Bourbon Creams and Tattered Dreams Read online

  Will glanced at the others seated now round the fire. ‘Don’t you have any idea what’s going on in Germany?’ he hissed. ‘Well, I’ve seen it first hand and our government’s doing nothing about it! Believe me, those Nazi bully boys will take over the world unless we organize ourselves to stop them. At least Dubbs and the other comrades are trying!’

  Their whispered exchange had caught the notice of the others and Neville, with a nose for gossip, strolled over to them.

  ‘Family tiff?’ he asked almost gaily and, without waiting for a response, said, ‘Shall I change the record, or will you sing for us, Miss Gilbie?’

  Matty pretended to flick through the sleeved gramophone records sitting on the table and picked one out at random. ‘Here, this one. I don’t really feel like singing tonight,’ she said, looking at Will’s stricken face and following his gaze to the terrace door, where Feathers had made his entrance with Professor Dubbs. The two boys exchanged looks of flushed excitement, which only she and Dubbs could possibly interpret.

  ‘So much,’ Matty thought, ‘for a family without secrets.’

  She decided that for the moment she could do nothing about Tom, but the following morning, after a sleepless night, she thought she could at least try to help Will and Feathers, and there was only one person she could turn to. If Feathers could be dissuaded, then she suspected Will would not want to carry on with Dubbs’ plan alone. Part of the attraction, she was sure, was that both boys were in it together. She took her chance after breakfast and made her way to see Ma Feathers.

  Lady Fetherstone looked up from her desk, a chunky black and brass affair with fan-shaped ends.

  ‘My dear, Matty. I would have come to see you off! Have your things been brought down?’

  She showed Matty to one of the cream leather armchairs. ‘I hope you think your visit has been worthwhile?’ she asked, sitting opposite.

  ‘Oh yes, very,’ Matty said, aware she sounded breathless.

  ‘I was a little worried last night when you left us early. Neville—’

  ‘No, as I said, I’m used to dealing with that sort of attention,’ Matty interrupted her. ‘It’s not Mr Piper, not at all. In fact he was kind enough to suggest introductions to a few private singing venues. It’s something else. It’s about your son.’

  ‘Gerald? What’s he been up to now?’

  Matty licked her lips, dry-mouthed at the accusation she was about to make.

  ‘You remember we were talking about what a special family you are... one without secrets?’

  Lady Fetherstone nodded.

  ‘Well, I think Gerald’s just broken with tradition.’

  *

  How Ma Feathers had managed to do it, Matty didn’t know, but that it had been done she was certain of when Professor Dubbs caught hold of her arm as she emerged from her room about half an hour later. She’d been checking to make sure nothing had been left behind.

  ‘Miss Gilbie, I’m glad I’ve caught you before you leave,’ he said smoothly. ‘Let me assure you that the idealism of youth is in endless supply. These two have been lost, but there will be others.’ She felt his breath cold on her cheek. ‘I do not appreciate your interference in our work. It has resulted in a waste of very valuable assets and I abhor waste – as I’m sure a person of your background would agree, it’s... criminal...’ He fixed her with unblinking eyes and gripped her upper arm with surprising strength.

  She yanked herself away.

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Gilbie. Other people often comment that I am stronger than I look...’ The oily smile was constant and the tone pleasant, but the stare pinned her to the spot more firmly than his hand had. ‘I’m deeply sorry you felt it necessary to jeopardize my activities. It would have been better for you if you’d never come to my notice at all. But now you have, I suppose I should warn you that as a historian I excel at uncovering the secrets of the past, and a woman such as yourself has almost certainly acquired some of those.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ Matty said, sounding more certain than she felt. ‘And besides, you don’t know anything about me.’

  He let out a short, metallic laugh and his tone hardened. ‘What I do not know I make a point of finding out. Because I am thirsty for knowledge.’ His lip curled unpleasantly with the effort of maintaining his smile and his face was now inches from hers. Trapped between him and the door, she began to panic. She hadn’t been aware of the silent approach of Daring.

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Gilbie?’ He gave her the pleasantest smile she’d had from him since she arrived. He turned to Dubbs. ‘Professor? I believe her ladyship has arranged a car to take you to the station.’

