by Dilly Court
Guthrie stared at her with a blank expression. ‘I dunno. I don’t think I got one.’
‘Then you’ll have to go out and buy one,’ Lucetta said with a determined twitch of her shoulders. ‘And we need coal for the fire, a bucket and a scrubbing brush and some washing soda. I’ll write a list.’
‘I can’t read,’ Guthrie said humbly. ‘And I got no paper nor a pen. I used to leave all that to Norman. Like he always said, he had the brains and I had the muscle. Afore I got injured, that is. Now I’m no use to anyone.’
She stared at his bowed head and was suddenly overcome by pity. He was a big man physically but she now saw him for what he was – a child inhabiting a man’s body. Without Stranks to guide him he was lost. Disregarding the filth on the floor, she knelt by his side, hooking her arm around his shoulders. ‘You mustn’t say that, Lennie. I might not be alive now if it weren’t for you. Stranks would have killed you too if he had found out that you’d let me go. You did a brave thing and now I‘m going to look after you.’
He raised his head and his eyes met hers with an incredulous look bordering on delight that reminded her of a pet dog she had had when she was a child.
‘You’d do that for me, Lucy?’
She was already regretting her rash promise but she couldn’t go back on it now. She smiled and nodded. ‘I won’t leave you until I know that you can look after yourself.’ She stood up and moved away. The stench of his unwashed body and the sight of lice running through his hair and beard made her stomach churn. She was beginning to itch and the thought of being infested with fleas and lice was enough to galvanise her tired limbs into action. ‘I’ll go and get the things we must have. You stay here and see if you can get the fire going. We’ll need hot water and plenty of it.’
He scrambled to his feet and hobbled over to the grate where ashes spilled all over the cracked tiles in the hearth. ‘There might be a bit of coal left at the bottom of the sack. I’ll do me best, and perhaps you could get us something for our supper.’ He turned to gaze helplessly at the clutter on the table. ‘I think the rats must have ate the last of the bread.’
‘Just light the fire,’ Lucetta said, moving swiftly to the door. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
He gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘I got a terrible hankering for cheese. I ain’t had none since Stranks got took by the coppers. Bread and cheese would go down a treat.’
Lucetta had to force her aching legs to climb the steep and slippery stone steps to street level, but she was filled with renewed purpose and the determination to survive. At least she had a roof over her head and she was not alone. Lennie might not be the person she would have chosen as a companion, but she could not abandon him now. By some strange quirk of fate they needed each other. She hurried through the narrow passage that led into Seething Lane and she turned her face up to the sun. It was high in the sky, and energised by its warmth she went in search of provisions. In Crutched Friars she discovered a hardware shop crammed in between a public house and a shop selling second-hand books. She stopped outside to take out her purse and count the coins. The train fare to London had depleted her savings considerably but she did a quick calculation in her head and decided that she could afford to purchase the bare essentials. She went inside prepared to haggle.
Less than an hour later Lucetta arrived back in Black Raven Court with the shop boy staggering along behind her toting a bag of coal on his skinny shoulders. He set it down with a sigh of relief and she tipped him a penny for his trouble, which sent him racing back up the steps with a wide grin on his face. At least someone was happy, she thought as she opened the door and stepped inside. The stench almost knocked her backwards and the polluted air outside seemed like a breath of spring compared to the squalor of Guthrie’s lodgings. She did not see him at first, and she wondered if he had gone out to look for her, but a loud snore led her to the back of the room, where she found him in Stygian darkness, lying flat on his back with his hands crossed on his chest like the effigy of a Knight Templar on his tomb. She was tempted to rouse him and set him to work, but she relented. He had managed to get a fire going after a fashion, and he looked so peaceful that she had not the heart to wake him. She rolled her sleeves up and set to work.
