by Dilly Court
Tilly managed a smile, although behind her back she had her hands clenched, fingernails digging into her palms. ‘It’s very pretty, Emmie.’
‘Let me see.’ Nellie peered at the ring as Emily thrust her hand under her mother’s nose. ‘It’s a bit on the small side. What sort of stone is that when it’s at home?’
Bert bridled. ‘That’s a real diamond I’ll have you know, Mrs True. It belonged to my late wife.’
Pushing Emily’s hand away, Nellie shook her head. ‘That’s bad luck if ever was. Take it off, Emily. You don’t want a dead woman’s ring.’
Emily’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘How can you say a thing like that?’
‘I think it’s nice,’ Lizzie said, cuddling up to Emily.
‘Me too.’ Winnie caught hold of Emily’s hand, waggling it so that the firelight reflected off the tiny stone. ‘You’ve made Emmie cry, Ma.’
Nellie cast an anxious glance at Tilly, who was ready to fly at Bert and shove him out onto the street, but footsteps on the stairs made them turn their heads as Ned True came lumbering into the room, coughing and wheezing.
‘What’s all this noise then? Can’t a bloke snatch a nap in his own house?’ He stopped, staring at Tilly, his tired features creaking into a slow smile. ‘Is that you, Tilly?’
‘Pops!’ Tilly rushed into his arms. ‘It’s good to see you.’
Holding her at arm’s length, Ned’s faded blue eyes searched her face. ‘Everything all right, love?’
‘Everything’s fine, Pops.’ Seeing him looking so sickly, Tilly couldn’t have told him the truth, not if her life had depended on it. ‘I just come for a visit afore I goes off to India on me new job.’
‘India?’ The word ricocheted off the whitewashed walls, reverberating round the small room like a pistol shot, followed by a stunned silence.
Blimey, Tilly thought, what have I done now? Where did that come from? The word India had popped into her head in a lightning strike of inspiration; anyway it was a foreign land, far enough away from Bert Tuffin’s vindictive reach. In her mind’s eye, Tilly could see the picture hanging on the schoolroom wall of a serious-looking Queen Victoria sitting on an ivory throne when she was crowned Empress of India. Miss Higgins, her teacher, had been very fond of telling the class stories about India. Miss Higgins’s parents had been missionaries during the Indian Mutiny, and had died there. Tilly had liked to believe they had perished horribly in the Black Hole of Calcutta, but really they had succumbed to a fever, which wasn’t half so interesting.
Everyone was looking at her. Tilly licked her lips, wishing that she had held her tongue for once. ‘Probably,’ she added, attempting a weak smile.
‘Probably? Well are you or aren’t you?’ Nellie’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘I never heard of such nonsense. What’s a girl like you going to do in a heathen foreign country on the other side of the world?’
‘Hold on, ducks,’ Ned said, laying his hand on Nellie’s arm. ‘Let Tilly speak.’
‘Missionaries,’ Tilly said, thinking of Miss Higgins’s unlucky parents. ‘I got a job as maid to a reverend gentleman’s sister, Miss Harriet. They’re going out to India as missionaries.’
‘Well I never,’ Nellie said, shaking her head. ‘What a day for shocks.’
‘Here, this ain’t fair,’ Emily cried. ‘This is supposed to be my day. I’m the one what’s getting married. Pops, this is Mr Albert Tuffin, my intended.’
‘Getting married?’ Ned sat down suddenly, as if his legs had given out beneath him. ‘My little Emily getting married? She’s only fourteen, mister.’
Bert wrapped his arm round Emily’s shoulders. ‘Old enough to know her own mind, I’d say.’
Winnie aimed a vicious kick at Bert’s shins but only succeeded in denting his leather gaiters. Even so, he glowered at her, his hand twitching as if he wanted to slap her.
‘She’s little more than a child,’ Ned roared, a purple flush spreading up from the base of his throat to his hollow cheeks. ‘Take your hands off my girl, Albert Tuffin.’
Bert drew himself up to his full height, his head almost touching the ceiling. ‘I come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, guvner, all right and proper.’
‘Don’t do it, Pops,’ Tilly whispered in his ear.
