*
Nell lay in bed wishing she had someone to confide in. Eth, just two years younger, would have been the natural person to share secrets with, but it would not do. Apart from Eth's snide suggestions and unconcealed jealousy about the good clothes she'd been given, the years she had spent living with her grandparents had driven an unscalable barrier between the sisters. Amy was the sister she felt closest to, but Amy was only ten, too young to know anything about love and marriage. And even mentioning Tom would be likely to provoke another storm of weeping such as had occurred that night Amy had lain in wait for her.
Nell sighed, and turned over carefully, trying not to wake her sisters. The bed was far too small for the four of them, even sleeping top to toe, and if she woke Eth her sister would be complaining for the rest of the night.
She forced her thoughts away from the dancing. That had been revelation enough, the vast, brilliantly lit Tower ballroom and the bright gowns and enthralling music. After watching the others for a while she'd been impatient to try for herself, knowing she could do as well, and so it had proved. She'd danced a lot as a child, improvising steps, and Tom was a good dancer; soon they had been whirling confidently about the ballroom. Nell felt totally at home there. What bothered her was her obligation to Tom and Mrs Simmons.
'Come in, my dear,' Mrs Simmons had been welcoming when she'd presented herself at their large house, one of a pair with a good garden at the back.
'Mother has two dresses for you to choose from,' Tom said when Nell had been shown into the front parlour. He eyed her consideringly. 'Yes, you're much the same height, and though you're a little thinner they should fit well enough.'
'Come and try them on, Nell dear,' Mrs Simmons urged. 'You haven't much time before you need to leave.'
The dresses had been laid out in the spare bedroom and Nell had no hesitation in choosing the plain, straight one in a dark pink taffeta rather than the fussy white lace with dozens of frills. Both were too large, but Nell not only preferred the plain one, she knew the style disguised the poor fit better.
'It's longer than the fashion this year,' Mrs Simmons worried. 'Perhaps you can use the other one next time.'
'It's beautiful and I'm so grateful to you,' Nell said.
'Look, try on these shoes. I think they'll fit. They're white, they'll go with either dress.'
The shoes were produced, carefully wrapped in tissue, and Nell slipped them on. They were a fraction too large, but when Mrs Simmons stuffed the toes with cotton wool they fitted better and the straps over the instep were tight enough to keep them in place.
As she handled them Nell was suspicious. 'These are new. They haven't been worn.' Had Tom bought them specially? She hesitated, then reminded herself the shoes were a loan, not a present. He couldn't be misled into thinking she'd accepted such a personal gift from him.
'Oh, yes, you see they were too small for me,' Mrs Simmons said swiftly.
Nell glanced down at her neat, delicate feet, but she could hardly call Mrs Simmons a liar, and she did so desperately want to go dancing. She nodded. 'It's very good of you.'
'I want to please our Tom. It's time he found himself a nice lass. You do like him, my dear, don't you? He's told me such a lot about you.'
'He's very kind,' Nell managed to say.
She felt guilty. She had no wish to marry anyone. He was thoughtful, and it was plain his mother would be kind to anyone he chose to be his wife. He said he loved her and she would have a much easier life with Tom than she would married to someone like her father. Was that all that mattered?
Then the thought of her mother, struggling to make a home of sorts for her large family, made Nell shudder. Marriage meant children, and the necessary intimacies which produced them. She would never want to do that with a man, and supposing she could bring herself to endure it, there wouldn't be room even in Tom's big house for many children as well as his parents.
She couldn't take advantage of Tom's fondness for her any more. What he had shown her, though, had stiffened her determination to get away from home, to make some money for herself, and to acquire clothes in which she could learn to dance. She turned over once more and racked her brains for ways of achieving this now overriding ambition.
*
'There simply isn't a single imaginative item of treasure in this boring old list!' Kitty complained, struggling into her fur coat.
Paul Mandeville laughed. 'We don't have the advantages of London – we can't steal a busby from the guards outside Buckingham Palace, or ashtrays from the Savoy!'
'You wouldn't do that if you could,' Kitty teased, 'you're far too much the upright citizen these days, though your mother was hinting at what a devil you used to be.'
