A Brighter Tomorrow, Maggie Ford [types of ebook readers .TXT] 📗

Annoyed at herself for feeling a little overwhelmed, Ellie nodded. ‘I’d like cocoa, please,’ she said, trying to sound positive.

Going to the door to summon her maid, the woman paused, glancing back at Ellie. The fingers moved slowly to her lips and her eyes began to fill with tears; she turned her gaze towards her husband. Her voice shook. ‘My dearest, she looks so much like our…’

‘Mary, the cocoa,’ he interrupted sternly.

She recovered herself with a start. ‘Yes, dear, of course.’ As she departed, Doctor Lowe positioned himself with his back to the window’s thick lace curtains and heavy drapes, surveying Ellie.

‘My wife is an emotional woman. Some eighteen months ago we lost our daughter Millicent. Had she lived, she would have been about your age. My wife has never fully recovered from our loss and I am afraid she sees a resemblance to our daughter in every young girl she meets.’

He began to pace. With her own more recent grief to surmount, Ellie felt no particular interest in his. She let her gaze follow his portly figure and found herself wondering how two such plump people fitted into one bed with any comfort. Families she knew often crammed six or seven children into one bed, arranged top to tail or even sideways. But her parents had both been thin; plenty of room for them, though, in past times made room for a couple of little ones. But with Mum dead and Dad gone, the bed lay empty.

Skinny old cow, her father had called her. He himself was well built and muscular. Hard work had taken the flesh off Mum’s bones while he strode around showing off to whatever woman caught his eye. The money to tog himself up, to treat them handsomely – them and his mates, who thought him a swell sort of bloke – came from his wheeling and dealing. Mum, on the other hand, saw very little of that money.

If she had a bad week, sheets and tablecloths and often her treasured jet brooch would be taken down to the pawnshop, her self-respect blown away, to be redeemed the moment more work came in.

He didn’t care, so long as his self-respect remained intact, even walking out on her as she was dying. Though he hadn’t known that at the time, the thought had flashed into Ellie’s mind that if she did lay eyes on him again, she would swing for him for the way he’d treated Mum. If he knew she was dead, he’d no doubt put his hands together, being free to enjoy himself.

Her wish for revenge was swept away as Doctor Lowe’s voice broke through. ‘So you must forgive my wife’s little outburst, my dear. I pray that some day she will find something or someone to take the pain from her.’

He turned abruptly to face her, a thoughtful light dawning in the piggy eyes. She noticed they were extremely light-coloured, like pale ale.

‘I have been thinking ever since you turned up on my doorstep that you might be the solution to her grief.’

He smiled at Ellie’s lifted eyebrows. ‘With no money now, you could very well lose your home. There is the orphanage, or living rough under some archway until picked up by some unsavoury character for his exploitation. It happens, child. Many a young, homeless waif has been sold for slave labour of sorts for a few shillings. I’ll refrain from mentioning the depths to which such practice can descend. But I may be a means of salvation.’

He paused while Ellie remained watching him, now suspiciously.

‘What crosses my mind is that this house has a position for another staff member. Florrie, our housemaid, has been complaining about being asked to do work in the kitchen as well as her housemaid duties, and I do understand this. But cook can hardly be expected to do washing-up as well as making meals.’

Ellie sat silent as he regarded her contemplatively.

‘I wonder,’ he went on, ‘what if I were to offer you employment as scullery maid? You would live in, no longer having to find rent; you would share Florrie’s bedroom. She is from Norfolk – too far to get home. She’s an extremely nice girl and could be a good friend to you.’

At last Ellie found her voice. ‘What about me sister? I can’t leave ’er.’

Doctor Lowe’s face fell. Obviously he hadn’t considered Dora.

But Ellie was ahead of him. All he wanted was someone who’d remind him of his dead daughter, trying to replace what he’d lost. It was such a ridiculous suggestion she almost laughed. She wasn’t falling for that one.

‘I ain’t leaving me sister,’ she said adamantly, keeping her face straight. ‘I intend ter carry on the work me mother was doing.’

‘And what is that?’

‘She made hatboxes for shops what sold silk top hats. I ’elped her.’ Quickly she explained her own part in the work. ‘I know the job and me mum’s employer might keep me on. So I don’t need any—’

She was sharply interrupted. ‘I think you’ll find that will not work out as you hoped, child.’

‘I beg yer pardon?’

‘You and your poor mother did the work between you.’

‘I ’elped,’ Ellie interrupted rudely.

‘Yes, helped. Which provided a larger output than had she worked alone. Working alone you’d complete less than half the number turned out by a skilled worker such as your mother was. Her employer needs full quotas from his outworkers. It is his business, my dear, to make a profit. There is no charity in business. You will find that out.’

She’d already found that out. Before coming here, she’d gone to the man. He’d looked down his nose at her, his smile oily.

‘Sorry about your mum, love. I’ve lost a good worker. But I don’t think you’ll be taking her place. It’s quotas I need. I can’t afford people who turn in just a few here, a few there. I’ve a business to run. I’m sorry, love, you’ll have to look for