The Silver Ladies of London

by Eames, Lesley

  Again, he looked at Lydia, but this time she stayed silent.

  ‘And now you’re rushing to a meeting.’

  ‘Aye.’ He shuffled his feet again and nodded at the door. ‘I should be… um…’

  ‘Good day to you,’ Lady Violet said, and he backed away, sending Lydia a look she couldn’t read.

  She walked him downstairs.

  ‘I could call in tomorrow,’ he said, ‘before I catch my train.’ His fingers played with the brim of his hat. ‘It’s been a while since you wrote.’

  There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes. It puzzled her.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘better get on.’ He nodded by way of farewell and stepped into the mews.

  Lydia walked back upstairs, frowning.

  ‘My father drank like a fish and gambled,’ Lady Violet told her. ‘My mother never had the backbone to stand up to him. It made for a very unpleasant upbringing, and as a gel I had no choice but to endure it. But adulthood brings choices. We can let the past exert its hold over us or we can shake it off and become the people we wish to be. Your father is emotionally deficient. Is your mother the same?’

  ‘I don’t have a mother. Not one that’s worth knowing.’

  Lydia suddenly realised the look on Frank’s face had been yearning. He’d been yearning to see her. But, for all his book reading, he hadn’t the words to express it.

  Had she seen that look on his face before? Lydia couldn’t remember. Bruised and battered by divorce, perhaps a show of indifference had been his way of defending himself from further hurt. Perhaps Lydia’s absence had picked away at that defence to lift the corners and make it visible. Or perhaps it had always been there and Lydia had lacked the perception to see it.

  ‘Well?’ Lady Violet said. ‘What choice are you making? To be a product of your parents’ inadequacies, or a person in your own right?’

  Lydia had chosen to be a woman who took on a man’s world and fought it. She had the heart of a lion when she raced. But where was the lion’s heart when she wasn’t racing?

  The fact was that she’d allowed what Lady Violet termed her parent’s inadequacies to colour her entire life. Lydia might have denounced her parents forcefully in her head but in her secret heart she’d felt that she too must be emotionally stunted and unworthy. But she’d been wrong and the proof of that sang inside her in the form her love for Harry and his for her – a pure, selfless, giving sort of love on both sides.

  It was time to let go of the past and all its limitations, and find the courage to take a chance on a future that was filled with possibilities. Clearly, Lydia had no part to play in her mother’s life and perhaps only a limited part to play in her father’s life, but neither parent had power to diminish her because she was a person with love to give and love to receive. ‘I need to see Harry,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you do. I only hope there’s still time. I left him at my house. Come along. I’ll take you.’

  ‘I need to be fast.’

  Lydia ran down to the garage. Jenny and Ruth must have been listening at the door because they rushed down after her, hauling the garage doors open as Lydia leapt into the Silver Lady.

  ‘We’re coming with you,’ Jenny yelled.

  Lydia screeched onto the cobbles and came to a sudden halt, not just to let Jenny and Ruth jump in, but because she didn’t know where Lady Violet lived. ‘Blast!’

  She was halfway out of the car when Lady Violet bustled through the office door and got in beside her, beckoning her chauffeur to follow as best he could. ‘I’ll direct you,’ Lady Violet said, and Lydia set off with a roar.

  But soon they were stuck in traffic. Lydia fussed and fretted, then took a deep breath and drove up an alley, bursting out onto a clear street. Coming up against more traffic, Lydia seized a split-second chance to overtake a lorry, then raced down a side road.

  They reached Belgravia and Lady Violet pointed ahead. ‘The house by the lamp post.’

  Lydia swerved to the kerb and ran to bang on the door.

  A butler appeared, looking affronted by the peremptory summons. ‘Really, Miss, I—’

  ‘It’s all right, Havers.’ Lady Violet puffed her way up the steps. ‘This young woman is with me. Is Mr Harry still here?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Madam. He left to catch the boat train.’

  Lydia wanted to scream. Instead she forced herself to think. ‘Which station?’

  ‘Waterloo, Miss.’

