The Runaway Women in London

by Lesley Eames

  Dazed, she lay in a crumpled, heap then sat up, helped by the shop man.

  ‘Slowly does it,’ he urged, but Jenny was too concerned to linger.

  Where was Johnnie?

  A crowd had gathered. Pushing her way into it, Jenny saw that the cart had fallen onto its side, the harness broken, while the trembling horse stood nearby, soothed by a passer-by. But she couldn’t see Johnnie.

  She staggered onwards. And there he was, lying on the ground, deathly white, with his eyes closed and blood forming an ever-widening pool beneath his head.

  Forty-five

  ‘You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man,’ Vic told Ruth. ‘I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, but you won’t find me as forgiving a second time.’

  Ruth threw some money onto the tea shop table. ‘Ten pounds. All I can afford.’

  ‘I asked for twenty.’

  ‘You could ask for the moon. It doesn’t mean I could bring it.’ Ruth was spending almost nothing on herself and she’d thought long and hard about buying theatre tickets for Grace. But how could she have let her friend leave without a parting gift? It would have been shameful after all Grace had done for her. As always when Ruth saw Vic, spurts of frustration burst through her fear. She closed her bag. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Not so fast.’

  He tugged her bag towards him. Ruth tugged back, but Vic pulled harder and took possession. He glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then opened the bag and looked inside her purse. All he found were coppers, a threepence and two sixpences.

  ‘I told you,’ Ruth said. ‘I haven’t any more.’

  She thanked her lucky stars for the fact that she’d left some money at Silver Ladies.

  Vic threw the bag back in disgust. ‘Don’t think this lets you off the hook. I’m ten pounds short today. You’ve got one week to find it.’

  ‘I can’t just—’

  ‘No one who inherits more than a thousand pounds can be short of money. One week, Ruthie,’ he warned.

  She glared at him, then ran from the tea shop.

  Lydia was pacing the cobbles in her uniform when Ruth got back to Shepherds Mews. They were late for a booking.

  ‘Sorry!’ Ruth gasped, running inside to change.

  Five days had passed since the terrible phone call in which Jenny had told them about Johnnie’s accident. Ruth had never felt so exhausted yet less able to sleep. She was worried sick about Vic Rabley, even more worried about Johnnie and desperate to comfort a distraught Jenny.

  ‘You’re good at all that consoling stuff and I’m not,’ Lydia had told Ruth. ‘But I can help with Jenny’s share of the work.’

  Ruth had a driving licence now, having been taking lessons from Lydia for several weeks, but she was far from confident, so Lydia was undertaking most of the driving, going out on bookings alone when possible, though some regular customers had become used to being attended by a helper and expected that level of service to continue. For those bookings they had no choice but to close the office so Ruth could accompany Lydia, but otherwise she was looking after the phone, managing the office administration and accounts, and keeping up with the domestic aspects of Shepherds Mews too.

  Bookings could begin and end at all hours, a late night being followed by an early start. It was physically and emotionally punishing work for just two people, but Ruth wasn’t complaining. It was good to feel she was contributing more to the business than Aunt Vera’s money. And, as Lydia put it, ‘At least you’re away from all those smelly feet at the shoe shop.’

  She was away from the sore knees that came from spending ages on the floor fitting shoes too and the noise of children whose parents allowed them to run around the shop mixing the shoes up. Ruth also had the company of her friends at Silver Ladies. At the shoe shop her only companion had been Dorothy Blount, a well-meaning but dull-witted girl.

  Besides, Ruth had offered God a bargain – if God kept Johnnie alive, Ruth would strive to be a better person. If God could help her with Vic, that would be a bonus. But had God been listening?

  Despite Ruth’s lateness, Lydia’s quick driving meant that Ruth rang the bell of their customer’s house precisely on time. Mrs Dangerfield was ready and so was Ernest, her pug. Ruth helped Mrs Dangerfield into the car, then scooped up Ernest and sat with him on her lap, receiving a comically horrified look from Lydia.

  Ruth didn’t mind looking after Ernest. She’d discovered she’d been wrong in thinking she had little in the way of talent to offer Silver Ladies. Her talent wasn’t showy but it was important all the same. It was a combination of hard work, willingness to please and the sensitivity to ensure that customers felt comfortable, well looked after and appreciated. In short, her talent glued together the qualities the other girls brought to the business and made them a satisfying whole.

