Opal Plumstead (11 page)

Cassie was singing as she came through the front door. She had a large paper package in her arms, cuddling it as if it were a baby.

‘Hello, Mother, hello, sis. Wait till you see my new gown! It’s heliotrope – oh, so sophisticated! Wait till I put it on. It’s perhaps a little too décolleté, but I can always fashion a piece of lace to act as a modesty panel – though do you know what? Madame Alouette herself said I had a beautiful figure and I should be proud to show it off.’ Cassie giggled coyly, and then at last took in our expressions.

‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? Why
can’t
I have lovely clothes now that we have money. Where’s Father? I’m sure he’ll let me keep the new gown.’

‘You must take it back tomorrow and say you’re not allowed to have it,’ said Mother. ‘God knows how we’re going to pay for the other dresses. Oh, Cassie!’ This time she couldn’t keep back her tears.

‘
What’s happened?
’ said Cassie. ‘Aren’t Father’s publishers going to cough up after all?’

‘He was pretending all the time. Lord knows why I believed him. I knew his writing nonsense was a waste of time. If only he’d been man enough to admit it! But what does he do?
What does he do?
’ Mother repeated histrionically, gulping for breath. ‘Tell her!’ she gasped, pointing at me.

‘Father stole from the shipping office. I think he made out a cheque to himself and paid it into his own bank,’ I said.

‘Father did?’ said Cassie. ‘Our father
stole
?’ She suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Father!’ she repeated. ‘Who would ever have thought it!
Father!
’

‘It’s no laughing matter, you little fool,’ said Mother.

Cassie was shocked into seriousness. Mother had never spoken to her so harshly in all her life.

‘Your father’s been arrested. He didn’t even have the sense to make a good job of it. He’s got no defence whatsoever. He’s admitted everything. He’ll go to prison.’

‘But what will we do?’ said Cassie, tears brimming now. ‘What will become of us? How will I ever find a decent man if I have a jailbird for a father?’

Suddenly I’d had enough. Cassie could be responsible for Mother now. I ran up to my room and actually barricaded myself in, with my heavy washstand tight against the door, determined that they wouldn’t get at me. Cassie came and knocked a while later, telling me that supper was on the table, but I said I didn’t want any. Then Mother herself came knocking, telling me to stop this childish sulking and come down at once.

‘I’ve gone to bed, Mother,’ I lied. ‘I have a sick headache with the shock.’

They both left me alone. I lay fully clothed on top of my bedclothes and tried desperately to send thought messages to Father, telling him I loved him and wished I could be with him to comfort him. Then I cried until I really
did
give myself a headache.

I fell asleep at some point, and then woke in the middle of the night, my heart pounding, scarcely able to breathe. My clothes were all tight and twisted about me, but even when I’d torn them off and put on my nightgown, I still felt constricted.

Father, Father, Father!
I thought, through the rest of that terrible long night.

MOTHER DIDN’T GET
up to make breakfast the next morning. She lay on her bed. Cassie stayed in her room and I stayed in mine, though I could tell from the rustle of bedclothes and creakings of the beds that we were all awake.

Cassie gave in first. She knocked on my door until I pushed the washstand aside. She came trailing into my room in her nightgown, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

‘Come on, you. It doesn’t look as if Mother’s going to stir. Oh Lordy, what a palaver.’ She sat down on my bed. I stayed curled in a tight ball. ‘Try not to worry, sis,’ she said softly, patting my shoulder, her long hair tickling my face.

I struggled up and we gave each other a quick fierce hug. Then Cassie padded off to get dressed. I put on my ugly school uniform – but when Cassie had trailed off to work, sadly clutching the heliotrope dress, I went back to my own room and undressed down to my drawers.

I was sure that Mother was still awake, although she’d refused to respond to our knocking and had ignored the cup of tea Cassie had brought her. I tiptoed into Cassie’s room. It smelled just like her – of rose soap and Parma violet powder and soft girl body. I wanted to curl up in her warm bed and lull myself to sleep, but instead I looked through the clothes hanging on a rail behind a flowery curtain. Cassie was an untidy girl by nature and she’d gone out without making her bed and left her dressing table smeared with powder, but her clothes were in immaculate order, each dress sponged at the armpits, every hem sewn neatly into place.

