Alfred’s Emporium

It was obvious to Rose that Delia Bassett had set her sights on Alfred Hapstall . . .

HAVE a care, Sturgess. The step is too high.” Rose stood by, trying not to show impatience while Mrs Jameson was helped to climb inside the carriage.

Mrs Jameson did not maintain a vehicle of her own, only the cart and horse Biggins had used to collect Rose on her arrival.

Whenever she ventured out, she hired the carriage belonging to Mr Sturgess, the farrier, whose stables were nearby. It was said he kept a black coat and hat just for these occasions.

This was to be Rose’s first visit to Datcherford. Mrs Jameson wished to call on a Mrs Bassett, to whom she was related by marriage.

The prospect of escaping from Cross Roads House for a few hours was a reason for joy.

At last Mrs Jameson was settled.

“Up you come, miss.” Rose stepped on to the high board and took the driver’s outstretched hand.

“You’ll be quite safe,” he

said as she took her place beside him at the front of the carriage.

“Can we get on, Sturgess?” Mrs Jameson ordered from her cushioned seat behind them.

The carriage lurched forward, down the long drive in front of Cross Roads House and on to the Datcherford road.

Their arrival in Datcherford attracted the attention of people about. There seemed to be little else of interest.

Mr Sturgess halted the carriage before an imposing old house; the engraved stone beside its iron gates announced it to be Datcherford Manor.

An elegant lady appeared at the door and called a greeting to Mrs Jameson. Rose assumed this was Mrs Bassett and, unsure of what to do next, she climbed down and waited.

As Mrs Jameson was assisted from the carriage, a girl of Rose’s age came out of the house. She had the same golden hair and blue eyes as Mrs Bassett.

“And here is my Delia,” Mrs Bassett said.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the girl said, brushing Mrs Jameson’s cheek with a kiss. “How pleasant to see you again.”

Rose thought there was a pertness about this girl – she was well practised in the art of pleasing.

“You have a new companion, I see,” Mrs Bassett remarked.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs Jameson replied, remembering Rose. “Sturgess will give you directions to the attorney’s office, Bryson, and to the dressmaker’s. Return as soon as you have finished.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rose replied.

Hearing this, Delia turned to her mother.

“Mama, if Mrs Jameson will excuse me, I promised to visit the dressmaker today. I need to speak to her about my new walking dress before I go to stay with my aunt.”

Mrs Bassett hesitated. “I could go there with Mrs Jameson’s companion. We will be back in an hour,” Delia pleaded, adding with a serious air, “If I do not keep my word, it may appear ill-bred.”

It occurred to Rose that it was most ill-bred of Miss Bassett to leave when Mrs Jameson had come to visit.

“Very well,” Mrs Bassett agreed with an apologetic glance to Mrs Jameson.

Delia went inside, reappearing wearing a hat and cape. She was helped aboard the carriage by Sturgess, and Rose climbed up to her usual seat.

Datcherford’s main street was only a few minutes’ drive away.

“Stop here,” Delia called to Sturgess and both girls got out.

Rose looked around her at the mix of old buildings. One in particular took her attention, though its paint was peeling and most of the windows were boarded up.

“That is the old assembly building,” Delia said, speaking to her for the first time. “It was a fine place in my grandfather’s day, with dancing and entertainments. Nothing happens in Datcherford now. You need not wait, Sturgess. We will walk back.

“This is the dressmaker’s establishment,” Delia went on, indicating a cottage.

Rose was more interested in the adjoining building.

So that is Alfred Hapstall’s shop, she thought.

It had a freshly painted frontage and neat curtains at the upstairs windows, but seemed too small to contain all the goods flowing out on to the cobbled street.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Maloney.” Delia was greeting a small woman who’d answered the door. “I wish to look at the sketches and the fabrics we spoke of. This is, er . . .”

“My name is Rose Bryson,” Rose introduced herself. “I am here on behalf of Mrs Jameson of Cross Roads House.”

Once inside, the dressmaker attended to Delia first, laying out swatches and sketches for her perusal, before turning to Rose.

“I will do my best,” she said, opening the parcel Rose had brought, and tut-tutting over the threadbare patches on Mrs Jameson’s gloves. “The embroidery will be difficult to match. It will take an hour at least.”

Rose watched her work, admiring her skill but wishing that she might sew faster. Almost half an hour passed before the second glove was taken up.

She turned to Delia. “Perhaps I should collect the papers from the attorney while Mrs Maloney works, so that I don’t keep you waiting, Miss Bassett.”

