Sins of the Father (18 page)

Emma took a sip of sherry and then picked up her book, but for once was unable to bury herself in the story. Horace had taken her reading in hand now, choosing books for her, and though she
found most far too heavy-going, there were others that enthralled her.

At the moment she was reading Daniel Defoe, enjoying
Robinson Crusoe
, but as she once again tried to concentrate, her thoughts went back to Horace.

Emma’s expression saddened. Despite trying to console herself, she couldn’t shift her resentment. She took another sip of sherry, glad that as the alcohol took effect it fogged her mind, making her loneliness easier to bear. A loneliness that was emphasised when Dick had called to see her that morning. Worried that Horace would come home, she hadn’t allowed him to stay long.

Poor Dick. Her heart had gone out to him. Charlie had died and her brother was devastated. It was good that the other costermongers were looking out for him, even running the stall whilst he arranged the old man’s funeral, which was to be held on Monday. Emma frowned, determined now that no matter what Horace said, she wasn’t going to leave her brother to face it on his own.

When Horace came home at two o’clock, despite the sherry, Emma was still ill prepared to talk to him. He seemed mellow and it gave her courage, so taking a deep breath, she carefully broached the subject of Charlie’s funeral, ending with, ‘So you see, I may be out for some time on Monday.’

He raised his brow, saying dismissively, ‘No, Emma, I don’t think your attendance is necessary.’

Horace’s tone was intimidating, but Emma persisted. ‘I feel that Dick needs my support.’

‘For goodness’ sake, he’s not a child.’

‘He’s hardly a man.’

‘Emma, I don’t like your tone. You are my wife now and I don’t think it’s appropriate that you attend this…this costermonger’s funeral. All the riffraff of the market will be there and it’s hardly a fitting place for you to be seen.’

If she had been asking for anything on her own behalf, Emma would have meekly backed down, but this wasn’t for her, it was for Dick, and she found herself rearing to her feet angrily. ‘I don’t care about being seen. I know most of the people who’ll be there, and I want to support my brother.’

‘I have a position to maintain and I have said no. Now please sit down and let us finish our lunch in peace.’

‘A…a position to maintain. What position?’ Now that she had started, Emma found that all her buried emotions rose to the surface and, hands on hips, she glared at her husband. ‘You seem to forget that you lied to me, Horace, and not only to me, but to my father too. You gave us to understand that you owned property–that you were our landlord–but after our marriage revealed
that you’re just an agent. Everything you told us was a ruse, a ruse to get me to marry you.’

‘Emma, that’s enough!’

‘Oh, no, it isn’t nearly enough. You seem to think that I’m a fool, but I’m not. I know you’re ashamed of my family, so much so that you didn’t want them at our wedding. You even made me think that I was to blame for the mix-up with the dates, but instead it was something you planned all along.’

Horace gulped in air as though to compose himself, then said in a measured manner, ‘That’s rubbish, and I refuse to talk to you whilst you’re acting like a fishwife. When you’re prepared to act with the decorum my first wife had, we will discuss this again.’

His sanctimonious attitude was the final straw for Emma. She had been trying, striving to improve herself, and thought she was succeeding, but now it was as if the scales had been lifted from her eyes and she was seeing Horace for the lying snob that he was. She had been intimidated by him, and in truth, in awe of him, allowing him to dictate when she went out and who she saw. He wanted to change her, to mould her into a carbon copy of his first wife, but she would no longer be manipulated.

Maybe it was the sherry she’d drunk earlier that gave her the courage–she didn’t know or care–
but her voice rose. ‘Just who do you think you are? You’re just an agent, that’s all, and I refuse to be changed into the same type of woman as your first wife.’

‘Turn you into Isabelle! God, you must be joking. She even hated taking my name, hated being Mrs Isabelle Bell.’

‘No, I’m not joking. You’re always throwing her in my face, yet I don’t enjoy her privileges. After all, she was pampered, spoiled, and even had her own room.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m not blind. It didn’t take me long to work out that you slept separately, something you categorically won’t allow now.’

‘My first wife was a lady, and a separate room was expected.’

‘Oh, I see. She was a lady whereas I’m hardly more than a servant and can expect nothing better. I clean, I cook, I do the laundry, yet I wear her clothes to do these chores. I have to learn to talk like her, to act with her decorum, but also share your bed at night. Have I got it right, Horace?’

