by Dilly Court
‘It’s good to see you settled.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ Emily stopped halfway down the stairs, turning on Tilly with a frown. ‘Ain’t I done an amazing job on this old house?’
‘You have. Indeed you have, Emmie. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’
‘Good,’ Emily said, mollified and continuing down the staircase. ‘And later on, when the house gets too small for us, we’ll move up west a bit, nearer to Mum and Pops in Whitechapel or Spitalfields. I got ambition too, Tilly, even if I ain’t like you wanting to be a missionary lady and a sad spinster into the bargain.’
In the kitchen, Abel had returned from work, and was sitting at the table drinking a mug of tea. He looked up and scowled when he saw Tilly. But before he could speak, Emily had flown at him like a small, angry tornado. ‘What have I told you a dozen times, Abel Tuffin? You come in the back way now it’s clear and you take them dirty boots off in the yard. Why, you ain’t even washed your filthy hands. I’m telling you, I won’t have you bringing in bad humours from the river that might infect my baby. So you just get up off your big backside and go and clean up. Do you hear me?’
Amazed at this tirade, Tilly could only stand and stare at the tiny spitfire that was Emily. Fully expecting Abel to give her back a mouthful, she was even more astonished when he got up, grumbling beneath his breath, and shambled out of the kitchen. The scullery door groaned on its hinges and banged shut.
‘There,’ Emily said triumphantly. ‘You see, Tilly, you just got to know how to handle the Tuffin men.’
After a week of watching Emily handling the Tuffin men, Tilly was desperate to be anywhere but there. She slept at night in the small room on the top floor where she had first taken refuge from Bert. Emily had had it cleaned and furnished it with second-hand, or probably third- or fourth-hand, furniture that Bert had collected on his rounds. The bed was a bit lumpy but the room was reasonably comfortable, and much better than the garret space that Tilly had occupied in the Blesseds’ house or the linen cupboard in the Bootles’ apartment. Nevertheless, she had made up her mind that as soon as the wedding was over, she would leave Duck’s Foot Lane. Where she was going was the big question, but she thought she might pay a visit to the vicarage in the hope that the Reverend had forgiven her by now, and that Harriet would be able to persuade him to take her back.
Having left Diamond with Mrs Brown, whose children thankfully had not contracted the fever, Emily and Bert led the small family procession to St Botolph’s Church in Aldgate. Tilly followed behind with Abel, who looked extremely uncomfortable in his Sunday best. Walking with his head down and his bulldog jaw thrust out as if he wanted to punch anyone who crossed his path, Abel stared at the ground and did not speak. Behind them came Ned and Nellie, holding hands with Lizzie and Jim. Winnie and Dan were out of danger but too weak and poorly to join them and had stayed at home with the promise of a treat on their return. Ned had confided in Tilly that he had saved some of his baccy money in order to buy the two invalids a halfpenny bar of Cadbury’s chocolate: one for each of them, which was an unheard of luxury. He had said, with tears in his eyes, that he was just grateful to God for sparing them, unlike their two little brothers who had succumbed to disease before they were a year old. Tilly had squeezed his hand and vowed silently that one day Pops would have all the baccy and fags that he wanted: one day when she was rich.
Dressed in one of the print frocks that Emily had passed on to her and a much-darned pair of white cotton gloves that Nellie had found in the bottom of a drawer, Tilly sat in the front pew trying hard to be happy for Emily.
The service was short; they could not afford the choir or the bells, but the church had been decorated in readiness for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations and the cool atmosphere was redolent with the scent of roses, lilies and jasmine. Emily walked down the aisle with her hand tucked in Bert’s arm, and even though she was wearing a simple floral cretonne frock that Nellie had painstakingly sewn by hand, and was in no way the height of fashion, she looked to Tilly as beautiful and radiant as any bride she had ever seen. Although she could never get over her dislike for Bert, Tilly had to admit that their unlikely union seemed to be working. As they left the cool, scented interior of the church, emerging into warm June sunshine, Bert seized Emily round the waist and gave her a smacking kiss on the lips. He did the same to Nellie, who blushed and protested, giggling girlishly, and he was about to seize Tilly, but she backed away.
