Wait For the Dawn (4 page)

She might have known, she said to herself seconds later, that such fortune was too good to last, for hardly had she walked thirty yards from the draper’s storefront window when she heard her name called and knew at once that Mr
Canbrook had appeared and had seen her. She stopped and turned.

‘Miss Halley . . .’

She stood waiting on the street corner as he came towards her, his hand raised in greeting. Tinny was trotting at his heels.

‘Miss Halley . . .’ A little breathless he reached her side and came to a halt, his hand now grasping his hat, briefly raising it. ‘I say, Miss Lydia, this is a bit of luck, catching you just before you vanished. And it was only yesterday that I saw you in Capinfell.’

Lydia didn’t think from her point of view that good luck came into it; nevertheless she smiled, and then, after a pause, for something to say, asked him how he was.

‘Well, I’m feeling all the better for seeing you,’ he said. ‘May I ask what brings you into the square today?’

‘I just stopped by to visit the ironmonger’s, and then called in at your shop for some cotton.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t there myself to serve you. I trust you got what you wanted.’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, thank you.’

‘Is this your dinnertime from Cremson’s?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘And you’re going back there now, are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you had a little dinner? Some sandwiches or something? I doubt you’ve had time, have you?’

‘That’s all right. I hardly eat anything in the middle of the day.’

He frowned, shaking his head. ‘My dear girl, you must eat something. You’ve hours of work left in front of you.’ He hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Look there’s a decent little teashop along there.’ He gestured back along the shops. ‘Why don’t you come in there with me and have a cup of tea and a sandwich? Get a little refreshment.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, Mr Canbrook,’ Lydia said, ‘but I really have to get back to work. There just wouldn’t be time. We only get half an hour.’

‘Every time I see you,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘it seems you’re dashing off somewhere. The next time I see you I shall insist that you stop and have some tea with me. How would that be?’

Lydia said nothing to this. She hardly knew what to say to him, but that had always been the way whenever they met. Over the years of her employment at Cremson’s, she had often had reason to call in at Canbrook’s draper’s, and had come to be familiar with Mr Canbrook’s small, efficient figure. Always he had been most pleasant and attentive towards her, whether she was on her own or in the company of one of her workmates. However, her first encounter of any significance with him had taken place some three years ago when, one summer day, she and her mother had come to the town and had been making some purchases in the shop. A bee had flown into the premises, and had alighted on her mother’s bare hand when she had taken off her glove to feel the texture of some silk. The bee had stung her, and Mrs Halley had given a little yelp of shock and pain. Quickly Mr Canbrook had come to her side and urged her to a chair. To Lydia’s alarm, the perspiration had broken out on her mother’s brow and her hand had swelled up. Swiftly, then, Mr Canbrook had got tweezers and extracted the bee’s sting, after which he had sent one of his young assistants, Mr Federo, to the nearby teashop to fetch a pot of tea. While the young man was gone Mr Canbrook had applied to the site of the sting a little bicarbonate of soda. After a while Mrs Halley had recovered sufficiently and, after thanking Mr Canbrook for his kindness and sipping a little tea, she and Lydia had gone on their way. The incident had not been forgotten, however, and from that time on Mrs Halley had always
spoken of the middle-aged widower with warmth and appreciation.

It was because of the man’s previous exhibition of kindness and consideration that Lydia must always now give him the benefit of the doubt; and whereas she might in some other case, with some other man, have been cool in the face of his warmth, where Mr Canbrook was concerned she could not be.

‘So what do you think of that?’ Mr Canbrook was saying. ‘I shall look out for you the next time you’re round by the shop, and if I see you I shall insist that you come and have some tea with me. That goes for your mother too, of course.’

Lydia smiled. ‘Very well, then,’ she said, and then added, ‘I really think I’d better get on, Mr Canbrook. If you’ll excuse me.’

He smiled again and touched at the brim of his hat. ‘Of course. I mustn’t keep you, but remember what I said. I shall be on the lookout.’

Work at the factory finished for the weekend at one o’clock on Saturday, and when the time came Lydia said goodbye to her father and set off for the market square. She would go and pick up the lamp if the repair was finished, buy some collars that her father had asked her to get for him, and then go and meet Ryllis from the train.

