Shadows of the Workhouse

and ought to be going.
    “However, Jane is available this afternoon . . . ”
    At this poor Jane nearly fell off her chair, knocking over a salt pot and a dish of mint sauce, which slid greenly across the table. Sister Julienne appeared not to notice.
    “. . . And Jane, who knows the district well – perhaps better than any of us – would be delighted to accompany you.”
    She rose to her feet, and we all got up with her and stood behind our chairs as she said grace. My eyes were lowered, but I glanced up and looked across the table at Jane. Her hands were not folded; they were clinging to the back of her chair and she was panting. Little beads of perspiration had broken out on her forehead and all in all she looked as if she were on the point of collapse. What on earth was Sister doing, I wondered. This was sheer cruelty.
    In the hallway I heard Sister suggesting to Jane that she could take the Reverend to the Manchester Road and the Dockland areas first. Then they could look at Bow, Limehouse and the other parts of the district another day.
    Jane went to fetch her coat and her legs were shaking. I saw the Reverend Mr Applebee-Thornton watch her closely as she walked in front of him. His face was thoughtful. Jane reached to take down her coat, but her hands twitched so convulsively that she could not take it off the peg.
    “Allow me,” he said courteously, and helped her to put it on. He put his hand on her arm and led her to the door. He turned and thanked Sister for allowing him such an excellent guide, who he was quite sure would be most helpful and informative. He opened the door for Jane with a slightly old-fashioned bow and murmured: “After you, madam.”
    They returned at tea time and he was full of praise, saying how informative Jane had been, and how greatly he valued the time she had so graciously spared him. Asked if he would like more conducted tours of the district, he said that there was no limit to his thirst for knowledge. Asked if he was quite happy with Jane as his escort – would he prefer a trained midwife on another occasion – he became profuse in stating his preference for Jane, who, he declared, was the perfect guide. Her erudition and encyclopedic knowledge of the topography and sociology of the area were more than he had dared hope for.
    Jane appeared to accept her new role as guide for the Reverend Mr Applebee-Thornton, and carried out her duties with her customary attention to detail. Sister Julienne advised her to take a map, and to keep notes of what they had seen.
    A week or two later, at lunch, Sister enquired how things were going. Jane replied eagerly, “Well, Pippin wants . . . ”
    She turned a deep red and her hands flew to her mouth. Stuttering, she tried to excuse herself. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, Sister, but he asked me to call him Pippin. I said I couldn’t presume to be so familiar, but he said that all his friends call him Pippin, and he would be hurt if I didn’t.”
    To this. Sister replied, with exaggerated solemnity, that Jane had done the right thing, and must certainly call him Pippin, if that was his wish.

    That same evening we were in the bicycle shed. Sister Julienne was mending a puncture, and I was tightening my brakes. To my great surprise, she said, “Where do you get your clothes from, Jennifer?” With the tyre lever grasped firmly in her small hand, Sister ripped off the outer tube.
    “Well, I have a dressmaker. I don’t usually go for off-the-peg stuff.”
    “But what store would you recommend for good clothes?”
    I thought for a while. Sister plunged the inner tube into a bowl of water. “Liberty’s, I suppose, in Regent Street.”
    “Ah yes, Liberty’s. That sounds most suitable.” She was turning the inner tube thoughtfully in the water, looking for bubbles.
    “Jane needs some new clothes. I am going to tell her to get some. I wonder, Jenny, would it be too much to ask you to go with her? I’m sure she would value your advice. You need spare no expense, because Jane earns money but she never spends it.”
    No one could ever resist an appeal from Sister Julienne – certainly not me. More surprises were in store.
    “And who is your hairdresser?”
    “I always go to Chez Jacques in Regent Street, which just happens to be opposite Liberty’s.”
    Her eyes lit up. She had found the puncture now; the water was bubbling. But her real interest seemed to be in my hairdresser.
    “Just opposite! Now, that’s marvellous.