The Lady of Pelham Street

by Deborah Carr

  I am aware that you enjoy being part of your husband’s stores, Florence, however, you are a mother now and your babies need to come first in your priorities, as does your health.

  I understand also your need for independence, but in this case I feel that you are making a mistake. Haven’t I always worried about you being too independent for your own good? I am surprised to still be berating you on this now that you are a married woman. I had expected your husband to take you in hand and instil some sense into you.

  I am compelled to stress that now is the time for you to leave your husband to run his businesses. Mr Boot is a successful man, of that I am fully aware, but I believe that his ambitions may be encouraging you to act in a way that could be detrimental to the wellbeing not only of yourself, but also of your children.

  I am aware that you will be unhappy to read these words, but women of means, such as you enjoy, should not be out at work, Florence. It is simply not acceptable. They should remain at home to run their household, and be satisfied to do so. I would be comforted if you could reassure me that you will at least consider my thoughts on this matter.

  On a different note, I happened upon Mrs Wolstenholm today when I ventured downstairs to the shop with a letter for your father. She asked how you were finding married life. I refrained from mentioning to her about your working situation, because I couldn’t bear for her to spread gossip about the family, as I feel sure she might be compelled to do.

  There, I have said my piece. I must finish this letter now if I am to catch the next post. Please do not be angry with me for my sentiments, I mean only to help you find the most appropriate way forward. Your father sends his best wishes, as do I. I hope you know that I am only writing this to you because as your mother I feel it my duty to do so, and also because I care that you make the right choices.

  Your caring Mother.

  Irritation flowed through Florence, making her want to tear up the letter and give her mother a piece of her mind. Why was it that women were expected to stop doing something that fulfilled them because they had a family? It was unfair and, in her opinion, unjust. No, she would not do as her mother asked, she thought defiantly. She had the opportunity to continue working and be a mother, and that was what she intended doing.

  Florence might have given up her younger ideals of being an independent woman when she agreed to marry Jesse, but she refused to believe that being married meant she should lose all sense of herself. Why were people so judgemental of others? Nellie Blythe was condemned for becoming a mother without a husband, and Florence was criticised for continuing to work when she had one. Surely women deserved the right to decide how they lived their own lives without others accusing them of doing wrong, Florence mused. Her mother might have had to conform to her husband’s wishes, and to an extent Florence didn’t mind compromising with Jesse, on occasion, but she did not believe that compromise should always be on the side of the woman, despite what society seemed to think.

  Now she had a daughter, Florence intended to ensure that Dorothy grew up to be an independently thinking woman. No daughter of hers would ever be subservient to a husband, not if she had her way. She believed that Jesse would feel the same way too. Wasn’t he always telling her that it was her zest for life and independent nature that had attracted him to her in the first place?

  Florence took a deep breath and tried to calm down. She didn’t want to say anything to her mother that she would later regret and decided that she would not send back a hasty reply. She would wait a while and think through what she was going to say when she did. Her mother meant well, of that Florence was certain, and she had always been open with Florence about not understanding her need for independence.

  Florence was also painfully aware that most women would agree with her mother. She had overheard women at the stores, especially since John and then Dorothy’s birth, whispering behind their hands that her place was at the hearth with her children. She rubbed her eyes. She loved her work but there were times, like these – when John had kept her up half the night, unable to sleep after a nightmare – that Florence wondered if she was right to insist that she could be a working mother. Why couldn’t she be satisfied to stay at home with her babies, like other women? What was so wrong with simply running the family home? She sighed. It just wasn’t the life for her, whether other people agreed with what she did or not.

  The last time another woman had given her a disapproving look was only the week before when she had carried Dorothy on her hip and led John by the hand to go and speak to several members of staff.

  None of this mattered to her, not for the most part anyway. She never presumed to question their choices as parents, and didn’t think they had the right to criticise hers. She couldn’t help wondering, now and then, if some of the women giving her dirty looks had been concealing their envy at her independence.

  She might be a married woman and one of some standing, but nothing would erase the shop girl from Jersey that she had originally been. She loved being a working mother but sometimes missed the peace and tranquillity of Jersey, especially at times like this when she was over-tired and emotional. Her mother had worked, although not the long hours that she insisted on doing. Florence tried to think if she had ever felt neglected in any way by her parents. No, she hadn’t. Her childhood might not have been luxurious, but it had always been filled with love and warmth, unlike that of many other women she had met through Boots.

  Florence hoped that her children would see her hard work as something to be proud of and to emulate, not something to resent. She couldn’t help feeling that she was walking a fine line between being ambitious and trying to do too much.

  She enjoyed working hard to help Jesse achieve his plans for his growing empire, and working closely with him helped her to keep a close eye on his health. It was harder for him to hide things from her if she was in the next office.

  She wondered if his being thirteen years older than her might be what kept him working at the level he did. Maybe, she thought, it was her fear of Jesse’s health deteriorating that increased her determination to continue working so hard and by taking the children with her into work, they were able to spend more time with Jesse than they otherwise would.

