All That Glitters, page 8
A short flight of steps and sloping path led to the front door where a key protruded from the lock. Jane had to stretch up to reach a highly polished brass knocker.
‘Come in.’
Not believing the summons was meant for her she knocked again.
‘If Phyllis is your friend, you should know her voice.’ The rag and bone man was standing behind her. Pulling the cap from his head he opened the door. ‘Phyllis, there’s someone here who says they know you,’ he called out as he hung his cap on one of the hooks screwed into the wall behind the door. ‘Come on then,’ he ordered, turning to Jane.
She followed him into a small hallway with a passage leading off. A private house was a strange, alien environment, one she’d never set foot in before. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Warm, cosy and inviting. A delicious soup and bread smell mixed together with floor polish, beeswax and soda, which for once didn’t seem harsh and antiseptic.
The man was waiting for her, holding the door open at the end of the dark passage. She preceded him into a back kitchen fitted with an enormous black stove that belched out heat. She looked around: the room was furnished with heavy, dark wood pieces, and the only light came from a small side window that overlooked a walled-in yard, but the room wasn’t gloomy. It glowed, bright with multi-coloured fabrics. Red and blue crocheted cushion covers on the easy chairs that stood either side of the range, a summery, yellow and green check cloth thrown over the table, jewel-bright patchwork of curtains framing the window. The dresser was loaded with gleaming blue and white china, the black range glistened like freshly hewn coal, its brasswork rail and knobs shone dull gold, and standing in front of it, a small boy playing at her feet, was Phyllis. She looked expectantly towards the doorway, the ladle she’d been using to stir the soup in her hand.
‘Jane, what on earth are you doing here?’
‘You do know her, then.’ The man hung his muffler and jacket on the back of a chair before going into the washhouse. Jane heard water running as he washed his hands.
‘My, but you look smart.’ Phyllis stood back to admire her.
‘You must be doing well. Sit down. Take your hat off. Have some soup with us. Who took you out of the workhouse? What are you doing now? Come on, pull that chair out, that’s it.’ Phyllis bustled over to the dresser and lifted down another bowl. Opening a drawer, she took out a spoon and laid it on the table. ‘Evan,’ she smiled at the man as he returned, ‘this is Jane, we met in the workhouse.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand and Jane took it, struggling to match the firmness of his handshake.
‘Well, woman, you going to dish up that soup or we going to wait all day?’
‘Sorry, Evan.’ Phyllis took his bowl and filled it. Jane’s was next. Lifting her son from the floor, she filled his and finally her own. ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking of. I’ve cut the bread and I haven’t even put it on the table.’ She reached for the breadboard on the dresser. ‘Doesn’t Jane look smart, Evan? But then I expect everyone does after workhouse clothes. Jane was really kind to me when I was in the workhouse. We used to scrub the kitchen yard together …’
‘Looks to me as though the pair of you are best off out of it,’ he interrupted brusquely. Both women fell silent. Jane because she wasn’t at all sure of the relationship between Evan and Phyllis, and Phyllis because she’d mentioned the workhouse, one of the few topics Evan refused to discuss because it reminded him of his failure to look after her and Brian when they’d been evicted from their lodgings. Phyllis could never understand why he was so sensitive about it, as he’d been in prison and in no position to help them at the time.
‘When did you leave?’ Evan asked Jane, feeling the need to break the silence.
‘Yesterday.’
‘And you’ve come to see me today? How kind.’
‘It’s not really.’ Jane looked from Phyllis to Evan and decided that this was one occasion when only the truth would do. She began hesitantly and ended up pouring out everything. The Bletchetts taking her out of the workhouse, the way they’d treated her. The man in her room. Her trade with Wilf Horton, the job in the Town Hall, the white lies she’d told to get it, and the use she’d made of Phyllis’s name.
‘How old are you?’ Evan asked when she finished.
‘Eighteen,’ she countered defensively.
‘I don’t know what the workhouse guardians would say to an under-age girl working in the Town Hall with the show they’ve got running there for the next two weeks.’
