The Gilded Lily

by Deborah Swift

  Titus Ibbetson did not approve of the rough banter in the bar of the Blue Ball, so now he and Isobel sat in their chilly upstairs chamber, forgoing the warmth of the fire, whilst they planned what to do next. Willetts the maid sat in a corner, hemming one of Isobel’s black crepe shawls.

  ‘Can you believe it, the wigmaker was no help at all!’ Titus shook his head.

  ‘It beggars belief. After you told her what they’d done.’ Isobel leaned forward in her black wool mourning-gown. ‘And what about their father? He showed no interest at all. You would think a father would have wanted to know what had befallen his daughters, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That sort’ll do anything for money. He wouldn’t have told me a thing, had I not rattled my purse at him. It’s hard to fathom it – he said the elder one had been living in with Thomas for a month or more. She brought a few coppers out of her wages home every week to make sure the sister was provided for. The sister must have been a bit simple. Didn’t go out much. And no wonder, with that great red stain all over her face.’ He sighed. ‘But Appleby would say no more, even for another half-shilling, so I guess we will have to rely on the wigmaker for help with our enquiries. Straight after, I sent the constable round to arrest the father anyway. He knows more than he’s telling, and maybe a spell without a drink will loosen his tongue.’

  ‘What next?’

  ‘Constable tells me a few more girls have been brought in to Newgate Gaol. I expect I shall have to go and look them over.’ He sighed. ‘God above, the whole task is so wearisome, what with the stench and the noise.’

  ‘Perhaps we should go back home. It’s been a bootless state of affairs, and you are wearing yourself thin with the worry of it.’

  Titus flapped his hand at her, dismissing the idea. ‘Hogwash. I shall go over to the gaol in the morning.’

  ‘And what will I do?’

  ‘You may accompany me in the carriage. Do not fret, you need not come inside.’

  ‘But if you do not really need my assistance, surely it would be better if I went back to Shrewsbury and made sure our house is in order. We have been away too long, and the smoke in this tavern is making me ill.’

  Titus frowned. Isobel was always complaining about something. ‘It will not be for much longer. I need you here. A wife’s duty is to be with her husband. Have patience. The notices will turn them up sooner or later, London is full of grasping beggars looking to get rich. They’d hand over their own mother for a groat, most of them.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t make me shout.’

  Willetts looked up briefly, but Titus’s look made her bow her head, and prick her thumb with the needle.

  Chapter 29

  Scratch, scratch.

  There it was again. Sadie turned but couldn’t see anything. She carried on with what she was doing, rolling out the last of the oatmeal to make clapbread. A few moments later she saw it – a little brown mouse. It pattered across the floor and rested under the inkblot shadow of a stool. She held herself very still. Perhaps if she was quiet enough she would be able to watch it a while.

  The mouse washed its whiskers unconcerned. Sadie hunkered down, lowering herself to the floor, and as she did so the mouse stopped what it was doing and fixed her with its shiny bead-like eyes. Sadie returned the gaze. The mouse was beautiful. Its coat was a soft velvety brown like the inside of a mushroom, and its little sides vibrated under the fur. Such a fast-beating tiny heart, she thought. After looking back at her for a while, it cocked its head then made a skittish dash for the stray oats under the table before returning to its place under the stool.

  ‘Hello, little fellow,’ whispered Sadie. ‘Are you hungry?’

  The mouse watched her steadily as it nibbled at the oats, its tail sticking straight out behind, its half-moon ears quivering.

  ‘’Tis cold out. Bet that’s why you’ve come indoors, hey?’

  She held out a bit of the oatmeal in her floury hand.

  ‘Come on now,’ she said, ‘don’t be scared.’ She reached a bit further, but her arm knocked the table and the rolling pin fell off and clattered to the ground. The mouse zigzagged away in a flash and disappeared into a small knothole in the wooden floor.

  Sadie tiptoed over, put her eye to the dark hole, but the mouse was gone. She had enjoyed their small moment together, fancied that in their wordless conversation the mouse had understood something of what she was saying.

