The Sewing Room Girl

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Guilt washed through her. If only she had sent a warning.

  ‘He went away. He said he wouldn’t be back for a few weeks because of work. I was perfectly happy sewing for my bottom drawer. It’s all in that carpetbag now. Even when I knew for certain I was’ − Cecily glanced at nearby tables, then mouthed ‘pregnant’ before continuing − ‘I wasn’t worried because I thought we were engaged. But he didn’t come back and didn’t come back and …’

  ‘Did you try writing?’

  ‘Of course I did, but he couldn’t write back to me. I kept waiting for him to come to our meeting place. I wangled it so that I could go there every day, though how I managed it, I’ll never know. At first, when he didn’t come, I thought, Fair enough. He’s shocked to know he’s going to be a dad.’

  ‘A shock for you too,’ Juliet said loyally.

  Cecily reddened. ‘I planned it. I thought he just needed a push to get him to the altar.’

  ‘Oh, Cecily.’ She placed her hand over her friend’s.

  Cecily took hers away. ‘It’s my own stupid fault. I trapped him, or tried to. In the end, Mrs Whicker found out and slung me out on my ear. That was horrible, being treated like a slut, but I still thought everything would be fine. I promised Mam I’d be getting wed, so she let me come here. I went to the address William had given me, the one I’d been writing to, and, yes, it was a house where the woman took lodgers, but he’d never been one of them. He’d paid her to let him use her address for me to write to. Five bob he gave her for every letter – five bob! She said he’d turn up now and then to collect them. At this moment, there are three letters sitting there, which means’ − Cecily had to draw a breath − ‘which means he’s never been back since he last saw me. He doesn’t know about the baby.’ Her eyes filled and she shut them.

  ‘So you went to his office,’ Juliet prompted gently.

  ‘What else was I to do? But when I insisted on seeing William Turton, he turned out to be a stranger. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. It means that my William, whoever he was, somehow got hold of the real William Turton’s business cards and came to Moorside and kept coming back … but why? It makes no sense.’

  ‘It does if you know the other half of the story.’

  Love from Rosie. The words still chilled her. Rosie had sent this man to take revenge on her, so he had befriended Cecily, using the law firm story backed up by business cards belonging to the real William Turton. After the attack, he had subsequently returned – at Rosie’s behest? – to find out what had become of Juliet, and having learnt of her downfall, he disappeared, but not before taking his pleasure with Cecily.

  Quietly, Juliet explained why the supposed William Turton had come to Moorside, her heart swelling as pain filled Cecily’s eyes. When she whispered of the attack, Cecily almost choked on an exclamation of anguish and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Should she admit to her own pregnancy or hug Constance to her as her precious secret? But Cecily had been honest with her and deserved the same in return, especially if, as Juliet hoped, they were going to stick together.

  When she brought her story up to date, Cecily blew out a long breath. Touching her stomach, she said, ‘Do you realise, this little ’un will be a half-brother or -sister for your Constance?’ She laughed tremulously. ‘You’re going to be an auntie.’

  Juliet laughed too, but she wasn’t laughing inside. She was consumed by fury and jealousy and a terrific yearning. She would give anything to have her daughter back. Steadying herself, she said, ‘I know you’ve hardly had time to think, but what might you do with your baby?’

  ‘Keep it,’ Cecily said immediately. ‘I’ve wanted it all this time and that won’t change just because I’ve been took in by a rotten scoundrel.’

  She wanted to say, ‘It’s not that simple.’ She wanted to say, ‘You’ll have a heck of a time as an unwed mother.’

  She said, ‘You won’t be on your own. I’m going to help you look after my little nephew or niece.’

  She meant it too.

  ‘Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?’ Cecily performed a sudden about-turn, making Juliet, coming up the steps behind, bump into her.

  ‘We haven’t a lot to lose.’ Juliet made herself sound determined, but really she was as uncertain as Cecily. She reached for the knocker.

  ‘You don’t knock,’ said Cecily. ‘You go straight in. I made an ass of myself earlier by knocking and waiting.’

