London Lodgings

by Claire Rayner

  Tilly was deflated. She had been feeling so very much the woman in charge all morning and now this boy, who looked himself to be only about fifteen or so, had brought her smartly down to earth. She tried to overcome her sudden lack of confidence by being particularly lofty.

  ‘I am Mrs Quentin,’ she said loudly, ‘of Brompton Grove. Number seventeen. I have come to deal with my account.’

  There was a little flurry at the back of the dim shop and another figure appeared, a much older one, but clearly the parent of the boy behind the counter, for the likeness was strong. He had a high forehead, for his hair had receded considerably, where the boy had a short curly mop, and a tight rat-trap of a mouth which the boy would clearly have one day. But his eyes were friendly enough and he pushed his son aside and said smoothly, ‘Mrs Quentin? Your account, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Mr – ah – I thought this was Burdon’s, but –’

  ‘No, Madam. It was Mr Burdon’s shop until recently – but he – he had difficulties. I have taken over this establishment since I had long been supplying him with his highly superior goods. I am Charles Harrod, Ma’am, at your service.’

  ‘Well, good morning, Mr Harrod. I suppose then my account is with you.’

  ‘If you say so, Ma’am, though I have to say the name is not familiar.’ He was being very careful and for a moment she was tempted to turn and run. He did not know her name, so perhaps when Mr Burdon left he tore up the accounts outstanding? But that was a ridiculous idea and she bit her lip, realizing just in time why Mr Harrod did not know her name.

  ‘It will be in the name of my father, I dare say, with whom I and my husband reside,’ she said. ‘Mr Austen Kingsley.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Mr Harrod, and his mouth seemed tighter than ever. ‘Mr Kingsley, yes. I know that name.’ And he reached beneath his counter and pulled up a large ledger.

  ‘I know,’ Tilly said, trying not to sound apologetic, ‘there is a large sum outstanding. We have just discovered the peccadilloes of our servant and I am here to put matters right. If I might have a chair, if you please, Mr Harrod.’

  He was all punctiliousness at once. ‘Charlie! What are you thinking of? Get the lady a chair. Now, Mrs – ah – Quentin.’

  Once again she settled to bickering over a bill, only this time she was trying to cut the sums involved rather than increase them. It took a long time and much discussion of the quality of the tea, in particular, which had been supplied, but eventually they achieved agreement. She reached into her reticule and counted out four of her precious sovereigns and Mr Harrod, looking decidely pleased with himself, went away to fetch change for her. And, Tilly thought privately, to check on the weight of the sovereigns to make sure he was not being cheated in any way.

  The boy Charlie, who had been serving other customers in between putting orders together in neat piles on the counter, came and lounged near her and looked at her with wide bright eyes.

  ‘You really Mrs Quentin, then?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ she said with great dignity. ‘I would hardly say so if I were not.’

  ‘You don’t look to be no older than me,’ the boy said. ‘Fifteen – too young to be wed.’

  She bridled. ‘You’re very impertinent!’

  ‘Ain’t I though? It’s what boys is supposed to be.’

  ‘You are also very vulgar.’ Tilly glared at him. ‘To speak in so common a manner.’

  ‘Oh, such humbug!’ the boy replied and laughed. ‘I only do it to annoy the old man. I can speak as well as any gentleman, Ma’am, I do assure you, when it suits me so to do.’ And his accent was indeed a perfectly respectable one now.

  ‘Then why do you speak badly otherwise?’

  ‘I told you. To annoy m’ father.’

  ‘That is not an agreeable trait in a young person,’ she said reprovingly.

  ‘I know.’ He grinned widely. ‘But it’s good for him. Keeps him on his toes. I keep telling him what I’ll do when I run the business and he goes mad at me – says I’ll find out the hard way.’

