Aggie gave a murmur of sympathy as she watched Etta kiss each of her children prior to leaving for work. ‘It must be terrible hard having to deny these little mites.’
Etta’s quick nod foretold that it was heartbreaking. ‘But I must keep up the lie or lose my job.’ Then she cocked her head. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking: why should you have to look after Martin’s children?’
‘I’ve said I don’t mind,’ Aggie told her.
‘But you shouldn’t be forced into it! And, for that matter, neither should I, when all I need do is apply to the Parish and they’d trace him for –’
‘Oh, don’t do that!’ warned her mother-in-law hastily.
‘But he should be made to attend his responsibil—’
‘No, no, ye mustn’t!’ Aggie was adamant.
Red, too, looked alarmed. ‘We’re well as we are, deary. They’ll send a constable, we can’t be having any truck with the polis.’
‘But I don’t earn enough to contribute to the children’s upkeep,’ she reasoned.
‘No need, darlin’!’ Aggie remained emphatic. ‘We’ve ample money now the girls are sending their wages home. Don’t go making the situation worse by instructing them busybodies.’
‘You’re very generous,’ concluded Etta with a look of gratitude. ‘Well, then, I’d better go. I don’t want to be late again.’ She blew a last kiss to the children and left.
Aggie sagged in relief and opined to her husband, ‘That was a close call.’ She turned to look at Red, then, noticing he had fallen asleep, she clicked her tongue and muttered, ‘Talking to my bloody self again.’ And, now that it was safe, she gave her grandchildren a drink of milk then pulled out the letter that upon her daughter-in-law’s entry had been hastily stashed behind the clock, and continued reading it.
13
By the end of that first week, the sheer physical effort of having to be on her feet all day made Etta thoroughly jaded, and she remained dead to the world for most of Sunday morning, or at least until her children began to whine impatiently for breakfast. Eyes like slits, she indulged them by letting them snuggle into her bed for as long as they would remain still; then, after dinner at Aggie’s, devoted the entire afternoon to their enjoyment, prescribing a nature walk before bedtime stories at the end of an all too short day of rest.
Still, it hurt that she saw so little of them for the rest of the week. The working day, purported to be eight hours long, often extended much longer than this if custom required it, and sometimes Etta could still be there at eight or even nine at night if there was stocktaking to be done, so the little ones were invariably asleep when she got home and, not long afterwards, so was she. Even when she did have them to herself there were things to intrude. Possessed of a solitary overall, she had only Sunday on which to launder it. This meant that by the middle of the week it was far from pristine, which earned the manager’s disapproval, and so she was compelled to wash it on her Wednesday afternoon off as well – more disruption to her time with the children – and to rise half an hour earlier in order to iron the wretched thing. The only good thing she could say about the job, other than that it would eventually bring in money, was that it had brought male admirers who, thinking this beauty unwed, were falling over themselves to assist her. It was rather touching when one’s husband obviously no longer cared.
Payday came at last, and whilst it was very welcome this buoyant feeling did not last long. Once the cash had been allocated it was back to lean pickings for another week. Always quick to damn her mother-in-law, Etta now gave praise for Aggie, without whose help her children would have starved. It was only at her in-laws’ house that she herself tasted meat nowadays, at home existing mainly on bread and condensed milk. Fortunately it was summer and savings could be made on fuel, but there was nothing to spare for clothing, however desperately she might need it.
Struggling to survive on the eight shillings that was left after the rent had been deducted, Etta inwardly raged. Surely she could do better for herself? As she hurried back and forth to work through town, her eyes could not resist being drawn to the window of each artistic embroidery shop. Why, the examples of needlework displayed were no better than she herself produced for fun, or had done once. No longer able to afford the goods within, lucky even to scrape together fourpence for a ball of white mending cotton, she eyed the silks wistfully. She had in fact applied to all these establishments, but there had been no vacancies. However…An idea began to form. It was futile to dream of renting premises but she could acquire a sewing machine by hire purchase and thenceforth work from home. Sparked by enthusiasm, she decided to go out in her lunch break and make enquiries at the Singer Sewing Machine Company.
