by Polly Heron
A cheery whistling reached her ears, accompanied by the sound of wooden wheels crunching their way down the lane.
‘I think the delivery is about to arrive,’ said Mr Linkworth. ‘I’ll get out from under your feet.’
It was for the best: Richard wouldn’t want him here.
He raised his hat to her. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye – and thank you from the bottom of my heart for making my position secure.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’
Jim looked over the gate. ‘Ah, there you are.’ He pushed the gate open. ‘Are you on your way out, sir?’
‘Yes. Wait. Are you supposed to manhandle those boxes into the cottage on your own? Let me give you a hand – I insist.’
Belinda scurried ahead with the key. Next news, the two men were carrying a tea-chest between them and she jumped aside to let them in. The unloading was soon done. It didn’t feel right to leave Mr and Mrs Tyrell’s belongings there like that, but Richard had given no instructions about unpacking and it wasn’t as though she knew where anything went.
She couldn’t help watching Mr Linkworth. Would he grab the opportunity to have a good old gawp? He concentrated on getting the chests inside without banging anything, then with no more than a swift glance round, he went out. He and Jim shook hands and Jim went off with his barrow.
It should have been Richard helping Jim.
‘Are you walking back to the shop?’ Mr Linkworth asked. ‘Would you care for company part of the way?’
Richard wouldn’t like it.
Did that matter?
‘I’d like to hear about Mr Tyrell,’ said Mr Linkworth.
‘I’m not sure I can tell you much.’
His expression tightened. ‘I see.’
‘I don’t mean that as a brush-off. I just didn’t know him well, but I’m happy to tell you what I can. I’ll start by telling you why I think this should be called Huh Cottage.’
‘Huh Cottage?’ Opening the gate, he waved her through. ‘That I have to hear.’
As they walked along Limits Lane, she marvelled that just minutes earlier she had walked in the other direction in such a state of shock and fear that she could have been anywhere. Now the birdsong was clearer, the tiny white flowers of the common chickweed growing in the verge were as bright as little stars, and the sunshine made her wish for a straw hat instead of her borrowed felt.
When they reached Edge Lane, Mr Linkworth walked on the outside, which Ben had said was the sign of a gentleman. They chatted more naturally and comfortably than she would have believed possible, given that this man was the evil inheritance-snatcher.
At the corner by St Clement’s Church, they parted company. Belinda returned to Tyrell’s Books, feeling light of heart. She still had a job!
‘You look chirpy,’ Richard said as she let herself into the shop.
Would it be tactless to tell him? But she wasn’t going to lie.
‘I bumped into Mr Linkworth.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’
She lifted her chin, refusing to be put down. ‘He says I’ll still have a job here after the court case, while I sort out another position.’
Would he congratulate her? Her breath sat poised in her throat, ready to pour out in a long sigh of pure relief when he was pleased for her.
‘It didn’t take you long to desert the sinking ship,’ said Richard.
*
At five o’clock, Belinda locked up and left the shop. It was a pleasant afternoon to walk home and, thanks to Gabriel Linkworth, she had more such afternoons to look forward to. Richard had left after her dinner hour, saying he wouldn’t be back today, and in his absence she had set the inventory aside, too excited and relieved about her new-found security to sit at the typewriter. Needing to be up and doing, she had removed books shelf by shelf, careful to keep them in order, then wet-dusted the shelves and, while they dried, dry-dusted the books.
Now, walking along Edge Lane, she was in better spirits than she had been since Gabriel the inheritance-thief had first pitched up. She had spent a lot of energy on being agitated on Richard’s behalf. She still felt sympathy for him, of course, but…
He had told her not to expect him tomorrow. Yesterday that would have floored her with disappointment, but now it was a relief. She was cured of him. The man she had idolised didn’t exist. The man she had idolised would have explained her job situation to her without having to be pinned down. The man she had idolised would have taken an interest in her night school training. He would have helped Jim deliver the tea-chests. And above all, no matter how deep his disappointment, he would have spoken of and to Gabriel Linkworth with restraint and civility.
