The Surplus Girls

by Polly Heron

  ‘That’s all right.’ Instant forgiveness. ‘This is a difficult situation for you.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly – I’m sorry. That sounded snappish.’ He threw up his hands. ‘You’re correct. It is difficult.’

  ‘May I ask, will you get half – if this other man is who he is supposed to be, that is?’

  He was startled to hear her doubting Linkworth’s identity, but of course all she knew was that he had claimed never to have clapped eyes on Linkworth before. Being the trusting, adoring girl she was, she believed everything that came out of his mouth. He softened towards her. It was good to be admired. Hell, it might be all he had left.

  ‘No, I won’t – if this man is Gabriel Linkworth.’ No harm in maintaining the deception. ‘But we have to face the fact that coming here with a representative of a legal firm does suggest the fellow is who he is said to be.’

  ‘And you’re both Mr Tyrell’s nephews, but you aren’t cousins?’

  ‘No. I’m my uncle’s nephew, he’s my aunt’s nephew. What you have to understand is that he vanished late in 1918 and he’s been gone ever since. My uncle had already made his will several years before that, leaving everything to Linkworth, with the condition that should Linkworth predecease him, every thing would come to me. For the past few years, that’s what everyone has expected. Linkworth was missing presumed dead and Uncle Reg was happy for me to inherit. He even gave me advice about having Linkworth officially declared dead. As far as he was concerned, Linkworth was dead and gone and he expected me to get everything.’

  ‘I see.’ She frowned, taking it in.

  ‘And now this interloper has turned up and…’ He shrugged, wanting to look as if he had taken it on the chin and didn’t know the meaning of words like jealousy, fury or disappointment. ‘What hurts is that Uncle Reg believed I was going to inherit and he was happy with that. Isn’t that what a will is meant to be about? Making sure the dead person’s wishes are respected?’

  ‘And then there’s the way you looked after the cottage.’

  A dig at his grasping nature? No, a simple statement of fact. ‘Uncle Reg was pleased for me to have a hand in its upkeep since it would one day be mine. I kept a friendly eye on him and he appreciated the company.’

  ‘No wonder he wanted you to inherit.’

  He forced a rueful smile. ‘Except I haven’t, have I?’

  ‘This new person might turn out to be someone else entirely. After all, you met the real Mr Linkworth and you didn’t recognise this man.’

  He needed to pull back, though not too much, on his supposed rejection of the stranger. ‘My aunt’s funeral took place years ago, before the war, and frankly I was more concerned with supporting my uncle through the ordeal than I was with consorting with people I wasn’t related to.’

  ‘That must make it worse for you, knowing that Mr Linkworth isn’t Mr Tyrell’s blood relation.’

  He put a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘That’s a good point, Miss Layton.’

  His thoughts perked up, as if a crank was turning inside his head. Uncle Reg had believed Linkworth was dead and he had expected Richard to inherit – Richard, his blood nephew.

  He wouldn’t be able to prevent Gabriel Linkworth from inheriting; but, hell’s teeth, surely he had sufficient grounds to make his own claim against the will?

  Patience hummed to herself as she got out of bed and slipped into her dressing-gown. Last night’s dress hung from the top of the wardrobe door, covering the inlaid mirror. The evening at Lawrence and Evelyn’s had been something of a trial: all those important people, all those opportunities to praise Lawrence to the skies. Prudence had been rather a trial too, huffing and puffing under her breath whenever they had a moment together, looking so fierce that Patience had feared one of the guests would smell a rat.

  Lifting down her dress, she turned the key to open the wardrobe. Her dressing-gown sleeve slid up her arm as she hung up her dress. Velvet brushed her flesh. The gown was pre-war, very dated, but it was the only one she possessed. Spinsters didn’t require evening gowns, especially spinsters with no money. Had it ever suited her? She must have thought so once. But now, the V-shaped neckline seemed designed to highlight the recently acquired suggestion of slackness about her throat, while the high-waisted cummerbund emphasised her want of anything resembling a curve. As for the scallopedged sleeves that covered her upper arms, they had had her slathering cream on her elbows in an effort to blur the wrinkly bits.

