Down Weaver's Lane (14 page)

‘You cheeky young madam! How can you know what’s fair or not?’ Mr Roper reached out to try and snatch the salt cellar back. When Emmy lifted it out of reach he snapped, ‘Twelve shillings then, out of the goodness of my heart.’

That made Emmy certain she had been right about the object’s value, so she repeated firmly, ‘Come along, Mrs Tibby dear!’ and guided the old lady outside.

‘Fifteen shillings and that’s my final offer!’ he shouted after them from the shop doorway.

‘Don’t you think we should accept?’ Mrs Tibby whispered.

‘No, I don’t! I’m sure it’s worth much more than that.’

There were tears in Mrs Tibby’s eyes as she whispered, ‘But how are we to buy food? I - I don’t have any money left, Emmy.’

‘I’ll go into Rochdale if necessary from now on and pawn your things for you there. The carter will give me a ride for sixpence. And I still have some housekeeping money left for us to be going on with.’

They walked in silence for a while and Mrs Tibby sighed in relief as they reached the cottage. When they got inside she looked at Emmy and asked in a low voice, ‘Do you really think he’s been cheating me? I was going to take him two of my silver apostle spoons next.’

‘Spoons?’ Emmy couldn’t remember seeing any apostle spoons.

‘I have a whole set of them hidden in the attic and a few other things too,’ Tibby whispered, fanning herself with her hand. ‘Oh, dear. This is all so distressing.’

She subsided on the sofa and began fiddling with her cuff, so Emmy knew she still wanted to talk and waited patiently with her mistress’s cloak over her arm.

‘I usually take the first price Mr Roper offers because I’m so ashamed of having to visit a place like that.’ Mrs Tibby sobbed suddenly and put a hand up to her mouth, as if to hold more tears back.

Emmy went across to pat her mistress’s arm and crouch beside her, still trying to work out the logic of this other plan. ‘But surely your spoons would be worth more as a whole set?’ she asked gently.

‘I was trying to keep one or two, just to remind me of my dear James, who bought them for me in better times. They have such dainty little figures on the ends. Oh, my goodness. I’m feeling quite poorly and now my heart is fluttering.’ She pressed one hand to her breast.

‘We shouldn’t have gone out today, Mrs Tibby. You sit there and rest while I make you a pot of tea.’

‘Only if you’ll share it with me.’ She looked at Emmy, shame still showing on her face. ‘I’m sorry, dear. So stupid. I do hate dealing with that man. But what else am I to do? I couldn’t possibly manage without you now. And besides,’ she smiled and squeezed the girl’s hand, ‘I’ve grown very fond of you.’

‘And I you,’ Emmy said, delighted to see her mistress’s face looking happy again. ‘Now, let me bring you some tea and I’ll think what to do. You leave it all to me.’

 

That night Emmy lay awake for a long time worrying about how she could help Mrs Tibby. In the end she could only think of Garrett’s Bank. They visited it every month to collect the allowance and Mr Garrett dealt with Mrs Tibby personally because he had apparently been slightly acquainted with her husband. He had a kind face and was always polite. Surely he would advise Emmy how best to sell the silver for her mistress? She would go and see him the very next day.

The following day she duly took the silver salt cellar into town. Outside the bank she paused for a moment, feeling nervous. She decided to wait for a gentleman who was inside to come out, but as she stood there she felt as though the bank itself was keeping watch on her through the bull’s eye glass in its many-paned bow window.

When at last the customer left, Emmy took a deep breath, pushed open the door and walked inside, trying to behave as if she had every right to be there. As she had expected, the teller stared down his nose at her but she walked to the counter with her head held high. ‘I have a message from my mistress for Mr Garrett. She’s not well, you see.’ She waved a folded piece of paper at him.

‘I can take that for you, young woman. You may wait over there for the reply.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but she made me promise to give the letter into his hands personally.’ Emmy held on to the paper tightly until he muttered something, pulled his pince-nez off his nose and vanished through a door at the rear.