'Don't believe her! But I mean to enjoy tonight. What have we to find?'
'A programme from the Theatre Royal, a tram ticket from the Ladywood tram, a bottle of Greenwood's mineral water, some Kunzle cakes, a menu card from Endersby's Hotel, a copy of Antic Hay! There's absolutely nothing here we can't get just by walking in and asking, buying or picking up out of the gutter!'
'Then let's start.' They went outside and scrambled into his car, a big Sunbeam tourer. 'Where first?'
'Endersby's. They say Mrs Endersby is a darling, but by the time she's been asked for ten menu cards she might be just a little bit annoyed.'
'She's too kind for that, as well as beautiful and talented. Every man in Edgbaston is wildly envious of Mr Endersby for finding her first.'
'A paragon, in fact,' Kitty said dismissively.
'You'll like her. It's amazing, women adore her too.'
Kitty raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, but did not comment. She hadn't known any woman equally admired by both men and her own sex.
'I'll book a table and take you there for dinner next week,' Paul suggested as he drove out and swung towards the Hagley Road. 'It can be my birthday present to you.'
'Really? Oh, that's fabulous! They have dinner dances in their new ballroom. Right, Endersby's first, then we can go into the city centre. I know Meggy has some mineral water, we can collect that when we get back.'
'If that's allowed, my mother has a whole box of Kunzle's cakes, she bought them for tea tomorrow, never can resist them when she's near their shop at Five Ways.'
'Simply any method is allowed in Treasure Hunts,' Kitty declared, 'short of actually stealing something.'
'I'm sure Antic Hay is at home too. She always reads the new novels, and that's been out for over a year. I believe she left it at my house when she went to Australia.'
'We'd better make sure while we're in Edgbaston, then if she didn't we can be thinking where else to go while we collect the other things.'
Almost an hour later they returned, to find they had just been beaten by Fleur Carpenter and Terry Rance, a young army officer on leave.
'Strategy,' he crowed, as Kitty and Paul ran in through the front door.
Fleur giggled. 'We saw Maisie actually grubbing in the gutter near the tram stop! We pipped her home and snaffled all the mineral water so that she couldn't get any there. And Antic Hay and all Mother's Kunzle cakes. She'll be utterly furious!' During the next half hour the other teams straggled in, and after Terry and Fleur had been ceremoniously presented with their prize, a magnum of champagne, they trooped in to supper, watched benignly by Meggy.
'I can't make it out,' Kitty confided to Maisie, having soothed the other girl's ruffled feelings at what she considered the base advantage taken by her sister to spoil her own chances.
'What do you mean?'
'Meggy. She prepared all this without a murmur. Well, only a token grumble and saying she needed a couple of girls all day to help. And now she's looking positively smug.'
'It's because of Paul,' Maisie replied. 'She approves of him and probably thinks he'd keep you out of mischief. He's rich, too, and though he doesn't need to work he does, he has what she'd call a proper job.'
'You think she's trying to pair us off? But I'm not sure I w
ould marry him and I'm certain I wouldn't want to marry a doctor. He's fun, that's all.'
*
Gwyneth was astonished, then delighted when Mr Bliss told her, after just a couple of lessons, that she could join his stage class.
'You have an extraordinary talent and the ability to learn new movements quickly,' he'd explained. 'You must stay in the modern class, but I think you can catch up in the stage class too.'
Stage dancing, Gwyneth found, required far more stamina than modern ballroom dancing. 'It's not the steps, they're easy once you get the idea, and if you can keep in time,' she explained to Lizzie. 'The steps of the foxtrot are much more complicated. You just need more energy. I seem to be hungry all the time now, and the girl in the room below mine is always complaining about the noise when I practise.'
'I wouldn't like to practise every day like you do.'
'I must catch up. Mr Bliss is planning to send out a troupe of girls to the local theatres soon. I might be good enough to be in it.'
'But what about your job here?'
'I'd have to give that up.'
Lizzie stared at her, aghast. 'Gwyneth! You wouldn't! How could you live? Are dancers paid enough? What about the times you aren't working?'
