by Nancy Revell
Helen didn’t know whether to be annoyed or to agree. She eventually decided to laugh. ‘Well, you certainly don’t mince your words, Georgina … But you’re right. It has been, and probably always will be, a constant battle for us women – having to prove our worth just because we’re female – and made so much worse by the knowledge that we’re actually so much better than the men.’ If Georgina could be a little outrageous, then so could she. She took a sip of her tea and put it down on top of some invoices that needed filing.
Georgina smiled. This time it did reach her eyes.
‘Well,’ she said, delving into her handbag and retrieving a small spiral notebook, ‘now that we have established the superiority of the downtrodden sex, let’s do business.’
Helen looked at Georgina in her brown schoolmarmish skirt and a jacket that looked a little too big for her. She was certainly a peculiar one.
‘Yes, let’s,’ she said.
Helen pulled out her pack of Pall Malls and offered one to Georgina, who refused with a shake of her head.
‘First of all,’ Helen said, lighting up a cigarette, ‘I have to say that my mother was very pleased with the work you did for her, and that she was particularly pleased with the level of discretion with which you conducted your … what shall we call it? … research.’
Georgina showed no emotion and simply listened.
‘And it goes without saying that I would expect the same.’
Georgina gave a curt nod. ‘And it goes without saying that I would give it.’
‘The job I have in mind, however,’ Helen said, blowing out a plume of smoke, ‘is probably even more delicate than that commissioned by my mother.’
Georgina had her fingers crossed that this job would not entail any more digging up dirt on the women who worked in this very yard. She had often wondered to what ends Mrs Crawford had used the information she had given her.
‘You see,’ Helen tapped her cigarette in the ashtray, ‘the research I want you to conduct is very personal.’
She looked at Georgina.
‘Personal as in it concerns my family. The Havelock family.’
Now Georgina’s interest was piqued.
‘You might want to take notes.’
‘So, just to reiterate what you’ve told me so far.’ Georgina flicked back the pages in her wire-bound notebook. ‘The primary aim of this investigation is to find out who the biological parents of a woman called Mrs Isabelle Elliot are. And moreover, to find out if she is in any way connected or related to the Havelock family. Obviously, to prove or disprove any connection or relationship to the Havelock family, I will have to ascertain who Mrs Elliot’s mother and father are.’ She paused while she turned over a page and looked at her notes. ‘At the moment it appears to be mainly conjecture and speculation on your behalf that Mrs Elliot is somehow connected to your maternal family.’ Another flick of the notebook. ‘You have no suspicions that Mrs Elliot is anything to do with your paternal side. Your biological father being Jack Crawford.’
Helen sat and listened, played around with another cigarette but didn’t light it.
‘The reason you believe Mrs Elliot to be somehow related to the maternal side of your family, the Havelocks, is due to Mrs Elliot’s striking resemblance to your mother, Miriam Crawford, née Havelock.’ Georgina turned over a page. ‘You believe it is likely that Mrs Elliot is, in fact, the biological daughter of a woman called Pearl. You don’t know the woman’s surname. The reason you believe this is because she does resemble her daughter.’
Another glance down at her notepad.
‘Your theory is strengthened by your belief that you think it is unlikely that Pearl is,’ she quoted from her notes, ‘“the kind of woman who would adopt a child, unless it was for money, which she clearly has very little of”. Despite this, you still want me to check that this is, in fact, the case, and that Mrs Isabelle Elliot – whom you refer to as Bel – is not actually the daughter of your mother, Mrs Miriam Crawford, or her sister – your aunty Margaret.’ Georgina took another look at her notebook. ‘Or your grandmother – Mrs Catherine Henrietta Havelock. Who, you have told me, is no longer with us.’
She closed her notebook and looked up at Helen.
‘At this stage, all we have is the fact that Mrs Elliot resembles your mother.’
‘Hearing it put like that, it sounds rather fanciful,’ Helen said. ‘Like I’m seeing something that might not be there.’
Realising she had somehow made Helen doubt herself, Georgina silently cursed. The last thing she needed was to talk Miss Crawford out of giving her this commission. They needed the money and she knew the Crawfords, or rather the Havelocks, had the money to spend.
‘No, don’t take my slightly clinical approach as demeaning this in any way. It’s just that I like to make sure I have all my facts right before I start. That is, if you are sure that you want to go ahead with this investigation?’
‘Yes,’ Helen said. ‘And if I am being silly and I have got a slightly overactive imagination – as a good friend of mine has accused me of having – then so be it. I can put a line through it and move on.’
‘And if that’s not the case? If Mrs Elliot is in some way connected – related – to your family?’
Helen looked puzzled.
‘I mean, if it’s not a case of you having an overactive imagination – which, by the way, I think is something to be lauded rather than lambasted – then I suppose what I’m saying is that you need to be prepared for the possible consequences.’
Helen waved off Georgina’s concerns with her hand.
‘I’ll worry about that if and when the times comes,’ she said.
Georgina breathed a sigh of relief. Time to go before she put her foot in it any further.
