The Campbell Road Girls

Immediately Ada dropped her newly lit cigarette to the ground and wound her arms about his shoulders, plunging her tongue greedily into his open mouth. Her pelvis ground against his groin, and a hand began frantically stroking his erection beneath wool.

Bill laughed, mingling their alcoholic breath before lifting his head. ‘You’re a right dirty gel, know that, Ada?’ His words were coarse, with no hint of affection. But Bill didn’t really believe Ada expected any wooing, neither did he care if she did. She might once have had an ambition to be a proper girlfriend to him, but he reckoned by now she’d got the message that Betty was his favourite.

But Ada was passably attractive and had a reasonable figure on her so no red-blooded fellow was going to turn down what she willingly offered, even if he knew it might have been given elsewhere ten minutes previously. It was no secret in their neighbourhood that Ada Stone behaved like a regular nymphomaniac.

‘Begging fer a seeing-to right here, are you, Ada?’ Bill goaded her, squeezing harder at her nipple. He waited for her to nod, as she always did, before barking contemptuously, ‘Get yer drawers off then, dirty gel.’

Ada nipped Bill’s lower lip with teasing teeth as a little thank you. ‘’S’another reason I got to get out o’ that bleedin’ house, Bill,’ she moaned breathlessly, whilst kicking away her underwear and drawing up her nightdress beneath her cloak. She fell back against brickwork, getting into position for him to hoist her up against the wall as he had on other occasions when they’d met on her afternoon off and he’d needed to coax her to obedience. ‘Need yer, don’t I, Bill? Want this all the time. Been ages since we done it ...’

‘Been a week,’ he grunted, lifting her and shoving her back then up and down till he’d managed brutally to impale her.

The rough treatment didn’t worry Ada; she had a constant itch between her legs and any man’s attention to it was encouraged and gratefully received.

Bill Black heard her sigh of utter relief, felt her impatient bucking, and he chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me there’s not a bloke in a house as big that can’t keep you going till yer day off.’

‘I reckon they’re all bleedin’ eunuchs in that place,’ she gasped, bouncing against him, clawing at his back. ‘All too scared of their shadows to act like real men. Nobody there like you, Bill ... wish there was,’ she moaned. ‘Might stay for ever then ...’ Her panted words tailed away into a guttural mewing sound.

‘How about one o’ them starched-up women then, if yer real desperate?’ Bill whispered, then realised he liked the idea of that and the fantasy prompted him to drive into her with such force that she started to shriek and gyrate.

Bill clapped his hand over her mouth and took a startled look about. ‘Fuckin’ shut up, will yer?’ he growled. ‘You’ll bring a crowd down on us.’

Ada felt exhausted and hungry on returning to the house; Bill hadn’t even offered to walk back with her so she’d flitted through the dark, deserted streets as fast as she could, her cloak wrapped tight about her. Being a criminal herself she knew a lone woman out at night was easy pickings and she hadn’t fancied a crack on the head from a mugger.

Having gratefully reached her destination she slipped in through the side door and tiptoed along the corridor towards the kitchens, hoping there might be a few easily found titbits lying around. Though she doubted anybody would be about at two o’clock in the morning, nevertheless she took pains to proceed quietly. As she was passing Mrs Venner’s office she heard a sound and started to attention. She frowned in disbelief; she’d believed even that conscientious old biddy would have taken to her bed by now. Ada froze against the wall her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She knew if somebody senior caught her up and about at this hour, with a reek of alcohol and tobacco about her, awkward questions would be asked. It was obvious from the way she was dressed that she’d been out, and she’d just faithfully promised Bill that she’d get the necklace, not the sack ...

Having strained to listen, and caught low whispering coming from behind the door, Ada’s curiosity overcame her caution and she noiselessly turned the handle. It was locked, but on glancing down she saw a faint light leaking from beneath it. A whimpering little sigh was heard next and it increased her suspicions. She crouched to put her eye to the keyhole. A few moments later she’d stuffed a muffling fist to her mouth and had tumbled backwards onto her posterior in scandalised shock. Her jaw sagged towards her chest, then she silently scrambled up, her features now set in a soundless laugh. She scratched against the door with a fingernail then flattened herself against the wall. She was aware of the quiet within, then a moment later she heard the key turn in the lock and knew one of them would come out to investigate. Before the door was properly open Ada had burst in to confront the two women.

Felicity Venner recovered composure first. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, Stubbs? How dare you burst in like this? Why aren’t you in your dormitory? What have you been doing?’ she breathlessly demanded.