She went first to the ironmonger, and at the counter asked if the lamp was ready. It was the senior Mr Hammondson she spoke to, and he said at once, ‘Ah, yes, that’s a job concerning my son, miss,’ and called back into the shop, ‘Manny? Special customer here for you.’

The proprietor’s son came at once and smiled at Lydia in greeting, saying without hesitation, ‘Ah, yes, miss, you’ve come for your lamp,’ and turned back into the rear. When he reappeared a few moments later he was carrying the lamp base. Carefully he set it down on the counter, gave it
a wipe with a duster and turned it so that the site of the repair was facing Lydia.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘what do you think?’ He was a tall young man with fair hair and pale eyes.

‘It looks perfect,’ Lydia said, nodding to endorse her words. ‘It’s quite wonderfully done.’

The young man was justifiably proud of his craftsmanship. ‘It took me a while,’ he said in his heavy Wiltshire accent, ‘but it was a job worth doin’ and it turned out better than I’d’ oped for.’ He pointed with his finger. ‘Look there, where the breaks were – you can’ ardly see the joins.’

Very carefully, he wrapped the china base in a length of old cloth, and then took Lydia’s basket from her. As he laid the package inside he said, ‘I replaced the wick as well, Miss, so everything should be fine.’

When Lydia had paid him, and thanked him again, she went back out onto the street. Her next errand was to buy her father’s collars from the draper’s, a job she did not look forward to, for it meant that she would almost certainly run into Mr Canbrook again.

She walked along the side of the square until she came to the draper’s and went in, but if she had thought that Mr Canbrook could be avoided she was swiftly disillusioned, for he was almost the first person she saw. He was standing on a stepladder, replacing some items on a shelf above his head. As Lydia entered he turned to her with the attention that he would give to any new customer, but then, seeing who it was, beamed broadly.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t Miss Halley come to see how we’re getting on.’ Quickly he climbed down from the steps. There were other customers in the shop, being served by the assistants, but Mr Canbrook gave his attention solely to Lydia. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he murmured. ‘Have you just come to see me, or are you going to disappoint me by saying you only want to buy something?’

Lydia smiled uncertainly at the man. ‘Hello, Mr Canbrook,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to buy some collars from you, if I may.’

‘Ah, well,’ he sighed, smiling, ‘at least you’re here, that’s the important thing. Collars, is it?’

Lydia said, ‘I want half a dozen for my father. He takes size fifteen and a half.’

‘It shall be done.’ So saying, Mr Canbrook turned to a young man, who, having just finished serving a customer, now stood behind the counter, folding linen napkins. ‘Mark,’ Mr Canbrook said to him, ‘six standard collars, fifteen and a half, for the young lady here, if you please.’

The young man at once went to a shelf and drew from it a box. Putting it on the counter he took from it a pile of collars, located those of size fifteen and a half, and counted out six. That done he carefully wrapped them in tissue paper. He gave Lydia the price and she counted it out from her purse and put the coins into his hand.

‘There you are,’ said Mr Canbrook, as the young man turned back to his business with the napkins, ‘you’ve got your father’s collars. And where are you going now, may I ask? Back to Capinfell?’

‘Not yet,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m to meet my sister from the train.’

‘Where is she coming from?’

‘Redbury.’

He nodded. ‘What time is her train due in?’

‘Two-thirty.’

‘Oh, well, you’ve got lots of time before you need to go to the station. Have you got other errands?’

‘Well – no.’

He beamed, and lowering his voice, said, ‘Then you can have some tea with me, can’t you? You told me you would, the next time you were in Merinville.’

‘Well . . .’ she said, and then after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I haven’t got
that
long . . .’

‘Oh, but the teashop’s only a few doors along.’

‘I don’t know,’ Lydia said, knowing now that she could hardly get out of it. Then, making up her mind, she nodded and smiled. ‘Very well, Mr Canbrook, thank you very much. It would be very nice to have a quick cup of tea if you can spare the time from your business.’

‘That’s excellent,’ he said. ‘It’s not too busy this afternoon, and I shan’t be gone long.’ He turned and smiled at his two young male assistants and the middle-aged female, whom Lydia had heard him refer to as Miss Angel. ‘You’ll be all right for ten minutes, won’t you? I’ll only be along at the teashop. One of you can come and get me if you need me.’

