‘I have to do something!’ Rosie countered.
‘Why not speak to the manager or tell the police?’ Lucy asked.
Fanny’s glare told her it was not such a clever idea; they would probably not believe her and send her on her way.
‘Right then, if you’m adamant…’ Fanny began, then seeing Rosie’s nod continued, ‘I suggest we all go. We can wait close by and stand canting. It will just look like three women exchanging gossip.’
‘Oh Fanny what a good idea!’ Rosie said feeling a little better.
So they agreed to begin their vigil that very night.
Around nine o’clock in the evening the three walked over to Stephenson Street and took up position close to the entrance of the picture-house.
‘I feel very conspicuous,’ Rosie said quietly.
‘You gotta relax, look like we’m chopsing about somebody,’ Fanny said.
‘That’s easier said than done,’ Lucy added.
‘I tell you what, Rosie can you see – do you know anything about Molly Mountford coming back?’ Fanny was doing her best to help the girls settle into the task they had undertaken.
Rosie shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen anything yet.’
Fanny placed her hand on Rosie’s arm and waited.
Rosie felt the shiver and said in a whisper, ‘She will be back, Fanny, she…’
Just then they heard the clip-clop of a horse as it rounded the corner, the sound reverberating through the quiet street.
Rosie shook her head, it was a carter’s wagon going home for the night.
‘Go on, gel, what was you saying?’ Fanny urged drawing the girl’s attention away from the carter.
‘Molly is out to cause trouble for you Fanny. She’s determined to get something from you – she could ask for money.’
‘Ha! Well ’er won’t get it!’ Fanny laughed as she removed her hand from Rosie’s arm.
Rosie glanced back along the street and stiffened. ‘Oh God! It’s coming – the carriage is coming and we’re in the wrong place!’ She picked up her skirts and ran across the road.
Fanny and Lucy watched in horror as everything appeared to happen in the blink of an eye.
The carriage careered around the corner and down the street, screeching to a halt just as a young boy ran out of the picture-house. Rosie’s arm shot forward catching the boy and swinging him away from the carriage. The child’s parents were there in an instant; the mother sobbing her thanks, the father tanning the boy’s hide right there in the street for his carelessness. The carriage driver had jumped down and was looking at the road where the child would have landed had Rosie not stepped in. He was shaking his head in wonder at how a terrible accident had been prevented.
The father, holding his sobbing son firmly by the hand thanked Rosie. ‘It was fortunate indeed that you were passing by at that exact moment,’ he said.
His sobbing wife nodded in agreement as she tried to comfort the boy who was crying and rubbing his sore bottom after the hiding given by his father.
‘I knew it would happen,’ Rosie said very quietly.
‘What! How?’ the man asked.
‘I had a dream…’ Rosie began as Fanny and Lucy joined her.
‘She’s a gypsy!’ the woman said in utter disgust as she dragged her son away.
The man gave his thanks again. Mother, father and son walked swiftly away leaving Rosie with mixed emotions. She was grateful she’d got there in time, happy to have saved the boy’s life, but sad at the parents’ reaction to discovering she was a gypsy.
‘Come on, gel, don’t worry about it. You did the right thing – we all did,’ Fanny said as she saw the look on Rosie’s face. Then turning to the cabbie, she yelled, ‘And you, slow that blasted carriage down otherwise you will kill somebody!’
Walking home, Rosie muttered. ‘I thought after all these years I would be used to being shunned, but clearly I’m not.’
‘Never mind, you saved that kiddie. Blimey he ’ad a good pasting from ’is dad as well!’ Lucy said trying to break the tension.
‘Yes, that little devil won’t be running off again,’ Fanny huffed.
Once home with hot drinks in hand the three discussed the events of the evening, before retiring to their respective beds.
It was a couple of days later when, in the market, Rosie heard the tale of the gypsy girl who had saved a young boy’s life. It appeared to have been received as a good deed by the garrulous stall holders, but some customers saw it as ominous. They were not particularly happy about there being gypsies so close to where they lived.
