by Jenny Holmes
‘This is Violet we’re talking about,’ Ida reminded him, fizzing like a bottle of shaken lemonade when the cap is taken off. ‘Anyway, it’s old news. Muriel and I were there when Alice Barlow blew her top.’
‘Fancy that. Anyway, I didn’t believe a word of it,’ Stan said stoutly. ‘I gave Les a box around the ears for spreading lies and warned him we wouldn’t pick him for tomorrow’s match if he wasn’t careful.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’
‘You know how these things get passed around, though. Before too long, Barlow’s the hero and Violet’s the villain of the piece.’
‘Yes,’ Ida agreed as she got to her feet. She was already forming a plan to prove Alice Barlow wrong. ‘Violet doesn’t deserve any of this. If something bad happened at Ash Tree House, there’s not a shadow of doubt in my mind that Colin Barlow was the real culprit. Just you wait and see.’
The jetsam of Violet’s life was flung here and there inside her own head. Foremost amongst the wreckage was the hot shame she felt that Colin Barlow saw her as the sort of girl who would fall for his charms. Was it the way she acted, she wondered, or the way she dressed? How might she have behaved differently to give him the clear message to leave her alone?
Perhaps Uncle Donald had been right all along. She recalled his dry, clipped voice warning her that her carryings on with Stan would get her name dragged into the mud and that she was heading for the gutter where she belonged. Well, his prophesy had come true and she couldn’t rid herself of the conclusion that she should have followed his advice and chosen hymn singing and Bible study over lipstick and nice clothes.
There is only one thing for it, Violet decided, alone in her room and without anyone to help her see sense. I will pack up and leave after all. Whatever Ida and Muriel say, I know that Jubilee will be better off without me.
She took dresses from the rail in the niche beside the chimney breast and began to fold them and place them in a pile on her bed until an urgent knocking on the shop door interrupted her and she went down to open it.
‘You need to watch out – Alice Barlow barged into our shop spreading nasty rumours about you,’ Evie began breathlessly and without preliminaries as she pushed past Violet and stumbled inside. ‘Sybil couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’
As Muriel’s predictions flickered into life and quickly flared out of control, Violet felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach. ‘That happened faster than I expected,’ she murmured. ‘Mrs Barlow must have come up to you straight after leaving here.’
‘We know it’s not true,’ Evie went on, chin up and with her young, innocent face set in determined lines. ‘Sybil tried to say as much, but you know what Mrs Barlow is like. She claims she has a witness and that she’ll turn all your customers against you if Muriel and Ida decide to keep you on.’
‘She can’t do that if I pack up and leave,’ Violet said, her mind more firmly made up.
‘You can’t do that!’ Evie gasped in alarm. ‘Jubilee is where you belong.’
They gazed around the dimly lit shop at the shelves stacked with haberdashery goods – cards of lace, spools of ribbon, boxes of buttons, Maud in her colourful house dress in the far corner – and at Gertie in the window, resplendent in her beautiful wedding gown, every stitch lovingly sewn. For a moment Violet felt dizzy and she leaned against the wall.
‘You can’t go,’ Evie repeated.
‘What else did Mrs Barlow say?’ Violet asked faintly. Seeing the drastic effect she was having, Violet’s informant was reluctant to go on. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was all lies.’
‘Tell me, please.’
‘Well then, she used a word you read in the newspapers and in books. She said you “seduced” Mr Barlow.’
‘That sounds like her,’ Violet said grimly. ‘What else?’
‘Like I said, she’ll make sure to tell her friends about the shoddy work you do here. She’ll “recommend” – that was the other word – that everyone brings their business back to us.’
Violet frowned and brought her hand up to her mouth.
‘Do you want to know what Sybil said back to her?’
With a slight nod of the head, Violet allowed Evie to continue.
‘She said, “Thank you very much, Mrs Barlow, but we prefer to build up our business on the quality of the work we do here, not on the back of lies.” That was it – word for word. It was how Sybil put Mrs Barlow in her place. To tell you the truth, I’ve never seen her so angry.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Violet whispered, ‘but Chapel Street Costumiers won’t turn down new orders, not when it comes to it.’
