Читать книгу Sins of the Father - Kitty Neale - Страница 11

On Monday morning Emma was frantically trying to get the children off to school. Susan was unusually compliant, but after the telling-off Emma and Dick had given her, it wasn’t surprising.

‘Come on, off you go,’ Emma urged. ‘I won’t be home until after five o’clock, so do as Luke tells you, and don’t forget your little jobs.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to them,’ Luke said, and Emma smiled gratefully, again thankful that he was such a sensible and intelligent boy. As they all trooped out she watched them for a moment. Surely, even after Mr Bell taking some of the arrears out of her wages, she’d have enough left to start buying them all some decent clothes. She cast a quick glance around the room, making sure the fire was doused, and then five minutes after the children, she left for her first day at work. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but even so, she felt a spark of excitement to be out of the dismal flat and facing something new, albeit someone else’s housework.

The June day was warm and Emma’s feet were already aching from the long walk as she approached Mr Bell’s street, but she couldn’t fail to notice the difference. The air here was cleaner than at home, with no taint of smoke from factory chimneys. The houses she walked alongside were large, immaculate, smacking of wealth, and on the opposite side was Clapham Common, a wide expanse of green grass and trees.

She passed St Barnabas’ Church and soon after was standing outside Mr Bell’s house. Like the neighbouring ones, it was huge and four storeys high. Emma took in the lovely, mellow red-brick façade and, her heart jumping with nerves, she tentatively walked down a drive lined with huge rhododendron bushes. There were bay windows on the ground floor, and a wide stone staircase leading to the front door. For a moment she halted, floundering. Should she use the front entrance or look for one at the side? Unsure, she decided on the front, hand trembling as she rang the bell.

When the door opened, Mr Bell stood there, a wide smile on his face. ‘You found it then,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, shocked that he had answered the door himself. Surely in a house this size there were other staff? Mr Bell gestured her inside. Her eyes rounded as she followed him into a large hall with a sweeping, carpet-covered staircase. They almost popped out when she was led into a huge, plush room with wonderful views across the Common. The furniture looked sumptuous, large sofas with mahogany side tables, these covered with a thin layer of dust. Huge gilt-framed paintings lined the walls, and inlaid cabinets held beautiful porcelain figurines.

‘This is the drawing room,’ Mr Bell said, indicating that she should sit down, waiting until Emma perched nervously on the edge of a gilt and brocade chair. ‘I’m afraid I have to go out on business this morning,’ he continued, ‘so I’ll leave you to find your way around. You’ll find all the cleaning materials you need in a room just off the kitchen, and a Hoover.’

‘A…a Hoover?’

‘It’s a machine for vacuuming the rugs.’

Emma swallowed deeply, in awe of Mr Bell and his beautiful house. Her voice quavered as she spoke. ‘Is…is there anyone to show me how to use it?’

For a moment he looked nonplussed. ‘Well, no, I’m afraid you’ll be on your own. I did have a daily, but she proved to be untrustworthy. When my wife, Isabelle, was alive, we kept a couple of staff, but when she died I let them go.’

Emma knew that, nervous or not, she would have to speak up now or she never would. ‘Mr Bell, this is a huge house and I don’t see how I can manage to clean it on my own.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Emma. On this floor you will only have to clean this room, along with the dining room and my study. Oh, and of course the kitchen, which is at the back of the house, with a laundry room and scullery. On the first floor I use the front bedroom and bathroom, but the rest of the bedrooms are closed and can be left.’

Emma’s shoulders slumped with relief, but then she sat up again as Mr Bell continued.

‘As for the Hoover, I’m sure you’ll work it out. I think you just plug it into the wall, and off it goes.’ Mr Bell glanced at the ornate clock on the huge mantelpiece. ‘I’m sorry, but I really must go now. I should be back before you leave but, just in case, you’d better have these.’

Emma took the large keys that he proffered, and as he hurriedly left, she relaxed, a small smile playing around her lips. If he was out all day, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Rising to her feet, she went to explore the house.

When Emma found the kitchen she gasped at the size and range of equipment. It looked unused, everything covered in a thin layer of dust. She soon found a room with mops, buckets, dusters, brushes, and what she could only imagine was the Hoover. She eyed it warily, gulping at the thought of trying to use it. With a small shake of her head she grabbed a duster and polish, deciding as she went back to the drawing room to leave the funny-looking machine where it was for the time being.

To Emma’s surprise, she found herself humming as she cleaned the room. She polished the furniture, bringing the dark wood to a beautiful shine, and found that she actually enjoyed the task. As well as the ornaments in cabinets, there were others on tables and ledges, which she moved carefully, dusting them with trepidation before gently replacing them on the surfaces.

When Emma came to the bookcase, she looked at it in awe, her eyes flicking over the titles. Oh, how wonderful to have so many lovely books to read. Reverently taking one out, she was unable to resist opening it, her eyes scanning the first page. Oh, Mr Bell was so lucky, his rooms full of so many treasures that she could only ever dream of owning.

At last the room was done, and though it looked lovely, Emma knew that the effect was spoiled by the huge, dirty rug and dusty parquet flooring that showed around the edge. Maybe she could take the rug outside and beat the dirt out of it? Yet to do that she would have to move the furniture and roll the rug up, an impossible task on her own. With a sigh Emma knew she had no choice. She fetched the Hoover, finding it cumbersome to carry, her hands shaking as she found a socket and plugged it in. The noise of the engine when it started up almost made her bolt, but then she got the hang of it, after a few minutes finding it simpler than she’d anticipated. In no time Emma was switching it off, and after she’d mopped the parquet flooring, the room was finished.

