Darkest Before Dawn (2 page)

Seraphina was about to remind her small sister that she herself would be tied to the city while she worked her way through college, when the chimes of a nearby clock gave her pause. It was eleven o'clock and Ma had sent them out to buy greengroceries, something the shop in which she worked did not stock. What was more, she had bidden them visit the market stalls on Great Homer Street, where fruit and vegetables were a good deal cheaper than in the shops, and here they were, on Burlington Street, wasting time gazing at the canal and wishing themselves far away.

Seraphina had been leaning on the bridge but now she straightened and bent to pick up the new marketing bag which her mother had recently purchased, saying that the old stained sack they had used aboard the
Mary Jane
was not suitable for city life. ‘When we mainly bought from the farms we passed a sack was better than a marketing bag because the vegetables came complete with dried-on dirt,' her mother had said.

Evie slid off the parapet as soon as Seraphina stood up, but Angie continued to lean on the wall and gaze dreamily down at the greasy water below, so Seraphina gave her a nudge, quite a hard one. ‘Come on, goose; didn't you hear the clock strike eleven?' she asked. ‘Ma will be waiting for her messages so that she can start a stew simmering. Can you remember where she said we were to buy the meat? From which butcher, I mean.'

Angela straightened up reluctantly, pushing both fists into the small of her back. ‘I don't know as Ma said any particular name,' she remarked. ‘Since it's only for a scouse, though, I dare say it'll be the cheaper the better. I'm powerful fond of an ox tail, myself, but if we can't get one of them, I'd go for best end o' neck – that's mutton – or a nice piece of stewing steak – that's beef. Pig's cheek is all right and don't cost much, but it's not really a stewing meat, if you know what I mean.'

Seraphina nodded her understanding. Of the three of them, Angela was the only one who was truly domesticated. She loved cooking and cleaning, and other housewifely tasks, and had kept the tiny cabins of both butty boats neat and sweet-smelling. It was she who had learned from their mother how to skin and joint a rabbit, how to pickle onions and red cabbage and how to make jam from hedgerow fruit. Angela was the one who made all her own clothes and was subsequently better dressed than any of them. She could turn a collar, sides to middle a sheet, and create a decent little frock, or a man's working shirt, from odds and ends of material purchased for a ha'penny from a rag trader, so now Seraphina decided to let her sister do the actual buying when they reached Great Homer Street. Angela might be sweet and easy-going – well, she was – but she would not allow herself to be cheated, and tradesmen soon realised that the gentle girl, with her soft voice and friendly blue eyes, was quite capable of going elsewhere if she thought their prices too high.

Great Homer market, when they reached it, was crowded with traders and customers, and the noise of bargaining, arguing and a good deal of laughter was enough to make Seraphina want to put her hands over her ears. However, the three sisters plunged into the mêlée cheerfully enough, and were soon beginning to make their purchases. They found a butchery stall and bought the coveted ox tail, then moved on to a farmer's wife who was selling her own vegetables quite a bit more cheaply than vendors at other stalls. Consequently, there was a long queue of would-be customers, and Seraphina had been waiting patiently for ten minutes when she discovered that Evie was missing. She nudged Angela. ‘Where's Evie?' she asked, peering anxiously into the crowd. ‘She was with us at the butcher's stall, and at the apple lady's, because I saw her nick a couple of those bright red apples when she thought no one was looking. That child is turning into a right little gypsy, if you ask me.'

The queue shuffled forward and Angela turned a placid blue gaze on her sister. ‘Oh, she'll 'ave met a pal from school, or just got bored and wandered off,' she said. ‘But you shouldn't call her names; there's folk who call us – bargees, I mean – water gypsies. Besides, every kid on the canal, and most of the grown-ups as well, would dig up a few turnips or some potatoes from a farmer's field, and think no harm. Why, even our ma picked up windfalls and helped herself to the odd swede or mangold to make Gemma's supper more filling. So why should our Evie think taking a couple of apples is stealing?'

