The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  Josh glared at his mother. ‘What do you mean? I thought you liked Amy.’

  Martha shrugged. ‘She’s all right as far as village lasses go, but you can do a lot better for yourself.’ She regarded her son thoughtfully. ‘You’re too soft, Josh. You’ve no drive, no ambition. You need a wife who will push you just like I’m having to do at the moment. But what will happen when I’m no longer around?’

  ‘I don’t want pushing. All I wanted – still want, if it comes to it – is to run the chandler’s business and live in Ashford.’ And marry Amy, he thought, but he didn’t say the words aloud. Instead, he added, ‘And I don’t care what you say, I’m going to see Amy at the weekend.’

  ‘So, you’ll deliberately disobey me, will you?’

  For once Josh returned Martha’s gaze steadily. ‘Yes, I will.’

  Both Josh and Emily finished work at lunchtime on Saturdays and as they walked home together, Josh said, ‘Where’s Lizzie?’

  Emily grinned. ‘In a huff, I reckon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I told her you were going to Ashford tomorrow to see Amy.’

  Josh grimaced. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Em. We need her and her mother’s help.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about Lizzie,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll handle her. You just go and see Amy tomorrow.’

  ‘Emily! Josh! You’ll have to help me.’ Dressed in her long, flannelette nightdress, Martha was shouting from the small landing below.

  Emily shot out of bed and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. She bumped into Josh as he came around the curtain from his side of the room.

  ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Is it Dad?’ He was still half asleep, his hair tousled.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Emily hurried down the steps to see her mother standing in the doorway of their bedroom, supporting herself against the door jamb, clutching her stomach and bending almost double. ‘I’ve got the most dreadful stomach pains and I’ve been violently sick in the chamber pot.’ She retched again as if to give credence to her words.

  Emily put her arm around her mother and led her back into the bedroom Martha shared with her husband. Ever since Walter’s return from the war, they had slept in single beds, though still side by side in the same room. Walter had pulled himself up in the bed, looking towards his wife with wide, frightened eyes. They had no coal to light a fire in the bedroom and his whole body was shaking with fear and the cold of the winter’s early morning. There were thousands of victims still suffering like Walter – the things they’d seen and experienced were beyond human understanding.

  ‘See to your dad,’ Martha said weakly, lying back against the pillow, her hand clasped to her stomach.

  ‘She does look bad, Em,’ Josh, who had followed his sister down, said. ‘We should get a doctor.’

  ‘No – no,’ Martha gasped, stretching out a trembling hand. ‘I’ll be all right. It must be something I ate. I just need to rest. You must see to your father. Both of you.’

  ‘I’ll go down and light the fire,’ Emily said. ‘Josh, you get dressed if you’re going—’

  ‘No!’ Suddenly, Martha’s voice was remarkably strong. ‘No – he’s to stay here and help you. I won’t be able to do anything today.’

  Josh glanced at Emily and shrugged. ‘I’ll go next week,’ was all he said.

  Martha closed her eyes and relaxed back against the pillows. She spent the whole day in bed.

  ‘Has she been sick again?’ Josh asked in the afternoon.

  Emily pursed her lips and shook her head, saying curtly, ‘No, not once.’

  ‘Oh that’s good, then. D’you think she’ll be all right?’

  Emily glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Oh yes,’ she said sarcastically. ‘She’ll be all right now.’

  ‘What d’you mean – now?’

  Emily glanced at her father sitting in his chair by the range. His eyes were closed and the shaking had ceased for the moment. She fancied he was asleep after having his night disturbed, but then he slept a lot these days anyway. She still kept her voice low, however, as she said, ‘Now that it’s too late for you to set off to Ashford.’

  Josh’s eyes widened as he stared at her. ‘Em – what are you saying? That Mam did it deliberately?’

  Emily put her finger to her lips. ‘I don’t know, Josh, but it just seems strange to me.’

  The young man was thoughtful, then he smiled. ‘Ne’er mind, there’s always another time.’

  And she hadn’t been able to meet Trip that day either, Emily thought bitterly, or even to get word to him. She hoped he hadn’t hung about too long in the cold, waiting for her in the park. During the last few weeks, Emily had felt they were growing closer; she didn’t want anything to jeopardize that. But Trip was so kind and thoughtful. He’d shown that even when they’d been children. She was sure he’d realize that there was a good reason why she’d not been there.

