Sins of the Father

Chapter Six

Over three weeks had passed, and Emma was thinly slicing a large tin of Spam. She served it with fried potatoes mashed with cabbage, and as they all ate with relish she knew that afterwards they would be having the last of the preserved fruit. It had been wonderful to bring the food home, but the stock in Mr Bell’s pantry was growing low.

She would have to break it to them, but dreaded it. If her father let her keep more of her wages, she could buy extra food, but he insisted that she stumped up all but a few pence. Mr Bell had been true to his word, taking only five shillings each week towards the rent arrears, but gone too was her dream of fitting them all out with new clothes.

Emma had planned to leave once the arrears were paid off, but she had grown to love her job. With her employer out most of the day, she would fantasise that the house was hers–that instead of occupying a cramped and spartan attic, she lived in luxury. The upstairs bathroom had been a revelation, with hot water flowing from the taps. Many times she’d been tempted to take a bath, but the thought of Mr Bell arriving home unexpectedly held her back. Lately she was getting to grips with the laundry cupboard, finding that when she went to get clean sheets for her employer’s bed, most of the linen had yellowed with lack of use. It had been a bit of a job to master the washing boiler and the mangle, but she had done it. Now each day fresh white sheets billowed like sails at sea on the washing line in the back garden.

As the weeks had passed she gained in confidence, and now when taking a break, she would sneak a book from the shelf, unable to believe that there were so many to choose from. They were all classics, but reading Charles Dickens had become a passion. At the moment she was engrossed in Bleak House and sometimes had to force herself to return to the chores. There had been times when she’d been tempted to sneak a book home, but knew that in the attic there’d be little privacy to read it, and anyway, she was fearful that her siblings would get hold of it, ruining the beautiful leather covers.

Nowadays, when Emma dusted the beautiful ornaments, or tackled the laundry or ironing, she did it pretending that she was a lady, the bubble only bursting when Mr Bell came home. Emma had now seen how the other half lived and realised the stark contrasts when she returned to the attic rooms. After Mr Bell’s spacious house, the cramped conditions were emphasised, along with the smell of poverty. It bred in her a feeling of discontent, a yearning for something better, not just for herself, but for her brothers and sisters too.

There was a babble of voices and, seeing that everyone had finished their dinner, Emma spooned the last of the pears from the jar, saying as she handed them out, ‘Make the most of them. There aren’t any more.’

‘But I thought you said Mr Bell had loads of stuff in the pantry?’ Dick said.

‘He did, but with feeding seven of us, it’s soon gone down. All the fruit has been used, and though there are still some tins of Spam and corned beef, they won’t last long. It’s been lovely having this extra food, but we’ll be back to vegetable stew soon.’

‘Charlie is giving me a rise next week, and if Dad puts his hand in his pocket, maybe we could have meat regularly.’

‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Emma said bitterly, ‘but it’s good of Charlie to give you a rise.’

‘Yeah, he’s a great bloke.’

‘Dad isn’t home yet so can I have his pears?’ Susan asked eagerly.

‘I want some too,’ Ann said.

Now that James and Archie were living downstairs, Ann was the youngest. Like Emma and Bella, she was pretty, but in a less obvious way. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes, but unlike Susan, she was a loving child and the least trouble. Emma smiled at her, saying firmly, ‘Neither of you is having Dad’s share. He’ll be hungry when he comes in.’

‘Huh, I doubt that. I expect his belly will be full of ale as usual,’ Dick snapped.

‘It ain’t fair,’ Susan grumbled. ‘Bella will get round him as usual, and he’ll give her some of his pears. He always does.’

Emma closed her eyes against her sister’s words, but knew they were true. Bella’s was a doll-like prettiness. She had already learned to manipulate her father, becoming his favourite. Dick and Luke could be wheedled round too, the males of the family unable to resist her delicate looks. Emma rose to her feet, took the last two halves of pear from the jar and cut them into pieces before sharing them out.

‘There, are you satisfied?’ she said impatiently.

Dick ate his, then said quietly, ‘Emma, can you ask Mr Bell how much is left owing on the arrears?’

‘He only discusses the rent with Dad so it’s unlikely he’ll tell me. Anyway, why do you want to know?’

‘I’ve heard about a job in the café. The pay isn’t bad, and you’d like the old girl who runs it. Mrs Bright is a good sort and has a heart of gold. If the arrears are nearly paid, you could go for it.’

‘It sounds all right, but to be honest, I don’t mind working for Mr Bell. I never dreamed I’d enjoy cleaning, but the house is lovely and with most of the rooms closed up it isn’t hard work.’

‘From what you’ve told me about the place, the man must be worth a mint. Rumour has it that he owns lots of property, raking in rent from all of them.’ Dick’s eyes flicked around the room. ‘If this place is anything to go by he’s tight on repairs too.’

