Molly said, ‘He seems to be getting bigger every time I see him.’
Edna agreed. ‘He’s coming up for seven now and I think he’s going to be as tall as his father.’ Molly nodded. Edna was barely five feet in height but she had heard that Edna’s late husband Will had been almost six feet tall.
Marigold came over. ‘You’ve transformed this place, Molly, but I’ll miss you when Archie and Nancy go away back to Australia. But I do understand your reasons for not wanting to cross the river every day. This will be really handy for you.’
Molly was pleased by all the compliments. ‘If you want to come over to do any shopping or whatever, Marigold, you can stay here for the night. The studio couch makes a grand bed.’ She turned to Edna. ‘I’ve got Marigold to thank for the lovely wallpaper.’
‘Well’ said Marigold. ‘I’ve had it in my cupboard since 1932. There was never enough to do my own rooms but I’m glad to see Ronnie has had enough to do all the walls in here.’
Edna was impressed with the quality. ‘It’s lovely and expensive looking. I like the creamy background with those bright gold leaves, and the narrow border at the top matches the colour. You can’t buy wallpaper like this nowadays with everything still having the quality control mark.’
Mary came over with Irene. ‘I hear you’ve hired an actress on the domestic side,’ said Irene. ‘Is she very glamorous?’
Molly said she was. ‘Her name is Deanna Dunn and she just wants some work in between looking for her next big part in the theatre.’
Mary looked impressed. ‘Imagine, a real-life actress working alongside us.’ Molly just smiled and hoped she had done the right thing adding this domestic side to the agency. Still, time would tell.
Archie and Nancy came over to say goodbye. ‘We’ve got to catch the last ferry, Molly. The place is looking great and we hope you settle in.’ Nancy turned as she was putting her coat on. ‘Mind and come over for your dinner tomorrow, Molly, and you can maybe stay for the afternoon.’
Marigold was leaving as well. She laughed. ‘You had better come over to see Sabby. She’s missing you.’ Sabby was the McQueen’s cat and it was a family joke that she had never taken to Molly.
With the departure of her parents and Marigold, the other guests slowly dispersed and by half-past ten Molly was clearing up the plates and cups. She was tired and ready for her bed. The noise from the street carried up to her window and she found it hard to go to sleep in spite of her weariness. Her bedroom in Newport looked over the back garden and everything was silent at this time of night. Still, this was her home now and she would have to get used to it.
The next day turned out to be quite warm and sunny. Molly loved autumn. She loved the trees when they were beginning to turn to gorgeous shades of brown, russet and gold and, although winter wasn’t far away, on a sunny day like today it felt as if summer was still clinging on.
Thankfully, the river was calm and she found her parents sitting out in a sheltered spot in the garden. Marigold was tidying up a huge mound of leaves and she called out over the garden fence, ‘I hate all these leaves, they get everywhere.’
‘The dinner won’t be long,’ said Nancy. ‘I’ve made a steak pie and rice and stewed apples for pudding.’ Molly, who had made a cup of tea and a slice of toast for her breakfast, was starving as the aroma of the cooking wafted out. Suddenly she felt bereft. Her parents were leaving for Australia in ten days’ time and although she had planned this move to the new flat and, indeed, had been looking forward to it, she now realised how lonely she might be living all alone. She was going to miss her parents very much and for one brief moment she wished they weren’t going away but were staying to look after her and protect her. Feeling childish and silly, she put these thoughts out of her mind as they went in to have their dinner. Sabby was sitting on the window seat in the sunshine but she turned her back and swished her tail as Molly passed by. ‘Hello, Sabby,’ said Molly sweetly. ‘Still as snobby as usual.’
4
Molly was pleased to see the three new cleaners were all on time and waiting for their instructions. Deanna looked a bit sleepy and Molly hoped she would be a good timekeeper. Standing beside her, Alice still had the raw looking face and in the early morning light she looked years older than her age. Molly saw Deanna glance at Alice then quickly look away in case she noticed the scrutiny. Alice was going to do some housework for a family in Blackness Road. It was just for the morning and then she had another assignment for the afternoon. Molly had said she would give them all their tram fares in order to move around the different jobs. Deanna was going to a Professor Lyon, who lived in Windsor Street, and Maisie had drawn the short straw with Mrs Jankowski, who lived above the ice cream shop on Constitution Street. Before Molly had decided on starting this new venture, Mrs Jankowski’s neighbour had been in the shop almost every day looking for some help for her. Molly got the impression the woman was run off her feet by her neighbour.
