The Caxley Chronicles (7 page)

The Howard boys had been among the keenest students of the early motor car, and as they grew older did their best to persuade Sep to discard the two horse-drawn vans, which now took his expanding business further afield, and to buy a motor-van. But Sep would have none of it. It would cost too much. It would break down. He preferred his horses.

By the time King Edward died in 1910 and his son George was made King, both boys were in the bakery business. Jim
was now twenty-one and Leslie nineteen. Jim was like his father in looks and temperament, neat, quiet and industrious. His presence in the shop was invaluable, and as Sep grew older, he was glad to give more responsibility to his first-born.

Leslie took after Edna, dark, volatile and with the same devastating good looks. To be seen dancing the polka with Leslie at the Corn Exchange was something the girls of Caxley thoroughly enjoyed.

It was Leslie who bowled round the country lanes in the baker's van, touching his cap politely to the gentry as he edged Dandy the mare into the hedgerow to let a carriage—and sometimes a brand-new tonneau—pass by. It was Leslie who won the hearts of the old country women with his cheerful quips as he went on his rounds.

'A real nice lad,' they would say to each other, a warm loaf held in the crook of their arms as they watched Leslie and the mare vanish in a cloud of dust. 'Got his ma's looks, ain't he? But takes after his pa, too, let's hope.'

The growth of Sep's fortunes had brought him into the public eye. He had been persuaded to stand as a candidate in the local elections, and, much to his surprise, was successful in gaining a seat on the council. Caxley recognised the integrity and strength of character which was hidden behind his diffident appearance. His family and his business flourished, and his conduct over the portrait affair, which had been so severely criticized at the time, was now spoken of with praise.

'Sets a real example to that family of his! Look how forbearing he was with his Edna! Some would've kicked her out of doors, behaving that way. But you see, it's all turned out
for the best, and she've quietened down into a thorough good wife.'

Edna certainly gained dignity as the years passed. She still sang in public, and still played her banjo in private. But memories are long in the country, and Edna was still looked upon with some suspicion by the good ladies who organized charity events. Not so Hilda North, whose help was asked for on many occasions. It gave Hilda much private satisfaction to be invited to serve on committees with the local gentry, particularly as Edna was never so invited. Their children remained firm friends, and their husbands too, but the two wives grew cooler with each other as the years passed.

Hilda, in the early days of the new reign, now had three children. Bertie was seventeen and intended going into the motor trade, Winifred fifteen, still at the High School and longing to finish there and start training as a nurse. It was on Winnie's twelfth birthday that Hilda had discovered that she was having another child—an event which she greeted with mingled dismay and pleasure, for she had thought her family complete and was looking forward to an end to cots and prams and all the paraphernalia of babyhood. But Bender was whole-heartedly delighted with the news.

'Always the best—those that aren't ordered,' he assured his wife. 'You mark my words, she'll be a beauty.'

Amazingly enough, it was indeed a girl, and a beauty. At four she was as pretty as a picture with fair curls and eyes as blue as speedwell flowers. She was also thoroughly spoilt by all the family and hair-raisingly outspoken.

When Lady Hurley called to enlist Hilda's aid in raising money for a Christmas fund for the poor of Caxley, the tea
table had been laden with the best china, the silver teapot and wafer-thin bread and butter. The lightest of sponge cakes crowned a silver dish, and three sorts of jam, flanked by Gentlemen's Relish, added distinction to the scene.

"While Hilda was plying her honoured guest, young Mary put her head round the door and interrupted the genteel conservation.

'Our cat sicked up just before you came,' she volunteered in a clear treble voice. 'He sicked up half a mouse and a—'

'That'll do!' said poor Hilda hastily. She rang the bell and Mary was removed, protesting loudly, to the kitchen. It was a scene which the family remembered with pleasure for years, and Hilda with the deepest mortification.

Hilda's sense of propriety was strongly developed. She enjoyed her position in Caxley society and was proud to be the wife of a well-to-do tradesman, churchwarden and well-known public figure. She liked to be seen entering St Peter's for Matins, clad in her best gown and mantle in suitably quiet colours, dove-grey perhaps, or deep mauve, with a sedate hat to match, trimmed with pansies or a wide watered-silk ribbon. She retained her trim figure over the years, and tight lacing contributed to her neat appearance.

