Next door, in the kitchen, Hilda sniffed, but set the flat-iron in its rest. The pan of full-cream milk was already heating on the stove, as she’d anticipated this request. She grated half a tablet of dark Belgian chocolate into the milk and stirred until it was dissolved, adding a tiny piece of cinnamon to enhance the flavour. The cups were filled, long-handled teaspoons, a bowl of white sugar and paper napkins placed on the tray.
‘Thank you, Hilda,’ Sybil said graciously.
‘Nothing on the boil yet?’ Hilda asked, glancing at the empty containers.
‘No. I’ve been studying last week’s orders and checking our stock of ingredients.’
Hilda sipped the delicious drink. ‘Aren’t you worried Mr Fullilove will find out?’
‘What if he does? I am investing the allowance he grudgingly gives me – from my own money, I suspect – and what else could I do with my time?’
Hilda bit back a retort. She relished the thought that they were foxing the aloof Mr Fullilove. She said instead, ‘Your roots need touching up, before the next meeting. I’ll get the peroxide from the bathroom. Griff borrowed it to dab on a mouth ulcer.’
‘Comes of eating too many slivers of the emporium’s strong cheese! It’s good to have two young people in the house. I wonder how Mattie’s doing?’
‘Oh, you needn’t worry about that one, she’s got the measure of Mr Fullilove’
‘I’m glad the Hon. Mrs Trembath is our hostess on Thursday morning. My husband complains we use too much expensive ground coffee when I entertain the ladies here.’
‘Still rationed, are we?’ Hilda drained her cup, moved to light the spirit stove. ‘What d’you want me to do? I’ve a pile of ironing waiting . . .’
‘Athenian hair-wash. You can manage that, can’t you?’ Sybil wheedled.
‘Remind me of the recipe then.’
‘Weigh a quarter of a pound of sassafras wood, add to a gallon of rose-water in a vessel. Bring to the boil, simmer until dissolved. Cool, then add a pint of pure alcohol and an ounce of pearl ash,’ Sybil recited. ‘Try it on your hair, Hilda. It’s a tonic.’
Hilda sniffed again. ‘I ain’t got time to prink and preen, Miss Sybil.’
‘I’ll make the black hair-dye – three of the ladies requested that,’ Sybil said. ‘They don’t want their husbands to suspect they’re going grey.’
She pulled on a pair of protective gloves. This mixture, which must be stored in a blue bottle, indicating its toxicity, involved dissolving silver nitrate and nickel sulphate in distilled water, with a dash of strong ammonia, which made her eyes smart.
‘Enhancing brown hair is easier,’ Sybil said with feeling. ‘Just a tincture of walnut shells, scented with oil of lavender. Not that our ladies realise that.’
Hilda checked the notebook. ‘No saffron?’
Sybil shook her head. ‘I daren’t ask my husband for that – it’s so costly. It gives a glorious tinge to auburn hair. I’ll substitute black tea with rum for Mrs Ginger Stevens. I can charge almost as much for it, and it’s so easy.’
‘Watch out, Mr Fullilove ain’t marked the level in the rum bottle, then!’
Later, when the hair lotions were bottled, Sybil began a favourite task: lip pomade. She’d make extra as a gift for Mattie. This was a startling red and she hoped it would cheer her up. Mattie had looked solemn since starting at the emporium.
*
‘Come in!’ Mattie was startled by the tapping on her door. She’d not been in long from work, had kicked her shoes off, and was resting on her bed. ‘I hadn’t realised how tiring it is when you’re on your legs most of the day,’ she had said to Sybil when she came into the room.
‘Never mind, here’s a little something to cheer you up,’ Sybil said.
Mattie sat up, took the small jar and read the label. ‘Lip pomentum – what’s that?’
Sybil smiled. ‘See my lips? I mix all my own cosmetics. Rufus doesn’t object, believing I am thrifty. Shush! He doesn’t know I also sell to exclusive clients.’
Mattie had to smile then. Curious, she unscrewed the top, looked inside. She rubbed the tip of her little finger over the glossy salve. ‘Is this how you apply it?’
