The Long Walk Home (38 page)

They both laughed, but nervously. 'Can I suggest something?' Eleanor said hesitantly. 'If you agree, Mikey, I was going to say we could go straight to my parents' house. If there is no one there, I know how to get in through the back, and we can at least be sheltered whilst we plan what to do next.'

'Will there be food?' Sam asked. He was always hungry.

'I don't know,' Eleanor said. 'Possibly. But I don't know if Cook will still be there.'

She felt silly, shamefaced even, admitting that she had lived in a house with a cook, and she saw the expression of disbelief on Sam's face.

'Crikey.' He whistled. 'Imagine that!'

It's strange, Mikey thought as they stepped off the boat. Everything looks the same and yet somehow different. The same wooden pier, 'same ticket office with 'clock above it. There's Nelson Street and Wellington Street and 'Vittoria hotel, which was always too grand for me to go in. There's 'old hoss wash. It's me that's different, I suppose. I went away as just a lad and now I'm five years older. But not much wiser, he mused. What have I achieved? Nothing. I'm as poor as I was when I left. I might just as well have stayed here and tried to make a living.

They headed towards High Street and Eleanor's house. Mikey and Eleanor said nothing, both anxious about what was in front of them. Sam broke into their reverie.

'This is an old street, Eleanor.' He no longer called her Miss, since she had asked him not to.

'It is,' she agreed. 'It used to be the main street in Hull in ancient times, but now the town is being rebuilt and people are moving out of the old area. But my father wanted to stay. His offices . . .' She faltered. 'His offices are just along there.' She waved a hand in the direction of a narrow lane. 'He preferred to stay near his work.'

Will he still be welcome there, she wondered. He was such a part of the legal community. Will they want him now?

'Here we are,' she said softly. 'This is— was, once, my home.'

She had come to a halt outside an old building with two steps up to the front door. Shutters obscured the windows and there was no light showing. Her heart sank. There was no one at home.

'Come this way,' she said quietly, and led them through a narrow iron gate at the side of the house. 'This leads to the kitchen.'

They followed her down a passage, past a side door and round to the back of the house. No one spoke and Eleanor put her hand on the door sneck. It lifted at her touch. The door was unlocked. She drew in a breath. Had someone forgotten to lock it or was there still a servant in the house?

Slowly she pushed open the door which led into a lobby. A pair of leather boots stood side by side and an umbrella leaned in the corner. She indicated that Mikey and Sam should follow her and they stepped inside. She put a finger to her lips and carefully pushed open the door which led into the kitchen.

She felt a rush of warm air and the yeasty smell of bread rising. 'Someone's here,' she breathed. 'Has the house been sold to someone else? Are we trespassing?'

A small gasp escaped her lips as she stood in the doorway looking into the kitchen. Her father sat at the kitchen table, and opposite him, with her back to the door, sat Mary.

Her father slowly lifted his head, hearing her almost inaudible exclamation. How grey and worn he looks, was her first thought, and why is he sitting in the kitchen, a place he never enters?

Mary turned and for a second they both stared at Eleanor. Then they rose. Her father clutched the table edge as if for support.

'I told you she'd come back,' Mary murmured.

'Thank God,' her father said. His face was lined and he looked ill. He blinked rapidly and his voice was hoarse and cracked. 'Eleanor! Thank God. You're safe after all.'

Mary pulled out chairs and bade them sit down. 'Oh, Miss Eleanor.' She was quite emotional. 'We've been that worried about you. Your father's had posters up all over 'country asking for information about you. Where ever have you been all this time?'

She bustled about, swinging the kettle over the fire and bringing out a large teapot, a tea caddy and a jug of milk. Then she reached for a tin and brought out a cake. Sam licked his lips.

'Yes,' her father said hoarsely. 'Where have you been, Eleanor?'

'I wrote to you, Papa,' she said. 'I wrote just before Christmas telling you that I was in London and that I was quite well.'

He shook his head and looked at Mary. 'I heard you might have been in London, but I never received a letter,' he said softly. 'Did we, Mary?'

'No sign of a letter,' she agreed. 'And practically every day I asked 'postie if he had anything for Mr Kendall.'

I don't understand, Eleanor thought. Why is Father consulting Mary and why down here in the kitchen? There would be explanations in time, she was sure, but her father was now gazing curiously at Mikey and Sam.

