Ironmonger's Daughter (37 page)

The sun’s rays lit the room and Connie stirred. She realised she had slept late, and she was about to leap out of bed when she remembered it was Sunday morning. The sound of the street children carried up to the quiet room and she heard the vendor’s cry as he pushed his barrow laden with shrimps and winkles into the turning. Connie turned over and stretched. She had promised to go down to the Bartletts’ flat for breakfast that morning and the clock showed fifteen minutes past nine. She got up and washed at the scullery tap. The cold water took the remaining tiredness away and it was not long before she was tapping on the door of the flat below. As soon as Molly opened the door the appetising smell of bacon frying reached her. The front-room table was laid for breakfast and a low fire burnt in the grate against the morning chill.

Helen came into the room smiling. ‘Take yerself a seat, Con. Breakfast won’t be long.’

Connie sat down at the table facing her cousin. ‘’Ow are yer, Molly?’

Her flat round face broke into a cheerful smile. ‘Guess what, Con?’

‘What?’

‘I’m gettin’ promotion! I’ve bin put on inspections an’ it means five shillin’s a week extra.’

‘That’s smashin’! What’s inspections?’

Connie’s cousin laid her short thick hands on the blue checked tablecloth. ‘Well yer see, when the resistors an’ condensers are soldered in place I’ve gotta check ’em wiv a special meter. It’s a responsible job but our forelady finks I’m pretty reliable.’

‘So yer are,’ Connie said with emphasis. ‘Yer’ll be forelady next!’

Helen came in carrying a large dish full of fried rashers which she shared out on the four plates. Matthew followed her in with a flat tray. ‘Make way fer the chef,’ he grinned, sliding a ladle under a lightly fried egg.

Soon the four were sitting around the table to a breakfast of eggs, bacon and tomatoes. Helen held the loaf of bread against her as she neatly cut thick slices and passed them around. Matthew opened a packet of margarine and spread a thick coating on his slice.

‘What d’yer fink of our Molly gettin’ a rise, Con?’ he said, cutting his slice in half and dipping one piece into his soft egg.

‘Molly jus’ told me, Matt. ’Ow much ’as she gotta give up out o’ the rise, four an’ sixpence?’ Connie joked.

Helen laughed. ‘We’ve told ’er ter start a savin’s book. If she saves all ’er rise fer a year she could end up bein’ a moneylender.’

Matthew got up and took the large china teapot from the hearth. As he filled the cups Connie looked around at the family. They were relaxed and happy. Helen had a little colour in her cheeks and Molly looked cheerful. Matthew joked a little as he poured the tea and when he spilled a little on the clean tablecloth Helen tapped his hand playfully. Connie felt happy for them. They had experienced some bad times and now things seemed to be looking up.

After the meal was finished Connie helped her aunt to do the washing up while Matthew and Molly took a morning stroll to the paper shop. While they were alone Connie took the opportunity to show Helen the document.

‘I was cleaning the picture and it slipped out of me ’ands,’ she lied, aware of her aunt’s superstitious nature. ‘That’s ’ow I found it.’

Helen wiped her hands on a towel and put on her glasses. ‘Well I’ll be!’ she exclaimed. ‘Fancy ole Fran bein’ a witness.’

Connie stared at Helen. ‘Why Fran Collins, Aunt?’

‘Ole Fran was the one who ’eld yer by yer ankles an’ smacked the breath o’ life inter yer, Connie. ’Alf the muvvers in this street ’ad Fran Collins ter fank fer deliverin’ their kids. I can understand why yer mum picked ’er ter be a witness.’

‘Wasn’t that the lady they ’ad the big funeral for, Aunt’Elen?’

‘That’s right, luv. When ole Fran was buried all the street turned out. She was a lovely lady. Most of the women round’ere didn’t ’ave two pennies ter rub tergevver. They couldn’t afford a doctor so they called on ole Fran Collins. She knew’er job too. They wasn’t always easy births. Lots o’ mums worked till the last minute an’ sometimes the ’eavy liftin’ they done got the baby’s cord twisted. Ole Fran ’andled plenty o’ them cases. People paid ’er, but most often she ’ad ter wait months fer the money. Fran never complained though, and when she passed away everybody lined the street ter pay their respects. Quite a few of those mourners still owed ’er a few bob, I’ll be bound.’

