by Dilly Court
‘I’m afraid we’re lost, Flora. I don’t know which way to go.’
Flora grabbed her arm. ‘I’ve been here before. My papa took me to his office in the city, and I think I recognise this street.’
‘Do you remember which building it was? Perhaps we could shelter there until the snow eases off?’
‘It’s that one on the opposite side of the street. I’m sure of it because there was a green door.’ She let go of Alice’s hand and ran across the street, narrowly escaping being mown down by a brewer’s dray. The driver shouted and swore, brandishing the horsewhip, but continued on his way. Alice had to wait until it was safe to cross and by this time Flora had disappeared into the building. When she caught up with her she found Flora in conversation with the desk clerk, chatting away as if she had known him all her life.
‘This is Beasley,’ Flora said eagerly. ‘He remembers me from the last time I came to Papa’s workplace.’
Beasley smiled indulgently. ‘Indeed I do, Miss Flora. Although I don’t know what your pa will say when he knows you’ve ventured out in this bad weather.’
‘We don’t need to trouble Mr Dearborn,’ Alice said hastily. ‘We were a bit lost, and I just need some directions to Russell Square and then we’ll be on our way.’
‘Uncle Rory.’ Flora’s cry of delight made Alice turn her head and to her dismay she saw Rory walking towards them.
‘Floss, my love, this is a surprise.’ Rory lifted her up and swung her round before setting her down on the marble-tiled floor. He glanced at Alice, eyebrows raised. ‘This is hardly the weather for a day out, Miss Radcliffe.’
‘I know, sir. We were on our way home, but I’m unfamiliar with the City streets and we lost our way.’
‘I remembered where the office was situated,’ Flora said, puffing out her chest. ‘Papa brought me here when I was very young.’
Rory’s lips twitched but he nodded in agreement. ‘Well done, Floss.’ He turned to the clerk with a persuasive smile. ‘Beasley, would you arrange for some hot chocolate and a pot of tea to be sent to my office?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ Beasley lifted the hatch and scurried off towards a door marked ‘Private’.
‘We really should be getting back to Russell Square,’ Alice said anxiously.
‘You both look chilled to the bone.’ Rory took Flora by the hand. ‘I’ll send for a cab to take you home, but first I suggest you come to my office and get warm; we don’t want young Flora to take a chill. Come along, Miss Radcliffe. I’m afraid I won’t take no for an answer.’
Half an hour later, seated round a roaring fire with a cup of tea clutched in both hands, Alice was just beginning to get the feeling back in her feet and her toes were tingling painfully. She had given Rory a brief explanation as to how she and Flora came to be lost in a snowstorm, but she had omitted the real reason why she had been compelled to leave her aunt’s house.
‘So you see,’ she concluded, ‘I had no choice other than to take the morning off to make sure that my mother was settled comfortably in our new lodgings.’
‘It’s not comfortable,’ Flora said through a mouthful of cake, which Beasley had thoughtfully provided. ‘It’s an attic at the top of a house with a Gorgon of a landlady.’
‘A Gorgon.’ Rory nodded wisely. ‘Your knowledge is expanding daily, Floss.’
She scowled at him. ‘I don’t know what that means, but Alice said she’s one of those things. We’re going to read about them when we get home.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ll still have a job,’ Alice said, sighing. ‘If Mrs Dearborn finds out where we’ve been I’ll probably be dismissed without a character, and I suppose it will serve me right. I shouldn’t have involved Flora, especially under the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ Flora demanded curiously. ‘Why do you grown-ups talk in riddles?’
Rory ruffled her damp curls, smiling. ‘Never you mind, Floss. This is between Miss Radcliffe and me, so enjoy your cake and leave us to worry about things that don’t concern you.’
‘It’s nice cake,’ Flora conceded, eyeing the last slice. ‘May I?’
‘You may, but don’t make yourself sick.’ Rory turned to Alice, giving her a searching look. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to have remained with your aunt in Queen Square, at least until the weather improved?’
