Tilly True

by Dilly Court

  ‘Tilly True, sir.’

  ‘You’re hurt, Tilly, and you’re chilled to the marrow.’

  ‘I’m fine, your honour. I’d best be on me way.’

  ‘You won’t get far in that state. Come with me. My lodgings are nearby.’

  Tilly backed away, alarmed. Francis raised his hands and shook his head, laughing. Suddenly he looked quite young and, to Tilly’s surprise, quite good looking, for a clergyman.

  ‘No, please. It’s quite respectable. My sister will be only too happy to attend to your injuries and give you a hot drink. You were very brave today, Tilly True.’

  Hesitating for a moment, Tilly realised that she must look a complete fright; she didn’t want to turn up at home in a state and risk giving her mum a funny turn. ‘All right, don’t mind if I do, but just for a minute or two mind. I still got a fair old walk home.’

  ‘Of course,’ Francis said, striding forward. ‘I understand.’

  Tilly had to trot to keep up with his long strides as he led the way along City Road, crossing Old Street and keeping on until they came to Bunbury Fields. The terrace of late Georgian town houses, their original white stucco now grey and crumbling and the paintwork blistered and peeling, had been built overlooking the municipal graveyard. The small-paned windows were opaque with cataracts of grime, staring blindly at the high wall of the cemetery. Tilly couldn’t help wondering if the twenty-foot-high wall was to keep the spirits of the dead from roaming into the world of the living, or to keep the resurrection men from snatching the bodies. Realising that Francis had sprinted up the steps to the front door of a house in the middle of the row, she quickened her pace.

  Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, Francis opened the front door. ‘Come along, Tilly.’

  There was an unmistakeable odour of boiled mutton and damp rot lingering in the hallway. The carpet on the stairs was well worn and threadbare in places and the banister handrail glowed with the patina of constant use. The Palgraves’ lodgings were on the first floor and Francis ushered Tilly into a sitting room at the front of the house, overlooking the burial ground. A fire burned in the grate but the room was cheerless and shabbily furnished. It looked to Tilly as though the entire contents were a collection of other people’s cast-offs and the overall impression was brown, from the wallpaper hung with sepia tints to the faded velvet curtains that framed the windows.

  ‘Francis?’ A young woman jumped up from a sagging wingback chair by the fire, dropping her sewing on the floor. Her smile of welcome wavered when she saw Tilly and was replaced by a look of concern. ‘Good heavens, who is this?’

  Taking off his top hat, Francis set it down on a chair by the door and began methodically to peel off his kid gloves, one finger at a time. ‘Harriet, I want you to meet a very brave young woman. This is Tilly True who, with no apparent thought for her own safety, stood up to a bully of a man who was ill-treating his poor horse. Tilly, this is my sister, Miss Palgrave.’

  Tilly bobbed a curtsey. ‘Honoured, I’m sure, ma’am.’

  ‘No, please don’t,’ Harriet said, smiling. ‘The days are gone when I was Miss Palgrave of Palgrave Manor. Everyone except Francis calls me Hattie.’

  Tilly eyed her with growing suspicion. Toffs didn’t encourage servant girls to be familiar and this young woman, although apparently living in straitened circumstances, was obviously a lady. ‘I just come in to get warm, miss. I’ll be leaving in a minute or two.’

  Harriet’s delicate brown eyebrows winged into two arcs. ‘My dear girl, you’re hurt,’ she said, touching the congealed blood on Tilly’s forehead. ‘You’re going nowhere until I’ve cleaned up that wound.’

  ‘There’s blood on her back too,’ Francis said, frowning. ‘It looks as though the poor girl has taken a terrible beating.’

  Tilly backed away. ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘Leave her alone, Francis. You’re not in the pulpit now.’ Harriet slipped her hand through Tilly’s arm. ‘Come with me, Tilly. We’ll clean you up and find you something dry to wear.’

  ‘And then I’m going.’

  ‘Of course, and I’ll loan you a coat and an umbrella. Something truly awful must have happened to make you leave home without so much as a shawl. But we won’t ask questions, will we, Francis?’

  Francis nodded. ‘If you can manage on your own, Harriet, I’ll finish what I set out to do.’