‘Angela Todd, I'm surprised at you. What would our pa say if he heard you talking like that?' Seraphina said virtuously. ‘Stealing is stealing, which means taking something which isn't yours. Oh, I know what you mean about spuds and turnips and that, because everyone did it – everyone except our pa, that is – but somehow taking stuff off a stall is different. Perhaps it's because someone had picked the apples off their own tree and polished them up with a cloth to make them look all shiny and bright, and carted them in from the country and set them out in a lovely pyramid on the stall . . .'

‘All right, all right, I know what you mean,' Angela said hastily. ‘And I know you're right, really. The trouble is, if we were still on the canal and our Evie fancied a bite, she'd just nip ashore and pick a mug full of blackberries, or look for wild plums. It's different here, I know, but she is only ten . . . did you pay for the apples, by the way?'

‘Yes I did, because the woman saw her take them,' Seraphina admitted. ‘And she charged me a penny, which I'm sure was far too much. But since Evie had skipped off – and eaten a good half of the first apple – I didn't have much alternative.'

The queue shuffled forward once more and Angela gave a crow of triumph. ‘So she didn't steal them, because you paid for them! Well, that's all right then. Can you see those big carrots, just behind the pile of turnips? I reckon if we buy two bunches of them and two pounds of turnips, and a string of those big brown onions, it will make a grand stew. Oh, and what about potatoes? They're so heavy to carry, but they're really cheap, so if we could manage a stone between us . . .'

Seraphina agreed reluctantly to buy all the things her sister suggested, though her arms ached in anticipation of the weight they would be asked to carry back to the flat. Presently, hefting the marketing bag between them, the two girls turned for home. Seraphina kept a look-out for her small sister, though she had very little hope of spotting her amidst the crowds. What was more, she had a shrewd suspicion that Evie would not appear until they were extremely close to home, for she hated carrying and usually managed to evade a marketing trip. If, as Angela suspected, her sister had met a pal from school, then they would be lucky to set eyes on her again before the next meal; Evie would certainly turn up for that since, despite her small and skinny stature, she was always hungry, eating enough to satisfy your average ploughboy, her father often remarked.

So Seraphina was not surprised when her sister had failed to put in an appearance by the time the two girls dragged their purchases up the narrow stairs from the yard at the back of the grocer's shop and dumped them in the small kitchen, with sighs of relief. ‘Ma is going to be pleased with us,' Angela observed, unwrapping the ox tail and putting it into a saucepan. She gestured to the worn black leather purse which Seraphina had placed in the middle of the kitchen table. ‘We've brought back quite a lot of change, much more than we would have if we'd simply shopped locally.'

‘Ye-es, but we've come back without her ewe lamb,' Seraphina pointed out, tipping vegetables into the sink. ‘
We
know she's perfectly safe, but Ma will worry, or she would if we told her Evie had skipped off. As it is, by the time Ma comes up for dinner, Evie will probably be back. I don't think she has ever missed a meal except by accident. Are you going to give me a hand with the carrots, queen? They'll need scraping and I've got all the spuds to scrub and the turnips to peel.'

There was no sign of their father, so when the girls had finished preparing the family's evening meal they decided to go out again, to discover what was showing at the Forum. It was just possible that their mother would wish to lavish some money on them that afternoon because they had shopped so successfully, and a visit to the cinema was always a treat.

Martha Todd was serving a customer, carefully selecting the goods required from the shelves and placing them in a large cardboard box, when Mrs Wilmslow called. Martha hesitated, glancing around her. Usually, Mr Wilmslow would have gone through to see what his sick wife wanted, but today he had gone round to the warehouse to pick up some provisions and might not be back for an hour or more. Saturday was always a busy day and the grocery was well situated and popular with local housewives, so Mr Wilmslow employed two Saturday girls. They were sisters, Molly and Annie, but they had gone off to Rhyl for the day and Mr Wilmslow had taken it for granted that Seraphina and Angela would stand in for his missing employees. However, he had failed to warn Martha so she had sent the girls shopping, which placed her in a dilemma. Mrs Wilmslow was unable to do much for herself, and Martha would have liked to go straight through to the back to see what the older woman wanted, but with no one to watch the till, a large order only half made up and the shop full of would-be customers, she simply could not leave her post.

