Darkest Before Dawn (16 page)

‘Yes, all right,' Martha agreed, as the four of them turned out into Lawrence Street. She addressed Percy. ‘If your mam gets some work – and I'm sure she will – then you'd best buy some coal. Do you have an old pram, or a stirring cart, or something?'

Percy shook his head regretfully. ‘No, we ain't got nothin' like that. But if I get half a sack I reckon I can carry it meself.'

Martha eyed him, doubting that he could carry half a sack of spuds, let alone coals, but it would have been tactless to say so. Instead she said: ‘Right you are, then. Now keep out of mischief and we'll see you later.'

When their mothers had gone, Percy and Evie eyed each other speculatively, then Evie grinned. ‘When did you last buy coal, Percy Baldwin?' she asked derisively. ‘My dad were a lay preacher so my mum don't know nothin' about how ordinary people live. I bet you've been nickin' coal from the goods yard ever since you were old enough to scramble over the wall and wriggle across the railings; ain't that right?'

Percy stiffened indignantly. ‘No that ain't right,' he said. ‘Me dad were on good money and Mam always got him to buy the coal because he could get it brung home, or even delivered, and no one could expect my mam to cart anything that heavy. Mind you, since he's been – been . . .' his eyes slid around wildly, whilst a tide of colour swept across his face, ‘been away, I've climbed that wall more'n once.'

‘So've I, though me mam would kill me if she knew,' Evie said cheerfully. ‘The thing is, we've got nowhere to keep coal, no yard, no scullery, nothing like that. And the flat's awful small. So Mam gives me money for enough coal to last the week and sends me out with Billy – he's Mr Wilmslow's delivery boy – to buy it. Of course we does buy it most of the time, but Billy's one of eleven kids, you know, and his mam's awful hard up. Nickin' coal from the goods yard behind Exchange station is a two-man job really, so I goes along with Billy and he pops the extra coal into me mam's bag as a sort of thank you for me keeping douse while he and his brother fill their sack.'

Percy gave her a glance of considerable respect. ‘I thought you were going to say you'd nicked it off of the coal barges,' he said. ‘That 'ud be a deal easier than climbin' that perishin' wall.' He looked her up and down consideringly. ‘You're no taller than me, you might even be a bit shorter, an' I'm tellin' you, climbin' that wall is a killer. You don't want to try it; bein' a girl, you'd probably fall an' break both your legs.'

‘I wouldn't steal from a coal barge,' Evie said, sounding as scandalised as she felt. ‘They're me pals, the folk on the canal. Still an' all, you're right, it 'ud be a whole lot easier. And I wouldn't mind nickin' a bit of coal from Izzy Evans, because he's a hateful, dirty old wretch, and so's his wife, and so's his sons.'

‘Izzy Evans? Who's he when he's at home?' Percy said, as the two of them joined the queue outside the fried fish shop. ‘Reckon you know everyone on the canal, don't you? Reckon you know everyone's cargo 'n' all.'

‘Izzy Evans carries coal down to the docks from the pits up in Yorkshire,' Evie said briefly. ‘And yes, I reckon I knows what cargo most boats carry. But I wouldn't steal from anyone, 'cept Izzy Evans – oh, and maybe old Fitch, because he swore at me dad once, when me pa was leggin' the
Mary Jane
through a tunnel, lying on his back with drips from the roof bouncing off him. Old Fitch wanted to pass and Dad wouldn't let him; it's too narrow, see, and the
Mary Jane
and one of the butty boats might have been damaged.'

‘Leggin'? Butty boats?' Percy said plaintively. ‘Wharrever d'you mean, queen?'

‘Percy Baldwin, you're more'n two years older'n me and you don't know the half of what I does,' Evie said, but she was smiling. ‘When the canal boat goes through a tunnel you have to unhitch the horse from the boat so's someone can lead it along the towpath. Now most of the boats don't have engines, not if they've got a horse, that is, so the barge master lies on his back, on the roof of the boat, an' pushes the boat along by . . . by . . . walking along the underside of the bridge. You have to be real strong to do it. And butty boats are the ones which the canal barges tow behind them.' She chuckled. ‘Me dad used to say it were like a duck with a couple o' little 'uns. Butty boats have a small cabin but no stove or nothin' like that. Now d'you understand?'

