by Val Wood
She thought she could do better than working in a hostelry and decided to become a shop girl. The wages were poor but a uniform of black dress and jacket were provided in some of the better shops, those selling fabrics, gowns and millinery. She had gazed in the windows of John Lewis and Whiteley’s and realized that she was not yet equipped for such splendour. She decided she would manage one way or another; she left the hostelry with some of the tips and takings she had found lying around and took any work she could find as long as she could earn enough to pay the rent on a room and have some small change left to buy food. She took her mother’s necklace to the pawnbroker’s and discovered that it wasn’t gold after all and was worth nothing. Presumably Uncle Jack had wanted it back to give to the next occupant of her mother’s former house.
She sat now by the window in a delightfully furnished first-floor sitting room with her sewing and a pot of coffee brought to her by the maid, and although the house didn’t belong to her and William she felt as content as she thought she would ever be. Oswald was at school and had announced after a few weeks that he wouldn’t come home every weekend as he’d first intended but would only come at the end of term like the other chaps. William had smiled at that and was pleased that he had settled so well.
It had been inevitable, she thought now as she turned a hem. I was so vulnerable, a young girl on my own with no visible means of support. I must have been seen as a sitting target by those reprehensible men with their false promises.
Some of the work she had previously been offered when she was at rock bottom – domestic, chambermaid or barmaid – wasn’t always what she had agreed to. Other duties and services were often expected and were difficult to get out of without the threat of a black eye; she took the black eye on a number of occasions and then left the establishment concerned, but a bruised face wasn’t conducive to obtaining another job of anything but the kind she had just vacated.
But then she had met Jimmy, who seemed different from the rest. He offered her work looking after his office, doing some paperwork and taking in parcels. The delivery men sometimes tried to take advantage of her and she complained to Jimmy, who put his arms round her, kissed her cheek and said he’d sort them out. He told her that he’d take care of her, and she felt safe and loved.
She had heard many expletives, swear words and profanities in the life she had previously lived but she had never used them herself, except sometimes beneath her breath as now when she was reminiscing and she rained bitter and malevolent curses on Jimmy and his friend Ned. Ned, who had been charming and handsome and rotten to the core. Jimmy had said she must be nice to him, for he was the key to the future. And she thought he meant her future, hers and Jimmy’s. But he didn’t. He just told her to be nice to Ned and sent her to his rooms on a false errand whilst he went off to rob him of a shipment of goods being delivered at the London docks.
The front door banged, and, startled, Nora glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Twelve fifteen. William must have decided to come home for lunch. She heard the patter of feet on the stairs and Miss Goddard’s voice as she greeted him in the hall. The door closed again and through the window she saw the young woman walking swiftly away, and then William came into the room.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d pop home for a spot of lunch. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it’s all right,’ she said. ‘Why ever not! It will be something cold, or you could have soup if you prefer?’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ he said. ‘I can’t stay long but I wanted to get out of the bank for a while. I might be late home tonight.’
‘Why? Nothing wrong, is there?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He seemed anxious. ‘Smithers isn’t well and told me a week ago that he’d informed the head office that he’s thinking of retiring.’
‘Your manager? Oh, dear. What will it mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed at his beard. ‘We’re expecting some of the top men at the bank this afternoon. If Smithers does decide to retire they’ll either bring someone in from elsewhere to replace him or …’
‘Promote you?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Then a short lunch only,’ she said, and galvanized into action pressed the bell to summon Ada. ‘Change into another jacket,’ she said. ‘Your frock coat perhaps, and another cravat, and a top hat, not a bowler.’
‘It’s not about how I look,’ he said, amused. ‘It’s whether I’m fit for the position.’
‘Even so,’ she fussed. ‘It’s also about your appearance.’ She smiled. ‘You’re a very striking man. You make a good impression. Go.’ She shooed him away. ‘Get changed. I’ll ask Ada to bring you a ham sandwich and a pot of coffee.’
