The Great Betrayal (6 page)

Her mother sat up slowly. ‘Jenny Ellerway! If this is all make-believe, just to satisfy me . . .?’

‘Make believe? Course it’s not! The Reverend Willis Burke was performing the ceremony – you know – long white robes and everything. Bible, candles . . .’ She sat down, her expression sulky. ‘You’re never satisfied, Ma! On and on about me being in the family way and no husband and now he’s done the decent thing and married me . . . Look at this!’ She held out the ring Don had given her. ‘It’s a very expensive diamond. He said so!’

Her mother looked at it and shook her head. ‘If that’s a diamond I’m Humpty Dumpty!’

‘Well, it is!’ She wouldn’t mention the wink. ‘It might be a cheap diamond, but it’s really a diam—’

‘No such thing as a cheap diamond, you goose! That’s glass, that is.’

‘You’re just jealous!’

Her mother sighed, ignoring the slur. ‘I don’t know what your sister will say when I tell her!’

On this note the exchange stalled and for a long moment Dolly struggled to defeat the feelings of deflation and insecurity that had rapidly overtaken her. She said, ‘The Reverend Burke gave me a bunch of violets as a memento of the wedding. I thought that was really kind of him.’

‘They’ll be dead in no time.’

‘Not if I press them in a book.’

For a moment neither spoke.

‘So when’s his lordship going to show his face here? Don’t I even get to congratulate him?’

‘He’s over in his place – which is now my place, too – to make it nice for us. Tidy round a bit.’

‘I thought he shared the house with his brother.’

‘They have their own bedrooms and share the living room.’

Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘Let me guess! You’re going to skivvy for both of them! Oh Lord. Tell me I’m wrong, for pity’s sake.’

‘I don’t know, and I don’t care!’

Heaving herself to her feet, Dolly’s mother gave her daughter a peck on the cheek and said, ‘That’s for good luck. You’ll need it! And you won’t be getting a wedding present from me, Dolly. Tell him that. Tell him if he couldn’t even invite me to my own daughter’s wedding . . .’

But Dolly had had enough cold water poured on her big surprise and, without another word, she turned and fled, slamming the front door behind her.

On Monday morning, Lydia took Adam to the shops to buy him a new pair of shoes. She knew that her husband would be bringing money for the housekeeping, but she didn’t want him to find his son looking anything but well kept and in good health. If Don had earned a good sum of money, she might even approach the subject nearest to her heart – which was the possibility of a private school for Adam when he was old enough and, if possible, another baby so that he would not be an ‘only child’. Adam would soon be five, and she had her eye on a small private school nearby where she hoped to enrol him. That would leave her alone for weeks on end with no one but her father for company. She secretly craved another child because she had enjoyed motherhood and also believed it would be good for Adam to have a brother or sister to share his life.

George watched them set off to the shops with a pang of regret, but the wind was cool and his daughter had insisted that he should stay in beside the warm fire. As soon as she had closed the front door behind them, George threw down his newspaper and hurried to the front room window to watch their progress along the street.

‘Come back soon,’ he whispered. He was often irritated by their presence, but he felt bereft the moment they left him and when they had gone from sight there was just him and the grandfather clock which ticked his life away with grim determination. He retrieved
The Times
and smoothed it out, folded it and placed it carefully on the table.

I’ll make a pot of tea, he decided and headed for the kitchen where he stood staring round him before stepping outside into the small garden, waiting for inspiration. When none came he went back into the kitchen, but before he could remember why he was there he became aware that someone was knocking at the front door.

‘Ah!’ He frowned nervously. He waited, holding his breath. Better not to venture out into the hall or he might be spotted by whoever it was. ‘Go away!’ he muttered. He closed the kitchen door and leaned against it. ‘There’s no one here.’

The knocking was repeated, and it occurred to him that maybe Lydia had forgotten something and had returned for it. With sudden energy he reopened the kitchen door and rushed along the passage, and he had already opened the door when he realized he had made a mistake. ‘Oh!’ he gasped.

A complete stranger stood there, a young man, smiling hopefully.

Dismayed, George began to close the door, but then curiosity overcame him. ‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘Mr Wright sent me.’