At what point had Richard known that Mr Linkworth was the rightful heir? When he had talked about the court case as if the matter was in doubt, had he been stringing her along? Taking advantage of her loyalty to boost his position? The man she had idolised would never have done that.
Her infatuation was over. Infatuation: yes. Thank goodness she had never told anyone or she would look a complete clot now. The heady yearning had been both wonderful and excruciatingly painful while it lasted. How could she have been so vulnerable? Had her feelings for Richard been nothing more than a reaction to her long-overdue independence?
Well, she was cured now; and if Richard didn’t appear tomorrow, she was free of him until Monday, which suited her just fine. Was it normal, after an infatuation, to go from longing to be with the person to not wanting to clap eyes on them? Talk about one extreme to the other.
A sudden need to see Mum came over her. Mum had described being repeatedly let down by Dad and now, in a small way, Belinda had been let down too. Much as she loved and valued Auntie Enid, she had never grown out of wanting to feel special to Mum. Might Richard’s unworthiness somehow bring the two of them closer? It seemed unlikely, as she could never tell Mum about him, because Mum wouldn’t keep it to herself and she cringed at the thought of Thad running amok with the news that their Bel had had a stupid pash for her boss.
Even so, she needed to be with her mum. Perhaps her experience would make her more understanding and Mum would feel closer to her without knowing why.
Grandma Beattie wouldn’t worry about her being late, as long as tea wasn’t held up. Now was a good time to go, because Dad wouldn’t be home from work and Thad and Jacob would be off doing whatever questionable activities kept them busy between school and teatime. It would be just Mum and probably Mikey and, if she was lucky, Sarah.
When she walked in, the first thing she saw across the room was Dad sitting in the armchair, and the smile froze on her lips. Oh no, please no.
‘What are you doing home at this time?’ she asked.
Please let there be another reason.
‘Dad’s been sacked,’ said Mikey.
‘Don’t say that,’ cried Mum. ‘You mustn’t say that. He’s had enough of street-sweeping and he’s going to try his hand at summat else. That’s what you say if anyone asks.’
‘If anyone asks,’ growled Dad, ‘you tell ’em to mind their own sodding business.’
‘Denby! Language.’ But Mum’s heart wasn’t in it.
‘What happened?’ asked Belinda. Did she even want to know?
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Mum.
‘He punched his boss,’ said Mikey.
Belinda sucked in a huge breath. ‘Dad! Why?’ Stupid question. As if there could be an acceptable reason. There would just be the usual Denby Layton reason: the other bloke’s fault.
‘He asked for it,’ said Dad. There. See. The other bloke’s fault. Nothing was ever Denby Layton’s fault. Belinda wanted to curl up and die of shame. Honestly, this family was going from bad to worse. Mr Linkworth wouldn’t have been so quick to keep her on if he had known the kind of stock she came from.
She didn’t stay long. She couldn’t bear to. What would it take to make Dad face up to his responsibilities? He had a wife and family to provide for and all he did was cadge m
oney off his eldest and set a bad example to his youngest.
And she had to go home and tell Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie. Oh, the shame. Her chin trembled, but she tightened her lips. Best get it over with. She marched down Grave Pit Lane, the cinders crunching beneath her feet until she stepped onto the track. She didn’t slow her pace, but years of experience made her take care as she trod the ridges, like a mountain range in miniature, that started out as humps and bulges and furrows created in the rain by footsteps and carts, and then solidified as they dried out, playing hell with your ankles if you didn’t watch where you were going.
How was she going to tell Auntie Enid and Grandma Beattie? She struggled to find a way to word it. Pressing down the latch, she opened the door onto a fishy smell. Fish rissoles for tea; Grandma Beattie would have asked the fishmonger for a bag of tails. Auntie Enid was already home, setting the table. Good: that meant she need deliver the news just once.
They stared at her. Could they see the shock in her face?
‘I never would have thought it,’ said Grandma Beattie.
Had they heard already? How?
