The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (25 page)

‘Hah! Does Robert know about this?' Lily laughed, until Sybil dug into her pocket to find a pencil and began to write her own ditty.

‘Let's have a gander,' Annie urged after Sybil had finished scribbling. ‘Listen to this, everyone. “Good girls love their brothers, But Lily so good has grown, She loves Peggy's brother, Better than her own!”'

‘Oh no!' Lily cried, wishing to goodness that her face didn't colour up so easily. To hide her embarrassment she grabbed the book and wrote her own offering. ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a pail of water. Jill came down with half a crown But not for fetching water!'

‘Lily, I'm surprised at you!' Annie guffawed when she read the risqué offering, which brought half a dozen others crowding around the table to make their own contributions.

Meanwhile, Annie and Lily decided to leave their present-opening until Christmas morning. When the buzzer to return to work sounded, they walked out of the canteen together and paused at the top of the stairs before going their separate ways.

‘When will you next see Harry?' Annie asked in a low voice as other girls rushed by.

‘I'm not sure,' Lily confessed. ‘I might try to pop out for half an hour later tonight if they can do without me at home.'

‘Yes, try,' Annie urged with a squeeze of Lily's arm. ‘Let him know you care.'

‘About what?'

‘About the fight in the pub, and so on. And ta for the present.' Annie smiled warmly and held up the small parcel given to her by Lily.

‘It's not much,' Lily warned. ‘But it's the thought that counts.'

‘Likewise,' Annie said about her own gift to Lily. ‘And Happy Christmas, love.'

‘Yes, Happy Christmas.' Lily couldn't disguise the tinge of sadness and apprehension in her reply.

‘Let's hope for a better year to come, full of fun for us girls,' Annie called before she ran downstairs to the weaving shed.

The kitchen in Albion Lane was festooned with the multicoloured paper chains made by Evie and Arthur and the mantelpiece was decked with holly that Walter had fetched from the woodland at the far edge of the Common. A leg of pork and a ready-plucked turkey had been bought by Evie from Durant's out of her week's wages, together with vegetables from Cliff Street market, which Walter had fetched on his way back from holly gathering. The Christmas pudding, made by Lily, was trussed up in muslin and placed inside its basin, ready for slow simmering next morning. The cake was iced and decorated. Best of all, Arthur was studying the pile of presents with his name on them, which had been carefully placed under the small tree stationed at the window in full view of the street and decked out with silver tinsel and glass baubles.

‘I know what this is!' he exclaimed from time to time, lifting a present from Granddad Preston and shaking it inside its box. ‘It's tiddlywinks!' A second shake brought another, different cry. ‘No, Granddad's bought me snakes and ladders!'

‘Talking of Granddad,' Evie whispered, out of hearing of both Arthur and their father, ‘have he and Margie been invited for dinner tomorrow?'

‘Granddad has, but not Margie,' Lily replied with a troubled frown. ‘Father still swears he won't let her over the doorstep.'

Halfway up the creaking attic stairs with a pile of ironing, Evie bit her lip. ‘Do you think he knows …?'

‘About the baby?' Lily finished her sentence. ‘I'm not sure. Mother hasn't told him yet but maybe he found out down at the pub and that's what caused the fight. Anyway, you're not to mention Margie to him – Mother says.'

‘Lily, is that you?' Rhoda's querulous voice came from behind the closed bedroom door where she'd been lying in bed, cut off from all the preparations going on below.

‘Coming, Mother!' Lily called back, rushing to see what was wanted, silently running through the rest of the tasks she must do before she could possibly think of popping round to Raglan Road.

‘Can I come in?' Lily asked Harry when she finally escaped from Albion Lane. It was cold and dark on the doorstep yet he'd taken his time to answer her knock, though she was sure she'd seen the curtain twitch at the downstairs window and she'd heard noises from inside the house.

‘Lily,' Harry said, trying to sound surprised and pleased but failing on both counts. ‘Sorry, I didn't hear you knocking.'

A gust of wind got under her skirt and threatened to lift the hat from her head so both hands were kept busy – one trying to anchor the hem of her skirt, the other clutching her hat. ‘Don't keep me standing here,' she pleaded.

