Threads of Silk

by Grieve, Roberta

  He grinned at Ellie. ‘To tell the truth, we didn’t see a lot of it.’

  ‘Trevor!’ Norah squealed, punching his arm. But she smiled up at him affectionately and Ellie smiled. Norah deserved a second chance after losing her first husband so tragically.

  It wasn’t until she was in bed later that night that Ellie wondered what would happen to her if Norah and Trevor decided to get married. She didn’t know whether her friend owned the cottage or rented it. But if she moved into the café with Trevor it wouldn’t matter either way. Ellie herself would still be looking for somewhere to live.

  A few days later Ellie had finished the scarf for Fred’s wife. Wrapping it in tissue paper, she put the parcel in her bag and left the house, having to run for the bus as she saw it turn into the lane and stop outside Little Howe church.

  Although she was worried about the possibility of having to move out of the cottage, Norah looked so happy these days that Ellie couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject. Besides, there was plenty of time. Trevor was still married to Gloria and, as she knew, divorce could take a long time – years even. And she couldn’t imagine Norah moving in with Trevor unless she had a ring on her finger.

  She got off the bus at Withies Green and crossed the mill yard to the weaving shed. She wanted to give Fred the scarf and see his reaction before she started work.

  The overseer was helping one of the men to set up the warp on his machine and Ellie waited patiently until he looked up and saw her. She followed him into his little cubby-hole at the back of the shed, biting her lip as he opened the tissue-wrapped package. She had put so much work into this one and she desperately wanted him to like it.

  As he held up the gaudy scrap of flimsy material she held her breath, relaxing in a smile as he grinned at her. ‘Just the job, Helen. The missus will love this.’

  ‘Really – are you sure it’s not too bright?’

  ‘She loves colourful things, does my Doris. Reckons she needs something to brighten up her life – and I’m not much use in that direction.’ He gave a mournful smile and Ellie smiled back, realizing that Fred was actually making a joke.

  ‘I’m glad you like it, Fred.’ Ellie turned, her hand on the door. ‘I must get across to the office. Mr Cameron will think I’m not coming to work today.’

  ‘Wait, I haven’t paid you yet,’ Fred said. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  Ellie hesitated. She usually only charged her friends a few pence. But she’d put in an extra lot of work this time. ‘Would two shillings be all right?’

  ‘More than all right,’ Fred said, pressing a half-crown into her hand. ‘You ought to get a lot more than that.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t pay for the material – otherwise it would be more,’ Ellie said, with a laugh.

  ‘Miss Scott, come into the office at once.’ The voice behind her made her jump. ‘And Fred, you’re wanted in the dyeing shed.’ It was Alex.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Cameron. I didn’t realize it was so late,’ Ellie stammered, wondering what was wrong. It wasn’t like him to be so abrupt.

  She followed him across the yard, stumbling another apology for being late.

  ‘Never mind that,’ he snapped.

  He held the door open for her and she swallowed nervously as she saw Michael Turner lounging in the chair behind her desk, smiling sardonically.

  Alex gestured to her chair at the other side of the desk. She sat down, hands clasped in her lap. As her employer began to speak she realized why Michael was looking so relaxed – and Alex so grim.

  ‘I understand you’ve been making silk scarves and selling them to the mill employees,’ Alex said. He reached across the desk and picked up a scrap of material. It was a scarf she’d made for one of the girls in the dyeing shed.

  Ellie glanced at Michael but he was gazing at the floor with seeming disinterest. ‘Yes – but I’ve been doing it in my own time – not when I should be working,’ she said.

  ‘Was that one of your creations I saw in Fred’s office?’ Ellie thought she detected a sneer at the word ‘creations’, but she could have been wrong. By now she was twisting her fingers nervously together.

  She nodded wordlessly.

  ‘Didn’t I just hear you telling Fred that you hadn’t paid for the material. What did you mean exactly?’

  ‘I use waste material – offcuts that are left over when the material comes off the loom.’

