The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  As she trudged alongside the churchyard wall, with Chorlton Green coming into view, she pulled herself together. She had never breathed a word of how Mr Nugent had interfered with her and now, for Cecily’s benefit, she had to make his step up in the world sound like a delicious piece of gossip. She felt sick.

  As she rounded the corner, neighbours were clustered outside Garden Cottage. A constable stood at the gate. She raced across.

  ‘Now then, miss,’ said the bobby.

  ‘I live here.’

  ‘Are you Miss Harper? You’d best go in.’

  The door opened before she reached it, and Cecily ran into her arms.

  ‘The police are searching the house. They’ve even been down the garden and searched the privy. They won’t say what they’re looking for.’

  Panic surged. ‘Where’s Archie?’

  ‘Mrs Livingston took him home with her.’

  ‘Miss Juliet Harper?’ A man appeared on the step. He was wearing a coat and hat, not a uniform.

  ‘I’ll come indoors,’ she said.

  ‘No need. I’m Inspector Crawley and I’d rather you accompanied me to the police station.’

  An odd noise blurted from her mouth as all her questions tried to burst forth simultaneously. She managed to ask, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that, miss. Now, if you don’t mind …’

  She was ushered from the garden. The neighbours fell back to let her by, her skin prickling under their collective gaze. At the further end of the Green, Inspector Crawley steered her onto Beech Road and headed for the police station, where she was taken into a cramped room, bare except for a table with a chair on each side.

  ‘Sit down, Miss Harper. Now then …’

  She was asked to confirm her name and address, which seemed stupid when he knew them. Then he asked questions about her work. They were easy to answer, but it was unsettling and confusing not knowing the reason behind the questions. Inspector Crawley made her explain the difference between the Garden Cottage customers and her at-home ladies.

  ‘Who are they, these ladies whose houses you visit?’

  She rattled off a list, at the end of which Inspector Crawley left a long silence. She fought not to fidget.

  ‘You missed out Mrs Baker-Johnson.’

  ‘Oh – I forgot.’

  ‘Most convenient. Also Mrs Treadgold.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her in ages. I went to her house just the once.’

  ‘Just once? You said you visit these ladies several times. You discuss their requirements and – ahem – measure them, then there’s trying on and—’

  ‘I meant, I made only one garment for her, but that involved the usual visits. Inspector, please tell me what this is about. I’m sure I could be of far more help if—’

  ‘What do you know about a locket belonging to Mrs Thomas?’

  ‘Her parents gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. Pure gold.’ He gazed at her expectantly, which somehow forced her to add, ‘She had a gold locket ready for her daughter’s sixteenth birthday, only …’

  ‘Only it was stolen, along with Mrs Thomas’s. Then there’s Mrs McKenzie, Lady Darley as she is now.’

  ‘The sapphire ring.’

  ‘The sapphire ring. It’s worth a mint.’ He leant forward. His skin was pockmarked. ‘Why don’t you save us all a lot of time by telling me where it is. It’ll go against you if my men find it first.’

  Cold washed through her. ‘You mean – you think …?’

  ‘When my men find your horde, I’ll have all the proof I need. The only thing we don’t know is whether you committed the thefts yourself or if you had an accomplice.’

  ‘But I didn’t—’

  ‘You’ve been clever, I’ll grant you that, changing from one method to another. You didn’t steal from Mrs Treadgold or Mrs McKenzie until long after you worked for them, but you stole from Mrs Thomas and Mrs Baker-Johnson in the middle of making their clothes. And you bided your time between thefts. But in the end, you were the only thing that linked all four ladies. It was Mrs Thomas who made me realise. Normally, I deal only with the head of the household, but Mrs Thomas would have her say, and a jolly long say it was. It was when she said “Just like dear Flora” that things fell into place.’

  She found the strength to fight back. ‘I was with Lady Darley not three hours since—’

  ‘Lady Darley is unaware of today’s developments. I’ll call on Sir Henry later, after you’ve been formally charged. Where were you on the following dates?’

