A True Love of Mine Read online

  Maud had married a local businessman, Archibald Green, who owned a string of small shops and stalls in the resort, catering for the holidaymakers. They sold buckets and spades, fishing nets, sun hats, paddling shoes, sweets, bottled ‘pop’, picture postcards, cheap toys and a selection of gifts – ashtrays, vases, cups and saucers and ornamental plates, often emblazoned with the Scarborough crest – suitable to take back as a memento or as a present for those left at home. It was mainly seasonal trade, but Archie Green had made enough over the years to set his wife up in a nice little business and buy a house on Esplanade Road, just off the promenade in the South Bay area. It was far too large for the two of them, without children and now in their early forties. Maud did not seem to be worried about her childless state. Her thriving business had become her main interest in life and hobnobbing with the elite, although only in a position of servitude, was all she had ever wanted.

  Bella grew to like her although she could not help but be envious of the other woman’s wealthy husband and her splendid home. She hoped that some day Fate would deal her, Bella, such a hand. It was surely no more than she deserved. She suffered pangs of regret and remorse now and again – what mother would not do so? – about the baby girl she had given up for adoption. But it had seemed to be the best solution at the time, and the child had gone to a loving couple who would do their very best for her. How could she make her way in the world and achieve what she desired with a child – an illegitimate child – on her hands? She still had not attained her desire, but she would, one of these days. It was only a matter of time…

  ‘Oh look, isn’t that William Moon’s wife?’ said Maud one afternoon in early December. The two of them, Maud and Bella, had just finished re-dressing the window ready for the Christmas season.

  There were two models in the window, which was quite a small one. One model was wearing an afternoon dress of deep red silk in the fashionable close-fitting princess line. The bodice, boned to create the hour-glass shape that women desired, was covered in black lace, a band of which also surrounded the bustled skirt, near to the hemline. The other model was dressed in an outdoor coat in a shade of dark olive green, trimmed around the neck and down the front with Russian fur. Both garments, and many more that hung on the racks inside the shop, would be suitable for the forthcoming Christmas season. They had already sold a satisfying number of gowns and mantles.

  Bella gave a start at her employer’s words. She did not know Clara Moon, not even by sight, but it would not do to let Maud know that. ‘See, over there, looking in the book shop window.’

  Bella looked through the glass panel of the door, making sure to keep out of sight. Across the road a smallish woman was studying the selection of books which Charles Bamforth had arranged in the window of the shop he had recently opened. She was neatly, but fashionably, dressed in a brown coat with a small bustle at the back and a small close-fitting hat trimmed with fur. Hair of a reddish-golden colour curled around her ears and over her forehead. A pretty woman, mused Bella.

  ‘Yes, I do believe it is,’ she said. ‘I don’t really know her very well, though. I’ve only met her a couple of times. It was William Moon’s parents, really, who knew my parents. They had business dealings with them, you see. We had some relations in Scarborough and they – the Moons – dealt with the funerals,’ she went on, improvising rapidly. ‘But they’re both dead now, of course – my parents, I mean.’ She had never had need to explain, before, what her connection was with the Moon family, and she hoped that the hastily concocted story would satisfy Maud. But her employer did not appear to be listening too closely. She nodded.

  ‘Yes, it is Clara; not that I know her all that well either, to be honest. She doesn’t shop here, of course. I wouldn’t expect her to.’

  ‘Oh, why not?’ asked Bella, relieved all the same that the said woman did not patronise the salon. That could prove difficult.

