Darkest Before Dawn (15 page)

‘Now, Mrs Baldwin, you and I can get down to business. I understand you have no job at present.' Martha had glanced enquiringly across at Mrs Baldwin. Once, she had no doubt been a pretty, energetic woman, but fifteen years of marriage to a brute and a bully had shattered her nerves and given her no faith whatsoever in her own ability to so much as scrub a floor.

‘No, I ain't in work right now, Mrs Todd,' the younger woman had agreed meekly. ‘And I know I've let everything gerron top o' me, but it's havin' no money and Mr Baldwin always sneerin' at me . . . it takes the heart out of a woman, that sort of treatment. I used to clean a couple o' pubs, which kept a bit o' money comin' in, but then, at the beginning of December, I heared two fellers talkin', and – and next mornin' I didn't go in. They was talkin' about Mr Baldwin, an' I was just so skeered . . .'

She had stopped speaking. Martha had waited a moment and then prompted her. ‘So you waited a day or two and then went back,' she had suggested. ‘What did the landlord say?'

‘I didn't go back for nigh on a fortnight,' Mrs Baldwin had confessed miserably. ‘Christmas is their busiest time o' year, so they'd replaced me, a'course.'

‘Well, it's not Christmas now and we're at the start of a new year. Tomorrow, I'll get Mr Wilmslow to give me a bit of time off and I'll go round to those pubs with you. I'll explain that you've been very poorly – they'll understand why – and I'm sure the landlords will give you a few hours. Once you're working again, you can ask around, see if anyone else needs a hand. Market stallholders are always glad of someone reliable and honest who can take over while they have a bit of a break.' She had smiled encouragingly at the younger woman. ‘And you'll be a deal better when you've got a proper job to keep your mind occupied. Is there someone who could look after little Emmy while you work?'

‘Oh aye, the neighbours is good; they'll give an eye to Emmy,' Mrs Baldwin had said eagerly. ‘Percy was right, Mrs Todd, you're a real nice lady. An' you've give me fresh heart.'

‘Can you be ready by about a quarter to twelve tomorrow then?' Martha had asked. ‘I'll get Mr Wilmslow to release me from half-past eleven, but if I'm a few minutes late don't worry, because I'll be along, no matter what.'

Now, Martha made her way through the dark and rainy streets, feeling that she had done her best. She did not much like the thought of having to ask Mr Wilmslow for a favour, but Monday was always a quiet day in the shop, and if he objected she could remind him of how often she had worked late and how willingly young Evie had helped out after school, without expecting – or getting – any payment for such work. True, Mr Wilmslow usually slipped Evie a custard cream biscuit or a couple of bull's eyes, but this was scarcely adequate payment for an hour or more spent stacking shelves, serving customers, or delivering boxes of groceries, though the last had only happened on the run up to Christmas when folk were ordering more than they could carry themselves.

When Martha re-entered the flat, it was to find Evie all agog to hear how the visit had gone. ‘It's a horrible, awful ugly place, ain't it, Mam?' she enquired eagerly when Martha told her story. ‘Of course, you only saw it at night, but in the daytime it's criss-crossed with lines of washing, and the brick and the cobbles are black with soot. Did you like Mrs Baldwin? I like Percy ever so much but I've never seen his mam. Is she like him to look at?'

‘No, not a bit,' Martha said, taking off her coat and hat and draping both garments over the clothes horse which stood before the fire. ‘But she seems a pleasant enough person. I'm going round there tomorrow, if Mr Wilmslow will give me an hour or two off, and I reckon she'll be working again quite soon.'

Evie gave a tremendous yawn. ‘Thanks ever so much, Mam, for helping. And now I'm off to bed.'

Martha rumpled her youngest's hair affectionately; both the older girls had gone off to bed already, knowing that they would have to be up betimes next morning, but Evie did not start school for two more days. ‘Yes, you run off,' she said. ‘And have a bit of a lie-in in the morning; it'll do you good.'

Chapter Five

‘Mr Wilmslow, I wonder if I could have a word before you open up?' Martha asked as soon as she entered the shop next morning. ‘I'd like an hour or so off, say from half-past eleven until two.'