But to her crushing disappointment, quite apart from the deposit, the weekly instalments would be half a crown, far more than she was able to spare. Certainly, once she was established the rewards would more than cover this amount, but how could she afford the initial outlay? She could move in with her in-laws to save on rent – some might say it was ridiculous not to do so – but Etta was loath to relinquish what little independence she had. Besides which, life would still be a struggle. So, it appeared she was trapped in the shoe shop until the time came when she could afford to put a little money by.
Thoughts of money, or rather the lack of it, were to become all-consuming. Despite the fact that it made things worse, Etta could not resist counting the days up to the quarterly disbursement when she might reap the benefit of her sales technique.
With the latter continuing to improve, by the time the long, hot summer drew to a close she had learned every trick in the trade. These included all manner of lies to an unsuspecting patron, and where Etta might once have disdained to involve herself in such dupery she now rushed to participate if it meant affording bacon as opposed to offal. Besides, after hours of pandering to customers’ whims and being subjected to their sweaty feet in varying degrees of decomposition, she had come to view them as the enemy and therefore fair game.
Mr Burdock himself had also come to be included in this category. Whilst quite an amicable man, and obviously as admiring of her looks as his male underlings, he had been very patronising in bestowing her with his great experience and she had no qualms about joining her colleagues in mocking him. These humorous intervals had been somewhat enhanced lately by the fact that the unfortunate fellow had developed an intimate complaint. The female assistants in particular found it most entertaining to spy upon him when, imagining himself unobserved, he groped beneath his frockcoat, performing contortions in trying to reach the excruciating itch between his chubby buttocks.
He was at it again today. Behind his back, spying round a pillar, Etta and Mary-Ann clutched each other in mirth, almost hysterical with silent laughter as he strained on tiptoe to alleviate the irritation. ‘Ooh, he’s like a ballerina!’ giggled Mary-Ann, tears in her eyes.
Etta mopped her own streaming face with a handkerchief, blurting, ‘Do you think I should fetch him the sink plunger?’ Allowed to enjoy the mischief for a while longer until another customer required serving, she broke off and wiped her face with the declaration, ‘Gosh, what fun – and payday too.’ And a quarterly payday at that. It was certainly worth the wait. Etta found upon tearing open her brown packet in the staff room at lunchtime that there was almost an additional week’s wages from all the extra pennies and shillings she had accrued.
Mary-Ann was pleased with hers too. ‘Spiffing! I can finish paying off my hat.’ Unable to afford the said item in one go she had been forking out weekly instalments. ‘What will you buy with yours, Ett?’
‘Oh, it’ll just go on bills.’
‘Surely you can afford a little treat?’ Mary-Ann and everyone else remained ignorant of Etta’s true circumstances. ‘Come to the De Grey Rooms with me tonight!’
Etta smiled at the dull-looking face. ‘Thank you for asking but it’s out of the question. My funds are already allocated.’
Mary-Ann shrugged her hefty shoulders.
‘What a dreary life for a young woman to have.’
‘It won’t be forever,’ announced Etta. ‘I intend putting what little I can save to good use. The moment I have a deposit I shall hire a sewing machine and be my own mistress.’ She divulged her other ambition of setting up an artistic embroidery shop.
Some were impressed, others were not, the cashier forming a smirk of derision as she gathered her belongings and headed downstairs. ‘Should be good at that with all the embroidering you’ve done so far. To hear the way you talk, you’re obviously too good to work here.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate that at all!’ Etta turned apologetically to the others. ‘It’s just my little dream…’
Mary-Ann waited until the sound of the cashier’s footsteps had faded before commenting, ‘She can talk. There’s no one more stuck up than she is. Take no notice of the jealous cat, Etta, we know you’re not like that. Good luck to you, I hope you get your sewing machine. Wonder what she’ll come back with today. Half of Marshall and Snelgrove’s like last bonus day, no doubt.’
Etta frowned in confusion. ‘But how does she get a bonus when she doesn’t sell anything?’
‘If Dandy sells any old stock he lets her have the spiffs,’ confided her informant. ‘Miss Wimp overheard them talking. She collected almost a pound last time, didn’t she, Miss Wimp?’
