Rosie bustled off to the parlour, numerous thoughts running through her head. She was much taken with this girl who had appeared from nowhere. In point of fact, she was intrigued by her. Emma Harte had such – Rosie paused in the middle of the parlour, seeking the appropriate word to describe Emma. Dignity! Yes, that was it. She was good-looking, too. That face! thought Rosie with not a little wonder. Why, she had never seen so striking a face in all her life before. She was a beauty, really, even if it was a different sort of beauty. Uncommon like.
‘This is no ordinary girl, or a lass from the working class. And that’s a certainty!’ Rosie announced aloud to the empty room. Rosie Miller, who considered herself to be a sound judge of people, since she came into contact with all types and classes in the pub, knew she could never be deceived by anybody. Aye, she’s a real lady, Rosie decided. There was the way Emma spoke, for instance. No dialect or local slang in her speech and only the faintest hint of a Yorkshire accent in her cultured voice. Not only that, there was her bearing and fine manners. Breeding, said Rosie knowingly. And her clothes, thought the barmaid, as she searched for a piece of paper and a pencil. Well, the black dress was a bit old-fashioned, Rosie had to admit, but it was made of good stuff and was elegantly cut. And the cream bonnet was definitely real Leghorn straw and the flowers trimming it were of pure silk. Rosie knew things about clothes. She did indeed, and she had only ever seen Quality ladies wearing a bonnet like that one. London town it was. And what about the crocheted gloves and the smart leather bag with its tortoiseshell frame? Those were certainly the possessions of a proper lady, as were the amber beads. Rosie considered the suitcase she had observed on the floor. Costly, it was, and made of real leather. Yes, she’s gentry all right, Rosie concluded. She licked the pencil and began to carefully print Mrs Daniel’s address. As Rosie wrote she became further intrigued, considering that this Emma Harte had come seeking out Blackie O’Neill, the Irish navvy. He was a handsome hunk of a man, no doubt about that. Still, he was a common labourer. Now what can the connection between them be? Rosie asked herself, mystified.
‘’Ere I am,’ exclaimed Rosie, sailing up behind the bar. She looks ever so sad, thought Rosie, glancing at Emma. Emma jumped. She had been lost in her thoughts. ‘This is the address, and I’ve wrote down the directions as ter how yer get ter Mrs Daniel’s ’ouse,’ Rosie went on, handing the paper to Emma.
‘Thank you, Rosie.’ Emma read the paper. The directions were quite clear.
Rosie leaned over the bar, adopting a more confidential air. ‘I said afore, I don’t want ter seem like a Nosy Parker, but yer still seem upset, luv. Can I help yer in any other way? Blackie’s been a right good friend ter me. I’d like ter repay his kindness by helping a friend of his, ’specially a friend in need, so ter speak.’
Emma remained silent. She had no intention of confiding her real troubles in Rosie; on the other hand, she was a kindhearted woman and was evidently a native of Leeds. It occurred to Emma she might be able to offer some advice on another matter. Emma turned her eyes on Rosie. ‘Yes, I do have one other problem. I have to find a job,’ Emma explained.
‘Ooh, luv, I don’t know where a fine young lady like thee could get work in Leeds.’ Rosie leaned closer and dropped her voice and she could not resist asking, ‘Where’s yer husband, luv?’
Emma was not caught unawares. She had prepared herself for this obvious question during Rosie’s absence, since she had told her she was married. ‘He’s in the Royal Navy. At the moment he’s on Mediterranean duty. For the next six months.’ This was said so coolly, with such sureness and confidence Rosie believed her.
‘And don’t yer have any other family, then?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Emma lied.
‘But where were yer living afore?’ Rosie questioned, keen eyes peering.
Fully conscious of Rosie’s growing interest in her, Emma said, ‘With his grandmother. Near Ripon. My husband is an orphan, as I am. His grandmother died recently and now I am alone, since Winston is away at sea. That is, I’m alone until he comes home on leave.’ Although she had embarked upon a pack of lies, unintentionally and somewhat to her chagrin, Emma was endeavouring to stick to the truth as much as possible. It was simpler and, more importantly, easier to remember in the future.
