The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  She must write to Hal. Juliet’s pulse picked up speed and fingertips skimmed across lips that tingled at his remembered kisses, but it was pointless still having feelings for him. Should she tell him she had had her baby? She wrote Constance Mary Harper, Constance Mary Harper over and over again until she had filled the page. The name was all she had left of her daughter. Her gaze misted, and the writing blurred.

  She placed the sheet in the fire. The flames licked at the precious name until there was nothing left but ashes. She wouldn’t mention Constance to Hal. She would tell him there was no secret lover and leave it at that.

  Writing Adeline’s address at the top of her letter, she allowed herself to wonder if Hal … but she wasn’t doing this in the hope of a response – was she? Adeline’s address was on the letter simply because that was the done thing.

  Dear Hal,

  I know Mr Nugent has told everyone

  No. Even all these miles from Moorside, she was uneasy at speaking out against his lordship’s agent – and committing it to paper too. She started again.

  Dear Hal,

  I know that after I left, a story circulated about another man. I want to assure you that such a person never existed.

  Or was this simply another way of speaking against Mr Nugent, since he had started the story? At least she hadn’t named him. She signed the letter and addressed the envelope to Gardeners’ Cottages, Moorside.

  Her resolve faltered. What if Hal waved this letter under Mr Nugent’s nose? Surely, he would have more sense. He was good at thinking things through, her Hal.

  Her Hal?

  No, not her Hal. Never again her Hal.

  It felt oddly discourteous leaving the house. Being family meant that Juliet could go without explanation, though no doubt the staff would spill the beans to Adeline later. At least she had some money for fares, having remembered the coppers she had earned making buttercups in her early days with Mrs Maddox.

  At Ingleby’s, she got herself shown to Mr Owen’s office by pretending to be expected. He was in the outer office when she entered.

  ‘You!’ he exclaimed.

  To her consternation, he whirled round and marched into his office. Before the lady clerk could stop her, she hurried after him. He plumped down onto the chair behind his desk and glowered at her.

  ‘I don’t know how you have the brass neck to come here.’

  ‘Mr Owen?’ The lady clerk appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Fetch Miss Lindsay,’ he ordered. Then he made a show of getting on with his work, elaborately ignoring her.

  When Miss Lindsay arrived, Mr Owen arranged a chair for her beside his desk and they sat looking at Juliet.

  ‘What have you to say for yourself?’ Miss Lindsay demanded.

  With a calm she was far from feeling, she said quietly, ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘If you must,’ Mr Owen conceded ungraciously.

  ‘Where have you been all this time?’ Miss Lindsay asked.

  ‘As you know,’ she said carefully, ‘I’ve been away and my grandmother has been representing me.’

  ‘I know nothing of the kind,’ said Miss Lindsay. ‘What I do know is that you vanished without a word and failed to fulfil your commitments. You were supposed to supply designs last autumn.’

  ‘And I did.’ Oh hell. Juliet snapped her lips together. What a fool she had been.

  ‘Your conduct has caused considerable inconvenience,’ said Miss Lindsay. ‘Based on the success of your previous designs, I didn’t seek out as many new designs as normal in the autumn, because I was relying on your contribution. When that failed to appear, you – you, personally – placed my department in an awkward position. Now you have the gall to show your face without an appointment – not that one would have been granted.’

  Juliet stopped herself on the verge of an apology. She wasn’t the wrongdoer here. The real wrongdoer would never apologise in a million years. ‘I did produce designs for you, but …’ Much as she felt like dropping Adeline in it, it would be unwise. ‘… but the person who was meant to deliver them apparently didn’t.’

  ‘A likely story,’ Mr Owen muttered.

  ‘And who is this person?’ Miss Lindsay enquired.

  ‘I’d rather not say.’

  ‘Lame, very lame,’ murmured Mr Owen.

  ‘What brings you here today?’ Miss Lindsay asked.

  She couldn’t bring herself to mention money. ‘I hoped to be asked for more designs.’

  ‘Your nerve takes my breath away,’ Miss Lindsay exclaimed, ‘considering the way you’ve let Ingleby’s down.’

