“When the new King gets crowned,” Edward said, “will he be the King of Wales?” He was sitting on Annie’s best chair, thoughtfully swinging his short legs.
Molly laughed and flicked the duster at him. “Of course not, silly. Whatever put that into your mind?”
“Well, he’s – he was – the Prince of Wales, wasn’t he?” he asked with the indefatigable logic of a seven-year-old. “So why isn’t he going to be the King of Wales?”
Molly tousled his hair.
“Well, what is he going to be, then?” Edward had long since realized that Molly was one of those grown-ups who didn’t mind persistence. “What will he be called?”
She considered for a moment.
“I suppose – King of England, I think.”
“But what about Ireland and Scotland and Wales? Isn’t he King of those as well?”
“Oh, yes. And a lot of other places besides – India, Australia, bits of Africa, half the world, so they say.”
“Well, then—”
The front door slammed and Annie’s quick footsteps tapped down the hall.
“’Lo, Moll, Edward—” She paused in her swift advance and eyed the duster in Molly’s hand. “Now, Molly, I told you that you didn’t have to do that—” she began mildly.
“I like to do it. It keeps me busy and it helps at least a little to repay you and Charley for what you’ve done for me. Kettle’s on.”
“Thank Gawd for that,” Annie said, kicking her shoes off. “But, honest, Moll, I don’t want you to think you’ve got to—”
Molly turned, smiling, hand on hip. “I don’t. Truly I don’t. But while I’m here on my own for the best part of the day I might as well make myself useful. What else should I do? Sit in the corner and suck my thumb?” Edward giggled. Molly pretended to dust his ears, still talking to Annie. “I’ll be able to give you some rent soon, when the money that Mr Ambler, Sam’s solicitor, told me about arrives. A couple of weeks he said. And then, when I get a job, I’ll see about getting some rooms of my own.” As she walked into the tiny kitchen across the hall to make the tea Annie flopped into a chair, her legs outstretched, bony toes wriggling painfully.
“Stay as long as you like,” she called. “I’m just sorry we’ve no better room to offer you. That box room’s not much more than a cupboard.”
Molly came back with the tea on a tray. “Don’t be silly. It’s fine. You know I can’t thank you and Charley enough.”
“Oh, shut up and pour.” Annie grinned. Always she looked as if she were on the point of laughter.
“I will pay you,” Molly persisted, “as soon as the money comes.”
“If it makes you feel better.” Annie thoughtfully stirred three heaped spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. “Handy, that little bit Sam left you.”
“Yes. Poor Sam. Penny by penny he must have saved it. It’s certain that his mother knew nothing of it.”
Molly had neither seen nor heard from Ellen since the day of Sam’s funeral, when each had rigidly ignored the other. As far as Molly could see it was unlikely that their paths would ever cross again, and she was happy to have it so.
Annie lay back in her chair. “D’you know I ache all over? That bloody laundry’s going to be the death of me, I swear it. Still, it’s better than the dye shop; thank Gawd I’m not working there.”
“Oh?”
Annie fanned a hand in the air. “Talk about depressing. Black, black, black. Nothin’ but. Coats, dresses, skirts, suits, the lot. Even sheets. Sheets! People want them to hang out of the window on the day of the funeral. Everythin’ black as Newgate’s knocker. Funny, ain’t it?” She took her tea and sipped it meditatively. “What did the old girl do for us? I mean, really do? Did she care that I sweat my life away in a stinkin’ laundry? Would she have cried if Jack or Charley’d got themselves clobbered by a crate? ’Course not. When big Bill Shepherd down the road died in that accident at the sugar works, did she send flowers? Like ’eck. Yet look around you. People are cryin’ in the streets. Cryin’! The whole bloody country’s gone into mourning – shops, houses, whole streets, draped in black. Looks as if God ’Imself ’as died.”
Molly nodded. “I suppose it’s just that she’s been around for so long. There aren’t many alive who can remember the country without Victoria on the throne. And though we all knew it had to happen sooner or later, it’s still a shock somehow. The paper says that every King and Queen in Europe will be at the funeral. That’ll be a show.” Molly gathered cups and saucers onto the tray. “I’ll just wash these up, then I’ll walk Edward home. Supper’s on the stove. If Charley comes in before I’m back help yourselves. I’ll eat later.”
“Righto. Come on, Eddie, get your coat on.” Annie began to help the boy with his outdoor clothes. “By the way,” she called to Molly over the clatter of crockery, “wasn’t it today you were going to see your John Marsden?”
There was the tiniest pause. ‘It was.”
“What happened? Any luck?”
