The Shop Girls of Chapel Street

by Jenny Holmes

  ‘I’m not gloating – far from it,’ Sybil assured her. ‘In fact, I came here especially to tip Violet the wink about Alice Barlow’s latest sneaky move. And, seeing as you’re here, Muriel, I’d like us to put our cards on the table, once and for all.’

  ‘Shall I tidy these things away now?’ Violet was apprehensive about a row breaking out and had decided to make herself scarce. Swiftly she began to clear the counter.

  ‘Why not write down what these brassieres cost on a slip of paper?’ Sybil’s suggestion delayed her. ‘I mean, Muriel, that these rumours will do Jubilee harm unless you manage to scotch them.’

  ‘Thank you, Sybil. I’m well aware of that.’

  Muriel’s stiff response succeeded in putting Sybil’s back up. ‘Have it your own way,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m only trying to help, though Lord knows why.’

  ‘Yes – why?’ Muriel wondered. ‘If we end up losing business to you over this, surely you’ll be pleased.’

  ‘I’ll be over the moon, I can assure you.’ Sybil’s sarcasm widened the gap between the two shopkeepers and for a while there was stalemate.

  ‘Here are the prices, Miss Dacre.’ Violet broke the silence. She saw that Muriel and Sybil were alike – both were single women who stood too much on their dignity and, though clever, they had difficulty saying what they really meant. Yet they were both honest and kind, with hearts of gold.

  In the end it was Muriel who cut through the awkwardness to the quick of the matter. ‘Listen, Sybil, let’s get to the point. We both know that Jubilee’s work isn’t inferior.’

  ‘Quite,’ Sybil acknowledged with a curt nod.

  ‘And the criticism comes from a customer whose opinion nobody admires.’

  ‘Not to mention her taste in fashion.’ The uncharacteristically sly remark, delivered deadpan and with a raised eyebrow, broke the tension and made both Violet and Muriel smile.

  ‘Neither of us can do anything about that,’ Muriel acknowledged. ‘Cards on the table, as you say – I’d be the first to admit that we run things on a knife edge here at Jubilee, wondering if our customers can keep up with their weekly instalments, being prepared to run back to the bank manager if they can’t. But, touch wood, so far, so good.’

  ‘Unless Mrs Barlow continues to set the cat among the pigeons and you lose your loyal band of mill girls and factory workers,’ Sybil reminded her. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then we go out again and find new ones, maybe further afield.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Sybil felt the force of Muriel’s determination. ‘That’s good to hear. But in that case, I’d better be on my toes.’

  ‘Yes, you’d better.’ Taking the cotton reel and popping it into a bag, Muriel left the challenge hanging between them. ‘That’ll be tuppence you owe me.’

  ‘Two pence.’ Sybil took the worn copper coins from her purse and slid them across the counter. ‘You and Ida can’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ‘And you can’t expect us to roll over and admit defeat,’ Muriel argued, ringing up the purchase and following Sybil’s exit with a gimlet eye. ‘Can she, Violet?’ she added.

  ‘No. We live to fight another day.’ Violet had come full circle since her low point of the night before. We hold our heads up and walk shoulder to shoulder like the suffragettes of old in their purple and green sashes. We don’t give in to the likes of Colin and Alice Barlow.

  That night, the day before Violet’s birthday, she and Eddie braved the Overcliffe Assembly Rooms on Cliff Street for the first time. It was his special treat and Violet felt a mounting excitement as they approached the grand Edwardian building.

  ‘Best foot forward, birthday girl,’ Eddie advised, guiding her past a crowd gathered on the entrance steps, underneath blank-eyed stone caryatids into a wide foyer where they joined the queue for tickets.

  ‘I forgot to ask, Eddie, are you any good at dancing or have you got two left feet?’ Violet covered up her nerves with a light-hearted tone. She’d felt curious eyes upon her as they’d mounted the steps, especially those of Alf Shipley and Kenneth Leach, both dressed up to the nines in navy chalk-stripe suits for a night out together. She suspected that she’d read something unpleasant in their expressions, but she tried to dismiss them from her thoughts.

  ‘Wait and see,’ Eddie replied. He came to the front of the queue and paid for two tickets then waited while Violet took her coat to the cloakroom. ‘All set?’ he asked on her return.

