Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Well at least get him to take you out a bit. You never see the outside of these walls, you don’t. It’s like you’re in one of those harem places.’ She pronounced it ‘hairum’.

  Isobel thought of the times he had taken her out, and shuddered.

  ‘Oh no. At least I’m safe in here. Nobody sees.’

  ‘Yeah, and you don’t see nobody. It can’t be good for you. It’s so lonely.’

  Tears gathered in Isobel’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘There you are, then. Get him to take you to the theatre or something, or just for a drive round in that motor of his.’

  ‘I’ll see,’ Isobel said.

  Daisy snorted. ‘Yeah, we all know what that means, it means you won’t do nothing about it.’

  ‘How is life in Baby Linens?’ Isobel asked.

  Daisy allowed herself to be sidetracked for the time being.

  ‘Very busy. Everybody seems to be having babies.’

  Unwanted, Edward’s words of the previous day came back to Isobel. My wife’s expecting. His wife must think she was safe and loved, with her new husband and now a baby on the way, and yet all the time she was being deceived. What was rightfully hers was being tarnished. Isobel was swamped with guilt.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed to say.

  Fortunately, Daisy was well away talking about the latest Packards’ news. She went into details about the new lines they had to sell to all those proud expectant parents, then about the latest tensions amongst the staff.

  ‘. . . she does her damnedest to beat me, but she never does. She’s too eager, you see. It’s one thing persuading them to buy, it’s quite another trying to make them. She, like, hits ’em over the head. They don’t like it. But it doesn’t do her any good, ’cause my figures are still better than hers. Sir Thomas himself congratulated me the other day.’

  Daisy paused, obviously expecting an answer.

  ‘Really?’ Isobel said. ‘Sir Thomas?’

  ‘Yes. He stopped on his round and he spoke to me personal, in front of everyone. Said as I was a credit to the store. That Vi was so jealous she didn’t know what to do with herself. Been making nasty remarks ever since, she has, but I don’t care. She can go boil her head. Sir Thomas. Sounds ever so important, doesn’t it? We’re all ever so proud of him. That lot down at Selfridges, they haven’t got a Sir for a boss. That Mr Selfridge is nothing but a jumped-up American for all he gives all those big parties you read about in the papers. Anyway, we’ll be reading about our Miss Packard soon, with her getting married. The dressmakers up in Ladies’ Gowns are trying to make a big secret out of what the wedding gown is going to be, but you know what the store is like. We already know it’s wild silk with pearls. She’ll look so beautiful, I know she will, and that Mr Rutherford is ever so handsome. He’s been round the store, you know. I saw him. They make a lovely couple.’

  ‘Yes,’ Isobel said.

  How easy things were for some people. Miss Packard just sailed through life. She had a loving family, she was presented at court and did the Season, she got her own way about working in the store, and now she was to marry the man she loved. But then all the Packards seemed to be touched with the ability to get just what they wanted. They were a charmed race. Isobel did not want to talk about them any more. The contrast with her own situation was too painful.

  ‘How is Johnny?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, he’s very well, thanks.’

  ‘You’re still walking out together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This was one of the few satisfactions of Isobel’s life. Daisy deserved to be happy. She was a good and stalwart friend. If Daisy was happy, Isobel felt the reflection of it. She looked at her now, and noticed a self-conscious flush about her cheeks.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened? Something nice?’ she asked.

  ‘Well –’ a big smile spread itself over Daisy’s face. ‘He’s taking me to meet his family. I’m going to Sunday dinner with them.’

  ‘Oh Daisy!’ For the first time in weeks Isobel felt something near to pleasure.

  ‘I’m ever so nervous, Iz. What do you think I ought to wear? I bought this nice new blouse, with a high neck and ruffles and I’m going to tie a bit of velvet ribbon round the neck to make a bow. And I was wondering if I should buy a new hat and all. They got lovely ones down in Millinery. Felt, you know, but I could buy some of those bunches of artificial cherries to put on it. Do you think that’d look nice?’

