Lizzie's Secret (39 page)

‘Well, you know I'll always help where I can.'

‘Thanks Mum.'

‘You too, Lizzie.'

‘Yes, I know,' Lizzie smiled at her. ‘I shall never be able to thank you enough, Mrs Court. It was so generous of you to do what you did and I'm very grateful.'

‘In the circumstances I wouldn't have dreamed of letting you go home alone,' Mrs Court said. ‘You must think of this house as your second home, Lizzie. I stand in place of a mother to you – and if you need anything, come to me for help.'

‘You're so kind,' Lizzie said. ‘I wish my aunt had been more like you – but she didn't have a very happy life.'

‘Have you heard from her recently, Lizzie?'

I wrote once but she didn't answer my letter. Perhaps she doesn't feel up to it.' Or perhaps she didn't want anything to do with Lizzie.

Someone was knocking at the door. Beth went through to the hall and opened the door. It was Harry's uncle and he looked grim.

‘Is Lizzie here?'

‘Yes, she's in the kitchen. Would you like to come in?'

‘I've something to say to her in private.'

‘Then perhaps you should go through to the parlour – at the end of the hall, Mr Oliver. I'll ask Lizzie to join you…'

He glared at her, and then walked past her to the door at the end of the passage. Beth went back to the kitchen, feeling uneasy.

‘Mr Oliver wants to speak with you in private,' she said, giving Lizzie a warning look. ‘He's in the parlour…'

‘Oh… I'd better go and see what he wants.'

Lizzie got to her feet immediately and went out.

‘What does he want?' Beth's mother asked as the door closed after Lizzie.

‘I dare say it concerns the funeral,' Beth said. ‘I did tell you that Tony called round, didn't I? I think he's being posted overseas…'

*

Lizzie carefully closed the parlour door behind her. Beth's warning glance had told her that Uncle Bertie wasn't in a good mood. Had he discovered the rumours about Harry's death? His eyes met hers with a glacial stare.

‘Why did you lie to me, Lizzie? You left me to discover the truth from a stranger…'

‘What have you been told?' Her heart was thumping wildly but she tried to appear calm.

‘My nephew disgraced himself and our name – he stole a car when he was drunk and deliberately drove it into a tree. Suicide is the coward's way out…'

‘No, that isn't fair.' Lizzie's nails dug into the palms of her hands. ‘Yes, Harry was frightened of dying, but who isn't? He'd flown mission after mission over enemy installations, taking pictures that helped us to know what was going on with the German army and their capabilities – not once did he refuse to go.'

‘Then why did he take his own life? Tell me that, if you can – or can I guess? Did he discover that you had other men? I've seen you leaving the flat with different men twice. Is that why Harry didn't want to come home – why he didn't take his leave and finally felt he couldn't go on?'

How could he blame her – accuse her of being unfaithful to her husband? It was totally unfair of him and it made her angry - and yet he was partially right. She had let Sebastian kiss her and she had gone to tea with him, but that was very different to what Uncle Bertie was hinting at. ‘I can't believe you just said that to me,' Lizzie said quietly. ‘I went out to tea with Sebastian Winters once, but he's a client of the business, and the other time was when Robbie told me about Harry's accident…' Her head went up proudly. ‘I'd like to know who told you about Harry. I'm Harry's next of kin and if I chose to keep it from you that was my privilege.'

‘You're a cold bitch. I was right about you from the start. I warned Harry not to be a fool. I knew you were just out for what you could get – well, don't think you or your brat will be getting my business when I've gone, and any arrangements we had are finished. I don't want you back at the workshops – do I make myself clear?'

‘I'm sorry you feel I've let you and Harry down, but for what's it's worth I don't believe Harry did kill himself,' she said quietly, keeping calm despite her emotion. ‘As far as the business is concerned that is your privilege – and I do thank you for all you've done for me. I never asked to be left anything in your will – and I think you must leave now.'

