Opal Plumstead (26 page)

‘I – I don’t really want to talk about it,’ I said.

‘I can see that it’s difficult, but if I’m to understand you properly, Opal, I think I need to know,’ said Mrs Roberts.

I wanted to retort that it was none of her business, but I pressed my lips together, knowing that this would be going too far. I waited. Mrs Roberts waited too. At last I managed to say, ‘My father is . . . away. We are in straitened circumstances. It wasn’t possible for me to stay on at school. I have to earn money now.’

‘Do you know when your father will be coming back?’ Mrs Roberts asked gently. ‘There’s no question of your going back to school?’

‘No chance at all. My father will be away for a year. I wouldn’t be able to catch up on my schooling. I’ve tried to read my textbooks in the evenings but I’m too tired to concentrate.’

‘Because I work you too hard here?’ said Mrs Roberts, looking concerned.

‘No, because the work is so
tedious
. You would surely hate to mould for ten hours a day, wouldn’t you, Mrs Roberts?’ I put my hand over my mouth. ‘I’m being too direct again, aren’t I?’

‘Yes, you are. I don’t know what to do with you, Opal. My girls generally enjoy their time in the fondant room where they can chatter together.’

‘Couldn’t I be put to sugar rolling, or twisting or stirring? That would be so much more interesting,’ I said.

‘Those are all skilled jobs. You might think yourself equal to anything, Opal, but you are sadly mistaken. I don’t want any more accidents on my factory floor. But I can see that moulding isn’t necessarily a fulfilling occupation for you. Perhaps I would find it tedious too, as you suggest. Let me think a little . . .’ Mrs Roberts sat very still, her blue eyes gazing into the distance. She was perhaps as old as Mother, maybe even older, but she still looked extremely beautiful.

‘You were a scholarship girl. Were you good at all subjects?’

‘I came top of everything,’ I said eagerly. ‘Well, except art.’

‘Oh dear – I take it you’re not good at art?’ She looked disappointed.

‘My art teacher didn’t care for the way I work. But I am passionate about art. I love to paint,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to boast, but other people seem impressed by my artwork, though they think I have unusual ideas.’

‘Yes, you are a very unusual girl, Opal Plumstead. You’re also a very bad girl to start a fight in my factory. I want you to return to the fondant room, make your peace with Patty, and work quietly and diligently without further outburst. I won’t dismiss you – I won’t even dock your wages, because that will make your family suffer. I’ll expect you to work particularly hard for the next few days to make up for the spilled moulding boxes. I shall ask George to keep an eye on you. But if you show willing, I might find another outlet for you – one that may prove more congenial.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Roberts,’ I said. I seemed to be dismissed, so I stood up.

‘Opal . . . I can see you’re having a very hard time, dear. But take heart. A year seems a lifetime now, but it will pass eventually.’

‘You don’t understand,’ I said, my face crumpling.

‘Oh, I think I do. I have been in prison myself.’

I stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘That can’t be true!’

‘Oh, indeed it is. I have been in prison three times for my political beliefs. I am an ardent supporter of the suffrage movement. I’ve taken part in many demonstrations and am proud to say I have been imprisoned as a consequence.’

‘Is it very hard in prison?’

‘Yes, it is. I won’t pretend otherwise. But it’s bearable.’

‘You had your political beliefs to sustain you. My poor father is there because he made one wretched mistake, and now they insist he’s committed long-term embezzlement, when he hasn’t, he absolutely hasn’t,’ I said, starting to cry. ‘And I am so worried that he will lose the will to live now.’

‘How could he possibly do that when he has his family to think of – especially such a fine, spirited daughter,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘Now dry your eyes and hold your head up high. He is still your father, in or out of prison.’

‘How did you
know
about Father?’

‘Let’s just say it was a shrewd guess.’

‘You’re very clever, Mrs Roberts.’

‘Well, I was once a scholarship girl myself,’ she said.

