The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (24 page)

It was then that Harry acted. He leaped out of the car and charged at the overlooker, grabbing the back of his collar and wresting him away from Evie, finally flinging him down on to the cobbles and planting one foot on his chest. ‘Go, get out of here,' he told Evie. ‘Make yourself scarce!' She obeyed, sobbing as she ran back to the weaving shed.

‘You'll regret this, Harry Bainbridge!' Fred swore as he squirmed under Harry's foot.

‘I doubt that,' Harry replied grimly. ‘I saw what I saw – your nasty hands all over the poor girl. That's more than your job's worth if Mr Calvert gets to hear of it.'

With a struggle his adversary rolled clear and hauled himself to his feet. He snorted and lowered his head like a bull about to charge but when Harry crouched and put up his fists, he thought better of it. Instead, he cleared his throat and tugged at the hem of his waistcoat.

‘You hear me, Lee? I saw you.' Each short word brought Harry closer to the sweating overlooker until he was towering over him. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. And if anything like this ever happens again with Evie Briggs, I'll be on to you like a shot.'

Outstared and overpowered, Fred Lee backed off, colliding with his bike and sending it skidding backwards against the wall. There was the scrape of metal and the crack of glass as the headlamp shattered. He tripped and swore, righted himself and strode away, leaving Harry staring after him.

From the first-floor window, Lily and Miss Valentine looked on. They'd been in discussion about the unusual number of flaws in a particular bolt of brown worsted and they'd witnessed the whole thing – the sound of the car engine coming into the yard that signalled the arrival of Winifred, the sight of Harry carefully reversing the car, followed by the altercation with Fred.

‘Thank goodness Harry was there and that's an end to it.' Lily sighed, willing her heart to stop thumping at her ribs.

But her manageress shook her head. ‘Let's hope so,' she said quietly before ordering Lily back to work.

Then, later that morning, just before the buzzer sounded for the dinner break, Iris Valentine took Lily to one side to issue a warning that sent shivers down the young woman's spine. She took up from where she'd left off. ‘Let's hope that was the end of the matter,' she remarked in her high voice. ‘But take it from me – I know for a fact that, after what happened today, Fred Lee is not likely to let it rest.'

Lily felt a fresh alarm shoot through her body. ‘Why, what will he do?'

‘Who can tell?' came the reply. ‘All I know is that Fred is spiteful by nature – always has been. So you and Evie must be on your guard.'

Lily struggled to quell her fears and keep her voice even. ‘Thank you, Miss Valentine, we will.'

The manageress gave a characteristic, birdlike nod then issued her final word on the subject: ‘Picture the worst that Fred Lee can do and expect it to happen. Then at least he won't catch you off guard.'

‘They say the cancer started not in my stomach but in something they call the pancreas,' Rhoda confided in Lily once she was safely back in her own bed on Albion Lane. In the end, the hospital had done little more than confirm Dr Moss's suspicion that the cancer had spread and then prescribe something to alleviate the pain. After this they'd given in to her insistence that she be sent home and Walter had greeted her with unthinking relief and a nice cup of tea before sloping off to the Green Cross to celebrate. ‘Not many people have heard of the pancreas or what it does for you,' she continued. ‘Anyway, they decided there was nothing they could do to help me, which I could have told them without all their fancy tests. But don't let on to your father – I haven't got round to telling him about Margie yet and that on top of this latest news won't go down well.'

‘What about the others?' Lily resisted the urge to cry out about the unfairness of it all and gently plumped up her mother's pillow then pulled up the blanket to keep her warm.

‘You can tell Margie – she should know the truth. But not Evie and definitely not Arthur.'

‘And what will you have now to keep up your strength?' Lily wanted to know, turning to the practical to hide the turmoil within. ‘Would you like some tasty Bovril in hot water? I can send Evie down to Newby's to fetch some.'

Letting her head sink back on the pillow, Rhoda refused the pick-me-up. ‘It'll take more than a cup of Bovril to set me back on my feet,' she said with grim humour. ‘Do you know, I couldn't walk back into my own house? They had to carry me out of the ambulance and up these stairs. That means I'm going downhill fast, doesn't it?'

