The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (29 page)

The manager let Evie finish then glanced across at Fred Lee. ‘So the worm turns, eh, Fred?' he said with a wink.

‘Yes, but she's a sly one. You can't believe a word she says,' the overlooker replied in a conspiratorial tone. ‘You know what these girls are like.'

‘I know she doesn't look like you can get a good day's work out of her,' Wilson agreed as he looked Evie up and down. ‘You're sure you don't want to keep her?' he asked Fred Lee.

‘Quite sure.' There was no doubt in Fred's mind that he was winning the argument so he stood complacently by the door, hands behind his back. Getting rid of Evie Briggs would put other girls such as Sybil Dacre and Annie Pearson on notice that they had to toe the line if they wished to hang on to their jobs. This rearguard action meant he would have them where he wanted them – back under his thumb.

It was then that Winifred spoke up. ‘Mr Wilson, would you like me to check Evie's clocking-on card?' she enquired, catching the manager's eye with a confident smile.

Irritated by the interruption, he cleared his throat then twisted off the top of his pen to write himself a note. He didn't look Evie in the eye as he delivered the
coup de grâce
. ‘No, that won't be necessary, Miss Calvert. I've heard all I need to hear.'

With a small shrug of regret in Evie's direction, Winifred accepted the overrule while Evie stood with hands clasped, listening to Wilson's thin, clipped voice.

‘You understand what's happening?' the manager asked, worried by her pale face and stunned silence, anxious to get her off the premises before she fell down in a heap and had to be rushed off to the sick bay. ‘You've been given the sack – there's no longer a job for you here at Calvert's Mill.'

‘Yes, Mr Wilson. Thank you,' Evie whispered nonsensically, her head spinning as she turned and, without even returning to the weaving shed to retrieve her shawl, walked for the last time out of his office, under the main archway and slowly along Ghyll Road.

There was no use hiding the latest bad news from their mother, Lily decided, even though Evie had tried.

‘I had to pretend I was poorly,' she'd explained over their tea of scrambled eggs on toast. ‘I told her that was why I came home early.'

Now Lily was carefully packing Arthur's shirts, plimsolls and a spare pair of grey flannel shorts, ready to take him up to Ada Street, as arranged by Rhoda during Margie's surprise visit on New Year's Eve. She'd asked him to choose his favourite toys and a teddy bear to take with him and he was presently upstairs showing Rhoda what he'd decided on.

‘No, there's no getting away from it – we have to tell her and Father the truth.' Lily sighed. ‘We'll wait till I get back from Granddad's. And don't worry – I'll make it clear it wasn't your fault.'

‘No, I'll tell them myself.' Evie decided to shoulder the responsibility. ‘I'll speak to Mother and Father while you're out, just as soon as he comes back from the Cross.'

‘Good girl.' Lily nodded her approval.

‘Anyway, who knows? Perhaps it was partly my fault.' Tormented by thoughts of how she could have avoided the sack, Evie settled on her own shortcomings as the cause – her shyness and unworldliness, her inability to stick up for herself faced by the likes of Fred Lee.

For a moment Lily looked up from her task. ‘No, you mustn't think that. Fred is a nasty piece of work, that's the beginning and the end of it. But he'll get his come-uppance sooner or later, don't you worry. In the meantime, we'll think of something else for you to do to bring in a few shillings each week. There's a chance of helping out at Newby's for a start.'

‘In the shop?' Evie asked with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

Lily nodded. ‘Alice Newby isn't so well these days, according to Ethel. Harold isn't as young as he was either.'

‘But it wouldn't pay much, would it?' Evie realized. ‘And we don't even know if they want someone.'

‘No, it's just a thought.' Hearing Arthur clatter back downstairs with his armful of toys, Lily went back to packing his things into a hessian shopping bag while Evie cut and wrapped some Christmas cake in greaseproof paper for him to take with him.

He bounded into the kitchen, his face alive with the adventure of going to stay with Margie and Granddad Preston for a while.

Lily put on her coat and picked up the bag from the table. ‘Have you said your goodbyes?' she asked, hardly able to contain the sadness clawing at her heart.

