The Silver Ladies of London

by Eames, Lesley

  Despite the slow start, Lydia soon overtook two cars she recognised from the Heath. A third car was ahead of them. Lydia moved out for another neat manoeuvre. She glanced across at Harry, who looked keen instead of afraid. It was a relief to know he wasn’t a nervous passenger.

  She slowed when they reached the outskirts of St Albans. It was a small place compared to London and the skyline was dominated by a cathedral that would doubtless send Grace and Jenny into raptures. But there was no sign of the treasure hunt near it.

  Driving on, they came to a marketplace. ‘There!’ Harry cried.

  Two gentlemen stood outside the town hall with a sign announcing, TREASURE HUNT.

  Harry ran for another envelope. ‘We’re in fourth place,’ he reported.

  Which was nowhere near good enough for either of them.

  Where straw grows, the clue read. Lydia felt utterly bewildered.

  ‘Straw grows in fields,’ Harry murmured. ‘It’s used for horses. It’s used for hats. It’s—There!’ He stabbed the map with a forefinger. ‘Hatfield.’

  Why hadn’t Lydia seen that?

  Back to being the passenger, Lydia spent the journey to Hatfield studying the map and trying to think ahead to other possible destinations.

  ‘What do you know about Hatfield?’ Harry asked, as they entered the town.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Didn’t your Queen Elizabeth live here for a time? The daughter of Henry VIII?’

  How did American Harry know more about England than she did?

  Some passers-by directed them to an old mansion house. The marshals were outside the gates.

  Lydia had never aspired to be clever like Grace, but it was vexing to be considered dim by Harry Dellamore. She read the next clue with fierce determination. Garden beloved by Betty’s close relation.

  Her study of the map paid off. ‘Letty Green. Gardens are green and Letty is just one letter away from Betty.’

  ‘I believe you’re right, Mavis. What are we waiting for? There are still three cars ahead of us.’

  Letty Green was a tiny village and the marshals were easy to find.

  Beat you to the river crossing, the next clue challenged.

  ‘Hertford,’ they said in unison.

  ‘Heartbeat,’ Harry offered.

  ‘And river ford,’ Lydia finished.

  Now they were in third place.

  Minor to the East’s Major.

  Minor meant little or small. ‘There’s a Little Berkhamsted on the map,’ Lydia pointed out.

  ‘Is there a Big Berkhamsted to the east of it?’

  There was a Berkhamsted and it looked bigger on the map.

  ‘Good enough,’ Harry said.

  Lydia fetched the next clue. Beware the Assizes.

  Assizes were courts. Courts could lead to prison. Studying the map earlier, she’d noticed a village which bore the same name as an infamous prison. ‘Newgate Street,’ she said.

  They drove there quickly but, frustratingly, they were still in third place while Cranfield was leading.

  Enjoy a pint with craftsmen.

  They worked it out together. Potters Bar. ‘The idea was for teams to stop for lunch,’ Harry reminded her.

  He was trying to be considerate but what Harry wanted was to win. So did she.

  ‘Shall we stop?’ Lydia asked, tormenting him.

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘I’d rather win than eat.’

  ‘Well said, Sadie,’ Harry grinned. ‘Perhaps we can do both.’

  He’d brought a hamper containing sandwiches, fruit cake and bottles of lemonade. They ate as they drove and Lydia was delighted not to have to fuss with cutlery and napkins.

  She was even more delighted when they sailed past another team and arrived at Potters Bar in second place.

  Farmers and Fishermen live here. They worked that clue out together too. Barn and net. Barnet. But they were still in second place.

  ‘Time to head back to London,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s try to catch Cranfield on the way.’

  By now the car felt like an extension of Lydia herself and she zipped along.

  ‘There!’ Harry cried a few minutes later, spotting Cranfield’s car in the distance.

  Lydia accelerated closer, but Cranfield’s partner accelerated too. But then a hay cart lumbered onto the road ahead of them and they both had to slow. Once they were caught in London traffic, the opportunities for overtaking would be few. Lydia couldn’t risk waiting.

