by Mary Hooper
‘Undergarments!’ Grace repeated, terribly surprised.
Miss Violet smiled. ‘Indeed. Ladies must show they are suffering right down to their most intimate attire.’
‘And must all those garments be black, too?’ Grace asked, trying to see round the curtain.
Miss Violet shook her head. ‘No. They can be of white lawn trimmed with black lace, and white linen slotted with black ribbon,’ she whispered.
They returned to the main entrance hall to stand beside the grand piano where Miss Violet was usually positioned, hoping to hand-pick the wealthiest-looking customers. Grace, relieved that Mr Unwin was no longer in sight, found she was enjoying herself – although if she could have had a wish it would have been that Lily had been there to see it all, too.
The day passed in a blur of faces and demands. It was mostly maids, menservants and the poorer sorts who came to the store early, but by midday the middle classes had begun stirring themselves to go out and spend conspicuous amounts on showing their affection for Prince Albert. By three o’clock another section of the population arrived as those of the upper classes who hadn’t been quick enough to secure the services of a private dressmaker called at the store on their way to take afternoon tea with their friends and aunts. There were a great many of these upper-class ladies – so many, in fact, that the roadway outside became a seething mass of stamping, neighing horses, broughams and gigs, hackney carriages and traps, and this chaos was added to by a flock of sheep going towards Smithfield Market with two border collies and a farmer. The whole chaotic traffic jam caused a number of ladies to become marooned on the far side of Oxford Street, making it necessary for them to dispatch their maids into the morass of traffic with written instructions for the store and to proceed home without them.
While a number of dramas were unfolding outside, Grace became aware of a press of people outside the glass doors nearest to her and Miss Violet. Occasionally throughout the day the uniformed men had had to close the store until those customers already inside had been served and dispersed, and at first she thought they were doing this once again. She soon became aware, however, that there was a stately, bearded gentleman outside and that the uniformed men were endeavouring to pull him through the door.
Miss Violet, prompted by Grace, looked at the figure, said, ‘O, Lord!’ Then she went to greet him as he fell through the opening, hissing urgently as she did so, ‘Forward, Miss Grace!’
Grace moved forward. The people outside, she noticed, seemed to have temporarily given up the struggle to get into the store and were now pressed against the doors and windows, their eyes following this new customer’s every move.
‘Good afternoon, sir!’ said Miss Violet. She sank into a far deeper curtsey than any she had executed previously, and seeing this, Grace did likewise. ‘May we conduct you to a department? What is it you wish to purchase, sir?’
‘Damned mourning bands and a couple of black ties!’ came the reply from the man as he pulled off his top hat. He had a deeply lined face, a greying beard and his hair was receding – but he also had very bright blue eyes, which seemed the youngest part of him. He waved his hand at the trappings of the store. ‘Sorry to be blunt with you, but I don’t hold with all this dealing in death!’ He paused and seemed to recover himself slightly. ‘But of course, my own feelings on the matter are not of your concern, and I apologise to you for my bad temper.’
‘That’s quite unnecessary, I assure you, sir,’ Miss Violet murmured.
The man gave a slight smile. ‘I was in the middle of a lecture tour in Liverpool when we heard, and I had to cancel six lectures and come back to London. Why this was, God only knows! The whole country seems to have gone mad with grief.’
‘Indeed they have, sir,’ said Miss Violet, gesturing to the great mob outside. ‘But I’m sorry about your tour,’ she went on. ‘And may I be so bold as to say, Mr Dickens, how much my family and I are enjoying Great Expectations.’
Grace gasped slightly, but only to herself. She was glad that being a mute had imbued her with the skill of hiding her feelings or she might have stood there gawping.
‘My mother and I are at loggerheads over who should be first to read each instalment as soon as the magazine comes through the door,’ Miss Violet continued. ‘And my brother has stopped his pocket watch at twenty minutes to nine in deference to the clocks at Miss Havisham’s house. He says he’ll not start it again until he’s finished the book!’
