A Shop Girl at Sea

by Rachel Brimble

  The Pennington’s Series

  A Shop Girl in Bath

  A Shop Gets the Vote

  A Shop Girl’s Christmas

  A Shop Girl at Sea

  A SHOP GIRL AT SEA

  Rachel Brimble

  AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

  www.ariafiction.com

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

  Copyright © Rachel Brimble, 2020

  The moral right of Rachel Brimble to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788546539

  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Become an Aria Addict

  With sadness in my heart, this book is dedicated to all those who lost their lives aboard the fated ship, Titanic. Also, to those who survived and went on to embrace their second chance, despite the trauma that undoubtedly haunted them forever. I hope I have shown sensitivity and respect in the writing of this book – it is meant as a heartfelt dedication to your memory.

  As this latest book in the Pennington’s series is about survival of every kind, I’d also like to dedicate A Shop Girl At Sea to my remarkable and entirely loved mum.

  You inspire me every day, and although the last five years have been incredibly tough, you still manage to smile, laugh and listen to my worries with care and devotion.

  I love you, always xx

  One

  City of Bath – March 1912

  Amelia Wakefield darted her gaze from Elizabeth Pennington’s secretary to Miss Pennington’s closed office door. Her summons to the fifth floor could only mean she was in trouble. Why else would a mere assistant window dresser be called to Pennington’s executive offices?

  She searched her mind and conscience for any misdemeanour she might have unwittingly committed. Could she have arranged the dining set incorrectly in the west window? Selected the wrong country attire for the main window? She swallowed and glanced at Mrs Chadwick.

  Please God, tell me I haven’t inadvertently mistaken a piece of underwear for outerwear.

  Elizabeth Pennington’s door opened. ‘Ah, Amelia.’ She strode into the outer office. ‘Thank you so much for waiting. Won’t you come in?’

  Amelia stood and ran her slightly clammy hand down the side of her long uniform skirt. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Pennington.’

  ‘Tea would be nice when you’ve a moment, please, Mrs Chadwick.’

  Following Elizabeth into her office, Amelia failed abysmally in her attempt not to stare in awe around a room she had only been in twice before. As heiress of Bath’s finest department store, Elizabeth’s office was wonderfully opulent. The huge ornate desk stretched along a good portion of the back wall, the row of sash windows behind letting in the hazy March sunshine. A plush seating area was arranged on one side of the room, with four huge plinths in each corner holding vases filled to bursting with vibrant flowers.

  ‘Take a seat, Amelia.’ Elizabeth’s green eyes were kind as she gestured towards one of the chairs in front of her desk. ‘There’s no need to look quite so afraid, you know.’

  Amelia slowly lowered into the chair. ‘I wasn’t sure—’

  ‘Why I asked you here?’

  Amelia nodded.

  ‘Then let me put you out of your misery.’ Elizabeth pulled some papers towards her, on top of which lay a slim, embossed envelope. She folded her hands. ‘As you know, I have been taking special care to ensure you are as proficient in the design department as Esther. Her baby is due any day now and I have no idea when, or if, she is likely to return after the baby is born. What I do know is that you have exceeded my expectations in every way.’

  Amelia relaxed her shoulders a little and released her held breath. ‘Oh, well, that’s wonderful. Thank you.’

  ‘You’ve not only been vigilant in your own work but have inspired everyone in the department. So much so that the improvement in their commitment and output is wholly noticeable. Therefore, as things are running so smoothly, I’ve decided we can spare you for a while.’

  ‘Spare me?’ Amelia’s heart sank, her trembling returning. ‘But I don’t understand. If you are happy—’

  The door opened and Mrs Chadwick entered carrying a tray laden with cups and saucers, and a china teapot. ‘Shall I put this in the seating area, Miss Pennington?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Elizabeth stood and picked up the papers and envelope before smiling at Amelia. ‘Come, let’s sit over here.’

  Sickness churned in Amelia’s stomach. Her job at Pennington’s meant the world to her. It was her shining light in a life that had been filled with drudgery and service, abuse and, ultimately, rape. She had suffered a history that continued to haunt her, but Pennington’s had given her hope – a reason to believe what had happened to her wouldn’t always define her. If she were to lose her position here, would she find another job in retail? The mere thought of returning to domestic service… the hairs on her arms rose as she sat on the velvet-covered settee alongside Elizabeth.

