The Buffer Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘And now,’ Arthur heaved himself to his feet, ‘I will go back to Ashford. I shall have great pleasure in informing my wife that I still have a son.’

  ‘Aren’t you staying for luncheon, Arthur? It’s all ready.’

  ‘No. Next week, Belle. Next week I’ll come on Sunday and we’ll all have luncheon together.’

  Driving his big car home, Arthur began to feel a little unwell, but it was to be expected, he told himself. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his rotund stomach was beginning to rumble with hunger. And he had had a few shocks just lately. First, finding out that Thomas had disobeyed him and now this. Belle had deliberately deceived him and had kept their son’s existence a secret all this time. And he was incensed that Constance had gone against all his wishes. But at least Thomas would no longer be at home; he was now married to the Ryan slut and living back in the city.

  Arthur Trippet was not a forgiving man and whilst it suited him to acknowledge Richard as his son – and to use him to exact revenge on his legitimate son – he was deeply angry with Belle. He wondered how he could punish her without harming the boy. It would not be easy. And there was this other matter about which the girl – Lizzie Dugdale – had sought him out. She could be very useful to him too. He’d heard of that family name before. Mick Dugdale was fast becoming a notorious name in the area as the leader of a gang, and as a man who ran several illegal activities in and around the city, and who, at the moment, was cleverly avoiding the police. He had now set up as a rival to Steve Henderson’s gang, according to Arthur’s source of information. No doubt the rivalry would one day escalate into street warfare. Arthur had no intention of being on the wrong side of the law; he had his reputation to think of, but if, through an intermediary like Lizzie, he could engineer a few activities that, whilst not causing physical harm to anyone – he had no stomach for that – could cause hardship to those who had crossed him, then he would be satisfied.

  As he drew into the driveway of Riversdale House he could see that Kirkland was still busy attending to the ravages which the wedding reception had left upon the lawn. He glowered at the man, but said nothing. It was not Kirkland’s fault. He’d only been following Constance’s orders. Ah yes, he thought, as he climbed out of his car, today has been a good day all round. And now, my dear wife, I have something to tell you. Something I am sure you will not want to hear.

  Forty-Three

  Arthur found Constance sitting in the morning room, with her embroidery on her lap.

  ‘So,’ she greeted him bluntly, ‘are you here to stay, Arthur, or just to collect your things?’

  He snorted with humourless laughter. ‘If anyone’s leaving this house, my dear, it won’t be me. This is my house, Constance, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘Bought with my father’s money,’ Constance said mildly. She was feeling surprisingly calm whilst Arthur grew red in the face.

  ‘Money that was handed to me at our marriage. It was your “dowry”, to coin an old-fashioned word.’

  ‘Ah yes, our marriage. What a disappointment that has been. If it hadn’t been for Thomas’s birth, I would have said it has been a disaster for both of us. But I have to thank you for our son.’

  ‘Your son, if you like.’ Arthur was shouting now. ‘He is no son of mine. Not now. And you had the gall to use this house for the fiasco of his wedding to that – that slut.’

  ‘Oh, it was more than just that, Arthur. It was a double celebration. Emily’s brother, Josh, married Amy Clark. They had a joint ceremony and a reception here. It was a lovely day. You should have been here.’

  He was glaring at her. ‘I could turn you out, you know. And then where would you be? Homeless, penniless and your reputation in ruins. Your fine friends in the Friendly Society wouldn’t want to know you then. And I doubt Thomas and his new wife would be able to support you.’ He tone became a sneer. ‘They’ll have enough difficulty finding work in the city, if I have anything to do with it.’

  Constance raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, I should do very nicely, thank you, Arthur. I still have a small cottage in Over Haddon and an annuity, which my father was wise enough to set up for me at the time of our marriage. It seems he didn’t trust you as much as you thought. Incidentally, none of the expense of the weddings has come out of your pocket. I paid for it out of my own income.’

  ‘Your income!’ Arthur exploded. ‘Why did I know nothing of this? Anything you have belongs to me.’

