§ 4
Fourteen of the paper-backed novels on the following Friday night fetched one and six at the stall in Duke Street. Florrie’s tram fare both ways, fourpence. Net receipts, one and twopence....
An unexpected bill came in, £1 10s. 0d. for coal.
When Catherine went to the bank to draw five pounds (by means of a cheque made payable to herself) the clerk said: “By the way, miss, your cheque account is getting low.... Excuse me mentioning it, but we prefer you not to let it get too low.... Say fifty pounds ... of course, for a while ... but as soon as you can conveniently ... you’ll excuse me mentioning it....”
Catherine replied: “Of course, I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll put some more in shortly. Thanks for letting me know.”
But it sent her into a fever of anxiety.
How was she to get any money to put in?
One afternoon she was strolling about the garden when, approaching the kitchen window, she heard voices. It was Florrie talking to Minnie Walker, the barmaid at the High Wood Hotel. Catherine did not like Minnie Walker coming to see Florrie so often, particularly when they drank beer in the kitchen together. She listened to see whether Minnie had come to deliver any particular message or merely to have a drink and a chat and to waste Florrie’s time. If the latter, Catherine meant to interfere and tell Minnie to go.
The conversation she overheard was as follows:
MINNIE. I s’pouse the food ain’t so good now the nurse ’as gone. She wasn’t arf a beauty, eh?
FLORRIE. She knew ’ow ter set a tible, anyway. Chicken every night, I uster git. She had the breast, an’ uster leave me the legs. But the old girl don’t do that now. Can’t afford to. Fact is, the nurse run up some pretty big bills for ’er. She can’t py ’em all, I don’t think.
MINNIE. Then she is owing a good deal, eh?
FLORRIE. I dessay. Corsts ’er ten and six a time fer this messidge treatment wot she ’as evry dy. I know that ’cos the nurse said so.
MINNIE. Yer wanter look out she pys you prompt. ’Case she goes bankrupt.
FLORRIE. You bet I tike care o’ myself. Wait till she don’t giv me my money of a Friday and I’ll tell her strite.
Catherine turned away burning with rage.
That night when Florrie came up to lay the tea, Catherine said: “By the way, Florrie, I give you a week’s notice from to-night.”
“Why, mum?”
“Because I don’t wish to have anybody in the house who discusses my private business with outsiders.”
“But, mum, I never——”
“Don’t argue. I overheard your conversation. I don’t want any explanations.”
“Well, mum, they do say that listeners never ’ear no good of themselves, so If you will go key-’olin’ round——”
“Please leave the room. I don’t wish to talk to you.”
“Very well, mum. It it suits you, it suits me, ’m sure. It won’t be no ’ard job for me ter git another plice——”
“I have told you to go.”
“I’m goin’. By the way, there’s two letters wot come at dinner-time.”
“Bring them up, then.”
“Yes, mum.”
A moment later she returned carrying on a tray two unsealed envelopes with half-penny stamps. From the half-malignant, half-triumphant look in her eyes, Catherine was almost sure she had examined their contents.
After Florrie had gone, Catherine opened them.
More bills!
Peach and Lathergrew, butchers, High Road, Bockley, £6 16s. 2d.
Batty, fish merchant, The Causeway, Upton Rising, £5 5s. 10d.
The crisis was coming nearer!