  Today’s excursion was a shopping expedition, which involved Ruth following with Ernest as Mrs Dangerfield chose soap and stockings. Morning coffee with a friend came next, while Ruth exercised Ernest in a nearby park, her thoughts on Johnnie, still unconscious in hospital, and Jenny sitting beside him.

  Owen Tedris was at his end of the mews when they returned to Silver Ladies. He sent Ruth a nod and it occurred to her that he wasn’t as friendly as he used to be, but perhaps he had no reason to call now Bryn had paid his penance.

  Running upstairs in case the phone rang, Ruth saw Jenny at the desk and froze in dread.

  ‘There’s been no change,’ she reported, wan with fatigue and disappointment.

  Ruth swallowed. Johnnie was still alive. He might rally yet.

  ‘You must be worn out, Jenny.’

  Johnnie’s parents had arranged a private room and used their connections to have normal visiting restrictions lifted, so Jenny had been spending most of her time at the hospital.

  ‘I only came home to wash and change,’ she said. ‘Johnnie’s parents promised to telephone if his condition alters. They’re actually being nice to me.’

  ‘They can see how much you love him,’ Ruth told her. ‘You should eat something while you’re here.’

  Ruth warmed soup for all of them.

  ‘No news, I suppose?’ Lydia asked Jenny.

  ‘Not yet.’

  It wasn’t the broken leg that was causing anxiety. It was the blow to Johnnie’s head. The doctors had murmured about bruising on the brain.

  ‘Johnnie’s strong,’ Lydia said.

  ‘With a lot to live for,’ Ruth added, and Jenny smiled.

  ‘You’re so good to me.’

  ‘Grace has written again,’ Ruth told them. ‘She’s sorry she can’t come back to help but she’s just about to start her new job.’

  ‘She’d have come if she could,’ Jenny acknowledged.

  They were all delighted that Grace had found work at last though they’d have liked nothing more than for her to come back to Silver Ladies.

  Lydia returned to the garage after they’d eaten. Ruth heated water so Jenny could bathe and put together a sandwich and bottle of water for her too.

  ‘Bless you,’ Jenny said. ‘Occasionally, a nurse takes pity and brings me a cup of tea, but mostly I get nothing. Still, as long as Johnnie’s well treated…’

  *

  Ruth didn’t expect to see Jenny again that day so she was disturbed to return from another booking to see the office light shining. ‘You didn’t leave it on?’ she asked Lydia.

  ‘No.’

  They rushed upstairs and found Jenny at the desk again. Tears were streaming down her face.

  Oh no.

  ‘Johnnie’s woken,’ Jenny said. ‘He’s going to be fine. I’m so relieved.’

  So was Ruth. Enormously relieved. Her limbs felt like they could defy gravity and float upwards.

  Lydia let out a long, slow breath then said, ‘Didn’t I tell you that Johnnie’s strong?’

  ‘He’s been smiling and joking,’ Jenny reported, ‘but he’s sleeping again now. He needs to rest.’

  ‘So do you,’ Ruth said
. ‘Get into bed while I make cocoa.’

  ‘That sounds blissful.’

  Each subsequent day brought more good news and Grace wrote to say how thrilled she was.

  Then one day, Jenny said, ‘Johnnie wants you to visit, Ruth. Lydia too. He wants to thank you for looking after me.’

  Ruth was shocked by Johnnie’s frailty when they made their visit the next day. There was a bandage around his head while a cradle supported the bedcovers over his broken leg.

  ‘Looks worse than it is,’ he assured them, beckoning them forward and kissing their cheeks. ‘Jenny tells me you’ve been splendid, taking on all the Silver Ladies work and looking after her too.’

  ‘We didn’t do much,’ Lydia countered, but Johnnie knew her well enough to understand she wasn’t comfortable with praise.

  ‘Tell me your news,’ he invited then. ‘When’s your next race, Lydia?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lydia told him. ‘It depends.’