John Garrett was in a good mood that day because his conservative approach to banking was paying off and he was not experiencing the same problems as some of the other small banks in the neighbourhood, so he agreed to see Mrs Oswald’s maid. When she came in he did not ask her to sit. ‘I believe you have a letter for me from your mistress?’

Emmy swallowed hard. ‘I’m afraid there is no letter, sir. I wanted to speak to you - to ask you to help my mistress - and this was the only way I could think of to do it. I’m very sorry for having lied to your teller, but please don’t send me away without hearing what I have to say!’

When he frowned, she rushed into her prepared speech. ‘Mrs Oswald has fallen on hard times and I don’t know where to turn for help for her.
Please
, sir!’

He waved a hand, which she took to mean she should continue. ‘Mrs Oswald has some pieces of silver which she’s been selling because she’s short of money. They’re lying in her attic and I’m terrified someone will steal them and then how will she manage? Mr Roper the pawnbroker has been cheating her, giving her far less than her things are worth. I don’t want her to deal with him again.’

Mr Garrett stared at the young maid in amazement. Mrs Oswald was not an important client, though every customer deserved the bank’s best attention, of course, but he didn’t like to think of such a frail lady being cheated. ‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. I was with her yesterday when Mr Roper offered her ten shillings for this.’ Emmy produced the salt cellar from the bottom of her shopping basket and set it on the desk. ‘I persuaded her to refuse.’

John examined the piece which was very pretty. ‘You were right. This is worth a great deal more than he offered.’ He frowned. His bank was not a charity and he was not a man of fortune with a rich family behind him but the younger son of a farmer who had done well for himself. His father had started lending money to people in the neighbourhood, and under John’s guidance they had set up a small bank. However he had to be careful what he did because if you helped too many people who were in difficulties you could go under yourself if they defaulted on payments. ‘What exactly is it you want me to do for her, young woman?’

‘Let her keep the silver here at the bank, sir. I didn’t know it was in the house - we live at the bottom end of Weavers Lane and it isn’t
safe
to keep it there. Mr Roper must wonder what else she has and - well, it would be very easy to rob a poor old lady, wouldn’t it?’

John Garrett inclined his head, relieved by the reasonableness of this request. ‘We’d be happy to look after it for her.’ He saw the girl still hesitating and with a wry smile asked, ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, sir. Could you please advise my mistress on how best to sell her things? Two guineas a month isn’t enough to live on, you see, even though I don’t take any wages now I know how short of money she is.’

His fancy was tickled by the courage and loyalty of this young lass who by her speech came from a humble background. Mrs Oswald’s silver would probably turn out to be mostly worthless, but it would not hurt to look at it and he could certainly help her sell it to best advantage. In fact, he would also waive his commission on the sales. That much he could do to help. He smiled at the eager young face. ‘Mrs Oswald is fortunate in her maid, I think. Ask her to come and see me at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon and we’ll take tea together while I advise her. Oh, and bring the silver. All of it.’

 

Mrs Tibby was so surprised by what Emmy had done she could not speak for a minute or two, then grew very agitated. ‘Oh, dear! James was always the one who dealt with banks. I shan’t know what to say if we’re to discuss my finances. And I’m sure Mr Garrett will not want to look after my little bits and pieces.’

‘I’ve already explained to him how matters stand. Please,
dearest
Mrs Tibby, come and see him. We can take all your good silver with us to put in his vault. It really isn’t safe to keep it here.’

‘Well - you won’t leave me alone with him?’

‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

After much brow-wrinkling and sighing, Mrs Tibby decided that dear James would want her to do this and Emmy breathed a sigh of relief.

 

The following afternoon Mrs Tibby dressed in her Sunday best, a gown that was worn and old-fashioned but not yet patched. Emmy fetched the silver down from the attic and wrapped it all up in old rags so that it would not chink and betray what it was. The now-unused best cutlery service was heavy and had its own wooden box, and it surprised Emmy how many other bits and pieces there were. She had already arranged with the neighbour’s lad, who made coppers here and there by offering his services pushing a small hand-barrow, to trundle the things into town for them for sixpence.

‘And how about a kiss as well?’ he asked Emmy.

She drew herself up. ‘Certainly not! Who do you think I am, you cheeky thing?’

