Chapter 4

Liverpool, October 1868

Patty looked at herself in the small mirror fixed to the wall at the end of the dormitory she shared with the other single girls employed by Freeman’s. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring some colour to them. Once, years ago, she had described her face to May as being like a bun with a couple of currants stuck in for eyes. That wasn’t quite true anymore. She was eighteen now and maturity had made her nose and cheekbones more pronounced. Her eyelashes had thickened, so that her eyes looked larger, but it was true she would never be a beauty by any conventional standards. Nevertheless, she did have redeeming features, she thought. Her skin was clear and unblemished and several years of good food had transformed her once scrawny figure. It could now be described as ‘voluptuous’, she decided. She liked that word. She had come across it in a ladies’ magazine and had had to ask one of the girls who worked on the shop floor what it meant. She hitched her corset, to expose a little more cleavage above the neck of her dress, adjusted her bonnet and turned to the others behind her.

‘Ready, girls?’

There was a chorus of assent and they all clattered down the uncarpeted back stairs towards the street. There were five of them; Lucy was one and the other three were sales girls. Normally, the better educated and more sophisticated girls who came into direct contact with customers on the shop floor looked down on those who worked behind the scenes, the cooks and kitchen maids and seamstresses and others, whose work was nevertheless as vital to the success of the store as their own. They made an exception, however, for Patty, now that she was manageress of the tea shop and she had insisted on bringing Lucy with her.

At the street door, five young men waited for them. They were also employees, who worked in the gentlemen’s outfitting department and lived in, like the girls. Patty had soon discovered that one of the good things about no longer having to cook the evening meal and clear up afterwards was that she was free to go out in the evening and tonight they were going to The Eagle, a tiny pub just behind the Royal Alexandra Theatre in Lime Street. Once there, they settled in a corner of the saloon, the boys bought glasses of ale and the girls ordered either port and lemon or ginger beer. The atmosphere was cosily convivial and Patty settled back in her seat with a sigh of contentment.

‘Hey, Patty!’ One of the boys nudged her elbow. ‘There’s a fellow over there giving you the eye.’

Patty looked across to the bar. A man had followed them in and taken a stool at the bar and now he had swung round and was staring in her direction. He was about thirty, she guessed, with light-brown hair slicked back and parted in the centre, and a neat moustache that curled downwards, framing full lips. He was wearing checked trousers in the latest fashion with the new, shorter jacket, a waistcoat and a rather flamboyant cerise cravat. There was something about him that seemed familiar but she couldn’t recall where she had seen him before.

‘He’s a bit smart for this place, isn’t he?’ Lucy murmured in Patty’s ear. ‘Looks like he’d be more at home in a gentleman’s club.’

Seeing them looking in his direction, the young man got off his stool and came over. ‘Ladies,’ he said with a small bow, and then, almost as an afterthought, ‘and gents. Do you mind if I join you?’ He made an expansive gesture with one hand, which finished by indicating his own chest. ‘Percy Dubarry, at your service. Now, let me buy you all a drink. What’s your pleasure, ladies?’

His eyes were focused on Patty and her first instinct was to refuse, but that seemed rude so she said, ‘I’ll have a small port and lemon, please.’

Percy took the others’ orders and went back to the bar. When they all had their drinks he surveyed the bench where the girls were sitting. ‘Mind if I squeeze in?’ he said, and inserted himself neatly between Patty and Lucy. Patty found his hip and thigh uncomfortably close to her own.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked Lucy and she told him with a simper. ‘How about you?’ he turned his gaze on Patty.

‘Patty Jenkins,’ she responded.

‘And what do you do, Patty?’ he asked.

‘I work for Freeman’s, the department store.’

‘Do you?’ He sounded impressed. ‘What as?’

‘I’m in charge of the tea shop. That is, I make all the cakes and other things.’

‘No, really? I was in there the other day. You must be a good cook. The cakes were first-rate.’