  ‘You daft beggar,’ she told herself. She knew well enough that mice were vermin. Back in Westmorland she’d have chased it out with a besom. But here she could not help remembering the story of the Ash Maid, where the little mice became footmen and a fairy godmother came along to say, ‘You shall go to the ball.’

  She pictured Ella in her green and gold, but she did not want to look like Ella. Ella used to be all soft curves, rosy-cheeked, her hair an unruly mass down her back. Now she was all hard edges and frowns. She closed her eyes and imagined herself dancing in a beautiful flowing gown, and when she looked up it was Dennis’s face smiling down at her.

  If only she could be transformed, like the Ash Maid. She went to the jug and looked in at the pot of whitening cream she had hidden there out of sight. She picked it out and held its weight in her palm. Her hands were cold, so she blew on them a little before she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. She fetched the mirror over and tentatively dipped a fingertip into the paste. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled, smelling the whiff of grease and tang of metal. After waiting a while and seeing that her finger did not itch or burn, she spread a little on the back of her hand. Still nothing. Should she use it? What would Dennis think of her when her face was all white? She didn’t want him to think she was loose. But without it she would never be able to go out. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. There had been no visit from Dennis, not since he had been up to tell her they must leave because of the noise. Trust Ella to forget to tell her he had gone away. And she let her think he had fallen out of sorts with her. Curse Ella.

  Her sister’s sharp words came back to her. Ella was right. She was afraid of not having the birthmark any more. She’d had it her whole life. The stain gave her a reason to hang back, a reason to hide, to stay in the shadows whilst others stepped forward.

  She stood up and went to the window, pondering. Hadn’t she always hated being singled out? But now she was unsure. It was complicated. On the one hand she loathed the stares and the name-calling, but how would it feel if no one gave her a second glance? Who would she be without it? She had heard of players who, once they had the greasepaint on, were afraid to go on the stage. Stage fright, they called it. Except for her the whole world felt like a stage. She sighed, went back and sat at the table, turned the mirror face down, pushed the pot away. Then she leaned forward across the table and buried her head in the crook of her arms.

  It had not taken long for Ella to feel settled living in at the Gilded Lily. She loved to draw the tapestry curtains when business was done and then to take the embers on a shovel from the downstairs fire and put them into her own hearth. Any candles in the chandelier that were not burnt as low as the others, she took those upstairs too, and lined them up on the table so she could see to wash and powder her face before sliding into bed. But then she left them burning all night, to cast away the shadows in the room.

  Her reputation as a beauty soon spread, and she revelled in it. She could scarce believe it – fashionable ladies exchanged her secrets, her opinion on powder and paint was sought out and whispered at elegant soirees. Sometimes, when they asked her advice, she told them nonsense just for the spite of it. Just last week she had told two ladies that they should wash in the urine of puppies to improve their complexion. She watched their eyes widen and, nodding sagely all the time, she watched them whisper together as they left. Chuckling to herself, she knew they would be onto their servants straight away to see if there were any nursing bitches to be found. Afterwards, the thought of it made her laugh until her ribs ached and she had t
o press her stays with her hands.

  She loved the new hours. She had always been a night creature, and she found working in the evenings exciting. The atmosphere was livelier – more young ladies in fashionable silks and velvets with sparkling jewels, and not so many old dowds with moustaches.

  The morning girl was a vivacious brunette called Polly, but she had a sharp face and eyes that seemed to be set a bit too close together. Ella had made a quick assessment and deemed her to be less pretty than herself, and from then on had treated her the way she treated Meg.

  Polly was younger than Ella, and a little in awe of her, which suited Ella well. The coachmen had begun to hang round the door of the Lily trying to catch a glimpse of them both, and she found it flattering, but also, she thought, no more than she deserved. And besides, she had no interest in coachmen, she had bigger fish to fry.

