The Runaway Women in London: A heartbreaking story of love and friendship

By Lesley Eames

Shortlisted in the Historical Romance category of the Romantic Novel Awards 2019.

1920's London. Share tears and triumphs as four friends join forces in a heart-warming struggle to turn adversity into opportunity. Will a secret ruin everything?

Falsely accused of stealing and with problems at home, best friends, Grace, Jenny, Lydia and Ruth move to London to try to rebuild their shattered lives.

Money is tight and with no references to help them their new lives are fraught with difficulty. But the girls are fighters and when Ruth's Aunt Vera leaves her a rather special car as an inheritance they set up in business as lady chauffeurs.

Can 'Silver Ladies' succeed when some men think driving is a man's world? Can the friends find happiness too? Or will one girl's secret ruin everything?

Full of warmth and struggle, this is a perfect read for fans of Elaine Everest and Daisy Styles.

Previously published as The Silver Ladies of London.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Jul 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781788545716

Lesley Eames

Born in Manchester but currently living in Hertfordshire, Lesley Eames' career has included law and charity fundraising. She is now devoting her time to her own writing and to teaching creative writing to others. In addition to selling almost 90 short stories to the women's magazine market, Lesley has won the Festival of Romance's New Talent Award and the Romantic Novelists' Associations Elizabeth Goudge Cup.

Book preview

One

Northamptonshire, June 1923

Ruth had sat by the window on the bus ride back from Northampton, but it was only when she got off in Ruston that she realised it was raining heavily, the grey clouds robbing the evening of light, though it wasn’t long past midsummer. With her head reeling from Mr Bridge’s astounding news, she’d had no attention to spare for trivialities like the weather.

That news had given her the power to change her life. If change was what she wanted.

Ruth had wandered the streets of Northampton in a daze after leaving his office, but two hours of walking followed by forty-five minutes spent sitting on a bus hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to absorb what she’d learned, let alone come to any conclusions. This awful rain wasn’t likely to clear her mind either, so she dug in her bag for her umbrella and hastened towards Arleigh Court where she worked.

With luck, she’d be able to slip inside unnoticed and find a place to be alone for a while to make sense of all that had happened. To decide what to do about it too. What to say. What not to say…

Despite her umbrella, Ruth was soaked by the time the substantial red-brick Victorian house came into view. She passed through the gateposts in relief, only to cry out in alarm as a man burst through the shrubbery to her right.

She jumped away instinctively, cowering behind her umbrella in that first moment of shock before moving it aside so she could see who he was and what he was doing. Tall and young judging from the trim figure and springing step, he was already walking away, but then he turned his head and looked back at her. Between a hat pulled low and a collar pulled high, only his eyes were visible, but what hard, angry, blazing eyes they were.

The next moment he’d gone, leaving a chill in his wake that made Ruth shiver. Leaving a vague sense of familiarity too, though Ruston was a small town so most people were familiar to some degree. Was he romantically involved with Miss Julia and meeting her in secret because her mother disapproved of him? Mrs Arleigh was a proud, controlling woman whom Ruth couldn’t like, but perhaps she was justified in disapproving of this man. The expression in his eyes had been downright unpleasant.

Grimacing at the memory of them, Ruth turned and walked on through the garden, her thoughts returning to her own dilemmas. The scullery should be empty now. She could—

Ruth gasped as an arm came from behind her to circle her neck and pull her back against a much taller body than hers.

‘You didn’t see me,’ a voice hissed in her ear. ‘Do you understand?’

Terror kept her silent, so he shook her impatiently.

‘Do you understand?’ The voice was harsher now.

‘Yes!’ Ruth shrieked.

‘If you tell a single soul you saw me, there’ll be consequences.’

With that, he drew his arm away and sent her staggering forwards with a hard push to the middle of her back. By the time she’d regained her balance he’d gone. Ruth’s heart was beating in fright. She’d never been attacked before. Who was that man? Again, Ruth felt a nudge of familiarity but those eyes, that voice, that trim build and even the way he walked were like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle she was in too much of a jangle to put into order. And what had he meant by consequences? An idle threat or should Ruth actually be afraid he might harm her?

Anxious to be indoors now, she ran to the back door used by all the servants, but came to a sudden halt outside it. More than ever she needed to get inside unnoticed and give herself time to calm down and think.