  ‘I think it would look very – bright and cheerful. Like you,’ Isobel said.

  ‘Do you? I’ll get one then. Oh Iz, do you think they’ll like me? What if they think I’m common?’

  She was common, if you counted things like taste and manners and accent and family. Dearest Mama would have disliked everything about her, most especially her forthright views and chirpy confidence. And dearest Mama, Isobel realised with a jolt, would have been totally wrong. Daisy was not in the least common. She was a rare and precious person. Isobel reached out and took both of her hands in hers.

  ‘Don’t ever change, Daisy. Not for them, not for anyone.’

  Daisy looked bewildered. ‘But I have changed. Packards has changed me, and so have you. When I first came to Packards I didn’t know n– anything. I was just an ignorant little girl from the East End. Now I can do all sorts of things, and I been to different places – that’s because of Johnny – and I know what to do and how to talk properly and all that sort of thing. If you hadn’t told me about eating nice and so on, I wouldn’t never have dared go to Johnny’s place.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Wouldn’t never isn’t right, is it?’

  Isobel’s throat was very tight. Praise so rarely came her way. To think that she had actually been useful to someone, had done some good, was overwhelming.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

  ‘But it does matter. The moment you open your mouth, people judge you. I tell you, Iz, I don’t ever want to go back to the East End. I don’t want to live like my mum and my sisters do. And talking right is one of the ways to get on.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get on, Daisy, I’m sure you will,’ Isobel said.

  But in her heart she wondered. It was the big people who controlled the world, the Packards, not the Daisys and the Johnnys.

  ‘Oh thanks, Iz. But look, can you just remind me a bit, like? Go over it, so as I’m sure?’

  So Isobel coached her for a while on shaking hands, sitting down gracefully, using the right cutlery and asking for embarrassing things the polite way.

  ‘Try not to worry about it,’ she advised. ‘Bear it in mind, but don’t let it make you a different person. I’m sure they’ll like you.’

  After all, they were only small shopkeepers and craftsmen. And if they didn’t like Daisy, they didn’t deserve her.

  ‘I do hope so. It’s so important to me, Izzy. I feel worse than when I went for the job at Packards. But I’ve been leading on all about me. What about you? You don’t look well. You ought to go out, like I said earlier. If you won’t get Him to take you, then just go for a walk. It’s lovely in the parks, all daffodils and that everywhere, and blossom on the trees. You ought to go for a walk every day. Do you good.’

  And because she could not possibly explain just how unattainable that simple pleasure was, Isobel just agreed. She could not express her horror of going out of the front door and walking down the street, of passing the people she saw each day outside the window and seeing their eyes slide away from her in disgust. For they knew, all of them, what she was. Sometimes she saw them when they were talking together, their shopping baskets over their arms, saw them glance towards her house and incline their heads a little closer together, lowering their voices no doubt as they condemned her and the way she lived. At home, in the golden days that now seemed so far away as to have happened to someone else, she had enjoyed going for a daily walk. Now, like everything else that was innocent and uncomplicated, it was quite beyond her reach.

  ‘I’ll say something, tho
ugh. You have put on weight. Shows round your face,’ Daisy was saying. ‘You eating a bit better now? I was afraid you were going to fade away.’

  The thought glowed in front of Isobel for a moment or two. To fade away. That must surely be the answer.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m hardly eating at all, really. Especially in the mornings. I feel so sick that I cannot even look at food.’

  It was just one more problem, and she had not thought much about it. But Daisy was staring at her, her mouth slightly open and her eyes round with horror.

  ‘You got morning sickness? Every morning, not just once in a while?’

  ‘Yes,’ Isobel said, puzzled.

  ‘What else? You feel faint at all?’

  ‘Well – yes,’ Isobel admitted. But who would not feel faint, having to do all the things she was required to do?

  ‘And how about your – your –’ Daisy was casting about for a delicate way to put it ‘– bust? Does it feel tender?’

