The Factory Girl

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Middleton-on-Sea. Near Bognor Regis. On the south coast.’

  ‘It sounds lovely, Will. And there’s a boat.’

  ‘Borrow, did you say, Neville? I wouldn’t hear of it. You’d have to let us pay.’

  ‘I wouldn’t allow you to pay, old man. You’d be my invited guests. Use it at your leisure.’

  ‘That’s very decent of you, Neville.’

  ‘Neville says if I arrange for him to meet Clara Maitland and her mother, that’ll be payment enough.’

  ‘Then the very least you could do, Henzey, would be to offer to take Neville to meet Clara. You know where she lives. It would save him the time and trouble of trying to find it himself.’

  ‘You mean this week?’ she queried, uncertainly.

  ‘Why not? I’m working afternoons – two till ten. It would fit in quite nicely.’

  Henzey retired to bed earlier than Will that night. She had to be up at the normal time for work, whereas he did not. As she lay in bed she pondered Neville Worthington’s directness and smiled to herself. She could not take offence at any of his comments. It was quite a novelty that he so evidently fancied her. Quite a lark, really. Something vanity allowed her to enjoy. Perhaps she should play up to him more – flirt with him – play him at his own game? After all, meeting him all those years ago she felt she already knew him well enough to realise they still had a sort of tacit understanding and could say almost anything to each other; certainly enough to tease him a bit. It was strange how she felt this accord, this rapport. It didn’t matter about his appearance, his old fashioned beard. She liked him for himself, for his saucy company. But there was something about his eyes which was appealing: sensitive; so eloquent; and so hauntingly familiar as well, as if she’d known him all her life.

  It was remarkable that he and Eunice seemed so taken with them both. Neville evidently got on well with Will, else they would never have been invited to the Worthingtons’ home in the first place. Such a notable coincidence that she had met them both before. Eunice was a charming person, too; such grace and presence for a woman crippled with a muscular disease. Tragic, really. And yet, somehow, she was something of a liberal in her points of view. The result of a fine education, no doubt. She could learn a lot from Eunice. Pity too, about their marriage, even though they seemed to carry it off so well. Obviously friends still, if lovers no more. A well-matched couple in an unconventional way.

  And they were all truly firm friends now – the four of them; even to the extent of Neville offering the free loan of his cottage at the seaside. She and Will must, of course, invite them to dinner at Daisy Road. Neville, certainly, would never look down his nose at their home, however modest, and neither did she believe Eunice would. They were lovely, refined people. Gracious. Born to wealth; not like the Billy Wittses of this world, who had made money fast but still lacked the grace and culture that people born to it possessed.

  She would help Neville all she could to find out about his real mother. It was fortunate that she could be of help; such a fortunate coincidence that she, of all people, had been told the story of that poor maid who’d had twins by Neville’s father; amazing that Neville was actually one of those poor twins. Already she was looking forward to telephoning Clara; to hearing her cries of disbelief when she explained how she actually knew one of those twins.

  Alice Harper walked between the market stalls in Dudley on Monday morning with a renewed interest in life. New crockery and curtains she did not need, but children’s clothes Edward certainly did. Hand-me-downs from Richard came in very useful and saved her a lot of money, but it would be nice, just once, to be able to buy the child something new; something he could call his own. This week she could not afford it, but next week she might. As she browsed at every stall she thought what a change it would be to be able to buy everything she and Edward needed without having to stop and reckon up whether she could afford it. Soon, she hoped it would be like that. Lizzie and Jesse had been more than generous; they gave her money, they fed the two of them, provided a roof over their heads. Alice was grateful for it but she was concerned that she was becoming a burden.

  Emotionally, Jack Harper was no longer a part of her. He, however, had been the cause of her becoming independent from her family and she had relished it. Now she had all but lost it by returning to the dairy house. Nonetheless, her mother and Jesse no longer regarded her as a child, so she had free rein to do as she wished, within reason. They always had to be considered, though, and that she found limiting. All three had discussed the pros and cons of her finding a job and, on balance, a job seemed the ideal answer. It would get Alice out of the house during the day, provide her with some independent means, and Lizzie would be happy to look after Edward, if only to make sure he was brought up properly.

