by Valerie Wood
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It took her a long time to get back to Aunt Marie’s because she became completely lost after she had stepped off the horse bus. Everything looked so different coming from the opposite end, and she was also quite flustered after her unexpected meeting with Tully. She had to ask for directions to Marble Grove several times before she eventually arrived.
Dolly was sitting in the front shop with her feet up on a wooden box, cradling the baby. When she saw Eleanor she said, ‘Oh, you’ve turned up, ’ave you? I said we wouldn’t see you again. Ma!’ she yelled. ‘Somebody to see you.’
Aunt Marie came trotting through and beamed when she saw Eleanor. ‘I said you’d come back again to see Aunt Marie. How’ve you got on, m’darlin’? Did you find your brother?’
‘Yes, I did, thank you.’ Eleanor didn’t tell her that he wasn’t particularly pleased to see her. ‘I wanted to come back and thank you for your kindness to me, but I also wanted to ask your advice about something.’
‘Come on through, m’dear. You’re just in time for a brew. Dolly, you mind the shop,’ she called over her shoulder and grimaced at Eleanor as if at the laziness of her daughter-in-law.
Eleanor sat down as invited and took the cup of tea; there was no saucer to go with it, but by now she didn’t expect one.
‘I need to find work of some kind, Aunt Marie,’ she said. ‘My brother isn’t earning very much and I don’t want to be a burden to him. But you see,’ she confided, ‘I don’t know what I can do. I’ve never had to work. I’ve always lived at home with my parents.’
Marie nodded wisely. ‘Some people are lucky enough not to have to work, though I always say that hard work never hurt anybody and is good for body and soul. I’ve tried telling that to Dolly,’ she added, ‘but she ain’t convinced.’
‘Well, I’m willing,’ Eleanor said, ‘but I don’t know who’d have me when I have no experience. Do you think I might become a shop girl?’
Marie pursed her lips, and then nodded. ‘Up West, I’d think so. Them shops like somebody classy. And you’re classy all right.’
Eleanor blushed. ‘Do you think so?’ She was embarrassed, but pleased nevertheless. Perhaps after all someone looking for employees might think the same.
‘Tell you what!’ Marie said. ‘You’re a very refined and quiet young lady. I reckon one o’ them mourning shops might take you on. Usually they have men at the front of the shop and gels at the back doing the sewing, but I reckon they might look on you favourably.’
‘A mourning shop?’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘Oh!’ The idea of such an establishment didn’t really appeal to her, but perhaps Marie was right. They would want someone quiet and of a sympathetic nature to deal with bereaved clients. ‘Where would I find them?’ she asked.
‘I’ll come wiv you,’ the old lady said. ‘They’re mostly in Oxford Street. That’s where the better-off folk go, anyway. Tomorrow. Come first thing in the morning and we’ll go together. Come as you are with your ’at and coat and you’ll look a treat.’
Eleanor smiled as she felt hope rising. Aunt Marie was such a cheerful soul it was inspiring, and yet she always wore black.
‘Are you in mourning, Aunt Marie?’ she asked.
‘I was,’ she replied. ‘My old man died twenty years ago but I couldn’t afford black then, only me old black ’at. It’s taken me years to get all this together.’ She winked. ‘But it serves me well. Folks are kinder to an old widow woman dressed in black.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘You’re such a tonic, Aunt Marie, and you’ve been a great help. I’m so glad that I met you.’
Marie patted her hand. ‘You’re a good gel,’ she said. ‘Don’t you worry. We’ll have you right.’
Eleanor felt quite cheerful as she travelled back towards Wapping and began to plan what she would say when applying for an occupation the next day. Should I say that my parents are dead, she wondered, and that I am in the unfortunate position of fending for myself? Or perhaps I won’t say unfortunate; most people do have to work after all. No, I’ll say that I am compassionate and understand people’s sorrows and that is why I am applying for this particular type of situation. Her cheerfulness subsided as she thought of dealing with other people’s grief, but then she decided that after some experience she could apply to work elsewhere, somewhere more amenable.
