Lizzie's Secret Read online

  ‘They’re all foreign women and I don’t think any of them speak English,’ Beth told her. ‘Come on, we’d better hurry now or Mum will get worried.’

  *

  ‘So what happened?’ Aunt Jane attacked as soon as Lizzie entered the kitchen. ‘I suppose it was a waste of time. Don’t imagine your uncle and I are going to let you sit around doing nothing all day…’

  ‘I got the job as an apprentice and I’m going to learn everything.’ Lizzie’s head rose in defiance. ‘My wage is twenty-five bob for the first six months and then it goes up another ten shillings…’

  ‘How are you going to manage on that?’ her aunt demanded. ‘I’ll still want my pound a week and that leaves you with hardly enough to get to work…’

  ‘Lizzie has done the right thing,’ Uncle Jack spoke up for her. ‘I’ve always said that she’s wasted in that canteen – and it isn’t her fault she missed all that schooling, Jane. She’ll give you a pound a week same as usual, but until she’s earning more I’ll give her ten bob for herself.’

  ‘Whose money is that coming out of? Don’t think you can cut my money. I work all hours to keep this family decent – and I…’

  ‘It’s all right, Jane,’ he said quietly. ‘Lizzie’s pocket money will come from mine. I’ll share it with her.’

  ‘Uncle Jack,’ Lizzie protested, ‘you can’t give me your beer money. You work hard all week, you deserve something…’ her eyes stung with tears, because he was always trying to help her, to protect her from Aunt Jane’s caustic tongue.

  ‘If he’s fool enough to give it to you, it won’t hurt him to stay home one night a week…’ Aunt Jane’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘So if you got the job where have you been all this time?’

  ‘I met a nice girl at Oliver’s workshops. She’s got a job in the office and I had lunch at her home and met her mum.’

  Lizzie wished she knew more about her own mother, but she had only a tiny silver cross and chain to remember her by. Lizzie sometimes felt upset that almost nothing of her parents’ had been kept for her, but then most of her past was shrouded in a hazy mist since her accident.

  Sometimes strange pictures flashed into her head and she seemed to recall a nurse bending over her… and a room with bars on the windows. All she really remembered was the doctor at the sanatorium telling her that she was Lizzie Larch and she could go home to her aunt and uncle as soon as she was well enough.

  She’d left school at sixteen, and gone to work in the canteen. At night, her uncle met her from work and walked her home through the dirty and often smelly dock area, which meant he had to shut his workshop early for her sake. He was a busy man and mending shoes didn’t bring in a fortune. Lizzie had tried to persuade him that she could walk home alone, because as a self-employed cobbler, Uncle Jack couldn’t afford to shut his door half an hour early every night.

  He said it was because he didn’t want her to have another accident, but when she asked him to tell her more about it, he always shook his head and said the doctor thought it best if she was allowed to remember in her own time.

  Lizzie would have liked to know more about her accident. If she remembered, her aunt might stop treating her as if she was still fourteen.

  ‘Have you got to wear a uniform for work?’ her aunt asked suddenly, bringing Lizzie’s wandering thoughts back to the present.

  ‘Yes, I need a smart black dress. I’ve seen something in your Butterick patterns… if you would let me make it on your machine. I could buy some material on the market.’

  ‘Yes, of course your aunt will let you use the machine,’ Uncle Jack took a pound from his pocket. ‘Get some good material, Lizzie. Jane has always told you that good cloth makes the clothes, and it lasts.’

  ‘Well, at least someone listens to me sometimes,’ Aunt Jane said. ‘If you show me the pattern, I’ll cut it out for you.’

  ‘Oh thank you, aunt,’ Lizzie smiled shyly at her uncle as he gave her the money. ‘If I’ve got a smart dress I may serve in the showroom sometimes – and that’s all good experience.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s a better job than you had,’ her aunt sniffed. ‘But don’t let it go to your head – and I don’t want you staying out late at night.’

