The Watercress Girls (3 page)

‘He was actually affable this morning. He hoped I’d be happy at the emporium.’

‘I told you,’ Griff winked at her, ‘he’s got a—’

‘Penchant – I know,’ Mattie said.

Later, they returned along the promenade, linking arms.

‘What a lucky chap I am,’ Griff observed, ‘escorting two lovely ladies!’

When it was time to part company, Mattie rested on a seat,
pretending to look in her bag for a handkerchief, while the other two stood a little apart from her. After a quick glance round Griff embraced Christabel briefly.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Mattie heard him say.

Christabel gave Mattie a wave in passing, echoing, ‘Yes, see you tomorrow.’

Mattie was really glad to have friends to support her at the emporium on Monday.

‘
L
eave your shoes outside your door,’ Griff said, when he bid Mattie good night. He’d deduced that she’d only the one pair, now scuffed from their excursion.

Mattie retrieved them first thing, polished to a pleasing shine. He was a thoughtful young man: not only had he cleaned her footwear, he’d advised her to use the facilities in the bedroom instead of the bathroom in the morning. ‘Rufus takes priority then. Hilda will bring you a jug of hot water at 7. You and I will breakfast in the kitchen at 7.I5 – porridge, I expect. By then, Hilda will be overseeing washing-day in the scullery, she has help on Mondays. Sybil, by the way, will stay in bed until we’ve gone.’

Sybil, Mattie gathered, was truly a lady of leisure. However, it was all too apparent that she didn’t have sufficient staff to run this big house. Mattie’s mother had been rather vague about her cousin’s background, but –
I’ll find out
! Mattie determined.

Griff drove Mattie to the Barbican in the delivery van. ‘Rufus will already be at the store. A cab collects him every morning and brings him back in the evening.’

‘Doesn’t he drive?’ Mattie asked. She was glad Rufus wasn’t
travelling
with them.

‘No. He likes to cogitate on the day ahead while smoking a small cigar. Very different from the way he started his working life.’

Mattie was curious. ‘How was that?’

‘You don’t know?’

‘No. Just what you’ve told me. Rufus marrying for money to save the emporium.’

‘He didn’t have an auspicious start. He was a foundling, brought up in a local orphanage. They gave him the name Fullilove after the
chaplain
, who took an interest in his welfare, and also suggested his first name. He was a good scholar, but he had to leave school at fourteen, when he was given help to set up in business. He bought a barrow, piled it with salvaged tea from a warehouse damaged by fire, which he bagged up himself, and made his first profit. Seven years on, he rented a shop,
and after another ten he was able to take on the emporium. You have to admire him, eh?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think I like him….’

‘Not many do. I’m grateful, though, that he didn’t cast me out when my mother died. He knew what it was like to be an orphan. Any worries about today, Mattie?’

‘I hope my uniform fits.’

‘Oh, it will, Mattie. Your mother was asked to supply your
measurements
.’

Mattie’s face was decidedly flushed. She couldn’t help thinking that maybe, along with the photograph, this had made Rufus decide she was suitable for the emporium.

Still fifteen minutes to go before opening time. They went through the staff entrance, then took the lift to the first floor. Mattie glimpsed
assistants
unveiling their counters, before Griff led her to the drapery department, where Christabel was waiting.

‘I must leave you here,’ he said. ‘I’m on the ground floor, the food hall. Good luck!’

Christabel welcomed her with a smile. ‘Your uniform is in the
washroom
. See you in five minutes.’ She indicated a door.

The dark-green linen button-through dress, with its skirt of decorous length, was a perfect fit. She folded her own garments and placed them on a shelf labelled MISS MATILDA ROWLEY. A quick tidying of her hair, and she was ready.

She emerged to the ringing of a bell: time to stand by, the emporium was open.

As their first customers did not arrive until after nine o’clock Christabel was able to acquaint Mattie with the location of the most frequently asked for commodities. There were many deep drawers below the counter and shelves along the walls. The drawers were packed with smaller items, like ribbons, tapes, braids, cottons and silks, hooks and eyes, press fasteners and buttons, scissors, needles, thimbles, darning mushrooms and tape measures. On the shelves were bolts of material, varying in colour and texture from the sober to the exotic. Hanging from rails were translucent silks in all the hues of the rainbow.

‘Those are quite dazzling! Beautiful!’ Mattie exclaimed, in awe.

‘From India. Can’t you just picture them made up into saris?’ Christabel brushed a stray thread from the counter, indicated the shining brass measure along the edge. ‘Have you done much dressmaking
yourself
?’

‘I’m afraid not. My mother makes most of our clothes; she has a treadle machine.’

Opposite the drapery department was the linen hall. The assistants
there were almost hidden by pyramids of plump goose-feather pillows and Egyptian-cotton sheets.

