by Dilly Court
Anger roiled in her belly. ‘Who are you? Why is the shop still open?’
He brushed a thin strand of hair back from his forehead in an attempt to cover his bald pate. His fingers were ink-stained and she noticed that his hand shook. ‘I’m sorry, miss. I don’t understand.’
‘This was my shop,’ she said furiously. ‘I was tricked into leaving it and told that the whole building was going to be knocked down, but you’re here and you’re selling my books.’
‘Come now, miss, there must be some mistake.’
She wrenched the door open and dragged the barrow into the shop. ‘These were part of my inheritance from Mr Dawkins. He took me in and trained me as his assistant. These books were on the shelves over there.’ She pointed to the section which had not yet been filled.
‘It had nothing to do with me, I can assure you of that.’ He emerged from behind the counter. ‘I just bought the lease and paid extra for the stock. I was told that the person who was here before was a fly-by-night who left owing money and took what didn’t belong to them. Was that you, by any chance?’
‘Was it a man called Seth Woods who told you all this?’
‘It was Mr Woods, yes.’
‘He forced me out, threatening me with the bailiffs, and these are some of the books I took because they were mine. Woods is a bad man and you need to watch him or he’ll do the same to you.’
‘But you owed rent, miss. That was why he acted as he did.’
‘He doubled the rent at a time when he knew I couldn’t raise that much cash.’
The man’s face crumpled into worried lines. ‘Seth is my brother-in-law,’ he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. ‘My wife will be very upset to hear you speaking ill of her brother.’
‘Who’s there, Frank?’ The kitchen door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered woman stepped into the shop. ‘I heard raised voices. Do I have to stop what I’m doing to sort out all your problems?’
‘No, my dear,’ Frank said hastily. ‘It’s all right. The customer returned some books but we’ve come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.’
‘I’ll have words with Seth when I see him. That’s the second time this week this sort of thing has happened. Take a bookshop, he said. It will make your fortune, he said. Well, I beg to differ. I’ll speak very sternly to Seth when he comes for the rent.’ She retreated into the kitchen, slamming the door with such force that the windows rattled.
‘What do you want from me?’ Frank seemed to have shrunk into his oversized black frock coat when his wife appeared, but the moment the door closed on her he peered over the starched points of his shirt collar, eyeing Charity with a scared look on his pinched features. ‘I need you to go quickly.’
‘Ten shillings the lot,’ Charity said boldly. ‘Give me ten bob and you can restock the shelves and keep your wife happy.’ She picked up a text book. ‘Students will buy these for their courses when they start next year. You’ll soon make your money back.’
He scuttled behind the counter and produced the cash box that had once belonged to Jethro. He took out two silver crowns and pressed them into her hand. ‘Take it and leave the books.’ He glanced at the kitchen door which remained firmly closed. ‘Anything for a quiet life. You’re sure these will fetch a good price?’
Charity unloaded the books, piling them on a table beside the counter. ‘They will, and if I were you I’d stock plenty of penny dreadfuls. They’ll fly off the shelves.’ She made for the door, opened it and manoeuvred the empty barrow out into the street. ‘Good luck, Frank.’ She walked off with the coins jingling in her pocket. It seemed like a small fortune and she felt ridiculously happy. Ten shillings would keep them until after the auction and they would have coal, candles and hot food. The old cockerel would be saved and Bosun would be fed.
The problems that had weighed her down since their return to London had been lifted, even if temporarily, and she had not lied to Frank. He could do well in the shop if he had the right stock and as long as he could earn enough when business was brisk to carry him through the dark days after Christmas.
She was so deep in thought that she had not noticed that the brewery gates were open, nor the pair of dray horses that were champing at their bits. She heard a shout and looked up to see Bert Chapman rise from the driver’s seat and raise his whip. The loud crack caused the animals to shy and lunge forward. She started to run but one of the barrow’s wheels caught in a rut and it tipped over, flinging her to the ground. Winded and unable to move, she looked up, and saw several tons of horseflesh rearing above her.
