A Brighter Tomorrow by Maggie Ford (read with me .txt) 📕

‘He was so friendly to me when he took us on. Now he don’t even seem to notice me.’

Not so much odd as worrying. She had read all sorts of things into this unexpected promotion. It had taken her a while to figure things out. Then she had rumbled it. Of course he wouldn’t be so foolish as to commit himself by openly acknowledging her.

There was always someone about when he passed, on his way to either morning or evening surgery, or when surgery was over. Other times he’d be closeted in his study, though never when she cleared the ashes from the fire grate there or any other of the rooms; she up before six, the family not rising till two hours later. Even so, it seemed he was purposely avoiding her.

Only once had he come into his study when she’d been bent over the grate. She had looked up as a voice said, ‘Excuse me,’ in time to see his portly shape backing out, the door closing sharply on him.

It had left her with all sorts of questions. Had she misjudged his motives? Had he merely been kind to her and nothing more? She’d been so sure of her speculations. Or had his wife warned him to steer clear of her?

It was very obvious Mrs Lowe didn’t like her. She had made that plain enough by totally ignoring her, walking by her as if she was invisible except for the set lips, the small double chin held high. Had she in fact advised that he had best avoid the one who reminded them so of their daughter?

If he heeded her, then all her plans would come unstuck. Worrying about it had made her miserable and her work here had become drudgery again. Even today with the April sun warm and promising, it wasn’t easy to put all these questions to the back of her mind and unwind for an hour or two.

But it was good to be out of the place, if only for a few hours, to be back by four. Today, with no restriction, she could please herself what she did. She hadn’t realized just how much freedom would come to mean. She’d known it all her life. Even in the shadow of poverty and hard work and in the constant wariness of a lascivious and violent father, she’d known freedom to a certain extent; but no longer.

At the beck and call of those over her, she’d become a prisoner; but maybe not for too long if the plans she had in mind could eventually be put into practice.

‘Don’t the park look lovely?’ Dora’s voice broke through her thoughts. ‘What shall we do today?’

Ellie turned her face to her with a smile. ‘Anything you like,’ she said.

Six

It had been a lovely day exploring Victoria Park. In the very centre of London’s East End it provided an expanse of open country and a marvellous breath of fresh air. There were wide lawns where families picnicked and little wooded areas to make a person feel they were nowhere near a busy city with its ever-present pall of smoke. There was a huge lake and neat paths that led strollers past clumps of daffodils, reminding them of little yellow carpets, and everywhere were small park trees just coming into pink and white blossom. Behind a wire fence deer browsed and, hidden at the very far end, an unusual edifice called the Stone Alcoves, once part of old London Bridge, which sat silent, mysterious, almost creepy, like a small part of some faraway Greek ruin.

More jolly were the bathing lakes and the Memorial Fountain, a favourite with children, today as always laughing and squealing as they banged the zinc cups on their chains against the stone trough surrounding the monument, the metal misshapen from years of children’s not-so-tender handling. It had been presented to the park in 1862, the plaque said, by a Baroness Burdett-Coutts, and had since become a well-known meeting place. ‘Meet you by the fountain,’ was the usual comment.

Wearied by so much walking, Ellie and Dora had gone to a little café to have tea and cake on the pennies they’d been saving for weeks. Later they had fish and chips, a ha’penny bit of cod and a ha’p’orth of chips each, with plenty of salt and vinegar. The fish had been sweet and white and covered in crispy, oily batter, the chips so hot they burned the tongue, crispy on the outside, lovely and floury on the inside.

They’d taken their meal back to sit on a bench by the Regent’s Canal and eat straight from the newspaper it had been wrapped in, washed down with a ha’penny bottle of sherbet fizz. Food fit for a king or for two young girls who usually had to eat in silence and with some haste at the kitchen table under Mrs Jenkins’s watchful eye for any lapse of table etiquette, even below stairs.

Here, free of any restrictions, they had giggled, flicked bits of left-over batter at one another, bundled up the soiled, oily newspaper into balls to bat back and forth to each other, put their thumbs over the opening of the bottles to shake up the contents so that a minor release of the thumb would send the fine gassy liquid shooting in all directions. They finally settled down to enjoy a small cornet, licking with absolute relish the tiny ball of ice cream it held, by now keeping an eye on the time.

With the sun beginning to dip towards the west, they quickly tidied themselves, Ellie pinning up her hair again, which had come loose during their frolicking. In two weeks’ time, she’d be sixteen, but already she was required to wear her hair up, not only denoting her as being considered adult now but also as being neater for her work. Dora’s long tresses were still tied back with a plain brown bow, she being only twelve.

Tidied up, they made their way back to the