The Shop Girls of Harpers

by Rosie Clarke

  The Shop Girls of Harpers

  Rosie Clarke

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  More from Rosie Clarke

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  1

  Beth took a deep breath as she crept past her aunt’s front parlour that sunny but cold morning in March 1912, but the harsh voice stopped her before she could reach the back door. She sighed and went to the parlour door, where Aunt Helen was busy at her sewing machine, her left foot working the black metal treadle in a steady rhythm.

  ‘Let me look at your shoes before you go,’ her aunt commanded without looking up. Beth smothered her anger, her blue-green eyes smouldering with suppressed passion. She was a woman, not a careless child, and would hardly leave for such an important appointment with dirty shoes. They were smart shoes that fastened with two buttons at the side and made of black leather, which shone so she could see her reflection in them

  ‘I spent ages on them last night,’ Beth said. She stood where her aunt could see her in her neat grey ankle length skirt, white blouse and darker grey jacket that nipped in at her slim waist. Her thick pale tresses were swept up neatly at the back of her head and she wore a black velvet hat that shaded her face and hid her hair. She carried black gloves to match her highly polished shoes. The colour did nothing for her pale complexion, but Beth had not yet ceased mourning her mother, who had died less than four months earlier. Besides, she would be expected to wear grey or black for work, or perhaps a uniform.

  ‘You look washed out, girl,’ Aunt Helen frowned, ‘but I suppose you can’t help that. You will merely be a salesgirl, so I dare say it does not matter.’ She removed her sewing from the machine and snipped the thread with a small pair of fancy silver-plated scissors. ‘Come straight back when your interview is over.’ She looked at Beth over the glasses she wore for her sewing.

  ‘Yes, Aunt,’ Beth replied meekly, though inside resentment stirred once more.

  She was almost two and twenty and this was the first time she’d had to apply for a commercial situation. Beth’s mother, Jessie Grey, had been an invalid for most of the past ten years, since her husband died of a terrible fever. Mr Grey had been a brilliant doctor and their lifestyle had been comfortable, though after his death the money had been tight. When Jessie Grey’s inherited income died with her, Beth was left with very little. The news that her mother’s few possessions would be sold to pay their debts meant Beth was forced to accept an offer to live with her aunt, whom she knew through her infrequent visits over the years, though she sensed her aunt’s resentment and wondered at it. She could only think that Aunt Helen resented the fact that for a while Jessie had been loved and happy, while she had never married.

  ‘But why did she never tell me we lived beyond our means?’ Beth had asked her aunt when the solicitor had told them the awful news. The inheritance in her mother’s name was finished and nothing was left for Beth. ‘I could have perhaps worked…’

  ‘Jess was ever a little fool,’ Aunt Helen had said sharply. ‘She might have married anyone with her looks and background, but she chose a doctor who devoted his life to the poor and consequently left her nothing but a few pounds. Your mother lived off what our father left her and never thought of the future. You may live with me, but you must find work for I cannot feed and clothe you.’

  ‘I am perfectly happy to work, Aunt,’ Beth had said proudly, but unfortunately thus far she had not been able to find a suitable job. She was properly brought up and from a decent family, which meant she could not work in an inn or a factory. Aunt Helen thought she ought to look for work as a lady’s companion but, although Beth had applied for two such positions, she had not been lucky enough to be chosen from amongst the many applicants.

  ‘Well, I do not know why you were not chosen,’ her aunt had grumbled when she was told Beth had not been selected. ‘You’ve looked after an invalid mother for years and are capable of running after an old woman, I imagine.’

  ‘Lady Vera said she wanted someone with experience and Mrs Thompson said I was too attractive, because she has sons…’

  ‘Tush!’ Aunt Helen had looked disgusted, for it was obviously unfair. ‘Well, you must work, Beth – we shall look through the newspaper this Friday and see what is advertised…’

  The large advert wanting staff for the new department store in what Aunt Helen said was the wrong end of Oxford Street took up half a page of the local paper. There were all kinds of positions on offer, including cleaners, office staff, as well as a floor walker, salesgirls and supervisors. The advert made it clear that Harpers was to be a prestigious store, set over four floors, with lifts, a café on the top floor and, it said, merchandise to rival anything in London.

  ‘It says here that training will be given,’ Beth had read aloud. ‘We are invited to write an application for an interview…’

  ‘Shop girl…’ Her aunt’s mouth had twisted in disapproval. ‘I must say that I never expected my niece would work as a common shop girl…’

  ‘I don’t think it is a common shop,’ Beth replied. ‘Harpers is to be a prestigious store.’

  ‘Your grandmother would’ve died of the shame,’ declared her aunt dramatically. ‘She was the daughter of a gentleman. Your great-grandfather was Sir James Mynott and you should remember that, even if grandmamma did let the side down by marrying into trade…’ She had sighed deeply. ‘If your mother had put a little by for you, you might have been saved the indignity of having to work – but she never had an ounce of sense.’

  ‘Mama was ill.’ Beth had defended her mother loyally. ‘She suffered from terrible headaches and I dare say it was all too much for her after Papa died.’