'I'd be paid more when I was working, but some of the time I'd get nothing. I need to save as much as I can before then. Miss Fremling has said I can stay late, help with alterations. I can earn a bit more doing those, and I have enough clothes to last me, I won't waste my money on them like I used to.'
'You'll be so tired.'
'I know, but dancing is an exhausting life. Mrs Bliss was telling me she always feels tired. It's worth it, and I have to train myself to manage.'
'I couldn't do it.'
'How's George?' Gwyneth asked. Somewhat surprisingly Lizzie hadn't mentioned him this morning. She knew they'd been going out for the day yesterday on the new motorcycle combination George had acquired.
Lizzie flushed. 'We've quarrelled,' she said briefly, and her eyes filled with tears.
Before she could say more Miss Fremling approached. 'Miss Davis. If I might have a word with you.'
Gwyneth followed apprehensively into the small makeshift office, wondering how she could have offended. To her astonishment she discovered she had not.
'Would it be possible for you to stay behind tomorrow evening and do some of the alterations then?' Miss Fremling asked.
'Yes, of course,' Gwyneth replied.
'And – Miss Davis, you've been with us for almost two months now. I was uncertain at first, but you've settled down well, in fact I've come to rely on you more than I can the others.'
Gwyneth blinked. This was totally unexpected. 'Thank you,' she murmured.
'And so,' Miss Fremling went on, 'I feel I can trust you. As you know, I normally remain behind for an hour making up the books and checking stock in the evenings. The cleaner is also here during that time, and I lock up after she's gone. I cannot do that tomorrow, I have an engagement, that is to say an important appointment.' She's actually blushing, Gwyneth told herself with inward amusement, and wondered just what sort of appointment could affect the stately Miss Fremling in such a way. 'Could I trust you to supervise the cleaner? She's new but I'll show her what to do tonight. Make sure you lock up very carefully afterwards.'
'Of course. I'm honoured to be trusted,' Gwyneth murmured. Miss Fremling became brisk, swiftly demonstrating the locks Gwyneth had to see to. Then with a curt nod she dismissed her. It was dinnertime and Lizzie was eating her sandwiches in the tiny space behind the stockroom which served as a kitchen.
'What happened?' Gwyneth demanded, squeezing onto a stool beside her.
Lizzie gulped. 'He – we went up into the Lickey Hills. We walked over the hills, and he – George – well, he wanted to go further than I did, and he was so angry. Said I'd led him on, was a tease, no better than a tart! He stormed off and I had to find my own way home. I'll never forgive him!'
'Never mind,' Gwyneth said, feeling inadequate. 'No harm's done, and there are plenty of men who respect you, who'd never want you to do wrong.'
'But I love him!' Lizzie wailed. 'Why did he have to spoil it all?' She soon calmed down and returned to the shop, but refused to say any more when they walked to the tram. 'I just want to forget. Tell me all about the stage dancing. How many girls are there in a troupe? Perhaps we could go and see a music hall one day, maybe the Tiller's Girls will be here soon. Perhaps you'll become famous and travel all over the world.'
***
Chapter 6
'Nell, luv, will yer be at 'ome tonight?'
'Not 'till late, Ma.'
'Yer Pa's been askin' where yer've been.'
'Keeping out the way,' Nell said brusquely. 'I must go, or I'll be late fer work.'
Mrs Baxter sighed. Nell had changed, and she couldn't decide whether it was due to the new clothes she'd somehow obtained or the beating her Pa had given her because of them. She was quieter and she rarely came home before ten, later on Saturdays. Perhaps she'd found herself a lad. Mrs Baxter hoped so, for Nell's sake.
Then she paused. She'd been just seventeen when she'd married Albert, only six months older than Nell was now. He'd been such a catch, she'd thought then. He'd come to Sutton Coldfield to work as a porter on the railways, and was a big, strong young man. He was full of plans for becoming a guard, and then perhaps even a driver. He'd swept her off her feet, urging marriage within a month of them meeting. Her parents had at first refused, and relented only when she'd said that if they didn't agree she'd run away and live with him without marriage. Perhaps it wasn't wise to be wed so young. Perhaps her folk had known better than she had, in her impetuous desire not to lose her first suitor. Might Nell make the same mistake? Yet surely she'd choose more carefully. And almost anything would be preferable for her than staying here with her Pa, for he was getting more vicious every year as disappointment at the ruin of all his dreams overcame him. Yes, for Nell an early marriage might be good. The sooner she could escape the better. If her lad had a good job he'd be able to afford a house, there were plenty to rent at only a few shillings a week. Then she'd be safe from her Pa.
