Two Penn'orth of Sky (8 page)

‘Oh, darling, these gentlemen are – are from the
Queen of the South
. They’ve come to tell me . . . to tell me . . .’

But it was some time before Diana managed to sort out, from her mother’s garbled words, spoken between sobs, that her father would not be coming home that day, would never come home again.

*

For many weeks, life had been a nightmare for Emmy. At first, she had hardly been able to take in that Peter was dead, though one of the officers who had come to tell her the sad news had been careful to explain what had happened.

‘The men were disembarking from the ship when a scuffle broke out on the dockside. Mr Wesley hurried down the gangway to break up the fight, but he must have caught his foot in a coil of rope, because before he even reached the men, he went down. I myself was present, and was the first person to reach him.’ He had looked earnestly at Emmy, his own face pale. ‘It seemed such a slight fall, but his head had hit one of the metal bollards to which the ship was moored, and he had broken his neck. Death was instantaneous . . . I assure you, Mrs Wesley, that he could not have suffered; it was all so quick.’

‘Then . . . then it was an accident? No one attacked him, or anything like that?’ Emmy had said dully.

‘Oh yes, it was an accident,’ the captain had agreed. ‘Mr Wesley was a very popular member of the crew. Both his fellow officers and the men are devastated, and anxious to do anything they can to help you at this time.’

Emmy had thanked them but all she had really wanted, at that moment, was to be left alone to come to terms with a tragedy greater than she had ever experienced before.

In a way, it had helped that there was so much to do, so many problems to sort out. The funeral had had to be delayed because of the inquest, which Emmy had attended, hearing the coroner’s verdict of accidental death with considerable relief. Despite the captain’s assurance, she had been worried that people might assume her husband had been killed
in a dockside brawl, and she knew how this would have distressed Peter and, of course, his family. Even Diana might have been touched by it, but as it was, the child could still think of her father as a wonderful person, a hero figure.

When Emmy began to plan the funeral, she was told that the ship’s owners would hire a church hall and a firm of caterers and would undertake to pay all expenses. Emmy was doubly grateful since she was already beginning to realise that her financial position was precarious. Peter had had a good job and a good salary but, naturally, this ceased upon his death and the pension she would receive would not even pay the rent of the house in Lancaster Avenue, let alone such things as Lucy’s wages, or bills for coal, gas and food.

Because the ship’s company was in port, however, the funeral would be well attended and, of course, Emmy knew she would have the support of old friends and neighbours. She had notified the Wesleys and invited them to stay in Lancaster Avenue, but, as they had done for her wedding, they booked themselves into the Adelphi Hotel, saying briefly that this would be less trouble for everyone.

The day of the funeral arrived and, as they had promised, the whole ship’s company attended and virtually everyone from Nightingale Court – Beryl had seen to that. Her neighbours in Lancaster Avenue had sent flowers and expressed their condolences but the young Wesleys had not mixed much with their elderly neighbours and only Captain Marriott, the retired naval officer from the end house, attended the funeral.

Mr and Mrs Wesley came up though, to Emmy’s distress, neither Ralph nor his wife attended. Peter’s
parents showed no outward sign of grief. They kept very much to themselves, and when she asked them to come back to the house, they refused to do so.

‘We want to be back in Southampton before nightfall,’ Mr Wesley said gruffly, when Emmy approached them outside the church. ‘We shall return to the hotel, pick up our suitcases, and leave at once.’

Emmy must have looked shocked, as well as stricken, for her mother-in-law patted her arm and drew her aside. ‘My dear, I know you must think us strange parents because I’m sure Peter never explained the deep rift between himself and the rest of the family,’ she said. ‘I can’t explain now, it’s too long a story; I’ll write, when I get home. But I must tell you that I was pleased with Peter’s marriage and thought it might well be the making of him.’

Emmy’s eyes flashed. ‘Peter didn’t need marriage to make him a wonderful person; he was that before I met him,’ she said. ‘But surely you could stay on for another day or two? I – I don’t need to tell you that I’m in desperate straits, with no one to help or advise me. My mother died three years ago, and—’

Mr Wesley had been standing back, appearing not to listen to the conversation, but at these words he stepped forward, his face reddening angrily. ‘If you’re expecting financial help from us, then you’ll be disappointed,’ he said thickly. ‘My younger son and his wife have cost us a fortune and almost bankrupted the business. Twelve months ago we had to sell Epsley Manor. We wrote to Peter, asking him to come back into the business so that we might try to turn things round. He replied, eventually, saying that such a move would be fatal to his career and that he was sure we would sort things out. We’ve not done so. Besides, we gave Peter a large sum when he joined
the Merchant Navy and a pretty handsome wedding present. You’ve not done badly out of us, young lady.’

