Molly's Journey

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘Is that where the barbarians come from?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be surprised. Northern coast of Africa, I believe. Now back to the grindstone, I reckon.’ He returned to his treadling and the women picked up their work.

  Nancy stabbed her finger with the needle. ‘Ouch!’ She sucked the puncture mark hard.

  Minnie cleared her throat, gave her a sly, sharp dig in the ribs, which made Nancy flinch. ‘Don’t get that good strip spotted. You’ll need to rub some lard on your fingertips tonight.’

  ‘Your hands’ll soon get hardened to the work,’ her sister added comfortingly.

  Just got ‘em softened up as a lady of leisure over here, and now I’m about to ruin ‘em again, Nancy thought with a rueful smile, surreptitiously rubbing her sore side. Wonder how Molly’s getting on?

  *

  Molly did not need to cover up her costume, or to worry about her hands, in the cubbyhole in the office where the invoices were sorted and filed. She, too, worked hard, but her morning tea was served in a china cup and saucer, with two Osborne biscuits on a matching plate. Once Mr Loom had shown her the ropes, she was on her own, although there was a young man busily rattling away on a typewriter at a nearby desk who appeared oblivious of her presence. The lad with the pencil dashed in and out at intervals, requiring paperwork for goods packed ready for despatch, but Alexa had soon left Molly for the showroom and her own office downstairs, where she dealt with monies received, drafted letters for the typist, and supervised the sales staff.

  Seven-and-six a week! Molly had been secretly dismayed to realise how little she was to earn, but Alexa was, after all, a businesswoman and had told her this was an excellent wage for a mere beginner. ‘And you will be able to call it all your own, spend it as you wish, Molly. Thanks to your father you will not have to pay board and lodging as most working girls have to do.’

  She’s teaching me a valuable lesson, Molly realised. She wants me to be aware what lies ahead, when I’m out in the world on my own. I’ll have to eat humble pie and accept gratefully the allowance Father insists on paying into a bank account for me until I’m able to stand on my own two feet, because I’ll certainly need quite a bit of it when I join the Kellys in October. I thought it would be so easy to save £25! Nancy thinks I’m lucky, anyway. She’s only getting five shillings plus her keep.

  The young man suddenly ripped a sheet of paper from his machine, startling her; turning, he crumpled the paper into a ball and aimed it at the wastepaper basket. ‘Time to down tools, Miss Sparkes. We close between one and two. I usually go out for a bite of lunch. Care to accompany me?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Gray. I’ll fetch my hat,’ Molly said demurely. Despite his slicked-back hair and moustache, she realised with some relief that they were of an age. I’ll make sure to pay for my own lunch, she thought, keep things on a proper footing. Still, it’s kind of him to look out for me on my first day. Belatedly, she remembered Nancy. ‘Oh, my friend, upstairs . . . ’

  ‘They only get half-an-hour off, I’m afraid. You need the full hour for where I’m taking you today. Doesn’t seem fair, eh? Pity, because I’d like to be properly introduced to your Miss Atkins. She’ll find it best to bring a packed lunch, or buy a sandwich and eat it out in the fresh air as I usually do. I keep wondering about the Turkish Baths, but I haven’t plucked up the courage to go there yet. And if you’re wondering, and she didn’t say – our esteemed Mrs Nagel usually lunches with Mr Loom. Well, I’ll see you outside the shop shortly, shall I?’ he added tactfully, for it had been a long morning without a visit to the cloakroom.

  He’s put two and two together, guessed Alexa and I are connected in some way, Molly thought, plonking her unsuitable hat firmly on her head and peering into the small mirror hung on the cloakroom wall. Really, I’d have thought Alexa would have advised me not to buy this; it’s far too big and blooming for a mere dogsbody, with all these silly silk cabbage roses! Oh, and I must remember to buy Nancy a bun and tell her to pack some food for tomorrow. Alexa never said. I didn’t realise we’d be, well, separated like this. Alexa believes she’s liberal in her views, but I’m in the office, and Nancy’s in the workroom . . .

  *

  Molly almost skipped along to keep up with Arthur Gray. ‘We mustn’t dawdle, it’s a fair way,’ he told her, ‘and Mr Loom’s a stickler for time. Call me Art, out of the office – and I’ll call you Molly.’

