The Marriage Certificate (15 page)

Tearfully, Louisa tried to explain the chain of events
leading to Henry’s death, caused by ‘intussusception’.

‘What exactly is intussusception?’ asked Rose. ‘I’ve never
heard of it.’

‘Neither had I,’ explained Louisa, still sobbing.
‘Apparently it’s a condition whereby the walls of the bowel fold in on
themselves and cause a blockage. It’s very painful. I knew he was suffering. I
think he’d had touches of it before, because at times he used to draw up his
legs and grimace with pain, poor little dear. He must have been so
uncomfortable. I should have made more of a fuss. I feel it’s my fault. Oh,
I’ve let him down, and what will John say?’

Louisa was racked with emotion and sobbed out loud. Rose put
her arm around her friend to comfort her. ‘Come now, Louisa, you can’t blame
yourself. He was in the Children’s Hospital in July and thoroughly examined
then. The doctors only allowed him to go home when they were satisfied that he
was fine.’

‘I know, but perhaps I should have noticed the symptoms
earlier.’

‘What
did
you notice?’

‘Well, Doctor Hawley gave me some medicine for him and the
diarrhoea did seem to stop, but when I changed him yesterday morning, I noticed
blood in his napkin. I thought I could feel a lump in his abdomen too. I took
him back to Dr Hawley immediately and he said that he might have
intussusception. He wrote a note for the admissions doctor and told me to take
Henry to the Children’s Hospital again without delay. I keep thinking that I
should have noticed something before. Oh Rose, he was so weak and he was
starting a fever. As soon as the doctor at the hospital examined him, I knew
from his worried expression that it was serious. They tried everything they
could to save him. He only lasted a few hours before he slipped away. I was
there with him. I felt helpless. Oh, it was so dreadful Rose.’

‘Listen Louisa, from what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound as
though you could have done any more. It seems to me, that you acted correctly
and in no way can any blame be attached to you. What causes it? Did you ask?’

‘Yes, of course, but it’s not fully understood. It’s more
common with boys and most cases affect children up to about eighteen months,
but they can suffer from it later, like Henry. They said it could follow a case
of severe diarrhoea. What’s John going to say? Oh, I wish he was here …’ Louisa
choked on her words as she broke down once more.

‘What about Arthur and Florence? Do they know?’

‘Yes, I asked father to send them a telegram. They always
stay with their friends in Dundee at this time of year, the Robinsons, who are
hoteliers as well. John’s been several times and luckily, the hotel’s address
was in his drawer. I expect they’ll be here tomorrow or maybe on Saturday.’

Rose thought to herself that if John’s parents were here
when he comes back, it might help.

She lay awake that first night at Apsley Street. All of her
problems stemmed from a few of hours of illicit romantic madness, and in this
very bed.
Oh, I was such a fool
.
Was it just the sherry? No, of
course not
. Rose recognised that she was infatuated at the time and would
have settled down with Frank, but that was not what fate had determined. Now,
she had the cold reality of unsupported motherhood and the thwarting of her
ambitions to deal with. She churned with guilt again. She should feel like
Louisa about children, but the stark fact was that she didn’t.
Oh God
,
she thought.
Am I selfish
?
What is it about me? Why am I such an
ungrateful mother? What am I going to do?
She cried herself to sleep.

Rose spent the following day looking after Louisa and
ensuring that the house was tidy and ready to receive guests. Louisa’s father
had offered to accommodate Arthur and Florence when they arrived, so Rose was
able to remain in Frank’s old room. She unpacked her belongings, few as they
were, and put them into the wardrobe. With the date of the funeral yet to be
arranged, she could see herself being there for some time. She placed the
telegram from Louisa in its envelope on the mantelpiece above the bedroom
fireplace. She didn’t really know what to do with it. It wouldn’t be right to
throw it away, she thought, and frankly, she didn’t want to keep it, as a
harbinger of bad news. She decided to leave it where it was and John or Louisa
could do with it as they pleased when she returned to Ventnor.

