Chapter Seventeen

October

The start of the new month was heralded by reports that the German garrison in Calais had surrendered to Canadian troops. At one time, it was feared the French port would be the focus of the cross-Channel invasion. Not any more.

For Helen, the beginning of October marked the start of her new resolve.

‘Shut the door on your way out, Marie-Anne,’ she ordered, taking a sip of the tea.

Marie-Anne did as she was told, wondering who it was her boss was going to call. Helen rarely made personal calls. In fact, she didn’t seem to have much of a personal life at all. Rumours were still circulating that she and Matthew Royce were having a ‘thing’, but Marie-Anne was pretty sure she wasn’t. Roger, the photographer from the Echo with whom Marie-Anne went out on occasional dates, kept quizzing her, but Dahlia had confirmed the two bosses were just friends – work colleagues who went to social functions together.

Helen waited until she saw Marie-Anne heading back to her desk. Her personal assistant was very good at her job, but she was nosy and had a tendency to loiter at the door to earwig in on conversations, especially if she thought they were not work-related.

Picking up the receiver, she dialled the operator.

‘The Sunderland Echo,’ she demanded. She was in no mood for niceties. She lit a cigarette. There was a click followed by the local newspaper’s switchboard operator.

‘Newsroom,’ Helen said, blowing out smoke.

Another click. Another voice. This one male.

‘I would like to speak to Georgina Pickering,’ Helen said.

The voice on the other end of the line asked what it was about.

‘None of your business,’ Helen snapped. ‘Now can you put me through to Miss Pickering or do I have to speak with your editor?’

There was silence. Another click.

‘Hello, this is Miss Georgina Pickering. How can I help you?’

‘Hi, Georgina, it’s Helen, Helen Crawford, here.’

There was a moment’s silence. This was the first time Georgina had spoken to Helen since she had handed her the report that had gone some way to proving that Charles Havelock was Bel’s father.

‘Hello, Miss Crawford,’ Georgina said, the epitome of professionalism. ‘How can I help you?’

Helen took another drag on her cigarette.

‘I need you to come in and see me.’ It wasn’t a request. ‘I’ll pay you for your time and trouble. Call it a consultation fee.’ Helen knew it was unlikely Georgina would come unless there was a financial incentive.

The two women agreed a time and a fee and rang off. The whole conversation had taken under a minute.

At five o’clock, Georgina turned up at the admin offices at Thompson’s. She was surprised to see the office empty – apart from Helen, who immediately waved her in.

‘Come sit down,’ Helen commanded, shutting the door behind Georgina and checking that there was no one else about. She had allowed her staff to leave at half-past four, supposedly as a thank you for all the hard work they had been doing. In reality, she just wanted to keep her plans well under wraps and for there to be no chance of any leaks.

‘Here you are.’ Helen immediately handed Georgina a small brown envelope that contained the agreed ‘consultation fee’ in cash.

‘You know I’m no longer in the business of private-eye work?’ Georgina said as she pocketed the envelope.

‘I know,’ said Helen. That’s what she liked about Georgina. Always straight to the point. Her fragile physique and unfashionable appearance belied a character that was steely and a mind that was progressive. Radical, even. ‘I read the Echo every day. I thought the article you wrote on the inquest into the young apprentice who was killed at Doxford’s was very well done.’

Georgina eyed Helen with a degree of suspicion. She knew of her closeness to Matthew Royce Jnr. They’d had a complaint that the article implied the yard might have played a part in the fifteen-year-old’s demise, despite the coroner ruling ‘accidental death’.

‘I mean it,’ Helen said, seeing Georgina’s wariness. ‘I thought the article printed next to it about the unions pushing for better safety standards was also well written – and well placed. It’s something I’m all for here at Thompson’s.’ She smiled. ‘A conversation for another time, perhaps. How about a cup of tea?’

Georgina shook her head and waited to hear what it was that Helen really wanted.

‘OK, down to business,’ said Helen. ‘I know you are no longer a private investigator, but I want you to do one more job. One more job, for which I will pay handsomely.’

Georgina reached into her bag and pulled out her pen and book. She and her elderly father were having to live off the meagre wage she earned at the Echo. They needed the money.

Helen lit a cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke.

‘It concerns my mother,’ she began.

Georgina grimaced inwardly. Miriam was a cold, calculating woman and her father, Charles Havelock, was pure evil.

For the next quarter of an hour, Georgina scribbled down notes as Helen explained what she wanted her to do. It wasn’t going to be the easiest of jobs. She had met Miriam Crawford before when she had employed Georgina’s father to do some snooping on Rosie’s squad of women welders. Thankfully, Miriam had thought Georgina was just her father’s secretary and not the person actually digging up the dirt, but she would still have to be careful.

‘So, is there anything else you need to know?’ Helen asked when she had finished.

‘No, I think I have everything,’ Georgina said, knowing that this might be a lucrative job, but it was also a tricky one.

