Fanny gave the applicants a brief, self-conscious smile before she hurried inside, passing through the shop and climbing the wooden steps to the classroom. The upstairs room was cold, bare and musty-smelling. Fanny walked to one of the tall windows which overlooked the street, the broad wooden planks of the floor creaking beneath her feet, and counted the waiting girls below. At least sixty girls waited to apply for four and twenty vacancies in the school.
Looking down the street to her right, Fanny saw the veterinary hospital—not a very likely source for customers—and beyond, thankfully out of sight, sat the large and formidable St. Pancras workhouse, where the destitute of the parish were consigned, where young and old toiled at picking oakum and breaking up rocks, in exchange for a vermin-ridden bed and a hot meal.
To the north, Fanny could see a street of newly-built townhomes, looking strangely out of place in the midst of the surrounding fields and pastures. There were but a few gentlemen’s families living here. She wondered who would patronize the new shop. Would fashionable gentlewomen journey to the farthest outskirts of London to buy fabric and gowns?
The matter had been much debated by the charitable committee, who chose the Camden Town location because they had obtained the lease on highly advantageous terms.
“It is no farther to go to Camden Town than to go to Cheapside,” Mrs. Wakefield had argued.
“That is so,” Mrs. Blodgett had agreed. “And we will be offering our garments at an advantageous price, so the ladies will come flocking to our door.”
“I often travel to town to shop or visit,” said Mrs. Butters, “but in my experience, when I ask someone from London to come out to Stoke Newington for dinner, they react as though I had invited them to Botany Bay. Any place beyond Moorfields is a howling wilderness to a Londoner.”
“Harriet, I come from London every day,” argued Mrs. Blodgett. “The journey is a trifle—I should even call it a pleasant one.”
“Very true, Laetitia. I do not dispute the point. I am speaking of habit and custom, not of logic and reason, and you may be assured of it—we would draw more business if we were in Cheapside or near Covent Garden. However, this is not to say for certain that Camden Town will fail to draw adequate trade...”
Time would tell, Fanny thought. She had never operated a store, but she did question whether there were too few fashionable people living in the vicinity to support the academy.
Mrs. Renfrew, the school’s new matron, appeared at her elbow. “Miss Price, when should we call in the applicants?”
Fanny was startled at being applied to for her opinion. “Yes - or, no - I think, ma’am, we should wait for word from Mrs. Blodgett. And there is Mr. Edifice coming up the street.” Fanny pointed to a tall, slender man, dressed all in black, walking in their direction. The broad brim of his round black hat shielded his face from view, but she and Matron recognized him as Mr. Frederick Edifice, the local curate.
Fanny turned from the window and began setting out papers, ink and quills on one of the large, broad tables. She was to interview each of the applicants for the academy, assisted by Mrs. Renfrew and Mr. Edifice. Fanny was to concentrate on their sewing skills, Matron was to evaluate them for deportment, cleanliness and neatness and Mr. Edifice was to question them upon their knowledge of the catechism.
Fanny had feared that Mr. Edifice, Mrs. Renfrew, and even the young applicants would sense she was at least as nervous as they. But as soon as all was in readiness, and the first slender little urchin came in and executed her awkward curtsey, Fanny’s own innate kindness and sympathy came to her aid, and she soon forgot herself when enquiring into the backgrounds and needs of the girls before her.
The prospective students were between nine and twelve years of age. Only a few of the girls were lucky enough to have an active, healthy, employed father at home; some fathers were disabled for employment, others so long away in the army that it was not known if they were alive or dead, some families were one misfortune away from being sent to debtors’ prison or disappearing into the workhouse.
These girls knew they lived near “Lunnon,” and that there was a King and a Queen, but beyond that, they knew almost nothing that could be learnt from books. In vain did Mr. Edifice ask each applicant, “what then is your duty toward God?” or “how shall we overcome temptation and sin?” The poor girls would goggle at him, eyes wide and mouths hanging open helplessly, and a few burst into tears. By the time the last two dozen girls were ushered upstairs, one at a time, they had obviously profited from some hints from the ones who had gone before, so they could tell Miss Price they knew how to do cross-stitch and chain stitch, they could show their clean hands and their smallpox inoculation scar to Matron, and they could loudly declaim a mangled version of the Lord’s Prayer, whenever Mr. Edifice asked them anything.
If Fanny had been free to follow her own inclinations, she would have engaged everyone. In fact, she had timidly suggested to Mrs. Blodgett: “Should we not enlist two or three superfluous students, ma’am? I should fancy that on any given day, some students will be absent, owing to illness, or family responsibilities, and we could—”
“Miss Price, there are four and twenty places in the school.”
“Yes ma’am, but we should expect some degree of—”
“The committee assigned us to select four and twenty students, Miss Price.”
And Fanny had to turn away more than half of the applicants, to her regret.
* * * * * *
“No