Thomas Crockford arrived at the house after lunch. He
explained that he had registered Henry’s death that morning and if Louisa
wished, he would keep the certificate until John returned. He said that the
hospital had consented to retain Henry’s body, pending the funeral
arrangements. They both agreed that they should not make any funeral plans in
John’s absence.

As predicted, Arthur and Florence arrived that evening.
Although visibly shaken and upset by the event, they were of some comfort to
Louisa. It seemed as if the experience of Frank’s loss had made grief easier
for them to bear. Rose, meanwhile, remained indispensable, making tea and
generally helping in the background.

Early on Sunday morning, the
RMS Kidwelly Castle
entered
the Thames estuary. John Williams was looking forward to being home with Louisa
and Henry for Sunday lunch. When the ship docked at its berth, one of the
company’s senior officers went aboard and sought out John to impart the tragic
news. He was released from duty immediately, so that he could return home with
all haste to comfort his grieving wife. His homecoming on this occasion was
particularly sad. It was not at all as he had anticipated when his ship had
entered the Thames reaches just a few hours before.

The small funeral procession came
slowly up the hill to the church, where it drew up at the lych-gate. The
hearse, and subsequent carriages, were each drawn by an immaculate pair of
black horses; their bridles decorated with matching black plumes.

Reverend Walter was waiting within the shelter of the lych-gate
to greet the mourners and pass on his condolences. Then he led the small
procession, consisting of the head undertaker, the bearers with the coffin,
Henry’s parents, grandparents, godparents, and the remaining mourners, solemnly
towards the church. John and Louisa passed the ancient yew tree once more, this
time grieving for their son. How stark the contrast in their spirits, when as a
newly married couple, they had last passed before its ancient trunk.

The procession entered the church and everyone took their
places. Charlotte and George were absent. Louisa had excused them, because of
George’s business commitments and Charlotte was needed in Ventnor to look after
Rose’s children. The church was barely half-f, even with the added number of
elderly parishioners, who always made it their business to attend whenever a
funeral took place.

 Rose made sure that she sat well away from Mrs Robins, who
was representing the staff of Crockford’s. She couldn’t bear the thought of a
conversation with her. Fortunately, she had not had to endure her company in
the carriage, for Mrs Robins had ridden with Thomas Crockford and Henry’s
godparents.

Rose found it hard to concentrate. As she tried to listen to
the vicar’s words, her attention wandered. Although full of sympathy and
compassion for John and Louisa at their loss, she couldn’t help remembering the
last time, when she’d sat within the church. Frank had been there then and
momentarily she recalled the excitement she’d felt at the end of the service,
when, with the organ playing, he had led her by the arm behind John and Louisa.

Things had gone wrong for her; the unwanted pregnancy, the
worry, then the reassurance that he would stand by her and then the shock and
abandonment, when she learned of his death. Now her fledgling business on the
Isle of Wight had fallen apart too, victim to prejudice and moral judgement.
How could she ever achieve her ambitions? She was in an impossible situation.
She needed to work to support her children, but society wouldn’t let her work,
because she had the children.

She returned to the present, as the bearers picked up the
little coffin and everyone filed behind Henry’s parents to the family plot in
the graveyard, beneath the tall oaks. Rose stood back and watched. The grave
was marked by floral tributes. Henry was lowered to join his grandmother and
infant uncle, the brother of Louisa, who had died shortly after birth. Reverend
Walter invited the mourners to scatter some soil on the lid of the coffin.
After exchanging graveside commiserations, they all left the scene and departed
for the home of Thomas Crockford, for the wake.

In the elegant dining room of Mr Crockford’s private
residence, Rose maintained her distance from Mrs Robins, sipping tea and making
polite conversation with George Corbett. She kept an eye on Mrs Robins though,
and watched as she cornered Arthur and Florence on the other side of the room.
Rose could see that they were in deep conversation. She saw Mrs Robins’ jaw
drop and immediately glance in Rose’s direction.
There we are, my secret’s
out
, thought Rose. Not only had Mrs Robins confirmed that Rose had a child,
but now she’d know that she was the unmarried mother of not one child, but of
twins. Now she’d have gleaned that Rose lived on the Isle of Wight and the news
hadn’t been imparted in confidence. Mrs Robins would be free to inform all and
that little piece of gossip would be all over the shop as soon as she returned.
Rose’s situation was a secret no longer.

