by Anna Jacobs
Their aunt walked round the room, but kept coming back to criticise her nieces’ work, making them unpick what they’d done several times until the other lady helping out with the class stared at her in obvious surprise. Isabel looked down her nose at her nieces, then went across to whisper something to her companion.
After that, the other lady began to pick on them as well and Cassandra wondered what their aunt had said about them. At this rate they’d get nowhere, but continue to work on the same seams, unpicking them again and again, then starting once more on the same crumpled piece of material.
After the sewing class ended, a girl they knew by sight from chapel came across to join them. ‘I heard what that old hag said about you.’
They stopped walking.
‘What did she say?’ Cassandra asked.
‘She said you were all known to be immoral and shouldn’t be allowed in a class with decent girls.’
They gasped in shock. ‘Are you sure she said that?’ Pandora asked.
The girl smiled bitterly. ‘Certain. I’ve learned to lip read because of the noisy machinery at work. Why is she telling such lies about you? She’s your aunt, isn’t she?’
When the other moved on, Cassandra turned to her sisters. ‘You two go home. I’ve an errand to run.’
‘What errand?’ Xanthe asked. ‘We’ve no money to buy anything today except bread.’
‘I’ve got to see someone.’
‘Is this to do with what our aunt said?’ Pandora held on to her sister’s arm to stop her moving away. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
Cassandra shrugged.
‘There’s nothing you can do about that and it doesn’t really matter. We know the truth and so do our friends.’
‘I’m not having her say such things about us. The rumours will spread and some people will believe her, so I’m going to see my uncle and ask him to stop her.’
After a shocked silence, Pandora let go of her. ‘Will he even talk to you?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘We’re coming too. You shouldn’t face him on your own.’
When they got to the shop her uncle owned, Cassandra hesitated. She’d never been inside it before. The name BLAKE’S EMPORIUM sat across the top of the big windows in huge gold letters. A carriage was waiting outside. Her courage nearly failed her. This place wasn’t for the likes of them.
But the thought of her aunt continuing to blacken their names gave her the courage to enter. Everyone turned to stare at her but she wouldn’t let herself do more than pause just inside the door to get her bearings. There were big mahogany counters on two sides, with a beautifully dressed lady sitting in a chair next to one of them. The walls were lined with shelves piled high with goods of all sorts, unlike the corner shop near their house, where the shelves were nearly empty and only the most basic necessities were now on sale.
Her uncle was standing near a door which must lead into the back. She saw he’d recognised them by the shock on his face. Moving across quickly in case he tried to retreat into the back room to avoid them, she said quietly, ‘May I have a word with you, please, Mr Blake? It’s very important.’ She didn’t call him ‘uncle’ because he didn’t act like one and because she didn’t want to upset him more than was necessary.
A lady standing nearby was looking down her nose at them, so Cassandra put up her chin and stared right back until the other turned away and pretended to fiddle with something on the counter.
Her uncle hesitated.
‘I’m not going away until I’ve spoken to you,’ Cassandra said in a low voice.
‘Go round to the side door in the alley.’ He pointed to his right.
She nodded and led the way out again, her sisters following. They found the door and waited.
As the minutes passed, Xanthe said, ‘I don’t think he’s coming.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll go back into the shop.’
‘Is this worth it?’ Pandora asked.
‘Yes, it is. We haven’t got much now, but we still have our good name and I’m not having her telling lies and taking that away from us.’ She took three steps in one direction, then came back. ‘How long is he going to keep us waiting?’
Just as she was about to hammer on the door, it opened and their uncle came out. He was carrying a canvas sack with something heavy and lumpy in the bottom of it.
‘Here. This is what you came for, isn’t it?’
She guessed the sack contained food and for a moment was tempted simply to take it and leave. But that wouldn’t solve the problem that had brought them here. ‘I didn’t come to beg for charity, but to ask you to help us with something else.’
A frown creased his brow and he glanced over his shoulder as if making sure no one could overhear them. ‘What?’
‘It’s your wife.’ Cassandra saw him stiffen and rushed into speech before he could go inside and shut the door on them. ‘She’s been telling people that we’re immoral. And we’re not. I want you to make her stop. We value our good names.’ The shock on his face made it clear he hadn’t known anything about this.
He looked from one girl to the other. ‘You’re sure of this?’
Cassandra nodded. ‘Certain.’
He sighed. ‘No, I know you’re not immoral. I’d have heard about it if you were. You find out everything that happens in a town sooner or later when you own a shop. I’ll speak to my wife.’
‘Thank you.’ Cassandra turned on her heel.
His voice followed her, low, as if he was still afraid of being overheard. ‘Take the food anyway.’
She turned back. ‘If you can’t even speak to your brother, how can we accept your charity?’
Another silence while he stared at her as if he’d never really seen her before. ‘You’re very proud, for folk who’re starving.’
‘We’re not starving.’
‘You may not be starving, but you’re all very thin and you have that hollow-cheeked look people get when they’re not eating enough.’
Still Cassandra hesitated. She hated to accept charity, especially such grudging charity, absolutely hated it.
