Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  On the pavement Rosanna and Belle swapped tearful goodbyes with their grandparents. ‘Oh, Gramps.’ Rosanna flung her arms round him. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  He hugged her slim body, patting her back comfortingly. The heat of her small breasts pierced his waistcoat. He wondered why the onset of womanhood should cause him embarrassment, but it did. They grew up so quickly these days. He prised her gently from him. ‘Come on now, dry your tears, the cab’s waiting. ’Twon’t be long before you’re home again.’ But it would seem like it to Pat. The house would be like a mausoleum without those girls. He hugged Belle, then helped them both into the cab and closed the door while the cabbie loaded the trunks. ‘An’ no mischief remember, either of yese. Ye must do what your mistresses tell ye.’

  ‘If I absolutely loathe it can I come home?’ begged Rosie, hanging from the window.

  ‘Rosanna, that’s no way to face a new adventure,’ said Thomasin. ‘You must try and make an effort. When you come back your grandfather and I expect to see two young ladies and not the tearaways you are at present. You’re almost a woman, time you were behaving with a little decorum.’

  Patrick leaned forward to kiss her. ‘Try not to be too unhappy, for my sake,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’ll try, Gramps. Oh, goodbye! Goodbye!’ The cab was pulling away, Rosie still draped across the window ledge, waving and crying.

  Belle’s striking eyes shone above her cousin’s as she strained for a last sighting, holding onto her grandfather and dragging part of him with them.

  The elderly couple watched until the carriage was round the corner, then Thomasin planted a hand on Nick’s shoulder. ‘Right, my lad – to work!’

  * * *

  The first time Nicholas had visited his grandmother’s store he had known what he wanted to do with his life. The child had seen the man, ensconced in that leather chair in the counting house. So, for him the feeling today was one of exhilaration. The cab bearing him and his grandmother drew up outside the large store in Parliament Street, already open for custom with a display of shiny pots and pans marking the front entrance. In the beginning it had merely been a grocery, but now the shop windows displayed all manner of things, from copper kettles to currants. The one thing each item had in common was quality and a reasonable price. It was all rather grand when compared to the poky little shop which Thomasin had inherited.

  The driver alighted to open the door for Thomasin. Nick scanned his future while his grandmother pulled the fare from a beaded purse. It was very impressive, but Nick considered it would be even more inspiring with a uniformed man on the door to bow and scrape to all those important customers. He put this to Thomasin as they went inside.

  She took it as a hint and smiled. ‘And when shall you be measured for your uniform, Nick?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean I wanted the job, Nan,’ he replied hastily. ‘I have greater aspirations than to open and shut doors.’

  They reached the counting house where Thomasin unlocked the door. ‘Do you indeed? And what form might this ambition take?’ She divested herself of her jacket and handed it to Nick to hang up.

  ‘Didn’t I tell vou?’ he asked lightly. ‘I want your job, Nan.’

  She laughed and seated herself behind the desk. ‘From anyone else I’d treat that as a joke but not from you, Nick. I hope you don’t expect me to move over and retire so that you can fill the slot?’

  ‘I’m prepared to wait.’ Nick wandered around the office, flicking through stacks of papers, leafing through books.

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad to hear that I can look forward to a few more years’ employment. I trust also that you’re prepared to work to attain your aim? I certainly don’t intend to hand it over on a platter.’

  ‘I’m not averse to work.’

  ‘Good – and naturally you realise, Nick, that you’ll be expected to start at the bottom. There’ll be no short cuts. Before you’re fit to fill my shoes you’ll need to learn every task in the store from sweeping the floor to serving behind the counter.’ She paused. ‘Do I detect a slackening of enthusiasm?’

  Nick fondled his earlobe. ‘I had rather hoped to concentrate on the accounts, the financial side. I was always good at mathematics.’

  ‘Well, I dare say we’ll be able to put your brain to good, use in two or three years’ time…’

  ‘Two years!’ He couldn’t gag the exclamation.

