by June Tate
‘Look, darling, people are beginning to leave. It’ll soon be over then you’ll be able to relax.’
‘But tomorrow is the reading of the will and that woman will be back again! I need another drink,’ said Grace and walked away, thanking people for coming as she took another glass of sherry from the maid.
Unaware of all this drama that Grace Portman was having to face, Daisy was sewing an intricate piece of embroidery and beading on an exquisite evening blouse. Agnes looked up from her own sewing to watch her.
‘That is going to be beautiful,’ she said. ‘None of us back in London Road could ever match your expertise.’
‘But you are superb at pin tucks,’ Daisy replied. ‘I used to find them so fiddly.’
‘Ah well, we’re a good team,’ Agnes said. ‘I just hope we get some more business soon.’
‘It takes time, Agnes. Word has to get about that we are now open for business. You see, it will all happen at once and we won’t know where to turn.’ But inside she was praying that this would come to pass.
Ken Woods had heard about Daisy leaving the club and opening up in Bernard Street. He walked past the premises one morning on his way to the bank and saw the notice on the door. Gilbert. Gowns à la Mode. He smirked to himself. A la Mode! Bit swish for a whore. But at least he knew where she was and he had a score to settle with that girl. Well he could wait for his opportunity. He’d keep an eye on the place, meantime.
Bernard Street was a busy place, near the docks and the Docks railway station. It was here that the passengers for the transatlantic liners arrived and the many troops waiting to be shipped to the front. It was also essential to ship horses abroad. It was quite a sight to see them wending their way through the streets leading to the ships waiting for them. Some days when she took a break to rest her eyes, Daisy would watch the parade of animals, thinking how sad it was that they would have to suffer enemy fire too.
It was also here that troops returning from the Western Front in hospital ships were sent to the various hospitals for treatment. In the spring many had returned after suffering from gas attacks. The Germans’ new and deadly weapon.
Without the aid of gas masks, the troops’ only protection was to hold wet cloths to their faces, coughing and choking, as they went into battle – and now they were being shipped home. Some, never to recover.
Daisy, walking to work, observed the ambulances making their way to the station from the dockside, her heart heavy at the thought of so many wounded and those lives lost in this terrible war. She’d seen some who had returned earlier, not fit enough to work and now reduced to selling boxes of matches from trays slung round their necks and had thought how dreadful it must be for those men to be brought so low, after fighting for their country.
There was no facility to make tea or coffee in the workshop, but nearby was a cafe and Daisy used to go along there mid morning for a tray of tea for two, when she and Agnes would take a break. It was on one such morning she saw a soldier coming towards her who looked familiar. As he neared she recognized her old boyfriend, Jack Weston
‘Jack‚’ she said as she stopped beside him. ‘How are you? I had no idea you’d joined up.’
His response was a little cool. ‘Hello, Daisy. I joined up after we parted; there seemed little to keep me here after that. Are you still working as a barmaid at that awful place?’
‘No, Jack. I have my own business. I have a small workroom just along the road,’ she told him with great satisfaction.
He looked surprised. ‘Well good for you. I’m pleased to know you eventually came to your senses. It’s just a great pity it took you so long!’
She ignored the barb. ‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘I’ve been on leave, but I’m due back in a couple of days.’
She was sorry to hear this. ‘Is it really bad over there?’
‘Worse than you could ever imagine,’ he said quietly.
‘Oh, Jack, I am sorry. Let’s hope it will all be over soon.’
‘We all pray for that,’ he said. ‘It was nice to see you, Daisy. Good luck and take care.’
As she said goodbye, she was filled with sadness. She and Jack had planned so much together and it had all fallen apart. But seeing him now, Daisy realized that it was like meeting up with an old friend – nothing more. They both had changed of course, but then circumstances did this to people and both of them had suffered – in different ways.
The following day, Flo Cummings called into the workroom and after looking at the patterns and material, ordered a gown to be made. As Daisy was checking her measurements, Flo said, ‘If you fancy coming back and working a couple of nights, I can still find work for you.’
‘No thank you,’ said Daisy, as she wrote down the measurements. ‘I’ve given that life up. Anyway I’m far too busy.’ There was no way she’d let Flo know that business was slow.
‘I’m pleased for you, but bear it in mind. It’s always good to have another string to your bow.’
When the woman had gone, Agnes asked, ‘Was she trying to get you back behind the bar again?’
‘Something like that,’ Daisy said, wondering what Agnes would think if she discovered how she’d been making her money the last few months. She certainly hoped it would never come out in the open. She would hate to lose such a good seamstress; she was integral to the success of her business.
Before the week’s end, one or two of Daisy’s private clients called and booked work, but Daisy knew that she needed more business to maintain the overheads and the wages for Agnes. One or two people working nearby had said how much they would like to wear her garments, but sadly they were not earning enough money to pay the prices. Daisy didn’t want to lower her standards and use inferior materials. That’s not what she’d built a reputation on and if she wanted to appeal to the upper classes, where the real money was, she’d have to stick it out.
To Daisy’s great surprise, the next day Jessie, the seamstress with the loud mouth from Madam Evans’ establishment, knocked on the door and walked in.
