The Dressmaker's Daughter

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Bless yer. Oh, yo’ do remind me o’ your mother, Lizzie … An’ I did love ’er.’

  She sat with him, all the time holding his hand, and Tom seemed at peace, a look of contentment on his pale, drawn face. As the minutes ticked by she felt his grip loosening, and she watched him as he drifted into sleep. Outside, dusk was falling and the sun’s red ink bled profusely into the western sky. Lizzie stood up quietly, slipping her hand gently away from his. She heaved a sigh of sadness as she tip-toed to the door and, opening it, leaned her head against its edge to take another look at her old Uncle Tom in the gathering gloom of his bedroom. Then she turned, reluctantly, to go home.

  It was the last time Lizzie saw her Uncle Tom Dando alive. He died on the 3rd of September after another massive heart attack. He was eighty years old.

  *

  While Lizzie was bringing comfort to her Uncle Tom, simply by being with him, Herbert Kite called to see Jesse Clancey about the possibility of Saturday employment. Jesse said he was prepared to give him a try, and the arrangement was that while Jesse collected the money from one customer, Herbert would deliver the milk to the next, thus alerting them to get their purses ready. At the end of their first day together Jesse confessed it was the earliest he’d ever finished his round on a Saturday, and gave Herbert threepence bonus, on top of his shilling.

  As far as Herbert was concerned, Jesse was a likeable man. His soft grey eyes, fair hair and walrus moustache seemed to bestow a look of compassion on his fine-featured face, inspiring people to confide in him. Everybody liked Jesse, everybody stopped to pass the time of day with him, and Herbert enjoyed working with him and his chestnut horse, Ramsbottom.

  People got to know Herbert Kite, too, as he rode on the milk float, working the cobbled streets. He turned out to be a willing worker, polite and conscientious. Jesse soon learned that he could trust him with money and, together, they worked out an even more efficient system of collection and delivery. Mutual admiration waxed between them, and Jesse began to have a great effect on Herbert. Hitherto he’d always vexed his sisters by his seeming intolerance. He was a boy, so they were naturally inferior, he believed, though rarely did he get the better of any of them. But Jesse spoke about them with such respect that he wondered why he, himself, was so lacking in it where they were concerned.

  The girls noticed a gradual change in their brother. It was more evident at weekends after the milk round. His attitude to them and to their mother was more considerate and genteel. Lizzie noticed it, too, and recognised it as Jesse’s influence. It made her wonder about him staying on at school where he was picking up all sorts of anti-social habits.

  The contribution Henzey made to the family’s fortunes helped meanwhile, and was noticeable on the dinner table. They were able to afford fresh meat every now and again, or bacon, and she began visiting the wet fish stall on Dudley market every fortnight to give the family a very special treat for supper. It was soused herrings, cooked in vinegar with chopped onion rings, done in the oven. The aroma was utterly irresistible.

  As they all sat down to such a supper one Friday evening in December, Lizzie put a thought to Herbert. ‘I’ve been thinking, you know …’ They all looked up expectantly as she addressed her son. ‘You know you said you wanted to leave school at the end of next year?’ Herbert nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Well, if I thought Jesse could find you full time work as a milkman I wouldn’t be against it.’

  Herbert beamed. ‘I’ll ask him, Mother, shall I? It’s funny. Only last Saturday he was talkin’ about expandin’ the business – gettin’ another chap besides Harry Skilbeck. He said he wants to canvass down by the gas works.’

  ‘Well, see what he says tomorrow, then. If he’ll have you it might be for everybody’s benefit.’

  Chapter 21

  Christmas Eve was dismal, dank and grey, with a persistent cold mist that seemed to cling to your clothes. It would have been tolerable, but for the fact that it shrouded the lovely candles and Christmas decorations in the town’s shops. Yet it still felt seasonal, as the soft, almost comical rasps of the Salvation Army brass band playing carols in the Market Place drifted towards George Mason’s. Revellers, some of whom couldn’t take their drink, were noisy, singing and wishing all a merry Christmas, sometimes stumbling legless past the shop windows. Today had been more than usually exciting for Henzey. While she was taking out the hams and sides of bacon to hang around the windows of the store, Arnold Jennings, one of the young lads with whom she worked had asked her out that very night, and she’d agreed, on condition that he could bring a friend to keep her own friend, Florrie Shuker, company, as well.

