The Candle Factory Girl

by Tania Crosse

  ‘I know how that feels,’ Hillie snorted wryly.

  ‘Really?’ The surprise on Jessica’s face was genuine. ‘But I always thought—’

  ‘There we are then.’ Stan shouldered his way through the back door, proud as punch with himself. ‘Not a trace. Bit wet, mind.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Eva bustled forward, taking the garment from her husband and holding it up to inspect it. ‘Hmm, well, it looks clean,’ she conceded, ‘but it still pongs a bit.’

  ‘I’ve got some perfume upstairs,’ Gert offered brightly. ‘Well, it’s 4711 eau de cologne, but that should be just right. Not too obvious. I’ll pop up and get it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jessica’s glance followed Gert as she hurried out of the room and they all heard her charging up the stairs again. ‘You’ve all been so kind, I can’t thank you enough. I just wish there was something I could do for you in return.’

  ‘No thanks needed, dearie.’

  ‘Well, if ever I can do anything, you’ll be more than welcome,’ Jessica replied with more confidence now as Gert re-entered the room clutching the little bottle of cologne. ‘With the help you’ve given me, Mummy won’t suspect a thing, and Daddy shouldn’t be in for another half-hour,’ she stated, consulting her watch that Hillie noticed was encrusted with tiny sparkling gems. They weren’t diamonds, were they? ‘I can just put my skirt in the laundry basket for Mrs Dawson to wash on Monday morning, and no one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘Your woman what does, I assume?’ Eva sniffed with more than a little inverted snobbery.

  Jessica actually laughed back. ‘Well, you wouldn’t find Mummy lifting a finger to do anything. And I’m not allowed to. Ever since I left school, I just have to sit around twiddling my thumbs. Sometimes I sneak in a bit of baking and pass it off as Mrs Dawson’s. So thank goodness I have my piano and my visits to the dogs’ home. Otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself all day.’

  ‘Couldn’t you get a job?’ Gert suggested naively as she squirted some of the 4711 onto the drying patch on Jessica’s skirt.

  Jessica released a weighty sigh. ‘Daddy won’t let me, and Mummy agrees with him.’

  ‘So what you gonna do with your life?’

  ‘Wait until my parents come up with a suitable husband for me, I suppose. And go to coffee mornings and the Townswomen’s Guild, just like my mum.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing. You must feel like a prisoner.’ Compassion was etched on Hillie’s face. ‘My dad rules me with a rod of iron, at least he would if I let him. But he’s happy enough for me to go out to work as long as I hand over almost all of my wages at the end of the week. And he lets me go out at weekends provided I’ve done all my chores and he thinks I’m with Gert. Even if I’m not,’ she concluded under her breath.

  ‘We’re much the same, then. I never realised.’

  Hillie smiled back with a rueful nod of her head. From what Jessica had said, Mr Braithwaite didn’t react in quite the same way her own father did. She’d seen for herself the icy coldness in the man’s eyes, and could well imagine him freezing his daughter to the bone with one glance. She doubted his wife was much better. But at least his answer wasn’t to raise his fist.

  Jessica put her own skirt back on in the privacy of the other room and, repeating her thanks, went to the front door with Hillie and Gert. They checked that Mrs Braithwaite wasn’t watching out of the window of the house opposite, and then Jessica scuttled across the street, giving them a brief wave as she slipped inside.

  ‘Well, that was a turn-up, wasn’t it?’ Gert declared as they set off for the second time. ‘All that rumpus, and Gran slept all the way through it!’ she mused fondly.

  ‘Wish we could get to know Jessica a bit better, though, don’t you? She seems really nice.’

  ‘Maybe we could if she stood up to her dad a bit more like you do with yours. Only she seems a bit too soft for that.’

  Hillie replied with a wry twist of her mouth. It didn’t always do her much good, did it, when her dad’s response to any disobedience was to give her a clout around the head that made her ears ring? God knew what he’d do to her if he discovered she’d been secretly walking out with Jimmy all summer.

  So perhaps Jessica was the sensible one, after all.