‘All the more reason to eat and drink something,' Lily argued, trying to ignore the gnawing, hollow feeling in her stomach and her rapidly beating heart. ‘Let me make you a nice sandwich. Or how about another cup of tea?'

‘Lily,' Rhoda protested with a slight shake of her head, ‘don't go on, there's a good girl. Just turn off the light and leave me in peace.'

‘Are you comfy? Will you sleep?' Loath to leave, Lily turned down the gas, waited for the pop that meant the flame had been extinguished and the slow dimming of the fragile mantel then stood in the doorway, staring at the tiny figure on the bed.

‘Yes, sleep is one thing that comes easily now,' Rhoda confirmed wearily. ‘Goodnight, Lily. I'll see you in the morning.'

The next day, Christmas Eve, a fight at the Cross was all the talk at Calvert's.

In the mending room, Lily was stashing the small Christmas presents she'd brought in for Annie and Sybil on the ledge under her table. Her mind was on her mother's worsening illness and she didn't notice the strange looks that the likes of Jennie and Mary were giving her. How would Christmas go with Rhoda ill in bed? she wondered. Would her mother try to get up for the occasion and make things as pleasant as possible for Arthur? Would her father come out of the foul temper he'd come home in last night?

It was the arrival of Jennie with her first bolt of cloth for the day that interrupted Lily's musings. ‘How's your knight in shining armour this morning?' she asked.

‘Come again?' Lily said without paying much attention. She was arranging her hook, scissors and needles on her table, thinking ahead now to dinner time when she and her friends would exchange presents.

‘Harry – how's his poor face?' Noticing and perhaps sympathizing with the cloud of confusion that had descended over Lily's face, Jennie drew Mary into the conversation. ‘How about that, Mary? It seems Lily hasn't heard about Harry sticking up for her and her sister in the pub last night. And him be ing so gallant and all.'

Mary took up the story with gusto. ‘Apparently Harry had a go at your Tommy for no reason at all and it was only Frank Summerskill who stopped him from laying Tommy out flat. As it was, there were glasses flying everywhere and bottles breaking until Chalky White threatened to call in the bobbies to break it up.'

‘If you ask me, the boot was on the other foot,' Jennie chipped back in. ‘Tommy's the one who started the argument, I'd bet my week's wages on it. As for Frank Summerskill!' There was no need to go on – her sour-lemon expression said it all.

Lily felt her heart sink. She turned away and stared out of the window on to the yard below, where Winifred Calvert happened to be stepping out of the Bentley while Harry, with his back turned, held open the door.

Jennie followed her gaze and spotted Harry. ‘Wait until he turns round and you get a good look at his face!' she warned. ‘Black and blue all over, it is. And he got that from sticking up for you and Margie. Ask anyone who was at the Green Cross last night – they'll tell you all about it.'

Winifred was out of the car, a splash of vivid colour against the dark grey background of the mill walls in her orange hat and fox-fur stole. She stopped briefly to say something to Harry then walked on towards the entrance. Harry closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, glancing up and catching sight of Lily and Jennie staring down at him. Immediately he ducked his head and his face was hidden under the peak of his cap.

‘There, did you see it?' Jennie cried. ‘All cut and bruised from the fight with your cousin Tommy, poor thing! And in front of your father, too.'

‘Jennie!' Mary nodded towards the office where Iris Valentine was hanging up her coat and hat.

The taker-in realized she only had time for a parting shot before the manageress emerged into the mending room and she had to scurry back to her station. ‘If you ask me, Tommy Briggs needs skinning alive for spreading nasty rumours and upsetting your dad. And coming up to Christmas, too. Ask anyone you like – it's not on!'

‘Jennie!' Mary warned again, too late.

The manageress left her office and tip-tapped down the aisle with a good-morning here and a courteous nod of her head there until she met Jennie halfway back to her big canvas skip containing the bolts of unchecked blue, brown and grey worsted cloth. She frowned and tapped her old-fashioned gold wristwatch. ‘The time is twenty minutes to eight,' she pointed out. ‘That's ten minutes after the buzzer sounded.'

‘I know, Miss Valentine.' Jennie held her gaze steady but inwardly she quaked at what might follow.

