Читать книгу Sins of the Father - Kitty Neale - Страница 12

Over three weeks had passed, and Emma was thinly slicing a large tin of Spam. She served it with fried potatoes mashed with cabbage, and as they all ate with relish she knew that afterwards they would be having the last of the preserved fruit. It had been wonderful to bring the food home, but the stock in Mr Bell’s pantry was growing low.

She would have to break it to them, but dreaded it. If her father let her keep more of her wages, she could buy extra food, but he insisted that she stumped up all but a few pence. Mr Bell had been true to his word, taking only five shillings each week towards the rent arrears, but gone too was her dream of fitting them all out with new clothes.

Emma had planned to leave once the arrears were paid off, but she had grown to love her job. With her employer out most of the day, she would fantasise that the house was hers–that instead of occupying a cramped and spartan attic, she lived in luxury. The upstairs bathroom had been a revelation, with hot water flowing from the taps. Many times she’d been tempted to take a bath, but the thought of Mr Bell arriving home unexpectedly held her back. Lately she was getting to grips with the laundry cupboard, finding that when she went to get clean sheets for her employer’s bed, most of the linen had yellowed with lack of use. It had been a bit of a job to master the washing boiler and the mangle, but she had done it. Now each day fresh white sheets billowed like sails at sea on the washing line in the back garden.

As the weeks had passed she gained in confidence, and now when taking a break, she would sneak a book from the shelf, unable to believe that there were so many to choose from. They were all classics, but reading Charles Dickens had become a passion. At the moment she was engrossed in Bleak House and sometimes had to force herself to return to the chores. There had been times when she’d been tempted to sneak a book home, but knew that in the attic there’d be little privacy to read it, and anyway, she was fearful that her siblings would get hold of it, ruining the beautiful leather covers.

Nowadays, when Emma dusted the beautiful ornaments, or tackled the laundry or ironing, she did it pretending that she was a lady, the bubble only bursting when Mr Bell came home. Emma had now seen how the other half lived and realised the stark contrasts when she returned to the attic rooms. After Mr Bell’s spacious house, the cramped conditions were emphasised, along with the smell of poverty. It bred in her a feeling of discontent, a yearning for something better, not just for herself, but for her brothers and sisters too.

There was a babble of voices and, seeing that everyone had finished their dinner, Emma spooned the last of the pears from the jar, saying as she handed them out, ‘Make the most of them. There aren’t any more.’

‘But I thought you said Mr Bell had loads of stuff in the pantry?’ Dick said.

‘He did, but with feeding seven of us, it’s soon gone down. All the fruit has been used, and though there are still some tins of Spam and corned beef, they won’t last long. It’s been lovely having this extra food, but we’ll be back to vegetable stew soon.’

‘Charlie is giving me a rise next week, and if Dad puts his hand in his pocket, maybe we could have meat regularly.’

‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Emma said bitterly, ‘but it’s good of Charlie to give you a rise.’

‘Yeah, he’s a great bloke.’

‘Dad isn’t home yet so can I have his pears?’ Susan asked eagerly.

‘I want some too,’ Ann said.

Now that James and Archie were living downstairs, Ann was the youngest. Like Emma and Bella, she was pretty, but in a less obvious way. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes, but unlike Susan, she was a loving child and the least trouble. Emma smiled at her, saying firmly, ‘Neither of you is having Dad’s share. He’ll be hungry when he comes in.’

‘Huh, I doubt that. I expect his belly will be full of ale as usual,’ Dick snapped.

‘It ain’t fair,’ Susan grumbled. ‘Bella will get round him as usual, and he’ll give her some of his pears. He always does.’

Emma closed her eyes against her sister’s words, but knew they were true. Bella’s was a doll-like prettiness. She had already learned to manipulate her father, becoming his favourite. Dick and Luke could be wheedled round too, the males of the family unable to resist her delicate looks. Emma rose to her feet, took the last two halves of pear from the jar and cut them into pieces before sharing them out.

‘There, are you satisfied?’ she said impatiently.

Dick ate his, then said quietly, ‘Emma, can you ask Mr Bell how much is left owing on the arrears?’

‘He only discusses the rent with Dad so it’s unlikely he’ll tell me. Anyway, why do you want to know?’

‘I’ve heard about a job in the café. The pay isn’t bad, and you’d like the old girl who runs it. Mrs Bright is a good sort and has a heart of gold. If the arrears are nearly paid, you could go for it.’

‘It sounds all right, but to be honest, I don’t mind working for Mr Bell. I never dreamed I’d enjoy cleaning, but the house is lovely and with most of the rooms closed up it isn’t hard work.’

‘From what you’ve told me about the place, the man must be worth a mint. Rumour has it that he owns lots of property, raking in rent from all of them.’ Dick’s eyes flicked around the room. ‘If this place is anything to go by he’s tight on repairs too.’

‘I don’t think he’s poor, that’s for sure, but I don’t understand why he got rid of the staff when his wife died. He doesn’t own a car either.’

‘Well, going by the state of this place, I reckon he’s a skinflint and doesn’t like spending his money.’

‘I doubt that, especially as he’s been so generous with the food from his pantry.’ Emma rose tiredly to her feet. ‘I’d best get this lot cleared up.’

‘We’ll do it,’ Luke said.

Susan pulled a face, her voice a whine. ‘Bella can help him. I’ve got a tummy ache.’

‘That excuse is wearing a bit thin,’ Dick told her. ‘If you all muck in it’ll be done in no time.’

