‘Blackie came to do some work for—for my husband’s grandmother,’ Emma improvised swiftly. ‘He was always kind, doing extra jobs for us, for very little money. He liked the old lady, you see. He also knew she was not long for this world. I had told him that when she died I wanted to come to Leeds to find work. Blackie said I should look him up.’ Emma paused and sipped the lemonade to gain time. She was rather astounded at her aptitude for deception, and also her suavity at telling such a tall tale. On the other hand, she must now continue and make it convincing. ‘Blackie suggested I might find work in one of the new shops, selling finery to the ladies. He thought a well-educated person like me would be useful in a shop. I can also sew and do alterations.’
‘Aye, that’s an idea,’ said Rosie, feeling extremely pleased with herself. She had been right about this girl coming from Quality folk. It had been patently obvious to her all along that Emma could only have met Blackie in his capacity as a workman, doing repairs at her home. Impoverished gentry, that’s what this Emma Harte was. ‘I’ll tell yer what yer should do, luv,’ went on Rosie helpfully. ‘Monday morning, bright and early, pop along ter Briggate. Yer’ll find it easy enough. It’s a big street. There are lots of new shops in them there fancy arcades. Yer might find just the right opening—’ Rosie stopped short. A group of men had entered the pub and were heading towards the bar. She sighed and then smiled kindly at Emma. ‘Sit a while, if yer wants, Emma. But it’s going ter get busy now. I won’t be having much time ter chat with yer, luv.’
‘Thank you, but I had better go and see Mrs Daniel and settle the matter about the room.’ Emma stood up. She smiled brightly. ‘Thank you again, Rosie, for all your help. I appreciate it.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Aay, lass, I’ve done nowt, really. Hey, keep in touch with me, yer hear! Let me know if yer moves from Mrs Daniel’s ’ouse. So as I can tell Blackie where yer are. And pop in and see me, if yer gets lonely, or if yer needs owt else, luv.’
‘Yes, I will, Rosie. Thank you again. Goodbye.’ Emma picked up the suitcase and with another flashing smile she left the pub.
Rosie’s soft doe-like eyes followed her thoughtfully. By gum, I hopes she’s all right, she said to herself. Such a luvely girl. And all alone in the world. It’s a right shame, it is, really. Rosie hoped she would see her again. There was something special about Emma Harte.
Once she was outside the pub Emma studied the paper Rosie had given her, pushed it into her pocket, and set off determinedly to find Mrs Daniel’s house. There were, in actuality, many rooms for rent in the vicinity of the Mucky Duck, but Rosie had purposely selected Mrs Daniel’s boardinghouse for Emma, even though it was much farther away than she had indicated. Rosie had wanted the girl out of this dreadful area of Leeds, for York Road was bordered on all sides by tough neighbourhoods where grown men were not safe, let alone a defenceless girl. And so Rosie’s own fear of the district had reached out like a protective arm to shield Emma.
Most of the streets stretching beyond and away from these devastating slum areas were safe, but they were narrow and ugly, with dark, mean-looking back-to-back houses pressing against each other, a cruel inheritance from the Victorian era, wretched dwellings for the working classes. Emma concentrated on the street names, hurrying as fast as she could, for this great city, full of bustling people, carts and horses, carriages and tram-cars, was confusing and strange to her after the quietness of Fairley village. Yet, conversely, she was not intimidated. However, she did not stop to consider these new and diverse sights, or gaze at them in wonder. Emma occupied herself fundamentally with one problem at a time, and at this very moment her aim was to install herself in a room, find a job, and wait for Blackie’s return, in that order. She dare not think of anything else, and most especially the baby. She kept her eyes ahead but alert, noting the names as she sped along, one hand clutching her reticule in a fierce grip, the other grasping the leather suitcase.
After thirty minutes of fast walking, without a pause for breath, she sighed with relief. There in front of her was the street where Mrs Daniel’s house was located. Rosie’s directions had been explicit. Now, for the first time, Emma stopped and put down the suitcase and pulled the paper from her pocket—Mrs Daniel’s house was number five. This street, too, was dark, with a poverty-stricken air, but Emma cheered considerably when she reached number five. It was a taller house than she had expected, and narrow, wedged in between others, its Victorian walls blackened by factory soot and years of industrial grime. But the lace curtains at the sparkling windows were crisp and white and the door knocker gleamed brightly in the faint afternoon sunlight. The three steps in front of the house had been scrubbed to silvery whiteness over the years and the edges were brilliantly yellow from the scouring stone obviously used daily to outline the worn rims.
