‘That’s what comes of listening in.’
‘I’m sorry, Ralph.’
‘Mind you don’t do it again.’
Pleading a headache at work, Evadne sneaked off and caught the tram to town. She had seen an advertisement for the new department in Affleck and Brown’s, where the ‘modern lady’ could purchase an almost-finished garment, which the in-house seamstress would then fit and finish for her.
‘For that personally tailored look,’ the soberly dressed assistant assured her. ‘May I show madam some of our styles?’
Evadne enjoyed being addressed in the third person. She chose a slightly drop-waisted wool dress the colour of caramel that would show off her colouring to perfection.
‘And could your seamstress sew bands of brown velvet around the cuffs and neckline for me?’
That would give just the right finishing touch, especially to the boat neck, which revealed a tantalising glimpse of the dip between her collar bones at the base of her throat.
First the dress, next the man – which meant making up to Carrie, something she loathed the thought of, but the moment she had achieved her purpose, she would drop her like a hot potato. The shopkeeping Armstrongs – because that was what Ralph was, after all, a shopkeeper, even if he did sell expensive goods – would have no place in the refined world of the Honourable Mr and Mrs Larter.
Evadne had visited Carrie’s new home every fortnight. She wouldn’t have been there at all if it hadn’t been for Mother. Not that there seemed much point in sitting at the bedside of an invalid who had made no progress whatsoever, no matter how much Carrie rattled on about exercise regimes and stimulation.
‘It doesn’t appear to be doing her any good,’ Evadne had said last time.
‘Adam says it’s important not to give up. And you must have seen it work at Brookburn – haven’t you?’ Carrie’s eyes were anxious.
‘My work is purely administrative,’ she replied repressively, but Carrie’s words had made her think. Only a couple of days previously, she had seen a young man – well, she assumed he was young; his face was such a mess that it was difficult to tell – taking a few shuffling steps in the corridor, leaning heavily on two sticks, while staff stood around him, far enough away to allow him space but close enough to leap to the rescue.
‘A few months ago, he was flat on his back, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak,’ an orderly had murmured to Evadne. ‘Look at him now.’
The man’s progress was excruciatingly slow; how much longer before she could get by? She lost patience, retraced her steps, went downstairs to the floor below, walked along the landing and back up the far staircase, emerging beyond the shuffling man and his entourage.
She hadn’t bothered telling Carrie about it at the time, but maybe she would mention it today. She needed Carrie on her side.
‘I’m sorry not to come more often,’ she remarked, sitting with Carrie at Mother’s bedside. ‘I’m aware Ralph doesn’t like me.’
Carrie’s silence confirmed it and Evadne waited, knowing that eventually Carrie would feel obliged to say something.
‘Well … he doesn’t really know you, does he?’
‘Doesn’t really want to,’ she said, keeping her tone light, ‘which is a shame because I could be of assistance in the auction room. It must generate a great deal of paperwork.’
‘There is a lot of work – Ralph’s always saying so – but not enough to need another person, and then there would be the cost.’
‘Exactly. I’m not looking for another position. I’m simply offering my services on an ad hoc basis. I could handle the paperwork and that would leave Ralph free to do other things.’
‘That’s generous, Evadne.’
‘It wouldn’t do Ralph any harm to have someone of my social calibre associated with his auction room.’ She left the tiniest pause, as if a new thought had occurred to her. ‘I could rearrange my working hours so that I work evenings at Brookburn in order to be available on auction days. There is just the one auction each month, isn’t there?’
‘At the moment. Ralph hopes to increase it to fortnightly.’
‘I could offer assistance on auction day; or if … I don’t know, if Ralph had an important visitor – a colleague, say, or an investor – I could be at hand to act in a secretarial capacity. That would show him in a favourable light, you must agree.’ She glanced at her sister. ‘And it couldn’t do us any harm as a family, could it?’
Carrie’s gentle eyes misted over. ‘I’ll ask Ralph tonight.’