When Ada answered the bell, she asked her to ask Cook to make Mr Thornbury a sandwich and some coffee as quickly as possible, and then asked if Bob was still there. When she said he was, she gave her sixpence from her purse.
‘Give that to Bob and ask him to run and order a cab to come back here in half an hour prompt.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ada hurried away to do her bidding.
Nora tried to compose herself.
On meeting William in the tea shop just off Brixton’s major thoroughfare she had considered that at last something good had happened to her. She wasn’t a customer, but a waitress; she had her uniform, not a black dress and jacket as she had once hoped, but a black skirt and blouse, a white apron and a starched cap, and had become adept at carrying trays laden with teapots, milk jugs, cups, saucers, plates and tiered cake stands.
If she had ever given thought to the type of man who would attract her, which she rarely did, having become cynical about men in general, William wouldn’t have been on the list; he was quiet and rather reserved, but he had smiled at her that day when he had given his order for tea and scones, and she, unusually, for she wasn’t given to smiling much, had smiled back.
She put down her sewing and turned to look out of the window into the street. It was a quiet area with little traffic, not like the busy London streets that she had known with their constant rush of traffic, horse-drawn carriages, coal carts and delivery vans, and always a crush of people, a hum of noise, voices shouting, dogs barking and horses whinnying. Hull’s Baker Street consisted of private respectable houses and some smaller buildings, dental surgeries and the like, and was adjacent to the elegant Albion Street and at the top end of Prospect Street, the main route into the centre of town. It had an air of gentility about it, and she liked that.
Her thoughts returned to the day she and William had met. He had left a generous gratuity beneath his plate and she surreptitiously pocketed it: she and the other two waitresses were supposed to share the gratuities, but they didn’t; it was a rule made by the owner who had a tin where the money was kept, but none of them trusted her enough to share it out evenly.
On her way back to the room which was home to her and Oswald, she impulsively slipped into a toy shop and bought him a coloured ball. He was almost two years old and becoming too much of a handful for the thirteen-year-old neighbour who looked after him whilst she was at work. Soon she would have to make another decision about their future.
If only she’d met William sooner; if only she hadn’t fabricated the story about her life, about Oswald and his so-called father, when she didn’t know who his father was. Was it Jimmy or was it Ned? Whichever one it was, neither wanted to claim responsibility. They were at daggers drawn with each other and had called her all kinds of names that she didn’t deserve. Both of them blamed her for her situation, even though she was given no choice.
She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. The ring that William had given her on their wedding day, not the gold-coloured tin one that had been her mother’s which she had been wearing when she met him again. For he had come back to the tea shop and she’d told him the cock and bull tale of being a widow with a child. Just as her mother had once done. ‘You look very dignified,’ she told Willia
m when he came downstairs again. ‘The sort of man to inspire confidence. Now.’ She handed him a large napkin. ‘Drink your coffee and eat your sandwich. I’ve ordered a cab to come in half an hour so you won’t be late back at the bank.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t be too disappointed if they appoint someone else above me, will you?’
‘I will! They must surely see a man of experience and gravitas.’
‘I hope you are right, my dear, and thank you for your confidence in me.’ He took a sip of coffee and remarked wryly, ‘However did I manage without you?’
CHAPTER NINE
Edie was wearing an oversized woollen jumper and her cheeks were red with cold from the walk to Baker Street. She stood with her hands behind her back and her chin held high and looked at Miss Goddard and Lucy. ‘I’ve been asked to inform you,’ she said proudly, ‘or I’ve been asked to – erm – announce …’ She hesitated, as if remembering the order of the words, and Miss Goddard raised her eyebrows quizzically as she waited. ‘That my aunt Mary has been delivered of her first bairn, a girl child,’ Edie finished.
‘Oh!’ Lucy clasped her hands together. ‘Can we go and see her?’
‘I don’t know your aunt,’ Miss Goddard said to Edie, ‘but I’m very pleased to hear of the baby’s safe arrival.’
‘Mary used to look after me,’ Lucy explained. ‘Before … before …’ Her eyes took on a glazed look.
‘Before Ada,’ Edie finished for her.
‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘Before Ada.’ Her thoughts were hazy as to what had happened before Ada, but she knew she had loved Mary. ‘I went to her wedding. What does delivered mean?’
Miss Goddard took a breath and asked them to sit down. She was a single woman and had a few qualms about explaining the business of giving birth to children when she had no real understanding of the matter herself.
‘It’s not like delivering a parcel,’ Edie said. ‘It means that it popped out of Aunt Mary cos it was ready. She was ready, I mean. The baby. She’s going to be called Sally. She’s got red hair, like Uncle Joe.’
Much too early to explain the facts of life to Lucy, Miss Goddard thought, and Edie probably knows them already, so she said, ‘Well, perhaps as soon as Aunt Mary is able to receive visitors we can take a walk to see them.’
‘Oh, she had her on Sunday, Miss Goddard,’ Edie explained. ‘My ma and Aunt Susan have been already and crossed Sally’s hand with a silver sixpence to bring her luck. Ma said she had tiny little fingers that curled round ’sixpences as if she knew they were hers.’
‘Oh, can we go? Can we go? Please,’ Lucy said eagerly. ‘I’ve never seen a new baby before.’
‘Well,’ Miss Goddard said. ‘If Edie will ask if it is convenient, we could perhaps visit on Friday or one day next week.’ And that will give me the opportunity to say something about bringing a child into the world, she thought. Perhaps not the actual birth process, but we could discuss nature and pollination and … She sighed. And other matters.
‘What did you mean when you said Aunt Mary was ready?’ Lucy persisted. ‘Ready for what?’
Edie screwed up her face, then, enlightened, said, ‘No. I said ’bairn was ready. Ready to come out into ’world. She’d had nine months to get ready. That’s how long it teks to make a baby.’
‘What a long time,’ Lucy said thoughtfully and was about to make another comment when Miss Goddard interrupted.
‘Get your numbers books out, children, and we’ll count out how many weeks there are in nine months.’
‘Have you had a baby, Miss Goddard?’ Lucy persisted.
‘No, because I’m not married. Now we really must get on—’
‘You don’t have to be married, Miss,’ Edie informed her. ‘A girl in ’next entry to ours had a bairn and she wasn’t married and nobody talked to her, but my ma does now that she’s had it, because she said somebody had to help her. It was a boy,’ she added. ‘I’ve seen him; you can tell he’s a boy cos he’s got a little toggle.’
Lucy’s eyes were like saucers and she opened her mouth to speak. Miss Goddard took a breath. ‘Enough,’ she said sharply. ‘Open your arithmetic books at page four and no more talking.’
On the Friday morning, Edie came back with the message that they could visit Aunt Mary that afternoon. Miss Goddard arranged with Mrs Thornbury that after lessons had finished she would take the children to see the new baby and then Edie would go home, and the governess would bring Lucy back.
‘Please give Mrs Harrigan my good wishes,’ Mrs Thornbury said. ‘And I hope the child will thrive.’ She reached for her purse and opening it took out a silver sixpence. ‘Will you give this to Lucy? To cross the baby’s palm.’
The governess was surprised at the gesture. ‘Is it not a superstition?’ she asked.
‘It might well be,’ Mrs Thornbury said. ‘It’s also an old tradition; but apart from that, a child coming into a poor household needs all the help it can get.’
Mrs Goddard nodded and wondered if perhaps Mrs Thornbury knew more about life than was apparent from her impassive and sometimes disapproving manner.
‘I’ll tek us on a shortcut, Miss,’ Edie told the governess. ‘There’s a lot o’ dust down Prospect Street and some of it’s closed anyway cos of ’houses at ’other end being demolished.’
‘I know the way too,’ Lucy piped up. ‘I went with Mary and with Ada and then you and I went for a walk there, Miss Goddard,’ she reminded her.
‘Yes, indeed we did.’ Miss Goddard agreed that the two children should guide her, and she took a hand of each of them as they walked away from the house and headed in the direction of Whitefriargate, where she gave them a brief lesson on the history of the name before continuing down Silver Street and crossing over the busy road towards High Street.