‘Yes, or with a sable brush. Go to the dressing-table, you need the mirror.’
Mattie gazed back at her reflection. She couldn’t say, ‘I don’t look like me!’
‘I can tell you’re not sure about it,’ Sybil said, over her shoulder.
‘Oh, Sybil, it’s just that—’ Mattie wasn’t sure how to answer.
‘You’re right – you’re a natural beauty, my dear. I’ll wipe the colour off for you before it sets, and I’ll exchange this pomade for a pot of my skin cream, eh?’
‘I’m curious,’ Mattie admitted a little later, ‘to know how you started all this.’
Sybil glanced at her gold fob watch. ‘Well, I expect we’ve got time for a chat – dinner will be half an hour later this evening. Rufus rang to say he was held up in his office, going over the accounts with Miss Teazel. She is probably only a halfpenny or two out, but that’s too much in his opinion . . .
‘Now, I’m surprised at how little you seem to know about me, but your mother was never one for tittle-tattle, eh? Sophia and my mother were first cousins, they grew up in the village where your parents still live. My mother, being older, was married first, by that time she was living and working in the West Country. I was an only child, and my father was a farmer. They could afford to have me educated privately. I even took science lessons at school and dabbled with the idea of making science my career.
‘As I grew up, I found country life restricting. I rebelled, left home as soon as I could, and joined a small travelling theatre company. I dreamed of becoming an actress. I assisted the wardrobe mistress, who was also skilled in stage make-up. She shared her secrets, and I discovered I had a flair for it. We made our own preparations, as I do still, and after a few years I branched out on my own. I was much in demand. I actually made money from something I loved doing. I had a nice little nest egg when I met Rufus. He was introduced to me backstage – he’d been invited to a performance given by the company I was with then. He remarked on the artistry involved with the character make-up.’ She paused. ‘It may be hard to comprehend, but it was love at first sight.’
‘For both of you?’ Mattie ventured.
‘It seemed so. He was a widower; we married within six weeks of meeting.’ She added: ‘I suppose he thought an educated wife would be an asset. I realised all too soon I’d made a mistake. There is . . . no passion in our union. I suspect he seeks that elsewhere. Are the visits to his club a cover-up for a liaison?’
‘Do you really care?’ Mattie wondered.
‘Not any more. I have my ally, dear Hilda, and now, you. I feel I can trust you.’
‘Thank you. Though I’m afraid I now care even less for Rufus.’
‘He hides his kinder side very well. He brought Griff up, after his mother died.’
‘He banished him to boarding school!’ Mattie reminded Sybil.
‘He paid for him to have an excellent education; social grooming. He is fond of Griff in his own way, but doesn’t show it. Well, I must dress for dinner, so must you.’
As she opened the door to leave they saw Griff standing there.
‘I was wondering where the pair of you had got to,’ he said, unembarrassed.
‘We’ll be down shortly,’ Mattie and Sybil said in unison.
Mattie closed the door. How much, if anything, had Griff overheard, she wondered?
Miss Teazel pleaded a headache and asked to be excused. She’d seen her employer’s covert glances at her assistant. A pretty young thing, but with little aptitude for bookkeeping. The discrepancies had been in Miss Coe’s childish handwriting.
When her superior had left, Miss Coe smiled nervously at Mr Fullilove.
‘I promise to do better, sir.’
They were in his office. The building was deserted, apart from the car
etaker in his basement. Rufus pulled down the blinds, switched on the desk lamp.
‘I’ve made you late for your meal. I apologise.’
‘Oh,’ Miss Coe said disingenuously, ‘I have to fend for myself. I only have a gas ring in my bedsit. It will have to be bread and cheese tonight.’
‘I feel responsible for your welfare. Allow me to accompany you to a restaurant meal.’
‘I . . . don’t know what to say . . . it’s very good of you, but—’
‘I insist. While you fetch your things from the cloakroom, I will telephone my wife.’
‘Won’t she mind?’
‘My dear young lady, I assure you, Mrs Fullilove will not mind at all,’ Rufus said.
FIVE
Evie, although she was coming up to thirteen, was blissfully ignorant of the facts of life. She knew Ena was about to have a baby, of course, but matters concerning the birth were conveyed in whispers, between her mother and her sister-in-law.
