by Jenny Holmes
It had been a busy, tiring day but it was almost at an end. Cynthia took her light then mustered the last of her concentration to recognize the local number and speak to her caller. ‘Hello, Mr Oldroyd. Go ahead, please.’
‘Hello, operator. Please connect me to Whitehaven 622.’
Cynthia operated her switchboard. ‘Hello, Whitehaven. I have a new ticket, wanted as soon as possible for Mr Oldroyd.’
‘Hold the line, please. Whitehaven 622, I have Mr Oldroyd on the line.’
The connection was made but Cynthia was not as quick as usual to flick up both switches and sit back until the call was finished. Instead, she overheard the start of a hurried conversation.
‘Miriam, is that you? This is your father speaking.’
‘Daddy, please, please can I come home?’
‘No, Miriam, not yet. And you must stop pestering Aunt Elizabeth to be allowed to.’
‘Why, Daddy?’
‘You know why. Everything is up in the air here. Nothing is settled.’
‘But I don’t care. North Park is my home. It’s where I belong.’
Curiosity overcame Cynthia and she couldn’t tear herself away. Guiltily she went on eavesdropping.
‘For now, yes. But you must prepare yourself for the sale of the house and the estate, just like everyone else,’ Joseph Oldroyd warned. ‘Think of your poor mother – she doesn’t want to leave any more than you do.’
As Cynthia’s conscience kicked in and she began to slide back her headset, she heard Miriam start to sob on the Whitehaven end of the line. She sat and considered what she’d just heard, hardly registering the bell that signalled the end of her shift.
‘Come on, slow coach.’ Millicent prompted her by jogging her elbow. ‘I know you love your work, but it’s time to pack up for the day.’
‘Yes – ta.’ Cynthia’s head was in a whirl as she followed Millicent and Norma into the cloakroom. Unable to think straight, she concentrated on the fact that with luck she would be able to catch the ten-past-five bus. So, in an obvious hurry, she grabbed her coat and ran off without saying goodbye.
‘What’s got into her?’ Millicent wondered.
‘I don’t know, but she’s probably dashing off to meet Wilf.’ Norma had more pressing things on her mind and hurried Millicent out of the building where they were met by the usual sound of heavy traffic and the rush of pedestrians. She talked urgently as they weaved their way through the crowd past Sam Bower’s. ‘Don’t you want to know what Phyllis Parr said to Sidney Hall?’ Norma prompted.
Millicent tried to see who was inside the salon as they walked by but found that the blind was down and there was no sign of life. ‘I do,’ she said, bracing herself. Whatever it is, it can’t be good, she thought.
‘To be frank, I don’t know who’s worse – him or her.’ The information was on the tip of Norma’s tongue. ‘Now listen to this and tell me what, if anything, we can do.’
Cynthia took the long ride out of town wrapped in her own thoughts. She sat in the front seat on the lower deck and paid her fare to a conductor she’d never seen before – a lad even younger than Wilf, with dirt under his fingernails and a prominent Adam’s apple. Staring straight ahead, she blocked out the chatter of other passengers and thought about how best to word her dramatic news when she spoke to Wilf.
The bus rocked along the bumpy, winding road. Should she cushion the blow, she wondered, or should she come straight out with it? Not only had Joseph Oldroyd closed down his mill but now he was forced to sell the North Park estate as well!
The bus reached the brow of a hill then plunged down again, stopping at the end of a farm lane to let the farmer’s wife alight. A chained dog barked in the distance, the conductor rang the bell and the bus set off again.
Better to come right out with it, Cynthia decided as they came within sight of Hadley. Wilf would probably bear bad news better than his mother and he would break it to her more gently, for there was no doubt that if the main house was sold, then the lodge would go too. Wilf and his mother would have to look for somewhere else to live.
‘Watch your step,’ the conductor called as Cynthia stood up on the final bend into Hadley and made her unsteady way to the exit.
As she got off, she came face to face with the last person she wanted to see – her cousin Bert, stepping on to the platform as she got off.
