Cinderella Sister

by Dilly Court

  The sun was shining from an azure sky so fresh and delicate that Lily’s fingers itched to paint it using a wash of cobalt blue with just a hint of viridian. There was an ice-cold chill in the air, but there was no wind or even the slightest breeze to deliver the stench from the manufactories, chemical works or the tanneries. She made her way down Bell Wharf Lane and a short distance along Lower Shadwell Street to Bell Wharf Stairs. It was here that she loved to sit and make drawings of the busy river traffic and today was no exception. The tide was on the turn and the river sparkled in the sunlight, reflecting the blue of the sky. It flowed through the city like a satin ribbon in great loops of pure ultramarine. Lily committed the brilliant colours to memory. The dark reddish-brown of the brick warehouses, the pale grey of Portland stone, the rich tan of the Thames barge sails and the dark green lichen and waterweed that coated the stanchions and stone steps. The rainbow in her mind exploded with colour and light. She felt her spirit soaring to fly with the fluffy white clouds, scudding like spring lambs across the sky.

  She was so busy looking upwards that she almost fell over a man sitting on the quay wall. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  He rested his sketching pad on his knees and squinting against the bright light he looked up at her. Lily found herself staring into the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. It was like gazing into the infinite blue of the sky and his eyes seemed to reflect the sunlight, sending it back to her with a smile. ‘Hold on, there. Where’s the fire? You nearly had me plummeting into the drink.’

  ‘You’re an artist,’ Lily gasped, staring down at the deft strokes of charcoal on a white background. Even without a touch of colour the scene portrayed the very essence of the river. ‘It’s wonderful.’

  He put down his sketchpad and scrambled to his feet, bowing over her hand with a courtly gesture that both thrilled and embarrassed her. ‘I’m flattered, Miss …’

  Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, Lily withdrew her hand, glancing over her shoulder in case anyone who might know her was watching. She did not want such forward behaviour reported to any of her brothers, but the young man’s smile was irresistible and his eyes danced with merriment. ‘Lily Larkin,’ she murmured shyly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss Larkin. No one will know that we are not old acquaintances meeting by chance on this glorious morning.’

  ‘But I don’t know who you are,’ Lily said, making an effort to sound prim and proper as Nell would have wished, but his smile was infectious and her lips twitched. She stifled a nervous giggle.

  ‘That’s easily remedied. My name is Gabriel Faulkner and I am the ne’er-do-well son of a well-respected artist, whose talent has sadly bypassed me.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. You are quite brilliant,’ Lily said sincerely. ‘I wish I was half as good as you.’

  ‘You are interested in art, Lily?’

  She felt her blush deepen at his casual use of her Christian name. ‘I like to draw and paint when I get the chance, but my family don’t approve …’ She paused, aware that she was in danger of blurting out the scandalous nature of her mother’s behaviour and subsequent desertion.

  ‘Well now, this is most interesting. What subjects do you favour, Lily? Flowers perhaps? Or landscapes?’

  She was aware of the teasing note in his voice and she had read enough novels to know that young ladies of quality were expected to be accomplished in art and music. It must be obvious to him that she came from a quite different background. She found herself envying Molly’s quick wit and ability to bandy words with the opposite sex. ‘I draw the river,’ she said simply. ‘I was born and bred here. We live – I mean we used to live in the dockmaster’s house. Grandpa says Thames water flows in our veins.’

  Gabriel eyed her curiously. ‘I would like to see some of your work.’

  She hesitated. She had concealed most of her sketches at the bottom of the cedar chest where Nell kept the bedlinen, and which was one of the few items they had brought from their old home. ‘I have an unfinished one here.’ Taking a sheaf of paper from her basket, she selected the sketch she had made on this spot just days before the fire that had brought Armand into their lives. Her pulses were racing as she handed it to Gabriel. She waited, hardly daring to breathe, as he studied her work. She could not help noticing his hands as he held the flimsy sheet of paper. She had always romantically imagined that an artist would have long slender fingers, but Gabriel’s were short and square-tipped. Workmanlike was the word that sprang to mind and she was vaguely disappointed. Clutching her basket tightly, she suppressed the urge to ask for his opinion. The suspense was terrible and yet it was thrilling. Here was a real artist with obvious talent, who would give her an honest evaluation of her work.