  Just a couple of days later a job was advertised in the Dudley Herald for a female clerk to perform general duties at the offices of a firm of Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths. Alice had gained experience of using a typewriter, filing, fetching, carrying and making tea at Bean Cars, which was sure to stand her in good stead. So she applied. By return of post she received an invitation to attend for an interview.

  It seemed to go well. Her interviewer, a young, good-looking solicitor of about twenty-seven, called Charles Wells, seemed desperately at odds with his drab surroundings. It was evident that he was more interested in Alice for her looks than for her likely qualifications. She perceived this and took advantage, teasing him with bright, flirting eyes when he asked her questions and laughing readily at the little jokes he made while trying to impress her. When she disclosed that although she was married she and her husband were living apart, and she might feasibly be seeking a divorce in the foreseeable future, his eyes lit up. Two minutes later, he offered her the job. She would soon pick up all there was to know, he assured her, working under his close supervision. The situation appealed, especially him, so she accepted and agreed to commence her duties the following Monday.

  Now, as she wandered through the open market, she felt that at last her life might be about to change for the better. She’d be earning money again, at least.

  ‘I’ve got some bostin’ news for yer, Henzey,’ Florrie Shuker said, above the hubbub of the Headlamp department. She nonchalantly fitted a connector to one of the headlamps she had picked up from the conveyor that slid between the workbench she shared with Henzey and the girls who worked opposite. ‘Me an’ Oliver am gettin’ married at Christmas.’

  Henzey looked up from what she was doing, and smiled. ‘Oh, Florrie! At last. I was beginning to think he’d never ask you.’

  ‘He din’t ask me, Henzey. I asked him. Otherwise, I could’ve waited till doomsday. I’m gettin’ no younger, yer know, an’ I’d like to think as I could have me share o’ babbies afore I’m too old.’

  ‘But you’re only twenty-three, Florrie. You’re hardly on the shelf yet. You’ve got years ahead of you. Anyway, how did it come about as you asked him?’

  Florrie finished the headlamp she’d been working on and picked up another from the conveyor. ‘Oh, we went out dancin’ Saturday night, and I think I had a gin an’ orange too many. Well, as we was walkin’ back we got talkin’ – it was a lovely night – and he happened to mention as he wouldn’t like to go through life without fatherin’ any children. So I said, “Well what about it then?” I think he took me wrong, ’cause he tried to get me into somebody’s entry – playful, like, yer know? But I said, “Gerroff,” I said. “If you want that you’ll have to marry me first.” An’ straight out the blue, he said, “All right, I’ll marry yer, Florrie,” he said. “When?” I said. “Soon as yer like,” he said. So we decided on Christmas.’ She smiled contentedly. ‘We’m fixin’ up to see the vicar sometime this week.’

  ‘Florrie, I think that’s lovely. I’m ever so pleased for you. Wait till I tell Will.’

  ‘Well, you’ll both be invited. How is Will anyway? How’s he takin’ to workin’ shifts?’

  ‘Not very
well, but at least it won’t be for long, thank goodness.’

  Florrie smiled, a knowing look on her face. ‘That Neville Worthington’s got a lot to answer for, takin’ your husband off yer nights. I bet it’s knocking your sex life about scandalous, eh?’ She gave Henzey a nudge. ‘You’ll never get in the family way.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Henzey sighed. ‘It’s bad enough as it is, him insisting on using a French letter every time, without losing the chances to try.’

  ‘Don’t worry. One of ’em might bost. You could even put holes in ’em yourself.’ She winked at Henzey. ‘Have yer thought about that? He wouldn’t know, would he? But there’s plenty time. Like you just said, there’s plenty years ahead for that…for both of us. Stop your frettin’, Henzey.’

  Henzey sighed again. ‘Oh, I hope you’re right, Florrie. But I’m sick of waiting now. Sick of Will’s perpetual excuse that he’s scared in case anything happens to me. What if something happened to him and I didn’t have his child?’

