Sins of the Father

‘I’m sorry, Alice.’

‘Sorry! What have you got to be sorry about? It’s a pleasure to see them stuffing their faces. I just wish this flaming food rationing was over with. It’s a bloody disgrace. It’s years since the war finished. Anyway, pop into the bedroom to get your things, and don’t forget the underwear. I might have another skirt–I’ll dig it out–but for now I’d best sort these two lads out.’

Emma smiled her thanks, and left Alice’s clutching her new clothes. She couldn’t help thinking that their own flat looked so bleak in comparison to Alice’s, but sat on a stool, relieved that she had enough cotton left on the reel to complete the alterations to the skirt. The fire was still partly alight, enough to heat the iron. After pressing the hem, she put the skirt on, tucking the prettier of the two blouses inside.

There was no mirror to see how she looked, but Emma felt sure she was smart enough to get a job now. It was only when putting on her shoes that a frown creased her forehead. Worn down at the heels and scuffed, she knew they spoiled the outfit, but they were the only pair she had, and would have to do.

Her heart felt lighter and excitement mounted. It was after one o’clock, but she’d walk to Clapham Junction. There were loads of shops there. Surely one of them would have a vacancy.

Emma was about to leave when the door opened, Susan walking slowly into the room.

‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?’

‘I’ve been sick and my teacher sent me home.’

Emma felt Susan’s forehead, and for once believed her. She felt hot, her skin clammy. ‘All right, love. Let’s get you into bed.’

‘You look nice, Emma. Where did you get those clothes?’

‘Alice gave them to me.’

Susan was about to speak again, but then her hand flew to her mouth as she retched. In a flash Emma rushed her over to the sink, her nose wrinkling as her sister emptied her stomach. At least, Emma thought miserably, none of her sister’s vomit had marked Alice’s clothes.

Emma bathed Susan in cool water and then put her to bed where she fell asleep almost immediately. By the time Luke and the others came home from school, she was a lot better, but still lying lethargically on the mattress.

Emma came down the ladder. ‘Susan’s in bed.

She’s been sick and was sent home from school.’

‘Serves her right,’ Luke said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When we pass the market on the way to school, she’s always scrounging stuff. She puts on a sad face, tells the stall-holders her mum’s dead, and nine times out of ten they give her an apple or something.’

‘She does what?’ Emma was horrified. ‘But an apple wouldn’t make her sick.’

‘I know, but she’s done it so often that I think the stall-holders have got wise to her. She didn’t get anything from them this morning so she tried it on with the butcher. He was just opening up, and when she pulled the stunt he shoved a pie into her hand. She stuffed it on the way to school and the greedy cow wouldn’t even give us a bite. Still, she got her comeuppance. I reckon it must have been bad.’

Emma still couldn’t believe her ears. ‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Since just after Mum died. It started when Charlie asked us how we were doing and it was obvious he felt sorry for us. He gave us an apple each and it must have given Susan the idea.’

‘I’ll give her a piece of my mind when she gets up,’ Emma said, but then heard a knock on the door. She went to answer it, her face paling when she saw the landlord.

Mr Bell was in his mid-forties, tall and thin, with a shock of dark, wiry hair. To Emma he was a toff, well spoken, well dressed, and he always carried a briefcase.

He gazed at her for a moment, his eyes puzzled, then said, ‘Is that you, Emma? I hardly recognised you. You seem to have grown up overnight.’

She felt gauche, unsure of herself and stammered, ‘My…my dad isn’t home from work yet.’

‘Didn’t he leave the rent with you?’

‘No, but he’ll be here in a couple of hours.’

The man sighed heavily. ‘Very well, I’ll be back later.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bell.’ Emma said, relieved to close the door on the man and the predatory look she had seen in his eyes.

An hour passed and when Dick came home, his eyes widened. ‘Blimey, Em, you look nice,’ he said, passing her a bag of vegetables.

‘It’s down to Alice,’ Emma told him, eyeing with appreciation the carrots, onions and potatoes. ‘There’s plenty here for another stew tomorrow. It’s really good of Charlie to give you the leftovers.’

‘They’re too soft to put out again tomorrow, and they’d only be chucked away. Anyway, don’t change the subject–why are you all dolled up like a dog’s dinner?’