  That evening she arrived home, cold and hungry. She handed her wages to her mother, who thanked her, handing her a shilling back as pocket-money. Then Lizzie went upstairs to share the remainder between the separate jars she used in her accounting. Herbert was already home, eating a lump of fruit cake. His expression suggested he’d found a half sovereign in it.

  ‘Guess what, our Henzey?’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘Jesse Clancey’s takin’ me on full time.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good … Here, give us a bite of your cake.’

  ‘Get off! Cut your own.’

  Instead, she cut a slice of bread from the loaf standing upturned on the table, and smeared it with dripping. ‘It’ll bring some more money in, you working.’

  ‘Our mother deserves it.’ Herbert laced his cup of tea with several spoonfuls of sugar, then stirred it vigorously.

  ‘Mother deserves even more, Herbert, don’t you think?’ Here was an opportunity to confide some thoughts she’d been having. They didn’t often share secrets, but this was something that affected them both; that affected them all. And Lizzie was upstairs, out of earshot. ‘Don’t you think so, Herbert?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you think she deserves some happiness as well?’

  ‘She seems happy enough to me.’

  ‘What I mean, Herbert, is I wouldn’t mind seeing her married again.’

  ‘What?’ He sounded incredulous, and ceased stirring his tea. The idea was awful. ‘I don’t think I fancy that.’

  ‘But what if she fancied the idea? What if somebody she liked asked her to marry him? She’s still really nice looking, our mom, even if she is a bit old now. And what you should remember, Herbert, is that she’s had no life looking after Father – and we’re all growing up. We shan’t always be here for her. In three or four years time I might be married myself, for all we know. I’d most likely go and live somewhere else. Even you might get married and do the same someday … if anybody will have you. See what I mean? When we all go – our Alice and Maxine as well – how’s she gonna get on with no husband? She’d have to live with one of us.’ She tore a piece off the bread with her teeth.

  Herbert pondered Henzey’s words. He’d never considered the possibility. He’d always thought of them as a total unit. The likelihood of them splitting up had never crossed his mind. It was only recently that he started to feel drawn to girls, though he’d been surrounded and antagonised by them all his life. They were a strange species, girls, and never had he considered the implications of marrying one, even less, the significance it might have on his mother. But yes, he might wed; he almost certainly would in time. Henzey had a point. ‘I see what you mean.’

  Henzey sipped her tea, satisfied that her idea had been presented well and received favourably, and they sat silent for a few seconds while she adorned another slice of bread with dripping.

  ‘What are you doing tonight, our Henzey?’

  ‘Going for a walk with Florrie.’ She took a bite and put her bread and dripping down.

  ‘Can I come?’

  ‘No, you can’t. We’re meeting some chaps.’

  ‘Chaps? Does Mother know?’

  ‘’Course not. And don’t tell her, either.’

  There was a knock at the door and they glanced at each other.

  ‘Com
e in,’ Henzey called, thinking it might be Beccy Crump, or even Jesse Clancey.

  The door opened, and a smiling face appeared; familiar; a face they hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

  ‘Uncle Stanley!’ Henzey was surprised, but pleased to see him after so long. ‘Fancy seeing you back, Uncle Stanley. Come in, come in.’

  ‘You must be Henzey?’ He looked from one to the other with apparent surprise as he closed the door behind him. ‘And you’re Herbert. My word, how you’ve both grown.’ He placed a bag he was carrying on the floor by the table. ‘You know, I don’t think I’d have recognised either of you. You’re grown up. Last time I saw you both you were just kids. Merry Christmas.’ He offered his hand, and Herbert was first to shake it. Henzey smiled self-consciously, and blushed. ‘Is your mother not in?’

  ‘She’s upstairs. I’ll get her, shall I?’

  Henzey stood up, opened the stairs door and, with her eyes, beckoned Herbert to follow. Half way up the stairs she turned and whispered melodramatically, ‘It must be an omen. Uncle Stanley could be a husband for our mom.’

