Authors: Iris Gower
Hari laughed, ‘I had a lot of luck.’
‘Luck indeed! You was gifted, you worked hard and when the going got tough you rolled up your sleeves and got going again.’ Doreen looked down at her roughened hands in sudden embarrassment and Hari hid a smile.
‘Any new hats on the stocks then, Doreen?’ She came to the girl’s rescue and Doreen’s face lit up with enthusiasm.
‘Yes, Mrs Grenfell, I got a lovely hat on the block just right for that rich biddy that came in yesterday. Mother of the bride she is, and proud as a pouter pigeon.’
‘I expect you mean Mrs Charles, do you?’
‘That’s right, a funny woman, don’t know what she wants except that it has to be bigger and better than anything the other folks got.’
Hari smiled. ‘Well, you keep her happy, Doreen, she’ll come back to us again if she gets what she wants.’
‘Oh, she’ll get what she wants, Mrs Grenfell, but it will be a much nicer hat than she ever expected. Come to think of it, I’d better get on, the hats won’t make themselves; if you’ll pardon me, Mrs Grenfell.’ Doreen hurried from the room and closed the door quietly after her.
When she was alone in her small office at the top of the stairs, Hari gave her attention to the accounts once more. Matters were going better than she expected. News of the strange shop, situated in what had once been a fine old home had brought in the curious who fortunately had remained to spend their money. It would be some time before the debts would be paid but the business was beginning to make a profit, slowly but surely she was making progress.
The door opened and Craig looked into the room, his sleeves rolled up above the elbow, his face grimy with sweat. ‘I’ve brought the last of the leather over from the tannery.’ He sank into the chair opposite the desk and rubbed at his face. ‘None left after this, my love. Can we afford to buy more stock?’
She pushed the accounts over to him. ‘Have a look for yourself, I think I can safely say we are beginning to turn back the tide.’
Craig perused the figures in silence for a time and then nodded. ‘I see, yes, we are beginning to see daylight.’ He looked up at her, ‘It’s all due to you and your enormous strength and courage, I couldn’t have faced it alone.’
Hari left her chair and put her arms around Craig’s shoulders, hugging his head to her breast. ‘We are a team, what we have achieved we have done together. I know there’s a long way to go yet but we’ll make it, you’ll see.’
‘You’ll get filthy if you hug me like that.’ Craig’s hand was on her waist, holding her close to him and Hari laughed.
‘I can see you don’t like it! I have a suggestion to make, what if I take you to the bathroom and give you a lovely hot bath?’
‘You are a wicked woman! But I can see the benefits of combining business and pleasure.’ Craig rose to his feet and towered over her. ‘Don’t tempt me too much, my girl, or there won’t be any more work done today.’
‘I see,’ Hari pretended to sulk. ‘So I am going to have to wait until my lord and master is ready for me, am I?’
Craig bent and kissed her mouth, his lips lingering on hers. Then he straightened. ‘I am always ready for you, Hari, but one of us has to go out and do some work, we can’t all sit around at a desk doing nothing all day.’
He dodged through the door, laughing, as Hari lifted a paperweight from the desk and made as if to throw it after him. She stood and watched as he descended the stairs almost at a run. He was enjoying the challenge of their temporary lack of funds. At first he had been despondent but once Hari began to urge him to try again, he had shown an enthusiasm that would not have shamed a man half his age.
Sighing, she returned to her desk, there was a great deal to do, the business was not out of the woods yet, not by a long chalk.
Doreen’s house was situated at the end of Watkin Street, a tall building with steps leading up to the door. Doreen rented only the lower floor of the property but the rooms were spacious and light and Catherine had begun to feel at home there.
‘
Duw
, my feet are aching like billy-oh.’ Doreen kicked off her shoes and stretched her toes into a bowl of hot water, her face reflecting her satisfaction.
‘Better than having a roll in the hay, is this, any day.’ She grinned up at Catherine who was cutting bread into neat thin slices to go with the cold pie she had bought on her way home.
‘Course, you wouldn’t know about that, would you, being a single girl, like?’
‘Don’t be nosy.’ Catherine laughed out loud. ‘Never did know anyone like you for prying.’
‘Only interested, mind, don’t mean no harm.’ Doreen ruffled the water with her feet. ‘Got the look of a girl who’s had a man, you have, and such beauty that most would kill for. Have you then; had a man I mean?’
