Chapter Six
Kitty sat at the table perusing the employment column in the newspaper as she had done every week for a month. A heavy fall of snow forced the children to stay inside. Near the fire, Connie and Mary darned socks while listening to Clara and Joe take turns in reading aloud pages from Robinson Crusoe. At their feet, Rosie played on the mat with a rag doll.
A tap sounded at the door. They all stopped to stare at each other. “Whoever knocks at our door?” Joe said, lowering the book.
Standing and automatically straightening her skirts, Kitty put a hand to her hair, a habit ingrained since birth, and went to open the door.
A tall gentleman stood on the cellar steps. He wore a long coat made of wool of deepest black. No hat adorned his head and snowflakes glistened on his shiny blue-black hair.
“Good afternoon.”
Staring, Kitty inclined her head. “Good afternoon.”
“I’m looking for a Miss Kitty McKenzie. I was told she lived in this…lane.”
“I am she.”
From inside his coat, he pulled out a roll of papers and handed them to Kitty. “I deliver you these documents on behalf of Mrs Martha Sedgewick, deceased.”
Stunned, Kitty hesitated to take them from him. Her experience with documents in the past had never been kind. “W…what are they?”
“A copy of her last will, made just before Christmas. In it she states she has no kin and she leaves all her worldly goods to you.”
Kitty gazed at him. His beautiful cornflower-blue eyes, fringed with thick black lashes, stared at her and when he smiled, her heart thumped against her ribs. Her body tingled with awareness. She wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the news he just gave her, but for some reason her legs shook.
Behind her, Connie rose. “I’m Mrs Spencer. Would you care t’come in an’ stand by the fire for a minute? T’weather is dreadful.”
He looked around the cellar before glancing from Connie to Kitty. He frowned, but nodded. If he was surprised to find one of his own living in such conditions, he did well not to comment on it.
“Would you care for a cup of tea? We’ve milk an’ sugar.” Connie sat Kitty down.
His expression changed from puzzlement to a warm smile. The softer expression was more natural, handsome, and not so formidable and it took Kitty’s breath away. “A cup of tea would be most welcome. Thank you.”
Kitty gestured to the table, and then hid her hands in her lap to disguise her trembling. He smelt wonderfully clean and fresh. His white collar, stiffly starched, glowed bright against the dimness of the cellar. Her stomach clenched and she had an urge to just sit and stare at him forever. “Please, sit down, Mr?” She glanced up at him.
“Forgive me, my name is Kingsley. Benjamin Kingsley.”
“Are you Martha’s solicitor?”
“No. However, her solicitor contacted my family concerning her affairs.” He studied the children and their surroundings.
Kitty assumed he wondered at their background, but was too well mannered to ask.
“So, you’re Martha’s family, Mr Kingsley?” Connie probed deeper, pouring boiling water into the teapot.
Kingsley smiled. “No, though we do have a connection with her. You see, a long time ago, she was my grandfather’s…er…friend. On his deathbed, I promised him I’d help her should she ever have need. She never did ask for help and so I thought the least I could do was to make certain her will was taken care of properly.”
Connie snorted. “Good lord, I wouldn’t have thought Martha as the mistress type.”
“Connie!” admonished Kitty, although the information stunned her too.
“It’s all right.” Kingsley grinned. “I wouldn’t have thought so either, but they say that she was quite a beauty as a young woman. Obviously, she caught the eye of my grandfather.”
“Why didn’t he marry her?” Mary murmured, always the romantic.
“Because, I’m ashamed to say…he was already married.”
At that, they were all quiet.
Forcing herself to concentrate, Kitty read the documents until Kingsley interrupted her.
“Have you lived here long?”
She glanced up. His handsome features started a fluttering in her stomach of a kind she’d not known before. It was as though her body had control over her and all intelligence had deserted her. “Over three months.”
He nodded. For an instant, a look of sympathy stole across his handsome face. “It is very different to what you are used to?”
She couldn’t help but smile. Did they not appear as though they always lived here? At times it felt like it. “Indeed.”
Kingsley stood and glanced down at her. His eyes darkened and his lips curved into a knee-knocking smile. “I must be going now.”
“Of course,” she agreed, but inside, her heart said no, not yet. He was her kind, and for a little bit longer she wanted to pretend she still belonged to his world.
