The Mill Girls of Albion Lane

by Jenny Holmes

‘I don’t know the answer to that. What I am certain of is that the last I saw of him, he was hanging around his old haunt – the Assembly Rooms, I mean. I was there with Harry and the usual crowd. Honestly, Margie, if only I’d realized …’

  ‘No. Hetton has no idea about the baby and that’s the way I want to keep it,’ Margie insisted. The cat was well and truly out of the bag and in a way she was relieved. She reached out and grasped her sister’s hand. ‘It’s a secret, Lily, between you, Mother and me. That’s it – there’s no more to be said!’

  Days went by and Lily’s head was still reeling from the week’s events and revelations. She kept telling herself that life without Harry must go on and that she would carry on doing her best to help Margie. Work kept her steady, methodically picking out loose threads and neatly sewing them back in so that they couldn’t be seen by the naked eye. However, on the Saturday, just after twelve o’clock, when Lily prepared to rush home to make sure that her mother had spent a comfortable morning, she couldn’t avoid bumping slap-bang into Billy and Harry outside the main entrance. Billy was knocking off from his gardening work and Harry was in uniform waiting for Winifred.

  ‘Hey up, Lil!’ Billy cried when he spotted her, irrepressible as always. ‘Where are you dashing off to in such a hurry?’

  Harry saw her and reddened but said nothing.

  She veered off the pavement on to the road and around the Bentley, aiming to get past quickly.

  ‘Sorry, Billy, I can’t stop to have a natter. I’m in a rush.’

  ‘“The runaway train goes down the track,”’ he sang raucously then imitated the sound of a whistle blowing. ‘“And she blew, blew, blew …”’

  Harry stepped between them, his back turned to Lily, saying something to Billy that she couldn’t catch.

  Then Winifred swanned out from under the arched entrance, hat in hand, with her fox stole slung casually around her neck, her coat hanging open over a green blouse and black skirt. She glanced at Billy as she waited for Harry to open the car door, then turned her gaze with a curt nod to Lily who couldn’t help but feel like the ugly duckling in her blue serge skirt, white blouse and grey coat and hat.

  Within a few seconds they’d dispersed – Harry and Winifred in one direction, Billy setting off on his bike after them, Lily crossing Ghyll Road in the opposite direction with a head full of regrets and her heart sore with jealousy and loss.

  She arrived home to a quiet house since Evie had succeeded in picking up a few hours’ work at the sweet shop. Her father was out as usual and Rhoda was asleep in her fireside chair.

  So Lily took up a piece of sewing – a puff-sleeved, cornflower-blue dress for Elsie’s young daughter. Lily’s fellow-mender had requested red smocking across the front of the dress – a time-consuming job that had to be done by hand but which Lily welcomed as a way of settling down and soothing her troubled thoughts. She soon got lost in the task and when she heard footsteps running up the steps and heard the key turn in the lock, she looked up at the clock to see that it was already half past three and almost dark.

  That was it – there would be no more peace, Lily realized, expecting her father back from the pub, but instead Evie came flying in.

  ‘Have you heard the latest?’ she cried breathlessly, loose strands of hair escaping from her plait, one hand clutching her fawn cardigan across her chest. She looked from Lily to a waking Rhoda and back again. ‘There’s been an accident!’

  ‘Where? What are you talking about?’ Rhoda got out of her chair and tottered towards Evie. Lily intervened, putting a hand under her mother’s elbow to keep her upright.

  ‘Up at Moor House,’ Evie told them. ‘Peggy came rushing into Newby’s and she was in a terrible state.’

  ‘What’s Peggy got to do with Moor House?’ Lily wanted to know. The news was clearly very bad.

  It was Rhoda who asked the question that dragged the truth into the open. ‘Calm down, Evie, and tell us what’s going on. Did one of the Calverts get hurt?’

  Evie closed her eyes and frantically shook her head. ‘No, it was Billy. Harry was up there when it happened. He cycled down and told Peggy and Mrs Bainbridge all about it.’

  ‘Billy,’ Lily echoed, with Harry’s name lurking somewhere in the shadows. The picture was blurred and she was still trying to piece it together.

