Chapter 6

Liverpool, November to December 1868

Patty did not see Percy for a while. She missed their outings together. The dinners and the dancing had brought some glamour into her life, something she had never experienced before. Then one day he reappeared, as before with no explanation for his absence, and invited her out to dinner. As he walked her home from his favourite restaurant, he said, ‘You know, I keep thinking about those little children you gave the gingerbread ladies to. There are dozens, no hundreds of others like them in the city.’

‘I can’t feed them all with gingerbread,’ she said.

‘No, of course you can’t. But we could do something for some of them. You could make a few extra, couldn’t you?’

Patty looked at him, with a sudden sense of anxiety. ‘Look here, Percy. I can’t keep giving them away. They’re not mine to give.

‘Whose are they, then?’

‘Well, they belong to the shop. I suppose to Mr Freeman, really.’

‘Do you think he’d miss a few gingerbread ladies?’

‘No, of course not. But the ingredients cost money, you know. When I give them to you they can’t be sold in the shop. So I’d be stealing, really.’

He cocked his head on one side and grinned at her. ‘Have you ever heard of Robin Hood?’

‘’Course I have.’

‘Well, you know what he did.’

‘He stole from the rich to give to the poor.’

‘Well then?’ He lifted his eyebrows. ‘When you think how the well-off people live, I reckon the food they waste every day would feed six poor families.’

Patty remembered the food that had been sent back from the dining room of the Big House and fed to the pigs. She thought that the same was probably not true of the Freeman household, but it was also sure that no one went short there. And Percy was right when he said that Mr Freeman would not miss a few cakes. She looked at him.

‘Very well. Come to the kitchen tomorrow, after we close.’

Next day she deliberately left a batch of gingerbread in the oven slightly too long, so they came out singed at the edges.

‘Oh, look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘Maisie, why didn’t you warn me they were burning?’

‘I though you was watching them,’ the girl returned with a hint of indignation.

‘We can’t serve them like that,’ Patty said. ‘I’ll have to make another batch.’

‘I’d eat ’em,’ Maisie said.

‘Well, here, have one,’ Patty replied, feeling guilty. ‘Take one for Lucy, too.’

Maisie went off with the two gingerbread figures and Patty put the rest to one side. Once they were cool, and no one was looking, she slid them into a bag and hid them under the shelf.

‘What happened to the burnt gingerbreads?’ Maisie asked later.

‘Oh, I threw them away. They really weren’t up to standard.’

After her two assistants had gone Percy knocked at the door and Patty handed him the bag.

‘Good girl!’ he said, and winked at her. ‘Do good by stealth, isn’t that what the Bible says?’

‘Is it?’ Patty responded.

‘There will be some happy faces tomorrow, I can tell you,’ he said.

After that, Patty got into the habit of making slightly more of the gingerbread ladies than were required in the tea room. She took them up and laid them on the serving table with the other cakes and when she returned later to collect any leftovers she put them into a bag and hid them until Percy came to collect them.

‘I don’t know,’ Maisie said one day. ‘We seem to be making more of those than ever, but there are never any leftover these days.’

‘They’re very popular,’ Patty said with a shrug.

Christmas was approaching and the weather turned cold. Patty found that her velvet cape was not sufficient to keep her warm on her outings with Percy, and her hands were so cold that she had to resort to wearing a pair of shabby woollen mittens. One day, going to collect the leftovers, she noticed a pair of elegant lady’s kid gloves on the serving table.

‘What are these doing here?’ she asked.

‘Someone must have left them by accident. I’ll take them up to lost property,’ Miss Winterton said.

‘I’ll take them,’ Patty volunteered.

‘Oh, will you? That would be very helpful. Thanks.’

As soon as she was out of sight, Patty slipped the gloves into the pocket of her apron. After all, she reasoned, the owner of gloves like that must have half a dozen like them at home.

There remained the problem of the cape. Patty wandered through the fashion department, hoping to see something she might be able to afford. She saw exactly what she wanted. It was made of heavy red wool with a collar of black fur, but when she asked the price it was far beyond her means.

She found Miss Clarke and asked, ‘I suppose there’s no chance of a reduction on the red wool cloak?’

The manageress shook her head. ‘Not on that one, I’m afraid.’

‘Then, is there any chance I could buy it now and pay you out of my next month’s wages?’

