Episode Eight

The locals have their say...

The door to the bar swung open and a few heads turned to see who was arriving. When Arthur Downs walked in there was a flurry of nudging and whispering. He was rather confused by this. Normally when he walked into the pub people said ‘oh, it’s only Arthur’ and carried on their conversations. Tonight, everyone stared and stopped talking. Instinctively he looked behind him for the more interesting person who had obviously followed him in but he seemed to be alone. He walked up to the bar, all eyes following him. He checked his trousers but the flies seemed to be secure. His mouth felt dry and he croaked when he ordered his usual. Bob Templeton poured the beer, took his money and waited for Arthur to speak again. He took a long pull from his beer and spoke far louder than he had intended.

“Have I got summat on me face?”

Bob’s friendly face broke into a broad grin and Arthur relaxed a little, sipping his beer slowly.

“No, Arthur, not at all. Sorry if we worried you. You see, we’ve been trying to work out who the young lady at The Cedars is and you’re the perfect person to ask, what with your Tilly working there.”

Arthur stopped sipping, peered over the rim of the glass, his nose almost touching the top. He placed the glass carefully on the bar and considered his options. Arthur Downs was a man of limited intellect, nobody ever mistook him for a deep thinker or asked his opinion on matters of local or national interest. But he was most skilled at spotting an opportunity. Being the focus of everyone’s attention was certainly an opportunity and he was keen to exploit it to the fullest.

“Well, Bob, I really shouldn’t say. Whatever Tilly knows, well, she doesn’t let on much you see.”

His eyes scanned the bar. Everyone was watching and listening, keen to find out all the gossip. He had the whole pub hanging on his every word. Arthur carefully picked up his beer, drank it down in one and smiled.

“I’d best be off, Bob. Busy day tomorrow, things to do, people to see. You know how it is.” He moved slightly towards the door and Evan Lewis rested a huge paw on his sleeve.

“Now Arthur, don’t be so hasty. Give Arthur another beer would you, Bob. So, what has Tilly said about goings on at The Cedars?’

By the time Bob called last orders Arthur Downs could hardly see straight. The more beer they bought him, the more he seemed to remember Tilly saying about the young woman. By closing time he’d remembered that her name was Liza or Lizzie or maybe Sarah; she came from Lincoln or Leicester or that other place with a big church; she was married, divorced, twice widowed or single; her heart was broken, she was a vamp or an actress who gobbled men up; she was Mrs Howard’s daughter or cousin or mother. The locals were enjoying the tall tales but Marie Templeton was frustrated that she’d learned nothing useful to pass on at the Mother’s Union meeting. As the last customers staggered out, Arthur slung between Edwin and Edgar Wright she slapped her husband’s arm and frowned at him.

“Bloody state of him, Bob. Sibyll will be over here first thing calling me out for letting him get like that. And all that twaddle he came out with, he knows no more than that stool about what goes on at the big house. His Tilly don’t get her afternoon off until Thursday so he won’t have seen her, will he? Men; no more sense than a day old chick.” She lifted the hatch, turned off the lights and left her husband standing in the dark with his mouth open. 

Episode Seven

 So, what next? The villagers have their say...

That evening in the Crown and Thistle it was exactly as Marie Templeton had predicted. All talk was about the new arrival. As swiftly as she pulled the pints and poured the sherries new theories about who the young woman could be flowed across the bar. Marie cursed her lack of knowledge. It was the duty of a landlady, she always thought, to know everything that was going on in the village and to keep her regulars up to date. As it was, she knew very little but the chatter around the bar provided no end of ideas, most downright ludicrous but rather entertaining for that.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” George Richards piped up.

“Oh good, another daft notion,” Marie muttered to her husband Bob as she polished George’s special glass. She pulled the handle of the beer pump and half filled the glass, waiting for George’s permission to make it a full pint. Sibyll Richards wouldn’t approve of more than a half pint during the week but George on occasion could be a rebel and order a whole pint. This evening he shook his head and paid for a half. Marie turned her back as he began to speak and put the coins in the cash drawer.

“Well, she walked up towards the church, see. Now I know the vicar ent the brightest of souls in ways of the world but we all know the sort of girls that wear skirts like that. I reckon…”

“Don’t tell me you think she’s Reverend Pritchard’s fancy piece?” Evan Lewis butted in. The bar erupted in laughter and even Marie had a giggle at the thought of Reverend Pritchard with that type of girl. Or even any type of girl really.

“Now don’t be daft, Evan. I didn’t mean like that. I mean she’s a …” he dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “ a fallen woman.”

“Where do girls like that fall from then?” Edward Smith asked. “I’ve been around the world a bit and one’s never fallen near me!”

The regulars erupted into more laughter and George Richards slammed his glass on the bar, jammed his hat on his head and stood up, knocking the barstool over as he did so.

“If that’s all the respect I’m getting, I’ll take myself off home!”

