by Dilly Court
‘Yes, we know that,’ Eliza said, making an effort to curb her impatience. ‘But can you do anything in three days? It’s a matter of great urgency.’
Mrs Dunne gave her a sideways glance, her small eyes gleaming. ‘And what if Miss Cynthia was to find out? I daresay there’d be a bit of a fuss.’
‘Yes, a bit of a fuss,’ agreed Mary. ‘I’d lose me job and worse. Can you do anything, missis?’
‘I might, but it would cost you.’
‘I can pay,’ Eliza said, fingering the coins in her pocket. ‘How much did you have in mind?’
Taking the pipe from her mouth and drawing air through her teeth with a hissing sound, Mrs Dunne gave Eliza a sly look. ‘How much you got, dearie?’
‘Tell me first what you can do.’
‘Me? I can do anything with a needle and thread. A true professional I am. And, as it happens, I made this gown for Miss Cynthia and there’s a bit of the same silk left that might just make a new bodice.’
Mary shot her a suspicious glance. ‘You crafty old mare, I bet you charged Mrs Wilkins for the full yardage.’
‘Perks of the trade, dearie,’ Mrs Dunne replied, seemingly unbothered. ‘I couldn’t do the job for less than two guineas.’
‘Too much,’ Eliza said, shaking her head. ‘Fifteen shillings and that’s being generous.’
‘Fifteen shillings? Come on, dearie, have a heart. I’m a poor widow woman trying to make an honest living.’
‘Yes, and you diddled Mrs Wilkins out of the price of a couple of yards of silk, so the material ain’t going to cost you nothing.’
Mrs Dunne shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s me expertise you’re paying for. One pound fifteen and that’s my last offer.’
Eliza picked up the ruined dress, taking a step towards the door. ‘I’m sure I can find another dressmaker to do it for less.’
‘Ah, but not one with the exact matching piece of silk and the skilful hands to make it right. After all, Mr Wilkins, being a silk merchant, he’s going to know the difference between good and shoddy material.’ Mrs Dunne picked up her pipe and sucked on it. Angling her head, she stared pointedly at Eliza’s shabby dress. ‘Tell you what. You seem like a young woman what’s got her head screwed on right, even if you do look like a ragbag. Give us one pound fifteen and I’ll throw in a dress and shawl what was made, and paid for, but the young lady went and died of smallpox and had no need of said garments. She was about your size, before she passed away, that is.’
Before Eliza could answer, Mrs Dunne hobbled over to a bed in the corner of the room that was piled with garments, and after rummaging around for a while she pulled out a dress and a shawl. ‘Here, you can try this on and see if it fits, but I got a good eye and I can tell you for nothing that it will look as if it was made for you.’
Fingering the fine poplin, Eliza felt a sensual shiver run down her spine. The deep, ultramarine colour was rich and vibrant, quite unlike anything she had ever possessed in her life. The high collar, bell-shaped sleeves and skirt cunningly drawn flat over the stomach and full at the back was made in the latest fashion. A gown like this would have cost all of one pound ten, more than a week’s wages for a working man, and it would be just the right garment to wear when she wanted to make an impression on cynical businessmen.
‘She died of the smallpox,’ Mary whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t touch it, Liza.’
‘Would I risk catching the foul disease?’ demanded Mrs Dunne, knocking the bowl of her pipe on the sole of her boot and scattering ash on the flagstones. ‘No, the poor lady never had it on her back, not after the final fitting, and she was as fit as a fiddle then.’
Eliza stared at the garment, struggling with her conscience. The dress was too elegant for a girl from Hemp Yard: with money so short, every penny counted. She ought to haggle and get a cheaper rate for repairing Miss Cynthia’s gown, never mind treating herself to such an extravagance. She closed her eyes, holding the fabric to her cheek and imagining how she would look wearing such a fine gown. ‘All right,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘And the shawl?’ Mrs Dunne held up a cobweb of finely crocheted, silvery-blue wool. ‘It’d match your eyes.’
Nodding her head, Eliza held out her hand but Mrs Dunne whipped the shawl away, holding it behind her back. ‘Another half-crown for the shawl.’
‘But we agreed on one pound fifteen shillings for both.’ Biting back tears of disappointment, Eliza shook her head. ‘Keep the shawl then.’
