The Campbell Road Girls

Bill Black heard her sigh of utter relief, felt her impatient bucking, and he chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me there’s not a bloke in a house as big that can’t keep you going till yer day off.’

‘I reckon they’re all bleedin’ eunuchs in that place,’ she gasped, bouncing against him, clawing at his back. ‘All too scared of their shadows to act like real men. Nobody there like you, Bill ... wish there was,’ she moaned. ‘Might stay for ever then ...’ Her panted words tailed away into a guttural mewing sound.

‘How about one o’ them starched-up women then, if yer real desperate?’ Bill whispered, then realised he liked the idea of that and the fantasy prompted him to drive into her with such force that she started to shriek and gyrate.

Bill clapped his hand over her mouth and took a startled look about. ‘Fuckin’ shut up, will yer?’ he growled. ‘You’ll bring a crowd down on us.’

Ada felt exhausted and hungry on returning to the house; Bill hadn’t even offered to walk back with her so she’d flitted through the dark, deserted streets as fast as she could, her cloak wrapped tight about her. Being a criminal herself she knew a lone woman out at night was easy pickings and she hadn’t fancied a crack on the head from a mugger.

Having gratefully reached her destination she slipped in through the side door and tiptoed along the corridor towards the kitchens, hoping there might be a few easily found titbits lying around. Though she doubted anybody would be about at two o’clock in the morning, nevertheless she took pains to proceed quietly. As she was passing Mrs Venner’s office she heard a sound and started to attention. She frowned in disbelief; she’d believed even that conscientious old biddy would have taken to her bed by now. Ada froze against the wall her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She knew if somebody senior caught her up and about at this hour, with a reek of alcohol and tobacco about her, awkward questions would be asked. It was obvious from the way she was dressed that she’d been out, and she’d just faithfully promised Bill that she’d get the necklace, not the sack ...

Having strained to listen, and caught low whispering coming from behind the door, Ada’s curiosity overcame her caution and she noiselessly turned the handle. It was locked, but on glancing down she saw a faint light leaking from beneath it. A whimpering little sigh was heard next and it increased her suspicions. She crouched to put her eye to the keyhole. A few moments later she’d stuffed a muffling fist to her mouth and had tumbled backwards onto her posterior in scandalised shock. Her jaw sagged towards her chest, then she silently scrambled up, her features now set in a soundless laugh. She scratched against the door with a fingernail then flattened herself against the wall. She was aware of the quiet within, then a moment later she heard the key turn in the lock and knew one of them would come out to investigate. Before the door was properly open Ada had burst in to confront the two women.

Felicity Venner recovered composure first. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, Stubbs? How dare you burst in like this? Why aren’t you in your dormitory? What have you been doing?’ she breathlessly demanded.

‘Not quite what you’ve been doing with Mrs Boyd, that’s fer sure,’ Ada whispered, her face alight with lewd amusement. She backed against the door until it clicked quietly shut while putting a warning finger to her mouth. ‘My preference is for boys. But I’ll admit I’ve been enjoying meself tonight, like you two. My “follower” I reckon you’d call Bill. Big lusty chap, he is, but course you wouldn’t be interested in knowing about any o’ that ...’

By the light of the small oil lamp it could be seen that Clare Boyd’s face was crimson, and where she’d hastily done up her bodice most of the little pearl buttons were in the wrong hooks. At forty-two, she was only three years younger than her lover but she could have passed for her junior by a decade. Her skin was smoother and her character less robust at times of need. She darted a glance at Felicity Venner, moistening her lips, pleading with the older woman to keep up the bluster and find a plausible way to extricate them both from this awful mess.

‘Don’t bother denying what you’ve been up to,’ Ada muttered, intercepting Clare’s frantic look. ‘I seen you at it through the keyhole, and if I give a yell and bring ’em all running you’re gonna have some explaining to do, ain’t you?’ She nodded at Clare’s flushed face. ‘Now what would she be doing here at this time o’ night, and with her blouse all skewwhiff?’ She glanced at Felicity, then at the floor. ‘Them your drawers or hers?’ she asked, having spotted the discarded linen. Before the housekeeper could retrieve her undergarments Ada stamped a foot on them, and drew them out of reach. ‘Never mind ... ain’t the end of the world, you know, getting caught out like this, ’cos I’ve had an idea ...’