  Chapter Seven

  A violent shiver rattled through Hillie’s bones as they turned the corner into the street, and it wasn’t just from the cold and wet. Rain had lashed down all afternoon from the leaden November sky, and Hillie had been keeping a wary eye on it through the windows of the candle-packing house, praying it would stop before home time. But it showed no sign of letting up, and when the three girls stepped out into the dark evening, the rain at once drove into their faces like pins of ice.

  ‘See you tomorrow!’ Belinda called, disappearing in the opposite direction, and the two other girls waved back.

  ‘Cor, can’t wait for the crowd to thin out so I can get me umbrella up,’ Gert declared, turning up the collar of her threadbare coat as they were jostled among the throng of workers leaving the factory.

  Hillie replied with a mere grunt. Autumn could be a beautiful season, and she’d walked in the park with Jimmy, admiring the hues of gold and copper, cinnamon and amber, as the trees had taken on their glorious mantle. She and Jimmy had played in the ocean of crisp, dead leaves strewn across the ground, kicking them in the air as they strolled along, or picking up handfuls to shower over each other. Now the memory danced fleetingly across Hillie’s mind of a particular moment when she’d squealed with laughter as Jimmy had chased her around with some dried, brittle leaves cupped in his palm. He’d finally caught her by the arm, tossing them over her in a glowing arc. They were so close then, Hillie’s mouth open in a roar of glee and Jimmy grinning boyishly. They stood for a moment, catching their breath, and Jimmy started to pick the leaves carefully from her hair. His smile faded, and the brightness in his eyes altered to a deep intensity.

  ‘I love you, Hillie,’ he’d croaked, his breath ragged. And Hillie had felt herself fly to the moon.

  But a period of wind and rain had set in soon afterwards. Now the trees were bare, their naked branches dark and damp and their fallen leaves forming a soggy, miserable carpet on the grass and roads in the park. Winter was on its way, making Hillie feel really down in the dumps. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they could have snuggled together in front of a blazing fire, watching their dreams in the merry flames. But they had nowhere to go. Jimmy’s landlady, lax though she was, had threatened him with eviction on the one occasion he’d taken Hillie up to his room.

  ‘We’re only talking,’ Jimmy had argued.

  ‘And we all know what talking can lead to,’ the woman had insisted. ‘Now out with her, or pack your bags.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Jimmy had murmured as they went back downstairs. ‘But I don’t want to move out. It’s cheap and you know I’m trying to save every penny for us.’

  ‘I know,’ Hillie had whispered back. But it had hurt that the landlady had considered they were up to no good. She was as bad as Hillie’s father.

  No, Hillie corrected her thoughts as she and Gert hurried along in the rain. She didn’t think anyone, not even the cold and humiliating Charles Braithwaite, could be as bad as Harold Hardwick.

  ‘I think you’ve made a mistake, Dad,’ she’d said the previous Saturday afternoon when she had, as usual, handed over her wage packet to her father. He’d opened it, picked out a silver coin to give back to her, and then pocketed the rest. ‘That’s a shilling piece,’ she corrected him, staring at the shiny disc in her palm. ‘It should be half-a-crown. You’ve always let me keep half-a-crown a week. Ever since I started at Price’s.’

  ‘Well, it’s going to be a shilling from now on,’ he hissed back, baring his teeth. ‘Winter’s coming and coal’s not getting any cheaper. And your brother’s feet have grown so much, he needs some new boots. Want him to go around barefoot, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not, but—’

  �
��But nothing!’ To emphasise the point, Harold raised his hand threateningly. ‘And if you backchat me again, I’ll make it sixpence.’

  Humiliation burned inside her at the recent memory as Hillie tied her scarf over her head. ‘At least you have an umbrella,’ she muttered as Gert was at last able to open hers.

  Gert shot her a frowning glance. ‘Where’s yours, then?’

  ‘Another couple of spokes snapped the last time I used it. Had to throw it away and I can’t afford a new one.’

  Gert eyed her suspiciously, but made no comment. ‘Suppose you can’t afford the tram fare, neither?’

  Hillie sucked in her lips, shaking her head in reply, and she saw Gert lift her shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘Nor can I. But I’ll let you share my umbrella. Unless Jimmy’s around and wants to fork out for both of us to go on the tram,’ she added as a hopeful afterthought.

