by Cathy Sharp
‘My father was a country parson,’ she replied, and he saw shadows pass across her face. ‘I was his helper and because his health deteriorated after my sister … in later life I organised everything in the parish for him until his death last year. I am but recently out of mourning. Our local squire was very good in holding garden parties for church funds, but of course I organised them each year.’
‘And what is it that I may do for you?’ Arthur asked.
‘I have thoughts of a charity ball, sir,’ Katharine suggested but Arthur shook his head. ‘You could not see your way clear to host such an event?’
‘I am not a man for such affairs,’ he said and shook his head. ‘However, I do not think it beyond you to think of another affair that I might lend my name to – and I am willing to consider we join forces to buy and endow this establishment of yours.’
‘What if I asked for a garden party? I could arrange it all – in your large gardens. Toby told me that you had beautiful gardens.’ She gave him a smile that took his breath and he felt himself melting in its warmth.
‘Indeed?’ Arthur smiled oddly. ‘As it happens, I have been known to open my gardens for a worthy cause, and if I could leave it all in your beautiful hands …’ Arthur knew he was flirting with her but could not help himself. One of the reasons he did not often socialise at events such as this was that his hosts invariably tried to match him with a woman they thought suitable – but this one was so delightful that he did not mind even if that had been Toby’s aim.
‘Of course,’ she said and moved closer to him so that he smelled the perfume of her roses once more. ‘I shall call on you one day to discuss these matters and take a tour of your gardens, with my aunt – if you will permit me?’
‘As far as I am concerned, you may do anything you wish in my garden, Miss Ross,’ Arthur said and saw the delicate flush in her cheeks. She lowered her gaze and then their host came up to them and all chance of private conversation was gone as Katharine Ross was led away to meet someone else.
Arthur watched her go and knew that he had not felt so interested in a woman for years, and yet even as he felt the quickening of his loins, he remembered. Katharine Ross was a young woman of beauty, intelligence and charm – she would not give herself to a rogue such as Arthur Stoneham. If she ever knew what he’d done, she would turn her face from him in disgust. Feeling the pain of loss strike, because he knew himself unworthy, he turned and left the elegant room without looking for her again and did not see her watching him nor the disappointment in her face as he left.
‘What’s goin’ on in there?’ Eliza asked as they stood outside a large inn. Lanterns hung over the door and there was a queue of people waiting to enter. ‘Why do they all want to get in there?’
‘That’s a hall of music,’ Tucker said and grinned at her. ‘They ’ave singin’ and music and stuff in there – and booze too. I like the blokes wot stand up and tell jokes best …’
‘You mean like hymns?’ Eliza asked, because that was the only music she’d ever heard, and she had no idea what a joke was – unless it was when someone mocked you.
‘Didn’t they teach yer nothin’ where yer were?’ Tucker asked, looking at her strangely.
‘All we did was work,’ Eliza said. She looked about her at the activity in the market place. In the few days since she’d joined Tucker and his gang she had become used to the various markets; there were some selling old clothes, spread out on the ground if they weren’t much better than rags, and hung up on stalls if they were better; markets that sold fruit and vegetables, the bird market where wild birds in cages were sold some days and then the general market stalls that sold everything from earthenware dishes to leather bags and shoes to knives and forks and silk roses for fine ladies to sew on their dresses or wear in their hair. Petticoat Lane was very busy, especially at the weekends; there were shops on either side of the road, pawnbrokers and jewellers, butchers and Jewish shops selling special food, also one displaying colourful saris, and a myriad of different stalls lined the road itself. Here the sellers would call out in loud voices, sometimes auctioning their wares off, getting lower and lower until the last one was sold.
There were so many different peoples mingling in Petticoat Lane: men with dusky skins and turbans, women in long saris with their heads covered by filmy veils. Eliza had never seen a person with brown skin before and she stared until Tucker told her they came from India and owned a shop nearby. There were also Chinamen, who wore a single plait hanging down their backs and long robes that looked like dresses to Eliza’s eyes; Jews with pale skins, long black coats and felt hats, ringlets of hair on each side of their faces, and men with skin nearly as dark as coal. They spoke in different languages, which amazed Eliza and made her wonder at how big the world must be.
