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The Dressmakers of London

Page 46

by Julia Kelly

I must run, but before I do I should mention that I have an appointment with Mr. Manon from Whitmore’s in a week’s time. I have great hopes that he will be able to shine new light on the mystery of Mrs. Shelton’s accounts!

Yours,

Sylvia

[Unsent]

31 January 1942

Dear Sylvia,

I will be the first to admit that my introduction to RAF Titchfield has been a soggy one. It has rained the last ten days straight, and it feels as though we must slog through six inches of mud every time we line up for parade. A few of the bolder WAAFs tried to complain, but our corporal quickly reminded them that the conditions could be far worse wherever they are stationed. How, I don’t know, because other bases surely must have snugger accommodation than our Nissen huts, but I didn’t dare actually ask.

Miss Reid will be pleased to hear that I have a steady little business here of altering uniforms for my fellow cadets. It started with altering the uniform of my friend Alexandra, and word soon spread to the rest of the camp—

31 January 1942

Dear Sylvia,

All of your letters sent to Innsworth arrived at once with the afternoon post as I had just sat down to write to you.

Since you seem intent on ignoring all my advice, all I will say is that if the advertisements fail to bring in any new business, you will have no one to blame but yourself.

Sincerely,

Isabelle Shelton

Chapter Sixteen

A woman in a gray department store suit that didn’t quite fit her around the shoulders stopped in front of an office door, knocked gently, and then opened it to announce, “Mrs. Pearsall to see you, Mr. Manon.”

Sylvia stepped around the banker’s secretary as Mr. Manon rose from his desk and greeted her with an appropriately solemn look.

“Mrs. Pearsall, my deepest condolences,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the banker’s warm, dry hand.

“How are you and your sister?” he asked. She remembered his kind, gentle manner. He’d handled her stubborn mother, who hadn’t really seen the purpose of their visits to the bank, beautifully, and now she realized that just seeing him made her feel as though a weight were lifting off her chest.

“As well as can be. Izzie has been called up to the WAAF, so I am doing my best to manage while she is away,” she said.

“We must all do what we can in times like these,” he said with a nod. “If you would care to sit.”

She sank down into the chair he gestured to, placing her handbag at her feet and folding her hands in her lap.

“I will be frank with you, Mrs. Pearsall,” said Mr. Manon, smoothing a hand over the front of his suit before sitting, “I have been concerned for some time about your mother’s affairs. It has been nearly five years since she and I have spoken in any significant way, and the last record I have of her making a deposit was…” He consulted a paper in front of him. “It looks as though it was November of 1938.”

Sylvia’s lips parted. Nearly three and a half years was an eternity when it came to a business.

“I tried to contact her several times, both by letter and telephone, but I’m afraid that when I was able to converse with Mrs. Shelton she made it clear that she did not see speaking to me as a matter of great urgency,” said Mr. Manon.

“Well,” said Sylvia, “I cannot pretend I’m happy to hear that. However, I’m also not entirely surprised. Do you know where she has been banking? The shop has continued running in that time. She must have been doing something with the money in all those years.”

“I’m afraid that is something I cannot help you with,” said Mr. Manon, setting the paper back down.

Sylvia sighed. It had been enough of a struggle to make her mother see sense about the need for a proper account for the business with a proper bank. It was unlikely that her mother had gone to yet another institution to go through the entire rigmarole again years later.

No, if Sylvia had to guess, her mother had been overwhelmed by the bookkeeping and had neglected all of the procedures Sylvia had put into place, instead reverting to her old habits. That meant slapdash accounting, lost receipts, and a mixing of personal and business income in her mother’s post office savings account.