To Dream Again

by To Dream Again (retail) (epub)

  ‘Move yer girt bum out of the way, Annie Efford, and let’s see the fire,’ Dolly said cheerfully to a woman who was already there, her skirts held out like sombre butterfly wings to the heat.

  ‘Girt bum? Look who’s talking!’ grinned Annie, good-naturedly making room for them.

  ‘That’s better. Us’ve a few minutes yet afore old Ma ’Oskins gets after us,’ said Dolly.

  For a while they were enveloped in the acrid smell of wet wool as their skirts steamed in the heat. Then Dolly turned to Mercy.

  ‘You’m quiet, maid. You’m all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, thanks. I’ve just got the miseries.’

  ‘’Tis the weather. That, and the end of Regatta. Nothin’ but the winter to look forward to.’

  It was true, an air of anticlimax hung over the whole of Torquay, and everyone seemed conscious that the days of revelry were gone for another year. No wonder Mercy felt dispirited.

  ‘Was ’ee serious last night, about goin’ out with that fellow again?’ asked Dolly.

  ‘Yes, I’m seeing him on Saturday.’

  ‘Nice, was ’e? Did ’e treat ’ee well?’

  ‘Yes, very well. He was a real gentleman.’

  ‘They be the worst sort; watch your Ps and Qs come Saturday,’ cautioned Dolly. ‘And make sure ’e takes ’ee somewhere flashy. If ’e wants the pleasure of your company make un pay for it!’

  ‘But I don’t want to go somewhere flashy.’

  ‘Why not? ’E can afford it.’

  Mercy wasn’t sure why not. She simply felt that her time with Peter should be spent somewhere quiet, so they could talk. At the fair there had been little chance of proper conversation, she had learnt only the sketchiest of details about him – he was an only child, for example, and his mother was a widow. There was so much more she wanted to find out; she didn’t know where he lived— Then she remembered! After Saturday she would not be seeing him again. For some reason the thought made the gloom of the day close about her a little more.

  ‘Watch out! Yer comes Missus!’ warned Dolly.

  Reluctantly they moved away from the fire to their ironing-tables as footsteps approached.

  Mrs Hoskins entered briskly, the keys hanging from her belt rattled ‘like a ruddy gaoler’s’, as Dolly had remarked once. Her eyes were never still, darting about the room, checking that every employee was in place, the stove was well stoked, the tables were prepared. When her gaze reached Mercy her expression grew stony and her lips pressed together as she scrutinized her closely as if searching for faults. Finding none she gave a snorted ‘Hm!’ and moved on.

  ‘’Er knows!’ breathed Dolly when she was out of earshot. ‘And what ’er don’t know ’er’ve guessed!’

  ‘Oh dear! Well, there’s nothing I can do about it except keep out of his way,’ sighed Mercy, cleaning her iron with Bath brick then wiping it on a cloth, ready for the first shirt.

  ‘Not much else ’ee can do, maid,’ agreed Dolly.

  Unfortunately Mercy had attracted the attention of Mr Hoskins. He was notorious for letting his hands wander where they shouldn’t and for lying in wait for some unsuspecting girl in the store-room or in one of the darker corners of the vast building. It was Mercy’s bad luck to be his current favourite. Mrs Hoskins knew about her husband’s tendencies yet never reproached him. The blame was heaped upon the hapless girl, and therefore her disapproving ‘Hm!’ boded ill for Mercy.

  If the truth be known, Mercy quite liked her job. It was hard on the feet and back, and Mr Hoskins was an extra hazard; nevertheless, she got great satisfaction from seeing the crumpled linen being transformed into a smooth, immaculate shirt beneath the weight of her iron. She was good at it, too, which was why she was given the things which needed skill. She liked the fresh clean smell of the clothes and the glossiness of the highly starched collars and cuffs and shirt fronts after she had ironed them.

  They were a friendly bunch of girls in the ironing-room – though girls was something of a misnomer for they included a couple of grandmothers, and if the banter which went to and fro among the tables was somewhat earthy at times it was no worse than she heard at home. All the same, it was disagreeable to have more personal matters discussed in public.

  ‘That was a fine gentleman ’ee was with last night, Mercy girl,’ remarked Annie Efford. ‘I seed ’ee with un down at the fair.’