Molly appeared at the door, a cup and a teacloth in her hand. “He said that he’d help if he could. But.” She smiled wryly.
“But, but, but,” Annie said. “Such a little word.”
“He says there are dozens – hundreds – of girls like me, looking for work, local work, because of home commitments. And next to no jobs for them. The typewriting machine has not yet arrived with a bang in West Ham. Or East Ham. Or anywhere else east of Liverpool Street.”
“I expect Sarah’d take Danny for you if you wanted to try in town again.”
“Yes, I expect she would. And it still might come to that. But it isn’t what I want. I want something that will fit in with looking after him.”
“Is that all? Don’t ask for much, do you?”
Molly pulled a face. She was still absently rubbing at the cup she held.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s dangerous for a start.”
“Oh, Annie, do listen for a minute.” Molly sat herself on the table, discarded the cup and cloth and frowned at the wall.
“I’m listening, but you aren’t saying anything,” Annie said, injured, after a short silence.
Molly spoke slowly. “John Marsden – and he should know – says that most local businesses, especially the small ones, are miles behind the times. Out of touch. Plain old-fashioned. A lot of the girls he’s trained are now in the same position that I am: they want office work but they find themselves faced with opposition and prejudice about employing women. Especially round here.” She smiled suddenly, that quick urchin grin that Annie was glad to see was much more in evidence lately than when she had first come to them. “Now don’t you think it’s time someone came to the rescue of those poor, silly men who’ve still got clerks perched on high stools writing everything out by hand, who won’t have a typewriting machine near the place, let alone a woman in the office? Do you think it’s right to leave them so deprived?”
“So what do you think you’re going to do about it? Wave a magic wand?”
Molly jumped from the table. “No. Better than that. I’m going to see John Marsden again. Tomorrow. Come on, Eddie me lad. Time for home.”
“An agency?” Charley, his feet propped on the fender and the smell of his scorching slippers acrid in the air, regarded Molly with surprise. “What kind of agency?”
“An employment agency. For young lady office workers, full- and part-time. Heavens, Charley, you’ll cook yourself.”
Charley moved a quarter of an inch further from the blaze. “Hold on a minute. You’ll have to do better than that. You know your Uncle Charley’s a bit thick sometimes. I thought you told Annie there aren’t any jobs?”
“That’s right.”
“So you’re starting an employment agency for unemployable young women. Sounds like a good idea.”
“If you don’t hold your noise I’ll not tell you.”
“I’m holding it. Honest.”
“Sooner or later,” Molly began, “things have got to change around here.”
“And you’re going to change them single-handed?” put in Charley with a grin.
“Let’s say – I’m going to give them a hand, yes. I’m going up every staircase, down every alley, through every door with a name on it. And I’m going to make all those little men sitting on their high stools see that they can’t possibly go another day without that invaluable, indispensable—” she paused, running out of words.
“—unbelievable—” Annie supplied.
“—essential—” Charley shouted in his best music hall voice.
“—asset to every businessman—” Molly ploughed on grimly.
“—the typah – writingah – machinah!” Charley finished happily.
“The lady typewriter,” Molly corrected, trying not to laugh. “And it isn’t funny. Not that funny, anyway.”
Annie leaned forward. “Are you serious? Do you really think that you could convince them?”
“Why not? It’s worth a try, isn’t it? I’m not a bad talker.” She pulled a face at the rude noise Charley made. “I’ve had experience and can demonstrate myself the speed and efficiency of the machine. It’s bound to come; and there must be enough people close enough to considering it already to make it worthwhile trying to influence them.”
Her seriousness had sobered the other two.
“But what if you do convince them?” Charley asked. “Then what happens?”
“We organize the right girl for the right job. For a small fee, of course.”
“You mean you and John Marsden!” Annie exclaimed, suddenly getting the drift of Molly’s plan. “Well, damn me, you’re right, Molly. It isn’t funny. It’s a bloody marvellous idea. And I suppose that if some of the smaller places only want a girl for one or two days a week—”
“—then we can supply her. You’ve got it And that girl can finish her week elsewhere; the office saves money, the girl gets a full week’s wages. And I thought of a kind of pool, too, for firms who don’t want a permanent typewriter to draw on, but who’d like some work done each week. They pay us a fee – much less than it would cost them to employ someone full time – and we pay the girls. Everyone’s happy. And if a girl employed through us needs some time off, or is side—”
“—you’ll supply a substitute. My Gawd, Molly, what an idea! You didn’t come up the river on the last tide, did you?”
