The Shop Girls of Chapel Street (14 page)

‘Here she is with the key at last,' Wilf grumbled. ‘We've been here ages, twiddling our thumbs.'

While Violet unlocked the door, the blinkered horses stamped their heavy feet and ignored a small group of children who had gathered to pet and admire them. ‘Ta for doing this, Wilf,' she told the brewery man, whose grumpiness hid a heart of gold. ‘And Harold, ta very much.'

‘We don't mind, do we, Eddie?' Ida's fiancé was the first to follow Violet over the threshold. ‘Not if it gets us off painting scenery for the evening. Where do you want this tea chest, then? Is it going to Manby's with the rest?'

‘No. You can drop it off at Jubilee, along with the sewing machine, ta.'

‘Rightio, we'll put them at the back of the cart, ready to drop off first.' Harold and Wilf sprang into action while Eddie stayed in the hallway to have a quiet word with Violet.

‘I see that the chest came in handy,' he said with a smile.

‘I might have known it was you who organized that,' she replied, smiling back and giving his cheek a quick peck. ‘Thank you!'

‘Mind out, you two love birds!' Harold cried, backing towards them carrying the kitchen table with Wilf at the other end.

They blushed and made room, then joined in with the loading work. Out of the front door and down the three worn steps went kitchen chairs and the food-safe from the pantry, the fireside chair and mangle, all bound for the auction. From the front room they took the horsehair sofa, the set of shelves and two framed pictures, then they moved upstairs for the bed frames and mattresses, the chests of drawers and the wash stand with the old-fashioned pitcher and ewer. This left only the wardrobe in Winnie and Donald's room, which would require all three men to manhandle down the stairs.

‘We're on the last lap, thank heavens,' Harold grunted as he, Wilf and Eddie took the weight of the wardrobe between them. ‘Violet, are you ready to lock up after us?'

‘Let me fetch my suitcase. I'll be with you in two ticks.' She felt she needed a few seconds to look around the empty rooms and say her goodbyes, going first into Winnie and Donald's bedroom then into her own, lingering longer than she'd intended until she heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Eddie holding a dark brown wooden box between both hands.

‘This was hidden away at the back of the wardrobe,' he told her. ‘We would've missed it except that it slid forward and tipped off the top shelf. It just missed Wilf's head.'

Violet had never seen the box before but it looked like something you would use to contain letters, writing materials and important documents – birth certificates, wills, and such like. She took it from Eddie and set it on the window sill, opening it carefully to find a small, leather-bound prayer book with an inscription written in copperplate on the fly leaf:
Joseph Wheeler, 1892
. Under this was a marriage certificate dated 3 July 1908 for Donald Wheeler and Winifred Craven and beside it a small blue box fashioned in the shape of a heart.

Violet took out the box and ran her fingertips over its velvet surface. She pressed a small silver button to release the catch. Inside there was a cushioned, cream satin lining and a gold bracelet. ‘Well, I never. I had no idea this was hidden away in here,' she breathed.

It was a heavy chain bracelet with a fastener in the shape of a padlock, which bore an inscription almost too small for her to read.

‘Can you make it out?' Eddie asked, resting his chin on her shoulder and sliding his arm around her waist to share in the unexpected discovery.

Violet read with difficulty. ‘It says “Xmas 1914” and there's a hallmark on the back.'

‘It's lucky we didn't send it to Manby's without realizing it was there. It might be worth something,' Eddie remarked.

She handed him the bracelet to let him feel its weight then spotted a small envelope about three inches square, tucked underneath the cushion. She drew it out, opened it, then took out a piece of yellowed paper bearing a short note.
To dearest Flo, as a token of my lifelong affection. Keep this bracelet for my sake.

The note was unsigned but Violet knew that Flo must stand for Florence. ‘Florence was my mother's name. And the inscription was done the year before I was born. Thank you, Eddie,' she whispered as with clumsy fingers he replaced the chain bracelet in its box. Then she slipped the loving note into her skirt pocket.

A heart-shaped case, a tiny envelope and a note … It was a link with Violet's past that might have been broken for ever, if not for the man she loved.