‘Look who it isn’t,’ he said gleefully, holding the rail and hanging wide of the bus as it pulled away, waving derisively with his free hand. He wore the same old ill-fitting jacket, flat cap and an open-necked, collarless shirt. ‘If you’ve come to worm your way back into Uncle William’s good books, I’d save your breath.’
‘Don’t worry – I haven’t,’ she said, turning her back and walking in the opposite direction, picking up pace through the village and on past the church that was pretty in the sunlight with its square tower and the blue clock on one side showing six o’clock.
The entrance to North Park lay in a dip, past a row of terraced houses where countryside took over again. It was marked by tall stone gateposts that mimicked castle battlements. Cynthia found that the wide wrought-iron gates stood open, allowing a clear view of a splendid house with turrets and arched windows at the end of a curved driveway. Close to the entrance, tucked away on the left-hand side, stood a small, scaled-down version of the big house – the lodge.
Now that she was here, Cynthia felt a knot form in her stomach. What if Wilf wasn’t at home and his mother answered the door? She hadn’t met Mrs Evans and didn’t know how she should introduce herself. Hello, my name is Cynthia Ambler. I’m walking out with your son. That sounded too bold, so she experimented with a shorter version: Hello, I’m Cynthia. Is Wilf in? Still unsure, she approached the open door and heard voices from inside.
‘Wilf, honestly – you’re the limit,’ a woman taunted.
Cynthia caught a glimpse of the woman’s back view framed by an inner doorway. Dressed in blue, she was young and slim, with short, dark hair – definitely not Wilf’s mother.
Then she heard Wilf’s muffled, teasing reply. ‘What are you on about?’
‘I’m serious,’ the woman insisted. ‘I came here because I heard you’d turned over a new leaf.’
Cynthia gasped and stepped back out of sight. Her heart thumped and threatened to break out through her ribs.
‘Who told you that?’ Wilf laughed.
Light footsteps sounded on a stone floor then the woman spoke again – this time inaudibly.
Wilf laughed again. He said something indistinct about becoming Steady Eddie all of a sudden.
Outside, Cynthia fought for breath. She must leave without being seen, get far away and never come back. Luckily Wilf and the woman were in what must be the kitchen at the back of the house, so her coast was clear.
She fled down the short path then out through the main gates, her heart wrung out, a frown creasing her forehead. She passed the row of terraced cottages then the low pub building, hurrying on and reaching the far end of the village just in time to see the number 65 about to set off from the terminus on its return journey into town.
‘Blimey – you again,’ the young conductor remarked as Cynthia flagged down the bus at the fork in the road. ‘That was a quick visit.’
Without answering, she sank down in the nearest seat. She fumbled to open her purse and pay her fare, her eyes filling with hot tears, her fingers numb.
Studying her more closely, the conductor slotted things into place. ‘Wait a minute – you’re the lass Wilf Evans meets up with on George Street.’
Cynthia swallowed hard and stared out of the window.
‘You’re his new girl, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ she replied fiercely, her heart in her mouth. ‘Not any more, I’m not.’
In Millicent’s house in Heaton Yard, she and Norma had talked themselves to a standstill and they sat by the open window silently watching a couple of boys kick a leather ball against the wall of the outside privy. It
was still daylight, but the sun had disappeared behind the houses and the air grew chill.
‘Brrr, best close that window,’ Norma suggested, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her cardigan.
Millicent had to heave hard at the sash window and pray that the frayed rope didn’t snap. ‘If I ever get William Brooks to mend this, it’ll be a miracle,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve written to him once already and spoken twice to that little squirt who comes to collect the rent.’
‘Bert the squirt,’ Norma trotted out the rhyme with a rueful smile. Then, more seriously, ‘We’re stuck, aren’t we?’
‘Over the mess Clare’s got herself into? I hate to say it, but yes, we are.’ Millicent couldn’t get past the fact that it was all too late. Clare had already refused their help, told them to mind their own business then gone right ahead and taken the fatal step that took her beyond the pale. The words ‘fallen woman’ stuck inescapably in Millicent’s mind, bringing a Dickensian picture of dark, dingy streets, foggy nights, the glare of headlights as a car pulled up to the kerb.