‘They’d rather she was working in a dosshouse wearing no knickers with a man’s hand up her skirt?’ The ignominy of not being allowed underclothes still mortified Phyllis every time she thought about it.
‘I’m just trying to see things the way they would, love. You know as well as I do that the situation in this house is far from ideal, from the parish point of view.’
‘Love?’ Was Phyllis married now? Jane dropped her spoon into her untasted soup. ‘Could I use your toilet, please?’ she asked, sensing that Evan wanted to speak to Phyllis alone.
‘In the yard.’ Phyllis indicated the washhouse door. Jane stepped outside and breathed in a great gulp of bracing mountain air.
She’d schemed, planned and, if not entirely told lies, coloured the truth in an effort to make a life for herself outside of the institutions. And now, when that life was almost within reach, the shadow of the workhouse walls still stretched over her, grey and forbidding. Perhaps she ought to go out and break a window, steal something, hit a policeman. If she was put in gaol she’d be given a finite date to mark the end of her sentence. And afterwards, if she was lucky, they might allow her to walk free. The way things were, she felt as though she’d never escape the clutches of the parish guardians.
‘She needs help Evan.’
‘I’m not disputing that. But we’re not the right ones to give it to her. You know as well as I do how the authorities will see the situation. A couple living in sin …’
‘She was in the workhouse, Evan. You’ve no idea what that’s like for a woman.’
‘I know only too well what prison’s like for a man. Please, love, don’t cry.’ He felt in his shirt pocket, found a handkerchief and handed it to her. He couldn’t stand to see her in tears, and she knew it.
‘She was kind to me when I needed kindness. She has no family, nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. You’re lucky. You’ve always had your family.’
‘Kids to support.’
‘Not any more. You’ve given them independence and the will to succeed. All that girl is trying to do is stand on her own two feet like Diana and Bethan. She’s spent her whole life in institutions. She told me she was born in the workhouse, shunted to Maesycoed Homes when she was three, Church Village Homes when she was eleven. No one’s ever loved her or cared a fig what happened to her. And she’s already found work so it’s not as if she’s going to be a burden on us.’
‘You heard her, same as me. The Bletchetts took her out. They signed for her to work in their dosshouse. They’re responsible for what happens to her.’
‘And if she returns to them she’ll end up back in the workhouse in a couple of months, abandoned and pregnant like the last two they took out.’ Phyllis’s tears gave way to anger.
‘Look, love, she’s taken a job in the Town Hall at a time when no decent woman will cross the threshold.’
‘In case they come face to face with one of the nudes your Haydn goes on stage with twice nightly.’
‘Haydn’s a man.’
‘And that makes it right? What are you saying, Evan? That it’s fine for a young man to sing on stage surrounded by naked women, but it’s not all right for a young girl desperate enough to take on any job, to earn her living showing people to their seats and selling ice creams in the same theatre in case she catches a glimpse of what the men in this town are queuing up to see? You among them,’ she added warmly. ‘I saw Haydn slip Will four tickets. You and Charlie might have women warming your beds every night but you’re still not above a bit of titillation when the opportunity’s put your way.’
‘If you don’t want me to go to the show, I won’t.’
‘That’s not the point, Evan Powell, and you know it.’
‘The point is we’re not in a position to take her in,’ he explained patiently, ‘Not when we’re living together without a wedding ring in sight, and she’s about to start work in a theatre that every preacher has banned his congregation from setting foot in. You know as well as I do what people in this town are going to say.’
‘Better than you, it seems,’ Phyllis’s voice rose precariously. ‘And I’d have thought that after some of the things this family has been through in the last couple of years, you wouldn’t give a damn what anyone says about you, or any other Powell.’
‘It’s not just us. There’s Diana to consider, and the girl herself.’
‘Diana’s got a lot more common sense than you when it comes to something like this. And as for Jane, if she’s found the courage to take a job in the Town Hall now, when the Revue’s playing, I hardly think she’s going to worry about a few gossips.’