‘Capital! Capital! I’m pleased to hear it,’ Charles Dickens said, smiling and quite placated, while Grace mentally added his name to the list of things she had to tell Lily.
x
Chapter Twenty
Mr and Mrs Stanley Robinson and their baby came into the Unwin Mourning Emporium quite late in the afternoon, when Miss Violet and Grace – and all the rest of the staff – were quite exhausted. Nevertheless, Miss Violet went forward to greet them, and after bidding them good afternoon, was unable to resist patting the head of the laughing, gurgling child that Mr Robinson carried.
‘What a beautiful baby!’ she said, beckoning Grace to come and see.
Mr and Mrs Robinson beamed at them both. ‘One is probably prejudiced, but he is beautiful, isn’t he?’ said the child’s father.
‘He is indeed,’ Grace agreed, smiling and holding out a finger to the infant.
‘And how might we at Unwin’s be of assistance to you today, sir and madam?’ asked Miss Violet.
‘We want your advice, really,’ said Mrs Robinson. ‘Baby is being christened on Sunday. We left it until he was six months old, but now with the death of Prince Albert we are rather wishing that we hadn’t. You see, a member of the aristocracy is attending the christening, a titled gentleman known to my husband’s family, and we think he might be offended if we’re not in full mourning.’
‘And if we are, then should Baby be in black, too?’ asked Mr Robinson. ‘We have a christening gown which has been handed down from my great-grandmother, but wonder if it would be quite correct to let him wear it.’
‘Well, sir and madam, for these matters I suggest you put yourselves in the hands of our baby department,’ said Miss Violet. ‘They know the correct protocol and will advise you.’
‘And where would I find this department?’
‘Miss Grace will escort you,’ said Miss Violet, and Grace led the way through the crowds to the correct department, returning smile for smile with the baby along the way.
x
Chapter Twenty-One
‘I’m sorry, dearie, but she’s not here.’
Grace, standing on the back doorstep of the Unwins’ Kensington home, stared at Mrs Beaman, not understanding what she meant. ‘You mean, my sister has gone on an errand somewhere?’
‘No. I mean she’s not here. She’s gawn. Scarpered!’
‘The Unwins have dismissed her?’
‘No.’ The cook spoke as if to an imbecile. ‘No, I tell you she’s gawn. Run off.’
Grace swallowed and spoke hoarsely. ‘When was this?’
‘Oh, must be a good few days now. A week, maybe.’
‘But where has she gone to?’
‘Where? Who knows? She hasn’t sent no calling card!’ said Mrs Beaman.
‘But she doesn’t know anyone! Where would she go?’
‘Gawd only knows!’
‘But why? Please tell me what you know . . . I can’t imagine why she would run off. Were the Unwins unkind to her?’
Mrs Beaman looked a little uneasy. ‘Unkind? Not they! Treated her proper good, they did.’
‘Then may I speak with the other servants – with Lizzie and Blossom? Perhaps they have some idea of where she might have –’
‘We’ve got new servants here now,’ the cook interrupted. ‘A clean sweep of ’em, the mistress wanted. We’ve got Ethel and Maud and Charity. They don’t know Lily; they were hardly here two minutes before she took off.’
Grace was silent for a moment. ‘Mrs Beaman, have you any idea at all of where she may hav
e gone? Did she say she was missing me? Might she have just gone off to find me?’ As Grace spoke, she visualised her sister going to Edgware Road only to find that she was working in the Oxford Street store, and then not being brave enough to come through the mighty glass doors on her own.
The cook shook her head. ‘I believe they did think she might have run off with one of the servant lads in the big house up yonder.’
‘Which big house?’
Mrs Beaman waved in the general direction of the street, uncomfortable with Mr Unwin’s request to put about this story. ‘Don’t ask me. That’s just what I heard. Mrs Unwin said she caught her several times hanging out the back window talking to a groom.’
Grace felt tears start in her eyes. ‘But why did no one say? Why didn’t anyone tell me that she’d gone?’