  Professor Dubbs made no move to go, but Daring paused slightly and continued with emphasis, ‘Now.’

  The professor turned abruptly on his heel and Matty wrapped her arms around herself, determined to disguise her trembling, watching as he descended the stairs. He looked somehow taller, stronger, the avuncular veneer peeled away, a trick of smoke and mirrors abandoned now to reveal the menace behind the actor’s cloak of meekness.

  ‘Would you like me to accompany you to the car, Miss Gilbie?’

  Matty nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

  Daring glided along the corridor beside her and down the stairs. ‘I doubt the professor will have any more to say to you today.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Her ladyship has seen him off, and may I say, Miss Gilbie, we owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did for Master Gerald.’

  ‘How did you know about that?’

  Daring smiled slowly. ‘Ah well, Miss Gilbie, there are no secrets in this house.’

  Outside by the waiting car she and Tom said goodbye to Will, who was staying on for a few more days with Feathers. The boys’ hangdog expressions confirmed what Dubbs had told her. He had lost them. She managed to whisper a quick thank you to Lady Fetherstone before getting into the car with Tom. As they drove away she was full of gratitude that Ma Feathers had saved their precious boys from becoming pawns in some great game, but she couldn’t shake the venomous barb of doubt that Dubbs had launched and she feared that their freedom might have been bought at the cost of her own.

  20

  Cards and Knife

  February–March 1932

  Matty yawned, stretched her arms above her head and rubbed sleep-filled eyes with her knuckles. She reached out for the ringing alarm clock, slapping it off the table, so that it skittered under the bed, then she turned over, snuggling deep beneath the candlewick bedspread so that only the top of her head was visible. A cold wind was blowing through the room and she was shivering beneath the bedclothes. Today, she would be returning to Peek Frean’s and she was not looking forward to it. The insistent ringing of the alarm eventually forced her to throw back the covers and go in search of the irritating clock. She squirmed under the bed. First she pulled out a rose-patterned chamber pot, then, crawling further in, she threw out an unmatched stocking, a dried bouquet of flowers and a mewing kitten, before finally emerging triumphant with the clock. But in her groggy half-asleep state she knocked her head on the iron bedstead. Rubbing her head vigorously, she waited for her vision to clear and peered intently at the clock.

  ‘Oh no, my first day and I’m late!’ she groaned, and flung the clock at the wall. In a frenzied hopping dance, she circled the room, pulling out stockings and skirts from a chest of drawers, shoving on whatever came to hand. She was finally dressed in an absurd mish-mash of summer and winter clothes – a too heavy sweater and a too light summer coat. She stuffed her feet into her gold leather dancing shoes, grabbed her handbag and dashed out, slamming the door behind her so that the walls shook.

  ‘Cut!’ Tom called, and Plum stood up from the camera. ‘One take?’ He gave a nod of appreciation to Tom. ‘Gosh, she’s good!’

  Matty stuck her head back through the door of the skeleton room and scooped up the kitten. ‘Too much?’ she asked, looking from Plum to Tom.

  ‘Perfect!’ Tom said.
‘Are you all right to go straight into the next scene?’

  Matty came back into the skeleton room, feeling the door hinges for damage. The set was fairly solidly built, but she’d given the door a hefty slam, partly in true anger at being made to return to Peek’s. She’d begged Tom to choose another local firm for the Modern Woman and Work factory sequence. She almost felt he was punishing her, but he insisted it was D.M.’s idea. Apparently their medical officer knew Peek’s owner and approved of the firm’s high moral standards, seeing their provision of dental and eye checks for workers as the sort of enlightened philanthropy that should be rewarded with free publicity in the borough’s films.

  The late-for-work scene was meant to show how the modern woman should not begin her day and would be intercut with the caption that Matty would eventually record for the voice-over:

  Think ahead to get ahead! The modern woman starts her day in a calm, organized manner, clothes and overalls freshly laundered and laid out the night before. Women who slack, quickly get the sack!