 

Towards the end of August ports and airfields in Southern England were being bombed, and wireless bulletins reported scattered raids on Midland towns. German bombers even reached the eastern suburbs of London and the Bermondsey folk held their breath. Everyone knew how important the docks and wharves were, as well as the rail networks and freight yards. They were all obvious targets and people knew that it was only a matter of time before the onslaught began. Anti-aircraft guns were positioned in Southwark Park and on suitable open spaces near the River Thames. Cars and vans were commandeered and adapted for carrying stretchers, and all first-aid and wardens’ posts were on a constant alert. The summer sky over the centre of London remained peaceful and, high above dockland, barrage balloons floated gently in the breeze at the end of their steel hawsers. In the look-out posts, nervous eyes stared downriver for the first signs of aircraft, but only seagulls drifted and wheeled above the moving cranes and turning tides.

It was the last day of August, a warm Saturday afternoon, when Robert drove into Ironmonger Street. The kids were playing on the cobblestones and the street folk stood by their front doors chatting to their neighbours. Connie heard the throaty roar of the engine and the toot of the horn and she hurried to the open window. Robert answered her wave as he sat behind the wheel, surrounded by curious, toffee-smeared children who stared at the controls and giggled as he revved the noisy engine. The street folk nodded knowingly and watched as the young woman ran from the buildings and stepped in beside the uniformed figure. With a toot-toot of the horn to scatter the inquisitive children he swung the car around and roared off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke rising in the little backstreet.

Connie sat beside him resting her hand on his leg, her golden hair flying in the wind as the car accelerated along the Old Kent Road. Her eyes watered and she ducked her head below the tilted windscreen as Robert glanced at her, a boyish grin breaking out on his handsome features.

‘What do you think of it?’ Robert shouted above the noise of the engine, patting the dashboard with his gloved hand.

Her answer was swept away in the wind as the open-top sports car gathered speed up Blackheath Hill. Houses and factories were gradually left behind and fields were beginning to spread out around them. Connie held her hand up to her hair and occasionally glanced at Robert as he manipulated the gears and roared past slower-moving vehicles. She could see the small piece of cloth in blue and white diagonal stripes which was pinned above his breast pocket.

‘Is that the medal you told me about in your last letter?’ she asked loudly.

‘It’s the clasp. I’ve got the actual medal in a box,’ he shouted with a grin.

They had been travelling for some time when he suddenly swung the car on to a side road and slowed down through the village.

‘Another fifteen minutes should do it,’ he said, squeezing her hand in his as they left the sleepy hamlet behind.

It had all happened so quickly. There had been no news of him for more than three weeks and, with daily newspapers carrying stories of air battles and mounting losses she had feared for his safety. Then the letter had arrived, and now they were together again once more. Connie felt apprehensive at the prospect of meeting his parents again after such a long time. Robert had said in his letter that they had planned some sort of celebration, but he went on to say that he would make his excuses as soon as possible and maybe they would be able to spend the night in one of the nearby inns. Connie guessed that the family feud must have healed and she wondered how she would feel on seeing Claudette again, and how she would be received.

The sun was setting and the sky was gloriously aflame as they drove into Kelstowe. The red brick house was just as she remembered it and, when they climbed from the car feeling stiff and wind-swept, the Armitages came out quickly to greet them. Peter shook Robert’s hand vigorously and Claudette hugged her son tightly, much to his embarrassment.

Peter kissed Connie on the cheek and took her arm. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you, Connie,’ he said kindly. ‘I can see you’re taking very good care of our son.’

Claudette had composed herself and she glanced briefly at the Morgan girl. ‘Let’s go inside,’ she said. ‘There are a few people who want to congratulate our hero.’

‘Good Lord!’ Robert gasped, looking helplessly at Connie.

People were crowding around, eager to pump his hand. A chorus of ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ rang out and he gazed sheepishly at the sea of faces. Connie tried to stay at his elbow as well-wishers slapped him on the back. Drinks were flowing and she found herself holding a glass of sparkling champagne.

Major Clarence Marchant made a beeline for her and held out his hand. ‘Hello, my dear. So you’re the pretty little thing young Robbie has kept from us, what?’

Connie smiled at the portly major and looked around desperately to where Robert was standing.