Mr Tupman mocked them playfully. ‘Tittle-tattle, tittle-tattle!’
Etta flashed him a brief smile but her tone showed resentment. ‘It doesn’t seem right that we have to work so hard for our little bit extra whilst she contributes nothing.’
Mary-Ann was pragmatic. ‘Oh, it’s not just her, it’s a perk of the cashier’s job – ’cause they don’t have chance to earn it for themselves, you see. Matter of fact, I applied for the post when the last one left but I wasn’t clever enough.’
Etta announced, ‘I shall bear that in mind next time a vacancy arises. If I’m up to the task, of course,’ she added quickly.
‘If looks were the only requisite you would more than qualify, my dear,’ complimented Mr Tupman, rising. ‘Speaking for myself I hope it occurs. It’d be such a pleasant change not to suffer that haddock gob every time I visit the cash office.’
‘You’re terrible!’ accused Etta, but chuckled with the others.
‘I know, but you love me,’ grinned Tupman, who, having taken an earlier lunch, now went down to relieve the other male assistants. ‘Coming, ladies?’
‘Just got to do my hair and change my shoes,’ was Miss Wimp’s reply as he left, accompanied by Miss Jackley.
At this point Etta spotted something lying beneath the chair upon which he had just been sitting. She bent to retrieve it and was about to call after him. ‘Oh, you’ve dro –’ Then her eyes suddenly noted the amount on the wage slip and her lips parted in amazement.
‘Don’t let Mr Burdock catch you looking at that,’ warned Mary-Ann. ‘We’re not allowed to discuss how much we earn.’
‘I’m not surprised!’ Etta was indignant as she revealed Tupman’s earnings. ‘He receives over twice the amount I do!’
Mary-Ann spoke evenly. ‘Don’t forget it includes his spiff money.’
‘I’m referring to his basic wage – twenty-seven shillings!’ Etta’s temper was rising.
The other women gaped at each other. Then Miss Wimp wrinkled her bespectacled nose and offered in fairness, ‘Well, he’s a married man, he has a family to support.’
Etta was furious. ‘So do –’ my God, she had almost given herself away, ‘– lots of women too! Widows, daughters with invalid parents – why should he get twenty-seven shillings for doing the same job as us just because he’s a man? Do either of you think it fair?’
Alarmed at the outburst, Miss Wimp shoved her glasses back up her nose, leaving Mary-Ann to say thoughtfully, ‘Well, I only have myself to clothe. Me mam and dad are kind, they don’t take as much as they could. But you’ve got your mother depending on you, haven’t you, Miss Wimp?’ Her tone suggested that the other might care to object.
However, Maude paused only slightly as she combed her lank hair in the mirror. ‘It would be nice to have a little more, I agree. But that’s just the way of things.’ She gave a feeble shrug.
‘Who decreed this?’ cried Etta, infuriated as much by their acceptance as the unfairness of it all. ‘I’m beginning to revise my opinion of Mrs Pankhurst.’
‘Ooh, you’re not one of them suffragists, are you?’ breathed Mary-Ann. ‘Mr Burdock won’t have that sort of thing.’
‘I have no affiliation, but I do begin to recognise why we women are barred from politics.’ It had been bad enough under her father’s despotic rule, but not until she had been compelled to support herself financially had Etta really begun to see the need for suffrage. Robbed of any social standing, she certainly saw the wisdom behind it now. ‘Do you not think that if women had the vote they could command a better living?’
When her audience prevaricated, she returned to her main topic. ‘And what about Mr Ficklepenny?’
At this point the young man bounded in. ‘Do I feel my lugs burning?’ He made a hungry grab for his sandwich tin, flopped his buttocks onto a chair and his highly polished boots onto another.
Mary-Ann warned Etta but the latter ignored her and said stiffly, ‘We were wondering how much you are paid.’
Stunned by her forthrightness, the youngster took a quick bite before replying through a mangle of bread and cheese, ‘The going rate.’
‘Which is?’ persisted Etta.
He chewed quickly and swallowed. ‘That’s not a question to put to one’s superior! If Mr Burdock heard –’
‘I’d like to know how much he takes home!’ cut in Etta.
