Opal Plumstead (31 page)

‘You are a truly inspirational lady, Mrs Roberts,’ I said fervently.

I PROUDLY TOLD
Mother all about my splendid day. I thought she’d be incredibly impressed. She always seemed delighted when Cassie was invited to Madame Alouette’s (though of course this was pure invention). But although Mrs Roberts was a far grander lady, Mother seemed determined to be unenthusiastic.

‘You met her at a women’s suffrage meeting?’ she said. ‘How could you go to such a thing, associating with all those dreadful women? As if we’re not in enough trouble with your father! If you get arrested too, then we’ll really be in queer street.’

‘I’m not going to get arrested, Mother – don’t be so silly. They’re not dreadful women at all, they’re quite splendid. Mrs Pankhurst herself gave a speech, and she was wonderful. I was actually introduced to her by Mrs Roberts.’

‘Terrible man-hating harridans, the lot of them!’ Mother declared. ‘That Mrs Roberts had no business luring you there and getting you involved. Just because you work at her wretched factory it doesn’t mean you have to do what she says at the weekend.’

‘She didn’t lure me. She didn’t even know I was coming. You’re being ridiculous, Mother.’

‘Don’t you use that tone with me, young lady. I think this Mrs Roberts is a very bad influence – you say she’s even been to prison herself!’

‘They
tortured
her there, forcing tubes up her nose and down her throat. She’s just the most incredibly brave woman in the world.’

‘She sounds a right hussy. Why does her husband let her get up to such mischief?’

‘She hasn’t got a husband any more.’

‘I’m not surprised!’

‘She’s a
widow
. She lives in this most amazing house. Oh, you should see the furnishings. It’s all so elegant and beautiful, with so many paintings – a real Burne-Jones, imagine!’

‘I don’t know who Burne-Jones is, and I don’t care. You shouldn’t accept invitations from that kind of woman. She’ll lead you into all sorts of trouble,’ Mother said obstinately. ‘You’re not to go again, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, Mother,’ I said, just to stop her ranting, though I knew I would jump at the chance of returning to Fairy Glen.

Cassie was a more receptive audience that night, but I sensed she wasn’t really concentrating on me.

‘Cassie! Don’t go to sleep!’ I said sharply as I crouched on the end of her bed. She’d given a little snore when I’d been in the middle of a detailed description of the Fairy Glen garden.

‘I
am
listening. Yes, it all sounds lovely,’ she murmured.

‘Aren’t you just a little bit impressed that such a wonderful woman has taken me under her wing? She actually told Mrs Pankhurst that I was her little protégée,’ I declared.

‘Oh, Opie, you’re such a scream,’ Cassie said, turning over and snuggling into her pillow.

‘I am
not
a scream,’ I said stiffly.

‘Yes you are. You’re getting so het up about this Mrs Roberts of yours. I could never imagine having a pash on an old woman,’ said Cassie.

‘She’s not old and I haven’t got a “pash”,’ I said furiously, blushing. ‘I just happen to think she’s marvellous because she’s so brave and intelligent and unusual and elegant.’

Cassie snorted. ‘You’re besotted!’

I gave her a thump. ‘I’d sooner be besotted with a fantastically inspirational woman who runs an entire factory single-handed and fights for political causes and creates a beautiful garden out of a wilderness than with some lecherous old artist, so-called,’ I said.

‘He’s not “so-called”. Daniel’s a really wonderful artist. His paintings are shown at the Royal Academy,’ said Cassie, waking up properly.

‘Well, I’ve never heard of him and I know much more about art than you do. I bet the only reason he paints your portrait is to see as much of you without clothes on as he possibly can,’ I said. ‘You watch out, Cassie Plumstead. You’re spoiling your chances of ever getting a decent man.’

‘You sound worse than Mother, you silly little prude. And he is decent. He’s fantastically intelligent and he comes from a very well-to-do family,’ Cassie protested.

‘Have you met any of them?’ I asked.

Cassie was silent.

‘There!’ I said triumphantly.

