‘You came to the interviews for the demonstrator positions.’
The woman smiled warily. ‘You got the post for South Manchester, didn’t you? There were two of us for the north post. I didn’t get it.’
Yet here she was, wearing an Ingleby’s dress. Oh. Nell’s hand reached towards the wall to steady herself.
‘You’ve been brought in to do my calls.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘No need. Not your fault.’ She forced herself to say something gracious. ‘It’s a good opportunity for you.’
The woman relaxed. ‘You can say that again. It’s a lot of travelling, because I live up Crumpsall way, but I don’t mind.’ Her eyes glazed over, as if she realised she had been tactless. ‘I’m Matilda Pugh.’
‘Nell Hibbert.’
‘Yes, I know.’
Of course she knew. Nell smiled: with luck, it wouldn’t look as ghastly as it felt. ‘I mustn’t keep you. Good luck.’
Tears blinded her as she retreated, but she pushed her shoulders back and persuaded her chin to stay up, though what she really wanted was to curl up in the furthest corner of the stockroom. She was already curling up on the inside, her thoughts shattering into a hundred jagged fragments.
But she had to face this. Miss Collier had said her visits would be covered, but she hadn’t said by whom and Nell hadn’t given it any thought. But she thought about it now. Was Matilda Pugh’s appointment permanent? She should have asked – no, she would have died of humiliation.
What lay ahead for her at Ingleby’s? If she was dismissed, would the factory take her back? Her stomach clenched, rebelling against the idea of returning to the old punishing round.
Her children deserved better and it was up to her to do something about it.
Leonie hadn’t gone shopping yesterday because of being a coward, but today she could hold up her head, which was fortunate because she had no option other than to go to the fishmonger’s and the grocer’s. Herrings in lemon sauce, then sponge pudding with tinned peaches, would do nicely. She had a bright feeling about today. Now that she knew the exact wording in the newspaper, she could set Hilda straight and make peace with her.
She’s a good girl, is my Nell.
Her bright feeling wobbled. All right, so she hadn’t claimed Nell as a daughter, but her words did have a motherly ring. My Nell.
Shops first and Hilda later, or Hilda first? No, shops first, so as to leave the rest of the morning for Hilda.
Arriving in Finney Lane, she settled the handle of the wicker basket comfortably over her arm, knocked on her old front door and waited. The moment it opened, she said cheerfully, ‘Morning, Hilda. I’ve come for a chat.’
Hilda’s mouth was a prim line. ‘You’d best come in.’
She put down her basket and took off her coat, hanging it on top of Hilda’s. Hilda put the kettle on. That was a good sign, surely? Leonie sat down. She ran the palms of her hands over the nearest part of the dark green oilcloth, as if it were linen in need of smoothing.
‘I’ve been anxious to see you.’
‘Oh aye? So anxious you did the shopping first, not to mention you never came yesterday.’
Blast. She should have come here first. There was nowt quite so vexing as being told off by your own child.
‘There was no answer yesterday; and today I went to the shops first to give us the rest of the morning. If you’re stopping in,’ she added.
There was an obstinate tilt to Hilda’s chin. She had Hedley’s chin. It felt disrespectful to Hedley that Hilda would make his chin look obstinate.
‘I’ve got my shopping to do an’ all,’ said Hilda.
‘Then it’s a good thing I didn’t miss you again.’ She kept the smile plastered on her face for all she was worth. ‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry your feelings were hurt by what was written in the paper.’
Hilda fiddled with the tea caddy and put the crockery on the table. Her chin had gone crinkly. Hedley’s chin had never done that. Hedley never struggled with difficult thoughts and feelings. He was honest and considerate, qualities that had given him a quiet confidence that the best-educated, most beautifully fetched-up gentleman would have admired. Pity he had never met Jim Franks. They would have taken to one another.
Leonie spoke quietly, as if Hedley was whispering the words in her ear. ‘You’re my one and only daughter and I wouldn’t change you for anything. Me and your dad thought the world of you, and I still do.’