  This would be followed by a contrasting scene showing Matty, having learned her lesson, dressed in modern, practical clothes arriving at the factory gates, with a skyline shot of Peek’s clock tower emphasizing her early arrival for work.

  D.M.’s input into the scripts had sometimes felt a little too preachy for Matty’s liking. She wondered how often he’d had to launder his own shirts before turning up in pristine collar and bowler to the town hall. But Tom had been entrusted with the direction of the whole ‘Modern Woman’ series and D.M. had given them carte blanche to inject as much tongue-in-cheek fun into the films as they could.

  Tom and Plum covered the skeleton room set with tarpaulin while Matty went to return the kitten to its owner, an elderly lady who lived next door to the TB dispensary. The three of them set off in the cinemotor for Peek Frean’s. With a letter of authorization from the directors, they were waved through the gates along with a cart delivering churns of milk and a lorry packed high with sacks of flour. Tom parked the cinemotor between two Peek’s delivery vans in the loading bay.

  ‘Ready to go back to making biscuits?’ he asked brightly.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ Matty said and pulled a face at his back as she followed him out of the van. The mingled smells of cocoa and vanilla baking together hit her. ‘Oh no,’ she groaned, ‘it would have to be a Bourbon-cream day!’ She sighed and helped Tom and Plum unload the camera and lights. Their first scene was to be a panoramic shot taken from the top of the van, showing the endless surge of workers coming through the gates, with Matty one small drop in the ocean of labour. While Tom fixed the camera on to a tripod on the roof of the cinemotor, she ran back to the gates, getting in position for the opening shot. The hooter blew and a mass of workers jostled forward. Plum panned the camera down from the white clock-face, zooming through the crowd to pick out Matty, looking lost and hesitant as she gazed up at the rows of identical windows. This time there was no curious welcoming committee for Matty – the workforce had been primed to cooperate with shooting and told to act as normally as possible whenever the cameras were around.

  With the first scene done, Tom went to report their presence at the office and find out where they’d be allowed to shoot that day. They’d been promised someone to guide them round the factory to ensure the cooperation of all departments.

  Matty tried to tell herself she was back here on her own terms, but there was something about the toasting smell and the heat wafting over from the bakehouse which stuck in her throat and instantly depressed her spirits. How on earth she was going to inject any humour into these scenes she didn’t know, but when Tom returned with their guide for the day, Matty gave up any hope of lightening her mood.

  ‘This is my colleague, Matty Gilbie. I believe you two know each other.’ Tom grinned mischievously. ‘Matty, the works manager has kindly given us Edna for the day – I suppose you could say she’s our runner!’

  She might not know what a runner was but from Edna’s sour expression it was obvious she’d deduced the lowly position she’d been assigned, and was clearly looking forward to the day even less than Matty. She folded her arms and gave Matty a curt nod.

  ‘The works manager says we can start filming on the packing line,’ Tom explained. ‘Would you lead on?’ he asked Edna, with a charming smile for Matty’s former enemy.

  Cheers rang out along the Bourbon-cream packing line as they advanced and Winnie waved furiously at her. Matty saw Edna’s sharp eyes note the Bourbon creams piling up into a little mountain at Winnie’s station.

  ‘All right, keep the line going. You’re meant to be acting normal!’ she ordered.

  Tom whispered something to Edna, who looked as if a whole Bourbon cream might be stuck in her throat. She coughed and nodded, then beckoned to Winnie.

  ‘The gentleman wants you for a special shot.’

  Matty could see Winnie biting her cheek, trying not to laugh as she stepped boldly up to Tom and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘That’s no gentleman, that’s me brother!’ She laughed, though Edna didn’t appear to find it funny.

  ‘Who else shall we take?’ Tom asked Matty. And when she proceeded to pull every one of the Tiller Girls off the packing line, Winnie’s giggles overcame her.

  ‘Right, we want to do a few scenes showing health-and-safety issues,’ Matty explained, drawing the girls to one side. ‘Let’s have a look at your plates, girls.’

  Obediently the girls formed a line, turned side on and raised their knees as one, in the Tiller Girl high step. A passing machine minder gave a wolf whistle and the whole packing line erupted in laughter.

