The Legacy (53 page)

‘Eight… nine … ten!’

Freedom Stubbs was the British Heavyweight Boxing Champion.

THE local people took their new neighbours to their hearts, and Freedom became their hero. On the night he and Ed went to the Sporting Club dinner to collect the championship belt and the purse, everyone was at the door. The kids asked for his autograph, they wanted it five or six times to sell copies at school. With Edward in her arms, Evelyne waved them off like the rest. Freedom was dressed up, with a white silk scarf wrapped around his neck. The Christmas lights were twinkling and the few houses that could afford them already had trees in their windows.

When they arrived at the Sporting Club, the porters stopped them as they were about to hand their coats to the cloakroom attendant, and slowly checked their names in a register. Ed patted Freedom’s shoulder, ‘He’s the champion, mate, what’s the hold-up?’

Several evening-suited gents passing through the lobby looked curiously at them while they waited. The porter eventually gestured for Ed to go through, then he bent down beneath his desk and drew out a brown paper package which he handed to Freedom. ‘I’m sorry, sir, this is for you, I can’t let you go in.’

Ed, of course, puffed and huffed, said there must be some mistake, but the parcel contained the championship belt. In a temper Ed told Freedom to wait, there had to have been some mistake.

The dining room was already crowded with sporting gentlemen, drinking. Sir Charles was sitting at the top table with Lord Lonsdale himself, who had embarked on one of his long, rambling tales. The guests listened attentively as His Lordship regaled them with the story of when he had met Rasputin in Russia. Most of them had heard it many times, but the story had grown to outrageous proportions. When Sir Charles saw Ed he gestured with his arms, his cigar clamped between his teeth, and excused himself. Rising from the table he stared coldly as Ed approached him.

‘I’m sorry to intrude, sir, but there must have been some mistake, they won’t allow Freedom into the club.’

Sir Charles was totally unruffled and told Ed that in his opinion - and in the opinion of most of the other gentlemen present - Freedom had not acted in a sporting manner. He had insulted the Prince by not appearing at the Cafe Royal on the night of the championship. Ed could not believe his ears - he stared, speechless, and when Sir Charles offered him a chair he refused it and turned to walk out. Sir Charles tapped him on the shoulder, ‘I think it would be a good idea if you were to commence training at The Grange during Christmas. I’ve arranged suitable accommodation.’

Tight-lipped and burning with anger, Ed murmured that he would relay the message to Freedom. He knew it was no message, it was an order, and he held his back very straight as he walked out through the tables full of so-called gentlemen.

He found Freedom standing outside in the snow, his prize belt stuffed in his pocket. Ed didn’t know how to tell him, but he didn’t have to. Freedom took one look at his face and began to walk along the pavement, ‘I don’t want anyone to know about this, Ed, keep it between us. It’s Christmas, the markets are open, we’ll go and get a few things, make it a celebration to remember.’

Near tears, Ed grinned at him, and fell into step beside his champion. He knew Freedom would not forget this treatment; he had that strange look on his face, the mask had dropped into place. Even though Ed tried to tell him it didn’t matter, he knew that the insult had been taken to heart.

The market was full of last-minute Christmas shoppers and the yell of the thronging traders flogging their wares. Birds were strung up outside the butchers’ shops, chilled by the snow. A man selling Christmas decorations recognized Freedom and cries of ‘Champion!’ went round the market. Freedom was a celebrity, and the warmth of their voices and good wishes lifted his gloom.

He stopped at a pet stall and examined the pigeons, bought one in a proper cage, then grinned at Ed, ‘Get someone to take this over to that little lad from the lodgin’s, tell him Father Christmas sent it.’

Freedom walked down the street followed by a costermonger’s barrow piled so high with parcels the donkey could scarcely pull it. Up on top of the cart was a cradle and there were so many toys that Freedom kept stopping and handing them out to children running alongside. He had bought a table and chairs, lamps, and so much food he could have fed the whole street.

Evelyne stood at the bedroom window and stared at the strange-looking carnival as it came to a halt before the house. Freedom called up to her to look, and he stood grinning from ear to ear, his arms open wide. Ed, well-oiled and with whisky bottles sticking out of his pockets, reeled around with the lamplighter, singing at the top of his voice.