She eased the door open carefully. Thankfully, the passage was empty and she could hear neither voices nor movements. Turning, she shook the worst of the rainwater from her umbrella, then stepped inside, closing the door softly and wiping her feet on the doormat to avoid leaving a trail of wet footprints that would not only signal her return to anyone who saw them but incur the housekeeper’s wrath too.

The scullery was just ahead of her. With luck, she’d—

Luck wasn’t on her side. Mrs Preece bustled into the passage through the door that led to the family’s part of the house. Seeing Ruth, she skewered her with a glare. ‘Don’t make puddles on my clean floors, Ruth Turner.’

For a moment Ruth felt paralysed. Turned into stone. But she finally found her voice. ‘No, Mrs Preece.’

Not that the housekeeper would be inconvenienced if the floors did get wet as it was Ruth who’d have to mop them.

‘And shake that umbrella outside.’

‘I’ve already…’ No. It was wiser to obey than be accused of insolence.

Ruth shook her umbrella again, then stifled a groan of dismay as she saw a very tall, very slender figure running over from the carriage house where the Arleighs kept their car.

It was Lydia, in filthy men’s overalls with a duster round her head. If Mrs Preece spotted her, she’d know Lydia had been tinkering with the car again and waste no time in reporting her.

Mrs Preece disliked all of them – Ruth, Lydia, Jenny and Grace – telling them often that none of them could hold a candle to her three nieces. But it was Lydia she disliked most of all. Unsurprisingly. Grace and Jenny regarded the housekeeper as a nuisance they had to tolerate, while Ruth wouldn’t say boo to a goose, but Lydia never hid the fact that the dislike was mutual. She had a way of staring at Mrs Preece through cool grey eyes that brought a hot and bothered look to the older woman’s face. Lydia was a terrible housemaid too and would have been dismissed long ago if Ruth, Jenny and Grace hadn’t covered up for her.

How could Ruth save Lydia now?

‘Terrible night, isn’t it, Mrs Preece?’ she yelled.

Catching on to the warning, Lydia stopped running and sent Ruth a conspiratorial grin before creeping forward to flatten herself against the wall out of sight.

‘I didn’t mean you should leave that door open all night,’ Mrs Preece complained.

Ruth closed it. ‘May I leave my umbrella in the hearth to dry?’ She was already moving into the kitchen, squeezing a final few drips from her umbrella to lure Mrs Preece in after her.

‘You’re making a mess, Turner!’

‘Am I?’ Ruth looked round, pretending to be surprised, and was relieved to see Lydia glide down the passage towards the back stairs. ‘I’ll fetch the mop.’

Ruth brought it from the scullery, wondering if she might still manage a few minutes alone as Lydia would assume Mrs Preece had detained her if she didn’t go upstairs immediately. Questions were bound to be asked about Ruth’s day and she needed to be ready with answers if she was to avoid blurting out something she might later regret. She wiped the floor and headed back to the scullery.

‘Not so fast,’ Mrs Preece said. ‘Madam wants to see you.’

Ruth stopped in her tracks, then turned, wondering if she was to be questioned about the man she’d seen. But it wasn’t a chance encounter on the drive that had put that look of gleeful malice on the housekeeper’s face. Ruth was in trouble for something. ‘Do you know why she wants to see me?’

‘That’s for Madam to explain. She wants to see all of you. Grey, Mallory, Lavenham and you. Immediately. Best not keep her waiting.’

Worried now, Ruth fled the kitchen, dumped the mop and rushed up to the attic passage where Lydia was waiting.

Predictably, Lydia laughed. ‘That was close.’

‘Hush!’ It would be just like the housekeeper to eavesdrop from the bottom of the stairs.

Ruth shooed Lydia along the passage to the rooms they shared: Ruth with Grace, and Lydia with Jenny. They found Grace and Jenny together, Grace reading and Jenny sitting on Ruth’s bed trimming a cream cloche hat with blue ribbon.

There was no time now for Ruth to share her news even if she could work out what to say. No time to mention the man who’d threatened her either. ‘Mrs Arleigh wants to see us,’ Ruth explained. ‘She wants to see all of us.’

Grace sharpened to attention. ‘Do you know why? Goodness, you’re wet through, Ruth. You need to change into something dry.’

‘Mrs Preece didn’t say.’ Ruth surrendered her coat to Grace who’d got up to help her.

‘Bound to be trouble,’ Lydia predicted, but Jenny was more optimistic.

‘Maybe Lady Maude left a tip for us.’

