Through Glass Eyes (5 page)

There was only one vendor in this side street. His makeshift stall consisted of a wooden table with two wheels attached at the front. It was cluttered with bric-a-brac and everything looked dowdy. There were vases, glassware, and oddments of china, timepieces, cheap beads and old jewellery. The stall holder – a grubby-looking man – was leaning against the table cleaning his finger nails with the prongs of a tarnished table fork. Behind him, an assortment of men’s jackets hung on a makeshift line like washing. Drawing closer, Lucy wasn’t sure if it was the clothes which smelled or the man himself, nor was she certain which item on the stall caught her eye first, the crockery or the silver locket.

‘Excuse me,’ she said pointing to a cup and saucer. ‘Can you tell me where that came from?’

The man tossed the fork back into the box of cutlery. ‘No idea, miss. I get stuff from all over the place. Tell me what you like and I’ll give you a good price.’

‘May I look?’

‘Help yourself,’ he said, as he attempted to tidy the display. ‘No charge for looking – so long as you don’t break anything!’

Lucy picked up the cup and turned it over in her hand. It looked the same, but she could not be sure it had been her mother’s. Replacing it on the saucer she reached for the locket. It was heavy. Obviously solid silver, but it had not been polished in a long time. The chain was almost black. As she examined it she remembered the clasp had been hard to open. It needed strong finger-nails.

She prised it open carefully. The lock of her hair was still inside!

‘I would like to buy this, Mr—?’

‘Entwhistle, ’arry Entwhistle at your service.’

‘How much is it?’

‘Well, seeing I’ve done all right this morning, I’ll let you have it for a bargain. Five bob to you lady!’

‘Five shillings!
I can’t afford five shillings.’

‘How much have you got then.’

Lucy loosened the string on her purse. There were a few shilling pieces in the bottom and a florin. ‘I can give you two shillings,’ she said. ‘No more.’

‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Two bob it be.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, as she slid both purse and locket into her pocket. It had been an expensive day. She had already forfeited a day’s earnings. Then there was the cost of the ticket. And now this. She could not afford to spend any more. ‘Excuse me, Mr Entwhistle,’ she said. ‘Do you happen to know a friendly young man from around these parts by the name of Arthur?’

The man grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘You mean, Arty?’

Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, that’s the name.’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Arty’s my lad!’

Lucy was shocked. Puzzled. She turned her head and looked around, half expecting Arthur to be standing behind her, watching her. ‘Could you tell me where I might find him?’

‘You won’t find him here, miss. He lives in Leeds. Only visits me once in a blue moon when he wants something. Got his own family, you see.’

‘His own family, you say?’

‘Aye,’ he said proudly. ‘A right pretty wife and two bairns already, and another on the way. Shall I tell him you was looking for him next time I see him.’

‘No, thank you, Mr Entwhistle, that won’t be necessary.’

Lucy sat by the fire cradling the doll in her arms. Rocking backwards and forwards, she was thinking of her mother, of Heaton Hall and Miss Beatrice. How she wished Lord Farnley had not decided to sell the house. How she wished she was still employed there – even with Mrs Gresham to answer to. Not in her wildest thoughts could she have imagined getting herself into the mess she was in now. In a way she was glad her mother had not lived to see it.

Her visit to Skipton during the week was now a blur in her mind. She could hardly remember the journey home. Could only vaguely remember the conversation she had with the gentleman in the train, though she knew she had talked too much. She could not understand why she had agreed to accept a lift with him in a carriage. The only thing she remembered clearly was him leaving her on the doorstep and his concern that she would be all right when he left. She had no idea why he had helped her, did not know his name and could not remember if she had thanked him. Her thoughts were addled. If only she could think clearly.

‘Anyone home?’
It was Arthur.

Lucy didn’t answer.

‘Well, what’s going on in here? Not much of a welcome for your fella on a Saturday night, is it? No light on. No fire lit. Don’t tell me there’s no supper ready for me either!’

Lucy gazed into the empty grate.

‘Did someone die or something?’ he said jokingly.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I went to Skipton.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘And what may I ask took you there?’

‘I was looking for you.’

