Opal Plumstead Read online

  She was sitting in Father’s chair, as if she now had the authority of both parents. I think she had nodded off where she sat, as her head jerked when I came into the room. She looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, her face grim.

  ‘How dare you come home so late, Opal! What will people think?’

  ‘Most folk will be fast asleep in their beds. And those who are out and about to see me won’t think anything of it because they have stayed out too, so there’s no need to fuss. Let’s go to bed now,’ I said.

  I couldn’t bear to let a row with Mother tarnish my wondrous golden day.

  I ran upstairs, but Mother shouted and came after me into my bedroom.

  ‘How dare you ignore me! Isn’t it enough that your father and sister have both disgraced themselves? Why do you have to act like a little hussy too? You might have set your cap at that Morgan Roberts, but he’s just using you – can’t you see? He’ll never respect you if you stay out half the night with him.’

  ‘Mother, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t get home any sooner. I’ve been on a motor coach trip to Hastings. We didn’t get back into town until half past eleven.’

  ‘Don’t tell me such wicked lies. A boy like Morgan Roberts would never go on a coach trip! Do you think I’m stupid?’

  ‘Yes I do, because I’m telling you the honest truth. Now please go to bed, Mother. I’m very tired and I’m sure you are too.’

  Mother started sobbing in rage and frustration. It was all I could do not to seize hold of her and push her out of the door. I made myself hold her and pat her back and mop her tears. I tried to reassure her, and eventually she crept away. I could take off my clothes and lie down in peace. I wore my opal necklace underneath my nightdress and fell asleep holding it tight in my hand.

  I COULDN’T WAKE up the next morning. I was dimly aware of Mother shouting at me, but I buried my head under the pillow. I was dreaming of being in Hastings and wanted to stay there.

  ‘Opal! What are you thinking of? It’s twenty to eight!’ Mother said, pulling the sheets off me.

  I had to stagger up, wash my face, and struggle into my clothes. There was no time for breakfast. I grabbed a heel of bread with dripping and, once I was out of the house, started running. I knew I was going to be late for work even if I flew like the wind, so when I got a stitch in my side I started walking. By the time the factory was in sight I had slowed right down. I very much hoped Mrs Roberts wouldn’t be at Fairy Glen today.

  I had to slink in past Mr Beeston’s office.

  ‘Miss Opal Plumstead, a good fifteen minutes late!’ he said.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Beeston,’ I said humbly.

  ‘So I should think. I’m afraid I shall have to write your name in my late book. If Mrs Roberts sees fit to dock you an hour’s wages, I won’t be able to stop her.’

  ‘I’m not an hour late!’

  ‘I don’t make the rules, my dear. I simply implement them. Anyone arriving more than five minutes late forfeits an hour’s wages. Anyone up to and including me.’

  ‘Then these are ridiculously unfair rules,’ I said, and I marched past him.

  All the girls were hard at work in the design room.

  ‘Ah, so you’re deigning to grace us with your presence, are you?’ said Alice. ‘You’re going to be for it, you know, even though you’re such a favourite. Mrs Roberts has already had her head round the door looking for you.’

  This totally unnerved me, though I tried to appear indifferent. I sat down and reached for a box lid, though I’d never in all my life felt less like inventing fairies. It was a struggle to keep my hand steady enough to control my paintbrush at first, but I gradually relaxed a little, and found myself painting a mermaid frolicking in the sea with a merry trio of green and blue fairies swooping down to speak to her.

  ‘Opal Plumstead!’ It was Mrs Roberts, her voice very stern. ‘Please come to my office.’

  Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Told you,’ she whispered.

  I took a deep breath, put down my brush and walked out of the room in a dignified manner, though my knees were shaking. Mrs Roberts didn’t turn to acknowledge me. I followed her along the corridor into her room. She sat at the desk. I stood before her. She waited a good thirty seconds, staring at me coldly.

  ‘I’m not surprised you were late this morning. You must have been very late home yesterday evening.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Roberts. Morgan and I—’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she interrupted. She’d winced when I said the word Morgan, as if she couldn’t even bear me to say her son’s name. ‘I also know that you’ve been secretly writing to him for months. I found an entire cache of your letters hidden in Morgan’s trunk.’

  ‘You’ve been reading my private letters?’ I said.

  ‘Kindly don’t use that tone to me. I have not read your childish outpourings. It was enough to simply see your signature at the end. How dare you bombard him with these letters?’

  ‘He wrote just as many to me. He wrote first,’ I said.

  ‘My son is very kind and sympathetic. I’m sure he initially thought of you as a child, as I did myself. I had no idea you could be so scheming and underhand.’

  ‘I am not scheming or underhand. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know why you’re being so horrible to me.’ I was fighting hard not to burst into tears.

  ‘I thought you’d set your cap at my son at Easter, though it was hard to believe your temerity. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I never dreamed you were deceiving me all this time – even plotting to meet up with him the minute he returned from Scotland. Then you kept him out all day and half the night until I was nearly demented with worry.’

  ‘We went on a coach trip to the seaside. We couldn’t help getting back late.’

  ‘A motor-coach trip! Of all the vulgar things to do on a bank holiday! I can scarcely believe my son went along with this.’

  ‘We had a wonderful day too,’ I said defiantly. I didn’t know I was fingering my opal necklace until I saw Mrs Roberts staring at it.

  ‘Did you wheedle that out of him too?’ she asked.

  ‘Morgan bought it for me, yes. I don’t . . . wheedle,’ I said, tears starting to roll down my cheeks. ‘Morgan wanted to buy it for me. He cares for me.’

  ‘Now let us get one thing straight, Opal Plumstead. My son has befriended you and behaved in a very foolish fashion. I dare say he is partly at fault. But you must realize that there is no chance whatsoever for the two of you to continue this unseemly friendship.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘My dear girl, do I have to spell it out? Morgan is my son. He will own Fairy Glen one day – the factory, and indeed the house, and various other properties and land. He is a gentleman and has been educated accordingly. He will be going up to Oxford at the end of the summer to complete his education. He will enjoy a pleasant social life there amongst people of his own sort. I’m sure he’ll meet a suitable young lady and they’ll start a romantic friendship. He won’t dally any further with you, Opal. Surely you can see that.’

  ‘What is so dreadful about me? You were happy enough to take me under your wing. You liked me. You invited me to meetings, you took me back to your home, you gave me the job in design, you think my fairies are really special. If I’m good enough for you, why aren’t I good enough for your son?’ I cried.

  ‘I don’t make society’s rules, Opal,’ said Mrs Roberts. ‘You’re simply not the right type of girl.’

  ‘You’ve always clamoured to change rules. You don’t think it’s fair that women are denied the vote, so you protested vehemently and even went to prison for your beliefs. But you’re still bound by stupid rules of class. You say you want Morgan to meet people of his own sort. Well, I’m his sort, whether you like it or not. We are soul mates!’

  ‘Stop shouting at me. I won’t have it. I am your employer, please remember that.’

  ‘Then I resign!’

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