‘I was going out to look for a job again but Susan was sent home from school.’ She then went on to tell him why, his disgust equalling her own.

‘Well, stone the crows,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a few words to say to that little madam.’

‘Me too,’ Emma said, relighting the fire to finish off the dinner.

Another hour passed, one in which they both gave Susan a telling-off, and then Emma looked at Dick worriedly. ‘Mr Bell is sure to be back soon and I don’t think I’ll be able to fob him off again. I hope Dad isn’t blowing his wages in the King’s Arms.’

Dick’s expression soured as he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll drag him out of there if I have to.’

As Dick made his way to the pub, he found himself thinking about his boss. Charlie Roper was the antithesis of his father, and a man he respected. Charlie had never married and, as far as Dick knew, had no family, but he had taken him under his wing, treating him almost like a son. Yes, he was a hard taskmaster, but he expected no more from anyone than he did from himself.

Charlie liked the occasional pint but, unlike Dick’s father, he knew when to stop. The man was hard-working, up at the crack of dawn every day, in all weathers, but never complained, despite the cold affecting his arthritic fingers. Charlie had fought in a war too, albeit the first one, and he’d had it rough, fighting in the trenches and telling Dick stories of rats the size of cats. Yet unlike his father, Charlie never bemoaned his fate, or used it as an excuse to drown his sorrows in drink. Dick scowled, hating his father’s weakness, determined never to follow in his footsteps.

When Dick reached the pub, he flung open the door, searching for his father through a fug of stale cigarette smoke. An old boy was pounding out a tune on a wonky piano, the melody unrecognisable to Tom, and at a couple of tables he saw men playing cards. He pushed his way forward, finding his father standing at the bar, lifting a pint of beer to his lips.

Tom’s eyes narrowed when he saw Dick, and above the babble of voices he snapped, ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

‘The landlord’s after the rent money.’

Tom’s eyes flicked to the group of men who were drinking close by. ‘Keep your bloody voice down!’ he hissed.

Dick glared at the pint glass in his father’s hand, knowing it wasn’t his first and uncaring of who might overhear. ‘Mr Bell will be back soon and wants his money.’

‘So what? He’ll get it when I’m good and ready. Just tell him to sod off.’

‘Tell him yourself.’

Tom’s lips tightened in anger. ‘Watch your mouth, son. Now bugger off or you’ll feel the back of my hand.’

‘I ain’t going anywhere unless you come with me.’

There was a titter of laughter, a man saying, ‘It sounds like your young whippersnapper’s laying down the law, Tom.’

Tom’s grip was tight on his glass. ‘That’ll be the day,’ he quipped. ‘In fact, I think I’ll take the lad home for the hiding he deserves.’ He then lifted his pint, gulping it down and slamming the empty glass on the bar before glaring at Dick and adding, ‘Right you. Home–and now!’

Emma heard footsteps on the stairs and her father’s yelling before he shoved open the door, his eyes dark with anger as he glared at Dick.

‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, kicking up like that in the pub. I didn’t know where to put my bloody face.’

‘Can you blame me? If I didn’t drag you out, the rent wouldn’t be paid–again. Mr Bell isn’t going to put up with it for much longer.’

‘I paid some of the arrears last week. Anyway, Bell’s all wind and water. He’s always threatening to chuck us out, but we’re still here, ain’t we?’

‘One of these days you’ll push him too far.’

‘I’ll handle Bell, but if you ever show me up again in my local, you’ll live to regret it.’

For a moment they eyed each other like combatants, but it was Dick who finally turned away.

For a moment Tom continued to glare at his son, but then his eyes lighted on Emma. He paled, shaking his head as though to dismiss the sight. ‘Christ, you gave me a turn. You look just like your mother. Where did you get those clothes?’

‘Alice gave them to me.’

‘Have you found a job?’

‘Not yet. Susan was sent home from school and I had to stay with her.’

‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered, flopping onto his chair. ‘You’d better find a job soon, my girl.’

Shortly after there was a tap on the door and Emma went to answer it.

‘Is your father home now?’ Mr Bell asked.

‘Yes, I’ll get him.’ But when she turned round, her father was already on his feet.

‘I’ll speak to you outside,’ he told the landlord, stepping into the hall and pulling the door closed behind them.