  ‘Billy Robertshaw – Harry found him in the garden store at Moor House. They fetched an ambulance and took him to the hospital. Harry says it’s very bad. He thinks Billy might die.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The usual Saturday-afternoon activities – going to the pub after the Rovers match, visiting Cliff Street market, preparing for a night out – were cast aside. Up and down Raglan Road and Albion Lane people gathered to discuss the catastrophe that had befallen Billy.

  ‘How is he?’ Sybil asked Maureen Godwin. ‘Do they know if he’s come round yet?’

  ‘Last I heard, he was still spark out and hanging on by a thread,’ the little loom cleaner reported, a dark blue beret pulled well down over her fair curls. ‘My brother, Bob – he’s a porter at the King Edward’s – he got it from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘Oh, but Billy’s a strong lad. What do you bet he pulls through?’ Sybil insisted. She’d left the house so quickly when she’d heard the news that she was still in her slippers and cardigan.

  But Maureen shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter how strong you are, not if a car comes along and flattens you.’

  ‘Never!’ Vera’s horrified reaction immediately slid into strong denial. ‘That can’t be right. Didn’t Harry find Billy in the garden store?’

  Maureen nodded. ‘Yes, but they’re saying that someone dragged him in there after the accident happened.’

  ‘And they just left him there?’ Sybil enquired, aware that they’d been joined by Ernie, Annie and Frank, coming from different directions like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

  ‘That’s what it looks like.’ Maureen was proud to be the fount of all knowledge for once. ‘Bob says there was broken glass and a pool of blood on the driveway outside the main house and they found one of Billy’s boots in the flower bed.’

  ‘Spare us the details,’ Ernie warned, while Frank leaned on a lamp post with his arms folded, seemingly indifferent to the shock and horror of those around him. ‘We only want to hear what they’re doing to put him right at the hospital. Did your brother say anything about that?’

  Maureen shook her head; she had reached the limits of her expertise.

  ‘The first thing the coppers did was go to the garage and take a good shufti at Calvert’s car,’ Frank chipped in. ‘It turns out the front bumper was bent to billio and a headlight was smashed so the second thing they did was go looking for Harry.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Ernie demanded, ready to challenge anyone who had a word to say against his pal.

  ‘I saw them going up Raglan Road ten minutes ago,’ Frank sneered. ‘I might not have come top of the class but even I can put two and two together. Calvert’s car knocks down Billy Robertshaw and the coppers hammer at his chauffeur’s door. It stands to reason – they probably already arrested Harry and slung him in Armley for all I know.’

  Annie, who had joined the party late, looked with concern at Sybil. ‘Does Lily know?’ she muttered.

  ‘Does Lily know what?’ Evie enquired, drawn to the shop door by the gathering crowd and overhearing Annie’s last remark.

  ‘That the coppers have fingered Harry,’ Frank said with juicy delight.

  That was more than enough for Ernie. He turned on his heel and strode off up Albion Lane, knowing for a fact that if he’d stayed a second longer he would have socked Frank in the jaw and knocked him clean off his feet.

  That afternoon, at four o’clock, with Lily still keeping Rhoda company inside the house and oblivious to the nasty rumours about Harry that had begun to circulate, she was surprised by a loud knock on the door. When she hurried to open it, she found Granddad Preston, Arthur and Ma
rgie standing on the step.

  ‘We need to have a quiet word,’ Bert began, dipping into his pocket to produce a sixpence.

  ‘Here, Arthur, this is your pocket money.’

  No sooner said than a grinning Arthur was off down Albion Lane with Lily’s voice trailing after him. ‘Evie’s there behind the counter. Buy your sweets then stop a while to keep her company.’

  Bert gave Lily a nod of approval as he and Margie stepped over the threshold. ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘She’s just this minute gone upstairs for a sleep.’ Anxiety rising, Lily made room at the kitchen table. ‘What is it, Granddad?’

  ‘Yes, I’m waiting to know why you’ve dragged me down here,’ Margie butted in. ‘What happens if Father comes home?’

  ‘You can leave Walter to me,’ Bert insisted then without preliminaries he went full steam ahead. ‘If you must know, I’ve tracked down Kenneth Hetton.’

