The Surplus Girls

by Polly Heron

  Prudence raised her eyebrows at her before addressing Miss Layton once more. ‘I wasn’t aware of a nephew.’

  ‘He says he’s Mr Tyrell’s heir.’

  ‘Really?’ Prudence’s voice took on a sharp edge. ‘Then he ought to have had the courtesy to let us know of his bereavement, so we could inform you that your services were no longer required.’

  ‘In fairness,’ Patience ventured, ‘he possibly didn’t know about Miss Layton.’

  ‘I wrote a letter to Mr Tyrell, confirming the arrangements.’

  ‘He can’t have found that yet,’ said Miss Layton. ‘Otherwise I’m sure he’d have done the right thing. He told me there’s a lot to be sorted out. Actually, he already knew I was the Saturday help, because he was at the shop last week.’

  ‘All the more reason why he should have gone through his uncle’s papers to find a way of getting in touch with you.’

  ‘Prudence, please,’ Patience murmured. ‘Carson, did you say his name is? We shall, of course, send a letter of condolence.’

  ‘He’s inherited Mr Tyrell’s cottage,’ said Miss Layton.

  ‘We don’t have that address. The shop address will do.’

  ‘He seems to have told you rather a lot of his business.’ Prudence’s voice was lofty with disapproval.

  Miss Layton dropped her gaze and wound her fingers together. ‘He… he offered me a job.’

  ‘Does he intend to run the shop himself?’ said Patience.

  ‘I’m sure you’d make a capable assistant in a shop,’ Prudence added, ‘but that isn’t what we’re training you to be.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to keep the shop,’ said Miss Layton. ‘He wants to sell the stock.’

  ‘That would take a long time,’ said Prudence, ‘and meanwhile the rent has to be paid on the premises.’

  ‘I’m sure some of the stock will go to customers,’ said Miss Layton, ‘but Mr Carson mentioned selling it to other bookshops.’

  ‘And what job has he offered you?’ asked Patience.

  ‘Typing letters and catalogues, generally helping with whatever needs doing…’

  ‘And when the stock is sold?’ asked Prudence.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘He has offered you a temporary post that may last no more than a few weeks.’

  ‘But it’s office work… useful experience… It could help me move onto something else.’

  ‘Or you could find yourself unemployed.’

  The girl looked crestfallen. Why did she want this post so much? ‘You said you had a question for me.’

  ‘Not a question so much as a request,’ said Prudence. ‘It’s to do with your being our first scholarship candidate. I’m sorry to inform you there has been a misunderstanding.’

  Miss Layton gasped. ‘You mean, I can’t be a scholarship candidate after all?’

  ‘Your position is secure. We’re happy to have you as a pupil. Our brother is happy too.’

  Miss Layton brightened. ‘You said the position was his idea.’

  ‘The misunderstanding concerns people outside the business school, who – well, frankly there has been gossip about you. People think…’ Prudence stopped.

  ‘They think I’m getting above myself,’ said Miss Layton. Her voice sounded flat, but not surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Prudence and Patience poured a thousand blessings on her head for not mentioning slum girls. ‘Miss Patience and I believe the best thing is for you to write a letter to the Evening News, explaining your humble but respectable origins and expressing your gratitude to our brother for his generosity in allowing a girl like you to have this opportunity alongside girls from better backgrounds. It wouldn’t go amiss if you were to mention how your fiancé died for his country, leaving you to face a lifetime of fending for yourself and how much harder this would be but for Mr Hesketh’s sense of social responsibility. Do you think you can do that?’

  Miss Layton nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve brought the business school into disrepute.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ cried Patience. ‘This is malicious gossip.’

  ‘It has to be knocked on the head,’ said Prudence. ‘We could write the letter ourselves, but it would be more meaningful coming from you. I know that Mr Hesketh, when he reads your letter in the paper, will be certain to speak well of the scholarship candidate idea.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do in return for his kindness,’ said Miss Layton.

