The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘I’ve told you before. Leave Miss Baxter to me. She won’t appear today and,’ Larter added, an edge sliding across his voice, ‘you won’t say a word to her about it.’

  ‘You’re bloody joking! She goes off without a by-your-leave and I’m meant to swallow it? No one who works for me—’

  ‘But no one does work for you, do they?’ Larter cut in, quiet and menacing. ‘Renton and Miss Baxter work for the same people as you, albeit Miss Baxter is blissfully ignorant of her involvement.’ He held Ralph’s angry glare through the thudding of several heartbeats. ‘I repeat, you will make no mention of Miss Baxter’s absence. We’ll need Renton here to do her job. I think you’ll find he’s as quick at working out commission as he is with a flick knife. One more thing,’ he added when Ralph would have left him standing there. ‘As far as your brother is concerned, he released Miss Baxter from her duties today for her to come here. Don’t disabuse him of that.’

  ‘What game are you playing with her?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m playing a different game to the one the lady is playing. That fellow by the window,’ he went on, deliberately fixing his eyes elsewhere, ‘the one looking at the bookcase, he’s a dealer, in case you haven’t seen him before.’

  Ralph bridled. Bastard, talking to him as if he didn’t know. ‘There are several dealers, but mostly these are private individuals.’

  ‘That’s what we need, plenty of private individuals who don’t know any better, to buy our … special items.’

  God, he sounded smug, but then Ralph was feeling more than a little satisfied himself. In fact, everyone in their group was probably feeling pretty bloody pleased today.

  ‘Our man is the one by the grandmother clock. His name’s Kemp. If a dealer looks like outbidding a private buyer on any of our special items, give Kemp a glance and he’ll up the bidding until the dealer is forced out.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me.’ Ralph spoke through gritted teeth. ‘It was my idea in the first place to have a plant in the room.’

  In fact, the whole bally set-up had been his idea. Back in France, when the group discussed plundering the cellars of the fancy chateaux and making off with the family treasures locked away for the duration, he had been the one to devise the sophisticated plan of eventually selling the pieces through their own auction room. First, wait a couple of years, during which time the auction room would be established as a legitimate concern; then filter the stolen items into the sales, ensuring that each piece ended up in private hands, there to remain for many years to come, preferably for ever.

  Of course, the auction room hadn’t had a couple of years of above-board work because Ralph hadn’t acquired the business immediately after the war, the way he had expected, and that was unfortunate, but did that really matter?

  It was about to begin.

  Entering the auction room in Chester, Evadne paused, inviting eyes to turn her way. She felt like a queen. She was wearing her coat of crushed velvet and knew how stylish she looked, the more so since, after Alex made his request, she had gone straight to a milliner’s on Deansgate, where she had chosen an elegant hat with a dramatic upswept brim.

  ‘Not everyone can wear a hat like this,’ the milliner had murmured, looking over Evadne’s shoulder into the oval mirror. Evadne had recognised this as truth, not flattery. Most women preferred their brims wide and flat, as if they wanted to overshadow their imperfections; but with her fine bones and flawless skin, she had no qualms about revealing her face to the world.

  Better yet, the edge of the brim was trimmed with tiny silk flowers in a lilac that complemented the damson of her coat. The milliner produced a length of wide ribbon in the same lilac and suggested a bow.

  Evadne was horrified. ‘I don’t want to look as if I’m wearing a chocolate box.’

  For answer, the milliner snipped off a length, performed a few deft movements with her fingers and created a large, crisp bow that she held against the hat, trying it in a few positions before bringing it to rest to one side of the front. To her own amazement, Evadne was won over.

  ‘A touch of flair,’ observed the milliner. ‘I can have it attached in such a way that madam’s maid can remove it when it is time for a fresh look.’

  So here she was now in her heavenly coat and hat, looking forward to a highly enjoyable experience, thanks to Alex.

  He had appeared at her office door one evening while she was clattering away on the typewriter.

  ‘Those pieces you purchased,’ he remarked. ‘How would you feel about seeing them through the auction process?’

