The Candle Factory Girl

by Tania Crosse

  THE CANDLE FACTORY GIRL

  Tania Crosse

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About The Candle Factory Girl

  1930s London

  Work at Price’s Candle Factory in Battersea is tedious for intelligent, seventeen-year-old Hillie Hardwick, but she knows she is lucky to have a job at all. Her home life is no better, as she constantly battles with her exacting and bullying father in order to protect her mother and five younger siblings from his abuse. Her only solace is her loving relationship with the chaotic Parker family and her best friend, Gert Parker.

  When matters violently escalate for Hillie, smitten Jack-the-Lad Jimmy Baxter seems her only salvation. But could this be the biggest mistake of her life, and should she be looking for protection nearer home?

  A story that crackles with unease where courage and friendship are the only hope.

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About The Candle Factory Girl

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Acknowledgements

  About Tania Crosse

  A Letter from the Author

  Also by Tania Crosse

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  For my darling husband

  For always being at my side, and for being you

  Chapter One

  A Friday Morning in June 1932

  ‘Blooming heck, Hillie! Can’t you wait for us?’

  As she neared the corner of the street, Hilda Hardwick heard the hurrying footfall of her lifelong friend scurrying up behind her, and she slowed her own step. She turned round, and though she itched with exasperation, she couldn’t help but smile. Gert was rushing towards her, pulling on her old, fraying cardigan over her work dress as she went. Hillie could see that one of her hastily tied shoelaces had already come undone and was threatening to trip her up. To complete the chaotic image, Gert’s naturally frizzy auburn hair stood around her head in a blazing halo, flying about her shoulders in a fiery cloud. She always reminded Hillie of one of the Titian paintings they had admired together on a rare trip to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. It was 1932 and members of the fairer sex had been cutting their hair short for nearly two decades. However, these two factory girls from the backstreets of London’s Battersea had yet to catch up with the fashion.

  ‘I have been waiting for you,’ Hillie chided, pulling her lips back into a displeased line and resuming her brisk pace now that Gert had caught her up. ‘If I’d waited any longer, it would’ve made me late for work and I wouldn’t want to risk the consequences of that. And some of us can’t afford to catch the tram. And my dad’s already… well…’ She pulled herself up short, knowing she’d said too much. So instead she finished the sentence with, ‘Gone on ahead.’

  Gert’s jaw dropped as she guessed what Hillie had nearly let slip. ‘Oh, Hillie, you don’t mean…? ’Cos I kept you waiting?’

  Hillie instinctively turned to her with a brief, wistful grimace as they half ran along Battersea Park Road.

  Gert caught her breath as she glimpsed the tell-tale pink hand mark on Hillie’s cheek, and she flushed with remorse. ‘Oh, Hillie, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault my dad’s like he is,’ Hillie mumbled under her breath.

  But Gert obviously still felt guilty. ‘You shouldn’t have waited for us, not when you know what he’s like.’

  ‘Someone’s got to stand up to him.’

  Hillie said it quietly, but Gert knew there’d be no arguing. They’d had the same discussion on umpteen occasions before. Harold Hardwick was a bully and there’d never be any changing him.

  Gert knew the story by heart.

  ‘Me and Hillie’s mum’d been friends for years,’ her mother had told her, so many times that Gert could repeat it virtually word for word. ‘She was the timid little thing from the grocers’ round the corner, and I was the big girl trusted to do the shopping for me mum. Used to make Nell laugh, I did. Always said it should’ve been the other way around. She should’ve had the posh name of Evangeline, not me! Anyway, the years went by, and when things got tough for her and she married that Harold, I got them the house on the street. 1914 it was, just as the war broke out. Nell found she was preggers the same time as I did, and you two popped out within days of each other, May the next year, 1915. Both of you girls, too, except that Hillie was Nell’s first and I already had Kit.

  ‘So you two was friends from the cradle. Just learning to walk, the both of you, when they brought in conscription. Your dad and Harold found themselves together in the same Pals’ Regiment as they called them. Only Harold’d always been a bully, keeping poor Nell under his thumb. But he was just what they was looking for in the army, someone to keep order. So he quickly rose through the ranks to sergeant. Inflicted his rigid discipline on every poor bugger what came under his command, so your dad says. Never got a scratch on him. Mind you, you know your dad only got a bit of shrapnel in his leg in all the two years they was in the trenches. Kept his head down did your dad, and I was grateful for that. And when he came home, he was his old, lovely self. But Harold, huh! Remained a sergeant ever since, even if he was back on civvy street. If he was strict with poor Nell before the war – and with Hillie, too – he’s been a blooming tyrant ever since.’

  Gert released a bitter, desperate sigh. A tyrant and a bully were good ways to describe her best friend’s dad! But as Hillie had grown up, instead of giving in to him like her mum did – anything for a quiet life – she’d started challenging him. The consequences of Harold’s resulting temper were often dire. Gert so often wished, as she did now, that Hillie would hold back, but no end of persuasion could change her mind.

