by Lesley Eames
Jenny nodded keenly and Lydia shrugged to show she didn’t mind.
‘What would you like to see first?’ Grace asked.
‘Buckingham Palace,’ Ruth suggested.
Grace consulted the map. ‘We can walk through Hyde Park to get there. It’ll be a long walk—’
‘But a pleasant one,’ Ruth smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s not waste time.’ She was in a merry mood, determined to enjoy their adventure and keen for the rest of them to enjoy it too.
Hyde Park was lovely, a green idyll that included a beautiful stretch of water called the Serpentine. Children in sailor suits or frilled dresses watched the rowing boats and played with hoops. Women strolled in a leisurely fashion, dressed in light-coloured cloche hats and loose summer dresses. Men had jackets or blazers open and mopped overheated brows with handkerchiefs.
It was a pleasant walk indeed, but it gave Grace time to think and address the anxiety that had settled upon her almost from the moment the train had left Ruston. She feared she’d made a huge mistake in coming to London. The trouble was that the decision to come had been made in such a rush. ‘What time does that train leave?’ Gran had asked her.
‘In half an hour. But I’ve already said my goodbyes,’ she’d explained.
‘I want you on that train with the others. You think it won’t be fair on me if you go to London, but you’re wrong. It won’t be fair on me if you stay.’
‘I don’t—’
‘I’ll be holding you back and that’ll make me feel like a burden. Besides, I brought you up, Grace, so your achievements will feel like my achievements, and I’ll love reading about your adventures in your letters.’
‘Gran, I really think—’
‘There’s no need for you to stay when Mattie will keep an eye on me.’
‘I’m not leaving you, Gran. I don’t want to leave you.’
‘I won’t be able to bear it if you don’t leave me. Now stop wasting time and start packing. I mean it, Grace. If you don’t take this opportunity, you’ll make me a sad and disappointed woman.’
Seeing that Gran meant every word, Grace had finally given in. She’d thrown some things into her case, rushed out to tell Mattie of her plans, then returned to hug Gran for one last time.
But of course Gran wanted Grace to have her chance. She’d give her life for Grace. It didn’t mean Grace should have let her make that sacrifice no matter what Gran said. The thought of Gran alone in the awfulness of Cutler’s Row was appalling. What had Grace been thinking to let herself be talked into leaving?
London might well offer more jobs and higher wages but living costs would be higher too. The idea that Grace could earn enough to accommodate Gran down here was probably hopelessly unrealistic. For the foreseeable future anyway. Such accommodation as she could afford was likely to be small and cramped.
Surely Grace would have to return, though she couldn’t abandon her friends when they’d only just arrived. Grace would let them settle, then go back in a day or two, keeping her worries to herself in the meantime so as not to spoil their fun. Perhaps she could have some fun too. After all, London was an adventure she might never have the chance to experience again and Gran might not feel so bad about Grace’s return if she had stories to tell of a wonderful few days. On that thought Grace determined to treasure every moment.
Ruth broke into a run when they reached the front railings at Buckingham Palace, glancing back to beckon them to catch her up. Standing outside the central gates, they looked up at the wide grey stone building they knew from photographs. There were goodness knows how many windows. Tall pillars too, and the balcony on which the royal family sometimes appeared to the people.
‘It would be lovely to see inside, but I’m just happy to see the outside,’ Ruth said. ‘I used to think I’d never travel further than Northampton.’
Her face was flushed with pleasure and Grace smiled despite her inner concerns. It was hard not to be charmed by Ruth’s enthusiasm for life. ‘Where would you like to go next?’ Grace asked.
‘I think we should find something to eat. My treat, but don’t worry, Grace. I’m not suggesting a grand restaurant, so I won’t be running through all my money.’
They headed across Green Park and emerged onto Piccadilly by the Ritz Hotel.
‘I’m definitely not suggesting we eat in there,’ Ruth smiled.
A chauffeur-driven car pulled up outside it and a group of laughing young people got out. How glamorous the girls were in their drop-waisted dresses, frivolous hats and long strings of beads. The men too, in loose, flannel trousers and blazers. ‘I hope you’re going to treat us to champagne, Lawrence,’ one girl called, her voice crisp and clear.
