The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘I assume from that, that you missed me,’ William said with a cocky grin.

  ‘Maybe.’ She gazed at him. ‘Did you miss me?’

  ‘Shall I show you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she breathed. She had to hold herself still so as not to tremble with anticipation, but instead of producing a ring, William kissed her again. There was one moment sharp with disappointment, then she was lost in his embrace. Her body cried out for him.

  When he released her, she had to catch herself before she stumbled.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ said William.

  ‘Didn’t you read my letters?’ she teased, but she happily launched into details of her travels and her new post.

  ‘What about the folks you left behind?’ William asked. ‘The housekeeper, and that friend of yours – Juliet. How is she?’ He looked at her. ‘Your face changed when I said her name.’

  ‘She’s not here any more.’ This wasn’t news. News was pleasant. This hurt. ‘She ran away. She got herself into trouble and it wasn’t Hal’s, so she ran away.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘No one knows. Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather …’ William nibbled her ear. ‘… do this?’

  She gave a gasp of pleasure and closed her eyes, her lashes feathering on her cheeks. Fantasies of her reunion with William had driven her wild all these weeks and now it was happening. Turning her head, she offered him her lips, taking his head in her hands to pull him down to receive her kiss, but any sense of her being in control vanished when William began plundering her mouth. She was close to swooning with desire. She had been brought up to be a good girl, but, honestly, in that moment, if he had … and, oh, how she wished he would …

  William ended the kiss and loosened his hold just when she most wanted to be held tighter, to have more asked of her, just when she was more ripe and willing than she had ever been.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back?’ he asked.

  She didn’t want to go back – ever. ‘Can you come again tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m here just for today,’ William said, and her heart plummeted into her boots. ‘I’m supposedly visiting a sick relative and I’m due back in the office tomorrow.’

  She stared at him. Her body ached with need. ‘When …?’

  ‘Today week. I’ve a feeling my poor old uncle is going to pop his clogs. I’ll have to attend the funeral and then stay for a day or two to sort out his affairs.’

  ‘A day or two,’ she breathed.

  ‘Or three,’ said William.

  Juliet stood at the window. Beyond the garden wall was the pinewood. She had looked out on trees before, but these weren’t like those in his lordship’s park. Here, they were uniformly tall and slender. She was here as her side of the bargain, the adoption in return for Clara’s future. When Adeline had arrived to collect her from Mrs Duggan’s house, she soon got to the bottom of the upset she had walked in on and her scorn of Clara knew no bounds.

  ‘Your sister was a slut and now you’re a thief, and a singularly stupid one at that.’ Adeline’s lip had curled in disgust. ‘Dismissed on the spot for professional theft and for bringing the salon into disrepute – you’ll never work again. You’ll lose your home too, such as it is. Unless, of course …’

  That was how it had happened. If Juliet would do as Adeline demanded, Adeline would employ Clara. As simple – and as complicated – as that. Juliet didn’t know if she had done the right thing. But she had been reeling with shock at Clara’s predicament – guilt, too, because she had saved her own reputation at Clara’s expense – and her skin still crawled from the encounter with Mr Busby, not to mention the knowledge of having used up every possibility of a respectable home. Did she have any choices left? If she did, she couldn’t identify them. And all said and done, wasn’t it better for the baby this way?

  At any rate, here she was. She had been brought by train to Southport and then on a shorter train journey to a place along the coast called Freshfield. They were met by a pony and trap, and driven by a twisty-turny route along lanes between tall hedgerows teeming with bees and butterflies. They passed meadows where grazing horses came to look at them over the fence, then saw the beginnings of a pinewood, which made Juliet long for cool and shade. As she inhaled the green scent, a breeze carried a taste of salt on the air.

  ‘How far are we from the sea?’ she asked.

  ‘Over the far side of the woods,’ said the driver. ‘Not that the wayward girls go to the beach.’

  Was that what she was now? A wayward girl?