Still in a half-doze, Lucy heard Audrey return from her jaunt but didn’t bother rolling over to confront her roommate about her absence. She’d guessed what Audrey had been getting up to when she went off at night, and sleepily wondered if Jack from the garden had after all succumbed to having a roll in the hay. When a moment later Audrey’s mattress creaked and Lucy heard a ribald giggle being smothered by bedcovers she knew that whoever Audrey had been with, he’d shown her a good time.

Chapter Six

‘I’m being sacked?’

‘No, not sacked, Miss Keiver,’ Mrs Boyd hastily interrupted. ‘There will be a vacancy for you here, as a housemaid, should you wish to accept it.’

‘But why ... but ...?’

‘Enough! A decision has been made and it is not up for discussion.’ Clare Boyd shot a glance at the housekeeper. But it seemed on this occasion no assistance was to be forthcoming from that quarter. Mrs Venner was tight-lipped, staring straight ahead, taking no part in Lucy Keiver’s dismissal. Clare knew that she was effectively dismissing her junior despite having made an offer of alternative work. Lucy was a proud and intelligent young woman who knew she’d given them no reason to treat her shabbily, and rather than be demoted she would pack her bags.

The trio of women were closeted in the housekeeper’s office. The two senior members of staff were ranged behind a large oak desk; Lucy was seated opposite on a hard-backed chair, her face a study of furious bewilderment.

‘What’ve I done wrong?’ Lucy abruptly stood up with a savage shrug. ‘I’ve not moaned or been insubordinate. I’ve done everything you’ve asked and made a good job of it too. I know I have.’

‘You were told that you would be on a trial period when you started work here,’ Mrs Venner finally said.

‘I know, and I’ve made sure to do me best, so there’d be no complaints about me. Has anybody complained?’ she demanded, frowning.

‘They have not,’ Mrs Venner replied stiltedly. ‘But her ladyship knows that Mrs Boyd and I both feel you are not suited to the particular work. Lady Mortimer is in agreement that a position elsewhere should now be offered to you—’

‘I don’t want a position elsewhere!’ Lucy interrupted indignantly.

‘In that case, Miss Keiver, we accept your resignation, and in the circumstances, as you feel so strongly, you will not be obliged to work out your notice period. You may go today.’ Felicity Venner had been a little unnerved by the forceful arguments issuing from Lucy Keiver. She had imagined the girl might cause a scene by bursting into tears, or pleading for a second chance. But Lucy looked more likely to leap into battle than collapse, snivelling. A significant glance at her partner in crime enquired if Clare had anything further to add before they might speedily end the interview.

Mrs Boyd cleared her throat, shuffling some paperwork together on the desk in front of her. ‘It seems there’s nothing more to say on the subject. I’m sorry—’

‘So you bloomin’ well should be sorry!’ Lucy gritted through her teeth and stormed towards the door.

‘A reference will be prepared for you ... and your wages ...’

‘I’ll take me pay but you know what you can do with your reference, and if you don’t, I’ll tell you quick enough—’ Lucy suddenly swallowed the rest of her impulsive insolence.

Her shock and anger had made her oblivious to some of what had been said, but important bits were drifting back into her mind. ‘A vacancy for a housemaid’s come up, has it?’ It was a vital question. ‘So who is it took me job so you can give me theirs?’ She stepped back into the room swinging a narrowed glance between the two stiff-backed, middle-aged women. As the lady’s maid blinked rapidly behind her glasses Lucy grunted a laugh. ‘Well ... well ... I wonder how Audrey Stubbs managed to swing that one,’ she drawled acidly. ‘You know as well as I do that the ding-dong me and Audrey had a while ago, upstairs in her ladyship’s bedroom, was her fault not mine.’ She watched with sour satisfaction as Clare Boyd shifted uncomfortably on her seat. ‘But you’ve gone ahead and got rid of me so you can give her me job. Something fishy’s going on, and I don’t reckon Lord and Lady Mortimer knows the first thing about it.’ She gave a crisp nod. ‘Audrey Stubbs is a wrong’un, and take it from me, you’ve made a bad mistake giving in to her. You’re gonna regret what you’ve done.’

When the sound of the slamming door had died away Clare continued to avoid Felicity’s eyes but muttered bitterly, ‘How right she is about that.’

She knew she’d been a fool to allow herself to be seduced by the housekeeper because, once started, and conducted unnoticed, it was an affair that, for her, survived indifference and was easier to carry on than bring to an end.

