Darkest Before Dawn (19 page)

Now, she clattered down the iron stairs and popped her head round the shop door. Martha was weighing up broken biscuits and tipping them into a stout brown paper bag whilst Mr Wilmslow was balanced on the small stepladder, reaching up to the top shelf for a jar of candy sticks. Evie's mouth watered but candy sticks were expensive, especially if purchased from Mr Wilmslow, so she contented herself with smiling at her mother. ‘I've done the housework an' now I'm off to fetch Perce,' she called. ‘Want any messages, Ma? Mr Wilmslow?'

‘No thanks, duck,' her mother said cheerfully, but Mr Wilmslow looked round and said that, if she were passing a chemist's shop, his wife wanted a bottle of cough mixture and a small packet of blackcurrant cough pastilles.

Sighing inwardly, Evie crossed the shop and stood against the counter. At first, Mr Wilmslow pretended that he did not know she was there, and then, when she cleared her throat and uttered his name, he climbed reluctantly down from his perch, banged the big jar of candy sticks irritably down on the wooden counter and pressed ‘void' on the till so that the drawer shot open. He selected a shilling from within and handed it to her so grudgingly that she saw her mother turn away to hide a smile. ‘I want me change,' he said warningly, handing over the coin. ‘All of it, mind; don't you go keeping nothing back.'

‘You can have the whole shilling back, Mr Wilmslow,' Evie said politely. ‘I bought a bottle of cough linctus for Seraphina back in January and it were one and sixpence, honest to God it was, and the pastilles is . . .'

‘All right, all right,' Mr Wilmslow grumbled. He opened the till again and extracted a half-crown, gazing down at it as though it were his first born and she were King Herod, Evie thought, with an inward giggle. He handed the coin over, then clicked his fingers in her face, causing Evie to step back hurriedly. ‘Give me me bob back,' he demanded. ‘Don't tell me you'll need more than half a crown for cough mixture and pastilles, 'cos that I won't believe. And I want—'

‘You want your change; all of it,' Evie cut in, handing back the shilling and pocketing the half-crown. ‘See you later, then.' She hastened out of the shop, eager to escape before Mr Wilmslow dreamed up another message for her to run. As she hurried down the Scottie, she thought crossly that with one thing and another it would be dinnertime before she reached Cavendish Court. Usually, she would have spread some bread and marge with paste or jam, wrapped the slices in greaseproof paper, and added anything else she could find which her mother could spare. But today she had been in too much of a hurry and had hoped that her mother would give her a copper or two as a reward for the work she had done. If it hadn't been for mean old Wilmslow, Mam probably would have handed over some cash, Evie thought resentfully now; him and his bleedin' change, and not a word about giving her a ha'penny or so for getting his nasty wife's nasty medicines.

But it was a beautiful day and Evie was beginning to cheer up and to wonder whether there was any food in the Baldwin kitchen when someone stopped in front of her and two hands descended on to her shoulders. Evie tried to wriggle free, then looked up into the face above her own and felt her heart give an enormous leap. ‘Toby! Whatever are you doing here? Don't say you're working in Liverpool . . . oh, Seraphina will be so pleased! She watched the post for weeks, but . . .'

Toby Duffy smiled down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘I know, I know, don't you nag me 'n' all,' he said guiltily. ‘I've been meaning to write, but oh, I'm such a poor hand at letter-writing. In the end, I took a couple of days off so's I could come calling. I've booked into a lodging house, just for the one night, and I thought I'd take Fee out to the flicks or the theatre . . . only I've been up and down this perishin' great road all morning and there's no sign of the number Seraphina gave me. I saw where it ought to be, but it was a shop.'

Evie giggled. ‘Of course it's a shop, you idiot; Ma works for the owner, Mr Wilmslow, and we live in the flat above. But there's no one in because everyone's working. Fee had to give up her place at the teacher training school . . . but I suppose you know all that . . .'

‘No, I didn't know that,' Toby admitted. ‘Fee stopped writing to me . . . oh, before Christmas, I suppose. I knew nothing had happened to her, though, because . . . well, truth to tell, she threatened me. She said she'd give me a week to reply to her letter and if I didn't, then that was the last time she'd write to me. And though I did keep meaning to write . . .'

