A Pearl for My Mistress

‘Oh!’

‘I bought some Fry’s instead. Is it okay?’

‘Yes! I love chocolate. I’ll give you the halfpenny back after the movie. Will it do?’

‘Ab-so-lu-te-ly!’

When Susan spoke, she often tried to emulate the glamorous gangster sweethearts she’d seen on screen. Hester found it adorable, and honestly tried not to laugh.

They both loved ‘talkies,’ even though some of their friends derided the silly accents now uncovered.

‘I hope they won’t screen the old movies today,’ Susan breathed.

‘Me too! They showed that one with Lillian Gish last Saturday.’

‘Oh, but I love Gish! Isn’t she a doll?’

‘I know! Did they say how long this one would last?’

‘Nae. Why do you ask?’

‘I’ve got to be home by evening. I’ve a lot to do. I still have to blacken Da’s boots for Sunday, and …’

‘Oh, Hettie! You should relax for once. Naebody will die there without you. And won’t Sophie help you?’

‘Sophie isn’t here any more,’ Hester reminded her.

‘Oh, damn. I always forget. It’s so strange, isn’t it? The thing she’s done. It’s … well, it’s really like in the movies! It usually ends badly in the movies, but still.’

‘Well, thanks for cheering me up; I wasn’t worrying enough myself.’

‘You can always count on me!’ Susan giggled.

Hester almost stumbled as the crowd to both sides of her started to move. Her own feet carried her forward, caught up in the momentum. She clutched Susan’s hand, slippery with the sweat of excitement. Soon, they would enter the palace of dreams, where she wouldn’t need to think of boots to blacken, or stockings to mend, or breakfasts to cook.

When the last of the young spectators had crossed the threshold, the door shut behind them with a deafening thud.

Chapter Six (#ulink_3bf5f682-df17-5f01-863a-3599e92ab8fa)

London, May 1934

Hester was privately grateful that the taxi ride from the station took so long.

The distance to their new home – their home for the next four months – wasn’t actually that great. However, other cabs provided enough obstruction for the ride to stretch into infinity. This usual urban misfortune allowed Hester enough time for the precious gazing out of the window. She looked at the world outside with a sort of desperate hunger, as if trying to soak it all in and store enough impressions to last her through the next week.

As soon as they arrived, of course, the inevitable grandiose business of unpacking, pressing, arranging, and helping out engulfed her like a wave in a sea storm. By the time half of the luggage was dealt with, Hester began to seriously wonder whether she was ever going to see the light of the day again.

The fear was unfounded; there turned out to be plenty of errands for her to run.

Deliver this message to our grocer; buy some hairpins; take this jewellery to Rood’s to be cleaned, and collect it in due time. She could never let her feet wander; on a fine day, though, she allowed herself the little luxury of walking slowly.

After all, the month of May was unfolding before her, and its beauty was hard to resist. Quieter areas were now engulfed in lush greenery, where yellow and purple flowers flared up from time to time.

She had never seen such a prodigious quantity of motorcars, and she loved this new abundance, as if their speed and energy somehow rubbed off on her. She had never seen such great avenues lit wholly by electricity, which made the night seem livelier than the day. She couldn’t get enough of this extravagance of light.

Sometimes she passed the rows of old, creamy-white residences along Regent’s Park. Their delicate columns seemed to glow, as if sculpted out of moonlight.

Hester understood that her every habit, every smile, every bewildered stare wrote ‘provincial’ on her forehead in the clearest script. But she simply couldn’t help it; she was enchanted by everything.

And, in her defence, there were plenty of things to be enchanted by. London had long since awakened from its post-war slumber, and for years it had been busy building, restoring, rebuilding, and expanding – far to the sleepy villages of the South-East and up to the heavens above. Cinemas sprung up around Haymarket; flats invaded Mayfair; Piccadilly glistened with new motorcar showrooms.

Of course, this endless activity tended to make the capital look rather chaotic (that is, more chaotic than it usually was). Some, remembering bitter days, looked at the construction sites on Regent Street and recalled the desolate landscapes of Flanders. However, by the time the small household of the Fitzmartins arrived in the city, the greatest and most disturbing projects were long since finished. As a result, London greeted them with dazzling marble avenues, cinemas that resembled temples, and cafés that resembled palaces.

Even Hester’s blood seemed to rush through her veins faster than usual.

She remembered her desperate adolescent dreams, her walks along the platforms, her fervent reading. How she had pestered her friends with talk of some ‘new play in London’, which, she knew, she was never going to attend!

It seemed she had far more in common with Sophie than she thought before.

Hester brushed this thought aside, shaking her head briskly. No, that was too much. Yes, yes, she did feel the same pull of the big city …

But everyone does! Well, almost everyone. Most people, anyway.

And she would have never done something as impulsive, as headstrong, as clearly foolish, as Sophie did.

‘Waiting for your next day off, aren’t you?’

Her lady’s voice snapped Hester out of her reverie with the suddenness of a gunshot.

‘No,’ she answered quickly. ‘Not at all.’

‘The number of times you’ve glanced out of the window says otherwise. You know, Hester, how I dislike untruth.’

Despite the apparent seriousness of the last words, her eyes were glittering, and her tone suggested no malice. Hester had got used to understanding her.

‘Well, if you insist … I do look forward to it. A little bit,’ Hester added for the sake of politeness.

As if in response to her words, the wind rushed in from the open window and brought with it the enticing scents of fresh flowers and triumphant spring. The white curtains scurried up, like a bride’s veil. The patches of sunlight, filtered through its lace, danced across the parlour carpet.

Perhaps, Hester was looking at them too wistfully, the mending in her hands lying limp.

However, Lucy didn’t reprimand her for the lack of adoration towards her current duties.

‘You shouldn’t worry. The Sunday is near. I envy you a little, to be honest – exploring the city for the first time is always such a marvel. I must warn you, though – in weather like this the city centre resembles all the hell’s furnaces at once. If I were you, I’d take a boat to Richmond. The river journeys are always so sweet, and there’re wild deer in the park.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Hester promised. ‘Really, I want to see everything.’

‘Now, that’s ambitious!’ She laughed. ‘I like that. How do you find our new home?’