‘Aye, that's plain enough,' Percy said, as the two of them reached the top of the queue. ‘My, don't them chips smell good. I'll have lots of salt 'n' vinegar on mine; how about you?'

By the end of the day, Seraphina was worn out and cross. She had thought it would be a simple matter for a girl who had actually been in teacher training college to get a job, but she had reckoned without the after-Christmas inertia which afflicts shoppers when the festive season is over and the cold of January really begins to bite. After trying the uniform factory to no avail she had visited what felt like a hundred shops, only to be turned down in each one, though a hairdresser on Bold Street, admiring the great mass of her golden hair, had made her two offers. The first was to buy her hair, should she decide to sell it, and the next was to take her on as an apprentice. The latter would involve on the spot training and would eventually lead to her being able to either work for a good wage in a hairdressing salon, or possibly open her own business.

This had sounded like an excellent scheme until the proprietress told her that she would work for several years for a minuscule wage – and work long hours, furthermore. Regretfully, Seraphina declined the offer. Then she had tried the big department stores and moved on to smaller shops and cafés, still without success. She had walked up and down Church Street, where the really lovely shops were, and had finally decided to give up, for today at any rate. In fact, so worn out had she been that she had thought she would treat herself to a cup of tea and a bun in Lyon's Corner House.

Now, taking a corner seat, she allowed herself to relax for the first time that day, and glanced around her. The place was packed and the waitress who brought Seraphina her pot of tea and sticky currant bun was in such a hurry that she knocked into another waitress, sending her tray flying. Seraphina knew that the girls were called ‘nippies' and could see why, for, without fuss, the girl who was serving Seraphina swerved round the mess, swiftly unloaded her tray, and then turned back and began to pile broken crockery and bits of food on to it before hurrying back through the swing doors at the end of the restaurant. The girl who had been bumped into made no attempt to help, but slouched off, to be stopped before she had gone far by an elderly woman in a black dress who must be, Seraphina supposed, a supervisor of some description. ‘Come to my office, Miss Nugent,' she said briskly. ‘This really will not do, you know. I've had to speak to you seven times in three days, and—'

‘And you can stick your bleedin' job where the monkey stuck his nuts,' the girl said rudely, her voice unnecessarily loud. ‘You treat us girls like bleedin' slaves, wi' never a word o' praise, and it's nag, nag, nag from the moment we gerrin until we limps off home to soak our bleedin' corns in a bleedin' mustard bath.'

Seraphina watched sympathetically as a slow tide of red blotched the older woman's neck and face. ‘Very well, Miss Nugent, if that's how you feel I shall not need to tell you to leave,' she said stiffly. ‘Since today is only Monday, I would normally expect you to work your week, but after the way you have spoken . . . your rudeness . . . your bad language . . .'

‘I wouldn't stay if you paid me treble,' Miss Nugent shouted. ‘I wouldn't stay if you went down on your bloody bended knees an' begged me. I wouldn't stay . . .'

The noise she was making was so loud that every eye was upon her and all conversation hushed, and Seraphina was not surprised when a man emerged from the swing doors at the back of the restaurant and came rapidly towards the pair. Miss Nugent turned to him and began to reiterate everything she had said, but it seemed he was having none of it. He caught her by the shoulders, whisked her round and virtually pushed her across the restaurant and through the swing doors, still protesting volubly and telling the man, who seemed to be called Mr Grundy, that it was no manner of use his trying to bully her and she would have a full week's pay in lieu of notice or he would find himself in deep trouble . . . she had friends in high places, so she did.

The older woman had followed the other two out through the swing doors, and Seraphina half expected her to emerge from them again, seconds later, bowing, smiling and blowing kisses, as actresses do for a curtain call at the end of a show. However, nothing of the sort happened, and presently two nippies emerged with laden trays and conversation became general once more.

Seraphina began to sip her tea and then a thought struck her. The restaurant was crowded already and would be more so later, when folk wanted an evening meal. The manager, if Mr Grundy was the manager, was now one nippy short. She, Seraphina, was looking for a job. She was young and strong and fully capable of carrying out the work required, so why should she not apply immediately and offer to start work at once?

Accordingly, Seraphina finished her tea, gobbled her bun, paid the waitress and then asked her whether it would be possible to have a few words with Mr Grundy. The girl looked doubtful. ‘If it's a complaint . . .' she began, but Seraphina shook her head, smiling.

