before Christmas,’ she explained slowly. ‘He was a major in the army and he was killed out in South Africa in an accident. There was only Papa and me, you see? My mama died when I was very small. I can hardly even remember her – at least, only little bits. And Papa used to tell me lots of stories about her, of course.’
She broke off for a moment and sighed, thinking that there was so much about her mother that she would probably now never know. ‘Anyway, there was a problem with Papa’s will. He hadn’t left any provision for me – no instructions about a guardian, no money. It was strange because, you see, he was always a very methodical sort of person. But it left me with almost nothing. The house was sold, they sent my governess away, and I had to find work at once – so I came to Sinclair’s.’
Sophie didn’t dare say more. Somehow, of everything, it was that last day at Orchard House, with the carpets up and dear old Miss Pennyfeather weeping uncontrollably as she got into the cab, that she could not risk thinking about; it was almost the worst memory of all. She gave a small shrug and fell silent.
Sophie might not have said much, but Lil had been able to see the emotions flickering across her new friend’s face as she talked: confusion, frustration, sadness. ‘Gosh,’ Lil murmured quietly, feeling suddenly very conscious of just how flimsy her own troubles sounded by comparison. She felt an unexpected surge of fondness for the family home in Twickenham, with its green lawns mowed to bowling-green smoothness, and Mother entertaining callers to tea in the drawing room. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to say or do something to comfort Sophie, but all at once she felt unsure of her words.
In the silence that had fallen, they heard a rattling sound, and they both looked up. Then the door burst open and Violet almost fell through into the storeroom. ‘The – the door was locked,’ she said, confused.
Sophie jumped to her feet at once. ‘Quickly – before Mrs Milton sees you!’ she urged. Understanding at once, Lil grabbed the hat-boxes she had come for and darted swiftly past Violet, through the door and away, just as Edith’s high-pitched voice could be heard approaching.
‘I just don’t know where Sophie is I’m afraid, Mrs Milton. She didn’t finish that polishing and I haven’t seen her for ages. I suppose she’s wandered off somewhere. Some people think they’re too good to do a proper day’s work like the rest of us.’
‘Did you want me, Mrs Milton?’ called Sophie swiftly.
Mrs Milton came into the doorway and looked around approvingly. ‘Oh there you are, Sophie. I knew you couldn’t be far away. Well, well, and look at this! You’ve got the whole delivery tidied away and the storeroom looking perfect. You have worked hard!’
Sophie smiled and said nothing, but heaved an inward sigh of relief as she whisked past Edith’s angry face and out of the room.
A few hours later, Mr Sinclair’s walk around the store had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction, and the clock downstairs in the Entrance Hall was chiming six slow chimes. Sophie’s feet ached, her shoulders ached, and she was prickly all over with tiredness. And tomorrow she would have to come back here again to work another long day – and the next day, and the next day, and the day after that . . .
‘Well, girls, you’ve done a fine job,’ said Mrs Milton, looking flushed with pleasure. Mr Sinclair had been satisfied with the department and Mr Cooper had given her a few very rare words of praise. ‘Mr Cooper has given me a shilling extra for each of you because of all your hard work. Now off you go, and mind you are looking your very smartest and not a moment late in the morning.’
The girls were almost too tired to say goodnight to each other in the cloakroom as they pulled on their coats and hats, and hurried out towards home. Sophie dawdled for a moment, knowing that Edith and Minnie would also be going back to the lodging house, and not feeling at all eager to walk with them.
She thought, with a feeling of great satisfaction, of the extra shilling in her pocket. Not so long ago, a shilling had meant almost nothing to her, but now it spoke to her of all kinds of possibilities: a ribbon, perhaps, to trim her hat; or maybe she could save it and put it towards a new pair of gloves because her old ones were getting so very worn. At any rate, she could treat herself to some buns for tea, she thought.
As she went out on to the street, she caught sight of a rather dirty young man – scarcely more than a boy, really – sitting on a step by the staff entrance. His head was down, and she noticed that his arm was in a rough sort of sling. Vagrants weren’t supposed to hang around the store, but it was the end of the day, and he looked ill and exhausted – much more exhausted than she felt herself, she thought, with a stab of sympathy for him.
She considered the shilling in her pocket. In the past, she would have given a shilling to a poor young man like that without even thinking about it. But now, she found herself wrestling with her conscience. Of course she ought to give it to him, she told herself sternly. But a whole shilling! She had worked so hard all day – she had earned that money. She made up her mind to walk on, but even as she began to move forward, she turned back again. Papa would never have forgiven her.
Rather reluctantly, she went up to the young man and handed him the shilling. Looking surprised, he took it.
‘Thank you, miss,’ he said, doffing his cap.
Sophie nodded awkwardly, and went on her way.
It would have been nice to have a new ribbon for her hat, she reflected as she walked down Piccadilly, but she supposed she could do without one for now. Although she still regretted the loss of the buns, she felt she was, after all, walking a little more lightly as she went towards her lodgings.
It had turned into an unexpectedly pleasant evening. The air was still damp, but the last strains of light were soft and warm, the kind of pinkish-grey colour that in the fashion papers they called ashes of roses. The street was bustling with people like her, spilling out of shops and offices and making their way home.
She joined the tide, but before she had gone very far, she stopped abruptly, realising that she had forgotten to bring home Billy’s jacket. She turned back at once: there was nothing for it but to return to the shop. She couldn’t risk leaving it there for Mr Cooper or Mrs Milton – or worse, Edith – to discover tomorrow morning. Wishing her feet didn’t hurt quite so much, she made herself hurry back down the street in the direction of Sinclair’s. If she were quick, she would easily get back before the long process of locking up for the night was completed.
The poor young man had vanished from the step now – probably off somewhere buying buns with her shilling, she thought grudgingly. The store was shrouded in darkness, with only a few lights gleaming from the very top of the building, where Mr Sinclair had his own luxurious private apartments. The staff entrance was locked, but as she had hoped, the door that led into the shop from the stable-yard was still open. Hoping to slip in and out without being noticed by anyone, Sophie made her way back inside.
It was strange being in the store after hours. The ground floor was completely silent and still and yet there seemed to be a faint humming sound in the air. The shapes of the counters and chairs looked unearthly in the dark, and little bits of light from the street outside caught and shimmered in the looking-glasses, casting piercing silvery gleams through the shadows. For a moment or two she hesitated, but then she roused herself to hurry forward towards the back staircase the staff used. She wished she had used one of the main staircases instead when she saw how dark it was, but she hastened onwards anyway, trying not to jump at every creak or rustle. It was a relief when she reached the Millinery Department. Rummaging through the hat-boxes, she at last found the one containing the jacket, took it out and bundled it up quickly in a bit of brown paper. On her way back