  Dates and times were barked at her until her head span. She was ready to weep when the door opened, and a copper looked in. Inspector Crawley got up reluctantly. There was a murmured exchange, followed by a dark silence.

  Inspector Crawley came back. ‘You’re free to go – for now. My men didn’t find anything at your address.’

  ‘That’s because there was nothing to find.’

  ‘This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I’ll have you in the end.’

  Juliet stumbled home, so exhausted her vision was blurred. No, not from exhaustion, a mist of tears. She tried to mop up before she arrived, but it was no use. She ended up sobbing in Cecily’s arms, even though Archie was hovering close by.

  With an effort, she stemmed the flow and disengaged herself from Cecily. ‘Silly Auntie Juley. It’s nothing to worry about, Archie. I’m upset because people I know have lost some precious things and not even the police can find them.’

  ‘Precious things? You mean … jewels?’ Archie’s face lit up. ‘They’re not lost. They’re in my hidey-place.’

  Cecily was so fraught after the day’s upsets that it was all she could do not to smother Archie in hugs while he explained about playing marbles in Auntie Juley’s bedroom when a marble rolled beneath the hanging cupboard. Attempting to fish it out with a stick, he had flicked out a little bag, which proved to contain jewellery, which he had taken great delight in hiding.

  ‘Thank goodness he did,’ Juliet breathed, ‘or I’d now be locked in a cell.’

  They stayed up talking in whispers long into the night. What else was there to do but return the stolen jewels to Archie’s hidey-place? But it went sorely against the grain with Cecily.

  ‘I don’t like thinking he knows where they are.’ Worry squirmed inside her.

  ‘I agree, but it’s the safest place.’

  ‘We could take them onto the meadows and chuck ’em into the Mersey.’

  But Juliet shook her head. ‘We ought to return the jewellery to its owners.’

  ‘And how will we do that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They talked in circles about how the jewellery could have got into Garden Cottage.

  ‘The Thomas burglary was back in March,’ Juliet remembered. ‘Who’s been here since then?’

  Their customers were easily eliminated, because none had been left on her own.

  ‘That leaves Mrs Livingston,’ said Cecily. They looked at one another and shook their heads.

  ‘Who would want to make me appear a thief?’ said Juliet.

  ‘And how did they get into the cottage?’

  ‘A break-in,’ Juliet suggested.

  ‘Without leaving a trace?’

  ‘Forget how,’ said Juliet. ‘Let’s concentrate on who. The only person who’s ever—’

  ‘Mrs Tewson,’ Cecily finished. ‘But there was never any proof.’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘Why would she? She wants you to work for her, not go to prison.’

  ‘Maybe to punish me because I haven’t given in. But it’s difficult to believe she’d go that far.’

  The question whirled around in Cecily’s head, adding to her worries. Because if Mrs Tewson wasn’t responsible, who was?

  Juliet was still awake as the dawn chorus began. When her head wasn’t full of Adeline’s possible involvement, she was wondering if Inspector Crawley had called at Darley Court. That reminded her she hadn�
�t mentioned the new baronet’s identity to Cecily. She must tell her at breakfast.

  Cecily’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but to Juliet’s profound relief, her friend had too much on her mind to dwell on it for long.

  Sunday, the day she could be sure of finding Adeline at home, saw Juliet in West Didsbury, where Marjorie left her standing on the step, eventually returning to report, ‘Madam is not at home.’

  The lid popped off her annoyance and she barged in. Marjorie tried to overtake, but she got to the morning room first – and there was Adeline. Surprise, surprise.

  ‘I need you to answer a question,’ said Juliet. ‘Are you responsible for making me appear a thief?’

  ‘This has a depressingly familiar ring. Didn’t you throw accusations around last time you were here? The difference is that on that occasion, you at least waited to be invited in. Blood will out, I suppose. You are, after all, a labourer’s daughter.’

  ‘Insults won’t distract me.’

  ‘How noble.’

