The Silver Ladies of London

by Lesley Eames

  ‘It doesn’t matter who started the rumour,’ Grace shrugged. ‘The damage is done.’

  Jenny fought down panic. ‘Are you sure everyone knows?’

  ‘Gossip travels fast in Ruston,’ Lydia said. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

  Jenny followed her to the white elephant stall where mismatched cutlery was for sale alongside dishes, vases and souvenirs from the seaside. The stallholder, Mrs Ainsley, clearly didn’t know where to look when the girls arrived.

  How was Jenny going to get away from Jonas now?

  ‘Nice necklace,’ Lydia told Mrs Ainsley. ‘Look, girls. How much do you think we could get for that one?’ She laughed as outraged swelled Mrs Ainsley’s bosom.

  Jenny dragged Lydia away. ‘How can you laugh?’

  ‘Might as well give them something real to gossip about. They’re talking about us anyway. And don’t bother pointing out that they’re spreading slander, Grace. People are bound to think there’s no smoke without fire. They always do.’

  ‘We need to make people realise we’d be in prison if we were guilty and— what is it, Jenny?’ Grace asked.

  ‘He’s here,’ Jenny said.

  Jonas was crossing the field with Jenny’s mother. How young and pretty Alice looked. How happy in her ignorance.

  ‘Isn’t this nice?’ Alice said, reaching them.

  ‘It’s a lovely day for a fete,’ Grace answered.

  Jonas held out the coins Jenny had left on the kitchen table. ‘You left your money behind, love.’

  Lydia drew herself up as though itching to tell him what he could do with his filthy money but Jenny shook her head to warn her not to cause any unpleasantness. Taking the coins from him, Jenny slid them into her pocket and wiped her fingers on her skirt.

  ‘That was a terrible business at Arleigh Court yesterday, though I know you had nothing to do with it,’ Alice told Grace.

  ‘None of us did.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Lydia agreed, looking at Jonas. ‘We don’t like it when people take things they’ve no right to.’

  The meaning wasn’t lost on him. Flushing, he put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘I think we should leave these young people to have fun, dear.’

  Alice nodded. ‘Yes, enjoy yourselves. And take no notice of those nasty gossips.’

  Jenny watched them walk away. ‘I don’t want that man’s money,’ she shuddered.

  ‘Give it to me,’ Lydia said. She took it to the handicraft stall and bought a lurid orange scarf. ‘Give this to Jonas for Christmas.’

  Jenny attempted a smile but it withered before it reached her lips. ‘I’ll take any job as long as I don’t have to live at home. Do you think Doctor Arleigh might give us references, Grace?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Grace dug in her bag for a letter and passed it over.

  Jenny read it with Lydia looking over her shoulder.

  Dear Miss Lavenham,

  I regret the circumstances in which you find yourself and hope the enclosed will be of some assistance.

  Sincerely, Richard Arleigh.

  ‘He enclosed a five-pound note,’ Grace explained. ‘A gesture of compensation. He isn’t going to help us.’

  ‘What a coward,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Have either of you heard from Ruth?’ Grace asked.

  They hadn’t. ‘Though I’m surprised we didn’t hear her mother screeching all the way across Ruston when she heard about Ruth’s inheritance,’ Lydia said.

  Grace nodded. ‘The sooner Ruth can get away from the rest of the Turners the better so let’s hope she can use her inheritance to do that. I couldn’t be more pleased that her aunt left her some money. No one deserves happiness and contentment more than Ruth.’

  ‘Good luck doesn’t always smile on the right people, but it got it right on this occasion,’ Jenny agreed, and Lydia nodded.

  ‘Unfortunately, we don’t have long-lost aunts to leave money to us,’ Grace pointed out. ‘That being the case, I think we need to be careful we don’t add to Ruth’s troubles by letting her see how deeply we’re worried about our futures.’

  ‘She’d want to give us some of her money,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Which would make her life at home even worse,’ Grace finished. ‘What’s your view, Lydia?’

  ‘We tell Ruth we’re fine. If we see her, that is.’

  The three of them shared a look, wondering if Ruth would manage to break free from the clutches of her grasping mother.