  The moment the door closed behind Mrs Chadwick, Elizabeth lifted the papers on
her lap, her eyes shining as resplendently as her dark red hair. How can she look so happy if she is about to sack me?

  Amelia swallowed. ‘Am I to be dismissed, Miss Pennington?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said you can spare me. I can only assume—’

  ‘Oh, my dear girl. I am so sorry.’ She squeezed Amelia’s hand. ‘Of course not. I apologise. I have clearly given you a fright and that was not my intention at all. You must know how invaluable you’ve become to the department? To Pennington’s?’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘And that is why Mr Carter and I have come to the conclusion, you can do more good for the store elsewhere.’

  The excitement on her employer’s face and the reference to her husband, Pennington’s co-owner, completely contradicted Elizabeth’s words. What on earth was happening?

  ‘Elsewhere? I don’t understand.’

  Grinning, Elizabeth opened the envelope and held out its contents. ‘Here. Read this and tell me what you think.’

  Amelia slowly slipped the envelope from Elizabeth’s fingers and dragged her gaze downwards. The words she read caused her heart to pick up speed. ‘You want me to board the Titanic?’ She stared at her name imprinted in gold. Second-class cabin. Departing 10th of April. ‘But why? I couldn’t possibly—’

  ‘It’s time for Pennington’s to challenge America.’ Elizabeth stood, her delight palpable as she opened her arms wide. ‘We are the best in Bath, yes, but we are far from the best in the world. We need to know what the department stores in New York are doing. Compare their windows. Compare their staff and merchandise.’ She laughed. ‘Compare everything!’

  Amelia’s heart pounded.

  ‘You have a wonderful eye. A wonderful instinct that I trust implicitly. You are young, beautiful, full of passion and keen to learn. I have every confidence you will soak up all there is to see and be inspired. You will then return to us and set about putting Pennington’s on the world map. This is your chance to travel. To shine. What do you say?’

  Any words stuck like pieces of glass in Amelia’s throat. She had no idea what Elizabeth saw when she looked at her, but Amelia barely recognised the woman her employer had described. Any beauty she might hold attracted unwanted attention. Her age went against her so much that she often wished herself older. As for passion? For her work, maybe, but everything else inside of her was in a constant state of detachment.

  She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when Elizabeth returned to the settee and picked up the teapot. ‘Tea?’

  Nausea coated Amelia’s throat and she shook her head.

  ‘I know you are the perfect person to do this,’ Elizabeth continued as she filled a cup for herself. ‘You will have an adventure, I promise you.’

  ‘But to travel to America alone. I couldn’t possibly—’

  ‘Oh, you won’t be alone. Mr Weir will be accompanying you.’

  ‘Mr Weir?’ Amelia’s heart sank even lower. The head of the men’s department was staid, strict, and if the man were to ever crack a smile, the rest of Pennington’s would think him in the throes of some sort of spasm. ‘But surely he would not want to accompany me? We work together reasonably well, but he and I are so very, entirely, different.’

  ‘Which is exactly why Joseph selected him. My husband and I rely on our employees’ eyes, ears and instincts as much as we do our own. Joseph believes this trip will open Mr Weir’s mind to the ways of the world as much as it will yours to possibility. Mr Weir needs to be pulled into the new decade and quickly. He has been dragging his feet for far too long. As for you?’ Elizabeth grinned. ‘No pulling required. You will perfectly complement each other and ensure the success of this undertaking. Trust me.’

  ‘But just the thought of boarding such a ship… I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Take a couple of days to think about it.’ Elizabeth put down her cup and stood, her gaze gentle. ‘I don’t want to bully you into this, Amelia, I want you to embrace it. You will have a marvellous time, and what you learn will all be to Pennington’s benefit.’ She took Amelia’s elbow as they walked to the door. ‘Please, just think about it. You’ll soon see you are the perfect person to see this special project through. Now, could you please send Mr Weir up to see me?’

  Amelia nodded, her heart racing. You are the perfect person…

  Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be further from the truth. She had never been the perfect person for anything. And never would be.

  How could Elizabeth Pennington not see that? Not see Amelia for who she truly was?

  Two

  No matter how hard he tried to be a better son and brother, the depth of Samuel Murphy’s continual claustrophobia grew ever more suffocating. But now, he smiled, relishing that he would soon be away from his family’s endless demands. In less than a month, he’d be free.

  Even if only for a while.

