“That’s right, Mick. And another thing—how many lads from my village are rotting sacks of dead meat, lying all over—what’s that fooking country again?
“Portugal. It’s where Port comes from.”
“Aye, Portugal, gone to fight in Portugal so that we can free the Spanish whoresons from the French whoresons? They are all Catholic whoresons together, ain’t they? No offense, Mick. They aren’t worth the powder to blow them all to hell. Why are good Englishman dying, so as to save a bunch of greasy Spaniards? Would any of them do the same for me and mine? Not a single whoreson would, I can tell you that for naught.”
“Why are we here? Fook them all, that’s what I say.”
William realized that in addition to pouring with sweat, he was also feeling chilly.
“...Fook me,” continued the lament from the hut. “I miss the cold. I miss the snow. I miss the rain and the sleet. I wish I could be freezing my balls off back in Ireland, damn me if I don’t.”
A tall, coal-black African, wearing only an old dinner jacket and nothing else, strolled by, saluted William, and gave him an appraising smile, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Good morning, officer boss. You be lookin’ mighty peaky, I am thinking.”
William leaned over the railing as a stream of black vomit poured from his throat. His legs turned to water and he collapsed, insensible.
Chapter Twelve
“Pardon me, ma’am. I am an experienced seamstress. Have you any vacancies?”
The young woman had somehow slipped past the watchful eyes of Madame Orly on the first floor, to enter the classroom, where she found Fanny. Her youthful prettiness was marred by blue shadows under her eyes. Her countenance announced intelligence, and her address was civil and calm, but her hands, Fanny observed, were so tightly clenched together that the knuckles were white. Her quiet intensity caught Fanny’s interest.
“Business is slow at present, I am sorry to say.”
“Yes, ma’am, times are hard. I owned my own shop in Liverpool. I expect you are aware of how bad things are in Liverpool, after the government stopped the slave trade. Few ladies can indulge themselves in new articles of dress, these days.”
“And do you propose to settle in London?”
“If I can find steady work here, ma’am.” The newcomer cast an appraising look over the rows of girls bent over their sewing. “To whom may I apply? Where is your manager?”
“What’s this? What’s this?” Mrs. Blodgett descended upon them. “Looking for employment?” the older lady declared peremptorily. “No, we have no need of you here. Take yourself off.”
Fanny saw a look of despair flash across the young woman’s face. An overpowering sensation of empathy impelled her to make a daring resolution.
“Mrs. Blodgett, I wonder if we might engage this young lady on trial for a month—”
“Whatever for?”
“Mrs. Butters thinks I should spend some time in the country. As well, Madame Orly will be accompanying her to Bristol for a few weeks. This young lady could substitute for both of us in our absence.”
“Mrs. Wakefield said she would volunteer occasionally while you take your rest cure,” Mrs. Blodgett said, in a tone of voice which implied Fanny must be some sort of a malingerer or weakling.
“Well, ma’am, if Mrs. Wakefield may donate her services, may I not donate my salary?” Fanny heard herself saying firmly but calmly. “Thanks to your sister’s kindness, I have no living expenses. Therefore, I will pay for a month’s trial period for Mrs.—Mrs.—”
“Bellingham, ma’am. Mrs. John Bellingham,” the young woman looked anxiously from Fanny to Mrs. Blodgett and back again. “I would be exceedingly grateful, ma’am, to be given a chance to prove my worth to you.”
“Do I detect an Irish accent?” Mrs. Blodgett’s nostrils flared in distaste.
“I am of the Protestant faith, ma’am. My father was a shipbuilder in Belfast. I am married to an Englishman.”
“A shipbuilder!” cried Fanny. “Mrs. Butters would look kindly upon this lady, ma’am, for she is from a shipbuilding family.”
“Well! You do presume a great deal, Miss Price. Have it your way then, but you will be held answerable for the consequences.” Mrs. Blodgett walked away, shaking her head, and talking to herself, and Fanny and the newcomer were left together. Fanny pretended not to notice the tears of relief in Mrs. Bellingham’s eyes, as she led her to the counting-room for a cup of tea.
“Please excuse me, Miss Price, but I am very much overpowered,” Mrs. Bellingham murmured, as she took up her cup and saucer with trembling hands. “You will find me to be, in general, a very straightforward, matter-of-fact person. Your kindness...”
“There is no need for you to apologize, or to explain yourself,” Fanny returned calmly. “I fancy that you are like me, rather reserved by nature, and not given to exchanging confidences upon slight acquaintance. Let us focus on the work before us, and leave everything else to another time, shall we? After you finish your tea, I will show you around the workshop and you can meet our young pupils. My friend Mrs. Butters says teaching these girls is no more difficult than herding cats.”
This won a smile from the new employee, and she relaxed something of her guarded countenance.
Fanny felt curiousity, no less than sympathy, for her new acquaintance. In her looks, air, and speech, Mrs. Bellingham seemed well bred enough, but Fanny’s experienced eye detected that her gown was turned and carefully made over, and her half-boots, though well-polished, deserved to be retired from service. She was not dressed in mourning, but she appeared to harbour some deep private grief.
Fanny’s own knowledge of struggling with hidden sorrows, urged her to protect and help her new acquaintance. She was gratified to have the means to do so, cost her what it may
