Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘Then I won’t ask him that.’
‘But what excuse are you going to make for visiting the offices again? You were only there this morning.
And
you’re going without your father this time.’
‘I’ve got you with me.’
‘That’s what worries me,’ Jane said dolefully.
Annabel laughed and patted her maid’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’
But who is looking after you? Jane wanted to say. I do my best, but you’re a difficult little madam to control when you want to do something. But she held her tongue and concentrated on
clinging on as her mistress flicked the reins and the horse went faster.
As she drew the chaise to a halt in front of the offices bearing the name Ambrose Constantine, Annabel turned to face Jane. ‘Now, just go along with anything I say.’
‘Yes, Miss Annabel,’ Jane said meekly, feeling very anxious. Her stomach was churning with nerves. She was sure that, this time, there’d be trouble. Yet she followed Annabel
into the building and to the manager’s office.
The older male clerk, sitting at one of the desks in the outer office, rose as the two young women entered. In the corner the female typist looked up and smiled.
‘Good morning, Mr Mabbott. I wondered if I might have a word with your typist?’
The man blinked and glanced at the woman whose eyes widened. ‘Might I ask why, Miss Constantine?’
Annabel smiled winningly. ‘Of course you may. I’m very interested in young women in the workplace and I wondered if Miss –’ She paused and Mr Mabbott said helpfully,
‘Tate.’
‘– if Miss Tate would be kind enough to answer one or two questions.’
Mr Mabbott turned towards the typist and raised his eyebrows in question.
She inclined her head. ‘Of course.’
‘How very kind of you.’ Annabel smiled, drawing off her gloves and sitting down in a chair opposite Miss Tate.
‘Does your father know about this?’ Mr Mabbott asked.
‘No, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’ Annabel put her head on one side coquettishly. ‘He’s always saying I should learn about the business that is one day
going to be mine.’
The man seemed to be facing a dilemma. ‘I – I’d ask Mr Smeeton, but he’s not here at the moment.’
Annabel waved her hand airily. ‘No matter, I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for either of you.’ She took a small notebook and a silver pencil from the embroidered reticule
she carried and smiled at the girl. ‘Now, tell me how you came to work here? It’s unusual to have women working in offices, isn’t it, though I read that the Government have
employed female typists for a few years now?’ Miss Tate was quite a plain-looking young woman, but smart in a black tailored costume, a white blouse and with her hair pulled severely back
from her face into a bun. She wore no adornment of any kind – no jewellery, not even a pretty piece of lace at her collar. She was unassuming and quiet, but it seemed to Annabel that she was
efficient in her work. ‘Did you have to undertake any training?’ Annabel prodded her pencil towards the black typewriter. ‘I notice that you type very fast and use all your
fingers. Tell me, how did you learn to do that?’
As if now satisfied that the reason Annabel had given for her visit was genuine, Mr Mabbott excused himself from the room. ‘I’ll go for my lunch now and leave you to it.’ As he
left, Jane sat down in his chair, marvelling at Annabel’s ingenuity. She would even have fooled Jane if the girl hadn’t known of the ulterior motive.
‘Now he’s gone,’ Annabel said, leaning towards the girl and lowering her voice, ‘tell me, what is it like working with men? I presume there are no other female office
workers here?’
‘No – just me. It’s all right really. They’re very courteous and considerate.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes, especially Mr Radcliffe, but he’s gone now.’
‘Who was he?’ Annabel asked with wide-eyed innocence and Jane stifled nervous laughter.
‘The under-manager. He was ever so nice, but – but he left very suddenly only last week.’
‘Did he?’ Annabel was still managing to keep her tone casual. ‘Do you know why?’
The girl pursed her lips and glanced towards Jane. ‘Not – really.’
Annabel lowered her voice. ‘Anything you say to me, Miss Tate, is in complete confidence. And you can trust Jane. She’s completely loyal to me.’
‘There was a big row,’ Miss Tate whispered, nodding her head towards the door that led into the manager’s office. ‘Raised voices. We could hear every word.’
‘Really? What were they saying?’
Miss Tate pressed her lips together primly. ‘Oh, I don’t think I should repeat anything I heard, Miss Constantine. Not even to you. It wouldn’t be right. I was told when I
first got this job that I must never repeat anything I heard in the office.’
