by Dilly Court
Mirabel’s heart sank. There was only one person that could be. ‘Was it a house in Catherine Court? And was the man tall and dark with a sallow complexion and a mean face?’
‘All true, miss. So you know what I’m talking about. Have I come to the right place at last?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Mirabel said cautiously. ‘What’s your name, mister?’
‘Roger Tinker, commonly known as Bodger. I’m looking for me sister Gertie.’
‘You’d better come in, but please keep your voice down.’ Mirabel ushered him in and closed the door. ‘How did you know to come here? The man you spoke of didn’t direct you here, did he?’
‘I’d say not, miss.’ He snatched up his bag and followed her inside. ‘I’d have been at a loss but for a young maidservant come running up the area steps as I was leaving. She told me I might find out what I wanted from the women what work in the soup kitchen, so I goes there and speaks to a toffee-nosed old bitch who couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She sent me here, and here I am.’
‘And you’re more than welcome.’ Mirabel resisted the temptation to hug him. His sudden appearance seemed like a miracle, or a conjuror’s trick which had summoned him from nowhere in answer to Gertie’s dearest wish. ‘I know someone who’ll be overjoyed to see you, Bodger. Come with me.’ She led the way to the parlour and opened the door. ‘Gertie, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ She stood aside as he lumbered into the room, flinging his ditty bag on the floor and opening his arms wide to receive Gertie as she raced into them.
‘Bodger, I knew you’d come for me some day.’ Laughing and crying she held him at arm’s length. ‘You bastard, you didn’t half give me a fright. I didn’t know where you was or what had happened to you.’
‘I was stranded in Rio. Spent too long in a game of poker and got to the dock in time to see the ship sailing into the distance.’
‘Captain Jack said you’d jumped ship.’
‘Not true. It weren’t intentional. I’d lost all me money and I had to find another vessel to bring me back home.’
Mirabel could hear voices at the end of the corridor. ‘I suggest you find somewhere else to talk,’ she whispered. ‘I think Zilla is coming this way, and she doesn’t encourage us to entertain gentlemen friends or even relations.’
‘Not unless they’re very rich,’ Gertie said, chuckling. ‘I don’t care what she says. I got me brother back. I can leave here now and we can get a place to live together, can’t we, Bodger?’
His smile faded. ‘The trouble is I got no money, my duck.’
Gertie faced him like an angry hen who was about to peck him to death. ‘You got home didn’t you? You must have worked your passage because you ain’t got no wings, so you didn’t fly like a bird.’
He bent his head, avoiding her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, love. I did find a ship, but I didn’t get no pay for me labours.’
Gertie flew at him, beating her small fists against his broad chest. ‘You fool. Your bloody gambling has ruined us. Where’s Captain Jack? He’ll take you on again, I know he will.’
Bodger caught her by both wrists, holding her away from him. ‘Stop it, Gertie. You’ll do yourself a mischief. As to the Cap’n, I’m afraid it’s bad news. It’s all round the docks that the Lady Grace went down in a storm off Havana.’
Chapter Nine
MIRABEL ESCAPED FROM the room. The dire news had literally taken her breath away and she gasped for air as if winded by a sudden fall. From inside she could hear the sound of brother and sister arguing fiercely. What seemed to concern them most was not the loss of the ship and its crew, but the fact that Bodger would have difficulty in convincing another master to take him on.
Perhaps it was merely a rumour, or a terrible mistake, Mirabel thought miserably. Jack Starke was a survivor, of that she was certain, and he would not endanger his vessel and the lives of his men by taking foolish risks.
‘Mabel.’ Zilla’s harsh tone brought Mirabel back to the present with a start.
‘Yes, Miss Zilla.’
Zilla came towards her clutching a rolled-up newspaper in her hand. ‘Don’t loiter around as if you have nothing to do. Get on with your work.’
Mirabel was quick to note the pallor of Zilla’s cheeks, and unless she was very much mistaken, her hard-bitten employer had been crying. ‘Is anything wrong, Miss Zilla?’
‘Mind your own business. I want you to tidy my parlour. I can’t trust those stupid women to do it without breaking something, or prying into my private affairs. I’m going to lie down for an hour or two.’ She thrust the newspaper into Mirabel’s hand. ‘Use this to light the fire.’ She headed for the stairs.
