Poor Little Rich Girl (39 page)

Hester, who could seldom afford to buy the
Echo
, glanced enquiringly at Eileen, who shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of a read later,’ Eileen admitted. ‘Tell you what, Hes, we’re usually quietish round teatime, so if I take it first, you can read it this evening while our dinner’s cookin’.’

She held out her hand for the newspaper and the young man handed it over, saying as he did so: ‘I’d best tell you me name, else you won’t know who to thank when you’ve read the paper! I’m Tommy Liddell. I’m a most respectable person an’ I lives wi’ me mam and dad, a sister and two brothers, in a court just off the Scotland Road.’ He smiled beguilingly at Eileen. ‘An’ who might you be, miss, if I may make so bold? Do you know, I believe I’ve seen you somewhere before …’

‘That’s the oldest come-on in the book,’ Eileen said scoffingly, but she did not object when he fell into step beside them. ‘At least, I’d think it was a come-on if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen
you
before as well.’ She screwed up her eyes as though with intense mental effort, then opened them and smiled. ‘You come into Williams’s ironmongery last week. You was after half a pound of two-inch ovals and a battery for your pocket torch,’ she ended triumphantly.

The young man beamed. ‘Wharra memory!’ he said admiringly. ‘You’re a real little wonder, Miss … Miss …’

‘Eileen O’Farrell,’ Eileen said absently, then shot
a guilty look at Hester. ‘I didn’t mean to be forward and give me name, only it seemed rude not to,’ she said anxiously, as though Tom Liddell had already left them. ‘Still an’ all, I guess he’s harmless, eh, Hester?’

Hester could not help laughing, though she shook her head reprovingly at her friend, before turning to the young man. ‘I’m Hester Elliott,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘How do you do, Mr Liddell? We seem to have skipped most of the usual preliminaries, don’t we? But we don’t want to get you into trouble – hadn’t you better be making your way back to Waterloo Station?’

The young man gasped, then crammed his hat down over his reddish curls. ‘You’re right, miss, I’ll be in dead trouble if I’m late,’ he agreed. He turned to Eileen: ‘What time did you say you finished tonight?’

This made Eileen laugh outright but again she shot a questioning look at Hester before replying: ‘I finish at six o’clock, Mr Liddell. Now off with you before you make us all late.’

Tom Liddell set off, running towards the station as hard as he could pelt, and the two girls turned their steps towards Scotland Road once more. When they reached the ironmonger’s, however, Eileen thrust the paper into her friend’s hand. ‘You like readin’ much more’n I do,’ she observed. ‘Besides, if you bring it back to the Stanny, I can tek a look later. Will you come along to Williams’s at six? Only I don’t want no young feller gettin’ ideas.’

Hester agreed to this and went on her way chuckling to herself. She thought that it would do Eileen a lot of good to have a young man, even though her situation made an intimate relationship difficult.
But soon enough, she told herself, Eileen would be leaving the area to have her baby and provided she had it adopted, then Hester saw no reason why her friend should not become better acquainted with young Mr Thomas Liddell.

Later that evening, Hester sat on her bed, leafing through Mr Liddell’s copy of the
Echo
. She was flicking over the pages to try to find an advertisement she had spotted earlier when something caught her eye and presently she jumped to her feet. Eileen, also lying on her bed, looked up enquiringly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Oh … someone I know has died,’ Hester said, putting her hands up to her hot cheeks. ‘The funeral’s tomorrow … I must send my condolences. Or – or I might call round since the family is back in Elmore Street.’

‘Elmore Street? Ain’t that where you went a while back, only there were new people in the house?’ Eileen said. ‘Who’s died, queen? Not that feller you seemed keen on?’

‘Oh no, it’s not Dick, thank God,’ Hester said fervently. ‘It’s his father. I knew Mr Bailey was a very sick man – he hasn’t worked for years – but I hadn’t realised the end was so near. His wife will be heartbroken – the children will, too, because they’re a very loving and united family.’ She picked up the paper and read it again. ‘The funeral’s at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I shall have to get Miss Deakin to give me the afternoon off. Oh dear, she won’t like it.’

