And when the shop opened at seven a.m., “Polly” looked just grand, in Nell’s old apron and with her red hair dark and still damp, but scraped back into a neat, tight bun.
“Thank you! Come again!” Pearl called out after the customer taking her leave.
Aunt Gertrude, holding the door open, shot a proud look at her orphaned niece.
All morning, Pearl had worked hard and she had worked well.
Before her father was taken ill, he had been a clerk in a hardware shop in Hastings, Pearl had told Ruby, in the snatches of time between the comings and goings of customers. She had helped out sometimes, becoming quick with coins and change, and earning a ha’penny here and there for her trouble.
The bell above the shop door tinkled as Aunt Gertrude closed it, and she went back to the business of dressing the window with Vienna breads and fancies.
“Try again!” Pearl urged Ruby, now that the shop was quiet. She reached under the counter for a paper bag, and placed it on the glass countertop.
Ruby gave her a little smile, picked up the pencil by the till, and wondered what to write this time.
And then it came to her…
Ruby and Pearl.
“Ha! ‘Ruby and Pearl’ – the Gem Girls!” Pearl whispered to her, linking an arm in hers. “And how well you have done your letters!”
It was true, Ruby’s handwriting was improving already, with Pearl’s encouragement and with just a few minutes’ practice here and there over the last few hours. As her friend had promised, a pencil was so much easier to use than the scratchy ink pens of her old and hated schoolroom. And to see her words form neatly, thanks to the spectacles, was quite wonderful. For the very first time, Ruby could see the pleasure that might be had, writing thoughts down on a page and—
A hand reached across the glass and snatched the bag away from her, before hastily crushing it into a ball.
Ruby glanced up, wondering what she had done to displease her aunt – then understood as soon as she heard the heavy footfall and grunted breaths coming from the storeroom.
“Sir, I beg your pardon, but it is Saturday and I am due my wages!” Billy’s voice drifted through behind the bulk of Uncle Arthur. “And you did not pay me for last week, Mr Wells…”
Aunt Gertrude shot a look at both girls; it was time.
Time for Uncle Arthur to meet “Polly”.
For this was the scheme Ruby had suggested: Pearl, in the guise of Polly, might work in the shop awhile – though still smuggled up in the attic at night – till such time as Aunt Gertrude could provide “Polly” with a letter of good conduct. That one vital piece of correspondence would allow Pearl to try for a position as a live-in maid in some pleasant house nearby. Which would mean on Sundays, when the shop was closed and a maid would have a half-day, Aunt Gertrude and Pearl and Ruby could meet, stroll through the hilly gardens of Alexandra Palace, sit in the tearooms there and talk of happy things together. What a joy that would be!
But it would only be a joy if the Pearl was not found out.
Ruby and Pearl gave the merest of nods to Aunt Gertrude, and quickly went to busy themselves about the shop.
“Wages? Wages, you say? Who are you to tell me when you’ll get your wages, Billy Blake?” roared Uncle Arthur, appearing in the back doorway with a laden wooden tray. “You’ll get them when I’m good and ready to give ’em to you, and not a moment before… Now will someone clear this mess? HURRY!”
Ruby quickly scurried over to the table Uncle Arthur wanted to set his tray down upon. There were some boxes and string and a pair of scissors laid there from cakes Aunt Gertrude had recently parceled up for a customer. All Ruby needed to do was sweep them to the side and there’d be plenty of room for—
The crushing pain took Ruby’s breath away.
She glanced into her uncle’s eyes and saw no apology for dropping the heavy tray on to her fingers. It was, in fact, the opposite: a gloating look like that of a bully at school who might trip you up or tip your inkwell over your work and then dare you to tell on them.
Lowering her eyes, saying nothing, Ruby withdrew, biting her lip to stop herself from crying as she hugged her throbbing fingers in her other hand.
“Are you STILL here, Billy Blake?” she heard her uncle say, now that he was done with her.
Through the haze of blinked-back tears, Ruby risked a glance in the direction of the delivery boy. He was hovering – cap in hand – just inside the storeroom. His eyes darted at her, seeing all, and yet he bravely persisted with his cause.