‘She imposed conditions that I couldn’t accept,’ Alice said evasively. ‘But we will manage quite well.’
Rory sat back in his chair, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘Forgive me, but I doubt if my sister-in-law is overgenerous when it comes to paying a living wage.’
‘You must see that I’m in an awkward position. I can’t afford to lose my job and I’d find it virtually impossible to find work elsewhere.’
He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I seem to recall that you’re a talented artist.’
‘I can draw a little.’
‘She’s very good at it,’ Flora said quickly. ‘You could give her some work, Uncle Rory. You and Papa print all sorts of things with pretty pictures on them.’
‘Perhaps you have something there, Floss.’ Rory pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Would you like to see the office where our draughtsmen work, Alice? We have a printing works in Clerkenwell, but I want my brother to invest in chromolithography, which is a new system that will print in colour. We would take the lead in producing greetings cards and possibly Christmas cards, which I believe will become extremely popular, particularly if postage should become more affordable.’
Alice rose to her feet. ‘I’d love to, but I really ought to get Flora home.’
‘Don’t worry about that.’ He held his hand out to Flora. ‘You’d like to look round the offices, wouldn’t you, Floss? And then we’ll see if your papa is free. With him on your side there’ll be no question of Miss Radcliffe losing her job.’
Alice was not so sure, but Rory’s enthusiasm was infectious. He took Flora by the hand and led the way to a room at the far end of a long corridor. Alice had been expecting to see a hive of activity, but it came as a surprise to find that there were only three people, working in total silence. ‘We have visitors, gentlemen,’ Rory announced grandly. ‘Miss Flora Dearborn has asked if she might see you hard at work.’
Heads popped up above drawing boards as they stared at Flora and Alice, blinking like sleepy owls. Flora made her way between the desks, stopping at the side of the youngest of three, a youth who was on the green side of twenty. ‘I remember you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re George.’
He nodded and his thin cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘Yes, miss.’
She craned her neck to study his work. ‘What are you doing?’
‘He’s busy, Floss. You can watch if George doesn’t object, but don’t hold up production.’ Rory guided Alice to the desk of an older man. ‘Mr Wall is our most senior designer. He is responsible for our bestselling line in playing cards.’
Rawlins Wall peered at Alice over the top of his spectacles, his pale eyes red-rimmed and watery. ‘Good morning, miss.’
‘Good morning, Mr Wall.’ Alice gazed over his shoulder at the design for a playing card. ‘How lovely.’
He shot her a suspicious glance. ‘I wouldn’t exactly describe it as such.’
‘Now, now, Rawlins,’ Rory said mildly. ‘Miss Radcliffe meant it as a compliment.’
‘Yes, indeed I did.’ Alice moved away quickly, sensing that she was an unwelcome intruder as far as Mr Wall was concerned.
The young man at the far desk was much more approachable. He leaped to his feet and bowed from the waist. ‘How d’you do, Miss Radcliffe? It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘This bold fellow is Martin Collis.’ Rory leaned over the drawing board. ‘Not quite there yet, I see.’
Unabashed, Martin grinned broadly. ‘It will be, sir. Just give me a bit more time. I’d be happy to show the lady how fast I can work.’
‘I’m sure you would, but Miss Radcliffe is an accomplished artist in her own right.’
‘Next thing we know we’ll have women working with us,’ Martin said, winking at Alice.
‘It might come sooner than you think.’ Rory made a move towards the door. ‘We’ll leave you to get on with your work, gentlemen.’
‘Goodbye,’ Flora said, blowing kisses to each one in turn. ‘I’ll come and see you again soon.’ She danced on ahead, barging into the corridor and almost colliding with her father. ‘Papa. I’ve come to give you a surprise.’
‘Flora, my dear. I count myself very surprised indeed.’ Frederick Dearborn’s smile of welcome faded when he saw Alice. ‘What’s the meaning of this, Miss Radcliffe? Why have you brought my daughter out on a day like this?’
