Читать книгу Ribbons and Laces - Ruby Mildred Ayres - Страница 7

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Linda started work in Lorne and Dodwell’s on the Monday morning as had been arranged, and for the first few days she found life the most bewildering and strange thing.

The business into which she had been so eager to enter, proved at first to be anything but a bed of roses.

“I never would have believed I could be so stupid,” she told Mrs. Lovelace almost in tears. “It’s taken all the conceit out of me!” She laughed with the tears in her eyes. “Not that it isn’t perfectly lovely all the same,” she added breathlessly as she saw the anxiety in her grandmother’s face.

“If you don’t like it——” the old lady faltered and Linda squared her shoulders.

“Don’t like it! Of course I do! It’s only that it’s a little strange just at first.”

The strangest part of it all, although she hardly liked to admit it even to herself, was the feeling that she was only one of a great organisation. There were so many girls and women employed in Lorne and Dodwell’s, all of whom seemed more important than she did, that the feeling that she was, after all, of very small moment, gave her a new sense of humility.

During her interview with Mr. Samuel Lorne she had felt important and of real necessity to the firm, but half an hour of routine work disillusioned her.

Mr. Robert Lorne passed her in the lace department on the first morning with only the vaguest acknowledgment, and she had had the uncomfortable feeling that he did not even remember her.

For a moment she felt hurt, then she laughed at herself; after all, why should he remember her, just because they had had a few moments’ chat together in the rain, and because he had known her father?

“Do you like being here?” she asked the assistant in whose charge she had been placed, during a slack moment, when they found themselves alone. Miss Gillet, who had at first been rather inclined to patronise Linda, unbent a little at the question.

She was rather haughty in manner, and Linda had watched with awe while she waited on an old lady with gold pince-nez and a waving plume in her bonnet, and it had almost seemed to her that Miss Gillet was the more aristocratic of the two, until she had been told that the old lady was the Countess of Star. It was during the moment following this that she had ventured upon her question.

“Do you like being here?”

Miss Gillet glanced at herself in a mirror, and adjusted a lock of perfectly waved hair before she answered.

“Does anyone like working for one’s living?”

“I think I do,” Linda answered quite seriously, and then, drawing a step nearer, she asked interestedly: “And was that lady really the Countess of Star?”

Miss Gillet pursed up her lips in disapproval.

“It is not good form to discuss the customers, Miss Lovelace,” she said frigidly.

“Oh!” Linda flushed in embarrassment.

“I was only so interested,” she apologised. “You see, I’ve never been so close to a Countess before.”

She remembered her mother’s unavailing struggles to get back into what she had always called “My own set”; remembered, too, that her father had been the chief drawback, for, in spite of the money he had at one time possessed, he would never try to make himself popular with his wife’s friends.

“They only want you for what you’ve got,” he often said in his downright, almost brutal fashion. “If you lost your money, or, at least, if I lost mine, do you think they’d look at you? Not much they wouldn’t.”

The memory brought a sadness to her face, and Miss Gillet, seeing it, relented a little.

“You’re young, and new to the business,” she said more kindly. “Live and learn is a good motto. Yes—that was the Countess of Star.” She lowered her voice as she added, “And the young lady with her was Miss Fernie, the Countess’s companion.”

“Oh!” Linda cast eager eyes across the lace and ribbon counter to catch another glimpse of the interesting client, but she had already moved out of sight.

“If you will pay attention,” Miss Gillet said in her most businesslike tone of voice once more, “I will show you the new filet lace that came this morning. The second box on your left—no, the second!”

Linda obeyed instructions eagerly; she thought the lace was the most delicate and beautiful she had ever seen; she touched it with fingers that were almost reverent.

“Isn’t it perfectly lovely!” she whispered.

Miss Gillet raised indifferent brows.

“It is a very fine texture,” she said carelessly.

Then she smiled, with one of her swift changes from stiff unapproachability to friendliness. “When you have been in this business as long as I have, you will be less enthusiastic,” she said.

“I thought perhaps I might be more enthusiastic,” Linda ventured, whereupon Miss Gillet froze again and bade her sharply not to chatter so much.