‘No, indeed it is not,' she said. ‘In fact, I thought everyone – except Miss Nugent, of course – behaved beautifully, just as they ought. But I can see that you are going to be hard pressed, with a member of staff short, and – and I have been meaning to start looking for a job, so if Mr Grundy would consider me . . .'

The girl smiled. ‘I'll take you through to his office right now,' she said eagerly. ‘Miss Nugent were at the start of her shift but I'm at the end of mine and I just know Miss Peabody – she's the supervisor – will be asking me to work till closing time and I really do want to get away because my young man is taking me to see the panto at the Empire this evening and the show starts at seven. I'm Nellie Bradshaw, by the way, and you . . . ?'

Seraphina hesitated. She hated telling strangers her shame-making name and wished, for the thousandth time, that her father had not seen, in his tiny, newborn daughter, a likeness to the seraphs and angels depicted in his family Bible. Unfortunately, having christened her Seraphina, he had claimed that his second daughter, too, had the face of a tiny angel and had christened her Angela, another fancy name. In fact, Evie was the only lucky one. Her father had immediately referred to her as his little cherub, but Martha, far more practical than he, said that Cherubima, or Cherubetta, would be going too far. ‘And she's got the face of a baby monkey, nothing like a cherub at all, so we'll call her . . . Joan? Janet?'

‘We could call her Eve, after the very first woman on this earth,' Harry Todd had said gently. ‘But I didn't mean to call her Cherubima or Cherubetta. I was thinking of Gabrielle – after the angel Gabriel, you know.'

Martha had sniffed. ‘A fancy French name isn't going to get her far aboard the
Mary Jane
,' she had pointed out. ‘You know how it is, Harry – everyone calls Seraphina Fee, and Angela Angie. Do you want folk calling your daughter Gabby?' Her husband had laughed and given way and his youngest daughter had been christened Eve.

But now, Miss Nellie Bradshaw was looking at her enquiringly and Seraphina took a deep breath and replied, with all her usual directness. ‘My name is Seraphina Todd. How do you do, Miss Bradshaw?' Miss Bradshaw said she were fine, thanks, and hurried Seraphina along to the manager's office, where they encountered a red-faced and ranting Miss Nugent emerging. Miss Bradshaw knocked on the door, then threw it open. ‘Here's a young lady, Miss Todd, what's keen to work with us,' she said baldly. ‘She heard Miss Nugent being dismissed, so thought there might be a chance for her. Can I leave her with you, Mr Grundy? Only the place is filling up and what with Stoker being off with her bronchials, Miss O'Reilly takin' time off to get her tooth pulled, and Miss Nugent stormin' out, we're going to be awful short-handed this evening.'

Sitting behind the desk, Mr Grundy had looked so like a well-boiled and startled prawn that Seraphina had hard work not to smile. He was of medium height and had a great deal of spiky, sandy hair, unfashionable side whiskers, and an enormous moustache, though no beard. His pale blue eyes beneath thick and riotous sandy brows bulged, but he smiled very pleasantly at Seraphina and asked her to sit down. ‘Are you healthy and strong? And why did you leave your previous employment?' he asked, shooting the questions at her so rapidly that Seraphina barely had time to consider her replies.

‘I'm pretty strong and, I think, very healthy because until six months ago I lived on a barge working the Leeds and Liverpool Canal,' she explained. ‘My family came ashore so that I could take a teacher training course, but – but I have been forced to abandon the course for the time being since I need to earn some money. I know your nippies have to be able to run with a loaded tray – or at least to walk extremely quickly – and I'm sure I could do that easily.'

Mr Grundy nodded, then asked some more questions, and at the end of ten minutes or so told Seraphina all about the rates of pay and the hours which she would be asked to work. ‘We pay our staff more highly than any other café or restaurant, I believe, because everyone here is always having to hurry,' he told her. ‘But the tips are what really keep our nippies happy, because over half of our clients are gentlemen and if you are pleasant and polite they tip extremely generously.' He eyed her up and down, then smiled. ‘We will provide you with two black dresses and four frilly white aprons, caps and cuffs, which we will launder for you at the end of each week's work. And with that extraordinarily beautiful hair, I think you will find tips come fast and furious. Can I assume that you'll take the job and start . . . well, at once?'