  ‘On Jenny being free to work instead of sitting here with me, I suppose. Don’t worry. I’ll ban her from my bedside. We can’t have you missing out on all that excitement. How are you, Ruth? Have you any excitement to report?’

  Excitement? No. Anxiety and terror aplenty. And another feeling that must have been growing in her for some time, though it was only now, seeing Johnnie looking so weak and vulnerable, that she understood what it was. No wonder she’d felt a pang when Johnnie became engaged to Jenny. Ruth wasn’t just fond of him. Fondness came nowhere close to describing the emotion that was squeezing her heart and making her ache to hold him close. Not that Ruth was willing to describe it with another word because she had no business feeling this way. Johnnie was her friend’s fiancé.

  She cast around for something to say so no one would notice anything was wrong before she had a chance to lock this feeling deep inside her and throw away the key. ‘Have you heard about Grace’s new job?’ she asked.

  ‘Not the details.’

  ‘She’s working for a wine merchant. Office work, exactly as she wanted.’

  ‘They’re lucky to have her.’ Johnnie shifted position and Ruth winced as his mouth tightened with pain. ‘It’s nothing,’ he insisted, but the Matron had walked past and seen his grimace.

  ‘Time to rest, Mr Fitzpatrick.’

  ‘It was only a twinge,’ Johnnie argued.

  How brave he was. How brave they all were – Jenny, Grace and Lydia too.

  And here was Ruth. Cheating and lying to protect herself and her family from repellent Vic.

  Just two days later, Vic sat opposite her in the café again, smiling smugly as he waited to be paid. Ruth looked down at the money she had ready for him. It was money they’d earned through hard work and included the prize Lydia had won in her second race and insisted on handing over to reduce her debt to Ruth. How dare Vic demand it?

  And how could Ruth be so weak as to hand it over? Her friends all had courage. Wasn’t it time she found some courage too? Anger rose up in her like an erupting volcano though she was icily calm on the surface. ‘Well?’ he said, holding his hand out.

  ‘No.’ Returning the money to her bag, Ruth got up. ‘You’ve had enough from me. You’re not getting anymore.’

  The smugness disappeared and malice took its place. He grabbed Ruth’s wrist and pulled her forward. ‘Pay the money.’

  ‘Not a penny.’

  ‘You know what’ll happen.’

  Ruth shook herself free. ‘Do your worst, Vic Rabley.’

  Forty-six

  Lydia hadn’t known what to expect the first time she’d come to St John’s Wood. But staring through the car window at the substantial mansion block, she’d realised it fitted with everything she’d learned about the 1924 version of Celia Grey. Celia Sutton, rather.

  Somerset Mansions were a far cry from their soulless little house in Ruston. Set back from the pavement behind imposing iron railings, the apartments had tall, elegant windows and those that were lit showed luxurious rooms with chandeliers inside.

  Lydia wasn’t the sort of person who analysed feelings, preferring action to all that squirming thinking stuff. But she’d been unable to avoid wondering about her reason for coming to St John’s Wood.

  Concluding that she was simply drawing a line under her curiosity about That Woman, Lydia had driven away only to find her thoughts returning to the person who’d given her the address: Harry.

  Despite the appalling way she’d treated him, he’d let Lydia stay on the team and for that she’d been extraordinarily grateful. But when she’d seen him at Fairfax Park he hadn’t been the old Harry anymore. Not with her. There’d been no more teasing and sparring. He’d been polite, but distant. Hurt. Lydia had hated seeing him like that but hadn’t found the words to put things right. It had frustrated her terribly.

  So too had the realisation that her curiosity over Celia hadn’t been fully satisfied after all. Lydia had seen Somerset Mansions but hadn’t known which flat was Celia’s.

  So she was back, watching in the Silver Lady. It was daytime, though, and with none of the windows lit up, it was impossible to see inside. Lydia’s heartbeat quickened when the uniformed porter opened the door, but an elderly couple emerged, staring at Lydia as they passed. Perhaps they’d noticed her through their window and were wondering why she was hanging around. The Silver Lady was distinctive, after all. If this couple had spotted her so might Celia spot her and that would never do.

  Irritated, Lydia drove back to Shepherds Mews.

  ‘How was it?’ Ruth asked.