‘You’re the prettiest girl in Weavers Lane, that’s who.’

‘Well, I don’t kiss anyone, so tell me if you want the job or not, and don’t you ever talk to me like that again.’

When they arrived at the bank, the teller came out to help Emmy carry the silver inside, while Mrs Tibby gave the lad his sixpence, her last coin and one which Emmy had ‘found’ on the mantelpiece.

‘If you would care to take a seat, ma’am, I’ll inform Mr Garrett that you’re here,’ the teller said, his manner quite different from yesterday. ‘He is expecting you.’

Emmy went to stand behind her mistress, whispering, ‘See. I told you.’

When the teller came back to ask Mrs Oswald to follow him, she took Emmy’s arm and insisted her maid come too. She was faint and quivery, seeming overwhelmed by the situation, and Emmy just hoped Mr Garrett would understand what a timid lady she was outside her own home.

He did. There was no mistaking it when someone’s face was white with nervousness or their hand shook in yours. He looked at the maid, saw how she was standing behind her mistress with one hand unobtrusively on a trembling old shoulder, and thought again how lucky Mrs Oswald was to have her.

He had intended to conduct their business, such as it was, rapidly but politely. Instead he found himself saying, ‘Perhaps you’d like your maid to stay?’ When he received a nod, he went on, ‘Now, my dear Mrs Oswald, let us see how best to help you. That’s what banks are for, you know, to look after our customers’ financial interests. Indeed, you should have come to me for help sooner.’

She shed some tears and thanked him with a voice so muffled by her handkerchief that only a few words escaped, among them, ‘So kind ... no wish to be troublesome ... dear husband always ...’

But John Garrett became his usual shrewd self when he examined the pieces of silver. ‘These are very fine. Not large, but well-crafted pieces. Your husband had excellent taste.’

Mrs Oswald cast a quick relieved glance over her shoulder at Emmy then nodded. ‘Dear James was very fond of a fine piece of silver. He said they were pleasures as well as investments.’

In the end it was decided that Mr Garrett would lend her some money, using the silver as surety while he sold some or all of it. ‘You must take your time to decide what you wish to keep and what you wish to sell, my dear lady. Afterwards, we’ll deposit the rest of your money in a savings account for you. That way you will gain interest on your principal, so it will last you longer.’

She nodded, but Emmy could see that her mistress did not really understand what he was talking about beyond knowing she would have some money again. Well, Emmy didn’t understand either. She asked him to explain about interest: ‘—so that my dear mistress can be sure she’s understood you correctly.’

Their eyes met and he smiled in a way that said he realised who needed to understand everything. As he explained how banks paid interest on deposits, his attention was mainly on the girl. When she’d nodded to show she understood, he turned back to her mistress. ‘I’ll send you a letter once I know how much your possessions are worth, Mrs Oswald, but in the meantime,’ he pressed an envelope into her hand, ‘this is an advance payment on account.’

Emmy heard it chink and guessed it contained coins. She could not help beaming at him for his tact and understanding, and was surprised when he winked at her.

After they’d left, John Garrett sat pondering Mrs Oswald’s problems. He knew she was related to the Armisteads and after some thought decided to write to the family to ask if they were aware of the extreme hardship their elderly relative was experiencing.

However, when he went home that night he found his wife seriously ill of an inflammation of the lungs. For weeks her life was feared for and he completely forgot about Mrs Oswald’s problems.

 

In November of that year the Staleys were settling down to their evening meal, the children whispering to one another as their mother dished up the food. Jack watched them fondly, pleasantly tired after a day spent mostly out of the office. Thinking he heard a faint sound he looked round. No, he must have been mistaken.

Then it came again, someone at the door. It’d be a neighbour wanting to borrow something. A lot of that went on in the middle of the week.

When he opened the door he found a woman there, clutching a baby, a big bundle at her feet. He didn’t recognise her at first. Then she lifted up her eyes and said, ‘Jack!’ in a faint, wheezing voice and crumpled at his feet.

He managed to prevent the baby from falling, but didn’t manage to catch the woman as well.

‘Mam, come here!’ he roared at the top of his voice.