Twisted Strands (4 page)

Normally Bridie retorted with ‘And watch the bugs don’t bite’, but tonight she only smiled weakly and stood up. Josh rose too and held out his arms to her. She laid her cheek
on his huge chest and he patted her fondly.

‘There, there,’ he murmured, close to her ear. ‘It’ll be all right.’

For a moment Bridie pressed herself against his comforting bulk, but in her heart she knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again. As she climbed the stairs once more to her bedroom,
Bridie promised herself: I will go to Nottingham. I can get a job there. Maybe Auntie Eveleen will let me work at Uncle Richard’s factory, even if she doesn’t want me living with them.
At the thought she felt another stab of anguish, but, defying the hurt, she vowed: I’ll stand on my own two feet.

I’ll show the lot of them.

When she heard the front door open and Richard call out her name, Eveleen wiped the tears from her eyes, blew her nose and tried to plaster a smile on her face.

‘I’m in here,’ she called, praying that he would not see the telltale signs of her distress. That morning she had discovered yet again that she was not pregnant. She
wasn’t sure how many disappointments she could take and she knew that Richard felt each false hope as keenly as she did.

She smoothed unruly tendrils of her rich brown hair back into place and, as the door opened, she turned towards it and smiled bravely. ‘You’re home early. Lovely.’ She went
towards him, her arms outstretched. Her husband kissed her gently and then held her at arm’s length.

‘Oh, my darling. Again?’

She bit her lip, but could not stop tears welling. She nodded and was enfolded in his embrace. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ Richard said, as he always did. ‘One day,
it’ll happen. You’re only young.’

‘I’m thirty,’ Eveleen said dolefully.

‘What an old lady! Shall I buy you a walking stick or a bath chair.’ His smile crinkled his eyes and lit up his handsome face. She smiled up at him, loving him more than ever, if
that were possible, for the way he cajoled her out of her depression.

But today he was serious. He took her in his arms and held her close, murmuring against her ear, ‘Evie, even if we are never to be blessed with children of our own, I’d still rather
be married to you than anyone else in the whole world. Just remember that.’

‘But your father wants an heir.’ Her words were muffled against his shoulder. ‘I know he does. And you do too, if you’re honest.’

Carefully Richard said, ‘It would be nice to have someone to pass on the Stokes’s empire to. But it’s not the end of the world. And there’s always Bridie. She’s
your niece.’

‘But she’s no blood relation to your family. And – and she’s a girl.’

Richard released her and laughed aloud, throwing back his dark head. ‘I can’t believe you said that. You of all people, who champion the cause of women better that anyone else I know
by proving that you can run that huge warehouse single-handedly.’ More seriously he added, ‘Perhaps that’s the trouble. Maybe you’re doing too much.’

‘Oh, Richard. I can’t sit around doing nothing. We have servants galore to do the housework. What would I do with myself all day?’

‘Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,’ he teased.

Eveleen pulled a face. ‘I’d sooner be sewing fine seams along with the girls in the inspection room. That’s where I belong.’

‘And chasing over half the city rounding up your homeworkers,’ he admonished gently, tapping the tip of her nose with his forefinger.

She smiled wryly and was forced to acquiesce. But then her thoughts came back to her niece. ‘Did you mean it about Bridie? I know you’ve always been fond of her, but to make her your
heir. That’s a huge step. And would your parents agree?’

Richard shrugged. ‘She’s still very young and she may not want it.’

Eveleen looked askance at him, as if she could not believe anyone could turn down such an opportunity. Richard spread his hands. ‘She may not like city life, darling. She’s happy in
the country.’

Eveleen nodded. ‘Yes, yes, she is. I don’t think she’d ever want to leave the farm.’

‘You don’t really mean you’re going to run away?’

Micky was appalled when Bridie confided her secret to him. ‘Yes, I am, and don’t you dare tell a soul, Micky Morton, else I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to the
pigs.’

‘You’d have to catch me first,’ he grinned, but then his face sobered. ‘Ya’ll upset everybody if you do that, y’know.’

‘And who’s “everybody”?’ Bridie asked scathingly. ‘Me gran? I don’t think so. I told you what she’d said, didn’t I?’

‘She didn’t mean it. All parents say things they don’t mean when they’re angry.’

