A New Dream by Maggie Ford (world of reading .TXT) 📕

She had put down the required first month’s rent with money from her own allowance, aware with a small pang that there’d be no more allowance from now on. All the family had left was their collective jewellery to keep them going for a while but that would take time to sell and once gone there would be no more.

She had suggested pawning it all for the time being, but that reaped a horrified reaction from her mother. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead going anywhere near one of those dreadful places,’ she had said, adding incongruously, ‘I’d rather die!’ But Julia had been far too worried to see the funny side.

Her father had even allowed his life insurance policy to lapse, and along with all the other problems with creditors and banks, she had no idea where they stood at the moment. It had left her reeling, on top of having to contend with her mother’s grief, her sisters’ helplessness and having to take James out of his private school with no money to pay for any further education for him.

She felt sorry for her brother, knowing that his school chums would be discussing among themselves what might have gone wrong in his life. Having to leave school was a terrible comedown for him, on top of the shock of his father’s death. Julia felt anger rise up in her. The whole situation was a comedown for them all.

She let her gaze wander again around the warehouse, wondering why she’d bothered to come at all. There was nothing here but a collection of odd boxes probably containing imported goods and, stacked in one corner, quite a few bolts of dress material.

Curious, Julia went over to examine them. There was cotton, sateen, muslin, velvets of all colours, as well as nainsook from India, a fine soft cotton fabric she found pleasing to the touch. There was silk too, fine silk, some plain, some printed, feeling smooth and slippery as she ran a finger along each bolt. There were others whose names rang bells in her head – voile, chiffon, ninon, tussore.

As she touched each roll of fabric an idea began to form in her head. Quickly she went back to the desk to look for any of the appropriate receipts. Papers appeared to have been stacked in neat piles but nothing more.

It all looked as if those who had worked here saw no point in coming back to work now that their employer was dead and his business bankrupt. They hadn’t been paid and, with creditors clamouring for money, it didn’t look as if they would ever see the humble colour of theirs.

Fred followed her gaze. ‘I got back ’ere after the ’ospital took him ter see if there was anything I could do,’ he said lamely. ‘But it was all out of my depth so I thought best to leave it as it was.’

Julia nodded absently and he went on, ‘Yer father seems to ’ave sent off a tidy batch of stuff the day before. That’s why there ain’t all that much stuff ’ere, I suppose. He might have bin expectin’ more ter come in but I don’t know much about it. I told his workers ter go ’ome and contact yer father’s accountant who’d pay ’em off. And I telephoned his accountant and solicitor about the sad news, taking the liberty of looking up their telephone numbers in his address book there. That was afterwards. Yer see, I stayed at the ’ospital till yer father died, which was ever so quick…’

He broke off in confusion, adding quickly, ‘Begging yer pardon, Miss Longfield, I didn’t mean…’

But Julia wasn’t listening. ‘How much of this stuff do you think we can move out of here?’

Fred broke off to stare at the stack of material. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think I could make use of it.’

‘All of it?’

‘As much as we can load into the car in say an hour.’

Fred pursed his lips in doubt. ‘It ain’t ours… yours… ter shift.’

‘It is until the place is padlocked as far as I’m concerned,’ she said almost in defiance. ‘Now come and help me!’

‘We won’t get the boxes in the car,’ he said as he moved to help. ‘They’re too bulky and take up too much room.’

‘We don’t need them. I know nothing about spices or whatever, but a woman knows something about material and that will stack far more easily.’

Getting the bolts of material out to the car at the back was a nerve-racking experience. Julia’s heart was in her mouth lest someone of authority turned up. By rights this was no longer her father’s property; it could be claimed by his creditors. Taking it might be seen as theft, but since some of it would have to be left as there was no more room for it in the car, what remained would probably appease them. With all that her father owed, surely a few bits of material wouldn’t make any difference.

Maybe no serious inventory had been done on so little stock and she wondered why the place was so empty unless her father, unable to pay for other shipments, had been selling off all he could to help pay some of his debts.

As she worked, dragging the stuff from where it was piled up, she kept hearing the solicitors first words to her mother as he’d broken the news: ‘Your husband was financially overstretched, Mrs Longfield. True, the banks had accepted his personal guarantees for all his company’s debts but as his debt steadily mounted there was growing concern; and now, with his death, they are naturally looking to recover those debts.’

How could her father have been so stupid not to have seen how deep a hole he’d been digging for himself?

Tense laughter bubbled up inside her at the aptness of that thought. She immediately quelled it, bitter anger taking its place at her father’s stubbornness in keeping his problems locked inside himself, doing his own bookkeeping, ignoring any advice