They heard raised voices and Dick put his fingers over his lips, pointing to the door. It hadn’t closed properly, so both of them moved to the small gap, listening to the conversation.

‘I can’t pay all the arrears today, but you’ll get the rest next week, I promise.’

‘You said that last week, and the week before. I’ve been lenient, but there are still eight weeks outstanding. Either you pay me in full now, or I’ll be forced to evict you.’

‘Have a heart, Mr Bell. Since my wife died things have been hard, but my daughter is looking for work now. As soon as the girl gets a job there’ll be more money coming in.’

‘Emma? Are you talking about Emma?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

There was silence for a moment, and then a cough. ‘What sort of work is she looking for?’

‘She’ll do anything, shop work, a factory.’

Again there was a short silence, and then Emma’s eyes rounded like saucers when Mr Bell spoke again. ‘I too have lost my wife, Mr Chambers, and since then my house lacks a woman’s touch. I’ve been considering employing someone as a cleaner-cum-housekeeper and, as Emma is looking for work, maybe she’d like the position.’

‘What sort of pay are you offering?’

‘It will depend on how many hours she works but approximately one pound ten shillings. If you’re agreeable a portion of that could be stopped each week to pay off the arrears.’

Without thought, Emma flung the door open. ‘Dad, I don’t want to be a cleaner!’

Mr Bell looked at her briefly, but then his eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Mr Chambers, if Emma isn’t prepared to work for me, I must insist that you now pay the rent in full.’

‘I haven’t got it. I can give you this week’s rent and a couple of bob off the arrears.’

‘No, that isn’t good enough.’ He then opened his briefcase, taking out a sheet of paper. ‘This is an eviction notice and states that you must vacate the premises in one week’s time.’

‘Wait, hold on. What if Emma takes the job?’

‘As I said, the arrears can be deducted from her wages. However, this doesn’t mean that I’ll allow any further to accrue. I’ll expect the current rent to be paid on time, each week, without fail.’

‘Agreed. Right, she’ll start on Monday. I’ll leave you to sort out the details with her.’ On that note Tom Chambers turned to go back inside.

Dick held the door open, saying to his father, ‘Hang on. Emma said she doesn’t want to be a cleaner.’

‘She’ll do as she’s bloody well told!’

Emma saw her brother’s face darken with anger and broke in quickly, ‘It’s all right, Dick. I don’t mind.’ In truth she hated the idea, but there was no choice. If she didn’t work for Mr Bell they’d all be out on the street.

‘Are you sure, Emma?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said, and as Dick withdrew, he left the door ajar.

She turned to face Mr Bell and for a moment his eyes roamed over her body. There was something in his expression that made her shiver, but then he spoke brusquely.

‘Right, Emma. As I said, I need someone to look after my house. Here’s my address, and I’ll expect you on Monday morning at eight.’

She looked at the piece of paper he handed her. ‘Er…I’m not sure where this is.’

‘My house faces Clapham Common, and isn’t far from St Barnabas’ Church.’

Emma swallowed. It was a long walk. Nervously she asked, ‘Could I start at nine? I…I’d like to get the children off to school before I leave.’

For a moment his lips tightened, but then he nodded. ‘Very well. I’m not a hard man, or a hard employer. I’m sure we’ll jog along nicely.’

He reached out to pat her arm, and Emma shivered again at his touch.

‘Goodbye, my dear. I’ll see you on Monday.’

He smiled again, this time warmly, and Emma relaxed a little. Maybe it would be all right. She could cope with housework. After all, she’d had plenty of practice.

‘I start on Monday,’ she told her father as she went back inside.

‘Good. Get the dinner dished up and then I’m off out again.’

As Emma spooned the stew onto tin plates, she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least the family were safe from eviction. Then another thought struck her and she smiled. Once the arrears were paid off she could leave. After all, what would there be to stop her?

Chapter Five

On Monday morning Emma was frantically trying to get the children off to school. Susan was unusually compliant, but after the telling-off Emma and Dick had given her, it wasn’t surprising.