  They fell silent for a few minutes, each pondering the weight of their conversation, till Florrie spoke again.

  ‘What did Clara say when you telephoned her?’

  ‘She couldn’t believe it. I think she’s more excited about it than I am. She says to take Neville over to her house on Wednesday afternoon and she’ll take us to meet her mother.’

  ‘You takin’ the afternoon off then?’

  ‘Looks like it, but keep it to yourself. I’ll have to pretend to be ill on the morning and ask to go home.’

  ‘You old skiver, Henzey. So what did Neville say when you phoned him?’

  ‘He sounded excited as well. We’ve arranged for him to pick me up from home at half past two.’

  ‘Pick you up? From home? Henzey, you’ll get talked about vile, havin’ half a day off and bein’ picked up from home by a strange man. What’ll Will say?’

  ‘Oh, Will suggested it in the first place. He’ll be at work till ten anyway, so it won’t affect him.’

  ‘I dai’ mean that, Henzey. But I know Oliver wun’t like it if I went off with a bloke I ’ardly knowed, no matter what the excuse.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as if I’m going to do anything wrong, is it?’

  ‘I should hope not.’

  ‘Anyway, Will trusts me, Florrie. He knows he can trust me.’

  ‘If I was Will I think I’d be worried sick about yer, gallivantin’ off with wealthy Brummagem businessmen while I was hard at work.’

  Henzey laughed dismissively. ‘Gallivanting? It’s hardly gallivanting.’

  ‘Will might be able to trust you, but can he trust that Neville Worthington? From what yer’ve told me he sounds a right old lag.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a lark with Neville Worthington. I’ll come to no harm with him, Florrie. You haven’t seen him. I don’t fancy him anyway. He’s too eccentric. He’s just nice to be with.’

  ‘Huh! There y’am, yer see. Nice to be with. That’s how it all starts, Henzey. And he’s got plenty money. Just mind what you’m up to.’

  ‘Oh, Florrie, you are funny.’ Henzey put her workpiece down on the conveyor, reached for another, and turned to Florrie, laughing. ‘Neville Worthington means nothing to me. Neither does his money. And, besides, do you think I’d do anything to hurt Will after what he’s already been through? Do you think I’d do anything to make things even more awkward for poor Eunice?’

  Florrie shook her head, looking guilty for thinking it; as though she should know better. ‘No, ’course not,’ she conceded. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’

  Chapter 20

  Henzey’s and Will’s paths coincided at home that Wednesday dinnertime. The weather was still set fair, auguring well for the works’ holidays. She arrived home from work early in order to keep her appointment with Neville Worthington. While she had a few spare minutes she ran upstairs to gather the dirty washing that she hadn’t had time to collect earlier. As she got it ready for Mrs Fothergill next door to hand to the laundry man, she saw Will was ready to leave to commence his shift.

  He collected his sandwiches and thermos of tea from the scullery table. ‘Shall you be back before me, d’you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I would have thought so. Hours before. We’re only going to Clara’s mother’s. I’ll be back well before teatime.’

  ‘But you don’t know how long these things are likely to take…once folk start reminiscing…If they’re anything like my mother.’

  She kissed him on the lips. ‘I’ll be back, and I’ll have a meal ready.’

  He gave her a hug. ‘See you later. Have an interesting afternoon. You can tell me all about it tonight. Bye.’

  He went into the hall and Henzey heard him pick up his keys.

  ‘Will!’

  ‘What, sweetheart?’

  She went to him as he stood by the front door. ‘Do you mind my meeting Neville this afternoon?’

  He uttered a little laugh of surprise. ‘No, why should I?’

  ‘It was just something Florrie Shuker said…’

  ‘Oh, what? What did she say?’

  She shrugged. ‘That her Oliver wouldn’t like it if she went out for an afternoon with another man.’

  Will laughed again. ‘Well, that’s up to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust Florrie…I trust you.’

  ‘But do you trust Neville?’

