Beyond the Sunset

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t let anything come between us.’ She smiled fondly for a moment, picturing Zachary, then changed the subject. ‘Would you like to come into town and help me choose some dress materials? I need to find a dressmaker who can make some up quite quickly. My clothes are all dreadfully shabby.’

  Alice slipped her needle into the edge of the embroidery and put it down. ‘I’d love to come.’

  In perfect accord the two women went out shopping. They chose three lengths of dress material for Pandora, vivid colours that would go well with her dark hair. Afterwards they took them to a dressmaker of whom other ladies spoke well, and there they received a flattering degree of attention.

  But Pandora had definite views on what she wanted. She stared at the fashion plates the dressmaker was showing her. Huge skirts like pyramids. Elaborate trimmings with loops and swirls of braid or little waterfalls of frills peeking out from beneath a scalloped hem. ‘Oh, no! I don’t want such full skirts. Or such fussy decoration. I think they look silly and how would you walk briskly in one, let alone run?’

  The dressmaker blinked at her in surprise. ‘Ladies don’t usually need to walk briskly and certainly not run, Miss Blake.’

  ‘Well, I’m not a lady and I love a good brisk walk. In fact I don’t want a crinoline frame at all. A couple of petticoats, perhaps, with flounces round the hems. That’s as far as I’ll go.’

  ‘But you’d look so good in a fashionable dress with your slender waist and elegant figure.’

  ‘It’d drive me mad to have six yards of skirt hem bobbing around my legs.’ Pandora smiled at her. ‘Don’t waste your time on trying to make me into a fashionable lady, Miss Poulton. I just want to look – reasonable. With nice materials and colours.’

  ‘I can make you whatever you’d like.’ The dressmaker took out a sheet of paper and pencil, staring down at it thoughtfully.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Pandora took the pencil out of her hand and sketched a matching skirt and bodice.

  ‘You draw well.’

  ‘When I have time. Can you do that with the dark green? And change the sleeves and skirts a bit for the other colours.’

  ‘Easily.’

  ‘Good. How quickly can you make one up?’

  The dressmaker looked at her speculatively. ‘Would you mind us doing the seams with a sewing machine? We’re very modern here and I’ve had a sewing machine for a few years. Some ladies still prefer hand sewing, but the machine does very neat work, I promise you.’

  ‘I’d not mind at all. I’ve never seen a sewing machine. Can I look at it?’

  The dressmaker took her into the workshop and showed her the machine, which stood on its own little table.

  ‘It was made by Sugden, Bradbury and Firth in Oldham and cost us seven pounds. My brother was the one who insisted I buy it. He loves anything mechanical. I was a bit nervous when I first used it, but now I love it, and so do my girls.’

  The women in the sewing room smiled and nodded.

  As they came out of the shop, Alice couldn’t help chuckling. ‘You shocked her with your disdain for fashion.’

  ‘I know. But she agreed to do what I wanted in the end. And I think I redeemed myself in her eyes by my interest in her sewing machine.’ Pandora gave a little skip of excitement. ‘How wonderful to have some brand-new dresses! We always had to buy ours second-hand and a lot of mine were passed down by my sisters till we all stopped growing taller.’

  ‘You’d better go and buy a new hat as well. That one is rather battered.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  Again Pandora received flattering attention, and again she had to convince the milliner that she didn’t want anything fussy. She came out wearing one of the two new straw hats she’d purchased. Both had small brims and neat trimmings, though the one she intended for Sunday wear did have a soft, curly feather trailing along one side of the brim and hanging down a couple of inches at the back.

  ‘Now, on to some shopping that I shall really enjoy.’ She led the way to the bookshop, where she bought half a dozen books, wishing once again that her father had lived to see this day.

  Back in her bedroom, tidying herself up and putting away her purchases, Pandora looked into the mirror. The face that stared back at her was rosy, the eyes sparkling. She was pretty, she admitted. She didn’t usually care about that, but now she wanted to look as pretty as she could for Zachary. He said he loved her and he certainly looked at her admiringly. Why did he still insist on keeping his distance? Surely she’d proved that she wasn’t going to change her mind about their marriage? What if out of pride he refused to remain her husband?