  ‘I’ve been let down too.’

  ‘Why didn’t you inform me you were going away?’ Miss Lindsay asked.

  ‘There wasn’t time.’

  ‘And no time, in all these months, to write a letter?’ Mr Owen challenged. ‘Or perhaps your mysterious friend failed to post it for you?’

  ‘You have shown yourself to be unreliable and discourteous, both professionally and personally,’ said Miss Lindsay.

  ‘Don’t forget the aunt was a thief,’ Mr Owen added.

  Miss Lindsay huffed a sharp sigh. ‘I very much want to tell you to leave and never return, but …’ She frowned through a long pause. ‘Your designs were successful last summer.’ More frowning. ‘I refuse to decide now. Come back next week.’

  ‘Next week—’

  ‘Next week or not at all,’ snapped Miss Lindsay.

  ‘Good morning to you,’ said Mr Owen. ‘Shut the door on your way out.’

  Juliet prowled round the house. Angry as she was with Adeline, she was vexed with herself too. She should have asked Mr Owen about her money. You’ll never make a businesswoman, Adeline had said.

  The moment she heard her grandmother return, Juliet bounced into the hall, where Marjorie was taking Adeline’s coat. Juliet had expected to follow Adeline into the morning room, but she started up the stairs.

  Being ignored made Juliet flare up. ‘Wait! I want to speak to you.’

  Marjorie gasped. Adeline looked over her shoulder, meeting Juliet’s eyes with a stony expression that caused Juliet’s stomach to turn somersaults. Adeline continued up the stairs without a word.

  Juliet glared after her, then banged into the morning room. When eventually Adeline walked in, Juliet flew to confront her.

  ‘You stole my designs, the work I did at Mrs Maddox’s house.’

  Adeline walked past her and sat in her usual chair. ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your apology. You’ve made a serious and unfounded accusation.’

  ‘It isn’t unfounded.’

  ‘On the contrary, since I’ve stolen nothing, it must be.’

  ‘You took my designs.’

  ‘They were freely given.’

  ‘Only because you said they were for Miss Lindsay.’

  ‘No.’ Adeline’s voice hardened. ‘You said they were for Miss Lindsay. I merely instructed you to design.’

  ‘But you let me assume—’

  ‘I don’t care what you assumed. All I’m interested in is your work. You should have asked questions, but you were too busy hearing what you wanted to hear. You even made assumptions about me. You told yourself that I – Adeline Tewson – would act as your go-between with Miss Lindsay.’

  Her cheeks flamed. Put like that, it did sound preposterous.

  ‘Since you know your designs didn’t go to Ingleby’s, I deduce you’ve been in touch with Miss Lindsay. Were you welcomed back with open arms? No? Hardly surprising. No matter. You design for Tewson’s Tailor-mades now. I imagine you haven’t done any work today, too busy planning this confrontation. Ring the bell.’ When Marjorie came, Adeline said, ‘I will dine as usual, but take a tray to the back parlour.’ She eyed Juliet. ‘You have work to do.’

  ‘Very good, madam,’ Marjorie said.

  ‘I’ve a letter to write. It must be posted this evening to ensure it arrives first thing.’

  ‘Yes, madam.�
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  Adeline waited for Marjorie to go. ‘To eliminate the possibility of further accusations, I wish to make it clear that I’ve set aside your fee for the designs you did while you were away. Ingleby’s paid one guinea per design but, whereas Miss Lindsay chose from what you offered, I used all your work, and so you have sixteen guineas.’

  ‘Which you will withhold until …’

  ‘Until I see fit. When that will be – or indeed, if the time ever comes – depends on how sensible you are.’

  Juliet arranged samples and sketches on the table to make her look occupied while she waited for Adeline to depart. Then she waited for Marjorie to finish upstairs. When the coast was clear, she flew to her room and packed her carpetbag, sneaking it down to the back parlour, then she crept to the hall cupboard for her outdoor things, scuttling back to safety with her arms full. As she was about to make her escape, she heard another door and there was Mrs Harris, the char, lugging her mop and bucket into the hall. Juliet ducked back, cursing. She didn’t want to wait for Mrs Harris.

