The thought led to another – one of Richard Wyndham. He lived in the country all the time. How she would love that, far away from the smells of the town. Away from the pall that hung over the buildings night and day. Far from the poverty and urchins begging in the streets.
As she walked back the way she had come, Victoria tried to imagine Lord Wyndham’s estate. A stately home in its own grounds jumped into her mind. Horses in stables at the back and extensive gardens dotted with topiaries. Servants would be in evidence everywhere and a cook in the massive kitchen. The house would most definitely have its own indoor lavatory – maybe even two!
Lost in her thoughts, Victoria found herself back at the dingy hotel. Casting a glance over the dirty brickwork, she resolved – one way or another – she was going to become Lady Wyndham!
Ten
Ann looked at the wedding gown hanging from the picture rail in her bedroom. The length of champagne silk had been transformed into a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Leg of mutton sleeves hung either side. The skirt was long and plain at the front, the back being laced criss-cross fashion. At the back of the skirt, in place of a bustle, was an enormous bow of the same material, held in place by tiny stitches. Draped over the chair was the lace veil. A coronet of silk flowers sat on the dressing table.
Her first bridal gown was finished and Ann felt proud of her achievement. Now all she had to do was sell it! She would start work on the next while she considered how to go about advertising herself. There was the newspaper, of course, but she thought that would be expensive. There again, one had to speculate to accumulate. It was an avenue to explore and Ann felt it worthy of investigation.
Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and in trooped the girls, led by Maisie.
‘I can see I need to wedge a chair under the knob again!’ Ann laughed.
‘The girls wanted to see what you did with the money,’ Maisie said.
Ann watched the women as they ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the dress. Compliments abounded and she answered their questions about her work.
‘Ann you are so very talented, any woman would feel proud to wear one of your gowns,’ Floss said.
‘I hope so, Floss,’ Ann answered. Looking at her friend she smiled. Floss was so very caring and gentle; she was the one who threw food scraps into the yard for the birds in the winter. Ann’s smile broadened as she thought about Floss loving everyone but she could worry for the world at times. Ann’s love for her shone through her eyes.
Over tea in the living room, ideas were exchanged about introducing Ann’s business to the people of the town. The advertisement in the newspaper appearing to have the vote of all.
Suddenly Maisie said, ‘You know, if you advertise yourself in the newspaper, you’ll have to give an address where people can find you.’
‘Oh, Maisie! I never thought of that… I can’t possibly give them your address!’ Ann gasped, annoyed with herself that she hadn’t considered this.
‘Of course you can, but my thought was – if you do – it’s possible Richard Wyndham will know where you are too.’ Maisie grinned, as did the others.
Everyone looked at Ann, waiting for her reply.
‘Oh, crikey!’ was all she said, causing everyone to fall about laughing.
‘Oh, blimey, I need a drink,’ Floss laughed.
‘Ar, me an’ all,’ Patsy agreed.
‘Right, gel, we’re off to the Bell, time we had some fun with Len to be sure,’ Mary added.
*
Richard Wyndham rounded the corner of Camp Street and strolled into the Bell Inn.
‘Hey up,’ the landlord said breezily, ‘Mr Wyndham, seems you can’t keep away from my honourable establishment!’ Len Pritchard snorted at the laughter and ribald comments coming from the girls in the snug. Tipping his head to said room, he went on, ‘Got no respect, that lot.’
‘Pint of porter please, Len,’ Richard said with a chuckle, ‘I’m sure the ladies mean no harm.’
‘Ar well,’ Len raised his voice loud enough to be heard by the women, ‘I might just chuck them “ladies” out and close the snug, if they ain’t careful.’ Giving a wink, he waited as the beer settled in the glass. Sure enough, more comments came on the tail end of his sentence.
‘If you did, you’d only have Gladys left for company, so you would!’ Mary called out.
‘Marriage is an institution intended to keep men out of mischief and get them into trouble,’ Ella yelled.