‘Bitch. You won't get a reference from me…'

As he threw open the door and strode out into the hall, Beth looked thunderstruck. She went to Lizzie as the door slammed after him.

‘What has he been saying to you? You're as white as a ghost…'

‘He thinks I'm to blame for what happened to Harry. He said that I was a cold bitch and had made Harry so miserable that…' Lizzie felt faint and ill after Harry's uncle's verbal attack on her and grabbed at the back of a chair to steady herself.

Lizzie sat down, her head spinning. She bent her head, covering her face with her hands as the tears started. Then Beth's arms went round her, holding her as she sobbed. She kissed the top of Lizzie's head and stroked the back of her neck, gradually easing her.

Lizzie looked up. ‘Harry's uncle is severing all connection with me. He wants to ruin me, refuses to give me a reference, but I'll manage – I'll manage somehow.'

‘Of course you will,' Beth said. ‘You'll find another job somewhere…'

‘Yes, I shall manage, Beth. I'll have to think about what I'm doing – but I'll survive.'

The flat struck cold after being closed up for some days. Lizzie switched on the electric fire; the air would soon warm up and she was used to living alone so this feeling of isolation would go. It was very strange knowing that Harry would never come home – and she no longer had the support of his family.

It wouldn't be easy to find a new job in the trade, but did she really want to work for anyone else? Lizzie had been too shocked to think straight at first but now she was wondering if perhaps she could work for herself. She still had the money Sebastian had sent her and the address of someone he'd said might help her if she wanted to leave Oliver's.

Lizzie had been reluctant to take his money, but now it might be the only way for her to go on making the hats she loved. It was surely what Sebastian had intended and she could repay him if she made a success of her own business…

Betty had started to cry. Lizzie picked her up and cuddled her before putting her back in her cot. She was feeling warmer now and she turned the fire off. She had a small amount of her own money put by because she'd saved what Harry sent her from his wages, but she must keep it for emergencies, because she couldn't know what her daughter might need in the future.

When Betty settled, Lizzie went through the flat with a broom and duster, then made herself a cup of Bovril and drank it with some of the bread she'd bought on the way home. She picked up her sketchbook and flicked through some of the drawings, but didn't feel like working.

Lizzie was close to tears because she felt so alone. Yes, she had good friends, but they couldn't help her now.

Going into her bedroom, she searched for the letter that Sebastian had sent her and the bundle of notes. She took the envelope back to the sitting room and read the postscript at the end of the letter.

He'd enclosed a business card for a Mr Arthur Stockton, maker of fine hats, which made Lizzie smile, because it was so old-fashioned and yet it would stick in the mind.

Sebastian had thought she might need help, because he'd known things weren't right with her marriage. Starting her own business would be a huge step to take, but Lizzie knew it was what she wanted – what she'd always wanted.

She counted the money that Sebastian had sent her and caught her breath. There was nearly three hundred pounds in the envelope – enough to secure her the lease of a small shop and workshop behind, and enough materials to get started.

She would go and talk to Arthur Stockton, the man Sebastian had mentioned in his postscript. It would mean leaving Betty with Mrs Court, but she would go first thing in the morning, because this was the future for her and her child…

*

Lizzie caught the bus which would take her to the premises she was seeking. It was in an area close to where Beth's family lived and only a few blocks from the East India Docks. She could even see some of the cranes working against the skyline as her bus halted. It couldn't go any further because there was a crater in the road, left by a bomb a couple of days previously. Her stomach was tying itself in knots as she got out and walked down the street. After all, why should Mr Stockton help a woman he didn't even know; he might even think of her as a rival…but she didn't really have a choice. Lizzie had only herself to rely on now and she had to take care of Betty and her own future. She had to at least ask for his help…

When Lizzie approached the building, she was disappointed to see the shutters were down on the window and a little closed notice was tucked into one corner. She almost turned away, but then the thought struck her that perhaps someone was on the premises. She would ring the bell and enquire because it was worth a try. It had to work out, because otherwise she didn't have a clue where to start.