Mattie watched the hands on the clock. She felt an urge to tap it, like the men with their pocket watches on the train, to hurry it up. She gave quite a start when the doors swung open and a middle-aged woman in black came bustling up to the counter.

‘Watch me, this time,’ Christabel whispered to Mattie. ‘Good morning, madam.’

‘Good morning. I require serviceable blue cotton for our maids’ summer frocks.’

‘How many maids?’ Christabel enquired, reaching down a bolt of saxe-blue cloth.

‘Three. I believe you stock ready-made detachable collars and cuffs, in white?’

‘Yes, madam.’

Mattie was fascinated by the confidence with which Christabel flipped the bolt of cloth over and over on the counter, estimating the yardage required. Taking up a pair of large scissors with curved grips, she sliced decisively across. She didn’t nick the material, then tear off the piece, as Mattie had seen her mother do.

The customer rubbed the end of the cloth between finger and thumb, looking thoughtful. ‘This should wear well,’ she decided. ‘Wrap it up.’

A neat brown-paper parcel was deftly tied with string. The cuffs, collars, cotton and other necessaries were placed in a large bag, neatly folded over at the top.

‘Does madam require a pattern?’ Christabel asked.

‘No, thank you. Mrs Trembath’s seamstress knows exactly what is required. Certainly not the latest fashion! Kindly send the bill to Knockwood Hall in due course.’

When the customer had departed, Mattie observed: ‘What a
grim-looking
lady!’

‘Oh, you must learn to tell the difference! Mrs Barnes is not exactly a lady, even though she sounds like one. She’s the Hon. Mrs Trembath’s housekeeper. However, she’s entitled to be called “madam”.’

‘I must admit I’m dreading cutting the cloth….’

‘Don’t worry by the end of the day you’ll be expert at it!’ Christabel assured her. ‘Though Monday is always slow. Most of the drapery customers are of a similar status to Mrs Barnes. The real ladies are to be seen in the millinery or couture departments, later in the day. They try on the new lines, but they don’t always buy. The bridal suite was
hard-hit
by the war, and now, as there are not many eligible young men, they say ours will be a generation of spinsters.’

‘Maybe more of us will make a decent living wage in occupations
which have always been regarded as men’s work,’ Mattie said. ‘Though I imagine
you
will marry.’

‘You are thinking that Griff and I…?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘It’s likely that it’s just a flirtation on his part. He talks of emigrating when he’s twenty-one. He will come into a little money then, left in trust by his grandfather.’

‘How exciting! I wonder where he intends to go? Wouldn’t you like to travel too?’

Christabel shook her head. ‘I have a sick mother to consider. My father was killed in the war. I’m the breadwinner in my family. By the way, don’t mention to Griff what I just told you, will you?’

‘Of course not,’ Mattie agreed, as a potential customer approached them.

‘All yours!’ Christabel whispered.

‘Stay close by, then. I may need your help!’

On Tuesday mornings, the Fullilove kitchen was always full of steam. Flat-irons smoothed out the creases from the newly laundered clothes. Little Hilda mopped her damp brow and muttered under her breath.

Sybil, of course, wasn’t involved. Wearing a pristine white overall, with a turban, she was happily occupied in what had been the butler’s pantry in more affluent times. Having unlocked a cupboard, she selected various flagons, pots and waxed cartons and set these out on a work table. Then she took from the drawer a notebook with marble-patterned covers. She turned the pages, a silver propelling pencil in hand.

‘Hilda,’ she called presently, ‘Time for a cup of hot chocolate, I think!’

Next door, in the kitchen, Hilda sniffed, but set the flat-iron in its rest. The pan of full-cream milk was already heating on the stove, as she’d anticipated this request. She grated half a tablet of dark Belgian chocolate in the milk, stirred until it was dissolved, adding a tiny piece of cinnamon to enhance the flavour. The cups were filled, long-handled teaspoons, a bowl of white sugar and paper napkins placed on the tray.

‘Thank you, Hilda,’ Sybil said graciously.

‘Nothing on the boil yet?’ Hilda asked, glancing at the empty containers.

‘No. I’ve been studying last week’s orders and checking our stock of ingredients.’

Hilda sipped the delicious drink. ‘Aren’t you worried Mr Fullilove will find out?’

‘What if he does? I am investing the allowance he grudgingly gives me – from my own money, I suspect – and what else could I do with my time?’

Hilda bit back a retort. She relished the thought that they were foxing the aloof Mr Fullilove. She said instead, ‘Your roots need touching up, before the next meeting. I’ll get the peroxide from the bathroom. Griff borrowed it to dab on a mouth ulcer.’

‘Comes of eating too many slivers of the emporium’s strong cheese! It’s good to have two young people in the house. I wonder how Mattie’s doing?’