“But she’s nice really; she’s quite nice!” so a girl who sat next to Linda at lunch informed her in reply to a tentative question. “You may think she’s rather a tartar, we all do to start with; but, really, she’s ever so kind. Why”—she lowered her voice—“last winter, when I was ill, she came round nearly every day to see me, and brought flowers or fruit; and it isn’t everyone who’ll do that.”

“I think she’s very smart,” Linda said admiringly.

The other girl, who’s name, so she informed Linda, was Nelly Sweet, shrugged her slim shoulders.

“Oh, she’s smart enough, but she’s not very good-looking, is she?”

“I think her hair is lovely,” Linda said rather defensively.

Nelly Sweet was at the handkerchief counter, and therefore Linda felt it was her duty to stick up for ribbons and laces.

Nelly chuckled.

“Lovely! Why it’s dyed,” she whispered.

Linda looked angry. “Well, anyway,” she ventured after a moment, “I don’t know that it matters much, if she’s as kind as you say she is.”

Nelly blushed.

“No! it was horrid of me to say that,” she said generously. “As you say, what does it matter?” She looked at Linda quizzically. “I should like to be friends with you,” she blurted out then. “What’s your name?”

Linda told her.

Lunch was ended at that moment, but as she rose to leave the table, Nelly Sweet said quickly:

“Wait for me at six. I’ll walk home with you.”

Linda was late home that evening, and when at last she walked into the house, Mrs. Lovelace met her agitatedly at the door.

“Oh, my dear! I was so anxious! What has happened? I have been imagining all sorts of things.”

Linda laughed as she kissed her.

“Sorry, dear! Am I late? I didn’t know what the time was.” She took off her hat, and ruffled her hair. “Grannie! I’ve made a friend.”

“A friend, dear?”

“Yes.” Linda sat down at the table and began to pour out tea. Late dinner was a meal dispensed with now for economy’s sake, and “high tea” had taken its place.

“All my life I’ve been used to my dinner at night,” Mrs. Lovelace protested at first. “But, of course, if we really can’t afford it any longer——”

“I’m afraid we can’t dear,” Linda said briskly. “And after all, what does it matter?”

So she poured out tea, and cut bread and butter happily enough as she talked away.

“She’s in the handkerchief department, and her name is Nelly Sweet, and she’s ever so pretty, and she’s got short curly hair.”

“Nelly Sweet!” Mrs. Lovelace faltered. “Doesn’t it—doesn’t it sound rather like—the stage, Linda?”

Linda laughed.

“Yes, I think it does,” she admitted. “And she was on the stage once, but she was no good at it, so she went into Lorne and Dodwell’s instead. She lives in rooms with another girl—a girl named Joan Astley—down the Fulham Road”—she hesitated—“I don’t think I like the other girl,” she added slowly.

Mrs. Lovelace shivered distastefully.

“The Fulham Road! Isn’t that rather a—poor neighbourhood?” she asked.

“Some of it’s awful,” Linda admitted. “But it’s all they can afford; and it’s all we shall be able to afford, I’m afraid, darling, when we leave here.”

The old lady’s face quivered a little, but she made no reply.

“I’m going to bring Nelly to see you one day,” Linda went on. “I’ve told her all about you, and she’s longing to see you. She’s got a grandmother herself, and she loves her——” she looked across the table with affectionate eyes. “Almost as much as I love you,” she added.

Mrs. Lovelace put down her teacup with a hand that was not quite steady. “Linda! Mr. Stern has been here this afternoon, and—the house is sold.”

“At last! Oh, what a relief.” Linda drew a long breath of thankfulness. “Won’t it be lovely to get out of it? Why—Grannie——”

Mrs. Lovelace had covered her face with her slender hands.

“You are so young,” she said brokenly. “You’ve got all your life before you; but I’m an old woman, and—to me it’s like the end of everything I have ever known.”

“Grannie!” Linda left the table, and knelt down beside her, her face flushed with pity and distress.

“Oh, don’t say that! don’t!” she pleaded. “We’re going to be so happy. I’m going to work so hard. We can have a little home of our own—or rooms! If we could get rooms like Nelly’s, we could be quite happy. There is such a nice landlady——”

Mrs. Lovelace wiped her tears away.