She banked the fire with coal before going out to fetch water from the pump in Great Tower Street. This, she decided, would be a job for Lennie when his leg was less painful, but she found it oddly comforting to have someone who needed her so desperately. She returned to the basement room ready to begin battle with dirt and disorder. She put the kettle on the hob and began sweeping the floor, shovelling up mounds of dust and filth and tipping them outside into the corner of the area. Clearing that away would be another job for Lennie. She had a mental list of chores that would keep him gainfully occupied while she looked for paid employment. She poured boiling water into one of the buckets and added washing soda and a sliver of carbolic soap. For the first time in her life, Lucetta got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. Guthrie woke up as she tumbled him off his bed in order to scour the flagstones beneath the two straw-filled palliasses, which she took outside and hung over the railings to air. When she returned she found that he had made a pot of tea and it was brewing on the newly swept hearth.
‘You done wonders, Lucy,’ he said, gazing around the room. ‘I wish I could do something to help.’
‘You’ve made a pot of tea,’ she said, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I bought some sugar but I didn’t have a jug so I couldn’t get any milk.’ She saw his gaze flicker towards the newly scrubbed table top where she had left her purchases from the grocer’s shop. She smiled. ‘And there is bread and cheese for supper, but we will have to make it last, Lennie. I haven’t much money left and it will have to do until I can find paid work.’
His mouth drooped at the corners. ‘It ain’t right that you should have to support me. I never had to rely on a woman afore, let alone a slip of a girl like you.’
‘Then you must hurry up and get better,’ she said briskly. ‘Let me look at that leg. I’m no nurse but maybe I can bathe it or something.’
Reluctantly he rolled up his tattered trouser leg and Lucetta recoiled in horror at the sight of maggots writhing about on an angry-looking wound. She knew nothing about such matters but it was obvious that the bones had not mended as they should and fragments of it had pierced the skin. She frowned, shaking her head. ‘You must see a doctor, Lennie. I don’t know how to treat something like that.’
‘I don’t want no doctor. They’ll cut me leg off and if that don’t kill me I’ll be a cripple for life.’
She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder. ‘But you’ll die of blood poisoning if you don’t have that leg seen to. First thing in the morning we’ll go to the nearest hospital and get that wound dressed properly. I won’t take no for an answer.’
Next morning Lucetta and Guthrie set off a good hour before the outpatients department of St Bartholomew’s Hospital was due to open. Guthrie was in a great deal of pain but he insisted that he was quite capable of walking the distance to West Smithfield, and with many stops along the way they arrived soon after the start of the outpatients’ clinic. They sat on hard wooden benches set in rows like a theatre audience, although there was nothing to view other than the nurses bustling about in their crisp white aprons and caps as they ferried patients in and out of the consulting rooms. As their turn drew nearer Guthrie became restive and it took all Lucetta’s powers of persuasion to prevent him from leaving. His nerve almost failed him when his name was called and he refused to move unless Lucetta accompanied him. Reluctantly, she took him by the hand and they followed the nurse into a curtained cubicle.
The young doctor looked up from writing his notes and he eyed Guthrie warily. ‘Good morning. I’m Dr Richards. What can I do for you?’
Guthrie opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, and sensing his distress Lucetta laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, L
ennie. Show the doctor where it hurts.’
Obediently, Guthrie rolled up his trouser leg, pointing mutely to the seeping, maggot-infested wound. The smell of putrefying flesh made Lucetta feel nauseous but the doctor did not flinch. He motioned Guthrie to lie on the examination couch. ‘If you would climb up here I can take a better look.’
For a moment Lucetta thought that Guthrie was going to make a bolt for it, but she gave him an encouraging nod and a smile and with the greatest reluctance he did as the doctor asked.
‘You ain’t going to chop me leg off, are you, sir?’ he murmured, wincing as the doctor examined the site of the infection. ‘I don’t want to end up a cripple begging on the streets.’
‘I don’t think it will come to that.’ Dr Richards turned to Lucetta. ‘Are you related to this man?’
‘I’m looking after him,’ Lucetta said truthfully, but seeing doubt in the doctor’s eyes she felt compelled to expand the statement. ‘I’m his daughter.’
