by Betty Annand
He bent down to retrieve the money, and by the time he stood up, Gladys had walked away. Carefully, he examined the coins to make sure they were real. When satisfied, he called out in a voice that, unlike the rest of his being, had retained its fortitude. “God bless you, miss; God bless you!”
Gladys forced herself not to look back. Her knees were shaking, and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t managed to reach Sandy’s wagon and lean on it for support. It took a few minutes to gain control over her emotions. Then she took the coin that Mr O had given her and slipped it into the envelope that Rod would be taking to his father; it was an act that did little to lessen her misery.
Tears, including Sandy’s, were shed as they bid their goodbyes. On the way to the nearest omnibus station, it began to rain. Ordering Sandy to stop, Gladys took the canvas, climbed over the seat, sat between the two girls, and shared the cover.
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Pinky appeared to have no regrets over leaving Old Nichol and didn’t hide her excitement at viewing the wonderful world that she had only visited in her dreams. Once they boarded the Dover coach, her frequent bursts of “ohs” and “aahs” brought smiles to the faces of all the passengers. Ellie hung her head and made no effort to look at the scenery. As she watched the poor girl, Gladys appeared to be sympathetic, but her thoughts were of a more selfish nature.
When she saw how decrepit her father had become, her feelings toward him were so different from those she had on the night she left Old Nichol, that they stirred up a sundry of muddled sentiments. As she went over and over the words he had said, the most poignant and startling were, “We still misses ’er.” She found it hard to believe that her mother had feelings for anything but a bottle of booze.
Memories she had suppressed for the last three years came flooding back, and although most were better forgotten, others triggered nostalgia. She began to realize that although Sally had left her a legacy of knowledge, her ma had taught her how to dance and sing, skills she had found to be of equal value. In revisiting her past, Gladys could visualize the gradual degeneration of her mother and father, and, in doing so, began to understand that liquor was the culprit.
When the coach pulled into the rest station, Gladys felt more at peace with her state of affairs than she had since leaving the ghetto. The abhorrence she had for both her parents had faded with the knowledge that they missed her.
She helped the girls down from the coach and led them into the dining area, then ordered them each a bowl of soup and a hot meat pie. This left her with just enough money for a cup of tea and a scone. Although Ellie insisted she wouldn’t be able to eat, there wasn’t so much as a crumb left on her plate when they rose to leave, and she even began taking notice of the lush scenery when they were back on the road.
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Hilda had made a hearty lamb stew and set it aside on the stove for Gladys and the girls to enjoy when they arrived, but delicious as it was, the girls were too tired to eat more than a few bites. Two more cots were set up and ready in Gladys’s portion of the attic, and although she intended to hold Laura to her promise of a room of her own, Gladys decided to stay with the girls for a few nights until they were a little more settled.
To Laura’s credit, she allowed the girls to sleep until seven the next morning and to spend the next day getting acquainted with their new home. She also saw that they were scrubbed clean and outfitted. The following day after a hearty breakfast, she and Gladys began instructing them in their duties. Oddly enough, it was Laura who suggested that the girls’ workload not be too heavy until they had gained a bit more strength. Both girls, familiar with drudgery, had little trouble coping with their tasks. Pinky was delighted with her new uniform and all the good food, but Ellie remained sullen and discontent. Gladys told Millie how surprised she was by the difference in Laura’s attitude toward the young girls compared to the treatment she received when she first began working at the Inn.
Two months later, she had more to say about it. “You know, Millie, I promised Ellie’s brother I would watch out for her, but I don’t think I need to bother. For some reason, Laura has taken a real shine to the girl, and what’s more, I think Ellie is becoming very fond of her too. If I have to watch out for anyone, it may have to be Pinky. Laura allots too many of Ellie’s chores to the poor girl.”
Gladys was right about Laura’s feelings toward Ellie. When Laura, who was an only child herself, wed, she looked forward to having a large family and planned to show them the longed for affection that she never received from her own parents. Unfortunately, after being married for a few years with no pregnancies, she had to concede that she was barren. The only way she managed to cope with such a depressing truth was to lose herself in her work as a housemaid. Her earnings were added to her husband’s, and by living frugally, they eventually had enough to put a down payment on the inn in Dover.
What happened a few weeks after Gladys had moved into her own room was to change Laura’s personality for the better. One night, as she was walking past the stairway that led to the attic, she heard someone crying and decided to investigate. When she saw that Pinky was sound asleep, she quietly made her way to Ellie’s cot. The poor girl had the blankets pulled over her head and was doing her best to feign sleep, but her uncontrollable sobs gave her away. Not sure what her actions would accomplish, Laura sat on the edge of the bed and gently patted the girl’s back.
“There, there, lassie, dinna take on so.” The sudden reaction to her sympathetic words took the landlady by surprise. The girl sat up, wrapped her arms around Laura’s neck, and proceeded to shed a torrent of tears down the front of Laura’s best tucker. Instead of irritating her, the warm tears wakened Laura’s maternal instincts—instincts she thought were gone forever.
