Tilly True

by Dilly Court

  ‘Wh-where are w-we, Mr Bootle?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Bootle knocked again.

  She could hear footsteps approaching along a stone passage, echoing and slightly menacing. Tilly was almost past caring; if she did not get warm soon she felt certain she would die of cold.

  The door opened and a shaft of light from a paraffin lamp cast a pale beam into the smoky air. A man with a low brow and a boxer’s chin held the lamp close to their faces. ‘What d’you want?’

  Bootle took a step backwards, almost knocking Tilly off the top step. She didn’t blame him; with his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose tattooed forearms, the man didn’t look like someone to toy with.

  ‘We’ve come to see Mr Palgrave.’

  The man grunted and went inside. ‘Come in then if you’re coming.’

  They followed him to the end of a stone-flagged passage. Kicking a door with the toe of his boot, the man shuffled off, leaving them in complete darkness. Bootle thumped on the door until it opened.

  ‘Good God, Bootle! What the devil’s going on?’

  ‘Mr Barney, sir, there’s been a development. Can we come in?’

  Minutes later, Tilly was sitting by a fire in Barney’s living room, wrapped in a blanket and sipping a glass of hot toddy.

  Standing with his back to the fire, Barney turned to Bootle. ‘Well, man? Tell me what is this all about?’

  Briefly, and in between sips of his drink, Bootle recounted the gist of Ethel’s accusations.

  ‘My Ethel isn’t a liar, sir, but I find it hard to believe that Miss Tilly is a thief.’

  ‘And I know she isn’t.’ Nodding at Tilly, Barney flashed her a smile. ‘My brother told me all about the sainted Mrs Blessed and her garnet brooch.’

  ‘The Reverend and Miss Hattie believed me,’ Tilly said, dazzled by his smile and suddenly conscious of a warm feeling all over that was not entirely due to the rum in the toddy.

  ‘Well, sir,’ Bootle said, flushing and running his finger round the inside of his starched shirt collar. ‘I believe her too, but it’ll take a great deal to convince Mrs Bootle, especially now Ethel has come home to stay for a while. To be frank, sir, we haven’t got room for Miss Tilly.’

  Taking Bootle’s glass from him, Barney refilled it from a jug on the hearth. ‘Drink this before you venture out again, Bootle. I’ll look after Miss True.’

  A sneeze tickled Tilly’s nose and had exploded outwards before she could stop it. ‘I can look after meself, ta. I’ll go home.’

  ‘But you’re an orphan, Tilly.’ Barney’s voice was serious but a mischievous twinkle lit his eyes, turning them to the colour of warm honey. ‘Your family were all drowned in the Princess Alice tragedy, remember?’

  ‘Well, I . . .’ Thinking was not easy with the fumes of hot rum dancing about in her brain, and Tilly was momentarily at a loss for words.

  Draining his glass, Bootle got to his feet. ‘Ahem, I’d best get home, sir. If you’re sure you can find somewhere suitable for Miss Tilly.’

  ‘I know a good lady who owes me a favour,’ Barney said, following Bootle to the door.

  ‘And would that be a certain Mrs J, sir?’

  ‘It might, Bootle, it just might.’

  ‘I’ll see myself out then, Mr Barney.’ Bootle shot Tilly an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry it had to turn out this way, Miss Tilly.’

  Closing the door on Bootle, Barney went to the fireplace and threw a shovelful of coal onto the fire. ‘Drink up, Tilly. We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold.’

  Slightly tipsy, Tilly got to her feet, swaying. ‘I can take care of meself, ta.’

  ‘So you said. But you’re not going back to Red Dragon Passage in that state. What d’you think your mother and father would say if you turned up looking like a drowned rat? Oh, I’m forgetting, they were drowned too.’

  ‘How did you find out about me family in Red Dragon Passage? I never told you nor Miss Hattie nor the Reverend.’

  Grinning, Barney took an overcoat from a hook behind the door and draped it round Tilly’s shoulders. ‘Pitcher has his uses.’

  ‘You mean he’s a spy?’

  ‘I prefer private detective. It sounds a bit more high class.’

  ‘So why did you set him to spy on me?’ Sneezing again, Tilly snuggled into the warmth of Barney’s coat.