‘For the moment I just need two things from you, Miss Crawford.’ Georgina looked at Helen. ‘Although, as the investigation progresses, I may well have to ask for more.’
‘And what would they be?’ Helen asked.
‘If it is at all possible, it would help me in my research if you could provide me with any photographs of your mother and your aunty – and of your grandparents, too, if there are any.’
‘I’m sure there are,’ Helen said. Both her mother and her grandfather were lovers of the camera.
‘And regarding payment …’ Georgina said. This was always the part she hated the most. Normally, it was something her father would deal with. But as he was now practically housebound, and Miss Crawford had, rather unusually, asked to meet her at her place of work, she had no choice. ‘It would be the same terms and daily rate negotiated with your mother,’ Georgina finished.
‘Ah, that’s something I forgot to mention,’ Helen said. ‘This job might be about my family, but there’s absolutely no way I want anyone from the family knowing anything about what I have asked you to find out.’
Georgina nodded. ‘Understood.’
After Georgina explained how the payment worked, including the daily rate and any extras, Helen agreed without batting an eyelid. Georgina wished she’d upped the money a little. Still, this wasn’t going to be the most straightforward of jobs. Paternity cases – which she was sure this was – were notoriously hard to prove. Which meant more hours, and therefore more money.
‘This mightn’t be what we in the trade call a quick turnaround,’ Georgina warned.
‘That’s fine,’ Helen said. ‘I’m not in a huge rush. Just as long as you get there in the end.’
Georgina looked at Helen. Money was clearly no object – but results were expected. She had her work cut out, but at least she didn’t have to rush the job, worrying that the client was watching every click of the money meter. It meant she could concentrate on the job at hand.
Helen stood up and walked around the desk. ‘So, shall we rendezvous again in two weeks? Same time, same place?’
Georgina had got to her feet and was picking up the brown leather handbag that had once belonged to her mother. The cat, she noticed,
was now out of its basket and rubbing itself against Helen’s leg.
‘That sounds perfect,’ she said.
The two women shook hands and Helen went to open her office door.
‘And if anyone asks what you were doing here,’ Helen said, ‘you were applying for a job as a clerk.’
‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Georgina said. ‘I don’t think I know a single person who works in any of the shipyards. Clerical or manual.’
As they both stepped out of the office and into the main admin department, Helen saw Rosie waiting to speak to her.
‘Sorry, Helen.’ Rosie started to walk towards her.
Seeing Georgina, she slowed her pace.
‘Georgie Pickering!’ Rosie said, her face breaking into a surprised smile. ‘Dear me, what a blast from the past!’
Helen watched, intrigued.
‘Rosie Thornton!’ Georgina said. She looked down to Rosie’s hand and spotted her gold wedding ring. ‘Or perhaps it’s not Thornton any more?’
Rosie laughed.
‘No, I got married.’ She raised her hand. ‘I’m now Rosie Miller.’
So, she had married her older man.
‘What a surprise to see you here?’ Rosie said, looking towards Helen for an answer.
‘Oh,’ Helen said, ‘I’m looking for another clerical assistant. Bel’s climbing the ladder at a rapid rate and I’m going to need someone to replace her when she “graduates”.’
Everyone turned to look at Bel, who was typing away as though she’d been doing the job for years.
‘But, alas,’ Helen said, ‘I think your friend here is more than a little overqualified for the job. As much as I would love to snatch her up, I fear she will reject my offer for something more challenging – and better paid.’
‘I will be in touch,’ Georgina said, turning to Helen. ‘I do appreciate your time and offer of employment.’
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Rosie said, turning and pointing towards the main doors. ‘How long’s it been? ’
Helen watched as the two women walked off, chatting animatedly as they made their way out of the admin department.
Interesting. Was that why no real dirt had ever been dug up on Rosie?
As soon as she was back in her office, Helen picked up the phone.
She couldn’t wait to tell John all her news.
‘The Ryhope,’ Helen said into the receiver.
Unusually, she got put through straight away.
‘Can you find Dr Parker for me, please?’ Helen had learnt it paid to be polite to the receptionist at the hospital.
‘Ah, is that Miss Crawford?’
‘It is, Denise. How are you today?’
‘I’m well, thank you. But I’m afraid Dr Parker’s over at the asylum this afternoon.’
Helen knew it would be to do with the new psychologist he’d mentioned.
‘That’s all right. Would you mind passing on a message, please? Tell him that I’ll see him as planned this evening, and just to call if he gets held up.’
‘So, how are you and your family?’ Rosie asked Georgina as they left the office. She let out a short laugh, adding, ‘It was always the highlight of Mam’s week when she went for her “coffee and catch-up” with your mother in town. And, I have to say, you’re her absolute double.’
‘Mam died,’ Georgina said matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Rosie said, her face serious.
‘As I was to hear both your mother and father had been killed in that terrible car accident,’ Georgina said as they walked down the stairs. ‘It must have been devastating for you – and your sister.’
