by Nancy Revell
And she had been surprised at how much she had enjoyed spending time across the water in Monkwearmouth, otherwise known as the Barbary Coast. It was known to be one of the poorest areas of the town, but she’d found it full of colour and life. And because there was so much activity there, as well as being so densely populated, she’d been able to blend in well. It hadn’t taken her long at all to get what she needed, helped by the mother of the young welder called Angela not being as discreet as she probably should be.
But it had been at the town’s library, where she loved to go regardless of whether she was working or not, that she had found some really interesting information about a couple of the women welders. It was amazing what you could find out simply by looking through the newspaper archives, or having a browse through the births, marriages and deaths.
It was a true saying – if you dig deep enough you’ll find something. And sometimes you didn’t need to even dig that deep; sometimes it was enough just to scratch the surface of most people’s lives to find something of interest.
Georgina hated to admit it, but she had begun to enjoy what she and her father called their ‘snooping’ work. They had only branched out into this area when Georgina’s two brothers had signed up and joined the navy. Surviving without the two main breadwinners of the household meant that beggars couldn’t be choosers. And as much as they would have preferred to be investigating some company wrongdoing or helping those who had suffered an injustice, they had been forced to take on less salubrious work. The kind of work people like Mrs Crawford hired them to carry out.
‘Out of the six women your Mrs Crawford wanted “looking into”, I’ve made good headway with five of them,’ Georgina told her father.
Normally, the pair of them would talk through Georgina’s findings with very little enthusiasm or joy. Today, though, Mr Pickering could tell there was something that had caught his daughter’s interest, perhaps even her imagination.
‘They are quite an eclectic mix of women,’ Georgina said, taking another bite of her toast.
‘Pray tell more,’ Mr Pickering encouraged. He loved to see his daughter’s enthusiasm piqued. It kept her busy, or more importantly, it kept her mind busy. And he knew that this was what his daughter needed. He just wished there was a way of using her brain for more high-minded matters.
While Georgina chatted away, relating her findings as they ate their breakfast, Mr Pickering could see why his daughter had become so intrigued by this latest assignment. This was a truly diverse group of women. What she had unearthed was interesting, but for him what was more fascinating was the work they were doing, and where they were doing it. It made him wonder why Mrs Crawford wanted to get one over on them. Surely these women were to be revered. They were breaking their backs trying to help win the war. Everyone knew that if it wasn’t for the country’s shipyards, they’d be in trouble.
But his was not to question why Mrs Crawford had asked for their help. It was work, and work meant money and money meant they got to keep a roof, albeit a leaking one, over their heads.
‘There’s only one of the women I’ve not really had a chance to look at,’ Georgina said. ‘And that’s the women’s immediate boss, a young woman called Rosie Thornton.’
Georgina paused for a moment. When she’d first read the name it had rung a distant bell in her memory, but she was still none the wiser as to why.
‘She’s been away these past few days, so I’ve not had a chance to really do any digging.’
Mr Pickering pushed his chair out and stood up slowly. His body was failing him and it was always at its lowest ebb in the morning. Georgina jumped up to help him, but was immediately shooed away.
‘Don’t fuss,’ he said good-naturedly, despite the sharp shooting pains coursing through every limb, ‘or else I’ll start fussing over you and then there’ll be another war on!’
Georgina smiled, but she was no fool. Her father was in pain and that in turn caused her to hurt.
‘Right, I’ll get cracking on this Rosie woman,’ she said, giving her father a quick hug and a kiss on his stubbly cheek.
As Mr Pickering watched his daughter leave he knew that if there was anything to find then his daughter would undoubtedly find it.
Mrs Crawford would get what she wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monday 29 December 1941
Rosie had to stop herself from running to Lily’s. She had purposely chosen to walk, even though there’d been a tram she could have jumped on that would have taken her most of the way, but her body felt infused with a nervous excitement that only physical exertion could get rid of.
She should have been shattered as she’d hardly had time to breathe since returning from Harrogate. Since stepping off the train late last night she felt that she’d been chasing time. She had a sudden mental image of one of the pictures she remembered seeing in her favourite bedtime book when she was a child. It showed Alice in her blue and white pinafore dress chasing the White Rabbit, who was clutching a huge pocket watch. That’s how she felt, desperately trying to snatch at time and make it slow down, or best of all, stop for a while so that she could gain some ground on it.
‘Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte!’ She spoke her thoughts aloud safe in the knowledge that no one could hear her, and even if they could, they would not be able to see her, not in the blackout.
‘What am I going to do with you, little sis,’ she muttered away to herself as she strode up Burdon Road, past the museum and along the perimeter of Mowbray Park.
Rosie had extended her stay with the Rainers an extra day as she had been so concerned about Charlotte. It was as if she had changed overnight, or at least since she had seen her last a couple of months ago. She had gone from the little sister she knew and loved to someone she hardly recognised any more, full of anger and petulance. It was so unlike Charlotte. She’d tried to chat to her about it but didn’t feel that she had got to the bottom of it.
Charlotte had told her that she was fed up with school and wanted to come back home – that at fourteen she could leave school and get a job. Rosie had tried to keep the anger out of her voice as she’d told Charlotte that working wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either, and that she’d be on pennies, with little hope of improving on that as she got older.