  ‘Curiosity, my dear. You see, I recognise a good liar when I meet one, so I knew that your story was pure fabrication and I wanted to know why you were afraid to go home.’

  ‘I ain’t afraid of nothing.’

  ‘I believe you, Tilly, but there must be a good reason why you came to me in such a sorry state when you could have gone home to your loving family.’

  ‘I had me reasons and it’s my business, thanks all the same.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Barney held out his hand. ‘Come on, it’s not far to where we’re going. Jessie is a good-hearted woman and she’ll take care of you.’

  Too cold and exhausted to argue and with the hot rum taking its full effect, Tilly did not protest when he fastened his overcoat around her, doing up the buttons as if she were a toddler and unable to do the simplest task for herself.

  Close to Ludgate Hill, Blossom Court was just a tiny piece in the jigsaw puzzle of narrow streets and alleyways that lay in the shadow of St Paul’s Cathedral. The smell of strong ale and tobacco smoke wafted out of a pub door as a man and woman, arms linked and singing, lurched out onto the pavement in front of Barney and Tilly and staggered into the fish and chip shop next door. The appetising fragrance of hot dripping made Tilly’s mouth water and she realised that she had not eaten since a slice of bread and scrape at breakfast.

  ‘Not far now, Tilly.’ Hooking his arm round her shoulders, Barney led her to a house at the far end of Blossom Court that stood out amongst the rest of the buildings bathed in a rosy glow. Looking up, Tilly saw that the light above the front entrance was trapped behind ruby-red glass.

  ‘Here,’ Tilly said, coming to a halt at the bottom of the steps. ‘This is a knocking-shop.’

  Tugging at the brass handle of the doorbell, Barney grinned. ‘Don’t let Jessie hear you say that. She regards herself a hostess providing a valuable service to her gentlemen clients.’

  ‘I ain’t going in there. Me mum would kill me.’

  ‘And you’ll probably die of pneumonia if you don’t get those wet things off,’ Barney said, giving her a shove towards the door that had just opened. ‘Either way you’ll end up dead, so you might as well expire in comfort.’

  Tilly recognised the figure standing in the doorway as the gaudily dressed woman who had visited Barney in Hay Yard earlier that day.

  ‘Well, if it ain’t Barney.’ Jessie Jameson flung her arms around Barney, kissing him on the mouth and smacking her lips. ‘Twice in one day. I’m honoured.’

  ‘Jessie, my darling. You look lovely tonight.’ Barney returned the kiss, pinching her ample bottom and making her giggle like a schoolgirl.

  ‘Oy!’ Tilly put her foot on the bottom step. ‘I’m bleeding freezing out here.’

  Looking over Barney’s shoulder, Jessie raised a delicately sketched eyebrow. ‘Who’s this that the cat dragged in then, Barney, love?’

  Releasing Jessie, Barney reached down, catching Tilly by the hand and dragging her up the last two steps so that she stumbled into the brightly lit hallway. Stifling a gasp of surprise, she stared up at the glass chandelier that was neither lit by candles nor gas. She had heard of electric lights, but she had never actually been anywhere that was fitted with this latest miracle of modern science.

  Closing the front door, Jessie looked her up and down and her full, suspiciously red lips curved into a smile. ‘It’s grand, ain’t it? No one else round here has got the electric lights.’

  Shivering but defiant, Tilly held her head up high and tried to look unimpressed, which was almost impossible when her boots were sinking into the thick pile of crimson carpet that ran all the way
down the hall and up the curved flight of stairs. The walls were covered in red and gold paper, so fine that she longed to run her finger over the embossed leaves and flowers, but she controlled the urge. ‘I’ve no wish to put you out, missis,’ Tilly said, enunciating her words in as refined an accent as she could manage. ‘I missed me last omnibus home and got caught in the rain.’

  Arms akimbo, Jessie’s lips twitched. ‘Did you now?’

  ‘My family has just moved out of town to . . .’ thinking fast, Tilly came up with the only suburb that came to mind, ‘East Ham. They’ve bought a spiffing property in ever such a nice road, no actually it’s an avenue and all the houses have front and back gardens with grass and flowers and me dad works for the Gaslight and Coke Company.’

  ‘She needs a bed for the night, Jessie,’ Barney said, shaking his head at Tilly as he unbuttoned the coat that swamped her small frame. ‘And I daresay a hot bath wouldn’t come amiss, as well as a decent meal.’