“I’m not brave like you, my dear,” she said, trying to smile. “And to me the world seems all upside down—all upside down!”

Linda would not take her seriously; she laughed and joked, and determinedly changed the subject, rattling on about the incidents of the day, till Mrs. Lovelace smiled again and forgot her troubles.

But at night when Linda was brushing her hair in her own room her grandmother’s words suddenly came back to her.

“I’m an old woman—and to me it’s like the end of everything.”

It was true! She was old! And sudden fear filled the girl’s heart.

If Mrs. Lovelace died! What would become of her? She would be all alone.

She tried in vain to shake away the foreboding.

Why should Mrs. Lovelace die? She would live for many more years yet. Of course, it would seem strange to her at first, to live in small rooms, and perhaps in a neighbourhood like the Fulham Road. . . .

She tried to picture her grandmother in the rooms to which Nelly Sweet had taken her that afternoon. They were like the rooms in a doll’s house! and very cheaply furnished. All right for anyone young and strong enough to fight a way through the world and conquer; but for anyone old and frail who had been used to a sheltered life of luxury, how impossible.

And again the old thought flashed into Linda’s mind.

“If only I could be quick and make some money for her! If only I were well off!”

As it was, she would probably have to wait years and years before she was in any position worth speaking about—years and years, and by that time—— She would not allow herself to think what tragic thing might have happened by then. She crept into bed, and drew the clothes over her head.

But the following day she spoke of her thought to Nelly Sweet.

“Wouldn’t it be fine to be rich?”

“Rich!” Nelly wrinkled up her pretty nose. “I never think about it because I know it’s no good,” she said philosophically.

“Why not?” Linda asked. “Lots of women make money! Lots of women run their own businesses.”

Nelly laughed.

“Oh, is that your ambition?” she said teasingly.

Linda shook her head.

“No, it isn’t! I’ve never even thought about it, but all the same, I should like to,” she added slowly.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, very often,” Nelly said lightly. She was not a very serious person.

She took life very much as it came, enjoying everything, envying nobody.

“Gillet’s cute, you know!” she said suddenly. Linda looked a little shocked; she had not yet got used to the casual way in which the girls referred to the heads of departments when they were not present. “Gillet’s cute,” Nelly said again. “She said that you had ambitious eyes!” Linda was not sure if it was a compliment or not.

Nelly laughed. “That’s what she said, and she’s generally right.”

The two girls were coming down from lunch then, and Nelly suddenly caught Linda’s arm in an eager little grip. “Look! there’s the Black Prince, as we call him. No—you’re looking the wrong way—over there by the door.”

Linda looked quickly round. A tall young man with rather a bored face was standing by the main entrance, impatiently tapping his cane against an immaculately shod foot.

He was exceedingly good looking in a rather swarthy way, and Nelly’s name of “the Black Prince” seemed to suit him admirably.

“Who is he?” Linda asked; she was not particularly interested.

“His real name is Andrew Lincoln,” Nelly explained in an undertone. “He’s an Honourable or something. I’m not quite sure about his title—I always get muddled. Anyway, he’s the Countess of Star’s nephew, and he’s rich—oh! ever so rich.”

Linda stifled a sigh.

Things were not very fairly divided in this world, she thought, with a shade of envy. Why was it that some people had so much and others so little, so very little! not even enough to keep a dear, beloved grandmother in comfort for the rest of her short life.

She looked at the Black Prince rather wistfully and at that moment, as if conscious of her gaze, he turned, and their eyes met.

There was a moment’s hesitation, then the faintest smile crossed his dark face and, to her intense annoyance, a wave of embarrassed colour ran up from Linda’s chin to her brow.

Nelly Sweet, noticing it, squeezed Linda’s arm.

“There you are! He smiles at any girl,” she said with a sort of amused scorn, and at the same moment one of the shop-walkers, a precise-looking person in an immaculately-fitting frock-coat, came across to them.

“Are you waiting for anything, Miss Sweet?” he asked, rather cynically, and Nelly Sweet hurriedly dropped Linda’s arm.

“We’ve just come down from lunch,” she answered in rather a subdued tone of voice, and, turning, she fled precipitately, leaving Linda to follow as best she could.