  ‘Of course I can manage. I’m not entirely useless.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  ‘Yes you did. You know you did. It isn’t my fault that I don’t know how to keep house.’

  ‘This isn’t the time or place to discuss our private business, Harriet.’ Giving her a reproachful glance, Francis picked up his hat and gloves. ‘Goodbye, Tilly. It was a privilege to meet someone as plucky as you.’ Placing his top hat on his head at a precise angle, he left the room.

  There was a moment’s embarrassed silence as they listened to his retreating footsteps on the stairs. Harriet was the first to recover. ‘We get along very well really,’ she said, blushing. ‘It’s just that things have been difficult lately.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better go.’ Tilly glanced longingly at the door; she felt uncomfortable here with these toffs. They seemed nice enough but there was obviously something wrong and Tilly had enough problems of her own.

  ‘We haven’t always lived like this,’ Harriet said, seeming to pick up on Tilly’s thoughts. ‘Things have been difficult since our father died. Our eldest brother inherited the estate, and Francis was granted a living in the East End, that is while we are waiting to go to India.’

  ‘India, miss?’

  ‘My brother hopes one day soon to teach in a missionary school. This is just a temporary lodging until the present incumbent moves out of the vicarage.’

  ‘Yes, miss. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But here am I going on about my own troubles when you’ve obviously had a dreadful experience. We must get you fixed up. I’m afraid we’ll have to go down to the basement and beg our landlady, Mrs Henge, for some hot water. She’s a frightful dragon and I hate to admit it, but she scares me to death. Come along, Tilly.’

  Half an hour later, Tilly was back in the Palgraves’ sitting room, seated by the fire, drinking a cup of hot cocoa laced with sugar. Her injuries had been cleaned and treated with salve and Harriet had insisted on lending her a clean blouse and skirt, both of which were much washed and darned in places, but were of considerably better quality than the cheap clothes provided by Mrs Blessed. Tilly had just finished answering Harriet’s inevitable questions about how she had come to be in this sorry state.

  ‘That’s truly terrible,’ Harriet said, shaking her head. ‘We had dozens of servants when I lived at home in Palgrave Manor, but they were treated like human beings.’

  ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, why couldn’t you stay in your old home?’

  Harriet pulled a face. ‘My sister-in-law, Letitia, is not the easiest person to get on with, and with her ever increasing brood of daughters I suppose the house was getting a little crowded.’

  ‘How many?’

  Harriet opened her eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘How many nippers? I mean we only got a two-up and two-down house, and I’m one of ten, though two little ones didn’t last long, poor little beggars, and Molly went and married Artie when she was fifteen. She’s gone to live in Poplar now, so that give us a bit more room.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Tilly, you make me feel ashamed of myself. Francis is always saying that I should think before I speak. I am so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Tilly said, setting the empty mug down on the hearth. ‘There’s always someone better off than you and someone worse off too. I ain’t always going to be poor, I made me mind up to that.’

  ‘I admire your spirit, I really do and you must keep the clothes.’

  ‘Ta, but I don’t need charity,’ Tilly said, getting to her feet. ‘I said I’d bring ’em back and I will
.’

  ‘Very well, then I insist on lending you a coat and a hat and an umbrella too. You’ll be no good to anyone if you catch your death of cold on the way home.’

  For a moment, Tilly was going to refuse, but recognising a will as strong as her own and hearing the rain slashing against the windowpanes she decided not to waste time arguing.

  Harriet hurried into the adjoining room, returning with a navy merino coat, a velour hat and a large black umbrella. ‘Have you got the cab fare, Tilly?’

  ‘Blimey, miss, I ain’t never been in a hired cab in me whole life.’

  ‘Well, money for the omnibus then?’ Harriet picked up her purse and taking out some coins she pressed them into Tilly’s hand. ‘I won’t hear of you walking all that way in the pouring rain. Take it, just to please me.’