  ‘Granddad, you never did!’ Shock drained the colour from Margie’s cheeks and she clutched Lily’s hand for support.

  ‘I did, and don’t interrupt. If you want to know how I knew, I was listening at the door when the two of you talked yourselves silly – shall-we, shan’t-we go to the coppers? Waste of time if you ask me. Much better to seize the bull by the horns.’

  ‘You actually went looking for Hetton?’ a disbelieving Lily asked. ‘Granddad, you might have got hurt.’

  With a disdainful shrug Bert steamed on. ‘I may not be as young as I was, Lil, but I’ll take my chances with a man like Hetton any day. And it didn’t take me long to find out where he was holed up – in a rented room above a bookie’s on Canal Road, as it happens.’

  ‘And?’ Margie prompted faintly.

  ‘And the horse had already bolted,’ came the gruff reply. ‘According to his landlord, Hetton had packed his bag and high-tailed it back to Liverpool, to his wife and bairns.’

  ‘And he won’t be back?’ a relieved Lily asked.

  ‘Not if the coppers have anything to do with it.’ The old man paused for effect. ‘Don’t worry – bringing them into it was nowt to do with me.’

  ‘You didn’t go to the police?’ Margie checked.

  ‘Not guilty,’ Bert growled. ‘It turns out Hetton’s been a bad lad in more ways than one and they were already after him.’

  For a few seconds Margie imagined a long string of victims similar to herself and she felt sick to her stomach. It was left to Lily to ask as calmly as she could, ‘Why, what else had he done?’

  ‘The man’s a common thief. He stole office supplies from his boss and sold them on the black market – that’s why the coppers came knocking. Hetton’s landlord gave them a forwarding address. I reckon it won’t take them long to collar him.’

  ‘Oh, Granddad, thank you!’ Margie’s heartfelt cry came out as little more than a whisper.

  ‘Don’t thank me, I didn’t do owt.’

  ‘You did – you put our minds at rest,’ Lily insisted. ‘But you still shouldn’t have gone there on your own.’

  Squaring his stooped shoulders, their grandfather seemed to have sloughed off twenty years. ‘I told you – I’d have been a match for him any day of the week.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Margie said again.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, patting her pale, smooth hand with his gnarled rough one. ‘I’d have flattened the bugger as soon as looked at him, don’t you worry.’

  Lily was still thinking these things through after she’d left Albion Lane and slipped down the alley on to Raglan Road, leaving her grandfather to take Arthur back to Ada Street and Margie to sit with Rhoda until she returned.

  Hetton’s disappearance meant that Margie was robbed of the chance of going to the local police over it and the man would most likely get off scot-free for that particular crime. That rankled with Lily worse than anything.

  ‘Men!’ she said out loud, emerging from the alley into the start of steady snowfall and striding on towards Harry’s house. She didn’t know where she’d found the courage to do this after a week or more of him ignoring her and acting as if he’d never told her he loved her, but the latest crisis over Billy had made her set aside her doubts. So what if Harry did turn his back on her when she held out the olive branch? She, Lily Briggs, was dealing day in, day out with things far worse than being cold-shouldered by the man she loved. So she knocked on his door and waited for his mother to open it.

  ‘Harry’s not in,’ Betty Bainbridge said without waiting for Lily to speak but taking in her anxious expression and the sprinkling of snow on her head and shoulders. Harry’s mother stood guard – a tall, quiet woman in glasses with her grey hair in a neat bun at the back of her head, dressed in a hand-knitted russet-brown cardigan and a long brown skirt.

  ‘Can you tell me where he is?’ Lily asked. Betty’s reluctance to look her in the eye made her hold her ground. ‘I only want to talk to him. I promise I won’t cause trouble.’

  ‘He won’t want to speak to you,’ Betty insisted uneasily. It sat ill with her to treat Lily like this, but Harry had arrived home early and had gone up to his room insisting that he didn’t want to see anyone. Since then, the police had come and gone without a word of explanation from her son.

  ‘But he is here, isn’t he?’ Lily contradicted gently, looking beyond Betty and up the dark stairway. ‘Honestly, Mrs Bainbridge, I only want a quick word.’