  ‘She’s quite a skilled dressmaker herself,’ Maud replied, ‘although I don’t suppose she has time now, since she’s been involved with the undertaking business. I believe she’s helping out there with young Will just as though she was born to it. Summat I couldn’t do, I can tell yer.’ She gave a shudder. Madame Grenville’s cultured tones slipped a little at times when there were no customers around. ‘And then, of course, she’s got the bairn. A little boy, they had, a few months back. But you knew about that, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I read it in the newspaper,’ said Bella, who had, indeed, done so, not without a pang of regret and envy. ‘And you mentioned it, too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, happen I did. Patrick, they called him. I wonder who’s looking after him today. I ’spect it’ll be his gran. Grandmas are useful like that and I dare say Clara needs a break. They’ll be getting busy soon, I reckon. Folks start popping off after Christmas with bronchitis and influenza. She’ll find it a big change from working in a shop. Like I was saying, Clara was a dressmaker. She worked for Louisa Montague at t’ other end of Eastborough. But she left when she got wed… Anyroad, we’d best get on. Standing here nattering all day isn’t going to keep the wheels turning.’

  There was a jingle from the bell as the door opened and a middle-aged woman entered. Maud stepped forward with a beaming smile. ‘Good afternoon, madam. How can we help you?’ she asked in a cut-glass accent.

  Maud and Archie Green invited her to spend Christmas with them at their home on Esplanade Road and Bella was pleased to accept. Archie was a benevolent host. He was a corpulent red-faced man in his early fifties, well known for his cheerfulness and conviviality. He plied her with more food, wine and spirits than she had been accustomed to of late. For Bella was now quite a different person from the one she had been during her days as a herring girl. She had tried to better herself in several ways.

  Gone were the days when she would enter such places as the Three Mariners’ on her own. She doubted that Will Moon went there either, now that he had a wife and family. Well, the beginnings of a family; she did not doubt that there would be more children as time went on. Bella had joined a lending library since returning to Scarborough and she occasionally attended lectures on such subjects as the history of the resort, or the works of Charles Dickens, with readings from some of the novels. She had not made any real friends, apart from Maud – who was becoming as much of a friend as an employer – although she and another woman she had met at the library occasionally went to concerts at the Spa, and once to the music hall which was held at St George’s Hall in Aberdeen Walk. She feared, however, that this type of more raucous entertainment was not entirely to the liking of her new acquaintance; Florence Bland was a ‘maiden lady’, some years older than Bella.

  She was happy to relax in Maud and Archie’s comfortable home. As she had realised almost at once, Maud was a very down-to-earth woman when away from her ‘Madame Grenville’ persona, and she and Archie, who was several years her senior, were ideally suited to one another. Although Archie was known in the town as a ‘hale fellow well met’ sort of man, he and Maud appeared to seek little company apart from that of one another when they had finished their daily work. Their evenings were usually spent alone in the home they had created with their combined – quite considerable – wealth.

  The parlour was furnished and carpeted with the best that money could buy. How the home was furnished was an indication of one’s social standing, and Maud, clearly, was determined not to be found lacking. The room was filled to overflowing, as was the custom, with plush armchairs, occasional tables and glass-fronted cabinets, and on every surface there was a plethora of Staffordshire figures, vases, potted plants, candlesticks, lamps, and a huge floral arrangement beneath a glass dome stood on a whatnot in the corner.

  Bella was flattered that they had invited her to share their cosy intimacy. She gathered that, contrary to what she might have thought, they did not do a great deal of entertaining. She spent a pleasant two days in their company, eating, drinking, chatting and playing card games. They even inv
ited her to stay overnight on Christmas Day in one of the sumptuously furnished – though seldom used – spare bedrooms.

  When she returned home in the evening of Boxing Day she felt somewhat deflated and more than a little depressed, a state of mind which she always tried to shake off whenever she felt the black cloud descending. The worst of the winter was yet to come. She could not afford the coal for the blazing fires which burnt almost continually in the Green residence – in the bedrooms, too – and her two-roomed living place seemed even more paltry now by comparison.

  She had only her own company to look forward to in the evenings, that of Florence having already started to pall. The shop was due to open the following day, but trade was sure to be slow after the Christmas rush. There might be a few women choosing gowns for the New Year festivities, but on the whole Bella could foresee nothing but a succession of long tedious days ahead.