‘That dried-up old prune?’ Lydia scoffed.

‘We’ve had worse house guests,’ Jenny pointed out, ‘and she was pleased with my repair to her lace collar.’

‘She actually said so?’

‘No, but I’m sure her mouth twitched.’

Could Jenny be right? It would be typical of Mrs Preece to set them worrying over nothing. Ruth felt a faint glimmer of hope.

Jenny began to put her sewing away. ‘Did you get everything you wanted in Northampton, Ruth?’

Everything she…? Of course. Shopping was the excuse Ruth had given for going out.

She was saved from having to answer because Lydia suddenly launched herself face down onto Ruth’s bed, sending Jenny’s sewing bag flying.

‘Careful!’ Jenny protested.

‘What? Oh, sorry,’ Lydia said.

Sitting up, she pulled the duster from her head and instantly her glossy black hair fell into a perfect bob that curved under her chin and showed her long, slender neck. With her cool grey eyes and rebel’s mouth, Lydia was strikingly beautiful, though she’d laughed when Ruth had mentioned it. ‘Beautiful? Me? I’m all elbows and knees, and about as graceful as a rhinoceros. Jenny’s the beauty.’

Jenny was lovely in a different way, being a fairy tale princess with gleaming fair hair, wide blue eyes and a small straight nose set between curving cheeks. She dressed exquisitely too, having a magician’s touch with a needle and thread that could make the cheapest garment look expensive.

Grace wasn’t without her share of attractions either. Her pale colouring and neat figure might not catch the attention quite so quickly, but you only had to see the cleverness blazing in her eyes to know she was a special sort of person.

Ruth was the plain one amongst them, being short with unfashionable curves and an overlarge nose. The others might say her dark eyes were lovely, her skin fresh and her shapely figure as delicate as a fairy’s, but they were simply being kind.

The only claim to beauty Ruth acknowledged was her hair, which reached to her waist in chestnut waves, but even that was out of fashion now short hair was the vogue. Ruth knew she looked ridiculously young with a braid down her back, but with it she was a plain girl with beautiful hair. Once her hair was cut, she’d simply be plain.

‘Lydia, you need to change too,’ Grace said. Lydia got up reluctantly and Grace shepherded her to her own room. ‘Yes, I’m sure Mrs Arleigh will notice if you’re not wearing stockings. There’s grease under your fingernails again…’

Ruth fastened the clean skirt she’d put on and tidied her hair. Jenny could be right, she chanted silently, only to realise Mrs Arleigh wouldn’t waste a moment of her time distributing tips to them. She was as spiteful as Mrs Preece, but while the housekeeper’s spite was shrill and open, Mrs Arleigh directed hers from behind an icy wall of snobbery. Ruth could have understood if Mrs Arleigh had been born and bred a lady, but her money came from Akerman’s Ales, a brewery set up by her grandfather.

‘Perhaps that’s the problem,’ Grace had suggested one day. ‘Perhaps she resents her humble beginnings and snobbery is her way of compensating for them.’

Whatever the cause of her unpleasantness, Mrs Arleigh appeared unable to bear the thought of anyone else getting ideas above what she considered to be their station in life; far, far below her on the social scale. Why else would she glare if she saw Jenny – lady’s maid to Mrs Arleigh and Miss Julia – walking out on her day off looking ravishing? And why else would she employ clever Grace to work as secretary to her doctor husband, then insist on her living in the servants’ quarters and helping with household tasks that could easily have done by someone else?

Mrs Arleigh knew full well that living in was difficult for Grace who still had to rent a modest home in town because she supported a frail grandmother. It was especially difficult considering Mrs Arleigh reduced Grace’s wages to take account of the bed and board she received.

Ruth’s job was to look after the younger children and help with housework. She worked hard, but Mrs Arleigh still found fault whether fault existed or not. As for housemaid Lydia… they all tried to steer her clear of Mrs Arleigh for fear of Lydia answering back. She might be hopeless at her work but she was their friend and they wanted to keep her with them.

Grace returned with Lydia in tow. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

If Ruth had worked out that Mrs Arleigh didn’t want to see them about a tip, so must Grace have done, but, as always, Grace was composed and dignified.

Downstairs, she knocked on the drawing room door. Movement on the main staircase caught Ruth’s eye and, turning, she saw the housekeeper watching them, her face taut and excited. When Mrs Arleigh bade them enter, Mrs Preece followed them in.