Her argument had been beaten down by Charlotte pointing out that Rosie hadn’t done too badly working as a welder and had managed not only to have a decent standard of living herself, but also to pay her boarding fees.
Rosie was in a no-win scenario as she couldn’t tell Charlotte how wrong she was, nor could she tell her how she had really earned the money to be able to afford to keep her in school.
When Charlotte had admitted on the evening before Rosie left that she wouldn’t mind staying on at school, but only if she could go to one in Sunderland, Rosie had been slightly relieved but also rather perplexed.
Was this simply down to the fact that Charlotte was homesick and wanted to be near the only family she had?
Whatever the reason, it was making Rosie’s head spin with ideas and possibilities. She would love to have Charlotte back home. She could do it financially, and the threat from their uncle Raymond was now no more – there was just the one fly in the ointment, and it wasn’t, as she had been making out to everyone, the fact that the town lived under the constant threat of Hitler’s Luftwaffe.
The real reason was the bordello.
If Charlotte came back to live here it would be nigh-on impossible to keep her in the dark. She might be able to for a little while, but not long term. Not a chance.
But if the business became legit?
Rosie was snapped out of the thoughts racing around her head by the blaring of a horn as she went to cross the road. She stepped back onto the pavement, dug around in her bag and pulled out her little electric torch.
‘God, you’ll be no good to anyone dead,’ she muttered as she made her way safely across to the other side of the road.
‘Th
at’s the only possible option,’ Rosie said aloud as she headed to West Lawn.
The idea had been festering in her head for some time now. Perhaps tonight was the time to give it some air.
‘Ah, ma chérie!’ Lily tottered down the hallway to greet Rosie as she walked through the front door. She gave her a surprising hug as well as the usual two kisses – one on each cheek.
‘Honestly, Lily, I’ve only been gone a few days,’ Rosie said, shrugging off her coat and hooking it onto the stand by the door.
‘I know, but we were expecting you back on Saturday. And it’s now Monday!’
All of a sudden, Rosie felt like a young girl being reproached by her worried mother.
‘Rosie!’ George came out of the reception room, which sounded lively and busy with girls and clients and Mary Martin singing ‘Kiss the Boys Goodbye’ playing on the gramophone. His ornate ivory walking stick struck the tiles loudly as he strode, slightly off-kilter, towards her. He too gave her a big hug, rather than the usual kiss on her hand.
Rosie laughed. ‘Either you two have been on the brandy or Christmas has made you both sentimental.’
She headed towards her office in the front room.
‘Come on, let’s have a belated Christmas drink, or an early one for the New Year,’ she said, stepping into her favourite room in the entire house. Thick, floor-to-ceiling plush velvet curtains, Persian rugs and a mix of Louis XIV-style furniture – including her huge cherrywood desk – filled the room. She had also recently purchased a huge mahogany cabinet where she now kept her growing number of files, ledgers and boxes of paperwork.
Rosie went to fill three glasses with the top-notch French brandy she kept in a crystal decanter on top of her desk.
‘So, tell us all about Charlotte and dear Hillary and Thomas?’ Lily said, taking her glass from Rosie and settling herself down on the chaise longue with George. Neither Lily nor George had ever met with Rosie’s little sister or the couple who had kept an eye on her over the years, but they still felt as though they knew them.
‘Mr and Mrs Rainer were lovely, as always,’ Rosie said. She had never got used to calling them by their first names, and they had given up insisting she try.
‘They’re both getting on a bit, though,’ Rosie said thoughtfully.
‘How old are they now?’ George asked.
‘Gosh, I reckon they must be in their late fifties, early sixties,’ Rosie said. She had her drink to hand but so far hadn’t taken a sip.
‘Blimey, ancient then!’ Lily laughed, slipping back into her native cockney.
Rosie smiled.
‘I guess what I’m really trying to say is that they’re getting too old to cope with Charlotte.’ She finally took a drink, enjoying the burn down her throat.
‘We were wondering how you were getting on with Charlotte,’ George said, his face serious. ‘Especially after the letters you showed us.’
‘Well,’ Rosie felt her energy drain a little now that she was sitting down, ‘take those letters and times them by ten.’
‘That bad?’ George empathised.
‘Bring the girl back home!’ Lily declared, putting her glass down on the little nest of tables. ‘Where she belongs!’ she added as she pushed herself off the settee and walked over to the desk to take a cigarette from the packet of Gauloises that was kept for clients, although Lily seemed to be the only person ever to smoke them.
Rosie looked at Lily and then at George, who, she thought, had started shuffling about a little uncomfortably.
‘It’s not quite that easy, Lily,’ Rosie said, a little exasperated. ‘I can’t just haul Charlotte out of her school and swing her back here willy-nilly.’
‘Why not?’ Lily said, lighting up and blowing out a stream of smoke. ‘It makes perfect sense to me. Charlotte’s clearly not happy. She’s said she wants to come back to her hometown. To be with you. And Mr and Mrs Rainer are clearly knocking on a bit now. And you can easily get her into another school here. That posh one up the road would be perfect. You might even save some money as Charlotte probably won’t be boarding. Not if she lives with you.’