  The following Friday night Josh whispered to Emily, ‘I’m going to Ashford tomorrow afternoon straight from work. And don’t you tell Mam until I’ve had time to get well on my way.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Emily said, indignantly. ‘What d’you take me for?’

  Playfully, Josh tweaked her nose. ‘Me big sister who always looks out for me.’

  When Josh didn’t arrive home from work as usual at dinner time the next day, Martha said indulgently, ‘I expect they’ve asked him to work this afternoon. They must have an important job they want finishing.’

  Emily rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. Did her mother’s conceit where Josh was concerned never end? She glanced at her father and was sure he was trying to hide a smile.

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone to Ashford,’ Emily murmured.

  ‘I hope not,’ Martha snapped and added, ‘and certainly not in this lot.’ She nodded towards the window. It was raining heavily, the cobbled yard becoming a lake when the water couldn’t drain away fast enough.

  At about four o’clock the door opened with a crash and Josh staggered in, cold and drenched.

  ‘Oh my, where have you been, Josh? Did they keep you late at work?’

  Shivering, Josh didn’t answer as he moved towards the fire.

  ‘Come on, get those wet things off,’ Martha fretted, as she began to pull at his sodden clothing, just as if he was still a naughty little boy. ‘You’ll catch your death. Emily, fetch the clothes horse up from the cellar. We must put his things to dry near the range. And find his clean underwear.’

  ‘Mam . . .’ Josh tried to protest, but he was too cold and wet to summon up any resistance. Stripped and wrapped in a blanket, he sat on the opposite side of the hearth to his father and sipped a hot drink.

  As she bustled about the kitchen, Martha berated him gently. ‘Don’t walk home in weather like that again. Either stay longer at work – I’m sure it would make you look good in your boss’s eyes – or get the tram. We can surely afford the fare for you once in a while. Now, you’d be better in bed for a while. Emily, take the brick out of the oven that’s warming for your dad and take it up to Josh’s bed.’

  ‘No,’ Josh said. ‘Leave it for Dad. I will go up to bed, but I don’t need a brick.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, Josh. Emily, do as I ask, please.’

  With an apologetic glance at his father, Josh stood up, pulled the blanket closer around him and followed Emily up the stairs. Once in the attic, he said. ‘I tried, Em, honest I did. But I couldn’t get a lift. No one would stop for me. I expect I looked like a tramp.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She put the warm brick in his bed and tucked him in. ‘Have a good sleep, Josh. You look exhausted.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Mam, then?’

  ‘I said you might have gone to Ashford, but she didn’t believe me or didn’t want to believe me. So, let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

  But Josh had already closed his eyes.

  ‘Are you going to the ball on Thursday night?’ Lizzie asked as they walked down Garden Stre
et one wintry Tuesday morning early in November. Now that Emily did not have to be at work before the others, she could once more walk there with Lizzie. Josh walked with them as far as the bottom of their street before he set off on his bicycle in the opposite direction. ‘And what about you, Josh? I could do with a handsome escort.’

  ‘Ball? What ball?’ Emily asked.

  Lizzie fished a newspaper cutting from her pocket and handed it to Emily. ‘It’s an Armistice Ball this Thursday, the eleventh, at Cutlers’ Hall. There’s to be an orchestra and everything. It’ll be a grand affair. It’s to be held in the large banqueting hall there. Oh, do say you’ll come.’ Archly, she added, ‘I’m sure Trip will be there, Emily, and, besides, it’s something to look forward to when we’re working so hard up to the holidays.’ She giggled. ‘Do you know what the first three weeks in December are called in the cutlery trade – and probably in some other trades, too, where they do piece work?’

  Emily shook her head. Lizzie counted the weeks off on her fingers. ‘Three weeks before Christmas is “calf week”, two weeks before is “cow week” and the most important is the week just before Christmas, known as “bull week”. We all do extra overtime to get more money. I bet you’ll be doing the same thing, Josh, and likely Trip too. So, it’ll be nice to have a night off and dress up in our best bib and tucker and go dancing.’

  Emily read the advertisement from the Sheffield Evening Telegraph.

  ‘Programmes, two shillings and sixpence,’ she murmured. ‘We couldn’t afford that, Lizzie. I’m sorry.’

  Lizzie flapped her hand dismissively. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Mick knows so many people in the city. He’ll get us the tickets for free.’

  The thought of spending an evening with Trip, of dancing in his arms, was hard for Emily to resist and she hadn’t seen him now for over two weeks because of Martha’s supposed illness. But she was torn. She could see that Lizzie was determined to go to the ball on Josh’s arm and, if that happened, they’d be seen as a couple. And that, she was sure, was exactly what Lizzie wanted. Emily sighed, her conscience doing battle within her: should she go, so that she could see Trip, or say that they couldn’t go, in order to save Josh from Lizzie’s clutches? But the decision was taken out of her hands as Josh, the very person she was trying to protect, leapt straight in. ‘Of course we’ll go. You deserve the chance of a bit of fun, Em. For once, we’ll stand up to Mam. We’re going. I’ll tell Trip. Ta-ra,’ he said as he mounted his bicycle. ‘I’ll see you both tonight.’

  Lizzie shot a look of triumph at Emily, whose heart sank. Her worst fear was coming true; Lizzie would parade Josh as her young man but would she, Emily, get the same chance with Trip?

  On the evening before the ball, Emily left work feeling depressed. Lizzie could not hide her excitement, but Emily was almost on the point of deciding not to go. Trip hadn’t sent any message with Josh. What if he wasn’t even going to be there or, worse still, what if he was and he ignored her? She would be devastated.

  ‘You must come round to mine tomorrow straight after work,’ Lizzie said, as they walked home, ‘to get ready. Oh Emily, we’ll have such fun and you’ll see Trip.’

  Emily sighed. She wasn’t sure she would, but the hope still burned brightly within her. And the truth was that even if she stayed away, Josh was still going to take Lizzie to the ball and maybe – just maybe – if she were there, she’d be able to keep an eye on them.

  ‘All right,’ Emily said, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll come round after I’ve helped Mam.’

  Lizzie grimaced. ‘Well, as soon as you can, Emily. The missus has been very generous. She says anyone who’s going to the ball can leave work a little earlier tomorrow and we’ll have to leave home no later than seven. We don’t want to be late.’

  ‘Is she going? The missus, I mean?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘No. She can’t face it after losing her husband and her boys.’

  ‘What about Nell and the others?’

  ‘Nell won’t go. She never goes out at night. Something about her mother not being well, but I think that’s just an excuse. Ida said she might go and one or two of the others too.’

  Pushing aside her concerns about Lizzie’s designs on Josh, Emily actually enjoyed being with her in her bedroom the following evening. They helped each other bathe and wash their hair.

  ‘You’re so lucky having curly hair,’ Lizzie moaned. ‘Mine’s so straight I have to curl it up in rags every night just to get it to wave.’

  ‘It’s a lovely rich dark brown colour, though, and it shines so. When you have it pinned up on top of your head, you look very elegant,’ Emily tried to console her.

  ‘Do you think Josh will think so?’

  Emily sighed but didn’t answer. Was she never to be allowed to forget about the problem, not even for a moment?

  ‘Yours looks lovely put up too,’ Lizzie went on, their reflections in the mirror reclaiming her attention, ‘with all those curls hanging down around your face. What are you wearing, Emily?’

  Lizzie’s mind was quicksilver, darting from one thing to the next in her excitement.

  Emily pulled a face. ‘I couldn’t afford to buy a new dress. If I can’t afford to buy my own clothes for work –’ she was still using Lizzie’s old ones – ‘I certainly can’t be buying fancy gowns. So, I’ve only my Sunday best. It’s not really suitable for a ball, but it’s all I’ve got.’

  Lizzie stood back and eyed her critically. ‘You’re a bit taller than me, but we’re about the same shape. Mam’s made me a new dress, but I’ve got the one I wore when I was a bridesmaid for one of the girls at work last year. Let’s try it on you.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t really . . .’

  But Lizzie waved aside her protests and, moments later, Emily was standing in Lizzie’s bedroom dressed in a dark pink satin dress.

  ‘It’s a bit short, but you have got some pretty shoes. That’s a blessing. Other than that, it fits you quite well.’

  ‘It’s a bit tight when I breathe.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘Then you mustn’t breathe. Come on, it’s time we were going. The others are meeting us there.’