  Gabriel looked up and his expression was grave.

  ‘Y-you don’t like it?’ Lily felt as though the sky had fallen in and was crushing the life out of her. ‘Is it that bad?’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Where did you learn to draw like this?’ Gabriel demanded. ‘Who taught you?’

  ‘No one,’ Lily said, wishing that she had kept her sketch hidden from sight where it really belonged. She stared down at her shabby boots, unable to look him in the face.

  ‘Come now, I find that hard to believe. You must have had an able tutor, or else this is someone else’s work.’

  This last remark made her raise her head and she tried to snatch the drawing from his fingers, but he held it above his head and out of reach. ‘Give it back to me, please.’

  ‘Not until you’ve told me about yourself. I want to know more about you, Lily.’

  ‘There’s nothing to know. I just make sketches to amuse myself and because …’ A sob caught in her throat and she couldn’t speak.

  His smile faded and he laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘You do it because it’s a consuming passion,’ he said gently. ‘You have to express yourself and this is the only way you can speak from your heart.’

  She raised her eyes to meet his and was startled to see understanding and compassion in their blue depths. She wanted to cry with sheer relief that someone understood her desperate need to create beauty and to reveal the world about her as she saw it. She nodded.

  ‘I know it is so, Lily. I feel the same way, and so does every artist worth their salt. You have raw talent, my girl. You would benefit enormously from expert tuition but judging by this one sketch you show promise, and I’d love to see more of your work.’

  ‘No, that’s impossible,’ Lily said, coming back to earth with a jolt. ‘I’m glad you like my drawing, but it is just a pleasant pastime, no more.’

  Gabriel’s eyes widened and he cocked his head on one side. ‘I don’t believe you. I can recognise pure passion for art when I see it. Heaven knows I earn my bread and butter by giving drawing lessons to young ladies who would far rather be cavorting with their dancing masters, but you are different, Lily Larkin.’

  Visions of her mother flitted through Lily’s mind. A tumult of angry voices echoed in her head as she recalled the day that Ma had left home with her lover, and all in the name of art. ‘I must go,’ she murmured. ‘I have things to do.’ She turned and ran and it was only when she reached Cock Hill that she realised that Gabriel was still in possession of her drawing. She was out of breath and she slowed to a walk. It was silly to have panicked. What must he think of her? But on the other hand she knew she was on very dangerous ground. Her family, with perhaps the exception of Luke, would be horrified if they discovered her secret vice was indulging in the activity that had torn their family apart. The worst of it was to realise that she had been drawn to Gabriel Faulkner by the invisible thread that was their shared love of art. He was not her romantic ideal of a hero, as Armand had been, but there was something about him that was disturbing, unconventional and possibly dangerous.

  From that day on, Lily avoided Bell Wharf Steps and she went further afield to make her sketches, sometimes walking as far as Kidney Stairs or Limeho
use Cut entrance. Each time she left home she found herself glancing over her shoulder in case Gabriel had by some chance discovered her address. On one such occasion, about two weeks after their meeting, she was walking along Cock Hill when she saw a man wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat similar to the one she had seen on the ground beside Gabriel, and her heart did a somersault inside her breast. As he drew nearer she realised that he was a complete stranger and her initial relief quickly turned into a feeling of disappointment. She had been trying her hardest to forget Gabriel’s words but they kept coming back to haunt her. It had been such a relief to learn that she was not a complete freak of nature in her love of colour, shape and form, and her innate desire to put what she saw on paper. Feelings of guilt assailed her each time she left the house with her sketching things concealed in her basket, but it was good to be out of their cramped living quarters, even in the worst weather. Grandpa was becoming more and more cantankerous with each passing day. Aggie was frustrated by the lack of cooking facilities in their rooms and had become even grumpier than usual. Nell went about pale-faced and uncomplaining, but Molly made up for her elder sister’s silent suffering by voicing her discontent loudly and repetitively. Matt, Mark and Luke spent even more time in the fire station and Lily could hardly blame them. Life at home was becoming intolerable, and her only solace was to find a quiet spot in order to sketch and paint. The only difficulty was that the little pans of watercolour were now almost empty, despite Lily’s frugal use of the precious pigments. Very soon she would have no colour to work with and no hope of finding the money to purchase more of the expensive art materials.

