A Daughter’s Ruin

Chapter 8

‘Mummy, I’m going to see one of my friends from college,’ Constance said as soon as they’d finished breakfast.

‘Friend? What friend?’

‘Felicity Cunningham. You haven’t met her.’

‘I hardly think calling on someone at this hour of the morning is acceptable.’

‘Felicity won’t mind. She’s very clever and I need a bit of help with a maths equation.’

‘What about her parents? Surely they won’t approve of callers at this hour?’

‘Felicity lives alone in a flat on the other side of the common.’

‘A young woman living on her own. I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Hettie,’ Charles said as he stood up to leave the table. ‘Constance isn’t a child and there is no harm in her visiting a friend.’

‘But—’

‘Off you go, Constance,’ Charles said, interrupting his wife.

She smiled gratefully at her father, though felt a surge of shame that she was deceiving her parents. There was no other choice. She couldn’t tell them the truth, and after putting on her shoes, along with a warm coat and scarf, she hastily left.

Constance waited ages for a bus, her feet turning as cold as ice before one finally arrived. She sat looking out of the window, so deep in thought that she hardly noticed the passing scenery. In reality, she didn’t really want to marry Albie, but life as an unmarried mother would be impossible. Her parents would disown her and probably throw her out, and she’d be left on the streets with no money and nowhere to live. She wouldn’t be able to raise a child penniless and alone, so like it or not, marriage was her only option.

When the bus reached her stop, Constance frowned at the run-down area. It wasn’t hard to find Kibble Street and Constance paused as she took in the grey and dismal surroundings with no sign of any greenery, the narrow, flat-fronted terraced houses without front gardens. Albie’s house was about halfway along and she stopped outside for a moment before knocking, wondering how he would react when he saw her.

At last, drawing in a breath to steady herself, she knocked and it seemed only seconds later that the door opened. Albie’s brow rose when he saw her and she blurted, ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ he asked, making no attempt to invite her in, ‘and who told you where I live?’

‘It was your gran. She knows how important this is.’

‘Yeah, well, you can tell my gran that I’m finished with her. I’ve found out what she did to my mum and I never want to see her again. Now what do you want?’

Constance looked swiftly from side to side, then sputtered, ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

Albie’s expression hardened, his voice harsh as he said, ‘So? What’s that got to do with me?’

‘It … it’s yours, Albie.’

‘No, I ain’t having that. There are loads of blokes at that college you go to, and for all I know you could have had it off with any number of them.’

Constance looked down to her feet and quietly responded, ‘But I haven’t. You were the only one.’

‘So you say, but can you prove it?’

‘No, but … but …’

‘Nah, I thought not. Now bugger off ’cos you ain’t laying this at my door.’

‘Alb—’ Constance was cut off as the door was slammed in her face, and though she knocked on it again and again, it wasn’t opened. ‘Albie,’ she shouted, but there was no response.

Curtains twitched, and a couple of women stood on their doorsteps surveying the scene, but Constance was hardly aware of them. Finally, she turned away, tears running down her cheeks. She had no idea what to do now. Albie had said she couldn’t prove the baby was his, and it was true, she couldn’t.

Devastated by Albie’s reaction, Constance made her way home. She was lost, destined to be an unmarried mother, and with no other choice there was only one man she could turn to now: her father.

‘I heard all that,’ Dora said to her son. ‘Are you sure the baby ain’t yours?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Albie said, though he failed to meet her eyes. ‘She’s the first one who’s tried that tack, but I don’t suppose she’ll be the last.’

‘You’ve made a show of us with the neighbours. You should keep it in your bloody trousers.’

‘Leave it out, Mum. I’m a man and it’s what men do.’

‘That’s no excuse, and if you don’t take precautions it’s always the girl that gets lumbered. I feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to be an unmarried mother, and I hate to think that poor girl’s baby will be born a bastard.’

For a brief moment Albie closed his eyes, but then he snapped, ‘Like I said, it ain’t my problem.’

‘Did you mean what you said about not seeing your gran again?’

‘Yeah, I meant it. I still can’t get my head around what she did. Why didn’t you tell me before now?’

