A Mother's Courage (18 page)

'You won't find nothing to eat in there,' Agnes
called out in a slurred voice. 'Him above stairs
ain't allowed nothing but boiled fish and
cabbage – doctor's orders on account of his gout.
You'll have to go to the pie shop on the corner if
you want food.'

Eloise bit back an angry retort. Why hadn't the
wretched woman told her this in the first place?
She snatched up Beth who was attempting to
gnaw on a chop bone, and she howled miserably
when Eloise took it from her. 'Come along, Joss.
Mama will take you out for supper.'

'You'll have to go out the back way,' Agnes
said, taking another hefty swig from the bottle.
'There's only one key to the front door and he
keeps it in his pocket, just like the jailer he always
was. Be thankful he don't keep leg irons or
manacles in the attic' She let out a roar of
laughter and lay back in the chair, rocking it and
closing her eyes. 'Don't disturb me when you
come back. I need me sleep.'

Eloise said nothing as she led Joss out through
the small scullery which was just as untidy as the
kitchen and filled with all manner of rubbish
from broken teapots to buckets with missing
handles, piles of rotting vegetables and old
shoes. The wooden steps leading up from the
area were rotted in places and there were gaps
where a couple of treads had broken off completely.
It was a hazardous ascent and led to a
back yard which housed the pump with a stone
trough covered in green slime, and a privy
which, judging by the noxious smell and the
cloud of blowflies buzzing around the door, was
in an even more parlous state than the house.
Eloise hurried past it and out into the service lane
at the back of the terrace.

They ate their supper in the pie shop and on
their way home Eloise purchased a china jug
from a stall holder, and she stopped off at the
dairy to buy a pint of milk. There was a bakery
next door and she decided to get up early in the
morning to get some fresh rolls for their breakfast.
It was patently obvious now that their food
was not included in the forty pounds a year, and
even if it had been, she would not have wanted
to feed her children with anything that came
from the kitchens in Ephraim Hubble's house.

It was a balmy night and the trees surrounding
the green were bathed in a soft golden glow from
the gaslights. The air smelt much fresher now
that the warmth of daytime in early June had
dissolved into a hazy, heliotrope dusk. Late
shoppers moved in and out of the shadows and
the pools of light made by the naphtha flares on
the market stalls, which were just beginning to
close down after a long day's trading. Out here
on the green life seemed normal and the people
were cheerful and friendly. Eloise did not want
to return to the sombre prison-like house, but she
had no choice. Beth was grubby but her cheeks
were rosy as she slept against her mother's
shoulder, and Joss was hanging on to her hand,
stumbling along beside her like a small sleepwalker.
She must get them washed and put to
bed. There was no alternative but to go back to
the room where Ephraim's wife had so recently
passed away.

Eloise patted her pocket and felt the reassuring
crackle of paper from the envelope containing
Mama's letter. She had saved it up for last; a
reassuring little slice of home to be savoured in
private. She would read it by candlelight when
the children were asleep.

Mindful of Agnes's warning, once they were
safely inside Eloise locked her bedroom door,
and to make doubly certain she wedged a chair
beneath the doorknob. It had not been possible to
wash the children properly, but she had cleaned
them up as best as she could at the pump and
they were now sound asleep, curled up in two of
the drawers from the chest. A fire burned
brightly in the grate, although the chimney
obviously needed sweeping and occasional puffs
of smoke belched into the room, but the flames
threw out a comforting light and had taken the
chill and smell of must from the air. Seated on the
floor by the fire, Eloise read and reread her
mother's letter. It was disappointingly short, but
Mama assured her that they were all quite well,
although Papa had gone down with a fever
almost as soon as they landed in Mombasa, and
she had been at his bedside night and day until
the crisis had past. He was now on the mend and
they were looking forward to travelling inland to
the mission. Eloise was not certain that she
entirely believed this, but Mama was loyal to the
core and even had she hated the place wild
horses would not have dragged such an admission
from her. Instead, she devoted half a page to
descriptions of Mombasa itself, of the mission
there and the people who ran it, of the heat and
the exotic fauna and flora, and the native population
with their colourful dress and wonderful
dark skins that varied from burnished bronze to
deepest ebony. Mama it seemed had fallen in
love with Africa itself, but that was no recompense
for the pain of being parted from her
daughter and grandchildren, and Eloise detected
an understated longing for home as she read
between the lines. She reread the last paragraph,
with tears trickling down her cheeks.

