Dorothy Eden (8 page)

“I don’t suppose you were,” Beatrice said briskly, enjoying the effect of her surprise tactics.

However, in a moment Mr Featherstone had overcome his shock and was saying suavely, “And how is your poor father, Mrs Overton?”

“My father is getting on splendidly. He’ll be back in the shop in no time at all.”

“Ah, not too soon, I hope. These things can’t be hurried. I remember my poor mother, well one day, alas, gone the next.”

“My father has absolutely no intention of following your mother’s example, Mr Featherstone.”

“One hopes not. One hopes not. But the Almighty—”

Beatrice had had enough of this sort of creeping Jesus talk. How could Papa have engaged a man like this, except that he was so clever? But not clever enough not to look down his nose at this little person and dismiss her as of no account. She was not only female, but had allowed herself to be married for her money.

“I’m afraid I don’t agree with your pessimistic outlook, Mr Featherstone. It’s bad for the shop. But we’ll talk more about that in my father’s office. I want a meeting of buyers in half an hour. Will you arrange it for me?”

Mr Featherstone allowed various expressions, surprise, a certain apprehension, and finally a calculated meekness to pass over his face.

“Certainly, Mrs Overton. I’ll arrange it at once. I’m sure everyone is most anxious to hear how your father is.”

“I haven’t come to present a bulletin of my father’s health.”

Beatrice found that she was enjoying herself. Giving orders was a heady business, and especially agreeable when a man like this was forced to obey. She felt six inches taller already.

She had one of the messenger boys, a cheerful curly-headed lad called Johnnie Lundy, arrange chairs round the heavy oak table in Papa’s office. From now on, she decided, she must observe every employee, from the humblest upwards.

She sat in the elbow chair at the head of the table, one hand resting lightly on each arm. She hoped she looked the picture of composure.

Presently they all came in, led by Adam Cope, the head buyer, who had been with Papa for ten years, and was an utterly reliable serious sober person. Then there was Mr Crowther from Linens and Damasks, Mr Mortlake from Gentlemen’s Wear, Mr Lang from Footwear, Miss Simpson from Haberdashery, Mr Seeley, the head bookkeeper, and several others whose faces, although not their names, were familiar to Beatrice.

Dear Miss Brown, who had worked for Papa since Bonnington’s had been a one-floor shop like a village store, selling everything from petticoats to cough drops, was so overjoyed to see Beatrice that she kept saying, “Thank heaven, thank heaven,” in an audible voice, obviously meaning Mr Featherstone to make no mistake about her meaning.

“Will everybody sit down, please,” Beatrice said quietly. Her nerves remained in admirable control. “I have asked you all to come here to discuss the future. I daresay you’re surprised that it’s me doing this, since I’m only a woman and rather young and newly married. But I’m Bonnington’s, my father says, so I must deputise until he is well. And that, I may say, knowing Papa, won’t be in the very distant future.”

There was a polite murmur of relief.

“I have a great deal to learn, of course. I will want to go through the department figures, the stock books and the outstanding accounts. I propose to do that tomorrow morning.”

“Mrs Overton—’ began Mr Featherstone.

“I think,” said Beatrice pleasantly, “that when I’m in the shop I would like to be called Miss Beatrice as I have always been. Yes, what were you about to say, Mr Featherstone?”

“Only that for someone as inexperienced as yourself—”

“Oh, I’m not inexperienced, Mr Featherstone. Far from it. I’ve always had a gift for figures. My teacher said that it wasn’t a very feminine characteristic. Apart from that, I’ve listened to my father talking business ever since he judged I was old enough to be interested, and that’s been for a long time now. So I know a great deal of the tangible side of buying and selling. The intangible side—pleasing the customer—is one that I think a woman knows quite as well, if not better, than a man.”

She gave her friendly smile. She was conscious of a very pleasant sense of power.

“I have several ideas in that connection already. For instance, I would like the area round the front doors made more attractive. And I do think there’s a great deal of room for improvement in our window dressing. It’s really rather old-fashioned, and I intend to speak to my father about it. Why don’t we have a special display, whenever there’s a birth in the royal family, for instance? Lots of patriotic red, white and blue, and a slogan such as ‘Every infant is royal to its mother’.”

