Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

At dawn the next day, before the six o’clock bells had even begun to ring, Clark Street lay quiet. Dim light spilled into the alley, lending it an even deeper, gloomier air.

Every night, Fred boarded up the grocery store’s windows to keep drunkards stumbling out of the tavern across the street from smashing the glass. As a result, the inside of the shop was pitch-black at this hour too.

To make sure the morning business would not be neglected, Daisy rose earlier than everyone else in the family.

She put on several petticoats, a cotton dress, a thick tweed coat, and a dark shawl that covered her neck and cheeks completely, then added a short-brimmed felt hat whose color had long since faded.

After washing her face, she came out and opened the front door a crack.

It was still bitterly cold outside. A crosswind cut through the alley, slicing at her face and freezing her nose numb.

She twitched her nose and sniffed. A strange smell drifted from somewhere. She looked around the alley and finally discovered several puddles of drunkards’ vomit beside the tavern across the way.

Thank goodness it wasn’t shit.

Yesterday had been payday, so they had money in their pockets for drinking.

Daisy shook her head and decided that from now on, they would close early after the dinner rush every day.

The regulars at those taverns were a truly mixed crowd. Their spending power might be a little higher, but not enough to justify sacrificing safety.

The only shopkeepers who could keep their doors open for business late into the night were those in the noble districts of London’s West End.

There, ample police patrolled the streets day and night, keeping them safe. It was also a place ordinary commoners never set foot in.

The only people who came out shopping in the middle of the night were nobles who had just left a ball and found themselves hungry, or without cigarettes to smoke.

While cutting up old newspapers to wrap goods yesterday, she had taken the opportunity to study the famous commercial companies of this era and the prices of bulk commodities in some depth.

In the rental listings, an ordinary storefront near Hyde Park, in Mayfair, cost anywhere from several dozen pounds a month.

That was ten times the current rent of their shop.

For the time being, she could set that as a long-term development goal.

She stepped outside and stood for a while. Her grandfather, who had also risen early, had finished getting ready as well.

Knowing they were going to the school today, Mr. Nash had dressed in the newest tweed suit from his trunk to avoid losing face. He wore a top hat, the leather shoes he had polished in advance last night, and had even trimmed his bushy side-whiskers. He was dressed more carefully than Daisy.

Though the clothes were not tailored and fit him somewhat poorly.

After shutting the door again, the two of them set off for Stepney Girls’ School, one mile away.

This time, they took the northern exit, passing Lobit Grocery and continuing northeast along Dorothy Street. After roughly thirty or forty minutes on foot, they would arrive.

Daisy was very curious about Dorothy Street. Once they walked out of the alley entrance, her gaze stretched from the still-closed doors of Lobit Grocery to the nearby storefronts.

Dorothy Street at dawn was clearly already getting busy.

The sky was still a gloomy blue-gray, while the little shops lining the street all had gas lamps lit inside, warm yellow light spilling through their windows.

There were over a hundred small shops on this street, most of them eateries.

Starting before daybreak, shop owners and cooks carried wholesale ingredients from various markets and stores into their back kitchens, where they processed them into food.

When the six o’clock bells rang and workers from the nearby slums woke up, they would all make their way here without prior arrangement.

They would eat the cheapest, most convenient food they could find-something flavorful that could fill their stomachs quickly-then hurry off to clock in at the nearby factories.

There were two other grocery stores on this street, both about the same size as Daisy’s family’s shop, and neither had opened yet.

Seeing Daisy standing at the street corner and gazing at the shops along the road, Mr. Nash thought she was hesitating over what to eat for breakfast.

“Let’s have sandwiches today. Snowta’s cod and cucumber sandwiches are the most delicious.”

“But Anthony’s hot dogs are also excellent. If we’re not in a hurry, we could even try Robert’s cream of onion soup.”

The ingredients at the shops the old man mentioned were all very fresh. He delivered milk to them every day and could enter their back kitchens.