  From the outside, the eating establishment looked a gloomy place; all peeling brown paint and windows almost obscured by trade advertisements, faded by the light. One wall was tiled in blue and white, which made Molly smile for they were identical to the tiles in the shop WC. There were high-backed settles facing narrow tables, the wood more scarred than polished; on the other side, a long counter with brass scales, a huge, crumbed ham with a lethal-looking knife to one side, yellow slab cake under a glass dome. The shelves behind were crammed with packets of tea, sugar, biscuits, jars of preserves and tins. The two men serving wore long white aprons and had rolled up their shirt sleeves displaying hairy arms and hands that were big and red like the ham they carved for almost every customer.

  There was a wonderful smell coming from a room off the shop, and when the door opened it was intensified in a cloud of steam. The place was crowded: the menu always the same, the tables served in turn, Art told Molly. A little woman, almost tripping over her apron, carried forth a heavy tray on which stood a basin tied with a cloth turban, a tureen of floury boiled potatoes, a dish of mushy peas and four large white plates. She untied the pudding, cut into the suet crust and ladled out the portions of steak and kidney and thick gravy. The patrons waited in respectful silence as their plates were heaped with vegetables. Then they passed the cruet, dobbing on freshly made mustard, elbows well in, for space was limited. Just one last thing to make the meal perfect: a glass of beer, stout, or still lemonade.

  When Molly had eaten as much as she could, she wondered how on earth she would be able to work through the afternoon, for she already felt sleepy; let alone skip, or more like stagger, back to Nagel’s. All this for sixpence! Delicious, but too filling for her small frame.

  ‘It’s very nice, but I don’t think I could eat here every day!’ she murmured faintly.

  Art downed the last of his beer. There was froth on his moustache. He winked. ‘Special treat – one to make you remember your first day at work, Molly. Tomorrow, if you like, I’ll show you a few of the sights of London hereabouts, and we’ll eat sandwiches in the churchyard. Don’t worry, you can hang on to my arm on the way back.’

  She remembered to buy a piece of the cake for Nancy, and she did take his arm; she already knew she liked young Art and that, along with the steak and kidney pud, he would be part of her memories of this day. She just wished Nancy could have been with them. Art obviously thought so, too, for he said casually at one point: ‘Got a young man, has she, your friend? Must have, I suppose, she’s got such a pretty face. Oh, and all that lovely fair hair . . . she must have brightened up the old workroom no end.’

  ‘No, she’s not spoken for,’ Molly said, hoping she’d used the right expression. ‘Like me to introduce you, when we get the chance?’

  ‘Rather!’ he said.

  *

  Nancy’s day had been long and claustrophobic, closeted for ten hours in that top room. The cake Molly had sent up by the lad, with a scribbled note, had helped, but now she felt hungry and hoped that Mrs Nagel had something special in mind for their evening meal. ‘See you tomorrow,’ Walt said cheerfully, when they downed tools at last. She wondered where they lived; together, probably, she conjectured. She knew nothing about their lives outside the workroom after this first day, and they seemed incurious about hers. They hadn’t even remarked on her accent.

  As she hurried to catch her bus, she became aware of footsteps quickening behind her. She turned her head and with relief realised it was only Mr Loom. He caught her up. ‘I go your way, I actually live just around the corner from you with my mother. We mi
ght travel together, eh?’

  She took a deep breath, worries about the journey evaporating. ‘Oh, yes, please, Mr Loom!’ she said.

  He, too, offered his arm, and Nancy took it, feeling happy again. He was a real gent, and not so old as she’d thought.

  ‘I’m sure you’re feeling tired after all your hard work,’ he said kindly. ‘Mr Walter tells me you are going to be a real asset to the workroom. Well done, Miss Atkins.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, all aglow.

  *

  The others had been home an hour before Nancy was delivered to her door. There was no tantalising smell of cooking, though. A letter had been waiting on the mat, from Australia. Shocking news from Elfie: Frank had died unexpectedly, following a fall from his horse. The farm would have to be sold up – wasn’t it fortunate she had dear Ernst to help her with all this?

  And all Molly could think was: Henny won’t be able to get in touch with me now that link is gone.

  THREE

  ‘I knew my luck was in,’ Art said, ‘when two pretty girls arrived at Nagel’s on the same day! Glad you sneaked out to join us in the churchyard, Nancy. I’ll make sure you get back in good time, don’t worry. Did I tell you I was thinking of emigrating to Australia?’

