Annie looked down from the window into the street and saw the regiment of soldiers trotting by, the flash of their scarlet tunics brightening the dull day.
‘Henry!’ She called to the child playing on the floor with his wooden bricks. ‘Come here and see the soldiers.’
The little boy came to her and lifted his arms for her to pick him up that he might see out. She stood him on the wide oak windowsill and he pressed his nose against the small-paned glass. ‘Where they go, Mamma?’
‘Back to their barracks for their breakfast,’ she smiled at him and planted a kiss on his fair head. They’ve been practising their killing games, she thought. What violent times we are living in. A reign of terror raging in France, Louis XVI and his queen dead, and England at war with France.
‘Mrs Hope! Mrs Hope!’
Henry lifted his head and chortled. ‘Mrs Hope, Mamma!’
She opened the door of the room and looked down the stairs. ‘Yes, Mr Sampson? Do you need me?’
‘If you could just come down.’ The elderly man, clad in a silk embroidered waistcoat and an old-fashioned frock-coat and curled wig was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking anxious. ‘Mrs Downham has come in and insists on seeing you.’ He looked rueful and whispered, ‘It seems that the proprietor of this establishment is no longer good enough for the lady.’
Annie laughed. ‘I’ll be down directly.’
She put her son into his cot and gave him his bricks to play with. ‘Stay and play, there’s a good boy. Mamma won’t be long.’
Henry pulled a lip. ‘Where’s Polly?’
‘Polly will be here soon. Now be good, I’m only in the shop, not far away.’
She took off her apron and hung it behind the door, and looked into the mirrored glass on the wall. A composed dispassionate face stared back at her as she smoothed her hair, which she wore in a coil at the back of her neck, and adjusted the lace edging on her bodice. Turning away with a small sigh she lifted the hem of her grey dress and hurried downstairs to greet her customer.
Mrs Downham had taken a fancy to Annie when she had come into the shop and met her for the first time. She had watched as Annie draped satins and velvets across the oak counter, swathing them into drapes and simulating skirts and trains, and listening as Annie made suggestions for trimmings and accessories.
Since then she had been a regular customer and Mr Sampson was only too pleased, for not only had Annie released him from the pressure of suggesting styles for ladies of ample build like Mrs Downham, but word had spread of the new assistant at the draper’s shop who knew about cloth and who had even brought samples with her that couldn’t be bought elsewhere.
As she courteously greeted Mrs Downham, Annie recollected the first time she had attended her. It had been her first day as an assistant and she was so nervous, wondering what she would say to the fine ladies who came into Aaron Sampson’s drapery shop.
‘You’ll be all right,’ he’d said to her. ‘You know more about brocades, damasks and flowered satins than they do, they’ll trust in your judgement.’
But I don’t know much, she’d thought at the time, for though she hadn’t lied to him about her past, she had embellished a little about the length of time she had handled and sold cloth. But Mrs Downham had been impressed and she had bought some of the muslins which Annie had brought with her and sold to Mr Sampson.
Today Mrs Downham only wanted new gloves to match a garment she had ordered previously. Annie wrapped them for her and opened the door and wished her good-day, and then turned with a broad smile to Mr Sampson.
‘I could have done that,’ he said, grumbling in a jocular manner, ‘But no, it has to be Mrs Hope! Still,’ he said approvingly. ‘You were right, I’m glad you suggested that we stock gloves and fans and such, it’s been a nice little sideline.’
Annie nodded and listened. She heard Henry call for her. ‘Where’s Polly?’ she asked. ‘She’s late.’
‘I sent her on an errand, she’ll be back presently.’
‘Good, she can take Henry for a walk and then perhaps we can change the window display. I thought we could have something patriotic, red and white, like the soldiers uniforms, with a swathe of black satin like their boots.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re amazing, Annie. Why didn’t I think of that.’
‘Why don’t you go up to my room and make a dish of tea and talk to Henry while I empty the window?’ she suggested. ‘We shan’t be too busy just yet, the morning is too grey and unsettled for the ladies to venture out shopping.’
She knew he would need no further persuading. He loved to play with the little boy, he’d had no children of his own, and said he hadn’t missed them, but he would dearly have liked grandchildren to spoil.
