First published in Great Britain 2015

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2015 Katherine Woodfine

Illustrations © 2015 Júlia Sardà

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

First e-book edition 2015

ISBN 978 1 4052 7617 7

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1683 3

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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To Mama and OD,

with much love

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Front series promotional page

PART I: ‘The Straw Sailor’

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

PART II: ‘About Town’

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PART III: ‘À La Mode’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PART IV: ‘Evening elegance’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

PART V: ‘At Repose’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Back series promotional page

PART I

‘The Straw Sailor’

This dainty straw hat with a ribbon bow is the essence of charming simplicity. Becoming to every face shape, it is a practical everyday choice for the young working lady . . .

CHAPTER ONE

Sophie hung on tightly to the leather strap as the omnibus rattled forwards. Another Monday morning and, all about her, London was whirring into life: damp and steamy with last night’s rain and this morning’s smoke. As she stood wedged between a couple of clerks wearing bowler hats and carrying newspapers, she gazed out of the window at the grey street, wondering whether that faint fragrance of spring she’d caught on the wind had been just her imagination. She found herself thinking about the garden of Orchard House: the daffodils that must be blooming there now, the damp earth and the smell of rain in the grass.

‘Piccadilly Circus!’ yelled the conductor as the omnibus clattered to a halt, and Sophie pushed her thoughts away. She straightened her hat, grasped her umbrella in a neatly gloved hand, and slipped between the clerks and past an elderly lady wearing a pince-nez, who said ‘Dear me!’ as if quite scandalised at the sight of a young lady alone, recklessly jumping on and off omnibuses. Sophie paid no attention and hopped down on to the pavement. There was simply no sense in listening. After all, she wasn’t that sort of young lady any more.

As the omnibus drew away, she turned and gazed for a moment at the enormous white building that towered above her. Sinclair’s department store was so new that, as yet, it had not even opened its doors to customers. But already it was the most famous store in London – and therefore, some said, the whole world. With its magnificent columns and ranks of coloured flags, it wasn’t like any other shop Sophie had ever seen. It was more like a classical temple that had sprung up, white and immaculate against the smog and dirt of Piccadilly. The huge plate-glass windows were shrouded with royal-blue silk curtains, making it look like the stage in a grand theatre before the performance has begun.

The owner of Sinclair’s department store was Mr Edward Sinclair, who was as famous as the store itself. He was an American, a self-made man, renowned for his elegance, for the single, perfect orchid he always wore in his buttonhole, for the ever-changing string of beautiful ladies on his arm and, most of all, for his wealth. Although they had only been working for him for a few weeks, and most of them had barely set eyes on him, the staff of Sinclair’s had taken to referring to him as ‘the Captain’, because rumour had it that he had run away to sea in his youth. There were already a great number of rumours about Edward Sinclair. But whether the stories were true or not, it seemed an apt nickname. After all, the store itself was a little like a ship: as glittering and luxurious as an ocean liner ready to carry its customers proudly on a journey to an exotic new land.

Somewhere, Sophie could hear a clock chiming. Drawing herself up to her full height – which wasn’t very tall – she lifted her chin and set off smartly round the side of the great building, the little heels of her buttoned boots clicking briskly over the cobbles. As she approached, her heart began to thump, and she put up a hand to check that her hat, with its blue-ribbon bow, was still at exactly the right angle, and that her hair was not coming down. She was part of Sinclair’s department store now: a small cog in this great machine. As such, she knew she must be nothing short of perfect.

Through the doors was another world. The staff corridors were humming with activity. All about her, people were hurrying along carrying palms in pots, or stepladders and tins of paint, or stacks of the distinctive royal-blue and gold Sinclair’s boxes. A smart saleswoman whisked by with an exquisitely beaded evening gown draped carefully over her arm; another hustled along with an armful of parasols, seemingly in a terrific rush; and the strict store manager, Mr Cooper, could be seen dressing down a salesman about the condition of his gloves. Sophie dived in among them and then slipped into the empty cloakroom to take off her coat and hat.

It still seemed extraordinary that she was here at all. Even a year ago, the thought of earning her own living would never have entered her imagination – and now, here she was, a fully fledged shop girl. She paused for a moment before the cloakroom looking-glass to survey her hair, and pushed a hairpin back into place. Mr Cooper was a stickler for immaculate personal appearances, but worse than that, she knew that Edith and the other girls would be only too quick to notice any shortcomings. Once upon a time she had been rather vain about her looks, carefully brushing her hair one hundred times each night and fussing Miss Pennyfeather to tie her velvet ribbon in exactly the right sort of bow, but now she only wanted to look neat and businesslike. She didn’t feel in the least like the girl she had been back then. Her face in the looking glass was familiar, but strange: she looked older somehow, pale and tired and out of sorts.

Her shoulders slumped as she thought of the long week that lay ahead of her, but at once she frowned at herself sharply. Papa would have said that she ought to be thinking about how fortunate she was to be here. There were plenty of others who weren’t so lucky, she reminded herself. She had seen them: girls her own age or even younger, selling apples or little posies of flowers on street corners; girls begging for pennies from passing gentlemen; girls huddled in doorways, wearing clothes that were scarcely more than rags.

Thinking this, she shook her head, squared her shoulders and forced herself to smile. ‘Buck up,’ she told her reflection sternly. Whatever else happened today, she was determined that she wouldn’t give Edith any more excuses to call her stuck-up.

She strode purposefully towards the door, but before she had taken more than a couple of steps, she tripped and fell forwards.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed a voice. As she righted herself, she glanced down to see a boy gazing up at her in alarm. He was sitting on the floor, partly hidden behind a row of coats, and she had fallen over his boots. ‘Are you all right?’

‘What are you doing down there?’ demanded Sophie breathlessly, more embarrassed to have been caught pulling faces and talking to herself than actually hurt. No doubt this boy would make fun of her now, like all the rest, and he’d soon be telling all the others what he had overheard. ‘You shouldn’t hide in corners spying!’ she burst out.

‘I wasn’t spying,’ said the boy, scrambling to his feet. He was wearing the Sinclair’s porters’ uniform – trim dark-blue trousers, a matching jacket with a double row of brass buttons and a peaked hat – but the jacket looked too big for him, the trousers a bit short, and the hat was askew on his untidy, straw-coloured hair. ‘I was reading. ’ For proof, he held out a crumpled story-paper, entitled Boys of Empire, in one grubby hand.

But before Sophie could say anything else, the door slammed open, and a cluster of shop girls pushed their way into the room, in a flurry of skirts and ribbons.

‘Excuse us! Beg your pardon!’

A pretty dark-haired girl caught sight of the boy and smirked. ‘Haven’t you fetched that tin of elbow grease for Jim yet?’ she demanded, sending a ripple of titters through the group.

‘Learned to tie your bootlaces all by yourself, have you?’ another girl giggled.

A third took in Sophie, and made a ridiculous curtsy in her direction. ‘Forgive us, Your Ladyship. We didn’t see that you were gracing us with your presence.’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us to your young man?’ added the dark-haired girl in an arch tone, making the others laugh even more.

The boy’s cheeks flushed crimson, but Sophie tried her hardest to look indifferent. She had heard this kind of thing many times already during the two weeks of training that all the Sinclair’s shop girls had undertaken. She had realised that she had started all wrong on the very first morning, arriving wearing one of her best dresses – black silk and velvet with jet buttons. She had thought she ought to be smart and make a good first impression, but when she arrived, she realised that every other girl in the room was dressed almost identically, in a plain dark skirt, and a neat white blouse. The rustle and swish of her skirts had made them all look at her, and then begin giggling behind their hands.

‘Who does she think she is? The Lady of the Manor?’ the dark-haired girl, Edith, had whispered.

The next morning she had come carefully dressed in a navy-blue skirt and a white blouse with a little lace collar, but it was already too late. The girls called her ‘Your Ladyship’, or if they wanted to be especially mean, ‘Your Royal Highness’ or ‘Princess Sophie’. All through the training, they made game of the way she spoke, the clothes she wore, the way she did her hair, and especially whenever she was praised by Mr Cooper or Claudine, the store window-dresser.