  The trap went through a gateway and pulled up before a large house in a garden planted with masses of greenery, not at all her idea of a garden. Before she knew it, she was standing in a hall that seemed dark after the afternoon dazzle, being presented to Mrs Maddox, a neat, bustling woman, who led her up two flights, peppering her with rules all the way. Mrs Maddox opened the door upon a pleasant, impersonal room and left her to unpack. She ran her fingers over her painting of Moorside’s laburnum walk. The picture rail was empty. She slid the painting back into her carpetbag. She wasn’t going to risk displaying it, only to have it confiscated. Who knew what other sort of rules applied in a place like this?

  There were three other girls, Ruth, Emily and Tabitha. Tabitha was so huge and ungainly that Juliet felt a ripple of dismay at what lay in store. The others were well spoken and educated, but Mrs Maddox made a point of saying, ‘You’re all here for the same reason,’ and Juliet’s awkwardness slipped away.

  One morning, Tabitha didn’t appear at the breakfast table.

  ‘Gone to the attic,’ Ruth whispered to Emily. They bit their lips and touched their swelling bellies.

  ‘The attic is where the babies are born,’ Emily informed Juliet in an undertone.

  She didn’t see Tabitha again, except for a glimpse. One afternoon, the usual routine was interrupted for Juliet, Ruth and Emily to be taken for a walk through the woods by a maidservant called Yardley. She was a sturdy, capable woman with a calm manner, but Juliet had already realised that, though Yardley called you ‘miss’ and fussed over you pleasantly inside the house, there was no doubt as to who was in charge when she took you out.

  ‘This is so the baby can be taken away,’ Emily whispered. ‘While we’re out, the new parents will come for it.’

  It. The baby was ‘it’ to the girls. Juliet had asked Mrs Maddox whether it was a boy or a girl and had been told to mind her own business.

  Tabitha stayed in bed for ten days, though whether that bed was her own or an attic bed, Juliet had no idea. On the day she left, the other three were confined to their rooms, though, hearing a sound, Juliet found that the done thing was to creep to the first floor to see what there was to be seen – which was disappointingly little. There was a glimpse of Tabitha being ushered into the sitting room, and some minutes later she was led out by a stony-faced man, presumably her father. There was the sound of the front door opening – a few stilted words of farewell – and even as the door closed, Emily and Ruth were scurrying back to their rooms, and Juliet wasn’t slow in following.

  Before the week was out, three more girls arrived: Florence, Violet and Rachel. To Juliet’s eye, Rachel looked so obviously pregnant that it was amazing she had kept her secret so long.

  ‘The magic of whalebone,’ Rachel said blithely. ‘I can’t describe the relief of being free from corsets. I swear I haven’t breathed since Midsummer’s Day.’

  ‘If you persist in making light of your situation,’ Mrs Maddox said in a voice of quiet steel, ‘I’ll have your family remove you. This is a time for shame and reflection.’

  Shame and reflection were helped along by piecework. The girls made artificial flowers to an exacting standard and were paid the going rate.

  ‘Sixpence for a gross of violets,’ Juliet had exclaimed on her first day. ‘That’s a pittance.’

  Mrs Maddox looked round the group. ‘If your families hadn’t stood by you and se
nt you here, you could have ended up grubbing for a living doing this very thing.’

  Buttercups were simplest, so Juliet stuck to those, her clever fingers soon acquiring the skills, though it was galling to earn even less than for violets. Sobering, too, to realise the pittance she could have been forced to exist on in different circumstances. Was Adeline’s ruthless solution the right one?

  Adeline sat in Mrs Maddox’s sitting room. Mrs Maddox called it her sitting room and indeed it looked like one, with its fireside chairs and its array of ornaments, but its function was more that of an office. Or possibly a visitors’ room – like in a prison. This was where Mrs Maddox conducted her business. It was where she discussed terms with parents and guardians. Presumably it was the room in which once wilful girls, now submissive after the gruelling experience of giving birth, were returned to their families. It must also be the room into which adoptive parents were shown.