  Patience stirred uncomfortably. They were using the girl for their own ends. But Miss Layton stood to benefit as well, if the gossip stopped. She would keep telling herself that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  SHE HAD TO accept Richard’s job: she had to. If she didn’t, she would never see him again. So what if it was temporary? It was useful experience. All Belinda had done for Mr Tyrell was typing. Richard wanted more than that, although, to be honest, she would be hard pressed to say what.

  ‘I apologise if this sounds vague,’ he had said to her on Saturday, with a deprecating smile that made her heart turn over. ‘The truth is, I don’t know exactly what I’ll need you to do. There’ll be correspondence to deal with and parcels to send and I may need you to work in the shop. I’ve inherited my uncle’s cottage and its contents, so I need to sort through his belongings. Things will have to be disposed of appropriately: could you organise that? Arrange for buyers to collect things, for example. In due course, I’ll move into the cottage. I’m in lodgings at present.’

  ‘The cottage will need a thorough clean.’ She spoke eagerly and then blushed. ‘I don’t meant to suggest it’s unkempt, but you should always spring-clean before you move in.’

  He gave her an approving smile. ‘I wouldn’t have thought of that. You’re in danger of making yourself indispensable, Miss Layton.’

  How could she turn down the job after that? He saw her value. He needed her. And who could say where that might lead? Her heart raced. She had no business thinking like that. For all kinds of reasons, she had no business.

  Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie were impressed by the job offer.

  ‘Eh, it shows what a capable lass you are.’ Grandma Beattie made it sound as if she had never said a word against office work.

  Their pride made it painful to breathe. They would be distraught if they knew that a man other than Ben occupied her thoughts. Neither did she mention that it was a temporary position. It made her feel a complete heel to withhold the truth, but she couldn’t risk it. This was a good opportunity. She would work hard and build up experience; and if it also enabled her to spend a few weeks in the company of the handsome Richard Carson, where was the harm in that? She felt alive in a way she hadn’t in years. In fact, she probably had never felt as alive as this. Meeting Ben and falling in love had been wonderful and exciting, but it had also felt natural; while this untamed feeling Richard had awoken was unexpected, unlooked for, startling.

  On Sunday evening, she sat at the table, pen in hand, composing her resignation letter. There was a tight knot in her stomach. Was she making a mistake? Would she be doing this if she hadn’t been bowled over by Richard? But she couldn’t back out now. If she did, she would always wonder. Losing Ben had provided her with a lifetime of if onlys. She didn’t want to store up more. She had to seize this chance.

  At tea-break the next morning, she took her letter to the tattlers’ room. The door opened and two of the tattlers came out. One of them leaned back into the room.

  ‘Miss Layton’s one of yours, isn’t she, Butterfield?’

  He left the door open as he and his companion walked away. Belinda hesitated. Mr Butterfield was alone in the room, seated behind one of the battered-looking old desks.

  ‘Come to seek me out, have you?’ he enquired. ‘Close the door.’

  That was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn’t avoid doing so without being openly disobedient. She held out her letter, ready to snatch her hand away the instant he took it.

  ‘What’s this, then?’


  ‘My notice, sir.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Giving you the letter before dinner today means I can finish on Friday.’ She had double-checked with Maggie.

  ‘We’ll be sorry to lose a capable little worker like you. You could have had a good future here.’

  ‘Will you write me a character reference, please?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll have it ready before you leave.’

  He came round the desk. She edged backwards, trying to make it look natural and nothing to do with her speeding pulse.

  ‘Don’t look so alarmed,’ he said gravely, as if he had never given her any cause to be wary. ‘I only want to shake your hand to wish you well.’

  She couldn’t refuse, could she? Feeling trapped, she extended her hand. He took it, exerting a gentle pressure as he shook it and she just had time to be relieved that all he had wanted really was to shake hands, when his fingers tightened and he pulled her closer and kissed her mouth. His cold tongue brushed her lips. Ugh. Her body went rigid. Her senses screamed at her that he was about to make another lunge and a calm little voice in her head said that if she stayed put, she was asking for it. She stepped back just in time.

