Dead to Me (5 page)

‘I wish I could do that,’ Miss Parsons said. ‘But I can see no possibility of any improvement in my position in the near future. I may be able to do a little dressmaking or domestic work, but with a child to take care of I cannot even go into service.’

She actually managed to squeeze out a few tears, and Verity was impressed by her acting skills.

Yet however sympathetic Mr Cohen was, he drove a hard bargain, offering twenty-five pounds at first. Miss Parsons let out a strangled sob that sounded utterly convincing to Verity, and said she needed sixty pounds.

Verity listened to the pawnbroker insisting he couldn’t go above thirty, Miss Parsons coming down to fifty, and after much fierce haggling, they finally agreed on forty pounds.

‘You were very brave and clever,’ Verity said once they were out of the shop and further down the Finchley Road.

Miss Parsons chuckled. ‘To tell the truth, Verity, I rather enjoyed it. Believe me, that brooch and those pearls must have been much more valuable than we realized to get so much, so we certainly haven’t robbed him. Now you may have to do this for your mother in future, so remember to aim high. You can always come down but never, ever accept the first offer.’

That evening Verity helped her mother and Miss Parsons to pack a small trunk with items that could be sold. They were mostly small items: a pocket watch, jewellery, a silver snuff box, tankards and photograph frames. But there was also the large silver pheasant, a tureen and some serving dishes, along with a complete set of cutlery.

‘Archie’s mother gave us this as a wedding present,’ her mother said as she lifted the lid of the box and took out one knife from its velvet-covered nest. ‘She bought it in Bond Street, and she never tired of pointing out that it cost a king’s ransom. I just hope it brings in enough to make up for her wretched son’s appalling behaviour.’

‘I think it will bring you in a pretty penny,’ Miss Parsons said, coming over to look at the cutlery. She picked up a serving spoon and examined the hallmark. ‘My advice is to take it back to the shop it came from. This sort of cutlery never goes out of fashion; I bet they’ll be glad to resell it.’

‘But it weighs so much,’ Verity’s mother said, half lifting it. ‘We can’t walk around carrying it.’

Verity wished her mother would stop finding a problem with everything. If it wasn’t the weight of the cutlery it was the chore of packing things, or being convinced her sister
would refuse to take them in. Miss Parsons had snapped at her the previous day and said if she didn’t fancy going to her sister’s she could always rent a place for herself and Verity, and then get a job to be independent.

‘Me work?’ Her mother had looked horrified. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I have to work,’ Miss Parsons pointed out. ‘I’m quite sure Verity will have to when she is older too. So why not you?’

‘But I wasn’t brought up that way,’ her employer protested.

‘Do you have a private income?’ Miss Parsons asked.

‘You know I don’t.’

‘Then how do you plan to support yourself? I doubt your sister – who, if I’m not much mistaken, does work – will be prepared to keep you both for nothing. Funny Hazel wasn’t brought up the same way as you!’

There were many pointed, sarcastic remarks from Miss Parsons in the days that followed, making Verity realize that her mother had kept her distance from her sister for all these years purely because she was a terrible snob and wanted to pretend she came out of the top drawer. But Verity was frightened about how her mother would cope once the housekeeper left. She hadn’t cooked, cleaned or washed any clothes for years. Her days were spent in West End stores or having afternoon tea with her bridge cronies. The packed trunk was standing in the hall, awaiting Aunt Hazel’s agreement that they could send it over to her, and then follow themselves when necessary. But how was Cynthia Wood going to survive in Lewisham?

Verity expressed her fears to Miss Parsons. ‘You’ve
always run everything, even decided what we would eat,’ she said. ‘How will Mother manage?’

‘I believe your Aunt Hazel will shake her out of that,’ the older woman said with a smile. ‘It’ll be hard for you, caught in the crossfire, but try not to become their servant – or to despair, because as soon as you are fourteen you can leave school.’

It soothed Verity’s anxiety a little to find Miss Parsons did really care about her; it seemed astounding that for all these years Verity hadn’t known that.

‘But what sort of a job will I get?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never had to think about working.’

‘Well, my advice would be to go into service, at least at first, because that way you can leave home but have the security of being in someone else’s home. Being trained as a maid would be easy for you, you’ve grown up seeing how it is done. That will stand you in good stead for all kinds of employment later on.’

Verity had a feeling that the older woman was speaking from personal experience. If she had left her family home at fourteen because of some disaster or bad feeling, it could explain why she never spoke about her past.

