Juliet turned – and gasped. Mother! Next moment, the resemblance was gone. Well, not entirely. Mother and Auntie Clara shared the same oval face and narrow nose, the same petulant mouth, but the colouring was different. Where Mother had been fair, Clara was dark – no, not dark. Mousy. And Mother had been slender whereas Clara carried more flesh, or perhaps that was the unflattering pinafore making her appear dumpy.
‘I’m Juliet, Agnes’s daughter. I’m sorry to arrive like this.’
‘You’re not the only one.’
Panic fluttered. ‘The thing is – I’m sorry to tell you that my mother …’ Her throat swelled.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Oh.’ How? Before she could ask, the door opened and in swept the woman from the shop.
Clara stood. ‘Miss Selway.’
Miss Selway looked down her nose at Clara. ‘Really! First you receive personal correspondence here, now a … relative arrives.’ She cast a glance almost but not quite in Juliet’s direction, as if something as common and unpleasant as a relative was beneath her notice. ‘Mademoiselle will see you now.’
She swished out, followed by Clara looking anxious and downtrodden, leaving a dozen questions burning Juliet’s tongue.
The grey-haired woman stuck her head in. ‘Tea up. Leave your bag. I’m Dorothy Bowen, Mrs Bowen to you.’
Mrs Bowen took her to a room with two coat stands festooned with coats next to a shelf with an array of hats. A table stood in the middle and there were some chairs. Huddled together, as if they had just this second stopped whispering, were two girls not much older than Juliet, both wearing the sleeved pinafores.
‘Come to gawp, have you?’ said Mrs Bowen. ‘Well, there’s nowt to see. Sit yourself down,’ she bade Juliet and handed her a tea. ‘These two are Betty and Freda. They’re apprentices and they’re just about to go back to work.’
‘I think she needs another, Mrs Bowen,’ said Betty.
Juliet glanced away. She had meant to sip, but she had gulped the whole cup. The light-headedness was gone, replaced by a cracking headache.
‘I’ll fetch another,’ said Freda. She and Betty retreated into a corner amid excited whispers.
Someone else came in, a rather lovely young woman with dark hair. Instead of the pinafore, she was wearing what resembled, but couldn’t possibly be, a dressing gown.
‘I heard about the drama. What’s going on?’
‘Oh, Miss Cunliffe,’ chorused Betty and Freda.
‘Don’t encourage them, Kate,’ Mrs Bowen said severely. She looked at Juliet. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Juliet Harper.’
‘You’re the niece,’ observed Kate Cunliffe. ‘We were sorry to hear about your loss.’
‘Thank you.’ How did they know? Auntie Clara had known too.
‘Did Miss Tewson really tell you she was Mademoiselle Antoinette?’ Betty burst out.
‘That’ll do,’ Mrs Bowen snapped. ‘Back to work, you two, else you’ll get fined.’
Betty and Freda’s giggles floated back as they departed. Mrs Bowen cast her eyes up to heaven.
‘I’d best get on too,’ said Kate. ‘Mrs Wells is due and, with Daisy away sick, I’ve no one to help me.’ She looked at Juliet. ‘You could lend a hand. What do you think, Mrs Bowen?’
‘Nowt to do with me. I’ve done my bit, giving her a cup of tea.’ She walked out, her pinafore billowing unflatteringly. Seeing it from behind, Juliet realised it was a complete overgarment, more like a nightgown but large enough to cover clothes.
She followed Kate through a couple of doors and into a room with three cheval mirrors grouped in the centre and racks nearby with four gowns hanging in readiness.
‘Help me dress – and keep your voice down. Through that door is the showroom.’ Kate shed her dressing gown – it really was a dressing gown – and stood unselfconsciously in her underwear. ‘The blue first. Mrs Wells likes blue.’
Juliet held the heavy silk for her. ‘Is this Daisy’s job?’
‘No. We both wear garments for the ladies to decide what they want to have made for them and we help one another in and out of them. Do the hooks and eyes for me. Did your aunt really pretend to be Mademoiselle?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know that she ever wrote the actual words.’