‘Oh, shut your mouth.’ She pushed me right off her bed so that I landed on my bottom with a bump. I struggled up, took hold of a handful of her long hair and tugged hard. We ended up scrapping on the floor until Mother heard and came running.

‘For heaven’s sake, what are you two great girls doing, brawling like hooligans!’ she said, slapping at both of us.

I flounced off to my room, still furious with Cassie. I had so wanted her to be impressed by my new friendship with Mrs Roberts. I hadn’t expected her to mock me.

I tried to stop feeling so hurt and ruffled. I lay in bed going through my whole day, remembering Mrs Pankhurst’s stirring speech, savouring the car ride with Mrs Roberts, conjuring up as much detail as I could of Fairy Glen and its magical garden.

When I fell asleep at last, I dreamed of fairies – little creatures who flew through the garden in dresses made of flower petals. They perched decoratively on the branches, they skimmed the water in the stream, they gathered in a fluttering flock on the roof of the Japanese summerhouse. When I woke the next morning, they still seemed trapped behind my eyelids, flitting back and forth in a rainbow sparkle. I spent most of Sunday painting my own fairy scenes, suddenly inspired.

Cassie came to my room to make up with me that evening. She seemed taken aback by the ten watercolours tacked up on all four walls.

‘My goodness, did you copy them, Opie?’

‘No, I made them all up. They’re totally original. Well, I suppose I got the idea from the fairy paintings in Mrs Roberts’ sitting room.’

‘You and your Mrs Roberts,’ said Cassie, but then she checked herself. ‘Sorry, I won’t tease you any more. I can see you really think she’s splendid. I’m sure she is.’ She paused, looking at me.

‘I suppose your Mr Evandale is splendid too,’ I said reluctantly. I didn’t think it at all, but I wanted to be friends with Cassie again. She could be an infuriating sister, though it was horrid when we weren’t speaking.

I dreamed of fairies that night too. I went into work the next morning feeling tremendously excited about a new idea. I wondered whether to discuss it with Miss Lily, but I was sure she would be very doubtful initially. I thought of approaching Mrs Roberts directly. After all, we were true friends now. But somehow things seemed a little different in the work environment. I saw her going into her room as I walked along the passageway to the design room. I gave her a great beaming smile, but she just gave me an abstracted nod and didn’t say anything. Perhaps we could only conduct our friendship away from the factory . . .

I decided to proceed without further ado. After all, I had to remember the suffrage slogan:
Deeds, not words
.

It was my turn to paint a rose scene on a box lid. I painted each rose with immense care, making sure I used the exact shades of blush cream and candy pink and deep crimson. Then I selected my finest brush and fashioned a tiny fairy peeping out between the petals, rubbing her eyes as if she’d only just woken up. I gave her a companion swinging on a stalk and a third flying high in the sky. They weren’t noticeable at first glance. Miss Lily looked and nodded and started praising me for the bloom on a petal. Then she stopped abruptly. She took her spectacles off, rubbed them on her overall, and replaced them. She looked again, holding the lid up to the light.

The other girls were all peering now, sensing that something was wrong.

‘Whatever are you playing at, Opal?’ asked Miss Lily. ‘You’ve painted little creatures – here and here and here!’

‘They’re fairies,’ I said.

The girls heard me and giggled nervously.

‘Fairies?’ said Miss Lily. ‘Opal, you know very well there are no fairies in our rose-in-bloom design.’

‘Yes, but I thought it would be such a good idea if we included a few. After all, this is the
Fairy
Glen factory.’

‘Don’t be facetious,’ said Miss Lily, ‘I won’t have this nonsense. You have wasted an entire morning with this foolery. The box lid will have to be scrapped. You’re a very stupid, tiresome girl. You’re employed to do serious designs, not fool around like a fanciful schoolgirl.’

‘I’m not fooling. I seriously think the fairies improve the design,’ I said.

‘I created that design more than twenty years ago.’ Miss Lily was trembling, clutching her lace handkerchief in one of her small fists. ‘It’s been one of our most popular designs. How dare you rework it in such a ludicrous manner! Who do you think you are, Opal Plumstead?’ She was nearly in tears.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Lily,’ I said.

