by Cathy Sharp
‘No …’ Ruth wiped her eyes with her apron. ‘She was like my own daughter, sir. Ever since her mother brought her in …’
Arthur nodded sympathetically. ‘I shall not give up my search for her, Ruth. And now – tell me of our guests. Are they all well and content?’
‘Yes, sir, they are. Miss Esther ’as been a little poorly. She suffers with her chest as soon as it gets chilly in the evenings, but I ’ad the doctor to ’er as you asked, sir, and she seems better this mornin’.’
‘I think she would not have survived another winter on her own,’ Arthur said and smiled. ‘I made a wise choice when I chose you to look after my guests, Ruth. Miss Esther will be comfortable and happy here in her last days.’
‘Yes, sir. You and Miss Ross have done a good thing in opening this house, sir.’
Arthur smiled and took his leave of her. Miss Ross was often in his thoughts these days, more than he’d intended when he’d agreed that they should take on this project together. She was a lovely young woman and he knew that she meant more to him than he ought to have allowed, for he could not ask her to wed him. He did not deserve that kind of happiness because he had caused the ruin of a young woman once and could never forgive himself for what had happened to her.
Miss Richards had driven her gig into the mews behind a row of buildings. She gave the reins into the hands of a young boy, who ran forward to take the horse away, and led Eliza through a narrow passage to a wider street. This consisted of shops and business premises, but the buildings were old and still had an air of faded grandeur that impressed Eliza.
‘This is my shop, and I live in the back and above,’ she said, indicating one of the shops.
Above the window was a sign with gold lettering on a black background, which moved and creaked a little in the breeze. The window itself was dark, with black curtains shutting off the inner sanctum, and there were only two large bell-shaped jars standing on the shelf inside the faintly grey glass. A bell jangled as Miss Richards opened the door and, once inside, Eliza was mesmerised.
Eliza stared in wonder as she followed Miss Richards into the dark interior of the shop, for she had never seen anything like it, the shelves lined with blue glass bottles in all shapes and sizes; there were gold letters on them, a few of which she recognised, but could not put together to read. Set at each end of the shelves were two long wooden cabinets with lots of tiny drawers and on each drawer a brass surround held white cards with more letters neatly written on them. The smell was spicy and yet sharp and the young man who stood behind the counter was wearing a white apron over dark trousers, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and held with wide black bands. Miss Richards introduced him as her cousin Malcolm. He stared at Eliza but did not smile in welcome and his eyes were not in the least friendly.
Eliza turned in a full circle, taking in all the wonders of large brass scales and tiny ones. She’d seen the coke merchant use a crude form of scales when he delivered to the workhouse, for Miss Simpkins demanded full measure before she paid the tradesmen, but his were of wood and rusted metal, crude besides these beautiful things.
‘What do you think of my little apothecary shop?’ Miss Richards asked when Eliza remained silent. ‘Papa called us apothecaries – though these days most would say we were chemists. A lot of our preparations are made of herbs and natural things, which can be dangerous unless used in the right way. That is why he taught me how to use them. I helped him make up his preparations in the evenings when the shop was closed and during the day I did what Malcolm does now.’
‘May I go for my dinner now, Cousin Edith?’ the young man behind the counter asked.
Miss Richards looked at the wooden clock on the wall. ‘It is but three minutes to one, Malcolm. We never close our doors until one, as you well know – but go along. I shall use the time to show Eliza where things are.’ He took off his apron and grabbed a jacket from a hook at the far end of the counter. ‘Have you no welcome for Eliza, cousin?’
Malcolm glared at Eliza as if he hated the sight of her, but he mouthed the words, ‘Welcome, Eliza …’ before bolting out of the door.
Miss Richards shook her head resignedly. ‘I fear Malcolm will never make an apothecary, but I have higher hopes for you, Eliza.’
‘I know nothing of such things, miss.’
