Читать книгу The Clockwork Sparrow - Katherine Woodfine - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

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 younger ones gazed at her, but Edith scowled. It was clear she wasn’t about to sit by and let Her Ladyship beat her to become Mrs Milton’s assistant.

Sophie’s mind was racing. An extra five shillings a week! That might even be enough to move out of her awful lodgings and find some nicer rooms somewhere. Of course, it would never be anything like Orchard House – that had gone forever. But at least it might begin to feel something like a home.

Mrs Milton continued: ‘I will expect you all to work your very hardest today. So to begin – Ellie and Violet, all of those boxes need to be cleared away. Sophie, you may finish that display over in the window. Edith and Minnie, I want to see those display cases polished until they sparkle. I won’t have Mr Sinclair finding so much as a speck of dust in my department!’

Edith looked furious to have been given something as lowly as polishing to do when Sophie had all the fun of arranging a display. As she went to fetch dusters, she shot the other girl a poisonous glance, but Sophie ignored her, determined to focus only on her task. A tower of hat-boxes stood before her, each containing a lovely new spring hat to be removed from its delicate tissue paper wrappings, uncovering a riot of silk flowers, huge chiffon bows, frills of lace and nodding ostrich plumes. Some were topped with artificial birds or fruit, others wreathed in layers of frothy net and tulle like something that might be served up in the store’s Confectionery Department. She turned each hat to and fro in her hands, deciding how it might be best displayed, enjoying the soft brush of velvet against her skin, a satin ribbon sliding between her fingers, the crisp delicacy of a net veil.

They were strangely evocative things. A pink organza recalled a frock she had once had for dancing class; a green-striped bow reminded her of one of Miss Pennyfeather’s Sunday hats; this velvet was like the dress she had worn when she had first come to Sinclair’s. Already, it seemed like a very long time ago, although in fact it was barely two months.

At fourteen, they had said she was too old for an orphanage: she was considered no longer a child, and old enough to support herself. Instead, they had sent her to an employment agency, where two ladies had looked her up and down as she stood there, dressed like a child with a muslin pinafore over her frock, her skirts barely touching the tops of her boots.

‘She’s very small, isn’t she, Charlotte?’

‘Undersized. Not much work in her.’

‘And look at those hands! Soft as butter.’

‘A spoilt little thing, I should say.’

Sophie had wanted to protest that she was not spoilt, but they had begun to fling questions at her. Could she cook? Could she launder? Could she work a typewriter? She could only shake her head. It had soon become clear that a girl who had passed no examinations and who had no idea how to begin to set about cooking a dinner or scrubbing a floor wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with options when it came to finding a way to earn money. French conversation and dancing were all very well, but they would do nothing to help her now.

It was as she was trailing miserably back from the agency, a few flakes of snow just beginning to fall, that she had first found Sinclair’s. Work on the building had still been going on, but the enormous hoarding around it was already plastered in advertisements, and in spite of the cold, people were lingering to read them. But what had made Sophie stop and stare was an enormous sign that read, in scarlet letters, Staff Wanted. Almost in a moment, she had known that sign was meant for her.

The next day she had put up her hair and let down the skirts of her most grown-up gown. She had perched on the edge of a hard chair, carefully answering the questions put to her by Mr Cooper – a serious-looking man with a close-trimmed beard and a severe black suit. She had felt almost absurd relief when he had offered her a position as a salesgirl in the Millinery Department, starting at ten shillings a week – just enough to afford bed and board in a cheap lodging house for working ladies.

It was what Papa would have wanted, she had reflected as she toiled back to her lodgings through the snow. She knew that he would have expected her to buck up and make the best of things, just as people always did in the military tales he loved to relate. Perhaps she might not be facing wild beasts or a native uprising in the jungle, but she could be brave and not make a fuss about embarking on this peculiar new life.

Now, with the hat display almost complete, Sophie paused for a moment and gazed down at the street below her, thronged with Hansom cabs and motor taxis, cycles whizzing daringly between them, and omnibuses, bright with coloured advertisements for Pear’s Soap and Fry’s Chocolate Cream. The pavements were crowded with people and as she watched, Sophie felt a flutter of excitement to see how many of them were casting curious glances up at the huge facade of Sinclair’s.

‘Now, Sophie, there’s no time for dreaming today. That looks very nice but if you’ve finished I wish you’d run some errands for me,’ came Mrs Milton’s voice, and Sophie started guiltily back from the window. ‘These hats need to go down to the dressing rooms on the first floor. They’re for the mannequins to wear in the dress parade.’