  Nine

  ‘You’ve done it now, little sis,’ Percy said. He was Ruth’s eldest and least favourite brother. Always cruel, he’d been losing no chance to snipe at her since he’d learned of her inheritance, unable or perhaps just unwilling to believe she’d done nothing to influence Aunt Vera’s decision to cut him and the rest of the family out of her Will.

  ‘Done what?’ Eunice demanded.

  ‘Got the gossips talking about how she’s a thief.’

  Eunice rounded on Ruth with a shriek. ‘You said the police weren’t after you!’

  ‘They’re not.’ How could the news of their dismissals have got out so quickly?

  ‘This is what comes of mixing with people like that Grey girl. No shame, that one, with a Bolshevik for a father and a tart for a mother. That Mallory girl’s not much better with her fancy looks. And everyone knows the Lavenham girl needs money.’

  ‘None of us took the necklace,’ Ruth said, though she knew she was wasting her breath. She was wasting her breath saying anything in this house.

  ‘What would you know? You haven’t got the brains of a chicken.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Preece spreading rumours.’

  ‘No smoke without fire, that’s what people will say. You’ve brought shame on yourself, but worse than that, you’ve brought it on your family. You know Percy’s walking out with Daisy McKenna. What will her family think of their girl associating with a thief?’

  ‘I’m not a thief!’

  ‘You’re a millstone round our necks, Ruth Turner. Get out of my sight. I can’t bear to look at you.’

  Ruth reached for her coat.

  ‘I meant go to your room. I didn’t mean go out in public! Your brothers’ socks need mending so take the darning basket. And think on this. You won’t be seeing those girls again. A bad influence. That’s what they are. And you’re too stupid to see it.’

  ‘They’re my friends, Ma.’

  ‘We’re your family. Now go.’

  Ruth carried the basket upstairs but left it on the bed she’d reclaimed from Percy, amidst much grumbling, and opened the window. She leaned her elbows on the sill and toyed with the silver locket Grace, Jenny and Lydia had given her for her twenty-first birthday. It was the only item of jewellery Ruth possessed and she knew she’d treasure it forever because it had been given with love by the best friends a girl could have. How could she bear never to see them again?

  The door to the opposite house opened and Daisy McKenna emerged. She would have been a pretty girl if she hadn’t been so pert. Meeting her, Percy gave her a rather shocking kiss, which she reciprocated in kind before they strode off towards the fete.

  Ruth could hear the distant music. Were Grace, Jenny and Lydia wondering if she were staying away because the inheritance had given her ideas above her station?

  Ruth stood for half a minute longer, then closed the window, rushed downstairs and grabbed her coat as she raced through the kitchen. ‘I’m going to the fete,’ she announced, and fled with Eunice’s protest screeching in her ears.

  She ran all the way, only to stop abruptly when she saw a familiar figure at the end of the road that led to the common. She was about to retrace her steps and hide until he’d gone when she realised he’d seen her too. Putting her head down, she crossed the street and walked on, hoping he’d ignore her as she was trying to ignore him.

  But he crossed the street too and stood in front of her. ‘If it isn’t little Ruthie Turner.’

  Ruth hadn’t noticed what Victor Rabley had been wearin
g yesterday. Something dark, she thought. Today he was back in the sort of dandy clothes he usually wore: ridiculously pointed brown shoes, a brown suit with yellow checks and a brown hat he’d pushed back from his face to show his blazing red hair and those amber eyes that held no warmth.

  ‘You look like you’ve just met the big bad wolf,’ he mocked.

  She had. ‘What do you want, Mr Rabley?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘You got my note?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’ll keep silent?’

  ‘You’ve given me no choice!’

  ‘That’s right. I haven’t.’

  ‘You got me dismissed. Worse than that, you got my friends dismissed!’

  ‘These things happen. But don’t be bitter. You can call me Vic now we’re what they call co-conspirators.’

  Ruth made a disgusted sound and hastened away from the mocking snigger of Victor Rabley towards the fete, only to be overwhelmed by a new panic. What if the others hadn’t come?

  But there was Lydia, tall and defiant. There were Grace and Jenny too.

