Lizzie's Secret (6 page)

Lizzie looked round for something to make out his invoice on. He nodded towards the small table with the basic hats on top. ‘I think you'll find the invoice pad is in that drawer.'

Feeling stupid Lizzie went to the drawer and took out the invoice book. There, on the first page, was an invoice made out to this same customer. All the hats were priced at twenty shillings, except for a basic cloche, which was twelve shillings. Relieved that she hadn't made a mistake, Lizzie made out the invoice, adding the extra she'd charged on top and totalling the amount. She marked it as paid with a rubber stamp she'd found in the drawer.

‘Did you want to take your order or is it usually delivered?'

‘You could deliver it if you like? I would be happy to take delivery in person…' he arched one eyebrow and laughed at her dismay. ‘No, no, I'm joking, Miss Larch. If you would replace the hats in that cardboard box, I'll take them with me. I came in because I was running low on this particular style. I think my customers are stocking up in case they can't get what they want once the war starts…'

‘Do you think it will really come to a war?'

‘We'll be fighting the Germans within the year,' Mr Winters said. He hesitated, then, ‘Whose idea it was to trim these hats? I can recognise fresh talent when I see it.'

‘I'm working under Ed; he's our head cutter… and he asked my opinion on most of them.'

‘Ah, yes, now I begin to see. Well, you've got a good eye for colour and style. Send my congratulations to your employer, Miss Larch.'

Lizzie was just wondering what to reply when Mr Oliver entered the room.

‘Everything all right, Mr Winters – Lizzie looked after you properly?'

‘Yes, very well. I was just saying she has talent. You're lucky to have found her, Oliver – you should make sure you don't lose her to the competition. I could do with a girl like Miss Larch in my shop…'

Mr Winters picked up his box and went out without waiting for Mr Oliver's reply, but just before he left, he turned back and winked at Lizzie. She felt hot all over, especially as her employer was frowning over the copy of the invoice.

‘What's this, Lizzie? I see you sold Mr Winters all eight of the specials… but what else did he buy?'

‘We trimmed the hats differently, sir, so I charged a little extra for them. I charged five shillings for the one with that lovely pink silk rose, and half a crown extra for all the rest, because we used the best trimmings. I believe the normal price is a pound?' She crossed her fingers in case she'd got it all wrong.

‘Mr Winters pays a pound for each of the specials,' he said. ‘And who told you to put the price up?'

‘It was my idea, sir. Mr Winters was very complimentary about the new styles so… I didn't want to charge too little, because we'd used the best trimmings, and no one told me.'

‘We always use the best for the specials,' Mr Oliver said, frowning. ‘Did he complain or say he might buy fewer in future?'

‘No – he said that his customers were stocking up in case there was a war and they couldn't find anything they liked once it started… and he said he didn't blame you for making hay while the sun shone…'

‘Did he indeed?' Mr Oliver's frown cleared. ‘You used your initiative, Lizzie. I've been thinking of charging a bit extra for the better hats…' He considered for a moment. ‘Any other bright ideas in that head of yours?'

‘Well, I think if the showroom was made a little smarter we might attract more passing trade, bring customers in off the street…'

He shook his head emphatically. ‘We're wholesale, Lizzie. It wouldn't work, trying to mix the two. Most of my customers have regular orders; they just ask for variations in colour and trimmings and leave it to us. Winters is the exception. His customers are the top end; he buys a lot of his stuff from our competitors and they employ a designer to think up new styles for him…'

‘Couldn't we do that?' Lizzie asked. ‘Mr Winters sells our hats in the West End – I bet he gets more than twice what you charge for them…'

‘Too much outlay for me,' her employer told her. ‘Right, get back to Ed. We've got a larger than normal order for the basic hats this month…'

‘Oh, I did enjoy that film,' Lizzie said as she and Beth joined the bus queue. ‘Cary Grant was lovely, and I liked the actress too… What was her name?'

‘Katharine Hepburn,' Beth said. ‘
Bringing up Baby
! I never realised it meant a leopard cub, did you?'

‘No, I hadn't seen anything about it, didn't even know it was on until you said. It was such fun tonight, Beth. I really enjoyed myself.'

