A Thimbleful of Hope

by Evie Grace

  ‘What can we do for work?’ Eleanor asked when they were sipping at mint tea and eating a slice of bread at breakfast. ‘I’ve considered every possible occupation. I could be an authoress, but I don’t think there’s any call for books around here. I could be a mush-faker, but I don’t know how to repair umbrellas. Oh look, there’s Dickens.’

  The cat came leaping up through the open window with something hanging from his mouth.

  ‘He’s got one – he’s caught a mouse!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘He must have been hungry,’ Violet said as he landed on the floor, crouched and ate it, leaving just the tail on the rug.

  ‘Ugh, you’ll have to pick that up.’

  ‘So you couldn’t be a street-sweeper, then,’ Violet said, amused. ‘You’d have to clear up far worse.’

  ‘It isn’t funny. We have to find work, or we’ll starve to death.’

  ‘I know. It’s no laughing matter.’ Violet had been sick two days in a row, and confined to their room, while Eleanor had gone out looking for employment. ‘I have a plan. As soon as I’m well again, I’m going to offer my services as an embroideress.’

  ‘How, when we have no linen, or thread? And who will buy your work?’

  ‘I haven’t worked out the details yet, but there’s plenty of demand. We can hawk the finished pieces door to door, or I can apply to become an outworker.’

  ‘We need money to buy supplies for samples.’ Eleanor got up and put up her hair.

  ‘We’ll have to be prepared to do anything … well, not quite anything,’ Violet added, thinking of the woman next door who entertained any number of men for financial reward.

  ‘I’ll go out again. Wish me luck. Perhaps today will be my day.’

  Violet watched her sister go. The end of the week was fast approaching, black Monday when Mrs Chapman would come to collect the rent or turn them out on their ear. She lay down on the bed, feeling useless and hungry, listening to the drawn-out, wracking coughs from the children in the room above and a baby’s feeble wail. If only she could afford a needle and silk, she could sew her way to a better life.

  She blamed her father and Arvin for their situation. Mr Brooke had been a cad, a conman and a common thief – by his actions he had stolen everything from her, everything except her self-respect. He’d seen an opportunity and taken it with both hands. Knowing that her memories would destroy her if she kept returning to them, she tried to dismiss them, praying instead that Eleanor would find work, but at the end of the day, she returned empty-handed.

  As they ate the last crust of bread, Violet wondered if their torment would ever end.

  She fell to her knees that night and prayed for anything that might help them. Anything would do. She wasn’t asking for much, only a thimbleful of hope.

  Chapter Twenty

  A Thimbleful of Hope

  Violet stayed in bed the next morning, too weak from hunger to move, while Eleanor stirred and dragged herself up. The bedclothes were warm and damp with perspiration and the room smelled of dirty laundry, making her yearn for the fresh, sharp scent of the sea.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out,’ Eleanor said. ‘We have no food.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll beg if I have to. You need to eat.’

  ‘I can’t bear the thought that we’ve been brought this low,’ Violet said, her voice breaking. ‘I’ve failed you, my poor sister.’

  ‘Don’t think like that,’ Eleanor scolded. ‘I chose to come with you, not stay with Aunt Felicity and Jane.’ She put on her dress and left her hair unkempt. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Please don’t do this. What will I do when Mrs Chapman comes for the rent?’

  ‘Pack our belongings, bring Dickens and wait for me – we’ll meet on Limekiln Street. I’ll see you later.’ Eleanor leaned down and kissed Violet’s cheek.

  ‘Take care,’ Violet whispered.

  The dreaded knock came at midday. With her heart in the pit of her stomach, Violet went to unbolt the door.

  ‘Mrs Chapman,’ she began. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Of course it’s me.’ Eleanor was grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘You have good news?’ Violet hardly dared hope.

  ‘The best. Look who I’ve found …’ Eleanor showed her companion into the room. ‘I ran into her in the street.’

  ‘May! How wonderful to see you, but you find us in straitened circumstances.’

