by Evie Grace
‘It was strange how she ended up here with Mr Cheevers.’
‘Oh, you are a tattletale.’ Both women paused. ‘Go on.’
‘She fell on some kind of hard times – she were in the family way when they picked her up from by the Westgate.’
‘Really?’
‘You must have ’eard.’
‘It’s history. I don’t like to hear anyone talk badly of her when she’s bin so good to us. Our Michael couldn’t add two and two together before she gave him a place over the way there.’
‘Letters and numbers don’t mean nothing. What use is l’arning? While your Michael is in the schoolroom, he could be earning a few bob with his father on the barrer.’
‘He does his bit when he i’n’t at school. Mrs Cheevers said she’ll borrer us the money for ’im to buy a decent suit in future so he can apply to become a clerk. Just think of that.’ The women emerged from the passageway and Rose hurried on, feeling guilty for eavesdropping.
She knew her history. Arthur was adopted, while the twins were the offspring of Pa’s loins, and Rose was their half-sister. Ma was the common thread running through the fabric of their family.
Having arrived at school, Rose pushed the door open and walked straight into the classroom where the girls sat on one side and the boys on the other. The pupils, aged between five and fourteen, looked up from their slates and papers and Rose did a quick head count – there were only ten of the fifteen registered children there.
Ma tapped her stick against the blackboard.
‘Look this way,’ she ordered. ‘You’re supposed to be practising your letters.’
Rose noticed Donald pick up his pencil and start to write. When she had been a pupil of about ten years old, Ma had employed another teacher to work alongside her. Miss Clements’s cane had come down on the back of Donald’s hand with a loud crack for writing with his left hand, and Ma had sent her packing, saying it was in some people’s natures to be back to front.
‘It would be much to their advantage if you would assist the younger ones, Miss Cheevers,’ Ma said.
‘Of course.’ Rose removed her hat and shawl and hung them on one of the hooks at the far end of the schoolroom before joining her pupils. She helped them clean their slates with a rag, and started them off on writing their names in their best handwriting.
‘Well done, Ada,’ she said, admiring her copperplate letters. ‘There is definitely some improvement here, Baxter.’ She pointed to his letter B, feeling sorry for him because it wasn’t really very good. She was about to ask him to rub it out and start again, but stopped when she noticed his skinny arms, the nits crawling through his hair, and an angry purple bruise on his cheek. ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Nothing, miss,’ he whispered.
‘Somebody has hurt you.’
‘I fell over.’ A tear rolled down his cheek.
‘’Is pa thumped him one,’ Ada interrupted. ‘I sin ‘im.’
‘Hold your tongue! ’E told me not to say nothin’,’ Baxter snapped furiously.
‘Is everything all right, Rose?’ she heard Ma ask from the front of the room.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, not wanting to draw any more attention to Baxter. She was shocked and upset – she knew that the boys from the Rookery lived in straitened circumstances, but hadn’t realised they were subject to beatings.
Once the younger children had practised their letters sufficiently, Rose took them out to the schoolyard for a drill. She put them through their paces then let them play and use the outside privy.
‘Why did your father hit you?’ she asked Baxter later, having drawn him away from the rest of the class.
‘He was angry because I took the end of the b-b-bread,’ he stammered as the other children danced in a circle, singing ‘Ring-a-ring o’ rosies’. ‘I di’n’t mean to steal it – I was faint with hunger and there was nothin’ else.’
‘It’s wrong to steal,’ Rose said, but then she felt bad because she didn’t know what it was like to be that desperate for food. There was always something – a piece of cake, cheese or bread – in the pantry at Willow Place. Ma insisted that Mrs Dunn should keep plenty of provisions in reserve.
‘I know that, miss, but when yer belly feels like it’s being gnawed by rats and your legs won’t ’old you up no more …’ His voice faded.
It wasn’t fair, she thought, that circumstances forced Baxter and his brothers to suffer like this. She had seen their father once or twice, a man with sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks and no teeth, his back bowed with cares. He was usually armed with a bag and a stick with a hook on the end that he used for scraping in the dirt looking for horseshoe nails or digging through the heaps of ash tipped out on to the street for anything to sell.