  That discussion had taken place more than a week previously. Beth had written in answer to the advertisement and received an appointment to attend promptly.

  The interviews were being held that morning at a small hotel just off Berwick Street, which veered off Oxford Street itself. The Malmsey Hotel was normally frequented by travelling salesmen and businessmen who stayed in London for a few nights before moving on. However, it boasted a large conference room. When Beth arrived, she was told to take one of the hard wooden seats in the conference room, which had been divided by various screens to give a little privacy.

  Perching on the edge of her seat, Beth glanced round nervously, because nearly all the chairs were occupied. So many girls, men and older women had turned up that her heart sank. It was hardly likely that a girl of no experience would be given a job when there were so many applicants.

  ‘Am I late?’ a cheerful voice asked Beth and a very pretty girl with reddish-brown hair, a red felt hat and a red-flecked tweed coat sat down next to her. Beth noticed that she wore a faint trace of lip col
our and her hair was naturally waved down to her nape with a fringe that curled over her forehead. ‘I’m Sally Ross,’ she said and offered Beth her hand. ‘I’ve worked in Selfridges and in Woolworth’s, an’ all – what about you, love?’

  ‘I’m Beth Grey and this is the first time I’ve applied for a job in a shop,’ Beth replied. Somehow, Sally’s smile was making her feel less nervous. ‘After Papa died, Mama was ill and I looked after her until she died a few months ago… since then I’ve done nothing but help my aunt in the house.’

  ‘Rotten luck,’ Sally said and reached across to squeeze her hand. ‘I never knew either me dad or me ma. I was brought up in an orphanage until I was sixteen and they kicked me out. I’ve been livin’ in an ’ostel for the last two and a ’alf years. I ’ad to fend fer meself…’

  ‘That’s even worse,’ Beth said, horrified. ‘I had to live with my aunt when Mama died. She lives in Holborn, so it won’t be a long bus ride for me if I get a job…’ She paused, sighing as she thought she’d been happier in her father’s little house in Clerkenwell than her aunt’s, even with her mother an invalid for years, and her sudden heart attack had devastated her. Sally grinned as her name was called. ‘Oh, that’s you…’

  ‘Yeah, only just made it,’ Sally chirped and got up to follow the thin, rather sour-faced woman, dressed in severe black, towards the screens. As they disappeared behind them, Beth saw a girl of perhaps sixteen looking at her from two seats down.

  ‘I’ve been here ages,’ the girl said and looked nervously towards the screens. ‘They haven’t called me yet…’

  ‘Is it your first job, too?’

  ‘Yes… I’m Margaret Gibbs, but everyone calls me Maggie,’ the young woman said. ‘My father wanted me to stay on at school and become a teacher, but…’ She took a sobbing breath. ‘He had an accident at work last month and is confined to bed. The doctor says he may never walk again and Muma can’t manage without his wage.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I know how it feels to see someone in pain…’

  ‘It’s awful…’ Maggie’s eyes flicked nervously towards the screens again. ‘I hope they give me something. I don’t mind what I do…’

  ‘Yes, I feel the same. It’s all so exciting. The papers say the new owner is American, very rich and handsome. I’ve been up to see the store, have you?’

  Maggie nodded. Her dark brown hair was swept up at the back in a neat roll and drawn back from her face, but the wisps that escaped curled in her nape and about her pretty face.

  ‘It has blinds on all the windows so you can’t see inside, but I think it will be lovely – almost as good as Selfridges or Harrods, though not as big as Harrods…’

  The new store was set at the other end of Oxford Street to Selfridges and just up from Soho Square, a fact that had made Aunt Helen look down her nose and warn Beth never to stray into what she described as a disreputable area, because ladies of an unsavoury nature walked there. She had decided to overlook it in the end because Beth need never venture there. She would come home straight after work on the bus and eat her packed lunch in the staffroom.

  ‘Oh, that is exciting,’ Maggie said but looked even more nervous as she realised the importance of the store. ‘There are so many people here. I’m sure there are far more than is needed, so I’ll be lucky to get anything, though I’d love to work with clothes or hats…’

  ‘Oh, I think they want junior staff as well,’ Beth reassured her. ‘You’ve got a nice voice and manner and I’m sure that’s half the battle with a store like Harpers. I think it’s a matter of always being polite and respectful to the customers. I hate it when assistants hover over you and try to influence your choice.’

  ‘Oh, yes, so do I…’

  ‘Miss Margaret Gibbs please…’ A man with slicked-back dark hair, slightly greying at the sides, called Maggie’s name and, with a nervous look at Beth, she stood up, straightened her narrow ankle length skirt and followed him behind one of the screens

  Beth twisted her gloves nervously. Maggie wanted to work with clothes or hats, but she just wanted a job. Her mouth was dry and she had butterflies in her stomach. Aunt Helen would be annoyed if she failed again.

  She saw Sally Ross emerge from behind one of the screens. A big smile was on her face and she gave Beth a ‘thumbs up’ as she passed her and whispered, ‘I’m in – good luck…’

  Beth nodded, but her mouth was too dry to speak She watched several men go behind the screen at the far end and two older women and then the severe-looking woman came back and called her name.