Oh, everything looked lovely, a picture, but it had taken her hours. There was still the dining room, hall, stairs, kitchen and study on this floor, but Emma’s throat was parched. With hair lank and wet with perspiration, she went to the kitchen, gulping down a couple of cups of water. For a moment she sat at the kitchen table, her eyes roaming the room. Every surface was grimy; the racks of saucepans dull from lack of use. Like the drawing room, this would take many hours to clean.

Emma fidgeted. She needed the toilet, and had seen one just off the room where the cleaning materials were kept. It was a bit damp, musty, and unused, probably for staff use, she guessed, seeing a small window festooned with cobwebs. She heaved a sigh. It needed a good clean, but it would have to wait.

The hall and stairs didn’t take as long as the drawing room, but it was now almost two o’clock. Emma was on her knees, on the last stair, when she heard a key in the lock, her eyes flying to the front door.

‘Emma, you look so hot,’ Horace Bell said as he stepped inside. ‘I can see you’ve been busy, but I really think you should have a rest now.’

Surprised by the concern in his voice, she stammered, ‘I…I’m all right, but I’m afraid I’ve only managed to clean the drawing room and hall.’

‘Emma, I don’t expect you to do everything in one day. Go through to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. I think we could both do with one. You’ll find some biscuits in the pantry too.’

Emma didn’t need telling twice and hurried away. She placed the kettle on the stove to boil, and then searched the cupboards, disconcerted by the large array of china. Which set should she use? Taking out the simplest cup she could find for herself, she laid a tray with a gold-rimmed set, and side plate for Mr Bell. The tea and biscuits were harder to find, but eventually she found the walk-in pantry, her jaw dropping when she saw the contents. There were glass jars filled with preserved fruit and jams, along with tins of meat, fish and soups. There wasn’t any fresh produce, but Emma found a tin of milk along with another tin of shortcake biscuits.

So much food! With rationing, how had Mr Bell obtained it all? When he spoke from behind, she almost jumped out of her skin.

‘Have you found everything you need, Emma?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Well, except I haven’t found any sugar.’

‘Sir! You don’t have to call me sir. I think you’ll find sugar in there,’ he said, pointing to an earthenware jar on one of the shelves. ‘I don’t take sugar in my tea, but you are welcome to use it.’ His eyes then roamed the shelves and he heaved a sigh. ‘We have several fruit trees in the garden and when Isabelle was alive our cook preserved the fruit and made jam. Nowadays I dine out, and they haven’t been touched. If you can make use of anything, Emma, take what you want.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘Yes, really, and please, I told you not to call me sir. There’s a lot of tinned produce, far too much for me, most of it coming from tenants in lieu of rent. Despite the war years and rationing, as you can see, my wife hoarded food.’

Emma felt as though she had died and gone to heaven. She grinned with delight. Bottled fruit, jam and meat, real meat, even if tinned. ‘Oh, thank you, sir, I…I mean, Mr Bell.’

‘It’s only going to waste so there’s no need to thank me. When the tea is made, bring it through to the drawing room.’ On that note he left the kitchen.

Emma was still smiling as she brewed the tea. Mr Bell’s kindness was so unexpected, and to think she’d been nervous about working for him! She arranged some biscuits on his plate, carrying the tray through and laying it on a side table.

‘Well, Emma, I must say you’ve done wonders with this room.’

She smiled with pleasure. ‘Thank you. I’ll have my tea and then start on the kitchen.’

‘Very well, but as I said, you don’t have to do everything in one day. I’ll be going out again shortly, so keep the keys in case I leave before you arrive in the morning.’

Emma nodded, pleased that she was going to have the house to herself again. She ate some biscuits, savouring the buttery flavour, and then drank her tea, still sitting at the kitchen table when Mr Bell stuck his head around the door.

‘Goodbye, Emma. I doubt I’ll be back before you leave.’

‘’Bye, Mr Bell,’ Emma called, but the man had already gone.

Horace Bell was smiling with satisfaction as he left the house. He’d hardly noticed Emma before, but overnight she had grown up, turning into a beauty. One look and he’d been smitten, not only by her glorious looks, but by her obvious shyness and innocence. He had plans for her, but he’d take things slowly. He knew that Tom Chambers was unlikely to pay the rent each week and that suited him, the man unaware that he would be playing into his landlord’s hands.

God, Emma was lovely, but so young. He’d have to move carefully, gain her trust and liking before making a move. Nevertheless, when the rent arrears mounted again, he would hold all the cards and, knowing how much her family meant to Emma, he doubted she’d say no.

Horace’s lips tightened. Things would be different this time, and he would hold the purse strings. His wife, Isabelle, had property when they married and, due to his business acumen, more had accrued over the years. They raked in profits that Isabelle had enjoyed spending, her dress allowance alone enormous. She’d been far too generous with the staff, something he didn’t approve of, and after her death he’d been determined to cut down on household expenditure, getting rid of the lot of them. Money was to be accumulated, not frittered away, and nowadays his bank balance was a testimony to his thrift.

He continued to walk; after all, it was good exercise and why waste money on transport? It was half an hour later when he turned into Mycroft Road. His mistress lived here, and she had suited him well, playing the role of a meek and biddable woman perfectly. Yet though he had his needs, he resented the expenditure. As Joyce opened the door, her smile was inviting, and Horace smiled back. He’d continue to keep her for now, but if his plans worked out, he’d have no further use for a strumpet. None at all.