Xanthe stepped forward. ‘I’ll take the sack, uncle, and thank you for it, too. We aren’t starving, but we are often hungry.’
Cassandra marched away, ignoring the sack. Xanthe picked it up and followed her.
When they were out of hearing, Cassandra said in a low, furious voice, ‘Why did you take it?’
‘Because Dad’s looking ill and needs better food. He’s as bad as you, trying to give us his share.’
‘We’ll have to tell him where we got the food.’
‘He’ll be pleased. It upsets him to be estranged from his brother.’
Cassandra felt tears come into her eyes. Xanthe was right. With each month that passed, her father was looking older and more weary. Pride wouldn’t help him, but good food might. ‘I’ll take one end of the sack.’
They’d all do anything for their father.
3
The following week their aunt wasn’t at the sewing class. Another woman was helping Mrs Burnham run it, a complete stranger who was introduced to them as Mrs Southerham.
Cassandra recognised the name. The Southerhams were rich people who lived on a big estate outside the town, and Reece knew one of the sons. The new lady didn’t look down her nose at the young women who filed into the big room, more of them today than previously.
Mrs Burnham ticked off the names of those attending, writing down the new ones while Mrs Southerham handed out the same kind of work as last time.
Cassandra took the pieces of material which would form a pinafore and bent her head to her sewing, doing the best she could with the poor material.
‘It’s hard stuff to sew, isn’t it?’
She lifted her head to see Mrs Southerham standing beside her. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m doing my best, though, truly I am.’
‘I can see that. Yours is by far the neatest work. Have you done any sewing before?’
‘Mostly mending. My mother taught me and as she died when I was fourteen, I had to take over the family sewing – and everything else, too.’ She’d given up mill work for a few years then.
‘I’ve never been inside a mill. The operatives work long hours, I gather.’
‘Yes, and it’s very hard work. But I wish I was back there earning a living, nonetheless.’
Mrs Burnham came across to join them, giving Cassandra an unfriendly look. ‘Is there a problem here?’
‘Not at all. I’m just commending this young woman on her neat sewing. Such difficult material to sew, especially for beginners, and that fabric doesn’t wear well, either. I wonder who chose it.’
‘The Vicar. He doesn’t believe in pampering the pauper brats.’
‘Is it pampering to provide them with garments that are serviceable?’
‘He’s in charge of the charity work in this town and I’m sure he knows what’s best.’
Mrs Southerham smiled. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not as sure of his omniscience as you are. I’ve never yet met a man who truly understands about sewing and dress materials.’
A shocked look was her only answer.
‘Anyway, since this young woman already knows something about sewing, I wonder if I could take her to help me with the baby clothes I’m organising? Many of them need mending.’
Silence, then, ‘If I may have a word with you first?’ Ignoring Cassandra, the haberdasher’s wife led the way across the room and the two ladies disappeared through the side door.
Xanthe reached out to give her sister’s arm a quick squeeze of sympathy. Cassandra tried and failed to smile back at her. Her aunt might not be here this time, but clearly she’d spread the rumours far and wide. Anger stirred in her at being treated like this, but she held it back. She couldn’t afford to lose her place in this class, because it meant a glass of milk and a piece of bread each time she attended, as well as sixpence.
But it was so unfair to be treated like this!
In the small room off the Sunday School area, Livia looked at her companion. ‘Is something wrong?’ She tried to keep a pleasant expression on her face, but truth to tell, she didn’t much like this particular coterie of shopkeepers’ wives.
As the daughter of a cleric who didn’t have a private income or a rich living, she’d had to be careful with money all her life. And after her marriage she’d still not got money to spare and was shocked sometimes at how carelessly her husband spent their limited resources. But seeing for herself how much suffering had been caused by the war in America, Livia really wanted to help.
‘You’re new to the town, my dear,’ her companion said. ‘But you’ll soon find out that that creature should not be allowed in a sewing class with decent young women.’
Livia stared at her. ‘You mean the young woman I was talking to?’
‘Yes. One of the Blake girls. Tries to call herself Cassandra.’
‘Is that not her real name?’
‘It ought not to be, not for a girl of that class. We call her Cass, which is much more suitable to her station in life. She’s not only a Methodist, but her father is a strange man, who has wasted his money for years on Greek lessons. What use has an operative for Greek, I ask you? And he gives those girls of his too much freedom, which they abuse shamefully.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘My friend Isabel Blake, who is unfortunately related to them by marriage, told me all about the situation.’ She shuddered. ‘To think I have to associate with them here. If my husband didn’t insist I help out, I’d not stay, I can tell you. We can only hope those creatures will realise they’re not wanted and stop attending.’
‘They’re hungry. They need to come.’
‘Let them find sustenance elsewhere, then, preferably in another town.’
Livia bit back a sharp response and went to look through the half-open door at the object of all this disgust. ‘Cassandra Blake doesn’t act in a forward way, nor does she look immoral. Her clothing is modest and clean.’
