by Betty Annand
Shrugging her shoulders, Gladys waited for Mrs Rutledge to order then said she would have the same. She spent more money for the meal than she intended, but the meat pie was so delicious and the large glass of warm milk so comforting, that she had no regrets. Mrs Rutledge could tell by the manner in which the girl devoured her meal that she was still hungry, so she only ate half her pie and said, “I simply cannot finish this, Gladys, and I do so hate to see good food go to waste. Do you suppose you could eat a little more, dear?”
Gladys wasn’t sure if accepting the pie was the proper thing to do, but the temptation was too great to refuse. She did her best to sound nonchalant as she replied,
“Well, if you are sure. I didn’t take the time to eat breakfast this morning, and I am rather hungry.”
When Mrs Rutledge finished her tea, she excused herself and went to the outhouse while Gladys walked a little way down the road to stretch her legs. It was a lovely summer’s day, and the oats in one of the fields beside the road had just been cut. The smell was so unbelievably sweet that Gladys threw back her head, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. She never dreamt there were such wonderful places and made a silent wish that Dover would be as pretty and smell as nice. This last thought made her wonder if the other passengers could smell offensive odours on her or her clothes. She put the sleeve of her cloak up to her nose and sniffed. There was a rather unpleasant smell, but she couldn’t tell if it was her or the fur trimming. Just to be safe, she decided to sit over as far as she could to her side of the coach for the rest of the journey.
She was just about to go to the outhouse when she saw a young lady who was dressed in a pretty blue frock walking toward her smiling. Gladys returned the smile, but when she noticed a brooch pinned to the lady’s bodice, her smile faded. Her face paled, and she looked so upset that the lady inquired, “Are you alright? May I be of help?”
Recovering a little and sounding more like a child than she had intended, Gladys replied, “It’s that shell cameo you’re wearing; I had one almost the same, but I lost it.”
“Oh, I am sorry. This was a gift from my husband, and I know how upset I would be if I lost it. Well I must give this parcel to the driver. I hope someone finds your pin and returns it to you.”
Gladys had forgotten to bring Sally’s brooch. The realization that she would never be able to retrieve the precious gift was so upsetting that she almost broke out in tears. She had promised Sally she would keep it forever, and now she would never see it again. The day was no longer so magical, and after making use of the outhouse, she returned to the coach in a sombre mood.
Mrs Rutledge, noting the sad look on Gladys’s face, was about to inquire as to the reason, but the girl seemed so intent on keeping as much distance between them as possible that she took it as a plea for privacy, and settled down to enjoy another nap.
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As they continued on with their journey, the food, and perhaps a few tankards of ale, appeared to have loosened the tongues of the two gentlemen, and they began to chat about a variety of subjects. Their discussions were amiable until the topics of the Queen’s politics and her marriage to Prince Albert arose. On both subjects their opinions differed greatly, resulting in a loud dispute. Gladys was intrigued with the conversation, and both men, who had seemed uninteresting to her before, now took on personalities.
She surmised that both were middle-aged, but that was where the resemblance ended. The gentleman, who wore the scent which thankfully had dispersed, was tall, fair, and had an open and friendly countenance. Although she knew nothing of the latest styles in men’s attire, she noticed that his clothes appeared new and were made from expensive material. The other fellow, who talked with a decidedly Scottish accent, was small of stature and had short-cropped, iron-grey, bushy hair with matching brows. He had ruddy cheeks, a tight upper lip, and small, but bright, brown eyes. His clothes were neat and tidy, but they showed a good amount of wear. His voice had a short, clipped, decisive tone, and he appeared to be a man of set opinions.
It seemed that the tall man was in agreement with the Queen’s choice of parties and declared, “She supports the Whigs, and that, sir, is proof enough for any man that she has compassion for all her subjects and not just those of a higher echelon.”