‘So this is where you’re hiding yourself,’ she said.
‘Good heavens, Jessie! What on earth are you doing here?’ asked Daisy.
‘I wondered if you needed a good seamstress?’
Agnes gawped at the girl. ‘You’ve come here to ask Daisy for a job?’
‘Yeah that’s about it and why not?’
Agnes flew into a rage. ‘You cheeky bugger! It was you and your big mouth that got Daisy the sack. How dare you come here and ask her for a job?’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Agnes. Anyway, I’m not asking you, so mind your business!’ She turned to Daisy. ‘Well, do you need another girl or not?’
Looking at the girl coldly she replied, ‘I do not and if I did, you would be the last person I’d employ … not because of your being the cause of my dismissal, but because you are not good enough to work on my garments.’
Agnes sat back in her seat wearing a big grin.
Jessie looked furious. ‘There’s no need to be like that.’
‘Madam Evans fired you didn’t she?’ Daisy enquired, and knew she was right by the flush on Jessie’s face.
Agnes chipped in. ‘Well it wasn’t before time. You were the reason her business dropped off. If Daisy hadn’t left, the clients would still have come, so you see, it’s all your own fault.’
‘I don’t have to stay here to be insulted!’
Daisy walked to the door and opened it. ‘No you don’t,’ she said. ‘Please leave, you’re not welcome here.’
The girl stormed out.
‘Well,’ said Agnes, ‘the neck of the girl! Anyway, she’s out on her ear. I wonder how she likes it?’
With a chuckle Daisy said, ‘I really don’t care but I did enjoy showing her the door.’ And they both laughed heartily. ‘Right, let’s get back to work, we have to get on.’
As she sat sewing, Daisy recalled an old saying of her mother’s. ‘What goes around, com
es around’. In Jessie’s case it seemed to have worked.
Eighteen
Ken Woods walked around his spacious warehouse with two lists in his hands. He dealt in commodities. Whatever the market required he would buy in bulk and sell at a profit. War destroyed many people in various ways, but there were always the few who profited in such difficult times – and he was one of them.
In his store were blankets which he sold to the army, and various pieces of army equipment while in his cold store were hung sides of beef, pork and lamb. This too he sold to the army camps, which were full of troops with mouths to feed, as they waited to be shipped abroad.
One list was for the customs and his clients, the other was listed goods which he filtered off the supplies and sold at a huge profit and pocketed the money. It was fraud on a large scale. He walked up and down checking everything, wearing a smile of satisfaction as he mentally made a tally of the money that would be going into his coffers. This was a good month and that evening he had arranged to meet his friend, Bert Croucher, at the Solent Club. He felt the need to celebrate – and he wanted a woman. Marriage for him was not on his agenda. Taking a woman out and spending money on her, courting her, to him was a waste of time. If he wanted sex, he paid for it. No preliminaries, no waiting to see if the woman he was wining and dining could be persuaded to succumb to him. Oh no, if he wanted a fuck, he paid and no questions asked, no nonsense. It was cheaper in the long run to pay a whore.
Woods was the first to arrive. He ordered his usual whiskey and ginger ale and sat at a table, eyeing up the talent. His enthusiasm waned somewhat when he realized that he’d had all of Flo’s girls many times. He wanted fresh blood, not the same tired women, pretending to find him attractive. He knew all their patter by now, it was all false anyway, but that wasn’t what he paid for and he could well do without it. All he really needed was an enthusiastic and wanton woman between his legs. He contemplated trying the brasses walking around Canal Walk, just to make a change, but here at least you had the use of a room which was included in the price – as long as you bought a few drinks – as opposed to an alleyway and a brick wall. He was getting too old for that; he needed a modicum of comfort whilst he satisfied his sexual urges. No, he’d stay put and have one of the girls here. At least they were clean. The brasses in Canal Walk were not so fussy. Bert Croucher arrived as Woods contemplated which girl to use that evening, but he was in no hurry. He’d have a few drinks first.
Croucher sat beside him. ‘Well, Kenny, how are you doing?’
‘Just fine. I’ve had another delivery of meat; do you want any lamb or pork?’
‘I’ll have both,’ Bert said. ‘You know I’ll take all you can spare.’ Croucher had his own fiddle. He sold meat to hotels and hospitals, which had so many mouths to feed with the massive influx of the casualties of war. All meat sold at an inflated price of course. The war had caused shortages on all fronts, so he had a ready market for his goods too.
Woods lit a cigarette and swallowed the contents of his glass. ‘God I needed a drink tonight, I’ve been that busy. Sup up and I’ll get us another.’ He went up to the bar and placed his order with Harry.
‘I miss that lovely Gloria,’ he remarked.
Harry looked at him wryly. ‘Do you now?’
‘It was always a pleasure to be served by her … I’d have liked to have her serve me in a different way, if you know what I mean?’ the man smirked.
With a cold glare, Harry leaned forward and said, ‘Don’t forget our conversation in your office will you?’
Woods’ expression changed. ‘Don’t threaten me, Harry,’ he said menacingly. ‘The girl’s no longer here, so what are you worried about?’