I THOUGHT PATTY
would hate me even more. We worked in silence at opposite ends of the fondant room. Geoff and George and Nora and all the other girls watched us warily, but we didn’t even look at each other. I ate my bun and drank my tea with Maggie and Jess at lunch time. They were astonished by my battle. The whole factory knew of the fight in the fondant room.

‘You really took on Patty Meacham, a little scrap like you!’ said Maggie.

‘I’ve seen the scratch all down her face. You must have fought like a little wildcat,’ said Jess.

‘What on earth did she
say
to you to get you going like that?’ Maggie asked.

Mrs Roberts had told me to hold my head up high and be proud, but I still didn’t want to talk about it to Maggie and Jess. If they hadn’t read the
Daily News
, then I didn’t want to enlighten them.

‘I’m sure you know what she’s like. She is very provoking,’ I said.

‘Well, I’ll take care not to provoke you myself, little Plum!’ said Maggie.

‘Though don’t fly off the handle like that again, dear,’ said Jess. ‘Mrs Roberts might have let you off once, but she’s firm as well as fair. She won’t take any further nonsense from either of you.’

After lunch I had to go back to the ladies’ room to bathe my sore nose as it was still bleeding intermittently. I was splashing cold water on it when the door opened and Patty came in. The two other girls at the looking glass gave a gasp and rushed out, clearly scared they would be caught up in another fight. I was anxious about this too. I carried on attending to my nose, but I was starting to tremble.

Patty came right up to me. She peered in the looking glass too. She winced when she saw her scratches.

‘Look what you’ve done to me!’ she said.

‘Look what you’ve done to
me
!’ I retaliated, cupping my poor swollen nose in my hand.

‘Where did you learn to fight like that, a swotty little milksop like you?’

‘I was angry.’

‘Listen, I didn’t know it was your
pa
in the paper. I knew it had to be some relation, but not someone you were really close to.’

‘I love my father more than anyone in the world, even though he’s in prison,’ I declared.

‘I love my pa too, though since his accident he’s got a right temper when you cross him,’ said Patty. She paused. ‘You’ve got a right temper too!’

‘Mrs Roberts isn’t going to dismiss us, though,’ I said.

‘I know. She’s a good sort really, though she can make you feel bad,’ said Patty. ‘Very bad.’ She suddenly stuck out her arm. I jumped, thinking she was going to strike me again. But then I realized she wanted to shake hands.

I stuck my own arm out, still a little warily. We shook hands awkwardly and then sprang apart again, blushing. Patty gave a little nod and then disappeared into a cubicle. I ran out of the room and back onto the factory floor.

Freddy collared me anxiously. ‘Oh, Opal, my Lord, look at your nose!’ he said. ‘I’ll slap that Patty from here to next week for doing that to you.’

Poor gangling Freddy was never going to be a match for sturdy Patty, and perhaps even he knew that, but I smiled warmly at him.

‘You don’t need to do that, Freddy. We’ve sorted it out now. Anyway, I hit her too. And scratched her face.’

‘My goodness, you’re quite a girl.
My
girl.’

‘Your friend, Freddy, your
friend
,’ I said.

I wondered if he’d still want to be my friend if he read the
Daily News
himself. I thought perhaps he would. He was a sweet lad. In many ways I wished I
could
care for him.

Work was more peaceful now. I still found moulding incredibly tedious, but I worked diligently all the same. I wanted George to give a good report of me to Mrs Roberts. Patty left me alone now. Maybe she was worried about Mrs Roberts too, but she seemed less hostile. Perhaps it was because I’d stood up to her at last. Maybe she even felt a little sorry for me. Whatever it was, we could work in the same room without any tension now. We weren’t exactly friends, but we weren’t bitter enemies, either.

