Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [21]
Leaving Piccadilly, she went towards the Strand, intending to wait outside what was billed as the largest drapers’ store in London, but found a similar system there run by a team of boys who made it clear to Lily that she would never get any parcel-carrying work while one of them stood upright on two feet. And so it went on at every store or shop Lily approached, ensuring that she went back to Seven Dials that evening with precisely what she’d started with: nothing.
‘How did you fare?’ Grace asked anxiously. She, too, had had a bad day. Watercress had long been a favourite garnish for a bread-and-cheese dinner, but under the present circumstances most Londoners thought it was too expensive, and chose to go without.
Lily shook her head sadly. ‘But tomorrow I could try picking up cigar ends in the street, for I heard someone say that it’s a really good and profitable job.’
‘No!’ Grace said. ‘You can’t do that. Watercress-selling is one thing – and even carrying parcels for ladies is not too disgraceful – but we must never hunt along the gutter like tramps or wade in river mud. Mama would dislike it very much.’
‘But Mama’s not here to see us!’ Lily, tired and hungry, burst into tears, and Grace could offer her little comfort.
x
Chapter Eight
At Barker’s in St James’s, the same two men were reading the newspapers, occasionally putting them to one side to discuss some aspect or other of the past week’s business. One man was sporting his usual tweed jacket and yellow cravat, the other – the one with the arrogant expression – was dressed as formally as before, and had just put out his cigar.
‘Unfortunately, not so many dead this week,’ said Yellow Cravat, who was, in fact, Mr George Unwin, the well-known funeral director. He gave a guffaw of a laugh, then looked about them quickly to make sure no one else had heard. ‘I know how that must sound to outsiders,’ he said, holding up his hand in mock protest, ‘but business is business!’
‘Quite, quite. And without the funeral, we are without the mourning. Not a good situation to be in at all,’ said his companion and cousin, Mr Sylvester Unwin.
‘Luckily for us, everyone dies sooner or later.’
‘And even more luckily, we have some secondary earners until they do, eh?’
‘Talking of which, I see the two pigeons haven’t been traced yet.’ George Unwin stabbed a finger at the advertisement.
‘I’ve got my employees on the lookout.’
‘And my usual squealers have been primed.’ George folded the paper so that the advertisement was uppermost. ‘I’ve got a feeling about this one, you know.’
‘What sort of a feeling?’
‘A feeling we’re going to find Mrs . . .’ He consulted the paper again. ‘. . . Mrs Parkes and dear little Lily.’
‘Be nice if you’re right, George. Be very nice,’ said Sylvester Unwin.
‘Indeed it would,’ said George complacently.
x
Chapter Nine
When Grace answered a tap at the door, she opened it to find old Mrs Beale there, anxiously threading a handkerchief through her fingers and looking as if a strong wind might blow her away.
‘I’ve come to say goodbye, dear,’ she said. ‘Mr Beale and I are leaving Mrs Macready’s.’
Grace ushered her into their bare little room, knowing that however low one sank down the social scale, manners were still important. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘We’re going to a . . . to a . . . well, to a workhouse.’ As the old woman managed to say the last word, it seemed to stick in her throat and nearly choke her.
Grace, trying not to show her dismay, took Mrs Beale’s hand. ‘Well, who could blame you for seeking shelter elsewhere?’ she said. ‘This coming winter promises to be a harsh one.’
Mrs Beale’s handkerchief became even more twisted. ‘We’ve tried to manage on our own, but last week Mr Beale was knocked down and all his shoelaces were stolen, and yesterday he fell in the middle of the street and only just missed being run over by an omnibus. Now we’re three weeks late with our rent and though Mrs Macready is the best of women, we can’t abide being in debt