by Valerie Wood
There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, at odds with his lugubrious expression, as he said, ‘You can owe me, Miss Kendall. Liza can take your measurements and I’ll make it tonight after I’ve finished these trousers. And if you bring down your blouse I’ll crisp it up with a bit of starch and a hot iron.’
She had quite a spring in her step the following morning as she set out. Mr Bertram had produced a waistcoat made from soft wool, a piece he had left over, he said. He had made it with a basque to fit over her hips and trimmed the edges of the lapels with a grey satin ribbon, covering the tiny buttons with the same colour. He had also edged the hem with a grey silk fringe.
She wore her coat over the outfit as the morning was grey. There was very little light coming through her bedroom window and none at all through the one downstairs.
‘Don’t get lost, m’dear,’ Liza said. ‘It’s a peasouper this morning.’
The court was very murky and the doors and windows of the houses opposite were barely visible, but as she stepped out into the main road it was like walking into a soggy clammy wall which wet her hair and dampened her clothes. Thick grey fog swirled about her; it muffled the sound of the traffic and completely obscured any landmarks. Now and again she could hear voices calling, some of them laughing, others shouting out to ask where they were.
She groped for her handkerchief and covered her nose, and with her other hand stretched out in front of her she walked on, hoping that she would be able to find the emporium, for she had completely lost any sense of direction. Now and again the vapour lifted and she caught a glimpse of a building or a waggon, but before she could get her bearings the fog descended again and her vision was eclipsed.
It took her an hour to find her way, and that was after asking several passers-by if they knew whether she was near Henry’s mourning emporium. She was very anxious about being late on her first morning, but on arriving she found that the door was locked, and although she knocked on the glass, no one came. She waited and waited, shivering with cold and feeling very damp, before she was joined by two of the seamstresses who said that they too had been lost.
‘Know the way like the backs of our ’ands, don’t we, Peg, but we must ’ave walked right past.’
‘I’m Eleanor Kendall,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m starting today as an assistant to Mr Henry.’
‘That’ll be young Mr Henry,’ said the young woman who had introduced herself as Judy. ‘Mr Josiah Henry would never have taken on a young lady, oh dear no. Mr Christopher is much more modern.’
The man himself arrived on the doorstep soon after, out of breath and very damp. ‘I’ve had to walk,’ he grumbled as he unlocked the door. ‘Didn’t dare risk driving the chaise. Good morning,’ he said to Eleanor. ‘I’m sorry you have had to wait.’
He ushered her in and bade her be seated, and when he clasped his hands together and assumed a sorrowful expression Eleanor realized that he had forgotten who she was.
‘Mr Henry,’ she said, before he could speak, ‘I’m Eleanor Kendall. I’m beginning employment with you today.’
His face cleared. ‘Oh! So you are. Well, thank goodness for that. I can’t be dealing with death right now. Come along. I’ll show you where to put your coat and then perhaps you’d make us both a cup of coffee?’
I daren’t tell him that this is the first time I have ever made a pot of coffee, she thought as she waited for the kettle to boil. In a room at the back of the shop was a small kitchen with a range where a fire was burning; she assumed that a caretaker had lit it. Beyond the kitchen was another room with a stove at the end of it, where the seamstresses worked at a large table. At one end of the table, set on top of a wooden packing case, was a sewing machine – something Eleanor had never seen before.
‘Come and take a look, dearie,’ Judy had said. ‘We’re one of the first mourning shops to use a sewing machine. Saves us a lot of time, especially on the ladies’ dresses. I can stitch one up in a day now.’
What a lot I’m learning, she thought as she poured the water on to the coffee grounds. What a wasted life I have had. But still, she considered, I’m young; I can do so much if I want to, now that I’m no longer constrained. But as she thought of her father locked up in a prison cell she felt sad, although when she remembered her mother, probably by now on her way to Canada, she felt only anger.
At the end of the day she had attended two ladies who had been bereaved, and with Mr Christopher’s help had suggested the outfits they should wear for mourning. She had never been to a funeral, let alone known what should be worn, and she was astounded at the protocol and procedure involved.
