Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Deprived of company, Jenny was restless, despite the effects of the tincture making her sleepy. She had noticed Mrs Walters hadn’t taken a dose and Jenny now thought she had been wise. She’d had express instructions not to disturb Uncle Conrad and there was someone she had been meaning to visit.
Her cheeks flamed unexpectedly as she thought of Miriam, and she issued a few rushed instructions regarding the evening meal before touching up her hair, adding an enamelled brooch in the shape of a daisy, and setting off.
Uncle Conrad would have words to say if he knew she had been out, but that would be entirely due to propriety or how she should be conducting herself and less about her actual safety.
It was raining again. It seemed to always be raining at the moment, and gusts of wind tore at her clothes. She put one hand on her hat and kept her head down as she walked to the underground station, hoping the rain would ease by the time she emerged.
It didn’t, and she hurried towards the boarding house, arriving dishevelled and soaking. She rapped on the door with the plain brass knocker and waited to be admitted. It struck her belatedly that she had no idea if Miriam would be there and she might have got drenched for no good reason.
The door was opened by a merry looking maid with a mass of red curly hair that she had done her best to tame beneath her cap.
‘I’m here to visit Miss Sandler. Is she at home?’ Jenny asked. She held out her calling card. It had grown slightly worn at the edges, thanks to being carried in her bag for so long. New cards would be nice, too.
‘She is, Miss, but I’ll see if she’s at home to visitors,’ the maid answered.
She peered past Jenny at the street. The rain was currently bouncing off the cobbles.
She gave Jenny a sympathetic smile and gestured to a bench inside the hallway by the door.
‘You may sit there while you wait if you like, Miss.’
The bench was beneath a board with the names of the residents written on slips of card inside little squares, and a tag showing if they were in or out.
It was quite a good system because it would save the maid from having to walk up and down stairs each time somebody called, and would also provide a degree of security for the female boarders who would not otherwise necessarily have anybody looking out for them.
There was also a sign in bold type explaining that curfew was nine o’clock, without particular, prior arrangement, and that the door would be bolted at one minute past at the very latest. It had been past nine o’clock when Jenny and Miriam had returned the night they met, but presumably Miriam had arranged this.
While these thoughts were going through her head, the maid had gone up to Miriam’s room, which Jenny remembered was on the top floor, and returned.
‘Miss Sandler would be happy for you to go up, Miss, though she asked me to warn you that her room is, in her words, “a bit of a state”, because she has been painting and has not had time to clean it.’
The maid gave a cheeky smile that implied that this was a common state of affairs. She had more character than any of the servants Uncle Conrad employed, and it briefly crossed Jenny’s mind to wonder how much she was paid here and if she would be open to a move of employment.
‘I’ll bear that in mind, thank you,’ Jenny answered.
‘It’s right at the top. Do you want me to show you the way?’ the maid asked, pointing at the stairs. Clearly her legs would get enough of a working by going up and down the stairs multiple times a day, and Jenny declined the offer, tipped the girl tuppence and made her own way up.
There were five storeys in the building.
The first two floors appeared to be the most spacious as the stairway narrowed as Jenny ascended.
Each room she passed had a small plaque on the door written in capital letters bearing the initial and surname of the occupant.
Jenny spent her time wondering who these women were who lived alone and how they paid their rent.
How wonderful it would be to have such independence.
One day perhaps, she might have the courage to do the same and strike out on her own.
By the time she reached the top floor she was growing quite breathless.
Miriam’s room must have been cheaper, given the number of stairs one had to climb, and Jenny remembered she said she had once shared it with a friend.
The sign on the door looked recent. She tapped gently and was taken aback by the rolling sensation in her stomach, such that when the door opened, Miriam found her standing with her hands pressed against her belly as if that would be able to quell the commotion.
‘Miss Rosewood, how wonderful to see you again! My goodness, you’re positively drenched!’ she exclaimed, looking Jenny up and down. ‘Come in and take your coat and hat off. I have a towel you can dry yourself with.’
She took Jenny by the hand and pulled her into the room.
