The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  There was only one deep-rooted unhappiness in her life and it was something which she could never tell Arthur.

  And so she sat in the August sunshine, watching the young people, the ones who were already a couple and ‘walking out’, and the others who were flirting and coyly getting to know each other. Some tentative romances would progress further, others would not. She sighed, narrowing her eyes as she looked about her. Arthur was getting very irritated with her that she had not made any progress after so long, but in all that time she had not seen anyone who seemed to fit Arthur’s description of his son. She’d tried all the parks in the city, but because she had no idea which one Thomas and his girlfriend visited – if indeed they did at all – she could always have been in the wrong one. Belle sighed and lifted her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth. And then, just as she was about to give up yet again, she heard a girlish laugh and turned her head slightly to see a girl and a young man. He was tall with light brown hair and he had a merry face. He was quite smartly dressed, though perhaps not in quite the clothes that the son of a factory owner might wear, but Belle remembered that Arthur had told her he was making young Thomas start at the bottom and that he was working and living in the city. The girl was laughing up at him, her head tilted back. She was a pretty girl, but because she was wearing a hat, Belle could not see the colour of her hair. They were walking towards her on the path that ran in front of the bench where she was sitting. As they neared her, she saw the young man looking down into the girl’s upturned face, smiling gently at something she was saying to him. As they drew even closer, Belle heard him say, ‘We haven’t seen Em and Trip in the park lately. I wonder where they get to?’

  The girl laughed up at him. ‘They want to be on their own, of course.’

  The young man pulled a face. ‘But I like old Trip. We’re still good friends and I haven’t seen him for ages.’

  ‘That’s because Emily wants him to herself.’

  Oh my goodness! Belle was thinking as she overheard their conversation. This isn’t the couple I’m looking for, but it sounds as if they know them. Thinking quickly, she put her hand to her head and gave a little moan. Then she began to sway as if she might fall from the seat. At once, the young couple were beside her.

  ‘Oh madam, are you ill?’ the young man said. ‘May we help you?’

  The girl sat down beside her and put her arm around her as if to support Belle should she faint.

  ‘Is there no one with you?’ The girl glanced around her as if trying to conjure up someone who might be with the woman. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I . . .’ Belle said, making her voice sound weak and shaky. ‘I like to come for a walk in the park on a Sunday, but it’s warmer than I thought, sitting here in the sun and . . .’ She slumped against the girl, who held her firmly from slipping to the ground.

  ‘I should fetch someone to help us,’ the young man muttered.

  ‘No, no,’ Belle said, raising herself as if coming round slowly. ‘I will be all right in a moment, I promise. Maybe if I just rest a few moments longer . . .’

  He sat down on the other side of her. ‘Then you must let us escort you to your home at least. Is it far?’

  ‘Yes – it’s – it’s a fair way.’ Today was only the second time she had come to Weston Park. She reached out a trembling hand and clasped his. ‘You’ve been so kind. Won’t you tell me your names?’

  ‘I’m Josh and this is Lizzie.’

  Belle’s heart sank. She still hadn’t found the right couple and now it was too late to try again today. This kindly pair would insist on seeing her all the way to her home, she was sure, but there would be no harm in that. Even if she felt obliged to ask them in, there was nothing to see there, nothing that could link her to Arthur Trippet. There were no photographs displayed – indeed she didn’t own a likeness of him – and none of Arthur’s belongings were ever left there.

  Steadily, they began to walk back to where Belle lived, one on either side of her, solicitously asking every few moments if she was all right. Gradually, as they walked, Belle pretended to regain her strength. ‘I’ll be all right now, truly. I mustn’t keep you.’ She smiled at them in turn. ‘I’m sure you don’t get much chance to be together. Sunday afternoons must be very precious.’

  ‘We’re just friends,’ the young man said swiftly.

  Lizzie giggled and bent her head towards Belle, saying in a loud whisper that she intended Josh to hear, ‘That’s what he thinks.’

  Belle smiled. Oh, the wiles of young women, she thought, remembering how she had ensnared Arthur.