  ‘Oh…’ replied Mercy discouragingly.

  ‘Where’d ’ee get to meet the likes of ’e, then?’

  ‘At the Regatta.’

  ‘I guessed as much meself. Where at the Regatta?’ persisted the ever curious Annie.

  Mercy would not be drawn. She did not want to talk about Peter and to have him made the butt of the girls’ jokes. It did not seem right somehow. ‘Oh, just at the Regatta,’ she said.

  ‘Lor’, ’ee don’t give much a way, do ’ee? I only ’ope ’ee was more generous with the poor fellow.’

  ‘We don’t all have your giving nature, Annie,’ replied Mercy calmly.

  When the laughter had died down the conversation returned to the Regatta in general, much to her relief, but now that Peter was in her thoughts once more he was difficult to dislodge. In fact, he crept into her consciousness more often than she liked during the next few days.

  Mercy awoke on Saturday morning determined that this was the last time she would see Peter Lisburne, yet trying to ignore the knot of happy anticipation which had settled somewhere in her stomach. She noted with relief that the day was warm, she would not have to wear her coat which was shabby and splitting under the arms. Not for anything would she have considered putting on a shawl like the village wives. Thoughts of what she would wear had given her much anguish; why, she wasn’t sure, for the matter was cut and dried. She would have to wear the same blouse and skirt she had worn at the Regatta, for the very good reason she had nothing else. Her hat posed a problem; to wear her newly trimmed one with the pink rose would excite comments from the girls at work; in the end she decided to wear her workaday one, a far from new black straw, and to carry her best hat in a paper bag.

  For once Dolly’s sense of curiosity was dimmed by her own affairs. She, also, had an assignation that afternoon, with a fellow from the Electric Company, and she was so involved in telling how she had met him and how quickly the friendship had flourished that she made no mention of Mercy’s paper bag.

  At the laundry, in the dark hole where the girls left their hats and coats, there was a cupboard which was recognized by everyone as the resting place of anything fragile. Mercy placed her precious hat on top of it, then hung her black straw on a hook close by.

  For Mercy the morning held a strange quality, she could hardly believe that in a few short hours she would be seeing Peter again. As the day progressed her qualms about meeting him seemed to fade, leaving only happy anticipation. It was unfortunate that Mercy’s sense of wariness was also dulled, for Mr Hoskins wandered in and out of the ironing-room several times during the morning, something which would normally have put her on her guard.

  She was coming back from the privy when he pounced. Her route led down a passageway behind the boilers, where the roaring of the furnace and the hissing of water deadened all sound. The first she knew of his presence was a pair of arms encircling her from behind, imprisoning her, and a hand groping up the front of her blouse trying to find her breasts. It had to be Mr Hoskins, she knew, by the mingled odours of strong tobacco and cheap violet hair-oil.

  The yell of protest she gave was scarcely audible above the rumble of the boilers, and only caused Mr Hoskins to tighten his grip, his fingers probing her flesh.

  ‘You don’t want to be difficult,’ he breathed in her ear. ‘Why can’t you be nice to me? A pretty girl like you?’

  Mercy struggled harder, trying to kick her way free. Albert Hoskins was a veteran of innumerable such encounters and managed to avoid her flailing feet. His grip was hurting and, frustrated by Mercy’s blouse fastening at the back, his free hand was no
w pulling at her skirt. His breath came in loud, excited gasps. Panic surged through Mercy, combined with growing anger. Hoskins was stronger than he looked and she knew she would never break his grip by force. Then she realized the more she struggled the more excited he became. Albert Hoskins liked his victims to be unwilling.

  At once she ceased fighting and went supine in his grip. For a second surprise and disappointment made him ease his hold. As soon as Mercy felt his clutching hands loosen she took her chance. Ramming her elbow forcibly into the pit of his stomach she broke free and ran for all she was worth back towards the ironing-room.

  Mrs Hoskins was in there, she could hear her voice. Mercy hurriedly pushed her blouse back into her skirt and re-pinned the strands of hair that had come down in the struggle. As she entered she hoped her employer would not notice her distress, she was only too well aware her cheeks were scarlet with anger and humiliation and she was having difficulty blinking back the tears. The older woman glared at her with eyes so searching and hostile that Mercy’s heart sank.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Mrs Hoskins.