Even though her days in Tenter Street were numbered, Mirabel knew better than to disobey Zilla. She did not open the newspaper until she reached the privacy of the parlour, where she laid it out on the desk and found it to be a copy of Lloyd’s List, with the loss of the Lady Grace featured on the front page. She sat down suddenly as her legs seemed to turn to jelly beneath her, but a hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat at the thought of how amused Jack would be if he knew that two women were grieving for him. He had come into her life and had left without realising that she was halfway to falling in love with him. How could he have known, when she had barely understood her own feelings? She tore off the offending page and screwed it into a ball, tossing it into the grate. The time for girlish dreams was past, and now she must face the reality of a loveless marriage to a man many years her senior. But Hubert was no ordinary man; he was kind and considerate and expected little in return for taking her from a life of servitude. She made a silent vow to be loyal and to do her best to look after him in his declining years.
It was midmorning but the city was suffused in gloom, and cast-iron clouds were bulging with the threat of snow. As Mirabel left Zilla’s house the cold air enveloped her like a shroud, biting through the fine silk of her wedding dress and snapping at her heels like a bad-tempered terrier.
Oblivious to the weather and bubbling with excitement, bridesmaid Gertie did her best to keep the train from trailing in the mud while Bodger helped Mirabel into the waiting hackney carriage. Having seen her settled he turned to his sister. ‘In you go, Gertie,’ he said, picking her up and tossing her onto the seat opposite Mirabel. ‘I’ll ride on the box with the cabby. Can’t stand being cooped up in small spaces.’ He slammed the door.
Gertie rearranged the skirts of her new gown, which had been run up by Miss Standish at the last moment. ‘I ain’t never had such a lovely frock,’ she said happily. ‘I feel like a bride meself, although who would want to marry me?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Mirabel said automatically. ‘You’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day,’ she added hastily, when she realised she had spoken harshly. Even so, she could not help wishing that she could share Gertie’s excitement. She had spent a sleepless night and was filled with doubt. What if this was a terrible mistake? Everyone, from Lucky Sue to Lizzie the scullery maid, had warned her not to expect too much from a husband who was old enough to be her grandfather, but Lizzie was a bit simple and Lucky Sue was openly envious, so perhaps they were not the most reliable counsellors. Zilla said little, but she had been tight-lipped and irritable since the loss of the Lady Grace became public knowledge. The slightest misdemeanour by any of her girls or the servants was enough to send her into a rage. In the end it was Gertie’s enthusiasm for the coming nuptials that eclipsed the doubters, and gave Mirabel the encouragement she needed. She had been touched by Bodger’s offer to give her away, and although her initial reaction had been to refuse tactfully, Gertie’s eager expression had made such an ungracious act unthinkable. She accepted with as much good grace as she could muster, and Gertie had been ecstatic. Bodger had merely grunted and pointed out that he had nothing suitable to wear. A quick trip round the second-hand clothes shops had procured a black tailcoat, more suitable for an undertaker than a best man, and a pair of pinstripe trousers, which when teamed with a slightly yellowed wh
ite shirt made him look like a butler, but he seemed pleased with the result.
‘Are you all right, Mabel?’ Gertie asked anxiously. ‘You’re very pale. You ain’t going to puke, are you?’
‘No, I’m quite all right.’
‘I expects you’re nervous. I know I would be if I was getting wed today.’ Gertie settled back against the worn leather squabs. ‘I ain’t half looking forward to the wedding breakfast. Your Mr Kettle is a toff to treat us all to a slap-up dinner. He’s a lovely man even if he is old.’
‘Yes,’ Mirabel said slowly. ‘He is a lovely man, and I’m very lucky.’
Gertie smiled and lapsed into silence for the rest of the short journey, for which Mirabel was truly grateful.
It was snowing gently when Bodger handed Mirabel out of the cab, with Gertie fussing around her. Inside the church Zilla’s girls were huddled together on the pews like a colourful collection of exotic birds. Their garish feathered hats were matched by the lurid hues of their satin gowns, lavishly trimmed with braid, frogging and frills. In complete contrast, Miss Standish sat alone, dressed entirely in black with a veiled bonnet more suitable for a funeral than a wedding.
