Good God, thought Lacey, she’s barely older than I am, and look at her. A spurt of anger seared Lacey’s chest. There was something dreadfully wrong with the world that it expected a poor war widow with six hungry children to survive on next to nothing when there were others who had more than enough to eat and could still afford to buy the clothes she made.
Guilt at her own affluence enveloped her. She knelt at the hearth to bank up the fire. Still on her knees she thrust her hand into her pocket. Extracting the coins she found there, she dropped them into the woman’s lap. Lily’s eyes widened, tears she had been holding back falling as she mumbled her thanks.
In the car, riding back up Towngate, Lacey said, ‘More needs to be done for people like that. I’ve always known there are people who struggle to make ends meet but I’ve never before come across such abject poverty. It makes me ashamed.’
‘That’s why I do what I can for them,’ Constance said briskly. ‘You opened my eyes to the inequality in society, and like you, I’m shocked by their suffering. Families who once eked out a living have been plunged into despair by the loss of their men; the husband was usually the breadwinner. A war widow’s pension barely covers the cost of rent and coal, and it’s not just sustenance they require, it’s a physical presence; someone to share the chores as they rebuild their shattered lives.’
‘You’ve mentioned that before, but I was too involved in my own business to take much note,’ Lacey said, thoughtfully. ‘You say it was me who had opened your eyes to their suffering, but it’s you who’s opened mine.’ Her tone expressing deep concern she added, ‘There must be something we can do.’
Constance sighed, ‘I coerce my Charity Ladies into raising funds to buy food but, try as I might, I can’t persuade them to make house visits. They’re afraid to step inside dwellings as insalubrious as the one we’ve just left. Until I succeed in disturbing their consciences sufficiently, I’ll carry on alone.’
Cheevers brought the car to a halt outside Lacey’s house. Lacey turned to Constance, and her tone rich with sincerity she said, ‘You are an amazing woman, Constance Brearley.’ Lacey paused, weighing her next words. ‘To think I once despised you and doubted your integrity shames me. You’re twice the woman I am.’
Constance accepted the compliment with a dip of her head, then said, ‘Don’t denigrate yourself, my dear. You had good cause to despise me.’ She chuckled softly. ‘I was protecting my own and Nathan’s interests, so I thought. That was before I realised how narrow was my view on the world. I know now that privilege and respect must be earned, not merely taken as a birthright. As for being twice the woman you are, I can’t accept that honour. Where once I would have scorned your efforts I now praise them – not least for giving Jonas and I a wonderful grandson.’ She patted Lacey’s hand fondly. ‘Never underestimate yourself, my dear.’
‘I won’t,’ said Lacey, opening the door and stepping out to the pavement, her expression determined.
29
‘There has to be something we can do,’ Lacey told Joan, on her return from Jackroyd Lane. ‘Women like Lily Bottomly are so bowed down with their loss they can hardly lift their heads of a morning.’
Joan sighed. ‘I know how they feel – or I did,’ she corrected.’
‘Course you do, love.’ Immediately contrite, Lacey made amends, but the hopelessness of the situation still plagued her conscience.
Whenever time allowed she took food and clothing to ‘Constance’s families’, each visit increasing her awareness of their extreme poverty; not just financial paucity but the loss of dearly loved husbands who should have been there to give them support in the ordinary, everyday events that all families experience.
To add to her worries, Nathan had yet to reply to the letters Lacey had written telling him of the newly leased premises and the refurbished house. Well aware that letters went astray, and that Nathan was involved in far more important matters, she attempted to shrug off the sense of foreboding. Yet it was so unlike Nathan not to write. Anxiety increasing with every waking moment, she sought to stem the inner terror gnawing at her soul by denying herself time to think.
‘Still no word from Nathan then?’ Edith set a mug of tea in front of Lacey, her gloomy face mirroring her daughter’s. ‘You shouldn’t burden yourself with imaginings, Lacey. If anything bad has happened you’d have heard by now.’
Lacey managed a watery smile. ‘I know, Mam, common sense tells me that, but you know me, I’ve always had a vivid imagination. At one time I only imagined lovely things; silly dreams like all young girls have. Now I imagine the worst. It must be a sign of old age.’ They both giggled at this last remark, Lacey not yet twenty-five.
