The excitement and bustle of the day would inevitably draw forth Mrs. Blodgett’s most querulous reactions and anxious imaginings. Fanny was arguably too young, gentle, and yielding to make a creditable instructress; the asperity of Mrs. Blodgett more than made up the balance.
As Fanny descended from the carriage, she saw a long line of fidgeting, hopeful girls standing in the lane, waiting to be called in and interviewed, some with their mothers or grandmothers, others with a sister or dear friend to hold their hand and whisper encouragement. Some clutched small pieces of cloth which Fanny knew to be samples of their skill with a needle.
Fanny gave the applicants a brief, self-conscious smile before she hurried inside, passed through the shop, greeted Mr. Blodgett, and climbed 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, was 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 town homes, looking strangely out of place in the midst of the surrounding fields and pastures. There were very 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. But you are a transplant from Bristol, not a true Londoner. 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 a certainty that Camden Town will fail to draw adequate trade...”
Time would tell, Fanny thought.
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 work, 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 towards 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