‘I was tempted, many times, but you’ve always been so close to your gran and I didn’t want to spoil that for you. Even now, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.’

‘I was close to her, but that was before I found out what she did to you … to us. Now enough about the old cow. I’m gonna get dressed and go down the road for a couple of pints before lunch.’

‘Albie, are you sure that baby isn’t yours?’

‘I’m sure,’ he said resolutely as he turned to walk out.

Dora’s eyes followed her son as he left the room. She wasn’t convinced that he was telling the truth, and though she hadn’t seen the girl, she didn’t sound like she was from around these parts. She’d sounded posh, upper class, so goodness knows where Albie had met her. He’d had so many girlfriends, none of them lasting for more than five minutes. Easy come, easy go, that was Albie, girls falling for his good looks. He was blond like Dora, but his features were his father’s, and she smiled sadly at that thought. Never had a day passed that she didn’t think about Billy, but at least she had Albie, his son.

What Dora dreaded now was the day that Albie decided to leave home, and then she’d be alone – alone with nothing but her memories.

It was past midday, Constance wasn’t yet home, and Hettie was glad when Charles had gone to his study. No doubt he’d be going out soon, but that didn’t bother her. She went over to the cabinet and poured herself a large gin, and then another after she gulped the first down. She strongly suspected that Charles had a mistress, but she didn’t care. In fact, it suited her. She’d always found sex distasteful, and at least this mistress kept Charles from her bed.

It was his sexual demands that made Hettie take to gin in the first place; at least when she was in an alcoholic daze it wasn’t so bad. When Constance was a child, Hettie had only drunk in the evening, but nowadays, disappointed with life and her daughter, and often bored, she found comfort in alcohol at any time of the day.

She was still determined to find Constance a suitable husband, and a wedding would be something to plan and look forward to, though it wasn’t going to be easy. Her friends had vivacious, attractive daughters, socialites who drew the attention of suitors, whereas Constance was plain, with no social skills or conversation. Hettie blamed Charles for this; he should have sent her to finishing school, but no, he seemed to prefer it that his daughter was a bluestocking who was more interested in studying for university than socialising.

Hettie poured herself another drink. In a pleasant haze she began to fantasise about the wedding she would throw for Constance. It would be the social event of the year, her friends green with envy at the lavishness of the occasion, but then Hettie came down to earth with a bump. Charles was being very mean with money nowadays and would insist on a modest affair. Her friends, instead of being envious, would be tittering behind her back.

She frowned as she questioned what friends she even had nowadays. Only one or two bothered to visit and then only on rare occasions, and invitations to call on them were few and far between. Hettie searched for a reason, but failed to realise that nowadays she was usually under the influence of alcohol by midday.

Half an hour later Hettie stood up, intending to go to the bathroom, but she stopped in the hall and pricked up her ears. She was sure she could hear her daughter’s voice, but it sounded as though it was coming from the basement and she wondered what the girl was doing down there. She carefully opened the door and stood at the top of the stairs, listening.

‘Miss Constance, you’re back sooner than I expected,’ Ethel said, ‘but you look a bit pale. What happened?’ There was a pause then Ethel added, ‘It’s all right. We’re alone. It’s Mary’s afternoon off and she went out ten minutes ago. Now what did that grandson of mine say?’

‘He … he doesn’t believe that the baby is his. He told me to go away and then shut the door in my face.’

Hettie heard her daughter’s words, but at first couldn’t take them in.

‘I can’t believe my Albie said that. Didn’t you tell him that he was your first and it had to be him?’

‘Yes, but he still didn’t believe me.’

‘You leave this to me, Miss. I’ll go and have a word with him. I’ll insist he accepts that the baby is his.’

‘Ethel, you … you can’t. Albie said to tell you that he knows what you did to his mum and that he never wants to see you again.’

‘Oh, God, no! Oh, God!’

Hettie heard the sound of a chair being scraped back, and then her daughter’s voice again. ‘Ethel, you look dreadful. Sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water.’

