Chapter Three #3
She’d always known her brother didn’t love her, but new depths to his callous ruthlessness had been revealed to her in the last few weeks.
She had to get away as soon as possible. But how? And to where?
It was all very well to tell Edgar to support himself for a change, but how was she to do the same? She had even less experience of the world and living at Ferndale was no longer an option.
She lay on her bed, staring sightlessly at a water stain on the ceiling, her mind racing.
His words came back to her, over and over. “Sell your lush little body at Covent Garden?”
Never! Though it hadn’t been her choice, the brutal truth was that her body had effectively been sold in marriage—twice—and look where that had got her?
She’d ended up worse off than when she’d been a child, running wild in Ferndale.
She might have had ragged clothes back then, but at least she’d had freedom.
And a home. And her body had been her own.
She’d never go home to Ferndale again. Tears welled up again. She scrubbed them away. She’d wept enough for what she’d lost. Weeping would get her nowhere now.
She thought again about Edgar’s insistence that she must marry again. It stiffened her spine.
Never again would she let him—or any man—control her life.
She considered the options open to her. She would have to get a job. And somewhere to live that wasn’t anywhere near her brother. She fetched a pen and paper and began a list.
Jobs for females.
— Governess
— Lady’s Companion
— Nursemaid
— Saleswoman in a shop
— Maid
— ???
She considered the list. It wasn’t very promising. Governess? She’d had minimal education. NannyJune had taught her to read and write and to do basic addition, multiplication and subtraction, and though she’d had the run of the library at Ferndale, that was the sum of her education.
Tessa had virtually none of the accomplishments that were required of young ladies today; she knew no foreign languages, had never learned embroidery or painted a watercolor or learned to play a musical instrument.
She crossed out ‘Governess’.
Lady’s companion? She could do that, she supposed, but she knew no old ladies to ask. She knew almost nobody in society. Mrs Thracknell? She’d been more of a prison wardress than a companion. Tessa would never do that to another woman. She didn’t cross it out though.
Nursemaid? She loved children and thought she would enjoy caring for them.
But again, she had no experience. And her experience of her first husband in particular had taught her that female servants, especially young, good-looking ones, were regarded as fair prey by gentlemen.
And when she’d raised the question first with her father and later with Edgar, they’d both assured her that it meant nothing, that the servants expected it, even enjoyed it.
Tessa didn’t believe them. She’d never enjoyed it herself, and she was sure it meant something to the servants concerned. And while it might not surprise them, she was certain they didn’t enjoy it, otherwise why would there be such a high turnover of female staff in her husband’s home?
Becoming a nursemaid would be risky, but she kept it on the list in case she had no other option.
Next on the list was saleswoman in a shop. Surely that was a job she could do.
#
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, she put on her pelisse, hat and gloves and sallied out to Oxford Street and New Bond Street, where all the best shops were.
By noon, she felt utterly dejected. Her feet ached. She’d asked at every shop she could find, without success. She found a nearby park and sat down on a bench to eat some lunch.
Not that she felt like eating, but she’d made herself a cheese sandwich and filled a bottle with cold tea. There was the rest of the day to keep job-hunting; she needed to keep her energy up.
She took a bite, chewing slowly. A few people had even been quite rude, thinking she couldn’t possibly be serious. Most had taken one look at her and just shook their heads.
A movement at her feet drew her attention. A small, scruffy mongrel sat there, gazing up at her with a hopeful expression in his liquid brown eyes.
“Hungry, boy?” He was skinny and his coat was matted and crusted with dirt. “Of course you are. Here.” She broke off a piece of her sandwich and held it out, careful in case he bit her in his eagerness to get the food.
The little dog sniffed it, then took it from her gently. Then with one gulp, it was gone. “More?” she asked.
His ragged little tail thumped on the ground, and she broke off another piece. Again, he took it from her gently, then gobbled it down.
“You’re quite the little gentleman, aren't you?” she told him as she broke off another piece of sandwich. “I hope you’re having a better day than I am.”
She watched him eat. His coat was filthy, a ragged, indistinct grayish brown whose principal color was dirt. He was a street mutt, belonging to nobody, with no home and living off his wits. The sort of dog that nobody noticed, unless it was to kick it out of their way.
“You know, you’ve made me realize something,” she told the dog. “I should have worn my plainest dress. All the girls working in the shops were dressed neatly but drably.” The dog wagged its tail as if in agreement. “The trouble is, I don’t have any drab dresses.”
She gave the last piece of sandwich to the dog.
“But it’s not just that. Even the ones who took me seriously enough to ask a few questions, the minute they heard my accent they shook their heads And those that didn’t, once they learned I had no experience, they just waved me away, too.
One man even asked me to add up a string of numbers in my head—and I did, but it wasn’t fast enough for him, so he sent me packing. It’s most disheartening.”
The little dog leaned forward and nudged her foot.
“Sorry little fellow, there’s no more food. Off you go.” She waved the little dog away, but he simply sat down again and eyed her expectantly.