‘Well,’ he said, as he stepped directly in front of her. ‘You didn’t find me, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, gazing at his boots. ‘But I found your father.’

He turned, spread his legs, and leaned his hands on the mantelshelf. ‘You went right out to our place, did you?’

‘No. He was at the markets.’

‘Ah! What a coincidence,’ he said cynically. ‘You just happened to bump into him at the markets! And I suppose you spoke to him did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said you lived in Leeds and you had a family.’

 He laughed forcefully, turned and faced her. ‘And you believed him?’

Lucy nodded and tightened her grip around the doll.

‘Are you sure it was my father? Mr Mellor, Joshua Mellor?’

‘No,’ said Lucy hesitantly. ‘He said his name was Entwhistle. Harry Entwhistle. But he said you were his son.’

‘Huh! There you are, see. You got the wrong bloke!’ he said, throwing out his chest and swaying back and forth on his heels. ‘What am I going to do with you, girl? You are getting yourself in a real muddle these days. Better not tell any of the neighbours about this, they’ll think you’re going barmy.’

‘But—’

‘No buts, come and give us a kiss, I’ve been out working all week while you’ve been running around the countryside playing detective.’

He pulled the doll from her hands and tossed it onto the sofa, but, as he pulled her towards him, she turned her face away. His jacket had a musty smell.

‘Not in the mood tonight, aren’t you, luv?’

She didn’t appreciate his tone and ignored his remark.

Neither of them spoke as she put paper and sticks in the grate and lit the fire. She let it burn for a while before adding the coal.

‘The kettle won’t take long,’ she said flatly.

‘I know what will warm us up,’ he said. ‘A nice drop of sherry. Your old mum always used to keep a bottle at the back of the pantry. Wouldn’t be any left, would there?’

‘Probably.
Have a look if you like.’ Lucy’s voice was expressionless. She picked up the doll, straightened the long christening dress hanging loosely from its narrow shoulders, and rested it in her lap. From the pantry she could hear the sound of jars and bottles being pushed aside.

‘Are you staying tonight, Arthur?’ she said pointedly.

‘Of course I am. Just like every Saturday night!’

‘But how will you get home tomorrow?’

‘On the train, of course,’ he said, as he emptied the remains of the bottle into two small glasses. ‘Like I always do.’

‘But the ticket collector told me there is no train on a Sunday.’

‘No train?’ he drawled. ‘You must have got it wrong. You’re getting yourself confused again. I can see you need looking after.’ He handed her a glass. ‘I know what women are like. They go a bit funny in the head at certain times of the month.’ He lifted the glass. ‘Your good health,’ he said, before running the contents of the glass into his mouth.

‘Arthur,’ she said, gazing into the fire. ‘Will you marry me?’

A spray of sherry spurted across the room. ‘What has come over you woman?’

‘I’m serious, Arthur. If I stopped working would you support me?’

‘What makes you ask a daft question like that?’

‘Because I’m pregnant, Arthur.
I’m going to have your baby!’

When Arthur left that night, on the pretext that he was going to the pub to get another bottle of sherry, Lucy never expected him to come back. She wasn’t even sorry to part with the few shillings she loaned him. She considered it money well spent.

After that, she never saw Arthur Mellor or Arty Entwhistle again.

A few months later, on a foggy morning early in November, Lucy gave her notice to old Mr Camrass. For the second time she lied to her employer saying that she was going back into service for a while. And for the second time she felt terribly guilty about it.

During her last week at the antique shop, whenever Mr Camrass peered at her over his spectacles, she knew it was not to check her work. It was impossible for her to disguise her rapidly expanding figure.

‘You realize that we will have to advertise your position, Miss Oldfield,’ he said before she left.

‘Yes, of course, Mr Camrass.’

‘But you are welcome to call into the shop if you should ever decide to come back to Leeds.’

Lucy thanked him and said she would keep his offer in mind.

James Harrington Oldfield, a healthy six pound baby, was born on the 20 December, 1897.  Lucy named him James after her father. Harrington was her mother’s maiden name.

 The following April, when James was almost four months old, she visited the antique shop. Having left her son with a neighbour, Lucy went alone.

