Poor Little Rich Girl (27 page)

‘That suits,’ Mr Maskell said. His pink little piggy eyes surveyed her again from head to heel. ‘The only thing is, miss, as I’ll need a fortnight’s rent in advance, ’cos you might take the room and light out, leavin’ me to find a lodger all over again. Or you might find somewhere better … different, I mean, and not bother to come back at all.’

Hester began to lift the flap of her handbag to get at her purse, then hesitated. ‘Certainly I’ll pay you a fortnight in advance, Mr Maskell,’ she said. ‘But I shall need a receipt. Otherwise you might deny that I’d paid you anything, might you not?’

She half expected Mr Maskell to show indignation, if not fury, at her lack of trust but to her surprise he beamed at her, now looking like a happy guinea-pig, though she could not recall ever seeing a guinea-pig in Mr Madison’s shop with a smile on its face. ‘You’re a sensible young woman, miss,’ he said jovially. ‘A real businesswoman, that’s what you are! You come along o’ me now and I’ll write you out as nice a little receipt as you’ll get anywhere.’ He led the way down the stairs to an extremely untidy kitchen at the back of the house, sat down at a rickety deal table and wrote her out a receipt. ‘What do they call you, miss?’ he enquired. ‘You’ll need a name on the receipt and
besides, though this is Liberty Hall, we like to know who our lodgers are!’

‘My name is Hester Elliott,’ Hester said. ‘I wonder, Mr Maskell, if you know of anyone in this part of the city who needs a – a shop assistant or a clerical worker, or something of that nature? I’ve recently moved from Shaw Street and would like employment nearer at hand.’

‘Well, I dunno,’ Mr Maskell said doubtfully, handing her the written receipt and watching as she tucked it into her handbag. Hester felt sure that he had priced every garment she had on and was noting that the handbag was made of good, solid leather. ‘What you wants to do, miss, is look for cards in shop winders. Round here, they don’t go in much for them bureau places.’

‘Thanks very much,’ Hester said, rather gloomily, but she still left the Court with a spring in her step. At least she had a roof over her head now and one which she could afford. Even if she did not immediately find work, she would be able to feed herself for the next couple of weeks with the money she had saved from her salary.

Now, taking Mr Maskell’s advice, she began to look into every shop window she passed, and presently she reached a large dress shop displaying cheap-looking gowns in its window, in one corner of which was a card offering full-time work to a suitable applicant. She went into the shop to enquire about the job and the woman behind the counter, dark-haired, dark-eyed and weasel-featured, gave her what amounted to an arithmetic examination before admitting, almost grudgingly, that she seemed suitable and might start work the following day, for what Hester considered the tiny wage of twelve shillings
a week. ‘But this ain’t to say the job’s permanent, ’cos you’ll be on trial for the first three months, which means I takes money off you if you make mistakes or lose me customers,’ the woman said quickly, when she saw how relieved Hester was to have been offered the position. ‘I’m Miss Deakin and I’m the proprietor of this shop, so naturally I want things done right and won’t tolerate laziness or anything which puts me customers out of temper, is that understood?’

Hester said that it was and although she thought the older woman was being not only mean but also unfair to dock her wages she agreed unhesitatingly to the conditions laid down. After all, she had left her name with Miss Strong’s bureau and intended to try again for work in one of the big stores, if a position should crop up, but in the meantime at least she would be able to pay for her lodgings and feed herself on her meagre wage from the dress shop. And I don’t intend to make any mistakes or lose any customers, she told herself as she stepped into the street once more. Now if only I can contact Dick and explain what has been happening to me, and if I can get in touch with Lonnie, I shall be on the right road.

