Tilly True

by Dilly Court

  ‘Yes, you was too wrapped up in your own affairs and your new family to care about your blood kin.’ Nellie went to open the door. ‘You’d best go, Tilly. Your dad will be home any minute and I don’t want to witness you breaking the poor man’s heart.’

  Unable to speak, Tilly placed the brown paper bags containing the small gifts that she had bought for the family on the kitchen table. At the door she paused, waiting for the slightest sign from her mother, longing for a conciliatory hug, but Nellie stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes.

  ‘Say goodbye to everyone for me, Mum.’

  ‘Best hurry. The toffs will be waiting for you and you mustn’t keep the gentry waiting.’

  ‘Oh, Ma, that’s so unfair.’ Tilly’s voice broke on a sob and she ran into the street, blinded by tears. At the end of Red Dragon Passage, she bumped into a man just coming round the corner.

  ‘Tilly?’

  ‘Oh, Pops.’ Flinging her arms round his neck, Tilly buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed.

  Ned patted her back. ‘What’s all this, my ducks? This ain’t like you, Tilly girl.’

  Unable to get the words out, Tilly shook her head; once started, the tears were flowing too fast to stop.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Ned said, shifting position so that his arm went about her shoulders. ‘We’ll go to the pub and you can tell me everything over a glass of port and lemon.’

  Sitting on a wooden settle, his pipe clenched between his teeth, Ned listened while Tilly told him everything. For a moment he was silent, smoking and sipping his pint of porter.

  ‘Are you angry with me too, Pops? Please don’t be. I never meant to do wrong.’

  Ned’s pale blue eyes took in Tilly’s appearance and he nodded, slowly. ‘I know, love. You never do mean any harm, not even when you makes up the biggest whoppers, I knows that. But to be fair to your ma, I’d say you have done us wrong by marrying out of hand. It’s not the sort of thing that a mother can forgive easily, specially when she considers the party to be unsuitable for her daughter.’

  ‘But, Pops, Barney is a gentleman and I love him.’

  ‘Well, as I see it, girl, the harm’s already been done. At least he’s done it all legal and proper, which goes a long way in my estimation. But if he so much as harms a hair on your head, he’ll have me to answer to.’

  ‘He won’t, I know he won’t. Give me your blessing, Pops, and I’ll go to India much happier.’

  Sucking on his pipe, Ned shook his head. ‘Without knowing the cove, I can’t. I have to be honest with you, Tilly, I always hoped as how you’d marry a waterman or a lighter-man like meself: a good, honest, hard-working man, like young Clem Tuffin for instance.’

  ‘Clem? But he’s gone off to join the army.’

  ‘He might not have, if you’d given him a bit of encouragement. He thought a lot of you, Tilly, he told me so afore he went off to India with his regiment.’

  ‘India?’

  Ned grinned and his tanned face fell into walnut wrinkles. ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if you don’t bump into him one day. Now there’s a thought.’

  ‘I like Clem, Pops, and he’s been good to me, but I love Barney and he’s my husband. I know you don’t approve, but at least wish me well. I don’t want to leave you with bad feeling between us.’

  Leaning across the table, Ned held Tilly’s hand. ‘You’ll always be my little girl, Tilly, love. Just you take good care of yourself.’

  Tilly clasped his hand to her cheek, unable to hold back tears. This hand, calloused and roughened by years of toiling on the river, had comforted her when she was in trouble as a child. It had always been a kind and comforting hand, stroking her hair or tickling her ribs to make her laugh. It had never once been raised to her in anger and to let go of it meant leaving the security of childhood well and truly behind. Tilly was suddenly afraid.

  Ned’s eyes were moist with sympathy and understanding. ‘You’ll be all right, girl. You’re a true True.’

  The silly pun on their name had always made her laugh and Tilly smiled through her tears. ‘I love you, Pops.’

  Standing at the ship’s rail, Tilly watched the muddy waters of the Thames estuary merge into the cold, grey turmoil of the North Sea. The flat Essex salt marshes disappeared into a thin brown line as the engines of the SS Malta picked up speed. The iron railing felt cold beneath her fingers and the sea spray tasted salt on her lips as though she had been crying. She had shed tears, plenty of them, after parting with Pops. The desolation Tilly had felt as she caught the omnibus back to Bunbury Fields had been chilling and absolute; her mother’s anger and disappointment was etched into her soul and she had not even been allowed to say goodbye to her brothers and sisters.