The first customer required deep black, but insisted on the latest style, because, she told Eleanor, ‘I shall have to wear it for a whole year to show my sorrow.’
Eleanor didn’t think her too sorrowful as she had a bright expression in her eyes, except when she pressed her handkerchief to them and proclaimed how bereft she was. When she left in her black-trimmed carriage, Mr Christopher told Eleanor that the lady in question was just twenty-three, and that her late husband, aged forty-seven, had left her very well provided for.
When Eleanor prepared to leave the shop at seven o’clock, she was very tired. The day had been interesting; she had looked in all the drawers and cupboards to check where gloves and stockings, bonnets and hatbands, umbrellas and mourning cards were kept, but the sight of so much black was, she thought, very depressing.
As she opened the door to depart, she was once more choked by thick fog. She quickly closed it again. ‘Mr Christopher,’ she called. ‘The fog is dreadful.’
He peered out. ‘So it is. I was going to look for a hansom, but there won’t be any, or at least they won’t take me all the way home. I’ll have to stay here tonight.’
The seamstresses were still working, and would be for another hour in order to meet a customer’s requirements, so once more Eleanor would have to walk alone.
‘Don’t get lost,’ Mr Christopher said. ‘Will you be all right?’
She took a breath. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure.’ She opened the door again and a yellow mist swirled in. ‘Good night, Mr Christopher.’
It’s not far, she thought. As long as I get across the road without being run over I think I know the way. But everything looks different. She put her scarf over her mouth and struck out, once again holding her other hand in front of her to ward off anything that might be in front of her.
The fog was claustrophobic and clinging and made her cough. She passed shop windows where dim lights were burning and gave her a rough idea of where she was. Where there were no lights she simply put one careful foot in front of the other. Pedestrians passed each other, muffled up to the eyes with scarves and shawls, and she heard the cries of men who seemed to be leading their horses rather than driving them.
I don’t know where I am! Have I passed the corner? She ran her hand along the wall of a building to follow it and reached the end. Is this it? Is this where I turn? And if I turn and it isn’t, how will I find my way back again? She felt like a blind woman; her throat and nose were choked with thick catarrh and she stopped to blow her nose and cough and spit.
‘Is anybody there?’ she called. ‘Does anybody know the name of this street?’
Voices called back but they were indeterminate. She wanted to cry, she felt so lost. Some ghostly figure went past her and asked if she knew where a certain street was, but of course she didn’t.
‘Hello,’ she shouted when she heard the rattle of wheels. ‘I’m lost, can anybody help me? I’m looking for Trenton Square.’
‘No idea, love,’ came a voice out of the fog. ‘I’m lost myself.’
She felt someone pull on her sleeve and turned, a sob in her throat. A small boy was looking up at her. He wore no coat, only the thinnest of shirts, a pair of short ragged trousers and nothing on his feet.
He pulled again at her arm. ‘I’ll take you, lady. I know where it is. You come wiv me.’
S
hould I go? He might be setting me up for someone to rob me. I have no money but they could take the coat off my back and leave me for dead. She looked down at the child, for that was all he was. His face was thin and dirty and he had a runny nose. His eyes had dark shadows beneath them.
‘Are you coming, lady? I can’t wait ’ere all night.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, please.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘Give me your ’and, lady,’ the boy said, ‘and I’ll see you right. I know all of these streets.’
Eleanor gave him her gloved hand and was shocked at how thin and small his was. How was it he was out on his own in the dark and the fog? It didn’t seem right.
‘Do you live round here?’
‘Yes, lady. All me life.’ He trudged on, holding fast to her hand.
‘How old are you? Aren’t you young to be out on your own?’
He laughed, but then gave a hacking cough. ‘No, not me. I’m ten. I know me way about.’
He led her down an alleyway. ‘This is a short cut,’ he said. ‘Not everybody knows this way to Trenton Square, but one of me cousins lives near there and we come up here regular.’