  Her rooms had grown chilly during her absence, but it was not worth lighting a fire until the next day. She took off her outdoor things, staring around gloomily and sighing. Then she went over to the sideboard and took out the whisky bottle – now almost empty – that she kept there. She poured an inch of the golden liquid into a tumbler, boiled up the water in the kettle on her not-too-clean gas stove and added the same amount of water. A hot toddy would warm her up and liven her spirits as well.

  ‘Cheers, Bella,’ she said, raising her glass to her reflection in the fireplace mirror. A woman who was still young stared back at her; a woman who, at twenty-five, still had the copious black hair, though now worn more decorously in a chignon, and the flashing black eyes that she had had at eighteen. Her face had settled now into lines of maturity; she had lost the girlish chubbiness of her cheeks and much of the healthy redness that had betrayed that she was an outdoor worker, a herring girl…

  She smiled, revealing her still-perfect teeth, and her reflection smiled back. She was not displeased with what she saw. And one of these days, she was convinced, there would be someone who would notice her as she deserved to be noticed, admire her, desire her… There must be someone, she told herself, as she had done many times before, as she tried desperately to rid herself of thoughts of William Moon; those niggling intrusive thoughts that still plagued her from time to time, bringing feelings of discontent and jealousy in their wake. She must, must try to forget him.

  ‘Here’s to the future, Bella!’ she said, raising her glass again. What the hell? she thought as she drained the whisky bottle into her glass and, this time, drank it neat. She went straight to her bed, shivering as her body touched the icy sheets. But the liquor warmed her inside and, gradually, outside as well. Tomorrow would take care of itself, she thought as, after a few moments, she felt her eyelids closing. It was some six weeks later, in the mid-February of 1887, that Bella first met Ralph Cunningham…

  Trade had been slack in the period between winter and spring. The inclement weather had kept many people indoors, and those who ventured out had other things on their minds rather than thinking of choosing new spring clothes. On this particular morning, however, there was a break in the clouds and, though it was still cold, there was a small patch of blue in the sky.

  ‘Nearly enough blue there to make a sailor a pair o’ trousers,’ said Maud. ‘That means it’s going to be a fine day. At least that’s what my old gran used to say.’

  Bella nodded. ‘Well, it’s not before time. Happen we’ll have a few more customers if the sun keeps on shining. Are we going to change the window display, or is it too soon?’

  ‘No, it’s not too soon to be thinking about spring, new Easter bonnets an’ all that,’ said Maud. ‘We’ll tackle it this afternoon, eh? How about that? Shades of green, I think, and happen a touch of yellow.’

  ‘What about those new parasols you’ve just bought?’ said Bella. ‘And the bonnets and gloves and the Brussels lace collars? If we put a few at the bottom of the window – tastefully arranged, I mean, not too many of them – they should be eye-catching.’

  ‘Yes, you’re good at that sort o’ thing, Bella. I’ll leave that to you.’

  Madame Grenville had recently been persuaded, by a zealous commercial traveller, to purchase a line of accessories to complement the gowns and mantles of well-dressed ladies. These had been unpacked but not yet displayed to the clientele. But by three o’clock that afternoon the small window was a symphony in shades of green and yellow.

  The two models stood in front of a dark green velvet curtain, which was now surplus to requirements in Maud’s newly furnished home. One wore an apple-green gown made of stiff silken taffeta, trimmed with golden binding, and the other a light woollen travelling costume of jade green with a fitted jacket and flared skirt. Gay parasols in green and yellow, some trimmed with lace, lay half opened on the floor of the window, with several pairs of gloves, stockings of the finest silk, and three straw hats, one trimmed with emerald green ribbon, another with a cluster of silken primroses, and the third with a positive cornucopia of dainty spring flowers around the brim.

