Not that she could agree with the actions of the Northumbrian martyr, Emily Davison, who had tried to stop the King’s horse at Derby in June and been killed, or all the bombings of property this year, but with public meetings by suffragettes banned by the Government and other restraints aimed at muzzling free speech by the female of the gender in place, women were getting more and more militant. There were men in every strata of society who considered women inferior mentally, physically and spiritually, and half of them were frightened to admit they might be wrong.
And then, as though to prove the last thought, Connie felt a hand stroke the back of her neck as a male voice behind her said thickly, ‘Reading, m’dear? You don’t want to bother your pretty little head with books, now then.’
‘Colonel Fairley.’ Connie managed to keep the groan out of her voice as she spun round and rose quickly, but it was an effort. Colonel Fairley was a distant relation of Harold Alridge and always stayed at the Grand when he visited Sunderland, which fortunately was infrequently, but since Connie had first met him on his arrival at the hotel three days before, the portly, bulbous-nosed military man had made numerous advances to her, all of which she had politely and firmly rejected. It didn’t help that the Colonel had free run of the hotel, often sitting for hours in the office with Harold or appearing in the kitchens or elsewhere at the oddest moments. He seemed to appear like a rabbit out of a hat when she least expected it, but that wouldn’t be so bad if he would just keep his hands to himself.
Connie forced herself to smile coolly as she turned from slipping the book into her cloth bag which had been hanging over the back of the wooden chair, and her voice was circumspect as she said, ‘Is there anything you require, Colonel Fairley? I trust the early morning housemaid brought you your tea?’ She had actually seen Agnes preparing the tea-trays when she had first arrived that morning so the question was rhetorical, but it gave her the opportunity to get things back to a more formal footing.
‘It arrived on the dot m’dear, on the dot.’ The Colonel’s pale-blue, pink-rimmed eyes were moving all over her as he spoke, their expression lascivious. ‘You young gels know how to look after a fellow, no doubt about it.’
Ugg, but he was a revolting man! Thank goodness he was only staying for two weeks; hopefully they wouldn’t see him for another twelve months after that. For Lucy’s sake she didn’t want to cause any unpleasantness by complaining, but Mary had told her that all the girls were wary of the Colonel, and even Mrs Pegg was distrustful of the manager’s relation after he had nipped her backside. ‘Mind you,’ Mary had continued, her eyes brimming over with laughter, ‘I said to Biddy he deserves a medal for that one, either that or a strong pair of glasses. The man’s got to be desperate or half sharp.’
Connie looked at the Colonel now and aimed to make her voice brisk as she said, ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, Colonel, I’ve things to do.’
‘Of course, m’dear, of course, but how about a little drink later, eh? I enjoy a little tipple before my dinner, don’t you know.’
‘We haven’t even served breakfast yet, Colonel.’
‘True, but the day’ll be galloping away before you know it.’
‘I’m sorry, but I thought I had made it quite plain yesterday that the hotel does not encourage the staff to liaise with the guests socially.’
‘Ah, I see your point, m’dear, but no one will know if you come to my room now will they. I always keep a bottle of this and that by me, and we can get to know each other a bit better.’ He was sweating slightly, and as a crumb of something or other from his moustache fell on to his bottom lip a thick red tongue flicked out and took it into his mouth.
Connie just managed to suppress a shudder. ‘I don’t think so, Colonel,’ she managed evenly.
‘Now that’s where you go wrong if you don’t mind me saying so. A high-spirited little filly like you needs a bit of fun now and again, and I know how to treat a gel. Got quite a name for meself in some quarters.’
She didn’t doubt that for a minute. ‘I’m sorry but I have to adhere to hotel policy.’ Her voice was cool now, with an edge to it, and something in the florid face in front of her hardened before the Colonel swung round on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.