He turned to Connie and handed her the cup. “Thank you very much for the tea, Mrs Spencer.” He headed for the door.
Joe got there first and opened it for him. “You’ve a coat like my Papa used to own.”
He paused to put his hand on Joe’s head and chuckled. “Then your Papa must have possessed fine taste, lad.”
“He did. He was a doctor.”
“Really?” Kingsley frowned as if in thought.
Kitty pulled Joe to her. “Enough, Joe. Let the gentleman be on his way.”
Benjamin Kingsley took her hand and bowed over it. “Good afternoon to you, Miss McKenzie.”
“And to you, Mr Kingsley, and thank you.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” He rummaged in his trouser pocket and pulled out a key. “Martha’s key. After you have collected what you want, I’d be obliged if you could return the key to Jarret and Hunters, Solicitors, in Coney Street.”
“Thank you, I will.” She smiled.
His gaze locked with hers. “If you have need of me, leave word at Coney Street.”
Kitty swallowed and nodded, letting her imagination believe he hinted at something more than he implied. Embarrassed by her wayward thoughts, she blushed and ducked her head. What had come over her? She’d never been the kind who wanted a man’s sole attention. She was acting such a fool.
“Keep well.” He held up his hand in a final goodbye to everyone, before running lightly up the cellar steps.
Reluctantly closing the door behind him, Kitty wondered if she’d ever see him again and hoped that she would. Kingsley had been a reminder of the past, dressed in the image of her father, and his presence in their alien world had returned her to the other life she’d once lived, if only for a short time.
Connie tidied away their cups. “That was kind of him, comin’ ‘ere personally like. His type don’t often go out of their way for others and they never enter this part of the city.”
“Yes, it was kind.” Sighing, she turned over the key in her hand. “I just don’t believe it. Who would have thought?”
“Imagine old Martha bein’ a wealthy gent’s mistress!” Connie’s eyes grew wide in surprise.
“What’s a mistress?” Clara asked.
“Never mind,” Kitty said quickly.
“You best get over ter Martha’s place before dark.” Connie put her hands on her hips. “Though I doubt there’ll be much left by now.”
“I don’t understand why she left her things to me?”
“She knew you t’be a good person, that’s why, an’ you’re in need.”
Kitty looked at the key again. “I don’t think I can do it. It’s like stealing. I mean… Well, it doesn’t feel right to go picking about somebody else’s belongings. Besides, I didn’t know her that well. I still have her money tin. Surely—”
“Stop your nonsense.” Connie went to the back of the door, took her old thin coat off the hook as well as Kitty’s coat and gave it to her. “She wanted you t’ave it!”
“But, Connie…”
“Oh, come on with you. You get nowt for nowt in this life. You worked hard for her an’ she’s rewardin’ you.”
“I did receive a wage,” she protested.
Connie tutted and steered Kitty up the cellar steps.
* * * *
Martha had rented rooms in an old grand house made into flats, just like all the other Georgian houses in the street. The houses no longer presented the splendour of their former years. Paint peeled away at the slightest touch. Most of the windows, the ones not broken, had no kind of drapery hanging behind them. Nothing showed that the residents took the least care of their homes in this part of town. Rubbish littered the street, the wind having piled it in places like dirty ant nests. Half-starved dogs and cats roamed. Every now and then, they erupted into fighting masses of fur and made a hideous noise.
Few of the huge trees that once proudly lined the street remained, many being cut up for firewood. The rest stood deformed and broken, their lower branches gone. Even the snow, sitting in deep drifts against the walls, looked grimy in the dullness of winter’s gloom.
Kitty hesitated as they approached the building, uneasy about entering the dead woman’s home.
A loud bang shattered the stillness of the late afternoon. As it echoed, a bloodcurdling scream came from somewhere behind the soot-covered walls.
“What the ‘ell was that?” Connie whispered, clutching Kitty’s arm.
“Let us go back.” Kitty turned to go. The last month she had walked the streets every day looking for work to no avail, and it was getting harder and harder to survive on Martin’s meagre wages. However, nothing Martha owned was worth putting herself or Connie in danger.
“No. We’re here now, let’s just get on with it.” Connie led the way into the hall.
Kitty sighed and, gathering her black skirts, followed.