“You won’t get any respect there George, Sibyll don’t respect no-one, least of all thee.”

George Richards’ shoulders slumped. There was truth there and it stung him. The whole village knew that Sibyll wore the trousers in their marriage and it was a source of shame that they did know. He left the bar, head hanging low, feet dragging on the stone floor.

“That was unkind,” Marie said. She folded her arms across her ample bosom and stared until every eye was lowered, every head bowed.

“But she could well be a fallen woman, Marie,” Edward said. “Laverage girls don’t dress like that, do they?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen some of the older girls in similar skirts, going into Hambleford for the dancing,” said Bob Templeton. “It’s the fashion these days. Good job I don’t have a daughter, I wouldn’t let her out in something like that, I can tell you.”

“But she didn’t stop at the church, did she? She walked on, up to the big house. Edwin was passing on his motorbike and saw her going up the drive, didn’t you Edwin?”

Edwin Wright drank deeply, placed his glass slowly on the bar and blinked twice.

“That I did.”

“So she’s not a fallen woman after the vicar, she’s summat to do with Mrs Howard.” Edgar Wright mirrored his brother’s movements and nodded his head for emphasis.

Episode Six

The end of the first chapter.

The door to the library swung open and Mr Upton glided silently in. Claudette sat up and smoothed her skirt over her knees. With horror she noticed that her feet were only clad in stockings and her eyes darted around the room for her shoes. She remembered taking them off before she rang the door bell, she remembered sliding across the hall in her stockings but had no idea what had happened to them since then. Mr Upton coughed in the singular way English butlers always cough and glanced towards the floor next to the table. Claudette followed his gaze and was relieved to see her kitten heels splayed on the carpet where they must have dropped from her hand when she sat down. She bent to the side, grabbed them and was just in time to stand up fully shod when a middle aged lady ambled into the library.

“ Claudette, Mrs Howard, by appointment.”

Mr Upton placed a gentle hand on the small of Mrs Howard’s back and guided her very gently towards Claudette. It was all Claudette could do to resist dropping a curtsey. Mrs Howard looked around the library as if she’d never been in the room before and was steered very subtly by Mr Upton into the chair that Claudette had recently vacated. He stood back as Mrs Howard sank onto the chintz cushion and gazed up at Claudette.

“Find the young lady a chair, Upton, or I shall get a crick in my neck.”

Her voice was remarkably strong considering she looked frail and vacant to Claudette. The butler placed a low chair in front of Mrs Howard and indicated that Claudette should sit. She did as he indicated and found herself looking up at her new employer.

Mrs Howard stared at Claudette for an uncomfortably long time, memorising her features and reconciling them with the reference she had received from the agency. The girl did indeed seem clean and well presented, if a little modern in her apparel for Mrs Howard’s taste. She carried herself well, had a very pleasing smile and on the whole seemed a thoroughly suitable companion. It was always such a risk hiring someone sight unseen but a series of face to face interviews was more than Mrs Howard could bare. Well, the trial months would prove if she had chosen well or if the litany of letters recommending this candidate or that would have to begin again.

“Claudette, that’s a French name, isn’t it? Are your people French, my dear?”

Claudette looked down at her hands which were properly folded in her lap and sighed.

“I don’t know, madam. I know nothing about my people. I was abandoned as a baby and grew up in an orphanage. I think they gave me the name because one of the staff was a fan of Claudette Colbert.”

Mrs Howard smiled. How refreshing. No past to speak of, nothing tugging away at her to distract her from being a perfect companion.

“How interesting. I rather hoped you could converse in French, but no matter. We’ll manage very well with English. Although I think your French sounding name may lend you a certain cachet in Laverage.”

Claudette had no idea what cachet was but it didn’t sound like something bad. Maybe having a name unlike all the other girls could be turned to her advantage here in the same way it had been at school. 

“And only Upton calls me madam. Mrs Howard will do to start with. If things work out well, who knows, we may become more familiar in our address.”

Claudette caught Upton’s eyebrows shooting towards his receding hair line and stifled a giggle. Hardly here an hour and she’d already managed to shock the butler. This might yet turn out to be a most advantageous move.

Episode Five

First impressions count.

Mr Upton stared at the young lady spinning around in her stockinged feet and wondered what the world was coming to. After many years service - twenty-five if he was asked - he was no longer surprised at the things that went on in The Cedars. After all he’d been under butler when the scandal of the Spring Ball broke. But young ladies in their stockings spinning in the hall? Outrageous. 

“Miss? Your name is…?”

“Claudette. I’m here to be a companion to Mrs Howard. You are expecting me, aren’t you? My letter said I’d be arriving today.”

Mr Upton dipped his head in the merest hint of acknowledgment and picked up the tatty suitcase from the porch. Holding it at arm’s length he placed it against the wall and swept his arm towards the left hand door. Claudette glanced first at the door, then at the suitcase and finally at the butler. She tilted her head to one side, placed her hands firmly on her hips and waited.