Stunned and sobered by what she’d heard, Hettie turned white with shock. Constance was having a baby, and the father was Ethel’s grandson. No! No! It couldn’t be true! She suddenly felt strange and came over all dizzy. Her vision began to blur and, within moments, her legs gave way. Hettie tumbled down the basement stairs and landed with a thump at the bottom.

‘Mummy!’ Constance cried when she turned at the sound to see her mother in a heap on the floor. She ran over to her and was relieved to see that, though she looked sheet-white, she was breathing.

‘Yo … nyum … ha …’

‘Ethel, she can’t seem to speak, and look, her face looks strange,’ Constance said, panicked and confused.

Ethel struggled to her feet and joined her, saying, ‘I think it might be a stroke. Quick, run upstairs and fetch your father.’

Constance jumped up, but had to step over her mother to get to the stairs. She dashed up them as fast as she could, panting when at last she found her father in his study. He looked dressed to go out and frowned when she blurted, ‘Daddy, come quickly.’

‘Why? What’s wrong, Constance?’

‘It … it’s Mummy. She fell down the stairs and … and she looks odd.’

Constance was relieved when her father didn’t pause to ask questions, but instead hurried into the hall. ‘Where is she?’

‘In the basement, Daddy.’

‘What?’ he asked, looking momentarily confused, but paused for only an instant before he took the basement stairs.

‘I think it’s a stroke, sir,’ Ethel told him without preamble. ‘You’d best call an ambulance.’

‘Hettie. Hettie my dear, are you all right?’ Charles asked, crouching with difficulty beside her.

‘Nu … yo … co …’

‘I think you’re right, Ethel. Her words are unintelligible and her face looks strangely lopsided.’

‘Like I said, sir, you should call an ambulance.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Constance, stay with your mother,’ he ordered as he struggled to his feet and went back upstairs.

‘Ethel, this is all my fault,’ Constance cried. ‘She must have heard us talking.’

‘There’s no point in blaming yourself, Miss.’

‘But it must have been such a shock.’

‘Maybe, but that wouldn’t cause a stroke. Now come on, no tears. It might take your mother some time to recover, and she’s gonna need you to be strong.’

Constance sniffed, and dashed the back of her hand across her wet cheek. Her mother still looked dreadful, her eyes full of fear and befuddlement, but Ethel had spoken of recovery so at least that meant she wasn’t going to die. She held her limp hand, praying that an ambulance would arrive soon. Her father returned to wait with them until at last they heard the vehicle’s bell.

Chapter 9

Constance and her father had sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours before the doctor had come to speak to them. He confirmed that her mother had suffered a stroke, and then her father insisted that she was transferred to a private hospital. The doctor had agreed, but asked that they wait a few days, as moving her at that point might affect her recovery.

They had been in to see her, sat by her bed, but she hadn’t responded when they’d spoken to her. After five painfully quiet hours, they’d returned home. Still feeling sick with guilt, Constance flopped onto a sofa while her father went to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a whiskey.

‘Your mother seemed fine this morning. You saw that for yourself before you went out.’

‘Yes … yes, she was, but … but …’ Constance stammered, and then unable to hold it back any longer she blurted, ‘It was my fault, Daddy. My fault that Mummy had a stroke.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course it wasn’t.’

‘But it was,’ Constance insisted, racked with guilt.

‘Explain yourself,’ her father demanded, his brow now knitted.

Constance hung her head in shame and struggled to find the words.

‘Well?’ her father snapped impatiently.

His sharp tone jolted Constance and she looked up at him, holding her breath as she tried to think of the right thing to say.

‘She … Mummy … She heard me talking to Ethel,’ Constance said and paused as the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She’d dreaded this moment and now the terrible news she was about to break was made even worse by her mother’s stroke.

Constance swallowed hard, her mouth dry with nerves and under the scrutinising glare of her father, she anxiously continued. ‘Mummy heard me talking to Ethel about the baby,’ she said in almost a whisper and then braced herself for her father’s reaction.

‘Baby! What baby?’

Constance chewed on her bottom lip. She wanted to cry or run from the room. She wished she could turn back time and make this all go away. But she couldn’t, so after drawing a long, deep breath, she summoned the courage and finally said, ‘I … I’m pregnant, Daddy.’