He had been so kind to her, especially that first day when she had arrived in York, unsure of herself and her surroundings. ‘You were like a lost soul that day,’ he’d said later when he knew her better.
And indeed she had been lost, her spirit was lost, her strength was lost after the long, long journey from Hessle to the Wolds, across to Market Weighton and down towards the bowl-shaped valley that was the Vale of York.
She had set off in darkness, taking the paths she knew and skirting the town of Hessle to avoid being seen. She regretted not seeing Robin, but she was sure that he would have tried to persuade her to stay or else insist on coming with her. She’d found a sheltered spot within a copse and spent the long night huddled beneath a blanket and it was then that misery had descended, she thought of all she had lost and wept in despair.
When the morning broke and the first streaks of dawn stroked the receding night sky, she’d moved on; she’d shivered with cold and so walked at the side of the donkey to try to get her blood warm. She ate at midday and then was sick and nauseous and vowed she would only drink water for the rest of the day.
But as chance would have it, she had seen Mr Sutcliff and Rose driving towards their village and they had both insisted that she should go home with them and spend the night there. In the bedroom that night she had confided in Lily and told her that she was heading for York.
‘Don’t tell of me, Lily, will you?’ she’d asked. ‘I don’t want Matt to be charitable towards me. I want his love, not his pity.’
Lily had listened wide-eyed at her story and said how lucky she was to be carrying her lover’s child. ‘It’ll be hard for thee, but tha’ll always have some reminder, Annie, not just a ribbon.’ She’d touched the ribbon in her hair, ‘but something tha can love instead.’
As she had driven away the next morning Rose had come to her and asked about Robin. She’d smiled at the girl and touched her cheek. ‘Be patient, Rose, I’m sure he’ll come for you one day.’
But she wasn’t sure, she wasn’t even sure that Robin would agree to becoming an agent for the contraband goods. He was such an honest lad, she mused as she’d cracked her whip and headed off down the rutted frozen track – he would probably rather work in the quarry doing honest hard labour than sully his hands with illegal goods.
She emptied the window of the display and fetched a cloth to dust away the cobwebs and grime that had accumulated since she had last cleaned it – and watched through the new, squared, plate glass window, which had replaced the bow-shaped bubble glass, as Polly sauntered down the street, with a basket in her hand. The girl saw her watching and immediately quickened her step.
‘Sorry, Mrs Hope. I got delayed.’
Polly had been employed, at Mr Sampson’s insistence, to help look after Henry and run errands, so that Annie would be free to help him in the shop. But she was lazy, and Annie had caught her on two occasions fast asleep in a chair with Henry wide awake and wet and hungry in his cot.
Still, she’s just a child, she thought, as she draped a length of red satin over a stand, twelve years old; I shouldn’t expect so much. She’ll be about my Lizzie’s age, I should think. She sighed, where has the time gone to? She thought back once more of her journey towards York after leaving the warmth of the Sutcliff household.
What a simpleton I was, thinking that I should be able to travel alone, just me and my donkey. She remembered the bitterly cold frosty nights, when she’d slept in the cart, and the muddy impassable roads once the thaw had started. And she shivered when she thought of the footpad who had held her up, who had kept his hand on the donkey’s snaffle and demanded money from her.
She’d held out a money bag towards him. It had three coins in it, the rest of her money was tucked securely beneath her skirts, where, she had vowed it would stay. I’ll be raped or murdered before anyone gets their hands on that.
He’d taken the bag from her and emptied it into his hand. ‘Is this all tha’s got?’
‘Aye. If tha relieves me of that I’ll have nowt to buy bread with.’
‘There’s no place up here where tha can buy bread,’ he’d grinned and put the money in his pocket. ‘So tha’ll not be needing it.’
He’d demanded she open her packs in the cart, and she’d deliberately opened one which had contained rich velvets and heavy satins, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sell them as they would look so obviously like stolen goods.
‘Would tha rob thine own kind?’ she’d been emboldened to ask.
‘Think thaself lucky tha can keep yon donkey,’ he’d growled. ‘Tha must have had money for that.’
She’d shaken her head and lied. ‘It’s not mine, it’s my master’s. If tha takes that he’ll have ’constables after thee.’
