Proud Mary

by Proud Mary (retail) (epub)

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Sally Benson flashed her a look of pure hatred. ‘It’s the workers, Mr Sutton, lazy idle lot they are, won’t take to be told, slacking all the time.’

  Katie pushed the parcel she had been tying to one side. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ she exploded. ‘If you’ll believe that, Mr Sutton, then you’re as green as an Irish shamrock, so you are.’

  ‘Don’t be insolent, girl.’ The old man looked at her, his face growing red. Sally wasn’t slow to take advantage of his irritation.

  ‘She’s one of the idlest girls here, is that Katie Murphy.’ She spoke with spiteful sharpness. ‘Just caught her daydreaming, I did. No wonder the work don’t get done around here, I have to be chasing them all the time.’

  ‘You are a liar, Sally Benson,’ Katie said hotly. ‘You always have been and always will be.’

  ‘Enough!’ Mr Sutton glared at Katie. ‘You are a friend of Mary Jenkins, I presume? Well, then, perhaps you’d like to leave the laundry since you think it’s not well-run in her absence?’

  Katie took off her apron with shaking fingers. ‘Right then, so be it, but you’ll be sorry, Mr Sutton, and that’s for sure. Getting rid of fine workers and keeping on the bad ’uns is not doing the laundry any good. Facts speak for themselves and there were no complaints when Mary ran the place, so put that in your pipe and smoke it!’

  She left the laundry with head high and marched down the rickety staircase and out into the yard. At the gates, she turned back and stared at the old building for a long moment. It had been part of her life since her childhood and a great emptiness filled her at the thought of leaving behind so many happy memories. Tears misted her eyes, but Katie brushed them aside impatiently.

  ‘’Tis daft you are, Katie Murphy!’ she told herself briskly. Yet she stood in the gloom of the November evening, watching the lights go on in the laundry and it was as though she was a child again and excluded from a birthday party. At last she turned and walked slowly along Canal Street, her footsteps heavy.

  She could not help but glance into the window of the house where Mary had lived. She saw new and richer curtains at the windows now and white fluffy net across the glass for privacy. So much was changing and Katie felt as though she were being swept away by a tide of events over which she had no control.

  As she neared Market Street, she began to worry what her mammy would say about her getting the sack. Tom Murphy would not blame his daughter for one moment; he was a strange man, harsh in many ways and overfond of his booze, but he was fair-minded and Katie knew that he loved her best out of all his children.

  Just the same, as she opened the door into the house her heart was heavy. She was not looking forward to telling her parents that she was no longer a working girl.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As the frosty fingers of winter touched Sweyn’s Eye, the town retreated into itself. Doors no longer stood open but were firmly closed, with the smoke from a myriad chimneys telling the tale of roaring fires behind black-leaded grates. Mary, shivering inside her boxlike stall in the market, found the call was for winter clothes cheap and enduring and she made her plans accordingly. She had been virtually cut off from buying foodstuffs and so had been forced to direct her attention to the only other line open to her, that of making clothing.

  She had taken a trip to the woollen mills outside the bounds of Sweyn’s Eye and had managed to bring back with her a respectable stock of shawls and woollen undergarments, carrying them on the cart with Katie driving Big Jim. The prices were low as she collected the purchases herself direct from the manufacturer, and so she could undercut most of the large stores in town, including those belonging to the Cooperative Movement. Meanwhile Muriel continued to sew linen and coarse calico garments and between the two lines Mary found that she was more than making a fair living.

  But it was cold and bleak and during the worst of the bitter weather few customers ventured into the market. Mary stood now rubbing her chilled hands, drawing her thick shawl closer round her shoulders, stamping her feet to keep the circulation moving.

  She caught sight of a man with a shaven head a little distance away and her thoughts turned to Billy. She could remember every line of the letter he had sent her. It was a desolate cry for help, begging her to write and tell him she was still faithful and she wondered uneasily if he had learned of her affair with Brandon. She had made yet another attempt to see him, only to be turned away once more from the huge hostile prison doors.