 It seemed strange entering the shop from the front entrance. The door bell was much louder than she had remembered, its ring vibrating along the row of silver cups, through the stacks of polished bowls to the elegant collection of candelabras.

When young Mr Camrass shuffled out from the back room, Lucy felt nervous, not knowing what to say to him. The old gentleman, as always, was extremely polite, enquiring how she was and what she was doing. When she said that she was back in Leeds and looking for suitable employment, he asked her to wait, excused himself and shuffled back into the house. After a while he reappeared followed by his father.

Old Mr Camrass cleared his throat. ‘We believe we will be parting with our current employee next week which means the situation which you filled will be vacant again.’ He dipped his chin and looked at Lucy over his spectacles. ‘Naturally, the hours and pay will be the same as before, but if you are interested, it would save us not only the necessity of advertising the position but of suffering the services of another new employee.’

Young Mr Camrass nodded in agreement. ‘So hard to get competent workers these days. Today’s young people have no appreciation of fine things.’

Lucy was relieved and delighted. Though it would not be easy for her to work full time, run a house and cope with a baby, having been in service, the prospect of long hours did not daunt her. She found the job at the antique shop easy and knew exactly what was required. Though both Mr Camrasses inspected her work on a regular basis, Lucy never minded that. Nor did she mind being kept busy. With new consignments arriving almost daily, the days and weeks passed quickly. And with the regular wage, she could manage to pay the rent, support herself and James, and have a few pennies left over each week, to put away.

Sally Swales, the young mother who lived across the street, was also happy to earn a few shillings each month by looking after Lucy’s boy. With six children of her own, one more didn’t make much difference.

Chapter 4

November 1905 - The Guy

‘Don’t you miss not having a man?’ Sally said, one evening when Lucy called in to collect James.

‘In what way?’
Lucy asked.

‘You know what I mean?’ she said, with a wry smile.

‘I can’t say I do, but why do you ask?’

Sally shrugged. ‘It don’t seem natural, good-looking woman like you, working every day and coming home to an empty house. Not to mention an empty bed.’

‘You get used to it,’ Lucy said.

 Sally looked at her quizzically. ‘Are you sure you’re not kidding me? That you ain’t got a man tucked away in the city somewhere? Maybe he calls into that shop you work at.’

‘Goodness! What on earth makes you think that?’

‘Well, I hear there was a dapper gentleman came down the street this morning asking after you.’

Lucy was puzzled.

‘Knocked on several doors.
Said he was looking for, “Miss Lucy Oldfield”. He knew your name all right and said he’d been to the house before but he couldn’t remember the number.’

Lucy’s thoughts immediately jumped to Arthur Mellor. Was he back? Had his wife thrown him out? Was he hoping to take up where he left off? Surely, it couldn’t be him. Granted, he usually looked smart, even though his clothes probably came from the market, but she would have hardly called him a gentleman. The idea of him turning up out of the blue made Lucy shudder. No, she thought, even after all these years, Arthur could have found his way to the house with a blindfold on. ‘Did the man leave a name?’

‘I didn’t speak to him. Her at number thirty-eight did. But I gather he said he’d be back. And she said he sounded quite well-to-do.’ Sally peered at Lucy eager for more information. ‘That’s why I wondered if you’d found yourself a gentleman at last.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Sally, but I’ve no idea who the man is.’

‘Penny for the guy?’ the cry from a young voice interrupted them. It carried from the top of the street. With the nights already drawing in and no street lights, it was too dark to see who was calling.

‘Penny for the guy?’
This time it was Sam Swales.

‘Penny for the guy?’ echoed James.

The two women waited, listening. They could hear children giggling and the rumble of wooden cart-wheels over cobbles. The voices carried down the row of terraced houses, like sound down a tunnel.

‘What are they up to?’ Lucy asked.

‘It’s Guy Fawkes’ Day on Sunday. Fifth of November. Didn’t James say anything? The lads have been busy these last two weeks collecting stuff to burn. They’ve built a huge bonfire on the spare ground at the top of the street. You should see it, it’s much bigger than last year’s. They’re very proud of their efforts. I thought James would have told you.’