‘I’ll ’ave nowt said against my Gladys, she’s the best wife in the world,’ Len called back as he tipped a wink to Wyndham.
‘That’s because she always hits him with the soft end of the broom!’ Patsy said before they all applauded her quip.
Laughing loudly, Len scooped up the coins placed on the bar.
‘Is Maisie Bancroft in yet, Len?’ Wyndham asked.
‘Oh, you set yer sights on that one now ’ave you?’ Len jiggled the coins in his hand.
Richard wiped the beer froth from his upper lip with his handkerchief and shook his head with a smile on his lips. ‘No, Len, but I was hoping she may have a message for me.’
‘What sort of message?’ Len asked. It never occurred to him that it was none of his business.
‘A private one,’ Richard grinned.
‘Ar, righto. Well her ain’t in as yet.’
Nodding his thanks, Richard picked up the newspaper from the bar and began to read as Len sauntered back to the company of the ladies in the snug.
Whilst Richard Wyndham enjoyed his drink in the Bell, across town in Queen Street, Ann Felton was getting to grips with her new wedding gown design. Sewing the pale lemon silk with tiny stitches, Ann’s mind roamed. She needed to sell her gowns in order to pay rent to Maisie, reimburse the girls for the loan, put an advertisement in the local paper and buy new materials for her other designs.
She stopped sewing and stared out of the window onto the drab street. The houses opposite were identical to the one she now sat in; the brickwork covered in coal dust carried on the wind from the collieries. Small windows which let in minimal light despite their having to be washed constantly. Wednesbury was poor, with people working all hours God sent just to make ends meet. How on earth was she going to sell her precious gowns in this poverty ridden town? There was little enough money for food; there was certainly none for luxuries such as a wedding outfit.
Glancing down at the beautiful lemon silk lying in her lap, Ann sighed heavily. Was she wasting her time even sewing these dresses? Would she find herself lumbered with them with no hope of a sale? How then would she pay back the money lent by the girls?
With another sigh and tears close, Ann raised her eyes to the window once more. She started as a figure walked past the house and glanced in. Was that Victoria Beckett? Ann was certain it was. What was she doing round these parts? Had the girl spotted her? No, she wouldn’t have been able to see into the dim living room where Ann sat. Was Victoria searching for her? She was sure the young woman had deliberately tried to run her down with the horse and trap. Did that mean she was now looking for Ann in order to finish the job? Or was it all in Ann’s imagination?
‘You all right, gel?’ Maisie’s voice snapped Ann’s attention back.
‘I’ve just seen Victoria Beckett walk past. Do you think she’s looking for me?’
‘Bloody hell, Ann! You’re paranoid. ’Er ’as the right to walk down the street, same as you and me!’ Maisie laughed, hiding her own discomfort at the revelation.
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Ann glanced again at the window. An innate sense of self-preservation gripped her as she went back to her sewing. She was sure, after Maisie’s comments, that it was indeed her imagination running wild, but she would be extra vigilant when out and about in the town in future.
Over a cup of tea, Ann shared her worries about her gowns with her friend.
‘I can’t see people being able to afford these,’ she said, holding up the dress.
‘Every wom
an finds the money for a wedding frock, Ann! It’s a once in a lifetime thing to get married and folk will starve rather than not ’ave a lovely dress. All you gotta do is get yourself known – get that advert in the paper – today!’ Maisie stabbed a finger on the newspaper on the table.
Ann picked up the paper and began to look through it. She saw advertisements for many different things, ranging from corsets, carbolic soap and hosiery to chewing gum and cigarettes.
‘I will,’ Ann said. ‘I need to word it properly though.’ Grabbing a pencil and paper, Ann set her mind working, and before long she had what she considered to be a good recommendation.
BESPOKE WEDDING GOWNS
by Ann Felton.
Bridesmaids, Matrons of Honour and page boys all catered for.
Please visit number twelve, Queen Street, Wednesbury, for a consultation.
Maisie and Ann left the house together, Maisie headed for the Bell Inn and Ann for the Midlands Advertiser printing office in Russell Street.
