It was bound to be George! In a panic she rushed to the shelter of some tall trees at the side of the road and stood there completely motionless until George rode by on his way back to the house expecting to greet her. She made sure he was a good distance away before she resumed her journey to the village.
The night was still young and though the road was lonely and she’d heard spine-chilling stories of thieves and murderers preying on travellers like herself, she kept on. She tried to put such thoughts out of her mind. Eventually the lights of the village tavern showed ahead.
The tavern on the outskirts of the village was the place where the stagecoaches stopped on their way into London, only ten miles distant. She had some money tied in a handkerchief and hung around her neck under her dress. It wasn’t much but it would see her through a few days at least, until she was able to find some work in the great city.
She hoped that a late stagecoach might be still passing through on its way to London. But when she reached the inn yard she saw that it was empty except for a wagon with a single horse between its shafts. She was debating venturing inside and enquiring about transportation when a fat old man in top hat and long coat came out of the tavern.
She approached him, asking, “Has the last stage left for London?”
“A full hour ago,” the fat man said, around a large gray mustache. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for transportation to London tonight,” she said. “I have an aunt who is very ill and needs me.”
“Bless my soul!” the fat man said in a hearty voice. “Well, it so happens I’m leaving now to drive to London. I can’t make the same time as a stage and the journey won’t be all that comfortable but it will cost you nothing!”
Fanny felt relief and gratitude. “You are most kind, sir. And I trust you will not think me a bold hussy if I accept your offer! My aunt is so desperately ill and time is so precious!”
The fat man looked sympathetic. The brandy which she smelled on his breath must have put him in a mellow mood. He said, “You need have no fears of me, miss. I’m a family man!”
“I could tell that at a glance,” she said. “You look most respectable, air.”
“And I am respectable,” he said, pointing to the wagon. “You will see my name inscribed on my wagon, Thomas Trimble, Silent Sewing Machines. I have my main shop in London and a few days a week I travel in the nearby villages to offer my wares.”
“It sounds like a fine business,” she said.
“It is,” the fat man agreed. “Twenty-one shillings pays for it all. Finest sewing machine on the market if I do say so. Unsolicited testimonials by the dozen!”
“I shall be honored to travel with you,” she said.
“Then come along! Mustn’t lose time,” the fat man said, taking her valise and leading her over to the wagon. “My missus waits up for me these nights and if I’m very late she always worries!”
Fanny was anxious to be on her way, fearful that George might find her gone and come after her in spite of her note. He would be bound to come to the tavern first. So she was glad when the fat man clambered up onto the seat beside her, gave the reins a flip and started off on their way to London.
A small lantern swinging from the side of the seat provided their only light. The wagon was a good one and the horse trotted along at a brisk pace. Fanny could feel the great city gradually getting nearer. They passed other wagons and a few coaches coming out of the city. There were good natured shouts exchanged between the drivers on the dusty road as the vehicles passed.
She found herself caught up in the adventure of it all. And Thomas Trimble proved an entertaining companion. He had a great repertoire of anecdotes. He told her, “There’s an Irishman lives in the attic of my building. Something of a drinker! The barman asked him where he lived and he said, ‘Sure, if the building were turned topsy-turvy, I’d be livin’ on the ground floor!’ A grand old reprobate, is that Irishman!” The fat stomach of Thomas Trimble wobbled with laughter.
She said, “You must meet many people making the rounds with your sewing machines. You must be a good judge of character.”
The fat man nodded as they drove along in the darkness. “You’ve hit the nail on the head! I never judge people on their appearance alone. A coat out at the elbow may be buttoned over a generous heart!”
“That is so true,” she agreed.
“Nor do I think a pretty face is all that important, though I must say you’re the prettiest lass I’ve had in my company in many a day!”
“Thank you,” Fanny said.
“A handsome woman pleases the eye,” Thomas Trimble said. “But a good woman pleases the heart! The one’s a jewel, but I say the other is a treasure!”
“How wise you are,” she flattered him.
The fat man looked pleased. “I’ve lived a good while and I’ve kept my eyes and ears open often when my mouth is shut. A good rule to follow and one that leads to wisdom!”
