by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)
What had happened to him over the years? Why had he made such a mess of his life? Driven by ambition and greed, no doubt, and a constant dissatisfaction that niggled away at him, as if just around the corner he might find something better. No, he really shouldn’t be too hard on himself. He’d stayed in his marriage, no matter how unsatisfactory, if only out of loyalty rather than love? For all her insipid charms, Clara’s devotion was beyond question. She would never say a word against him, which was partly why she was so unutterably boring. Evie certainly didn’t inherit her wild streak from her mother. He’d put up a show of being a good husband because he had a position to maintain in the community.
But he felt so alone, so bone weary.
He spent his days struggling to make the figures tally, as well as trying to knock some sense into his colleagues at the Exchange. A vain task as the industry continued to flounder and lose orders to cheaper competitors. His nights were spent drinking too much brandy alone in his study while his wife dabbled in art, or gossiped with her old school chums. And what his daughter did with her time he hadn’t the first idea, and cared even less, so long as she behaved herself and brought not a whiff of scandal to his door.
But with no son to follow him, there were times when he asked himself what was the point of it all?
He thought of that other girl, the daughter he might have had: the one with the lovely, elfin beauty and jet-black hair, exactly the colour his own had used to be when he was young. He’d made mistakes over her too, one of the few he regretted. Could he have made things better for her? Would he have done so had he known of her existence earlier? Take the risk of scandal? He suspected not. He should have paid off her mother in order to keep her quiet, but Maisie had never spoken of her, or asked for a penny. Until now!
He shook his head in despair. It was surely too late, too big a risk on top of all his other worries. He was too old now to stir up past problems and create yet more havoc in his life. If only he could exchange irritating, lazy, heedless Evie for the fiery and enchanting Dolly. It was a tempting but traitorous thought.
* * *
Dolly’s brave words to Aggie about her successful career as a moneylender had sounded hollow and over-optimistic. Following the incident of Nifty Jack attacking the Shuttleworth girl, despite every effort to protect the family, she had become increasingly concerned over recent weeks. She’d wanted to do some good but all she’d really achieved was to bring more trouble upon folk. Furthermore, many of her regulars were coming to her, somewhat shamefaced, and saying they wouldn’t need her services any longer. They were settling their debts with incredible swiftness, but when she asked where they’d got the money from to pay her off, folk would mumble excuses about a windfall, or a relative leaving them some unlikely legacy, and hastily hurry away.
Then one day, Elsie Crabtree’s mother came with a wad of notes in her hand. Everyone knew the family didn’t have two pennies to rub together, and Dolly took her to task, insisting on knowing what was going on. The woman finally admitted that Nifty Jack had been round ‘for a chat’, and made her see the error of her ways.
‘I have to use him, d’you see, not you, Dolly. Nifty don’t take kindly to you queering his pitch. Best for all of us if we don’t upset him any more than necessary.’
Dolly decided that future clients must be chosen with greater care. She hoped this might resolve the problem. Sadly, it hardly mattered as before the month was out she had no clients left at all, save for one old man who’d refused to be bullied, and Edna, of course. She’d have to think of some way to deal with the problem, but no solution came to mind at the moment.
It seemed that Nifty Jack still held the upper hand.
This evening, not having any rounds to do, no payments to collect, no loans outstanding, she’d spent a whole hour carefully preparing a beef stew which she’d put on to simmer, even though she had no appetite. She wished Sam would walk in through the door just one more time. Where was he and why wouldn’t he at least talk to her? Could she ever persuade him to come back home and try again? Did she even want him to?
Maisie came marching in having no doubt delivered the latest clean washing, with more than her usual vigour. She hung her shawl on the nail behind the door, tugged off her old boots, and sat down with a happy sigh. ‘Have you had a nice day, chuck?’ she asked, sounding surprisingly cheerful.
‘Not particularly, why?’