“Yes,” Delia agreed without looking up. “His office is at the end of the street.”

Rose hurried out and quickly located the attorney’s office, but once inside she was forced to wait, anxiously watching the clock, while he scrutinised the papers.

When at last he finished, Rose gathered them up and rushed back to the dressmaker’s. Delia had gone.

“She left a while ago,” Mrs Maloney explained. “She said she had another call to make and you were to wait for her.”

Rose took the gloves and went outside. More than an hour had passed since they left Datcherford Manor and there was no sign of Delia.

What a quandary, she thought. Mrs Jameson would be angry if she were late and Miss Bassett would be angry if she returned without her daughter.

On balance, she decided, she would wait – at least Miss Bassett would be able to explain her part in the delay.

She stood for a minute or two when an idea occurred to her. Why not step into Alfred Hapstall’s shop?

It would be pleasant to see him, and much better to watch for Miss Bassett from within than stand in the street.

The bell tinkled as Rose opened the door. There inside was Delia.

She was standing with Alfred, and he was holding her hand.

It was just after dawn and Alfred was sitting by himself in the shop, perplexed. Something had occurred the previous afternoon he could not make sense of.

He’d been alone in his shop when Mrs Darrowby, the wife of George, had called for a few items.

Alfred had been packing half a dozen eggs into her basket when the door had opened and Miss Bassett entered.

Mrs Darrowby was a kindly woman and a great talker, and it was only after making extensive enquiries about Alfred’s health, and that of his mother, that she’d left with her provisions.

“I’m sorry you were kept waiting, miss,” Alfred had said to Miss Bassett when they were alone. “My mother is out.”

“Not at all,” she replied with a winsome smile. “I am in no hurry.”

“And how may I help you?” he asked. “Did you require something in particular?”

“There is such a variety,” Delia replied, looking about. “One would hardly know what to choose. I must say, Mr Hapstall – Alfred – your little emporium seems full to capacity.”

“Yes, I only wish I had more space,” Alfred agreed.

Delia continued to browse about the counters.

“How I shall miss this dear little shop when I am gone.” She sighed.

“Really, miss?” Alfred was shocked to hear this.

Most families of wealth and consequence had already gone from the town. If the Bassetts left Datcherford, he wondered where it would end.

“I am to visit my aunt, Alfred,” she explained. “I shall be absent for several weeks. I so wish it were otherwise, but one

Delia was standing with Alfred, and he was holding her hand

must fulfil obligations, however tiresome.” “Oh, now I understand,” Alfred replied, feeling a great sense of relief that the Bassetts were not leaving permanently.

Delia’s expression, however, seemed to require some sympathetic gesture.

“You’ll be missed,” he said, reasoning that her parents were bound to feel her absence keenly.

“What a kind sentiment,” she replied. “It will make my departure more bearable to know that someone is missing me.”

“And there is always the reunion to look forward to,” he added, wondering if she required some small item for the journey.

He had some quality linen handkerchiefs in stock, though he feared they might be too plain for Miss Bassett’s taste.

“Yes,” she said, “and the anticipation will sustain me. But now I must go. The pain of parting worsens when it is drawn out. Will you shake hands with me, Alfred?”

Alfred looked down at the hand she was offering and hesitated. It seemed uncommonly gracious of her to take leave this way, but his own hands were dusty from the straw.

Out of politeness he touched her fingers, but Delia grasped his hand and held it. At that moment the doorbell rang and there on the threshold stood Rose.

“Rose! Welcome!” he said, delighted to see her.

Delia must have released his hand, though he couldn’t recall.

“Are you ladies acquainted?” he began.

“Yes,” Delia replied, and there was no mistaking the irritation in her voice. “We must be leaving now; we are already very late.”

“It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Mr Hapstall, however briefly,” Rose told him quickly, as she followed Delia out.

A carriage arrived outside the shop and one of the occupants, Mrs Jameson, was leaning out of the side, appearing to be extremely displeased with Rose.

“I am not accustomed to being kept waiting, Bryson,” she said.

Alfred bridled to hear Rose addressed thus, and might well have spoken out, but he was interrupted by Mrs Bassett, the other occupant of the carriage.

“Delia! I have been so concerned,” she called out. “Mrs Jameson was ready to go home and we were obliged to come looking for you.”

Sturgess climbed down to help Miss Bassett inside the carriage, while Alfred offered his arm to assist Rose up to the front.

“Drive on, Sturgess,” Mrs Jameson commanded, and as the carriage departed Alfred was aware that both Mrs Bassett and Mrs Jameson were regarding him with a suspicious look.