Mr. Nash could be considered a seasoned gourmand. It seemed there was no delicacy on this street he did not know about.

Daisy noticed this.
Following her grandfather’s recommendation, she chose the sandwich shop across the street that had just opened for the day.

Daisy picked the cod and pickle sandwich he had recommended, while Mr. Nash chose the classic egg-and-bacon sandwich.

For an extra penny each, they could get a cup of latte.

While Mr. Nash paid, Daisy stood beside him studying the shop’s menu. From the number of items listed, she could roughly tell how much the shop purchased each day, as well as its customer flow.

For a food shop like this, there were only six options on the menu, but not a single sandwich set cost more than five pence.

It seemed they had squeezed costs to the absolute limit, and their daily consumption could be controlled with great precision.

However, the surroundings of a fast-food shop that served lower-class laborers were simply too poor. Anyone with even a little more money in their pockets would not come here.

The taste was so good. What a pity they did not offer takeaway, nor did they have any delivery model.

If they did, they might even be able to open up a bit of the middle-class market.

Daisy found a seat in the corner and sat down, enjoying the steaming sandwich, then clearing her palate with the latte that carried only a faint bitterness.

After eating, they continued on their way. It was already past six, and forty minutes later, they reached Pollinger Street, where the Girls’ School was located.

The girls’ school stood beside the most conspicuous church block on the street.

The school was not large. It occupied the space of four or five terraced villas, with redbrick walls enclosing them into a separate courtyard.

Although the school was on holiday today, the Headmistress lived in one of the villas on the school grounds. She usually stayed at the school, only occasionally returning to her residence in the West End for social engagements.

Daisy and her grandfather entered the school gates and, led by a maid, walked into one of the old villas.

They passed through a narrow corridor and climbed several flights of maze-like stairs before arriving outside the Headmistress’s office to wait.

Inside the office, the Headmistress’s secretary was reporting on work.

Daisy knew that tuition here was two pounds a month. The regular courses only accepted girls who had reached the age of thirteen, and they could graduate in three years, with job placements included.

The night school, meanwhile, was open to women over twenty who were still working. Its courses differed greatly from those for the young girls. Each term lasted three months, and no job placement was provided.

Altogether, the school had more than two hundred students. They could choose the inexpensive eight-person dormitories or attend as day students.

The school also provided three simple meals a day, things like bread and bacon.

In total, the school could take in five or six thousand pounds in tuition each year, and it could also collect some recruitment brokerage fees from various companies.

And Agnes, the headmistress of this Girls’ School, came from a collateral branch of the nobility.

When she was young, she had worked as a teacher in noble households. After inheriting a sum from her ancestors, she had founded this school in the East End. It already had twenty years of history.

Daisy thought that Agnes’s ability to successfully build a business of her own could not be separated from her noble background, her large inheritance, and the social resources she had accumulated.

Most of the young girls attending classes at this school were like Daisy-their families ran small shops and earned slightly more than workers did. Otherwise, they would not have been able to afford it.

Only after quite a while did the Headmistress’s secretary finish her work. She came out to ask them a couple of questions, then led Daisy and her grandfather inside.

The villa was very old, and the Headmistress’s office was small as well. Heavy wooden floorboards covered the room, numerous oil paintings hung on the walls, and books had been casually stuffed everywhere.

The Headmistress was already middle-aged, but she looked very well maintained. Dressed in a pale purple silk gown with an ivory cashmere cardigan draped over her shoulders, she sat by the fireplace in her office reading, one hand stirring the fine black tea in her bone china cup.

After her grandfather clearly explained the recent situation at home, Agnes finally set down her book, nodded in agreement, and said to Mr. Nash:

“In fact, Daisy is an excellent student. She has mastered the coursework very well.

“If necessary, I can write a letter of recommendation right now and introduce her to a full-time position at the Whitechapel Post Office.

“They happen to be short of a batch of typists and clerks recently.”