Darkest Before Dawn Read Free Page A

remarked. ‘I’ll nip up for you, missus; ’twon’t take but a minute.’
    â€˜And I’ll serve Miz Proudfoot here whiles you go an’ see to that poor dear woman,’ Mrs Bunwell said, surging round the counter. She beamed at Martha, adding comfortably: ‘Don’t you fret yourself, queen. Ol’ Wilmslow would be the first to say I’m reliable; ain’t that so, gels?’
    There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled customers and the young girl in the stained apron and raggedy dress, who had offered to go and fetch Harry Todd, turned to grin as she went out through the open doorway. ‘It’s true as I’m standing here; ol’ Wilmslow used to nag poor Mrs B. something dreadful because she were a bit slow like, but he trusted her or she’d never ’ave got be’ind that counter. Shan’t be a tick.’
    She disappeared and Martha watched for a second as Mrs Bunwell began to take the various goods on Mrs Proudfoot’s list off the shelves and place them tenderly in the cardboard box. Then she went through the curtain which separated the shop from the back premises. Once, she knew, the Wilmslows had lived in the flat upstairs and the back rooms had been used for storage. But when Mrs Wilmslow became bedridden, her husband had converted the back premises into quite a respectable dwelling with a kitchen, a stockroom and a sizeable bed-sitting room. Mrs Wilmslow spent her days in the bed-sitting room, in a large double bed, and now, as Martha popped through the curtain, the older woman sighed with relief. ‘Thank the Lord you heared me at last,’ she whispered. ‘I needs the WC.’
    Martha knew that Mrs Wilmslow meant she wanted the chamber pot which was kept in the bedside cabinet, for the invalid could no longer manage the journey to the privy in the back yard. Nodding her comprehension, she produced the large, flower-decorated utensil and helped Mrs Wilmslow to move across the bed; she always got out on the far side so that, should anyone come through the curtain at an unfortunate moment, customers would not see her performance.
    â€˜I heard someone clacking up them stairs just now,’ she said as Martha helped her to climb back between the sheets. ‘Mr Wilmslow telled me the Sat’day girls were off for the day, idle little sluts, so I suppose it were one of your gels givin’ a hand like?’
    Martha blinked at the unexpected spite in the older woman’s voice. Molly and Annie were good girls, hard-working and honest, never complaining when Mr Wilmslow kept them late, or expected them to cart heavy sacks from the back premises into the shop itself. Now that he lived downstairs, if his wife was having a restless night he slept on a camp bed in the stockroom, no doubt soothed by the scents of cocoa, coffee beans and dried fruit which surrounded him.
    However, there had been a query in Mrs Wilmslow’s tone, so Martha decided to ignore her unchristian remark and tell her what she wanted to know. ‘Actually, Mr Wilmslow didn’t tell me that Molly and Annie weren’t coming in today, so I sent my daughters off to do some shopping for me,’ she informed the other woman. ‘But when I heard you call, one of the customers said she’d run up and tell my husband that I needed him downstairs. He’s not busy, and—’
    Mrs Wilmslow interrupted. ‘I hope you’ve not left the shop unattended,’ she said querulously. ‘I know I’m a scouser meself, but Mr Wilmslow comes from Chester and he says all scousers is thieves and vagabonds. If one of them women gets her fingers into our till . . . well, that’ll be you out on your ear, Martha Todd.’
    â€˜I left Mrs Bunwell in charge,’ Martha said quietly. ‘It was either that or leave you to your own devices, Mrs Wilmslow. I didn’t have much choice really, wouldn’t you say?’
    As she