Alley Urchin (31 page)

With her naturally slim figure, and being sensible enough to choose dresses that were not nipped in too tight at the waist, Emma’s condition was not easily evident. But she knew that in another few weeks, when she came into the fourth month of her pregnancy, there would be no hiding it. Already Mr Thomas had remarked how pinched and pale her face was. He had put it down to one thing only. The very same issue which he was raising now. ‘Come and sit beside me, Emma,’ he suggested in a kindly voice.

Emma turned from the window, momentarily surveying the bedroom, which was Roland Thomas’s own little world. Following the accident that had crippled him and which dictated the need for a downstairs room, Emma had chosen this one, because of its spaciousness and because it was always flooded with light. It was a lovely east-facing room, having large windows with a triple aspect, and from his bed Mr Thomas had a wonderful view of Queen Square. Emma had employed a man to work on creating a garden which was riotous in colour and, on a summer evening, when the windows were flung wide open, the scent from the shrubs and flowers would permeate the room. It was the most delightful room in the whole house, made even more pleasant by the chintz fabric and articles of light-coloured wood furniture which Emma had imported from England. Indeed, the decor of this room, and the drawing-room where Emma received her visitors, had made such an impression on certain people of social standing that Emma had built up a strong line of sales in various furnishings which she brought in from the homeland.

‘Listen to me, Emma.’ Roland Thomas reached out his hand to where Emma was now seated in the wicker armchair by his bed and, gently touching her shoulder, he went on, ‘Nelly went into that marriage with her eyes wide open. Oh, I know she’s prone to do silly things, and she often jumps in with both feet without looking where she’s going . . . but, she’s a grown woman! You can’t watch out for her forever, girlie.’

‘I know,’ Emma conceded, ‘but there have been rumours ever since she and Foster took on that small store in Perth. Word has filtered back that things are not well between them . . . and
that
doesn’t surprise me!’ Emma added bitterly, ‘But
why
won’t Nelly answer my letters? Every time the mail coach comes back, I feel positive that this time there’ll be a reply . . . but there never is.’ Of a sudden, Emma sat bolt upright in the chair, then she was leaning forward, her grey eyes alight with enthusiasm. ‘I’m of a mind to go there, Mr Thomas,’ she declared. ‘I’m certain she’ll talk to me . . . if we’re face to face.’

‘No, girlie.’ Roland Thomas closed his homely brown eyes as though in pain, and shaking his head, he told her, ‘You’re only hurting yourself in thinking that. You’ve known Nelly a good deal longer than I have . . . and, by God, you’ve been through some terrible times together. But I’ll tell you this. In the years that I have known her, Nelly has shown herself to be foolhardy and stubborn.
I’m
fond of her too, you know that, Emma . . . but you can’t deny that if she sets her mind against some’at, well . . . she’s hard put to change it. And I know it’s painful for you, Emma . . . but the truth is that Nelly’s set her mind against you! You’ll drive yourself into the asylum if you don’t accept it. And you know as well as I do,
that’s exactly
what that no-good son of mine planned right from the start.’

‘But he’s using her, Mr Thomas.’ Emma felt so utterly helpless and wretched. ‘He has no feelings for Nelly! He’ll make her life a misery. And I must do something . . . I can’t just watch it happen and do nothing!’

‘There isn’t a thing in this world you can do, Emma. You’ve written to Nelly and you’ve offered both friendship and support. If she chooses to throw it all back in your face, then I’m afraid . . . you must respect her wishes.’ He saw how distraught Emma was, and he despised his son all the more for it. ‘Y’do see that, don’t you, Emma?’

Emma reluctantly nodded, for she knew that he was right in what he said. She got up from the chair and, assuring him that she would try to put it all from her mind, she went to the door and was on the point of closing it behind her when Roland Thomas said in a strong convincing voice, ‘Mark my words, Emma, Nelly will seek you out, I’m sure of it. One of these days, she’ll come to realise what a good friend she has in you, and she’ll turn up on the doorstep. She will. You see if I’m not telling the truth.’