‘Great,’ Helen said, standing up, throwing on her coat and then grabbing her handbag. ‘I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Just keep me updated.’

Georgina stood up and the pair made their way out of the main office.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Helen. ‘Can you also get me everything you can on that new nursery I mentioned that’s just started up in the east end? As well as on the woman who runs it, please?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Georgina said. She knew why Helen wanted to know, but was curious as to what she might do with the information.

They made their way down the stairs.

‘Miss Crawford …’ Georgina said a little hesitantly ‘… can I just reiterate what I have said previously?’

Helen looked at Georgina. ‘About me not letting on to Rosie and the rest of the women what you do for a living – or rather, did?’

‘Yes,’ Georgina said simply.

Helen knew Georgina did not want Rosie and her squad to find out about her private-eye work – and even more that she had been the one to unearth all their secrets. Secrets that had then been used by Miriam to banish Jack to the Clyde. Georgina had become good friends with Rosie and her squad and Helen knew she did not want to jeopardise that friendship.

‘Don’t worry. If they find out, it won’t be from me.’

Having parted from Georgina at the main gates, Helen jumped into her car. Firing up the engine and slowly driving up the embankment to the main road, her mind wandered to the work Georgina had done for her mother almost three years ago. Helen had often wondered if Georgina had held anything back about Rosie, especially after she’d found out that Rosie’s and Georgina’s mothers had once been good friends.

Indicating left and turning onto the Wearmouth Bridge, Helen told herself she’d just have to keep on wondering. Georgina would certainly never tell her. And she’d never have the nerve to ask Rosie outright.

Rosie, Gloria, Polly, Dorothy, Angie, Martha and Hannah all piled into Vera’s café on High Street East. They had decided it was the perfect place to meet up as it was on their way home and the proprietor had no objections to allowing a group of women wearing dirty overalls to patronise the place, unlike some of the more salubrious eateries in the town centre.

They had just got themselves settled around a large table by the window when the bell above the café door tinkled and Helen walked in. Everyone in the cafeteria looked up, their attention lingering for a moment on the stunning young woman whose good looks and hourglass figure could not be disguised by the plain grey mackintosh she was wearing.

‘Over here!’ Gloria waved at her, smiling a welcome, knowing that meeting with the women en masse always made Helen a little nervous.

‘Hi, everyone.’ Helen tried to sound casual.

‘Hi, Helen!’ the women chorused.

Helen looked at everyone as she sat down in a spare chair between Rosie and Gloria, the two women she felt most at ease with.

‘What are yer all having?’ Vera suddenly appeared, arms akimbo, hands resting on her wide girth. She was eyeing the newcomer with suspicion. Helen had taken off her mac and the dress she was wearing made it very clear she was not from the east end.

‘Tea all round, please, Vera,’ Rosie said, taking charge and seeing the less than friendly look the old woman was giving Helen. ‘And a selection of whatever you’ve got going.’

‘I’ll see what I’ve got left.’ Vera made it sound as though she was doing them all a favour.

‘How are you doing, Helen?’ asked Hannah.

‘Good, thanks,’ she said, smiling at the group’s ‘little bird’. How could she complain about her own life when Hannah’s parents were in the infamous Auschwitz concentration camp. ‘Any news about your mother and father?’

Hannah shook her head and nodded over at a tall, dark-haired woman behind the counter.

‘Aunty Rina keeps a … how do you say it? … she keeps a close ear to the ground … but nothing. We’ve heard nothing.’

‘We say no news is good news,’ Martha said, ‘don’t we?’

Hannah smiled sadly. ‘We do.’

‘Mind yerselves!’ Vera announced as she reappeared carrying a large tray weighed down with a big pot of tea and a mound of china cups and saucers. A few moments later, Rina followed with a tray of sandwiches and cakes. They all voiced their thanks and started to tuck in.

‘How’s Henrietta?’ Rosie asked, pouring the tea.

‘Oh, she’s well,’ Helen said. ‘In really good spirits. Actually, I’m hoping she’ll agree to a trip out.’

‘From the asylum?’ Angie asked, keeping her voice hushed.

Helen nodded. ‘Probably just for a few hours to start with.’

‘Won’t someone recognise her?’ Polly asked.

‘Well, the plan is to take her straight to the Maison Nouvelle. Kate’s going to shut up shop while she measures her up for a new outfit. A more modern look.’

The women had all heard about Henrietta’s eccentric dress sense.

‘It’s unlikely she’ll bump into anyone, let alone someone who knows her from back then.’

‘I’m guessing,’ Gloria chipped in, ‘the plan is that when Henrietta is wearing normal clothes, it’s unlikely she’ll be recognised.’

‘Exactly,’ Helen said, taking a sip of her tea.

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Dorothy, fascinated.

‘That way she’ll be easier to pass off as some sort of distant, long-lost relative,’ Helen explained.

‘It would be lovely to meet her one day,’ Hannah chirped up.