‘You was seen earlier today by Mrs Harrison’s Irma,’ said Auntie Enid. ‘She said you were walking along Edge Lane with a man.’
‘Oh, that!’ Relief poured through her. ‘He’s my new boss. It turns out Mr Carson—’
‘It’s not that,’ said Auntie Enid. ‘We knew there’d be an explanation for that.’
‘What, then?’
‘I didn’t believe it when Irma said.’ Grandma Beattie sucked in her cheeks.
‘When Irma said what?’
‘She admired it. A bit of colour, she said, and I said, no, never, not our Belinda. She wouldn’t.’ Grandma Beattie raised her hand and pointed. ‘Look at you, stood there as bold as brass.’
Belinda hadn’t the faintest idea what she meant. Then coldness rippled through her as she dropped her gaze and saw the rose-patterned scarf that still hung around her neck.
Chapter Twenty-One
PATIENCE ROSE EARLY that Saturday morning. Miss Deane and Miss Russell were going on a jaunt today and, although they had offered to see to their own breakfasts, she wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted to get up and prepare it for them and wave them on their way to catch the tram that would take them to town, from where they would catch the Southport train from Victoria Station.
She crept downstairs, wanting to have their tea in the pot before they appeared. As always, she opened the cupboard under the stairs to place her bedside lamp on the shelf.
‘Morning, Miss Patience,’ said a cheery voice above her on the stairs.
‘Why do you put the bedside lamps away every morning?’ asked Miss Deane, as the girls arrived behind her, their own lamps at the ready. ‘We can’t make it out at all.’
‘We’ve always done it,’ said Patience. ‘It was oil-lamps when we were children. They were brought down every morning and put on this shelf then, before we went to bed, they were got ready for us to take upstairs.’
‘But you don’t need to do that with electric lamps,’ said Miss Russell.
‘I’ve never given it any thought. We’ve just carried on in the same old way.’ Two dried-up old spinsters, living their lives to the same old pattern. ‘Maybe I’ll have a word with my sister. Would you like poached eggs for breakfast? That should set you up for the day.’
‘You’re an angel, Miss Patience.’
It afforded Patience a flutter of pleasure to stand on the doorstep, waving them off. They were such dear girls and she would miss them when they left. What would Prudence think of Miss Layton’s idea about a different sort of pupil lodger? Patience hadn’t mentioned it so far. She had tried to kid herself that she hadn’t been able to, as Miss Deane and Miss Russell ate with them and had full access to the sitting room when it wasn’t being used for teaching.
She would mention Miss Layton’s idea this morning, but before she had a chance, Lawrence and Evelyn arrived. Patience followed them into the sitting room.
‘Morning, Prudence,’ said Lawrence.
‘What brings you here?’ Prudence asked.
‘We’ve come to check on Pa’s old room. That’s where you’ve stowed your pupil lodgers, isn’t it? I’m not sure I care for having strangers living in my house, so we’ve come to make sure they’re treating the place – and Pa’s furniture – with respect.’
‘Of course they are,’ Prudence spluttered.
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Lawrence puffed out his chest. ‘Are they in or out at present?’
‘They’re out for the day,’ said Patience. Thank goodness for that.
‘Then you can’t have any objection,’ said Lawrence.
Prudence looked ready to explode. Patience stepped in – literally. She headed off Lawrence as he made for the door.
‘There’s no need for both of you to invade our lodgers’ privacy.’
‘They aren’t entitled—’ Lawrence started to say.
‘This is something that requires a woman’s eye,’ Patience said firmly. ‘Evelyn, go and look, if you must.’
‘Don’t touch anything,’ said Prudence. ‘You have no business rifling through the lodgers’ belongings.’
‘As if I would,’ sniffed Evelyn. ‘That isn’t why we’re here.’ Off she went.
‘Make the most of it,’ Prudence told Lawrence. ‘There’ll be no more pupil lodgers for you to check up on after this. It’s too much work.’