  Walking in was a lot harder than waiting to be ushered. Inside was a wood-panelled hallway with a wide staircase ahead and an open door to one side. The air smelt of beeswax, so the char must be doing a good job. Through the open door came a gentleman in black striped trousers and a dark-grey jacket with cutaway front skirts. His polite expression turned frosty at the sight of them, but instead of feeling intimidated, Juliet felt a spark of annoyance. This was how Mr Owen had looked and she had let him walk all over her, more fool her.

  ‘We’d like to see Mr William Turton, please,’ she said.

  Before the gentleman could reply, another man popped out of the office, equally smartly dressed, but young and grinning.

  ‘Back again?’ he said to Cecily. ‘And with reinforcements. My, my, what has Billy Boy been up to?’

  He legged it up the stairs, leaving the older gentleman calling ‘Mr Stevens!’ after him. The front door opened and before she knew it, Juliet found they had been swept into the office and the gentleman was in the hallway, saying, ‘Good afternoon, Sir Edward. Mr Winterton is expecting you.’

  No sooner had their footsteps faded than someone came hurrying downstairs. Into the office came a young man with strawberry blonde hair and freckles. Looking flustered, he faced Cecily.

  ‘Look, miss, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. What’s going on? Actually, I don’t want to know. I just want you to leave.’

  ‘We must speak to you about something the three of us have in common – someone, I should say,’ Juliet said. ‘A young man who has wronged both myself and my friend, Miss …’ She didn’t know Cecily’s surname.

  ‘Ramsbottom,’ said Cecily.

  William Turton’s gaze slewed from Cecily’s stomach to her own. Juliet squirmed. ‘We need your help and then we’ll never bother you again.’ She nudged Cecily. ‘Show him the business card.’

  ‘Where did you get that?’ demanded the young man.

  ‘My friend was given it,’ said Juliet, ‘and I was given one too.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Then I’ll knock on Mr Winterton’s door and see what he has to say.’

  ‘Now see here—’

  She turned to Cecily. ‘Perhaps we should ask to see all the young men working here. Maybe one of them helped himself to Mr Turton’s cards.’

  ‘They were stolen,’ William Turton exclaimed, adding in a mutter, ‘I was attacked.’

  ‘Then all three of us have suffered at this brute’s hands. Please help us. It’ll take an hour of your time, and that includes walking to and from Ingleby’s. They owe me money, but Mr Owen won’t pay because he says I broke an agreement, and I suppose I did, but it was unknowingly.’

  ‘Ignorance is no defence.’

  ‘In any case, the real reason he won’t pay is because … I’ve had a baby out of wedlock.’ There, she had said it. ‘He thinks that’s shameful.’

  ‘He has a point.’

  ‘But is it any reason not to pay me?’

  ‘It depends on the circumstances.’

  ‘The circumstances are these, Mr Turton. If threatening to create a scene in the shop would make Mr Owen pay up, I’d threaten him, but he would merely send for a constable. But if I arrive with legal representation—’

  ‘Hang on a minute—’

  ‘Either you come or I’ll wave your card under Mr Owen’s nose. If you come, at least you’ll have some control over what’s said.’

  William glowered at her. ‘I’ll fetch my coat.’

  Foot
steps suggested the older gentleman was returning.

  ‘We’ll wait outside,’ said Cecily. ‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed when they gained the pavement. ‘I’d never have believed it of you.’

  ‘I never knew your name was Ramsbottom.’

  ‘Eh, it’s a reet good old Lancashire name, that,’ Cecily intoned in a heavy accent. She giggled. ‘Now you know why I was always so desperate to get wed.’

  ‘Did Miss Phoebe call you Ramsbottom?’

  ‘Did she ever! It was Ramsbottom this and Ramsbottom that, morning, noon and night.’

  They were laughing when William appeared.

  ‘I’m glad someone finds this amusing.’

  They made their way to Ingleby’s, William insisting on carrying both carpetbags. When they arrived, Cecily waited outside with their things while Juliet led the way to Mr Owen’s outer office. The lady clerk was at her desk.

  ‘Please inform Mr Owen that Miss Harper is here,’ she said.

  ‘I have instructions—’

  ‘Tell him I’ve brought a legal gentleman.’

  The clerk disappeared, shutting Mr Owen’s door behind her. Then it opened again and she held it for them.