She rang twice and was about to leave when the sound of a key gave her hope. A small wiry man opened the door a crack and looked at her over his gold-rimmed glasses.

‘We're closed for business, ma'am.'

‘When will you be open? Sebastian Winters sent me…'

‘Sebastian?' His eyes narrowed. ‘Well, that's different. The business is closing down. I can't keep going without my best workers and my daughter wants me to pack up and go and live in the country with her…'

‘I'm Lizzie Larch. I design hats and was hoping you might make some basic shapes up for me…'

‘Lizzie Larch, yes, Sebastian did tell me about you – I think he intended to launch your work at one time…' he smiled sadly as he offered his hand.

‘Yes, but it didn't happen. I was working for someone else at the time but that has fallen through. I can't contact Sebastian and I need help. I want to open my own shop and I need suppliers – I wondered if you could help me…'

‘Starting up in times like these? I'm not sure that's a good idea, young woman. A lot of little workshops won't make it through,; I'm afraid one of them is mine,' He sighed, then,. ‘I'm Arthur and ‘I've been here on this site since I was a boy. My father made gentlemen's hats and my grandfather before him. I started the ladies' department. I shall be sorry to leave it…' He gestured to her to come in. ‘I cleared most of my basic hats yesterday – a large department store came and took most of what I had – but you're welcome to look…'

Lizzie followed him into his workroom, feeling sad because it was almost empty and it seemed a shame that after years of family businesses here, there was almost nothing left. She saw about twelve basic felt hats and picked one up to examine it; the quality was good and she could make it look individual in a few minutes if she had the right trimmings.

‘I'd like to take these if they're not too expensive please. I would have liked more, but these will help me to build up a basic stock for a start.'

‘You can have the lot for two pounds…'

‘All these? That's far too cheap. I ought to pay at least ten shillings for each of them.'

‘I wish you'd been here before the best went,' Arthur said. He thought for a moment, then, ‘I suppose you can't find a use for some rolls of straw, felt and satin grosgrain…?'

‘Oh yes, please, that's exactly what I need.'

‘Well, I was thinking of taking the stock with me… but I dare say once I've retired, most of it would go to waste. Have a look in here…'

Lizzie followed him to a door. He opened it and she saw the small room was filled with rolls of various materials and several boxes of ribbons and silk flowers, feathers and cottons, velvets, boxes of sequins and all kinds of things she would need to buy from the wholesalers.

‘I would love to buy all of this if you want to sell. I could keep a shop going for ages with all this material…'

‘How about thirty pounds for the lot – the felt shapes included?'

‘Are you sure? It must be worth more…' Lizzie felt a pang of guilt, because it must be hard having to give up a business you loved, and she liked him.

‘I suppose it may be, but Sebastian told me you had a rare talent. I haven't seen him for a while. ' Arthur considered for a moment, then, ‘Give me thirty pounds and I'll be happy. Oh, and if you want a list of the suppliers I use I'll give you my book – there are a few moulds and my old steamer is around somewhere. No one wanted it, but it still works.'

‘It is so kind of you: anything you want to get rid of – patterns, scissors. I shall have to buy them all, but I must pay for them…' Lizzie felt overwhelmed by his generosity. ‘I shall have to make several trips to fetch all this, but I can pay you now.'

‘I'll get my lad Fred to bring everything in his van this afternoon. He's a good lad, Miss Larch. Can't join the Army; they turned him down on account of his gammy leg, but he's a good worker. If you ever have a use for a delivery lad, you ask young Fred.'

‘Thank you, I shall,' Lizzie said and paid him the thirty pounds he'd asked for stock she knew was worth at least four times as much. ‘You've been so kind to me, Mr Stockton.'

‘It's Arthur to you, Lizzie – don't mind me calling you that I hope?'

‘Not at all. I'm only sorry you're leaving London.'

‘Well, I dare say it was time for me to retire. I have no one to take over from me when I go – and my daughter wants to look after me.'