  Florence valued their hours spent together as a family. It soothed her to think that she was being supportive of Jesse despite his tendency to overwork. She was relieved he still remained fairly strong and she believed that her watching over him and his diet helped keep it that way. She had every intention of continuing in the same way and hoped that with her love and support her husband would carry on as he was for many more years to come.

  Florence knew that she and Jesse had much to look forward to and she was going to see to it that they enjoyed every second they had together.

  Chapter 3

  Two days later, Miss Tweed walked into Florence’s office and quietly informed her that someone was waiting to speak to her.

  ‘She doesn’t have an appointment to see you, Mrs Boot, but she insists that she isn’t leaving until you listen to what she has to say.’

  Florence frowned, anxiously. ‘Do you know her, or what it’s about?’

  ‘She doesn’t work here, but she said she’s come about her daughter Nellie Blythe. Would you like me to try and get her to leave?’

  Florence’s heart plummeted. She hadn’t expected this to happen. Surely, she couldn’t have made the matter even worse? She looked at her two children playing peacefully in the corner next to her. She wasn’t sure what to expect from Mrs Blythe and didn’t want the children to witness any unpleasantness. ‘No, that won’t be necessary’, she said. ‘I would like you to take the children while she’s here though, please.’

  Miss Tweed nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’d be delighted to.’

  Florence turned to her children. ‘John, Dorothy? Would you like to go for a walk with Miss Tweed now?’

  Both children immediately forgot their toys and beamed at her. ‘Yes please, Mama,’ J
ohn said, answering for both of them. ‘Come on, Dothy.’ He reached out and took his sister’s small hand in his and pulled her to her feet. Then, without a backward glance, they went to her secretary’s side.

  ‘Thank you,’ Florence said. ‘Please show Mrs Blythe in.’

  Florence stood and waited for Nellie’s mother to enter her office. ‘Mrs Blythe,’ she said, walking around her desk to shake the woman’s hand.

  Mrs Blythe reluctantly did as expected of her and then took a seat when Florence gestured towards a chair, where a couple of days before her daughter had sat.

  ‘I presume you’re here to discuss my letter about your daughter, Nellie?’

  Mrs Blythe nodded slowly, the tightness of her mouth clearly showing her displeasure. Florence couldn’t understand what she must have done wrong and waited for the woman to speak.

  ‘Mrs Boot,’ she said, her narrow lips pursed. ‘I got your letter ’bout my Nellie. I wasn’t happy that she told you her news before me. It’s private and not to be shared with her betters. I’m ashamed of her, I don’t mind admitting that much. What makes it worse though is that you and, she tells me, Mr Boot knows about this.’

  ‘Mr Boot doesn’t know, Mrs Blythe,’ Florence assured her, aware that it wasn’t true, but knowing that there was no way Mrs Blythe could know that he did. She hoped her reassurance might help calm the woman a little. Florence could see why Nellie had been frightened to face her mother. She was a stern lady and looked most formidable. A young girl reliant on her for a home might well be worried to upset her. ‘And I made sure to speak to Nellie after everyone had left.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’ She studied her gnarled but immaculate hands.

  Florence suspected that Nellie hadn’t mentioned about Myra Ellis listening to their conversation and sharing it with others. She didn’t know whether to speak or wait for Nellie’s mother to continue. She watched as the woman decided what to say next and wondered how old she must be. Surely Mrs Blythe couldn’t be more than forty, or forty-five? She looked seventy though, with her wizened face and stooped shoulders. How much had this woman suffered, Florence mused. Yet she was like so many other women who had to find ways to feed and care for their children with little or no assistance from others.

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend you by speaking to Nellie or by writing to you, Mrs Blythe,’ Florence said, hoping to alleviate the woman’s annoyance at anything she had done.

  Mrs Blythe looked up. ‘I know you didn’t, Mrs Boot. I’m sure you thought by putting my daughter’s shame on paper that only I would see it.’

  Florence was shocked. ‘I’m sorry, did I do wrong?’

  Mrs Blythe straightened her shoulders. ‘Yes, although I’m sure you had the best intentions.’ Florence didn’t understand what could have happened. ‘It’s not your fault that I have a nasty, nosy neighbour, a Mrs Ellis.’ Florence gasped. Surely Myra wasn’t the neighbour to whom Mrs Blythe referred? Florence’s heart pounded as she waited to hear more.

  ‘Well, this time it wasn’t her what done it, but that spinster daughter of ’ers. Myra.’

  Florence hardly dared ask, but needed to know what had happened. ‘Myra Ellis is one of the staff members here, at Boots. What has she done?’

  ‘Mrs Boot, we don’t often get no mail,’ Mrs Blythe continued. ‘So when that busybody next door saw the postman coming our way, she pretended she was Nellie and took the letter intended for me.’

  Florence winced, unsure whether it was from the baby’s sudden kick or her horror at what had happened. ‘Please, go on.’

  ‘That little—’ Her face reddened, and she shook her head. ‘No, I can’t use such names in front of a lady like you, Mrs Boot, but, well, she opened your letter. Now that harridan has made it her business to make sure everyone in our street knows that our Nellie is in the family way.’