He’d let go of the snaffle then and slapped the donkey’s rump. ‘Go on then,’ he snarled. ‘Get going before I change me mind.’ He stepped away, but the donkey who was normally mild, took exception to the blow and lashed out with her back legs and caught him on the shin. Annie cracked her whip and left, leaving the thief hopping on one leg and cursing.
As she arranged her display she nodded to several people who were passing by, a butcher from the Shambles, his apron splashed with blood, a floury-faced girl going home from the bakery where she had spent the night kneading dough, and a young maid who called often on her mistress’s errands. Then her eye caught sight of someone crossing the street and she groaned inwardly. Mrs Mortimer, Mr Sampson’s sister, and she was coming straight towards the shop.
Annie gave her a polite smile as she entered the door, the bell jangling loudly.
‘It’s time that clapper was fixed.’ Mrs Mortimer gave no other greeting. She leaned heavily on a striped parasol which was made of the same material as her walking dress which showed beneath a short grey cape. ‘It’s far too loud. Is Mr Sampson at liberty?’
‘Good morning Mrs Mortimer. Yes, he’s upstairs. I’ll tell him you’re here.’ Annie knew that Mrs Mortimer didn’t like her, had never liked her, but the feeling was mutual. Annie considered that she was mean and grasping; she ordered her brother around as if he was still a callow youth, and seemed to consider Annie a threat.
Mr Sampson moaned when Annie whispered to him that his sister was here. ‘She gives me heartburn,’ he complained. ‘She’ll ruin the day with her grousing.’
Annie continued with her window display while Mr Sampson took his sister to the small room at the back of the shop where a fire burned and where the draper took his midday meal of ale and bread and cheese.
‘I’m just a simple man,’ he’d told her when he first offered her the position of assistant and the use of the room upstairs. ‘I can manage here for what I want,’ and in the evening he went home to the small lodging house in Jubbergate.
She draped a swathe of black satin along the base of the window and remembered standing at the top of a hill and gazing down into the valley, wondering if the donkey-and-cart would get down safely or if the steep descent would tip them all over. She’d had to take a rest from the long pull up the hill and had marvelled at the landscape unrolling in front of her. It had been almost midday and the mist was still lying like a mantle in the valley bottom, but as she watched, it had lifted like the raising of a diaphanous skirt until the whole valley lay open before her.
A troop of soldiers had ridden up and she’d called to them, asking where she was. ‘That’s the Vale of York,’ the trooper captain had said. He’d looked at her mode of transport. ‘Two days and you can be in the city itself. We’ll help you down the hill if you like.’
She’d accepted gratefully, for she had been exhausted. One of the soldiers ran a lead to the donkey’s snaffle and another had tied a rope to the cart to hold it back, and together they had descended into the valley bottom.
But it had taken her longer than he’d said because she had been so weary that she had tethered the donkey to a tree, and climbed back into the cart and slept for a whole day. It had started to rain, clearing away the remaining drifts of snow, but dripping in through the tarpaulin which covered her and her precious parcels of cloth.
She’d moved on when she’d felt better and on crossing a stone bridge over the flowing river Derwent, she’d stopped again. Willows were bending their slender naked branches towards the water and she too bent to wash her hands and face, and brushed her hair with the silver brush which had belonged to Toby and Matt’s mother, and which she had decided she could reasonably claim as her own. Take what you need, Toby had said, and she needed this reminder of what had been, for she felt very lonely.
The day had only just begun as she’d entered the old city walls through the Walmgate Bar. The walls were still standing with their gates and posterns intact, and though decayed in parts because of their antiquity, they were not destroyed and broken like the walls of Hull which were being demolished to enlarge the town. She’d felt lost, unsure of which way to turn.
She’d seen the draper’s shop as she’d led the donkey through Fossgate and thought that the next day, after she had found lodgings and had had a good night’s sleep, she would call with one of the packs and see if she could sell some of her cloth. It was good quality, she was sure of it, for she had felt the difference in the samples that Mr Moses had shown her and had seen the approval in his eyes when she had chosen a particular weight and quality.
The lodgings were simple but clean and she had stabled the donkey in the yard and carried the packs up to her room. She had paid extra to have a room to herself, for she dare not risk losing any of her merchandise to any dubious fellow traveller.