Evie wisely kept out of Ena’s way as much as possible. Ena’s temper did not improve as the weather grew warmer and she became heavier and weary. The cradle, which had last been used by Evie as a baby, was brought down from the attic and painted white. The muslin hangings were washed and starched. Sophia removed the faded pink bows and sewed on new blue ribbons at Ena’s request. Ena was convinced the baby was a boy. Sophia secretly hoped so: to compensate for, even if he could never replace, her own lost son, Robbie.
It was May, and Mattie had already been gone a whole month. She wrote to her parents once a week. In her latest letter she proudly enclosed a five-shilling postal order, as promised. This was almost a week’s wage. Her earlier suspicions had proved right. Her board and lodging were obviously taken into consideration, were not free at all. Mattie also included a note for Evie.
I miss you dear Sis, even our little differences of opinion! I have been quite homesick. I have to say, this place, my job, have not exactly proved to be a dream come true. I hope you will not have to leave school before time, like me. A good education is so important. Read all you can!
However, Sybil is very nice, and I do like Griff (Mr Fullilove’s stepson). I also have a good friend at work, called Christabel.
I expect Ena is happier without me around. How much longer before the baby arrives? You will be the big sister then!
How I wish I could go down to the stream with you and pick watercress for tea. But I suppose those carefree days are gone for ever.
With fondest love from Mattie.
Tears pricked Evie’s eyes. Ena was able to undermine her in all kinds of devious ways, now that her own big sister was not around to protect her from the barbs.
She thought, as she tucked the letter away where she hoped Ena would not find it, our parents found me amusing when I was a child – I was the spoiled one, I know. Now, Mother tells me off when Ena moans I’ve not done my jobs properly. Oh, how I hate washing-up! When I leave school, I shall ask Mattie to send for me! I miss her, too.
Evie’s parents were on their fortnightly shopping excursion to the Friday market in town. The bus was packed, and Sophia chatted to the doctor’s wife, who was having a rare day off from answering calls to the surgery. Her husband had planned a fishing trip, she said, adding, I hope your Ena doesn’t decide to have her baby today.’
‘Well, the midwife called yesterday and she reckons Ena’ll go another ten days or so.’ Will I last out? Sophia thought. Ena has been a real trial this last month . . .
Sophia was flattered that the doctor’s wife had singled her out to talk to, according her the status she’d enjoyed when the Plough was a going concern.
‘How is your Mattie faring in Plymouth?’ They were communicating across the gangway in the bus. Will tactfully gazed through the window at the local scenes as they rumbled along, but others were listening avidly.
‘Mattie is doing well in her new employment, thank you.’
‘Such an attractive young lady. She will be much in demand socially, I imagine.’
‘Oh, Mattie is quite emancipated. She intends to concentrate on her career.’
Will gave Sophia a discreet nudge. ‘Town Hall stop coming up. Make ready.’
As they walked towards the market square, he observed. ‘Bit sharp, weren’t you?’
‘Mattie is not like other girls of her age. She’ll make something of herself.’
Will squeezed her arm ‘You’ve expected great things of Mattie ever since she had her portrait painted! Now she’s left home we should concentrate on Evie, I think.’
‘Evie is different. She’ll stay at home unless she marries. You’ll see!’
‘We mustn’t take that for granted,’ Will reminded her wisely.
‘It’s traditional,’ Sophia insisted. ‘The youngest has certain responsibilities.’
‘You’ve got Ena now . . .’
‘Ena! She pulled the wool over my eyes. She won’t last the course, that one!’
At that moment, with a wry smile, Will thought, but didn’t say, how alike Sophia and her elder daughter were, both in looks, for Mattie was fair like her mother, while Evie was dark-haired like himself, and in the way they spoke their mind.
Evie hurried home from school at lunch time to see Ena, as she’d promised an anxious Ronnie, first thing, before he left for work. ‘You can make sandwiches for you both, can’t you?’ As he said that, he was hurriedly cutting bread for his own packing-up.