  Lydia ran back to the car, Lady Violet hastening after her. No directions were needed now. Lydia’s mental map of London unfolded inside her head and, cutting corners, she crossed the Thames and reached Waterloo within minutes. She jumped out of the car with the engine still running. Jenny and Ruth would look after the Silver Lady and Lady Violet too

  The station was busy. So very busy. Lydia grabbed the arm of a passing porter. ‘Which platform for Southampton?’

  He pointed. ‘Over there, Miss.’

  She set off running again, jumping over someone’s trunk.

  ‘Ticket, Miss?’ the guard asked, and Lydia was reminded of the day at Ruston Station when Grace hadn’t got a ticket. But that had been exciting. A lark. And Grace could have caught a later train. This was deadly serious. If Harry returned to America, he might be lost to Lydia forever.

  ‘I’m not travelling,’ she told the guard.

  ‘Then you’ll need a platform ticket.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s too late anyway, Miss. The train’s leaving.’

  No, no, no! ‘It can’t leave,’ Lydia told him, but he closed the gate and a guard on the platform waved a flag. There was a hoot. A hiss of steam. And someone looked out of a window as the train began to move. Someone tall with dark hair flopping over a smooth forehead

  ‘Harry!’ Lydia yelled.

  Had he heard?

  She vaulted over the gate, ignoring the protesting cry of the guard, and ran along the platform. ‘Harry!’

  He was no longer at the window. Damn! The train was picking up speed and taking Harry with it.

  But a carriage door opened. A case was flung out. A bag followed. And then Harry leapt down.

  Lydia flung herself at his chest. ‘Don’t go, Harry. Please don’t go.’

  He gathered her to him and kissed her. Very thoroughly. It was delicious. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said.

  The platform guard was unimpressed. ‘That was foolish behaviour, sir. You could have been hurt.’

  ‘Not half as hurt as I would have been if I’d ridden away from the girl I love,’ Harry told him. ‘The girl who’s going to marry me.’ He looked at Lydia. ‘I hope?’

  She nodded and he sent her a smile that beamed warmth. How utterly lovely it was.

  ‘Most gentlemen consider it sufficient to get down on one knee to propose, sir. They don’t find it necessary to risk life and limb.’

  ‘That would be far too dull for our taste.’

  Harry slung the bag over his shoulder, picked up his case and wrapped his free arm around Lydia, walking along the platform and back into the station hall. It felt strange but wonderful, and if Harry didn’t care that he was making an exhibition of himself by embracing her in public, why should she?

  ‘Just so you understand,’ she said, because it all seemed too good to be true, ‘I don’t darn socks, fetch slippers or prepare delicious meals.’

  ‘Just so you understand, I don’t notice hairstyles, new dresses or fancy table arrangements.’

  Realising Lady Violet was in the hall, they came to a halt in front of her.

  ‘Most satisfactory,’ she said, and her granite face almost softened. ‘Most satisfactory indeed.’

  Fifty-one

  The letter was so typically Lydia that Grace smiled despite her aching heart.

  I’m going to marry Harry as he isn’t so very bad, though I hate the thought of going through one of those stupid weddings where everyone gawps at you and makes you feel a fool. I don’t see why I have to bother w
ith a wedding at all, but Jenny and Ruth insist it would be a terrible disgrace to live with Harry without one. I won’t agree to a lot of fuss, though. Anyway, I’ll let you know when it’s going to take place.

  Anyone who didn’t know Lydia could be forgiven for thinking she was lukewarm about her marriage. Grace knew happiness would be glowing inside her.

  There was more.

  My father came to Silver Ladies. Twice. He wants to come to the wedding too, so I suppose I’ll have to invite him.

  Grace was thrilled for her. But she felt a shaft of pain when she read Lydia’s next words.

  That friend of yours did a good job with the car. You can’t see the damage at all and it’s been running as well as ever which is just as well as bookings are coming in from all directions.

  Owen. Being one hundred miles away hadn’t weakened Grace’s feelings for him in the slightest.

  I did your friend a favour in return. We got a booking for more people than could fit in the Silver Lady and persuaded the extra people to travel in one of his cars. We drove in convoy and he actually managed to keep up. He’s got some of our business cards and we’ve got some of his in case we can help each out again.

