The Buffer Girls (21 page)

Emily blushed, but nodded.

‘Then why on earth did you leave that to come here? To this?’ She waved her arm to encompass the drab surroundings, the filthy working conditions.

‘It was my mother who—’ Emily had been about to say, ‘who dragged us here’, but it would have sounded insulting to the girls who had lived and worked in this city
their whole lives,
so instead she said, ‘brought us here. She thought my brother could better himself.’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer than to live in the countryside with all that fresh air and to have a little business of your own too,’ Nell said and her voice took on a
dreamy tone. ‘It’d be so good for children.’ Then she shook herself out of her reverie and became the practical Nell again. ‘Tell me more
about the business you had. Candle
making, did Lizzie say?’

‘It was Dad’s, really, handed down through the family for several generations, but when he went to war – and then came back too badly injured ever to work again – we took
it on. Josh and me. But it wasn’t what Mam wanted for Josh, so she insisted we come to the big city for him to make his fortune.’

‘And has he?’

Emily
laughed wryly. ‘Hardly! I expect his job will be on the line next. He’ll be one of the last in, too.’ Then her thoughts turned back to their own predicament. ‘What
about premises and the machinery we’d need? And could we be sure to get enough work?’ It sounded like a good idea, but the difficulties were endless, Emily thought.

Nell had worries of her own. ‘We’d need to be sure that between
us we could cover all the processes. I can do most things, even knives. I learned a lot in the war when the menfolk
were away and women had to step in and do the work they normally did. You’re pretty experienced, Lizzie, but, though Emily’s coming along nicely, she’s not learned everything yet.
Spoons and forks are all she’s done so far.’

‘We’ll manage. Mick’ll help us,’ Lizzie said confidently.
‘He knows a lot of the little mesters. He’ll talk to them. The work’ll just flood in,
you’ll see.’

Emily saw Nell glance at Lizzie and then look away. She didn’t look too happy about that arrangement and yet it promised work for all of them. Emily tucked her arm through Nell’s.
‘Don’t worry, Nell. I can do all the bookkeeping, I promise, and you’re the best buffer girl Mrs Nicholson’s
got. She’s foolish to let you go.’

‘All the better for us,’ Lizzie said promptly. ‘When word gets around that we’ve got Nell Geddis with us, the little mesters’ll be falling over themselves to send
work to us. Mebbe some of the big firms, too, can put a bit of work our way. Mrs Nicholson has promised to do that if she can. We’ll start with just the three of us and see how it goes,
eh?’

Nell gave a huge sigh, but then she nodded. ‘All right, then,’ she said flatly. ‘We’ll give it a go.’

When they’d parted from Nell at the end of the street, Emily and Lizzie walked the rest of the way to Garden Street. Emily was thoughtful, still concerned as to why Nell didn’t seem
enthusiastic about the proposition, but Lizzie’s excited chatter made up for Nell’s lack of eagerness.

‘Our Mick’ll see to it all. I’ll ask him tonight and by the time we have to leave at the end of next week, I bet he’ll have found us a workshop, machines and even our
first customers. You’ll see.’

But why, Emily worried, was Nell so reluctant?

‘Why do you think Nell doesn’t want Mick to be involved?’ Emily asked Trip the following Sunday.

Trip wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t know.
I haven’t met him yet, but, from what you say, he sounds a generous sort of a bloke. He’s being helpful, isn’t
he?’

‘Very, though I expect it’s mostly to help his sister.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Trip murmured.

‘I just wondered if . . .’ She stopped, unsure how to continue.

‘What?’

Emily sighed. ‘If everything he gets for us is come by quite honestly. He won’t let us pay
for anything.’

‘Do you want me to ask around? See if I can find anything out about Master Dugdale?’

Emily shook her head and said swiftly, ‘No, word might get back to him and I wouldn’t want to offend either him or Lizzie. Besides,’ she added impishly, ‘your workmates
won’t tell you anything. You’re the boss’s son.’

Trip laughed wryly. ‘That’s true. I’m never included in their conversations.
I expect they think I’d go running to Daddy to tell tales. Little do they know,’ he
added softly.

‘Anyway,’ Emily slipped her arm through his, ‘let’s not worry about Nell or Mick or anyone else today. This is our day.’