  Half a mile further on, they came to a straight section of road. Before Cranfield’s partner could react, Lydia pulled out to overtake. A quick glance across showed the girl’s eyes widen as Lydia raced ahead, passing both Cranfield’s car and the hay cart before slipping neatly back into place just in time to avoid a collision with a lorry.

  Harry whooped in triumph. ‘You got them, Madge!’

  She had! She had! They arrived back at Hampstead, clear winners and Lydia felt utterly elated.

  Harry leapt out and ran round to Lydia’s door. ‘What would you do if I kissed you, Beryl?’

  ‘Slap you,’ Lydia said. A kiss would be taking the excitement of the moment much too far.

  ‘Then prepare to slap me.’ He placed a smacking kiss on her mouth, then danced back, laughing, as she swiped at him.

  ‘We’ll have seemly behaviour, please,’ the organiser scolded, but he was smiling.

  ‘Next time the luck may be on our side,’ Cranfield said, arriving soon after them, but his partner told him luck had nothing to do it.

  She turned to Lydia. ‘I’m fond of driving, but I’ll never have your nerve. May I take one of your business cards? My grandmother often visits London and couldn’t be in more skilful hands than yours, though I hope you won’t drive quite so fast with her.’

  ‘I don’t drive fast with customers,’ Lydia assured her.

  Other teams returned. They were all generous with their congratulations and Lydia wished she could do more than smile stiffly. The awkwardness was returning now she was floating back down to earth.

  Harry presented her with the champagne.

  ‘Keep it,’ she told him.

  ‘It’s for you, though I won’t refuse a glass later if you’d like to share it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’ Lydia’s only interest was in racing and for that she wanted to be chosen on merit. She didn’t want to be beholden to Harry or anyone else for what might be seen as a gift.

  A man nudged Harry’s arm. ‘Are you coming back to Charlie Stanzer’s house?’

  Lydia loathed the thought of going back to Charlie Stanzer’s house, whoever Charlie was. She wouldn’t know what to say and her chauffeur’s outfit wasn’t exactly… Blast. It was spattered with mud. Jenny would murder her.

  ‘Thanks, but we’ll leave it,’ Harry said. ‘Regards to Charlie, though.’

  ‘I need to write your names on the certificates,’ the organiser told them. ‘I know your name, Harry, but I didn’t catch yours, my dear.’

  ‘Grey,’ Lydia said, and he waited for her first name.

  Harry raised a mischievous eyebrow. ‘Ermentrude, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lydia,’ she told the organiser.

  Harry smiled. ‘Lydia Grey. I like it.’

  They headed back to Shepherds Mews, Harry laughing as he relived the treasure hunt clue by clue. But he still said nothing about Fairfax Park.

  Grace, Jenny and Ruth were thrilled by their victory. ‘Do you want to open the champagne now?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Lydia should save it for a special occasion,’ Harry told her.

  They drank tea instead, but Harry still made no mention of Fairfax Park.

  ‘I must leave you good ladies in peace,’ he finally said. He nodded at Lydia. ‘You drove well today.’

  Well enough to join his racing team? Why didn’t he just tell her yes or no?

  He put his cup on the desk, accidentally knocking a stray penny to the floor. Picking it up, he jiggled it from hand to hand before tossing it in
the air.

  ‘Heads!’ Grace cried suddenly.

  Harry looked down at the penny and pulled a face. ’Sorry, it’s tails.’ He returned the penny to the desk. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  With a final smile, he loped to the door and left.

  Grgh! Had Harry been fooling her about Fairfax Park all along or had he tossed the coin to help him decide if he should take a chance on her? Grace had called out heads, but the coin had landed tail-side up. Did that mean he’d decided not to take a chance?

  It was only later that it occurred to her to wonder what Grace had meant by calling out, ‘Heads!’ like that. Meaningless fun? Or had she been trying to resolve a dilemma of her own? A dilemma which affected the future of Silver Ladies? It wasn’t like tidy Grace to leave a coin on the desk for no good reason.

  Lydia could feel her dreams slipping away. And she couldn’t think how to snatch them back.

  Thirty-five

  Mattie had written to say Gran was well, but could Grace believe her? ‘Gran’s cough sounds a little worse,’ Grace had commented on her last visit, but Mattie hadn’t agreed.