  For one startling moment Lydia thought Ruth meant her trip to St John’s Wood, but, of course, she meant the booking Lydia had completed before it. ‘Fine. Is Jenny still at the hospital?’

  Just then Jenny came running upstairs, her smile brighter than sunshine. ‘Johnnie’s being discharged tomorrow!’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Lydia said. ‘Will he have to go to one of those convalescent places?’

  ‘The doctors advise it, but Johnnie won’t hear of it. He won’t go to his parents’ house either.’

  ‘How will he cope with a broken leg?’

  ‘His landlady is letting him have a room on the ground floor. And – do say if you don’t like the idea – but he’d like to come here in the daytime. He says he could look after the telephone and give you some time off.’

  ‘Suits me,’ Lydia said.

  Lydia expected Ruth to jump at the possibility of extra help but all she said was, ‘Will he manage the stairs?’

  Perhaps she thought that admitting the workload had been heavy would make Jenny feel guilty for spending so much time with Johnnie.

  ‘He says he’ll sit at the bottom and use his good leg to boost himself up one stair at a time,’ Jenny told her. ‘He’s very determined.’

  Johnnie spent his first day of freedom recuperating in his landlady’s house, then Lydia and Jenny brought him to Silver Ladies. ‘I feel like a prisoner released from jail,’ he said.

  He was triumphant when he settled behind the desk with his broken leg supported on another chair.

  ‘Ready for business,’ he announced. ‘What time is today’s booking?’

  ‘Ten,’ Lydia told him. ‘I’m driving.’ It was good to keep busy and have something new to occupy her thoughts. Celia and Harry had both been taking up too much of her thinking time lately.

  ‘I’ll go too,’ Ruth offered, but Johnnie wouldn’t have that.

  ‘I’ve kept Jenny from work for too long. You or Lydia should have the day off, Ruth. I’ll be quite all right by myself. I’ve brought all these photographs to put into portfolios so I shan’t be bored.’ He tapped the box Lydia had carried in for him.

  Despite his confidence, Jenny looked worried at the thought of him being left alone. Oh, heck. The last thing Lydia wanted was to stay behind. She needed to be occupied and she’d be terrible company for an invalid anyway. Ruth would play the nursemaid much better.

  Johnnie must have thought so too. ‘What about you,
Ruth?’ he asked. ‘You could help with these photographs. We could have another lesson with the Brownie too.’

  ‘I…’ Ruth began, but her voice trailed off as Jenny smiled at her gratefully.

  Lydia was glad to get out, though unwelcome thoughts filled her head no matter how hard she tried to keep them at bay. The daylight hours had lengthened so she’d managed a short practice at Fairfax Park the previous evening, but Harry had been remote again. ‘Would you prefer me to stop racing?’ she’d asked, unable to bear the thought of her presence adding to his unhappiness.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he’d said, but everyone at the track had to be aware of the cool atmosphere and they couldn’t be expected to put up with it indefinitely.

  Perhaps Harry would be over his disappointment soon, though. One of those silly society girls had been hanging around him. Very pretty and full of admiration for his daring. Lydia supposed she should feel grateful to anyone who drew Harry’s attention away from herself, but she’d left Fairfax Park feeling oddly hollow.

  ‘There was a telephone call for you,’ Johnnie told her, when she and Jenny returned from the booking.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Hux.’

  Disappointment spiralled down inside her. Before their fight Harry had called often.

  ‘He asked you to call back tomorrow as he’ll be out for the rest of today.’

  Never knowing who would answer the telephone at Fairfax Park, Lydia’s mouth was dry as she called the following morning. Hux answered and told her there’d be more women than ever in her next race.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Lydia said, wondering if Harry was out with that pretty girl.

  Whatever he was doing, Lydia couldn’t fix the awkwardness with Harry, but she could fix her curiosity over Celia once and for all.

  Later that morning she dropped a customer at a beauty parlour near Regent Street and then drove to St John’s Wood. Parking further along the road from Somerset Mansions, she walked back and stood half-hidden behind a plane tree on the opposite side of the road.

  The throaty growl of an approaching vehicle didn’t register at first. Then recognition bloomed with horror. Lydia jerked her head around. It couldn’t be…