Page 36 of The Laudanum Ladies' Society

Augusta sat down behind her desk again and reached for a green ledger, and Gwen realised that they were being dismissed. Augusta looked up, as if surprised to see them still standing there.

‘You may exit through the restaurant, if you wish to see it again, or alternatively my private entrance is to the right as you leave. Just decide, and my man will escort you. Good afternoon to you.’

Miss Salisbury emerged from the other room. ‘I shall stay and dine here. Moreland will take you both home, then return for me.’

She opened the door to the corridor and ushered Gwen and Jenny out. Wolf was waiting on the stool by the stairs. With a wordless grunt, he led them down the stairs and out through a door to the outside. It was raining hard and the potholes were overflowing into the gutters, washing away detritus. The children had gone, and the street was emptier and felt more neglected. The carriage was waiting with the door open, and Gwen and Jenny clambered inside, but not before Gwen had stepped in a puddle and the water soaked through the carboard insole and filled her badly patched boots. She cried out in dismay, knowing that they were finally beyond another repair.

Neither woman bothered to look out of the window as Moreland drove them home. Gwen leant back against the padded seat. She felt drained and from the look of Jenny, her strength was also sapped.

‘Did we do the right thing?’ Gwen asked after a few minutes of silence while the carriage lurched along the uneven road. She looked down at the coins she was still holding. They were a mix of old and new, which was a relief because if they had been all new, she might have believed they were fairy gold or would turn into beans by morning.

Jenny frowned. ‘I think so. We made a better bargain than I expected. Would you like me to stay and help you make the next batch when Augusta’s woman delivers the ingredients? Or I could do some of the jobs that need doing in the pharmacy. I feel that I have rather a better deal out of it than you do.’

Gwen bit her lip. ‘It bothers me that she’s paid us in advance, and we are in debt to her.’

‘Yes, I did think of that.’ Jenny’s frown deepened. ‘But we can deliver it, can’t we, and it’s money we didn’t have this morning.’

She looked at Gwen’s feet and grinned. ‘I hope you’ll spend your first payment on boots for yourself. Those look horribly uncomfortable.’

Sitting with unpleasantly wet stockings, Gwen couldn’t really disagree.

Chapter Twelve

The first ingredients were delivered to Jenny four days later by the young girl who had been sitting in Augusta’s office, wearing an oversized coat and galoshes. She handed Jenny a small box wrapped in brown paper and sealed with wax. Jenny thanked her and the girl replied in excellent English, which took Jenny aback, given that she had spoken to Augusta in another language.

‘Where are you from?’ Jenny asked.

‘Mrs Charles.’

‘No, I mean before that.’

The girl’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘The workhouse.’

‘No, I mean, where were you from before that? What language did you speak to Mrs Charles? It wasn’t English.’

‘My mama was Italian.’

‘And your papa?’

The girl’s eyes grew wider, emphasising the shadows beneath them. ‘I don’t know. Not sure my mama did, either.’

‘Are you happy being looked after by Mrs Charles?’ Jenny asked, hoping to get more information about her new associate.

‘She feeds me and doesn’t whip me too hard if I get my letters wrong. She says if I work hard, there’ll be work for me like there was for Myrtle.’

‘Who is Myrtle?’ Jenny asked.

‘She’s gone now.’ The girl shrugged, and that, it appeared, was all she was prepared to say, because she shoved the package towards Jenny and skipped off, darting across the garden square and avoiding the worst of the puddles. Presumably, she had walked from the chop house. It was quite a long journey for a youngish girl, but her life was likely considerably better now than it had been in the workhouse. She was one of the lucky ones who would manage to earn a living. Doubtless, that would be as a skivvy in the chop house, but she could rise to become a barmaid or housemaid, which was what Jenny assumed the now absent Myrtle had moved on to.

When Jenny arrived at the pharmacy, Gwen was with a customer, showing her a large brown glass bottle and gesturing to the child at the woman’s side. Another two customers waited patiently for her to be free. Mr Walters was sitting at the workbench, and when he saw Jenny, he reached for a large book and began muttering under his breath (though loud enough for her to catch) the names of ingredients, as he skimmed his finger down the page. He couldn’t be making anything, but presumably they kept up this pretence in front of customers. Her heart went out to him. Poor man, to be afflicted so badly.

‘Good morning, Mr Walters,’ she said. ‘I was passing and thought I would come to visit your wife.’

They made small talk until Gwen approached.

‘Mrs Walters, a friend of mine has a market garden and has made some jam. I thought you might care for a pot.’ Jenny drew back the cloth that covered her basket to show Gwen the paper-wrapped box.

‘Why, thank you. That’s very kind. Would you care for a cup of tea?’ Gwen asked.