Edith sat down at the table. ‘There’s weeks go by without a word from our Jimmy, an’ don’t think I don’t worry about him ‘cos I do, but I promised him I wouldn’t be miserable. I keep that promise by thinking positive, an’ that’s what you’ve got to do, Lacey. You haven’t heard owt bad so don’t go thinking it.’
Lacey grinned at her mother’s good old Yorkshire common sense. She could always rely on Edith to take the hurt out of a situation, and a visit to Netherfold always lightened her heart.
‘That’s better,’ Edith said, relieved to see a glimmer of Lacey’s old spirit returning. She scooped Richard up into her arms. ‘You don’t want this little lad to see you moping. Children are quick to sense when something’s wrong. Be happy for him.’ She walked towards the door. ‘Now me an’ this young man are going to pick gooseberries an’ you Lacey, get a bit of fresh air; put some colour in your cheeks. Go an’ find your Dad an’ Matt up in t’top field an’ tell ‘em I’ll have the tea ready in half an hour.’
Leaving Edith and Richard by the gooseberry bushes, Lacey walked to the top field where Joshua and Matt were planting turnips. Her Mam was right. There was enough horror, death and destruction in the world these days without imagining any more.
Joshua jumped down from the plough at Lacey’s approach. ‘It’s nice to see you, lass. We don’t see enough of you these days, what wi’ you bein’ so busy.’
‘I’m skiving today. I work too hard.’
Matt hooted with derision. ‘Hard work, you don’t know the meaning of it,’ he cried, waving the seed drill aloft. ‘All you an’ our Molly do is sit an’ drink tea.’
Whatever he said, Lacey knew that Matt was delighted that Lacey had accepted Molly into the business; it brought the family closer together.
‘How are you, Dad? Everything all right?’ Lacey swung on Joshua’s arm and smiled up into his sweating face.
Joshua’s automatic response of, ‘Aye, everything’s grand’ was no sooner spoken than his jowls creased pensively in consternation.
Lacey, sensing something awry asked ‘What’s up? Is summat bothering you?’
Joshua rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘Aye, you might say so.’ His gaze strayed to the fields beyond the one in which they now stood. ‘I allus thought they were mine.’
Exasperated, Lacey cried, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s talking about them.’ Matt indicated two fields left to grass. ‘Arnold Beaumont says they’re his by rights. He came t’other night an’ told us he wants ‘em back.’
Lacey looked mystified. ‘Why ever would he say that? Grandad Barraclough farmed those fields before Arnold Beaumont wa’ born.’
‘We know that,’ said Joshua, ‘my father an’ his father afore him, but Beaumont says they were on’y lent because Hardacre Farm had no use for ‘em. He says they never charged rent ‘cos his father an’ mine were friends. Now he wants ‘em back.’
‘Wi’out them fields we might as well pack it in,’ Matt grumbled. ‘Netherfold’s small enough as it is, an’ if we don’t have winter fodder for t’sheep we’re buggered.’
Lacey knew Arnold Beaumont, the owner of Hardacre Farm. The most prosperous farmer in Garsthwaite, he had the reputation for being a greedy, grasping employer, the lads who worked for him complaining of poor wages and
ill-treatment.
‘But why, after all these years, has he suddenly decided to re-claim them?’
Matt grunted. ‘He says it’s summat to do wi’ expansion. He says t’government want bigger farms, not piddling little muck holes like Netherfold.’
‘The cheeky bugger!’ Lacey gazed at the disputed fields, her thoughtful expression furrowing her brow. ‘Can he prove ownership? Has he summat on paper?’
Joshua scratched his head. ‘He hasn’t shown us owt yet, but he seems certain they’re his.’
‘Ask him for proof,’ said Lacey, ‘an’ you must have something to prove you own Netherfold, some old deeds or maps that show how much land you have.’
Joshua frowned. ‘Aye, we have, but God knows where. I’ve never been called on to prove Netherfold’s mine. It’s allus been taken for granted.’ He looked so confused, Lacey’s heart went out to him.
