Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

Poor Ed didn’t really know what to do. He couldn’t afford to lose his job, and Sir Charles was such an odd man, Ed never knew which way he would turn. ‘Freedom, lad, ‘is Lordship’s investin’ a lot of money in you, and ‘e don’t want no dirty publicity ‘bout you an’ that murder investigation.’

Freedom protested his innocence, and Ed sighed. ‘He’s adamant about it, an’ you know without ‘im you would be swingin’ fer that murder, you know that. See, you’ll be meetin’ all kinds of people now, society, like, perhaps even the prince himself, they can’t ‘ave no scandal.’

Freedom frightened Ed with his sly, strange smile. ‘He won’t want me, though, if I lose the title, mun, will he?’

Ed shouted at him that he would have two hundred pounds purse money if he won. ‘Gawd ‘elp me, two hundred pounds, you know how many years I gotta work ter make that much?’

Freedom still wore that smile and Ed was scared, not of what Freedom might do to him, but because he knew Freedom didn’t really care about money.

‘So what happens if we was to find ‘er, and she not want you? Eh?’

Freedom moved his hands like a bird, she could fly away, do as she wanted, but he had to see her.

Evelyne had found work in a small bookshop in Charing Cross Road. The owner was an eccentric gentleman called Arnold Snodgrass. He wore a crumpled, stained suit, and was never without a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. His yellow teeth could be seen when he spoke in his strange, theatrical voice.

The shop was stacked from floor to ceiling with books, manuscripts and papers. The stench of cats and musty, ageing paper was at first nauseating. Evelyne was so dizzy at times she had to sit down on the stepladder.

Old Snoddy was unaware of her, as he was of the stench. ‘Listen to this, dear heart, a little snippet of interest — did you know that Shakespeare, that wondrous bard, actually made up the word “lonely”? Imagine him sitting at his desk with his quill and thinking it up … alone … lone … lonely … now first play he used this new word was … Coriolanus, fascinating, what? Wonderful play … lonely.”. ’

Evelyne picked up a volume so heavy she could only just carry it from one side of the shop to the other. She sighed, her own loneliness taking precedence over Mr Snodgrass’ snippet.

The next thing she knew Mrs Harris was standing over her burning one of Snoddy’s own quill pens. Mrs Harris was a round, motherly woman who cleaned the shop and back room as best she could, and she also cleaned various other shops in the same area.

‘She’s comin’ round now, sir. What ‘appened, did she fall or what? It’s them ‘eavy volumes she’s carrying round.’

Snoddy slurped his morning tea and shrugged, not interested in the slightest in the health of his assistant. He was buried in Coriolanus, still musing about his discovery.

‘Come on, ducks, best get you home an’ put yer feet up, ‘e won’t notice yer gorn, ‘e don’t know what day it is.’

Mrs Harris was shocked when she saw where Evelyne was living. ‘Lord luv-a-duck, yer can’t swing a cat in ‘ere, and by the looks of it it’s damp, shockin’ … have you no place even to boil a cup of tea?’

Evelyne lay on her bed, wanting to cry, but she shrugged off Mrs Harris’ questions. ‘I’m saving my money, I want to go to night classes, get my teacher’s diploma, it’s all right.’

Mrs Harris looked her over and then felt her forehead. ‘You’re running’ a bit of a fever, ducks, maybe you should see a doctor.’

Evelyne buttoned her blouse, straightened her skirt and came out from behind the screen. The doctor was writing a prescription. She sat down and opened her purse, counted out the one shilling and sixpence her visit would cost.

‘You must eat fresh vegetables, get your strength up, but there’s nothing wrong that rest and a good diet won’t put right. I wouldn’t lift anything heavy, just in case … this is a tonic, you should come back for regular check-ups until the birth.’

Evelyne blinked, swallowed hard. ‘Beg pardon, sir, what did you say?’

When Evelyne came out into the waiting room, Mrs Harris rose to her feet, clutching her big cloth shopping bag, bulging with groceries. The girl looked worse now than when she had gone in. ‘It’s nuffink serious, is it, ducks?’

Evelyne shook her head, biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry. Mrs Harris helped her into her coat, feeling sorry for her, ‘You come round and ‘ave supper at my place, no need to go back to yer work, Snoddy’s got ‘is brandy out so he won’t know if you was workin’ or not.’

Sitting beside Mrs Harris on the tram, Evelyne suddenly blurted it all out. ‘I’m having a baby, that’s what he told me, but I can’t be, I just can’t be …’

Mrs Harris sighed, she’d guessed as much, but Miss Jones was such a nice girl, very proper, and always so well dressed, so neat and tidy. ‘Well, love, there’s only one way to make one, have you been doing it? Have you got a young man?’

The floodgates opened, and Evelyne sobbed her heart out on top of the tram. She was still in floods of tears by the time they were sitting in Mrs Harris’ kitchen.

‘Yer see, ducks, in some cases yer can go on gettin’ yer monthly bleedin’ and still be carryin’, how far gone are you, did he say?’

‘He reckoned about five months, but I just can’t be, I can’t.”

Mrs Harris poured thick, strong tea, spooned in the sugar and eased her bulk into a fireside chair. ‘Well, if yer that far gone there’s no gettin’ rid of it — mind you, there’s some that would try … Drink yer tea now, don’t go gettin’ all upset again, we’ll sort it all out … but yer won’t be able to lift no more Shakespeare, that’s fer sure.’

With seven children of her own, Mrs Harris needed Evelyne like a hole in the head. Her two-up-two-down was bursting at the seams. To help make ends meet her husband Ted worked nights at the gasworks, and during the day in a carpenter’s shop. When he came home he found his missus stewing up a large pan of soup, the brood sitting round the kitchen table.

‘We got a house guest, Ted. Now before you hit the roof, she’s able to pay us threepence a week rent … She’s in the family way, and she’s no one else to turn to. I’ve put her in the front room on the sofa.’

‘Gawd ‘elp us, woman, how we gonna fit in? Even with threepence extra?’

Covering the table with newspaper, Mrs Harris set out the cutlery. Ted sat down at the table, sighing. He was such a good-natured soul. ‘You know, ducks, you’d take in a lame donkey if he was homeless, but we got to think of the kids …’

His wife pulled up a chair and held his calloused hand. ‘Remember our youngest, little Dora? Remember how I was all set to have a gin bath at Widow Smith’s in the Hollow?’

Ted nodded, and kissed her big red cheek. Mrs Harris had been beside herself when she had discovered she was pregnant again, and had not said a word to Ted, but made up her mind to get rid of it. Ted had arrived home unexpectedly from work, knowing the kids were out, knowing she would be at home. ‘Come here, you big old fool,’ he had said, ‘you fink after sixteen years of marriage I don’t know when you’re in the family way? Now, gel, it’s gonna be tough on us, but we’ll manage, and I’ve got a name, it’ll be a girl if there’s anything in the law of averages, and we’ll call her Dora … now give us a cuppa.’

‘Evelyne’s ever such a nice gel,’ Mrs Harris went on, ‘an’ I can leave our Dora wiv her until her baby’s born, that’ll save us a few coppers, won’t have ter farm her out whilst I do me cleanin’.’

Ted spooned up the hot soup, dipped a chunk of bread in the bowl and sucked on it. ‘An’ what ‘appens when the baby’s born, Ma? What’s she gonna do then?’