Trip put his hand over hers and smiled down at her. ‘So it is. Now, where do you want to go?’

‘Not the park today. Let’s go to the cathedral.’

Belle’s mission
was not as easy to accomplish as Arthur had thought. For several months, since he had first asked her, she had gone to one of the city’s parks on
alternate Sundays. She was determined not to give up every Sunday afternoon to what she now viewed as a wild goose chase. And as the cold weather had given way to spring and then to summer, there
were a great many courting couples walking in the park
and most were dressed in their finery. Today she recognized a group of girls walking arm in arm as buffer girls. They laughed and joked and
called out boldly to the young men who hung about the park. One or two paired off and walked away arm in arm.

Belle sat on a bench to watch the youths and girls. A wave of longing for what might have been swept over her. But, as she always admonished
herself when these moments of desolation engulfed
her, Belle told herself that she was a fortunate woman. She had a wealthy man as her lover, who provided for her and, to her surprise, showed no sign of moving on from her to a younger woman now
that the bloom of her own youth was gone. And, in a strange way, she was proud of herself that she had never resorted to standing on street corners touting
for ‘business’. Oh, she was a
prostitute of sorts, she knew that, but she could live with being the mistress of a man of standing, even if it had to be kept secret. She wondered, sometimes, just what her neighbours did think
when the Rolls-Royce was parked outside her little house, but since they always greeted her agreeably, she had ceased to bother about it.

There was only one deep-rooted
unhappiness in her life and it was something which she could never tell Arthur.

And so she sat in the August sunshine, watching the young people, the ones who were already a couple and ‘walking out’, and the others who were flirting and coyly getting to know
each other. Some tentative romances would progress further, others would not. She sighed, narrowing her eyes as she looked about her.
Arthur was getting very irritated with her that she had not
made any progress after so long, but in all that time she had not seen anyone who seemed to fit Arthur’s description of his son. She’d tried all the parks in the city, but because she
had no idea which one Thomas and his girlfriend visited – if indeed they did at all – she could always have been in the wrong one. Belle sighed and lifted
her face to the sun, enjoying
the warmth. And then, just as she was about to give up yet again, she heard a girlish laugh and turned her head slightly to see a girl and a young man. He was tall with light brown hair and he had
a merry face. He was quite smartly dressed, though perhaps not in quite the clothes that the son of a factory owner might wear, but Belle remembered that Arthur had
told her he was making young
Thomas start at the bottom and that he was working and living in the city. The girl was laughing up at him, her head tilted back. She was a pretty girl, but because she was wearing a hat, Belle
could not see the colour of her hair. They were walking towards her on the path that ran in front of the bench where she was sitting. As they neared her, she saw the young
man looking down into the
girl’s upturned face, smiling gently at something she was saying to him. As they drew even closer, Belle heard him say, ‘We haven’t seen Em and Trip in the park lately. I wonder
where they get to?’

The girl laughed up at him. ‘They want to be on their own, of course.’

The young man pulled a face. ‘But I like old Trip. We’re still good friends and I haven’t
seen him for ages.’

‘That’s because Emily wants him to herself.’

Oh my goodness! Belle was thinking as she overheard their conversation. This isn’t the couple I’m looking for, but it sounds as if they know them. Thinking quickly, she put her hand
to her head and gave a little moan. Then she began to sway as if she might fall from the seat. At once, the young couple were beside her.

‘Oh madam, are you ill?’ the young man said. ‘May we help you?’

The girl sat down beside her and put her arm around her as if to support Belle should she faint.

‘Is there no one with you?’ The girl glanced around her as if trying to conjure up someone who might be with the woman. ‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes, yes, I . . .’ Belle said, making her voice sound weak and shaky. ‘I like to come
for a walk in the park on a Sunday, but it’s warmer than I thought, sitting here in
the sun and . . .’ She slumped against the girl, who held her firmly from slipping to the ground.

‘I should fetch someone to help us,’ the young man muttered.

‘No, no,’ Belle said, raising herself as if coming round slowly. ‘I will be all right in a moment, I promise. Maybe if I just rest a few moments
longer . . .’

He sat down on the other side of her. ‘Then you must let us escort you to your home at least. Is it far?’