Evelyne watched from the stairs as the furniture was hauled in. It seemed there were people everywhere, yelling instructions on where to put everything, and the baby started screaming. It gave Evelyne a splitting headache. Freedom carried the cradle upstairs - it was made of carved wood with angels on each side. Evelyne had longed for the cradle from Swan and Edgar, with its modern mattress and frilled drapes. This was so old-fashioned. ‘ ‘Put him in, gel, come along, let’s have him.’

He stuffed a pillow into the cradle, took the baby from her arms and laid him in it. Edward howled, clenched his fists and punched at the sides. This made Freedom roar with laughter, and he dug in his pockets. He pulled out his championship belt and tossed it aside as if it were no more than a piece of wrapping paper. Then he took out a small leather case, beaming as he handed it to Evelyne.

The necklace was delicate, gold with pearl drops, and there were matching pearl drop earrings. ‘Put it on, gel, let us see you. Want you to feel like a real lady, and this is just to start with, wait ‘til you see what else I got for you.’

Picking up the bawling baby, Evelyne followed Freedom downstairs. Rolls of carpet were stacked in the hallway, chairs and cupboards had been dumped everywhere. Her spotless kitchen was a mess of straw and china, crates and boxes, but there was not one thing she had imagined for furnishing her home. Freedom strolled around like a magician, opening boxes and displaying his purchases. Then he sat in a big velvet chair and lit a cigar.

‘Where did you get all the money for this? It must have cost a bit.’

She eased her way among the boxes while he puffed on his cigar, still beaming. She could smell that he had been drinking, and she went around looking at price tags. When she reached the mountain of food, she got a terrible sinking feeling. ‘Did you get the fight money, then?’

With a wide, sweeping gesture to the room he said he had, and here it all was. Evelyne had to support herself on the edge of the new table that was too big for the kitchen. Freedom had blown the lot - everything apart from odd notes he had stuffed into his various pockets. He had to vacate the chair as Evelyne looked as if she was about to faint.

All her careful saving and scrimping, and in one night he had spent nearly two hundred pounds. More than the remains of her legacy - more than all the months of saving. She was shakin’g with anger and frustration, and it was then she vowed to herself that he would never know about her savings. His reckless spending shocked her to the core - that he had not discussed the money with her infuriated her and she wanted to scream the place down.

‘I did it all for you, gel, for Christmas.’

She couldn’t be angry with him, he looked so unhappy, his dark eyes like her baby son’s. She went to him and kissed him, lied and said everything was perfect.

Later, lying next to him in their huge bed with the canopy he had chosen in a colour that clashed with the paint, she stared at the ceiling, sleepless. All she could think of was what she could have done with two hundred pounds, and she wept.

Evelyne had learned her lesson. Money meant nothing to Freedom, nor possessions. If he had a shilling in his pocket, he would spend it or hand it out to whoever asked for it. He was a soft touch, a spendthrift, and the whole street knew it. Evelyne was quite relieved to depart for The Grange as, with no money coming in, she would have had to dip into her savings. At least in the country they would be fed and Freedom would be paid for his training sessions there … so her savings could remain intact. She made up her mind to tell Ed that any money must be given to her, and she would dole it out to Freedom.

Freda was glad to be back in her cottage at The Grange, and in no time at all she had the kettle sizzling and a pot of stewed rabbit on the stove by the fire. Ed had his feet up, his worn slippers on.

There had been a lot of changes since they were last there, a whole new stable complex had been erected and on the other side of the yard beyond the barn were kennels for the hunting hounds. The dogs could be heard baying and howling.

‘Ask me ‘e’s tryin’ ter be like ‘is Lordship ‘imself, there’s been some money thrown about here, you see the new gardens and the shrubberies … Course, it’s not a patch on Lonsdale’s place, but that’s what Sir Charles is after.’

Freda dusted and swept, stirred the stew and told Ed to pop over to see if Freedom and Evelyne had everything they needed. Grumbling, he put on his heavy coat and went out, crossing the yard to the stables. Freedom, Evelyne and the baby had been installed in the new stable complex along with the stable hands and gamekeepers. Ed looked around the two rooms, sparsely furnished with just the bare essentials, and he could tell that Evelyne was upset. Freedom had gone out to the woods and from the small window Ed could see his figure like a small dot on the white fields, running flat out.

