Twisted Strands (25 page)

‘Women? Women at my machines? In my workshops? Never. The men wouldn’t stand for it.’

Eveleen faced her uncle across the hearth in his cottage as she said quietly, ‘What men, Uncle? From what Bridie tells me, you’ve hardly anyone left.’

He cast her a furious look, but could not deny the truth. She leant towards him. ‘Uncle, it’s sound business sense. You’ve lost nearly all your workforce. I’ve plenty of
women anxious to work – needing to work – and yet little for them to do. If the single girls and young married women without children came out here . . .’

‘I don’t want a lot of flighty wenches bringing trouble to the village.’

Eveleen sighed. ‘It’s not very likely, with nearly all the young men gone.’

Harry grunted, but again he could not argue with fact.

‘And I’m sure,’ Eveleen went on, pressing her point, ‘there are plenty of women in the village who wouldn’t mind taking in lodgers. As for my end of things, I am
hoping to buy some frames for the factory.’

‘How do you know you’ll have the outlets? Surely the government has got all that sorted.’

‘Mr Stokes is handling that side of things. He has the contacts. Knows all the right people. We’ve already got one contract for five hundred pairs of long johns – just like the
ones you’ve always made here. And socks! Well, it seems they can’t get enough of them. I’m hunting out all the Griswold machines I can lay my hands on. The women can work those in
their own homes, like they always have.’

A Griswold, a small, hand-operated machine that could be attached to a table, produced a knitted tube. It was ideal for making socks.

‘What about my private orders?’ Grudgingly, in spite of himself, Harry could not help showing interest. ‘The ones the officers’ families have ordered for them? I
can’t let folks down.’

‘They’ll all be honoured.’

He was silent for a long time until at last he nodded. ‘I don’t like to see the workshops empty and if it’d be helping the war effort . . .’ Eveleen said nothing but knew
that Harry was also thinking of lining his own pockets. ‘But don’t think,’ he added gruffly, ‘that you can worm your way in here because of this. You can take that girl home
with you.’

Eveleen stood up. ‘This has nothing to do with Bridie. This is purely business. But as for her leaving, no, Uncle Harry. Bridie is staying.’

The war was now more than a year old, yet, despite her constant worry, it was an exciting time for Eveleen. Plans for the changes at the factory and the involvement of her
uncle’s workshops were going well. Brinsley was enthusiastic and helpful. He also looked much better. He was enjoying business lunches with his contacts, who could assist with their scheme.
There was only one point on which Brinsley disagreed with Eveleen.

‘It’s a pity you let Bob Porter go. He was a good man,’ he said reproachfully. For once Eveleen held her tongue. She had not been sorry to see the man go and, better still, she
now had the support of her workers at the factory. They were only too pleased that she had found alternative work for them, as the orders for lace were dwindling with each day. She found several
framework knitting machines for sale, many of them owned by men who had worked in their own homes before volunteering. Now, sadly, they would never return to work them again.

‘I can’t bear to see it standing there,’ one widow had told Eveleen. ‘Just take it out my way, missis.’

Eveleen had paid the woman generously and, along with several others, had it transported to an unused room in the factory that became known as the knitting workshop.

‘There’s a couple of our chaps who’ve had experience on these machines,’ Luke told her. ‘They’re willing to train the rest of us.’

Eveleen smiled. ‘Men and women?’

Luke chuckled. ‘Oh aye, women an’ all. They’ll play an important part.’

Each morning Eveleen hurried to the factory and returned late in the evening. But there was one day when a knock on her front door made her take the morning off.

Emily entered Eveleen’s bedroom as she was dressing. ‘There’s a Mrs Martin at the door, ma’am.’

‘Win? Here?’

Though they were good friends, Win had rarely visited Eveleen’s home and then only at Eveleen’s insistence.

‘She – she looks ever so upset, ma’am. She’s crying.’

‘Oh no!’ Eveleen breathed. ‘I’ll come down at once. Please show her into the morning room.’

Only minutes later Eveleen entered the room to find Win pacing the floor, a handkerchief pressed to her lips, her eyes red from weeping.

‘It’s our Elsie’s Sid. He’s been sent home from the hospital. He’s with her now but, oh, Evie, he’s a changed man. He’s swearing and carrying on. He
– he even hit her the other day when she was holding the babby.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘I’ve got to get him away from her. He’s not bad enough now to be kept in a military hospital and none of the local hospitals will take him either. I’m at me wit’s
end, Evie. Really I am.’