Engine driver, Albert Wallis,
reported for duty at the Nine Elms depot at seven o’clock in the morning. He’d
worked for the London and South West Railway for twenty years, starting at the
age of eighteen. He was appointed fireman, aged twenty-four, and became a
driver eight years later. More recently, he had been promoted to express driver
status, which made him one of the elite who drove the express trains on the
company’s network.

Albert was assigned to the principal route between London
Waterloo and Southampton. For many of his passengers, this was the fastest and
most direct way to the ocean liner terminal at Southampton. He knew the route
well and understood the importance the company placed on keeping strictly to
journey times, which were measured by the half-minute. Habitual lateness was
penalised, unless with good reason, and arriving before the scheduled time was
equally frowned upon.

He reported to the traffic office to receive his
instructions for the day. As expected, he was to drive the second express, the
eleven o’clock from Waterloo to Southampton, before turning round to drive the
return service at four o’clock in the afternoon. The company ran two express
trains each morning, the first at nine-thirty. Each train comprised three
coaches for second-class passengers, one coach for first-class passengers and a
combined kitchen and brake van at the rear.

Albert joined his fireman, Edwin Groombridge, in the engine
shed. Today was notable, in that they had been assigned a recently built
locomotive. Designed and constructed at Nine Elms, she was only six months old
and it would be the first time he had driven her. She was the same in layout
and controls, but had slightly more power and stood nine inches taller than the
older locomotive he usually drove. He was looking forward to the trip. Being
trusted with the new locomotive would enhance his prestige in the engine shed.

They set about preparing her for the day’s work. Edwin
cleared ash and cinders from the firebox, before lighting and stoking the fire.
As the fire gained in heat and intensity, the water in the boiler turned to
steam, building to an operating pressure of 175 pounds per square inch. Albert
attended to the essential oiling and greasing of the massive locomotive and
coal tender. She could pull the train weighing over 120 tons, at a speed of up
to sixty-five miles per hour.

Once she had sufficient pressure, they moved her to the
fuelling point, to have five tons of coal dropped into her tender, before
moving on to the water tower. There, she was filled with 3,500 imperial gallons
of water, sufficient to cover the eighty-five miles downward to Southampton.

Albert and Edwin discussed the merits of the new engine, as
they shunted her from the depot to the platform at Waterloo. He reversed
carefully, until she gently touched the buffers of the leading carriage, one of
the three second-class carriages, normally attached nearer to the engine. Edwin
jumped down from the footplate and coupled the locomotive to the carriage.

By then, the time had crept round to a quarter to eleven.
The guard came forward from the kitchen and brake van at the rear of the train.
He stood on the platform, below Albert’s left-hand side and they exchanged
pleasantries, while one or two early passengers arrived to take their seats.

Rose paid the cab driver and
carrying her small carpetbag and handbag, walked into the station entrance at
Leyton, making her way towards the booking office. It was Friday, 17 October
1902, and she was starting her return journey to Ventnor. She bought a
second-class ticket to Liverpool Street station. As she moved away from the
booth, she placed the ticket safely in her handbag and looking up she stopped
dead for a moment. She was startled and unsure what to do. Ten feet in front of
her stood Sidney, the draper’s porter from Crockford’s, his arms folded,
looking at her with an expression of utter contempt.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said, ‘if it ain’t Scarlet Rose!’

‘What do you mean?’ snapped Rose as she approached him,
trying to move further away from the queue.

‘Don’t come all high ’n mighty with me Miss Rose. We know
all about you, “woman of ill repute”, that’s how we refers to you in the shop.
“Scarlet Rose, the woman of ill repute” … and to think I used to believe you
was so lovely and innocent.’

