by Rosie Clarke
‘I say,’ a voice spoke from behind them. ‘Let go of her like a good chap.’
Emily turned and looked at the man who had spoken. He was a gentleman, well dressed and there was something vaguely familiar about him, though she was sure she didn’t know him.
‘And who’s going to make me?’ Derek muttered belligerently.
‘Perhaps I shall if you force me,’ the man said, slate-grey eyes narrowing. ‘However, I see a police officer just across the road. Perhaps you would wish me to summon him?’
Derek’s face went red and then white, but he let go of Emily’s wrist, turned and walked off without another word.
‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled at her rescuer. ‘That was kind, sir.’
‘Jonathan Barton,’ the man said. ‘I should be careful of fellows like that if I were you. Best not to give them the time of day. Good afternoon.’ Tipping his grey felt hat, he went off without giving her a chance to reply.
Emily was torn between feeling grateful that he’d stopped Derek molesting her and annoyance that he should imagine she’d wanted that kind of attention. She stared after him, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to make a cutting remark – but what good would it have done if she had?
He saw her as just a common girl and of course girls like her always encouraged men to make free with them – didn’t they?
Emily felt a surge of frustration and anger. One day she was going to be someone. When she married and had children they were never going to hide from the tallyman. In fact they wouldn’t buy from him. Emily wanted to walk into a posh dress shop and buy whatever she liked; she wanted to be somebody – to be respected and admired.
For a moment the clouds seemed to gather about her, but then she pushed them from her mind. This was a good day and Derek wasn’t going to spoil it for her – and she wouldn’t let herself be affected by that rude gentleman. He had been rude, even though he’d seen her uncle off.
Lifting her head proudly, Emily ran towards Pa’s shop. Sunshine was hitting on the brass harness of a horse between the shafts of a baker’s van. The horse lifted its tail and a stream of liquid shot out, the pungent smell making her wrinkle her nose as she went into the shop. She was going to make a cup of tea and eat her iced bun with Pa and Christopher and to hell with the rest of them!
Chapter 5
Emily glanced at herself in the dressing mirror Pa had given her recently. It was in the shape of a shield, dark mahogany with a light fruitwood stringing in the frame. Pa said he couldn’t sell it, because the mirror was a bit spotty and the drawer had bowed slightly, making it difficult to open and close. The mirror was one of the best things Pa had given her and she didn’t mind its faults.
‘It might bring in a few bob but I’d rather you had it, Em,’ he’d told her, the night he brought it home. ‘It’s good that – Regency or even earlier by my reckoning – and it will teach you to appreciate nice things.’
‘If it’s worth a few bob you should sell it and give me the money,’ Ma grumbled. She was sitting at the table mending Pa’s socks, a silver thimble on her finger. ‘How you expect me to manage on what you give me I don’t know.’
Pa looked at her but said nothing. He took three half crowns, some shillings and a sixpence from his pocket, the coins jangling into the jar on the mantelpiece. Saucepans were bubbling on the range and the enticing smell of a stew made Emily’s mouth water.
Her father turned to her. ‘Have you got a dress for the dance next Saturday, Em? It’s the special Christmas do and the vicar gave me tickets in exchange for a goose and three ducks.’
Emily listened to the sound of a wailing cry from upstairs. Jack had woken again, but she didn’t go up to him at once, because Ma said it would spoil him if he was forever being picked up.
Ma sniffed loudly and put away her darning things, getting up to move the pans off the heat. Neither Emily nor Pa took any notice of the sniff, even though it showed Ma’s disapproval of Pa wasting money on the dance.
‘I’ve finished my dress,’ Emily said to cover the silence. ‘Ma showed me how to finish the buttonholes.’
‘Stella was always good with her sewing.’
Emily looked at her mother as Pa went upstairs, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t decide whether Ma was upset or angry.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Please yourself.’ Ma shrugged. ‘I shan’t come to the dance with you. If you want to go with your father, then that’s up to you.’
‘Your blue dress is nice but we could make another in time.’