‘Aha!’ crowed Lawrence. ‘Do I detect a chink in your armour? The first sign of your inevitable failure?’
‘Don’t imagine you can capitalise on this.’
‘Oh, but I do imagine. A carefully worded statement to the press about the business school’s not being quite as successful as anticipated… the conclusion, sorrowfully reached, that no more pupil lodgers can be taken… the stress and strain on Miss Hesketh, working hard all day, then working all evening as well… my concern for my poor sister’s health: have I asked too much of her? My own guilt and regret, et cetera, et cetera.’ He looked round, as if ready to be clapped on the back. ‘You’d be surprised how easy it can be to cast a cloud over something.’
Evelyn returned. ‘The room is spick and span.’
‘I hope you wouldn’t expect anything less,’ said Patience, nettled.
‘Naturally not, dear. You’re a good little housewife. You should have set up a housewifery school, not a business school.’
‘Don’t give them ideas,’ said Lawrence. ‘The business school has begun to totter. We don’t want them starting up another hare-brained scheme.’
‘The business school has most certainly not begun to totter,’ said Prudence.
Lawrence snorted. ‘You said yourself: no more pupil lodgers—’
‘There is more to our school than that—’
‘Tea,’ said Patience and everyone stared at her. ‘I think a cup of tea is in order. Prudence, will you lend a hand, please?’
In the kitchen, she shared Miss Layton’s idea as she put the kettle on the gas.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’ Prudence demanded.
Patience fiddled with the tea-caddy and checked the level in the sugar bowl, hoping to hide her flush of embarrassment. She hadn’t said anything because Miss Layton’s idea had been all tied up with that confidential talk they had had about wills and non-blood relations. She had wanted to wait before telling Prudence so that there was no chance of her spilling out the whole truth of that conversation.
‘The point is,’ said Patience, ‘we must stop Lawrence before he can speak out against us.’
‘But why would pupils need to lodge with us if they’re local? They can live at home.’
‘That’s what I said, but we mustn’t make assumptions about their personal circumstances. People have all kinds of reasons for not living at home.’
The look on Prudence’s face said she didn’t want those dubious reasons under her roof.
Patience paused in the act of
swishing the hot water around in the pot. ‘It’s either this or stand by while Lawrence runs rough-shod over us.’
‘Well, I hope you have all the answers to his questions, because I won’t.’
Patience hoped so too. She straightened her spine. It was up to her.
Prudence left her making tea. She counted the spoonfuls of tea: one per person and one for the pot. Standards again. But her spoonfuls weren’t quite full. Economy. She assembled the tea-tray and took it to the sitting room.
It was rather bizarre, pouring tea and offering sugar in the middle of a suspended argument, but it wasn’t long before Lawrence started up again.
‘What desperate scheme did you dream up together in the kitchen?’ He smirked at Evelyn and she made a little snickering sound as if she was too well-bred to laugh out loud.
Prudence could look pretty snooty herself when she wanted. ‘We haven’t dreamed up anything, but there is an idea we have been considering for the past few days. It isn’t settled yet, which is why we were reluctant to discuss it, but since you’re all set to do us down, we’re obliged to confide in you.’
‘Go on then,’ said Lawrence. ‘Let’s hear this marvellous idea.’
‘Our current system of having pupil lodgers—’ Prudence began.
‘Current system!’ mocked Lawrence. ‘That’s rich. You make it sound like you’ve been having lodgers for months.’
‘Our current system,’ Prudence repeated, ‘has its faults, therefore we are considering adapting it. Our next pupil lodgers will be local girls with jobs, who’ll attend our night school just like any other pupils.’
‘So they’ll just be… lodgers,’ said Evelyn.
‘Pupil lodgers,’ said Prudence. ‘They’ll live here with us for the duration of their learning.’
‘But why would local girls require lodgings?’ asked Evelyn.
‘It doesn’t do to make assumptions about people’s personal circumstances,’ said Patience. ‘Take our Miss Layton, for instance. You might expect her to live with her parents, but in fact she lives with her late fiancé’s family.’