Tucker told her all she needed to know. He was giving her an education in life on the streets. It was he that showed her where they could safely sleep in derelict buildings and a maze of little alleys to dodge down when the watch was after them. The work he and his friends did was a mixture of thieving and running errands for men of dubious reputation; Tucker had a good relationship with a man who took bets on horses and he ran between the bookmaker and punters, placing money on various horses. But there were other forms of gambling too on the streets. Cards played on upturned orange boxes in old warehouses, dog fighting in out-of-the-way corners which led to lots of gambling and cursing, because the men drank as they watched the poor creatures tear themselves to pieces. There were bare knuckle fights, rat baiting, and all manner of dice and other games on which men gambled their wages.
Once, they saw a man being taken away by the constables; his hands were chained and several men in uniform were brandishing their truncheons as they escort him to a horse-drawn van.
‘I shouldn’t want ter be ’im,’ one of the gang said. ‘I reckon they’ll toss ’im in prison and throw away the key.’
Eliza asked why and was told the man had been caught stealing from one of the shops and he’d hurt a constable badly when trying to escape. A shiver ran down her spine, because she realised that if she or any of the gang was caught stealing, they too could go to prison – and Tucker told her it was like the workhouse, only worse.
‘They beat yer ter teach yer a lesson,’ he said, and his eyes looked scared. ‘I got beat when I was in the spike too – but one of me mates died in prison after they beat ’im and then worked him till he dropped …’
Life on the streets was precarious, because they had to be quick and clever to keep from being taken up by the watch, and it was often cold and dirty, but prison sounded even worse than the workhouse. Eliza thought she would rather starve than go to that awful place.
Eliza was learning to find her way about by memorising various landmarks, and Tucker told her the names of streets and gradually she learned to recognise them. It wasn’t that she could read, but she was quick to learn and soon knew shapes and letters. She was learning about the world, things she’d been ignorant of in the workhouse. Sometimes she felt angry because no one had told her all these things. Ruth had told her of her life and so had Cook and some other inmates, but she hadn’t known what it was like to live in the real world and, despite the hardships of sleeping rough, Eliza was enjoying herself. She’d tasted different food and drunk beer and tea and a fizzy ginger beer that sent bubbles up her nose; she’d also ridden on a horse-drawn bus and stared in wonder at a weird contraption that banged and popped as it bounced along on high, thin wheels. Tucker said it was a horseless carriage and it ran on steam, but smelled worse than the horse excrement that the sweepers were forever clearing away from the busy streets.
Men selling newssheets stood at the edge of the market and called out for people to buy a sheet. They lured folk with talk of a grisly murder and the latest horse-racing results. To a girl who had not known a world outside the workhouse, it was vivid and alive and made her feel glad to be free and young. She wished that Joe might have been with her to experience it all and thought of
ten of the apple pie she’d shared with him in the cellar. They’d sworn to be true and Joe had told her that one day they would be together, but she did not know how that could be. Fate had parted them and Eliza’s world was centred here, in the mean streets of the city, often sleeping under railway arches or in disused warehouses. Tucker’s gang wandered all over the East End of London, sometimes working for a few pennies, sometimes forced to steal their bread.
Some days she was cold and hungry and her stomach ached, but she’d known hunger in the workhouse and she endured it, never thinking of returning to that place of misery, though Tucker would have shown her the way had she asked. Instead, she let herself be as dirty as her companions were, scratching at the lice that infested her hair and wiping her dripping nose on her hand, but happy despite all. She was free and there was no one trying to abuse or beat her. Tucker and his friends looked after one another and he’d taken her under his wing, so none of them would have thought of hurting her; she was one of them and they all shared what they had.
In some ways it was an idyllic life and yet it was bound to end. It happened one hot summer day when Tucker told her she had to steal a gentleman’s kerchief or something from a market stall.
