The Wingless Bird

by Catherine Cookson

  Her father hadn’t come back by one o’clock. And when Arthur Peeble pushed open the in-between door and came into the storeroom, calling politely, ‘Miss Conway. Miss Conway,’ she left the counter and looked into the room, saying, ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s one o’clock. I…I’ll have to be away.’

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute. Just hang on till Nan comes back. I can’t leave the shop.’

  He made no rejoinder but retreated back through the communicating door; and she went on serving the customer.

  When Nan rushed in, pulling her hat and coat off as she came in, she laughingly looked at the clock and said, ‘Made it all but a minute, miss.’

  Agnes nodded and smiled at her; then, as Nan came behind the counter, she whispered to her, ‘His lordship has reminded me of the time. I must go and stand in until Father comes.’

  ‘Oh, would be a pity to keep his lordship waiting, wouldn’t it?’ Nan hunched her shoulders and laughed.

  Agnes now went into the back room and, after washing her hands in a bowl of water that stood on a bench, she dried them, then smoothed her hair back and adjusted the bow at the neck of her dress.

  Arthur Peeble was already dressed in his outdoor coat, his hat in his hand, when she went through the tobacco storeroom and into the shop. And he said to her and precisely, ‘I don’t suppose you’ll get much custom before I return, it being the dinner hour, but you know where things are.’

  ‘Yes, I think I do. If I don’t, I should do.’

  He gave her a pained look before putting on his hat and walking out.

  She grimaced to herself while thinking of how that fellow irritated her. And she wondered how he spoke to his wife and children. Very likely he used the same precise manner; she couldn’t imagine him doing otherwise.

  The shop was well set out: the window showed dummy boxes of cigars under the headings of Havana, English and Mexican; there were boxes of cigarettes, Egyptian, Turkish and even American. However, she couldn’t be certain that the more expensive kinds were there and could be actually obtained inside the shop. But it was a good window display.

  Then there was a glass-fronted cabinet holding a variety of makes of pipes, cigar holders, cigarette holders, leather pouches and all kinds of requisites required by a smoker. There was even displayed a velvet cap with a tassel. This was on a stand by itself. Then there were the tobaccos, Virginia Dark, Virginia Light, Gold Flake, Honey Dew, the latter being a popular brand of which the shop held a good stock in various weights. There was also the smoking mixture described as ‘Cavalry Extra Special, Cool and Fragrant’, quarter and half-pound tins. Of course it was only the captains and the big-business men who might find themselves coming down Spring Street who would pay six shillings and sixpence a pound for a smoking mixture; other well-established tobacconists in the city had the custom of the gentry. And yet their brands were no different and no better than what could be bought here, because her father had been to Harrods store in London and had a contract with them, and they were very good to deal with, for they gave the lowest prices to orders from clubs, messes, hotels and buyers. Of course, they liked large buyers, but the manager there must have been impressed by her father years ago, probably because although his orders weren’t all that large they were regular. Whatever the reason, he was given good trade rates.

  The first customer who came in after Arthur Peeble’s departure was a young man.

  ‘Two packets of Woodbines, miss.’

  She gave him the two packets, each holding five cigarettes, received his fourpence, smiled at him and said, ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Thank you, miss. Happy Christmas.’

  ‘The same to you.’

  The next customer was a middle-aged man who must have been a regular, for he began by saying, ‘Don’t often see you on this side, miss.’ And to this she said, ‘No. I’m standing in for my father. I’m expecting him back at any moment. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Oh, the usual. Two ounces of Gold Flake, loose.’

  ‘Two ounces of Gold Flake, loose,’ she repeated. She paused a moment, turned and looked at the line of narrow drawers, read the label, then weighed out two ounces of loose tobacco. And then the customer said,‘And I’m going to treat meself, seeing it’s Christmas; have you got any Bird’s Eye?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think we have. How much would you like?’

