The Long Walk Home (29 page)

When she arrived back at Wapping later that evening, Simon was alone at the rooming house, sitting in front of a smoky fire.

'I've got work,' she told him. 'I start the day after tomorrow.'

He stared at her. 'Doing what?'

'Assistant in a mourning shop.'

He roared with laugher. 'You won't last the week out,' he scoffed. 'You have no idea about earning a living.'

'Neither had you,' she retorted, 'but you had to learn and so shall I. But I wanted to ask you a favour, Simon. Will you loan me five shillings? I'll pay you back as soon as I can, but I've paid for my lodgings and I've hardly any money left.'

'Where did you get the money from to get here?' he asked curiously. 'You had no money of your own. Or did Father grant you an allowance?'

'No, he didn't,' she said sheepishly. 'I sold some things. I needed money for the train fare to Nottingham.'

'What kind of things?'

'Things we didn't need any more.' She felt her cheeks flushing as Simon gave a sudden grin and sat up in the chair to gaze at her.

'You pinched something from home!' he said incredulously. 'Wow! I never thought you had it in you!'

'I'm not proud of it. But I hadn't any money of my own and Father wasn't there. I thought if I went to see Mama I'd be able to persuade her to come back. Only she wouldn't,' she said, her voice dropping.

Simon looked away. 'Well, I haven't any spare cash. I could lend you a shilling, but it'll leave me short. I haven't got five bob to my name. I'm sick of this, to be honest,' he muttered. 'I could do better than working for Manners only he won't give me a reference; I know that without even asking him.'

'But what about the other man? Tully? Would he give you one? You've known him long enough, haven't you?' But then she recalled hearing Mikey say that Tully was a thief.

Simon sneered. 'He's a criminal,' he said harshly. 'Up to no good. If I get a reference from him I'll be tarred with the same brush.'

He hadn't risen from his chair as she'd entered the house and he stretched his legs out now and folded his arms in front of him.

'So— sorry. I can't help you. You'll just have to manage the best you can.'

That night Eleanor kept to the room she shared with Bridget, and came out only once to go to the privy. Mikey was sitting across from Simon. The boy, Sam, was curled up asleep on the floor, covered over with a thin blanket. When she returned from the dark court, Mikey asked if she wanted to come and sit with them by the fire, but she refused, saying that she was going to bed. Bridget didn't come back that night and she wondered where she was.

The next morning she rose early; she had heard movement from the other room and wanted to catch Mikey before he went to work. Simon and Sam had left already, but Simon hadn't called to her before going out.

'I'm leaving,' she told Mikey. 'I've got other lodgings near Regent Street.'

'Are they all right?' he asked. 'You must be careful about where you stop.'

She was grateful for his concern. Simon hadn't even bothered to ask her where she would be staying, and she had decided that she wouldn't ask him for the shilling that he had reluctantly half offered.

She gave Mikey the address. 'I hope I'll be able to find it again.' She gave a nervous laugh. 'It's like a maze down there.'

He smiled. 'Hull's like that too,' he said. 'Though perhaps you wouldn't know that?'

She gave a woeful shake of her head. How naive she had been, how innocent, and how ignorant of how some Hull residents lived.

'I'll catch an omnibus to town,' she said, 'and take my belongings to the lodging house; then I'll explore and find my way about before tomorrow. I'll have to walk to work as I shan't have any money until I get my wages.'

Mikey frowned. 'What about food? Is that included in 'price?'

'Yes,' Eleanor said. 'And I've paid a week in advance.'

'Shouldn't have done that!' he said. 'You should've moved in first afore handing over any money.'

'Oh!' She was crestfallen. What a lot she had to learn. 'But I'm sure it will be all right. They didn't ask for it; it was my suggestion.'

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. 'They must have thought you were an angel in disguise, Ellie— Eleanor.'

Ellie, she thought. No one has ever called me that before. I rather like it.

'Simon will be coming to see if you're all right, I expect,' Mikey said. 'After you've settled in, that is. Job sounds good. You've done well.'

She felt her eyes flood with tears. Here was someone who barely knew her, offering up praise, boosting her confidence, whereas Simon had not been the least bit interested.