Chapter Seventeen
EVEN AS CHARITY fought to get air into her lungs she had the sensation of flying through the air, clasped in a pair of strong arms, and then, with a sudden jolt, the world righted itself. She opened her eyes and took a few faltering breaths.
‘Are you hurt?’
She found herself looking into the face of a young man. His curly, reddish-gold hair flopped over his forehead and his grey eyes were filled with concern. She wondered vaguely if he was an angel who had rescued her from certain death, or perhaps she had died and gone to heaven. But as she tried to move she felt a stab of pain in her right ankle and she realised that she was very much alive. Every bone in her body had begun to ache and she was suddenly conscious of the crowd of people that had gathered around them.
‘Are you all right? You took a nasty tumble.’
‘It weren’t my fault.’ A horribly familiar voice cut into Charity’s consciousness and she struggled to a sitting position.
‘You tried to run me down, Bert Chapman,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You could have killed me.’
Bert tucked his thumbs into his wide leather belt, turning to the onlookers with a cocky grin. ‘She must have hit her head when she fell. She don’t know what she’s saying.’
The young man, who had apparently braved the horses’ hooves to save Charity from being run down, looked up at Bert with a frown creasing his smooth brow. ‘That’s not what I saw. Your actions were quite deliberate. You might have killed this young woman had I not seen what was happening and come to her aid.’
Bert stared at him and his brazen attitude was replaced by a sheepish grin. ‘I’m sorry, your reverence. It weren’t intentional, I can assure you.’ He tipped his cap and backed away. ‘If the young lady ain’t taken harm I’ll go on me way.’
‘I think you owe her an apology.’
‘Yes, vicar. Sorry, miss. I never saw you until it was too late.’ Bert retreated to the dray where his mate was holding the horses’ heads. He hauled his large frame onto the driver’s seat. ‘C’mon, Charlie. We’ll be behindhand all day if we don’t get a move on.’ He barely allowed his helper time to get on board before driving off.
Charity turned her head to look at her rescuer. She had not noticed the clerical collar he was wearing at first, but that would account for the sudden change in Bert’s demeanour. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, making an attempt to stand and wincing as a sharp pain stabbed her ankle.
He helped her to her feet. ‘You’re hurt. Do you think you can walk?’
‘Where’s my barrow?’ Leaning on his arm she saw the shattered remains scattered over the road. ‘It’s broken,’ she said, stifling a sob.
‘Better the cart than you.’ The young parson turned to the crowd. ‘There’s nothing more to see. I’ll look after the lady and see she gets home safely.’ He waited until the curious onlookers had dispersed before turning to Charity with a rueful smile. ‘It’s a bit late for formal introductions, but my name is Gideon Raines. I’m the curate at St Pancras New Church.’
‘Charity Crosse. You saved my life, vicar.’
‘I just happened to be in the right place. Anyone would have done the same.’
‘I don’t think so, but thank you anyway.’ She made an attempt to walk but the pain was too great.
‘Where do you live, Miss Crosse? I’ll hail a cab.’
The mere thought o
f what it would cost made her shake her head. ‘No, thank you, I’ll be all right in a minute or two. I just need to rest, and then there’s my barrow. I can’t leave it there.’
He looked round and catching sight of a group of small boys who were picking over the rubbish in the gutter, he called them over. ‘Now then, boys, if you’ll clear up the wood you’ll be doing a kindness for this young lady.’
The oldest and boldest stepped forward. ‘What’s in it for us, guv?’