  Grace was glad to think of Owen helping her friends, though it would be torture to keep hearing about him.

  Ruth had written to say she was delighted for Lydia, but Grace suspected she was feeling left out and lonely now both Lydia and Jenny were engaged. She was probably worried about the future too because marriage might take Lydia as well as Jenny away from Silver Ladies, and where would that leave Ruth? Not, Grace hoped, driven back to Ruston, lovely though it would be for Grace to have a friend close by.

  Ruth must also be feeling afraid. She’d mentioned nothing of Vic’s threat to make her pay for thwarting him, but Grace had heard of it from Lydia and Jenny.

  Ruth is being brave, but she’s more frightened than she admits,

  Jenny had written.

  She jumped higher than the roof when Owen walked up the mews to say hello because she hadn’t see him coming. He was taken aback, so Lydia told him about Vic and he promised to keep a lookout for any trouble. He also wished you well in clearing our names.

  Owen again. And another squeeze to Grace’s heart. But she was glad to know there’d be another person watching out for Ruth’s welfare. It was kind of him to wish Grace well too, though perhaps he was simply keen for her to be established far away from him.

  Lydia had written in blunter terms.

  That friend of yours is patrolling the mews every night before he goes to bed. He was livid when he heard about the trouble Rabley had caused and I think he’ll tear the arms and legs off him given half a chance. So will Harry and I. Rabley will be a fool to show his face here.

  Would that stop him, though? Grace didn’t want to make more of the threats than common sense justified, but what was too much and what was too little? She hoped to have a clearer idea after her appointment with old Mr Rabley later that day. She also hoped to know how he’d behave to the Turners if Vic were to be exposed. Ruth’s brothers certainly could help their parents if they were put out of their house, but would they? And what would be the consequences to Ruth?

  Mr Rabley had been away from home the first time Grace telephoned his house. The second time his maid had called him to the phone.

  ‘Forgive me if my memory isn’t what it was,’ he’d said. ‘Have we met before, Miss Lavenham?’

  ‘We haven’t met, but I’d like to speak to you about your son, Victor.’

  A moment passed and, when he answered, his voice sounded tired. ‘Very well. Will tomorrow afternoon be convenient?’

  ‘It will. Thank you.’

  Getting ready to keep the appointment, Grace eased her feet into her shoes carefully, not wanting to rumple the newspaper she was using to cover a hole in one of the soles. There wasn’t any money for the cobbler. There was money for hardly anything.

  To stretch the pennies, Grace was buying the stale bread and limp vegetables the shops had left at the end of the afternoon. Already her clothes were looser because she was giving the best food to Gran and taking little for herself. If Mr Rabley didn’t— but it would be foolish to panic prematurely.

  She kissed Gran’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Gran started to speak but broke off coughing.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Gran insisted, but it was far from nothing. Damp Cutler’s Row might be the death of Gran.

  In contrast, the Rabley house was a large Victorian villa. A maid answered Grace’s knock and showed her into a parlour.

  ‘Mr Rabley will be here presently.’

  It was a traditional room that looked unchanged since Queen Victoria’s day. The furniture was dark mahogany, the sofas upholstered in red plush with white antimacassars on their backs. There were aspidistras in brass pots, china ornaments and numerous photographs. Mr Rabley arrived before Grace had a chance to see if any of them featured Vic.

  ‘Miss Lavenham.’ He shook Grace’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me.’

  He looked to be in ill health, which wouldn’t make her task easier. In fact, Grace wondered if she should mention his son’s dishonesty at all.

  ‘Take courage, Miss Lavenham.’ There was a wry glint in his eyes. ‘You’re here about my son so I can guess that what you have to tell me won’t be pleasant. Don’t spare my feelings. You won’t shock me into a collapse.’

  He gestured her to a sofa, then sat opposite her.

  She told him about both the necklace and the blackmail, and was relieved when he heard her without interruption.