She hopped off the bus in Wapping and sniffed. She could smell food and her mouth began to water. She had had nothing to eat but the bread this morning and the cup of tea with Aunt Marie, and it was now well after midday. Her nose followed the aroma until she came to a pie shop where a group of people were waiting. Amongst them was Mikey.
‘Hello,’ she said shyly, coming up to him. ‘Have you finished work?’
‘For ’time being. We’ve another consignment coming in later so I’m grabbing summat to eat while I can.’ His cheeks flushed as he spoke. ‘Shall I get you something?’ he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the queue forming behind them.
‘Yes, please.’ She opened her purse. ‘What’s the best thing to have?’
‘Chicken pie,’ he said. ‘Beef’s a bit stringy. And get a roasted tatie.’
‘Is that what you’re having?’ When he nodded, she said she’d have the same.
After they’d been served, Mikey said he usually walked down to the river and sat on the wall to eat his dinner, and she asked whether he would mind if she joined him.
‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘I like to look at ’shipping and think of some of them mekking their way to ’Humber docks, or coming from there as well. Freight carriers wi’ grain from Holderness and fishing smacks come too, those that can carry ice.’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘of course. Does it remind you of home? Do you feel homesick?’
‘Yeh,’ he sighed. ‘Sometimes I do.’ He pondered. ‘Well, quite a lot. I wonder about my brothers and sister and what they’re doing.’
‘Couldn’t you write to them?’ she asked. ‘Simon never wrote home and I always wished that he would, but of course he didn’t want our father to know where …’ Her voice trailed away. She didn’t want to air her family troubles.
Mikey glanced away. ‘I should,’ he murmured, ‘but I never have. Simon told me about your father beating him for disobedience and that that was why he ran away.’
‘Why did you?’ she said as they walked. ‘Run away, I mean. Were you in trouble?’ Then she was embarrassed. He had left Hull after spending time in prison because of her father. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I – I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, understanding her apology, or at least he thought he did. ‘After I finished my time in prison there seemed to be nothing left for me in Hull. My mother had died while I was in there and my brothers and sister went into ’workhouse, and I’d nowhere to go. No home to go to.’
She turned a shocked expression towards him. ‘I’m so very sorry. And it was because of my father!’
‘No!’ He shook his head and led her towards a small wall near the embankment, where they sat down. ‘It wasn’t your father’s fault that I stole them rabbits. That was mine. And,’ he said reassuringly, ‘if I hadn’t been caught I might have thought it so easy that I might have gone on to a life of crime.’
He stared across the water towards the wharves on the far side, then turned to look at her. ‘It was ’first time I’d ever stolen anything.’ He willed her to believe him. ‘I saw ’rabbits hanging there and I was tempted.’
‘Were you hungry?’ she asked, remembering her conversation with old Nanny.
‘I expect so.’ He dug into the pie with his fingers, tearing at the crust to get at the chicken and popping it into his mouth. ‘We allus were. I’d no father, you see; he was drowned at sea when I was just a nipper, but still that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have pinched ’em. They weren’t mine.’
Eleanor smiled at him. He had gravy on his chin. ‘Would you have gone on to a life of crime?’
He grinned bac
k at her. ‘Well, no. I reckon my ma would have given me a hiding – after she’d made ’rabbit pie! And …’ He hesitated, and then plunged on. ‘If your father hadn’t caught me I’d never have seen you that day. You pulled your tongue out at me!’
She laughed. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ Then she lowered her head. ‘And if you’d not been caught you wouldn’t have been here to direct me to Simon.’
Mikey wiped the edges of his mouth with his fingers as he gazed at her. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Life is full of ifs and buts. And what’ll we do with you now? This is no place for you.’
Eleanor gave a slight toss of her head and it brought him a memory of her as a child.
‘I’m going to try for a position of work,’ she said. ‘At a mourning shop.’