They all looked so smart in their new blue overalls with the agency crest on the breast pocket and Molly was amused to see that Deanna had customised hers with a thin silver belt. It looked very fetching, but Maisie just glowered at it.
Deanna and Alice made their way to the tramcar stop at the top of the Wellgate steps as they were both going in the same direction. A few men who were seated in the tram turned round to admire Deanna as she climbed the stairs, followed by Alice who would rather have sat downstairs.
Deanna took out her cigarettes and offered Alice one. ‘I don’t smoke,’ Alice said, then turned to look out of the window. Deanna shrugged her slim shoulders and lit her cigarette. ‘I really should give up as well and I’m going to make it my new year’s resolution to stop.’
Deanna glanced at the woman beside her. She had never seen such a plain looking woman, she thought, but she could improve herself if she wore some powder and lipstick and got her hair cut and styled. Alice’s straight brown hair looked clean but it was limp and dull looking.
Deanna said, ‘Did you start at the agency this morning as well?’ Alice nodded and Deanna smoked her cigarette in silence until the tram reached the stop on Blackness Road. Alice looked at her slip of paper with her address and Deanna set off for Windsor Street. The house lay at the bottom of the road and she discovered that Professor Lyon lived in the top floor flat.
When he opened the door, Deanna was surprised to see a very old man. He was smoking a pipe. ‘Ah, come in, come in,’ he said, looking quite astounded at the pretty young woman standing on his doorstep.
‘I’m from McQueen’s Agency,’ said Deanna, in her sweetest voice.
The flat felt stuffy with the smoke from the man’s pipe. Professor Lyon led the way into the living room. ‘I’m just finishing my coffee. Sit down and have a cup before you start work,’ he said, leading the way to a table by the big window.
When they were both sitting down on the comfy sofa, he said, ‘What’s a pretty young girl like you doing in a cleaning job like this?’
‘I’m really an actress but I’m resting at the moment. Still, I’m hoping to get an audition soon.’
‘Well, I hope you do,’ he said. Deanna asked him what work needed done. ‘Oh, just a general tidy up. The kitchen needs some cleaning and this room needs dusting.’ He led the way into the kitchen and Deanna saw that it did indeed need some cleaning. The basin in the sink was full of dirty dishes and the entire room was untidy.
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said the professor. ‘I’ll wash up if you dry the dishes and we’ll tidy up the room together.’ Deanna wasn’t too sure about his arrangement. Surely she was meant to do all the work and she said so. ‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the work done quicker if I help.’
Later, Deanna went around the living room with a feather duster while the professor cleaned the bathroom and at dinner time he made another cup of coffee before she finished her shift. When she was leaving, he said, ‘I’ll speak to Miss McQueen and book you every Monday morning to give the hous
e a clean.’
As she waited at the tram stop, she was bemused by the morning’s events. She hadn’t even got her hands wet and if this was all there was to this job, then she was well pleased.
Maisie climbed the stair to Mrs Jankowski’s flat. A large bell was situated by the side of the door and when she rang it, it emitted a shrill noise. It seemed ages until the door was opened but she heard loud mutterings long before the occupant appeared: ‘I come, I come. Wait till I come.’
When the occupant opened the door, Maisie saw an elderly woman leaning heavily on a thick walking stick. Maisie held out her card. ‘McQueen’s Agency cleaning service.’
The woman moved aside with difficulty. ‘Ah come in, come in. I expect you.’ Maisie was ushered into a large living room with a bay window which overlooked the street. Mrs Jankowski inspected the card. ‘Mrs Watson.’
‘Yes, Maisie Watson.’
Mrs Jankowski hobbled towards the window. ‘Now, Mrs Watson, I need these curtains down and clean curtains put up. You find small ladder in lobby cupboard.’ She pointed her stick in the direction of the lobby cupboard, which Maisie thought wasn’t needed as she had just passed through the lobby.