Hilda reddened. ‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘I want to. And I never said owt about having a second daughter. I know you was upset t’other evening when you’d just seen it, but now you must know I never said it.’
‘I know nowt of the kind.’
She hadn’t expected that. ‘You must have read—’
‘I didn’t need to. Edmund told me.’
Ah. ‘He may have … exaggerated.’
‘I can’t bear to read it, if you must know. Fancy my own mother saying—’
‘I never said it.’
‘Edmund says you did.’
Oh, the temptation to blurt out what she thought of that troublemaker. Hedley would have told her to concentrate on Hilda. ‘I expect Edmund were upset on your behalf, as any good husband would be, and maybe that made him exaggerate.’
Hilda looked at her as if she had gone mad. ‘How can you exaggerate what you read out of the paper?’
Annoyance bubbled beneath Hedley’s influence, but she kept her voice calm. ‘Clearly he did, since that isn’t what was written. What I said was …’ Oh lord, now she was for it. ‘I called Mrs Hibbert a good girl.’
‘A good girl?’ Hilda looked baffled.
‘I said how hard she works and what a loving mother she is and I finished up calling her a good girl.’
‘Oh.’ Apparently unable to think what else to say, Hilda warmed the pot. Would this teach her not to take Edmund’s word as gospel?
‘Have you still got the paper?’ Leonie asked quietly, careful not to rub it in. Hedley would be proud.
‘No. Some of it got used for wrapping a piece of broken glass and Posy had the rest for paper chains for Lyddie Foskett’s birthday. Did you bring your paper with you?’
‘No.’ It would have felt like gloating, but now she wished she had. It was proof of Edmund’s lie – sorry, his exaggeration.
‘So you just called her a good girl?’
Hilda sat down and Leonie felt a weight lift. She was back where she should be, on good terms with her daughter.
Hilda frowned. ‘Why would Edmund get it wrong?’
‘I told you. Exaggeration.’
‘But to jump from summat about a good girl to another daughter.’
There was nothing for it. Why hadn’t she said it at the start? Because Hilda might not have listened to another word, that’s why.
‘My actual words … What I said was …’
Hilda, who had grown into such a drip, suddenly had a gleam in her eye that Leonie hadn’t seen for years. ‘What?’
‘I said, She’s a good girl … is my Nell.’
Hilda lurched to her feet. ‘And you dare to say Edmund exaggerated? How about you? Pretending all you said was, She’s a good girl, and conveniently forgetting to mention your Nell.’ Her breath caught in a gasp. ‘Your Nell! If that doesn’t make her sound like family, I don’t know what would.’
‘Hilda—’
‘And that’s another thing. You’ve always called her Mrs Hibbert to me. You’ve never once referred to her as Nell.’
‘Well, no. You and her aren’t on first-name terms.’
‘But you obviously call her Nell to her face.’
‘She lived with me and your dad a long time, two whole years, and she were so young …’
‘Younger than your own daughter. Dad said you’d always wished for more children. If I’d been the oldest of a family, like I were meant to be, there could have been one her age, the baby of the family.’
‘Nay, Hilda, stop it, please. The last thing I want is for us to fall out.’
Too late.
‘You needn’t bring cleaning clothes to change into on Monday, Mrs Hibbert,’ Miss Moore told Nell when she finished for the week. What did that mean? That she was returning to normal duties, or that she would be out on her ear? Whatever happened on Monday, she must have a plan ready. That gave her tomorrow and Sunday to prepare herself.
It had been an uncomfortable couple of days at Ingleby’s, and she was glad to get home, though the atmosphere was strained here too. Things had gone from bad to worse between Hilda and Leonie. Nell had every sympathy until Leonie shocked her by saying, ‘I don’t know why you sent your brother-in-law away, but you should think again. I’d do owt to make up with my Hilda.’
‘I’d rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind.’
‘Happen I do mind. He’s made the effort to come here. You should give him a chance. What’s he done to upset you, anyroad?’