Evie sighed. She had always liked Toby most awfully, and seeing him again had reawakened all her old feelings. He was kind and funny, and easily the best-looking young man she knew; he had been her ideal for years and it was hard for her to admit that he had feet of clay. Seraphina was right, in fact, to grumble about him, yet Evie knew that if she had been grown up and lucky enough to have Toby come calling, she would have welcomed him with open arms, as no doubt Seraphina would.

She said wisely: ‘I know, I know, you just never got round to it. Well, if Fee gives you a hot reception when she sees you, it's no more than you deserve. In fact I should think she'll ring a right peal about your ears,' she added frankly. ‘Look, I'll tell you where she's working and how to get there, but I can't come with you. I'm meeting me pal Percy, and I'm late already. But Fee is working in the Lyon's Corner House on Church Street. If you hop on a number 20 or 21 tram and ask the conductor to put you down near Church Street, then you can't fail to find the Lyon's Corner House.'

‘Thanks ever so much, Evie,' Toby said gratefully. ‘What time does Fee finish work, d'you know?'

Evie shook her head. ‘No, I'm afraid I can't help you there because the girls work shifts, but if you go in and ask for her, I'm sure Fee will tell you what time she leaves off today. She might even persuade someone to do an extra hour or two for her, you never know.' She grinned at Toby and pointed to a short line of people waiting on the edge of the pavement. ‘Join the queue, Toby, and don't forget, you want a 20 or 21. See you later, I expect.' She took a couple of steps towards her destination, then turned back. ‘If I were you, I'd take Fee a little peace offering – a few flowers, or a bar of chocolate, something like that.'

Toby grinned sheepishly. He was carrying a Gladstone bag and now he put it on the pavement and fished in it and produced a small parcel. It was wrapped untidily in brown paper so Evie could not see what it was, but Toby shook it and she heard it rattle. ‘It's a jar of humbugs,' he said. ‘I remember how she loved humbugs. See you later, Evie.'

Evie tried to smile brightly but it was an effort. Toby seemed to have forgotten that Seraphina was no longer a child but a young woman, and a young woman with a good many admirers. If one of her new beaux took her to the theatre, he would present her with a box of expensive chocolates, or some exotic bloom to pin to her coat; if anyone got humbugs, it would be Evie. And how nice it would have been had Toby been fond enough of Evie herself to have brought her some small gift. But perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps Fee really would prefer humbugs, Evie thought, as she entered Cavendish Court. She hoped so, at any rate, for she had always liked Toby best of all their old friends, and hated to think that Seraphina might scorn his gift.

Chapter Six

Toby jumped aboard the first tram to come along, a 21, feeling that things were going his way at last. He had arrived in the city full of hope, sure that Seraphina would be delighted to see him, but gradually, as he had trekked up and down the Scotland Road, hope had dwindled. He had begun to believe that Seraphina must have deliberately given him a non-existent address, so meeting Evie had seemed a rare piece of luck, the answer to a prayer. Then he had had another bit of luck, which was catching the first tram to come along and arriving outside Lyon's Corner House without any more ado.

He stood for a moment on the pavement, staring in through the big glass doors. The place was crowded, and since all the girls were dressed identically he had some difficulty in picking Seraphina out. In fact, he could not do so, could only guess that one of the quickly moving figures was the girl he had come so far to see. He squared his shoulders and moved purposefully into the restaurant as a group of young men came out. He spotted a vacant table for two and slid out of his overcoat, draping it across the back of one of the chairs. He was immediately joined by a middle-aged man who stared at him almost aggressively and said, ‘Mind if I share your table? It's always rare busy in here, but usually I arrive early; today I were late.'

Toby thought rather bitterly that since the man had sat down before he finished speaking it would have been too bad had Toby been waiting for a friend. As it was, he simply said shortly: ‘Help yourself,' and then reached for the menu.

‘The roast beef is best; I allus have the roast beef,' his companion said. ‘And plum duff and custard for afters. I allus has the same. The nippies know me; they know I allus have the same.'