  He smiled. Couldn’t anything wipe the smirk off his face? ‘You little tease. Never mind. There’s always next time. Don’t forget to collect your reference.’

  Darting from the room, she headed for the canteen. Her mind buzzed with images. She pictured herself slapping him, no, clouting him good and hard. It was what he deserved. Why hadn’t she done it? She despised herself for not retaliating.

  ‘You all right, lass?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind, if you’re having second thoughts,’ said Auntie Enid.

  Belinda smiled, but her skin was crawling. She didn’t say a word about that kiss. There were some women who would say, ‘Dirty bugger fondled my bum,’ or ‘Dirty sod grabbed my tits,’ but they were the coarser sort. Decent girls didn’t make a show of themselves. Decent girls kept quiet.

  Decent girls felt dizzy with fear at the prospect of having to collect their reference.

  As they walked home down Grave Pit Lane, Auntie Enid said, ‘This time next week, you’ll be coming home from work in Chorlton.’ She sounded wistful.

  Belinda linked arms with her. ‘It’s only the job that’ll be different. Everything else will stay the same.’ Liar! She couldn’t wait for the heady experience of spending her days alongside Richard. ‘I have to drop a note through the shop letter-box to say I’m starting next Monday.’

  ‘Better sooner than later. You don’t want him thinking you’re not interested and offering the job elsewhere. You need to tell your folks too.’

  Would her parents be proud? It was hard knowing that their first reaction would be to ask about the money.

  As they walked into End Cottage, a fishy aroma greeted them. Grandma Beattie stood at the range, gently poaching a smoked haddock.

  ‘Look who’s here to see you, Belinda.’

  Sarah flew across the room to hug her. ‘Mrs Sloan says you’ve got a new job. Clever old you! So this is your last week at the mill. What will you be doing? I want to hear all about it. Mrs Sloan said the old bookseller died and his heir wants to sell up.’

  So Belinda launched into an explanation of how she would answer enquiries, type an inventory, get things ready for sale and organise deliveries. Being vague with the Miss Heskeths had been a mistake, even though Richard had been vague with her. She had managed to make the details of the work sound more definite by the time she told Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie, and today, after all the questions that had been fired at her in the canteen, she had discovered an unexpected talent for blathering on about nothing and making it sound like something.

  ‘Are you going round to tell Mum and Dad?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Not tonight,’ said Belinda. ‘I need to confirm to Mr Carson that I’m starting next week.’

  ‘Can I tell them?’

  ‘Feel free.’ She was delighted that Sarah was so pleased for her.

  ‘Good. And can I also tell them that you’ll put my name forward to be the new tenter?’

  There was an air of excitement in the canteen. Jessie had been told she was going to take Belinda’s place as a two-loomer and, in turn, Hattie was being made up to a one-loomer.

  ‘Steady on,’ laughed Belinda. ‘I haven’t left yet.’ Was it mean to feel the tiniest bit put out? A couple of days ago, she and her new job were all anyone could talk about. Now Jessie and Hattie were centre-stage.

  ‘We’ll get a new tenter an’ all,’ remarked Annie, knocking back the last drop of her tea. ‘I heard that Minnie Ollerenshaw is hoping to get her lass took on.’

  ‘Jenny Ollerenshaw-as-was is a bit old to be starting off as a tenter,’ said Flo, ‘but I suppose, as a widow with children, she’s desperate.’

  ‘I don’t care who it is,’ Maggie declared, ‘as long as she isn’t foisted onto me to train.’

  Auntie Enid nudged Belinda. ‘If you’re going to put in a word for your Sarah, you’d best not hang about. I’d ask for you, but Sarah knows you’re not keen. If you can’t tell her, hand on heart, that you was the one who asked, she’ll get in a snit with you.’

  Auntie Enid was right. Little as Belinda wanted Sarah within a hundred miles of Mr Butterfield, if she didn’t try to get her the job, Sarah would never forgive her.

  ‘I’ll ask Butterfingers as soon as the hooter goes for dinner.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  She expected to speak to Mr Butterfield in the weaving shed, but he crooked his forefinger and led her to the tattlers’ room, where he held the door open. She scuttled inside, wanting to get safely past him. He shut the door behind them.