Had she offended him? She hoped so, she thought wryly. Perhaps he’d leave her alone now. She had more than enough on her plate without worrying about a lecherous old goat like him. She reached across for the fast cooling tea and drained the mug as her thoughts made a beeline for the thing that had occupied them for days. Dan Stewart. Would he try and see her again? Did she want him to try and see her again? She wasn’t that stupid, was she? The answer to that one made her shut her eyes for an infinitesimal moment but she couldn’t deny the pounding of her heart.
Oh he wouldn’t anyway – not after she’d been so antagonistic and rude. And that was for the best, absolutely and definitely for the best, she assured herself stolidly. He was part of a family that had treated her and those she loved shamefully; she wouldn’t let herself harbour any romantic inclinations towards him. It would be like consorting with the enemy. And there was Stewart blood running through his veins just the same as there was through his brother’s, that John, and if ever there was an evil so-and-so John Stewart was one. Although Dan wasn’t like his brothers. . .
Here her thoughts were cut off by the exclamation in her mind that yelled, Enough! Enough of that. The last thing she wanted was anything at all to do with any of the Stewart clan.
So why had he been on her mind every minute since that evening just before Christmas? Whatever she had done since, even when she and Mary had taken the huge hamper along to Mary’s parents on Christmas Eve, and when they’d gone to Midnight Mass and it had been so beautiful, and . . . oh, just all the time, he had been there. And she had to claim victory over this, she had to. Her thoughts were bursting to have free rein again but she forced them under lock and key, jerking her chin upwards and narrowing her eyes. She could do this, it was simply a matter of will. Everything in life boiled down to that really. She knew what she wanted in the next few years – a home of her own, bought and paid for, and the fulfilment of her dream of a little business where she, and others, could work in harmony and really make a go of something.
She liked her work here, she did, and she was so grateful to be out of the workhouse, but she ached for more. She supposed she was ambitious. Her chin moved higher. And she was blowed if she was going to apologise for that, even if it was frowned upon by a society that still insisted women should know their place. Well, she knew her place – or she knew where she wanted it to be at least – and she aimed to get there, however long it took. The sweet jar was getting fatter, and although it might be a slow birthing, she would get there.
And then, as Wilf and Mary walked into the kitchen, Connie’s expression changed and she called, her voice teasing and light, ‘Come on then, come on! The day’s half gone already.’
They returned her smile, Wilf grinning as he snapped to attention and raised his hand in a mock salute. Since the evening before Christmas when she had prompted Wilf to take her friend home he had started calling for them on the way to work, ostensibly to escort them both, but they knew where the real object of his desire lay. He had been bolder since he’d realised she was for him, Connie reflected now as she smoothed her hair and prepared for what was going to be a hectic day. It was as if he’d needed an ally to convince him he could penetrate the formidable armour Mary had in place against the male sex in general. But his boldness was not of the swaggering kind, he was a gentle soul behind all the banter, and if Mary gave herself half a chance she could be happy with Wilf Gantry. And he wasn’t for rushing her which was good. She needed time, did Mary.
Two hours later Harold Alridge was sitting in his leather chair in the office staring unseeingly across the room into the flickering flames of the fire, a piece of paper held loosely in his limp hand. He had had a shock, a bad shock; what he really needed was a good strong tot of brand
y, but it was a bit early in the day for that, he thought dismally, the words of the letter burning in his mind.
‘Dear Sir,’ it had started, the writing small and precise and the ink very black. ‘It has been brought to my attention that the Grand Hotel is at the moment employing a Miss Connie Bell in a position of some authority, namely that of assistant housekeeper. I feel it is my Christian duty to enquire whether higher management have been alerted to this young woman’s sordid beginnings, namely that of her mother, Sadie Bell, being a woman of easy virtue who was well known to the police before her death some years ago. The Grand has a reputation second to none, and I feel this lowering of its normally impeccable standards – especially in view of the fact that children and respectable young women of estimable character are entrusted to its care – is inexcusable. Connie Bell’s mother sold herself on the streets of Sunderland, and I have good reason to believe that the daughter partakes of the same inherent weakness when it suits her to do so. I know of at least one young man this girl has approached on the hotel’s premises in the guise of doing her job, and of the unfortunate liaison that has resulted from this procuring. I am sure you will appreciate that it distresses me greatly to have to acquaint you with these facts, but once enlightened I trust you will act accordingly.