  He gave a puzzled frown. ‘If I trust you I don’t even have to consider Neville, do I? But I have noticed the way he looks at you.’

  She laughed dismissively. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve got a feeling he fancies me.’

  ‘And I know you could handle him if you had to. I’m not concerned, Henzey, but I’m happy you mentioned it. Look, I’d better go else I’ll be late. See you later.’

  They kissed again briefly and he left. Henzey made a sandwich for herself and boiled the kettle for some tea, then went upstairs to get ready. By the time she’d finished it was half past two. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs she heard a car outside, then a knock at the door. It was Neville.

  ‘Hello. You’re very punctual,’ she greeted affably.

  ‘Time’s precious, Henzey. Too precious to be spent waiting.’

  They walked down the path to his Swallow, its gleaming paintwork and glistening chrome incongruous with the modest terraces of Daisy Road. There was no chauffeur today, Henzey noticed. Before he opened the door for her to get in, she peered at the headlamps and patted the one closest to her. Neville watched and smiled.

  ‘That headlamp crafted by your own fair hand, eh?’

  It was hot in the car and she laughed as she made herself comfortable. ‘Could’ve been.’

  He got in, started the engine and they pulled away. ‘What time’s Clara expecting us?’

  ‘About three.’

  ‘Plenty of time, then. We’ll go along the new road, eh? Oldbury can be a bit of a bottleneck, especially if we get stuck behind a tram. So how are you today, Henzey?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Lord, it’s so hot in here.’

  ‘Wind the window down if you want. And how’s Will?’

  ‘Fine.’

  They turned right into Monument Road, then Hagley Road. As they motored past Wessex House, Henzey peered out to see if she could see Eunice to wave to. A gardener in a collarless shirt and twisted braces was hoeing the soil around the bottom of a group of cypress trees.

  ‘How many people do you have working for you at your house?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, there’s George the gardener on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Lilian, and Iris, the maids, and Miss Newby, the nanny, are full time. And Alec, the chauffeur just occasionally. Used to have a butler up until eight years ago, but Eunice said he was a shameful luxury when so many folk were on the breadline.’

  ‘So she added to the breadline by putting him on it. That was clever.’

  Neville laughed. ‘Sharp, aren’t you? As a matter of fact, I found him a job at the factory. I couldn’t see the poor chap suffer. He’d been with the family for years.
Good old stick, he was.’

  ‘You’re not a bad sort yourself if you found him other work.’

  He seemed to swell with pride that she’d complimented him and smiled to himself. ‘It was the least I could do. I’m not so sure Eunice would have been so beneficent though.’

  ‘I like Eunice,’ Henzey declared, ‘but I get the feeling she’s sort of…not…not comfortable with wealth.’

  He laughed again and turned to look at her. ‘She’d be damned uncomfortable without it. I suppose when you’ve got money it’s not important. Money only becomes important when you have none. She doesn’t know what it’s like to live without money. So her politics are definitely inclined towards the left. She believes that everyone is, or should be, equal…But, she tends to look down her nose at anybody not her equal. Which just goes to show she’s a hypocrite…But that’s typical of human nature…and typifies the flaw in socialism, too.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well…by not taking into account human nature. Not taking into account folks’ hypocrisy and greed. Or the inevitable belief that we’re better than our neighbour in some way. Who doesn’t look down their nose at somebody? We’re all guilty of it. We all think sometimes we’re entitled to, or deserving of something more than our neighbour, by virtue of something or other.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as thinking we’re cleverer, harder working, more intelligent, more talented at some sport for instance, or more better at playing some musical instrument. Anything. And some people are better at some things than others, so we’re not all equal. Don’t you think a doctor, who’s studied his profession for years in order to qualify, warrants more money, more respect and greater privileges in society than say somebody who…who fastens broom heads to broomsticks, for example? A job that requires little or no training?’

  ‘But they both provide a service to people.’

  ‘They do indeed, Henzey, but the point is, are their services of equal value to that community? I would have thought the doctor’s infinitely more so.’