Everyone murmured their agreement.

‘Hopefully, one day soon,’ Helen said.

‘It must be strange,’ Angie mused, ‘spending half yer life in a nuthouse.’

‘I think what Angie meant to say,’ Dorothy jumped in, ‘is that it must change a person, living permanently in a mental institution.’

Helen smiled and nodded.

‘And is that cow Claire still with Dr Parker?’ Angie asked.

Dorothy looked at Angie and glared at her.

‘Unfortunately, she is,’ Helen laughed.

The women were all quiet for a moment as they tucked into sandwiches and cake and slurped back perfectly brewed tea. The sense of outrage and injustice they had initially felt when Gloria had told them about the hold Dr Eris had over Helen was still strong. And even though they had agreed that there was nothing to be done, they still railed against their sense of impotence. Helen had helped them all a lot over the past two years; they would have liked to have returned the favour.

‘So,’ Rosie said, after finishing a finger of melt-in-your-mouth shortbread, ‘we have to decide what to do with Dorothy’s diamond ring.’

Everyone looked at Dorothy, who flushed red. She’d be glad when she saw the back of the damned thing – unlike Angie, who would be gutted. She’d become quite attached to it. She might have stopped getting it out of the cupboard and dancing around the kitchen with it on, but Dorothy had caught her wearing it one night when she’d come back early from a date with Bobby. Angie had confessed to wearing it in the flat whenever Dorothy wasn’t about.

‘I believe,’ Gloria said, ‘that Helen might have a solution to the problem.’

Everyone stopped eating and drinking and looked at Helen.

Dorothy rummaged around in her handbag and produced the ring for everyone to see. The little red leather box was flipped open and handed around like pass the parcel. Having already agreed on swapping the ring for hard cash, it was just a matter of deciding what to do with the money.

‘Well,’ Helen began. ‘When I was visiting Henrietta the other day, I got talking to John—’

‘But I thought you weren’t allowed to?’ Martha asked.

‘I’ve won myself a bit of a reprieve.’ Helen smiled at Martha, with whom she shared a strange, unspoken bond since they’d both risked their lives to save Gloria and Hope.

‘And?’ Angie asked, taking a piece of cake. She’d been looking forward to a slice of Vera’s carrot cake all day.

‘Well,’ Helen said, shuffling in her seat, ‘John was telling me about a Christmas fund being set up at the Ryhope. They’re trying to raise money to buy presents for all the wounded soldiers who’ll be in hospital over the festive period. It might seem a long time to Christmas, but it’s not long to raise the amount of money they’ll need – so I wondered if it would be a good idea to put the money from the ring towards that?’

‘Oh. My. God. Brilliant idea!’ Dorothy exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement.

‘Couldn’t be more perfect!’ Polly said. They had all heard about the state of some of the men who had come back from war – men with missing limbs, or blind, or deaf, as well as those who’d had to be transferred to the asylum.

‘It mightn’t be as simple as just giving them the money, though,’ Helen said. ‘John was saying that they need volunteers to go out and buy the presents and wrap them up.’ She paused. ‘And they were hoping for volunteers who might feel able to sacrifice part of their Christmas Day to dole them out.’

Dorothy let out a squeal of excitement. Everyone in the café stared at her. Vera threw her a deathly look.

‘Sorry,’ Dorothy mouthed. Looking back at Helen and the women, she silently clapped her hands for a second time. ‘This is just perfect!’ she said. ‘We can do it all! The buying, the wrapping, the doling out!’

Everyone nodded.

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Rosie said.

‘And it would mean,’ said Angie, nudging her best friend, ‘that we dinnit have to gan home for Christmas. We’ll have the perfect excuse.’

‘Exactly!’ said Dorothy.

Rosie ordered another pot of tea and for the next hour they chatted non-stop about the logistics of who would buy the presents, who would wrap, where the gifts could be kept and what kind of presents should be bought. There was also a more practical discussion as to whether the money they got for the ring would be enough, and if they would need to raise more funds.

Dorothy suddenly half jumped out of her chair – an idea having just sprung into her head.

‘Why don’t we go one step further,’ she said, her voice high with excitement, ‘and throw them a proper Christmas party?’ She widened her eyes at her workmates. ‘A Christmas Day they’ll never forget.’

She took a deep, dramatic intake of breath.

‘A Christmas Extravaganza!’

The women all looked at each other with tentative smiles on their faces.

‘Why not?’ said Rosie. ‘If everyone’s prepared to go that extra mile?’

‘Yeah, why not?’ Angie repeated, looking at Dorothy and smiling.

‘I think that’s a brilliant idea,’ said Helen.

‘Me too,’ Gloria agreed.

‘I’m in,’ said Polly.

‘And me,’ said Hannah.

‘And me,’ said Martha through a mouthful of shortbread.

Dorothy looked like she was going to burst.

‘Hurrah! Christmas is coming early this year!’