  ‘I see.’ Alex sat on the edge of the desk, swinging his leg and tapping his chin as if deep in thought.

  He stood up abruptly. ‘Can you tell me how many of these scarves you’ve made?’ he asked, going to the window and looking out at the yard.

  Ellie half-closed her eyes, trying to calculate. It was hard to remember – she’d been making one or two a week since well before Christmas. ‘About two dozen – maybe more. I can’t remember.’ She felt a little spurt of anger. Why was he questioning her? ‘May I ask why you want to know?’ She was pleased that she managed to keep her voice steady.

  ‘All in good time.’ Alex remained at the window.

  Ellie was really apprehensive now. She glanced again at Michael and caught a glimpse of his calculating smile, before his gaze slid away and he contemplated his shoes again. She caught her breath as the realization dawned on her. Alex had tackled Michael about the missing fabric and he was trying to blame her. She gasped in protest, but Alex waved her to silence.

  He stepped away from the window and faced her. ‘It has come to my notice that bolts of woven silk are going astray. Turner seems to think you might be’ – he paused as if looking for the right word – ‘appropriating the fabric for your own use. And it certainly seems as if you’ve got quite a little cottage industry going here.’ He dangled the scarf in front of her.

  Ellie’s chin jutted and her eyes flashed dangerously. How dare he? She clenched her fists at her sides and took a deep breath. Losing her temper wouldn’t help. ‘I told you – I’ve only used the stuff I’m allowed to take. I haven’t stolen anything.’ Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. She glared furiously at Michael, who was now imperturbably examining his fingernails.

  ‘It must have taken rather a lot of offcuts to make such a quantity of scarves,’ Alex said.

  ‘Yes, but I only took what I was allowed. The other girls said it was all right….’ Ellie was floundering now. Surely Alex didn’t really suspect her.

  ‘So now you’re trying to blame your workmates,’ Michael’s voice interrupted smoothly.

  Alex silenced him with a raised hand. ‘I said I would handle this, Turner. Perhaps it would be better if you waited outside.’ He turned back to Ellie and she was sure he missed the malicious look Michael directed at him.

  Michael rose slowly from the chair where he’d been lounging and sauntered towards the door. He stopped, leaning on the doorframe. ‘She’s not going to confess you know, Cameron. But the evidence is there.’ He gestured towards the scarf, which still dangled from Alex’s hand. ‘I can tell you, there wouldn’t have been all this time-wasting talk in my father’s day. The slightest suspicion of theft would be enough to send them packing with no references.’

  ‘This is my business now, Turner – and I’ll handle things in my own way. I could blame you – since you’re the manager. It seems that you have allowed blatant thievery to go unchecked in my absence.’

  Michael closed the door without answering. With a sigh, Alex threw himself into the chair that the other man had just vacated. As he ran the scarf through his fingers, Ellie dared to peep at him beneath her lowered lashes. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to frame the words of dismissal, she thought. He believed she was a thief – and she couldn’t blame him really. She had taken more than her fair share of the offcuts, although her colleagues had agreed to her having them. And she was making money – albeit only a small sum – from selling her scarves. It looked bad for her, she had to admit. But surely Alex couldn’t believe she’d stolen a whole bale of silk – let alone a dozen
. And she knew from her own investigations that at least that many were unaccounted for.

  A hysterical giggle, hastily disguised as a cough, bubbled in her throat as in her imagination she saw herself manhandling a huge bale on to the bus at the end of the working day. Even a single bolt would be too heavy for her to carry by herself.

  I wish he’d get it over with, she thought, standing up. She straightened her shoulders, determined to take it bravely. She wouldn’t let him see how much his lack of trust hurt her.

  To her surprise he smiled. ‘What an obnoxious young man,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. ‘And what, I wonder, have you done to make him dislike you so?’

  Ellie couldn’t find the words to reply. She was still trying to take in his abrupt change of mood.

