The Buffer Girls (19 page)

Of course, inheriting the cutlery business from his father had been a foregone conclusion. He was an only son – an only child, as it happened – and there had been no competition.
He
had learned the trade from the bottom up, just as now he was obliging young Thomas to do. His mouth stretched into a grim line, bringing his thoughts back to his son.

Despite his efforts to dissuade the wretched Martha Ryan from removing her whole family to the city to enable her son, as she thought, to progress in the world, they had gone anyway. Now, he was
in no doubt that the girl
– Emily – had sought out his son and in so doing had engineered employment for her brother. That had now been dealt with but Arthur was afraid his rashness had
shown his hand too early. He had yet to find out if Thomas and the girl were meeting regularly and now that might prove more difficult to do, but from what he had seen on the night of the ball, it
was probable that there was a growing
affection between them. And that must be stopped. Bayes could have found out for him from Josh, but now that route was closed to Arthur through his own
impetuosity.

But perhaps there was a way. His mouth now curved in a small smile as he thought about Belle, the voluptuous and accommodating woman he kept in a small terraced house in a modest street not too
far from his factory and whom
he visited once or twice a week. Mornings were for work, afternoons were for pleasure. At the thought, he felt a stirring of longing and knew that tomorrow he would
first visit the works and then . . .

‘Arthur, my dear. What a lovely surprise. I wasn’t expecting you today.’ Belle came towards him as he entered the house with his own key, her arms
outstretched to enfold him to her ample
bosom. He buried his face against her sweet-smelling hair. For an hour or so, his problems ceased to exist.

Arthur had first seen Belle on the music-hall stage. Constance had just suffered her second miscarriage and the doctor had warned that there should be no more pregnancies. Although he had one
healthy son – Thomas – who was at that time two years old, Arthur was resentful at being told
that they should have no more children. He was agitated and restless and looking for an
outlet for his frustration. And then, on an impromptu visit to the theatre as a diversion, he had watched the dancing girls and his gaze had alighted upon one in particular; the brunette at the end
of the line with a shapely figure that set his pulses racing and a pretty, lively face with eyes that sparked
mischief.

After the show, he had persuaded the stage doorman to let him in as far as the door of the girls’ dressing room. There he’d waited – not exactly patiently – for the girl
to emerge. At last, she had come out, dressed in the fashion of the day: a long maroon-coloured dress, slim fitting, but which flared out from the knee to the floor and a broad-brimmed hat
decorated with pink
roses.

Arthur had raised his top hat courteously.

‘May I introduce myself? My name is Arthur Trippet.’ He saw no reason to disguise his real identity. ‘I would deem it a great honour if you would have supper with
me.’

Before the girl could reply, two other dancers came out of the dressing room and squeezed past Arthur in the narrow passageway.

‘By heck, Belle, you’ve landed yourself
a toff there. Say “yes” to whatever he’s offering.’ The girl who’d spoken winked and fluttered her long
eyelashes suggestively at Arthur. ‘’Cos if you don’t, luv, I certainly will.’ Though pretty enough on stage, she was not so desirable close to. Thick stage make-up caked her
face and her clothes, once glamorous, were fraying at the seams and grubby around the neckline. But the girl called
Belle was still as lovely as she’d first appeared. More so, he thought, as
he caught the scent of her alluring perfume and saw that her face was discreetly made up, her dress clean and neat.

When she spoke at last, her voice was soft and husky. ‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Crystal was only teasing.’

‘Quite,’ Arthur had said tightly, hiding his disappointment. ‘So, you won’t
let me take you to supper?’

Belle had smiled at him impishly. ‘I didn’t say that. I just didn’t want you thinking I was some kind of street girl, that’s all. Men come to the stage door all the time,
hoping . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Well, you know. Bert – the doorman – is supposed to sift them, but he must have thought you looked quite respectable.’

That or the handsome bribe he’d given
him, Arthur had thought, but he’d said nothing, only smiled and inclined his head as if agreeing with her. ‘So,’ Belle had said,
linking her arm through his, ‘I’d be delighted. Thank you.’