  ‘We’ll see you safely to your door and then we’ll go,’ Josh said firmly, ignoring Lizzie’s remark. ‘It’s time we were getting home ourselves.’

  At this, Belle saw Lizzie pull a face, but the girl said nothing more until they reached the street where Belle lived. Having reassured themselves that Belle was indeed all right now, the two young people turned away and, as she watched them walk away from her, Belle felt strangely bereft. But she was left with only one thought uppermost in her mind: What will Arthur say? He’d been quite angry last week when, yet again, she’d had nothing to report. The thought was swiftly followed by the realization that not only would he not be pleased, but she would also have to sacrifice yet more of her precious Sunday afternoons.

  Twenty-Three

  ‘Mick says we’re to go and see a Mr Nathan Hawke. He’s a little mester in Broad Lane,’ Lizzie announced two days later. ‘But he’s also got a first-floor workshop in Rockingham Street suitable for us that’s up for rent. We’ll go after we finish at six.’

  ‘You two go,’ Nell said. ‘I – I’ve got to get home. Me mam’s not well and . . .’ She broke off and then, as she turned away, added, ‘I’ll go along with whatever you decide.’ As she walked away, Emily’s sharp ears heard her mutter, ‘I’ve no choice.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Lizzie said, her excitement bubbling when they stopped work for the day. ‘Let’s go and find Mr Hawke.’

  ‘Oughtn’t we to go home first and change out of these mucky clothes?’ Emily said, looking down at her blackened buff-brat. ‘We must look a sight.’

  Lizzie laughed. ‘I think he’s too old to set your cap at, Emily. Besides, in our working clothes, he’ll see we mean business.’

  As they walked along Rockingham Street, Emily wondered where these premises were. There didn’t seem to be anywhere empty.

  ‘Maybe it’s in one of the courts.’

  At the end of the street, they turned into Broad Lane and soon found Nathan Hawke’s little mesters’ workshop.

  Nathan Hawke had been born into the world of cutlery making. His father and his uncle had been ‘little mesters’ and he had carried on their business with his brother, Clifford. When Clifford had died of consumption, Nathan had continued alone. He had been married in his twenties, but his wife had died at the birth of their first child and the baby, a little boy, had only lived a few days. Nathan had never remarried. His work had become his life. He was a kindly man who made friends easily and whose pleasures were simple: a pint in his local on a Saturday night, church on a Sunday morning and, after a long day at work, a meal, an hour reading his favourite books and then bed, to rise the following morning eager to get to his workbench. In the summer, on two nights a week, he would play bowls with his friends. Despite the tragedies in his life, Nathan Hawke was a contented man, though now, as he looked up to see the two young women entering his workshop, he wondered if ‘trouble’ was about to enter his life. He stood up to greet them, but he did not smile and that was quite unusual for Nathan; he was known for his affability and his gentle smile.

  ‘So, which one of you is Mick Dugdale’s sister?’ he asked, as they stepped inside.

  ‘I’m Mick’s sister, Lizzie, and this is my friend, Emily. He’s been to see you on our behalf, I understand.’

  ‘Indeed, he has.’ There was an edge to the man’s tone that Emily couldn’t fail to notice, but even if Lizzie d
etected it, she said nothing but carried on blithely. ‘So, you have a workshop you’re willing to rent to us?’

  ‘I have.’ His words were short, clipped almost. His welcome was not exactly warm or encouraging. ‘I’ll show you. I have two to rent.’ He jerked his thumb up towards the ceiling. ‘A small one above here and one a bit larger in Rockingham Street. That one’s above a grinders’ workshop. Phil Latham rents that off me and I’ve no intention of turning him out. He’s a good tenant and has been there years. The property belonged to my brother, but he died two years ago and, as he’d no other family, it came to me.’

  ‘We’ll look at the larger one,’ Lizzie said promptly, but Emily put a warning hand on her arm. ‘Shouldn’t we know what the rents will be first? We might not be able to afford the bigger one, Lizzie.’

  Nathan glanced from one to the other, but his scrutiny rested on Emily. ‘I’ve – er – agreed to let you have a month’s rent free. Just until you get on your feet.’