  Now she pushed the unwelcome thoughts aside, dreaming with nostalgia of the laundry hot and steamy with the scent of clean linen permeating the long, peaceful room. She had been sorry to leave and yet, in a strange way, Grenville Sutton had done her a favour, for now she was her own woman and she would not change that for the world.

  ‘Mary, I’ve been talking to you for a solid five minutes and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said!’

  Mary looked up, startled. ‘Jake! I didn’t hear you, I was miles away. There’s soft you must think me.’ She stared at him curiously. ‘Have you come to tell me that I can buy food from you after all?’ Jake shook his head and there was such a hangdog expression on his face that she felt sorry for him.

  ‘No, I haven’t, Mary, sorry I am about that, mind. I’ve come to ask you can I buy that.’ He gestured to the locked-up stall. ‘It’s only standing idle after all, isn’t it?’

  She considered his question for a moment, her hands on her hips. ‘Let me get this right – you won’t sell me goods, yet you want my stall so that you can have the trade, am I right?’

  Jake rubbed his hand against the roughness of the stubble on his chin.

  ‘Well, seeing that you’re not able to sell sardines and bacon and tea and such, I don’t see any harm in me doing it instead. Good idea of yours, Mary Jenkins, too good to let it waste.’

  ‘What about Alfred Phillpot?’ Mary asked flatly. ‘Aren’t you afraid of crossing him?’

  Jake had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Well, he won’t say anything so long as I support the Coop, see. I’d give you a good price though, Mary. Just think – you could put the money into buying more stock. Stick to clothes and you’ll be all right.’

  Mary’s first instinct was to refuse and send Jake away with a flea in his ear, but she paused. The money would be useful, there was no doubt about that. She was still lodging with the Murphy family and dearly wanted a place to rent where she could be alone. And Jake was right in one thing, the stall was doing her no good standing closed-up and idle.

  ‘Come on,’ Jake wheedled. ‘You don’t need two stalls, not now, you might as well sell.’

  ‘All right,’ Mary said at last. ‘But I’m going to put the stall up for auction and if you want it, Jake, you’ll just have to bid in competition with everyone else.’

  He looked at her as though she had suddenly grown two heads. ‘You can’t do that,’ he blustered and Mary smiled.

  ‘Why not? It’s my stall isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s a hard woman you’ve become, Mary Jenkins,’ Jake said with something like admiration in his voice. ‘Be taking on the Coop and beating the lot of ’em soon, I’ll wager.’

  Mary grinned at him. ‘Good luck in the bidding and thanks for giving me the idea, Jake.’

  That night the Murphy household was a hive of activity. Everyone except the youngest of the boys was engaged in making posters that boldly proclaimed a ‘Grand Auction’ to take place on Saturday next at three o’clock prompt.

  ‘This will shake ’em all up for sure.’ Katie pushed back her silky hair, her eyes bright with mischief. ‘’Tis glad I am that I left the laundry. Fun it is working for you, Mary Jenkins.’

  Mary made a face. ‘Aye, but there’s very little money in it as yet. As soon as matters improve you’ll have a proper wage, don’t you worry.’

  Katie leaped to her feet as there was a sudden knocking on the door. ‘That’ll be Mark, I’ll bring him in and he can help us.’

  Mary exchanged glances
with Mrs Murphy. The woman smiled in satisfaction, her pale eyes warm.

  ‘She’s with a good ’un now,’ Mrs Murphy said as she pushed the last of the posters away from her with a sigh. ‘A great deal different he is from that waster William Owen.’ She made the sign of the cross. ‘Not that I should speak ill of the dead, but hurt my girl that’s all he did, used her and gave her pain. I only hope she handles this one with more wisdom.’

  ‘Katie is all right,’ Mary replied reassuringly. ‘She has her head screwed on the right way and she won’t do anything foolish.’ She spoke the words with well-meaning conviction, but even as they left her lips she was thinking how little sense had to do with feelings. She who had given herself wholeheartedly to Brandon Sutton had allowed desire to overrule her senses.