Julia Arleigh and her friends aspired to be fashionable, but they weren’t half as up-to-the-minute as these young people.
Even Lydia was taking an interest, though she was probably looking at the car, soured to see that, predictably, the chauffeur was male.
Reaching Piccadilly Circus, they found a Lyon’s Corner House and ordered eggs and toast. Jenny had invested a penny in an afternoon edition of the London Daily Chronicle and opened it to the Situations Vacant pages as they waited for their food. ‘Shop work for me this time,’ she said. ‘There are lots of department stores to try – Selfridges, Harrods, Marshall and Snelgrove, Swan and Edgar, Derry and Toms, Whiteleys – but I might prefer a smaller shop where I can be involved in window dressing and choosing the stock.’
It was lovely to see Jenny looking bright-eyed and happy again.
‘Do you think I could do shop work?’ Ruth asked.
‘You’d be perfect,’ Jenny told her. ‘What sort of work do you want, Grace?’
‘Clerical work.’ It was true. Grace just wanted the job to be closer to Gran.
Lydia read from the advertisements in disgust. ‘Chauffeur required. Must be gentlemanly. Why gentlemanly? Why not ladylike? Here’s another one. Man wanted to drive delivery van.’
‘Perhaps it just hasn’t crossed the employers’ minds that women might be interested,’ Grace suggested.
‘You should become a mechanic like Mr Tedris,’ Jenny advised. ‘He must be earning a fortune if he can afford to buy Ruth’s car. It seems an odd choice of car for a man as it looks so feminine, but perhaps he’s married and wants it for his wife.’
‘Mechanics don’t usually earn all that much,’ Lydia told her.
‘I suspect he works hard,’ Grace said. ‘Perhaps he’s prospering by employing other mechanics too.’
‘Or perhaps he sees the car as his opportunity to prosper,’ Lydia suggested.
Grace frowned. ‘You don’t think he hopes to cheat Ruth out of a fair price?’
‘He knows you’d never let that happen, Grace. No, I wonder if he sees it as a business opportunity.’
‘What sort of business?’
Lydia hesitated as though suspecting her idea would be considered foolish. ‘If I were Owen Tedris,’ she finally began, ‘I’d set up in business offering the car for hire with myself as chauffeur. Car-hire businesses aren’t new, but the silver Rolls is different from most cars, so I’d make my business different.’
‘What do you mean by different?’ Grace asked.
‘I’d aim it at female customers like those girls we saw going into the Ritz. Wealthy older women too.’ Lydia’s mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t say it was a good idea, Grace.’
‘It is a good idea.’ Grace was impressed with Lydia’s vision. ‘A fairy tale car wouldn’t appeal to men, but it would appeal to women. There must be thousands of women in London who could afford that sort of service. Women who don’t want the trouble or expense of owning their own cars or have husbands who monopolise the family car.’
‘Women who are visiting from elsewhere too,’ Jenny added. ‘And women who want a beautiful car for a special occasion like a wedding.’
‘Anyway,’ Lydia said, ‘That’s what I’d do.’
‘Perhaps I’d do it too in Mr Tedris’s shoes,’ Grace smiled.<
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‘Why don’t we?’ Ruth asked. ‘Why don’t we set up a business?’
They all stared at her. ‘Goodness,’ Grace replied. ‘We were only daydreaming out loud.’
‘But what’s stopping us?’ Ruth persisted. ‘We’ve got a car and somewhere to keep it. And Lydia can drive. What more do we need?’
‘Plenty,’ Grace laughed. ‘An office, a telephone, chauffeur’s uniforms, insurance, stationery, accounts, car insurance, petrol and isn’t there some sort of tax on cars too?’
‘Road Fund Tax,’ Lydia confirmed. ‘The car had a tax disc already, but it would need renewing eventually.’
Ruth only beamed. ‘You could organise all that, Grace. And I could provide the money.’
‘You need that money to secure your future.’
‘Are you saying you don’t think you’re capable of running a business?’