However, she wasn’t sure which door housed the cupboard. Mrs Jankowski hobbled towards one door and opened it. ‘Ah, here is ladder.’ Maisie pulled the stepladder from the deep depths of the cupboard, dislodging an assortment of household items and what looked like a collection of boxes that had been stuffed away.
‘Next week I get you to clean out this cupboard.’ Maisie, who usually wasn’t afraid of work, was dismayed but she carried the ladder to the window. The curtains were heavy brown chenille ones and they hung from a thick wooden rail. The minute Maisie touched them, a thick cloud of dust made her sneeze.
‘You have flu?’ asked Mrs Jankowski, looking a bit alarmed.
Maisie assured her she was well. ‘It’s just the dust from the curtains.’ This statement was borne out when the first curtain landed on the floor in a dusty pile, throwing up thousands of dust motes that hung in the light of the pale morning sun. After a great deal of pulling and tugging the hooks from the rings, the second one followed, which made things worse. Maisie noticed a thick film of dust on the windowsill and she realised the floor would be as bad.
Mrs Jankowski pushed one of the curtains with her stick. ‘I not know where all dust comes from. The curtains just up for two years.’
Maisie was astonished. ‘Two years?’ she said as she climbed down from the ladder.
Mrs Jankowski pointed her stick at the lobby cupboard again. ‘Clean curtains in there.’ Maisie hadn’t noticed any but Mrs Jankowski bent down to pull a brown paper parcel from the detritus around it. Maisie took some time to undo the string from the parcel but when it was finally opened she saw a carbon copy of the curtains she had just taken down. ‘I buy four pairs before war. They a bargain.’ Maisie groaned inwardly. Where were the other two pairs she wondered?
Still, after a bit of a struggle, the new curtains were up. Although they looked the same, they were at least clean.
‘I help you fold old ones up,’ said Mrs Jankowski.
When this was done, Maisie was instructed to put them in the brown paper and tie them up with the string. ‘Take to Stevenson’s dry cleaners on Hilltown.’
Maisie struggled down the stairs with her burden and she had to stand in a queue when she reached the dry cleaners. When it was her turn, the woman behind the counter smiled. ‘Ah, Mrs Jankowski’s famous curtains. Tell her they will be back in a week’s time.’ Maisie almost said it didn’t matter since they were to lie in the cupboard for the next two years.
When she got back, she had to clean up all the dust. As she was cleaning the windowsill, she thought what a great view there was of the Empire picture house. She said this to Mrs Jankowski. ‘Yes, I like to sit and watch people queuing and waiting for picture house to open. It helps me forget about my arthuritis. Now, Maisie, we have some tea and sandwiches and there will be some work in afternoon. I have my bridge club but when they come, you go.’
Maisie was getting used to her employer’s way of speaking. She had almost corrected the woman when she mispronounced arthritis but stopped in time. She was here to clean, not to teach Mrs Jankowski the English language. In the afternoon, when her bridge partners arrived, Maisie’s first stint in this new job would be successfully over. They sat in the kitchen with a large brown earthenware teapot and a plate of thick-cut sandwiches. Maisie took a bite from hers and almost choked on the pungent filling.
‘Polish sausage,’ said Mrs Jankowski. ‘I buy it from the shop on Victoria Road. Reminds me of home.’
Maisie nodded as she caught her breath. ‘Quite strong but tasty.’ This seemed to please her employer.
Maisie had almost finished cleaning the kitchen when the doorbell shrilled its strident note. Mrs Jankowski made her way to the door. ‘Ah come, come Vera, you are the first to be here.’
Five minutes later, two other women arrived. By this time, Maisie was carrying the plate of sandwiches through to the living room. The women obviously stopped for refreshments during their game.
Mrs Jankowski was perplexed by the newcomers. ‘Maria, good to see you.’ She glanced at the stranger who stood beside Maria.
Maria explained, ‘Teresa couldn’t come today so I brought my friend Anita.’
Mrs Jankowski ushered them into the room. ‘Thank you for coming, Anita. I am Gina and here is Vera.’ Vera was sitting by the fire but stood up when the women entered.