  Today it was the prison visiting room.

  The chit came in. Adeline looked at her, ready to feel disgusted at the sight of her thickened waist, but instead she raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the girl’s radiant complexion and shining hair.

  ‘Samples of fabrics, trimmings and accessories,’ she announced, indicating the box she had brought with her. ‘You will create eight designs.’

  ‘Eight?’ If the chit was taken aback by the lack of pleasantries, it didn’t show. ‘Last time Miss Lindsay saw four and chose two.’

  ‘This time you’ll produce eight. I’ll take care of your fee. I’m not handing it over to you to help you run away.’

  ‘Would you ask Mr Owen to look after it for me?’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘He’s looked after it so far.’

  Adeline gave a bark of sneering laughter. ‘If you don’t wish me to look after it, say so. You’re as spineless as your aunt. You should always say what you mean.’

  ‘Like you do?’

  ‘Folk always know where they stand with me.’

  ‘Yes – in the gutter.’

  ‘So you’ve got a backbone, have you? That’s more than your aunt’s ever shown. You’ll be excused piecework to do this.’ She came to her feet. It was always satisfying to tower over others. ‘Have the designs ready three weeks today.’

  She didn’t bother saying goodbye.

  Juliet stood behind her chair at the dining table, along with the other girls. Mrs Maddox swept in, smiling, as if this were a select establishment for paying guests rather than a home for wayward girls, and took her place at the head of the table, signalling to the girls to join her. After a tasty meal of devilled kidneys followed by apple snow, she smiled round the table. She smiled a lot, but the smile could drop off her face if you didn’t watch out.

  ‘We have a seamstress in our midst.’ She beamed at Juliet. ‘Come with me, dear.’

  Juliet was whisked upstairs and shown a pair of wardrobes. Mrs Maddox turned the keys and opened them.

  ‘This is what the girls wear as they expand. You’ll need clothes from here soon. Make some fresh garments and I’ll pay you. We’re particularly in need of nightwear.’

  She was delighted to oblige, aware of the others’ envy as they got sore fingers making the hated flowers, but when Mrs Maddox said she would pay, what she meant was she would save Juliet’s wages to give to her grandmother.

  The days went by, mellow days giving way to crisp evenings and chilly nights. The dark-green foliage of the shrubby garden was transformed into a blaze of crimson. Juliet’s heart contracted: autumn was Hal’s favourite season.

  So much had happened since Mother’s death that she had managed to hold thoughts of him at arm’s length for the most part, as she threw herself into the relentless torrent of tasks, responsibilities and worries that her life had been reduced to, while her heart perched silent and still on the edge of a terrifying abyss. Now her heart was returning to life. Again and again, she pictured his hearing about her supposed secret lover. Surely he would know she would never betray him?

  She could write and tell him the truth, though not yet, not until she was released from Mrs Maddox’s house. Not that she could denounce Mr Nugent. It wouldn’t be safe for Hal to put him in the position of knowing what Mr Nugent had done to her; she wasn’t sure she could ever admit that to anyone. But she could assure Hal there hadn’t been another man.

  She worried dreadfully about Cecily too, wishing she could warn her that William wasn’t to be trusted, but Mrs Whicker would read any letter first, before ceremonially tearing it to pieces before Cecily’s eyes, with her never having been permitted to read it. Then Cecily would lose her position.

  And that would thrust her straight into William’s arms.

  Some risks weren’t risks at all. They were certainties. Cecily loved William with all her heart, and longed to marry him and have a home of her own. Before she went to London, when she had tried dropping hints, he had said he didn’t yet earn enough. So what? She had grown up in a crowded cottage with a mother who had made their limited income stretch a long way, and Cecily was positive she could run their home on a small budget. She knew too about how not to have babies, because Barbara had explained about sponges soaked in vinegar. The thought of what you did that caused the need for those sponges made Cecily want to writhe in pleasure.

  Those sponges could wait till they were married. Just now, what William needed was a push in the right direction.

