his mum had been complaining about how often she had to let down the sleeves of his jackets, and the legs of his trousers. The Billy of six months ago wouldn’t have cared very much if his trousers were too short or not – nor would he have taken such satisfaction in doing each little job carefully, whether it was preparing the clerks’ afternoon tea, or filing Miss Atwood’s papers. But, perhaps the biggest change of all was that these days, just like his uncle Sid, who was the Head Doorman, Billy felt proud to say that he worked for London’s finest department store.
Working for Miss Atwood, Mr Sinclair’s own private secretary, suited him in a way that being a shop porter never had. He enjoyed the company of the other clerks and the lively bustle of the offices. He liked seeing all the people who came and went – Miss Atwood, Mr Betteredge the store manager, and of course, the great Mr Sinclair, ‘the Captain’ himself. He liked being the person responsible for delivering the Captain’s own messages, in their special yellow envelopes, to staff around the store – tipping his hat to the salesgirls and waving a greeting to his old friends the porters as he went. He liked being able to answer the telephone, saying in his most important-sounding voice: ‘Good afternoon, Miss Atwood’s office, this is Parker speaking, how may I assist you?’
One of his favourite tasks was taking Mr Sinclair’s pug, Lucky, on her daily outing to the park. The little dog had become almost as much of a London celebrity as the Captain himself, and attracted a good deal of attention on these walks, especially on cold days, when she was wearing the little blue jacket with the gold Sinclair’s livery that had been specially made for her.
Most of all though, what Billy loved about being an office boy was being among the first to hear all the latest news. Billy loved a good story – and there always seemed to be something exciting to talk about at Sinclair’s. Today was no exception.
‘Some of those paintings are worth a mint. Proper famous, they are,’ reported O’Donnell, as he helped himself to another biscuit.
‘When do they arrive?’ asked Billy.
‘Next week,’ said Crawley. ‘Mr Lyle is going to oversee the hanging of them himself. Very particular, he is. He’s bringing some art students to help him.’
‘Well, he’ll not have much help from the Captain, that’s for sure,’ contributed Davies. ‘He’ll be away for another fortnight yet – that’s what Betteredge says.’
‘But he’s been gone weeks already! Whatever’s he up to?’
‘He’s out in the country. Buying himself a new house, or so I hear. Some great big country pile.’
‘That’s right,’ said Crawley, nodding authoritatively. ‘He’s setting himself up as a proper English gent. His valet told me he’s getting kitted out with tweeds and shooting outfits and the like.’
‘It’ll take more than a bit of tweed to make the Captain into an Englishman,’ said O’Donnell. ‘He’s a Yankee through and through!’
‘I heard that’s why he’s so keen to pal up with this Mr Lyle. He thinks Lyle might be able to recommend him for membership of Wyvern House,’ offered Davies.
‘Wyvern House! He’ll be lucky,’ said O’Donnell sagely.
‘What’s Wyvern House?’ asked Billy at once.
‘One of the oldest gentlemen’s clubs in London. It’s in the City, near the Bank of England. Very exclusive. You have to be invited to join, and they only take people from the best old families – lords and so forth,’ explained Crawley.
‘As a matter of fact, I had a great-uncle that was a member there once,’ announced O’Donnell.
‘Ha! You had a great-uncle who cleaned the boots there once, more like!’ spluttered Davies.
A bit of good-natured bickering broke out, until Miss Atwood stepped out of her office, and said in her clipped voice: ‘Back to work, if you please, gentlemen!’
Reluctantly, they put down their cups and headed back to their desks. But O’Donnell paused to throw the latest edition of the paper in Billy’s direction: ‘Here, you can read a bit more about the exhibition in there, if you like.’
‘What on earth’s a “Living Painting?”’ asked Joe, as Billy broke off to turn the page.
It was the end of another day at Sinclair’s, and the four of them were sitting cosily in the hayloft, the rain pattering gently on the roof above them. Until recently they had spent many lunches and tea breaks in this way, and had often met here after the store had closed to discuss whatever mystery they were solving. Billy had even taken to referring to it as ‘Detective HQ’.
In the past weeks though, these gatherings had become rather less regular. The others always seemed to be so busy, Sophie thought now. Lil was occupied with her new play; Miss Atwood kept Billy busy in the office; and even Joe was immersed in life at the stable-yard. More than once, Sophie had found herself spending her tea breaks here alone, with only the day’s newspaper for company.
But today was different – they were all together again, crunching apples and passing around a bag of toffees that Sophie had bought with some of her hard-earned sixpence from Mrs Long. Sophie felt delighted to see the others. It was quite like old times.
‘The Living Paintings are Mr Sinclair’s latest big idea,’ explained Lil now. ‘A sort of stunt to help advertise the exhibition. Claudine is going to recreate a series of famous paintings in the store windows, and we – the mannequins – are going to pose there, just as if we were the people in the paintings.’
‘I thought you weren’t working as a mannequin very much now, because of the play,’ said Billy in surprise.
‘I’m not really, but I couldn’t resist this. It sounds like such splendid fun – and Mr Mountville at the theatre thinks it might be good publicity too. I’m to be a painting by Fragonard, and I wear a marvellous frilly pink dress, and I sit on a swing surrounded by flowers.’
Winking at the other two, Joe said in a very serious voice: ‘Blimey, Lil. You’re awful grand these days. I’m surprised you think we’re fit to associate with someone so fancy.’
Lil gave a little squeak of indignation, and threw the bag of toffees at him, spilling sweets everywhere. Joe coolly picked one up, unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, making them all laugh.
Sophie laughed too. She sometimes found it hard to believe that the Joe they knew today – still rather quiet, but with a very definite sense of humour – was the same down-and-out vagabond she had once seen begging outside Sinclair’s. Now, he was respected for his skill with the horses, and well liked by all the stable boys. Since the summer, he had been spending more time with Lil: indeed, the girls in the Millinery Department had all been asking Sophie if it was true that they were ‘walking out’ together.
Sophie had just shrugged and smiled. ‘They’re friends. We all are.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t catch me stepping out with a groom,’ said assistant buyer, Edith, in a superior tone. ‘I like a man with prospects.’
‘Didn’t that Joe used to be some kind of a criminal?’ chimed in Ellie.
‘Ooh, he never did!’ squeaked Minnie, delighted by this titbit of scandal.
Sophie had given her short shrift, but now she found herself wondering what Jack would make of his sister spending time with a young man who, it was true, had once been part of the Baron’s gang. Joe was her friend and she trusted him as much as she would trust anyone in the world. But how might someone who didn’t know him feel about his history?
It was Joe who asked now: ‘When do we get to meet this famous brother of yours?’
Lil smiled at him, and shrugged. ‘I haven’t the faintest,’ she said. ‘He was awfully keen to meet you all when