Anita smiled when she saw Vera. ‘It’s Mrs Barton, isn’t it?’
Vera looked cautiously at the stranger. ‘Yes, I’m Vera Barton.’
‘I don’t expect you remember me. I was living at 96 Hilltown many years ago and you were one of my neighbours.’
Vera said, ‘Ah, yes, I remember you. You were the young married woman who lived in the building in front of us. I can’t remember your married name.’
‘It’s Armstrong. My father-in-law owned a large hardware shop in Dundee but he branched out with another business in Glasgow. My husband went to manage it and we stayed there for years. We’ve come back to live here now and my new neighbour is Maria. I love playing bridge so she persuaded me to come along in place of Teresa.’
Mrs Jankowski was anxious to stop all these recollections and get on with the game. ‘All sit here,’ she said, leading them to the card table at the window.
But Anita wasn’t finished. ‘How is your husband Dave? And your daughter Etta will be grown-up and married. Perhaps you’re a grandmother?’
Vera went quiet and pale. ‘I …’ Suddenly she burst into tears, loud sobs that left her gasping for breath.
‘Maria, get Maisie from kitchen. Tell her to bring glass of water and make some hot sweet tea,’ said Mrs Jankowski. Anita stood dumbfounded, wishing she hadn’t mentioned Vera’s family. She had never learned to hold her tongue and was forever wading in with her constant chatter. Now look what she had done.
Maisie, who had been putting on her coat, hurried through with the water. She took in the dramatic scene but had no idea what had caused it. Surely they hadn’t fallen out over a game of cards, she thought. ‘I’ve put the kettle on and the tea won’t be a minute,’ she said, glancing over at the woman who was still crying, before scurrying back to the kitchen.
Vera had been helped to a chair by the fire and Maria was trying to comfort her by rubbing her hands and making soothing noises. Then Maisie arrived with the tea. ‘I’ve put three spoonfuls of sugar into it, Mrs Jankowski.’ She handed over the cup to Maria who tried to get Vera to take a sip. ‘Just a few sips, Vera. It’ll calm you down.’ Vera looked at Maisie who nodded encouragingly. ‘Drink up, love. You’ll feel better after it.’
After drinking the tea, Vera felt so embarrassed. ‘I’m so sorry about spoiling the bridge afternoon but I want to go home.’
Maria and Anita jumped up and went to get their coats but Vera said she could manage. Maisie said sh
e was going down the Hilltown and if Vera wanted, she could walk with her until she reached home. Vera nodded. ‘That will be fine.’ She turned to Mrs Jankowski. ‘I’ll see you next week, Gina, and I’m sorry for this awful scene.’ She said goodbye to the other two women and left with Maisie.
Anita, who had said sorry to Vera ten times, was now silent. Mrs Jankowski said, ‘Please get bottle of sherry out of sideboard cupboard, Maria. I think we all need a wee drink.’
Anita suddenly said, ‘What did I say that upset her so much?’
‘Vera’s husband Dave was killed in accident in 1930 but that’s not what brought on crying. It was mention of daughter Etta, who disappeared day after accident and not seen since,’ said Mrs Jankowski. ‘Vera spend years trying to trace her but there is no word. Not from that day till this.’ Anita and Maria were saddened but as Mrs Jankowski said, ‘It was all so long ago and you not know anything about it so not to feel upset.’
Anita twisted the stem of her sherry glass and felt more than upset. She felt devastated as she recalled Etta who would have been fifteen in 1929 – the year she and her husband had left 96 Hilltown to go to Glasgow.
Maisie saw Vera to the end of her close but she had said she was feeling better and would manage fine. Later, as Vera sat in the darkness of her kitchen, she racked her brains to remember where she had seen the logo on Maisie’s overalls. McQueen’s Agency. Then, at two o’clock in the morning, she remembered. It was that case in the papers last year when Molly McQueen had been involved in that mystery. Before she fell asleep, she made a mental note to visit the agency the next morning.
5
Vera was waiting for the office to open. Molly came downstairs and was surprised to have a customer so early in the morning.
Private Sorrow, A Page 2