‘I don’t think he’s poor, that’s for sure, but I don’t understand why he got rid of the staff when his wife died. He doesn’t own a car either.’

‘Well, going by the state of this place, I reckon he’s a skinflint and doesn’t like spending his money.’

‘I doubt that, especially as he’s been so generous with the food from his pantry.’ Emma rose tiredly to her feet. ‘I’d best get this lot cleared up.’

‘We’ll do it,’ Luke said.

Susan pulled a face, her voice a whine. ‘Bella can help him. I’ve got a tummy ache.’

‘That excuse is wearing a bit thin,’ Dick told her. ‘If you all muck in it’ll be done in no time.’

Dick’s voice was firm, and sulkily Susan began to help the others. Emma knew they did their best when they came home from school, but there were still jobs they were unable to tackle. The washing and ironing for starters, and if truth be known, with only the evenings to do these chores, Emma felt worn out trying to keep up with it all. Not only that, the school summer holidays would be starting soon and she dreaded leaving the children alone all day.

‘Why the long face, Emma?’ Dick asked.

‘I’m worried about the kids when they break up from school.’

‘They aren’t babies, they’ll be all right. Mind you, it wouldn’t hurt to have a word with them,’ Dick said. He called Luke and Susan to his side. ‘Whilst Emma and I are at work during the holidays, Luke will be in charge.’

‘But—’

‘No buts, Susan. Luke is the eldest, and he’ll be leaving school next year, which makes him almost a man.’

‘He ain’t a man. He’s a cissy.’

‘I ain’t a cissy!’

‘That’s enough!’ Dick’s voice was loud. ‘Luke will be in charge and, as before, Emma will have a word with Alice. You can go to her if you have any problems, but I don’t want you running to her to sort out your silly spats. Now is that clear?’

They both nodded. Dick turned his attention to Bella and Ann. He went over the same things with them, only adding, ‘I’m not far away at the market if you need me, but woe betide any of you if you get into trouble.’

Emma hadn’t interrupted while Dick laid down the law. She knew that her brother was right, and Luke was old enough to be left in charge, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss her worries.

The evening passed with the occasional squabble, but they were all in bed when Emma heard her father staggering up the ladder.

His head cleared the top, his voice loud. ‘Emma, where’s my bloody dinner?’

‘I kept it hot for as long as possible. You’ll find a few slices of Spam on a plate, but the potatoes will be cold.’

He muttered something, his head disappearing again, and Emma sighed with relief. She felt Susan stir beside her, but thankfully she didn’t wake up, and as Emma closed her eyes against the sound of her father crashing about downstairs, her thoughts focused instead on Mr Bell’s lovely house.

When Emma was leaving for work the next morning, Liz Dunston was waiting for her on the ground floor. With the largest flat and a small back garden, she thought herself a cut above the rest of them. Her husband was a milkman, up at the crack of dawn, and she had one son, who, at fifteen years old was a butcher’s apprentice.

The tall, statuesque woman folded her arms across her chest, her voice high with indignation. ‘Emma, the racket your father made when he came home last night woke my husband again. I’ve tried talking to him, but he ignores me, and when I came out to complain he swore at me.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dunston.’

Her face softened a little. ‘I’m not blaming you, girl, but this can’t go on. If it doesn’t stop I’ll be forced to complain to the landlord.’

‘Oh, please, don’t do that.’

‘He’s on his last chance, Emma. Have a word with him, will you?’

Emma murmured yes, but knew her father wouldn’t take any notice of her. God, she’d be mortified if Mrs Dunston complained to Mr Bell. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face-and what if he gave her the sack?

Emma was still worrying when she reached Clapham Common. Letting herself into the house, she was surprised to see her employer in the hall.

‘Hello, Emma,’ he said, smiling pleasantly. ‘Why the long face?’

‘It’s nothing, sir.’

‘Now then, how many times have I told you not to call me sir? I’ll be off in a minute or two, but I noticed that you cleaned my study yesterday. Did you move any papers from my desk?’

‘Oh, no, Mr Bell, I didn’t touch your desk.’

‘Blast, I can’t find them and need them urgently. I’ll have another look.’ He turned on his heels, heading for his study.

Emma went to get cleaning materials. As was her routine, she started with the drawing room. It looked lovely as she walked in, a ray of sun shining through the bay window and alighting on a crystal decanter. The cut glass sparkled in a rainbow of colours, and for a moment she stood mesmerised, but then, giving herself a mental shake, she started work. Alongside the sofa there was a small side table, and on it some papers. Emma glanced at the top sheet, saw it was a letter from a firm of solicitors, and picking them up, took them across to the study.

‘Are these the papers you’re looking for, Mr Bell?’

He came to her side, his eyes lighting up. ‘Well done, Emma,’ he cried and, putting an arm around her shoulder, he briefly hugged her.