  ‘If my name isn’t cleared, I’ll tell the police you bear me a grudge.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s well known how I’ve helped you. I cleaned up the mess when you got into trouble. I gave you a job and a home, and even after you ran away, I took it upon myself to guide you, along with those highly respectable gentlemen, Mr Winterton and Mr Davidson.’

  ‘You’ve done everything you can to make my business collapse.’

  ‘There you go again, making unfounded accusations.’

  ‘You won’t be satisfied until I’m designing for you.’

  ‘Your modest success making over old clothes for the middle classes has gone to your head. It may be true that I was once prepared to nurture your talent, but no longer. I am satisfied with my new designer – well, she’s hardly new these days. I took her on shortly after your last visit. I expect you’ve heard of her. She was employed for a number of years by Mademoiselle Antoinette.’

  ‘Miss Alexandrina?’ Juliet’s voice was a squeak of surprise.

  ‘Or Dora Holroyd, as I prefer to call her.’ Adeline smiled unpleasantly. ‘Clara is livid.’

  ‘I can’t get over the thought of my grandmother employing someone from Mademoiselle Antoinette’s,’ Juliet said to Cecily. ‘What a feather in her cap.’

  ‘What made Miss Alexandrina change allegiance?’ Cecily asked.

  ‘Money? Surely she couldn’t have been fed up of designing beautiful, expensive gowns.’

  ‘Perhaps it was something as mundane as convenience,’ Cecily said drily. ‘Miss Alexandrina might sound as though she lives next door but one to Buckingham Palace, but Dora Holroyd could easily live within spitting distance of Tewson’s Textiles.’

  If Adeline truly had given up on her, that was something to be glad of, but Juliet didn’t feel glad. She felt more worried than ever. Could she have an unknown enemy? It was a frightening thought.

  They were discussing it when there was a knock at the door, and there was Verity Forbes with some magazines rolled under her arm.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to do another swap?’

  ‘Cecily,’ Juliet called over her shoulder, ‘it’s Verity Forbes.’ To Verity, she said, ‘Come in.’

  After some small talk, Verity said, evidently delivering a rehearsed speech, ‘I know there’s been awkwardness because of William and me, but I’d like us to be friends.’

  ‘We invited you to tea,’ Cecily pointed out.

  ‘The pair of us, yes, but I don’t want to be seen simply as William’s other half.’

  Cecily muttered something and hurried out.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Verity asked.

  ‘She’s got something in the oven.’

  ‘Suppose William hadn’t been here that day I came round last summer,’ said Verity. ‘We’d have been friends, wouldn’t we? I think we’d have been good friends.’

  Honesty compelled Juliet to nod.

  ‘Can’t we be friends even though I’m seeing him? What difference does it make?’

  ‘It isn’t because you’re seeing him. It’s because …’

  ‘Because I haven’t thrown myself at him the way he’d like me to? Not to mention the way my mother wants me to. I love my job – you of all people must understand that. I like my independence; I like having my own money, even if it isn’t much. I don’t want to settle down and be a housewife yet.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘You’d understand better if you weren’t so fond of him, but you’re old friends, so you want him to have what he wants.’

  ‘We worry that you’re keeping him dangling.’

  ‘And I worry about being persuaded into something I’m not ready for.’ Verity sighed. ‘I’d best go.’ At the door, she stopped. ‘I admire what you’ve achieved here.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I wonder how easy you’d find it if you had to give it up.’

  Cecily came creeping out. ‘Has she gone?’

  ‘Did you hear?’

  ‘Every word.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No, but I will be.’ Cecily released a long breath. ‘You’d think you’d get used to it, wouldn’t you? You’d think it wouldn’t hurt so much, but it does.’

  Who should turn up but William, so full of concern that he pulled Juliet to him in a huge hug and kissed the top of her head. She felt hideously uncomfortable. Poor Cecily, how wretched for her to have to witness William spontaneously holding someone else. She gently freed herself, not wanting to hurt William’s feelings either.