She had tried hard to look unconcerned, and not to let her feelings show. Papa had always said that in times of war, the most important thing was never to let the enemy see that you were intimidated. Remembering this she saw his face again, almost as if he were standing right in front of her with his bright, dark eyes and neat moustache. He would have been pacing up and down on the hearth rug in his study, the walls hung with maps and treasures he had brought back from distant lands, relating one of his many stories about battles and military campaigns. Keep calm, keep your head, keep a stiff upper lip: those were his mottoes. But the truth was, the more she ignored the other shop girls, the worse they seemed to become. They said she was haughty and high-and-mighty, and called her the name she hated most, ‘Sour-milk Sophie’. Not for the first time, she reflected that perhaps Papa’s advice was not entirely helpful when it came to dealing with horrid shop girls.

Now, she turned away and went out into the passage, the boy trailing behind her. He looked so miserable that she felt a twinge of guilt for having assumed that he would make fun of her, when, in fact, it seemed that they were in the same boat.

‘I shouldn’t pay any attention to them,’ she said.

The boy tried to smile. ‘I really wasn’t spying on you – honest, I wasn’t,’ he said anxiously. ‘I just wanted to finish my serial. I didn’t even notice you were there. It’s the latest Montgomery Baxter.’ Seeing that she looked blank, he went on: ‘It’s about a detective. He’s only a boy, you see, but somehow he always solves the crime and outwits the villain, even when no one else can.’ He beamed at her enthusiastically and, rather to her surprise, Sophie found herself smiling back. ‘I just had to find somewhere out of sight to finish it, so Mr Cooper didn’t catch me reading. Anyway, I’m sorry I tripped you up,’ he finished.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sophie. She held out her hand politely, like Miss Pennyfeather had taught her. ‘I’m Sophie Taylor. I’m in the Millinery Department.’ She had already learned that using her full name, Taylor-Cavendish, would do her no favours here at Sinclair’s. It was safer to stick to plain old Taylor.

‘Billy Parker, apprentice porter,’ he explained, accepting her hand and giving it a firm shake.

‘Parker? Then are you –?’

‘Related to Sidney Parker? Yes. He’s my uncle, worse luck,’ Billy said, grimacing. ‘Oh cripes, and here he comes now,’ he murmured in a lower voice, hastily stuffing the creased story-paper into his pocket as a man came striding towards them along the passageway.

Like everyone else at Sinclair’s, Sophie already knew exactly who Sidney Parker was. He was Head Doorman, in charge of the whole team of doormen and porters, and Mr Cooper’s right-hand man. Tall and handsome in a bullish sort of way, he was impossible to miss in his immaculate uniform. With his hat perfectly brushed, his buttons gleaming and his glossy black moustache always smoothed into place, he couldn’t have been more different from his untidy nephew.

‘Good morning, miss,’ he said, sweeping off his hat with the respectful manner he used for all ladies. Then he turned to Billy. ‘Where do you think you’ve been? Stand up straight, lad – and cheer up, can’t you? You look like a wet weekend.’

He winked at Sophie as though they were sharing a joke at Billy’s expense and then swung the door that led to the shop floor open for her with exaggerated politeness. Throwing a quick smile over her shoulder to Billy, she walked out of the passageway.

CHAPTER TWO

Billy gazed after Sophie as she vanished through the door. She was the first girl in the whole place who hadn’t treated him like he was dirt on the bottom of her shoe. With her golden hair, he decided she looked rather like the heroine of the Montgomery Baxter story he had just been reading. That would, of course, make him the brave boy detective who saves her from deadly peril. He was just beginning to consider exactly what that peril might be when he was brought back to earth by a sharp cuff on the back of the head from Uncle Sid.

‘Don’t pretend to me that you haven’t been larking about again, boy,’ he said curtly. ‘I know everything that goes on in this place, and don’t you forget it. You want to pull your socks up otherwise you’ll be out on your ear. Now shift yourself. Go and help George with the deliveries.’

Billy went down the passage towards the door to the stable-yard, muttering the rudest words he could think of under his breath as soon as Uncle Sid was out of earshot. He couldn’t believe that just two weeks ago, he had actually been looking forward to starting work and doing a man’s job. Now he was here, and all he did was spend each day bored senseless, being treated like everyone’s dogsbody, or getting told off. He’d already had his wages docked twice by Mr Cooper – once for being late and once for having dirty boots. Mum was forever harping on about how lucky he was to have such a fine start, but as far as he was concerned, he’d rather be back at school doing sums. At least he’d been half decent at those.

The stable-yard was warm and damp and smelled of horses and hay. George was sitting alone in a patch of sunlight, squinting at a newspaper, his pipe clamped between his teeth. Blackie, the boiler-room cat, was nearby, thoughtfully washing one paw.

‘Here you are, young feller,’ George said, patting a packing crate beside him. ‘Pull yourself up a pew.’

Suddenly, Billy felt better. It was much nicer here in the stable-yard, away from Uncle Sid and those awful giggling shop girls, and he liked George, who never jeered at him.

‘You’ve got good eyes – read us this bit out,’ said George, pointing with the stem of his pipe.

Billy sat down on the packing case, took the newspaper that George was holding out to him and read aloud:

‘Fancy that,’ said George admiringly. ‘And to think that all that’s going to be coming through here this very morning, jewels that have belonged to queens and the like.’

‘Look at the picture’ said Billy, and they bent over the paper to squint at the blurry photograph.

‘Don’t look much like any sparrow I’ve ever seen,’ said George, contemplating it. ‘A different tune every time, eh? Now however do you reckon they get it to do that?’

At that moment, a cart loaded with boxes of merchandise rumbled into the stable-yard. ‘Shake a leg, George!’ called a voice from behind them. ‘The gaffer wants this lot unloaded sharpish.’

George winked at Billy and then heaved himself to his feet. ‘Come on pal,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on with this and then we’ll finish reading later on.’

Saying that was all very well, but Billy found it was difficult to concentrate on boxes and deliveries. He kept picturing immense diamonds glinting in the dark tunnels of an Indian mine. Then there was Marie Antoinette’s tiara. How had the Captain come to own it? He imagined a grand Paris auction house, or a furtive transaction with a cloaked stranger in a foreign tavern. Busy with these speculations, it seemed no time at all before the boxes were unloaded, and then two shiny black motor vans were pulling into the yard, each driven by a man in white gloves. George nodded to Billy, who stood staring, fascinated by the thought of the priceless treasures that must be within.

But then Uncle Sid strode up. ‘No hanging about, if you please. This isn’t a job for the likes of you. Hop it. Find yourself something useful to do.’

Obediently, Billy walked away, but inwardly he was bristling. At the first sign of something exciting happening, he was told to make himself scarce!

He kicked at the ground, feeling bored and irritable. If only there was something else he could do instead of being a rotten old shop porter. A police detective, solving crimes; the commander of one of those new submarines, keeping the British Empire safe from her enemies; or even an author, writing thrilling tales like those he read in Boys of Empire. Or perhaps he could be a man like the Captain, an adventurer travelling the world, collecting exotic jewels . . . But it was no good even imagining it. Fellows like him just didn’t do that sort of thing.

He wandered gloomily into the stables, thinking that he might be able to find a quiet corner to get on with his story. Bessy, the chestnut mare, put her head over the door of her stall as he approached, and he paused to stroke her. Now, being a cowboy, that would be something, he thought vaguely. Riding on his valiant steed across the great plains of America, like Deadwood Dick or Buffalo Bill –

Suddenly, he stopped short. Something was moving under the hay in the empty stall next to Bessy’s – something much too big to be a rat, or even Blackie the cat.

He gathered his wits quickly. It was probably just some kid mucking about. Sometimes there were children hanging about the store, waifs and strays begging or hoping to earn a penny. Uncle Sid always ordered them away, threatening to set the law on them if they came near the place again. Well if his uncle could do it, he could too. He puffed out his chest and stood taller.