‘Well, I shall teach you everything, but in return I expect loyalty. No stealing from me,’ Miss Richards said sternly. ‘This house was once the residence of a wealthy silk merchant, but it has been divided into three separate properties. We are number fifteen, Eliza. The milliner next door is number fourteen and the confectioner’s is number twelve; there is no number thirteen, because it is considered unlucky. Three doors down is what was once another silk merchant’s house and is now the Fever Hospital. This was a thriving community of Huguenots, who came to England to escape religious persecution, but in time the wealthy merchants moved away and much of the property has become shabby. Just up the road there is a Jewish synagogue and beyond that a workshop where women make garments.’
‘I’ve seen such places in Bethnal Green,’ Eliza said. ‘Tucker called them sweat shops and said the women were treated like slaves.’
‘Yes, I believe that is true,’ Miss Richards agreed. ‘Now pay attention, Eliza. We keep all our medicines in these jars and drawers.’ Edith Richards frowned as her cousin shot off to find his midday meal, setting the bell jangling. ‘You will learn where everything is in time, Eliza – but the powders and pills we make ourselves are kept in the drawers, and the jars contain liquids. We have several poisons and great care must be taken with dispensing those – and a note is made in a special book of every half ounce of arsenic we sell. People have been known to use it for wicked purposes rather than to kill rats and pests, which is its proper use. Occasionally, Papa used the tiniest amount in a medicine, but that can be dangerous, for if it is used carelessly and taken too frequently it might induce illness rather than cure it.’
‘Can it do good as well as evil?’ Eliza asked.
‘Assuredly, or Papa would not have used it. Henry Richards was a great and good man, Eliza. One day, when we know each other better, I shall tell you about my dear papa, but not just yet. You have much to learn and it is a vast pity that you were sent to that terrible place. I do not think Papa was aware of it until shortly before his death, but no more of that for now.’ A thin smile touched her mouth. ‘I daresay you will be hungry, Eliza. It is one o’clock now so we shall put the lock on the door and go through.’
As she moved purposefully towards the door, it opened, setting the bell jangling as an attractive young woman rushed in. Edith frowned and asked what was needed in a severe tone.
‘Some of that mixture yer give me afore,’ the woman said and made a wry face. ‘The stuff what gets rid of unwanted brats.’
‘Maggie Jackson, I’ve told you before, we do not deal in such things here, nor did I give you anything of the sort – you asked for an emetic because you were constipated and that’s what I gave you.’
‘Well, it worked anyhow,’ Maggie said and winked at Eliza. ‘I shan’t tell anyone you give me it.’
‘You must come back this evening at six. I do not have time to make it up for you at the moment.’
‘If I must – but give me the same as last time, ’cos I’m up the duff agin – the ole bugger won’t leave me alone, Miss Edith.’
‘You should leave his employ, Maggie – or tell his wife what he does when she’s sleeping.’
‘She’d say I was lying and lay the stick about me shoulders – and I’d find another job if I could, but ’tis like as not ’twould be the same. They either starve you or rape you – and if you complain ’tis thrown out you’ll be and only the workhouse left for shelter.’
Edith shook her head as the shop door closed behind Maggie with a little bang. She locked the door and turned to Eliza with a sigh.
‘I think the workhouse was the devil’s invention. Did you know that before they had
such things decent folk made it their business to feed and help the destitute, and there were laws meant to keep them from starving? When folk stayed at home in their parish where they belonged, the system worked well enough, so Papa told me, but when everyone began to move to the towns there were just too many people, causing overcrowding in bad housing, poverty and health problems, and so someone thought of the workhouse.’
‘Why do they send people there?’ Eliza asked her. ‘Mistress said we be there to learn to be disciplined and respect our betters so that if we be fortunate to be taken out we would know our place.’
‘The workhouse would be a good thing if people were treated more kindly,’ Edith said as she led the way through to what was a large kitchen at the back of the house. It was twice the size of the front shop and the first thing Eliza noticed was that it looked very clean and neat. ‘This is our kitchen. The smaller room at the end is where we cook and eat, and this part is where I make up the preparations. It is where you will be working with me.’ She gave Eliza a little push towards the domestic end and took off her coat, revealing a serviceable dark grey dress. ‘As for folk knowing their place – Papa believed that all men were created equal under God and the place we had in life was the place we had worked for.’
