by Dilly Court
Bart hammered on the door knocker and, eventually, Enoch stuck his head out of an upstairs window, his nightcap askew and his face contorted with rage. ‘Who’s that there, pounding on my door at this time of night?’
‘Let us in, old man.’
‘Get away from here, you bastard. I don’t want to know you.’
‘If you don’t open the door, I’ll kick it in.’
‘No need for that.’ Enoch disappeared into the room, slamming the sash so that the glass windowpanes rattled. Seconds later he opened the door. ‘Come inside before someone recognises you.’
The entrance hall was little more than a narrow passage. Enoch led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house. Eliza had been in the dingy room just once before, five years ago, on the day that her father had been buried beside her mother in St George’s churchyard. She saw now that nothing had changed, from the rusting range to the unwashed flagstone floor and the grimy, small-paned window that looked out onto the back yard.
‘I ought to turn you over to the police,’ Enoch said, scowling at Bart. ‘What are you doing here, you villain?’
‘I may be a villain in the eyes of the law, but I wouldn’t treat a dog like you treated me little sister. I won’t have it no longer, old man.’ Bart took a threatening step towards Enoch, who backed away seizing a wooden chair and holding it in front of him.
‘Lay a finger on me and I’ll see you hanged. You’ll end up in Newgate, Bartholomew Bragg. You see if you don’t.’
Despite his harsh words, Eliza could see by the way his eyes rolled, exposing the whites, and his mouth worked constantly, even when he was not speaking, that Uncle Enoch was terrified.
‘That’s right,’ Bart said, snatching the chair from Enoch and hurling it across the room. ‘I’ll probably end up on the gallows, so I’ve got nothing to lose, and wringing your skinny old neck ain’t going to make a scrap of difference.’
‘Leave me be.’ Enoch sank to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him and closing his eyes, as if he were in church, praying.
‘You leave Eliza be.’ Grabbing Enoch by the throat, Bart dragged him to his feet. ‘I’m dead serious. I’ll be gone by daybreak, far away from England and far from you, old man. But I got to be certain that my Eliza is being looked after.’
‘She will be, I promise.’ Enoch’s face had turned grey-white, matching the colour of his nightshirt.
‘She’s to be fed and housed decent. She’s to be clothed and shod like a young lady and I don’t want her treated like a skivvy. Do you understand me?’
‘I – I do.’
‘I want you to swear on the Bible that you’re so fond of thrusting down our throats. Come on, old man, where is it? You must have one.’
‘Over there.’ Enoch pointed to a wooden shelf in the alcove at the side of the chimneybreast.
‘Fetch it, Liza, and put it in his hand.’
Eliza did as she was told, eyeing her uncle warily, half expecting him to leap up and throttle Bart, but seemingly he was genuinely fearful, and he clutched the Bible to his chest.
‘Swear on it. Swear that you’ll care for Eliza just as though she was your own daughter. Promise me you’ll let her live here, in your house, and that you’ll make the place decent.’
‘I – I swear it.’
‘Bart.’ Eliza tugged at his sleeve. ‘Don’t make me live here with him.’
Enoch scrambled to his feet, still clutching the Bible. ‘No, she wouldn’t be comfortable here. This isn’t a good place for a little girl to live.’
‘You’d best see to it then. Find her some lodgings with a respectable family. If you don’t, I swear I’ll come back and cut out your black heart and feed it to the crows.’ Bart held his hand out to Eliza. ‘Come on, Liza, we’re going back to the shop just for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be housed like a young lady. Ain’t that right, Uncle?’
‘That’s right,’ Enoch mumbled through chattering teeth. ‘That’s right. Now get out of here and don’t let anyone see you leave.’
Bart left before daybreak. Eliza managed to see him off with a smile and only broke down into floods of tears when he had disappeared from sight. She had never felt so lost and alone and, if it were possible for a twelve-year-old heart to break, then she was certain hers had shattered into smithereens. As the first grey shards of dawn filtered through the skylight, she set about tidying the sail loft before Ted and the apprentices arrived. Bart had refused to sleep in the shop and had laid the palliasses side by side, just as they had always been. In spite of this, Eliza knew that he had not slept much at all; she had awakened several times to hear him pacing the floor, but each time she had drifted back into a sleep of sheer exhaustion. Having left the sail loft clean and without a trace of having been used, Eliza set about cleaning the shop floor, dusting and tidying the counter ready for opening.
