The Brighton Guest House Girls Read online

  THE BRIGHTON GUEST HOUSE GIRLS

  Also by Lesley Eames

  The Silver Ladies of London

  THE BRIGHTON GUEST HOUSE GIRLS

  Lesley Eames

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Lesley Eames, 2019

  The moral right of Lesley Eames to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788545723

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  To my beloved daughters, Olivia and Isobel, the brightest stars in my firmament.

  Contents

  Also by Lesley Eames

  Welcome Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Acknowledgements

  About Lesley Eames

  Become an Aria Addict

  One

  Brighton, February 1923

  Dear Miss Fairfax,

  We were most grateful to receive settlement of our account for services rendered in regard to the funeral of the late Mr Herbert Ambrose. Your esteemed custom at this sad time was—

  Huh. Thea tossed the undertaker’s letter back onto the kitchen table. Sad time indeed. She felt no grief at all for the dissipated scoundrel she’d had the misfortune to call her stepfather. But that part of her life was over now. It was the future that was important.

  Thea had no idea what that future might hold but one thing was surely certain. It wouldn’t be the sort of future her parents had expected for Miss Theodora Fairfax of Clarendon Place, Brighton.

  Although not precisely rich, Robert Fairfax had enjoyed very comfortable circumstances. Had he been able to see his daughter sitting here in the basement kitchen reviewing her stricken finances, he’d have felt shock and distress. Thea’s mother would have shared that distress though instead of feeling shock she’d have been tormented with guilt because it was her marriage to Herbert Ambrose that had brought the stricken finances about.

  Thea was reading papers by the light of a single candle to save on electricity and although there was a fire in the grate it was meagre to save on coal. To stop herself from shivering she was wearing an old greatcoat of her father’s and, having washed her hair, she’d spread it around her shoulders to enjoy the illusion of warmth created by the candlelight raising shimmers of gold from its coppery depths.

  The rest of the house – all four storeys of it – was dark and cold above her. It was emptier than it had once been too. Most of the heavy furniture remained but many smaller items – graceful side tables, paintings, silver and china – had gone, sold by Herbert to fund his drinking and gambling.

  Despite that, Thea couldn’t feel harshly towards her mother. Cecily Fairfax had been kind and loving but also the sort of woman who felt all at sea without a man to guide and support her. And even if Thea had never warmed to Herbert’s oily charm, she’d understood how her more delicate mother had been flattered by the attention of flowers, chocolates and compliments after two years of loneliness following the death of Thea’s father.

  Of course, the courtship hadn’t lasted past the wedding day five years ago. Disillusion had set in rapidly along with ever-reducing circumstances. One by one the servants had been given notice because there wasn’t the money to pay them – first the cook, then the maid and finally even the woman who came in to help with the rougher work.

  There hadn’t been money for Thea’s school fees either. Sixteen at the time of the marriage, she’d left her education behind to run the household and look after her delicate mother. Never strong, Cecily had grown steadily weaker with a heart complaint and five months ago she’d died. Repellent Herbert had sickened soon after and Thea had nursed him too. Not out of affection, but because his only son lived abroad and there was no one else to do it.

  Still, at least the house was hers now though she hadn’t the income to cover the running costs going forward. Thea had no income at all at present and needed urgently to find some sort of job. She might have been brought up genteelly by parents who’d expected her to marry comfortably rather than work but needs must and—

  A bang from the door knocker cut off her thoughts. Thea frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone and it was late for someone to be calling. She shrugged out of the greatcoat and pinned her hair into a loose bun.

  Hastening upstairs, she was tempted to glide into the drawing-room to identify the visitor via a glance through the side of the projecting bay window but the knocker sounded again. Switching the hall light on, Thea paused at the door – a dark, heavy door without windows, of the sort that was common to the tall, white-painted terraces in Brighton’s more pleasant streets – then opened it just enough to see outside.

  Familiarity stirred then sharpened into recognition. ‘Mr Ambrose!’

  It was a formal way to address a stepbrother but Stanley lived in America and Thea had only met him briefly before. That had been two years ago when he’d called in three or four times while in England on a visit. She opened the door wider, shivering in the chill wind that raced along Clarendon Place after sweeping over the English Channel and across Marine Parade. ‘Come in.’

  A big man in his forties, he stepped into the hall. Thea closed the door then led the way into the drawing room, switching the light on and pulling the curtains across the window. She gestured to the empty hearth and smiled apologetically. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me unprepared. If you wrote to me, the letter went astray.’