Nell’s heart beat faster. ‘Leave it be – please. He’s the black sheep.’
‘If you say so, but what about yon children? The only family they’ve got is you and each other.’
‘And you.’
Leonie’s eyes softened. ‘Aye, they’ll always have me. But don’t you think an uncle would be a good idea?’
‘No, I don’t. Please don’t say owt to them. You haven’t, have you?’
Leonie looked offended. ‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t go behind your back.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t. I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Leonie. ‘You’re teaching tomorrow morning, aren’t you?’
‘Yes – Miss Vine.’
Should she feel guilty for not telling Miss Collier about the private client who hadn’t come to her via Ingleby’s? No, she would have been mad to let on. If she lost her job, Miss Vine’s custom would be her one source of income until she could find more pupils.
Or maybe not her one source.
‘I have an acquaintance who is interested in lessons,’ Miss Vine said as Nell tidied up at the end of the lesson. ‘Here’s her name and address and a list of days and times that would be suitable. Send her a postcard to let her know, there’s a dear.’
Nell took the sheet of paper. An address in Victoria Park, no less. ‘Did you tell her my rates?’
‘Good heavens, no. Ladies don’t discuss such matters.’
More fool them. Nell put the details in her handbag. Next week, she would send either an appointment or her apologies. Which would it be? One thing was certain. With an address in Victoria Park, this new lady could afford a higher fee.
‘Thank you for suggesting me.’
‘I’m happy to recommend you to anybody who invests in a sewing machine.’
Recommend. She made a mental note to say, ‘Thank you for recommending me,’ next time.
Next time. That made it sound like she could build a business by word of mouth. If only it were that simple! If she lost her position at Ingleby’s on Monday, she must advertise. What she must do beforehand was prepare her advertisement just in case. She started composing it in her head on her way home.
That was all she could do for now. It didn’t feel like much.
Nell vowed to devote the rest of the weekend to the children. The band was going to play in the rec that afternoon, so what could be better than a picnic?
‘Run round to Finney Lane and ask if Posy can come,’ she told Alf, but he wound his arms around his Nana Leonie’s neck as she sat at the table. Standing on one foot, he kicked his other toes on the floor.
Nell and Leonie exchanged glances.
‘Josie O’Rourke is in the same class as Posy, isn’t she? If we invite Josie, we can ask her to call for Posy – but you’ll have to go too, Alf, because it’s our invitation, though you won’t have to say owt.’ She bent down and put her hands on his shoulders, looking into his troubled face. ‘It’ll be Mrs Tanner that answers the door and it would mean a lot to Nana Leonie to have Posy with us.’
When Josie and Alf had gone, she said to Leonie with a sigh, ‘I hate to send him, but it wouldn’t do much good if you or I went.’
Leonie clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘It’s Saturday!’ Her face crumpled. ‘Posy never came yesterday for her caramels.’
Was that all? ‘You can give them to her this afternoon if Hilda lets her come.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘So tell me.’
‘I can’t. It’s a family matter.’
What a fuss over some sweets. But if Leonie mentioned her so-called brother-in-law again, she might remind her that the Tanners weren’t the only ones to have a family matter. Or would that be mean?
‘Posy can’t come, Nanaleonie,’ Alf announced, running in, spirits high now that he had knocked on Edmund Tanner’s door and lived to tell the tale – or stood behind the girl who had knocked, anyroad.
Damn Hilda! ‘Never mind,’ said Nell. ‘Josie can still come.’
She spread fish paste on barm cakes and cut them into quarters to make them stretch further. Leonie sliced her cherry cake and poured home-made lemonade into a bottle.
Soon they were on their way, Alf clutching the ladder-monkey and Josie carrying a length of old washing line in case there were other girls to skip with. There were plenty of other families in the rec. Well-to-do folk sat in deckchairs near the bandstand, or laid their picnics on tablecloths. They must be well-heeled if they could afford to lay a tablecloth on the ground.