‘She’s too cunning to misbehave when she’s with decent folk. The ones sitting on either side of her are two of her three sisters – they try to call themselves Pandora and Xanthe – can you imagine folk of that class calling their children by such names? We call them Dora and Susan.’
Livia bit back a demand to know what right anyone had to change a person’s name, because she knew it’d fall on deaf ears. ‘I see. Well, Cassandra doesn’t seem forward to me and if she has sinned in the past, our Lord managed to forgive sinners and so shall I.’ She didn’t wait for an answer but walked back into the room and made her way round it, stopping again by the three sisters. ‘Cassandra?’
‘Yes, Mrs Southerham.’
‘I wondered if you’d like to help me with the baby clothes? We have a big pile of them donated by charitable ladies. They need to be sorted out and mended carefully. Your needlework is better than that of the others here, so would be more suited for dainty work.’
She saw the surprise on the young woman’s face, saw too the intelligence there. No doubt that also upset the ladies. ‘The baby clothes are in another room. Leave that unfinished pinafore at the front for someone else to work on, but bring the sewing equipment you were given.’
She smiled at the other two sisters and led the way out, ignoring the other lady supervisor’s outraged glare.
Wondering what had caused this offer, Cassandra followed Mrs Southerham’s swaying crinoline. What would it be like to wear clothes such as these? To have smooth hands that didn’t look as if the skin had ever been roughened by scrubbing? Like any young woman, Cassandra did her best to dress as attractively as possible, but she could never look like this.
‘In here.’
She realised she’d been so lost in thought she’d nearly walked past the open door and blushed at her own stupidity in letting her attention slip. She mustn’t give them any reason to criticise her. Was this talk of baby clothes just an excuse? Was she about to be lectured and told to stop attending the sewing class? If so, she needed to keep all her wits about her. She would not let them drive her away.
Heart thumping with anxiety, she followed Mrs Southerham into the room.
‘Come and sit down and I’ll explain what we need to do.’
As Cassandra moved forward, she realised suddenly that her companion was only her own age and was shorter than she was. You forgot sometimes that behind the beautiful clothes were real people.
Such beautiful clothes, though! The huge bell of a skirt had several rows of flounces round the bottom and even the over-sleeves had two smaller flounces, with white lace-trimmed under-sleeves peeping out beneath them. The bodice buttoned neatly up the front to reveal a white collar edged in lace. On her head Mrs Southerham had a small cap trimmed with lace. And the colour was a rich purple, one of the new aniline dyes, probably.
Cassandra couldn’t help a wistful glance down at her own clothes, which were plain and serviceable, a navy blue skirt, ankle length for easier walking, with two petticoats under it. A lighter blue blouse was topped by a short brown jacket and she used a shawl to cover her head when she went outside the house. The clothes hung loose on her now and the jacket was threadbare and shabby. In normal times she’d have bought another one from the second-hand clothes dealer.
‘My dear, have you eaten at all today?’
Cassandra shook her head.
‘It must be hard going hungry.’
‘You stop feeling hunger pangs after a while, but you don’t feel right. It slows you down and you can’t concentrate like you should. I’m sorry if I haven’t worked quickly enough. I—’
‘I’ll go and get you something to eat before we start.’
‘There’s no need. I can wait till the others have theirs.’
‘I was hoping you’d stay on a little longer afterwards and help me with this task, so you may as well eat now. There are babies being born without a stitch to their backs, so we need to sort t
hings out quickly. Unless you have something else to do this afternoon, of course?’
She couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. ‘No. That’s one of the problems of being out of work, not having anything to do. With four women in the family, the housework doesn’t take all day.’
‘Wait here a minute then.’
Cassandra leaned back in her chair, studying the little room, whose walls were covered in well polished wood panelling, and whose floor was covered by bundles of clothing. What was this place used for? There seemed to be a lot of rooms in this building, far more than in the smaller Methodist chapel her family attended.
Mrs Southerham returned with a plate and a glass brimming with milk.
Cassandra’s stomach suddenly betrayed her by growling and when the plate and glass were placed in front of her, her hand shook as she reached out for the piece of bread with its meagre scraping of butter. It took all her willpower not to cram it into her mouth.
‘Take your time. You’ll work better if you’re not hungry.’ Mrs Southerham moved across to look out of the window.
If she’s doing this to give me privacy, Cassandra thought, as she took small bites, then she’s far more thoughtful than the others. She chewed carefully and slowly, swallowing the occasional mouthful of milk to help the food down.
When she’d finished, she cleared her throat and Mrs Southerham turned round, looking at her sympathetically, no sign of scorn on her face.
‘Didn’t they tell you?’ Cassandra asked, surprised by how harshly her voice came out.
‘Tell me what?’
‘They’re telling everyone else that my sisters and I are immoral, so I thought they’d have mentioned it to you.’
‘Oh, that. I never give any credence to gossip, and anyway, I don’t believe it of you. I’ve seen enough young women of loose morals to recognise one.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes. I’m a parson’s daughter. I used to help my father and mother visit the poorer parishioners. My mother tried to help girls in that sort of trouble, not make things worse for them, since they carried the burden of shame and the men they went with usually got away scot-free.’