‘Me too.' Beth hugged her arm. ‘We shall have to see if we can get you to a dance next Saturday…'

‘I don't think my aunt would agree…' Lizzie was doubtful. ‘You should have heard the lecture I got this morning, telling me to behave tonight…'

‘Why does she treat you as if you're about twelve? I shouldn't put up with it if I were you.'

‘I've thought of telling her I'm old enough to please myself, but she did bring me up when my parents died. Anyway, I don't want to upset her at the moment. Uncle Jack isn't too well and I don't want to make things uncomfortable for him.'

‘Up to you, of course. Here's our bus…' She exclaimed in disbelief as the bus swept on past them without stopping. ‘That's the last bus home…'

‘I think it was full up,' Lizzie said. ‘They might have let us get on, even if we had to stand…'

Beth was silent for a moment, then, ‘We could walk to the tram stop. It's in the next street and I think it runs a bit later than the bus…'

‘We'll have to try or we'll be walking all the way home.' Lizzie tucked her arm through Beth's. ‘Good thing I'm not going home…'

‘Mum may worry but she'll understand. We didn't miss the bus because we messed about; it just went straight by as if we weren't there…'

Lizzie would've felt nervous if she'd been alone, and she dreaded to think what her aunt would say if she could see them walking through the streets at this time of night.

They had to turn off the busy street into a narrow lane to reach the tram stop in the street further up and it was dark. A shiver of apprehension went down Lizzie's back, and then she heard the heavy footsteps behind them. Her heart began to pound as the steps came nearer and nearer and she longed to turn round to see if they were being followed but resisted.

They'd almost got to the tram stop when a large dark-coloured car drew into the kerb just ahead of them. A man jumped out and walked back to them and Lizzie's stomach cramped with sudden fear; this was what her aunt was always going on about, strange men accosting her at night.

‘Ah, I thought I was right – Miss Larch, isn't it?' Sebastian Winters tipped his hat to them. ‘I don't like to see two young ladies walking alone at this hour, especially around here. May I give you a lift in my car? My driver won't mind if I sit up front with him for once…'

Lizzie caught the smell of wine on his breath. ‘It's kind of you, Mr Winters, but I'm not sure…' she began, but Beth cut in swiftly.

‘You're the customer Lizzie served with those hats,' she said and smiled up at him. ‘We'd love a lift. Our bus just went straight past the stop – so if you don't mind, thank you for the offer. Lizzie is staying with me and I live in the East India Docks area. I'll give you instructions on the way…'

Sebastian Winters' driver had got out and opened the back door for her and she slid inside on the back seat. Lizzie had no option but to follow. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous; she hadn't been in the least nervous of Mr Winters in the showroom, but it might have been something to do with the dark street and the absence of other people – and those heavy footsteps. Something had made the back of her neck tingle, something that hovered just beyond that curtain in her mind. Glancing out of the window as she slid onto the back seat, she saw the dark shape of a man staring after them – a man wearing a long trench coat such as soldiers had worn in the last war…

‘I don't bite, Lizzie Larch,' Sebastian Winters said and smiled at her, over his shoulder. ‘Your friend trusts me – surely you can?'

‘Yes, of course. It's just…' Lizzie felt coldness at her nape. There was something about this lane – something that made her nervous. She was suddenly glad to be inside the luxurious car, her fear gone as swiftly as it had come. ‘Thank you, it's very kind of you to stop for us.'

‘The least I could do,' Mr Winters assured her. ‘I've been thinking about you, Lizzie Larch. Perhaps we could meet for a coffee or a drink one evening…'

‘Perhaps,' Lizzie agreed, because she couldn't confess to this man that her aunt expected her home at the same time every night.

*

Lizzie took her place beside Ed at his workbench the next morning. She was feeling happy. Beth's parents had welcomed her the previous night as if she was one of them and she'd enjoyed sharing a room with her friend and talking about their visit to the pictures. After Beth had fallen asleep, Lizzie had lain wakeful for a while, remembering the irrational fear she'd had in that dark lane before Mr Winters had stopped for them. If he hadn't come along when he did, would that man in the trench coat have attacked them? Something about his manner as she'd looked back at him had been menacing.

