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‘Open it,’ she said over her shoulder.
Stunned, Evan did as he was told. Victor ran to Alice’s side but she shook off his hand. ‘Don’t! You don’t want me. Stay away. No one should come near me.’
Then she moved through the heavy iron gates and before Victor could do anything she pulled them closed with a metallic clang; leaving herself on the outside and him on the inside.
Gently she reached through the bars and touched Victor’s face.
‘There was always something between us, wasn’t there? Always something which kept us apart. You should be glad of that now.’
Chapter Sixteen (#ulink_f181318a-cbbf-5d12-9f1b-b13672feae13)
It was well known that the stupidest family in Salford were the Booths. Rumour had it that Mr Terence Booth – who worked at the UCP tripe shop – volunteered for the German army when he was called up. As for his wife, Lettie Booth, she made dresses – cheap ones for the mill girls and the women in the surroundings streets who couldn’t afford 11/9d for a summer frock from the Co-op. So Lettie codged up some pretty nifty designs with end of rolls from Tommy Field’s market. But she sold them too cheaply, hardly making a profit and working like a dray horse constantly to make ends meet.
Lettie was a master on the sewing machine, but otherwise semiliterate. Small, with a short-sighted stare, only she could see something fanciable in her husband, a redhead with jug ears. It was inevitable that they married, and before five years were out, they had had three little Booths, all red-headed, all jug-eared and all impressively stupid.
The Booths lived in Trafalgar Street, just a few rows from the town centre. Two doors away from their poky terrace house lived the Hopes, fierce as Huguenot martyrs, and in between lived a solitary single woman, called Alice Rimmer. She had moved into the rented accommodation a week or so before and was apparently ill.
‘I’ve not seen hide nor hair of her,’ Lettie said to her husband, who was holding a sheet of newspaper up to the fire to set it going. The summer heat had gone, Northern chill in its place. ‘D’you suppose she’s all right?’
The fire took suddenly and lit the bottom of Terence’s newspaper. He jumped back, Lettie beating down the flames with her apron. He was left holding half of a sheet of smouldering paper, the fire roaring in the grate.
‘Good blaze.’
Lettie nodded. The fact that it had nearly taken the house with it didn’t seem to occur to her.
‘Well, what d’you think?’
‘I think it’s a good blaze –’
‘About the girl next door?’
Terence frowned. ‘Maybe she’s shy.’
‘Oh yes, maybe that’s it,’ Lettie replied thoughtfully. Trust Terence, he could always get to the nub of the problem. ‘Perhaps I should call round on her.’
‘Best leave it at the moment,’ the oracle replied, puffed up with his own wisdom. ‘What’s for tea?’
Anna Hope was looking at her husband, Mr Hope. She never called him by his first name – no one did. It was Mr Hope to everyone, even to her, and that was fine. He was brushing down his old-fashioned suit and about to return to work, his stern expression never lifting as he then turned and examined the papers in his cheap briefcase. Church work. Or was it work for the Oldham MP? Anna wasn’t bothered, as long as it got her husband out of the house
In silence she waited until he had finished reading, cleared his throat and checked his image in the mirror. A dark moustache, neatly trimmed, gave him a faintly rakish look, quite at odds with his serious demeanour. The moustache had been the thing which had first attracted Anna to him, and the thing that had made her mother suspicious.
‘Never trust a man with a moustache,’ she had said warningly. ‘They chase the girls.’
Well, Anna didn’t like to contradict her mother, but Mr Hope wasn’t the type to chase girls; didn’t like them as a race, thought them flighty, empty-headed. Which was why he liked his wife. Anna was stern, unbending, a lady down to her corsets.
‘I’ll be home after seven,’ he pronounced, extending his cheek to his wife to be dutifully pecked. ‘Thank you for dinner, my dear.’
His accent was Northern, but affected in the vowels by many years of sucking up to richer, more powerful people. At thirty, Mr Hope had thought he would be someone; at forty he had started to get nervous; and at fifty he was now certain that he was doomed to the life of a gofer. Mr No Hope, Anna called him. But never to his face.
‘I saw the girl who moved into next door,’ Anna said suddenly. ‘Looks flighty.’
Mr Hope was pleased to hear it. After all, what would a decent girl be doing living alone?
‘I think you should stay away from her,’ he said warningly. ‘No point mixing with the wrong sort.’
Anna nodded, turned her wheelchair to the front door and let her husband out. She stood watching him until his stiff little figure had busied itself off round the corner and then moved back indoors, resting her ear against the adjoining wall to see if she could hear any signs of life from her neighbour.
At that moment Alice was sitting staring at an empty fire grate. She had sat there on and off for days, only moving to do the necessary functions of living. Otherwise she remained immobile and didn’t care what happened to her. The house had been rented by Victor, who was still working out his apprenticeship at Mr Dedlington’s. He had asked for an advance on his wage and was granted it – along with a warning that it was the first and last time.