She was proud too of her family, good-looking and robust, even if not over-blessed with brains. Winifred, now growing up fast, would never be the beauty that little Mary promised to be, but she had a fresh fairness which the boys seemed to find attractive. Somewhat to Hilda's annoyance, she suspected that Leslie Howard, old enough to have chosen someone among his numerous admirers for his particular choice, cast a roving eye upon his friend of a life-time. An alliance with the
Howard family was not to be borne. Winifred was to do much better for herself. Climbing the social ladder was an exercise which Hilda accomplished with ease and dexterity. There was no reason on earth why a girl like Winifred should not marry happily into the gentry, if the cards were played with discretion.

As for Bertie, Hilda's heart melted whenever her eye rested upon him. He had always been particularly dear, perhaps because he followed so soon upon the stillborn son who was their first child, and gave them so much comfort when it was sorely needed. At eighteen Bertie was as tall as his massive father, but long-limbed and slender. His fair hair had not darkened much with the years, and his quiet grave good looks were much admired.

There was a reserve about Bertie which set him a little apart from the rest of the Norths. Always cheerful in company, he also loved solitude. He liked to dawdle by the Cax, or hang over the bridge, watching the smooth water glide below, whispering through the reeds at the bank side and weaving ever-changing patterns across the river bed. Perhaps he had noise enough at his work at Blake's, for he had just started a course of motor engineering with that firm. It was work that absorbed him. He had patience and physical strength, and a ready grasp of mechanics. He was certain, too, in his own mind, that the motor-car had come to stay despite the scoffings of his elders. Above all, he was secretly thankful that he was not in the family business, for Bender's somewhat slap-dash methods irked him, and he was too respectful a son to criticize his father.

On the face of it, the business flourished. The Norths now owned their own horse and trap, for Uncle Ted's little cob
had been sold when the old man grew too frail for driving, and it was now Bender's turn to take his elder brother on an occasional visit in the family trap. A freshly-painted skiff was moored at the end of the North's small garden, and once every year the shop was left in charge of Bob, now second-in-command, still with a mop of unruly black hair and steel spectacles set awry, while the family took a week's holiday at the sea. Caxley never doubted that Bender's business was as flourishing as ever.

But Bender himself knew otherwise. His turnover had not increased in the past few years, and now there was a serious threat to the business. The great firm of Tenby's, which flourished in the county town, opened a branch next door to Blake's at the marsh end of Caxley High Street. Their premises were far grander and far larger than Bender's, and the new agricultural machinery, which was beginning to make its way on to the market, was displayed and demonstrated with great ease in the commodious covered yard behind the shop.

It was Jesse Miller who brought the seriousness of the position home to Bender. He was a frequent caller now at the Norths', for he had succeeded in persuading the vacillating Ethel, Hilda North's sister, to marry him a few years earlier when Dan Crockford's behaviour appeared so reprehensible to the sterner eyes of Caxley.

The two men sat smoking in the snug murk of the shop parlour one November evening. Outside the pavements were wet with the clinging fog which wreathed its way from the Cax valley to twine itself about the gas lamps of the market place.

Above their heads the gas hissed, and a bright fire flickered cheerfully in the little round-arched grate.

'Got a good fire there,' observed Jesse, watching Bender's ministrations with the steel poker.

'Coal's cheap enough,' answered Bender, widening a crack with a smart blow. 'Can still afford that, thank God!'

Jesse Miller blew a long blue cloud towards the ceiling. He watched it disperse reflectively and then took a deep breath.

'Look, Bender! I've had something on my mind for some time and I reckon it's best to speak out. Am I right in thinking the shop's not paying its way?'

Bender's face flushed and the deep colour flooded his bull neck, but he answered equably.

'I'd not go that far, Jesse. We're not bankrupt yet, if that's what's on your mind.'

'But it's not as good as it was?' persisted Jesse, leaning forward.