All that day and evening, Verity thought on what Miss Parsons had said. It was true she’d never considered that she might
have
to work, though she had sometimes imagined herself as a nurse, an actress or a secretary at different times. Mother and her teachers at school had always implied further education was a waste as she would just marry and have children. Verity actually liked the idea of working; she’d often thought that daughters who stayed at home until they married must be terribly bored all day. But
she didn’t fancy the idea of being a maid, not even if it got her away from home.

Maids worked very long hours, they were at the mercy of their mistress and other more senior staff, and she certainly wouldn’t like to empty chamber pots for aristocratic people too lazy to walk down a corridor to a lavatory. She knew maids did have to do this, because Lily Armstrong, a girl at school who lived in a huge house in Belsize Park and had both upstairs and downstairs maids, had told her. But although Verity knew what she didn’t want to do, she didn’t know what she could do, or even what the choices were. Anyway, that was almost immaterial, as whatever she wanted to do – be it nursing, teaching or almost everything else – they wouldn’t take her on at fourteen.

Verity felt scared. Her life so far had been utterly predictable and secure. Dull, maybe, but with good food, nice surroundings and lovely clothes, she certainly couldn’t complain. Suddenly all that was gone.

It
was exactly six weeks from the day the police came to the house looking for Verity’s father, when a letter came from the solicitors. It informed her mother that, as a result of her husband embezzling company funds, her home was going to be taken. She was advised she must leave the house in Daleham Gardens within seven days or suffer the indignity of bailiffs removing her from the property. Predictably Cynthia became hysterical.

Verity read the letter and found it was worded in a sympathetic, fair manner, explaining her mother could take clothes, bedding and essential equipment for the preparation of food with her, but she was to leave everything else in place. The solicitor pointed out that while she might feel this was unfair, as she had committed no crime, the law did not allow the wife or family of a criminal to benefit from a crime.

‘How can he have done this to me?’ Cynthia wailed. ‘I may as well put my head in the gas oven and die, for there is nothing left for me in this world.’

‘But you knew it was going to happen, Mrs Wood,’ Miss Parsons said, rather sharply. She didn’t hold with hysterics. ‘And they could easily have humiliated you by sending bailiffs round here and ejecting you on to the street before you had a chance to sort out what you need. At least this way you can leave in a dignified manner.’

‘But my wedding presents, my beautiful bureaux and the Persian carpets,’ Cynthia hissed at the housekeeper, her eyes blazing. ‘You don’t know what it is to own such things, so how can you know how I feel?’

‘In my opinion the most valuable thing in this entire house is Verity,’ Miss Parsons retorted. ‘You still have her, despite the deplorable way Mr Wood treated her. Be thankful for that, can’t you?’

It was a revelation to Verity to hear such a thing said of her. And indeed to find Miss Parsons brave enough to challenge her mistress.

But her mother didn’t ever appreciate any kind of criticism, and especially not from someone she considered to be beneath her.

‘Don’t you dare speak to me in that manner!’ she raged.

‘And I won’t tolerate you speaking to me like that either,’ Miss Parsons snapped back instantly. ‘I haven’t been paid since your husband disappeared, if you remember. I could have left then too, but I stayed because I felt you needed me.’

Verity held her breath, willing her mother to apologize to the housekeeper, because if she walked out now they wouldn’t be able to cope.

There was complete silence for what seemed like minutes, the two older women staring at one another. Then finally, her mother spoke.

‘I’m sorry. I’m all at sixes and sevens just now. I am relieved you didn’t go.’

Verity exhaled gratefully.

By the second post a letter came from Aunt Hazel. Mother chose not to share her aunt’s feelings with Verity, all she
said was that they could go to Lewisham and therefore she intended to get a man to deliver the trunk of treasures there immediately.

Verity felt she’d had more than enough of her mother for one day, and had been stuck indoors for far too long. So without asking permission she picked up a cardigan and slipped out, intending to go to Camden Town to see if she could find someone who would tell her where Ruby was.

She found the Red Lion very quickly, but as she knew nothing about public houses she hadn’t realized they closed in the afternoon.

Reluctant to go home empty-handed, she walked down an alley nearby and, as she hoped, she found herself at the backyard of the public house. A plump woman with straggly brown hair was putting bottles in wooden crates.

‘You want sommat?’ she called out when she saw Verity lurking by the gate.

‘Yes, I was wondering if you knew a girl called Ruby Taylor? She told me she collected glasses here. We are friends.’

‘Yes, she did help here,’ the woman said, straightening up from filling the crates and coming over to Verity. ‘But she’s not here now.’

‘Oh dear,’ Verity sighed. ‘Has she gone to prison?’

To her surprise the woman laughed.