  ‘Yes, very, but –’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Daisy clenched her fists and made an anguished face.

  Isobel looked at her in bewilderment, a faint but clear presentiment of doom starting deep inside her.

  ‘What –’ she started.

  Daisy interrupted her. ‘When did you last have your monthlies?’

  ‘Well –’ Isobel cast her mind back. It was difficult to remember, as there were few landmarks in her life to hook events on to. She’d not had one in the last two or three weeks. She’d had one at Christmas. She remembered that because it made her even more miserable than she would have been anyway. And yes, she had had one in January. Her mind veered away from what He had done to her at that time. But not since then.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Daisy repeated. ‘Izzy, you do know what this means, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Isobel admitted. But the feeling of doom was getting very strong.

  ‘Izzy, didn’t no one ever tell you about your own insides? Your mum, or your sister?’

  Isobel shook her head. Daisy cast her eyes up to the ceiling.

  ‘Iz, your’re pregnant. You’re having a baby.’

  Isobel could not believe her. It was too far-fetched for words.

  ‘But – I’m not married,’ she said.

  ‘Married! Married’s got nothing to do with it. It’s what you and Mr flaming Edward have been doing what’s done it.’

  There was a ringing in her ears. Daisy seemed to be a long way away. She was speaking, but Isobel did not hear what she said. The realisation of disaster came at her with all the force and speed of an express train. It was far worse than when she learnt he was getting married. He had specifically told her not to get pregnant. This time she really would be thrown out on the streets.

  ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘What am I going to do? What am I going to do?’

  She hugged herself, rocking backwards and forwards in her seat. This was the end.

  From somewhere, from a different life, a voice came through to her. A familiar voice. Daisy’s.

  ‘– money. And it’s not nice. But it can be done.’

  Isobel clutched at her friend, holding her fiercely round the waist.

  ‘Daisy, I’ll be turned out –’

  ‘No, no, you won’t. That’s what I’m saying. There are ways to get rid of it, but you’ll have to get hold of some money.’

  She heard the words but they made no sense.

  ‘Get rid of what?’

  ‘The baby. There are people who will do it for you.’

  It was some time before she could begin to grasp what Daisy was saying.

  ‘You mean – there are people who will kill babies?’

  ‘Well –’ Daisy sounded uncomfortable. ‘If you put it like that – yes.’

  ‘What, take little babies and murder them?’

  ‘No, not like that. Before they’re born. While they’re still inside you. Like now. You go to one of these people and – and – it’s like you have a miscarriage.’

  ‘A miscarriage?’

  ‘Yes, like when you lose the baby before it’s born. When it comes out before it’s due and dies. Don’t you know about that? It happens all the time. My mum’s always having them.’

  Isobel was groping through a fog of ignorance and fear. Babies were happy events that happened to married ladies. Pregnancy, miscarriages and the working of the female body were not things spoken about in front of unmarried girls. If it did happen all the time, then she had never known about it.

  Daisy tried to explain. Isobel listened with growing horror. In the end she put her hands over her ears and begged her to stop. The time for Daisy to go was fast approaching.

  ‘Look, Izzy, think about it, and try to think of a way to get some money. I’ll come back as soon as I can, and if you want me to I’ll try and get you fixed up.’

  For once, Isobel wanted her out of the house.

  When she had gone, she stood in the hall, looking down at her stomach. Then she put her hands on it. It didn’t feel any different. Yet inside there, if what Daisy said was true, a baby was growing. But it couldn’t be true. Of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t happen. She absolutely refused to believe it.

  37

  IT ALL WENT like a fairy tale. Even the weather smiled on them. After a week of March gales and driving rain the sun came out, the wind dropped and the temperature rose to a pleasant warmth. Amelie was brimming with happiness as she was driven to the Tatwell parish church with her father at her side. Her only care was to prevent the delicate silk of her dress from being crushed. No doubts or fears troubled her. She was going to marry the man she loved. Seeing him waiting for her at the chancel steps only confirmed it. He was the most wonderful man in the world, and soon he would be her husband. He smiled at her reassuringly as they took their place together, but she needed no boost to her confidence. She knew she was doing the right thing.

