Beginnings & Endings |h.s.|

two

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Margaret's eyes were wide open, her pupils fully dilated in awe as she stood in the centre of the town's square, Big Ben could be seen in the far distance to her left.

London was far larger than any of the photographs from the newspapers had led on. Even to scale, the town's square was daunting to Margaret and she spun herself in circles, trying to instill the imagery of the landmarks around her into her mind forever.

The town was bustling. People were making their way to work, briefcases in hands, top hats upon their heads. Mimes stood encircled by a crowd, re-enacting simple cartoon-like movements seen in plays on Broadway, little children laughing with each new move the mimes made. Men sat painting plump ladies' portraits for a quid. It was overwhelming to Margaret, but beautifully so. Buskers stood singing songs and playing tunes on their strings, their guitar cases open before them, eager to catch any coins from the rich. This is the world she had dreamed of. The world outside of her small French village, a place where dreams were coming alive all around her.

Now, all Margaret had to do was find work and shelter. When the idea of leaving France was brought up with Margaret, her parents had sat down with her to discuss opportunities for her in the big city - where she would be able to sleep at night, how she would afford food, what talents she could use to her advantage for making herself British money.

Margaret made her way towards a makeshift stall she spotted a few feet to her right, prepared to ask for help for the second time today.

As she stood in front of the stall, a wooden counter filled with jars of peaches, berries and stewed apples separated her from a pair of young ladies. One of the woman had a bright smile on her face, eager to serve Margaret, whilst the other held a sour expression, as she looked away, seemingly disappointing in something her partner had just said.

"Good day Ma'am," Margaret said.

"Morning!" The brightly smiling woman responded. "How can I be of service today?"

"I was wondering if you could direct me towards somebody who is in charge of the Covent Garden Market?" Margaret queried. "I'd like to open a stall of my own here."

"Well ain't that lovely! It's a great atmosphere out here, sweetheart! Lots of business, especially at the weekends," the women answered. "Let me take you o'er myself, come on."

Heaving her rucksack over her shoulder, Margaret followed the woman round the stall, through the back buildings' alleyways and down a flight of stairs, into a bricked building containing no windows.

"Johnny, I've got a new one for ya!" The woman yelled in the direction of whatever it was that was assumingely at the bottom of the staircase.

As the woman rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase, Margaret came face to face with a man seated behind a table. If Margaret hadn't known any better, which in this case she did not, she'd think this man was the leader to a notorious gang, the way his posture, tattoos and scarred face gave him a stereotypical impression. Graying hair covered the man's head and face, his beard almost to his collar bones. A deep scar crossed his left eye, the remains of stitches-gone-wrong evident. And yet, the man smiled warmly at Margaret, his voice and words a stark contrast to his features.

"Good day. Lovely to make your acquaintance. You alright, love?"

"Good day Sir, the pleasure is all mine," Margaret said, mimicking the way she had read British people speak in the short stories from her newspapers back home.

"Please do call me Johnny, will ya? Now tell me love, what's your name and how can I help ya?"

"Hi Sir," Margaret began, before remembering she was told to call the man by his name, with a look of warning on his face. "Johnny, my apologies. My name is Margaret Weiss. I am looking for work. I have heard of the Covent Garden Market and I do believe I have talent enough to sell my services at your market, if you'd be willing to give me the opportunity," Margaret stated confidently. As terrified as she may have felt inside, being alone in a new country, no friends nor family with her, she kept her worries hidden, knowing confidence was necessary in this situation.

"French, is it?" the man asked, ignoring the words Margaret had eloquently stated just moments prior.

Margaret stuttered, before speaking. "Oh, uh, yes, I am French."

"Very well, that sure could be beneficial to my market. Foreigner with a talent, ey?" The man responded with a question.

"I am a baker. My special is breadsticks, but I can bake all sorts," Margaret stated proudly, her confidence from before returning to her, as the pink tint of her cheeks brought on from the earlier stuttering disappeared.

"And tell me deary, do you got yourself a place to bake these goods for me?" and within moments of the pink tint on her cheeks disappearing, it had returned, almost twice as pigmented and covering her nose as well this time round. Margaret was afraid. She knew she had no more home to return to, and now, no shelter here in London where she so desperately needed to find work. This needed to work in her favor.

Margaret was lost in her thoughts when she heard Johnny clear his throat, clearly attempting to draw Margaret's attention back to his previous question. "I have only just moved here from France, but I am hoping to find myself a home shortly, and then I will be able to bake."

"How's 'bout I do ya one better..." Johnny smiled, his yellowing teeth picking up the light from across the room, illuminating the decay amongst the yellowing. Margaret was curious, but unwilling to allow herself to be hopeful just yet. The man's words may not match his actions, and that thought scared Margaret.

When the man noticed Margaret's passive stare, he continued, assuming her lack of verbal response was answer enough to his statement. "I got quarters a couple'a blocks from here, I rent to some'a the folks who work for me at my market. Only 6 pence a week, since you'd be working for me already."

At his words, Margaret finally allowed the hope she was resistant to, to flood her veins.

Margaret and Johnny continued to talk through the process of how she would pay for the rent, where she would be able to set up her stall and which baked goods she was to sell at Covent Garden Market. Johnny took a walk with Margaret down the few blocks it took to reach the building he rented out to tenants. As they spoke along the journey, Margaret felt elated, almost. Everything her parent's has ever dreamed for her was coming to light. A new home, a new job allowing for an income. Everything was going to be okay. She was going to survive.