She wondered what had happened to have brought the family to that. In spite of Arthur’s argument that it was sheer misfortune that brought people low, she couldn’t help thinking that their own actions must have played a part in it.
Ma rang the bell, calling them back indoors so that the older pupils could take their turn to enjoy the summer sunshine. Rose returned to the classroom and as the day grew hotter, the stench of the tannery and the River Stour grew more intense, until it filled her throat and settled in her chest. She called Baxter up to help her demonstrate simple sums with the abacus, but his heart wasn’t in it.
‘Since when has five plus four equalled eleven?’ she said in exasperation when he failed to get it right for the third time in a row. He could hardly look at her. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t one of your better days, is it?’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘Ada, you take a turn.’
They broke off at midday when the pupils left for home. Rose went to check on Minnie while Ma attended to the school accounts. At two, they returned to their lessons.
‘You did well today, Rose. Just be wary of offering excessive praise,’ Ma reminded her later when they had locked up the school a little earlier than usual for the day and were making their way back home from Riverside. They crossed the road to avoid a puddle that had collected in the gutter as a man drove his cart past them, flicking his whip over his horse’s haunches while a cockerel crowed from a basket in the back. They turned the corner and Donald ran ahead, disappearing off to the right into the tan yard while Rose continued with Ma along the street to Willow Place. ‘Remember that it must be earned.’
‘Yes, Ma, but these were exceptional circumstances. I wanted to cheer Baxter up after I found out that his father had hit him for taking bread.’
‘Pa has already had a word with him about that. He says if we trouble him again, he’ll take the boys out of school altogether and set them to work.’
‘They aren’t yet twelve. It’s against the law.’
‘There is nobody willing to police it,’ Ma said as Rose opened the five-barred gate that fronted the pebbled drive leading to the house. ‘It’s generally understood that poor families can’t exist without support from their sons and daughters.’
‘I’m scared for him and his brothers,’ Rose said.
‘I know you are – I am too, but what else can we do, apart from encourage him to remain in education for as long as it takes for him to learn the skills to better himself? We must be thankful that he is still on the register.’
‘May I bring some food into school for him tomorrow?’ Rose asked, refusing to let the matter rest.
Ma thought for a moment. ‘Yes, that’s a kind thought. Have a word with Mrs Dunn. Run along now. I’m going to have a lie-down until Pa gets home.’
Rose watched her mother take off her shoes, put on her slippers and go upstairs. She heard the bedroom door close and the floorboards creak as she made her way to the bed.
‘Rose,’ she heard Arthur whisper to her left. ‘Will you give me your opinion?’
She looked across to where he had emerged into the hall from the kitchen.
‘You’re home early.’
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br /> ‘I know. Pa let me go. I have an appointment with Tabby’s father at five.’
‘Oh, Arthur!’
‘I don’t know how it will go,’ he said apprehensively. ‘Do I look all right?’
He had bathed and trimmed his beard, and dressed in his suit, a white shirt and the shiniest shoes she had ever seen. His hair gleamed, his face glowed from where he’d been steaming his skin with sulphur to rid it of pimples and flesh-worms, and he had a nervous rash at the side of his neck.
‘You look very well,’ she said, moving forward to straighten his starched collar.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’d better go. I don’t want to be late.’
She wished him luck – not that he needed it, she thought as she closed the front door behind him. She had never seen him looking so handsome.
The evening passed slowly with everyone on tenterhooks waiting for Arthur to return.
After dinner, Rose and Minnie went up to the room they shared in the attic. Rose knelt on a chair, looking out of the open window and listening to the distant clatter of dishes in the scullery sink as Jane washed up.
‘There’s no sign of him,’ she said, turning to face her sister who was sitting on the edge of the bed, cutting scraps of patterned cotton into hexagons and spreading them across the coverlet.
They both looked up as the door flew open.