  She had felt dreary and old-fashioned last night in the company of Lawrence’s grand associates and their beautifully dressed wives, with their ankle-length evening capes and almost tubular dresses. Ordinarily she might have cringed with mortification at the memory, but not now. They had pupil lodgers in the house now, two lively, agreeable girls in their twenties, and she was loving every minute.

  Prudence had apologised to her for the extra work.

  ‘I’ve been so preoccupied with getting the business school up and running, and finding ways to oblige Lawrence to lend support, that I didn’t take into account the effect of paying guests on you.’

  The effect? If only she knew! Prudence viewed it in terms of housework while Patience relished the sound of young voices about the house and quick footsteps on the stairs. It was like – not that she could ever say it out loud – it was like having daughters. Who cared about extra cooking and bed-making? If anything, they were a pleasure.

  But Prudence cared, and not just on Patience’s behalf.

  ‘It’s a question of standards. It’s fine for you to do the cooking and dusting, but not the washing-up and bed-making.’

  ‘I’ve always done the washing-up and bed-making.’

  ‘It didn’t signify when it was us and Pa, but it’s infra dig in front of the paying guests. Perhaps Mrs Whitney would oblige if we offered her more hours.’

  ‘Prudence, we can’t have the char doing a maid’s work.’

  ‘Well, we can’t afford a maid as well. Even if we could, they’re scarcer than hen’s teeth these days. Besides, it’s only while we have the p.gs. No, it has to be Mrs Whitney. We’ll provide a smart white apron for her to change into when she’s finished doing the rough. Do you think she might be persuaded to wear a maid’s cap?’

  Patience almost laughed at the thought, but it wasn’t funny really. You walked a fine line when you were hard up and had to pretend not to be. They hadn’t bargained for agonising over appearances when they took in their pupil lodgers.

  Starting tomorrow, Mrs Whitney, complete with starched new apron, was going to earn extra money while the girls were here. They had been friends ‘for simply yonks’ and were called Jill and Kate. At least, that was what they called one another and Patience would have loved to use their first names too, but it was out of the question. Standards. So she called them Miss Deane and Miss Russell, though she had started adding ‘dear’ to their names, wanting them to feel at home.

  Prudence had put a great deal of thought into preparing for them. Miss Dean and Miss Russell attended the night school and during the day they had work to do that Prudence left for them, as well as lessons with Patience that Prudence had provided. Prudence had also prevailed upon the employers who were providing Miss Hunt, Miss Shaw and the others with unpaid experience, to permit the temporary pupils to visit their offices and warehouses to see their administrative systems.

  ‘The girls are most impressed that you’ve made these arrangements for them,’ said Patience. ‘I heard Miss Dean say, “We’re certainly getting our money’s worth,” and Miss Russell agreed.’

  ‘That’s good, but I think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. These girls expected, quite rightly, to be taught during the day. We’ve cobbled together a fortnight’s lessons and visits for them, but to cater for them properly, I’d need to be here during the day, and that’s out of the question.’

  ‘But I thought having pupil lodgers would increase our hold on the house.’ And I want them here. They’re young
and cheerful and we have such cosy chats when we stop for afternoon tea. I’ll shrink if they leave and aren’t replaced.

  ‘It was a good idea in principle, but in practice…’ Prudence shook her head.

  An ache formed deep in Patience’s throat. No more girlish laughter, no more spritely footsteps running up and downstairs. No more lapping up their life stories.

  No more… no more daughters.

  Patience hovered near the bay window. The evenings were light now: it would be April next week. She had a clear view to the end of Wilton Close. Ah, here came Miss Layton, entering the close from the left. A moment later, Miss Hunt entered from the right, waiting as Miss Layton crossed the road and joined her. Good. Whatever Miss Hunt did or didn’t think of Miss Layton’s background, her manners were impeccable.

  Before long, the pupil lodgers and Miss Hunt were ensconced with Prudence in the dining room, working on basic accounts, while Patience had Miss Layton to herself in the sitting room for a telephone lesson, although she first wanted to thank her for writing the letter to the paper. But, before she could say anything, Miss Layton leaned towards her, blue eyes wide.

