by Valerie Wood
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know!’ He lifted his shaggy eyebrows. ‘Do a turn for a tanner or two?’
She stared at the suggestive grimace on his face. ‘A prostitute? Is that what you mean?’ When he nodded, she said indignantly, ‘No, I’m not.’
‘All right,’ he said, taking up the reins again. ‘Onny wondered. Have to try summat else then.’ He urged on the horse.
The something else, she discovered after having swapped her skirt and blouse for others, marginally cleaner than her own, from Tully’s mate’s wife, who ran a second-hand clothes shop in one of the back streets, was detaining gentlemen to ask them the time or for directions. As she did so, Tully would appear and crash into them, and as the gentlemen helped Bridget to her feet, with many apologies and a tilt of their hats, he would disappear along the street taking with him a shiny fob watch or a leather wallet.
So be it, she thought as she made her way back to where Sam and William had been positioned by an expensive-smelling shop doorway. They both had dirty faces and Tully had taken away their worn boots and left them in the waggon. Sam was to place his hand on William’s shoulder and beg for both of them. ‘Spare a copper, sir, madam. Me bruvver’s hungry.’
I wonder what Mikey is doing to earn his living? She glanced at her reflection in a shop window. I look all right, she thought. I think I might do well here.
Tony Manners led Mikey and Simon towards the river. ‘I work from the wharves,’ he said. ‘Commodities – tea, coffee, spirits, that kind of thing. The dock company have taken some of our trade, but there’re still plenty of supplies coming in cos of the free water access for the lighters.’
‘How do you mean?’ Mikey asked.
‘No charge to the lighters when they bring goods in from the ships.’ Tony Manners gazed acutely at Mikey, as if he was weighing him up. ‘But you won’t need to bother about that. Most of our stuff comes in late at night. Cos of the tide, you know. So I’ll want you to work in the warehouse and repack it to send off to our customers. They only want small quantities, not huge crates of it. And you,’ he turned to Simon, ‘I want you to mark off what comes in and what goes out.’
‘An inventory?’ Simon said knowledgeably. ‘Taking stock.’
‘That’s it.’ Tony Manners seemed pleased with the way his plans had been accepted. ‘Here we are.’
They turned off the road and headed towards the wharves. There were hundreds of warehouses, sheds and other buildings as well as masses of crates, barrels, baskets and loading trolleys outside them. No one had challenged Manners as to their business there, and Mikey guessed that he was probably well known in the area. He looked every inch a working businessman as he marched confidently forward. He was dressed in a plain coat, waistcoat and trousers and wore a rather battered top hat. He had given Mikey and Simon each a soft hat to wear, which seemed to be standard for other men going about their business on the wharves.
Manners took a heavy iron key from his waistcoat pocket as he walked towards a building which was approached by a narrow opening between two other warehouses. From the front it couldn’t be seen as one of the other warehouses obscured it.
Just the place for dealing in illicit goods, Mikey thought cynically. He wasn’t convinced that Manners was totally honest, and was watchful as he opened the door. There were two youths inside already, younger than himself, he realized as they stood up from their task of emptying a crate.
‘This is Smith, and this is Brown,’ Manners said casually. ‘Quinn and Simon,’ he said to the youths. ‘They’re going to run things; get a system going,’ he added.
The youths stared at Mikey and Simon but didn’t say anything, and Mikey concluded that perhaps they weren’t very bright. He walked over to look in the crate. Tea, with the sacks already opened. He breathed in the aroma. How my ma would have loved to see this, he thought.
‘We’ve started repacking it, Mr Simon,’ Smith said. ‘We’ve spilt a bit but we’ll sweep it up.’
‘I’m Quinn,’ Mikey said. ‘He’s Simon.’
‘If there’s any spilt, it goes into a separate bag.’ Manners came over. ‘That’s sold off cheap. But be careful not to spill much,’ he warned the two youths, ‘or I’ll have to stop it out of your wages.’