When Clare had arrived in London five years ago she’d felt lonely and in need of comfort, having recently been widowed. She’d nursed Bernard at home until he’d died of his war injuries and had found the task mentally and physically gruelling. Before the conflict they had both been in domestic service and had married when barely nineteen. But those few youthful years with an active virile man seemed to Clare just a hazy memory. She would have liked to find another fellow to love, but she’d never been a sought-after beauty, even in her prime. A shortage of men following the carnage of the Great War had left widows and spinsters alike yearning in vain for husbands.

When Mrs Venner had seemed to single her out as a companion Clare had gratefully lapped up her support and friendship, thinking it was just in the woman’s nature to be kind. Now she knew her better and understood that it hadn’t merely been a friend the housekeeper had been after. Although Felicity Venner styled herself ‘Mrs’, Clare had since learned she had never been married. And the reason for that was obvious to Clare, even if her noble employers deemed it a ruse for respectability rather than a smokescreen.

Following four years spent as colleagues and lovers, a scheming minx had discovered the shameful truth about them and was using it as a tool for blackmail. Clare knew that Lucy Keiver wasn’t going to be the only person to suffer for Audrey Stubbs’s wickedness.

‘Once Miss Keiver has left and Stubbs has taken up her position as my apprentice, I shall find an excuse to tender my notice.’ Clare abruptly got to her feet.

‘There is no need to do anything so drastic ...’ Felicity gasped, shooting upright.

‘Of course there is!’ Clare struggled to keep her voice low. ‘Stubbs will never stop mocking us, and we will never be rid of the rotten girl now she knows she has us pinned beneath her thumb. Do you really think I will have her working alongside me, tormenting me with every sly look and word?’

Felicity came over to Clare, attempting to put a comforting arm about her but was immediately shrugged off.

‘I’m bitterly ashamed, and worried, and you should be too,’ Clare said bleakly before quitting the room.

‘What’s given you such a sour puss?’ Aren’t you pleased to see me on yer afternoon off?’ Tilly beamed at her youngest daughter.

Lucy had wordlessly sunk down into a battered chair by the table when she’d arrived seconds ago. Instead of the happy chatter Matilda usually received in greeting the moment her daughter turned up on a visit, Lucy had planted her elbows on the table and shielded her dejection with her hands. Realising the door had been left ajar, Matilda limped over, muttering, to shut it and kick the sausage of rags into place at its base. It was unusual for Lucy to be careless on a blustery November day. Keeping everything closed against the cold was standard practice for people used to living in the Bunk. But as she put a hand on the door knob Matilda stood stock-still, having noticed the packing case on the landing, leaning against the wall.

‘What’s gone on?’ Matilda gasped, swinging about to confront Lucy.

‘Chucked it in,’ Lucy admitted through muffling fingers.

‘You done what?’ Matilda roared. ‘Christmas nearly here and you’ve chucked in a good job?’ She hobbled over to Lucy as fast as her aches and pains would allow, and ripped her daughter’s hands away from her cheeks so she could read her expression. ‘What you been up to? You pulled a stroke and got found out?’

‘I ain’t done anything ... apart from shoot off me mouth when I should’ve kept quiet. But somebody’s pulled a stroke all right, and I’ve suffered for it,’ Lucy added bitterly.

Matilda could hear the tears in her youngest daughter’s voice and some of her anger withered. Having dislodged a chair from under the table she collapsed into it. ‘Had the dirty done on yer?’ she asked, astonished. ‘How? Who done it?’

‘I’ve lost me job, Mum,’ Lucy mumbled. ‘I liked it too. And I was good at it.’ She gazed at her mother through misty vision. ‘I’ve not done anything wrong, swear, but the housekeeper and me senior told me me job’s gone to somebody else. They said I could have a housemaid’s job instead but ...’ She threw back her head in despair and blinked at the cobweb-covered ceiling.

‘But you told ’em to poke it,’ Matilda guessed, her lined face still displaying her shock.

Lucy abruptly stood up. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight, I was in such a paddy. But I know now I should’ve bit me tongue and played it clever. If I’d stuck around till after Christmas we’d have had more money to help us over the holiday, and I might’ve found out what’s been going on in that place. I know fer definite that something has. A nasty cow’s got given me job and I want to know why.’