‘Sorry,' he said again, still blocking the hallway. ‘Mother and Peggy have gone out carol singing. I'm in by myself.'

The wind gusted again. ‘Invite me in, Harry, please!'

He backed off down the corridor, his face still in shadow.

Lily followed slowly. ‘Brrr, I'll catch my death. It's all right, Harry, I heard about the fight—' Despite being prepared, as soon as the slanting light from the living room fell across Harry's face, she gasped and stopped dead.

His face was like that of a boxer after a heavy defeat – there was a long cut above his left eyebrow and one on his right cheek. Both eyes were swollen and a bruise was developing along his lower jaw.

Embarrassed, Harry averted his gaze. This was why he hadn't wanted to answer the door in the first place, knowing what a sight he looked.

‘Doesn't it need stitching?' Lily wondered, resisting the urge to stroke his face in case it hurt. Her stomach churned and she shuddered at the damage done to Harry's handsome face.

He shook his head. ‘I didn't want you to see me like this, though. Are you sure you want to stay?'

‘Why wouldn't I? Was it Tommy? Did he really do this to you?'

‘Who told you that?' Ushering Lily into the front room instead of the back kitchen, a defensive Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway. He'd been planning to lie low over Christmas, hoping to avoid Lily until the swelling went down and things had begun to heal but now she'd seen him at his worst and he was afraid she would be put off. ‘It was nothing,' he tried to reassure her. ‘Just an argument that got a bit out of hand.'

‘Says you.' She sighed, standing on the fireside mat and clutching the wrapped box of cufflinks that she'd bought at the market. They were silver and mother-of-pearl, with his initials, HB, inset in silver in the centre. But once she'd got over the shock of his altered appearance, she was determined to find out more. ‘What was the argument over, Harry?'

‘Nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.'

‘If I didn't know you better, Harry Bainbridge, I'd say you were telling me to mind my own business.'

‘No, it's not that …'

‘But this
is
my business,' she insisted, trying to ignore the cuts and bruises and to carry on a conversation as per usual. ‘What did Tommy say that riled you so badly? It wasn't about Margie, by any chance?'

Harry sighed and sat on the arm of the old-fashioned leather sofa that his mother had picked up for a song at Manby's auction house on Canal Road. He patted the seat, inviting Lily to come and join him, which she did. ‘Tommy was dead set on having a go at your dad,' he explained. ‘Walter didn't take it well. In fact, he lashed out with his fists.'

‘And you couldn't stand by and let it happen?'

‘It wasn't just me. When Billy and Ernie saw I was outnumbered by Tommy and Frank, they lent a hand. Then the boot was on the other foot.'

‘But it
was
to do with Margie?'

‘You're a right little Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?' Harry grinned and tried to lighten the mood. He remembered too late that every movement of his face muscles hurt like hell. ‘Ouch!'

‘Oh, Harry!' She sighed. ‘It's one thing standing up for Evie against Fred Lee at work, but there's no need to go around fighting all the Briggs family battles willy-nilly.' Looking up at him from her place on the sofa and with the light in the hallway behind him, she could only make out the gleam of his eyes and the outline of his closely cropped fair hair. He was in shirtsleeves and pullover, his collarless white shirt open at the neck. ‘By the way, Winifred was asking after you,' she remembered. ‘She wanted to know how you'd hurt your face.'

‘When was that?' he asked more sharply.

‘Dinner time, in the canteen. She made a point of coming across and asking me, Sybil and Annie if we knew anything about it.'

‘You didn't say too much, though?'

‘Not a dicky bird. We only knew what we'd heard at work, and that was all gossip. You know what the girls at Calvert's are like. Anyway, why are you bothered about Winifred asking questions?'

‘I don't want my boss thinking I go around scrapping and brawling in the gutter, that's all,' Harry replied. ‘I've got my job to think about.'

‘Ah, we all have to do that,' she agreed, realizing that this was a natural worry for Harry to have. ‘Ta anyway for sticking up for Father – I don't want to sound ungrateful, you know that. But does this mean he's found out the truth about Margie?'

With one short nod Harry confirmed Lily's fears. ‘Don't worry, he'll be upset for a bit but he'll get used to the idea sooner or later.'