‘They don’t send young girls to prison, ducks, not these days. But she ’as bin sent away, and it’s the best thing that could’ve ’appened to ’er.’

‘Oh no, poor Ruby! But what do you mean it was the best thing?’

The older woman leaned back against the wall and reached into her apron pocket for some cigarettes. She lit one and inhaled deeply before replying.

‘Wiv ’er ma she never stood a chance,’ she said. ‘But a couple of years in the country wiv good people will do her a power of good. You ain’t the girl she met up with in ’Ampstead?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Verity agreed, delighted that Ruby had told someone about her, as it implied she meant something to her. ‘I really liked her too. I wanted her advice on what I should do; we’ve got some problems at home.’

The older woman smiled, revealing very badly stained teeth. ‘I don’t think Ruby would ’ave much good advice for a posh girl like you. But come on inside, I’ll make us a cup of tea and maybe I can help you. I’m Maggie Tyrell by the way. And you?’

‘Verity Wood.’ Verity shot out her hand to shake the woman’s. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs Tyrell.’

‘Just Maggie will do fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘Ruby was right about you, you are a toff.’

It was very dark inside the public house and Verity, who had never been in one before, almost gagged on the smell, which she realized must be beer and cigarettes. The back door brought them into a kind of vestibule behind the bar, and beyond that she could see lots of small tables and chairs. The walls were covered in advertising mirrors; they looked very old, as the mirror glass was speckled and tarnished.

But Maggie led her through to a small room along a narrow corridor. It was an office with piles of papers on a
desk and clutter covering almost every surface. Maggie removed a box filled with jars of pickled eggs from a chair and told Verity to sit down.

‘I put the kettle on earlier, so it must be nearly boiling now,’ she said. ‘I ’ope you don’t mind being in ’ere, but upstairs is even worse. I never get time to give it a tidy-up.’

As Maggie disappeared back up the passage, Verity looked around at the piles of paper, boxes, tins, toilet rolls and even a large hank of rope lying on the floor and wondered why they didn’t sort it all out. Her own home was so orderly, she found mess like this disturbing.

‘Nice cuppa tea,’ Maggie said as she came back with two earthenware mugs like Miss Parsons gave the gardener his tea in. ‘Now you wanted to know about our Ruby?’

Verity took the tea; it was very strong and had a few tea leaves floating on the surface, she didn’t think she’d be able to drink it. ‘Yes. I haven’t been well since the day it all happened, so I couldn’t come before.’

‘Well, it seems a copper down the nick felt sorry for ’er, on account of ’er ma. ’E got some welfare lady to the court, and what wiv me speakin’ up fer her and that copper, the welfare lady come up wiv the plan to send Ruby down to Devon.’

‘To what in Devon?’ Verity was still imagining a prison.

‘Well, it sounds like it’s sommat like a children’s ’ome. Only Ruby wrote to me when she got there and said she’s the only kid just now, cos the lady of the ’ouse is too old to cope with little ’uns. It’s by the sea, and she sounded ’appy.’

‘I could do with being sent somewhere like that myself,’ Verity blurted out without thinking.

‘You! You’ve got the life of Riley, ain’t yer?’

‘Maybe I did have, but that’s about to change,’ Verity said hesitantly.

Maggie looked at her long and hard. ‘Something bad ’appened?’ she asked. ‘You can tell me, if you want. It won’t go beyond these four walls.’

Verity had been brought up never to talk about family matters to anyone, but this rather slovenly woman had a kind face, and she’d obviously cared about Ruby – and besides, Verity had an overwhelming desire to unburden herself. So she told her about her father, about the house and that she and her mother had to go and live with her Aunt Hazel.

‘Well, well, well,’ Maggie said thoughtfully. ‘That is a pretty kettle of fish. I’m sorry for you, ducks, you are as nice as Ruby said you were. But it might be okay at your aunt’s.’

Verity shook her head. ‘She’s mean, her house is nasty and she’s always been horrid to Mother because she was jealous of her. I’ll have to go to a new school, they’ll laugh at me because I’m posh, and I’m going to hate Lewisham.’

‘Well, yer aunt won’t be jealous of yer ma no longer, and maybe the kids at school will like you, same as Ruby did, because you might be posh but you don’t show off. Lewisham is no worse than ’ere, you might even find things to like about it. You gotta look on the bright side.’

‘That isn’t easy to do,’ Verity said glumly. ‘I feel like I’m being sent out to a wilderness all alone.’