  Two days before Christmas Nell was sitting at their old kitchen table, poring over the household accounts in the guttering light of a candle. She had just returned from school, and although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon it was almost pitch dark outside and a sleety rain was slapping the windowpanes. Lily had attempted to make their room look a little festive by making paper chains out of old newspaper which she and Molly had laboriously painted with red dye smuggled home from Molly’s place of work. Grandpa was taking his afternoon nap in the back room and Aggie was huddled in her chair by the window with a shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders and a stone hot water bottle at her feet.

  ‘If it gets any colder we’ll all freeze to death,’ she muttered just loud enough for Lily and Nell to hear. Molly had not yet returned from work and Matt, Mark and Luke were on duty in the fire station.

  ‘I wonder how much a goose will cost this year?’ Nell mused, chewing the stub of her pencil.

  ‘How do you expect me to cook a goose over that paltry fire?’ Aggie demanded, suddenly alert. ‘Or do we sit up all night holding it over a candle?’

  ‘That’s very funny,’ Nell said lightly. ‘But I was thinking perhaps we could take the bird to the baker’s shop tomorrow and eat it cold on Friday.’

  ‘Matt and the boys won’t like that,’ Aggie snapped. ‘They love my roast with good gravy and plenty of vegetables.’

  ‘We can boil potatoes and carrots,’ Lily said, attempting to sound positive.

  ‘And I suppose you expect me to boil plum pudding in the kettle?’ Aggie buried her face in her shawl. ‘What have we come to? How low can a family sink without actually living in the gutter?’

  ‘That’s enough, Aggie.’ Matt had entered the room unseen by Aggie, who had her back to the door, and she looked round, flushing guiltily, but seemingly unrepentant.

  ‘I was there when you was born, Matt Larkin. I wiped your snotty nose and bandaged your knees when you came in from school covered in cuts and bruises. I only spoke the truth and you know it.’

  Lily hurried to her side and put her arm around Aggie’s shoulders. ‘Don’t distress yourself, Aggie dear. We’ll manage somehow, and I’m sure we’ll soon find another house to rent with a proper kitchen and a washhouse with a copper. I used to grumble about doing the laundry, but anything is better than carting all the dirty clothes to the public washhouse.’

  Matt shuffled his feet. ‘I just came to say that we won’t be in for supper. There’s a big fire in a tobacco warehouse near Free Trade Wharf. We’ll be gone all night, Nell, so don’t wait up.’

  Nell sprang to her feet. ‘Oh, do take care, Matt.’

  He hooked his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘Careful is my middle name, ducks.’ He was about to leave the room but he paused in the doorway. ‘There’s a fellow downstairs asking about you, Lily. Said he’s got something for you.’

  ‘Who on earth could that be?’ Nell mused, staring curiously at Lily. ‘I hope you haven’t been flirting with the butcher’s boy, my girl.’

  Lily felt her heart skip a beat, but common sense reasserted itself quickly and she decided it could not possibly be Gabriel. In any event, why would a sophisticated man like him come in search of an East End girl? ‘Of course not,’ she said, snatching up her shawl. ‘It’s probably a message from one of Grandpa’s old cronies too shy to come and knock on the door.’ She followed Matt out of the room and down the stairs. At least he was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to the person who had come calling on his youngest sister. Matt took his duties as head fireman of his watch very seriously indeed.

  Lily emerged from the alleyway, peering through a curtain of sleety rain. At first she could not see anyone other than passers-by hurrying about their business, but then a male figure emerged from the shadows and came towards her.