Rose started to flush and look embarrassed. Several people
in the queue had overheard and were now waiting to see her reaction. ‘You don’t
understand Sidney; you’ve no idea of these things.’

‘Is that so?’ he sneered. ‘Tell you what I understand. You
got yourself in the family way, didn’t you,
Miss
Ince? That’s what you
did. Reckon you weren’t so innocent after all. A soldier boy too, I ’eard: brother
of John Williams. You should ’ave known better, you know. Thought yourself too
grand for me, I s’pose. Told everyone you ’ad some posh job up West, but you
had to leave in a bit of an ’urry now, didn’t you?’

It occurred to Rose that Sidney felt scorned and rejected.
He really had been carrying a torch for her. He must have been hurt when Mrs
Robins spread the gossip about her.

‘I didn’t mean to upset
you
, Sidney. I’m sorry if you
have that opinion of me.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t feel sorry for you, that’s for
sure,’ he replied. ‘Reckon you got what you deserved. No man, and now stuck
with two nippers as well I ’ear, tuppence worth for the price of a penny!’

Sidney’s last remark was too much for Rose. Out of rage,
guilt, shame, and frustration, she slapped Sidney smartly on the cheek. With
that, she turned and ran, as quickly as she could, along the London-bound
platform, away from her confrontation with someone whom she had once regarded
as a friend.

It was all too much. The tears streamed down her cheeks. She
felt trapped. Her life was a mess; she needed to make a new start, but how?
That was the problem.

She continued down the platform, away from Sidney, and
waited for her train. She looked back up the line and saw her train in the
distance. She stared down at the rails and then looked again at the approaching
train.
I could end it now
, she thought.
It would all be over. It
would be so easy, the torment would finish; no need to think about the future.
The twins would be better off without me
.

She took a few deep breaths and pulled herself together.
Come
now, Rose. Are you going to let some lovesick lad get at you like this? No, of
course not. Now calm down.

The train halted in front of her. Rose looked back in the
direction of the ticket office and saw that Sidney was still there, watching
her disdainfully. She opened the carriage door and stepped on to the train, out
of his vision, and tried to put his words out of her mind.

Disembarking at Liverpool Street, Rose made her way on foot
to the City underground station, where she purchased a ticket. She realised she
must have looked distressed, because the concerned ticket clerk enquired after
her well-being. She didn’t answer and snatching the ticket, hurried away. The
underground train took her directly to Waterloo. During the short journey under
the River Thames, an older woman seated opposite stared at her before asking if
she was going far. Rose muttered, ‘Ventnor’ and then moved to another seat, in
order to avoid further conversation.

When she arrived at Waterloo train station, she had around
twenty minutes to wait for her connection to Southampton. She recovered her
composure and found the Waiting Room to be empty. She took a seat. Two ladies
entered shortly after, taking in the fact that there were no men present.

‘Damnation!’ one of them exclaimed. ‘Those infernal Hackney
carriages or whatever they’re called … why did my dress have to be caught in
the door? That darn gust of wind, I guess. Oh, these so-called showers, it’s
been raining all morning! Martha, just look at my hem. It’ll drag on everything
now. Do you think we can get someone to repair it?’

Rose noticed that the lady had an American accent, but she
looked as if she could have been Italian.

‘Well I can’t, Graziella dear,’ the other replied. ‘I don’t
have any thread, and anyway I just can’t sew, simple as that.’

Rose noticed that her companion was American too. She took
in the situation. She really wanted to be ignored and she didn’t know why she
asked, but she did. ‘Can I help? I can stitch it for you, if you like. Let me
see what I can do.’

Graziella sat down beside Rose, who quickly appraised the
damage to the dress. She knew she could easily make a temporary repair. She
opened her handbag and took out a fine needle and a small wooden bobbin of
black thread, kept for emergencies. She expertly threaded the needle, knelt
down, and started to stitch the ripped hem back into place.

‘My dear, this is so kind of you. I can see by the way that
you handle a needle, that you are fully accustomed to using one and very
skilful with it too,’ Graziella commented.