I must finish now, my dearest daughter, or I will
miss the post for England, which must go on the
next mail ship out of Mombasa. I have not yet
received a letter from you, but I hope to do so
before we leave for the hinterland. I hope and pray
that you and the children are settling down in
Cribb's Hall and that Hilda and Harcourt are
treating you as their own, dear daughter, as I
know I would if circumstances were reversed. Do
write to me soon, dearest, and tell me all about
little Joss and Beth. It is so hard to be parted from
you all and to know that I am missing all the
precious milestones of their childhood. But my
thoughts are always with you, Ellie my darling. I
count the days until I see you and my dear
grandchildren again. I kiss the paper so that you
can embrace Joss and Beth and tell them it comes
from their loving Grandmama.

Papa sends his love to you all, as I send mine.

Your ever-loving Mama.

PS Janet sends all her love too. Sadly she does
not like the heat and I know that she pines for
home, but she is too loyal to me to complain.

Eloise folded the letter and put it back carefully
in the envelope. She tucked it safely away in her
writing case, but she was too exhausted and
emotionally drained to pen any words tonight.
As she scrambled to her feet, she looked round
the shabby room with a shudder. This was not
how it was supposed to be. She could never have
imagined that they would come to this, and yet it
was better than being a virtual prisoner in
Cribb's Hall with all that entailed. As she
undressed by the fire, she thought of poor Ada
who was now at peace, and of Meg, who might
be her natural daughter, but would never know
the truth of her parentage. She thought of dear,
kind Reggie, and his proposal of marriage. If
only she could have loved him just a little, but
she could not go against her own heart, and she
could not do him the disservice of marrying him
for security alone. She sincerely hoped that he
would rekindle his romance with Maud, and that
they would have a long and happy life together.
As she slipped her nightgown over her head, she
thought longingly of her comfortable room in the
farmhouse, of Gladys's motherly kindness and
of Frank, who said little, but had been unfailingly
kind and patient. As she climbed into bed,
she tried not to think about poor Mrs Hubble.
What a dreadful life that woman must have had
with her husband. It did not bear thinking about,
nor the way in which she had died. Eloise lay
down convinced that she would not be able to
sleep a wink.

She was awakened by the rattling of the doorknob,
and she sat bolt upright drawing her knees
up to her chest and wrapping her arms around
them as she strained her ears to catch the
slightest sound. The fire had died away to a few
glowing embers and their feeble light sent
monstrous shadows shifting and moving in the
corners of the room. The events of yesterday
came flooding back to her and Eloise sat rigid
and frozen with fear. Was it the ghost of the
departed Mrs Hubble who had come back to
haunt her? The hairs on the back of her neck
stood up and she shivered, but then she realised
that the scraping and shuffling noises came from
the other side of the locked door. It sounded as
though someone was trying unsuccessfully to
insert a key into the lock, and the key on her side
of the door jiggled, but remained firm. The
doorknob turned slowly, and Eloise held her
breath. Her heart was hammering inside her
ribcage and the blood was pounding in her ears.
She had no doubt that it was Ephraim who was
trying to get into the room, and she willed him to
go away. The chair wedged beneath the handle
shifted a little, but it held fast, and Eloise could
have wept from sheer relief. She had not really
believed Agnes, but now she was so glad that she
had heeded her warning and had locked and
barred the door. The hairs on the back of her neck
were standing on end like those of a terrified
animal, and she was sweating in spite of the chill
of the night. Then, just as suddenly as it had
begun, the rattling ceased and she heard
shuffling footsteps and the tip-tapping of a cane
on the bare floorboards as Ephraim went away.
She collapsed back against the pillows, breathing
heavily and trembling all over, but then anger
overcame fear and she sat up again, clenching
her fists. This could not be allowed to go on. If
she was to stay here for any length of time, she
would have to come to an understanding with
Mr Ephraim Hubble.