'Thank you,' she said. 'I don't know how I've found myself in this situation. There I was at home . . .' Her voice dropped. 'Then everything went wrong. Perhaps I acted hastily, going off to Nottingham to see my mother, but it seemed the natural thing to do. But then, but then—' She stopped short. How swiftly events had moved on.

'You suddenly found yourself in another world,' Mikey said softly. 'In a grown-up world where you had to make decisions. I do know about it.' He took hold of her hand and gently pressed it. 'I found myself in 'same situation after I came out of prison. But you'll be all right, Ellie. You're strong. Stronger than you realize. You've not had 'opportunity to show your mettle before. But you've got it now and there's nowt to stop you.'

She was so overcome by emotion at hearing his praise, and the familiar sound of home in his northern voice, that impulsively she reached up and kissed his cheek.

'Thank you so much, Mikey,' she breathed, and knew by the flush on his cheek that she had embarrassed him. 'I'm so very grateful.'

The house was easier to find than she had thought it would be. She jumped off the horse bus and walked briskly for a quarter of a mile; as her bag became heavier, she slowed down, switching it from one hand to the other. She saw across the busy street the mourning emporium where she was to start work the following day, and mentally rehearsed the route that she had taken with Marie the day before, bearing in mind the directions Liza had given her.

Once more she traversed the mean side streets, courts and alleyways, and although she didn't feel threatened— it was daylight, after all— she was conscious again of being well dressed amongst the poor. I don't know what I can do about it, she thought. The other clothes that I brought with me will stand out in just the same way. Although she didn't have a vast or lavish wardrobe, not having the need for one, all her clothes were of good cloth.

Eventually, feeling quite proud of herself, she came to the lodging house. Bert was sitting by the window but he didn't see her, so intent was he on his stitching. She knocked on the door and he looked up.

'Come in, miss.' He opened the door to let her in.

'I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your surname,' Eleanor said. She didn't feel comfortable calling him Bert.

'Bertram, miss. Matthew Bertram. That's why everybody calls me Bert.'

'I see. Well, I'd rather call you Mr Bertram, Mr Bertram.'

'As you wish.' He turned back to his work by the window. 'If you'll excuse me, Miss Kendall, I have to finish this garment by this evening. Liza will be back soon, but feel free to go up to your room.'

'Yes, I will, thank you. But I wanted to ask you something, Mr Bertram. I'm starting work tomorrow, as you know, and I wondered if you would be able to make me a grey blouse? You see, I have a grey wool skirt, and because of the type of establishment I shall be working in I thought a grey or black blouse might be suitable.'

He surveyed her gravely over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. 'I'm a tailor, Miss Kendall. I don't make clothes for ladies.'

She bit on her lip, disappointed.

'May I offer to advise you? In my opinion grey or black will be too funereal. It's not you that's bereaved and you don't want to appear too dreary. I think you should wear a nice crisp white blouse with your grey skirt, and what if I was to make you a black bodice or waistcoat, piped with some grey ribbon to lighten it? It will look very businesslike, but very suitable for greeting sorrowing people. Sleeveless jackets for ladies are in vogue just now.'

'Oh, how kind!' she said. 'That would be perfect, as I have brought a white blouse with me. But I can't afford to have the jacket made just yet, Mr Bertram, not until I get my first week's wages.'

There was a slight twinkle in his eyes, at odds with his lugubrious expression, as he said, 'You can owe me, Miss Kendall. Liza can take your measurements and I'll make it tonight after I've finished these trousers. And if you bring down your blouse I'll crisp it up with a bit of starch and a hot iron.'

She had quite a spring in her step the following morning as she set out. Mr Bertram had produced a waistcoat made from soft wool, a piece he had left over, he said. He had made it with a basque to fit over her hips and trimmed the edges of the lapels with a grey satin ribbon, covering the tiny buttons with the same colour. He had also edged the hem with a grey silk fringe.

She wore her coat over the outfit as the morning was grey. There was very little light coming through her bedroom window and none at all through the one downstairs.

'Don't get lost, m'dear,' Liza said. 'It's a peasouper this morning.'