‘I know you of old, you bastard. If I hear you’ve been worrying her, I’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks!’
‘I find this fatherly interest in the girl very touching, Harry … or is it something else? Do you fancy a bit of the other, perhaps?’
‘For once why don’t you try and keep your mind above your trouser belt,’ snapped the barman as he walked away.
Woods returned to his seat, chuckling quietly.
‘What was all that about?’ Croucher asked.
‘Never mind, it is just a bone of contention between Harry and me.’
Later that evening Ken took a girl upstairs, but all the time he used her, he kept thinking of Gloria. She was the one he wanted to be with and he would have his way one day, no matter what. Harry could threaten all he liked; he’d make sure the barman wouldn’t be able to carry out his threat – one way or another.
Daisy was just about keeping her head above water. There was enough work available to pay the rent and Agnes’ wages and a little over, but she wasn’t making the money she’d hoped for. It was a great disappointment to her. She still hadn’t had an answer to the letter she wrote to Grace Portman and she found this hard to understand. After all, the woman had said that had only Daisy gone to her about the expense of her father’s medical fees, Grace would have helped her. Perhaps after all, the woman thought it better not to be involved in any way, but getting her gowns made in the shop wouldn’t involve her family in a scandal, so it couldn’t be that. It was a mystery. She would write again, Daisy decided, because she badly needed the extra work to be a success. That evening, she sat down and wrote to Grace Portman once again.
It was now several weeks since the funeral of her husband and Grace was keeping busy. After a great deal of trouble arguing with her mother-in-law that she was perfectly capable of running the affairs of the estate and with encouragement from her father-in-law, she had eventually been left alone to do so, with the help of the estate manager whom she had hired as soon as Hugh had been shipped abroad. Things were running smoothly, but she was still having to cope with her loss. She put away the accounts, and sat back, gazing out at the garden, contemplating her marriage.
Frowning, she thought if she were honest, marriage to Hugh Portman had been a disappointment. At nineteen when she first met Hugh, she’d been impressed by the young handsome officer and swept off her feet. Their first night spent in France seemed, to her innocent mind, very undignified. It wasn’t the kissing and caressing, she’d quite liked that, it was all the huffing and puffing and groans that Hugh uttered as he made love to her – it was like an animal. And when he’d shuddered above her, she thought he’d had a fit, and then when he collapsed on top of her, for one awful moment she thought he’d died! How naive she’d been. Nothing much had changed. Sex for her certainly wasn’t a pleasure but a duty to be endured. But Hugh had been a good man and in her way, she had loved him. Now he was gone and she had to get on with her life.
The maid brought in the mail on a silver tray. ‘This just arrived, Madam.’
Grace thumbed her way through the letters, laying aside the ones she recognized until she came to one that was handwritten and was unfamiliar. She put the others aside and opening the envelope, read it. She was very surprised to see it was from Daisy Gilbert and looked at the contents with interest. Frowning she put it down and in a drawer of the bureau took out a bundle of letters and cards she’d received after Hugh’s death and which she’d not been able to face looking at. Among them was an unopened envelope with the same handwriting. She quickly read it.
‘Oh, Daisy, I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. And she rang for the maid. ‘Tell Brooks to get the car out,’ she said. ‘I need to go to Southampton.’
Daisy and Agnes were busy working when there was a tap on the door and Grace Portman walked in. ‘Hello, Daisy,’ she said.
‘Mrs Portman! You got my letter then?’
‘I am so sorry not to have replied to your first letter, but I didn’t open it until this morning.’ Seeing the puzzled expression on Daisy’s face she said, ‘I’d better explain.’
‘Agnes,’ said Daisy, ‘would you go to the cafe and get a tray of tea for us, please.’
When they were alone, Grace told Daisy about the death of her husband.
‘
Oh, Mrs Portman, I’m so very sorry. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have bothered you.’
‘That’s all right, Daisy. I’m very pleased that you did, but your first letter came just after Hugh died and it was put away with the many cards of condolence that arrived, and I just couldn’t face reading them. Now tell me. How are you doing?’
‘To be honest, not as well as I hoped.’
‘Do you have just this room?’
‘It was all I could afford,’ Daisy explained.
Looking around Grace asked, ‘Have you anywhere to display your gowns?’
‘Sadly not. I advertise in the local paper when I can afford to.’
As Agnes returned and poured the tea, Grace said, ‘You need a shop with a window, then people will be able to see your beautiful work for themselves.’
Sighing, Daisy said, ‘That would be nice, but this was as far as my money would stretch.’
Knowing how Daisy made the money to finance her one room, Grace concluded that it was enough to enable her to leave her old profession as soon as it was possible. She sipped her tea and mulled over the situation.
‘Well my circumstances have changed,’ said Grace. ‘Now I feel in a position to help you.’
Daisy gave her a warning look. ‘Have you forgotten why I refused your offer before?’
Choosing her words carefully as Agnes was busily sewing nearby, Grace said, ‘No I’ve not forgotten, Daisy, but now I have only myself to consider. I am in charge of my life. I have an estate manager working for me, so the Manor House and all its surroundings are being run properly and I feel free to choose how I run the way I live!’