Tangled Threads (27 page)

Eveleen stared at the young man until, as if feeling her eyes upon him, he turned to look at her. Boldly she held his gaze for a long moment, then dutifully she bent her head over her work
again.

‘No, he isn’t, actually. But then I have no liking at all for handsome men,’ Eveleen said, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone as Stephen’s fair, chiselled
features were suddenly in her mind’s eye. ‘I’d sooner have an ugly one who was kind and reliable.’

‘In that case,’ Lucy piped up. ‘Look no further. Old man Carpenter’s going free.’ The ripple of laughter around her made the older man look across towards where
Eveleen was sitting and frown.

Eveleen concentrated on her work and took no more part in the whispered conversation among the other women. She didn’t want to incur the wrath of one of the owners of the factory on only
her second day there.

Not until the two men had gone did she say, ‘Who did you say they were?’

‘That’s your employer, Eveleen. That was Mr Brinsley Stokes and his son, Richard.’

So, she had been right. The older of the two men had been her mother’s lover more than twenty years earlier. And now it was too late. She had the promise of work for both her and Jimmy.
Work she dare not give up just because one of the owners had once treated her mother so shamefully.

Eveleen frowned over her work and, for a moment, her fingers trembled as she thought of the shock it would give her mother if she ever found out.

She would have to make sure that never happened.

‘You’re quiet,’ Helen said. The muted buzz of conversation had begun again once Mr Stokes and his son were out of earshot.

Eveleen looked up and forced herself to smile. ‘Sorry.’

Helen leaned closer. ‘You’re taken with him, aren’t you? Master Richard.’

‘Of course not,’ Eveleen snapped. ‘I’ve told you, I’m not interested in handsome men. You can’t trust them any further than you can throw them.’

Instead of taking offence at her sharpness, Helen said quietly, ‘You’ve been hurt, haven’t you? Someone’s hurt you very badly.’

At the kindness in her new friend’s voice, Eveleen felt a lump in her throat and tears prickle behind her eyelids. She bent her head and tried to hide them, but Helen touched her arm.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget him, whoever he is. He’s not worth it.’

Eveleen gave a watery smile and looked up. ‘You’re right there. He wasn’t.’

‘But they’re not all like that, you know,’ Helen said gently. ‘Don’t tar ’em all with the same brush, just ’cos one’s been a right
bastard.’

Eveleen said nothing. She couldn’t expect Helen to understand.

She had fallen in love with Stephen Dunsmore. She had given him her heart completely and he had crushed it. She was never, she vowed, going to give herself to any man like that again. She was
not going to give anyone the chance to hurt her again.

The meeting – although it could hardly be called that – with Brinsley Stokes and his son had disturbed her. She couldn’t confide in Helen, nice though the girl seemed, and by
lunchtime she was in such a state of agitation that she went in search of Jimmy.

She slipped into the machine room, even though she knew she should not be there. She walked down the aisles of machines until she came to where her brother was working. She stood watching him,
taking in his every movement.

Luke Manning, the skilled twisthand deputed to train Jimmy, shouted orders above the clatter of the machinery. He was a thin man in his late forties or early fifties, with thinning grey hair and
a slight stoop to his shoulders. His face was pale and gaunt, but his mouth was pursed in a cheery whistle, even though his tune could not be heard above the racket. Catching sight of Eveleen, he
winked at her, pointed to Jimmy and then raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head in mock despair.

Then she saw Luke gesture with his hands, explaining yet again an operation that even Eveleen had just witnessed him showing her brother. A few minutes later, Luke pointed to her and signed that
Jimmy could take a short break to speak to her.

Shouting above the noise she said, ‘Can’t you try a bit harder? I saw him having to show you the same thing twice and I’ve only been here a minute or two.’

‘Reckon you could do better, do you?’ Jimmy snapped.

‘I could make a darn sight better job of it than you’re doing.’ She moved closer and dropped her voice, although above the clanking machinery all around them it was doubtful
they would be overheard anyway. ‘Look, Jimmy. You need this job. Try and make a go of it.’

Jimmy glared at her resentfully. ‘Don’t boss me about, Evie, else you’ll be sorry. I’ve enough of ’em round here shouting orders at me all day long. And the feller
who takes over from us’ – the twisthands, as the machine operators were called, worked in shifts so that the machines were kept running for twenty hours out of every day –
‘he’s been tittle-tattling to the foreman already. I’m sick of it, I tell you. For two pins, I’d be off to sea.’