‘Why not tell her you’re sick?’ Eileen said. ‘I’ll pop in first thing if you like, and tell her you’ve been throwing your heart up all night. If we do
that, she can’t say much, ’cos you’ve never had a day off since you started with her, have you?’

‘Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ Hester said, handing the newspaper to her friend. ‘After all, Miss Deakin isn’t a monster. I’m sure she won’t refuse permission to go to a funeral, particularly as I can offer to work through my lunch hour. I’ll have to leave the shop at around half two, but I’ll go in early and re-do her window for her. That’ll put her in a good mood for a start.’

On one occasion, Miss Deakin had been too busy buying in new stock to dress the window and had told Hester she might have a go at it. The result had been a good deal better than Miss Deakin’s own efforts, since Hester had an excellent eye for colour and sufficient artistic flair to enjoy what she was doing and to make the gowns and accessories she chose look very attractive. Ever since then, Miss Deakin had made some excuse when the window needed re-dressing; though she always took the credit for it herself, Hester ended up doing most of the work. Since she thoroughly enjoyed the task, Hester had never complained, and now she saw a chance to make use of her natural talent. She would go in early next day and make an especially good job of the window, so that Miss Deakin would find it impossible to refuse her request for a couple of hours off.

Next morning, despite the fact that it was a grey and rainy day, Hester was in the shop by seven o’clock, carefully choosing the garments for her display. She worked hard and by the time Miss Deakin arrived – ahead of Betsy for once – the window was a dream of palest pink and dark rose. Hester had even managed to find a couple of hats
which went admirably with her display and when Miss Deakin bustled into the shop, shaking her umbrella and cursing the rain, not saying a word about the window, she felt quite hurt.

‘Good morning, Miss Deakin,’ she said, as her employer stood down her shopping basket and began to take off her coat. ‘Did you notice I’d done the window? I came in especially early because my friend’s father died a few days ago and I’d like your permission to attend the funeral at three o’clock this afternoon.’

Miss Deakin gave her a long, suspicious stare. ‘Is he a relation of yours?’ she asked bluntly. ‘I allow my staff to attend the funerals of relatives but not those of chance-met acquaintances. As for the window, I’ve got a deal of summer stock in the back room which hasn’t been shown yet. I meant to use that in the window this week.’

‘I used the stock from the back room,’ Hester said mildly, though inwardly she was seething. Why couldn’t the woman be pleasant for a change, pretend to like the window even if she did not? ‘And though Mr Bailey is no relative of mine, his wife is a dear friend and I feel I must give her what support I can at this sad time.’

‘Well, I’m afraid Mrs Bailey will have to manage without your support,’ Miss Deakin said with grim – and obvious – satisfaction. ‘I suppose you have failed to notice that Miss Fleming has not yet arrived, Miss Elliott? No doubt you have been far too wrapped up in your little scheme for getting the afternoon off to realise that it is a quarter past nine and she was due in some time ago. As it happens, her mother came round to my flat earlier to say that Miss Fleming had a stomach upset and would not be able to work
today. So you see, even if I believed in this – this grief-stricken friend of yours, I should be unable to grant your request.’

Hester stared at her, sick with disbelief. ‘But, Miss Deakin, I
must
go,’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly let my friends down. I promise you I won’t go back to the house afterwards, or anything like that. I’ll work right through my dinner hour, of course, though I’m afraid I can’t possibly get back much before closing time. I’ve already worked two hours over this morning, and I’m quite willing to do so for the rest of the week, but attend Mr Bailey’s funeral I must and will.’

Miss Deakin’s narrow, weasely little face became blotched with red and her eyes gleamed with spite. ‘If you take one step outside this shop before six o’clock tonight, then you can kiss your job goodbye,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll not be defied by a bit of a girl, nor I won’t have you tryin’ to teach me my business. Coming in early to do the window, indeed! I’ve done that window for years and never a complaint! It weren’t as if I’d
asked
you to give me a hand wi’ dressin’ it, yet you turn round and ask me for time off when it ain’t convenient. So do you hear me, Miss Elliott? If you take time off today, you can take your cards an’ all.’

