THE next thing to do, clearly, was to visit the tea-shops. James took
Mary to the Oxford Circus depot himself. He was particularly proud of
the Oxford Circus depot, because the girls wore frilled aprons and green
dresses, and the washing-up was done by machines. Their gay attire was a
recognition of the girls' good looks--they had been chosen by a manager
who was a real lady and had an eye for a pretty face. She explained the
thing to Mary:--At Oxford Circus their clientele was superior to most,
and the girls came to them not so much to get married, as they came to
shops where the customers were chiefly clerks, but because they liked
the feeling of being in fashionable life. So they naturally appreciated
the chance of looking more elegant than black woollen dresses permit.
Only last year one of them had left to be a mannequin at Ormesby's. A
gentleman from Ormesby's had been lunching at the depot and noticed her
figure. And of course that had made the others more anxious than ever to
be smart. It was very natural, and one couldn't be hard on them,
especially as the ladies liked it so--they felt more as if they were in
Bond Street, though the prices were the Imperial's usual prices--but she
did have to say a word sometimes about high heels. Mrs. Heyham could see
for herself that it wasn't safe carrying trays up and down those marble
stairs with high heels. And then there was the tap, tap, tapping.
Besides, high heels give so much trouble with feet, and they had to
think of that, if Mrs. Heyham would forgive her seeming vulgar.
James nodded hastily at this, and changed the subject. He liked to think
that the manager looked after the girls' health, but really their feet
were not things that he cared to discuss. He preferred to contemplate
their trim waists and the clever manipulation of their hair. That was
another point in which they differed from the attendants in less stylish
places, and Mrs. Creemer, her voice dropped in a manner suited to
James's modesty, did not fail to mention it. It appeared that she had
said only yesterday, "Miss Perkins, my dear, off with them pads! A
simple side parting and a wave over the ear is what you want. Just a
touch of black velvet, perhaps, as you're fair, but nothing showy!" She
did her best to take only superior young ladies, but you couldn't expect
them all to have taste like your own.
Mary would have felt a little overwhelmed by Mrs. Creemer if James had
not taken her so coolly. James, of course, met women like this every
day. He was their employer, he had business dealings with them, though
she had never realised it. There was nothing about James to make her
realise it. He lived in this atmosphere, but it did not touch him. Mary
looked quickly, almost shyly, at her admirable husband; then she brought
her thoughts back to the matter in hand. After all, the woman might be
vulgar, but she was also praiseworthy; she seemed to have both a kind
heart and sound common-sense. That was a great deal, and meanwhile Mary
could sincerely praise the Oxford Circus tea and smile at the Miss
Somerville who brought it.
This visit was a social affair, a mere introduction and Miss Percival
had not come. James, naturally, did not always care to have Miss
Percival about. But next day investigation began in earnest. Mary chose,
this time, a branch in Chelsea, and in the early afternoon she drove
there with James's order, Miss Percival and Miss Percival's list of
questions. It was a long list and Mary did not feel sure that all the
questions were necessary. But she said nothing, for she respected
experience and certified ability.
The manager of depot C.L. was a harassed looking lady who received them
with an air almost of helplessness. Certainly let them come in, and she
would do what she could to tell them anything they wanted to know.
Perhaps--brightening--they would sit down and let her give them a cup of
tea!
Mary praised the tea as she had already praised it, and as she would
continue, steadily, to praise it during the next six months. Then she
asked the waitress, a pretty girl of about eighteen, what her name was
and whether she was happy.
The girl said that her name was Florrie Wilson. She did not seem to know
whether she was happy or not. Pressed, she said yes, that she was a
lucky one, she had been taken on straight in Coronation year, when there
were the Colonial troops in Chelsea and people coming to see them, so
she hadn't had to do her year's washing-up. And then Miss Sower getting
ill and leaving she was kept on. She liked Chelsea, she thought it was
gayer than Maida Hill where she lived.
She worked from eight in the morning to nine at night, with the
intervals that the law prescribes, and she came and went very
comfortably in the blue motor-bus that runs from the World's End.