‘Oh, you needn’t worry about that one,
she’s
got the measure of Mr Fullilove’

‘I’m glad the Hon Mrs Trembath is our hostess on Thursday morning. My husband complains we use too much expensive ground coffee when I entertain the ladies here.’

‘Still rationed, are we?’ Hilda drained her cup, moved to light the spirit stove. ‘What d’you want me to do? I’ve a pile of ironing waiting….’

‘Athenian hair-wash. You can manage that, can’t you?’ Sybil
wheedled
.

‘Remind me of the recipe then.’

‘Weigh a quarter of a pound of sassafras wood, add to a gallon of rose-water in a vessel. Bring to the boil, simmer until dissolved. Cool, then add a pint of pure alcohol and an ounce of pearl ash,’ Sybil recited. ‘Try it on your hair, Hilda. It’s a tonic.’

Hilda sniffed again. ‘I ain’t got time to prink and preen, Miss Sybil.’

‘I’ll make the black hair-dye – three of the ladies requested that,’ Sybil said. ‘They don’t want their husbands to suspect they’re going grey.’

She pulled on a pair of protective gloves. This mixture, which must be stored in a blue bottle, indicating its toxicity, involved dissolving silver nitrate and nickel sulphate in distilled water, with a dash of strong ammonia, which made her eyes smart.

‘Enhancing brown hair is easier,’ Sybil said with feeling. ‘Just a
tincture
of walnut shells, scented with oil of lavender. Not that our ladies realize that.’

Hilda checked the notebook. ‘No saffron?’

Sybil shook her head. ‘I daren’t ask my husband for that – it’s so costly. It gives a glorious tinge to auburn hair. I’ll substitute black tea with rum for Mrs Ginger Stevens. I can charge almost as much for it, and it’s so easy.’

‘Watch out, Mr Fullilove ain’t marked the level in the rum bottle, then!’

Later, when the hair lotions were bottled, Sybil began a favourite task: lip pomade. She’d make extra as a gift for Mattie. This was a
startling
red and she hoped it would cheer her up. Mattie had looked solemn since starting at the emporium.

‘Come in!’ Mattie was startled by the tapping on her door. She’d not been in long from work, had kicked her shoes off, and was resting on her bed. ‘I hadn’t realized how tiring it is when you’re on your legs most of the day,’ she had said to Sybil when she came into the room.

‘Never mind, here’s a little something to cheer you up,’ Sybil said.

Mattie sat up, took the small jar and read the label. ‘
Lip pomentum
– what’s that?’

Sybil smiled. ‘See my lips? I mix all my own cosmetics. Rufus doesn’t object, believing I am thrifty. Shush! He doesn’t know I also sell to
exclusive
clients.’

Mattie had to smile then. Curious, she unscrewed the top, looked inside. She rubbed the tip of her little finger over the glossy salve. ‘Is this how you apply it?’

‘Yes, or with a sable brush. Go to the dressing-table, you need the mirror.’

Mattie gazed back at her reflection. She couldn’t say, ‘I don’t look like me!’

‘I can tell you’re not sure about it,’ Sybil said, over her shoulder.

‘Oh, Sybil, it’s just that—’ Mattie wasn’t sure how to answer.

‘You’re right – you’re a natural beauty, my dear. I’ll wipe the colour off for you before it sets, and I’ll exchange this pomade for a pot of my skin cream, eh?’

‘I’m curious,’ Mattie admitted a little later, ‘to know how you started all this.’

Sybil glanced at her gold fob watch. ‘Well, I expect we’ve got time for a chat – dinner will be half an hour later this evening. Rufus rang to say he was held up in his office, going over the accounts with Miss Teazel. She is probably only a halfpenny or two out, but that’s too much in his opinion….

‘Now, I’m surprised at how little you seem to know about me, but your mother was never one for tittle-tattle, eh? Sophia and my mother were first cousins, they grew up in the village where your parents still live. My mother, being older, was married first, by that time she was living and working in the West Country. I was an only child, and my father was a farmer. They could afford to have me educated privately. I even took science lessons at school and dabbled with the idea of making science my career.

‘As I grew up, I found country life restricting. I rebelled, left home as soon as I could, and joined a small travelling theatre company. I dreamed of becoming an actress. I assisted the wardrobe mistress, who was also skilled in stage make-up. She shared her secrets, and I
discovered I had a flair for it. We made our own preparations, as I do still, and after a few years I branched out on my own. I was much in demand. I actually made money from something I loved doing. I had a nice little nest egg when I met Rufus. He was introduced to me backstage – he’d been invited to a performance given by the company I was with then. He remarked on the artistry involved with the character make-up.’ She paused. ‘It may be hard to comprehend, but it was love at first sight.’