  ‘I hardly ever go out…’

  Lizzie sighed, because it was never any use arguing with Aunt Jane, but at least she had the job she wanted…

  Chapter 2

  ‘Here, put this on, Lizzie,’ the girl handed her a dark grey striped overall with a wrap-over front and a tie belt. ‘We have to wear these or we get bits all over our clothes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lizzie tied the belt tightly. ‘What’s your name?’ The girl was fair-skinned with fair hair and bright blue eyes and she wore a pale peach lipstick. Lizzie envied her the modern haircut she’d had done, brushed back off her face into a stylish DA, which resembled the feathers of a duck’s tail at the back. Lizzie’s own dark hair was scraped back in a bun.

  ‘I’m Tilly Blake,’ the girl smiled. ‘I do most of the making up, sewing brims into place, sewing on ribbons and trimmings, things like that.’

  ‘I think I saw you trimming a hat when I came for the interview. It looked interesting.’

  ‘I’ll show you later.’ Tilly thrust a broom at her. ‘Best get this place a bit tidy or Mr Oliver will be on the warpath. It’s always a shambles by the end of the day, and we were busy on Friday evening so it just got left. He nearly blew a fuse when he saw it this morning. No one wants to clear up after anyone else – that’s why Grumble Guts got you…’

  ‘Is that what you call Mr Oliver behind his back?’

  ‘His nephew Harry started it,’ Tilly said, ‘and it just caught on.’

  ‘His nephew – where is he?’ Lizzie looked round the workshop.

  ‘He’s gone out delivering to the shops. The buyers come here, mostly once a month, and place an order. We make the hats up to their instructions, and then Harry takes the orders out. He fetches our stuff from the manufacturers, makes up orders, checks the stock – and he’s a trained cutter too, but he hates working on the shop floor. He’d rather be in the showroom or out in the van, though according to Harry there’s going to be a war soon and then he’s off. He wants to fly aeroplanes…’

  ‘Gossiping again, Tilly?’ Mr Oliver’s clipped tones interrupted.

  Lizzie started to pick up the larger pieces of material that had fallen to the floor, putting them into a large rush basket, which was for reusable scraps. She swept carefully round all the benches and collected all the rubbish, taking it out to the backyard and depositing it in a metal dustbin. Returning to the workshop, she looked round for more jobs.

  ‘Make some tea, Lizzie. You’ll find everything in the staff room,’ Mr Oliver told her. ‘I like mine strong, with three spoons of sugar, but ask all the girls what they want. You can all have a mug before we start the day. It’s damned cold out…’

  Lizzie made a careful note of everyone’s orders, her training in the canteen standing her in good stead, but when it came to it, she wasn’t quite sure who wanted sugar and who didn’t, so she took a tray with a sugar bowl and spoons, letting them help themselves.

  ‘That’s an improvement,’ one of the men smiled at her. ‘You’re the new girl, aren’t you – Lizzie something?’

  ‘I’m Lizzie Larch,’ she balanced her tray on the bench, offering her hand.

  He gripped it hard. ‘I’m Ed Biggleswick – the head cutter. Everyone calls me Ed, don’t bother with Mr Biggleswick, it’s a mouthful and made my life a nightmare at school. Just call me Ed and we’ll get on all right.’

  ‘Thank you, Ed. Will you teach me to cut out hats one day?’

  He smiled at her eagerness. ‘If Mr Oliver tells me to. You’ll have to wait a bit for that, Lizzie. It takes experience to learn how to shape the hats and the cutting is all important.’

  Lizzie took to the friendly man immediately. ‘Thank you, Ed. I shall enjoy being taught by you – and I do want to learn everything
please.’

  ‘Well, between me and you, no magic about it; it’s all in the patterns,’ Ed winked again. ‘But don’t let on, because we cutters are the top of the tree and we don’t want too many people getting in on the act…’

  Lizzie started to collect the empty mugs on her tray. She washed them, stacking them back on the gingham oilcloth-covered shelves in the kitchen, and returned to the workshop. Everyone had their heads down, busy at their tasks.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Lizzie,’ Mr Oliver boomed at her. ‘Come along, I’ll show you what I want you to do this morning.’ He took her through to a small room at the side of the workshop and showed her the shelves, which were filled with rolls of materials, baskets of ribbons, silk roses, tins of sequins, boxes of feathers and other trimmings. ‘You can make an inventory of all the material and trimmings. It’s called stocktaking and my lazy nephew was supposed to do it last week, but he’s delivering again today and when he gets back he’ll find another reason not to do it. If you look at the labels, you’ll see whether it’s felt, grosgrain, silk or whatever. Make a note of the colour, and whatever amount it says is left.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Oliver. You want me to write it down on this pad?’

