me? I have a spare pair of boots in my cupboard. You might have sold those instead.’
Lucy said nothing for she knew that had she asked her mother would have refused. ‘Pa’s old boots will do for work,’ she said. ‘I shall save up until I can buy some new ones.’
‘Well, I think you are very foolish,’ her mother said. ‘Return to the stall tomorrow and see if he will change your boots for your father’s.’
Lucy nodded, acknowledging the sense of her mother’s words. She would pop back to the stall in her lunch break again and ask if he would exchange them for her.
Lucy stared at the stallholder in dismay. He had sold her working boots almost as soon as she’d left the stall the previous day, he said.
‘I’d buy those boots,’ he told her pointing to her father’s boots. ‘I’ll give you five shillings for them – if there’s anythin’ on the stall you want.’
Lucy looked but there was nothing to fit her save her Sunday best shoes, which were now priced at seven shillings and beyond her.
‘I’ll leave it for now, thank you,’ she said, ‘but when I’ve saved a bit I’ll come back and exchange my boots for something that fits me better.’
Turning away in disappointment, Lucy knew her boots hardly showed beneath her long skirts, but they felt uncomfortable and she would rather be barefooted, but if she injured herself at the factory her family would starve. For the moment she would just have to put up with the discomfort and take them off when she got home.
‘Here, have these instead,’ Lucy’s mother said, handing Lucy a pair of her own boots; they were scuffed and worn but almost fitted Lucy. ‘They are still too big for you but better than your father’s old boots.’
‘The stallholder said he would give me five shillings for Pa’s boots,’ Lucy said and saw her mother’s eyes light up.
‘Then wear mine, sell your father’s boots – and give me the money.’
Lucy hesitated. Her mother’s boots were almost worn through at the soles, but if she stuffed layers of paper into them they would last for a while and fit better. If she could keep the money for Pa’s boots she could have them repaired – but she could not refuse to give her mother the five shillings.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That was a kind thought, Ma.’
‘You shame me going about in a man’s boots,’ her mother said harshly. ‘Besides, I could do with that five shillings …’
Lucy turned away biting her lip. She’d thought her mother’s concern was for her but it was merely for appearances.
‘Well, Hetty, shall you like it here?’ Arthur Stoneham asked of the woman he’d appointed as the new mistress of his house for destitute women and children. The cook he’d brought from the workhouse when it was first opened had surprised everyone by finding herself a husband and leaving and Ruth had taken over the cooking, relieved to hand the book-keeping to another. ‘Your rooms are perhaps a little spartan but I daresay you can make them more comfortable?’
‘I’m sure I shall be comfortable.’ Hetty Worsley smiled at the attractive and charismatic man, who had spent hours persuading her to take on this job. ‘My rooms are easy to transform, Mr Stoneham – but you’ve set me a much larger task.’
‘All it needs is kindness mixed with firmness and common sense, which you have in abundance,’ Arthur insisted. ‘And no formality – I’ve always been Arthur to you, Hetty.’
‘But that was when I held you in my arms and let you rant out your grief,’ Hetty said, reminding him of the days when she’d been a whore and he’d sought comfort from her because of his tearing grief over the woman he’d loved and lost. ‘If I am to be mistress here, I must show respect.’
‘I’ve always thought you one of the finest women I know. What fate made you once is of no importance. You changed your life to one of respectability, and it was your kindness to me – and your wisdom – that made me ask you to take on this post. These women and children have been sorely mistreated by life, Hetty.’ Arthur sighed. ‘I had hoped that you might take over the workhouse in Whitechapel and I fought for it, but to no avail. The woman the guardians chose is no doubt respectable, but I doubt she has any kindness in her. She will rule with a rod of iron and her husband is a careful man and, I fear, under her thumb. I do what I can to ease the life of the inmates there – but here I am determined that they shall be treated decently.’
‘You have shown trust in me by bringing me here and I shall do all I can to earn it.’ Hetty smiled. At three and thirty she was past the first flush of beauty and youth, but there was a sensual warmth about her smile and her figure was still as trim as when she had given Arthur the love and trust he’d needed to regain his self-respect all those years ago. ‘What exactly do you want to provide here, Mr Stoneham?’
‘Firstly, their basic needs of clean beds and clothes and good food. The children need to be taught at least the beginning of arithmetic and writing, so often denied them by the workhouse because the guardians believe they need only know how to sign their name and learn how to work. Some of the women may wish to find honest employment once they have a home – and my friend, Miss Katharine Ross, has offered to give any who wish for it, instruction in needlework. She may also assist you in educating the children.’
The look in his eyes told Hetty that Katharine Ross was special to him, and she was glad of it, because she better than anyone knew the remorse and regret that lived inside him.
‘I am partial to good cooking myself,’ Hetty told him firmly. ‘You can rely on me to make sure that our people are fed properly.’
‘Then, I think I can safely leave you to settle in,’ Arthur said. ‘Good luck, Hetty – and I hope you won’t hate me for taking you from your comfortable home.’
‘It was not as comfortable as you suppose,’ Hetty said, her voice reflecting humour. ‘When the school I worked at closed, I took a post as a housekeeper and my employer imagined that, as his housekeeper, I should also warm his bed, which I declined.’
‘And how is your daughter?’ Arthur asked, preparing to take his leave. He was smoothing his gloves between the fingers and did not see the sudden wary look in her eyes. ‘I trust she thrives at that expensive school you sent her to?’
‘Oh, yes, Sylvia does very well,’ Hetty told him and smiled as he turned to her. ‘She is intelligent, and I think she will go on to achieve something worthwhile – perhaps become a teacher or a nurse like Miss Nightingale.’
‘If your daughter is as beautiful as her mother, she will marry well,’ Arthur said but Hetty shook her head.
‘Sylvia shall not be dependent on any man, Arthur. I want her to be independent and earn her own living in a way that gives her respect.’
‘You do not want her to marry?’
‘Perhaps, if she could marry the right sort of man – but how likely is it that she will?’
‘When the time is right, I could help her to mix in the right circles