  ‘Miss Patience, have you heard what happened at the bookshop?’

  ‘Not since Mr Tyrell passed away and his nephew took over.’

  The girl sank back. ‘I was hoping you’d heard. I don’t want to gossip.’

  ‘Of course not, but if it concerns your place of work, you must tell me. My sister and I will do whatever we can to assist you.’

  ‘It is to do with the shop, although there’s more to it than that. You see, Mr Carson might not be the heir after all. In Mr Tyrell’s will, he left everything to another nephew called Gabriel Linkworth. This Gabriel Linkworth was meant to have been killed in the war, which meant that everything would go to Mr Carson instead, but now a man claiming to be Gabriel Linkworth has appeared and Mr Carson says he very likely is Mr Linkworth.’

  ‘Goodness me.’

  ‘Mr Carson has done the decent thing all this time, as a good nephew should, and now this Gabriel Linkworth is going to get everything. And he isn’t even a blood relation. It isn’t fair.’

  She shouldn’t say anything, of course. Prudence wouldn’t. Prudence had a will of iron. But, oh, the temptation. Patience settled in for a good – she refused to call it gossip – a good chinwag.

  ‘Wills sometimes aren’t fair, I’m afraid. I completely understand the heartache that follows when someone who isn’t a blood relation stands to inherit.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘From my own experience. You are aware that this house is my brother’s property.’

  ‘Yes, and he wanted you and Miss Hesketh to turn it into a business school to help surplus girls.’

  ‘Miss Layton, dear, I believe I may trust you to keep a confidence.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘Cross my heart.’

  Out it poured. ‘My father was married twice. Our brother, Mr Lawrence Hesketh, is really our half-brother, the son of Pa’s first wife. She died and he married Mother and had my sister and me. This house belonged to our mother, who inherited it from her family. Mother died and left it to Pa and he should really have left it to my sister and me—’

  ‘Because it was your mother’s house.’

  ‘Exactly, but he left it to Lawrence.’

  ‘He never!’

  ‘I fear so. Between ourselves, dear, that’s why we had to set up the business school. We needed something that would oblige our brother to let us remain here.’

  ‘So when you go on about his generosity…’

  ‘It’s all an act; as is his claim to have provided the school out of the goodness of his heart. And it’s all because of the will.’

  ‘I bet you used to wait hand and foot on your pa, didn’t you?’

  ‘As the daughter who stayed at home, it was my place to do so.’

  ‘That’s like Mr Carson. He didn’t look after Mr Tyrell as such, but he was attentive and even paid for it when the cottage needed work doing.’

  ‘Wills can cause such complications. What about your position, my dear?’

  ‘It’s secure for the time being. Mr Carson says that he’s happy for me to stay; but if Mr Linkworth takes over, who knows?’

  ‘How will it be decided about this Mr Linkworth?’

  ‘It’s to be put before the magistrate’s court.’ Miss Layton blushed. It made her look pretty. Prettier. ‘Mr Carson said I was entitled to know.’

  Patience felt a twinge of unease. She hated uncertainty. ‘So we must await the outcome.’

  ‘Mr Carson hasn’t said in so many words that the outcome is definite, but Mr Linkworth arrived at the shop accompanied by someone from an important legal firm, so probably he is the real Gabriel Linkworth – though I hope he isn’t, for Mr Carson’s sake. He deserves to inherit, just like you and Miss Hesketh should have done.’

  Something clicked into place. Miss Layton’s support for Mr Carson went beyond that of a loyal employee. What had started as a legitimate enquiry into Miss Layton’s work situation had bloomed into something altogether more personal. She would need to be careful how she reported the conversation to Prudence, who had a nose for the inappropriate.

  ‘Perhaps we should start our lesson,’ she suggested. ‘I’m going to enquire about being a pupil here, but I warn you I’m going to pose some impertinent questions about the tutors.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask about being a pupil lodger?’ Miss Layton said with a twinkle. ‘Then you could be very impertinent – I’m sorry. Have I spoken out of turn?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s my fault for not hiding my feelings. It looks as if these two girls will be our only pupil lodgers.’

  ‘I’m surprised. They can’t stop praising you.’