“You two,” Charley said with expressively lifted brows, “are beginning to sound like a ventriloquist’s act. Neither of you’ve managed to finish a sentence yet.”
“Come off it, Charley. We’ve got a genius in our box room. A blessed genius!”
“Except,” he pointed out with masculine obstructiveness, “that Molly hasn’t set foot outside the door yet. You’re acting as if the whole thing’s set up. How does your Mr Marsden feel, Molly? Is he as enthusiastic?”
Molly hesitated, balanced finely between optimism and the strict truth.
“He thinks it’s a good idea,” she said finally, nicely placed between the two. “But he can be a crotchety old thing.”
“So what are the arrangements? Between him and you, I mean?”
Molly fidgeted a little. “Well, I can’t say exactly that we’ve made what you could call arrangements – but he did say that if I can prove to him that the scheme will work he’ll be delighted to join me in what he keeps calling ‘your little venture’. I’ll venture him, see if I don’t. I’ll talk myself into every office between here and the East Ham Town Hall. He’ll be crying for me to stop.”
“And so will they. Owch!” Annie’s pointed toe had connected sharply with her husband’s shin.
She leaned her lovely face to Charley and poked a long finger into his chest. “Well, I think it’s a fine idea. Takes something, you know, to think up a scheme like that. Anyone can use brute force and ignorance to blast their way through life.” She prodded him again.
“Watch it, my girl.” Charley reached and gently caught her wrist, pulled her close to him. “Just because we’re wed doesn’t mean you can say what you like, you know. I’m still bigger than you are.”
Annie laughed, a world of warmth and meaning in her eyes and in her voice. “I know you are.”
Charley buried his face for a second in the soft, fire-gilded hair. “Little cat.”
Molly stared at the fire. Never once had she and Sam been this casual, this close, this happy. She mourned him quietly and sincerely, but she could not pretend to any violent grief. And somewhere, deep in her, she was aware that she relished and revelled in the freedom his passing had brought her; she could not deny it. Out of the blue she had another chance – with, she felt, slightly better odds this time on winning – to do something on her own. Her feelings for Jack were so confused that it was beyond her to sort them out. He had made no move towards her in the time she had been staying with Annie and Charley; the constraint between them was as great as ever. At best she could only assume that his emotions were as mixed as her own, and that possibly he had guessed more of Sam’s reasons for braving the fog that had killed him than was comfortable for a tender conscience. But, she told herself with some defiance, she was not going to waste tears on something she could not change. She wasn’t ever going to waste anything ever again. Not time, nor opportunity. This time she would keep some control over her own destiny, prove to herself, and to others, that she could stand on her own two feet. And if there were times, in the dark, quiet hours, when the thought of Jack whispered in her mind and in her body – impossible never to remember those moments at the wedding – there were, too, times when his obstinate self-control, his stiff-necked sobriety convinced her almost that those moments she remembered so well must be an illusion, a fantasy brought about by wedding flowers and claret.
Charley and Annie were talking quietly, seriously now. A name caught Molly’s attention, brought her sharply from her reverie.
“Jake Aster? More trouble?” Her stomach had contracted painfully at the name. She still saw, in dark dreams, that graceful, threatening figure, felt the malice that sang in him for Jack.
Charley shrugged. “Talk, that’s all. He has to, doesn’t he? It’s all over Silvertown and the docks that we took him apart and he couldn’t stop us. And the stories get wilder as they go. There’s plenty glad to see Jake done down, if only with a story. You can’t expect him to take it all lying down, can you?”
“What’s he been saying?”
“Oh, threats is all. And that’s how it’ll stay. There’s nothing he can do.” He looked from one solemn face to the other, wide grey eyes to green. “Don’t worry, the pair of you. Jake Aster can’t touch us.”
Molly had never in her life been inside the dock gates; but she was not short on imagination. She saw huge warehouses, dark corners, long empty wharves, black, swelling water. “Are you sure?”
“’Course I am. Now, come on lass, make yourself useful before you make your fortune and move up West. Pop the kettle on, eh? If I don’t get a cuppa soon I’ll be off down the pub for a beer.” He glanced slyly at Annie, but for once his volatile wife did not rise to the bait.
“Be careful, Charley,” Molly said softly. “Be very, very careful.”
Molly could not decide which was worse: the hard pavements she walked, the hard chairs upon which she was kept waiting for hours on end, or the hard look in the eyes of a man who was not about to be convinced that a chit of a girl, however persuasive, knew more about running his business than he did.
She walked her feet sore, talked her throat dry, learned to use sweet words and reason, to control her temper in the face of the most obdurate ill manners, the most flat and dismissive refusal to listen to what she had to say.