‘Come on, off you go,’ Emma urged. ‘I won’t be home until after five o’clock, so do as Luke tells you, and don’t forget your little jobs.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to them,’ Luke said, and Emma smiled gratefully, again thankful that he was such a sensible and intelligent boy. As they all trooped out she watched them for a moment. Surely, even after Mr Bell taking some of the arrears out of her wages, she’d have enough left to start buying them all some decent clothes. She cast a quick glance around the room, making sure the fire was doused, and then five minutes after the children, she left for her first day at work. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but even so, she felt a spark of excitement to be out of the dismal flat and facing something new, albeit someone else’s housework.

The June day was warm and Emma’s feet were already aching from the long walk as she approached Mr Bell’s street, but she couldn’t fail to notice the difference. The air here was cleaner than at home, with no taint of smoke from factory chimneys. The houses she walked alongside were large, immaculate, smacking of wealth, and on the opposite side was Clapham Common, a wide expanse of green grass and trees.

She passed St Barnabas’ Church and soon after was standing outside Mr Bell’s house. Like the neighbouring ones, it was huge and four storeys high. Emma took in the lovely, mellow red-brick façade and, her heart jumping with nerves, she tentatively walked down a drive lined with huge rhododendron bushes. There were bay windows on the ground floor, and a wide stone staircase leading to the front door. For a moment she halted, floundering. Should she use the front entrance or look for one at the side? Unsure, she decided on the front, hand trembling as she rang the bell.

When the door opened, Mr Bell stood there, a wide smile on his face. ‘You found it then,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, shocked that he had answered the door himself. Surely in a house this size there were other staff? Mr Bell gestured her inside. Her eyes rounded as she followed him into a large hall with a sweeping, carpet-covered staircase. They almost popped out when she was led into a huge, plush room with wonderful views across the Common. The furniture looked sumptuous, large sofas with mahogany side tables, these covered with a thin layer of dust. Huge gilt-framed paintings lined the walls, and inlaid cabinets held beautiful porcelain figurines.

‘This is the drawing room,’ Mr Bell said, indicating that she should sit down, waiting until Emma perched nervously on the edge of a gilt and brocade chair. ‘I’m afraid I have to go out on business this morning,’ he continued, ‘so I’ll leave you to find your way around. You’ll find all the cleaning materials you need in a room just off the kitchen, and a Hoover.’

‘A…a Hoover?’

‘It’s a machine for vacuuming the rugs.’

Emma swallowed deeply, in awe of Mr Bell and his beautiful house. Her voice quavered as she spoke. ‘Is…is there anyone to show me how to use it?’

For a moment he looked nonplussed. ‘Well, no, I’m afraid you’ll be on your own. I did have a daily, but she proved to be untrustworthy. When my wife, Isabelle, was alive, we kept a couple of staff, but when she died I let them go.’

Emma knew that, nervous or not, she would have to speak up now or she never would. ‘Mr Bell, this is a huge house and I don’t see how I can manage to clean it on my own.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Emma. On this floor you will only have to clean this room, along with the dining room and my study. Oh, and of course the kitchen, which is at the back of the house, with a laundry room and scullery. On the first floor I use the front bedroom and bathroom, but the rest of the bedrooms are closed and can be left.’

Emma’s shoulders slumped with relief, but then she sat up again as Mr Bell continued.

‘As for the Hoover, I’m sure you’ll work it out. I think you just plug it into the wall, and off it goes.’ Mr Bell glanced at the ornate clock on the huge mantelpiece. ‘I’m sorry, but I really must go now. I should be back before you leave but, just in case, you’d better have these.’

Emma took the large keys that he proffered, and as he hurriedly left, she relaxed, a small smile playing around her lips. If he was out all day, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Rising to her feet, she went to explore the house.

When Emma found the kitchen she gasped at the size and range of equipment. It looked unused, everything covered in a thin layer of dust. She soon found a room with mops, buckets, dusters, brushes, and what she could only imagine was the Hoover. She eyed it warily, gulping at the thought of trying to use it. With a small shake of her head she grabbed a duster and polish, deciding as she went back to the drawing room to leave the funny-looking machine where it was for the time being.

To Emma’s surprise, she found herself humming as she cleaned the room. She polished the furniture, bringing the dark wood to a beautiful shine, and found that she actually enjoyed the task. As well as the ornaments in cabinets, there were others on tables and ledges, which she moved carefully, dusting them with trepidation before gently replacing them on the surfaces.