“What’s next, you want to know?” It was ridiculous having a serious conversation with a street dog, but it was oddly comforting.
“The next job on my list is maidservant.” The little dog scratched behind his ear, then shook himself vigorously.
“You may be right. Maids live a hard life; up at all hours, at everyone’s beck and call, doing all kinds of unpleasant jobs.
I can do them of course—I can do anything I put my mind to—but it’s not ideal.
” And hard work and long hours aside, there was the issue of being prey for the gentlemen of the house.
The thought of that gave her the shivers.
The little dog gazed up at her, his head cocked curiously, all attention, even though there was no more food forthcoming. He was a fine little companion for a lonely lunch.
“Is that what you think I should do? Find a position as a companion? Find an elderly single woman or a widow, you think?”
The dog scratched behind his other ear and she chuckled.
“I think you have fleas, my friend. But it’s not your fault, I know.
I’ll need help in finding a suitable position, but the trouble is, I know almost nobody in London to ask.
My first husband was quite sociable, but also very jealous of any attention I received, so when he did go out, he generally left me at home. Yes, not very nice, I agree.”
She bent down and patted the little dog’s head.
“My second husband preferred to stay at home, day in day out, keeping me beside him, so I rarely went anywhere. And yes, it almost drove me mad. There’s nothing worse than being shut in, day after day after day.
You probably can’t imagine it, having the freedom of the streets as you do.
” Not that scrabbling day-to-day, just to survive, was much to celebrate.
She looked down at the little scrap of canine refuse smiling up at her. Could dogs smile? This one could—it was something about his eyes. Liquid brown and bright with intelligence, they practically spoke.
“You didn’t wait for someone to feed you, did you, fellow? Or try to snatch my sandwich, which a lesser dog would do. You asked, as plain as plain could be. And you’re right—if I want to find a position as a companion, I’ll need help. I must ask for an introduction.”
The ragged little tail wagged. He was a living lesson, this small creature.
No doubt he lived his life avoiding kicks and all kinds of abuse, scouring gutters for scraps, and yet despite it all, he retained a hopeful outlook.
She bent down and patted him again. “Goodbye little fellow. Thank you for your company. And good luck.”
She rose to her feet, feeling newly energetic. She’d try a few more shops. She wasn’t about to give up after half a day, and from now on, she would refuse to allow any rejections to depress her spirits.
The next step—assuming she didn’t get a job in a shop—was to find someone who might recommend her as a companion.
The only time she’d ever mixed in society was when Edgar or Papa was showing her off to some old man.
And though on those few occasions she’d smiled at some of the ladies present, not one of them had smiled back.
They despised her, she knew, for her marriages.
She didn’t blame them—she rather despised herself now for allowing herself to be used like that, young as she’d been—but it wasn’t going to help her now.
She tried the next shop, a silk merchant and haberdashery.
She loved fine fabrics and knew quite a bit about them.
But though the manageress initially greeted her with fawning politeness, the minute she realized Tessa was not a customer, but a young woman seeking work, her expression changed.
Looking down her nose at Tessa, she said, “We have no need of your sort in this establishment. I will thank you to leave.”
What ‘sort’ she imagined Tessa to be was clear.
Tessa held her head high and walked out, fighting back tears. Why did other women always imagine the worst about her? And not just women. Even her own brother expected her to earn her living on her back.
Become a courtesan? Sell your lush little body at Covent Garden? Because that’s all you’re fit for.
As she exited the shop, the man on the door lifted an umbrella and growled, “Gedouttahere you little mongrel!” For a second Tessa thought he was talking to her, but when she turned indignantly, she saw who he was addressing in such a violent manner: the small scruffy dog sitting a short distance from the entrance.
“Don’t touch that dog,” she snapped. “He’s with me.”
The doorman gaped. “With you, miss?”
“Yes,” she said haughtily. “With me.”
She marched off down the street, the little dog trotting along beside her, and when they reached the corner, she burst out laughing. “Well, little fellow, that cheered me up no end. Horrid man. But you’d better go off now. I’ve got a few more places to try before I give up.”
But she was given short shrift at the next five places as well—though none as rudely as at the silk merchant’s. And each time she emerged from an unsuccessful interview, there was the little dog, waiting for her, his eyes bright, his ragged little tail wagging in welcome.
In the face of all her rejections, the scruffy little creature’s welcome kept her spirits from plummeting. His was the friendliest face she’d seen in days. She looked down at him and made up her mind.
“You’ve adopted me, haven’t you, little one?” she said. “Very well, Edgar will hit the roof when I arrive home with you—he hates dogs—but I need a friend. You’re coming home with me.”
As she walked, her feet aching with every step, she looked down at the little dog prancing happily along beside her. It was a rash decision, she knew. If she got a job as a companion or a nursemaid, she would never be allowed to keep a dog. But that was a problem for another day.
At the very least the little dog would get a few good feeds and a wash and brush. And if she did get a job, who knew, she might find someone who would take him for her.