Ann paid for her advert to be placed in the paper every day for a month, by which time she felt she would know whether it was worth it or just a drain on her money. As she walked the length of the Holyhead Road on her return journey, she sent up a silent prayer to the Almighty to help in her venture.
A short while later, Maisie Bancroft trundled into the Bell Inn to be met with a hello from her friends.
Just along the bar in the next room, Richard Wyndham heard the greeting given to Maisie. Good, she had arrived at last. Maybe today she would have a message for him from Ann. Picking up his beer, he walked through the door into the snug.
Immediately, the cheeky comments turned to him.
‘Now, here’s a man worthy of a second look,’ Patsy said, sweeping her hair over her shoulder.
‘I thank you, ma’am,’ Richard replied as he gave a tiny bow from the waist.
‘Ooh, curtus an’ all,’ Eve Hall said.
‘Courteous, Eve, the word is courteous,’ Len put in sarcastically.
‘Summat you ain’t!’ Eve quipped, laughing along with the others.
‘I give up,’ Len muttered.
‘Aw don’t, Len, you’m so much fun to tease!’ Patsy’s rejoinder sent them all into giggles again.
As the girls turned their attention once more to ‘Lecherous Len’, Richard seized the opportunity to have a quiet word with Maisie.
‘No message, Mr Wyndham, but keep yer eye on that!’ She tapped her finger on the Midland Advertiser which lay on the bar. She smiled and winked. Seeing the confusion on the man’s face, her finger then rose to tap the side of her nose.
Richard knew by that gesture Maisie would say no more on the matter. Finishing his beer, he gave a theatrical bow to the ladies and left, their applause ringing in his ears.
Walking back to the Albert Hotel, Richard considered his brief exchange with Maisie. Why should he keep his eyes on the newspaper? What would he see there? Please God let it not be an announcement of Ann Felton’s impending marriage! That would be a cruel joke; surely Maisie wouldn’t do such a thing. With a heavy heart, he strode on.
Eleven
Hearing all the noise and laughter, Gladys Pritchard marched into the snug and dropped into a chair. Snatching her mob cap from her head, she sighed loudly. The girls watched as Len passed over a beer to his wife.
‘Bloody hell!’ Gladys said after swigging her beer. ‘That new wench is bloody useless, her’s driving me barmy! Her knows nothing about nothing!’ The girls giggled as Gladys railed on. ‘Can’t even wash a plate without breaking it, and tears – Christ, her could drown us all!’
‘I ain’t surprised, you’m a scary old bugger at the best of times,’ Len put in with a grimace.
‘Leonard Pritchard, you best shut yer mouth right now ’cos I ain’t in the mood!’ Gladys glared at her husband.
‘Look, all you ’ave to do is train ’er up like you did with Annie…’ Len attempted to calm his wife. Soon enough he realised the error of his ways. Seeing Gladys raise her arm, he ducked. The flying beer glass missed his head by a whisker. The glass shattered against the wall behind the bar before Len’s eyes peeped over the counter. ‘Another beer, my little rosebud?’
Laughter rang out as Gladys slumped in her chair. She was tired: tired of her life, her husband, of having no money and of working like a dog.
Floss passed over the fresh glass of beer and Gladys downed it in one. Slamming the glass on the counter, she took a deep breath and headed once more for the kitchen.
Len and the girls watched her go and waited. A moment later they heard it. Gladys’s voice sailed along the passage to their ears. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! What you bloody done now?’
Len winced. It seemed the new kitchen maid’s days were numbered.
In fact, it was just a couple of hours later when the snivelling girl slipped out of the side door, carpet bag in hand.
Gladys, exhausted by the day’s events, was once more swigging beer in the bar.
‘That’s it, her’s gone! I’ve sacked ’er and if you say just one word, Len, I’ll drown you in your own beer!’
Len continued to polish the glass with the tea towel and shook his head.
Gladys turned to the girls. ‘Don’t one of you want a job off them streets? I’m desperate for some ’elp in that kitchen.’
