The Buffer Girls (18 page)

For now, Emily told herself, she had to be content with what
he’d whispered at the ball: ‘You’re my girl now.’

The following morning, Josh accompanied the girls to their place of work. Only minutes after their arrival, he was facing Mr Crossland, a big, jovial man with a broad Sheffield
accent.

‘Nah then, lad, I’ve had a word wi’ George Bayes and he says he’s blessed if he can understand why ’mester fired you. You’re a good worker, he said, and
learning fast, considering you’ve
had no experience afore. I’d be glad to take you on and you can work alongside Chris Marples. He’ll take you under his wing. In fact, if
you’ve nowt else to do, you can start right now.’

‘Thank you, Mr Crossland. I’m very grateful.’

Eddie Crossland put his hand on Josh’s shoulder as he steered him through the workshop towards a tall, middle-aged man working at a grinder. Chris Marples
had pale hazel eyes and thinning
grey hair, but his smile was warm and his handshake firm as Eddie Crossland introduced his new workmate, and when Josh walked home that evening with Emily on one side of him and Lizzie on the
other, he was grinning.

‘It’s a lot better than Trippets’,’ he told them. ‘The blokes are all so friendly. There –’ he referred again to his previous place of work
–
‘they all seemed so miserable. Just did their day’s work and went off home. Here, it’s a laugh a minute and they meet up for a pint at the weekends, Chris told me. He’s
invited me to join them on a Saturday night.’ Josh chuckled. ‘He asked me if I was any good at darts. As if.’

‘You could learn,’ Lizzie said, loyally. ‘I bet you’d be good at anything you put your hand to, Josh.’

He glanced down at her, smiling. In fact, today he couldn’t wipe the smile from his mouth. ‘Thanks for the faith in me and thanks again for helping me to get this job. I really
don’t know what we’d do without you.’

Emily’s heart sank.

That night, by the flickering light of a candle in her side of the bedroom, Emily wrote a letter to Amy. She found it difficult to write with the flow of
words that once would
have been so easy. Now there was a constraint, a reserve that she was sure Amy would notice and wonder at. Perhaps it would be better if she saved up to take a trip back to Ashford to see her, but
every penny of her wages was needed to keep the family fed and as warm as possible. And it was the same for Josh; as trainees, they were poorly paid. When she read the letter
through again, she
knew her words were stilted and unnatural. Deliberately, she had not mentioned Lizzie and in avoiding doing so she was giving validity to the fact that Lizzie was a threat where Amy was
concerned.

And she is, Emily thought. She intends to get her claws into Josh and I can’t see what more I can do to stop it. I’ve tried telling her that he is engaged to Amy back home
but that
doesn’t seem to bother her. In the darkness Emily sighed heavily. And we need her, her and her mother – even her brother Mick. The whole family needs them all. Since Christmas Eve,
Emily had noticed extra items in their home that she knew her mother could not possibly have afforded to buy: a sack of coal, a joint of meat, extra butter and milk and a warm blanket for
Walter’s bed. The
Ryans needed the Dugdale family’s help. What else could she do?

Emily was troubled by the tone of the letter she’d written, but she thought it would be even worse not to send it.

‘I’ve written to Amy,’ she said the following morning. ‘Have you got a stamp, Mam?’

Without turning round from the sink, Martha said, ‘No, but leave it on the table. I’ll post it when I go out shopping.’

Amy could no longer hide her condition and now the whole village knew that she was to bear an illegitimate child and they all guessed that Josh Ryan was the father. To her
surprise, the villagers were very understanding.

‘Bob Clark’s done his best to bring up the lass on his own,’ they whispered to each other, ‘but it’s not the same for the poor lass as having a mother’s hand
to guide
her. Mrs Trippet says we must do what we can to help.’

And so little gifts began to appear at the smithy; tiny clothes to fit a newborn and a magnificent crocheted shawl. And Mr Osborne from the corner shop appeared almost daily with something to
tempt the young mother-to-be’s appetite. And on the day that a magnificent cradle, trimmed with white lace and complete with coverlets, was delivered
to their door by Kirkland, the
Trippets’ chauffeur and gardener, Amy wept at the kindness of the villagers.

‘Oh Dad, I don’t deserve this. And to think that even Mrs Trippet has sent such a wonderful gift.’

