Twisted Strands (19 page)

‘She’ll try to stop me going, if you do,’ Bridie said morosely. ‘I don’t think we ought to tell her.’

‘Oh no, you keep the child away from them. I won’t have her going anywhere near them, not after the way they treated me. All of us, if it comes to that.’

Bridie had been right. Mary would not hear of the girl visiting their estranged family in Flawford.

‘I only let Andrew visit us here because he knew the situation and respected it. He never spoke about them unless I asked and I trusted him not to go home tittle-tattling to them about
what was going on here. Oh no, Eveleen, you’re not to let her go.’

Bridie glowered at her aunt, as if to say, I told you so.

As ever, it was Josh who brought a calming influence to the discussion over the dinner table. ‘Would you agree to her going if I went with her?’

Mary glanced at him. ‘You? Why should you want to go?’

‘Well, from what the lass says about his letters, Andrew seems very worried about them.’

‘Then he shouldn’t have gone off playing the hero, should he? He should have stayed and shouldered his responsibilities.’

‘They aren’t really Andrew’s responsibility, though, are they?’ Bridie said quietly. ‘They’re not his relatives.’

‘Aye, an’ he’s the lucky one they’re not,’ Mary said sharply. ‘And don’t you start giving your opinions about things you know nothing about, miss.
We’ll decide whether you go or not and I say you don’t.’

Across the table Eveleen smiled at her mother, ‘Well, for once, Mam, you and I are in agreement.’

Bridie kept her gaze lowered so that no-one would see the spark of defiance leap into her eyes. The more they told her she should not visit her grandfather and great-grandmother, the more
determined she was to do so. As the conversation around her turned to other matters, a plan began to form in Bridie’s mind. She said nothing and listened with only half an ear as Eveleen
said, ‘Josh, I need your advice. The orders for dress lace are falling. We had another order cancelled last week and now I have several bales of finished lace stored in the warehouse and no
buyers. Maybe I’ll find a use for it somewhere, but it’s the future I’m worried about.’

Josh was thoughtful for a moment. ‘You say there’s still a demand for curtaining?’

Eveleen nodded. ‘Goodness knows why, but yes, there is.’ She stared at him, puzzled. ‘But we have Levers machines, not curtaining machines.’

Josh smiled. ‘Then get some.’

Eveleen was surprised. ‘But you don’t have both sorts in one factory, do you?’

‘Not usually, no, but these are unusual times. And, from what I hear . . .’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Oh, I still know what’s going on even if I do live out here in the
countryside. From what I hear, there are lace factories closing every month because of the war. Now, there’ll be machines going cheap. Talk to Mr Stokes, mi duck. He’ll see the sense of
it. He’s a clever businessman. He’ll not want to see his factory go to the wall because of a war.’

‘But where would we put them? You don’t mean get rid of the Levers?’’

‘Lord, no. You’ll want them again when all this lot’s over. But I bet there’s still plenty of unused space in the factory just being used as a dumping ground at present.
There was when I was there and I don’t expect it’s changed. Get it cleared out and you’ll be able to have a new machine shop.’

Eveleen thought of the clutter filling an area right next to the existing machine shop. She put her arms around him. ‘Oh, Josh. Thank you. You’re so clever.’

‘Haven’t I always said so,’ Mary put in proudly. ‘But don’t start asking him to come back to Nottingham, ’cos I need him here.’

Eveleen and Josh exchanged a fond glance, as Eveleen said with feigned meekness, ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking, Mam,’ even though that very idea had been her first thought the
day that Bob Porter had walked out.

As she drove home, Eveleen said, ‘I’ll take you home, Bridie, but I must go and see Mr Stokes right away about this. It’s such a good idea of Josh’s, but I must talk to
my father-in-law about it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Bridie murmured, her mind busy with her own plans.

For a time, Brinsley was thoughtful when Eveleen told him of Josh’s suggestion. Then, as she watched him, the spark of interest that seemed to have been missing for some
time was rekindled in his eyes.

‘That’s a capital idea, Eveleen. I’ll get on to it first thing in the morning.’ His face sobered. ‘One of my old friends has just been forced to close his small
curtain-making factory. He may be only too pleased to sell his machines.’

Whilst she was delighted that Brinsley was once more becoming enthusiastically involved, she had a confession to make. Swiftly, the words tumbling out, she told him of the recent events,
culminating in Bob Porter’s resignation.