‘I don’t think she has a clue what she’s got herself into. If she’s found and charged with being a recalcitrant pauper, she could end up in prison …’
‘All the more reason for us to take her in before she is found. Couldn’t we say that she’s my cousin from Church Village?’ Phyllis wheedled. ‘Let her stay, just until she gets her first week’s wages? Please?’
‘And if the workhouse finds out?’
‘How will they? They’re looking for a girl in a workhouse dress and clogs. Not an usherette. I hardly recognised her myself when she walked in. And you heard her, she told the man who hired her that we took her out of the workhouse.’
‘And if the Town Hall checks?’
‘They won’t. Not now they’ve taken her on. From what she said they’re only too glad to have someone who’s prepared to work at short notice.’
‘Phyllis …’
‘Please, Evan. It’s not that long ago I was in her shoes, wearing a workhouse dress with no one to turn to. I doubt she’s got a penny in her pocket now, but with two jobs lined up she’ll soon be able to pay her way, and with Charlie gone, we could do with the money.’
‘We’re managing fine with what I bring in and the three boys and Diana paying their way.’
‘Haydn will be leaving when the Summer Variety ends.’
‘And we’ll survive, just like we did after Charlie left.’
‘Extra always comes in handy.’
‘I’ll not argue with that, but even if I did say yes, where’s the girl going to sleep? With Haydn downstairs, all the bedrooms full and Brian in the box room, there’s no room.’
‘The old cot Bethan used is big enough for Brian. He can come in with us for a week or two, and Jane can have the box room.’
Evan fell silent. Money and a place for Jane to sleep were minor considerations. Although the rag and bone round had never done as well as he would have liked, with his nephew and niece’s lodging money and his son Eddie in steady work they managed; not as well as some, but better than most. Haydn returning home had been an unexpected bonus. For the first time since the pits had closed he could look forward to setting a little aside against emergencies. Another lodger wouldn’t make much difference to the household, but another scandal would. He couldn’t bear the thought of people gossiping and prying into his private life just as he and Phyllis were quietly, and happily settled. But there was no denying the girl needed help.
‘Please, Evan?’
‘Until her wages come in. Not a day longer.’
‘Bless you, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ Phyllis hugged him before opening the washhouse door. ‘Jane, is seven and six a week for full board and lodge all right?’
The box room was seven foot by five. A single bed was pushed beneath the window. Alongside it, a chest of drawers with a jug and bowl on top did double service as a washstand, leaving an area only just large enough to stand, or stretch out your legs if you sat on the bed. The curtains and bedcover were of a faded green cotton which hadn’t even been pretty when new. But to Jane the room was the most beautiful she’d seen. The first that was hers, and hers alone.
‘There’s no wardrobe, not even room for one.’ Phyllis apologised, stripping the bed and replacing the embroidered linen cloth set below the jug and bowl with a fresh one. ‘But the drawers in the chest are deep enough to take most things, and if you’ve anything that needs hanging up, I’m sure Diana won’t mind making room for it in her wardrobe. Her room is across the landing, the boys are next door, and Evan and I are in the middle,’ she added, making certain Jane understood exactly how things stood.
‘I feel awful turning your little boy out of his room like this,’ Jane apologised as Phyllis picked up Brian’s teddy bear.
‘He won’t mind, leastways not for a week or two until you get your first wage packet. Now, I’ll move Brian’s things across to our room.’
‘Please don’t bother. All I’ve got is what I’m wearing.’
‘But you’re going to need clothes to change.’
‘I’ll get them. Just as soon as I’ve made some money.’
‘Until then, you’re going to have to let me lend you what you need.’
‘I couldn’t. You’ve done enough for me already.’
‘For a start, young lady, you’re going to need a towel, and a flannel.’ Phyllis walked across the landing to the bedroom she shared with Evan and pulled out the bottom drawer of a tallboy. Jane, unsure whether to follow or not, hovered outside the door, staring in fascination at the largest bed she’d ever seen. ‘And a brush and a comb,’ Phyllis continued.
‘I bought this from a pedlar outside the market,’ Jane pulled the comb from her pocket.