“Who was that?” Linda asked breathlessly, overtaking her.

Nelly tossed her head.

“Oh, that’s old Flynn! He’s been here since the flood,” she explained, rather inelegantly. “He doesn’t like me—and I don’t like him, if it comes to that.”

“I thought he looked rather nice,” Linda submitted doubtfully.

Nelly laughed. “You’re welcome,” she said laconically, and disappeared behind her own handkerchief counter.

Linda thought quite a lot about the Black Prince during the afternoon; there had been something about him that had strangely attracted her; something in his smile, a slow, unknown quantity which she had never met before, and which had stirred her pulses in a new, frightened way.

“He only smiled at me because I was a shopgirl,” she thought, and wondered how he behaved with the girls of his own circle.

“I’ve spoken to you twice, Miss Lovelace,” Miss Gillet said in her sharp way, “and apparently you have not heard me. Are you dreaming, or have you already lost interest in your work?”

Linda apologised hurriedly, and for the rest of the afternoon she worked with great energy, but at tea-time that evening she said to her grandmother:

“There was a countess in Lorne and Dodwell’s this afternoon.”

Mrs. Lovelace smiled.

“I expect that is a very ordinary occurrence, Linda,” she said gently. “Lorne and Dodwell’s must have most of the best people as customers.”

“She was the Countess of Star,” Linda told her thoughtfully.

Mrs. Lovelace looked rather startled.

“I knew her—slightly—years ago,” she said in her dignified way. “A very charming woman she was in those days. Let me see, she must be about my own age.”

“She is very handsome,” Linda said.

“She came of a handsome family,” Mrs. Lovelace answered. “I remember her marriage quite well. Star was much older than she, and it was a great regret to them both that they never had any children. When her husband died the title passed to his brother.”

“She has a nephew,” Linda said unthinkingly. “I think he is an Honourable——”

A shade of anxiety crossed the old lady’s face.

“You seem to have gained a great deal of information to-day, my dear,” she protested.

Linda laughed, though her colour rose.

“It’s only what the other girls tell me—what Nelly Sweet tells me.”

“I should like to meet this Miss Sweet,” Mrs. Lovelace said after a moment. “I should like to judge for myself whether she is a fit companion and friend for you.”

Linda laughed, half in amusement, half vexation.

“Oh, Grannie, darling! As if I’m not old enough to choose for myself!” she protested. “If I’m old enough to go to business, I must be old enough to make my own friends.”

Mrs. Lovelace sighed.

“And that remark brings it all back to my original point. Am I right in allowing you to do this work at all?”

Linda frowned.

“Dearest, haven’t we settled all that long enough ago?”

She rose from the table rather impatiently; she was tired and her head ached.

She might have said more than would have been wise, but she was prevented by a ring at the bell.

The woman who cleaned the house and looked after Mrs. Lovelace during the day had gone, so Linda went down to open the door, and to her surprise she found Nelly Sweet there.

“You! How did you find me?” she asked in amazement.

Nelly laughed.

“I got your address from Gillet,” she said frankly. “I wanted to see you, and it seemed the only way. I looked for you at six but you’d gone, so, as it’s important, I came round.” She hesitated, then asked, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“Of course; please come in. My grandmother’s upstairs; we were talking about you a moment ago.”

She led the way to the sitting-room, which was the only one they used now, and opened the door.

“Grannie, we were talking about my friend Nelly Sweet—here she is!”

Mrs. Lovelace rose from her chair; her faded eyes searched Nelly’s bright face with almost painful intensity, then she held out her hand. “How do you do? I am pleased to meet you,” she said simply. Nelly beamed and gushed.

“I’m pleased to meet you too. I’ve heard an awful lot about you from Linda.” She paused, then seemed to realise she was not saying quite the right thing, and rushed on in embarrassment: “I say, what a big house you’ve got! I’d no idea you were such a swell, Linda.”

She did not mean to be offensive, but Mrs. Lovelace flushed sensitively. “This is our house no longer, Miss Sweet,” she said in her simple, dignified way. “Linda and I have only stayed on here till it was sold. We are leaving as soon as we can find suitable rooms.”

Nelly broke out again eagerly.