  The fact he wished himself absent from home didn’t sit well in his heart or his conscience, but the clamour and proximity meant his mother’s small terrace house resembled a prison rather than a home. Being solely financially and emotionally responsible for his mother’s and sisters’ welfare for over a decade had taken its toll, and now Samuel couldn’t wait to be away.

  Pushing himself out of his armchair, his smile dissolved as another argument between the women in his family erupted. He carefully placed his folded newspaper on the arm of the chair. ‘If you can’t stop bickering, then for God’s sake take it out into the yard. My bloody head is splitting from the noise of you.’

  His mother and two younger sisters stopped mid-quarrel. Their identical, bright blue eyes turned on him and Samuel crossed his arms, staring them down.

  ‘Shut your mouth, Sam. We don’t have to listen to you.’

  ‘Because you’re the only man in the house, that doesn’t make you the man of the house.’

  ‘Be quiet, the pair of you, and do as our Sam says.’ His mother glared at her daughters, fingers splayed on ample hips. ‘Go on. Outside.’

  Samuel watched his sisters leave the room, still muttering and poking one another. ‘Those two need to find some work while I’m away.’ He faced his mother. ‘Neither of them has kept a job for more than five minutes. I swear to God they purposely sabotage every opportunity they’re given. There’s plenty of work around if they would just show will—’

  ‘They should be married, not working.’ His mother’s face was etched with tiredness as she walked to the small circular dining table in the corner of the room and began clearing away their dinner plates, remnants of cheese and breadcrumbs scattering the tablecloth. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d still have the pair of them unmarried and living under my roof at the age of twenty-three and twenty-one.’

  Samuel swiped his hand over his face as he battled with how to break it to his mother that the reason neither Katherine nor Fiona were married might have a lot to do with how much she coddled her precious daughters. No man in Bath was good enough for them. Everything – from housework to shop work – was too demanding or demeaning.

  After all, Samuel was there to look after them. It was his job to see them right.

  He lifted the teapot from the table, snatched up a couple of napkins. ‘Something has to change, Ma. I’m twenty-seven years old and wouldn’t mind a life of my own. This job on the Titanic could be the start of something new for me. Something…’

  His mother slowly lowered the plates to the table and turned, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Your job is to continue what your father would’ve done had he been here. How can you expect me and your sisters to do all that a man can? God knows, I wish I had a husband to look after us, but I don’t. We are women, Sam. We’re not designed for bringing in money and necessities. That’s your job.’ Her cheeks reddened. ‘Your place is here, with us. You will go on that ship, earn your money and come home. These fantasies of a better life are just that. Life is hard and it’s cruel.’ She lifted the plates. ‘And more fool you if you th
ink differently.’

  He fought the weakening in his heart. ‘You think so, do you?’

  ‘Your pa taught you all he knew. All he was happy with. But that’s not good enough for you, is it? You always want more. Well, I’m sorry, Sam. This is it. This is your lot.’

  ‘I’ve got plans, Ma. Plans to get out of Bath and see the world. Pa wouldn’t have expected me to stay here for the rest of my life. He’d have expected me to have a family and life of my own by now.’

  Sadness clouded her eyes and she sighed, ‘Well, he’s six feet under so your dreams and plans are nothing but a puff of wind.’

  She swept from the room.

  Cursing, Samuel put the teapot and napkins back on the table and made for the door. His mother missed her husband more than anything; the desperate despair and sadness that had enveloped her when he died had barely lessened in the many years he’d been gone. How in God’s name was Samuel supposed to change the idle ways of his sisters? Make them feel the same responsibility and wish for more that he did?

  He left the house and strode along the street towards town.

  The evening was misty and damp, the March wind penetrating his thin jacket. He clenched his back teeth and fought his frustration. He’d missed his father as much as his mother until his memories faded, only to be replaced by responsibility. Samuel remembered a man who idolised his son, taking him under his wing the moment Samuel left school at thirteen. Together, they had travelled back and forth from Bath to Southampton, Samuel working as a docker then a seaman. He’d followed in his father’s footsteps, just as the old man had wanted.

  When his father had been killed outright by a metal chain falling from such a height on the quayside that there had been no doubt in the witnesses’ eyes that Jack Murphy had died instantly, he’d left behind a son determined to do his father proud.

  Samuel breathed deep as the recollections of the grief, horror and fear after that fateful day rushed into his heart and mind. The raw emotions had wound through the rooms of their small house, seeped deep into the bricks and mortar. His mother had made it clear that it was now up to Samuel to work and provide.