  Of course she had not sent for her things from the Gowpers’, because she knew it would only upset Sadie, and besides, their possessions were mean enough, and would be more so divided thus. She bought what she required from Whitgift’s on sale day. But she had been back to Blackraven Alley several times, taking provisions, and to take out the slops. Sadie looked even more down-at-heel now that Ella was not there and that daft Dennis was away. Stupid, stubborn girl. She still had not got used to the idea of the lock, could not see it was for her own good. Last time Ella went, she refused to speak to her, so Ella had to satisfy herself by leaving the basket on the table.

  One day Meg came to tell her Dennis was at the door of the Lily, asking for her. She panicked, thinking he must have been home and seen the lock, talked to Sadie. Reluctantly, she went to the door, her open fan before her face like a fence between them, but she was surprised to hear him say, ‘You owe me. Tindall’s just told me you’re living in. You should’ve told us.’

  ‘Yes, I’m working more hours now,’ she said guardedly, wagging the fan.

  ‘Why did you not tell me? You should’ve given Ma more notice,’ Dennis went on. ‘It’s not good to leave an empty house, and we’ll have trouble finding some more tenants now. And Ma’s been taken right bad, taken a turn for the worse, that’s why I’ve not been over for the rent. The air in Epping’s better for her cough. I’ve not had chance to get back home, only come back to sort things out with the gaffer.’ Ella exhaled with relief. So he had not been home.

  ‘Oh, we need the room yet,’ Ella said. ‘My sister’s still living there. She can’t go out you see – well, you know why not.’ Ella closed the fan, and looked round behind her in case anyone should be within earshot.

  ‘Are you telling me Sadie’s still living upstairs all by herself?’

  ‘Yes. Well, not exactly. I go there every day, make sure she’s got everything she needs.’

  ‘She was there all last week? On her own?’

  ‘Well, I call every day.’

  Dennis pursed his lips and frowned. ‘It must be mighty dull, cooped up there alone all day.’

  Ella bristled. ‘Better than being swung on the end of a rope. Anyways, I go there every morning to keep her company, and I took her some knitting to do.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m glad she’s still there. I thought she must have moved on when you did, and I worry if the place is empty. Ask her if she’ll keep an eye on the place for us, would you? I’ve got to stay in Epping a while longer, Ma’s right bad. I thought it’d only be a day or two, but I’ve just come to ask the gaffer if I can have another week. He were right kind about it, says he’ll keep my position till Ma’s better. What shall I tell her? Ma, I mean, about you moving out?’

  ‘Nothing. It would make her suspicious. She don’t need to know anything. I pay the rent, don’t I? There’s still one girl living there. She’ll just think it’s me.’

  Dennis frowned and looked like he was about to speak, but Ella continued, ‘It’s temporary. I told you that from the beginning. But just give us another month or so. I’ll see you set right – a bit of extra for your trouble.’

  She wedged the fan under her arm and fumbled in her purse. She didn’t want Dennis poking his nose into it. It was clear he did not approve of Sadie being left on her own, and he might let Sadie out, then she might try to run home, causing all sorts of mayhem. She couldn’t keep her there for ever, she knew, but maybe in a week or so the notices would be down.

  ‘Here,’ she said, holding out a handful of coins, ‘this is for last month, and this month too.’

  Dennis took it, saying, ‘Well, at least you’ve not asked for credit. You’ve been good tenants that way.’ He held out the change.

  ‘No, keep it. It’s a bit spare for your trouble, you know, for keeping quiet about us.’

  Dennis looked taken aback. ‘No, I can’t accept that. It’s only what any friend would do.’ He tried to thrust it back into her hand.

  Ella stepped away. She did not want that threadbare Dennis to be a friend. ‘You take it. For physic for your ma. I can afford it. I’ve been taken on proper now.’

  Dennis looked down on the coins askance, but Ella folded her arms. Eventually he withdrew his hand with a shrug and put it away. ‘Well, thanks. I guess you’re right, I’ll need this for the apothecary. It’s this bloody winter. Ma’s cough’s a deal worse in this cold, and she’s feverish.’