Lining up with the others, Ruth felt full of foreboding.

‘Good evening, Mrs Arleigh,’ Grace said politely. ‘I understand you wish to see us?’

‘I regret the necessity for it, but yes.’ Mrs Arleigh was always cold but tonight her tone was Arctic.

Jenny and Lydia swapped glances. There could be no doubting the gravity of the situation now.

‘I have a necklace,’ Mrs Arleigh continued. ‘Pearls with a diamond clasp. It’s valuable. And it’s missing.’

Missing? Just for a moment Ruth was puzzled, but then understanding swept over her like a flood tide. The man she’d seen hadn’t been Miss Julia’s admirer. He’d been a thief.

Ruth drew in breath, eager to explain, but at that moment the jigsaw pieces of familiarity finally slotted into place and in her mind’s eye she saw the man clearly. She knew his name too…Victor Rabley. It was astonishing to think of a man in his circumstances resorting to stealing, but Ruth was certain of his identity now.

She also realised what he must have meant by consequences. Ruth felt dizzy. Rather sick. She needed time to think about this, but time wasn’t slowing down for her convenience.

‘May I be permitted to speak, Madam?’ Jenny was asking.

A curt nod instructed her to proceed.

‘The necklace was in your jewellery case this morning. I’m sure it was.’

‘It wasn’t missing this morning, Mallory,’ Mrs Arleigh’s tone was irritated.

‘May I be permitted to speak too?’ Grace asked, steady despite the stony glare Mrs Arleigh directed at her.

‘Very well.’

‘Perhaps the children took the necklace when they were playing dressing-up but forgot to return it.’

Mrs Arleigh sneered. ‘You have an exaggerated sense of your own cleverness, Lavenham.’

Unjust! There wasn’t a vain bone in Grace’s body.

‘The necklace was in my jewellery box when I dressed for luncheon. That was long after the children had been collected by their grandparents.’

‘Madam has two pearl necklaces,’ Grace said. ‘It would be easy to—’

‘I know what I saw.’

Jenny sent Grace a helpless shrug to signify that she hadn’t noticed the necklace at lunchtime, but Mrs Arleigh could well have seen it then, because Victor Rabley must have taken it not long ago. In fact, unless he’d been hiding in the shrubbery until he thought the coast was clear, he’d almost been caught in the act.

‘The necklace has been stolen,’ Mrs Arleigh concluded. ‘I’m giving the thief a chance to step forward to save her friends if not herself.’

No, no, no! Mrs Arleigh couldn’t think one of them had taken it? Ruth wanted to cry out that she was wrong, but Victor Rabley’s warning echoed in her head. ‘If you tell a single soul you saw me…’

‘Are you accusing all the staff or just us?’ Lydia enquired, and Ruth groaned.

Not only had Lydia spoken without permission, her voice had dripped ice. Lydia was an excellent mimic and could match any high-born lady for haughty disdain but it was the last thing that would help her now.

Mrs Arleigh’s nostrils flared.

‘Have a care,’ Grace cautioned softly, but Lydia’s rebelliousness was boiling over.

‘What about Mrs Preece?’ Lydia demanded. ‘Have you considered she might be your thief? She’s getting on in years. She might see the necklace as a nice addition to her pension.’

‘That’s a wicked suggestion, Lydia Grey!’ the housekeeper protested.

‘I’m aware of that, Mrs Preece,’ Mrs Arleigh said, and Lydia laughed contemptuously.

‘It’s wicked to accuse her but not us?’

‘Enough of your insolence, Grey.’

‘My insolence? I’m not the one who’s—’

‘Enough!’ Mrs Arleigh barked.’

Grace finally shut Lydia up by nudging her sharply in the ribs, but Lydia had surely gone too far now. Mrs Arleigh would never tolerate being addressed this way by a servant.

‘May I enquire why you think one of us might have taken the necklace, Madam?’ Grace asked.

Mrs Arleigh sighed contemptuously. ‘Who else could have taken it?’

Lydia waded in again. She must have realised her time at Arleigh Court was over and decided to give as good as she got. ‘Well, let’s see. There’s the housekeeper, the cook, the chauffeur, the gardener—’

‘All of whom have been in my service for many years,’ Mrs Arleigh interrupted. ‘I suppose you’ll be accusing Miss Julia next, Grey?’