‘We – we spent the money on furniture, Mr Wesley, we didn’t fritter it away,’ Emmy said numbly. ‘I wrote and told you at the time, I know I did.’

Her mother-in-law patted her arm. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’m afraid Peter’s brother and his wife are continuing to spend as though we were still rich; they will be the ruin of us all, which is why we can’t help you. But you’re a very beautiful young woman; you will doubtless marry again, and if I may venture to advise you . . .’

But Emmy had heard enough. The very thought of marrying again was dreadful to her, and that his mother should suggest it, with Peter’s funeral service scarcely over, was like a slap in the face. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes and turned away to hide them. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered. ‘We’ll manage, Diana and me. We’ll be all right.’

Behind her, she heard Mrs Wesley start to speak, heard Mr Wesley’s harsh voice cut the words off short, but she did not turn back towards them. Instead, she went over to where the Fishers stood, with Diana, very tiny and pale in her blacks, standing beside them. It would take a good deal of Beryl’s kindness and common sense to wipe out the nastiness of her recent conversation with the Wesleys, but she knew that Beryl would give whatever comfort she could.

And presently, climbing into the funeral car, she saw the Wesleys driving off in their long black limousine and was conscious of considerable relief. After what had occurred, meeting them again would have been painful, to say the least.

*

Beryl was a tower of strength. She came round to Lancaster Avenue to help Emmy try to sort out her financial position, assuming that her friend would at least be able to manage, and was shocked to discover that, apart from the pension, there was no money. ‘Because Peter was so young – only thirty-six – the widow’s pension I shall receive will be very small,’ Emmy told her, as the two of them sat thankfully down to share a pot of tea in the kitchen. ‘And neither Peter nor myself ever thought about saving for a rainy day, because there always seemed to be money. But there’s hardly any, Beryl. He – he talked about his family being rich and I always assumed he had some sort of private income, but I was wrong. If I’d known we had nothing behind us, I could easily have put away a bit of money every month towards Diana’s schooling, if nothing else. Peter was always generous; he never asked me to go careful this month, or anything like that, and now, of course, it’s all down to me. I can’t stay in this house, Diana will have to go to a council school and I suppose I’ll have to start looking for a job, because we certainly couldn’t live on the pension.’ She turned to her friend, unable to keep the sudden anxiety out of her voice. ‘Oh, Beryl, I wish to God I was still living in the court; at least I’d have friends round me instead of strangers.’

Beryl smiled at her. ‘There are worse places than Nightingale Court,’ she agreed, ‘so why not come back, queen? The Vaughans moved out of your mum’s old house months back an’ no one’s took it since. It’s in a pretty bad state, but nothin’ you an’ me an’ Wally couldn’t put right with a big bucket of whitewash, a tin of scouring powder and a bottle of Jeyes fluid.’

Emmy stared at her friend, almost unable to believe
her ears. ‘And – and d’you think Mr Freeman would let me rent it?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Oh, Beryl, if I were back in Nightingale Court, I’d manage somehow, I know I would.’

‘You’ll manage, wherever you’re livin’,’ Beryl said bluntly. ‘You’d have to, queen, but as you say, you’ll be much better off in the court. Either meself or one of the other women will keep an eye on Diana for you, so’s you can get a decent job, and you know how we stick together when times is hard, so you needn’t fear you’d not have support. The fact is, when they know you’re lookin’ for work, everyone will keep an eye open and let you know when jobs are comin’ vacant. As for Mr Freeman, he’ll be so glad to see No. 2 bringin’ in money again that he’d let it to Sweeney Todd if he came knockin’.’

Emmy jumped to her feet. For the first time since the dreadful news of Peter’s death, she felt a surge of hope. ‘I’ll go round there at once, if you don’t mind, queen,’ she said excitedly. ‘Oh, Beryl, just to know I had somewhere to go to would be good, but to go back to Nightingale Court is best of all! And wait till Diana hears. She’ll be thrilled to bits.’