‘It’s not the dress. I don’t want to come so don’t ask.’
Emily had tried to persuade her. She’d made tea for her mother, reminded her that their neighbours down the road were willing to look after Jack for a couple of hours if she changed her mind but she just started setting the table for dinner and refused to answer.
Now, getting ready for the dance that Saturday evening, Emily was saddened by her mother’s attitude. Why had she refused the treat offered? It was so seldom that Pa could spare the money for something special like this Christmas dance. Emily didn’t understand why her parents were almost strangers these days. They hardly spoke to each other, though Pa was never harsh to her mother in Emily’s hearing. He just behaved as though she didn’t exist.
They had never been very loving to each other but now Emily thought they might actually hate one another.
Sighing, she fastened a string of pink faux pearls about her throat. Pa often bought job lots of costume jewellery and he let Emily pick something for herself. Sometimes he was lucky and they would find a gold pin amongst the junk, but they always had to sell that, of course. One day she intended to own a string of real pearls – or at least a good set of cultured pearls. The difference was that real pearls were formed naturally in the oyster, whereas cultured pearls came from a small piece of grit being inserted into the living oyster. Emily had read that in a book. She was fascinated by jewellery in any form and had borrowed a book from the library, tracing the history of jewellery from Roman and Greek times.
Her dress was a very special one. It had sleeves that reached to just above her elbow and the bodice consisted of two pieces; underneath was a lace panel that was low enough for her to show off her necklace, and over the top a full bolero, which she’d edged with the same lace. The skirt was long and narrow, with a straight panel at the front and gathered panels over her hips. She’d seen an expensive gown made by the dressmaking establishment of Jays’ Ltd in a magazine of 1908 and copied it as best she could with two remnants and a bit of lace from the market. The front panel was plain pink, and the side panels were a kind of shiny brocade in a darker pink, which she’d thought made it look similar to the glamorous gown she’d seen in her magazine. However, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she wasn’t sure that it looked right, but it was too late now to change her mind; she had nothing else fit to wear.
Ma had told her to copy a simple dress she’d had for dancing before she married but Emily had liked the elegant gown in the fashion plate. She wondered if perhaps her mother had been right after all.
She pushed the thought from her mind. It was a special night, her first dance. Pa was making a big effort because he said she was sixteen and old enough to see a little bit of life. Emily was thrilled and determined that nothing should spoil her evening.
When she went downstairs in her new dress Pa looked at her for a moment in silence. She saw the doubts in his eyes and her heart sank into her boots. Of course the dress ought to be worn with pretty shoes but Emily only had the sturdy black boots she wore for Sundays. Her stomach started to tie itself into knots.
‘Do I look awful?’ she asked. ‘Should I put my Sunday-going-to-church dress on, Pa?’
‘No, of course not. You look … lovely,’ he said and smiled. ‘I was just taken back for a minute. I hadn’t realised you were so grown up, Em.’
Emily breathed a sigh of relief. She’d thought for a moment th
at she looked silly.
The village hall was decorated with dark green and butter-cream gloss paint. At one end of the long room there were trestle tables covered by white cloths and set with plates of sausage rolls, cheese sandwiches and mince pies. There was beer for the men, sweet sherry for the ladies and orange squash for the children, some of whom were running about, laughing in excitement. At the other end of the room was the stage for the musicians and they had started to play a soft melody.
Emily felt a thrill of excitement. Looking round, she saw a couple of girls she’d known at school. Their dresses were just variations on the clothes they normally wore and Emily was uneasy again. Had she been foolish to try and copy the stylish gown she’d seen in that magazine? She was aware that a few of the girls and women turned their heads to look at her as Pa found her a seat amongst them and went off to fetch a drink for them both. Hearing a giggle from behind her, Emily flushed and felt hot, sure that the girls were laughing at her.
However, Pa was soon back from the bar. He handed her a small glass of dark, sweet sherry and told her to sip it. She almost choked on the first sip, because it seemed very strong. She took another sip and then set it down on a windowsill. Emily didn’t want to say but she would have preferred the orange squash.