‘If you bundle it up you can sell it for kindling, and you’ll be doing a good deed into the bargain.’ Gideon turned to Charity with an apologetic smile. ‘That is all right, isn’t it? I mean it’s not fit for anything else.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured, although she would have liked to take it home. It would have helped keep the fire going for days, but her pride would not allow her to admit this to the young man who had saved her life. In the old days, when her grandfather was still alive, she had come across many well-meaning churchmen who wanted to save the souls of the men and women who lived on the streets. Some of them had grown cynical and world-weary in the knowledge that their efforts would come to nothing, but others, the young men newly graduated from ecclesiastical college, were fresh-faced and confident in their ability to restore hope to the downtrodden and spiritual healing to those who had fallen by the wayside. Charity knew instinctively that Gideon Raines was one of the latter. She could feel his enthusiasm for life and sense the optimism radiating from his conviction that he could help his fellow men. He was also very good-looking, which seemed like a waste in someone who had dedicated his life to good works.
‘I’ll see if I can find a cab,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You won’t get far with a twisted ankle.’
‘I’d really rather walk, if you don’t mind.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Nevill’s Court off Fetter Lane. Really, it’s not far.’
‘Isn’t that the Bligh family’s London home?’
She stared at him in surprise. ‘Yes. Do you know Sir Hedley?’
‘I grew up in Sutton Pomeroy. My father is rector of St Michael’s. Harry and I used to roam the countryside together as boys, although I haven’t seen much of him recently. I was in my last year at university when Daniel started, so you might say we’re old friends. How do you know the family, Miss Crosse?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said vaguely.
‘And you’ve just had a nasty fright. We must get you home.’ He stepped out into the road and hailed a passing cab. ‘Nevill’s Court, please, cabby.’ He climbed in and sat beside Charity. ‘I’m sorry about your barrow.’
‘It really doesn’t matter.’ She could not bring herself to tell him that it did matter very much. ‘I’m truly grateful for what you did.’
‘You’re quite a long way from home. How did you come to be pushing a barrow in this part of town?’
Suddenly the need to confide in someone was overpowering. By the time they reached Nevill’s Court she had explained how she had become involved with the Bligh family. She had told him about Harry’s plight, and the fact that he and Dan were brothers. The cab rumbled to a halt. ‘I must pay my part of the fare,’ she said, putting her hand into her pocket.
‘I was coming this way,’ Gideon said quickly.
She met his earnest gaze with a smile. ‘I thought that men of the church were supposed to tell the truth at all times.’
He grinned. ‘It was a white lie, and now I’ve heard your story I feel quite justified in seeing you safely home. Harry would never forgive me had I abandoned you in Liquorpond Street.’
‘I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I don’t know why I told you all that, because we’re managing well enough, and it will be even better after the auction.’
He stepped down from the cab and helped her to alight. ‘I admire your fortitude, Charity. You’re a brave young woman.’
‘Thank you, but you’re quite wrong. I muddle through the best way I can.’
‘Even that takes courage.’ He took a card from his inside pocket. ‘I know you’re not one of my parishioners, but this is where I live. If you need help at any time, don’t hesitate to call on me. After all we have mutual friends so we’re not complete strangers.’
Charity took it from him and tucked it in her pocket. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Gideon, please.’
‘Thank you, Gideon. Thank you for everything.’ She turned and limped into the narrow alleyway, heading into the darkness. She did not look back. He was a good man but he was Dan’s friend, not hers. People in her position did not have friends amongst the clergy. She emerged into the sunlit square, where spring had come at last and the gardens were bursting into bloom. Sparrows were squabbling over crumbs that one of their neighbours had thrown out, and the tabby cat belonging to the two maiden ladies who lodged in the sea captain’s house crouched ready to kill. Charity clapped her hands and the birds flew up in the air twittering in protest, and the cat arched its back, glaring at her with malevolent yellow eyes. She felt suddenly light-hearted for no reason at all other than that she had money in her pocket and she had received kindness and understanding from a man of the cloth.
She made her way to the house, silently rehearsing a tale that would explain her dishevelled state and the loss of the barrow. She had no intention of telling them that it was Bert Chapman who tried to run her down, and the unpleasant encounter with Wilmot Barton was best forgotten. She would just give them the good news that she had earned ten shillings from the sale of the books. She lifted the brass knocker and rapped on the door. The sound reverberated throughout the house coming back to her in staccato echoes. She fixed a smile on her face when Dorrie opened the door. ‘Good news, Dorrie. I sold all the books.’
