‘Thank you, Mrs Liversedge,’ I said as coldly as I could, as if I were a mistress dismissing an impertinent servant. ‘You’ve been very kind looking after Mother, but we don’t need you any more.’
‘Ooh, Miss High and Mighty!’ said Mrs Liversedge. ‘You’re going to come down to earth with a bump when you find out what’s happened to your precious father. No more toff City job for him.’
‘If you must know, my father has decided to concentrate on his novel writing,’ I said, trembling with rage. ‘He has retired from City life.’
This set her off in such a spiteful cackling fit that I couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘Please get out of our house this instant,’ I said. I looked to Mother to back me up, but she was lying there moaning, tears still seeping out of her shut eyes.
‘All right, then, I’ll go. There’s the thanks I get for bringing your poor mother round from a fainting fit after her terrible shock. I was all prepared to be a good neighbour and tried to help as best I could in these dreadful circumstances, but now I don’t see why I should lift a finger.’ She was so indignant that little beads of spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth. I wondered if she might actually spit straight at me and I took a quick step backwards.
‘You’re a stuck-up little nobody,’ she said, nodding her head emphatically, and then she marched out of the room.
Mother moaned, hiding her face in her hands.
‘Mother! Oh, Mother, please tell me what’s happened,’ I said, trying to prise her hands away.
I heard the door banging downstairs. ‘There, she’s gone! Why ever did you let her in? She’ll be rushing down the street spreading terrible gossip about us now. Look, you must tell me – where’s Father?’
‘Your father’s under arrest,’ Mother said, shaking her head from side to side as if trying to deny her own words.
‘What?’
‘Two policemen came this morning and took him away. The whole street saw. Oh, the shame of it!’ said Mother, and she sobbed even harder.
‘But why did they arrest him? There must be some terrible mistake. Father isn’t a criminal!’
‘Oh, but he is,’ said Mother. She heaved herself upright, looking straight into my eyes. ‘He stole money from the office – wrote himself a cheque. It was all so obvious and pathetic, the police worked it out straight away. How could he think he wouldn’t get caught? How could he do this to me?’
‘Oh, poor, poor Father!’
‘He’s not poor Father, he’s disgraced us all. It turns out the publishers changed their mind about his wretched book. They didn’t want it after all. He wasn’t man enough to admit to it so he stole the money to deceive us,’ Mother sobbed bitterly.
‘He wanted to treat us, Mother. He wanted us all to be happy. Oh, it’s so sad.’ I was crying too at the thought of poor, silly, valiant Father trying so hard to convince us all that these were happy days. I’d known something wasn’t right. I should have made him confide in me. He must have been in such secret agony – and how must he be feeling now?
‘Will Father be at the police station? I’ll go to him,’ I said urgently.
‘No! No, don’t leave me,’ said Mother, clinging to me.
‘Look, I’ll go and fetch Cassie home. She will look after you.’
‘I absolutely forbid you to call for Cassie! If Madame Alouette finds out, then Cassie will be disgraced too, and unable to continue her apprenticeship,’ said Mother.
I felt a pang. So that was why Mother had sent for me and not Cassie, though if the teachers found out at school, then I would also be disgraced. How Miss Mountbank would glory in my humiliation! I felt ill at the thought, but I couldn’t dwell on that now. Father was my first priority. I had to go and find him.
‘Listen, Mother, I have to go to Father. He has to be supported. If he is to be charged and taken to trial, then he will need a lawyer.’
‘A lawyer! How are we going to pay a lawyer – with buttons?’ Mother said bitterly. ‘Don’t you realize we are ruined now? Without your father’s income we can’t even pay the rent, let alone feed and clothe ourselves. You think you’re so clever, but you didn’t realize that, did you?’ she went on, seeing the shock on my face.
I knew it, of course I did. I just hadn’t let the full realization wash over me. I felt like bursting into tears and weeping like a baby, but I knew that one of us had to stay in control.
‘We will work something out. We can’t be the first family to be in such circumstances,’ I said, trying to sound calm.