From that night on, Laura and Ellie’s fondness for one another continued to grow until their relationship was similar to that of a mother and daughter. Laura realized how hungry she had been for a loving touch. Neither her parents, nor her husband, thought it proper to display affection, and gradually, during the past fifteen years, her tender thoughts and sentiments were slowly drying up like fruit left on a tree to shrivel and fall to the ground. Therefore, Ellie’s hugs caused an awakening of her spirit, and she returned them with such gusto that, on occasions, she came close to breaking the young girl’s ribs. Because love can be infectious, her relationship with Neil and the rest of the household benefitted as well.
As for Pinky, she was so grateful to have three meals a day in addition to warm clothes and a bed of her own, that it never occurred to her to be jealous of Ellie’s good fortune. Although she was shy, she had an honesty and openness to her character that allowed her to easily make friends with both Hilda, the cook, and Becky, the scullery maid.
It wasn’t long before another girl was hired. Ellie was relieved of her duties and moved downstairs to a room in the Watts’ flat. Once she settled in, Laura saw that she had her own private tutor plus all the privileges of a girl born into a middle-class family. Ellie never mentioned missing her parents, and because defects are frequently easier to detect in others than in oneself, Gladys considered her disrespectful. The two never became friends.
Chapter Ten
Laura became so involved nurturing her newly found protégé that Gladys was left to train the new girl, Mary, along with her other jobs. This left very little time for the long walks and more frequent visits with Millie that she had looked forward to. She would have complained, but her esteemed title of supervisor boosted her ego, along with the attention she received as a barmaid and singer. Having been brought up in a place of little hope, she found such an expeditious rise in rank went a bit to her head.
Although Pinky and Mary were both hard workers, Gladys, who had become as fastidious a housekeeper as was Laura, took advantage of her authority and reprimanded them over the slightest mistake. Mary, an extremely subservient twelve-year-old with very little sense of
worth, did her utmost to follow all the rules required of a chambermaid, but she often neglected to empty and refill her scrub bucket as often as she should.
Mary thought it made no sense to throw out good water after only dipping a scrub brush into it a few times. Gladys had scolded her so often with the phrase, “You cannot make anything clean with something dirty,” that she heard it in her sleep, but still had trouble discerning how dark the water had to be before it was considered “dirty.” One day, Gladys lost her patience and angrily accused the poor girl of being lazy, even though she knew it was far from the truth.
Mary was heartbroken and hung her head so Gladys wouldn’t see her tears. When she told Pinky about it later, she said, “I think she don’t like me, Pinky. I couldn’t bear it if she sent me back ’ome. There’s nobody left what can look after me.”
Pinky tried her best to comfort the girl and to explain that with so much water at their disposal it wasn’t a sin to waste it, but Mary just shook her head and said, “Well, it seems awful sinful to me. The water we always drunk was a lot dirtier than what we throws out ’ere.”
Pinky could see there was no good talking to her, so offered to let her know when to change the water in her bucket, at least until she learned to judge it herself.
In spite of the rigid rules she set for them, Mary and Pinky were both in awe of Gladys, and whenever they had the opportunity, they would peek around the corner of the hallway in the evenings to watch as she sang to the customers in the bar. They thought she was the most beautiful lady they had ever seen.
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One day, Gladys noticed that Mary was walking with a limp, and inquired if she had injured herself. Mary replied that she just had a cramp in her leg, but a few days later her limp was even more noticeable. Gladys took her into the kitchen, sat her down on a stool and insisted she take off her boots and stockings. It was fortunate that she did. The poor girl had been wearing boots a size too small and had a number of nasty sores to show for it. Because of her timidity, she had been afraid to complain for fear of being sent back to the slums.
The sight of Mary’s broken and infected blisters was enough to cause Gladys to regret the way she had treated her. She gently bathed the abrasions in a bucket of warm water before applying salve and bandages. The realization that Mary was so afraid that she would put up with the pain without complaining brought back memories of how she had felt during the first few months she worked at the inn. Gladys suddenly realized that she had become almost as mean as Laura Watt. She also knew how much she would have appreciated a kind word from the landlady during that time.
When she had finished bandaging the sores, she said, “Now, Mary, don’t you fret; I will see you have a pair of boots that fit you, and I am sure I shall be able to find some chores you can do sitting down until those sores are healed. I have a pair of slippers that you can wear in the meantime.” Then, smiling up at Pinky, who had been anxiously watching the whole process, she added, “Will you please run up to my room and bring me my slippers? And, Pinky, when you come back, I think it’s time we three had a nice cup of tea and a chat, don’t you?”
Both girls, sensing that things were about to change for the better, nodded their heads in agreement. From then on Gladys used her authority with a much gentler approach, and even Laura had to agree that the girls worked harder than ever and were happier as well. Surprisingly, Laura had begun to realize that Gladys had a lot of admirable talents, and even though she still thought the girl didn’t show enough humility, she lost some of the animosity she felt toward her.
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A chambermaid’s uniform was not suitable for Gladys’s new job as barmaid, but when she mentioned it to Laura, she was told that it was up to her to supply her own, so Millie helped her fashion two inexpensive, but pretty, new frocks. From what Mille told her, it seemed that men appreciated the sight of a bare arm and a good show of bosom with their tankards of ale. She also explained that the style of dress worn by most barmaids was far less confining than those worn by ladies of the middle and upper echelon of society, which suited Gladys just fine, although Millie had convinced her to wear a corset.