Mikey looked round. There were crates stacked high to the ceiling and other smaller boxes in stacks of three or four placed against the walls. Well, it’s a job of work, and there’s nothing else on offer, he thought. Manners hasn’t mentioned wages yet or what he’s going to charge for our bed and board. Will I make my fortune here? He gave a sigh. I don’t think so, but if I can keep body and soul together then it will do for ’time being. I’ve just got to make ’best of it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hull 1857
Eleanor gazed out of the drawing room window at the bustling High Street below. She was alone in the house, apart from the servants; her mother had left that morning on a visit to her sister, who lived in Nottingham. Eleanor had asked if she could accompany her, but her mother had become very flustered and said no, it wouldn’t be convenient. Eleanor couldn’t think why. She understood that Aunt Maud had a very large house, though she had never been, and on the two occasions when her aunt had visited Hull she had been very friendly towards Eleanor.
It is a very dreary life, she thought, with little to entertain me. There were only books and sewing and today she was bored with both; the thought of her father as her only companion when he returned from his office filled her with dread.
Since her brother Simon had run away five years ago, her mother had spent more time with her. Nanny had gone to live with a relative but had died shortly afterwards; Miss Wright had left and been replaced by other governesses until a year ago, when Eleanor’s father had decreed that she no longer needed schooling. Her mother could teach her all there was to know about running a household, and that would be much more useful than learning French or mathematics.
So her mother had taught her how to fold table linen and arrange flowers, and had shown her a cookery book describing different kinds of meat – beef, pork, venison and so on – the various joints to be obtained from them, and how to cook them. Not that you are likely to have to cook them yourself, her mother had emphasized, but you need to be able to recognize that they have been cooked properly, and to know the kind of sauce which should accompany them.
Eleanor found it quite interesting and would have liked to put the instruction into practice, but her mother said that under no circumstances must she upset Cook by asking, as cooks were very hard to come by and the one they employed now understood exactly how her father liked his food.
Her mother began to attend meetings of societies which had been established for the greater understanding of the complexities of urban life, for once in her married life defying her husband, who had said she wasn’t at all the kind of person who would be able to contribute anything to such gatherings. After her first meeting she had come home flushed and animated, ready to pour out all she had heard, but Mr Kendall had told her coldly that he heard such nonsense every day and didn’t wish to hear it at home.
Eleanor often wondered where her brother had gone and what he was doing. The police had been informed of his flight at the time and posters put up in the streets of Hull, but there had been no response. Mrs Kendall had written to her sister telling her of his disappearance, and pleading that if by chance she should hear anything of a runaway boy in Nottingham she should enquire immediately to ascertain whether or not it was Simon.
‘He will not come here,’ Maud had replied. ‘The poor boy would know I was duty bound to return him to his home. To a home, I might add,’ she had written, ‘where he is patently unhappy.’
Kendall, on reading the letter, had thrust it back at his wife, muttering that Simon would find that he had something to be unhappy about when he did eventually return.
This morning, on impulse, Eleanor put on her bonnet and outdoor coat. There was no one to tell her she s
houldn’t go out. She had already spoken to Cook about the evening meal and her father had informed her that he wouldn’t be coming home at midday, as he usually did when her mother was at home. I will go for a walk, she thought. I do not need a companion and shall be perfectly safe on my own. I have often seen ladies alone in the street without a maid, and I shall not need one to carry my purchases as I haven’t any money to buy anything.
After Simon had run away, it was discovered that money was missing from his father’s desk drawer. Mr Kendall immediately assumed that his son had stolen it as it had been there when he and Mrs Kendall had gone in to supper. The maids only entered his room in the morning, to open the curtains and clean the grate, and, he had determined, they wouldn’t have had time to slip off whilst serving the meal; and as Eleanor was locked in the cupboard, Simon alone must be the culprit. It was following this incident that all money was locked away and Eleanor had to ask her father or her mother for money every time she wished to make small personal purchases, which was not often.
