The only thing the new Evie wasn’t sure about was whether she would ever be as much in love as her mother and Frederick Bailey were, and as Grandma Sue and Granddad Albert had been in the old tales Sue told about how they had met and married. Billy Taylor was no longer a part of her life. He’d made his choice and she had to go along with that. Maybe he had never been the one for her. Now she’d never know. But there must be someone else out there for her. How long before she found him?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Evie had never been vain. However, she couldn’t help but notice with satisfaction how, since she’d started wearing the beautiful clothes she and Sue had sewn, and had her hair cut in a new style, total strangers sometimes turned to give her a second glance in the street. This morning, in Redmond, one lady, wearing a smart outfit herself, even asked where Evie had bought her suit, and Evie was able to give her one of the business cards she and Sue had had made with their names and the number of the newly installed telephone on it:
Goodwin and Carter, Dressmakers
Telephone: Church Sandleton 325
There had, of course, been no time to find the fabric and haberdashery sellers, the addresses of which they’d noted in the library, on that first visit to Jeanie at Marlowe House – far too much catching-up to do – but Evie and Sue were back in Redmond on this spring-like morning in early March especially to seek out the shops. Disappointingly, neither of the places was anything special, but it was useful to know where they could buy all the basics nearby. The vast amount of thread and buttons that Sue had brought with her to Church Sandleton was beginning to run low.
‘We’ve been spoiled by the quality of the cotton prints from the mill shop in Bolton,’ said Sue, as they came out of the second shop with only some tacking cotton and a card of press studs.
‘You’re right, Grandma,’ Evie replied. ‘Do you think it’s worth looking out this place in Kingsford?’
‘I reckon we should. Be a pity if we didn’t and it turned out to be worth the effort.’
‘You’re not too tired, are you, Grandma?’
‘No, lass. We’ll take the train as it’s quicker, so I’ll have a sit-down more comfortable than on the bus. Come on, I gather it’s only the next station.’
Neither Evie nor Sue had been to Kingsford before and they were pleasantly surprised by the pretty little town.
‘“G. Morris, Market Passage”,’ Evie read from the shorthand notebook into which she’d copied the addresses she’d found in the library. She’d taken to carrying the notebook these days, and with so many prices to remember it was proving to be essential this morning. ‘It must be off the marketplace.’
They walked slowly around the marketplace, admiring the shops and checking the names of the side streets.
‘Here we are,’ said Evie, and she and Sue walked arm in arm down a narrow cobbled side street, treading carefully on the uneven surface. ‘My goodness, Grandma, I wasn’t expecting this,’ she gasped, gazing at two long windows filled with draped fabrics to either side of a blue shop door. ‘It’s enormous.’
‘Best get in and see what it’s like,’ said Sue, looking pleased.
A bell tinkled loudly as Evie opened the door and they entered. Fabrics in every colour and pattern she could imagine were stacked on shelves, and there were racks of braid, ribbon and lace, zips in a huge variety of lengths and colours, and then buttons and threads in cabinets with glass-fronted drawers – everything a dressmaker could need.
‘It’s like being back in the North,’ laughed Sue. ‘I reckon we might be able to do a bit of shopping here.’
‘Good morning. How can I help you?’ A middle-aged man with thinning hair and tortoiseshell glasses came out from behind one of the polished counters.
‘We’ve just come for a look round at the moment,’ said Sue. ‘My granddaughter and I are professional dressmakers and we’re keen to find a source of quality fabrics and trimmings.’
‘Professional?’ asked the man. He eyed up Evie’s stylish suit. ‘So I see,’ he said, admiringly. ‘Well, Mrs …?’
‘Goodwin,’ said Sue, dipping into her handbag for one of the business cards.
The man took it, looked at it and turned to Evie with a smile.
‘Evie Carter. How do you do?’ said Evie, offering her hand. That was what Letty would say, she thought.
‘George Morris,’ said the man, shaking it gently, then offering his hand to Sue. ‘Well, please have a look around. The prices are retail, of course, but I can offer you a trade discount as you’re in the profession.’