Patsy laughed, saying, ‘Gladys, there ain’t enough money in the world would tempt me to work in this place – with him!’ The woman jabbed a finger in Len’s direction.
‘Can’t say I blame you for that, gel,’ Gladys retorted. ‘I wish Annie would come back,’ Gladys muttered quietly to herself.
‘Ain’t no chance of that,’ Maisie said as she laid open the evening edition of the Midland Advertiser and pointed to the advert. ‘Our Annie’s gone into business for herself.’
The girls crowded round to read the paper and Gladys sighed heavily. ‘Bloody hell! Good luck to you, Annie.’
*
Buying the evening paper from the boy standing outside the hotel, Richard Wyndham scoured it. There it was – Ann’s advert! Thanking God it was not a wedding announcement after all, he also said a silent thank you to Maisie. Without her, he might never have found Ann again.
The following day, Viscount Wyndham strode along the street towards the market where he purchased more yellow roses, enjoying the banter with the seller. Finding his way to Queen Street, he sought out number twelve and rapped the knocker. The door opened and there stood Ann, a tape measure hanging around her neck and pins shoved into the shoulder of her dress.
‘Mr Wyndham!’ she gasped.
‘Miss Felton, I came to deliver these.’ Passing over the roses, he watched her breathe in their fragrance.
‘Thank you! Please won’t you come in?’ Standing aside allowing him entry, Ann closed the door behind him, leaving it on the sneck. Gesturing to a chair, she set the kettle to boil and looked around for something to hold the flowers. A wide necked milk bottle was all she could find – it would have to do.
Making tea, she thanked him again for the roses which now took pride of place on the table.
‘Ann, I thought I’d never find you! Thank God for your advert,’ Richard said as she took the seat opposite him.
‘I had thought you would have returned home by now,’ Ann said as she blushed at his words.
‘No, at least not until I had seen you again. I’ve searched everywhere for you, Ann.’
‘Why?’ she asked in all innocence.
‘Why? Because… I… Ann, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we had dinner together. I went back to the Bell Inn, but Len said you had left – he wouldn’t say why or where you’d gone. I was beside myself! If it hadn’t been for… your advert, I might never have seen you again!’ he corrected himself quickly, not wishing to implicate Maisie with her secretive intervention.
Ann flushed scarlet at his outburst. ‘Mr Wyndham—’
Cutting across her words, he said, ‘Ann, please don’t send me away.�
�
‘Oh, she won’t,’ came a voice from the doorway, ‘not if I ’ave anything to say about it.’
‘Maisie, I didn’t hear you come in,’ Ann said.
The next few hours were spent discussing Ann’s business and whether it would take off. Maisie was sure it would, as was Richard, but Ann was not so confident.
Maisie left for work and Ann and Richard continued to chat about her gowns and his tenant farmers. The hours passed, the two enjoying each other’s company, before Richard stood to leave. ‘It’s late. Please, Ann, say I may call again.’
Ann nodded; despite herself she could not refuse him. On the doorstep, he kissed the back of her hand and disappeared into the inky black night.
The next day, the summer sun shone down, baking the earth hard. The cobbled streets threw up a mirage as the heat shimmered above them. Although the weather was beautiful, it was not conducive to good temper and outside the Bell Inn an argument was raging.
Two women had been passing by as the girls poured out of the Inn a little worse for wear and laughing loudly. Patsy had walked straight into the passing women. Turning to apologise, Patsy was taken aback by the onslaught that greeted her.
‘Watch where you’m going, you strumpet! It’s bad enough you ’anging around on street corners tempting the men, now you’re drinking in a pub no less!’
Patsy stared at the woman a moment then launched in. ‘I was about to apologise, but you can stick it up yer arse now!’
‘Charming! Bad language as well!’ the woman retorted.
‘Lady, I don’t give a bugger what you think, just be grateful I ain’t met your old man yet!’ Patsy jabbed a finger at the woman.
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