‘It’s a lovely piece of work and would finish off the outfit a treat. I’m robbing meself but give us an extra shilling and it’s yours.’ Mrs Dunne stroked the soft woollen material as if it were a small kitten. ‘Just an extra shilling, that’s all.’
The temptation was too great and Eliza snatched it from her. ‘All right, I’ll take it.’
With her new gown and shawl wrapped in a piece of butter muslin, Eliza followed Mary up the area steps to street level.
‘I got to get these duds back to the house,’ Mary said, peering over the top of her bundle. ‘Tell Millie I expects I’ll see her at the mission tonight. It’s not my idea of a high old time but then I ain’t as good a person as she is. Anyway, I promised the old man I’d go, so I’d better turn up.’
Eliza frowned. ‘I think she’s spending too much time with those drug addicts and boozers. She should be mixing with people of her own age.’
‘She misses Davy. She misses him an awful lot but she knows he’s sweet on you, Liza. It’s hard for her.’
‘She’s only sixteen; she’ll change her mind half a dozen times before she meets the man she’ll settle down with.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. As to the mission, why don’t you come tonight and see for yourself? I’m sure you’d like Mrs Booth, she’s a real lady.’
‘Maybe, I’ll think about it.’
Having said goodbye, Eliza set off for Hemp Yard with Mary’s words still echoing in her mind. She had been so quick to pass Millie’s feelings for Davy off as an adolescent infatuation, but she remembered only too well the intensity of her feelings for Freddie when she had been a similar age: feelings that surfaced all too often and had not abated with the passage of time or enforced separation. Sometimes it was almost possible to imagine that she had put all that behind her, but the mere glimpse of a man with hair the colour of burnished bronze, the scent of cinnamon and sassafras, or a certain tone of voice could bring the emotions flooding back. The acute pain had passed but all the memories lingered on, playing over and over in her brain like the strains of a sad, sweet song. Even though she might never see Freddie again, Eliza knew that she would never forget him. She made up her mind to be more sympathetic to Millie’s feelings for Davy.
Hugging the precious bundle to her breast, Eliza hurried homeward, trying to imagine what she would look like in such an elegant gown. Her visit to the Millers’ opulent mansion had opened her eyes to a whole new world of wealth and luxury and, for the first time in her life, she was conscious of her own humble circumstances. Aaron had been kind and had treated her with respect, unlike his son, who seemed to think that she did not mind being slobbered over without a by your leave. Well, she did mind. She had been shocked and offended by his action, but Eliza could not quite forget the sensation that his kiss had aroused in her breast. It was Brigham Stone’s cruel words that still rankled; he had called her a cheating little trollop and he had said that she spoke like a guttersnipe. He had propositioned her, even though he had made it clear that she was beneath him in every way. Eliza strode through the streets of Islington, heading south towards Wapping with her head held high. She would show those men who thought she was cheap and inferior. She would become a lady of business, and she would learn to dress and speak properly so that she could deal with the likes of Brigham Stone and Aaron Miller on equal terms. When she had her chandlery up and running again she would make a tidy profit. She would be successful and earn the respect of all the men who had looked on her as
a slip of a girl with little brain and no determination. She would work hard to make a good life, not only for herself, but also for Dolly and Millie, and she would see that no harm came to Ada and the nippers while Davy was away at sea.
Eliza was tired by the time she reached Hemp Yard; her feet were sore and she could feel blisters popping up on her heels where her boots had rubbed. She paused for a moment, with her hand on the latch, glancing over her shoulder at the narrow street festooned with lines of washing. This was home, her place of safety, and inside the house were the people she loved. She was instantly ashamed of wanting more. She opened the door and went inside. Dolly was fast asleep in her chair and Ada was kneeling by the range, attempting to coax flames from a couple of lumps of coal.
Eliza set her bundle down on the table. ‘Where’s Millie?’
Ada looked up and her face creased into deep crevices of worry. ‘What happened at the Wilkins’s house? Did Mary get into trouble?’
‘No need to worry, we got it sorted out.’ Eliza paused, frowning. ‘But why are you here, Ada? I left Millie to look after Dolly.’