‘Well, I for one am not going to let it spoil our Christmas,' Lily decided, pulling herself together and remembering the small gift she'd brought for Harry. ‘This is for you,' she said, offering it to him and leaving her fingers resting on the palm of his hand. Instead of taking the present, he cupped his hands around hers and pulled her to her feet. ‘Do I look a sight?' he asked, looking her in the eyes for the first time that evening. Damn it, what if he did? He ought to trust Lily and believe that her feelings for him were more than skin deep.

‘Like Frankenstein's monster,' she teased, releasing one hand to gently push his hair back from his forehead. ‘Don't you want to open your present?'

‘Wait a sec,' he murmured, putting it on the arm of the sofa then leaving the room and taking the stairs two at a time, returning very soon with his own gift for Lily – a silver heart locket on a chain, still in its white tissue paper. ‘I didn't have a chance to wrap it,' he explained.

With trembling fingers Lily took the shining, prettily engraved necklace from the paper and held it up. ‘Oh Harry, it's lovely,' she whispered.

‘Open it up,' he urged.

Lily slid her fingernail between the two halves of the heart and opened the locket. Inside she found a tiny head-and-shoulders photograph of Harry in his chauffeur's uniform. Unsure of her suddenly tearful expression, Harry hastily said she could change the picture if she liked.

She shook her head, closed the locket and held the delicate chain up to her neck. ‘No, it's just right. Fasten it for me, will you?'

He came behind her, took the necklace and felt the warmth and softness of the nape of her neck. It was too tempting – he had to lean forward and kiss the spot before he fastened the tiny clasp. She turned then hesitated.

‘Can I kiss you back?' she whispered. ‘Will it hurt?'

He nodded.

‘Yes, it'll hurt? Or yes, I can kiss you back?'

‘Both,' he murmured, drawing her to him and kissing her. ‘Happy Christmas, Lily.'

She smiled and returned his kiss. ‘Happy Christmas to you too, Harry,' she whispered in that perfect moment, when the whole world was shut out and her worries melted away like snow.

Christmas Day came and went at 5 Albion Lane in a flurry of present-opening, party games and overindulgence.

‘I guessed right – it's snakes and ladders!' a delighted Arthur declared as he tore off the paper to reveal the box sent by his grandfather. ‘And a jigsaw from Margie. Look, Mam, it's a picture of horses pulling a cart. Margie knows horses are my favourites, doesn't she? That's why she's sent me this!'

Rhoda was up and dressed and ensconced in the one easy chair by the fire, a shawl around her shoulders and her hair tidied back from her face. ‘That's grand, son,' she remarked each time he displayed one of his presents. Or, ‘Who sent you this one, pray tell?' and ‘What's this when it's at home?' when it was something she didn't recognize – a card game or an annual that she'd not heard of before. Her own present to her only son was practical as ever – a set of four linen handkerchiefs with his initials sewn on by hand.

‘Thanks, Mam,' he said with evident disappointment. Unless you could play with it or eat it, Arthur wasn't interested.

He cast the hankies aside but soon perked up again when he came to the selection box of Rowntree's chocolates from Evie, chattering ten to the dozen as the girls set about carving the turkey and dishing up vegetables while Walter sat at the table quietly supping bottles of beer brought in from the Cross and kept cold in the cellar overnight.

‘Who'll play happy families with me?' Arthur wanted to know. ‘Mam, will you?'

‘Not now, love,' Rhoda told him. ‘Help set the table, there's a good lad.'

Present-opening followed by turkey and roast potatoes with all the trimmings was the unvaried Christmas routine in the Briggs household, then Christmas pud with the usual search for the lucky sixpence, followed by a lull when Walter nodded off and Arthur, perching on the window ledge, played quietly with a new toy – this year a bright red yo-yo from Harry.

‘I'm heading back upstairs,' Rhoda told Lily once she'd given over her chair to Walter and made sure that the washing-up was underway. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and she was running out of energy, her face unnaturally flushed by the heat from the fire and from the pain and effort of sitting upright.

It was Evie who broke off from scouring pots to help Rhoda upstairs to bed, taking off the apron that protected her pretty white blouse and best skirt and lending her frail mother a much-needed hand.