  ‘You can write, can’t you?’ he asked brusquely.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lizzie took the pen and notebook from the counter, frowning as she looked at the rolls and rolls of material on the shelves. It was going to take ages; at this rate it would take months before she got near a hat…

  ‘Get on with it then, girl. By the time you’ve sorted this lot, you’ll know your materials…’

  Lizzie sighed as she looked at the task ahead of her; it was going to take hours. She saw some steps leaning against the wall and fetched them, climbing to the top shelf. After trying to find the labels unsuccessfully, Lizzie decided that the only way to do this was to take all the rolls down and reorganise the whole stockroom. It looked as if everything was muddled, as if people just shoved a roll into the first available space. It would be a long, slow job, but, as her employer said, at least it would help her to know the materials…

  *

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ Beth said when Lizzie turned up just as she was finishing her lunch. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I was in the stockroom and no one told me it was time for lunch.’

  ‘Oh well, there’s enough in that pot for a cup of tea,’ Beth said. ‘Have you brought something to eat?’

  ‘I made some cheese sandwiches this morning, but I’m not that hungry…’

  Beth offered her a sausage roll. ‘Mum packed me three; they’re lovely but I couldn’t eat them all. I was going to give it to the ducks on the river.’

  ‘Oo, yes, I could eat one of those….’ Lizzie took the sausage roll and bit into the crisp pastry. ‘Your mum is a lovely cook. Aunt Jane only makes these for special occasions.’

  ‘I’m glad you like them,’ Beth said. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to go out one night – to the flicks or something. I go out with Tony at the weekends; he’s my boyfriend, but he works late most nights. He’s savin’ for the future…’

  ‘I usually go to the matinee on Saturdays. My aunt doesn’t like me to go out at night…’

  ‘Not ever? That’s pretty rotten for you – and it’s not fair. You’re older than me. You shouldn’t let her boss you about like that, Lizzie.’

  ‘Perhaps you could come to tea on Saturday, and then, when she knows you, she might let me go with you to the flicks.’

  ‘Tony is taking me to a dance that evening, but I can have tea with you first.’

  ‘I’ve never been to a dance…’

  Beth stared at her in amazement. ‘I’ve been going since I was fifteen – it was just a church social at first and my elder sisters and brother were with me. I didn’t start courting until I was eighteen. Dad wants me to wait until I’m twenty to get married, but I’m hoping to persuade him to let us on my next birthday…’

  Lizzie looked at Beth’s lovely blonde hair, which she wore in a pageboy style clipped back behind her ears at the sides for work. Her eyes were a deep blue and she was so pretty that Lizzie wasn’t surprised she had a serious boyfriend. Her own reflection in the mirror was disappointing, for though her features were regular, her eyes were a melting brown and her dark hair was straight, pulled back in the bun she wore at the back of her head.

  ‘You’re so lucky, Beth. I wish I could go dancing… and have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Well, why can’t you? I think you should stand up for yourself more.’

  ‘You don’t understand. My aunt is very strict… I don’t know why exactly, but Uncle Jack says she’s only trying to look after me. I suppose it’s because I was very ill for a long time…’

  ‘Oh, well…’ Beth shrugged. ‘I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll see you tomorrow if I don’t catch you after work. Don’t forget your breaks and your lunch period tomorrow – you don’t want to let them take advantage of you, Lizzie.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I was so busy and the time just went…’

  Returning to the stockroom, Lizzie looked at what she’d done. All the felt was together on three shelves now. They had mostly red and green and a few half rolls of brown, grey and pink, and just one half roll of a dark blue. She’d found a new place for the tins and reels of cotton and cards of braid, and she’d just started to sort out the grosgrains, silks, velvets and fine straw when the door opened behind her and someone swore loudly.

