Len winced as his wife’s voice screeched its way into the bar.
‘I need some ’elp in this bloody kitchen, Leonard Pritchard!’
‘I know, my precious, but nobody has asked about the job,’ he called back. Continuing to clean the bar, he waited and, sure enough, a moment later Gladys shuffled in to join him.
‘A card in the winder ain’t enough, you gotta put a notice in the papers,’ she said.
‘I can’t afford it,’ Len responded as he pulled a pint for a man at the other side of the counter.
Paying his money, the man took his drink to a seat by the window to watch the outcome of the row about to erupt.
Titters sounded from two men playing dominoes, their flat caps sitting on the backs of their heads. Others stood by the fire, its warmth seeping through their moleskin trousers.
The heat of the summer had melted away and left in its wake the beautiful colours of autumn. The air held a chill after the baking sun of the summer months and fires were lit to stave off the cold.
‘You allus got a damned excuse! If yer want meals serving in this dosshole, then I need an ’elping ’and!’ Gladys stood facing her man, hands on hips in a show of frustration.
‘I can’t give yer what I don’t ’ave, my little princess.’ Len winked at his customers.
‘What about one o’ them wenches from the snug?’
‘Gladys, they don’t come in so much now ’cos they’m working with young Annie, as well you know.’
‘Ar, and they won’t work with you! Christ! You’m neither use nor ornament!’ Gladys exploded.
‘Now, now, sweet’eart, we ’ave customers ’ere who don’t want to listen to yer wailing,’ Len smiled, hoping she would retire back to the kitchen. It was a hope that instantly died as he ducked the flying glass he saw coming his way.
Applause sounded at his quick reaction and a moment later laughing eyes peeped above the counter, checking if it was safe enough to stand up.
‘Oh dear, you seem to ’ave broken a glass, my angel,’ Len said, playing to his audience.
‘Angel is it? I’ll give you bloody angel!’ Gladys snatched up another glass and let it fly.
More clapping ensued as Len again peered over the counter. Getting to his feet, he took a step forward, his arms outstretched. ‘Give us a kiss, you fiery devil!’
‘Mek up yer mind, Len, angel or devil?’ one of the men shouted.
Gladys’s eyes moved to the man in question and she glared at him before they shot back at her slowly approaching husband.
‘You touch me and I’ll do for yer!’ Gladys yelled.
In an instant, Len’s arms wound round her ample body and he was kissing her cheek.
Bawdy comments rang out to encourage the landlord who was trying to placate his angry wife.
Gladys struggled to free herself. ‘Gerroff, you bloody great lummock! I got work to do, so bugger off and let me gerron with it!’
Len made the mistake of letting go of his feisty wife, believing he had won her round, but Gladys was not about to concede, for as he turned away from her and took a bow to the applauding audience, she threw yet another glass. This time it hit him squarely on the back of his head, then fell to the floor and miraculously bounced.
Tottering a step forward, Len’s hand moved to where he’d been hit and he sighed with relief; there was no blood upon examination of his fingers.
The men in the bar were on their feet and Gladys gave a small curtsy in acknowledgement of their standing ovation.
‘Better than the music hall, Gladys!’ one shouted as the landlady left the bar to return to her work in the kitchen.
Sitting on a simple wooden chair, she sighed. It comes to summat when the only excitement I get is fighting with me ’usband!
*
It was late afternoon when Richard Wyndham walked into the bar of the Bell Inn.
‘Nice to see yer agen, Mr Wyndham sir,’ Len greeted him with a smile.
‘Thank you, Len. Pint of porter please.’ Placing his coins on the counter, Richard studied the man pulling the beer. Glass in front of him now he asked, ‘Len, do you know anything about Williams’ Drapery?’
‘Where our Annie has ’er frocks in the winder?’ Seeing the other man nod, he went on, ‘That place ’as been there since Noah was a lad. Down through the generations it’s come, but old Mr Williams is the last. He never married, so there’s no family to pass it onto. Why do you ask?’
‘I was hoping to coax Mr Williams into selling.’
‘Ain’t he interested then?’ Len probed.
‘It would appear not, although I have not approached him directly.’
‘I got a couple of mates who could go round and put the frighteners on ’im for yer,’ Len said with a grin.
‘Good grief no! Should he wish to sell up I would want it to all be legal and above board,’ Richard said quickly.
He was relieved when Len burst out laughing then said, ‘Fair enough.’
Changing the subject, Len tapped the newspaper. ‘Been another murder in the churchyard at St John’s.’
‘I saw. It’s dreadful, I hope the police catch whoever’s doing it soon.’ Richard shook his head.
‘It affects us all – in a way.’ Seeing the puzzled look on Wyndham’s face, Len went on. ‘Well, the girls am scared to go out – on the corner – so they ain’t earning. With no money, they ain’t comin’ in ’ere, so we’m all suffering.’
‘Yes, I see how it is for you, but you can’t blame the girls for staying indoors,’ Richard said as he tipped his head to his now empty glass.
‘Right enough,’ Len placed another full glass on the bar. Picking up the money, he asked, ‘So how goes it with Annie?’