‘Oh aye?' Toby said stolidly, but he felt rather dismayed. He had not meant to have a meal, intending to order a pot of tea and perhaps a buttered scone, but looking around him he saw that almost everyone was eating a cooked dinner. Sighing inwardly, he waited for a waitress to approach. If it had not been for his companion, he would have asked the girl for Seraphina at once, but he decided he could scarcely do so when he was taking a place which would otherwise contain a proper customer. He saw a nippy approaching out of the corner of his eye, a tall, fair-haired girl, and for a moment he thought his luck was holding, that this was Seraphina, but when she reached him he knew at once that he had been mistaken. Her voice was broad Liverpudlian and the colour of her hair had clearly come out of a bottle, but her smile was friendly and she addressed them both with good humour. ‘Yes, gents? What'll it be today, then?'

This seemed to give the lie to his companion's confident assertion that all the nippies knew him, but then the girl took out her pad and pencil without waiting for either of them to speak. ‘One beef, one duff, one pot of tea, for Mr Cripps,' she said rapidly. She turned to Toby. ‘And you, sir? What can I get you?'

But Toby was not attending. He was staring towards the back of the room where another tall and slender girl was delivering orders from a loaded tray on to a table whose occupants were four smartly dressed young men, probably in their mid-twenties. Even though her back was towards him, Toby would have known her anywhere. ‘Seraphina!' he said beneath his breath. ‘Oh, Seraphina!'

The nippy had moved closer to him and was leaning over as though she suspected he were deaf. ‘What did you say sir?' she asked rather plaintively. ‘I'm afraid I didn't quite catch what you said. Was it the steak and kidney? The roast beef is always good – ask Mr Cripps here – but there's lamb and mint sauce today as well as the steak and kidney pie . . .'

The sound of her voice jerked Toby back to the present. ‘Oh . . . I'll have the steak and kidney, please, miss,' he said, speaking quite at random.

‘And the duff?' the girl enquired, scribbling on her little pad. But Toby was watching Seraphina, almost unbelievingly. She was flirting, there was no doubt about it, paying far more attention than necessary to the young men, laughing, and then turning away and going off towards the kitchen with a lively step and swaying hips.

Toby could feel his hair begin to bristle like a dog's hackles when it sees another dog grabbing its bone. Seraphina had changed! When her father had been alive and they had all lived aboard the
Mary Jane
, she would never have dreamed of behaving in such a blatant manner. But of course she had not seen him, did not know his eyes were upon her.

The nippy was still there, patiently waiting for a reply to some question which he had not even heard. Toby was about to ask her what she had said when his table companion leaned forward. ‘You 'ave the plum duff and custard, mate,' he advised kindly. ‘It's prime, I'm tellin' you.'

‘Oh,' Toby said, enlightened. ‘But I don't want any pudding, thanks; I'll just have a pot of tea.'

The waitress scribbled in her pad once more, thanked both men for their orders, and left them. Toby turned back to stare accusingly at the young men with whom Seraphina had been laughing and joking, but they were engaged in the serious business of eating and anyway the distance which separated them from Toby was too great to allow his overhearing any comments they might make. But they must think she's really cheap, to laugh and joke with strangers the way she did, Toby told himself resentfully. I'm sure if her parents – well, if her mother – knew she would tell her to find herself a more respectable job. But his companion was addressing him, so Toby dragged his attention back to the other man.

‘. . . steak and kidney pie is pretty good, and of course it's cheaper than the beef,' Mr Cripps was saying wisely. ‘I'm mortal fond of the duff but I don't have it every day because some days they do a treacle puddin' and if there's one thing I can't resist, it's treacle puddin'.'

He waited, obviously expecting Toby to ask when the Corner House served this rare treat, but Toby's attention had returned to the other end of the restaurant where Seraphina was re-entering through the swing doors with another laden tray. Toby watched jealously as she went to yet another table, occupied this time by half a dozen young men, and began to place the laden plates before each diner, laughing and chatting as she did so. ‘It's too bad,' Toby muttered. ‘Folk'll start talkin' about her, sayin' she's easy . . .'

‘What were that you said?' his companion asked rather querulously. ‘I comes in for me tea sometimes. They does a lovely date and walnut loaf.'