‘I’m very grateful,’ Eleanor said. ‘I would never have found it.’
The fog lifted slightly and she saw a house she recognized, one with boarded-up windows and a broken door. ‘We’re nearly there, I think.’
‘We are,’ he confirmed as the entrance to the court loomed in front of them. ’Ere it is. ’Ome, safe and sound. Will you be all right now, lady?’
‘Thank you so much.’ Eleanor took off a glove and fumbled in her purse. ‘Here, I must give you something for your trouble.’ She found a penny and, handing it over to him, felt how cold his hand was.
‘You must be freezing,’ she said. ‘Do you not have a coat?’
He gave a little snigger. ‘Don’t know what one of them is, lady. Never had one, at any rate. But it is a bit nippy tonight, though that’s a good sign, cos if the wind gets up then the fog will lift. I’ll be off, then. Be seeing you.’
‘Wait.’ Eleanor unwound her scarf. ‘Take this,’ she said, wrapping it round his neck. ‘You’ll be warmer.’
‘Ooh, thanks, lady!’ His delight was evident as he grinned, his face lighting up. ‘Nobody’s ever give me somefink like this before.’
‘You’re very welcome to it,’ she smiled. ‘Good night.’
It was three days before the fog lifted and Eleanor dreaded each one. She developed a cold and a cough and Liza insisted on making her onion soup.
‘We always have it,’ she said. ‘Finest thing for colds. My old gran used to make it and so did my ma.’
She poured a generous bowlful for Eleanor and did the same for Bert and the children. Then she ate what was left out of the pan.
Eleanor ate with the family. At first she had taken supper in her room, but it was cold up there and much cosier downstairs, where there was a fire. She had met the other lodger, a clerk called Simpson, who ate out and only came to his room to sleep.
‘Keeps hisself to hisself,’ Liza had told her. ‘But that’s all right by us. He’s nice and quiet and pays his rent on time.’
After about three weeks Eleanor was settling into a regular routine at the emporium, and although the work wasn’t arduous there were times when she would have found it depressing if it hadn’t been for Mr Christopher’s merry humour. She met his father, Mr Henry senior, who frowned at her when introduced and said grumpily that he didn’t know what the world was coming to when young ladies wanted to earn their own living.
‘You should be looking for a husband, young woman,’ he scowled. ‘There must be many a sensible young fellow wanting a pretty gel like you for a wife.’
She smiled and said she had not yet found one, and Mr Christopher explained to his father that Miss Kendall had found herself through no fault of her own in circumstances where she had to earn her own living.
Mr Henry humphed and asked if her father hadn’t provided for her. She answered in the negative, but at his words began wondering if her father would have made provision for her to go on living at home had she stayed there.
It was getting close to Christmas; many of the shops in Oxford Street had begun to decorate their windows with colourful ribbons and gifts. Eleanor spent Sunday strolling past them and looking at the array of goods on display. She was disappointed that Simon hadn’t been in touch at all, but she decided that she would buy him a small gift, for that was all she could afford after paying for her waistcoat.
On her way back she saw the young boy who had directed her to Trenton Square, and called to him.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Do you remember me?’
‘Yes, I do, lady.’
He looked a little sheepish and she thought he might be embarrassed by her speaking to him. Then she realized he wasn’t wearing the scarf she had given him although it was a bitterly cold day.
‘You’re not wearing the scarf,’ she said. ‘Did you forget to put it on?’
He shook his head. ‘No, lady. My da sold it. He got a shilling for it and that paid the rent.’
A shilling, she thought in dismay. It was lambswool. Worth far more than that. She looked at the boy, who had hung his head and didn’t look back at her. They must be desperate for money.
‘Does your father work?’ she asked, but again he shook his head.
‘He’s lame, lady. Hurt ’is leg working on the docks. They won’t ’ave ’im back.’ He looked up and met her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about the scarf. It was lovely. Nice ’n’ warm.’
‘Never mind,’ she said gently. ‘It’s more important that you paid the rent.’