‘Lydia isn’t accusing anyone.’ Grace’s voice was conciliatory. ‘We’re just trying to understand what might have happened.’

‘It’s simple, Lavenham. The necklace has been stolen.’

‘If that’s the case, an intruder could have taken it,’ Grace pointed out, still trying to be reasonable.

Ruth’s hopes rose. Surely Mrs Arleigh would—

‘An intruder would have taken all the jewellery,’ Mrs Arleigh said. ‘By taking a single necklace, you must have hoped some time would pass before its absence was noticed so there would be less certainty about when it was taken and by whom.’

But they hadn’t. Victor Rabley had. It might have been the very cleverness of the theft that had appealed to him. The excitement of it too. Maybe he’d done this sort of thing before and found it amusing to delay the discovery of a theft, not just so no one would remember seeing him nearby but also because some owners might wonder if their items had merely been mislaid. Maybe it was a game to him, an entertaining sport.

‘Fortunately, the absence was noted quickly, so the finger of blame can be pointed firmly,’ Mrs Arleigh concluded. ‘Is one of you going to step forward or not?’

‘We’re not thieves,’ Grace said, gently, but Mrs Arleigh merely sniffed as though she’d expected an unsatisfactory answer all along.

‘Very well. Have their rooms searched, Mrs Preece.’

‘That witch isn’t going through my things,’ Lydia protested.

Mrs Arleigh’s mouth curved with satisfaction as the doorbell rang. ‘It won’t be Mrs Preece going through your things. It will be the police.’

The housekeeper left the room to let the police in and the hands on the fireplace clock passed through twenty long, tortuous minutes before she returned, shaking her head in disappointment.

‘You found nothing because there was nothing to be found.’ Lydia was triumphant.

Mrs Arleigh took a different view. ‘The necklace must already have been removed from the premises.’

‘Not by us, Madam. We’ve been here all day,’ Grace reasoned. ‘Except for Ruth, and she left before the necklace went missing.’

‘She could still have been involved,’ Mrs Arleigh countered. ‘She could have been out arranging for the necklace to be sold.’

Ruth’s denial burst out in a cry. ‘My errand was nothing like that! I was—’ The last thing she’d wanted was to disclose her news like this but what choice did she have? ‘I was seeing a solicitor.’

She was aware of Lydia, Grace and Jenny turning towards her in amazement. Ruth wasn’t secretive by nature, but the solicitor had been vague when he’d asked to see her and she hadn’t wanted a fuss made over something that might amount to nothing much. When his news had proven to be astonishing, the only reason she hadn’t rushed back to share it with her friends was because she feared it might alter things between them. She’d even considered keeping it secret. Ruth’s friendship with all of them was at the centre of her life. Thanks to them she’d begun to feel liked and wanted over the three years they’d worked together. She couldn’t – absolutely couldn’t – bear for that to change.

‘Go on,’ Mrs Arleigh instructed.

Ruth swallowed. ‘I didn’t need to steal your necklace because I’ve come into some money from an aunt. Quite a lot of money. Almost fifteen hundred pounds.’

If Lydia, Grace and Jenny had been amazed before, they were thunderstruck now. Fifteen hundred pounds was a fortune. By their standards anyway.

It was of small account to Mrs Arleigh. ‘You could have conspired in the theft before you knew of this money. Or you might have thought it would be a pleasant thing for your friends to have a little money too.’ Mrs Arleigh drew herself up. ‘As the guilty party is too cowardly to confess, I find myself with no choice but to dismiss all of you. Tomorrow morning you will leave, and before you ask, Lavenham—’

Grace had opened her mouth to speak.

‘There will be no references for any of you,’ Mrs Arleigh concluded.

Distress cascaded off Grace and Jenny in invisible waves. Lydia was angry, of course. ‘Who are you going to get to replace us?’ she asked. ‘Mrs Preece’s nieces, by any chance? She’s been trying to get them positions here ever since the youngest grew old enough to work.’

‘I resent that implication,’ Mrs Preece cried.

Mrs Arleigh raised a silencing hand. ‘My domestic arrangements are no longer your concern, Grey.’

‘That’s a relief,’ Lydia said, ‘because I’m sick and tired of—’

‘Lydia, enough,’ Grace cautioned. Lydia’s father was employed by Akerman’s Ales and it wouldn’t do for him to lose his job too.

Lydia contented herself with one last shot. ‘I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure working for you, but that would make me a liar. And I’m no more a liar than I am a thief.’ With that she turned and walked out.