“But, sir,” said Billy, “it has been some time now and my mother is behind with the rent and—”
Uncle Arthur fixed the lad with a silencing stare, as if he were a bull about to charge – or a baker about to use his fists.
Ruby peeked across at Pearl, and saw that her face was quite ashen. Of course, she had never met this man in the flesh. She had only heard of him as Aunt Gertrude’s bullying second husband. To her, he must appear like a monster in a fairy tale. Standing behind the counter opposite her, Ruby could do nothing but hope Pearl would not faint. The only way her plan would work was if Uncle Arthur saw “Polly” as a hard-working and acceptable replacement for the dismissed Nell.
And likewise, Uncle Arthur had never set eyes on Pearl, and must never hear her true name spoken – so no wonder Aunt Gertrude had hidden away the evidence of Ruby’s most recent writing.
For now, it was as if all in the shop stood still, like some tableau, breaths held, pain suppressed, waiting for some violence of word or blow to follow, or for a faint that might undo the only scheme that was supposed to save Pearl from the poorhouse…
But the cheerful tinkle of the shop-door bell broke the uncomfortable spell.
The presence of a customer worked like magic; Uncle Arthur did not strike Billy, Pearl did not faint.
“Come tomorrow afternoon, after I have done the accounting,” Uncle Arthur gruffly told Billy. “I’ll have your wages for you then.”
Ruby took a deep breath, and went to take the cakes from the tray and fill the shelves – but hesitated when she saw who the customer was. The girl with the knickerbockers, from Colonel Samuel Cody’s Wild West show.
The girl smiled directly at Ruby, but her eyes seemed questioning. Had she been looking in the window before she came in? Perhaps she had witnessed the deliberate injury Uncle Arthur had inflicted…
“Can I help you?” asked Pearl, since she was closest to the curiously dressed girl. Her voice was more childlike and uncertain than it had been when she had served other customers. But, Ruby supposed, when Pearl had served those ladies and gentlemen, Uncle Arthur had not been looming close by.
“I was just wondering if you might put a poster in the window, for the show happening up at Alexandra Pal—”
“No! D’you presume my fine window is a billboard, missy?” Uncle Arthur bellowed at the girl, looking her up and down with a scowl of disgust at her apparel.
“Of course, sir, I understand,” the girl said with an easy smile, and turned instead to browse the tempting cakes in the displays.
A cold shiver ran the length of Ruby’s spine as she saw Uncle Arthur now glower at the stranger behind his shop counter.
“And who is this?” he demanded of Aunt Gertrude, his eyes boring into Pearl.
“This is Polly. She came in this morning asking for work, and I gave her a trial for the day,” Aunt Gertrude answered him, with remarkable calm under the circumstances, Ruby noticed admiringly.
“You let some little chit come in off the street without consulting me?” Uncle Arthur replied, his look and voice a shade dangerous, rage brewing just below the surface, customer or no customer.
“With Nell gone, we were short-handed in the rush this morning,” said Aunt Gertrude, matter-of-factly. “Customers were arriving and leaving again straightaway, when they saw the queue. When Polly came in, she seemed presentable and had done shop work before. I am not paying her for today, Arthur; she has done quite well s
o far, but she knows that if it is not up to scratch then she will not return tomorrow.”
A frown came on to Uncle Arthur’s broad, sweaty forehead as he considered what his wife had just said.
“Well, we don’t want to be losing customers’ money,” he grumbled, swayed by the issue of plain profit. “She may stay till the end of the day, and then we’ll see…”
Uncle Arthur turned away, barging past Billy.
“Might you come to the show, even if it is not possible to put up the poster?” the cheerful girl asked Aunt Gertrude as soon as Uncle Arthur had lumbered off, with Billy trailing after him.
She unrolled the advertising bill to show Aunt Gertrude. Pearl hurried around the counter to stand by Ruby.
“Oh, my!” she cried in delight at the vision of the colonel on his rearing horse.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so,” said Aunt Gertrude, though her words sounded hesitant as she saw the look on Pearl’s face. “My husband … he would not like it. And anyway, we have no money to spare for this type of entertainment.”