  ‘I’ll put a good word in for him as well if he keeps bringing Christmas boxes. Did you see what he was carrying?’

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Lizzie queried sharply from her bedroom.

  ‘You’ll never guess who’s just come, Mom. Uncle Stanley. He’s in the scullery.’

  ‘Stanley Dando?’ She did not know whether to welcome him or ask him to leave. Why had he suddenly shown up after all this time? It was a visit she could well do without. She’d been in his thrall for too long before, and she did not want her guilt and shame over the last time to muddy her clear thoughts again. Those stark emotions were fading from her memory and the last thing she wanted was that they should be revived.

  But her curiosity, driven by vanity, began to get the better of her. She moved the oil-lamp towards the mirror so she could see to titivate her hair. Best not be too offish with him. Be civil. She took off her apron and threw it on the bed, then rearranged her pleats and the belt on her dress. She straightened her back and glanced in the mirror again to check that she looked presentable and, satisfied that she did, descended the stairs; but at a respectably sedate speed.

  ‘I think she fancies him,’ Henzey whispered when her mother was out of earshot. ‘See how flustered she got?’

  ‘He’ll do, as well. I like getting Christmas presents. The more the merrier.’

  ‘Christmas presents don’t mean anything. But he is nice looking, isn’t he?’

  Lizzie appeared round the stairs door apprehensively.

  ‘Lizzie!’ Stanley greeted warmly, a confident smile on his handsome face, as ever.

  She kept her distance, unsmiling. ‘I had no idea you were expected home, Stanley,’ she said evenly.

  ‘I certainly didn’t plan to be, but when Father was taken ill Sylvia sent me a telegram, and I left Salisbury as soon as I got it. It’s a damned pity it takes so long to get here, but there it is. By the time I arrived back he’d already passed away. I never even had the chance to see him one last time. I regret that … Anyway, how are you, Lizzie? It’s been a long time. I’m bound to say, you don’t look a day older.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to say so.’ She tried not to heed Stanley’s flattery. But her emotions had suddenly been stirred into conflict. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of tea.’

  Stanley smiled to himself. He remembered that Lizzie was always putting the kettle on. ‘Coffee if you’ve got it. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing a bottle of brandy to go in it, since it’s Christmas. I take it you’ll join me?’

  ‘Well … since it’s Christmas.’ There was a hint of a smile on her face. ‘How long are you back home for?’ She hung the kettle ritually over the fire.

  ‘Four weeks. I was sorry to hear about Ben, Lizzie. It must have been a terrible shock for you.’

  Lizzie turned and steadily met his eyes. ‘It was no great shock, Stanley. He’d been ill for such a long time. We miss him terribly but, at least he’s not suffering any more.’

  ‘I heard you lost a child as well. That must have been distressing.’

  ‘It was. Very.’ She reached in the cupboard for the bottle of Camp. She poured a small amount into two cups, anxious not to expand on the subject of her still-born child. ‘So how’s Southern Rhodesia?’

  ‘Oh, fine. It’s a wonderful country. With a fine future.’

  ‘I assume you want your coffee made with water, not milk? I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.’

  ‘Water’s fine. Thank you. I prefer water … Actually, I prefer coffee made from ground beans …’

  ‘We make do with Camp. We don’t have a coffee grinder.’

  ‘Perhaps I should’ve got you one as a Christmas box.’

  There was an awkward pause when neither spoke, and Lizzie finished making the drinks, all the time feeling his eyes on her.

  ‘What are you doing this Christmas, Lizzie?’

  ‘Oh, nothing fancy. We can’t afford anything fancy.’

  ‘Look, Lizzie.’ His tone was suddenly different, more businesslike. ‘How would you like to come for a Christmas drink with me down at The Shoulder of Mutton tonight? There’s things I want to talk over with you. I bet Herbert and the girls wouldn’t mind.’

  Lizzie handed him a cup and saucer, then the sugar bowl, without even looking at him. ‘I don’t think that’d be a very good idea. Ben’s barely cold in his grave. I couldn’t be seen out with you yet. It wouldn’t do much for my reputation … Or doesn’t that worry you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nobody’s going to judge you in that light, Lizzie. It is Christmas … and we are related.’

