# The Strand Magazine/Volume 24/Issue 143/The Trials of the Tea Ladies

Written under the pseudonym G. H. Page.
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By G. H. Page.
HE Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms were to be opened in Bond Street on the 24th June, two days before the coronation of the King. Eva and Muriel Stanley, who had put all their little capital and their great hopes into the venture, were filled with tremors as the day drew near. Suppose the rooms were not a success after all?
And yet the girls had done everything they knew to command success. They had taken, at an immense rent, three large and pretty rooms at the corner of Maddox Street, and Eva, who was artistic, had superintended the decoration and furnishing. She had hung the walls with a green trellis-work paper put on in panels on a white background, and having found in the pattern-book of Messrs. Spoylet and Sneerum an ivy-leaf frieze, she had had the original idea of cutting the garland out and applying it as a border round the panelling. The result was entirely happy. Then she had laid down a dark green velvet carpet with just a little sprig of lighter green thrown on it here and there, and the curtains were of pale green cashmere edged with broad bands of chintz over which roses of every shade of deep crimson and blushing pink bloomed almost as naturally as in an English garden. They only wanted fragrance to complete the illusion, and, after all, the fragrance was supplied by the bouquets of real roses which on the morning of the 24th stood on every one of the thirty little tables, ten in each room.
The roses had all been sent up from Crossways, the girls' home in Sussex, where Mumsie and the kiddies had rifled the garden of every single blossom in order to help in the success of the C.C.T.
For these tea-rooms were naturally a very great venture, and a great deal depended for the Stanley girls on their success. Each had put her whole fortune of a thousand pounds into the scheme, and while gentle Mrs. Stanley approved of it, as she would have approved of anything which her energetic ​Eva and Muriel devised, while the kiddies were perfectly sure it was the most splendid idea in the world, all the family aunts had thrown up hands and eyes in horror, all the family uncles had loudly disapproved, all the cousins had deplored, criticised, and ridiculed, and most other people had cheerfully predicted failure.
"Such a stoopid thing to do," Aunt Jane Fisher had told them. "You are sure to lose your money, and there you'll be penniless on my hands, I suppose. But I warn you beforehand, I shall do nothing for you whatever. I've too many claims on my purse as it is."
Mrs. Fisher lived in Chester Square, had three thousand a year, and, as she said, many claims, which took the shape of two fat carriage horses, a fat coachman, a fat poodle, and a still fatter pug.
"Never heard of such a preposterous idea in my life!" fumed Uncle Bentley. "Louisa must be out of her mind to let the girls do such a thing. They might as well chuck their money into the Thames; while if they would invest it in Consols they would get close on forty pounds a year apiece, and what more can a single woman need?"
An old bachelor like Colonel Bentley, of course, needed a great deal more, since he lived at Walsingham House, paid the subscription of three clubs, and smoked more than twenty shillings' worth of cigars in the course of a week.
"So low! Why, it's keeping a shop!" cried one of the Eltham girls; their father was a dean, but their mother was Mrs. Stanley's sister.
"Well, when Tom hears of this he will have nothing to do with Eva, I am sure," declared the other.
Tom Eltham was still with the Yeomanry in South Africa, but before he went out had spent a great deal more time than his sisters approved of down in Sussex with the Stanleys.
Willie Rhodes, the Harrow boy, however, was understood to have said he was jolly glad those plucky little Stanley girls were opening a grub-shop, and of course he would patronize them, and take the other chaps there, and no doubt, as long as he was their cousin, they would give him a long tick.
His was the only approval they received, and it did really require a great deal of courage to persevere under the dribbling of so much cold water, and to believe in their ultimate success.
But they were really plucky little girls, as Rhodes major said, and very devoted to each other, so that when Eva's high spirits momentarily failed her, Muriel would turn all her gaiety to the task of reviving them again, and vice versa.
"Do you think that we have enough of everything?" said Muriel, the night before opening day. "It would be simply awful if we ran short."
Eva counted over the fowls, the tongues, the hams ready cooked, the loaves of bread, the pounds of butter, the dozens of lettuces, the cucumbers, the cream cheeses, the jars of jam, the cakes, and the biscuits with which they had stored their larder against the great event.
"Let me see," she said, "how many may we expect for luncheon? Town is very full; there are thousands and thousands of foreigners, and Americans, and Colonials over, who all must be fed. Still, we'll be modest, and not count on too many. Suppose we say twenty for luncheon?"
"Yes, twenty for luncheon at five shillings each. That makes five pounds, doesn't it?" murmured Muriel, working out the intricate sum with pencil and paper. "Now for tea we might reckon on a good many more. Lots of people who don't have luncheon can't do without tea. Let's say sixty teas at half a crown, which makes—makes—oh, what on earth does it make, Evy?"