He nodded, and with a wave of his hand went off up the street.
When she arrived back at Trenton Square she found she had visitors waiting on the doorstep: Mikey and young Sam.
Mikey greeted her; his cheeks were flushed as he said, ‘Sam and me are going to Whitechapel next Sunday to see his brother.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know you had a brother, Sam.’
Eleanor didn’t in fact know anything at all about Sam. She’d only met him a few times and he hadn’t had much to say to her.
‘He’s called William,’ Sam told her. ‘He stays wiv some people. They look after him.’
‘We wondered if you’d like to come with us,’ Mikey said. ‘For a day out, you know. We have to walk some of ’way but we try to hitch a lift.’
‘Is it a nice place?’ Eleanor asked.
Mikey pulled a face. ‘No, but Sam and William go off on their own to talk about what they’ve been doing, and I thought that if you’re not doing much …’ His words tailed away. ‘Still, I expect you’ll have other things to do as it’s your onny day off,’ he finished lamely.
‘No. No, I haven’t. The truth is I’m sometimes bored on a Sunday.’ She was pleased that he had asked her and flattered that he wanted her company. ‘I’d like to come.’
He gave a grin. ‘Good! ’Place we go to is a bit run down. I’ll tell you about it and why William’s there as we go.’ He seemed to reconsider. ‘I hope it’s all right asking you.’ He scraped the toe of his boot on the ground. ‘I just thought that you might be interested to see what some folk do for others who have less than they have.’
Mikey puzzles me, she thought. Why has he taken it upon himself to look after Sam and take him all that way to see his brother?
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘Thank you for asking me. What time shall I be ready?’
‘Meet us at London Bridge at about six o’clock,’ he said. ‘It might tek us some time to get there and we won’t want to be back too late cos it’s work on Monday.’
‘Six in the morning, you mean?’ she said, and when he grinned and nodded she thought of how she usually relished an extra hour in bed on a Sunday.
She dressed warmly the following Sunday and told Liza she would be out all day. Liza packed her a parcel of bread and cheese in case she didn’t get any dinner. ‘I’ll k
eep you a chop,’ she said, and Eleanor thanked her for her kindness.
Mikey and Sam were waiting for her when she arrived at just after six and Sam was pacing up and down, impatient to be off.
‘We’ll have to walk to begin with,’ Mikey said. ‘There won’t be many carts on ’road just yet, with it being Sunday.’
‘I expect most people will be in church,’ Eleanor murmured. ‘Though I haven’t been since I came to London.’
Mikey glanced at her. ‘I think you’ll find that a lot o’ folks do their chores on a Sunday,’ he said. ‘It’s ’onny day they have off to do their washing and clean their houses. They might not have much but most folk try to keep clean.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, rather shame-faced, and thinking that she had never had to think of such things as washing or ironing and cleaning, having always had servants to do them for her.
As they walked he told her about Sam and William, and she expressed astonishment that Tully was paid to take them away by their uncle.
‘But they could have been going to a terrible life,’ she said. ‘To be given to a total stranger who might have been cruel to them.’
Mikey nodded. ‘Yes, but it might have been worse if they’d stayed. That’s why I kept an eye on them and when I got ’opportunity I took them to these good folk who help bairns without parents or a home; but they onny had room for one and as William was sick, he stayed.’ He glanced down at Sam. ‘And we go to see him regular, don’t we, Sam?’
‘Aye, we do,’ Sam said. ‘And William can read and write now, which I can’t.’
‘I could teach you,’ Eleanor said eagerly; then her voice dropped. ‘Oh, but then you work, don’t you, and so do I. We only have Sundays.’
‘I could come over, miss,’ he answered keenly. ‘I know the way now that Mikey’s shown me. We could meet at the bridge like we did today.’
‘We could, as long as it doesn’t get too cold, or’ – a thought struck her – ‘perhaps I could ask my landlady if I can use my room.’ And maybe, just maybe, Liza would like me to teach her children too.
