by Weaver, Pam
Mrs Fosdyke’s lip set in a thin red line and her expression hardened.
‘I did ask you, Mrs Fosdyke,’ Ruby protested mildly.
‘Is all your work done?’
‘Yes, Mrs Fosdyke.’
‘Are the bins emptied? Is the broom cupboard tidy?’
‘Yes, Mrs Fosdyke.’ Ruby bit her bottom lip and, clenching and unclenching her fists, prayed inwardly: Please don’t let her make me go back. I’m late already.
‘Come with me,’ the older woman snapped.
Reluctantly Ruby followed her back upstairs, her angry thoughts hitting Mrs Fosdyke’s back like arrows. Why did she always have to spoil things? Ruby had asked weeks ago for this time off. In fact Mrs Fosdyke had agreed to it, and had put it on the staff roster herself. All the girls working at Warnes Hotel dreaded the housekeeper, who was strict and critical, and Ruby had never once heard her compliment any of the staff on their work. Instead she towered over them, like a glowering vulture ready to pounce on its prey. No matter how hard they worked, she seemed to take great delight in demoralizing all the chambermaids. For two pins Ruby would have told her where to stick her job and would have walked out, but times were hard and getting another job wasn’t always easy.
As she trailed behind her, Ruby held her breath. Mrs Fosdyke’s favourite trick was to make a girl tidy her locker room, after she’d stripped the locker and tipped everything into a big pile in the middle of the room. If she did that today, Ruby would have no chance of making it to the coach in time.
On the landing Mrs Fosdyke opened the linen cupboard, as if she was expecting it to be untidy, but every towel was neatly folded in exactly the same way, so that the edges were level. You could have laid a ruler against them and every towel would have touched it. Ruby watched the housekeeper running her hands over the sheets. Beside them, the pillowcases were in matching pairs, ready to take down at a moment’s notice. Everything looked perfect, but Ruby could hardly breathe. If Mrs Fosdyke decided something wasn’t to her liking, she’d pull everything out onto the landing floor and Ruby could kiss the trip goodbye. It would take at least an hour to put everything back the way it was. To her great relief Mrs Fosdyke closed the linen cupboard, but then headed for the broom cupboard. Miserably, Ruby followed.
As they walked round the corner, Mrs Fosdyke had just gone past one of the doors leading to a guest room when Edith came out, carrying a tray of dirty cups.
‘Blimey, Roob,’ she blurted out, ‘you’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’
Ruby flashed her eyes, in the hope that Edith wouldn’t say too much, but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘Give my love to your mum when you see her. Tell her I hope she’ll soon be better …’ The words died on her lips as she finally understood Ruby’s frantic eye movements and realized that Mrs Fosdyke was in the corridor as well.
‘Don’t stand there gawping, Parsons,’ Mrs Fosdyke snapped, as Edith turned round. ‘I’m sure you have work to do.’
‘Yes, Mrs Fosdyke,’ said Edith, giving her a little bob before she fled.
They’d reached the broom cupboard and Mrs Fosdyke threw open the door. It was tidy enough to be a showroom: polishes on the top shelf, labels facing to the front; dusters neatly folded on the lower shelf; the dustpans washed and spic and span, and lined up along one wall with the matching brushes dangling from hooks above them. The vacuum machines were at the back of the cupboard, and the floor cloths were draped over mirror-clean galvanized buckets. The floor was spotless and, as Ruby’s mother would have said, you could eat your dinner on it.
‘Very well,’ Mrs Fosdyke said, surveying the room, ‘you may go, Miss Bateman.’
‘Yes, Mrs Fosdyke,’ Ruby breathed. ‘Thank you, Mrs Fosdyke.’ As she hurried away, the dreaded voice called after her, ‘Walk, Miss Bateman. Walk.’
Ruby slowed her pace to a sedate walk until she was halfway down the stairs, where she broke into a frantic run, at the same time muttering, ‘Miserable dried-up old prune.’