I was starting to feel as if I’d done something terrible now. I had hoped Miss Lily would like my fairies once she saw them for herself. I had tried so hard, experimenting all day Sunday until I perfected each one. I thought she’d praise me, show the other girls, insist that my improved design be the future template for everyone.

Maybe I would have given up then and there, apologized profusely, taken some kind of punishment and never tried anything innovative ever again. Maybe, maybe not. But fate was on my side. At that very moment Mrs Roberts came through the door. She was taking one of her customary tours of the factory to make sure that everything was running smoothly. She could see straight away that something was seriously wrong with Miss Lily.

‘Miss Lily?’ She looked at her closely. Miss Lily was still shaking, little beads of sweat standing out on her lined forehead. ‘Miss Lily, sit down. You don’t look very well,’ Mrs Roberts said, clearly concerned. ‘Opal, run and fetch Miss Lily a glass of water.’

I did as I was told, terrified. Miss Lily was clutching her flat old-lady chest. Oh God, had the shock of dealing with me given her a heart attack? Had I literally killed Miss Lily? I started to cry. The other girls gawped at me as if I were truly a murderess.

‘Opal, bring that glass!’ Mrs Roberts said sharply.

I brought it, spilling some on the way. Mrs Roberts sat Miss Lily down, held the glass to her lips and made her drink.

‘There now,’ she said. ‘Calm yourself, Miss Lily. When you’re a little recovered we’ll go into my office and you can tell me why you’re upset.’

Miss Lily nodded, trying to drink. She waved one small hand in the air, her forefinger pointing in my direction.

‘I thought as much,’ said Mrs Roberts.

‘Should I come too, Mrs Roberts?’ I quavered.

She flashed me a terrifying look, a mixture of disappointment and contempt. ‘You stay where you are, Miss Plumstead,’ she said. Then she added, ‘For the moment.’

Oh goodness, she hated me now for upsetting Miss Lily, the treasure of the design room. What exactly did ‘for the moment’ mean? Was she going to dismiss me from the factory forthwith?

We were supposed to get on with our work, but this was impossible. The other girls murmured together. I was too proud to say anything, but I thrust my fairy lid into the waste-paper basket, unable to look at it now.

I waited for nearly an hour. Then at last Mrs Roberts returned, alone.

‘Come with me,’ she said. She looked at the box lid on my desk. I’d only been able to work up one rose, and I’d botched that because my hand was shaking so much.

‘Is this the lid that offended Miss Lily?’ she asked.

‘No, no.’

‘Then where is it?’

‘I threw it in the waste-paper basket,’ I said, shame-faced.

‘Then retrieve it and bring it with you,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘Girls, Miss Lily has been taken unwell and won’t be returning today. Alice, I shall leave you temporarily in charge. Go to Mr Beeston if there are any further problems. Please continue your excellent work.’

I took my poor fairies out of the waste-paper basket. I’d thrust them in with such despair that the lid had crumpled. I hated the very sight of it now. I carried it at arm’s length like a banner of shame, and followed Mrs Roberts to her room.

I usually found it an oasis of style and loveliness, but now it seemed cool and alien, making me feel very grubby and guilty. I saw a little lace handkerchief in a soggy ball on the Persian rug.

‘Oh, it’s Miss Lily’s,’ I said. ‘Is she really ill, Mrs Roberts?’

‘She’s very upset. I felt it kindest to send her home in my car,’ said Mrs Roberts.

‘Upset because of me?’

‘Yes indeed. Oh dear, Opal, what am I going to do with you? I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you came to blows with Patty in the fondant room – but I simply won’t have you upsetting poor Miss Lily.’

‘I would never ever hit Miss Lily!’ I said.

Mrs Roberts shook her head at me. ‘Don’t be tiresome, Opal. Though you might just as well have punched the poor lady in the solar plexus. She was doubled up with pain.’ She saw my face. ‘Mental distress. I don’t think she was in actual physical pain, but I thought it wisest to send her home all the same. I very much value Miss Lily. She’s been with the firm for so many years. Her designs are vital to the company. How could you have deliberately scribbled some nonsense on the box lid?’