The next morning, when she awoke, Hester immediately remembered that today her life would change once again. As she washed and dressed she thought that by now she should be well and truly accustomed to change, because ever since her father’s death her life had consisted of nothing else. But now it was difficult to think about her life in India, save with a sort of reminiscent wistfulness, because her life in England had demanded so much more of her. She had never shirked independence, had expected it, but
had not realised that she would be quite so totally flung on her own resources. Her father had talked vaguely of her getting a job of some sort but had clearly expected that it would be of short duration since, naturally, she would soon be married. But I believe he’d be proud of me if he could see me now, Hester thought, picking up her suitcases in either hand and heading for the stairs which led down into the foyer. She was wearing the thinner coat which she had brought with her from India and was glad of her thick woollen muffler and sturdy woollen gloves, for though it was no longer snowing there was a keen wind and the gutters were laden with slush, making walking an unpleasant business. She wondered whether she should hail a taxi cab, for it was some way to Scotland Road and she had to deliver her cases and then reach the dress shop by nine o’clock. Taxi cabs were bound to be expensive, however, so she had best catch a tram.

By the time she reached Stansfield Court, Hester’s arms were aching and she viewed the prospect of climbing three flights of stairs with considerable dread. As she entered the front door, however, she had a piece of luck. A hefty young man was emerging from the kitchen, calling something over his shoulder as he did so, and as soon as he saw Hester and her two suitcases he came forward with a broad smile and one hand held out. He had short, bristly fair hair, twinkling blue eyes and a rather upturned nose and he reminded Hester of someone, though she could not say of whom. ‘You’ll be Miss Elliott, I’ve no doubt,’ he said cheerily. ‘Lemme take them cases off of you – you’re in the attic room wi’ Flossie, Rose and Trixie, ain’t you?’

‘Thank you very much; I don’t know who the other
girls are, but I am in the attic,’ Hester said gratefully. ‘I’ve got myself a job in a dress shop on the Scotland Road and I have to be there by nine, so I’d be most grateful …’

She had been following him up the stairs but at her words he stopped short, put down the cases and turned towards her. ‘Orf you goes, then. I’ll shove these here cases under your bed where no one can’t see ’em – not that anyone comes here with robbing in mind, ’cos they know we ain’t none of us exactly rich!’

‘Thank you,’ Hester said again. ‘It’s awfully good of you, I really am grateful. The lady I’m working for wouldn’t be best pleased if I were even a second late, let alone a few minutes. Do – do you lodge here as well, then? And please tell me your name.’

‘I ain’t a lodger exactly, or p’raps I am in a way,’ the young man said cheerfully. ‘I’m Roy Maskell; me mam’s your landlady and we live at Number 16 but, o’ course, I’m always in and out, so you’ll be seein’ a good bit o’ me.’

‘Well, thanks again, Mr Maskell,’ Hester said over her shoulder, as she headed, once more, for the front door.

Lonnie awoke. Half forgetting her change of circumstance, she sat up on one elbow and looked wildly about her. A bare and unwelcoming room met her gaze. Beside her own small bed, there were five others, each one containing the curled up body of a girl of about her own age. Beneath her breath, Lonnie recited their names and descriptions: Amelia, with the curly red hair and freckles; Marion, with the long dark pig-tail which reached well below her waist; Barbara, who wore hideous
little metal-framed spectacles and cried herself to sleep each night; Shirley, who was silent and sulky, a rebel against the nuns and their teachings; and Abigail, Lonnie’s favourite, who took life as it came and seldom stopped smiling, no matter how the nuns scolded. These were her companions in misfortune and misfortune it most definitely was, though Lonnie was determined to escape just as soon as the opportunity arose.

However, it was freezing cold in the little room. Jack Frost had wielded his brush on the narrow windows so that it was impossible to see out and when Lonnie snuggled down the bed again and pulled the blanket up round her ears, she realised that her breath had condensed on the blanket and was now ice.

She had raged against her aunt’s wickedness in dismissing Hester, despite the older woman’s insistence that it had been Hester’s wish to leave her employ. ‘You are a wicked, evil, lying old harlot,’ she had raged, fishing the word out from some dim recollection of a remark made by her father concerning the servants of the temple. ‘You never liked Hester and you hate me and this way you think you can make both of us unhappy. But you’re wrong, you horrid old tyrant. When my daddy hears what you’ve done, he’ll turn
you
out on the street! I shall write to him this very day and tell him how wicked you are.’