The conversation continued along these lines until they entered the outskirts of the city. The road gave way to cobblestoned streets and there were buildings on every side. It was now late and the city was mostly asleep. Even at this hour there were some carriages and wagons in the streets and a few furtive figures on the sidewalks.
A heavy fog had met them a few miles from the city and now that they were in London it had thickened to a dense, yellow mist. This made everything seem weird. It had also become cold and Fanny clutched her cloak about her.
“My place is in Stark Street,” Thomas Trimble told her. “We’re close to there now. Where does your aunt live?”
“Very near here,” she said. “If you’ll let me off at the next gas light.”
“Is that a fact,” the fat man said. “I’m glad she’s near. I’d like to take you to the door but my missus is waiting.”
“I understand,” she said. “The next gas lamp will do well. I can quickly walk to her home from that corner.”
Thomas Trimble halted his wagon at the gas lamp and saw her safely to the sidewalk. The fat man urged her, “Walk fast, my dear. The streets of London are filled with dangerous characters at this hour.” Then he drove on and left her.
She really had no clear idea where she was except that she was in an area of most respectable homes. She had never been in London before and as she groped her way in the fog she heard a carriage coming up the cobblestone street behind her.
• • •
Now she stared into the dying embers of the fire in the tomb in which she’d found refuge with Moll and Silas Hodder and the two old women, who were still asleep, as she’d told the others her story.
She said, “It was then I encountered those two killers and ran here to this graveyard to hide! And you were kind enough to give me refuge!”
Fanny was ready to believe that London was a city constantly wreathed in fog. The next morning the same heavy, yellow mist gave everything a ghostly air. She, along with the four other vagrants, cautiously emerged from the tomb and made their way out of the tiny graveyard to the street. Had the verger arrived early enough to witness their leaving he would have been bound to consider it a mass resurrection!
On reaching the street the two old women lurched off by themselves, shawls over their heads. Silas Hodder watched them go with a resigned expression on his gaunt face. “We only see them at night,” he said. “Around dusk they’ll come back to the tomb again. What they do in the meanwhile I can’t guess!”
Moll gave a little laugh. “And perhaps it’s best not to try! One thing is certain, they always raise the price of a bottle of gin!”
“That they do,” the tall man in the black top hat and suit agreed. He gave Fanny a smile. “Now we shall go and have our breakfast. And perhaps we can think of some employment for you.”
Thank you,” Fanny said. “I’m quite prepared to buy my own breakfast and treat the two of you, as well. I have almost two pounds saved.”
“Keep it, my dear girl,” Silas Hodder warned her. “You will have sore need of it to exist in London, especially if we can’t think of some gainful work for you.”
“Mr. Hodder has a first class place for us to eat and it’s all paid for,” Moll told her with a smile on her pinched face. The girl looked more attractive by day but her clothes were terribly shabby.
Silas Hodder showed a smile on his skull-face framed by shoulder-length gray hair. He said, “I guarantee you a breakfast as fine as you’ll find anywhere in London! Even the toffs can’t do better!”
The three of them made their way along a series of narrow streets in the thick fog. The streets were filled with people now and Fanny was stunned at seeing so many people in such a hurry.
“Is the city as busy as this every day?” she asked.
“Every day and a good part of the night,” Moll assured her. “Greatest city in the world!”
“Give pause!” Silas Hodder told the girl. “You have not seen Paris. As a
boulevardier
of some experience I can vouch for the many offerings of that city!”
“Wouldn’t hold a candle to London, I’m sure,” Moll said firmly. “Those Frenchies could never match us!”
They waited for a dray to rumble by and then hurried across a narrow street to find themselves staring at a sign, “Branscomb the Baker.” Silas Hodder led them in a side door which led to the rear of the premises. They entered the busy kitchen and sat at a plain wooden table removed from the hurly-burly of the oven area. Two fat men and six or seven boys kept filling the great ovens with items to be baked and taking the savory-smelling food cooked out.
An elderly woman in apron and dustcap brought them plates with bread and cheese, along with a large pot of tea. The dried-up face of the old woman broke into a tremulous smile as she said, “Right on time, Mr. Hodder! You are a gent who keeps on a schedule.”
“Early training, my dear,” Silas Hodder said with pride. “I have a guest this morning, a Miss Fanny Hastings, lately come to London.”