  ‘For a businessman, Arthur, you are strangely ignorant of the law. Thanks to the Married Women’s Property Act, I have control over my own assets and, again, thanks to my father’s foresight, I am well provided for.’

  ‘Then you can leave, you can pack your bags and go.’

  ‘I’ll go as and when it suits me, Arthur, and not before.’

  ‘You’ll – you’ll go when I say.’ As Arthur prodded his finger at her, his speech suddenly sounded slurred. He swayed a little and reached towards a chair to steady himself. ‘I am . . . still master in . . . this house.’

  ‘If that is so, why did you not stay and throw your son out for the second time?’

  ‘I – I thought I owed it to you as his mother to have a little time with him. I didn’t realize you would be foolish enough to support his ridiculous marriage and – and make us the laughing stock of the village.’

  ‘I can assure you that is not the case. The villagers enjoyed the weddings. They all came.’ Arthur’s face turned purple, but Constance pretended to ignore it. ‘The Clarks are popular and Walter Ryan is a war hero in the eyes of his neighbours. And as for our son, it seems they all love him.’

  Arthur clutched at the back of the chair. ‘Thomas is no longer my son. Do you hear me? And I have a surprise for you, my dear wife. I have another son: Richard.’

  ‘So you have, my dear. Richard Beauman. Let’s see, he must be about fifteen or sixteen now. Is that right?’

  Arthur gasped and lowered himself into the chair. He gaped at her. ‘You – you know?’

  ‘Oh yes, I know all about Belle Beauman and her son. I even know where she lives, though I have not, as yet, visited her. I presume that is where you have been living for the past few weeks.’

  ‘But – but how did you know about the boy? Even I didn’t know of his existence until this morning.’

  Constance smiled grimly. ‘I made it my business to know. Once Thomas had been born and you had your son and heir, you never came near me again after the miscarriages. I am not an ignoramus, Arthur. Men have their needs, I know that, and so I realized you must be seeking your pleasures elsewhere. You are not the sort of man to consort with street prostitutes and so I deduced that you must have set up a mistress somewhere. It wasn’t difficult to find out the details.’

  ‘A private detective, I suppose.’

  Constance bent her head. Though she had used no such method, she did not disillusion her husband. She had no wish for him to find out from whom she had obtained the information. That might well put the person concerned in a very dangerous position. Certainly she had no wish for harm to come to them.

  ‘Well, you might as well know now. I intend to take Richard into the firm and train him in the administrative side of the business. One day, he will . . . he will . . .’ Arthur made a strange gurgling sound and fell forward, crashing to the floor. Calmly, Constance laid aside her embroidery and rose. She stood over him, looking down at him for a few moments, before ringing the bell for assistance.

  Arthur had had a stroke, but the doctor was sure that he would make a full recovery. His speech was slightly slurred, but that was improving with each day. Other than that, there were no lasting effects.

  ‘Constance,’ Arthur said, seeming to ignore the fact that only hours ago he had ordered her from the house. ‘Please – go to the factory. See Mr Bayes. You know him, don’t you?’

  Constance nodded.

  ‘Ask him to run things until I get back. He’s an able man.’

  ‘Of course I will, Arthur. We m
ust keep the business going; after all, it’s your son’s inheritance.’ With that, she left the room leaving Arthur unsure of the meaning behind her words. Was she just referring to Thomas? Had she meant son’s, singular, or sons’, plural? He couldn’t tell.

  Ernest Kirkland drove Constance to the works in Sheffield in Arthur’s big car. Though Constance used her own little car around the local area, she was not used to driving into the city. Parking in the yard of the factory in Creswick Street, Ernest held open the rear door for her to alight.

  ‘I shall be here most of the day, Kirkland, so please feel free to go into the city. Mind you get something to eat. I will reimburse the cost, of course.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ The man bowed his head politely. He liked Constance – all the staff at Riversdale House did – but he hadn’t a lot of time for Arthur.

  Constance entered the factory and found her way to the offices where she hoped to find George Bayes. Arthur had a rather grand office at the end of a corridor, but, next door to it, George Bayes had his office and next to that was an even smaller office where two men worked at handwritten sales, purchasing and wages ledgers. Beyond that was a room where two women clattered on typewriters.