  ‘Is Nell going?’

  ‘No. She made the usual excuse.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘She doesn’t like leaving her mother alone at night.’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘Goodness knows why. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her. Now, where’s your handsome brother to escort us?’

  They travelled on the tram and alighted at the nearest stop to the grand building in Church Street. Lights from its front windows and music filtered onto the street and they heard the excited chatter of those attending the ball as they neared the entrance and mingled with the crowd.

  Lizzie gripped Emily’s arm. ‘Look who’s waiting for you near the door.’

  Emily glanced up and her heart felt as if it jumped in her chest.

  ‘Trip,’ she breathed. He looked so handsome in his evening suit. She stopped and swallowed her nervousness. ‘But what if – if he’s not waiting for me?’

  ‘Of course he’s waiting for you.’

  Still, Emily hesitated. Trip was standing near the entrance, his glance raking the people arriving in vehicles of all shapes and sizes.

  ‘He’s – he’s looking for someone.’

  ‘Oh, do come on,’ Lizzie said impatiently, but she was laughing at the same time. ‘He’s watching out for you, you barm pot.’

  But Emily could not be sure as Lizzie pulled on her arm and urged her forwards. And then, Trip spotted her. He smiled broadly and stepped forwards, dodging the flood of guests arriving. ‘Emily, there you are. I was so hoping you’d come tonight. I was going to ask you last Sunday, but you didn’t come again. Was your father ill?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, but didn’t Josh tell you we’d be here tonight?’

  Trip shook his head. ‘I haven’t been able to see Josh all week. No matter. You’re here now.’

  Lizzie ste
pped aside as Trip held out his arm to Emily to escort her inside the building and up the wide carpeted staircase to the first floor. Behind them, Lizzie said, ‘Come on, Josh, give me your arm, then.’

  Josh grinned as he looked down at her. Lizzie looked very pretty tonight. Her hair shone and her eyes glowed with excitement.

  For the next few hours, he forgot all about Amy.

  As she entered the banqueting hall on Trip’s arm, Emily gasped as she gazed around her at the twinkling chandeliers, the gleaming, black marble dado and the pillars rising to the decorated ceiling. Huge portraits of several worthy gentlemen connected with the city, former mayors and master cutlers, decorated the walls alongside one of Queen Victoria.

  As soon as the dancing began, Trip took Emily in his arms for every dance, not letting anyone else near enough to ask her to dance with them. He stayed by her side the whole evening and, mesmerized by his closeness, Emily forgot all about her vow to keep an eye on Josh and Lizzie.

  From the shadows, Arthur Trippet watched the dancing. His wife was not present; Arthur had not invited her and he knew that Constance would not demean herself to ask him. He had to be seen supporting such a prestigious event, but as soon as he could excuse himself from the other dignitaries present, saying that he had a long way to drive home, he would slip away to have his own bit of fun. But he would be sure to be home in Ashford at an hour compliant with having stayed late at the ball. That way his wife would never suspect . . .

  He was about to turn away to sneak out of the ballroom when he saw his son amongst the dancers with a pretty, blonde girl in his arms. For a moment, Arthur wondered who she might be. He hoped she was the daughter of one of his factory-owning colleagues in the city, whom Thomas had invited as his partner. It was Arthur’s dearest wish that his only son – his only child – should marry well and procreate a dynasty of Trippets. He narrowed his eyes. The girl seemed vaguely familiar . . .

  And then Arthur felt his face growing purple with rage as he realized who the girl was. Emily Ryan! That bitch, Martha Ryan, had brought her family to the city after all. He cursed himself for not having noticed that The Candle House was no longer occupied as he drove past it. He should have been more observant, but the thought had never crossed the conceited man’s mind that the woman would go against his advice – and his wishes. Hadn’t he done enough to separate his son from consorting with an unsuitable family? It hadn’t mattered when they’d been young, but when Thomas had grown and he’d seen that the friendship continued, Arthur had engineered for his son to go away to boarding school, hoping that he would make friends within what Arthur considered to be his own class. Even that had not worked; the association with the Ryan youngsters had still persisted. Then he’d decided that Thomas must begin work in the factory and had persuaded his wife that it would be advisable for the boy to stay in the city.