Sue and Evie beamed at each other. Trade discount?
They spent the rest of the morning oohing and aahing over the fabrics and trimmings, discussing what they could do with them. The prices, though, were much higher than they were used to and they soon realised that they wouldn’t be coming away with bagsful of purchases, even with the promised trade discount.
‘I love this midnight blue,’ whispered Evie, ‘but I don’t know if we ought to buy any without a specific commission. We can’t afford to buy even half a yard too much at this price.’
‘I was wondering about that, love,’ murmured Sue. ‘I reckon it might be worth the risk for a blouse and a dress. We know well enough what most patterns take. That green broadcloth is summat special. I wonder what sort of a discount Mr Morris offers to the trade.’
‘We’ll have to ask him,’ said Evie. ‘But then he’ll cotton on that we’ve just started out and mebbe he’ll take advantage.’
‘Mmm …’ Sue frowned, thinking hard. Luckily two other customers came into the shop and George Morris, who had been packing up some brown paper parcels for the post, became busy with them while Sue and Evie thought what they could do.
‘I didn’t expect there’d be so much choice,’ said Evie quietly. ‘But we haven’t got a lot to spend and “trade” probably means buying quite a bit.’
‘Yes,’ said Sue, ‘we’ll just have to do what we can. Don’t forget he’s already offered a discount. Where’s that notebook?’
Evie pulled the shorthand notebook and her propelling pencil out of her bag. She noted down the prices of the fabrics they liked best, and also of some lace and some special beading.
‘So, Mr Morris,’ said Sue, when the other customers had gone, ‘you’ve got some nice stuff here. The thing is, we’re from the north, as you can probably tell, and northern folk are canny shoppers. Now, you mentioned a trade discount, did you not?’
‘I did indeed, Mrs Goodwin.’
‘And might I ask how much this discount would be? You see, Mr Morris, we’re mainly buying from the mill shops – and as you know, Lancashire cotton is the best in the world – so not only are we used to buying quality, but we always get a good trade discount at the mill. It’s the personal service, you see. They know us up there and they know how to keep us going back.’
George Morris looked taken aback at Sue’s forthright words, but he quickly regained his cheerful smile.
‘But if you’re a regular customer of the mill shops, Mrs Goodwin – and I do agree with you about the quality of Lancashire cotton – why would you need to shop here as well? I can’t compete with the mill shop prices.’
‘Because you’re local to us now, and if we were to shop here we’d be able to choose not only the fabrics but also all the special trimmings that are such a feature of our work, and all in one place, Mr Morris,’ said Evie. ‘The mill shops don’t have these kinds of things, and we’re having to buy them elsewhere … in London,’ she said, inspiration suddenly striking. She indicated the racks of lace and decorative bindings. ‘We’d rather buy local, if the price is right, and we’d be able to recommend that our regular clients come to you to choose their fabrics and trimmings for themselves, though, of course, you’d be selling to them at full retail price.’
‘Yes … I can see that would be beneficial to both of us.’
‘And we’re two dressmakers, don’t forget,’ smiled Evie, ‘so that’s twice as many
customers to send to you than if there was only one of us.’
George Morris raised his eyebrows. Never in his life had he seen a pair of women like these two. The nerve of the girl! Still, that suit was a work of art – if they had indeed made it themselves, that was.
‘So mebbe we can talk about the discount …?’ suggested Evie with what she hoped was a winning smile.
She really has got a very pretty smile, though, thought George. Suddenly he didn’t want Miss Carter and her formidable grandmother to leave.
‘How does five per cent sound?’ he asked, testing the water.
‘What about twenty-five?’
George clutched the counter for support. He looked like he might actually faint away.
There was a long silence. Just as Evie was about to lose her nerve, George Morris cleared his throat.
‘Fifteen per cent?’ he offered, his voice sounding as if he were being strangled.
‘Agreed,’ beamed Sue, taking his hand and shaking it hard. ‘Evie, write that down now and then we’ll not forget,’ she suggested pointedly, and Evie did as she was told.
