The Best of Sisters

by Dilly Court

  She let herself quietly out of the house and headed in the direction of Old Gravel Lane. A cool easterly breeze tugged at her shawl and played with the ribbons on her bonnet. A pale, buttery sun was struggling to pierce the early morning autumn mist, and from the river Eliza could hear the muted moan of foghorns. Wrapping her shawl more tightly around her body, Eliza quickened her pace until she reached the chandlery. Standing on the opposite side of the street, she felt a buzz of excitement at the sight of the walls rising from the ashes. The front door and shop window were already in place, but unglazed, and the carpenters were chipping and sawing at rafters and beams for the roof. She could just see the top of Arnold’s head and no doubt Dippy Dan was near at hand helping him in whatever task they were doing at the moment. At this rate the store would be finished well before Christmas and she would be back in business. The mere thought of regaining control over her life made her spine tingle and her pulses race.

  The moment of elation passed as Eliza remembered the reason why she had come to the building site so early in the morning. She paced up and down for what seemed like an hour and was beginning to think that Brigham had either forgotten his promise or had reneged on it, when she heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels on the cobblestones. Turning her head, she saw a private carriage rounding the corner of Old Gravel Lane and the coachman drew the horses to a halt outside the chandlery. Her heart sank as Brigham Stone himself stepped out onto the pavement, a cigar clenched between his teeth and an uncompromising expression on his face.

  ‘Miss Eliza.’ Brigham strolled across the road to stand in front of her.

  He was too close for comfort and Eliza instinctively took a step backwards but she met his stern gaze, looking him in the eye and hoping that she appeared more confident than she was feeling. ‘Good morning, Mr Stone.’

  ‘You’ve caused me a lot of bother, miss.’ Brigham glared at her, chewing on his cigar. ‘I don’t usually deal with petty extortionists myself but when they’re young and pretty, I make an exception.’

  Eliza felt her hackles rise; she didn’t like the tone of his voice or the lecherous gleam in his eyes. Making a great effort, she managed to control her desire to slap his fat face. ‘I don’t want nothing but a fair recompense for the damage you caused last night, mister.’

  Moving the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, Brigham gave a derisive snort. ‘You may have looked like a young lady last night, but this morning you look like a drab and you talk like a guttersnipe. Don’t think you can compete with men of business, my dear. The only place that you’d be of interest to me is naked and in my bed.’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’ve run my business successfully for the last few years without having to crawl to men like you.’

  ‘Hoity-toity!’ Brigham spat his cigar butt onto the pavement, grinding it into the ground with the heel of his boot. ‘But I like a bit of spirit in my women.’ He slipped his hand into his inside breast pocket and pulled out a leather pouch from which he extracted two golden sovereigns. ‘Here, this will pay for a new gown.’

  Eliza held out her hand to receive the money but even as Brigham offered it to her, he closed his fingers over the coins. ‘But I expect something in return.’

  ‘What?’ Eliza heard her voice crack with anxiety and she realised that she must have shouted when she saw Arnold’s worried face peering through the window of the chandlery. She lowered her voice. ‘What do you mean? You promised me.’

  Brigham’s eyes narrowed and he pushed his face close to hers. ‘You tried to blackmail me, you little bitch.’

  ‘Anything wrong, missis?’ Arnold vaulted through the open window and was loping across the road towards them, balancing his ungainly gait by flailing his arms in a fair imitation of a windmill.

  Eliza held up her hand. She would like nothing better than for Arnold to rip Brigham Stone into little pieces but that would not serve. ‘It’s all right, Arnold. We was just discussing business.’

  Fisting his hands, Arnold let them drop to his sides, glowering at Brigham. ‘If you say so, miss.’

  ‘Best get back to work,’ Eliza said, making a huge effort to sound calm. She lowered her voice. ‘Don’t threaten me, Mr Stone. I can still go to your missis and snitch on you, so don’t think I wouldn’t do it.’

  ‘And I can tell Aaron Miller that you are a cheating little trollop who doesn’t deserve financial backing. If my friend Aaron were to demand repayment of his loan now you would be in Queer Street, my dear.’

  Eliza held out her hand. ‘I only want what’s due to me.’

  ‘I admire brass neck,’ Brigham said, dropping the coins into her palm and closing her fingers over the money. ‘But I think you’re wasting your obvious natural talents in trying to do a man’s work.’

  The implication of his words was obvious, and Eliza tried to pull her hand away but he gripped it with surprising strength, making her wince with pain. ‘Let go of me, you’re hurting.’ She attempted to prise his fingers open with her free hand, but this only seemed to amuse him. For a moment she thought she was going to have to cry out to Arnold for help, but the sound of horses’ hooves diverted Brigham’s attention. His expression changed from amused contempt to one of annoyance. He dropped Eliza’s hand as if her flesh had burnt his fingers. She looked over her shoulder and saw that it was Brandon who was almost upon them.

  He drew his horse to a halt beside them, and he dismounted with an ominous scowl contorting his handsome features. ‘What’s going on, Stone?’

  ‘Nothing to concern you, Brandon. Keep out of my affairs.’

