by Dilly Court
She followed him into the warehouse and the smell of the tropics took her instantly back to the heady days in Bali. She felt her throat constrict as she saw the carved teakwood furniture from Indonesia and the bolts of exotic silks from Asia. Umbrella stands spilled over with hand-painted paper parasols from China and the bare brick walls were adorned with tiger-skin rugs from India. Their glass eyes winked at her as she walked past them to meet Jeremiah, who appeared to be idling amongst a collection of smiling, fat-bellied pottery representations of Buddha.
Jeremiah had always been chubby but now his shape was so much like that of the statues surrounding him that she had to stifle a giggle. Somehow she managed to keep a straight face and she raised her chin, meeting his curious look with a slight inclination of her head.
‘This is the young person, sir,’ Perks said deferentially.
‘Yes, thank you, Perks. I can see that,’ Jeremiah said irritably. ‘Go back to the front office and get on with your work.’
Perks accepted this implied rebuke with sagging shoulders and shuffled away, leaving Lucetta to face her cousin. She would have known Jeremiah anywhere, but thankfully there was no reciprocal spark of recognition in his pale eyes which reminded her of river water on a dull day.
She waited for him to speak.
He looked her up and down from the green-tinged black bonnet, which she had bought for a penny in a dolly shop, to the tip of her dusty boots visible beneath the muddy hem of her once elegant skirt. ‘Perks tells me that you are looking for work. Tell me why I should even speak to you, let alone employ a woman who looks as though she would be better suited to scrubbing floors.’
‘I will scrub floors if that is what you require of me,’ Lucetta replied evenly. ‘But it would be a waste of my talent as a letter writer and my experience gained whilst working for a well-respected Member of Parliament.’
Jeremiah curled his lip. ‘And who might he be when he’s at home?’
‘I cannot reveal my former employer’s identity. It is an official secret and my work was most confidential.’
‘Why should I believe you? And if it is true, then why are you here in Wapping instead of peddling your talents in Whitehall?’
Lucetta thought quickly. ‘I have an invalid father to keep and my family have fallen on hard times.’
‘What a sad story,’ Jeremiah said with a sarcastic snarl. ‘Stop wasting my time and go away. Get out before I call one of my porters to throw you out.’
Chapter Nineteen
Lucetta shook her head, refusing to move even though he had taken a threatening step towards her. ‘You would find my services indispensable, sir. I am familiar with this type of merchandise and I have some knowledge of import and export laws. I can write in a fair hand, and …’ she paused, trying to think of something that would appeal to Jeremiah’s ambitious nature, ‘and I very much doubt if any of the other merchants in Wapping can boast of employing a personal secretary.’
A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. ‘You may have a point there, I suppose.’
Lucetta pushed home her advantage. ‘I know the names of the government ministers who deal with matters that concern you, Mr Froy. You might need their assistance at some time in the future.’
‘You could be useful at that, but I want to see your references. You can’t expect me to hire you without proof that what you have told me is true.’
‘I’m afraid they were lost in the fire that destroyed our home,’ Lucetta lied glibly. ‘But I can write to my former employer and request a copy, although he is away in his constituency at the moment and it might take a little time to receive a reply. Might I suggest you start me on a trial basis? I can begin right away.’
‘I should consult my father, but he is out of the country. I suppose a week’s trial would be appropriate and I won’t hesitate to sack you if you don’t come up to expectations.’
Lucetta crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I understand perfectly.’
‘And you can’t work for me looking like a scarecrow. It won’t do.’
‘As I mentioned, sir, everything was destroyed in the fire. I will not be able to purchase new clothes until I receive my wages.’
Jeremiah scowled at her and when she did not weaken beneath his fierce gaze he put his hand in his pocket and took out a silver crown. He tossed it to her with a careless flip of his fat fingers. ‘There, never let it be said that Jeremiah Froy is a mean man or a bad employer. Get yourself something decent to wear and I want you back here to begin work at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Leave your address with Perks and if you renege on our agreement I will make you very sorry. Now go away, I’m busy.’