  ‘And where’s your dad?’ Gert realised her dear friend was asking now.

  ‘Well, he really is running late, so he’s got to catch the tram,’ Gert sighed knowingly.

  ‘I know where you get it from, then!’

  To Gert’s relief, Hillie was grinning at her, a teasing light dancing in her eyes. They scuttled along, passing under the railway bridge just as a train rumbled overhead, its wheels clunking slowly and rhythmically along the track. The sound was so familiar that the two girls scarcely noticed it. All they were concerned about was arriving at Price’s Soap and Candle Factory on time to clock in.

  It hardly mattered to them that it was a glorious June morning. Shopkeepers were starting to open up their premises, setting up displays of their goods outside on the pavement, while pedestrians were striding along on their way to work, dodging the tramlines as they crossed the busy street. It was a working day, but hearts were generally lighter because of the pleasant weather. But neither Hillie nor Gert would see much of the sunshine
that day as they would soon be swallowed up into the candle-packing shed at the factory.

  They’d reached the point where Battersea Park Road became York Road, and still Gert hadn’t succeeded in taming her rebellious mop of hair into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  ‘Hang on a tick,’ she panted, stopping to pin up a rogue hank that kept escaping. ‘Don’t I wish my hair was more like yours and not so much like a bleeding bush.’

  Hillie was tempted to remind Gert that her own hair was a riot of curls that needed pinning down with Kirby grips when she tied it back for work and that Gert simply needed to allow herself more time to do the same! But Hillie was happy to stop and wait for her to ram her old cloche hat on top of her finally conquered locks. No matter that it was hardly worth it.

  They were almost there and though she didn’t possess a watch, Hillie knew that they’d arrived on time as they joined the mass of a thousand or so workers at the factory who were converging on the extensive eleven-acre site alongside the River Thames.

  It was as Hillie gazed about at the stream of humanity heading for the factory that she noticed the young man loitering by one of the gates. He was craning his neck this way and that as if trying to pick out someone from the crowd. Hillie knew who he was: Jimmy Baxter. He worked in deliveries, and because of that he knew every inch of the factory, and everyone in the factory knew him.

  Raw materials of all sorts, delivered by boat and barge at the factory’s wharves, were stored in the relevant warehouses all over the site. There was even a light railway system for transporting them, the area was so vast. Jimmy Baxter was part of the team who delivered the materials from the warehouses to the different processing sheds as they were required. A bit of a Jack the Lad was Jimmy Baxter, and everyone knew it. Even the girls who went out with him knew it was only likely to last a few months at most. But despite his reputation, he was a solid and dependable worker and good at his job.

  As Hillie passed him, she sensed him push himself away from the wall and fall into step beside her. She quickened her pace, but he kept level with her shoulder, and when she stopped abruptly, so did he.

  ‘What d’you want, Jimmy Baxter?’ she demanded, spinning to face him.

  If she’d expected to throw him off track, she was mistaken. He shrugged casually, but his cheeky, chocolate brown eyes never left hers. ‘Just wanted to walk into work with the two prettiest girls in the factory,’ he answered nonchalantly. Before they could escape him, he’d stepped between them and wrapped an arm about each of their waists, pulling them tightly against his sides.

  Gert wasn’t at all sure how to react and eyed her friend warily. Jimmy might be a bit cocky but he was generally quite liked among the factory staff, even if he was known to play the field as far as girls were concerned. So Gert was really quite relieved when Hillie extricated herself from Jimmy’s hold with an irritated jerk of her arm.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to walk into work with you, so you can keep your dirty hands off me. And you can let go of Gert and all,’ she ordered, dragging a bemused Gert free as well. ‘We don’t want anything to do with you. We know what you’re like. Anything in a skirt and you’re after it.’

  Jimmy’s expression twisted into one of mock hurt. ‘Oh, come on, Hilda Hardwick. I’m not that bad. I just can’t resist a pretty face, and yours is one of the best.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’ve said that to every girl whose poor heart you’ve broken over the years. So bugger off and leave us alone.’

  She grabbed Gert’s hand and stalked off, leaving Jimmy Baxter standing there, utterly amazed and enduring a chorus of derisive laughter.

  ‘Met your match there, eh, Jimmy!’

  ‘Have to work your charms a bit harder on her, lad!’

  And all the male workers went off to the different parts of the factory, chuckling with amusement and shaking their heads. Jimmy Baxter had been put down by that slip of a girl. That was a turn up for the books, if ever there was one.

  ‘Tough little nut, that one,’ someone commented.

  ‘Have to be if you’re Harold Hardwick’s daughter,’ someone else chipped in.

  ‘What, that bloke in the moulding house? Blimey. Poor little sod. Wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.’

  ‘Looks like it’s taught her to stand up for herself, mind.’

  ‘Huh, rather her than me. Avoid him if I can.’