‘Emma, you are going too far. Stop this now or I will be so angry that I’ll throw your father out of his flat.’

‘Do it then!’ Emma screamed. ‘I’m sick of you holding that over my head. All right, throw him
out. My father is working regularly now and it won’t be the end of the world. They’ll find somewhere else to live, and in fact I think I’ll encourage them to do just that. What will you be able to hold over me then? Nothing!’

Instead of anger, Emma was surprised when Horace sighed heavily, his face showing dismay. ‘Please, Emma, stop this. I won’t throw your father out, and as for my first wife, I’m not trying to turn you into Isabelle. I don’t know what brought this on, but nothing could be further from the truth. Look, if all this came about because I said you can’t attend a funeral, then I can only apologise. If it means so much to you, by all means go.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Now please, get that ferocious scowl off your face and let’s finish this meal in peace.’

Her anger drained, Emma flopped onto a chair. She had done it. She had stood her ground and was still amazed that Horace had backed down. He smiled hesitantly across at her, but she kept her face straight, finding at the same time that all fear of the man had left her. She had one small victory under her belt now, but as far as she was concerned it would be the first of many.

Horace was in shock and struggling to hide his feelings. He’d made a terrible mistake in marrying
Emma, something he had found out almost from the start. He’d craved a virgin, expecting her to be perfect for his needs, but what a joke that had turned out to be. Sexually, Emma was a nightmare. She was cold, unresponsive, and she lay like a stone just waiting for it to be over. At first he hadn’t been worried. After all, as a virgin she was inexperienced, but as the months had gone by, nothing had changed. He had been incensed with anger, making love to her both day and night in an attempt to arouse some passion, but to no avail.

There had been some compensation in her obedient behaviour. She’d been compliant in his attempts to correct her diction, and he’d made sure that she kept visits to her family down to a minimum. In fact she’d obeyed his every word. Until now! God, she had raged at him like a madwoman, and that was something he couldn’t cope with.

Horace rubbed a hand across his face, hating his weakness. He was fine when dealing with men, ensuring that many of his tenants feared him. Their wives were a different matter. As long as they stayed soft, pleading for more time to pay the rent, it was all right. However, if one ever harangued him he would walk away, making sure that in future he dealt only with the husband.

He knew that when it came to women he was
easily intimidated but, raised by two aunts, he was haunted by his childhood. A childhood of harsh discipline, and frequent beatings, a childhood home he had run away from as soon as he could. Horace’s shoulders straightened. He’d done well for himself. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d fought his way up, wheeling and conniving until he’d hit the jackpot. His marriage to Isabelle had ensured his future…Now he frowned. By God he had suffered for it. She had been a demanding woman, a spiteful woman, controlling their finances and refusing him access to her bank account.

Horace glanced up, looked at Emma and shuddered. How was it possible that overnight she had changed from a meek and biddable wife to one who screamed at him like a banshee?

He’d been a complete and utter fool. Emma had been so beautiful, so innocent, that he’d become obsessed with the idea of marrying her. Huh, and look what it had got him. He should have been content with a mistress. At least they did as they were told, and as long as he paid them, were happy to be whatever he wanted them to be.

Horace pushed his plate away and abruptly stood up. He had to get out of here, to breathe fresh air and clear his head.

‘Emma, I’m going out again and won’t be back until this evening.’

He saw the relief on her face, and at one time
would have punished her by taking her body, but not now. Now all he wanted was to be away from her.

‘’Bye, Horace,’ she said, adding with firmness in her voice, ‘It’s just as well that you’ll be out for the rest of the day. I’m going to Balham to see Polly and the children.’

He just nodded, afraid now to argue. Without a backward glance, he hurried out of the house.

As Horace left the house, Emma felt a surge of relief. She had done it. She had stood up to him and from now on, things were going to change.

There was something else that was lying heavily on her mind, something she had been trying to deny and she urgently needed to see Polly. She had been trying to ignore the signs in her body and, fearing the worst, had diverted her mind by concentrating on Dick. But it could no longer be ignored and maybe Polly would be able to help.