The Scotsman, a dedicated Tory, sat upright in his seat and the ruddiness on his countenance spread up to his temples and down his neck. He emitted a sputter that sounded like a drop of cold water on a hot skillet, before he was able to respond, “Ye’ve nae a brain in your head, mon! Di ye ken, the lassie has been hoodwinked by that unco, Melbourne? He and that foreigner she married. Neither hae worked a day in their lives an’ they want tae take money from us tae put food in the mouths o’ laggards too lazy to earn a shilling.”
The tall gentleman calmly replied, “Nonsense you say! There are those who are too sick to work and are forced to beg. Have you no pity, man?”
“Dinna talk to me aboot pity. I’ve been as poor as the lot o’ them but I dinna ask for pity. I went to work shovelling coal wi’ a crooked leg, and I kept working and saving until I had my ain business.” Gladys had noticed the man had a limp.
The tall man still appeared unruffled by the Scotsman’s outburst and continued the conversation in such a condescending tone that it hinted of smugness, “I commend you, sir, on your success, but my opinion remains the same, so we shall have to leave that subject in disagreement. As to Prince Albert, he certainly seems like a good chap to me. He’s well educated, and they say he has a keen interest in the sciences, so I expect he may bring about some modern changes, which God knows we could use.”
The Scotsman’s reply was delivered in such a loud tone that it woke Mrs Rutledge. “Och! A fancy education ye say! He does na ken what the working man needs if all he has done is read books? Dinna ye ken he’s a foreigner and has no business muddling in our—”
His dialogue was suddenly interrupted by Mrs Rutledge who, although softly spoken, used her voice with authority, “Sirs, would you mind controlling your voices? If you two gentlemen are not in agreement, then may I suggest that you leave Miss Gladys and me in peace and spend the rest of your trip enjoying the scenery?”
Both men, taken aback by the woman’s astute advice, emitted small, undecipherable noises to cover their embarrassment, then settled back in their seats and were quiet for the rest of the journey. Gladys gave Mrs Rutledge an appreciative smile, but in truth she was disappointed. The men had spoken of the Queen and Prince Albert as though they knew them personally. Conversations such as theirs were never heard in Old Nichol. The Queen and Prince Albert might as well live in another country for all the difference their politics made to the populace born in the slums.
The concerns there were far more practical, such as where one could find the most lucrative corner to apply one’s talents for begging and pickpocketing. The daily news of a death or two, and who could lay hands on the poor beggar’s belongings before he was taken away by the dead cart, always merited a lengthy discussion. This was usually followed by the topic of who would inherit the deceased’s living space. Gladys knew now that she was in another world and must adapt to her new environment. One of the things she intended to find out was what on earth was a wig party?
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It was early evening when the coach arrived at a small, red brick station with the sign that read “Dover” painted in big black letters over the entrance. A few people were standing outside, and as the tall gentleman exited and turned to assist Gladys and Mrs Rutledge down from the coach, the driver announced, “The convenience building be out back. We leave for Hastings in ten minutes.”
Once on the ground, Gladys couldn’t help but remark, “Oh my, what is that nice smell?”
The tall man laughed and replied, “That, young lady, is good salt air!”
Mrs Rutledge, who was met by her husband, a man obviously delighted with his wife’s return,
gave Gladys a hug and then surprised her and slipped her gloves into Gladys’s hand, whispering, “You may need these, dear. Good bye and good luck.” Before Gladys could thank her, her husband whisked her off. Gladys didn’t have a chance to ask her if she knew of an inn nearby.
The tall man, who was continuing on to Hastings, hadn’t taken his luggage from the coach and was sitting on a bench nearby, so Gladys walked over to him and shyly inquired if he knew of a place where she might find lodgings. He looked pensive for a second, then shook his head, “I am sorry, my dear, but I live in Hastings and am not acquainted with the establishments here. Perhaps you can ask Scotty over there when he has his bags down from the rack. I trust his manners will be more courteous towards such a pretty young lady than they were toward me.”
Gladys waited for the Scotsman to collect his luggage before she approached him. “Pardon me, sir, could you tell me where I could find lodgings for the night?”