‘I see.’ Dr Richards eyed her curiously. ‘You must forgive me for staring, but I never forget a face and I feel that I’ve seen you somewhere before.’
‘I don’t think we’ve met, doctor.’
He continued to stare at her, angling his head. ‘Have you ever been a patient at this hospital?’
‘I was once, but it was some time ago. Now could we get back to Mr Guthrie’s condition?’
‘Well, Miss Guthrie, the patient will need his wound cleaned and dressed daily. He must keep his weight off that leg as much as possible and have adequate rest and good nourishment.’
‘I understand.’
Guthrie moved restlessly on the hard leather couch. ‘I can’t hear you, mate. What is he saying, Lucy?’
Dr Richards turned back to Guthrie. ‘I was just telling your daughter that you must rest and have the wound treated daily, Mr Guthrie. If you will just lie there for a few moments longer I’ll get the nurse to attend to you.’ He opened the curtains and beckoned to Lucetta. ‘May I have a word, Miss Guthrie?’
Lucetta followed him into the busy outpatients department. Having instructed a nurse to attend to Guthrie, Dr Richards drew Lucetta aside. ‘If the wound does not respond to treatment there is a possibility that gangrene will set in.’
‘And he will lose the leg.’
‘It was a nasty fracture and has not been set properly. He might require a below-knee amputation, but that would be a last resort. I would hesitate to recommend such drastic action unless the patient’s life was in danger, particularly in the case of a labouring man such as Mr Guthrie.’
Lucetta digested this in silence. She had only thought to stay with Guthrie until he was able to fend for himself. The idea that he might be dependent upon her for life was frankly terrifying. ‘I understand,’ she whispered. ‘What are his chances, doctor?’
‘I can’t say for certain. He looks to be in a poor state generally. Were he a younger or fitter man I would give him a fifty-fifty chance of recovery, although he would always be lame. As it is …’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Guthrie. We will do what we can for him.’
‘Thank you, doctor. I’ll wait for him outside. I need some air; it’s so hot in here. The smell and the maggots …’ Lucetta turned and was about to walk away, but Dr Richards called her back.
‘Miss Guthrie, I’ve just remembered where I saw you last. It was the night that the two vessels collided on the river. I was on duty and you were one of the survivors of that dreadful accident. You looked like a mermaid with your fair hair fanned out on the pillow.’
Lucetta stared at him, hardly daring to hope that he knew her true identity. ‘Yes, I was a passenger on the Caroline, and I believe that I was admitted here until I was transferred to the fever hospital, but I don’t remember anything about it.’
‘I’ll never forget that night, but as I recall there was nothing on your person to identify you.’
It had been a slim hope, but even so Lucetta could barely conceal her disappointment. ‘No, I don’t suppose there was.’
‘I arranged your transfer,’ Dr Richards said, smiling for the first time. ‘I have a good friend who works at the London Fever Hospital, and through him I was able to follow your case. You might remember him, Dr Harcourt? Dark-haired fellow with a devilish sense of humour.’
‘I–I’m afraid I can’t place him,’ Lucetta lied desperately. ‘It was some time before my memory returned.’
‘You were quite a mystery then, as I think you are now, Miss Guthrie. If you’ll forgive my saying so, I don’t exactly see you as being related to a man like Guthrie.’
‘We are given our relations, Dr Richards,’ Lucetta said coldly. ‘We choose our friends.’ She met his startled gaze without flinching, but inwardly she was quaking.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dr Richard said stiffly. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ He hurried back into the cubicle, instructing a nurse to fetch the next patient.
Lucetta sighed. She had not meant to speak so sharply and he did not deserve such a put-down, but she dared not admit the truth. If the doctor were to inform Giles of her present situation he would almost certainly come looking for her, and if Giles were to repeat his offer of marriage she was not sure that she would have the strength to refuse him a second time.
‘Lucy, I’m ready to go home.’
