A Rebel at Pennington’s

by Rachel Brimble

  Her gaze shadowed as she glared, her smile too bright to be sincere. ‘I hardly thought you a tyrant, Mr Culford.’

  ‘Good, then the matter is settled.’ Even though the matter felt strangely less settled than it had before.

  He turned towards the department exit and didn’t look back… regardless of the almost overwhelming urge to do so.

  The woman had infuriated him, bewildered him and left him feeling she’d ended the conversation on her terms once again. Damnation!

  Three

  Esther turned back to her latest sketch, fingering the brooch at her throat with slightly trembling fingers. Why on earth had Lawrence Culford sought her out? She’d barely given the man a second thought since she entered the store. Yet, clearly, he’d thought of her. Why? She neither wanted, nor needed, a man’s attention.

  Lawrence Culford might have two of the most delightful children she’d ever met. And, yes, he might have a certain something that appealed to her sensibilities. That jumbled her sensibilities, but he was still an ill-mannered fool.

  It was of no consequence how much she missed being part of a complete family with a mother and father. It was of no consequence that she missed her parents every day since her mother’s death and her father’s estrangement. She could not allow this man’s strange need to seek her out and laud his decision to buy the cricket set for his children to shake her new independence. Self-reliance was the only way forward in this newly emerging world.

  She had her colleagues, she had friends both here in the city and at home in the Cotswolds. What did it matter that she no longer kicked up her heels at parties and gatherings as often as she once had? She still laughed and joked from time to time… still found joy in the company of those she worked with. So, she no longer had her beautiful, caring, passionate mother to confide and whisper with. But she had others she was coming to care for and slowly reaching out the hand of friendship.

  Especially Louise and the woman standing next to her.

  Remembering Elizabeth beside her and feeling decidedly discomfited, Esther smoothed her skirt and lightly patted her hair, steadfastly avoiding Elizabeth’s gaze as it burned into Esther’s temple.

  ‘Esther?’

  She turned, an automatic smile slipping into place as she snatched her hand from her hair. ‘Yes?’

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, her gaze amused. ‘Do you know who that man is?’

  ‘No, and neither do I want to. Clearly Mr Culford had no care for the fact I’m working when he chose to interrupt us. Just another indication of his character.’ Esther looked pointedly at her latest design determined Elizabeth not be concerned by Mr Culford or his ability to unsettle her professional aptitude. ‘So, what you’d like for me to do is—’

  ‘Esther Stanbury, look at me.’

  Briefly squeezing her eyes shut, Esther opened them again and faced her employer and friend. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That man is Lawrence Culford, the owner of The Phoenix hotel. A man who sadly lost his wife a few years ago. In childbirth, I believe.’

  Esther’s heart twisted in sympathy. ‘He’s a widower?’ She glanced towards the entrance, hating that she’d been so short with him and that she’d referred to his wife when they’d been outside. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘And I’m sure you also didn’t realise quite how wealthy he is or how he’s admired around town.’ Elizabeth followed Esther’s gaze towards the entrance of the ladies’ department. ‘Or that he is quite the mystery. Although, by reputation, kind, handsome and unassuming, he’s also someone who is rarely seen at social occasions.’

  Elizabeth’s hushed tone ignited Esther’s curiosity even as she tried to quell it. ‘Well, if he’s a father raising his children alone and running a hotel, I would assume he wouldn’t have time to be social.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe.’ Elizabeth put her hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes. ‘But I can’t help wondering why he has you so flustered.’

  ‘I’m not flustered,’ Esther retorted a little too quickly. ‘I’m just… busy.’

  ‘The man is as handsome as they come and has two beautiful children, and you say you’re not flustered? I was flustered, and I happen to be deeply in love with Joseph. Lawrence Culford has a presence, I think. How does he know you? And what is the significance of the cricket set?’

  Esther waved her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, it was something and nothing. I ran into them looking into Pennington’s window and overheard him say cricket sets are for boys, dolls for girls. We had a short conversation and that was it.’

  Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. ‘And you expect me to believe your exchange was no more than that?’

  Knowing when she was beaten, Esther slowly laid down her pencil and folded her arms. ‘Fine. I might have confronted him more than I conversed.’

  Elizabeth’s smile immediately dissolved, concern sparking in her dark green eyes. ‘Confronted him? A customer? Esther, you know you have to hold your tongue—’

  ‘Oh, trust me, I did.’ Feeling like a chicken puffing her feathers, Esther battled to keep her righteous anger in place. ‘The man is an ignoramus.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes. He…’ She pushed a stray curl back from her cheek, culpability uncomfortably pressing down on her. ‘I wanted him to understand that girls shouldn’t be limited by the toys they’re given, and do you know what he had the audacity to say to me?’

  Elizabeth glanced towards the department exit, clearly unhappy. ‘Were you rude to him?’

  ‘I… Well, no. Of course not.’

  ‘Esther…’

  Her heart quickened, and Esther grimaced. ‘No. I was merely… firm.’