‘Come on, Tilly. We’re related now, all legal and proper. Can’t we be friends?’
‘I’ll be your friend as long as you treat my sister right, just don’t kiss me.’ For a moment, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, and then he grinned and slipped his arm around Emily’s waist.
‘Your loss, ducks. Let’s get to the pub and have a celebratory beverage or two. I’m paying.’
‘About bloody time,’ Abel grumbled. ‘I’m spitting feathers.’
Turning sharply, Emily gave him a withering look. ‘You mind your manners.’
‘Now then, lovey, be nice to my boy, after all, it is our wedding day.’ Bert hugged Emily so hard that he lifted her off her feet.
‘I was just keeping your naughty boy in his place, darling.’ Emily was all smiles again. ‘I hope there’s eats at the pub. I’m famished, Bertie.’
‘You can have the top brick off the chimney if you wants it, kitten.’
‘He can’t do that, can he, Tilly?’ Jim whispered, holding Tilly’s hand.
‘It’s just a manner of speaking, Jimmy. But,’ Tilly added loudly, so that Bert could hear, ‘I’m sure your new brother-in-law will want to treat you and Lizzie to ice cream and some ginger beer.’
Bert’s bushy eyebrows knotted over the bridge of his nose; then, seeing everyone was looking at him, he guffawed and slapped Jim on the back. ‘Anything you like today, son. I’m a proud and happy man.’
‘I’m glad someone is,’ Ned murmured in Tilly’s ear. ‘Now I got a son-in-law who’s older that what I am. I’m relying on you, Tilly, to marry an honest, God-fearing bloke. Look at the way he’s pawing my girl. It ain’t decent.’
‘She seems happy enough, Pops.’
‘If he don’t treat her right, I’ll swing for him, Tilly. And that’s a promise.’
Giving Ned’s work-worn hand a squeeze, there was nothing that Tilly could say that would have sounded convincing. Her knowledge of Bert was such that she found it almost impossible to believe that he had changed overnight into the genial giant who led them into the Nag’s Head pub. Even if his feelings for Emily were genuine, Tilly couldn’t help thinking that, if crossed, the mean, bullying part of his nature would surface and then Emily had better watch out.
For the moment at least, Bert was the proud and happy bridegroom, and once everyone was seated at the table on long wooden settles he ordered food and drink with no apparent worry as to the cost. They feasted on roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, spring greens and lashings of thick gravy: Lizzie and Jim stuffed themselves until Nellie warned them that they would be sick if they didn’t hold back a bit. Abel munched his food in gloomy silence and eventually, having spotted a group of acquaintances at the bar, he got up from the table and went to join them. After that, the atmosphere lightened a little and Ned became expansive after several glasses of porter, even going so far as to drink the health of the bride and groom.
Having sipped a tumbler full of port and lemon, Nellie clutched Tilly’s hand. ‘It should have been you first, ducks, but never mind. I’m sure there’s a good man out there just waiting for you.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Ma. I’m not in the mood for marrying anyone.’
‘I know, love. You might be going to live in a palace, or you might have got the calling to be a missionary lady, but it might be worth keeping a husband in mind, just in case you don’t like teaching heathens.’
‘Yes, Ma. I’ll bear it in mind.’
Patting Tilly’s
hand, Nellie gave her a tipsy smile. ‘I just wants the best for my kids, Tilly. You know that.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘And I suppose you’ll be going back to the vicarage now the week is up.’
Swallowing a lump of meat, Tilly was lost for an answer. She nodded.
‘I’m sure Emmie will miss you, but it’s best not to play gooseberry to a couple of newly weds.’
The wedding party had broken up as soon as the meal was finished. Nellie and Ned had departed, kissing everyone in a sentimental, slightly alcoholic haze, and had gone off to find a sweetshop with Lizzie and Jim. Abel was so engrossed in chatting to his mates that he barely acknowledged their leaving and Emily, all blushes and giggles, could not wait to fetch Diamond from Mrs Brown’s house. Tilly found herself standing alone outside the pub and, thanks to her own inventive imagination, everyone was convinced she would be returning to the vicarage with her future firmly linked to that of the Palgraves.