  She was shocked. ‘It is most improper to speak about inheriting your father’s business, for it is like speaking of the time when he will be dead. It is quite –’

  ‘Oh, pooh. I’ve said nothing about him dying. I hope for a good long life for he and my revered Mamma! I just think he should let me have this business to run while he spends his time in Eastcheap. He has a City place, you see. He only has this because old Burdon couldn’t pay his debts to the old man, who was his supplier, do you see, and Burdon ran up debts as a mouse runs up a clock. When he was in well over his head the old man took over this shop to put him out of his misery. And it’s high time he gave it to me to put me out of mine. He is so old-fashioned, and I have so many better ideas than he has. But he won’t.’ He glowered over his shoulder at the darkness into which Mr Harrod had vanished. ‘Says I have to earn it.’

  ‘And quite right too!’ Tilly said, positively scandalized at the boy’s casual chatter of such intimate family matters. ‘It is the outside of enough to speak as you have to a total stranger.’

  ‘Oh, well, as to that,’ the boy said, looking for the first time a little shamefaced. ‘I’ve had a bad morning with him. His eyes are everywhere and I get no peace to do ought myself. And you look a friendly person – I thought you no more than my own age, to tell the truth. I still think –’

  ‘I am fully eighteen!’ Tilly said hotly and the boy lifted his brows at her.

  ‘So much?’ he said and laughed loudly, and she crimsoned with embarrassment and anger. But had no chance to retaliate.

  ‘Charlie! Are those orders ready to go yet? Here’s young Arthur more than ready to go and no work for him to be doing! Be about it now.’

  The boy Charlie grimaced and then threw a wide smile at Tilly and in spite of her anger she found herself smiling back. He was a very beguiling young ruffian, she thought as she took the silver and pence Mr Harrod was carefully counting into her gloved palm. His father could do worse than let him spend more time with customers, after all.

  She stopped as she was stowing away her change and then said with an air of casualness, ‘Now, as to the future, Mr Harrod.’

  ‘We shall of course be glad to continue to serve you to the best of our ability, Madam,’ Mr Harrod said smoothly, and came out from behind the counter to lead the way to the door of the shop. ‘Just see to it that your cook or butler, or whoever it may be, sends your order in in the usual way.’

  ‘I shall not be sending a servant with the orders in future, Mr Harrod,’ she said. ‘I am not happy to allow so important a duty to be taken from my hands. I know it is common practice for shops to – ah – allow certain leeway to those who bring in the order. If this is to be done I do not see that it is only servants who should benefit. I shall myself decide all we need.’

  Mr Harrod lifted his brows at her, and was clearly not impressed. His expression said that in his considerable experience, no lady of class would ever so demean herself as to do her own domestic shopping, but Tilly was not at all affected by the unspoken disapproval.

  ‘I intend to pay my way as I go, Mr Harrod. I wish not to run up such huge bills again. I do not regard this as good practice.’

  ‘Very commendable, Ma’am, though I do assure you that it is of no consequence to us if you –’

  ‘Ah! No doubt it isn’t,’ Tilly said. ‘I dare say you arrange in the pricing of your goods an allowance for any delay in paying.’ Tilly had not grown up in her father’s house without learning something of the way business was conducted. She had heard about discounts in his rantings at her mother from a very early age, and had discovered about interest and payment-at-a-premium from the same source. Now she had every intention of putting her knowledge to work. ‘It seems to me, Mr Harrod, that if that is indeed so, I should be charged a lower price for goods for which I pay immediately. Don’t you?’

  He looked quite horrified at the idea and opened his eyes wide at her, and behind him Charlie laughed and
said, ‘Now, there’s a new way to do business, Pa! What do you say to that?’

  ‘I say hold your tongue,’ the older man snapped and then turned back to Tilly. ‘Well, Ma’am, it’s a different way of doing business, I do grant you. But if you’ll forgive me for knowing my own business best, I have to say – no. I don’t think that would be a good plan at all.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Harrod,’ she said serenely. ‘I shall go then. I dare say Mr Jobbins across the way will be interested in my suggestion. Good morning, Mr Harrod. And good morning to you, Master Harrod.’

  And she went, feeling the older man’s eyes on her back as she crossed the adjoining passageway and went straight into Mr Jobbins’s shop. Tilly was pleased at the way she had handled what might have been an awkward situation and she enjoyed the sudden hoot of laughter she heard coming from the back of Mr Harrod’s shop almost as much as she enjoyed the almost equally sudden sound of a hard hand landing on human flesh that silenced it. That impertinent boy, she thought, has a lot to learn, indeed he has. And so has his father.