  ‘He’s not fit to talk to. The police have been. I’ve no idea what’s going on.’

  ‘Is he upstairs?’

  Betty nodded and gave way as Lily brushed past and went quickly up then paused on the landing. Would Harry’s room be at the back or the front of the house? she wondered.

  Harry himself answered the question by opening the door to the back bedroom. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded, appearing barefoot in shirtsleeves and braces, one end of his collar hanging loose.

  In spite of everything, Lily couldn’t prevent her heart from skipping a beat at the sight of his handsome face and she realized in a rush how much she’d missed him. ‘I only want to know what happened to Billy,’ she explained, almost wilting under his angry gaze but somehow finding the strength to go on. ‘And to know that you’re all right.’

  His eyes flickered shut then opened into a defiant stare. ‘What does it matter to you whether or not I’m all right?’

  ‘It does matter, Harry. Of course it does.’ More than anything, she realized as her heart went out to him, standing pale and angry, his hand grasping the door knob, his shirt open at the throat. ‘Let me in, please.’

  Swallowing hard and silently working his jaw, Harry finally decided to do as she asked. He stood meekly to one side and allowed her into the room.

  Lily felt nevertheless as if she was trespassing. This was a place where she shouldn’t be – a foreign country containing Harry’s iron bedstead with one of the four brass knobs missing, a mahogany wardrobe with its door hanging open, faded striped wallpaper, a small cast-iron fireplace and shallow, empty grate. Taking a deep breath she turned to face Harry.

  ‘Well?’ he wanted to know.

  Where to begin? ‘Let’s start with Billy,’ she suggested quietly.

  ‘You know as much as I do,’ Harry told her, closing the door. ‘More, most likely.’

  ‘Not really. Bob Godwin down at the hospital says it’s bad, though.’

  ‘But he hasn’t … he’s still alive?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know.’ She watched his reaction – his eyes flicked shut and he drew a deep breath as he recalled the sight of Billy’s bloodstained, con torted body when he’d found him lying unconscious in amongst the Calverts’ garden tools. ‘I’m sorry, Harry. Billy’s your best pal. You must be feeling rotten.’

  Harry nodded without opening his eyes. ‘I can’t help thinking, Why the hell did he have to ride up there after work? Why couldn’t he have gone straight home, or to the match? Then none of this would’ve happened.’

  ‘But even if it’s as bad as they say, Billy
could still pull through.’

  ‘He could,’ Harry agreed through gritted teeth. ‘Did you hear that Mr Calvert called me back up to Moor House soon after the ambulance had carted Billy off to hospital and I’d made my way home?’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Lily wanted to know.

  ‘Hang on and I’ll tell you. I went all the way back up on my push-bike, even though it had started to snow by the time I got there. Anyway, what the boss had to say didn’t take five minutes – just enough time for him to come out of the servants’ entrance, hand me my cards and tell me not to bother coming back.’

  ‘Oh, Harry!’ Lily sighed. She got up and went to stand beside him.

  ‘It’s all right, I was expecting it. The coppers had already looked at the damage to the Bentley by the time I got there. Mr Calvert’s not the type to look before he leaps – you know what he’s like.’

  ‘But he can’t blame you, not if you didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘He can and he did,’ Harry argued, staring straight ahead. ‘I reckon he or his missis would be the ones who set the coppers on to me in the first place.’

  Lily followed his line of vision, out beyond the ash pit and stone outhouses, over the roofs of the houses opposite, into the dark snow-laden sky. ‘That’s not right,’ she said quietly. ‘Not without proof.’

  ‘What’s proof got to do with anything? A man like Calvert can accuse whoever he likes.’

  Closing her eyes to shut out the sight of whirling snowflakes, Lily took courage and slid her hand through the crook of Harry’s elbow. She felt him flinch but he let it rest there.

  ‘What are you doing here, Lily?’ he asked after a long silence. ‘I thought you didn’t care anything about me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You said you didn’t love me.’

  ‘I didn’t, Harry. I said I couldn’t marry you – that’s not the same thing.’

  ‘So you still feel something for me?’ He turned to look down at her, his face in shadow. She couldn’t make out his mood and had to judge by the softness of his voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.