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’ A deep breath was needed prior to their entrance, and the support of Eddie’s arm, which she leaned on as they walked together into a large hall with polished floor and raised platform at the far end.

  ‘The place could do with a lick of paint,’ Eddie noticed, casting a professional eye over the dull cream walls and flaking ceiling. ‘I doubt if it’s been done in the twenty-odd years since it was built.’

  Violet didn’t reply. She was concentrating instead on the band tuning up onstage – a lady in black evening dress at the piano, with two violinists in penguin suits and a second woman drawing a bow over the strings of her double bass. There was a lot of squeaking and squawking, scraping and practising of scales that made her wonder whether or not the musicians would ever be able to produce a decent tune.

  ‘Look who it isn’t,’ a cheerful voice said and both Eddie and Violet turned to see Stan approaching with Evie. ‘How did you get here?’ Stan asked as a way of passing the time. ‘Did he bring you on the bike, Violet, or was it Shanks’s pony?’

  ‘The bike – in this dress?’ Violet gave a twirl of her flimsy, emerald-green skirt – part of a dress with cap sleeves and a crossover bodice that she wore with her white, wedge-heeled sandals.

  ‘You walked,’ Stan decided with a what-do-I-know-about-women’s-clothes shrug followed by a long, meaningful look that Violet chose to ignore. She drew Evie to one side as the men struck up conversation. ‘This is a nice treat from Eddie for my birthday,’ she confided. ‘And since you’re here, even if it turns out that he and Stan don’t know their left foot from their right, it means I’ll still have someone to do the quickstep with.’

  ‘You kept that quiet. Anyway, happy birthday – you look better than when I last saw you,’ Evie told Violet, while admiring the cut of her skirt and the shape of her neckline.

  ‘I feel better, ta. Did you know that Sybil paid us a visit?’

  Evie nodded. ‘I knew something must have got under her skin. She left meek and mild and came back roaring like a lion about how she would print more leaflets and push them through letter boxes in the centre of town and out in Hadley, not just in our neck of the woods.’

  ‘That was Muriel’s fault.’ Violet explained. ‘When Sybil and Muriel lock horns, it’s best to stay out of their way. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about work – we’re here to dance. Come on, Eddie – put out that cigarette and show a girl how to foxtrot the night away.’

  When, an hour later, Violet and Evie bumped into each other again in the ladies’ cloakroom, Violet had to admit that Eddie’s fleetness of foot on the football pitch carried over to not only the foxtrot but the waltz and the quickstep too. ‘He’s danced me off my feet.’

  ‘Count yourself lucky.’ Evie eased her bruised toes inside her satin dancing shoes. ‘I’m ready for this break. Stan was like a baby elephant back there.’

  ‘You poor thing.’ Violet glanced sideways at Evie’s flushed reflection in the mirror over the wash basins. ‘How are you two getting along these days?’

  ‘Like a house on fire,’ Evie replied with a small smile as she dried her hands.

  ‘Honestly?’ Since listening to Ben Hutchinson’s possible explanation of the mystery behind her mother’s bracelet, Violet had had little time to think about the next step. Mainly she was relieved that she’d always kept Stan at a safe distance and hoped that he felt the same way. She also wanted to know that he was sincere with Evie and treating her well.

  ‘Cross my heart,’ Evie assured her. ‘He came to tea with us this af
ternoon at Albion Lane.’

  ‘That’s a big step.’

  ‘I know. Can you believe it? Father invited him.’

  ‘And did Stan behave himself?’ Patting her hair into place, Violet was ready for round two on the dance floor.

  ‘Yes. He played a game of dominoes with Arthur while I made egg sandwiches and Father read his Herald. Then Father took Arthur down to Newby’s for his sweets and Stan kissed me.’

  ‘Oh.’ For a second Violet was taken aback. ‘And how was that?’

  ‘Very nice,’ Evie said, blushing slightly. ‘He had his arm around my waist but it was only a kiss on the cheek. That was all right, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Tickety-boo,’ Violet agreed, linking arms with Evie in a jolly fashion. ‘As long as Stan didn’t overstep the mark – that’s the main thing.’

  The evening went on and the band played slow waltz tunes from popular musicals – ‘I’ll Be Loving You Always’, ‘What Is This Thing Called Love?’ and others.