‘I suppose they didn’t want to worry you,’ Mrs Beaman said, beginning to shut the door. ‘What with all the grief around at the moment, no one wanted to disturb you any further.’
‘But she’s my sister. I can’t lose her. She’s the only relative I have!’
‘If I see her, I’ll tell her to get in touch’ were Mrs Beaman’s parting words.
Grace’s heartfelt plea had touched her deeply, though, and when the door was closed, she stood there for some moments composing herself before she carried on with her household duties.
It was the day of Prince Albert’s funeral and a good proportion of the British Isles had come to a complete halt. Shop owners had been hoping that general trade, always slow in December and almost at a standstill since the death of the Prince, might have improved because of the festive season, but it seemed that Christmas had been cancelled that year and no one was inclined to be merry. In London, and in Windsor especially – where the funeral service was to be held in St George’s Chapel – there was an aspect of the most profound gloom, with shops closed, work suspended, each curtain in every house drawn across and the streets deserted. Everyone seen outside, however low or high, wore some symbol of mourning, and in the great churches across the land the tolling bell sounded.
The Unwin Undertaking Establishment and the Unwin Mourning Emporium were, of course, also closed. Grace and the other store workers had toiled long and hard a full six days before that, and worried though she was about Lily, on arriving back at Edgware Road each night, Grace had been too exhausted to think about taking the long, dark walk across to the Kensington house to check that she was all right.
Now she stood on the Unwins’ doorstep after speaking to Mrs Beaman, utterly dismayed. How could Lily have just run off without telling her? Was such a thing really possible? It was true that she did silly things sometimes, but she’d never shown any propensity for engaging in flirtatious or playful talk with young men, let alone getting to know one of them well enough to run away. No, the idea was unthinkable!
Grace walked back along the side passageway to the front of the Unwins’ house, which was hung with all the trappings of mourning. A black-ribboned wreath of bay hung on the door and the hedges in the front were covered with black muslin. If the front door had been opened, an onlooker might have seen that the hall mirror was swathed in black and the royal hatchments (which the Unwins had absolutely no right to display) were similarly draped, for all the world as if the family had been closely related to Prince Albert.
The parlour curtains at the front of the house were closed, of course, but they shifted a little as Grace passed, and she suddenly saw a girl’s face peering at her. The eyes of the girl locked with hers, and then the curtains moved again and the face was gone. It was, Grace was perfectly sure, Charlotte Unwin. Something about the expression glimpsed, something about the slippery deceitfulness of that swift disappearance from the window caused Grace further reflection. She felt certain she was being told a lie about Lily’s disappearance; her sister would never leave without telling her.
She must go to the police to report her missing, she decided, although she’d be very nervous about doing so, for the police and the poor were at constant war in London and she couldn’t imagine a peeler actually helping her. What else could she do? Advertise that Lily was missing in The Times, of course, if she had the fee – but Lily couldn’t read. A better idea, perhaps, would be to ask the advice of James Solent. She’d been thinking about their last meeting lately, and how sincere he’d seemed in his wish to help her. Yes, being a man of the law, James Solent would surely know what to do about a missing person.
But when should she go? He wouldn’t be at work that day, when the whole of England was mourning, and the following day was Christmas Eve and his chambers certainly would not be open then, either. It would be a day or so after Christmas, at the very earliest, before she could contact him, and Lily might be anywhere in the country by then.
A dismal tolling bell sounded from a nearby church and Grace shivered, partly at the sheer misery of the sound and partly through cold.
‘Lily, wherever you are,’ she whispered to her sister, ‘take care.’
x
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Christmas Day the Unwins supplied a plum pudding for those at Edgware Road who were not going home to their families, but Grace found herself so worried about Lily (was she eating properly? was she warm? was she being held against her will?) that she couldn’t eat her portion, which ended up being divided between the stable lads.
