Break of Dawn

By the time she left the building later that night to get back to the guesthouse in time for her evening meal, the room was smelling sweeter and was cleaner than it had been in years. Everything had taken far longer than she had hoped and she hadn’t had time to whitewash the walls, but she could do that tomorrow once she was in residence. She had decided she couldn’t afford another night at the guesthouse; the cost of her train ticket and the subsequent three shillings a night had depleted her money enough as it was. She needed to conserve every penny she could.

When she let herself into her new abode the next day and dumped her valise and bag on the floor, she was pleased to find that the only odour was one of carbolic soap, and the view from the tiny window over a sea of rooftops was as clear as day, thanks to the elbow grease she’d applied to the glass. She stood for a moment looking around her. Mrs Heath’s husband had come and disposed of the disgusting mattress the day before and she had washed the bedstead, so now she needed to buy a new mattress. She had no idea of the cost or where to go. After locking the door again, she went downstairs and knocked on the door at the back of the house where Mrs Heath lived.

‘Oh hello, dearie.’ Mrs Heath was dressed in a shapeless dressing gown, her hair in a net and her feet encased in what looked like men’s slippers. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I wondered if you could help me? Could you suggest a good place for bedding and a mattress, and I need to get a couple of other things while I’m about it.’ Sophy tried not to wrinkle her nose. A waft of air full of the smell of cabbage, pipe-smoke and something similar to what had been upstairs surrounded the landlady as she stood in the doorway.

‘You want to see our Arnold – that’s our eldest. He’s done right nicely for himself, has Arnold. Owns Heath’s Emporium, down near the market, and does a roaring trade in second-hand stuff and not rubbish either.’

Sophy didn’t want the landlady to think she was going to be one of the shirkers she’d spoken about yesterday, but felt she ought to make her position clear. ‘I can’t afford much,’ she said quietly. ‘Not till – till I get employment.’

Dolly nodded. She had warmed to this young girl with the beautiful face and hauntingly sad eyes. She dare bet there was a story to this one. ‘Tell you what, lovey. Give me ten minutes an’ I’ll come along with you to our Arnold’s and we’ll see what he’s got. All right?’

It was bitterly cold and there was the smell of snow in the air as they walked along Endell Street and then Betterton Street, crossing Drury Lane. Heath’s Emporium didn’t look half as grand as its name when Dolly stopped outside a ramshackle shop at the end of Macklin Street. They had passed numerous snotty-nosed, barefoot children on the way, children with eyes too big for their faces and dressed in an assortment of rags from head to foot. Somehow, on the train coming south, Sophy had imagined London would be full of smartly dressed, well-to-do, fashionable folk, but even as she had stepped off the train in King’s Cross she’d realised her naivety from the number of urchins begging for a penny from passengers or trying to sell them matches. And her three or four days of exploring parts of the city since had shown her depths of squalor to equal anything in the worst parts of Sunderland.

Arnold turned out to be a female version of his mother, and his wife a small, dumpy woman with a couple of little tots hanging on to her skirts, who immediately clamoured to get to Dolly. When Dolly explained the reason for their visit, emphasising that Sophy didn’t have a farthing to throw around and that she’d promised Sophy her lad would see her all right, Arnold smiled at his mother, revealing a mouth full of blackened teeth. ‘Never have any profits if it was left to you, would I,’ he said affectionately, before turning to Sophy. ‘What is it you’re after, love?’

The emporium turned out to be an Aladdin’s Cave, albeit a dusty, higgledy-piggledy one, selling a wide variety of goods. Amazingly, in all the chaos, Arnold seemed to know exactly where he could put his finger on any one item. With no trouble at all he produced a new-looking, stain-free flock mattress from amongst a pile of items at the very rear of the shop, along with a selection of sheets and blankets and a very nice plump eiderdown. ‘All came from a house clearance the other week,’ he told them. ‘Spinster lady, very clean and tidy. Want to see any more of her stuff?’

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