by Dilly Court
It was the most humble dwelling that Eloise had ever set foot in, but the flagstone floor was spotlessly clean, and embers of a fire glowed in a black leaded grate. Strings of onions and dried herbs hung from the low beamed ceiling, and the plain deal kitchen table had been scrubbed to the whiteness of bleached bone. The room was sparsely furnished with items that looked as though they had been rescued from the rubbish heap and crudely mended with slats of wood from orange boxes and rusty iron nails.
Peg set Beth down on a three-legged wooden stool, and Joss scrambled onto a bent wood chair at the table. 'I expect you could all do with something to eat,' Peg said, reaching out to take a loaf from the crock on the dresser. She hacked off three generous slices. 'This here bread is a bit stale and there ain't no butter until the dairy opens, but there might be a bit of jam left in the pot if the nippers ain't scoffed the lot last night.' She took a jam jar from a shelf and scraped some jam onto the bread. 'That'll keep them quiet for a bit,' she said, turning to Eloise with a broad grin. 'Sit down afore you fall down, and I'll make us that cup of tea.'
Grateful that Peg did not bombard her with questions, Eloise sank down on a chair at the table. She nibbled her slice of bread and jam, smiling at the sight of Joss and Beth tucking into their food. She was grateful for the moment of respite, but she reminded herself that they would have to move on soon. She had a nagging suspicion that when their hasty departure was discovered, Ephraim would act out of sheer spite and set Pike on their trail.
Peg went to the fireplace to riddle the embers. She threw on a few lumps of coal and as the flames took hold she hung a blackened kettle on a hook over the fire. 'There, that shouldn't take too long,' she said, taking off her leather apron and hanging it on a peg. She turned to Eloise, angling her head. 'I ain't one to pry, but it would help if I knowed your name. I'm Peg, as you might have guessed from that big-mouthed bloke Mick Fowler, who pesters me day and night to marry him.'
'I didn't realise . . .'
Peg chuckled deep down in her throat and she took off her bonnet, sending a shower of dust onto the floor. She shook out her long, luxuriant chestnut hair, which fell in waves around her shoulders, and wiped some of the dirt from her face with a piece of rag, revealing a face that was not only much younger than Eloise had supposed, but she could see now that beneath the thick layer of dirt Peg was very pretty.
Peg gave her a knowing look. 'Yes, there is a girl under all this muck. And I do like him, a bit anyway, though I'd never let on to Mick. I have to keep him in his place or he'd take liberties, if you know what I mean. I have to be firm with my boy, but I intend to marry him one day, though he don't know it yet and I shan't let on until I'm good and ready.'
'You're very sure of yourself.'
'I am so. I have a good job as a sifter on the dust heap and I can earn upwards of a shilling a day when the weather is fine. Me dad was the hill man, that's foreman of the heap to you, but he died a year or two back of lung fever, and now me brother Cyril is the hill man. Ma is a sifter like me, and me brother Jimmy is a filler-in and young Danny is a loader. Cora and Daisy are too young to help out, but when Cora is six she'll carry the bones, rags and bits of metal to the various heaps.'
'So the whole family is employed on the dust heap?'
'That's how it is. There are several more families who work the yard. We like to keep it that way.'
'It must be very hard work, and dirty too.'
Peg took a chipped brown china teapot with only half a handle from the dresser and a battered tin tea caddy from the mantelshelf. She warmed the pot and measured out the tea leaves. 'It's hard, but it's a living,' she said, pouring boiling water into the pot. 'There, we'll let that brew and then we'll have a nice cup of tea, while you tell me your story. And don't give me the one about walking into a door. I've heard it all before.'
As she sipped the hot, sweet tea, Eloise found herself telling Peg everything, from the tragic news of Ronnie's untimely death to the shameful way in which Ephraim had taken advantage of her. Peg listened, round-eyed and suitably impressed. 'Well, I never did. And you a vicar's daughter too.'
'I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles, Peg. Thank you for the food and tea, but I think it's time we were on our way.' Eloise went to stand up, but a wave of dizziness made her sink back onto the hard wooden seat of the chair. 'Perhaps another five minutes' rest will set me right.'