  Elizabeth studied her, her canny gaze boring into Esther’s before her shoulders relaxed and she shook her head, making her deep red curls softly sway. ‘You shouldn’t push your views on our customers. Our job is to ensure they come inside and spend their money. Having said that, it seems Mr Culford concurred with your opinions enough that he gave into them and sought you out to tell you of his transformation. You clearly snagged his interest.’ She gave a knowing smile. ‘I suspect in more ways than one.’

  Heat warmed Esther’s cheeks. ‘Don’t be silly. The man is nothing more than a father trying to push his viewpoint onto his young daughter. If he came to tell me about his purchase, it’s because he wanted the last word. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Elizabeth turned back to the design sheet. ‘I’m not convinced, but let us get back to work.’

  Esther released a shaky breath. Crisis averted. At least, the crisis that Elizabeth might push her for more information about her exchange with Mr Culford. As for the crisis going on inside of her? That was a different matter altogether. He was widowed, possibly raising his children alone. Did he presume her to be a game target for his attention?

  Or was she being presumptuous?

  Annoyance stirred, Esther forced her concentration to Elizabeth as she spoke.

  ‘We need to expand on housewares in the west window, I think. If we include another set of dining—’

  Esther’s mind wandered once more. As much as she wanted – needed – to think badly of Lawrence Culford, she somehow couldn’t align him with anything entirely bad-tempered. In fact, his rising to her challenge, of acquiescing to buy little Rose the cricket set and then seeking Esther out spoke of a man who was willing to admit he could have been wrong. Of a man willing to apologise, even if he hadn’t quite managed to utter the word.

  Which meant there was every chance she had misjudged him.

  The cut of his clothes, his upper-class tone and impeccably dressed children indicated a man of money and status. One who’d almost certainly received an expensive education and was more than conversant with the ways of the world. A man not a million miles from her father.

  Yet, the two of them were beyond compare.

  Mr Culford had said he supported the Cause.

  Had he recognised her from a demonstration or rally? Seen her pe
titioning on the street? Maybe it was that which had led him to seek further contact with her? Could he be a possible ally to the Society?

  Deep curiosity whispered through her as she tried to listen to Elizabeth.

  ‘So, moving on to your design for the forthcoming Coronation…’

  Esther frowned. But she hadn’t seen him at the local suffragists’ meetings, nor at any public petitions. Yet, why would he lie about being a suffrage supporter if he wasn’t? There seemed no reason why he would so vehemently tell her of his involvement unless he truly cared about it.

  Which made him even harder to dismiss from her thoughts.

  ‘—and, to be frank, I really think the standard is slipping, Esther.’

  Jolted from her thoughts, she turned to Elizabeth. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘This design isn’t up to your usual excellence. I hate to say it, but I’m a little disappointed.’

  Dread and shame twisted inside Esther as familiar fingers of insecurity crept along her spine. Elizabeth had never said such a thing about her work before. Her position at Pennington’s was as vital to Esther’s heart and mind as the Cause.

  Swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat, Esther frowned. ‘What is it that disappoints you?’

  ‘I think it lacks your usual sparkle. Your flair. Pennington’s windows are, of course, yours and your team’s doing, but it’s your designs I rely upon to astound people, to entice them inside. It’s your skill that makes people desperate to purchase that hat, that purse, that toy, that necklace. Design ideas for the Coronation need to be bigger, brighter and more spellbinding than anything you’ve done before. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ She paused. ‘How many Coronations do we get to celebrate? The city is already simmering with anticipation. Can you imagine how that will grow and swell as the day comes ever closer?’ Elizabeth stepped back and splayed her fingers on her hips, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Milsom Street will be filled with well-wishers, balloons and banners. We need those people to stop at our windows, be inspired by our wares and congratulations to King George V.’ She slumped as her brow furrowed. ‘I worry you haven’t got the passion for the store you once had.’ Concern clouded Elizabeth’s eyes and her voice softened. ‘Unless, of course, it isn’t the store bothering you, but something else entirely?’

  Although Elizabeth’s excitement had gone some way to reigniting Esther’s anticipation for the upcoming Coronation, words and explanations about her father, her demanding Aunt Mary and the pressures of performing well for the Society flailed on her tongue. How was she to confess her hardships to Elizabeth? They were friends, but it was imperative she maintained professionalism whilst they were at the store.

  Esther looked to the design, battling the stinging in her eyes. ‘I’ll do better. I promise.’

  Elizabeth gently touched Esther’s arm. ‘Esther, please tell me what’s worrying you. Is it the suffrage movement? I imagine things at the Society continue to escalate with every passing week.’

  Esther slumped her shoulders. ‘I have been more and more wrapped up in the Society. Clearly, that has been detrimental to my work here. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.’