Outside in the street the bright September sunshine hit her like a wall. The Indian summer of 1933, which had brought many day-trippers to Worthing, was a welcome end to the season. It was still so hot that few promenaders were out and about along Marine Parade. The odd one or two sat on deckchairs in the Steyne, a pretty shaded area that overlooked the seafront. Her brother Percy, a bit of a history buff, once told her that the name Steyne meant ‘stony field’ and that, in Victorian times, local fishermen mended their nets there; and before that it had been the garden of a big house – all of which were long gone. The many fishing families who worked along the shores of Worthing had, since its heyday, been reduced to a few diehards, and now mended their nets on the beach or in their own back gardens.
Ruby was glad she had chosen to wear her coolest dress, a pretty blue-and-pink cotton frock with a V-neck and a large blue bow across the chest. Gathered at the waist and tied with a blue sash and bow at the back, it had small cap sleeves, which flapped cool air onto her arms as she ran. She carried a side-fastening white clutch bag, and had matching shoes with straps across her feet. She wore no cardigan – something that she already regretted because, when the sun went down, she might be cold; but there was no time to go home for it now. Her short dark hair was, as her mother would say, as straight as a yard of pump water, but suited the new bob style very well. The other chambermaids in Warnes told her that, with her big sultry eyes, she looked just like the American movie star Louise Brooks, so Ruby didn’t complain.
She had to run the length of the town to where she was supposed to meet the coach, and she was hot and out of breath long before she got there.
As she turned the corner, Cousin Lily’s shrill voice rang out, ‘She’s here!’
And May, Ruby’s seven-year-old sister, pretty as a picture in her blue-and-white gingham dress and with a blue bow in her light-brown hair, ran up the road to meet her. ‘I was scared you weren’t coming.’
Ruby gave her a quick hug. ‘Of course I’m coming.’
‘Did you really think we would go without our Ruby?’ Cousin Lily laughed.
Ruby smiled and put her arm around May’s shoulders. She could put all the horrors and frustration of today behind her and relax now. She was going to have a lovely afternoon.
As they made their way to the coach, to the sound of cheering, an ambulance went by, its bells clanging. Ruby’s thoughts went immediately to Imogen Russell. That poor girl was still living her nightmare, but at least Ruby could console herself that she had done her best to help her keep her secret.
‘Nice to see you, Ruby,’ Albert Longman said, as she climbed on board the coach. He grinned and ran his tongue over his slightly protruding teeth. Although twenty-nine and reasonable-looking, he was still single and, according to some, looking for a wife. He worked for the local paper, the Worthing Gazette, as the reporter who covered local events, but he also wrote the occasional feature. ‘You’re looking very pretty today.’
Ruby gave him a polite nod, but tried not to encourage him. He was all right, and he always made a point of chatting to her, but she wasn’t interested in him – not in that way anyway. He was too old!
Her father was sitting in the seat behind the driver and, as she walked past, he stepped out of his seat to let May have the window seat, blocking the gangway in the process. Taking his watch out of his waistcoat pocket, he stared at Ruby. ‘You’re late,’ he began gruffly.
‘Sorry, Father,’ said Ruby.
‘Can I sit with Ruby for a bit?’ May asked.
Their father looked crestfallen. ‘Don’t you want to sit with your old pa?’
‘I do,’ said May, ‘but I’d like to talk to Ruby as well.’
Nelson Bateman threw himself sulkily into his seat, and May skipped off down the aisle without a care in the world. Ruby was concerned to see her father’s flushed and angry face and felt sorry for him. He adored May, and she knew he would have taken her thoughtlessness very personally. She bent to kiss his c
heek as she went by, but he quite deliberately turned his head. Embarrassed, Ruby lowered her eyes. It hurt when he shunned her, and yet there was always that urge to try and get him to show some affection towards her. He never had, but she found herself falling into the same trap again and again. She tried hard not to be jealous of her little sister, but Ruby was no plaster saint, and it was a struggle. Get a grip, she told herself angrily. You should have known he wouldn’t let you kiss him. Why would he? She had never even seen him kiss her mother. It wasn’t his way, although he had plenty of kisses for May. According to her mother, it was the war that had changed him, although Ruby had no idea why. She had been born in 1916, a couple of years before it ended. May had come along seven years later. Nelson never talked about his experiences; few ex-soldiers did, although everyone knew that places like the Somme had been hell on earth. Her mother and Aunt Vinny (short for Virginia) always said it was best not to think about the bad things, for what good would it do? What was done was done; better to forget it and get on with life. As a result, theirs was a household where everyone, except May, tiptoed around their father, afraid of his sudden mood swings and of upsetting him. But if it was difficult for Ruby and her mother, it was even worse for their brother Percy.