He seemed to have been more careful since the time he'd whipped Nell. He still came home drunk on Saturdays, but appeared to retain enough control to stop beating the others. If only it would last! But she knew Albert better than that. Perhaps he'd had a fright. Nell had glared at him with such scorn, he'd seemed abashed after it was over.
Nell, unaware of her mother's speculations, went to the factory. At last she had taken a step towards a new life. It would not be with Tom Simmons, for she was determined never to make herself dependent on any man. Instead she'd found another, part time job. It would take months, but she would have some money of her own, enough eventually to take a room and then look for a job away from her father's place of work, so that she could keep all her earnings. She'd already made another pocket on her belt to keep the coins beside her precious box. Then she could afford to pay for dancing lessons. Then she could look forward to freedom.
She slipped away after finishing work at the factory, thankful it was on the city side of Ladywood. As she'd discovered yesterday she would have to run most of the way to get to Corporation Street in time. She was breathless when she reached the shop, and hardly able to speak when a dark, pretty girl scarcely older than herself came to let her in.
'I'm Nell Baxter, the cleaner,' she gasped.
'Come in. Miss Fremling can't be here tonight. I'm Gwyneth Davis, I work here. Do you know where everything is?'
'Yes, thanks, Miss.'
'You're out of breath. I've just made a pot of tea. Would you like some?'
'I oughtn't to,' Nell said slowly, but licked her lips. She'd had nothing since a crust of bread and dripping for breakfast; there hadn't been anything to spare for her dinner after Pa had been given his, and she'd refused to take the last slice which was all the babies and her mother had until Mrs Baxter received her money from that day's clea
ning job. Thank goodness the ones old enough for school could get the free breakfast provided there. Without that they'd surely starve.
'Of course you must. There's a full pot, plenty for us both.'
As Nell busied herself with the broom, sweeping the floor and then kneeling to polish the linoleum, she watched Gwyneth turning up the hems of two gowns, stitching swiftly. The other girl was humming to herself, her foot tapping the floor in time.
'That tune, I heard it at the Tower,' Nell said suddenly. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Miss, I shouldn't have spoken out of turn.'
Gwyneth looked up eagerly. 'No, do talk. And don't call me Miss, it makes me feel so old! It's boring doing hems, and must be worse polishing floors. You go dancing?'
'I've only been once, but I'm going again as soon as I can afford a dress and some proper shoes.'
'I go to classes now. I want to learn properly. I'm starting stage dancing too.'
'Like on the music halls?'
Nell was staring at her in astonishment, and Gwyneth laughed, embarrassed. 'Yes. Why not?'
'I thought you had to start that sort of dancing when you were little,' Nell said slowly. 'My Gran said I should have been a ballet dancer, I was always dancing and doing handstands when I was a kid.'
'You do for ballet, but stage dancing's much easier, if you can keep in time to the music and learn quickly it's very simple.'
Nell bent over her polishing, her mind in a whirl. She didn't speak again until Gwyneth, glancing at the clock, folded up her work and announced it was time to go.
'Put the things away. You've been polishing that bit of linoleum for the past ten minutes.'
'Oh!' Nell laughed, disconcerted. 'I was dreaming.'
'About dancing? Would you like to have lessons?'
'Yes, but I'd never earn enough to pay for them, not for ages.'
'You will if you want it enough.'
Nell put away the polish and the cloths, fetched her coat and waited with Gwyneth while she locked the door and checked it. Some day she might become a dancer. It was a fantastic thought, one she could scarcely comprehend. She walked slowly, absorbed in the possibilities which had opened up for her. She should have asked Miss Davis where she might find a teacher. She'd been very friendly, unlike most shopgirls who looked down on other workers. But it was too soon. First she had to earn enough money to escape from home.
The Glowing Hours Page 7
