Rosemary Aitken (28 page)

But Effie was staring at him, perplexed. ‘Oh that! No, that isn’t what I am thinking of. I suppose I could apply for that, if this other thing falls through. But what I’m hoping for is something else. I suppose I could tell you . . .’ She leaned over and almost whispered in his ear. ‘Miss Blanche is getting married and will be going away. She wants Miss Pearl to have me in the shop – there’s even a spare room that I could have, she says. All those lovely silks and the library besides – she says that I could even get to read the books, to make sure which ones are really suitable! And they would pay me four and six a week, with only a small deduction for my keep. Sounds like the sort of job I should pay them to let me have!’

Her eyes were shining with the thought of it and she would obviously have liked to tell him more, but there was the horse-bus clopping up the street so he had to help her into it and could only stand and watch as it bore her away. He wished he’d done what it had crossed his mind to do: put on flannels and a sports coat and catch the bus with her – and spring himself upon her family if it came to it.

And it would come to it. Sooner or later it would have to come to it. These weeks without her had taught him that, at least: one day he would have to meet her family and, what was more daunting, take her to meet his. And if the relatives did not approve, then he and Effie would have to brave the storm. Because he knew, with certainty, that he was going to ask her for her hand. It did not occur to him that she might not accept.

He was still turning over that resolution in his mind as he walked back to the police-station, and his upstairs room. He would devote his Thursdays to studying his books and earn that promotion: if he could get a solo posting with a house attached to it, he could offer Effie marriage in a year or two.

So he was astonished, as he was making for the stairs, to be summoned by the sergeant. ‘Ah! PC Dawes! I know you are off duty until six o’clock, but could you step into the inner office, please. There’s someone here who’d like to speak to you.’ He stepped back to usher Alex in.

Dear Heaven! Who was this now? Mater? She had done it once before, dropped in without warning and made him look a chump. But no – he couldn’t see clearly through the patterned glass, but enough to know the visitor was certainly a man. Surely it could not be Major Knight? However offended Caroline’s Papa might be, he would not seek a public confrontation in this way. Or would he? Alex walked in with a thumping heart.

What awaited him could hardly have surprised him more if it had been the King himself. It was ‘Old Broughton’, the Chief Inspector of the Borough Police in person, with his famous beaky nose and stone-blue eyes turned towards Alex as he came into the room.

‘You asked for me, sir?’ He had the wit to put his helmet underneath his arm and stand stiffly to attention as if on parade.

Broughton nodded. ‘Stand easy, Constable.’ He turned to the other policeman who was hovering at the door. ‘You may leave us, Sergeant,’ he said, while Alex did a text-book exercise of counting out the moves, as he shifted to the other regulation pose.

Broughton made a little steeple of his hands and rested his long chin on the central fingertips. ‘I imagine that you know why I have sent for you?’

‘No idea at all, sir!’ said Alex, truthfully.

‘Hmm! I’ve had my eye on you, young fellow, for a little while. Did well in your examinations up to now, I think – and your sergeant gives me a good report of you. Says that you managed to clear up an “unidentified” which had been on the books for better than a year, by keeping your eyes open and your mind engaged. Is that a fair assessment?’

Alex made a deprecating noise. Whatever else, he had not expected this.

‘Thing is, young fellow, I am looking for a man – subject to the outcome of the next exam, of course – to work on attachment to a little country station out towards St Just. There is a sergeant out there who is getting on a bit and he’s starting to find the duties are too much for him, especially in the evenings, when he’s trying to patrol – the country’s hilly, even though he’s got a bicycle. Needs a younger fellow that he could train up a bit, who could take over in a year or two, when he’s ready to retire. Would you like to be considered for the posting, Dawes?’

Alex took a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Well, of course I’m very flattered, sir, and I would love the job . . .’ More than the Commissioner could possibly suppose, in fact. It must be near Penvarris, which would be a dream come true. ‘But honesty compels me to make something clear. I believe you may have selected me for this on the basis of a recommendation you received from outside of the force. Would that be correct?’