Emma immediately stiffened, pulling away as she said, ‘They…they were in the drawing room.’

‘Of course, I was reading through them last night and forgot to return them to the study. Well done for finding them, my dear. Now I must get a move on or I’ll be late for my appointment and as I may not be back today, I’ll leave it to you to lock up as usual.’

Emma nodded, confused by Mr Bell’s familiarity. He had hugged her, called her ‘my dear’, and she wondered what had come over him. Perhaps he was just pleased about the papers, but she left the study relieved that he was going to be out for the rest of the day.

Horace Bell was smiling as he headed for his solicitor’s office. Tom Chambers was playing into his hands, just as he had hoped, the rent unpaid as usual. The more he saw of Emma, the more he desired her, and was growing impatient. Nevertheless, he would have to let the arrears accrue for another few weeks before putting his plan into action.

He passed St Barnabas’ Church, his thoughts still on Emma. It would work, he was sure of it. As before, he was determined that things would be different this time, and in Emma he had found the perfect choice. She was young, meek, innocent, and could be easily moulded.

Horace was on time for his appointment, and after going over the finer points of the deal with his solicitor, he signed the documents, passing over the cheque. Another three houses were now in his hands, and they were in good condition. He’d divide them into flats as usual, and as they were in a better part of Battersea, they’d command more rent.

The next stop was the bank, and after that he’d go round to see Joyce. It had been nearly a week since he’d last seen her, and his loins stirred. Yet he knew when he made love to his mistress, in his imagination, the woman beneath him would be Emma Chambers.

Chapter Seven

Horace walked down the dimly lit road on a Saturday night, determination in his stride. He knew that Tom Chambers had been trying to avoid him, and when he reached the man’s local, he flung open the door. The dark and gloomy public bar was crowded, men in caps standing at the counter, others sitting at rickety tables, ashtrays overflowing in front of them.

Smoke tainted the air, and as heads turned conversation ceased when Horace walked towards the bar. He knew that in his dark suit, collar and tie, he stood out like a sore thumb, but many of these men were his tenants and he ignored them.

‘Hello, Tom,’ he said as the buzz of conversation started up again.

Tom swung round, immediately defensive. ‘If you’re looking for your rent, I’ll pay you next Friday.’

‘Yes, you said that last week, and the week before. In fact you’re now a further six weeks in arrears.’

Tom hunched over the bar, his voice a hiss: ‘I got laid off again, but I’ve got a job on another site, starting on Monday.’

‘That’s not good enough.’

‘Look, you’ve got Emma working for you and can keep more of her wages.’

‘The rent isn’t Emma’s responsibility, it’s yours, and I’m not prepared to let the arrears mount any further. Either you pay up, or you’ll be evicted.’

‘Don’t say that, Mr Bell. Surely you can give me a bit more time?’

‘No, your time is up.’

‘You can’t put us on the streets. What about the kids?’

He looked at Tom’s pint of ale, unable to hide his disgust. ‘You seem to have money for drink.’

‘I’m only having one. Surely you don’t begrudge me that?’

‘When you owe me a substantial amount of money, I do.’

Tom glanced along the bar, obviously embarrassed that other customers could hear their conversation. He pointed to an empty table in the corner. ‘Can we sit down?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘What can I get you, sir?’ the landlord asked Horace.

‘Just give me a glass of port.’

‘What about you, Tom?’ the publican asked.

Horace ignored Tom’s glance in his direction. If the man wanted another, he could pay for it himself.

‘Not for me,’ Tom said, picking up his half-empty glass. They walked to the table, taking opposite seats.

With a furtive look around, Tom’s voice was little more than a whisper: ‘Please, give me a bit more time. I’ll give you a few bob now and surely we can come to some arrangement about the rest?’

‘We already had an arrangement, one you have failed to keep.’ Horace’s tone hardened. ‘You and I both know that you won’t pay the outstanding rent, and I’m not prepared to give you any further leeway.’

‘Mr Bell, have a heart. I know that things have gone to pot since my wife died, but I’m finding my feet again now. Can’t we work something out?’

This was the opening Horace needed, and, now softening his voice, he said sadly, ‘As you know, I too lost my wife. It’s been nearly three years now.’

‘Then you know what it’s like,’ Tom said eagerly.

‘I still managed to keep my affairs in order,’ Horace snapped. He then sighed heavily. ‘However, I do know how it feels to lose one’s partner in life. In fact, I’ve been considering taking another wife.’

‘I don’t blame you, mate. I’ve got my eye on a nice little widow too.’

‘Have you?’ Horace said, interested despite himself.

‘Yeah, but it’s only been eight months since my wife died and tongues round here would wag something rotten if I took her out.’

‘Rubbish! You’re still a young man and entitled to some comfort.’