  ‘You just haven’t seen her for a while, my duck.’

  Grace wondered if the reverse were true and Mattie was simply too close to Gran to notice small daily changes that marked a gradual decline in her health.

  Gran’s spirits had been good, but they always were. ‘Don’t think I’m lonely, Grace. It isn’t only Mattie who visits. The vicar calls in and so does his wife. Then there’s Ada Briggs who used to live at number three and Gladys Fowler from Catherine Street.’

  Gran might have company sometimes, but Grace guessed she was spending many hours alone.

  The telephone rang now bringing Grace back to the present. It was a customer who’d booked the Silver Lady once before. ‘I’m sorry, but we already have a booking for that morning,’ Grace had to tell her. ‘We’re available the following morning if— Excellent, I’ll write that into the diary now, Mrs Maxwell. If you’d like to book the first Monday in the month on a regular basis, we could agree a retainer. You would? Thank you.’

  Grace went to see Lydia in the garage.

  ‘Mrs Maxwell’s booked us for a regular Monday morning trip.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The magazine, the business cards, word of mouth… they’re all bringing in bookings.’

  Two bookings had also been made by people from the treasure hunt, but Grace didn’t mention that for fear of reminding Lydia of Harry who hadn’t been in touch about racing or anything else in the three weeks since then. Poor Lydia was trying hard to hide her disappointment but she wasn’t succeeding.

  ‘We need to decide what to charge to take people to the Empire Exhibition,’ Grace said, to take Lydia’s mind off Harry.

  ‘What is that exactly?’

  ‘Mostly it’s about encouraging trade between all the countries in the Empire – Canada, Australia, Kenya, Malaya, India and so many more. Each country is going to exhibit, but it won’t be like the stalls at the Ruston Fete. They’re building huge palaces and temples and even bridges. It’s going to be extraordinary. Fun too. There’ll be a new train station at Wembley for visitors, but some people might prefer to be driven.’

  ‘So it might be good for our trade too,’ Lydia said. ‘When does it open?’

  ‘April.’ Three months away. The thought of still being apart from Gran three months hence was unbearable, but even if Grace returned to Ruston the others would need to be prepared for the exhibition.

  ‘How’s Jenny?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Nervous,’ Grace admitted. Jenny’s meeting with Johnnie’s parents was only two days away. ‘But they’ll be fools if they don’t welcome her into the family.’

  ‘The world is full of fools.’ Clearly, Lydia thought the worst of them was Harry Dellamore.

  ‘It’s time I went shopping or we’ll have nothing for supper,’ Grace said.

  She walked out into the cold January afternoon, the greyness of it reflecting the mood that settled upon her as her thoughts returned to Gran. But the lower the heart sank, the stronger the body had to be in order to cope.

  Grace bought potatoes, carrots, onions and a small piece of mutton, then headed home only to come to a sudden halt at the entrance to the mews.

  Visitors were approaching from the opposite direction. Warmth rushed to Grace’s cheeks, but she walked on and forced herself to speak calmly. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Tedris.’

  He looked grave. ‘My apologies for disturbing you, but might I – might we – have a word?’

  The second visitor was the boy Grace had seen outside Owen’s, though only at a distance. Close to, she saw he had dark curly hair and green eyes like his father. He looked nervous, so Grace smiled to reassure him.

  ‘May I know your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Bryn Tedris, Miss.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Bryn.’ She shook his hand, then looked at Owen. ‘A word, you say?’ Had Lydia been offensive again? ‘Please come inside.’

  Grace led them up to the office. It was empty. Jenny had been listening out for the phone but, having washed her hair, she must have slipped into the living quarters when she heard their visitors.

  ‘Do sit,’ Grace invited.

  Owen remained standing. ‘We won’t keep you, but Bryn has something he needs to say.’

  Bryn squirmed with mortification. ‘It was me, Miss.’

  Grace didn’t understand. ‘What was you?’

  ‘The paint. I threw it.’

  Goodness. It was a surprise but a happy surprise because it meant Owen himself was innocent. He could hold no place in Grace’s life but she was still delighted to know he was a man of integrity, though she winced inside at the memory of how they’d suspected him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss,’ Bryn added.