Peg shook her head. 'You can't go nowhere in that state. What if you fell into a dead faint and there was no one to look after the nippers? No, you'd best stay here until you're fit enough to go on.' She raised her hand as Eloise opened her mouth to argue. 'Ma will be up in a little while and she'll agree with me. She'll say it was lucky I done the night shift and it were fate that made Mick almost run you down outside the dust yard. Ma believes in all that stuff. You sit right where you are. I'm going out to the dairy to fetch milk and butter, and then I'm going to the bakery to get the bread. When Ma comes in, you tell her I said you're to stay.' Peg crammed her bonnet back on her head, picked up a wicker basket and breezed out of the cottage. Eloise stared dumbly after her. It did not seem possible that Peg had already done a night shift in that horrible place and still had the energy to go out for provisions. She heard movement in the next room, and she braced herself to face Mrs Tranter with an explanation as to their presence in her home.
But when the interior door opened it was two small girls who tumbled into the room, still wearing their calico nightgowns and with their hair tied up in rags. They stared at Joss and Beth. 'Who are you?' demanded the elder girl, who could not have been more than four or five. 'What are you doing here?'
The younger child put out her hand to touch Joss's blond curls. 'Hello, boy.'
Joss gave her a shove that caught her by surprise and she sat down with a painful thud and began to cry. A small, thin woman rushed into the room, stopping short when she saw Eloise. 'What's going on?'
She was so like Peg that there was no mistaking her for anyone other than Mrs Tranter and Eloise rose a little unsteadily to her feet. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Tranter. Peg said you wouldn't mind if we rested here for a little while.' She caught Joss by the shoulders and turned him towards the small girl. 'Say you're sorry, Joss.'
He took on the stubborn, mulish look that always reminded Eloise forcibly of Ronnie and he shook his head. 'Shan't.'
Mrs Tranter's lined face cracked into a smile. 'I wish I had a penny for every time I've heard that word.' She bent down to pick up her wailing daughter. 'You're not hurt, Daisy. Rub it in.' She rubbed the child's backside with her hand and then set her down on the ground. 'Cora, take Daisy into the bedroom and get her dressed. Go and wake the boys up or they'll be late for work and they'll have their pay docked. You tell them that.' She shooed the small girls into the back room and then turned to fix Eloise with a curious stare. 'So, what's your story then, love?'
By the time Peg returned with fresh bread, milk and butter, Eloise had retold her story, and Mrs Tranter had listened with knowing nods of her head and sympathetic murmurs. 'Your poor dad would turn in his grave if he knew what had happened to you, ducks.'
A cold shiver ran down Eloise's spine. 'My father isn't dead, Mrs Tranter.'
'Heavens above, did I say dead? I meant to say departed – not in the way of being deceased, you understand. I meant that he weren't here to protect you and the nippers. That's what I meant.'
Mrs Tranter and Peg exchanged worried glances which did nothing to comfort Eloise.
'It was a slip of the tongue,' Peg said hastily. 'It ain't true what they say about Ma having second sight. That's just a load of old nonsense.'
'It could be just the sickness,' Mrs Tranter murmured. 'Mortal bad sickness.'
Before Eloise had a chance to question her, the door to the bedroom burst open and two young boys tumbled into the tiny living room, followed by a young man of eighteen or nineteen.
'Boys, where's your manners?' Mrs Tranter demanded, cuffing the one nearest to her round the head. She temper
ed her action with a proud smile. 'These are my boys, Ellie. This is Jimmy and the young one is Danny, and the big fellah who ought to know better than to chase his brothers is my Cyril. He took over as hill man when my hubby passed away two years since.' She held her hand out to Cora and Daisy. 'And these are my babies. I lost three, but I thank the Lord for the survival of the rest.'
Eloise lifted Beth onto her lap, fearing that someone might accidentally tread on her. 'It's nice to meet you all,' she murmured. The boys were staring openly at her disfigured face, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. 'But you'll want to have your breakfast, Mrs Tranter. I'm afraid that we're in the way.'