‘She’s not my “parent”. That’s the whole trouble. She felt obliged to bring me up just because her son got his cousin pregnant and then left her.’

‘What about Josh, then?’

Bridie was silent, pulling at the grass on the bank of the beck where they were sitting, dangling their feet in the rushing water. ‘He’s the only one who might care a bit,’ she
agreed gruffly.

‘I’d care, an’ all,’ Micky declared stoutly. ‘You’re my best mate. Even if you are a girl.’

Despite her unhappiness, Bridie gave him a playful shove. They were silent for a while until Micky asked, ‘Where will you go?’

She glanced at him slyly. ‘Shan’t tell you. You might tell them.’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘You did last time.’ Now she glared at him fully, accusingly.

He wriggled awkwardly. ‘Well, yeah. I know I did, but that was different.’

‘How?’

‘’Cos I didn’t know what was going on. I mean, you could have fallen and been lying hurt somewhere.’ He gestured towards the stream in front of them and needed to say no
more. They were both remembering the story about her grandfather, Walter Hardcastle, being found dead, face down, in the water somewhere near this very spot.

‘Well, I wasn’t,’ Bridie muttered.

‘No,’ Micky said carefully, ‘but I didn’t know that, did I? Not at the time. It’d be different if I knew you were safe but didn’t
want
to be
found.’

Bridie’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Would it really? You mean you’d help me?’

Micky nodded, but added, ‘I don’t want you to go, but if it’s what you really want, then, yes, I’d help you.’

Bridie gave him her most engaging smile. ‘Right, then. Just be ready for whatever happens. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going, but I don’t know how or when or even where
I’ll go. I just know that one of these days, I will go.’

‘Well, afore you do,’ Micky was grinning cheekily, ‘there’s one of our hens me dad’d like you to look after. The others have set on it.’

At once the image of a chicken with all its feathers pulled out around its tail, its skin red and sore from the vicious beaks of the other birds, came into her mind. Crudely Micky confirmed her
fears. ‘Its arse is pecked red-raw.’

She was silent a moment and then she saw his grin. ‘You!’ she flared and punched his shoulder. ‘Your dad doesn’t need me to look after his hen. He can do that for
himself. You’re just trying to keep me here.’

Micky’s grin widened and he shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’

‘Oh, you!’ she said again, but she was laughing with him now.

Then, for a moment, Micky was very serious. ‘You ought to go to someone, at least to start with,’ he added hastily as she glared at him.

‘I can look after mesen.’

‘I know, I know,’ he added hastily, ‘but you are only twelve. I know you look older, being tall, but still . . . You ought to go to someone,’ he ended firmly. ‘What
about Andrew?’

‘No!’ Her tone was harsh, causing the young boy to raise his eyebrows.

‘You fallen out with him?’ he asked bluntly.

‘No,’ she whispered. She knew he would hear the hurt in her voice, but thankfully he did not pursue it.

‘Your auntie Evie and uncle Richard, then. He’s a nice chap. He might be a bit posh, owning a lace factory an’ all that. But he ain’t a bit stuck up, is he?’

‘No,’ Bridie agreed, ‘but they haven’t any children of their own.’

‘Why?’

‘Dunno. Maybe . . .’ She swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering what her grandmother had said. ‘Maybe they don’t want troublesome children.’

‘Oh.’ Micky looked puzzled. That was something he could not understand. To the country boy with three younger siblings, it seemed that married couples always had children. Nature was
all around them and that was part of it. Confident that there must be some other reason, Micky said, ‘Well, I’d give your auntie and uncle a try, if I was you.’

As Eveleen walked towards the Reckitt and Stokes lace factory and warehouse, built side by side on Canal Street, she was aware of the admiring glances she attracted. Her
luxurious curly brown hair was piled high in the fashion of the time and on top her wide-brimmed hat was perched at a jaunty angle. The tight-fitting jacket and the long straight skirt accentuated
her slim, shapely figure. The costume was an emerald green with a white, frilled-neck blouse beneath it.

‘Morning, ma’am,’ one of the men greeted her as she climbed the stairs to the top floor of the warehouse. She smiled in acknowledgement, ‘Morning, Joe.’