The other girls followed her lead and became a little friendlier. Nora still made a few snide remarks from time to time, but she was easy to ignore. I longed to find just one girl who might become a proper friend. I was still missing Olivia badly. In fact, I’d written to her once, a long letter reminding her of all the fun we’d had together, reminiscing about our favourite jokes, our special games, our solemn secrets. I finished it as follows:

I know your mother has forbidden you to see me – but couldn’t you sneak out and meet me at the graveyard? No one would ever spot us there. I don’t finish work till six, but I could be there by quarter past if I run all the way. I know that might be a bit late, so what about Saturday or Sunday instead? You could pretend you were going out to tea with some other girl from school. I won’t be able to manage to give you a proper grand tea myself, but I can give you Fairy Glen sweets – lots of them!

Please please please be a sport and show me we’re still close in spite of everything and that you still feel affection for

Your loving friend,

Opal

I didn’t send it to Olivia’s house because I was sure her mother would be suspicious, open it herself and confiscate it. I sent it sealed in another letter to Mr Andrews at school. This meant I had to write to him too.

Dear Mr Andrews
,

It was so good of you to visit me. I remember your kind words every day. I wish I could say I’ve taken your advice to heart, but if I’m strictly truthful I have to admit I’ve been a lazy girl and done little private studying so far. However, I
have
been working hard at the factory and seem to be making progress, though there has been one little altercation. Quite a big one actually, but Mrs Roberts has dealt with me very fairly (unlike Miss Mountbank!).

I dare say you will have seen that there has been a travesty of justice. My poor father has been sentenced to a year’s hard labour.

I am sorry the writing is a little blurred above. When I wrote the last paragraph, I could not help crying and a few of my tears splashed onto my writing paper.

I am hoping that Olivia might still be my friend, so I wonder if you would be very, very kind and give the enclosed letter to her. I know I shouldn’t ask it of you, but these are exceptional circumstances, and I hope you still feel kindly towards

Your sincere former pupil,

Opal

I am sure Mr Andrews passed on my letter immediately, but I had to wait more than a week for Olivia to reply. Her response was horribly brief.

Dear Opal,

I can’t. Be your friend, I mean. I just don’t dare. I’m so sorry. I do still care about you tremendously, though, and wish things were the way they used to be.

Love from Olivia

I cried again when I received the letter.

‘For goodness’ sake, Opal, what’s the matter now?’ said Mother.

‘Olivia won’t be my friend any more,’ I wailed. ‘Her mother won’t allow it.’

‘Well, I can’t say that I blame her. If Olivia’s father was in prison, I wouldn’t want you to play with her,’ said Mother.

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t let that stop me being her friend,’ I replied.

‘That’s because you’ve always been a contrary, disobedient girl.’ Mother sighed as she looked at me. Then she smiled at Cassie, as if to say, You’ve
never given me any trouble
.

If only she knew. Cassie was still secretly seeing Mr Evandale while spinning Mother endless tales of trysting with Philip Alouette.

‘You can’t carry on like this, Cass,’ I whispered that night when Mother was asleep.

‘Yes I can,’ she said serenely.

‘But Mother’s bound to find out. I’m amazed she hasn’t insisted that you invite this Philip back to our house for tea.’

‘She won’t do that, not now she’s so hideously embarrassed about our circumstances. She’d be worried about scaring Philip away. He can be wretchedly disdainful, you know.’

‘Cassie, he’s not real!’

‘He’s become real to me – and I find him a complete bore. How Mother can believe I’d be interested in such a pompous-sounding idiot, I don’t know.’

‘Just be jolly glad she does,’ I said. ‘She’ll be expecting an engagement soon, and then she’ll
have
to meet him,’ I said.

‘Well, maybe I’m engaged in real life already,’ said Cassie.

‘
What?
’

‘Shush! You’ll wake Mother.’

‘You are pretending, aren’t you?’

‘Look.’ Cassie crouched by the candle in my room and reached down inside her nightgown. She drew out a length of black silk ribbon with a ring dangling on the end.

‘Oh my goodness!’ I peered at the ring. It was a gold signet ring set with a square black onyx, a seed-pearl rampant lion embedded in the stone.