The Mill Girls of Albion Lane

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘All the more reason to eat and drink something,’ Lily argued, trying to ignore the gnawing, hollow feeling in her stomach and her rapidly beating heart. ‘Let me make you a nice sandwich. Or how about another cup of tea?’

  ‘Lily,’ Rhoda protested with a slight shake of her head, ‘don’t go on, there’s a good girl. Just turn off the light and leave me in peace.’

  ‘Are you comfy? Will you sleep?’ Loath to leave, Lily turned down the gas, waited for the pop that meant the flame had been extinguished and the slow dimming of the fragile mantel then stood in the doorway, staring at the tiny figure on the bed.

  ‘Yes, sleep is one thing that comes easily now,’ Rhoda confirmed wearily. ‘Goodnight, Lily. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  The next day, Christmas Eve, a fight at the Cross was all the talk at Calvert’s.

  In the mending room, Lily was stashing the small Christmas presents she’d brought in for Annie and Sybil on the ledge under her table. Her mind was on her mother’s worsening illness and she didn’t notice the strange looks that the likes of Jennie and Mary were giving her. How would Christmas go with Rhoda ill in bed? she wondered. Would her mother try to get up for the occasion and make things as pleasant as possible for Arthur? Would her father come out of the foul temper he’d come home in last night?

  It was the arrival of Jennie with her first bolt of cloth for the day that interrupted Lily’s musings. ‘How’s your knight in shining armour this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘Come again?’ Lily said without paying much attention. She was arranging her hook, scissors and needles on her table, thinking ahead now to dinner time when she and her friends would exchange presents.

  ‘Harry – how’s his poor face?’ Noticing and perhaps sympathizing with the cloud of confusion that had descended over Lily’s face, Jennie drew Mary into the conversation. ‘How about that, Mary? It seems Lily hasn’t heard about Harry sticking up for her and her sister in the pub last night. And him be ing so gallant and all.’

  Mary took up the story with gusto. ‘Apparently Harry had a go at your Tommy for no reason at all and it was only Frank Summerskill who stopped him from laying Tommy out flat. As it was, there were glasses flying everywhere and bottles breaking until Chalky White threatened to call in the bobbies to break it up.’

  ‘If you ask me, the boot was on the other foot,’ Jennie chipped back in. ‘Tommy’s the one who started the argument, I’d bet my week’s wages on it. As for Frank Summerskill!’ There was no need to go on – her sour-lemon expression said it all.

  Lily felt her heart sink. She turned away and stared out of the window on to the yard below, where Winifred Calvert happened to be stepping out of the Bentley while Harry, with his back turned, held open the door.

  Jennie followed her gaze and spotted Harry. ‘Wait until he turns round and you get a good look at his face!’ she warned. ‘Black and blue all over, it is. And he got that from sticking up for you and Margie. Ask anyone who was at the Green Cross last night – they’ll tell you all about it.’

  Winifred was out of the car, a splash of vivid colour against the dark grey background of the mill walls in her orange hat and fox-fur stole. She stopped briefly to say something to Harry then walked on towards the entrance. Harry closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, glancing up and catching sight of Lily and Jennie staring down at him. Immediately he ducked his head and his face was hidden under the peak of his cap.

  ‘There, did you see it?’ Jennie cried. ‘All cut and bruised from the fight with your cousin Tommy, poor thing! And in front of your father, too.’

  ‘Jennie!’ Mary nodded towards the office where Iris Valentine was hanging up her coat and hat.

  The taker-in realized she only had time for a parting shot before the manageress emerged into the mending room and she had to scurry back to her station. ‘If you ask me, Tommy Briggs needs skinning alive for spreading nasty rumours and upsetting your dad. And coming up to Christmas, too. Ask anyone you like – it’s not on!’

  ‘Jennie!’ Mary warned again, too late.

  The manageress left her office and tip-tapped down the aisle with a good-morning here and a courteous nod of her head there until she met Jennie halfway back to her big canvas skip containing the bolts of unchecked blue, brown and grey worsted cloth. She frowned and tapped her old-fashioned gold wristwatch. ‘The time is twenty minutes to eight,’ she pointed out. ‘That’s ten minutes after the buzzer sounded.’