Emma practically flew up the steps and banged the brass knocker several times. After a short delay the door was opened. A thin woman with grey hair and a sour expression on her lined and sallow face glared down at Emma.
‘Yes, what do yer want?’ she asked peremptorily.
‘I would like to speak to Mrs Daniel, please?’
‘That’s me,’ said the woman curtly.
The indomitable Emma was neither unnerved nor daunted by the woman’s nasty tone and inhospitable manner. She had to get a room here at all costs. Today. She did not have time to roam Leeds looking any further. And so she smiled her most radiant smile and instinctively adopted a charming manner, one which she herself had not known she possessed until that very instant. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Daniel. My name is Emma Harte. Rosie from the Mucky Duck sent me to see you. She thought you would be willing to rent a room to me.’
‘I only takes gentlemen boarders,’ snapped Mrs Daniel, ‘less trouble. Besides, I’m full.’
‘Oh, dear me,’ said Emma softly, riveting her enormous eyes on the woman. ‘And Rosie was so sure you would have a room available. Even a small one would do.’ Emma glanced up. ‘It’s quite a large house, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, it is, but me two best bedrooms are let. There’s only the second attic and I never rents that.’
Emma’s heart sank but the smile did not waver. ‘Perhaps you might consider renting that other attic to me, Mrs Daniel. And I certainly wouldn’t be any trouble. Rosie will give me a reference if—’
‘It’s not that,’ the woman interrupted in a snappish tone. ‘I’m full up, as I said.’ She glared at Emma. ‘I can only cope with two lodgers and I’ve got them already.’ She made to close the door.
Emma smiled again, and winsomely. ‘Please, Mrs Daniel, don’t be hasty. It would be a great help to me if you would rent me the attic for a few weeks. Just as long as it is convenient for you. It would give me a chance to find somewhere else. Rosie was so sure you would be obliging. She spoke so well of you and recommended you highly. She told me you ran a clean and proper house, and that I would be safe here. Rosie said you were a good and honest woman.’
Mrs Daniel made no comment, but she was listening intently. ‘You see, I’m not from Leeds,’ Emma rushed on, determined to keep the woman engaged. She also wanted to convince her that she would be no trouble and dispel the apparent hostility the landlady had for women boarders. ‘I was living near Ripon, with my husband’s grandmother, and she died recently.’ Emma noted the look of amazement on Mrs Daniel’s face at the mention of a husband, but before she had a chance to say anything, Emma explained, ‘My husband is in the Royal Navy. On the high seas for six months. I would be grateful if I could stay with you, for only a few weeks. It would give me time to find a place of our own, for when my dear husband comes back on leave.’
The woman was silent, obviously ruminating on Emma’s story. Emma’s mind raced. Persuasion, flattery, and charm were having no effect at all. Perhaps she should appeal to her greed. ‘I can pay you a month in advance, Mrs Daniel. After all, a little extra money is always useful, isn’t it? For that attic you never rent,’ Emma said pointedly, and began to open her pur
se.
Gertrude Daniel, widow woman and childless, was not as surly as she appeared on the surface. In fact, her dour manner and grim face actually belied a rather kind heart and a pithy sense of humour. However, she had the strongest desire to close the door in the girl’s face. She wasn’t interested in the money. And she didn’t like women boarders. Troublemakers, they were. Yet there was something about this particular girl that held her attention, and she had said she was married. Involuntarily, and to her enormous astonishment, she found herself saying, ‘We’d best go inside. I don’t want ter be discussing this on the front steps, with all the neighbours watching from behind their blinking curtains. Not that I can rent yer the attic, mind yer. But perhaps I can suggest another place yer can try.’
With this statement she opened the door wider and admitted Emma into the tiny hall and led the way to the front parlour. Gertrude Daniel was now considerably confused. She did not know for the life of her why she had let the girl into the house. Broken her own rule, she had. Her husband, Bert, had run off with their woman boarder years before. Still, Bert was kicking up daisies now. Nevertheless, she had never rented a room to a woman since then, and she had no intention of doing so now.