  Beth rose to her feet and followed her behind the middle screen. Her stomach was tying itself in knots as she wondered what to say and do. The woman sat down behind a desk, but there was no chair and Beth was not invited to sit.

  ‘You are Miss Beth Grey?’ The woman’s eyes went over her critically as if seeking a fault.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Beth’s voice croaked with nerves.

  ‘I am Miss Glynis Hart,’ the woman said. ‘I shall be the floor walker for the women’s department and the ground floor at Harpers. It is a position of responsibility and that is why I’ve been asked to help select the staff. We are looking for young women to work in one of several departments.’ She looked at the letter in her hand. ‘You have no experience of shop work, I see. What made you think you would like to work for us, Miss Grey?’

  ‘I need to find a position and I thought it would be a good place to work…’

  ‘No doubt a hundred others thought the same.’ Miss Hart’s voice was sharp and stinging. ‘You do realise that this is a prestigious store? We expect our girls to be bright, hard-working and a credit to Harpers! To work here is a privilege and every young woman taken on must be aware of it. Why should we take you on rather than a dozen others?’

  ‘I suppose there is no reason,’ Beth said honestly. ‘I can only say that I should be grateful and work hard for my employer. I believe I learn quickly and I can add up swiftly and accurately – and I have patience…’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ Miss Hart’s eyes narrowed. ‘That in itself is very necessary when serving customers, some of whom may be difficult. One thing you must remember, the customer is always right as far as you are concerned. If their complaint is beyond your level it will be taken to your supervisor, then the floor walker, which is me, and then the manager, should it be serious enough.’ She eyed Beth up and down and nodded again. ‘Well, you are nicely spoken, neat, clean and honest. Training will be given and experience is not always necessary. I shall put you on my list of possible candidates and Mr Stockbridge, the manager, will make the final decision.’

  ‘Oh… thank you,’ Beth said, dispirited. She turned to leave.

  ‘You will have your letter in two days, Miss Grey – and, if accepted, you must report to the store for training the following day. All those fortunate enough to receive a place at Harpers will receive three days training and then the next day will be spent preparing the stock for the opening…’

  ‘Yes, I see, thank you,’ Beth said, then, drawing more courage, ‘What would I be doing if accepted, Miss Hart – and what is the wage?’

  ‘That is not my decision,’ she replied primly. ‘I am here to pass on details of suitable applicants. The details of employment offered will be in your letter. Good day now…’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Hart,’ Beth said and turned to leave. As she did so, she almost collided with Maggie, who had come from behind a screen further down. She was smiling and looking pleased with herself.

  ‘Hello again,’ she said and sounded excited. ‘I’ve been given the job of junior salesgirl. I’m going to sell hats… or at least help Mrs Craven. I will keep things tidy and assist – and they will pay me six shillings a week to start…’

  ‘Oh, lucky you,’ Beth said and wondered why she had not been immediately selected. It was worrying that both Maggie and Sally had been taken on straight away but perhaps they’d seen a senior member of staff, above Miss Hart’s level. ‘I have to wait to
see if I am selected, I am on a list…’

  ‘Good luck,’ Maggie said and smiled warmly. ‘I hope you get it…’

  Beth nodded, her eyes drawn to a woman in a smart black costume as she came from behind one of the screens. The good-looking man with slicked back hair was smiling at her and talking animatedly and she looked pleased. The things that made her stand out from so many others were the red felt hat with lots of veiling she wore on her dark honey-blonde hair and shiny black patent court shoes, with big buckles. She looked as if she came from a better-class family and the man’s eyes followed her as she walked from the interview room. Clearly, he was taken with her, and Beth momentarily wondered who she was as she emerged in to the cool of a damp spring morning, caught her bus to the corner of High Holborn and began to walk home, feeling apprehensive.

  Beth sighed because it had started to drizzle with rain as she began to walk past the local shops. Mr Rushden, the local butcher, had a queue outside his door. His assistant, Andy, was taking something from the window and waved at her, bringing a blush to her cheeks. He always talked to her and smiled a lot when she went into buy their weekly purchases, mostly braising or stewing meat, bacon, ham and either a small chicken or some chops at the weekend. If his boss wasn’t looking, he always gave her good value for money, which was why Aunt Helen frequently sent her shopping.

  Beth smiled but did not wave, because, as her aunt would say, it was not ladylike. Grandmother had come from gentry, so Beth had been told many times. She’d married a haberdasher, who was successful for many years until he became ill and his business dwindled away. He’d left both daughters a small inheritance that was secured to them by means of a trust for their lifetimes but unfortunately died with them. Aunt Helen had never married, supplementing her slender income with the genteel art of sewing for ladies of breeding. Beth did not know why her aunt had never married, though she believed her grandfather might have had something to do with it, expecting his elder daughter to stay at home and look after him. It would explain why she so resented her sister’s marriage. She was strict, sometimes cold, but at least she’d made sure that Jessie was decently buried and she’d given her niece a home. Beth had hoped they might be friends, but her aunt was a difficult woman to get close to; however, she was grateful and wanted to be able to pay her way.