Rosie didn’t know what to say. Instead she asked, ‘I’m guessing you read about it in the paper?’
‘Yes, Dad showed me. I thought I’d been cheated, losing my mother when I did – but to lose both parents, and at the same time …’ Her voice trailed off.
They were quiet for a moment, before a smile suddenly appeared on Rosie’s face. ‘Can you remember when I came to your house that day?’
Georgina nodded, remembering how she had peeked a look at the pretty blonde girl from behind her mother’s skirt. ‘Strange how some things really stick in your mind, isn’t it?’
‘I think that was the only time I met you,’ Rosie said, ‘but I felt I knew you because Mam would always talk about your mam and dad, and you and your two brothers. Are they all well?’
‘Father’s got bad arthritis. Can’t get around much these days. Both my brothers are in the navy.’
When they walked through the main doors and out into the yard, Georgina was hit by the clanging and clashing of metal, the deafening sound of men and machinery at work. It was like another world. She might have lived within earshot of the town’s shipbuilding industry most of her life, but never before had she ventured into any of the nine yards that lined the river.
As they walked over to the main gates, she spotted an overall-clad man sitting on a plank suspended in mid-air. He was partially hidden behind scaffolding that had been erected by the side of a half-built ship, his pneumatic rivet gun ready in his gloved hand, his face upturned, watching a huge sheet of steel swinging into place. She felt a shot of nerves for the man’s safety.
‘Why don’t we meet up sometime?’ Rosie shouted into Georgina’s ear as they reached the timekeeper’s cabin.
Georgina nodded.
‘I’d love that,’ she shouted back. ‘Like our mams used to.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
1936
When Rosie arrived back in Sunderland, she felt a sharp stab of depression – a stab of depression that might have morphed into something bigger had she not had so much to do.
After catching the tram to Seaburn, she walked the rest of the way back home.
Once there, she didn’t allow herself to sit down, even for a cup of tea.
Instead, she packed her bags.
When it was late, unable to face lying in the bed in which she had been so violently abused – and still fearful that Raymond might return – she slept on the beach. The night was cold, even though it was now summer, but she had the benefit of thick blankets to keep her warm. More than anything, though, she felt safe. If Raymond did come back, he wouldn’t think to look out on the beach to find her. If by chance he did, she’d made her makeshift bed behind some rocks and was shielded from view.
The next day she went to see the landlord and gave up the tenancy on the little cottage that had been her home since birth. Mr Gantry, the owner of the property, was a decent man and gave her a fair amount for the furniture, rugs and other bits and pieces that her mam and dad had bought over the years. Money that would pay for a month’s lodgings in a small bedsit in town. When Mr Gantry asked about Charlotte, Rosie told him she had gone to stay with friends of the family in London. She would tell the same story to anyone else who might ask. She also said that she would be going to join Charlotte. If Mr Gantry or anyone saw her in Sunderland, she would simply say she was staying on for a while longer. If Raymond tried to find either herself or Charlotte, he’d be thrown off the scent. Trying to track anyone down in London would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
As soon as Rosie dumped her bags in her new lodgings, she went straight back out to the GPO and rang the Runcorn School for Girls. She explained to them that as Charlotte’s parents had both been killed in an automobile accident, it had been decided she would be best off at boarding school. ‘And, of course, Runcorn is known to be one of the best. If not the best,’ Rosie buttered up the deputy head. ‘Especially with its impressive list of past alumni.’
Mrs Willoughby-Smith seemed convinced by Rosie’s posh telephone voice, as well as the lie that she was working as a secretary at one of the largest shipyards in Sunderland. Suitably impressed, she’d offered Charlotte a place there and then, providing, of course, she was in receipt of funds within the week.
Rosie had a cheque in the post half an hour after hanging up.
&nbs
p; The amount covered the first lot of fees, which Rosie had been overjoyed to hear were not as steep as she had imagined. The school was what was known as a ‘state-funded boarding school’. This meant the government paid the actual teaching fees, and the parents or guardians the fees for board and lodgings. There were extra costs, of course, which ate into the money Rosie thought she was saving, but she didn’t care. Charlotte would have a roof over her head, food in her belly and she’d be getting a proper schooling – which, in turn, would give her the chance to make a decent life for herself. But, most of all, she would be out of harm’s way. No one would know where she was, and the school had the added benefit of being located in a very remote part of North Yorkshire.
Now all Rosie had to do was find herself a job so that she, too, could keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. She’d worry later about how she was going to keep Charlotte at the school, once the ‘rainy-day money’ was gone.
For now, she had to find work.
Her lie about being a secretary in one of the town’s shipyards had got her thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘So, tell me all about it.’ Dr Parker took a sip of his pint.
He looked at Helen sitting opposite him on the stool at ‘their’ corner table in the Railway Inn. She looked stunning. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking so well. Or so happy. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she had a man in her life.
‘Oh, John, I feel like I’m in an Agatha Christie novel,’ she said.
Dr Parker nearly spluttered on his bitter.
‘As long as no one gets murdered,’ he chuckled.