‘I remain, Sir, your obedient servant.’
There was no signature.
The start Harold gave as the door opened in the next instant was noticeable, and as he stuffed the letter under his big blotting pad Colonel Fairley’s voice brought his head jerking upwards, whereupon Harold expelled a long slow sigh of relief.
‘What’re you looking so guilty for, m’boy?’ the Colonel enquired genially, his small eyes moving to the comer of the paper which was poking out of the side of the blotter. ‘You’ve got to do better than that if you want to fool the wife, you know.’
‘It’s nothing like that.’ Harold was flustered and it showed. ‘Good gracious, I’d as soon. . . No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just – well, I’ve got the dickens of a problem to tell you the truth, and I’m not sure what to make of it.’
‘Lucy know?’ The Colonel wasn’t overfond of Harold’s wife; she was one of those women who had a mind of their own, in the Colonel’s opinion, and subsequently were more trouble than they were worth. But Harold thought a bit of her and so the Colonel kept his thoughts to himself.
‘Well that’s the thing you see, that’s what makes this all the more difficult. Lucy likes the girl, she likes and admires her very much, and I have to say I thought the same way myself until. . . But I have to think of Lucy though, I can’t have her exposed to any sort of unpleasantness, can I?’
‘Are you going to continue to talk in riddles or show me that damn thing you’re hiding?’
‘Oh, oh yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ Harold thrust the piece of paper at the stout figure by the side of him as though it was something unclean, which in a way he felt it was. What sort of person wrote something like this without signing their name at the bottom of it? he asked himself grimly. This was malicious and nasty, very nasty, but he couldn’t ignore it. Much as he would like to, he couldn’t ignore it.
There was silence while the Colonel surveyed the neat words covering the fine linen paper, and when the Colonel broke it his voice was casual, even unconcerned, as he advised Harold to do the very thing the younger man had been telling himself was impossible. ‘Ignore it.’ The Colonel narrowed his eyes as he inclined his head to emphasise the words. ‘If you want my opinion, ignore it. You can bet there’s a jealous woman behind this, m’boy, a girlfriend or even a wife who’s had her nose put out of joint in some way. Women can be the very devil. Have you had any cause for concern with the little filly in question?’
‘No, none. She’s never put a foot wrong.’
‘There you are then. Storm in a teacup, m’boy, storm in a teacup. Give it a day or two and you’ll have forgotten all about it, eh? No sense in upsetting the gel or Lucy with something like this now then.’
‘But. . . but if I don’t do something, at least have the girl in here and ask for an explanation, and something happens. . .’
‘What could happen? Ask yourself that, there’s a good fellow. The bounder who wrote the letter isn’t going to come forward now then, not if they haven’t signed it in the first place, and who’s to say you’ve ever received it? If you show it to the gel and she gets all upset like women do, Lucy isn’t going to appreciate it, and if you say the gel’s a good worker . . . Burn it, boy, eh?’ The Colonel walked across to the blazing fire, extending his arm as he raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Eh? Burn it and forget about it, that’s my advice.’
‘Well. . .’ Harold hesitated. ‘If you really think I should.’
‘No question about it, m’boy. Good advice, what?’ So saying the Colonel dropped the piece of paper into the fire where it flared briefly before being consumed by the flames. ‘That’s the ticket. Nasty business but all forgotten.’
Harold nodded, his face clearing. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’ And then more strongly, ‘Yes, I’m sure you are. Thanks, Reginald.’
‘Pleasure, m’boy. Pleasure. Glad to have helped.’