‘I thought I had seen you before,’ Patty said. ‘I was surprised to see a young gentleman there on his own.’

‘Why? Isn’t a fellow entitled to a nice cup of tea and a piece of cake if he fancies it?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Patty responded, feeling slightly awkward. ‘It’s just, it was unusual, that’s all.’

After that Percy turned his attention to Lucy and the conversation became general. Percy had a way of focusing on people as if he was really interested in what they had to say and before long the slight uneasiness, which in the case of the young men in the group bordered on resentment, was dissipated.

When Patty said, ‘It’s time we were getting back,’ he said, ‘Already? The night is young. I thought we might go on to somewhere we could have a dance.’

‘Sorry,’ Patty replied. ‘We have to be back by ten o’clock, or we get into trouble with Mrs Stevens, the matron.’

‘Back by ten!’ he exclaimed. ‘What is this, some kind of institution?’

‘We live in at the store,’ Patty explained, feeling rather nettled by his tone. ‘We have to be up at six, so it makes sense to be in bed at a reasonable time. Now—’ she got to her feet ‘—if you’ll excuse us …’

‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said.

‘There’s no need. It’s only a few steps, and we’ve got the other gentlemen with us.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said, undeterred.

Outside the pub he offered Patty his arm. ‘You know what I was thinking, when I first saw you in that bar?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I was wondering what a lovely girl like you was doing out on her own.’

‘I wasn’t on my own,’ Patty said, feeling herself blush.

‘I mean, not with a feller of your own. Don’t tell me that one of these boys is your beau?’

‘No, they’re not. I mean, they are just friends, people I work with.’

‘So, you’re not walking out with anyone?’

‘No … not at the moment.’

He pressed her arm against his side and she felt a frisson of pleasure. He was very much better looking than any of the others, and he was a proper man, not a boy like them. She felt suddenly proud to be on his arm.

‘Would you walk out with me?’

‘With you? I don’t know you.’

‘You could get to know me.’

She glanced sideways at him. He seemed to be serious.

‘Why would you want to walk out with me? Why me?’

‘Because I think you are the best-looking girl I’ve seen in a long time.’

She giggled. ‘Oh, don’t be silly! I’m nothing special.’

‘Oh, but you are, Patty Jenkins, queen of the tea table,’ he said, with a laugh.

They had reached the alleyway leading to the back of Freeman’s and the others were disappearing down it.

‘What do you say?’ he asked. ‘Can I see you again?’

‘I suppose so, if you want to.’

He smiled down at her. ‘I’ll come and call for you tomorrow. What time do you get off?’

‘About six o’clock, when the shop shuts.’

‘I’ll be here then.’

The next day he was there as he’d promised and he took her to a restaurant. Patty did not tell him that she had never eaten in a restaurant before, but when she was in service at Speke the butler and the housekeeper had insisted on proper table manners and she had copied the other servants. Now she watched covertly to see what other diners were doing and felt reasonably confident that she had not disgraced herself. They ate asparagus and steak, things she had seen taken up to the dining room for the rich people but had never tasted before, and Percy insisted on buying a bottle of wine. She did not like the taste of it much and he drank most of the bottle, but the little she did have made her feel pleasantly woozy.

When he walked her back to the shop the autumn breeze felt softer on her face and the lights in the shop windows seemed brighter than she remembered. In the alleyway he drew her close to him and kissed her and that broke the spell. Her only intimate experience with men had been far more brutal than Percy’s eager kiss but still his touch repelled her. She broke away and muttered something about ‘we mustn’t … I don’t … sorry. Look, I’ve got to go in, or I’ll be in trouble.’

He did not seem put out. He pressed her hand and said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon. Goodnight.’

