Packards

by Patricia Burns

  She realised then why he had been so impatient with her. He did not want her cowering from him today. She was required to play a part. She began to undress. It did not occur to her to refuse. If that was what he wanted, then that was what she must do, though it made her insides crawl with sick apprehension.

  With nerveless fingers, she struggled out of her clothes and pulled the nightdress over her head, her flesh shrinking as the scent filled her nostrils. She fumbled with the fiddly buttons and ribbon ties. She must hurry. She must not keep him waiting. She remembered his order to tidy up, and nerved herself to look in the glass. A white face with dark shadowed eyes gazed back at her, hair straggling and unkempt. She poured water into the basin on the washstand, spilling a little as she did so, splashed it onto her face, pinched her cheeks, looked in the glass again. Now she had a little more colour. She brushed her hair. The tangles were smoothed out, but the shine had gone out of it weeks ago. It was dull and lifeless.

  On leaden feet, she walked out of the room. On the landing she hesitated, trying to nerve herself for the ordeal. Then she pushed open the bedroom door and went in.

  He was lounging on the bed, still fully dressed.

  ‘Stay right there,’ he said.

  Isobel stood as he looked her over, waiting for his reaction. A slow smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Isobel felt something close to relief. It was all right. She had done what he wanted so far.

  ‘Yes – very effective. Stand up straight. That’s better. The hair’s wrong, though. Make it into a plait.’

  She gathered her hair up and pulled it to one side, divided it into three parts. Once, she could have plaited it in no time at all with deft fingers. Now she seemed unable to make it go right. She dropped strands or they ended up going the wrong side. It was always the way, these days. She could not do the simplest of tasks properly. At last she managed it and looked about for something to stop the thing from unravelling. The only thing she could find was a hairpin from the dish on the dressing table. She slipped it over the end and stood looking down at the rose pattern on the carpet.

  ‘That will do nicely. Come here.’

  The bed creaked as he moved. Isobel shuffled over. He was sitting on the edge, his feet on the floor.

  ‘Kneel down.’

  She knew what was coming, what she had to do. Swallowing down the revulsion, she knelt, and began to undo the buttons of his trousers.

  It was late afternoon by the time he went, taking the nightgown with him. Isobel was left naked on the floor of the bedroom. For a long time she just lay there, her face pressed into the carpet, broken and humiliated. She wanted only to stay there for ever, to dissolve and become part of the floor.

  Afternoon slid into evening. Outside in the street, the children played. Their clear voices floated in at the window, chanting a skipping rhyme. Isobel felt a fresh wave of self-loathing. She had been like that once, innocent and untouched. Now she was soiled, despicable. Children should not even look at her, in case they became contaminated. Cold and stiff, she reached out and dragged one of the satin sheets from the bed, convinced that someone might see her, ashamed of her naked body. She struggled to her feet, wrapping the sheet round her, and then realised that she was after all alone. Completely alone. He had gone, the maid was out, Daisy would not come. Daisy. The one friend she had in all the world had lost everything she had worked for and taken pride in. She had been turned out of the attic room and sacked from her job, and all because of Isobel. It was all her fault. Everything was her fault. She was bad.

  She caught sight of herself in one of the gilt-framed looking-glasses, naked shoulders rising from the soiled satin sheet, hair unravelled and falling about her face. A wicked woman. A woman with nothing at all to live for. She turned away and walked slowly out of the room, the sheet trailing behind her. Everywhere she went, she caught glimpses of herself. There was no escape.

  She arrived at the kitchen. Beyond the back door, evening sunlight slanted into the small garden. Normal life, the real world, where ordinary people went about their ordinary lives. A world she had left behind the day she was brought to this house, a world she could never again rejoin. Her gaze flickered round the kitchen, lighting on the everyday objects. Larder, sink, plate rack, gas stove, table . . . gas stove. She stepped forward, stopped in front of it. It was very clean, its blue and white surface polished to a shine, its row of knobs gleaming. Isobel looked at the one in the middle. There was a way to escape. She watched her hand as it reached out. It seemed to have nothing to do with her. It turned the knob, opened the oven door. She knelt down.