Alice opened her mouth to respond but Rory stepped in first. ‘I’m afraid I’m to blame, Freddie. It was I who suggested it. I thought it would do Flora good to see how her papa made his living.’
Frederick did not look convinced. ‘This is not the sort of weather for an outing. I would have thought you might have considered that before you embarked on such a trip, Miss Radcliffe.’
Once again Alice was prevented from answering. Rory slapped his brother on the back. ‘A little adventure is good for the spirit, Freddie, and your daughter has come to no harm. I’ll see them safely home.’
‘Very well,’ Frederick said grudgingly. ‘But in future I expect you to check with me or my wife before you agree to any of my brother’s hare-brained schemes. Do you understand, Miss Radcliffe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take them home by all means, Rory, but I want a word with you when you return.’ Frederick’s grim expression softened as he turned to Flora. ‘It’s time to go now, but I’ll see you this evening.’ He retreated into his office and closed the door.
Flora slipped her hand into Alice’s. ‘I’m sorry he was cross with you. I’ll tell him it was my fault.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Alice said firmly. ‘This was entirely my own doing, and if you are blamed in any way I’ll make sure that your parents know the truth.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Rory said. ‘There’ll be no repercussions, I promise.’
To Alice’s surprise no one seemed to have noticed their absence, not even Nettie, who brought their luncheon to them full of apologies for being late. ‘We’re so busy below stairs,’ she said breathlessly as she placed the tray on the table in the nursery. ‘You never saw so much clearing up as we’ve had to do after all them guests. The rooms have had to be cleaned and the bedding changed, the chamber pots emptied and the washbasins scoured out. I’ve had to help the daily women with everything, so you might not get supper until bedtime. I’m run off me feet.’
Flora grabbed a spoon and began shovelling the soup into her mouth, receiving a warning look from Alice. ‘Where are your manners, Miss Flora? And I think you should say thank you to Nettie. She’s obviously had a very trying morning.’
Nettie’s mouth gaped and her eyes widened. ‘I’m just doing me job, miss, but ta all the same.’ She whisked out of the room, leaving the door to swing shut of its own accord.
Alice took her place at the table. ‘A kind word every now and then works wonders, Flora. Servants deserve to be treated like human beings. ’
Flora broke a piece off a bread roll and stuffed it in her mouth. ‘I don’t think Mama would agree with you.’
Alice smiled and said nothing. The soup smelled delicious and she was very hungry, but every mouthful made her feel guilty. She wished now that she had agreed to pay Mrs Leech for providing her mother with a midday meal. Outside the snow was still falling and that made her even more anxious. Walking home would prove a challenge.
When they had eaten their fill she returned their supper tray to the kitchen in order to save Nettie extra work, and was shocked and surprised to see the inordinate amount of food left over from the Christmas celebrations. Cook looked pale and tired, and was obviously at her wits’ end.
‘I suggested that we give it to the poor,’ she said, brushing a stray lock of grey hair back from her forehead. ‘But the mistress refused to consider it. “Cook,” she says, “if we start that we will have all the beggars and miscreants in London coming to the door demanding to be fed.”’ She glanced round at the half-eaten pies and pastries. ‘We won’t be able to eat this up in a month of Sundays, and it will go off in a day or two.’
Alice thought of the soup kitchen where her aunt spent much of her time, no doubt lording it over the other volunteers, but it was a worthy cause. ‘I could take some off your hands, Cook. I know a place where the poor and needy go to be fed. I’m sure they would be more than grateful.’
‘Nettie.’ Cook raised her voice to a shout. ‘Fetch two baskets. Fill them with leftovers for Miss Radcliffe to take to them as is in need.’