‘Mr Wright?’ George shook his head firmly. ‘Wrong address. You’ve got the wrong address.’ He waved a hand to indicate the choice of alternative addresses on either side of the house and added, ‘Try one of those.’

The man’s smile wavered. ‘Mr Wright owns the paper shop. He said—’

‘Never heard of the fellow. Now you must excuse me. I’m busy.’

‘Aren’t you Mr Meecham?’

The door had almost closed, but now George hesitated. He
was
George Meecham. Yes, he was. So how did this young man know that? Unless this was . . . His heart leaped at the possibility. He reopened the door. ‘Robert? Is it you?’

‘No, sir. I’m Leonard Phipps. Mr Wright told me you might have a spare room to let. It wouldn’t be permanent. Maybe a few months or at the most a year.’

But George was not listening. He held the door open wide and said, ‘Come in! Come in, Robert! This is a surprise. The spare room, you say? But of course.’

‘It’s Leonard, actually.’ The visitor stepped inside, wiping his shoes carefully on the mat and removing his hat. ‘This is very kind of you, Mr Meecham. Mr Wright has given you a very good reference.’ He laughed, fumbling in his jacket pocket for an envelope. ‘This is a reference from my last landlady – my mother, actually – just to let you know I’m an honest and upright citizen. But then she would think so, wouldn’t she! I haven’t been in lodgings before.’

Pushing the envelope away, George said gruffly, ‘No need for that!’ and led the way to the kitchen to put on the kettle. ‘My daughter Lydia will be home soon,’ he told his visitor. ‘She’s gone to buy the boy some new shoes. My grandson. I forget his name, but you’ll like him. Plucky little chap. I’ll show you the room while we wait for the kettle.’

Proudly leading the way, he went upstairs, and Leonard Phipps followed. He was a stocky young man with broad shoulders, thick sandy hair and very blue eyes.

‘That’s the bathroom.’ George threw open the door. ‘We have had one of the new geysers installed. Don’t let it deter you from your weekly bath. A very technical and temperamental machine, but it does produce hot water if it’s in a good mood.’ He demonstrated. ‘You turn on the gas jet – they call it a pilot light, for some reason – and light it and it heats the water in the cylinder above it. Takes a while, but it does work – unless someone opens the bathroom door when a draught might blow out the flames. Can be tricky, but my daughter manages it very well when her husband’s away.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘Very secret, his work. Something for the government, but I don’t enquire.’

‘I see. Right.’

George laughed. ‘That’s my room –’ he pointed – ‘and that’s where the boy sleeps in the small room next to his mother. The spare room which will be yours is up these few steps . . . Here we are. Now, what do you think? You’ll be very comfortable.’

The room was sparsely furnished, with a large bed on which sat a pile of folded blankets, sheets and two pillows. There was a washstand with a brown and white jug and bowl, a mahogany wardrobe, a chair and table, and chest of drawers which matched the wardrobe. The floor was mainly covered with small rugs placed strategically on the wood floor. The small fireplace boasted a companion set – iron tongs, poker, dustpan and brush – as well as a brass coal scuttle in need of polish.

The young man nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s very nice, Mr Meecham. It all rather depends on the price. I do hope we can come to an agreement. I shall be pleased to speak to your daughter about meals and . . . and washing facilities.’ He gave a discreet glance under the bed to the inevitable china pot.

Seeing this, George said, ‘There is a lavatory on the ground floor.’

‘I see.’

‘There really is no need to consult with my daughter. This is my house, Mr . . . What was it?’

‘Phipps. Leonard Phipps.’

‘Mr Phipps. You can discuss a price with her, however, because there may be a matter of washing clothes and ironing them, cleaning the room, perhaps. We did a lot for poor Miss Baisley.’ He frowned. ‘If that was her name. I grow forgetful, I’m afraid.’ His frown vanished. ‘We’re a very cheerful family. And you’ll like young Adam and my son Robert.’ He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. ‘I think we shall get along splendidly. Interested in cricket, are you? I used to be a handy all-rounder when I was a young man.’