Lucetta walked home in a daze of mixed emotions. She was relieved to have found work but she could hardly believe that she had accepted a job from Jeremiah of all people. It might prove to be the most foolhardy thing she had ever done, and yet there was a small part of her that was comforted at the thought of being back in familiar surroundings. Even in the short space of time she had spent in the warehouse she had felt closer to her father than she had since the night of the shipwreck.
She stopped outside a dilapidated dolly shop with second-hand clothes hanging from nails hammered into the door and window frames. A slatternly woman with yellow snuff stains on her top lip gave her an appraising glance. ‘Need some new duds, dearie? You won’t get better bargains in the whole of Wapping than you will here.’
Lucetta fingered a navy-blue serge skirt that looked as if it was about her size. ‘How much for this?’
The woman put her head on one side, eyeing Lucetta with beady-bright eyes and her thin lips moved as if she were mentally calculating how much her prospective customer could afford. ‘A shilling to you, ducks.’
‘That’s too dear.’ Lucetta examined the material closely. ‘There’s a moth hole and the seam is coming apart.’
‘Ninepence then.’
‘I’ve seen another one just the same in Petticoat Lane for sixpence,’ Lucetta said, shaking her head. She plucked a grey cotton blouse with white collar and cuffs from its hook. ‘A shilling for both items.’
The woman held out a grimy hand. ‘Let’s see the colour of your money then.’
Lucetta grasped the coin between her thumb and forefinger. She was loth to part with any of it, but she had no choice. ‘I’ll need four shillings change.’
‘Are you suggesting that I ain’t got that much?’ The woman produced a handful of coins from her skirt pocket and counted them out one by one.
The shopkeeper obviously considered she had done a good deal and Lucetta walked away feeling that she had obtained a bargain. She spent another tenpence on bread, cheese, milk, tea, and as a special treat for Guthrie, who had a sweet tooth and loved his tea sweet and strong, she added a half-pound of sugar to her purchases.
When she arrived back in Black Raven Court she found him sprawled on his bed with his mouth open and loud snores shaking his whole body. A large black cockroach crawled across his forehead and Lucetta flicked it off with the tip of her finger.
‘Wake up, Lennie. I’ve got some good news at last.’
He opened his eyes, staring at her blearily as he raised himself on one elbow. ‘I weren’t asleep, honest. I was just resting me eyes.’
She smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter. You need your rest and I’ll soon get the fire going. I’ve found a job and my new employer gave me an advance. We’ll have a cup of tea as soon as the kettle boils, and there is bread and cheese for supper.’
Guthrie sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘I dunno why you’re so good to me, Lucy. I ain’t forgot that we held you prisoner in this very room.’
‘And I haven’t forgotten how you helped me to escape from Stranks. We’re friends now and we look after each other.’ She gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before turning her attention to the serious business of relighting the fire. It had not gone out completely and she added the last few lumps of coa
l, fanning it into flame with a pair of bellows that Guthrie had rescued from a rubbish heap. She placed the kettle on the hob. ‘There, we’ll have a nice hot cup of tea in no time at all.’
Guthrie sat watching her as she sliced the loaf and cut slivers of Cheddar cheese to make a sandwich.
‘I got to find work too,’ he said slowly. ‘You wasn’t brung up to toil like a common person. You should be one of them ladies walking round with a maid at her beck and call. It ain’t right that you have to keep me.’
‘You have to get that leg better first. Tomorrow is your appointment at the hospital, but I’ll be at work so you will have to go on your own. You will go, won’t you?’ She handed him the sandwich, eyeing him anxiously as he stuffed the food into his mouth.
He nodded his head.
Lucetta was not convinced. ‘I want you to promise me that you’ll see the doctor, Lennie. He’ll give you some more dressings and make certain that you are on the road to recovery. It’s very important that you see him.’
‘I will,’ Guthrie mumbled through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘Is the kettle boiling yet, Lucy? I’m thirsty.’