Gladys caused quite a stir when she first wore one of her new dresses, and during the next few months, she was the recipient of many advances from the male customers. Although she was tempted to accept some of the invitations, she always refused, being determined not to enter into a relationship that might jeopardize her plans to have an education.
When she was a girl in Old Nichol, Gladys often dreamt of being as well-educated as her friend Sally, but such opportunities were unheard of. Then the day she lied to Millie and said she planned to go to school, Millie didn’t seem surprised, and even went as far as to say she thought Gladys would make a very good student. It was then she realized her dream could actually come true.
Fortunately, Gladys had the good sense to use tact when refusing invitations, therefore remaining friends with all the customers. By the end of the following year, she had more than her wages in tips—money she kept from Laura by using a hidden pocket sewn inside each of her dresses.
Millie hadn’t been able to find out where Gladys could get enough schooling to be a governess, but Mr Schneider, a retired teacher and one of the inn’s regular customers, said he did. He was acquainted with a Professor Morris in London who had suffered an accident and was confined to a wheelchair. Because the man could no longer work, he couldn’t afford a housemaid. Mr Schneider reported that the professor would be able to teach Gladys the subjects she needed if she would do the household chores. She would be supplied with her room and board, but was expected to provide her own personal needs. Gladys was thrilled with the prospect even though it meant moving back to London.
Millie and Gladys had figured out approximately how much money she would need, and one day she said, “I just need another five pounds. Can you imagine—me a governess! Sal—er, I mean, Ma and Da would be so proud.”
Millie asked, “Da? You mean your father?”
Gladys nodded, “I’ve always called him ‘Da.’”
“You’ve mentioned your mother before, but not your father. Is he still living?”
The memory of her father when she last saw him at Warehouse Corner came back to her, and she answered honestly in a quiet voice, “I don’t know, but I hope so.”
Millie patted her on the shoulder, “You don’t have to talk about it, dear, if it’s too painful.”
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After Gladys began working as a barmaid, she met men who were successful in various occupations, and she often imagined what it would have been like if her father had been something other than a junkman in Old Nichol. She could picture him as a constable, he was big and strong enough; or an innkeeper, he had a much nicer personality than Neil Watt; or even the town crier. Goodness knows he had a loud enough voice! But the one she could picture the most was a ship’s captain.
She had noticed the respect the sailors showed to their captains when they talked about them at the inn and could picture her father and his crew sailing to places with exotic names she had never heard of. Since no one in Dover had any idea what her father did, or if he was alive or dead, she didn’t see what harm it would do if she pretended he really was the father she daydreamed about; a ship’s captain who travelled all over the world.
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One evening, she was in the middle of a song when a noisy disturbance began just inside the pub entrance. Neil was shouting at a patron, “Did ye no hear me, mon? I said ye canna come in here. This is no a gin palace in Drury Lane. You are not fit to be among respectable folk. Now, gie away wi ye.”
Gladys couldn’t see the intruder, but when he shouted, “By all the saints, you’ll not stop me from seeing me dear little Ellie; I’ve come too far, and I’ll bloody well stay until I sees me darlin’ girl,” she knew it had to be Mr O.
“We’ll see aboot
that,” answered Neil as he motioned for two of his burliest patrons to assist him in throwing the man out on the street, after which he bolted the door.
Gladys knew she should go to her friend’s aid, but she was afraid he would recognize her, so she quickly began a lively song, encouraging everyone to join in. Mr O began pounding on the door, and the louder he pounded, the louder she sang. When the song was finished, and she could still hear the pounding, Gladys could stand it no longer. Approaching Laura, who was twisting her wiping cloth around her hands in obvious agitation, she said, “Mrs Watt, I heard that man say, ‘Ellie,’ and I think he must be her father. Remember that I told you I had promised her brother that she would be well looked after? Perhaps if I was to tell him how happy she is and hand him enough money to return home, he might go away.”
Laura called Neil over and told him of Gladys’s plan, but because the banging on the door had become much weaker, Neil said, “Perhaps the man weel give over an’ get home without our help.”
“And he might just go to the police,” Laura answered. “I’ll no want to live, Neil, if he takes the lassie from me!”
Neil believed her and gave in, saying, “Here, Gladys, give him this two-pound note.” Then, before she could take it, he reached into his apron and added, “You’d best give him five. That should satisfy any beggar.”
Laura grabbed hold of Gladys arm and added, “And, Gladys, tell him that Ellie has been taken by good folk to another country.”
Mr O had ceased his attacks on the door, and Gladys hoped that he had left, but to her dismay, she found him sitting against the building with his head hanging down. Her heart broke when she saw how thin and ragged he looked. She also noted that he had only one complete leg, the other ending above the knee. His homemade crutch was lying in two pieces on the road where his assailants had thoughtlessly thrown it. His bare elbows were sticking out of his torn shirt and looked as thin as two plucked chicken wings. They were also clotted with blood from dragging himself back to the building after being thrown on the cobblestones.