  ‘I’ve been searchin’ for you ’igh and low. Mr Wilson gave me your address in Can’erbury, but when I called, your aunt pretended she didn’t know who I were.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have given you the runaround,’ Violet said, embarrassed at the state of her dress. ‘I’m afraid we have no work for you. We’re just about to lose the roof over our heads.’

  ‘I’m not expecting you to give me a place.’ May smiled. ‘No, I ’ave something to your advantage. When Mr Wilson spotted the cart outside the ’ouse, ’e knew the bailiffs ’ad arrived – ’e’d been expectin’ it for some time, to be honest. Anyway, ’e thought it wa’n’t fair that you were left with nothin’ so he put them off while I grabbed what valuables I could and climbed out of the window at the back …’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I’ve done it before, years ago when I first worked for the Rayfields. The rules were that you couldn’t ’ave followers, but I did ’ave one for a while … I used to see ’im sometimes.’

  ‘May, you are a dark horse,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I didn’t do it more than three or four times. Cook found out and read me the riot act – she said the family ’ad been good to me, and I shouldn’t break the rules, or I’d lose my place. ’e weren’t up to much anyway.’ She beamed.

  ‘You don’t know that Mama is dead,’ Eleanor said. ‘Our aunt wouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, but I can only think that it was a blessed release for all of you.’ May went back into the corridor and returned, shoving a battered pram in front of her. It was quite a fancy pram, consisting of a wicker basket on top of a frame, an elaborately curved handle and four wheels, the front ones smaller than the rear, like a carriage. ‘I can’t tell you ’ow relieved I am to ’ave found you – I’ve bin so worried that I was going to get caught out and accused of thievin’.’ She pulled off the shawl that was covering the pram’s contents.

  ‘Is that my sewing box?’ Violet exclaimed, peering in. She was overjoyed, having expected never to see it again.

  May began to divest herself of some of her clothing – her cloak and bonnet, her blouse and her socks, which smelled of mouse and strong cheese. She shook the contents of her socks out on to the table, revealing a string of pearls and a ring. There were pieces of jewellery tucked into the hems and pockets, and inside her bonnet.

  ‘There you are. It’s all yours.’ She slid it across the table. ‘Safely restored to its rightful owners, the Misses Rayfield.’

  ‘May, I think you have saved our lives,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Do you remember when Ottilie wore this pendant to the ball?’ Violet murmured, picking it up and turning it over, wishing that she could spend time with her elder sister. She missed her. ‘And here’s the wedding ring Arvin gave me. It’s a shame, but we’re going to have to let everything go.’

  ‘You can pawn them,’ May said, putting her blouse back on and fastening the buttons. ‘You don’t ’ave to sell what’s rightfully yours.’

  It wasn’t theirs, Violet recalled. If May and Wilson hadn’t had the presence of mind to take the jewellery, it would have been sold to pay their father’s debts.

  ‘Miss Rayfield – oh, you ’ave company,’ Mrs Chapman said from behind them.

  May quickly scooped the jewellery into her bonnet.

  ‘I’ve come for the rent.’

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ Violet said, ‘but I’ll have the money by the end of the day.’

  ‘That’s no use to me. I’ve alrea
dy got new tenants lined up.’

  ‘Please have some compassion …’

  ‘If I ’ad compassion, I’d be standing in your shoes. I don’t want to be penniless, thank you very much. Pack your bags, take your cat and push off.’

  ‘I’ll pay the rent for another week,’ May offered.

  ‘I can’t let you do that,’ Violet said.

  ‘I have a bit put by – all I ask is that I can sleep on the floor for a few nights.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care who stays ’ere, as long as I get my money,’ Mrs Chapman said impatiently. Feeling faint, Violet swayed as May handed over the three shillings from her pocket.

  ‘My sister isn’t well.’ Eleanor caught her and helped her to the bed.

  ‘When did she last eat?’ May asked.

  ‘Yesterday. I’ve been out every day to look for work, and today, I tried begging for food, but I’ve had no luck.’

