She left minutes later with the note tucked in her small bag and clutching a large wedge of cake. Raising the collar of her coat, she stepped out onto the street. It was a chilly day, and many were scurrying about wrapped in scarves and thick coats. Winter was still a few months off, but the fickle London weather could turn easily.
“I have a position.” She laughed, then turned a circle.
Everything was going to be all right. The panic that had been her constant companion slowly unraveled. But not completely, there was still the matter of surviving until she received her first wages.
“But now there is hope.”
“You will be here every day except Sunday; that will be your day off. You will share the caring of Ella with her nanny, Miss Blake.”She could still hear the deep, steady words from Mr. Howarth.
Clearly his daughter meant a great deal to him if he had two women in his employ to care for Ella. But Ruby didn’t mind that, as it gave her a position. She was to start the day at 9:00 a.m. and finish at 3:00 p.m., which did not seem an overly long day for the amount of money he was paying her. She wanted to pinch herself to see if in fact she was dreaming. The money she would receive was beyond her expectations.
Turning into Nobby Lane an hour later, she barely remembered her journey home she was so excited and happy. She’d spent the time planning lessons in her head.
“Hello, Ruby.”
“Good day to you, Master Ronald.” She nodded to the young boy coming toward her. Like many who lived around here, he was out scavenging for a living, finding anything he could to make the existence of his family better.
“I’ll be along later, Ruby, with the others.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
She taught some children who wanted to learn to read, two nights a week. Usually four or five turned up, and they sat jammed in her and Adam’s room while they both read to them.
Nobby Lane was narrow and cobbled. Buildings rose high on either side. The air of despair and poverty was thick as Ruby walked. Families lived in these slums, tucked away from the affluent members of society. The minority who had all the power.
“Miss Knight.”
“Hello, Mr. Riggers, Master Riggers.” She nodded to the man and his son, who were on their way to work. She was not entirely sure what they did, but often she saw them coming as dawn broke, filthy and carrying sacks.
She did not want to know what the people in Nobby Lane were forced to do to exist.
They were just like everyone. Poverty meant desperation, and desperation forced those in need to do things they should not. Many had died or been caught and incarcerated simply because they wanted to secure the basic necessities needed to live.
Since she’d come to live here six months ago, Ruby had seen another side to life, and not one she liked. Before she and her brother had fled their home, they’d at least had food and lived in luxury. The rest of it had been hell, but at least they did not starve.
Reaching number eleven Nobby Lane, she stopped to look up at the tall, narrow building wedged between two others. Turning the door handle, she found it unlocked. Tsking, she let herself in.
Ruby had pleaded with the other residents to lock the door, but as yet she had not achieved a total commitment to that cause.
Stepping inside to the tiny entrance, which had only elbow room, Ruby closed and locked the door. She then bent to push shoes, boots, and clogs into a line against the wall with the hand that was not clutching cake. The residents were elderly and often tripped over a stray boot.
A knock on the door behind her had her opening it again.
“Miss Knight.”
“What is it you want this time, sir?” Ruby acknowledged the man who stood on the doorstep. Always dressed in a brown suit, Mr. Robins was a slight man. He was bald, with a long nose and thick moustache.
Upon leaving their father’s home, she and her brother had run to their dear friend, Miss Kent, who lived in a room above where she now stood. It had been she who approached the landlord, Mr. Robins, about Ruby and Adam moving in here.
Mr. Robins had told her she could stay, but if he got a better offer for her room, who would pay more, he would take it and throw her out. He had a wife who was just as obnoxious. In fact, the residents of 11 Nobby Lane believed she was the one who told her husband what to do.
“Good day to you, Miss Knight.”
She nodded, waiting for him to answer her question, as he would in his own time. Usually he tucked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels when he talked.
Mr. Winston, one resident here, said he’d heard that Mr. Robins tried to emulate the gentry, and this, he’d observed, was something they did. Looking at the man before her, Ruby thought there was absolutely nothing gentrified about him.
“I came to inform the residents of number eleven Nobby Lane that we will increase the rent as of next week,” he said. He handed her a note. “Just so there is no misunderstanding, and proof of what Mrs. Robins and I require.”
