Rags to Riches, page 17
‘With my people, they look for the high society wedding, the good match as they call it. I know my father hopes … no, expects me to find myself a well-bred wife whose family go back generations, whose father can give her a really smashing dowry. He wants the name of my future wife emblazoned all over The Times and the Manchester Guardian for everyone to see. He wants the best. He is a sir, you know. But more or less newly knighted. Well, last year, anyway. And like everyone newly lifted up, he is very aware of it. And for me to come outright with the fact that I want to marry an ordinary girl … I mean to me you’re not ordinary, not at all. You’re just the most wonderful person … No, Alice, don’t interrupt! I’m putting all this badly, I know. But what I’m trying to say is that he and Mother would see you as ordinary even if your father was only a small businessman, or even a middle-class businessman with pots of money. He is besotted with his new title and there is nothing worse than the newly elevated. You see, Alice, he’d kill me for saying this, but my father came from small beginnings. He started with a small engineering firm well before the War, before I was born, on a few pounds inherited in an old uncle’s will and by the time the War came he’d already turned to making munitions. In just four years it expanded out of all expectations. And he was shrewd too – he invested in other like industries. Now he has a thriving empire and a title, he likes to forget his small beginnings. Naturally he’s looking for me to make a good marriage. But I love you, my darling. I shall fight for you and nothing he says will part us. You’re better than anyone I know, and I shall remind him of where he himself originated.’
‘But he was never as poor and ordinary as us,’ Alice said as he finished. ‘He came from a better background than I, humble beginnings or not.’
‘I don’t care!’ Richard snorted defiantly. ‘My darling, I don’t want to lose you. I shall fight tooth and nail for you. Even if it means he cuts me off without a penny. Anyway I have my own money, in trust. No one can take that away. So you are assured of a decent life with me.’
‘Do you mean you’re proposing to me, Richard?’ Alice had concentrated her gaze fully on him. ‘Officially? Properly?’
‘Officially and properly.’ He smiled, relaxing, drawing her close once more.
She let herself melt into his arms, let him kiss her with all the passion in both their beings. But they were in the middle of the Embankment and passion could not be allowed to go too far. Richard broke away and before she could think what he was doing, he had started up the car and drove off erratically.
‘Where are we going?’ she queried.
‘You’ll see.’ His voice had a grating sound to it.
Almost immediately the car took a left turn into a side street, turning again into a small dingy alley. There they stopped. ‘We can be out of sight here,’ was all he said as he quickly cut the engine and turned to gather her up in his arms.
Alice gave a little struggle, already sensing fear of something not quite right about this. ‘What are you doing, Richard?’
‘What we’ve both wanted to do for a long time, my darling. To make love, properly – cement our love, my sweetest.’
Alice pushed against him, really frightened now, heard herself crying out, ‘No! Not!’ But he wasn’t listening.
‘I love you, Alice, and it’s killing me.’ His voice came with an effort. Already his hand was pushing beneath her skirt exposing her legs to the warm August air now feeling suddenly cold on the bare flesh above the rolled tops of her stockings. His fingers were at the two buttons of her camiknicks, fighting to release them. ‘I love you so much, so much darling!’ His breath against her face was hot. He was panting.
She was fighting him now, her words, ‘No, Richard! Don’t!’ smothered by his kisses as he panted against her lips how they loved each other, how they needed each other, how they must have this relief from their pent-up love of each other.
The buttons had come undone, the band around her waist suddenly loose. He was now fiddling with the fly buttons of his immaculate evening suit trousers. Panic consumed her.
‘Get off me!’ she shrieked, managing to avert her lips a little from the crushing kiss. At the same time her struggles released her left hand. Instinctively she brought it back, then forward, the resounding smack of her palm on the side of his cheek echoing from the stone buildings lining the dark alleyway.
Startled, Richard pulled away, his frantic movements ceasing. ‘What was that for?’
