Chapter 10 #2
She rapped on the roof of the carriage with her cane to alert the driver.
‘Moreland, go and inform Mrs Charles that we have arrived.’
Shortly afterwards, Moreland returned and opened the door.
He was in the company of a heavy-set, bald man who was dressed in dark green moleskin trousers and a green and blue waistcoat.
His face was pock-marked with scars that made Jenny’s cheeks itch just from looking, but these were also accompanied by multiple scars that looked as if they were the result of a knife fight.
Moreland did not appear perturbed by the sight of his companion, so either he was already familiar with the man or had enough of an assumption that he was a safe person for his mistress to meet, which set Jenny’s mind slightly at ease.
Whatever her hidden secrets or private predilections, a woman as outwardly respectable as Miss Salisbury would not risk her reputation in the company of somebody improper.
Moreland opened the carriage door. Miss Salisbury alighted first, followed by Gwen and lastly Jenny. They picked their way gingerly through the puddles of murky water that had collected in potholes between the cobbles that had worn smooth.
‘This way,’ Moreland’s companion announced. He had a low, rumbling voice and a thick Germanic accent. He pointed to the corner of the street, where another group of children lingered tossing stones at a middle-aged man who sat in a huddle clutching a beer-bottle.
‘The private way is down that side.’
‘Are we not going inside the chop house?’ Gwen asked. ‘I was hoping to see what a chop house was like. I’ve never been inside one. Mr Walters does not like dining out and we can so seldom afford to. I’m sorry, I sound very na?ve, I know.’
‘Well, Wolf, what do you say? It would be such a shame to deny Mrs Walters the opportunity to broaden her horizons.’ Miss Salisbury raised an eyebrow at the bald man who was apparently named Wolf, though whether it was a surname or Christian name, Jenny wasn’t sure.
Wolf looked towards the children and the man, who was now rocking back and forth and loudly sobbing, ‘Daisy, where you gone?’ over and over again.
Wolf shrugged. ‘I’ll take you that way if you want so that you can avoid the drunkard, but you’d be clear to tell her that it was your choice. I don’t want to get a tongue-lashing.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Gwen assured him. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your employer.’
‘Employer. Yes. Funny,’ Wolf answered in his rumbling voice. He led the way to the red-painted door and held it open for the women to pass inside.
The interior was a large, square room with tables set around the edges and in the centre.
It was midday, so every table was filled with diners.
The walls were papered with a floral pattern in greens and reds, with gilt-framed mirrors reflecting warm light.
The paintings that hung from the picture rail showed scenes of hunting, and three stuffed bucks’ heads hung on the furthest wall.
Beneath the lingering fug of tobacco and bodies, the air was rich with the sweet greasiness of lamb and pork.
It was an enticing aroma, and explained why the house was full.
At the nearest table, a man was engaged in pouring glossy, dark gravy over a pile of boiled potatoes and sausages.
Jenny’s mouth watered. The last time she had entered anywhere like this had been when Miriam had taken her to the pub for eel pie that hadn’t been anywhere near as tempting.
Like that place, the diner was slightly down at heel, but the diners were well-behaved and well-dressed for members of the working class.
There were more bowler hats than one might find in a restaurant in a well-to-do area, but the conversation was low and appeared jovial, so, if Gwen was hoping to see fights, she would be disappointed.
Wolf led the women through the centre of the room to where the bar ran along the back wall.
He nodded to a large, equally bald man and said something in a rapid language Jenny thought might be Dutch.
The man laughed and replied. Wolf led them through a door to the left.
From there they went down a narrow corridor, past a door that was presumably the other one they would have come in by, and up a flight of stairs.
He stopped outside the first door they came to and knocked loudly.
‘Enter,’ came a voice.
Wolf opened the door and held out his hand to let the women pass but did not follow them in. They had passed a wooden stool to the right of the door and Jenny wondered if he would be waiting there. The idea that he might be barring their exit made her shiver and she edged closer to Gwen.
Augusta Charles was sitting behind a desk made of wood so dark it was almost black.
She was writing in a large ledger, with her attention on the book.
This was presumably for effect, as she knew very well she had visitors as she had just invited them in.
It gave Jenny a little more confidence to think she was staging this all for dramatic effect.
When she raised her head, however, Jenny’s confidence shattered under a gaze with fierce intelligence radiating from it and she had no doubt she was in the presence of an extremely commanding figure.
Whatever her background, Mrs Charles looked every bit a smart London woman as she stood and walked slowly around from behind the desk.
She wore a narrow black skirt and a jacket that was tightly buttoned with a line of jet buttons, that emphasised her tiny waist and considerable bosom.
Her dark hair was pulled back from her crown and scraped into a high plait that wound around the back of her head, pinned inside a black lace snood.
She must have been closer to sixty than fifty, but the lines on her brow and around her eyes had been stretched almost to invisibility by the severity of her hairstyle.
Her eyes were dark and ringed with thick, black lashes and made even darker by the addition of a smudge of kohl along the lower rims of her eyelids.
She turned to a young girl sitting at a school desk in the corner of the room.
‘We will take coffee,’ she said. Her voice was deep, and she spoke in a slow drawl that nevertheless rang with authority.