Catherine glanced at her. ‘I’ve had two lovers; now then, are you satisfied?’
Doreen sat up straighter. ‘Do you mean it or are you having me on?’
‘Figure it out for yourself. Come on, tea’s ready, I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’
‘Oh, pass a plate of pie over by here, love, can’t waste this lovely hot water now, can I?’
Catherine sighed in mock exasperation. ‘Didn’t know I was going to end up being head cook and bottle washer when I came to live here.’
‘Go on, used to it, you are, being a farm girl.’ Doreen looked at her. ‘Don’t you miss it, going to bed with a man, I mean?’
Catherine bit into her pie and shrugged her shoulders, how could she tell Doreen she longed to be in Boyo’s arms every night when she went to her bed? That sometimes she would wake up with tears on her pillow aching to be held, to be loved.
‘No need to answer, I can see it in your face that you do. In love, poor sod, that’s what you are, hopelessly in love.’
‘Right, well, shall we change the subject?’
‘Aye, suppose so. What do you think of that confection I made for Mrs whatsername?’
‘The mother of the bride, you mean?’ Catherine smiled wickedly. ‘She seems pleased enough but it’s a bit … well, a bit fussy for my tastes.’
‘Ah, but these rich people like to know they’re having their money’s worth, proper mean they are and the tips they give are not worth holding your hand out for. Still, it’s a good job and Mrs Grenfell pays our wages on time, not like most toffs.’
A sudden loud knocking on the door wiped the smile from Doreen’s face. ‘Oh, my lord, that sounds like ’im!’ She looked up at Catherine with fear reflected in her face. ‘Go and answer, love, try to put ’im off, I can’t stand a row, not now.’
Catherine moved to the door, her heart had begun to beat rapidly but she held her head high. Why should she be afraid of Doreen’s husband? Surely the man could not be such a monster as Doreen made out.
‘Yes?’ She opened the door and started back as the huge figure of the policeman swayed in the doorway. ‘Sergeant Meadows, your wife is not at home. Please go away, you’re drunk.’
He pushed her aside as though she were a rag doll, ignoring her cries as she fell heavily. He stepped over her and made his way unsteadily through to the living-room.
She heard a crack of a hand against flesh and shakily, Catherine scrambled to her feet and followed Meadows, so frightened, she felt she could not breathe. He was standing over his wife and she was pressed back in her chair, a livid mark across her cheek.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice was thin, it was clear she was close to tears.
‘What do you think?’ He tore at Doreen’s clothing revealing her thin body.
‘No, please, Peter, I can’t stand it.’
He smacked her hard and Catherine rushed forward, grasping at his arm, trying to pull him away. He shook her off with ease and turned on her, his mouth drawn back over his teeth.
‘Keep out of this if you know what’s good for you. This woman is my wife and I have rights over her, do you understand?’
‘Get out, Cath,’ Doreen said breathlessly. ‘Just get out while you’re all right.’
Sergeant Meadows grasped his wife’s arm and forced her towards the door. ‘First I’m going to give you a good hiding and then I’m going to claim what’s mine. Why should I pay whores for a service my wife is bound to give me for free?’
He thrust Doreen from the room and Catherine, her hands to her face, heard the sound of blows from the bedroom at the back of the house. Then there was an awful silence and Catherine closed her eyes, imagining the big beast of a man forcing himself on the defenceless Doreen.
She turned suddenly and ran up the stairs and hammered on the door of the first-floor apartment. It was opened a crack by a small elderly woman who stared at her suspiciously.
‘Can you help?’ Catherine gasped. ‘I think that man is going to kill Doreen.’
The woman shrugged. ‘People quarrel, love, that’s life. Any road, what can I do against him?’
‘Haven’t you got a husband or a son who can help, please?’ Catherine said desperately.
‘Bless you, love, don’t you know better than not to interfere between a man and his wife? In any case, he’s a copper, don’t do to cross that kind.’ She closed the door and Catherine heard the sounds of bolts being shot home.
She turned, ran back down the stairs and stood wondering what she should do, should she run into the street or should she try once more to tackle Meadows herself? She moved into the kitchen looking for some sort of weapon. From the fireside, she picked up a heavy poker.