She thought, as she got ready for bed, that she would never see him again, but two nights later he was waiting for her again. This time he took her to a different place. It was a restaurant, again, but much more crowded and there was a small orchestra at one side and a dance floor. At the far end was a doorway leading to another room, and when it opened she saw through a haze of cigar smoke men sitting round tables, playing cards. Some of the women seemed, to her, rather gaudily dressed and were often in the company of much older men. Memories of the worst months of her life rose in her mind.

‘Those women,’ she queried. ‘Are they …?’

‘Hostesses, that’s all,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Just here to dance with men who don’t have a partner. Come on, let’s have a dance ourselves.’

As he led her onto the floor Patty was grateful for another thing she had learned while she was at Speke. At Christmas there was a servants’ ball, when the grand ballroom was thrown open to all the staff and the lords and ladies danced with them – only, of course, with carefully selected upper servants – but that left the rest to enjoy a rare opportunity for gaiety. Afraid that she would be shown up as ignorant she had turned to the one person who had shown her any friendship, Robin the stable boy, and begged him to teach her. He had shown her how to dance the waltz and the polka, which was the sensation of the moment, and explained the intricacies of the Roger de Coverley and the cotillion. It had come at a price, of course. After the ball was over he had dragged her out to the stable yard, pushed her against the wall and thrust his tongue down her throat and his hand up her skirt. She had sworn then that she would never dance with a man again, but Percy was different. He took her onto the dance floor and held her quite decorously as they waltzed. He was, she decided, a real gentleman. That evening, when he took her home, he did not try to kiss her.

A few days later she was clearing up after the tea shop had closed when one of the waitresses put her head round the kitchen door.

‘There’s a fellow upstairs asking for you.’

‘What sort of a fellow?’

‘Dapper sort of gent. Says his name’s Percy. Says you will know him.’

‘Yes, I know him,’ Patty agreed. ‘But I can’t think what he wants with me.’

Percy was standing in the almost empty tea shop, chatting amiably to Miss Winterton, the lady who had been brought in to run the business side of the enterprise.

‘Ah, here she is!’ he exclaimed. ‘The queen of cakes!’

‘It seems your fame is spreading,’ Miss Winterton said archly. ‘Mr Dubarry has come specially to sample your creations.’

‘Oh,’ said Patty, flustered, ‘really?’

‘I must get on,’ Miss Winterton said. ‘I’ve got to cash up. I’ll leave you to entertain the gentleman.’

‘Why did you ask them to call me up,’ Patty asked, as the other woman moved away.

‘I just wanted to tell you in person how much I enjoyed your baking.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘But you could have told me next time you take me out.’

‘Tell you what I liked best? Those gingerbread ladies. That’s a real stroke of genius, making them to look like the models.’

‘Yes, they are very popular,’ Patty agreed.

He leaned towards her. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got one or two left over, have you?’

‘Well …’ Patty hesitated.

‘Look, I’m not asking for myself. There’s a family I know. Father was killed in an accident on the docks, mother takes in washing to make ends meet, three little ’uns. I do what I can, but it’s never enough. Those children never taste anything sweet from one year’s end to the next. Most of the time they have to make do on bread and scrape. They’d give their right hands for one of your gingerbread ladies.’

‘Wait here,’ Patty said.

She ran down to the kitchen and collected half a dozen of the gingerbread figures. She had intended them for herself and the two girls who helped, but this was obviously a better cause. She wrapped them in a napkin and took them back to where Percy was waiting.

‘Bless you!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’ll be a red letter day for those children. I can’t wait to see their little faces when I give them these. I’ll tell them to remember you in their prayers tonight.’

When he had gone Patty smiled to herself. She wished she could see the children’s faces, too, but it was a pleasure just to imagine it. Thinking back to her own childhood in the workhouse, she had never actually gone hungry but she remembered how she and the other children had longed for the taste of something sweet.

Two mornings later she had just taken a batch of gingerbread ladies out of the oven when there was a knock at the door that opened directly from her small section of the kitchen onto the basement area behind the store. Opening it, she found Percy with a woman, whose ragged shawl and haggard face proclaimed her poverty.