  No. No, she wouldn’t let him do that. Determination filled her. She’d claim that the marriage had been consummated, if necessary. Mr Featherworth and Mr Dawson might approve of him keeping his distance, but they were old. They didn’t understand or perhaps they’d forgotten how much you could love someone, how much you could miss being with him. And they thought too much about money.

  Well, she knew better. It was important to have enough money to live decently and feed your family, of course it was, but what counted most in the world was your family and those you loved. She’d lost her sisters. She wasn’t going to lose Zachary as well.

  And if she had her way, if fate was kind to her, she’d make a new family, have several children and love them all. Boys who looked like their father. Girls who weren’t too tall and who were quite pretty. Being too pretty was a burden. It had often irritated her that men couldn’t see beyond her face. And being tall could make things difficult, too. Most men wanted a woman shorter than they were.

  If they didn’t need to find out what was wrong at the shop, she’d stop this silly charade at once and insist Zachary move in with her.

  If he’d agree to do that. Her thoughts always stopped short at his steely determination. No one would ever force Zachary Carr to do something he believed wrong.

  20

  That evening, Pandora went into the shop and asked Zachary to fill her a basket with a few staples for a family she knew who had fallen on hard times.

  He began taking things off the shelves, seeming to understand without being told what they might need. ‘Is that enough?’

  ‘That’s fine.’ She felt someone close behind her and turned to find herself almost nose to nose with Prebble, so edged back towards Zachary.

  ‘Doesn’t Dot usually do your shopping, Miss Blake?’ Prebble asked. ‘It doesn’t do to pamper a maidservant, you know.’

  She’d had enough of him poking his nose into her affairs. ‘Kindly mind your own business, Mr Prebble, and leave me to mind mine!’

  Zachary let out a snort of laughter, which he tried but failed to disguise as a cough.

  Colour high, Prebble took a couple of steps backwards, but remained close by and didn’t stop watching her and what she was taking. She turned her back on him and examined the basket, nodding. ‘That’s enough. I don’t want my friends to feel overwhelmed.’

  Zachary noted down the items in the account book then carried the basket to the door for her. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘Just to Pelson Street. I want to visit Bill’s parents. They were on very short commons when I left Outham and I wasn’t even able to say goodbye to them. Mr Dean may be working on one of the relief schemes, so I’ve left it till evening to visit them.’

  ‘They’ll welcome this food, then. Are you sure the basket isn’t too heavy?’

  She laughed. ‘Men often say things like that. Have you felt how heavy a small child can be? No one worries about a woman carrying a child.’

  He looked a bit surprised at that. ‘You’re right. I hope your visit goes well.’

  She enjoyed the late sunshine, strolling along. After a few streets she began to feel uneasy and wonder if she was being followed. Then she stopped to chat to an old acquaintance and forgot about that. But the minute she started walking along on her own again, the strange sensation of someone sta
ring at her came back.

  She tried swinging round suddenly, in order to catch her pursuer, but could never pin anyone down as being the one following her. Something was making her feel uneasy, though, and she felt quite sure she wasn’t mistaken.

  Because of meeting old acquaintances, it took longer to get to Pelson Street than she’d expected and there were fewer people around by then. She was relieved when Bill’s father opened the door.

  He beamed at her and ushered her in with a wave of one hand. ‘Come in, lass, come in. I said to the wife you’d be round to visit soon. We knew you’d not grow too proud to talk to your old friends.’

  ‘We were happy to hear you’d done so well for yourself, love,’ Mrs Dean said. ‘You’ll be set for life now.’

  Pandora set the basket on the kitchen table, noting the absence of ornaments and some much-loved pieces of furniture. ‘I’ve brought a few things for you.’

  Both of them immediately stiffened.

