‘Thanks to good old Roly Davidson. That’s Mr Davidson to you.’
‘Mr Davidson! He called you a slight acquaintance.’
‘How discreet, but we’ve been more than that in our time.’ Rosie tossed her head, just like she used to. Her hair was as dark and luxuriant as ever. Scooped away from her face and worn high, it boasted a fullness of shape that most women achieved only by using pads. ‘He told me how he’d been dragged into a confounded arrangement to oversee a foolish girl’s attempts to be independent. Just think – if he hadn’t been vexed – if he hadn’t mentioned your name … but he did. I couldn’t believe my ears – or my luck.’
‘You gave us a home to keep watch on us. Were you the one who put all those difficulties in our way? The market traders who stopped dealing with me, the women who didn’t pay …’
‘Stop whining. You coped, didn’t you?’
‘So it was you.’
‘Don’t be stupid. It was Mrs Tewson who tried to destroy you, but each obstacle merely made you more determined, which suited my purposes. I stepped in only when that whispering campaign looked like getting out of hand.’
How grateful they had been. ‘You wanted me to succeed?’
‘There’s no point in bringing someone down if they haven’t climbed up.’ Rosie looked at her, sly and assessing. Waiting.
Then she understood. ‘You organised it. You made me look like a thief. You arranged for the jewellery to be hidden for the police to find.’ Her thoughts leapt ahead, slotting things into place, while her feelings stumbled behind, trying to take it all in and accept it. ‘You organised the burglaries too. You made me look like a thief.’
‘Except I didn’t, did I? The police should have found the jewellery. What have you done with it?’
‘You don’t imagine I’m going to tell you?’
‘How prudish, positively virginal. But then you always were a prig, weren’t you?’
‘Well, I was certainly a virgin.’ The air snapped with tension, with injury and old hatreds, never forgotten. She stood straighter. ‘… until you sent that man to attack me.’
‘My brother. He did a good job, didn’t he? And you deserved it. I was attacked by a bloke with a grudge against my brother, and you helped him do it—’
‘I did no such thing—’
‘So I made sure the same happened to you.’
Dear heaven. Rosie’s brother had angered another man to the point where the man took his brutal revenge on Rosie, and Rosie then engineered the same fate for Juliet, who had made an honest, if calamitous, mistake. What kind of family did Rosie come from?
‘Bring her down: those were the instructions I gave my brother. Bring the bitch down. I was angry with him for cosying up to Cecily, but it meant he could go back later to ask what had become of you. Good old man-mad Cecily.’ Rosie’s eyes gleamed. ‘I know Gideon foisted a brat on you, but is he a daddy twice over? That boy of Cecily’s – is he the father?’
‘No.’
‘Shame. The timing’s right.’ Rosie smiled. Amused? Disbelieving? Playing games?
Don’t get drawn in. ‘And to think I came here for help.’
‘Yes, let’s think about that, shall we?’ Rosie’s eyes flashed immediately. ‘You got me into the worst situation of my life. Then it turned out I was up the stick and it was only a matter of time before I got slung out. Does it please you to know that my insides are so messed up I can never have another child?’
‘I’m truly sorry to hear that.’
‘And the Home for Orphaned Daughters wouldn’t keep our Hannah once they were informed of my disgrace, so she was sent to the workhouse. I tried getting her out, but they said I was a bad example. They said that for the good of her morals, they were putting her to work in their laundry instead of making her available for positions that came up on the outside. You know what that meant, don’t you? Once you have a job in the workhouse, you can never leave unless someone respectable claims you. From that moment, that was what I wanted. It was my fault she was in there. I should have run away the moment I knew I was pregnant and taken her with me, but I didn’t do anything. I could hardly string two thoughts together. I’ve regretted that ever since. My brother gave me a good hiding for it, too, when I came to Manchester to find him.’
‘Your brother …’ Juliet swallowed.
‘The one and only.’
‘Didn’t he have a job? Couldn’t he have got Hannah released?’ Released? That made her sound like a prisoner, but then, you were, really, once the workhouse had you.
