild, unpredictable, wicked even, and so unlike his staid brother. She would protect him out of her love for him. She would do what had to be done to shield him. She heard the landing creak and then the sound of a door closing. Claudette glanced at the illuminated clock beside the bed; it showed two-thirty. Her lips compressed and she pushed her elbow into the snoring figure at her side. Peter grunted and turned over. It had become silent again, and in the darkness Claudette schemed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On Boxing Day Connie and Robert decided to catch the late afternoon steam train to London Bridge. The ancient taxi left the house and slithered over the fresh snow as it journeyed through the quiet village. At the station the driver followed the tracks in the snow and brought his battered vehicle to a stop, mumbling to himself as he searched his pockets for change. The tip helped to gratify him and he drove off, blowing on his cold hands. Robert took Connie’s case as they walked along the platform looking for an empty carriage. Few people seemed to be on the train and when the two finally settled themselves in the warm compartment Robert lit a cigarette.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t really say it, Con, but I’m glad that’s over. My father does go on a bit, and as for my mother, she’s not happy unless she’s fussing over something or the other. How about you? Was it very difficult?’

  ‘No, it was very nice,’ Connie lied. ‘I was very nervous at first but yer dad made me feel at home.’

  ‘What did you think of Mother?’ he asked, grinning broadly.

  ‘I fink I was a bit scared of ’er. When I first saw yer mum I thought she reminded me of the ’eadmistress at our school.’

  Robert laughed. ‘She’d be pleased about that.’

  Connie looked out at the snow. ‘Don’t dare tell ’er I said that.’

  Robert squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I’m sure you made a big impression.’

  The guard blew his whistle and the train jerked away from the station. Robert glanced at Connie and said, ‘You seemed very quiet in the taxi. I thought there might be something wrong.’

  Connie forced a smile. ‘There was nufink wrong. I was just wonderin’ about what they said about me after we left.’

  ‘They liked you a lot,’ Robert said casually. ‘I could tell.’

  Connie glanced out of the carriage window as the train rushed through the bleak countryside. Robert would have been shocked if he had heard her conversation with Claudette. Or would he? She suddenly wondered. She looked at Robert and saw that his eyes were drooping and his head was rolling slightly with the motion of the train. She studied his finely cut features and realised how childlike he looked. His small, straight nose twitched occasionally and she noticed how long his eyelashes were and how his fair hair curled at the ears. His head was slipping down towards her shoulder and Connie looked back out of the window as the train passed quickly between fields covered in snow. Her thoughts went back over the past two days and she shuddered.

  Christmas morning had begun with a cooked breakfast of poached eggs, bacon and mushrooms. When they were finished they had all exchanged presents. Robert had given her a gold bracelet and she had given him a thick woollen cardigan which he was now wearing. Robert’s parents had given her a silver hairbrush and comb, and she had presented Peter with cigars and Claudette with a tortoiseshell hand mirror. Connie had been helped in her choice of presents by Robert, who solved the problem by saying that his mother had broken her favourite mirror – perhaps by bringing it down a little too heavily on his father’s head! They had attended the morning church service, trudging through the snow and stopping on the way to exchange pleasantries with their neighbours and friends. Connie recalled that it was the first time she had been inside a church since she was a small child and the Christmas service seemed to go on for a long time, and then there were more handshakes and introductions afterwards in the churchyard. Connie was glad when they arrived back at the house and she felt the warmth of the welcoming log fire. The table had been laid in the dining room: Claudette had served the vegetables from silver dishes; and Peter had expertly cut the huge turkey. It was the first time Connie had tasted turkey and it reminded her of chicken, which was the usual Christmas fare at the Bartletts’ home.

  The day passed pleasantly enough, she thought, with Peter showing off his collection of gramophone records which he played on an upright machine. After a tea of mince pies and cream cakes, Peter suggested they play cards. Connie smiled to herself as she remembered how Robert had tried unsuccessfully to teach her how to play whist. Later they listened to the wireless and she had drunk two glasses of sherry. It was well after midnight when the Armitages retired to bed, leaving her and Robert alone together. Connie nestled closely to Robert, his arm around her, cuddling her to him. She had stared into the burning logs and imagined that they were alone in their own house watching the fire dying before he swept her up into his arms and carried her up to their bedroom. They had kissed goodnight on the landing and she had gone to her room hoping he would come to her again, but she had fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow and slept soundly until morning.

  There had been no opportunity to talk to Claudette during Christmas Day, but on Boxing Day morning Claudette had suggested to Robert that he might like to accompany his father to the Three Pheasants for a lunchtime drink. Connie knew then that Claudette was eager to pick up the threads of their conversation. She was not to be disappointed, for as soon as the men had departed Claudette made coffee and suggested they sit beside the fire for a cosy chat. Connie watched while her hostess fussed over the chair cushions and then brought in the coffee pot and crockery on a silver tray. Placing the utensils at her elbow, Claudette made herself comfortable and looked closely at her companion.

