| |
* * *
At night, Jennifer was restless. Indeed she knew that she must figure something out, but being at such a young age, it was a heavy weight to bear. All night she tossed and turned. There must be something.
Finally, she stood up from bed. No use, I am not sleeping anyway.
She walked back and forth in the room. Use your head girl. You have six months... This was the talk she was giving herself as she walked around the small room, barely big enough to fit a small cot, wooden dresser, and chair.
That's it. I will not worry about it now. Instead, I will use this six months before the tailor family arrives to take in as much sewing and mending work as possible. This way, I will have some sort of savings. Tomorrow I will go ask every shop and merchant if my reading and writing skills could be of service. Perhaps there were letters that needed to be written, even if I made a pence per letter, that would be something!
With this new vow, she felt somewhat relieved. At least for this night, she could finally close her eyes and get some rest.
When morning spread its light into her room, Jennifer woke with a spring to her step. She was not going to let this looming problem stop her from supporting her family.
Once she had done her morning chores, she set out to the village in her cleanest dress. She took the time to set her hair in braids and pin them to her head underneath her bonnet; trying to make the most tidy appearance possible.
“Oh, good day, Mrs. Hamilton.” She crossed paths with the woman down the lane.
“Good day to you Miss Bronson.”
“I would like to let you know that my schedule is very open if you should have any mending. You may send for me at any time to pick up your items, and I will drop them off myself personally.”
“Thank you dear. I might have some mending that needs to be done. I will send a message next week.”
“That would be excellent. Good day Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Good Day.”
Jennifer smiled; it was working already. This was a small accomplishment for her. For she never went out to solicit people for work, she would just wait for them to come to her. Perhaps this was all that was needed.
She entered the village, which was still bustling from the news of the announcement the day before. Talk of the new row of shops was on everyone's tongue. Jennifer knew that she must be first in line to ask the tailor shop if they would need her assistance. She might as well try, as others might as well.
She walked into the general goods shop. “Mr. Samson. How are you today, sir?”
“Good. As good as to be expected. Are you looking for thread today, Miss Bronson?”
“No. Not today, sir. I am looking for you actually.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I have come to enquire to see if you might have any need of assistance. I am looking for work... in anything really; cleaning, keeping shop, perhaps in the matters of writing. Perhaps writing long letters or helping with the ledgers. I can read and write, sir. I am looking to find some extra work on the side.”
“I did not know that you could read and write, Miss Bronson. Very clever girl. Unfortunately I can be of no assistance. I do not have the need to hire anyone at present, and I’ve plenty of time to write my own letters see, and I do not allow anyone else to touch my ledgers. But perhaps try Old Mrs. Willow. For I know that she is always complaining about a nephew that she has trouble writing to because of the pain in her old hands. Perhaps she could use your assistance.”
“Very well indeed, sir. Thank you for the information. Have a good day.”
Jennifer was glad for the tip, but writing one letter every few months would not be enough. She was looking for a business, though she did tend to stop by the home of Old Mrs. Willow when she made her path back home. She lived in a very nice home indeed, just five houses over from the grand estate of Lord Gavin. A very well-to-do region of the village. Old Mrs. Willow was a widow with a comfortable living. If anyone could pay for letter writing, it would be her.
Jennifer left the general goods shop and walked a few doors down to the tavern.
“Kelly, might I speak with Mr. Christopher?” Jennifer asked the tavern wench.
“He not be here till tomorrow. What you need, miss?”
Jennifer followed Kelly from table to table as Kelly put drinks on down in front of patrons from her tray.
“I am looking for work. I could cook, clean, write letters, or help keep accounts. Or I can do what you do,” Jennifer said.
“Everyone be looking for work, miss. You are the fourth girl to come in asking so this week. Mr. Christopher ain't hiring. Though no one has said they wanted to do the writing. I will pass the message along about that, but seeing as Mr. Christopher is real good with letters and numbers I doubt he needs any help in that.”
“I understand,” Jennifer gave her a smile and left the tavern.
She continued down the High Street enquiring to those that would listen.
“No! We ain’t got nothing for you!”
“No need for mending or writing!”
These were the replies that she was to receive from every business that she entered. No one had any work for her. Some were polite in their rejection and others were downright rude. It was only Old Mrs. Willow that offered to pay her 1 pence per letter that she wanted written every two months. It was not a livable wage, but Jennifer agreed, for anything would help. Exhausted, she made her way home, determined to ask the few shops that were left to inquire the next day, which included the baker and the butcher.
The next day she set out again, only with worse luck than before. The baker already had more employees than needed and the butcher, Mr. Caver, took her for a harlot! It was an experience that would leave Jennifer distrusting of men in general. Never did she want to find herself alone with a man again.
* * *
August 1857
Six months passed as quick as maybe, quicker than Jennifer could keep up with. The month of August was upon them, and the humidity was something to be reckoned with. But it simply was not the heat of the late summer that had Jennifer on edge; the tailor shop was set to open in one week's time.
Indeed, Jennifer was able to save up three shillings from the mending work that she had taken up from more people than she had ever done before. But the work was all set to go away and to go away quickly.
She stood outside the door of Mrs. Hamilton’s, waiting for it to be opened after she had knocked. Finally it opened.
“Good day, Mrs. Hamilton. I have your mending, it is all done.”
“Oh that is excellent, Jennifer. Allow me to get your payment, please come in.”
Jennifer followed the woman inside and stood in the foyer of her modest home. Indeed, it seemed very grand to Jennifer, who lived in a small farm cottage, but to most it would simply be a comfortable home, not extravagant.
“Here you are, dear.” Mrs. Hamilton placed the coin in her hand.
“Would you be needing anything else ma'am?” Jennifer asked.
“No, indeed I think you have mended this entire home. I do not foresee having anything for you until possibly into the new year. If then...”
A frown came upon Jennifer's face.
“What is it dear? What troubles you?”
“It is just with the tailor shop opening very shortly, I don't think I will have any mending to do for the village whatsoever. I have met the Roberts family and they do not need anyone of my skill since they have such a large family and they also mend wardrobes.”
“Oh, I understand, dear. That is very troubling. I know that you use this extra money to help support your family. So young, not something that you should be worried about. But these are the times, are they not?”
“Indeed they are.”
“If only there was as much work abundant here as there is in London. There are many sewing factories on Brick Lane. It is the textile area of London. They could certainly use your talents, I am sure. But it is so far away,” She said.
Jennifer's big green eyes became rounder. “What do you mean? Sewing factories? Entire factories of nothing but sewing?”
“Yes, indeed it is exactly that. I heard my sister talked of it on her visit. Her neighbours’ daughter went to London to find work and found a workhouse that houses only women. I believe she said the woman's name was Mrs. Wilcox of Brick Lane. But I could be mistaken.”
“I most definitely could work in a factory. My sewing skills are exceptional,” Jennifer said it.
“Oh no dear. If a factory was here in the village that would be one thing. But these London factories are quite unsafe and not for someone as young as you. I have heard many horror stories about work houses. It is best to stay here and figure something else out. I am sure that you will. Thank you for your work,” She said.
“Yes, and thank you for having the work for me. I appreciate it, and my family appreciates it.”
Jennifer walked out of the house and out onto the High Street. Mrs. Hamilton's words occupied her mind the entire walk. Factory work in London. So much work that there were factories of it all to do with sewing. Mrs. Wilcox on Brick Lane. She would write the words down as soon as may be. Perhaps this was something she could look into. What if she worked in London and stayed in a workhouse, just for a few months to send money home, and to save up money. Then she could return to the village. It was a new direction, and it gave her hope.
* * *
chapter