It was delightful to find that it actually made twelve pounds ten, and then, reckoning on twenty people again for dinner, the girls found the takings of the day total twenty-seven pounds.
June the 25th would certainly bring more customers still. They thought they might reckon the takings of that day at about thirty pounds. And if Coronation Day itself did not augment the numbers, it was at least reasonable to suppose these would not decline. So they put down the rest of the week at the low figure of twenty pounds a day. Say, just for the sake of round numbers, one hundred and forty pounds for the five days from Tuesday till Saturday inclusive. And after that an average of fifty pounds a week for the rest of the year. Very good interest surely on two thousand pounds! Eva and Muriel were so enchanted with their arithmetic that they waltzed round the empty rooms and kissed each other ecstatically.
When the great morning arrived, the morning of the 24th, they dressed themselves in the dainty pale grey frocks which had been made for them from Eva's designs, put on ​the snowy lace and muslin bibs and aprons and sleeves, which lent them so businesslike an air, and superintended the final touches.
A whole array of cooks and waitresses in rather more serviceable aprons than the girls' took final orders, cut sandwiches under their directions, set each little tea-table with an embroidered white cloth, a Japanese tea-tray, blue and white china, and a glass bowl of roses, sweet and dewy as when they were plucked.
The tea ladies walked through the room hand in hand, their pretty, fair heads held high with delight at the beauty and appropriateness of their arrangements.
"Ten o'clock!" said Eva. "Well, I'm glad we are ready so early, but, of course, we can't expect anyone to come for hours and hours yet."
"Sightseeing is awfully tiring work," Muriel suggested. "I dare say some of the people who are going round the decorations will just drop in for a sandwich or something."
"What a heavenly morning! Aren't we lucky the weather has turned so fine? I do really feel we are going to make a big success!"
And while the words were on Eva's lip, cook came bustling into the room with a scared face.
"Lor', miss! what do you suppose the man as brought the salmon have just told us? Why, there isn't going to be no coronation after all. It's put off deficiently."
"THERE ISN'T GOING TO BE NO CORONATION AFTER ALL."
The girls laughed.
"Nonsense! What tales you get hold of, cook, you and the fish-man. Why should it be put off?"
"They do say the King God bless him, is ill."
"Oh, people are always croaking evil! Don't pay any attention, cook, but just get on with your work."
At that moment a boy passed down the street selling second editions of the morning papers, and shouting, "Serious illness of the King! Coronation postponed!"
Eva and Muriel looked at each other in dismay.
"The poor King!" was Muriel's first exclamation. "Oh, how I hope it isn't really much!"
"The poor people!" sighed Eva. "Think how horribly disappointed they'll be!"
Then the same idea occurred to both girls.
​"And poor little us! Whatever shall we do?"
It was a tragic moment, a shattering blow. But Eva perceived Muriel's pretty mouth to be trembling towards tears, and this was a sign she must not give way herself.
"If the King only recovers, the rest won't matter much," said she. "Cook, run out, like a dear, and get us a paper. And after all, Birdie," this was her pet name for Muriel, "after all we need not despair. People will have to eat just the same. Town is just as full as it was five minutes ago. Everybody is not going to run away instantly, you may be sure. On the contrary, they will want to remain on the spot to get news of the King. You may be sure that everyone who is here already will stay for the week. And perhaps even on Coronation Day (poor Coronation Day!) we shall do better business than we expected. For instead of people being on the stands all the time, and having their luncheon there, they will be wandering about and very likely coming in here to us. So cheer up, darling, and help me move this table nearer the window. There! It looks prettier like that, doesn't it?"
It was dreadfully sad about the King, but, of course, as Eva said, people would want their luncheons just the same. So everything was prepared for the expected guests, and the sisters flitted about with an anxious eye upon the clock.
Ten-thirty struck; eleven; eleven-thirty; twelve.
The tea ladies' hearts began to beat, for now at any moment the first customer might arrive.
Half-past twelve; one o'clock; half-past one.
Not a single person had come into the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms. The girls looked at each other in silent agitation. What could it mean? For Bond Street was full of people passing to and fro, and for over an hour a steady stream had been pouring in and out of the tea-rooms opposite.
2 P.M.—The door opened with a cling, and both girls moved forward to welcome the incoming guest. But it was only a telegraph boy, who handed Eva the orange envelope containing a message from home.
"So sad about the dear King," it ran, "but how are things going with you?—Mumsie."
"Any answer, miss?" queried the boy, and Eva, compressing her lips, took a pencil and wrote: "Awfully sad, but everything going splendidly here."
Muriel, looking over her shoulder, nodded approval. They couldn't let the poor little mother know how miserably disappointed, how humiliated they felt. Time enough when they had to write to her, and, besides, by tea-time the position would be quite changed. Oh, by tea-time they would have their hands full; of that there could be no doubt!