“Aye,” he replied, then turned abruptly, and walked away.
Gladys, not knowing what else to do, ran after him. “Sir, please wait!”
The Scotsman stopped and with a look of annoyance, asked, “What is it ye want now?”
“Could you please tell me where I can find the place?”
Once again she received an abrupt, “Aye” before he continued on down the road. Gladys had no recourse but to follow. Although the man walked with a limp, she was amazed at the rapid pace he set. They walked in silence for about a quarter of a mile, passing tidy, little shops that were nestled under tiers of identical looking apartments. Finally, they stopped at one of the taller buildings. A sign above the entrance door was decorated with painted sprigs of heather in each corner and the name “Scots Inn” in the centre. Underneath the title were the words, “Whiskey and Freedom Gang Thegither” and, below those colourful words of Robbie Burns, “Proprietor, Neil Watt.”
The man unlocked the door and entered. When Gladys hesitated to follow, he called out, “Weel, Lass, do ye want a room or no?”
Gladys, unsure of what she was getting into, decided to throw caution to the wind, and nodded, “Yes.”
“Weel it’s two shillings a night, and ye’ll have to pay now.”
When Gladys entered the room, it took her a few minutes to realize that she was in a public house unlike any she had seen in Old Nichol. Behind a shining slate bar with a curved trim of unblemished oak was a huge mirror that reflected the polished leather on the chairs around a number of tables. Even the sculptured copper ceiling was brightly polished, and the windows were beautifully etched with scenes of Scottish landscapes. She was taking it all in when she suddenly realized that the Scotsman had disappeared, and she was alone. Feeling somewhat nervous, she was just about to call out when she heard voices coming from the back of the building. As they came nearer, she could make out, not only the Scotsman’s brogue, but a woman’s as well, although her accent was nowhere as broad.
They seemed to be arguing over something to do with the gas lamps, and as they entered the room, the woman declared, “I’ll no do my cleaning by candlelight!”
The man had calmed down by this time, and he merely uttered a weak “Shush yer tongue, woman,” before addressing Gladys. “Now, lass, ye want a room. How long will ye be staying?”
Gladys, who was going to look for work and unsure of the length of her stay, decided to book it for three nights. After giving her name as Gladys Tweedhope, the man identified himself and his wife as Neil and Laura Watt, the owners of the inn. Then he left the woman to take Gladys’s money and settle her into a room while he busied himself turning out lamps.
Laura Watt was built much like her husband, only chubbier. Their facial features were also similar, even and rounded. Laura wore her generous head of white hair up in a bun on the top of her head, while her brows, although grey, were thick like her mate’s.
Before Neil had extinguished all the lights, Laura bade Gladys follow and led her down a hallway for a short distance until they came to a stairway on their left. The room was on the third floor, and Gladys was amazed at how easily the older woman took the stairs and how agile both she and her husband were for their ages.
For the average traveller, the room would probably seem adequate, but far from elegant; Gladys, however, considered it luxurious, but managed to hide her delight. In a very mature and casual tone, she remarked, “I suppose it will do,” as though she was accustomed to far better accommodation.
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When Laura Watt wasn’t cleaning, cooking, or doing the washing, she spent her time prying into other people’s affairs. Gladys’s lack of luggage was enough to fuel her suspicious mind, and she began making inquisitions worthy of a seasoned detective. Instead of avoiding the personal inquiry, Gladys, giddy with hunger and lack of sleep, was experiencing a false sense of overconfidence, and happily supplied the landlady with an imaginary history. She said that she came from London and had recently lost her mother, her only living relative. Then she remarked that she had come to Dover to find employment.
Such commonplace information rendered no basis for gossip, so having no further excuse to remain in the room, the landlady began to leave. As she was going out the door, she informed Gladys that theirs was the only inn in Dover that had a hip-bath and that if she desired to use it, there was a fee of six pence. When Gladys asked if there was somewhere nearby where she could buy a sandwich, Mrs Watt kindly offered to send one up along with a nice hot cup of tea.
