‘But what about breakfast?’ One of the girls scrambled for her clothing. ‘I’m Nerys Beynon, vicar’s daughter, you can’t boss me about as though I was a servant. I don’t do anything ’till I’ve had my breakfast – I have a weak constitution, you see.’
Mary looked at her steadily and the girl’s eyes wavered. She turned to her companion, a mutinous look on her face. ‘Come on, Joanie, speak up for yourself. There’s soft you look with your mouth hanging open like that.’ However, her words were greeted with a heavy silence.
Mary shook her head. ‘Save your breath, it’s downstairs in five minutes or I’ll personally put you out in the street, bag and baggage, understood?’
She returned to the shop and removed her coat, hanging it on a peg behind the door. She smiled to herself as she heard the clatter of feet on the stairs – it seemed she had won the first round.
‘We’ll have the place cleaned up a bit this morning,’ Mary said quietly. ‘You, Nerys, can tidy the cards of ribbon; find a board and pin them on it so that the colours can be seen at a glance. And you, Joanie, can get the floor cleaned up. The place is a shambles.’
She turned to the older woman who was watching her with wary, hostile eyes. ‘Perhaps you would like to go into the kitchen and make us all a cup of tea?’ Mary smiled and the woman after a moment responded.
‘There’s sorry I am for oversleeping,’ she said in a light breathless voice. ‘It’s the fault of them girls, gave me a glass or two of wine, they did. Can’t take it, getting old I am, see.’ Her smile broadened. ‘I’m Mrs Greenaway, it’s my job to look after the girls.’ She grimaced. ‘Didn’t do very well last night, did I?’
Mary shook her head. ‘The two of them are like playful puppies. They need a firm hand, Mrs Greenaway, but I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you.’ The woman nodded and Mary felt as though she had made an ally if not a friend.
It was an hour later before the first customer arrived and it was obvious to Mary that the late opening time had become a custom rather than an occasional lapse. She stepped forward as the bell on the door pinged and it was with difficulty that she hid her embarrassment as Delmai Richardson, her young maid in attendance, walked into the shop.
‘Can I help you?’ Mary spoke civilly enough but Delmai’s eyes slid away and she plucked at a bolt of cloth nervously.
‘I didn’t realise you were working for the Suttons,’ she said casually, though her colour was high. ‘I’m looking for some good velvet for window drapes. What can you show me?’
Mary held her head high, concealing the pain she felt as she imagined Delmai Richardson refurbishing the house in Canal Street, changing all that Mary had done, marking the rooms with her own personality.
‘Nerys, show Mrs Richardson our best velvet,’ she said with such quiet authority that the girl hurried forward, bobbing a curtsey.
Mary made a show of busying herself tidying a tray of buttons. Her back was ramrod straight and her senses alert as the conversation between Delmai Richardson and Nerys Beynon washed around her.
‘Mrs Richardson will take the green velvet, Miss Jenkins.’ the young girl said haughtily. Mary glanced at her questioningly and a small smile appeared on Nerys’s face.
‘You have to work out the price, Miss Jenkins,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Mr Sutton always does it himself, so I can’t do it.’
Mary felt panic just for a moment. She could not begin to gauge the price of the material when she had no idea how much a yard it should be.
‘That’s all right, Nerys,’ she said firmly. ‘Just cut the cloth and the bill will be sent on to Mrs Richardson later.’
Nerys pressed her lips together, obviously annoyed at Mary’s deft sidestepping of the problem.
‘Have the girls help Gwen to carry the velvet to the hansom cab,’ Delmai Richardson said quickly and Mary looked at her, knowing that dislike was growing between them, gaining ground each time they came in contact with each other.
As soon as Delmai Richardson had gone, Mary searched for the stock books that must be kept somewhere on the premises. There had to be a price list of the bales of cloth somewhere and she did not intend to be caught unawares again. The next customer might be a copper worker’s wife, who would wish to take with her a piece of unbleached calico or some coarse linen and pay on the spot.
Mary found the books at last beneath the counter; they were covered in dust and obviously not used very often.
