by Dilly Court
‘What can I do to help?’
‘You’re from above stairs, miss. You don’t belong down here.’ Lizzie seemed genuinely shocked.
‘I’m here on sufferance, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t, miss.’
‘Well, I’m not exactly a guest and I don’t work here, so while I’m under Miss Zilla’s roof I’ll do my bit to help.’ Mirabel glanced round the untidy kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn on the table as well as the remains of last night’s supper. ‘I’m sure you could do with a hand, especially if Cook is indisposed.’
‘If that means dead drunk, then yes, she is. I wouldn’t say no to a bit of help. I have to get the water boilers filled so that the girls upstairs can take their baths, and when they wake up they’ll all want tea and toast and I dunno how I’ll manage.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that it’s just you and Cook to look after everyone here?’
‘Lord, no, miss. There’s the charwoman, but she’s taking out the night soil ready for collection and she does all the heavy work. Then there’s Edna and Florrie who come in to clean the upstairs rooms, but they don’t start until late morning. There’s not much point them turning up to find all the sluts still in bed, and some of them are all-nighters, if you get my meaning.’
It did not take a great leap of imagination to work out what Lizzie meant by all-nighters. ‘What needs doing next? I could tidy up a bit.’
‘I don’t suppose you can make bread, can you?’
‘No, I’m afraid I can’t cook.’
‘Can you make tea?’
‘Yes, I can do that.’
Lizzie put down the poker, staring at her open-mouthed. ‘What’s a lady like you doing in the kitchen of a bawdy house?’
It was a question that Mirabel had difficulty in answering. Quite how fate had turned on her and left her with virtually nothing was something she could not explain, even to herself. ‘Never mind that now, just tell me how I might help you, Lizzie. But first I think we could both do with a cup of tea and something to eat.’
After a quick breakfast Mirabel hefted pails of water from the pump in the back yard and filled the two large tanks on either side of the range, a task which Lizzie said she had to do several times a day in order to satisfy the needs of the women above stairs. In between forays into the yard Mirabel went to check on Gertie, who had recovered sufficiently to sit up and drink some weak tea, but had no appetite for food. Mirabel left her, promising to return as soon as she could.
During a brief respite she sat at the table sharing a slice of rather stale seed cake and drinking tea with Lizzie. Cook’s snores could still be heard from the room next to the scullery, which according to Lizzie was windowless and small, although she herself slept on a rug by the range. Mirabel was beginning to realise that not all servants were so generously treated as Cook and Flossie who had space and privacy in Cutler’s Castle. ‘What will you do when the ladies want food?’ Mirabel asked curiously. ‘I mean what will you do if Cook doesn’t wake up in time to prepare a meal?’
‘I dunno. I expects Miss Zilla will send out for pies, but she’ll be in a foul mood afterwards. She always threatens to sack Cook when this happens, but she never does.’
Mirabel absorbed this in silence. So Zilla had a softer side to her nature; she kept it well hidden, but Jack must have seen something in her to love. She sighed, wondering if she would ever see him again. Their chance meeting in the soup kitchen had changed her life forever, and she must have seemed prudish and ungrateful when he had tried to help her, but she was now in Zilla’s debt. She frowned thoughtfully. The experience she had gained helping to feed the poor and needy might enable her to pay for her night’s lodgings. She rose from the table. ‘There is one thing I can cook, Lizzie. I know how to make soup. Would that help?’
Lizzie jumped to her feet, eyes shining. ‘It would be the answer to my prayers, miss. Cook’s too, I imagine. Miss Zilla might have a soft spot for the old girl but there’s only so much she’ll stand. You wouldn’t want to see her when she loses her temper.’
‘I’ll need onions, carrots, turnips and some meat and the biggest saucepan you’ve got.’
‘I’ll have a look in the meat safe outside. You’ll find the vegetables in the larder.’
Zilla walked into the kitchen, coming to a sudden halt as she sniffed the savoury aroma of stew simmering in the large, soot-blackened pan. ‘Where’s Cook?’