On Boxing Day, designated as the day one gave to the deserving poor, the Unwins’ female workers were presented with two linen handkerchiefs and a length of coarse material to make a work apron, while the men received handkerchiefs and a miniature bottle of whisky. These gifts were bestowed upon them by Miss Charlotte Unwin, pink-faced and perfumed in a full-length fur mantle, who reminded them that it was a wonderful thing that the Unwins were able to employ them, and said that everyone should pray that their luck might continue.
‘May I ask if you have had any word of my sister?’ Grace was bold enough to ask Miss Charlotte when she was handed her gift.
‘I? Have word of your sister?’ Miss Charlotte’s eyes rounded in surprise. ‘No, of course not. What an extraordinary notion.’
‘I thought someone might have heard something,’ Grace said, ‘and as you had taken a kindly interest in her . . .’
Miss Charlotte shook her head. ‘I have not heard a word, nor would I expect to. I told you she was a little over-friendly with a young man, did I not?’
Grace nodded.
‘There, you see.’
‘See . . . what?’
‘See that once a girl has compromised her reputation in polite society, sometimes her only option is to leave it.’
‘I don’t believe that she –’ Grace began, but Miss Charlotte had swept past her and away, for she was due to give out woollen vests at the Hospital for Fatherless Girls at midday and then attend a magic show.
Grace did not sleep at all that night. Perhaps if her sister hadn’t been how she was; perhaps if they hadn’t always been so close; perhaps if there didn’t seem to be something warped about the whole Unwin empire, she might have believed the story and would not now be turning over more sinister plots in her mind. But why would anyone want to take Lily away? What could possibly be gained from doing such a thing? Grace wrestled with the problem, tossing and turning and sighing, until even the placid Jane was moved to complain about her.
Towards morning, however, she suddenly believed she’d hit upon the terrible reason: the Unwins’ number one interest was making money, and there was a sure way of doing this. Had they taken her simple, gullible sister to make her work as a prostitute?
One heard such tales – and close to home, too. Why, Mrs Macready had once told her of a poor unfortunate kept in the grimy cellars of the house next door expressly for the purpose of prostitution. ‘Never allowed out to take a bit of air,’ she had said. ‘Always kept short of food, suffering from disease and chained up. The poor woman died in the end. When they found her body it had rat bites all over it . . .’ Yes, the more Grace t
hought about it, the more she feared that was the answer.
x
Four more days elapsed before Grace was able to get to the Inns of Court. Scared of being turned away by Mr Meakers, she gave a street boy a ha’penny to take a message into the chambers and ask for Mr James Solent. After half an hour or so, he came out. They sat together on a bench in the grounds while Grace, embarrassed, tried to find the right words to tell him what she feared.
‘I can assure you that nothing you tell me will go any further,’ he said, sensing her reluctance to speak. ‘When we met, I promised I would help you if I could, and I would still be happy to have the opportunity of doing so.’
Grace pressed her lips together. How to say such a thing?
‘Have you fallen into ways of which you are ashamed?’ he asked gently. ‘Perhaps I can lend you a little money if it will help to remove you from temptation.’
‘No! It is not that!’ Grace said swiftly, shaking her head. ‘Not I!’
‘You are still working for the Unwin family?’
She nodded, then burst out, ‘It’s my sister – she’s disappeared!’
‘Disappeared?’ James asked. ‘From where?’
‘She was working for the Unwins in their Kensington house as a maid,’ Grace said. Then she faltered and began to cry before adding, ‘And one day last week I went round to visit her and she’d gone!’
‘I see. And when you asked where she’d gone, what did they say?’
‘They said that she’d become friendly with a young man and had probably run away with him.’
‘And you don’t think this is true?’
‘It is not!’ Grace shook her head, agitated. ‘My sister would never go off without telling me. She . . . she is a simple girl and sometimes easily led, but she would never just disappear.’
‘But what could be more understandable than that she should meet someone and . . .’
‘She would not!’ Grace burst out. ‘My sister is not a forward girl. She doesn’t particularly like the male sex, for she . . . for we both had a bad experience and . . .’ Grace stopped and swallowed, trying to close her mind to her ordeal, and for some moments could not speak.
