At the end of the meal she said, ‘Please apologize to Mrs Dobson for me. The meal was excellent, as always, but I’m not at all hungry.’
‘Cook will understand.’ He poured her a cup of coffee.
‘Do you have somewhere to go when you leave here?’ she asked.
‘Mrs Dobson and myself have already obtained new places with Lord and Lady Buckheart. They have a fine house in Surrey, and we’re looking forward to working in the country for a change.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’ She really was pleased for them. ‘What about the others?’
‘They all have interviews within the next two days. I expect they will soon be suited.’ He lifted his head proudly. ‘Superior servants are always in demand.’
‘Er …’ She hesitated for only a moment as she schooled her expression and tone of voice to sound casual. ‘How do you go about finding domestic work?’
‘There are advertisements in the newspapers and a very good agency in the Tottenham Court Road. And’ – he allowed himself a small smile – ‘word gets around.’
She returned the smile and stood up, relieved to have found out where to start on her quest for a job. She would visit this place as soon as possible.
After returning to her room the next couple of hours were spent in trying to create a new identity. Her hair was cut with a small pair of scissors from her workbox – not an easy job to do herself. It was passable when finished and did make her look a little older. Short hair was all the rage now, so it was unlikely to be commented on. A rummage through her wardrobe showed that even her oldest clothes were too good. She’d heard about pawnbrokers’ shops where they gave you money for almost anything. She’d take some things to one of them in the morning, and also see if she could buy more suitable working clothes from there. Then she collected together all the pieces of jewellery and the trinkets her father had brought back from America for her. They would have to go as well. It was no good being sentimental about them; the past had to be put behind her.
The final part of her plan was her name. The girls at school had called her Jenny. That would be more suitable than Eugenie. Her surname would have to be changed as well; otherwise her aunt would be able to find her too easily. What could she call herself? Something ordinary like Baker? Yes, that would do. The other thing she would have to watch carefully would be her accent. The polished speech taught at the Templeton School for Young Ladies would have to go.
It was nearly midnight when she finally settled down to sleep. The tears soaked the pillow, and then, as exhaustion overcame her, the new Jenny Baker slept.
3
The only people moving around the next morning were the servants. The housekeeper, Mrs Charlton – who Jenny had never liked – was holding a list in her hand and pointing out what could be packed and removed from the house. There was very little on the list, and it was obvious that the bank was claiming almost the entire contents.
Breakfast had been prepared and Jenny forced herself to eat, although it was an effort. There was a tense day ahead of her and she would need all of her strength. She was so anxious that her insides churned most alarmingly, making her hesitate before swallowing a mouthful of scrambled egg in case she was sick.
After about fifteen minutes she gave up, leaving a plate of crumbs where she’d crushed the toast in agitation. After casting an apologetic glance at the butler, she opened the door and nearly bumped into the housekeeper.
‘Ah, Miss Winford, I shall ask one of the maids to help you pack.’
‘There’s no need for that. I won’t be taking much.’ The last thing she wanted was someone looking over her shoulder as she sorted out what to take with her.
Mrs Charlton looked doubtful. ‘You must remove only your own personal belongings. I shall be checking the room to make sure you haven’t taken anything that doesn’t belong to you.’
Jenny bristled at her tone. ‘I’m not a thief, Mrs Charlton!’
She turned and ran up to her room, closing the door with a satisfying thump. That woman had always had a snooty air about her. It was clear she was enjoying seeing the Winfords’ downfall. Wandering over to the window, she gazed out at the garden, now dressed in the last of the autumn shades as it prepared for the long winter ahead. A dry sob shook her slender body. What trials and hardships would this winter hold for her? Did she have the courage to go ahead with the plans she’d made? Would it be wiser to go to live with Albert Greaves for a while in order to give herself more time to plan her escape? But if she did come under his control there might not be a chance to get away in the future. Did she even have a hope of succeeding with this crazy plan of turning herself into a servant?