‘I bet that’s what Ruby thought too when she got sent away,’ Maggie half smiled. ‘She’s only allowed to send and
get letters from folk they approve of. I’m one, but when I ’eard from her she sounded real chirpy. So when I write back I’ll tell ’er you called round. I won’t be able to tell ’er about yer pa or nothing like that, but I can say you’ll be movin’ ’ouse. If you let me have the address once you’re settled, she’ll know that means she can find you later on, or try and get permission to write to you.’

‘You are very kind,’ Verity said. ‘I’m so glad Ruby had you in her corner.’

Maggie smiled. ‘She’s a good kid at ’eart, she only nicked stuff to live, not out of wickedness.’

Verity thought on Maggie’s words as she went home. She wondered if her father had stolen from need or just wickedness. Somehow she felt it was the latter.

‘Do you like fish, Ruby?’ Wilby asked as she unpacked some groceries that had just been delivered. ‘If you don’t, I can always make something else for you. I have ham or sausages.’

Ruby was sitting at the kitchen table having what Wilby called ‘elevenses’. This was milk and a fruit bun.

She wasn’t sure how to answer the question. It felt to her that she’d been picked up and dropped in a heavenly place where warmth, food and kind words were the order of the day. Yet put one foot wrong and she might be whisked back to the real world. This lovely lady was really called Mrs Wilberforce but she said Ruby was to call her Wilby, as it was less of a mouthful.

‘I like fish,’ Ruby said, deciding that was the best choice because it must have been bought already. ‘But then there ain’t any food I don’t like.’

‘What a joy it is to have a child with me who isn’t fussy,’ Mrs Wilberforce replied, beaming at Ruby. ‘After lunch I think we’ll walk into Torquay, so you learn to find your way around without me. Would you like that?’

‘Yes, please,’ Ruby said. She wanted to say more, about how lucky she felt to have been brought here instead of being sent to some form of institution. How much she liked this house, Wilby and the new clothes she’d been given. But every time she opened her mouth to speak she was aware of how badly she spoke, just as she was aware that she needed to learn good manners and how posh folk lived.

Yet when she had first met Wilby at the court, she’d been sure this tall, smartly dressed woman with the posh voice was going to make her into her slave. Why else would anyone take a thieving slum kid into their home?

The judge had said that he’d listened to what Maggie Tyrell, the landlady of the Red Lion, had said about Ruby, and also the arresting police officer who knew a great deal about Ruby’s home life. He’d also noted her mother wasn’t present at the court.

He went on to say that he felt Ruby would benefit greatly by being put into the care of Mrs Wilberforce at her home in Devon, and he hoped that she would behave herself there and appreciate that she’d only been given this chance because good people had spoken up for her. He stressed that if she was to get herself into trouble again, he would not be so lenient next time.

When Wilby pushed the front seat of the car forward and got Ruby to climb into the back, she saw this as a way of preventing her escaping. Even giving her some
sandwiches and an apple to eat felt like buying her trust. But it turned out to be a very long drive, and Ruby grew tired of remaining alert for a chance to escape, so she curled up on the seat, her head on a cushion left there, and fell asleep. The last thing she remembered thinking was that she’d run for it as soon as they got to this woman’s home.

It was dark when she woke, and Wilby said they were nearly there. Ruby needed to pee, and it crossed her mind she could use that as an excuse to get out of the car and run for it. But she couldn’t see a single house, and she didn’t much fancy roaming around fields in the dark without any idea of which direction to go in, and without any money.

Finally they came into a town, which Wilby said was Torquay. ‘My house is in Babbacombe just a few miles further on,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you’ll see the sea.’

Ruby was sure she was expected to be excited by that. But even though she was, she had no intention of showing it.

She said nothing when they went into the house either, even though it was almost as grand as some of the houses in Hampstead.

Wilby told her that she’d had many children staying with her over the years. She said she was getting a bit too old to run around after little ones, so now she only had children over the age of ten.

‘It can be difficult at your age to fit in at a new school,’ she went on to say. ‘So I’m going to teach you myself, at least for the time being. Now let me show you your room.’

The bedroom with two beds and lovely polished furniture was twice the size of the one room Ruby had lived in with her mother in Kentish Town. She so much wanted to
sit at the dressing table and admire herself in the triple mirror, but to do so would show some enthusiasm for both Wilby and this house. So she said nothing.

It was the bath that made her say plenty. The only bath she’d ever been in was a small tin one and she’d had to stand up in it to wash. She didn’t use that very often either, because it took at least a shilling in the gas meter to heat the water. Her mother went to the public baths every week, but she had never taken Ruby with her.

But confronted with a huge white bath filled with water, she was really scared, not just of the water but of taking her clothes off in front of Wilby. And it was clear the woman intended to be there, because she said she’d wash her hair for her.