  Alex leaned towards her. ‘Never mind. I want to apologize, Ellie – for putting you through such an ordeal. I could hardly believe it when I confronted him with your figures and he immediately tried to shift the blame to you.’

  ‘You don’t believe him, then? You’re not accusing me?’ Ellie didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. He had certainly given her – and Michael – the impression that she was about to be dismissed.

  ‘Of course not. You’re perfectly entitled to take the offcuts – and use them in any way you like. And if the other girls are willing to let you have their share, that’s their business.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s very enterprising of you – and if this is a sample of your work’ – he held up the scarf – ‘I’m most impressed.’

  ‘So why did you practically accuse me of stealing?’ Ellie wasn’t ready to be flattered into letting the matter drop.

  ‘It was Michael Turner who did the accusing,’ Alex said, leaning towards her. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie – I can’t apologize enough. I checked all your figures and I’ve been keeping a close eye on young Turner, waiting to catch him out. When he accused you, I knew he was only trying to shift the blame. He couldn’t know, of course, that thanks to you and your vigilance, I was well aware that the thefts had been going on for some time – long before you came to work here.’

  ‘So you let him think you believed him….’

  ‘In the hope that he would convict himself – yes.’

  ‘Why did you let him go, then?’

  ‘Don’t worry – Donald is keeping an eye on him. I’ve got a feeling he’ll try to get rid of the evidence. We discovered a bale hidden in the old mill – down by the stream. His car’s parked round the back there and he’s probably loading it right now.’

  ‘Will you get the police?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘There’s nothing I’d like better than to see that young man in gaol where he belongs. But, for the sake of his father, I’ll just see him off the premises with a strong warning as to what will happen if I ever clap eyes on him again.’

  ‘Poor Mr Turner,’ Ellie murmured, remembering how kind the old man had been when she first came to work here.

  Alex stood up. ‘I’d better go and see what’s going on. I just felt I owed you an explanation.’ He paused at the door. ‘I really am sorry for putting you through this.’

  ‘I understand,’ Ellie said.

  His grey eyes sparkled, lighting his face in a smile. ‘Am I forgiven, then?’

  Ellie nodded. She liked and respected Alex Cameron, although for a few moments that feeling had wavered as she came under his cold scrutiny. Now that she understood the reason for his play-acting, it wasn’t hard to forgive him. In fact she admired the way he had handled the situation, as well as the consideration he’d shown for Michael’s father. She had thought any human feelings he had were overridden by his passion for his work and his dedication to his experiments. It gave her a little warm glow of pleasure to think that she might have been wrong.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Harry was wet and cold and thoroughly miserable. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his life – standing under a dripping awning gazing out at equally wet, cold and miserable people. But at least it was a job of sorts.

  As a lad he’d loved working the market with Sid, but joining the army had broadened his horizons. For the hundredth time he wished he hadn’t given in to the impulse to cut short his army career. If he’d stayed on he’d have finished up with a proper trade. He’d learned a lot about engines and vehicle maintenance, but it wasn’t enough to get him taken on as a mechanic and now he was too old to do a proper apprenticeship.

  Now, here he was, weighing out potatoes and trying to summon up enthusiasm for the bananas and oranges which had once been luxuries but which now seemed to be available all year round. Not that many of the people round here could afford them and if they could, they weren’t hanging around on such a grey day.

  There weren’t even any kids around whom he could ask to keep an eye on things while he went for a warming cuppa at Bob’s Café.

  He looked across at Maisie Jones, who was already packing up her second-hand clothes stall.

  ‘You might as well do the same, love,’ she called. ‘Can’t see many more customers turnin’ out in this lot.’

  ‘I’ll hang on a bit – just till the factory shifts turn out. Gotta try and keep things going for Sid,’ Harry said.

  ‘How is the old sod then?’

  ‘Doin’ OK – though it’ll be a while before he’s out of hospital.’

  ‘Might pop in and see ’im later – if ’e ’asn’t got anyone else goin’ in.’