  ‘Don’t believe a word he says, Nancy,’ Molly advised her.

  ‘Well, it could be true – who knows? I’m getting nowhere fast in leather goods. The only step up is into old Loom’s shoes, and he’s not going anywhere; he had his moment of glory being in charge while Madam was away, he’s accepted his life sentence.’

  ‘Now, Art, he’s a nice chap. He’s been particularly kind to you, hasn’t he, Nancy?’

  She nodded in agreement. She had needed a bit of persuading by Molly when they met up in the cloakroom at lunchtime, to come out here with her sandwiches. Art’s evident interest in her was rather disconcerting, but she had to agree with Molly: he was jolly good company, and one of nature’s gentlemen. Clever, too, he’d let slip that he made good use of the public library.

  ‘I wonder why?’ Art brushed the crumbs from his waistcoat and trousers. He looked at his watch. ‘Two more minutes.’ He struck a match to light a crumpled half of a cigarette, in what was obviously a familiar routine – half before lunch, the remainder after. Despite his superficial smartness, Art must have to juggle with his wages, too, Nancy thought. And what had he told them of his life outside the office? Nothing at all. She hoped he wasn’t going to be too curious about her background before London. This was a challenging new start: she was determined to succeed and to rise above the trials of the workroom.

  The wind ruffled the grass, and the pigeons rose in a flapping flurry as the heavy door of the church swung open and a woman in black came out, startling the three of them.

  ‘We don’t know what you mean with regard to Mr Loom,’ Molly said, giving her skirts a twitch as she rose reluctantly from the bench by the wall. ‘Up you get, Nancy, time we were walking you back.’

  ‘He ain’t past looking, as they say. Work it out for yourselves . . . Darn! Singed me ‘tash!’ he said ruefully, as the match flared. He gave up and ground the stub under his heel. ‘All right, let’s go!’ He caught Nancy up, whispered in her ear: ‘You’ll come here again with us, won’t you? And maybe next time you’ll talk to me, not just nod your head.’

  *

  Mr Loom always asked: ‘D’you mind if I glance at my paper?’ when he and Nancy sat side by side, but with a definite space between them, on the journey home on the jolting horse-bus at the end of each working day. She nodded, and looked out of the window at the passing scene; the noise and bustle of London life no longer made her flinch. In the beginning, when the first excitement wore off, she had fought to conceal her almost overwhelming homesickness. She was so grateful to have left the harshness of her family life, but – home was still home, she thought. She didn’t even confide in Molly. She was used to keeping secrets.

  It was now almost the end of September. Soon, Molly would be leaving London and embarking on the rigorous training for her thrilling new life. Nancy’s work was exacting, too, but hardly exciting. Oh, she had swiftly become adept and both Walt and Mr Loom were generous with their praise and encouragement, but she found Minnie’s covert dislike, spiteful nudges and pinching hard to bear. It puzzled and hurt her when she tried so hard to please. She did not suspect that Minnie was jealous of the attention paid to her by the manager.

  *

  Mr Loom waited at the gate to see Nancy enter the house, then he replaced his hat and set off briskly down the road. Gladstone bag in hand, furled umbrella under his arm. There was something about young Nancy, he thought, a hint of vulnerability, which prompted him to ensure that he accompanied her home from work now the nights were drawing in. She’d laugh, he smiled wryly to himself, if she knew that she was the first young woman he’d had on his arm. Yes, Nancy Atkins was someone to respect, despite her odd, sometimes slipshod speech; he actually found her accent appealing. Not that she would ever look at an old buffer like himself in a romantic light – and, anyway, Mrs Nagel was hardly likely to approve if he pursued this tenuous friendship, was she?

  He lived in the top half of a house, which was similar to Mrs Nagel’s but not as well kept. The properties in his road were all rented out, and mostly divided into flats. He had never been inside his employer’s house; would not dream of inviting her into his own home. Mrs Nagel had a daily help to do the housework while she was away at her business; Mr Loom, so smart during the day, now donned an apron very similar to that worn by the siblings in the workroom, and by Nancy. Every evening he tidied up the living room, remade his mother’s bed, helped her into a clean flannel nightgown, listened patiently to her grumbling, which he knew she could not help, being disabled and confined up here all day on her own. Then, while he cooked supper, he set the wax cylinder of his beloved phonograph in motion, and the deep, almost masculine voice of Clara Butt, that statuesque singer, soothed them both with the soulful ‘Abide With Me’. Later, he might play his violin, if Mother asked.