  Florence bit her lower lip, horrified to have made Nellie’s situation so much worse. Jesse had been right. She should have listened to him and taken his counsel instead of believing she knew better.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Blythe, I really am. I was only trying to make things better for Nellie when I wrote to you.’

  Mrs Blythe shook her head.

  Florence’s heart pounded. ‘Is there anything at all that I can do?’

  ‘No.’ Mrs Blythe stood and, holding her shawl tightly at the front, walked to the door. Then, turning to Florence, she added, ‘I know you meant well, Mrs Boot, truly I do. But with all due respect, you can’t know ’ow it is for the likes of us. Our lives aren’t like yours. Now everyone will know, and there’s no way my Nellie can be taken on at any of your other shops. That Myra Ellis will see to it that word spreads and she’s bound to make it her business to tell others working here about Nellie, too.’

  Florence walked over to join her. ‘I truly am very sorry for my part in this, Mrs Blythe,’ she said, aware that repeating her apology didn’t help Nellie, or her mother, at all.

  ‘I believe you are, Mrs Boot, and I know there was no ’arm meant. I just wanted you to know what’s ’appened, so you’ll know not to try finding work for Nellie at one of the other Boots branches.’

  The woman departed and Florence stared at the closed office door. How could she have been so stupid? With her clumsy attempt to play the good fairy, she had managed to make not only Nellie’s situation much worse, but also her entire family’s. Florence closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

  ‘I am such a fool,’ she said returning to sit at her desk and putting hands over her face. ‘Why couldn’t I leave well alone?’

  ‘Why, what have you done?’ Jesse asked closing the office door quietly. She gasped to see him there, unaware that he had walked in. ‘I was going to my office when I saw that woman leaving. Miss Tweed told me it was Nellie’s mother.’

  He walked to stand behind her and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and kissed her lightly on the head, before taking a seat opposite her.

  Florence shook her head, barely able to control her tears. ‘I’ve been such a fool, Jesse.’

  He crossed his arms. ‘You’re not a fool, Florence. You’re a kind woman, who has probably taken on too much. You’re exhausted and that’s what’s affected your judgement. Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s happened and maybe together we can find a way to make things right?’

  Florence cringed. ‘I’m not so certain that’s possible.’

  ‘You let me be the judge of that.’

  She explained everything that had happened, aware that there was no reason not to confide in Jesse about Nellie’s situation now that she had in effect found a way to announce it to the Blythes’ entire neighbourhood.

  He listened intently, not speaking until she had finished. ‘Ahh, I see.’

  ‘I thought I was helping the poor girl,’ she said, wishing she had never taken it upon herself to do something without first speaking to Jesse and making sure she was doing the right thing. Why had she been so foolish? ‘I’m so angry with myself. It’s frustrating seeing these girls suffer so much, when all they need is someone to care and help them in some way.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not how it turned out this time, is it?’

  Florence shook her head. ‘No.’ She gave him a pleading look. ‘What can I do to make things right? There must be something, isn’t there?’

  Jesse stared at her thoughtfully before shaking his head. ‘Not on this occasion, no. I think the best option is for you to do as Mrs Blythe requested and leave well alone.’

  Florence couldn’t stand to think that she had made such a mess of things. She stood up, panic-stricken, and paced back and forth behind her desk.

  Jesse got up and went to her. He took her by the shoulders to stop her. ‘Calm yourself, my dear. Upsetting yourself over this will help no one, least of all Nellie.’

  ‘But I must do something, Jesse. I can’t leave things as they are.’

  ‘You have no choice in this instance. All you can do, my darling, is to learn from this and mayb
e next time you wish to help someone, think things through from their perspective. Speak to me about it. I’ve lived here all my life; I’ve been that poor child who had to save their shoes so I had a decent pair to wear to chapel on Sundays. I’ll understand better than you how the communities around here work.’

  His words made sense. ‘I’ll do that,’ she agreed, hating to think of Jesse’s younger life being so much harder than hers had been.

  He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. ‘You’re trembling. Try not to worry too much. You are kind, that’s all. Maybe a little naïve. All you wanted to do was help. I’m sure Mrs Blythe knew that your actions came from a place of caring.’

  Florence thought so too. She also knew that whatever Jesse said, she would have to find a way to help Nellie somehow. The next time though, she would take much more care about how she did it.

  ‘First though, I’m going to have another word with Myra,’ Florence said, watching Jesse for his reaction. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think she’s gone too far, and I want to dismiss her. I don’t want someone as malicious as her working for Boots.’

  She waited for him to argue, but instead Jesse nodded. ‘I was going to suggest doing the very same thing.’

  Chapter 4

  February 1892

  Florence was busily checking through references for prospective new female employees when Jesse walked in carrying a large envelope and sporting a wide smile on his face.

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he announced proudly as he unwound the scarf from around his neck and dropped it on the edge of her desk. She sensed an underlying nervousness about him. ‘Here, read this.’ He withdrew a letter and held it out for her to take.

  His enthusiasm was infectious, and Florence couldn’t help grinning. She enjoyed it when Jesse was excited about a new project and suspected that he had probably already signed for whatever it was he was about to show her. She just hoped she was as happy with it as he seemed to be.