As she opened the door into the inspection and mending room she felt the familiar thrill of pride and she paused a moment to enjoy the scene. The large room, light and airy, was filled with the
muted chatter of twenty women and girls, each with a bale of lace spread over their laps and spilling onto the floor as they meticulously mended any flaws and runs in the fabric. It was what
Eveleen herself had done when she first arrived in Nottingham, desperate for work. She moved down the edge of the room, nodding and smiling at the girls, her eagle eye on their work as she passed.
As she neared the end of the room, she raised her head to smile at the young woman who was the inspection room’s supervisor.

‘Morning, Helen.’

Helen Binkley rose from her seat and came towards her, stretching out her hands in greeting and bending forward to kiss Eveleen’s cheek.

The two women had been firm friends since the day Eveleen had come to work here and it had given her enormous pleasure to promote Helen, quite justifiably for she was an excellent and
trustworthy worker, to the post of supervisor when the previous woman had left.

Eveleen drew off her gloves and sat down at her own desk alongside Helen’s. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, coming to a sudden, impulsive decision, but keeping her voice
low so that they would not be overheard. ‘Would you be willing to take on more responsibility?’

Helen’s bright eyes twinkled cheekily at her. ‘Depends.’

Catching her meaning, Eveleen smiled and said playfully, ‘Of course we would think of a fancy title to suit your new status.’

She paused, deliberately teasing Helen, who laughed merrily knowing full well she was being led on. ‘A fancy title doesn’t pay the rent, Evie.’

They laughed together. ‘Of course, there would be a pay rise for you too.’

‘Ah well, now you’re talking. What exactly would all this extra work involve?’

Eveleen’s eyes clouded. ‘I think I might be overdoing it. If I’m honest, I do get very tired by the end of each week and perhaps . . .’ The two friends stared at each
other and Helen, understanding at once, said softly, ‘You think it could be stopping you conceiving?’

Helen was one of the only two women in whom Eveleen had confided her great sorrow at not being able to give Richard the heir she knew he wanted. Despite his constant loving reassurance, Eveleen
knew that, deep down, he longed for children. And his father, Brinsley Stokes, made no secret of the fact. ‘When are you going to make me a grandfather?’ he had asked regularly during
the first years of their marriage. But now, after ten years, even he had stopped asking.

In answer to Helen’s delicate question, Eveleen nodded and pressed her lips together to prevent them quivering. The latest disappointment, only this morning, was still fresh in her
mind.

‘Have you talked about this to your mother?’

Eveleen pulled a face. ‘My mother’s not the sort of person I can confide in. She’s so wrapped up in her life with Josh.’

‘What about Win, then?’

Win Martin, Eveleen’s only other confidante, had been the very first person Eveleen had encountered on her arrival in the city. Win had not only advised her about obtaining employment, but
had also found a house for Eveleen, her mother, brother and her pregnant cousin, Rebecca. Living in the same street for several months, Win had been a tower of strength to the young Eveleen, who,
through the tragic circumstances of her father’s sudden death, had found herself responsible for her family. Win was also the one to whom all the inhabitants of Foundry Yard turned in times
of trouble. Birth or death or illness, Win Martin was ready to help.

‘Not recently,’ Eveleen answered Helen, ‘but I’m seeing her later this morning. I might have a talk with her then.’

‘I think you should,’ Helen said, forthright as ever. ‘What Win Martin doesn’t know about babies isn’t worth knowing.’

There was a silence between them until Helen prompted, ‘So what would you want me to do?’

‘Well, I wondered if you’d take over the management of all the middlewomen. It means a lot of walking, visiting them in their homes.’

Throughout the city women were employed as homeworkers for the lace industry. In each area a middlewoman collected the lace from the factory and distributed the work to the homeworkers living
nearby. Eveleen had taken it upon herself to be the one to visit the middlewomen who worked for Reckitt and Stokes regularly and to help them with any problems they might have.

Helen beamed. ‘I wouldn’t mind that. It’d be a nice change from being cooped up in here all day.’ Her eyes twinkled merrily. ‘And all the walking’d keep me
slim. But what about this place?’

‘I’d still want you to be overall supervisor of the inspection room, but perhaps we could promote someone to be your deputy when you were out. Can you recommend anyone?’

Helen’s thoughtful glance roamed over the heads of the women and girls in her charge. ‘Well, there’s one or two who might be all right. Do you mind if I think about it for a
day or two?’