  ‘That can be arranged.’ Jessie tugged at a satin bell pull and, almost immediately, a maid in a black dress with a white cap and apron came hurrying through the baize door at the far end of the hall. ‘Wilson, take this young person up to my room and run a bath for her.’

  Casting an anxious glance at Barney, Tilly backed towards the door. ‘Don’t get no ideas, missis. I’m a respectable lady type-writer what works in Mr Barney’s office in Hay Yard.’

  ‘Oh, get on up the stairs, you silly cow,’ Jessie said, chuckling so that all her chins wobbled down to her large bosom that jutted over the top of her tightly laced stays, pigeon-fashion. ‘My gents pay for young ladies who know their business, not skinny little girls like you.’

  ‘Come on, miss,’ Wilson said, nodding towards the flight of stairs. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

  ‘Go on, Tilly. I’ll see you in the office in the morning.’ Shrugging on on his damp overcoat, Barney gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Jessie’s a good sport. She’ll look after you.’

  ‘You’re not going, Barney?’ Jessie slipped her arm through his. ‘Won’t you stay and have a bite of supper with me? And a bit of the other afterwards, like we done in the old days.’

  Patting her hand, Barney shook his head. ‘I’d love to, my dear, but I’ve got business to attend to.’

  Still clinging to his arm, Jessie led him to the front door. ‘Come again soon. I’ve missed you, darling.’

  Kissing her on the cheek, Barney opened the door and put his top hat on at a rakish angle. ‘Goodbye, Jessie, and don’t worry about that other matter. I’ve put Pitcher on the case and it’s all in hand.’

  ‘What would I do without you, dear boy?’ Jessie closed the door and leaned against it, her smile fading into a frown. ‘Wilson, I thought I told you to take Miss Tilly upstairs.’

  Wilson started up the stairs, beckoning to Tilly. ‘Best come, miss.’

  ‘I can pay for me keep,’ Tilly said, tossing her head.

  ‘Don’t worry, ducks,’ Jessie said, chuckling. ‘You will.’

  Not liking the sound of this, Tilly opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but Wilson reached down and grabbed her by the hand. As they came to the first landing, Tilly could hear voices, both male and female, coming from behind closed doors. Wilson dragged her up another flight of stairs, and on the second floor the sound of laughter, shrieks and the sort of grunts and moans that accompanied the morning conjugals in the Bootles’ room confirmed Tilly’s suspicion that this was not a respectable house. Part of her was appalled at the thought of men and women having conjugals at a time when most families were sitting down to their evening meal, but part of her was dying to see inside these rooms. She had read about bordellos; they were mainly abroad, of course, in foreign countries, because the old Queen would not approve of her subjects behaving disgracefully like continentals, but in the penny dreadfuls these places were always sumptuously decorated and there were mirrors on the walls and even on the ceilings. Why, she thought, hurrying up the third flight of stairs after Wilson, I bet they have electric lights in all these rooms and proper sheets on the beds made of silk or satin. I bet they have china wash bowls and matching water jugs decorated with roses and violets. I bet . . .

  ‘Here we are, miss.’ Wilson went into a room at the top of the house and stood, holding the door open. ‘This is Miss Jessie’s private apartment; no one will bother you here.’

  The room was large, brightly lit and furnished just like a palace, with carved mahogany chairs set round a table covered with a tasselled chenille cloth. On either side of a grey and pink marble fireplace, with a coal fire blazing up the chimney, were two buttoned, velvet-covered chairs and a sofa with fat satin cushions. Until this moment, Tilly had thought that Mrs Blessed lived in the lap of luxury, but now she could see quite clearly that she had been misled. Her eyes were drawn to a chiffonier laden with china ornaments, stuffed birds with staring eyes sitting stiffly beneath glass domes, and, in the centre, a huge bowl of fruit; oranges, lemons, apples, grapes and a pineapple. Tilly’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled as she remembered the taste of a grape that she had pinched from a bunch intended for Mrs Blessed’s dining table. Oranges were a Christmas treat, along with Kentish cobnuts and jelly, but grapes were a luxury only enjoyed by rich folks; as to the pineapple, Tilly could only imagine that exotic taste. Suddenly the temptation was too much and she sidled up to the chiffonier, all the while keeping an eye on the open doorway through which she could hear the sound of running water. With trembling fingers, she plucked a single grape from the bunch and popped it into her mouth, just as Wilson reappeared in the doorway.