  ‘Well, if that doesn’t bring in a few customers I don’t know what will,’ Maud declared, as both women stood on the pavement, viewing their handiwork from outside. ‘It’s making me feel quite spring-like already. Come on, lass, let’s go and make a cup of tea before the rush starts.’

  Maud gave a laugh at her own words. She knew only too well that there was not likely to be a sudden influx of clients. Yorkshire women liked to weigh up the pros and cons before parting with their money, especially if they were dependent upon their husband’s generosity, and would sometimes peek into the window a few times before venturing inside the shop.

  There were, however, a few of what you might call impulse buys that afternoon. One elderly lady purchased a pair of leather gloves, another a much daintier lace pair, and a pretty young girl, attracted by the pale green parasol in the window, came in with her mother who duly agreed to buy it for her. She went out highly pleased with herself, swinging it jauntily on her arm.

  At a quarter past five they thought they had finished with customers for the day. Maud was starting to reckon up the day’s takings and Bella was tidying the counter – the woman who had bought the lace gloves had viewed practically the whole stock before making a decision – when the door was opened quite forcefully. The bell gave a loud jingle as a man entered, quite clearly in a hurry. He took off his trilby hat as he spoke to them, revealing sleek dark hair beginning to grey slightly at the temples.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he began. ‘Please excuse me bursting in on you in such a rush. I feared you might be about to close.’

  ‘Not for a few moments yet, sir,’ said Maud with a welcoming smile. She glanced at her fob watch, pinned to the bodice of her black dress. ‘In fact we won’t be closing for a quarter of an hour or so, or longer if necessary. How may we help you?’

  ‘The parasol in the window,’ the man replied. ‘The pale lemon one with the lace edging – may I see it, please? It will be my daughter’s sixteenth birthday on Sunday…’

  ‘And it would make a perfect gift for a young lady, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ said Maud, with just a touch of obsequiousness. ‘Bella, would you take it out of the window for the gentleman, please?’

  ‘Of course, Madame Grenville,’ replied Bella, with the same hint of servility; it was an act they sometimes played out, depending on the customer.

  ‘Yes…’ said the man. ‘That is the one I would like. I don’t need to look any further. Would you mind opening it out for me, my dear? Or…you don’t think it is bad luck, do you, to open an umbrella inside?’

  Bella laughed. ‘I’m not superstitious. And this is a parasol, not an umbrella, isn’t it, if that makes any difference?’ She opened it and twirled it around. ‘Lovely, isn’t it, sir? It’s a new line; we’ve only had them delivered recently.’

  ‘Yes, it is indeed…lovely,’ replied the man, his eyes resting for a moment on Bella’s face and figure rather than on the parasol. Or so she thought�
� ‘I like the lace round the edge, it’s very becoming.’

  ‘That’s broderie anglaise, sir,’ she replied. ‘It’s very fashionable just now. You will take this one then? Shall I wrap it up for you?’

  ‘Yes, if you would, please.’ As he smiled at her Bella noticed that his eyes were grey, deep-set, with eyebrows that almost met in the centre. He sported a moustache, as dark as his hair. She took him, at a glance, to be in his mid-forties. At all events he had a daughter of sixteen, which meant that he was married, or a widower, maybe…

  Stop it, Bella! she chided herself. She really must stop weighing up every man she met – every personable man, that was – with a view to…what? Friendship, courtship, marriage…? And she must stop imagining, too, that such men were the slightest bit interested in her.

  Maud intervened at that moment. ‘I will take care of the bill,’ she said to Bella, ‘whilst you are wrapping the parcel. Will you be paying for it now, sir? And may we deliver it for you, perhaps? It is rather an awkward shape to carry.’ They did deliver items occasionally to important customers, the delivery ‘girl’ being Bella on ‘Shanks’s pony’.

  ‘I’ll settle up with you straight away,’ he said, taking a leather coin case from an inside pocket, ‘and I will take it with me, of course. I am going back to York very soon. There is a train in half an hour or so; that is another reason I was in rather a hurry.’