Eveleen’s patience snapped. ‘This is only your second day.’ She stopped and sighed. She didn’t want to fall out with her brother. ‘Look, I’m sorry. At least
give it a go, eh?’

‘Well,’ he said slowly and then grinned at her. ‘Just for you then.’

They smiled at each other, then Eveleen said, ‘I didn’t come here to find fault with your work’

‘There’s plenty doing that already,’ Jimmy grimaced but his good humour had been restored. ‘What did you come here for then?’ He grinned cheekily at her.
‘Just wanted to walk past all the fellers, eh? Let ’em all see what a fine figure of a woman you are.’

Eveleen laughed at his absurdity. Nothing had been further from her mind. Then her expression sobered. ‘I shouldn’t really be here anyway, but I had to see you. I have to talk to
someone.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Do you realize who we’re working for?’

He blinked. ‘What d’you mean? I’m working for Luke Manning and over him is this bugger of a foreman called Porter. And above him, it’s Carpenter—’

‘Watch your language, Jimmy.’

Jimmy laughed. ‘Oh, I aren’t working for Holy Joe now, Evie. There’s worse language than that flying round here, I can tell you. I reckon that’s why they keep the
“ladies” from coming in here.’

‘Is that what they used to call Uncle Harry behind his back? Holy Joe?’

‘Oh aye. And worse.’

Eveleen still had such mixed feelings about her uncle. Part of her admired him for the way he tried to live his life and yet . . . She pulled herself back to the problem of the moment.
‘Never mind about that now. No, I mean do you know who the boss is? The man whose name is painted on the factory gates. Stokes. It’s Brinsley Stokes.’

Jimmy still looked puzzled. ‘So? What about it?’

‘That’s the man who caused our mam all that trouble. Years ago.’

Jimmy stared at her. ‘You’re not serious?’

Eveleen nodded. ‘I am. Gran told me his name. And how many other Brinsley Stokes do you think there are round here?’’

‘What on earth did you want to get us a job here for then? I’m likely to kill him if I get near him.’

Eveleen spread her hands. ‘I thought it was a coincidence. That it couldn’t be him. It wasn’t until I heard his first name this morning – Brinsley – that I knew for
definite. It’s such an unusual name, it’s got to be him.’ She leant closer, speaking urgently, ‘Look, just don’t tell Mam, that’s all. She needn’t
know.’

Jimmy opened his mouth but before he could speak, a loud voice spoke close behind Eveleen making her jump. ‘What the bleedin’ hell are you doing in here, girl? Get yourself out of
here. Right now.’

Eveleen turned to find herself facing the irate face of a stocky, balding man.

‘Sorry, Mr Porter,’ Jimmy was saying at once. ‘It’s me sister. Spot of family bother. Off you go, Evie. I’ll see you later.’

‘And don’t let me catch you in here ever again. Women aren’t allowed in here.’ He looked her up and down with a leering glance. ‘Takes their minds off their work,
see.’

‘Sorry, Mr Porter,’ she mumbled and hurried away, her face burning, as, behind her, she could hear catcalls and whistles from the men working the machinery.

It was certainly a very different place to her uncle’s workshops.

Jimmy finished his shift at six in the evening, the same time that Eveleen left the warehouse.

‘I should be working ’til seven,’ she told him, ‘but I told Miss Brownlow I was feeling unwell. She let me go but I don’t reckon she believed me. ‘Eight until
seven are my hours and until twelve on a Saturday.’ She smiled. ‘Bit different to life on a farm, eh? When we had to work the clock round at lambing time or when one of the beasts was
calving.’

‘Give me that any day, though, even if we did have to work the clock round. These shifts are getting to me, Evie. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ was all she said. ‘You’ll have to.’

They fell into step together.

‘So,’ he began, continuing their earlier conversation that had been interrupted. ‘You’re not going to tell her?’

‘What’d be the point? It’d only upset her. He’s hardly going to come riding up on a white charger and carry her off into the sunset to live happily ever after.
Life’s not like that,’ Eveleen said, her thoughts drifting back once more to Bernby and the fair-haired, blue-eyed man who had promised her heaven.

