At dawn the next day, before the six o’clock bell had chimed, Clark Street was quiet and still. Dim light filtered into the alley, adding a touch of depth and mystery.
The grocery store’s windows, which Fred boarded up with planks every night to prevent drunken patrons from the tavern opposite from smashing the glass, kept the interior pitch black at this hour.
To ensure she wouldn’t miss the morning business, Dolly rose earlier than the rest of the family.
She layered on several petticoats, a cotton skirt, a sturdy tweed coat, wrapped a dark shawl tightly around her neck and cheeks, and topped it off with a faded, short-brimmed felt hat.
After washing her face, she stepped out and cracked open the front door.
Outside, the cold remained biting. A crosswind sliced through the alley, stinging faces and freezing noses stiff.
She sniffed the air, catching an odd smell wafting from somewhere. Scanning the alley, she spotted several puddles of vomit left by drunks near the tavern opposite.
At least it wasn’t excrement.
Yesterday was payday, so they’d had money for drinks.
Dolly shook her head, deciding to close the shop early every evening after dinner from now on.
The regulars at these taverns were a mixed bag. Though their spending power was slightly higher, it wasn’t worth compromising safety.
Only shopkeepers in London’s West End, the aristocratic district, could keep their doors open late into the night.
There, ample police patrols ensured street safety day and night—a place ordinary folk never set foot in.
The only ones shopping at midnight were nobles who’d just left balls, either hungry or out of cigarettes.
While cutting old newspapers for wrapping yesterday, she had taken the opportunity to delve deeper into this era’s famous commercial companies and bulk commodity prices.
In the newspaper’s rental listings, an ordinary shop near Hyde Park in Mayfair rented for dozens of Pounds Sterling per month.
Ten times the current shop rent.
She could set that as a long-term development goal for now.
She stepped outside for a moment, and her equally early-rising grandfather was ready too.
Knowing he was going to the school today and not wanting to lose face, Mr. Nash wore his newest tweed suit from his trunk, a top hat, his polished-from-last-night leather shoes, and had trimmed his beard, dressing more meticulously than Dolly.
Though the clothes weren’t tailored and fit a bit awkwardly.
After closing the front door again, the two set off for the Stepney Girls’ School a mile away.
Heading north this time, they passed Lobit Grocery Store, continued northeast along Dorothy Street, and would arrive in about thirty to forty minutes.
Dolly was curious about Dorothy Street. As they exited the alley, her gaze extended from the still-closed Lobit Grocery Store to the surrounding area.
Dorothy Street at dawn was clearly already bustling.
The sky was still a gloomy blue hue, but gas lamps hung in the small shops lining the street, casting warm yellow light from their windows.
This street housed hundreds of small shops, mostly eateries.
From the early hours, shopkeepers and cooks would haul wholesale ingredients from various markets and stores into their back kitchens to process into food.
When the six o’clock bell chimed, workers from the nearby poor neighborhoods would wake and converge here.
They would eat the cheapest, most convenient, and quickest food that could fill their stomachs with flavor before hurrying off to sign in at nearby factories.
There were still two grocery stores on this street, similar in size to Dolly’s family’s shop, neither of which had opened yet.
Seeing Dolly standing at the street corner gazing at the shops along the street, Mr. Nash thought she was struggling to decide what to have for breakfast.
“Let’s have sandwiches today. Snowta’s cod and cucumber sandwich is absolutely delicious.”
“However, Anthony’s hot dog is also excellent. If you’re not in a hurry, you could even try Robert’s cream onion soup.”
The old man mentioned these shops because their ingredients were fresh—he delivered milk to them daily and could enter their kitchens.
Mr. Nash was something of a seasoned foodie; it seemed there was no delicacy on this street he didn’t know about.
Dolly noticed this.
Following her grandfather’s recommendation, she chose to go to the sandwich shop across the street that had just opened.
Dolly opted for the cod and pickled cucumber sandwich her grandfather recommended, while Mr. Nash chose the classic egg and bacon sandwich.
For an extra penny each, they could get a cup of latte coffee.
While Mr. Nash paid, Dolly studied the shop’s menu. Based on the number of items, she could estimate the shop’s daily purchases and customer flow.
A food establishment like this offered only six choices on the menu, yet any sandwich combo cost no more than five pence.
It seemed costs had been minimized to the extreme, and daily expenses could be controlled with great precision.
However, fast-food shops like this, catering to the working class, were in such poor surroundings that anyone with a slightly fuller pocket would avoid them.
The food tasted so good, but unfortunately, there was no takeaway or delivery service.
If there were, perhaps they could tap into a bit of the middle-class market.
Dolly found a seat in a corner, enjoying the steaming sandwich and washing it down with a latte that had only a faint bitterness.
After finishing, they continued on their way. It was already past six o’clock, and forty minutes later, they arrived at Pauline Long Street, where the girls’ school was located.
The girls’ school stood on the side of the most prominent block on this street, next to a church.
The school was not large, occupying the space of four or five terraced houses, with red brick walls enclosing them into an independent courtyard.
Although the school was on holiday today, the headmistress lived in one of the houses within the school grounds. She usually resided at the school, occasionally returning to her house in the West End for social engagements.
Dolly and her grandfather entered the school gate and, led by a maid, walked into one of the old houses.
They passed through narrow corridors and climbed several maze-like staircases before finally waiting outside the headmistress’s office.
Inside the office, the headmistress’s secretary was reporting on her work.
Dolly knew that the monthly tuition here was two Pounds Sterling. The regular courses only admitted girls who had turned thirteen, and they could graduate in three years, with job placements guaranteed.
The evening school, however, was open to women over twenty who were still working. The courses differed significantly from those for the younger girls, with each term lasting three months and no job placement guarantee.
The entire school had over two hundred students, who could choose between affordable eight-person dormitories or commuting.
The school also provided three simple meals daily, such as bread and bacon.
The entire school could collect five to six thousand Pounds Sterling in tuition fees annually, along with some recruitment agency fees from various companies.
The principal of this girls’ school, Ms. Agnes, was a member of a noble family’s collateral line.
In her youth, she had worked as a tutor for aristocratic families. After inheriting a substantial fortune from her ancestors, she founded this school in the East End, which now had a history of twenty years.
Dolly thought that the reason Ms. Agnes could successfully establish her own career was inseparable from her noble background, the immense inheritance, and the social resources she had accumulated over the years.
Most of the young girls attending classes at this school were like Dolly—their families ran small shops, earning slightly more than laborers, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to afford the tuition.
After a while, the principal’s secretary finally finished her work, came out to ask a few questions, and then led Dolly and her grandfather inside.
The villa was very old, and the principal’s office was quite small. Heavy wooden floors covered the entire space, with many oil paintings hanging on the walls and books haphazardly stuffed everywhere.
The principal was already middle-aged but appeared exceptionally well-maintained. She wore a light purple silk dress draped with an ivory cashmere shawl, sitting by the fireplace in her office reading a book while stirring a cup of premium black tea in a bone china cup.
After Grandfather explained the recent situation at home, Ms. Agnes finally put down her book, nodded in agreement, and said to Mr. Nash:
“Actually, Dolly’s academic performance is outstanding, and she has a very good grasp of the curriculum.
If needed, I can write a recommendation letter right now to introduce her to a full-time position at the White Chapel post office.
They happen to be short of typists and clerks there recently.”
…
Author’s Note: