Goodnight Lady Page 3

  It was the way they got the money that tormented her, night after night. Her baby boy had been stillborn and Eileen, her lovely Eileen, who had been so full of life, so vibrant, was now a shadow of her old self. Withdrawn and moody, she visited once a fortnight, bedecked in her finery, her lovely face white and drawn. It was written there for all to see what Mr Dumas did to her. Eileen had been there a year and every day it broke her more.

  Briony walked through the streets towards Mr Dumas’ house with a shiver of excitement. She loved going there. She loved the little garden, the lovely carpets and the sweet-smelling warmth. She made her way past The Bull in Dagenham and into Barking, hurrying. She normally stayed and had a bite with Eileen, and tonight she had a little plan. She smiled and waved at people as she went, a familiar figure in her large black boots, courtesy of Mr Dumas’ two pounds a week, and her long brick red coat, courtesy of Eileen. Her red hair had as usual sprung out of the ribbon and curled around her face and shoulders.

  At just gone ten years old she was a tiny little thing. Her face was open, with milk white skin covered in freckles and green eyes that took in everything around her.

  She skipped up the street that housed Eileen, her eyes taking in the lace curtains at the respectable windows, and the scrubbed doorsteps. No smelly children playing five stones out on these streets, no drunken brawling men. This was a beautiful place as far as Briony was concerned. Near to Barking Park, it exuded respectability. Briony walked up the pathway and knocked at the big green front door.

  Cissy answered and Briony walked into the hallway.

  ‘Hiya, Cissy. How’s me sister?’ Briony slipped off her coat and gave it to the girl.

  Cissy took the coat and laid it across her arm. ‘Not too good, Briony. I think she’s gonna get her monthly visitor soon.’

  Briony frowned and nodded. As yet Eileen had not had her period, but it was due. Her breasts had grown and she had developed pubic hair. Mr Dumas was not bothering her much these days, and it pleased Eileen but bothered Briony. Because Briony knew, through the talkative Cissy, that once his girls reached adolescence Mr Dumas wanted shot, and then the two pounds a week would dry up. She bit her lip in consternation. If the money went, then so would the food, the new house in Oxlow Lane and the schooling.

  She followed Cissy through to the morning room where Eileen was sitting in front of the fire with a tray of tea and scones. Cissy gave Briony a large wink and she nodded slightly then threw herself across the room into Eileen’s arms.

  Her sister’s long black hair was tied back off her face. She smiled at Briony tremulously.

  ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll pour you a cuppa. Help yourself to the scones.’

  Briony picked up a scone and placed the whole thing into her mouth, cramming it full. She surveyed Eileen as she chewed. Her hands were shaking as she poured the tea, and Briony felt a moment’s sorrow for her. She washed down the scone with a big sip of milk from the little jug and smiled at her sister.

  ‘You all right, our Eileen?’

  Eileen nodded. She handed Briony the tea and then stared into the fire.

  ‘I’m not too bad. I keep getting a pain in me belly. I hope it’s me monthlies, Briony, I really do.’

  She gulped at her tea and swore under her breath. It was steaming hot.

  Eileen stared at her.

  ‘You shouldn’t swear, Briony, it’s not ladylike. Our mum would go mad if she heard you.’

  Briony laughed. ‘Well, she won’t.’

  Eileen laughed softly. She wished she was like her sister.

  ‘How’s Mr Dumas, Eileen?’

  She sighed heavily, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap.

  ‘Oh he’s all right, I suppose.’

  ‘How’s the ... you know ... the other business going?’

  ‘Oh, Briony, it’s horrible. Honestly, how people can do that to one another... It’s disgusting!’

  Briony raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

  ‘I don’t mean what’s it like! I mean, is he doing it to you very often?’

  Eileen shook her head violently. ‘No, thank God.’

  Briony screwed up her eyes and looked at her sister. ‘That’s good then.’

  But it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

  She heard the front door open and relaxed. Mr Dumas was here. Eileen stiffened in her chair and Briony winked at her.

  ‘Relax, our Eileen, worse things happen at sea!’

  Eileen stared into the fire again and Briony had to stifle an urge to get out of her seat and shake her sister by the shoulders until her teeth rattled in her head. Eileen was helping all the family and shouldn’t make such a song and dance about it. That was Briony’s opinion. She could be doing a lot worse things for a lot worse money. She could be up in Aldgate, in Myrdle Street, working in a sweat shop fourteen hours a day. That would soon sort her out! Let her know what side her bread was buttered. Briony knew what she’d rather be doing.

  Mr Dumas walked into the room. He smiled widely at the girls and, walking towards them, kissed them both on the hand. Briony sighed with contentment. As if she was a real lady, she thought. She looked at Mr Dumas’ striped tailored trousers and his single-breasted morning-coat and thought he looked like the King. She gave him her brightest smile and he smiled back. Briony slipped to the floor and sat by her sister’s chair. Mr Dumas sat in her empty seat and beamed at them.

  ‘I’ve ordered more tea, girls, and some more cake.’ He looked at Briony as he said this and she smiled at him. He always filled her up with cake. He knew she had a sweet tooth. Eileen looked at him and his face sobered. The child’s miserable face was getting him down.

  ‘Go and get my wallet for me, Eileen, there’s a good girl. Briony will be wanting your wages.’

  Eileen stood up as if she had been catapulted from the chair, glad to get out of his presence. As she bolted from the room his voice stayed with her. ‘And while you’re there, ask Mrs Horlock what’s for dinner this evening.’

  She nodded and went from the room, her head down. That should give him five minutes with the little red-headed minx. As the door shut Briony stood up and sat in her sister’s seat. She grinned at the man opposite.

  ‘I love coming here, Mr Dumas.’ It was said with every ounce of guile she had in her, and this was not wasted on the man.

  ‘Do you, Briony?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I wish I lived here, but I expect I’m not big enough yet, am I? I’m only ten.’

  She fingered a tendril of red hair as she said this and sucked it into her mouth. Unbeknown to her she could not have done anything more erotic as far as Henry Dumas was concerned.

  ‘I’d do anything to live here. Anything at all.’

  The man and the little girl looked full at one another then. An unspoken agreement passed between them and the man was surprised to find such knowingness in so young a child.

  Paddy Cavanagh walked into the office with his cap in his hand. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  Mr Dumas smiled at him, a man to man smile.

  ‘It’s about Eileen - I think it’s about time she went back home.’

  He watched with satisfaction as Paddy Cavanagh’s face dropped.

  ‘What... I mean ... Well, what’s wrong, sir?’

  His mind was reeling. How the hell were they to manage without Eileen’s money? Even Molly had had to put up with the situation. For all her high falutin talk, she wasn’t backward at taking her cut from it every week.

  ‘I feel a yen for something different, Paddy. You know how it is.’

  He stayed silent. No, he did not know how it was, little bits of children had never interested him.

  ‘Briony now, there’s a beautiful child. She was at the house last night and she made it quite clear ...’ He raised a hand as if Paddy was going to stop him talking. ‘She made it quite clear that she would not be averse to - how shall we say? - taking over where Eileen left off.’

  Paddy licked his lips. Eve
ry instinct in his body was telling him to take back his fist and slam it into this man’s face. Into his teeth. Into his very bones. But he knew he wouldn’t even as he thought it. This man was gentry, whatever the hell that was. He owned factories and part of the docks. He was looked up to, made substantial contributions to all sorts of charitable causes. His wife’s father was a lord. Paddy knew he was trapped. He also knew that Mr Henry high and mighty Dumas was not getting his Briony for a paltry two pounds a week.

  ‘I thought we could maybe settle for two pounds ten this time,’ said Henry persuasively.

  ‘Three pounds.’ Paddy’s voice was clipped, and surprised both himself and his listener with its forcefulness.

  ‘Three pounds?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. My Briony is worth that.’

  Dumas bit his top lip and screwed up his eyes.

  ‘It would ease the pain of her mother, sir, because she’ll have a fit this night when she knows what’s going on. She was bad enough about Eileen, but Briony, her Briony, she’ll be like a madwoman. She was all for going for Mrs Prosser Evans over Eileen.’