  ‘Couldn’t risk Dad seeing us together even if he were. Actually, we didn’t see Jimmy today, did we? Wasn’t any reason for him to come to the packing house.’

  ‘Come on, then. Keep close.’

  They huddled together as best they could, trying to dodge the puddles that had formed on the pavement. Sharing the umbrella wasn’t easy especially with Hillie being so much taller than Gert. Before too long, they both had rain running down the back of their necks and Hillie could feel water seeping into her oft-mended shoes.

  ‘Blimey, the rotten sod!’ Gert suddenly stopped dead and jerked her head towards where Harold was just climbing on to a tram. ‘Thought you said he’d docked what you normally keep ’cos he needs the money for coal and whatnot?’

  ‘He did,’ Hillie seethed through clenched teeth. ‘But he can afford the tram for himself while I get soaked to the skin.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Gert said for her. But then she pulled her friend forward. ‘Well, we’ll just have to get soaked together,’ she grinned, ‘and the quicker we get home the better.’

  Hillie returned her smile and a warm tide flushed through her despite the pouring rain. What would she do without Gert? Jimmy made her brim over with excitement, and when he kissed her, a delicious euphoria tingled down her spine. But it was still Gert who was the rock of her life, and guilt snapped at Hillie’s heart. She felt somewhat as if she’d abandoned her dearest friend. Gert had never said in so many words, but Hillie knew she didn’t entirely approve of her relationship with Jimmy. And yet she’d been prepared to keep up the pretence that she always went out with Hillie in their spare time – not a particularly safe thing to do when she was effectively lying to a man like Harold Hardwick. No. Gert was one in a million, and Hillie felt she was treating her unfairly. If only Gert could find herself a boyfriend, they could go out as a foursome, and Hillie would feel much better about the situation. She was sure it would enable Gert to see the good in Jimmy, too.

  ‘Penny for the guy, miss?’ a little voice cut through the clatter of rain.

  Both girls stopped and looked down on a scruffy urchin huddled in a shop doorway.

  ‘Where is it, then, your guy?’ Gert demanded.

  ‘Couldn’t bring it out in this, could I? It’d get soaked and then it wouldn’t burn.’

  ‘Well, if I had a penny which I don’t, I’d give it to me own brothers and sisters.’

  ‘I’ll give you a farthing. It’s all I can spare, I’m afraid,’ Hillie said, searching for her purse.

  ‘Cor, thanks, miss.’

  ‘Soft, you are,’ Gert declared, dragging her onwards. ‘His family’s probably better off than ours are.’

  ‘Well, our dad won’t let us have fireworks, so at least I can think of that kid enjoying some. And I felt sorry for him. Made me think of all those people on the hunger march. They can’t afford to eat, let alone have fireworks.’

  ‘Yeah, awful business, wasn’t it? A million signatures on the petition, Dad said he read in the papers, and they never even got it to Parliament. And to think they was greeted by a hundred thousand supporters in Hyde Park.’

  ‘That was the problem, though, really, wasn’t it? They sent thousands of police in, mounted as well, and it all ended in violence.’

  ‘Well, sorry as I might be for them, I’m not putting the world to rights hanging about in the bleeding rain. Let’s hurry up and get home.’

  They hurried on as quickly as they could, squeezed together under the umbrella. By the time they reached the corner of Banbury Street, they were both drenched through and shaking with cold. Hillie’s feet were squelching in her shoes and she could feel the rain had seeped through her coat on the shoulder that had been outside the umbrella’s protection. The skin down her back was cold and wet, her sodden skirt clinging about her legs, and she was chilled to the marrow. She felt utterly miserable and couldn’t wait to get inside, strip off her dripping clothes, step into some dry ones and warm herself by the fire. She knew Gert must feel exactly the same.

  ‘See you tomorrow, then,’ Gert said as cheerfully as she could as they reached Hillie’s front door.

  ‘Just hope my shoes will’ve dried out overnight,’ Hillie grumbled, but then feeling that was a bit churlish, she added, ‘Thanks for sharing your umbrella.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for, kiddo,’ Gert grinned back, and set off the few paces to her own home.