The front parlour was a shrine to Victorian bad taste. It was bursting with black horsehair sofas and chairs and mahogany whatnots. Purple chenille cloths covered a table, a piano, and a large stand. There were potted aspidistras on various other surfaces not crowded with bric-à-brac and the most revolting copies of famous oil paintings virtually jumped off the walls, which in turn were covered with bright red flocked-velvet wallpaper that stung the eyes.
‘Sit down, then,’ said Mrs Daniel, her voice still harsh.
Emma placed the suitcase on the violent red-and-purple Turkey carpet, and perched on the edge of a horsehair chair, clutching her bag. She was desperately trying to think of something infinitely more persuasive and ingratiating to say, when Mrs Daniel cut into her thoughts.
‘This is the best parlour,’ said the landlady, preening. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed. It’s beautiful,’ responded Emma swiftly, adopting her most sincere tone, whilst thinking how horrid it was.
‘Do yer really like it?’ asked Mrs Daniel, her voice suddenly an octave gentler.
‘I do! Very much.’ Emma glanced around. ‘Why, it’s one of the most elegant rooms I’ve ever seen. It’s superb. You have excellent taste, Mrs Daniel,’ gushed Emma, remembering words she had heard Olivia Wainright use so often in the past. She bestowed a glowing and admiring smile on Mrs Daniel.
‘Well, fancy that. Thank yer very much.’ Mrs Daniel was inordinately proud of her front parlour and for the first time her face softened.
Emma did not fail to notice this and grasped the opportunity. She opened her bag deliberately. ‘Mrs Daniel, won’t you rent me the attic, please? I said I would pay in advance. If you’re worried about the money I—’
‘No, that’s not it,’ interjected Mrs Daniel. ‘If Rosie recommended yer, I knows yer all right for the brass—’ Gertrude Daniel now hesitated, her eyes resting appraisingly on Emma. She had been scrutinizing her from the moment she had opened the door. Like Rosie earlier, she had noticed the girl’s clothes at once. The frock was a bit dated, but good. She had also become increasingly aware of the girl’s manners, her air of rectitude and refinement, her cultivated voice. This is Quality, she thought, and before she could stop herself, she said, ‘Well, I don’t know whether me second attic would be suitable for yer, seeing as how yer such a fine young lady. But, since yer’ve nowhere ter go at the minute, I’ll show it ter yer. Mind yer, it can only be for a few weeks.’
Emma wanted to fling her arms around the woman’s neck from sheer relief, but she kept herself perfectly still. ‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Daniel. I do appreciate it,’ she said in her most dignified voice, imitating Olivia Wainright yet again.
‘Let’s go up, then,’ said the landlady, rising. She turned and threw Emma a quizzical look, eyebrows arched. ‘And how come a fine young lady like thee knows Rosie at the Mucky Duck?’ she asked, suddenly puzzled by the odd association.
Stick to the truth, such as it is, a small voice warned Emma. She said, without the slightest hesitation, ‘A workman, who used to come to Grandmother’s to do repairs to the house, knew she was not long for this world. I had explained to him I hoped to come to Leeds one day, to make a home for Winston, that’s my dear husband, and myself, and perhaps find work in one of the shops. He was a friendly sort and he told me to visit Rosie when I did come to Leeds. He felt she would be helpful.’
Gertrude Daniel had listened attentively, assessing the girl’s story. She spoke so sincerely and with such directness it was certainly a truthful statement. And it did make sense. She nodded, satisfied the girl was above board. ‘Yes, I understand. And Rosie’s a good lass. Help anybody, she would that. Providing they was worthy like.’ She nodded again and motioned for Emma to follow her.
The attic was indeed small, but it was neatly furnished with a few simple pieces, including a single bed, a wardrobe, a washstand under the tiny window in the eaves, a chest, a chair, and a small table. It was also spotlessly clean. Emma could see that from the most cursory of glances. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.
‘It’s three shillings a week,’ intoned Mrs Daniel defensively. ‘It might seem a lot, but it’s the fairest price I can give yer.’
‘Yes, it is fair,’ Emma agreed, and opened her reticule. She counted out a month’s rent. She wanted to be certain she had a roof over her head until Blackie returned to Leeds.