‘You’ve bin wiv us fer a while,’ he told her, ‘and it’s time yer did yer share – some of the others don’t like it ’cos yer just watch. We’re goin’ ter raid a stall and yer must do yer bit, Eliza.’
Eliza nodded, because she’d known it was coming. ‘I’d rather be part of the raid than take a gent’s kerchief,’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, I fought so,’ he agreed, ‘but yer will ’ave ter do more one of these days. It’s the way we live, Eliza. Look at that gent over there, his kerchief ’anging out his back pocket. Watch what I do …’
Eliza watched as Tucker sauntered over the road, making out he was looking at something in the window of a shop, then just sidled up to the man, drew the kerchief gently free and hid it inside his jacket. The gentleman never even turned around and Tucker walked back to her jauntily.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘It’s easy, but be careful ’ow you choose yer mark.’
Eliza nodded, but her stomach felt hollow, because one thing Ruth had told her was that pinchin’ stuff never did anyone any good.
Ruth smelled the stew and nodded, because even though it was mostly vegetables it was good and Cook had made lovely fresh bread that morning.
‘They say Joe has run off,’ Ruth said as she helped Cook to move the heavy pan from the heat. ‘Some of the women think he’s dead and that she done it – but one of the men told me he’d run.’
‘I hope he did – he was a good lad,’ Cook said and gasped because the mistress had just entered the kitchen and a lady walked behind them – a very elegant lady. Cook stood staring as Mr Stoneham followed them in. Ruth dropped a hasty curtsey to the lady and gentleman but the lady smiled and shook her head.
‘Good morning,’ she said in a pleasant voice. ‘I am Katharine Ross. Mr Stoneham tells me that you may be available to work in a house that he and I are setting up for unfortunate women?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ruth said and saw the look of fury in Miss Simpkins’ eyes. ‘I’m ready to join you whenever you say …’
‘Then I shall ask you to come with me tomorrow morning,’ Miss Ross said, taking Ruth’s breath. ‘We have this day purchased a house and I would like your advice on various matters. I shall call at ten in the morning – if that is convenient? You will have your own room immediately and I need you to help me prepare for the first inmates …’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ruth said, but glanced at the mistress of the workhouse and saw her mouth tighten. ‘But I need to pay what’s owed to Mistress …’
‘I have arranged that,’ Mr Stoneham said easily. ‘Cook, if you would be willing I shall arrange for your release in two weeks – Mistress Simpkins has asked for that much time to replace you. I trust that is convenient?’
‘Aye, sir, and you’ll pay nothing for me,’ Cook said. ‘I work fer me wages and I owe nothin’ to mistress.’ She looked hard at the mistress as if daring her to say different.
Ruth drew her breath as she saw the spite in Miss Simpkins’ eyes but averted her gaze as the mistress glared at her.
‘I shall be in my office,’ Mistress Simpkins said. ‘You will come and sign before you leave in the morning, Ruth.’
Ruth inclined her head, watching as she left before turning to Mr Stoneham. ‘Have you heard anything of Eliza, sir?’
‘Have you heard that she ran away from her master?’
Ruth looked at Cook and then nodded. ‘We heard a rumour, sir – but we wasn’t sure it was the truth.’
‘I visited her place of employment but was informed both by Mr Roberts and his maidservant that she had run off. I shall continue to make inquiries – and if anything is discovered I shall let you know.’
‘I be grateful, sir,’ Ruth said. ‘Both for Miss Ross comin’ ’ere today and your kindness.’
‘I believe you to be a hard worker,’ Arthur replied. ‘I shall do my best to find your friend.’
Ruth nodded and thanked him. Miss Ross had been discussing the meals served here with Cook and looked perturbed.
‘If what you say is true, the rules are not always adhered to,’ she said and frowned. ‘I shall see that you have sufficient funds to feed our people properly – and I intend to have a word with some friends of mine concerning the menu here.’
‘I shall enjoy working for you, ma’am – some days it be just gruel here without even a bit of bread and that ain’t enough to feed any man or woman.’