Arthur’s heart lifted. Although there was perhaps no hope of anything more that night, perhaps a kind of courtship with flowers and chocolate and champagne would very soon get him what he
wanted.

But Belle Beauman was wily and not about to give way until she, too, had exactly what she wanted. Belle’s early life had been tough. Born in the workhouse to a woman of the streets and
left there once her mother had recovered, she had never known either of her parents. At thirteen she’d left the workhouse and found work behind the scenes in a theatre, sleeping in one of the
dressing rooms and
fed only by the generosity of the dancing girls. But she was warm and dry and she loved the backstage life – the laughter, the tears, even the quarrels – and when she
grew to womanhood she, too, had become a dancer. Over the years, she’d watched the older girls, whose costumes she cared for and for whom she fetched and carried, and she’d learned from
their mistakes. She saw them fall in love
with stage-door Johnnies, whose motives were anything but honourable. She was a shoulder to cry on when a love affair went wrong, or a girl was pregnant
and deserted. But now and again, there were the girls who found a ‘sugar daddy’ who set them up in an apartment or a little house and looked after them. But only once, during the seven
years she’d lived at the theatre, had there been a marriage
between a dancer and a handsome young man from a middle-class family. The girl had been lucky; even the young man’s family
had accepted her.

Belle had no illusions as to exactly what Arthur Trippet wanted from her and she knew there was not the remotest chance of marriage. Arthur was married and he had no intention of upsetting his
very full apple cart.

‘My wife is a cold woman. She
shows me no affection,’ Arthur told Belle. ‘She has done her duty by me, I will admit, and given me a son and heir, but there are to be no
more.’

And so Arthur had secured a small house for his mistress in a discreet neighbourhood. For a while, Belle had continued as a dancer but when Arthur demurred, she happily gave up the life and
devoted herself solely to his needs. There was only
one sadness for Belle; Arthur said there must be no children. ‘If you fall pregnant,’ he’d warned her, ‘I shall walk
away.’

Belle had no pretensions about who or what she was. She was a kept woman, a mistress who could, she knew, be discarded at any moment if she grew too old to be desirable to her lover or if his
wife found out or . . . The list was probably endless, but Belle preferred
not to dwell on the ‘what ifs’ of life. She lived – and loved – for the moment and, for the past
seventeen years, she had kept herself only for Arthur. He had been generous and she lived well and amongst people who, strangely to her mind, asked no questions. They were pleasant enough towards
her when she ventured out, although she did not cultivate friendships. Arthur, when he could visit,
was enough for her. During all that time they had parted only once. About two years into their
relationship, Belle had had the misfortune to fall pregnant and Arthur, true to his word, had thrown money at her and ordered her to ‘get rid of it’.

And then, he had walked out.

It had been a difficult time for Belle. She had left the house and turned to the only friends she had: the theatre
people. They did not fail her. They took her in and nursed her back to health.
Her dancing days were over, but she worked as a dresser for all the music-hall performers.

She had thought she would never see Arthur again, but, after a lapse of several months, uncomfortable thoughts of the lovely young woman had drawn him, almost against his will and certainly
against his better judgement,
back to her again. He had found her eventually. Through discreet enquiries, he heard that she was once again working back at the same theatre where he had first met
her. It was a lowly paid job she was now obliged to do and the young woman he had once so desired looked thin and ill. But back in the house he had bought for her and still owned, he told himself,
and with good food, she would soon
regain her beauty and the voluptuous curves he found so irresistible. He had no wish to find himself another woman; Belle was discreet. To his knowledge, no
rumours had ever reached the factory and certainly not his home. He could trust Belle and that meant a great deal to a man like Arthur Trippet, for he guarded his reputation jealously. Installing
her once more in her own home, with a generous
allowance to enable her to buy new clothes, Arthur began to visit her again twice, sometimes three times a week. This time, however, he was more
careful to take on the responsibility himself and prevent any further ‘accidents’. They had never spoken of that dreadful time since.

Now, as they sat together on the sofa, his arm around her and her head against his shoulder, he said, ‘My dear,
will you do something for me?’

She snuggled closer. ‘Of course. You should know that.’

His arm tightened about her as he explained. ‘I believe my son is meeting with an undesirable girl.’