  The solemn vows affected her deeply. She had often been to weddings before, but attending, or even being a bridesmaid, was quite different from being married herself. Each promise she felt in her heart, and made with total commitment.

  And then all too soon it was over, and she was walking down the aisle holding Hugo’s arm with her veil thrown back, smiling at all the happy faces of well-wishers. Outside, the bells were ringing and local people were gathered to watch the free show. The wedding guests flooded out to offer congratulations. They posed for the photographer – especially brought down from London by Winifred – and passed through a snowstorm of petals and rice to step into the Packard Rolls which was decorated for the occasion with ribbons and flowers. The door was closed, everyone waved, the motor pulled away, and for the first time that day they were alone together. They turned to look at each other.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Rutherford,’ Hugo said.

  ‘Mrs Rutherford,’ Amelie repeated, smiling. ‘It sounds very well. I think I’m going to like it.’

  ‘No second thoughts, then?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Of one accord, they moved together, their lips meeting, their arms sliding round each other. Amelie drowned in the slow passion of his kiss, melting to the demand of his lips and tongue, responding with fervour. Breathless, they drew apart just a little, to look into each other’s eyes.

  ‘I wish we didn’t have to go back to the house. I want to go away with you right now,’ Amelie said.

  ‘So do I, but you’d look a little silly on the train in that beautiful dress.’

  Amelie giggled. ‘It would make people’s heads turn.’

  They drove in at the gates, the lodge keeper and his wife bowing as they passed, their children cheering and waving.

  ‘Kiss me one more time before we have to face the hordes,’ Hugo said.

  Amelie readily complied.

  They just managed to straighten themselves up before the motor drew up on the gravel forecourt. All the servants were lined up to greet them under the strict eyes of the butler and housekeeper. Proper and correct now, Hugo got
out and helped Amelie, and the two of them ascended the steps arm in arm past bowing footmen and curtsying maids, and went in to the great entrance hall. Winifred’s personal maid fussed about repairing the damage to Amelie’s hair and dress and veil caused by the brief journey from the church, and then before they had time to draw breath the servants had scuttled back inside to take their places, both sets of parents and the bridesmaids arrived and the receiving of guests began.

  Amelie went through her public duties in a dream. Fortunately, her role was not a very demanding one. The bride was only required to look radiant, speak to as many people as possible and keep smiling. She managed all three with ease. Around her, guests enjoyed criticising the food, the display of wedding gifts, the newly decorated rooms and each other, but all agreed that the bride looked beautiful and that she and the groom made an extremely handsome couple, a fact made more touching by their being so clearly in love.

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Winifred suggested that Amelie should now go upstairs and change. Rarely had she obeyed her mother so willingly. The bridesmaids – Amberley cousins and Hugo’s three sisters – came with her and sat about in their layers of apricot silk and chiffon gossiping about the guests and giving Amelie advice while Winifred’s maid got her out of the wedding dress and into a Directoire-style tailor-made of finest dark green wool and fancy braiding with a cutaway jacket and lace jabot.

  ‘How do I look? Will Hugo like it, do you think?’ Amelie asked, turning round for their benefit.

  ‘It’s simply deevy, Melly. Hugo will adore you in it.’

  ‘Hugo adores her anyway. He talks about her almost as much as he talks about rugger.’

  ‘Or even cricket.’

  ‘He’s certainly one of the catches of the year,’ one of the Amberley cousins said. ‘How did you do it, Mel?’

  ‘What our brother, a catch? We Rutherfords have hardly a penny to bless ourselves with.’

  ‘Oh come now, stop exaggerating!’

  ‘Well, we’re certainly hoping to benefit from his marrying into you Packards. Now, Amelie, promise us that you and Hugo will give lots of parties and invite us and plenty of eligible young men.’