‘Who’s there?’ he demanded. Nothing happened and he began to wonder if he had imagined the rustling movement. He raised his voice and said clearly, much as he imagined the great Montgomery Baxter himself might speak: ‘I know you’re there. Show yourself at once.’

To his astonishment, the hay twitched again – first he saw the glint of a dark suspicious eye, and then a form beginning to emerge. But it wasn’t just a kid, he saw with surprise and then with growing anxiety. It was a youth – a young man really – probably a few years older than he was himself. Bigger than him, anyway. He looked filthy with a lot of dark, curly hair straggling out from underneath an old cap. But what Billy noticed straight away was that his face was badly bruised, and that he held his arm awkwardly. The young man was injured, Billy realised, but all the same he found himself stepping back. It wasn’t that this stranger was threatening exactly, but he wasn’t afraid either: his face showed nothing but a sort of sharp-edged curiosity.

‘Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?’ Billy blustered.

The young man said nothing.

‘You’re trespassing. You’re not allowed to be here. I should get the police.’

The fellow gave him a quick, searching look. Then he spoke. ‘I’m not doing any harm,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘I’ll not take nothing. Let me be.’

‘I can’t do that!’ Billy exclaimed. He couldn’t even imagine what Uncle Sid would say if he found that Billy had let some ruffian hang about in the stables. He gathered himself, and said in a voice that was meant to be just as stern as before, except that it would wobble in a most irritating way: ‘You’re to clear off at once, hear me?’

To his annoyance, the stranger suddenly grinned at him. ‘Think you’re a toughie, don’t you, mate?’ he said. ‘Well, all right then, just for you I’ll be off – but I’ll be going in my own time. Why don’t you get back to your work like a good boy?’

Billy felt his fists clenching. Why did everyone always treat him like he was some sort of stupid, useless kid? This fellow was the worst of the lot of them, looking at him with a silly smirk on his dirty face. Well, he would show him. His fear had fled now, and he stepped forwards boldly, striking out with his fists. But all at once, and more deftly than Billy could ever have imagined, the stranger shot out one foot, and Billy found himself face down on the stable floor in a great pile of dirt.

By the time he had picked himself up again, spluttering with indignation, his jacket plastered with horse muck and straw, the strange young man had completely vanished.

CHAPTER THREE

Stepping on to the shop floor was like stepping inside a chocolate box. Sophie’s feet sank into the thick, soft carpet and she sucked in a deep breath of the rich, perfumed air. She had been falling in love with the store since the very first moment she saw it on the day of her interview, when it had still been noisy with the sounds of sawing and hammering, and had smelled of sawdust and paint. Even then, it had seemed more like a place from a fairy story than any dull, ordinary shop.

Now, a reverent hush hung in the air, and she found herself almost tiptoeing as she crossed the shop floor, gazing around her at the immense chandeliers, the glittering looking-glasses, the glossy walnut panelling. It smelled luscious: no sawdust now, but a glorious fragrance of cocoa and candied violets and some other spicy scent, like the cigars that Papa used to smoke after dinner. The ceiling was painted with a mural of cherubs luxuriating upon soft pink clouds, and around her were gleaming glass-topped counters, each displaying an array of beautiful objects for customers to admire, from blue glass bottles of eau-de-cologne to prettily enamelled snuff-boxes. For now, though, there were no customers; the store was deserted. She only glimpsed the occasional salesgirl, whisking to and fro like a ghost as she put the final touches to a rainbow display of soft kid gloves, or ran a feather duster carefully over a collection of dainty rouge and powder boxes.

Sophie wished she had time to linger, but she knew she ought to hurry. She made her way towards the staff staircase at the back of the shop – the grand main staircases and the lifts were, of course, to be for the customers only. But even the staff staircase had the same air of impossible luxury and she couldn’t resist dawdling to trail her fingers along the smooth, curving caramel-coloured banister.

The Millinery Department was on the third floor, next to Ladies’ Fashions. The room itself looked more like an elegant lady’s boudoir than any hat shop she had seen before. The large windows were hung with beautiful draped curtains; chairs with silk cushions were carefully positioned before oval-shaped mirrors in gilt frames; and bowls of sweet-smelling flowers stood on side tables. Mrs Milton, Head of the Millinery Department, was standing by the counter, hustling all the girls together like a distracted hen with a brood of wayward chicks.

‘Now where is Sophie? Oh, there you are. Do hurry along, dear! Minnie, keep those sticky fingers off my nice clean counter. And, Edith, take those bracelets off at once. You know as well as I do what Mr Cooper would say. Girls, really ! We have a great deal to do today.’

As Sophie joined the circle, Edith smirked and whispered something to Ellie. Sophie ignored her, turning her attention to Mrs Milton, who was still speaking: ‘This is our last day to prepare before the grand opening tomorrow. Mr Sinclair himself will be walking around before the end of the day to inspect the whole store, so everything must be quite perfect. That includes all the storerooms as well as the shop floor.’ She beamed at them all and her tone shifted slightly, ‘Now, I have some exciting news. Mr Cooper tells me I may appoint one of you as my assistant. Whoever is chosen will receive an extra five shillings a week, but will also have a great deal of extra responsibility. She will be in charge of the department when I am away, and will help to choose our stock. I shall be watching you work in the next few days once the store has opened, and then I shall make my decision, so mind you all do your best.’

A little murmur of interest ran through the group of girls. Who would be chosen? Surely not Violet or Minnie – they were only apprentices, straight out of school. Ellie was the oldest, but she was rather slow and apt to make heavy weather of any complicated tasks. No, it would have to be either Edith or Sophie – and they all knew that Sophie had been singled out and praised by Mr Cooper during the training. The younger ones gazed at her, but Edith scowled. It was clear she wasn’t about to sit by and let Her Ladyship beat her to become Mrs Milton’s assistant.

Sophie’s mind was racing. An extra five shillings a week! That might even be enough to move out of her awful lodgings and find some nicer rooms somewhere. Of course, it would never be anything like Orchard House – that had gone forever. But at least it might begin to feel something like a home.

Mrs Milton continued: ‘I will expect you all to work your very hardest today. So to begin – Ellie and Violet, all of those boxes need to be cleared away. Sophie, you may finish that display over in the window. Edith and Minnie, I want to see those display cases polished until they sparkle. I won’t have Mr Sinclair finding so much as a speck of dust in my department!’

Edith looked furious to have been given something as lowly as polishing to do when Sophie had all the fun of arranging a display. As she went to fetch dusters, she shot the other girl a poisonous glance, but Sophie ignored her, determined to focus only on her task. A tower of hat-boxes stood before her, each containing a lovely new spring hat to be removed from its delicate tissue paper wrappings, uncovering a riot of silk flowers, huge chiffon bows, frills of lace and nodding ostrich plumes. Some were topped with artificial birds or fruit, others wreathed in layers of frothy net and tulle like something that might be served up in the store’s Confectionery Department. She turned each hat to and fro in her hands, deciding how it might be best displayed, enjoying the soft brush of velvet against her skin, a satin ribbon sliding between her fingers, the crisp delicacy of a net veil.

They were strangely evocative things. A pink organza recalled a frock she had once had for dancing class; a green-striped bow reminded her of one of Miss Pennyfeather’s Sunday hats; this velvet was like the dress she had worn when she had first come to Sinclair’s. Already, it seemed like a very long time ago, although in fact it was barely two months.

At fourteen, they had said she was too old for an orphanage: she was considered no longer a child, and old enough to support herself. Instead, they had sent her to an employment agency, where two ladies had looked her up and down as she stood there, dressed like a child with a muslin pinafore over her frock, her skirts barely touching the tops of her boots.

‘She’s very small, isn’t she, Charlotte?’

‘Undersized. Not much work in her.’

‘And look at those hands! Soft as butter.’

‘A spoilt little thing, I should say.’

Sophie had wanted to protest that she was not spoilt, but they had begun to fling questions at her. Could she cook? Could she launder? Could she work a typewriter? She could only shake her head. It had soon become clear that a girl who had passed no examinations and who had no idea how to begin to set about cooking a dinner or scrubbing a floor wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with options when it came to finding a way to earn money. French conversation and dancing were all very well, but they would do nothing to help her now.

