A Daughter's Journe Read online

  She rolled her eyes to emphasise this and Nick could guess what she meant. Still, she’d surprised him again. He’d never met a lady so open about everything. She was obviously respectable, but so frank. He liked that. You knew where you stood.

  The taxi driver joined in. ‘It’s not just colonials, miss. He doesn’t like anyone as hasn’t got money, looks down on ordinary folk, he does. Only don’t tell anyone I said that or he’ll find a way to stop me running my taxi.’

  ‘Is he that spiteful?’

  The man shrugged.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone. Look, you mentioned a respectable lodging house for ladies only. I may need to go there. Could you tell me where it is, please?’

  ‘Mrs Tucker on Alma Road, Number Twenty-one. Anyone will tell you where that is. It’s quite near the town centre. Shall I start loading the luggage now?’

  Jo frowned and said slowly, ‘Yes … um, no!’

  He stopped and looked at her in puzzlement.

  ‘On second thoughts, how about we visit Mrs Tucker first and leave my trunk and big suitcase there? I can pay her in advance for the room and I’ll move there after a couple of days.’ She couldn’t help shuddering at the memory of how that man had looked at her.

  She saw that they were both staring and gave them a rueful smile. ‘I really don’t want to stay with Rathley at all, but it’s only polite. As for Edna, I’m fed up to the teeth with her and her silly mock-genteel ways. I definitely think it’ll be good to have an escape route planned in case I have to leave suddenly. I don’t know anyone in Rivenshaw, you see, so I’ll have no one to turn to if there’s a problem.’

  The taxi driver was looking at her sympathetically as if he understood, but Nick was frowning. ‘Why are you so sure there’s going to be a problem? After all your stepmother will be there to protect you.’

  She flushed. ‘She couldn’t protect a flea! It was – well, the way Mr Rathley was staring at me made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I’ve had to protect myself before in that way. Some men are not – not nice to women. There had better be a lock on my bedroom door or I’ll be out of there tonight.’

  The taxi driver hesitated, then said, ‘Oh, dear. Mr Rathley has got a name for pestering young women, the younger the better as far as he’s concerned. You will definitely be better keeping your bedroom door locked. Tell Mrs Tucker why you need the room. She’ll understand. She’s a very sensible woman.’

  Nick scowled. He hated men who preyed on poorer women. He hoped this lady from Australia wasn’t short of money. She did sound confident about being able to pay for a room elsewhere, though.

  ‘Well, Rathley has the wrong person if he thinks he can behave like that with me,’ Miss Melling said.

  ‘Are you sure your stepmother won’t protect you?’

  ‘Not against her relative. She’d blame me for anything that happened. You saw what she was like on the train, accusing me of flirting with you. She only sees what she wants to see and she seems to see faults in me which don’t exist. It was just the same on the ship. And now that my father’s not there to protect me, she’s become spiteful and bossy. I don’t know how I’ve held my tongue at times. Oh well, I can cope with her for another day or two.’

  ‘Why did you come with her, then?’

  ‘I promised my father when he was dying that I’d bring her here. She was at her best with him. It’s the only good thing about her. She really did love him, well, as much as she’s capable of loving anyone.’

  ‘Ah. I see. What will you be doing when you leave? Will you be staying in the valley?’ Nick had asked that before he could stop himself.

  ‘No. But my father’s family came from this area originally, so I thought I’d see if I could find any of them. After that, I’m going back to Australia. I don’t know anyone here and I’ve got some good friends there.’ She sighed. ‘Though I can’t go home because Dad sold the farm before he died.’

  ‘I know most families here in the valley,’ the driver volunteered. ‘Maybe I can help you find your relatives.’

  She squared her shoulders and changed the subject. ‘What do you mean by “the valley”?’

  ‘Rivenshaw is at the foot of the valley of the River Ellin, there’s a big village called Birch End a couple of miles up the hill from the town, then Ellindale at the top, though that’s only a small place. Mr Rathley lives in Birch End, the higher part, where the nobs have big houses with gardens. The lower end has the worst slums in the valley, Backshaw Moss that part’s called and it’s where young Jimmy lives. My house is in between the two places, where it’s respectable but not fancy, an’ most of us just have terraced houses with backyards but no gardens.’

  ‘That’s very helpful to know.’

  Nick looked at the station clock, unable to think of any excuse for keeping her talking, surprised he wanted to. ‘I’d better be getting along now. I hope you enjoy your stay in the valley, Miss Melling.’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘And if I can ever be of service, if you ever need help suddenly, I’m staying at Willcox and Selby Motor Cars, which is just outside the town centre on the corner of Crimea Street.’

  He tipped his hat and moved off. Pity she wasn’t staying around for longer. He’d have liked to get to know her better. She seemed such a wholesome young woman with no false airs and graces. Ah well, there you were. You met people and then they were gone.

  How must it have been for lads fighting in the Great War, with friends being killed all around them? His brother wouldn’t talk about those days, but Nick knew Stan sometimes had nightmares still.

  What Nick needed now was to concentrate on setting up his business. He needed to get to know the valley all over again, every single street and where it led, if he was to make his living going round it giving driving lessons.

