The Long Walk Home

by Valerie Wood

  ‘Claude, my dear fellow. How do you do?’ He eyed Eleanor with interest and bowed. ‘Madam.’

  ‘Miss Kendall, may I introduce Mr Christopher Henry?’ Ashe said. ‘Christopher, Miss Kendall finds herself in need of employment and I know you were looking for someone suitable to fill a vacancy.’

  Eleanor dipped her knee. ‘Good morning, Mr Henry. I would be pleased if you would honour me with an interview, though regretfully I cannot offer any references. I have recently come to London in search of my only brother who, because of his own circumstances, is not able to assist me.’

  Once more she was invited to sit and Mr Ashe took his leave of them, receiving her thanks for his assistance with yet another deep bow.

  Christopher Henry was a different character altogether from his colleague. Far from having a gloomy appearance he looked quite merry, and began by asking her where she was from and how she had found herself in London. She told the truth as far as possible, stretching it when need be and telling him that she was in sore need of employment to pay for accommodation so that she did not have to depend on friends to support or house her.

  He sat on the counter with his legs crossed at the ankles as he listened to her and she thought that perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad working for a man like this. He had a pleasant open face and she wondered how he would apply himself to someone recently bereaved. She was to find out very quickly. The doorbell pealed, but as if by instinct he had already slid down from the counter, adjusted his cravat, and was walking solemnly towards the door to greet the woman who came in. She was weeping copiously.

  ‘My dear madam,’ he said softly. In response to a lift of his eyebrows in her direction Eleanor rose from the chair, and he propelled the woman towards it and gently sat her down. ‘You have had a great shock, I can tell. Let me ease the pain for you. Your father, was it? No?’ The woman shook her head. ‘Do not tell me it was your husband?’

  The woman broke into greater spasms of weeping and he patted her hand. ‘And so young for widowhood.’

  Eleanor thought this was overdoing it as the woman was easily forty and must have had at least twenty years of marriage.

  ‘Miss Kendall,’ Mr Henry said. ‘Would you be so kind as to offer another woman’s comfort whilst I obtain a small glass of sherry? Would that help, madam? Mrs …’

  ‘Green.’ The woman murmured that it would, as she felt quite faint. Eleanor asked her if she wouldn’t have preferred a companion to come with her.

  ‘I have no one to ask,’ Mrs Green said. ‘Only my parents, and they did not care for my husband.’

  Eleanor made murmurs of condolence until Mr Henry came back with a small glass on a tray. To their astonishment, Mrs Green gulped the sherry down in one swallow.

  ‘Will you attend the funeral, madam?’ Mr Henry asked. ‘It is quite proper not to if you prefer.’

  ‘Oh, but I will,’ Mrs Green said. ‘I need to show the world that I regret nothing. I wish you to make me full mourning, if you please.’

  Eleanor helped Mrs Green to choose a suitable fabric of black velvet and Mr Henry called for a sewing woman from the back room to take her measurements. Eleanor saw how the client perked up considerably as the pattern was described and accessories suggested, a widow’s cap, gloves and jet; and so her apprenticeship into the world of mourning and funereal rites began.

  ‘There you are, m’dear,’ Aunt Marie said when they met up again. ‘I knew you were the tops for that kind of work, and now you’ll be an independent woman and not ’ave to rely on your brother.’

  So I will, Eleanor thought, feeling a faint glow of satisfaction. She would be able to pay for lodgings, which presented her with another dilemma. Wapping was too far to travel into London each day, and although Aunt Marie’s house was nearer, and Eleanor knew the old woman would be glad of the rent, she couldn’t envisage sleeping in a chair when she had to get up for work the next day.

  I’ll have to look for lodgings, she thought, and again asked Marie’s advice.

  ‘I know just the person,’ she said. ‘A pal o’ mine has a lodging ’ouse just off Regent Street. Her husband is a tailor. We’ll go now and see if we can get you fixed up.’

