The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  ‘That’s one advantage of having premises on Oxford Street,’ Charlotte commented. ‘The stormwater just runs down the hill.’

  ‘And collects at the doorstep of Fairfield & Blake,’ William added wryly.

  She laughed. That was another reason why she enjoyed William’s company—he had a nice sense of humour.

  ‘Well…’ she said, grimacing as she glanced down at the muddy hem of her dress. ‘I’d better be getting back to the shop.’

  William fell into step beside her as she picked her way between puddles, mud and horse droppings, which were all particularly abundant that morning. ‘How is your protégée shaping up?’ he enquired.

  ‘I’m very pleased with her,’ Charlotte replied positively. Rose Pitt—Charlotte’s ‘protégée’ as George had scathingly dubbed her—had been in her employment for nearly a month now. Rose was eighteen and had spent three years working as an assistant in a Christchurch haberdashery store. She was also freshly out of prison. She’d just served three months for thieving. George had been scandalized when she’d told him about the girl’s history. Utter folly, he’d called it. It would damage her business and she would have to padlock the till. Ignoring his warnings, she had stuck to her guns, determined to give the girl a chance to earn an honest living again. Business had not been affected, and when she counted the takings at the end of each week they were right to the last farthing.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t disappoint you,’ William said with a dubious smile.

  ‘So do I,’ she said. If only because she’d never hear the last of it from George.

  As they drew level with the premises of Fairfield & Blake, Charlotte couldn’t resist a smile as she read the wording on the prominent brass plaque on the door: Maritime & General Insurance Agency. The truth was that Fairfield & Blake had managed to secure very few insurance contracts which fell into the maritime category. Most ship owners preferred to deal with the well-established and highly reputable Lloyd’s Insurance Company, which had an office in Lyttelton. George and William’s main business was in household and general insurance policies, and from what she could gather that side of business was doing quite well.

  ‘Thank you for your company,’ she said pleasantly as she turned to smile at William. She was still trying to decide whether their meeting had been coincidental, or whether he’d engineered it. She suspected the latter. William’s desk was right beside the window, so he could easily have noticed her walking along the street.

  ‘It was a pleasure.’ He smiled warmly. ‘I was wondering if you’d accompany me to the magic lantern show on Saturday evening?’

  The invitation didn’t particularly surprise her. William had asked her out a few times already, but, much as she enjoyed his company, she didn’t want to encourage him too much. She liked him, but the fact was there was nothing stirring inside her in terms of stronger feelings and she didn’t want to give him the impression that there was. George would be cross, but that couldn’t be helped. He’d already dropped several strong hints that an alliance between her and his senior partner would stand him in good stead.

  ‘As a matter of fact I’m already going to the lantern show, with George and Ann,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I know George and Ann are planning to go,’ William returned. He had obviously heard via George. ‘But I was inviting you to go with me.’ He smiled again and waited.

  She smiled back at him. ‘Well, it’s a little awkward…you see, I’m taking Rose Pitt with me.’

  His smile turned to a look of surprise. ‘Oh? George didn’t mention that she was accompanying you.’

  ‘George doesn’t know about it,’ she said. Neither did Rose, yet.

  She could see from William’s face what he was thinking—that George wouldn’t be very pleased when he found out about Rose. She was half-expecting him to voice his thoughts, but he didn’t. He merely smiled again and said, ‘Well, perhaps I shall see you there.’

  Rose was busy tidying the counter when Charlotte arrived back. Half the stock in the shop appeared to be spread across it. Satin ribbons of every shade imaginable, lace collars, flimsy silk scarves, belts, buckles, buttons, muslin shawls…

  As the shop bell tinkled, announcing Charlotte’s arrival, Rose glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, you’re back already, Miss Blake.’

  ‘I am. Have you been busy, Rose?’ Smiling, Charlotte walked over to the counter.

  Rose nodded her head. ‘Three customers since you went out.’

  ‘Did they purchase much?’ She dragged the sales ledger across so she could see for herself.