Mr Wilmslow had been piling tinned peas into a pyramid, but at her words he stopped short, his greying eyebrows flying up towards his hairline, and then descending over his brows in a deep frown. ‘Whatever do you want time off for? God knows, you've only just had your Christmas holiday,' he said bleakly. ‘And here's me never taking so much as five minutes, always on call . . . why, even at night there's Mrs Wilmslow wanting this that or the other. So what do you want time off for, eh? I gives you an hour for your dinner, though what you do with yourself for a whole hour . . . time to eat a four-course banquet—'

The tirade ended abruptly when Martha cleared her throat meaningly. ‘Monday isn't a busy day, Mr Wilmslow,' she reminded him. ‘And you know I work late whenever you're busy. In the run up to Christmas, it was almost eight o'clock some nights before I got up to the flat and all I'm asking for is an extra hour or so to tack on to my dinner break. Surely you can manage without me just this once.'

Mr Wilmslow began to mutter that the hour she mentioned might well be the thin end of the wedge; that, having squeezed extra time off out of him, she might repeat the exercise whenever she felt inclined. Martha wisely held her tongue. Protestations were useless because Mr Wilmslow knew very well that she would never behave in such a manner. And presently his monologue mumbled into silence. He balanced the last tin of peas on top of his pyramid, stepped back to admire it and knocked the top three tins of baked beans off the pyramid behind him. Martha giggled, but so quietly that she did not think he had heard until he turned and gave her a grudging smile. ‘So you think it's funny, do you?' he said, rebalancing the tins of baked beans with pernickety care. He came across the shop, lifted the flap and came round the counter to stand beside her. ‘Well, I dare say, just this once, I'll spare you for an hour.' He leered at her. ‘So long as you ain't goin' to meet some feller . . . I don't believe in me staff havin' followers.'

Martha stared at him in blank astonishment. How could he possibly make such a stupid and dreadful remark? But then she realised that he was trying to make a joke, trying to give her the time off and ask why she wanted it without sounding too curious. So she turned to the shelf behind her and began making a space for some goods she had just brought in. ‘I'm going to see the wife of one of my husband's fellow workers,' she said quietly. ‘She's in need of a bit of help.'

She was about to enlarge on this statement without admitting upon whom she would be calling, when she felt a hand slide along her waist. She stiffened and turned sharply, but Mr Wilmslow had removed his hand as soon as she moved and now said testily: ‘Very well, very well, I said you may have the time off, but I do think, in return . . .'

The tinkling of Mrs Wilmslow's bell interrupted him, followed by her frail but undoubtedly irritable voice. ‘Arthur? I dropped me perishin' knitting and I can't reach it! Mr Wilmslow, will you come!'

Mr Wilmslow heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘This'll be the fifth bedjacket she's knitted an' never finished since she were first took bad,' he muttered. ‘Oh, I s'pose I'd better go . . . I'll put the kettle on whiles I'm out at the back, since I never had time for breakfast this morning.'

Martha watched his angular back disappearing through the swinging curtain. She knew that he probably spoke the truth when he said he had not had breakfast that morning. His first job, as he often told her, was to see to his wife, and when she was in one of her more demanding moods he did not have time to get himself so much as a drink before the shop had to be opened. She wondered what he had been about to say when his wife's bell rang, but then the doorbell tinkled as a customer came in and very soon she had other things to think about, for Mrs O'Mara was a good customer who bought almost all her groceries from Wilmslow's grocery store. However, she would not buy anything new without testing it, peering at it, and shaking its container, and when Martha was weighing up flour, sugar or lentils, would insist upon such items being weighed more than once, and would then peer, suspiciously, into the bags as though suspecting that something quite different had somehow managed to substitute itself for the goods she had actually ordered.

Despite Martha's saying that Mondays were always quiet, they had a brisk flow of customers for most of the morning, and when the hands of the clock crept round to half-past eleven Martha was quite worried that Mr Wilmslow would change his mind and tell her she would simply have to stay. She was not at all sure what she would do if that were the case, but as it happened there was only one customer in the shop at the time – a woman wanting two pounds of macaroni – and Mr Wilmslow waved Martha away, saying gruffly: ‘I'll deal with this. I doubt you've had the forethought to bring your coat and hat downstairs, so you'd best go an' fetch 'em, 'cos any fool can see it's mortal cold out there. And I want you back on the dot, or I'll be obliged to dock you two and a half hours' wages.'