  ‘You’re a hard person to track down, Lily Larkin.’

  There was no mistaking the bantering tone of Gabriel’s voice. ‘How did you find me?’ she asked breathlessly.

  He drew her into the doorway of the tobacconist’s shop. ‘With great difficulty as it happens. You told me that you’d lived in the dockmaster’s house and I went there, only to find the new occupants had no idea as to your whereabouts. I went back every day, questioning the men who worked on the wharves, and then I found your friend Bill. He took a bit of convincing that I was not a debt collector or something more sinister, but in the end I managed to persuade him that my intentions are entirely honourable and he gave me your address.’ He plunged his hand inside his greatcoat and drew out a folded sheet of paper. ‘I wanted to return your sketch.’

  Lily took it with trembling fingers. ‘Th-thank you, sir.’

  ‘Gabriel,’ he corrected softly. ‘We are going to be friends, and I intend to see to it that your great talent is not wasted.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that I am sick and tired of teaching unwilling and untalented young women. I want you to be my pupil.’

  ‘That’s impossible. Even if I wanted to, my family wouldn’t let me. I told you that before.’

  ‘I can’t accept that argument, at least not without a good reason.’ He took her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. ‘You have a real talent, Lily. Why waste it?’

  ‘It’s out of the question. I’m flattered to have your good opinion, but I want you to promise not to take this any further. Now, I must go. Please don’t try to see me again.’ She broke away from him and ran out into the sleet, which was rapidly turning into a hailstorm.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Nell demanded when Lily burst into the living room shaking hailstones from her hair.

  ‘It was just someone passing on the compliments of the season from Bill,’ Lily lied desperately.

  Nell frowned. ‘That’s odd. Why didn’t Bill come in person?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Lily moved away to poke the fire, giving herself time to think. She realised then that it was a foolish lie, and one likely to be disproved when Bill came to see Grandpa on Christmas Day.

  ‘I think she’s got a fellah,’ Aggie said. ‘That’s why she’s always creeping out of the house when you’re at the school, Nell. I think she’s meeting a man. No good will come of it.’

  ‘Is this true, Lily?’ Nell demanded anxiously.

  Lily was about to deny Aggie�
�s accusation when a loud knocking on the outside door made them all jump.

  Aggie peered out of the window. ‘I can see the second engine being made ready to go. It looks like the other watch has been called out on this one, Nell. It must be a big fire.’

  ‘Go and see who it is, Lily,’ Nell said wearily. ‘I must finish balancing the household accounts. Matt will want to see them in the morning.’

  Lily was only too happy to oblige. She ran downstairs to open the door which led into the alleyway. Standing there with his helmet in his hands was Foster, one of the younger firemen from the day watch.

  ‘We’ve been called out to the blaze in the tobacco factory, and we’re a man down. Jones slipped on the icy pavement and we think he’s broke his arm. Can Miss Nell come and take a look at him?’

  ‘He should go to hospital,’ Lily said cautiously. ‘I don’t think Nell could do much to help.’

  ‘This is an emergency. If Miss Nell can just strap him up Jones could get a cab but the poor bloke is in agony and we’ve got to leave right away.’

  Lily nodded her head. ‘All right. I’ll fetch her.’

  The horse was ready and waiting in the shafts and the firemen had donned their helmets, but there was an uneasy silence as Lily and Nell made their way to the back of the building. They found Fireman Jones lying on a pallet, grey-faced and in obvious pain.

  Ted Harris, the senior fireman, greeted them with a worried frown. ‘Can you fix him up, Miss Nell?’

  She went down on her knees regardless of the muddy floor that was soiling the skirt of her one good dress. ‘Can you move your fingers, Mr Jones?’

  He shook his head, biting his lip. ‘No, miss. It’s broke all right.’

  ‘There’s not much I can do for you other than to strap it to your body,’ Nell said apologetically. ‘Could someone find me a length of cloth or webbing, please?’

  Ted shook his head. ‘We’ve nothing like that here, Miss Nell.’