Passage of a Desolate Woman (#2, the Winds of Misery Victorian Romance) (A Family Saga Novel)

by Dorothy Green

  “How did you come across your line of work at the tavern?” Jennifer asked.

  “I got lucky, I suppose. My sister worked there for many years, before she married and moved to Brighton. Since I knew the position was coming open and the owner already knew me cuz I hung around so much, I was offered the position. But positions like that don't come up very often, and every woman wants to work in that particular line. And they don't leave, I don't plan on leaving unless a bow finds me and married me, taking me away from the city just as my sister.”

  “Away from the city? Why would you want to leave London? It is fascinating.” Jennifer looked around as they walked.

  Rebecca laughed. “Ah, yes all say that when they first come to the city, before it has taken from them. London always takes. You will see.”

  Jennifer found this statement disturbing, but she did not plan to stay in the city long, just a few months until the spring. Then she would be on her way as planned.

  “Is this factory in Whitechapel?”

  “Yes, indeed it is. That is where the textile factories are.”

  “Good. That is what I was told.”

  “We will cross the river here, and in a few blocks on the other side we will be in Whitechapel. You will see.”

  The two women walked across the river, and Jennifer knew she would never get tired of looking at the ships with their tall sails, coming and going out into the ocean miles away. She wondered where they had been. The Far East, perhaps? Possibly even America.

  Once they crossed, once again they were in between tall buildings made of brick, and crowded cobblestone streets. Jennifer had to hold on to Rebecca's coat sleeve while she led her through the crowds. There was an air of excitement, but as she walked, Jennifer noticed all of the children begging on the sidewalks, their faces dirty with soot, possibly from working and cleaning out chimneys. Her heart sank; children should not have to do such work. Old women and old men also begged on the street, wearing rags. She was sure that they had been turned away from work, being called too feeble. She was feeling conflicted about this city, that was so exciting and exhilarating, and yet so cruel to its people.

  “Here we are,” Rebecca said, stopping in front of a very large building. It was two floors tall, and spread across the block. There was a group of women out front, chatting and being loud.

  “This? So what should I do? I just go inside and encquire about the work?”

  Rebecca laughed. “No. That is not how things are done in the workforce here. Labour is very particular, and also needs a lot of luck. We will join this group of women and wait. At some point the manager will come down and take a few of you and give you a test. You will be asked to mend something, so they may look at your stitching. Then they choose as many workers as they need at the moment.”

  “Wait? How long must I wait?”

  “As long as it takes. It might be a few minutes, it could be a few days. One can never tell, but this is how it is done. A lot of waiting.”

  “I understand.”

  “I will wait here a few minutes with you. Then I have a meeting to go to. I will come back by here when I am done, around the hour of four, to see how you get on. If it has not happened for you yet, then we can walk back together. I will show you a few lodging houses on the way, but none will take you until you have employment.”

  “Thank you. I am very grateful. I will be waiting here at the hour of four, as I do not think I could find my own way back. It will be helpful to learn on the return trip. Thank you very much, Rebecca.”

  “Say nothing of it.”

  Rebecca smiled and walked off. Jennifer pushed her way into the crowd around the outside. Careful not to go up the middle, everyone was crowded there. Around the outside she went, and then waited. But she did not have to wait long, and she thought she was very lucky indeed when a man came out and pointed to her. She stepped forward, along with four other women, and then they were taken inside.

  The man was a very large man, with around belly. He had black hair and black eyes and he spoke in a very stern shout. Even when there was no reason to shout, he was shouting. It was obvious to Jennifer that he was not a man of kindness, and something strange about him reminded her of the butcher from her village.

  “My name is Mr. Clark. I am the floor manager of this here factory. You will be given a test. In front of you is a shirt that needs a sleeve sewn on. You will do so using a cross stitch. You must do it fast and correctly. Go!”

  Jennifer focused. She was glad that Rebecca had told her about the test or this would be quite a surprise, but she had already prepared herself and her mind for this. She grabbed the already waiting threaded needle, and moved the shirt as close to the candle in the light, and laid out the sleeve in order to attach it. She was very good at cross stitch and she was glad this is what he asked for. Quickly she moved sewing with a very tight and efficient cross stitch. Another woman finished before her, adding panic, and then another to her. Then she was the third to finish, but her work was quality. She set the shirt down.

  “Stop! stop your work!” Mr. Clark shouted. He moved down the table, inspecting everyone's work.

  “No. This is sloppy. You are not hired.” He said to the two women that had finished first. Then he inspected Jennifer's work.

  “Fine cross stitch. You were done before the time was up. This is on securely and the stitch is tight.” Then he looked at Jennifer. “ And you are young, a young girl. The young ones always do the best work, slender fingers and have the energy for it. You are hired.”

  Then he dismissed all of the rest except for one more. “ Those of you that were not hired, follow this man back out to the exit. The rest of you come with me to go through the process.”