  Just to please Harriet, Tilly took the omnibus as far as the Monument and walked the rest of the way, saving a couple of pennies. At three o’clock on a wet January afternoon it was almost dark and the costermongers’ barrows in Petticoat Lane, illuminated by naphtha flares, made little islands of light and colour. Wading ankle deep through discarded vegetable matter floating in the gutters, mixed with straw and horse dung, Tilly pushed her way through the jostling crowds. Catching the eye of a saucy young coster selling fruit, she bought an apple from him, parried his cheeky comments and went on her way munching the sweet fruit. Closing her nostrils to the odour of unwashed human bodies, the stench of outdoor privies and the noxious smells from the manufactories that hung in a pall over the city, Tilly dodged down familiar side streets and alleyways making her way home. By the time she reached Red Dragon Passage, not far from the notorious Hanbury Street – the scene, less than ten years ago, of one of the Ripper’s horrific murders – Tilly was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. Although the lamplighters were busy in the main streets, Red Dragon Passage was neither rich enough nor important enough to warrant investment by the Gaslight and Coke Company. Stumbling over uneven cobblestones in the darkness, Tilly stifled a scream as a black shape shot out of an overflowing drain and scuttled across her feet. The sewer rats in the East End were as big as cats and twice as vicious. If you came across one in the privy, you didn’t corner the brute; tales of people attacked and dying from rat bites were legendary. Shuddering, Tilly hurried on, past unlit windows pasted over with old newspapers, and others that sent out flickering ghosts of light from a single candle. The dismal howling of a dog was drowned by the rumbling thunder of a steam train leaving Liverpool Street Station.

  The terraced houses in Red Dragon Passage had been built over fifty years ago to house the navvies who flooded into the area to construct the railway system. Old tenements and warehouses had been razed to the ground and red-brick terraces thrown together with little thought to comfort or beauty. The two-up and two-down dwellings lined a street that was barely wide enough to take a handcart. If the residents had so wished, they could have leaned out of the upstairs windows and linked hands with someone in the house opposite. Daylight rarely penetrated as far as the cobbled road surface.

  The door of number three Red Dragon Passage was unlocked, as always, and Tilly let herself into the living room, which opened directly off the street. The low ceiling was smoke-blackened, and a coal fire spluttering half-heartedly in the grate was the only source of light. Two little girls, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, were peeling potatoes and dropping them into a soot-encrusted iron saucepan. They turned their heads as Tilly entered the room and a small, skinny woman erupted from the scullery clutching a saucepan in her hand.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Ma, it’s me, Tilly.’

  ‘Tilly!’ The girls scrambled to their feet, sending a shower of potato peelings across the floor, hurling themselves at Tilly, demanding to know if she had brought anything for them.

  ‘Lizzie, Winnie, let me get me breath,’ Tilly said, laughing and ruffling their hair.

  ‘You’re wet,’ Winnie said, pulling away. ‘You’ll catch cold.’

  Nellie True put the saucepan down on the table and stood arms akimbo. She wasn’t smiling. ‘Don’t you dare tell me you’ve lost your job, Tilly. I got laid off from the mill and your dad’s been sick this past three weeks with his chest. The only money coming into the house is the pittance what Emily earns at the laundry and the coppers what the young ’uns make selling matches outside the station.’

  Glancing around the room, even allowing for the deep shadows, Tilly could see that the walls were bare of the pictures that had hung there in better days; the brass clock had gone from the mantelpiece, as had the china spill jar and the pair of plaster dogs that Dad had bought on a rare outing to a fair in the Royal Victoria Gardens. It didn’t take a genius to work out that everything had been popped at the pawnshop. This wasn’t a good moment to break bad news.

  ‘I got a better offer,’ Tilly said, taking off her hat. ‘I just come to visit before I take up me new position.’

  Winnie, just nine years old, looked up at her with big, admiring eyes. ‘You going to work for the Queen at the palace?’

  Tilly grinned, giving Winnie’s hair a playful tug. ‘Not quite, Winnie.’

  Nellie eyed her suspiciously. ‘Are you telling the truth, Tilly? I never knew you come home just to be sociable. And if it comes to that, where did you get them new duds?’ Nellie fingered the cloth of Harriet’s coat, nodding in approval. ‘That’s pure merino or I’m a Dutchwoman.’

  ‘Miss Harriet give it me on account of me getting caught in a shower. She’s a real lady, Ma. Her brother is a vicar. Real respectable.’

  ‘Hmm! Respectable won’t put food on the table. How much are they going to pay you?’

  Thrusting her hand in her pocket, Tilly brought out the remainder of her bus fare and dropped the pennies on the table. ‘I ain’t had me wages yet but that’s a bit on account. It’ll buy us a bit of supper.’