  ‘What the hell has happened here?’

  Lizzie swung round to see a man staring at the shelves in disgust. He had light brown hair that waved back from his forehead, but because it was too long, a bit of it fell forward into his eyes. His eyes were a greenish brown and his mouth was wide, his nose a little long.

  ‘What’s wrong? I’m doing the stocktaking and putting everything together so that it’s easier to check what we’ve got…’

  ‘You foolish little girl.’ He looked so arrogant that Lizzie was angry too. ‘We put all the same colour together, regardless of what the material is and then it’s easy to find what you need… now we’ll be searching for ages to find the right match…’

  ‘But it will be easy when I finish,’ Lizzie argued. ‘Everything was all jumbled up…’

  ‘It was where I wanted it.’ He glared at her. ‘Where are the cottons and braids?’

  ‘Over there by the window. They don’t need a huge shelf to themselves. This way you can see how much you’ve got in felts and silks and grosgrains and – you’ve hardly got any pink felt left and only that bit of blue and no black at all…’

  ‘I meant to order all of those last week, but we were too busy,’ he said, examining the shelves. ‘What would you do if I said I wanted it all back the way it was?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea how it was, except it was a jumbled-up mess.’

  ‘Oh, was it?’ He glared at her for a moment and then suddenly grinned. ‘I suppose it may be better when you’ve finished and we all know where to look… I’m Harry Oliver by the way. I presume you’re Lizzie Larch?’

  ‘Yes. So you’re Mr Oliver’s nephew,’ Lizzie said, still wary. ‘He called you lazy and said you were supposed to do the stocktaking last week…’

  ‘I never have the time,’ Harry said. ‘Oh, well, we’ll give your system a try, Lizzie. I need some red silk grosgrain and some black veiling…’

  ‘That shelf has all the grosgrain – and that one is going to have silk and the straw is going there, and that one is for velvets, and stiffening materials here– and all the veiling and silk ribbons are here on the floor.’

  ‘We haven’t got much black veiling left. Are you certain this is all of it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lizzie looked at her list. ‘It says there’s only a third of a roll left and there are three yards in a roll…’

  ‘Damn it! That won’t trim six hats.’ Harry glared as if it were her fault. ‘I’d better go and fetch some from the wholesaler.’

  He we
nt out without another glance in her direction. Lizzie looked at her watch. She’d been left to get on all day and no one had brought her a mug of tea through, though she knew they were supposed to stop for one at three o’clock. She’d almost got the shelves to her liking and she would just about finish the materials today. Tomorrow, she would have to start on all those trimmings and lengths of ribbons, to say nothing of the feathers and the silk flowers…

  Chapter 3

  ‘So how did you get on today?’ Beth’s mother asked when she entered the kitchen. ‘Was it all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Beth sniffed appreciatively. ‘Something smells good tonight?’

  ‘I hope you’re hungry? We’re having lamb chops.’

  ‘Everything you cook is lovely, Mum.’ She hesitated, then, ‘If I gave you an extra couple of bob a week could you put another bun or sausage roll in my lunch packet?’

  ‘Were you still hungry?’

  ‘I’d like to offer Lizzie a bun or something. I don’t think she gets very much nice at home – and I’m so lucky…’

  ‘You’re a lovely girl, our Beth,’ her mother gave her a fond smile. ‘When I’m baking there’s always a few left over now that Dotty and your brother are married, and you can keep your money, love.’

  ‘You spoil me, Mum.’

  ‘Well, once Mary gets married this September I’ll only have you at home to spoil.’

  ‘All your chicks will have flown except for me – and I’ll get married as soon as Dad lets me.’

  ‘Your dad is only thinking of your future. I was twenty when I married.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘My Derek was called up in 1916, nearly two years after the war started. They didn’t take married men with children until they began to get desperate. When he left me, he put his barrow in store, kissed me and told me not to worry. I found out I was having the twins a few weeks later, and I would never have managed if it hadn’t been for my mother’s help. It was two years before your father came back with a wound to his leg that kept him out of the rest of it, and another eighteen months before it healed enough for him to get back to work full time.’