With hands clenched she spun away from the window. What choice did she have? It was either make a life for herself or go to live with Albert Greaves. No! That was impossible. She hadn’t known that he had a sister, but if she was anything like him, Jenny wanted nothing to do with her.
She scrambled on her hands and knees to reach to the back of her wardrobe and, after much tugging, pulled out an old battered suitcase. This would be perfect to take with her when she left. Her father had given her this when she’d been ten. He’d taken her to the seaside for two days: a rare treat and it had been so wonderful. The two had walked along Brighton seafront, explored the shops in the small alleys, and eaten fish and chips out of newspaper.
She ran her hands over the case and wiped a tear away as it splashed on the worn leather. That had been such a wonderful time, and she would always cherish the memory … Jenny shook herself out of her reminiscences. She had to get on. Her mother wouldn’t appear today – she’d never been able to face anything unpleasant – and it was a safe bet that she would keep to her room. Aunt Gertrude wouldn’t show her face until after lunch. Her plans must be put into action this morning while she had the chance to slip out unnoticed. If Aunt Gertrude discovered what she was doing, then she’d be locked in her room, and her fate would be sealed.
Leaping up, she began to search through her clothes, choosing the plainest and oldest garments. The case was only small and soon full, but there was room for one more item. The dress her father had bought her for her fourteenth birthday. It was most unsuitable, of course, and there wouldn’t be an occasion to wear it in the life she was planning for herself, but she had to keep some small memory of the way things had been, and of the father she had loved so much.
After wrapping the white lace and beaded dress in tissue paper, Jenny tucked it underneath her other clothes. Now she had to find a way to raise some money. She would have to try one of those pawnbrokers she’d heard about because she didn’t know any other way.
It wouldn’t be wise to leave the house with a large package, so, after choosing a couple of good frocks, she tipped out the trinket boxes. There wasn’t much jewellery, but it was all gold and must be worth something. There was a bracelet, a heart-shaped locket on a chain, a couple of brooches, and this: she held up a fine gold chain with a small pendant, a diamond surrounded by emeralds. It was the most valuable gift her father had ever given her. After gazing at it for a few moments she made up her mind to keep it and fastened it around her neck, tucking it out of sight under her blouse. It would be wise to keep that as insurance, because she didn’t know when she might need money in a hurry.
Gathering everything together, she crammed it into a leather handbag. That could be offered to the pawnbroker as well.
With heart hammering, she crept down the stairs, hoping no one would see her, and slipped out of the front door with a sigh of relief. They’d all been too busy to take any notice of her. Now, where would be the best place to go? Somewhere she wasn’t known, she thought, as she hurried towards the bus stop.
A bus was pulling up with the destination LAMBETH on the front. She’d never been there and was sure that none of her family had either. She jumped on and made her way upstairs. All she had in her pocket were two shillings and sixpence, but that would be enough for the moment.
Whe
n she got off the bus and started to walk along the high street, Jenny felt as if she was in another world. No tall elegant houses here with smart cars waiting outside for well-dressed passengers. The contrast was startling. There were women towing along scruffy children, and groups of men standing around with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. The snatches of conversation that drifted her way made her flinch; they cussed freely, and the general air of poverty made her want to cry. How sheltered her life had been.
‘Hello, darling.’ A tall youth blocked her path as he eyed her from head to toe. ‘What you doing down ’ere?’
As frightened as she was, some instinct told her not to show fear and her head came up. ‘Minding my own business. Why don’t you do the same?’ Where the courage came from to utter those words she couldn’t imagine.
He tipped his head back and roared. ‘Oh, la di da.’ He grinned at his friend who had come to join in the fun. ‘Did you ’ear that posh voice?’
‘Yeah, sounds like one of those bloody blokes on the wireless.’
Every time she moved to get around them they blocked her way. She was breathless with panic, feeling very small, very young and very vulnerable. It had been foolish to answer back.
