A Brighter Tomorrow by Maggie Ford (read with me .txt) 📕

his head, he puffed his way upstairs to Mary’s bedroom and thumped on her door. He saw that she was still in her wrap, her hair loose where young Dora had been combing it for her, no doubt the one hundred strokes that took up a good deal of time – the poor child must be weary. But this wasn’t the time to think of that.

‘Ellie has gone!’ he burst out. ‘What have you said to her?’

Mary’s expression was one of surprise but also a picture of innocence. ‘Why should I have said anything to her? I have nothing to say to her, nor, if God is willing, ever will.’

He ignored that. ‘Has Dora seen her?’

‘When?’

‘While we were at dinner. Has she seen her sister this evening?’

From the room Dora shook her head. ‘No. I spent most of the evening chatting to Rose.’

Mary swung round on her. ‘You know you are not supposed to chat to the lower—’

‘It doesn’t matter about that!’ Bertram cut in. ‘Ellie is not in her room or in her studio. I shall need to speak to the staff. Now.’

‘It’s late; everyone has gone to bed.’

‘Even so…’

He turned abruptly and, going upstairs, thumped on the girls’ door. As Rose came to it, sleepy-eyed, he leapt in: ‘Have you spoken to Ellie Jay this evening?’

The girl shook her head; a sleepy voice called, ‘What is it?’ and Chambers came to peer over Rose’s shoulder.

‘Have you spoken with young Ellie Jay this evening?’ he demanded, paying no more interest in the kitchen maid. Although most of Chambers’ time had been taken up serving at table, after dinner had been cleared away she would have gone down into the kitchen while he and his guests had relaxed for the remainder of the evening.

‘No, Doctor Lowe,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve not seen her at all.’

‘Then Mrs Jenkins?’ But before he could turn away, Rose spoke up in her slow voice.

‘Sir, I did see Miss Jay, only for a moment. Cook had gone off to her parlour, leaving me to wash up the last of the pots and pans. Nine o’clock I think it was, or maybe half past nine – I’m not sure. She went out the back carrying two bags full of stuff. Heavy, they looked. She said they was old clothes what you said to give to the poor. I didn’t take much notice of it, sir. I didn’t see her come back. I was only too glad to go on up to me own bed. I said goodnight to Cook and I asked if there was anything else to do before I went up, and she said no, so I went. I didn’t think to tell her about seeing Miss Jay.’

His mind now in complete confusion as he listened, one thought was that she had gone outside quite innocently and been seized by someone – a slip of a girl, gullible, pretty, alluring enough to give thoughts to a passing rogue. Minutes later that fear had been swept away: she’d been carrying two heavy bags, had told Rose a lie. Why would she run off, unless it was to meet Michael Deel? But he hadn’t turned up. Why then had she not sneaked back here? Where else on earth could she go?

There was one place. ‘Very well,’ he said brusquely, trying not to look too eager. ‘You can go back to bed.’

He didn’t think it likely she would have gone to Michael Deel’s home. She wouldn’t have belittled herself; she was made of sterner stuff than that. But she might have gone back to her old haunt. That neighbour of hers – he couldn’t recall the name, but if the family still lived there, would she not have gone to seek shelter? All the while his mind kept asking the same question: why had she not come back here if she had been let down by the man she had hoped to elope with, and if she hadn’t, what had possessed her to leave? She’d been happy here. He’d done everything in his power to make her so. He loved her like a daughter, had given her everything – all she wanted: comfort, good food, people to care for her. Why then had she left?

All this filled his thoughts as he made his way towards where Ellie had once lived. He walked briskly, seeing not one unoccupied cab, and it wasn’t so far to Bethnal Green Road; he was soon turning into the alley-like place grandly named Gales Gardens, with its soot-begrimed house walls and shabby doors that opened directly from living rooms on to the narrow, uneven pavement.

The number of the house he wanted eluded him for a moment, but the recollection of his visit to the house where she’d once lived brought him to a stop at the correct one. But on which side of it did the family reside? Gone eleven o’clock, none of this unbroken row of houses had lights showing in the windows. But he had to find out if Ellie had come here.

Choosing the street door, he rapped with his knuckles, there being no knocker. He waited as the minutes ticked by, growing sure that this must be the wrong house. What a fool he was. Then suddenly he recalled the name: Sharp – that was it.

Ellie was still lying awake when the knock came. She started up.

Mrs Sharp had said Ronnie would come in the back way, and anyway, he’d have a key. But someone knocking so late: she instinctively guessed the person.

A second rap on the door had her up from the couch and tiptoeing through to the back room where the stairs led up to the two bedrooms.

‘Mrs Sharp! Someone’s at the front door,’ she called up in a hoarse whisper. ‘Mrs Sharp!’

‘Who is it?’ came the stupid, sleepy question.

‘I can’t answer it. It’s not my house. You’ll have to come down.’ As the woman, sighing and grumbling at the hour, came down clad in a well-creased, off-white, flannelette