Rosie sighed as she listened in to the conversations taking place; it wouldn’t be long before they discovered it was her and then she feared she’d be driven out of the town. Her heart was heavy as she walked home.
As Rosie entered their small living room Lucy said, ‘Oh Rosie, I just gotta to tell yer! I’ve sold one of me drawings!’
‘Lucy that’s marvellous!’ Rosie returned giving her friend a hug, all thoughts of the market gossip forgotten. Sitting with her tea she went on, ‘Tell me all about it.’
‘I was sitting on the front doorstep at the Artists’ Gallery and a woman passed by and stopped to look at what I was doing. Her liked it and asked if it was for sale. I said ar it was and her paid me a shilling for it!’ Lucy’s pride shone from her eyes as she placed the coin on the table.
‘Well done!’
‘That’s towards me keep,’ Lucy said pushing the silver coin across to Rosie with one finger.
‘Lucy, that’s your first earnings, I couldn’t…’
‘Yes, you can. You’ve kept me since we moved into this ’ouse. You fed me and found me somewhere to live that’s off the street. One little shilling ain’t much but it’s something. Please Rosie, I need to do this, it’s important to me.’
‘All right, thank you.’ Rosie picked up the shilling and dropped it into the old cigar box kept in the drawer of the table.
‘I’ll be adding some more soon ’opefully.’ Lucy beamed.
‘I do believe, Lucy Richards, you are on your way to great things – and no, it’s not a prediction, it’s a fact. I have faith in you and your talent.’
‘Ooh ta, Rosie, that means a lot to me.’ Lucy’s grin was infectious, and Rosie joined in as she looked through the drawings Lucy had spread out on the table.
‘You know if these were framed, I’m sure you’d be able to sell more,’ Rosie mused.
‘I’m sure, but ’ow to afford it and where to sell from is the problem,’ Lucy replied on a sigh.
Rosie’s mind began to work as to how to help her friend. ‘I don’t know for the moment, but you should keep drawing. You’ll need plenty to display when you eventually acquire your own gallery.’
Lucy passed over a picture which made Rosie gasp. It was a charcoal sketch of Rosie the likeness of which was unmistakable.
‘That’s for you – as a thank you,’ Lucy said timidly.
‘Oh Lucy it’s beautiful! Thank you, I’ll treasure it always,’ Rosie whispered as tears misted her eyes. This one, she thought, will definitely be framed.
‘Lucy! Why don’t you ask around to see if mothers would want pictures of their children drawn? I’m sure they would find the money from somewhere for a sketch of their little darlings.’ Rosie’s excitement was evident.
‘Well it’s a thought,’ Lucy said not altogether relishing the prospect of trying to draw unruly children.
Clinking teacups the girls talked about how to go about trying to interest mothers in purchasing a picture of their children.
Twenty-seven
Rosie also had visited the town and had given a ‘reading’ to a woman on a coal barge headed for Worcester. She had told the woman her brother needed to see a doctor – and quickly. Rosie left the woman making her preparations to leave Birmingham immediately.
Once home, Rosie saw a carriage drew up in front of number two and a lady’s maid alighted and knocked on the door.
‘My mistress requests a “reading” from you, Miss Harris,’ the maid said haughtily as the door opened to her.
Rosie pulled the door further open and was surprised when the maid laughed.
‘Oh no! You must go to her. She’s in the carriage waiting.’
Rosie nodded and pulled the door closed as she stepped outside.
The driver held open the carriage door and Rosie climbed aboard, sitting opposite the lady who smiled at her.
‘Thank you, Miss Harris, your reputation has travelled far and wide. I wonder if you’d be kind enough…’ The woman extended her hand and Rosie placed hers beneath it. Closing her eyes, she waited. Then suddenly the pictures began to form behind her eyelids. With a shudder Rosie gasped. The images showed death – everywhere. Bodies turning a shade of blue-grey were being carried away on carts. Women crying, holding their sick children. Then she saw narrowboats – ‘cut-rats’ and gypsies being chased away. Kettles and pots boiling – fires stoked.
Without realising, the horror of what she was seeing began to escape her mouth. Then suddenly the picture changed to a garden and a child playing happily.