  Constance tapped on the door to George Bayes’s office. At the invitation to ‘come in’, she opened it and entered. George Bayes looked up from his paperwork and, for a moment, a startled look crossed his face. Then, as she closed the door behind her, he rose and came around the desk, holding out his hands to her.

  ‘Constance, my dear,’ he murmured.

  ‘George,’ she said a little unsteadily, allowing him to take both her hands into his. They gazed at each other for several moments before he murmured, ‘How good it is to see you. It’s been a long time.’

  There was a deep friendship between them – unknown to either Arthur or George’s wife, Muriel – that had existed for years. It was not a physical relationship but there was affection between them that had begun before either of them was married, for they had lived in the same village as youngsters. But life and circumstances – mainly Constance’s dictatorial father – had quashed any hope of the blossoming of romance. But that young love had never died and whilst George in particular had been ‘happy enough’ with his wife and Constance was content with her son and her comfortable lifestyle, both of them often wondered ‘what might have been’.

  ‘Please sit down, my dear. I’ll get one of the girls to rustle up some tea for us.’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Constance said and, removing her gloves, she sat down.

  ‘Nothing’s too much trouble for you,’ he murmured, his eyes twinkling saucily, and Constance laughed. For a few moments, she felt like a young girl again.

  George Bayes had been the son of the village wheelwright and blacksmith and he’d come to Robert Vincent’s farm with his father when wagons needed repair, and Constance would often walk their horses down to the village smithy to be shod. The two youngsters were drawn to each other and for a while they’d enjoyed an idyllic childhood; roaming the countryside, fishing the streams and rivers, tobogganing down the Derbyshire hills on snowy winter’s days. But as they grew older, both sets of parents thought the attachment unsuitable.

  ‘He’s not good enough for you, Constance,’ Robert had declared when Constance was still only fifteen. After that time, one of his farm labourers always took the horses to the blacksmith. Strangely, to both the youngsters’ minds, Alfie Bayes had also been against their friendship. ‘Her old man,’ he’d told the young George, ‘will never let it come to anything, lad, and he’d likely do my business harm. He’s only to put the word about and farmers will take their trade elsewhere.’

  Now, as they both remembered the bond that had been between them, they smiled, a little sadly, at each other.

  ‘Oh, Constance,’ George whispered, ‘why didn’t we run away together?’

  ‘We couldn’t, my dear, we really couldn’t at fifteen. How could we? At that age, as the Bible tells us, I “honoured my father”. I wouldn’t have dreamt of disobeying him. And by the time we were older, things had moved along. Arthur had been “chosen”.’

  George nodded and his voice was husky as he said, ‘I did love you, Constance. I watched you walk out of the church on his arm on your wedding day and I thought my heart would break.’

  Constance rarely cried, but now tears filled her eyes. ‘If only I had known.’

  For several moments, there was silence between them as they gazed at one another. At last, George cleared his throat. ‘So, my dear, what brings you here? Is it because his nibs is ill?’

  Constance chuckled at the nickname George – and she guessed the whole of the factory’s personnel – had given her husband. Then her expression sobered. ‘He has had a lot to deal with just recently, which has resulted in a mild stroke. Nothing serious. The doctor thinks he will make a full recovery, but Arthur asked me to come to see you to ask you to “hold the fort” whilst he takes a few days off. I doubt he’ll stay away long, even though he shouldn’t drive for a while. No doubt he’ll get Kirkland to bring him.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I wouldn’t wish him any harm. In most respects, he’s a good employer, though a little swift in his sackings, if the truth be told, when something or someone doesn’t suit him.’

  There was another pause whilst they looked at each other, drinking in the sight of each other after an absence of several years.

  ‘He’s found out about Richard Beauman,’ Constance said quietly.

  ‘Has he indeed? Is that what caused the stroke?’

  ‘Partly, I suspect, but I think it was also about Thomas.’

  ‘Ah. Of course, there’s that too. How is Thomas?’

  Constance smiled. ‘Happily married to Emily Ryan and back in the city.’