Dorrie looked her up and down. ‘Lawks, Charity. What happened to you? You look like you was dragged through a hedge backwards.’
Charity stepped inside. ‘I had a bit of an accident, but it was nothing really.’
On the day of the sale Charity was about to leave for the auction house when Violet came slowly down the main staircase with her shawl draped around her shoulders and her bonnet in her hand. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve been a blooming prisoner since we come here. If I don’t go out I swear I’ll go mad.’
Charity shook her head. ‘No, it’s not a good idea, Vi.’
‘Why not?’ Violet demanded crossly. ‘I’m not due for a month or two. It’s not fair to keep me cooped up like one of Mrs Diment’s hens.’
Charity could not give a reason without scaring Violet, who was already nervous and jumping at the slightest sound. Perhaps it would do her good to go out for an hour or two. ‘All right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But if you get tired or feel unwell you must come home.’
‘Yes, I will. Don’t worry about me.’
Charity opened the door and found Gideon Raines with his hand raised as if he were about to knock. He doffed his hat. ‘Good morning, Miss Crosse.’
‘What are you doing here, Mr Raines?’ Charity stiffened as she felt Violet’s breath on the back of her neck.
‘Who is it?’ Violet whispered. ‘Why has the vicar come to call?’
Charity thought quickly. ‘Mr Raines was kind enough to see me home after my little mishap with the barrow.’
‘I’d hardly call it a little mishap, Miss Crosse. You were nearly killed by that oaf . . .’
She stepped outside, taking him by the arm. ‘It’s very kind of you to call, Mr Raines, but as you see I’m quite recovered and Miss Chapman and I are off to the auction sale.’
He met her anxious gaze with a nod of his head. ‘Miss Chapman, of course.’ He held out his hand to Violet. ‘How do you do?’
She blushed and giggled, shaking his hand as if it were the pump handle at the kitchen sink. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Charity demanded in an undertone.
‘I’ve never
been to an auction sale. You told me that it was today and I thought you might allow me to accompany you.’
‘That’s ever so kind of you, vicar.’ Violet treated him to a bright smile. ‘You’re sure to bring us good luck.’
‘I’ve never been thought of as a lucky charm,’ Gideon said, laughing. ‘Shall we go, ladies?’
‘Lady,’ Violet whispered in Charity’s ear. ‘He called me a lady.’
‘Behave yourself, Vi.’ Charity managed a smile, but inwardly she was quaking. If Gideon let slip about the cause of her accident she would have to tell Violet everything and risk upsetting her. She had to wait until she was seated next to him in the auction room before she had a chance to speak privately. Violet had gone to buy a programme and had joined a long queue. ‘Please don’t mention what happened in Liquorpond Street,’ Charity said urgently. ‘Violet is terrified of her father and with good reason. If he were to see her now there’s no knowing what he would do.’
‘I suppose there’s no chance of the baby’s father stepping up to the mark?’
‘None at all.’
‘And do you intend to support Violet and her child?’
She shot him a sideways glance, annoyed by his assumption that he could criticise her actions simply because he wore a clerical collar. ‘I think that’s my business, vicar.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, Charity. But you’re very young to have taken on such a responsibility. You have your own life to lead.’
‘I suppose you think I should abandon Violet and Dorrie.’
‘I didn’t say that. All I meant was . . .’
She silenced him with a glance. ‘They are my family now. We may not be blood-related, but we support each other. Please don’t say any more – Violet is on her way back and the sale is due to start any moment now.’
Violet sank down on the seat beside Charity and gave her the programme. ‘Isn’t it exciting? I never been to a sale before. Come to think of it I never been nowhere much. That’s what happens when you have to look after younger brothers and sisters and don’t get out and about.’
