3. Spring
Throughout January and February, Harold continued to write to Jenny at least once a week. Whenever a letter arrived, she felt a little pang of longing for her old life, and a little more guilt at having to be so deliberately vague about her circumstances. Every time she read of his conventional, decent life back in York, she felt torn, knowing that this was the life her parents had wanted for her. After reading, she always resolved to get herself a respectable job as a seamstress or a nanny, but somehow she never got around to it. In the end she had to admit to herself that she'd become very fond of the other girls, particularly Rose and Daisy and had also become accustomed to life at Madam Chloe's, quickly fitting into the weekly routine of the house.
Sundays were for church and unless they weren't well, Madam insisted all the girls attend. They sat in the back two rows, on their best behaviour and dressed in their most modest dresses, eyes cast meekly downwards towards their highly polished shoes, studiously ignoring any of the men in the congregation that they recognised.
All the other days of the week followed the same routine: after breakfast, the girls would get on with their chores: sweeping the floors or doing the laundry or helping in the kitchen. Some jobs were better than others and the better chores like going to the market for groceries were often claimed by more experienced women. As the new girl, Jenny often found herself doing the grubby jobs that no one else wanted: scrubbing the front steps, polishing the furniture or cleaning out the fireplaces.
Around noon, Cook would serve a simple lunch, perhaps a soup or broth made from the leftovers from last night's meal. Then afterwards, they'd have several hours to themselves before being called down for an early tea around five.
The girls were given one night off a week in addition to Sundays but if they were 'on duty' they'd get ready for the evening after tea. Regardless of whether they expected any regular clients, Madam insisted they were all downstairs by seven at the latest. She'd inspect them as closely as any sergeant-major, examining their make-up and hair, checking that their dresses were immaculate. Unless they were with someone upstairs, they had to gather in the lounge, looking their best for any customer who may drop by unannounced.
The afternoons were Jenny's favourite part of the day. When the weather was good, Jenny liked to go out for an afternoon walk through one of the parks, wistfully looking at all the finely dressed ladies and respectable gentlemen strolling arm-in-arm. Or she'd take the omnibus down to Westminster with Daisy and Rose to walk along the river to see the sights.
Sometimes they'd stroll down by the wharves, where the sight of the three young woman would draw plenty of attention from the navvies and stevedores unloading tea and spices from the orient. Jenny and Daisy would usually try and ignore the often crude language, blushing prettily as the men shouted, explaining exactly what they'd do if the girls joined them on board their ships. Only Rose was brave enough to stand up to them, matching their crude language, questioning whether they could live up to their claims, giving as good as she got.
Madam gave them a small allowance when business was good, and often they'd return with second-hand clothes from the market, or small luxuries like fresh flowers or costume jewellery.
However, today was a typical February day in the city, a thin drizzle leaking from the leaden skies. On days like this, when the rain pattered on the roof and gurgled in the lead gutters, Jenny had resolved to teach Rose and Daisy to read and write. It was quite a task; the girls were quick learners but all-too-easily distracted. But she was a patient young woman and she'd already taught them the alphabet and was moving onto putting the letters together to form simple words.
"So yesterday, we did some words beginning with B," Jenny said. "Now can you think of any words beginning with C?"
"Cat?" said Rose, hesitantly.
"Yes, 'Cat', very good. Now can you spell it?"
"Well, it begins with a C. Then aah, that's an A? Then a T?" she guessed.
"Yes, C-A-T. That's excellent, Rose. Now can you both write that down?"
Madam had lent them some writing pads and some quills, and Jenny stared at the raindrops tracing lines through the grime clinging to the windows as the girls started to write. She got off the bed and kneeling, stoked the bedroom fire with a small iron poker. Madam didn't like them lighting fires during the day, forever complaining about the cost of coal and firewood but she rarely ventured up here to the second floor these days so Jenny felt safe.
They were still writing when she got back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged on the floor on satin cushions, hunched low over their pads as they slowly and dipped their quills in the ink well that sat between them, and carefully formed the letters. Rose had a look of intense concentration on her face, the tip of her small pink tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked.
"Excellent, very good," Jenny said, smiling as her friends held their pads up, displaying their childlike writing. "Now do we know any other words that begin with C?"
"Cock!" Rose said with a mischievous grin.
"Or cunny!" Daisy giggled.
Jenny rolled her eyes: "How about a word that's more commonly used?" "Well it's commonly used round 'ere," Rose argued.
"I suppose it is," Jenny sighed, conceding the point. "So how would you spell cock?"
"Um, C-O-C?" Rose said.
"Close, it's C-O-C-K," Jenny corrected her. "And cunny, Daisy?"