Matilda gawped at her daughter. She knew this blow couldn’t have come at a worse time of the year, and jobs were getting harder than ever to find. The papers were always full of the woes of unemployment and the length of the labour exchange queues. Although she didn’t get out and about very much, Matilda was keen to listen to her neighbours’ news about the locals who were unsuccessfully looking for jobs. But she understood why Lucy had reacted in the way she had. All the Keiver clan – men and women – had hot tempers and fast tongues, and were likely to explode if they believed they’d fallen foul of underhand trickery.

‘Didn’t clump anyone, did you?’ Matilda sounded rueful.

Lucy gave a gruff laugh on realising her mother was slowly calming down, having digested her bad news. ‘I felt like it, Mum. That’s why I got meself out of there quick as I could. Just packed me bags, got me pay, and got out.’ The mention of her wages prompted her to pull from her pocket the little envelope that held a small amount of cash.

‘Gave you a reference, though, didn’t they?’

Lucy slid guilty eyes to her mother’s face, inwardly wincing as she saw Matilda’s optimistic expression crumble.

‘You never told ’em to poke that too!’ Matilda burst out. ‘Heavens above, Luce!’ She thumped a fist on the cracked wooden table top. ‘How you gonna get another job in service without a character?’

Lucy shot to her mother and enclosed her in an apologetic hug that was so fierce it made Matilda totter on her feet. ‘I’ll find something, swear I will,’ Lucy promised. ‘I’ll be employed again before Christmas, you’ll see.’

‘Got another afternoon off, Lucy? You’re doing all right!’ Connie Whitton had called out on noticing Matilda’s daughter emerging from Smithie’s shop with a small bag of groceries in her hand. She was surprised to see her because Lucy had been about in the street earlier in the week and Connie thought she’d not be back yet.

Lucy gave a welcoming smile as she noticed Connie crossing the road to speak to her. Despite the fact the woman was more than a decade older than she was, Lucy had always liked her. She knew Connie was a bit of ‘a goer’, as her mother would call the tarts she had time for. Those Matilda didn’t like were called something else entirely. But Connie had an appealingly mischievous way about her that didn’t put up the backs of other women in the way some brash local prostitutes did.

In her time Connie had had some proper swanky sugar daddies looking after her. She was a good-looking blonde in her early thirties, who’d got engaged twice but never married. At present, she was fancy-free, working shifts as a waitress in a West End supper club. But it was well known she’d supplement her earnings by going on the game when tips were scarce, and she didn’t care who knew about it. Despite some of her neighbours being hostile to her because of her part-time profession she could be indiscriminately kind-hearted. If a family were in deep trouble, she’d give those particular kids coins for sweets in the full knowledge that they’d run home and hand them over to their mums. Some of those women would have shoved the money back at Connie if she’d given it to them directly. But so long as it filled empty bellies in a roundabout way, it was acceptable.

When Connie had been in her prime Lucy had been about six or seven and she could remember being struck by how beautifully glamorous the young woman looked wearing her fur coats and red lipstick. Lucy had been one of the street urchins treated to pennies and thrupenny bits when Connie was feeling flush. But only seconds after receiving her treasure her mother would materialise at her side and remove it from her fingers before she could hide it away.

‘Not at work today?’ Connie had stopped by her side, folding her arms in readiness for a chat.

‘Been out searching for work this morning,’ Lucy told her, pulling a long face. ‘I’ve just come back to have a bite to eat with Mum. Then I’ll be off out again hoping to spot a job posted in a shop window. It’s too busy up the labour exchange to hang around waiting. Couldn’t even get in the door it was so crowded. I’d sooner pound pavements and save time. Know of any vacancies going, Con?’

‘Thought you was settled in a good job.’

‘Long story ...’ Lucy replied in a tone of voice that deterred further questions.

‘Ever done any waitressing?’ Connie resisted the temptation to be nosy.

Lucy nodded. ‘Course. Used to help out serving at table when I worked with me sister Sophy in Essex. We all used to pitch in together doing different jobs when we needed to.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, I’ve just been and asked for a job in Ken’s caff, and the Lyons Corner House, but nothing doing.’

‘Fancy a job working in the supper club with me?’ Connie asked brightly. ‘A girl’s leaving at the end of the week. She’s got a better offer ... off one of the gents who’s a regular client.’ She chuckled as she saw Lucy’s dubious frown. ‘Oh, you don’t have to get involved in any of that if you don’t want to. Most of the girls are above board and just serve and smile and take their tips home.’ Connie had comically mimed waitress duties as she was speaking, making Lucy laugh, especially when she acted out shoving cash into her brassiere.