Pa finished his beer, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked at her. ‘Want to risk your feet dancing with your old man?’
‘Yes, please.’
Emily stood up instantly. She’d been watching the dancers and it looked easy enough. Pa had shown her a few steps at home and she’d practised them alone in her room. The band struck up a catchy tune for what the announcer said was a barn dance. Emily watched for a moment or two and then Pa led her onto the floor. She was hesitant at first but the steps were easy to follow and she felt comfortable with her father, but then the announcer said it was time to change partners. She felt a moment of panic, but Pa squeezed her hand and passed her on to the next man in the line, taking a new partner himself.
‘You’re new here,’ the man said and smiled at her. He was taller than Emily but he had a friendly smile and she relaxed. ‘I think you must be Joe’s daughter Emily. I’m Harry Standen. I’ve got a farm in Sutton Fen. Your father was asking me about my bull the other day. I’ll be bringing him over when your Sally Anne is in season.’
John Standen’s natural talk of the farm put Emily at her ease. She talked to him about her father’s best cow and then asked him about his own farm, which he invited her to visit soon. Her father was going to look at some old junk in his barns that he wanted to get rid of, and he suggested that Emily should come too.
Harry liked him at once and was sorry when she had to pass on to another young man. This one didn’t talk much and kept tripping over Emily’s feet. He mumbled his apology and said it was his first dance, but it was hers too and she’d found the steps easy to follow. After the rather uncouth youth, she passed to an older man who smelled of beer and kept squeezing her hand too tightly. Emily couldn’t wait to get away from him but when she came face to face with her next partner she was almost too shocked to take his hand, because it was the gentleman who had rescued her from her uncle’s attentions in Ely.
‘So we meet again,’ he said and took her hand, leading her surely into the dance. Emily was too tongue-tied to answer. He smelled gorgeous, of some wonderful cologne, and he was dressed in a black evening suit and a white shirt with a frill at the front where it buttoned. She was so shocked that a man of his class should be at the dance that she almost forgot her steps and narrowly avoided treading on his toes. ‘I shan’t bite you know.’
Emily glanced up. ‘I didn’t think you would, sir. I was surprised to see you here this evening.’
‘My brother is home from Eton and my sisters wanted to come,’ he replied. ‘I think you must be Joe Carter’s daughter – but I don’t know your name.’
‘Emily. It’s my first dance. I’m sorry if I almost trod on your toe.’
He glanced down at her feet and frowned. ‘It’s a wonder you can dance at all in those things.’
Emily wanted to die. She’d known her boots weren’t suitable, but she couldn’t afford the material for a dress and some proper shoes. She’d never had a pair of pretty shoes in her life; they wouldn’t be much use for life on the farm.
‘They’re my Sunday ones,’ she said and stuck her chin in the air.
‘Yes, I’m sure they are. Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
The dance was coming to an end now. He bowed and thanked her, then turned and walked away. Emily’s whole body felt as if it were on fire as she returned to her seat. She picked up her sherry from the windowsill and drank the remainder straight down, coughing as it stung her throat. Tears were burning behind her eyes and she was aware of female voices behind her.
‘What on earth does she think she looks like?’
‘Don’t be mean, Amy. Her dress is pretty and the colour suits her.’
‘Lizzie, you’re simply too kind for your own good. You can see she made it herself – and she has no idea of what a girl like her should wear. That dress would be more suitable for Mama – or Granny.’
The girl named Lizzie giggled. ‘Well, yes, it is too old and sophisticated for her but she has tried to look smart – and it makes her different to all the others.’
‘Have you seen those ridiculous boots?’
Emily got up and moved away. She refused to let any tears fall. The family at the manor were stuck up and she hated them all.
Pa was at the bar. She went up and asked for an orange squash, which he gave her with a smile.
‘Enjoying yourself, love?’
‘Yes, thank you, Pa,’ she said and drank most of her orange. She was hating every minute but she couldn’t let on and spoil his treat.
