‘There’s nobody there, Widow Gowper, it’s just the wind,’ Sadie heard her call.
At the door to their room Sadie gently put down the coal and struggled to get the key out of her bodice, but stopped short. The padlock was twisted and hung loose on its haft. She touched it, not believing what she was seeing. Worried now, she unhooked it and stood for a moment with its weight in her hand. It would take a jemmy or a crowbar to do this. But she had only been gone a half-hour, maybe a little more.
She put her ear to the door. Nothing. She was dimly aware of Mrs Gowper’s voice, below, ‘What? What?’ and Ella’s high-pitched voice in reply. But not a sound from the room. She pushed the door gently with one hand, preparing to run. It swung open and she peered into the darkness. She let out her breath. There was no one there. Gingerly she stepped over the threshold, as if entering someone else’s territory. As she made her way to the rush box to fetch a light, her feet encountered objects on the floor that shouldn’t be there. She lit the light.
The room was untidy as if someone had left in a hurry. The bedclothes had been thrown off, the shelves emptied, and the one remaining basket was upside down, its contents strewn on the floor. Sadie picked it up and righted it. She knew already what she would find. There was no sign of the candlesticks, or the fan, or the silver punch ladle. They were gone, as she had known they would be the instant she had stepped into the room.
Ella’s red shape appeared at the door.
‘What are you thinking of, making such a racket?’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Gowper says there’s been noises from up here –’ she stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene in front of her – ‘since the last church bells,’ she tailed off lamely. ‘Sadie, what’ve you done?’
‘We’ve been robbed,’ said Sadie in a tight voice, folding up a blanket.
‘What?’ Ella seemed unable to grasp it.
‘Someone battered the lock.’
‘Who?’
‘Well, how should I know? They didn’t leave a calling card, if that’s what you mean.’ A picture of Mercy and her brother came into her mind. ‘Whoever they were, they must’ve been dead quiet to get past her.’ She pointed at the stairs.
Ella took another step into the room, but stood looking round helplessly.
‘Come on, help me get things straight so’s we know what’s gone,’ said Sadie.
‘The fan . . . the candlesticks, the—?’
‘Gone. There’s not a stick left. Come on. Help me.’
Ella followed at Sadie’s shoulder and plied her with questions. ‘What made you go out? I said not to go out.’
Sadie ignored her and continued to pick things up from the floor.
‘Did you go out to give notice at the wig shop? Sadie. Look at me. Why were you running when I got home? I said not to go out. And now this happens. Did anyone see you?’
‘It could be Da,’ Sadie said.
‘No,’ Ella said. ‘For God’s sake, will you forget about him. I’d know if he’d been here. I’d smell him. He would have waited as well, to see if he could get anything else off us. You know it’s not Da. Did you tell Dennis what we’d got in here? You didn’t, did you?’
Sadie shook her head.
‘Did you tell Dennis?’
‘Course not. Anyroad, it wouldn’t be him.’
‘I know. He’s been at Whitgift’s. But he might’ve told someone else. Gold’s got a mouth on it once someone knows.’
‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Well, we can’t exactly call the constable, can we?’
Sadie put the broken platter she was holding on the table and sat down, giving Ella her full attention. Her voice wavered as she spoke. ‘What’ll we do?’
Ella was pacing the room. ‘Ma Gowper kept saying there was noises, but I thought she meant you. Why did you go out? We agreed. You weren’t to go out. Not now them notices are up. It’s too risky. What were you about?’ Her eyes were accusing.
‘I went scouting for wood. We’ll freeze else. It were dark. Too dark for anyone to see me.’ Her thoughts went back to Mercy’s pointing finger as she ran down the street, and then to the look on the scavenger boy’s face. She pushed the thoughts away. ‘But I had a stroke of luck,’ she went on, ‘I got coal. So’s we can have a fire and a hot supper for once.’ Sadie pointed to the door. ‘The sack’s there. There’s kindling too.’
Ella sat down. ‘Never mind the bloody kindling, we’ve just been robbed. That gold seal?’
Sadie nodded, biting her lip. She did not want to look at Ella.