‘The Cuckoo Club is in Piccadilly. There’s a bit of gambling now and again, and late drinking, and a jazz band playing most nights. Mainly we get gentlemen come in on their own, but some bring their lady friends,’ Connie explained. ‘If you get pestered by randy fellows, I’ll see ’em off for you, Luce.’

‘Oh, come on, Con,’ Lucy drawled with a smile. ‘D’you want me mum to wring me neck before I’m much older?’

‘Don’t have to tell her you’re working with me. Just say you’ve got a job as a waitress in a restaurant. Ain’t a lie. Honest, there’s plenty of us gels prepared to do a bit extra, if he looks nice and the price is right, so you won’t need to worry.’

‘Ain’t interested, Con. Seriously ... have you seen any jobs posted about?’

‘Dobson’s sweet shop in Blackstock Road had a card in the window. Don’t know if it’s still there, though, ’cos I saw it last week.’

‘I’ll go straight away and find out,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘Do us a favour, Con, would you, and drop this bit of shopping into Mum? Tell her where I’m off to and that I shouldn’t be long.’ Lucy thrust the shopping bag in Connie’s direction and hurried off.

‘What’s happened then?’ Connie skipped after Lucy, to catch her up. Her curiosity had got the better of her. She wanted to know why Lucy was unemployed when earlier in the week Matilda had been boasting just how well Lucy was doing working for the aristocracy. ‘Did you chuck in your job? Matilda said you liked it.’

‘Tell you later,’ Lucy called, jogging away.

It was the best bit of news she’d had all morning. She’d traipsed for miles and had spotted only two cards advertising for assistants. Neither the tobacconist nor the cobbler had thought her suitable for their vacancies and had told her so. Inwardly she cursed that she’d not gone directly to Blackstock Road earlier but had headed off in the opposite direction. The most interesting notice she’d seen all day was a newsstand placard declaring, lord mayor’s show: over 30 injured as elephants stampede.

‘Thanks, Connie,’ Lucy threw over a shoulder, followed by a breathless, ‘Wish me luck.’

When Lucy rushed up, puffing, to scan the sweet shop window her heart plummeted. There was nothing advertised behind the glass but the shop’s wares. She took a glance past bottles and jars filled with colourful candies and saw Mrs Dobson. She appeared to be alone inside so Lucy decided it might be worth asking, just in case the card had fallen on the floor, and lain there unnoticed.

The bell on the door announced her and she received a sour look from the shopkeeper. Lucy had always thought Mr and Mrs Dobson a pair of miserable gits. When young and saucy and still at school she’d once told him to suck what he sold ’cos it might sweeten him up a bit.

‘Good afternoon to you, Mrs Dobson. Heard you wanted an assistant,’ Lucy started politely. ‘I’d like to apply for the job.’

‘It’s taken,’ Mrs Dobson returned flatly, then glanced up again and levelled an interested look at Lucy.

She’d hired Jennifer Finch last week but was beginning to regret it even though she was paying her a low rate because of her age. The girl had showed no aptitude for the work. She stood daydreaming at quiet times rather than stirring herself to tidy up or refill bottles and jars. Jennifer had gone off on her dinner break yesterday and returned ten minutes late. Mrs Dobson glanced at the clock on the wall. She was late again today; it was twenty-five minutes to two and she had been due back at half-past one.

‘I’m giving somebody a short trial to see if they suit. You can come back tomorrow, if you like, and I’ll let you know if I’m satisfied with her.’ Mrs Dobson knew when Jennifer eventually returned she’d tell her she could keep her coat on and go back home.

Mrs Dobson was aware that Lucy Keiver came from a rough family in the Bunk, but some of that clan had done all right for themselves and were known to be hard workers. Besides, she looked to be at least eighteen, whereas Jennifer was virtually a school leaver and acted as though she needed to return to the classroom and pay attention this time.

But Mrs Dobson knew her husband would disapprove of Lucy Keiver; he had always been prejudiced against people from the Bunk, lumping them all together as liars and thieves. Mrs Dobson, however, was prepared to speak as she found and so far she’d nothing against Lucy. Besides, as her husband left it to her to earn them both a living running the shop during the week, while he swanned off to council meetings and sat on his backside drinking tea and eating biscuits, she reckoned it was up to her who she employed as help, and if he didn’t like it, he knew what he could do.