Eleanor quietly closed the front door behind her and took a deep relieving breath of freedom as she stepped down on to the footpath. She glanced up at the drawing room window but there was no one to look out and she gave a little smile of satisfaction that she was free of constraints. A brisk breeze blew, whipping her coat around her ankles and tossing her fringe beneath her bonnet, but she wasn’t cold. In fact she was quite exhilarated, and wondered if this was how Simon had felt as he escaped from home.
The High Street was a narrow cobbled street close by the River Hull in which many eminent merchants and shipping magnates lived and worked. However, Mrs Kendall had often asked her husband if they might move away to the country as the area also housed many run-down courts and alleyways where it was not safe to walk at night.
He had always refused, saying that his work was here amongst the shipping and corn merchants, but she knew the real reason was that there was a certain distinction and esteem to be gained from living so near the mansion where Charles I had been entertained by Sir John Lister and, a century later, the emancipator William Wilberforce was born; in the same street, Henry Maister, head of a leading merchant family, had made his home, as had the noble family of De la Pole.
Eleanor knew these famous names from her history lessons, and she had also walked by the side of the Old Harbour with her several governesses and been told of the vast fishing industry which serviced the town of Hull. Now, though, she was anxious to leave the street and explore the rest of the town, although she would avoid at all costs cutting through Bishop Lane, where her father’s office was situated.
She scurried across the top of it, glancing anxiously down as if her father would be looking out for a miscreant and might instead find her. The lane was crowded. It was so very narrow that there was room only for one cart or waggon to traverse it, and as she gazed down she saw that a covered coach appeared to be parked there, with a number of uniformed policemen standing by it.
A criminal, she mused, waiting to see a lawyer, for there were several law offices in the lane as well as commercial premises. She made a cut through Scale Lane into the main thoroughfare of the Market Place. It was a Tuesday, one of the market days, and the area was buzzing with people, buying from the traders.
I must ask Papa for some money, she thought, for I could buy some bargains. There were stalls selling hot pies, vegetable and fruit stalls, fish stalls and flower stalls, and she would have loved to carry home a sweet-smelling posy or a bag of rosy apples.
There was also a hum of anticipation in the street and she watched a group of ragged children who in turn were watching a group of men putting up a canvas shelter. Of course, she thought, it’s Hull Fair time. She remembered full well hearing the sounds of the fair arriving the week her brother ran away, as she sat alone in her room: the trumpeting of elephants, the drumbeats and penny whistles, the clatter of hooves on cobbles, the shouts of children. But most of all she remembered hearing her mother sobbing and weeping and knowing that she could not comfort her, for Simon was and always would be her mother’s favourite child.
A thin-faced young man passing by raised his hat. ‘Good morning, Miss Kendall.’
She turned to him. Who was he? She inclined her head, and he hesitated in his stride and turned back. ‘You perhaps don’t remember me, Miss Kendall. Percy Smart. I’m one of ’junior clerks in your father’s office.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’ She did remember him now. He had called at the house on several occasions to bring her father some urgent papers. She had always thought him a servile, oily individual, but her father seemed to think well of him, perhaps, she thought ungraciously, because Smart toadied up to him.
‘It’s a nice day for a walk.’ His eyes appraised her shiftily. ‘I found an excuse to come out. The office is so full of officials, inspectors and administrators that I thought I wouldn’t be missed.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m sure you won’t give me away.’
‘Indeed not, Mr Smart.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘And if you hadn’t alerted me to your presence I would have been unaware of it.’ Perhaps I am being rude, she thought. But why tell me something only to ask me not to reveal it?
He nodded his head, smiling in a foppish way, and added, ‘Well, I suppose everything will be sorted out sooner or later. People don’t understand how many complications there are in dealing with legal affairs.’
‘I know nothing about that, Mr Smart, and if you will excuse me I must be getting along.’ I don’t know what he is talking about, she thought as she took her leave and he again tipped his hat to her. But whatever it is I don’t think he should be discussing it with me.