Lizzie jumped to attention, clasping her hands tightly behind her back. ‘If you please, Miss Zilla, Cook ain’t too well.’
Zilla stared at Mirabel. ‘What are you doing down here?’
‘I thought I could help out in return for the night’s lodging,’ Mirabel said hastily.
‘You can cook?’
‘Not exactly. I learned how to make stew in the soup kitchen.’
Zilla threw back her head and laughed. ‘So you’re one of those well-intentioned ladies who give their time to charity. Now that’s funny.’ She walked over to the range and lifted the lid on the pan. ‘It smells good.’ She reached for a ladle, dipped and tasted. ‘It’s not bad. I had you down as a spoiled darling, no use to anyone, unless they wanted a woman purely for her looks, but I see there’s more to you.’
‘I won’t outstay my welcome,’ Mirabel said with dignity. ‘Thank you for allowing me to stay last night, but I’ll be on my way.’
‘And where will you go?’ Zilla demanded, handing the ladle to Lizzie. ‘It’s no good looking for Jack; his ship sailed on the tide.’
‘He didn’t say he was leaving.’
‘Oh dear, do I hear the sound of a heart breaking?’ Zilla gave her a mocking smile. ‘He does that to women. He has this fatal charm which he uses to his full advantage, and then, like all seafarers, he sails away into the sunset. Or in Jack’s case it was into a fiery dawn. I waved him goodbye.’
Mirabel averted her gaze, staring down at the flagstone floor. She had not intended to go looking for him, but perhaps, if she were being honest, she had hoped he might check to see that she was all right.
‘Can’t she stay, Miss Grace?’ Lizzie asked anxiously. ‘She’s worked really hard this morning, and I dunno how I’d have managed if she hadn’t been here.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I meant to say it was only because Cook was taken poorly . . .’
‘Dead drunk, you mean.’ Zilla’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tell her if she does this one more time I’ll send her to the workhouse. I can’t run my establishment unless I have people I can rely upon.’ She turned to Mirabel, eyeing her up and down. ‘I could do with a smart upstairs maid. Edna and Florrie are common girls with strong arms and they do the heavy work, but a good-looking parlour maid might be an asset.’
‘Thank you, but I’d prefer to seek employment elsewhere.’ Mirabel headed for the door. ‘I’ll collect my things.’
‘Wait.’ Zilla’s command echoed round the kitchen. ‘You might look down on us for providing a service to men who are more than willing to pay, but who else would employ someone who has no training in domestic duties, or anything else as far as I can see? What are you fit for, Mirabel Cutler?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m not prepared to sleep with men for money.’
‘My dear, I don’t doubt that you’re a virgin, and although some of my gentlemen would pay handsomely to deflower you, I doubt if they’d find it an enjoyable experience. You haven’t the talent to make a man lust for you.’
Even though she felt her cheeks redden, it was anger as well as embarrassment that roiled in Mirabel’s belly. ‘You know nothing about me, Miss Zilla.’
‘I’m a woman of the world and I know people. You would make a good wife for a missionary or a dull little clergyman, but you aren’t the sort to set men’s loins aflame with desire.’
‘I leave that to people like you.’ Mirabel hesitated, knowing that she had gone too far. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me, especially when you’ve been kind enough to take us in.’
&n
bsp; Zilla gave her a deprecating look. ‘I don’t do things out of kindness. If I did a favour it was for an old friend and not for you.’
Chastened, Mirabel nodded her head. ‘I’ll leave now, but Gertie is still unwell. I can’t take her with me.’
‘Don’t be a fool. Where would you go, and what would you do?’
‘I have friends who help in the soup kitchen. I’m sure they’ll assist me in finding a suitable position.’
‘Are you really? Do you think those good ladies will rally round to help a maiden in distress? They’ll make sympathetic noises but they won’t invite you into their homes, and they definitely wouldn’t allow you within a hundred yards of their husbands and sons.’
‘I’m not asking to be taken in,’ Mirabel said angrily. ‘All I want is to earn my living.’