  That sounds all right, Eleanor thought. I hope I can afford the rent. She had seen the fine shops in Oxford Street and Regent Street and thought it would be an excellent place to live, rather like living in the High Street at home, where they were right in the centre of things. However, doubts crept in at Aunt Marie’s next words.

  ‘Course, it won’t be what you’re used to, but it’ll probably do you for the time being until you find your way about and get an increase in pay.’

  Eleanor knew that she wouldn’t be earning much to begin with until she had proved her worth, but Mr Henry had told her with a twinkle in his eye that he didn’t think that would take very long.

  Her heart sank as Aunt Marie led her off the main thoroughfare and into a maze of alleyways and courts. It was gloomy, even though it was not yet midday, with only a small strip of light showing above the rooftops. Some of the alleys were thick with mud and debris and there was a stink of foul air.

  ‘Aunt Marie! I don’t think I can—’ she began to protest.

  ‘We’re nearly there, m’dear. Don’t you look at the mess underfoot. My pal keeps a clean ’ouse, very particular she is.’ She led Eleanor round one more corner to another court of a dozen houses, six on either side within touching distance of each other, with a privy and a tap at one end.

  Marie knocked on the first door and waited, nodding her head confidentially at Eleanor.

  I can’t possibly stay in a place like this, Eleanor thought. I just can’t. I’ll die! It’s as bad as, if not worse than, the house where Simon is living.

  The door opened and Marie greeted her friend. ‘Here, Liza. I want you to ’elp out this young friend o’ mine. She’s lookin’ for some place to lay her ’ead.’

  ‘Another waif ’n’ stray, is it, Marie?’ Liza was in her mid-thirties, with bright ginger hair.

  ‘Fallen on ’ard times, she has. Needs an ’elping ’and and I knew you were just the gel to give it.’

  ‘Come on in.’ Liza opened the door wider and they stepped inside, straight into what Eleanor thought must once have been the living room but was now almost filled by a large table covered in cloth and suiting. A middle-aged man was bent over it.

  ‘This is Bert,’ Liza said, and the man glanced up and nodded and then went on plying his scissors across a piece of cloth.

  It’s probably clean, Eleanor considered, though it was hard to tell as practically every surface and both of the chairs were covered in sewing materials. She wondered how Bert could see to sew, as the only light came from an oil lamp which threw out a dim glow.

  ‘She needs a room,’ Marie said, nodding her head towards Eleanor. ‘Just got herself a nice little occupation in Oxford Street. In a mourning shop.’ She raised her voice at this and Bert looked up and gave a grimace, muttering something about folks having more money than sense.

  ‘I’ve only got the garret,’ Liza said. ‘The other room’s full. You’ll not want to share?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Eleanor said, hoping this refusal would be her way out of accepting.

  ‘Well, you can ’ave the garret to yourself,’ Liza said. ‘Though I’ll ’ave to charge you two bob a week for it if you won’t share.’

  There was a sudden disturbance under the table and out crept two children, a boy and a girl; each gave Eleanor a shy grin.

  ‘If you come,’ the boy said, ‘we’ll be able to ’ave meat pie ’n’ gravy.’

  Liza swiped at him. ‘That’s enough from you. Get back under the table.’ She apologized to Eleanor, saying that they were banished under there until Bert had finished his cutting out. ‘If he spoils the cloth we can’t afford to buy any more, and we don’t get paid until it’s finished.’

  ‘I see!’ Eleanor murmured, wondering if the rent for the garret meant the difference between their eating or n
ot. ‘Could I see the room, please?’

  Liza led her up a narrow staircase to a small landing and then up an even narrower stair to the top of the house. ‘It’s dry,’ she said, ‘unless it rains.’

  Eleanor gazed at her, nonplussed.

  ‘Then it comes in at the far corner,’ Liza went on, ‘but we keep a bucket at the ready.’

  ‘There’s no fire,’ Eleanor remarked, looking round the room. There was just a bed, a chair and a washstand; a very small window set in the cracked, sloping ceiling let in a shaft of light. ‘It will be very cold.’