  Rose nodded again. ‘One lady bought some threads, a scarf and two pairs of stockings, another bought four yards of white muslin and some ribbon and some buttons, and the other customer was a gentleman who bought that lovely crocheted black shawl that was hanging up in the corner of the shop window.’

  A profitable afternoon, Charlotte thought. The shop was doing very well. It had shown a small profit every week since Rose had begun work. George could say what he liked; Rose was an asset.

  ‘You’ve done well, Rose,’ she complimented the girl. ‘This is going to be a good week. The takings are nearly double last week’s and it’s still only Thursday.’

  Rose’s cheeks turned pink, putting a splash of colour in her face for once. She was a very plain girl, and as thin as a broom handle. Her straight fair hair was pulled tightly back and twisted into a tight little knob at the back of her head, making her thin face look even thinner. But for all her thinness and pallid colouring, she seemed healthy enough.

  Reaching for the bolt of lace, Charlotte began to carefully roll up the loose end while Rose bobbed down behind the counter, putting away boxes of buttons.

  ‘Have you ever been to a magic lantern show, Rose?’ Charlotte enquired casually.

  Bobbing up again, Rose shook her head. ‘Oh no, Miss Blake.’

  ‘Would you like to, if you had the chance?’

  ‘I can’t afford to, miss,’ she said. ‘The tickets are too dear.’ She reached for a silk scarf and began to fold it into a neat square. There was no resentment in her voice; it was simply a statement of fact.

  ‘There’s a show in the Colonists’ Hall on Saturday evening. Would you like to go? I’ll pay for your ticket,’ Charlotte offered.

  Rose stared at her. ‘I…I’d like to go, but I’ve nothing suitable to wear, miss,’ she stuttered.

  Charlotte glanced down at her assistant’s plain grey cotton dress. It was clean and nicely ironed, but it was a bit shabby in places. ‘The dress you’re wearing will do fine, Rose,’ she assured her. ‘And I’ve a shawl you can have, a blue one that I don’t use. It will go with the grey very well. I’ll bring it to the shop tomorrow. You’ll need to be at the hall by half-past seven. Make sure you’re not late.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t be late, miss. I shall be there well before time. Thank you. Thank you very much, Miss Blake,’ Rose said, and grinned with delight. It was the first time Charlotte had ever seen her smile properly.

  She felt quite puzzled by Rose. She didn’t seem the sort of girl who would steal, yet she had. Before finally deciding to employ Rose, Charlotte had made a few discreet enquiries about her. It appeared Rose had stolen money from her previous employer’s till, and not just a few coppers either—the takings had been down to the tune of five pounds. When her employer had questioned her about it she had denied all knowledge, but when the constable gave her a grilling she’d broken down and admitted her guilt. What puzzled Charlotte was why Rose had taken the money. She’d had a good position, and her employers were by all accounts very kind to her. Why would she want to jeopardize her position by stealing from them when it was quite obvious that the shortfall would be noticed? The prison official whom Charlotte had questioned about it had merely shrugged and said dismissively, ‘She became greedy, I suppose.’ Greed was one thing, but stupidity was quite another, and whatever else Rose was, she wasn’t stupid. Which brought Charlotte back to the same puzzling question: what had
prompted the girl to thieve? She decided to do a bit of probing.

  ‘Where do your family live, Rose?’ she enquired.

  ‘In Dunedin, Miss Blake,’ Rose replied, eyes still bright with excitement.

  ‘When did you move to Christchurch?’

  ‘When I was fifteen, miss.’

  ‘To work?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  She didn’t ask where. She knew where. In the haberdashery store from which she’d stolen the money. ‘Have you brothers and sisters?’

  Rose nodded. ‘I’m the second youngest of nine.’

  ‘Are your siblings all in Dunedin?’

  ‘No, miss. I’ve a brother in Christchurch.’

  ‘That’s nice for you. It’s always good to have a relative close to hand,’ Charlotte remarked with a pleasant smile. ‘Is he married?’

  Rose shook her head.