And piles of delicious sandwiches stood ready, platefuls of tempting cakes, dozens of pots of tea waiting only to be "wetted," as cook expressed it; and meanwhile the hands crept round the little Louis Seize clock on the mantelpiece from two to three, from three to four, from four to five, and the street was always filled with people, but, as Muriel said, it seemed as though some malignant fairy had touched the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms and made them invisible, for not a soul so much as paused at the door.
It was inexplicable, it was heart-breaking, and two pale, tired, pretty girls crept about the rooms they had prepared with such gay anticipations, and made a poor pretence of keeping up each other's spirits, and feared to look into each other's eyes lest they should burst into tears.
When, breaking the silence, six strokes chimed out from the ormolu time-piece, Muriel gave way. She sat down by one of the unneeded tables, sank her little head on the snowy cloth, and wept into her hands.
Eva bent over her, caressing her hair.
"Dearest Birdie, don't cry!" she pleaded. "The day isn't ended yet. Some people might come still. And whatever would they think if they were to find the tea ladies in tears?"
"They'd think the tea must have been horribly nasty to have had such an effect!" said Muriel, suddenly smiling up, although her long eyelashes were all beaded with diamonds. "And, oh! Heavens! Here, actually, is a real customer at last!"
Breathlessly the girls sprang to attention as a young man entered the shop.
He was a very tall young man, with splendidly broad shoulders, and strong, nervous hands, and a very sun-burned face. He didn't look quote English, and yet assuredly he was not foreign, but he might have been Canadian or Colonial. He bowed deferentially, and holding his hat in his hands said, with a little smile which showed milk-white teeth:—
"I wonder whether it would be possible for me to have any tea?"
​"You can have all there is," murmured Muriel, ruefully.
"Which means, I fear, that there is very little? And I could drink up a pailful. Nor would it be the first time either. I have often drunk a pailful when sheep-shearing out at Worrabinda."
"There are three dozen pots of tea waiting to be made," said Muriel again, "and if you like you can have them all."
"Dear me, my luck has turned at last," said the young man, gaily, putting down his hat and stick and choosing his chair. "I have been into a dozen different tea-shops and simply couldn't get served, the crowd was so great, and I was almost afraid to come in here as it was past six, and I supposed the tea-hour would be over."
"Here it has never begun," announced Muriel, her mouth trembling again, and a dewdrop fell from her dark lashes on to her roseleaf cheek. "We have not had a single human being all day."
And then because she was so unhappy, and because the young man was so sympathetic, and because Eva had gone to get the tea, she found herself telling the whole story of their great venture, their high hopes, and their frightful disillusionment.
"Well, that's too bad!" declared the young man. "But just like Fortune. She plays us these tricks continually. Look at King Edward, for instance, and look at me. Here I am, home in England for the first time in my life, after a year's hard work with the Australians in South Africa. I find myself alone in London, among six million or so of people, without a soul to exchange a word with. I can tell you I have found it jolly dull all day, and what with this news about the King, and what with the prospect of having to go without my tea, I've wished myself back in Worrabinda more than once. But the thing is to buck up, and take the jade's blows smiling. She gives them to try our mettle, I think, for when she finds it fairly tough she always relents in our favour. Now, if I had crumpled up as I had half a mind to do, and gone back to my hotel, I should not now be enjoying such a delicious cup of tea in such charming company. For I'm sure you'll do me the kindness of taking tea with me? I'm feeling so awfully lonely away from all my people, and it would be such a tremendous pleasure to me to be allowed to chat a little with you ladies."
Eva and Muriel, who themselves were weak from worry and want of food, couldn't resist his friendly petition. And he was so boyish, so open-hearted, and so outspoken that they were soon getting on with him as though they had known him all their lives.
But Eva's more practical mind was busy with housekeeping; she was thinking of all the stacks of food ranged round the larder, and she gave a little sigh.
"I wonder whether anyone will come into dinner?" she said.
But a great idea had occurred to the guest.
"I was just going to ask whether I might not dine here myself," he replied. "And I shall probably bring a friend with me, or several friends. Perhaps as many as fifty. Could you accommodate fifty?"
The tea ladies gasped a little, for had he not said that he knew no one in London? But it was not for them to accuse a customer, and their only customer too, of inconsistency of statement. Besides, he had already seized his hat and stick, and, with a friendly bow, was gone.
"Good gracious!" cried Muriel, rippling over now with laughter. "What an extraordinary young man! Why, he hasn't even paid for his tea!"
"Do you think he is a little queer?" Eva wondered. "You see, he's so sunburnt that very likely he's had sunstroke too."
But neither Eva nor Muriel accused him for one instant of anything worse than forgetfulness or eccentricity. There are certain faces one can never doubt.