‘At a mourning shop!’ Bridget, stretched out on the sofa when they got back to the lodging house, was incredulous when she was told. ‘You’d never get me working in one of them places. I’ve seen ’em in Oxford Street. ’Windows are all decked out in black and purple.’ She shuddered. ‘Gives me ’creeps to think about it. If I was working in a shop I’d pick one o’ them that sells fancy frocks and hats wi’ flowers and peacock feathers, and warm coats with a nice bit o’ fox fur, though I don’t like ’em with ’heads on.’
‘So why don’t you try for a job like that?’ Mikey asked her. ‘Instead of working for Tully?’
Bridget shrugged. ‘It’s easy money.’
‘It’s stealing!’ Mikey snapped. ‘And you know what’ll happen if you get caught.’
‘Shan’t get caught,’ she said airily. ‘Cos I’m doing nothing. Tully’s the one who’s doing it. All I’m doing is asking for ’time of day.’
‘You’re setting them up for being robbed,’ he argued hotly. ‘It’s just ’same. You’re in partnership wi’ Tully, who’s got a string of convictions as long as my arm, and if he’s caught so will you be! You’ll be sent to prison or transported.’
‘Well you should know,’ she sneered. ‘And as if you cared,’ she added bitterly.
Mikey flushed. ‘I do care,’ he said. ‘We all started together; you, me and Simon. We don’t want trouble.’
Eleanor looked on, bewildered. Whatever were they talking about? What was it that Bridget did that made Mikey so worried?
‘Trouble!’ Bridget laughed scornfully. ‘You’re in it up to your neck. You’re so concerned over Tully! Well, watch out for Manners. He’s worse than Tully, onny he’s not been caught; not yet he hasn’t. And when he is, he’ll drop everybody in it, including you.’
Tully picked Bridget up at six in a morning three times a week, one of the days being a Saturday, when the West End was full of sightseeing visitors. In the horse-drawn cart were two young boys who had lodgings in the same house as Tully. He drove them all into London, where the boys were stripped of their boots as Sam and William had once been and positioned strategically either outside a railway station or near some exclusive establishment, where they would give out plaintive cries of ‘Spare a penny, mister’ or ‘Missus, we’re orphans, spare a copper for a slice o’ bread.’
Bridget refused to have anything to do with this operation; some small part of her found it loathsome to use children in this way, though she never voiced her objections. She waited in the cart until Tully returned and they continued into a busy part of London: Oxford Street, Covent Garden, the elegant Burlington Arcade, or the rough and tumble of one of the fairs in Shepherd Market. They chose a different area every month, thereby avoiding becoming familiar figures in any one. They had been following the same pattern over the years, Bridget bumping into a gentleman and pretending to be hurt, or occasionally ‘fainting’ just as Tully appeared and called for help to pick her up. In the confusion any Good Samaritan would be deprived of his wallet without even knowing it. After the incident Bridget would hobble away giving plaintive thanks. She and Tully always had a pre-arranged meeting place, often among the down-and-outs beneath an archway of a railway bridge, where no self-respecting citizen would come in search of his stolen goods. She found the experience both exhilarating and exciting and was scornful of and amused by the careless victims.
She was sure that Tully was straight with her. If they had cash from an encounter and had acquired perhaps twenty shillings in the day, Tully kept fifteen and gave her the remaining five, a fortune in Bridget’s eyes. She knew that she could plead innocence if Tully was caught red-handed. The young boys never kept any of the coppers they earned. Tully took it all and gave them free board and lodging which kept them tied to him, for they had no other means of support.
Manners was a different kettle of fish altogether. Some of his business was above board and done with genuine traders, but she knew it was a front for the goods which were smuggled off the ships and into his warehouse, or on occasions into the rooms which he rented solely for his own use.
Bridget felt Manners was her way to success and the riches she craved. He wore gold rings on his fingers and a glittering chain round his neck. That first journey into London, when Tully had shown her the fine houses, had whetted her appetite for more than he could give her for thieving; but Manners was canny. Although he had invited her to stay with him on several occasions, he had given her no more than a good chop supper and not the gold she yearned for. He also kept the knuckle of his thumb on her throat as he gave her a tender kiss goodbye and said, ‘Be good, Bridget, and not a word about anything you might see or hear in this house.’