  ‘I didn’t write.’

  ‘I didn’t receive a telegram either. Not since the one that instructed me to proceed with the funeral.’

  ‘I didn’t send a telegram.’

  ‘I see.’ Thea hadn’t warmed to her stepbrother the first time she’d met him and she couldn’t warm to him now.

  That first time he’d treated Thea and her mother as irrelevancies in his world, sparing them barely a nod when he’d come to the house. Ever gracious, Cecily had invited him to stay but he’d declined with a grunted ‘No’, without even adding thanks.

  Instead he’d slept elsewhere but holed up with his father in the old book room to drink whisky during the evenings. The room had stunk of it in the morning. It had stunk of Herbert and Stanley too, a combination of hair oil, breath mints and alcohol oozing through their pores. Thea had found it deeply unpleasant.

  She hoped Stanley wasn’t expecting to stay now. He’d brought no luggage but he could have left it at the station while he saw how the land lay. She hoped he wasn’t expecting a meal either. Thea had only half a loaf, a little cheese and four eggs in the house. She should offer him tea, though.

  ‘Would you like a warming cup of—’

  ‘No.’

  Goodness, he was difficult. ‘I’m sure you want to hear about the funeral, however.’

  It hadn’t been well attended. Herbert had lived his life separately from Thea and her mother, treating their house as little more than a source of funds and a place to lay his head when he returned from who knew where, crashing about drunkenly in the small hours. Not knowing his cronies, Thea had spent money she
could ill-afford on an obituary in the newspaper but only five people had come to the funeral: three old sots with blood-shot eyes, and two bold, blowsy women. None of Cicely’s old friends had come because shame over her second husband had kept Cicely isolated for years.

  On a brighter note, surely Stanley would offer to reimburse Thea the funeral costs now. ‘Several of your father’s friends attended and—’

  ‘I’m here about his Will.’ Stanley’s eyes were hard and unemotional. They were hooded eyes set in a fleshy face above a beefy neck.

  Thea acknowledged the change of subject with a nod. ‘I was intending to write to you about your father’s things. I didn’t know which of them you wanted to keep so I’ve left his room untouched.’ If Stanley had travelled from America hoping for a substantial inheritance, he was going to be disappointed. His father had left very little behind. Not even photographs of Stanley’s late mother.

  ‘I’m here about your mother’s Will too.’

  Thea was surprised then a little concerned. If Stanley thought he was a beneficiary of her mother’s Will, he was set for more disappointment. Cecily had left all her estate to Thea. What remained of it that was.

  But perhaps he merely wished to be sure that everything had been done properly so he could return to his own life without giving her further thought. ‘I haven’t seen a solicitor about my mother’s Will yet, but I intend to do so soon,’ Thea told him.

  Herbert had fallen ill soon after her mother’s death and Thea had mostly been tied to the house. Then one day Herbert had grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. Fighting her revulsion, Thea had allowed him to gasp in her ear, ‘Your mother’s Will. Don’t. Do. Anything.’

  Assuming he feared she’d put him out on the streets, Thea had agreed to wait.

  ‘I have your mother’s Will,’ Stanley said now.

  Thea realised he must be referring to her mother’s old Will, made after the death of Thea’s father and in anticipation of her marriage to Herbert. Oh dear. This could be awkward. Dismayed at the way Herbert was running through her money, Thea’s mother had made a new Will in secret that left the house in Clarendon Place entirely to her daughter.

  ‘Even if there’s no money left, you’ll have a roof over your head,’ she’d said and, comforted by the thought of it, she’d mentioned it often. ‘At least you’ll have a place to live… At least you won’t be without a home…’

  Thea braced herself for anger on Stanley’s part. ‘My mother made a new Will three years ago.’

  ‘The Will I have was made two years ago.’

  Thea blinked. ‘That isn’t possible.’ Her mother would have told her about a third Will.

  ‘I assure you it is possible. It’s lodged with my solicitors.’ Stanley took his wallet out, extracted a business card and slapped it onto the mantelpiece. ‘Sneath & Landis of North Street. I suggest you call on them soon.’

  There had to be a mistake. Surely there was some sort of mistake? A feeling of dread crept over Thea. ‘What are the terms of this Will?’

  ‘Your mother left her jewellery to you.’

  Only a few pieces remained. Herbert had taken most of them.

  ‘She left the rest of her estate to my father and he left everything to me.’

  ‘Including this house?’

  ‘Certainly including this house.’

  Thea’s hand grasped the back of a chair. She felt suddenly unsteady but was determined not to show it.

