The Reluctant Sinner (20 page)

The policeman, who was watching Bert Croucher’s house, leaned against the wall and took a final drag of his cigarette. It was past ten o’clock at night and all the lights in the house were out and the copper presumed that his quarry was now in bed. Needing the call of nature desperately, the man disappeared up a nearby alleyway to relieve himself and therefore didn’t notice Bert leave his house and turn the corner of the street.

The butcher made his way towards the home of Daisy Gilbert, constantly looking over his shoulder to see if there was anybody about. Apart from a few customers at the local pub and the occasional seaman making his way back to the docks, there was no one of note.

Daisy was sitting alone, tired after a long day in the workshop. Her mother, Vera, had long since taken to her bed. Daisy stood up and stretched before taking her cup into the scullery, ready to lock the back door for the night. As she reached up to move the bolt, the door was thrust open, knocking her backwards and she was faced with the towering figure of Bert Croucher. She opened her mouth to scream but the butcher grabbed her and clamped his hand over it to smother any sound.

He leered at her, his face close to hers. ‘Took you by surprise didn’t I?’ He could feel her trembling in his arms. It fired his lust and he removed his hand and covered her lips with his. His mouth moving greedily over hers.

Daisy tried to fight back, twisting her face away from him.

‘You make a sound you bitch and it will be the last you’ll ever make,’ he threatened, as he tore at her blouse to reveal her camisole. He fingered the lace trim. ‘How pretty. I like my women to be feminine,’ he said as he clasped her breast.

‘Let me go you bastard!’ she cried.

He held her chin in one hand and squeezed. ‘Now then, that’s no way to talk to me.’ And he held her closer.

She was even more terrified as she felt his erection pressed against her.

He moved from side to side against her. ‘Feel that my girl? Well very soon that will be deep inside you. I’m going to have you whether you like it or not.’ She started kicking out at him, but he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the living room where he threw her down on the floor, placed a foot on her neck and proceeded to unbutton his flies.

‘What I want to know,’ he said, ‘was did you knock off Kenny Woods before or after he had you? I’d be really pissed off if he got to you before me.’

While her attacker was talking and was therefore distracted, Daisy, now bruised and battered, looked around desperately for something to defend herself with. There was nothing. But she suddenly spied a small stool and thrusting his foot away with all her might, she lunged for the stool and threw it at the window.

The window smashed into smithereens as the stool sailed through it, alarming the policeman on watch who ran to the front door. He couldn’t open it and he tried to move it by hurling his shoulder against the wood and then gave it a hefty kick. The door flew open and the man ran into the living room in time to see Croucher astride Daisy – about to sexually assault her.

The man took a flying leap at Croucher sending him spinning. With his trousers around his ankle, the butcher was hampered and before he knew it, the officer had pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him.

‘You’re nicked, Croucher!’ Then he read him his rights.

Vera came running into the room, alarmed at the noise. She stood looking aghast at the scene before her. Daisy was on the floor her clothes in disarray, and this large man was face downwards on the floor with a policeman standing over him. She ran to her daughter.

‘Daisy, are you all right? Whatever happened?’

Shaken by the ordeal, Daisy told her mother about Bert Croucher appearing suddenly at the scullery door. Then she burst into tears.

The policeman dragged the butcher to his feet, pulled up his trousers and turning to Mrs Gilbert said, ‘You take care of your daughter and I’ll take this villain to the station. I’ll find someone to block in the front door until the morning, when a new one can be fitted.’

Vera looked at him with a puzzled expression.

‘I’m afraid I had to kick it in when the window broke.’

‘I heard the sound of broken glass,’ said Vera, ‘and that’s what woke me up.’

‘Put the kettle on, love. Your daughter could do with a cup of tea to calm her down. I’ll be back in the morning for a statement.’ He led Bert Croucher out of the doorway. Then the two women heard him blowing his whistle, summoning assistance.