‘I see, Miss Deakin,’ Hester said quietly. She was filled with an icy calm and an equally icy resolution. She would go to the funeral, even if Miss Deakin did dismiss her as a result. It wasn’t as if the job was a particularly good one. She reckoned she could do better in almost any other shop along the Scottie, but she did not believe that Miss Deakin would really dismiss her as she had threatened. Who else would do as much as she did for a paltry twelve bob a
week? And Miss Deakin had grumbled more than once about Hester’s predecessor, Annie, who had never got on with Betsy. She had said that Annie was a lazy slut who refused to do her share of the cleaning work necessary in a busy dress shop and hung back when customers appeared.

Accordingly, Hester said no more but went about her work and very soon a number of customers, attracted, Hester was sure, by the bright and summery window display, came into the shop. Both she and Miss Deakin were busily occupied, but Hester kept an eye on the time. When two o’clock struck, she finished with her customer and turned towards the back room to fetch her mackintosh, only to hear Miss Deakin’s raised voice: ‘Miss Elliott! This customer would like to try the dress in the middle of the window display, the one with the pleats and the chiffon scarf. Get it out of the window, please.’

Poor Hester felt she had no choice. It was she, after all, who had chosen that dress for the window display. And when the customer tried it on and called to her for assistance in doing up the row of little buttons on the back she felt she had no option but to obey. Half an hour later, she was about to head for the back room to pick up her outdoor clothing when another customer approached her. Hester decided that the time had come to be firm.

‘I’m sorry, madam,’ she said pleasantly, ‘but I have to go to the funeral of a very dear friend. However, Miss Deakin will attend to your needs.’ She rushed into the back room and grabbed her mackintosh, and as she passed her employer she said in a lowered tone: ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, Miss Deakin.’

Miss Deakin turned away from the customer she was serving, her face reddening as it had done
earlier. ‘You’d best take your things off my premises then,’ she said angrily. ‘How dare you leave me when you can see I’ve no one to take your place, no one to help me. Get your cards!’

Hester ignored this diatribe and continued on her way out of the door. She would have to hurry. She realised she was far too late to attend the church service at St Benedict’s, but decided to go straight to Anfield Cemetery for the committal.

She had asked a friendly customer which tram she should catch to reach Anfield and had been advised to wait for a Number 44, since this would take her right to the cemetery gates. To her relief, a Number 44 drew up at the stop as she reached it, and several people piled aboard.

Settling on a seat, Hester glanced at her watch and saw that she was in good time. Relaxing, she watched as the city passed by, first Kirkdale Road, then right into Everton Valley and at last into Walton Lane. I should have taken Eileen’s advice, she told herself ruefully. I should have pretended I was ill. She may be only young but she knows a thing or too, does Eileen. She’s been brought up in a hard school, and I suppose I was rather over-indulged. My parents could afford to teach me to tell the truth, but poor Eileen knows very well that the truth sometimes works against you. Miss Deakin would have quite understood if Eileen had popped in with a message to say I was sick. She would have thought that Betsy and I had caught an upset stomach from one another and would have asked that sister of hers, who Betsy says is just as hateful as Miss Deakin, to stand in for us. As it is, she’ll have to stay in the shop, serving customers, until I get back from the funeral, unless she decides to close a couple of hours early and I
can’t see the old skinflint doing that! Still, it’s taught me a lesson. I shall always tell the truth to decent, upright people, but when someone is unpleasant and devious, then it sometimes pays to bend the truth a little.

‘Priory Road – Anfield Cemetery!’ the conductor shouted and Hester, along with several others, alighted and turned towards the cemetery entrance.

As she made her way along the path, she realised that quite a few of the people were known to her, at least by sight. One of them, a woman in her fifties, with a round red face, tiny twinkling grey eyes and thinning grey hair tied back in a bun, grinned cheerfully at her. ‘Mornin’, miss,’ she said genially. ‘Come to say your farewells to poor old Bob, have you?’ She tutted vigorously, shaking her head. ‘He were a grand bloke, so he was, and little Mabel Bailey’s the salt of the earth; you wouldn’t find a better if you travelled a hundred mile. Still an’ all, poor Bob hasn’t had an easy time of it these past ten years so I reckon he’ll have his reward now he’s reached the other side. That’s what the vicar says, any road.’