'Well, no,' admitted Bender, with a sigh. He thrust out his long legs and the horse-hair chair creaked a protest. 'Bound to be a bit of a drop in takings when a shop like Tenby's first opens. People like to bob in and see what's there. They'll come back, I don't doubt.'

'I do,' said Jesse forcefully. 'You might as well face it—Tenby's are here for good, and they'll offer more than you ever can.'

Bender was about to protest, but Jesse Miller waived him aside.

'It's not only the room they've got; they've got keen chaps too. And another thing, they're quick with getting the stuff to the customer. I've had a couple of harrows on order here since Michaelmas, and where are they?'

'You know dam' well where they are,' rumbled Bender,
beginning to look surly. 'Down in Wiltshire where they're made, and where they're too idle to put 'em on the railway! I've written to them time and time again!'

'Maybe! It don't alter the fact, Bender, that Tenby's have got a dozen stacked in their yard now, and if you can't get mine here by next week—I'm telling you straight, man—I'm going there for a couple.'

The two men glared at each other, breathing heavily. They were both fighters, and both obdurate.

'Oh, you are, are you?' growled Bender. 'Well, I daresay the old business can manage without your custom for once, though I think it's a pretty mean sort of thing for one friend to do to another.'

Jesse relaxed, and tapped his pipe out on the bars of the grate.

'See here,' he said in a softer tone, as he straightened up, 'I'm not the only chap in these parts who's feeling the same way. If you want to keep your customers you'll darn well have to put yourself out a bit more, Bender. You're too easy-going by half, and Tenby's are going to profit by it.'

'Maybe, maybe!' agreed Bender.

'And what's all this I hear about you putting up for the council? Can you spare the time?'

'That's my business. I was asked to stand, and Hilda agrees it's a good thing.'

'Against Sep Howard? He's had a good majority each time.'

'Why not against Sep Howard? We know each other well enough to play fair. Sep's quite happy about it, that I do know.'

Jesse Miller sighed, and pocketed his pipe.

'Well, Bender, you know what you're doing, I suppose, but if this business were mine, I wouldn't waste my time and energy on anything else but putting it back on its feet again.'

He rose to his feet and lifted his greatcoat from the hook on the door.

'What does young Bertie think about it all?' he asked, shrugging himself into the coat.

'He knows nothing about it,' replied Bender shortly. 'I'm not panicking simply because the takings are down a bit on last year. The business will be as good as ever when it's time for me to hand it over.'

'I wonder!' commented Jesse Miller, and vanished round the door.

Bender had cause to remember this conversation in the months that followed. Trade began to wane to such an extent that it was quite clear that many people, particularly farmers, were transferring their custom to Tenby's and would continue to do so. It was not in Bender's nature to be alarmed, but he went about his business very much more soberly.

The local election did much to distract his mind from the depressing state of affairs. The third contestant was a local schoolteacher of advanced ideas, with a fine flow of rhetoric when unchecked, but having no ability to stand up to bucolic hecklers. Sep and Binder agreed that he would constitute no great menace to either of them.

When Sep had first heard that Bender was opposing him, he felt the old sick fluttering in his stomach which had afflicted him in Bender's presence ever since his schooldays. It was
absurd, he told himself for the hundredth time, to let the man affect him in this way. Sep was now a man of some substance, although his way of life had changed little. He attended chapel as regularly as ever, accompanied by Edna and the family. Sometimes, it is true, Leslie was not present, but when you are twenty, and as attractive as Leslie Howard, it was not to be wondered at, the more indulgent matrons of Caxley told each other.

Sep had been a councillor now for several years. He looked upon this present fight as a private challenge—not between Bender and himself—but to his own courage. In chapel, his head sunk upon his hands, Sep prayed earnestly and silently for help in overcoming his own fears. He did not pray that he might win—it would have been as despicable as it was presumptuous to do so; but he prayed that he might fight the fight bravely and honourably.

There was no doubt about it, Bender was going to be a formidable opponent. He was well-liked, he had a commanding presence, and a breezy sense of humour which stood him in good stead when the heckling began. Sep knew he could not compete with Bender in this field, but he could only hope that his record of steady service to the town would keep his supporters loyal.