  ‘The same, miss, the same, two ounces. And it’s a ha’penny cheaper, if I know anything.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is; it’s only sevenpence; the other is sevenpence ha’penny.’

  ‘Aye, I thought so.’

  The tobacco weighed out into the two separate tins he passed over the counter to her, he said, ‘That’ll be one and tuppence ha’penny, eh lass?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, sir,’ she said, ‘one and tuppence ha’penny.’

  He picked up the tins; then, leaning towards her, he said, ‘Nice to be served by a pretty face. The fella in here’s usually a bit starchy, I mean the young ’un, not the old one, not the manager like.’

  ‘He’s the owner, my father.’

  ‘Oh, aye, aye. Well, good day to you, and a happy Christmas.’

  ‘And a happy Christmas to you, sir.’

  There was a short lull following this exchange, and then the door opened and in stepped the young man who had bought the mice and the toffee a few days ago. He was carrying a leather case and he walked straight to the counter and stared at her; then he smiled and said, ‘Am…am I mistaken, but are you one of twins?’

  She smiled widely as she shook her head, saying, ‘No, you are not mistaken, sir; and I am not one of twins. I happened to serve you and your wife the other evening with the sweets.’

  ‘Oh, you’re one and the same?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Both of these are our shops.’

  ‘Really? Well, well! I…I was next door getting some more of those candied mice. My sister made the mistake of letting the children see them and you can imagine they were very soon much depleted. And since I was coming into town she asked me to get some more. So—’ he pointed to the case, saying, ‘I’ve been next door and bought another dozen.’

  She said nothing but looked at him. His sister, he’d said. They weren’t a married couple. He was smiling at her, saying again, ‘I thought I must be imagining things or seeing double, or, as I said, you were a twin.’

  When he stopped speaking she said, ‘What can I do for you, sir, in the way of cigarettes, tobacco?’

  ‘Well’—he turned and looked towards the window—‘I noticed as I passed that you had a box of Havana cigars, the…the Excepcionales. I thought I might like to have a few.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nipped on her bottom lip. ‘Most of those boxes, I’m afraid, are dummies and I don’t know if we have that particular brand in stock at present. You see, my father generally deals with these; I’m expecting him back at any moment. However, I’ll take a look.’ She turned to a glass case that held a number of boxes, and after a moment she said, ‘No, I’m afraid not. Well’—she paused—‘not exactly, but we have another one of the same name with the addition of Chicas, Excepcionales Chicas. They are a cheaper brand.’

  She now moved away from the case and looked at a list attached, low down, on the wall to the side of the smokers’ requisites demonstration case. It was placed so it could not be seen by the customer. And glancing swiftly at it, she saw that the named cigar was listed as a box of one hundred for thirty-five shillings and sixpence, while its superior compatriot was fifty-four shillings and sixpence; and its sample of five was three and six, whereas five of this particular brand was only one and tenpence. But these were the London prices, which she couldn’t possibly charge up here. It was usually threepence ha’penny or fourpence for a single cigar.

  His voice now came to her, saying, ‘Look, I’ll take what you’ve got. They’re for my father, not for me, and a change will undoubtedly whet his appetite.’ But even as he spoke he doubted if Excepcionales Chicas would, when the plain E
xcepcionales was a stand-by, his favourite being Albeans or Invincibles.

  She turned and faced him again and on a high note she said, ‘We have a few Dominicoes,’ She did not say it was a sample of five. ‘Perhaps you would like to try those?’

  ‘No, no; I think we will just stick to the first choice. I’m sorry I’m putting you to all this trouble.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble whatever; but, you see, my father is more used to the cigar sales than I am. Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘Yes, some cigarettes, please. Do you happen to have any Gold Tip?’

  ‘Oh, yes sir. Yes, we have. We have some fine quality, large size.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good. They’re my brother’s favourite.’ He paused before smiling at her and saying, ‘Isn’t it amazing the choice that one has in tobacco?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it is when you come to think about it. How many would you like?’

  ‘A box of a hundred if you have them.’

