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4.
Doll was the only daughter of old Mrs Jones who used the run the little
pawnshop in Mile End before she got infected with consumption and needed to
stay in bed all day, confining her to the damp cellar underneath the shop where
they both lived. Doll was a young and dishy thing. She looked frail though, and
had limps, which were oddly long but graceful. When you looked into her eyes
you would not see the young passionate light of a sixteen-year-old child, but
the joyless gaze of a tired, grown woman, not far from her mum's age.
"What are you gents looking for?" She asked hopefully. They didn't
get many customers these days. The inexperienced girl was not capable to run
the business properly. Quite often, the people who came into the shop to pawn
something found out that they could easily bully her into a good bargain
instead that it was the other way around. The place was stocked with worthless
junk; broken watches, discarded furniture and clothes that had been worn to
rags. All of it pawned in exchange of good money that could have been put in
good use by her and her ill mother.
"We want to buy some clothes; trousers, jackets, some shirts. They have to
be decent." I explained.
"For both of you?" She asked, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes.
"Ehm, well. It depends. How far can we get with -" I glanced over my
shoulders at Bradbury, who stuck a single finger in the air.
"One." I nodded, feeling embarrassed already. "One
shilling."
The hopeful twinkle quickly ebbed away. "One shilling." She repeated
softly to herself. She couldn't even get the fat arse of their fancy family
doctor out of the comfy chair for one bloody shilling, let alone pay for a full
consult. "I don't know, sir. I think you can get a very proper shirt for
that, or a good pair of trousers. But not a jacket."
"Well, that depends, my dear lady Doll." Bradbury walked up to the
counter and stared right into the her eyes. "For all I know you haven't
got anything in this musty old shop of yours that's actually worth a bloody
penny, and is asking one shilling for a smelly torn shirt an easy way to con us
out of our last savings."
The girl's eyes grew wide. "No such thing, sir! Honestly, I would never
cheat on a single soul! There are some clothes that my mother keeps apart in
the backroom. They are of good quality and in excellent condition. If you
gentlemen are interested, I can show them to you."
She led us into a small dark room stocked with clothing, and on each empty spot
there was a piece of clobber hanging from a rusty nail-head protruding from the
walls. She showed me a brown tweed jacket, which was a perfect fit and looked
fairly new except for some patchwork around the elbows. Bradbury picked out an
almost perfectly white shirt, with a pair of matching trousers to match with
it.
"How do I look?" I asked, fiddling clumsily with
my sleeve cuffs till Doll was so kind to fold them over for me.
Bradbury observed me from head to toe.
"Like a true gentleman, if not I'll be damned! William, I didn't think you
got it in you, but you look absolutely dandy in that outfit!"
You see, sir!" Doll smiled, happily. "Like I said, we won't overprice
any of our merchandise. That shirt you wear is made of good cloth and has not a
single stain on it. We wash them out and patch up the holes if there are
any." She lowered her eyes, crimson flushing the paleness of her cheeks.
"And if I may add, sir. It does look quite flattering on you."
"Really, I figured I must look like a bloody nancy." I said, but my
cheeks getting warmer nonetheless. "I don