‘A lot more than any of us, I’ll be bound,’ opined Ficklepenny, incising another large crescent from his sandwich. ‘What’s started all this off anyway?’
‘Mr Tupman’s wage slip.’ Etta brandished it.
‘Eh, you shouldn’t have that – give it to me!’ He leapt up and snatched it with his free hand, though it was too late to matter, Etta being already fired up.
‘Am I to assume you receive a similar amount?’ she demanded.
Still he refused to tell, stuffing the wage slip into his pocket and sitting back to eat. ‘I might do, it’s nowt to do with you.’
‘It most certainly is!’ She turned to exhort the other women, ‘Does no one else see the injustice in this?’
‘What can we do?’ asked Mary-Ann, a hopeless sag to her fleshy lips.
‘We can petition Mr Burdock for a fairer wage!’
‘Ooh, I daren’t,’ quailed Miss Wimp. ‘I couldn’t risk the sack.’
Neither could Etta, but, ‘It wouldn’t have to be so drastic if we band together with Miss Jackley and Miss Sullivan.’
‘Not much of a union with only five people,’ observed Ficklepenny, chomping contentedly whilst sprawled across two chairs.
‘It’s all very well for you!’ scolded Etta. ‘You’ve no family to support.’
‘Neither have you,’ he countered with a laugh.
Etta wanted to smack the brash little face, but instead squealed in frustration.
‘Ladies, gentlemen, what on earth is all this squabbling?’ The manager rushed in to censure them. ‘You can be heard in the shop!’
Far from being subdued like the others, Etta came right out with her objection. ‘Mr Burdock, it has come to our attention that certain members of staff earn disproportionate amounts to others.’
Burdock’s attitude changed. He was at once suspicious, looking around at the rest, all of whom avoided his eye and pretended to busy themselves. ‘You know the policy about discussing wages.’
‘It was an accidental indiscretion,’ said Etta, not wanting to land anyone in trouble.
Ficklepenny quickly swallowed his mouthful to say, ‘She found this, Mr Burdock.’ In the manner of the class sneak, he handed over his colleague’s wage slip.
Burdock became even sterner.
‘I shall have words with Mr Tupman! Now, enough of –’
‘My point is,’ interrupted Etta with strained politeness, ‘it seems grossly unfair that he’s paid more than twice as much as we women for doing a similar job.’
The manager was succinct. ‘Then find other employment, Miss Lanegan.’
Etta stalled and looked to the others for unity, but Miss Wimp seemed more intent on tying her shoes and Mary-Ann was immersed in rifling the contents of her handbag. Without backing, she had no recourse but to appear peni-tent. ‘I didn’t mean to imply –’
‘Do you wish to remain here or not?’ snapped Burdock.
‘Yes of course, it’s just that I –’
‘Then enough of this nonsense!’ he concluded briskly. ‘Miss Wimp, weren’t you on first lunch?’
‘Yes, I’m just off, Mr Burdock!’ She finished tying her laces and, with a hasty repositioning of her spectacles, jumped up.
Gripping the edges of his frockcoat, the stern-faced manager stood aside for her to scuttle past. Mary-Ann too grasped the opportunity to go out shopping. Bereft of support, Etta could only stand there and fume at the discrimination. But if Burdock thought he had subdued her he had another think coming. By fair means or foul she was determined to increase her pay.
After the dressing down for his laxity with the wage slip, Mr Tupman’s attitude towards Etta underwent a cool change for the rest of that day, indeed for most of the week to come. She tried to explain that she had not intended to land him in trouble, had simply wanted fairness for herself, but he had taken the event to heart and ignored any of her attempts to charm him. As a formerly pleasant work colleague, his jokes helping to alleviate the daily grind, this was quite a loss, and it took a great deal of work from Etta to rekindle the bonhomie. Only by reason of him being a dreadful flirt and unable to resist a pretty face did he finally succumb, even able to joke about the episode on the next payday.
‘Better make sure I’ve not left anything lying around today else milady’ll have her little hands on it!’ He made great play of folding his wage slip into his pocket as Etta came into the staff room, and nudged her suggestively as she came past.
The Keepsake Page 29