Dear Mrs. Bird: A Novel

by AJ Pearce

  Lord Overton sounded as if he was speaking to someone entirely beyond reason.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I did. Although not exactly on purpose,’ I added, which made Mrs Bird nearly fall off her chair.

  ‘I object!’ she cried, turning to Lord Overton and looking apoplectic.

  The Chairman raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Lord Overton,’ said Mrs Bird, rustling in her chair. ‘Not only using my name, but abusing my name and that of Woman’s Friend and Launceston Press, with the most ill-informed, dangerous rubbish. I shudder to think what she has told other readers. And in addition,’ she continued as Lord Overton looked as if he might try to speak, ‘she has behaved with an entire lack of morality, worming her way in with senior staff in order to further her career. It really does beggar belief.’

  Lord Overton stared at me over his glasses, said Hmm, and glanced at the report again.

  ‘Miss Lake,’ he said. ‘This reads as a quite extraordinary catalogue of deceit. Extraordinary. Do you have anything to say in your defence?’

  Mrs Bird was always so angry about everything that I had almost become used to it. Today she was outraged, but I had expected that and was anything but shocked. Lord Overton however, was different. Just a few months ago, I had been so thrilled at the thought of getting a job in his company that I hadn’t even listened at my interview. I cared desperately what he thought, but all he knew about me was written on the damning report in his hand. A catalogue of deceit. No wonder he looked at me as if I was a dreadful idiot, a slur on his publishing empire.

  I couldn’t let him think so badly of me. I couldn’t deny the accusations, but I could try to put up a fight as I went down.

  Lord Overton was waiting for an answer. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Sir,’ I said. ‘I would like to say how tremendously sorry I am for all the trouble I have caused. I have apologised to Mrs Bird unconditionally and I realise my actions are indefensible.’

  I carried on without drawing breath in case he thought that was it.

  ‘But, Lord Overton, I really wasn’t trying to be Mrs Bird or do anything that would give her a bad name. I only wrote back to the readers as Mrs Bird said she wouldn’t answer them because their problems were Unacceptable – there’s a very long list of things you have to ignore.’ I threw this in as an aside. ‘Anyway, lots of them sounded so sad and worried and miserable. They’d written in as a last resort in some cases. And some of their problems are just terrible. They’re all trying so hard with everything and their husbands are away or they don’t have their children with them. Or they do, but they feel dreadful about that too, in case they get bombed, which some of them actually have. And they’re tired and . . . and lonely sometimes, and then when that happens, sometimes they fall in love with the wrong man and . . .’

  ‘MISS LAKE.’

  Mrs Bird shouted at the top of her voice. She had leapt to her feet with some agility and to all the world looked as if she might thump me.

  ‘REALLY. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.’

  I had nothing left to lose.

  ‘No, Mrs Bird,’ I said, raising my voice. ‘You’re not being fair.’

  Mrs Bird’s hand flew to her chest as her mouth dropped open.

  ‘I’m really very, very sorry,’ I said quickly to Lord Overton, lowering my voice again and trying desperately to look like a sensible grown up rather than a petulant child. ‘But honestly, sir, I just wanted to help. I might not know much, but I know what it’s like to be young and a bit at sea, and I know what all the other magazines say and do for their readers,’ I said, almost pleading. ‘They answer modern problems. They sell lots of copies too,’ I added.

  I ran out of steam and finished in a despondent heap. I had practised what I had hoped was a well-thought-out and dignified defence and I’d used none of it. This had to be the end.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, which was flung open even before Lord Overton had a chance to snap Come, and Mr Collins hurried into the room. He looked more dishevelled than usual, his hair unwashed and his tie at half-mast. It wasn’t at all the way to attend a hearing like this but I didn’t care. I was immensely pleased to see him.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘Lord Overton, Mrs Bird. I do apologise for being so late.’

  Mrs Bird had What Kind Of A State Are You? written all over her face, but she glowered silently as Lord Overton greeted Mr Collins and cordially accepted the apology. I noted that they appeared to be on familiar, if not exactly equal terms.

  ‘Well, Collins,’ the Chairman said. ‘This is something of a mess, don’t you think? A pretty grim show. Mrs Bird informs me that Miss Lake was originally employed by you?’