And, at first, it seemed as if it all might be for nothing.
She marched upon the Barking Road, Stratford Broadway, East Ham High Street, North and South. She visited small offices and large ones. She scrambled over piles of lumber, got coal-dust in her shoes, slipped and stumbled across the uncertain surface of many a stable yard. No concern was too big or too small for her attention. She was listened to, argued with, sometimes laughed at, and occasionally propositioned. She carried with her an old typewriting machine that John Marsden had lent her and which Charley fitted into a stout wooden box with a carrying handle. She swore, to Annie, that one arm was getting longer than the other. She had bad days, and very bad days. She had the occasional success. The money Sam had left her dwindled; her determination sometimes did the same; but she kept going, kept smiling, saved her tears for her chill, empty bed at night. One or two firms she visited were in fact already considering employing a typewriter and her demonstration convinced them. The first time it happened she had to restrain herself from running, singing, down the street; it felt as if God and His angels had come over to her side. Considerable interest was shown in her idea of a “pool” for smaller firms who might not wish to employ a girl full-time, though since this was something that could only be organized once the agency – which in a fit of sarcastic humour she had named “The Venture Employment Bureau” – was well on its feet, it was an interest upon which she could not immediately capitalize. Each day she left Danny with Sarah and set off like a mad prospector searching for gold, her equivalent of pick and shovel in the heavy box by her side, banging her legs uncomfortably as she walked. In the long hours she spent waiting in other people’s offices she amused herself by furnishing, in her mind, her own office… a splendid haven of deep carpets and expensive leather furniture to the door of which the world would one day beat a path.
Such daydreams served at least to soften harsh reality. She spoke of them, laughingly, to Sarah and Nancy one night and was delighted to discover that Nancy, whose slow recovery from her ordeal had been almost as agonizing to those who watched it as for her who experienced it, was interested in, even enthusiastic about the Venture project. On the day that Nancy asked if she might be allowed to help with the agency work Molly, aware of the happiness in Sarah’s face, assured her that her assistance would be most welcome. It was the first time that Nancy had shown any interest in anything, and it seemed to indicate another step in her recovery. Only the bitterness deep in her eyes did not change.
As the weeks slipped by and those first, drudging days of effort began at last to pay dividends, Molly’s hopes began to appear a little less pretentious. As word of her activities spread, people did start coming to her. By late spring she knew that in the Venture Employment Agency she had a service for which the demand was only just beginning, and with the groundwork done she was ready to advertise. But she could not, she knew, do that while she was still working from Annie’s kitchen table. One bright spring day, therefore, she visited John Marsden, dressed to kill, armed and ready for the battle she was certain was about to be joined.
“I need a room,” she said flatly. “An office.”
There was a short silence. In two years John Marsden had changed not a whit; he was cantankerous as ever, still looked permanently as if he had lost a shilling and found sixpence. He glowered from beneath craggy brows.
“Do you indeed?”
“I do. And if were to be – partners—” she said, emphasizing the word, “in the Venture Employment Bureau then I think it’s time you put four walls and a ceiling in it, to match my worn out feet and laryngitis. Seems only fair to me.”
John Marsden leaned forward, unsmiling. “And to me. Congratulations, girl. I never thought you’d do it.”
Molly felt as if someone had pulled the chair from beneath her. The man’s lips, under his grizzled moustaches, twitched. He reached into a drawer in his desk and tossed her an envelope.
“Here.”
“What is it?”
He turned his eyes to heaven in quick exasperation. “And she calls herself a businesswoman! Your commission, girl, your commission. Working for nothing, are you? We’ve had so many firm offers I’ll be running out of girls.”
“Well put that in the advertisement!” Molly exclaimed. “Let me think… ‘Qualified Lady Typewriters’ – no – ‘Qualified and Efficient Lady Typewriters Urgently Needed for – for Reputable Employment Agency’. How does that sound?”
He nodded.
She jumped to her feet.
She had done it. On her own. Her own simple, commonsense idea, her own efforts. The work was hard and carried with it in the beginning quite as much disappointment as success, and the rewards were small. But nothing could daunt her now; she was ready to work herself to a shadow to make a success of the agency. Above all she was happy; happier, she sometimes thought, than she had ever been before in her life, even with Harry. And shivered as she thought it, wondering if she were tempting the gods.
“And where do you think you’re off to in such a hurry?”
“To the offices of the Stratford Express.”
“Not so fast, not so fast.” He stood up, grumbled his way out from behind the desk. “Don’t you want to see your own office first? It’s been ready for a week.”