‘If they find out where that came from, we’re in trouble. It’s got his initials on it. He showed me. His twin brother will be looking out for it.’
‘I know. I’m not daft. That’s why I wanted to get rid before.’
‘No. That’s why I hung on to it. So’s he couldn’t trace it.’
Sadie raised her eyes. ‘Too late now, anyways.’
She stood and went to the window. She was surprised how much all the objects had meant to them, and how quickly they had come to regard them as ‘theirs’ even though she knew full well where they had come from. Every now and then Ella would look up and ask, ‘The snuffbox?’, ‘The mirror?’ and Sadie would nod. Then there would be silence whilst they remembered the look and feel of the missing thing. Their small hoard had represented their future, the hope of better things ahead and their insurance against hunger and cold. They felt naked without them. And it was unsettling to think a stranger had been in their room. Sadie shivered to think of some unknown man’s hands picking over her clothes, searching in their cupboards, seeing all their secrets.
The mirror particularly seemed to upset Ella.
‘How’m I going to keep on at Whitgift’s with no mirror?’
‘I can tell you how you look.’
‘Don’t be stupid. It’s not the same. We’ll have to get another.’
‘After we get a new candlestick. I can’t sew with no light.’
‘No, before. Because if I lose my position, we won’t be able to afford anything else.’
‘How long is it again till you get paid?’
Ella glared at her. They both knew the answer anyway. Ella turned away and drew her purse out of her bodice. She was about to open it, but then saw Sadie looking and pushed it back inside.
‘How much you got?’ Sadie asked.
‘Three shilling, that’s all,’ Ella said quickly, fiddling with the drawstring round her neck.
‘Just about enough for a new lock. A stronger one. Shall I light the fire?’
‘Suppose so.’ Ella went to the cupboard. ‘Hey, will you look at that! They’ve even thieved our barley and cheese, and the bit of whey. Bloody jug’s gone too.’
Sadie went and peered over Ella’s shoulder. ‘They must’ve been hungry.’ A thought came to her. ‘Bet it was those lads. The ones that were kicking that dog. They saw us bringing our load in here that first day. They looked hungry enough, they fair fell on your apron when you said it had bread in it.’
‘The thieving beggars, they’ve even stolen our supper.’ Then, more accusingly, ‘They must have watched for you to go out.’
‘There’s a peck of oatmeal left. They can’t have been that hungry ’cos they didn’t take that.’
‘I’ve a good mind to go after them,’ Ella said, but she stayed where she was.
‘And what would you do? We can’t do aught. We stole the stuff ourselves.’
They lit a fire but it was a subdued meal, despite the heat. Sadie pushed on extra coal, as if to make up for what they’d lost. The room glowed in the light. But Ella sat away from the fire in case she should get smuts or ash on her fine new dress. She shielded her face from the heat with her hands.
Sadie handed her a plate. ‘Why are you covering your eyes?’
‘Because I don’t want my face to be red tomorrow. Well-to-do ladies have very white skin. The Misses Edgware are white as milk.’ She looked up at Sadie, the ghost of an apology in her eyes.
&
nbsp; Sadie bridled. ‘Maybe their rooms are not so draughty. You’ll catch a chill sitting over there in that thin dress. Come in a bit and get cosy. Look, it’s making my skirts steam.’ Sadie wafted her grey woollen petticoat up and down.
But Ella remained resolutely away from the fire. Sadie cooked, tossing the flat cakes on the griddle plate, then flipping them deftly onto a cloth on the floor.
She wrapped the cloth round the cake and passed it to Ella.
‘This is better’n bread and scrape, isn’t it just,’ said Sadie, biting into hers.
Ella looked at the plate sitting on her lap with distaste. She placed it on the floor untouched with a sigh that was meant to be heard. She was obviously still sore at her for going out. ‘I had a muffin at Whitgift’s,’ she said.
‘Really? You beggar. Did you not think to save me a bit?’ asked Sadie.
‘No, I was that thrang I didn’t have time to think. Anyways, I don’t think they’d like me taking stuff off the premises. It would be like stealing.’