‘Haven’t you been listening? The workhouse wanted someone respectable, a pillar of the community, and Gideon was never that. He lives by his wits, and yes, that’s a polite way of saying he makes money, or takes it, any way that suits. But I wanted property. Property is respectable – and it had to be my property, not Gideon’s. Property means staying in one place, and he’d never do that. So I needed money and I earned it by going with men. Are you shocked? Or do you think that, after what happened in the shrubbery, it couldn’t make any difference? I tell you this,’ and Rosie dropped her voice to a hiss, ‘it made it a hundred times harder. I had one rule: I wouldn’t do it flat on my back. I had to be on top – don’t look away. Don’t you dare turn away from me. If I want you to hear these things, you’ll bloody well listen, do you understand?’
Part of Juliet wanted to march out of the house and slam the door, show Rosie she couldn’t be bossed, but Rosie’s tale had her hooked.
‘Gideon was in with a gambling circle, which included professional gentlemen, and he made the necessary introductions. As soon as I could, I bought a tumbledown place on the edge of a slum. Gideon booted out the tenants – immigrant scum, weeks behind with the rent – and I had the place deloused and distempered, filled it with factory families, and put every penny of rent towards buying the next place. And that was how it started.’
‘What about your brother?’ The question drained all moisture from her mouth. ‘Where is he now?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘Gone his own sweet way. As I began to gain my place in the world, he didn’t like playing second fiddle.’
‘Did you rescue Hannah?’
‘Don’t you have any idea how long it took? It was two years before I got that first house, and another year before I got the next, but Hannah had got a good position, so I knew she’d be all right. Eventually I started buying better properties, and that was when Mrs Carmichael was born. I’m a respectable businesswoman now. I rub shoulders with important people, and I’ve rubbed more than that with some of them in the past. You’d do well to remember that.’
The door opened. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ A little girl, about the same age as Archie, ran in. At the sight of Juliet, she stopped and clapped her hand over her mouth. The gesture was so comical that Juliet couldn’t help smiling. She was a dear little thing, all ringlets and ribbons and jammy smears.
‘Not now, Abby.’ Rosie’s voice contained not one shred of sharpness. Juliet had never heard Rosie sound kind before. ‘We’ll have a story presently.’
The child nodded, and ringlets bounced. She skipped away, bursting into song the moment she was through the door.
‘She’s adorable,’ said Juliet. ‘Abby? Short for Abigail?’
‘Leave my daughter out of this.’ Rosie’s voice had hardened again, her brown eyes so dark they were practically black.
‘If you wanted to keep her safe, you should have thought of that before you organised those thefts and tried to blame them on me. I’m going to the police.’
‘Feel free. Accusing your highly respectable landlady will give them a good laugh.’
‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘Now then, don’t let’s descend into melodrama.’
‘You put me under suspicion of theft.’
‘You got off lightly. You were supposed to rot in prison. You still could, if the police return and find the jewellery. I’ll await developments with interest. Now get out of my house.’
>
Juliet hated to feel beaten. She turned to go, but as she reached the door, Rosie spoke again.
‘It all started with you wanting a maiding position.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘You were so determined to get what was Hannah’s by rights. But she won in the end. That post she was allowed to leave the workhouse for? Remember the job you got at Mr Nugent’s, the one you never went to? Hannah got it, and quite right too.’
‘Where have you been? I’ve kept your meal warm,’ Cecily fussed as Juliet opened the front door. ‘William’s here. He came straight from work. He brought a wooden train for Archie.’
‘How kind.’
‘He’s a kind person. You had a card by the teatime post. It’s on the mantelshelf.’
William rose as Juliet entered. ‘Cecily says nothing more has happened. That’s good.’
‘Mrs McLoughlin cried off her appointment this morning,’ said Cecily.
‘I meant, nothing more with the police. It’s rotten about the customer, but you said she lives near the Green, so it’s inevitable she knows about the search. It’d be more damaging if she lived a couple of miles away and she’d heard.’