Zilla shot a warning glance in Lizzie’s direction. ‘Get on with your work, girl.’ She turned her head to give Mirabel an appraising look. ‘Come upstairs to my parlour. I think I may have the solution to your problem.’
Chapter Six
MIRABEL HESITATED OUTSIDE the iron gates which separated Catherine Court from Great Tower Hill. She had not intended to return home, but she needed to know when her father’s funeral was to take place. He had spoiled and bullied her according to his moods, and had allowed a scheming woman to turn him against his own daughter, but he was still her father. It seemed hypocritical to say her last goodbyes in the house of God for Jacob Cutler had never been a churchgoer. She doubted if he had a religious bone in his body, but he deserved a show of respect and she was not going to allow her stepmother to frighten her away.
She had planned her visit for a time most likely to coincide with the absence of Ernestine and her daughters. Zilla had grudgingly allowed her an hour off from her new position as parlourmaid, and she had flung a shawl over her black poplin dress and swapped her white frilled mobcap for her old straw bonnet.
She opened the gate and entered the narrow court where the sun’s rays only managed to squeeze between the tall buildings when it was high in the sky at midsummer, but now with autumn fast approaching the shadows had deepened and it was cool in the shade. Mirabel made her way down the area steps to the basement kitchen.
Cook was in her rocking chair by the range with her cap askew and her mouth open as she dozed by the fire, even though it was a warm day outside and sweat was running down her plump cheeks. Flossie was washing up in the scullery but she rushed into the kitchen at the sound of the door opening. She threw up her hands in surprise. ‘Miss Mirabel. You ain’t supposed to be here.’
Mirabel laid her finger on her lips. ‘Shh, Flossie. Don’t wake Cook. Is Wiley around?’
‘He’s above stairs, miss. He’s taken to sitting in the drawing room when the mistress is out. He’s got too big for his boots if you ask me. He thinks he’s master of the house now the old master has passed away.’
‘That’s why I came, Flossie.’ Mirabel moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘Do you know when my father’s funeral is to take place?’
‘Tomorrow, miss. All Hallows Church. You aren’t thinking of going, are you?’
‘I must. He was my father and nothing is going to keep me away.’
‘It was that Wiley what poisoned his mind against you. Him and her above stairs are thick as thieves. I reckon they planned it all along.’
‘You’d better be careful what you say, Flossie. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of Mrs Cutler.’
‘Cook and me reckons she’ll be Mrs Wiley afore long.’ Flossie glanced at the stairs as if expecting to see Wiley lurking in the shadows. ‘He’s got his eye on her fortune.’
‘No. I can’t believe that. Why would she want a man like him when she’s a woman of independent means? She’s got what she set out to get.’
‘He whispers things in her ear and she goes quite pale. I seen it meself when I take their dinner up to them. He sits by her side at table and holds her hand. Sometimes she smiles and tosses her head like a girl and at other times she looks scared. He’s up to something, mark my words, miss.’
Mirabel shivered despite the oppressive heat in the room. ‘It’s none of my business now. After today I’ll never set foot in this house again.’
‘That you won’t, Miss Mirabel Cutler.’ The sound of Wiley’s voice awakened Cook from her slumbers with a start, and caused Flossie to scamper into the scullery and slam the door. He came slowly down the stairs. ‘So you couldn’t keep away from your old home.’
‘I just wanted to know when my father’s funeral is due to take place.’ Mirabel faced him squarely. He might frighten the servants and have some kind of hold over Ernestine but she was not scared of him. He was a loathsome creature and she felt nothing but contempt for him.
‘You are not welcome here and you’ll keep away from the funeral.’
‘He was my father and I will be there.’
Cook struggled to her feet. ‘I was just resting my eyes, Mr Wiley. I wasn’t asleep.’
‘You’d better buck up your ideas, you idle old slut, or you’ll be looking for another position.’ Wiley gave her a withering look. ‘Clean up this mess and start preparing dinner. I’ve a fancy for steak pie.’
‘But Mr Wiley, I was going to roast a leg of lamb.’
‘Steak pie or you can pack your bags.’ He turned to Mirabel with a malicious grin. ‘I can see by your mode of dress that you’re in service. You’ve come down in the world.’
