Grace smiled but Ruth could see the worry etched on her face and wished there was something she could do to take it away.
‘He took us to Carter’s Bank and arranged for Ruth to have an account,’ Jenny said. ‘The reason she’s holding her bag on her lap is because she’s got fifty pounds in there.’
‘I’ve never even seen so much money before and I’m terrified of losing it,’ Ruth admitted.
‘So you’re all set for London,’ Grace smiled. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘On Friday,’ Jenny told her.
‘So soon!’
‘We’ll miss you terribly,’ Ruth said.
‘I’ll miss you. But I expect you to write or there’ll be trouble.’ Grace spoke with mock severity to lighten the moment, but Ruth sensed it had cost her an effort. ‘I’m glad I’ve bumped into you,’ Grace added. ‘It gives me a chance to say goodbye.’
‘We’d never have left without seeing you. We were going to call in on our way home. Might you be able to see us off at the station on Friday?’ It would be lovely to see their friend for one last time, though perhaps Grace would find it painful.
‘I’ll be out looking for work, so don’t depend on me,’ Grace said.
It felt wrong to be leaving Grace behind but Ruth, Jenny and Lydia all needed to get away. ‘Hopefully you’ll find work soon,’ Ruth smiled.
*
There was no sign of Grace at the station on Friday morning. Ruth and Jenny had walked down with Alice and the awful Jonas. Lydia had walked down alone. Ruth bought their tickets – third class to conserve funds – then they hugged Jenny’s mother, avoided Jonas and stepped through the barrier. Still not seeing Grace, they got on the train regretfully.
Lydia opened the window, stuck her head out, then cried, ‘She’s here!’
In a repeat of the previous day, she bolted for the door. Ruth and Jenny followed, leaping down onto the platform and running back to the barrier as Grace ran up from the other side, a case slapping into her side.
‘I’m coming to London!’ she called, only to pull up sharply as the guard asked, ‘Ticket, Miss?’
‘I haven’t—’
‘Then I’m afraid you’ll have to catch a later train. This one’s leaving.’
‘Not yet it isn’t,’ Lydia told him.
She caught the purse Ruth threw to her and raced to the ticket office, jumping over cases and dodging passers-by.
‘It’s against the rules to keep the train back,’ the guard said dourly.
Ruth sent Jenny a desperate look.
‘We understand you must be busy, but tell me: how many trains pass through Ruston each day?’ Jenny asked, stepping closer to the guard with a ravishing smile and blocking his view of the clock.
He swallowed. ‘Let’s see…’
The queue at the ticket office was long, but Ruth could see that Lydia had got to the front. Doubtless, she’d upset other travellers, but for once Ruth didn’t mind. All she felt was relief when she saw Lydia running back.
‘Ticket,’ Lydia said, thrusting it under the guard’s nose, though he was too busy staring at Jenny to notice.
They hastened back to the carriage and slumped onto seats, Lydia grinning because she loved setting the polite world upside down, but then her smile changed to the sort of deep satisfaction that was showing on Jenny’s face and doubtless on Ruth’s face too. It was wonderful to have Grace with them.
‘What changed your mind?’ Jenny asked her.
‘I hadn’t planned to tell Gran you were going to London until I’d got a job in Ruston or Northampton but she kept asking questions and guessed that something was afoot. When she heard about your plans she said I’d be driving her into an early grave if I didn’t come too because she couldn’t bear to think she was holding me back.’
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Ruth smiled.
With Grace on board, the adventure felt complete. Safer too. Grace always knew the right thing to do. Even now she was resuming the role of natural leader. ‘We must keep a tally of expenditure so we know how much each of us owes Ruth,’ she said.
‘You needn’t repay me,’ Ruth told her.
‘We must,’ Grace insisted, writing the cost of their tickets into a notebook. ‘We’ll need to buy an atlas of London when we arrive so we can find our way around. I suggest our next task should be to find somewhere to stay tonight so we can leave our cases there. Perhaps somewhere near the station will suit. We can always move on tomorrow.’