I selected the smallest dress, sage green with a little beige lace trimming at the neck, and a tight skirt. It still hung loosely on me, though my knees were uncomfortably hobbled. The dress gaped at the bust line and drooped at the waist, but I covered it with a large scarf that I tried to arrange in an artful manner. It wouldn’t tie neatly, and I looked like a clumsily wrapped parcel. Still, I wasn’t trying to look stylish, only several years older.

I wound up my hair into a perilous knot on top of my head, and then stuck one of Cassie’s fancy hats over it, securing it with six or seven long pins. I didn’t dare move my head too much, fearful that the pins would scrape my head. Even though I looked a fearful scarecrow, I didn’t seem like a schoolgirl any more, and that was all that mattered.

I crept out of the house and set off for the court. I was there before the big wooden doors were opened. I sat on the wall outside, and gradually more people joined me. I had no idea whether they were family too, come to support their loved ones, or the idly curious. One sly-faced man in a trilby hat clutched a notebook, which made me suspect that he was a reporter. I glared at him ferociously.

Then, just before ten, a series of grim covered carriages drew up, and pairs of policemen emerged, each dragging a prisoner between them. I gazed in horror at all these pale bound men. I couldn’t see Father at first – and then I realized that he was the last man, looking so old and frail I scarcely recognized him.

‘Good luck, Father! Take heart!’ I called.

I’m not sure if he heard me. He didn’t look round, though the rest of the crowd stared dreadfully. I felt myself flushing, but I stood as tall as I could, as if I couldn’t be prouder of my dear father.

The prisoners were all escorted to a door at the side of the court, which presumably led to the prison cells. Then the main doors were opened by a solemn lackey dressed all in black, and we all marched forward.

I tried to keep close to two other women, so that we might enter in a bunch, not individually observed. But my plans were all in vain. As soon as I started up the steps, the man in black frowned at me, and when I tried to go through the doors he took hold of my arm.

‘You can’t go through,’ he said gruffly.

‘Let me go, if you please,’ I said. ‘I need to attend the court proceedings. It is a matter of great importance.’

‘No children allowed in the courts,’ he said.

‘I am not a child,’ I said, pretending outrage.

‘No silly young ladies playing games, either. Run along home now.’

‘You are very impertinent,’ I said, trying to keep my dignity. ‘I may be petite, but I am eighteen years old.’

‘Yes, and I’m the cat’s grandmother,’ he said. ‘Off these steps or I’ll fetch a policeman.’

I had to do as I was told. I couldn’t go home, though. I stayed perched on the wall, keeping a lonely vigil. I was cold without a proper coat, and very hungry. I hadn’t stopped for breakfast, which was a big mistake. After an hour or so a gentleman came back through the wooden doors, a document case under his arm.

I jumped up. ‘Please, sir, can you tell me if the case of Ernest Plumstead has already been heard?’ I begged.

‘Ernest who? I don’t know. I’m not the clerk of the court.’

‘Could you possibly go and ask for me, sir? They won’t let me in and I so badly need to know,’ I said. I tried to make my voice soft and I opened my eyes wide to gaze at him imploringly. If I’d been Cassie, I’m sure he’d have gone to enquire like a shot, but I was only me, dressed up like a scarecrow. He backed away from me, shaking his head.

I pleaded, but he walked off, almost running in his haste to get away from me. I sat on and on. When I was cramped with sitting, I walked the length of the wall and back, pacing like a caged tiger. I thought of Father and wondered how he would cope with being locked in a cell, perhaps alongside fellow prisoners. He already looked a broken man after just one night in a police station. A prison sentence would surely kill him.