  ‘That is correct, sir,’ Mr Collins answered.

  ‘Without consulting me,’ interrupted Mrs Bird.

  ‘I believe, Mrs Bird,’ said Mr Collins, politely, ‘you were out of the office and otherwise engaged for much of the period.’

  ‘Important War Work,’ snapped Mrs Bird, grabbing the opportunity to direct the discussion. ‘Lord Overton, I must raise that Mr Collins is unable to speak without personal bias in this case. I am afraid he has Personal Relations with the accused.’

  Lord Overton’s eyebrows shot into his hair.

  ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Really?’

  I looked at the ground, not knowing what to be more embarrassed about; being referred to as The Accused, which made me sound like a murderer, or the fact that Mrs Bird had just made a rather wild suggestion.

  ‘I believe Mrs Bird is referring to my younger brother,’ said Mr Collins coolly. ‘Miss Lake has met Charles and is writing to him while he is away serving in the army. That’s no secret. I think it’s rather a decent thing actually. It’s damn hard out there. Sorry, sir . . . er, rather hard.’

  Even Mr Collins knew that today it was preferable not to swear.

  ‘Fair’s fair. I’m sure he’s doing a fine job,’ said Lord Overton. ‘Not relevant to this discussion.’ Mrs Bird humphed and was ignored. ‘So,’ Lord Overton said, directly at me. ‘Miss Lake, while I commend the passion with which you speak of our readers . . .’

  My heart jumped. Mrs Bird started to interrupt but Lord Overton held his hand up for silence as my hopes momentarily soared, and then quickly plummeted.

  ‘The fact remains, that you took it upon yourself, without permission, to correspond in Mrs Bird’s name. You must understand that this is entirely unacceptable. However well-meaning your intentions you have damaged the reputation of both your Acting Editress and Woman’s Friend. I really can’t . . .’

  ‘Please don’t sack me, Lord Overton,’ I said in desperation.

  ‘Sir, might I just interrupt?’ said Mr Collins at the same time.

  ‘What?’ said Lord Overton, his patience wearing thin. ‘I do have another meeting. Oh, go on then, Collins, but please keep to the point.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I will.’ Mr Collins nodded. ‘I’ve just come from the Advertising Department. I have some information I think you might like to hear.’ He pulled his journalist’s notebook from his pocket and flipped it open near the back, continuing to talk as he looked for the right page. ‘You see, it would appear that Woman’s Friend is having something of a new lease of life.’

  Lord Overton said Hmm and Go On.

  ‘According to Mr Newton – he’s our revenue man – subscriptions have increased quite markedly in the last two months and readers have given the thumbs up to a number of items Miss Lake has been directly involved in. Several new features of mine have been entirely her idea, and she’s made me up my game on the fiction front too. I won’t bore you with that,’ he added hastily as Lord Overton raised his hand for quiet again. ‘And also—’

  ‘All right, Collins, that’ll do,’ said Lord Overton.

  ‘THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS,’ bellowed Mrs Bird, making everyone jump. ‘Mr Collins is entirely biased. Must I remind you of the appalling, unpatriotic letter printed behind my back last week? A nervy reader given alm
ost an entire page of sympathy? It made it look as if we are working for Hitler. Lord Overton, don’t listen to him.’

  ‘That went in by mistake,’ lied Mr Collins evenly. ‘Advertising revenue is up nineteen per cent,’ he continued.

  ‘Really?’ said Lord Overton, looking interested. ‘Over what period?’

  ‘Last four weeks,’ said Mr Collins airily. ‘We might need to go up a sheet if we can get the paper supplies. Mr Newton thinks we’ve got a good chance to turn things around.’

  ‘Lord Overton, I really must . . .’

  ‘THANK YOU, Henrietta,’ Lord Overton snapped back. ‘Really, I can hear quite well. Now then. Unpatriotic. I don’t think I’d go quite that far. I showed the letter in question to my wife and she thought the response extremely kind. I rather liked the part where it called Hitler a fool.’

  ‘POLI-tics, Lord Overton,’ snapped Mrs Bird, remembering halfway through not to shout. ‘In Woman’s Friend. Where will it end? Bolshevism, that’s where.’

