It was dark when Mary arrived at Gracechurch Street. The coach had been full, the journey long and tedious. Mary was exhausted as she was ushered into the Gardiners’ dining room, convinced she could not manage supper. But the lively greetings of her four small nephews and nieces cheered her; and the genuine affection with which her uncle shook her hand and her aunt embraced her buoyed up her spirits. To her own surprise, she found herself able to consume a surprising amount of toasted cheese before gratefully climbing the stairs to bed.
Mrs Gardiner had been as good as her word and given Mary a room at the back of the house. It was indeed quieter than those at the front, but Mary’s countrified ears were nevertheless aware of a distant bustle of human activity taking place just out of earshot. As she finally drifted off to sleep, she could be in no doubt that she was really in London now. She had asked for this opportunity and it had been granted her. She must do all she could to be worthy of it.
The Gardiners’ house was built of yellow London bricks, and rose, tall and thin behind black railings, with a dark green door and high windows on each floor. It stood on Gracechurch Street, while a longer stroll delivered the walker into the very heart of Cheapside. Mary had long ago heard her uncle declare that these were the two finest shopping streets in London, possibly in all of Europe; and anything that could be desired, from the homeliest necessity to the grandest indulgence, was to be had in one or the other of them, if the customer had the money to pay for it. As they sat at breakfast and Mary sipped her coffee, Mr Gardiner proudly repeated this boast. Mary suspected it was a favourite theme of his, but his wife gave no sign she had heard it before. She smiled as her husband continued, describing in ever greater detail the range of goods which could be purchased, the luxury of the establishments that sold them, and the ingenuity of the merchants who supplied them. Mr Gardiner’s little quirks and habits do not vex and annoy her, observed Mary; they provoke her indulgence, not her anger.
‘Well, Mary,’ declared Mrs Gardiner, as she folded her napkin and placed it on her plate. ‘You have heard so much talk of these wonders that you must long to see them for yourself. You were a mere child when we last took you amongst them.’
‘I remember a great toy shop,’ said Mary wistfully. ‘A vast palace of dolls, as I recall.’
‘Ah, yes, that would be Dunnett’s,’ replied Mr Gardiner, ‘a place with which our children are very well acquainted.’
As soon as the magical name was uttered, a loud clamour arose at the younger end of the table, with four voices begging to know if they were to be taken there today, for they surely deserved it, as they had been so very good. Leaving her husband to adjudicate on the rights and wrongs of their case, Mrs Gardiner pulled her chair away from her children and towards Mary, the better to make herself heard.
‘Mr Gardiner is quite right,’ she said. ‘The City shops truly are one of the great sights of the town. Shall we go this morning and take a look?’
Mary readily agreed; and an hour later, she found herself hurrying in Mrs Gardiner’s wake as her aunt launched herself into the crowds thronging Gracechurch Street. Some shoppers marched briskly forward with a clear purpose, their minds set on a particular purchase; but by far the greater number seemed happy to saunter about, moving idly from one shop to another, lingering to peer into their well-stocked windows. As she dawdled behind her aunt, Mary found herself joining them, transfixed by the sheer number and variety of the goods on show. In little more than a few paces, she was enticed by displays of stockings, hats, fur tippets, fine shoes, watches and even ironmongery – how Charlotte Collins would have enjoyed half an hour amongst those grates and firebacks, thought Mary, almost fondly. At the door of every shop, smartly dressed young men invited customers politely to step in, it was impossible to show all they had in the window, there were even finer things to be seen inside.
Mary thought she had never seen so many people. It was amazing that they did not trip over each other; and yet everyone seemed to know exactly where to move so as not to collide with each other. Gradually, she began to fall into their pace – it was rather like a dance, which made sense once the steps had been mastered – and the bustle and busyness, which had at first intimidated her, began to feel invigorating. She had just begun to enjoy herself when Mrs Gardiner came abruptly to a halt before an especially magnificent frontage.
‘There,’ she declared proudly. ‘What do you think of that?’
It was at least ten years since Mary had last stood before the premises of Edward Gardiner & Sons, purveyors of fine household linens. It had seemed imposing even then, with its many floors and grand, pillared entrance. Now it was much smarter than Mary remembered, with an elegant frontage which had not been there before, and striped awnings extended over the pavement to protect customers from the rain. Behind one of the large glass windows, plain linens in every shade, from milky cream to sturdy brown, hung in great wide lengths. A second window was full of patterned jacquards, arranged from deepest red to palest pink. A printed notice begged to inform customers that all requirements could be catered for, from the most elaborate damasks to the hardest-wearing calicos – even stuffs not presently on show might be obtained if requested. Mrs Gardiner stood, slowly contemplating the building floor by floor, from roof to basement, as if she had never seen it before. Finally, she turned to Mary with an expression in which pride and satisfaction were equally combined.