As she fell silent, Brinsley grunted, ‘Stupid fellow!’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Don’t blame yourself, my dear. He’s always been a volatile type. To my
knowledge that’s the third time he’s picked up his scissors and hook and walked out.’ His smile widened. ‘But he always walks back in sooner or later. Mind you, perhaps this
time the factory will run better without his disruptive influence.’ Brinsley cleared his throat and added, ‘I have to admit, Eveleen, that you were right to have women trained. And by
doing it yourself you blazed the way. I apologize for having doubted you.’

Swift to forgive, Eveleen hugged him impulsively. ‘Oh, you don’t know how happy that makes me. Thank you. I thought I’d made you angry with me.’

Brinsley chuckled and patted her shoulder. ‘My dear, dear girl, I could never be angry with you for long. Let’s just hope that there’s enough demand for curtaining to justify
the purchase of the new machinery.’

They both recognized that there was still a risk. Trade for curtaining might fall off too and then what?

As Eveleen drove home, she felt happier that her father-in-law was once more taking an active interest in the business. But even he could not take away the ever-present worry.

Could they keep the Reckitt and Stokes factory going until Richard came home? And what if . . .? Determinedly, Eveleen kept her mind from even dwelling on that awful possibility.

Somehow she must keep his factory working. It was a talisman. If Reckitt and Stokes survived then Richard would too.

Eveleen clung to that belief.

On the following Saturday, when Bridie should have gone into work for the morning, she feigned severe stomach cramps.

‘Maybe I should call the doctor,’ Eveleen said worriedly, standing by Bridie’s bed whilst the girl writhed and moaned and clutched her stomach.

‘No, no, I’ll be all right.’

‘But you’ve not had anything like this before. I’ve never known you be ill. Not so much as a cold.’

‘Oh, I have. I often get these sort of cramps, you know, every month. But they’ve never been as bad as this.’

Eveleen nodded understandingly. ‘I suppose it’s your age,’ she murmured. ‘But if they go on, we’ll have to see the doctor.’

‘They’ll soon go. They usually do,’ Bridie said and then, taking a risk, she added, ‘I’ll try and come into work later.’

As she had hoped, Eveleen said at once, ‘No, no, there’s no need. I’ll explain to Helen. After all, you’d be finishing at one o’clock anyway.’

As she left the bedroom, Eveleen turned at the door. ‘I’ll send Emily up with a tray.’

‘Thank you, Auntie Evie, but I really don’t feel like eating at the moment.’

‘Well, ring for her if you change your mind. ’Bye now. I’ll see you later.’

Bridie lay perfectly still, her heart beating rapidly, listening. When she heard the front door close and her aunt’s footsteps tapping down the street, she flung back the bedcovers and
leapt out. Dressing quickly, she crept down the stairs and let herself out of the front door, running swiftly to the place where she could catch the early omnibus to Flawford.

She was on her way to meet her grandfather and great-grandmother for the first time.

Bridie stepped down from the omnibus and looked about her. She had no idea where her family lived. All she knew was that their name was the same as hers: Singleton.

Children were playing cricket on a patch of land in the centre of the village. Bridie presumed it was the village green, though there was no grass. A woman, large and round and homely looking,
stepped awkwardly off the omnibus behind Bridie, struggling to carry bulging shopping baskets.

‘Let me help you,’ Bridie offered.

‘Aw thanks. A bit of help’s worth a lot of pity, they say.’

‘Where are you going? I’ll help you carry them.’

‘I don’t want to take you out of your way,’ the woman said. Now she was looking directly at Bridie, frowning slightly, her head on one side in contemplation.

Bridie grinned. ‘Trouble is, I don’t know which is my way. Maybe you can help me.’

Slowly the woman said, ‘Aye, I reckon I can. You’re poor Rebecca Singleton’s lass, aren’t you?’

Bridie’s mouth fell open in a startled gasp. ‘How – how do you know?’

‘ ’Cos, mi little lass, you’re the spittin’ image of her. I knew Rebecca all her life. She were a quiet, docile little thing.’ Bridie felt the woman’s
scrutiny again as she added, ‘You’ve a bit more of the devilment in your eyes than she had. ’Spect you get that from that rascal of a father of yours. It was the worst day’s
work Mary ever did, bringing her family back here.’ The woman shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Rebecca. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d have been happily married to Andrew Burns
with a brood of bairns around her now.’ The woman smiled down at Bridie. ‘I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all this. T’ain’t your fault, though, what went on in the
past, is it?’