‘Quite right,’ Annabel said promptly. ‘I apologize for asking. But you say the upshot of this argument was that this – er – Mr Radcliffe, was it?’
Miss Tate nodded.
‘– has left the company?’
‘He went that very day. That minute. He stormed out of the office’ – she jerked her head towards the door into the manager’s room – ‘and we haven’t seen
him since.’
‘Where’s he gone?’
Miss Tate shrugged. ‘Rumour has it that he’s gone to America.’
‘I – see,’ Annabel murmured and was thoughtful for a moment. She realized that Miss Tate wasn’t going to tell her any more – even if she knew more – but she
had to round off her questioning by getting back to the supposed subject.
‘So, tell me a little more about the training you had to do.’
They talked for a further ten minutes by which time Mr Mabbott appeared and Annabel stood up, closing her notebook. ‘Thank you, Miss Tate; that was most informative. And thank you, Mr
Mabbott, for allowing me to take up her time.’
‘Our pleasure, Miss Annabel.’ He held the door for Annabel and Jane to leave. When they were safely out of earshot, he rounded on Miss Tate. ‘What did she ask you and what did
you tell her?’
The girl blinked and stammered, ‘Just – just about my job and what training I’d needed. That sort of thing.’
‘Anything else?’ he almost barked at her.
Miss Tate flinched but she returned his gaze steadily. Some instinct made her keep quiet about Miss Annabel’s other questions. For her own sake Miss Tate didn’t want her superior to
think she had been gossiping and she also had the feeling that Miss Annabel’s interest in the young and handsome Gilbert Radcliffe was a little more than casual.
‘No, Mr Mabbott,’ she answered him calmly. ‘Just about my work.’
The man grunted and turned away to sit down at his desk whilst the girl began to tap away at her typewriter once more. She was sorry not to have felt able to help Miss Annabel further –
she looked nice. The quarrel had indeed been about Mr Constantine’s daughter – her name had been mentioned – but Miss Tate had not dared reveal what she’d overheard. The
young typist had to protect her own position in a world of men. One foot wrong and she would be dismissed.
Just as Mr Radcliffe had been.
‘I wonder if I should see Mr Smeeton?’ Annabel murmured aloud as they sat for a few moments in the chaise.
‘No, Miss Annabel, please don’t. He would definitely tell your father. And besides, you might get that poor girl into trouble.’ Jane was sensitive to a fellow employee’s
position. ‘I think she’s already told you more than she should have done.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Annabel conceded. She sighed and picked up the reins. As they drove out of the yard, the tears began to flow and once they were well away from the
docks, Annabel pulled the horse-drawn vehicle to a halt and began to cry in earnest. ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? Left me without even saying “goodbye” – without even
telling me. All those declarations of true love – he didn’t mean a word, did he?’
Jane put her arms around her young mistress and Annabel clung to her. She was mystified and bereft. Gilbert Radcliffe had been so kind, so circumspect. No doubt her parents would have been
horrified that she was meeting one of her father’s employees in secret, but Gilbert had never asked for anything more than a chaste kiss, a touching of hands and all the while Jane had been
just out of sight but always in earshot. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, Annabel told herself.
‘Don’t upset yourself so, Miss Annabel, please. Just let’s get home. If we’re late again . . .’
With a supreme effort, Annabel sat up, dried her eyes and took up the reins once more. When they arrived home, Jane said, ‘Come in through the kitchen and up the back stairs. And if anyone
asks what’s the matter’ – Annabel’s face was still blotchy from weeping – ‘I’ll tell them we had a bit of a scare in the chaise and it upset
you.’
Annabel laughed, but there was a note of hysteria in the sound. ‘You’re getting inventive with your fibs.’
Jane grinned and dared to say, ‘I’ve had a good teacher. Now, come on or else you won’t be ready for dinner.’
‘What’s up with her?’ Mrs Rowley wanted to know as Annabel hurried through the kitchen to the staircase the servants used.
‘Nothing really. We had a bit of an incident. Nearly tipped the chaise over and it shook us both up. I’ll make some tea and take her a cup.’
‘Very well,’ the cook agreed reluctantly, ‘but come straight back down. There’s work for you to do in the kitchen and Mrs Constantine will need you in about half an
hour.’
‘Yes, Mrs Rowley,’ Jane said docilely and breathed a sigh of relief.