‘Not quite what you’ve been doing with Mrs Boyd, that’s fer sure,’ Ada whispered, her face alight with lewd amusement. She backed against the door until it clicked quietly shut while putting a warning finger to her mouth. ‘My preference is for boys. But I’ll admit I’ve been enjoying meself tonight, like you two. My “follower” I reckon you’d call Bill. Big lusty chap, he is, but course you wouldn’t be interested in knowing about any o’ that ...’

By the light of the small oil lamp it could be seen that Clare Boyd’s face was crimson, and where she’d hastily done up her bodice most of the little pearl buttons were in the wrong hooks. At forty-two, she was only three years younger than her lover but she could have passed for her junior by a decade. Her skin was smoother and her character less robust at times of need. She darted a glance at Felicity Venner, moistening her lips, pleading with the older woman to keep up the bluster and find a plausible way to extricate them both from this awful mess.

‘Don’t bother denying what you’ve been up to,’ Ada muttered, intercepting Clare’s frantic look. ‘I seen you at it through the keyhole, and if I give a yell and bring ’em all running you’re gonna have some explaining to do, ain’t you?’ She nodded at Clare’s flushed face. ‘Now what would she be doing here at this time o’ night, and with her blouse all skewwhiff?’ She glanced at Felicity, then at the floor. ‘Them your drawers or hers?’ she asked, having spotted the discarded linen. Before the housekeeper could retrieve her undergarments Ada stamped a foot on them, and drew them out of reach. ‘Never mind ... ain’t the end of the world, you know, getting caught out like this, ’cos I’ve had an idea ...’

Still in a half-doze, Lucy heard Audrey return from her jaunt but didn’t bother rolling over to confront her roommate about her absence. She’d guessed what Audrey had been getting up to when she went off at night, and sleepily wondered if Jack from the garden had after all succumbed to having a roll in the hay. When a moment later Audrey’s mattress creaked and Lucy heard a ribald giggle being smothered by bedcovers she knew that whoever Audrey had been with, he’d shown her a good time.

Chapter Six (#ulink_edbd2bd7-0889-559b-8a1f-3e014d08d4f1)

‘I’m being sacked?’

‘No, not sacked, Miss Keiver,’ Mrs Boyd hastily interrupted. ‘There will be a vacancy for you here, as a housemaid, should you wish to accept it.’

‘But why ... but ...?’

‘Enough! A decision has been made and it is not up for discussion.’ Clare Boyd shot a glance at the housekeeper. But it seemed on this occasion no assistance was to be forthcoming from that quarter. Mrs Venner was tight-lipped, staring straight ahead, taking no part in Lucy Keiver’s dismissal. Clare knew that she was effectively dismissing her junior despite having made an offer of alternative work. Lucy was a proud and intelligent young woman who knew she’d given them no reason to treat her shabbily, and rather than be demoted she would pack her bags.

The trio of women were closeted in the housekeeper’s office. The two senior members of staff were ranged behind a large oak desk; Lucy was seated opposite on a hard-backed chair, her face a study of furious bewilderment.

‘What’ve I done wrong?’ Lucy abruptly stood up with a savage shrug. ‘I’ve not moaned or been insubordinate. I’ve done everything you’ve asked and made a good job of it too. I know I have.’

‘You were told that you would be on a trial period when you started work here,’ Mrs Venner finally said.

‘I know, and I’ve made sure to do me best, so there’d be no complaints about me. Has anybody complained?’ she demanded, frowning.

‘They have not,’ Mrs Venner replied stiltedly. ‘But her ladyship knows that Mrs Boyd and I both feel you are not suited to the particular work. Lady Mortimer is in agreement that a position elsewhere should now be offered to you—’

‘I don’t want a position elsewhere!’ Lucy interrupted indignantly.

‘In that case, Miss Keiver, we accept your resignation, and in the circumstances, as you feel so strongly, you will not be obliged to work out your notice period. You may go today.’ Felicity Venner had been a little unnerved by the forceful arguments issuing from Lucy Keiver. She had imagined the girl might cause a scene by bursting into tears, or pleading for a second chance. But Lucy looked more likely to leap into battle than collapse, snivelling. A significant glance at her partner in crime enquired if Clare had anything further to add before they might speedily end the interview.

Mrs Boyd cleared her throat, shuffling some paperwork together on the desk in front of her. ‘It seems there’s nothing more to say on the subject. I’m sorry—’

‘So you bloomin’ well should be sorry!’ Lucy gritted through her teeth and stormed towards the door.