‘Certainly not! How would I square my accounts at the end of the month if I did that?’ Miss Clarke looked at her severely. ‘You shouldn’t get into the habit of buying things you can’t afford, Patty. That’s the way to end up in debt, and before you know it the debts will have mounted up so that you have no chance of ever paying them off. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen. Come back next month and I’ll see what I can do for you – but it probably won’t be that cloak. That’s far too expensive.’

Patty went away, but she could not banish the image of the cloak from her mind’s eye. Percy was taking her out that evening and he had indicated that it was going to be a special occasion. It was bitterly cold outside and she would freeze in that little black velvet cape. The only alternative was her shabby old coat, with the frayed hem and the stain on the sleeve. She could not possibly wear that. She asked around among the girls to see if anyone could lend her the money, but they were all saving up for Christmas and her requests fell on deaf ears.

As she cleared up in the kitchen later an idea came to her. With a little help from Lucy she dressed herself in the yellow silk, ready to go out.

‘Thanks, luv. You get along now. You don’t want to miss your supper.’

Everyone was in the canteen, eating the evening meal, so no one saw Patty slip quietly down the back stairs to the first floor and into the fashion department through the door she had used to serve that first tea party. The large room was dark and silent but a gleam of moonlight from an upper window showed her that it was not empty. The mannequins used to display the clothes stood around, shadowy shapes that might well have been human. Patty stood still, her heart hammering. For a minute she was convinced that there were real people among the shapes; that perhaps someone was hiding, watching for just such an interloper as herself. After a moment she forced herself to think rationally. There was no one here. She could borrow the cloak and have it back before anyone came in next morning. She crept forward, feeling her way past the inert figures. She remembered exactly where the cloak was and very soon she felt the soft fur under her fingers. She lifted the garment carefully clear of the mannequin and wrapped it round her own shoulders. It was wonderfully warm. Suddenly she had an overpowering sense that at any second someone would step out from behind one of the figures with a lamp and catch her, and she had to quell her rising panic and force herself to move carefully, so as not to knock one of them over. At last she reached the door and closed it behind her. Then it was easy to run down the empty staircase to where Percy was waiting for her in the alleyway.

‘That’s my girl,’ he said. ‘You look fantastic. Off we go.’

That night he accepted the invitation of one of his friend to join their group. They were a jolly bunch, all out to get into the spirit of Christmas. When Patty asked for her usual port and lemon Percy said, ‘Come on! That’s an old lady’s tipple. I’ll get you a proper drink.’

The drink had a pleasant fruity flavour, a mix of sugar and sharpness, and it left a warm sensation in her stomach.

‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s called a gimlet,’ he said. ‘Officers on board ships drink it for their health. It’s mostly lime juice, you see. Stops them getting scurvy.’

He bought her two more the same over the next couple of hours and she began to enjoy herself. She had thought the group rather rowdy at first, but soon she was laughing and calling out like the rest of them. She danced twice with Percy and twice with two different men, but on the last dance, a polka, she suddenly felt her legs were no longer under her control and she had to ask her partner to take her back to their table.

A vague anxiety that had been nagging at the back of her mind came to the surface. ‘Percy, what time is it?’

He took out his pocket watch. ‘Twenty to eleven.’

‘What? It can’t be! Percy, you know I have to be back by half past ten. I’ll be locked out!’

Senior staff, of which she was now one, were allowed an extra half-hour’s grace to return to the store. Percy had frequently complained about this restriction on the evening’s entertainment but he had never let her miss the deadline before. He looked at his watch again, with an expression of irritation.

‘It’s damned ridiculous. You’re a grown-up woman. Why are you still living in that prison?’

She had never heard him swear before and it shocked her. ‘It’s not a prison. Anyway, where else could I live?’

‘I dunno.’ He looked at her. ‘We’ll have to think of something. There are ways …’

For an instant she thought that he might be on the brink of the proposal she both feared and hoped for, but instead he got to his feet.

‘Come on, let’s get you back to the penitentiary.’

‘Don’t call it that,’ she protested, but he was already taking his leave of the others and holding out her cloak for her. The sight of it made her stomach clench in shock.

‘Oh, dear Lord! The cloak!’

‘What about it?’

‘Never mind. Just get me back as quick as you can.’

They took a hansom cab but by the time they reached the store the clock on St John’s Church was striking eleven. With a last desperate hope Patty tried the door.

‘It’s locked. Now what am I going to do?’

He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to knock, I suppose. There must be someone still awake.’

‘You don’t understand!’ She was on the verge of tears. ‘I borrowed this cloak, from the fashion department. Nobody knows I’ve got it. I need to sneak it back before anyone comes in in the morning.’