'Father,' she said nervously, 'these are my good friends, Mikey Quinn and Sam Hodges. We have travelled together.'

As she spoke she wondered if he would recognize Mikey or his name as the rabbit boy who was so cruelly sent to prison.

Mikey stood up and Sam followed suit. 'How do you do, sir?' Mikey said.

'And so you have brought my daughter safely home?' Edgar Kendall said.

Mikey felt his eyes appraising him and realized how down at heel and scruffy he must appear. He hadn't shaved since the start of their journey and his beard was unkempt and ragged. He had made an attempt to trim it with Eleanor's nail scissors but the result was uneven. Even Sam now had a downy top lip and chin. He glanced at Eleanor; she too was looking travel worn with her long tangled hair and dusty boots.

'We travelled together sir,' Mikey said. 'Ellie wanted to come home.'

His fond name for Eleanor slipped out naturally and he saw that her father had noticed, for he frowned slightly and his eyes flickered uneasily.

'Mikey brought me home, Father,' Eleanor broke in. 'But for him and Sam I would not be here yet. If at all,' she added.

'May I ask how you travelled?' Her father beckoned to Mikey and Sam to sit down. 'By train or— surely not by coach?'

'We walked, sir,' Sam butted in. 'It's a long way.'

Mr Kendall's eyebrows rose and he glanced from one to another, whilst Mary stood poised with the teapot in her hand, about to pour. 'You cannot be serious,' he said.

'Yes, Father,' Eleanor said. 'All the way. We hadn't any money to do otherwise.'

Edgar Kendall put his hand to his head. Eleanor heard him murmur so low that all she could catch was, 'What have I done?'

'Who told you I was in London, Papa?' she asked. 'If you didn't receive my letter.'

'It's such a long story, Eleanor,' he said. 'So many facets which I will tell you in time; but your aunt Maud wrote after your mother had left the country, to say that she thought I should know that she had heard that you were alone in London. I believe that your brother had informed your mother and she had told Maud.'

His voice had hardened when he mentioned Simon and their mother and he went on, 'I cannot understand why I wasn't informed before. There has been so much . . .' His voice wavered, and Mary put a cup of tea in front of him and patted his shoulder.

'Don't agitate yourself, sir,' she murmured. 'It's done with now. Miss Eleanor is home safe and sound.'

'Papa, are you unwell?' Eleanor said unsteadily. Her father's face had a yellowish tinge and his hair was quite grey.

'I have been,' he said, glancing at Mary. 'But I am much better than I was. I will explain eventually.'

He's been in prison, Mikey thought. I've seen that tallow-faced pallor on prisoners' skin.

'There is much to discuss,' her father said. 'Explanations which are owed to you, and also your future to decide. Your mother will not be coming back, as I'm sure you are aware, and forgive me'— he looked at Mikey and Sam— 'but there are also some private matters to speak of.'

Eleanor was astonished that her father was so humble. The man he had been would have shown Mikey and Sam to the door without any preamble whatsoever.

'I would like my friends to stay here,' she said firmly. 'We are all very tired and hungry and they need a bed for a night or two until we decide what next to do.'

'I'll put some dinner on,' Mary said. 'You must all be famished. Your father and me have had ours; we eat early, and then Mr Kendall has a rest of an afternoon.'

So he is ill, Eleanor thought. He would never need a rest otherwise. 'May I come up with you, Papa?' she asked. 'Or would that disturb you?'

'No,' he said. 'I would like that. And I will rest much easier once I have unburdened myself.'

Eleanor followed her father to his room, leaving Mikey and Sam sitting comfortably at the kitchen table and having another piece of cake whilst Mary put a hotpot in the oven to reheat.

'Where is Cook?' she asked as they entered his bedroom, which already had the bedspread turned back, although not the sheets. 'Or the other maids?'

'Gone.' He took off his slippers and his wool jacket and sat on the bed. 'Only Mary stayed. The others believed all they had heard about me and asked for their wages and references.' He sighed and lifted his legs on to the bed, shifting a pillow behind his back. 'Not that I could blame them. I would have done the same.'

'Did you go to prison, Father?' she asked quietly.