‘What’s Fred say?’

Win glanced at her nervously and then looked away. ‘I – I daren’t tell him everything that’s going on, Evie. If he knew . . .’

She needed to say no more. Eveleen knew that Fred would leap to his daughter’s defence.

‘It’s all he’s been through. It’s just not our Sid. He was a lovely feller before he went away. But now . . .’ Win’s voice trailed away in defeat.

‘I’ll try to think of something, Win,’ was all Eveleen could promise. She stood up. ‘In the meantime, I’ll come with you to Elsie’s and see for
myself.’

Eveleen had not encountered Win’s son-in-law before, but she could well imagine that the man she met that morning was a very different personality from the man Elsie had
married.

‘What d’you want, you interfering busybody?’ was his greeting as Win stepped through the door. ‘Leave me and mine alone.’

Elsie came into the room from upstairs and Eveleen almost gasped aloud to see her black eye and swollen lip.

‘You’re coming home with me, m’girl, right now,’ Win said at once. ‘Leave this brute to fend for ’imself. When your dad hears about this—’

‘Oh aye,’ Sid cut in nastily. ‘Reckon I’m frightened of a feller who’s too old to go to the Front.’ He prodded his own chest. ‘I’ve faced the Hun,
I have. And she . . .’ he caught hold of his wife’s arm and twisted it viciously, ‘is going nowhere.’

‘Ma, I’ll be all right, but take the baby for a few days, will you?’ Elsie pleaded.

‘Aye, you can take that squealing brat and keep it, for all I care,’ Sid said.

Half an hour later, Win and Eveleen left the tiny, terraced house, Win carrying her grandson clutched to her breast. The child was crying; a strange, gasping sound that bore no resemblance to
the lusty bawling of a healthy infant.

‘There, there, my pet. You’ll be all right. Your daddy’s just poorly. To think how tickled pink he was when the little mite was born. I can hardly believe what’s
happening now.’

‘I’ll send for the doctor. That child’s ill, Win. Even I know that,’ Eveleen added wryly.

‘Oh, I can’t afford—’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ She put her hand on Win’s arm. ‘After all you’ve done for me over the years, it’s the very least I can do.’

‘Well, for once I’m not going to argue. I can swallow me pride when one of me own’s in need. And this little chap is.’

‘Yes,’ Eveleen agreed. ‘And so’s his poor father.’

Eveleen once again asked Helen to go out with her on the Sunday. This time she intended to visit Pear Tree Farm. Helen took both Eveleen’s hands in hers. ‘Evie,
you’ve been wonderful. You still are, but if it’s all the same to you I think I should go home today. I’ve got to make the effort some time.’

‘No, you haven’t. You can stay here as long as you want.’

‘I know and I can’t thank you enough for having me here. But I’d like to go home, just for the day to start with, and then maybe stay a night or so. See how it goes.’
Helen had returned to work very quickly after the dreadful news of Leslie’s death, but Eveleen had insisted that her friend stay with her.

‘If you’re sure.’ Eveleen had to agree. It was a sensible idea.

So Eveleen drove out to Bernby alone. The last few weeks had flown by and it was September already. It was a peaceful, warm, late summer day. Only the sound of Eveleen’s motor car and
birds, frightened into flight by her approach, disturbed the calm. It was hard to believe that only a few hundred miles away across the sea a savage war was being waged. At least, she thought, in
this weather the trenches would be dry. Although perhaps the heat was just as uncomfortable with all the equipment and heavy packs the soldiers had to carry.

She passed through the village of Bernby, but as the vehicle emerged from beneath the trees of Bernby Covert overhanging the lane, the engine spluttered and died. The motor car free-wheeled down
the hill, coming to rest by the ford across the beck. For a moment Eveleen sat there helplessly, wondering what to do. She had no idea about the internal workings of the car. She clambered down and
tried to restart it by swinging the starting handle, but the engine only gave a brief stutter and refused to fire into life.

As she stood in the middle of the lane, biting her lip, she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her and turned to see Stephen Dunsmore riding towards her.

‘Oh no,’ she breathed. ‘Not him.’

