Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Blimey,’ she said. ‘You’re like something off a soap advertisement.’

  She had known girls who had something attractive about them, pretty eyes, maybe, or curling hair. Jinny Blaire down her street had all the boys after her because of her big breasts and come-hither smile. But mostly the combination of poor health, inadequate diet and bad living conditions had bred a plain lot down her way. Nothing like the women who got their pictures in the papers, the music-hall stars and society beauties. They might just as well have been a different race. But here she was looking at someone who looked as if she belonged to that other world. She had flawless pink and white skin, glossy blonde hair and wide blue eyes, straight nose and cupid’s-bow mouth in a perfect oval face. And she was looking at Daisy in astonishment.

  ‘Th-thank you. That’s very kind of you,’ she said.

  Even her voice was different. It was gentle and cultured.

  Daisy flushed. Her mother had been right. These people were going to look down on her.

  ‘I’m Daisy Phipps,’ she said, rather too loudly. ‘I’m from Dog Island. Take it or leave it.’

  The other girl smiled and held out her hand. ‘I’m Isobel Brand. How do you do?’

  To her surprise, Daisy found herself shaking hands. Isobel’s was soft with well-kept nails.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already started unpacking and I’ve put my things on that side,’ Isobel said. ‘It’s a little Spartan here, but it’s very clean.’

  There was a deliberate brightness in her voice, as if she were trying to keep cheerful.

  ‘Yeah –’ Daisy said. The fact that this was her room, with only one other person to share it with, was gradually sinking in. Her room. All this space. A whole bed to herself. And a washstand, a real washstand. ‘Blimey –’ she breathed. ‘Just wait till I tell ’em about this back home. They’ll never believe me.’

  She walked round, touching everything, just to prove that she really could. She sat down on the bed. It gave deliciously. The coverlet looked practically new. She tweeked it back a little at the top and found white cotton sheets and a pillow in a real pillowcase, crisp and white and ironed. It was like being a princess. She looked at her new roommate, who was taking a dress out of a big leather portmanteau. A beautiful dress of soft blue wool with yellow ribbon trimmings. She hung it up on one of the rows of pegs, alongside two dark skirts and a black tailor-made costume. Daisy glanced down at her scruffy carpetbag. When she got out the clothes she had inside there, they were going to look just exactly what they were – cheap and second-hand. Were all the girls here as elegant and expensive-looking as this Isobel? But then she remembered the frizzy-haired girl who had let her in. She might have tried to be snooty about Daisy’s bag, but she was only an ordinary working girl. So were the rest of the people at Packards.

  ‘What’s someone like you doing here?’ she blurted out.

  Isobel’s lovely face took on a closed look. ‘Settling in, just like you.’

  That was not quite what Daisy meant.

  ‘But – you’re the sort what buys things at Packards, not sells them,’ she said.

  ‘I need to support myself. Packards offered me a position.’

  ‘But why are you living in? Ain’t you got no family?’

  ‘Why are you living in?’ Isobel countered.

  ‘It’s more nearer here. And there ain’t enough room for us all at home,’ Daisy said. She did not add the most pressing reason, that she wanted to escape. She wasn’t going to give away everything yet.

  ‘Do you have a large family?’ Isobel asked.

  ‘Yeah, loads of us.’ Daisy found herself distracted. She reeled off their names. ‘You?’

  ‘No – none.’

  Daisy stared at her. ‘What – nobody?’

  ‘No. I’m an orphan.’

  Isobel turned her back and started taking underwear out of her portmanteau and folding it neatly into one of the chests of drawers. But she did not hide her face quite well enough. Daisy realised that she was biting her lip, trying to fight back tears. At once her heart was melted. Here was not a posh lady with expensive clothes and a snooty accent, but a girl in trouble. She went over and put an arm round Isobel’s shoulders.

  ‘You poor love. You all on your own in the world, then?’