  But though he was aware of their comments, they were like whispers on the wind to Jimmy. He stood for a second or two, quite mesmerised by his encounter with Hillie Hardwick. My, she had spirit, and that was something he deeply admired in a woman. It was also what had deterred him from approaching her before, if the truth be told. For though he hated to admit it to himself, he liked to be dominant in any relationship. He treated all his girlfriends well and had never forced any of them to do anything that was seriously against their will. If a bit of a fumble was as far as they wanted to go, he’d never cajole them into something they’d later regret. He’d simply move onto the next one and see what was on offer there.

  No, he wasn’t an ogre. He prided himself on that as much as his good looks. He allowed himself a moment to watch Hillie and her friend disappear round the corner of one of the factory’s enormous brick buildings before setting off for the warehouses and his own day’s work. But the image of her still hovered in his head. She was beautiful, even if he’d only ever seen her in unflattering, workday clothes, hair dragged back in a thick, swirling bun. She must be exquisite with her tresses hanging softly about her face, and the thought took his breath away.

  The thing was, Jimmy Baxter knew himself to be in awe of Hilda Hardwick. He’d been trying to summon up the courage to make an overture to her for months. It had cost him a huge effort to jump her and her friend at the gate. Not that he’d ever want anyone to know that. But could he ever persuade her that there was more to him than people thought?

  She was right that he’d had a string of girlfriends in the past, but none of them had been serious. Not on his part, at least. So he supposed he only had himself to blame for his reputation, and his mouth screwed up with regret. For now he felt even more drawn to her than ever. Their brief contretemps – now that was a word that might impress her – had done something to his heart he couldn’t rightly explain. He felt sorry for her, too. The mark on her face hadn’t gone unnoticed and from what he knew of her father, it wouldn’t surprise him if his was the hand that had made it. Because of his job, Jimmy knew everyone in the factory to some extent, and Harold Hardwick was disliked by most. The thought of him hitting his daughter made Jimmy’s blood boil.

  Of course, it was by no means the first time Jimmy had spoken to the poor girl, although only in passing. He had to make deliveries to the packing shed pretty well every day, and when he first went in, he always called out a cheery, ‘Morning, ladies!’ or ‘Afternoon, ladies!’ followed by, ‘How are we today?’ or words to that effect. Most of his girlfriends came from that enormous workshop. Girls liked to go out with him, even if it was understood that he wasn’t the settling down type. He took them to the cinema or dancing, or treated them to fish and chips or tea and cake. And if he was short of cash, he could always entertain them with his jokes and make them laugh – until he started getting bored and called it a day.

  Hillie Hardwick, though, was a different kettle of fish. He’d hardly noticed her when, as many did, she’d first come to Price’s after she’d left school at fourteen. She’d been a tall, skinny kid back then. But in the – what would it be – three years since, she’d blossomed, still tiny of waist but filling out in all the right places, which more recently had begun to draw Jimmy’s attention. She also had the most striking, silvery blue eyes and a prettily bowed mouth that he ached to kiss.

  But it wasn’t just that. She intrigued him. She wasn’t the silly, giggling type. Maybe that father of hers had beaten the gaiety out of her, the sodding bastard, but Jimmy felt sure he could cheer her up. Almost saw it as his duty. He usually made the girls l
augh, and he’d always got a polite smile, though nothing more from Hillie if he made a comment to her as he passed.

  ‘Looking lovely today,’ he might wink cheekily.

  ‘You say that to all the girls,’ she might reply with a half-smile so that he was never quite sure of her.

  That was it, he supposed. He was attracted to her – her friend, Gert was pretty, but Hillie far surpassed any other girl in the factory for looks – but she was also a mystery. And he was determined that the heated words they’d exchanged that morning wouldn’t be his last conversation with her. And if he played his cards right, it’d be the first of many. She’d be a challenge, what with her spirit and that father of hers, but he certainly felt far more smitten than he had with any other girl before.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets and pursed his lips ready to produce his usual, carefree whistle. But somehow no jaunty tune would come into his head and he walked on instead in thoughtful silence.

  *

  Hillie stretched her tall, lithe body in a graceful arc and then grinned at Gert across the workbench. ‘Lunchtime. At last!’ she exhaled in relief.

  ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ Gert declared. ‘Dad was bringing me sandwiches in, so I’ll have to go and find him.’

  ‘OK. Looks like the sun’s still out, so fancy going down and sitting by the river? Then we can grab a cuppa before we go back.’

  ‘Righty-ho. I’ll find you down there.’

  They pulled off the voluminous overalls they were obliged to wear, and stepped outside together. Though the numerous buildings shadowed each other with the result that sunlight couldn’t reach the few narrow passages in between, the strip of sky Hillie could see overhead was a bright, duck-egg blue. The two girls parted company, weaving their way inside the maze of different departments of the factory, since much of the site was completely covered with no space at all between the buildings. But both girls knew it like the back of their hands, and Hillie finally emerged into the warm sunshine along the south bank of the Thames.