  ‘Yes, I did know. He came once when they first arrived back. He wanted to know if I could help him to find work, which sadly, I was unable to do. You can probably guess why.’

  ‘Arthur has put the word out?’

  George sighed. ‘Mr Trippet has made it very difficult for any of his fellow cutlers to employ Thomas. Your husband wields a great deal of power in this city, Constance. And whilst they’re not exactly afraid of him, they are reluctant to go against his wishes deliberately.’

  ‘That I can believe,’ Constance said wryly.

  George nodded. ‘But I’ve heard rumours since that Emily has set up in business again.’

  ‘Yes, Thomas wrote and told me all about it. Oh George, you should have read his letter, so full of love and admiration for his lovely young wife.’

  ‘I was very sorry to see Thomas go. One day, he would have been a credit to you both as head of this works. And I was sorry to lose Emily’s brother, Josh, too. He was a good worker, though I have to say his progress was slow. He didn’t really take to the work. I think his heart lay elsewhere.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Josh. He’s back in Ashford at his candle making and happily married to his childhood sweetheart. They have a wonderful little boy. They had a double wedding with Thomas and Emily.’ Her voice softened as she said with sadness, ‘I was so sorry not to be able to ask you to join us that day, but I really wasn’t sure whether Arthur would turn up at the last minute. He didn’t, though. I expect he was with Belle. And coming back to Belle and her son—’

  ‘I often wonder if I did the right thing in telling you all about her – and her son.’

  ‘Certainly, you did. It helped me a lot.’

  George was surprised. ‘Really? How? I thought you would be devastated. I pondered what to do for a long time.’

  ‘It relieved my feeling of guilt, George, that I no longer loved my husband. I doubt I ever did, really. Nor him, me. It was a marriage of convenience pushed forward by my father and Arthur’s ambition.’

  ‘If only . . .’

  ‘Don’t, George. Please don’t.’

  He smiled ruefully at her and sighed. Their chance – if there had ever really been o
ne – was long gone.

  ‘There’s something else I think I should warn you about, George. Now that Arthur has disowned Thomas and found out that he has another son – albeit an illegitimate one – I think he will bring Richard Beauman here.’

  ‘To the factory?’

  Constance pursed her mouth and added, ‘I think it’s to punish both Thomas and me.’

  ‘Punish you? Whatever for?’

  ‘Because I defied him. I took Thomas back into our house and I held his wedding reception there too. Arthur is an unforgiving man.’

  ‘You think he’s going to have Richard start at the bottom and work his way up? The way he was making Thomas do?’

  Constance shook her head. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘He intends to start him in the offices so that he can learn the administrative side of the business.’

  George stared at her for a long moment before saying. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I think,’ Constance said slowly, ‘he now intends to make the boy his heir.’

  Forty-Four

  When Arthur was strong enough, he resumed his trips to the works, but only on two or three days a week. George Bayes was managing things quite well, though it was not like having the guiding hand of the owner on the helm. Because his ‘secret’ was now out, Arthur saw no reason to hide his visits to Belle any more and so he had Kirkland drive to her house and sit outside for several hours at a time.

  On his first visit after his illness, Belle could not hide her surprise. ‘I began to think you weren’t coming any more. I thought you were too angry with me.’

  ‘I’ve been ill,’ he told her shortly, making little of what had happened to him. ‘I was very angry with you, at first, but whilst I’ve been recuperating, I’ve had time to think. My son – my legitimate son – has sadly disappointed me by marrying beneath him. I want nothing more to do with him and I care not what happens to him.’

  Belle gasped and stared at him. She could hardly believe the man’s callousness. When he’d first told her that he’d ‘thrown Thomas out’, she hadn’t really believed that it would be long lasting. She’d thought that when his temper cooled, he would make it up with Thomas. Though where that would have left Richard, she didn’t dare think. Probably dismissed as having served a useful purpose for his callous father. If such action had been directed towards her own son, whom Arthur had not wanted and had made no secret of the fact that he hadn’t, then she might – perhaps – have understood it. But to disown the son who had been born in wedlock, the one who had been brought up to believe himself heir to a thriving business, was beyond her understanding.