She turned to see Guthrie limping towards her with the aid of a pair of crutches. A young nurse was at his side and in her hands she held a paper package. She smiled as she passed it to Lucetta. ‘There are some dressings for Mr Guthrie. I’ve written the instructions down for you, miss. Dr Richards suggests that you bring your father back in a week’s time so that he can check his progress.’
Guthrie was not a good patient. He made such a fuss when the dressings were changed that Lucetta had to cajole, persuade and eventually threaten him with the dire consequences if he refused to let her carry out the doctor’s instructions. Ignoring all her protests, he insisted on going out every morning in search of work on the docks or in one of the manufactories by the river, but the result was always the same. No one wanted to hire a lame man.
Lucetta had also been trying to find suitable employment. She advertised her services as a secretary by putting cards in shop windows, but so far without attracting any prospective employers. She had lost the reference she had written in Sir Hector’s name when she fled from Miss Matty’s house in Angel Lane, and without a change of clothing she knew that she looked almost as disreputable as Guthrie. No respectable businessman would want such a shabby person working for him. She had wandered the city streets close to Black Raven Court and the Tower, knocking on doors of businesses that she thought might be in need of a secretary, and had applied for more menial positions, but without success.
On this particular day she roamed further afield and found herself in Wapping High Street, close to her father’s furniture repository. It was achingly familiar territory, bringing back happy memories of childhood visits to her father’s business domain where she was received with kindness and affection from his employees. Jim Jenkins had had a soft spot for her and there was always a tin containing shortbread biscuits baked by his wife tucked away beneath Tommy Hall’s desk in the front office. Lucetta stopped on the opposite side of the street, staring at the gilded lettering with her uncle’s name sprawled across the frontage of the building. She had received short shrift here on her last visit and a bitter taste in her mouth made her swallow convulsively. Anger roiled in her stomach at the thought of Uncle Bradley and her hateful cousin, Jeremiah, reaping the benefits of her father’s lifetime of hard work. Uncle Bradley had stolen her inheritance and he was responsible for her sorry plight. She was about to walk away, but her feet seemed to have other ideas and she found herself crossing the street to stand outside the main entrance. The doorbell clanged as she entered the office.
The clerk she remembered as Perks looked up from writing in a ledger and there was no hint of recognition in his rather startled gaze. ‘Er, can I help yo
u, miss?’
She cleared her throat and curved her lips into a smile. ‘I would like to see Mr Froy.’
‘Which Mr Froy is that, miss?’
‘Mr Bradley Froy.’
Perks shook his head. ‘Mr Bradley is in the Far East, miss. Mr Jeremiah is in charge while his father is away.’
‘Then I would like to see him, please.’
‘He’s a busy man, but I’ll see if he is available. Who shall I say is asking for him?’
‘My name is Lucy Guthrie and I am looking for work.’
Perks seemed to shrink before her eyes as he drew his shoulders up to his ears, and his neck seemed to retract as if his head would disappear at any moment, like a tortoise under attack. ‘I don’t think there are any – I mean – we don’t employ young ladies, miss.’
‘Nevertheless I would like to see Mr Jeremiah,’ Lucetta said boldly. She knew she was taking a chance but she doubted if Jeremiah would recognise her now, especially in her changed state. He was four years her senior and had been sent away to boarding school at a tender age. They had seen little of each other while they were growing up, but she remembered him as a fat, spotty and spiteful youth who had pulled her hair and smashed her favourite doll, denying all culpability when challenged by her father. It was more than three years since they had met at a family Christmas party when Jeremiah had barely noticed her, thinking himself above paying attention to a schoolgirl.
Perks slid off his stool. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything.’
‘Please tell your employer that I was personal secretary to a very important Member of Parliament,’ Lucetta said, hoping that Jeremiah’s innate snobbishness would come to the fore when he received this titbit of information. ‘I left with the highest of recommendations and it is only a family misfortune that has forced me to come in search of employment.’
Perks disappeared through a door at the back of the room which led directly into the warehouse. Lucetta hardly dared to breathe but she did not have to wait for long. He poked his head round the door. ‘Would you come this way, miss?’