Florrie's mother hadn't at first quite approved of Florrie's going about
so much alone in motor-buses, but then Florrie's mother was a real lady,
only her health had failed because she was left a widow. And Florrie had
come to work in the depot not because she needed work, but because she
liked her independence and a bit of fun. She left home at seven sharp,
and she got back about ten. She had Sundays off, and alternate Bank
Holidays.
At this point Mrs. Black, the manager, intervened and sent Florrie off
to a customer. The manager was of opinion, she said, that Florrie was a
talker. She preferred, it was clear, that their information should come
reliably from her rather than erratically from Miss Florrie Wilson.
Mary, left to herself, would not have submitted Mrs. Black to any very
fierce ordeal. She was feeling pleased, pleased with Florrie for looking
so pretty and speaking so nicely, and with herself for obtaining so much
information in so pleasant a way. She was glad that she had resolved to
make this inquiry, it was interesting, more than interesting,
fascinating, and it would not be impossible to make a success of it. But
there, at her elbow, was Miss Percival, and on the table before Miss
Percival was the list. Mary was reminded that they were there to be
thorough and scientific and with the smile of one who does her duty she
intimated that Miss Percival's moment had come.
The inquisition began happily. Yes, it was perfectly true that the
company only took girls who were not dependent on their wages for their
living. Not that they gave bad wages, but you couldn't live as a young
lady ought to live on eleven shillings a week, bonus instead of tips,
making it up to twelve. The manager thought that was good money, she
herself had begun--in another company--as kitchen help at seven
shillings, and kitchen work was man's work, not girl's work at all.
Mary thought that sounded satisfactory. If the girls' parents supported
them you could set that off against their board and lodging, and that
left them with what any of her younger servants would have considered
excellent wages. She was surprised when she saw the expression with
which Mrs. Black received the next question. Mary had hardly noticed it
on the list, but Mrs. Black seemed to think that it was deliberately and
pointedly offensive. How did she find out whether the girls were being
supported at home or not? She went round to take their characters, just
as any lady would, as Mrs. Heyham would herself. And she could assure
Mrs. Heyham's secretary that she was just as particular as any lady. How
did she know by that that they were being supported?--Well, she used her
common-sense. It might be friends of the girls having her on, of course,
but she didn't think so. She couldn't be hard on them, of course, she
wasn't that sort of woman. In fact, she was only a plain woman not
accustomed to answering questions. All the same she knew, though she
mightn't be able to explain exactly how, that there wasn't one girl in
the place who wasn't living in a comfortable respectable home. She had
worked for the Imperial fourteen years, and Mrs. Heyham might take it
from her that she knew the difference between a young lady and a low
common girl.
Miss Percival took this down without any change of expression and Mary
said kindly that the girls looked very happy and contented. Mrs. Black
propitiated, replied she did her best for them, and Miss Percival
proceeded to the matter of aprons.
Aprons, it appeared, were a burning subject. Opinions differed as to who
ought to supply the aprons, who ought to pay for them, who ought to pay
for washing them, and how many aprons one ought to be called upon to
wear in one week, supposing one were unlucky with splashing urns and
dirty tables. Mrs. Black, apparently, was all for peace. She couldn't
allow herself to be trampled on, but she didn't go looking for trouble.
Some managers made the girls change if they got so much as a little
water or milk down them that took the gloss off, but in her opinion, in
Chelsea, there was no need except for real stains. And she must say she
did not think that could be called unreasonable. For the other rules she
was not responsible, they were the firm's regulations.
Mary was accustomed to regard difficulties like this from the employer's
point of view, and she did not think the matter of great importance.
Miss Percival passed on to the subject of fines for being late.
Here again it was admitted that some managers were tartars. In some
tea-shops--not necessarily the Imperial's--the girls were treated really
hard. But as long as the work did not suffer and the Inspector was
pleased with her returns Mrs. Black did feel that five minutes sometimes
in the morning might be passed over. She knew that she was giving
herself away to Mrs. Heyham in saying so, but when a lady asked her a
question no one should say that she didn't speak the truth. It occurred
to her as an afterthought that there weren't any fines, of course, only
part of the eleven shillings took the form of a bonus at the end of the
weds if the girls had been punctual.