'Sit down, ducks,' Mrs Tranter said, taking the loaf from Peg's basket. She took a knife from a drawer in the table and cut thick doorsteps of bread, scraping them with butter. 'And me name is Gertie. No one stands on ceremony in Magpie Alley.' She gave the largest slice of bread to Cyril, who muttered something unintelligible, rammed his cap on his head and hurried from the house, followed by the two younger boys who were cramming bread into their mouths as they went.
It seemed little enough food to keep them going all day, and Eloise thought guiltily of the breakfasts she had taken so much for granted at home. The white damask tablecloth set with bone-handled cutlery and Mama's prized willow-pattern china. The bowls of porridge laced with cream and sugar, the crisp bacon and glossy fried eggs that Janet served sometimes with sausages and at others with tender kidneys and fried bread; the hot buttered toast and homemade marmalade or raspberry jam. She had taken it all for granted and had sent back platefuls of uneaten food, simply because she was not hungry. Papa had frowned and scolded her for wasting good food. She could hear him now as he had stood at the head of the table, wagging his finger at her. 'There are thousands of people in this world who are starving and would be grateful to have a meal like that.' She had felt guilty then, but she could never have imagined what it was like to be really hungry – until now. If she ever had a chance to live well again she would not waste a single crumb, and when they said grace before a meal she would recite the words with feeling.
'Have a slice of bread and butter, ducks,' Gertie said, spearing a piece of bread on the tip of the knife and waving it in front of Eloise's nose. 'You look as though you could do with a good meal.'
'Thank you, but Peg gave me some earlier,' Eloise said, eyeing the bread hungrily but she could not in all conscience take any more of the hard-earned food. 'You're very kind, Mrs Tranter. I mean, Gertie.'
'We all have to look out for each other in these parts, love. If you stay here for any length of time, you'll come to know that for a fact.'
'No, really. I mean, I'm truly grateful for breakfast, but I cannot stay. We have to move on.'
'And where will you go?' Peg demanded, taking a seat opposite Eloise at the table. 'You're done in and you won't get far in that state. You can stay here until you're fit enough to travel. Ain't that so, Ma?'
Gertie pulled on a bonnet similar to the one Peg had just discarded. She tied the tattered ribbons beneath her chin and reached for her leather apron. 'If you don't mind sleeping on the floor in here, then you can stay as long as you like, girl. That bloke Pike won't think to look for you in a dust yard, and I daresay as how Cyril will find you work when you're strong enough, so you can earn a bit of money to see you on your way. We look after our own here. You'll learn that afore long, Ellie.'
When Gertie had left for the dust yard, Peg showed Eloise where they fetched water from a communal pump at the rear of the cottages. There was a stone trough where they washed clothes and dishes and did their ablutions, and two outside privies set side by side in wooden huts which also served the whole community. Peg explained that the women took it in turns to keep them clean and the night soil collector came round every day to empty them. Eloise helped Peg to wash the dishes and to stack them neatly on the dresser. After tidying the kitchen, Peg went into the back room to sleep. Eloise had noted their sleeping arrangements as she went through to the back yard, and she was even more impressed with the strength and fortitude of the family who slept top to toe on straw-filled palliasses, which in the morning were rolled neatly away. How they managed to keep so cheerful in such harsh conditions, Eloise did not know, but she was filled with admiration.
Eloise sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace, but no matter how hard she tried to keep awake so that she could watch over the children, her eyelids were heavy and she kept drifting off into a fitful sleep. She would never normally have left a five-year-old in charge of Joss and Beth, but Cora seemed old for her years and was obviously used to looking after Daisy. Every time she dragged herself back to consciousness, Eloise discovered that Cora was completely in charge. She was stricter with Joss than any adult nanny and she bossed him about shamelessly, which he took in good part. She marshalled the younger children with the skill of a small general and she even included Beth in her games. Eventually Eloise relaxed enough to slip into a deep sleep and awakened to find Peg riddling the ashes in the grate and preparing to relight the fire.
'I'm sorry,' Eloise murmured, rubbing her eyes. 'I didn't mean to let the fire go out.'
'Don't worry about it,' Peg said, grinning. 'I've only just got up meself. I'll make a pot of tea and then we'll see about supper. Ma and the boys will be home in half an hour or so, and they'll be starving as usual.'