The tallest of the boys made a grab for her bag, and she swung it behind her back out of his way. She mustn’t lose this because it contained everything she owned of value. The other boy made to dart for the bag when a loud voice stopped them both. They turned to look at a burly man coming towards them.
‘Leave the kid alone!’
Her first tormentor glared at him. ‘We ain’t doing no harm, Fred, was just having a bit of fun.’
‘Well, bugger off and stop pestering decent people.’ Fred watched them with narrowed eyes until they were well down the street; then he turned his attention to Jenny, who was now trembling in reaction. ‘You shouldn’t be here on your own, miss. Those kids don’t mean no ’arm, but they can be frightening if you don’t know them.’
‘Thank you for helping me, Mr … ?’
The man’s stern features broke into a smile. ‘Just call me Fred. Now, where are you heading?’
She didn’t know why, but she felt she could trust him. He might be shabby, but there was something about him. He was about forty-five years old, she guessed. He looked clean, and his pale blue eyes had a glint of kindness in them. ‘I’m looking for a pawnbroker’s.’
‘Ah, well, you’ve come to the right place, then.’ His fierce frown was back again. ‘Need money, do you?’
She nodded in embarrassment.
‘You’d better do something about your accent, ’cos they’ll know you’re new to this and take you for a ride.’
‘A ride?’ Why would they want to do that?’
Fred laughed at her puzzled expression. ‘They’ll cheat you.’
She blushed at her ignorance, feeling helpless to deal with this terrible crisis in her life. It had seemed so easy in the comfort of her bedroom, but now all she wanted to do was to run away and hide. It was all too much. She gathered the tattered shreds of her courage around her and said, ‘Oh.’
‘Hit ’ard times, have you?’
Her eyes clouded and she gulped. ‘Yes.’
‘What’s the trouble, Fred?’ A woman of around the same age came up to them.
‘Hello, Glad. The Preston boys was pestering this young girl. I sent them off with a flea in their ear.’
Jenny was in a strange land, where they were speaking a different language. Did they have fleas in their ears?
‘Good for you. Bloody menace, those kids.’ She opened her shopping bag for Fred to see inside. ‘Got you a nice pair of almond rocks in the market.’
Jenny gaped as she looked from one to the other. What?
‘Oh, you shouldn’t ’ave done that, Glad. We can’t afford luxuries like that.’
‘Luxuries!’ The woman shook her head. ‘Those you’re wearing can’t be darned any more, and you know it. I know they’re rubbing your poor old plates of meat. They must be damned uncomfortable.’
Jenny knew what darning was. You did that to things with holes in, like stockings or socks. She glanced down at Fred’s shoes as realization dawned. Almond rocks – socks. Plates of meat – feet. It rhymed! She giggled, her earlier fear forgotten. She looked back at her companions, so obviously husband and wife.
‘Never heard cockney rhyming slang before?’ Fred’s eyes sparkled.
‘No. Are there many words like that?’
‘Bless you, ducky,’ Glad chuckled, ‘you can ’ave a whole conversation with them.’
Jenny giggled again. ‘Please don’t do that, I’ll never understand a thing you say.’
‘So what you doing down here on your own?’ Glad studied her intently.
‘She’s looking for a pawnbroker. In bad need of some money,’ Fred explained.
‘Ah, then old Uncle Bob’s your best bet – ’e’s reasonably honest.’ Glad frowned at her husband. ‘But she can’t go to him sounding like that. We’d better do the business for her.’
‘Be best. That’s if it’s all right with you, miss. You’ll get a better deal with us there, ’cos we know the crafty old devil.’
‘Umm, is he a relative of yours?’
‘Gawd ’elp us,’ Glad gasped through her laughter. ‘We all call him uncle. When anyone says they’re going to see uncle, we know they’re going to pop something.’
‘Pop?’ Jenny was becoming more confused by the minute.
‘Pawn something,’ Fred explained with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘You come with us and we’ll see you all right.’