‘Bye, Mam!' Arthur yelled from the bottom of the stairs as he threw his school mackintosh around his shoulders and fastened the top button without sliding his arms into the sleeves, wearing it like a cape. ‘We're off now!'

‘Bye, love,' came the faint reply.

Then he and Lily were out of the house and running up the hill to catch the next tram while Rhoda lay in bed listening to their footsteps fade on the stone-flagged pavement of Albion Lane.

The curtains were open and the gas lamp outside cast its harsh light on to the bed where Rhoda lay. Her eyes were open and she stared at the ceiling as she tried to overcome the pain of her parting from Arthur. She'd been drifting in and out of sleep since he left, but still the hurt was fresh.

He would be better off at Ada Street, she told herself, and looking after him would give Margie something useful to do. Besides, Arthur always loved being at his granddad's house. But letting go of him was harder than anything Rhoda had ever had to do – far worse than coping by herself when Walter had been called up into the army to serve on the Western Front, and worse even than the dawning realization that she was just as alone after her shell-shocked husband had returned from the war, damaged and without direction, reliving through recurring nightmares his time in the trenches.

It was Arthur's shining face that stuck in her mind now, unmarked by life, with a light in his hazel eyes undimmed by experience, and his voice shouting ‘Bye, Mam!' up the stairs before the front door slammed shut after him. He was happy, bless him. He was happy and after she was gone, Lily, Margie and Evie would step in and look after him.

Evie
. Rhoda's thoughts shifted seamlessly in the gas-lit silence to what her youngest daughter had just told her.

‘I've lost my job,' Evie had confessed to her mother and father not long after Walter had come in from the pub and made his way upstairs to see how his wife was. ‘First thing this morning – they laid me off.'

Walter had stamped about, demanding to know the whys and wherefores, had blamed Evie at first then Fred Lee, then the state the world found itself in. ‘But you should've kept your head down,' he'd told Evie in the end. ‘No one else got the sack besides you, did they? So you must've done something to make them think twice about keeping you on.'

‘I'm sorry, Father,' she'd said as she held back the tears. ‘I'll go out tomorrow first thing and try for a job at Kingsley's, see if they'll take me on there.'

‘Try not to be too hard on her,' Rhoda had said. ‘I'm sure she did her best.'

Walter's anger had died down as quickly as it had flared and he'd soon grumbled his way downstairs and had stayed in the kitchen just long enough to eat his supper before Rhoda had heard the front door open and close and footsteps going down the hill towards the irresistible comforts of the Green Cross.

On her silent sickbed Rhoda's thoughts moved on to Margie. She hoped that her middle daughter would soon reach the point where she would look forward to the future with her baby and not back to the time when her attacker had forced himself on to her. For this reason alone, after long and tortuous thought, endlessly going over the ins and outs of the question, she'd decided to keep the father's name to herself.

What good would it do to go to the police, who might not even believe Margie? They would say there were no witnesses, that Margie should have known better than to go out drinking with a man she didn't know, that it would be her word against his, and so forth. And what was the point of naming names to Walter, who would no doubt lash out and land himself in trouble? No, Rhoda wouldn't follow that course of action either.

She must have dropped off again, coming to as a motorbike came up Albion Lane and passed the house, then horses pulling a heavy cart – probably from the brewery at this time of night – then silence for a while before men's voices drifted up from the pavement. Rhoda recognized the sound of her husband saying goodnight to his pals and again the noises of the door opening and closing.

What time was it? she wondered and she turned her head to peer at her bedside clock. Ten past eight. Surely Lily should be back from Overcliffe by now?

The deed was done. Arthur was safely dropped off without comment or question at number 10 Ada Street. A stone hot-water bottle was warming his bed and a mug of hot milk and a ginger biscuit had been waiting for him when he arrived.

‘Look after him,' Lily told Margie, who was alone in the house.

‘I'll do my best,' Margie promised, taking Arthur's pyjamas out of his bag and setting them to air by the fire.

Nothing was said about the reason behind his stay. Instead, the sisters chatted for a while, Lily telling Margie about Evie's bad luck on the work front and the two of them tut-tutting over the fact that men like Fred Lee were allowed to rule the roost.