Trying her best to put the bracelet to the back of her mind and concentrate on the task in hand, it took Violet no time at all to settle in above Jubilee. She moved in late on Wednesday and by the weekend she had scrubbed every corner, crevice and surface of her tiny new lodgings. Eddie set aside the Saturday afternoon to go in with stepladder, paint and wallpaper and when Violet came home from work, the room was transformed.

‘It's perfect!' she sighed, gazing round at the pretty pink and white walls and breathing in the smell of fresh paint that disguised the odour of fermenting hops drifting in through the open window from the brewery. Her bed was tucked neatly into a corner, leaving space for a chest of drawers under the window, and an alcove next to the chimney breast was identified by Eddie as the ideal place to put up a hanging rail for her clothes. Her precious Singer sewing machine had been carried upstairs to the attic workroom. ‘Honestly, Eddie. I can't thank you enough.'

‘Think nothing of it.' His modest reply couldn't conceal the fact that he enjoyed basking in Violet's gratitude. ‘You're easy to please – you know that?'

‘I am – it's true, at least as far as you're concerned. Now, what do I owe you for the paper and paint?'

‘Don't be daft. They were left over from a job we did at Thomas Kingsley's house.'

‘For your time, then?'

‘Violet, you don't owe me anything,' Eddie insisted, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his mucky overalls and the need to get home for a wash and shave before he clocked on at the Victory. ‘Seeing you smile is good enough for me.'

Violet sidled close and put her arm around his waist – an embrace more chummy than romantic to both their minds so they soon turned to face each other and he slipped his arms around her and placed his hands on the small of her back. They kissed for a long time until she broke away.

‘I'm sorry,' he murmured. But he wasn't really. Holding her and kissing her was what he dreamed about, day in, day out.

She shook her head. ‘I didn't want you to think …' She'd almost floated off, then a warning thought had entered her head and she'd pulled back.

‘No, it was my fault. I'm rushing things.'

You have to keep your feet on the ground
. It was Aunty Winnie's voice that gave Violet a clear, timely reminder and she felt hot with embarrassment. After that, Eddie left in a hurry, giving her the rest of the evening to make the room more homely until she was interrupted by Muriel who had stayed late in the shop to stocktake and who came upstairs at eight o'clock to check that all was well with their new lodger.

‘My head's buzzing with lists and figures,' Muriel complained once she'd complimented Violet on her home-making skills. ‘Making sure I know what we're running low on and deciding how much to re-order isn't an easy job.'

‘Doesn't Ida lend a hand with that?' Violet asked.

Muriel laughed. ‘Stocktaking isn't her strong point. She says she doesn't have the patience. Anyway, she's out on the town with Harold tonight and I really don't mind doing it myself.'

‘I could help.' Violet's offer was accompanied by an eager smile. ‘You know what they say – many hands make light work.' Without waiting for an answer she led the way downstairs into the shop then asked Muriel where she should start.

‘Buttons,' Muriel decided, showing Violet the boxes stacked neatly on a shelf behind the counter. ‘Each one has a code written on the front, next to a sample of the button that the box contains – these mother-of-pearl ones, for example. The code for that type is A34.'

‘So you'd like me to count the loose buttons inside each box then write down the total?'

Muriel nodded and showed her a notebook with ruled columns and neatly written figures. ‘You're sure you don't mind?' she checked.

‘Mind – after what you and Ida have done for me? I should say not.' Violet opened a box and started her task while Muriel concentrated on the stock of zips kept on the stand by the door then moved on to hooks and eyes. They wrote down their totals, knowing not to interrupt each other in mid-count and working in companionable silence until Muriel decided it was time for another break. She took Violet into the kitchen at the back of the shop.

‘There's nothing like a good cup of tea,' she declared, sitting Violet down at a table piled high with pattern books by Butterick and McCall. ‘You're up to date with your fashions, aren't you?' she said as the kettle boiled. ‘What are your thoughts about this summer's dresses for girls of your age?'

‘They should be nipped in tight at the waist to give a womanly look,' Violet told her without hesitation. ‘And they should have cap sleeves with shoulder pads – that's all the rage.'