Emma smiled, nodded to him, and softly closed the door. If only that were true, she thought sadly, realising how Foster Thomas was so cruelly right when he promised to make her suffer because, since that day when she and Nelly had parted on such awful terms, there had been no real peace in her life. Oh, if only Nelly
would
seek her out, Emma thought, as she composed herself to brace the long business meeting which even now awaited her in the study, in the form of her accountant and a representative from the Jackson Chandlers Company, a modest but promising little concern situated in Fremantle. Emma had challenged the Lassater Shipping Line in making a bid for Jackson Chandlers, which she saw as a natural addition to the newly formed Thomas Shipping Company. However she must be very cautious, because only yesterday she had received the news that Silas Trent had met up with the two shipowners whom he and Emma had discussed and it seemed that, for the right price, they were willing to sell. That would greatly deplete her financial resources and, though a Chandler’s business would be a great asset, she had to gauge the price right, without losing the chance of acquiring it altogether.

As Emma bade the two smiling gentlemen good morning, her thoughts inevitably lingered on what her husband had told her. If only it could be true, she thought, if only Nelly would ‘turn up on the doorstep’. What a joyous day that would be.

Three days later, on Saturday, the twenty-fourth of October in the year of our Lord, 1876, the promise which Roland Thomas had made to Emma came true, but instead of being the joyous occasion which Emma had hoped, the unexpected arrival of Nelly heralded a series of tragic consequences.

The day had been particularly harrowing for Emma, because as yet she had been unable to replace Nelly satisfactorily in the store. Since Nelly’s departure, there had been one new employee after the other, a young girl from Bunbury, a lad who had served some time on a whaling ship, and a middle-aged woman from the prison. Each and every one of them had proved to be a disaster in one way or another. The girl had shown herself to be bone idle, the lad to be accident-prone, and the woman to have a weakness for thievery and argument. The last straw for Emma was when, that very morning, Rita Hughes was made to fend off a vicious attack from the prisoner, who had every intention of splitting Rita’s head open with a pickaxe. Apparently, Rita had quite rightly made the comment that the floorboards needed a fresh sprinkling of sawdust. The employee saw this as the very excuse she had waited for in order to pick an argument. She replied that she had other jobs to do, and if Rita Hughes wanted more sawdust down, then she’d better ‘do it yer bloody self. A raging row erupted and Rita Hughes was seen to flee into the street, to escape serious injury. Emma was given no choice. The woman had to go, and she herself was obliged to take her place. That didn’t worry Emma though, because she was never one to be afraid of work.

What
did
worry Emma was the way Rita Hughes appeared to be letting herself go in these past weeks. As a rule, she was meticulously dressed, her collar and cuffs always starched and sparkling, and her entire appearance of such trim smartness that was beyond reproach. Her hair, which was now more marbled with grey, would be neatly secured into a roll and fastened tightly in the nape of her neck. Her small dark boots were highly polished and she was most particular never to be seen with a hair out of place at any time during her long working day. The same pride and joy which she took in her tidy appearance was always extended to include the execution of every task she did, however demanding or menial. People used to admire her for it, and make regular comment on it. Now, however, their admiration had turned to curiosity and their comments had turned to whispering in little gossiping groups, about how sloppy Rita Hughes was becoming and how little she seemed to care for her appearance of late. ‘Why, you’ll never believe it,’ declared the butcher’s round-eyed wife, ‘but a pin actually fell from her hair and into the salt-bin only the other day. And did she take the trouble to retrieve it and to secure her hair from her face? No, my dears . . . she did not!’ There was much speculation and on two occasions at least, the customers had seen fit to complain quietly to Emma. ‘Whatever’s the matter with the poor woman?’ asked the kindly seamstress. ‘Is she ill?’ Emma promised that she would certainly have a discreet word with Rita, and so she did; after which Rita Hughes appeared to make a great effort to improve, or to be seen to improve. But Emma was not fooled. She knew well enough that Rita had been devastated by Foster Thomas’s preference for Nelly, though if she had her own suspicions as to his motive, she kept her thoughts to herself.

‘Are you all right, Rita? You do look very tired.’ Emma was seated on the tall stool which was pulled up to the bureau in the back office; she was about to close the ledger after making the stock entries, when she glanced through the glass partition to see Rita Hughes gazing out of the window. ‘Rita . . . it’s been a very long day, I know –’ Emma was by her side now ‘– you go on home. I’ll lock up.’ Normally they would have closed the store some hours before, but this was the last Saturday in the month and the stock-taking must be done.