When Emma came to the bookcase, she looked at it in awe, her eyes flicking over the titles. Oh, how wonderful to have so many lovely books to read. Reverently taking one out, she was unable to resist opening it, her eyes scanning the first page. Oh, Mr Bell was so lucky, his rooms full of so many treasures that she could only ever dream of owning.

At last the room was done, and though it looked lovely, Emma knew that the effect was spoiled by the huge, dirty rug and dusty parquet flooring that showed around the edge. Maybe she could take the rug outside and beat the dirt out of it? Yet to do that she would have to move the furniture and roll the rug up, an impossible task on her own. With a sigh Emma knew she had no choice. She fetched the Hoover, finding it cumbersome to carry, her hands shaking as she found a socket and plugged it in. The noise of the engine when it started up almost made her bolt, but then she got the hang of it, after a few minutes finding it simpler than she’d anticipated. In no time Emma was switching it off, and after she’d mopped the parquet flooring, the room was finished.

Oh, everything looked lovely, a picture, but it had taken her hours. There was still the dining room, hall, stairs, kitchen and study on this floor, but Emma’s throat was parched. With hair lank and wet with perspiration, she went to the kitchen, gulping down a couple of cups of water. For a moment she sat at the kitchen table, her eyes roaming the room. Every surface was grimy; the racks of saucepans dull from lack of use. Like the drawing room, this would take many hours to clean.

Emma fidgeted. She needed the toilet, and had seen one just off the room where the cleaning materials were kept. It was a bit damp, musty, and unused, probably for staff use, she guessed, seeing a small window festooned with cobwebs. She heaved a sigh. It needed a good clean, but it would have to wait.

The hall and stairs didn’t take as long as the drawing room, but it was now almost two o’clock. Emma was on her knees, on the last stair, when she heard a key in the lock, her eyes flying to the front door.

‘Emma, you look so hot,’ Horace Bell said as he stepped inside. ‘I can see you’ve been busy, but I really think you should have a rest now.’

Surprised by the concern in his voice, she stammered, ‘I…I’m all right, but I’m afraid I’ve only managed to clean the drawing room and hall.’

‘Emma, I don’t expect you to do everything in one day. Go through to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. I think we could both do with one. You’ll find some biscuits in the pantry too.’

Emma didn’t need telling twice and hurried away. She placed the kettle on the stove to boil, and then searched the cupboards, disconcerted by the large array of china. Which set should she use? Taking out the simplest cup she could find for herself, she laid a tray with a gold-rimmed set, and side plate for Mr Bell. The tea and biscuits were harder to find, but eventually she found the walk-in pantry, her jaw dropping when she saw the contents. There were glass jars filled with preserved fruit and jams, along with tins of meat, fish and soups. There wasn’t any fresh produce, but Emma found a tin of milk along with another tin of shortcake biscuits.

So much food! With rationing, how had Mr Bell obtained it all? When he spoke from behind, she almost jumped out of her skin.

‘Have you found everything you need, Emma?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Well, except I haven’t found any sugar.’

‘Sir! You don’t have to call me sir. I think you’ll find sugar in there,’ he said, pointing to an earthenware jar on one of the shelves. ‘I don’t take sugar in my tea, but you are welcome to use it.’ His eyes then roamed the shelves and he heaved a sigh. ‘We have several fruit trees in the garden and when Isabelle was alive our cook preserved the fruit and made jam. Nowadays I dine out, and they haven’t been touched. If you can make use of anything, Emma, take what you want.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘Yes, really, and please, I told you not to call me sir. There’s a lot of tinned produce, far too much for me, most of it coming from tenants in lieu of rent. Despite the war years and rationing, as you can see, my wife hoarded food.’

Emma felt as though she had died and gone to heaven. She grinned with delight. Bottled fruit, jam and meat, real meat, even if tinned. ‘Oh, thank you, sir, I…I mean, Mr Bell.’

‘It’s only going to waste so there’s no need to thank me. When the tea is made, bring it through to the drawing room.’ On that note he left the kitchen.

Emma was still smiling as she brewed the tea. Mr Bell’s kindness was so unexpected, and to think she’d been nervous about working for him! She arranged some biscuits on his plate, carrying the tray through and laying it on a side table.

‘Well, Emma, I must say you’ve done wonders with this room.’

She smiled with pleasure. ‘Thank you. I’ll have my tea and then start on the kitchen.’