  ‘Well, I will, won’t I? I’ll be there to see to the administration.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Armstrong’s. You won’t learn anything tied to a desk. I’m thinking of sending you to Foster and Wainwright’s in Chester, a long-established house. I thought if we sent your items there, you might like to go along and see what becomes of them. I’ve made sure the things you purchased have been stored separately here.’ He hesitated. ‘Stop me if I’m taking too much for granted, only you seem so interested …’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Good. What I have in mind is this. I won’t accompany you. They know me there and they’d realise you’re a professional person and they’re rather stuffed shirts about women working, even these days; but they’ll make a fuss of you if they think you’re a lady of means. Spin them a bit of a yarn, if you like, or remain of lady of mystery. Just don’t let on you’re in the business. You’ll need to get in touch with them in advance to arrange to have your things entered in their auction. It so happens they’re holding an auction of pieces of general interest on the same day as Armstrong’s next sale. Don’t worry, I’ll square it with your brother-in-law. Your items will have to be sent to Chester in advance. Would you mind seeing to that? Then, on the day, you can travel to Chester – first class, of course. Naturally, all your expenses will be covered in advance.’ Again he hesitated. ‘Assuming you’re willing, that is.’

  Willing? Before he finished speaking, she had decided to put through a telephone call to Foster and Wainwright’s rather than to write. Tempting as it was to imagine putting Brookburn House as her address, she knew that conversation would offer greater opportunity to convey the right idea. Spoken hints were so much more tasteful than the written lie.

  When she arrived, a top-hatted, gold-braided doorman admitted her and she was approached in the foyer by a well-spoken young man, who had ushered her here into the auction room – and what a room. The floor was richly carpeted and chandeliers twinkled above furniture of such quality that she couldn’t be sure whether it was for sitting on or for sale. The young man darted away and reappeared with an impeccably dressed, silver-haired gentleman, who was none other than Mr Wainwright himself.

  Alex was right. They made a fuss of her in a discreet way that made her sigh softly in appreciation. Tea was served in exquisite bone china, after which Mr Wainwright offered to show her round. The room with the chandeliers and the gracious seating was the auction room, while the items for sale were displayed in rooms leading off. Completely different to Ralph’s arrangement, where one room served both purposes. She smiled to herself at the thought of Ralph’s pride in his precious auction room – ‘room’ being the operative word – not an auction house, like this.

  Viewing the items on display, she felt a flutter each time she saw one of ‘her’ pieces.

  ‘So unfortunate, the way many of our old families are obliged to part with their precious things these days,’ Mr Wainwright remarked.

  ‘Indeed,’ she murmured.

  At the end of the morning, Mr Wainwright directed her to Willett’s, a small hotel round the corner.

  ‘A most respectable establishment, where it is quite in order for a lady to enter the dining room unaccompanied. I have taken the liberty of reserving a table for you.’

  After a delicious meal, made more enjoyable by the courtesy of the staff, she returned for the auction. Remembering Alex’s words to Mrs
Bentley, she was expecting a ten guinea or so profit on each of her pieces, but every time the hammer came down, it confirmed a far greater amount and she found herself sitting up straighter. It must be because this was Chester and there was more money here, not to mention this being Foster and Wainwright’s.

  Afterwards, she was ushered into an office that looked more like a sitting room and again had tea with Mr Wainwright. A quiet tap at the door heralded the arrival of a plump, balding clerk, who gave Mr Wainwright a slip of paper and then withdrew a couple of steps. Mr Wainwright glanced at the paper, then offered it to her.

  ‘The first figure shows the total value at auction of your pieces. Underneath is our commission; and the figure at the bottom is the sum due to you.’

  She had to stifle a gasp. Deducting what Alex had paid, the profit was over three hundred pounds. She had seen for herself that her pieces were performing better than she had expected, but even so.

  ‘To whom should the cheque be payable?’ asked Mr Wainwright.