  Jennifer felt excited that she had found a job on her second day in London and she was very glad that she had spoken with Rebecca. Now, all she would have to do is pay for lodging. But it seemed that Rebecca knew very much about it as well, and would help her find a place that would not rip her off.

  “You will start in two days on Thursday at the hour of 7 in the morning. If you are not here at 7, then do not bother coming at all, for you will be replaced. Those of you that can read and write, write your name in this ledger. Those of you that cannot will tell me your names and I will write them for you. You will work from 7 a.m. until 6 p.m. in the evening. You will work every day except for Sunday.”

  Jennifer stepped forward and filled out the information in the ledger. She wrote clearly and visibly so as not to be confused with anyone else. She wrote her description as red hair and green eyes, and the start date as Thursday, September 6, 1855.

  “Now follow me and you will shown your place of work now, so that when you arrive you know exactly where to go to and begin work. There will be no waste of time.”

  They were given a brief tour of the factory, walking into a very large room set up with tables. In the front section, women were sewing shirts by candlelight. It was very dim, though not as dark as the night, as there were some windows at the very top of the building where light came in from outside.

  “This is your work table,” Each were shown an empty table where they would be working; their station.

  “In the back of the factory is where you go to get more cloth. Make your trips quick and efficient, one bolt of cloth is enough, and will cut from the patterns.” Mr Clarke said, walking down the aisle, leading the two women to the back.

  Jennifer froze. She was not expecting the site that confronted her. Children.

  There were children laying out bolts of cloth and wrapping them around the boat. They were cutting, rolling and folding. Some were very young, as young as her brother Adam. They looked thin, malnourished, and exhausted. She wanted to shout and scream at Mr. Clark. But she knew better; she could not say anything. These were the horrendous conditions that she had heard about before, but she did not think they would be toward children. How naive she had been.

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  chapter

 
1 8

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  October

  One Month Later

  The little boy looked up at Jennifer with big brown eyes. He reminded her so much of her younger brother Adam. Therefore it gave her great pain to watch him plunge his hands into a tin bath of fabric dye. He plunged one sheet of cloth after another, turning the fabric black. Because of this, his hands were also black, almost every time that she saw him. It filled her heart with anger.

  After a month of working at the factory and finding lodging in a shared room lodge house just down the street, Jennifer felt exhausted by London. Indeed, she had been grateful to have the work, but having to watch children work themselves tired had become a heavy burden. She had not expected such harsh reality.

  “Hello,” She said quietly as she moved through, together with the bolt of cloth she would need for the day in order to make black shirts. She had been slowly saying hello to the children as much as she could, with a smile. She thought they could use some warming smiles in such a hard day's work.

  “Hello. What is your name?” The little boy asked her. She was surprised, for most of the children had been very timid and did not want to strike up any sort of conversation.

  She crouched down next to him. “ My name is Jennifer. What is your name?”

  “I am called Kevin. I do not know my last name, if I have one.” He said.

  “You do not? What of the last name of your parents?”

  “I do not have a mum and dad,” He said, very matter-of-fact.

  “Those be from the orphan workhouse,” Helen said as she walked past to gather cloth herself. Helen was Rebecca's cousin, the one that she had spoke of that day in the tavern.

  “Orphan workhouse? Monstrous,” Jennifer replied.

  “Don't let Mr. Clark see you, he'll take off a wage of an entire shirt. Best to leave them be,” Helen grabbed what she needed and moved back to her work station.

  Jennifer smiled at the boy and as she walked away said, “ it was very nice to meet you. You are a young gentleman.”

  The young boy smiled and she felt joy that maybe she had given him a little light in his day. Then she went back to her workstation. The tips of her fingers were scarred and bloodied from having to thread needles in the dim light of candle light. Every time she wanted to get up and walk out, she thought about her family at home, and how the money she had sent them was definitely needed. She had even managed to send a letter to Katrina, and Katrina was very nice to reply with news of her family, since her mother could not read or write. Jennifer was very relieved to know everything at home was exactly the same as she left it, but that money was indeed needed to buy food. Therefore it forced her to continue on in the harsh conditions.

  “Do not go getting attached to those little ones. It will only break your heart. Most of them don't last,” Helen said sitting beside Jennifer.

  Jennifer looked at her confused. “ What do you mean they don't last?”

  But Helen gave her a silent answer, and Jennifer did not want to think that what she meant was death. It could not be. She would not allow it.

  She was very glad that it was Saturday, for it meant that she had the next day off. Sundays were always a delight to her. She spent it writing letters, or exploring the city. Sometimes she just stayed in bed all day, enjoying the rest which was very much needed.

  The next day, she met Rebecca on the corner where they sometimes convened.

  “How are you today, Jennifer? The tavern is ever so busy, I was lucky that I was not asked to work today. But with two more working like me, they can handle it. I have worked 7 days straight in a row,” Rebecca said, rambling on as she took Jennifer's arm and they walked down the busy cobblestone street.

