A Single Thread

Violet thought quickly. “No, it was the heat. The room was a bit stuffy.”

“Ah, the heat, yes. We’ve been having some scorchers, eh? Not today, though.”

“I should have sat by the window. Next time I shall ask to do so.”

“Next time? Didn’t she teach you what you needed to know?”

“Mrs Biggins would like me to come once more before they break up for the summer, just to make sure I know what I’m doing. And I’m to bring Maureen as well.”

Mr Waterman’s brows shot up. “Miss Webster?”

“Mrs Biggins is keen to have more broderers for the Cathedral work. It seems Miss Webster is quite adept at embroidery.”

“I see.” Mr Waterman drummed his fingernails against the tea cup in a rapid tink-tink-tink. “Mrs Biggins says that?”

“Mrs Biggins has not seen her work yet,” Violet admitted, for she knew she could only stretch a lie so far. “But she and Miss Pesel – who founded the Winchester Cathedral Broderers – have said more good workers are needed. And Miss Webster’s work is exceptional.” That was an exaggeration, but Mr Waterman would not know if he looked at Maureen’s sampler; it would seem like hieroglyphs to him, just as embroidery had seemed to her only a week ago.

“Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of good work for the Church,” Mr Waterman began. “But there is a problem, what with Miss Sanders’, er, sudden departure.” He gulped down the last of his tea; drops of it hung from his moustache. Olive’s mother might have spun a tale of young impetuous love unable to wait to marry, but Mr Waterman clearly knew what was what.

“I have a suggestion to make about that vacancy,” Violet said.

“You do?” Mr Waterman made no attempt to hide his astonishment – astonishment tinged with disapproval. She would have to hurry to lay out her plan before his annoyance at this female temerity shut down the conversation.

“I was going to suggest that Miss Webster and I handle some of the extra work between ourselves. Miss Sanders was a nice girl, but not the fastest of typists. If I take a shorter lunch break of just half an hour, and work an extra hour on the weekdays, that’s seven and a half hours a week more. I can’t speak for Miss Webster, of course, but she may want extra hours as well. Then you could hire a part-time typist to make up the difference. And perhaps you’ll find you don’t even need that.” Violet was being polite. Olive was a terrible typist and a lackadaisical employee. Maureen would no longer be distracted by her friend, and together they would more than manage the existing work. But she could not say so.

“You would do that? You would really work more hours for Southern Counties Insurance?” Mr Waterman’s gratitude alarmed her; clearly he had misunderstood a crucial element.

“Of course I would be glad for the rise in pay,” she rejoined. “Very glad. It is not easy for a single girl to live on my current salary.”

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