Mary thought that sounded very fair, Miss Percival nodded, and took it
down. Among her other accomplishments was that of taking shorthand
notes.
When all the questions had been answered, Mary, whose smile was becoming
a little mechanical, rose to go. After all she had come to the tea-rooms
in order to make life easier for the girls, not to ruffle the feelings
of the managers. Miss Percival rose too, but instead of standing back
while Mary said good-bye she turned to her employer with the suggestion
that they should now see the washing-up.
Mary had forgotten the washing-up and she accepted the reminder as
meekly as if it had been a rebuke. "Oh, yes, please, the washing-up!"
she agreed.
Mrs. Black assented with a "Certainly if you would care to, Mrs.
Heyham," that, together with the sweep of her skirt as she turned,
demonstrated sufficiently that she took her orders from the lady and
from the lady alone. She led them downstairs, past the kitchens, and
Mary reproached herself for feeling glad that the kitchens were served
by men and laid her under no obligation to enter them.
As they went the manager explained that it wasn't every company did
things like the Imperial. Raised boards for the girls to stand on, and
as much clean water as you liked, and a good big room with varnished
walls. The manager, before she rose to that dignity, had washed up in
places where you stood in a swamp and rats ran between your feet, and
the water was more grease than water and as black as ink.
Mary shuddered, then she felt proud of James. They were downstairs now
and the manager opened the door of the washing-up room. For a basement
it was clean and light, but it was as damp as a bath-room after a hot
bath. And it smelled, of stale food, of dirty water, of washing-powder,
of well-worn clothes. Steam rose from the sinks, water dripped from the
racks of clean china fixed to the walls, the floor was wet, and the
paint on the woodwork glistened. There were six girls at work, two
scouring saucepans and kitchen utensils, four handling the
cherry-coloured china that looked so pretty against the white walls.
Their faces were flushed and their hair hung limp over their foreheads.
"They come to this first," the manager was explaining, "and go upstairs
afterwards."
The girls washed thoroughly and methodically. Mary felt certain that
when the plates and cups left their hands, they were clean.
"That's what I call good conscientious work," she told Mrs. Black.
That lady brightened. "I do my best, Mrs. Heyham," she replied. "You'll
not find a smear of mustard on a plate upstairs once in six months. And
so it should be, with the beautiful water we get. And the linen the
same, as much water as you like, and open-air drying. Customers say that
what they get at home don't touch it."
At that moment Miss Percival, who had been watching one of the girls
cleaning saucepans, intervened. "Do you have much fainting?" she asked.
"Never had such a thing!" Mrs. Black stared straight in front of her as
if Miss Percival were disembodied. "At least," she added, with the air
of one who was anxious to be absurdly truthful, "there was a young girl
here who fainted once. I put it down to them silly corsets myself." She
turned to Mary, as if to invite her sympathy.
The girl with the saucepans straightened herself and tried to appear
thoroughly well. Mary, noticing her, looked round for a chair, but
discovered that there was none.
"Oughtn't she to sit down for a minute?" she suggested. She felt sorry
for the girl, who looked delicate.
"There again!" Mrs. Black's voice suggested that she was put
out--"there's two chairs provided for this room, and if you'll believe
me they puts them into the passage! Says they get in the way!"
Here one of the girls turned round. "'Tisn't us that puts them into the
passage, Mrs. Black! It's the kitchen as takes them, as you know!"
"And what's the kitchen doing in here?" retorted Mrs. Black. "Anyway,
you go along and get one for the lady!"
The girl protested. "It's as much as my life is worth to put my head
inside the door!"
Her superior looked at her with that fine irony which only the powerful
can afford. "I suppose you expect me to do your fetching and carrying,"
she was beginning, when a voice from the corner made her turn. By this
time the girl with the saucepans had succeeded in making the sink and
the wooden racks stand still instead of swooping and whirling round her.
"Don't get no chair for me, Mrs. Black!" she urged. "I don't want to sit
down. It was only a feeling of giddiness like, and if we gets a chair
we'll have them fellows in here after it again!"
This seemed the general opinion of the room and Mrs. Black endorsed it.