‘Well, I’ve a bit of news that might cheer you up. I know I’ve been a burden to you, lass, so I’ve made up me mind to do something about it. I’m leaving. Cyril and I have decided to get wed. There, what d’you think of that?’ She sat back, her arms wrapped about herself as if for protection.
‘Getting married to Cyril?’ At one time Dolly would have been delighted over such news. She’d have hugged her mother and wished her well. But because of the way things stood between them she couldn’t quite decide how to react, couldn’t work out how she felt about it.
‘Like I told you, Cyril fancied me once-over, when I was a girl, and he’s remained fond, so I thought, why not? We get on grand so I reckon we’ll make a go of it.’
‘You mean he’s going to make an honest woman of you at last?’
Maisie sighed.
They were interrupted by the bang of the door as Aggie strolled in. She’d called to gloat over some news of her own, but instantly sensed something brewing. Looking from one to the other, she asked, ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Mam is getting wed, isn’t that wonderful?’ Dolly attempted to inject some enthusiasm into her voice because, deep down, she was truly pleased for her. It was just difficult to understand why now, and why she still wouldn’t admit Cyril was her father.
‘Aye, Cyril and me have named the day. What do you say to that?’
Aggie’s brow rose in surprise. ‘I hope he knows what he’s taking on. You don’t have a good record with men, Mam. I hope he appreciates that fact.’
‘Oh, Cyril understands more than you think.’
‘I dare say.’
‘Don’t underestimate him.’
Aggie was having difficulty in keeping her expression bland and not looking too pleased, but now looked Dolly straight in the eye. ‘I’ve a bit of news of my own. I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant? Oh, Aggie, that’s wonderful. You must be thrilled. I bet Harold is pleased too, isn’t he?’
Aggie’s smile slipped just a little. ‘Course he is, pleased as punch.’ Harold had sternly taken her to task for forgetting to wear the device, reminding her how difficult it had been to save what they had so far, how hard it was for them to manage now that his wages had been cut. And how they’d be in a worse state when Aggie gave up work. She’d been upset by his attitude but had every hope she could win him round and he’d get used to the idea. All men were a bit indifferent about fatherhood at first.
The important thing was for him to go on thinking she’d forgotten to put in the device one night, instead of the truth, that the baby wasn’t even his. It was Sam’s. How could it not be? The timing was right and she certainly hadn’t been thinking of contraception on that particular afternoon. She and Sam had enjoyed several more encounters since that day, finding the pleasure in each other every bit as good as in the old days. It gave Aggie enormous satisfaction to get one over on her sister. Common sense had prevailed on those occasions and she’d been better prepared, nevertheless, there seemed little doubt in her mind about the father of her child.
Aggie blithely continued, ‘Course we’ll have to put on hold our move out to the suburbs.’ Just as if they’d very nearly started packing. ‘Although I’m sure once business picks up at the mill, things will be different. I certainly have no intention of bringing up a child of mine in these streets.’
‘It never did you two any harm,’ Maisie stoutly responded. ‘They’ve hearts of gold, folk what live round here, a fact you’d do well to appreciate, girl.’
‘You’ll be moving out and living with Cyril on Gartside Stre
et?’ And when her mother agreed that she would, Aggie turned to Dolly with a smirk. ‘Pity your husband has left you, as the pair of you would’ve had the place to yourselves at last.’
Dolly flinched. ‘Who says he’s left me? We’re just giving each other a bit of space, that’s all. He’s thinking things through.’
‘He’s having a randy old time with any girl in a skirt.’
Maisie jumped to her feet to wag a finger in Aggie’s face. ‘I’ll have none of your squabbling today. This is a day for celebrating my good fortune, not starting another family feud. We’ll have a fresh pot of tea, and then Cyril thought we might all go to the Co-operative tearooms for steak pudding and chips. His treat. What do you say to that?’
* * *
Evie had become a regular, and a popular one at that, coming to be known as the Duchess, a title she rather approved of. She visited Cabbage Lil’s on her days off from the mill and at weekends, or whenever she had a few hours to kill. Apart from the money, and she was quickly able to save a considerable sum, she found the work thoroughly entertaining and enjoyable – surprisingly so.
