The Shop Girls of Harpers

by Rosie Clarke

  ‘It’s ridiculous,’ Sylvia said. ‘If I want to stay out, I shall.’

  ‘Don’t blame you…’

  ‘Goodnight then…’

  ‘Goodnight, Sylvia…’

  Sylvia was one of the few girls at the hostel that talked to Sally. She wondered what the young woman found to do every night, because Sylvia was never back until a minute or so before nine. Sally found it hard to find anything to do alone past a certain time, but Sylvia always seemed to be in a rush.

  Sally looked around the cheerless room as she locked her door behind her. She’d learned to do it all the time, because otherwise some of the girls would just barge in unasked. There were some cheap pictures on the walls that she’d picked up on the Portobello Market, but they didn’t make the place look any better.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and then lay down on her side, bringing her knees up to her chest. Her private life was so empty and lonely, Sally longed for friends she could share things with, a place where they could be together and laugh and talk as they made supper or did each other’s hair.

  One day, she vowed to herself as she lay curled up on the bed, one day she would get out of this dump and find a place to call home and someone she could trust and rely on as a friend…

  7

  Beth woke in the night with tears on her cheeks again. She’d been dreaming about the terrible time when she’d begged her mother to let her marry Mark and Mrs Grey had refused to listen. Throwing back the covers, Beth padded down the hall to the bathroom and locked the door before washing her face. She didn’t want Aunt Helen asking why she’d been crying.

  It was ridiculous to cry, of course. Life was looking better for Beth than it had done in a while because she was looking forward to starting work the following week. She’d found it exciting to discover all the new things she would have to learn, and handling the merchandise was lovely. As yet, her counter was only half filled, but the soft leather gloves and the fine silk scarves were quality and she would find it satisfying to show them to customers.

  Beth made herself think about her new friends at Harpers. Sally was lonely, she could tell. She seemed full of confidence, but Beth had seen beneath to the vulnerable girl she was and wished she could help her. Beth thought her aunt’s home must be far more comfortable than the hostel that Sally had to endure.

  Her mind moved on from Sally to the younger girl. Maggie seemed a gentle, pleasant girl but perhaps a little timid, Beth thought. She liked both her and Sally and knew she would enjoy meeting the two girls at work every day. Beth felt thankful she’d been given the chance to work at Harpers and Aunt Helen had seemed more relaxed that evening and they’d got on reasonably well. Perhaps her life would begin to improve now. It would be better for both of them if Beth was out at work and earning a little money.

  The only dark cloud was bumping in to Mark and the way he’d reacted, as if she had let him down deliberately. Beth shook her head. She wouldn’t let the chance encounter with Mark ruin her pleasure in her new job.

  As she went softly back to bed, because it was still only four o’clock in the morning, Beth wondered about her supervisor. She knew hardly anything about Mrs Craven, except that she’d told them she was widowed. However, she seemed nice enough – strict but fair – and that was what was needed in a supervisor, of course.

  Beth climbed back in bed. She hadn’t heard Aunt Helen stir, which was a good thing. Her aunt worked really hard and needed her rest. The glass of sherry they’d had to celebrate Beth’s job must have helped her to sleep. She smiled as she remembered her aunt’s flushed face after the unaccustomed drink; it was a treat for them both.

  Turning over in bed, thoughts of Mark kept her wakeful, but she made an effort to settle down and forget the chance encounter that evening. Beth was being silly, worrying over something which couldn’t possibly matter. She’d known it was all over long ago, when Mark had stormed off… hadn’t she?

  Determined to get some sleep, Beth put the meeting from her mind. She had several things she needed to get done this weekend, because once she started work properly there just wouldn’t be the time…

  Rachel Craven lit the gas ring in in her room, boiled her kettle and made a pot of tea. She’d been lying awake for the past half an hour and it must be nearly six o’clock anyway. She would need to get up by six in future if she was to arrive at work early and set the girls a good example. Besides, she didn’t need much sleep these days. She’d got out of the habit of a full night’s rest when Paul was dying.