‘I’ll be right glad to do business with you, Mr Morris,’ said Sue. ‘I wonder if we might have two and a half yards of that midnight-blue voile, and four yards of the green broadcloth, please, to be going on with? Our clients will be asking where we got those, don’t you worry.’
‘Certainly, Mrs Goodwin,’ said George, unsure whether these two unusual women were in fact dressmakers or merely pretending to be. Mrs Goodwin looked old-fashioned and a bit shabby, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a skilled seamstress, of course. The granddaughter, Miss Carter, looked amazing, and certainly someone had made that suit to fit her perfectly. It was difficult to place them as he’d never seen anyone quite like them before.
As he measured out the fabric an awful thought occurred to him. Perhaps they were con artists? A double act? No, that couldn’t be right. If it were so then why would they be asking for a discount from a draper? It made no sense …
He cut the fabric lengths, folded them neatly, wrapped them in brown paper and tied the parcel with string. Then he totted up the total, deducted fifteen per cent – Sue leaning over the counter, her glasses on her nose, checking the sums from upside down – and announced the sum owing, writing out a receipt and putting his carbon copy on a spike by the till.
As Sue handed over what seemed like a large sum even with the discount, Evie tried not to think how many remnants and blouse lengths she had bought for less than that at the mill shop in Bolton.
‘Thank you, Mr Morris. A pleasure doing business with you,’ said Sue graciously, folding the receipt into her purse and handing the parcel to Evie.
‘We’ll see you again soon,’ smiled Evie, turning with a deliberate swish of her well-tailored skirt as she went towards the door.
George nipped out from behind his counter and rushed ahead to open the door for his customers. He still didn’t know what to make of them but he knew for certain that they’d got very good taste. The fabrics they’d chosen were among the best he stocked.
Sue and Evie waited until they were back in the marketplace before they dare let their social smiles turn to mirth.
‘Heck, love, if this is the new Evie you spoke of, I approve of her!’ grinned Sue. ‘You did well there, lass. I thought the old miser was going to go back on his word about a discount for a moment. And at his prices he ought to be offering fifty per cent!’
‘Oh, Grandma, I have to laugh. I could see he was thinking he’d never seen owt like us before.’
‘I don’t know as we’ll be shopping at “G. Morris” all that often,’ Sue said, sounding regretful.
‘I don’t see why not, Grandma. I rather liked him, and we’ve secured a discount for the business. If we want to build a reputation for quality we’ll have to get the good stuff from somewhere, and it’s a long way to Bolton!’
‘And a long way to London, too!’ Sue laughed loudly. ‘London, indeed!’
Evie joined in the laughter as they walked slowly back to the station.
Sue and Evie’s raised spirits from the success of their shopping in Mr Morris’s shop were lowered on their return to Pendle’s. Evie went upstairs straight away to change out of the precious suit and put on her old clothes, which felt baggy and shapeless after a morning spent in the perfect-fitting jacket and skirt, though her feet were glad of her socks and plimsolls after so long in the elegant court shoes Frederick and Jeanie had bought her for her birthday.
Then it was back to letting down hems on summer school uniforms for a couple of children in the village, which reminded Evie and Sue of Robert and altering his school uniform, and this deflated them even more.
‘I wish the telephone would ring, Grandma, and someone would ask for a blouse in midnight-blue voile,’ said Evie, eyeing the lovely fabric on the shelf.
‘So do I, love. I thought when we placed those adverts in the Redmond Gazette that we’d be turning folk away. Almost every last penny went on that ad.’
‘Maybe Mum will mention us to someone. Frederick seems to know a lot of people – that is, he gets around and Mum goes with him to so many places now – and she did say she’d put a word in for us if the chance came.’