Ruby made her way to the back of the coach, where her mother was sitting.
‘Glad you could make it, Ruby love,’ Bea smiled as her daughter came closer and kissed her cheek.
Bea Bateman looked older than her forty-two years. A constant nagging illness had worn her down. Every winter she would succumb to one cold after another, and when her chest was bad even breathing became difficult. Ruby was heartened to see that she was looking much better today and that she was wearing a new dress, an attractive peach-coloured two-piece with buttons down the front and a small belt at the waist. The white collar on the neckline was scalloped, as were the cuffs on her sleeves. Her skirt was straight with side-pleats, and she wore white peep-toed shoes. There was a bit of colour in her cheeks and she’d done something different to her hair.
‘You look really lovely,’ Ruby smiled.
Bea smoothed down her dress. ‘I’ve been saving up for ages to get this dress.’
‘The colour suits you,’ said Ruby, ‘and I love your hair.’
Bea patted her curls. ‘I tried finger-waving it,’ she whispered confidentially, then added anxiously, ‘You don’t think I’m too old for it, do you?’
‘No, Mum,’ Ruby smiled. ‘I think you look fantastic.’
Ruby settled down. She was really looking forward to this afternoon and, after her fraught morning, it was good to be with the family. When the coach moved off, it was pleasant to feel the breeze playing with her hair through the open window, and it cooled her down. As May struggled to sit on her big sister’s lap, Bea handed her daughter a sandwich.
‘Ooh, thanks, Mum,’ said Ruby. ‘I had to go without lunch, to get away this early.’ True to her word, she didn’t say anything about Imogen Russell.
‘Did Mrs Fosdyke make trouble?’ asked Bea.
Ruby nodded. The ham-and-tomato sandwich was delicious. ‘For an awful minute,’ she said, as she pushed a stray crumb back into her mouth with her finger, ‘I thought she was going to make sure I was too late for the coach.’
Bea shook her head in disgust.
‘Why would she want to do that?’ May wondered.
‘Some people enjoy being unkind,’ her mother said simply.
Ruby glanced around. ‘Where’s Percy?’ There seemed to be no sign of her brother.
‘He and Jim Searle have gone ahead on their bicycles,’ said her mother. ‘They took a few others in tow as well.’
‘He’d better lay off the parsnip wine when he gets there, if he wants to get home safely,’ Ruby chuckled.
‘I don’t think he’d get drunk, with your father around,’ said Bea.
‘You know Percy,’ Ruby laughed, as she helped herself to another sandwich. ‘He’d do anything for devilment.’
The coach was one of the old Fairway Coaches. The company had been bought out by Southdown the year before, and some of the old stock sold off. Cecil Turner had snapped up this one, and used it mainly for works outings and day-trips. The coaches were in good nick but rather old-fashioned, so Cecil’s prices were dirt cheap. Ruby and her neighbours and friends could never have afforded to book the trip otherwise. They were going to drive around on a kind of mystery tour and then, after tea in the High Salvington tea rooms, some of them would take part in a small concert. They had managed to sell about forty-eight tickets, and all proceeds would go to the Dispensary for Sick Animals of the Poor.
They had just reached Broadwater bridge when the driver suddenly braked. A few people cried out in shocked surprise, and everybody stopped talking as he sounded the horn.
‘What the hell do they think they’re doing?’ his angry voice rang out.
They had encountered a crowd of young men marching down the middle of the street. Ruby hazarded a guess that there were about fifteen of them. Dressed entirely in black, they were clean-shaven and had smart Brylcreemed hair. Their leader, a fresh-faced man of about twenty, carried a Union Jack on a long pole. They had attracted a crowd of angry onlookers, mostly men of the same age, and fists were flying. Everyone was jostling and pushing as the crowd shouted slogans like ‘Mosley out!’ and ‘Hitler means war’, whilst a few marchers had lunged into the crowd and begun hitting back.