  ‘If I remember rightly, you were saying that you expected to learn something from this get-together you’ve arranged?’ she began with very little hesitation.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Problem is, you’re talking about a long time ago, my dear. Memories fade and the truth sometimes becomes distorted.’

  Connie watched while Claudette poured the coffee. ‘I thought about that,’ she said quietly. ‘Fing is, there was more than one person in my street who worked wiv mum at the factory. I intend ter talk to ’em all in time. Then I should be able ter get ter the truth. That’s all I want, Mrs Armitage.’

  ‘Of course you do, my dear,’ the elder woman said, passing over a filled coffee cup. ‘You have to remember though that the truth will hurt.’

  ‘It might not,’ Connie replied.

  ‘It will, my dear. Believe me it will.’

  ‘Yer can’t know that,’ Connie said, eyeing the woman with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ Claudette said quickly.

  ‘Yer mean yer know all about the money?’


  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Will yer tell me?’ Connie asked, her eyes fixed anxiously on her hostess.

  ‘I will, providing I have your assurance that you won’t say anything to Robert. You see my dear, Peter and I have never felt it necessary to mention the reason for the payments to him because it all happened a long time ago. The arrangement was between Robert’s grandfather and your mother, and it was purely their business. If my son felt he had been excluded it might affect his trust and faith in us. He would think he had been treated badly, and I don’t want that to happen.’

  ‘I won’t say anyfink, I promise,’ Connie said earnestly.

  The fire began to burn low and the coffee cooled as the two women faced each other in the lounge. Connie sat with her hands held tightly together in her lap and Claudette leaned forward in her armchair.

  ‘It was at the firm’s outing to Southend back in 1923,’ she began. ‘During the evening the charabanc stopped at a public house on the way home. Most of the workers were more than a little drunk by that time, including your mother. There was a lot of merry-making and she got talking to one of the locals. Later she was seen leaving with him. Peter’s brother Gerald was responsible for everyone’s welfare on the day, and he was worried by your mother’s absence when it was time to leave. Anyway, he went off to look for her and finally found both your mother and this local man lying together in a field behind the pub. When he called out that it was time to leave the man became abusive and Gerald was threatened as he tried to remonstrate. In the process your mother accidentally fell into a ditch. She wasn’t badly hurt, just a few bruises and cuts. The man who was with her attacked Gerald, who fought him off and then helped your mother back to the pub. A member of the staff helped her to get cleaned up and then the charabanc left. Most of the people on the outing were very drunk and no one was aware of what had happened. Apparently your mother slept throughout the whole of the journey home.

  ‘On the next Monday morning she went to see Robert’s grandfather and said she had been attacked by Gerald on the outing and intended going to the police to tell them he had tried to rape her.’

  Connie gasped. ‘I can’t believe me mum would do such a fing! It’s not true!’

  ‘I warned you the truth would hurt, dear,’ Claudette said, crossing her legs. ‘Of course, it came as a terrible shock to Grandfather. Gerald had already told him about the accident. He tried to dissuade your mother from going to the police but she was adamant. “You’ll have to pay to keep me quiet” were her very words.’

  ‘I can’t believe what I’m ’earin’. She wouldn’t do that! I know she wouldn’t!’ Connie exclaimed. She was clenching her fists tightly.

  ‘Listen, my dear. You told me yesterday that when you approached your mother about the money she told you it was to do with your father. I think you realise that it wasn’t true. If there was nothing to hide then your mother would surely have told you about where the money came from and what it was for.’

  Connie was silent, her eyes filling with tears as Claudette went on. ‘Your mother told Grandfather that she could not continue to work at the factory after what had happened and as she had a young child to support it was only right that the firm should look after her financially. The arrangement they came to was that a sum of three pounds would be paid to your mother every month. The payment was increased a few years later to five pounds.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ Connie blurted out. ‘Why didn’t Gerald defend ’imself? ’E could ’ave gone ter court an’ told ’em ’is version. I’m sure ’e would ’ave bin believed before me mum.’

  Claudette leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘You don’t understand, Connie. Let me try to explain. At the time Gerald was going through a bad patch. He had marriage problems and his wife had decided on a separation. If he had gone to court the bad publicity might have influenced his wife into seeking a divorce, even though he was innocent. Gerald was desperate to save his marriage and felt he couldn’t take the chance of defending himself in public. There was another consideration also. Back in the ’twenties businesses were struggling to stay alive. Contracts were hard to come by and the firm was at that time negotiating an important contract against very fierce competition. Newspapers would have reported the case. Publicity of that sort might well have cost the firm a great deal. Anyway, a document was drawn up in which your mother agreed not to proceed further with her allegations and the firm promised to pay her a regular sum for the whole of her lifetime. That money bought her silence. I think you should let it stay that way. Talking to anyone about what happened all those years ago will only cause you more grief. Let it stay buried, my dear. It’s the only true course, believe me.’