Bridie grimaced, smiling ruefully as she did so. She had warmed immediately to this outspoken woman. ‘I suppose not. But I seem to get the blame.’

They walked along side by side for a few moments, then Bridie picked up on something the woman had said. ‘You must know my gran then.’

‘I know ’em all. The whole family. I’ve lived in this village all me life. But you mean Mary?’

‘Yes.’

‘Me an’ Mary were best pals when we was young. Cut me to the quick when she ran off without a word to anyone.’

Bridie stopped walking, staring at the woman in surprise. ‘My gran? Ran off?’

The woman stopped too and turned back to face her. ‘Oh aye. Didn’t you know?’

Bridie shook her head.

‘Ah.’ The woman appeared to be struggling with her inner self. Whether to impart a juicy morsel of gossip or whether she should hold her counsel. Her better nature won and she shook
her head. ‘They ain’t told you then. Well, t’aint my place. You’d best ask yer family. Talking of which,’ she went on briskly, resuming her walking, ‘I’d
best take you to Singleton’s Yard. I’m not sure what sort of a reception you’ll get, mi little lass. Specially from
’im
.’

‘Who’s “him”?’

‘Harry Singleton. Your grandfather. Heartless beggar. Turning ’is own daughter out just ’cos she made a mistake that a lot on us have. ’Im an’ all his chapel
ranting, yet he couldn’t be forgiving to ’is own. Hard man, he is, as you’ll find out. Yer mam were just a lass who fell in love, that’s all.’ The woman sniffed.
‘Pity it was with a wrong ’un. But there you are, that’s life. Here’s my little place.’ They had arrived outside a row of cottages and the woman pushed open a
white-painted gate and walked up the path. ‘I’ll just put me shopping down . . .’ She paused and then asked, ‘Would you like a cuppa?’

‘Yes, please,’ Bridie said thankfully. Feigning illness, she had had nothing to eat or drink that morning. She followed the woman into a neat and homely kitchen.

‘Sit yer down and I’ll soon mek us a cup.’

‘I don’t know your name.’

The woman laughed. ‘No more you do. My name’s Gracie Turner. Sit down, love, mek yourself at home. Now, what’s your name then? I know who you are. It’s as plain as the
nose on yer face,
who
you are. But what d’they call you?’

‘Bridie. Bridie Singleton.’

‘Bridie, eh?’ Gracie smiled knowingly. ‘After the old woman.’

Bridie sat down at the scrubbed kitchen table. ‘Is that my great-grandmother?’

‘Aye, that’s her. Bridget Singleton. Poor thing, not much of a life she’s ’ad.’ As she bustled about her kitchen making tea, Gracie chattered.

‘Why do you say that?’ Bridie asked curiously, her mouth watering as Gracie put a plate of buttered scones on the table. Her fingers itched to take one, but she held back out of
politeness.

‘Go on, lass, tek one.’ Gracie laughed. ‘I can see you’re hungry. You were on the early bus, weren’t you? I stayed in town overnight. Me eldest daughter’s
married and lives there and I was minding the bairns for her last night. Did me shopping yesterday.’ She gestured towards the baskets. ‘But what my old man’s going to say when he
sees that little lot, I don’t know.’

She laughed as she said it and Bridie knew that, whoever her husband was, he wasn’t going to say very much.

‘Come from Nottingham, have you?’

Bridie nodded. ‘I’m staying with my auntie Eveleen.’

Gracie placed the teapot on the table and sat down opposite her with an exclamation of delight. ‘Eveleen. Ah, now there was a lovely lass. She didn’t ’alf go through it, poor
love. What with Mary moaning and groaning all the time and that brother of hers . . .’ She cast a shrewd glance at Bridie and added apologetically, ‘But I shouldn’t call him
names. He is your dad, after all.’

‘You can say what you like about him, Mrs Turner,’ Bridie said tartly, reaching for another scone. ‘I’ve yet to meet him.’

Now the woman’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Bridie. ‘Wha . . .? You mean to say, you’ve never . . .? He’s never . . .?’

Bridie shook her head. ‘I’ve not been told very much about my family, Mrs Turner. In fact,’ she smiled warmly at the woman, ‘you’ve told me more about them in the
last ten minutes than I’ve known the whole of me life. But I did know that me dad ran away to sea before I was born
and
. . .’ she added with a trace of resentment, ‘before
he married my mother. That’s why I’m called Singleton and not Hardcastle.’