All That Glitters by Catrin Collier Read Free Book Online

run the tap marked hot, the water was freezing. Well she’d had cold baths before, and at the height of winter. It would help her stay awake. She sat in the bath and picked up the scrubbing brush. Her arms and legs were soon pink, the water grey. Her hair wasn’t so easy: as the soap softened it stuck in thick waxy strands to her cropped head, and rinsing didn’t help. She looked around. The only towel hung grey, filthy and limp on a wooden rail. Her dress was cleaner. Nothing else for it.
    She dried herself as best she could with the non-absorbent flannel, untied the string and put on her second dress. Lacking even a comb for her hair, she stared downhearted at her reflection in the brown spotted mirror. The yellow gaslight had turned her complexion sallow. She looked thin and sickly. Picking up a matted strand of hair she held it away from her face. No one would take her on, even to scrub floors, looking like this. Her one and eleven pence would have to stretch to cover a hat. She bundled her damp dress into the string. She’d return both dresses later – after she’d bought herself the outfit she needed.
    Everything was about to change for the better. She’d soon have decent clothes, a new job and somewhere good to live. Her life was about to begin. All she had to do was believe it enough to make it happen.
    Carrying her clogs and using her hands and feet to feel her way in the darkness, Jane stole barefoot down the back staircase into the kitchen. The gas lamp had been left burning low. Mindful of Mr Bletchett’s comments on waste, she peeped around the corner to make sure that the room was empty before venturing inside. The door that led to the street was locked. Setting her dress and clogs on the flagstones she slid back the bolts, jumping uneasily at the rasping sound of metal scraping over metal. Finally she turned the knob, picked up her belongings and stepped outside. The air was cool: fresh and clean after the fetid beer, cooking and sweat odours of the dosshouse. Street lamps burned, casting amber spotlights on to grey pavements and black roads. She hesitated and looked around in an attempt to get her bearings. Whichever way she turned terraces of houses stretched, long and winding into the distance. And on the horizon even more houses loomed, up – down – left – right – absolutely nothing in any direction struck her as familiar from her arrival. There was no indication as to which road led back into town. She studied the rooftops, hoping to see the spire of St Catherine’s church. She knew it was only one street away from Taff Street, but it eluded her.
    A sense of urgency, or minutes ticking past, drove her to action. If she remained any longer she’d risk being seen and forced back into the dosshouse. Trusting to instinct, she turned right and walked on in her bare feet, still carrying her clogs lest their clatter betray her presence.
    She covered a mile before she realised she was moving away from the town. When she had followed the Bletchetts they had walked the distance between the café and the dosshouse in minutes. Pale haloes of light were already forming and growing in intensity above the rooftops. She didn’t dare risk returning along the same street. There was no way of telling what time it was. She might already be missed. The Bletchetts could have alerted the constables. They could be out, now, combing the streets for her, wanting to return her to the workhouse or, even worse, the dosshouse. Either way she’d miss the interview.
    She tried to cheer herself by recalling every detail of the uniform the usherettes had worn in the Town Hall when they’d shown her and the other orphans to their seats. A plain black dress. Smart and elegant. A white cap and apron, and torches slung at their belts. Tomorrow that would be her. And she’d find somewhere to live. A nice room in a warm house, with furniture like the pieces in the Anne of Green Gables picture she’d seen at the Christmas