Finishing her drink, she headed for the toilets. She splashed her cheeks in cold water and looked at herself in the mirror. Her own good sense told her that she looked pretty, even if her dress wasn’t suitable and didn’t go with her boots. Raising her head with pride, she decided to go back out there and enjoy her first dance evening. Why should she care what that lot at the manor thought – or anyone else?
As she walked back towards where Pa was sitting, a man touched her arm. At first she thought it was Jonathan Barton, because he looked a bit similar, except that he had fair hair and his brother’s was darker. Emily knew him for the boy on the pony that day in the fields, and it seemed that he’d recognised her.
‘I almost didn’t know you, Miss Carter,’ Nicolas Barton said. ‘You look so grown up and pretty this evening.’
Emily’s cheeks burned as she met his smiling gaze. ‘Are you making fun of me? I know I look awful. My dress is home-made and too old for me – and my boots don’t go with it.’
‘Really? I had no idea. I just thought how lovely you look …’ The music had started again. ‘Would you dance with me? I’m not sure I know how to do the two-step but I dare say we can do as well as most.’
Without waiting for her answer, he caught her hand and drew her onto the dance floor. A quiver of excitement ran through her as he placed a hand in the small of her back and held her close. She wondered what he was doing and almost broke away, except she could see that everyone else was doing the same thing.
‘Just follow my lead,’ Nicolas whispered, ‘and we’ll be fine.’
Emily wasn’t sure if it was the sherry that had gone to her head, but suddenly she felt like giggling. She smiled at him, relaxed and followed his every move, finding it far easier than she would ever have imagined. He was so confident, so in command that she gave herself up to the pleasure of being close to him and let her body sway with his. Music flowed about them, swirling, gathering them up in a cloud of pleasure so that she felt she was floating on air. How she managed it she would never know but she didn’t miss a step and, when he released her at the end of the dance, she felt as if she were in a dream – a dream from which she did not wish to wake up.
&nb
sp; ‘Nicolas, you mean thing,’ a voice said and Emily saw the girl who had laughed at her earlier. ‘You promised you would do the two-step with me.’
‘Did I, Amy?’ Nicolas gave her an odd look, almost as if he were cross with her and had danced with Emily to annoy her. He turned to Emily. ‘Thank you, Miss Carter. That was delightful.’
Taking his sister’s arm, he steered her away towards his brother and the younger girl. As Emily sat down at her father’s side, she saw that the party from the manor was leaving.
‘Fancy them being here tonight,’ Pa said and looked at her. ‘You danced with Mr Jonathan in the barn dance I know – but Mr Nicolas asked you for the Boston two-step. How did you know the steps, Em?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘He told me to follow him and I did.’
Pa nodded and then got up, walking in the direction of the bar. She was surprised at how much he was drinking, because he didn’t often drink at home.
‘Would you dance this one with me, Miss Carter?’
She looked up and saw Harry Standen, the farmer from Sutton Fen she’d danced with earlier. ‘What is it? I only know a few steps.’
‘It’s a waltz, and as easy as the two-step you danced with Nicolas Barton. Come on, I’ll show you.’
Emily accepted his hand. She was filled with confidence now. How hard could it be? All she had to do was to follow her partner’s lead.
As they took their places with the other dancers, Emily smiled up at him. She no longer cared that she was wearing boots rather than dancing shoes and it didn’t matter if her dress was too old for her. She was having a good time and a lot of that was due to the way Nicolas Barton had smiled at her – but it was due to this man too. He was just as pleasant in his way and she thought he liked her.
Pa was a little drunk when they left the dance at about half past eleven. Emily couldn’t ever recall him being unsteady on his feet before. They’d walked to the village, because Pa had said they couldn’t leave the horse standing all night. Emily had had to hold her dress up all the way and she’d wiped the mud from her boots carefully before they went into the dance. She’d managed to get there without getting her hem dirty but Pa was going to need help to get home and she couldn’t see how she was going to manage it.
