Anonymous - Dara

I asked him once if I talked too much. 'Nah!' he exclaimed, 'I like listening to your la-di-da lingo.'

Puzzled by this remark, I asked what he meant by my 'la-di-da lingo'.

'You talk proper-like a toff. You're not like me; you're edicated, ain't yer. You've got the words for ev'ryfink. I s'pose you got to 'ave, bein' married to a gent that is. I don't know why you bower wiv me. I'm just a costermonger.'

The idea of me talking with a 'la-di-da' accent seemed so absurd and ridiculous that I laughed out loud. My amusement quickly subsided when I saw the angry expression on his face. He thought I was laughing at him. To make amends I put a hand on his arm and said, 'Don't be angry, Adam. I'm laughing at myself not you. You are my friend. My best friend. Believe me I wouldn't do anything to upset you.'

To get over his embarrassment he began to pile up the apples into a neat heap. 'Don't just stand there like a loony,' he said brusquely. 'Make yerself busy. Tidy up them oranges.'

Because of this difference in speech he obviously felt some sense of inferiority. Up till then I hadn't given the matter any thought but he was painfully sensitive about his lack of education and somehow, when the opportunity arose, I would have to convince him that I loved his cockney accent. In fact, it added colour and life to his words. Everything he said held me fascinated and I never got tired of listening to the descriptive phrases he used.

We had been at the hotel about three weeks when I woke up one morning to find that James had dressed and left the hotel before I had opened my eyes. I was curious as to his haste because invariably I was the first one out of bed, but thought nothing of it, assuming that he had an early appointment that morning. Although I didn't see him that day, I wasn't unduly worried and settled down to sleep in the evening thinking that he was probably drinking with friends until the early hours of the morning.

Much to my concern, when morning came I found myself alone in bed. I dressed in a hurry of anxiety and went downstairs to enquire if anyone had seen my husband, as he had failed to make an appearance since the previous day. At a loss as to what I should do next, I sought out Adam to his advice.

He made light of my fretting saying, 'Nothin' to worry abaht. Got boozed up last night I s'pose. Mark my words, he'll wake up wiv a sore 'ead and crawl back to yer feelin' more dead than alive.'

His words were reassuring, but I couldn't help feeling apprehensive. It was unlike James to be out all night.

From the expression on Adam's face I could see he thought I was making too much of it. 'Don't just stand there lookin' like a sick cow. 'Ere, make yerself busy. I could do wiv some 'elp this mornin'.'

I stayed with him until midday then hurried back to the hotel. Mr. Dawkins, the owner of 'The Eight Bells', was waiting for me and hailed me as I was about to mount the stairs to our bedroom saying, 'Just one moment, Miss. I want a word with you.'

Nettled by him addressing me as 'Miss', I asked sternly, 'Did you say “Miss”?' Impatient to get to our chamber to see if James had returned, I took a step up the stairs and turned and fixed my eye on him. Aren't you aware that I'm Mrs. James Kennet?'

'Be that as it may. Your husband, if that's what he is, owes me a tidy bit of money and I want it now.'

'Have you seen Mr. Kennet?' I enquired hopefully.

'No. Not for two days. That is, not since I threatened him with the debtors' prison if he didn't pay me the seventeen pounds he owes me.'

I looked at him aghast, hardly believing my ears. Whatever could James be thinking about, allowing us to run into debt like this. He had assured me on the voyage coming over that there would be no more money problems once we got to London.

Mr. Dawkins snorted, 'Gents like him usually do a bunk when their debts get bigger than their pocket. I am sure we won't see him again so you're the one who will have to pay.'

'How can I pay you?' I exclaimed, 'I haven't got any money.'

'You can sell those two rings on your hand,' he answered. “That's if they are genuine.'

'But it's all the jewellery I have left,' I protested.

'He has taken you for a right mug, hasn't he? I'll bet this isn't the first time you have had to bail him out when he has been living above his means. I'm sorry, Miss, but you'll have to come with me. I'll show you where you can sell your rings.'

For the first time I began to doubt James' integrity. I didn't know what to think. Crestfallen at this sudden turn of events, I allowed Dawkins to take me by the arm and lead me along the road to a shop showing a window display of clocks and watches. He released my arm at the shop doorway saying he would wait outside.

'Vot have you got for me?' the man in the shop asked as soon as I entered. 'Or is it you vould like a vatch… maybe a clock? Eh?'

His dark, grizzled hair, topped by a little black skullcap, hung down in ringlets on each side of his heavy, sallow face. The dark eyes above his hooked nose fired with interest when I removed the two rings from my fingers and placed them before him but his words belied his thoughts.

Picking up the rings he gave them a quick glance. 'Glass!' he sneered. 'Pretty, but just glass. Not vorth more than a few shillings. Veil, vot do you vant for zem?'

My attention was distracted by a tapping on the window behind me. I looked around thinking it was Mr. Dawkins getting impatient for his money only to see a roguish street boy, nose and goggling eyes pressed up against the window with his tongue lolling out. Turning around I was about to speak when the tapping became more urgent and louder.

The shopman, furious at this interruption to our business, rushed to the door and shouted, 'If you vant to buy a vatch, come in and buy a vatch-if you don't vant to buy a vatch take your snotty nose away from my vindow!'

The boy pulled his mouth wide with his fingers, stuck out his tongue, then ran down the street. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to be intimidated nor was I going to enter into tedious bargaining about the rings.

T want seventeen pounds,' I announced. 'And if you won't give what I'm asking for them I'll take them elsewhere.'

He took an eyeglass out of his pocket and examined the rings minutely, giving me a sharp hard look. 'Not vorth more than fourteen pounds.'

I reached out for the rings. 'I owe that man out there seventeen pounds. I can't take a penny less for them.' He stepped back out of my reach. 'Give them back to me,' I said angrily.

'You owe ze man ze money?' His features softened but he wasn't going to give in without a protest. Raising his hands palm upwards he shrugged his shoulders. 'Pretty faces viz pretty rings will be ze ruin of me.'

After he had slowly counted out seventeen sovereigns he gave them to me with great reluctance and an anguished expression.

An impatient Mr. Dawkins wanted the money as soon as I left the shop but I wouldn't give it to him. 'You will have to wait until we get back to the hotel,' I said, 'where you can write me out a receipt for it.'

I went up to my bedchamber after settling the account where I intended to wait until James returned.

Sitting on the bed idly looking around the room it suddenly came to me that none of James' personal effects could be seen. Usually his hair brushes, writing paper, etc., were strewn around in various places. I remembered about a week ago having a fleeting thought about how tidy the room was and assumed that James, for once, had put all his things into drawers or his clothes cabinet. In a daze, I looked everywhere. He had left nothing, not even a small item of clothing. Everything that belonged to him had gone.

Stunned, I stood in the middle of the room unable for a while to accept the thought that he had walked out of my life without even saying goodbye. He wasn't strong in character, that I knew, but he had always been kind and considerate. It was unbelievable that he could desert me in this way without any warning.