The night that Alice had left Netherlands, Victor had followed, catching up with her in Dudley Street.
‘Wait for me!’ he had called after her, running to her side. ‘Alice, where are you going?’
‘Does it matter?’
Her face had been devoid of expression and his heart had shifted. The appalling truth – coming so cruelly – had shaken him, but it had not affected the way he felt about Alice. They would marry, he decided. It was sooner rather than later, but they could manage somehow. They would have to.
‘Alice, don’t run away from me. This changes nothing –’
‘It changes everything,’ she’d replied dully. ‘You don’t want me, not now.’
‘I love you.’
She had hung her head, weary with shock. ‘David Lewes. My father …’ She’d turned to Victor. ‘I have to find out more –’
‘Why!’ he had snapped, unusually impatient. ‘It’ll do you no good.’
‘So what do I do? Forget it? Forget what he said –’
‘It could have been a lie.’
Alice had shaken her head. ‘Oh no, that was no lie. Didn’t you see Clare Lees’ face? She’s known all along.’ Her voice had dropped. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Marry me.’
‘What! No, I have to work things out. I can’t let you carry me. You have to think about it, Victor, think about what I am. What this means.’
He’d caught hold of her and pulled her to him. ‘It means nothing. Nothing.’
So she had allowed Victor to lead her to Mr Dedlington’s house, where he’d knocked his employer – and his wife – up. They had been surprised to see the two young people on their doorstep, but too kindly to turn them away. Instead, the Dedlingtons had listened to Victor’s story and Mrs Dedlington had tut-tutted, put a blanket around Alice’s shoulders, and made tea. Mr Dedlington, who had been touched by the tale, had given Victor the address of a friend of his and by midnight the small house on Trafalgar Street had been opened up for them.
‘No funny business, mind you,’ Mr Dedlington had warned Victor as he’d been handed the key. ‘I won’t have my kindness thrown in my face. Your young lady can stay here – but you can bunk up on our couch until you’re wed.’
Victor had shaken Mr Dedlington’s hand. ‘You won’t regret this. I’ll make up for it.’
‘Well, see that you do,’ the older man had replied, not unkindly. ‘I’ll have Miss Lees down my back in the morning and if I’m to help you, you have to help yourself. It’s a messy business, lad.’
He nodded, but his voice was steady. ‘I’m going to marry Alice. Everything will work out, honestly it will.’
Mr Dedlington had looked into the young face and sighed. ‘Do you know about the Lewes case?’
Victor had shaken his head.
‘Well, lad, just so you’re aware what you’re getting yourself into … It were a long time ago, up at Werneth Heights. The Arnold family were very rich – big landowners – and the father had his fingers in more than one pie. He had two daughters, Dorothy and Catherine. David Lewes married Catherine. She was highly strung, very handsome, and they had two children –’
‘Alice,’ Victor had whispered.
Mr Dedlington had nodded. ‘Aye, Alice and a boy. I never knew his name. They were only little when the tragedy happened.’
Victor had been watching his face carefully. ‘What happened?’
‘David Lewes killed his wife one night and ran off. The girl was sent away –’
‘Why?’
Mr Dedlington had shrugged. ‘Gossip said that she were too like her father to look at, and the old man wanted her out of the way. No reminders, like. Until now no one knew where she went.’
Victor had frowned, trying to take it all in. ‘What about Alice’s brother?’
‘He stayed with his grandparents. They brought him up at first, then his aunt – Dorothy – married and brought up the kid as her own.’
‘But how could they give away one child and not the other?’
Mr Dedlington had shaken his head. ‘Who knows? Maybe she were too like David Lewes. Anyway, the old man, Judge Arnold –’
‘He was a judge!’
‘Nah, it were just a name for him. He were on the bench, a magistrate, a right hard bugger. More clout than he should have had, but money bought him that. No one could touch the Arnolds, so after the tragedy the family closed ranks and moved away. Went abroad for a few years. Maybe old man Arnold thought that the girl was tarnished with the same brush as her father, so best palm her off. Get her out of the family once and for all.’
Staggered, Victor had looked at the older man. ‘But someone was bound to find out sooner or later?’
‘And do what? I’ve told you, the Arnolds had – still have – money and power. There’s no law that stops you giving away your granddaughter.’
‘But what about David Lewes?’