The numbers on the doors indicated they must go upstairs. Once they reached the next landing, they saw some of the doors didn’t have numbers.
Connie, taking the bull by the horns as usual, knocked on the first door.
A woman, holding a child on her hip, answered. “Aye?”
“We’re after old Martha Sedgewick’s rooms.” Connie sniffed.
“She’s dead.”
“Aye, we know that.” Connie huffed. “It’s ‘er rooms we want. Do you know them or not?”
The woman shifted the child up higher and pointed to the door opposite.
“Ta, very much.” Connie nodded to the woman, took Kitty’s elbow and drew her to the other door.
Nervously, Kitty put the key in the lock and opened the door. The dim room smelled musty. A fireplace and a cooking range lined the far wall. A door to the left led to a small, airless bedroom; it contained an iron bed and an old chest of drawers.
Connie opened each of the four drawers and found a few pieces of clothing.
“Well, the bed an’ drawers will come in handy.” Connie sniffed again. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s been here.”
“Maybe they had someone keeping an eye on the place?” They went back into the main room to search more closely.
Kitty indicated to an utterly filthy horsehair sofa looking well past its use. “We aren’t taking that.”
A small, round table stood in the middle of the room with only two chairs. On the wall hung a painting of a small cottage set amongst fields in the countryside. Kitty liked it and took it down from its nail, leaving a square-shaped outline a lighter colour than the rest of the smoke-stained wall.
“She didn’t have much, did she?” Kitty lay the painting on the table.
Connie searched through some cupboards near the fireside. She took out a tea service in fine bone china with a pretty pattern of pink roses on it. “Look ‘ere. This is an attractive set.”
“Oh yes, that is lovely, much better than ours.” She would never get used to the ugly crockery they used in the cellar.
“This cabinet is what you need for all your things.” Connie ran her hands over the cabinet’s wooden surface. “I can’t believe ‘tis all still here,” she added in disbelief.
“It’s here,” a voice said from the doorway, “cos a toff said he’d have us all arrested if we touched any of it.”
Spinning around, Connie and Kitty stared at the woman from across the hall. She leaned against the doorjamb with her baby placed at her feet.
“Well, what surprises me is you took any notice,” Connie muttered with a snort.
“Me ol’ man’s already down the line. I’ll not be joinin’ him.” The woman gave a cheerless laugh. “Besides, men kept a good eye on’t place.” Without saying any more, she picked up the baby and went back to her own door.
“I still feel as though I’m stealing,” Kitty murmured, closing the door after the woman.
“I told you, she wanted you ter have it. She knew you were struggling and that you had a family ter support.”
“But I hardly knew her.”
“Well, you must’ve medd a good impression in a short time then.”
Kitty walked over to the cooking range and picked up a few of the pots dangling on hooks above it. They’d be useful. On a shelf to the right of the range stood a few items of food. A jar of currants and a small bottle of pickles, plus a marble slab that held a chunk of dreadfully smelling cheese and some shrivelled up salty beef. Indeed, it made her sad to see that a woman of Martha’s age had very little to show for all those years.
She heard Connie banging about in the other room and went to investigate. In the bedroom, Connie had flipped the bed over on its side and banged on the floorboards underneath.
“What are you doing?”
Connie sat back on her haunches. “She’s bound t’ave some money stashed away somewhere.”
“Oh, good heavens. I feel like a grave robber. Put that bed down this minute! We are going. I’ve had enough.” She spun on her heel.
Connie followed her out. “I’m tellin’ you it’s worth lookin’ about a bit.”
“No.”
“Lass, you going t’need every bit of it.”
Kitty spun to face Connie. “Why are you so sure she has some money hidden away? She was a woman who sold second-hand clothes on a stall all her life! What makes you think she has hordes of money somewhere?”
“Cos it mekks sense, that’s why! Iris Nettlesmith has had a stall beside Martha for forty years. She knows Martha has done some good trade over the years, but it never showed that she spent much of it. She never had no family ter spend it on. So, the money must have gone somewhere.”
“I doubt it.”
Connie put her hand to her head and sighed. “Who knows, mebbe Kingsley’s grandfather gave her money? It won’t do any harm ter look now, will it?”