  ‘I know, Miss Valentine.’ Jennie held her gaze steady but inwardly she quaked at what might follow.

  ‘It’s also the second time this week that I’ve caught you gossiping when you should be working.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Valentine. I’m sorry, Miss Valentine.’

  ‘Which means I intend to go down to the main office later this morning to tell Jean to dock an hour’s pay from your wages this week. I’m sorry, Jennie. I know it’s Christmas, but this really isn’t good enough.’

  Red in the face with silent resentment but having to accept the verdict, Jennie’s head dropped and she stood to one side to let the manageress pass by.

  At dinner time, with the morning’s gossip about the pub brawl all but forgotten by everyone except Lily, it was Winifred who caught the eye as she breezed up to the food counter. There was no denying that Calvert’s daughter had style, with her glossy hair tamed into a newly cut bob and her slim waist nipped in by a belt the same shade of emerald green as her closely fitted dress. Sybil especially liked Winifred’s tan leather shoes with a thin heel and a T-strap, which was fastened by the neatest little silver button. ‘Goodness knows what she paid for them,’ she said, pointing out the shoes to Lily and Annie.

  ‘More than we could ever afford.’ Annie sighed. ‘Unless we saved up for a few weeks and gave up going out at the weekend.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be nice, though, to own a pair of shoes like that?’ Lily too appreciated the boss’s daughter’s taste. She’d been firm with herself and managed to overcome the queasy bout of jealousy she’d experienced over Winifred’s close daily contact with Harry and now she was set on being generous. ‘Jean says she’s settled into office work better than expected. She’s good with figures, by all accounts.’

  ‘Here we go again.’ Annie shook her head. ‘Next thing we know, Lily will be best friends with Winifred Calvert. There’ll be no stopping her now that she’s moved up in the world!’

  ‘Oh, Lily, don’t desert us,’ Sybil wailed as Winifred turned and carried her tray through the canteen.

  As luck would have it, Winifred caught Lily’s eye as she passed and she stopped to talk to her and her friends. ‘I was wondering – does anyone know what happened to Harry Bainbridge’s face?’ she asked in a voice that was mellower and more mature than they would have expected of a nineteen-year-old girl. That, together with her coiffed hair and careful use of lipstick, rouge and mascara, made her seem older than her years. ‘You girls live in his neck of the woods, don’t you? I was wondering how he bruised his face.’

  ‘Why not ask Harry yourself?’ Annie asked without any attempt at generosity. She was no Lily and certainly didn’t feel obliged to be nice to their high-and-mighty interrogator.

  Winifred frowned. ‘I did. I asked him on the way into work this morning, but he brushed it off. He wouldn’t tell me how he got hurt.’

  Sybil could see that Winifred’s enquiry after Harry was making Lily nervous. ‘Let’s just say he walked into something, shall we?’

  ‘I thought perhaps someone had it in for him,’ Winifred said steadily, her tray resting on the table. ‘He has cuts to the back of his neck as well as his face, which makes me think that he was set upon by more than one man.’

  Lily winced at the notion of Harry being cornered by Tommy and Frank in the Green Cross then became indignant on his behalf. Just wait until I find out the whole sorry story, she thought. Then I can decide what I can do about it.

  ‘Well, if you won’t tell me and if Harry refuses t
o give the game away, I don’t suppose there’s much we can do,’ Winifred decided. ‘It doesn’t seem fair to let whoever was responsible get away with it, that’s all.’

  With this she picked up her tray and walked on, leaving Sybil, Annie and Lily lost for words.

  ‘What did she want?’ someone piped up.

  ‘Did I hear the name Harry Bainbridge mentioned?’ called another.

  And before long the room was buzzing with new tittle-tattle that linked Winifred Calvert with her father’s chauffeur.

  ‘Take no notice,’ Sybil advised Lily, searching in her apron pocket for the small Christmas presents she’d brought in for her two best friends. She’d wrapped the identical gifts in white paper printed with small holly leaves and bound by green satin ribbon. ‘Made with my own fair hands!’ she declared.