‘That’s up to Sybil and nobody else,’ Evie pointed out. ‘And you know her – she sticks to her word through thick and thin. In fact, she told Mrs Barlow that she wouldn’t accept any more orders for sewing work from her in the future.’
Violet pictured the scene: Alice Barlow face to face with Sybil Dacre, the one red faced and incensed, the other calm and cool. ‘How did that go down?’
‘There was a lot of shouting,’ Evie recalled with a shudder.
‘About me or about Jubilee?’
‘Both. But I’ve given you the gist.’
‘And I’m grateful,’ Violet told her. ‘It doesn’t change anything, though, and the matter won’t end with Sybil showing Mrs Barlow the door. That woman will want to get back at me in all sorts of other ways.’
‘But you can’t up and leave,’ Evie protested, gesturing around the shop and looking on the verge of tears.
‘It’s true – I don’t want to,’ Violet admitted. She knew the finely stitched gloves and gauzy stockings, the silky camisoles and petticoats, neat zips and tiny press studs like the back of her hand. She loved the sound of the till ringing, the cool feel of silver sixpences and angular three-penny bits in the palm of her hand. ‘But, whatever anyone says, Evie, it’s time to move on.’
Eddie had never felt fury like it after Stan had turned up at the Victory to tell him about the latest attack on Violet’s good name. In a fit of rage he jumped on his motorbike and without a moment’s hesitation headed straight out to Bilton Grange.
I’ll knock Barlow’s block off! was the phrase he repeated over and over as he sped through the dark streets and up onto the moor top.
He arrived at the house to find it in darkness. Half past nine on a Friday night was early for people like the Barlows to be in bed, but in any case Eddie hammered at the door to rouse them. He peered in through windows, knocked again and yelled Colin Barlow’s name. ‘Come outside, you rotten bugger. Say what you have to say to my face, man to man!’
There was no answer, even when Eddie pushed open the letter box and issued his challenge, and at last he had to admit that the Barlows had gone out.
What next? Should he ride back into town and scour the streets, looking for their car? What were the chances of him tracking down the Daimler outside City Varieties or perhaps the new Odeon cinema at this time of night? Mightn’t they be out to dinner at a friend’s house instead?
Eventually Eddie decided against a wild-goose chase and satisfied himself for the moment by giving the Barlows’ front door a hefty kick before turning his back on the Grange. Then he rode like the devil along the moor road that he and Violet loved, only dimly aware of the sprinkling of house lights – magical specks of white lights glimmering in the blackness of the valley bottom – before sweeping down into town, engine racing, heart beating fast and hands gripping the handlebars until he reached Chapel Street.
Once more the house he drew up at was in darkness but he didn’t hesitate to run down the alley, stand in the yard and call Violet’s name. ‘Vi – it’s me, Eddie. Open the door!’
An upstairs light went on then there was a long pause before Violet drew back the curtain and appeared at the window. Her face was bathed in the moon’s pale light as she raised one hand to cut out her reflection and peer down onto the street. ‘Eddie!’ she whispered.
‘Open the door!’ he repeated.
/> She shook her head in alarm and retreated from view.
‘Open it!’ he yelled.
After what seemed like an age, he heard sounds from inside the shop and ran back along the alley. There was the noise of the bolt being drawn back. He pushed open the door and rushed inside.
Violet, in only her silky nightdress, stepped backwards, clutching her hands to her chest.
‘I’ll knock him down dead, I swear I will!’ Eddie ranted, dragging off his gauntlets and flinging them on the counter. His cap and goggles followed suit then he turned to seize her and draw her to him.
Her head spinning and almost unable to breathe, Violet resisted. ‘Eddie, you’re hurting me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked wildly, his fingers pressing into her flesh.
‘How could I?’ She felt the cold night air on his cheeks, breathed in the smell of autumn heather and damp bracken on his jacket.
‘You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you?’