  ‘Here, Eleanor. Take these coins and fetch us some bread, beef and stout,’ May said. ‘Don’t be long.’

  Mrs Chapman left them to go and harass some of her other lodgers, and presently Eleanor returned with the shopping. As they golloped the food – as May described it – Dickens mewed and jumped up on to May’s lap, swiping at her hands in a vain attempt to steal a morsel of beef. In the end, Eleanor dropped a small piece on the floor. The cat leapt after it, pounced and carried it away.

  ‘Do you feel better now?’ May asked. Violet nodded as she went on, ‘You’re with child. It’s all right – I’ve known for ages.’

  ‘I’m sorry for not telling you the truth – I wanted to keep it to myself for as long as possible, but the secret’s out now. Eleanor knows.’

  ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do?’

  ‘I’ve thought of little else, and I keep coming back to the same conclusion.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘To get back to my embroidery. It’s the only way I can see us making an income.’

  ‘It’s no use you creating your beautiful designs and hoping somebody will buy them,’ Eleanor said, somewhat scornfully.

  ‘I know that. No, we’ll only sew pieces to order. I wonder what is in most demand?’

  ‘Gold work for uniforms, I should think,’ May said.

  ‘Ladies always want fine white work for christening gowns and household linens,’ Eleanor added.

  ‘We can try the dressmakers as well,’ Violet said, remembering her ballgown. ‘They’re bound to have customers looking for bespoke patterns.’

  ‘You’re right. Oh, this is very exciting – my ’eart is pounding like a steam engine! To think that I won’t ’ave to spend the rest of my life on my knees, blacking grates and scrubbing floors.’

  ‘May, I think you’re running before you can walk.’

  ‘Not at all. We’ll still have to work from dawn to dusk, but we’ll be doing it for ourselves.’ Her eyes were shining. ‘This will be my first chance at independence, not being reliant on a master or mistress, but of course, you’ll be in charge, Violet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘However, I expect to divide any profit equally between the three of us.’

  ‘And we’ll share the loss,’ Eleanor piped up. ‘I’m sorry to stop you in your tracks, but we will have expenses.’

  ‘We have no choice but to give it a try,’ Violet said. ‘I’m willing if you are.’

  ‘We have the benefit of Pa’s experience,’ Eleanor said wryly. ‘He gave us quite an education in how not to run one’s business affairs.’

  They drank a toast in stout.

  ‘To a monsterful future,’ May said. ‘Where shall we start?

  ‘At the beginning,’ Eleanor said, ‘like a book.’

  ‘We’ll need somebody to box the orders, deliver them and do the accounts. The workshop will need to be organised, supplies of thread and material bought in …’ Violet could hardly believe her own words. Was it possible? She felt a frisson of fear laced with anticipation. She hadn’t been brought up to run her own business, but to marry and live like a pet kitten supported by a husband.

  Her confidence had taken many blows in the recent past. Had she enough faith in herself to see it through?

  ‘We’ll stay here for the rest of this week while we get ourselves organised,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to work from here,’ Eleanor said doubtfully. ‘It’s too dirty and too small for a workshop – there’s barely room to swing a cat.’

  ‘You can look for rooms that would be more suitable, but not too expensive,’ Violet said.

  ‘That woman – Mrs Chapman – is a twink,’ May said. ‘I’ve met ’er kind before, shrewish, grasping creatures. We don’t want to be givin’ ’er our ’ard-earned shillin’s.’

  ‘May, you can investigate suppliers of embroidery materials. I’m going to make a start on the samples, but first things first …’

  ‘You need to find “uncle”,’ May cut in. ‘That’s got you confused. You’ve never ’ad to go to a pawnbroker before in your life, ’ave you?’

  ‘Have you?’ Violet asked.

  ‘How do you think I’ve survived this far? My ma used to send me off to see “uncle” almost every week. My pa – he weren’t good at managing ’is money in the normal way. On payday, he’d go and redeem his belongings and spend what was left of his wages, then I’d ’ave to go and pawn his belongings again, so we ’ad enough to live on for the rest of the week. Some people were shy about it, but we were regulars. Anyway, I’ve been asking around, and there’s a shop run by a Mr Cove, just across the alley and around the corner. Just remember to take your ticket when you’re done and keep it safe.’