Charles’s eyes widened in shock and then he ran a hand through his grey hair as he said angrily, ‘I can’t believe this. First your mother has a stroke, and now this.’

‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Constance uttered, fighting to hold back tears.

‘Sorry! It’s a bit late for that,’ he barked. ‘Who’s the father? He’ll have to marry you.’

‘He won’t, Daddy. He refuses to accept the baby is his.’

‘The scoundrel. I’m not standing for that. What’s his name and where does he live?’

Constance had known her father would want to know the man responsible for this but she hadn’t wanted to tell him. But with no other choice she said, ‘His name is Albie Jones and he lives in Battersea. He … he’s Ethel’s grandson.’

‘Ethel! Ethel our cook?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

‘My God, this gets worse, but like it or not, he’ll marry you, I’ll see to that,’ he said, with barely contained fury.

‘But I can’t prove it’s his …’

Constance watched as her father quickly drank his whiskey before pouring another, and downed the second glass too. He then drew in a deep breath as though to calm himself and said, ‘Right, I’ll have a word with Ethel.’

Constance ran after him and called out, ‘Ethel didn’t know, Daddy. She’s as shocked as you are.’

Her father didn’t pause as he pulled open the basement door and went downstairs, Constance in his wake.

‘Oh, sir, how is your wife? Is she going to be all right?’ Ethel asked worriedly as she rose with difficulty to her feet.

‘I hope so, Ethel, but I have other pressing matters to talk to you about. My daughter tells me that she’s having a baby, and that your grandson is the father.’

‘I know, sir. Constance told me earlier, and it came as quite a shock.’

‘Quite so, but worse, it seems the young man is refusing to accept responsibility.’

‘Constance told me that too, and I’m stunned. I never would have thought it of my Albie.’

‘The young man is clearly a good-for-nothing wretch, Ethel, but I’ll see to it that he marries Constance, and when he does it will make your position here untenable.’

‘Yes, sir, I realise that. And anyway, it’s time I retired.’

‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’

‘But that’s not fair, Daddy,’ Constance interjected. ‘None of this is Ethel’s fault.’

‘I didn’t say it was. The fault lies with you and this young man. Now come, Constance,’ he demanded, turning to go back upstairs.

Reluctantly, Constance followed her father and once back in the drawing room she asked, ‘Why can’t Ethel stay, Daddy?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? She’s related to the man you’re going to marry, so we can hardly employ one of his relatives as our cook. Now give me his address and I’ll go to see him before I return to the hospital.’

Constance felt tears welling in her eyes as she wrote it down, guilt once again swamping her. She still felt she was to blame for her mother’s stroke, and now there was the added anguish that she had caused Ethel to lose her job.

‘What do you want?’ Albie asked suspiciously, eyeing the smartly dressed man and the black Bentley parked outside. The bloke didn’t look like a debt collector, or CID. He looked like a nob.

‘Are you Albie Jones?’

‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name is Charles Burton Blake. I’d like to talk to you about my daughter, Constance.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to you. I know what she’s accusing me of, but that baby ain’t mine,’ Albie said defiantly.

The man’s reaction wasn’t what Albie expected. Instead of arguing, or anger, he said dismissively, ‘Well, in that case I’m sorry for disturbing you. I do hope I can find the father though, because I intend to see that whoever marries my daughter will gain a great deal financially.’

Albie liked the sound of that, and as the man turned to leave he quickly said, ‘Hold up. Come in and we can have a chat.’

Charles smiled sardonically as he followed Albie into the living room. Albie’s mother Dora surged to her feet. ‘Mum, this is Mr Burton Blake and we’ve got a bit of business to discuss. It might be best if you leave us alone.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Charles said. ‘After all, what I have to say concerns your mother too. Do sit down, Mrs Jones.’

Albie didn’t like it that this posh geezer was taking control of the situation, nor how his mother was looking at him agog. Unlike her, he wasn’t intimidated and said, ‘Why don’t you sit down, gov, and let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’

‘Thank you,’ Charles answered politely as he took a seat and looked around the room.

Albie saw his lips curl in distaste which immediately got his back up. They might not be rich, but his mother kept the place immaculate. ‘Right,’ he snapped, ‘let’s get down to business.’