The clients came from all walks of life, doctors, lawyers, dockers, builders, sailors, market traders, all with varied interests and tastes. It was most educational. Dressed in harness for one client, she let him ‘ride’ her to hounds. For another she played a nurse and ‘mended’ his strained back by pounding it with a carpet beater. Yet another enjoyed sucking a dummy and then more delectable parts of her anatomy. She would scrub, tickle, touch, rub, caress, soothe, smack, or do whatever was required of her, without the slightest reservation. In fact, as her many satisfied clients all confessed, her enthusiasm and imagination were exciting, titillating, and sometimes quite exhausting.
What’s more, she and Lil were growing comfortable enough with each other for them to enjoy a regular glass of port together. One evening Evie said, ‘Might I ask how you got into this business?’
Lil filled the glass with the rich ruby port and handed it to her. ‘Same as everyone else, on me back.’
‘And was your first time with anyone in particular?’
‘Oh, my father was very particular. He liked to keep it in the family, and made life simpler, in his opinion. Instead of walking the streets at night looking for a woman, he could just pop upstairs and have me. My mother died when I was born and there was just him and me.’
Evie was shaken by this insight into her new friend’s early life. ‘Oh, Lil, that’s appalling. How old were you when it started?’
‘About seven I reckon, then fifteen before I finally found the courage to leave. By then I considered myself an expert on men, and hated them all enough to use them and take their money without blinking an eye. I served my apprenticeship on the streets, same as all the other girls I got ambitious, saved hard and started up on me own. Happen you should do the same, though not in competition to me, ta very much.’ Cabbage Lil chuckled. ‘Somewhere that won’t damage my trade, but you’ll do well being classic at your job. With the right girls you could probably entice some real swells who’d pay a bit more than the scrubbers who come in here.’
‘I hadn’t thought that, but what an interesting idea.’
‘Think about it, why don’t you?’ Cabbage Lil laughed. ‘I wasn’t too sure about you at first, but I’ve warmed to you and you certainly give value for money.’
‘Oh, my father has always taught me the value of money.’ Evie chuckled softly. ‘But in his opinion, work and me are complete strangers.’
‘It depends what sort of work we’re talking about, don’t it?’
‘It certainly does.’
* * *
Breakfast in the Barker household was generally a silent, difficult meal. Only Clara remained cheerful these days, remarkably so, this morning brightly informing her husband and daughter that she intended to spend the day with her old school chum. ‘We might drive into the Peak District and stay overnight in a charming little inn we found. Would that be a problem for you, dear?’ she asked Nathan, refilling his coffee cup.
Nathan scarcely glanced at his wife as he swallowed it down in one gulp, folded up his paper and got quickly to his feet. ‘I’ve more serious matters on my mind than the whereabouts of useless women, or what you do with your copious spare time, Clara.’
She beamed happily at him. ‘Of course you do, dear.’ And she went to collect his hat and coat, as usual.
Evie accompanied him to the mill, like the obedient daughter she was pretending to be. She stood at her frame all morning with the other girls and made a show, at least, of doing some work while knowing that her heart wasn’t in it.
Oh, but she’d tolerated this dreadful life for long enough, and it really was time to move on. She would have liked to return to France or Italy and take up her travels again, but money would be a problem. Besides, she seemed to have found something to engage her interest much closer to home, a pastime which was both titillating and profitable, and that fed her appetite for excitement. Cabbage Lil’s idea was intriguing, so why not? She always enjoyed a new challenge. Evie sneaked out of the mill for a longer lunch break than usual and began to make plans.
* * *
Cabbage Lil was taken aback by the suggestion that she and Evie form a partnership. ‘You’ve quite knocked me sideways. I didn’t expect this.’
‘But it was your idea.’
‘I thought you’d be setting up on your own, all gloss and polish like?’
