The Campbell Road Girls

‘Course not. I won’t be there for more’n a few days, not if I can help it,’ Lucy replied defensively. ‘I’ll stop with Mum and Reg just while I’m between things. I can keep Mum company while I’m sorting this out.’ She drew from her serge skirt pocket a piece of paper and, having unfolded the crumpled scrap, scanned the advertisement for an assistant lady’s maid in a mansion in Bloomsbury. ‘Got an interview early next month, and if I get offered the job, I’ll be living in straightaway.’ Lucy could tell her explanation hadn’t impressed her sister. ‘Move back to the Bunk for good?’ she scoffed in an effort to save face. ‘I’m not that daft!’

‘After all I did to get you took on here!’ Sophy protested indignantly. ‘And you’ve done all right for yourself with my help. Out of the kitchen and upstairs in no time at all, weren’t you?’

‘It was different before, when the mistress was still alive.’ The staff at Lockley Grange still called their employer’s late wife ‘the mistress’. His current spouse was referred to as ‘the madam’, and invariably in a disparaging tone.

‘You can’t throw it all in ’cos you’ve had a bit of a disagreement with Mrs Lockley.’ Sophy was prowling back and forth outside the stable block while reasoning quietly with her sister; she was aware they might be overheard.

‘Weren’t a bit of a disagreement.’ Lucy’s wry grimace emphasised her point. She was also keeping a weather eye out in case any ears were flapping in the vicinity. ‘She called me an insubordinate wretch who should keep to her place. So I told her ...’ She hesitated and guilty colour stole into her cheeks. ’I told her a few home truths, so even if I don’t chuck it in, I’ll probably get chucked out.’ Lucy defiantly tilted her chin. ‘She’s never liked me and I know I ain’t alone in not liking her. Nobody here took to her from the start.’ Lucy stepped closer to hiss in her sister’s ear, ‘We all know she got John Drew sacked from the stables, and Edna couldn’t wait to work out her notice before she quit. If you’re honest, you know you ’n’ Danny don’t like her either.’

Sophy struck a finger to her lips and steered her sister roughly against the cover of brickwork.

Lucy had spoken the truth. Sophy and her husband, Danny, had been disappointed, to say the least, on being introduced to the master’s new wife. Celia was half his age and only two years older than his own daughter. Monica had wisely decided to decamp to live with her aunt in Yorkshire shortly after her stepmother moved in. Celia’s attitude to the staff from the start had been utter disdain, but Sophy and Danny Lovat, older and more mature than their colleagues, had tried to adopt a pragmatic outlook. They had a great deal to lose since they’d been promoted to the top jobs.

After eleven years working at Lockley Grange, and after a year of being man and wife, Danny and Sophy had been summoned to Mr Lockley’s study one afternoon. They’d turned up in trepidation, wondering what they’d done wrong, only to learn they’d been doing everything right. Sophy had been promoted to a new position of housekeeper and Danny to that of house steward. With hindsight they’d realised their employers had wanted to free themselves from running the Grange because they’d known their time together was limited. None of the servants had been aware of the mistress’s grave illness until near the end.

‘How about if I have a quiet word with the master?’ Sophy offered unconvincingly.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Lucy muttered sarcastically, ‘’cos that’s bound to work. We all know she’s got him wrapped right around her little finger. And we all know how she keeps him there,’ she added sourly. Lucy had previously held Mr Lockley in high estimation but her opinion of him had plummeted when she’d realised what a sucker he was.

Ever since the newlyweds had returned from honeymoon, guttural noises could be heard issuing from the master suite at any hour of the day or night, prompting salacious gossip in the servants’ hall. It had not gone unnoticed that the young madam engineered those passionate trysts, and that they invariably coincided with her getting her own way on something.

Sophy felt annoyed at having this bombshell dropped on her by Lucy. It was barely four months since Celia’s personal maid had abruptly quit and Sophy had been put in the same awkward spot, having tactfully to find excuses for a colleague who’d had enough. Through threat and bribery, Sophy had managed to persuade Edna Jones to work out two months’ notice despite the woman insisting she’d sooner give up her wages and scoot than stay and be bullied and belittled. Now Lucy, who had been Edna’s apprentice, was jacking in the same job and Sophy knew the master would question her over why her sister was leaving hot on Edna’s heels.

‘It’s time you learned to take a bit of discipline and curb your tongue, miss,’ Sophy snapped.

‘I’m not putting up with it!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘I don’t mind doing me duties and a bit more besides, but I’m beggared if I’ll let her look at me like I’m something she’s just stepped in in the stables.’

Sophy cast an assessing look on her younger sister. She had an inkling why the madam constantly clashed with Lucy. Little Luce, as her youngest sister was affectionately known by her family, was too pretty by half.