‘How does Mr Sutton tell the prices?’ Mary asked Nerys and the girl shook back her curls.
‘Don’t know, ’spect he keeps it all in his head,’ she replied unwillingly. Flicking through the pages, Mary could see that the figures before her were at least a year out of date. It was no wonder Dean did such a booming trade, for his prices must be the cheapest in Sweyn’s Eye. While it might be a good idea to keep them low, Mary felt that some alterations must be made and she would do them herself without delay.
‘Fetch me a pen and some thick paper please.’ She glanced over her shoulder and when neither of the girls made a move, she raised her voice. ‘Now!’
Nerys scurried into the back room, reappearing a few minutes later, her face red and angry.
Mary drew a chair towards the counter and sat down, studying the figures before her and writing prices neatly on squares of paper.
‘Take this and pin it to the velvet,’ she instructed, permitting herself a smile as she saw the chagrin on Nerys Beynon’s young face. ‘Then put the prices on all the other bales of cloth, understand?’
By noon when it was time to close the shop for dinner, the place was almost unrecognisable. The bolts of cloth were neatly labelled and rearranged in order of price on the freshly dusted shelves. The floor gleamed with polish and the room was fragrant with the scent of beeswax.
‘Now we ought to see about something to eat,’ Mary said, realising suddenly how hungry she was. ‘What do you usually have?’
Nerys, who seemed the only one not afraid to speak to her, moved forward.
‘Mr Sutton sometimes treats us to hot pies from the baker’s two doors down,’ she volunteered. ‘I’ll run and fetch them if you like.’
Mary nodded. ‘Yes, all right but just for today.’ She nodded towards the door behind the counter: ‘There’s a kitchen back there and we’ll get it cleaned up this afternoon so that we can cook our own food.’ She ignored the look of outrage Nerys gave her; she was not here to be popular, all she wanted to do was to learn as much about shopkeeping as she could.
Perhaps then Dean might accept her as simply a valuable employee. In any case she was finding the business fascinating. Already she enjoyed the feel of the cloth beneath her fingers. She had watched the girls carefully as they cut, slipping one blade of the scissors beneath the material and sliding it along in one liquid movement, slicing instead of cutting.
It gave her a sense of excitement to make a sale. She was finding that she had a glib tongue and could convince even a difficult customer that to buy at Sutton’s was to save valuable pennies.
By the time she was ready to close up the shop, Mary’s feet ached as though they didn’t belong to her. As she sat on a chair and eased off her shoe, Mrs Greenaway stared down at her sympathetically.
‘Soaking in salt, that will harden your feet up just fine,’ she said, tucking a piece of grey hair back into place. ‘And soft shoes. Comfort is what you want in by here, not style.’
Mary nodded. ‘I’m just finding that out to my cost. I’ll wear something more sensible tomorrow.’ She shrugged her coat around her shoulders and picked up her bag. ‘Now be sure to lock the doors carefully behind me and remember, Mrs Greenaway, no more wine.’ Mary turned to the two girls who were making for the kitchen.
‘I shall expect you to be in the shop early, mind. If I can travel from Ty Mawr and be here on time, then you can surely get out of your beds and be ready to serve when I arrive.’
Nerys gave her a quick look. ‘Perhaps you won’t be here so early once Mr Sutton g
ets back.’ Her tone was low but Mary caught the gist of her words. She regarded the girl steadily and it was Nerys who looked away first.
Mary held her head high as she moved along the darkening street towards the tram terminus. Her cheeks were flushed and she was glad of the cool breeze blowing in off the sea. So everyone knew the role she was to play in Dean Sutton’s life; even the girls in the shop were aware of the situation.
As she boarded the tram, her thoughts were in a turmoil. She had believed herself ready to do anything Dean wanted, to be his mistress as well as overseer in his shop. What had happened to her brave resolutions? Was it the words spoken by Bertha who was loyal to Bea Sutton, or was it something more, some perverse pride that jibbed at being recognised by all and sundry as a whore? She sighed softly and stared out into the indigo night as if somewhere in the vast emptiness of the sky she could find an answer.