  But then Katie might well be different. Once bitten, twice shy as the saying went, yet as the Irish girl came into the room at Mark’s side her face was flushed, her eyes shining and she had the distinct look of someone who has just been kissed.

  ‘Evening to you.’ Mark’s voice was pleasant and yet strong. He had a good look about him, Mary decided, and he would make Katie an excellent husband.

  ‘What this?’ Mark picked up one of the posters and a chorus of eager voices answered him. Laughing, he held up his hand. ‘You’re like a crowd of parrots for heaven’s sake. Mary, you tell me – it seems to be your doing.’

  ‘It is,’ Mary agreed. ‘I’m auctioning one of my lock-up stalls. Unusual they are, you see, everyone else having open tables so that they have to take away the stock each night and set it all up again in the morning.’

  Mark smiled. ‘Enterprising you certainly are, Mary.’ They smiled at each other in genuine liking and Mary felt that she had found an ally. She admitted to herself that at first she had been drawn to Mark because of his association with Brandon, but now she felt he would become a valued friend.

  ‘Well, then, let’s get this show on the road,’ Mark said cheerfully. ‘If this is going to be an auction, let us make sure it’s a good one and get these bills posted.’

  Mary felt an air of excitement as she stepped out into Market Street. She would show the Cooperative Movement and Alfred Phillpot that she could manage very nicely without them, thank you!

  * * *

  The day of the auction turned out to be bright with a pale sun washing over the square. Mary wondered if it was the novelty of the event that brought out the sightseers or the kindly weather.

  Auctions were usually reserved for copper and steel owners and their kind, held in the comfort of the Mackworth Arms. Here in Market Square were gathered a motley crowd of the town’s inhabitants. Men with stiff Sunday collars and good suits stood alongside fellows in working clothes who had come straight from the copper or the tin, sweat still streaking their faces.

  There were women present too and Mary glimpsed Delmai Richardson in the crowd, standing cheek by jowl with a cockle-woman who wore a flat basket hat and dark checked shawl and a black and white apron.

  Mary was relieved that Mark had agreed to take over the job of conducting the bidding, for she found that her knees were trembling now that the moment had come. She felt Katie catch her arm and smiled at the enthusiasm on the Irish girl’s face.

  ‘’Tis exciting, to be sure!’ Katie sounded breathless and though Mary was outwardly composed, she too felt a surge of exhilaration.

  The bidding began briskly and Mary’s head whirled with the sound of voices ringing across the square. Mark was in total command of the situation, his manner firm and confident, his mind quickly grasping the possibilities almost before they presented themselves.

  ‘This is not just a flat table you’re bidding for, remember,’ he said clearly. ‘This is a new idea, a revolutionary method of stall holding whereby you can lock up your stock and leave it here while you go off home. And of course the patent is pending, so don’t any of you think of going away and copying the idea because you won’t get away with it.’

  Mary gasped and whispered excitedly in Katie’s ear. ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of any patent! There’s a cheek your Mark’s got, but he’s clever, mind.’

  Eventually the stall was knocked down to Jake Zimmerman whose face was flushed and triumphant as he handed the purse of money to Mark. ‘Got it after all, Mary Jenkins,’ Jake said with smug satisfaction and Mary stared at him feeling a small dart of uneasiness.

  ‘Paid a high enough price for it too,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps that will teach you not to cross Big Mary.’

  ‘Teach me, is it? Well, we’ll see and don’t worry, it’s no price at all for me to pay, merchi.’ Jake smiled enigmatically. ‘I’m well satisfied with today’s work, though I daresay you’ll not be too pleased once the stall is opened. But then you’ll have to wait until Monday morning to see the meaning behind my words.’ He lifted his hat. ‘Good day to you, Mary Jenkins.’

  Mary shook her head, determined not to let Jake with his mysterious words put a damper on her high spirits.

  ‘You must both come back to my house for a meal.’ Mark put his arm around Mary’s shoulders in a friendly gesture at the same time as he hugged Katie’s slim young frame against him.