Enoch arrived on the stroke of seven and, as she let him into the shop, Eliza glanced up at him nervously, wondering what sort of mood he was in this morning. As he strode past her, his face was pale and tight with anger. At first he did not speak and she found his silence more frightening than a tirade of words. She stood, shifting from one foot to the other, while he went behind the counter and took down the stock book.
She licked her dry lips. ‘Wh-what do you want me to do next, Uncle?’
Enoch looked at her for the first time, his brows knotted together over the bridge of his nose. ‘Come here, girl.’
She hesitated, eyeing him warily.
‘You set Bart on me by telling lies, I know very well you did.’ Unbuckling his leather belt, he doubled it up, slapping it against the palm of his hand. ‘You need a lesson in respect for your elders. I can’t have you turning out bad like your brother. Come here.’
‘No! I won’t. You can’t beat me for nothing. You promised Bart you’d look after me. You swore on the Bible.’
‘Insolent child!’ Before she had a chance to escape, Enoch caught Eliza by the scruff of her neck, forcing her to bend over a pile of coiled rope. He brought the belt down across her backside with such force that the air exploded from her lungs in a howl of pain. Again and again he thrashed her until she fell, half-fainting, to the floor. Dimly, she heard the door open and the sound of chattering voices that ceased abruptly.
‘Gawd’s strewth, man. You’ve half killed the poor little sod.’ Ted’s voice was harsh with rage as he lifted Eliza up in his arms. ‘Fetch some water, Davy.’
‘Leave her be,’ Enoch snarled. ‘She’s a limb of Satan and she deserved every last lash of my belt.’
‘I’ve never even beaten me apprentices with such viciousness, and some of them deserved a lot worse. Why, Eliza’s nothing more than a child and a girl at that. Call yourself a good Christian man, Enoch Bragg. I’d say it was Satan that had got into you.’
‘Her brother is a murderer. Bartholomew Bragg is a cold-blooded killer who attacked an innocent man and sent him to his grave. He is a bastard in the true sense of the word and they’ve both got tainted blood. It’ll be the workhouse for her before the day is over.’
‘You’d do that to your own kith and kin?’ Ted set Eliza gently down on her feet, supporting her with his arm around her waist.
‘She’s no kin of mine. I’m washing my hands of her as from today.’
Eliza leaned against Ted, too bruised and sore to take in the enormity of Uncle Enoch’s words. This was a nightmare: it couldn’t be happening. She felt Ted’s arm tighten around her and he shook his fist in Enoch’s face. ‘You’re an evil old codger, and no mistake.’
‘Bah! You’re a soft-hearted old fool.’ Enoch spat the words as he retreated behind the counter.
Davy came running in from the yard, carrying a mug of water. ‘Here, Liza, take a sip of this.’
Wetting her dry lips, Eliza managed to drink some of the cool water. ‘Ta, Davy.’
‘He’s a brute,’ Davy whispered. ‘My old man ain’t as bad as that, even when he’s boozed up.’
‘Get to your work.’ Enoch pointed a shaking finger at Ginger, Carrots and Dippy Dan who were standing in the doorway open-mouthed. ‘Get up that ladder, you’re cluttering up my shop. And that goes for you too, Peck. I’ll thank you to mind your own business.’
Ted squared up to Enoch, sticking out his chin. ‘I’m making it my business, Enoch Bragg. You’re not fit to look after a dog, let alone a child. Never mind what her brother has done.’ He turned to Davy. ‘You know where I live, boy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I’m trusting you to take Eliza to my house. Tell my wife that she’ll be staying with us for a while. Mrs Peck will take care of her.’
‘Come on, Liza,’ Davy said, ignoring Enoch’s protests and taking her by the hand. ‘It ain’t too far to walk.’
