by Dilly Court
Silently, Davy picked up his ditty bag and strode off towards the docks.
‘Oh, Davy,’ Eliza whispered. ‘I am so sorry.’ But he was too far away to hear her. Unable to face going back into the house, she decided to walk as far as the chandlery: she needed to see how the work was progressing, and it would take her mind off the tumult of emotions that raged in her breast. She would not think about love and loss now; she would concentrate on the one solid thing in her life – the shop that was her rock, and her livelihood.
She would have liked to have had a say in the rebuilding of the store, but Aaron held the purse strings and he had given Brandon the task of overseeing the project. Brandon was at the site every day, giving orders and generally making himself unpopular. Eliza knew that the men disliked him and sniggered about his blatant lack of knowledge of the practical side of building, but at least he kept them from slacking. There was just one condition that she had insisted on before she signed the contract, and that was to have Arnold and Dippy Dan hired as labourers. She could not see faithful Arnold and his invalid mother go hungry. They had taken Dan in after his father had abandoned him, and now Arnold cared for the poor, slow-witted boy as if he were his own son.
Eliza paused on the corner of Old Gravel Lane, her problems momentarily eased by the sight of four bricklayers working on the beginnings of the new walls. It was early September, and, although the fierce heat had gone out of the sun, it was still warm and pleasant and above all dry, so that the work could progress at a pleasing rate. She could see Arnold’s bare torso, glistening with sweat as he mixed cement, and Dan was helping him, or maybe hindering him. She smiled at the sight of the unlikely pair working together. Arnold seemed to have endless patience with Dan and made use of his muscle power, if not his brains. As she crossed the street, she looked up at the sound of an approaching horse’s hooves. Her heart sank as she saw Brandon riding towards her. As usual, he was impeccably dressed from his gleaming leather boots to the points of his starched shirt collar. As he drew his chestnut stallion to a halt beside her, he lifted a gloved hand to doff his top hat. ‘Miss Bragg. Good morning.’
Even more conscious of her faded, outdated mourning dress and shabby bonnet, Eliza bobbed a curtsey. ‘Good morning, Mr Miller.’ She was about to walk on, but he dismounted and leading his horse by its reins he fell into step beside her.
‘It won’t be long now and you’ll have your emporium ready for business.’
‘Yes, the builders seem to be doing a splendid job.’
‘Only because I keep them at it. Turn your back on these fellows and they’ll not only slack, but they’ll sell off materials and find no end of different ways to cheat their employer. They need a firm hand, Miss Bragg, just like a thoroughbred Arab stallion.’
‘Or a woman?’ Eliza shot him a sideways glance. She had vowed that she would not antagonise him, but somehow the words always seemed to escape from her lips before she could stop them.
Brandon stopped, eyeing her suspiciously, and then he laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have the nerve to say that to a spirited woman such as yourself.’
‘But you think it nevertheless?’ Somehow she couldn’t stop needling him. He was so cocksure of himself that Eliza wanted to prick the bubble of his self-esteem, but it seemed that she had failed again as everything she said appeared to amuse him. It was so frustrating that she would have liked to knock his top hat to the ground and stamp on it.
‘Here, boy!’ Brandon waved at Dan. ‘Hold my horse.’
Dan looked up at Arnold, who nodded his assent.
‘Handle him carefully, boy,’ Brandon said, handing over the reins. ‘Walk him up and down and have a care. That nag cost me a fortune at Tattersalls.’
As Dan led the horse up the street, Eliza turned to Brandon with an exasperated sigh. ‘Don’t you never stop boasting about your blooming money?’
A pained expression muddied his dark eyes. ‘That isn’t fair. I was just stating a point.’
‘You was boasting. You can’t forget that your dad is rich, but it doesn’t make you better than the rest of us, Brandon Miller.’
His frown dissolved into a smile. ‘You called me Brandon. That’s the first time I’ve heard you use my Christian name, Eliza. I may call you Eliza, mayn’t I?’