  Paddy had the satisfaction of seeing Dumas pale at the words. Mrs Prosser Evans was a force to be reckoned with in Barking and Dagenham, fighting for justice for the lower classes with a vigour that surprised everyone who came in contact with the tiny woman.

  Paddy watched the man battle it out with himself.

  Mrs Prosser Evans and a scandal, or a little red-headed child just on ten for a paltry weekly sum. It was no contest.

  ‘Three pounds a week it is then. Bring her round to me at six this evening and you can take the other ...’ He waved his hand as he tried to think of the child’s name.

  ‘Eileen, I can collect my Eileen.’

  Without wasting any more words, Paddy put his hat on and left the office. He picked up his coat from his workbench and walked out of the factory and along towards The Bull. Inside he ordered himself a large whisky, which he downed in one gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his grimy hand he laid his head on the bar and groaned out loud against the fates.

  It never occurred to him not to take Briony. Three pounds a week was three pounds a week.

  Molly was dishing up the dinner when Paddy rolled in the door. ‘What the hell are you doing home at this time?’

  Paddy grabbed her around her waist, breathing his whisky breath all over her. She drew away from him in disgust.

  ‘Get away out of that!’

  Kerry giggled. Taking the hot wooden spoon from the large earthenware pot, Molly smacked her across the hands with it. Kerry licked off the juices from the rabbit stew.

  Briony sat at the table expectantly, feeding Rosalee. She was the only one with the patience. You had to force the food inside her at times.

  ‘Bri ... Bri.’ Rosalee was catching hold of Briony’s hair and calling to her gently. She leant forward and kissed the big moon face. Rosalee started clapping her hands together in excitement.

  Paddy watched them and felt a tug at his heart.

  ‘Well? Answer me, what brings you home at this time?’

  ‘Mr Dumas sent for me.’ He sat on the broken chair as he spoke.

  ‘What about? Is it Eileen? Is she sickening?’

  ‘No, woman. Nothing like that. Bejasus, would you let a man talk without wittering into his conversation?’

  ‘Well, what’s wrong then?’

  ‘He’s had enough of her. I’m to go and fetch her tonight.’

  Molly pushed back her hair and her face, red and shiny from the cooking, looked relieved.

  ‘I’ll be glad to have the child home safe.’

  Paddy got out of the chair and swept his arm out in a gesture of disgust.

  ‘Oh, she’ll be safe all right, here, ’cos this is where we’ll be staying now, isn’t it? She’ll be safe when the real winter comes, and the shite’s bursting into the room, and the cold would cut the lugs from yer. Two pounds a bloody week we’ll lose, two Christing pounds! She’s up there, dressed up to the nines and eating her fecking head off as and when she fancies it. Well, she’ll get a shock when she gets back here, madam. She’ll have to go out to work, they all will, if we’re to get the house in Oxlow Lane. Even that fecking eejit.’ He pointed to Rosalee.

  Molly sat on the fender and tapped the wooden spoon against her hand.

  ‘There’s that to it, I suppose.’ All her dreams were dissolving in front of her eyes, of a nice little house, two up, two down, with a bit of garden out the back, and no more living in basements without enough to eat. Instead it was no more boots for the girls or tea for herself, as and when she wanted it. Once going to Uncle every Tuesday with the blankets and sheets and anything else pawnable had been their way of life, until Paddy brought home some money. Now it would be again, it seemed.

  ‘Well, woman, it’s done now and I expect you’ve saved yourself a bit, to see us over until the spring?’

  Molly didn’t answer. As far as Paddy Cavanagh was concerned, the less he knew about her money situation the better.

  ‘Yes, as large as life he says to me, “Paddy, I don’t want the miserable-looking item any longer.” The cheek of it!’ He sneaked a glance at Molly as he enlarged on his story, building up to the point of it.

  ‘And then, Moll ... I was all for bashin’ him, you know, except I don’t want to go along the line. Anyway, then he says to me, “I’d give two pound ten a week for your Briony!”’

  Molly was up in a flash.

  ‘He what?’