‘You look well at any rate,' Lily said as she kissed Arthur goodnight and prepared to leave.

‘Come again?' Margie's hand flew to her hair, which she patted and smoothed self-consciously.

‘I said you look well. You have colour in your cheeks.'

‘That'd be from sitting too close to the fire, I expect.'

‘But you're getting plenty of sleep?'

‘Yes and eating for two, before you ask. So everything's tickety-boo with me, don't you worry.'

‘But I do worry,' Lily concluded as she walked down the hallway and opened the front door. ‘And we all have a lot on our plates just now, you must admit.'

‘That's right, we do.' Margie sighed then nodded. ‘Well, at least Arthur will be fine with Granddad and me.'

‘Thank you, Margie – that is a weight off my mind.'

‘Ta-ta, then.'

Lily went down the steps then turned back. ‘You're sure you can manage?' she asked.

Margie gave a little laugh and threw back her head. ‘Get along with you!' she chided. ‘And stop clucking around me like a mother hen.'

‘Somebody has to,' was Lily's retort. Then she laughed too and went off into the freezing, sooty fog that had descended over the moor soon after night had fallen.

Rather than wait for a tram and preferring to be alone with her thoughts, Lily set off to walk, finding that there was hardly anyone around at this time of night – only a man walking his dog in the park then a thin, stooped woman emerging from the gloom who trudged by without speaking. Maybe the tram would have been a better bet after all, Lily thought, stiffening at the sound of an approaching car, which braked and pulled in alongside her, its headlights barely penetrating the fog. Glancing into the pitch black of moorland to her left then to her right down one of the many cobbled streets, she got ready to rebuff any approach from a passing stranger.

The car stopped a few yards ahead of her and when the driver's door opened, Harry stepped out. ‘Look who it isn't. What are you doing out on a night like this?' he wanted to know.

‘“Hello, Lily!”' she prompted. ‘“Fancy running into you.” “I know, Harry. I wasn't expecting to see you either. What a lovely surprise!”'

‘Yes, that's all very well. But seriously, Lily, you can hardly see your nose in front of your face.'

‘It's worse than I expected,' she admitted. ‘Mother wanted me to bring Arthur over to Granddad's, that's all.'

Harry took her arm with a gallant display of gentlemanly consideration then guided her towards the car. ‘Get in. I'll drive you home.'

Lily hesitated beside the passenger door. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, hop in. Who's to know?'

So Lily settled herself into the leather seat and watched Harry flick the indicator switch then move off. ‘Well, this is a nice treat.' She sighed, leaning back and taking it all in.

‘I happened to be late finishing work,' he explained. ‘Mr Calvert didn't get out of the Council meeting until after eight then I had to drive him home to Moor House, which took longer than usual, what with this fog and he said to me, “Harry, forget your bike tonight and use the car instead,” which was decent of him, considering. It caused a few black looks from Mrs Calvert, who doesn't like handing over the Bentley for my own private use, but he's the boss when all's said and done and he gave me the go-ahead, so here I am!'

‘Whoa, Harry!' Lily laughed as he gave her chapter and verse. ‘I'm just glad it worked out the way it did.'

‘Yes, it's my lucky night, running into you,' he agreed, risking a sideways glance, which lasted long enough for him to veer out into the middle of the road and for Lily to cry out and grab the steering wheel with her gloved hand. The movement was too strong and brought them swerving back towards the kerb and a nearby lamp post. Harry braked and the engine cut out as he jerked to a halt.

He whistled and tilted his cap back. ‘Phew, that was a close shave. Are you all right – no harm done?'

‘No, I'm champion, thanks.' Waiting for him to restart the engine, Lily grew acutely aware of him sitting next to her inside what felt like a shiny cocoon of leather, glass and metal. She stared at the stitching on his black leather gloves, resisting the temptation to throw caution to the winds and kiss him passionately on the mouth.

Harry, for his part, didn't hesitate. He leaned over and planted his lips firmly on hers, drawing her towards him until the gear stick and handbrake got in the way of an even closer embrace.