The door to the kitchen crashed back on its hinges and Meadows came into the room, his shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers hung loosely round his hips. He ignored Catherine and opened the lid of the biscuit tin, taking out the money and stuffing it into his pocket.
‘Silly cow knows I’ll find it wherever she hides it.’ He spoke more to himself than to Catherine. Incensed, she moved forward and barred his path.
‘Some of that is my money. Give it back at once.’ She brandished the poker, she was so angry that she forgot her fear. He leaned forward and leered down at her.
‘Not any more it isn’t, it’s mine, right; got it?’ He poked his finger in her chest and angrily, Catherine smacked it away. He lifted his hand as if to strike her and she faced up to him, her chin high.
‘Go on, hit me and then I can make a complaint against you; I am not your wife, do you understand?’ she said furiously.
He looked at her for a long moment and then spat on the ground at her feet. ‘Bitch!’
He pushed past her and lurched through the door and out along the passage into the roadway. Catherine slammed the front door after him, locking it with savage movements of her fingers.
Slowly, she made her way to the back bedroom, almost afraid to look in case the monster had murdered Doreen. The room was in darkness and she drew back the curtain allowing the light from the lamp outside to filter into the room.
Doreen was hugging her knees, blood trickling from a cut on her brow and her mouth was swollen.
‘Oh Doreen.’ Catherine sat on the bed and hugged her, feeling the thinness of the girl with a dart of pity. ‘How could he do this to you?’
‘He thinks it’s his right, what he deserves because he hasn’t disgraced me by getting a divorce.’ She tried to smile. ‘One good thing, it never lasts long; not very good at it is Meadows, for all he thinks he’s a great stud.’
‘I’ll boil water for a bath,’ Catherine said, ‘the warm water might ease the pain.’
‘Aye and it will wash away the stink of that bastard as well,’ Doreen said bitterly.
Catherine bathed Doreen’s thin body as though she was a sickly child. She felt her throat constrict as she saw the bruising on Doreen’s thighs and breasts and around her throat.
‘That’s lovely, Cath. Fetch me a gin, will you?’ She sloughed the water over her shoulders and arms before taking the glass which Catherine held out to her.
‘I do this each time in case the bastard’s put me in the way. Never has mind, hasn’t got the necessary if you asks me. But gin’s supposed to be good for shifting what might be put there and in any case, it makes me feel a bit better.’ She tried to smile, though her lips were swollen now to twice their ordinary size.
‘You can’t go to work looking like that, Dor,’ Catherine said. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Grenfell that you’re sick.’
‘Aye, she won’t believe it but she’s a good sort. Ask her if I can have my stuff at home so that I can finish that blessed hat for Mrs Charles.’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ Catherine said, ‘you just think of yourself for a change.’
She helped Doreen out of the water, handed her a towel and then dragged the zinc bath out through the back door into the yard.
The moon was high in the heavens, a bright shining orb. The clouds hung motionless, as though painted against the sky and Catherine took deep breaths trying to calm herself. Never had she witnessed such savagery; how one human being could be so brutal to another she could not understand. But one thing she knew: Peter Meadows must be prevented from molesting his wife again, or next time he might finish her for good.
She spent the night in bed with Doreen, soothing her when she cried out in her sleep, watching over her like a mother. Doreen was older than Catherine but, tonight, it was almost as though the roles were reversed.
It was the same feeling she had had when her mother had been so low after her dad’s death; the urge to comfort, to take away some of the pain. Catherine’s eyes misted with tears, she remembered the happy childhood she had spent on Honey’s Farm, loved and cherished by both her parents and she wanted to weep for what she could never have again.
In the morning, Doreen looked even worse than she had the previous night. Both her eyes were closed to mere slits and her mouth was swollen to twice its size.
‘
Duw
! Would you look at that kisser, not even my own mam would recognize me.’ Doreen spoke with difficulty.
‘He’s a beast!’ Catherine said angrily. ‘That man should be locked up and the key thrown away. You should make a complaint against him.’
‘No love, it’s not done, not for a woman to complain about her old man, especially not when he’s a copper.’
‘I know,’ Catherine sighed, ‘but there must be something we can do. Anyway, I’ll make us some porridge and then I’d better get off to work. I’ll try to come home at dinner time and make something nice to eat.’