It was as she was trailing miserably back from the agency, a few flakes of snow just beginning to fall, that she had first found Sinclair’s. Work on the building had still been going on, but the enormous hoarding around it was already plastered in advertisements, and in spite of the cold, people were lingering to read them. But what had made Sophie stop and stare was an enormous sign that read, in scarlet letters, Staff Wanted. Almost in a moment, she had known that sign was meant for her.

The next day she had put up her hair and let down the skirts of her most grown-up gown. She had perched on the edge of a hard chair, carefully answering the questions put to her by Mr Cooper – a serious-looking man with a close-trimmed beard and a severe black suit. She had felt almost absurd relief when he had offered her a position as a salesgirl in the Millinery Department, starting at ten shillings a week – just enough to afford bed and board in a cheap lodging house for working ladies.

It was what Papa would have wanted, she had reflected as she toiled back to her lodgings through the snow. She knew that he would have expected her to buck up and make the best of things, just as people always did in the military tales he loved to relate. Perhaps she might not be facing wild beasts or a native uprising in the jungle, but she could be brave and not make a fuss about embarking on this peculiar new life.

Now, with the hat display almost complete, Sophie paused for a moment and gazed down at the street below her, thronged with Hansom cabs and motor taxis, cycles whizzing daringly between them, and omnibuses, bright with coloured advertisements for Pear’s Soap and Fry’s Chocolate Cream. The pavements were crowded with people and as she watched, Sophie felt a flutter of excitement to see how many of them were casting curious glances up at the huge facade of Sinclair’s.

‘Now, Sophie, there’s no time for dreaming today. That looks very nice but if you’ve finished I wish you’d run some errands for me,’ came Mrs Milton’s voice, and Sophie started guiltily back from the window. ‘These hats need to go down to the dressing rooms on the first floor. They’re for the mannequins to wear in the dress parade.’

Edith, still busy polishing, looked pleased at the sight of Sophie being asked to do something so menial. ‘I’m sure Her Ladyship won’t care for that,’ she whispered loudly to Minnie.

As a matter of fact, Edith was quite wrong, Sophie thought crossly as she went down the stairs, carefully balancing the stack of hat-boxes. The truth was that she was happy to have any chance to look around the store and felt proud that she already knew almost every corner. The mannequins’ dressing room was one place that she had not yet seen, and what was more, she was intrigued by the mannequins themselves – lovely young ladies who had been hired especially for the purpose of modelling frocks and furs and hats. Once the store was open, there would be a dress show once a day, where they would parade before the store’s most important customers in a specially decorated salon in the Ladies’ Fashions Department. The mannequins were called the ‘Captain’s Girls’ as rumour had it that Edward Sinclair had insisted on selecting every one himself. Sophie had heard it said that they were as glamorous as stars of the West End’s chorus lines.

She soon found the dressing room in the maze of staff corridors on the first floor, and tapped politely at the door. Hearing no response, she went inside. Like every room at Sinclair’s, the dressing room was beautifully furnished, with soft chairs, looking-glasses, bright lamps and several rails of beautiful gowns, but it was otherwise empty – with the exception of one dark-haired beauty, who appeared to be half in and half out of an evening dress. There was no doubt that she must be one of the Captain’s Girls. Sophie began to retreat at once.

‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t know anyone was here,’ she murmured, but before she could close the door again, the girl looked up and smiled at her.

‘I say – don’t go!’ she exclaimed in a hearty voice that didn’t match her appearance in the slightest. ‘Come in, do, and maybe you can help me with this ghastly thing. I simply can’t make it fasten.’

Sophie put the hat-boxes down on a table, but as she approached the girl she had to bite back a gasp of amazement. It was as if a goddess had appeared before her, dressed in a white silk petticoat. Tall and statuesque, with a mass of rich, chocolate-brown hair piled on top of her head, enormous, long-lashed dark eyes and a creamy silk-and-velvet complexion, she was by far the most beautiful girl Sophie had ever seen. No wonder Mr Sinclair had chosen her to be one of the Captain’s Girls, she thought, trying not to stare.

‘I can’t seem to get the silly old bodice done up,’ the girl was saying cheerfully, clutching uselessly at the evening dress. ‘Do you think you could help? Oh thanks awfully. This is the frock I’m supposed to be wearing for the first dress show tomorrow, you see. I’m due to go to see Monsieur Pascal, so he can decide on a hairstyle to complement it, and I don’t suppose they’d like it much if I went roaming the place in my petticoats . . . Oh I say, you are doing a good job.’

Sophie had managed to untangle the dress and was looking it over. ‘I think maybe your corset needs to be tighter,’ she suggested.

‘You’re probably right,’ said the girl with a heavy sigh. Now that they were closer together, it was clear that she was younger than Sophie had first thought – perhaps only about sixteen. ‘I can’t bear a tight corset. So hateful not being able to breathe properly – don’t you think? Oh well, you have to suffer for your art I suppose, not that this is exactly what I’d call art, but you know what I mean. At least I’m only going to be doing this for a little while.’ She paused for a moment to gaze at her reflection in the mirror while Sophie tugged hard at the corset strings, and then went on, in a more confidential tone: ‘I’m really just doing it to earn a bit of money while I try and get more work in the theatre. You see, what I really want is to be an actress. I’ve just got my first real part – nothing like proper acting, just singing and dancing in the chorus in a silly show at the Fortune Theatre, but it’s a start.’

She stepped into the rustling silk skirt, and as Sophie lifted it up and fastened the tapes, she continued. ‘I know acting isn’t exactly respectable. My parents absolutely loathe the idea. Father’s awfully cross with me about it. As for Mother, she’s in a terrible pet that one of her friends is going to come in here and see me modelling frocks. They think I ought to be at home doing dreary piano practice and going to tennis parties and waiting for some stuffy fellow to decide to marry me. Could you imagine anything more dull?’ She pulled a face so expressive that Sophie couldn’t help laughing.

‘But then I’ve always known I was meant to tread the boards. It’s just the only thing I could do,’ the girl went on. Then she added hastily, ‘I mean, working here is jolly fine too of course. What do you do? Are you a salesgirl?’

Sophie was doing up the dozens of tiny buttons at the back of the bodice. ‘Yes, in the Millinery Department.’

‘Hats! How jolly! I love a good hat, don’t you? I say, this is rather a nice frock, isn’t it?’

Sophie gazed at the girl’s reflection in the mirror. If she had looked like a goddess before, she looked even more like one now. The gown was pale gold, with a pattern of peacock feathers on the sweeping skirt and a closely fitted bodice elaborately beaded in blue, green and gold. The girl turned first one way and the other, the rustling skirts swinging, and then gave Sophie a wide grin.

‘I think this must be meant for you,’ said Sophie, removing a hat from one of the boxes she had brought – an exquisite creation in green velvet trimmed with peacock feathers.

‘Thanks awfully for your help. I’m Lil by the way – well, Lilian Rose, if you want to be proper.’

‘Sophie Taylor.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sophie Taylor,’ said Lil, breezing out of the room. Sophie followed her, the empty hat-box under one arm.

‘I say –’ Lil, who didn’t seem to be able to stop talking for more than a second at a time, was just beginning again, when they both stopped suddenly in the passageway at the sound of a voice. It was whispering from behind a clothes rail hung with evening dresses that had been left to one side: ‘Pssst! Sophie! ’

To Sophie’s astonishment, she saw the young porter from the cloakroom hovering behind the rack of gowns. His face was pink and alarmed.

‘What is it?’

He motioned for her to come behind the rack and she did so, Lil following at once, looking intrigued.

As soon as she saw him, Sophie realised why he looked so unhappy. His smart blue uniform jacket was smeared from neck to waist with what looked like mud, but which smelled distinctly worse.

‘Hullo,’ said Lil cheerfully. ‘Are you a friend of Sophie’s? I’m Lil. I say – you’re in rather a state aren’t you? Whatever have you been up to?’