  Emily gave him a dazzling smile. ‘That’s very generous of you, Mr Hawke.’

  He nodded, his eyes still holding her gaze. ‘Her brother was very – persuasive.’

  Emily frowned and glanced at Lizzie, as if seeking an explanation, but the other girl refused to meet her eyes. Lizzie cleared her throat and said, ‘Then if we may see the premises, Mr Hawke?’

  He gave a brief nod and turned back to his workbench. ‘Now, where did I put my glasses?’

  The two girls were obliged to wait whilst he hunted around for his spectacles. When he was about to give up his search, he reached for his jacket from behind the door, put it on and then discovered his glasses in one of the pockets.

  ‘Right. I’ll just lock the door and we’ll be off.’

  They walked the short distance along the street and round the corner where Nathan ushered them through a door into a grinders’ workshop. Three men were still working, their machines filling the air with noise and dust. Nathan pointed to a wooden staircase set at the side. ‘Up there,’ he mouthed.

  The three of them climbed the rickety stairs and stepped into a large, first-floor room. There were some bits of old machinery, cobwebs of neglect strung between them, littering the room, though there were no buffing machines that would be useful. The walls were blackened with the dust of years but Emily’s sharp eyes could see possibilities.

  ‘When my brother was still alive,’ Nathan said, ‘we ran both places and the small workshop above my place was occupied by a little missus with a couple of workers, but she retired three months ago and it’s been empty since then.’ He glanced at them. ‘You’re very courageous to be setting up your own business in these hard times.’

  ‘Needs must,’ Lizzie said. ‘Three of us have been given notice at Waterfall’s. We can but give it a try and Emily here has run a little business in Ashford before she and her family moved here at the end of last year.’

  Nathan’s eyebrows rose a fraction as he turned to Emily. ‘Oh, so you haven’t been in Sheffield long, then?’

  Emily shook her head.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he said softly. Then, after a pause, asked, almost tentatively, Emily thought, ‘And how do you like the big, bad city?’

  Emily blinked and met his gaze. She’d thought he was joking, but his eyes were serious. ‘It’s – very different,’ she said carefully and then she answered honestly: ‘In some ways, it’s very exciting, but in others it can be rather – frightening.’

  Nathan nodded slowly and then, for the first time, he smiled, but his smile was directed only at Emily.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute, Lizzie,’ Emily laughed, ‘I know you’re keen, but we need to know what the overheads are likely to be.’

  Lizzie blinked and stared at her. ‘What on earth are those?’

  Emily heard Nathan stifle a chuckle, which he quickly changed into a cough as she said, ‘All the running costs of the business. Rent and things like that, before you even start paying wages.’ She turned back to Nathan. ‘What rent will you charge eventually?’

  With a quick, sideways glance at Lizzie, he said, ‘Not much. I’ll be pleased to have the building fully occupied and used.’

  ‘And other outgoings?’

  ‘I can’t remember off the top of my head, but I’ll write you a list before you give me a final answer.’

  ‘There’s no need for that, we’ll take it,’ Lizzie said adamantly.

  ‘What about the smaller one, Lizzie? Perhaps it would be better to start with that.’ Emily tried to be the voice of reason, of common sense, but Lizzie was carried away on a tide of enthusiasm.

  ‘No, this one will do very well. Don’t be such a worrier, Emily. Mick will help us sort everything out.’

  In a low voice that only Emily heard, Nathan murmured, ‘I’m sure he will.’

  The three girls spent the following weekend cleaning the dusty workshop that had been unused for at least two years and Mick commandeered two of his mates and Josh to deliver three newish buffing machine and one of each of five different types of wheel needed for different processes. ‘Let me know if you want any more of anything, Lizzie.’

  ‘How much do we owe you, Mick?’ Emily asked.

  Mick shrugged. ‘Call them a little present from me to set you on your way.’

  ‘Oh, we couldn’t do that,’ Emily began and Nell agreed. ‘Let us pay you for them, Mick.’

  But the young man was adamant. ‘Not this time, but if I bring you any more, then, yes, all right, I’ll charge you. Right, lads, we’re done here. You coming, Josh?’