  Hillie let herself inside and shut the front door on the wind and rain as quickly as she could. God, it was good to get indoors. She clicked the latch home and stood for a moment, watching the water drip from her coat and ooze out of her shoes onto the mat. She pulled off her headscarf and her coat. Now where would be the best place to hang them to dry without making a puddle on the floor?

  She suddenly realised that the house was unbelievably quiet. That was odd. The younger children’s shoes were in their normal military line, each pair sitting exactly beneath the relevant coat on the row of hooks on the wall above, smallest to largest in precise order. Only Harold’s and Nell’s outdoor clothes were permitted to grace the hallstand that Nell polished each day until it gleamed. So, everyone was home, just as Hillie would have expected. So why was the house so silent?

  She’d scarcely had time to kick off her shoes when she had the answer.

  ‘Harold, please, stop!’

  Her mother’s thin squeal gasped desperately through the front-room door which Hillie noticed now was slightly ajar. The next instant, she heard her father’s roar of rage, the resounding thwack as something slammed against its target, and then a woman’s agonised scream of pain.

  Hillie was imprisoned in shock for no more than a second or two. She dropped her coat and scarf on the floor and catapulted forward, flinging open the door. The sight that met her eyes cut her to the quick. Her father’s arm was raised above his shoulder, wielding the heavy belt that normally kept his corduroy work trousers in place around his sturdy waist. Cowering at his feet, Nell was attempting to protect herself, yet at the same time was gazing up as if to beg him for mercy. One cheek was already swollen from a hefty slap, if the fingermarks were anything to go by, and on the floor next to her, lay the small book Harold kept for his accounts, its tiny lock smashed open.

  ‘How dare you!’ Harold was bellowing like an enraged bull, so enflamed with anger that he was oblivious to the fact that Hillie was standing in the doorway behind him. ‘I’ve told you before to look in my book!’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Nell tried to protest. ‘It fell on the floor and broke. I haven’t looked inside, I promise.’

  ‘Expect me to believe that? I saw you looking. No, you forced it open, you liar!’

  With that, Harold swung his arm back to gain momentum. But he got no further. Hillie was so incensed that she felt no fear. She sprang forward, launching herself onto his raised arm. Her weight wrenched on his shoulder, dragging him round with such force that she fell back against the wall. In the split second it took her to regain her balance, she stared into the cruelty in his eyes, and her hatred for him froze solid somewhere deep and irrevocable inside her.

  ‘And I sup
pose it was you put her up to it!’ Harold snarled, and he whipped the belt through the air again, this time in Hillie’s direction.

  But she was too quick for him, dodging away with lightning speed. The leather strap crashed against the wall, making an indentation on the raised pattern of the paper. Hillie dropped on her knees, covering her mother with her own body and glaring up at her father, her eyes sparking dangerously.

  ‘That’s it! Be a man and hit a defenceless woman!’ she challenged him.

  ‘It’s her own fault. She shouldn’t have disobeyed me!’

  ‘She didn’t! You know jolly well she’d be too damned scared of you to break open your precious account book. And anyway, I’m the one who should want to see inside it since all my wages go into it!’

  ‘Only paying for your own board and lodging.’

  ‘And a lot more besides! Just because you can’t provide for your own family.’

  At her words, her father’s face suffused to an alarming puce and his eyes bulged as if they were in danger of popping out of their sockets. Next to her, Hillie was aware of her mother’s stricken expression and she heard her tiny whisper begging her to stop. But all the years of bitter frustration suddenly spiralled to the surface.

  ‘No, Mum, I won’t stop! It’s about time we aired some home truths. That’s why you steamed open my application for that job, wasn’t it, and deliberately ruined it?’ she demanded, turning back to Harold. ‘Because if I’d got the job and was earning more money, you were afraid I’d get a place of my own. Leave home and take my wages with me. And you didn’t want that, oh, no. Didn’t think I’d worked it out, did you? Well, I did, and it just proves what a conniving, despicable bully you are. But if you lay a finger on Mum again, I’ll go straight to the police.’

  Her eyes scorched into her father’s, watching his mouth open and shut like a goldfish. She could almost see the cogs of his evil mind turning, and wasn’t surprised to watch the taut, furious lines on his face rearrange themselves into a sarcastic leer.