  ‘I’ve just heard about the search,’ William said. ‘Mr Winterton is friends with a local superintendent, name of Grant. Grant knows Juliet used to be a sort of protégée of Mr Winterton, so he told him about the suspicions against you. This was at a dinner last night. Mr Winterton sent for me today to find out what I knew. You could have knocked me down with a feather.’

  Cecily described the arrival of the police and how they had gone all over the cottage, poking about in every cupboard and drawer. ‘They even rummaged about up the chimney.’ She shuddered. ‘The place hasn’t felt the same since.’

  Juliet related what had happened at the police station, surprised to find her hands trembling. William knelt in front of her, taking one of them and thrusting his handkerchief into the other.

  ‘Have a good cry if you need to. I’d be bawling my eyes out if it was me.’

  Using the pretence of dabbing her eyes, she moved away.

  ‘Can you do anything?’ Cecily asked.

  ‘I wish I could.’ William raked fingers through his hair. ‘This Crawley fellow must have felt pretty sure of himself to haul Juliet off to the police station like that.’ He took out his pocketbook. ‘Here, take one of my cards. You too, Cecily. If anything else happens – anything – insist that I’m sent for. I’ll see you get proper representation.’

  Bless him, he was offering the best support he could, but the principal effect was to make Juliet feel churned up all over again. She spent another sleepless night, tormented by worry. If not Adeline, then who was responsible?

  Someone had hidden jewellery inside Garden Cottage – but how? How do you enter a locked house without leaving a trace? She sat bolt upright. You use a key. Who had keys? She and Cecily, no one else. Wait – Mrs Carmichael, the owner. Someone must have stolen her key. Juliet frowned. This someone had gone to a frightening amount of trouble.

  Tomorrow was rent day. Juliet decided to write a letter and ask Mr Kenyon to deliver it. No – it would be agony waiting for a reply. Better to see Mrs Carmichael immediately. But if she asked Mr Kenyon to arrange an appointment, how long would that take? There was only one thing for it. She would follow him.

  Mr Kenyon called at Garden Cottage early the following afternoon, as usual. Juliet was already loitering across the Green. She spent the next two hours following at a discreet distance. When he boarded an omnibus, she leapt aboard at the last moment, praying he was delivering the rents to Mrs Carmichael personally and not to an office.
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br />   He alighted near Alexandra Park, and presently she found herself at the foot of half a dozen steps leading to a front door. Mounting the steps, she raised the gleaming knocker.

  ‘Good afternoon. May I see Mrs Carmichael, please? My name is Juliet Harper and I’m one of her tenants.’

  After a delay, she was ushered into a room. Mrs Carmichael was on her feet, facing the door.

  Mrs Carmichael. Mrs Rosemary Carmichael.

  Older, thinner in the face, but instantly recognisable.

  Juliet whispered, ‘Rosie …’

  Oh, dear God, Rosie.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘You’re cleverer than you used to be, finding me like this. The po-faced bitch I remember wouldn’t have had the brains, let alone the guts.’ Rosie’s smile fused contempt with amusement. ‘Look at your face. I can hear Mrs Whicker saying, “Don’t gawp, girl”. It’s not often you see a full-blown gawp like that. By,’ and she put on a broad Lancashire accent, ‘I’d say thee were reet short o’ nous, lass. Do you understand or should I translate? You and your mother always fancied yourselves a cut above.’

  ‘Rosie—’

  ‘Wait a moment. You didn’t know, did you? You came here not knowing you were going to find me. So, actually, you’re as dim as ever you were. Still, you’re here now. I suppose I should ask how and why.’

  ‘I came for help.’ Unbelievable as it seemed now.

  ‘Help you? That’s rich.’

  ‘You helped before. I mean, Mrs Carmichael helped.’

  Rosie’s satisfied expression took Juliet back years. She was a young girl again, frightened of the beautiful bully. It was extraordinary how it rushed back.

  ‘Such a good, generous person, Mrs Carmichael,’ Rosie remarked.

  ‘She – you gave us somewhere to live. You knew who we were, didn’t you? You knew all along.’