‘Thanks, Mr Wilmslow, I shan't be late,' Martha gabbled, hurrying out of the shop and clattering up the metal stairs.

It had been raining earlier but now it was simply cold and grey, and when she shot into the flat Martha was not surprised to find Evie sitting at the kitchen table, with an exercise book and several old newspapers spread out before her. She beamed at her mother as Martha entered the room. ‘I'm doin' me holiday tasks,' she explained, indicating the newspapers with a wave of her hand. ‘It's current . . . current affairs. Me teacher wants to know what's happening in Europe and as much as we can find out about that German feller . . . Mr Hitler, I mean.' She glanced at the clock above the mantel. ‘You're early, Mam. It's not dinnertime for another hour.'

‘No, and I'm afraid you'll have to make your own dinner today,' Martha said apologetically, reaching up for her hat and coat. ‘I'm off to see Mrs Baldwin and when I come back I shall have to start work at once, so I'm afraid it'll have to be a cheese sandwich or something for you, my love.'

‘I'm coming with you, Mam,' Evie said at once, rushing to the hook to fetch down her own coat. ‘Me an' Percy can buy a penn'orth of chips 'cos I've got tuppence.'

Martha began to object but then saw her small daughter's face fall and changed her mind. She was guiltily aware that Evie must often be lonely because life ashore was so different from life on the canal. On the
Mary Jane
they were together all day as a family; Evie would lead the horse, help with the cooking, washing and cleaning, go with one of her sisters or a friend to pick berries from the hedgerows or fetch the messages. She would almost never be alone, whereas now, with her mother working full time, Angela doing the same, and Seraphina, even now, out looking for a job, Evie was frequently left to her own devices. So she smiled at her daughter whilst buttoning her own coat and said equably: ‘I'll give you another tuppence, then you and Percy can have a positive feast! But we'll have to hurry; I promised Mrs Baldwin I'd be there by quarter to twelve.'

Presently, mother and daughter jumped aboard a number 23 tram heading for Lawrence Street, and were soon knocking on the door of No. 9, Cavendish Court, which was opened by a beaming Percy. He had scarcely begun to speak, however, when his mother put him gently aside and stepped out into the court. Martha saw, approvingly, that Mrs Baldwin had made a real effort to tidy herself up. Her light-coloured hair was pulled back from her face and tied into a knot with what looked suspiciously like a black shoe lace, her face was clean and she was wearing a black dress and cracked, down-at-heel black shoes. The dress, although faded and shabby, was clean, with white collar and cuffs, though Martha's keen eye saw that these were made of paper, and Mrs Baldwin had also had a go at polishing her shoes. Martha smiled at the younger woman. ‘You look grand, my dear,' she said heartily. ‘I'll leave Evie here, in Percy's charge, while we do our business.' She smiled at Evie. ‘Stay with Percy, love, and try not to get into mischief.' She turned back to Mrs Baldwin. ‘Where's Ron and Emmy?'

‘Next door,' Mrs Baldwin said briefly. Martha began to move away but Mrs Baldwin stopped her, a hand on her arm and a stricken look on her face. ‘I didn't get them nothing for their dinners,' she said huskily. ‘I – I didn't think, money being so short an' all. What's more, the fire's gone out . . . I saves what little coal I've got left for evenings, when everyone's home. I don't reckon it's as cold during the day as it gets when darkness comes.'

‘It's all right, Mrs Baldwin,' Evie said cheerfully, before her mother could speak. ‘Mam gave me some money to buy chips so we'll get our dinners all right. And if we goes across to the market, we might be give a couple of orange boxes to chop up for kindling. Then we can sell 'em, a ha'penny a bundle.'

‘Don't you dare go to the market, young Evie, or not until Mrs Baldwin and I come back, at any rate,' Martha said reprovingly. ‘I want you here when I call for you, not gallivanting off selling chips from door to door.'

Evie giggled. ‘That's odd, ain't it, Mam? You've give us money for chips, the potato sort, an' I were going to
get
money for chips by selling the wooden sort. But you'll be gone an hour or more, won't you? Tell you what, Perce an' meself will go over to the market first and see if we can cadge a couple of boxes off of someone, then we'll buy us chips to eat and come back here. We can break the boxes down into kindling while we wait for you and then sell the bundles round the houses later.'