Alfred was at a loss to know how he’d offended the women. But that was of less consequence to him than their treatment of Rose.

Whatever had occurred, it appeared that the three, including Miss Bassett, were blaming her, and the injustice he felt on Rose’s behalf rankled him so that he hardly closed his eyes throughout the night.

Rose overheard the conversation as she came down the back stairs towards the kitchen.

“Mark my words, she’ll be gone by teatime.” “You think so, Mrs Dee?” “I do. Rarely have I seen the mistress in such a temper.”

“I think it’s a shame. I like Rose. She talks to me.”

“It’s not about how she gets on with us, Molly. If she’s offended the mistress, she’ll be lucky if she leaves with a character reference.” “What did she do wrong?” “I’m not sure, Mr Biggins, but the mistress told her to go to her room as soon as they got back from Datcherford yesterday, and she has not left it yet.”

“Hush, I think she’s coming.”

Rose knew they’d heard her footsteps on the slate floor.

By the time she reached the kitchen, Biggins had finished his breakfast and was leaving by the garden door, Mrs Dee was stirring the porridge and Molly stood anxiously waiting.

“Mrs Jameson says you’re to go to the drawing-room as soon as you come down, miss,” Molly said in a trembling voice, before bursting into tears.

Rose, who had been anticipating the summons, calmly turned to Mrs Dee.

“I would be obliged if you would keep my breakfast, Mrs Dee,” she asked. “I don’t expect I’ll be long.”

Indeed she would probably be on her way in an hour or two, but she might at least have a meal before she set off.

There was no doubt in Rose’s mind that she would be dismissed. Mrs Jameson was not a forgiving person and she had been made to look foolish the previous day in front of Mrs Bassett.

It hadn’t been Rose’s fault, but she could see no way of defending herself. Clearly, Delia Bassett had not explained her part.

Rose knocked on the drawing-room door.

“Enter,” Mrs Jameson commanded.

Rose went in. Mrs Jameson was reading and did not look up as Rose approached.

She appeared to finish the page then closed the book with a snap.

“Do you have any explanation for your failure to carry out my instructions yesterday?” she said, fixing Rose with an icy stare.

Rose had spent the past night sleeplessly, fretting over how she might manage on her own. Her father’s debts were not paid, and without this post she would have no means to clear them. She’d have neither a home nor an income.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” she began, “if I you think I have been remiss in my duties. I followed your instructions exactly. The dressmaker said that the repairs would take an hour, so I went meantime to the attorney, returning with the papers.”

“Then you decided to go off frolicking and leave me waiting?”

“No, ma’am. I looked for Miss Bassett, who had left the dressmaker to pay another call. There was no sign of her in the street.

“The day being cold, I entered the premises of Mr Hapstall to look out for Miss Bassett from the shelter of his shop.”

“How long did you wait before she found you?”

“Miss Bassett was already there.” “What?”

Mrs Jameson’s reaction took Rose by surprise.

“I found Miss Bassett inside.”

“Miss Bassett had gone into Hapstall’s shop by herself?” Mrs Jameson asked. “For what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Rose said, confused by the sudden turn of questions. “Presumably she wished to make a purchase.” “Was anyone else there?” “Mr Hapstall was there,” Rose replied, suddenly on her guard.

“Her mother’s suspicions were right,” Mrs Jameson muttered almost inaudibly. “Ma’am?”

Mrs Jameson was momentarily lost in her thoughts, and had apparently forgotten about reprimanding Rose.

“I will overlook your failings yesterday,” she said suddenly, “if only to avoid the trouble of replacing you. But I will not be so lenient in the future. You may go.”

Rose could scarcely believe her fortune. She was to keep her position!

It rankled that Mrs Jameson blamed her, but she would not put herself at further risk by arguing.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said.

“I forbid you to divulge to anyone what happened yesterday. I will not tolerate gossip.”

“I don’t gossip, ma’am,” Rose stated quietly and left the room.

She decided to sacrifice breakfast and go to her room. Molly was waiting there with a breakfast tray, her eyes wet with crying.

“I thought you should have something to eat before you go.” She sniffed.

“I’m not going anywhere, Molly,” Rose replied, touched by the kindness.

“Aren’t you? Oh, I’m so glad, miss!”

Molly thrust the tray into Rose’s hands and scuttled down the stairs to spread the news.

Rose took the tray into her room. The conversation with Mrs Jameson had left her perplexed.

