Dark Shadows (4 page)

Chapter Two

Mercy looked into a shop through its window and saw her own image staring back. She pushed her nose against the glass and cupped a hand at the side of each eye, thus blocking out the sun’s reflection. She was at the local pawnshop, which specialised in clocks and pocket watches. She had to know what time it was. Timing and a great deal of dramatics were going to be her keys to success today.

Mercy had told a fib this morning. Her grandma was beside herself, knowing that the wedding dress had to be picked up and that she just wasn’t well enough to go with Mercy to get it. Mercy calmed her down by saying that she’d get Mrs McCallum to go with her. Mrs McCallum lived just around the corner, and she would be quite happy to have a walk with her and see the dress.

But Mercy had no intention of going to Mrs McCallum’s or anyone else’s house. It was her first big lie, the first she’d ever told. If she was to spend her whole life in the Elephant and Castle, be married off to Big Joe, have children, and grow old before her time without having truly lived, she deserved this day, and the lie she had told was nothing to be ashamed of. Her conscience was clear. She felt no guilt gnawing at her, nor would she feel remorse when the day was over.

She had left her grandma’s house earlier than she was supposed to in order to buy some time for her well-guarded secret adventure: she, Mercy Carver, was going to walk across London Bridge for the very first time in her life. She would do it on her own and savour every sight she saw on the way. She would look down into the murky water instead of staring at it from a distance. She would see the great ships and boats at close quarters and have her first cup of tea in Central London.

Ten thirty, the grandmother clock inside the pawnshop said. Perfect, Mercy thought. The dress shop was only two streets away now, and the women were expecting her anytime this morning.

The dressmaker would dress her and show her how to lace up the newest fashionable accessory, the corset. She would try on the bone-ringed petticoat for the very first time, and she would put on stays, which would lift her womanly breasts. When the dressmaker had finished with her, a stylist would transform her childish braided hair into ringlets, which would tumble down her back beneath the veil she had already chosen. She would walk into the shop a girl and walk out a woman, at least as far as her hair was concerned.

Her wedding attire of corset, stays, stockings, veil, petticoat, and gown would be placed in a large, cumbersome box, and she, as ordered, would walk all the way back home with it – but not straight away. That wasn’t the plan …

Chapter Three

Mercy straightened and studied herself in a mirror that stood six feet tall. She couldn’t quite believe what she saw. The woman staring back at her was a stranger to her. The beautifully cut off-the-shoulder white silk dress was trimmed with pale pink ribbon. Her corset had given her a tiny waist that had been measured at a respectable twenty-one inches. The gown’s skirt ballooned outwards and right down to the floor, giving her a body shape that was completely new to her. Her breasts were lifted, full and rather revealing, she thought, feeling slightly shy and uncomfortable at the sight of them. She also looked tall, so much taller than before, but the little pointed shoes with curved heels had a lot do with that.

Under her veil, soft curls cascaded down her back to just above her waist. Her small oval face – with pointed chin, perfect cheekbones, and huge emerald-green twinkling eyes – was further enhanced by perfect pink bow lips.

Mercy had not been able to see herself as others did. She did not see, nor could she imagine, the beauty that was evident to all but her. However, she now saw a woman staring back at her. She saw a shining light emanating from her eyes – not because of the gown, the marriage, or the wedding, but because she was just about to put her plan into motion.

“I should have cut your hair,” said Agnes, the stylist, interrupting Mercy’s thoughts. “It’s far too long. Long is not in fashion this year, especially with this gown.”

“Nonsense,” said Doreen, the dressmaker. “When hair is like silk and hangs naturally curly like that, it should be left just as it is. It may not be fashionable, but I would sell my soul for that texture and colour. It is, after all, a woman’s crowning glory.”

Doreen stood slightly behind Mercy and studied her in the mirror. She said, “You’re a lucky girl, Mercy. Big Joe was very kind to pay for all of this. He might be well off, but the veil in itself cost him a small fortune, let me tell you. He’s the best match in the area, so be thankful that you’ll be well looked after. He’s got no children from that sickly wife he used to have. Blimey, she could scarce stand up straight most of the time, never mind bear him a child. He’ll leave everything to you; don’t forget that either. If you give him what he wants every night, you’ll tire him out in no time. He’ll be dead soon enough with his big fat belly and all the nightly jumping and humping about the bed with you. You take it from me: if you constantly fuck him, he’ll not be long for this world.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Agnes scolded Doreen whilst trying to look serious.

“I’m just saying how it is, Agnes.”

“Fucking indeed. At least say pleasuring him. I hate that word
fucking
.” Agnes began clearing the tools of her trade away, still smiling behind her indignant demeanour.

Doreen played with the veil, spreading it out and measuring its long train. She ignored Agnes and said, “You mark my words, Mercy. You’ll be a rich widow in no time. I’ll tell you right now, if I didn’t know who you were or where you came from, I’d think you were a bloody duchess – or a real lady. You’re beautiful, but you also have grace and posture, just like your mother had. It’s a natural gift, and not every woman has it, especially round your neck of the woods. You’ve got all the attributes men want, and they’ll be your weapons, so use them well, and they’ll take you a long way.”

Mercy sighed. “What I want is to get employment and not have to marry an old man. What’s the point of having looks if all they’ve gotten me is a horrible old fat balding man for my trouble? I hate him!” she sobbed loudly. “I’m dreading it. I feel I’m about to go to prison without having committed a single crime.”

The two women looked at each other. Mercy was aware of the pity in their eyes, and that was exactly what she wanted to see. It was time to perform.

“If only I could have one day, just one day, to taste freedom in a gown like this. If I could just do one thing with my life today, it would see me through all the horrible years to come with that filthy old git who sticks his slobbering tongue in my ear every time I’m with him. He makes me want to puke! I swear I’ll end up killing myself. I’ll be just like my dad, without hope.”

Mercy’s tears and wretched sobs stopped the two women in their tracks.

The girl was right, Doreen was thinking. Big Joe was a lecherous old git and had a different woman paid for in coin almost every night of the week. Doreen removed the veil and got a better look at Mercy’s anguished face. She sighed. She’d been paid to make Mercy look like a princess, and that’s what she’d done. Moreover, she’d done it well. She couldn’t say anything that would help the girl. Life with Big Joe would be bloody rotten, and that was the truth of it. He’d set his sights on Mercy when she was just a young girl; everybody knew that. Now that the time had come to marry her, he’d make sure she was never out alone again. He’d work her hard in his shop all day, and he’d have his way with her whenever fucking took his fancy. Doreen screwed up her face in disgust behind Mercy’s back. Personally, she’d rather eat rats than marry that bloody dog of a man!

Mercy took one more look at herself in the mirror. She was not vain, but she was well aware that she looked every bit like a sophisticated woman. Soft pink rouge had been painted on her full bow lips and cheeks, and black kohl now defined her eyebrows and lifted the corners of her eyelids, making her eyes appear twice their size. The effect was subtle, but it had changed her girlish face into something beautiful and elegant. She sniffed into the handkerchief Doreen had just given her.

“I had hoped to get the chance to wear a gown like this more than once in my life,” she said. “But I fear living in the Elephant and Castle won’t give me any opportunity at all, ever. My Grandma Jennings says Big Joe always works and goes out to a men’s club at night, and I’m not to nag him about it. I bet I’ll just spend all my life alone and miserable. I should kill myself right now!”

Doreen turned Mercy from the mirror and held her by the arms. She wore a shocked, frightened expression. Tears welled up, making her remove her eyeglasses. “Now you listen to me, girl. I knew your father and your mother. I was at their bloody wedding. I’ve never seen a couple so much in love – they made me right jealous, so they did. What your father did – kill himself – was a terrible waste of a life, and I’ll not have his daughter in here threatening to do the same thing. Now, I don’t know what I can say to help you. I don’t know what I can do to make you feel better. But if I ever hear you mention killing yourself again, I’ll give you a right good slapping. Do you hear me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Mercy sobbed again. “But if I could just go into London, across that bridge, just once, I’d have the memory of it and would be satisfied with that. But how can I go to London in my old rags if I want to have a cup of tea and go inside St Paul’s Cathedral? I saved some pennies. I have them with me. It took me almost a year, but I have enough for an outing and maybe even a short carriage ride after I’ve had a scone and tea. That’s always been my dream. Just once – if I could do it just once, I’d never complain again about anything.”

“I understand, Mercy. Really I do,” Doreen told her, softening her tone. “I would love to tell you to grab every opportunity that comes your way and go after your dreams, but you’re betrothed, and there’s nought you, me, or Agnes here can do about it. You’re too beautiful for your own good; that’s the truth. If you’d been brought up on the other side of the river, you would have found an even better husband – perhaps an aristocrat.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” Doreen told her.

Mercy seized the chance. Now she would test the waters.

“What if I could just wear this for a short while? It may be my only chance. You did say you would love to tell me to grab opportunities, even though you can’t. Doreen, I promise I won’t get it dirty. No one will know except for us three. Can I? Please? I’ll be back in three or four hours to carry the dress home in its box. Please?”

Doreen and Agnes looked horrified and shook their heads. Doreen began to undo the tiny buttons on the back of the gown, looking worried that Mercy was thinking about bolting out the door with the dress on.

Mercy cried and tried again. “After today, my life is over. I’m just going to
have
to kill myself. If I can’t have one good memory, what’s the point of living?”

“Mercy, you’ll get us into a bother talking like this. Big Joe and your family will have our hides.”

“But not if they’re none the wiser. They would never have to know,” Mercy rushed in. “Who the bleedin’ hell do we know that goes into London from this side of the river? If I could just see St Paul’s Cathedral and say a prayer maybe – to help me through this—”

“Right. That’s enough, Mercy Carver,” Doreen interrupted her. She wagged her finger an inch from Mercy’s face. “Get that dress off you right now and don’t you dare move.”

Doreen gave Agnes a sly look and nodded towards the back room. Whispering, they walked towards it and then disappeared inside, leaving Mercy alone. Mercy sighed. Her plan hadn’t worked. Now she’d have to go to London in rags with nice hair. She was going to look stupid!

Doreen came back out alone. “We’ve discussed it, Mercy. We can’t allow you to wear a bloody wedding dress in the streets of London, and you’re a fool to think we would. Sorry, but it would come back with its hem covered in mud and horse dung, and we’d get shot for allowing it to happen. But …” She stopped speaking just as Agnes appeared carrying a burgundy gown.

“This was made for a young lady from Knightsbridge.”

Mercy’s eyes opened wide. “But …”

“No, don’t ask questions. I may be in Southwark, but I’m quite well known for my work and designs in the highest quarters. I get clients who have titles, but not many people know that, so don’t spread it around. I could close up this shop tomorrow and live a comfortable life, but I’m planning to move to the country. I want a nice cottage where I’ll dress the gentry and feed my face on scones and butter. I’ll be respected and asked to attend dinner parties and local balls. I’ll find myself in with country society and marry a nice man. I’ve got big plans, Mercy, and so should you.

“Do you really think you’d be here if you were marrying a man who didn’t have Big Joe’s money and position? God almighty, folk from these parts would never be able to afford my gowns, not in a month of Sundays. The only reason I’m here is because my home is upstairs and the rent for this building is cheap.”

“You’d never be able to afford my hairstyles either,” Agnes piped in.

“Yes, true,” Doreen said. “Anyway, as I was saying … This dress here was ordered, but the girl is pregnant. She fell pregnant just a couple of months after she got married and told me to keep the dress. She didn’t ask for anything in return, so the gown is mine. She was about the same size as you. Would this do for your big adventure?”

Mercy stared into the faces of the smiling women. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with joy. She grinned and nodded her head, unable to speak.

Doreen smiled and held Mercy’s hands. “Now let’s find you a bonnet. You have your day, Mercy Carver. You bloody well deserve it, and you’ll never get another chance, because that old man you’re marrying will never let you out of his sight.”