Rose thought she was probably in her fifties. She looked
very smart and was expensively dressed. Her companion, Martha, was similarly
attired.

‘Yes,’ said Rose. ‘I’m a draper by trade. I served my
apprenticeship as a seamstress. I used to make bespoke dresses for a living.’
She barely looked up as she concentrated on her work.

‘Is that a fact,’ said Graziella, as more of a statement
than a question.

‘You sound as though you’re American,’ said Rose. ‘Are you
here on holiday?’

‘Yes we are, but not for much longer. I’m with my husband.
We’re part of a group that came over together. We’re all leaving London to go
back to New York today. That’s partly why I was annoyed. Our train leaves in
fifteen minutes,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘It’s the express train to
Southampton. We missed the earlier one – the one we should have caught – and we
might even miss our boat if this train is delayed in the slightest.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Rose. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. I’m
catching the same train actually. I’ve a boat to catch too, but mine only goes
as far as the Isle of Wight.’

‘The Isle of where?’

‘Wight. It’s just across the Solent from Southampton. You’ll
pass it as your ship makes its way towards the English Channel. How are we
doing for time?’ asked Rose as she continued to concentrate on the repair.

‘Fine, my dear. I can see you’ll be finished pretty soon.
Jim – he’s my husband – and the other guys are hopefully talking to the driver
as we speak. They headed off towards the engine, while we came in here. Jim can
be very persuasive you know, especially if he waves a few bucks around while
he’s asking. He reckoned he could persuade the driver to make as much speed as
possible, so that we catch the boat on time. Say, why don’t you join us for the
journey?’

‘Aren’t you in First Class?’

‘Well, sure, but we could always squeeze in another.’

‘No, I don’t think that would be appropriate, but thank you
anyway,’ said Rose.

It took Rose no more than a couple of minutes to finish the
hem. She cut the thread between her teeth and put the needle and remaining
thread back into her bag. ‘There we are, that should do,’ she said. ‘I don’t
think you’ll have any further problems. I’ve even managed to conceal the small
tear.’

‘My, that’s wonderful,’ said Graziella, patting her dress
admiringly and getting to her feet. ‘Just wonderful. Thank you so much.’ As she
spoke, she opened her purse and brought out a gold half-sovereign. She offered
it to Rose.

Rose refused her offer firmly. ‘No, really, it was nothing.
I’m glad to have been of assistance.’

Graziella looked slightly taken aback. ‘But I feel I must
offer you something for your trouble. You could buy yourself a first-class
ticket.’

‘No, absolutely not. I really don’t want to take anything …
really.’

‘Have you ever been Stateside?’ asked Graziella.

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Rose.

‘Well, look, here’s my card. My husband runs our family
clothing business in New York. If you ever find yourself over there and need
some work, you be sure to look us up.’

Rose took the card, noting that the lady’s name was
Graziella Stefano-Silverman, and slipped it into her handbag.

The two American ladies left and Rose turned to the mirror
above the waiting room fireplace to straighten her hair and hat. The small
favour she had just performed had distracted her and lifted her mood a little.
It was nice to do something for a stranger, but as she looked at her reflection
in the mirror, her conscience brought her back to the present.
How could you
not be looking forward to seeing your children? There’s poor Louisa, absolutely
heartbroken at losing Henry, and you, with two healthy children, regarding them
as a hindrance, preventing you from pursuing your career. You should be ashamed
of yourself!

Rose started to feel sick again. A flood of guilt and
confusion washed over her. She knew the train was almost ready to depart. She
picked up her carpetbag and handbag and walked out on to the platform. A
second-class carriage was directly in front of her. She glanced to her right,
to the American party further down the platform, towards the rear of the train.

Why was her life in such a mess? Why did Frank have to get
killed? Why had she ended up with two young children, with neither work nor
income to support them? What was she to do?

She watched the wealthy Americans as they boarded their
first-class carriage. Why couldn’t she afford to travel first-class? One day
she would, she promised herself. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath.
Yes, one day she would.