Bob put his arm around her shaking shoulders, but he was unable to speak for the lump in his throat. He too was overwhelmed, but then he’d known the villagers’ kindness before when
he’d been left with a small child to care for. They’d rallied around him then and now they were doing it once more for his daughter. It was as if they regarded her as theirs too.

‘You must write a nice little thank-you note to Mrs Trippet.’ He paused and then asked tenderly, ‘Still no word from Josh?’

Amy shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Nor from Emily. I – I thought
at least she’d have written.’

Bob sighed heavily. He was acutely disappointed in the Ryan family. Oh, not poor Walter, who, in his condition, was helpless against his fiercely ambitious wife, but he had thought better of
Josh and Emily. Surely the friendship that had existed between them for years had meant something. He sighed heavily and squeezed Amy’s shoulder. ‘Ne’er mind, lass, we’ll
manage. I’m glad our secret’s out and that folks are rallying round.’

‘I never thought –’ Amy bit her lip and tears spilled down her cheeks – ‘they’d all be so kind about it. I – I thought I’d be shunned.’

Bob chuckled wryly. ‘Oh there’re a few secrets I could tell you, love, if I’d a mind, but I haven’t,’ he added swiftly. ‘But let me just say this, for a few
folks in this village
it’d be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.’

For a moment, Amy stared up at him and then, through her tears, she began to laugh.

On the first Sunday after Josh’s dismissal, Emily met Trip with the words, ‘Josh has been sacked from Trippets’. Did you know?’

Frowning, Trip stared at her. ‘No, I didn’t. Why? What had he done?’

Emily shrugged. ‘Nothing – as far as I can make
out.’ Emily told him what had happened.

‘My father, you say? He sacked him?’

‘Yes. In front of everyone.’

‘Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry. I’ll – see what I can do.’

‘Don’t bother. He’s got a job at Waterfall’s and—’ She’d been about to say that Josh liked it much better, but she stopped herself. This wasn’t
Trip’s fault. She could see by the worried look on his face he’d known nothing
about it.

She tucked her arm through his and smiled up at him. ‘It’s all right now so let’s forget about Josh and enjoy ourselves.’

Trip took her hand and said, ‘Shall we go somewhere different today? It’s a bit cold for the park.’

‘Where?’

‘You’ll see. Come on.’

They walked for some distance until Trip stopped and waved his arm. ‘Here you are. Fitzalan Square. I thought you’d
like to see some of the buildings here. Look at that one.
It’s what they call the White Building.’ He laughed. ‘I think it’s supposed to stand out against all the sooty buildings round it.’

‘Well, it does,’ Emily said.

‘And over there is the Electra Palace. I’ll take you there one day, when I’m earning a bit more than a lowly apprentice’s wage.’

‘Is that all your father pays you?’

Trip grimaced. ‘Says I’ve got to learn to manage my money. He does pay my lodgings, though I think Mother had something to do with that. She wanted me to have somewhere decent to
live.’

‘I don’t blame her,’ Emily said wryly. ‘You can’t really call where we’re living “decent”. The folks are nice, friendly and helpful, but I
don’t relish rats sharing the kitchen. Would you?’

‘Not
really. Come on, let’s go and meet King Edward.’

‘Eh?’

‘The bronze statue in the centre of the square.’

When they’d wandered around for a while, Trip said, ‘Do you want to take a tram back home? I think it’s starting to rain.’

‘Are you sure? I haven’t been on a tram yet.’

‘Come on, then. Top deck, so you can see all the sights.’

They parted at the end of Garden Street,
Trip kissed her cheek lightly. ‘See you next week and please tell Josh I’m so sorry about what’s happened.’ And then he was gone,
leaving her staring after him, her fingers touching the place on her cheek where he’d kissed her.

‘Have you written to Amy?’ Emily asked Josh a week after her own letter to the girl had been sent.

‘Yes, I’ve written several times now,’ Josh said, ‘but I’ve
not heard anything from her all the time we’ve been here.’

‘No,’ Emily said slowly, ‘neither have I. I find that strange, don’t you?’

‘I wish I could go to see her, but I just can’t spare the money. Mam needs every penny to care for Dad and to feed us. It’d be so selfish of me. I was going to try to get a
lift when I planned to go last time, so it wouldn’t cost me much, but it’s a bit
chancy. I daren’t be late back for the start of the week.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I
can’t risk being sacked again.’