She knew her aunt had been furious by the tightening of those thin lips and the slow rise of pink colour which had blotched her sagging old cheeks, but she had not realised the lengths to which the older woman would go. Lonnie had written the letter, sealed it in an envelope and had been crossing the hall on her way to
post it when Miss Hetherington-Smith had pounced upon her. ‘
I’ll
take that,’ she had said, wrenching the envelope from Lonnie’s grasp with such violence that it tore. ‘Not that it matters what you say, since your father cannot receive any correspondence until he returns to India in three months’ time. In the meantime, Leonora, you are going to go to school. You are a rude, ungrateful, ill-disciplined child and I won’t have you turning my house upside down and behaving so badly that half my staff – including your governess – are threatening to leave my employ.’

Lonnie had been almost speechless at this twisting of the facts but even as she began to rant at her aunt once more, a terrible helplessness seized her. Children never win a battle against a grown-up. Her father, who would have been on her side, was out of reach and Hester had gone, she had no idea where. Stifling a sob, she had turned and rushed up the stairs, flinging her hat, coat and scarf down on the schoolroom floor.

She had spent the rest of the day fruitlessly plotting to contact her father and to find Hester but when she awoke the following morning, her aunt had come up to her bedroom and had told her that the arrangements had been made. A convent school on the outskirts of the city, a very respectable place indeed, whose pupils were mainly children of parents serving their country abroad, had agreed to Lonnie starting there at the beginning of term. Uniform and a great many other things would be provided by the nuns, though Miss Hetherington-Smith told her niece repressively that, naturally, she would pay for all these things as well as for her niece’s education.

‘I shall have a little more money available, since
Miss Elliott is planning to return to India and naturally I don’t intend to replace her with another governess,’ she had said. ‘No doubt, as soon as she is settled, she will write to you, giving you her new address so that you may keep in touch. At the moment she will be living temporarily in some hotel or other. You can scarcely write to her there.’

Now, trying to will herself into warmth once more, Lonnie thought desperately that she would have run away from the school had she had anywhere to run to. Shaw Street was clearly out, though she assumed she would be returning there for the Easter holiday. Her aunt had grudgingly promised her as much when Lonnie had threatened to make a terrible scene if they would not allow her to take Kitty to school with her. ‘Mollie will look after your cat; Cook says the creature is already useful and keeps the basement clear of mice,’ she had told her niece. ‘You will be able to see for yourself, when you come home for Easter, that everything I do is for your own good. Now hurry up and get your coat and hat; Allsop is waiting in the Bentley.’

Remembering the cosy kitchen in Shaw Street made Lonnie’s hands and feet feel colder than ever and she was just contemplating fetching her brown school jumper and pulling it on over her white cotton nightdress when a tremendous clangour broke out. Immediately, feet thumped to the ground and with many a groan and grumble her companions proceeded to get out of their beds. Lonnie followed suit – just in time. The tall, brown-painted door opened and a monitor’s head appeared. ‘Everyone out of bed? Well done,’ the older girl said briskly. ‘Get yourselves washed and dressed and be downstairs in twenty minutes.’ She looked almost kindly at
Lonnie. ‘You’re new, so you’ll be the last to get washed. Better pop back into bed until it’s your turn, ’cos it’s freezing sharp outside.’

The monitor withdrew and five of the girls immediately returned to their beds, grumbling as they did so that there should be some other washing arrangements than those provided by the nuns. ‘Other schools have proper washrooms and hot water,’ Shirley said. It was her turn to wash first which meant, on such a day, breaking the ice in the blue and white enamel jug and gingerly dipping her sponge into the ice-cold water. ‘Oh, how I wish my mother knew what sort of place this was! She would never have made me come here!’ She rubbed her hands and face briskly dry on a rough towel and padded back to her bed, saying as she did so: ‘Next one!’

Already, after only five days, Lonnie knew the drill. She was third in line for washing and heard Abigail, who was second, shouting at Shirley for not emptying her slops. Shirley, muttering grudgingly, returned to the washstand and emptied the small amount of water she had used into the slop bucket. There were two buckets, one for washing water and the other for the contents of the girls’ chamber pots, which lived beneath each bed. One was supposed to swill out the pot with one’s washing water, but because it was so cold the girls tried hard not to use them but to go down to the cloakroom on the ground floor.