Sleep evaded her for the rest of the night. How
long she lay there, planning what she would say
to her employer first thing in the morning, she
did not know, but as the first streaks of a grey
dawn split the night sky Eloise rose from her bed
and dressed herself, fumbling with the laces on
her stays. She was all fingers and thumbs this
morning, but she was determined to take control
of events before they spiralled out of hand. The
children were still fast asleep and she took
the opportunity to slip out of the room, locking
the door behind her. She crept down the back
stairs and out into the yard where she had to use
the disgusting privy, and then washed as best
she could at the pump. She held her head under
the cold stream of water, regardless of the fact
that it dampened her blouse. Feeling better, she
shook the water from her long, dark hair and
wrapped it in the scrap of towel she had found
on the washstand in the bedroom. She went back
to her room to check on Joss and Beth. Poor little
things, she thought, as she looked lovingly down
at their faces so innocent and vulnerable as they
slept. What have I brought you to?

Just looking at them put steel in her spine, and
made her even more determined to take matters
into her own hands – this was not the time to be
faint-hearted. Peering into the cracked mirror
over the mantelshelf, she wound her damp hair
into a knot and fastened it on top of her head
with the few hairpins that came to hand. She did
not want to waste time by pinning back the long
tendrils that escaped to curl around her temples;
she would tidy it up later with the aid of a net
and more hairpins, if she could find them at the
bottom of her valise. She had packed everything
so hastily that clothes, hairbrushes and shoes
were all jumbled together. There would be time
to sort her things after she returned from a
necessary visit to the shops to purchase fresh
bread, butter and some jam for the children's
breakfast. She picked up the milk jug and once
again left the room, locking the door behind her
and praying that neither Joss nor Beth awakened
before she got back.

Outside on the green, the business of the day
was already beginning. Costermongers were
wheeling their barrows into position, the
lamplighter was on his way home after completing
his round, and farmers were already
arriving from the countryside with carts laden
with fresh produce to sell in the market. There
was a pleasant community atmosphere that
cheered Eloise as she hurried to the dairy and then
on to the bakery. Laden with fresh food, she made
her way to the lane at the back of the house and let
herself into the scullery. To her relief there was no
sign of Agnes, who was probably sleeping off the
excess of gin she had consumed last night. Eloise
took some crockery from the dresser, dusted it off
and took it up to her room together with her
purchases. Joss and Beth were just waking up, and
they greeted her with eager, smiling faces.

When they were fed and dressed, Eloise was
preparing to take them down to the kitchen
when she heard movements upstairs: the now
familiar sound of Ephraim's cane tap-tapping on
the bare boards, and the dragging of a heavily
bandaged foot. She braced her shoulders, ready
to face her new employer and tell him exactly
what was what, but she had no intention of
doing so in front of her children. She took them
down to the kitchen, where she found Agnes
riddling the ashes in the range in a desultory
fashion. She looked bleary-eyed and still half
asleep, or maybe not quite sober, but definitely
grumpy. 'Oh, you're up then,' Agnes muttered.
'This is your job, lady.'

'Never mind that,' Eloise said sternly. 'I want
you to keep an eye on my children for five
minutes while I go upstairs and speak plainly to
Mr Hubble.'

Agnes dropped the poker and straightened up.
A knowing look flitted across her sharp features.
'So he did pay you a visit in the night, did he?'

'He did, but thanks to you I had locked the
door, and he went away.'