Vera put a small rug around Daisy who was shaking all over with shock. She built up the fire in the stove to warm her and put the kettle on the hob, and then she sat holding Daisy’s hands.

‘I was terrified, Mum,’ she said. ‘I thought he was going to kill me at first. It was like Ken Woods all over again! I couldn’t get free of him. I threw the stool out of the window in the hope that someone would hear it and come out to see what was going on. Wasn’t I lucky that a copper was nearby? He saved me in the nick of time from being raped.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Vera could hardly think of what might have happened.

‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, then you get off to bed. I’ll wait until someone comes to fix the door.’

Later when Daisy was asleep and the doorway had been boarded up, Vera sat in the firelight wondering when her daughter’s life would be free of traumas. Even when she wasn’t looking for it trouble seemed to follow her. And she cursed the day that Daisy had taken the job at the Solent Club. All that had happened to Daisy was through that association and although it afforded Fred a comfortable death, Vera wished Daisy had never gone there in the first place.

Bert Croucher was sitting in a cell, having spent the night there and when DI Riley arrived in his office the following morning and was told about the arrest, he visited the prisoner.

The officer on duty opened the cell door and Riley walked in.

‘I told you I’d be seeing you, Croucher,’ he said with a slow smile. ‘Now I’ve got you banged to rights. You’ll be charged with breaking and entering, assault and attempted rape and that’s without the damage you did to Miss Gilbert’s shop. You’ll go down for quite a spell for that, I can tell you.’

The butcher glowered at him. ‘Wipe that satisfied smile off your face or I’ll do it for you.’

‘Not even you would be that stupid,’ snapped the detective. ‘I’ll see you in court.’ And he walked out of the cell. He then summoned the policeman who had been watching Bert’s house.

‘Where the hell were you when Croucher left his house?’ Riley demanded.

‘Sorry, Guv. The house was in darkness and I thought he’d gone to bed. I needed a leak badly and I popped up a nearby alleyway. He must have slipped out then.’

‘Just thank your lucky stars that Miss Gilbert had the brains to hurl that stool at the window or we could be dealing with a much more serious crime – and you’d be looking for another job! Now get out before I lose my temper.’

When Daisy didn’t appear at the shop the following morning, Grace Portman was worried. She saw to the tasks in hand and then she hurried off to the home of her friend to be told of the latest happenings.

‘Oh, Daisy, I was always worried that whoever had trashed the shop would come after you and it seems I was right. How are you?’

‘A bit shaken if I’m truthful,’ Daisy admitted. ‘I have to give a statement today and I suppose that means another day in court. Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry to bring all this scandal down on you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. The main thing is that you were rescued in time and I thank God for that.’

‘But it will be in all the papers yet again!’

What could Grace say? Ever since the shop in East Street had been opened there had been so much drama, but thankfully business didn’t seem to have suffered, thanks to the exceptional talent of her partner … but would this be a scandal too far?

When Steven Noaks called at Daisy’s early that evening in the hope of taking her out, he was horrified to hear about the intruder.

‘Oh my God, Daisy! Are you all right?’

She shrugged and said, ‘I’m a bit battered and bruised, but thankfully the policeman arrived in time before things got too serious.’

‘She was almost raped!’ Vera retorted.

‘Mum,’ Daisy begged, ‘please, no more about it.’

Steven took her into his arms. ‘Well once that dreadful man is put away, all your troubles will be over.’

‘But will they? You can only push your clients so far. This I think may well be just too much to maintain my credibility.’

To everyone at the shop, the latest headlines in the local paper, once again naming Daisy and bringing up her past, filled them with trepidation. It wasn’t good for business and the orders began to dwindle. A few stalwart ladies stuck by her, but those wives whose husbands held positions of importance in the town, had been forbidden to go to the shop again, lest by association their characters were marred. One or two wrote their apologies, the others found another seamstress.

‘I don’t know what we’re going to do,’ Daisy said to Grace as they eyed the empty order book. ‘We can’t go on like this; we are losing too much money.’