  For a moment, the pain of her husband’s death struck her hard. Was it only two years since they’d told her his illness was incurable and she’d watched the slow descent into terrible pain and a wretched death from a wasting sickness that made her weep tears of blood inside? Rachel knew that she would never forget those last weeks and days when she’d known she had lost him. He’d gone from her before death took him, his pain making him angry and bitter – angry at the woman who had loved and tended to him so faithfully to the end, bitter because he was dying and she would live on. At the very last, he’d told her he’d always loved her and begged her to forgive him; she had done so, but the hurt had gone deep.

  Afterwards, she’d felt drained and empty, too tired and worn down to grieve properly. It had taken her six months to return from that hell and then it had been necessity that had brought her back. She’d been shocked when she realised that Paul’s savings were almost gone. The doctor’s fees and their expenses over the months of his illness had used up much of what had been saved. Paul had worked in an office as a manager, but his wage had never been high and he’d been a generous man, always giving to charity and friends in need, never imagining that the day would come when he could not work. There was enough to live on if she was very careful, but she’d had to give up her pretty little house and take a room in a boarding house. She’d been lucky to find Mrs Malone, an Irish widow who ran a small boarding house for respectable ladies. Three other women lived under the same roof as Rachel, one a widow of slender means and two spinster sisters who eked out a precarious living by taking in sewing.

  Paul had always refused to let her take a job. She was his wife and he was the provider; he wanted her at home, caring for his needs and enjoying her life as she pleased. Rachel might have continued as an assistant to her father in his office as a lawyer had he not died just after her marriage, but Paul hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere else to work and she hadn’t minded. They had both longed for children, but during his illness he’d told her that he was glad they had none, for any child of his might have inherited his illness.

  His words had broken Rachel’s heart. She had lost both her parents to typhoid when she was twenty. Her only blood relative was a sister who lived in Hastings-on-Sea and ran a boarding house with her husband. They had three children, but Hazel only sent cards at Christmas and was too tied up with her own family to write even when Paul died; she’d sent just a card with a black edge that Rachel couldn’t bear to look at and threw away.

  Rachel had decided to seek work outside the home after Paul’s death because she did not want to risk the kind of genteel poverty that the spinster sisters endured and for six months she had run a small haberdashers for a Jewish couple. Mr Samuels had been ill when he took her on, but now he was well again and, though he wouldn’t say, Rachel had known he wanted her to leave the business to him. He’d given her a glowing reference for Harpers and she’d gone round to thank him after she was given her new position.

  He’d been pleased for her, but she’d sensed there was relief too. Rachel sipped her tea and thought about the job she’d taken on at Harpers. It was a good job and paid more than twice what Mr Samuels had thought fair. She might earn enough to find a home of her own again one day, though she would need to save a decent nest egg first, because she didn’t want to have to worry over how she would pay the bills. For the moment, she was comfortable here. Mrs Malone was honest, cheerful and friendly, though a little nosey. Rachel su
spected that she went through her tenants’ things when they were out. Nothing was ever taken, but little things were disturbed. Perhaps she just wanted to be sure that her lodgers were what they claimed, Rachel thought with a wry smile.

  Mrs Malone provided her with breakfast of toast with marmalade and grapefruit out of a tin, and would, if asked, cook an evening meal. Tinned food had been thought of a century earlier and was a boon to people like her landlady, who used it at every opportunity rather than cook fresh. Rachel usually ate soup for lunch at work and then bought ham and made herself a salad or a sandwich in her room at night; she was not fond of the heavy stews and pies the spinster sisters devoured hungrily each night. Her appetite seemed to have disappeared with the peaceful sleep she’d once enjoyed.

  Life without Paul had seemed bleak, despite the pain and grief of his illness. Hopefully, at Harpers she would find a new purpose and even some new friends.