  And she wasn’t going to. She pushed up the sash window. Dropping her bag out, she clambered through. She tried to pull the sash down behind her. Skulking round the side of the house, she made a dash for the gate and then she was free.

  With no cash today for fares, she faced a considerable walk, but so what? She used to tramp for miles over the tops. This was no different. Except that it was. Walking the streets was harder work and the bulky bag, though not heavy, made her arm ache.

  At Ingleby’s, she made her way to Mr Owen’s office. There was no sign of the lady clerk. She knocked on the door, stowing her bag just inside when Mr Owen bade her enter. She didn’t get the chance to shut the door before he was on his feet.

  ‘You again! Was it not made clear—?’

  ‘I’ve come for my money. There should be one guinea per design, plus whatever was earned through customer orders.’

  ‘Make an appointment.’

  ‘I’d like the money now, please.’

  ‘Your impertinence is astounding. I heartily wish Miss Lindsay had never taken you on.’

  ‘I concur with that statement, Mr Owen,’ came a voice from the doorway, and in swept Miss Lindsay, brandishing a sheet of paper. Mr Owen hastened to set a chair for her and she sank into it. ‘This,’ she said. ‘This!’ She waved the piece of paper. ‘We have the truth now, and from an unimpeachable source. I wish I’d never set eyes on you!’

  ‘My dear lady,’ Mr Owen exclaimed, ‘whatever is it?’

  ‘This girl … this person … I’m not sure it is fit for a gentleman’s ears, Mr Owen. Here, see for yourself.’ Miss Lindsay thrust the paper at him, averting her face.

  Mr Owen’s face turned puce, and he opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish.

  ‘What does it say?’ Juliet blurted.

  ‘It explains,’ Miss Lindsay replied stiffly, ‘where you have been in recent months, and why.’

  ‘Mrs Tewson, whose name is renowned throughout the sewing world, has identified herself as your grandmother,’ said Mr Owen. ‘She has, very bravely, if I may say so, informed us of the shame you have brought on your family, so that we may take steps to preserve the good name of Ingleby’s.’

  ‘If this were to get out,’ breathed Miss Lindsay. ‘And I was the one who—’

  ‘Who was duped,’ Mr Owen broke in robustly. ‘Duped, I say.’

  ‘I never intended—’ Juliet began.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Mr Owen exclaimed. ‘When you approached Miss Lindsay, you were aware of your shame, were you not? You have placed this good lady’s position in jeopardy. If it should become known she had, however inadvertently, employed a … a – fear not, Miss Lindsay, I shall not utter the foul word in front of you.’ He glared at Juliet. ‘We know now the fraud you have committed.’

  ‘Fraud?’ she cried.

  ‘Did you not present yourself as a decent citizen with nothing to be ashamed of?’

  She turned to Miss Lindsay. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve placed you in a difficult position, but I never meant—’ She stopped, questioning her own honesty. From the beginning of her pregnancy, she had known her days of respectability were numbered, but while she had pictured the anger and outrage she would cause, had she truly never thought about the embarrassment she would leave behind? ‘I’m very sorry if I’ve compromised you,’ she told Miss Lindsay sincerely.

  ‘Too late for that,’ snapped Mr Owen.

  ‘If you’re truly sorry,’ said Miss Lindsay, ‘leave now and never divulge to anyone that you once worked for me.’

  Juliet’s heart felt like a dead weight. ‘Before I go, please may I have my money?’

  ‘Aside from the question of bringing Ingleby’s good name into disrepute,’ said Mr Owen, ‘there is the matter of the agreement you signed. You agreed to supply more designs upon request – and you subsequently made it impossible for Miss Lindsay to place that request. I’m within my rights to withhold payment. Kindly close the door on your way out.’

  Juliet trailed down Market Street in a daze. No money, no prospects, nowhere to live. She found herself on the corner of Rosemount Place. William Turton worked along there. A cold desperation settled on her. It was time he paid his dues.

  It was easy to decide, but far from easy to put one foot in front of the other. It seemed a long time before she came to the front steps. The moment she lifted the brass knocker, there would be no turning back. Something hard and fierce bunched inside her throat.