  Juliet knew she must get in the first word. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Owen. I’d like to be paid, please.’

  ‘And you have … representation?’ Mr Owen sounded disbelieving. ‘Which firm are you from, sir?’

  William looked uneasy, but he had to answer. ‘Winterton, Sowerby and Jenks.’

  ‘Does it surprise you that Adeline Tewson’s granddaughter has access to legal advice?’ Juliet met Mr Owen’s eye. ‘I know you think I broke our agreement—’

  ‘Think it? I can prove it.’

  ‘—but I designed for Ingleby’s in good faith. It was someone else who didn’t deliver my work.’

  ‘Really, if you have nothing new to say—’

  ‘That person was Mrs Tewson.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘If you don’t pay me, I’ll be forced to accuse her publicly of interfering in our business arrangement.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to lose, but you have Ingleby’s reputation to consider. There’s Mrs Tewson’s reputation too. Think of the damage.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ Mr Owen spluttered. ‘Defame Mrs Tewson? And drag Ingleby’s into it?’

  William cleared his throat. ‘With respect, sir, it’s defamation only if it’s untrue. Is it untrue?’

  Juliet held still.

  ‘I suggest it’s in no one’s interests to permit this to continue,’ William stated quietly. ‘And the amount of money can’t be much, sir.’

  ‘No – no, it isn’t. As a matter of fact, I got out the paperwork after Miss Harper’s first unannounced visit.’ Mr Owen opened a drawer, removed a sheet of paper and gave it far more attention than it could possibly warrant. ‘Naturally I will require an assurance that Miss Harper won’t trouble Ingleby’s again.’

  ‘Naturally,’ William agreed.

  ‘In writing.’ Mr Owen regarded William. ‘If your firm draws up something, at Miss Harper’s expense, of course, I’ll look over it in, say, a week’s time.’

  ‘I’m sure we could write something suitable now,’ William said hurriedly. ‘Wouldn’t you rather end the matter today, sir?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  When it was drawn up, William turned to Juliet. ‘This says you have received monies in full and final payment, even though your agreement was broken through no fault of Ingleby’s.’

  ‘That sounds like it was my fault,’ she objected.

  ‘It was,’ snapped Mr Owen.

  ‘I told you—’

  Mr Owen spoke over her. ‘It also states that you will do nothing by word or deed to bring the name of Ingleby’s into disrepute.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ she said.

  Mr Owen sneered and laughed simultaneously, creating an odd snickering sound. ‘I disagree. I remember what your aunt did, not to mention your own morals. Sign here.’

  ‘After I’ve been paid.’

  ‘No sense of honour. Still, that’s to be expected.’ Mr Owen picked up his accounts sheet and examined it for a long time.

  When she couldn’t bear it any longer, Juliet burst out, ‘How much?’

  Mr Owen looked at her, then at the paper, as if he hadn’t looked closely enough the first time. ‘Two designs at one guinea each. Nineteen full costumes at half a crown each, making two pounds, seven and six. Twenty-nine part costumes at a shilling each. Grand total: five pounds, eighteen shillings and sixpence.’

  She had to suck her cheeks to stop herself grinning like an idiot.

  ‘I’ll write a cheque,’ said Mr Owen.

  ‘Cash – please,’ said Juliet.

  ‘Very well.’ His heavy tone suggested that only the lowest of the low wanted cash.

  The money was counted out, and she signed the agreement and a receipt. Then she and William got up to leave. At the door, she looked back.

  ‘One last thing, Mr Owen. In my grandmother’s letter, did she mention she wanted me to design for Tewson’s Tailor-mades? No? I thought not. Good afternoon.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Outside Ingleby’s, William seized a carpetbag in each hand. ‘May I walk you to a bus stop?’ The poor fellow must have been desperate to get rid of them, and who could blame him?

  Juliet cast an anxious glance at Cecily. Her normally bubbly friend had gone quiet, a certain tightness around her eyes proclaiming her exhaustion. Juliet took her hand and looped it through her arm, giving it a squeeze.

  ‘That’s kind of you, Mr Turton. We need to get to Platt Fields. We must find lodgings, and that’s the only area I’m familiar with.’