Miss Brown clapped her hands. “Brilliant, Miss Beatrice!”

“Then you must watch for happy events in the royal family, Miss Brown. A royal wedding, of course, could be a perfectly splendid occasion. We could advertise bridal gowns for weeks ahead, and get in extra dressmakers, if necessary. But I’m digressing. Just let me tell you my immediate plans. While my father is ill I intend to come in as often as possible, probably every morning. This is an emergency, and I’ve called you here to ask you to co-operate with me. I’m sure you are all my friends.”

There was an instant murmur of assent.

“That’s all I want to say at this moment, so you may go back to your positions. Except I would be obliged if you would stay, Mr Featherstone. I won’t keep you more than a few minutes.”

They all filed out, Miss Brown lingering to press Beatrice’s hand in an access of emotion. Beatrice doubted if she would ever be anything but “little Miss Beatrice”, and a child, to Miss Brown, but one thing was certain, Miss Brown would be absolutely loyal.

Mr Featherstone was another matter.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to go,” Beatrice said, when they were alone. There was no tremor in her voice to show her distaste for what she had to do. “Those are my father’s instructions and I’ve come here this morning to carry them out. I don’t want you to say anything because it will be waste of your time and mine. Just get your things together and leave. Mr Seeley will be instructed to pay you a week’s wages which, under the circumstances, is extremely generous treatment. I hope you will never set foot in Bonnington’s again. If you do, my father might be compelled to take out a writ against you for certain items of stock which have disappeared.”

She stood up. She didn’t want to watch the man’s suave confidence turning to a particularly unpleasant abjectness. Papa would have been pleased with her, she thought. She had proved that women were not too emotional to be given authority. She could act with ruthlessness when necessary. Her gaze was as steely as Papa’s.

“You were very foolish to ruin your chances here,” she said. “My father is a generous employer to an honest person. But we won’t waste time talking about what you have lost. Just take my advice and be more honest in your next employment.”

“Surely I will be given a reference,” Mr Featherstone said, in a displeasing whine.

“Weren’t you listening to me, Mr Featherstone? I was speaking of honesty. How is my father to write a genuine reference about someone who has behaved as you have?”

The man turned without another word and went out, and it was over. Now she could tremble if she wished.

She remained perfectly calm, however. She was reflecting on the advantages and disadvantages of power. One could inflate or diminish a person by a few words. It was a dangerous thing. She must use it with discretion.

She was glad to seek out Miss Brown in her little den behind the screen of bonnets and hats and lace caps flowering from slender gilt stands.

“I thought you would like to know, Miss Brown, that Mr Featherstone has just left.”

“Oh, thank heaven! That dreadful man! We were all so worried. Fancy you, Miss Beatrice, dismissing him!”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing things like that. From now on, I intend coming in every morning until Papa is better. I can’t make it a whole day because I don’t think my husband would care for that. I have to think of him as well.”

“Dear Miss Beatrice! You with a husband.” Miss Brown allowed herself a moment of romantic reflection before saying more practically, “Won’t he object to you coming in to the shop at all? You such a new bride.”

Beatrice said airily, “Goodness me, no. William and I are a very modern young couple.” She looked at the silver watch that hung from a chain round her neck.

“If I leave now I’ll have time to look in on Papa on the way home. I must set his mind at rest about this morning’s affair. Oh, no. I don’t think my husband will object at all to my morning occupation. He isn’t strong and I’m insisting that he rise late. Besides, he’s planning to begin his book on art. He’s had it in his mind for a long time. He’s very knowledgeable about paintings and sculpture. So he will be happily occupied while I am here. I think a great many married women could benefit from some extra occupation.”

“Goodness me, how you’ve changed, Miss Beatrice.”

“How have I changed?”

“You’re so alive.”

“That’s because I’m happy.”

“Bless you, my dear. I hope it will last a long time.”

“It will last forever. I’ll make it.”

I’ll make Bonnington’s the best store in London, and I’ll make William fall in love with me… she thought buoyantly.

“We must employ more women, Papa,” she said, at Papa’s bedside.

“Nonsense! I’ve never trusted ’em. Their nerves are too unreliable. They have attacks of the vapours.”