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she screamed at him, sobbing through her scream. ‘Don’t you ever dare touch me again like that.’
Alice was pulling her short skirt back over her legs, trying to rebutton her camiknicks, hoping she had succeeded with at least one as the band tightened. She felt dreadful now the fright was gone – angry at him, angry at herself, feeling a new stab of fear lest he throw her over unable to get what he’d wanted, and bitter disappointment that it had all turned out like this. She was just someone he’d been going out with for all he could get even if it had taken him some while. All her hopes felt dashed. And she was so in love with him. How could she have been so let down? She felt cheap, degraded. And she’d had such high hopes, silly little fool, a girl from the East End, dreaming about being the wife of a wealthy son and heir of a sir. She sat silent.
Richard had sat back in his seat ‘Are you all right?’ His voice came hollow.
‘I suppose so,’ she just about answered.
He seemed to be crying. Surely he wasn’t crying? His voice when he spoke again proved that he was. ‘I’m sorry, Alice, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’
But she had no time for his tears of remorse. She was angry, disillusioned and terribly terribly degraded, all her hopes, her silly hopes, tumbled at her feet.
‘And so you should be.’ She tried to control the sob in her throat. ‘You tried it on with me …’
‘I love you.’ There was a sob in his voice too, but she didn’t care.
‘I’m not one of your free and easy tarts, even if you thought I was. I’ve been brought up decently even if I’m only working-class.’
She thought of Amy, product of an upper-class upbringing. Look where her money had got her. ‘I shall never let any man touch me until I am married to him.’ Her voice was growing stronger, more resolute, her mind making itself up to end this affair, hurtful though that was. ‘I’m sorry too, Richard. But I’m not that sort of girl. It’s all over, isn’t it?’
She felt him sit upright in his seat. ‘What d’you mean, it’s all over? Do you mean you’re throwing me over because of this? Alice, you can’t! I said I was sorry.’
She stared at him. ‘I thought you’d want to throw me over. Not able to get what you wanted, I thought you … I thought …’
Even in the dark, as her voice trailed away uselessly, she could see his eyes gleaming. ‘How can you say that? All I want is you. There’s no one else in the world for me but you. I want to marry you, Alice. Please forgive me for what happened just now. I promise I shall never do that again if you don’t want me to. Not until we’re married.’
In the dark alley Alice’s world lit up like day. ‘Do you mean that, Richard? You still want to marry me?’
‘Of course I do. I’ve never wanted anything else.’ She was in his arms again, this time the embrace holding no threat, only abiding love. ‘And as soon as I can I’m going to ask your father for your hand in marriage.’
Happiness restored, Alice giggled, picturing him standing before her father.
‘I can’t believe yer want to marry my gel.’
‘But, sir, I do. I do indeed want to marry her.’ Richard stood facing the man who, at the first hint of who had entered, had struggled into a collar he’d found after frantically rummaging in the sideboard drawer, and put on a jacket over his braces.
He looked very aware that he still bore the signs of a man not long come in from doing a dirty job of unloading a ship’s hold, that he hadn’t washed properly as yet and needed a shave, that his moustache still had a remnant of gravy on it, which he quickly wiped away as Richard entered the back room with Alice on his arm.
Alice, having introduced her fiancé as she could safely call him, now sat on the edge of the sofa while Richard, having shaken hands with her father and hefty-looking brother, remained standing almost to attention in the centre of the room, so nervous did he feel after having informed the family of his intentions towards their daughter.
By rights he should have requested to speak to her father in private, in another room and there presented his intentions, his credentials, his ability to care for Alice in the way to which she was accustomed. But there was no other room. The door to the one he had passed on entering the house, the room at the front, had been open revealing a double bed. It had shaken him that someone in this family was obliged to sleep downstairs without a proper bedroom. He could hardly have asked Mr Jordan to step into that room.