There was nothing she could do, no means of escape. She was obliged to wait whilst Stephen dismounted. As he came towards her, she could not fail to notice his unsteady gait and when he came
closer and took her hand, she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

‘My dear Eveleen, how lovely you look.’ His bold gaze ran appraisingly down the tight-fitting costume she wore. He raised her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips, his gaze
holding hers. ‘Are you, by any chance,’ he asked softly, ‘a damsel in distress?’

She pulled her hand away and replied, ‘If you mean am I having trouble with the motor, then, yes, I’m afraid I am.’ She arched her eyebrows and enquired sarcastically.
‘Any good with engines, are you?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Stephen drawled, ‘But I know someone who is. If you’d care to come to the house . . .’ He gestured towards the gateway to Fairfield House,
which was only a few yards up the lane, ‘Then I’ll send for him whilst we – er – wait.’

There was an undercurrent in his tone that suggested so much more.

‘I’d be glad of your help,’ Eveleen unbent enough to say, ‘but I’m quite happy to wait here.’

‘Oh, but I insist,’ Stephen said, his blue eyes glinting in the way she remembered so well when he was determined to get his own way. Then he turned on the boyish charm.
‘Please say “yes”, Evie . . .’ And then he whispered softly, ‘For old times’ sake.’

She was in no position to refuse. She needed his help. Or rather, she needed the help of the mechanically minded man he knew. Forcing herself to smile, she put her hand on his arm and said,
‘Thank you, Stephen. I’d be obliged for your help.’

They walked together towards the big house, Stephen leading his horse. The front door opened as if by magic at his appearance on the driveway and the sour-faced butler held it open for them to
step inside. At once Stephen barked orders, for refreshments for them both and for the man to be sent for to attend to Eveleen’s motor car. The manservant closed the front door, bowed in
acquiescence and disappeared below stairs.

‘Please,’ Stephen said smoothly, ‘come into the morning room.’

Eveleen felt as if she were a fly being invited into a spider’s web.

The room surprised Eveleen. It had an unlived-in feel. It wasn’t that it was neglected – far from it. Every surface gleamed. Not a speck of dust could be seen and a fire glowed in
the grate. But there was nothing personal lying about that spoke of recent occupation. No book or newspaper being read and laid aside; no embroidery being worked by the lady of the house,
Stephen’s mother, or perhaps by now his wife.

‘Please sit down.’ Stephen gestured towards the sofa and went towards a drinks cabinet. ‘Tea will be here in a moment. Or perhaps you would prefer something
stronger?’

Eveleen shook her head and almost said: What, at eleven-thirty in the morning? But she held her tongue and watched in silence as Stephen splashed a generous measure of whisky into his glass,
which was obviously not even his first of the day.

He put his glass on a small table and sat down beside her. ‘Well, well, who’d have thought it?’ His gaze roamed over her, taking in her appearance from head to toe; the blue
tailored suit with an ankle-length skirt and a white lace blouse beneath. Eveleen removed her straw hat and smoothed back her hair into its neat pleat.

‘My lovely Eveleen, all grown up,’ he murmured and there was no mistaking the tinge of sadness in his tone. ‘Are you happy, Evie, or do you still remember the times we had?
They were good, weren’t they?’

Eveleen returned his gaze steadily. ‘I remember them very well, Stephen. But I was young and foolish and had no way of knowing that your intentions were far from honourable.’

Stephen ran his tongue round his lips in a lascivious gesture and made no attempt to deny her accusation. ‘You can’t blame me for trying. Pity your “honour” was stronger
than your love for me.’

For a brief moment Eveleen’s voice softened. ‘I loved you very much, Stephen.’

He took her hand again and squeezed it gently. Before she could stop him, his lips were on her mouth, gently pleading. ‘Oh, Evie,’ he whispered against them.

Eveleen closed her eyes and the years fell away. She was once more the naive young girl who had responded to his kiss and to his sweet words. She could almost hear the birdsong above them in the
trees of Bernby Covert, where they had met in secret, and feel the soft grass beneath them. He had been her first love . . .

Her eyes flew open and she pulled away with a startled gasp. Ashamed and angry with herself, she sprang up. ‘Don’t.’

He too rose and tried to take her hands again, but she backed away from him, holding out her hands, palms outwards to fend him off. ‘Don’t,’ she repeated. It seemed to be all
she could say, but he took no notice and reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms. She struggled, pushing against him, but his mouth found hers, urgent now, no longer gentle.