by Jenny Holmes
Poole’s gaze didn’t deviate. ‘What makes you think you can carry on dishing out the orders, Phyllis?’
‘Because that’s the way it’s always been.’ She circled around the back of Poole until she came within his sight line. ‘Come along, Vincent, let’s not waste time. We’ve already agreed on how to keep this one quiet.’
Poole’s face darkened. ‘That was before we had coppers swarming all over the place.’
‘All the more reason to put our original plan into action.’ She came closer. ‘But not here. We don’t want a repeat of the Sidney situation.’
‘You mean, you don’t want it. You’re expecting me to do all this in broad daylight, drive her out to Devil’s Leap and push her over the edge?’
Poole’s resentment broke through in a sharp jab in Phyllis’s direction.
Millicent groaned as Poole’s fist almost made contact with its target. Phyllis Parr’s eyes widened and she gasped.
He put his fists up in front of his face again, shifting position to bring both women within range. ‘No, Phyllis – I’ve had a bellyful of taking orders from you.’
She stood her ground and kept her composure. ‘Vincent, listen to me. You can easily keep her here for a few hours. Tie her up and use a gag if necessary. Wait until after it gets dark before you move her.’
As the pair described how she would meet her end at the remote beauty spot, Millicent held her breath. She cowered in the corner, aware that the smallest movement from her would be enough to make him explode into violence once more.
‘Sidney was the same,’ he muttered. ‘Do this, do that. Jump through this hoop then that.’
‘This isn’t the time for us to fall out, Vincent.’ Still Phyllis showed no sign of being intimidated. ‘You must stick with the plan.’
Millicent cringed. Couldn’t she see that Poole was teetering on the edge? The brutal gangsters’ weapon could break jaws, crush ribs, smash through skulls if used with enough force.
Tiny muscles in his cheeks twitched. ‘Nothing changes – Lord and Lady Muck dish out the orders while I do the dirty work.’
‘I’m only reminding you of what we agreed—’
‘Well, don’t.’ He cut her off with another flick of his fist. ‘You hear that, Millicent? Phyllis is sticking to the plan to push you over the cliff so she won’t have to redecorate all over again.’
Millicent shuddered as he crouched forward and crept towards her then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You can’t trust them, you know.’
She shrank away but he grabbed her arm and jerked her back.
‘The trouble is – they’re the ones holding the purse strings. And I’ll let you in on something else – they don’t always pay up when they should.’
‘Please, don’t!’ Millicent felt his breath on her cheek. His lips were against her ear.
‘Take Sidney, for instance. The rotten bugger owed me five bob for ferrying Clare Bell around. I ask you – five measly shillings.’
She tried to put her hands to her ears in a futile attempt to block out the rest of his cold-blooded account.
‘I put it to him nicely – pay me what you owe me. But he refused point-blank. He gave me no choice. Ask Clare – she was there.’
Millicent groaned again and put her hand over her mouth, catching sight of Phyllis Parr’s angry face as she finally realized that Poole had spun out of control.
‘Vincent – enough!’ she commanded.
Poole turned on her with renewed fury. He lashed out and punched her on the side of the head. One blow – the sound of metal against bone. She staggered then fell senseless on to the bare boards.
Horrified, Millicent tried to stand up but her legs refused to carry her. She had to crawl across the floor towards them. ‘Stop. Stop!’
There were noises in the salon below – shouts and the sound of footsteps rushing upstairs.
Phyllis was slumped on the floor, eyes closed, her necklace broken and pearls scattered everywhere. Poole had his fist raised for a second blow.
Millicent reached him and wrapped both arms around his legs, using all her remaining strength to drag him down. He toppled and fell on top of his victim, taking Millicent with him.
For a second she was able to use her weight to hold him down. But then he was writhing free, swearing, lashing out with his fists, when Douglas rushed in, bent over him and locked one arm behind his back. He pinned him down with his knee.
Wilf and Norma were there too, crouching beside Phyllis Parr while downstairs in the salon, a woman spoke into the phone. ‘Agnes, this is Cynthia Ambler. Send the police and an ambulance to Sylvia’s Salon on George Street. Hurry!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
There was comfort in familiar objects – the clock on the mantelpiece, the green and orange rug that covered the cracked linoleum, her sewing machine in the corner of the room. And relief at hearing friends’ voices. Millicent sat at her kitchen table, glad that Norma and Cynthia were still with her in the house.
‘It goes to show – whatever else you say about Ruth Ridley, her heart is in the right place.’ Norma had told the others about the supe’s efforts earlier that afternoon to have Mrs Parr arrested. ‘No one asked her to do it, but once she’d sent Cynthia home, she pulled out all the stops.’
‘Is it true that she’ll testify in court?’ Cynthia asked as she came into the room. She’d been upstairs and put on her blue and white daisy frock, glad of the chance to get her hands on a change of clothes at last. She’d come back down in time to hear Norma telling Millicent about the supe’s part in the recent arrests.
