Off the Rails Read Online Free PDF

where the customers could see ’em, then we might tempt a few of ’em over the doorstep. But he couldn’t say so. She might not take kindly to an apprentice telling her what she ought to do and he didn’t want to get sent packing on his first day. So he listened and looked attentive.
    For the next two days, he did what little work there was – sweeping the floor, carrying two rolls of cloth down from the store room for a customer and running errands to master tailors in Stonegate and High Petergate – and thought hard about what else he could do. On his fourth morning, an elderly lady came timidly into the shop to say that she wished to choose some new ribbons for her Sunday bonnet and Lizzie, who was busy showing the lilac broadcloth to a young man, indicated with an upward nod of her head that he was to serve the lady. It took him ten minutes, as he presented her with a tray full of possibilities from the shelf under the counter and used every ounce of charm he possessed to persuade her that the most expensive would suit her complexion to perfection. After she’d gone, smiling and satisfied and surprised by her own extravagance, he stood looking at the tray and wondering whether he could say something to Lizzie.
    ‘These should be in the window,’ he said eventually, ‘where folk can see ’em, not hidden away under the counter. These and the best of the cloth. That lilac for a start, and the green. Good broadcloth is that. We should make show of what we’ve got to offer. Let folk see it. That’s my opinion. They’ll not buy what they can’t see. What do ’ee think?’ If he could get her on his side she might be able to persuade her sister.
    She was no use to him at all. She giggled. She said she didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t the sort of question she’d ever been asked. ‘Tha’d need to talk to Mrs Bell about it,’ she told him. ‘’Tis not up to me.’
    It was the worst possible answer. How could he do that when she wouldn’t allow him to say a word? It was very frustrating and, try as he might, he couldn’t see a way round it.
    The next day was Sunday, which at least meant there was something different for him to do. The entire family took the short walk down Goodramgate to the Church of the Holy Trinity, where the saints stood impassively in the stained glass windows, empty-faced and distant, the flagstones were jaggedly uneven, and the box pews out of alignment and black with age. Mrs Bell and her brother and sister had a pew halfway up the aisle, which showed that the family had some standing.
    ‘There are seats for ’prentices at the back,’ Mrs Bell said, putting him in his place again. ‘Norridge will show you where to go.’
    George took his seat feeling belittled and irritable. He bit his lip. He ignored the other people in the pew. He scowled at the saints. He frowned at the pulpit. He glared at the nobs as they swept past him on their well-dressed way to their important pews. And then one of them stopped by his lowly seat and leant across towards him and spoke his name.
    ‘Morning, George. Tha got the job, I see.’
    It was his Uncle Matthew with his wife on his arm, and a gold-topped cane in his hand, dressed in the height of fashion, in a broadcloth jacket and a pair of trousers, no less, and a waistcoat of pale blue brocade.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, fighting the urge to turn his head to see if Mrs Bell was noticing. ‘Thank ’ee kindly.’
    ‘Glad to hear it,’ Mr Bottrill said. ‘I like a boy who works for his living. Settled in well, have ’ee?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Good,’ his uncle said. And he and his wife continued their progress to the front pews, greeting Mrs Bell on their way.
    Has she seen? George wondered. Please God, let her have seen.
    She had and made a point of asking him about it on their way back to the shop. ‘You know Mr Bottrill – um – seemingly.’
    Oh, what an enjoyable moment. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ George said.
    ‘How did that – um