‘We need a plan of action,’ Grace said forcibly.

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know yet, but I’m going home to think about it.’

As she watched Grace walk down the street, Daisy was filled with despair. All her dreams were in tatters and as far as she could see, the shop would have to be closed. The time she spent at Flo Cummings’ place sleeping with men she hated was all for nothing, and the inheritance her friend used to help set her up was down the drain.

She sent the girls home and locked up the shop.

Sitting on the train to Brockenhurst, Grace Portman wracked her brains, wondering just what she could do to boost the falling sales, and restore Daisy’s reputation as an exceptional seamstress. The majority of their clients came from the upper echelon of Southampton society, where scandal was a dirty word and the final report in the local paper of Daisy’s attack was enough, after everything else that had publicly befallen her, to tip the scales against her. Grace, somehow, had to get her, once again, accepted in high society.

When she arrived at the Manor House, she changed into comfortable clothes and shoes and walked around the garden. It looked exceptionally beautiful with the flower beds in full bloom and she suddenly had an idea. Returning to the house, she made several local calls and two to London. Then she sat at her bureau, checked dates on a calendar and started writing.

The next morning, Grace arrived at the shop, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. Her whole being bristled with enthusiasm. Taking Daisy to one side she sat her down.

‘I’ve had a great idea,’ she said.

Daisy, seeing the excitement on the face of her friend, waited to hear her news.

‘I am going to hold a garden party in aid of our troops fighting abroad, and I’m inviting everyone in Southampton who is of any importance as well as local folk. Garden parties at the Manor House were always an event, but with the war we’ve not held one.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ Daisy said. But she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. She thought Grace had come up with a way to save the business.

Seeing the look on her face, Grace grinned broadly at her. ‘We’ll have stalls selling all sorts of things. There’ll be a tent for refreshments, for a price of course – and during the afternoon we’ll have a fashion show.’

Daisy looked puzzled. ‘A fashion show?’

‘Yes.
Gilbert.
Gowns
à
la
Mode
will give a fashion show with half the cost of the gowns going to the troops.’

‘But will anybody buy them?’ Daisy looked sceptical.

‘Oh yes indeed. I have a secret weapon. Believe me, women will be clamouring for your clothes.’

‘And what is your secret weapon, may I ask?’

Grace laughed gleefully. ‘No, you may not, but trust me, this will pick up the business.’

‘When is this garden party?’ asked Daisy.

‘The first Sunday in September. We must go through the stock we have and then we must make some really spectacular gowns for the show. We need a bridal gown to close with, so the girls need to work hard until then.’

By now, Daisy had become infected with Grace’s enthusiasm and she could see that if this worked it could be the saving of their establishment, but she was curious about Grace’s secret weapon. What on earth could it be?

‘You’d better go and tell the staff your plan. It will be a great lift to them all as they have been really depressed of late.’

The staff warmed to the idea immediately. None of them wanted to lose their jobs if the business failed and the thought of going to the Manor House was an even bigger thrill.

‘I can remember reading about the garden parties held at Mrs Portman’s place,’ said one. ‘It was always a very grand affair! Imagine, we’ll be part of it, how exciting that’ll be.’

When the two women went through the existing stock and made a list of gowns to be made, Daisy was worried.

‘Grace, we will have to buy further materials. If they don’t sell, we’ll be even more out of pocket than we are now.’

‘Have faith, Daisy. I promise you, we’ll make money even with half the proceeds going to the troops’ fund.’

And with that Daisy had to be satisfied.

During the following weeks, the staff worked hard to produce several summer gowns in the most delicate floaty materials, evening dresses in rich colours, blouses in beautiful lace and embroidered jackets in the softest velvet, but the most intricate work was on the bridal gown. Here, Daisy Gilbert excelled. The gown was in the palest ivory voile, over an exquisite fine lace underskirt. The bodice and skirt was embroidered with small flowers in the finest
stitches – and small bugle beads enhanced the work. When the finished gown was displayed on the tailor’s dummy, the girls gathered round to admire the finished article. It was a work of art.