“I know some in the Fulham Road—awfully nice ones. They’re over a grocer’s shop, but . . .” her face fell. “I suppose you wouldn’t like to live over a grocer’s shop?” she submitted doubtfully.

Linda glanced at her grandmother deprecatingly.

“Beggars cannot afford to be choosers,” Mrs. Lovelace said.

“No, of course not!” Nelly’s eyes were roaming round the room, full of curiosity. She had vaguely recognised from the first that Linda was somehow different from the average girl who came to Lorne and Dodwell’s, but she had not expected to find her in a house like this, or with a grandmother who looked as if she had stepped straight out of an oil-painting. Nelly’s own grandmother had been a working woman who wore her fringe in curlers from Monday morning till the following Saturday night, and whose language had not always been quite choice.

“What did you want to see me about?” Linda broke in. She could see that Nelly was not making a good impression on Mrs. Lovelace, and she felt annoyed, realising that if only Nelly would be her natural self instead of putting on an affected voice, things would be very different.

Nelly glanced at Mrs. Lovelace and raised her brows in a very obvious question. She had spent many years of her life trying to hide her own little escapades and flirtations from her mother, and was not sure whether Linda practised the same methods.

But it was Mrs. Lovelace herself who interpreted the look and who replied to it.

“Linda has no secrets from me, Miss Sweet.”

Nelly laughed apologetically.

“Oh, well, then, in that case!” she said; she turned to Linda. “I want you to come to a dance on Saturday night. A whole crowd of us from Lorne’s are going, and it will be great fun. What do you say?”

Linda’s eyes grew eager, and her cheeks flushed.

“Oh, I should love it—” she began, then stopped. “I can’t,” she said in sudden change of voice, “I haven’t got a frock.”

“Oh!” For a moment Nelly Sweet looked nonplussed, then she broke out again. “Oh we can soon rig one up for you. I’m quite clever at making something out of nothing. I’ll show you mine. It’s all pieces and remnants, but it’s just the sweetest thing on! and you’ll love it. Do say you’ll come.”

Linda looked at her grandmother.

“Can I?—what do you think? Shall I go?” she asked dubiously.

Mrs. Lovelace went back to her chair, one slim hand which rested on its arm was a little unsteady as she spoke.

“May I ask whose dance this is, and where it is to be held, Miss Sweet?”

Nelly laughed nervously.

“Well, it’s not anybody’s dance exactly,” she said with a sort of reluctance. “It’s a subscription dance. But it’s quite cheap—” she hastened to add, misreading the shadow which crossed Mrs. Lovelace’s face. “It’s only four shillings with refreshments.”

There was a little silence.

“And—where is it to be held?” Mrs. Lovelace asked faintly.

“In a hall quite close by,” Nelly explained, eagerly. “It’s ever such a nice dance, and we have a real jazz band.” She looked at Linda. “You can dance, of course?”

Mrs. Lovelace interrupted with dignity.

“As a child, my granddaughter attended the very best dancing classes.”

Nelly looked subdued.

“Oh, of course!” she murmured.

“I can’t do any of these new dances very well,” Linda admitted. “But I daresay I can soon learn.”

“Of course you can! I’ll find you some good partners. Joan’s taking her boy, and I’ve got one to come along with me.” Again she hesitated, glancing at Mrs. Lovelace. “You haven’t got a boy you can bring, I suppose?”

Linda laughed; she was beginning to find the situation amusing.

Her grandmother’s face was a study, and she guessed what the old lady must be thinking in her old-fashioned, most circumspect mind.

“I’ll talk it over with grannie and tell you to-morrow,” she promised, hurriedly. She was relieved when Nelly had said her good-byes and they were downstairs again.

“I think your Grannie’s a darling,” Nelly said, full of enthusiasm. “She looks as if she’s stepped right out of a Christmas number! You know what I mean! One of those coloured plates they give away.”

Linda was not sure if Mrs. Lovelace would consider that a compliment or not. “And you will come to the dance?” Nelly urged as a parting word. “You’ve no idea how jolly they are! Half-past eight till one, and we’ll see you home.”

“I’ll let you know to-morrow,” Linda promised, and went back up the stairs with slow feet.