Evadne said no more. She couldn’t imagine what she would do if Ralph refused. She had to have the chance to meet the Honourable Mr Larter accidentally on purpose in the auction room, she simply had to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Carrie heaved herself downstairs to the shop. She had had a few twinges during the night that had made her wonder whether the baby was starting. She felt elated, but she couldn’t breathe a word because she wasn’t supposed to be due. She had to keep going as normal, so had gone out shopping that morning, anxious in case her waters broke in the greengrocer’s.
Now she ought to do a spot of dusting. She didn’t feel like it. All she wanted to do was take the weight off her feet, but being told off by Ralph over the silver-plated tray had left her with the odd feeling that she ought to go back to the shop to show she wasn’t scared.
When she peeped in, she was disconcerted to see Arthur on his own. She felt like heading back upstairs, but that was silly. Anyroad, he had seen her.
‘Afternoon, Mrs Armstrong. What can I do for you?’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Looks like it.’ He gave her a grin, and she couldn’t tell if he was being impertinent. ‘Mr Armstrong is out doing a valuation.’
‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’ Carrie shook her head. Her memory had faltered a few times recently, presumably something to do with her condition, though there was no one she could ask. She had lost not only her dear mam’s wisdom and support, but also that of all the women in Wilton Lane. She hadn’t been back even once. Ralph had forbidden it.
‘You’re a cut above that now,’ he had said on their way home from the registry office, and Carrie, instead of feeling proud of doing so well for herself, Mam and the baby, had felt uncomfortable – guilty, too – when she remembered all the kindness and assistance that had been lavished on Mam.
‘He’ll be an hour or so yet,’ said Arthur.
‘I came down to do some dusting.’
‘I’ll bring some bits through.’
She settled in her usual place and Arthur brought a canteen of cutlery and a set of small ornamental bowls in lacquered brass.
‘I’ll fetch the Brasso,’ he said.
She glanced up in surprise. Hadn’t Mr Weston said you shouldn’t use brass polish on lacquered brass? Yet here was Ralph’s assistant apparently happy to make that very mistake. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, not liking to correct him. He must know his stuff or Ralph wouldn’t have employed him.
As she worked, she heard the shop door open and the bell ring, then male voices. Arthur popped his head round the door.
‘Sorry, Mrs A, but could you keep an eye on the shop for five minutes? A dining suite we’re auctioning has arrived early and I need to sort it out.’
They were lucky to have the use of some rooms at the hotel over the road, though Ralph hadn’t been pleased when Carrie said so.
‘It isn’t luck. It’s a sound business arrangement. It makes sense for me to have my auction room nearby and, as well as my rent, the Lloyds makes extra by serving refreshments to the punters.’
Arthur left the door open so she could see into the shop. He was gone rather longer than five minutes. Was he sneaking a crafty cigarette? He would never dare try it on with Ralph.
The bell over the door tinkled and she looked up in dismay. Ralph wouldn’t be amused to know his hugely pregnant wife had been in the shop, but at least the customer was a woman, and an elderly one at th
at.
She pushed herself to her feet, trying not to waddle. ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you?’
The old lady turned to her. Feathery grey hair wisped out from beneath her old-fashioned large-brimmed hat. ‘I hope so. I’d like a silver tray – plated, of course, not solid silver.’
Carrie smiled. This was one request she could cope with. ‘We had one a few days ago. Let me see if it’s still here.’
As she picked her way carefully through the pieces of furniture on display, feeling thoroughly ungainly, the old lady began to chat.
‘We had one when I was a girl. It was my mother’s pride and joy, but she had to sell it after my father died and I’ve always promised myself I’d buy one if I could afford it. Now my dear brother has left me a legacy and here I am.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s been sold.’ How disappointing. It had given her such a rush of pleasure to help a customer again. She had forgotten how much she had enjoyed working at Trimble’s.
‘What a pity.’ The old lady looked crestfallen.
‘We have another tray in the back. If you don’t mind waiting …’
She retrieved the silver-plated tray, the one she had mistakenly thought was solid silver. A minute later, she was smiling at the customer’s delight.