  Ella turned to go, but he followed her. She stopped, irritated. He rubbed his hands through his bristly hair. ‘I dunno what to think. I’m afraid her mind’s gone. She says you went in to see her last Monday afternoon, insistent she was, made a big song and dance about it. I was in half a mind to give you notice, but then I remembered. I saw you here serving in the Lily, Monday. So I know it’s all rank nonsense she’s talking. She keeps raving that you’re not the same girl you were. It must be your hair. I noticed it’s different. When we get back from Auntie’s, happen you’ll call in on her, it might help.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Ella, nodding but knowing she would not.

  ‘Say hello to Sadie. Be sure and tell her we’ll be back Friday. I’ll call then, bring her some more of my penny books, tell her all about it.’

  Ella smiled. She was pleased he was staying away. An instinct told her he certainly would not like the idea of the lock. If the Gowpers were away, she would be able to come and go as she pleased, without hearing a shout from downstairs every time she so much as breathed. And Dennis was far too meddlesome, she didn’t want the likes of him befriending Sadie. The great carthorse, what did she see in him anyway? She pushed away a twinge of jealousy.

  Ella returned to the counter. Looking at the customers all morning in their fine jewellery set off a hankering for something with a bit of sparkle, something to catch the light – and Jay’s attention. It was sale day today – she would buy earrings.

  Later she went to the warehouses and soon found the section with the cheaper jewellery. It was staffed by several young tough-looking lads, to deter anyone who dared to think they might pilfer something. Whitgift’s was locktight to thieves. If anyone tried to leave with goods they had not paid for, the alarm was raised and the gates shut and the constable called. Walt Whitgift had built his reputation on fair trade, they said, and he came down hard on those who broke the law. She doubted that his son was quite so scrupulous.

  She wandered along the tables, looking into the small trays with the cloak pins and watch chains laid out. There was a whole section of jewellery with knots or tresses of human hair woven into elaborate miniature plaits and pressed into rings or brooches. It reminded her of Madame Lefevre, and of her time in the dank basement of the wig shop. Thank the Lord she didn’t have to put up with the stench of greasy hair any more. She shook her shoulders as if to rid herself of the memory, and moved swiftly past, looking for the section with the earrings.

  She averted her eyes as she passed a wooden tray containing gold and ivory teeth on wires. Did people really pawn these? And who would buy them? As if to answer her question an old woman in a stained serving-smock came up and began to turn them over, obviously looking for a toot
h that would fit. Shuddering, Ella moved along, until she saw the glint and twinkle that had always fascinated her. Five minutes later she was back again, carrying a small twist of paper with her new earrings inside. The barber-surgeon would pierce her ears the lad had said, and he was open until dusk. It would be painful – she would have to bite on her folded glove – but worth it.

  She felt a little guilty about buying the earrings. Jay had agreed to advance her two pounds for the alteration of a new velvet gown from the warehouse since she was to be working evenings too, and she had collected the gown only yesterday. Now her conscience needled her. She knew she was supposed to have spent that money on a gown for Sadie, and now she had been tempted by new earrings too. But the little glass pendants had been irresistible.

  She wandered over to the clothing tables and picked out a serviceable gold-coloured holland gown, just a little worn on the bodice. It had matching sleeves too, with the laces and all. It wasn’t silk or velvet, but surely it would do for Sadie. When Sadie got a position she would be able to save, like Ella had, for a better one.

  Ella knew in her heart this was a myth, a story she was telling herself. She knew that in a way Sadie was right, that she would be too frightened to go out into the world the way Ella had, the stain was too raw, and she would be scared of someone unmasking her. Even if Sadie agreed to wear the ceruse, Ella herself was not sure she could bear the worry of it, wondering what she was up to every day. It was hard enough to keep herself out of trouble. She sighed. Why was everything so difficult? But Ella had no other plan; the thought of ministering to Sadie for ever was a thought she could not brook.

  Ella turned the bottom of the yellow dress to look at the quality of the stitching. The hem was worn to nothing in some places, but the bodice was the right size.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five shilling.’

  ‘You’ve naught cheaper?’

  ‘It’s a good ’un, that. Quality.’

  ‘Look at the wear on that hem, I’m not paying that. I’ll give you two.’