Charles Palliser (33 page)

“Very well, we will ask for her.”

She fell silent but a few minutes later she spoke gravely: “After we have been there, there is somewhere I must go.”

“Where?” I asked in surprise. “Is it far? Must we take a coach?”

“I must go alone. And you must not ask me about it now and must promise that you will not ask me any questions when I return.”

I was much perplexed : “But you told me you know no-one in London apart from Mrs Fortisquince and Mr Sancious!”

“I said I had no friends. But I asked you not to question me!” she exclaimed and seeing that she was upset I turned the subject: “But we do have friends in London, for you are forgetting Mrs Digweed and Joey.”

“Oh yes,” she began to laugh. “But I don’t imagine we will claim acquaintance of them.”

We were tired after our busy and successful day and once I was in bed I soon drifted into sleep.

So early the next morning we set out for the largest of the registry-offices which was not very far away in Wigmore-street.

On the way my mother stopped at a shop-window and pointed out some embroidery-work: “Look at that. It’s the kind of work I could do. Let’s just go in and ask how much it is.”

We did so and, discovering that it was enormously expensive, emerged feeling much encouraged.

With the aid of my map we made our way into a very grand district where many of the streets and squares were closed off by posts and chains at one end and had gates at the other with liveried porters and watch-keeper’s boxes. After we had been walking for some time we realized that we had lost our way and, 150 THE

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seeing our obvious perplexity, a well-dressed gentleman of middle years came up to us and asked where we were looking for.

“Wigmore-street?” he repeated. “It is the first on the left. Is it the London General Office that you seek?”

When my mother confirmed that this was so, he glanced at her kindly and said:

“Then I compassionate you from the depths of my heart.”

“Is it so very terrible a life?” my mother faltered.

He looked at her keenly: “I have known governesses who were among the most miserable of creatures, despised by their charges and humiliated by their employers. Yet it need not be so. Perhaps I could be of service in finding you a position with a good family.”

My mother seemed taken aback at this. She murmured: “You are very kind, sir.”

“Come,” he said, “permit me to accompany you in the direction of Wigmore-street, and perhaps I can persuade you not to throw yourself upon its mercies.”

Obviously surprised, my mother allowed him to walk along with us.

After a few steps he said: “I am Mr Parminter of Cavendish-square. Allow me to give you my card. And please come to me if I can be of any assistance.”

He reached into his pocket but my mother suddenly halted and said: “Pray do not give yourself the trouble.”

“But I should be very glad to help you,” he said pleasantly.

At this my mother drew back and said as if trying to speak very haughtily: “Thank you for your assistance, sir, but we can find our way from here and I wish to trouble you no further.”

Without giving him time to reply she bowed very slightly and walked on. As I hurried after her I glanced back and saw the gentleman watching us with an expression which I took to be one of mild amusement.

“But Mamma,” I said when I caught her up, “why did you not accept his offer when the gentleman seemed so kind?”

She merely shook her head and hurried on.

We reached Wigmore-street a moment later, found the Office on the second floor and entered. A notice indicated that there were two rooms, one for the employers and one for the governesses. In the appropriate one we found a long wooden counter running the length of the great chamber, behind which a clerk stood talking to a seated lady and consulting at intervals the large books stacked around him and on shelves behind him. A number of ladies were seated in our half of the room waiting their turn. We gave our name to a boy who sat behind a desk near the door and told him what we wanted. He wrote our name down, indicated seats and passed the slip of paper to the man behind the counter who merely glanced at it and put it on one side.

We sat down and had to wait a long time, but when at last the name of “Offland” was called the clerk cried out: “Hurry along there. I ain’t got all day.”

He was a slight man with a lugubrious but sharp-featured countenance and thinning hair visible beneath a small wig. When we were before him he asked, without raising his eyes from the ledger he was writing in: “Where ’ave you been in sarvice, Mrs Offland?”

“In service?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I have never been.”