She patted his arm affectionately. ‘Don’t look so worried; we’ll get it sorted. Now get cleared up here ‘cos Mam’ll have the tea ready.’
Later, wheeling Richard in his pushchair back into the workshop, Joan pointed to an envelope lying on Lacey’s machine. For a split second her heart plummeted then soared again; the envelope was blue, not brown. Careering the pram forward, she snatched it up, Nathan’s bold print making her heart sing.
‘See, I told you everything ‘ud be all right,’ said Joan.
In the solitude of the house, Lacey opened the envelope. Nathan congratulated her on extending the business, asked after Richard and the folks up at Netherfold and finally instructed her not to worry.
It will take a lot more than the Hun to keep me from coming home to you. As I have often reminded you, nothing can stand in the way of love like ours. My love for you and yours for me is my sword and my shield. Thus protected, my safety is ensured.
Lacey wept.
*
The next day, as Lacey, was returning from a trip to the butcher’s she met Maggie and Sarah, two old friends from the Mill. The girls were dawdling along the street, arm in arm. ‘No work today, lasses?’ Lacey asked by way of a greeting. She already knew that the Mill was on short-time, the lucrative contracts the mills had thrived on in the early years of the war no more; for large quantities of serge were no longer required.
Maggie scowled. ‘We’re on’y on two days this week.’
‘If we don’t go back full time in t’next week or two I don’t know what I’ll do,’ Maggie grumbled.
Sarah added her complaints. ‘Aye, it’s awful being without wages but having nowt to do’s nearly as bad. I’m sick o’ traipsing round trying to fill a day.’
Both girls unmarried, they had plenty of time on their hands. As this thought crossed Lacey’s mind, so did another. ‘I’ve got summat you can do on your days off.’
‘We can’t sew,’ they chimed as one.
‘It’s not sewing; it’s summat far more worthwhile.’
Maggie and Sarah glanced quizzically at Lacey and then at one another. Lacey pressed on. ‘There are families in Garsthwaite, some as poor as crows, where the women aren’t coping. Most of ‘em are war widows with young children. Then there are old folks who’ve lost the son who provided for them. My mother-in-law, Mrs Brearley, helps as much as she can but she requires assistance.’
‘We’ve got nowt to give ‘em,’ Maggie interrupted, ‘we’ve barely enough for us selves.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Lacey urged. ‘You’ve got your health and strength and time on your hands. Now if you popped in and out, gave a hand with the bairns, made sure they had a fire on the go and a warm meal at dinnertime it ‘ud make their lives easier. That way you’d be doing some good and earning a bit of brass at the same time. I can’t pay the same rate as you get for weaving but it’ll be a few bob you wouldn’t have otherwise.’
Maggie and Sarah looked at one another, weighing up the situation. ‘Who buys t’food to make dinners if there’s nowt in t’house?’ Maggie asked shrewdly.
‘I arrange that,’ said Lacey. ‘You just collect it from me as and when you need it.’
Sarah laughed. ‘You’re a right one you are. You’re always organisin’ summat.’ She nudged Maggie. ‘Remember the time we marched through the town an’ got two bob of a rise for every piece?’
Maggie smirked. ‘I remember t’lavatories better.’
This time all three women laughed.
‘Will you do it then?’ Lacey smiled appealingly. ‘You can ask another couple of lasses to join you if you like. Choose two who are on different shifts at the Mill. That way somebody can call every day.’
That same evening, after Lacey had told Constance of the new arrangements, she said, ‘We need more contributions if we’re to help more families.’
In no time at all, the butcher was supplying scrag-ends cheap, the bakery cut-price oats and leftover bread, and the greengrocer bruised apples and wizened potatoes, Lacey and Constance having convinced them it was their Christian duty.
‘We call ourselves Lacey’s League,’ Maggie piped when she and Sarah called to collect the supplies they delivered to the needy. ‘Sarah wanted to call us Lacey’s Ladies League but,’ Maggie gave a hearty guffaw ‘I reminded her, we’re not ladies.’