“Five more minutes and then we go home and forget all about it.” Kitty took off her coat. She went to the other room and began to press on the floorboards. Connie pulled at the bed and then looked for secret compartments in the chest of drawers and the cabinet. After an hour of pushing and prodding, turning and picking up anything not nailed down, they gave up.
“I told you so,” said Kitty through the dust they’d stirred up in the room.
Connie banged her fist on the table. “It’s here somewhere, I can feel it.”
Kitty chuckled. “Come on, it is almost dark.”
She reached for her coat and gloves resting on the back of the sofa.
One of the gloves fell to the floor and, bending to pick it up, something caught her eye. The sofa material was a dark olive green, but the fabric on the back looked newer than the rest. The stitching around the entire back part of the sofa was in a different shade.
Intrigued, she knelt and pulled at a loose thread. Swiftly the thread unravelled, the material fell away from the sofa. Kitty glanced up at Connie, who watched fascinated. Lifting the material flap revealed the wooden structure, and, at the bottom, a box nailed onto a small shelf on the base.
“Oh my.” Kitty held her breath as she reached in and raised the box’s lid. Gently, she lifted out a little velvet bag. Within it came the soft clink of coins rubbing together. Handing the bag to Connie, Kitty stretched in again and kept doing so until the box was empty.
They stood at the table and stared in wonderment at thirty-two bags. “I…I never expected to find anything,” Kitty whispered.
“The jammy old sod.” Connie grunted. “She lived like a pauper an’ yet had all this.”
“Oh, Connie, I cannot take this money. It’s not right.” The pile of bags made her queasy. She looked nervously over her shoulder at the door, expecting the police to come barging through any minute and arrest her for trespassing.
Connie gave her a sharp jab with her finger. “Listen, lass, I know you don’t feel right about it. But when you think about it, who else is goin’ ter have it? She’s got no kin.”
Speechless, Kitty shook her head.
Connie picked up the first bag, opened it and tipped out the coins onto the table. In a short time, the coins were stacked into small towers. Each bag contained ten gold sovereigns totalling three hundred and twenty.
“Oh, lass,” Connie whispered wide-eyed.
* * * *
Flames licked the coal in the fireplace. The children’s chests rose lightly as they slept peacefully in their beds.
Kitty sat at the table staring at the bags of coins in front of her. They would change her life and she wasn’t sure whether she was ready for that to happen again. Unbelievably, the cellar had become their home and although it was damp, the walls ran with slime and the rats tried to eat everything in sight, they had grown used to it. The children played in the lane outside and made friends with the other children. Joe and Clara attended a nearby school. Mary worked hard at keeping the cellar clean and comfortable as well as learning to cook, just as Martin worked solidly at earning a wage for them. They also had the friendship and support of the Spencers. She was frightened to leave the relative security of the cellar to face the unknown again.
What is the best option now?
Kitty slumped in the chair and sighed deeply. The money meant they could afford to live in a nice place and wear good quality clothes again. With careful management, they might live well for a year or two.
Yes, finding the money was a Godsend, but somehow it didn’t give her the pleasure it should. Decisions overwhelmed her, throwing her into a pit of despair. The whole process of packing up and moving away and starting again filled her with dread. Where would they go? She didn’t want to have to do it all again just yet. Outside of the cellar the world was cold and lonely and frightening.
The coal shifted in the grate. Kitty yawned and reached over to idly pick up the newspaper. Flicking through the pages, she barely read a word. Tiredness made her limbs heavy, her mind sluggish, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep, not properly. Halfway through the paper, something stopped her from turning the page. A story heading leapt out at her, Tales From The Colony, Kitty read what followed. On finishing the article, she rested the paper on her knee and stared into the flames of the fire. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind a memory came to her.
Her parents hosted a dinner party. One guest had just returned from the southern colonies of Australia and New Zealand. Throughout the evening, he told stories of his adventures and Kitty remembered how he kept everyone spellbound by his tales, especially her. For days afterwards, she spent hours in their library reading books about those countries, hoping she could one day visit them. The gentleman’s account intrigued her still.
The clock’s chimes brought Kitty out of her reverie. She put the paper on the table and then banked the fire down for the night. While placing the fireguard up and blowing out the candles, her mind came alive with plans. By the time she climbed into bed, the decision was made.