‘You will become a grandmother to a little girl and she will grow safe and happy.’
The woman snatched her hand away which broke Rosie’s concentration and it was then she saw the shock and fear on the woman’s face.
‘The prediction – death…’ the woman croaked.
‘I’m sorry but I have to tell what I see otherwise it stays with me. I saw illness all around you, but it did not touch your family. I’m afraid there is something terrible coming to Birmingham and I advise you ensure to boil every drop of water you use.’ Rosie spoke quietly and without panic to the frightened woman.
Leaving the carriage, money in hand, Rosie saw the scared look on the maid’s face. Evidently, she had been eavesdropping.
Rosie held out her hand and the maid took it.
‘You will be safe from this sickness that is coming. Be kinder to people who you consider to be beneath you, for one will become a good friend to you.’
Rosie felt the maid’s hand move away and a coin take its place. When she opened her eyes, the coachman was waiting his turn. The maid mumbled her thanks and disappeared into the carriage.
‘One minute, m’lady,’ the coachman called in response to the two knocks saying it was time to leave.
Rosie held the man’s hand and again closed her eyes.
‘Safe – all your family. Your little one will feel poorly but it is only a sniffle, she will recover quickly. Spend more time with your family.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ the driver said as he handed over his money.
In a moment the carriage was trundling down the street. Rosie turned and banged on Fanny’s door then went along the street doing the same to each house she came to. Women poured out wondering what all the noise was about.
Gathering them all together, Rosie told of the sickness she had seen coming. Each woman gave her thanks and rushed indoors to feed the fires and ranges to boil their water. They too knew what this dreadful disease was; they remembered the death stories of 1832. Even those who didn’t believe in gypsy predictions took heed of this warning.
In their tiny living room Rosie muttered, ‘I need to find a way to warn the Mitchells. I’m afraid if I send a message with the canal people it will cause widespread panic.’
‘Better than widespread death!’ Fanny said as she let herself in through the back door.
‘But how? What can I say that will have them take notice but not scare everyone witless?’ Rosie became fretful.
‘You think on it while I go to the market. I need to see if there’s rumour of this in any other towns.’ Fanny was out through the door and gone before Rosie could reply.
‘I’m frightened,’ Lucy said on a whisper.
‘Don’t be, as long as we ensure all water is boiled we should be fine. The doctors have learned such a lot about diseases of all kinds in the last fifty years.’ Rosie gave a wan smile and it appeared to appease Lucy a little.
Rosie busied herself preparing their meal of belly-pork and vegetables while Lucy did some sketching and within half an hour Fanny came bustling in panting.
‘Seems the “cut-rats” know already, grapevine is in full working order,’ she puffed.
‘Thank goodness for that!’ Rosie felt relieved to know the Mitchells would be aware of the impending horror.
‘It’s already ’it Bilston and the doctors am telling folk what you told us,’ Fanny added.
‘Good, maybe it will be contained and wiped out before it takes too great a hold,’ Rosie sighed.
‘I ain’t going out this house ’til we know it’s gone!’ Lucy wailed.
‘I’ll do the shopping then. I’ll go later and get a good stock of food in,’ Rosie said as she watched the steam shoot from the spout of the kettle hung on its crane over the fire.
Having eaten, Rosie grabbed her shawl from the nail hammered into the back door.
‘I’ll come with yer,’ Fanny said. She had stayed to share the meal with the girls she had become so fond of.
Rosie nodded as she picked up her purse and basket. She waited patiently as Fanny ran next door for her own bag, then they set off for the market.
The streets were eerily quiet as they walked. There were no children out playing or women standing on doorsteps chatting. Rosie noticed the carters passing by with scarves tied around their faces. She sighed, surely people didn’t think they could catch cholera from breathing the air. Had they not learned anything since the terrible pandemic of 1832? It was shown then that the disease lay in tainted water or food – it was not air borne!
As they entered the market Rosie was saddened to see very few stalls set out for business; obviously the others had packed up and gone home.