Broughton brought his beetle-brows into a frown. ‘Well, yes, that is certainly the case. I have received the warmest commendation of your skill, from someone whose opinion I attach importance to. Quite unexpected too – someone I spoke to at a charity affair. He came up to me, entirely unasked, and wanted to tell me what an ornament you were . . .’

Alex shook his head. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. Sir, I am sure that it was kindly meant, but I cannot in good conscience permit you to believe that this was an impartial testimonial. I fear that the gentleman had hopes of me as a potential son-in-law. It is only fair to tell you that, since those hopes are false, it is unlikely that he would say the same again.’

Broughton looked puzzled. ‘But I understood the fellow had no family at all. And he didn’t even seem to know your name. But he was quite specific – he wrote your number down. He told me he’d had dealings with you in Penzance, and had been so impressed that he intended to write a letter commending you to me, though he hadn’t managed to get round to it. He’d just moved into the St Just district, he was telling me, and when he heard that I was looking for a younger man to help the sergeant there, he thought of you at once – promised to send me your number, which he did next day. You’d be ideal, he said. Understanding and patient with a country way of life. Said you were most helpful when he lost his pig, when other people simply took no interest at all.’

It was so unexpected that Alex laughed aloud. ‘Oh, the pig! In that case, I am happy that the owner thought so well of me. At least it’s genuine. I thought the commendation might have come from . . .’ He tailed off, in dismay.

‘Major Knight, I take it?’ Broughton leaned back in his chair and looked at him. ‘He did go wittering on the other day about one of our recruits. I didn’t pay too much attention, I’m afraid. Don’t hold with these military Johnnies, trying to exert their influence on the civilian force.’ He glared at Alex. ‘So it was you, again? I see. He seemed to have some notion that we should train you up so you could go and join the Army afterwards. What do you say to that?’

‘My father was in the Army and my two brothers are. I have every respect for them, of course, but if I had wished to join them, then I would have done,’ Alex said simply. ‘My family hoped I would – and of course, if there was a threat to England, that would be different. My father seems to think there might be trouble soon, with Germany re-arming and all that sort of thing, and of course if that happened I should enlist at once. But generally I have no thirst for shooting things – and people least of all. I’m much more interested in keeping Cornwall safe.’

For the first time, Broughton gave him an approving smile. ‘Well said, my boy. In my case it was Navy – but otherwise my situation was very much the same! I chose the police force and it’s served me very well.’ He gestured vaguely at his insignia of rank. ‘I think that my informant was correct. I think you would be an ideal candidate. I’ll put your name forward when the time comes, then – depending on the outcome of the yearly test, of course. I think I made that clear.’ He scribbled something on a notepad which he had in front of him, and then looked up again. ‘Very well, Six-six-three, that will be all for now. You will be hearing from me in due course, I hope.’

Alex was dismissed. He floated up the stairs as if he had a bubble under him, and he could hardly concentrate upon his books at all. Promotion to a country station near Penvarris Mine, where there was accommodation and he could take a wife! That would be something to tell Effie, the next time they met!

In the meantime there was Mater’s letter to attend to – he had forgotten it. He pulled it out and read it. It was full of recrimination and reproach. He had left a luncheon early, snubbed Miss Caroline and was suspected of involvement with that awful maidservant, who had seemed to know him and had now left in disgrace. Would he write back instantly and swear it wasn’t true.

Alex was more than happy to oblige. There was a young lady he was fond of, he agreed, but she was not the ‘awful maidservant’. She was a young lady of good character. He left it at that, this time – but wouldn’t it be splendid to be able to report that his ‘young lady’ was not a maid at all, but a more socially acceptable assistant in a shop? He hoped with all his heart that Effie would get that position with Miss Pearl.

Mater would grumble that it was ‘only trade’ of course, and look down on them both – but haberdashery was the most respectable and ladylike of trades. Besides, if strait-laced Mrs Thatchell, all those years ago, had defied her family to marry the young man of her choice, and if Miss Blanche had found
the courage to do something similar, shouldn’t he be willing to stand up for his choice?