‘It's also the second time this week that I've caught you gossiping when you should be working.'

‘Yes, Miss Valentine. I'm sorry, Miss Valentine.'

‘Which means I intend to go down to the main office later this morning to tell Jean to dock an hour's pay from your wages this week. I'm sorry, Jennie. I know it's Christmas, but this really isn't good enough.'

Red in the face with silent resentment but having to accept the verdict, Jennie's head dropped and she stood to one side to let the manageress pass by.

At dinner time, with the morning's gossip about the pub brawl all but forgotten by everyone except Lily, it was Winifred who caught the eye as she breezed up to the food counter. There was no denying that Calvert's daughter had style, with her glossy hair tamed into a newly cut bob and her slim waist nipped in by a belt the same shade of emerald green as her closely fitted dress. Sybil especially liked Winifred's tan leather shoes with a thin heel and a T-strap, which was fastened by the neatest little silver button. ‘Goodness knows what she paid for them,' she said, pointing out the shoes to Lily and Annie.

‘More than we could ever afford.' Annie sighed. ‘Unless we saved up for a few weeks and gave up going out at the weekend.'

‘Wouldn't it be nice, though, to own a pair of shoes like that?' Lily too appreciated the boss's daughter's taste. She'd been firm with herself and managed to overcome the queasy bout of jealousy she'd experienced over Winifred's close daily contact with Harry and now she was set on being generous. ‘Jean says she's settled into office work better than expected. She's good with figures, by all accounts.'

‘Here we go again.' Annie shook her head. ‘Next thing we know, Lily will be best friends with Winifred Calvert. There'll be no stopping her now that she's moved up in the world!'

‘Oh, Lily, don't desert us,' Sybil wailed as Winifred turned and carried her tray through the canteen.

As luck would have it, Winifred caught Lily's eye as she passed and she stopped to talk to her and her friends. ‘I was wondering – does anyone know what happened to Harry Bainbridge's face?' she asked in a voice that was mellower and more mature than they would have expected of a nineteen-year-old girl. That, together with her coiffed hair and careful use of lipstick, rouge and mascara, made her seem older than her years. ‘You girls live in his neck of the woods, don't you? I was wondering how he bruised his face.'

‘Why not ask Harry yourself?' Annie asked without any attempt at generosity. She was no Lily and certainly didn't feel obliged to be nice to their high-and-mighty interrogator.

Winifred frowned. ‘I did. I asked him on the way into work this morning, but he brushed it off. He wouldn't tell me how he got hurt.'

Sybil could see that Winifred's enquiry after Harry was making Lily nervous. ‘Let's just say he walked into something, shall we?'

‘I thought perhaps someone had it in for him,' Winifred said steadily, her tray resting on the table. ‘He has cuts to the back of his neck as well as his face, which makes me think that he was set upon by more than one man.'

Lily winced at the notion of Harry being cornered by Tommy and Frank in the Green Cross then became indignant on his behalf. Just wait until I find out the whole sorry story, she thought. Then I can decide what I can do about it.

‘Well, if you won't tell me and if Harry refuses to give the game away, I don't suppose there's much we can do,' Winifred decided. ‘It doesn't seem fair to let whoever was responsible get away with it, that's all.'

With this she picked up her tray and walked on, leaving Sybil, Annie and Lily lost for words.

‘What did
she
want?' someone piped up.

‘Did I hear the name Harry Bainbridge mentioned?' called another.

And before long the room was buzzing with new tittle-tattle that linked Winifred Calvert with her father's chauffeur.

‘Take no notice,' Sybil advised Lily, searching in her apron pocket for the small Christmas presents she'd brought in for her two best friends. She'd wrapped the identical gifts in white paper printed with small holly leaves and bound by green satin ribbon. ‘Made with my own fair hands!' she declared.

‘Shall we open them now or wait until tomorrow morning?' Annie asked as she and Lily brought out their own festively wrapped presents.

‘Now!' Sybil replied eagerly and she began untying ribbon to reveal a small red leather purse from Lily and a grey autograph book from Annie. She opened the book and read the inscription written on the first creamy page. ‘Annie is my name, single is my station. Happy is the lucky man who makes the alteration!'