The girl smiled broadly and tilted her head to one side.
“Well, I have no money to spare for cakes such as these beauties,” she said. “So may I propose something?”
A little flicker of excitement lit up inside Ruby, making her momentarily forget her pained fingers. She exchanged a quick look with Pearl, whose eyes were saucer-wide with wonder as she too waited to hear what the girl had to say.
“Um … very well,” said Aunt Gertrude, a little flustered. “Say your piece.”
“If you were to give me a few of your fine cakes,” the girl began with a wry grin, “I could let you come and watch my act without paying?”
“Oh, I don’t know. As I say, my husband—”
“Oh, I quite understand that a man of your husband’s … temperament may not be amused by the show. But I’m sure these two young ladies would love it!” the girl said confidently, interrupting Auntie Gertrude’s protestations. “My aeronautic act is quite spectacular! I ascend into the sky by means of hot air balloon, and descend by parachute! Dolly Shepherd, by the way. Pleased to meet you.”
Now looking at her properly, Ruby realized with some surprise that this girl, this performer, was barely older than she and Pearl.
“I … I … am Mrs Brandt. Mrs Wells, I mean,” stumbled Aunt Gertrude, thrown to find the girl holding a hand out to shake hers. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Er, Ruby … would you like to make up a small box for Miss Shepherd?”
Pearl gave such a squeal of delight, her dimples deep with the thrill of what this girl – this Miss Shepherd – had suggested and what their aunt had agreed to.
“So I shall see you ladies later today?” asked the girl, as she pointed to a Madeira tart, a langue de chat cream horn, an iced cake with jellied strawberries on top and a dainty basket-shaped confection of sponge, jam and fondant flowers. Ruby worked quickly, neatly placing Dolly’s selection in a ready-made box. She’d use ribbon to tie it, and fasten it neatly with the biggest bow, no matter how much her fingers were stinging.
“Not today; tomorrow, Sunday. The girls will come when the shop is shut,” said Aunt Gertrude, attempting to sound as if she were in control and had not been railroaded into something unexpected.
“Perfect!” said Dolly, taking the proffered box from Ruby. “It is the last day of the performance before the show moves to France… Be there at two!”
With a smile and a wave, Dolly took her leave, the bell tinkling in her wake.
As soon as she was gone, Pearl ran to wrap her arms around a startled Aunt Gertrude.
Watching, smiling, Ruby licked a little smudge of cream from the tip of one of her bruised fingers.
The sweetness burst on her tongue.
Just as Pearl had – in such a short time – brought such a dash of sweetness to Ruby’s world…
The Lost and the Found
I’m making a total mess of this.
The Sellotape won’t stick to the metal of the street light base, and I have to get these posters up. Angie’s been missing all night, and the longer she’s gone…
Oh, this is a nightmare. If I hadn’t opened that stupid window, I could be lying in my bed now, rereading the most tense chapter yet of Nana’s novel, and daydreaming about where the next one’s hidden.
Instead, I’m wrapping half a roll of tape around a piece of A4 paper that’s starting to rip, and trying not to cry in public.
“Hello, Mr Spinks!”
My fingers are so tangled in the misbehaving tape that it takes me a second to turn and see who’s talking to Nana’s dog.
It’s a smiley lady in a red polka-dot apron, tidying away a coffee cup from a table outside a café.
I spotted this café yesterday morning, on my first walk out with Mr Spinks. Close up, the hanging baskets of flowers are beautiful, and so are the amazing bejewelled hanging lamps I’ve just spotted hanging inside.
It’s strange how wrong first impressions can be. On Thursday night, when me and Mum first arrived here, I thought the high street was a bit forgotten and grim. Pockets of it might still seem that way, but if you look – I mean, really look – at a place you can see so much. This morning I came across an ancient church tower and graveyard at the far end of the street, an original stone horse and cattle drinking trough, beautifully ornate old pubs, cafés that range from Caribbean to Italian to Thai to Turkish. There might be nasty plastic signage above lots of shops, but I’ve spotted snatches of stained glass and gorgeous original tiles with art nouveau flower patterns in all sorts of delicious colours.