‘Read the postcard,’ said Cecily. ‘Lady Darley wants you. Isn’t it wonderful? I rather think the larder and pantry are running low, so I’ll do the rounds of the shops tomorrow, including the greengrocer’s where Mrs McLoughlin’s daughter works, and you know what a gossip I am: I just won’t be able to keep my mouth shut about all we’ve done for Lady Darley and how she personally writes you postcards when she wants you. If Mrs McLoughlin doesn’t come crawling back, I’ll eat my hat. In fact, I’ll stop her in the street and eat her hat.’
William laughed. ‘That I’d like to see. I’ll be off now, but I’ll drop in tomorrow. I don’t want you facing this alone.’
‘Come and eat with us,’ Cecily insisted. As the door shut behind him, she sighed. ‘Don’t worry – I’m not getting ideas.’
‘I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t.’
Later, when Archie was asleep, Juliet told Cecily about following Mr Kenyon. ‘And you’ll never guess who Mrs Carmichael is: Rosie.’
‘Rosie?’ It took a moment. ‘Rosie? Our Rosie? Rosie from Moorside?’
‘I threatened her with the police, but I’m sure there’s nothing to connect her with the burglaries, and she probably has a dozen lackeys who’ll swear blind her Garden Cottage key never moved from its place.’
‘We must get rid of the jewellery.’
‘No. That really would make us criminals.’
‘What will she do next?’ Cecily asked.
‘Hard to say. Possibly nothing. It didn’t sound like she tipped off the police to come here. In fact, Inspector Crawley told me he was the one to put two and two together.’
‘It might have taken months for the police to make the link to you, and Rosie was just going to sit and wait.’
Juliet felt shivery. ‘Let’s give notice and find somewhere else to live.’
‘Not with what’s hidden upstairs. Besides, a new landlord would make enquiries and hear about the police coming after us.’
‘So we’re stuck here.’
That in itself was a victory for Rosie.
Juliet slipped through the gate behind the run-down old folly, glad she had permission to use this shortcut.
What would be required of her today? More dresses for the ungrateful Lily? But it was costumes for bathing.
‘Normally, I order my garments from a salon in town,’ her ladyship explained, ‘but not something like this.’
‘It so happens I made some costumes recently.’
‘For Mrs Thomas and her girls. That’s why I sent for you. We’re taking our holiday together. It turns out that Whitsun is a bad time for Mr Thomas to be away from the office, so Mrs Thomas suggested she and I take our girls and go together.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I’m hoping it might perk Lily up, poor love. A change of air, you know.’
Juliet would dearly have loved to encourage more details, but what if her ladyship regretted speaking freely and never employed her again?
‘I’ll sketch the costume, shall I?’ It took just a few pencil strokes. ‘There’s a choice of length, knee or ankle.’
‘Ankle, definitely, and the same for the girls.’
She had to clear her throat before she could ask, ‘Are the young ladies available for measuring today?’
Five minutes later, she was upstairs with Frances and Izzie. Her heart drummed in her chest. Izzie!
‘Me first, if Lily’s not here,’ Frances announced. ‘It’s troublesome being the middle one. You never go first and you don’t get fussed over.’
‘Life is hard,’ Lady Darley said drily, but Juliet caught the underlining note of indulgence.
It was difficult to concentrate on Frances’s measurements with Izzie so near. ‘Your turn now, missy.’ She tried to hide her feelings beneath a false joviality. She was touching her daughter, actually touching her. This was what she felt like, warm and firm. She smelt of soap and honey. She should never have let her go. Trying to drag her composure into position, she said, ‘I’ll need Miss Lily too.’
‘She said you’ve got her measurements,’ Frances replied.
‘I need to measure her for trousers.’
‘Trousers!’ Frances crowed. ‘We’re having trousers! Does Lily know, Mummy? I’ll fetch her.’
Izzie kept looking down to see what Juliet was doing.
‘Stand up straight, chick. There’s a good girl.’
She gently lifted the child’s chin. The touch of Izzie’s face left a tingle in her fingers. She went back to work with the tape measure, only to find Izzie peering down again, craning her neck in an effort not to bend her back.