‘I dare say there are many such families. In the workhouse,’ said Mother, still weeping.
I knew I should feel sorry for her in her terrible distress, but her monstrous selfishness made me almost hate her. She was lying there howling, without an ounce of pity for poor Father and his far more dreadful situation. Mother looked so awful too, her face purple with rage and grief, her nose still smeared, her mouth puckering hideously as she moaned. She smelled strongly of perspiration and sal volatile, an unpleasant combination.
I was ashamed to feel such revulsion for my own mother. I dumped a cloth in the cold water of her basin, squeezed it out, and put it on her forehead.
‘There now, Mother, this will help,’ I said. I went to her dressing table and sprinkled some of her lavender water around to try and clear the air.
‘What in God’s name are you doing? Don’t waste my precious scent!’ Mother cried.
‘I’m simply trying— Oh, never mind. Now, Mother, you lie here quietly, and I’ll go and find out the situation at the police station. I’ll see if I can be of some service to Father. You try and sleep a little. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ I said quickly.
I rushed out of the room, though Mother protested bitterly. I tore down the stairs and out of the front door, while she called after me. For ever afterwards she declared I’d abandoned her when she was taken so ill. Perhaps this is true, but even so, I’m glad my first concern was for Father.
I knew where the police station was – the tall four-storey building at the end of the high street. When I was very little and fretful, Mother used to say she’d fetch a policeman to take me away. On trips into town I’d stared fearfully at the bleak brick building, wondering where they’d keep me locked up. I could scarcely believe that my own father was actually imprisoned inside. I hurried up the stone steps, took a deep breath, and then pushed open the sturdy door.
I found myself standing in an ordinary little vestibule, with wooden benches against the wall and a polished parquet floor. I’d been imagining stone cells with prisoners in leg-irons. A policeman behind a counter gave me a cheery smile. ‘Yes, missy? You look a little distressed. How can I help you?’ he asked.
‘Oh please, I think you’ve arrested my father!’ I blurted, and then, like a fool, burst into tears.
The policeman was astonishingly kind. He vaulted over the counter into the vestibule, offered me his own large handkerchief and patted me on the shoulder. He looked serious when I gave him Father’s name.
‘Oh dear, yes. We do have that gentleman in our cells.’
‘A cell?’ I sobbed.
‘Rest assured we’re looking after him. We’ve served him lunch, and he’s got a bed and a blanket, though of course it’s not quite home comforts.’
‘How long will he have to stay there?’
‘We’ll take him to court in the morning when we’ve done all the paperwork, and then—’
‘Then he can come home?’ I interrupted.
‘Afraid not, my dear. He’ll very likely be sent to a remand prison until his trial – and seeing as he’s confessed everything, as far as I’m aware, it’s an open and shut case. He could be sent for a five-year-stretch, but as he’s been very cooperative and behaved like a proper gentleman, I think we’re more likely looking at one year maximum.’
‘A year . . .’ I whispered. ‘A whole year in prison.’
‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear. It won’t be so bad. I dare say t
hey’ll be quite soft with him. They’ll find him a nice little job in the library, say, as he’s got lots of book learning.’
‘But he’ll hate being in prison!’
‘Well, he shouldn’t have broken the law, then, should he?’
‘He did it for all of us. He just wanted us to be happy,’ I said. ‘Oh please, could I see him now?’
‘I’m sorry, dear. Prisoners in our cells aren’t allowed any visitors – especially not little girls.’
‘Then can I go to court tomorrow and see him?’
‘No children allowed in court. I dare say your mother might be able to sit in the visitors’ gallery, though.’
‘But I can’t – even if I dress to look grown up? I look especially young in this silly school tunic.’
‘You can dress in all the finery you care for, but you’ll still look like a young girl. How old are you, missy? Twelve, is it?’
‘I’m fourteen,’ I said indignantly, but I knew I looked fearfully young for my age. ‘Then will I be able to visit my father when he’s . . . in prison?’