“They understand their own sex, though, and since the majority of our customers are female, it’s logical.”

“I don’t agree,” Papa growled. He was sitting up in bed looking decidedly alert. Ever since Beatrice had come bursting in, pushing aside the twittering nurse in the passage, he had grown livelier by the minute. He had been pleased with her. He had said, “Well done, Bea. Now you can go home to your husband.”

He was watching her carefully, however, and visibly relaxed when she said that she was on her way home now, but that she would be back in the shop tomorrow morning. He must know that the presence of the owner was vital for the morale of staff and customer alike. Besides, she had some ideas she wanted to put into practice. The façade of Bonnington’s was too drab. Shoppers, especially women, could be persuaded to indulge in impulsive spending if the right atmosphere were present. As a beginning she suggested a banked display of hothouse flowers at the main doors to give an appearance of luxury. And something must be done about the banal style of window dressing. She would like to find a bright young man with originality who would help to carry out her idea about introducing a theme of historical events into their window displays. There was always something happening in the far-flung Empire. It wasn’t enough to have an Indian room to outfit all those streams of women who set out for Calcutta or Delhi either to join their husbands or to find husbands. There were other countries constantly in the news. What about the discovery of diamonds on the Rand. Or the Zulu wars. Or the occasion of a royal wedding. With the old Queen’s numerous grandchildren there were plenty of those. And it was high time Bonnington’s received the Royal Warrant.

“Good Gad!” Papa said rather faintly. “You’ll turn the place into a museum.”

“No, you don’t understand, Papa. We merely keep up with the times. Or we anticipate them. For instance, if Queen Victoria lives to celebrate her Golden Jubilee we must prepare for it months in advance. We must have all the society ladies buying their ostrich feather fans and their imperial purple at Bonnington’s.”

“That’s several years ahead. Are you planning to be still there, Bea? Managing the place over my head?”

Beatrice pressed his hand.

“I expect I’ll be somewhere about.”

“I believe you will. I’ve started something, I can see. If you go on like this, who’s to say what you’ll be like in ten years.”

“I told you, Papa. Women are better for selling women’s things. Cheaper, too.”

“Not in the end. They go off and get married as soon as you’ve taught them to measure a yard of ribbon correctly.”

“And come back as customers.”

“They upset the male staff.”

“Miss Brown doesn’t.”

Papa gave his hoarse chuckle. “They won’t all be old Brownies. There’ll be a fair percentage of the ones who get themselves into trouble. Then I suppose you’ll want to run a nursery.”

“No, but I intend finding a suitable house for the young girls to live in. They can sleep in dormitories. There will be a housekeeper and a cook. Then we can bring nice honest country girls to London and train them and make sure they’re looked after.”

“Gad, why didn’t I consult you years ago?”

“I always wanted you to, Papa.”

“But what’s Master Overton going to say, losing his bride to trade? I can make a guess what old lady Overton will say. But that’s nothing to you, I suppose, in this mood with that deuced determined look. What’s happened to you? You were always a quiet little thing. And you’ve only been married five minutes. There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

A small smile rested on Beatrice’s lips.

“No, Papa. Nothing at all. William is the most understanding person in the world. But he hasn’t a strong physique, and I have too much energy for him. I bounce about like a rubber ball, he says. So it would really suit very well if I have to be away for part of the day. There are plenty of servants at Overton House, and you know I was never a person to sit about with needlework. Besides, William understands how important it is for you to have peace of mind while you’re recovering from this illness.”

“I don’t suppose he gives a tuppenny-damn about me. But I expect he has a thought or two as to where his income is coming from.”

“Papa!”

“All right, I’m not criticising. I’m simply stating a fact that we both know. Don’t start manipulating your husband too soon, Bea, no matter if he is a good-natured chap.”

“Papa, I’m not manipulating him!”

“Still, you reflect on that, love. You’ve always had a lot of private thoughts going on in your head. Haven’t you, now?”

“If wanting to be part of Bonnington’s is one, yes I have. Do you know, there have only been three things in my life that I have passionately wanted, and now I have them all. A husband, a beautiful home, and Bonnington’s. Isn’t it unbelievable! And I’m not even pretty!”