  Mary smiled at him. ‘You’ve been the one to do all the work so far,’ she said. ‘I think we should be treating you to a meal.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mary!’ Katie pleaded. ‘Me mammy can’t say nothin’ if you come with us.’ She made a face. ‘You know how she’ll nag if I go off alone.’

  Mary capitulated. ‘All right, why not?’ As she turned to leave Market Square behind her, she was determined to put all feelings of uneasiness out of her mind. She would talk to Mark about Brandon and perhaps learn how the business of the handbook was faring. A warm glow ran through her; it seemed so long since she had actually been in Brandon’s arms that he had become almost like a dream lover, a man of her clouded sleepy thoughts rather than one of flesh and blood. Just to speak of him would make him a reality once more.

  Mark’s house was small and neat, a cottage tucked away in the fold of the hills. Below, the river shaped like a horseshoe, seemed spun gold in the pale sunlight.

  Mary was aware of Katie softly touching the smooth satin wood of the polished table, the silk of the furnishings and guessed what she was thinking, that one day she might come here as mistress of the house. In that moment, Mary envied Katie so much that it was like a pain throbbing within her.

  She would never be wife to any man, she was convinced of it. Mistress, perhaps – and indeed, she supposed that would be her title now if anyone knew of her relationship with Brandon. But perhaps the name given her would not be so kind, she thought ruefully. She would more likely be described as a floosie, a hoyden, a woman who gave herself without the respectability of marriage or even the tenuous status of a kept woman.

  ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ Mark said and his eyes were resting upon Katie’s face bright and glowing with happiness. There was a softness in the way he spoke that told Mary he was in love, yet perhaps he didn’t even know it himself yet.

  She seated herself near the window and stared down into the valley. It was beautiful to see, with soft folding hills running down and to the south the sea laving a long sweeping golden shore. And yet Sweyn’s Eye had another face; the gaunt features of industry.

  In some places the ground was barren and ugly where the copper and steel had left their scars. Great stacks rose skywards, shooting flames and poisons into the clouds. But all that was hidden from sight here and Mary sighed softly, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes almost closed in dreamy contemplation.

  Then she was alert, for a tall figure was coming up the hill riding high in the saddle of a black horse. Mary knew at once that it was Brandon and her mouth was dry, her hands shaking even as she told herself not to behave like a foolish girl.

  ‘Mark!’ She had to raise her voice, for he and Katie had disappeared into the kitchen. ‘You have another visitor.’

  Her blushing cheeks went unnoticed in
the flurry of greetings as Brandon entered the cottage. Mark quickly told him about the auction and by the time he turned towards her, Mary had her feelings under control. No one would have guessed that she was anything but a casual stranger to Brandon Sutton.

  ‘Good for you, Miss Jenkins,’ he said blandly, his face lacking any emotion, his turquoise eyes unreadable. ‘I’m pleased to hear you’re doing well.’

  Mary moved away from him, wondering desperately how she could escape. His presence seemed to fill the small cottage so that the very walls appeared to vibrate with the force of his energy.

  She sank into a chair. She would rather be anywhere than here, she thought desperately. How could she sit so still, knowing Brandon was so near that she could reach out and touch him. She watched him covertly as he talked easily with his manager, Mark’s regard for his boss being plain to see in the eagerness of his expression and the positive way he spoke.

  Mary’s heart seemed to be pounding so loudly that she wondered that no one else appeared to notice. Her hands trembled even as she strove to appear calm. She studied every turn of Brandon’s head and listened to the intonations of his voice. Though he treated her casually, she knew that her love for him was strong and deep-rooted. And as hopeless as it was, she could no more deny her feelings than she could leap from the mountain into the river below.

  Mark’s seating arrangements were destined to throw Mary into a fresh wave of panic, for she was on Brandon’s right hand, so close that his knee accidentally touched hers. She felt colour flooding into her cheeks and bent her head praying that no one would notice her confusion. She was unaware of what she ate and her face ached with the effort of smiling politely whenever anyone spoke to her. When the meal was finished, Mark rose to his feet, catching Katie round her waist and lifting her bodily from her chair.