‘I doubt it, my dear. It’s not a suitable place for the likes of a young girl like you.’
‘Then I won’t be able to see him for a whole year?’ I said, and I started crying in earnest. ‘I have to tell him how much I still love him. I don’t think any the worse of him even if he has committed this crime. I need to let him know I’ll be thinking of him every single day.’
‘I dare say they’ll let you write to him, dear. Don’t take on so. Please don’t cry,’ said the policeman, dabbing at my face with his handkerchief.
His kindness made me weep even more, till I was almost as hysterical as Mother.
The policeman tutted sympathetically. ‘Dear, dear, dearie me,’ he murmured. He consulted his pocket watch. ‘Ah! My boss the sergeant is having a late lunch break with some of his chums from the Chamber of Commerce. I’m pretty sure he won’t be back at the station till three or even later. So if we were to say you needed to bathe your poor face with cold water – which would be a very good thing because your pretty eyes are looking very red and sore – then I’d have to escort you to the tap in the kitchen. That means we would pass right by the cells. If we were to pause for a minute – and I mean just a minute, mind – you might be able to say a word to your pa.’
‘Oh, please!’ I said.
So he took me gently by the arm and opened up the counter for me to walk through. He escorted me down some narrow stone steps, and there were the cells, but the doors were all closed and bolted so I couldn’t see inside.
‘Oh please, could you open the door for me,’ I begged.
‘Now, dear, I can’t go that far. That would be truly scuppering all chances of promotion if it were ever found out. You mustn’t ask it of me. But put your eye to the peephole and you’ll see him. And if you speak loud, he’ll hear what you have to say.’
I put my eye to the peephole, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. I could only see a bleak cell at first, with writing scratched all over the walls, but then my eyes swivelled and I saw Father sitting on the edge of a very narrow bed. His head was down, his chin right on his chest, and his arms were folded very tightly, as if he were literally trying to hold himself together.
‘Oh, Father!’ I called, and he looked up, terribly startled.
‘Father, it’s me, Opal.’
Father covered his eyes and started to sob. ‘Oh, Father. Please don’t! I can’t bear it. I know it’s all so very dreadful, but we’ll get through it somehow. The policeman here says they will be kind to you in prison. He thinks you’ll get a light sentence. It will be terrible even so, I know, but I’m sure you’ll be very brave and bear it.’
Father was shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I don’t know what possessed me. I’ve disgraced you all. Whatever must you think of me.’
‘I think you’re the finest father in the whole world,’ I said stoutly.
‘I feel so utterly dreadful to have inflicted this on you. We’ll never be able to hold our heads up high again.’
‘Look at my head, Father! My neck is positively stretched. Just remember how much I love you. They say I’m not allowed to visit you, but I’ll write to you every week. Maybe the time will pass quicker than we think – and then you’ll come back home and we’ll have happy days again, just you wait and see.’
I KEPT MY head stretched unnaturally high all the way home. I glared at everyone I passed, though they couldn’t possibly know what had happened – not yet, anyway. Mrs Liversedge would do her best to inform the whole street by sundown. I suddenly realized that local reporters might well be at the courtroom tomorrow. I saw a crude headline – GENTLEMAN EMBEZZLER ON MAD SPENDING SPREE – as clearly as if the words were inked in the air in front of my eyes.
Poor dear Father had risked everything just to keep the love and respect of his wife and daughters, even though he must have known he would be found out soon enough. It hadn’t been a mad spending spree at all – a dress, a few accessories, a paintbox, wine, chocolates, flowers and a talking budgerigar in a cage. They were all luxuries to us, but relatively modest purchases for many folk.
I didn’t want to go back home to Mother. I found my footsteps slowing as I got nearer. I was positively creeping by the time I turned into our street. I found myself playing the childhood game of not stepping on the cracks in the pavement. If I placed my feet carefully enough, I might wake up any minute and find myself safe in bed, hearing Father pottering about downstairs, making us an early morning cup of tea. I opened my eyes so wide they watered, but I couldn’t wake from this nightmare world.