Eloise watched Peg's deft movements as she urged the fire back into life. 'I don't know how you keep so cheerful, Peg. I mean, you have to work so hard in that awful place.'
'It's just the way things are. I'm used to it and I don't know no different. If I'd been born a lady who works in a shop up West, or a clever person with book learning who had worked in an office, then I might not be content. As it is, we've got enough to eat and a roof over our heads. We got each other and we got the other families who work in the dust yard as friends. It ain't so bad once you get used to the smell, the flies, rats and dirt. I can think of worse jobs.'
Eloise did not answer this. She could barely think of anything more awful than to work in such a place, but she did not want to hurt Peg's feelings. She held her arms out to Beth, who had tired of being bossed by Cora and was crawling over to the safety of her mother's lap. Eloise picked her up, giving her a loving hug.
Peg sat back on her haunches. 'So what are you going to do, Ellie? You know you can stay here as long as you want.'
Eloise rubbed her cheek against Beth's hair, holding her close. 'I need to find work, and cheap lodgings.'
'And you need to steer clear of that Pike fellow.'
'Yes, that most of all.'
'Well, it's up to you, of course, but I suggest you ask Cyril for work on the dust heap. You need to keep out of sight until your face goes back to normal. It's a dead giveaway, if you don't mind me saying. If your old master lets on to Pike that you got two black eyes and a split lip, it's going to make it that much easier for him to find you. And I daresay you ain't got much money left, so you haven't got a lot of choices.'
Eloise nodded her head. What Peg said was quite true. 'If your mother doesn't mind, then I will stay, and I'm not afraid of hard work.'
'Good. We'll make a sifter of you yet, Ellie.'
If Eloise had admired the Tranters before she started work in the dust yard, her respect for them quadrupled after a day of backbreaking toil in conditions that were like something out of a dreadful nightmare. Cyril had given her a job as sifter, working alongside Peg, her mother and half a dozen other women and girls at the base of a huge dust heap. Jimmy shovelled dust into the women's sieves and they worked in a constant fog of fine particles, almost as thick as a peasouper, and even smellier. Within minutes their hands and faces were blackened, making them look like chimney sweeps. The grit found its way into Eloise's eyes and mouth; it clogged her nose and she kept scraping her knuckles and making them bleed, but there was no time to stop and the blood congealed in dark red scabs. Her back ached and the muscles in her legs went into painful cramps as she bent o
ver her work. The other women kept up a cheerful stream of banter and lewd jokes that made Eloise blush, but at least it took her mind off her physical discomfort. They were rough, tough women but they had accepted her good-naturedly, and teased her mercilessly, although none of it was malicious. They were sympathetic in their own way and they made no comment when she had to keep stopping for a rest.
By midday, Eloise was exhausted and in pain, her lungs were clogged with dust and her mouth was filled with grit, but somehow she kept working. She had no intention of letting the Tranters down, and she was desperate to earn money. The noise in the dust yard was constant and deafening. Carts filled with rubbish clattered into the yard to unload and afterwards to be reloaded with breeze or cinders which were taken to the brickworks, together with the fine dust for brick making. Rags, bones and old metal went to marine store dealers; old boots and shoes were sold to the Prussian blue manufactories. Old iron and tin had their place in the scheme of things, as did broken bricks and oyster shells which went to be used in road making or foundations of new buildings. In the midst of this hive of activity, chickens and geese roamed the site, pecking at the ground for scraps of food. Large black rats made off with anything edible, risking attack from the feral cats that stalked them or lay in wait behind heaps of rubbish.
Somehow, after surviving the first day, the second was not nearly so bad, but if it had not been for the kindness of the Tranter family, Eloise would have thought that she had landed up in hell. Their open-hearted acceptance of her acted as a balm to her spirit after her recent harsh experiences and she did not even mind sleeping on the flagstone floor every night. Peg gave her an old palliasse that had definitely seen better days. The straw stuffing was matted and thin, but Eloise was so tired that she fell asleep without any difficulty and barely noticed the discomfort or the cold seeping up through the flagstones.