Grace was enthralled. ‘Daisy, that is the finest bridal gown I’ve ever seen. If the women don’t clamour for that, I’ll eat my hat!’

Daisy burst out laughing. Grace was well known for her large headgear. ‘Oh dear, I hope that doesn’t happen!’

The day of the garden party arrived. The weather, thankfully, was fine. Stalls had been set up all over the garden and a large tented gazebo was set out at the far end, where eventually the models would gather to show the fashions, walking down a red carpet rolled out and down the well-manicured lawn.

Balloons festooned the stalls. Bright canopies covered some to help keep the sun off the home-made cakes and jams. Among them, a white elephant stall showed an assortment of china figures. Vegetable stalls were selling produce from the farms on the estate and there was a tent for refreshments. The place was a sight to behold.

Daisy, her girls, and Vera who was also there, were like a bunch of nervous kittens as they waited for the gates to open. Grace had persuaded ladies from her parish to model the dresses and they too were excited about wearing such wonderful creations. Her mother and her friends turned up too, to give their support.

Grace and Giles, who had been roped in to help set up the stalls, stood and gazed at the finished gathering. ‘This was an inspired idea,’ he said. ‘This is like old times; it will certainly cheer people up when they enter the grounds.’

‘I do hope so,’ Grace said. ‘Daisy’s future depends on it.’

‘And yours as far as the business goes.’

‘You’re right of course but don’t you understand, if the business went belly-up, I would just have lost my inheritance, Daisy will have lost everything and we can’t let that happen.’

Photographers from the local press were already in attendance. This was an occasion not to be missed and Mrs Portman had promised them a great surprise which would make good copy for the paper.

The gates opened and the people streamed in.

Daisy and Agnes recognized several of the clients who had
left them. ‘Well they certainly will not be buying any of our gowns,’ Agnes complained. ‘To them we are the evil eye.’

‘Not you, Agnes, that’s all down to me,’ Daisy remarked, but her heart sank when she saw the women. Was Grace wrong? Would they sell the gowns – would anybody buy?

Eventually it was time for the fashion show and chairs had been placed either side of the catwalk for the visitors to watch in comfort. Daisy peered out and was relieved to see that at least there seemed to be a good crowd waiting. But of course they didn’t know whose gowns they would be seeing. It hadn’t been advertised other than ‘A Fashion Show’.

Grace herself, with the aid of a megaphone, opened the show.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here today. I’m sure you will agree that the garden party is for the best possible cause. Our troops need many things and the money you spend today will help them enormously. Now is the time for our fashion show. The clothes you will see paraded before you are the exquisite designs of
Gilbert.
Gowns
à
la
Mode
in East Street, Southampton.’

There was a murmuring in some parts of the audience, but Grace continued.

‘These gowns are the design of Daisy Gilbert, a very talented lady as you will see for yourselves. Half the cost of each article will be added to the troops’ fund, which I think you’ll agree is a very generous gesture.’

There was a ripple of applause.

Grace then announced the first day gown, giving the details of the material and the price. The model walked down the red carpet, turned and walked slowly back, stopping halfway to twirl again, and here she paused.

Grace told her audience the price and there was a silence. Daisy’s heart sank.

‘Who will be the first person to buy this exquisite gown?’

‘I will!’ A lady, dressed in what was obviously an expensive afternoon dress and straw hat trimmed with flowers, put up her hand.

‘Thank you, Madam. May I have your name?’

‘Lady Imogen Wallace.’

There was a gasp from all the women in the audience. The Lady Imogen was always in the society magazines. Her family were
wealthy landowners, members of the gentry, friends with the royal family – and she herself was revered as a fashion icon.

‘Thank you, Lady Wallace,’ smiled Grace.

‘So that’s her secret weapon!’ grinned Daisy, who was well aware of the position the woman held, after following all the fashion magazines.