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At this he looked up for the first time: “That’s bad.” Then he noticed me: “This your young ’un?”

“Yes,” my mother admitted.

“Widder?”

My mother reddened and nodded.

The man gazed at her searchingly.

“He would board at a school,” she said.

“In course,” he said. “But even so, famblies don’t like a governess to have a child.

Governesses is single, as a rule. In course, you couldn’t see him ’cept by arrangement?”

“I did not know that.”

“Well, now you know,” he said. “Or, though I never ought to say this, you could leave him out of question.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh my, ain’t you green. Well, I ain’t going to say no more. Anyways, let’s see what you have got to offer. Can you speak French?”

“Yes,” said my mother.

“Straight-up Parigian like you was born to it?”

She shook her head: “Not so well as that.”

“What about Italian?” he asked severely.

“No,” she almost whispered.

He closed his mouth as if in resignation: “Well, can you sing and play the pianny-forty?”

“Yes, fairly well.”

“Famblies don’t want fairly well, they want bang-up.” He sighed heavily and fiddled with his shirt-cuffs: “DrorhY?” he suddenly demanded.

My mother looked at me in dismay. I nodded to encourage her.

“Pretty well,” she stammered.

“I don’t think you’ll sarve,” he said grimly. “I don’t know if it’s worth my time to write you down. Anyways, have you anyone to speak for you?” Seeing that we did not understand he said irritably: “What character can you furnish?”

My mother gazed at me in dismay. Why had we not thought of this?

“Mrs Fortisquince,” I said.

My mother looked at me in surprise and the sharp-eyed clerk noticed this and looked at both of us sceptically.

“Who is Mrs Fortisquince and where does she live?”

“The lady is the very respectable widow of a legal gentleman,” I said. “She lives in Golden-square.”

The man rudely snapped his fingers: “Faugh to your Mrs Fortisquince and Golden-square. We wants a title or a bang-up West-End address at the very least.”

“But wouldn’t she suffice for a family in ordinary circumstances?” my mother asked.

“Perhaps you know more about it than I do,” he said rudely. “Such famblies is more pertickler about tip-top connexions than the aristoxy theirselves.” To our horror he tore out and crumpled up the page of the ledger on which he had begun to write my mother’s answers. “We won’t take you on. There ain’t no p’int.”

“No point?” my mother repeated.

“You could try for a position as a children’s nurse,” the man added. “Your 152

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Mrs Fortisquince would sarve for that. But we don’t touch that sort of work. You want a sarvints’ hirin’-office for that. Now move along, please.”

As she turned away I tugged her sleeve: “Miss Quilliam,” I reminded her.

“We can’t,” she whispered.

“You promised,” I urged and reluctantly she turned back.

“Can you give me some information?” she asked. “I wish to find a friend of mine —

that is, of my son — who may have been registered with you. A Miss Quilliam.”

“I seem to rec’lleck the name. But what’s it to me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What’s it worth to me to bother with it?”

“He wants money,” I whispered.

“How much?” she whispered back.

“Two shillings,” I suggested, wondering if it was worth such an investment.

My mother drew the coins from her reticule and placed them on the counter. The clerk took them up as if absent-mindedly, his attention preoccupied with opening a large volume lying nearby. He ran a finger down the page and at last said: “Yes, I thought I rec’llected the name. Was registered with us while in the employment of the family of Sir Parceval Mompesson of Brook-street and Mompesson-park, Hougham.” Here he looked into space reflectively and an almost wistful expression appeared on his features:

“A most elegant establishment. We’ve sent them many a governess while their two young genel’men was in the school-room. And more recent, too, for the young lady. Oh yes, very many.”

“Can you tell me by whom she is presently employed?” asked my mother, breaking in upon his reverie.

“No, I can’t,” he said abruptly and frowned.

“But won’t you look,” I protested.

“I don’t need to,” he said. “She ain’t registered with us no more. She come in here about a month or two back and wanted to register again, but I couldn’t do nothing for her.”