‘Even though I say it myself, it does look very smart.’
Mary followed her aunt’s appreciative gaze, taking in the size of the shop, the quality of the materials it sold, and its general air of prosperity. These well-appointed premises, she thought, made possible the solid, polished comfort of the Gracechurch Street house, the gilt mirrors above every fireplace, the many portraits of the Gardiners that decorated its walls, capturing them singly, together, and as a happy family group, master and mistress of their small domestic empire, their children frolicking around them. This was the business that underwrote the matching china on which breakfast, tea, and dinner were served, the cutlery with their initials engraved upon it, the rich rugs on the floors, and the Chinese wallpaper in the drawing room. The unassuming fabrics laid out before Mary in rolls, lengths, and bales made possible the commodious beds, the best mattress Mary had ever slept upon, the heavy linen sheets, and the silk quilts. The unobtrusive wellbeing that marked every aspect of the Gardiners’ lives had its origins here. The warehouses paid for it all.
‘I’ve seldom seen a finer place,’ Mary finally replied. ‘You must be very proud.’
‘I am indeed,’ answered Mrs Gardiner simply. ‘When we began, we lived right next to the shop, you know. It has not always been easy. But for the moment, at least, I feel our efforts have been rewarded.’
‘You think of yourself and Mr Gardiner as partners in the enterprise, then?’
‘Of course. We women are barred, by custom and a thousand other petty considerations, from attempting such an undertaking alone. But I flatter myself that Mr Gardiner could not have succeeded as he has without my help. He has often told me that my judgement in matters of taste, quality, and prices has been of the utmost use to him.’
The shopman standing at the door suddenly recognised Mrs Gardiner and made her a deep and very respectful bow. She acknowledged him with equal solemnity, then paused for a moment, as if considering her reply.
‘So yes, like all the best businesses – and, I might say, the best marriages too – Mr Gardiner and I are indeed a partnership.’
No one, Mary reflected, could have described her own parents’ union in such a way. The recollection was painful to her; and to avoid dwelling upon it further, she asked whether they might perhaps go inside the shop and look around. Mrs Gardiner thought not at present. They must make their way home, for the children’s lessons must be begun before midday. But she should be very glad to take Mary on another occasion.
‘And of course,’ she added teasingly, ‘when you have a house of your own to furnish, I shall be glad to show you the very best linens you can possibly require. We shall roam the warehouses together. It will be my pleasure.’
Mary could produce no answering smile; but Mrs Gardiner seemed not to notice.
‘In the meantime, however, there are plenty of beautiful things more suited to your present circumstances. There are some lovely printed cottons to be had this year. And some of the prettiest silks I’ve seen in a long time, ideal for a young girl like yourself.’
Suddenly conscious of her well-worn coat and much-washed dress, Mary gathered both around her a little more tightly.
‘I’m not sure I’m suited to finery. I think I’m better with something plain and unassuming.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Gardiner. ‘But good things don’t need to be showy or gaudy, you know. Sometimes the very best stuff can seem quite plain, until one examines it closely. It is only then that one sees its true quality.’
Their eyes met. Mrs Gardiner’s expression gave nothing away. If she had intended a meaning deeper than what was said, she gave no hint of it. ‘But just as you wish. Let’s not talk of it now. Shall we fight our way back home?’
She held out her arm. Mary could not remember when anyone had sought to walk with her in such a friendly manner, and hesitated. But Mrs Gardiner did not withdraw her invitation, and Mary shyly linked her arm with her aunt’s. To begin with, it seemed strange; but Mary soon grew accustomed to it and began to feel how pleasant it was to stroll along in such easy intimacy. Her opinion of Mrs Gardiner grew warmer with every step. She had often heard Jane and Lizzy sing her praises; and although she had spent only a morning with her, Mary knew for certain now that they had not exaggerated her virtues. Mrs Gardiner was lively and kind, with a quick mind, and a frank curiosity about the concerns of those for whom she cared. She was inquisitive; but she was not meddlesome. She employed her intelligence to understand what others thought and felt, the better to help them if she could. She wanted those around her to be happy; entirely satisfied with her own circumstances, it pleased her to see those she loved as contented and comfortable as she was herself. By the time they arrived back at Gracechurch Street, Mary thought she had never met anyone whom it was so easy to like. There seemed no reason not to surrender herself to the full force of her aunt’s appeal; and although she was usually cautious in all matters relating to the affections, in this case she felt more confident. She was already certain that Mrs Gardiner was to be trusted, and even allowed herself to hope she might become the friend Mary so desperately yearned for.