‘Drink up, me dear. That’s Bollinger ’29. Plenty more where that came from,’ the major said, brushing his military moustache with a forefinger.

Connie found the bubbles made her want to sneeze as she took a sip of her drink and over the rim of the glass she saw a tall, thin young woman eyeing her intently. The girl wore tortoiseshell spectacles and her hair was pulled back tightly, which gave her a rather severe appearance. The major was eyeing her too as she drained her glass.

‘Let me get you a refill,’ he slurred.

As Clarence Marchant walked away unsteadily the bespectacled young woman came over. ‘I’m Eunice Marchant,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Isn’t it marvellous about Robert. Five victories in just two days. Everyone is so proud of him.’

Connie smiled. ‘So am I.’

Eunice stared over her glasses at the Morgan girl. ‘Robert and I have known each other for a long time. I suppose he’s told you about me?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Connie replied, looking in Robert’s direction.

Eunice’s face clouded and she pushed her spectacles up on to the bridge of her nose. ‘We were almost engaged at one time, you know.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Connie said, smiling gently and holding out her ring finger. ‘We got engaged last Christmas.’

Eunice looked disapprovingly at the diamond ring. ‘You’ll have to watch him, dear. Robert can be a terrible flirt, as most of the girls around here will tell you.’

‘I’ll watch ’im, Eunice. I’ll watch ’im real close,’ Connie said with a hint of malice now in her tone.

The Waverley sisters came over and introduced themselves and they were followed by the Reverend Jones, while Eunice drifted away to find her hero. Connie became immersed in a constant stream of chatter and her eyes sought out Robert.

A tall, stooping figure came over to her, his white hair sprouting out from a large head. His eyes were dark and brooding, and his clothes seemed shabby beside the rest of the guests. He took her arm without introduction and smiled at the Waverley sisters. ‘Now then Beatrice, Gwen, we mustn’t tire our lovely guest, must we? Come, my dear. Let me show you the garden. I can assure you it is a wonderful place,’ he said with mock pomp.

Connie looked at him in surprise and let herself be guided out through the French windows into the cool of the evening.

‘Just smell those roses,’ he said to her. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous? And the jasmine. It’s at its best this time of day.’ He waved his arm in a grand gesture toward the flowerbeds.

The tall stranger was still holding on to her arm and she glanced at him with some puzzlement. He caught her look and smiled, his dark eyes lighting up. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I should have introduced myself before stealing you away from that unmitigating rabble. My name is Spanswick. Leo Spanswick. I’m the local physician, family counsellor and father confessor to these people. I saw you looking rather bewildered and, if I may say so, rather frightened, so I took it upon myself to become your knight in shining armour. Let us walk on, my child, unless you wish to go back and rejoin our friends?’

Connie smiled sweetly at him. She felt strangely at ease in his company and, as they strolled along the path which led between the well-tended lawns, he took out a large briar and tapped it against his thigh. ‘I hear you and Robert are engaged, Connie. You don’t mind me calling you Connie, do you?’

‘That’s me name,’ she said lightly. ‘And yes, we are engaged.’

‘Good for you. By the way, you know you’ve upset the apple cart somewhat. I noticed one or two pairs of eyes cast enviously in your direction.’

‘Yer mean Eunice? She did mention about ’er an’ Robert.’

‘Her and Robert nothing, child. You’ve no doubt heard of marriages made in heaven? Well in this instance the Marchants and Claudette Armitage were conspirators in what I would say was an attempt to create a boardroom marriage.’

Connie looked at him with a puzzled frown, and he chuckled. ‘Money, my dear, money. The amalgamation of two business concerns through the manipulation of young love. Isn’t it terrible?’

Connie smiled and he touched the side of his nose in a confidential gesture as he guided her towards a garden seat at the end of the path. They sat down and she watched as he pulled out a grease-stained tobacco pouch and flipped the stud catch with his thumbnail.

‘Yer seem ter know a lot about Robert’s family, and the Marchants, doctor – should I call yer doctor?’ she asked.

‘Leo will do fine, my dear. Yes, I consider myself to be pretty well informed, but then I brought young Robert into the world and, after all, I am the village doctor. It’s hard to keep any secrets out of the endless rounds of gossip in our tight little community,’ he said with a wry smile.