She saw and heard plenty, for she was astute and quick to observe whilst feigning naivety. But one thing she couldn’t fathom was Tully’s connection with Manners. They seemed to be as thick as the thieves they were, and although Manners appeared to have the upper hand, she knew Tully to be a wily old fox who looked out only for himself.
Now she glanced at Eleanor and then back at Mikey. ‘So you’d best keep little Miss Prim out of it,’ she said peevishly. ‘She’d be like butter in their hands.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Good day to you, madam.’
The gentleman coming towards Eleanor across the shop floor was dressed in a dark frock coat. He bowed his head and shoulders deeply. She wondered if she looked older than she was; she’d pinned back her hair into a neat and severe chignon underneath her hat. Aunt Marie was waiting discreetly on a corner further down the street; because, she had told her, anybody could tell that I’m lower down the scale than you and I don’t want to spoil your chances.
‘May I be of assistance?’ he intoned in a sepulchral voice.
‘I would like to speak to the manager, if you please,’ she said.
He bowed again. ‘At your service, madam. Are you recently bereaved?’
Eleanor felt a flutter of trepidation. ‘Not recently,’ she said quietly. ‘But I find myself in the position of needing to find employment.’ She hoped that he would assume from that statement that she had lost her parents and was now without financial or familial support. ‘I have come to enquire whether you might have a suitable situation.’
Before he had time to do more than raise a questioning eyebrow, she went on, ‘I am of a steady disposition and compassionate nature, and although I have no previous working experience I feel that I can fulfil the role.’
‘I see.’ He ran his hand over his long chin. ‘I gather that you will not have references?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I have not, nor anyone to vouch for me except my brother, who has had to discontinue his studies and also find work.’ Only a small lie, she considered, since Simon would perhaps have gone to university had he not run away from home.
‘Most unfortunate,’ he murmured. ‘We none of us know what lies ahead.’
‘Perhaps that’s just as well,’ Eleanor returned, ‘for we might not be able to cope with what we knew was in front of us.’
‘Indeed.’ He nodded gravely, and invited her to sit down.
‘At the moment we are fully staffed. I have an assistant and also a young man who is able to fill the position of mute if the oc
casion demands. We have sewing ladies, of course, but I deduce that this would not be a suitable position for you.’
‘I can sew, of course,’ she said demurely, ‘but I hadn’t thought of it as an occupation. I rather thought that I could be of assistance to ladies who have been bereaved.’
He nodded again and patted his mouth with long white fingers. ‘I do know someone who has recently lost an assistant and has advertised for another, though I think he was looking for a young gentleman rather than a young lady.’
‘Could you give me his name or company?’ she asked. ‘It might be worth my enquiring.’
‘I will do more than that,’ he said, and raising his hand gave it a little shake. ‘I will take you to him myself. Just give me one moment, ah … and your name is?’
‘Miss Eleanor Kendall, lately of Hull.’
‘Very well, Miss Kendall. I will inform my assistant that I am slipping out. It isn’t far,’ he added. ‘Just a little further along the street.’
He returned wearing a greatcoat with a black velvet collar and in his place came a younger man, also dressed in black, who bowed to Eleanor.
Aunt Marie had already informed her that the mourning establishments were grouped together in Oxford Street, except for Peter Robinson’s, a high-class establishment which was situated in Regent Street.
‘May I ask your name?’ Eleanor ventured as the manager directed her along the pavement.
‘Ashe,’ he said. ‘Claude Ashe.’
Eleanor thought how well the name suited his grey countenance.
They arrived at a shop front where the window was filled with wooden adult mannequins dressed in black bombazine or crape, and neat feathered caps; around their feet was draped purple cloth, whilst smaller models depicting children were dressed in grey with white sashes. On stands at the back of the window black top hats and gloves were displayed.
Eleanor felt a sinking of her spirits. Did she really want to work in such a dismal establishment? But the shop bell was discreetly signalling their entrance and a young man was coming forward to meet them.