‘She promised Douglas she would take the stand.’ Norma kept a wary eye on Millicent. She must be feeling bruised and sore, never mind reeling from the shock she’d suffered. Norma wouldn’t blame her if she were to duck out of coming down to the Green Cross for a quiet celebration.
‘Yes, but will Ruth take back the complaints she filed against us?’ Millicent wondered, tapping her fingernails against her teacup. She was gradually coming round and was relieved to see that Cynthia was treating the place like her own again. ‘I mean – are we still suspended or not?’ she asked Norma.
Her friend cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t know. I reckon we should turn up at the exchange on Monday and see what happens.’
‘Shall we?’ Millicent smiled at Norma’s cheek. ‘They can’t sack us now, can they? Not now we’ve got the proof that Clare is innocent.’
‘Yes, we did it.’ Cynthia sat down at the table opposite Millicent. ‘Or rather – you did it.’
‘We did it between us,’ Millicent insisted. ‘No arguments – it was a team effort.’
They sat for a while in silence, taking in the full implications of what they’d managed to do – three friends working together on Clare’s behalf.
‘I’m just glad you’re all right,’ Cynthia assured Millicent at last. ‘I was worried sick when I couldn’t talk sense into you, then afterwards trying to find Norma to see if she could stop you.’
‘Which is harder than trying to stop an express train,’ Norma interjected.
Cynthia agreed. ‘It was only when I ran into Wilf that I calmed down a bit.’
‘Enough to listen to him and go straight down to the police station,’ Norma explained. ‘That’s where they ran into me and Douglas. We all left for George Street together.’
‘You are all right, aren’t you?’ Cynthia shuddered to think what Poole might have done to Millicent if he hadn’t been prevented.
‘You heard what the ambulance man said – he gave me the all-clear.’ Millicent would keep going until she dropped rather than admit even to herself how terrified she’d been.
‘At least you’re better off than Mrs Parr. They think Poole has cracked her skull, not to mention knocking out a few teeth when she landed.’ Norma realized she didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the woman. ‘If I say I’m glad, does that make me a hard-hearted so-and-so?’
‘Not in the least. Anyway, i
t’s all thanks to you two that I didn’t end up like her, or worse.’ Millicent reached across the table and squeezed their hands.
‘No more rushing headlong?’ Norma squeezed back.
‘Not for a while at least,’ Millicent promised with a wry grin.
‘We mean it.’ Cynthia refused to let go of her hand.
‘On one condition – no, two.’ Millicent turned first to Cynthia. ‘Number one – you stay on as my lodger at least until Christmas.’
‘Agreed.’ Cynthia held on tight and grinned.
‘Number two.’ Millicent looked at Norma. ‘You don’t let being engaged get in the way of nights out with Cynthia and me.’
Norma laughed. ‘As if I would.’
Millicent began a list. ‘Friday nights at Health and Beauty for a start.’
‘Count me in.’
‘Me too,’ Cynthia agreed.
‘A visit to the flicks at least once a month.’
‘Agreed.’ Two voices spoke as one.
‘Sunday-morning rambles up the Dales.’
‘Only if it’s fine.’
‘Only if Wilf can come too.’
‘No men allowed,’ Millicent told Cynthia firmly. ‘Oh and by the way, I have to admit that Wilf Evans is turning out miles better than I expected.’
Norma broke the circle of hands by standing up and whooping. ‘Stop the press. Millicent Jones admits she was wrong!’
‘I’m not saying he’s perfect,’ Millicent pointed out. She winced as Cynthia helped her into her jacket. ‘Ouch. Tell him there has to be a big improvement before he gets full marks from me.’
‘Tell him yourself.’ Cynthia led the way out of the house. ‘He and Douglas are already at the bar, ordering drinks.’
Norma linked arms with Millicent and followed Cynthia down the street. ‘You won’t ever give Wilf full marks if I know you.’
‘Never,’ Millicent agreed, walking stiffly but with her head held high. ‘Ten out of ten is impossible as far as all men are concerned.’
July eased into August. Newspapers reported charges against Phyllis Parr for keeping a brothel and against Vincent Poole for the murder of Sidney Hall. A sense of anticlimax set in – a taxi driver and a brothel keeper were mundane fodder compared to the bewitchingly lovely Clare Bell. The same applied to hairdressers Margaret Allen and Barbara Mason, originally from Bolton, who already had five convictions for prostitution between them.
‘They don’t talk about the injustice of locking Clare up in the first place,’ Millicent pointed out as she turned the pages of the Herald until she came to reports about the Olympic Games in Berlin. Jesse Owens, the wonderful American runner, had won another gold medal, much to Herr Hitler’s disgust.
She sat during her dinner break with Norma and Cynthia in the restroom at the George Street exchange. It was as they’d hoped – the complaints against them had been dropped overnight and they were all happily back in the swing of their switchboard routine.