  ‘Please don’t let pride come between us. I know you’d share what you had with me if I fell on hard times.’

  All hung in the balance for a moment or two, then Mrs Dean sobbed and came to give her a big hug, burying her head against Pandora’s shoulder for a moment before pulling herself upright and wiping away the tears. The two women began to unpack the food and Bill’s mother was unable to speak for emotion by the time they’d finished.

  ‘I’ll see you home, lass,’ Mr Dean said later. ‘You left your visiting a bit late.’

  ‘I’ve walked these streets many a time at dusk,’ she protested.

  ‘When times are hard, some people can be tempted into robbing others.’

  But as they left the house, she saw Zachary waiting for her at the end of the street. Her heart lifted at the mere sight of his dear face and she beckoned to him and introduced the two men, then nipped into the kitchen to fetch Mrs Dean to the door.

  ‘Your young man, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Pandora said. ‘Only we’re not telling anyone about it yet, so keep it to yourselves.’ She led the way back to the front door. ‘Zachary, this is Mrs Dean, Bill’s mother.’

  After they’d said goodbye, Zachary offered her his arm. ‘You shouldn’t be walking the streets on your own at this hour, love.’

  ‘Don’t you start. Mr Dean said the same thing. He was going to escort me home.’

  ‘He’s right. The war in America might be coming to an end, but people are still on short commons here in Outham.’

  They walked along the next street, their steps matching well, not needing to talk for the sake of talking.

  ‘It’s lovely to be on my own with you.’ She gave his arm a friendly squeeze. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

  He stopped walking to cover the hand lying on his arm with his left hand. ‘I’ve missed you, too, love.’

  ‘I want to tell the world about us.’

  ‘I do too, but I’ve found one or two details that don’t look right in the shop, so we’d better not do it yet.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then maybe Mr Dawson’s right about Prebble.’

  ‘He’s a clever man, Mr Featherworth’s clerk. He’d not make a fuss for nothing.’

  ‘You’re clever too.’ As they began walking again, she added, ‘I’m beginning to suspect that Mr Dawson is rather fond of Alice – and she of him.’

  ‘Then I wish them luck.’

  Again, their eyes met and they smiled at one another. Her heart lifted. He’d not smile at her like that if he didn’t care for her, not Zachary.

  He escorted her back to the shop, refusing to come in for a cup of tea. Still smiling, she locked the door behind her, peeping in at Dot, who was reading a book by the light of the kitchen lamp.

  ‘Sorry, miss, hope you don’t mind me reading, only I’ve finished all the housework.’

  ‘You can read as much as you like. I don’t expect you to work every hour of the day. And when I’ve read them, you can borrow my new books too.’ There had been no books in the house before, Alice said. How dreadful!

  Dot sniffed and gave her a watery smile. ‘You and Miss Alice are that kind to me. I’ve never had such a good position.’

  ‘Well, you’re a hard worker. But when you come to a good place to stop reading, could you make us a pot of tea, please?’ She’d have done this herself, but had already found that Dot would rather do such tasks herself in ‘her’ kitchen.

  Pandora ran lightly up the stairs. Things were looking up. Zachary had called her ‘love’ and had said he too wanted to make their marriage known. She couldn’t wait!

  Harry listened to the lads he paid to keep an eye on Pandora every time she left the house. He was still angry about her giving away good food, but the anger turned to red-hot fury when he heard that Carr had met her and walked home with her.

  ‘Did she look annoyed to see him?’ he asked, remembering his own reception when he’d insisted on walking her home.

  ‘No, she took his arm and hugged it close. They were laughing together as they walked. Looked a proper pair of love birds to me.’

  He handed out sixpences grudgingly and told them to keep their eyes peeled from now on.

  ‘You’re not having her, Carr,’ he muttered when he was on his own. ‘And you’re not managing this shop, either. Even if she doesn’t let me court her, I’ll make damned sure you don’t get a sniff of that money. Nor shall anyone else.’