‘No, I’m not saying that.’ Grace’s chin came up. ‘But all businesses are risky and this would be riskier than most.’
‘I don’t see why,’ Ruth said. ‘You just said this is what you’d do in Owen Tedris’s shoes.’
‘It would be risky even for him, and he has several advantages over us. He has income from his mechanic’s business to tide him over and I assume he already has somewhere to live. And sadly, but importantly, he’s a man. We know women are equally capable, but the world doesn’t agree. Does it, Lydia?’
‘No,’ Lydia admitted.
‘A service run by women for women would be unique,’ Ruth said. ‘I think it might work.’
‘If you lose your aunt’s money, you’ll have nothing,’ Grace said.
‘I’ll have an amazing adventure to look back on and I won’t mind going back to an ordinary job. I enjoy working.’
Surely the others could see the dangers? Grace looked at them, but they wouldn’t look back. They must be in favour of the business idea too.
‘I’ve no special interests or abilities like you three,’ Ruth continued. ‘I’m an ordinary sort of girl. But Aunt Vera’s money is giving me the chance to do something extraordinary for the first and perhaps the only time in my life.’
‘But—’
‘The car-hire business fits perfectly with all of your talents. You’re passionate about cars, Lydia. You’re wonderfully creative, Jenny. And you’re clever, Grace. Born to run a business.’
‘No one sets up a business without thinking about feasibility and costs,’ Grace insisted.
‘Then let’s think about them.’
Oh, heavens.
‘Would it make you happier if I locked some of my money into a savings account – five hundred pounds, say – and only used the rest of it for the business? If the business failed I’d still have enough to buy myself a home. I’d have the car and the carriage house to sell too.’
‘She wouldn’t be destitute, Grace,’ Lydia reasoned. ‘Not that I want you to lose a single penny, Ruth. I hope the business would make you more money.’
‘More money for you too, Grace,’ Ruth said. ‘It’s going to be hard for you ever to earn enough to look after your gran the way you’d like in an ordinary job.’
‘Doesn’t the idea excite you, Grace?’ Jenny asked.
Of course it did, but they’d be inexperienced young women trying to break into a man’s world. They’d be building a business around a single car which could break down at any time. Only Ruth had funds to invest, and they’d be racing against the clock to make the business successful before those funds ran out.
But Ruth was right about what the future held if Grace didn’t give the business a try: poorly paid work and little chance of removing Gran from foul-smelling Cutler’s Row.
Grace breathed in deeply, scarcely able to believe what she was about to say. ‘All right. Let’s investigate how it might work and what we’d need. But if the risks look overwhelming, we drop the idea. Agreed?’
A satisfied grin lit Ruth’s pretty face. ‘Agreed.’
It would probably come to nothing, but Grace couldn’t dampen down a spark of something she hadn’t felt for a while. Hope.
Sixteen
‘Here goes,’ Jenny murmured as she and Lydia swept into the office of Smythson’s Estate Agency.
They introduced themselves to a sober-suited gentleman who told them he was Mr Smythson and invited them to sit.
‘We’re here on my brother’s account,’ Lydia said. ‘He’s moving to London to establish himself in business and asked us to make enquiries into offices and flats to rent.’
‘What is the nature of the business?’
‘Car and chauffeur for hire, but he already has somewhere to garage the car. He’s looking for a small but central office and a flat nearby. One or two bedrooms.’
Jenny marvelled at Lydia’s haughty elegance and talent for mimicry. She was having no difficulty at all in echoing the crisp, confident speech of the young people they’d seen entering the Ritz and she looked strikingly chic in her black dress, plain grey jacket and matching cloche hat. Jenny was relieved that her own voice was naturally soft and that her home-made lemon ensemble looked more expensive than it was.
‘Could I telephone Mr Grey to acquaint myself more thoroughly with his requirements?’ Mr Smythson asked. ‘Once my telephone is working again. Last night’s storm—’
‘Spectacular, wasn’t it?’ Lydia said, impressively self-possessed. ‘Almost seven thousand lightning flashes were recorded, apparently. But at this stage all my brother requires is an idea of likely prices and he trusts us to obtain that for him. He isn’t the sort of fool who considers women to be brainless.’
