All the Sweet Promises. Elizabeth Elgin
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suppose,’ Jane whispered, ‘that I was glad, too.’
‘There now.’ Vi beamed. ‘Takes all sorts to make a world, dunnit? Shall we have another cup of tea? There’s loads of time.’
‘I’ll get them.’ Lucinda jumped to her feet, collecting cups, plates and cutlery together and placing them on the tray. ‘Anyone want anything else?’
‘No, ta.’ Vi wiggled her toes, wondering if she dared take off her shoes just for five minutes, to ease the throbbing, shooting pain. But do that and she’d never get them on again, and she would arrive at Ardneavie not only late, but shoeless!
Jane ran her finger round her collar. It was far too tight and chafing her neck. How would she ever get used to wearing a tie? And oh, the panic this morning when she lost a collar stud. She must remember to buy a spare set. Searching on hands and knees at the crack of dawn was not the best start to a day, especially a day like this one!
‘Tea up!’ Lucinda set down the cups, then, unbuttoning her jacket, sat down at the table, chin on hands.
‘Do you suppose we’re ever going to feel comfortable in these uniforms? I mean, one feels so awkward.’
‘Don’t we all, queen? It isn’t as if they fit, either.’
‘And they’re so fluffy,’ Jane mourned. ‘I wonder how long it’s going to take us to wear them smooth.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have minded, but they just threw mine at me when we were kitted out. Look at this. Miles too big.’ Lucinda rose dramatically to her feet, holding out her arms. ‘The length of these sleeves! It looks as if I’ve got no hands.’
‘My skirt is miles too long. Fourteen inches from the floor it’s supposed to be, yet it’s nearly tripping me. What am I expected to do – grow into it?’
‘Oh, it’ll be all right. This get-up’ll be quite smart, once we’ve had a go at it.’ Vi looked at her double-breasted, six-buttoned jacket. Black buttons, anchor decorated. Clever, that: no polishing. A tuck here and there, perhaps, and a couple of inches off the length, and their skirts would be quite presentable. And white shirts were very smart, really, and would look quite good when they had learned to cope with the board-stiff collars and not to knot their ties so tightly. No, there was nothing wrong with their uniforms that couldn’t be put right, as far as Vi was concerned. The shoes, though, were altogether a different matter.
‘I think,’ she said sadly, ‘that I’m goin’ to have trouble with me feet, though. I should have been kitted out a week earlier but they’d got no shoes to fit me. It’s a terrible trial havin’ big feet.’
‘I suppose it must be.’ Lucinda frowned. ‘Does it – er – run in the family, Vi?’
‘Nah. It’s because I never had no shoes till I was three. Me feet just spread. Y’know, I can remember the first time I wore them. Mam got ’em from the nuns – you could get all sorts of things from the convent in them days. Free, they were, and I can remember one of the Sisters putting them socks and shoes on me, and me yellin’ and screamin’ like mad and tryin’ to take them off. Then the weather got cold and I must’ve realized it was nice havin’ warm feet ’cos Mam said she never had no trouble with me after that. But that’s why I’ve got big feet.’
‘I don’t like these woollen stockings,’ Jane pouted. ‘I’ve done nothing but itch since I got mine.’
‘And the underwear is a bit much,’ Lucinda added. ‘Pink cotton bras and suspender belts!’ She gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘And the knickers!’ Directoire knickers in navy-blue rayon with long, knee-reaching legs. ‘I thought they went out with Queen Victoria. No wonder they’re called blackouts.’
‘Or passion-killers.’ Jane giggled.
‘You’re right.’ Vi grinned. ‘Imagine gettin’ knocked down by a tram in the middle of Lime Street wearin’ them things. You’d never be able to look the ambulance men in the face, would you? We’re goin’ to have to cut about six inches off them knicker legs.’
‘I suppose we’ll get used to everything, in time,’ Lucinda shrugged. ‘We feel awkward in uniform at the moment and a bit self-conscious. And white shirts are hardly the thing for long train journeys. All those black smuts from the engine, and the door handles covered in grime, and the dusty seats …’
‘You’re right, queen. We’re fed-up and tired and we’ve missed our train, but it’ll all come right, just see if it doesn’t. And at least we don’t have to worry any more about what to wear. What about the poor civilians, then? They get the sticky end of the golden sceptre every time, don’t they?’
‘Clothes rationing, you mean?’
‘Clothes rationin’,’ Vi affirmed solemnly. ‘Imagine the Government doin’ a thing like that, eh?’
It had happened suddenly, just three weeks ago. The British public had opened its morning papers to the stark announcement that clothing and footwear were rationed. Coupon values had been placed upon every conceivable article, and henceforth it would be illegal to buy anything without surrendering the appropriate number of clothing coupons. Briefly, it stated that sixty-six coupons had been considered adequate for normal use. The bomb-shell exploded when it added that those sixty-six coupons must last for a whole year.
‘It is outrageous,’ the Countess had written to her daughter. ‘How is one to be decently clothed when one must hand over sixteen coupons for a coat and five for a pair of shoes? We shall all be in rags …’
‘It’s fair, I suppose,’ Jane argued. ‘Clothes were getting very expensive and in short supply too. Now everyone will at least get a fair share.’
‘But three whole coupons for a pair of silk stockings,’ Lucinda wailed. ‘My mother was always catching hers on her rings. She went through any amount of stockings in a week. She won’t be able to do that now.’
‘She’ll have to go without, then – or paint her legs, as it suggested in the magazine. Gravy-browning is supposed to be good.’
‘Good grief!’ Mama bare-legged! Lucinda shook with silent joy. Gravy-browning? But it really wasn’t funny, come to think of it, since poor Pa would be the whipping boy for the silk stocking shortage. One thing was certain, though. Worrying about clothing coupons would at least make Mama forget the invasion for a while.
‘What’s so funny?’ Vi demanded.
‘My mother. Having to paint her legs.’ Lucinda’s smile gave way to a throaty laugh. ‘But she’ll find a way round it.’
She would, too. Lady Kitty’s wardrobes were crammed with clothes, and she would give those for which she had no further use to someone with little money – in exchange for some of their coupons, of course. That it was against the law would not worry milady in the least. The Countess of Donnington upheld only those laws with which she agreed, and the rationing of footwear and clothing and the issuing of clothing coupons were not among them.
‘It’ll be hard on my sister,’ Vi considered. ‘Got two kids, Mary has. Just imagine – eight coupons for a pair of pyjamas and five for a blouse and seven for a skirt. And you’ve even got to give up a coupon for two ounces of knitting wool as well. I don’t know how she’ll manage. Go without, herself, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘I suppose we’re lucky, missing all that.’ Jane remembered the three pairs of London-tan stockings she had left behind her. It was useless to try to hoard silk stockings, stated the women’s magazines. They deteriorated with time, and the only way to prolong their life was to store them carefully in airtight containers and only wear them on special occasions. It was patriotic to go bare-legged, insisted fashion editors, whereupon almost the entire female population of the United Kingdom had wrapped their precious stockings in cellophane and placed them, sighing, in screw-topped jars in dark cupboards.
Furtively Jane scratched