  Daisy stood outside Selfridges, watching their shopmen and girls flood out. Perhaps she would apply here for a job. They paid the best wages in Oxford Street. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours that she could hardly take it all in. Before Mrs Rutherford’s visit she had despaired of ever again aspiring to a better life. That beautiful white five-pound note and the promise of a reference had transformed everything. This morning she had paid a week’s rent in advance for a room just off the Tottenham Court Road for herself and Isobel. It was not as clean as the one they had shared at Trent Street, and the kitchen that they had to share with the dozen or so occupants of the house was cramped and smelly, but it was a hundred times better than being at home in Dock Street. Tomorrow she would write to Mrs Rutherford, telling her where she was living, and then she would start looking for a job. It was not going to be easy, supporting Isobel and herself on a shopgirl’s wages, but they would manage. The remainder of Mrs Rutherford’s five pounds would cover doctor’s fees and baby clothes when Isobel’s time came. The difficult bit was going to be persuading Isobel to come with her. That was why she needed Johnny’s help.

  She looked along the street towards Packards. Their people would be coming out as well. Any minute now she would see him. Her heart raced, joy mixing queasily with trepidation. She wanted so much to see him again, but she was afraid of what his reaction was going to be when she confessed that she had known all along where Isobel was. He was sure to be angry. What if he was really still in love with Isobel? He had not talked about her except in passing for a long time now, but that might be because he had given up all hope of her. Once he saw her again he might still want to marry her. Daisy wasn’t sure if she could bear that, but she had to risk it, for she couldn’t leave Isobel where she was. The look on Mr Edward’s face as he had told her that he would deal with her later had been frightening.

  Groups of weary shopworkers were plodding along Oxford Street. Between two large detachments was a lone male figure. Daisy waved and called.

  ‘Johnny!’

  ‘Daisy!’

  He broke into a run, dodged round the intervening people, swept her into his arms.

  ‘Daisy, I’ve been so worried about you. What happened? What’s going on?’

  Daisy wished that the moment could never end. He was holding her as if he never wanted to let go. He was worried about her. But they had to get to Camberwell.

  ‘I’ll tell you as we go along,’ she said. ‘We got to catch a bus.’

  ‘A bus? Where are we going? What’s it all about, Daisy?’

  They walked together along the street, Daisy holding tight to Johnny’s arm.

  ‘I’m so glad you came,’ she said.

  ‘Of course I came. Like I said, I was dead worried about you. It was like you’d just disappeared off of the face of the earth. No one seemed to know where you came from, so I didn’t know where to start looking. I was so glad when I got your letter, I can’t tell you. I –’ he hesitated, then went on, ‘I really missed you, Daise. Sunday wasn’t the same without you.’

  Daisy wanted to sing and dance.

  ‘That so?’ she said.

  ‘It is. I even stopped Miss P – Mrs Rutherford and asked if she knew what was going on. Did she come and see you? She said she would, but you never know.’

  ‘It was you told her where I lived?’

  ‘Yes,’ Johnny sounded
worried. ‘Was that all right?’

  ‘Oh yes! Oh thank you. It changed everything. She’s going to give me a reference so as I can get another job.’

  ‘Well thank God for that. After she’d gone I wondered if I’d done the right thing. But, Daisy, you still haven’t told me what happened, why you got slung out.’

  They came to the bus stop and joined the queue of homegoing workers. Daisy took a steadying breath.

  ‘Promise me you won’t do nothing stupid at work when I tell you. Only that’s why I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want you going and having it out with Mr Edward and losing your job.’

  ‘Mr Edward? I might’ve known he’d got something to do with it.’

  ‘Promise me,’ Daisy insisted.

  Reluctantly, Johnny promised. Daisy began to explain. As she told the tale, Johnny’s expression grew increasingly grim.