The court was very murky and the doors and windows of the houses opposite were barely visible, but as she stepped out into the main road it was like walking into a soggy clammy wall which wet her hair and dampened her clothes. Thick grey fog swirled about her; it muffled the sound of the traffic and completely obscured any landmarks. Now and again she could hear voices calling, some of them laughing, others shouting out to ask where they were.

She groped for her handkerchief and covered her nose, and with her other hand stretched out in front of her she walked on, hoping that she would be able to find the emporium, for she had completely lost any sense of direction. Now and again the vapour lifted and she caught a glimpse of a building or a waggon, but before she could get her bearings the fog descended again and her vision was eclipsed.

It took her an hour to find her way, and that was after asking several passers-by if they knew whether she was near Henry's mourning emporium. She was very anxious about being late on her first morning, but on arriving she found that the door was locked, and although she knocked on the glass, no one came. She waited and waited, shivering with cold and feeling very damp, before she was joined by two of the seamstresses who said that they too had been lost.

'Know the way like the backs of our 'ands, don't we, Peg, but we must 'ave walked right past.'

'I'm Eleanor Kendall,' Eleanor said. 'I'm starting today as an assistant to Mr Henry.'

'That'll be young Mr Henry,' said the young woman who had introduced herself as Judy. 'Mr Josiah Henry would never have taken on a young lady, oh dear no. Mr Christopher is much more modern.'

The man himself arrived on the doorstep soon after, out of breath and very damp. 'I've had to walk,' he grumbled as he unlocked the door. 'Didn't dare risk driving the chaise. Good morning,' he said to Eleanor. 'I'm sorry you have had to wait.'

He ushered her in and bade her be seated, and when he clasped his hands together and assumed a sorrowful expression Eleanor realized that he had forgotten who she was.

'Mr Henry,' she said, before he could speak, 'I'm Eleanor Kendall. I'm beginning employment with you today.'

His face cleared. 'Oh! So you are. Well, thank goodness for that. I can't be dealing with death right now. Come along. I'll show you where to put your coat and then perhaps you'd make us both a cup of coffee?'

I daren't tell him that this is the first time I have ever made a pot of coffee, she thought as she waited for the kettle to boil. In a room at the back of the shop was a small kitchen with a range where a fire was burning; she assumed that a caretaker had lit it. Beyond the kitchen was another room with a stove at the end of it, where the seamstresses worked at a large table. At one end of the table, set on top of a wooden packing case, was a sewing machine— something Eleanor had never seen before.

'Come and take a look, dearie,' Judy had said. 'We're one of the first mourning shops to use a sewing machine. Saves us a lot of time, especially on the ladies' dresses. I can stitch one up in a day now.'

What a lot I'm learning, she thought as she poured the water on to the coffee grounds. What a wasted life I have had. But still, she considered, I'm young; I can do so much if I want to, now that I'm no longer constrained. But as she thought of her father locked up in a prison cell she felt sad, although when she remembered her mother, probably by now on her way to Canada, she felt only anger.

At the end of the day she had attended two ladies who had been bereaved, and with Mr Christopher's help had suggested the outfits they should wear for mourning. She had never been to a funeral, let alone known what should be worn, and she was astounded at the protocol and procedure involved.

The first customer required deep black, but insisted on the latest style, because, she told Eleanor, 'I shall have to wear it for a whole year to show my sorrow.'

Eleanor didn't think her too sorrowful as she had a bright expression in her eyes, except when she pressed her handkerchief to them and proclaimed how bereft she was. When she left in her black-trimmed carriage, Mr Christopher told Eleanor that the lady in question was just twenty-three, and that her late husband, aged forty-seven, had left her very well provided for.

When Eleanor prepared to leave the shop at seven o'clock, she was very tired. The day had been interesting; she had looked in all the drawers and cupboards to check where gloves and stockings, bonnets and hatbands, umbrellas and mourning cards were kept, but the sight of so much black was, she thought, very depressing.

As she opened the door to depart, she was once more choked by thick fog. She quickly closed it again. 'Mr Christopher,' she called. 'The fog is dreadful.'