  ‘Bad news for “What’s In The Hot Pot?” ’ said Mr Collins under his breath. ‘Cabbage mostly I’d say.’

  ‘Hardly Bolshevism,’ said Lord Overton, beginning to sound bored. ‘I thought it rather put the lunatic in his place. Now could everyone please keep quiet?’

  Mrs Bird looked as if she might die on the spot.

  We all kept quiet while Lord Overton made a clicking noise with his tongue as he mulled things over. Finally, he spoke again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But the fact remains, Miss Lake . . . oh for God’s sake. Is that my secretary? What is it now?’

  We all looked towards the door. Outside we could hear Lord Overton’s assistant firmly telling someone they could not see him now.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ we heard her state.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ came a female voice. ‘But we really must . . .’

  The door to the office flew open.

  ‘Who the devil is this?’ said Lord Overton, now at his limit.

  ‘Wait!’ I heard myself cry out. And then in a far quieter voice. ‘Wait.’

  There, in the doorway, struggling manfully to keep the door open while trying not to drop a huge, overstuffed postbag, was Clarence.

  And with him, pale, skinny as anything, with a livid scar on her forehead, and leaning heavily on a walking stick, was Bunty.

  Mr Collins strode across the floor and offered his arm to her. Bunty took it and walked slowly with him into the room.

  Bunty was here.

  I let out a half sob, half laugh, unrecognisable mad-person noise.

  I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she was here, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that I was about to get the sack and everything else was a disaster. Bunty was better, or at least on her way to being better, and she was here, and I would get to speak to her.

  All of a sudden, I was scared. I had so much to explain. I couldn’t just run over and say how sorry I was. What if she was here for a reason I hadn’t thought of and not to see me anyway? What if she still hated me?

  ‘Hello, Em,’ said Bunty, as the bravest smile in the world lit up her thin face.

  Ignoring the fact she looked so tremendously fragile, I pushed past Lord Overton and gave her an enormous hug.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. I could feel she was skin and bones under her coat. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Bunty. ‘Honestly. It really is.’

  ‘Would someone please tell me what is going on?’

  Bunty pulled away from me, and with her most charming smile, introduced herself.

  ‘Lord Overton, I am sorry to barge in. My name is Marigold Tavistock and I wrote the letter that was printed in last week’s magazine. The one that Emmeline answered. And this is Clarence, who I met downstairs.’

  Lord Overton was wearing an expression which clearly said I Haven’t A Clue Who Any Of These People Are.

  I stared at Bunty, my mouth open, as she continued.

  ‘Clarence had just delivered this. It’s full of letters, sir. To Woman’s Friend. People liked what Emmy wrote. They, um, liked my letter too.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Clarence, which took everyone by surprise including Clarence himself as it came out in the most magnificent baritone and made him sound as if he was in a Welsh male-voice choir. Astonished, he left it at that and concentrated on staring into middle distance and looking noble to go with his new voice.

  Lord Overton now had the look of someone who had wandered into a modern art exhibition and couldn’t be bothered to pretend any of it made any sense. He narrowed his eyes and looked suspicious. Mrs Bird had been rendered momentarily speechless but had now gone quite terrifically red and was fidgeting and looking as if she was about to lay a great big egg under her feathery coat.

  ‘How,’ said Lord Overton, ‘have so many people seen it? Woman’s Friend has the circulation of an ant. Yes, yes, I know the subs have been going up, but to this extent?’

  Mr Collins shifted uneasily.

  ‘I, er, well.’

  ‘What is it, Collins? What have you done now?’

  ‘Well, sir, I mentioned Miss Tavistock’s letter to a journalist friend at the Press Association,’ Mr Collins said. ‘They thought it rather an interesting angle about young women on the Home Front and wired the story out – honesty and pluck and all that. It’s had quite some coverage. Actually, we came out of it pretty well.’

  ‘Lord Overton, sir, I thought you might like to see some of the letters,’ said Bunty. ‘So I made Clarence bring them all up.’

  I had no idea how Bunty knew about this. I was nearly as bewildered as Lord Overton.

