Women would sit in groups to start shelling peapods by the hundreds. And chasing between the carts and through the stalls were the many street urchins who came to gather what spoils they could. Sometimes, it was their only food. Charles had studied the situation when Parliament was creating the public school laws. Confine some of these children to a classroom and they wouldn’t have access to the rotting piles of food that kept them alive.
When the mountains of vegetables had disappeared and every last onion had gone to its destination, whether to a green grocer or a restaurant, the flower and fruit auctions got underway, usually by ten o’clock. Some flowers were destined for florists, but hundreds of women and girls bought carnations, roses, violets, and more, to make bouquets to sell on the streets. And when these auctions ended, on each side of the main avenue the markets continued in the enclosed squares. Charles’s friend Pelham, who’d been to the Continent many times, said Covent Garden had the most and best of any market he’d seen in Europe, if not the world. From the commonplace British cherries, apples, and pears to the exotic oranges, Hamburg grapes, French pears, American apples, and more, the variety was astonishing.
Little of this abundance made it out of London’s wealthy west end, and even then, there were ragamuffin children sucking on discarded fruit with joy.
Charles couldn’t help but think of the recent cholera outbreaks and hoped the fruit would provide sustenance to these waifs rather than illness.
“Let’s try over there,” Charlotte said, and he walked with her to a watercress stall, where a young woman sold the tender shoots.
“Over 1,600,000 bunches of watercress are sold in Covent Garden alone,” he told her, recalling from the lastLondon Labour and the London Poorreport he’d read.
She stopped in her tracks. “How on earth?” Charlotte began.
“Your young man is right, miss,” said the stall’s owner. “It’s nutritious, delicious, and cheap. Best quality bunches are found right here. Care for a bunch or two?”
Charles couldn’t help smiling as Charlotte bought two from the impressive young seller.
“Would you have seen the very opposite of watercress?” Charles asked the woman. “Someone selling confectionery?”
“Someone new?” Charlotte added. “Perhaps in the past few weeks?”
“Over by the sacks of nuts,” the watercress woman said. “Go along the colonnade.” She pointed in the direction. “I’ve seen a woman strolling with sweets for sale. She doesn’t have a stall, mind you, so no one can vouch for her.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, and Charles doffed his hat. They wandered along to no avail for many minutes.
“I think we should ask someone with children,” Charlotte said, looking around at the strolling people.
When a woman — obviously a nanny by her clothing — emerged from the crowd with two young charges, Charlotte approached them.
“Excuse me, missus,” Charlotte began, “by any chance would you know of a sweet seller hereabouts? I was told there was a good one nearby selling chocolates and toffee, not boiled sweets.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, there is. We found her two weeks ago by the flower stalls. She has no cart, just a box with sweets in bags. This lot scented chocolate like hounds with a fox. And they were remarkably good. The chocolates, not these brats,” she clarified as the boy started to pull the girl’s braids. “Stop that, Samuel.”
“Was the chocolate seller dressed in anything identifiable or have a sign?” Charles asked, hoping they wouldn’t have to wander up and down the colonnade forever.
“She was by the roses last week, and close by, in front of the carnations the week before. She didn’t wear anything special except a pale blue cape, both times we saw her.”
“Thank you so much,” Charlotte said. “Good day to you,” she added and hurried past toward the first row of flowers.
“I’m surprised you didn’t give those children something from your purse,” he said.
She gasped. “So am I. On the other hand, the boy was a little terror and the girl looked spoiled, and it sounds as though their nanny gets them plenty of sweets. There!” she exclaimed.
A middle-aged woman in a faded blue cape had a wooden box at her side and was soliciting those who walked past.
“Some chocolates, missus? Toffee, sir?”
The man in front of them stopped. The transaction was swift.
“Toffee is tuppence a bag,” the seller said.
Charlotte gritted her teeth at the low price that wouldn’t even pay for the ingredients, never mind her sister’s hours of work.
“How much is in the bag?” he asked.
“Quarter pound, give or take. You won’t be disappointed.”
The coins were exchanged, and the woman handed the man a bleached white bag with the distinctive blue stamp:Rare Confectionery.