Miss Ross inclined her head, looking as if she agreed and she and Mr Stoneham took their leave.
‘Mistress will not like this,’ Ruth said after they’d gone. ‘She can’t do much to me afore the mornin’ but watch yer step, Cook – she won’t want ter lose you.’
‘I’m a match fer her,’ Cook said stoutly. ‘I might ’ave left afore had I wished it – but I stopped ’cos of our friendship, Ruth, and I’ll be glad to shake the dust of this place from me shoes …’
Ruth nodded. ‘I’m glad to be leavin’ but I wish I knew where my Eliza was.’
Tucker signalled to Eliza to watch as they diverted the stallholder. This particular coster was a mean old devil and yelled at them to go away if they even asked the price of food from his stall, so it was his own fault that they’d planned a raid that morning. Most of the market people were friendly and often gave the street kids food: cakes and bread that were two days old, fruit a little on the turn but still eatable, and they gave them halfpennies and farthings if they did errands, and in return the kids left them alone to carry on their business, but this man wouldn’t give them the time of day.
Eliza watched as a small boy suddenly ran forward and threw a rotten tomato at the bulky stallholder, who gave a cry of rage and came out from behind his stall to catch the culprit. He ran, and the stallholder followed for a short distance, realising too late that it had been a diversion. As soon as his back was turned, all Tucker’s gang rushed forward and grabbed pies, bread and cakes from the stall, filled their jackets and pockets and then scarpered in different directions. Instead of watching as she often had in the past, Eliza joined the grab and fled with her shawl stuffed with food just as the stallholder returned and made a grab for her. Evading his grasp by the skin of her teeth, she made off down one of the alleys that she knew so well.
A woman dressed in sober grey was standing watching them, her eyes on Eliza. For a moment Eliza feared she might try to stop her, but she moved aside to let the children run past her.
Eliza ran as fast as she could to the rendezvous, a deserted warehouse they had been living in for some days. A large corrugated iron fence had been erected all around the compound, which was soon to be pulled down, but the kids had found a way to pull a section aside and they scrambled through it one by one until the whole gang had arrived. They looked at each other in elation as they emptied pockets, ja
ckets and Eliza’s shawl and spread out their haul on a waterproof sheet. There was enough to feed them all for a week, more than they’d ever snatched before. Tucker had planned it and it had turned out perfectly.
‘It must be worth a lot of money,’ Eliza said in awe because the big pork pies were two shillings each and even the large cottage loaf was one shilling and sixpence. She counted on her fingers, which Tucker had taught her to do, and thought there must be more than four pounds’ worth of stolen food. ‘He will be so angry.’
‘Serves him right,’ Tucker said. ‘If the ole misery guts’d ever give us a bun, or spoke as much as a kind word we’d never ’ave done it.’
Eliza nodded and accepted her share of the day’s food. The rest of it would be well wrapped up against the inroads of rats or flies and stored in their special place, to be shared equally amongst them all. She felt a little guilty when she thought of all the hard work the stallholder had put into making his bread and pies. Yet she shared in the food earned by Tucker and his friends and could never have refused to take part in the raid, but it was a lot of money to steal and she hoped it would not make too much trouble.
‘We’ll go somewhere else fer a few days,’ Tucker said. ‘We don’t need to steal while we’ve got food – and maybe we can find work somewhere, perhaps on the docks.’
Eliza nodded, refusing to let her conscience distress her. It was a harsh world and they did what they had to in order to survive.
CHAPTER 11
‘I like Ruth very much,’ Katharine told Arthur when she had installed their new housekeeper in her rooms. ‘We shall get on – and since Cook is her friend I believe they will run the house well between them.’
‘Yes, I am certain they will – and we may leave it to them,’ he said and took her hand, which was covered in a pretty lace glove, to kiss it. ‘You are an angel, Miss Ross – just as Ruth said.’
‘And I think you are flirting with me,’ Katharine countered and laughed up at him, her eyes dancing. ‘I do not dislike it, though I am reliably informed that you are a wicked rogue.’