Ruby frowned. What on earth was happening? Suddenly, the man with the flag on a pole swung it at the hecklers like a weapon, and an angry shout went up. Some ducked to miss the pole, but a couple of them were hit and fell backwards. It was then that she could see two more of the men in black shirts laying into someone who had been knocked to the ground.
‘I don’t like it,’ May whispered, with a frightened expression on her face.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s all right. They can’t get in here.’
‘I’m going back to Pa,’ said May.
When she’d gone, Ruby turned to her mother. ‘Who are they?’
‘They look like Mosley’s Blackshirts,’ somebody further down the coach said and, at the same moment, one of the men banged ferociously on the side of the coach with a silver-topped stick. After that, it seemed like all hell broke loose. Ruby drew in her breath as she saw the man who had been knocked to the ground struggle to his feet. It was Dr Palmer. His face was bloodied and his suit was covered in dust. His glasses were hanging from one ear only, and he took out a large handkerchief and pressed it to a bleeding cut on his head.
The coach still hadn’t moved. Ruby flew down to the front. ‘Cecil, we have to help that man,’ she cried. ‘I know him. He’s a doctor.’
‘Sit down, girl,’ growled her father as she drew level with him. ‘Don’t interfere.’
‘It’s best to do as your father says,’ said Albert with a smile.
Ruby frowned. She might have been surprised by his remark, but her concern for Dr Palmer was so strong that she wasn’t listening. She had to do something. Pulling the door open, she leaned out as far as she dared. ‘Dr Palmer! Dr Palmer, over here, quick. You’ll be safe in here.’
Cecil Turner stopped the engine. ‘Ruby, get back inside,’ he said anxiously. ‘Let me. It’s no place for a girl.’
‘Ruby!’ barked her father.
Moments before Cecil pulled her back into the coach, Dr Palmer looked up and saw Ruby. He headed towards her, but then someone bumped into him and he almost fell over again. He was clearly very dazed. Although the fighting was getting worse, it was spilling away from the coach, so Albert Longman pushed past Ruby and went outside. He and Cecil got Dr Palmer inside, and the door closed just as the first police whistle sounded.
‘Ooh, Albert,’ said one of the girls further down the coach, ‘you were amazing.’
‘You’re ever so brave,’ said another.
Albert’s chest swelled and, basking in the glow of his success, he wet his fingers in his mouth and, pressin
g his hair down at the front, grinned at Ruby. He seemed oblivious of the other girls’ giggles.
Two of the other passengers, who were sitting together at the front, helped Dr Palmer into a seat and produced a mug of tea from a flask. He was clearly very shaken.
Cecil jumped into the driver’s seat and cursed out loud. ‘Looks like we’d better get out of here,’ he shouted as he put the engine into gear. ‘If the police come aboard to ask questions, we’ll be here all day; ’ang on to yer ’ats, folks.’
The vehicle lurched forward, but then a boy brandishing a toy gun appeared in front of the windscreen and Cecil jammed on the brakes again. ‘Bloody ’ell.’
The boy was shouting, ‘Bang-bang!’ Nelson yelled at him and the boy stuck out his tongue. Nelson jumped to his feet. ‘Cheeky young tyke,’ he shouted, shaking his fist angrily.
‘Let it go, Nelson,’ said Cecil. The fight was on the move again, and the weight of the bodies outside buffeted the coach.
Ruby’s father ignored him and, climbing down the step, attempted to open the door. It wasn’t a wise move. The coach jerked and Nelson fell sideways, hitting his head on the rail. Quick as a flash, Albert and one of the other passengers dashed to his aid and then, with one hand on the horn, Cecil finally managed to get away from the melee outside.
Nelson moaned as Albert held a handkerchief to his nose.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing, Nelson?’ Cecil cried, as he kept an eye on the road.
‘No boy his age sticks his tongue out at me like that,’ Nelson countered angrily. ‘What he needs is a damned good hiding.’
‘Oh, come on. He was just a lad having a bit of fun,’ said Cecil. ‘I’ll admit he was a bit daft, getting in front of the coach like that, but no harm done.’
Nelson grunted.
‘Keep your hair on, Nelson,’ said Cecil good-naturedly. ‘You were young yourself once.’
Bea had come to the front of the coach to help her husband, but he knocked her hand away. ‘Don’t fuss, woman.’