Mr Dedlington had shrugged his shoulders. ‘There were rumours flying round – he was mad, he was dead. Some said that the family had him sent out of the country. But no one knew for sure. No one ever knew. The case was scandalous, headline news – but only for a short while. Judge Arnold must have pulled some big strings, because it were hushed up fast. It was gossip all over town, all over the county one day. The next, silence. Whatever happened to David Lewes no one knows for sure. And if I know anything about old man Arnold no one ever will.’ Mr Dedlington’s wrinkled face had softened. ‘You know what you’ve got yourself into, lad, don’t you?’
Victor had nodded, his face set. ‘I think so.’
‘Well, my advice would be to let the past rest. Marry the lass and have your own children. Forget David Lewes and the Arnolds. Forget the past. There’s only misery there. Nothing else.’
When Victor told Alice what his employer had said he left two things out – that she had a brother and that no one really knew what had happened to her father. Better to let her presume that David Lewes was dead and that there had been no siblings. Otherwise he knew that she would never settle until she had found them.
But Alice was in no state to find anyone. And now she was staring ahead, remembering what Victor had told her and wondering when she would find the energy to live again. The terror and humiliation of her last night at Netherlands had shattered her, Clare Lees’ words stamping into her brain so deeply that Alice thought she would never stop hearing them – You should be in the dirt. That’s where you came from – and where you belong.
Victor was being so kind, Alice thought. He had put his head on the line and was certain that he had the future all mapped out. But she wasn’t so certain. Alice shifted in her seat, looking ahead. She had to get out and find a job, make money. It wasn’t fair that Victor was doing all the hard work. She was going to be his wife soon; it was her duty to help him.
Her duty … Alice rose to her feet and paced the tiny kitchen. The house was cramped, and damp from not having been used for months. What furniture there was had been second- or third-hand, culled from skips and house clearances. The surfaces, once polished, were dull, the only mirror fly-spotted and cracked over the blackened kitchen range.
The place chilled Alice to the soul. She would have to get out, go for a walk – do anything, but stop staring at the same bare floor and faded distempered walls. When Victor was there it was different; she could hold on to him and forget reality. But alone, the place swamped her.
Hurriedly Alice pulled on her coat and walked out into Trafalgar Street, scurrying past as she heard her neighbour open the door.
But she was too slow. Lettie Booth shouted out a greeting.
Reluctantly, Alice turned. ‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello, luv,’ Lettie replied, the thick lenses of her glasses magnifying pale, weak eyes. ‘I were coming round to see you later. See you were all right.’
‘I’m fine,’ Alice said quietly.
‘Going for a walk?’
She nodded, tried to move off. But Lettie stopped her, too stupid to see that she didn’t want to talk.
‘I know what trouble’s like, been in plenty myself. Oh, not that I’m saying you’re in trouble. But if you were, there’s always a willing ear next door for you. You’re so young and so pretty …’ Lettie dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You needn’t worry about clothes.’
Alice frowned. ‘What?’
‘Clothes,’ Lettie repeated dumbly. ‘I’ve still got my three’s baby things. In good condition – well, give or take a darn or two.’
Aghast, Alice was rooted to the spot. So that was what everyone thought. That she was pregnant.
Her voice hardened. ‘I’m not in trouble –’
‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ Lettie went on blithely, oblivious to the effect her words were having. ‘The baby can’t help its start, can it? I’m sure you’ll make a good mother.’
‘I’m not having a baby!’ Alice snapped, walking away. Then she turned back. Her voice was hostile. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you would tell everyone that. Tell everyone Alice Rimmer isn’t that kind of girl.’
Her anger was so intense that Alice didn’t realise what she was doing, or where she was going. Absent-mindedly, she boarded a bus and paid her fare, not even hearing what the conductor said to her. Instead her eyes fixed on the view outside. Then after a moment they moved to her reflection in the window looking back at her.
She was lost. Not on the bus, but everywhere. Her whole world had been shaken, like a pocket turned inside out. It was true that she loved Victor and wanted to be with him, but the cost had been so great. Humiliation burned inside her. How many people knew about her past? If Evan Thomas had found out, had he kept it a secret? Unlikely, Alice thought. He would have wanted to spread the dirt. ‘Gossip sticks like shit to a blanket,’ Alice had overheard Mr Dedlington say. And he was on their side. Others would be less charitable.
But then again, maybe there would be no need for Evan Thomas to tell anyone else. He had used the knowledge to damning effect and got what he wanted – Alice’s banishment and fall from grace. Why should he give her another thought? Carefully Alice studied her reflection in the bus window. Her face was a white oval, the dark eyes huge and sad.
The bus stopped suddenly, the conductor calling out, ‘End of the line, all off here.’
Surprised, Alice rose to her feet. ‘Where am I?’
‘Union Street.’
‘Where’s that?’
The man looked at her suspiciously. ‘Now don’t take the mickey, there’s a good girl.’
‘Honestly, I mean it. Where is Union Street?’
‘You’re in Oldham, miss. In the town centre.’