‘What I do is no concern of yours, Wiley. Just tell me the time of the funeral service and I’ll be gone from here. You won’t see me again.’
‘Don’t you want your fine clothes, Miss Mirabel?’ He clasped his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Dear me, I was forgetting you don’t need them now.’
‘You sold them, Mr Wiley,’ Cook muttered. ‘She couldn’t have them even if she wanted them.’
‘That’s enough from you, woman.’ Wiley moved swiftly to open the door leading into the area. ‘You’d best leave now, Miss Cutler. The funeral is at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, but take my advice and stay away.’
‘I don’t know why my father put such faith in you.’ Mirabel stepped outside but he followed her and caught her by the arm.
‘You think you’re so high and mighty, well let me tell you something. Your pa was a bad ’un through and through. He was lucky he didn’t end up with a noose round his neck, dancing a Newgate hornpipe.’
She snatched her arm free from his grasp. ‘I won’t listen to this.’ She covered her ears, but he pulled her hands away.
‘Your pa wheedled his way into Cyrus Pendleton’s good books and then he did for him. That’s how he came into his fortune and that’s why you was brought up a lady.’
She stared at him in horror. ‘That’s a wicked lie. My pa wouldn’t do a thing like that.’
‘It’s the truth. Your stepmother believed me, and now I’ve got her just where I want her. When we marry the money and this house will be mine.’
‘You’re an evil man, Wiley. I don’t believe a word you say.’
He thrust his face close to hers. ‘You may not, but others will. I’ll blacken the name of Cutler so that you’ll be shunned by decent people. Who would employ the daughter of a man who gained his fortune by murdering his employer and taking over his business? You’d end up an old maid picking oakum in the workhouse.’
She recoiled at the smell of bad breath and stale alcohol. ‘I won’t listen to this.’
‘That’s right, run away, and don’t come back. You’re not welcome here.’
‘I’ll take what’s mine. I want what’s left of my possessions.’
‘Too late, Miss Cutler. I cleared the attic and the stall holders in Petticoat Lane were pleased to take the lot. I daresay you could buy some of the things back, at a price.’
If she had doubted Wiley’s words she realised that he had been telling the truth when she found her best gown displayed on a market stall, together with several of her bonnets and her fur-t
rimmed mantle. Her boots and shoes were for sale further along the street and two women were fighting over her favourite lace-trimmed nightgown. Mirabel walked on. Even if she had had enough money to redeem her clothes she would have resisted the temptation. They were part of her old life and she must look to the future, there was nothing to be gained by living in the past.
She attended the church next day, sitting in the back pew as far away from Ernestine and her girls as was possible. Wiley was there as well as Cook and Flossie, who was snivelling into her handkerchief. The ceremony was brief and the interment was to be at Brookwood Cemetery. The glass-sided hearse was waiting outside, and the coal-black horses pawed the ground with their mourning plumes waving in the cool breeze.
‘Are you a member of the funeral party, miss?’ The solemn-faced undertaker eyed her curiously.
‘No she ain’t. She can’t afford the rail fare.’ Ernestine walked off, heading towards the second carriage with her daughters tagging along with obvious reluctance. Prudence stuck her tongue out at Mirabel but Charity chose to ignore her. Wiley strode past with his nose in the air. He was dressed like a gentleman, although Mirabel suspected that his suit had been hired for the occasion, but she recognised the silver-topped ebony cane he carried as being her father’s favourite. It was plain to see that he had assumed the position of head of the house even before his old master was laid to rest. Mirabel stood stiffly erect, chin up and determined not to let them see that she was close to tears. ‘Goodbye, Pa,’ she whispered as the horses moved forward at the coachman’s command, heading towards the London Necropolis railway station where the party would board the special train to Brookwood Cemetery.
She stood motionless, watching until they were out of sight. It was farewell to her old life, she realised with a sigh, and now she was truly alone and virtually penniless until Zilla chose to pay her the small wage they had agreed. Her home for the foreseeable future was a brothel in Tenter Street.