‘I’m not against a little gloss but thought we’d do much better as a team. You have the experience, and I have the contacts, which might prove useful. We’d need to find suitable girls for the quality clients, those who are fastidious in their tastes. My own tastes, as you are well aware, are far more egalitarian.’
‘You like a bit of rough.’
Evie chortled with laughter. ‘I like a man to be a man, certainly, and not some over-stuffed dandy trumped up on self-pride and smelling of cologne. I have some ideas, which might be worth trying and I’d be quite happy to put money into the enterprise. Apart from the fees I’ve saved, for services rendered, I also have some jewellery I could sell. Pardon me for saying so, Lil, but I think we would need to improve our premises.’
‘One that doesn’t have a leaky roof would be a good place to start,’ she agreed, and soon they were fully engrossed in writing a list of essential needs.
The house they found was ideal for their purpose, near enough to London Road Station to be of benefit to commercial travellers and other passing trade, and large enough to accommodate a dozen girls without overcrowding. No more unseemly goings-on in the back kitchen.
Evie sold a sapphire ring and one of her pearl necklaces and paid for the entire place to be redecorated with impeccable taste in classic style. The drawing room was refurbished in white and gold with lots of elegant sofas and armoires in pastel shades; Italian chests and bronze nymphs; Turkish rugs and green satin curtains with vases of white lilies and mirrors everywhere. In the large entrance hall a fountain played, water lilies in the pool at its base, and there were crystal chandeliers in every room. The whole place glittered but did not outshine the clientele.
Here would gather the men of Manchester: commercial travellers, business men; cotton magnates; judges; members of parliament and men who had made their mark on the world. Word would quickly spread that this was not only the most enthralling and exciting place to savour those intimate delights enjoyed by men of taste, but also the most fashionable. A telephone was installed, and prospective clients were required to ring first for an ‘invitation’.
Guests would then be entertained to a champagne breakfast, lunch or dinner, prepared by a young chef Evie poached from a Parisian pension where she’d once stayed. A small gramophone supplied endless music. The food was of the highest standard as Evie’s aim was to invoke a sense of café society. She tolerated only impeccable manners, proper introductions between guests and absolutely no loutish behaviour or indiscretions at dinner. She would rap her lon
g, sharp finger nails on the table and call everyone to join with her in a toast to the King. Should one or more couples choose to leave the table before the meal was finished, nothing was said, no comments made. Privacy and discretion were guaranteed.
Evie was the star, sometimes bright and sparkling, at others coldly sensual. Pale blue eyes glowing with curiosity she would watch events unfold and quietly smile with satisfaction. Her chief passion was her need for money, although there were occasions, should she take a fancy to a young man herself, when she would softly whisper in her deep, throaty voice. Ever the attentive hostess, she made it her business to ensure that visits to Regency House, as it became known, never failed to delight. The object was that clients would not only remember their visit with awe and affection, but be eager to return week after week for more.
‘You could have me instead, if you wish.’ They never refused. Evie was the crème de la crème, and no client she accepted went away disappointed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maisie married Cyril in a short and simple ceremony at the chapel, and afterwards the wedding party, largely consisting of choir members and family, enjoyed a cold collation in the vestry. Dolly was delighted for her and it was the closest she’d felt to her mam in ages.
‘I wish you every happiness,’ she said, kissing her on the cheek, then she shook Cyril’s hand and said the same to him.
Cyril gravely thanked her before adding, ‘Happen I can be a sort of dad to you, Dolly.’
‘Yes,’ she said, trying to smile. ‘Perhaps you can.’
To her surprise, Sam was also present, since Maisie had insisted on inviting him. She could see him at the far side of the room talking to Aggie. The pair of them looked quite animated as if they were having words. Then Harold appeared at her side and Dolly saw Sam turn away and head in her direction. ‘Oh, bother,’ she muttered to herself. Did she have the strength to deal with him today? Well, he had to be faced some time.