The tea ladies, however, would certainly have thought their only customer actually mad had they witnessed his next proceedings.
A fat poodle had escaped from his mistress's victoria as it stood drawn up by the kerbstone, and turned a deaf ear to her agonized pleadings and the blandishments of the footman seeking to cajole it back. It ran perversely between the feet of the pedestrians, calling forth opprobrious names upon its beribboned head.
The young man laid a firm hand on the scruff of its neck, and carried it yelping to its owner's knee.
The old lady received it with tears of gratitude, displacing a still fatter pug in favour of the prodigal.
"If I could but do something for you!" she said, wistfully, to the poodle's preserver.
"You can come and dine with me," he retorted, promptly. "I don't know whether you have ever had a son, madam, but you are very like my own mother, and she, at this ​moment, is fifteen thousand miles away, and I'm feeling lonesome."
"THE OLD LADY RECEIVED IT WITH TEARS OF GRATITUDE."
He took out his card, wrote "The Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms, 8 p.m.," above his address, and put it into the old lady's hand. Before she had adjusted her glasses and read "Mr. James Bullen, Worrabinda, Australia," that eccentric individual was out of sight.
As he turned into Piccadilly someone clapped him on the shoulder.
"Halloa, Jimmy, my blooming millionaire!" cried a "gentleman in khaki." "Come to see the show, eh? But the show seems very much off."
"Good man, Eltham!" cried the Australian. "You're the very chap I want. Remember the last time we met in Pretoria, eh? Come and dine with me to-night at the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms. Delightful place—awfully pretty girls——"
"Glad to hear the place is all right, but you needn't tell me the girls are pretty. The are the Stanleys, my cousins, and I was going there this very moment to see Eva—I mean to say to see them both. I'll dine with you with pleasure, but don't let me detain you now. I'll just run round and have a word with Eva—and, of course, with Muriel, at once."
By the time James Bullen had once traversed the space between the Circus and Green Park, he had invited quite a number of people, choosing each of them for his or her respectable appearance as well as for a certain gleam of humanity in the eye. Amidst his invited guests was a bevy of charming girls under the escort of some attentive young men, a public school boy piloting two younger brothers, and an irascible old gentleman whom he had secured on the very steps of Walsingham House.
"My dear sir," he had said in reply to the old gentleman's peppery refusals, "this is a unique occasion. Our King lies ill, we are all in consequence very much depressed, and it is our duty to keep up each other's spirits. I am an Australian alone in London, and I am not going to believe my father's people mean to give me the cold shoulder. If you were ever to come out to Worrabinda, you bet we'd put you up and do you well, and meantime you won't allow me to dine alone?"
But there seemed little chance of solitary dinner for him. Between five minutes to eight and five minutes past the door of the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms was perpetually on the click, and very nearly fifty people sat down to the inviting little tables.
​A carriage with two fat horses, two fat servants, a fat poodle, and a fatter pug stood outside the door, and an old lady had bustled in and kissed the tea ladies very affably.
"Your young friend, Mr. Bullen, is extremely eccentric," she began, when Tom Eltham put in a word. "Very rich, do you say? An Australian millionaire? To be sure, that makes a difference. The vagaries of millionaires must be pardoned like those of genius, I suppose. And I'm glad to see that you girls are doing such good business. I always told your poor mother that the best thing was for you to show a little energy and work for yourselves."
Aunt Jane's memory was, like her stature, short.
"What, no champagne?" stuttered Uncle Bentley, who had arrived at the tea-rooms actually holding his young host by the arm. "No champagne, Eva? Must have champagne on an occasion like this. Here, let Jane's servants take this card round to my man at Walsingham House. Let 'em bring back a couple of cases. Do 'em good to work 'em out a bit."
"UNCLE BENTLEY ARRIVED AT THE TEA-ROOMS ACTUALLY HOLDING HIS YOUNG HOST BY THE ARM."
The Eltham girls couldn't get over their astonishment and delight at meeting their brother Tom on his return from South Africa for the first time here; and the Harrow boy couldn't sufficiently express his admiration for his plucky little cousins' smart rooms, spiffin' tuck, and general jollity.
Tom Eltham had already managed to tell Eva what was his first and foremost object in coming home, and the young Australian lost no opportunity to make Muriel understand clearly that having once seen her he intended to see her very often again. She blushed and smiled with happiness, for somehow he seemed to her the most charming young man she had ever met.
If the luncheon and tea had been a failure at the C.C.T., at least the dinner was an enormous success. The family party was excessively gay, and the outside people were never for a moment allowed to feel themselves like outsiders, owing to the tea ladies' attention and tact. And it was with feelings of the utmost cordality and good-fellowship that all rose, on the invitation of Colonel Bently, to drink the solemn and heartfelt toast, "God Save the King."
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1937, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 86 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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