My mother and I looked at each other in dismay.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

He gave us a very mysterious, knowing look accompanied by a piece of pantomime which involved laying one thick finger alongside his nose and shaking his head significantly: “She left without a character.”

This confirmed what Henrietta had said, but here was an unforeseen obstacle to our finding her.

“Well then, will you at least be so kind as to tell me her address,” my mother asked.

“She didn’t leave one, there being no call.”

“But have you no address for her?” I demanded.

Reluctantly he looked at the greasy page of his great tome: “According to this, previous to her engagement with Sir Parceval’s fambly, she lodged at No. 26 Coleman-street. (Now that’s still a wery good address, for all it’s in the City.) But there ain’t no reason to suppose she’s there now.” He shut the book with a bang: “That’s all I can do for you.”

“You remembered all the time that you couldn’t help us,” I protested. “You shouldn’t have taken the two shillings!”

“Move along,” he said threateningly. “There’s others waiting.”

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My mother took me by the arm and we went out and began to walk disconsolately towards our lodgings.

“Why was he so unkind?” my mother asked.

“Because he’s a beast,” I cried.

“Johnnie,” she said a few minutes later, “if ever I did need to accept a situation, do you think we dare give Mrs Fortisquince’s name?”

Now that I had time to consider it I answered: “I don’t think it would be safe to let her know where you were, Mamma.”

She agreed and we continued on our way. When we got back and had had dinner, my mother put on her bonnet and set off on her mysterious errand.

While I waited for her I tried to amuse myself by looking at one of my favourite books which had survived the theft because I had been carrying it, but the pictures that had interested me when I gazed at them in Melthorpe seemed strangely flat now. Perhaps it was because I was at last in London and therefore adventure and excitement lay all around me; though if this were so, then this house and this street seemed disappointingly mundane. I closed the book and, seating myself at the window, looked at the evening sky as the sun sank over the horizon, and watched the cowls slowly turning on the chimney-tops and the sparrows hopping about in the gutters of the houses opposite.

At last I heard the door-bell and Jennie going to answer it. Then I detected a light step outside and when my mother came in I knew immediately that something had occurred that had moved her deeply. As she removed her bonnet she looked at me without seeming to see me and I could not tell whether what had happened was good or bad. She seemed excited as if inspired by some unanticipated hope, and yet at the same time saddened as if some dark shadow of the past had fallen upon her. When I spoke to her she looked away suddenly and took a long time to answer me. It was only with considerable difficulty that I was able to observe my undertaking and refrain from asking her any questions while we made our supper of the bread and cheese she had brought back.

Afterwards she sat at the table and began writing in her pocket-book. When I went to my bed a couple of hours later she was still writing, and, happening to awaken some hours later, I crept into the sitting-room and saw her still bent over the table scratching away with her quill.

I was worried by the realization that it might be less easy than we had assumed for my mother to find work as a governess, but she was less concerned since she was anyway determined to earn her living by her needle. So the next morning we strolled up and down Regent-street before at last choosing one of the grand shops selling gowns. As we entered a shop-woman came forward smiling and made a little bobbing curtsey.

“Good morning,” my mother began nervously. “I wish to offer to do fine embroidery work for you.”

The woman did not understand at first, and my mother had to repeat her words.

Then her face darkened and she came up close to us and hissed: “You never ought to have come in the front. Don’t you know no better than that?”

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“Where should I go?” my mother asked in dismay.

“Out of here and round the back.”

We turned and left with as much dignity as we could muster, then went round the mews and with difficulty identified the rear of the premises. Then, directed by a youth loading boxes onto a hand-cart, we climbed a pair of back-stairs to a big bare room beneath the roof where about twenty women — predominantly young — were sitting round a huge table heaped with materials, and stitching so intently that they hardly glanced up as we came in — except for one, who was older than most of the others, and who was putting on her bonnet as if to leave.