Lily took another drag of her cigarette. ‘It’s a win-win situation.’ Her words were emitted with another trail of smoke.
‘Yes, but what about all the air raids we’ve been having?’ Rosie argued.
Lily rolled her eyes heavenward.
‘Then move somewhere out of town. Nearer here. Hitler doesn’t seem to give two figs about our neck of the woods. She’ll be safe as houses. And if you’re near here, she can come and shelter in the cellar if there’s a raid. You don’t get much safer than down there, that’s for sure.’
Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She looked across to George and saw by the look on his face that he knew exactly what she was really concerned about.
Lily caught the look and swung round to George.
‘Am I missing something here?’ she asked, standing with one hand on her hip and the other outstretched, her half-smoked Gauloise burning between her fingers.
Rosie threw a slightly desperate look over at George.
‘Lily,’ George said, patting the space on the chaise longue next to him, ‘come and sit back down.’
Lily acquiesced, sitting down and picking up her glass.
‘I think what Rosie may be a tad concerned about – ’ George cleared his throat ‘ – is about Charlotte finding out about the bordello.’
There, he had said it. He was amazed Lily hadn’t considered this before. Sometimes she could be the most astute woman he had ever known, and certainly the most business savvy, but often when it came to more personal matters, she could be considerably way off the mark.
Lily looked from George to Rosie as if they had both just slapped her in the face.
She immediately stood back up, marched over to the desk and stabbed her cigarette out aggressively in the ashtray before pulling another from the packet.
‘So, I see …’ Lily was now in full cockney twang.
‘Ashamed, are you?’ She lit her cigarette.
‘Ashamed of this place?’ She waved her outstretched arms dramatically around the splendour of the room.
‘Ashamed of me and George?’
Rosie leant forward in her chair. ‘Of course, I’m not ashamed of you and George!’ she interrupted Lily’s rant.
‘But you are ashamed of your life here?’ Lily asked, staring at Rosie, demanding the truth.
Rosie stuttered. ‘It’s not that I’m ashamed … it’s just I don’t want Charlotte to be a party to it.’
‘Gawd, Rosie, you make it sound like we’re going to put her to work here!’ Lily was now almost shouting.
‘No, I don’t mean that.’ Rosie was getting confused. This conversation was not going the way she wanted it to go. Lily’s reaction had thrown her. She had thought Lily would understand how she felt about Charlotte knowing about the bordello.
‘So, let me get this right,’ Lily said, tapping her cigarette on the side of the ashtray. ‘You honestly expect Charlotte to go through her life in blissful ignorance as to how you have not only managed to keep her out of the workhouse, but have also given her the best education a girl could want? Hmm. Charlotte’s going to sail through life believing that you managed to do and pay for everything you have done on the wages of a shipyard welder?’
Lily stomped over to get her drink.
Rosie was rigid, staring at Lily, beaten for words.
George reached to take hold of Lily’s hand in an attempt to subdue her. He had only seen her like this a few times, but he knew the more fired up she became, the more she said. And the more she said, the more she regretted saying.
‘No, George,’ Lily said, pulling her hand away, ‘this needs to be said.’
She turned back to Rosie. ‘Or did you think your detective was going to suddenly whip you and Charlotte away on his white charger and take you off to live some kind of perfect and unblemished existence?’
At th
e mention of Peter, Rosie felt herself fire up.
‘No!’ Now it was Rosie’s voice that was raised. ‘I don’t expect that! But perhaps you’re right about one thing. Perhaps I am a little ashamed of what I have done. But the long and short of it is, I don’t want Charlotte to find out. I don’t want her to be involved in the kind of life I’ve had to live. I want her to have the best. To live a good life.’
Lily banged her glass down.
‘And we don’t live a good life?!’
George stood up, knowing that now was the time to intervene – before the locking of horns.
‘You’re twisting everything I’m trying to say!’ Rosie said. She had never fallen out with Lily before and she had certainly never had what was now amounting to a full-scale argument with her.
‘Well, then,’ Lily said, ‘tell me what you’re really trying to say.’
Lily looked at George, whose pleading face made her calm down a fraction. But only a fraction.
Rosie sat up straight in her chair.
‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,’ she said, watching as George gently guided Lily back to the chaise longue. ‘And I was hoping that we could try and go legit. You know, like we talked about before all that awfulness with Peter.’ Her voice dropped, although her guilt sounded out loud and clear.
‘That “awfulness with Peter” that nearly landed us all in jail?’ Lily couldn’t help but have a stab at Peter. She realised as she said it that it was really him she was angry with.
‘Yes,’ Rosie said quietly. Her head felt so confused. So tired. She had tried to bury the guilt she had felt over that whole debacle, which had been her fault. But she had to say what had been going through her mind for a while now. ‘I want us to make the business legitimate.’
This was what she had wanted to talk about from the off, but Lily had sidetracked her.
This was the answer to her problem. And not only that. Not only could she then bring Charlotte back home to live, but she would also be able to tell Peter that she was a proper businesswoman and not the part-owner of a brothel.