  ‘The trouble is they need to be kept occupied all day and of course my sister has to be at the office, so it isn’t a feasible arrangement. Now, are you ready to answer the telephone?’

  She glanced at her list of questions, but she didn’t have the chance to ask more than a couple before Miss Layton dropped her hand, earpiece and all, into her lap. Her face was bright with pleasure.

  ‘Miss Patience, I hope I’m not being forward, but if you want to carry on taking pupil lodgers, I have an idea.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  IT SHOULD HAVE been a pleasure, being able to see more of her family now she was working shorter hours. Had she belonged to a different family, maybe it would have been. Neither did seeing more of her seem to afford them much pleasure.

  ‘What’s the point of coming round more if you aren’t going to help out more?’ Dad demanded from the armchair. Annoyance lent a gaunt edge to his narrow face. Money, or the lack of it, was the one thing guaranteed to get his dander up.

  ‘I’ve just helped Mum change the beds,’ she pointed out, ‘and I’ve swept the floors and put down fresh sawdust.’

  He shook the newspaper. It rustled tetchily. ‘That’s not what I mean, as you well know.’

  Thad sneered at her from where he was sitting at the table, reading The Boys’ Herald. ‘Aye, Dad means tipping up, like I do.’ He spoke in a loud, showy-offy voice. ‘I tipped up five whole bob last week, which is a darned sight more than you’ve ever given in one go, our Bel. Tight-fisted, that’s what you are. Don’t tell me it costs you much to bunk with them two old biddies. You know what your trouble is? You don’t give a monkey’s about your family, that’s what. Not like me. I’m one of the men of the house and I tip up proper.’ He waggled his shoulders importantly. Was it possible to swagger without walking?

  Seated beside him, trying to look as though he was sharing the comic when really Thad was hogging it, Jacob threw in his twopenn’orth. ‘He’s a good bloke, is our Thad.’

  ‘That’s right, Jakey-boy.’ Thad delivered a rough nudge that nearly shoved Jacob off his stool. Jacob righted himself and grinned, as if it was friendly joshing. Couldn’t he see what a lout Thad was?

  ‘Oh aye, and where did the money
come from?’ Mikey sat on the floor with his back to the peeling wall. His legs stuck out in front of him, one to the side of the coal bucket, the other underneath the linen-draped clothes horse. ‘Anyroad, he never tipped up, not on purpose. Mum found the money under a loose floorboard under the bed when she emptied the chamber pot.’

  Belinda’s mouth dropped open. Had it come to this? Taking the house to pieces to hunt for hidden savings? Pink swept across Mum’s face and she fiddled with her hair.

  ‘Anyroad, I appreciate your help, love,’ she said to Belinda. ‘Lord knows, our Sarah is neither use nor ornament when she’s home.’

  Belinda was about to defend her sister, then changed her mind. Not in front of Dad, who quickly grew fed up of arguments that didn’t issue from his own lips. Not in front of Thad either. He was too mouthy for his own good these days. Without George here to give him a clip round the ear, he seemed to fill more space. Was she going to be scared of him one day? The muscles tightened in her belly. What a thought to have about your little brother. She had changed his nappies and given him his bath when he was a baby.

  She waited until she and Mum were in the bedroom, bundling up used sheets and pillow-cases.

  ‘What have you got against our Sarah? She’s a good girl.’

  ‘She’s a lazy devil. She doesn’t pull her weight around the house.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’ How could she not? Mum was on Sarah’s back the moment she walked through the door. ‘She works hard at that hotel, don’t forget, and she has all that travelling.’

  ‘Oh aye, take her side, as always.’

  ‘I’m not taking sides. I can see both points of view.’

  ‘Well, when you’re talking to her, I hope you stand up for me as energetically.’

  Belinda smoothed the folds in the pillow-cases. ‘Things would be better if you didn’t get on at her so much.’

  ‘You want me bowing and scraping to my own daughter, do you?’

  ‘I’m trying to help.’ She was also trying not to get het up. One day she would let rip and be rude and difficult in reply, and she dreaded that happening. It would mean she had joined her family in the trap of lower standards. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll turn her away and she’ll leave home the minute she’s twenty-one.’