The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~Chapter 6~

Camden, London 1905.

Two years had passed, and the streets of Camden had grown ever busier, their familiar cobblestones worn with the rhythm of daily life. It was now 1905, and Florence was eleven. Her once soft and childish features had begun to sharpen, her limbs had lengthened, and her dark hair, now thicker, fell in gently round her face. The green of her eyes had deepened, more thoughtful now, as if they held the weight of all she had seen and learned in the past few years.

Life for the Wardens had remained simple but steady. Though they had never had much, they had enough—a warm home, food on the table, and work that kept their hands busy. Mrs. Warden's laundering business had grown slightly, with more families coming to rely on her mending and washing. Florence had taken on a larger role, stepping in to help with the business while still attending school. The once shy and quiet girl had become a girl with a strong sense of duty. She spent her mornings in the classroom, and her afternoons were filled with the sound of running water, the snap of damp linens, and the scent of soap as she scrubbed and rinsed the endless piles of clothes alongside her mother.

The kitchen, always warm and lively, had transformed into a workshop of sorts. Clotheslines crisscrossed the small room, hung with freshly laundered garments, and the tables were stacked with folded shirts, trousers, and dresses waiting to be picked up. The old iron stood in its usual spot by the stove, and Florence had become adept at pressing the fabrics smooth, her hands steady and confident as she worked. Though the days were long, she didn't mind. She was proud to be of use, to help her parents where she could. And it made her feel a little more grown-up, knowing she was contributing to the family.

One afternoon, as Florence hung the last of the freshly washed clothes on the line in their small yard, she could hear the distant hum of voices and laughter from the streets beyond. The air was warm for late spring, the sky a pale blue that stretched endlessly above the rooftops. "Flo, dear," Mrs. Warden called from inside, her voice carrying through the open kitchen window. "Could you come in and help with the ironing? Mrs. Burke's lot needs to be done before supper."

"Coming, Mum!" Florence called back, securing the last pin on a dress shirt before dusting off her hands and making her way inside. As she stepped into the kitchen, Mrs. Warden was already by the ironing board, her face flushed from the heat. She smiled when Florence entered, wiping a bit of sweat from her brow.

"You've been a big help these past months," Mrs. Warden said, her voice warm with gratitude. "I don't know how I'd manage without you." Florence smiled in return, her heart swelling with pride. "I like helping, Mum," she said simply, taking the iron from her mother's hand. She pressed it carefully over the creases in one of Mrs. Burke's skirts, watching the fabric flatten under the heat. "How about we go to Margate for the day we can speak to your father about it when he gets home ohh you always loved Margate when you were younger." Florence smiled at the memories "sure."

As they worked side by side, the comfortable silence between them was occasionally broken by small bits of conversation—news from the neighborhood, gossip about the people they did laundry for, or Florence's thoughts about school. Though Florence still attended her classes diligently, she often found herself torn between her studies and her responsibilities at home. She wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to keep up with both, especially as her parents grew older and more in need of her help. "Mrs. Burg asked if we could take on her sister's laundry as well," Mrs. Warden mentioned offhandedly, folding a pair of trousers. "I told her we'd try, but I'm not sure how we'll manage."."We'll figure it out," Florence replied, her tone calm and reassuring. She had always been the one to keep a level head when things seemed overwhelming, a trait she had inherited from her father over the years.

As they worked, Florence's mind drifted to the world beyond the laundry. Though she was content with her life, there were moments when she longed for something more. She often wondered what it would be like to explore the bustling streets of London beyond Camden, to see more of the world than the narrow roads she had grown up on. She dreamed of one day stepping into a life that wasn't so small, where her days weren't dictated by the rhythm of washing and mending. Yet, even as her dreams stretched beyond the confines of their small house, Florence was deeply rooted in her family. She couldn't imagine leaving her parents to handle everything on their own. For now, she was needed here, and she accepted that with quiet grace.