  ‘What sort of work does he do?’

  ‘He’s a cooper.’

  ‘How long has he worked in Christchurch?’

  ‘Three years, miss.’

  ‘Did you move up to Christchurch together?’ She guessed they probably had. Rose’s nod confirmed it.

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Twenty, miss.’

  Charlotte nodded, smiled, and quizzed her about the rest of the family. From Rose’s description of them, they seemed hard-working, respectable people. Her father was a cooper, her three other brothers all worked in a sawmill, three of her sisters were married and had families, and the other sister was a servant. Half an hour later, Charlotte had learned precisely nothing to explain or even suggest why Rose had blotted her family’s respectable copybook. She would probably never know, she decided as she locked up the shop at the end of the day, and she certainly couldn’t ask Rose outright why she’d stolen. She was trying to help the girl to put her past behind her, not rub her nose in it.

  She had just got back to the house and was in the hall, taking her coat off, when George arrived, ten minutes earlier than usual, and steaming. This time the steam had nothing to do with the steepness of the Lyttelton streets or the warmth of the day.

  ‘My partner has just informed me that you’ve invited that girl—Miss Pitt—to the magic lantern show!’ Puffing his cheeks in and out as he did when he was very annoyed, George slammed the door behind him. ‘Whatever are you thinking of, Charlotte? As if it isn’t enough that you employ a girl with a history of theft, now you’re inviting her out to shows! Well, I can tell you one thing—she is not accompanying us!’

  ‘She’s accompanying me, not you, George,’ Charlotte returned mildly. Tucking in her chin, she continued undoing the buttons of her jacket. ‘She can sit next to me. I’ve invited her and she’s coming, and I’ll not have her sitting on her own like a leper.’

  George sucked in a deep breath, making his grey twill waistcoat swell. ‘William was hoping to sit next to you! My partner!’

  ‘I know who he is, George,’ she said, turning to hang up her coat on the cloak-stand. She ought to; George reminded her and Ann often enough. ‘Anyway, William was quite understanding when I told him why I couldn’t accompany him,’ she added, turning around to face him. ‘In any case, I’ve got two sides—a right and a left.’ She held up each hand in turn, to demonstrate. ‘If William wants to sit next to me and there’s a vacant seat, then he’s welcome to sit on it, but Rose will be sitting on the other side of me. I’ve also invited her to church on Sunday and she’ll be sitting beside me then, too.’

  ‘Church is one thing, Charlotte, but to invite the girl to a social gathering—that’s quite another!’ George retorted. ‘D’you think anyone else in Lyttelton will have their domestic servants or employees sitting beside them at the lantern show?’

  The answer to that was almost certainly no, not that she was about to admit it. ‘It’s quite common to see families and their domestic servants sitting in the same pew at church on Sunday morning. If it’s good enough for church, why is it not acceptable practice for social events?’

  ‘Because they’re two entirely different things, that’s why! It’s acceptable practice inside church; it is not acceptable outside church!’

  She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Well, I’ve made the arrangements and I’m not going to go back on them.’ She would have liked to say considerably more, but once again it came down to what was acceptable and what wasn’t. This was George’s house and she was a guest in it, and, whether she agreed with him or not, he was entitled to some respect from her. She’d had to bite her tongue quite a few times over the past year or so while she’d been living with him and Ann. ‘If you feel uncomfortable about it, I won’t sit next to you. I’ll sit somewhere else,’ she offered.

  George gave one of his annoyed grunts. ‘It isn’t only Miss Pitt we’re discussing. It’s my partner. He’s disappointed that you didn’t accept his invitation.’

  ‘Well, life is full of disappointments, George. Things don’t always turn out as we’d like them to,’ she returned. And on that philosophical note, she swept past him and went into the kitchen to help Ann with the dinner preparations.