  ‘To the privy, Mrs Hoskins.’

  ‘For all this time?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘You aren’t ill, are you?’

  Mercy shook her head, conscious of the silence which had fallen over the room as the other girls listened to the exchange with interest.

  Pointedly Mrs Hoskins looked up at the clock on the wall.

  ‘Thirty minutes you’ve been gone,’ she said, her voice cold with venom. ‘That is thirty you will make up at the end of the morning.’

  Half an hour of the scant time before she met Peter!

  Mercy wanted to protest she hadn’t been gone so long, but she knew it was useless, just as it was useless to protest about the behaviour of Albert Hoskins – it would simply result in the loss of the job she so sorely needed.

  When Mrs Hoskins swept from the room an angry buzz of conversation rose from the other girls.

  ‘Lyin’ in wait for ’ee, was ’e, maid?’

  ‘’E needs seeing to, that ’Oskins. I’d soon doctor ’im if ’e set about me.’

  ‘It’s not fair for ’er to take it out on ’ee. ’Er should keep ’er old man in better order.’

  For some reason sympathy from the others was hard to bear. Mercy was forced to bend her head swiftly so her friends would not see her tears. Dolly noticed them, however, and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Us’ll look out for ’ee, never fear. The old goat won’t get to ’ee again,’ she promised.

  Mercy managed a grateful smile. She knew the offer was genuine, where Albert Hoskins was concerned the girls in the ironing-room invariably closed ranks for protection.

  The morning’s work drew to a close, the baskets of unironed linen were emptied, the flat-irons cleaned and stacked away. But Mrs Hoskins did not return.

  ‘Per’aps ’er’s letting ’ee off,’ suggested Dolly hopefully.

  Mercy was less optimistic. She had seen the vindictiveness in Ma Hoskins’s eyes, just as she had seen the dog-like devotion with which they followed Albert.

  Left to herself Maud Hoskins was a reasonable woman, hard-working and fair. It was her tragedy that she had fallen in love with an incorrigible lecher. She could neither leave him nor accept him for what he was, with the result she was torn apart by jealousy for most of the time. It was this jealousy which prompted her to wait until exactly one-thirty, finishing time, before she swept back into the ironing-room, followed by a porter pushing a basket filled with freshly washed sheets.

  ‘This should occupy you for a good half-hour,’ she informed Mercy.

  Mercy looked at the linen in dismay. ‘There’s more than half an hour’s work there,’ she protested. ‘And the fire’s nearly out.’

  ‘Then I suggest you stoke it up again quickly,’ replied Mrs Hoskins, making for the door.

  ‘’Tis a danged shame!’ declared Dolly. ‘Yer, look, I’ll ’ang on for a bit and give ’ee an ’and.’

  Mercy was about to say she couldn’t spoil her friend’s day off, but her protestations were not necessary. Mrs Hoskins heard Dolly’s generous offer.

  ‘If you do that you’ll be looking for another job on Monday morning,’ she said tersely.

  Mercy could see Dolly shaping up to make some sharp reply. She gently pushed her friend towards the door. ‘Please go,’ she urged. ‘Thanks for offering, but it’s not worth losing your job over it.’

  Reluctantly Dolly and the others left. Mercy set to on the extra work, with one eye on the clock. She was also alert to any noise outside, she dreaded that Albert Hoskins might appear. She had never worked so swiftly in her life, determined not to be late for Peter. It was way past two o’clock by the time she had finished. She was clearing up when she heard footsteps approaching and she tensed up, but it was only Annie Efford; her husband also worked in the laundry, as a maintenance man.

  ‘I just brought a pasty and a jug of tea to my old man,’ she said. ‘’E’s working late on one of they boilers. I saw old Ma ’Oskins go into ’er office. There weren’t no sign of that dirty old devil. I thought I’d best come and see if ’ee were all right.’

  ‘That was kind,’ said Mercy. ‘I’ve just finished.’ Together they hurried to where Mercy’s black straw hat hung on its peg in solitary splendour.

  ‘Put your ’at on and let’s be going,’ said Annie. Seeing Mercy take the paper bag from the cupboard she demanded good-naturedly, ‘What’ve ’ee there, maid?’ ‘I’m going out this afternoon…’ she began.