‘But she made out this place was hers? Help me with the evening gloves, then pass that fan, the one with the feathers.’
Trimmings and accessories sat on shelves. She handed Kate the fan.
Kate positioned herself in the centre of the mirrors, checking herself from all angles. ‘Probably a good idea to hide. That door’s going to open in a minute and it’ll be Miss Selway.’
Juliet sprang behind the hanging garments just in time.
‘Mrs Wells is ready, Katerina,’ came Miss Selway’s voice, not tight with anger any more but cultured and a trifle smarmy. ‘May I present Miss Alexandrina’s newest creation.’
Kate walked from the room with a measured tread. Juliet was dying to know what happened in the showroom, but the door shut. Presently, Kate reappeared with the same measured step, but the instant the door closed, she kicked off her shoes and started unbuttoning her gloves. Juliet hurried to assist.
‘Is your name really Katerina?’
‘Course not. It’s my showroom name. Daisy’s is Fleur.’
‘Who’s Miss Alexandrina?’
‘Our designer. She’d normally be in here helping, but she’s at a funeral. The lilac next.’
The lilac was a wonderful silk satin with sleeves that puffed above the elbow and fitted snugly below.
‘Wait.’ Juliet took mauve silk flowers from a shelf. ‘Let me pin these on. A couple here at the waist … one at the shoulder … and one on a comb in your hair.’
Kate looked at her reflection. ‘Mm, I like it.’
When the last gown had been displayed, Kate sent Juliet back to the sewing room. She found Clara and Mrs Bowen at one table and the two apprentices at another. They all looked up as she entered, the girls’ faces alight with curiosity, Clara’s tight with misery.
‘Come on, you two. I want to see how well you tidied the cupboard,’ Mrs Bowen said, and Betty and Freda were led inexorably from the room.
‘Where have you been?’ Clara demanded.
‘Helping Miss Cunliffe.’
‘Did you spare a thought for me, getting a dressing-down from Mademoiselle? Marching into the salon like that!’
‘I’m sorry, but I thought you were Mademoiselle Antoinette. I’d never have presumed otherwise.’
Clara pressed her lips together. Juliet tried to conjure up something conciliatory to say.
The door opened, and Kate looked in. ‘Mrs Wells ordered the lilac. It was the flowers that did it.’
‘The lilac doesn’t have flowers,’ Clara said.
‘It does now.’ Kate grinned at Juliet. ‘Clever girl!’ And she was gone.
Juliet was still beaming as she turned back to Clara, only for the delight to drop from her face when she saw the pinched mouth and the anger squeezing out of the narrowed eyes.
‘Thank you very much! Just like your mother! Swanning in, being marvellous, whatever it takes to make me look bad.’
‘I didn’t. I’m here because of what you told us. I hoped you’d give me a job and – and somewhere to stay. I’ve nowhere else to go.’
‘You could go back. You’ve got work there, a live-in job.’
‘How do you know? You knew about Mother too.’
‘I had a letter yesterday. It came here – I got into trouble for that as well.’
‘Not from Mrs Grove? She thought I was writing.’
‘It was signed H. Nugent. He said he was Lord Drysdale’s agent. Agnes had asked him to write after she passed on. He said she had done excellent work for her ladyship.’
Well, and wasn’t that Mother all over, showing off even from the grave, wanting her sister to know how valued she had been by the mighty Drysdales.
‘He said I wasn�
�t to worry about you as you were about to enter his household,’ said Clara, ‘so you can go back tomorrow.’
‘No.’ Her strong tone made Clara lift her eyebrows. ‘He’s … he’s got a roving eye.’
‘Oh. Well, you can come with me tonight, anyhow.’
‘I can pay my way.’
‘Good. I can’t afford you. You’ll need a few coppers for your fare to start with.’
She dug her hand in her pocket, then in her other pocket. ‘My purse – it’s been stolen.’ The man who had bumped into her or the woman who had given directions? What a start to her new life.