She made the tea and gave him a cup of the strong brew laced with sugar. ‘You didn’t promise. I want to hear it from you or I won’t be able to start work and I’ll lose my position. We’ll be right back where we started.’
Guthrie sipped the tea with a beatific look on his face. ‘It’s sweet. Ta, Lucy. You’re an angel from heaven.’
‘Lennie,’ she said sternly.
‘I promise,’ he muttered into his cup. ‘I’ll go and see the sawbones, but if he says he wants to chop me leg off …’
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that. I expect the doctor will be very pleased with you for being such a good patient.’ She perched on the stool at the table and ate her sandwich in silence. She had done all she could to keep Guthrie’s wound free from further infection and it seemed to be healing well. If she told the truth she was relieved that she could not attend the hospital with Guthrie. She did not want to risk seeing Dr Richards again in case he started asking questions about her time in the fever hospital. If his curiosity got the better of him and he contacted Giles, the whole story would come out and Giles might try to find her again. That was the last thing she wanted.
‘Can I have another cup of tea?’ Guthrie asked plaintively. ‘Is there enough in the pot?’
Lucetta left for work early next morning having extracted another faithful promise from Guthrie that he would attend the hospital. It was a chilly day for late August and there was a hint of autumn in the air as she walked briskly towards Wapping. She could feel the cold stone pavements through the thin soles of her boots and she was thankful that it was dry underfoot, but at least she was clean and tidy in her new skirt and blouse. She had knotted her hair into a heavy coil at the back of her head and she hoped that she looked like an efficient secretary. Jeremiah would never associate the prim Miss Guthrie with the schoolgirl cousin he had treated with such arrogant contempt.
She arrived early at the warehouse and Perks greeted her with a watery smile. He showed her to a dark, windowless cubby-hole behind the main office, lodged between a mountain of sandalwood chests and a wall comprised of teakwood cabinets and wardrobes. The fragrant aromas of Asia and the Far East mingled with dust and the smell of coal gas from the light above her head and she felt quite at home as she set about tidying the jumble of papers on Jeremiah’s desk and sorting them into order. She had spent many hours here as a child and she knew her father’s filing system off by heart, although the whole thing seemed to have slipped into a terrible muddle since his demise. She found unpaid bills and accounts long overdue all muddled up together. It did not take her long to realise that there was a small fortune in outstanding debts waiting to be collected and an almost equally large amount due in remittances to the Gaslight and Coke Company as well as suppliers and shippers.
By the time Jeremiah arrived she had made a good start and created a semblance of order out of utter chaos. He eyed her suspiciously. ‘I hope you haven’t muddled everything up, Miss Guthrie. I will hold you personally to account if anything goes missing.’
She bit back a sharp retort. ‘I think you will find everything to your liking, Mr Froy.’
‘Yes, well – carry on then. I have to go out this morning but Perks knows my routine. Ask him if you need any help.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lucetta kept her head bowed over her work. She did not think he would recognise her, but it was not a chance she was prepared to take. Melting into the background was the safest option.
‘I will probably have a letter or two to write after luncheon.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lucetta murmured, flicking him a sideways glance. Jeremiah might be wearing a suit tailored in Savile Row, but the fashionable low-cut black jacket and pin-stripe trousers did little to disguise his corpulent figure. He was not quite twenty-three but his body was that of a man of middle years. Peering over the starched edge of a wing-back collar, he looked like a chubby boy masquerading in his father’s clothes.
He swaggered out into the main body of the warehouse, shouting instructions at the men and threatening them with dire consequences if he discovered anyone slacking. He continued this tirade for several minutes, peppering his comments with expletives that made the colour rise to Lucetta’s cheek. She was certain that her father had never spoken to his workers in such a blustering, bullying manner, and by the time Jeremiah had finished she felt almost ashamed to bear the name of Froy. He strode into the outer office, shouting to Perks to find him a cab.