“Pleased to know you, miss,” the thin woman greeted her. “You’re welcome! Eat hearty!”
The cheese, bread and tea were fresh and Fanny wolfed her share down. The old woman came with another half loaf of bread for them and an extra chunk of cheese. Silas Hodder carefully divided it among them.
Fanny asked him, “Do you know the owner, since he is so generous with you?”
“Know him, my girl! I may say I’m employed by him,” Silas Hodder said. “Between my engagements at the various pubs I tread the streets for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon bearing the yoke of yonder sign upon my shoulders!”
Fanny glanced up the wall where he’d pointed and for the first time saw a sandwich-board sign folded and leaning there. It was painted white and in large red letters announced, “Branscomb’s is Best! Fine Bakery 10 A Canon Street.”
Moll smiled at her across the plank table. “In exchange for being a sandwich-board man, Silas is given all he can eat and free meals for any friends he brings along. I come with him regular and so can you.”
Silas waved an expansive hand. “All paid for!”
“That’s very good,” Fanny agreed. “So right off you both have free bed and board!”
Moll turned up her nose at the mention of this. “I’m not saying I enjoy sleeping in a graveyard but in winter the nights are cold and Silas manages to keep our tomb nice and warm.”
“Nothing wrong with graveyards as resting places,” the gaunt-faced Silas said. “For some, it’s eternal rest; for us it is a more pleasant temporary arrangement.”
“Breaking us in for what’s to come!” The sharp Moll burst into laughter at her own sally.
Silas remonstrated with her, raising a protesting hand. “No unseemly humor, girl. Be grateful. Now let us put our minds to what our new found friend, Fanny, can do to earn a living.”
“She could try my game,” Moll said. “I can teach her the tricks!”
Fanny at once said, “Thank you, Moll. But I haven’t the nerve for it. I could never carry it off!”
Moll grinned. “Not much to it. A bit of sniffling and a mention of the Dear Departed. Then a sad smile for the babe to come. By that time they’re thrusting a sovereign or two in your palm and pushing you out the door.”
Silas Hodder said, “I’m sure Fanny is seeking something a trifle more … respectable.”
“I would like to make my way on the stage,” Fanny said. “My late father was an actor and I have always wanted to follow in his footsteps.”
“The stage,” Silas Hodder repeated. “Now let me see. I must know someone connected with the theatre.”
“All those blokes you meet in the taverns are well connected,” Moll agreed. “At least one of them must have a friend on the stage.”
Silas Hodder’s skull-like countenance suddenly brightened. He thumped a fist in the palm of his hand and exclaimed, “I’ve got it! The very thing! You’re as good as hired!”
Fanny couldn’t believe her good fortune. It made her almost forget her pain at leaving Brenmoor and George. She exclaimed, “You mean you can find me a post in the theatre?”
Silas nodded. “I can! It is not actually in a regular theatre but in the entertainment profession! I can assure you of that! The owner of the establishment is an old friend of mine, Mr. Gilbert Tingley.”
Moll showed amazement. “Of course! I never thought of him! The very man.” And to Fanny, she said, “Gilbert Tingley’s Emporium of Wonder is the finest thing of its kind in London!”
Fanny said, “Emporium of Wonder? What sort of show is it?”
“A compendium of the bizarre and the unusual,” Silas Hodder said grandly. “In short, my girl, a collection of mechanical and human freaks!”
“Freaks!” Fanny said in dismay.
Moll nodded happily. “You ought to see the fat woman! A mortal sight! Weighs close to four hundred pounds, they say!”
Silas Hodder said, “Tingley is a model employer. He pays well, considering he charges only a penny for a walk through his place, and the people in his show live in rooms upstairs, very good rooms, and eat in a community dining hall in the basement. Three wholesome meals a day!”
“It’s a kind offer,” she said. “But even if Mr. Tingley would have me it isn’t exactly what I’m looking for. I’d like to try to find something in a regular theatre.”
Silas Hodder and Moll exchanged looks. Then the gaunt man told her, “Fanny, let me impress upon you that everyone in London is not as kind as I am. This is a hard city for a young girl. And for a young female looking for employment in the theatre the risks are monstrous!”