‘What did she say?’ Emily shrieked. ‘If you got a problem, Tilly, speak up so we can all hear.’
Nellie banged her fist down on the table. ‘Calm down, everyone. I won’t have this carry-on in me front room. Emily, put the kettle on and we’ll all have a cup of tea and talk this out like civilised people. But first,’ Nellie turned to Tilly, eyes narrowed. ‘I want to know a lot more about this India lark afore I gives me consent. You hear terrible things about young girls being sold off as white slaves.’
‘You’ve spoilt me one big moment,’ Emily sobbed, rushing into the scullery. ‘I hate you, Tilly.’
‘I can’t take it all in.’ Ned mopped his brow with a piece of rag. ‘It’s too much for a chap all in one day.’
‘See what you’ve done to your sister.’ Pushing Tilly aside, Nellie made to follow Emily into the kitchen. ‘Hold on, Em, I’ll give you a hand.’
Grabbing Tilly by the arm, Bert dragged her to one side. ‘I see’d the state you was in this morning. You’d had a good beating and you’ll get another one if you don’t keep your trap shut, my girl. Say one more word out of place and I’ll make you sorry you was born.’
Lizzie and Winnie gaped at them in alarm and, seeing their anxious faces, Tilly snatched her arm free. ‘I ain’t afraid of you, you old bastard. You’ll laugh on the other side of your ugly mug when Emmie learns the truth about you.’
Bert made a threatening noise in the back of his throat and for a moment Tilly thought he was going to hit her, but Ned leapt to his feet.
‘Here, what’s going on?’
Bert’s florid face paled to ashen. ‘She’s asking for a clip round the ear, she is.’
‘Get out of my house.’ Shaking from head to foot and with beads of perspiration standing out on his brow, Ned made a move towards Bert. ‘Get out and don’t come back. I don’t like you, mister, and I ain’t letting you get your hands on my little girl.’
For a moment Tilly thought that Bert was going to hit Pops and she was ready to fly at him, kicking and scratching, but he backed away and slammed out of the house.
Emily came running in from the scullery. ‘Bert? Where’s he gone? What have you done, Tilly?’
‘He’s a brute, Emmie. I caught him beating his poor old horse half to death this morning. He’s a vicious monster and you’re too good for him.’
Emily stamped her feet, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘He’s gone and he won’t come back now.’
‘You’re better off without him, ducks,’ Ned said, wearily. ‘Don’t take on, Em.’
Lizzie and Winnie started to cry and Nellie came bustling into the room clutching the kettle. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Bert?’
Emily clung to her. ‘Mum, Tilly’s telling lies about him and he’s gone.’
‘It’s nothing but the truth,’ Tilly protested. ‘Only you’re too young and silly to believe it.’
‘Well, I ain’t too young to be in the pudding club,’ Emily hissed. ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m in the family way and you’ve just seen off me one chance of a respectable marriage.’
That night, lying on the edge of the flock-filled mattress with Winnie’s feet close to her ear and Lizzie snoring by her side, Tilly couldn’t sleep. From her position next to the wall, Emily’s muffled sobs had gradually faded into deep, regular breathing, and from her parents’ room next door Tilly could her the rasping cough that meant Pops was having a bad night. Jim and Dan were curled up together in the corner of the room on a palliasse, their stick-thin arms and legs poking out at angles from beneath a blanket. They had arrived home in the midst of the emotional chaos, their clothes soaked with rain and their dirty faces etched with runnels of tears. Big boys h
ad stolen their meagre takings together with what remained of their stock of matches. Nellie’s patience, already stretched beyond endurance, had snapped and the boys had been sent to bed without any supper. Not that anyone had had much to eat that evening. Boiled spuds and weak tea was not exactly a feast but it had filled empty stomachs, if only temporarily. Tilly had secreted two potatoes in her pocket and taken them up to Jim and Dan who had fallen on them like hungry hounds. In a thin sliver of moonlight, she could just see their fair heads close together on the pillow, their hair matted and sticking to their foreheads in flat curls. In sleep they looked like dirty cherubs; when they awakened they would revert to being cheeky little devils. Tilly sighed and moved her cramped limbs carefully so as not to disturb Winnie.