‘How could she let herself?’ Norma wondered with a small shudder. ‘I wouldn’t – not for anything.’
‘I’m not so sure. It’s hard to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and we only have a vague idea of how it happened.’
Norma nodded. ‘But we do know that Clare fell hook, line and sinker for Sidney Hall’s tricks.’
Millicent agreed. ‘I don’t blame her for that, though. He’s a handsome enough chap, with a car and plenty of money. And at the start, I expect he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.’
‘But there must have been a point when she began to see that things weren’t right.’
‘Yes, most likely before we ran into her at Health and Beauty. Remember how red she went when we tried to get her to talk about her young man? And later, when I spotted her in the King’s Head, she couldn’t bring herself to say hello.’
‘If she’d had any sense, she’d have backed out as soon as she realized.’
‘But think about it,’ Millicent said. ‘Clare was living in a fairy-tale world of dresses and fur wraps, nylon stockings and Chanel Number 5. That’s hard to give up when you’ve been living from hand to mouth most of your life. Anyway, there are plenty of so-called respectable women who sell themselves for a lot less.’
‘Steady on, Millicent.’ Here we go. Norma prepared herself for a lecture about the traps that women walked into with their eyes wide open – marriages with men they had no feelings for, for the sake of a wedding ring and simply to escape the label of old maid.
Millicent picked up the signals. ‘Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m not going to go on about it.’
‘Good. Anyway, we’re agreed that Clare has made …’
‘… Her own bed.’
They both grimaced at the seedy picture they’d unintentionally conjured up then went to the window together as they saw Cynthia come down the ginnel into the yard. She looked pale and on the verge of tears as she hurried towards the house.
‘What now?’ Millicent wondered, flinging open the front door.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Norma decided in a flash.
Cynthia stumbled on the bottom step and Millicent had to lend her a hand into the kitchen where she collapsed in the fireside chair.
‘Sit back, take a deep breath,’ Millicent ordered while Norma was busy with tea leaves and teapot. ‘That’s better.’
Cynthia rested her head against the back of the chair, her eyes closed. The journey back from Hadley had taken an age and when she’d stepped off the bus, she’d known she couldn’t go home but had to come here to Millicent’s for advice. ‘It’s Wilf,’ she whispered.
‘Who else?’ Millicent drew up a chair.
‘What’s he done to upset you?’ Norma asked. Leaving the tea to brew, she pulled up a second chair then fished in her handbag for a handkerchief. ‘Here, have this.’
Millicent realized they had to allow Cynthia time to calm down. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Norma. ‘Whatever it is, it’s plainly a matter of life and death.’
‘You were right,’ Cynthia whispered at last. ‘Wilf’s not to be trusted. I wish I’d listened to you and kept my distance right from the start.’
‘Whoa! Slow down and tell us what this is about,’ Norma interrupted.
‘Wilf’s broken her heart, that’s what.’ Millicent was genuinely annoyed with herself for not keeping a better eye on things. After all, she’d suspected that Cynthia was too tender a flower to be left to Wilf’s mercies.
‘He said such nice things to me,’ Cynthia wailed. ‘And I believed every word.’
Echoes of what Sidney Hall had done to Clare presented themselves to Norma and she grew more concerned. ‘What happened? Has he overstepped the mark?’
Cynthia raised her head, gripped the arms of her chair and drew a deep breath. ‘Mr Oldroyd is selling North Park,’ she began, seemingly apropos of nothing.
Millicent sat back in her chair with a frown while Norma got up to pour the tea.
‘He has to sell everything – the big house, the grounds, the lodge. I listened in at work and heard him tell his daughter.’
‘Ah.’ Millicent began to piece things together.
‘You’re lucky Ruth didn’t catch you,’ Norma observed.
‘I wanted Wilf to know straight away so I caught the Hadley bus—’
‘Yes, yes – we saw you dash off. What happened when you found him?’
‘He was at home with—’ Cynthia choked over the words and came to a halt.
‘With a woman?’ Norma guessed.
Cynthia remembered the stranger’s back view – the pale blue dress, the sleek dark hair and white shoes. She nodded without speaking.