Lucy had started in the kitchens at the Grange at fourteen. She’d recently turned eighteen and had blossomed from a gawky teenager into quite a beauty. Her hair was thick and had the colour and shine of ripe chestnuts; her large eyes were lushly fringed with sooty lashes, and an unusual shade of greenish blue. But Lucy also had their mother’s pride and fiery temper to balance her sweet looks. For the past year or so, during her transformation from girl to woman, Sophy had noticed her sister turning a few of their male colleagues’ heads. But Lucy could give as good as she got. She was neither shrinking violet nor prude, and always met the boys’ lusty impertinence with a few salty quips of her own.

‘We’ve all had a bellyful of her, but on the whole it’s a good place to live and work.’ Sophy gripped Lucy’s hands to emphasise what she was about to say. ‘Mr Lockley might be a silly old fool but deep down he is a decent man. She’s the master’s wife so we’ve all got to accept it and knuckle down—’

‘You knuckle down if you want to,’ Lucy spiritedly interrupted. ‘I’m getting out before there’s a right royal dingdong.’ She gave Sophy a significant nod. ‘’S’all right for you’n Danny, you report to the master, but now Edna’s scarpered I’m the one at her beck and call.’

‘Can’t believe you’re really going.’ Sophy sighed. ‘You might not get this position you’ve applied for. With unemployment like it is there could be dozens of women after it. What you going to do then? Move back in with Mum in that poxy hole?’

‘Gonna keep applying for jobs in London,’ Lucy answered briskly. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s not just about Mrs Lockley.’ She avoided Sophy’s eye and stared out at rolling, verdant countryside. ‘I’m bored stiff here.’ She gestured with a hand at the quiet scenery. ‘What is there to do on me day off ’cept go and stare at cows or the sea, or window-shop old-fashioned frocks I couldn’t afford even if I wanted one.’ She shrugged in frustration. ‘I want to go in some of the big London stores and wander around just looking at all the lovely clothes ... and Yardley compacts and lipsticks and perfumes ...’ She broke off and giggled. ‘Then I’d go down the market with Alice and Beth and buy a dress that looks the same but costs a few bob instead of a few pounds.’

‘We’ve got a market here!’ Sophy stated huffily.

‘Yeah,’Lucy agreed wryly. ‘When I want fresh fruit ’n’ veg I’ll know where to come. But a cheap costume or a fancy silk blouse that don’t take me for ever to save for is gonna be hanging up down Chapel Street or Petticoat Lane.’

Lucy knew her sister was confused and alarmed by what she’d said. Sophy and Danny had been sweethearts since school age. The only ambitions Sophy had ever had were marrying Danny and securing regular work. Lucy knew it was all very sensible and admirable but she wasn’t yet ready to settle for just that.

‘I’m too young to get stuck in a rut out in the sticks. I want a job in town.’ She gazed earnestly at Sophy. ‘I never knew what it was to work in London. This was me first job, and I’m grateful to you for getting it for me, but perhaps I’m a city girl at heart. I’m going back there, Sophe, to find out ... and that’s that.’

After a short silence, Sophy put out a hand. ‘Let’s have a look then.’

‘Won’t be leaving fer a while yet, anyhow, so can work out me notice and a bit more if you want. Interviews are being held next month ’cos the girl who’s leaving is going off to get married, so no rush as such.’ She handed over the paper for Sophy to read.

‘You can work out yer notice ’n’ all,’ Sophy said grumpily, frowning at the letter.

‘Probably be stuck on a pallet in an attic with a few others,’ Lucy admitted with a wry chuckle. But even if her quarters were just a shared top-floor dormitory, Lucy would jump at the chance of it. Without a glance at the place, she knew it would knock living in a dirty room in a tenement house in Campbell Road into a cocked hat. But at least she’d be closer to her poor, ailing mum and would be able to visit her on her days off.

‘Put your notice in then, if you want to,’ Sophy said, thrusting the paper back at her sister. ‘Go and see if smog suits you better’n fresh air. But mark my words: I reckon you might just find you’ve jumped out of the frying pan straight into the fire.’

The crunch of feet on gravel brought the two young women to atttention. Tim Lovat, Danny’s brother, who worked as the master’s valet, suddenly appeared around the side of the house and waved to them as he sprinted closer. ‘Mistress is after you, Lucy. Stomping round with her chops on her boots.’ He grinned. ‘Rather you than me.’

Chapter One (#ulink_9059cc9a-d3b7-5138-91bd-7d22778ae3ea)

September 1930

‘If ... if ... if! I’m fooking sick of hearing about if!’

Reg Donovan shoved over two battered chairs as he strode towards the door. He’d hoped to escape further hostility between himself and the irate redheaded woman confronting him, arms akimbo. But Matilda Keiver was having none of that. Today she was prepared for him trying to take the coward’s way out. In a trice she was between him and the exit, though the exertion left her wincing and gasping. He’d listen to some more of what she’d got to say if it killed her. And it was what had nearly killed her that caused them constantly to scrap.