  Chapter 10

  The large concert hall in the Colonists’ Hall was filling rapidly. Lantern shows were always very popular. Anticipating a full house, they’d arrived early to be sure of good seats, a good seat being one which wasn’t directly behind a large hat elaborately decorated with feathers, such as George had had the misfortune to find himself sitting behind at the last show. There was no danger of that tonight; they were in the front row. Charlotte glanced across at Rose, who was sitting on her right. Rose had been waiting on the street for them, outside the entrance, when they arrived. She was wearing the blue shawl Charlotte had given her and she’d done her hair nicely, rolling the sides under before sweeping them back. The style suited her, the extra fullness making her face look less thin, and the blue shawl brought out the delicate colour of her hair. She really looked quite pretty tonight.

  ‘Rose.’ Charlotte leaned towards her as a thought occurred to her. ‘Can you sew?’

  Rose nodded. ‘I can, miss. Were you wanting some mending done?’

  Charlotte shook her head and smiled at her. ‘No, but I have a dress which is a little tight on me. Would you like it? If you think you can alter it to fit you, you can have it.’ It was a deep azure colour and would look lovely against Rose’s pale skin.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can alter it, miss,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I’m quite good with a needle. Thank you, miss. Thank you very much.’

  Charlotte’s smile spread into a wide grin, mirroring Rose’s. It wasn’t often that Rose smiled properly, but when she did it was infectious. ‘I’ll bring it to the shop on Monday,’ she said.

  ‘I believe they’re showing The Butcher’s Lad tonight,’ William commented as he caught her eye. He, too, had arrived early to be sure of a good seat—a good seat in his case being one next to Charlotte. ‘I’ve seen it at least half a dozen times, but it still makes me laugh. Ah, it looks as if the show is starting,’ he said as the light in the room suddenly dimmed. Two young women were going down the aisles, putting out the lamps. Moments later, the room plunged into darkness, a loud chord sounded from the piano, and the accompanist struck up a lively tune.

  ‘The Apple Thief,’ William whispered, leaning across to her. ‘I recognize the music.’

  He was right, it was The Apple Thief—a very amusing depiction of a young lad who climbed onto a fence so he could steal an apple from an overhanging branch. Predictably, just as he’d picked one, the gardener poked his head around the corner of the fence, to the accompaniment of deep foreboding chords from the piano. The last slide showed the boy getting his just deserts, being beaten across the backside with a stout stick. The next set of slides were scenic ones; then, to William’s delight, came The Butcher’s Lad, a silly story about two dogs who contrived to steal a string of sausages from a butcher’s delivery lad. Silly or not, it clearly appealed to William, who laughed uproariously from start to fi
nish. Rose was enjoying it, too, judging by her giggles.

  An hour later the show was over, the lamps were burning brightly again, and people were starting to make their way to the back of the room, where a light supper was being served.

  ‘Shall we see what’s on offer?’ William suggested, rising to his feet.

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Charlotte said, and stood up. She glanced down at Rose, who was still sitting in her seat, staring into space, absently stroking the long tassels of the blue shawl. ‘Rose, would you like some supper? It’s included in the price of the ticket,’ she added, deciding she’d better make it clear that it was free.

  Rose cast a dubious eye over the crowd of people milling around the supper tables. She was obviously trying to decide whether a free supper was worth feeling like a fish out of water while she ate it. ‘I think I’d better be on my way, Miss Blake,’ she said at last.

  Charlotte didn’t press her. If she’d been in Rose’s shoes, she probably would have chosen to go home, too. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at church then,’ she reminded.

  Rose nodded and stood up, thanked her for the show, and left.

  ‘I hope she goes straight back to her lodgings,’ William commented as he watched Rose make her way to the door.

  ‘D’you think she might decide to burgle half a dozen houses on her way home?’

  Catching the tone in Charlotte’s voice, William turned to face her. ‘No. It was Miss Pitt’s safety that I was concerned for. There’s a vessel in port—the Sans Souci—whose crew caused a lot of trouble last time they were here, with their drunken revelry.’

  She flushed guiltily and did the only thing she could—apologized. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said simply. ‘I’ve grown so used to George telling me that Rose will never stay honest, I tend to think everyone feels as he does.’