  Isobel nodded. Her chin wobbled and the tears spilled over. ‘I’m sorry – I don’t mean to – it’s just –’

  ‘There, there,’ Daisy soothed. ‘You have a good old cry, then. Do you good.’

  She guided Isobel over to her bed and held her, patting her back and stroking her head, while she sobbed on her shoulder. She had done the same many a time for her brothers and sisters. The big difference was, Isobel smelt sweet.

  ‘There,’ she said, as Isobel subsided into sniffs and hiccups. ‘That better now?’

  Isobel nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, you must think I’m very foolish. The thing is, it’s not only losing my parents, it’s all this –’ She indicated the room with a slight wave of the hand. ‘I don’t know whether I’m going to be able to do it.’

  ‘Well, I ain’t never been away from home before neither,’ Daisy admitted. ‘Tell you what, we’ll look out for each other, eh? I’ll stick up for you and you stick up for me. Mates, like. What d’you think?’

  Isobel gave a watery smile.

  ‘I think I should like that very much, Daisy. Thank you.’

  6

  THE THOMAS PACKARDS’ house in Hill Street, Mayfair, was all lit up and ready for a family dinner party. The seating in the green and gilt drawing room was arranged to accommodate the guests, the long polished table in the dining room was set out with silver and Royal Doulton and Waterford crystal, and down in the kitchens a meal of regal proportions was within half an hour of perfection. These family gatherings took place once a month. Thomas, in his role of head of the family, insisted that everyone should attend, and because they were all dependent on him, everyone came.

  Whether they wanted to come was another matter. In the drawing room of their house, Bertie Amberley was complaining to Winifred.

  ‘Dashed nuisance, these dinners at your pa’s. Always seem to be when there’s something particularly good on at the theatre.’

  ‘Well, don’t think that I enjoy them,’ Winifred retorted. ‘But family is family and duty is duty, after all.’

  Bertie grunted and helped himself to a generous measure of brandy and soda.

  ‘Don’t see why the old boy has to have them so often. I mean to say, once every two or three months is enough to keep up the old family ties, surely? We don’t dine with my folks more often than that.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Winifred agreed petulantly.

  She would have liked to have dined with Bertie’s family far more often. But she knew, to her chagrin, that she and Bertie were only invited the very minimum amount for form’s sake. Bertie’s mother and father were glad Winifred had taken him off their hands and provided for him, since the Amberley fortunes were low and Bertie showed no inclination to do anything to support himself. But they were old-fashioned in their attitude to money and trade. The Prince of Wales might make friends of bankers and shopkeepers, but the Amberleys could never fully admit them to their circle.

  ‘At least they can be relied upon to provide a decent dinner,’ Bertie conceded.

  ‘I’m happy you’ll find something to enjoy in the evening,’ Winifred said, glancing at his paunch.

  ‘Be able to keep an eye on me, won’t you, old girl?’ Bertie pointed out. ‘Can’t do anything but behave m’self, can I?’

  Winifred compressed her lips and said nothing. He was right, of course. While he was sitting at the family table, he could not be out chasing actresses. That was something to be glad of. She looked at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘What can those children be doing? They should have been down five minutes ago.’

  Half a mile or so across town at his bachelor’s rooms, Edward was flinging his second spoilt
bow tie on the floor. He also disliked the family dinners. He saw quite enough of his grandfather at work, and had left home in order to get away from a father he despised and a mother who irritated him. However, there was one advantage to this evening’s gathering, which was that it would give him a chance to work out just how strongly his mother was against this ridiculous plan of Amelie’s to run her own department within the store. This was one instance when he and his mother were of the same mind, though for different reasons, and he meant to take advantage of it.

  At the third try, he managed a perfect knot in his tie. He picked up his evening cape, his silk scarf, his gloves and his top hat and, every inch the debonair man about town, went downstairs to call a cab.

  At Hill Street, Thomas was listening to his wife, Margaret’s, complaints with half an ear.