  But first he had to see his brother’s old friend Todd, who was providing the car for his new job at a good price and his initial accommodation in a house attached to the car sales yard. Clever business move for both of them, that.

  Since his marriage, Todd had moved up to his wife’s house in Ellindale, so the one behind the car sales yard and workshop was unoccupied. He wasn’t charging rent, thank goodness, and said Nick living there would make his stock of cars safer.

  Once he got the car and could find his way round again, Nick would need to start advertising his services, probably in the local newspaper. Maybe Todd would let him put up a sign outside the house, too. There would be even more demand for driving lessons soon if the driving test became compulsory as people said it would.

  He’d been saving his money for a while now, wanting to start up a business, planning how best to do it. He enjoyed anything to do with cars and was pretty good at doing smaller repairs on them, too, which would save him money.

  His brother, who’d been a driver in the army during the Great War, had taught him to drive as soon as he was old enough. Stan was staying in Leicester, driving a delivery truck, with no ambitions to do anything but lead a quiet life there with his wife, family and the friends he’d made. Nick would miss having him nearby. But this was his big chance.

  One day, nearly every family would own a car, he was sure. Not yet. Not till cars could be made more cheaply, not till jobs became plentiful again all over the country and people had money to spare. But that time would come and he meant to be one of the people to profit from it. People laughed when he talked about ordinary people owning cars, but he knew he was right, just knew it, was staking his whole life on it, in fact.

  He found a lad outside the station with a handcart to trundle his heavy suitcases to Todd’s car yard and set off with him. His other things would arrive in a day or two, his tools and various bits and pieces of equipment.

  He hoped he could stay in Todd’s house for a while. He smiled. He was daring to hope for many things. But he was willing to work hard, and it wouldn’t be his fault if he didn’t succeed.

  3

  M rs Tucker studied Jo carefully after she’d explained what she wanted. �
�Let me get this straight: you need a room and you won’t be using it at first, but you’ll still pay for it?’

  ‘Yes. You see, I was born in Australia and when my father died, I had to bring my stepmother here to England to live near her family. She’ll be staying with Mr Rathley, who’s her cousin, and I suppose I’ll be staying there for a day or two. Only …’

  She hesitated, not sure how to put this into words, ‘Well, the fact is I didn’t take to him, he made me feel, um, uncomfortable, the way he looked at me. So if I want to leave suddenly, I’ll need somewhere to stay. I’d like to be prepared. In case.’

  The woman looked at her and nodded slowly, as if she understood exactly what lay behind the words.

  Jo took a deep breath and risked asking, ‘Would you let me in, even in the middle of the night?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And stop looking so anxious. I know why you’re asking that.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. He has a bit of a reputation round here. With women, I mean.’

  Jo nodded slowly. ‘Someone else told me that. I hope it wouldn’t bring trouble down on you if I came here, Mrs Tucker.’

  ‘He wouldn’t dare. Unlike you, I’ve got good friends and family nearby. What I don’t understand is why you would even want to stay in the town if you don’t know anyone here?’

  ‘My father said I had distant relatives somewhere nearby and I thought I’d like to meet them before I return to Australia.’

  ‘Ah!’ Mrs Tucker looked at her more sympathetically. ‘Melling … Could you be a relative of Kath Melling, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. But Melling isn’t a common name, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Kath’s a friend of mine so I’ll introduce you, if you like. And I’ll give you a reduced rate for the room till you start needing food and other services.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  When they’d taken her two largest pieces of luggage into the house, she was left with only a suitcase, her handbag and a Gladstone bag, which contained all sorts of bits and pieces.

  When they arrived in Birch End, the taxi driver went through the village to a group of large houses at its northern end. He stopped at the front door of a redbrick house, which looked raw and new, surprisingly ugly too, for all its size and immaculate surrounding gardens.

  ‘If you get out here, I’ll take the luggage round to the back, miss. He’s a bit of a stickler about only family using the front door.’

  ‘I’ll come round the back too, then.’

  ‘Better not, miss. That’s just for servants and tradesmen. He has a side door as well, but that’s only for people who come to see him on business.’

  When she hesitated, he added, ‘Trust me on that.’ So she moved to get out.

  As she reached for the car door handle, he added hastily, ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll come round and open that for you.’

  It seemed a silly way to behave to her, but clearly the driver was afraid of upsetting Mr Rathley, so she let him deal with the door, then walked up the three shallow steps at the front as he drove off round the house. When she rang the bell, the door was opened so quickly the maid must have seen her coming. Why had she waited to open it, then? And why was she frowning? What a way to greet a visitor!

  ‘I’m Miss Melling, come to join my stepmother.’

  ‘Ah.’ The maid’s expression immediately cleared and she stepped back. ‘You’re expected, miss. Please come in and I’ll show you to your room.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I meet Mrs Rathley first? I don’t want to seem lacking in manners towards my hostess.’

  ‘Mrs Rathley is changing for dinner.’ She lowered her voice. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, it’d be best if you changed quickly to be in time, Miss Melling.’

  ‘All right.’ Jo bent to pick up her suitcase.

  ‘The boot boy will carry that up for you.’