Suddenly a shout split the air and Rosie turned to see what was occurring.
‘You, gypsy girl! This is your fault! It’s you who’s brought this plague upon us!’ a woman yelled frantically.
Rosie gasped as an accusing finger shot out towards her. She glanced at Fanny who stood shaking her head.
‘Don’t you deny it,’ the woman yelled standing a safe distance away. ‘Yer said as this would happen – yer foretold it!’
Rosie watched in disbelief as the other stall holders nodded their agreement. They’re like sheep, where one goes the others follow, she thought.
The woman continued her barrage of abuse with everyone else watching. It was Fanny who finally shouted the woman down.
‘You ignorant fool! Ain’t yer learned nothing? Cholera comes from dirty water! ’ow then, could Rosie ’ave brought it ’ere?’
‘Her… ’er said it was coming! ’er saw it!’ the woman said into the silence that had descended over the market.
‘Maybe ’er did, but at least we ’ad some warning! What if her’d said nowt? ’ow would you have felt then? What if you’d ’ad to bury one of your kiddies cos Rosie kept her trap shut? Didn’t think of that did you? No, you’m too busy shouting the odds!’
Rosie watched the others nod in agreement with Fanny’s words. How quickly they changed allegiance.
‘Well we want ’er out of this town!’ The woman would not be beaten as she placed her hands on her hips.
There it was, spoken at last. Rosie was going to be driven from Birmingham.
‘I’m sorry you see this as my fault for all it is not. I endeavoured to warn people, so they would be safe until the outbreak is eradicated. The doctors are telling you the same thing – boil your water, all of it – before you use it. I did not bring this dreadful disease here – how could I? It would be my wish that it had never come here, or anywhere else, at all. However, now it has arrived we must all do our best to heed the doctors’ advice.’ Rosie looked into the face of the woman accusing her of this disaster.
‘You should take yerself off is what I think,’ the woman countered.
‘I will not leave Birmingham. I refuse to be driven out
by the likes of you,’ Rosie said stoically. Hurt by their accusations she refused to allow it to show. Then she added, ‘Think about this logically. If I had it, I would have been dead within hours. We all know it’s coming from the water, so we need to come together and warn others of the danger. I know you’re frightened – so am I, but we have to be sensible and treat this disease as a common enemy.’
The woman, having nothing more to say and feeling a little shame-faced turned her back on Rosie.
Rosie faced the others saying, ‘I came to do my shopping, are you willing to sell to me?’
‘Ar, your coin would be welcome,’ another woman called out.
Rosie and Fanny bought as much fresh fruit and vegetables as they could carry and with a nod of thanks, turned in the direction of home. The few shoppers that had frequented the market did the same.
‘I ain’t never ’eard the like. Bloody daft woman!’ Fanny mumbled as they trudged along the street, arms weighed down by the heavy bags.
‘It probably won’t rest there, Fanny. It’s my guess she’ll complain to the council. Then they will be round to turn me out.’ Rosie felt wretched and it sounded in her voice.
‘Ar well, it won’t make no difference if ’er does. Them houses belong to me so the council can’t run you off, and I ain’t asking you to leave. So, you just rest easy on that score.’
Rosie smiled at the woman who had become her friend. ‘Thank you, Fanny.’
*
Sarah Mitchell watched through the window of the parlour she was supposed to be dusting. The sky darkened, and a sudden flash of lightning lit up the grey clouds then almost at once left darkness in its wake. The long slow rumble of thunder rolled, in what seemed like the distance, but its closeness to the lightning told the storm was drawing nearer. The atmosphere was heavy and cloying and Sarah drew in a deep breath her lungs desperate for oxygen.
She thought again about the gossip she’d heard in the market concerning Rosie Harris and the child she’d saved, after all, Rosie was in Birmingham and she, Sarah, was in Bilston. If she could fuel the fire of Romany hatred the talk would travel quickly, and the girl would hopefully be sent packing. Sarah wondered if it would drive Rosie out completely – possibly to another part of the country. Maybe then she’d have a chance of getting her husband back.
The Girl on the Doorstep Page 20
