Page 52 of A Much Maligned Miss

A villainous-looking old charwoman arrived for duty at around ten o’clock and circled them curiously as she maneuvered her broom around the floor, squinting at the tableau Caroline made with the two cats.

“Don’t mind her, luv, it’s just Gracie ’avin’ a butcher’s,” Effie explained in a loud whisper.

“A butcher’s?” Caroline repeated in confusion.

“A butcher’s hook,” Violet jumped in to explain. “It means ‘look.’ It’s rhyming cockney, innit.”

“Oh.”

Each time Gracie passed by, she got closer still, until finally she had elbowed her way into their little circle.

“Oo’s this then?” she asked, elbowing Effie in the ribs, and resting her arm against her broom. Up close she looked to be about sixty had very few teeth and wore a graying mop cap and apron. A laundress, she clearly was not.

“This is Caroline,” Effie said loudly as though speaking to someone who was hard of hearing. “She’s Lord Atherton’s chere amie, that’s what she is.”

“Oh, that’s what they’re callin’ it now, is it?” Gracie enquired. “Had a different name for it in my day.” She looked Caroline up and down impartially. “We just called ’em doxies.” Caroline maintained her pose but felt her face grow rather warm. The old woman cackled. “Now don’t take on, dearie,” she recommended. “I don’t mean no offence by it. Used to be one meself, didn’t I? Back in my day I had many a fine buck courtin’ me for my favors.”

Violet made a scoffing sound and Gracie wheeled around on her. “Dunno what you’re snorting about, my fine madam!” she seethed. “No one’s clamoring to sketch you in your drawers, are they? Nor would they, neither! Not wiv’ your face!”

“You rotten old cow!” Violet started hotly but Effie sprang up between them.

“Now, now, ladies!” she began, but Mr. Bailey straightened up behind the easel to roar “SILENCE!” startling them all considerably.

Fortunately, they heard the key turn in the door and Ralph’s cheerful tones drifted over as he chattered away to a companion he had brought in with him. Gracie sashayed away with a final contemptuous toss of her mob cap aimed in Violet’s direction.

“I reckon she’s put the evil eye on me, the old witch!” Violet muttered.

Ralph approached with a cocky-looking individual in a loud check suit, he introduced to them as one Bartholomew Ewell, the third shareholder in The Citadel. Effie clearly already knew him and greeted him effusively as “you rogue, you” and claimed he was the current toast of the boxing world.

Caroline was surprised to hear this, for he looked so sleek and nothing like her preconceived notions of a champion boxer. She would have expected someone large and roughhewn like Reg. But what Mr. Ewell lacked in bulk, he made up for in presence, for he exuded a brash confidence and swagger from every pore.

He was charm itself when introduced to Caroline, evinced no surprise to find her sat half-naked and draped in cats and seemed to understand perfectly when Ralph described her as Lord Atherton’s “particular friend.”

He bowed over her hand, holding it a trifle too long, and declared he looked forward to seeing her portrait grace their walls. Violet coughed loudly and Effie hurried to introduce her friend. Ralph carried him off shortly hereafter to tour the premises much to Violet’s lamentations.

“He didn’t hardly even glance at me,” she complained. “I declare I’m not getting a look in today and I can’t see why, it’s not as if—” She directed a resentful look in Caroline’s direction and pursed her lips.

Effie nipped out shortly after and fetched lunch for them all, which turned out to be a quantity of whelks seasoned with vinegar and pepper and surprisingly spicy pork sausages served alongside thick slices of cold pease pudding. It was filling if not particularly sophisticated fare. Mr. Bailey finished off any leftovers and Effie tidied it away and brought out another tray of tea for everyone.

“I wish you would have tried to make an impression on Mr. Carstairs, Vi,” Effie sighed as she settled back with her cup of tea. “Instead of making sheep’s eyes at Barty Ewell.”

“Which one was he?” Violet asked with a faint frown as she inspected her face in a small compact mirror.

“The one what owns a third of this place, you daft mare!” Effie scolded her. “If you want a position here, you should have tried making up to ’im, not the other.”

“Thought you said Mr. Ewell owned a third too,” her friend responded indignantly.

“Well, he does,” Effie conceded. “But ’e’s been a sight more hands-off than Mr. Carstairs, who’s done the lion’s share when it comes to settin’ this place up.” Caroline reflected that the same could probably be said of Gervaise.

“It’s not as Barty’s interested in the hiring of bar staff,” Effie continued, warming to her theme. “He’s more interested in what smart friends he’s bringing along to the opening night.”

Violet closed her compact with a snap. “I wonder if the other owner will be bringing along any of his smart set,” she said slyly, her eyes darting to Caroline. “Lord Atherton I think you said ’is name was.”

“I expect so,” Effie agreed, “though Caroline would know more about that than me.”

No, I would not, thought Caroline as the other two women turned to look at her.

“I was wondering what the particulars of your arrangement are wiv his lordship, if you don’t mind my asking,” Violet said boldly.