  ‘Thank you for the benefit of your experience,’ Violet said dryly.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you? The two of us will be more than a match for anyone who tries to rob us.’

  ‘I think that would be wise.’

  Violet and May set out with the jewellery and found Mr Cove’s premises up a side street opposite a gin shop. When she saw the brooches and watches glinting through the grimy window, Violet almost changed her mind, but the door was open and a silver-haired man – she wasn’t sure if he was a gentleman – called her in to the open counter while May looked on.

  ‘There’s no need to be bashful, miss.’ He was a walking display of precious metals with his gold teeth, a chain around his neck and several rings on his fingers. ‘Come on in … Don’t I know you?’

  ‘We’ve never met,’ she said curtly.

  ‘Ah, it doesn’t matter who you are – you can rely on my discretion. Everyone is welcome here from lords and ladies, to paupers and freaks. Everyone’s gold is the same to me. In fact, I advance money on any kind of property from apparel to a workman’s tools. Everything has a value. Anything pledged and unredeemed after one year and seven days will be kept or sold, either privately or by public auction.’

  ‘I wish to redeem my belongings eventually,’ Violet said.

  ‘They have sentimental value … in that case, you will pay interest when you collect them. The rates are on the board behind me.’

  She extracted the jewellery from her pockets and placed it on the counter. His eyes latched on to the sapphire necklace and her gold ring. He took the ring first and examined it with a magnifying glass held to his eye, tipping his head from side to side like an avaricious magpie.

  ‘The hallmarks are present and correct, but don’t get your hopes up. They aren’t worth much, these thin bands of gold. As for the chain and pendant – the chain is of a good weight and quality, but the stone is polished glass, a common or garden object.’

  ‘My grandmother said it was a sapphire.’

  ‘Oh no. It doesn’t have the required depth of colour and purity for that.’ He named the price he was willing to pay.

  She felt disappointed, but also suspicious. There was a time when she had believed that a gentleman’s word was his bond, but she knew better now. She showed him the pearls and various other pieces.
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  ‘I will pawn everything but the ring and the gold necklace,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’ He looked up, surprised. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘You don’t offer me enough for them.’

  ‘I see. You drive a hard bargain,’ he said, but she knew that he was acting, even when he raised the amount he would lend against it, telling her that she was a hard woman. She wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled again, not after Mr Brooke. He named a better price for the sapphire which she accepted. ‘To whom shall I make out the ticket?’ he asked.

  ‘Miss Violet Rayfield,’ she said.

  ‘Miss Rayfield,’ he repeated, placing emphasis on the ‘miss’ as he glanced towards her belly. He put down his pen and handed her a copy of his terms and conditions to sign before he counted out the money, which she put away in her purse. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with you.’

  She slipped Arvin’s ring on to her finger.

  On the way back to the room, she and May haggled with a stallholder for a pair of second-hand shoes to replace the ones Violet had ruined, then dropped in to the haberdasher’s and bought a small frame and stretchers, and some coloured silks. They were ready to make a start on the samples. She opened the sewing box – her needles, chalk and scissors were still inside, resting on the velvet lining. At the bottom, she found a piece of her embroidery, a butterfly she’d made for practice before she’d sewn the train on her gown for the regatta ball, and her silver thimble. She smiled as she held it up to the light.

  Violet, May and Eleanor sewed day and night to make the samples, burning tallow candles down to stubs.

  They needed to show the samples to likely customers, but Violet wasn’t sure where to start. How did you contact the army? The fire brigade? Dressmakers? The suppliers of uniform for railway drivers and guards? May went out to ask around, and came back with the name and address of several contacts.

  Violet dressed in the cleanest dress she had and washed her hair, adding a little beer to the rinse to give it more shine before letting it dry. Having brushed it thoroughly, she put it up, checking her appearance in the hazy reflection of the mirror.