He was gone and the warehousemen resumed their work in gloomy silence. Lucetta settled down to work. It took her all morning to sort the documents and the best part of the afternoon to write lists of debtors and creditors. Jeremiah did not put in an appearance until it was almost time to finish for the day and he came in reeking of garlic and brandy. He glanced at the newly tidied desk and shrugged his shoulders.
‘The correspondence can wait until morning, but I expect you to stay tonight until all that paperwork is filed away. I can’t allow my standards to slip just because you are new at the job.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lucetta said, forcing herself to sound meek. ‘Of course.’
‘I’m off home then. Be on time tomorrow morning, Miss Froy.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lucetta bowed her head over her work, sighing with relief when the door closed on her cousin.
At seven o’clock Perks put his head round the door. ‘I’m going to lock up now, miss.’
‘I haven’t quite finished, Mr Perks.’
He pulled his cap on and grinned. ‘There’s always tomorrow, miss. And Sir won’t be in until late. I happen to know he’s got a dinner party to go to tonight, so we won’t see hide nor hair of him until noon at the earliest. The lads have all gone home and I can’t lock up with you still here.’
Lucetta stood up and reached for her shawl. She had been receiving wary glances from the warehousemen and none of them had spoken to her. She had heard them muttering to each other and it was not hard to guess their topic of conversation. She could only think that they suspected her of being hired to spy on them. Perks was the only one who treated her like an ordinary human being. Setting her bonnet on her head, she followed him into the office. ‘Goodnight, Mr Perks. I’ll see you in the morning.’
He closed the inner door and locked it. ‘If that’s the case, miss, I’ll be richer by threepence.’
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘How so, Mr Perks?’
He flushed and looked down at his shoes. ‘Er, the men in the warehouse have a bet running that you won’t turn up tomorrow.’
She eyed him curiously. ‘And what did you bet?’
‘I said you’d be back, miss. I seen the look in your eyes when you first come through that door. I know pluck when I sees it.’
Lucetta nodded her head. ‘And you’re right, Mr Perks. You’ll be richer by threepence in the morning.’
She returned
to work the next day and the next. At the end of the first week when Jeremiah handed out the wages he was forced to admit that she was doing well. He said, rather grudgingly, that she could stay in the company’s employ until his father returned from abroad. Lucetta was relieved to discover that Bradley Froy was not expected to return to London for another six months and maybe longer. He would recognise her for certain, but at least she had employment until that time, and she was beginning to enjoy her work. Sorting out the paperwork was a challenge in itself, and although she had never been particularly good at anything at school she found to her surprise that she had a good head for business.
Within a fortnight she had written to all their debtors and Perks was only too happy to tell her that most of them had actually paid up. By the end of her first month Lucetta had paid off the creditors and a fortnight before Christmas she had balanced the books. Jeremiah was so pleased that he had been moved to give her a bonus, which she used to pay a month’s rent in advance on a one up, one down cottage in Samson’s Gardens, a narrow road off Great Hermitage Street. Despite its rural name there was nothing green and pleasant about Samson’s Gardens. There might once have been a flourishing market garden on the site but the only greenery to be seen now was the slime in the gutters and the occasional sooty dandelion that poked its head up between the cracks in the paving stones.
Lucetta and Guthrie moved their few possessions into the empty house just a few days before Christmas. Guthrie’s leg had healed almost completely thanks to the treatment he received at Bart’s, and he had found occasional labouring work on the wharves or in the docks. In between jobs he scoured the street markets and second-hand shops while Lucetta was at work, and when she came home she invariably found him scrubbing, sanding or repairing an item of furniture. His first contribution to their new home was a pair of beech-wood kitchen chairs which he had discovered in a second-hand shop in Redmead Lane; his next find was a deal table with one leg missing which he purchased for next to nothing in an auction house, and his most prized acquisition was a rusty iron bedstead that had been abandoned on the foreshore. It was in pieces and looked fit only for the dust heap, but Guthrie spent many hours in the tiny back yard working on his project, which he said mysteriously would be shown to her when he had finished and not before.