  ‘At the vety least. A normal apprenticeship would be much longer. Running a business begins on the shop floor, Nick. You must learn how to treat your customers, for they’re the ones who will carry you on to the counting house – without them there’d be no counting house. But before we let you loose on the public you must acquaint yourself with every commodity on those shelves; find out their country of origin, how to weigh them, everything about them so that should anyone enquire you will be able to supply the answer with confidence. Normally after this an apprentice would move on to provisions where he’d learn how to roll and cut bacon. Moving on in this fashion he’d cover every aspect of the store. However, I think we’ll start you off with the roasting of the coffee this morning.’ He groaned.

  ‘Look, Nicholas, if I were to put you in a position of responsibility from the outset how would you cope if, say, the coffee roaster should break down?’

  He nodded, seeing the wisdom in her question but inwardly determined to be finished with the monotonous jobs long before his two years were up.

  ‘Very well, we’ll have George in and make a start on your career. Before you go and fetch him though, will you straighten your tie? My workers must be as neat and presentable at the close of business as they were at the outset; if your tie’s crooked now, what will it be like after twelve hours? Also, each morning you must sign your name and time of arrival in this ledger and take it to George for his initial. After this you will line up in the main store for inspection.’

  Any hopes Nick had entertained that his apprenticeship would be swift and that his grandmother would whisk him up the ladder without his feet even brushing the rungs had been brutally quashed.

  ‘George, my grandson Nick is about to commence his apprenticeship,’ said Thomasin when the man entered. ‘I want you to leave aside the groceries until this afternoon and concentrate on teaching him how to use the coffee roaster. Take no cheek from him and let him be under no illusion as to who is in charge. He is to expect no favours just because he’s my grandson.’

  A mischievous thought came to Nick as he followed George. Making his face innocent he enquired, ‘If George happened to be ill at any time, Nan, should I come to you to learn how to use the coffee roaster?’

  ‘I’m afraid…’ began Thomasin, then broke off quickly.

  ‘I suppose you do know how to use it?’ added Nick. ‘The owner of the store must be able to turn her hand to all aspects of the running of her business.’

  Thomasin presented a shrewd smile. ‘Just one more lesson before you go, Nicholas – the most important one. One must never try to make an ass of one’s employer – unless of course one feels that egg is good for one’s complexion.’ She waved them away.

  ‘Right, what do we do first then?’ asked Nick when he and George stood beside the coffee roaster.

  ‘Keen, aren’t you?’ replied the other, taking off his jacket and covering his clothes with an apron.

  ‘Not particularly. I just want to get it over with as quickly as possible so I can get on with more important things.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Master Nick, but this is a very important job,’ objected George. ‘Here, put this apron on.’

  ‘It might be to you who has no more brains than to work this infernal contraption,’ said Nick haughtily, taking off his jacket and donning the apron. ‘But I certainly don’t class it as such. So, if you’ll just kindly show me what I must do.’

  George’s mouth tightened at the lack of manners from this young upstart but he clung onto his patience; this was after all the boss’s grandson, for all her instructions
about making him know who was master. ‘Look here, then. First thing when you come in you’ve got to stoke the old roaster up wi’ plenty of kindling. Get it burning good before you stick t’beans on. You’ll need to come in earlier than anybody else so’s to have it going for when they arrive, ’specially on cold mornings.’

  Nick yawned and nodded impatiently as George went through the stages, showing little interest.

  ‘Are you listenin’ to what I’m tellin’ yer?’ prodded George. ‘Bloomin’ ’eck, you used to be such a keen little thing… if you haven’t grasped it by the end o’ the week the missus’ll blame me. Now pay attention.’

  ‘I am keen and I don’t have to pay attention as I got it the first time.’

  ‘Right then, you’re so clever you just show me what I showed you.’

  With a bored face Nick enacted each stage precisely as he had been shown.

  George delivered grudging credit. ‘Oh well, you’ve picked it up very quick – mindst I’d already got it lighted for you – but well done, Master Nicholas.’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly a strain on the intellect, is it?’ replied Nick. ‘Is that all there is to it?’