‘No, nor me. I’d love to go and see her, but I don’t see how we can. Just mind you keep writing to her and
plead
with her to write back, if you have to. And another
thing, whilst we’re on the subject of Amy. Back off a bit from Lizzie. Ever since the ball, she’s making out
to all the girls at work that you’re her boyfriend and, now
you’re working at the same place, it’s getting harder and harder to prove otherwise.’

‘I’ll try,’ Josh said, but he didn’t sound too confident or determined.

As they left work on the Friday night having collected their week’s pay, Emily said, ‘Oh look over there, Lizzie. Mick’s come to meet you.’

Lizzie glanced across the
road at Mick standing on the street corner with two other young men. All of them were dressed smartly. None of them, Emily guessed, had spent the day at any form of
manual labour.

Lizzie laughed wryly. ‘He’s not here to see us, Emily. Come on, let’s go.’ She grasped Emily’s arm in a firm grip and hustled her along the street.
‘Mick’s with his mates, Emily. Best leave him to it.’

Josh
was about to follow the girls when Mick shouted, ‘Hey, Josh, let me buy you a drink, mate.’

Josh hesitated as Lizzie pulled on his arm and said urgently, ‘No, Josh, don’t go. Come with us.’

‘But it’ll look churlish to refuse, Lizzie. I’ll see you later.’

Lizzie sighed as she watched him cross the road towards her brother. ‘I wish he wouldn’t,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, I do wish he wouldn’t.’

‘Why? There’s no harm in him having a drink with Mick, is there?’ Emily glanced across the road at Mick and his cronies. ‘Though I hope he doesn’t have to spend all
his pay on buying a round for all of them.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s what I’m afraid of,’ Lizzie said quickly as they saw Mick slap Josh on the back and introduce him to the others.

Lizzie sighed. ‘Come on. There’s nowt we can
do now, Emily. Let’s go home.’

Josh did not arrive home until the early hours of the morning, long after the rest of the family had gone to bed, although Emily lay awake listening for him. Just after midnight, she heard the
door downstairs open and then close with a bang. She heard him stumbling through the kitchen and then mounting the stairs to the attic. The door opened with a crash and
he staggered into the room,
grasped hold of the curtain between their beds, and pulled it down from the ceiling, the fabric tearing from the nails.

Emily threw back her bedcovers and got out of bed, taking hold of him and leading him to his bed.

‘What on earth were you thinking, Josh? You’ve work in the morning. Just look at the state you’re in. Whatever will Mam say?’

‘Don’t care,’
he mumbled. ‘It’s all her fault anyway.’

He fell onto his bed and almost at once, he was snoring, his mouth slack.

‘You can just stay as you are,’ Emily hissed at him, though he was beyond hearing her. She returned to her own bed, shivering as she pulled the covers up. She hardly slept for the
rest of the night, kept awake worrying about her brother and disturbed by his loud snoring.

Arthur Trippet sat in the study of his grand country house drumming his fingers on the leather-topped oak desk. His mouth was tight, his eyes flashing with anger; a look that
told all the members of his household to keep out of his way. But for once, his bile was directed at himself. He had been too hasty, he knew that now, but the fury he had felt on seeing Josh Ryan
employed
in his factory had overwhelmed him. The red mist had enveloped him and before he had stopped to think, he had dismissed the young man and bellowed at his foreman for being foolish enough
to take Josh on in the first place.

‘But – sir – it was your own son who recommended him. And he’s a good worker, he’s already—’ George Bayes had been allowed to say no more. Arthur had
prodded his finger
into the foreman’s chest and spat, ‘Get rid of him this instant, Bayes, or you will be the next to go.’

Now, as he sat in the quietness of his study, Arthur realized that he had been rash and had played his hand openly instead of working deviously. And usually, Arthur was very good at scheming.
Whatever he had wanted in life he had got by wiliness. His marriage to Constance Vincent had been
a calculated act. He had courted her – and the promise of inherited wealth from her father
– with pretty words, lavish gifts and gestures of affection.

His own father, from whom Arthur had undoubtedly learned his conniving ways, had nodded his approval and remarked bluntly, ‘She’s a plain-looking wench but she has a good figure and
it’s all the same when the light’s turned off. Child-bearing
hips, she’s got, and that’s all you need to give you an heir and possibly a spare.’ He’d laughed
sarcastically and winked knowingly as he’d added, ‘And there’s nowt to stop you taking your pleasure in the city, lad.’