She found Mrs. Lovelace sitting where they had left her, something rather piteous in the expression of her eyes.

“Well, darling?” Linda forced herself to speak cheerfully, “what do you think of her?”

The old lady’s lips quivered.

“My dear—I have hardly had time to judge. She has a pretty face, but—oh, Linda, when I was a girl we never thought of going to subscription dances. I don’t believe there ever were such things.”

“I’m sure there were not, dear,” Linda agreed cheerily. “But it’s considered quite all right now; but all the same, if you’d rather I didn’t go—of course, I haven’t a frock.”

Mrs. Lovelace rose from her chair; she had fought a stern battle with her scruples while Linda was out of the room.

“If it is the thing to do, and you wish to go, you shall,” she said firmly. “It is not the form of enjoyment I should have chosen for you, but . . .” she stopped, and stifled a sigh; then she crossed the room. “Linda! do you remember my old piece-box, the one you used to be so fond of playing with when you were a little child? Well, there is a most lovely length of silk in it now—I bought it somewhere . . . before your mother . . .” her voice shook, and she did not finish her sentence.

She went out of the room, and presently came back with the quaint old tapestry box in which Linda’s baby fingers had so often rummaged.

She put it down on the table, and lifted the lid.

Linda stood beside her, her face flushed and eager.

“Ribbons and laces, for sweet pretty faces”—she sang softly.

“I’m coming to the dance,” she told Nelly Sweet during lunch the following day. “And I’ve got some lovely stuff for a frock.”

Nelly nodded; her mouth being occupied with a piece of very hot potato at the moment, she found speech impossible.

“A friend of the woman who cleans our house is making it for me,” Linda went on, “and it’s amber-coloured——”

“Ripping!” Nelly beamed. “You’ll look lovely in amber,” she prophesied. “Where shall we meet? Would you like us to pick you up, or will you come along to the hall and meet us there?”

“Who else is going?” Linda asked with a shade of anxiety.

“Me and Joan—the girl who digs with me, you know—and I’m taking a boy named Bill Sargent. You’ll like him; he’s in a bank, and he dances well enough to beat the band. I don’t know who Joan is bringing, but it’ll be someone posh, you bet! She knows tons of men.”

“And nobody else from here?” Linda asked. “Nobody—I mean—I suppose Mr. Lorne never goes, does he?”

“Mr. Lorne!” Nelly’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets in sheer amazement. “Mr. Lorne!” she said again blankly. “Good lord, are you serious? Do you mean Mr. Robert?”

“Yes. I only thought perhaps——” Linda felt very uncomfortable. She wished she had not asked such a foolish question.

Nelly went into fits of laughter.

“Heavens, you have got some quaint ideas! He go to a dance. My dear, he’s the perfect thing in manhood! Mother’s darling and uncle’s joy, and all the rest of it. Why I don’t believe he’d dare go to heaven unless he’d seen a list of those who’d already gone before him.”

Linda frowned. She resented this downright criticism of the man who had been so kind to her.

“I’m sure he isn’t a bit like that,” she protested indignantly.

Nelly made a grimace. “Oh, all right, if you know him so well,” she said, in an injured voice, “I don’t want to spoil your sweet illusions.”

“I only asked a question,” Linda protested. “How do I know what he does or where he goes?”

“Well, he doesn’t go anywhere where he’s likely to meet any of us, you bet your young life,” Nelly said flatly. “That reminds me. If you’re going to wear amber, it’ll clash horribly with me! I’m wearing orange.”

There was a dismayed silence, then she laughed.

“What’s it matter? Joan’s wearing bright green, and she can stand between us and tone us down if ever we get together.”

Linda did not see her again until just before closing time, when she caught her arm for a moment as they passed one another.

“I say, who do you think Joan’s taking to the dance to-morrow night?” she asked.

Linda shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“She is the absolute limit,” Nelly said, half admiringly, half in disgust. “I don’t know how she does it! I suppose it’s her yellow hair and her figure, but anyway, she gets hold of the men all right.”

“Well, who is she taking, then?” Linda asked. But before Nelly answered some instinct had told her.

“She’s taking the Black Prince, my dear.”