Zilla occupied the front pew, resplendent in a fur-trimmed purple mantle with a matching hat designed to look like a hussar’s shako. Her expression was sombre and she did not smile when she turned her head to give Mirabel an appraising glance.
Hubert stepped forward and through the white mist of her veil she saw him as a grey ghost. His normally pallid face was ashen and his white hair even whiter in the cold light. His eyes were dark pools and she could not read the expression in them even though his lips were fixed in a tentative smile. She shivered, and was tempted to turn and run and keep on running until she was too exhausted to go a step further.
The vicar was saying something, but he might as well have been speaking in a foreign tongue for all the sense she could make of his words. Then Hubert took her hand in his and she was comforted by the warmth of his touch. She found herself making her responses even though she barely understood what she was saying, and then he slipped the ring on her finger. He lifted the veil and kissed her briefly on the lips. She had to steel herself not to recoil at the strong odour of lavender cologne mixed with Macassar oil and the unfamiliar, sour smell of his breath. It was the first time he had made so bold, and it dawned upon her that she was now his to do with as he pleased. It was a sobering thought, but it was too late to change her mind. She recoiled instinctively, but at that moment the heavy church door was flung open, and the creaking, grinding sound echoed throughout the building. Everyone turned to see who had burst into the ceremony uninvited, and Mirabel’s hand flew to her mouth when she saw Wiley striding up the aisle.
‘Stop,’ he cried, waving his arms. With his coat tails flying out behind him, he resembled a crow about to launch itself into flight, and it seemed to Mirabel that he was a bird of ill omen. ‘Stop, I say.’
The vicar stepped forward. ‘What is the meaning of this, sir? Kindly cease this vulgar display and leave.’
‘Vulgar display is it?’ Wiley moved closer to Hubert. ‘Don’t marry this woman. She’s tainted by the sins of her father. He was a murderer.’ Wiley paused, turning to glare at Zilla’s girls, who were chattering amongst themselves. Silenced by a single glance, they stared back at him, eyebrows raised. ‘You may look startled, ladies,’ he continued. ‘This woman has kept the truth from you all. She is the daughter of a man who killed his employer, stole his business and went on to make a fortune from his illgotten gains.’
‘Sounds like the ideal plan. Tell us how to do it, mister.’ Gentle Jane’s mocking laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling. ‘No disrespect meant, Miss Zilla, but the thought has crossed many of our minds afore now.’
Someone tittered and Lucky Sue clapped her hands. Zilla remained unmoved. ‘I’m sure the feeling is mutual, Jane,’ she said sharply.
‘So what are you going to do about it, mate?’ Wiley demanded, turning his back on them and leaning towards Hubert with a malicious smile twisting his features.
‘Nothing at all, sir. You are talking about my wife’s father, who is no longer with us and has gone on to the final judgement. I’ll thank you to show a little respect.’
‘I’m too late then?’ Wiley scowled at Mirabel. ‘I haven’t done with you yet.’ He uttered a strangled cough as Bodger caught him round the throat. ‘L-let me g-go.’
‘I’ve a good mind to throttle you here and now,’ Bodger muttered through clenched teeth.
‘I’ll have no violence in the house of our Lord,’ the vicar said firmly. ‘If you intend to carry out your threat I suggest you take this man outside.’
Bodger released Wiley, giving him a shove that sent him sprawling onto the tiled floor. ‘You heard the reverend gent. Get out and don’t come back, or do you want me to persuade you with me fists?’ He shot a sideways glance at the vicar. ‘No offence meant, your worship.’
‘None taken, my good man, but I’d be grateful if you would remove this fellow. He’s frightening the ladies.’
A titter rippled amongst the assembled women and Zilla stood up. ‘We’ll follow Mr and Mrs Kettle quietly. Remember where you are, ladies.’
‘Ladies,’ Lucky Sue murmured in a stage whisper. ‘That’s the first time she’s called us that.’
Bodger lifted Wiley by the seat of his trousers and frogmarched him down the aisle. Gertie clapped her hands but subsided beneath a scorching look from Zilla. ‘Sorry, miss. I forgot meself.’
Wiley struggled free as they reached the outer door. Turning his head he shook his fist at Mirabel. ‘If you try to contest the will you’re a goner. I’ll have your liver and lights and the old man won’t be able to protect you.’
