Free For Many a Long Day by Anne Doughty

when Miss Walker was up in Belfast inspecting stock for the July Sales, they’d risked having their lunch break at the same time, leaving Harry, the youngest and most good-natured of the young men, to stand in for half an hour. Harry Wright would do anything for Ellie, Daisy declared. He’d been sweet on her since his very first day when she had been so kind to him. ‘I’ll even sell a pair of knickers for you,’ he’d said, grinning broadly, as they slipped out the back door.
    They’d hurried down to The Mall and sat side by side on a stone bench under the trees eating their sandwiches and watching the well-dressed ladies go by accompanied by equally well-dressed children or well-groomed little dogs. Much of the time they sat in silence, for Daisy had no more to tell and try as she might Ellie could think of nothing new to suggest. She’d offered Daisy her own small savings. The idea that Ellie should offer without telling George had really upset her. Besides, the sum itself didn’t go far enough towards the arrears to be worth arguing over.
    But now on this bright, May morning, Ellie had made up her mind. She had come to the conclusion there was only one person with the necessary knowledge and experience to help Daisy and although she was very anxious indeed about approaching him, she knew she had to try.
    A few minutes after ten o’clock, when Mr Freeburn said ‘Good morning’ to each of his staff in turn, she took a deep breath, replied to his greeting and asked if she might have a private word when it was convenient. He’d looked so startled by her polite request it made her even more anxious. Nor did it help that, rather than ask her to follow him to his office, he suggested she come to his office at eleven-fifty. An interminable two hours followed before she could go up and knock on his door, as firmly as her shaking hands would allow.
    ‘Come in, Miss Scott,’ he said briskly.
    She stepped into the large, light room, its three tall windows framing the bustle of activity in the street below. Once the family sitting-room, but now piled with stock along two of its walls, it still had an air of elegance about it. The ceiling was high and decorated with a large plasterwork rose, a delicate chandelier hung from its centre.
    She walked across the worn carpet and stood in front of the huge mahogany desk, its polished surface gleaming except where neat piles of papers were lined up and held secure with equally well-polished brass paperweights.
    Mr Freeburn himself, his dark figure silhouetted against the central window, appeared even darker and more solid against the light and movement outside. He appeared to be absorbed in watching the traffic in Thomas Street. She followed his gaze. In the right hand window, she could see the front of the Co-op and the gleam of the three gold balls on the pawnbrokers next door. In the left-hand window, the darkened upper windows of the large public house stared blankly back across the street.
    ‘What can I do for you, Miss Scott?’ he asked, turning towards her, his tone not unfriendly, but distinctly crisp.
    ‘I wanted to ask your advice, Mr Freeburn.’
    This was not at all what Charlie Freeburn had expected. A request for a private word from a femalemember of staff inevitably meant she was giving notice. In the case of some, he’d known before they spoke it would mean no more than the obligatory week. He would expect Miss Scott to be more considerate, but nevertheless the immediate thought of losing her had quite spoilt the morning and the good spirits with which he had greeted the week, the grandfather of one more flourishing grandchild in Abbey Street.
    ‘Do please sit down,’ he said, so taken aback he could hardly contain his relief.
    ‘I have a dear friend, Mr Freeburn, who is in danger of losing her home because of debts which she cannot pay,’ she said, as soon as she had lowered herself into the chair he had placed for her. ‘The debts are not her fault,’