  Smiling wryly at her foolish thoughts, Rachel finished her tea, washed her cup in the small sink and then went along the hall to the bathroom. She would be washed, dressed and ready to leave long before the sisters stirred. They were very polite ladies and always asked Rachel if she needed the bathroom first, because, as they were fond of saying, ‘You have to work, dear.’ The exquisite embroidery they did, which brought in barely enough to cover their lodgings, was not work – because work would not have been acceptable for Papa’s daughters. Rachel had heard all about their stern father who had kept the sisters at home to wait on him, refusing to let them marry and then leaving them in poverty when he died. His property had been sold to pay his debts and they would have starved on their tiny income if Mrs Malone hadn’t found them a few customers from amongst her friends.

  Rachel was thoughtful as she dressed in her neat grey dress with its collar of white lace fastened at the throat with a cameo brooch set in gold, and then, remembering the rule of no jewellery at work, removed it again. Minnie and Mildred did beautiful work. She thought they might have charged more for their embroidery if they’d known where to sell it, but they were ashamed to take anything for it and would only reluctantly accept the small fees Mrs Malone’s friends were prepared to pay.

  At Harpers, there was room for a range of stylish evening gowns with beautiful embroidery. Rachel had looked through the rails and thought what little stock had arrived so far was not as exclusive as it might be – but perhaps Harpers was the wrong end of Oxford street to be offering exclusive gowns with the handmade touches the sisters might provide. It was more a ready-made market rather than bespoke. Besides, it wasn’t her department and the sisters would probably be too frightened to offer their work even if she suggested it…

  Rachel’s mind moved on. She had assessed the three girls working under her in Harpers store. Sally was the senior assistant and seemed to know her business, though she was inclined to be a little rash and sometimes outspoken. Rachel would have to keep an eye on her for a while. Maggie was a sweet girl, a little shy but very willing – and Beth… A smile of approval touched Rachel’s lips. Beth was hard-working and intelligent, very much like she’d been at her age. Rachel liked her and thought she would like to know her better; though she could not relax her position as their supervisor, she hoped to enjoy good relationships with all the girls.

  Rachel had the weekend to herself. She decided that she would take a bus trip and visit Paul’s mother, who lived in a leafy suburb on the outskirts of the city. Rachel’s mother-in-law had married for a second time late in life and, though now yet again a widow, had sufficient funds to live comfortably. To give Edna her due, she’d offered to take Rachel in when she learned that Paul’s savings had almost gone. Rachel had thanked her but refused. She and her fussy mother-in-law had never truly got on. Paul had been her only child and she tended to be possessive, though she was decent enough in her way. Rachel continued to visit occasionally, because her mother-in-law had few friends and Paul would have wanted her to keep in touch.

  She would stop by the little local bakery run by a French chef and take some fancy cakes. Edna was very partial to a Bakewell tart or a cream horn…

  8

  Beth left half an hour earlier than necessary on her first real day at work. She’d wanted to make a good impression and so arrived at exactly the same moment as her supervisor. Mrs Craven glanced at the little silver watch she wore pinned to her tailored jacket; it had big black Roman numerals but was otherwise plain. As it was necessary to keep a check on things, it was not quite jewellery. She was wearing a dark grey dress that flirted just above her neat ankles, a white collar and a matching grey jacket and her hair was caught back in a soft knot at the nape. Beth noted how attractive her supervisor was and thought it sad that she’d been widowed so young, though she was glad she had told them so that they knew the truth; otherwise there would be gossip and rumours.

  Beth was wearing the new black dress she’d had for her period of mourning for her mother. It had been sponged and pressed the previous evening and she had attached one of the lace collars that were part of the uniform she’d been given. The white collar relieved the stark lines of the dress and Beth had no idea how lovely she was, never seeing beyond her pale skin and wide, clear eyes when she looked into a mirror.

  ‘I know we’re just setting out stock today,’ she told her supervisor as they went up in the lift together. ‘I wasn’t sure if this dress would be approved. If it isn’t, my aunt can make one exactly like those we were issued so I have a spare.’