Lost in her thoughts, she wasn't immediately aware that Ed was very silent, working away at cutting some silk grosgrain and the stiffening needed to make it hold its shape, but then she noticed his frown.

‘Is something wrong, Ed?' she asked, and he nodded once, but still didn't speak. ‘I haven't upset you?'

‘Lord no, Lizzie. It's my wife. Yesterday evening, she was in a lot of pain. I didn't want to leave her but we've got some big orders to fulfil and if I'm not here…'

‘Surely Mr Oliver would understand if you needed an extra hour or so off?'

‘He says margins are tight and he needs us all to put in maximum effort,' Ed told her. ‘I'm sorry, Lizzie, I should have explained that this brim needs to be cut on the bias like this…'

‘Yes, I saw what you were doing,' Lizzie said. ‘Is that so that you can get the floppy look?'

‘Yes, clever girl,' Ed said approvingly. ‘Look, I've got all the hats I need from this roll and there's only enough for one small cloche left… why don't you try cutting out the shape?'

*

Lizzie stretched her shoulders at the end of what had seemed a long but exciting day. Ed had shown her exactly what to do and she'd seen her first cloche take shape. Using the steamer and the clamps and the moulds was frightening at first, but she'd soon got the hang of it and Ed had placed her finished hat with his to be trimmed by Tilly.

‘Ed, is there anything I can do to help you?' she said as he began to put away his tools for the night. ‘If you needed any help at home…'

‘Well…' he hesitated, then inclined his head. ‘I wouldn't have asked, Lizzie, but there's a pile of ironing waiting for me this evening, and I was going to cook a shepherd's pie with the rest of the mince we had yesterday. If you could do the cooking, I'll catch up on my chores. With Madge so ill these last couple of days…'

‘Don't say any more,' Lizzie smiled at him. ‘I'd love to help out, Ed, truly I would. You've been so kind to me, teaching me so much.'

‘You're the one that's helping me,' Ed said with his sad, gentle smile. ‘Don't you realise how much more work I can get through now, Lizzie? If I made six or seven good hats in a morning and a half dozen of the basic shapes, I considered I'd done well – but with you here we're making at least two dozen basics and a dozen of the specials a day. I know that's far more than Vera makes, and she doesn't cut.'

‘You work so hard, Ed,' Lizzie said. ‘It must be tiring and then you have all the work to do when you get home…'

‘All I care about is that I keep this job and my Madge gets better. With my skills I could get a job anywhere, but this place suits me… but if you could help me, Lizzie, I'd be grateful.'

Lizzie said goodnight to Beth and the others and then went off with Ed. His house was only just round the corner, an end of terrace with two up and two down, and a lean-to with a small yard at the back, leading straight into the kitchen. The kitchen was untidy, with washing on lines at one end and a basket piled with clean clothes that needed ironing and the furniture was old, dark oak and dull from lack of polish. Everywhere smelled slightly of sickness, despite the bowl of dried rose petals in the hall..

Ed took Lizzie into the sitting room because his wife's bed had been put in there so that she was close to the kitchen and did not have to be helped up and down the stairs. Ed had told Lizzie that the toilet was in the backyard, but his wife had a commode next to her bed and Lizzie's nose told her that it had been used recently, but she resolutely ignored it, because it must be embarrassing for Madge to have a stranger in her home at such a time.

‘Madge, my love,' Ed said and bent to kiss her pale cheek, ‘Lizzie offered to come and cook our tea for us while I get on with some other jobs… you remember she made us those jam tarts.'

‘They were so lovely,' Madge said and held her hands out, clasping Lizzie's hands in a moist grip that told of her slight fever. ‘You're such a kind girl. My Ed told me you were lovely and you help him ever so much at work.'

‘Your husband is teaching me to make hats,' Lizzie said and bent to kiss her pale cheek. ‘I'm so sorry you're unwell again, Mrs Biggles—'

‘Oh no, you must call me Madge,' she cried before Lizzie could finish. ‘You're a friend, Lizzie. My Ed says he couldn't have managed recently with all the extra work if you hadn't been there…'