Still wearing her wedding outfit, and having collected her belongings from Duck’s Foot Lane, Tilly trudged through the narrow streets and back alleys towards Wapping and the vicarage. With every step, she rehearsed what she would say to the Reverend in order to persuade him to take her back into his employ. Hopefully his fear of the Old Stairs gang would be a distant memory now, but if all else failed she would offer her services free of charge. Tilly was certain that whatever Francis said, Harriet would not turn her away.
The city stench, made worse by the balmy June weather, almost took her breath away. Quickening her pace, she hurried past brothels and pubs, ignoring offers from drunken seamen and dodging the street urchins who eyed her bundle, as if calculating the risk to their frail persons if they attempted to snatch it from her. Tilly was in no mood to be gentle, even to half starved, feral children, and she fisted her hands ready to fight off any comers. As she turned the corner into the street where the church and vicarage stood, an acrid smell of burning assailed her nostrils. Coming to a sudden halt, she could see smoke billowing from the top floor of the vicarage. A horse-drawn fire engine was pulled up at the gate and firemen were valiantly hosing water into the building. Breaking into a run, Tilly arrived breathless and panting at the lychgate where a small crowd of women had gathered around Harriet. Aiding the firemen, a line of volunteers, stripped to the waist, formed a human chain passing buckets of water hand to hand, while Francis worked the pump that filled the stone horse trough. Tilly pushed her way through the crowd until she reached Harriet, who stood, white-faced, shaking and staring with horror at the inferno. An upstairs window exploded, sending a shower of glass onto the men below, and flames licked the window frame, travelling up the brickwork towards the eaves.
‘Harriet, Hattie, it’s me, Tilly.’ Hooking her arm round Harriet’s stiff shoulders, Tilly gave her a gentle shake. ‘Hattie, speak to me.’
‘They did it deliberately?’ Harriet’s mouth worked even after the words had left her lips.
‘What do you mean, deliberately?’ Supporting Harriet’s trembling frame, Tilly guided her to a fallen gravestone. ‘Sit down, Hattie. You’re safe now.’
Wild-eyed, Harriet clutched her hand. ‘It was the Old Stairs gang, Tilly. They’ve been throwing stones, breaking windows and shouting obscenities through the letterbox. Tonight they threw a brick through the window and burning rags soaked in paraffin. They tried to kill us, Tilly.’
‘No, I can’t believe that. They might be bad, but they wouldn’t harm a man of the cloth.’
‘It’s true, lady.’ One of the women had broken away from the others and was standing by Tilly’s side. ‘Once you gets on the wrong side of the gangs you got no hope. I got no quarrel with the vicar or her, but this is a warning best not ignored.’ Shuffling off, the woman rejoined her companions.
Clutching Tilly’s hand, Harriet began to sob. ‘We’re not popular here, especially after Francis informed the police that you and I had been attacked. But it was really sacking Mrs Mabb that started the trouble. It had nothing to do with you and Francis knows that now.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘They’re all related round here. Francis found out, too late, that Mrs Mabb’s sons are in the Old Stairs gang. This is their way of getting even.’
‘I’m so sorry. But at least you’re safe.’ Squeezing Harriet’s hand, Tilly watched helplessly as the flames took hold, great orange tongues licking up the walls and devouring the building with frightening speed. A sudden explosive sound made firemen and helpers alike run for cover as the roof imploded, sending bricks hurtling through the air and throwing up a huge cloud of dust as high as the church steeple. As the dust cleared, there was silence as the onlookers witnessed the last moments of the crumbling building.
The air was thick with smoke and dust, blotting out the evening sun and giving the scene a spectral, nightmare quality. The choking stench of the charred building made breathing difficult, as if the air around them had been sucked into the flames. Tilly’s eyes were watering and she wiped them on the back of her hand, blinking hard as she saw two figures covered in soot and brick dust emerging from the debris, walking wearily towards them.
Barely recognisable, Francis wrapped his arms around Harriet. ‘Are you all right, Hattie? You aren’t hurt?’
‘I’m all right, but our home is gone and all our possessions. Nothing can have survived that inferno.’