  ‘I’m prepared to be generous,’ Stanley continued. ‘I’m in England for only a short time on this occasion but I’m arranging to return permanently. My business affairs in America will occupy me for the next few months but then I’ll be back. It’s almost the middle of February now. Provided you’ve vacated the house by the end of May and left the contents intact, I’m prepared to give you a gift of one hundred pounds. My solicitor will see to it.’ He nodded towards the business card. ‘The end of May, Miss Fairfax. Not a day longer.’

  With that he headed for the hall and would have barged past Thea if she hadn’t darted out of his way. He didn’t wait for her to open the door but pulled it open himself and walked out into the night without a backward glance.

  Thea closed the door after him then slumped against it. One hundred pounds wouldn’t last long at all. And once it had gone she’d be destitute.

  Two

  Bermondsey, London

  Anna knew from the malicious triumph on her father’s face that her days in this house were numbered. Her mother knew it too judging from the way her anxious fingers pleated and re-pleated the worn tea cloth. So did the children.

  Mary, four years younger than Anna at sixteen, was taking short, sharp breaths as though summoning the courage to leap to her darling sister’s defence. Anna shook her head to warn her against trying because it would do no good for Anna and might bring their father’s wrath down on Mary too.

  Lizzie, the youngest at just five, had tears pooling in her eyes. She didn’t understand what was happening but she did know her beloved Anna was in trouble. Anna sent Lizzie a bracing smile then repeated the smile for the boys – Joe at fourteen as keen to spring to Anna’s defence as Mary, and Tom at ten confused but concerned.

  Jed Watson sucked on his Woodbine then blew smoke out slowly, savouring his moment. ‘Some daughter you’ve turned out to be. Where are all your fine ways now, eh? So much for thinking you’re better than us working folk.’

  ‘I’ve never considered myself to be better than anyone,’ Anna pointed out quietly.

  ‘So much for all them books and outings to look at pictures too. Ideas above your station, that’s what you’ve always had.’

  ‘I’ve tried to make the children see the value of an education, that’s all. To give them choices about their futures.’

  ‘Futures like yours, you mean? With a bastard baby on the way by some fancy man who’s left you high and dry?’

  ‘Piers hasn’t left me. He’s travelling.’

  ‘So you say. And you’re dumb enough to believe it despite all your book-learning.’

  ‘Piers is a gentleman.’

  ‘Gentlemen don’t lie with girls before they marry ’em.’

  ‘We’re engaged.’

  ‘Then where’s the ring?’

  There hadn’t been time for a ring. Not a proper ring. Piers had wrapped a buttercup around her finger instead. ‘A token of my love and commitment,’ he’d said with a smile. ‘To keep us going while I’m away. I’ll buy the biggest diamond I can afford when I return.’

  ‘I don’t need a big diamond,’ Anna had told him. ‘All I want is you.’

  But she wished she had a proper ring now.

  ‘You’ve let that man make a whore of you,’ her father said. ‘And I won’t have a whore in my house.’

  ‘Jed, please,’ her mother begged. ‘Don’t say things like that. Not about your own daughter.’

  ‘She’s no daughter of mine.’

  ‘She’s –’

  ‘Shut up, woman. Or I’ll shut you up, and you know what that means.’

  Janet Watson did know, and so did Anna.

  ‘It’s all right, Ma.’ Anna smiled reassurance at the faded, harassed woman who’d given birth to her, but felt the heavy weight of dread. Where on earth could she go?

  ‘Away with you,’ her father said. ‘Get out of my sight.’

  Anna hesitated for just a moment then ran upstairs to the room she shared with her brothers and sisters where she leaned her palms on top of the small chest of drawers and let her head drop forward, breathing deeply to try to quell the mounting panic. But it was only a matter of time before her mother and the children came up, and Anna didn’t want them to find her looking scared. Pushing herself upright, she studied her reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall.

  Her face was even paler than usual while her dark eyes were large with fear. Swallowing, Anna smoothed her hands over the heavy brown hair that she kept drawn into a bun on the nape of her neck like a Victorian governess, then attempted a smile. She didn’t linger to see if she’d succeeded but turned away from the mirror to pack her things.

  The tiny house – surely long overdue for demolition – had only two rooms upstairs, a crude curtain separating the bed in which Anna slept with her sisters from the bed in which her brothers slept. Having brought home cardboard boxes so they could keep their possessions in an orderly fashion under the beds, Anna kept the room spotlessly clean and tidy.