But two weeks went by and the telephone didn’t ring once. Sue and Evie swallowed their disappointment and carried on with their mundane tasks. At least they still had those, though it didn’t look to them as if they would be revisiting Mr Morris any time soon. Funds were getting low and every day they were more glad of the mundane work while their dreams were put on hold. They started making cutbacks at home and this further dampened their spirits. It was back to meals made of Mr Clackett’s leftover vegetables, which drove Michael out to the pub in the evenings, where the locals would buy him a pint or two.
By the beginning of April the days were lengthening so fast that Sue declared she thought her eyesight was improving. She’d spent the dark winter peering under a table lamp as she stitched, and on a couple of occasions she’d had to ask Evie to finish something for her.
‘It’s sometimes difficult to get a sharp focus,’ she said, ‘but I reckon I’ll improve with these longer days.’
Evie wasn’t so sure, she worried terribly about her grandmother, but she knew better than to say anything. Evie was thinking she needed to take over some of her grandmother’s work as her fingers always got stiff and swollen in the cold. She had pressed the fabric and laid it flat on the big work table when the door opened with a crash and her father stomped in with a furious look on his face.
‘What’s the matter, Dad?’ checked Evie kindly, just as Sue said, ‘Out! Get them mucky boots out of here at once, Michael Carter.’
Michael strode out without a word, almost slamming the door to the big kitchen in Evie’s face as she followed him, all concern, and Sue heaved herself to her feet with a sigh and went to see what the matter was now.
When Sue saw Michael hurling his boots through the back door she had a horrible feeling she knew exactly what he was going to say.
‘Go on, tell us, lad.’
‘I’ve left Clackett’s,’ Michael announced, slumping down on a chair.
‘Left?’ she said wearily, going to put the kettle on.
‘Yes, left. Clackett gave me my notice so I told him I’d not be working it and I’d rather leave straight away.’
‘But why, Dad? What’s happened? I thought you were getting on all right there these days.’
‘Well, you thought wrong,’ he shouted. ‘Seems Clackett were only keeping me on until that Martin of his were old enough to go to work there. Martin’s leaving school this summer and so there’ll be no job for me.’
‘Oh, Dad, I am sorry,’ said Evie. She went to give him a hug, which he shrugged off.
‘You could have worked your notice, Michael. At least you’d have been paid until summer.’
‘I’ll get summat else, don’t you worry,’ said Michael, though he didn’t sound as if he believed
it.
‘You could always go and tell Mr Clackett that you’ve changed your mind,’ ventured Evie.
‘I’ll not set foot on that bugger’s land again. He wants blood, sweat and tears for his bit of money and I’ve done with the mud and the cold. I don’t care if I never see another cabbage.’
Sue made a pot of tea, her brain whirring with options that Michael might consider. Because there was one thing she was sure of: he wasn’t going to sit here in the kitchen doing nothing while she and Evie sat stitching all day.
‘Now that the days are getting warmer, it might be better there?’
‘Perhaps you could ask around the village, Michael—’ began Sue.
‘Just shut up and let me drink my tea in peace for a minute,’ Michael said wearily. ‘It’s all right, I’ll be out of your hair before long. I won’t be in the way of your precious sewing.’
Sue chose not to answer and the two women slipped away back to their work, which they took up in silence, the only sound the grind of Evie’s shears through the fabric.
‘Shall I go and ask Mr Clackett to give Dad his job back until Martin joins him in the summer?’ asked Evie.
Sue smiled a sad smile. ‘No, love, don’t waste your breath. Do you think he’d go if you did?’
Quiet work resumed. Evie felt sick with worry, where was their next meal coming from if they didn’t have Clackett’s leftovers?
Suddenly the door opened and there were Jack and Monty.
‘Hello. What’s up? You two look a bit gloomy,’ said Jack.
‘Our Michael’s lost his job at Clackett’s.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Jack, frowning. ‘It wasn’t more trouble about him being at the Red Lion, was it?’
Sue explained about Mr Clackett wanting his son to come into the business full time when he left school in the summer.
‘… So Michael’s taken umbrage and left now,’ she concluded.
‘Where is he? Shall I go and see him?’ Jack wasn’t keen but he felt he should offer support.
A Woman's Fortune Page 21