Mr Smythson coughed, being exactly the sort of fool who considered women to be brainless. But business was business. ‘I can provide particulars of suitable properties which are currently on our books.’
‘Thank you.’
They burst into giggles when they got outside.
‘Poor man. You made him blush,’ Jenny said.
‘He shouldn’t have taken us for idiots.’
‘True. Where next?’
‘Another estate agent.’
It was their fifth day in London. Grace had extended their booking at Oak View for a whole week, having emerged victorious from negotiations with the landlady over a more substantial discount on their rooms. Ruth had declared a holiday over the weekend, so they could see more of London and place flowers on Aunt Vera’s grave in Paddington Cemetery in thanks for her generosity, but now they were hard at work on their enquiries. While Lydia and Jenny were looking into rents and what other car-hire services charged, Grace and Ruth were investigating telephones, office supplies, car insurance and – most important of all – how they might reach likely customers.
Morning turned into afternoon. Passing a tea shop which advertised soup, rolls and tea for a shilling, Jenny and Lydia stopped to eat. They’d been bubbling with excitement ever since Grace had agreed to give the business a try, but, looking at the figures they’d been quoted for rents, Jenny felt herself sliding back to earth. She looked at Lydia to see what she thought.
‘I won’t blame Grace if she says no,’ Lydia said. ‘Ruth will need money to set up home with a husband one day. If the money were mine I’d risk every penny, but I’ll never need much of a home because I’ll never have a husband.’
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘Can you honestly see me warming a man’s slippers or starching his collars?’
‘Not all men want to be looked after.’
‘Rich men with servants might prefer decorative flowers, but I’m not that sort of woman either. If I were rich, I could be an eccentric spinster. As I’m poor, I need to be a working spinster.’
Jenny wouldn’t marry either unless she found someone to appreciate her as a person rather than just a pretty face though that was the least of her concerns just now. ‘Let’s keep trying,’ Jenny suggested, but the figures they obtained in the afternoon were equally depressing.
‘We said we’d go back to Shepherds
Mews and check if the car starts,’ Lydia said. ‘Ruth needs to know it’s in working order even if she sells it.’
It started immediately, the engine sounding low and loud in the confines of the garage.
‘I’ll need to take it out for a spin to be sure, but, as far as I can tell, it’s in apple-pie order,’ Lydia reported.
Jenny nodded. ‘I’ll take another look at Aunt Vera’s clothes while I’m here.’
She left Lydia inspecting the tyres and went upstairs. She was examining an evening bag when a thought occurred to her. Two minutes later, she called downstairs. ‘Come up, Lydia. I’ve had an idea.’
Seventeen
It was Decision Day but Ruth had just done something she feared the others might misunderstand, so she was apprehensive as she walked to Oak View from the bus stop.
‘We were beginning to worry about you,’ Jenny said, when Ruth entered the room.
Grace had warned them that she’d be going over figures in the library for some hours but Ruth had said she was only going out to run a few errands. ‘Sorry.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Lydia asked, her grey eyes narrowing as she searched Ruth’s face for clues.
‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that—’
Ruth heard the street door opening and closing. Moments later Grace came in. ‘You’re all here. Good.’
‘Ruth was just about to tell us something,’ Lydia reported.
‘I’ve got a job,’ Ruth said. ‘In a shoe shop in Victoria.’
Grace, Lydia and Jenny all looked horrified.
‘I’m still committed to the business idea. I’m just not sure the business needs me working in it yet,’ Ruth explained. ‘It makes sense for me to earn money another way for a while.’
‘If you’re having second thoughts…’ Grace began.
‘I’m not.’
‘You want money you can send to Ruston,’ Lydia guessed.
Ruth was under no illusions about the unpleasantness of her family but still couldn’t feel comfortable that she alone had inherited money, having done nothing to deserve it. There was genuine misfortune at home too as Ruth’s father couldn’t work, and perhaps there was something in what her mother always said about the boys needing their money to establish their own families in the future.