Eliza’s nostrils twitched as she caught the most enticing smell. Edith had donned a large white apron and she set two plates on the scrubbed-pine table with forks, knives and spoons, and then bent to take a brown pot from the oven which was heated by a large iron range. She set the pot on the table and took off the cover, allowing the delicious smell to escape and tantalise Eliza even more for she had never smelled its like.
‘What is that?’ she asked in awe. ‘Is it one of your medicines?’
Edith looked at her and smiled. ‘That is chicken and vegetables in a rich gravy, child. I cook everything in the same pot because it is easy and allows me to get on with my work without fussing. It simmers in the oven all morning so that I never have to stop and see to it. Sit down and eat now – but wash your hands first in the bowl there. A jug of water is under the stand.’
Eliza followed the direction of her nod and saw the marble-topped washstand in the corner. A pretty blue-and-white china bowl stood on top and underneath was a jug of a similar though not matching pattern. She poured a little water into the bowl, rinsed her hands in the water and wiped her hands on the piece of towel hanging on a rail underneath.
‘Show me,’ Edith said when she came to the table and inspected her hands. ‘They will do for now, but I will train you how to wash your hands properly, and to scrub your nails. When you help me with the herbs you must have clean hands at all times – do you understand me, Eliza?’
‘Yes, Miss Richards.’
‘Good, now sit and eat.’
While Eliza had been cleansing her hands, Edith had ladled the food into two bowls and beside the now steaming bowls were two small plates made from the same blue-and-white china with chunks of fresh bread. Eliza’s stomach rumbled and she blushed for shame, but Edith seemed not to notice. They both sat down and Edith said grace, something Eliza was used to at the workhouse for the master always told them how thankful they must be for their food – even though it was never enough and never tasted half as good as this smelled.
The first mouthful made Eliza’s eyes open in wonder. She held the chunk of soft, meltingly-good chicken and gravy in her mouth, reluctant to swallow because the taste was so wonderful.
‘You’re not eating? Is it not to your liking?’ Edith looked at her severely and Eliza chewed and swallowed, before daring to answer.
‘It’s so lovely – I didn’t want to eat it too quick, because I’ve never tasted food like this before, miss.’
‘Well, you may soon tire of it,’ Edith said briskly not wasting time on sympathy. ‘You will eat the same meal again this evening, and if we don’t finish it, I may warm it up again for tomorrow. The day after, it will be rabbit or a piece of braising beef. Only on Sunday do I prepare a different type of meal – my cousin doesn’t care for my cooking, which is why he goes out for his dinner.’
‘Does your cousin live ’ere with you in your ’ouse, miss?’
‘You must begin to speak properly, Eliza. Do not drop your aitches, please. It is house and here, not ’ouse and ’ere – do you understand, Eliza? I want you to speak properly when you serve my customers.’
‘Yes, miss. The vicar and the doctor speak posh like you. Ruth says it’s so we know our place and we shouldn’t try to be better than we be.’
‘It’s than we are, not than we be – and you most definitely should try to speak properly, Eliza. Listen to the way I speak, and copy it. However, in answer to your question, Malcolm lives with his widowed mother in the house his father left to them. Mrs Richards is a widow and cannot control her son, I fear.’
‘So your father and his were brothers, miss?’
‘Yes, that is so – and I had hopes of Malcolm taking over from me one day when he first came here, but I fear he does not apply himself. He would rather be off to the tavern with his friends than learn how to grind shells to a powder and blend herbs.’
Edith had finished her meal. She glanced at Eliza’s bowl, which was empty. ‘Have you eaten enough, child?’
‘Yes, thank you, Miss Richards.’