  ‘. . . and then I caught her laying the dessert spoons and forks round the wrong way. It is really quite impossible to get a decently trained servant these days, and without them these dinner parties are so difficult . . .’

  ‘It is only a family dinner,’ Thomas pointed out.

  ‘That’s as may be, but it still has to be done properly when there’s that creature of Winifred’s looking down his nose at us all the time,’ Margaret told him.

  ‘Well, if you don’t think you can manage, my dear –’ Thomas said.

  ‘Manage! Of course I can manage! Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’d like to get rid of me and have some flighty young creature for your wife –’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Thomas said, thinking longingly of his mistress. She never made scenes like this. To distract Margaret, he said, ‘What have you ordered for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Consommé julienne, then fillets of sole Coburg and devilled oysters, then saddle of mutton, honey-glazed ham, various vegetables and salad, then iced pudding and apple charlotte, then dessert,’ Margaret reeled off, not without a note of satisfaction. They both knew that this was a very acceptable meal.

  ‘Sounds delicious,’ Thomas said.

  From downstairs came the sound of a knock at the door. The evening had begun.

  For the first hour or so, nothing was said that had not been said a hundred times before. Healths were enquired into, the current state of the store dissected, the latest doings at court commented on. Edward, bored, was reduced to viewing his family as an outsider might. They were an impressive lot, he had to admit. His grandfather, though he had never been tall and was now shrinking with age, was still blessed with abundant white hair that, together with his air of authority, gave him quite the look of the patriarch. Edward’s grandmother was definitely an old lady now, the lines on her face emphasising the discontented twist to her mouth, but she was very expensively dressed in claret-coloured silk embellished by pearls and garnets set in gold. His father was fast losing his looks, but nobody could mistake that lazy drawl, that air of total confidence that marked the member of the upper classes. His mother and his sister were both stunningly dressed, the one in a gown of peach-coloured embroidered chiffon over satin, the other in palest green net with sequins over white, and even Edward had to admit that Amelie had grown into a very pretty girl. And then there was his brother. Perry, like the rest of the men impeccably turned out in evening dress, looked just what he was – the spoilt younger son with too much time on his hands. All in all, they were a handsome bunch, and their prosperity glowed from them.

  Everything about the meal spoke money as well. There was enough food for twice as many people, all cooked to perfection and artistically presented. The servants, despite Margaret’s complaints, were swift and unobtrusive in handing round food and removing plates. There was sherry to accompany the soup, followed by champagne and claret with the other courses. And all provided by Packards. The store that Winifred and the Amberleys despised was the source of the whole family’s extravagant way of life.

  Not for the first time it struck Edward that the best thing about his family was that compared with most others it was exceedingly small. There were no uncles or cousins with a claim on the store. It had to come to him. With this comfortable thought in mind, he began to listen to the conversation again.

  Talk was centred round one of the perennial family topics – the purchase of a country estate. Edward was convinced that his grandfather liked to trail it before the others every now and again just to stir them up. If that was his intention, it worked every time.

  ‘I did hear that the Maynards are having to give up their place in Wiltshire,’ Winifred was saying. ‘So dreadful for them, poor things. I believe it’s been in the family for over two hundred years. Of course, it’s not their main property. They still have Archforth. But so sad to have to part with family land. Such a pretty place, too, so I hear.’

  ‘Archforth’s a monstrosity. I don’t know why they don’t get rid of that and keep the Wiltshire house. It’s much nicer,’ Perry said.

  Winifred pounced on this. ‘Have you been there, then, darling?’

  ‘Two or three times, I suppose.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘Oh well – you know how it is. You go here and you go there for Saturday-to-Mondays and forget where you’ve been half the time,’ Perry said vaguely.

  Edward could well believe this. His brother seemed to have invitations from half the Top Ten Thousand of England. He never could work out how, but Perry just seemed to have the knack of making himself agreeable.

  ‘Wiltshire, eh? Very pretty part of the world,’ Thomas said.

