Orchid Lady was published by Hamilton & Co., circa 1948, and states inside the author is Sheila A. Firth. If you’ve been following this blog closely, that name might ring a distant bell, as I have blogged one other title by that name. SAF actually is the alias of N. Wesley Firth, a man who died young (aged 29) but managed to inexplicably churn out a massive amount of literature. His output has historically been decided by the quality of his science fiction stories. Nobody will dispute that his SF efforts are (and were) terribly dated rubbish. However, it is a crime to hold that against him, when he excelled at crime, detective, and gangster-esque fiction writing.
Orchid Lady features lovely cover art by Oliver Brabbins. Sadly, my copy had the entire length of the right side exposed to “smoke” from likely being sold in a railway tube station, or a warehouse fire. A diagonal chunk of the rear cover is likewise affected. The staples are bloodily rusted and crumbling. I’m not complaining; it is the first copy I’ve ever seen in 20+ years collecting Firth, but I’d certainly gratefully accept a clean upgrade.
The cover depicts a lovely redhead wearing a sexy dress while a young, attractive man leans over her from behind. Remarkably, this scene does actually play-out within the story…more on that in a second.
The story itself runs from Page 3 and concludes on 25.
The novelette opens with a description of morning life down Middlesex Street (aka: Petticoat Lane). Desolate overnight, by dawn vendors of all sort move in and set up their stalls and prepare to sell wares and foods.
Winnie Shawcross is a delightful beauty assisting George Canebridge to sell jellied eels. She is described as: nineteen years old, a figure the envy of all her girl friends, and the admiration of her would-be boy friends; five foot three of petite charm and grace.
Her parents had died during World War Two and being neighbors, George gave her a ten-shilling pay-day assisting with his fish stall on Sundays; she also worked during the week at a milk bar. The Sunday pay helped her pay for her poor rooming situation.
George is in love with her. That is patently obvious, but she aspired to escape poverty and the lower echelon of the masses. She wanted what she saw in the movies.
Then, a miracle occurs. A pair of camera-men desire to document activities down the lane and want her to be the cover girl for that next issue of Picture Magazine Weekly. They briefly interview her, during which she stammers out the following: “I’d like to–to have a wonderful evening gown, and a visit to the theatre one night–and most of all, I’d like to receive–orchids, from–from an admirer.”
Latching onto her orchid remark, they decide to caption their cover girl photo “The Orchid Lady”…actual publication releases complete with a piece detailing her hopes and whimsical dreams. Shockingly, a parcel arrives complete with orchids and gown and 100 Pounds to spend as she wishes, from the two cameramen. She can’t possibly accept the gift, phones them, decline all, but they coerce her to accept, claiming that sales on that issue sold very well and they each received a raise as a result. She finally relents, guiltily…then compounds her innocence by deciding to pull a white lie and call in sick, in order to attend a fancy restaurant and theatre. The restaurant recommended by the cabbie is dismissed when she spies a lovely French restaurant–“Le Cafe Bleu”–in the West End district. This becomes her first mistake. The entire menu is in French. Gratefully, the waitstaff are friendly towards the uneducated vision of beauty, but then the offends them by a pittance tip. Realizing the insult, she flees the scene and tries to capture the moment again by secluding herself at a theatre, and commits her second err, trying to tip the page. The page declines, stating policy not to accept tips.
Seating herself in the semi-darkness, she watches the conductor and band prepare to play when a male voice states “Do you mind?” and she looks up into a vision of masculine beauty. Here was her ideal of manhood; he looked well traveled, very intellectual, and yet intensely human. He was dark and tall, and he had a small mustache.
They date casually for about a week, and he convinces her to meet his society friends. She is very reluctant, knowing her lower East End upbringing will be ridiculed and may adversely affect his social standing. Upon arriving, she finds the group snobby and just as she imagined, ruthless. One female remarks she is the flavor of the month and that the young man will eventually marry her. Disbelieving the ugly truth, the competing lady sneaks her back into the room to eavesdrop on the youthful group’s conversation. Winnie overhears the young man state many offensive things, including: “you don’t think for a moment that I’d ask you to accept that kid as one of ourselves…I’ll drop her fast enough as soon as I tire…”
Winnie has heard enough, and despite the evil girl revealing the truth, she herself appears to be sympathetic towards Winnie and secretes her discreetly out a back entrance to avoid further humiliation. Returning back to her original reality, she tires of hearing the ugly realities from George and decides they too can no longer be friends. But, when the camera man reappears, he discloses that the gifts and cash actually came from George, from his meager savings, but George didn’t want her to know. Realizing George and the hardworking stiffs are the real people in the world, she proceeds to make right her relationship…but before she does, the playboy re-enters the scene, demanding to know why she vanished on him. She quotes some of his private ugly remarks and gives him the cold shoulder!
The story presented is entirely different in style from Firth’s assorted crime and American gangster-stylized stories. It’s cleanly written, flows evenly, without any blood-and-thunder. It’s a complete shame that he died young, right when he was attempting to break into bigger things.
A number of his novelettes and novels have been reprinted in England in the Linford Large Print series, aimed at the library trade. Naturally those print runs will be quite low and most those copies will not survive. They appear under Firth’s true birth name: Norman Firth. One novel in the Linford series actually marks the World’s First Publication, as it languished as an unpublished manuscript upon Firth’s death. Thankfully, the family retained it and this superior novel (Murder at St. Marks) was brought to print. Bold Venture Press in Florida has recently been working with Firth’s estate rep towards bringing more of his works back to modern readers, with a story appearing in their Bold Adventures magazine, in issues 40 and 43.
The remaining pages, 26 through 32, includes a bonus short story by Eve Calvert, entitled Her Next-Door Rival. The short filler tale involves a young lady who relies on a constant, ready supply of dates from her boyfriend. Strangely, he leaves a note indicating he must stay late at his job. Looking out the window, she spots him walking with the neighbor, a sexy dark-haired girl, and then she hops in his car and they depart. Infuriated, she then receives a call from her boss to come to work late to take notes, etc. Nothing better to do, she goes to work to find her boss drunk and a table set with fine foods and wine to ply her. He proceeds to molest her and she bizarrely declares that he must be behind the recent spate of clothing robberies at the warehouse. He confesses, and likewise states her neighbor facilitates the transaction. Slapping him about the face, she makes to leave only to find the door firmly bolted. Too strong to pry loose, she finds herself staring down the barrel of a handgun, about to be murdered, when the window behind him crashes inward and her boyfriend lands and disarms the drunkard. He explains that he has actually been working undercover with authorities to crack the smuggling gang’s efforts. The police suspected the neighbor as being complicit but never had the opportunity to investigate her abode without her around. So, the boyfriend was brought in to play deceitful to his girl, make “love” to the dark beauty, and take her away on a date, clearing the path for the police to raid the home. Discovering all the evidence, they then raided the warehouse. A very flimsy tale. In reality, a cop would come through the window instead, if they were unable to break through the door. Not the boyfriend. But, that’s fiction for you.
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THE SPECTRE LIBRARY PRESENTS: The Pulp and Paperback Fiction Reader 