Shrugging her shoulders, Eliza stepped over the threshold into what would be the main shop area of the chandlery. ‘Call me what you like, Mr Miller. But I’d prefer to keep our business dealings formal.’
‘Don’t be like that, my dear. We got off on the wrong foot, but I’d like us to be friends as well as business partners.’
She turned to give him a cool look. ‘Why? Why would you want to be friends with a common girl like me? You’ve made it pretty plain what you think of the lower orders, so why bother to pretend?’
‘I’m hurt. No, I’m more than hurt that you think of me as a – a snob. I have standards it’s true, but I would never look down on a beautiful and clever young woman such as yourself.’
‘There you go again,’ Eliza said, shaking her head. ‘You can’t help it, can you? Patronising, pompous and too big for your breeches.’
‘There, you do like me. Admit it, Eliza. You find me irresistible.’
She was about to retaliate, when she saw a twinkle in his eyes. The humour behind his banter was not lost on Eliza and she managed a smile. ‘I suppose you’re not all that bad really.’
‘So we can be friends as well as business colleagues?’
‘Maybe, but only if you stop treating me like an empty-headed butterfly-brain.’
With an exaggerated gesture, Brandon crossed his heart. ‘I will, but only on the condition that you accept my father’s invitation to our home for dinner on Friday evening.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t go out much.’
‘Then you should. A pretty young – I mean a businesswoman such as yourself ought to get out socially. You would meet merchants, traders and ship owners who would be useful contacts in the commercial world.’
She had nothing to wear that was suitable for such a grand occasion. Eliza shook her head. ‘No. I’d like to, but I can’t.’
‘Of course you can. I’ll send our carriage to pick you up at seven-thirty on Friday evening. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappointment my father, now would you?’
Ada poured tea into a chipped china cup for which there was no saucer. ‘That’s only four days away, Liza. A dinner party with a lot of toffs. I wouldn’t fancy that.’
‘It’s business, Ada,’ Eliza said, taking the cup of tea and staring into the clear straw-coloured liquid. She knew very well how precious the much-used tea leaves were, but she had not wanted to offend Ada by refusing her hospitality.
‘All the same,’ Ada said, easing herself onto one of the hard wooden chairs. ‘You can’t go to a gaff like that if you ain’t got the proper duds.’
‘I know, and I can’t afford to buy nothing new, not even from the pawnbrokers or second-hand from Lumber Court down St Giles way.’
‘Huh,’ Ada said, sipping her tea. ‘All you’d get there is fleas and lice. No, we got to think of something else. I feel so bad that I can’t pay you the full rent, Liza. I’ll have to wait until next month afore I can get my allotment from the shipping company and Arthur’s still not working.’
‘He’s on the drink again?’
‘No. He’s always down the mission run by that Mr Booth these days. Mary and Millie encouraged him to go; the two of them was convinced that Mr Booth could get him off the booze.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes, dear. He’s not touched a drop for two weeks, but now he spends all his time at prayer meetings asking the Lord for help. I ain’t sure what’s worse. Neither way brings in any money.’
‘But you have enough to feed the family?’
‘We’re managing. Eddie earns a few coppers as a shoeblack, though I’d rather he attended the ragged school with Artie and Sammy. Then Mary brings us some leftovers from
the kitchen at the big house in Islington; that is when she gets her afternoon off.’ Ada paused, and her tired eyes lit up as if she had had a wonderful idea. ‘I know, we’ll ask Mary. It’s her half day tomorrow and she might be able to help you do up one of your old frocks, Liza. She’s been promoted to lady’s maid. The poor girl what had the job went down with smallpox on a visit home, and that was her done for. So Mary got the job. They say it’s an ill wind, don’t they? Anyway, I’ll send her round to see you as soon as she comes home.’