Norma guessed again. ‘You suppose he was with Adelaide?’
As Cynthia nodded a second time, the tears fell. ‘She said she’d heard that he’d turned over a new leaf – that was why she was there, ready to try again.’
‘Did she actually say that? That she was ready to try again?’ Millicent pressed. This didn’t fit in with what she’d most recently heard about Adelaide Williams, which was that she’d upped sticks and gone to live with a cousin in Glasgow.
‘Yes – no. Not that she was ready to give it another go. But she did tell him that’s why she was there – because he’d turned over a new leaf.’
Cynthia hardly knew what she was saying. She felt dizzy with despair.
‘Slow down. What did this woman look like?’ Millicent asked, one hand on Cynthia’s arm.
‘I can’t really describe her. I only saw her back view. She was tall, I think.’
‘With what colour hair?’
‘Dark. Short and dark.’ They’d laughed together in the kitchen at North Park Lodge – Wilf and his ex-fiancée.
‘Tall and dark,’ Millicent repeated, the corners of her mouth starting to twitch. ‘Then that definitely can’t have been the dreaded Adelaide.’
‘Why can’t it?’ Cynthia sat bolt upright with newly sprung hope, clutching Norma’s damp handkerchief.
‘Adelaide Williams is under five feet tall for a start. And she has red hair. I mean really red – redder than Brenda’s at work.’
‘Then who …?’
‘Tall and dark, you say.’ Millicent mulled it over. ‘What was she wearing?’
‘A blue dress.’
‘Did it have a white collar and cuffs? Could it have been some kind of uniform?’
‘I suppose so.’ Cynthia nodded, looking in confusion from Millicent to Norma and back again.
‘Then I’ll bet my life that our mystery woman works as a nurse at King Edward’s Hospital.’ Millicent couldn’t hide the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. ‘You cuckoo – I’ll bet it was Wilf’s sister Maude you saw at the lodge!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Ah, the wonders of a good, strong cup of tea!’ Millicent’s proclamation made Cynthia and Norma smile.
‘Goodness
gracious, you sound like Mum,’ Norma said. ‘A cup of tea with three spoonfuls of sugar is her remedy for all of life’s problems.’
Millicent rolled her eyes in horror. ‘God forbid! I’m only twenty-five, remember.’ Collecting the cups and saucers, she put them in the sink. ‘I’m not quite ready to hang up my headset, I’ll have you know.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t see you in carpet slippers and curlers for a long time yet.’ Norma bustled Millicent out of the way and began to wash the crockery. ‘Once I’ve done this, I’d better be on my way.’
‘Yes, it’s getting late.’ Still feeling foolish over the error she’d made about Maude Evans, Cynthia too got ready to leave.
Millicent stood by the door watching her. ‘Before you go, I have a proposition. It’s something I’ve been meaning to mention for a day or two.’
‘Ooh, I’m all ears.’ Norma was busy drying her hands as she came between Millicent and Cynthia.
‘Not for you, silly. This is an idea I want to put to Cynthia.’ Millicent hurried to the door before Cynthia could turn the handle. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. You’re not happy at Raglan Road and I have an empty attic room here.’
Cynthia’s mind raced ahead and her eyes lit up.
‘It’s not much to write home about, and it’s far from ideal that everyone on the yard has to share an outside toilet, but I wonder if you’d like to move in with me?’
Cynthia gasped and nodded.
Millicent set off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. ‘Hold your horses. Don’t say yes before you’ve had a look.’
‘Go on!’ Norma encouraged Cynthia to follow. She saw straight away that this would definitely be a way to free Cynthia from the shackles of home.
All three went up two flights of rickety stairs to the small, empty room at the top of the house. No more than ten feet square, with bare boards, sloping ceilings and only a small fanlight to let in the light, there was at least a fireplace and a gaslight on the wall.
‘We’ll have to get you a bed and a mattress.’ Now that she looked more closely, Millicent realized there was a lot that needed to be done to make the room habitable. ‘We can give the walls a quick lick of paint and I can put up a rail for your clothes.’