Ada scrambled to her feet. ‘I come round earlier to see if I was needed today. Millie was fretting about losing a day’s money, so I said I’d stay with Dolly while she went off to the market.’
Dolly opened her eyes and sat bolt upright. ‘Is that you, Ted?’
‘She’s had one of her bad days,’ Ada whispered. ‘Keeps asking for Ted and getting upset when he don’t come. I give her a spoonful of laudanum, but it seems the more she has, the more she wants.’
‘It’s all right, Ada,’ Eliza said, taking off her bonnet and shawl and laying them on a chair. ‘You go on home and I’ll see to her.’
‘I’ll do that, ducks. And thanks for sorting things out for my Mary.’
‘It was nothing, really.’ Eliza couldn’t look Ada in the eye as her tender conscience gave her a mighty jab. She had put Mary’s job in jeopardy, and she had purchased a gown for herself at a price that would have fed the Little family for a week. She longed to rush upstairs and try it on, but respect for Ada made her hold back. She doubted if Ada had ever owned a garment or a pair of boots that had not come second-hand from a dolly shop or a market stall.
‘Well, don’t look so glum, Liza,’ Ada said with a weary smile. ‘I’m sure you done your best.’
‘Is that you, Liza?’ Dolly reached for her spectacles. ‘It is you. What have you got there?’
Eliza shook her head. ‘Just an old dress, Mum.’
‘Let’s see it then.’ Ada’s eyes brightened. ‘It’s time you had something decent to wear, Liza.’
Reluctantly, Eliza pulled the dress from the butter muslin wrapping and held it up for them to see.
‘I had a dress that colour once,’ Dolly said, sighing. ‘Ted says it makes me eyes look like cornflowers.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Ada clasped her hands together, her eyes shining. ‘Go and put it on, Liza. Let’s see how you look in it.’
‘And fetch my blue gown too,’ Dolly said, giggling. ‘I’ll dress up for Ted when he comes back from work. He likes me in blue, with ribbons in me hair. I were dressed like that when he took me to tea at Buckingham Palace. Her majesty said I looked a real treat, she did.’
Eliza hesitated, but Ada gave her an encouraging smile.
‘Don’t mind her, ducks. I’ll keep her company while you try on that lovely dress.’
Minutes later, Eliza came slowly down the stairs, treading carefully so that she did not trip over the hem of the gown, which was several inches too long, but otherwise fitted perfectly.
Ada held up her hands and although she was smiling, her eyes were misted with tears. ‘You look so beautiful, Liza. I could cry at the sight of you.’
‘Here, take it off,’ Dolly said, removing her specs and throwing them on the floor. ‘That’s my dress, Eliza. The one I wore to tea at the palace. Did I ever tell you about that? We had jam sandwiches and seed cake. Strawberry jam it were and I can still taste it. There’s a stain on the skirt, you can’t miss it.’
‘I’d better go up and change,’ Eliza said, gathering up the voluminous skirts. ‘I’m just upsetting her all over again.’
‘Tell me about her majesty,’ Ada said, going to sit beside Dolly and taking hold of her hand. ‘What did she say to you then, Dolly?’
Eliza made for the stairs but the sound of the front door being flung open made her spin around in time to see Millie stagger into the living room and collapse on the nearest chair. Ragged skeins of blood ran from her nose and there were livid scratches on both cheeks. Her shawl was torn almost in two and her blouse was ripped from shoulder to waist, exposing the swell of her firm young breasts above her stays.
‘Millie, what happened?’ Forgetting all about her new gown, Eliza rushed over to her, tripping over the long skirts in her hurry. She put her arms round Millie’s trembling shoulders and hugged her. ‘There, there, don’t cry, love.’
Ada leapt to her feet, covering her mouth with her hands. ‘Who done that to you?’
‘It were the flower women. They ganged up on me when I tried to set up a pitch at the bottom of the steps outside St Paul’s.’
Dolly let out a wail and began to sob, rocking backwards and forwards in her chair.
‘That’s terrible,’ Eliza said, stroking Millie’s hair back from her face. ‘Why did they do such a dreadful thing?’
‘They was a new lot that I hadn’t seen afore. They said I was queering their pitch. Said I didn’t belong there. Told me to push off and not to come back. They stamped all me flowers into the ground and I’d not sold a one. I’m s-sorry, Liza.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, dear. I should never have let you go in the first place.’