  Ruth wrapped them into a hug. ‘It’s so good to see you all. But is it true that people are talking about the necklace?’

  ‘Not everyone, I’m sure,’ Grace answered briskly.

  ‘Stare back if you catch anyone staring,’ Lydia advised. ‘They’ll look away soon enough. They always do.’

  But Ruth didn’t have Lydia’s fearlessness. There was an empty bench nearby. ‘Let’s sit down,’ Ruth suggested, feeling horribly conspicuous standing in full view of everyone.

  They sat side by side.

  ‘How did your family take your news?’ Grace asked.

  Ruth told them briefly, more eager to know how her friends were.

  ‘We’re going to be fine,’ Grace assured her.

  ‘But now people know about the necklace—’

  ‘If we can’t get work in Ruston, we’ll try Northampton. It isn’t so very far.’

  But rumours could spread and Northampton was likely to be just as demanding as Ruston when it came to references. Surely now her friends would let her help them? ‘When the inheritance comes through, I’ll—’

  ‘Why are we being so dull?’ Lydia demanded, cutting Ruth off. ‘I’m damned if I’m going to sit here in a guilty huddle. Let’s go and defy the gossips.’

  They all jumped up with a speed that left Ruth in no doubt that they’d agreed to give her no chance to offer help. She was getting up too when she saw Percy approaching with Daisy.

  ‘Well, well,’ he mocked. ‘What’s Mother going to say when she hears you’re parading in front of everyone with your partners in crime? Have you no shame?’

  Lydia stepped across Ruth like a shield. ‘Percy, isn’t it? They’re looking for volunteers for the wet sponge throwing. I’d pay good money to throw wet sponges at your ugly mug.’

  ‘Who are you,’ Percy sneered, ‘Ruth’s guard dog?’

  Lydia didn’t answer and Percy smiled, thinking he’d scored a hit. Then Lydia suddenly barked and Percy jumped despite himself.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ he said, trying to regain his composure.

  ‘I thought so,’ Lydia gloated.

  Percy resorted to abuse. ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves, showing your faces amongst decent folk when you’re nothing but a gaggle of thieves. Come on, Daisy, let’s walk on.’

  ‘You won’t forget the sponge throwing?’ Lydia called.

  Ruth knew Percy would avenge his humiliation with spiteful comments later, but it was comforting to be defended by her friend. ‘Thank you, Lydia.’

  ‘It livened the day,’ Lydia shrugged, but the buoyancy of the moment was disappearing like water down a plughole. They were pariahs here.

  ‘Tell your fortunes, girls?’ A woman spoke from outside a booth as they passed. She had the exotic name of Rosara Valera, according to the sign on the door, but she was middle-aged and blowsy, her gypsy costume of tasselled scarves and hooped earrings crude and unconvincing.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Grace said, walking on.

  ‘I usually charge a shilling, but I’ll tell your fortunes for sixpence each.’

  Grace stopped. Turning, she walked back. ‘One shilling for all of us.’

  Ruth was amazed. By the looks on their faces, so were the others. Grace was usually so sensible.

  ‘We need a good laugh,’ Grace explained, though Ruth wondered if what Grace really needed was hope.

  ‘Sixpence apiece is already half price,’ Rosa protested.

  ‘One shilling or nothing,’ Grace insisted.

  ‘How’s a body supposed to make a living with folk like you robbing me blind? All right. One shilling for all of you.’

  Grace followed Rosara into the booth. They sat opposite each other across a small table while the others squeezed in around them.

  ‘First you need to cross my palm with silver,’ Rosara said.

  They crossed it with copper instead – three pennies from each of them.

  As Rosara reached under the table for her cash box, Ruth remembered she’d seen her before – working in the fish shop on Crosby Street.

  ‘No crystal ball?’ Grace wondered.

  ‘I read palms.’ A gesture invited Grace to hold her hand out. Rosara waved her fingers over it. ‘Hmm. You’ve had trouble.’

  Lydia snorted. ‘You’re just saying that because you’ve heard about the necklace.’

  ‘What if I have heard about it? Doesn’t change what I can see in this palm.’

  ‘What about a solution to the trouble?’ Grace asked. ‘Can you see that?’