She spent another hour looking in the shops and reading the posters advertising the coming attractions, the circus, the travelling theatres, the two-headed dogs, the thought of which made her shudder, and then decided she had better return home for luncheon or Cook would not be pleased. She strolled back down the High Street, and just before she reached the top of Bishop Lane she saw her father turn out of it and head towards their house.
He’s coming home after all! I hope Cook has done enough food. I said I would just have a light repast. She became agitated. He will have to have mine. I’ll say that I’m not hungry. Why is he coming home? Is it because, as Mr Smart said, there are too many people there? Has something gone wrong? But surely, as a senior partner, my father would be needed.
It was of no use surmising or second-guessing. If her father wanted to tell her, he would, but more than likely he would not. He was putting his key in the lock as Eleanor approached.
‘Hello, Papa,’ she said in as bright a voice as she could muster. ‘Have you come home for luncheon after all?’
He turned and looked down on her from the top step. Her heart skipped a beat at his frown. I can surely go out when I want to, she thought. And I’m too old and too big to be locked in a cupboard. The memory of it still gave her nightmares.
‘Eleanor?’ It was as if he hadn’t seen her in a long time. He gave a little shake of his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t want anything to eat.’ He pushed open the door and entered, holding it ajar for Eleanor to come in. ‘I’ll just have a jug of coffee. Tell your mother I want to speak to her straight away.’
She stared at him. ‘But she’s not here, Papa! She’s gone to stay with Aunt Maud.’
He gazed back, his forehead creased. ‘Oh! Yes. I’d forgotten. Was that today?’
‘Yes, Papa. Just this morning. She caught an early train.’
He grunted. ‘Then I will write and tell her she must come back immediately.’ It was as if reason had come back and he was himself again. ‘She’s needed here.’
‘But …’ She was confused. ‘Mama will not yet have arrived in Nottingham. She was expecting to stay at least a week.’ Though as she said it, Eleanor recalled that her mother had been very vague about the date of her return.
‘Never mind what she was expecting,’ he answered brusq
uely. ‘She must return at once.’
‘Has something happened, Papa?’ she dared to say. ‘Is something wrong?’ Her thoughts flitted to Percy Smart, who had sneaked out of the office.
Her father gave her a sharp glance. ‘What? What makes you say that?’
‘N-nothing, except that – you seem upset over something,’ she said lamely.
‘I am not upset.’ His eyes flickered about the hall and up the stairs. ‘I shall go to my room. Send for my coffee straight away.’
‘Shall I ask Cook to send in a slice of bread and beef?’ she asked.
‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘Do not trouble me with such insignificances.’ He marched away to his study just off the hall.
Eleanor shook. Something’s happened. Whatever it is, will he take it out on me? She knew her father’s idiosyncrasies very well. If he had had a problematical day at the office, she and her mother tried to keep out of his way, and the maids became invisible, disappearing down the kitchen stairs or into the laundry room when he was having what Eleanor had once overheard Mary expressively describe as ‘Master’s strop’.
She slipped down the back stairs to the kitchen. On the table her own luncheon was being prepared. Cook was standing by the range stirring something in a pan and a maid was washing up in the sink.
‘Cook!’ Eleanor said quietly, for the opening of the door had gone unheard.
The cook turned round, startled to see Eleanor in her kitchen. ‘Miss! Is something wrong? They’re just about to bring up your luncheon. We’re not late?’
‘No, no,’ she assured her. ‘It’s just that my father has arrived home unexpectedly. Will you ask Mary to take him a large pot of coffee, please? He doesn’t require anything to eat—’
‘Oh, surely just a morsel—’ Cook began.
‘Nothing!’ Eleanor emphasized. ‘Please don’t press him.’
‘No, Miss Eleanor.’ The cook nodded. ‘If that’s what he said. And we’ll send yours up in just a minute.’