  Her supervisor nodded and took off the jaunty red hat that enlivened her sober attire, taking it into her office. ‘It looks neat and tidy to me – but we shall consult Miss Hart,’ she said. ‘I would wear your regulation dress for opening day – as I shall.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Craven,’ Beth replied. ‘I wanted to keep it smart as I thought we might have dusty boxes to unpack today…’

  ‘Yes, I dare say…’ The words were made superfluous as they entered the department and saw boxes piled everywhere. ‘Well, it looks as if we shall be busy.’

  Beth took off her jacket and hung it in the space provided at the back of the stockroom. There was a small alcove for the girls’ jackets, bags and pegs for hats, but everywhere else was given over to racks and cabinets.

  She and Mrs Craven had just begun to unpack the first of the large boxes, which contained beautiful hats, when Maggie came in, hurrying but being careful not to run, though she was breathing heavily.

  ‘I’m not late – am I?’ she asked.

  Mrs Craven looked at her watch and smiled. ‘You are three minutes before time, Miss Gibbs,’ she replied. ‘Did you have difficulty in getting away?’

  ‘My father was in a lot of pain,’ Maggie said. ‘I had to call at the doctor’s surgery and missed my bus. I managed to get another but I got off and… walked quickly from the other end of Oxford Street, because there was an overturned lorry and the bus couldn’t get through…’

  ‘You must have walked very quickly,’ Mrs Craven said and glanced up as Sally entered the department. ‘Just in time…’ she said and Sally smiled and nodded. ‘Take your coats off, girls, and you can start opening some of the other boxes.’ She paused and then went on, ‘These have been delivered to the porter’s office and were shipped over from America. I believe everything has been priced again, but I do have lists to go with them and if anything isn’t priced, we shall check it…’

  Sally and Maggie went off to hang up their coats. When they returned, Sally started on the boxes nearest to her counters and the cries of delight and excitement from the girls made both Beth and Mrs Craven look round.

  ‘Shall we see what they’ve found?’ Mrs Craven asked Beth.

  ‘May we?’ She deposited the beautiful creation of silk tulle and straw on to the counter and followed the supervisor to the counter where Maggie and Sally had been unpacking and immediately saw what the other two were so excited over. There were about twenty beautiful leather and skin bags on the counter. Beth had never seen such lovely things
before, except in the window of a large department store, never this close, for she had not dared to touch or ask to see something she could never afford. ‘Oh, those bags are lovely…’

  ‘Very expensive,’ Sally remarked and picked up what Beth thought was a handbag made of crocodile skin. ‘This is ten guineas… and that one is twelve…’

  ‘Good gracious, that is a lot of money,’ Mrs Craven said. ‘Are you sure, Miss Ross?’

  ‘The tickets are already inside – look…’ Sally opened one of the bags and showed it to her supervisor. ‘Do you think anyone has enough money to want to pay that for a bag?’

  ‘Oh, yes, a great many ladies do,’ Mrs Craven said. ‘The bags are obviously authentic. I knew some of the stock was valuable, but I thought we would stock good leather or mock crocodile, not the real thing. I’m not at all sure they are suitable…’

  ‘I’ve seen the copies and they’re nothing like these,’ Sally said, her eyes bright. ‘Shall we start on the costume jewellery next?’

  ‘Not until you have all these listed and safely displayed inside the cabinets, Miss Ross. Check your inventory very carefully please and make certain nothing is left to chance. With such expensive merchandise, we must take extra care.’

  Beth looked at the beautiful bags. She wondered what kind of people could afford to spend so much on just one item. Crocodile skin was popular with rich women, but Beth wasn’t sure she would want one herself. It seemed an extravagance and rather cruel to her. Many families had less money to keep them in food and clothing for a month and it made her wonder just a little about the balance of things. However, she thrust the thought to the back of her mind. This was a prestigious store and it was not for her to judge such things.

  She and Mrs Craven unpacked all the hats. Beth listed them all neatly in the relevant stock book and Mrs Craven told her to unpack the smaller boxes containing the scarves and gloves and took over arranging the hats herself. After a few moments, she called Maggie to her and they began to discuss the care that must be given to such gorgeous creations.