Pulling herself free and trembling violently, she backed away. ‘I couldn’t find the words. I didn’t want to see the look in your eyes when I told you what had gone on.’
‘Did he … harm you?’ Eddie hesitated mid sentence, looking for the right word.
‘There – that’s the look!’ she cried. ‘It’s when you dwell on what went on – Barlow with his hands all over me.’
Eddie steadied himself with a deep breath. ‘But now you have to tell me straight. How bad was it?’
A note of defiance entered Violet’s voice as she recalled specifics. ‘Bad enough but I didn’t give in to him. I managed to fight him off. There was a shotgun leaning against the wall. I let bid with it.’
‘You shot him?’ Eddie was aghast.
‘No. I wanted to, but I thought better of it and cracked him in the ribs instead.’
‘Bloody hell, Violet.’
‘What? Did I do wrong?’ Looking like a ghost in her white nightdress and with her pale skin and dark eyes hardly visible in the darkness, she was desperate to hear what he thought.
‘You say you hit him with the butt of the gun?’
‘Hard,’ she confessed.
Eddie’s troubled face lightened. He raised his eyebrows and there was a shadow of a smile on his lips. ‘By Jove, Vi. Hard enough to make him fall down?’
‘I knocked him sideways. I wasn’t thinking what I was doing.’
‘That’s the spirit. Good for you for sticking up for yourself.’
Violet took a deep breath. ‘The trouble is, though, that they’re saying Mr Kingsley was looking on. It’s my word against theirs.’
‘All the more reason you should have told me straight away.’ Though Eddie felt proud of the spirit Violet had shown, he was sorry she’d had to cope alone. ‘I’d have gone and beaten the living daylights out of Barlow before that nasty wife of his could start spreading lies.’
‘Evie came to see me earlier and that’s when I realized everyone on Chapel Street had already got wind of it. Now I see the whole town knows.’ She lowered her head then sighed.
Gently Eddie moved towards her, his rage against Barlow subsiding and concern for Violet taking its place. He put his hand under her chin and tilted it until she was looking directly at him. ‘I haven’t said this before – not to anyone …’ he began.
Violet raised her hand and cupped it over his. The only light came from the street lamp, shining in through chinks in the blind – just enough for her to make out his features and see that he was looking deep into her eyes.
‘You know what I want to tell you,’ he murmured.
It was as if she was floating free of the ground – a dizzying, delicious sensation. ‘What?’
The low, soft words came from deep in his throat. ‘I don’t want it to sound daft. You won’t laugh at me?’
A slender thread of common sense tied Violet to the ground when she spoke through scarcely opened lips. ‘Does it look like it? I’m standing here shivering and catching my death, waiting for you to spit it out.’
‘I love you,’ he said in a rush of emotion that almost knocked him off his feet. ‘And whatever happens, I’ll be here by your side.’
‘For better or for worse?’ she murmured.
‘Yes, if you’ll have me.’
‘I will, Eddie. And I love you too.’ She was too happy to say any more, too dizzy to think, lost in his arms.
‘I’ll do anything for you,’ he promised, breathing the loving words against the soft skin of Violet’s lips and neck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In bed that night, Violet remembered a solitary childhood game where she’d sat on the grass on the Common, picking dandelion seed heads then pursing her lips and blowing on them to the chant of ‘He loves me, he loves me not’, until every feathered seed had blown free and floated off.
He loves me! Eddie Thomson had told her that he loved her and would stay with her through thick and thin. His kisses had made her believe that it was true. He loves me. He loves me.
Eddie had said what she’d been longing to hear but hadn’t dared to hope for and still she could hardly believe the thrill of those words drawing her out of the depths, the perfection of his dark brown eyes, the feel of his lips on hers and the strength of his arms wrapped around her – Violet Wheeler – the once lonely child who had looked out across the Common towards the moors, wondering what her life would hold.