‘Well, what’s to stop you doing that, once you’re inside?’

‘If Mrs Watkins lets me in she’ll see it. She knows I haven’t got anything like this.’

He thought a moment. ‘Turn it inside out. In the lamplight she won’t know the difference.’ He took the cloak from round her shoulders and swiftly reversed it. ‘I’ll tuck the collar inside, so it doesn’t show. Now, knock! I’m not standing here in the cold all night.’

The lining of the cloak was black and Patty hoped that in dim light it would not look very different from the one she normally wore. She tapped on the door.

‘Not like that!’ Percy said. ‘You’ll never wake anyone like that. Here, let me.’

He stepped forward and thumped on the door, sending echoes bouncing down the alleyway. Lamplight flickered through an upstairs window.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I’m off. Won’t do any good me being here.’

‘Percy …’ she protested. But he had already melted into the shadows.

A voice above her head called querulously, ‘Who’s there? What do you want?’

Patty lifted her face. ‘Please, ma’am, it’s me, Patty. I forgot the time.’

She heard an indistinct mutter of annoyance and the lamplight moved away from the window. Footsteps clacked on the stairs and the lock rattled. The door opened revealing Mrs Watkins in her nightclothes.

‘Whatever do you mean, coming back at this hour of the night? You know the rules. Well, come on, come in. I’m not standing here all night.’

Patty pulled the cloak close around her and sidled past her. As she set foot on the stairs she heard Mrs Watkins sniff.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No, not really. Just lime juice,’ Patty said, heading up the stairs.

‘Huh! Lime juice with something added. I can smell it on you. No wonder you’re late. Mr Freeman will have to be told about this.’

Patty turned and looked back at her. ‘Oh no! Please, Mrs Watkins. Don’t bother Mr Freeman with this. I won’t do it again, I promise.’

‘You had better not!’ was the grim reply.

The dormitory was in darkness and the eight girls she shared it with were all asleep. Patty stood still just inside the door until she heard Mrs Watkins close the door of her own room. She made herself wait until she had counted to a hundred, then she cautiously peered out. The staircase and the corridor were dark and silent. She took off her shoes, folded the cloak over her arm and crept down the stairs to the first floor. Her head was still muzzy and her legs felt weak. She realised that whatever it was Percy had given her to drink was much stronger than she was used to. Very carefully she opened the door into the fashion department. The mannequins still stood, silent figures on guard against intruders, it seemed to her. The moon had gone behind a cloud, so it was darker than before and she had to feel her way across the room, and each time she touched one of the unmoving figures she had the feeling that a hand might reach out and grab hold of her. To add to her misery, she could no longer remember exactly where the mannequin stood from which she had taken the cloak. She felt first one, then another, trying to recall what had been underneath the cloak. Panic began to surge up inside her, like a rising tide, and in her desperate hunt she knocked into one of the figures and sent it sprawling. She was sobbing now, silent, strangulated paroxysms. Fumbling, she succeeded in righting the fallen model. This was it, surely? This was where the cloak had been. She unfolded it and spread it over the rigid shoulders. Then she turned and stumbled back to the door and up the stairs to her bed.

Patty woke with a headache and a terrible sense that something was very wrong. She was unable to eat breakfast, prompting suggestions from her colleagues that she must be sickening for something. She was beginning preparations for that day’s baking when the messenger boy came into the kitchen and told her that Mr Freeman wanted her in his office.

As she made her way there, she told herself that Mrs Watkins must have acted on her threat. It would be about her lateness the night before, and the fact that she had had a couple of drinks. Nothing to do with borrowing the cloak. She had put it back, hadn’t she? Why should anyone be any the wiser?

Her hopes were dashed as soon as she entered the room. Mr Freeman was sitting behind his desk with a stern expression and standing on either side of him were Mrs Watkins and Miss Clarke.

Patty bobbed a curtsy and folded her hands demurely. ‘You sent for me, sir?’

‘I did. I have been given some very disturbing facts this morning. I take it that you do not deny that you returned half an hour late last night and had to wake Mrs Watkins to be let in?’

‘No, sir. I’m very sorry, sir. I’ve told Mrs Watkins that it won’t happen again.’

‘Is it true also that you had been drinking?’

‘I … I suppose it is, sir. I didn’t know what it was. Percy – Mr Dubarry – told me it was just lime juice.’