‘This is Agnes,’ Percy said. ‘It was her children you gave the gingerbread ladies to. She wants to thank you in person.’

‘Yes, miss,’ the woman confirmed. ‘I’m that grateful to you. I could never afford to give the little ’uns a treat like that. They loved every mouthful. My little Bobby broke his in half to save it for another day. He slept with it under his pillow, in case one of the others took it in the night.’

‘You see?’ Percy said. ‘Doesn’t it feel good to be able to give so much pleasure to children who have so little?’ He paused and sniffed the scent of ginger and sugar coming from the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose you could spare a few more?’

Patty looked at the woman’s face and saw the look of hope quickly succeeded by fatalistic resignation. She glanced at the kitchen clock. There was time to bake a fresh batch, just. Maisie’s mother had come round that morning to say that her daughter had a bad cold and could not come to work, and Patty had just sent Lucy to the store cupboard to fetch more flour, so she was alone. She picked up the empty flour bag and quickly shovelled the entire batch of a dozen into it.

‘Here.’ She held it out to Agnes. ‘Don’t tell anyone, for goodness sake. And don’t let them eat them all at once. Keep a couple for yourself.’

‘Oh, miss!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what to say. Thank you! The bairns will think they’ve died and gone to heaven.’

‘Well done, Patty!’ Percy said. ‘You’re a lady, and no mistake.’

She did not see Percy again for a week or two and when he called for her next he explained that he had had to go away on business. For the first time it occurred to her to ask how he earned his living.

‘What sort of business, Percy?’

He shrugged and smiled. ‘Oh, this and that. Buying and selling. You have to make your money wherever you can in this city.’

Over the next weeks he appeared at irregular intervals to invite her to accompany him to a restaurant, or a dance hall. His favourite place was the one where they had first danced together, which he jokingly called his ‘club’. Wherever they went, he seemed to be well-known and was warmly greeted, but he never introduced Patty or accepted the invitations to join other groups. She found their relationship puzzling. The other girls in the dormitory had taken to referring to Percy as ‘your feller’ and seemed to assume that in the course of time they would be engaged; yet apart from that first time he had never attempted to kiss her again. It was not what she assumed a romantic relationship would be like at all.

Once she said to him, ‘I don’t know what you see in me. I’m not half as pretty as some of these other girls.’

‘Ah,’ he said with a wink, ‘beauty’s only skin deep, they say. You’ve got something about you. You’ve got what they call personality.’

‘Have I?’ Patty felt a swell of pride. ‘Really?’

‘Tell you what, though,’ he said. ‘You don’t make the best of yourself. Why don’t you get yourself a new dress? Something a bit swanky, so I can show you off.’

Patty had never thought of going into the ladies’ fashion department of Freeman’s as a customer. Her pay rise had allowed her to save a little money, so she thought she could probably afford to buy a dress, but at some only half-realised level she had the idea that such clothes were not intended for ‘the likes of her’. But the suggestion that Percy did not feel she was well enough dressed to mix with his friends was enough to prompt her into action.

Next morning she plucked up her courage and braved the superior stare of Miss Clarke, the manageress.

‘Patty? Is there something you need?’

Patty swallowed. ‘Please, I’d like to try on a dress.’

‘A dress? Which dress did you have in mind?’

‘That yellow one, over there.’

‘The yellow silk with the black lace?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘It’s quite expensive, you know.’

‘Yes, I know. But I’ve saved a bit of money from my wages.’

Miss Clarke looked at her for a moment and Patty was afraid that she was going to refuse. She had been right all along. Girls like her were not supposed to wear dresses from the ladies’ fashion department. But then the manageress’s face softened.

‘Miss Brown? Here, please.’

A young woman obeyed the summons.

‘Patty here would like to try on the yellow silk. Will you assist, please.’ She paused and ran her eyes over Patty. ‘The next size up, I think.’