‘If you admit to being the baby’s father and marry my daughter, I will offer financial assistance.’

‘I’m quite capable of supporting a wife and family,’ Albie said defensively, though in truth he was very interested in the man’s offer.

‘Yes, I’m sure you are, but getting married and having a child is an expensive business. I’m sure a couple of thousand pounds would help.’

‘Two grand! Are you kidding?’

‘I can assure you I’m not.’

Albie lowered his head in thought. He didn’t want to get married, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that this arrangement might have its uses. Constance wasn’t much to look at – and intimidated him with her intelligence – but two grand! By the look of the Burton Blakes there was a lot more where that came from, and that could set Albie up for life. Surely, once married, he could tame Constance, put her in her place and show her he was the boss. There’d be no more of her going to college. She’d have to settle down to domestic life, do the cooking and cleaning, and that was sure to bring her down a peg or two. He still wasn’t sure though and shook his head, unable to come to a decision. ‘I need to think about it,’ he said.

‘Alfie, if this baby is yours you must marry the girl,’ his mother urged. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want your son or daughter to be born a bastard.’

‘Like me, you mean,’ he snapped, then, seeing the look on his mother’s face, he instantly regretted his words. It wasn’t his mother’s fault, it was down to his gran. ‘Sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have said that, and you’re right, I don’t want my kid born a bastard.’

‘Then marry the girl, Albie.’

Struck by other benefits that could come his way by marrying into a wealthy family, Albie said, ‘All right, Mr Burton Blake, I’ll marry your daughter – but I want the money in my hand before I say any wedding vows. Also, as your daughter is unlikely to fit in around here, it’s probably for the best if we move in with you.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My wife is ill and in hospital at the moment. When she comes home she will require complete quiet and rest. The last thing she needs is any disruption, so it will be down to you to provide my daughter with a suitable home.’

Albie was disappointed. He’d quite fancied living in that posh house with servants, until the thought struck him that his gran was one of them. The last thing he wanted was to have to see her, so he said amicably, ‘Fair enough. I’ll find us a flat.’

‘Good, and I think you should make the arrangements to marry my daughter as soon as possible.’

‘Yeah, all right. I’ll go the registry office in the morning.’

‘As soon as you have a date, please let Constance know.’

‘OK. I’ll call round tomorrow evening.’

‘Very well. And of course, you’ll be able to see your grandmother, though she sadly is soon to leave my employment.’

‘I don’t give a shit about me gran,’ Alfie spat, annoyed that he hadn’t known that earlier.

The man’s brow rose. ‘Have you had some sort of disagreement?’

‘Yeah, you could say that.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I must go now. It’s close to visiting time and I want to get something to eat before I visit my wife.’

‘I can make you a sandwich,’ Dora offered. ‘I’ve got a nice bit of pork left over from our Sunday dinner.’

‘That’s very kind, but no thank you. I’ll call in at my club.’

Alfie hid a smirk. His club. Blimey, what a toff, but if he played his cards right he could be joining their ranks soon. After all, he was marrying into money and he’d ensure that a lot more of it came his way.

Charles had fought his anger and had planned what he was going to do if Albie Jones refused to accept responsibility for the baby. As he’d expected the young man had soon changed his tune when an offer of money came into the equation, and that spoke volumes about his character. Albie, as Charles had suspected, was indeed a scoundrel.

Once the arrangements had been made, Charles had been glad to leave. The small house had felt claustrophobic, and though clean, the furniture was very tatty and old. Albie had said he was capable of supporting a wife and family, but from what he’d seen, he hadn’t done much for his mother.

After a sandwich and a glass of whiskey at his club, Charles left for the hospital, finding when he got there that there was little change in Hettie’s condition. Her eyes opened and she tried to speak, but the words were slurred and impossible to decipher. He held her hand and told her that that she had no need to worry. He’d arranged for Constance to be married, so their good name wouldn’t be sullied, but he had no way of knowing if she understood. Of course, Hettie wouldn’t be happy about the family Constance was marrying into, but surely that was better than her being an unmarried mother.