As he spoke of his son, Belle was careful to keep her head nestled against his shoulder and not to allow him to look into her eyes, which, despite her forced laughter, held a look of
sadness.

‘What is it you want me to do? Lure him away? I think I’m rather too old to appeal to a young man of nineteen or so, don’t you?’

Her magnetism for him had never lessened, but he was obliged now to look at her through the eyes of a much younger man. He saw a well-dressed woman in her mid-forties, with luxuriant brown hair
piled high on her head. Not for her the modern chic look of short, straight
hair, though she dressed fashionably in modern styles, which certainly did not suit her curvaceous figure. Her face, to
him, was as lovely as ever with smooth, cared-for skin, gentle brown eyes, a small, neat nose and well-shaped lips. If she’d been born into a different world, she might well have graced the
drawing rooms of the wealthy, but Fate had decreed that she be born in the poor
city back streets. Her only chance in life had been to use her looks and her talents as a dancer. But Arthur could
see that his son would think her old and, besides, he didn’t want Thomas finding out anything about his father’s paramour.

‘No, no, nothing like that.’ He smiled at the thought. ‘But I believe he is meeting a girl called Emily Ryan and the most likely time and place they might
meet is in one of the
city’s parks on a Sunday afternoon. It’s where the youngsters meet, I understand.’

Arthur was never with her on a Sunday, so her time was her own. ‘And you want me to see if I can find them?’

He nodded. ‘I need to know if he is meeting her. If he is, then I have to stop it.’

‘Why?’ she asked him bluntly.

‘She is not suitable as a wife for the future owner
of Trippets’.’

‘Why?’ she asked again, greatly daring. ‘If they love each other—’

‘Pah!’ Suddenly, Arthur withdrew his arm from around her shoulders and stood up abruptly. His hands behind his back, he strode up and down in front of the hearth, whilst she remained
seated, staring up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

‘He must marry a suitable girl, preferably someone who will bring
money into the family, who will bear him sons – heirs to our business. Don’t you realize,’ he rounded on
her suddenly and leaned over her, almost threateningly, ‘he will be the fourth generation of Trippets? My grandfather arrived in this city from the wilds of the Yorkshire moors and worked his
way up in the trade to begin his own small factory. My father enlarged it and it has been my life’s
work to continue that progress. Thomas will inherit a vast fortune but with it will come
huge responsibilities too. He must be worthy of them. And a girl like Emily Ryan –’ he almost spat out her name – ‘would not help him. She would be a hindrance, not a
helpmate.’

‘And your wife is a helpmate?’ Belle asked in a small voice. She rarely asked questions about his wife; she would rather
not think about her.

‘Constance has her own life,’ he snapped. ‘She is happy with her needlework and her good works in the village.’ He resumed his restless pacing. ‘I need to know. I
need to know,’ he muttered more to himself than to Belle.

Belle hesitated for a moment. He couldn’t – mustn’t – know just what her Sunday afternoons meant to her. It would be a great sacrifice for her to
give up the only time of
the week that she could truly call her own. Arthur never, ever, visited her on Sundays. Occasionally, he arrived unexpectedly on a Saturday afternoon, but Sunday was the only day of the week that
she could be sure he would never call. With an inward sigh, she rose and went to stand in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking up into his face. ‘I’ll
do my best
to find out for you, I promise, but it might not be so easy this time of the year. It’s a little cold for walking in the park, but I suppose, perhaps, they’ve nowhere else to
go.’

Arthur had the sudden vision of Thomas taking his paramour back to his lodgings and he resolved to speak to his son’s landlady. After all, he paid for Thomas’s board. The woman would
do as he instructed
her.

‘So, what do your son and this girl look like?’

‘He’s tall and thin, good-looking and, on a Sunday, he will be smartly dressed. Whilst she,’ his mouth curled, ‘is just a country slut. They won’t be hard to pick
out, even in a crowd.’

The morning following Josh’s night out with Mick and his friends, he would have been late for work if Emily hadn’t physically dragged him out of bed. As it was, he
had to skip his breakfast and walk to work beside his sister and Lizzie as if he were in a dream.