  The cottage where the Harpers had lived was empty. Purloining the spare key, she raced there, unlocked the door and made haste to return the key. The next afternoon, while Miss Phoebe and Miss Vicky were out with her ladyship, and Miss Marchant was lying down with a bad head, she returned with a blanket and some kindling. There were one or two pieces of furniture downstairs. She ran upstairs, hoping – yes, there was a bed. She laid a fire and covered the bed with the blanket.

  Her heart clouted her ribs. Tomorrow she would bring William here. She couldn’t wait.

  Neither, it seemed, could William. They met in their usual place. William’s wandering hands quickly realised there was nothing beneath her blouse but bare flesh, and from that moment there was no stopping him. Buttons flew everywhere as he wrenched her blouse open, and Cecily moaned as his lips roved across her flesh. She arched her back, presenting herself to him.

  They tumbled to the ground, and as William’s mouth took possession of hers, she could feel his hand working away at her lower clothes. She wriggled accommodatingly, as eager as he was for the layers to be pushed aside. Cold air prickled her thighs as William raised himself so he could fiddle with his own buttons. Then he lowered himself on top of her, kissing her ravenously. Intoxicated with desire, she snaked her arms round his neck, needing the kiss to be ever deeper.

  His knee shoved her legs apart. She felt hot and juicy as he entered her, making her almost sob with gratitude. As he thrust into her, she lost control until suddenly her body was overwhelmed by a frenzy of animal gratification that released inside her a distant storm of longing that thrashed ever nearer until it burst upon her, setting her body twitching convulsively with a pleasure so intense she thought she would die.

  Later, she crept home, trembling and stunned and elated, with a pocketful of buttons and a shawl protecting her modesty.

  After that, she was crazy for more. William had two more days and she took him to the cottage, where they made good use of the bed. And the dining table. And the stairs.

  Winter set in. The sky hung heavy, but snow didn’t fall. Was it this time last year, or not until after Christmas, that Mother’s ‘snow-headaches’ had started?

  ‘Enjoy the fires, girls,’ said Mrs Maddox. ‘Some institutions wouldn’t care if you turned blue with cold, but I run a superior establishment and stint on nothing. I’ll ask Yardley for the toasting forks and you can toast crumpets. Juliet, I’ve heard from your grandmother. She’ll visit tomorrow.’

  Adeline arrived, looking magnificent in a floor-length woollen coat that flared from the
waist and boasted a generous quantity of fur trimming around the deep collar and down the revers all the way to the hem. In contrast to the handsome coat, her hat was simple. With her tall stature and strong features, did she shun fuss and prettiness?

  She produced a set of the next season’s samples. ‘Another eight designs.’

  ‘Already? I wasn’t expecting to be asked again till spring. Do you know how much I’ve earned?’

  ‘You’ll get your dues, girl. Have the new designs ready—’

  ‘Three weeks today. I know.’

  Three weeks. How easy it was to say the words. In three weeks, it would be almost Christmas, and then it would be January, and her baby was due in February.

  Adeline rose. Had she come all this way just to request – no, demand – more designs? Evidently. Well, Juliet wasn’t going to sit meekly while she marched out. She thrust herself to her feet, not without difficulty, catching the glimmer of distaste on Adeline’s face at her clumsiness, and bolted for the door.

  ‘Goodbye, Grandmother. Thank you for calling.’

  She returned to the other girls, who were in the middle of one of their oft-repeated conversations about pregnancy, but while the others complained about their increasing girths and every single discomfort of their condition, Juliet held her tongue. She had expected to loathe everything about carrying William Turton’s bastard, but instead her feeling of protectiveness deepened by the day, though she couldn’t say so, for fear of provoking one of Mrs Maddox’s sharp glances. She couldn’t even whisper it to the other girls. They didn’t seem to have doubts about their babies’ futures – or their own. Some talked freely about getting on with their lives. Others were more sentimental – but only until they were challenged.