They found a place beside a bench so Leonie could sit on the end of the bench while the rest of them sat on the grass. The band played ‘I’m Twenty-One Today’ and Nell and Leonie hummed along.
‘See the hedge over there,’ Leonie said to Alf. ‘Over the other side of it is Beech Road, and on the other side of Beech Road is Riley’s Farm, and behind that is where Mr Franks lives.’
‘Can he come to our picnic?’ Alf asked.
Nell squashed that immediately. ‘He’s probably busy working.’
‘I don’t think he works the whole day on Saturday,’ said Leonie. ‘We should ask him. He’s been good to us.’
‘It wouldn’t be respectable,’ Nell objected in a voice she hoped the children couldn’t hear. ‘People might jump to conclusions.’ Or was it her thumping heart that was jumping to conclusions?
‘Nonsense,’ said Leonie. ‘We’ll ask his landlady an’ all. Is that respectable enough for you? Besides,’ she added with a twinkle, ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing that Mrs Jeffrey. Is she an old biddy? She might be a beautiful young war widow.’ Before Nell could object, she was on her feet. ‘Come along, Alf. Let’s find Mr Franks. You come an’ all, Josie.’
Nell stayed behind, playing with Cassie. Would Jim be there? Would he come? She didn’t want him to. Oh yes, she did. But she shouldn’t.
Presently, a small party trooped across the grass: Leonie and the children, with Jim carrying a pair of folding chairs, an old boy with a cheery smile and no teeth, and – an old biddy. Nell had no business being relieved, but she was.
Mrs Jeffrey carried something wrapped in a tea towel, which turned out to be a chunk of pork pie. The old fellow, who was introduced as Mr Pomeroy – ‘Call me Pom; everyone does’ – produced apples from his pocket and buffed them up to a shine on his jacket. And Jim, as well as the folding seats, had carried a box of Huntley and Palmers.
It turned into quite a feast and the mixture of ages added to the family feeling.
‘Any sign of the cat?’ Jim asked Nell.
‘Not yet.’
‘When we were searching on Thursday, you said Mr Tanner still had Mrs Brent’s things. Has he returned them since?’
‘We never asked. Summat else happened. That piece in the paper has caused all kinds of ructions.’
‘Between Mrs Brent and the Tanners?’
‘For one; and with my job, for another.’ She explained about the trouble at Ingleby’s. ‘So I don’t know what to expect on Mo
nday, but I’m not sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’ve made a plan.’ She told him about it.
‘Tell me the wording of your advertisement.’
She looked at him. He had pushed his cap right back on his head and the sun played on his face. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Entirely. I gave you and Mrs Brent my address so you could come to me for help. The people around here have allowed me to live among them, so any assistance I can provide – advice, legal information, looking for lost cats – is given freely and gladly.’
She shared her wording, not looking at him in case he found her attempt laughable.
‘May I make a suggestion? It would be better if you could say References available. Can you provide references?’
‘I have the one from Miss Lockwood at the factory.’
‘You need some from pupils.’
‘Miss Vine might write one. She recommended me to a friend.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Mrs Liversedge, definitely – but she’s an Ingleby’s lady. If they sack me, I might not be allowed to approach their pupils.’
‘Of course you can; and if Ingleby’s try to tell you any different, inform them that you’ll refer the matter to your solicitor.’
Nell laughed, then realised he meant it.
‘Another thing,’ he said. ‘I suggest you prepare some postcards with relevant details, so you can give them out; and you’ll need a post office box for enquirers to contact you.’
Panic flared. ‘There’s so much to do.’
‘It’s nothing you can’t manage, I’m sure. If you prepare some details, I’ll get them typewritten for you. A lady who worked in the office where I had my first position is now retired, but she makes extra from typewriting jobs. Bashing out a stack of cards would be easy for her.’
‘Would she charge much?’
‘I’ll ask, shall I? You ought to look businesslike.’
Her – a businesswoman! Nell Pringle from the backstreets, giving out cards with her business details and References available at the bottom.
A Respectable Woman Page 25