  Oh. She puckered her lips for a moment. A hundred at one go. She turned from the counter and glanced through some boxes, then said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve only got fifty of the large size, sir. But I could do them in the smaller size.’

  ‘Well, I’ll take the smaller size, thank you. Have you any ladies’ cigarettes?’

  ‘Ladies’ cigarettes?’ She swallowed before shaking her head, saying, ‘I…I don’t think so, sir.’ She smiled to herself and refrained from adding, the ladies who come in here usually ask for shag for their pipes.

  ‘You are smiling. You were thinking something amusing.’

  She blinked, then laughed as she said, ‘You must be a reader of thoughts, sir. Yes; yes, I was thinking. Well, it was your request for ladies’ cigarettes. You see, there are ladies…or women who smoke, but their choice is usually Woodbines; a few ask for Gold Flake, but quite a number ask for shag for their pipes.’

  He was laughing with her and he said, ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, sir. A lot of older women still smoke a pipe, at least around the lower quarters. I’m told they find it soothing.’

  ‘Have you never tried one yourself?’

  ‘No. But there’s still time.’

  They were laughing again when he said, ‘Well, I’d better not take the shag. I have a very eccentric aunt who comes to us for Christmas, flying visits. She seems to spend her life flitting from one country to another, but she always spends Christmas with us, and she’s a heavy smoker.’

  ‘I’m very sorry I can’t oblige you with cigarettes for her, sir. I don’t suppose she’d smoke the ordinary ones.’

  ‘Well, she always brings a supply with her and by what I’ve seen they’re rather dainty.’ He surprised her by adding ‘Have you always worked in the shops?’

  ‘Yes. Since I left school, at sixteen.’

  ‘Is it something you like doing?’

  That was a strange question. Her face was straight as she looked at him and she spoke the truth when she answered, ‘I liked it at first; it was like a holiday after school, but not so of late.’

  Why had she said that, and to this stranger? Yet he had asked her a question, a pointed question.

  ‘Is there something else you want to do?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘But you’re not sure?’

  ‘No. No. Except I think I would like to get out, break away, as it were, and see the world. There’s so much that one doesn’t know about places and people, so much to find out.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right there. Yet, no matter how far one travels I doubt if one ever really gets to know people, or places, not as one imagines them in one’s mind. Both can prove disappointing.’

  His face too was unsmiling as she looked into it and said, ‘Yes, very likely.’ then asked, ‘Do…do you travel a great deal, sir?’

  ‘Not as much as I would like.’

  She turned now as she heard footsteps coming through the storeroom, and there was her father standing by her side. And she said to him, ‘Oh, I’m glad you’ve come. You may be able to help this gentleman more than I have. He would have liked a good cigar.’

  ‘Is it cigars you’re after, sir?’ Arthur Conway’s’ voice was hearty.

  ‘Yes. Yes, but I think the young lady has managed to meet with my requirements at the moment.’

  ‘What has she given you, sir?’

  Arthur Conway turned from looking at the man to Agnes as she quickly explained what she had sold the customer. And when she finished, he said, again very heartily, ‘Oh, well, we can show you one or two other brands equal to the Excepcionales, at least in my opinion. But I must say, sir, you know your cigar when you picked the Excepcionales.’ He leant towards the young man now and, his voice dropping as if he were imparting a secret, he said, ‘Do you know that they are one of the best brands sold by Harrods of London?’

  Agnes found herself surprised at the change in the gentleman’s voice as he looked at her father and said, ‘Oh, yes, yes. We usually shop there when up in town. They have a splendid department on the ground floor.’

  She watched her father straighten his back, then, after a moment’s hesitation, say, ‘Yes, sir, yes. Well then, you will know a good cigar when you taste one.’

  ‘I never smoke cigars. They happen to be my father’s vice.’