  ‘I’ll put an ’ot brick in the bed every night and bring you ’ot water for washing every morning; and see to the chamber pot as well if you’ve a mind. All for the same price, as well as a bit o’ supper of a night.’

  Eleanor could hear the pleading in Liza’s voice and she thought of the children downstairs under the table.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it. Will you have it ready for tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ Liza said. ‘I’ve got clean sheets aired and ready to put on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Eleanor said. ‘Would you like a week’s rent in advance?’ And then I’ll have very little money left, she thought, barely enough for the omnibus. I think I might have to walk to work. Yet the gratitude on Liza’s face convinced her that she had done the right thing.

  When she arrived back at Wapping later that evening, Simon was alone at the rooming house, sitting in front of a smoky fire.

  ‘I’ve got work,’ she told him. ‘I start the day after tomorrow.’

  He stared at her. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Assistant in a mourning shop.’

  He roared with laugher. ‘You won’t last the week out,’ he scoffed. ‘You have no idea about earning a living.’

  ‘Neither had you,’ she retorted, ‘but you had to learn and so shall I. But I wanted to ask you a favour, Simon. Will you loan me five shillings? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, but I’ve paid for my lodgings and I’ve hardly any money left.’

  ‘Where did you get the money from to get here?’ he asked curiously. ‘You had no money of your own. Or did Father grant you an allowance?’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ she said sheepishly. ‘I sold some things. I needed money for the train fare to Nottingham.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Things we didn’t need any more.’ She felt her cheeks flushing as Simon gave a sudden grin and sat up in the chair to gaze at her.

  ‘You pinched something from home!’ he said incredulously. ‘Wow! I never thought you had it in you!’

  ‘I’m not proud of it. But I hadn’t any money of my own and Father wasn’t there. I thought if I went to see Mama I’d be able to persuade her to come back. Only she wouldn’t,’ she said, her voice dropping.

  Simon looked away. ‘Well, I haven’t any spare cash. I could lend you a shilling, but it’ll leave me short. I haven’t got five bob to my name. I’m sick of this, to be honest,’ he muttered. ‘I could do better than working for Manners only he won’t give me a reference; I know that without even asking him.’

  ‘But what about the other man? Tully? Would he give you one? You’ve known him long enough, haven’t you?’ But then she recalled hearing Mikey say that Tully was a thief.

  Simon sneered. ‘He’s a criminal,’ he said harshly. ‘Up to no good. If I get a reference from him I’ll be tarred with the same brush.’

  He hadn’t risen from his chair as she’d entered the house and he stretched his legs out now and folded his arms in front of him. ‘So – sorry. I can’t help you. You’ll just have to manage the best you can.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  That night Eleanor kept to the room she shared with Bridget, and came out only once to go to the privy. Mikey was sitting across from Simon. The boy, Sam, was curled up asleep on the floor, covered over with a thin blanket. When she returned from the dark court, Mikey asked if she wanted to come and sit with them by the fire, but she refused, saying that she was going to bed. Bridget didn’t come back that night and she wondered where she was.

  The next morning she rose early; she had heard movement from the other room and wanted to catch Mikey before he went to work. Simon and Sam had left already, but Simon hadn’t called to her before going out.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ she told Mikey. ‘I’ve got other lodgings near Regent Street.’

  ‘Are they all right?’ he asked. ‘You must be careful about where you stop.’

  She was grateful for his concern. Simon hadn’t even bothered to ask her where she would be staying, and she had decided that she wouldn’t ask him for the shilling that he had reluctantly half offered.

  She gave Mikey the address. ‘I hope I’ll be able to find it again.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s like a maze down there.’

  He smiled. ‘Hull’s like that too,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps you wouldn’t know that?’

  She gave a woeful shake of her head. How naive she had been, how innocent, and how ignorant of how some Hull residents lived.

  ‘I’ll catch an omnibus to town,’ she said, ‘and take my belongings to the lodging house; then I’ll explore and find my way about before tomorrow. I’ll have to walk to work as I shan’t have any money until I get my wages.’

  Mikey frowned. ‘What about food? Is that included in ’price?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said. ‘And I’ve paid a week in advance.’