Muriel gave her the tea and sat down opposite. ‘I'm all ears. Tell me, which designers are in favour?'

‘Norman Hartnell because his dresses are soft and pretty.' Violet was in her element, ideas tripping off her tongue. ‘And nobody does bias-cut skirts better than Madeleine Vionnet in gay Paree. But if you're talking tailored evening gowns, I'd go for Schiaparelli and her man-made fabrics that cling to a girl's figure. You only have to look at pictures in the magazines to see that you can't beat them.'

‘Slow down!' Muriel laughed. ‘That's a lot to take in. And I'm only asking because Ida and I are seriously considering going ahead with our new idea to set up as dressmakers.'

‘So you want to hear my opinions?' Flattered and excited, Violet's thoughts raced on. ‘Now, the house dress is really what we should be talking about. It should have a scalloped neckline and a tailored bodice, in rayon or nylon.'

‘Bold colours?' Muriel asked.

‘Yes, nice and bright, with a row of small bows down the front. And if you really want to push the boat out this summer, how about the harem pants that Joan Blondell wears in her films?'

‘Wide, like pyjama bottoms?'

‘Yes, the wider the better in rayon or silk, worn with a halter-neck top.'

‘Brr!' Muriel pretended to shiver then she laughed at herself. ‘I must be getting old.'

‘You can cover up with a little bolero jacket if it's chilly.' Seeing the amused twinkle in Muriel's eyes, Violet blushed. ‘I'm sorry if I'm getting carried away.'

‘Don't be sorry for dragging me and my starchy ideas into the nineteen thirties. It's exactly what Ida and I need to think about if we're to branch out. The trick will be to adapt the patterns from these catalogues and bring them up to the minute at a cost people can afford to pay. That's going to take some doing.'

‘The money part of it is over my head,' Violet decided, taking the cups to the sink and rinsing them out.

Drying them off with a tea towel, she realized that this conversation had boosted her spirits more than Muriel knew, perhaps because it took her back to topics she used to cover at home with Winnie – ruffles and bows, the best way to gather material evenly to fit a skirt to a bodice. Happy days. ‘I'll see you back in the shop,' she told Muriel with a grateful smile. ‘I don't know about you but I've got twelve more boxes of buttons to count before I go to bed tonight!'

After the catastrophe of losing not only her beloved Aunty Winnie but also the house she'd lived in all her life, the miracle was how quickly Violet learned to look forward and not back. Her one concession was to carry in the pocket of whatever she was wearing the precious love letter from her father to her mother. She worked hard, both at the grocer's and at Jubilee, managing to squeeze in an hour or two at Brinkley Baths, and, under pressure from Ida, even agreeing to resume her connection with the Hadley Players.

‘It's grand to see you looking cheerful again,' Marjorie said on one of her frequent drop-ins at Hutchinson's. Today it was for a tin of sardines and three slices of ham off the bone.

‘I love my new digs – that's why,' Violet confided. ‘I've made curtains to match the wallpaper and I'm saving up for a brand-new mattress. I couldn't be happier.'

‘So it's got nothing to do with a certain young man?' Marjorie teased. ‘You get those roses in your cheeks just from thinking about curtains and mattresses, do you?'

‘That and helping Muriel and Ida with their new venture into dressmaking,' she protested, then realized in an instant that she shouldn't have let on. Knowing Marjorie, the news would spread up and down Chapel Street like wildfire.

‘That's what they're up to, is it?' Like a dog at a bone, she tussled to draw more information out of a chastened Violet, asking why and when and for how long the owners of Jubilee had been planning to set up as rivals to Chapel Street Costumiers at the top of the hill.

‘Please don't say anything,' Violet begged.

‘Why – is it a secret?'

‘Yes. Muriel and Ida aren't sure they're going to go ahead yet.'

The bakery owner placed her purchases in her wicker basket. ‘Right you are. Mum's the word!'

Marjorie's exaggerated wink as she left the shop didn't inspire confidence in Violet and, aware that Ben Hutchinson had overheard the conversation, her fears mounted. That same teatime she confessed her mistake to Eddie when he dropped by at Jubilee to find her working on her own after Muriel and Ida had both gone home.