  ‘Shall we open them now or wait until tomorrow morning?’ Annie asked as she and Lily brought out their own festively wrapped presents.

  ‘Now!’ Sybil replied eagerly and she began untying ribbon to reveal a small red leather purse from Lily and a grey autograph book from Annie. She opened the book and read the inscription written on the first creamy page. ‘Annie is my name, single is my station. Happy is the lucky man who makes the alteration!’

  ‘Hah! Does Robert know about this?’ Lily laughed, until Sybil dug into her pocket to find a pencil and began to write her own ditty.

  ‘Let’s have a gander,’ Annie urged after Sybil had finished scribbling. ‘Listen to this, everyone. “Good girls love their brothers, But Lily so good has grown, She loves Peggy’s brother, Better than her own!”’

  ‘Oh no!’ Lily cried, wishing to goodness that her face didn’t colour up so easily. To hide her embarrassment she grabbed the book and wrote her own offering. ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a pail of water. Jill came down with half a crown But not for fetching water!’

  ‘Lily, I’m surprised at you!’ Annie guffawed when she read the risqué offering, which brought half a dozen others crowding around the table to make their own contributions.

  Meanwhile, Annie and Lily decided to leave their present-opening until Christmas morning. When the buzzer to return to work sounded, they walked out of the canteen together and paused at the top of the stairs before going their separate ways.

  ‘When will you next see Harry?’ Annie asked in a low voice as other girls rushed by.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lily confessed. ‘I might try to pop out for half an hour later tonight if they can do without me at home.’

  ‘Yes, try,’ Annie urged with a squeeze of Lily’s arm. ‘Let him know you care.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the fight in the pub, and so on. And ta for the present.’ Annie smiled warmly and held up the small parcel given to her by Lily.

  ‘It’s not much,’ Lily warned. ‘But it’s the thought that counts.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Annie said about her own gift to Lily. ‘And Happy Christmas, love.’

  ‘Yes, Happy Christmas.’ Lily couldn’t disguise the tinge of sadness and apprehension in her reply.

  ‘Let’s hope for a better year to come, full of fun for us girls,’ Annie called before she ran downstairs to the weaving shed.

  The kitchen in Albion Lane was festooned with the multicoloured paper chains made by Evie and Arthur and the mantelpiece was decked with holly that Walter had fetched from the woodland at the far edge of the Common. A leg of pork and a ready-plucked turkey had been bought by Evie from Durant’s out of her week’s wages, together with vegetables from Cliff Street market, which Walter had fetched on his way back from holly gathering. The Christmas pudding, made by Lily, was trussed up in muslin and placed inside its basin, ready for slow simmering next morning. The cake was iced and decorated. Best of all, Arthur was studying the pile of presents with his name on them, which had been carefully placed under the small tree stationed at the window in full view of the street and decked out with silver tinsel and glass baubles.

  ‘I know what this is!’ he exclaimed from time to time, lifting a present from Granddad Preston and shaking it inside its box. ‘It’s tiddlywinks!’ A second shake brought another, different cry. ‘No, Granddad’s bought me snakes and ladders!’

  ‘Talking of Granddad,’ Evie whispered, out of hearing of both Arthur and their father, ‘have he and Margie been invited for dinner tomorrow?’

  ‘Granddad has, but not Margie,’ Lily replied with a troubled frown. ‘Father still swears he won’t let her over the doorstep.’

  Halfway up the creaking attic stairs with a pile of ironing, Evie bit her lip. ‘Do you think he knows …?’

  ‘About the baby?’ Lily finished her sentence. ‘I’m not sure. Mother hasn’t told him yet but maybe he found out down at the pub and that’s what caused the fight. Anyway, you’re not to mention Margie to him – Mother says.’

  ‘Lily, is that you?’ Rhoda’s querulous voice came from behind the closed bedroom door where she’d been lying in bed, cut off from all the preparations going on below.

  ‘Coming, Mother!’ Lily called back, rushing to see what was wanted, silently running through the rest of the tasks she must do before she could possibly think of popping round to Raglan Road.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Lily asked Harry when she finally escaped from Albion Lane. It was cold and dark on the doorstep yet he’d taken his time to answer her knock, though she was sure she’d seen the curtain twitch at the downstairs window and she’d heard noises from inside the house.