  ‘Don’t apologise for something as important as the vote.’ Elizabeth touched her hand to Esther’s arm. ‘I wish I could do more than support you by listening and suggesting things, but if I’m seen as any more active—’

  ‘It could affect the store. I know, but I am determined to make a difference. Do something to enable a breakthrough. Do you not read in the papers the lengths some women are going to in London?’ Passion sped Esther’s heart, her need to do something more burning deep inside. Although Elizabeth supported the Cause and did as much as she could, the movement was not as crucial to her. ‘There are more arrests, more force feeding, but these women do not falter nor step down. It’s been two years since Prime Minister Asquith came under attack in Birmingham and two years since Winston Churchill was assaulted in Bristol, yet nothing has changed.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Concern clouded Elizabeth’s gaze and she lowered her voice. ‘Please tell me you are not considering joining the women in militancy?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I do know is I feel I’m failing to take up the mantle that my mother left behind. She prepared me for this path. She took me to rallies, explained militant and peaceful action. Made me read the newspapers with her. I have a passion for the vote like nothing else, but my work here.’ Esther’s heart picked up speed. ‘I sometimes feel I am letting myself and my mother down so badly.’ She reached past Elizabeth and started to roll up the large sheet of paper, regretful she had said so much. ‘I’ll work on this tonight and have something better for you in the morning.’

  ‘Esther, please look at me.’

  She lifted her eyes to Elizabeth’s.

  Her friend’s gaze was astute and steady. ‘I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Whatever your efforts for the Cause, you are making a difference and your mother would be so proud of you. We will win this fight. We have to.’ Elizabeth continued to consider her awhile longer before she lifted her hands in surrender. ‘I’ll leave you to see what else you can come up with. Why don’t you take until the end of the week? That will still give us plenty of time to get things organised.’

  ‘I’ll start straight away.’

  Before Elizabeth could say anything else, Esther took the rolled design sheet from the counter and hurried from the department. How could she have allowed even the slightest doubt and lack of confidence to appear in Elizabeth’s mind? Without her work to distract her, Esther would be back in the dark hopelessness she fought against daily.

  Her work at the store and the Society should buoy her, but sometimes a horrible inferiority surfaced, as though her father’s anger and resentment would forever hold her in its grasp. She had to find the strength to see through what had drawn her to Bath. Her desire to be in a city, in the thick of the fight, had become so vital to her integrity, she had not fought for her right to stay at home but walked away. Her head held high. Albeit, her heart broken.

  She would never be what her father wished her to be. A woman who was happy to stay at home and do her husband’s bidding. A woman so different to who her mother had been when they first married. Her mother had changed over the years, Esther knew that. She had told her as much. And Esther was so grateful she had. If her mother hadn’t been inspired and impassioned by female progression and exposed Esther to an alternative existence, there was no saying what her life might have looked like today.

  She had to cling to her blessings. Her talent. A wonderful job. The Cause. Things she would not give up, couldn’t give up. Not for anyone.

  Pushing open the door to the design department, Esther glanced at her colleagues as they worked side by side. These people were her team – her achievement – and she would protect them with everything she had. As much as she loved her work for the Cause, she also loved her role at Pennington’s and needed to ensure her concentration on her job never faltered.

  Lawrence Culford flashed in her mind and she quickly pushed away the image of his handsome face. Thinking about an interesting, outspoken man with an attentiveness to the fight would do no good for her survival. No good at all.

  She had to focus on creating a bigger and better window for the Coronation. Astound Elizabeth and, in turn, the hundreds of people who would line the streets on the twenty-second of June. Just three short weeks from now, Great Britain would have a new King-Emperor and maybe George V would be the new figurehead of hope the women of this country had been waiting for. She wished for that more than anything.

  Four

  Lawrence hit the cricket ball with controlled force towards Rose where she stood in front of the stumps on the green outside his townhouse, situated in the famous Circus. Pride swelled inside him as his children ran to retrieve the ball. He’d provided them with a lovely home and enough food to fill their bellies. Enough
warmth that they should never feel the chill in their home as he had within the cold corridors of his family’s manor house in Oxfordshire.

  Yet, time and again, his fierce determination to protect his children’s happiness felt threatened. As though at any moment, his father would rise from the grave to beat him again, his mother looking on, her eyes alight with malicious satisfaction as this time they left him for dead and assumed guardianship of Rose and Nathanial.

  He stabbed the bat into the grass and looked around the circle of houses and the people gathered on the green for the impromptu cricket game. The sun shone high in the sky and the first shimmers of hazy heat warmed his raised face. Yet it had no hope of melting the ice around his heart.

  Once heir to the Culford estate, Lawrence’s father had raised his son with an iron hand, determined Lawrence would know hardship as James Culford had. How disappointed Lawrence’s parents must have been when they realised their son was neither boy nor man with a drop of superiority, cruelty or abuse in his nature.

  Lawrence glared ahead. Those particular family traits had bypassed him and his eldest sister, Cornelia, and, instead, showed signs of manifesting in their snobbish, money-hungry younger sister, Harriet.

  Yet, because she was female, their parents were adamant Harriet would not inherit.

  So, Lawrence was dealt every ounce of James’ and Ophelia’s frustration and disappointment.

  No matter the mask he wore in front of the children, his staff, colleagues or friends, the fact remained, Lawrence was damaged. Damaged and afraid. So very afraid that beneath his carefully maintained veneer, he feared he could one day be provoked and reveal a deeply buried anger, proving all too clearly he had bad Culford blood running through his veins.