‘You might be fucking sick of hearing about it, Reg Donovan, but I ain’t,’ she wheezed. ‘Ain’t you in pain every minute of the day, is it? Ain’t you stuck indoors most o’ the time ’cos it’s an ordeal just getting down the stairs to nip to the shop. I’m suffering something chronic, and though it ain’t all your fault I blame you fer a good part of what happened.’

‘I can’t be having this argument over and over again wid yer, Tilly.’ Reg’s defeated plea for a truce had thickened his Irish brogue.

‘If you’d been where yer should’ve been that night, I wouldn’t be in the state I’m in, would I? Deny it, can you?’

‘I can’t! I know it ... you know it!’ Reg’s voice again thundered at the ceiling. ‘But what can I do about it now?’ His hands balled into fists close to his contorted features. ‘Give over about it, woman. I can’t stand having it thrown in me fooking face a hundred times a day.’

‘You can’t stand it ’cos it makes you feel guilty.’ Tilly was using the wall as support, whilst teetering on her toes in an attempt to keep her weight forward and away from the ache in her back.

Two years ago she’d come out of hospital after a stay of five and a half months following a dreadful fall that had almost killed her. It had finished off the man who’d deliberately sent them both hurtling out of a first-floor window in Campbell Road to certain death, impaled on railings below. Jimmy Wild had expired almost instantly, but then he’d already been mortally wounded when he’d turned up, intending to take Matilda to hell with him. Despite several broken bones and an iron spike piercing her waist, Tilly had miraculously lived to tell the tale ... over and over again, according to Reg. And Reg had had a bellyful of hearing it.

Despite her extraordinary luck in having survived, eating away at Tilly like a cancer was the knowledge that if Reg, the man she’d hoped to marry shortly after that stormy summer evening, had done what he’d set out to do and fetched them home a couple of brown ales, she’d have completely escaped Jimmy Wild’s lethal malice. Jimmy had always been a coward when it came to a fair fight with a man; he would have crawled away to die alone had Reg been the one to open the door to him that night. But instead of joining her in a drink at home the selfish git had forgotten about her brown ales and gone to the Duke with a pal for a few whiskies.

‘You got to admit now, you let Jimmy in that night, Tilly. No point kidding yourself over it.’ Reg had edged closer to the door and casually manoeuvred a hand in readiness to yank it open. He felt sorry for Tilly, but not a lot more, and he knew pity wasn’t enough to keep him with her. At forty-nine she was a decade older than he was. Once the age gap had been unnoticeable – in fact at times he’d had trouble keeping up with her – but now she looked her age. The stiffness in her bones following the accident sometimes had her hobbling like a pensioner instead of sashaying about as she had a few years previously. She’d taken a few tumbles since she’d been out of hospital, which had set back her recovery, but she was too proud and stubborn to heed anybody’s warning to take things easy or accept help with her chores.

The good times had gone; the only passion the engaged couple now shared was during fights and arguments. She wasn’t even a drinking partner for him any more. She’d been a patient for a long time in a Spartan hospital, and enforced abstinence had curbed Tilly’s addiction to heavy drinking. To dull her aches and pains she’d down a few tots at home so she didn’t have to smarten up and drag herself out. But Reg considered himself still a young man. He needed a bit of a social life and a breath of fresh air outside of the stinking room on the first floor of the tenement house in Campbell Road that they called home. Reg knew he needed to get away from her, not only so he could calm down, but to decide whether he ever wanted to come back. If it took a bit of honest cruelty to cut himself free he was prepared to use it.

‘You brought a lot of this on yourself, Tilly. You’d known for years that Jimmy Wild was no good. You told me yourself he was an evil fooker. Yet you invited him in.’ Reg pointed accusingly at her. ‘You’re a stupid woman and you’ve got nobody to blame for the state you’re in but yourself. It’s time to face up to it.’

It was the first time Tilly had heard that from him and shock dropped her jaw. Usually Reg pinned the blame for her attempted murder squarely on Jimmy and recounted what he’d like to do to the bastard to pay him back, if only he could.

She whacked away his blunt finger quivering close to her nose. ‘I reckon you’re at fault and you’d better fucking face up to it!’ she suddenly roared, her blue eyes almost popping from her head in fury. ‘And if yer don’t like hearing the truth of it you know where the bleedin’ door is.’

‘Well, if you’ll move aside I’ll be out and leave you in peace.’

Matilda felt her guts tighten; he meant it this time. He wanted to go, not just to cool down, but for good. She flung back her auburn head, exposing silver wings close to her temples where her fiery locks were fading. For a moment she was close to capitulation and apology but her pride tilted up her chin an inch higher and she shifted aside. ‘Go on then, get out and good riddance.’ She limped back towards the wooden table, picked up her cold cup of tea and gulped at it. She didn’t even turn her head when she heard the door bang shut.

‘He’ll be back, Mum, when he’s had time to calm down.’

‘He won’t be back.’ Tilly’s dull eyes settled on the groceries her daughter Alice had tipped onto the table but she didn’t elaborate on how she knew she’d been abandoned.