‘We expect our names to be cleared soon, Madam,’ Grace said, with quiet dignity. ‘Until then, we bid you good day.’

She too left the room with Jenny on her heels. Ruth hesitated, wishing she had the courage to speak up and put things right. But Victor Rabley’s consequences wouldn’t just hurt her. They’d hurt others too. With a whimper of frustration, she hastened after her friends.

No one spoke until they reached Ruth and Grace’s room where half-open drawers gave mute testimony to the police search.

‘What a witch Mrs Arleigh is,’ Lydia said, ‘but it’s my fault you’ve all been fired. I’m sorry.’

‘Nonsense.’ Grace was pale, but her tone was bracing. ‘Mrs Arleigh had condemned us long before she saw us.’

‘You really believe that?’ Lydia asked.

‘We all saw Mrs Preece blush when you mentioned her nieces. I can’t imagine she had anything to do with the necklace, but I don’t doubt she saw her chance to reassure Mrs Arleigh there’d be little inconvenience if she fired us because she knew the very people to take our places. I expect Ivy, Iris and Ida are sitting at home with their bags already packed.’

‘So all that talk of stepping forward to save our friends was meaningless?’ Jenny said.

‘Utterly. She knew no one would step forward, but now she can tell Doctor Arleigh she acted fairly.’

‘I still wouldn’t put it past Preece to have taken the necklace,’ Lydia said.

‘Sadly we can’t prove it,’ Grace answered. ‘Just as we can’t prove our innocence.’

Ruth could prove it. Well, no, not prove it exactly. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted Mrs Arleigh would have believed a word she said about seeing Victor Rabley. But Ruth still felt like a traitor for not even trying to defend her friends.

She felt even worse when Grace reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Congratulations on your inheritance, Ruth.’

‘Even if you have been a dark horse about it,’ Lydia chided.

‘A dark horse indeed,’ Jenny agreed, but her voice was sincere when she said, ‘We’re thrilled for you.’

They expected Ruth to be delighted too but she’d never felt more wretched. Not all the money in the world could make up for the fact that they’d lost their jobs, Ruth included, as she’d had no intention of giving up working with her friends. Everything they shared together – the chatter and laughter, the warmth and kindness – would no longer be possible once they left Arleigh Court and scattered.

But at least Ruth now had the money to support herself. Without jobs, without references, how would the others manage? Maybe Ruth could find a way to help them financially if they found themselves struggling. They were proud girls, so she’d need to give careful thought to how it might be done. But Ruth wanted to help them and perhaps money could go just a little way towards compensating them for her treacherous silence.

‘Were you close to your aunt?’ Grace asked. ‘You’ve never mentioned her.’

‘I wasn’t close to her at all. It’s complicated, actually.’ Sighing, Ruth explained the terms of Aunt Vera’s Will.

Lydia laughed, of course.

‘The terms aren’t your fault,’ Grace reasoned, and Jenny agreed.

But reason would make little difference to Ruth’s mother.

‘You’re twenty-one now,’ Lydia reminded her. ‘No one can control you or your money.’

Perhaps not. In theory. Ruth had turned twenty-one two weeks ago which made her the same age as Grace and Jenny, and only a year younger than Lydia. But in reality, she was nowhere near as assured as them and felt weak with apprehension at the thought of the forthcoming encounter with her mother. With the rest of her family too.

The four friends lapsed into silence. They all had reasons for needing to work. And they all had reasons for dreading going home and explaining what had happened. It was going to be awful.

Two

As dawn approached, Lydia could make out the crack in the ceiling plaster that zigzagged like lightning over her bed. Lydia liked lightning. Thunder too. Storms matched her approach to life. It was far better to rage than to give in to the weakness of tears. Lydia despised tears.

‘Are you awake?’ Jenny asked, from the neighbouring bed.

‘Yes.’

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Cigarettes. I’d love a cigarette.’

‘Can’t help, I’m afraid.’ Jenny got up and padded barefoot to the window. ‘It’s raining again.’

‘It would be.’

Jenny left for the staff bathroom Doctor Arleigh had arranged to be installed, against the wishes of his wife until she’d realised she could boast of being a caring employer to her friends. The hypocrite.

‘Grace and Ruth are up,’ Jenny reported on her return. ‘I don’t think any of us slept well.’

