Chapter Nine

After her conversation with Mrs Hall, Mary had climbed the stairs to her room to think about what had been suggested. She’d wondered how it had come to this. She’d worked so hard all her life – first in the mill and then at Woodfold. She’d never taken a day off sick, never stolen a thing that wasn’t hers, never told lies. She’d handed her wages over to her mother when she lived at home to help feed the rest of the family, and at Woodfold she’d tried to save a little – not that it had done her any good because it was all gone now.

It wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a proper job, like the one Hannah had got, not be forced to earn a living by being nice to gentlemen. But it seemed that there were no proper jobs to be had, not without a letter of character or an influential friend to speak up for her.

The only alternative she’d been able to see was being turned out and ending up in the workhouse. The thought of that terrified her. She’d heard such terrible stories about that place. And at least it was clean here, she’d thought, running a hand over the counterpane. She’d heard rumours of illness taking hold in the town and seen a cart taking a body away from a house on Clayton Street. Perhaps it was better to be sweet to the men than be dead. Alice seemed to thrive on it. And if she earned a bit extra she’d be able to help John and give him money to buy warm clothes that fitted him before the winter came. She’d seen him the other day, fetching the coach horses from the stables to one of the inns to harness them up. He’d looked as thin as ever and his trousers were even shorter. And would it really be that bad? It wasn’t as if she was an innocent. Not after what her father had done.

Mary had been unable to come to a decision but as the days went by and the money in her purse dwindled to nothing she’d had to acknowledge that she wasn’t left with much choice.

On the Saturday night as she brushed out her hair and began to pin it up again, she left a few strands hanging loose to curl around her ears and the nape of her neck. There was no one here to tell her to tuck it into a cap and no danger of it getting caught in a loom as there had been when she was in the mill.

When she went down to the kitchen, Mrs Hall gave her an approving smile.

‘Tha looks nice,’ she said. Mary didn’t need to say that she’d eventually decided to heed her words. ‘And remember to smile,’ she advised, squeezing Mary’s cheek. ‘Gentlemen don’t want to see a sad face. They want someone to give ’em a bit of pleasure and take their minds off their troubles for a while. The more tha cheers ’em up, the better they’ll reward thee. Now, let’s ’ave us tea and then we’ll get started.’