  ‘“Love flew in through my window”,’ Eddie murmured as he held Violet close. She smiled and let herself enjoy the final moments on the dance floor, scarcely noticing that the crowd was thinning out.

  ‘Still tripping the light fantastic, I see,’ Stan called out. He was lolling back in his seat with his arm around Evie’s shoulder, his tie knot loosened and jacket hanging open.

  ‘Yes – what’s up with you two?’ Eddie asked. ‘Can’t you take the pace?’

  ‘It’s my big clodhoppers that are the problem,’ Stan admitted.

  ‘Evie’s poor feet are black and blue,’ Violet explained, breaking hold and leading Eddie off the floor to sit down next to them. ‘I hope you’re not expecting her to walk all the way home, Stan.’

  ‘No, I’ll splash out on a taxi if she’s good.’

  ‘Blimey.’ Eddie gave him a good-natured jab with his elbow.

  ‘If she’s good!’ Violet echoed, while Evie huffed and puffed, pretending to be offended.

  The evening was winding down when a group of lads sauntered in from the bar set up in a small side room beside the ticket office. There were half a dozen of them, some carrying glasses of beer, all smoking and joking as they surveyed the hall.

  ‘They’ve left it a bit late to find a dance partner,’ Stan commented.

  ‘Oops-a-daisy – someone’s tiddly.’ Evie saw Les Craven split from the group and start to make his way towards them. Then he staggered to a halt as if forgetting what he’d set out to do. Luckily Alf and Kenneth were standing by to rescue him and steer him towards a nearby chair where he sat down heavily, long legs splayed wide.

  ‘Are we ready to go?’ Violet asked.

  ‘Yes. Give me your cloakroom tickets,’ Stan said to her and Evie. ‘You three wait here while I go and fetch the coats.’

  To get to the cloakroom he had to pass Les and other members of the football team. Smiling and stopping for a friendly word about the day’s match, Stan slowly made his way out while Les struggled to his feet, found his balance and continued to walk with a swaying gait towards Eddie, Violet and Evie.

  ‘Bottoms up,’ he said, sinking the last of his pint and dropping onto Stan’s empty chair.

  Dying strains of the last waltz drifted from the stage, followed by a smattering of applause then laughter as two of Les’s burly pals got into a dance hold then drunkenly lurched onto the empty floor. Once more, Alf and Kenneth left their post by the exit and strolled towards Les, who by this time had closed his eyes and was starting to snore.

  ‘I’m sorry, ladies,’ Alf apologized to Violet and Evie. He seemed sober enough, carrying himself upright in a way that conveyed his years in the army. His dark moustache and short back and sides added the finishing touches. ‘Young Les here has obviously had one over the eight. Kenneth, give us a hand to get him back up on his hind legs.’

  Kenneth quickly obliged and between them they managed to get Les upright while Evie and Violet felt embarrassed that the lanky goalkeeper had shown himself up.

  ‘What? … Where?’ Still swaying, Les broke free and looked around in a daze. He rocked forward as his gaze rested on Violet. ‘Hell-oo!’ he cried, swaying backwards then lurching forwards towards her with what was a definite leer. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’

  Quickly interpreting Les’s lecherous look, Violet sprang to her feet and tried to push past him.

  ‘Steady on!’ Eddie too was on his feet, though he hadn’t caught the look and was left wondering why Violet had reacted the way she had.

  ‘Not me, for a start – I wouldn’t have credited it,’ Les blundered on, pushing Eddie off balance. He flailed his arms to left and right and ignored warning looks from Alf and Kenneth. ‘I had her down as a good little chapel-goer, didn’t you, Eddie?’

  Trapped in the narrow gap between Les and a row of chairs, Violet closed her eyes and held her breath.

  ‘Well, Ed – we were all wrong,’ Les crowed. ‘Not that you’ve got any complaints on that score, I take it?’

  The insult to Violet hit Eddie hard and he didn’t stop to think. He seized Les by the shoulder and spun him round then lashed out with his fist. The blow landed right on Les’s chin and made his teeth chatter. Blindly Les launched himself back at Eddie. He swung a punch but failed to make contact then toppled forward and landed flat on his face. He lay groaning until Eddie hauled him onto his feet, backed him against the wall and held him there.

  ‘Don’t say another word or I’ll flatten you,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, one warning finger raised to within an inch of his opponent’s eyes.