Juliet laughed. ‘Standing up straight means not looking down.’ She heard the indulgence in her voice. What a terrible mother she would have made. She would have spoilt her rotten.
Frances bounced in, towing Lily.
‘There you are.’ Lady Darley smiled encouragingly.
‘We’re having trousers, Lily-Lavender,’ Frances announced.
‘I’ve told you before,’ Lily snapped. ‘That’s not my name.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Izzie piped up. ‘You’re Lily-Lavender because lavender’s your favourite.’
‘Not any more,’ Lily declared, ‘so stop saying it.’
And Juliet knew.
She knew what the thoughtful, personal present was that Sir Henry Darley had given his eldest stepdaughter the day before her previous appointment here.
She just knew.
Juliet slipped across the gardens, slowing as she left the house behind, or maybe it was shock that was making her drag her feet. She couldn’t bear to think of the lavender candle Sir Henry had given Lily, the thoughtful, personal present that had so delighted poor unsuspecting Flora. She couldn’t bear it. She was a young girl again, worried sick about her mother, having to be grateful, hating to be grateful, vulnerable and disgusted and scared and desperate and stupid, stupid, stupid.
And now it was happening to Lily. Dear, sweet Lily – because she was a sweet girl, Juliet was sure of that, remembering the pleasant, smiling girl she had seen in Sally-Ann’s hall. ‘Lavender is a happy colour in our family,’ Flora had said. But not any more. Sir Henry Darley and Lily. Mr Nugent and Lily. Old feelings swarmed all over her, so well-remembered it was as if they had never gone away. She was frightened and frozen and humiliated and stupid, stupid, stupid. No wonder Lily’s behaviour had altered. She was like Juliet, unable to tell anyone, unable to speak out, but unlike Juliet, she had a mother who was fit and healthy, and she must ache for her mother to know, to realise, to ask the right questions. Lily might be sullen on the outside, but on the inside she was pleading for mercy and release.
Juliet felt sick and trembly. She needed to stop, get a hold of herself. The folly was ahead. No one would know if she slipped inside. She walked across the rickety footbridge and mounted the steps t
o push the door. It looked big and heavy, but it gave easily. She found herself in a circular chamber, unfurnished and dim and damp, in which was a spiral staircase.
Going up, she emerged into a small round room. A door opened onto the terrace with its low parapet – its too-low parapet. She saw what Lady Darley meant. The folly was only one storey tall, but that low parapet made her stomach swoosh, as if she were much higher off the ground.
Standing there, arms wrapped round her middle, she hugged herself, not seeing anything. A man’s voice exclaimed, ‘It is you!’ There was a wild scramble inside her head, a moment of pure panic at being found by Mr Nugent, even though it wasn’t his voice, followed by a gush of relief at seeing a young man instead – then anger at being disturbed when her thoughts were so important – then she was clobbered, that was how it felt, clobbered by shock when she saw who it was.
As Cecily left the greengrocer’s, she saw Verity Forbes. Instinctively, she stepped back, then wished she hadn’t. Talk about obvious. Pinning on a smile, she stepped outside again, looking Verity in the eye as she drew close.
‘I thought I’d left my purse behind, but I hadn’t. Silly me.’ Did her laugh make her sound as guilty as she felt?
‘How are you?’ Verity asked. ‘You and Juliet. William told me about your troubles. He’s most concerned.’
Cecily wanted to swat her aside. How dared this girl presume to tell her about William’s feelings? Vexation was followed by misery. Verity had a perfect right. ‘We’re fine, thank you. Aren’t you at work today?’
Verity held up a bundle of letters. ‘I’m posting these.’
‘I won’t keep you. I’m sure you need to get back to the office.’
As Verity continued on her way, Cecily watched. She felt all bothersome, as her nan would have said. She hated herself for being rude, but how else was she supposed to behave? Verity Forbes was the last person she wanted to cosy up to. She felt a surge of resentment and protectiveness on William’s behalf. There was Verity, with the chance of an adoring husband and a comfortable family life, and she was buggering about clinging to her independence. The word rang with a distinct sneering sound in Cecily’s head.
The Sewing Room Girl Page 31