‘It’s charming. One moment while I put my spectacles on.’ She fished in her bag and hooked her glasses over her ears. ‘There. Oh, it’s even prettier than the one my mother had. Look at that fancywork. How much is it?’
Carrie was ready for this. She remembered the price tag on the tray that had been sold. That tray had been bigger but this one’s scalloped edging suggested that more work had gone into it, so it seemed fair to ask for the same price. She looked anxiously into the old lady’s face, badly wanting her to be able to afford it.
‘Well, it’s more than I was hoping to pay, but it’s worth it.’
She beamed. ‘I’m sure it’ll give you a lot of pleasure. May I have your name and address?’ She wrote down the details and accepted payment. ‘I’ll wrap your tray and have it sent round, Miss Deacon.’ That was something else Mr Weston had told her, always use the customer’s name. Not that either of them had ever expected her to be in the position of selling anything. She felt a glow of pleasure. ‘Much obliged,’ she added, the way Mr Trimble had taught her to say to customers who paid upfront.
‘Well, Armstrong, how are you? You must be relieved you’ve got your auction room sorted out at last. I was starting to lose patience, thought we might be parting company.’
Ralph gritted his teeth but kept his expression neutral as he shook hands with Alex Larter. Meeting in his office should give him the advantage, dammit. Larter’s words rankled in so many ways and he was entirely aware of it, the smooth bastard. Calling him Armstrong, for one thing, when Ralph had to address him as Mr Larter, thanks to their relative social positions. Alex Larter’s father was some sort of lord and Larter was an honourable. He had been Ralph’s superior in the army too, like so many of the nobs who were given rank just because of who they were. Not that Larter had been bad at it, not like some of them.
‘There was never any doubt I’d get sorted,’ he said, stiffly.
‘Wasn’t there?’ Larter spoke lightly, his tone not quite an open taunt. ‘I can think of a number of fellows who would disagree. But never mind that now.’ His shoulders didn’t move inside his costly double-breasted jacket, but his voice suggested a dismissive shrug. ‘I met an acquaintance of yours the other day.’
Ralph expected him to name someone from their army days even as he acknowledged that Larter was the last man to indulge in a spot of auld lang syne. Or maybe the last but one. He, himself, would be last.
‘Miss Evadne Baxter. Your wife’s sister, I believe.’
Ralph felt the skin around his eyes stretch as they widened. He hated being taken by surprise, because it was a sign of weakness, but he couldn’t hide it.
Larter regarded him with amusement. ‘Yes, that’s approximately how pleased she looked as well. Turns out her grandfather and mine took a pop at the French together back when Egypt became a colony. I want you to offer her a job.’
‘You what?’ He couldn’t believe his ears. Just the other day, Carrie had told him that Evadne had offered her services and he had turned the suggestion down flat. It was his proud boast that he would do anything to please his Carrie, but nothing would induce him to cosy up to her stuck-up bitch of a sister. And now here was Alex flaming Larter suggesting—
‘Not bloody likely! I’m not employing her.’
‘Oh, but you are. I have plans for the lady.’
‘Like what?’
Larter’s grey eyes were flinty and Ralph could have sworn the flesh twitched beneath the scar down his cheek. ‘Are you questioning me?’
The moment was rock hard with tension and instinctively Ralph raised his guard. He wouldn’t back down, though, not for anyone. Instead, he sidestepped. ‘You must admit, it’s unexpected.’
‘Old man Baxter told me about her. The beautiful Evadne has pretensions, apparently, which he isn’t inclined to fulfil, thanks to the mother having made an unfortunate second marriage that dragged Evadne down in the world. That would be your mother-in-law, I think I’m right in saying? Miss Baxter has been endeavouring to claw her way back up again ever since, but the old boy won’t soil his hands. He that toucheth pitch, and all that. Once the stepfather was revealed as a deserter, that was proof to old Baxter that he’d been right all along to keep Evadne at arm’s length. Meanwhile, the lady is doing everything she can to worm her way into his good graces, but to no avail. I feel sorry for her, poor bitch.’