Phyllis glanced at the cheap Bakelite comb. She’d owned one like it. If it lasted a week Jane would be lucky.
‘Let me see, soap, a nailbrush,’ Phyllis removed the items from the drawer that Evan’s wife had always kept well stocked with stores she never dipped into. ‘And underclothes and a nightgown. Did they give you one in the workhouse?’
Jane shook her head, ashamed because she needed so many things.
‘Here,’ Phyllis took a floor-length white cambric, lace-trimmed gown from tissue paper.
‘Oh no. I couldn’t wear this. It’s far too grand.’
‘Take it.’ Phyllis thrust it at her. ‘It belonged to a very good friend of mine who kept it for best. She was over eighty when she died, and her “best” never came. I think she’d rather like the idea of you wearing it now.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Try thank-you. It’s generally enough for most people.’ Phyllis held out her arms and hugged Jane. Jane shrank from her touch. Being embraced was a new and bewildering experience. ‘Now if you’re going to be in the Town Hall at four o’clock, it’s time we warmed that soup up you didn’t touch at dinner time so you can go off on a full stomach.’
‘Haydn, I can’t dance another step or sing another note.’ Babs Bradley, the pretty, curly-haired blonde, who’d landed the choice leading lady role in the Variety, made a face as she slumped on the floor of the rehearsal room.
‘Then we’ll have no show to open a week Monday.’ Haydn was worn out and impatient from the morning’s rehearsals. ‘Come on, Babs, act like a trouper.’ He gripped her hands and pulled her to her feet.
‘We’re not going to get anywhere if you persist in playing the Prime Donna, Babs,’ ‘Chuckles’ Byrne complained. The show’s producer had been given his nickname because he’d never been known to smile, much less laugh. ‘Take five, everyone.’
‘Thank God.’ Babs miraculously perked up. ‘I need an ice cream.’
‘If you ask me she needs a good kick up the arse.’ Max Monty, the show’s comedian muttered to Chuckles. ‘If it was Haydn who was playing up, I could understand it. After all, the poor sod’s been rehearsing revue all morning.’
‘The way she’s carrying on, anyone would think Babs was the bloody star of this show.’
‘As opposed to you, Helen?’ Chuckles suggested drily, turning to the tall, dark girl who stood behind him.
‘You said it, Chuckles, not me.’
‘Well, star or not, as you’re here you can run through the Avenue routine with Haydn and Max.’
Haydn managed to summon up more energy as Helen walked into the centre of the room. Dressed in a skirt cut higher and a bodice even lower than those of Babs, she exuded sex. And with her make-up-free face and open smile, it was a cleaner, healthier sex than the titivating, astringently perfumed eroticism that the girls of the Revue radiated. Max joined them, carrying three canes. He tossed one to Haydn, the other to Helen. Chuckles nodded to the pianist, who hit the opening notes. He chanted, ‘One, two, three, go.’
‘We would drive up the avenue …’ Chuckles beat time to the music then screamed, ‘Stop!’ Trained by endless fraught rehearsals, all three froze. ‘Max, you’re the shortest, you go in front. Helen, you next. Haydn, bring up the rear. That’s it, and again … one two three …’
‘Chuckles is a bloody slave-driver,’ Babs said as she came back with her ice cream. Eating it one-handed, she took off her shoes and rubbed her feet. ‘Him with his, “one more time, one more time”. I’ll have no feet or voice left by the time this show actually opens.’
‘Then Helen had better rehearse lead, and you second fiddle,’ Mousie Summers, the ‘head’ chorus girl sniped.
‘I suppose you’d prefer it if I was out altogether, so you could be promoted to second fiddle?’ Used to giving as good as she got, Babs mimicked Mousie’s bitchy tone perfectly.
‘Well, if you’re giving up …’
‘One dusting of talcum powder and I’ll be back on form. Don’t worry your pretty head about me, Mousie.’
‘That one’s a cow,’ Harriet, the youngest of the chorus girls declared as Babs left in search of a drink.