  ‘Oh, well, there are worse vices, sir, worse vices.’ Her father was no longer at ease, nor was she. She wished he would stop talking for now he was saying, ‘I’ve been associated with Harrods of London for many years. Oh yes, for many years, and my father before me. You see this department has a history. It goes back for a hundred years or more. I was born in the rooms above this shop.’

  ‘That’s very interesting, very interesting.’ The young man was moving his head slowly now while staring at her father. He seemed a different being altogether from the man she had served. He was putting her father in his place and she didn’t like it. Yet her father was being stupid, bragging about the business. Of what interest could it be to the man where her father was born? And anyway, he didn’t say that her great-grandfather had started the sweetshop next door from the proceeds of his wife’s slaving over pans of boiling sugar to make home-made toffee in her little kitchen. And that it was the success of the sweetshop that had enabled her great-grandfather to buy this end of the business. People never bragged about their beginnings, only about what they had achieved, and never admitted it was through someone else’s sweat. On the whole, her father had had a very easy life of it, too easy.

  What was more, her father had been drinking; he smelt strongly of it. Likely this hadn’t escaped the customer. She said, ‘If you’ll excuse me.’

  She was looking at the gentleman, and he was looking at her now and as he inclined his head he said, ‘Thank you for your service.’

  She said nothing but went out and straight upstairs to her room. She felt angry inside, not only at her father’s stupid bragging but also at the young man’s attitude towards him. She had never known anyone’s manner change so quickly.

  She now washed her face and hands; then stopping, she looked in the dressing-table mirror at the pale face confronting her and she nipped at her cheeks to bring some colour into them. Then she got into her thick outdoor coat and pulled on a small, brown felt hat, picked up her bag and a list of things she was going to buy and went downstairs, still without seeing her mother. And she passed through the sweetshop with a nod towards Nan, who was serving a customer, and out into the street.

  The wind was blowing high and bringing with it sleet. She bent her head into it and held on to her hat. But as she was passing the Miss Cardings’ shop she heard a loud tapping on the upper part of the door; then it was pulled open and Miss Belle Carding beckoned Agnes towards her, saying, ‘Come in a minute, dear. Come in a minute.’

  As the shop door closed behind her, Miss Belle, speaking breathlessly as if she had been running, said, ‘We’ve been on the lookout for you. We didn’t want to pop in else your father would be saying that we’re a
fter selling you a new hat again, knowing your weakness for hats.’

  She had moved up the shop, between the assortment of hats perched on stands and to the counter behind which the other two sisters were standing, the tall spare-looking Miss Rene and the almost diminutive Miss Florence. Miss Belle’s stature placed her between the two sisters, but whereas the other two were thin, her body was well padded and tightly laced.

  ‘Hello there, Agnes.’ Miss Florence was nodding up to her, saying now in a whisper, ‘Wait till you see what we’ve got to show you.’

  ‘Be quiet, Florence, and you, Belle; it mightn’t fit her.’

  ‘Of course it will. Of course it will.’ Belle was smiling broadly and Agnes, looking now from one to the other, said, ‘It isn’t a hat then?’

  ‘A hat? No, of course not!’ Miss Rene flapped her hand as if shooing away all hats. ‘Come. Come, Agnes,’ and saying this, she turned and led the way into the workroom at the back of the shop.

  The room was of similar size to the sweet storeroom next door, but whereas there was some order in the storeroom, here there was a chaotic mixture of bare buckram shapes, leghorn straws, untrimmed felts, bonnets, artificial flowers, and rows of silk and velvet ribbons of all colours and widths. One wall was taken up by a glass cabinet; another by a huge mahogany wardrobe. The three doors of this were really long mirrors, and it was to the wardrobe that Miss Rene went and, opening it, she lifted down a hanger from which hung a dress and coat. Holding the hanger high with one hand, she draped the skirt and coat over her outstretched arm, saying, ‘Look at that, Agnes! Just look at that!’

  Agnes looked at the lime-green coat and dress. That was all she took in at first, until Miss Belle cried in an excited voice, ‘Well, Rene, take the coat off and let her feel it. Let her see it.’