  Connie’s hands came up to her ashen face and she stared incredulously at Claudette. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she gasped in a whisper.

  Claudette stood up and put her hand on Connie’s shoulder. ‘Just leave it buried, dear. It’s best that way. Really it is.’

  The train clattered on towards London and Robert slept soundly. Connie sat staring out into the approaching night, deep in thought. What she had heard from Claudette had shocked and angered her. She did not believe her. There had to be another reason for the money, she told herself. Her mother had been a little wild in her time but she would never have stooped to getting money in that way. There had to be something else. Claudette had seemed too well informed about the whole series of events. It was as though it had all happened yesterday, the way she told it. If the woman was lying, who was she protecting? Was it Gerald or was there some other person involved? Questions flooded into her troubled mind. Why wasn’t Robert told anything? He was an adult. One day he would take over the factory. Why should his parents keep the secret locked away from their son? Maybe Claudette had lied about that, too. Maybe he knew and was sworn to silence, or was just trying to be protective by saying he did not know the reason for the payments. She was now more determined than ever to find the woman Helen had pointed out in the photograph. She had been a close friend of her mother. Maybe she would be able to tell her the truth.

  The white countryside had given way to bricks and mortar. Dark factories and houses flashed past, their chimneys belching smoke from roaring fires. Robert was rousing himself and Connie nudged him gently.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ she said, watching him as he shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. The train slowed into the station and came to a juddering halt with a loud hiss of steam. It was dark as they hurried along the platform. Connie yawned and held his arm as they passed through the ticket barrier.

  ‘You look tired. Do you want me to take you straight home, Con?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want to be on me own ternight, Robert. I wanna stay wiv you.’

  He led her to the taxi rank in the station forecourt, his arm around her waist. ‘Let’s go home, Con,’ he said softly as he opened the door of the taxi and helped her in.

  Snowflakes danced in the cold wind as the cab moved along Borough High Street. They sat close holding hands, her head resting against his shoulder. Robert gazed out at the flurrying snow and caught sight of a discarded placard leaning against a shuttered shopfront. ‘PEACE OR WAR’ it read in bold black letters.

  It had been a quiet Christmas in Ironmonger Street. There had been virtually no incidents that would have added to the turning’s already dubious reputation, and in the local pubs the customers went home without much persuasion when time was called. George Baker had drunk too much on Christmas Eve and was helped back to his house by his son-in-law and Joe Cooper, who took hold of the old man’s arms and steered him along through the thickening carpet of snow.

  The Bartletts stayed at home with their daughter. Matthew had managed to clear up his Christmas Club and had found the money for a large chicken and presents for Helen and Molly. There was not enough money left for a visit to the pub but Matthew was content. It might have been worse, he thought. His job did not pay very much, but it was better than standing in the f
reezing cold with bundles of shoelaces and cards of collar studs throughout the week for a few coppers. Helen was feeling content, too. There had been a better understanding between them lately. Matthew was much less inclined to argue with her now that he had found a job, and Molly had become less withdrawn once the rows had stopped. Helen’s only concern was for Connie. She was becoming more like her mother as time passed, in looks as well as attitudes. She had become defensive about her relationship with the factory owner’s son, and disinclined to talk about her staying out at weekends. It worried Helen that Connie was sleeping with him. It would be terrible if the girl fell for a child the way her mother had.

  It had been a quiet Christmas, too, for Toby and Marie Toomey. Toby had managed to get his battered pram operational once more with the aid of an oil can and a ball of string. He had been out collecting scrap which he stored in the shop next door, alongside the bundles of rags and old newspapers. He had saved enough money to clear up the rent arrears and pay the rent on the shop, but the scrap merchants had finished early this Christmas and did not call to clear his stock on Christmas Eve. Marie had given her dutiful husband a mouthful of abuse for his lack of foresight, which had left them almost penniless. Their daughter Lillian had decided that sitting at home and listening to her parents arguing all through Christmas was unthinkable. She had to do something and as she put her make-up on Lillian had already made up her mind. She would go back to her old haunt down in Rotherhithe. It had been profitable in the past, and at this time of year there would surely be a few seamen ready to pay for some company. She had left the house early on Christmas Eve and caught the tram to Surrey Docks Station. The Windjammer was packed and Lillian took stock as she entered the public bar. A few hefty blond seamen stood in one corner talking excitedly and in another corner she spotted one or two of the girls she had socialised with during her adventures in the area. A large redhead noticed her and came over.