As Eliza walked home to Hemp Yard, she felt as if a big, black cloud was hanging over her, even though the sun was still shining and the heat reflecting up from the cobblestones. She doubted whether Mary would be able to help, although she hadn’t liked to say as much to Ada. She was not certain if anyone could help her out of this particular situation; she could plead illness or a sick headache, but if she did so then she would miss an opportunity to make her mark amongst the very people who would help her resurrect the business. It was at times like this that Eliza missed Bart the most. She tried not to dwell on what might have been if he had lived, but, in truth, she could not entirely believe that he was dead. In her heart, she hoped that one day he would turn up on the doorstep, grinning and telling her that reports of his untimely demise had been a terrible mistake. Then there was Freddie. It was too painful to let her thoughts dwell on what might have happened to him.
She arrived home, not in the best of spirits. Millie was sitting on a stool beside Dolly, reading to her from the Bible, although Dolly had her eyes closed and seemed to be fast asleep. Millie looked up and smiled. ‘I got home early, Liza. Sold all me flowers and made threepence. We’ll have boiled bacon and pease pudding for dinner tonight.’
‘Threepence! You did well,’ Eliza said, taking off her bonnet. ‘But I don’t like to think of you walking all the way to Covent Garden and back each day, let alone sitting outside St Paul’s in all weathers.’
‘It ain’t so bad, Liza. I don’t mind and at least it’s a good pitch. Sitting at the bottom of the steps I can hear the organ playing and watch the people going in and out. They’re a bit more generous when they come out from a holy place.’
‘It’s still not right that you should have to sell flowers on street corners.’
‘The Lord helps them what helps themselves,’ Millie said, smiling. ‘Mr Booth said that at one of the Christian Mission meetings. I’ve learnt all sorts of things there, and I get comfort from praying for Davy’s safe return.’
‘That’s another thing. I know you took Mr Little to the mission because you care for Davy and his family, but it ain’t right for you to associate with all them topers and drug addicts.’
‘You worry too much, Liza. I like singing hymns and Catherine, Mrs Booth, is thinking of starting a soup kitchen for the poor. She says I can help her and it stops me thinking about Davy all the time.’
Eliza felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she remembered the hunger of Davy’s kiss and her unexpected response. What could have possessed her to encourage him when she loved Davy only as a brother? She tried to think of something comforting to say, but Dolly stirred in her chair and opened her eyes, staring at Eliza. ‘Why are you dressed all in black like a crow, Liza?’
‘I’m in mourning for Ted.’ Eliza went to Dolly’s side and held her hand. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No dear, Ted’s working in the sail loft.’ Dolly gave her the sunniest of smiles. ‘You must be thinking of someone else. Ted will be home in a while and he’ll get my supper.’
‘Yes, Mum, of course he will.’
‘Is it time for me medicine, Liza?’
Exchanging worried glances with Millie, Eliza shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
Dolly shivered. ‘I think it is. Go and fetch Ted, tell him I want me medicine. If you can’t find Ted then get that nice man, Dr Freddie, he’ll make me up a bottle of the elixir. He knows how to make me feel better.’
Eliza patted her hand. ‘Don’t fret, Mum. I’ll get you some medicine.’ She went to the mantelshelf and took down the brown glass bottle. It was empty.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Millie said, shaking her head. ‘But we got to wean her off that stuff, it’s bad for her. Drugs come direct from the devil, that’s what Mr Booth says. Drugs and drink are both as bad as each other.’
Eliza slipped the bottle into her pocket. Sometimes she could happily go down to the mission and strangle Mr Booth. He seemed to have both Millie and Arthur permanently in his thrall. She couldn’t argue with the sense of what he was preaching, but then he didn’t have to live with Dolly, whose mind wandered at the best of times, and whose only relief came from a small, brown medicine bottle. She reached for Ted’s tobacco tin where she kept the money set aside for housekeeping. Shaking the pennies out into her hand, she repressed a sigh; the money was disappearing at an alarming rate. Dolly’s constant need for laudanum was not only worrying but it was also expensive. Eliza stared at the coins in her hand, reluctant to spend any of it on a drug that was stealing what was left of Dolly’s mind, but painfully aware of the results if she were to deprive her of her one comfort. ‘There’s nothing for it, Millie. You know what we’ll go through tonight if she don’t get her laudanum and I can’t face it.’