‘Donald!’ Rose exclaimed. ‘You know you aren’t allowed in here.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy. Ma and Pa are almost asleep in their chairs in the parlour, and I’m stuck indoors with nothing to do. It’s very dull.’
‘It serves you right for breaking your curfew last night,’ Rose said.
‘It wasn’t my fault that Joe got hit on the conk with the ball when we were playing cricket. It wouldn’t stop bleeding so I went to his ma’s to borrow a key to drop down the back of his neck.’
‘What for?’ Rose asked.
‘To stop it, of course. It worked a treat.’ He changed the subject. ‘Is Arthur back yet?’
‘There’s no sign of him.’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t passed muster with Mr Miskin,’ Donald said brightly. ‘Is that the same patchwork you started making months ago?’
Rose nodded. She and Minnie had begun the patchwork in the winter months, cutting and sewing by the light of an oil lamp, but Minnie had complained that her eyes hurt and they’d put their grand design aside for a while.
Donald grinned. ‘You’ll never finish it.’
‘Of course we will,’ Minnie said, sounding indignant.
‘I’ll eat my hat if you do.’ He meant his cloth cap with the japanned cardboard peak.
‘Aren’t you being a little hasty?’ Rose asked. ‘You know how Minnie’s fingers fly when it comes to sewing.’
‘Will you take your hat with salt and pepper?’ Minnie asked mischievously.
Donald chuckled. ‘I won’t need to. It will never happen. What can I do?’
‘You can take a turn being lookout.’ Rose moved away from the window and Donald rested his elbows on the sill. Minnie handed over the scissors so Rose could carry on with the cutting while she picked up a needle and thread, slipped Ma’s silver thimble on to her index finger and began to sew.
‘If Arthur brings good news, we will give the patchwork to him and Tabby as a wedding present,’ Minnie said, her eyes shining.
‘What if Mr Miskin sends him away with a flea in his ear?’ Donald asked.
‘I don’t think he’ll do that,’ Rose said. ‘For one, our Arthur is a good catch – he has prospects. Second, he has been courting Tabby for well over a year, and I can’t imagine that her father would have allowed that to continue if he thought he’d make an unsuitable husband. Third, Arthur is in love with her – Mr Miskin can have no doubt on that score.’
‘He’s on his way. He’s at the gate!’ Donald exclaimed.
Rose threw down the scissors, Minnie stuck her needle in the pincushion and they chased after their brother down the two flights of stairs to the hall where Ma and Pa had beaten them to the front door.
Arthur was on the step, his brow furrowed and his shoulders slumped. Rose’s heart sank. His appointment with the apothecary hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted.
‘Oh, Arthur,’ Ma gasped.
‘I’m sorry, son,’ Pa said sadly. ‘I never thought—’
‘I got you all then, didn’t I?’ Arthur said, breaking into a huge grin. ‘Tabby’s pa gave me permission to ask for her hand in marriage, and she said yes.’
‘Oh,’ Ma squealed. ‘How wonderful!’ She threw her arms around him, making him blush.
‘Tabby’s waiting at the gate,’ he said, extricating himself from Ma’s embrace. ‘Let me fetch her,’ he went on as Pa grasped his hand and pumped it up and down, but there was no need because she was already at the door.
Rose looked up to Miss Miskin – she was not what Ma described as a classical beauty with her mousy hair and slightly sallow skin, but she had lively eyes, an expressive mouth and a womanly figure. She was respectful and quietly spoken – in fact, Rose didn’t think she would say boo to a goose. Ma’s opinion was that this was a positive attribute, but Pa disagreed.
‘Come in, my dear,’ Pa said, releasing Arthur’s hand. ‘Congratulations! I look forward to welcoming you into our family.’
‘She will become Mrs Arthur Fortune,’ Arthur said, and Pa’s face fell.
Rose’s brow tightened. What did he mean?
‘You are right, of course,’ Pa said, growing more cheerful again. ‘I always think of you as one of us, by virtue of having brought you up from the age of eight.’