"You might have the politeness to thank Mrs. Heyham!" she told the
sufferer, and then turning to Mary, "What we have to put up with from
that kitchen you'd never believe! Why, the girls don't dare go into the
pantry to eat their dinner for fear of their impertinence! And good room
as this is, it isn't a place for eating, with all the steam and the
dirty plates. It puts you off!"
"But they oughtn't to eat in here!" Mary looked round with dismay.
It appeared that the washing-up girls were not supposed, strictly, to
take their meals in the building at all, they were supposed to go home.
But some of them lived far away, so Mrs. Black, if it hadn't been for
the kitchen, would have let them have a bit of dinner in the pantry. The
company allowed their employees to have food at half price. The
waitresses ate their meals in the serving-room, or they could use the
cloak-room, but they didn't care to have the washing-up girls about.
They felt that what they had been through others could go through. Not
that they were unkind girls, but that was how they saw it.
Again Mary felt very glad that she had come. She did not like annoying
people and seeming inquisitive, but she was prepared to put up with
anything that would really lead to good. And it was clear to her that
there was a great deal that a tactful woman could do here. Some place
must be managed where these poor girls could eat their dinner in peace,
and they ought to sit at their work. She would tell Miss Percival to
note those two points.
As they passed through the restaurant on the way out, Mary saw Florrie
standing by one of the tables. Florrie smiled--she had an attractive
smile--and Mary nodded and smiled back. She told herself that she would
remember Florrie's name.
Mrs. Black took them to the door and said good-bye to them with a
wonderful brightening and softening of manner. The gratitude which she
expressed with great fervour was clearly not feigned, merely diverted
from the providence which had brought her so creditably through a trying
time. It would have been easier if she had known what Mrs. Heyham was
after. Inspectors she could manage, none better, whether they were
enemies from outside or so-called friends from headquarters, but Mary
had puzzled her. She oughtn't perhaps to have let on about the girls'
dinner, but she hadn't been able to resist the chance of a possible
score off the kitchen. Mrs. Heyham herself was all right, she felt sure,
but she didn't trust that secretary person. However, it was no use
worrying--she banished any remaining uneasiness, when the visitors had
gone, by telling Florrie to change her apron at once and never let Mrs.
Black see her in such a rag again.
Mary settled herself comfortably in the car. "Of course this has been
the most interesting day," she said. "It won't be so amusing when we've
been to a dozen of them. I suppose they are all very much alike."
Miss Percival seemed to hesitate for a moment, then she spoke. "It
depends a good deal on the manager I think. And in the B depots the
wages and hours are different."
"What are the B depots?" Mary was alert to increase her knowledge.
"They're in poor neighbourhoods and open for supper as well. The girls
work short hours one day and long the next and have lower wages, 10s.
instead of 11s. They get off at five on short days but the work's
harder."
Mary smiled at Miss Percival. "You must have studied the subject!" She
was pleased to recognise such zeal and initiative.
Miss Percival looked at the note-book that she held in her lap. "Yes,"
she said, "I was investigating it some time ago--I've worked in two or
three tea-shops myself. It's the only way of telling what the life is
really like."
Mary looked at her. This was most interesting! "But how useful--" she
began, then she checked herself. It would be better, perhaps, if she did
not, at any rate for the present, accept information from Miss Percival.
A friend of Rosemary's, she was certain to have theories about what she
had seen. And James would rather, Mary felt sure, that his wife formed
her own ideas from her own experience. She had better not even ask the
secretary whether one of the shops she had worked in had been the
Imperial's. Then she herself could not be biassed by Miss Percival's
chance remarks. "It must have been very exciting," she finished kindly.
Miss Percival did not seem stirred by the memories of its excitements.
"It was interesting," she said, and they talked of indifferent subjects
for the rest of the drive.
When Mrs. Heyham, hearing voices, looked into the drawing-room on her
way upstairs, she found Laura and Rosemary sitting over the fire. They
jumped up. "Here she is!" Laura called to her. "Well, mother darling, I
should love to think that you've unearthed a perfect hive of scandals!
But I don't really believe that your mind is suspicious enough!"