‘I see,’ said Rosie, nodding. ‘And how did yer meet Blackie, then?’ She was no longer able to control her avid curiosity.
‘Blackie came to do some work for – for my husband’s grandmother,’ Emma improvised swiftly. ‘He was always kind, doing extra jobs for us, for very little money. He liked the old lady, you see. He also knew she was not long for this world. I had told him that when she died I wanted to come to Leeds to find work. Blackie said I should look him up.’ Emma paused and sipped the lemonade to gain time. She was rather astounded at her aptitude for deception, and also her suavity at telling such a tall tale. On the other hand, she must now continue and make it convincing. ‘Blackie suggested I might find work in one of the new shops, selling finery to the ladies. He thought a well-educated person like me would be useful in a shop. I can also sew and do alterations.’
‘Aye, that’s an idea,’ said Rosie, feeling extremely pleased with herself. She had been right about this girl coming from Quality folk. It had been patently obvious to her all along that Emma could only have met Blackie in his capacity as a workman, doing repairs at her home. Impoverished gentry, that’s what this Emma Harte was. ‘I’ll tell yer what yer should do, luv,’ went on Rosie helpfully. ‘Monday morning, bright and early, pop along ter Briggate. Yer’ll find it easy enough. It’s a big street. There are lots of new shops in them there fancy arcades. Yer might find just the right opening—’ Rosie stopped short. A group of men had entered the pub and were heading towards the bar. She sighed and then smiled kindly at Emma. ‘Sit a while, if yer wants, Emma. But it’s going ter get busy now. I won’t be having much time ter chat with yer, luv.’
‘Thank you, but I had better go and see Mrs Daniel and settle the matter about the room.’ Emma stood up. She smiled brightly. ‘Thank you again, Rosie, for all your help. I appreciate it.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Aay, lass, I’ve done nowt, really. Hey, keep in touch with me, yer hear! Let me know if yer moves from Mrs Daniel’s ’ouse. So as I can tell Blackie where yer are. And pop in and see me, if yer gets lonely, or if yer needs owt else, luv.’
‘Yes, I will, Rosie. Thank you again. Goodbye.’ Emma picked up the suitcase and with another flashing smile she left the pub.
Rosie’s soft doe-like eyes followed her thoughtfully. By gum, I hopes she’s all right, she said to herself. Such a luvely girl. And all alone in the world. It’s a right shame, it is, really. Rosie hoped she would see her again. There was something special about Emma Harte.
Once she was outside the pub Emma studied the paper Rosie had given her, pushed it into her pocket, and set off determinedly to find Mrs Daniel’s house. There were, in actuality, many rooms for rent in the vicinity of the Mucky Duck, but Rosie had purposely selected Mrs Daniel’s boardinghouse for Emma, even though it was much farther away than she had indicated. Rosie had wanted the girl out of this dreadful area of Leeds, for York Road was bordered on all sides by tough neighbourhoods where grown men were not safe, let alone a defenceless girl. And so Rosie’s own fear of the district had reached out like a protective arm to shield Emma.
Most of the streets stretching beyond and away from these devastating slum areas were safe, but they were narrow and ugly, with dark, mean-looking back-to-back houses pressing against each other, a cruel inheritance from the Victorian era, wretched dwellings for the working classes. Emma concentrated on the street names, hurrying as fast as she could, for this great city, full of bustling people, carts and horses, carriages and tram-cars, was confusing and strange to her after the quietness of Fairley village. Yet, conversely, she was not intimidated. However, she did not stop to consider these new and diverse sights, or gaze at them in wonder. Emma occupied herself fundamentally with one problem at a time, and at this very moment her aim was to install herself in a room, find a job, and wait for Blackie’s return, in that order. She dare not