Beth woke in the night with tears on her cheeks again. She’d been dreaming about the terrible time when she’d begged her mother to let her marry Mark and Mrs Grey had refused to listen. Throwing back the covers, Beth padded down the hall to the bathroom and locked the door before washing her face. She didn’t want Aunt Helen asking why she’d been crying.
It was ridiculous to cry, of course. Life was looking better for Beth than it had done in a while because she was looking forward to starting work the following week. She’d found it exciting to discover all the new things she would have to learn, and handling the merchandise was lovely. As yet, her counter was only half filled, but the soft leather gloves and the fine silk scarves were quality and she would find it satisfying to show them to customers.
Beth made herself think about her new friends at Harpers. Sally was lonely, she could tell. She seemed full of confidence, but Beth had seen beneath to the vulnerable girl she was and wished she could help her. Beth thought her aunt’s home must be far more comfortable than the hostel that Sally had to endure.
Her mind moved on from Sally to the younger girl. Maggie seemed a gentle, pleasant girl but perhaps a little timid, Beth thought. She liked both her and Sally and knew she would enjoy meeting the two girls at work every day. Beth felt thankful she’d been given the chance to work at Harpers and Aunt Helen had seemed more relaxed that evening and they’d got on reasonably well. Perhaps her life would begin to improve now. It would be better for both of them if Beth was out at work and earning a little money.
The only dark cloud was bumping in to Mark and the way he’d reacted, as if she had let him down deliberately. Beth shook her head. She wouldn’t let the chance encounter with Mark ruin her pleasure in her new job.
As she went softly back to bed, because it was still only four o’clock in the morning, Beth wondered about her supervisor. She knew hardly anything about Mrs Craven, except that she’d told them she was widowed. However, she seemed nice enough – strict but fair – and that was what was needed in a supervisor, of course.
Beth climbed back in bed. She hadn’t heard Aunt Helen stir, which was a good thing. Her aunt worked really hard and needed her rest. The glass of sherry they’d had to celebrate Beth’s job must have helped her to sleep. She smiled as she remembered her aunt’s flushed face after the unaccustomed drink; it was a treat for them both.
Turning over in bed, thoughts of Mark kept her wakeful, but she made an effort to settle down and forget the chance encounter that evening. Beth was being silly, worrying over something which couldn’t possibly matter. She’d known it was all over long ago, when Mark had stormed off… hadn’t she?
Determined to get some sleep, Beth put the meeting from her mind. She had several things she needed to get done this weekend, because once she started work properly there just wouldn’t be the time…
Rachel Craven lit the gas ring in her room, boiled her kettle and made a pot of tea. She’d been lying awake for the past half an hour and it must be nearly six o’clock anyway. She would need to get up by six in future if she was to arrive at work early and set the girls a good example. Besides, she didn’t need much sleep these days. She’d got out of the habit of a full night’s rest when Paul was dying.
For a moment, the pain of her husband’s death struck her hard. Was it only two years since they’d told her his illness was incurable and she’d watched the slow descent into terrible pain and a wretched death from a wasting sickness that made her weep tears of blood inside? Rachel knew that she would never forget those last weeks and days when she’d known she had lost him. He’d gone from her before death took him, his pain making him angry and bitter – angry at the woman who had loved and tended to him so faithfully to the end, bitter because he was dying and she would live on. At the very last, he’d told her he’d always loved her and begged her to forgive him; she had done so, but the hurt had gone deep.
Afterwards, she’d felt drained and empty, too tired and worn down to grieve properly. It had taken her six months to return from that hell and then it had been necessity that had brought her back. She’d been shocked when she realised that Paul’s savings were almost gone. The doctor’s fees and their expenses over the months of his illness had used up much of what had been saved. Paul had worked in an office as a manager, but his wage had never been high and he’d been a generous man, always giving to charity and friends in need, never imagining that the day would come when he could not work. There was enough to live on if she was very careful, but she’d had to give up her pretty little house and take a room in a boarding house. She’d been lucky to find Mrs Malone, an Irish widow who ran a small boarding house for respectable ladies. Three other women lived under the same roof as Rachel, one a widow of slender means and two spinster sisters who eked out a precarious living by taking in sewing.
Paul had always refused to let her take a job. She was his wife and he was the provider; he wanted her at home, caring for his needs and enjoying her life as she pleased. Rachel might have continued as an assistant to her father in his office as a lawyer had he not died just after her marriage, but Paul hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere else to work and she hadn’t minded. They had both longed for children, but during his illness he’d told her that he was glad they had none, for any child of his might have inherited his illness.