Could it be, she thought, that Alfred and Delia were attached to each other? Was Delia’s call to the dressmaker’s a ruse to meet Alfred?

If that were the case, it was now clear to Rose why Delia had been cross with her for interrupting the assignation.

It seemed there was good reason for the secrecy. Mrs Jameson’s reaction indicated there would be disapproval from Delia’s family.

One thing still puzzled Rose. Even after so short an acquaintance, she would never have imagined Delia would be Alfred’s choice.

Mariah Hapstall put down her duster and stared at her son.

“Alfred, you haven’t heard a word I said.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. What was it?”

“I asked what is wrong. You’ve been in a dream all morning.”

Alfred left the bottles he’d been idly stacking and pulled on his outdoor coat.

It would do no good to ponder over yesterday, he thought. He had to find out for himself.

“I have something on my mind, Mother,” he replied. “I need to go out. I won’t be more than two hours or so. I’m going to Cross Roads House.”

“So soon? I didn’t know Mrs Jameson had sent another order.”

“She hasn’t,” he replied. “Cross Roads House!” Mariah repeated. “You intend to drive all that way without a delivery?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Mother,” Alfred explained. “I might be able to set things right.”

“Well,” she muttered. “If Mrs Jameson withdraws her custom, I’ll not miss her, nor her imperious ways.”

Alfred hurried to the shed at the rear of his shop and put the cart to. Lissip, the old but spirited mare, twitched her ears.

“Come on, girl,” he said, climbing aboard.

He couldn’t explain to his mother why he felt so responsible for Rose. He didn’t know himself.

They’d only just met, but Alfred sensed there was a vulnerability about her.

He’d been so pleased to see her yesterday, but he couldn’t forget the fearful expression on her face as she’d been driven away. If it were possible, he was going to help her.

As Lissip got into her stride, Alfred glanced back. His shop was one of a mix of enterprises, cottages and empty structures that made up the main street.

Alfred waved to two men setting up a ladder at the front façade of the largest, the assembly building.

People from miles about had attended its elegant gatherings with music and dancing. But in 1856, before Alfred was born, the doors had closed and for the last three decades it had been sleeping behind peeling paintwork and boarded-up windows.

Perhaps another tile had fallen off. Mr Darrowby, the odd-job man, and his son, George, made a fair living from the neglect that pervaded Datcherford.

Alfred reached Cross Roads House and left the cart, which would have clattered on the path.

He knew Mrs Jameson took tea at four precisely and an hour later retired to her room to rest.

He walked round to the rear and knocked at the kitchen door. Footsteps could be heard on the slate floor and as the door opened a smile lit his face. “Hello, Rose,” he said. Alfred had no clear plan of what he was going to say, but the pleasure in Rose’s eyes on seeing him was ample reward.

“Mrs Jameson went up early,” she whispered. “She might rise any time. Is there a delivery to be made?”

“No,” Alfred said. “I came because of yesterday. It appeared you were in trouble. I wanted to help.”

Rose stared at him for a moment.

“You’ve driven all this way just to help me?” she asked in astonishment.

“Not just that,” Alfred replied. “I was concerned. Mrs Jameson can be fierce and I thought you might need someone on your side.”

“That is so kind –” she began, interrupted by a clatter in the kitchen. “I can’t talk here. Shall we go into the garden?”

They strolled into the kitchen garden where the wall and the fruit trees shaded them from view.

“How are you really, Rose?” he asked.

“I’m well, Alfred,” she replied. “Mrs Jameson was angry yesterday, but she hasn’t dismissed me. I think I owe my good fortune to her reluctance to find a replacement.”

“I wouldn’t call working for Mrs Jameson good fortune,” Alfred returned with a wry grin.

Rose shrugged.

“I wish I could offer you some tea after your long ride, Alfred, but . . .”

They both glanced back at the house.

“It’s so unfair,” he said with a frown. “Why can’t you be allowed visitors? Mrs Jameson might pay you well, but you don’t have to stay here. I could help you find a position.” Rose shook her head. “No, Alfred. I would not impose on you.”

“Can you tell me why you stay? I ask because I care. Rose, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interfered.” Rose dabbed her eyes. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I’m crying because it’s been so long since someone said they cared about me.”

“Well, I should be more sensitive.”

Even through her tears, Rose managed a smile.

“Very well, Alfred, I’ll share my miserable story if you want to hear it.”

Rose dabbed at her eyes and waited until her voice steadied.

She had never spoken of her troubles to anyone, but though she’d known him only a short time, she felt no qualms about sharing them with Alfred.