‘I’ll need to see the London solicitor soon about the other things Aunt Vera left me,’ Ruth added. ‘The Northampton man is just his agent.’
They ate the picnic Jenny’s mother had packed and it felt like no time before Grace said, ‘We must be nearing London now.’
They crowded round the window, excited to catch their first glances of the city on which they’d pinned all their hopes for the future.
‘This is it,’ Grace eventually cried. ‘This is London.’
Fourteen
Lydia cared little for the grand arch at Euston Station, but she loved the London noise and bustle. In a city of seven million people, there surely had to be a place for someone like her who didn’t fit the usual mould of female.
A station guard directed them to a bookshop, where Grace purchased an atlas of London streets. He also advised that there were numerous small hotels and boarding houses in the King’s Cross area. Walking towards it, Lydia admired the cars that passed them along Euston Road: a Sunbeam, a Ford Model T, a Morris Cowley, a Groves Merlin… Delicious. Lydia might go a month or more in Ruston before seeing so many cars.
Despite the guard’s advice, it wasn’t easy to find somewhere to stay. Grace emerged from several establishments shaking her head.
‘Too dear.’
‘No vacancies.’
‘Filthy.’
’Only takes gentlemen.’
‘House of ill repute!’
The Oak View Hotel hadn’t an oak tree in sight, but Grace judged the windows to be clean and a sign in one of them announced, VACANCIES.
They were shown two rooms on the first floor by a hard-faced landlady called Mrs Thomas.
‘We’ll expect a discount for two rooms,’ Grace told her and Lydia smiled. Grace was born to negotiate.
‘I don’t give discounts.’
‘Then I’m afraid—’
‘All right, a small discount, but I want payment in advance.’
As Mrs Thomas thudded downstairs clutching her money, they put down their cases and took off their coats with relief. London was hot and sultry.
‘We’ll call on your solicitor today,’ Grace suggested. ‘It might be hard to find the time once you’re working. If we all go, we can have tea afterwards and make more plans.’
‘What’s the address?’ Lydia asked. She had a talent for following maps and found it easily on the atlas. ‘We just need to walk south.’
They took time to wash away their travel stains then set out with Lydia leading the way. Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where Hanwell & Green had their office, turned out to be an elegant square with a central garden. Lydia and Jenny waited outside, while Ruth and Grace went to get the key to the old carriage house where Aunt Vera’s things had been put.
‘It’s in Bayswater,’ Ruth told them.
Lydia would have liked the adventure of travelling on the underground railway, but the others wanted to see what they could along the way, so they caught a bus instead, mounting the spiral staircase to the upper deck and calling out when they saw places of interest: Oxford Street, Selfridges, Park Lane, Hyde Park…
Bayswater was an area of tall, cream-painted terraced houses with pillared porches. A cobbled alley, Shepherds Mews, ran behind the backs of the grand houses on Shepherds Street on one side and Embrey Terrace on the other. A higgledy-piggledy collection of smaller buildings clustered along the alley’s sides. It was here the owners of the fine houses would have kept their horses and carriages in the days before motor cars and tax
is. Perhaps some of the owners kept cars down here now, though most of the buildings looked boarded up or neglected.
Number One was the first building on the right, a dingy red-brick construction with peeling brown paint on the tall double gates and on the smaller door that was set into the wall beside them. Looking up and seeing two low windows, Lydia guessed this smaller door led to a loft room where hay and tack would have been stored. The groom who’d looked after the horses and carriage might have been expected to sleep up there too.
‘Did your aunt live in one of the houses?’ Jenny asked.
‘She rented a flat nearby, but the lease expired soon after she died. The bigger pieces of furniture belonged to the flat’s owner. She did have a few nice pieces, apparently, and some jewellery too, but all that was sold and the money included with the savings she left me. She thought it would be more useful for me to have money than to cling on to old possessions. The things that are here are the ones she thought I might have fun with, though I’m free to give them away or sell them, just as I like.’
‘You aunt was a sensible woman,’ Grace said, then she paused, tilting her head to listen as a man began singing somewhere out of sight along the mews.
Lydia wasn’t musical, but even to her ears, the singing sounded excellent, the voice being strong and deep. She recognised a hymn she’d been made to sing at school, then the singer switched to a lively ditty about beer and harvest time.
Grace smiled, then gestured to Ruth to unlock the door.
It opened into a narrow hall that contained only a bare staircase leading upwards. Climbing it, they came to a tiny landing with a single door opening into the loft room. It too was bare except for a mound of trunks and tea chests. Ruth opened a tea chest, moved wood shavings aside and pulled out a cup. Flowery china. ‘It looks like a tea set.’
Other chests revealed china dogs, fancy table lamps, a silver desk clock and a writing set with silver-topped inkwells. There was a glass dressing table set too and a set of tortoiseshell brushes with silver edges. Who needed so much stuff? Lydia got by with a single comb.
‘You might be glad of these things in the future,’ Grace advised.
The next box held old copies of The Strand magazine.
‘We could take some to read tonight,’ Grace suggested.
The trunks contained clothes. Ruth held up a bright green and orange evening cape. ‘Aunt Vera was very colourful the only time I saw her,’ she explained. ‘Mother thought it unseemly.’
The cape was hideous. So were the dresses, bags and headdresses that Jenny and Grace pulled out.
‘It’s a pity they’re old-fashioned,’ Jenny said. ‘But there are some beautiful materials and trimmings here. You could use them for new clothes, Ruth. I’ll help to make them.’
Bored with clothes and tea sets, Lydia decided to explore. The rear wall had two doors set into it. The first opened into a poorly lit room that was empty apart from a filthy sink, a cobwebbed stove and some cupboards.
The second door led onto a narrow passage that was open to the shadowy carriage space below. Stairs led downwards, but Lydia glanced through the door at the end of the passage first. It was another spiders’ paradise, containing an ancient lavatory and hand basin. Of no interest.
Feet clunking on the bare wood, Lydia descended the staircase. She noticed there were humps in the shadows down here, but what were they?
Glancing upwards, she saw the glint of an electric light bulb. She located a switch at the bottom of the stairs and miraculously, the bulb lit up.
One of the humps was enormous, its precise shape hidden beneath a tarpaulin. It could be a pony trap or cart. Or it could be something infinitely more exciting…
Lydia grabbed the tarpaulin and heaved.
Underneath was a car. And, goodness, what a car it was. Looking like it had been transported from the pages of a fairy tale, it was silver all over. Heart-achingly beautiful.
Grace appeared behind her, her eyes widening as she saw the car. ‘Oh, my word!’
‘It’s a Rolls-Royce 40/50,’ Lydia told her, though the name clearly meant nothing to Grace. ‘The kind they call the Silver Ghost, though they’re not all silver like this. In fact, I’ve only ever heard of one car with silver coachwork before.’
Grace called the others and they all came rushing downstairs.
‘It’s like Cinderella’s carriage,’ Jenny said. ‘Was it your aunt’s, Ruth?’
‘It must have been. The solicitor said everything here was hers.’
‘Yours now,’ Lydia pointed out. Lydia didn’t care about fine houses, clothes or elegant living, but this car was the stuff of dreams. How lucky Ruth was to own it. But what a shame she couldn’t drive.
‘Hello!’ a voice called from the loft room. Footsteps sounded overhead, then a man appeared on the passage. Seeing them gathered around the car, he grinned and leaned his forearms on the handrail, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. ‘I see you’ve met the Silver Lady.’
Fifteen
Grace wondered if this was the man they’d heard singing. His speaking voice had the same rich timbre and an accent too. The musical lilt of Welsh.
He nodded at the car. ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’
Pushing away from the handrail, he descended the stairs with the energetic spring of the supremely healthy. He was around thirty, of average height but trim. Not handsome precisely and not fashionable either with his dark Celtic curls unsmoothed by oil. But his deep green eyes were assured and amused, and Grace warmed to the shrewdness in them.
‘I could be wrong, but you don’t look like burglars,’ he said. ‘Would I be right in thinking one of you is Mrs Nixon’s niece?’