  Facing him, she pressed her lips together. They felt cold where his slimy tongue had touched them last time.

  ‘Come back for more, have you? Can’t say I’m surprised. I always sensed you had a taste for it.’

  She stood her ground. Don’t show you’re afraid.

  ‘I’m here about the tenter position. My sister—’

  ‘Pretty is she, like you?’

  ‘She’s a hard worker, sir.’ She heard herself babbling about hotel work.

  ‘Hm.’ His eyes were thoughtful. It looked like he was considering it. ‘She sounds promising.’

  ‘She’s keen, sir.’

  ‘But how keen are you, that’s the question.’ He caught the side of his lower lip under his teeth, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head.

  The suggestive expression almost made her choke. Jerking away, she collided with a chair. It went over backwards with a clatter. Her thoughts clattered too, instinct and fear and loathing all mashed up together.

  Mr Butterfield reached out a hand as if to steady her, but if he really meant to do that, it would be a brief touch; but no, the touch tightened into a grasp.

  ‘You could get your sister the job, right here, right now. You’d do that for your sister, wouldn’t you?’

  There was a knock and the door was thrown open – Auntie Enid.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Butterfield, have you seen— oh, here she is. Are you coming for dinner, love?’ She eyed the tattler. ‘If you’ve finished with her, sir?’

  He was already on the other side of the room, as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Yes, quite. Off you go, Miss Layton.’

  ‘Have you got her reference ready, sir?’ asked Auntie Enid.

  ‘It isn’t usual to hand it out before the last day.’

  ‘Then I’ll come with her to fetch it on Friday, me being her guardian an’ all.’

  Belinda felt like flinging her arms round Auntie Enid and kissing her.

  ‘You all right, lass?’ Auntie Enid asked as they walked away.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  She couldn’t, just couldn’t, say what had happened. Well, nothing had happened, not really, had it? Yes, it had. He might not have mauled her, but he had intended to and he
r stomach was still roiling. Did he truly imagine she would pay such a price to get Sarah taken on? What had she ever done to make him think her loose? Oh, she couldn’t wait to leave this place!

  She arrived home to find a postcard from Richard, asking her to report to the shop at nine the following Monday. She read it a dozen times, wishing he had said more, then she forced herself to set it aside for fear of looking too interested.

  Just two days to go at the mill – and no cleaning on Saturday. No bookshop work either. When had she last had the whole weekend to herself? It was like looking forward to a holiday.

  During her last two days at the mill, she felt Mr Butterfield’s eyes on her, no matter where she was. Ought she to tell him she wasn’t prepared to pay his price? Instinct told her to keep well out of his way but, on Friday, after the dinner hooter sounded and the women were heading for the canteen, Colleen caught her by the arm.

  ‘Mr Butterfield says to go to the tattlers’ room to fetch your reference.’

  She looked round but Auntie Enid was nowhere to be seen. Her heart thumped. ‘If you see my Auntie Enid, tell her where I am.’

  She went to the tattlers’ room. The door was open. Perhaps if she stood in the doorway, she needn’t actually go in; but when she stopped, there was no one inside.

  A hand landing on her waist from behind nearly made her jump out of her skin. She scuttled into the room to get away from the loathsome creep. He followed her in.

  ‘Colleen said you’ve written my reference.’

  ‘Isn’t Mrs Sloan meant to collect it with you?’ He made a show of peering into the passage. ‘No guardian angel today? What a pity.’

  He closed the door. Belinda glanced round, as if another exit might magically appear.

  ‘Is it ready?’

  ‘My, my, you’re in a hurry. We have some unfinished business to attend to before that. What about your sister’s position as tenter? All you have to do is earn it for her.’

  His hand reached towards her, aiming for her cheek.

  She ducked away. ‘No.’ No, you dirty old man. You’re disgusting. You make my skin crawl. All the women here hate you. But all that came out of her mouth was, ‘No.’