  The paper bag didn’t look right. It was too flat. With a sinking heart she opened it and drew out the battered remains of her best hat. It had been stamped on, the veiling ripped into strands, petals stripped from the rose.

  ‘Oh my!’ gasped Annie. ‘That’s got to be deliberate! It weren’t no accident! But who…?’

  Mercy was too stunned to do more than stare at the ruin. She had few enough pretty things, and she had been so pleased with her hat. And now it was crumpled and filthy. Vaguely she was aware of Annie speaking.

  ‘The old cat!’ she was saying. ‘The mean, jealous old cat!’

  ‘Who?’ asked Mercy.

  ‘Why, old Ma ’Oskins, of course! I saw her come from this direction, and I thought ’er looked a bit peculiar. What’ll ’ee do now?’

  ‘What can I do?’ said Mercy dully. ‘Accuse her and lose my job, or tell her that her husband’s no better than a mean old tom-cat and still lose my job?’

  ‘You’m right, maid. There idn’t no justice for ’ee if you’m poor,’ sighed Annie. ‘Let’s get away from this place. Us see enough of un as ’tis.’

  Mercy parted company with Annie at the laundry gate and then began to hurry down the hill towards the Strand where Peter was waiting.

  If he’s still there, she thought desperately. More than likely he’s given up and gone home. What will he think of me letting him down like this?

  Where anything pleasurable was concerned it seemed she was destined to be late. She had quite a walk ahead of her, and as she caught sight of her reflection in shop windows her steps became increasingly leaden. She looked so bedraggled – and as for her hat! She could hardly bear to look at her old black straw.

  Perhaps it will be just as well if Peter isn’t there, she decided, at least he won’t see me in this state.

  But Peter was there. It was much to his surprise; he was usually too impatient to wait for anything or anyone. As the minutes ticked away and Mercy still did not arrive he felt an acute sense of disappointment creep through him. Somehow he had not expected to be left standing like this, something about Mercy led him to believe she would keep her word.

  Then suddenly there she was, dodging and weaving her way through the Saturday shoppers, one hand clasping a funny little black hat to her head, her pretty face rosy with exertion.

  ‘I’m sorry – I’m so late—’ she panted, hardly able to get the words out.

&nb
sp; ‘Steady on! Get your breath back,’ he laughed, absurdly happy because his faith in her had not been misplaced. Gently he drew her out of the stream of people into the shelter of a doorway. Mercy leaned against the wall and closed her eyes as she took in great gasps of air. Peter was quite alarmed.

  ‘You shouldn’t have rushed so,’ he said with concern. ‘You look quite done in.’

  Mercy opened her eyes and managed a smile, although she felt hot and sticky and her face was wet with perspiration. Oh, this wasn’t how she had intended things to be at all! She searched for her handkerchief to wipe her brow but could not find it. It was one more precious possession she had lost that day. Peter handed her an immaculate linen square.

  ‘You shouldn’t have hurried,’ he repeated. ‘I would have still waited.’

  ‘Would you?’ asked Mercy.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied with conviction, knowing it was true.

  ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to be late. I had extra work to do…’

  ‘You should have explained that you had an appointment,’ said Peter gravely.

  Mercy could not help smiling at his innocence. ‘I don’t think Mrs Hoskins, my employer, would consider it much of an excuse. She doesn’t like me as it is. That’s why she brought me a whole pile of things to do just when we were finishing.’

  ‘How unfair!’ Peter was incensed. ‘Couldn’t you have refused point-blank?’

  ‘Only if I’d wanted to be sacked on the spot.’

  ‘You should have complained to…’ Peter’s, voice tailed away as he realized that there was no one to whom she could complain. ‘It’s unfair! You’ve done more than enough for one day so from now on you must take your ease. Cabby! Cabby!’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Mercy in bewilderment.

  ‘Let’s see if we can find somewhere pleasant where we can have some tea.’

  Mercy sank back against the scuffed leather seats, and sniffed the aroma of horse and straw pervading the interior of the cab.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ asked Peter.

  Mercy shook her head. ‘It’s just that I’ve never ridden in a cab before.’