‘It’s getting dark,’ came the reply. Of a sudden, Rita Hughes had swung round to face Emma and it was plain to see that she had been crying. Now though, she displayed a half-smile and told Emma in a brisk voice, ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to finish up on your own. There’s still the stock to be brought through from the back, and the displays to be set up ready for Monday morning.’ She donned a serious expression on her face as she swept past Emma, saying, ‘Better get on with it then . . . the two of us will make light work of it and be done in no time at all.’ She fetched two lamps from beneath the counter, lighting them both, then placing one on top of the counter and hanging one from the hook in the beam situated over the bureau. It was only then that Emma realised how rapidly the daylight was fading. No wonder she had a throbbing headache, when she had been poring over the ledgers in half-fight.

An hour and a half later, at a quarter to ten, everything was done, and the two women prepared to leave. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tired in my whole life!’ Emma declared with a warm smile to Rita Hughes, who was fussing about the way her cape just would not sit right on her shoulders. ‘My head aches . . . my feet are on fire, and I could fall asleep on the spot!’ She put out the lamp in the office, before coming through to the store. ‘I expect you feel exactly the same, Rita.’ She looked at the other woman, who seemed painfully preoccupied, and Emma felt a rush of compassion for her. ‘Thank you for the hard work you’ve put in,’ she told her warmly, ‘I’ll see you’re suitably rewarded, you know that.’

‘Of course. Thank
you
, Mrs Thomas. An extra guinea or two is always very welcome. It’s a shame that we’ve found no one to take Nelly’s place . . . I know you have more than enough to do, without having to take up responsibility here.’

‘Well, I can’t deny that there are never enough hours in a day, Rita. Still . . . I am seeing that young man from Perth next week. He seems to be very keen on coming here to work, and he has sent exceptionally good references. Let’s just hope he’s a distinct improvement on the other three, eh?’ She smiled, and was surprised when Rita Hughes actually laughed out loud, saying, ‘Make sure he doesn’t have a weakness for chasing women with a pickaxe!’

The two women were still softly chuckling as they made their way towards the door, with Rita Hughes carrying the lamp and Emma beginning to sort out the right key from the bunch in her hand.

When the door suddenly burst open, both women were taken completely by surprise. In the few seconds of confusion which followed, Rita Hughes screamed out and dropped the lamp to the floor and Emma’s first thoughts were that the intruders were robbers, who obviously knew that she had the day’s takings on her person. When the dark shadowy figure lunged at her, and Rita Hughes continued screaming, Emma began fighting it off, aware all the while of the flames which had erupted from the broken lamp; fortunately the oil had not been spilt. But then Emma heard a familiar voice calling her name, ‘Emma . . . oh Emma!’ At once she knew the voice. It was Nelly, Nelly, who had burst in through the door and who had fallen against her, Nelly, now slumped in her arms and sobbing her name as if it were her salvation.

Quickly, and without panic, Emma took stock of the situation. The flames must be put out before anything else, or the whole place would go up. Easing the figure from her, she yelled to Rita Hughes to ‘put the flames out! Use your cape . . . anything!’ She had already whipped off her own cape and was frantically smothering the fire, which thankfully had not got a proper hold, but was a fearsome thing all the same. When she saw Rita being quick to follow her example, Emma ran to the back wall where the water buckets hung, and in quick succession she used all six of them, dousing the flames and afterwards satisfying herself that enough water had been poured through the cracks between the floorboards. She had seen other disasters from fires that were thought to be put out, but which smouldered under the building until finally flaring up again when least expected.

‘Rita, do you think you could find your way to the office, and fetch the lamp from there? There are matches in the top drawer of the bureau.’ While she spoke, Emma could see the outline of Nelly in the faint light from the street lamp outside, and when the figure didn’t move from the floor where it had fallen, Emma’s fearful heart turned somersaults. Stooping down to look more closely, Emma slid her two arms beneath her dear friend’s arms and, with all the strength she had left, she raised Nelly to a sitting position. By that time Rita Hughes had come back with the halo of light from the lamp going before her. ‘It’s
Nelly,
isn’t it?’ she asked in a trembling voice. ‘What’s wrong with her, Mrs Thomas?’ She raised the lamp and as she did so, the light fell on Nelly’s face. ‘Oh, my God!’ she cried out, the lamp trembling in her hand.
‘Look at her face!’