It didn’t take Emma long to get ready. Feeling a new sense of freedom, she was soon on her way to Balham. She wanted to see Polly alone, before the kids came home from school. As it was a long walk, she decided to take the train, making her way to the underground station.

Emma’s strides were lengthy, the January day freezing and, glancing across at the Common, she
saw that the grass was white with frost. She shivered, stuffing her hands into her pockets and cursing the fact that she had left the house without her gloves.

Paying for her ticket, she almost ran down the escalator, relieved to find a train pulling into the platform. The journey was short, and only a little while later she was walking along Polly’s tree-lined road, a far cry from the mean street where they had lived in Battersea.

‘My goodness, Emma, what a surprise. Is something wrong?’ Polly cried when she opened the door.

‘No, I just need to talk to you.’

‘Talk to me. What about?’

Emma’s brow creased. Polly looked nervous, tense. ‘Well, if you’ll let me over the doorstep I’ll tell you.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Come on in.’ Polly hurriedly filled the kettle. ‘Get that coat off, Emma, and sit down.’

Emma sat close to the fire, appreciating its warmth, wondering why Polly was acting so skittishly. For a moment she gazed at the dancing flames, pushing her question to one side whilst forming her words. She waited until Polly had given her a cup of tea, and as the woman sat opposite, Emma blurted, ‘Polly, can I ask you something?’

Polly’s cup rattled in the saucer. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

‘Er…do you know if there’s any way to get rid of a baby?’

Polly seemed to slump with relief. ‘So that’s why you’ve come to see me. Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?’

‘No such luck,’ Emma quickly lied. ‘I…I’m asking for a friend. Are you all right, Polly? You seem a bit tense.’

‘I’m fine, it’s just a headache. Anyway, back to your problem, but as I’ve never had any kids of my own, I doubt I can help.’

‘Polly, please, my friend is desperate. There must be something she can do.’

‘Why? Ain’t she married?’

Emma grasped the lie. ‘No, and her father will kill her if he finds out.’

‘Poor girl, but to be honest all I’ve heard about getting rid of babies is gossip. If she ain’t too far gone, some say you can sit in a hot bath and drink a bottle of gin, but if you ask me it sounds like an old wives’ tale.’

‘She’s less than three months pregnant.’

‘Oh, really?’ Polly said, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. ‘Well, if the gin doesn’t work, I know there are some who’ve had backstreet abortions. Mind you, I wouldn’t recommend that. One I heard of used a knitting needle on a woman and she died.’

Emma shuddered, but what Polly said made sense. If her own mother could have easily got rid of babies, surely she wouldn’t have had eight, the ninth one dying with her at birth? ‘So you don’t think there’s anything my friend can do?’

‘Not that I know of. Can’t she get the father to marry her?’

‘No, he…he’s already married.’

‘The soppy cow. She’ll have to own up then, but I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes when she tells her father.’

‘Me neither,’ Emma said, and then, wanting to change the subject, added, ‘I’m going to Charlie’s funeral on Monday.’

‘Are you, love? That’s nice,’ Polly said, all trace of her early nervousness gone. ‘Dick popped round to see us last night, and the poor lad looked ever so upset. Still, he’s done all right for himself. He’s got Charlie’s stall, and one of the traders is taking on the pitch for him. Not bad for a lad of not yet sixteen.’

‘Yes, I know, and he’s even managed to rent Charlie’s little house. I just hope he can cope financially.’

‘He’ll be fine. That stall’s a goldmine. You’re dad’s right envious too.’

Emma’s lip curled. ‘Yes, I’m sure he is, but the stall belongs to Dick and I hope Dad doesn’t try to muscle in.’

‘He told Dick that he’d be willing to give him a hand, and I don’t see what’s wrong with that. You’re too down on your dad and I don’t understand why. He’s a good man and a hard worker. If you ask me Dick should accept his offer. It ain’t much fun working on building sites, and your dad’s back is playing him up. He’d be better off working the stall.’

Emma was in no mood to argue with Polly. The woman was still wearing rose-tinted glasses, but she was determined to have a word with Dick. If her father got involved with the stall, he’d take all the profits, and she wasn’t going to stand for that. She stood up, and with her own problem weighing on her mind, she put on her coat, forcing a smile.