‘I’m glad you feel like that, though mebbe Peter would have been happier if you tried somewhere else first,’ Beryl was beginning, but Emmy cut her short.

‘Peter didn’t know you at all,’ she said, taking her coat down from its peg by the back door. ‘If he had, he’d be glad I was going back.’ She glanced across at the clock above the kitchen mantel. ‘If we hurry, we can get to Mr Freeman’s house and back here well before Lucy and Diana are home from the park.’

By the time Emmy entered the house again that afternoon, it was all arranged. She had paid Mr
Freeman a month’s rent in advance and would move out of the Lancaster Avenue house just as soon as No. 2 Nightingale Court had been cleaned up. As Beryl had warned her, the old place was in a disgraceful state and would need a good deal more than whitewash and Jeyes fluid to put it to rights, but even the prospect of the hard work ahead of her did not damp Emmy’s spirits. Besides, she had had a rare piece of luck as she had emerged from Raymond Street on to Vauxhall Road. A tall young officer, whose face seemed vaguely familiar, had given her a charming smile, taken off his cap, and reminded her of his name.

‘Carl Johansson, Mrs Wesley, Second Officer from SS
Queen of the South
– I was best man at your wedding.’ The young man spoke with a slight foreign accent.

At the first sight of the uniform, Emmy’s heart had missed a beat, before recollection flooded in. She tried to smile but guessed it was a poor effort. ‘Oh . . . Mr Johansson, yes, of course I remember you. You . . . you were wonderfully helpful over my husband’s funeral. So . . . so you’re in port again?’

‘That’s right. In fact, I’ve just come from Lancaster Avenue. The maid told me I might find you in Nightingale Court. We were wondering, the other fellows and myself, if there was anything we could do.’ A flush mounted to his cheeks, but he went doggedly on. ‘We realise you’ll be all right for money, because Mr Wesley came from a rich family and no doubt his private income will be paid to you, but if there’s anything—’

Emmy had interrupted quickly. She could not let this young man believe her to be comfortably off when the opposite was true. ‘I’m afraid Peter didn’t
have a private income and we both spent rather lavishly.’ Pride was all very well but if Peter’s shipmates were keen to help her and Diana, then they had better know the truth. ‘Peter’s family had pretty well cast him off and have made it plain they’re not interested in Diana or myself. All I shall have will be a very small widow’s pension and whatever money I can get when I sell up the contents of the house in Lancaster Avenue.’

The young man’s fair brows had shot up. He looked astonished and also shocked. ‘Sell up the contents of your beautiful house?’ he echoed. ‘But why on earth . . . surely there must be
some
money . . . have you actually spoken to his parents? I know they quarrelled with Peter some years back but surely they would help you now?’

‘Yes, I did speak to them, after the funeral, and they made it painfully clear that they were not interested. Peter’s mama advised me to marry again,’ Emmy had said, rather bitterly. ‘From what Mrs Wesley told me, I think Peter’s younger brother is proving expensive; he has an extravagant wife, I gather. I thought they might have helped us for Diana’s sake, but it seems I was wrong.’ She watched as a deep crease appeared on Carl Johansson’s brow.

‘I see. I am sorry,’ he had replied. ‘I had no right to jump to conclusions but – but the offer of help still stands, Mrs Wesley, if there’s anything we can do . . . anything at all.’

Emmy had looked up into his concerned face and made up her mind. She was going to need all the help she could get. ‘We’re moving out of Lancaster Avenue, Mr Johansson, because we can’t afford the rent, and I’m selling the furniture, because I’ve taken a very much smaller house in Nightingale Court. It’s
– it’s in an awful state; the last tenants ripped a good few of the floorboards up, the walls need replastering and the stairs are a death trap, but if you fellers from the old
Queen
really would help . . . oh, I can’t tell you what a weight off my mind that would be.’

‘We’re in port for a week while essential repairs are carried out, so I’ll get a working party together when I go back to the ship. We’ll meet you in Nightingale Court in a couple of days and you can tell us what you want done. We can help with the move itself once we’ve done whatever is necessary in your new home. And don’t worry about the cost of materials,’ he added hastily, as Emmy opened her mouth to protest. ‘We’ll have a whip-round, and there’s always timber, paint, and stuff like that in the ship’s stores, which no one will miss.’