  Predictably, Winifred snatched at this.

  ‘Oh it is indeed, Father. One of the prettiest counties in England. And I believe the Maynards’ house is quite delightful. Isn’t that so, Perry? What did you think of it? What is it like?’

  ‘Very neat little place. You know the sort of thing – mullioned windows, panelled hall with a minstrels’ gallery, lot of fireplaces you could roast an ox in. Nice lake, too. Full of fish. Went for a boating party on the lake, all rigged out with Chinese lanterns and rugs and champagne and that. Rowed across to the little island and wound the gramophone up and danced. Very jolly.’

  It was quite clear to Edward that Perry could have been talking about any of the country houses he had visited, but their mother seemed to be taken in.

  ‘Oh, it sounds just perfect. You know how you enjoy fishing, Father.’

  ‘Wiltshire’s a long way from London,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Not these days. Great Western would get you there in no time,’ Edward said, just to annoy him.

  Having his grandfather safely out of the way in the country would suit him down to the ground, but he knew there was no chance. The old boy was wedded to the store.

  ‘Could work up a very decent shoot down there too, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Bertie put in.

  Edward glanced at his father. It wasn’t the shooting that really attracted him. That was just the excuse. What Bertie liked was a supply of bored and available married women, and shooting parties provided them in abundance.

  ‘It would be so nice for Amelie to have a little country retreat in the family, now that she’s about to come out,’ Winifred said.

  Which was clever, Edward had to admit. If there was anything that might sway Thomas, it was the thought of providing something for Amelie.

  ‘It’s not really possible to launch a girl properly without a country property somewhere in the background, is it?’ he put in.

  Winifred shot him a grateful look.

  ‘Well, of course one can, but there’s no doubt that property does matter. There are so many of these dreadful American girls coming over here with quite vulgar amounts of money behind them, so it really does count for a great deal that an English girl should have some solid landed property in her family.’

  Amelie had been unusually silent, though she had been getting more and more agitated as the conversation progressed. Now her pale skin was flushed red with annoyance.

  ‘Why don’t you just take out an advertisement in the paper: Marriageable gir
l, large fortune, country property, any offers?’

  ‘Amelie!’ Winifred was genuinely shocked.

  But Thomas laughed. ‘That’s right. Anyone would think the child’s got buck teeth or warts or something. Pretty girl like our Amelie will have all the young fellows running after her.’

  ‘Yes, but will they be the right sort of young fellows?’ Winifred retorted.

  ‘We certainly don’t want some fortune-hunter after her money,’ said Margaret, with a meaningful look at Bertie.

  Bertie gazed at the bubbles in his glass of champagne. ‘Our little girl has breeding, on one side at least. She doesn’t need anything else,’ he said.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ Amelie burst out. ‘Will you please all stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here? Have any of you considered that I might not want to come out?’

  ‘That’s right. Our Melly’s a New Woman, aren’t you, Mel?’ Perry said.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Winifred.

  ‘Oh but she is, Mama. She’s going to wear a stiff collar and tie and she’s going to earn her own living.’

  Amelie glared at him. ‘It’s all just a joke to you, isn’t it, Perry?’

  ‘I think we have heard quite enough of this silly talk,’ their mother snapped. ‘Of course Amelie is going to come out. Anyone would think she was some clerk’s daughter from Clapham wanting to become a typist.’

  ‘Instead of which I’m a shopkeeper’s granddaughter from Mayfair wanting to help run the store. And I’m going to, aren’t I, Grandpa?’

  There was a moment’s loaded silence as everybody waited for everybody else’s reaction. Edward’s glance flicked from his mother to his grandfather. Then he noticed that Amelie was looking at him. The little minx. She was getting the old man to fight her battles for her. And hoping, no doubt, to stir her big brother into public opposition. But Edward was not going to play her game. He composed his face into a bland smile as her eyes locked briefly with his, and waited for their mother to lay down the law.