Still wide awake and with her cold feet sticking out of the thin coverlet next to Winnie’s head, problems went round and round in Tilly’s mind. Why had she said she was going to India of all places? She wasn’t even sure where India was in relation to other far-off places; all she knew was that it was a very long way away, inhabited by dark-skinned people who wore exotic garments and turbans on their heads. Tilly hadn’t paid much attention to geography lessons at school. Her education had been brief and basic, although she could read, write in a fair imitation of copperplate and do simple arithmetic. More pressing now was the fact that she had no money and the clothes that she had been wearing belonged to Harriet Palgrave. She had left Barbary Terrace with nothing and things were desperate here with Pops still too poorly to work, Ma having lost her job, and all too soon they would have to manage without Emily’s meagre earnings. Emily was never going to forgive her for telling the truth about Bert, and he had meant it when he promised to get even. If she wanted to keep her face unscarred and lovely, then it would be wise to get as far away from Bert Tuffin as she could. India suddenly seemed a very good proposition; it was a pity she had made the whole thing up.
It was still dark next morning when Tilly was awakened by retching noises. Emily clambered over Lizzie, narrowly missed treading on Tilly’s face as she stumbled to the door, fumbling for the handle. Scrambling out of bed, Tilly followed her downstairs and found her in the scullery bent double over the clay sink.
‘Are you all right, Em?’
‘Does it bloody look like it?’ Emily brushed her hair back from her face, closing her eyes and leaning against the sink.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Go to work. What d’you think I’m going to do? If I don’t turn up at the laundry I’ll lose me job and then where will we all be?’ Emily turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face.
‘I’m sorry about Bert, but you’re better off without him. He’s a brute and he’d treat you no better than his old nag.’
Emily turned on her, white-faced with fury. ‘And you’d know all about him, would you? Just because you saw him lose his rag and take it out on a dumb animal. Well, let me tell you something, Tilly. You should have kept your nose out of it. You’ve ruined me chances and now I’ll be stuck with a little bastard and no decent bloke is going to want me.’
Tilly stared at Emily in amazement. The happy child had gone, leaving behind a bitter, vituperative woman who blamed her for her misfortune. Anger wiped away pity. ‘You was stupid to let him have his way with you. You got yourself into this mess, so don’t go putting the blame on me.’
‘Don’t act all goody-goody with me, Tilly. Ain’t you never let a bloke go a bit too far and things got out of hand?’
‘No, never. I ain’t that daft.’
‘Well, maybe they just don’t fancy you then and you’ll end up a skinny old maid.’ Emily pushed past her. ‘Get out of me way. I got to get dressed.’
‘Emmie.’ Tilly went to follow her but Emily turned on her, spitting like a cat.
‘Go to bleeding India and don’t come back.’
Watching Emily struggle into her clothes, it seemed to Tilly that a brick wall had come down between them. Wrapping a shawl around her head, Emily left the house without a backward glance. The fire had burnt away, leaving nothing but ashes, but at least Tilly’s clothes were dry. Shivering with cold, Tilly snatched her blouse and skirt from the wooden clothes horse and hastily put them on. She sat down at the table, picked up Dan’s slate and wrote a brief note to her mother. The thought of leaving them all in this sorry state wrung her heart but she knew that she could do nothing to help her family if she were to stay here. Her options would be few: she could get a job in one of the manufactories, slaving from six in the morning until six-thirty in the evening for a few bob a day, ruining her looks and risking disease and disfigurement from chemicals. There were sweatshops and laundries; she could scrub floors and wash dishes but that would not drag her family from the brink of poverty. Tilly put on Harriet’s velour hat, squinting at her reflection in the cracked mirror on the mantelshelf. All she had was her looks and her wit; she made up her mind to use them. Before anyone else in the house had stirred, Tilly let herself out into the cold, dank predawn and set off on foot, heading for Bunbury Fields.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped and the gaslights pooled in a yellow mist on the wet pavements. Tilly walked at a brisk pace through the familiar city streets, which were bustling with activity even at this early hour. Hoots from the river traffic on the Thames mingled with the whistles and trumpets of steam from the great iron beasts that steamed in and out of the railway stations. Poorly clad people, still half asleep, hurried with heads down to their work in the factories, mills, warehouses and docks, the hobnails on their boots making the sound of an army marching.