'On remand for several weeks,' he said. 'Charges were brought but not proved. I went to court and they accepted my explanation that I had been foolish enough to put my trust in someone with criminal intentions.'

Eleanor drew in a breath. 'Who?'

'My clerk. Percy Smart. I had trusted him with my clients' affairs and whilst I was . . .' he hesitated, 'whilst I was involved with other matters, he was taking advantage and using my name as surety. At first it looked as if I was siphoning off money from the clients' accounts, but he wasn't as clever as he thought; the evidence was there and he was eventually found out.'

'I remember him,' Eleanor said. 'I met him that day the police came, and he said there was some trouble, and that you would be charged with embezzlement. He also said he was to appear for the prosecution. I didn't like him,' she added. 'He was arrogant and insolent.'

'He seemed so efficient,' her father said. '"Leave it to me, sir," he used to say. "I will see to the detail." And like a fool,' he said bitterly, his eyes down, 'such a self-important fool, I did. And now, because of it, I have lost so much. At least he is now languishing in the cell meant for me.' He put his hand to his head. 'I have made many mistakes, Eleanor, and the spell in prison made me see them. I have lost my wife and son, and my good name, for even though I was proved innocent there will always be some who will choose to think otherwise.

'When I left court after being acquitted, Mary was waiting for me. The other servants had left, for you can imagine that the news was all over town, but Mary had stayed on; she kept the creditors at bay, for I had gone that day with the police and left no instructions or money. But she said that you had,' he added, 'and I was so grateful for that. And then, shortly after I returned home, I was struck by an illness of my heart. It was the shock, the doctor said, after the trauma of my arrest and the charge against me.'

'But you are all right now?' Eleanor asked anxiously. 'Or will be?'

'Perhaps,' he answered vaguely. 'But my heart is in a weakened state. I shall not be able to work again.' He gave a wry grimace. 'If in fact anyone would want me. But there is more, my dear.' Eleanor was startled. It was the first time she had ever heard a word of endearment from her father's lips. 'There is more.' He lapsed into silence, and Eleanor thought he had fallen asleep until he said, 'Your aunt Maud wrote not only to me, but to her father, your grandfather.'

'My grandfather? I haven't got a grandfather. Surely he's dead?' she exclaimed.

'He is very much alive. You won't remember him, as he saw you only once or maybe twice when you and Simon were babies. He didn't visit us because he disapproved of me. He hadn't wanted your mother to marry me, but was persuaded by his wife that it was a good match.'

'Oh,' Eleanor recalled. 'That is what Aunt Maud told me.'

'Well, your aunt took it upon herself to write and tell him of your mother's going to Canada and of my troubles also. He was shocked at your mother's conduct and has cut her out of his life, and appalled by my arrest. The disgrace,' he said quietly. 'And so there is the matter of this house.'

He shifted in the bed. 'He has said that he will try to reclaim it. He can't, of course; it is mine in law, but he said he would give it a damned good try. His very words.'

'But if he did, then we would have nothing,' Eleanor murmured. 'You would have nowhere to live.' And, she thought, you wouldn't survive.

She thought of all the people she had met who were desperately trying to keep a roof over their heads. Liza and Mr Bertram, Aunt Marie and Josh. Of the street children that the Goodharts cared for. And yet her parents, who had had so much, in their folly had carelessly thrown everything away.

'Where is my grandfather now?' she asked.

'He's still here in the town,' her father said wearily. 'Still trying to find a lawyer who will help him with the impossible.'

'I'd like to meet him,' Eleanor said. 'If he would agree.'

Her father nodded. 'He was alarmed to hear that you were alone in London. He blamed me, of course. Said I wasn't a fit parent.' He sighed. 'And he is right. For I am not. I have made many mistakes, Eleanor,' he repeated. He reached for her hand as she sat on the bed at his side. 'And I thought I had lost my daughter too, though I hope that you have now come back to me to stay.'

'I don't know yet, Father,' she said honestly. 'I'm unsure of my future. I too have had my eyes opened. I cannot waste my life by doing nothing with it. I have seen so much hardship and degradation that I didn't even know existed. I was quite ignorant of the poverty and suffering of so many, brought about by no fault of their own.'

Her father listened silently and when she had finished he said, 'So you intend to be a Good Samaritan? A philanthropist?'