‘From what I gather, it was probably mixed with gin. Mr Dubarry had no business giving you that without warning you of the possible consequences. I would suggest that you would be wise to have nothing further to do with a man like that.’ He folded his hands on the desk and fixed his eyes on her. ‘Such things might be put down to inexperience and possible excused, but unfortunately there is a much more serious matter to be dealt with. Miss Clarke tells me you asked to buy a very expensive cloak and when it proved too much for you means you wanted to be allowed to take it and pay from your next month’s salary. Is that correct?’

Patty’s fingernails were digging into her palms. ‘Yes, sir.’

He turned to the woman on his right. ‘Miss Clarke, will you repeat what you told me you found when you entered the department this morning?’

Miss Clarke’s lips were drawn in a tight line, so that her voice sounded thin and clipped. ‘Someone had obviously been in overnight. One of the models had been displaced, and the hat it was wearing was on the floor. The cloak, the one that Patty had asked about, was on the wrong mannequin. It was crumpled and smelt strongly of alcohol and cigar smoke.’

Mr Freeman’s expression was sterner than ever. ‘Patty, did you borrow that cloak and wear it last night?’

Tears were running down Patty’s cheeks. ‘Yes, sir, I did. I never meant it to be damaged. I thought I could put it back and no one would ever know.’

‘Why did you do it? You must have known it was wrong.’

‘I … I needed something warm to wear. I’ve only got a little velvet cape, or my old coat. I can’t go out dancing in that. It …’ the words burst from her ‘ … it doesn’t seem fair that some ladies have all those clothes, and I have to shiver.’

For a moment Mr Freeman said nothing, but Patty thought she saw a hint of compassion in his eyes. Eventually he said, ‘What you have done would be ample grounds for dismissal. You do understand that?’

‘Yes, sir. But don’t turn me away, please! I’ve nowhere else to go. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll pay for the cloak. You can take it out of my wages. I’ll never do anything like that again, I swear!’

There was a long silence. At length Mr Freeman said, ‘I shall have to think long and hard about this, Patty. You have betrayed the trust I had in you, and there will have to be a reckoning of some sort. For now, you had better go back to your kitchen and get on with your work.’

‘Oh yes! Yes, I will. Thank you. Thank you!’

‘Don’t thank me yet, Patty. I still have to make up my mind if you can be allowed to continue here. I will let you know in due course.’

Patty went through the rest of the day in a daze. Her head was throbbing and she felt sick with fear. Somehow the cakes and biscuits were baked and sent up to the tea room. Her two colleagues were puzzled and concerned, but she snapped at them to mind their own business, so they left her to get on with the work without further questions. Eventually the day came to an end and she was able to retreat to the common room. A letter was waiting for her. Her first reaction was to throw it aside. What interest could it have for her, under the circumstances? But in the end she took it to a chair by the window and slit open the envelope.

Freshfields

Rutheglen,

Victoria

October 15^th 1868

Dear Patty,

I had a letter from James yesterday with some sad news. His mother passed away in August. Of course, it was not unexpected and James says it was a merciful release in the end. She was in great pain. The terrible thing is, my first thought was that James is now free to come to Australia. He has to wait for his final examinations, of course, but that is only a matter of months. He could be here by March or April. I suppose I should feel guilty, but I cannot. After all, as he said, it was a mercy in the end. It just relieves my mind of the idea that he might agree to marry someone else, just to please his mother, but he tells me that right at the end she changed her mind and gave us her blessing. That is a wonderful comfort to both of us.

He told me something else that I find much more disturbing. You remember in my last letter I told you how someone had turned up who might be Angel’s real father? They were waiting for her to come home from school, so he could see her. Now it turns out she was sent away to a convent school in Ireland and she has run away. It happened several months ago and no one has seen or heard anything about her whereabouts. Of course, James’s letter is dated August 3^rd and by now she may have been found, but I can’t bear the thought of what may have happened to her. The poor little mite is only eight years old, after all. There is one small comfort. The police have searched and her father – I mean Mr Kean – has been to Ireland and searched himself, and no body has been found. So it is possible that someone has taken her in and is looking after her. But for what purpose? We both know what terrible things can happen to children who have no one to protect them. I can’t stop thinking about it, but there’s nothing I can do.

I’m sorry to send you such a gloomy letter. I should be feeling happy, because James is free now. He says he still loves me and longs to be with me, and I believe him. But I still have to wait another six months before he can get here. We’ve been apart for a year now, but it seems much longer and waiting gets harder and harder.

I hope everything is going well for you. Send me some happy news to cheer me up!

With love,

May