Chapter Sixteen
Leaves drifted down from the trees, the rioting colours dulled now by the teeming rain. In the distance, the sea was a mist-covered strip of water, still and motionless under a leaden sky.
Delmai Richardson stood at her window and trembled as she rehearsed in her mind the words of farewell she would say to her husband. Her trunk was already packed and though it was filled to the brim with winter clothes, this represented only a small part of Delmai’s wardrobe. But she would have to send Gwen to the house for anything else she might need, Delmai thought, for once she walked out through the front door she would never return.
The door of her bedroom opened and Delmai tensed as she saw Rickie peering in at her, his face creased into a frown, his eyes narrow as they took in her appearance.
‘Why are you dressed to go out?’ he asked and Delmai noted with scorn how like a petulant child he sounded. She took a deep breath. The time had come for her to tell him the truth, there could be no prevaricating.
‘I’m leaving you.’ The words fell like chips of ice into the silence of the room. Rickie stared at her as if he had not understood her words and so she repeated them, ‘I’m leaving you.’
‘You must be mad!’ Rickie’s voice was strangled, his face had turned almost grey and his nostrils quivered as he moved closer. ‘If you think I’ll let you make a fool of me in front of the whole town, then think again, you bitch!’
‘I’ll stop at nothing to get away from you,’ Delmai said breathlessly. ‘I’ll kill you if I have to.’
Rickie slumped against the wall. ‘You are quite crazy, out of your mind.’ He blinked rapidly, consumed with self-pity. ‘I never should have married you, too much interbreeding has ruined your bloodline.’
‘Then you won’t be sorry to see me go.’ Delmai moved past him but suddenly he was pinning her against the door.
‘You can’t do this to me, I’ll be a laughing stock. Think about it for a day or two, Delmai, I promise I’ll change my ways. I’ll be good to you.’ He was whining now and Delmai felt sick with loathing. She pushed him away and began to descend the stairs.
‘All right, get out of my house then, you filthy whore!’ His voice was frenzied. ‘I’m throwing you out, do you understand? I want no truck with you, you’re frigid and unnatural and I’ll be well rid of you!’
Delmai held her head high as she stepped outside into the pouring rain. The hansom cab was waiting, the driver slumped into his seat with coat collar turned up against the weather and hat pulled low on his forehead.
‘Canal Street,’ Delmai said quickly as she climbed inside and sank back gratefully into the creaking leather seat.
She did not even look back; there was nothing to hold her, now or ever. She had sent Gwen ahead to light the fires and make the house in Canal Street cheerful. Now her spirits lifted and she sighed with relief as she stared out of the window into the rain-dulled landscape.
The rugged hilltop was being left behind now and the warmer air of the valley drifted upwards carrying with it the scent of the town. It was a mingling of odours that could belong nowhere else but Sweyn’s Eye.
The stench of the copper works hung heavy on the air trapped under the lowering clouds. But as the cab turned into Canal Street Delmai smiled. She could bear the strange smells of the copper and of the laundry situated a few hundred yards away from her house, she would learn to love her new home for it offered her freedom and release from her husband’s petty tyranny.
Gwen held the door open, her faced wreathed in welcoming smiles. Delmai paid the cab fare and watched as the driver manhandled her box into the narrow passageway of the house.
‘Home!’ she said softly and looked around her joyfully, seeing the rooms transformed by rich carpets and heavy curtains and solid, highly polished furniture.
‘Go and sit near the fire, Miss Delmai,’ Gwen said with concern. ‘You look cold and wet, in need of a hot drink.’
Delmai slipped off her coat and unpinned the large hat, shaking her hair free.
‘You’ve done well, Gwen,’ she said gently. ‘Everything looks beautiful, just as I expected.’ She sank down into a low rocking chair and closed her eyes. ‘We’ll be happy here, won’t we?’ she spoke wistfully and Gwen pushed the kettle on to the bright new stove with eager quick movements.