After that, the sale of the gowns flew. Every woman wanted to buy a garment from the same establishment as the celebrated lady. They could dine out on that fact for weeks afterwards.

When it came to the bridal gown, the audience was enthralled as they listened to the details of the dress and admired the intricate work. Several people put up their hands to buy.

Grace looked around and said, ‘I’m afraid there
is
only one of these dresses. It is an exclusive model. The only fair way to decide is to have an auction.’

The bidding was furious. Lady Imogen pushed the price up and up, until one of the ladies from Southampton, who had once been a client of Daisy’s, won the bidding. The final bid was sensational! By the end of the show, every garment had been sold. And when Lady Imogen was seen talking to Daisy and Grace, and arranging an appointment, there was soon a queue of women waiting to make appointments of their own.

When the day was over, Grace took all the staff from the shop and the girls who had modelled the gowns, and the two mothers, into her drawing room for sandwiches and champagne. She’d asked Giles to join them but he was expecting a cow to calf and had to get back to the farm.

Holding her glass high, Grace made a toast. ‘To
Gilbert.
Gowns
à
la
Mode
! We are back in business!’

Everyone began to talk at once about the day and what had happened.

Daisy shushed them all. ‘I think we should drink to Grace Portman and her secret weapon!’ They all cheered and toasted her.

‘That was an inspired idea,’ said Daisy to her friend.

Grace laughed. ‘Well Hugh always said, faced with overwhelming odds it’s time to bring in the big guns, and that’s what I did. Imogen is a friend of the family. She likes a good fight.’

‘She’s an amazing woman,’ said Daisy. ‘My word, she certainly sent the price for the wedding dress soaring.’

‘It was all part of our battle plan,’ admitted Grace. ‘I knew as soon as the townswomen knew who she was, they would jump on the bandwagon and, anyway, Daisy dear, who could possibly resist that wonderful bridal gown?’

‘You’ll be pleased to know, our appointment book is full,’ said Daisy looking delighted, ‘and would you know it, we again have a waiting list. By the way, I did wonder if your mother-in-law would be here today.’

‘She was all set to come and lord it over us all and had she known about Imogen, nothing would have kept her away.’

‘So why wasn’t she here?’

With an apologetic look Grace said, ‘I told her we were having a fashion show and your gowns were the ones being shown.’

Daisy grinned broadly. ‘Well that put the mockers on it then. She wouldn’t want to mix with the likes of me.’

‘To be honest it was a relief,’ said Grace. ‘She would have ruined the whole day. Look, why don’t you and Vera stay the night. We can have dinner and go into Southampton together in the morning. I’ll get my chauffeur to drive the girls to the station. What do you say?’

‘That would be lovely and my mother will get the thrill of her life to spend a night here.’

‘Well she deserves it, after all she’s part of our success.’

After a delicious meal, followed by coffee with a glass of brandy, Vera and Daisy were shown to a twin-bedded room, overlooking the grounds at the back of the house where the garden party took place. By now it was dark, but the moon shone, silhouetting the trees in the far distance.

‘How wonderful it must be,’ Vera remarked as she climbed into bed wearing one of Grace’s borrowed nightdresses, ‘to be able to live such a life of luxury as Grace does.’

‘It’s not that simple, Mum,’ Daisy explained. ‘There is a great deal of organization to be done, to enable everything to run well. There are the farms on the estate, the grounds and the house to keep up. That takes time and money.’

‘Yes I suppose it does and truth to tell that responsibility would worry me to death. I wouldn’t change places with her, I can tell you.’

As she settled for the night in the strange surroundings, Vera
Gilbert thanked God for Grace Portman. Her daughter Daisy was blessed to have such a good friend and now it looked as if everything would work out right, thanks to her.

Eventually of course, Daisy had to appear in court during the trial of Bert Croucher who was sent down for seven years, all written about in the local rag. But this time, it made not a jot of difference to the business in East Street. After all, wasn’t that the place that made clothes for Lady Imogen Wallace? If it was good enough for her …