  ‘Only me,’ Harry said. ‘I go every day – just to put his mind at rest about the stall.’

  ‘Will you carry on here when ’e’s back on ’is feet?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘Don’t know – depends on Sid, I suppose.’ Harry didn’t really want to, he had been thinking of joining up again. It would be different if he only had himself to think about but he couldn’t leave Mary now she was so poorly. Since Ellie had run away, she had really gone downhill. He sighed and peered up through the awning at the louring sky which really matched his mood today. He wondered sourly if Bert would be there when he got home and if he would be sober. Fat chance, he thought.

  He’d thought he’d be happy, back on his home ground, surrounded by his family and old friends. But Bert’s drunken behaviour had worsened and it was all he could do to stop himself lashing out when he saw how his foster mother was treated. He didn’t know how much longer he could put up with it and he felt the familiar churning in his stomach at the thought of what he was going home to.

  He managed to summon a grin as Maisie, the contents of her stall already packed away into the handcart she used, came and thumped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Cheer up, mate. It might never ’appen.’

  ‘It already has,’ Harry groaned.

  ‘No word from the council yet, then?’

  Harry shook his head. He’d put their names down for a flat as soon as he got back to London, hoping that he could persuade Mary to leave Bert, but there was a long waiting-list for people without children. Besides, deep down he knew that wasn’t the problem.

  Everywhere he went there were reminders of Ellie. People still asked if there was any word and each enquiry sent a fresh dagger through his heart. Why had she done it? he asked himself, as he had so many times. She was naïve and inexperienced but surely that one kiss hadn’t been enough to drive her away.

  He sighed and turned away to serve a customer. When the woman had gone, the rain-swept street was almost deserted and he decided to call it a day. Maisie stayed to help, packing boxes with the fruit and vegetables still fresh enough to be sold the next day. The wilted and speckled items went into another box to be left under the stall. They’d be gone by morning. There were still people eking out an existence in the narrow streets and alleys of Bethnal Green for whom the chance of free food was a godsend.

  When the van was packed he offered to pull Maisie’s handcart through the streets to its nightly berth under the railway arches. He’d come back for the van later.

  Maisie grinned at him from unde
r her shaggy mop of grey hair. ‘I ain’t past it yet, son,’ she said. ‘Besides, I ain’t goin’ ’ome yet. I’m gonna pop into Bob’s fer a bite to eat. Come and have a cuppa with me.’

  ‘Why not?’ Harry said. What did he have to go home for?

  They squelched their way through the puddles and debris of the market to the comforting warmth of the café on the corner. Bob greeted them with his usual grin, plonking two thick mugs of strong tea down on the counter.

  Maisie led the way to a table in the corner and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. ‘It’s good to take the weight off me dogs,’ she said. ‘This weather really gives me the screws.’

  Harry hardly noticed Maisie’s chatter as he took a sip of his tea and looked out of the steamy window at the darkened street, now bustling with home-going workers. It all looked so normal. Nothing seemed to have changed since he went away – and yet, everything had.

  He sighed, drinking his tea without tasting it, pondering the changes in his family since he’d been away. Sheila and Tommy were married now with two children, living in their big posh house out Chingford way. They had two little girls and Mary doted on Vickie and baby Debbie. But she’d never really forgiven her daughter for taking up with a married man and being the cause of his divorce – a fact blazed across the Sunday papers, to Mary’s intense shame.

  Harry was worried about his foster mother. She’d always been quiet, stoically enduring her hard life. Being married to a no-good bastard like Bert Tyler didn’t help. But she’d got worse since he’d been away – and he knew why.

  Ellie. His stomach churned painfully as he allowed her name into his thoughts, into his heart. Where was she? Why had she never got in touch with them? How could she do this to her mother – to him? He was furious with her and if she were here he’d shake some sense into her, although he knew he was as much to blame as anyone. But despite his anger, he understood and with all his heart he hoped she was well and happy. But it was agony not knowing.