  ‘There will be more to come, I should think,’ said Bunty. ‘Oh, Lord Overton, please don’t sack Emmeline or call the police. She’s been a perfect fool, but she didn’t mean it and honestly, she won’t ever do it again.’

  Bunty looked up at the Chairman and gave him such a sad little smile that I very nearly laughed. I jumped in too, assuring him I would do everything anyone said from now on.

  ‘I’m afraid, ladies,’ said Lord Overton, unmoved, ‘that this is about business, not doe eyes and sad faces, affecting though they are. However, no one will be calling the police. Now, Henrietta, before you say anything, I understand exactly how you feel and I don’t blame you. The whole business is a disgrace. But I won’t have my organisation a laughing stock.’ He glanced at an ornate mantel clock and looked impatient. ‘Arresting a junior would give the competition a field day. And as for the tabloids . . .’

  ‘Lord Overton,’ interrupted a strangled voice beside me. ‘I must protest. This is an outrage. I shall have to resign. The whole affair,’ said Mrs Bird, gathering momentum, ‘is a nonsense. I shall take legal advice.’

  Lord Overton took a deep breath.

  ‘Henrietta,’ he said to her, almost in an aside, ‘you’ve been threatening to resign on a weekly basis since you came back.’

  ‘I may sue,’ said Mrs Bird.

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Lord Overton, mildly. ‘It’s so very nouveau.’

  For a dreadful moment I thought Mr Collins was going to laugh, but he managed to turn it into a cough. Lord Overton could not have been more inflammatory if he had set fire to Mrs Bird’s coat.

  ‘I see,’ she said, mustering dignity from every fibre of her body. ‘In that case.’

  With one final, majestic rustle of feathers and crepe, Mrs Bird swept past us all and out of the room.

  Lord Overton sighed again, not uncheerfully this time.

  ‘Well then,’ he said as the door slammed. ‘Much as this has been a diverting episode and I haven’t had as much fun since my grandfather made me do a week in the post-room in 1889, yes, you may well stare, young man – ’ Clarence forgot to be noble and nearly passed out – ‘this has taken up far too much of my time. Miss Lake. I am not taking this lightly. Mrs Bird is absolutely correct. Your behaviour has been intolerable. Not a complete disaster by the look of the post,
but that’s hardly the point. You cannot go around making up your own rules.’

  ‘No, Lord Overton,’ I said, jumping to attention. ‘Never.’

  ‘You need clear guidance and someone to watch you like a hawk.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But you do seem to have some sort of understanding of the young people.’

  He looked at me thoughtfully.

  ‘And if this response is anything to go by, you could be on to something. Woman’s Friend has been with the family for decades, although, I will admit, perhaps somewhat neglected. I’d rather it didn’t keel over and die. I will discuss this further with Mr Collins. Now please get out of my office, Miss Lake, and take your friends with you.’

  I didn’t move. Mr Collins rolled his eyes at me theatrically.

  ‘You Are Not Losing Your Job Just Yet,’ said Lord Overton, spelling it out as I looked gormless. ‘Don’t come back until Monday.’

  Then he turned to Mr Collins.

  ‘Collins,’ said the Chairman. ‘You’re going to have to take her in hand. And to prove she will knuckle down, I want the circulation doubled in the next three months. Manage that between you and I might allow Miss Lake to stay.’

  ‘In the bag, sir,’ said Mr Collins with a spring in his step.

  Lord Overton looked at me again and lowered his eyebrows.

  ‘Young lady, you are damn lucky. Damn lucky. Now go away and leave me alone.’ He paused and I was sure I saw him try not to smile. ‘And for God’s sake, don’t tell Henrietta I said Damn.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  You Never Gave Up

  I began to thank Lord Overton profusely, but he had already turned his back and was making his way to a tray of crystal decanters. Mr Collins motioned at me to get out before the Chairman could change his mind and as Clarence heaved the postbag back outside and hot-footed it downstairs, Bunty and I followed carefully behind.

  With the door closed behind us, I guided her to a large Chesterfield chair in the waiting area outside Lord Overton’s office. She looked drained and quite horribly frail.

  Lord Overton’s assistant, Miss Jackson, glanced over from where she had returned to sentry duty at her desk. I assumed she was about to tell us to move on, but I was wrong.