‘We’ve survived, my dear. That’s all that matters.’
Peering through the smoke at the man who stood just behind the Reverend, Tilly’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp of surprise. Despite the covering of soot, there was no disguising that flashing, if slightly weary, smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Barney’s laughter echoed around the graveyard, bouncing eerily off the tombstones and supplicating angels. ‘So you’re pleased to see me then, Tilly?’
Averting her eyes, Tilly swallowed hard; the slick of soot and brick dust did nothing to detract from the well muscled, rippling lines of Barney’s naked torso. Shrugging her shoulders, she hoped that her blushes would go unseen in the gloom.
‘I thought I told you to keep away from us,’ Francis said, eyeing Tilly sternly. ‘You started this trouble with that young hooligan Clem Tuffin, and see where it has brought us.’
‘Francis,’ Harriet cried, grasping Tilly’s hand. ‘It’s so unfair to put all the blame on Tilly. You know very well it was sacking Mrs Mabb that was the main cause of this cowardly attack.’
‘Come on, Frank, old chap. Hattie’s right: the blame for all this lies with the ruffians who perpetrated this act of arson. Falling out amongst ourselves isn’t going to help.’ Patting Tilly on the shoulder, Barney strode over to the lychgate where the group of women scattered on his approach. Picking up a bundle of clothes, he returned, feeling in the pockets of his uniform jacket with a rueful grimace. ‘Damned vultures. I should have known they’d empty my pockets. And yours too, I shouldn’t wonder, vicar.’
Shrugging on his crumpled shirt, Francis went through the pockets of his suit jacket, shaking his head. ‘They’ve even taken Father’s half-hunter. I despair of these people; they’re little more than animals. Have all my sermons on the teachings of Christ meant so little to them?’
‘It’s hard to be moral when you’re flat broke and starving, Frank.’ Tucking his shirt tails into his trousers, Barney grinned at Tilly. ‘It seems we’re all in the same boat now, Tilly. That is unless you’ve got the price of bed and board for us all?’
‘I thought you was going off to be a soldier?’
‘I am, my pet.’ Holding up his rather grubby uniform jacket, Barney gave it a shake. ‘I was just coming to bid a fond farewell to my brother and sister and your good self too, but the fire put a stop to all that.’
‘You mean you came to touch me for a loan to pay off your mess bill,’ Francis said, helping Harriet to her feet. ‘Well, I’m grateful for your help, but you came to the wrong man. I’ve nothing now, nothing at all. Not even the pr
ice of the train fare to Palgrave Manor. How Dolph will crow.’
‘Oh, Francis. What shall we do?’ Harriet turned to Barney, casting him a pleading glance. ‘Barney, you’re always in scrapes like this. How shall we manage? Where will we sleep tonight?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Tilly said, meeting Barney’s questioning gaze. ‘My folks live in a two-up and two-down with no room for a cat let alone all of you, and there’s been scarlet fever in the house.’
‘Well,’ Barney said, putting on his uniform jacket. ‘I daresay none of you will like this, but I’ve got a friend who owes me a favour. It’ll have to do for tonight and you, Frank, will just have to put your moral scruples aside for one night at least.’
‘No!’ Tilly cried, realising that he was referring to Jessie’s place in Blossom Court. ‘I’d rather sleep under the railway arches than go back there.’
‘I can hardly take you all back to the barracks, my love. I think my commanding officer would have something to say about that.’
Harriet’s lips trembled. ‘If you’re talking about that dreadful house of ill-repute in Blossom Court where I found Tilly, then I’d rather die than spend a night there.’
If Wilson was surprised to see them, she was too well trained to show it. Leaving them in the vestibule, she went off to find Jessie.
Francis stared at his surroundings with the expression of a martyr about to be burned at the stake. Clutching his arm, Harriet looked scared, and Tilly stood behind Barney, weighing up the dangers of the street outside against the humiliation of accepting charity from the woman who had betrayed her trust.
Placing his arm around her shoulders, Barney gave her a hug. ‘Don’t worry, Tilly. I’ve already given Jessie a piece of my mind. I promise that you’ll be safe here.’