But what I haven’t spotted anywhere is a grey parrot.
And that’s why I ran off a bunch of posters on Nana’s printer this morning, and have walked up and down the high street sticking them up wherever I can, while Mum, Dean and Zephyr carry on with emptying the flat of its clutter.
“You’re looking after Patsy’s dog?” says the lady, who’s now crouched down and scratching Mr Spinks’s ears.
“Um, yes … I’m her granddaughter,” I say shyly. “Me and my mum are staying at her flat. So you know her?”
“Oh, yes! Patsy’s one of our best customers. She likes to sit out here with Mr Spinks and watch the world go by,” says the dark-haired lady, straightening up. “And you know I found her on Thursday evening, when she had her fall; we’d just finished tidying up here and were on our way home. How is she?”
“Oh! Uh, thank you so much for helping her!” I stumble at the surprise of meeting Nana’s rescuer. “And she’s doing OK. I mean, she’s broken quite a few bones, but she’s still pretty cheerful.”
“Of course, she is! Wonderful Patsy,” says the woman, beaming. “Will you tell her everyone at the café sends their love?”
I don’t mean to.
I can’t help it.
But after searching the streets last night, losing my voice from calling Angie’s name, spending the night lying in bed watching the open window in the sloped ceiling and hoping against hope that she’d fly back in, I am in pieces.
And how will I tell Nana, my wonderful nana, when we go in to visit her later… ?
As I cry great, wracking, nose-dripping sobs, I find myself in a hug, with my back being patted and some soothing words being said in a different language. When I finally catch my breath and look up, two girls from the café are there, one offering me a bundle of serviettes to dry my eyes and wipe away the snot, while the other comforts Mr Spinks, who’s staring up at me and rocking nervously from paw to paw.
“She’ll be fine, your grandmother. She’s a strong, independent lady!” says the café owner.
“It’s not just that,” I say, hiccuping. “Her parrot escaped last night. I have to find it…”
“Oh, no – not Angie!” says the café owner, as she and the girls take a look at the poster and pull sad, worried faces.
The poster says Missing, of course, with a photo on it of Angie that Nana had sent to Dean. My number and Mum’
s is underneath, and Dean said he’ll pay a reward if anyone finds her.
“Maybe she’s flown to Ally Pally Park,” suggests one of the girls. “What bird could resist the sight of all those trees?”
Hope and worry merge in a knot in my tummy. The girl could be right, but if Angie’s in the park, she could be in trouble again, same as she was when Nana found her. An exotic outsider, being mobbed by the locals.
“What’s the quickest way to the park?” I ask.
The café owner and the girls quickly explain. But as soon as I’m on the side road they pointed at, I don’t need to remember a word they said – Mr Spinks confidently leads the way, waddling perkily on the route of one of his well-worn walks.
And just a few minutes later, I’m there, on a huge meadow of grass, where joggers are jogging, kids are kicking footballs, dogs are rough and tumbling.
Directly ahead of me, a wooded hillside gently rises up to the palace itself.
The grand yellow brick building that’s so tangled up in Nana’s history, the history of Nana’s flat and shop, the history of the real or not-so-real Ruby and Pearl…
Suddenly I feel too small out here in this vast expanse, and flop down on the nearest bench, dropping my head into my hands, while Mr Spinks tries to help by resting his head on my knees and licking my elbow.
But how can I hope to find Angie here? Where would I even start? I can hardly croak her name, since I yelled my throat raw last night, and probably drove everyone in the surrounding flats mad.
I wish I was like Ruby, in that last chapter of Nana’s story, when she came up with the idea of getting Pearl working in the shop, hiding in plain sight.
I wish, like her, I knew in this moment what to do…
“Arf!” Mr Spinks gives a small yelp.
And then I hear a shout.
“Arf!” Mr Spinks yelps again, and I feel the weight of his chin lift from my knees.
The shout comes again.
I glance up, and see the tousled blonde hair, the board shorts and tanned legs. Zephyr is spinning around, eyes to the skies, hands to his mouth, calling Angie’s name.
The Pearl in the Attic Page 12