  ‘Miss Bragg is my concern. We’re business partners in case you hadn’t realised it, so her welfare is of great interest to me.’

  Eliza stamped her foot. ‘Will you two stop talking about me as if I ain’t here?’

  There was a moment of silence as they stared at her in surprise. She could see that Brigham’s mouth was working, like a landed salmon gasping for breath on the quay wall, but she ignored him, turning her attention to Brandon. ‘Mr Stone and me was discussing a business matter and now it’s settled. I’ll bid you both good day, gentlemen. I got better things to do than stand round arguing with the likes of you.’ She stalked off with her head held high, curbing the desire to break into a run. Her heart was thundering away inside her chest like a runaway horse and, although she heard Brandon calling after her and begging her to stop, she ignored his pleas, praying inwardly that he would not follow her.

  At the point where Old Gravel Lane dissected Green Bank and King Street, she could not resist the temptation to glance over her shoulder and she saw Brigham and Brandon exchanging words. Judging by their aggressive stance, it was clear that they were not chatting about the weather, and, despite her agitated state, Eliza chuckled at the sight of them facing each other like a pair of angry turkeycocks. With the gold sovereigns clasped tightly in her hand she headed home, but Brigham’s savage words kept repeating in her brain. ‘You may have looked like a young lady last night, but this morning you look like a drab and you talk like a guttersnipe.’ It was true that she spoke the cockney dialect, as did all the ordinary folk in this part of London, but last night when she was with the more gentrified merchants and their wives, Eliza had realised that the social gap between them was vast, if not unbridgeable. She might put on fine clothes and have the looks of a lady, but when she opened her mouth she knew that she immediately placed herself firmly in the lower social class. As she opened the door to the house in Hemp Yard, Eliza couldn’t help comparing it with the fine mansion owned by Aaron Miller. She knew now that if she wanted to be taken seriously by the likes of the Millers, Brigham Stone and Silas Granger, then simply knowing her trade was not enough; she would have to learn to speak and act like a lady.

  ‘Oh, Liza, where have you been?’ Millie came rushing towards her as soon as Eliza opened the front door. ‘Dolly’s out of her head and rambling even worse than usual and there’s no lauda
num left in the bottle. I can’t calm her down and I couldn’t go to the market to buy me flowers because I daren’t leave her. Thank goodness you’ve come home.’

  From upstairs, Eliza could hear Dolly wailing and sobbing. She was calling for her mother and for Ted in a piteous, child-like voice. Uncurling her fingers, Eliza stared down at the gold coins that had left red indentations in the palm of her hand. All the gold in the world would not bring back Ted and Bart, nor could it cure the madness that was slowly taking Dolly away from them.

  ‘Please, Liza,’ Millie entreated, with tears running down her cheeks. ‘Do something. You got to do something to help her.’

  Eliza nodded wordlessly and going to the mantelshelf she took a penny from the tin and handed it to Millie. ‘Run to the apothecary shop and get a penn’orth of laudanum. We can’t let her go on like this or she’ll do herself harm.’

  Millie hesitated. ‘But Catherine Booth says we shouldn’t give her drugs. They’ll destroy her.’

  ‘The brain fever is destroying her. Either way we’ll lose her in the end and I’d rather she went happy than in a dreadful state.’ Wiping Millie’s tears away with the tips of her fingers, Eliza kissed her on the forehead. ‘Go on, love. I dunno what else we can do for her.’

  Millie nodded and sniffed. ‘I’m going, but what about the dress that Mary borrowed from Miss Cynthia? What’ll we do about that, Liza?’

  ‘I’ll take it back to Mary and see if we can sort something out. Now, please, get the stuff for Dolly before she brings the whole street in.’

  *

  It was well past midday by the time Eliza arrived at the silk merchant’s house in Islington, a mid-terrace Georgian house in a square that had once been select but was beginning to look a little run-down and seedy. She glanced up at the soot-blackened façade, hoping that no one in the family had seen her arrive carrying a suspiciously fat bolster case. The tall, small-paned windows stared blindly back at her and there was no sign of movement behind them. With a sigh of relief, Eliza hurried down the area steps to the tradesmen’s entrance. A skinny child, who could not have been more than eight or nine, opened the door, staring blankly at her.

  ‘I’ve come to see Mary Little,’ Eliza said firmly.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Then perhaps you could ask inside?’

  The girl disappeared into the depths of the kitchen and a waft of steamy air laced with the smell of boiling beef and onions caught Eliza in the face making her catch her breath. Moments later, Mary came hurrying into the narrow passage and her face lit with a smile. ‘Eliza. You’ve brought it back. Come inside.’

  ‘Mary, there was a bit of an accident.’ Pulling back the bolster cover, Eliza uncovered the wine stain. ‘I’m so sorry. But I got enough money to make the damage good.’

  ‘Oh Gawd!’ Mary’s pale skin blanched to ashen. ‘What’ll I do? Miss Cynthia is coming home in three days’ time.’