‘I’m sorry, it’s such a dreadful mess. Did Sally warn you?
I did ask her to. I haven’t been open to visitors for a long time, but since I heard it was you, I made an exception.
I’m afraid you find me in the middle of a creative session.
I know I really should be using my time productively to spring clean. It is almost spring, isn’t it?’
She stopped talking, presumably because she had run out of breath, and her eyes flickered towards the small window.
‘Almost spring,’ Jenny agreed. ‘I’m sorry for dropping in on you unannounced. I just happened to be in the area and recognised the address.’
‘More theatre visits?’ Miriam asked.
Jenny opened her mouth, but no words came out. It was a lie, of course, but she didn’t want Miriam to know she had set out intentionally. It was a little embarrassing to admit how much she had craved company.
‘Well, I’m very glad you did,’ Miriam continued. She began rummaging in a drawer and pulled out a towel. ‘Now, let’s see if we can get you a little bit drier.’
She handed the towel to Jenny who wiped the water from her eyes. It was slightly frayed but effective.
‘You find me painting,’ Miriam declared, sweeping her arms around grandly.
Jenny took a proper look at her. She was wearing an olive-green dress with a white smock over the top and tied behind her back.
At the front were two deep pockets, and out of these stuck a variety of pencils and brushes.
Her hair was gathered back with a piece of red ribbon, though the tight curls were barely tamed.
‘So useful,’ Miriam said enthusiastically, thrusting her hands into the pockets. ‘I don’t know why we don’t have these on every garment, do you?’
‘No, indeed,’ Jenny agreed. ‘They are one of the things that make male clothing quite appealing. There are definitely more places to store useful items.’
‘Now, I have a small spirit stove, so I can make some coffee – although I’m afraid I take mine in the Turkish style but black with no sugar, so you might prefer to have some raspberry cordial and water.’
‘Yes, cordial I think, thank you,’ Jenny answered. Her preference for coffee was with lots of cream and sugar but in any case, she was still feeling the effects of the tincture and became aware of how thirsty she was.
Miriam laughed. ‘Very wise. I am afraid the only reason I take coffee like I do, is because poverty at times has made it useful to develop very spartan tastes.’
She walked to the window, picked two glass tumblers from the wide ledge and filled them with cordial from a bottle and water from a jug. She returned to Jenny’s side and held out a glass.
‘Welcome to my home.’
They clinked glasses and, with the invitation open, Jenny gave into her nosiness and looked around with interest. The room was long and thin, running from front to back with windows at each end.
Miriam had divided it into two with a large folding screen.
One end contained a neatly made bed, dressing table and wardrobe, a small armchair and a coat-stand; all the accoutrements of a normal bedroom.
The other half of the room was the most interesting, as it had been given over to a makeshift studio.
There was a low chaise longue that looked as if it had seen better days, with squat clawed feet covered in a red and gold velvet stripe, an easel, and a wash-stand that was splattered with paint that dripped down the side.
Pieces of paper were pinned to the wall, no doubt in defiance of what the landlord would expect.
There were a few sketches of men but more pictures, by a factor of three or four, of women.
Some Jenny recognised as classical sculptures, others were copies from a portrait of the Queen.
One face looked familiar and made her skin prickle and the hairs on her neck stand up.
‘Is that me?’ Jenny asked, pointing to the small sketch in pencil of a person standing in a doorway wearing trousers and an overcoat.
‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I sketched it when I came home after I bumped into you outside the lecture hall. I wanted to remember what you looked like. I think I did rather well, don’t you?’
Miriam looked anxious and Jenny couldn’t find the words to explain how touched she was that she had been able to recall her face after their short time together.
‘I do,’ Jenny breathed. To know that she had been thought of, even though the chance of them meeting again had been so remote, was more affecting than she could articulate. She looked around the space again, ‘How lucky you are to have all this!’
‘Luck had nothing to do with it!’ Miriam said, arching her brows. ‘You can’t imagine how much I have had to throw myself out of accepted society in order to live like this. It was worth it, though, because I am free in a way that I doubt I would ever have been otherwise.’