  ‘I reduced Victor’s allowance in the hope of encouraging him to live more usefully by finding employment,’ he finally said. ‘I hadn’t realised he’d turned to serious crime to fund his wasteful way of life, but perhaps I should have expected it. What is the name of the tenants you’re trying to protect?’

  ‘The Turners. They live on Crane Street.’

  ‘I won’t evict them if you expose Victor and report him to the police. Perhaps I should have reported him years ago when he first began petty pilfering and lying. I told myself he was suffering after his mother’s death and needed a chance to redeem himself, but I wonder if I just couldn’t bear the shame. Life is strange. Eunice Turner is an obnoxious woman, yet, from what you tell me, she’s produced a daughter to be proud of. I tried to be a good parent but produced Victor.’

  ‘Your son made his own choices,’ Grace pointed out because, unlike Victor, Sidney Rabley gave every impression of being a man of principle.

  ‘He certainly chose to damage your reputations. Go and clear your names with my blessing. Victor’s disgrace will cause my family pain, but a wrong was done and justice requires it to be righted.’ He winced suddenly and put his hand to his chest. Grace jumped up but Mr Rabley stayed her with his free hand. ‘Angina,’ he explained. ‘Nothing to do with your revelation.’

  Was he saying that just to spare her feelings? Grace felt guilty anyway. ‘Are you sure I can’t fetch help?’

  ‘Quite sure, thank you. I see you have another question, so please ask it.’

  ‘Victor told Miss Turner that he’d make her regret thwarting him,’ Grace said.

  ‘You’re afraid he might use violence? Hmm. Victor has lied, cheated and stolen, but I’ve never heard of any violence, though I don’t claim to know all of my son’s inclinations. If he has any sense, he’ll put as much distance as possible between himself and the girl who can incriminate him in a crime. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch with me again if I can be of service, Miss Lavenham.’

  ‘But now you need to rest,’ Grace guessed. ‘Thank you for your understanding, Mr Rabley. I wish you well.’

  Grace had three thoughts running through her mind as she walked away from the Rabley house. She needed to find work, she needed to protect Ruth and, if possible, she’d like to save the nicer Rableys from public disgrace.

  As far as finding work was concerned, a
ll she needed was a reference from Doctor Arleigh. If she explained everything to him he might reconsider his previous refusal, especially if Mrs Arleigh never got to hear about it. Once Grace was in work she’d have no need to drag the Rabley name through the mud locally.

  Vic still needed to be reported to the police to protect Ruth and any other victims, but the Rabley name might escape unscathed in Ruston if enquiries – and hopefully capture – took place in London.

  Deciding her first step should be to approach Doctor Arleigh, Grace set off for the Post Office to use the telephone. She was amazed when his car passed her and pulled into the kerb further along the road. It would save time and the cost of a telephone call if she could catch him now.

  Hastening towards him, Grace came to a sudden halt when she saw him helping his wife out of the car. But it was too late to turn away because Doctor Arleigh had already seen her. So had Mrs Arleigh.

  It was vexing, but Grace wasn’t going to scuttle away like a real criminal. She straightened her shoulders and walked forward. ‘Doctor Arleigh. Mrs Arleigh.’

  Doctor Arleigh smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Lavenham. I heard you went to London.’

  ‘I returned to look after my grandmother. I’m also here to clear my name now I know who stole the necklace.’

  ‘Oh?’ Doctor Arleigh looked genuinely interested. Pleased, even. ‘Who was it?’

  Why not tell him? ‘It was Victor Rabley.’

  ‘Sidney Rabley’s son?’ Mrs Arleigh demanded sharply.

  ‘The very same.’

  Mrs Arleigh’s bosom swelled. ‘It’s wicked to make accusations against respectable people without evidence.’

  This from the woman who’d made accusations against Grace, Jenny, Ruth and Lydia without evidence. The irony wasn’t lost on Doctor Arleigh. His wife might have one rule for the rich and another for the poor, but he had a fairer sense of justice.

  ‘I remember Victor Rabley as a boy,’ he said. ‘I caught him going through the pockets of the overcoat I’d left in the hall one time when I was attending his mother. He said he was looking for sweets, but I thought he was looking for money.’