‘I’ll fetch a cold compress for your nose,’ Ada said, hurrying into the scullery.
Dolly stopped crying, and leaned forward peering at Millie. ‘Is she coughing up blood? Has the young woman got consumption, Liza?’
‘It’s Millie. She’s had a little accident. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Give her a dose of my medicine. It always works wonders for me, dear.’ Dolly leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘It works wonders.’
Ada hurried back into the room clutching a wet rag, which she applied to Millie’s nose. ‘Hold that there, ducks. It looks worse than it is.’
‘Does it hurt much?’ Eliza asked anxiously, but before Mary could answer there was a loud rapping on the front door.
‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ Ada muttered.
‘I’ll go.’ Eliza hurried to open the door and found herself face to face with Brandon Miller.
‘Good grief. What happened here?’ Brandon peered over her shoulder.
‘I can’t speak to you now,’ Eliza said, barring his way. ‘I’m sorry but this ain’t a convenient time. You can’t come in.’
She barely came up to his shoulder and her attempt to stop him viewing the scene failed miserably. Taking off his top hat, Brandon tucked it under his arm. ‘I need to talk to you, Eliza. Of course, I can shout through the letterbox, but the whole street is watching us even now.’
Reluctantly, she stood aside. ‘Come in if you must.’
‘I’ve had more enthusiastic welcomes,’ Brandon said, stepping over the threshold. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, Eliza?’
‘Mr Miller, this ain’t your mum’s front parlour, and if you had any sense at all you’d see that we got a difficult situation here.’
Brandon glanced at Millie, raising an eyebrow. ‘You look as if you’ve come to grief, Miss – er …’
‘Millie Turner,’ Millie murmured, holding the rag to her nose.
Eliza didn’t like the way Brandon’s gaze wandered to Millie’s exposed breasts and, snatching up her shawl, she draped it over her. ‘She’s been done over by them bleeding flower women outside St Paul’s. How them wicked doxies got the nerve to sell flowers outside a holy place I’ll never know, but Millie’s fallen foul of t
hem and this is what they’ve done to her.’
Brandon shook his head, frowning. ‘What could a girl like this have done to provoke such a cruel act?’
‘Life’s like that round here, Mr Miller. Maybe people don’t behave like that in Oxford, but this is the East End and times are hard for poor folk.’ Firmly placing herself between Brandon and Millie, Eliza met his bemused gaze with a defiant lift of her chin.
‘I’m beginning to realise that, Eliza.’
Dolly opened her eyes and stared at Brandon. ‘Is that Prince Albert come to visit us?’
‘Of course he ain’t the prince,’ Ada said, hurrying to her side. ‘The poor prince died a few years back. You remember it, Dolly. And her majesty’s been in mourning ever since, that’s why she don’t invite you to the palace no more.’
‘That’s true,’ Dolly said, nodding her head. ‘So if you ain’t Albert, who are you, young man?’
‘Is that woman completely off her head?’ demanded Brandon, raising an eyebrow. ‘I say, Eliza, you never told me you lived in a madhouse.’
‘That woman, as you call her, took me in as a child and cared for me like a mother,’ Eliza hissed, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the door. ‘I’ll thank you not to come here and insult Dolly. She’s a sick woman.’
‘My dear Eliza, I’m sorry if I offended you yet again. I’ve obviously called at a bad time.’
‘Tell the rude young man to go back to the palace,’ Dolly said, wagging her finger at Brandon. ‘I’d expect the Prince of Wales to have more respect for an old woman. Tell him to ask his mother to send me an invite soon. I got a terrible longing for a slice of seed cake.’
Ada patted her hand. ‘We’ll send the message, Dolly. But her majesty’s got lots of other things to attend to. Ain’t that right, your highness?’
Brandon was staring at Ada and Dolly as if he was watching a Punch and Judy show and Eliza nudged him in the ribs. ‘You’ll do that, won’t you, Prince Edward?’
‘God above, this really is a madhouse,’ Brandon said, opening the front door. ‘I’d best be going.’
Eliza followed him out into the street. ‘You haven’t said why you come.’