Hubert slipped Mirabel’s hand through the crook of his arm. ‘Come, my dear, let’s leave this wretch to consider his own folly. You are my wife now and you’ll be treated with the respect you deserve, or I’ll want to know the reason why.’
Outside the snow was falling in earnest. Large feathery flakes swirled and spun like tiny ballerinas in the still air, falling gracefully to the ground and blanketing the pavements in pristine whiteness. Bodger was sent to find cabs to take them to Leadenhall Street, where Hubert had booked a private room at the Ship and Turtle. ‘A bowl of their excellent soup will bring the roses back to your cheeks, Mirabel,’ he said softly as he handed her into a hackney carriage. He climbed in beside her and sat down, but when the door closed and they were alone together as man and wife she experienced a panicky feeling in her stomach.
She managed a tight little smile. ‘That sounds lovely, Hubert.’
He patted her clasped hands, held tightly on her lap. ‘You mustn’t worry about anything, my dear. From now on it’s my duty to look after you and keep you safe from men like Wiley.’
The Ship and Turtle in Leadenhall Street was famous for its turtle soup and fixings. Hubert was obviously well known there and they were welcomed in person by the landlord, Adolphus Painter. Mirabel soon realised that it was Hubert’s open-handed generosity that endeared him to the staff as well as his pleasant manner. The food was delicious and with each bottle of wine consumed the pitch of the conversation rose another octave. Bodger munched his way through several helpings of each dish, washing the meal down with several pints of ale, but Gertie was a giggling heap after two glasses of claret and fell asleep over her pudding. Mirabel sat next to Hubert but she had little appetite and only took small sips of wine. If her husband noticed, he was too polite to comment and he chatted easily to Zilla and her girls, taking their teasing with a good-humoured smile even when their advice for the wedding night became too lewd even for Zilla, who silenced them with a frown.
When the last crumb was eaten Hubert rose from his seat, holding up his glass. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to my bride, who is more beautiful than the most precious orchid in my collection.’ He turned to Mirabel with a tender smile. ‘Mirabel.’
Somewhat tipsily the re
st of the party stood up and raised their glasses. ‘Mirabel.’
‘Mrs Kettle,’ Zilla said with a wry smile.
Gertie opened her eyes, blinking in the candlelight like a small owl. ‘What have I missed?’
Bodger sat down heavily. ‘Nothing, my duck. Go back to sleep.’
Hubert remained standing, fixing his gaze on Zilla. ‘With your permission, I’d like to take Gertie home with us. I think my wife ought to have a lady’s maid and Gertie would seem to be the ideal person.’
Bodger gazed at him bleary-eyed. ‘Hold on, mister. I’m her brother and her only relative so you should ask me first.’
Hubert remained unruffled by the interruption. ‘And what do you say?’
‘I say yes, of course. Anything is better than earning her living flat on her back.’ Bodger’s flushed face turned a deeper shade of red. ‘Begging your pardon, ladies. No offence meant.’
‘None taken, dearie,’ Gentle Jane said, leaning across the table to expose a deep cleavage. ‘It takes a special type of woman to be in our profession. You’re welcome to the little scrap, Mr Kettle sir. She’s a bit of an amateur when it comes to knowing what tickles a gent’s fancy.’
‘Do you really mean it, Hubert?’ Mirabel asked anxiously. She had watched her husband drinking glass after glass of claret, although he did not appear to be drunk. It would be too bad to take Gertie away from Tenter Street only to have him change his mind when completely sober.
He held out his hand. ‘Of course I do. Mrs Flitton has enough on her hands without extra duties being thrust upon her. She’ll enjoy having a young person to boss around.’
Gertie raised her head. ‘I don’t feel too well, Mabel.’
Mirabel leapt to her feet and with Bodger’s help lifted Gertie from the chair. They managed to get her outside into the back yard before she vomited. Bodger wiped his sister’s lips on a grubby hanky. ‘That’ll learn you, Gertrude Tinker. Wine ain’t no good for girls your age.’ He lifted her in his arms. ‘I’ll take her outside and hail a cab, Miss – I mean Mrs Kettle. You will look after her for me, won’t you? I got to find another ship as quick as possible because I’m broke.’