Juliet slept like a log until dawn, when she was woken by a dark twinge down the side of her face. Her cheekbone and jaw were sore and stiff. She moved her jaw experimentally, but even the tiniest jarring sent a spasm roaring through it. Still, it was a good thing she was awake first. It meant she was able to creep downstairs to the outside privy undetected when morning sickness struck, but when she vomited, it felt as if her jaw would break clean off, such was the pain of opening her mouth.
She staggered from the privy, holding her forehead. It was a moment before she could stand up straight. Mrs Duggan, whose two upstairs rooms Clara rented near Platt Fields, had her own backyard with a washing line, mangle and privy, which was a relief after the tales Juliet had heard back home of how, in towns, any number of families might share one stinking closet.
She slid back indoors and upstairs. The front room was Clara’s sitting room. She opened the curtains and batted her way through snowy nets to look at the houses opposite. She had never lived opposite houses. She turned round, her eyes drawn to the braided cushions and embroidered tablecloth, which brightened an otherwise plain room. Recognition flickered. Mother had personalised their cottage in the same way. It was a far cry from the life she had imagined for Clara.
Clara appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown. Juliet gripped the back of the armchair. If Clara had looked from the bedroom window and seen her lurching out of the privy …
‘What happened to your face?’ asked Clara.
She touched the bruising that had bloomed overnight. ‘I slipped getting off the train. Auntie Clara, do you have writing paper? I need to write for jobs.’
‘Have you got a character reference from the haberdashery?’
‘I never thought to get one.’
‘From the lord’s household, then?’ Clara sighed. ‘You won’t get far without a character.’
Whatever story Mr Nugent had attached to her disappearance, it wouldn’t be to his detriment, and her absence from Mother’s funeral would have left a nasty taste in everyone’s mouths. Nevertheless, she would have to compose letters to Mrs Whicker and Mrs Naseby. She could apologise for disappearing, but she couldn’t possibly explain it. Would they be prepared to recommend her?
When they went down for breakfast, Juliet promised Mrs Duggan she would find a job shortly.
‘You’re stopping here, then?’ Clara’s landlady was a scrawny, saggy-featured creature whose plain speaking would have been more of a worry if Juliet hadn’t seen real warmth in her eyes.
‘Looks like it,’ said Clara, without glancing up from her porridge with dried fruit.
‘Anyroad,’ Mrs Duggan said, ‘you’d best get suited soon. I’ll be upping the rent come Sat’day. I’ll ask Mrs Barber next door if she can fix you up. Well, not so much her as their Alice. Alice in’t exactly blessed with the best brain, but she’s a good lass and she’s never been out o’ work since the day she left school. Aye, and she left at nine an’ all, as her dad said there were no point in her carrying on, what with her being so dim.’
‘What does she do? I don’t have my character references.’
‘That won’t matter if Alice vouches for you. Best cleaner between here and Stockport Road, she is.’
‘I’ll be cleaning?’
‘Well, not so much cleaning – charring, more like.’
‘Charring?’ It was a huge step down from shop work, but she was in no position to turn her nose up.
Mrs Barber’s Alice took a shine to her, and she started work the very next morning.
Her working day started at five. For two hours, she scrubbed, mopped, swept and polished in a big house opposite Platt Fields Park that was used for offices. Her final job each morning was to scrub the front steps. It was back-breaking work, but the more she scrubbed, the harder the baby clung on inside her.
Her second job was next door in a similar place, where, according to Alice, ‘Ethel has done summat mortal to her leg,’ so Juliet was taken on temporarily. It was here that her morning sickness struck, but the house boasted indoor sanitation, so being sick wasn’t a problem, although she couldn’t get used to the indoor lavatory. It didn’t seem clean, people doing their business inside the house, even if they could pull a chain and swish it away. The lavatory was a great porcelain beast painted with violets and cleaning it was one of her jobs. The seat and lid were wooden, and she was never sure whether she was supposed to polish them.
She had more offices to clean in the evening and soon cleaning jobs came along during the day. She took them on with mixed feelings. Accepting extra work was as good as admitting that the lengthening silence from Mrs Whicker and Mrs Naseby would never be broken.