So here he was standing in the centre of this one, the remains of their meal still on the table, the house redolent with the smell of that meal, his own self-confidence thoroughly shaken by it all. Nor could he speak of his ability to care for Alice in the way to which she was accustomed, for nothing could be further removed from the existence she obviously led here.
‘Well I never!’ exclaimed Mr Jordan, taken aback at being called sir. He recovered himself quickly and became formal, frowning severely. ‘I ’ope yer … you intend ter … to treat ’er right.’
‘I certainly do, sir. Alice is all I want in my life. I shall be loving and loyal and I shall see she wants for nothing. I can give her a good marriage, sir.’
Mrs Jordan, in apron and old shoes that served for slippers, opened her mouth to speak, her diction as good as she could get it. ‘You’ve really honoured us, Mr Pritchard …’
‘Richard,’ he corrected gently. ‘Please call me Richard.’
‘Oh … yes. And I know my Alice’ll make you a good and lovin’ wife, I’m sure.’
‘Oh, I know she will,’ he echoed fervently, his fond gaze coming to rest on the blushing, glowing-eyed Alice. Upstairs, Amy heard the entry of the loving couple. Alice’s raised and excited voice revealed the moment the door was opened that Richard Pritchard had just proposed to her and that she had brought him home to ask her father for her hand in marriage.
Amy had been sitting on her bed by the window, her thoughts as always when alone going miserably back to the baby she had lost. At such times she yearned for the child she might have had. That her future life must prove easier without the encumbrance of an illegitimate baby held no consolation but only that emptiness of something precious having been taken from her. Never in her worst dreams had she imagined how empty she could feel. That she was in love with Tom was no comfort for she was not at all certain that he loved her; still holding her at bay, still seeing her as untouchable, on a plane far above his – that wasn’t love.
Up here by herself she had been sitting considering this life in limbo, neither one place nor the other. She couldn’t stay here for ever and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, go home. So what was there? Visions of the empty years stretched ahead, growing older, growing old, friendless, childless, unloved, belonging nowhere … And when there was no more money? Amy had seen old women carrying their worldly goods in old canvas bags, huddled into corners as the day faded – had they as young girls once been comfortably off, loved and cared for, but cast off for various reasons of their own, no longer wanted or loved? Was that to be her life?
She had let the desolate tears trickle down her cheeks unchecked, half luxuriating in their progress, allowing herself a sort of satisfaction that she could be so laid low by her thoughts. But the sounds at the front door below brought her upright, her misery swept away for the moment as Alice’s excitement drifted up the stairs.
Sweeping the tears from her cheeks with an angry, almost frightened hand, she prepared herself for the girl to come bursting into the bedroom. She must not see her like this. No one must see her like this. She stood up and made ready with an easy smile, trying to ignore the fact that it trembled.
Then she heard Dicky’s rather high voice saying good evening to Alice’s mother as he entered, and Alice’s voice again, introducing him, and more:
‘Mum! Oh, Mum – Richard has proposed to me. We’re going to be married.’
And Mrs Jordan’s shocked response. ‘Oh, Lord! Oh, what a surprise! Oh, I don’t know what ter say. You’d best come through and tell yer Dad. Oh, well I never. Just a tick, luv, while I see if ’e’s decently dressed. Do wait ’ere a minute, Alice, Mr Pritchard.’
Amy’s heart was already pounding against her chest wall like a hammer pounding on rock. He’d done it. He’d actually proposed. He was here to make it official. Had he also made it official with his own family? He must have done, or at least was sure of their response, or he wouldn’t be here. Anger and frustration gripped Amy.
Mrs Jordan had come out into the passage again, bidding the two of them to follow her. The door closed. Silence. Amy strained to listen to what was going on below her, the ceilings of this house transmitting every sound, the walls as thin as cardboard. But the words were indistinct, the voices too muffled to make sense of, though she knew exactly what they said. She gave up, and lowering herself back on to her bed, lay with her face in her pillow to silence the rending sobs of hatred and defeat that now came of their own volition.