Lydia took her turn in the bathroom, then looked in on the others. Poor Ruth’s little face was pinched with strain. Grace was pale too, though as dignified as ever. They were stripping their beds. ‘You should leave that to Preece and her nieces,’ Lydia said.

‘Personal pride,’ Grace explained.

‘Humph.’ Lydia had no intention of stripping her bed, but she returned to her room to find Jenny had done it for her.

Jenny had a visitor too: Julia Arleigh, wrapped in the sort of froth that passed as a dressing gown in fashionable circles. ‘I know you didn’t take the necklace,’ Julia was saying, but if she cared so much, why wasn’t she protesting Jenny’s innocence to her mother? ‘Cook sent bread and cheese.’ Julia passed Jenny a basket. ‘And this is from me. Only ten shillings, but it’s all the cash I’ve got.’

‘I can’t take your money,’ Jenny protested.

‘You must.’ Julia pressed it into Jenny’s hand. ‘Good luck.’

Turning, Julia noticed Lydia and looked wary. People often looked wary when they saw Lydia.

With a small nod, Julia sidled past and fled.

‘It was kind of her to help,’ Jenny said.

She called Grace and Ruth in to share the meal, though no one had much of an appetite.

‘I’ve been thinking about how we might explain our lack of references,’ Grace said.

They all turned to her eagerly, even Ruth who needed to get away from her mother despite her money.

‘Mrs Arleigh has complained to so many tradesmen in Ruston and Northampton that she can’t be well liked,’ Grace continued. ‘If we hint at tensions and misunderstandings during our time with her, they may see her refusal to give references as typical spite.’

‘We don’t admit to being dismissed?’ Ruth asked.

‘We just say the situation became uncomfortable.’

‘We don’t mention the necklace either?’ Jenny wondered.

‘Definitely not. No one will employ us if they think we might be dishonest. We should tell our families to keep quiet about the necklace too.’

‘Will Mrs Arleigh keep quiet about it, though?’ Jenny questioned.

‘She won’t want people thinking we got the better of her. Besides, unsubstantiated allegations are slanderous.’

Grace’s advice was sound and might well help the others into work but Lydia was a misfit. She’d struggle to find a job even with a reference. Without one…

*

Mrs Preece was waiting to see them off the premises when they descended the back stairs.

‘You can move Ivy, Ida and Iris in now,’ Lydia taunted, and had the satisfaction of seeing the housekeeper redden. ‘You can put the necklace back too, though I’d leave it a few weeks if I were you. Less suspicious.’

‘You’re a vicious slanderer, Lydia Grey.’

‘What time will your nieces be arriving, Mrs Preece?’ Cook asked, sending Lydia a wink. ‘Madam won’t be happy if standards drop.’

Lydia laughed as Mrs Preece flushed even redder.

But the moment had come to leave. Filing outside, the four young women hunched their shoulders against the rain. They were soaked by the time they reached the bus stop.

‘I’m going to walk home,’ Grace said.

A mile in driving rain would be unpleasant, but bus rides cost money. ‘I’ll walk too,’ Lydia said.

‘No one needs to walk,’ Jenny reasoned. ‘Miss Julia gave us ten shillings.’

‘She gave you ten shillings,’ Grace corrected.

Ruth looked embarrassed. ‘I’d pay for all of us, but I haven’t received my inheritance yet.’

‘Let’s all walk,’ Jenny said.

They trudged along in silence until they reached the Green Dragon pub. Here Lydia had to turn down Green Dragon Road to reach home.

‘We should keep in touch,’ Grace said. ‘All of us.’

‘We were planning to go to the fete tomorrow,’ Ruth reminded her. ‘We could still go. We needn’t spend any money.’

‘Let’s meet there at twelve, rain or shine,’ Grace suggested.

Ruth and Jenny agreed eagerly. Lydia only shrugged. They’d want to talk about how they were feeling, but Lydia wasn’t good at that. She wasn’t good at hugging either, but Grace, Ruth and Jenny insisted on hugging her now. ‘Must you?’ Lydia moaned.

Then she set off along Green Dragon Road and, despite the hollow opening up inside her, she didn’t look back because that would have been weak.

Meadow Cottages didn’t live up to the pastoral idyll of their name. They comprised a single row of grim terraced houses with the Greys’ house being the grimmest. Peeling brown paint on windows and door, dingy curtains, cracked, weed-ridden paving stones making up the tiny front garden… Lydia