  ‘I’m only … I didn’t …’ An incoherent Les hardly seemed to know what was happening. With clumsy movements he tried to wrest himself free until Kenneth stepped in to pull them apart.

  ‘All right, sonny, let’s get you out of here while you’re still in one piece.’ The older man took charge of Les just as Stan came back with the coats. ‘There’s been a bit of bother,’ he explained.

  ‘What about?’ Stan looked at Violet and saw that she was trembling, then at Eddie, speechless with anger.

  Alf helped Kenneth to take hold of Les by the scruff of the neck. ‘Ask them,’ he advised, brows knotted as he took note of Violet’s shaky state.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Stan muttered. ‘I’ve had this out with Les once already.’

  ‘Yes, well, some people never learn.’ Alf turned Les towards the door and started to march him away, then he had second thoughts and addressed Stan once more. ‘Your pal back there – Eddie Thomson?’

  ‘What about him?’ Stan’s belligerent tone was his way of sticking up for his friend but it rattled Alf Shipley.

  ‘Tell him to keep his hair on in future. And don’t look at me like that. I’m not the enemy round here.’

  ‘Who is?’ Stan demanded.

  ‘You can work that out for yourselves.’ The Barlows’ driver felt he’d said enough, and anyway Les was trying to wriggle free, lashing out with his fists again. He and Kenneth Leach dragged him out of the hall and had him propped up against the cloakroom counter when Kenneth felt a tap on his shoulder and they both turned to see Evie standing there – fair haired and dressed in pale blue satin with frills and bows, five feet four inches of fierce determination.

  ‘Eddie was only sticking up for Violet,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Yes, and I’d have done the same in his shoes,’ Kenneth conceded. ‘Stand up straight, Les, there’s a good lad. The trouble is if the wrong people hear about Eddie losing his temper and lashing out, that’ll be one more black mark against your troublemaker friend – the one with the dark hair – the Jubilee girl.’

  ‘Violet!’ Evie gasped.

  ‘They’ll say she put him up to it, that it’s her fault.’

  ‘Even when it isn’t?’

  ‘It makes no difference.’ Alf stepped in to explain. ‘Not if they’ve got it in for someone. The Barlows and the Kingsleys – they’re the ones who shout the loudest, not the likes of Violet and Eddie. You hear?’r />
  Frowning, Evie understood and accepted what Alf and Kenneth said. ‘Thank you. I’ll pass it on.’

  With a curt nod, Alf turned away. ‘Make sure to leave our names out of it,’ he mumbled, helping Kenneth to keep Les upright and reaching for his coat.

  ‘I will,’ Evie promised.

  ‘Otherwise we’ll all be out of a job. And what good would that do?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘There goes another order down the Swanee,’ Muriel said glumly as she entered the shop. ‘That’s the fifth cancellation this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

  Behind the counter, Violet and Ida exchanged worried glances.

  ‘Who is it this time?’ Ida wanted to know.

  ‘It’s Eunice Shackleton – Lizzie Turner’s married sister. She put in an order for a christening gown for her first baby but I popped into Hutchinson’s for biscuits and while I was there Lizzie let on that Eunice has changed her mind.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Ida asked, while Violet stayed quietly in the background.

  ‘Lizzie said that Eunice can’t find the money for it after all, but reading between the lines, I worked out the real reason.’

  ‘Which is?’ Ida prompted.

  ‘Which is that Eunice does ten hours per week scrubbing floors and polishing furniture for none other than – guess who.’

  ‘Alice Barlow,’ Ida said without hesitating.

  ‘Bingo! The truth is, she’s warned Eunice off using us. At this rate we’ll be out of business by the end of the week.’ Too upset for once to put on a brave face, Muriel shook her head and went upstairs. Violet too was cast down by this latest cancellation.

  Ida was more resilient. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ she decided as she unbuttoned her coat. ‘Sybil isn’t the only one who can advertise further afield – out as far as Hadley and even Welby if we feel like it. In fact, Violet, why not get Eddie to bring you to rehearsal half an hour early tonight – that’ll give us time to pop our leaflets through letter boxes.’

  ‘Eddie’s working at the Victory so I’ll have to catch the bus. And do you really think it’s worthwhile?’ Violet wondered.