‘You are to me,’ said Lacey, ‘ladies with good hearts.’ She waved them off, still chuckling at the title they had given themselves.
*
Thrilled to have achieved yet another goal Lacey was content for much of the time, yet there were moments when she was seized with irrational panic. What would the future hold if Nathan didn’t come home? What if their mutual love was not protection enough?
One night, Richard asleep, Lacey sat at the dining room table with her ledger, invoices and receipts spread out in front of her. She opened the ledger, scanning each page, checking the columns of credits, debits and totals; entries she meticulously recorded at the end of each working day.
Satisfied they were in order she crosschecked invoices and receipts against the entries in the ledger. Further calculations appertaining to the house she rented out to the engineer, and the outlay for Lacey’s League also proving satisfactory, she pushed the ledger and the invoices aside. Finally she checked the balance in her bankbook.
Lacey was inordinately proud of her bankbook. Never having had one before, she took great pride in the balance it showed: not a king’s ransom but a tidy sum proving that her sewing business was a thriving concern. Consoled by her findings Lacey sat back and rubbed her tired eyes.
The rush of adrenaline that had accompanied the mental activity gradually wore off, replaced by a gnawing sense of foreboding. What if Nathan didn’t return? Without him Lacey feared she might be too grief stricken to further her ambitions. Better to do it now whilst there was still hope, for if Nathan made the ultimate sacrifice she must provide for her future and Richard’s future. She owed Nathan that much. Wearily she climbed the stairs, only to toss and turn restlessly in the half empty bed, sleep evading her until the small hours, when she at last fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
*
The next morning, after putting the final touches to a dress for the doctor’s wife, Lacey went into the house and asked Susan to dress Richard for outdoors and put him in the pushchair. Leaving Susan to carry-out this problematic task – Richard didn’t like being strapped in the pushchair – Lacey went back to the workroom.
‘Joanie. Molly. I’m going out.’ The determined twinkle in her eyes did not escape their notice. Of late they had grown used to the wistful gazes or distracted glances each day without Nathan produced. Their hearts saddened, they were quick to sense the new vitality in her voice.
‘You’re up to summat,’ said Joan, knowing Lacey well enough to detect the energy coursing through her.
‘I am,’ chirped Lacey, ‘an’ I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.’
Out on the street she caught sight of a young lad in uniform riding a bicycle: the telegram boy. He pedalled swiftly towards her and her hea
rt plunged into her boots, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the pram’s handle. The boy sailed past, whistling. Lacey sagged with relief. His news, good or bad, was for someone else.
*
By the summer of 1917, Lacey’s sewing business had undergone monumental changes. Outside, above the door, a sign in large green and gold letters announced:
Lacey’s Modistes
and under that in smaller letters:
Purveyors of Ladies’ Quality Fashion.
Inside, the sewing machines and cutting tables were relegated to rooms at the rear and the haberdashery had been reinstated. What had been the sewing room was now a dress shop, complete with fitting rooms and rails of garments; some bought in, others designed by Lacey. With its dark blue carpet and gold and blue striped curtains hanging at the fitting room doorways, Lacey considered her dress shop almost as grand as Brown Muffs in Bradford: and all achieved with a bank loan.
She had been pleasantly surprised at how readily the loan had been granted. A brief check on her assets and the manager of The Yorkshire Bank in Huddersfield, smiling expansively, had shaken her hand and then ushered her out of his office saying, ’Always pleased to be of assistance.’ To himself he had added, ‘and should you fail to meet your commitments I can always call on Jonas Brearley to honour them.’
Had Lacey been aware of this she would have roundly, and possibly crudely, told him what he could do with his loan; she’d succeed without her father-in-law’s assistance but, blissfully ignorant, she had rushed back to Garsthwaite to expand her empire.
Now, the workforce included Sarah Walker, a seamstress who had trained in Leeds, and two young trainees, Katie and Ann. Both bright, willing girls, they were the daughters of women Lacey had worked alongside in the Mill. This pleased her for, along with the work done by Lacey’s League, she felt as though her good fortune was spilling over into other people’s lives.
The Girl from the Mill Page 25