  It was an order rather than an invitation and Josh glanced at Emily sheepishly before meekly following Mick.

  ‘Our Mick’s a good friend to your Josh,’ Lizzie remarked, as the door banged behind the four young men.

  ‘Just so long as he doesn’t get him drunk again and let him lose all his money.’

  ‘I’ve told him not to let that happen again, and if there’s anyone Mick listens to, then it’s me. Now, come on, let’s see if these machines work.’

  ‘Where are we going to get work from?’ Nell asked.

  Lizzie waved her hand dismissively. ‘Just wait and see. Mick’s got it all in hand.’

  Emily and Nell exchanged a glance and Emily was sure Nell looked decidedly uncomfortable, but she shrugged and they turned their attention to the machines.

  ‘They’re wonderful,’ Nell declared after a few moments. ‘I just wish . . .’

  ‘What?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  ‘Right,’ Lizzie said firmly as they stopped the buffing machines, which had been connected up to a line shaft with pulleys and belts to run from the engine that operated the grinders’ machines on the ground floor. ‘Now, we’ll go and see Mr Hawke again. Maybe he’ll have some news for us.’

  ‘What sort of news?’ Nell’s tone was sharp.

  ‘He’s going to give us some work to start us off and then he’s going to put the word around for us. Oh you’ll see, we’ll soon be in business. Mr Hawke promised Mick.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Nell murmured.

  As they walked along the street, Emily touched Nell’s arm and they fell a little way behind Lizzie, who was striding ahead, eager to visit Nathan Hawke.

  ‘What is it, Nell, because I know there’s something troubling you? You can tell me. I won’t say anything.’

  Nell sighed deeply. ‘It’s nothing – I’m just being silly, I suppose. But – but I don’t want to get too deeply in Mick Dugdale’s debt.’

  Emily frowned. ‘You mean he’s suddenly going to demand payment for the machines?’

  ‘No – no, not that.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t explain and I suppose it’ll be all right. After all, he’s probably doing it more for his sister than for us.’

  Emily laughed softly. ‘I’m sure you’re right about that. Let’s just be thankful she’s our friend and we’re benefiting too.’

&n
bsp; Nell smiled weakly. ‘Yes, all right.’

  ‘Now, come on. Let’s go and see if Mr Hawke has some work for us.’

  Moments later the three girls were standing in Nathan Hawke’s small workshop.

  ‘Actually, since Ruby retired –’ Nathan jerked his head to indicate the empty workshop upstairs – ‘I’ve been farming my buffing work out all over the place and, I have to say, it’s not been satisfactory. It’ll be good to have it done in the same place.’ He sounded surprised at himself for saying it. He gave a short laugh and then added, ‘I like consistency and I’d like the same person always to do my work. Not too much to ask, is it – considering?’

  ‘Of course not,’ the three girls chorused.

  He glanced at each of them in turn. ‘Now, no false modesty, if you please, ladies. Who’s the best buffer?’

  The girls laughed and both Lizzie and Emily pointed to Nell. ‘She is.’

  ‘Right, then.’ He nodded towards a wooden box on the bench. ‘There’s your first order. Can you do knives?’

  Nell nodded. ‘I learned at my last place – before Waterfall’s.’

  Lizzie beamed. ‘There’s nowt that Nell can’t do, Mr Hawke.’

  For the first week, the three girls were busy with Nathan’s backlog of work. ‘These are a rather special order,’ he explained, ‘and I want them to look like a set.’

  When Emily carried the box of shining knives, forks and spoons back to him at the end of the week, Nathan exclaimed in delight, holding up each item and examining it carefully. ‘These are perfect. Who did them? Was it Nell?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emily said.

  ‘Then I want Nell always to do my work. No disrespect to you and Lizzie, but—’

  Emily laughed. ‘None taken. We told you ourselves that she was the best.’

  ‘And you were right,’ he murmured. ‘I shan’t mind recommending you to my friends and colleagues in the trade now.’ His voice dropped as he muttered, ‘Even without Mick Dugdale’s – er – encouragement.’