Laden with food, some of which she intended to take home to her mother, Alice stepped outside into the bitter cold. The snow had ceased, and the temperature had dropped below freezing making each step more hazardous than the last. She reached the corner of the square without mishap, but she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. The icy air stabbed at her lungs and made her eyes water, but it was not too far to the soup kitchen and she started off again, slipping and sliding in her efforts to keep from falling. By the time she reached her destination she was breathless and close to exhaustion. A gust of warm air greeted her as she entered the building and she found herself in the midst of a huddle of ragged bodies. Old and young alike had come in out of the cold, their faces ashen beneath the grime, and their skeletal appearance bearing witness to their desperate state. The children were too close to starvation to make a sound and too cold to cry, but almost immediately Alice was surrounded by those who had the strength to beg for food. Clutching hands delved into the baskets and she was in danger of being overwhelmed.
‘Stop that at once.’ A familiar figure cut a swathe through the crowd and for the first time Alice was glad to see Horace.
‘I – I’ve brought food from the Dearborns’ kitchen.’ Her lips were numb and it was difficult to form the words.
‘A charitable act, Cousin.’ Horace relieved her of the baskets. ‘Come through to the kitchen. Make way there.’ He marched towards the back of the room and the crowd parted to allow them to pass, but even as they bowed their heads Alice caught a glimpse of desperation etched on their faces by poverty and near starvation. She hurried after Horace and was glad when they reached the relative calm of the kitchen, although her relief was short-lived when she saw her aunt standing over a young volunteer who was stirring a large pot of soup on the range. Jane turned her head and her expression froze when she saw Alice.
‘What do you want? I thought you’d abandoned us.’
‘You sent us packing,’ Alice retorted angrily. ‘And you, Horace Hubble, you let me take my sick mother to that dreadful place with a devil woman in charge. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Horace stared at her, seeming genuinely shocked and astonished. ‘My room was tolerable, if not luxurious.’
‘We’ve been given the attic, which is freezing and barely furnished. She’s charging extra for every single thing.’
‘What do you expect?’ Jane demanded, curling her lip. ‘The woman has to make a living.’
‘She is a bit penny-pinching,’ Horace admitted slowly. ‘But the remedy is in your hands, Cousin. My offer of marriage still stands.’
‘More fool you.’ Jane turned on the woman who had stopped stirring the pot to listen avidly to their conversation. ‘Get on with your work and mind your own business.’
The young woman’s cheeks flamed scarlet and she bent her head over the pan, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon.
‘Thank you, Horace, but the answer remains the same.’ Alice made for the door, pausing for a moment with her hand on the latch. ‘I’ll collect the baskets tomorrow.’
‘You’ve made your choice,’ Jane said bitterly. ‘Don’t say I didn’t give you every opport
unity to better yourself, Alice. There are plenty of young women who would jump at the chance of marrying a man like Horace.’
The woman stirring the pot snorted, quickly turning it into a sneeze. Alice chose to ignore her aunt’s caustic tongue and let herself out of a side door, which led into the street. She set off, walking as briskly as possible on the treacherous surface, and it was only when she was nearing her destination that she realised she had not saved any of the food for her mother. It was too late to find any of the vendors who plied the streets during the day, and she had little choice other than to try one of the taverns in Long Lane.
Inside the atmosphere was warm and fuggy, and thick with tobacco smoke and the strong smell of ale and spirits. There were less pleasant odours, but no worse than those that had assailed her nostrils in the soup kitchen. After a little persuasion the landlord agreed to part with a jug of broth for twopence, plus a penny deposit on the enamel pitcher. It was overpriced watery soup, but at least it was hot, and if she hurried she could get it home to Half Moon Passage before it cooled completely.
As she was about to leave the taproom her attention was drawn to a small group of men and a couple of women who were seated in the corner. Through a haze of pipe smoke she realised that they were watching her, and a shiver ran down her spine. She left the pub, gasping as the cold air filled her lungs, and she set off as fast as she could go without spilling the soup. A sound like that of footsteps muffled by the packed snow made her stop and turn her head, but there was no one there. She hurried on.