me.â
âIâm afraid I can, miss. You have a week to pack up and leave Tan Cottage, and thatâs final.â
Chapter Four
ELSIE SAT IN the corner of the third class railway compartment, staring out of the window as the train chugged into Waterloo station. It came to a halt with a screech of iron wheels on iron rails and a huge burst of steam from the massive engine. There was a moment of chaos as the other passengers gathered their possessions and reached up to heave their luggage from the racks. She sat very still, waiting while they jostled each other in their efforts to climb down to the platform, even though Waterloo was the terminus and the train would be there for some time before it began its return journey.
A couple with two noisy children were the first to alight, followed by a burly man wearing a mustard yellow suit which made him look like a bookie or a barker at a fairground. He tipped his bowler hat and apologised as he trod on Elsieâs toe and had to turn sideways to get his bulk through the door. He was followed by two prim ladies dressed from head to foot in black, who had sat side by side with their knitting needles clicking all the way from Southampton. They had cast darkling looks at the badly behaved children, tut-tutting but not daring to speak out. Elsie was the last to leave the compartment and she stepped down onto the platform, standing very still while people rushed past her to the barrier. London had a strange smoky smell combined with the hot metallic odour emanating from the hissing steam engine. The air felt heavy and warm compared to the fresh sea breezes on the coast, and everywhere there was noise and bustle.
She made her way to the barrier and handed in her ticket, but the feeling of excitement and anticipation evaporated as she emerged from the station concourse and stepped into the busy London street. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer volume of horse-drawn traffic interspersed with motor vehicles, and the pavements were crowded with people who all seemed to be in a tearing hurry. The noise and the confusion made her head spin, and worse still she had no idea how to get to her destination. Mr Soames, who had worked in London as a young man, had advised her to take a cab to the address she had been given by the charity that had offered her work. She had read an article about the Womenâs Emergency Corps in
The Times
, and had written off to the address in Baker Street, citing her fluency in French as her most useful asset. The reply had been swift and positive, offering her a job as interpreter. There had been no mention of a wage, but she assumed that they would not expect her to work for nothing, and had written back accepting the post.
It was only now that she realised how little she knew of life in the big city and hailing a cab was easier said than done. She waved hopefully at a likely-looking vehicle but it sped past her, and she was just beginning to wonder if she was invisible when a hansom cab drew up at the kerb and a man leapt out, tossed a coin to the cabby and strode into the station. Elsie ran up to the cab, waving frantically. âI want to go to Baker Street, please, sir.â
âHop in, miss.â
She heaved her suitcase into the vehicle and climbed in after it, falling onto the seat as it lurched forward into the seething mass of traffic. Elsie did not know which way to look. There seemed to be places of interest on both sides of the road and then they were crossing Waterloo Bridge and she had her first sight of the River Thames, wending its majestic course through the city in sinuous serpentine curves, its coffee-coloured tidal waters gliding onwards to join the North Sea. Her knowledge of London had been gleaned from reading newspapers and looking through magazines discarded by Josephine Winter, but nothing had prepared her for the reality or the cost of the cab ride to Baker Street. She paid the cabby what he asked and then
âIâm afraid I can, miss. You have a week to pack up and leave Tan Cottage, and thatâs final.â
Chapter Four
ELSIE SAT IN the corner of the third class railway compartment, staring out of the window as the train chugged into Waterloo station. It came to a halt with a screech of iron wheels on iron rails and a huge burst of steam from the massive engine. There was a moment of chaos as the other passengers gathered their possessions and reached up to heave their luggage from the racks. She sat very still, waiting while they jostled each other in their efforts to climb down to the platform, even though Waterloo was the terminus and the train would be there for some time before it began its return journey.
A couple with two noisy children were the first to alight, followed by a burly man wearing a mustard yellow suit which made him look like a bookie or a barker at a fairground. He tipped his bowler hat and apologised as he trod on Elsieâs toe and had to turn sideways to get his bulk through the door. He was followed by two prim ladies dressed from head to foot in black, who had sat side by side with their knitting needles clicking all the way from Southampton. They had cast darkling looks at the badly behaved children, tut-tutting but not daring to speak out. Elsie was the last to leave the compartment and she stepped down onto the platform, standing very still while people rushed past her to the barrier. London had a strange smoky smell combined with the hot metallic odour emanating from the hissing steam engine. The air felt heavy and warm compared to the fresh sea breezes on the coast, and everywhere there was noise and bustle.
She made her way to the barrier and handed in her ticket, but the feeling of excitement and anticipation evaporated as she emerged from the station concourse and stepped into the busy London street. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer volume of horse-drawn traffic interspersed with motor vehicles, and the pavements were crowded with people who all seemed to be in a tearing hurry. The noise and the confusion made her head spin, and worse still she had no idea how to get to her destination. Mr Soames, who had worked in London as a young man, had advised her to take a cab to the address she had been given by the charity that had offered her work. She had read an article about the Womenâs Emergency Corps in
The Times
, and had written off to the address in Baker Street, citing her fluency in French as her most useful asset. The reply had been swift and positive, offering her a job as interpreter. There had been no mention of a wage, but she assumed that they would not expect her to work for nothing, and had written back accepting the post.
It was only now that she realised how little she knew of life in the big city and hailing a cab was easier said than done. She waved hopefully at a likely-looking vehicle but it sped past her, and she was just beginning to wonder if she was invisible when a hansom cab drew up at the kerb and a man leapt out, tossed a coin to the cabby and strode into the station. Elsie ran up to the cab, waving frantically. âI want to go to Baker Street, please, sir.â
âHop in, miss.â
She heaved her suitcase into the vehicle and climbed in after it, falling onto the seat as it lurched forward into the seething mass of traffic. Elsie did not know which way to look. There seemed to be places of interest on both sides of the road and then they were crossing Waterloo Bridge and she had her first sight of the River Thames, wending its majestic course through the city in sinuous serpentine curves, its coffee-coloured tidal waters gliding onwards to join the North Sea. Her knowledge of London had been gleaned from reading newspapers and looking through magazines discarded by Josephine Winter, but nothing had prepared her for the reality or the cost of the cab ride to Baker Street. She paid the cabby what he asked and then
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