‘See!’ Daisy pulled out a gas ring from the side of the fire. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Rose began to feel almost cheerful. Daisy lit the gaslight and made a pot of tea. She wondered if Rose realized that a hostel which boasted gaslight and a bathroom was above the common order.

‘I am such a fool,’ said Rose. ‘When I saw this shabby room, I almost wanted to run back to Eaton Square and hammer on the door and say I had made a dreadful mistake. We will go out and find somewhere to eat and then we will spend the evening in practising our Pitman shorthand. I wish to surprise Papa by making myself indispensable to the bank. I wonder what the other women will be like?’

CHAPTER TWO

O, how full of briers is this working-day world!

William Shakespeare

The alarm clock rang shrilly at six on Monday morning. Rose felt she had not slept at all. Daisy snored, Daisy cuddled up to her during the night, making Rose feel suffocated.

‘Wake up!’ said Rose. ‘Time to get ready.’ Shivering, she lit the gas fire and the gaslight in its bracket by the door. ‘I’ll use the bathroom first.’

They had both had baths the night before, fearing they would not get a chance in the morning, but Rose wanted hot water to wash her face. She reflected as she lit the geyser over the bath, which exploded into life with a roar, that two pennies in the meter just to wash one’s face was already beginning to feel like wanton extravagance. The bathroom was a dismal place. The bath itself was a deep coffin of a thing, but fortunately it was now clean, she and Daisy having had to scrub it out the night before. She washed her face and then filled the jug from the bedroom with hot water and climbed back up the stairs.

‘Brought you some hot water,’ said Rose.

‘What for?’ asked Daisy. ‘We washed last night. Help me with my stays.’

Rose tied Daisy’s stay ribbons and then hurriedly began to dress. ‘The bank’s in Lombard Street, Daisy. How do we get there?’

‘We walk.’

‘But it’s so far!’ wailed Rose.

‘I’ll find out about omnibuses, or maybe we can get an underground train.’

‘I know,’ said Rose. ‘We’ll take a hack and get him to stop just short of the bank. Just this once.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Daisy. ‘But we have to try to live within our means.’

There were two types of typists in the City – the working girls who were struggling to better themselves, and the middle-class ladies who worked for pin-money.