Edith, still busy polishing, looked pleased at the sight of Sophie being asked to do something so menial. ‘I’m sure Her Ladyship won’t care for that,’ she whispered loudly to Minnie.

As a matter of fact, Edith was quite wrong, Sophie thought crossly as she went down the stairs, carefully balancing the stack of hat-boxes. The truth was that she was happy to have any chance to look around the store and felt proud that she already knew almost every corner. The mannequins’ dressing room was one place that she had not yet seen, and what was more, she was intrigued by the mannequins themselves – lovely young ladies who had been hired especially for the purpose of modelling frocks and furs and hats. Once the store was open, there would be a dress show once a day, where they would parade before the store’s most important customers in a specially decorated salon in the Ladies’ Fashions Department. The mannequins were called the ‘Captain’s Girls’ as rumour had it that Edward Sinclair had insisted on selecting every one himself. Sophie had heard it said that they were as glamorous as stars of the West End’s chorus lines.

She soon found the dressing room in the maze of staff corridors on the first floor, and tapped politely at the door. Hearing no response, she went inside. Like every room at Sinclair’s, the dressing room was beautifully furnished, with soft chairs, looking-glasses, bright lamps and several rails of beautiful gowns, but it was otherwise empty – with the exception of one dark-haired beauty, who appeared to be half in and half out of an evening dress. There was no doubt that she must be one of the Captain’s Girls. Sophie began to retreat at once.

‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t know anyone was here,’ she murmured, but before she could close the door again, the girl looked up and smiled at her.

‘I say – don’t go!’ she exclaimed in a hearty voice that didn’t match her appearance in the slightest. ‘Come in, do, and maybe you can help me with this ghastly thing. I simply can’t make it fasten.’

Sophie put the hat-boxes down on a table, but as she approached the girl she had to bite back a gasp of amazement. It was as if a goddess had appeared before her, dressed in a white silk petticoat. Tall and statuesque, with a mass of rich, chocolate-brown hair piled on top of her head, enormous, long-lashed dark eyes and a creamy silk-and-velvet complexion, she was by far the most beautiful girl Sophie had ever seen. No wonder Mr Sinclair had chosen her to be one of the Captain’s Girls, she thought, trying not to stare.

‘I can’t seem to get the silly old bodice done up,’ the girl was saying cheerfully, clutching uselessly at the evening dress. ‘Do you think you could help? Oh thanks awfully. This is the frock I’m supposed to be wearing for the first dress show tomorrow, you see. I’m due to go to see Monsieur Pascal, so he can decide on a hairstyle to complement it, and I don’t suppose they’d like it much if I went roaming the place in my petticoats . . . Oh I say, you are doing a good job.’

Sophie had managed to untangle the dress and was looking it over. ‘I think maybe your corset needs to be tighter,’ she suggested.

‘You’re probably right,’ said the girl with a heavy sigh. Now that they were closer together, it was clear that she was younger than Sophie had first thought – perhaps only about sixteen. ‘I can’t bear a tight corset. So hateful not being able to breathe properly – don’t you think? Oh well, you have to suffer for your art I suppose, not that this is exactly what I’d call art, but you know what I mean. At least I’m only going to be doing this for a little while.’ She paused for a moment to gaze at her reflection in the mirror while Sophie tugged hard at the corset strings, and then went on, in a more confidential tone: ‘I’m really just doing it to earn a bit of money while I try and get more work in the theatre. You see, what I really want is to be an actress. I’ve just got my first real part – nothing like proper acting, just singing and dancing in the chorus in a silly show at the Fortune Theatre, but it’s a start.’

She stepped into the rustling silk skirt, and as Sophie lifted it up and fastened the tapes, she continued. ‘I know acting isn’t exactly respectable. My parents absolutely loathe the idea. Father’s awfully cross with me about it. As for Mother, she’s in a terrible pet that one of her friends is going to come in here and see me modelling frocks. They think I ought to be at home doing dreary piano practice and going to tennis parties and waiting for some stuffy fellow to decide to marry me. Could you imagine anything more dull?’ She pulled a face so expressive that Sophie couldn’t help laughing.

‘But then I’ve always known I was meant to tread the boards. It’s just the only thing I could do,’ the girl went on. Then she added hastily, ‘I mean, working here is jolly fine too of course. What do you do? Are you a salesgirl?’

Sophie was doing up the dozens of tiny buttons at the back of the bodice. ‘Yes, in the Millinery Department.’