Billy gaped at her for a moment, evidently confused and horrified to have been discovered looking like this by an impossibly beautiful girl in an evening gown. Then he looked desperately at Sophie. ‘I’ve tried to get it off but it just won’t budge,’ he said urgently. ‘The girls will laugh their heads off if they see me like this – and Uncle Sid’ll give me a walloping. And Mr Cooper will sack me for sure. Do you know any way that I could clean it?’

Sophie became serious. Mr Cooper had made it abundantly clear that everything – and everyone – would be expected to be quite perfect before Mr Sinclair carried out his inspection later in the day. She had already seen Cooper dismiss staff who did not come up to his exacting standards. She thought quickly. ‘It will come off easily enough, don’t worry. But it needs laundering properly. We need to let it dry, then brush it down and wash it.’

The sound of voices passing by made her break off and for a moment they all crouched down behind the rack, hoping not to be seen. Billy tried his hardest not to brush mud against any of the gowns.

‘Gosh, this is rather a lark,’ murmured Lil.

‘Sssshhh! ’ Billy and Sophie hissed together.

Sophie turned back to Billy. ‘We need to find you a spare jacket to borrow, just for a day or two. Then I can take this away and wash it and no one will be any the wiser.’

Billy’s face brightened. ‘There must be some spare ones somewhere,’ he said hopefully.

‘In the basement, I think,’ said Sophie, thinking quickly. ‘I’m not sure exactly where though.’

Lil’s eyes lit up. ‘I do!’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw some uniforms in one of the little storerooms down there.’

‘Whatever were you doing there?’ Sophie asked, looking curiously at their new acquaintance. The labyrinth of twisting passages and storerooms in the basement was one place that even she had not much wanted to explore.

‘Oh, just taking a look around,’ said Lil, airily. She grinned. ‘One of those salesmen – Jim something-or-other – was rather insistent about giving me a tour.’

Sophie laughed, but the sound of Sidney Parker’s voice rumbling somewhere not very far away from them made her hurry on. ‘Take that jacket off and I’ll deal with it,’ she said quickly to Billy. ‘Then you and Lil can go down the back stairs to the basement and find another one.’

‘What – in my vest ?’ demanded Billy, pink-faced.

Distinctly, they heard Sidney’s voice calling, ‘Billy! Billy! Where the devil has the boy got to now?’

‘Quickly – go!’ Sophie hissed.

Mortified, Billy wriggled out of his jacket and flung it to her. ‘But what will you do with it?’ he whispered.

Sophie opened the empty hat-box, whisked the jacket inside and put on the lid.

‘Perfect! Come on!’ said Lil cheerfully, grabbing Billy by the arm, and flashing a grin at Sophie as they disappeared.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lil led the way down a dark, echoing passageway. From somewhere behind her came the young porter’s uncertain voice:

‘Are you sure this is the right way?’

She glanced over her shoulder at him. His face was pale and anxious in the dark. Rather a poor show to be frightened by a few dark corridors, she thought; but then he did seem rather a timid sort of chap. For herself, she rather liked this basement underworld; there was something deliciously mysterious about it.

‘You’re not scared, are you?’ she teased.

‘No!’ he flashed back, a little too quickly. ‘It just seems like an odd place to keep uniforms.’ He hesitated for a moment, then added suspiciously, ‘This isn’t some sort of awful joke, is it?’

Lil felt a little ashamed of herself. The poor fellow looked exactly the sort who would be forever having his leg pulled. ‘Of course not,’ she said, heartily. ‘I say, there are a lot of rooms down here, aren’t there? Dozens and dozens, all of them empty. I suppose they’ll be needed eventually, but for now, hardly anyone seems to come down here.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Billy, muttering something else almost inaudible about not wanting to be seen skulking around a darkened basement with a girl, wearing only his vest.

Lil paid no attention. ‘Here we are,’ she announced triumphantly, pushing the door open on to a small room containing several racks of Sinclair’s uniforms. ‘Well, off you go then,’ she urged. ‘Try them on. One of them will do, I’m sure of it,’ she said, perching on the edge of a wooden crate.

Billy eyed her uneasily. ‘Are you planning to just sit there and watch ?’

‘Would you like me to cover my eyes?’ she asked mischievously.

He ignored her, and wriggled into a jacket that looked about the right size.

‘A perfect fit,’ she said, pleased, bouncing down from her makeshift seat. ‘Now, we’d better get back upstairs before anyone notices we’ve gone. Come on!’

But they had barely stepped out into the passage again before Lil stopped suddenly in her tracks. She could hear something: not the usual quiet creaking sounds of the basement, but something more distinctive – the sound of regular footsteps, coming closer and closer towards them. She grabbed Billy’s arm, and dragged him quickly around a corner, and against a wall.

She could see he was annoyed with her now. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ he began crossly, but she put a finger to her lips willing him to be silent. He gazed back at her, confused, then he heard the footsteps too, and understanding, he pressed himself back against the wall. A figure was approaching, shadowy in the dim light. Lil held her breath. Any moment now, they might be discovered. Beside her, Billy squeezed his eyes shut, as if waiting for the moment to come, but she peered round the corner, fascinated, as it approached and then passed by, down the corridor and out of sight.

She let out a long gust of breath.

‘Whoever do you think that was?’ she whispered, intrigued.

‘Shhhh! ’ hissed Billy.

They stood still and waited until the sound of footsteps faded away, before creeping back into the main corridor and up the stairs to the shop floor.

From the very beginning, it had been clear that Edward Sinclair planned to take good care of his staff. They had a far better time of it than their peers in London’s other great stores. They were not expected to sleep in cramped dormitories above the shop, nor to work long hours for low pay. They had proper training, decent wages, and sensible working hours, including regular tea breaks and a substantial midday meal, which they ate in shifts in the large staff refectory. Of course, the food on offer wasn’t anything to compare with the elegant dishes that would very soon be served in the store’s luxurious Marble Court Restaurant, but the smell of mutton stew that day certainly made Sophie feel hungry as she walked into the large dining hall.

On the threshold, though, she hesitated. The staff sat where they liked at the long tables, but there was a rule that the men and boys kept to one side of the room, women and girls to the other. Because of this, although Sophie could see Billy sitting by himself across the room – now looking much tidier, his copy of Boys of Empire spread open on the table in front of him – she couldn’t go over and sit with him. But equally she knew she would not be very welcome at the table where Edith was holding forth to a cluster of her fellow shop girls. With some relief, she spotted an empty place in a corner where she could sit alone. But before she could make her way over to it, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Miss Taylor,’ said an unfamiliar voice, and she turned around to see a tall, fair young man whom she recognised slightly – Bert Jones, Ladies’ Fashions. He wore his hair sleeked back, and smelled strongly of cologne. Sophie nodded politely, but felt confused. She had barely exchanged two words with Bert before, and all she really knew about him was that Edith had been telling everyone that he had already invited her to walk out with him.

‘I hear you’re coming up in the world,’ he said, in a confidential tone. ‘Little promotion on the way? Mum’s the word though, eh?’ He tapped the side of his nose.

Sophie smiled awkwardly and made to move away, but he put a long-fingered hand on her elbow. ‘Look, the way I see it, Miss Taylor, you and I have got things in common. You’re obviously a smart girl, and me – well, I don’t like to brag, but I’m smart too. Going places, see? Catching the right people’s attention. So how about you step out with me on Friday night, after closing time?’

Sophie felt her face flush scarlet. She felt horribly conscious of the shop girls gasping and giggling, and Billy goggling at her from across the room. ‘But . . . I thought you were walking out with Edith,’ she managed.

Bert shrugged. ‘Well, maybe I was. But things change, don’t they?’ he said with a knowing wink.

Sophie lifted her chin. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so,’ she said firmly.

Bert eyed her thoughtfully. ‘They all said you were stuck-up,’ he said. Then he grinned. ‘Well, that’s all right by me. I don’t mind a girl being a bit above herself. Come on, Your Ladyship. I’m a catch, me. On Cooper’s good side. Doing his special commissions after hours, so I’ve got a few quid coming my way. I’ll treat you proper – like a lady.’