Grace gestured to Ruth. ‘That would be Miss Turner.’
He offered Ruth a hand. ‘My condolences, Miss Turner. Your aunt was quite a personality.’
‘You knew her?’
‘A little. I used to service this silver beauty for her. I’m a mechanic. Owen Tedris. I have a business at the end of the Mews.’
‘I only saw my aunt once that I can remember,’ Ruth admitted. ‘I didn’t know she had a car.’
‘She inherited it from an elderly friend of hers. Mr Benson. He ordered the car for his wife but she caught the influenza that was going round after the war and died before the car was finished. Your aunt knew what it was like to lose a partner as she’d been widowed some years before, but she was a spirited lady. When Mr Benson fell into a depression, she didn’t stand by and let him give up on life. She badgered him into using the car to take her out and about. They went to the races, I believe, and there was mention of trips to Brighton. The Bensons hadn’t any children, so when Mr Benson died, he left the car to your aunt in thanks for all the fun they’d had. He left her this carriage house to keep it in too. It used to be the carriage house that served his own house on Shepherds Street.’
‘Did my aunt drive?’ Ruth asked.
‘She preferred to be driven and Mr Benson had a chauffeur. That’s why he ordered limousine-style coachwork: chauffeur in the front with the passengers riding in privacy in the back. The chauffeur retired when Mr Benson died, but he still drove your aunt when she needed him. The Silver Lady ran like a dream then, and even though she’s been gathering dust here since your aunt fell ill, I can’t imagine there’s much wrong with her now. But forgive me. I’m ignoring your friends.’
He turned back to Grace and raised an eyebrow.
‘Miss Lavenham,’ she told him. ‘This is Miss Grey and this is Miss Mallory.’
His handshake was as assured as the rest of him.
‘I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, especially in my shirtsleeves,’ he said, returning his attention to Ruth. ‘The door swung open when I knocked and no one answered when I called out.’
They must have been in too much of a hurry to get inside to close the door properly.
‘I apologise if I’m being hasty, but I’m interested in buying the car. Will you give me first refusal if you
decide to sell? I’ll offer a fair price.’
Ruth looked to Grace for guidance.
‘If Miss Turner decides to sell, she’ll make her own enquiries into price before she negotiates,’ Grace said. ‘In the meantime, your interest is noted, Mr Tedris.’
Humour danced in his eyes, though it wasn’t a patronising humour. On the contrary, it suggested he recognised Grace as a force to be reckoned with and admired her for it. ‘Clearly, your interests are safe in Miss Lavenham’s hands, Miss Turner. I’ve trespassed on your time too long, so I’ll bid you all good day.’ He ran lightly up the stairs then paused and looked back. ‘I hope to have the chance to negotiate with you soon, Miss Lavenham.’
A moment later his singing started up again outside, gradually fading as he returned to his end of the mews.
‘Do we need to do anything else here?’ Lydia asked.
Her expression was dejected now. She’d been excited about the car, but Owen Tedris’s arrival must have reminded her that the car wasn’t hers and never would be.
‘If I kept the car, I’d want you to be my chauffeur, Lydia,’ Ruth said loyally. ‘But I don’t think I’m rich enough to keep it, am I, Grace?’
‘It would certainly be sensible to sell it,’ Grace confirmed. ‘It must be worth several hundred pounds.’
‘More than a thousand, I’d guess,’ Lydia said.
‘There you are, Ruth,’ Grace continued. ‘If you sell the car and this carriage house, and add the proceeds to the money you’ve inherited, you might have almost three thousand pounds. A nest egg like that will keep you secure for years.’
‘I’ve got a lot to think about,’ Ruth said.
‘You don’t need to decide anything today,’ Grace told her. ‘I suggest we buy a newspaper now so we can look at the Situations Vacant pages.’
‘All right, but let’s not start looking for jobs until tomorrow or even Monday,’ Ruth begged. ‘We’re already halfway through the afternoon. We should spend the rest of the day looking at London.’
The Silver Ladies of London Page 8