By the time Tilly reached Bunbury Fields, the sky was streaked with purple and crimson and she could see the sun struggling to rise above the pall of smoke from hundreds of chimneys. There was no response to her rapping on the doorknocker. It had not occurred to her that Harriet might be out this early in the morning, or perhaps the Palgraves, being gentry, were still asleep. Tilly rapped on the knocker again. She didn’t want to disturb the dragon-woman, but now that she had stopped walking she was feeling the cold seeping into her bones. Sitting down on the top step, Tilly wrapped her arms around her knees and prepared to wait. Closing her eyes, she could hear birds singing in the cemetery; the sweet song of a blackbird and the endless chatter of sparrows.
‘Hello there.’
A voice penetrated her dreams and Tilly lifted her head, opening her eyes and focusing with difficulty. Although she was sitting on the top step, Tilly found she had to look up at the tall young man, nattily dressed in a suit that she knew instinctively must have cost an arm and a leg.
He doffed his top hat with a flourish and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. ‘It’s much warmer inside, you know. Sitting on a cold stone step won’t do you any good, young lady.’
Scrambling to her feet, Tilly gave him a hard look. ‘I ain’t stuck out here for fun, mister.’
‘So why are you here, if you don’t mind my asking, and who the devil are you?’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘I asked first.’
‘And I don’t give me name to strangers.’
‘We could go on all day like this,’ he replied, chuckling. ‘Barney Palgrave, man of letters, man of law and, most importantly, man about town.’
Tilly eyed him suspiciously, trying to decide if he was serious or simply teasing her. ‘Are you related to the Reverend then?’
‘Now that’s not fair. I’ve told you my name and you answer with another question.’
He had brass, that was for certain, and he was a fine figure of a man with thick, dark hair waving back off a high forehead and a hint of swarthiness that gave his even features a slightly foreign look, as though one of his ancestors might have come from Italy or Spain. ‘I don’t usually speak to strange men,’ Tilly said, tossing her head.
‘Then I do beg your pardon. Yes, I am related to Francis. I’m his brother.’
He had a wicked twinkle in his eyes, that appeared dark brown until he laughed
, and then they sparkled like the brandy that Mrs Blessed kept in a cut-glass decanter on the chiffonier. He was a bit too cocksure of himself, Tilly decided, and she was not impressed; she’d met blokes who were out and out charmers before and they were generally only after one thing. ‘Tilly True,’ she said, unsmiling. ‘I was paying a call on Miss Harriet but she seems to be out.’
‘Well then, we’re both on the same mission. What shall we do to pass the time until one or both of them come home?’
‘You can suit yourself,’ Tilly said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I’m not budging from this spot even if I has to wait all day.’
‘Then we’ll wait together,’ Barney said, leaning against the door. ‘Tell me about yourself, Miss True.’
Tilly opened her mouth to tell him not to be so cheeky, but a hansom cab rattled to a halt outside the house and Francis climbed out, followed by Harriet.
‘Damn,’ Barney said. ‘Just when we were getting to know each other.’
Francis did not look pleased to see his brother but Harriet gave a shriek of delight and threw her arms round him. ‘Barney, what a wonderful surprise.’
Swinging her off her feet in an affectionate hug, Barney kissed her on the forehead and set her back on the ground. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Hattie. I’ve missed you.’
Paying off the cabby, Francis stared coldly at his brother. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Francis!’ Harriet clutched his arm. ‘Please don’t. Can’t you see we have a visitor?’
With a cursory nod in Tilly’s direction, Francis unlocked the front door. ‘You’re welcome, Tilly. Which is more than I can say for you, Barnaby.’ He went inside and mounted the staircase without a backward glance.
Wringing her hands, Harriet smiled apologetically. ‘You mustn’t mind Francis. We’ve been up all night with a sick child and he’s tired.’
‘You look tired too, Hattie,’ Barney said, giving her an affectionate pat on the cheek.
‘The child died.’ Tears spilled from her big, brown eyes. ‘Diphtheria. It was very sad.’