Jimmy grinned. ‘She might want to see him. Get to know him again. You never know, they might—’

‘He’s married,’ Eveleen said impatiently, surprised by Jimmy’s romantic nonsense. ‘His son was with him when they came into the inspection room today.’

‘Oh well, I don’t care what you do. I shan’t tell her.’ He cast Eveleen a sly look. ‘There’s a lot I don’t tell me mam.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me,’ Eveleen said, but Jimmy’s grin only widened. Then he went on. ‘They came into our place an’ all this afternoon. Handsome
chap, ain’t he, the son? Just your type, Evie. That’d be a turnup, wouldn’t it, if you married the son.’

‘Don’t talk daft.’ Eveleen was angry now. ‘His sort don’t interest me.’

‘They did once,’ Jimmy said, watching her closely.

‘Well, they don’t any more,’ she snapped back and marched up the steps and into the home. I’ve far more pressing things on my mind, she thought. Getting us out of this
place, for one.

The following morning when she arrived at work, the first thing Eveleen did was to ask Helen if she had heard of anywhere for them to rent.

The girl shook her head. ‘Sorry, Eveleen, I haven’t.’

Eveleen managed to smile and say, ‘Thanks for trying.’

‘I’ll keep asking,’ the girl promised.

About halfway through the morning, Fred appeared again at the doorway of the workroom to be greeted by calls and saucy remarks from the women. Eveleen could not stop herself from smiling.
They’re almost as bad as the men, she thought.

But Fred was only grinning good-naturedly and making his way towards her. ‘You’re in luck, lass. The missis has heard of a house in our yard, would you believe? If you like to come
home with me after work, she’ll take you to see it. She’s going to get a key from the owner today.’

Eveleen leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him. ‘That’s wonderful. Oh thank you, thank you.’

She became aware of the laughter around her and she stepped back, embarrassed by her own behaviour.

‘Miss Hardcastle!’ came Miss Brownlow’s voice. ‘I think you forget yourself.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once to Fred. ‘But you don’t know what this means to me.’

The man nodded kindly, quite unperturbed by her impetuosity. ‘That’s all right, love.’ He laughed. ‘I enjoyed it, but don’t tell the missis.’ He winked at her
and said, ‘See you outside the gate at knocking-off time, eh?’ Fred worked in the warehouse carrying the heavy bales of cloth up and down the stairs to the different levels for sorting,
dying, scalloping and trimming as well as to the very top for final inspection. He was lithe and muscular, no doubt from all the exercise he got each day.

She nodded, ‘Thanks, Fred. I’ll be there.’

‘Hello, mi duck. It’s nice to see you again.’

‘Oh Mrs Martin, I’m so pleased to see
you
again. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done to help me. You were so kind that day and you’re still helping me
now.’

The woman flapped her hand in embarrassment. ‘Do call me Win and think nothing of it. Glad to help.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Your supper’s in the oven, Fred,
I’ll just take this lass down to look at the house, though whether we’ll see much in the dark, I don’t know.’

‘Take some candles,’ Fred suggested. ‘Or better still, I’ll light a lamp for you.’

While they waited, Win said, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

Eveleen told her and then went on to explain why she needed a house so desperately.

‘There are four of us, me mam, me brother and our cousin.’ She bit her lip and said no more about Rebecca. Time enough for Win to find out about that later.

‘Well, it won’t be much of a place, love. This whole area’s called Narrow Marsh and this is Foundry Yard. It’s overcrowded and you have to share privies, but if you keep
your own place clean, it’s not so bad. Me and Fred have lived here ever since we got married and I wouldn’t move if you gave me a palace. Folks is friendly round here and we all help
each other.’

Eveleen smiled. Win Martin was certainly friendly and if all her neighbours were the same, then Eveleen could put up with harsh conditions.

‘Ah, here’s Fred with the lamp. Let’s go and have a look.’

Only minutes later, they were walking into one of the back-to-back houses.

‘There’ll be three floors,’ Win explained as they stepped into the room on the ground floor. ‘There’s the range . . .’

It was smaller than the one back home in Bernby, but Eveleen said nothing. She looked down at the cold, damp brick floor and thought, The sooner we get a fire going in here the better.

The furnishings were sparse: a table and three wooden chairs. They had left more than this behind in the farmhouse.