The moment I opened the front door I heard Mother moaning. I felt a wave of revulsion. It was mostly because of Mother that Father had stolen the money. Mother had belittled him for as long as I could remember. He had gone on steadfastly loving her, meekly accepting every slight and insult. She’d never valued his writing, but she’d been cock-a-hoop when she thought he was going to be a published author and make our fortunes. She’d suddenly made him feel totally loved and cherished. The past few weeks had been wonderful, even though I’d felt uneasy. Now that the very worst of my half-aware suspicions had come true, Mother seemed to have changed her mind about Father yet again.
I trudged dutifully upstairs. She started even before I opened the bedroom door:
‘How dare you leave me on my own for hours? Here I am, lying here helpless, scarcely able to move, my head turned to jelly with all the shame and worry. Where have you been?’
‘Surely you know where I’ve been, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’ve been to see poor Father at the police station.’
Mother gave a great shriek, and then started huffing and puffing like a steam train. ‘How dare you go there! The disgrace! Your father has ruined our lives.’
‘You mustn’t take on so,’ I said coldly. ‘Don’t act as if it’s the worst tragedy in the world. We’ve got the easy part. I dare say Mrs Liversedge will gossip, but do we really care so much what the neighbours think? We shall simply hold our heads up high and get on with our lives. The police think that Father will be sentenced to a whole year in prison. All we have to do is wait. But Father has to serve that year, locked up with thieves and robbers and murderers. His is the far greater ordeal. All right, he’s committed a crime – but is it so very dreadful? He didn’t steal money from a person. He stole a paltry amount from an enormously rich company which paid him a pittance and never gave a thought to his welfare or comfort. And I keep telling you, Mother – he stole it for us. He felt so worried when he couldn’t make our fortune with his writing. You treated him like a king when you thought he was successful. How can you turn against him now?’
My words came tumbling out in an angry torrent. I’d never spoken in such a way to my own mother before. It was terribly exciting to berate her properly. I felt my whole face flushing, though I’d also started to tremble. When I paused for breath at last, the room was unnaturally quiet. The ticking of the grandf
ather clock on the landing seemed to beat right inside my head.
Mother heaved herself upright, leaning on her elbow. ‘Have you finished?’ she gasped, her voice hoarse from all her howling.
‘I – I think so, for the moment.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I know I’ve been a little outspoken. It’s only because I’m so upset.’
‘You think yourself so superior, Opal Plumstead. Your very name’s a total foolishness, just because your father said your eyes flashed blue and green like an opal. He insisted on the name for your christening. If I’d had my way you’d have been plain Jane – and a plain Jane you are, with your pinched face and hair as straight as a poker. How you’re so full of yourself when you look such a fright I don’t know at all.’
I was shaking from head to toe as she spoke the words. I knew that Mother had always found me difficult, but did she actually detest me?
‘Well, you’re going to come down to earth with a bump now,’ she went on. ‘You think you’re so clever and yet you haven’t the brains of a blancmange. Look up, girl. Look up!’
I looked up, wondering if she had gone demented.
‘What do you see?’ Mother demanded.
‘The . . . the ceiling,’ I said.
‘And above that? The roof, you fool, the roof. How are we going to keep a roof over our heads now, hmm? It’s been hard enough to pay the rent on your father’s salary all these years. Well, it’s going to be even harder now. And how are we going to pay the bills? Oh my Lord, we owe such a lot now too. How are we going to feed ourselves without any income whatsoever?’
I blinked at her.
‘We’re going to end up in the workhouse, that’s what,’ said Mother. She burst out crying again. ‘That’s what your precious father’s brought us to. The workhouse!’
I struggled to collect myself. ‘Of course we’re not going to end up in the workhouse,’ I said calmly enough, though my head was whirling. Mother was right. I was a total fool. I hadn’t even thought about our financial situation. How were we going to manage? Was it remotely possible that we really would end up in the workhouse?