  ‘Well, none of you’ve got sensible shoes on your feet. This is what you’re all meant to be wearing.’ Matty did her own high step and, flashing her brown, wide-fitting flats, pointed her toe.

  ‘Borrowed ’em off Nurse Rayon from the solarium! All I need now is someone with biscuit legs,’ she said, looking round. ‘Any volunteers? We need to show what standing at a packing line in tight shoes and garters will do for your pins.’ Matty eyed the girls hopefully and then Winnie put up a hand.

  ‘Well, Edna was on the line twenty years before she got promoted,’ she said meekly, and Sophie chimed in, ‘Your veins is terrible, ain’t they, Edna?’

  ‘Would you mind, Edna?’ Tom asked. ‘Just a quick shot, all in the cause of improved health and safety, which I understand the Peek’s board is very keen to promote...’

  But Matty found herself feeling sorry for the woman as Edna, smiling rigidly, sat on a stool and obediently raised her overall above her knees. Plum zoomed in for a close-up of the raised blue tributaries of varicose veins marbling the woman’s calves and Matty thought of all the years of hard graft that had caused them.

  ‘OK, Matty,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s have a shot of your legs then!’

  ‘Do I need to?’ she asked, feeling awkward.

  ‘We need a comparison shot, and it’s not anything you haven’t done before,’ he said, turning away to set up the shot with Plum.

  Matty sat next to Edna, and reluctantly lifted her skirt slowly to the knees, pointing the toes of her sensible shoes and revealing her unblemished legs.

  ‘Don’t be ashamed of them, Matty, let’s see a bit more of those lovely legs...’ he said pointedly.

  ‘That’s all you’re getting,’ she said tartly. ‘Besides, neither of us has got anything to be ashamed of. Edna’s veins come from twenty years’ hard graft!’

  Edna shot her a surprised look of gratitude, but Winnie smiled victoriously and said, ‘Matty’s pins go on forever and not a vein on ’em.’ As she returned to her station she whispered to Matty, ‘Revenge is sweet,’ before popping a Bourbon cream into her mouth.

  But though Matty couldn’t share Winnie’s glee at Edna’s discomfort, she did enjoy the next part of the filming, a section on the need for motivation during the working day. Tom had rolled out to the managers the latest research, which showed productivity soared when workers
were able to sing along to music. The final shot of the production line showed Matty, leading her fellow workers in a chorus of ‘When You’re Smiling’.

  *

  After three days’ filming they had all the shots they could use: Matty had undergone a series of misfortunes, playing the part of a fainting young worker in the bakehouse being revived by pints of lemonade generously provided by the firm, illustrating the need to stay hydrated, delivering an agonized performance as a burn victim whose fingertips had been blistered while picking up biscuits still red-hot from the oven, had a hand caught in a machine belt and been almost crushed by a poorly secured sack of flour falling from a loading bay.

  After they’d packed up the cameras on the last day of filming, Matty waited at the factory gates for Winnie and the Tiller Girls. She had invited them for a drink as a thank you for working as extras. When they arrived at the Concorde pub the girls were full of Matty’s unlikely return to Peek’s.

  ‘Did you see Edna’s face when the works manager took down the No Singing sign? Looked like she’d choked on a raisin out of a garibaldi!’ Winnie said to her as they moved chairs and tables to accommodate half the Bourbon-cream production line.

  ‘Before I forget.’ Winnie reached under the table for a voluminous bag, which banged against Matty’s legs as her friend pulled it up on to the table. ‘Mrs Peek’s finest, we’re sick of ’em.’ Matty peered into the bag, which had at least half a dozen Christmas puddings packed into it.

  ‘Gawd sake, Win, how much pudding did you think you’d need last Christmas?’

  ‘Well, I might have gone over the top, but they’ll help Nellie out, feeding those three boys. I know it’s been a struggle for her, helping to keep Billy at the sanatorium. I bump into her sometimes, running from one job to another. She never stops.’

  Matty leaned over to plant a kiss on her friend’s cheek. ‘You’re a diamond. She’ll be grateful.’