Hasty Death Read Online Free

bank’s in Lombard Street, Daisy. How do we get there?’
    ‘We walk.’
    ‘But it’s so far!’ wailed Rose.
    ‘I’ll find out about omnibuses, or maybe we can get an underground train.’
    ‘I know,’ said Rose. ‘We’ll take a hack and get him to stop just short of the bank. Just this once.’
    ‘Oh, all right,’ said Daisy. ‘But we have to try to live within our means.’
    There were two types of typists in the City – the working girls who were struggling to better themselves, and the middle-class ladies who worked for pin-money.
    The senior ‘girl’ was Mrs Danby, a thin, acidulous woman in her forties. She was middle-class and ruled her small staff of four typists with a rod of iron. Mrs Danby was not looking
forward to the arrival of two newcomers, even though it was increasing her empire.
    Mr Drevey had told her they were to be put in a separate room and made to type out the entries from the old ledgers. Mrs Danby pointed out that the ledgers were filled with meticulous
copperplate handwriting and therefore did not need to be typed and the usually courteous Mr Drevey had snapped at her to do as she was told.
    The doorman informed her of the newcomers’ arrival and she swept out in the hall to meet them; the only thing modifying her temper was the rustle of her new and expensive taffeta
underskirt.
    The two newcomers stood before her, irreproachably dressed. ‘I am in charge of you,’ she said, a surprisingly loud voice emanating from her thin figure and thin trap of a mouth.
    ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Daisy, holding out a gloved hand. ‘I am Miss Daisy Levine.’
    Mrs Danby ignored the hand. Common-genteel, she thought. Her eyes turned on Rose, who was standing patiently.
    ‘And you are Miss Summer?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Rose calmly, fixing Mrs Danby with a blue stare.
    ‘Come with me.’ Mrs Danby rustled off in front of them. She threw open a mahogany door revealing a small room furnished with a table, two chairs, a desk, and two typewriters and a
pile of ledgers and box files. There was a small gas fire with a broken piece of asbestos which purred and hissed like some infuriated household cat. On the mantelpiece was a black marble clock
with a yellow face. By the long window stood a hat stand.
    ‘You are to type the entries in these ledgers,’ instructed Mrs Danby, ‘and when you have completed each page, you will put it in one of these box files. You, Miss Summer, will
start with the 1901 ledger and Miss Levine with the 1900 ledger. Take off your coats and hats and begin immediately.’
    Rose and Daisy took off their coats, hats and gloves, and sat at their typewriters, facing each other.
    ‘We need typing paper, if you please,’ said Rose.
    Rose had intended to modify her accent but she had taken a dislike to Mrs Danby and so her tones were the glacial, staccato ones of her class.
    Mrs Danby opened the door and shouted, ‘Miss Judd!’
    A small girl with a head of black curls appeared. ‘Typing paper for these two new workers,’ ordered Mrs Danby.
    She turned away. Miss Judd winked at Rose and Daisy and shot off to return in a few minutes with a large packet of typing paper.
    ‘I will now watch you to assess your skill,’ said Mrs Danby.
    Rose and Daisy, like two machines, each put a sheet of paper in their typewriter, found the right ledgers and began to type with great speed and ease.
    ‘I will leave you now,’ said Mrs Danby majestically.
    ‘One moment, Mrs Danby,’ said Rose. ‘At what time are we allowed to take our luncheon?’
    Mrs Danby longed to tell them that they were to work right through the day but feared that the haughty Miss Summer might report her to Mr Drevey.
    ‘Luncheon is at one o’ clock until two-thirty,’ she said.
    ‘Blimey,’ said Daisy when Mrs Danby had left. ‘It’s better than I thought. They do themselves well here. A whole hour and a half for lunch!’
    ‘This is make work,’ said Rose. ‘There is no need for these ledgers