  Gradually, as their departure date had drawn nearer, there had been so much to do that she had been swept up in the inevitable dress fittings, making lists and packing the cabin trunks that Francis had somewhat reluctantly provided. As well as clothes, they had been advised to take medicines such as quinine for fever, Dr Collis Brown’s chlorodyne tablets (guaranteed to relieve everything from neuralgia to palpitations and hysteria), Sloan’s Liniment, laudanum, disinfectants, toothpowder and soap. Francis had taken them to Henry Heath’s emporium in Oxford Street, insisting that they must have tropical hats or topees to ward off the harmful rays of the Indian sun. The topees had cost him a guinea apiece and he had not been amused when Tilly and Harriet were trying them on for size, making fun of each other and ending up with a fit of the giggles. Francis had paid up as if parting with the money gave him physical pain and he had not spoken a word on the journey home.

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

  Harriet’s voice from behind her made Tilly jump. ‘Actually I’m feeling a bit sick.’

  ‘Already? But we’ve hardly set to sea.’ Holding onto her hat, Harriet peered anxiously into Tilly’s face. ‘I thought you said you were a good sailor.’

  ‘I’ve only been on the Woolwich Free Ferry. I was sick then, but I thought it was the stench of the engine oil and the river that made me ill.’

  ‘Well, never mind. Come back to the cabin and I’ll get the steward to bring you a cup of tea.’

  The grey sky and the sea swirled around Tilly’s head in a confusing spiral. ‘I don’t feel very well.’

  The next thing she knew, she was lying on her bunk and something cold and wet was trickling down her face. Opening her eyes, Tilly saw that Harriet was watching her anxiously with a wet flannel clutched in her hand.

  ‘You fainted,’ Harriet said, mopping Tilly’s brow. ‘Are you feeling better?’

  Attempting to raise her head, Tilly fell back against the pillow. ‘Not really. I think I’m going to be sick.’

  She was sick, very sick, for so many miserable days that she lost all track of time. The Bay of Biscay was the worst, although the steward assured her that the weather was good and the sea comparatively calm. Tilly didn’t believe him but she had got to the state when she didn’t care about much at all. She did feel sorry for Harriet who not only had to look after her when she was being horribly sick but also had to share the cabin, which could not be very pleasant. Tilly began to pick up a bit as the ship entered the calm waters of the Mediterranean, and having managed to keep down some thin broth and weak tea she was able to venture up on deck for a few hours each afternoon, where she lay on a steamer chair wrapped up in blankets. By the time they reached Marseille, she was feeling considerably better and her strength was returning, although she was still sick every morning. When the ship docked, Harriet and Francis tried to persuade Tilly to join them in a trip ashore, but she was still feeling distinctly queasy and reluctantly had to refuse. It would have been so nice, she thought, to stand once more on ground that did not move beneath her feet, but she was feeling a bit light-headed and dizzy and it was very hot.

  She had not eaten in the saloon since she boarded ship, relying on the steward to bring trays of food to her cabin, but with most of the passengers ashore, she de
cided that she would go below for a light lunch. Perhaps she would feel better if she could eat something solid. The saloon was deserted except for a couple of genteel spinster ladies, who the steward informed Tilly were schoolteachers, returning to India after their home leave. At a table opposite was an army captain with his wife, and a nanny looking after their three young children. The captain’s wife was heavily pregnant and Tilly couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, even though her husband was fussing round her with such loving attention. But at least the young army wife had her husband with her; Tilly gulped and swallowed as her eyes stung with unshed tears. If only she had Barney with her on the long sea voyage, she was certain that he would be just as kind and caring. Hoping that no one had noticed her tears, Tilly gulped and sniffed. This was so unlike her normal self, she thought, sipping a glass of iced water that the steward had brought for her. She was never a weepy sort of person and yet recently the slightest thing had made her cry. She had sobbed whilst reading one of the penny romances that Harriet had brought with her. Mislaying her handkerchief had brought her to tears; silly little things that normally would have passed unnoticed.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ A thin, sallow-faced woman had come to sit at her table.

  ‘I had something in my eye,’ Tilly said, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s gone now.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you in the saloon before.’ The thin lady picked up a starched white table napkin, gave it a shake and laid it across her lap.

  ‘No, I’ve been a bit seasick.’

  ‘That’s so unpleasant. I’m lucky that I never suffer that way myself.’ The thin lady smiled, holding out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Miss Barnet, Mrs Robertson’s personal maid.’

  Shaking hands, Tilly managed a smile. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘And who is your employer, my dear? Is it that charming Miss Palgrave, the reverend gentleman’s sister?’

  Staring blankly, Tilly realised that this woman had mistaken her for a servant. Suddenly she felt sick again and the steward was coming towards them carrying a steaming tureen of what smelt like onion soup. Getting to her feet, she murmured an excuse and almost knocked a chair over in her hurry to leave the saloon. Even on deck she could still smell onions, mixed with hot engine oil and the fishy odour of the docks. Tilly clung to the rail for some time, gulping deep breaths of air until the feeling of nausea subsided. She was beginning to feel better but slightly foolish for having bolted from the dining room without putting nosey Miss Barnet in her place. Servant, indeed. When she was feeling completely well she would take great pleasure in putting her right: informing Miss chicken-skin Barnet that she was going to India to join her husband, Captain Barnaby Palgrave of the 3rd Rifles.

  A sudden sharp spasm of pain knifed Tilly in the side and she doubled up, clutching her stomach. Gradually, it faded away and she straightened up, holding onto the rail. She could feel beads of sweat standing out on her brow and her hands were clammy. Making her way slowly back to the cabin, she had barely got inside the door when another, and even sharper, pain almost tore her body in two. Tilly fell onto the bottom bunk convinced that she must be suffering from cholera or dysentery; she was almost certainly dying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Another spasm, even more agonising than the previous one, wrenched a scream from Tilly’s lips; she was barely aware that the door had opened and someone had entered the cabin.

  A cool, paper-dry hand smoothed her tumbled hair back from her forehead. ‘It’s all right, my dear, scream if you want to. Most of the first class passengers have gone ashore and there’s no one on this deck to hear you.’

  Opening her eyes, Tilly looked up into Miss Barnet’s sallow face. ‘I – I think I’m dying.’

  Miss Barnet smiled, shaking her head. ‘You won’t die, but you must be brave.’

  The pain had ebbed and Miss Barnet was wiping Tilly’s face with a flannel wrung out in cool water from the washbasin.

  ‘Is it cholera or dysentery?’ Tilly managed to ask. ‘You can tell me.’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  A further shaft of pain blanked Tilly’s mind. As it subsided, she realised that she was gripping Miss Barnet’s hand, squeezing her stick-thin fingers until the bones cracked. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’

  ‘It’s all right, don’t worry. I’m here for you.’

  Licking her dry lips, Tilly groaned. ‘What’s happening to me?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to lose your baby, my dear.’ Suddenly matter of fact and businesslike, Miss Barnet rolled up her sleeves.

  ‘Baby!’ Tilly heard her voice erupt in a bat-squeak. ‘No, it can’t be. I don’t believe you. Please fetch a doctor.’

  ‘There is no doctor on board and it would take too long to send ashore for one.’ Miss Barnet raised Tilly’s skirts to her waist, ignoring her protests. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ve been a lady’s maid for most of my life and this won’t be the first time I’ve helped a woman in your condition.’

  ‘But I can’t be in the family way. It’s not possible.’

  ‘It’s not for me to judge you, but perhaps you should have thought of that before you let him have his way with you.’ Miss Barnet gathered towels from the rail on the washstand and spread them underneath Tilly.

  ‘It couldn’t have happened so soon.’ Biting her lip, Tilly knotted the sheet around her fingers.

  ‘Once can be all that it takes. It won’t be long now, and perhaps this is a blessing after all.’

  Closing her eyes, Tilly drifted off in a fogbank of pain and anguish. Miss Barnet was speaking to her, encouraging her, saying words that barely made sense; and then, as if by a miracle, the torture ceased.