Sadie contemplated this strange contradiction. Her heart was still beating faster than usual from the thought of someone taking their things. They’d been outraged to be robbed, but it was of no earthly use to tell anyone, not when they’d thieved the stuff themselves. And now here was Ella reluctant to bring home a bit of bread from Whitgift’s.
‘It would only be a morsel. Bet they could spare it. Try and bring me a bit next time?’
Ella nodded, but Sadie could see there was no intention behind it. Ella seemed to be distracted, as if she were not there in the room but somewhere else. She kneaded the red silk in her hand, balling it and letting it go, over and over.
At length she turned to Sadie and said, ‘Them goods can be traced easily if they’re sold all of a piece. That seal’s got his initials on. And they think I killed him.’
‘It’s not true.’
‘Course it’s not true. But when they find us we’re done for. You do know that, don’t you?’
Sadie did not answer. She pushed the poker into the fire, and the wood crackled and spat.
Chapter 17
In Whitgift’s Yard, the Gilded Lily had been open little more than a week, and it was thriving. A long cavalcade of gigs and carriages drew up every day, and the newly swept yard bustled with ladies coming and going on their little heels. Jay’s father, Walt, was in his office, measuring some coin. He looked up from his magnifying lens and calipers. There was a commotion outside in the street, with posthorns blaring and horses whinnying.
He rubbed his hand over the dusty windowpane but it looked over the back wall towards the river and he couldn’t see anything amiss. When the hullabaloo continued, he stood up and rubbed his aching back and, disgruntled at being disturbed, threaded his way through the warehouses. At the threshold to the yard he stopped. The yard was jammed with horses and carriages attempting to leave, but a gig was trying to press through the gates, preventing them. Walt hurried over to remonstrate with the driver, but when he got there the whole street was full of horses and carriages. And they all seemed to want to come into his yard. His mouth fell open. He stepped back inside, his eyes searching the throng.
‘Jay!’ he shouted, craning to see him above the moving sea of horses. He caught sight of Dennis, trying to persuade a driver to rein back his pair of greys.
‘Where’s Jay?’ shouted Walt.
‘Upstairs. In his chambers.’
‘What’s all this?’
‘Jay’s ladies, sir. Come to the Gilded Lily.’
‘What?’
‘Over there. In the old dairy. Where the new sign is.’
Walt looked vaguely around the yard. Dennis took hold of his shoulders and turned him round, pointing over the horses’ heads to the gaudily painted sign. Walt set his jaw and forced his way through the jostling horses. He ignored the sign on the door that said ‘Ladies Only’ and shoved it open with a great push. Within a few moments he was hobbling back across the yard.
A moment later, when his father entered his attic chambers, Jay had the box of cameos out and was in so deep a trance that the sudden opening of the downstairs door made him shoot up out of his chair. In a trice he loped down the stairs to arrive just as his father had his foot on the bottom step.
‘Don’t come up, Pa,’ he said.
‘Come with me,’ barked Walt, his face grey, bustling him out of the door.
Jay resisted. ‘Hang fire. The brooches – I need to lock them away.’
‘Later. First you’ll sort out this mess.’ Walt pointed to the packed yard, where a coachman was just baring his fists and a crowd was gathering, spoiling for a fight. ‘Get those carriages out, then we’ll talk.’
Jay looked out, amazed. Then he grinned. The coachman could take his chances. What a crowd! His idea was working. Why, there must be half of fashionable London here. He swaggered into the press of conveyances, nimbly manoeuvred himself past a sidestepping horse and dodged out of the gates. He strolled past the queue of carriages down the length of the street until he came to the last one. Apologizing profusely to the lady occupant and her maidservant, he told her that the Gilded Lily could be visited by appointment only, and instructed the driver to turn around. Proceeding thus up the line of carriages, Jay soon was able to free passage for those trying to exit the gates.