  ‘S’truth, no. Once you’ve tackled this we’ve got to get you onto tastin’ and blendin’. That can take years to learn. Some folk never get the hang of it, you’ve got to acquire a sharp palate. Right now, we’ll just have to wait till the beans are done before we reach the next step.’

  Nick tapped his foot impatiently and gave a weary sigh, looking about him for something more entertaining. ‘Surely there’s something more pressing I could be seeing to?’

  ‘We-ell, there is,’ said George dubiously. ‘But I don’t know if you’re up to it. If there are any slip-ups I’ll get the blame. There’s this special order wants collectin’ from the market.’

  ‘Come on, I can do it,’ pressed Nick.

  George appeared to be struggling with a decision. ‘It’s for one o’ the missus’s special customers. You have to ask for it precisely.’

  ‘Shall I write it down?’

  ‘Aye, you’d better,’ nodded George. ‘There’s a pad and pencil over there. Yer’ll need to take a trolley an’ all.’

  ‘Right, fire away,’ said Nick, pencil poised.

  ‘Six crates o’ cod’s eyelids – Danish ones,’ said George, watching the pencil move rapidly over the pad. ‘They must be Danish. The customer won’t have any other sort. I’m relyin’ on you to get it right, otherwise I’m for the chop.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you can depend on me.’ Nick finished scribbling.

  ‘Good,’ said George. ‘It needs somebody wi’ brains.’ He kept his straight face until Nick had departed to find a trolley, then his mouth turned up like a slice of melon.

  It wasn’t until Nick had made his request to the woman on the fish stall that he realised he’d been taken for a dupe. ‘Yes, my dear, would that be the one-eyed variety you’d be requiring?’ His face burnt crimson as her cackles followed his rapid retreat, his mouth set in a determined line. Oh, very funny, George Ackworth. That’s one up to you, I believe. Well, let’s just see how funny you think it is when I’ve got your job.

  His return to the store was met by sniggers from those whom George had told – which was almost everyone, but Nick put on an uncaring smile, even though he was seething at being made the centre of their ridicule. Instead of going straight up to George he hid for a time behind one of the pillars that supported the roof of the stockroom, waiting to get his own back. George was dishing out instructions to a youth. After he had marched off Nick heard the youth grumbling to a girl, ‘I’ll bet he’s gone for a bleedin’ smoke in the closet while I’m slavin’ me guts out.’

  The lavatory was situated outside at the far end of a dingy passage. Luckily for Nick his adversary had gone first to the staffroom to collect his pipe and tobacco, giving Nick time to get to the closet before him. Lifting the latch he stepped inside and waited in the pitch darkness.

  George glanced over his shoulder before sticking his pipe between his teeth and wandering down the murky passageway. He was in the act of applying a match, not taking a great deal of notice of his surroundings as he placed a foot into the dark interior. Suddenly he became aware of a presence – felt it rather than saw it, and peered into the cobwebby shadows of the rear wall.

  His jaw fell, along with the pipe which clattered to the floor as a pair of disembodied hands floated out from the darkness, reaching for his throat. His eyes bulged, he took a step back, spluttering with terror as the hands loomed nearer, shimmering translucently like something from another world. Then a ghastly wailing rent the air. With a scream George tore back up the passage, stumbled and fell into a pallet containing the day’s delivery of eggs which came crashing down around him, splattering the yard with yolk. Regardless of the mess he was in, George picked himself up and ran back into the store bawling for help as he took the steps to the stockroom four at a time. He did not look back. Only when he made human contact did he stop running to relate breathlessly his ghastly experience. Nick grinned to himself, scraped the silvery fishscales from his hands into the lavatory pan and watched the evidence disappear. He had Belle to thank for that trick. Discovering, by accident, that fishscales shine in the dark, she had dipped her hands into the herring barrel and waited in the pantry for Abi to finish her tale of the supernatural. Seeing those fish barrels in the market had brought the memory back. It was a wonder poor Abi’s hair wasn’t as silver as the scales with all the terrible tricks they had played on her. But unlike George she had seen the figure behind the ghostly hands and had issued swift punishment. Nick wondered if owning up to George would bring him the same – still it would be worth it to have made the man look a fool. He stepped out into the daylight, face smug as he tugged at his cuffs.