  Opening her eyes, Tilly stared up at the ceiling. Had the whole agonising episode been a terrible nightmare? Her body ached but the pain had gone and she was lying between clean sheets; someone had removed her clothes and she was wearing a cotton-lawn nightdress. Raising herself on her elbow, she attempted to sit up but her head swam and she fell back against the pillows. She could hear footsteps approaching; someone was turning the door handle.

  Miss Barnet entered the cabin, carrying a tray and smiling. ‘Splendid! You’re obviously feeling better.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Setting the tray down on the table beneath the porthole, Miss Barnet adjusted the coverlet, and taking a pillow from Harriet’s bunk, she raised Tilly to a sitting position. ‘I’ve brought you some tea and toast. You must eat to get your strength back. What is your name, my dear?’

  Tilly felt the blood rush to her cheeks; this woman had been a complete stranger just an hour or so ago but she had performed the most intimate service that would normally have been done by a doctor or a midwife, and she didn’t even know her name. If things had been different, Tilly would have chuckled at the absurdity of the situation but she found herself weeping on Miss Barnet’s skinny shoulder. ‘It’s Tilly. I’m Mrs M-Matilda P-Palgrave and I’m going to join my husband in India.’

  ‘And I took you for a servant. I owe you an apology, my dear Mrs Palgrave.’

  This did make Tilly smile. ‘Y-you’re the first person on board who’s called me that.’

  ‘We all make mistakes, Tilly. Now, you must stop crying and take some nourishment. You don’t want Miss Palgrave to find you in a state when she returns from her trip ashore, do you?’

  Miss Barnet made a move to leave the bedside, but Tilly clutched her hand. ‘You won’t tell Hattie or the Reverend? Promise me you won’t.’

  ‘But you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Tilly. Surely the support and sympathy of your family would be a comfort?’

  ‘No, it would only complicate things. Please don’t tell anyone about this.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, then of course I’ll respect your wishes, but you’ll need to rest for a day or two. How will you explain your condition?’

  ‘I’ll think of something. I don’t want anyone to know about the baby, not until I’ve told B
arney.’

  Miss Barnet patted Tilly’s hand. ‘I understand. They won’t hear it from me.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ Tilly said, catching hold of Miss Barnet’s sleeve as she prepared to leave. ‘Tell me, was it a boy or a girl?’

  Miss Barnet’s face crumpled with sympathy. ‘It was far too small to tell. You weren’t very far gone and that’s a blessing in itself.’

  It was not difficult to convince Harriet that she had a low fever and felt too unwell to leave her bunk. Tilly’s healthy young body recovered quickly, but her spirits were so lowered that she remained in the cabin until the ship reached Port Said. Confused and bewildered by her swinging emotions, she had to mourn the loss of her baby in secret. Hugging her grief to herself, Tilly found it impossible to put her lost child completely out of her mind. Had it been a boy or a girl? Would it have looked like Barney or have taken after her own family? And how stupid she had been not to have noticed the telltale signs of early pregnancy.

  Harriet was sympathetic and concerned about Tilly’s slow recovery from her illness, but she had made new friends on board and was patently enjoying the trip. Francis kept well away from the cabin and, according to Harriet, spent most of his time in deep conversation with an army padre who was returning to Delhi after a spell of home leave. Harriet only came to the cabin to change her dress or to sleep and she spoke enthusiastically about her new friend Susannah Cholmondeley, who was travelling to India in the company of her mother and two younger sisters and whose father was an army colonel stationed in Delhi. Getting to know someone close to her own age, who would be living in the same city, had cheered Harriet and made her much more optimistic about the life she would lead in the foreign country. If Tilly had been well, she might have felt left out of things, but as it was she was glad that Harriet was too busy to question her slow recovery.

  It was Miss Barnet who eventually persuaded Tilly to go out on deck and take short walks even though her legs felt like jelly. It was Miss Barnet who, when Tilly could not face dining in the saloon, arranged for a steward to bring tempting meals on a tray either to her cabin or to the shady side of the deck, where she could nibble her food and gaze at the ultramarine waters of the Indian Ocean. When she was not waiting on the demanding Mrs Robertson and her daughter Fanny, whose mousy-brown appearance and prominent front teeth had put her at a severe disadvantage in the marriage stakes, Miss Barnet sat on deck with Tilly, reading out loud or recounting some of her experiences below stairs in large country houses.