  The door opened. She glimpsed a young woman before she turned away, instinctively wanting to conceal herself, but the sound of sniffing and whimpering made her look back, only that seemed nosy and she ducked her face.

  ‘Juliet?’ And then again, questioning, hopeful, disbelieving: ‘Juliet?’

  Her face snapped up in shock. ‘Cecily?’ And then again, because she couldn’t believe her eyes: ‘Cecily?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cecily uttered a great cry, dropped her carpetbag and launched herself at Juliet. Juliet dropped her own carpetbag and promptly tripped over it under the force of Cecily’s embrace. They ended up sitting on the pavement, too amazed to get up. Cecily, as well as crying, was now laughing, and something inside Juliet relaxed too. She threw her arms round Cecily, who seemed bigger somehow and it wasn’t the bulk of her coat.

  Juliet drew back. ‘Cecily, you’re not …?’

  Cecily clamped her lips together hard before she could say ‘I am, I am.’ She broke down in sobs.

  Juliet slipped her arms round Cecily again, her cheek squashing into the brim of Cecily’s hat.

  ‘Disgraceful!’ A well-dressed gentleman scowled down at them. ‘Drunk in the street at this time of day. Be off with the pair of you or I’ll call a constable.’

  Juliet got to her feet and hauled Cecily up. They looked round for their bags.

  ‘Hurry up,’ barked the gentleman.

  ‘We’re going,’ said Juliet.

  ‘And for your information, we’re not drunk,’ said Cecily. ‘You should get your facts straight, mister, before you go accusing people.’

  They hurried away, huddling so close it was difficult not to stumble.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Juliet asked. ‘Silly question. You’ve been to see William Turton.’

  ‘Do you know about him?’

  ‘I know as much as I want to.’

  ‘You mean – my William? The one who came to Moorside?’

  ‘Well, of course him.’

  Cecily stopped and faced her. ‘Oh, Juliet, you don’t know. He wasn’t the real William Turton. The real William Turton is someone else completely.’

  She dissolved into tears again, obliging Juliet to swallow her questions.

  ‘There’s a bench round the corner,’ she said encouragingly.

  Cecily mopped her tears. ‘I don’t want to sit outside. I’m tired and cold and starving hungry – reet clemmed, as my old nan would say. Oh, Juliet, I’ll never see her again. I can’t go back, no
t now. I thought I was going to. Right up until ten minutes ago, I thought I’d go swanning back with a ring on my finger. “Look at this,” I were going to say. “I told you I’m not a trollop.” I thought I was getting wed. I honestly thought I was getting wed.’

  ‘I know, love, I know, and you’re not a trollop. Are you sure you can’t go back? Wouldn’t your family have you?’

  Cecily shook her head. ‘Mam would, but not Dad. Let’s find a tea shop. I need to sit down before I fall down.’

  ‘I haven’t any money.’

  ‘I’ve a few bob.’ Cecily spread her arms and her carpetbag swung and bumped against her. ‘Here I stand with all my worldly goods.’

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘What happened to your secret man? I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard you’d jilted Hal.’

  She breathed in sharply, the sudden hurt catching her unawares. ‘There isn’t another man. There never was.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘If you want a cup of tea, I’ll keep you company while you have it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Tea for two and a couple of buns won’t break the bank.’

  Soon they were ensconced in the corner of a small tea shop. Juliet tried to decline anything to eat.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Cecily. ‘You’d pay for me, if it was the other way round. Tea for two, please,’ she told the waitress, ‘and two lardy cakes.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Juliet. Cecily’s presence warmed her. ‘Now tell me about William Turton.’

  ‘Or whoever he was,’ Cecily said bitterly.

  ‘Start with London.’

  ‘That was an age ago. We were away far longer than I was expecting. I wrote to tell William I was coming back. It was wonderful to see him again.’ Cecily glanced at her. ‘In fact, I was so thrilled that …’

  ‘You let him …?’

  ‘It wasn’t a question of letting him. I threw myself at him, that’s the truth, and the result is increasingly obvious for all to see.’