Dick’s voice was firm, and sulkily Susan began to help the others. Emma knew they did their best when they came home from school, but there were still jobs they were unable to tackle. The washing and ironing for starters, and if truth be known, with only the evenings to do these chores, Emma felt worn out trying to keep up with it all. Not only that, the school summer holidays would be starting soon and she dreaded leaving the children alone all day.

‘Why the long face, Emma?’ Dick asked.

‘I’m worried about the kids when they break up from school.’

‘They aren’t babies, they’ll be all right. Mind you, it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with them,’ Dick said. He called Luke and Susan to his side. ‘Whilst Emma and I are at work during the holidays, Luke will be in charge.’

‘But—’

‘No buts, Susan. Luke is the eldest, and he’ll be leaving school next year, which makes him almost a man.’

‘He ain’t a man. He’s a cissy.’

‘I ain’t a cissy!’

‘That’s enough!’ Dick’s voice was loud. ‘Luke will be in charge and, as before, Emma will have a word with Alice. You can go to her if you have any problems, but I don’t want you running to her to sort out your silly spats. Now is that clear?’

They both nodded. Dick turned his attention to Bella and Ann. He went over the same things with them, only adding, ‘I’m not far away at the market if you need me, but woe betide any of you if you get into trouble.’

Emma hadn’t interrupted while Dick laid down the law. She knew that her brother was right, and Luke was old enough to be left in charge, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss her worries.

The evening passed with the occasional squabble, but they were all in bed when Emma heard her father staggering up the ladder.

His head cleared the top, his voice loud. ‘Emma, where’s my bloody dinner?’

‘I kept it hot for as long as possible. You’ll find a few slices of Spam on a plate, but the potatoes will be cold.’

He muttered something, his head disappearing again, and Emma sighed with relief. She felt Susan stir beside her, but thankfully she didn’t wake up, and as Emma closed her eyes against the sound of her father crashing about downstairs, her thoughts focused instead on Mr Bell’s lovely house.

When Emma was leaving for work the next morning, Liz Dunston was waiting for her on the ground floor. With the largest flat and a small back garden, she thought herself a cut above the rest of them. Her husband was a milkman, up at the crack of dawn, and she had one son, who, at fifteen years old was a butcher’s apprentice.

The tall, statuesque woman folded her arms across her chest, her voice high with indignation. ‘Emma, the racket your father made when he came home last night woke my husband again. I’ve tried talking to him, but he ignores me, and when I came out to complain he swore at me.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dunston.’

Her face softened a little. ‘I’m not blaming you, girl, but this can’t go on. If it doesn’t stop I’ll be forced to complain to the landlord.’

‘Oh, please, don’t do that.’

‘He’s on his last chance, Emma. Have a word with him, will you?’

Emma murmured yes, but knew her father wouldn’t take any notice of her. God, she’d be mortified if Mrs Dunston complained to Mr Bell. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face-and what if he gave her the sack?

Emma was still worrying when she reached Clapham Common. Letting herself into the house, she was surprised to see her employer in the hall.

‘Hello, Emma,’ he said, smiling pleasantly. ‘Why the long face?’

‘It’s nothing, sir.’

‘Now then, how many times have I told you not to call me sir? I’ll be off in a minute or two, but I noticed that you cleaned my study yesterday. Did you move any papers from my desk?’

‘Oh, no, Mr Bell, I didn’t touch your desk.’

‘Blast, I can’t find them and need them urgently. I’ll have another look.’ He turned on his heels, heading for his study.

Emma went to get cleaning materials. As was her routine, she started with the drawing room. It looked lovely as she walked in, a ray of sun shining through the bay window and alighting on a crystal decanter. The cut glass sparkled in a rainbow of colours, and for a moment she stood mesmerised, but then, giving herself a mental shake, she started work. Alongside the sofa there was a small side table, and on it some papers. Emma glanced at the top sheet, saw it was a letter from a firm of solicitors, and picking them up, took them across to the study.

‘Are these the papers you’re looking for, Mr Bell?’

He came to her side, his eyes lighting up. ‘Well done, Emma,’ he cried and, putting an arm around her shoulder, he briefly hugged her.

Emma immediately stiffened, pulling away as she said, ‘They…they were in the drawing room.’

‘Of course, I was reading through them last night and forgot to return them to the study. Well done for finding them, my dear. Now I must get a move on or I’ll be late for my appointment and as I may not be back today, I’ll leave it to you to lock up as usual.’

Emma nodded, confused by Mr Bell’s familiarity. He had hugged her, called her ‘my dear’, and she wondered what had come over him. Perhaps he was just pleased about the papers, but she left the study relieved that he was going to be out for the rest of the day.

Horace Bell was smiling as he headed for his solicitor’s office. Tom Chambers was playing into his hands, just as he had hoped, the rent unpaid as usual. The more he saw of Emma, the more he desired her, and was growing impatient. Nevertheless, he would have to let the arrears accrue for another few weeks before putting his plan into action.

He passed St Barnabas’ Church, his thoughts still on Emma. It would work, he was sure of it. As before, he was determined that things would be different this time, and in Emma he had found the perfect choice. She was young, meek, innocent, and could be easily moulded.

Horace was on time for his appointment, and after going over the finer points of the deal with his solicitor, he signed the documents, passing over the cheque. Another three houses were now in his hands, and they were in good condition. He’d divide them into flats as usual, and as they were in a better part of Battersea, they’d command more rent.

The next stop was the bank, and after that he’d go round to see Joyce. It had been nearly a week since he’d last seen her, and his loins stirred. Yet he knew when he made love to his mistress, in his imagination, the woman beneath him would be Emma Chambers.