Mrs Daniel looked at the money Emma had placed on the table. She saw immediately that the girl had paid a full month in advance. She was not sure she wanted her here in the house for that length of time. It was almost against her volition that she picked up the twelve shillings and pocketed them. ‘Thank yer. I’ll go and get yer case.’
‘Oh, please, don’t bother. I’ll bring it up—’ Emma began.
‘No trouble,’ said Mrs Daniel, already thumping down the stairs. She returned almost immediately with the suitcase and placed it inside the attic. She had recognized that it was made of real leather and, in fact, she had examined it carefully and another thought had struck her as she had climbed the stairs.
Now she fixed Emma with a fierce stare and said, ‘There’s one other thing I forgot ter tell yer. Since I can only manage ter take care of the two gentlemen’s rooms, yer’ll have ter make yer own bed and clean the attic.’ Her eyes swept over Emma standing in front of her, so tall and beautiful and refined in appearance. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yer looks ter me like yer’ve led a lady’s life, an easy life, since the day yer was born, if yer don’t mind me saying so. Do yer knows how ter do housework?’
Emma kept her face straight. ‘I can easily learn,’ she remarked, not trusting herself to say another word for fear of laughter breaking loose.
‘I’m glad ter hear that,’ said the landlady bluntly. ‘And by the by, I don’t provide grub, yer knows. Not for only three shillings a week, prices being what they are these days.’ Mrs Daniel continued to study the silent girl who was surrounded by an aura of calm and dignity and, for some reason she could not fathom, she added, ‘But yer can use me kitchen if yer wants, as long as yer clean up after yerself. And I’ll find a spot in one of me cupboards, so yer can store yer groceries if yer wants.’
‘Thank you,’ said Emma, almost choking with the suppressed laughter.
‘Well then, I’ll leave yer be, Mrs Harte, so yer can unpack.’ Mrs Daniel nodded more cordially and closed the door behind her.
Emma pressed her hand to her mouth, listening to Mrs Daniel’s thudding footsteps retreating until they finally ceased. She flew across the attic to the bed and pushed her face into the pillow, now permitting herself to laugh unchecked, until the tears rolled down her cheeks. Do I know how to do housework! she kept thinking, and the peals of laughter would start all over again. But eventually her merriment subsided and she
sat up, wiping her eyes. She pulled off her crocheted gloves. She looked down at her hands and grinned with amusement. They might not be as work-roughened red as they used to be, but they were hardly the hands of a lady. Not yet. It’s a good thing I kept my gloves on all day, she thought, or my hands would have probably given me away.
Now Emma stood up and walked over to the washstand. She stared at her reflection in the swingback mirror. The black dress and the cream bonnet were discards from Olivia Wainright’s wardrobe and their quality was unmistakable. Her punctilious mimicry of Olivia’s voice had not been difficult to accomplish, once she had commenced. In point of fact, speaking in a genteel fashion had come quite naturally to her, for she had a good ear and had practised with Edwin. The tinker and his gypsy wife, Rosie, and Mrs Daniel all believed her to be a fine young lady of Quality, albeit a trifle impoverished. And it was no accident. This was the precise impression she had strived to create, had hoped to establish immediately.
Before leaving Fairley, Emma had determined to start out in Leeds as she intended to continue—as a young lady who would become a grand lady. And a rich one. She smiled again, but now the smile was cynical and her eyes, turning dark with calculation, seemed, for a moment, as hard as the emeralds they so strikingly resembled. She would show the Fairleys but she could not dwell on that now. Her time was precious and must be planned with exactitude and used to the fullest. Every minute must be made to count. She would work eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, if necessary, to achieve her goal—to become somebody. To become a woman of substance.
Abruptly she turned away from the mirror, untied her bonnet, placed it on the chest, and hurried to the bed. Emma had such an abhorrence of dirt it was almost an obsession, and whilst the room itself appeared to be meticulously clean, she was impelled to examine the bed linen. The quilt was old but not badly worn. She pulled it off and looked at the sheets with her keen eyes. They were not new; in fact, they were neatly darned in places, but they were spotless and freshly laundered. To pacify herself completely, she stripped the bed down to the mattress, scrutinized it closely, turned it over, and with a sigh of satisfaction she remade the bed swiftly and with her usual expertise.
A Woman of Substance Page 46