  It was cold and windy, but not enough to keep people indoors on their day off. Being outside was one of the only luxuries that the factory working class had.

  “Jennifer, what is it? You are not smiling and you have not said a word. That is not like you.” Rebecca stop to look at her friend.

  “I cannot stop thinking about the children that work in the factory. There is one that is so young and sweet. A little boy. He is an orphan, and who is there to say that he cannot work? No parents to say no. He is being taken advantage of. I have a mind to take him home with me when I return to the country,” She said, with anger rising in her heart.

  “I understand. There are many that share your anger Jennifer. But they don't just dwell on it, they want to do something about it.”

  “Do something? But what can be done? The people have no power, only the rich.”

  “But you are wrong. Do you not remember the French Revolution? The people took over Mary Antoinette. The people have power, they just need a good leader every now and then. Come with me. I want to show you something,” Rebecca said.

  Together they walked through the busy streets, down a few alleyways deeper into the east of the borough of Whitechapel.

  At the end of a particular alley, Jennifer heard the shouts of a young man, and applauding with almost every word he said. As they turned down one Corridor and then another, the alley seem to twist together in a labyrinth, until it finally spit them out into a large bald dead end. The walls were high, and it offered much privacy; one could only see the black smog of the London sky above.

  “That is why we must fight the system! We cannot let them walk over us and set a low wage! We cannot let them walk over us and set the hours of a work day! Children would be working 12-hour days if the law had not changed. But that is not enough, they should not be working at all. Those job should be for adults at a living wage we need to take the system back! Who are they without us?’ the young man shouted.

  Jennifer and Rebecca now stood behind a group of 20 people of mostly young age. The man stood on top of a table; he was quite handsome with dark hair and green eyes. He was also young, possibly the same age as Jacob, she thought. There was something about his words that reminded her of Jacob, the way Jacob spoke about taking what you needed, and not letting society tell him what he could and could not do. This young man had the same fire.

  “Join me in this party! With large numbers, we can make a change. But I cannot do it without you. Come to a meeting next Sunday, here at noon. There is much work to be done! We will change the system! Down with factory!”

  Then the entire group started to chant those words, down with factory.

  Jennifer looked around, completely amazed by what was happening around her. There were people that had the same amount of anger as she did. Something was happening here and she knew that she had to help, but she did not know how.

  The man had his arms in the air, and people applauded and cheered him. She knew then that she would be at the next meeting. She did not know what she could do, but perhaps her reading and writing skills could help. Perhaps just her being part and making up the numbers could help. One thing was for sure, she needed to do something in order to help that little boy Kevin.

  The young man jumped off the table and walked through the crowd, shaking hands and receiving accolades. Then he made his way over to Rebecca.

  “Rebecca, what do you have here? A new member?”

  “Billy Barnes, meet Jennifer Bronson. She is just arrived two months ago, to work in the factories. She is in a factory with children,,She was expressing her anger to me just a few minutes ago, so I brought her here to hear you speak.”

  “Welcome to London. It is a rude awakening, is it not, Miss Bronson?”

  “It is not what I expected. I never thought children would be in these conditions. It is not right.”

  “I agree. But the question is what will you do about it? Will you sit idly by as everyone else does and allow the rich people to treat children in such a horrid way? Or will you do something?” He said, then he walked to the next group, shaking hands and speaking politics.

  The fire in Jennifer's green eyes lit like a blaze. His words had stirred her. It was just enough to know that there were those that thought it was wrong. W
hen Helen had told her to just let it be, she wondered how anyone could just let it be. But hearing this group opposed the actions of the factories, made her feel like she was fitting in.

  “And what do you think of Mr. Billy Barnes?” Rebecca whispered in her ear.

  “His words I agree with.”

  “Yes, his words are full of passion. And it does not hurt that he looks as well as he does. Quite handsome, is he not?”

  Rebecca let out a girlish giggle, and yes she was right. Billy Barnes was quite handsome, and he only seemed more handsome with the confidence that he exuded. People seemed ready to fall in line and follow him, a natural-born leader. But as she looked at him, why did she think of Jacob almost immediately?

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  chapter

  1 9

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  While walking home, Jennifer persuaded Rebecca to stop with her at the sweet shop on Brick Lane. She had a notion to buy two sweets. Two pieces of butterscotch, lay in her coat pocket wrapped in a small paper.

  That evening, she wrote a letter to Katrina.

  Dearest Katrina, I wish that I were home, with you and with my family. I have sent an order to the general shop, for two bags of flour to be sent to my mother. If you would be gracious to see that she receives them in two weeks time. I have saved money, but not much as I have only been working for a short time. I do wish to return in March, once the snows have thawed and the weather turned agreeable. You would love London, but only as a visitor. This is no place to work, the conditions are quite horrid and there are those that oppose them so much they want to organise against it. I cannot wait to be home and back to the country life.