‘Can’t you tell she’s not interested?’ came a clear, matter-of-fact voice from somewhere behind her. To her astonishment, Sophie saw that Lil had appeared at her elbow. She was now dressed in a plain skirt and blouse instead of the green and gold peacock gown, but she still looked as extraordinary as ever. ‘Leave her alone and go and eat your dinner.’

One or two people laughed, and Bert stared for a moment, taken aback. Then he seemed to register all the watching faces and a scowl broke over his face. He let go of Sophie’s elbow and stalked away towards the gentlemen’s side of the room, his hands in his pockets, as if nothing had happened.

‘What a bore,’ said Lil, leading Sophie towards a couple of empty chairs in the corner, leaving a babble of chatter in their wake. ‘You’ve simply got to put fellows like that in their place.’

Sophie pulled a face, feeling embarrassed. She could well imagine that Lil was used to dealing with all kinds of suitors, but Sophie herself was hardly accustomed to strange young men inviting her to walk out with them.

Lil was staring down at her plate in undisguised disappointment. ‘Mutton,’ she said with a sigh. ‘How dreary. Could you only imagine if it had been roast beef ? I’m simply ravenous.’

But Sophie wasn’t thinking about stew. ‘Edith is going to be even more browned off with me than ever now.’

‘Who’s Edith?’ asked Lil, tucking in. ‘Oh, she has a fancy for him, does she? Well, that’s hard luck, but it wasn’t your fault. Actually it was rather funny. I wish you could have seen your face. And Billy’s! He looked like he was about to challenge that Bert fellow to a duel, or goodness knows what!’

Sophie laughed. ‘You found a jacket then?’ she asked, relieved to change the subject.

‘Of course! Though we had a bit of a narrow squeak when we nearly bumped into someone wandering around down in the basement. Billy looked jolly worried.’

‘I think he’s frightened of getting into trouble with Mr Cooper.’

‘I can’t think why everyone’s so terrified about that,’ said Lil. ‘Cooper is such an old stick. That stern manner of his is just an act.’

‘Doesn’t anyone intimidate you?’ Sophie asked, shaking her head in astonishment.

‘Lord, yes!’ exclaimed Lil. ‘Miss Pinker, the headmistress of my old school. Frightful creature. And I have to say, I was rather terrified when I did my audition for the show. I had to get up and sing in front of the director, Gilbert Lloyd. He’s simply the tops when it comes to musical comedy – and dreadfully handsome too. I was absolutely quaking in my boots! Anyway, I can’t have been that awful because I got the part. Of course I’m only in the chorus. I’m about the least important person there is in the whole place, to tell the truth. But it might be my chance – a real chance to be an actress!’

Behind them, the girls at Edith’s table had their heads close together whispering and were casting curious glances over at Lil. Sophie felt a sudden wave of relief sweep over her. When she had arrived at the store that morning she had felt entirely alone here, but at last she seemed to have found a friend. She smiled across the table at Lil, feeling almost light-hearted for the first time in many weeks.

‘It sounds marvellous,’ she said. ‘Tell me all about it.’

CHAPTER FIVE

As the final day of preparations went on, the pace began to accelerate. Men in white gloves were busy in the Exhibition Hall, unpacking crates with mechanical precision. In the Entrance Hall, Mr Cooper and Sidney Parker were engaged in an intense discussion about the best deployment of porters, lift-operators and doormen. In the Ladies’ Lounge, bunches of perfect roses were being arranged in crystal vases, and in the Marble Court Restaurant, the waiters smoothed out snowy white linen tablecloths and laid out silverware, the restaurant manager following behind them with a tape measure to ensure that each setting was perfect.

Up in the Millinery Department, the main activities were dusting, sweeping and polishing. Unused to such physical work, Sophie soon found herself weary and aching, but she went on working grimly, determined not to let Edith see that she was tired. All the same, as the afternoon drew on, she was pleased to see Lil appear, giving her a welcome excuse to get up from her polishing.

‘So this is where you work?’ said Lil, looking around her with interest. ‘Gosh, it’s all rather splendid, isn’t it? They sent me up to collect some more hats for the dress show rehearsal.’

Sophie nodded. ‘They’re through in the storeroom,’ she said, leading the way. ‘I’ll show you.’

Once the storeroom door had closed behind them, they grinned at each other conspiratorially.

‘I was simply bursting for a change of scenery,’ said Lil. ‘They wanted to send for a porter – Captain’s Girls aren’t supposed to be running about the store with boxes, and all that, but I insisted on coming myself. Honestly, I can’t tell you how fearfully boring it is, just practising walking up and down in different frocks.’

‘It sounds an awful lot better than polishing,’ said Sophie with a laugh, as she handed Lil the hat-boxes she needed.

‘Well, yes, I suppose you’re probably right there,’ said Lil, grinning ruefully. ‘I really oughtn’t grumble. And at least tomorrow morning I’ll be off to the theatre for rehearsals. We don’t have to come in until after luncheon now, you see, because the dress shows will only be in the afternoons, so it’s all worked out splendidly.’ She paused, and then heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose I should go. They’ll be waiting for me.’

‘And I ought to get on with that polishing,’ Sophie agreed, stretching and stifling a yawn. ‘Mrs Milton really has our noses to the grindstone.’

They both went towards the door – but when Sophie tried the handle, it wouldn’t budge.

‘Is it stuck? Here, let me try.’

But it wasn’t stuck. No matter how much either of them jiggled at the door handle, it would not open.

‘I think it’s locked,’ said Lil in astonishment.

‘This is Edith’s doing,’ said Sophie, with a slow groan of realisation. ‘She must have seen us come in here and then locked the door.’

‘But why would she do that?’

‘To get us both into trouble, of course,’ said Sophie. ‘To stop me from finishing my work, and make Mrs Milton angry, and to pay us back for that business in the refectory earlier.’

‘Oh I say!’ cried Lil indignantly.

Sophie felt her own temper flare. If she didn’t finish the tasks she had been set, she could say goodbye to any chance of becoming Mrs Milton’s assistant. And now Lil would be in trouble too, and none of this was in the least bit her fault!

But there was no sense in losing her head, she reminded herself. ‘Maybe one of the others will let us out. Let’s see if we can get their attention before anyone notices we’re missing.’

They rattled the door, and called out, but no one came.

‘They probably can’t hear us if they’re on the other side of the shop floor,’ said Sophie. ‘And I daresay Edith’s out there laughing at us right now.’

‘What a beast,’ said Lil crossly. ‘We are in a scrape.’ Then, in a sudden burst of cheerfulness: ‘I suppose at least you get a break from all that polishing, anyway.’

‘Oh bother her,’ said Sophie, folding her arms. ‘Well, I suppose if we’re stuck in here, we may as well do something useful. Let’s bring that ladder over and we can put all those boxes away. We can get the storeroom tidied, at any rate.’

Lil readily agreed, feeling that going up and down ladders and putting away boxes would certainly be no worse than clambering in and out of evening dresses. While they worked, they talked. Lil told Sophie about all the plays she had seen recently, including the plot of a most exciting thriller in which a dashing detective (‘So handsome! Simply divine!’) had managed to escape from a locked room and foil a dastardly gang of spies, and that of a heart-rending romance in which the young heroine experienced all sorts of trials before finally being reunited with her true love. They ended up sitting on the floor, talking about books that they had read, and laughing about their old governesses. Lil told Sophie all about her parents and how irritating it was that her older brother could do exactly what he wanted (‘just because he’s a boy !’); and how she didn’t think she would much like being a mannequin (‘Imagine all those beastly old ladies looking you up and down’), but she wanted to be independent and couldn’t get by on her meagre earnings as a chorus girl alone.

‘But what about you? How did you come to be working here?’ Lil asked Sophie at last.

Sophie was quiet for a moment, rubbing at a smudge of dust on her cheek. ‘My papa died just before Christmas,’ she explained slowly. ‘He was a major in the army and he was killed out in South Africa in an accident. There was only Papa and me, you see? My mama died when I was very small. I can hardly even remember her – at least, only little bits. And Papa used to tell me lots of stories about her, of course.’