After Laura left, Gladys studied each piece of furniture as though it were a work of art. There was a jug of clean drinking water sitting on a dainty, little, round-topped table and a clean towel hung on a rod on the side of a commode. On top of the commode, there was a lovely flowered china jug and basin and a small piece of manufactured soap in a little china dish. She had never seen a fancy bar of soap before, and thinking it might be something to eat, almost bit into it. When she opened the doors of the commode, she was amazed to find a china chamber pot with the same flowered pattern as the jug and basin. She thought it far too pretty to use and looked around the room for one more suitable. When she couldn’t find one, she giggled, and said out loud, “Coo, won’t my bottom think it belongs to the Queen herself when I squat on that.”
She hadn’t taken her cloak off when she heard a knock on the door. She opened it to find both of the Watts, one with hot water for her toilet and the other with her tea and sandwich. When Laura Watt didn’t leave with her husband, Gladys was afraid the woman had become suspicious. Then, after a few awkward moments of silence, Laura asked for two pence for the tea and sandwich. Gladys was so relieved that she was happy to oblige.
The sandwich was made with fresh bread and delicious brawn, and the tea was sugared and creamed to perfection. After she ate, she took off all her clothes and scrubbed her skin until it was red. Then she took a damp cloth and wiped it over her clothes hoping to eliminate a little of the ghetto’s essence. The only thing that dulled the excitement she felt was that she had no one with whom to share the amazing experience. She found it hard to believe that she was in such a magical place. It felt to her as though she had been swept up by an angel and dropped into heaven. Looking around the room, she noticed that there was a good-sized dresser to put her clothes in, if she had any, and a lovely big window adorned with pretty draped curtains. The pink and red roses on the wallpaper added more warmth and beauty to the room.
When she went to bed, she pulled back the eiderdown quilt and was astounded to discover two bed sheets. She had never seen such finery, and got in between them naked in order to enjoy the feel of the clean, fresh-smelling material against every inch of her body. She wanted to enjoy the soft down pillow and the rest of the bedding, so she tried her utmost to stay awake, but fell asleep in seconds.
Chapter Six
It seemed like a wonderful dream when Gladys awoke in the morning. She stretched out under the sheets and had to fight an ur
ge to scream for joy. The bed was so comfortable that she would have stayed in it all day if her empty stomach would have stopped its grumbling. Getting up, she wrapped herself in the quilt, went over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. It was a bright, sunny morning, and as she looked down at the tidy buildings in the street, they appeared so inviting that she wasted no time getting dressed. As she tied her hair back, she decided that one of the first things she would buy would be a hairbrush.
After attempting to arrange the bedding the way she had found it, she left the room, remembering to lock the door with the key that Laura had left on the dresser. Having no idea of the time, she made her way down the stairs as quietly as possible in order not to wake any of the other guests. A curtain-less window at each end of the hallway allowed her enough light to find her way to the stairway, but Mrs Watt must have extinguished the wall lamps the night before, so she had to hold onto the banister as she made her way down in the darkness.
It was a relief when she came to the last set of stairs, and someone opened the door at the bottom landing, letting in enough light to make out each step, but just as suddenly, the light disappeared. At first she thought someone had closed the door, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the form of a very stout woman who appeared to be clad in an array of ruffles, flounces, and furs. Although the lady could clearly see that Gladys was more than halfway to the bottom, she began her ascent. A tall, thin gentleman, mostly hidden behind her bulk, placed his hand gingerly on the lady’s shoulder and in a timid voice, said, “Shall we wait for the young lady, my dear?”
The woman, a seasoned busybody, had acquired a talent for sizing a person’s social standing in a glance, and Gladys’s bare legs and worn boots gave her away. She shrugged the man’s hand from her shoulder, and, unmindful of Gladys, who could hear every word, answered, “She is no lady, Roger. She is obviously one of the servants here and should know enough to make way for a guest.”