Millie hesitated for a moment and then she held out her hand. ‘Give me the bottle. I’ll do it, but I don’t like it.’
‘I don’t like it either, but we can’t let her suffer.’
‘I’ll go to the apothecary’s on the way back from the pie shop,’ Millie said, jingling the pennies in her hand. ‘I’m blooming starving.’
When she had gone, Eliza considered lighting the fire in the range in order to boil a kettle of water for tea, but she abandoned the idea. What little coal was left must be hoarded against the approach of autumn and bad weather. Their financial situation was dire and, whether she wanted to or not, she must attend the dinner party given by Aaron Miller. She would need all the help she could muster to get the business going before the onset of winter.
Late on Friday afternoon, Mary arrived at the house carrying a bolster case that looked as though it were about to burst its seams. She thrust it into Eliza’s arms with a nervous smile.
‘I can’t stay, Liza. Mrs Wilkins will skin me alive if she finds out I’ve left the house without her permission.’
‘Ta, Mary. I can’t thank you enough for this.’ Eliza looked inside with a gasp of pleasure. ‘What a lovely colour, and it’s real silk too.’
Millie leapt up from her seat at the table to help her extricate the shimmering folds of the evening gown. To Eliza’s astonishment, there seemed to be yards and yards of whisper-soft pink silk, trimmed with cobwebs of fine lace. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but it’s too good. I daren’t wear this, Mary.’
‘You’d better, since I risked me neck to borrow this for you. Luckily, Miss Cynthia is away in Hertfordshire staying with her grandparents and not expected back for a week. Just don’t spill anything on it, Liza. And don’t let no one near you with sticky fingers or I’ll be dead meat.’
‘Stop saying that,’ Millie said, frowning. ‘She’s nervous enough already. You got to stay a bit, Mary, and put Liza’s hair up for her because I don’t know how to do it and you do.’
Mary bit her lip, glancing at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Well, I suppose I could stay for half an hour. Sit down then, Liza. Let’s see what I can do for you.’
At precisely seven-thirty, the Millers’ coachman knocked on the door to escort Eliza to the carriage that was waiting in the main street, Hemp Yard being too narrow to allow anything longer than a donkey cart to turn around. As she walked behind the coachman, she could see faces peering at her through grimy windows. Others stood in their doorways, watching her open-mouthed. Tomorrow she would be the talk of the yard, and tongues would be wagging; the gossips would be wondering how a poor girl could afford such a gown. She could almost hear them suggesting that she was no better than sh
e should be; all done up like a dog’s dinner and going off in a private carriage. They would say there was a man at the back of it, a fancy man with money. She held her head high, concentrating on subduing the writhing snakes in her stomach. Tonight she had to make a good impression. As Eliza stepped into the Millers’ carriage, she had never felt so frightened or alone.
By the time they reached the imposing frontage of the Millers’ Queen Anne mansion, she was in two minds whether or not to plead sickness and return home. The coachman opened the door, pulled down the step and offered her his arm. She could still make her excuses. But it was too late – a liveried footman had opened the front door and Aaron was coming towards her, smiling and holding out both hands. ‘My dear Miss Eliza, you look absolutely stunning.’
She didn’t know whether to shake his hand or bob a curtsey. In the end she did both. ‘It was kind of you to invite me, Mr Miller.’
‘Come and meet my wife.’ Aaron led her into the marble entrance hall, which seemed as large at St Paul’s Cathedral to her bemused eyes. He took her into a reception room crowded with people who were all staring at her, smiling and nodding. A sea of strangers, Eliza thought, in which she might sink without trace if she were not very careful. Brandon was standing beside a woman who seemed to be the hostess and, Eliza reasoned, must be his mother. He was smiling at her, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes that made her spine stiffen and brought her chin up. She bobbed a curtsey to Mrs Miller, who seemed small and inconspicuous beside her tall, elegantly dressed son.