‘Really?’
‘No. But she’ll be useful to our venture; and so you, her beloved brother-in-law, will offer her a position.’
Over his rotting corpse. He hated the power Larter had over him. One wrong word and it really would be over his dead body.
They both knew he had no choice, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Instead he asked, ‘What have you got in mind?’
‘I have the impression you’re not keen on her.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then you won’t care what becomes of her, will you?’
Chapter Twenty-Three
As three o’clock approached, Carrie made tea. Before she got so huge, she used to take the tray downstairs into the back of the shop; now, Arthur fetched it. She had the tray ready as the clock struck: Ralph didn’t like to be kept waiting. She listened for Arthur’s tap on the door, but it didn’t come.
At ten past, she ventured down. She didn’t want it to be her fault the tea was late. She glanced into the shop. It was empty so she opened the office door, aware as she did so of a loud voice, yet rejecting the sound because it was out of place. The next moment, her fingers slipped from the knob and the door swung wide while she stood there, gawping.
Ralph had got Arthur shoved against the wall and was bellowing into his face. Ralph’s left hand was clenched around a fistful of collar and tie, his forearm and elbow digging into Arthur’s front, holding him pinned while his right fist hovered menacingly below Arthur’s chin. Carrie glimpsed Arthur’s face, the skin shiny with sweat, blotchy too. Blood was streaming from one nostril.
‘You bloody thieving bastard!’ Ralph roared right into Arthur’s face, jamming him harder against the wall as if he wanted to shove him straight through it. ‘I’ll teach you to steal from me. Tell me what you’ve done with it or I’ll bust your kneecaps with the hammer.’
‘I never touched it. I don’t know where it is …’
‘Then see if this jogs your memory.’ Ralph delivered a series of heavy slaps across Arthur’s face, and Carrie flinched as his head snapped this way and that. ‘Remember the salver now, do you?’
She went hot and cold. Plunging across the room, she pulled at Ralph’s arm. Without slackening his grip, he looked down at her over his shoulder.
‘Get upstairs, Carrie. This isn’t for you to see.’
/> ‘No – Ralph – please. I know what happened.’
The room fell still. The hairs lifted on the nape of her neck. Both men were looking at her now. Arthur, still fastened against the wall and trying to sniff the blood back up his nose, screwed his face round to see her.
Her mouth was dry. All that emerged was a croaky whisper: ‘I sold it.’
‘You what?’
‘I sold it.’
She gazed at Ralph, willing him to relax his hold on Arthur and smile and say in a relieved voice, ‘That’s all right, then.’ But he didn’t. His eyes were cold and sharp. She licked her lips.
‘Mr Renton had to go across to the Lloyds, and a lady came in. She wanted a silver-plated tray. I thought I was doing the right thing.’
Ralph released Arthur so abruptly he slumped to the floor. Ralph swung round to confront Carrie. Confront? Her heart swelled painfully and the baby kicked as if in protest. She placed her hands over her belly. Something stiffened inside her: she would fight to the death to protect her child.
‘Good afternoon. I trust I’m not interrupting.’
The smooth, cultured voice was so totally at odds with the charged atmosphere that she had to rearrange everything inside her head. A tall, well-dressed gentleman was standing in the doorway, surveying the scene through knowing grey eyes, though his expression was bland, broken only by the narrow thread of a scar down one cheek.
‘Mr Larter!’ Ralph said; and ‘Mr Larter!’ said Arthur a split second after, the blood in his mouth endowing the words with a thickened quality.
The gentleman stepped into the room. He looked at Carrie as if assessing her before raising his hat. Her gaze was drawn to the left side of his forehead, where the hairline was interrupted by the angry ridges of a scar that puckered his temple.
He said, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, Armstrong?’
‘Carrie, this is the Honourable Mr Larter, a business associate. Mr Larter, this is my wife.’
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