  ‘– and so we got to go and make her leave,’ she concluded.

  At that moment, the bus arrived. They climbed on board and managed to get seats together.

  ‘Are you angry?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Yes, I bloody well am, Daise. You should’ve told me.’

  Misery swamped her, all the more poignant for her having been so happy only minutes ago.

  ‘Isobel begged me not to. She didn’t want anyone to know. And like I said, I was afraid you’d go and say something to Mr Edward. You was so upset at the time.’

  ‘So instead you go and do the same yourself.’

  ‘But he found me there, Johnny. I was done for anyway. He wasn’t going to let me stay on and spread gossip like that all over the store, was he?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘I done it for the best.’

  ‘That letter she sent me. Was that your idea and all?’

  ‘No! She done that off of her own bat.’

  ‘I see.’

  For what seemed like a long time, he sat looking out of the window, not speaking. Then he reached over and clasped Daisy’s hand.

  ‘I suppose you did what you thought was best at the time. I just don’t like being treated like I’m a kid, Daisy. You shouldn’t have to protect me like that. I should be looking after you.’

  Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. The world was suddenly a brighter place again.

  ‘That’s why I asked you to come along today. I need your help. I might not be able to manage her without you.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can,’ he promised.

  They got off at Camberwell, and as they rounded the corner into Isobel’s street, Daisy peered anxiously along it, half expecting to see Mr Edward’s motor car parked outside the house. It was not.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘She’s on her own.’

  They knocked at the door, but there was no answer, knocked again louder but still no reply.

  ‘That’s funny. She never goes out,’ Daisy said, a small thread of fear starting within her.

  She bent down and opened the letterbox and called through.

  ‘Izzy? Isobel, it’s me, Daisy. Come and open the door.’

  She listened. The house was as still as the grave. She shouted again.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said. ‘She usually runs to the door before I even knock. There’s a funny smell in there,’ she added.

  Johnny bent down and sniffed.

  ‘Bloody hell, that’s gas. We better go round the back.’

  ‘Oh God –’

  They ran up the street, counting houses as they went, raced down the passageway at the end of the terrace and along the weedy alleyway at the back, counting again.

  ‘This one.’

  They were confronted with a six-foot-high fence. Johnny tried the gate. It was bolted on the inside.

  ‘Give me a bunk up,’ he said.

  Daisy caught his foot and heaved. He got his waist over the top of the gate and swung over, there was a rattle and a thud, then he was letting Daisy in. They ran down the garden and wrenched at the back door. It was locked.

  ‘Stand clear.’

  Johnny picked up a stone from the edge of a flowerbed and smashed the glass in the door. The sickly smell of gas oozed out. He put his hand through the gap and turned the key. The door swung open. The smell was overwhelming. And there on the floor by the open oven door, was a prone figure draped in white.

  ‘Izzy!’

  Daisy stared at her, frozen with shock.

  ‘Stay there.’

  Johnny took a deep breath and ran in. He grabbed Isobel under her arms and dragged her out. Her head fell back, the sheet slid down her naked body, her bare heels bumped across the flags of the floor. Daisy snapped into action, snatching at the sheet then taking hold of her feet. Choking and gasping from the effect of the gas, they carried her into the fresh air at the end of the garden and laid her on the lawn.

  ‘I’ll get a doctor. We must get her to a hospital,’ Daisy cried, making for the gate.

  ‘No.’

  Johnny caught her arm. Together they stared down at Isobel. Her jaw sagged open, her limp arms lay with the hands turned palm up on the grass. Her utter vulnerability contrasted horribly with the seductive folds of satin. Johnny bent down, and pulled the sheet over her face.

  41

  WHEN THE NEWS reached Sir Thomas Packard, he was first shocked, then angry. He sent for Edward, and while awaiting his arrival, stood frowning at the floor plans of the store as they hung on the wall opposite his desk. Isobel Brand. One of Amelie’s girls. The one who had mysteriously disappeared. A mystery no longer. The implications of his successor’s deeds multiplied in his mind.