“If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the library, Miss, I’ll see if madam is available.”

As he turned Mr Upton heard a mutter behind him.

“She’d better be after the journey I’ve just had.”

He stiffened then walked extremely slowly towards the central staircase. He climbed each rise as if it were at the summit of Mont Blanc and disappeared from sight. Claudette went into the library and sat in the only comfortable looking chair in the room. Every inch of wall was covered with cases of books, thousands of them, all brown spines and gold lettering. A table sat in the bay window with a volume open and Claudette wondered who sat on that straight backed, heavily carved chair and ploughed their way through these dull looking books. She only read Harlequin Romance novels so had no interest in the books themselves but she was curious about the owner of the library. In her letter of introduction nobody had mentioned being well read and Claudette worried that she’d have to read these types of books to make polite conversation with Mrs Howard. She unpinned her hat, tossed it onto the side table at her elbow and slumped further into the chintz cushions. 

Episode Four

We reach the big house...

Claudette paused at the lych gate to St Augustine’s, noticed the fading papers fluttering in the breeze and walked on. The times of Mother’s Union meetings and the Parish Council were of no interest to her. She noted the name of the vicar and walked on. At the wrought iron gates of The Cedars she put her suitcase down and put her hat on, securing it with the hat pin she’d stuck in her lapel when she got on the bus in Marstock. She gathered her belongings, making sure that the case was in the other hand and her clutch bag firmly grasped and clattered up the drive to the old manor house.

Halfway up the drive Claudette felt a blister on her left heel. She tried to push her toes further into her shoe but there was no space for them. Cursing her choice of fashion over comfort she limped the last few yards to the porch, kicked off her shoes and stood in her stockinged feet. She placed the suitcase between her feet, rang the doorbell and picked up her kitten heels. Thus the first Mr Upton the butler saw of the new lady’s companion was a slightly dusty young woman in a spectacular picture hat, a clutch bag in one hand and kitten heels in the other.

“I’m Claudette. Mrs Howard is expecting me. Grab my suitcase, will you?”

She skipped into the hall, slid slightly on the polished parquet floor and turned 360 degrees scanning the whole panelled edifice in one twirl.

“Very nice, very proper. Where do I go? Mrs Howard is expecting me.”

Episode Three

And on we go!

Claudette passed the vicarage as Reverend Pritchard was wrestling with the annual problem of how to make an Easter Sunday sermon sound new and fresh. He tapped his pen against his teeth in the way that irritated his wife more than most of his little habits. She rattled the teacup and saucer as she placed it on his desk and twitched the curtains as Claudette walked away.

“I’ve never seen a skirt like that in Laverage! Most unsuitable for a Tuesday, if you ask me.”

Sadly for Ada Pritchard, on matters of fashion, nobody was likely to ask her, least of all the vicar. Joseph Pritchard dipped his pen in his tea and carried on wrestling with the scriptures.

Episode Two

So, here's the next section. Hope you like it.

Claudette shimmied along High Street, passing the Crown and Thistle on her left as Marie Templeton was watering her hanging baskets. Peering through the dripping lobelia she tutted and shook her head.

“That’s all folk’ll be talking about today then.”

Her son, Alex, glanced at the swaying, retreating bottom of Claudette. 

“Not if Mrs Lovelace has her twins today they won’t Mum. That’s proper gossip.”

Marie ruffled his hair and marvelled at the innocence of a twelve year old boy.

“Mrs Lovelace would need to give birth to a couple of unicorns to stop them talking about that young lady, Alex. Now, get a move on, you’ll be late back to school. Where’s your cap?”

A New Venture

 

So, today I started sharing snippets of a story I wrote a while ago. I'm using Bluesy as my social media vehicle of choice - because it's the only one apart from Facebook that I'm on! 

I thought it might be fun to share here too.

Here goes...

When Claudette stepped off the Marstock bus one Tuesday morning she created quite a spectacle. Clicking along High Street in black and white kitten heels, seamed stockings and a just tight enough pencil skirt she was ‘not at all what Laverage is used to’ according to the Misses Greene who happened to be watching from the bow fronted windows of The Lavender Tea Rooms. Carrying a battered cardboard suitcase in one hand and a magnificent picture hat in the other, her navy blue clutch bag rammed under her armpit, she was indeed not what Laverage was used to.

Hopefully I'll remember to return for more tomorrow!

It's Got Me Stumped.

 I'm so confused.

As if the nonsense that is the modern world wasn't enough, I'm struggling to know how to share my writing.

I reached out on Bluesy and had Substack recommended to me. 

So I set up an account, published something and then... What's next? I couldn't work out how to broadcast my post to the world. So it sits there, unseen and I'm frustrated with technology again.

I'm back here, faithful old blog and I don't know if I'll ever find my space in the world.

I think I'll ponder and blog for a while. Substack may be a leap too far for me.