‘Yes, of course we will, but you shouldn’t mix with your neighbours too much, miss, there’s common some of them are. Some are not so bad, there’s a nurse a few doors down, a Mrs Benson, proper clean and sparkling she looks, a nice enough body, might come in useful if there’s any sickness.’ She paused only to draw breath. ‘Noisy it is sometimes, too, when the girls are coming out of the laundry after finishing time. The sound of their voices and the clatter of their boots on the cobbles is enough to give you a bad headache.’
‘I think I can put up with all of that, Gwen,’ Delmai sat forward in her chair. ‘I’ve got my freedom and that’s all that counts.’
Gwen looked at her mistress with an unspoken question in her eyes. Delmai sighed. ‘I can’t expect you to understand,’ she said softly. ‘But Mr Richardson and I… we just couldn’t live together. I suppose it’s my fault.’
‘No, never your fault, Miss Delmai,’ Gwen said stoutly. ‘I heard Mr Richardson shouting at you sometimes, made you cry he did too. You did right to get away from him and damn what anybody else says.’
Delmai’s stomach turned over. ‘Do you think there’ll be much gossip?’ she asked, imagining already the speculation and sly innuendos that would be passed around s all over the town.
‘Bound to be, miss.’ Gwen busied herself setting out china on the damask tray cloth. ‘People round here just love to have something to talk about but a nine-day-wonder, that’s all it will be – you mark my words.’
Delmai settled herself back in her chair, sipping the fragrant tea gratefully. She had always dreaded being the subject of idle chatter and yet now it didn’t seem to be important. She sighed contentedly. This was the beginning of a new life for her and she meant to make every moment of it count.
A watery sun greeted Delmai when she woke the next morning and she sat up in bed with the feeling that something pleasant was going to happen. Then she remembered that she was to visit the prison later on that day. She rose from bed, drew off her silk nightgown and stared at her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror.
She was shapely enough, she decided, though perhaps a little more fullness of breast and hip might be flattering. There were no marks on her white flesh now and it was as if Rickie Richardson had never touched her. But would she ever be able to respond to a man’s desire with love and joyfulness, she wondered sadly. She shook back her tangled hair and stared at her face, as yet young and unlined. Perhaps she would spend her life doing good works, finding solace from what Rickie had called her unnaturalness in helping others.
When later she went downstairs into the kitchen, she sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells good!’ She moved to the range and watched as Gwen broke an egg cleanly into a large pan already containing several rashers of bacon.
‘Got to feed
you up.’ Gwen’s eyes twinkled. ‘Eat like a sparrow you do; and you’re as thin as a bird too.’
Delmai smiled. Gwen, though only a year or two older than she was, treated her like a child.
‘Do you want your breakfast served in the dining room, miss, or will you have it here in the kitchen?’
Delmai stood considering the question for a moment or two. Was it important to keep up the conventions of a lifetime, she wondered. Only servants took their meals in the kitchen, yet the cosy warmth from the range made the prospect inviting. In any event, she was breaking all other conventions, so why not do just as she liked?
‘I’ll eat in here,’ she said firmly. ‘Along with you, Gwen.’
The maid looked at her and there was a smile in the depths of her eyes. ‘Your daddy wouldn’t approve of such behaviour, mind,’ she said gently and Delmai shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t, which is reason enough for doing it.’
The day passed at a leisurely pace as Delmai wrote letters and amused herself with some embroidery but at the back of her mind, like a ray of sunshine, was the thought of seeing Billy Gray once more. At last, when she could dally no longer, she began to dress with care, choosing a gown that was high-necked and restrained in design yet in a soft pastel shade of rose which was most becoming to her pale complexion.
She set out early, a basket on her arm containing freshly baked buns and a slice of fruit cake. Billy always appeared half-starved, his young face long and thin, his strong jaw lantern-like beneath his cropped hair. Her heart skipped a beat as she made her way along the road, breathing in the scent of the breeze salt and tangy coming in off the sea. The mists and rain of yesterday had vanished and a soft autumn sunshine lit the cobbled roadway.
Griffiths greeted her, opening the small door with reluctance, but Delmai was ready for him.
‘Good morning, Mr Griffiths,’ she said brightly. ‘Would you like to try one of my cakes?’ She lifted the cloth and the warden sniffed disapprovingly.
Proud Mary Page 19