  ‘Your bath is running, miss. I’ll fetch you some fresh towels and I daresay you could do with a change of clothes.’

  Clamping her teeth into the green flesh, Tilly realised her mistake; instead of the expected explosion of sweet juice, her mouth was filled with gooey wax. There was nothing she could do except swallow convulsively, praying that her empty stomach would not reject the revolting mess. Nodding and attempting to smile, she mumbled a thank you and almost knocked Wilson down in her haste to reach the bathroom.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ Wilson called after her.

  Retching into the handbasin, Tilly spat out the remaining lumps of green wax. ‘Fine, ta.’

  With tears of frustration and exhaustion running down her face, she climbed into the foaming water scented with bath crystals. At home on bath night, the tin tub was dragged in from the back yard, set in front of the fire and filled with boiling water from the kettle and saucepans heated on the trivet. Dad went first, then Mum and the children in order of age, youngest last. By the time it got to young Dan the water would be almost cold, with the consistency of soup. Closing her eyes, Tilly lay back in the hot water that had gushed from brass taps, filling the tiled bathroom with steam. Ma would have forty fits if she could see her now, but maybe there was something to be said for a life of sin and degradation if it brought this sort of reward. The hot water was bliss and the scent of the bath crystals was sweeter than the roses from Mrs Blessed’s back garden. One day, Tilly thought, I’ll have me own house with a proper bathroom just like this. I’ll have a bath every day if I want to and have it all to meself, just like a rich tart.

  ‘Here are some towels, miss.’

  Tilly jackknifed to a sitting position with her arms around her knees as she attempted to hide her nakedness from Wilson, who had walked into the bathroom without knocking.

  ‘Don’t mind me. There ain’t nothing I ain’t seen in this house, I can tell you.’ Chuckling, Wilson laid the towels over a wooden rail. ‘I borrowed some clothes off Miss Dolly. She’s about your height although she’d make two of you. Would you like me to stay and help you dress?’

  ‘No, ta. I can manage.’

  Waiting until Wilson had left the room Tilly uncurled her limbs and sank beneath the water but it was cooling rapidly and, after a while, she was forced to climb out of the bath and wrap herself in one of the amazingly fluffy bath sheet
s that Wilson had left for her use. Before leaving the bathroom, she made certain that she had scrubbed the bath clean and left everything neat and tidy. At least her training in Barbary Terrace had not been completely useless. In Jessie’s bedroom, Tilly found that Wilson had laid out a complete set of clean underwear, a print frock and a lacy woollen shawl. Her own clothes had vanished, including her boots, but in their place Wilson had left a pair of slippers.

  Having dressed herself with a little difficulty, as the garments had obviously been intended for a much plumper person, Tilly was sitting by the fire drying her long hair when Jessie swept into the room. She went straight to a side table and poured brandy from a decanter into two cut-crystal glasses, handing one to Tilly. ‘Here, ducks, this’ll warm the cockles of your heart. Drink up.’

  ‘Ta, but I had some hot rum in Mr Barney’s lodgings.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Jessie sipped the brandy, staring thoughtfully at Tilly as she seated herself on the sofa in a rustle of silk petticoats. ‘Well, then he seems to have taken a lot of trouble on your account. Close, are you?’

  ‘Not so as you’d notice. I told you before, I’m a type-writer what works in the office, that’s all.’

  ‘And if you’re wise you’ll keep it that way.’ Jessie swung her legs up onto the sofa, leaning back against the cushions. ‘Barney isn’t the sort you ought to get mixed up with, ducks. His sort spells trouble to women, that is unless you know how to handle him.’

  Changing her mind, Tilly swigged a mouthful of brandy, choking as its strength momentarily robbed her of breath. ‘What’s your point, Miss Jessie?’

  ‘Fetch me my cigarette box, there’s a love.’ Jessie pointed to a silver box on the mantelshelf next to a spill jar.

  Tilly rose from the sofa and reached for the box, but she could feel Jessie’s steely gaze boring into the back of her head. Handing the box to Jessie, Tilly watched as she took out a cigarette, tapped it on the lid and placed it between her lips.

  ‘Light, please.’