  ‘Lily,’ Harry said, trying to sound surprised and pleased but failing on both counts. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you knocking.’

  A gust of wind got under her skirt and threatened to lift the hat from her head so both hands were kept busy – one trying to anchor the hem of her skirt, the other clutching her hat. ‘Don’t keep me standing here,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again, still blocking the hallway. ‘Mother and Peggy have gone out carol singing. I’m in by myself.’

  The wind gusted again. ‘Invite me in, Harry, please!’

  He backed off down the corridor, his face still in shadow.

  Lily followed slowly. ‘Brrr, I’ll catch my death. It’s all right, Harry, I heard about the fight—’ Despite being prepared, as soon as the slanting light from the living room fell across Harry’s face, she gasped and stopped dead.

  His face was like that of a boxer after a heavy defeat – there was a long cut above his left eyebrow and one on his right cheek. Both eyes were swollen and a bruise was developing along his lower jaw.

  Embarrassed, Harry averted his gaze. This was why he hadn’t wanted to answer the door in the first place, knowing what a sight he looked.

  ‘Doesn’t it need stitching?’ Lily wondered, resisting the urge to stroke his face in case it hurt. Her stomach churned and she shuddered at the damage done to Harry’s handsome face.

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want you to see me like this, though. Are you sure you want to stay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? Was it Tommy? Did he really do this to you?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Ushering Lily into the front room instead of the back kitchen, a defensive Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway. He’d been planning to lie low over Christmas, hoping to avoid Lily until the swelling went down and things had begun to heal but now she’d seen him at his worst and he was afraid she would be put off. ‘It was nothing,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘Just an argument that got a bit out of hand.’

  ‘Says you.’ She sighed, standing on the fireside mat and clutching the wrapped box of cufflinks that she’d bought at the market. They were silver and mother-of-pearl, with his initials, HB, inset in silver in the centre. But once she’d got over the shock of his altered appearance, she was determined to find out more. ‘What was the argument over, Harry?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘If I didn’t know you better, Harry Bainbridge, I’d say you were telling me to mind my own business.’
/>
  ‘No, it’s not that …’

  ‘But this is my business,’ she insisted, trying to ignore the cuts and bruises and to carry on a conversation as per usual. ‘What did Tommy say that riled you so badly? It wasn’t about Margie, by any chance?’

  Harry sighed and sat on the arm of the old-fashioned leather sofa that his mother had picked up for a song at Manby’s auction house on Canal Road. He patted the seat, inviting Lily to come and join him, which she did. ‘Tommy was dead set on having a go at your dad,’ he explained. ‘Walter didn’t take it well. In fact, he lashed out with his fists.’

  ‘And you couldn’t stand by and let it happen?’

  ‘It wasn’t just me. When Billy and Ernie saw I was outnumbered by Tommy and Frank, they lent a hand. Then the boot was on the other foot.’

  ‘But it was to do with Margie?’

  ‘You’re a right little Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?’ Harry grinned and tried to lighten the mood. He remembered too late that every movement of his face muscles hurt like hell. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Oh, Harry!’ She sighed. ‘It’s one thing standing up for Evie against Fred Lee at work, but there’s no need to go around fighting all the Briggs family battles willy-nilly.’ Looking up at him from her place on the sofa and with the light in the hallway behind him, she could only make out the gleam of his eyes and the outline of his closely cropped fair hair. He was in shirtsleeves and pullover, his collarless white shirt open at the neck. ‘By the way, Winifred was asking after you,’ she remembered. ‘She wanted to know how you’d hurt your face.’

  ‘When was that?’ he asked more sharply.

  ‘Dinner time, in the canteen. She made a point of coming across and asking me, Sybil and Annie if we knew anything about it.’

  ‘You didn’t say too much, though?’

  ‘Not a dicky bird. We only knew what we’d heard at work, and that was all gossip. You know what the girls at Calvert’s are like. Anyway, why are you bothered about Winifred asking questions?’