‘The name on my birth certificate remains that of my natural parents,’ Arthur said.
‘You don’t have to register a change of name,’ Pa said. ‘You can take whatever name you like as long as you don’t do it with intent to defraud or break the law. There is no reason why Miss Miskin shouldn’t become Mrs Arthur Cheevers. In fact, there is no compulsion to marry – it is society that dictates—’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that now,’ Ma said, interrupting. ‘Arthur, tell us what happened. What did Tabby’s pa say?’
Arthur moved to Miss Miskin’s side and took her hand.
‘He invited me into his office behind the dispensary, and offered me a brandy. I asked him the question, and blow me down, he said yes. Then he sent me to the parlour where Tabby was waiting. I was dead nervous, all of a quiver, and I could hardly get the words out, but she … well, you already know what she said.’
‘We must call on your parents tomorrow,’ Ma said. ‘And Arthur, you will need to choose an engagement ring, according to Tabby’s preference. Oh, and we must write to Aunt Marjorie, and what about your brother, Bert? We have to invite him. You do have his address?’
‘He hasn’t been in touch with anyone around here since he left Canterbury. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.’
‘Well, I’d like to assume the former. It would be lovely if he came for the wedding,’ Ma said. ‘Your suit, Arthur. It has seen better days …’
Rose noticed how Pa slid his arm around her waist.
‘Let us live one day at a time,’ he smiled. ‘We will revel in this pleasure for a little while. The arrangements can be made at leisure.’
‘But there is so much to do.’
‘Agnes, Tabby will want to organise her wedding with her mother. We mustn’t interfere.’
‘We are thinking of holding the wedding in August,’ Arthur said.
‘That soon? Is there something you aren’t telling us?’ Ma asked.
‘No, certainly not.’ Arthur blushed and Tabby gazed at the bow on the toe of her tiny kid walking shoe.
‘Well, you be careful.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Pa said. ‘Come on, my love. It is past nine o’clock.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper that everyone could hear. ‘Let’s go and check them bedsprings.’
Rose wasn’t sure what he meant, but felt that it was best not to
ask.
On her way upstairs, she gazed at the family pictured in the sepia cabinet card which stood on the chiffonier in the hallway. She recalled the occasion when they had gone dressed in their Sunday best to the photographic studio in the centre of Canterbury, the sign outside it proclaiming, Making the ordinary extraordinary.
They’d had to wait for the photographer to set up the sitting to his satisfaction before he returned to the camera and disappeared behind the cloth to take their picture. Each time he was ready, Arthur had moved, fidgeting with his scratchy collar, or Minnie had sneezed, or Ma would have sat back on her chair to find a more comfortable position, or Rose’s eyes would have wandered, looking at all the pictures on the panelled walls.
‘Oh no, that will not do. It is not aesthetically pleasing,’ the photographer kept repeating while Pa constantly looked at his pocket watch, saying, ‘We really must get on. I have business to attend to,’ when really he hadn’t because he’d been up early in the morning to get his work done in advance.
Rose had thought she’d managed to look both sophisticated and alluring, but was disappointed when she’d seen the printed card. Pa looked heroic wearing his medal for saving the drowning men. Ma looked severe while Arthur looked completely nonplussed. Donald was scowling because at the last minute Ma had spat on her lace handkerchief and wiped his face, and Minnie appeared to be about to break into a big grin.
Rose felt a strange sense of yearning. She was looking forward to the wedding, and was joyful for Arthur, but soon he would be gone from Willow Place, and their family would never be quite the same again. One day, they would all have left the nest.
Chapter Three
St Lubbock’s Day
The preparations for Arthur and Tabby’s wedding continued apace over the next three weeks when Ma closed the school for a short summer break. Miss Miskin asked Rose and Minnie to act as her bridesmaids and Pa offered to buy their outfits for the big day – simple white dresses with short veils.
On the last Sunday in July, the Cheevers family were on their way to church to hear the vicar reading the banns for the third and final time.
