to live. The last stub of candle guttered and went out, leaving her in a dark room with just the reflected glow from the streetlights on the cracked windowpanes. Still fully dressed and with her overcoat laid on top of the blanket, she curled up and closed her eyes, but it was not easy to drift off to sleep when her feet felt like blocks of ice. If she caught pneumonia in this draughty room she might lie here for weeks before anyone found her body. It was not a happy thought, but it made her even more determined to find proper lodgings, preferably a room with a fireplace and a decent bed. The potato lay heavily in her stomach, but she was still hungry and she thought longingly of the meal she had shared with Eugene. The delicious taste of the pudding and the creaminess of the custard were a distant memory that tormented her, and when she did fall asleep she dreamed she was enjoying the well-cooked food all over again.
The man at the coffee stall was beginning to recognise her, and he was there next morning looking as cheerful as ever. Rose stopped for a mug of sweet coffee before walking to work and she bought a ham roll, which she tucked into her reticule to eat later. The money that Eugene had advanced on her wages would not stretch to three meals a day, so the coffee would have to carry her through until midday, if she could last out that long.
‘I’ll see you tonight then, duck,’ the stallholder called after her as she walked away. ‘I’ll save you a meat pie – if I gets any today, that is.’
She acknowledged him with a nod and a wave as she set off on her way to work. She had made a point of leaving early and by the time she reached the office in Fleet Street she was glowing with heat, and extremely hungry. The advantage of being early was that Nicholls had not yet arrived and the two other clerks ignored her, which was preferable to barbed remarks and scornful glances. Eugene was not in his office, but Rose still had the notes he had given her to type and she set to work with a will, picking out the letters one by one using her index fingers.
Eugene was still absent when the editor walked into the office later that morning. Rose stood up, not knowing quite how she was supposed to greet him. She had seen Mr Radley in the distance, but they had never been formally introduced, and she wondered if he knew of her existence. If he had not done so before, he did now, and he was staring at her with a perplexed look on his doughy features. Short, thin and balding, Arthur Radley was a middle-aged man with a permanently worried look and a bizarre taste in clothes. His purple velvet waistcoat did not go well with his florid complexion, and his pinstripe suit and ruffled shirt would have been more appropriate for evening wear. Such outlandish garb on a small insignificant man was the stuff of pantomimes. Rose tried to look serious, but inwardly she was laughing.
‘Miss er …’
‘Munday, sir. I’m Rose Munday.’
‘Yes, Eugene did mention that he’d taken someone on to work that infernal machine.’ He gazed at the typewriter as if expecting it to burst into flames. ‘We’ve managed perfectly well without one.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where is Mr Sheldon? I want to speak to him.’
‘I believe he went out early on a story, sir.’ Rose had no intention of making trouble for Eugene. He might, for all she knew, be following a story, although from the little she knew of him she suspected that he might have had a late night, with all that entailed, and be sleeping off the excesses of the previous evening.
‘Oh, very well. What a nuisance.’ Radley fingered some papers on Eugene’s desk, losing interest almost immediately. ‘Tell him I need to see him urgently, Miss er …’
‘Munday,’ Rose said, but she was talking to thin air as Radley had already left the office. She shrugged and returned to the task of deciphering Eugene’s scrawl, correcting his spelling as she went. By midday she had placed the finished article on his desk and was moderately pleased with her efforts. Her stomach was rumbling and she was about to eat her ham roll when Eugene breezed into the office, tossing his hat on the coat stand and missing yet again. Rose got up automatically and rescued the topper, placing it safely on the highest peg.
Unabashed, Eugene took off his greatcoat and draped it over a chair. ‘Is everything all right, Munday?’
She gave him a searching look. His dark hair was curling wildly round his head and there were bruise-like smudges beneath his eyes. The woody, citrus scent of bay rum could not quite conceal the smell of garlic, wine and cigar smoke that hung about him like a fine mist.
‘Mr Radley has been looking for you.’
‘What did you say to him?’
‘I said I thought you were chasing up a story.’
A slow smile lit Eugene’s eyes with golden glints. ‘Well done, Munday. I was in fact asleep until less than half an hour ago. A bit of a late night. I think I had a good time, but I can’t remember much about the last part of it.’
Rose stifled a chuckle. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Guvnor.’
‘Oh, I am. Deeply.’ Eugene sank down in the chair behind his desk. ‘Send Scully to fetch me some coffee, please, Munday. My head is pounding.’
‘The editor wants to see you urgently.’
‘I can’t do anything until I’ve had a mug of strong black coffee. No sugar. Cousin Arthur will have to wait.’
Rose gave him a pitying look and went to find Scully, who dutifully braved the rain to fetch the coffee. He returned having filled a jug with the steaming brew.
‘It’ll take more than one mug to sober the guvnor up,’ he said, grinning. ‘We go through this regularly. You’ll get used to it.’
Rose said nothing, but she filled a mug, and took it to Eugene, who was sitting back in his chair with his eyes closed.
‘Here you are,’ she said coldly. ‘There’s more if you want it.’
Eugene opened his eyes. ‘Don’t look so disapproving, Rose. It’s not a crime to enjoy oneself.’
‘I never said it was, but I’ve seen men take to drink and it doesn’t end well.’
‘Heaven help me, your missionary friends haven’t encouraged you to join the Temperance Movement, have they?’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Rose said truthfully. ‘Men in the goldfields often drink to excess, but it’s a hard life out there.’
‘My dear Munday, I enjoyed an evening out with friends, a good meal and fine wine. You can hardly equate that with the hard-drinking mining community in the State of Victoria.’
Rose could see this conversation going nowhere and she hastily changed the subject. ‘I’ve typed out the article you wrote. If there’s anything you want to change, just say so and I’ll retype it.’
Eugene drained the last dregs of coffee and handed the mug to her. ‘Excellent coffee. A refill, please, while I take a look at your latest effort.’
Rose did as he asked and waited patiently while Eugene pored over the article. He reached for the coffee and drank deeply.
‘Excellent. Not many errors and a masterly piece of reporting, even if I say so myself. My talent is being wasted writing such paltry items of news. I need something I can really get my teeth into.’
‘Like