It had done him no harm to turn people away, he knew. It would just whet their appetites further. The more popular it was, the more exclusive he could make it. And when he had spoken earlier with the new girl, she had told him the book was full for three more days. She was sharp, that one, she’d picked up the ropes in no time. She was good for business too – the women envied her pearly complexion, so the apothecary’s creams had flown off the shelf. It was all a lot of quackery he knew. Upper-class women were generally stupid, couldn’t see a blind if it waved a stick at them, and he was right, they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Already he was reaping the benefit; they would be surprised to find out he had information about not only what new gimcrack their husbands had purchased, but also its value and even sometimes where it was kept.
Miss Johnson could be moulded into an asset – with her brows plucked and a little alabaster powder over her bosom, she could look picture-perfect. That is, so long as she was prepared to play his game. Trouble was – they always got meddlesome in the end, wanted to know more than was good for them.
Jay’s musings were short-lived. As he approached the warehouse, he could see his father’s bent figure waiting for him, his face sour.
‘It’s a circus,’ said his father, leading him into his office. ‘I told you before, we’ll have no dealings with women’s business. When I’m gone, you can do what you like, but I’ll not have it.’
‘But we’ve turned over nineteen pounds in less than a week’s trade, and that can’t be bad. Just give it time to settle.’
‘Settle? Settle you say? I’ll never live it down. It looks like a strumpet fair – all that gilt, that brazen girl in scarlet with her hair coming down. You can’t tell me it’s a respectable business. It stinks like a midden.’
‘But I’ll wager the gentlemen have stayed longer in the warehouse . . .’ His father did not answer, but from his expression Jay could see that they had. ‘They have, haven’t they?’ His father opened his mouth to protest, but Jay pressed on. ‘And I’ll bet your takings are up too. Show us the figures, Pa, come on.’
Jay riffled through the papers on the desk looking for the big leather ledger showing the day’s accounts.
‘Leave it be!’ his father shouted. ‘I don’t dare ask you where the money came from for all that show and tackle. There’ll be time enough for you to juggle with the figures when I’m cold and gone. You’re not cock o’ the roost yet. But for now you will repay me if there’s even a single farthing down. Those rooms are to be closed today. Do you hear?’
Jay frowned and stuck out his chin. ‘I can’t. We’ve appointments booked till the end of the week.’
‘If you don’t wa
nt to abide by my rules, then by heaven you don’t have to stay under my roof.’
‘What about the appointments?’
‘Cancel them.’
Jay took out a leather pocket book and pulled his finger down the page. ‘Let’s see . . . yes, Thursday is Lady Waltham, and Lady Jane, you know, Sir John Bickford’s wife. Friday is Miss Lucie Almoner, and Miss Catherine Holmes, milliners to the queen . . . I suppose there would be time to send a message . . .’ He paused to see if his words were having any effect.
His father sat down heavily in his captain’s chair and swivelled it round with a creak so he had his back to Jay. Jay stood fast, letting the names sink in.
At length his father sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you had better honour these few appointments. But no more. There’s a deal goes on around here that I don’t know about, and I’m telling you, I don’t like it. I’m not beyond putting you out to make your own way. A son should have respect and do his duty by his parents, and well you know it.’
‘Quite right.’
Jay turned at the voice behind him, and saw that Tindall had appeared in the doorway. He looked as odious as ever, his cuffs grey and his eyes watery above his hooked nose. Jay glared at him. What right had he to just walk in on their private conversation? But his father turned back in his chair and beckoned him into the room.
‘Ah, Tindall, my friend,’ said his father, ‘just the man. You can help solve a little problem we have. I need advice. Maybes you can tell us whether this new-fangled idea of Jay’s has any firepower in it or whether it’s a damp fuse.’
‘Yes, I’d noticed the increase in activity. I told you the sign would be a good idea. But it’s “painted lily”, the Shakespeare quotation, not “gilded lily”.’
‘I don’t care if it’s a daffydilly, will it be good for business?’ Walt said.
Tindall took a piece of paper from his moth-eaten leather bag, and a piece of lead. ‘You’ll need to tell me the day you first conceived it, the exact time, if possible, and the precise time you opened the door for business.’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember when I thought of it,’ Jay said.
The Gilded Lily Page 17