  ‘Miss E. J. Baxter,’ she said and, at a nod from Mr Wainwright, the clerk left the room. A few minutes later, she was holding the cheque in her hands, feeling rather breathless at the sight of her name above such a huge sum. It had been Alex’s idea to have the cheque in her name.

  ‘Simpler,’ he had said. ‘We can’t have them realising at the last moment that you’re not what they thought, can we? Not if we want you to go again with more of your treasures.’

  ‘You’ve done very well today, Miss Baxter, if I may say so,’ Mr Wainwright observed. ‘I trust you are pleased?’

  He escorted her to the front door, bowing over her hand before she went down the steps to the taxi the doorman had summoned. All the way home, she hugged to herself the picture of Alex’s delight. It was a shame she wouldn’t see him until Saturday.

  ‘Bank the cheque as soon as you can,’ he had instructed. ‘That way it’s safe. In fact, you should open a new savings account and put it in there, just to keep your business dealings open and above board. And remember – not a word to Armstrong. We don’t want to rub his nose in it, do we?’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Carrie parked Joey’s pram outside Trimble’s, twitching the brake with her foot. Opening the door, she breathed in the familiar smell of wooden floorboards and soap. The Trimbles were behind the counter, each serving a shawl-clad woman, while an old man waited his turn.

  ‘Eh, look who it is,’ said Mrs Trimble. ‘It’s been a long while since you’ve shown your face.’

  Everyone looked and heat flooded Carrie’s cheeks. It hadn’t been her choice to stop shopping here, but they weren’t to know that. She knew the customers and when the two women left the counter, she made a point of saying how do and asking after their families. When all three customers had gone, she turned to her old employers.

  ‘What brings you here?’ asked Mr Trimble.

  She wished she had brought her shopping basket. ‘I’ve got my little lad to show you. Shall I fetch him in?’

  The Trimbles were delighted and Carrie remembered Mam saying that nothing broke the ice like a baby.

  ‘Can I hold him?’ Mrs Trimble came round the counter. ‘Eh, Letty said he were a bonny lad and she were right.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Carrie.

  ‘Brewing up.’

  ‘Can I go through? Only me and her had a bit of a falling out and I want to mek up.’

  ‘You and Letty have fell out? Well I never! That’s not summat that would have happened in th’old days.’

  She pushed aside the bead curtain and found Letty pouring three mugs of tea from the same old teapot, its spout stained where it dribbled.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ said Letty. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘I want to wish you every happiness. You’re my best mate and you know I do. Billy an’ all.’

  She had pictured a hug at this point. She and Letty had always been great huggers. Instead, Letty stared at her thoughtfully, her lips twisted into a crinkly line.

  ‘There’s summat I’ve got to ask first. I’ve been wondering for a while and last night my mam said I had to ask. Are you sorry you married Ralph?’

  Carrie felt a chill slithering through her insides, trickling into every corner.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Letty exclaimed, clasping a hand to the bib of her apron. ‘You are, aren’t you? That’s why you’re stood there saying nowt.’

  ‘No! I’m shocked rigid, that’s all. I’m not sorry and you can tell your mam I said so. How could you think such a thing?’

  Letty shrugged. ‘You’re the one what claims to be surprised every time I mention summat about me and Billy, and why would it bother you if you was happy with what you’ve got?’

  The chill turned to ice. ‘Is it just your mam you’ve talked to about this? Oh no,’ Carrie groaned, ‘please tell me you’ve not talked to Billy.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t I?’ Letty demanded, but she looked guilty. ‘He’s my intended. There’s no secrets between us. Yes, since you ask, he were there when me and Mam were talking and, if you really want to know, it were his idea to ask you. He said it would clear the air. He doesn’t want us falling out over him.’

  What a louse, getting Letty to do his dirty work. Was he hoping she would confess to making the worst mistake of her life, so he could come skulking round again with his seedy suggestion, no doubt whilst keeping Letty dangling on a string in case it got him nowhere?