Relief swept through Jenny. She’d been dreading doing this on her own and these seemed nice people. ‘I really would appreciate it.’
‘Come on, then, let’s see what we can squeeze out of the mean old sod.’ Glad took Jenny’s arm and steered her in the right direction.
They’d been walking for only about five minutes when Jenny spotted the three brass balls hanging outside the shop. Once inside she gazed around in wonder. It was dingy and packed to the ceiling with goods of every description. There was a short, rotund man behind the counter, almost bald with a few strands of grey hair smoothed across his shining head.
‘Hello, Fred, Glad. What can I do for you today?’
‘Not us. It’s our young friend here. She’s got some things to pawn.’ Fred turned his back on the man and whispered in Jenny’s ear, ‘You leave this to us.’
‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ The shopkeeper sounded impatient.
She emptied the contents of her bag on the counter. The man went for the jewellery immediately; a magnifying glass appeared rapidly from his waistcoat pocket and he clamped it to his eye. It seemed to take him ages as he examined each item carefully, uttering only a grunt now and again. Suddenly he looked up, dropping the eyeglass into his hand.
‘Where’d you get these things? I ain’t taking nothing what’s been pinched.’
‘Stolen,’ Fred muttered for her benefit.
‘They’re mine!’ In her panic Jenny forgot about not speaking. She just had to have some money! She gazed imploringly at Fred and Glad. ‘They are mine. Honest!’
Glad patted her arm. ‘Don’t you take no notice of Uncle, ducky, he’s as bent as a four-penny piece. All he’s trying to do is get your nice things for as little money as he can.’
Jenny was relieved they were here because it was so difficult to understand these strange ways; if she’d been on her own, she’d have run out of the shop in horror.
‘Stop playing games,’ Fred growled. ‘The kid’s desperate enough to bring her to Lambeth, so what’re you going to give her?’
‘Two quid for the lot.’
‘What?’ Jenny was horrified. That wouldn’t last her very long. ‘But the dresses cost a lot and the jewellery is real gold!’
‘I don’t have much call for posh frocks round here, and –’
‘I’ll go somewhere else, then.’ She didn’t give him a chance to finish speakin
g and reached out to gather up her precious things. There must be other pawnbrokers around. If she didn’t get more than that, her plan to run away would come to nothing. And that frightened her more than this peculiar man standing in front of her.
The pawnbroker slapped his hands over the jewellery before she could remove it from the counter. ‘Let’s not be ’asty.’
Fred chuckled. ‘She’s got more savvy than you thought, hasn’t she?’
‘Another ten bob, that’s all I can go to.’
Jenny pushed his grubby hands out of the way and shoved the things back in her bag.
‘How much do you want, then?’ He had come from behind the counter now, obviously not wanting her to leave.
She could see the look in his eyes and knew he wanted the jewellery. She relaxed a little. ‘Five pounds.’
‘What?’ He mopped his brow in mock distress. ‘That’s bleeding robbery!’
‘Don’t foul mouth her,’ Glad scolded. ‘She ain’t used to our rough ways.’
The scruffy man looked her over very carefully, clearly pricing everything she was wearing. ‘What kind of trouble you in?’
These people didn’t know her, and if she didn’t mention any names … well, she might get a better price. ‘My father lost all his money in the Wall Street crash’ – her bottom lip trembled as she whispered – ‘and he killed himself.’
Glad dragged an old chair from a heap of furniture and made her sit down, standing beside her with her hand on Jenny’s shoulder. ‘Ah, I’m sorry, ducky.’
Uncle’s gaze became calculating. ‘You must have lots of nice things at home to sell.’
She shook her head. ‘The bank’s taking everything. This is all I’ve got.’
‘You must have family who’d look after you, though.’ Fred stooped down in front of her.
She looked into his kindly face and felt a single tear trail down her cheek. ‘My aunt is going to give my mother a home, but she doesn’t want me.’
A Change of Fortune Page 3