Mr Sampson had raised a wary eyebrow as she entered his shop with a pack on her shoulder, but she spoke moderately and politely, not just for the sake of politeness but because she was also nervous, never having stepped within the threshold of such an imposing establishment as this, with its silken hangings, waxed oak counters and polished wood floors. Mr Sampson himself made her quake – for he looked every inch a gentleman with a fine waistcoat beneath his grey frock-coat, and knee breeches on his portly figure, and flat buckled shoes – though reason told her that he couldn’t possibly be.
She’d laid out some of her muslins for him to see when a lady had entered the door. Annie had stood back and tried to make herself invisible while Mr Sampson made his obsequious rites to the imperious client. She had spotted Annie’s samples on the counter and fingered them and asked if they were available in another pattern, and Annie had given a nod to Mr Sampson’s imperceptible silent query.
Annie shook her head reproachfully as she completed her display. She could hear Mrs Mortimer’s wittering voice carrying through from the back room and Mr Sampson’s weary inaudible reply. She folded away the unused material and placed it neatly on one of the shelves. It never ceased to amaze her that she had become so neat and tidy, but it gave her such pleasure to see the rows of shiny satins arranged in descending shades of colour, the pretty sprigged muslins, the warm shades of wool set to compliment each other.
She knocked on the open door of the rear room where Mrs Mortimer was finishing a cup of tea. ‘I do beg your pardon, Mrs Mortimer, but I just wanted to tell Mr Sampson that I’ve finished the display. I know you wanted to have a look at it before you went out, sir, – to put the finishing touches to it, and there’s just time before your appointment.’
Mr Sampson jumped up. ‘Bless my soul, I’d almost forgotten. Charlotte, my dear, do feel free to stay, Mrs Hope will look after you, but I really must dash.’
Mrs Mortimer rose pompously to her feet. ‘Why you should think that I have time to linger, I really can’t imagine, brother. I have a million things to do.’ She swept towards the door and nodded briefly to Annie. ‘Goodday, Aaron. Think about what I have suggested. Ralph is only too eager to join you.’
Mr Sampson mopped his brow as he closed the door behind his sister. ‘Phew. Thank you, Annie. You couldn’t have chosen a better time. I couldn’t think how I was going to get rid of her.’ His brow wrinkled. ‘Did I have an appointment? I can’t remember.’
Annie put her hand to her mouth in mock shame. ‘I made a mistake,’ she said grinning. ‘It must be another day.’
He sat down wearily on a chair in front of the counter, and gave a sigh. ‘I don’t know what excuse to make to her. I’ve tried them all but she won’t take no for an answer, and as for that odious son of hers!’
‘Ralph?’ Annie had met him infrequently, they had first passed in the shop doorway and he had given her a fawning bow, thinking that she was a client and not an assistant in his uncle’s shop. She had taken an instant dislike to his foppish, dandified appearance, and had since avoided him whenever possible. ‘What has he been up to?’
‘It’s what he wants to get up to that’s the trouble. His mother and he have hatched a plot; he wants, or at least his mother wants him to come into the business with me.’
‘But what is your objection, Mr Sampson? He’ll surely inherit it one day.’ Annie felt secure enough in her friendship with the draper to make so bold a statement. ‘Better to train him in the art of selling cloth now than risk him making a hash of it later.’
Aaron’s face grew scarlet. ‘I’d sooner give my shop to charity than let him get his hands on it. When I think how my poor dear wife gave all her time and money to this venture – why she’d turn in her grave if she thought that young dog was squandering it away, which is just what he would do if he could.’
Polly came downstairs carrying Henry dressed in his outdoor clothes and ready for his walk.
‘Now, Polly. Don’t under any circumstances let go of Henry’s hand,’ Aaron shook a finger at Polly. ‘Indeed I think that perhaps you should take him in his carriage.’
Polly raised her eyebrows in dismay and Annie interceded. ‘He’s far too big for his carriage now, Mr Sampson. Polly will take care of him, won’t you Polly?’
The girl nodded and smiled gratefully at Annie. Henry was growing into a strapping boy and had already lost his baby roundness. Annie had recently breeched him, taking him out of his wrapping-gown and putting him into trousers and buttoned-down jacket, and he was far too heavy to be pushed in the hand-carriage.
‘If you’d had children you would have spoilt them to death, Mr Sampson. Men don’t usually have an interest in children. My husband didn’t, they were just a nuisance and another mouth to feed.’
‘Not all men are the same, Annie, and Henry’s father might well have been happy to have a son.’
She nodded and sighed. She’d felt compelled to tell Mr Sampson of her circumstances when he’d been so generous to offer her a position with him, and had explained that though she was a widow, her husband wasn’t the father of the child she was carrying.
‘I suppose I’ve become fond of the boy because he was born here,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen a newborn baby before. Such a miracle,’ he said, his eyes shining. ‘Such a miracle.’
He had been most anxious for her as her pregnancy progressed and instead of dismissing her as she expected him to, he’d insisted that she should rest whenever possible. But she had felt strong and healthy, and because she didn’t know when the birth was due, on the Saturday afternoon when she felt tired, she merely thought that she had been overdoing things. However, as Mr Sampson was preparing to leave that night, she had asked him casually if he would give a boy a copper to send a message to the midwife.
But the midwife was late, as the message given wasn’t considered urgent and by the time she arrived, the baby had been born. Squalling lustily he’d proclaimed his arrival as soon as he was free of her. She’d wiped his face with the bed sheet and moistened her fingers with her tongue and cleared his mucous-covered eyes and nose, then bit through the cord which bound them.
The door bell jangled and they both turned, a greeting ready for a client, but both their smiles faded when they saw Ralph Mortimer standing there, his white-gloved hand clasping a silver-topped cane and sporting a fashionable top hat.
‘Good Morning, Uncle – Mrs Hope. I understood that my mother was calling this morning—’
‘You’ve only just missed her,’ Aaron interrupted. ‘If you hurry you’ll catch her, she went—’
‘No, no. No matter. I’ll stay a while and chat to you. Are you well, Uncle? You’re looking a little strained. Not overdoing things are you?’
He turned to Annie and smirked confidentially. ‘We shall have to watch him, won’t we, Mrs Hope? Don’t want him to become ill. It’s a lot of responsibility running an establishment like this.’
What would you know? Annie thought. You’ve never had responsibility in your life, you exist on your late father’s legacy and your mother’s indulgence.
‘I’ve run this business for twenty years,’ Aaron bristled. ‘I don’t think I have need of advice from you, young man.’
‘Oh, no – I didn’t mean – I was only concerned.’ He fingered his sideburns as he sought to placate his uncle. ‘Mother and I are both concerned, we think that you ought to be taking things easier now. You’re no longer young you know,’ he added waggishly.
‘I know perfectly well how old I am,’ Aaron said impatiently, ‘and I do take things easier. I have excellent help in Mrs Hope, ’couldn’t wish for better, so please don’t worry on my behalf.’
‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Sampson,’ Annie made her excuses. ‘I have to make up orders which are wanted for this afternoon. The maids will be coming for them and I promised they would be ready.’
‘Ah. Of course.’ Mr Sampson bustled round the other side of the counter and started sorting out fabrics. ‘I shall come and help you in one moment.’ He stared at his nephew. ‘Was there anything else, Ralph? You’ll understand of course, being familiar with the intricacies of business, that we don’t have time to chat, except of course to our clients.’
Ralph was lost for words for a moment as he was given his dismissal, but he smiled politely at his uncle and tipped his hat and said as he opened the door, ‘Perhaps you would allow me to give you some extra assistance as you are so busy, – my time is my own. I have a good head for figures, I could perhaps relieve you of the boredom of adding up your accounts. Do think of it, Uncle, I should be only too pleased.’
As he left the shop door he almost fell over Polly and Henry who were returning from their walk, rain had started to drizzle down and their faces were wet.
He looked down at Henry and then glanced back at Annie inside the shop and touched his hat with his cane. She felt, she knew not why, as if she had just been assaulted.
Aaron rubbed his chest with quick anxious movements and then adjusted his toupee forward onto his brow. ‘I’m going to have to do something soon, Annie. I don’t know how long I can fight them.’