  ‘He thought Silver Ladies threatened my business,’ Owen explained.

  Grace had already guessed as much and, having also guessed that Bryn had received a severe ticking-off from his father, she wasn’t minded to tick the boy off herself. ‘Well, Bryn, it was a foolish thing to do, but you’ve told me you’re sorry so we’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘Yes, we will,’ Owen protested. ‘I’ll pay for the damage.’

  ‘Nothing was broken,’ Grace pointed out. ‘All we had to do was paint over the splashes.’

  ‘Then I’ll pay for the paint and the effort of repainting. Will five pounds be enough?’

  ‘Far too much. Ten shillings will cover the cost.’ Grace was reluctant to accept even that but she understood Owen’s pride required some sort of payment to be made.

  ‘Two pounds,’ he countered.

  ‘One pound.’

  ‘Two. It wasn’t all Bryn’s fault. It was partly mine. He overheard me talking about Silver Ladies and thought I meant you’d be a threat.’ Owen put the money on the desk. ‘Bryn should make restitution too.’

  ‘There’s no need for that.’

  ‘There’s every need.’

  ‘To be honest, it’s a relief to know it was Bryn who threw the paint.’

  Owen’s jaw only tightened. ‘Have you been lying awake at night worrying about some sort of vendetta?’

  It was to his credit that he hated the thought of them worrying, but Grace didn’t want Bryn to feel worse than he already did. Besides, Grace’s sleeplessness had other causes too. ‘It was a long time ago, Mr Tedris.’ But perhaps he was right to want Bryn’s apology reinforced with action. It would be a stronger, more memorable lesson for the boy. ‘Maybe Bryn could sweep our garage one day?’

  Bryn’s eyes lit up and Owen smiled wryly. ‘I think that would be a treat instead of a punishment, but it’s a start. There’s no time like the present if it suits you for Bryn to get to work?’

  Grace led them down to the garage.

  ‘Isn’t the car here?’ Bryn looked disappointed.

  ‘Not just now.’ Lydia had taken it out to buy oil for the stoves. ‘But you’re welcome to come and
see the car another time.’

  She was rewarded with a beam of satisfaction. Obviously Owen’s interest in motors ran in the family.

  She passed Bryn a broom, then heard the telephone ringing upstairs. ‘If you’ll excuse me…?’

  The call was a request to change the time of a booking. Soon handled.

  Grace remained in the office for a minute or two, then tiptoed onto the passage to look down on Owen and Bryn. How well they got on.

  ‘You missed a bit,’ Owen said.

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘There’s a shrivelled leaf in the corner.’

  ‘If you want a shrivelled leaf, you can have it.’ Piercing the leaf with a broom bristle, Bryn chased his father.

  There was mock terror and laughter. As the broom crashed to the floor, Owen scooped Bryn up and swung him round.

  Bethan was a lucky woman to have a family like this.

  Noticing her, Owen put Bryn down and grinned. ‘More work, less frivolity, yes?’ He pointed his son to the broom. ‘Be sensible now.’

  Joining her on the passage, he leaned his muscled forearms on the handrail, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow despite the chilly weather.

  ‘I’m still watching,’ he called to Bryn, then he smiled at Grace, his teeth very white against his olive skin.

  ‘I’m sorry we accused you unfairly that day,’ Grace said.

  ‘You were justified. It was a member of my family who threw the paint, after all.’

  ‘But the way Lydia spoke…’ And the way Grace stood by and let her.

  ‘Let’s just agree to forgiveness on all sides,’ he suggested. ‘How’s business?’

  ‘We’re doing well. You?’

  ‘Doing fine.’

  ‘You said Bryn thought Silver Ladies might be a threat?’

  ‘He overheard me saying something about your bookings increasing. I didn’t mean to suggest you posed a danger, because you don’t.’ Owen stood upright and stepped closer, his green eyes darkening into seriousness. ‘Miss Lavenham. Grace. Please don’t worry. I’m prospering. I hope your business will prosper too.’

  He was only being kind, but Grace realised with dismay that it wasn’t only gratitude she was feeling. It was also that magnetic pull of attraction. How utterly inappropriate.