*
In the breakfast room, the orange-flowered cream curtains half-drawn against the morning sunshine pouring full into the room, Sir John Pritchard sat regarding his son from one end of the table, this one smaller and more intimate than the long table in the dining room. Sir John’s old-fashioned greying moustache seemed to bristle.
‘You’ve been keeping company with a girl from … where?’
Richard’s mother reached for his hand and held it tightly. Extremely pretty at twenty from her photograph when she had married his father, at forty-three she was still very attractive, still slender, slightly built, her hair still golden with not a strand of grey in it, now in a fashionable shingle that made her look even younger, and following the fashion in dress as closely as a middle-aged woman dare. She was very much like him, or he very much like her: small straight nose, light brown eyes, small chin. But there the resemblance ceased. She was animated, happy bossing everyone about, and quite as self-assertive as any young person, to the point of being positively brash, whereas he knew he was far from strong-minded.
At this moment, however, he needed to be as much as possible, for Alice’s sake, for both their sakes. Nothing was going to stop him. He matched his father’s annoyed stare across the breakfast table.
‘From Stepney,’ he confirmed gamely. ‘And we aren’t keeping company. We’re very serious about each other.’
Unfortunately an effort at self-assertiveness in those not naturally so can often come out sounding rude and impertinent. The older man’s moustache seemed to bristle still more.
‘I don’t object to your having a bit of a laugh with girls like that from the lower orders of society – but be careful, son, some of them can be full of diseases. I know, I have to employ some of them, I’ve seen the sores breaking out around their mouths. Be careful what you’re doing, Richard. I’m not objecting to your finding yourself a girl for a night or two’s fun. I’m objecting to the five months of it and your saying nothing about it to us. And serious? No, young man, I’m not having that.’
Richard stood his ground, or rather sat it, his hands clenched on top of the breakfast table, his untouched fried eggs and grilled kidneys growing cold. ‘I don’t care what you say, Father. Alice and I are in love. And she is as clean living as you and I.’
‘Love! Good God, boy, what d’you know of love?’ His tone moderated a little, became advisory. ‘Forget it, lad, find yourself a decent girl from a fine family. There are enough of them among your café society friends, surely.’
‘Alice is a decent girl. She was a lady’s maid. She’s well-mannered, well-spoken and as honest as …’
‘Don’t argue with me, Richard.’
The benignity had been dispensed with, but Richard continued to entreat as far as his seething anger allowed. ‘If you’d let me bring her to meet you …’
‘Meet me? Damn it, Richard! Why should I wish to meet her?’
‘To see how well brought-up she is. Not everyone in the East End lives in poverty, and her family are quite comfortable compared to many. She’s a charming person and … and …’ He wanted to say, ‘I love her,’ but saying it twice would just be tempting fate. It was his mother who rescued him.
‘No harm in us meeting her, John. We mustn’t cling to Victorian prejudices. Class barriers aren’t what they were and she might be a very nice sort of girl.’
‘But not our class,’ John thundered at her over his son’s head. ‘It still does matter, Margaret, for all you try to be so modern. It’s nonsense, and your ideas of what is modern are nonsense. That girl does not set one foot in this house.’
‘John, you’re an outrageous snob! We have servants here from the lower classes.’
‘But we don’t greet them and offer them tea.’
‘I do. When I interview them for a position here, I bring them into the morning room and have them sit down and offer them a cup of tea while we chat.’
‘That’s different. They are being interviewed. They’re not out to marry my son and imagining they’ll be coming into money.’ He turned his eyes sharply on Richard. ‘That’s what she’s after, young man. And you’re idiot enough to fall for it.’
Richard shot up from the table unable to control himself any longer. ‘OK, so you don’t approve, either of you. Well, I’m going to marry her. She’s all I want and all I ever shall want. I’m still going to marry her. As soon as I can. And you can cut me off without a penny – I don’t care!’