  Poor George was still stuttering the tale to his workmates when Nick arrived. He caught hold of the apprentice’s sleeve. ‘Eh, you’ll never guess what happened…’

  Nick waited until the man had finished, then said, ‘Sounds very fishy to me. I didn’t see anything when I was down there – apart from you, that is. Made a right mess of those eggs, didn’t you?’ At George’s gormless look he laughed and told the others what he had done, causing wild hilarity. His moment of revenge was cut short, though, for a furious George made him go and clean up the mess of broken eggs. The moment he was back, he ordered him to go and help two women who were weighing sugar into bags, telling them that he was leaving the young master in their care and hoping they knew how to treat him. ‘Leave him to us, Mr Ackworth,’ said Martha with a wink at her partner. ‘We’ll look after him.’

  Nick soon found out that being looked after involved being sat on by the portly Martha while Millie scooped tons of sugar down his trousers. His squirming embarrassment was met with giggles and served only to add gusto to Millie’s shovellings as she wrestled beneath his waistband. Such impropriety! At his release, his first umbraged act was to march straight to his grandmother and demand if she knew what sordid games were going on in her own storeroom.

  Leaning back in her chair she arched her back stiffly. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the ragging, Nick. I’m afraid it happens to every newcomer.’

  ‘It was more than a ragging, Nan,’ complained Nick, hot-eyed and shuffling his hips inside the gritty trousers. ‘If you could see the amount of sugar that’s ended up on the floor…’

  ‘Ah well, it’s only the once,’ said Thomasin amiably. ‘They have to let off a bit of steam now and again. But I think you’re safe now; they’ve had their sport.’

  Nick was unappeased. ‘If you’re not going to do anything, I’d better go back to George!’ He tried to dislodge the rough substance from the tender insides of his thighs. When she merely nodded he made a peevish return to the storeroom where he was taunted for another hour until it was time for tea – which Nick was given the task of making. He asked what to do.

  ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know how to make a pot
o’ tea – an’ you with all them brains.’ This from George.

  Nick sighed and mooched off to the staffroom, reappearing some twenty minutes later with the news that the tea was brewed.

  ‘Did you enjoy your trip?’ asked George, and at Nick’s frown added, ‘Well, the amount o’ time it took you I thought you’d gone to pick your own tea-leaves. Right, dumbcluck, you’d best pour a cup for the missus and take it down on a tray.’

  ‘I don’t know about pour.’ Millie grimaced at her own cup. ‘I should say hack yourself a piece off. I can hardly stir a spoon through mine.’

  No sooner had Nick returned from his trip to the counting house and poured himself a cup, it seemed that George had him on his feet again. So tired was Nick when the store closed at seven that the action of the carriage which transported him and his grandmother home all but rocked him to sleep.

  It was Thomasin’s voice that stopped him from going over completely. ‘Well, Nick, and how d’you enjoy working for your grandmother?’

  He opened one glassy eye in the dimness of the cab, head lolling. ‘Ask me again in a fortnight, Nan, when I’ve recovered from the shock.’ Apparently it was going to take more than a few fishscales to fettle George Ackworth.

  * * *

  By Friday, Nick had learnt how to use the coffee roaster by himself, had undergone sampling techniques, had taken a spell in the bakery, knew what work in the stockroom entailed, had filled shelves, swept floors and was now taking his turn behind the counter. At least being busy made the time go faster but oh God, how could he last another two years of this? It was all so hopelessly boring. When he had envisaged helping his grandmother it had been as a sort of junior partner, designing better ways for them to make money, going to the docks to shop for bargains as that man Farthingale was now doing, the swine. Nick still did not particularly like him; it was nothing personal, just that Nick envied him his position. He must find a way to achieve his goal more quickly.