What with her early starts and her evening work, Juliet didn’t see that much of Clara, which was a relief. The less she intruded, the less likely Clara was to get fed up of her.
‘It’s good of you to let me stay,’ she said. She had come home from her evening work, had a strip wash and settled down to do Clara’s darning. She made a point of being helpful.
Clara didn’t look up from sewing the piping onto the edges of the golden brown three-tiered shoulder cape she was making. ‘You may as well stay. I don’t know what else to do with you.’
‘I could go to Nana Adeline’s.’
There was a pause so profound that the air vibrated. She looked up to find Clara staring at her.
‘Who?’ Clara asked.
‘Nana Adeline.’
‘That’s what Agnes called her?’
‘Yes.’ Was she questioning the pretentious use of ‘Nana’ instead of ‘Nan’?
‘Nana Adeline.’ Clara’s lips twitched, then she spluttered and started roaring with laughter.
Juliet boggled. She had put her aunt down for a tight-lipped complainer, yet here she was, laughing without inhibition.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked when Clara stopped.
Clara dabbed her eyes, sighing as if the laughter had worn her out. ‘I’d call her Grandmother, if I were you.’
‘Am I coming with you to see her on Sunday?’ Juliet asked hopefully.
‘No. She wouldn’t appreciate your turning up out of the blue.’
‘Out of the blue? Haven’t you told her I’m here?’
‘We don’t correspond.’
‘So she doesn’t know about Mother?’
‘I wrote to tell her about that, obviously, but …’
‘But not about me.’
‘It was before you arrived.’
‘Don’t you think she’d want to know?’
Clara picked up her sewing. ‘You can come next month – if she wants to see you.’
If she wants to see you. Could Nana Adeline – Grandmother – have fallen out with Mother so completely that she was prepared to dump the grudge on the shoulders of her unknown granddaughter? If so, did Juliet want to associate with her? But she couldn’t afford not to. Adeline Tewson owned a textiles factory. If no character references appeared – and let’s face it, they weren’t going to now – then her grandmother’s factory could be her one hope of a position that didn’t involve cleaning. Besides, she was curious to meet the woman Mother had spoken of with such awe and dislike.
Clara snipped off her thread, holding up the completed cape, scrutinising it. Juliet offered a few words of admiration, but Clara apparently wasn’t in the mood for compliments.
To Juliet’
s surprise, she came home the next evening to find Clara bent over the table, cutting out another version of the same pattern, this time with two tiers.
‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Clara snapped, ‘but I do … private work.’ She became flustered. ‘No one at Mademoiselle’s must ever know. I’d lose my position.’
‘You work for private customers?’
Clara’s mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘If you must know, I know someone at Ingleby’s. That’s a big shop in town, haberdashery and drapery combined, and they have a successful dressmaking department as well as selling accessories to add the finishing touch.’
‘A dressmaking service?’
‘Miss Lindsay, the senior seamstress, is a wizard with paper patterns. Years ago, she trained as a pattern girl, you know, turning designs into patterns. Sometimes customers come with a picture of a garment and ask if she can make it.’
That night Juliet lay in bed, top to toe with Clara, too excited to sleep. Her mind was teeming with ideas and above all with hope. Before eventually falling asleep, she wrote the letter in her head, and the next day, while she mopped and swept and polished, she murmured the wording over and over, dying to put pen to paper.
But she was barely more than a couple of sentences into it when another idea struck and she stopped. It meant more time before she could approach Miss Lindsay, but it would be worth it.
Two interminable days crawled by before she could rush to Market Street in the city centre. Although she was used to the crowded environment now, the sight of the line of smart shops on either side of the long road was bewildering, but she soon found Ingleby’s, a spacious shop spread over three floors, selling everything a needle worker could possibly want.
She examined fabrics, making notes on colour, texture, weight and width. She used a few precious coins to purchase samples of ribbon, braid, piping and lace trim. She drew a selection of buttons, then went into Ladies’ Accessories to make more notes. She already had one costume pretty well complete inside her head. Before she left the shop, she bought some offcuts so she could start work on new samples.
The Sewing Room Girl Page 15