  ‘Shouldn’t have done that!’ he said. ‘You should’ve moved in first afore handing over any money.’

  ‘Oh!’ She was crestfallen. What a lot she had to learn. ‘But I’m sure it will be all right. They didn’t ask for it; it was my suggestion.’

  His eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘They must have thought you were an angel in disguise, Ellie – Eleanor.’

  Ellie, she thought. No one has ever called me that before. I rather like it.

  ‘Simon will be coming to see if you’re all right, I expect,’ Mikey said. ‘After you’ve settled in, that is. Job sounds good. You’ve done well.’

  She felt her eyes flood with tears. Here was someone who barely knew her, offering up praise, boosting her confidence, whereas Simon had not been the least bit interested.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how I’ve found myself in this situation. There I was at home …’ Her voice dropped. ‘Then everything went wrong. Perhaps I acted hastily, going off to Nottingham to see my mother, but it seemed the natural thing to do. But then, but then—’ She stopped short. How swiftly events had moved on.

  ‘You suddenly found yourself in another world,’ Mikey said softly. ‘In a grown-up world where you had to make decisions. I do know about it.’ He took hold of her hand and gently pressed it. ‘I found myself in ’same situation after I came out of prison. But you’ll be all right, Ellie. You’re strong. Stronger than you realize. You’ve not had ’opportunity to show your mettle before. But you’ve got it now and there’s nowt to stop you.’

  She was so overcome by emotion at hearing his praise, and the familiar sound of home in his northern voice, that impulsively she reached up and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Thank you so much, Mikey,’ she breathed, and knew by the flush on his cheek that she had embarrassed him. ‘I’m so very grateful.’

  The house was easier to find than she had thought it would be. She jumped off the horse bus and walked briskly for a quarter of a mile; as her bag became heavier, she slowed down, switching it from one hand to the other. She saw across the busy street the mourning emporium where she was to start work the following day, and mentally rehearsed the route that she had taken with Marie the day before, bearing in mind the directions Liza had given her.

  Once more she traversed the mean side streets, courts and alleyways, and although she didn’t feel threatened – it was daylight, after all – she was conscious again of being well dressed amongst the poor. I don’t know what I can do about it, she thought. The other clothes that I brought with me will stand
out in just the same way. Although she didn’t have a vast or lavish wardrobe, not having the need for one, all her clothes were of good cloth.

  Eventually, feeling quite proud of herself, she came to the lodging house. Bert was sitting by the window but he didn’t see her, so intent was he on his stitching. She knocked on the door and he looked up.

  ‘Come in, miss.’ He opened the door to let her in.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your surname,’ Eleanor said. She didn’t feel comfortable calling him Bert.

  ‘Bertram, miss. Matthew Bertram. That’s why everybody calls me Bert.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’d rather call you Mr Bertram, Mr Bertram.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He turned back to his work by the window. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Miss Kendall, I have to finish this garment by this evening. Liza will be back soon, but feel free to go up to your room.’

  ‘Yes, I will, thank you. But I wanted to ask you something, Mr Bertram. I’m starting work tomorrow, as you know, and I wondered if you would be able to make me a grey blouse? You see, I have a grey wool skirt, and because of the type of establishment I shall be working in I thought a grey or black blouse might be suitable.’

  He surveyed her gravely over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘I’m a tailor, Miss Kendall. I don’t make clothes for ladies.’

  She bit on her lip, disappointed.

  ‘May I offer to advise you? In my opinion grey or black will be too funereal. It’s not you that’s bereaved and you don’t want to appear too dreary. I think you should wear a nice crisp white blouse with your grey skirt, and what if I was to make you a black bodice or waistcoat, piped with some grey ribbon to lighten it? It will look very businesslike, but very suitable for greeting sorrowing people. Sleeveless jackets for ladies are in vogue just now.’

  ‘Oh, how kind!’ she said. ‘That would be perfect, as I have brought a white blouse with me. But I can’t afford to have the jacket made just yet, Mr Bertram, not until I get my first week’s wages.’