She cast an anxious glance at her uncle, waiting for him to say something, but he turned his head away and opened the ledger. Too stunned to speak, Eliza allowed Davy to lead her out of the shop into the sunshine.
The Pecks lived in a terraced, red-brick cottage in Hemp Yard, a small court off Green Bank, built in the shadow of the huge warehouses that surrounded the London Dock and its basin. Davy hammered on the door until Mrs Peck opened it, peering out from beneath a starched, white cotton mobcap and blinking like a dormouse awakened from its long winter sleep. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me, Davy Little, and I’ve brought Eliza Bragg with me. The boss says she’s to stay with you awhile and you’ll know what to do for her. Old bugger Bragg has beaten her something cruel.’
‘Watch your language, my boy.’ Dolly Peck squinted short-sightedly at Eliza. ‘Are you Tom Bragg’s daughter?’
Eliza nodded. The sun was beating down on her sore back and she was beginning to feel sick. Her knees were trembling so that she could hardly stand, and she clutched at the doorpost for support.
‘Bring her in, boy. Don’t keep her standing on the pavement.’
‘I’d best get back, missis,’ Davy said, helping Eliza into the living room. ‘You’ll be all right here, Liza. I’ll come and see you when I’ve finished work.’
For a moment, Eliza clung to his hand, but she knew he would get into trouble if he took too long. She managed a wobbly smile. ‘Ta, Davy. I’m all right, I am really.’
‘That’s the ticket.’ He gave her a cheery wink as he went out into the street, closing the door behind him.
‘Well then, Miss Eliza, let’s have a look at you.’ Dolly picked up a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles and put them on. Her eyes looked enormous through the thick lenses and her jaw dropped as she peered at Eliza. ‘That man ought to be horsewhipped. Take off your blouse while I go out and get some water and clean linen.’
Eliza had to bite her lip so that she did not cry out as Dolly bathed her back with warm water from the kettle. ‘Wicked, wicked man,’ she said, tut-tutting and shaking her head. ‘You poor little thing. You must stay here with us for as long as you like.’
‘I don’t want to be no trouble, missis.’
Taking off her specs, Dolly blinked and wiped her eyes. ‘If my Ted says you’re to stay here, then stay you shall.’ She put the bowl aside and picked up Eliza’s torn, bloodstained blouse. ‘This is past repair. I’ll find you something to wear and Ted can send Davy round with the rest of your things later.’
‘That’s all I have,’ Eliza whispered. ‘I ain’t got nothing but what I stand up in. Uncle Enoch says no one needs more than one set of clothes; anything else is greed and vanity.’
‘Well, I’d like to say a few choice words to Mr Enoch Bragg, the old skinflint. Never you mind that, dearie. I was feeling quite poorly this morning; could hardly drag meself from me bed, but now I’m so downright cross with your uncle that all me aches and pains has quite disappeared. Come upstairs to the bedroom, my dear. I’m sure I can find something that will fit you.’ Getting to her feet, Dolly went towards the staircase, bumping into a chair on the way. ‘Drat, who moved that chair?’
‘Why don’t you keep your spectacles on, Mrs Peck?’ Eliza stared curiously at Dolly, momentarily forgetting her pain and discomfort.
‘I don’t need them, dear. Just for close work. My Ted always said I had a fine pair of eyes, the colour of the sky in summer,’ Dolly said, tripping over the bottom step. ‘I really don’t need to wear specs.’
At the top of the narrow staircase there were two bedrooms, of which Dolly’s was the larger, looking down onto the street. Eliza gazed round the room with a gasp of pleasure. She had lived in the sail loft for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a proper house. The scent of lavender and clean linen brought back distant memories of the home she had once shared with her dad and Bart, and a lump to her throat. One day, Eliza thought, clasping her hands together, I will have a bedroom just like this and all to meself. She made an effort to memorise every detail, from the iron bedstead draped with a patchwork quilt, to the pine washstand with its china jug and bowl, patterned with red cabbage roses. Above the bed there was a framed picture of Queen Victoria, looking rather bored but extremely regal. Floral print curtains hung at the windows and a rag rug made a pool of bright colour on floorboards that had been scrubbed white, like boiled beef bone.
