kicked at the ground, feeling bored and irritable. If only there was something else he could do instead of being a rotten old shop porter. A police detective, solving crimes; the commander of one of those new submarines, keeping the British Empire safe from her enemies; or even an author, writing thrilling tales like those he read in Boys of Empire. Or perhaps he could be a man like the Captain, an adventurer travelling the world, collecting exotic jewels . . . But it was no good even imagining it. Fellows like him just didn’t do that sort of thing.
He wandered gloomily into the stables, thinking that he might be able to find a quiet corner to get on with his story. Bessy, the chestnut mare, put her head over the door of her stall as he approached, and he paused to stroke her. Now, being a cowboy, that would be something, he thought vaguely. Riding on his valiant steed across the great plains of America, like Deadwood Dick or Buffalo Bill –
Suddenly, he stopped short. Something was moving under the hay in the empty stall next to Bessy’s – something much too big to be a rat, or even Blackie the cat.
He gathered his wits quickly. It was probably just some kid mucking about. Sometimes there were children hanging about the store, waifs and strays begging or hoping to earn a penny. Uncle Sid always ordered them away, threatening to set the law on them if they came near the place again. Well if his uncle could do it, he could too. He puffed out his chest and stood taller.
‘Who’s there?’ he demanded. Nothing happened and he began to wonder if he had imagined the rustling movement. He raised his voice and said clearly, much as he imagined the great Montgomery Baxter himself might speak: ‘I know you’re there. Show yourself at once.’
To his astonishment, the hay twitched again – first he saw the glint of a dark suspicious eye, and then a form beginning to emerge. But it wasn’t just a kid, he saw with surprise and then with growing anxiety. It was a youth – a young man really – probably a few years older than he was himself. Bigger than him, anyway. He looked filthy with a lot of dark, curly hair straggling out from underneath an old cap. But what Billy noticed straight away was that his face was badly bruised, and that he held his arm awkwardly. The young man was injured, Billy realised, but all the same he found himself stepping back. It wasn’t that this stranger was threatening exactly, but he wasn’t afraid either: his face showed nothing but a sort of sharp-edged curiosity.
‘Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?’ Billy blustered.
The young man said nothing.
‘You’re trespassing. You’re not allowed to be here. I should get the police.’
The fellow gave him a quick, searching look. Then he spoke. ‘I’m not doing any harm,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘I’ll not take nothing. Let me be.’
‘I can’t do that!’ Billy exclaimed. He couldn’t even imagine what Uncle Sid would say if he found that Billy had let some ruffian hang about in the stables. He gathered himself, and said in a voice that was meant to be just as stern as before, except that it would wobble in a most irritating way: ‘You’re to clear off at once, hear me?’
To his annoyance, the stranger suddenly grinned at him. ‘Think you’re a toughie, don’t you, mate?’ he said. ‘Well, all right then, just for you I’ll be off – but I’ll be going in my own time. Why don’t you get back to your work like a good boy?’
Billy felt his fists clenching. Why did everyone always treat him like he was some sort of stupid, useless kid? This fellow was the worst of the lot of them, looking at him with a silly smirk on his dirty face. Well, he would show him. His fear had fled now, and he stepped forwards boldly, striking out with his fists. But all at once, and more deftly than Billy could ever have imagined, the stranger shot out one foot, and Billy found himself face down on the stable floor in a great pile of dirt.
By the time he had picked himself up again, spluttering with indignation, his jacket plastered with horse muck and straw, the strange young man had completely vanished.
Stepping on to the shop floor was like stepping inside a chocolate box. Sophie’s feet sank into the thick, soft carpet and she sucked in a deep breath of the rich, perfumed air. She had been falling in love with the store since the very first moment she saw it on the day of her interview, when it had still been noisy with the sounds of sawing and hammering, and had smelled of sawdust and paint. Even then, it had seemed more like a place from a fairy story than any dull, ordinary shop.
Now, a reverent hush hung in the air, and she found herself almost tiptoeing as she crossed the shop floor, gazing around her at the immense chandeliers, the glittering looking-glasses, the glossy walnut panelling. It smelled luscious: no sawdust now, but a glorious fragrance of cocoa and candied violets and some other spicy scent, like the cigars that Papa used to smoke after dinner. The ceiling was painted with a mural of cherubs luxuriating upon soft pink clouds, and around her were gleaming glass-topped counters, each displaying an array of beautiful objects for customers to admire, from blue glass bottles of eau-de-cologne to prettily enamelled snuff-boxes. For now, though, there were no customers; the store was deserted. She only glimpsed the occasional salesgirl, whisking to and fro like a ghost as she put the final touches to a rainbow display of soft kid gloves, or ran a feather duster carefully over a collection of dainty rouge and powder boxes.
Sophie wished she had time to linger, but she knew she ought to hurry. She made her way towards the staff staircase at the back of the shop – the grand main staircases and the lifts were, of course, to be for the customers only. But even the staff staircase had the same air of impossible luxury and she couldn’t resist dawdling to trail her fingers along the smooth, curving caramel-coloured banister.
The Millinery Department was on the third floor, next to Ladies’ Fashions. The room itself looked more like an elegant lady’s boudoir than any hat shop she had seen before. The large windows were hung with beautiful draped curtains; chairs with silk cushions were carefully positioned before oval-shaped mirrors in gilt frames; and bowls of sweet-smelling flowers stood on side tables. Mrs Milton, Head of the Millinery Department, was standing by the counter, hustling all the girls together like a distracted hen with a brood of wayward chicks.
‘Now where is Sophie? Oh, there you are. Do hurry along, dear! Minnie, keep those sticky fingers off my nice clean counter. And, Edith, take those bracelets off at once. You know as well as I do what Mr Cooper would say. Girls, really ! We have a great deal to do today.’
As Sophie joined the circle, Edith smirked and whispered something to Ellie. Sophie ignored her, turning her attention to Mrs Milton, who was still speaking: ‘This is our last day to prepare before the grand opening tomorrow. Mr Sinclair himself will be walking around before the end of the day to inspect the whole store, so everything must be quite perfect. That includes all the storerooms as well as the shop floor.’ She beamed at them all and her tone shifted slightly, ‘Now, I have some exciting news. Mr Cooper tells me I may appoint one of you as my assistant. Whoever is chosen will receive an extra five shillings a week, but will also have a great deal of extra responsibility. She will be in charge of the department when I am away, and will help to choose our stock. I shall be watching you work in the next few days once the store has opened, and then I shall make my decision, so mind you all do your best.’
A little murmur of interest ran through the group of girls. Who would be chosen? Surely not Violet or Minnie – they were only apprentices, straight out of school. Ellie was the oldest, but she was rather slow and apt to make heavy weather of any complicated tasks. No, it would have to be either Edith or Sophie – and they all knew that Sophie had been singled out and praised by Mr Cooper during the training. The