His words had broken Rachel’s heart. She had lost both her parents to typhoid when she was twenty. Her only blood relative was a sister who lived in Hastings-on-Sea and ran a boarding house with her husband. They had three children, but Hazel only sent cards at Christmas and was too tied up with her own family to write even when Paul died; she’d sent just a card with a black edge that Rachel couldn’t bear to look at and threw away.
Rachel had decided to seek work outside the home after Paul’s death because she did not want to risk the kind of genteel poverty that the spinster sisters endured and for six months she had run a small haberdashers for a Jewish couple. Mr Samuels had been ill when he took her on, but now he was well again and, though he wouldn’t say, Rachel had known he wanted her to leave the business to him. He’d given her a glowing reference for Harpers and she’d gone round to thank him after she was given her new position.
He’d been pleased for her, but she’d sensed there was relief too. Rachel sipped her tea and thought about the job she’d taken on at Harpers. It was a good job and paid more than twice what Mr Samuels had thought fair. She might earn enough to find a home of her own again one day, though she would need to save a decent nest egg first, because she didn’t want to have to worry over how she would pay the bills. For the moment, she was comfortable here. Mrs Malone was honest, cheerful and friendly, though a little nosey. Rachel suspected that she went through her tenants’ things when they were out. Nothing was ever taken, but little things were disturbed. Perhaps she just wanted to be sure that her lodgers were what they claimed, Rachel thought with a wry smile.
Mrs Malone provided her with breakfast of toast with marmalade and grapefruit out of a tin, and would, if asked, cook an evening meal. Tinned food had been thought of a century earlier and was a boon to people like her landlady, who used it at every opportunity rather than cook fresh. Rachel usually ate soup for lunch at work and then bought ham and made herself a salad or a sandwich in her room at night; she was not fond of the heavy stews and pies the spinster sisters devoured hungrily each night. Her appetite seemed to have disappeared with the peaceful sleep she’d once enjoyed.
Life without Paul had seemed bleak, despite the pain and grief of his illness. Hopefully, at Harpers she would find a new purpose and even some new friends.
Smiling wryly at her foolish thoughts, Rachel finished her tea, washed her cup in the small sink and then went along the hall to the bathroom. She would be washed, dressed and ready to leave long before the sisters stirred. They were very polite ladies and always asked Rachel if she needed the bathroom first, because, as they were fond of saying, ‘You have to work, dear.’ The exquisite embroidery they did, which brought in barely enough to cover their lodgings, was not work – because work would not have been acceptable for Papa’s daughters. Rachel had heard all about their stern father who had kept the sisters at home to wait on him, refusing to let them marry and then leaving them in poverty when he died. His property had been sold to pay his debts and they would have starved on their tiny income if Mrs Malone hadn’t found them a few customers from amongst her friends.
Rachel was thoughtful as she dressed in her neat grey dress with its collar of white lace fastened at the throat with a cameo brooch set in gold, and then, remembering the rule of no jewellery at work, removed it again. Minnie and Mildred did beautiful work. She thought they might have charged more for their embroidery if they’d known where to sell it, but they were ashamed to take anything for it and would only reluctantly accept the small fees Mrs Malone’s friends were prepared to pay.
At Harpers, there was room for a range of stylish evening gowns with beautiful embroidery. Rachel had looked through the rails and thought what little stock had arrived so far was not as exclusive as it might be – but perhaps Harpers was the wrong end of Oxford street to be offering exclusive gowns with the handmade touches the sisters might provide. It was more a ready-made market rather than bespoke. Besides, it wasn’t her department and the sisters would probably be too frightened to offer their work even if she suggested it…
Rachel’s mind moved on. She had assessed the three girls working under her in Harpers store. Sally was the senior assistant and seemed to know her business, though she was inclined to be a little rash and sometimes outspoken. Rachel would have to keep an eye on her for a while. Maggie was a sweet girl, a little shy but very willing – and Beth… A smile of approval touched Rachel’s lips. Beth was hard-working and intelligent, very much like she’d been at her age. Rachel liked her and thought she would like to know her better; though she could not relax her position as their supervisor, she hoped to enjoy good relationships with all the girls.
Rachel had the weekend to herself. She decided that she would take a bus trip and visit Paul’s mother, who lived in a leafy suburb on the outskirts of the city. Rachel’s mother-in-law had married for a second time late in life and, though now yet again a widow, had sufficient funds to live comfortably. To give Edna her due, she’d offered to take Rachel in when she learned that Paul’s savings had almost gone. Rachel had thanked her but refused. She and her fussy mother-in-law had never truly got on. Paul had been her only child and she tended to be possessive, though she was decent enough in her way. Rachel continued to visit occasionally, because her mother-in-law had few friends and Paul would have wanted her to keep in touch.
She would stop by the little local bakery run by a French chef and take some fancy cakes. Edna was very partial to a Bakewell tart or a cream horn…