  ‘Oh, Letty.’ Carrie thought her heart would break for her friend. Was this the moment to speak of Billy’s duplicity? But she had too much to lose. Much as she loved Letty, her first and greatest duty was to Joey. ‘Let’s get this straight once and for all. I count myself unbelievably lucky. Just when I thought my world had ended, Ralph came along. He fell in love with me and I returned his feelings. You have to believe that.’

  Hopelessness washed through her. She must make Letty believe this lie … and then she would stand by and permit Letty to marry her own lie.

  Letty heaved a deep breath. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Eh, I’m that sorry, love, but I had to ask. You can see that, can’t you?’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, but she couldn’t, not really. But if it convinced Billy she was unattainable and made him concentrate on being a good husband to Letty, then it would be worth it. ‘So – am I forgiven for being shocked yesterday?’ She rolled her eyes, poking fun at herself. ‘Do you believe me when I wish you everything you wish yourself?’

  ‘Of course, love. Come here.’ Letty held out her arms, but, as Carrie walked into them, Letty danced back a fraction. ‘Careful, I’m a bit floury. Don’t want to mek a mess of your coat.’

  They stepped back from one another, clasping fingers.

  ‘I feel better now,’ sighed Carrie.

  ‘Better enough to agree to be my bridesmaid? We always promised to be each other’s bridesmaids, only I remember someone what sneaked off to the registry office last year. But you’ll be my bridesmaid, won’t you? Matron of honour, I should say.’

  ‘I need to ask Ralph.’

  ‘What for? You don’t need permission to be a bridesmaid. Oh, I get it. It’s because of him not liking me, in’t it?’

  ‘He’s never stopped me seeing you.’

  ‘I notice you don’t bother denying what he thinks of me.’

  ‘Oh, Letty. What are you trying to make me say?’

  ‘Some loyalty would be nice. How long have me and you been mates? Billy has far more reason not to like us being close, but he doesn’t mind. Ralph has no reason at all – apart from thinking I’m not good enough.’

  Carrie was heartily sick of swallowing Letty’s barbs while being forced to keep her mouth clamped shut against spilling out what Billy had done. For one heated moment, she thought: Why not? She deserves it. Then the heat dissipated. Letty didn’t deserve any of it, not Billy’s disloyalty, nor Ralph’s scorn.

  ‘Ralph has never said owt to me about you not being good enough.’ Not out
loud. He had never needed to.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Letty with a look in her eye that Carrie knew of old. ‘Prove it. It weren’t just being bridesmaids that we promised each other, if you recall.’

  ‘What?’ Ralph’s voice was loaded with contempt. ‘I hope for your sake this isn’t a serious request.’

  Carrie’s heart sank, but she sat up straight in the armchair by the fireside. She kept her voice clear and confident.

  ‘I told you. We promised one another—’

  ‘I’m not obliged to stand by your ridiculous childhood promises, Carrie. When will you get it into your thick skull? You don’t live in Wilton Lane any more. Any other female would be grateful to leave all that behind, but not Carrie Armstrong. It doesn’t matter how much I’ve given you, how much better your life is, how good a start in life your son has, you can’t part company with Wilton Lane.’

  ‘Letty’s my best friend.’

  ‘And I’ve let you continue the association and look where it’s got me. Backstreet Letty – godmother to an Armstrong? Over my dead body.’

  ‘Don’t call her that.’

  Ralph’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Carrie’s palms went clammy; she wiped them together. ‘I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten where I came from.’

  ‘You’ll forget it if I tell you to. What else have you two been plotting behind my back?’

  ‘Nowt – honest to God. And we didn’t plot this. It dates back years to when we was young lasses sat on a doorstep, dreaming about our futures.’

  ‘We was sat? ’ Ralph repeated contemptuously. ‘We was sat? What sort of English is that? The Wilton Lane variety, and I have to tell you, I’m tired of it.’

  ‘But you’ve never minded.’

  ‘I mind now. I have a flourishing business and excellent prospects. I have a position to maintain and your slovenly English shows me in a poor light.’

  ‘Oh, Ralph. It’s only a way of speaking. But I do know how to speak proper—’