  ‘I see a journey. A long journey.’

  Lydia snorted again. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Grace wondered.

  ‘It’s difficult to see anything when she’s interfering with my aura.’ Rosara nodded at Lydia.

  Grace got up. Ruth realised she was actually disappointed.

  Lydia took her place. ‘Well?’

  ‘I see a stranger.’

  ‘Tall? Dark? Handsome?’ Lydia mocked.

  ‘As it happens, yes.’

  ‘What about a job? A car? Money?’

  ‘Maybe I could tell you if you stopped that attitude getting in the way.’

  ‘This is a waste of time.’ Lydia got up, looking as disappointed as Grace. ‘You should stick to selling fish on Crosby Street.’

  ‘Isn’t much of a living in fish,’ Rosara complained. ‘Besides, just because I’m up to my elbows in haddock most days, it doesn’t mean I don’t have powers like my grandma.’

  ‘Lydia’s right. This is a waste of time,’ Jenny said.

  Rosara took umbrage. ‘Don’t expect your money back. I’ve paid five shillings for this booth and business hasn’t been what you’d call brisk.’

  ‘Keep the money,’ Grace said.

  Lydia wanted to argue, but Grace pulled her outside. Jenny followed briskly; Ruth more slowly. Rosara might be a fraud but Ruth would still have liked to hear what she had to say. She was as desperate for hope as Grace and Lydia.

  ‘Come on,’ Grace said. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’

  She moved across the field with Lydia and Jenny following. Ruth was following too when she saw someone strolling nearby. Victor Rabley again. He sent her a smug smile, then walked on, confident that he had her in his power.

  ‘Ruth?’

  Grace was calling her. Without realising it, Ruth had come to a halt, deep in thought.

  She ran to join the others. ‘This is madness.’ Ruth knew how she could help all of them, herself included. ‘We shouldn’t be asking a fortune teller to tell us about the future. We should be deciding our futures for ourselves. My inheritance can give all of us a fresh start.’

  Grace smiled but looked weary. ‘You’re very sweet but—’

  ‘I’m not talking about charity,’ Ruth persisted. ‘I’m talking about helping each other. You know what my family is like. My life’s going to be unbearable, but I’m scared to lea
ve on my own. I’ve got to go to London anyway to sort out some other things my aunt left me. Clothes, I think. And the solicitor said something about an old stable or carriage house. Why don’t we all go to London and stay down there?’

  ‘Permanently?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Yes, permanently.’ London would get Ruth away from her family and vile Victor Rabley too. ‘It would be a new beginning for all of us. My money can get us settled and you can pay me back if it makes you feel better.’

  ‘You can count me in,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Grace?’ Ruth asked.

  Grace shook her head. ‘I wish you all the luck in the world. But I can’t leave my grandmother. I’m sorry.’

  She smiled and the braveness of it broke Ruth’s heart.

  Ten

  ‘I might be going to London,’ Lydia told her father the next morning.

  ‘Full of capitalists is London.’

  ‘Good. One of them might give me a job.’

  ‘Exploit you, more likely.’

  Having nothing more to say on the subject, Frank Grey settled to his newspaper. He took a cigarette from the packet on the desk, then, as an afterthought, nudged the packet towards Lydia.

  Feeling restless, she took her cigarette into the back yard. The thought of London had excitement surging through her. Here in narrow-minded Ruston, Lydia was an angry misfit. In cosmopolitan London she might finally find her niche.

  Her mother had wanted to go to London too, but for different reasons. Back then, Celia had never been further than Northampton as far as Lydia knew, but London had represented everything she wanted: expensive clothes, jewels and parties. ‘There’s no style in Ruston,’ had been a regular refrain, delivered with a downturned, discontented mouth. ‘No fun either.’

  Despite that, she’d still dragged Lydia through Grover’s department store and along Ruston High Street almost every day to look at the lovely things that were on offer to women with more money than Celia. Once, she’d caught Lydia yawning and sighed. ‘You’re not interested, are you? You’re just like your father.’ Turning back to the display of rings, necklaces and brooches in Wright’s Fine Jewellery, she’d murmured, ‘One day. One day I’ll get to London.’