The Colonel seated himself in the other leather chair after bringing it close to the fire, as Harold went back to his paperwork. He lit his pipe and took a few puffs before reaching down to the hearth and picking up a magazine, Good Hounds and Hunting, which he had placed there the day before. But although he had it open on his lap he wasn’t reading it. Who would have thought it? The cunning little baggage! And her so hoity-toity with him too. But if she’d bigger fish to fry. . . Oh, she was a crafty one all right, but fetching. Very fetching. He felt his body stir and breathed in deeply. And he would make sure she knew what she owed him. He expected her to be grateful to him – very grateful – for saving her bacon. The bulge in his trousers was as hard as a rock and he moved slightly, adjusting his position in the chair. Yes, he was looking forward to this. There was something about Miss Connie Bell that got hold of a fellow.
‘You think I’m mad, don’t you, saying I want to see her again after all that’s happened? Be honest, Gladys. You do, don’t you.’
‘Dan, of all people you should know Art and I understand. Look what we had to go through when we first started walking out. Your mam went mad, clean mad, I tell you.’
‘Aye, I know you had a time of it and I’m not making light of that, but this is a bit different, isn’t it. At least you wanted Art, it wasn’t one-sided.’
Yes, this was different. Gladys turned from the parlour window where she and Dan had been standing looking out into the square which was shadowed and still in the winter afternoon. The lamplighter would be round soon and the square looked beautiful when it was lit up. It was her favourite time of the day – twilight – since they had moved to this lovely house next to West Park off Park Road a year ago.
‘You can’t blame her for feeling the way she does, Dan,’ Gladys said softly as she walked across the room and busied herself poking the fire into a blaze. It was bitterly cold outside, the frost already glittering on the snow which had fallen earlier and the pale light of the dying day turning the bare trees into something beautiful against the silver/gold sky. ‘It must have been a terrible experience for a young lass like she was then to have seen such violence, and it sounds like everything went from bad to worse from that point on.’
‘Aye, I know, lass. I know.’ Dan flung himself into a plumply stuffed armchair, raking back his dark hair with an impatient hand. He knew all that, of course he did, but that didn’t exactly help now, did it!
And as though she had picked up on the thought, Gladys said quietly, ‘Go and see her if that’s what your heart is telling you to do. You’re going to do it anyway, I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation.’
‘Am I that transparent?’ He grinned at her, and Gladys smiled back as she said, ‘Aye, you and your brother an’ all. How were things before you left the works to
day?’
‘Strained,’ said Dan cryptically. He had known it was going to be awkward when he and Art went in to work on Monday and he hadn’t been wrong. His father’s will had left the controlling share of the business to Edith, with the rest distributed equally between the five brothers, and to give his mother her due she rarely came to the works or interfered in the daily running of the business. But that didn’t stop John from acting as though he was in control of it all, even though he hadn’t got the business head their father had had. Art was much better in that respect. The specialities of the firm, which met with a continually extending sale, embraced high-class marine engine, cylinder and burning oils, and these were constantly in use by some of the most important steamship lines in the kingdom. Art had arranged that deliveries to any port were greatly accelerated by special railway arrangements to secure speedy shipment.
In addition to their oil specialities, their father had set things up so that the firm held heavy stocks of white lead, zinc white, coloured paints and varnishes, and so on, so that prompt delivery could be guaranteed to the various large works in the district at all times. All in all a most extensive trade had been established together with a well-earned reputation for honourable dealings, although more than once since their father’s demise Dan and Art had had to prevent John taking ‘short-cuts’, which were not only illegal but dangerous and unnecessary. This applied particularly to the heavy goods and ships’ provisions stored in the warehouses, and when one considered that Henry Stewart & Co. were on the Government list and held a contract for the War Office, it was sheer foolishness to attempt to sail too close to the wind. But you couldn’t tell John anything. It was confrontation all the time with his eldest brother, and he knew Art was as weary of it as he was.
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