  Archer tapped at the door and announced Edward. Thomas swung round to face him, his head thrust forward, his hands still clasped behind his back. His grandson stepped into the room.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  Edward’s expression was bland, his tone neutral. All the cumulative strain of the last few months, Thomas’s misgivings about him, the anguish of finally relinquishing his control of his beloved store, came rushing to a head.

  ‘Yes, I damn well do! What the devil have you been playing at?’

  Edward gave nothing away, but he hesitated, fuelling Thomas’s rage.

  ‘And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I won’t be played with. I want an explanation, if there is one.’

  ‘Ah –’ Edward had the wit to look uncomfortable. ‘You’ve heard about the – ah – I’m sorry you had it from someone else. I should have told you myself.’

  ‘Yes, you damn well should. That would have been honest of you, at least, though it hardly takes away from what you’ve done. You know perfectly well what my rules are – no meddling with the staff. I will not have my store treated as a venue for a cheap pick-up. I have decent respectable folk coming to do their shopping here, and I employ decent respectable girls to serve them. They are not tarts and are not to be treated as such. Any man in my employ caught taking advantage of one of Packards’ shopgirls is out on their ear.’

  Apprehension flickered in Edward’s eyes, to Thomas’s satisfaction.

  ‘I am aware of that, sir. However –’

  ‘However nothing! You more than anyone else should abide by the rules. You should be setting an example. And instead, just what manner of message is being signalled to the rest of the staff, eh? “Do as I say, not as I do?” How do you think that is going to look?’

  Edward reddened slightly, but not with shame. There was controlled anger in his voice now.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think I am the only man in this family to keep a mistress.’

  Thomas exploded. ‘Are you presuming to criticise me?’

  He stalked up to Edward and poked at his chest, emphasising each point with a stab of the finger.

  ‘Now you just listen to me – I had none of your advantages. I wasn’t brought up to be a gentleman and sent to the best schools. But I did know not to soil my own doorstep. I kept my women away from the shop and away from my home. The girls who
worked for me were in no danger from me and your grandmother was never given a moment’s unease. Which is a damn sight more than can be said for you. How do you think your wife’s going to take this? And her in a delicate state at the moment?’

  Edward’s eyes dropped.

  ‘She’s – not happy, sir,’ he admitted. ‘But if I might point out, sir, she would never have known anything about it if the girl hadn’t –’

  ‘Hadn’t taken her own life?’ Thomas finished for him. He prowled about the room. ‘How very remiss of her to give the game away! For God’s sake, boy, what were you doing to her to drive her to suicide?’

  Edward became totally wooden-faced. He looked at a point somewhere over Thomas’s shoulder.

  ‘I realise that it is going to lead to some awkward questions, sir. I apologise for that. It might have some unfortunate consequences for the store.’

  ‘Unfortunate! That’s hardly the word I would use. I’ve spent my life building the good name of Packards –’ Thomas realised he had been sidetracked and broke off.

  ‘Now I don’t pretend to be a saint,’ he said, moderating his voice with some difficulty, glaring up at Edward from under his thick eyebrows. ‘But at least I kept my women happy, and when it came to a parting, I made sure they were well provided for. None of them was ever so desperate that they killed themselves.’

  ‘The girl was unstable, sir. I cannot be held responsible for that. I regret it, naturally –’

  ‘Regret! Aye, regret that she’s exposed you, no doubt.’

  At that moment, what Thomas most regretted was not being able to do what he most wanted to do – tell Edward that the store was going to go to somebody else. He toyed with the idea briefly, but even in his anger he knew that it was no use. There was nobody else. So instead, he said nothing, and waited for Edward to fill the silence.

  When Edward did speak it was stiffly and with difficulty, as if the words hurt him.

  ‘I – should not have acted as I did. It was – ill-judged of me.’

  Thomas still kept silent. Edward flushed under his gaze.