Belle - Lesley Pearse [127]
Belle knew this style of single-storey wooden-frame house was very common all over the Southern States because they were cheap to build. At little more than twelve feet wide, with the rooms leading on from one to another without a hall, there was no wasted space, plus they caught a through draught of cool air in the summer. They were said to be called ‘Shotgun’ because with a door at the front and one at the back a shotgun could be fired clear through the house.
There was really nothing wrong with such a house; she knew millions of people would be happy to have such a home. But she’d had the idea Faldo would get them one of the pretty Creole cottages like the ones in the French Quarter, with wrought-iron balconies and fancy shutters. She hadn’t expected a shabby, poor person’s house.
There wasn’t even a front garden. All the houses in the street were raised up on brick posts with wooden steps up to the front door, the slightly overhanging roof making a small porch.
Faldo came out of the front door and down the steps just as Belle was getting out of the cab. He greeted her with a warm smile, paid the driver and then took her arm to help her up the steps.
‘I hope you didn’t run into any problems with Martha,’ he said. ‘I was worried for you.’
‘No. She did speak to me as I was leaving but I just said I was going for a walk. I thought she’d notice how fat I look. I’ve got two dresses on and I’m so hot.’ Belle laughed nervously. Relieved as she was to get away from Martha’s without any trouble, suddenly she was really scared of what lay ahead of her.
Faldo opened the wire screen door that kept out flying insects and waved her to walk in first. Her first impression was that the room was bigger than she’d expected and the high ceiling made it seem airy, but it was very sparsely furnished with just two dark red velvet armchairs and a small table by the window. The lighting was gas, and there was a fireplace, although with the weather being so hot, she couldn’t imagine New Orleans ever being cold enough to light a fire.
‘I managed to get just a few bits of essential furniture delivered this morning,’ Faldo said. ‘But I thought you’d like to choose the rest yourself.’
Belle had no idea what to say. It looked so bare and uninviting, especially after the comfort of Martha’s. She knew she was going to be living here alone most of the time and that made her shiver with fear.
‘Can I see the rest?’ she said, trying to pull herself together and be glad she’d managed the first step towards freedom.
‘Just a bedroom and kitchen,’ he said, leading her through the door into the bedroom. The bed he’d bought was a pretty brass one, and sitting on it were some new bed linen, pillows and a quilt. ‘I left it for you to make, women are so much better at such things.’
There was also a dark wood dressing table with three oval mirrors, a stool sitting before it. Belle admired it and the bed, then gave Faldo a hug because she was afraid he’d sense her true feelings about the place.
‘I know you are too young to have learned homemaking skills, honey,’ he said, his lips against her neck. ‘But I’ll help you all I can, and a clever girl like you can pick up so much from magazines and books.’
The third and last room was the kitchen. It had a gas stove, a sink, shelves on the wall with some crockery and saucepans sitting there, and a small scrubbed table with two chairs in the centre. Faldo opened a cupboard lined with some kind of metal, with a lump of ice sitting in a square dish at the bottom. ‘This is where you’ll store milk, butter and meat to keep cool,’ he explained. ‘A man will come round to sell you ice each week. You just go out to him with the dish when he rings his bell.’
Belle had seen ice being brought into Martha’s, but she didn’t expect that ordinary people could have it too, and that made her spirits rise just