Mary stood by the door for a moment smiling at them. "I am so glad
you've come, my dear," she said; "I have some letters to write that will
take a quarter of an hour, but if you can wait, Laura, I will come down
and have another tea."
"But that's what I'm here for, darling, tea with you!" Laura blew a kiss
to her mother before the door shut behind her. Then the two girls went
back to their chairs. "She isn't suspicious enough--if there's anything
to find out!" Laura added.
Rosemary laughed. "Miss Percival will do the suspicion. But it isn't a
matter of finding out--it's merely seeing."
They were silent for a few minutes. Their minds were full of something
else, of the delightful topic that they had been discussing--Anthony's
career and Rosemary's future. Presently Laura leaned forward.
"Rosemary," she said, "are you simply happy and nothing more, or do you
find it all rather queer as well?"
Her shy tone made Rosemary feel a little shy. "How do you mean, queer?"
she asked, avoiding Laura's eyes. Laura hesitated. "I think it's the way
being in love makes you look at things that is so odd--as if nothing
mattered but yourself and one other person and a bundle of
feelings--what they feel and what you feel and what they feel about what
you feel. It is queer--it's the right word--to find these extraordinary
new emotions running all over your life. There doesn't seem anything for
them to have come out of. I don't feel in the least, sometimes, as if
they belonged to me--they've just appeared." She hesitated, and then
frowned. It was not easy to find words for her meaning. "And yet because
of them," she went on, as Rosemary did not speak, "the whole of the rest
of the world seems insignificant and far away, and you've become in a
sort of way unresponsive, unexpectant to it--it doesn't really matter.
Not like the mornings when one used to wake up and think that
anything--the most heavenly adventure--might happen that very day! One
doesn't even want the adventures--it's like losing a whole lot of tiny
delicate feelers, and getting instead of them a sort of anguished
sensitiveness to one set of impressions."
She finished on a questioning note, but Rosemary did not look up. This
was a discussion that she ought in theory to have welcomed eagerly.
Laura was offering her a new outlook, fresh experience--she had always
deplored the fact that women find it hard to be open or even candid with
one another about their fundamental emotions. And now that this chance
had come for a frank conversation with her sister she was embarrassed.
She hoped that Laura would say more--she was ready to listen, with all
the sympathy that she could command, to anything that Laura wished to
say. But she could not join in, she could not apply Laura's wisdom to
herself. She did not want to know, from Laura, what she was feeling or
what she was going to feel. That belonged to no one but her and Anthony.
Even remotely, Laura must not influence it. She had rather run blind and
unwarned into the future than lose the privacy and mystery of her
thoughts. Laura, after all, was her elder sister, capable of discussing
her with their mother. She ignored her question. "You mean," she said,
"that you leave off being interested in outside things."
Laura shook her head. "No, not exactly. You don't lose your interest, if
it's really the things you were keen about and not the romance and
excitement of being keen, but I think perhaps you grow more selfish
towards them." She looked thoughtfully into the fire.
"I don't see why!" Rosemary was not of an age to be skilful at
understanding other people's half-expressed subtleties.
Laura became conscious of her sister's reluctance. Rosemary must think,
she told herself, that she was complaining! "I suppose," she said
quickly, "that it's a phase women tend to go through. A phase of being
absorbed in subjective emotional things rather than in objective
intellectual ones. What made me think of it is that mother, thanks to
your idea, may be going to come out of it. We shall be able to see at
last what is really mother and what is only the attitude belonging to
what she has been taught. The more I think of it the more splendid I
think it will be for her."
Rosemary caught at this. "I am so glad! Only, Laura, did you notice what
she said just now? I don't believe she's going to let us see anything at
all!"
Laura laughed. "That's her darling conscience. It's father's business,
and its black secrets are father's secrets. She won't tell us anything,
but the point is that she will change. We have only to wait."
This was not enough for Rosemary. She had been hoping to hear exactly
and in detail what Mary thought of the tea-shops and their implications.
She had been hoping too, to slip into such talks a few incontrovertible
general principles. She was not sure that without some such help Mary
might not be carried away by her husband's point of view. "I hate
waiting," she said, "it's dull. Trent waits."
Laura laughed.