‘A reference will be prepared for you ... and your wages ...’

‘I’ll take me pay but you know what you can do with your reference, and if you don’t, I’ll tell you quick enough—’ Lucy suddenly swallowed the rest of her impulsive insolence.

Her shock and anger had made her oblivious to some of what had been said, but important bits were drifting back into her mind. ‘A vacancy for a housemaid’s come up, has it?’ It was a vital question. ‘So who is it took me job so you can give me theirs?’ She stepped back into the room swinging a narrowed glance between the two stiff-backed, middle-aged women. As the lady’s maid blinked rapidly behind her glasses Lucy grunted a laugh. ‘Well ... well ... I wonder how Audrey Stubbs managed to swing that one,’ she drawled acidly. ‘You know as well as I do that the ding-dong me and Audrey had a while ago, upstairs in her ladyship’s bedroom, was her fault not mine.’ She watched with sour satisfaction as Clare Boyd shifted uncomfortably on her seat. ‘But you’ve gone ahead and got rid of me so you can give her me job. Something fishy’s going on, and I don’t reckon Lord and Lady Mortimer knows the first thing about it.’ She gave a crisp nod. ‘Audrey Stubbs is a wrong’un, and take it from me, you’ve made a bad mistake giving in to her. You’re gonna regret what you’ve done.’

When the sound of the slamming door had died away Clare continued to avoid Felicity’s eyes but muttered bitterly, ‘How right she is about that.’

She knew she’d been a fool to allow herself to be seduced by the housekeeper because, once started, and conducted unnoticed, it was an affair that, for her, survived indifference and was easier to carry on than bring to an end.

When Clare had arrived in London five years ago she’d felt lonely and in need of comfort, having recently been widowed. She’d nursed Bernard at home until he’d died of his war injuries and had found the task mentally and physically gruelling. Before the conflict they had both been in domestic service and had married when barely nineteen. But those few youthful years with an active virile man seemed to Clare just a hazy memory. She would have liked to find another fellow to love, but she’d never been a sought-after beauty, even in her prime. A shortage of men following the carnage of the Great War had left widows and spinsters alike yearning in vain for husbands.

When Mrs Venner had seemed to single her out as a companion Clare had gratefully lapped up her support and friendship, thinking it was just in the woman’s nature to be kind. Now she knew her better and understood that it hadn’t merely been a friend the housekeeper had been after. Although Felicity Venner styled herself ‘Mrs’, Clare had since learned she had never been married. And the reason for that was obvious to Clare, even if her noble employers deemed it a ruse for respectability rather than a smokescreen.

Following four years spent as colleagues and lovers, a scheming minx had discovered the shameful truth about them and was using it as a tool for blackmail. Clare knew that Lucy Keiver wasn’t going to be the only person to suffer for Audrey Stubbs’s wickedness.

‘Once Miss Keiver has left and Stubbs has taken up her position as my apprentice, I shall find an excuse to tender my notice.’ Clare abruptly got to her feet.

‘There is no need to do anything so drastic ...’ Felicity gasped, shooting upright.

‘Of course there is!’ Clare struggled to keep her voice low. ‘Stubbs will never stop mocking us, and we will never be rid of the rotten girl now she knows she has us pinned beneath her thumb. Do you really think I will have her working alongside me, tormenting me with every sly look and word?’

Felicity came over to Clare, attempting to put a comforting arm about her but was immediately shrugged off.

‘I’m bitterly ashamed, and worried, and you should be too,’ Clare said bleakly before quitting the room.

‘What’s given you such a sour puss?’ Aren’t you pleased to see me on yer afternoon off?’ Tilly beamed at her youngest daughter.

Lucy had wordlessly sunk down into a battered chair by the table when she’d arrived seconds ago. Instead of the happy chatter Matilda usually received in greeting the moment her daughter turned up on a visit, Lucy had planted her elbows on the table and shielded her dejection with her hands. Realising the door had been left ajar, Matilda limped over, muttering, to shut it and kick the sausage of rags into place at its base. It was unusual for Lucy to be careless on a blustery November day. Keeping everything closed against the cold was standard practice for people used to living in the Bunk. But as she put a hand on the door knob Matilda stood stock-still, having noticed the packing case on the landing, leaning against the wall.

‘What’s gone on?’ Matilda gasped, swinging about to confront Lucy.

‘Chucked it in,’ Lucy admitted through muffling fingers.