  Poking the coins with her forefinger, Nellie counted them, frowning. ‘I’ll send Jim and Dan when they gets back from the station. This won’t buy much so let’s hope they’ve had a bit of luck today. You girls get back to peeling them spuds and get them on the fire or we’ll be having them for breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Tilly said. ‘Fetch another knife, Lizzie, and we’ll get it done double quick.’

  ‘So where’s this new position then?’ demanded Nellie, slumping down on a bentwood chair at the table. ‘And why did you give up a good job working for that nice Mrs Blessed? I hope you’re telling me the truth, my girl.’

  Taking the knife from Lizzie, Tilly squatted down on her haunches to help finish off the potatoes. ‘Why would I lie, Ma? You’d soon find me out like you always did.’

  ‘You and Molly was a pair of little tinkers when you was small.’ Nellie’s lined face cracked into a smile. ‘She’s expecting again, by the way. That’ll be her third since she and Artie moved to Poplar. He’s got a job in a ship’s chandlers.’

  ‘Three nippers and her a year younger than me.’ Tilly dropped a potato into a pan of cold water. Poor Molly; her life was over and that was for sure.

  ‘I had you when I was fifteen and one almost every year after that,’ Nellie said, patting her flat chest with a bony hand. ‘And I never regretted it, not even when the good Lord saw fit to take two of my babies afore they’d even cut a tooth.’

  ‘I know, Ma, but I don’t want my life to end up like that. I want more.’

  Nellie sniffed and tut-tutted. ‘You always had big ideas above your station, my girl. I’m just glad that Molly’s settled.’

  ‘And Emily?’ Tilly looked to Lizzie for an answer, but Lizzie pulled a face.

  ‘Emily is stepping out with a gentleman,’ Nellie said, puffing out her chest. ‘I expect she’ll be next up the aisle.’

  Tilly frowned. ‘She’s only fourteen.’

  ‘Nearly fifteen, and her gentleman has a good business and his own house in Duck’s Foot Lane, Wapping.’

  ‘He’s old,’ whispered Lizzie.


  ‘And he’s got grown-up kids,’ added Winnie.

  ‘You keep your smart remarks to yourselves,’ Nellie said. ‘And get them spuds on to boil.’

  A thud above their heads and the sound of coughing made Nellie jump to her feet. ‘That’ll be your dad waking up. I’ll make a pot of tea. I daresay you could do with a cup, Tilly?’

  Before Tilly could answer, the front door opened and Emily walked into the room. She stopped dead when she saw Tilly, her pretty face alight with astonishment and delight. ‘Tilly! What a corking surprise.’ She flung her arms around her sister, laughing and crying all at the same time.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Emmie, and that’s the truth,’ Tilly said, holding her at arm’s length. ‘You’ve grown up since I last saw you.’

  ‘And you’ve come just at the right moment. Bertie’s just proposed to me and I’ve said yes.’

  Nellie clapped her hands. ‘No! That’s wonderful. Where is he?’

  ‘Just seeing to his horse,’ Emily said, clutching Tilly’s arm. ‘I’m so lucky, Tilly. My Bertie’s the kindest most generous man in the whole world. You’ll love him.’

  ‘I’m sure I . . .’ Tilly stopped dead, her mouth open.

  Filling the doorway with his huge bulk was the same carter who earlier that day had been so cruel to his horse. Albert Tuffin strode into the room on a gust of smoke-laden air. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said, glaring at Tilly. ‘Look who it ain’t.’

  Chapter Two

  There was a moment’s stunned silence and then Emily giggled, slipping her hand through Bert’s arm. ‘You didn’t say you knew me sister, Bertie.’

  ‘He don’t,’ Tilly said, glaring at Bert, daring him to tell the truth. ‘We met in passing this morning.’

  ‘Harrumph!’ Bert’s mouth worked as though he would like to say a lot more but Emily was tugging at his arm and looking up to him with open admiration. He pulled his lips back in a smile. ‘That’s it. We was just passing by, so to speak.’

  ‘Oh, well, never mind.’ Emily held out her left hand, wiggling her ring finger. ‘Look at me ring, Tilly. Ain’t it grand and ain’t you pea-green with envy?’