  ‘“Two pounds ten?” says I.’ Paddy poked himself in the chest as he spoke. ‘“Two pounds ten,” I says. “Not fifty pounds a week will get you another of my girls!”’

  Molly nodded her head, the wooden spoon like a truncheon in her clenched fist.

  ‘“Three pounds then,” he says to me. “Three pounds and we’ll negotiate again in six months.”’

  Paddy, warming to his story, began to embroider it freely. ‘“Never,” says I. “Not for all the gold in London town. Be off, you bugger,” I said, Moll. “Get yourself away out of that,” I said...’

  She nodded again. ‘You did right, Paddy. You did right. When I think of what my Eileen’s suffered this last year...’ Her voice broke with shame and remorse.

  Briony, watching the proceedings, felt her heart sink down to her boots. Trust her father to botch it up with a drink in him. He was actually believing what he was saying now. Briony was cute enough to know that her father would sell his grandmother if he thought he could get money for her. Getting up from the table, she went to her mother.

  ‘I’ll go to Mr Dumas, Ma. Think what you could do with three pounds a week. I wouldn’t mind what I had to do. And ... and our Eileen would be back home like.’

  Molly put her hand on to Briony’s head. ‘This family has been shamed enough, child.’

  Briony started gabbling: ‘But, Mum, you don’t understand. I don’t mind going... Really I don’t! I think I’d be good at it, what Mr Dumas wants like, and the girls can carry on at school, and you can get the drum in Oxlow Lane, and Mr Dumas said last night...’

  Molly gripped Briony’s ear hard and cracked the wooden spoon over her head.

  ‘What did Mr Dumas say last night, child? Come on then, enlighten us.’

  Briony was aware she had made a fatal error and looked at her father, her eyes beseeching him to help her.

  Molly twisted her ear and Briony screamed out: ‘He said that he liked me, Ma, that I could take over from Eileen because she hated it there. That I could earn more money because I was a bit more lively like.’

  Molly threw her from her across the dirt floor. Briony lay still staring up at her mother. Whatever happened, she was going to Mr Dumas tonight.

  ‘My God, you want to go, don’t you? You actually want to go. You know exactly what you’re letting yourself in for and you want to go.’ Molly’s voice was incredulous.

  Briony stood up. Facing her mother full on, she shouted at her: ‘Well, Eileen went and she didn
’t want to go but you still took the two quid every week! I want to go. I can’t wait to go, and get nice clobber and decent food and sleep in a proper bedroom. I bleeding well happen to like Mr Dumas, and nothing he could do to me can be any worse than being cold and hungry and dirty and poor!’

  The room was deathly silent and Briony was frightened by her own outburst, but her mother was not stopping her from going to that house tonight. She was determined. She wanted some of what Mr Dumas had on offer. She wanted regular food and warmth, and if that meant she had to touch Mr Dumas and he had to touch her, then that was fine as far as she was concerned.

  ‘If the child wants to go, let her.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s about your mark, isn’t it, Paddy? She’s just on ten but always older than her years. A slut in the making we’ve got here! It’ll be down to Nellie Deakins next with her, I suppose.’

  ‘Why is it that Eileen who didn’t want to go went, and me who wants to go, and for a pound a week more, can’t? You tell me that, Mum?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, Briony, because you take after him, your father. You’d sell your soul for what you wanted. Well, you can go, girl, but I tell you now - I don’t ever want you back under my roof!’

  Briony looked at her mother long and hard, then at the silent girls sitting around the table.

  ‘Well, that’s a funny thing, you know, Mum, because I’ll be paying for the roof I ain’t allowed under. I bet you won’t throw his three quid back in his face, will you?’

  Kissing her sisters in turn, she put on the brick red coat that she loved, pulled on her boots and, motioning to her father, went outside and sat on the steps to wait for him. Inside her chest was a ball of misery. She’d only wanted to help, but it had been thrown back in her face. Well, the three quid would soon soften the blow so far as her mother was concerned. But all the same, it galled Briony and hurt her too. Why was what she was doing wrong? When Eileen did it, when she didn’t even want to do it, it had been right. She swallowed back a sob.