  For all the difference it makes, she felt like saying.

  ‘Nobody’ll think any the worse of you. There’ll be a lovely Christmassy atmosphere. Here, I’ve taken the liberty of bringing you all Christmas boxes. I hope you’ll like them.’ Stanley delved into his bag.

  ‘Well you shouldn’t have done, Stanley.’ The last thing she wanted was to feel beholden to him. ‘You’ve got no reason to bring us Christmas presents.’

  He smiled as he took out five beautifully-wrapped parcels, putting them on the table. ‘There’s a present for each of you.’ He took out the threatened bottle of brandy and opened it, pouring a stout measure into Lizzie’s cup, then into his own. ‘Cheers! Merry Christmas!’

  The sweet smell of the brandy blending with the aroma of the coffee was heady, and evoked warm memories of how Christmas used to be. Stanley certainly had a way of getting round her. She would have to beware. But she allowed herself a smile, and returned the toast, lifting the cup towards him in acknowledgement.

  The stairs door opened and Henzey appeared, lingering on the bottom step. She was in her best dress, and a pair of silk stockings, and looked every inch a grown woman, despite her tender years. Her lush, dark hair shone, and her blue eyes were big and bright. Stanley gawped at her in overt amazement and admiration.

  ‘See you later,’ she said to her mother. ‘I won’t be late.’

  ‘Be back here for half past nine, madam, and no later.’

  With a charming smile Henzey said good-bye to her Uncle Stanley. She grabbed her coat and disappeared before Lizzie had a chance to ask where she was bound, followed by Herbert.

  ‘My word, Lizzie, your eldest daughter’s a fine-looking girl,’ Stanley said, running his forefinger round the inside of his collar. ‘She’ll even give you a run for your money.’

  ‘And you can keep your eyes off her,’ Lizzie replied knowingly. ‘She’s far too young for the likes of you.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re wrong, you know, Lizzie. No grown girl’s too young for a man, no matter his age.’

  ‘Then you’re a sight too old for her.’

  ‘Ooh, you’re sharp today. Now, what about coming out with me for a drink?’

  ‘I’ve got too much to do here as it is. It is Christmas.’

  ‘Another time, then?’

  Lizz
ie hesitated. ‘No, I don’t think so, Stanley.’

  He picked up his cup and sipped the coffee. ‘Last time I saw you, you were keen enough to meet me, Lizzie,’ he baited. ‘Has the spice gone out of it now there’s no one to deceive?’

  She glared at him icily. ‘That’s unfair. What happened between us was a long time ago. A lot of things have happened since, not least of which I lost Ben only six months ago, and I’ve got no intention of getting mixed up with anybody again. At least not yet, and certainly not with you. I’ve got four growing children to think about.’

  ‘You had them to think about before, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, Lizzie, but they didn’t stop you then. What happened?’

  ‘Well, you suddenly saying you were going off to Southern Rhodesia without a word of explanation didn’t help.’ Her eyes were wide with indignation. ‘I thought I warranted some consideration, even if I was only one of your affairs.’

  Stanley smiled to himself with apparent amusement. ‘Oh, I see. But at the time I thought it was the easiest way – for you as well as for me. I was afraid we might both get too emotional. Telling you just before I went left no time for that.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I was wrong.’

  ‘Oh, you were wrong on a good many counts, Stanley, especially if you believed I was in love with you.’ She relished the opportunity at last to unleash her pent-up resentment. ‘And I know you’re lying if that’s your way of saying you were in love with me.’

  ‘But I was in love with you …’

  ‘Then why did you never say so?’

  ‘… Once – I was about to add, Lizzie – I was in love with you once. And it wouldn’t take much rekindling, it’s a certain fact. Let’s spend a few more hours together, like we used to. We’d soon get the taste for each other again.’

  She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, no, Stanley. Those days are long since gone. That sort of arrangement isn’t for me, ever again. I learnt my lesson.’ At once she knew she’d given away too much.

  ‘Learnt your lesson?’ He drained his coffee and put his cup down, eyeing her intently. ‘The child you lost, Lizzie. Was it mine?’