  Chapter Seven

  TILLY MOVED AROUND the table as quickly as she could, setting plates and knives and cups just so, taking a real pleasure in making it all look agreeable, though she wasn’t feeling too agreeable herself. She had woken with a dry mouth which was filled with a metallic taste, hot puffy eyes and a head which ached in a dull heavy fashion, all of which made her feel queasy. Not surprising, she thought miserably, remembering all too vividly what had happened last night.

  Frank had come in late, and she had woken suddenly as he set his lamp on her bedside table and blinked to see him grinning at her. He was dishevelled, with his cravat untied and his shirt crumpled, but he had clearly made some effort to look pleasing to her, for his hair was smoothed down with pomade, and he had anointed himself with bay-rum; she could smell it, mixing queasily with the reek of brandy which was always a part of him these days.

  ‘Hello, little wife,’ he said thickly. ‘Time we were friendly, ain’t it? Can’t go on always arguin’, can we? Got to be friends. The fellows all say it – got to make friends with the little lady or she won’t play nice games. Le’s be friendly, Tilly, eh? Nice ’n’ friendly.’

  He lurched forwards a step and still she stared up at him, wide-eyed and mesmerized, as thoughts jostled and flashed in her head: he’s been talking to his friends about me. He’s told other people about what happens in our bed. He’s only being nice to me because he wants to use me, and his friends have told him this is the best way to beguile me. We might as well couple in the street for all to see, for that is how it would feel, knowing he has discussed me with others.

  It had been extraordinary. She had not stopped to think, had not attempted to control her response at all. She just opened her mouth and screamed, and he had looked startled and then angry and had leaned over and clumsily put one hand over her mouth. No doubt, she thought drearily now as she polished each spoon before setting it in its place, he’d meant only to stop my noise, but all he’d done of course had been to increase the great wave of fear that had come up and which had prompted the scream in the first place.

  She had started to fight then, too, kicking and flailing, and had caught him a sharp blow over one cheek-bone. Her wrist still ached a little at the point of impact, and she imagined he’d found it quite uncomfortable too. He’d gone on trying to control her, but he’d failed, pulling back at last from the bedside, and she’d been out of it like a bullet, pushing him and shouting at him until she had him out of the bedroom and into his dressing-room with the door locked against him.

  He had thumped on the door several times, shouting at her to unlock it at once, but she had leaned on the panels, catching her breath and doing nothing, and at last he had thrown himself down on his couch and gone to sleep, and she had crept back to her bed, shaking and feeling sick and miserable.

  She’d slept at last, of course, but was it any wonder she’d woken feeling poorly? None at all, she decided, and went on setting the breakfast table. Eliza would be in soon with the coffee and toast and the hot dishes, and the least she could do was be ready for her.

  The girl was really a wonder, the best help she could possibly be, and deserved all the consideration Tilly could give her. She had been completely open with Eliza about the situation in which she found herself; she had told her baldly of the deception that had been used on her and her mother: ‘For we cannot provide an apprenticeship here and indeed I know of no system of paid apprenticeship for domestic service. If a girl is hard-working and thoughtful of her employer, she may rise by her own efforts and ultimately indeed become an upper servant in an important house, but we cannot provide more than employment as a general maid of all work,’ she had told the girl, ‘for which you should be properly paid. The common rate at present for those in your position is some ten pounds per annum, but I tell you frankly, Eliza, I am not able to pay you so much. So, you had best go home to your mother and tell her I bitterly regret the way she was cheated but that it was none of my family that are to blame.’

  She had bitten her lip, aware of being mendacious, for surely her father was very much to blame for keeping Mrs Leander on such short commons, for though she felt no respect for Mrs Leander she could not deny she had been put in a most difficult position by Austen Kingsley.