Upstairs, Harry would be pottering round, doing nothing in particular. He had been suffering from a shocking cold earlier in the week and Mr Bister had sent him home on Thursday with orders not to return to work until Monday, and Martha knew he would be down in an instant if he knew how things stood. However, she dared not leave the shop to run up the outside stairs and ask for his help. The woman she was serving, Nellie Proudfoot, was not easy to deal with but she was one of Mr Wilmslow's best customers, spending most if not all of her housekeeping in the shop. If Martha offended her, her employer would not be pleased, and though she had only worked for him for twelve weeks or so she already knew how important his business was to him. What was more, he had let them rent the flat for a very moderate sum provided she worked for him for an even more moderate one, so Martha had no desire to get into Mr Wilmslow's bad books.

Mrs Wilmslow called again and the next customer in the queue leaned across the counter. She was a fat, untidy woman with a bush of grey hair, a round and shining red face and a jutting, whiskery chin. Martha could not recall her name but knew she was another regular customer. ‘Eh up, missus, where's old Wilmslow gone then?' she said, drawing down the sides of her mouth. ‘Want me to give you an 'and whiles you nip back to see what she wants? I done it before, when the old skinflint found hisself wi'out an assistant . . . afore your time, that were.'

‘Oh, Mrs – Mrs . . .' the name came to her in a burst of happy inspiration, ‘oh, Mrs Bunwell, thank you ever so much.' She eyed the woman's bulk rather apprehensively. ‘Only – only I really could do with some help and Mr Todd would be down in a trice if he knew the fix I'm in. I wonder . . . could you possibly . . .'

‘Mrs B. won't never gerrup them steep old steps of yourn,' another customer remarked. ‘I'll nip up for you, missus; 'twon't take but a minute.'

‘And I'll serve Miz Proudfoot here whiles you go an' see to that poor dear woman,' Mrs Bunwell said, surging round the counter. She beamed at Martha, adding comfortably: ‘Don't you fret yourself, queen. Ol' Wilmslow would be the first to say I'm reliable; ain't that so, gels?'

There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled customers and the young girl in the stained apron and raggedy dress, who had offered to go and fetch Harry Todd, turned to grin as she went out through the open doorway. ‘It's true as I'm standing here; ol' Wilmslow used to nag poor Mrs B. something dreadful because she were a bit slow like, but he trusted her or she'd never 'ave got be'ind that counter. Shan't be a tick.'

She disappeared and Martha watched for a second as Mrs Bunwell began to take the various goods on Mrs Proudfoot's list off the shelves and place them tenderly in the cardboard box. Then she went through the curtain which separated the shop from the back premises. Once, she knew, the Wilmslows had lived in the flat upstairs and the back rooms had been used for storage. But when Mrs Wilmslow became bedridden, her husband had converted the back premises into quite a respectable dwelling with a kitchen, a stockroom and a sizeable bed-sitting room. Mrs Wilmslow spent her days in the bed-sitting room, in a large double bed, and now, as Martha popped through the curtain, the older woman sighed with relief. ‘Thank the Lord you heared me at last,' she whispered. ‘I needs the WC.'

Martha knew that Mrs Wilmslow meant she wanted the chamber pot which was kept in the bedside cabinet, for the invalid could no longer manage the journey to the privy in the back yard. Nodding her comprehension, she produced the large, flower-decorated utensil and helped Mrs Wilmslow to move across the bed; she always got out on the far side so that, should anyone come through the curtain at an unfortunate moment, customers would not see her performance.

‘I heard someone clacking up them stairs just now,' she said as Martha helped her to climb back between the sheets. ‘Mr Wilmslow telled me the Sat'day girls were off for the day, idle little sluts, so I suppose it were one of your gels givin' a hand like?'

Martha blinked at the unexpected spite in the older woman's voice. Molly and Annie were good girls, hard-working and honest, never complaining when Mr Wilmslow kept them late, or expected them to cart heavy sacks from the back premises into the shop itself. Now that he lived downstairs, if his wife was having a restless night he slept on a camp bed in the stockroom, no doubt soothed by the scents of cocoa, coffee beans and dried fruit which surrounded him.