‘That’s true, but it ain’t just me. The kids could do with a new mum too. They’re running wild these days and need taking in hand.’

‘Well then, ignore the wagging tongues. Mind you, I have a problem with my choice too. You see, she’s very young.’

‘Blimey, what’s wrong with that?’

‘I’d be a lot older than her.’

‘Leave it out, Mr Bell. You’re still in your prime.’

As he had hoped, Horace had been able to lead the conversation to this point and now he plunged in, ‘I’m glad to hear you say that. You see, I’m interested in Emma.’

‘Emma! What, my Emma?’

Horace ignored the shock on the man’s face. ‘Yes, your daughter, and in fact, if you could persuade her to marry me, well—’

‘Marry you?’ Tom’s voice was high as he broke in. ‘Bloody hell, man, she’s only seventeen! Have you talked to her about this?’

‘No, you see I thought I should discuss it with you first. Anyway, you didn’t seem to think that age was a problem a few moments ago.’

‘Yeah, well, that was before I knew we were talking about Emma.’

‘I’d be good to her, Tom, and if you can persuade her to marry me you need never worry about the rent again. In fact, you could live rent free for the rest of your life.’

Tom’s face darkened. ‘So, you’d be letting me off the hook in exchange for my daughter?’

‘I don’t see it that way. Think about it. With Emma as my wife, I could hardly take money from her father for renting one of my flats.’

Horace lifted his glass, taking a sip of port, and then leaned back in his chair. Tom needed to mull it over, to see the sense of his proposal, and, saying nothing more, he left him to do just that.

Tom glanced at Horace Bell. Then, taking out his tobacco pouch, he rolled a thin cigarette. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a box of matches, all the time avoiding the man’s eyes as his thoughts raced. With his cigarette alight he sucked on it, coughing as the nicotine hit his throat, and then sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed as his mind turned.

Emma was only seventeen. Horace Bell might think himself a young man, but he must be in his mid-forties. Christ, the bloke was older than him, old enough to be her father. It didn’t seem right and, anyway, he doubted Emma would agree.

Yet what about the rent? How the hell was he going to pay it? A small voice began to whisper persuasively at the back of Tom’s mind. Horace Bell was a rich man. If Emma married him he’d be a part of their family. He’d already offered the flat rent free–what else might come their way? Enough, he hoped, to persuade Polly Letworth into his bed…

Tom took another drag on his cigarette and through the smoke shot Horace Bell a glance. All right, the man might be a bit old for Emma, but she would want for nothing and surely a mature man would be better than a young tyke without prospects?

The small voice continued to whisper persuasively. The man’s money, the rent-free flat…Moments later it won the day. Tom picked up his glass, took a swig of beer and, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, ‘All right, Mr Bell, you’re on. I’ll speak to Emma.’

Bell smiled, and then rose to his feet. ‘Good man, Tom. Please put my proposal to Emma tomorrow. I’ll call round in the afternoon for her answer.’

‘Blimey, that soon? Can’t you give me a bit of time to work on her first?’

Horace Bell’s friendly demeanour disappeared. ‘I’m not a patient man, Tom, and can see no good reason to wait. I want my answer tomorrow and hope you won’t let me down. After all, you know what will happen if you do.’

Tom paled. Seeing Horace Bell’s expression, he didn’t doubt that the man would carry out his threat. ‘All right, you needn’t worry. Emma will do as she’s told.’

Chapter Eight

It was Sunday morning and Dick was out working again. Emma was at the sink, peeling potatoes, the kids playing and giggling. She turned as her father shouted, ordering them outside to play, and gritted her teeth. They weren’t being naughty, just a bit loud, but Emma knew it would be useless to protest. One by one they scrambled to their feet, running out, the door slamming behind them.

Her father gestured. ‘Emma, come here. I want to talk to you.’

‘Talk to me? What about?’

‘Just get over here, girl.’

She dried her hands on a piece of rag, heaving a sigh as he indicated that she sit down. As he hurriedly spoke, she was unable to believe her ears and stared at him in horror.

When she managed to find her voice, her reply was a squeal. ‘Me! Mr Bell wants to marry me?’

‘That’s what I said.’

Bewildered, her mind unable to take it in, Emma shook her head. ‘But why me? He…he’s a gentleman and I’m hardly in his class.’

‘For Gawd’s sake, don’t you know how pretty you are? You’re just like your mother and she was a knockout. As for class, well, Horace Bell obviously thinks you’re good enough.’

‘But I don’t want to marry him,’ Emma cried, sickened by the thought. ‘He…he’s an old man.’

‘Don’t be daft, he’s in his prime. Anyway, you’ll do as you’re bloody well told.’

Emma jumped to her feet. ‘I won’t! I won’t, and you…you can’t make me.’

‘Now you listen to me, my girl. If you turn him down, we’re all out. Do you want to see your brothers and sisters on the street?’