I prayed for a miracle to happen. Perhaps the people in the court would see that Father was a gentleman and a scholar and decide to let him off with a warning, provided he paid the money back.
I
would certainly do such a thing. Surely they might have equal compassion . . . They must realize that Father wasn’t a true criminal, even though he had committed a criminal act. He hadn’t been thinking straight. He was exhausted and despairing, simply trying to make his family happy. He probably wrote the wretched cheque in a moment’s madness, scarcely realizing what he was doing.

I was acting like my father’s defence lawyer as I paced the pavement, convincing myself until I was ready to declare Father entirely innocent. Indeed, I found myself muttering, ‘
Innocent, innocent, innocent
,’ so that passers-by glanced at me nervously and hurried on. Then, suddenly, a hand grasped my shoulder, and a voice gasped, ‘Cassie! Oh, Cassie!’

It was Mother, dressed in her Sunday best, though her old fox-fur stole was thrown on askew. The sad little fox’s head nudged her neck as if about to take a tentative bite.

I stared at her and she stared at me, her face contorting. ‘Opal?’ she said. ‘What are you doing here – and in your sister’s clothes?’

‘I wanted to see Father in court, but they won’t let me in,’ I said.

‘They’ll let
me
in,’ said Mother.

‘Oh yes, please go!’ I said. ‘Oh, Mother, I’m so glad you came.’

‘Of course I had to come,’ she said. ‘I have to find out what’s going to happen.’ She reached out and squeezed my hand. ‘Let us both take courage.’

Then she went up the steps to the doors, and I saw that in her haste she was still wearing her old felt slippers with worn-down heels. Yet somehow she still managed to cut a dignified figure, draggled fox fur and all.

Mother was inside all morning. At one o’clock she came out with a little group of people, and I seized hold of her to hear the news.

‘The court is adjourned for lunch. Your father’s case hasn’t even been heard yet,’ she said.

She took me to a little eating house round the corner, and with the few coins in her purse bought us cups of tea and a meat pie to share. I was starving hungry, but as soon as I took a mouthful of hot fatty meat I felt my stomach turn over. I had to beg the woman behind the counter for permission to use her facilities. I rushed out the back to an unpleasant privy and was very sick. I returned so white and shaky that the woman took pity on me, and gave me another cup of tea and a slice of dry toast on the house. I managed to keep the toast down, and Mother spooned several sugars into my tea to give me extra energy.

‘You should go home now, Opal. There’s no point hanging about outside the court. I’ll come straight back when I have news,’ she said.

But I couldn’t go home. I kept my lonely vigil by the wall all afternoon. At last Mother came out, looking very pale.

‘They didn’t let him go?’ I asked desperately.

‘No, he’s been remanded. I asked the policeman where they were taking him, and it’s at Whitechurch – miles and miles away,’ she said.

‘How long will he be there?’

‘It could be months,’ Mother said hopelessly. ‘And he hasn’t a chance of getting off because he’s still pleading guilty. And another thing – all the money in his account is being frozen. I checked at the bank before coming here. We are destitute, Opal. I have been driving myself demented all day long, trying to work out what to do.’ She looked at me, and a little of her animosity crept back. ‘You think you’re so clever, Opal. Do
you
have any suggestions?’

I shook my head, so worn out and despairing that I couldn’t stop the tears trickling down my cheeks.

‘Now, now, aren’t we both done with crying?’ Mother said, and we trailed home together.

I’d have sooner trekked through the darkest Congo jungle than walk down our street. There were faces at windows, people pointing, children sniggering – worse than any poisonous snake or snarling lion. Mrs Liversedge had been very busy. When we passed her door, she came rushing out all a-quiver, her long nose twitching.

‘How did it go in court, dears?’ she said, her voice oily with false sympathy. ‘Did he get sent down for long, then? How are you going to manage, eh?’

Mother’s hand tightened on my arm. ‘Take no notice of her,’ she muttered to me.

I squeezed her back and we walked faster, but Mrs Liversedge’s voice followed us all the way to our front door. We could even hear her faintly when we were inside. Mother leaned against the wall for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Go and take off your sister’s clothes. Hang them up neatly now, or you’ll be in trouble.’