‘Or the fact that she had to spend a week in hospital after they let her out.’ Norma had followed Clare’s progress with interest. ‘Douglas says it was a slow job, finding new lodgings for her, getting her to eat and sleep normally again. She had to have daily sessions with a psychiatrist to help get things off her chest.’
‘Does anybody know what’s happened to her since she left hospital?’ Cynthia wondered.
‘I do.’ Ruth Ridley’s surprise announcement came from a corner of the room where she sat quietly doing a crossword. ‘At least, I know a little bit.’
Norma, Cynthia and Millicent turned expectantly as the supe put down her magazine.
‘Well? Don’t keep us in suspense.’ Norma spoke for all three.
Ruth dropped her air of mystery. ‘She’s come to live with me, for a start.’
‘You don’t say!’ Norma exclaimed.
‘Yes, I do say. Someone had to keep an eye on her, didn’t they? And I had an attic room going spare. It seemed like the right thing to do.’
‘It is,’ Millicent quickly agreed. After all, Ruth had more reasons than most to hate Phyllis Parr so that her stepping in to help Clare escape from her clutches seemed perfectly fitting.
‘The other thing I know is that Clare has applied for a new job.’
‘Where?’
‘How do you know?’
‘What job?’
‘Here, at the exchange,’ Ruth replied. ‘The general office received an application form. She’ll come for an interview next Monday.’ She revelled in their surprise as she stood up and headed towards the door. ‘What’s wrong, girls? Don’t stand there with your mouths open. It’s quite clear that, given the right training, Clare Bell will make an excellent telephone girl.’
‘But …’ Cynthia chased after her. ‘Who’s leaving?’
‘Yes. Where’s the vacancy?’ Norma insisted on finding out. ‘Is it Molly?’
‘No, not Molly.’
‘Brenda?’
‘No.’ Ruth swung the door closed behind her, leaving only Cynthia, Millicent and Norma in the room.
‘Who then?’ Cynthia turned to Millicent, whose expression was an unexpected mixture of secrecy and excitement. ‘Not you!’ she exclaimed with a stab of alarm.
Millicent burst out laughing. ‘The thought of leaving did cross my mind.’ In fact, she’d come across a newspaper advert for a job in York that had caught her fancy, and another at the new exchange in Holborn. She’d been tempted – a fresh start in pastures new. But the lure of the big city had quickly faded and she’d settled for something closer to home.
‘No, not me,’ she confessed. ‘Agnes is the one who’s leaving to start a new job in Leeds and I’m promoted to take her place. That leaves the switchboard vacancy that Clare is aiming to fill.’
Cynthia’s jaw dropped another inch. ‘You’re stepping into Miss Mouse’s shoes?’
‘Here in George Street,’ Millicent confirmed. She buttoned her jacket and straightened her skirt. ‘I’m single and fancy free, aren’t I? What’s to stop me from climbing up the work ladder when I get the chance?’
‘You’re a dark horse, Millicent Jones.’ Norma closed Cynthia’s mouth for her by lightly tipping her under the chin then she turned and thrust her face close to Millicent’s. ‘Are you honestly and truly moving up to supe?’
‘I am!’ she declared merrily as she shepherded Norma and Cynthia out into the foyer. Sunshine flooded across the marble floor. ‘So come on, girls – it’s time to take the lights. Chop-chop!’
About the Author
Jenny Holmes has been writing fiction for children and adults since her early twenties, having had series of children’s books adapted for both the BBC and ITV.
Jenny was born and brought up in Yorkshire. After living in the Midlands and travelling widely in America, she returned to Yorkshire and brought up her two daughters with a spectacular view of the moors and a sense of belonging to the special, still undiscovered corners of the Yorkshire Dales.
One of three children brought up in Harrogate, Jenny’s links with Yorkshire stretch back through many generations via a mother who served in the Land Army during the Second World War and pharmacist and shop-worker aunts, back to a maternal grandfather who worked as a village blacksmith and pub landlord. Her great-aunts worked in Edwardian times as seamstresses, milliners and upholsterers. All told stories of life lived with little material wealth but with great spirit and independence, where a sense of community and family loyalty were fierce – sometimes uncomfortable but never to be ignored. Theirs are the voices that echo down the years, and the author’s hope is that their strength is brought back to life in many of the characters represented in these pages.
Also by Jenny Holmes
The Mill Girls of Albion Lane
The Shop Girls of Chapel Street
The Midwives of Raglan Road
and published by Corgi Books
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Corgi Books
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Jenny Holmes 2017
Cover photograph: women © Jonathan Ring;
background © Ray Evans / Alamy Stock Photo;
sky © Evgeny Karandaev / Shutterstock.
Cover design by Becky Glibbery / TW
Jenny Holmes has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473542327
ISBN 9780552173650
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
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