Moments later the man was leading the way out of the shop. As they stepped outside there was a little flurry of movement, and suddenly Mr Canbrook’s dog was there, tail wagging enthusiastically.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Canbrook with a shake of his head. ‘Sorry, Tinny old boy, but this little jaunt’s not for you.’ The dog looked up at him with mournful eyes. ‘We’re not going anywhere, old chap,’ Mr Canbrook said, ‘so you might as well go on back into the shop.’

‘Where did he come from?’ Lydia said.

‘He’s got a basket in the back room.’

‘Can’t he come with us?’

‘Well, I would take him, but there are some people in the teashop who’d frown, so we’d better not.’ He bent and touched the dog on the head. ‘All right, Tinny, go on back into the shop, there’s a good lad.’

Mr Canbrook held the shop door open, and obediently the dog turned and trotted back inside. Mr Canbrook then turned back to Lydia. ‘All right, let’s go and get some tea.’

The teashop was busy enough, with only a couple of tables unoccupied. ‘There’s a spot,’ Mr Canbrook said as they entered, ‘let’s go and sit over there,’ and they made their way to a table against the far wall. As they took their seats Lydia placed the basket on the empty chair. When the middle-aged waitress came over, Mr Canbrook said to her, ‘Look, Mrs Winnow, I have a friend visiting me today from Capinfell, Miss Lydia Halley.’ The woman smiled a hello at Lydia and asked what they wished for. They would have tea, Mr Canbrook said, and the woman asked, ‘Would you like some cake as well?’ Lydia said no, the tea alone would be fine.

The woman went away again, and in the little silence that fell between them, Lydia became aware of the chatter of the other people in the teashop. After a while, she said, ‘Mr Canbrook, why do you call your dog Tinny?’

‘Oh – because he was a tin ribs.’ He gave a little chuckle.

‘Because he was a tin ribs?’

‘It’s not a long story,’ he said. ‘One day, two or three years back, I was driving along near some spot where gypsies had had a campsite, and I saw this little wreck of a dog hanging about: no more than a puppy, just a few months old, and obviously abandoned. So I took him home with me and cleaned him up and fed him. He was so thin, I called him Tin Ribs – which is what my mother sometimes called me when I was a skinny boy. And Tin Ribs became Tinny, and now that’s all he answers to.’

‘He’s so fond of you,’ said Lydia.

‘Oh, yes, he is that. And I’m very fond of him. He’s became a nice little companion for me. It’s been good for me – having lost my wife – to have something around that needs to be cared for.’

The waitress came then with their tray of tea, and when everything had been set out and they were left alone again,
Mr Canbrook asked Lydia if she would pour it out. She did so, and Mr Canbrook took up his cup and blew on the hot tea. His fingernails were clean and square cut; his hands were large for a small man.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re off to meet your sister.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What is her name? I don’t think I’ve heard you say it.’

‘Ryllis. Amaryllis.’

He nodded. ‘And what is she doing in Redbury?’

‘She’s in service in Barford. She’s just coming back for the weekend. She’ll return to Barford tomorrow.’

‘Does she like her work?’

‘No, not at all, I’m afraid.’ Lydia sipped at her tea. ‘She’d like to change it.’

‘Oh, dear. That’s a pity.’

‘I’m afraid it is. She won’t be happy until she’s found a different situation.’

‘And what about you, Miss Halley? How are you getting on at work? Do you enjoy it at Cremson’s?’

‘I can’t say I enjoy it. I’m afraid there’s not much variety or interest in the work at a button factory, but I have to do something to earn a living.’

He nodded. ‘Indeed. We all must do that, but it helps if we can find something we enjoy doing. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have the shop. It was my father’s before me, so I haven’t known anything else. What will happen to it when I die I’ve got no idea. Still, no good talking about that.’ He paused. ‘I haven’t asked after your mother. Is she well these days? She wasn’t with you when you came out of church last Sunday.’

Quickly Lydia said, ‘Oh, she’s in excellent health, thank you,’ then adding to the lie: ‘A slight cold to overcome but nothing really. I’m sure you’ll see her in the summer. She enjoys coming here to Merinville to do her shopping.’

They continued to talk of this and that, and throughout
the mundane chatter Lydia wished for the time to pass so that she could get up and leave.