He grinned. He’d have to give Effie a few lessons on how to use a knife and fork, but she’d learn a few graces living with Miss Pearl. And Pater would approve of Effie’s love of books.

Perhaps it would be possible to introduce them after all.

Lettie’s wedding was a very hurried, small affair. Fayther managed to take the afternoon off work to lead her down the aisle, in last year’s Whitson dress that was getting far too tight, and her stepmother and the senior Symonses were there to witness it. And that was all. They didn’t even go back for tea and sandwiches because Reg Symons said he had to go and mind the shop, and if Lettie was going to be a Symons now as well, she had bally-well better come and start to earn her keep.

So Lettie spent the first hours of her married life weighing out sugar and putting it in bags. In fact, she found she didn’t mind it very much and – since she was nicer to the customers than her in-laws were apt to be – she found that people were soon queuing up to have her deal with them. It very nearly caused a row, in fact, until the till was shut and trade was proved to be quite sharply up on what it generally was.

Effie had sent a pair of hand-embroidered pillow-slips, which she had made herself, and Lettie felt quite special as she put them on the bed, but when her husband came back from his round – which father had insisted that he did as usual – he simply took his boots off and rolled against the wall. She put her arm out to him, but he pulled away.

‘Don’t be so soppy, Lettie. My folks are through the wall. They could hear us breathing, let alone if we were doing you-know-what. I can’t be doing with it; it puts me off my stride.’ All this was delivered in a whispered hiss and it was clear that Bert meant every word he said. ‘Anyway, in your condition, it might not be wise.’

Lettie was more than a little bit dismayed. It wasn’t that she was especially keen on that sort of thing herself but it was expected of you, wasn’t it, when you were a wife? This was supposed to be their wedding night, so where was the romance? ‘Well, you could give me a little kiss at least,’ she murmured, silkily, cuddling up to him in her most alluring way. ‘That doesn’t make a noise.’

But her new husband was already fast asleep.

It was Penvarris feast again and this time Effie was able to attend. Miss Pearl had let her have the whole day off from working in the shop – only a few weeks after she had started, too – though of course there’d be a shilling stopped out of her pay.

Effie had turned her navy skirt in honour of the day, and made herself a brand-new blouse to go with it. She had time to do these little chores these days – shop hours were quite different from a servant’s timetable. Of course there were lots of things to do, before and after they opened for the day – stock to be accounted for and orders to be made, and shelves to be dusted and all that sort of thing – but even so by eight o’clock or thereabouts, Effie found that she had time to call her own.

It was a wonderful experience – especially with a library of books downstairs to read. Of course, the meals were rather different from those she’d had from Mrs Lane: Miss Pearl had no idea how to cook at all. Her idea of dinner was a slice of ham and maybe a tomato if it could be had. Effie had plucked up courage in the end, and asked if she could fry a plate of sprats, provided that she bought them for herself, and Miss Pearl had surprisingly agreed. Not only that, but she’d deigned to sample some, and the whole experiment had been enough of a success for it to be repeated several times. On the last occasion, Miss Pearl even gave her sixpence for the sprats and let her clean the kitchen when the meal was done.

Effie was no great expert with a pan herself, but if she ever married – and she supposed one day she might – she would be grateful for this chance to learn to use a stove. Besides, she was beginning to tire of sprats by now, and was wondering what other culinary treats she could initiate.

Thinking of culinary treats, she looked around the street. Dozens of brightly coloured stalls were selling sweets and pies, or offering a chance to win a goldfish in a bag by rolling pennies down a chute. Any minute now the procession would come by. A brass band was already marching down the street, followed by groups of dancing children, dressed up for the occasion in their Sunday best, or imitating nursery characters – she counted three rabbits and a humpty-dumpty – in home-sewn costumes made from flour sacks in honour of the feast.

Effie felt quite like a child herself. She had three ha’pence in her pocket, kept back from her wages, and she was free to spend it any way she liked. There was even Peter Kellow at the hoop-la stall, making eyes at her and trying to win a hideous teapot on a stand, which she suspected he would want to give to her. It ought to quite be perfect. So why did she feel that there was something missing from the day?