By the time Roland Walmsley sounded the gong for dinner, Annabel had managed to compose herself and appeared at the table with a smile plastered on her face. She was careful to
talk as animatedly as she always did.
When Jane had come to help her finish dressing for dinner, Annabel had confided, ‘Jane, I’m going to tell them where we’ve been this afternoon – that I was intrigued by
Miss Tate and wanted to talk to her.’
‘Oh miss, do you think you should? Your father—’
‘If Mr Mabbott tells Mr Smeeton that I visited and then Mr Smeeton tells my father – as he surely would – it’ll be far worse for us than if I tell him myself. By so doing
I’ll – what’s the phrase? – take the wind out of his sails.’
There had never been a rule of silence at the table in the Constantine household, even when they did not have company to dine. Ambrose took the opportunity to quiz his wife, and particularly his
daughter, on what they had been doing and often the conversation centred on the business. Sarah was still heavily involved and often visited the offices herself to look over the books. So, as the
meal began, Annabel said brightly, ‘Father, I hope you don’t mind. I went back to your office this afternoon.’
Ambrose seemed unsurprised. ‘Oh,’ he said smoothly, ‘and why was that?’
‘When we were there this morning,’ her hand shook slightly as she drank her soup, but she continued bravely with the story she had concocted and played out, ‘I was so
interested to see a young woman working in your offices. A typist. I wanted to find out more about her.’
‘And did you?’
‘Only about the kind of work she did and what training she’d undertaken – that sort of thing. She was very firm that she couldn’t divulge anything confidential –
and she didn’t.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘Why have you employed a young woman in your offices? It’s unusual, isn’t it?’
Ambrose wrinkled his forehead. ‘A couple of years ago I heard that the Treasury had experimented with women typists and they’d proved efficient and economical.’
‘Economical? How do you mean?’
Ambrose smiled. ‘We don’t pay women the same rate as men.’
Annabel stared at her father, railing against the unfairness of it all. But, just now, she did not dare to cause an argument. Instead, she murmured, ‘I see.’ She paused and then
added, ‘You didn’t mind, Father, did you? Miss Tate won’t get into trouble, will she? I wouldn’t want that to happen on my account.’
‘Of course not. It sounds as if the young woman handled herself admirably. But in future, I’d be glad if you didn’t undertake such trips on your own. Either your mother or I
ought to be with you.’
In an unguarded moment, Annabel answered, ‘I wasn’t alone. Jane was with me.’
Ambrose frowned and glanced at his wife. ‘I think perhaps our daughter is spending too much time with servants. We should endeavour to help her mix with young people of her own
class.’
‘I quite agree, Ambrose,’ Sarah said. ‘We must increase our efforts to arrange for her to be presented at Court. I have heard from Sir William’s wife that she would be
delighted to act as sponsor for Annabel. She has already put Annabel’s name forward. As soon as we hear something, we can begin making arrangements.’
Sir William Carruthers had been a great supporter of Ambrose when the young man had been fighting his way in the world of business and both he and his wife, Cynthia, were Annabel’s
godparents. Ambrose smiled. ‘And haven’t your parents asked Annabel to stay with them over Easter? Perhaps it would be better for her to go there now since she has nothing better to do
than ride around the countryside in the company of a servant girl and involve herself with one of my employees.’ Annabel gasped and knew that the colour had drained from her face. Had her
father found out about her trysts with Gilbert? But at his next words she breathed more easily. ‘I don’t think a typist is the sort of person you should be encouraging.’
‘But, I didn’t, Father. I merely—’
Ambrose held up his hand to silence her. ‘Enough. The matter is closed.’
The meal continued without further conversation and Annabel found her appetite had completely deserted her.
A week later, Billy, driving the brougham, took Annabel to her grandparents’ home in the Lincolnshire wolds. This time, Jane had not been allowed to accompany her.
Annabel sat rigidly upright, determined not to let her inner misery show. There had been no word from Gilbert and she had been unable to find out any more. All she knew was that he had had a
huge quarrel with his immediate superior at work, had either been dismissed or had walked out, and that, allegedly, he had gone abroad, financed by an unexpected windfall. But she couldn’t
get him out of her mind; his fair curly hair, his merry blue eyes and the sweet promises he had whispered. By the time the carriage drew into the farmyard, Annabel could not stop the tears from
flowing. She fell into her grandfather’s arms.