  Eliza opened her mouth to suggest that a good dressmaker might be able to fashion a copy, but someone was coming down the area steps and she hid the bolster case behind her back just as Arthur arrived in the doorway. He pushed past her without seeming to notice her presence.

  ‘Dad! You was told not to come here again.’ Mary barred the way as he headed for the kitchen. ‘Cook said she’d take a ladle to your skull if you come begging again.’

  ‘Come now, daughter. I’m on a mission for God, collecting food for the poor.’

  Eliza laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘Mr Little, maybe this isn’t the best time or place.’

  Arthur peered at her and then his lined faced cracked into a smile. ‘Gawd’s strewth, Eliza. I hardly recognised you.’

  ‘You don’t recognise no one, Dad,’ Mary said. ‘You was so sozzled all the time that you hardly knew your own family.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Arthur said, dragging off his cap and clutching it to his chest. ‘I was a sinner and a drunkard, but now I’ve seen the light and I’m working for the Lord.’

  ‘Dad, if you go in there and start begging for food, cook will take it out on me and I’ll lose me job.’

  ‘The Lord will provide,’ Arthur said, lifting Mary out of his way.

  ‘He won’t find me another job if I loses this one.’ Mary cast a beseeching look at Eliza. ‘Say something, Liza.’

  ‘Mr Little. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get Mary into trouble.’

  Arthur stared at her beneath lowered eyebrows. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then, with respect, Mr Little, why don’t you try another house? One with a more Christian attitude to the poor and needy.’ Eliza dropped the bundle on the floor and slipped her hand through Arthur’s arm.

  ‘That’s right, Dad. You won’t get nothing from cook, she’s a mean old so-and-so.’ Mary lowered her voice. ‘And she’s a Catholic.’

  ‘But I was promised some boiled beef and carrots,’ Arthur protested as Mary and Eliza urged him towards the outer door. ‘And some taters.’

  ‘And a slap with a ladle too, don’t forget,’ Mary said, pushing him out into the area. ‘Dad, if you go back to the mission now, I promise to come round this evening and help with the soup kitchen, and whatever else Catherine has for me to do. Just go now, please.’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘Mr Booth said the path of righteousness wouldn’t be easy. Now I got an ungrateful child telling me what to do.’

  ‘Consider it a test of your faith, Dad.’

  Arthur went up the steps grumbling, with Mary pushing him from behind. Eliza snatched up the bolster case and followed them. At the top he paused, refusing to go any further. He fell to his knees and began praying in a booming voice that echoed round the square.

  Eliza held her breath. They were already attracting unwanted attention from passers-by. If anyone from the house came out to see what the noise was all about, they would be discovered in possession of Miss Cynthia’s ruined gown. Then there would be real trouble.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Please go away, Dad,’ Mary begged. ‘Try another house in the square if you must, but please keep away from the Wilkins family or I’ll lose me job. After all, it’s not as if you’re bringing any money into our house, is it? Mum has to depend on us kids to keep food on the table.’

  ‘Ungrateful child!’ Arthur’s voice boomed out across the square, sending a host of sparrows chattering up into the trees. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’

  Eliza laid her hand on his arm, speaking in what she hoped was a soothing voice. ‘Is that from the Bible, Mr Little?’

  Arthur beamed at her. ‘Shakespeare, my dear Eliza. King Lear if I remember right. I was an educated man until the drink done for me. I was destined to be a lawyer’s clerk, but I got into bad company and bad habits and I had to find menial work on the river. But now I’ve seen the light and I’m joining the army of God along with Mr Booth. I repent of my sins. I am a changed man.’ Striding off down the street, Arthur announced his conversion to passers-by and the world at large, getting some very funny looks, so Eliza thought. She was relieved when he disappeared down the area steps of a house on the other side of the square.

  ‘Oh my Gawd,’ Mary said with feeling. ‘I think I preferred the old man when he was swipey. At least you knew where you was then.’

  ‘Never mind that, Mary, we’re still in trouble,’ Eliza said. ‘Do you know a good dressmaker who could make a copy of Miss Cynthia’s gown?’

  ‘The dress! I’d almost forgotten, what with the old man going on and on about God and such. As it happens I was going to the dressmaker this morning to collect a couple of Miss Cynthia’s gowns that had to have the seams let out. The greedy cow never stops eating and she’ll end up as fat as her mother if she ain’t careful.’

  ‘Never mind Miss Cynthia. Where is this person?’

  ‘She lives quite near. I dunno what she’ll say about the wine stains, though. We might have to grease her palm a bit to keep her mouth
shut.’

  Half an hour later they were in the dressmaker’s squalid basement room. Mrs Dunne squinted at the damage through a spiral of tobacco smoke rising from a clay pipe clamped between her teeth. The room was dark with just a chink of light from the top of the barred window, and smoke hung in wreaths around the beams. Eliza wondered how much Mrs Dunne could see in this poor light and, with sparks of lighted tobacco erupting from the bowl of the pipe, it seemed like a miracle that she had not set the house afire, or at the very least burnt holes in her work.

  Mrs Dunne shook her head, grinding her teeth on the stem of the pipe. ‘Ruined!’