  A frown tugged at William’s brow. ‘If you don’t mind trying elsewhere, I may be able to assist.’

  Cecily sprang to life. ‘Why would you help us?’

  ‘The bloke who stole my cards beat me up pretty badly. Anyway, you need somewhere to stay, and my aunt told me about a lady who needs help making ends meet.’

  ‘What about …?’ Cecily touched her stomach.

  ‘I assume you’ll call yourself Mrs, and as long as you pay the rent and live quietly, Mrs Gillespie will be happy.’

  He put them on the bus to Withington, where they asked directions to Heathside Lane. Mrs Gillespie was a kindly widow with deep worry lines. In her sparsely furnished house, shadowy marks on wall and floor spoke of pieces that had been sold. She took in lodgers, for whom she provided meals at additional cost.

  ‘I clean and do washing an’ all, if you want,’ she said as they stood in her downstairs front, looking round. There wasn’t much to see: bed, table, two chairs, hanging cupboard, washstand. ‘The Norths and their little boy live up there.’ She nodded through the ceiling. ‘The Willetts, mother and grown daughter, have the upstairs back and I’ve two bank clerks in the attic.’

  ‘Where does Mrs Gillespie sleep?’ Juliet whispered when she left them.

  ‘Kitchen, I suppose.’ Unstrapping her carpetbag, Cecily threw it open. ‘Pillowcases, cushion covers, tablecloth, antimacassars,’ she declared blithely, but Juliet caught the raw note. ‘This isn’t what I had in mind for my bottom drawer.’

  Juliet opened her own carpetbag, removing Hal’s painting of the laburnum walk. ‘It’s not where I imagined this going on display either, but it will all help make this our home.’

  ‘We must find work.’

  ‘I’ve an idea about that. Come and sit down.’ She took Cecily’s hand, and they perched together on the bed. ‘We’re going to set up as dressmakers – well, not actually dressmakers: that would take too long. My grandmother has gone into tailor-mades. That’s what we’ll do, using second-hand clothes of good quality, which we’ll mend, then refinish to add a dash of style, and if the customer needs alterations, she can pay extra.’

  ‘Do you think we can?’

  Recalling the pride of working on Miss Bradley’s
coat, Juliet said confidently, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mrs Gillespie can tell us where the nearest markets are,’ said Cecily, and Juliet blessed her for her support.

  The next morning, the gong sounded and Juliet went to the kitchen, joining a lodger from each room to collect breakfast trays of porridge, soft-boiled eggs and soldiers, and a pot of tea.

  ‘This will set us up for a hard day’s garment finding,’ said Cecily.

  At the first market, the second-hand clothes stall was between a cheerful array of bric-a-brac and the sheet music stall. Juliet picked out a grey jacket.

  ‘The lining’s come adrift, but it’s a good garment with plenty of wear. New buttons and some piping will lift it no end.’

  ‘You are clever,’ Cecily said admiringly. ‘I’d never have thought of that.’

  They bought the grey jacket, a blouse and two skirts.

  ‘Now for the next market,’ said Juliet.

  ‘While you do that, I’ll find a cleaning job,’ said Cecily. ‘It’ll give us a regular few bob and, let’s be honest, I won’t be much use visiting markets: I don’t know what’s suitable without asking you.’

  Cecily came home later, having found a job with a theatrical landlady called Mrs Blore.

  ‘Doesn’t she mind about the baby?’ Juliet asked.

  Cecily grinned. ‘She says at least I won’t be pursued round the house by handsome young actors.’

  They worked long into each night on the garments. Cecily might not have an eye for design, but she was a good little needleworker.

  ‘I don’t want you overdoing it,’ said Juliet.

  ‘No danger of that, love. All of a sudden, I conk out and there’s no rousing me.’

  Juliet worked on while Cecily slept. Cecily had sent her mum a postcard, saying she was well and not to worry, which had set Juliet wondering if she should write to Hal with her new address. But that would make it look as if she had sent the first letter in the hope of a response, when all she had wanted was to tell him the truth. That should be enough, but in the quiet of the night, it didn’t feel enough.

  Never mind how it felt. She must concentrate on her sewing.