As the young man followed him down the stairs and attempted to answer, George interrupted him. ‘You’ve been promoted, I believe, hence the move to this area. What exactly do you do, Mr Phipps?’

Mr Phipps’ answer came as a pleasant surprise and brought a grin to George’s face.

By the time Lydia returned with Adam the two men were discussing the government and its perceived failures. Lydia stared at the young man, who jumped to his feet and began to stammer an explanation of his presence there. ‘I have brought a reference,’ he told her and took it from his jacket pocket in readiness.

Lydia shook her head, unwilling to accept it.

Adam started to tell him about the shoe shop and his new shoes, which he proudly produced from their box, but Lydia, shocked into silence, now sat down heavily on the sofa and wondered how she could tactfully protest at the arrangement which had been made in her absence.

‘My father, I’m sure, had no intention of giving you a firm answer or definitely agreeing to any such plan,’ she managed at last, ‘and you must understand that I shall have to consult with my husband before we can go ahead.’ She turned to her father. ‘You knew you should have waited,’ she told him.

‘I only showed him the room,’ he protested. ‘There is no need to take this attitude, Liddy.’

‘But you have raised poor Mr Phipps’ hopes, and that is hardly fair.’

George shrugged his shoulders. ‘I simply said that as far as I am concerned the room is his. That is all. If you, or that husband of yours, veto the idea then that is another matter.’ He leaned down to Adam. ‘What smart shoes your mother has bought for you, but lace-ups? Do you think those small fingers of yours are quite clever enough?’

Leonard Phipps, by this time red-faced with embarrassment, said, ‘Oh please, Mrs Daye! I don’t want to cause any problems for you. I was not expecting a definite answer today, but simply wanted to know if the room might possibly be suitable and available . . .’ He swallowed. ‘I just wanted to know that I need not look any further. I have been granted a day off to arrange my lodgings and open a bank account.’

George, enjoying the situation he had created, had turned his attention to Adam, who was still trying to come to terms with the laces in his new shoes.

Lydia muttered something about ‘a pot of tea’ and withdrew. Once in the kitchen she rolled her eyes and thought angrily about her father’s meddling. As she filled the teapot, however, she thought about Leonard Phipps, who seemed a nice enough man with good manners – but what on earth would John say? Very likely he would see the other man as an interloper and would immediately veto the idea of accepting him as a lodger, which would be difficult after her father had almost promised him the room.

She sighed as she set the tea tray with three cups and saucers. John would probably protest that they had no need of extra money as his own work provided for them very comfortably, which was true, but the idea of someone else living in the house while John was away was now, after some thought, becoming quite appealing. If, as had happened several times, her father wandered off, there would be two people to go in search of him instead of one.

An hour later that same day, when John arrived home Lydia met him in the hall. He kissed his wife and hugged his son and Lydia opened her mouth to begin the little speech she had rehearsed about the presence of Leonard Phipps and the possibility of him becoming a lodger. However, her father forestalled her as they entered the room where Leonard Phipps was still waiting to know his fate.

George said, ‘Hullo again, John. Meet Mr Phipps who is going to be our new lodger. You’ll like him. Very solid sort of chap. Has to be. He’s a policeman.’

Four

When Dolly came downstairs on Monday morning she found Sidney alone at the breakfast table with a basin of beef dripping which he was spreading on to a thick slice of bread cut from a large cob loaf. There was no sign of Don.

Sidney glanced up, chewing furiously, swallowed and said, ‘He said to tell you he loves you and he’s had to rush to get some stuff up to Manchester on the train.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What? Already? He was away yesterday and all!’

‘Don’t give me that look, Dolly. You can’t blame me.’

‘You mean he’s gone off without even telling me? Gone back to work?’

‘Got it in one!’

‘For how long? I mean, is he coming back today?’

‘Might. Might not.’ He indicated the bread. ‘Help yourself.’

She shook her head. ‘But we was only wed Saturday!’

‘You’ve got a good memory.’ He pretended not to notice the quiver in her voice. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be back. Like a bad penny, our Don. Don’t you want any breakfast? Beef dripping.’ He indicated the basin. ‘Tasty, that is.’

She sat down reluctantly. ‘I like marmalade.’