Patty followed Miss Brown into a changing cubicle and allowed her to help her into the dress. Even with the larger size she had to pull her stays as tight as she could bear before the buttons would do up, but when she was finally squeezed into it the assistant looked her up and down and said, ‘You know, that really suits you.’

Coming out of the cubicle she found Miss Clarke waiting. She nodded approvingly. ‘I think that does very nicely on you. And you’re in luck. I have just realised the sale price of that dress has been reduced.’

‘Oh!’ Patty said. ‘How much is it now?’

Miss Clarke named a price. Even with the reduction it was almost more than she could afford, but she bought it anyway.

That evening Percy greeted her with an appreciative whistle.

‘Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, and no mistake.’ He offered her his arm with a little bow. ‘Shall we go, my lady?’

He still did not introduce her to his friends, but for the first time she felt equal to the other women on the dance floor – no longer the poor relation. She began to take more interest in her appearance and soon felt that one new dress was not enough. She knew it would be a long time before she could afford another one, so she began to haunt the room where the seamstresses worked. Ready-made dresses were a novelty still and most ladies preferred to have clothes made for them and Freeman’s offered that facility as well. Patty found that she could beg off-cuts of fabric – but never enough to make a dress, and anyway she knew she did not have the skill to create one herself. But she did fashion a little black velvet cape to wear over the yellow dress and some white lace ruffles to add to the plain dark blue dress she had been given when she went to work for Freeman’s. She ventured into the millinery department, too, hoping to pick up some ribbon or some flowers to trim a bonnet. But the milliner in charge now was not the cheery Nan Driscoll but the martinet Miss Jones. Patty remembered how much May had disliked her new boss and she soon understood why. The suggestion that there might be some unwanted trimmings leftover was dismissed out of hand.

‘We do not waste anything in this department. It’s no good you coming scrounging here.’

On her way out, Patty noticed a black feather lying apparently discarded on one of the tables. Without pausing for thought she swept it into her hand and hid it under her apron.

Returning to the common room with her booty, she was delighted to find a letter addressed to her with an Australian post mark.

Freshfields

Rutherglen,

Victoria

July 25^th 1868

Dear Patty,

You will be surprised to get another letter so soon, but I have some news that I know will interest you. Do you remember the little girl we used to call Angel? I used to look after her as a baby in the workhouse, but then she was adopted by a Mr and Mrs McBride. They did not want anyone to know their child had come from the workhouse so they made up a story that she was his brother’s child and had been born in Ireland.

You are probably wondering why I am bringing all this up again now. Well, I have just received a letter from James, dated last May. An extraordinary thing has happened. A man called Richard Kean walked into the office of the solicitor James works for and asked for help to trace his daughter. He left her at the workhouse because he was destitute and was leaving for South Africa to find work. Having made a good living, he had come back to claim her, but the workhouse supervisor would not tell him who had adopted her. James guessed from his description that it might be the child I called Angel. So he has turned detective! He has been to Ireland, to the village her adoptive parents told everyone she had come from but found no trace of anyone called McBride or any child being baptised there who might be Angel. So the whole story is obviously a lie.

Mr Kean naturally wanted to see her, but she has been sent away to school and no one knows where, so when James wrote they were waiting for her to come home for the summer holidays.

Of course, it may all come to nothing. Angel may not be his daughter after all and, even if he believes she is, I do not know how he can prove it. But I should like to think of her reunited with her real father. I’m sure she was not happy with the McBrides. Well, I shall just have to be patient and wait for James’s next letter.

I hope you are well and the tea shop continues to go well. I’m sure it must be a great success. You haven’t told me much about yourself in your letter. Have you got a beau? I bet you can have your pick now you’re a manageress! How is Mr Carton treating you these days? I know he used to bully you. I should think he’s had to change his tune a bit. Quite right, too.

Write soon. I’m longing to hear all the gossip.

Love,

May