  ‘It’s only small. I can easily manage it.’

  The maid said even more quietly, ‘Mr Rathley wouldn’t like that.’

  Another person afraid of him. Jo sighed and left her suitcase there, following the maid up two flights of stairs, the second of which were creaky and had only a thin carpet runner on them.

  Even crossing the landing had shown her that the first floor was much more lavishly furnished than this one, and must have had at least eight bedrooms. She smiled as it suddenly occurred to her that if Rathley was so fussy about social standing, she was probably being relegated to ‘poorer relative’ status. How amusing!

  To check that, she asked, ‘Where is my stepmother’s room?’

  ‘On the floor below, next to Mrs Rathley’s suite. Did you wish to see her? I believe she’s changing for dinner.’

  ‘No, no. I just wondered where she was. I’m sure she’ll be very comfortable there.’

  ‘Oh, yes. The bedrooms below all have their own washbasins. The house is very modern in that way. Here you are.’ She opened the door to a neat but not very large room. ‘The bathroom for this floor is at the end of the corridor. Will you need help unpacking?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She didn’t intend to do much unpacking. There was something very unwelcoming about this house, and a heavy feeling, as if unhappiness had seeped into the walls. Oh, she shouldn’t be so fanciful!

  ‘The dinner bell will be rung twice when it’s time to gather in the drawing room, miss.’

  ‘I see.’

  When the maid had left her, Jo went to stare out of the window, which looked down on what was probably the kitchen garden. Cabbages and beans. Definitely a poor relative’s view. She chuckled.

  There was a tap on the door and she found a youth there with her suitcase. He left it just inside the door and hurried away with a quick nod.

  She put the case on the bed and flung it open. No need to worry about what to wear. There wasn’t much choice if you were in mourning. She got out her best black crepe dress, which didn’t show the wrinkles too badly, and gave it a good shake. She was tired of wearing black. Her father had told her not to bother, but she knew Edna would make a fuss if she wore anything else.

  It had been over three months now since her father died, and she was going to make changes to what she wore as soon as she parted company with the silly woman. As if she needed dark clothes to grieve for her father!

  Putting a black cardigan round her shoulders and fastening her mother’s pearls round her neck, she stared at herself in the mirror, tidying her hair quickly. Buns might not be fashionable but they were easier to manage with straight hair like hers. Back on the farm she’d simply tied her hair back. She blinked away a sudden tear at that thought. Those days were over. You had to carry on.

  When she was ready she waited with the door half open till she heard a bell ring twice somewhere below, then made her way downstairs. She hesitated in the hall till the same maid appeared from the rear and opened a door for her. It led into a large, comfortably furnished room, where three people were sitting in armchairs set cosily around the fireplace. As the door closed behind her, she stood waiting, not sure what to do next.

  Her stepmother looked up and then sideways at Mr Rathley as if asking for permission to speak. ‘This is my stepdaughter, Josephine. You’ve met Mr Rathley at the station, Josephine, but you’ve not met my cousin’s wife.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Rathley.’ She frowned at her stepmother, puzzled at how she’d been introduced. ‘I’m always called Jo, not Josephine. You know that, Edna.’

  ‘I do not believe in shortening names,’ Mr Rathley announced. ‘It’s a very low-class thing to do.’

  Jo immediately decided to forget to answer sometimes. How dared they tell her what she should be called!

  Mrs Rathley hadn’t joined in this name changing or shown any sign of animation in her narrow face. She had her hair tightly drawn back into a bun, which didn’t flatter her. When she indicated a chair, Jo sat down.

  From their empty teacups it looked as if the three people had been sitting in here chatting for a
while, not changing their clothes. Why had she been kept waiting to join them? So that they could talk about her? Probably, and knowing her stepmother, what had been said wouldn’t have been complimentary.

  They carried on chatting about the town, without really including her, so she studied them. They were snobs. Definitely. As well as ill-mannered to a guest.

  ‘We can go in for dinner now if you’re ready, dear,’ Mr Rathley announced a few minutes later.

  His wife inclined her head, so he rang the servants’ bell.

  When Mrs Rathley stood up, he offered her his arm and as if by magic, doors to one side were opened. The two of them led the way through.

  What a silly way to behave, Jo thought. She joined Edna when beckoned across but before they got to the dining room, she whispered, ‘Please stop introducing me as Josephine. You know I never use that name.’

  ‘I agree with my cousins. It’s common to shorten people’s names.’

  ‘Too bad. I’m not Josephine.’

  Edna glared at her, but she didn’t care, just took the chair Mr Rathley had indicated as the maid pulled it out for her then sat back to watch what the others did and imitate it.

  She decided this was rather fancy behaviour for a man who had started life owning a shop, from what Edna had said about him. Was he imitating the real upper classes –well, imitating the way they were shown behaving in films – or did he consider himself to be superior to others in the town?

  Jo didn’t say much during the meal. Well, how could she when they talked about their families and the old days, ignoring her most of the time? She listened and watched, though, catching Mr Rathley eyeing her speculatively once or twice, his eyes undoubtedly lingering on her bosom again as they had at the station. This made her feel as if something dirty had touched her and she shuddered.