Richard saw the wicked twinkle in Len’s eye as he answered, ‘A gentleman does not discuss such matters.’
Len guffawed as he moved to serve another customer.
Glancing again at the newspaper article, Richard sighed. He knew Ann and the girls were not earning a wage, therefore they would be hard pushed to pay their rent. There would be no money for food either, so whatever was in the larder would have to stretch. Certain none would accept charity, he wondered how best to help.
Clearly Ann needed to sell her gowns and then she could pay the girls, which in turn would keep them off the streets. Why were the gowns not selling? They were beautifully made garments and not over priced, as far as he could see. Richard scowled. There must be a reason for this and he determined to find out what it was.
Waving a goodbye to Len, Richard strode out into the street. He was about to call on Mr Williams again; this time with an offer which he hoped would not be refused.
*
Victoria was surprised to see Lord Wyndham enter the shop and close the door gently behind him.
Tipping his hat to her, he asked, ‘Would it be possible to have a word with Mr Williams?’
‘I’ll ask for you,’ Victoria said as she moved to the back room. She was annoyed Wyndham had shown no sign of recognising her. Surely he would remember her from the Mayor’s ball and yet…
Following her employer into the shop area, she waited and listened.
The men shook hands and Richard spoke first. ‘I wonder if I may speak with you privately, Mr Williams, on a matter of some importance.’
‘Yes, of course, please come this way.’
Victoria inwardly fumed. Leaving her to mind the shop, the men retired to the back room. What was the important matter Wyndham spoke of? How could she find out?
On tiptoes, she crept to the door separating the two rooms. Normally left open, it was now closed. About to place her ear against it, the door suddenly opened.
‘Ah, Victoria, would you make tea for our visitor please?’ Mr Williams then closed the door again without waiting for an answer.
Victoria banged around in the tiny kitchen, her anger mounting at once again being treated as a skivvy. With a laden tray, she carried it to the door, which she touched with her booted foot.
Mr Williams’ face appeared and, taking the tray from her without a word, he nudged the door shut with his elbow.
As the conversation began, Mr Williams placed a finger to his lips, then cupped a hand to his ear.
Wyndham nodded his understanding of walls having ears.
Williams moved again to the door and flung it open. ‘You may leave early today, Victoria. Please turn the sign and drop the catch on the door on your way out.’
‘Thank you,’ Victoria mumbled, clearly disgruntled at not being privy to the meeting.
Watching her go, Mr Williams then returned to the company of Lord Wyndham. ‘I apologise for that little interruption, but Miss Beckett has ears like an elephant!’ Laughing at his own quip, Williams sat down. ‘Now what is it I can help you with, Lord Wyndham?’
‘Richard, please.’
Mr Williams nodded as he passed across the tea he had just poured.
‘Firstly, do you know why Miss Felton’s gowns do not appear to be selling?’
Mr Williams shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, although I have wondered myself. I don’t understand it because they are of the highest quality and the designs are beautiful.’
‘I agree, so how can we find out what the problem is?’ Richard placed his cup and saucer on the table.
‘I don’t know,’ Mr Williams replied.
‘Then I shall move on to the main reason for my visit. I understand your shop has been in your family for many generations,’ Richard said, watching the little man sat opposite him.
‘Yes indeed.’
‘Admirable, if I may say. However, I wondered if you were willing to sell it to me.’ Richard saw the surprise leap to the other man’s face.
‘Lord Wyn— Richard, I had not thought to sell up, I have to admit.’
‘I have five hundred pounds in the bank, which is waiting to be used, Mr Williams, and I would dearly love to have a shop. I’m in farming, you see, in Shropshire, and it affords me many luxuries, to say nothing of my family money.’ Picking imaginary lint from his immaculate trousers, Richard waited.
‘Yes well…’ Mr Williams had been taken unawares at the offer from this man to buy his shop. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to retire as yet.’
‘Come now, Mr Williams. After working hard all of your life do you not think it time to relax and enjoy the wealth you have accumulated? You are still in good health and young enough to travel. You could see the world, Mr Williams, go to all the places you’ve only ever dreamed of. Maybe you will meet the lady who will become your wife.’ Richard was doing his best to push the negotiations in his favour.
‘I don’t know about that, Richard, I’m no youngster after all is said and done,’ Mr Williams gave a small embarrassed laugh.
‘Stuff and nonsense, you are a fine figure of a man; any woman would consider herself lucky to have you.’ Richard saw the tiny chink appear in the other man’s armour and pushed harder. ‘Just think, senoritas in Spain – dark skinned and amorous. Or maybe you would prefer a homely Greek lady to love and take care of you.’
‘Richard, I…’ Mr Williams blew through his teeth and wiped a finger around his starched collar.
‘Mr Williams, I will be returning to the Shires very soon, so please consider my offer of five hundred pounds and let me have your answer as quickly as possible.’ Richard held out his hand and Mr Williams grasped it.
‘I will, sir, I will consider it very carefully.’
‘Thank you, Mr Williams. Now I will bid you good day.’
Williams saw his visitor out and, returning to his living room, he dropped into a chair, his mind filled with pictures of exotic foreign women with swarthy complexions.