‘There!’ Edie said triumphantly. ‘Now you’ll be able to do it on your own, next time, Miss.’
‘Thank you, Edie.’ Miss Goddard smiled. ‘I will indeed.’
Joe Harrigan opened the front door to their knock, invited them in and then excused himself and took off at speed out of the narrow court.
‘Please excuse me if I don’t get up, Miss,’ Mary said. She was sitting on an old cracked leather chair with the mewling infant on her knee. ‘Babby’s hungry and she won’t wait. Please tek a seat.’
‘That’s quite all right, Mrs Harrigan.’ Miss Goddard drew up a chair and sat next to a wooden scrubbed table. ‘I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenient time.’
‘It’s not,’ Mary said. ‘I’m pleased that Miss Lucy wanted to come, and hasn’t forgotten me.’
Lucy stood shyly in front of her and looked down at the baby now nestling in her mother’s arms. ‘What is she doing?’
Mary smiled. ‘She’s feeding. I’m giving her milk.’
Lucy looked puzzled and peered closer. ‘But where do you keep it?’
‘It’s a special supply,’ Edie interrupted. ‘That’s what my mam says, anyway.’
Mary loosened her shawl so that Lucy could see the baby latched on to her nipple. ‘She’s eating you!’ Lucy squeaked. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘No. She hasn’t any teeth yet,’ Mary explained. ‘When they grow it might nip a bit, but not too much.’ She moved the child from her breast, patted her lightly on her back and transferred her to the other side.
‘You’ve got two taps!’ Lucy exclaimed.
Mary and Miss Goddard both laughed, Miss Goddard to conceal her embarrassment, for she had never seen a woman feeding a child before and she felt strangely moved.
When the baby had been fed, Mary discreetly covered herself again and sat the baby upright so that they could see her. Miss Goddard fumbled in her purse and took out two sixpences.
‘Lucy,’ she said, ‘your aunt asked me to give you this so that you could give it to the new baby. It’s to bring her good fortune.’
Lucy took the sixpence, a glow of delight on her face. ‘Is it to cross her hand, like Edie said?’
‘It is, and I would li
ke to do the same, Mrs Harrigan, if I may?’ The governess spoke softly. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen such a new baby and I would consider it a great privilege.’
She felt quite choked as she spoke and saw what Mrs Thornbury had already guessed, that there was real poverty in this house. There was a low fire burning in the grate but the room was cold and bare but for a few simple pieces of furniture: a table, two chairs, and a narrow bed half hidden behind a curtain. She wondered if Mary had given birth in here, and if so where her husband had been at the time, for he surely wouldn’t have been allowed to stay.
‘That’s very kind of you, Miss,’ Mary said huskily. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, but it will bring Sally luck, I’m sure of it.’
‘I’m Marion Goddard. Do you have plenty of food to keep up your strength?’ the governess murmured as Lucy fumbled to open the baby’s fingers.
‘My family are very good to us and help us out,’ Mary answered. ‘Unfortunately Joe is still on short time at ’docks, but we manage.’ She smiled weakly and Miss Goddard saw by her pale thin face that she was very tired and probably undernourished.
‘There!’ Lucy said, having successfully put the coin into the baby’s hand. ‘What do you think she’ll spend it on?’
‘I think she’ll be guided by her mother, don’t you?’ Miss Goddard said, and then wished she hadn’t as Lucy’s face became sad. She added quickly, ‘I’m going to give her a coin too. Will you show me how, please, Lucy, and then we must be going as Mrs Harrigan and baby Sally will need to rest.’
Lucy opened the fingers of the baby’s other hand. ‘Put it in her palm,’ she said, ‘and she’ll close her fingers over it.’
‘What a clever baby,’ Miss Goddard remarked as she did as she was bid, ‘and she’s less than a week old.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Harrigan,’ she said. ‘I hope you both keep well. Oh, and Mrs Thornbury sends her good wishes to you and the hope that your child will thrive.’