“A year and a half ago, I lost my father,” she began. “He was a good man who loved me, and my mother while she lived. But he was not a man of business.

“Money was spent as it was earned. Only a small legacy ensured there was enough aside to pay for my schooling. I’d just completed my schooling and returned when he became unwell.

“The end came swiftly but peacefully,” Rose continued. “But it was only a day or two later that I discovered the dire state of his affairs.

“Money was owed all over town. I had no resources nor property, and although I might have let the debts remain, I determined I would repay all.”

“You’re a brave woman, Rose,” Alfred returned, his face full of concern. “Was there no-one to help you?”

“I have no other relative. There was someone . . .” Rose hesitated.

“There was a gentleman,” she continued. “My father’s landlord. He offered his assistance at first, and then he offered me marriage.”

Out of respect for her feelings, Alfred lowered his gaze.

“I didn’t love this man,” she said, as though answering an unspoken question. “I refused him. In the end I felt I had to leave.

“An advertisement led me to Cross Roads House. The wages compensate in part for the onerous work, and I hope to clear my father’s debts, then I’ll be free to find other employment.

“Now you know all, Alfred. It’s a sorry tale, but let’s not discuss it. We have so little time to talk, let’s speak of happier things. Tell me about your shop.”

“Very well,” he replied. “I’m glad to say we’re busy, and I’m constantly looking out for new merchandise. Mother complains that there’s scarce room to move,” he said with a grin.

“If I had a bigger place, I could expand the business. That’s what I would like, Rose: a great store with departments, offering everything a customer desires under one roof.”

“What would you call your store?” she asked. “Hapstall’s Emporium, perhaps? Or Alfred Hapstall’s General Store?”

“Neither,” he replied. “It would be called Hapstall’s as it is now. Folk would travel from miles around to shop in Datcherford. Once that happened, other businesses would open, and the town might become prosperous again.”

For a moment, Alfred seemed lost in a place of his own, as he always did when thinking about his store. Then he smiled.

“There would be a doorman, in a uniform, ready to greet customers,” he said firmly. “And a grand entrance, with a great stairway to the upper floor.”

“I do hope it happens for you, Alfred,” Rose said sincerely. “It’s a wonderful thing to have a dream.”

They both started at the clatter of a hand-bell, followed by a shrill call.

“Bryson, where are you? I require you at once.”

“I must go.” Rose sighed. “But thank you for listening and for caring.”

“When will I see you?” Alfred asked urgently.

“When Mrs Jameson chooses to send another order for you to deliver.” “I hope it will be soon.” The bell rang again and Rose hurried away.

“What a fine girl Rose is, eh?” Alfred mused aloud.

Lissip twitched her ears at the sound of his voice and plodded homewards.

“She’s brave and honest,” Alfred added. “Proud, too.”

Alfred’s mood was mellow and he allowed Lissip to take her time on the return journey.

“At least she didn’t lose her position. But she’s an educated lady and she deserves better. If only I could be of some help to her. But all in good time.”

He smiled to hear himself say the familiar expression.

“I hardly know Rose but, except for Mother, she’s the only person I’ve told about my dream. When will it all happen, eh, Lissip?”

That question had been on Alfred’s mind for so long. It might be years until he could realise his ambition, but he had never doubted he’d achieve it.

It was his firm belief that if one such enterprise succeeded, others would follow and the little town could be what it once was.

The light was fading as they reached Datcherford.

“Good evening, Mr Hapstall,” a voice called.

Mr Darrowby and his son George were making their way home, carrying their ladder between them, with buckets and hammers and other paraphernalia of their trade.

“Good evening, Mr Darrowby. George.” Albert returned the greeting.

Seeing them reminded him of the times he’d worked alongside his own father.

Whatever happened, Alfred determined, there would always be a Hapstall’s store in Datcherford.

Ahead of him was his shop, hemmed in on one side by the bakery and on the other by the cottage where Mrs Maloney and her young daughter ran their dressmaking business.

Alfred looked about him in the deserted street.

Suddenly, he pulled on the reins and stood straight up in the cart. “That’s it!” he cried. Lissip pricked up her ears. Alfred sat down and hurried her on.

Scarcely taking the time to tie up the cart, he ran into the empty shop.

“Mother, come here quickly!” he cried.

“Alfred, what is it?” she asked, scurrying down the stairs.

“Look, Mother,” he said, leading her to the doorway. “What do you see there?” “Nothing,” she replied. “Look again. My new store. It’s been there all the time!” To be continued.