She broke off for a moment and sighed, thinking that there was so much about her mother that she would probably now never know. ‘Anyway, there was a problem with Papa’s will. He hadn’t left any provision for me – no instructions about a guardian, no money. It was strange because, you see, he was always a very methodical sort of person. But it left me with almost nothing. The house was sold, they sent my governess away, and I had to find work at once – so I came to Sinclair’s.’

Sophie didn’t dare say more. Somehow, of everything, it was that last day at Orchard House, with the carpets up and dear old Miss Pennyfeather weeping uncontrollably as she got into the cab, that she could not risk thinking about; it was almost the worst memory of all. She gave a small shrug and fell silent.

Sophie might not have said much, but Lil had been able to see the emotions flickering across her new friend’s face as she talked: confusion, frustration, sadness. ‘Gosh,’ Lil murmured quietly, feeling suddenly very conscious of just how flimsy her own troubles sounded by comparison. She felt an unexpected surge of fondness for the family home in Twickenham, with its green lawns mowed to bowling-green smoothness, and Mother entertaining callers to tea in the drawing room. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to say or do something to comfort Sophie, but all at once she felt unsure of her words.

In the silence that had fallen, they heard a rattling sound, and they both looked up. Then the door burst open and Violet almost fell through into the storeroom. ‘The – the door was locked,’ she said, confused.

Sophie jumped to her feet at once. ‘Quickly – before Mrs Milton sees you!’ she urged. Understanding at once, Lil grabbed the hat-boxes she had come for and darted swiftly past Violet, through the door and away, just as Edith’s high-pitched voice could be heard approaching.

‘I just don’t know where Sophie is I’m afraid, Mrs Milton. She didn’t finish that polishing and I haven’t seen her for ages. I suppose she’s wandered off somewhere. Some people think they’re too good to do a proper day’s work like the rest of us.’

‘Did you want me, Mrs Milton?’ called Sophie swiftly.

Mrs Milton came into the doorway and looked around approvingly. ‘Oh there you are, Sophie. I knew you couldn’t be far away. Well, well, and look at this! You’ve got the whole delivery tidied away and the storeroom looking perfect. You have worked hard!’

Sophie smiled and said nothing, but heaved an inward sigh of relief as she whisked past Edith’s angry face and out of the room.

A few hours later, Mr Sinclair’s walk around the store had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction, and the clock downstairs in the Entrance Hall was chiming six slow chimes. Sophie’s feet ached, her shoulders ached, and she was prickly all over with tiredness. And tomorrow she would have to come back here again to work another long day – and the next day, and the next day, and the day after that . . .

‘Well, girls, you’ve done a fine job,’ said Mrs Milton, looking flushed with pleasure. Mr Sinclair had been satisfied with the department and Mr Cooper had given her a few very rare words of praise. ‘Mr Cooper has given me a shilling extra for each of you because of all your hard work. Now off you go, and mind you are looking your very smartest and not a moment late in the morning.’

The girls were almost too tired to say goodnight to each other in the cloakroom as they pulled on their coats and hats, and hurried out towards home. Sophie dawdled for a moment, knowing that Edith and Minnie would also be going back to the lodging house, and not feeling at all eager to walk with them.

She thought, with a feeling of great satisfaction, of the extra shilling in her pocket. Not so long ago, a shilling had meant almost nothing to her, but now it spoke to her of all kinds of possibilities: a ribbon, perhaps, to trim her hat; or maybe she could save it and put it towards a new pair of gloves because her old ones were getting so very worn. At any rate, she could treat herself to some buns for tea, she thought.

As she went out on to the street, she caught sight of a rather dirty young man – scarcely more than a boy, really – sitting on a step by the staff entrance. His head was down, and she noticed that his arm was in a rough sort of sling. Vagrants weren’t supposed to hang around the store, but it was the end of the day, and he looked ill and exhausted – much more exhausted than she felt herself, she thought, with a stab of sympathy for him.

She considered the shilling in her pocket. In the past, she would have given a shilling to a poor young man like that without even thinking about it. But now, she found herself wrestling with her conscience. Of course she ought to give it to him, she told herself sternly. But a whole shilling! She had worked so hard all day – she had earned that money. She made up her mind to walk on, but even as she began to move forward, she turned back again. Papa would never have forgiven her.

Rather reluctantly, she went up to the young man and handed him the shilling. Looking surprised, he took it.

‘Thank you, miss,’ he said, doffing his cap.

Sophie nodded awkwardly, and went on her way.

It would have been nice to have a new ribbon for her hat, she reflected as she walked down Piccadilly, but she supposed she could do without one for now. Although she still regretted the loss of the buns, she felt she was, after all, walking a little more lightly as she went towards her lodgings.

It had turned into an unexpectedly pleasant evening. The air was still damp, but the last strains of light were soft and warm, the kind of pinkish-grey colour that in the fashion papers they called ashes of roses. The street was bustling with people like her, spilling out of shops and offices and making their way home.

She joined the tide, but before she had gone very far, she stopped abruptly, realising that she had forgotten to bring home Billy’s jacket. She turned back at once: there was nothing for it but to return to the shop. She couldn’t risk leaving it there for Mr Cooper or Mrs Milton – or worse, Edith – to discover tomorrow morning. Wishing her feet didn’t hurt quite so much, she made herself hurry back down the street in the direction of Sinclair’s. If she were quick, she would easily get back before the long process of locking up for the night was completed.

The poor young man had vanished from the step now – probably off somewhere buying buns with her shilling, she thought grudgingly. The store was shrouded in darkness, with only a few lights gleaming from the very top of the building, where Mr Sinclair had his own luxurious private apartments. The staff entrance was locked, but as she had hoped, the door that led into the shop from the stable-yard was still open. Hoping to slip in and out without being noticed by anyone, Sophie made her way back inside.

It was strange being in the store after hours. The ground floor was completely silent and still and yet there seemed to be a faint humming sound in the air. The shapes of the counters and chairs looked unearthly in the dark, and little bits of light from the street outside caught and shimmered in the looking-glasses, casting piercing silvery gleams through the shadows. For a moment or two she hesitated, but then she roused herself to hurry forward towards the back staircase the staff used. She wished she had used one of the main staircases instead when she saw how dark it was, but she hastened onwards anyway, trying not to jump at every creak or rustle. It was a relief when she reached the Millinery Department. Rummaging through the hat-boxes, she at last found the one containing the jacket, took it out and bundled it up quickly in a bit of brown paper. On her way back she took the main stairs, running down two steps at a time.

The staircase brought her down into the Entrance Hall, and here she stopped short. Last time she had been here, the doors to the great Exhibition Hall had been closed; now they stood wide open. She could see a great, shadowy room beyond, and down each side of the room was a row of glass cases, gleaming in the shadows. In spite of herself, she tiptoed a little way through the doors to peer inside.

Approaching the first case, she caught her breath in astonishment. An array of exquisitely beautiful objects was laid out on a white velvet cushion, neatly labelled. Forgetting all about wanting to hurry home, she gazed at a sparkling diamond tiara, then a rich purple gemstone the size of a hen’s egg, and then at a tiny, ornate golden bird, beautifully enamelled and glittering all over with gold and precious stones. The Clockwork Sparrow, she read. It was so small, so richly jewelled, so perfect. She bent to look at it more closely, and for a moment, in the dim light, it seemed almost as if it were looking back at her. Its jewel eye glinted, as if it were winking.

A hand fell heavily on her shoulder, as sudden as a thunderclap. She started up and gave a little yelp of terror, but fell silent when she saw Mr Cooper’s face looming out of the dark.

‘Miss Taylor – what are you doing here?’ he demanded, frowning sharply.

‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I left something behind and I wanted to run up and get it before everything was shut up for the night,’ she said quickly, pink flooding her cheeks. She clutched her parcel close to her, hoping that he wouldn’t ask what was inside it. ‘I thought it would be best not to trouble anyone.’

‘Get on home,’ said Cooper sternly. ‘Quick, quick, be off with you.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sophie. She fled in relief through the darkened store, and then out into the stable-yard.

‘Well, well, and what have we here? Why, it’s the high and mighty Lady Sophie, running around after hours. And all alone without your friend this time, I see.’

It was Bert Jones, she saw in surprise, standing half-concealed in the shadows. He seemed different out here in the dark: there was a look in his pale eyes that she didn’t like. What was he doing here, so long after all the others had gone?

‘Excuse me, please, I’m going home,’ she said briskly, but Bert just laughed and stepped in front of her, blocking her way. A sudden prickle of fear ran over her.

‘Always in such a hurry to get away, aren’t you? Well there’s no need. Whatever it is you’re up to, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t split on you. I’m good at keeping secrets, me.’

He laughed again, as if the thought pleased him, and Sophie’s heart began to beat more rapidly. What would Lil do, if she were here? ‘Let me pass at once,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. If only Mr Cooper would come out of the door!

But he didn’t come and Bert still stood there, grinning at her. Then he reached towards her and instinct took over. She darted past him as fast as she could and ran, not stopping to look back. In a moment, she was out into the street and away, still clutching the bundled jacket.

Left behind, Bert smirked to himself as the distant sound of Sophie’s feet skittering on the cobbles faded to nothing in the settling dark.

Sophie kept running, her feet clattering, her heart bumping. She was conscious of attracting curious looks from passers-by: after all, young ladies didn’t generally go racing down the city streets. But at that moment, Sophie didn’t care in the least about what young ladies generally did.

It had begun to rain, and everything seemed darker now. The last few shops were shutting, and the bursts of music and voices that spilled out of the public houses seemed louder and more menacing. As she turned the corner she ran blindly into a young man carrying a big portfolio, which at once crashed to the ground, spilling out papers. ‘Hey! Look where you’re going, can’t you?’ he demanded, but too agitated even to pause and apologise, Sophie kept her head down and ran for home, leaving him calling angrily after her.

By the time she reached her lodgings, pink-cheeked and out of breath, she had missed supper. The lodging house was not an attractive place, and as usual the hall smelled like overcooked cabbage. As she started up the creaking stairs towards her room, a trio of girls spilled out on to the landing. Edith was at the centre of the little group and gave her a sneering look, taking in her red face and damp hair, which was now most definitely coming down. There was a bubble of laughter and then they breezed past and the door slammed abruptly behind them.

Sophie trudged upwards to her room. It was small and shabby. There was a damp patch on the ceiling, and the sound of a baby crying could be heard through the thin walls, but at least it was her own. There wasn’t much in it: only a narrow, iron-framed bed, a washstand squeezed into a corner, and a chair wedged in the space between the bed and the tiny fireplace. But her old china doll sat on the chair smiling a glassy-eyed welcome, and on the mantelpiece were a few treasures she had been able to save from Orchard House: a jug with cowslips on it, one or two books with pretty morocco bindings, and a walnut box that held keepsakes – a hatpin shaped like a rose that she wore often, a string of green beads that had once belonged to her mama, and her papa’s medals. Most precious of all was the photograph of Papa, which she kept at the very centre of the mantelpiece. It was a rather stiff, formal portrait in which he stood very upright and gallant in his military uniform, and yet somehow he seemed to be looking at her with the barest hint of a smile. It gave her a strange sort of comfort to fancy that he might almost be watching.

She dropped the parcel containing Billy’s jacket on the floor, lit the lamp and then sank down on to the bed to ease her boots from her aching feet. In the warm glow of the lamplight, everything troubling – the dark streets, the empty store, the girls’ laughter, and even the looming figure of Bert – seemed to fade away. There would be no buns for supper, but bread and butter would do just as well, she thought decidedly, pulling the shabby curtains firmly closed against the darkness outside.

He sat still in the shadows of the stable-yard, watching. It was a risk staying here after that lad had spotted him earlier, but he felt it was a risk worth taking. He’d stay tonight and be on his way again tomorrow. It was a shame, for this was a good place, safe and quiet. He felt sure that no one would ever think of looking for him here. Besides, he was fond of horses, always had been, and they were fond of him.

There was a light burning high up in one of the top windows of the big shop building – a little point of yellow light in the grey dusk. It made his thoughts flash suddenly back to that awful night, to looking in through the misted window as the watchmaker held up a pocket watch, like a gleaming gold star in the dark. He remembered how still the old man had been, motionless, but for the delicate movements of his long fingers as he bent over the bench, all scattered with the parts of clocks and watches. Something about the way he sat there had made him think of his old grandad. Suppose the watchmaker had been someone’s old grandad too? He had known then that he couldn’t do what they wanted. He couldn’t do it, and so he’d have to run.

He pushed the memory away and wiped the rain off his face. He had to forget all that. He had to stay sharp, concentrate on the here and now. He’d been watching since the store closed. Soon, he’d be able to find a quiet corner to kip for the night, well away from the nightwatchman’s beat. Not that he’d been getting much sleep since he left the Boys behind. The wound from Jem’s knife ached, and the pain left him wakeful. Besides, what little sleep he managed to snatch was tormented by dreams. He dreamed of his own treacherous hands, shaking as they gripped the blade; the small, defenceless figure of the watchmaker behind the window; Jem smiling his jagged smile; and always the unknown figure of the Baron, lurking somewhere beyond, a faceless monster from a child’s nightmare. ‘Know why they call him the Baron?’ he remembered Jem saying to him once. ‘Cos he’s the tops when it comes to villainy. There’s no one who can touch him for that.’ He’d heard some people say that the Baron was no more than another tall tale surfacing from the slums of the city, but he knew they were wrong. The Baron’s Boys and the things they did were real enough, that was for sure.

There was hardly anyone left in the store now. The big fellow with the black moustache had long gone, heaving himself on to his bicycle and pedalling strenuously off into the evening. One or two others had followed, but still the thin young fellow remained, standing just beside the door smoking a cigarette. He wished that young fellow would sling his hook. There was something about him that he didn’t trust – the curl of his lip, the glint in his eye, or perhaps just the way he’d tried to bully that girl, the one who had given him the shilling. It had been a relief to see her dart past him and hurry away.

A shilling, that was something. For the dozenth time, he felt for the reassuring circle of it in his pocket. Once or twice before he’d got a penny or two, but he didn’t set himself up to go a-begging. The old fellows and the kids, they might do all right, but he didn’t reckon that anyone would want to give a farthing to someone like him. But that girl, she’d just given him that coin, right out of nowhere. A whole shilling, just like that.

His ears pricked at a new sound. The door was opening and someone else was coming out. Another man, his collar turned up, a cap pulled well down over his eyes. The young fellow looked surprised, but then an expression of interest broke over his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak. Somewhere, close by, there was the splintering tinkle of glass shattering, and the yowl of a cat.

Then all at once, as if the sound had sparked it off, everything happened very fast. There was a glint of metal in the dim light; a sudden, heart-stopping explosion of sound. He started and shrank back into his corner, but the thin young fellow had fallen. He was on the ground. His body was crooked, slumped face-down. The other man turned smoothly, soundlessly away, and a moment later he had melted into the dark.

The yard was empty but for the black shape of the young fellow’s body. He stole forward and hesitated, seeing the dark pool blooming on the ground. The young fellow had been shot.

There was a crumpled piece of paper lying beside the body. He picked it up instinctively and shoved it into his pocket with the shilling. Already he could hear the sound of a whistle: the police, the nightwatchman? He couldn’t stay to find out which it was. He had to get away.

He slipped into the shadows by the wall, where he blended with the darkness and became invisible. It was something he knew only too well how to do. Silent and swift as a fox in the night, he padded away down the alley. Once again, he had to disappear.

PART II

‘About Town’

This elegant crinoline straw, with velvet on the crown and bunches of violets under the brim, is a smart choice for spring. Bringing elegance and grace to even the most modest costume, it will serve excellently for any town occasion – from a tea party to a tour of the shops . . .

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