  But how to do it? He had to put paid to Zachary’s involvement with the shop once and for all. And it had to be planned carefully. Very carefully indeed. Nothing must go wrong. He hadn’t put all this effort into the emporium to let someone else benefit from it.

  One of the things that continued to worry Zachary was the atmosphere in the shop. Except for Marshall, the other assistants absolutely fawned on Harry. There was no other way to describe it, they fawned.

  When he went out to the privy, Zachary met Marshall on the way back.

  ‘Need to speak to you,’ the older man said, not even stopping as he walked past.

  He realised why Marshall hadn’t stopped when he found Harry just inside the door as he came into the packing room again.

  ‘You certainly take your time out there,’ Harry said accusingly.

  ‘One can’t deny nature.’

  ‘Well, now that nature’s been dealt with, we need some tea blended. You’ll need to use up the rest of the new stuff I was trying out, then Mr Featherworth wants us to go back to our old best blend.’ He snorted in disgust. ‘Just because his wife prefers it! We make far more money with the new mix.’

  ‘A lot of people liked our old blend of Blake’s Best.’

  ‘Well, see what you can do.’

  Zachary got out the various containers of tea and sniffed the new type, wrinkling his nose. It wasn’t particularly good, didn’t even smell fresh. It must be some job lot that hadn’t been treated too well during its journey from India. Without being told, he went into the shop and took off the shelves all the packets of Best.

  Harry hurried after him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Getting rid of this muck. Mr Featherworth’s right.’

  ‘It’s perfectly good tea, that.’

  ‘It’s not. I’d throw it in the bin, but I suppose we could let it go cheap to cover costs.’

  ‘I forbid you to do that. Put those packets back this minute.’

  ‘No. That tea will give the shop a bad name.’

  ‘It’ll make more money for us.’

  ‘We can ask Mr Dawson, if you like.’

  All hung in the balance for a moment or two, then Harry swung on his heels and marched off to the office.

  Marshall winked at Zachary as he passed by and whispered, ‘I’ll come to your house after work.’

  What was going on here? Zachary wondered as he started mixing the tea according to the formula Mr Blake had used. He sniffed the resultant blend and nodded his head approvingly. But to be sure, he boiled a kettle
of water on the gas burner and made a pot of tea, letting it brew for the requisite time and trying it out, just as Mr Blake would have done.

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  Zachary ignored him and raised the cup to his lips, taking a mouthful and tasting it carefully. He shook his head. ‘Even this is too dry. It’s been kept too long.’

  ‘You get a better price if you buy larger amounts,’ Harry said.

  ‘Mr Blake would never buy in too much at once.’

  ‘Mr Blake is dead and I’m running the shop now.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Mr Featherworth wants the shop run exactly as it was before.’

  ‘It can be run more efficiently, as I’ve proved.’

  ‘It’s not our shop, Harry. It belongs to the Blake sisters, and Pandora’s in charge for them.’

  ‘Miss Blake to you!’

  ‘No. Pandora. At her request.’

  ‘You used that journey to worm your way into her good books,’ Harry said accusingly. ‘But when she sees how efficiently I run the shop, when I explain how much more money I can make for her, she’ll soon come to value me and change her methods. You’ll see.’

  Zachary knew from years of working with him that Harry only cared about money but the hatred on the other man’s face disturbed him and he made a mental note to watch his back. If it were up to him, he’d bring everything into the open, sack Harry and reorganise the management of the shop.

  It had been such a happy place to work when old Mr Blake was alive, and could be again.

  He sighed. It wasn’t up to him. And he was missing Pandora even more than he’d expected to, missing sharing their days, chatting about anything and everything. She was his wife and unless she asked for her freedom, which he didn’t believe she would, he wanted to stay married to her. Mr Featherworth might think he’d done the right thing in not consummating the marriage, but he was beginning to consider he’d been stupid to let it continue till now. He loved her so much and she loved him too, kept saying she hadn’t changed her mind. Who cared about the money?