‘Well, there’s one of us glad to be back here. There he goes, like a hare, isn’t he?’

Evelyne snapped that she could use him indoors as she had to make up a bed for the baby, and Freedom had not lifted a finger since they arrived. He’d already had a row with the head stableboy because he had not been allowed to ride one of Sir Charles’ hunters.

Ed made soothing noises while he watched four gardeners hauling a massive Christmas tree that was to stand in front of the drawing-room windows of The Grange. Sir Charles had not arrived home yet, and from the number of lighted windows in the house Ed knew all hell would be let loose as Miss Balfour organized the servants in their preparations for Christmas.

Evelyne handed the baby to him, and he cooed and chucked him under the chin. Ed looked up to see Evie, neat and tidy as ever, putting on her coat. ‘Yer not goin’ out at this hour, Evie. You’ll catch yer death.’

‘I’m just going over to the kitchens to see everybody, say hello.’

The cook, the footmen, the housemaids whooped when Evelyne entered the kitchen.

‘Well, let’s have a look at you, well I never, so you’re married, well, well, and he’s back as the British Champion, well, well.’

They opened a bottle of cooking sherry to celebrate.

‘So you’re back, well don’t expect no special treatment from me, Miss Jones,’ Miss Balfour snapped, ‘And I’ll thank you not to keep everyone chatting in my kitchen when there’s work to be done.’

‘Will you not toast my good health, and my baby’s, Miss Balfour?’

Begrudgingly, Miss Balfour sipped a sherry then spoke with thin, pursed lips, ‘Here’s good health to you, is it a boy you have? Well, that’s very nice, now if you will excuse me …’ She left, ordering all of them to return to work. The housemaids sighed and looked at Evelyne as though she were a heroine, and she was delighted at being the centre of attention. She had two more sherries before she left with her cheeks flushed and rosy.

In the cold starlit December night with the thick carpet of snow, The Grange looked magical. Evelyne breathed in the clear air, maybe it was good that they’d all come here, away from the dirty London traffic.

‘You look as pretty as a picture, I’ve been watching you.’

Freedom slipped his arm around her and she cuddled close.

‘Happy, manushi?’

She looked up into his smiling, handsome face. ‘I am, an’ you’re a rinkeney man all right, Freedom Stubbs.’

He roared with laughter at her use of the Romany word for ‘handsome’, and together they walked towards Ed and Freda’s cottage. They peered like children into the kitchen and then giggled. Ed had their son on his lap and Freda was standing by giving him instructions on how to change a nappy.

‘I don’t think ‘e needs one, love, ‘e’s just done it all over me best pants.’

The following morning there was bright sunshine and Ed talked the stableboys into allowing Freedom to ride. ‘Yer know, lads, if ‘e wasn’t a champion boxer ‘e could ‘ave been a jockey, will you look at ‘im with that animal, bloody marvel, my God ‘e’s a wonderful fella.’ Ed glowed with pride and beamed at Mr Plath as he strode through the stableyard.

‘Ah, Meadows, all the servants are to gather in the main hall for Christmas gift time, will you instruct your party to be in the hall on the dot of eight?’

‘Now, Freda, there’s no need to get all uppity, all they want is us all gathered, like. Sir Charles hands out ‘is gifts to the servants, see, then we ‘ave a shindig, a dance in the ballroom.’

Freda pursed her lips, furious to be classed with the servants.

Evelyne laughed, ‘Oh, come on, Freda, it’ll be fun, and you can get all dressed up. Of course we’re not servants, well, not any more.’

Ed refrained from pointing out to the two women that while they might not be staff, both he and Freedom were employed by Sir Charles. He was too relieved that Evelyne had accepted it and even seemed bent on enjoying her stay at The Grange.

Promptly at eight, not a minute before or after, the staff lined up in the hall. It was impressive to watch, there were kitchen maids, scullery maids, ladies’ maids, butlers, footmen, valets, cooks, gardeners, stableboys, dog handlers, gunsmiths. Miss Balfour stood at one end of the hall with the general house manager, the estate manager and two secretaries. In a small group slightly apart from the general household staff stood Ed, Freda, Freedom and Evelyne.

Everyone wore their Sunday best or their immaculate uniforms, and the line of more than forty people stood as though on parade. It dawned on Evelyne just how wealthy this household was, how could some have so much and others so little?