Seemingly unaware of the emotions that her simply furnished room had stirred in Eliza’s heart, Dolly opened a wall cupboard and had begun sorting through the garments. She selected a cotton blouse that must have once been white, but was now yellowed with age. It was several sizes too large for Eliza, but tied in at the waist with a piece of coloured ribbon, it did not look too bad; at least that was what Dolly said and Eliza was happy to believe her. Having tut-tutted again at the state of Eliza’s bare feet, Dolly said they would have to buy her a proper pair of boots. Mr Peck would have to cough up the money, whether he liked it or not.
‘Now this will be your room,’ Dolly said, as she squeezed past Eliza. She went out onto the landing and opened a door that led into a boxroom, empty except for a truckle bed. She heaved a sigh. ‘This was to be the room for our babies when they come, but the Lord never saw fit to bless us with children.’
A wave of dizziness swept over Eliza and she leaned against the lintel, wincing as the wood pressed on her sore back.
‘Perhaps you’d better lie down for a bit,’ Dolly said, pointing to the bed. ‘Lie on your tummy, dear, and it won’t hurt so much.’ She felt her way along the wall to the top of the stairs and went slowly down, hanging on to the banister for dear life. Eliza sat on the bed watching her. She couldn’t help feeling that Mrs Peck really ought to wear her specs, or one day she would have a terrible fall.
‘Well, what are we to do with you?’ Ted drained his glass of small beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Having finished his supper of boiled bacon and pease pudding, he pushed his chair back from the table. ‘How old are you, Eliza, my dear?’
‘Twelve, sir.’
‘She’s just a baby,’ Dolly said, reaching out to clasp Ted’s hand. ‘Let me keep her by me for a while? It gets lonely with you out at work and me being a poor invalid, and not able to go out.’
Ted patted her hand. ‘I know, ducks, but Eliza’s old enough to work and I’m not a rich man. Bragg says he don’t want her back and I can’t afford to keep her if she don’t pay her way.’
‘I’m used to working,’ Eliza said stoutly. She had eaten a whole plateful of bacon and pease pudding and, although her back was still smarting and the bruises were sore, she was already feeling much better. ‘I’m used to hard work. I done me bit ever since I left school two years ago, and I studies me books of a night, when it’s light enough for me to see the print.’
‘Please, Ted. At least let her stay at home until the cuts on her back heal. I can teach her to sew and together we can make her a new frock; she’ll need some proper clothes if she’s to get a job.’
‘It was sewing that ruined your eyes, Dolly.’ Rising to his feet, Ted took a tobacco pouch and a pipe from the mantelshelf. ‘You was the best seamstress i
n Wapping until your sight failed.’
‘I can see perfectly well,’ Dolly said, pouting. ‘If Eliza has a talent for sewing, maybe we could get her apprenticed to a seamstress. It’s a nice clean job and she could work from home.’
Ted sat down again and began filling his pipe with tobacco. ‘Sewing shirts for twopence-halfpenny a time and weakening her eyes working by candlelight? I think we can do better for our new daughter, Dolly, for that’s how I shall think of Eliza from this day onwards.’
Why they were being so kind to her, Eliza did not know. She looked from one smiling face to the other, and her heart felt as though it would burst with gratitude at such unaccustomed and warm-hearted treatment. She was barely able to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. She had always thought that Ted Peck was a stern old man, not much better than Uncle Enoch, but now seeing him at home, relaxed and smoking his pipe, talking kindly to his wife, Eliza thought he must be the nicest man in the world, apart from Bart of course.
She must do all she could to help these wonderful people. She jumped up and began clearing the supper dishes from the table. In the scullery there was a bench with a wooden tub for washing the dishes, and wall shelves on which to stack the clean crockery. As she worked, Eliza thought once more how nice it would be to have a home just like this. Maybe, when Bart had made his fortune in the goldfields, they could afford a house in Anchor Street or Red Lion Street. She could imagine Bart sitting at his own table, smoking a pipe of tobacco just like Ted, having eaten a splendid meal that she had cooked for them on their own range. If Bart found a lot of gold, they might even be able to afford gaslight instead of candles.