‘Hats! How jolly! I love a good hat, don’t you? I say, this is rather a nice frock, isn’t it?’

Sophie gazed at the girl’s reflection in the mirror. If she had looked like a goddess before, she looked even more like one now. The gown was pale gold, with a pattern of peacock feathers on the sweeping skirt and a closely fitted bodice elaborately beaded in blue, green and gold. The girl turned first one way and the other, the rustling skirts swinging, and then gave Sophie a wide grin.

‘I think this must be meant for you,’ said Sophie, removing a hat from one of the boxes she had brought – an exquisite creation in green velvet trimmed with peacock feathers.

‘Thanks awfully for your help. I’m Lil by the way – well, Lilian Rose, if you want to be proper.’

‘Sophie Taylor.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sophie Taylor,’ said Lil, breezing out of the room. Sophie followed her, the empty hat-box under one arm.

‘I say –’ Lil, who didn’t seem to be able to stop talking for more than a second at a time, was just beginning again, when they both stopped suddenly in the passageway at the sound of a voice. It was whispering from behind a clothes rail hung with evening dresses that had been left to one side: ‘Pssst! Sophie! ’

To Sophie’s astonishment, she saw the young porter from the cloakroom hovering behind the rack of gowns. His face was pink and alarmed.

‘What is it?’

He motioned for her to come behind the rack and she did so, Lil following at once, looking intrigued.

As soon as she saw him, Sophie realised why he looked so unhappy. His smart blue uniform jacket was smeared from neck to waist with what looked like mud, but which smelled distinctly worse.

‘Hullo,’ said Lil cheerfully. ‘Are you a friend of Sophie’s? I’m Lil. I say – you’re in rather a state aren’t you? Whatever have you been up to?’

Billy gaped at her for a moment, evidently confused and horrified to have been discovered looking like this by an impossibly beautiful girl in an evening gown. Then he looked desperately at Sophie. ‘I’ve tried to get it off but it just won’t budge,’ he said urgently. ‘The girls will laugh their heads off if they see me like this – and Uncle Sid’ll give me a walloping. And Mr Cooper will sack me for sure. Do you know any way that I could clean it?’

Sophie became serious. Mr Cooper had made it abundantly clear that everything – and everyone – would be expected to be quite perfect before Mr Sinclair carried out his inspection later in the day. She had already seen Cooper dismiss staff who did not come up to his exacting standards. She thought quickly. ‘It will come off easily enough, don’t worry. But it needs laundering properly. We need to let it dry, then brush it down and wash it.’

The sound of voices passing by made her break off and for a moment they all crouched down behind the rack, hoping not to be seen. Billy tried his hardest not to brush mud against any of the gowns.

‘Gosh, this is rather a lark,’ murmured Lil.

‘Sssshhh! ’ Billy and Sophie hissed together.

Sophie turned back to Billy. ‘We need to find you a spare jacket to borrow, just for a day or two. Then I can take this away and wash it and no one will be any the wiser.’

Billy’s face brightened. ‘There must be some spare ones somewhere,’ he said hopefully.

‘In the basement, I think,’ said Sophie, thinking quickly. ‘I’m not sure exactly where though.’

Lil’s eyes lit up. ‘I do!’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw some uniforms in one of the little storerooms down there.’

‘Whatever were you doing there?’ Sophie asked, looking curiously at their new acquaintance. The labyrinth of twisting passages and storerooms in the basement was one place that even she had not much wanted to explore.

‘Oh, just taking a look around,’ said Lil, airily. She grinned. ‘One of those salesmen – Jim something-or-other – was rather insistent about giving me a tour.’

Sophie laughed, but the sound of Sidney Parker’s voice rumbling somewhere not very far away from them made her hurry on. ‘Take that jacket off and I’ll deal with it,’ she said quickly to Billy. ‘Then you and Lil can go down the back stairs to the basement and find another one.’

‘What – in my vest ?’ demanded Billy, pink-faced.

Distinctly, they heard Sidney’s voice calling, ‘Billy! Billy! Where the devil has the boy got to now?’

‘Quickly – go!’ Sophie hissed.

Mortified, Billy wriggled out of his jacket and flung it to her. ‘But what will you do with it?’ he whispered.

Sophie opened the empty hat-box, whisked the jacket inside and put on the lid.

‘Perfect! Come on!’ said Lil cheerfully, grabbing Billy by the arm, and flashing a grin at Sophie as they disappeared.