‘Yes – it’s – it’s a fair way.’ Today was only the second time she had come to Weston Park. She reached out a trembling hand and clasped his.
‘You’ve been so kind. Won’t you tell me your names?’

‘I’m Josh and this is Lizzie.’

Belle’s heart sank. She still hadn’t
found the right couple and now it was too late to try again today. This kindly pair would insist on seeing her all the way to her home, she was
sure, but there would be no harm in that. Even if she felt obliged to ask them in, there was nothing to see there, nothing that could link her to Arthur Trippet. There were no photographs displayed
– indeed she didn’t own a likeness of him – and none
of Arthur’s belongings were ever left there.

Steadily, they began to walk back to where Belle lived, one on either side of her, solicitously asking every few moments if she was all right. Gradually, as they walked, Belle pretended to
regain her strength. ‘I’ll be all right now, truly. I mustn’t keep you.’ She smiled at them in turn. ‘I’m sure you don’t get much chance to be together.
Sunday
afternoons must be very precious.’

‘We’re just friends,’ the young man said swiftly.

Lizzie giggled and bent her head towards Belle, saying in a loud whisper that she intended Josh to hear, ‘That’s what he thinks.’

Belle smiled. Oh, the wiles of young women, she thought, remembering how she had ensnared Arthur.

‘We’ll see you safely to your door and then we’ll go,’ Josh said firmly,
ignoring Lizzie’s remark. ‘It’s time we were getting home ourselves.’

At this, Belle saw Lizzie pull a face, but the girl said nothing more until they reached the street where Belle lived. Having reassured themselves that Belle was indeed all right now, the two
young people turned away and, as she watched them walk away from her, Belle felt strangely bereft. But she was left with only one
thought uppermost in her mind: What will Arthur say? He’d
been quite angry last week when, yet again, she’d had nothing to report. The thought was swiftly followed by the realization that not only would he not be pleased, but she would also have to
sacrifice yet more of her precious Sunday afternoons.

‘Mick says we’re to go and see a Mr Nathan Hawke. He’s a little mester in Broad Lane,’ Lizzie announced two days later. ‘But he’s also got a
first-floor workshop in Rockingham Street suitable for us that’s up for rent. We’ll go after we finish at six.’

‘You two go,’ Nell said. ‘I – I’ve got to get home. Me mam’s not well and . . .’ She broke off and then, as she turned
away, added, ‘I’ll go
along with whatever you decide.’ As she walked away, Emily’s sharp ears heard her mutter, ‘I’ve no choice.’

‘Come on, then,’ Lizzie said, her excitement bubbling when they stopped work for the day. ‘Let’s go and find Mr Hawke.’

‘Oughtn’t we to go home first and change out of these mucky clothes?’ Emily said, looking down at her blackened buff-brat. ‘We must look
a sight.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘I think he’s too old to set your cap at, Emily. Besides, in our working clothes, he’ll see we mean business.’

As they walked along Rockingham Street, Emily wondered where these premises were. There didn’t seem to be anywhere empty.

‘Maybe it’s in one of the courts.’

At the end of the street, they turned into Broad Lane and soon found Nathan Hawke’s little
mesters’ workshop.

Nathan Hawke had been born into the world of cutlery making. His father and his uncle had been ‘little mesters’ and he had carried on their business with his brother, Clifford. When
Clifford had died of consumption, Nathan had continued alone. He had been married in his twenties, but his wife had died at the birth of their first child and the baby, a little boy, had only
lived
a few days. Nathan had never remarried. His work had become his life. He was a kindly man who made friends easily and whose pleasures were simple: a pint in his local on a Saturday night, church on
a Sunday morning and, after a long day at work, a meal, an hour reading his favourite books and then bed, to rise the following morning eager to get to his workbench. In the summer, on two
nights a
week, he would play bowls with his friends. Despite the tragedies in his life, Nathan Hawke was a contented man, though now, as he looked up to see the two young women entering his workshop, he
wondered if ‘trouble’ was about to enter his life. He stood up to greet them, but he did not smile and that was quite unusual for Nathan; he was known for his affability and his gentle
smile.

‘So, which one of you is Mick Dugdale’s sister?’ he asked, as they stepped inside.