  Eliza had responded without a moment’s hesitation, smoothing her chapped red hands over her grubby apron and bobbing at the knees. ‘Please, Missus, it don’t matter none to me. I dare say it was wrong of that Mrs Leander to tell my Ma such lies, but bless you, Missus, my Ma was no better givin’ of the money than Mrs Leander was for taken’ of it, for wasn’t I her own child? It was no way to treat me, Missus, and so I say to any as asks me, no matter what respect’s due to a mother. I know she’s got all the little ones to think of, but all the same she didn’t have to send me to such misery as she did. But I ain’t miserable now, M’m, with you to answer to and that Mrs Leander gone, so to speak, so I’m suited well enough. I get my victuals and I’ve no doubt you’ll find me what I need if I comes and tells you. So I’ll stay as I am for the present, please, Missus.’ And she had smiled and bobbed and gone back to cleaning the kitchen, a task which was badly needed and which Mrs Cashman had totally ignored while she had been part of the household.

  Tilly had wept a little in the privacy of the morning room, for the girl’s trust and honesty had been very touching. Then she had gone and told her she would try somehow to find wages for her, though she could not at present say how much, and that she was glad to have her help and would teach her all she could‘– or rather,’ she added candidly, ‘as much as I am able to learn myself. I have not been reared to the proper way of running a house, for my own Mamma has been – well, ill, for so long that she could not. But I am able to discover ways to do things and I am learning fast. All I learn you shall learn too, I promise you. Together, no doubt, we can become a good enough plain cook. If that will please you.’

  Eliza had gone pink with pleasure and said eagerly, ‘Oh, yes Missus. I’ve always wanted to know how to cook proper. Not the pot herbs and bones my Ma does, for it’s all she can get, but real cooking. I’ve seen in the village at home, you know, the dishes they send down to the old and the sick from the big house, and some of them looks very good and the taste – well, you’d never guess how good, Missus. So if you can learn me to cook I’ll be very set up with myself –’ And she had gone on with her scrubbing in a positively light-hearted manner.

  Now, therefore, it was important to be ready for Eliza, for she had learned already how to fry the bacon so that the rashers were cooked through, and the fat properly melted and crisped, and how to make sure the toast was evenly brown, none of it easy on an old-fashioned open fire. Tilly and Eliza agreed that a proper iron range would be a treasure in the kitchen, but Tilly had to shake her head regretfully and say that there was no possibility of such modern gewgaws in Brompton Grove. So Eliza had set to work learning how to handle a frying pan over o
pen coals, and had learned it very well indeed. There were no eggs to be cooked this morning, for Tilly had decided that it was wasteful to provide the whole range of breakfast hot dishes in the usual way; her budget could not permit it. Eggs could be offered, she had told Eliza, on alternate days, and if the gentlemen object, ‘Well,’ Tilly said with rather more courage than she actually felt, ‘We shall have to explain to them.’

  The door was pushed open and she looked up, ready to go to help Eliza, but it was her father who stood there glowering at her.

  ‘And what was all that noise about last night, Madam?’ he said. ‘I heard you at the top of the house beyond two pairs of closed doors! Caterwauling fit for a guttersnipe – did I not tell you to mind your manners with your husband?’

  ‘I was dreaming, Papa,’ she said quickly. ‘I cried out in my sleep. I am sorry if you heard me.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ Austen said. ‘I should think they could hear you as far as Kensington. Where’s m’ breakfast?’

  ‘It is coming, Papa.’ She swallowed. ‘There is bacon and toast and coffee –’

  ‘Eh?’ He peered up at her over the newspaper which he had fetched with him from the hall. ‘Of course there is, woman!’

  ‘– but no eggs. Or sausages. Or cold dishes,’ Tilly went on. ‘I am afraid I am not able on the present level of money in my purse to provide that –’

  ‘Eh?’ he said again and stared at her nonplussed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You told me there was no money, Papa,’ she said steadily. ‘So I must manage on very short commons. I must know, however, what allowance I shall have for the running of the house.’

  He glared at her and then behind him the door opened again and Eliza appeared, flushed, untidy and with her apron a little smeared with splashed bacon fat, bearing a heavy tray with a covered dish and several pots and a toast rack on it. Tilly hurried to help her unload it and fetched the coffee pot to her father and filled a cup for him as quickly as she could.