‘Very well, you may clear these things into the sink, using the bowl you will find underneath. There is hot water in the kettle and soda crystals in the jar on the drainer. Do you know how to wash dishes?’
‘Yes, Miss Richards. I helped Ruth in the kitchen sometimes, when I’d finished in the laundry. I wasn’t supposed to, but Cook didn’t mind – she sometimes gave me a cup of milk.’
Eliza cleared the dishes to the sink, and then fetched hot water from the kettle, added a few crystals of the precious soda that made the water soapy, and then added a little cold water from the can. She was unaware that Edith was watching her and when she finished drying her hands was surprised to be told there was a cup of tea waiting for her.
‘Tea, miss?’ she asked and turned to see that a blue-and-white patterned teapot stood on the table; there was also a jug containing milk, a sugar box with a lid and two cups. Eliza knew that Mistress Simpkins had offered tea to the wives of the guardians who had come once a year to inspect the workhouse, but she’d never tasted it. ‘Isn’t that expensive?’
‘Yes, very,’ Edith replied with a smile, and took down the small mahogany box which had a paler wood strung through it and an impressive lock. Edith took the key from her apron pocket, unlocked the tea caddy, and then allowed Eliza to look inside. There were two compartments which held different blends of tea and a glass bowl in the middle. Edith took three spoonfuls from each tea and mixed them in the bowl and then transferred two spoonsful to the pot. ‘I always warm the pot first, Eliza. The mixture left in the bowl is my allowance for the day. I never use more, because, as you say it is very expensive.’
‘I’ve never tasted tea before.’
‘I daresay there are many things you have not done, but you will have your chance in the coming months and years – if you behave and try to please me.’ She relocked the caddy and placed it back on the mantel, pocketing the key. ‘I am giving you a chance in life, Eliza, but I expect you to show me respect – and not to cheat me. If I find that you deceive me in any way I might not be so happy to have you here – so never lie to me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Miss Richards. I don’t know why you chose me – but I thank you for your goodness.’
‘I consider it my Christian duty to help those I can.’ Edith shook her head and a glimmer of tears was in her eyes. ‘Now, come and taste your tea. I shall serve it as I like it, with a little milk and one spoon of sugar. You must tell me what you think.’
Eliza picked up the cup that her employer pushed towards her. The liquid was a pale golden-brown in colour and the china felt hot in her hands. Holding it with care, she sniffed doubtfully and then smiled, because the aroma was pleasant. Ruth
had told her it was nasty stuff – but she’d only tasted the dregs from the warden’s pot. She sipped carefully, letting the liquid roll over her tongue – and then swallowed.
‘Well, what is your verdict?’ Edith asked, a faint smile in her eyes as Eliza drank another mouthful and then another.
‘It’s good, miss,’ Eliza said. ‘It’s warm as you swallow and it makes you feel nice inside – a lot better than water or the beer they gave us for special days, but I like milk.’
‘Then perhaps you would like a little more in your tea,’ Edith suggested. ‘You may have milk for your supper and your breakfast, but I shall let you join me for a cup of tea sometimes – and perhaps you will learn to appreciate it.’
‘It’s too good to waste on the likes of me,’ Eliza said shyly, but Edith shook her head.
‘No, Eliza, I do not consider it a waste to teach you the finer things of life. Perhaps you will not always share my tastes, but my hope is that you will grow to like the things I like so that we may enjoy each other’s company. I need a companion, not a servant, my dear child – and it would please me to bring you back to the kind of life that ought to be yours.’
‘I don’t understand, miss.’
‘No, but you will when you learn that there is so much in life to enjoy,’ Edith said. ‘I know Papa would say I was right to bring you here – and I intend that you shall be happy. And I think you may call me Edith. Miss Richards is so formal and I want us to be friends.’
Eliza’s throat tightened. Ruth had been kind to her, but they’d been thrown together by the harshness of their surroundings. This lady came from another world and she was offering to let Eliza share it with her. She could not believe her good fortune. Surely at any moment she would wake up and discover that it was all a dream?