Evie had assured her brother she would do as he asked. When she entered the house by the back door she went straight to the kitchen. She found things as she had left them, the table wiped clean, the plates on the wall rack. There was no sign of Ena.
She called out anxiously: ‘Ena, where are you?’ There was a faint thumping on the floor above, in reply. Ena must be in her bedroom.
Evie tore upstairs, turned the corner and burst into the room without knocking.
Ena, still in her nightgown, was writhing on the rumpled bed. Her face was contorted. ‘What . . . took you . . . so long.’ she managed in a hoarse whisper.
‘I ran back from school. Is it . . . the baby?’
‘What do you think!’ Ena gasped. She groaned as another spasm racked her.
Evie was galvanised into action. She gripped Ena’s hand. It seemed to help.
After what seemed an eternity, Ena relaxed, opened her eyes, struggled to sit up.
‘The bed’s soaking. Get a big towel to put under me. Then run like the blazes for the midwife! Tell her . . . the pains . . . oh leave the towel – just go!’
A shocked Evie realised that Ena was in agony. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can!’
Five minutes later she was hammering on the nurse’s door. Her husband, home from the fields for his lunch, answered. He stood there with his sleeves rolled up, as he’d been at the sink, washing his grubby hands. He wiped them ineffectually on his clothes. ‘If you want the missus, she’s out on a job. Is it your Ena? I can get a message to her, tell her to leave off lancing Charlie’s boils, and to come to yours.’
‘Thank you!’ Evie was still out of breath. She turned at the gate. ‘What can I do?’
‘Get plenty of water boiling on the stove. Then sit with the poor gal.’
There was a pump over the Belfast sink. Evie filled kettles and a big pan and set them on the gas stove. She wasted several matches, because her hands were shaking.
She went upstairs, pausing to grab towels from the linen cupboard on the landing.
There was a scream from the bedroom. Evie dropped the linen on a chair, rushed to the bedside. This was all happening so quickly: it was like a bad dream.
Ena was clutching her bent knees, her gown rucked round her waist. ‘The baby’s being born . . .’ she panted. ‘Help me, oh help me!’
Evie snatched up the biggest towel, eased it under her sister-in-law. As she bent to this task, she was shocked to see what was happening. Instinctively she caught the baby in her hands as it emerged into the
world. It gave an indignant wail. This was one cry which Evie was relieved to hear.
Ena subsided limply back on her pillows. ‘There’s more to come,’ she said weakly.
‘What . . . do you mean?’
‘Lay the baby down, wrap it in the other towel, then leave well alone. The nurse will deal with the rest of it . . .’ She closed her eyes dismissively.
Evie suddenly recalled the water which must be boiling furiously on the stove. As she came downstairs, two at a time, she heard the banging on the front door. Thank goodness, the midwife was here!
‘The baby’s come,’ she greeted the nurse.
‘What is it?’ came the brusque question.
‘Oh – I didn’t look!’ Poor Evie was sobbing now.
‘Never mind – got the kettle on the boil? Bring up a jug of hot and a jug of cold water, then make tea for three – you’ve had a shock, too, my dear.’
First, Evie washed her hands under the pump, then consigned her dress to the clothes basket – what would Mother say when she saw the stains on it? She took down a clean frock from the airer and slipped it over her head. Now, she thought I can cope with the nurse’s requests.
There was more tea to make and explanations as to why she was not back at school, when her parents arrived home at four o’clock.
The nurse was still with Ena and the baby. Sophia couldn’t wait to see her new grandson. Evie and Will sat in the kitchen, drinking their tea and eating Bourbon biscuits, a treat Sophia had brought home.
‘You did well, Evie,’ Will said presently. He suddenly reached across the table to ruffle her hair. ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of a shock for you. Messy business, having babies. But they clean up nicely, and then you forget all that.’
‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget,’ Evie told him. She wouldn’t be unkind and add that the baby was all crumpled-looking and lobster-red; she hoped he would improve with keeping!
Tucked up in her bed, in fresh linen, Ena turned away from her baby. ‘You can nurse him for a bit,’ she told her mother-in-law, ‘then lay him in the cradle.’
The Meadow Girls Page 4