She got up next morning and set to work in the clean, cool attic. Unless recent events brought about a change of mind in Ella Kingsley, as it very well might, an order from her was due for delivery. It was a tasteful eau-de-Nil, crêpe de Chine blouse with a Peter Pan collar and pearl buttons, just needing finishing touches. Violet sat eagerly to hand-sew the facings in place and was humming a tune when Ida arrived.
‘There’ll be no more talk of leaving Jubilee, I gather?’ Ida observed in her forthright way.
‘No,’ Violet agreed. ‘I’ve decided to stick it out.’
‘Tra-la!’ Tilting her head thoughtfully to one side as she sat down to thread her machine, Ida judged that teasing was the order of the day. ‘I caught Eddie humming away before he buzzed off to work this morning. Is it a coincidence, or could there be more to it than that?’
‘I didn’t know there was a law against humming all of a sudden,’ Violet responded with a secretive smile.
‘There isn’t – not that I know of.’ Ida started to unpin pieces of paper pattern from a dress she’d cut out the day before. ‘How long will you be with Mrs Kingsley’s blouse?’
‘Finished!’ Violet declared, snipping the final thread.
‘Fingers crossed she still wants it,’ Ida commented, hearing the ring of the shop bell. ‘If that’s her, come up and let me know.’
Violet followed orders and it was only when she came to the first-floor landing that she remembered Muriel’s kindly meant advice about keeping her head below the parapet for a while. It might have been better for Ida to serve their customer, she realized as her stomach started to churn.
‘Go on – what are you waiting for?’ Ida called down, hearing Violet’s light steps come to a halt.
Violet gave herself a shake and carried on down the stairs into the shop, surprised to find that it was Sybil who was examining price tags on the linen hankies displayed on the counter. Hatless and without a cardigan to protect her from the chilly autumn air, it was obvious from their rival’s appearance that she had slipped out from her own shop on the spur of the moment. ‘Good morning. How can I help?’ Violet began uncertainly.
‘I need a reel of pale blue sewing cotton to match this material,’ Sybil replied, sliding a scrap of linen across the counter. ‘I ran out and I don’t have time to get the tram over to Cliff Street to buy another.’
‘Certainly.’ Violet took several reels from a shallow drawer and matched each against the fabric. ‘This is the closest, I think.’
‘Or this one.’ Oddly, Sybil didn’t seem to be in a hurry after all. She took her time t
o choose her shade then asked to see an example of the Lastex undergarments that had recently been gaining favour. ‘I hear they’re more comfortable than the old sort – according to Evie, anyway. You young ones know what’s what better than me. Not that I have one foot in the grave just yet,’ she added mischievously.
As Sybil browsed, she seemed to have something else on her mind and it was no surprise to Violet when she eventually changed tack.
‘I’m glad to see you’re none the worse for wear.’ She looked directly at Violet. ‘I’m not naming names, but a certain shop owner’s reputation is well known to everyone but his wife, unfortunately.’
Violet swallowed hard. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘I hear you gave him more than a clip round the ear.’ Sybil smiled then raised a hand to tuck a hairpin more firmly into place, seemingly pushing the thorny topic to one side. ‘It’s windy out there – I almost got blown away.’
‘I haven’t been out yet.’ Gamely Violet carried on with the everyday topic. Showing Sybil more of the brassieres that they had in stock and conscientiously pointing out the various lace trims, she was relieved to hear the bell ring once more and see that Muriel had arrived.
‘Hello, Violet. Hello, Sybil,’ Muriel said breezily, removing her hatpin and taking off the brimless, crimson hat that coordinated well with her dark grey jacket, broad at the shoulders and with wide lapels. ‘What brings you down to this end of Chapel Street?’
Sybil showed her the reel of blue thread. ‘Don’t get carried away. It’s not enough to help you out of your tight spot – not by a long chalk.’
‘Who says we’re in a tight spot?’ Muriel demanded, turning her back to busily rearrange items in the window.
‘Ah, but you will be, if a certain person carries on spreading rumours about your shoddy workmanship. I take it you’ve heard?’
Frowning, Muriel turned to face Sybil. ‘Yes, along with everyone and his aunt, apparently. But it’s not like you to gloat.’