  ‘Len!’ came the querulous call as soon as his key turned in the lock. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother, it’s me,’ he answered as he unloaded the shopping: the lamb chops, well wrapped in newspaper; the crusty bread, bought that lunchtime in Leadenhall market, from the smart leather bag, so essential for the businessman. Purchased at staff discount, of course.

  *

  Nancy and Molly sneaked a few moments together in the cloakroom after lunch. Nancy had eaten in the workroom today.

  Molly whispered, with one eye on the door: ‘Art wants to take us out on the town one evening before I leave.’

  Nancy winced as she dried her sore hands on the towel. ‘Mrs Nagel wouldn’t agree!’

  ‘Nonsense, of course she would. He’s a perfectly respectable young man, and we could, well, chaperone each other. Though that’s ridiculous now we’re both working girls and entitled to decide for ourselves who we go out with and where we go. I told him I’d love to go to a music hall – how about you? Just to get an idea of what it might have been like when my mother trod the boards, eh?’

  Minnie came in just then, gave Nancy a meaningful glare but said nothing. She entered the cubicle and shot the bolt.

  Nancy grimaced at Molly and whispered, ‘She’s checking up on me: that’s the signal for me to get back to the workbench. Count me in! ’Bye!’

  *

  ‘I shall come with you,’ Alexa decided. ‘It will be my treat – I insist – I can’t have that young man taking you girls up into the gallery. Or the Gods, I believe they call it. If you must go to the music hall rather than the new Gaiety Theatre in the Aldwych, where they put on some very good musical shows, I shall select the place and book four seats in the stalls.’

  Molly tried not to show her disappointment at being cheated of sitting up aloft, which sounded much more fun as she said to Nancy later.

  *

  ‘Very posh!’ Art exclaimed as he a
nd Molly shivered a bit in the churchyard. Eating out at lunchtimes was obviously not going to last much longer. Today, Molly reflected, was much more steak-and-kidney pud weather, but that was the treat she had in mind for Art, and hopefully Nancy, before she went away. ‘I wanted us to sit in style anyway,’ he added gallantly, drawing on his squashed Richmond Gem fag-end.

  ‘We’re going for a bite to eat afterwards to make a real evening of it, so I’m not sure what time we’ll roll back.’

  ‘Oh, I imagine you young Cinderellas will have to be back before midnight!’ he joked. ‘I’ve got my own key to the door since I turned twenty-one.’ He paused. ‘The only thing is, Molly, I do feel . . . well, I would have liked to pay for all this myself. I’d been saving towards it.’ Art’s pride had taken a knock; he sounded wistful.

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I know, and I’m sorry, Art. But Alexa – Mrs Nagel – means well. And you’ll get the chance to sit next to Nancy, I’ll make sure of that. I’m glad to know she’s got a friend her own age, being so far from home, when I’m away.’

  ‘Can you keep a secret? I’ve always put on a bit of an act where girls are concerned . . . didn’t want them thinking I was getting serious too soon, I suppose. Nancy’s different, Molly. She hasn’t given me any encouragement but I think she’s warming to me, and that makes me happy as a lark. Think you could put in a good word for me, eh, without letting on I told you I was smitten with her?’

  ‘ ’Course I could!’ Molly told him. ‘I’ve had a taste of romance myself, Art, only I’ve given it up to further my career – oh, dear, that sounds old-fashioned, doesn’t it? You and Nancy, you’re very different. Good luck, because I believe you were made for each other!’

  *

  The stalls were filling fast and the air was hazily blue with cigar smoke. The cacophony from the Gods was ear-splitting. Behind them, for they were in the second row, were the family parties, all most respectable, and in the back rows the sweethearts giggled and snatched kisses. Girls who by day were prim little shop assistants or seamstresses were wearing fashionable clothes stitched by themselves, for they pored earnestly over the latest fashions in the papers and magazines, adapting them to their purse with surprising success. Their young men, with their oiled hair, yellow waistcoats and shiny patent shoes, seized their chance while the lights were lowered. Of course, they were hardly alone, but here they could relax and enjoy each other’s company to the full.