Paying Guests

by Claire Rayner

  ‘I am afraid, Aunt Tilly, that your good heart overwhelms your good sense,’ Sophie said. ‘You cannot care for all the beggar children in London! There are thousands and thousands of them. I tell you, I have seen them – they are the outside of enough, driving ordinary citizens to despair with their constant wheedling and prodding, when we all know they are lazy and dirty and could work for a living if they chose.’

  ‘However importunate those you have seen may be, dear Sophie,’ Tilly said, ‘and I dare say you may be right that they are not all as poor as they seem to be, I am still concerned about these particular children we saw today. I have no intention of seeking a remedy for all. Just for them.’

  ‘I am the one who is seeking a remedy for all,’ Silas said and smiled at Sophie. ‘I am quite determined to start a new branch of my Society to consider the welfare of these pathetic creatures. We shall make a story of the cause of their poverty and indigence and see if we can’t offer some sort of thoughtful remedy for the conditions that create them and enable them to survive as they do. It will be the best way of controlling the menace, as you express it, Miss Oliver!’

  ‘Well,’ Sophie said and put down her napkin and rose to her feet. ‘I dare say you think me unfeeling, Aunt Tilly, but I must say I believe that Mr Geddes’s way of dealing with beggary is by far the best. To study social conditions and so arrange matters that beggary does not occur – now, that makes sense. But taking in filthy children who are probably verminous and diseased – well, I cannot see what good that does.’

  ‘Except to the children,’ Tilly said. ‘And they will not remain verminous and diseased – if they are – once they are here. I shall see to it that they are clean and well fed, and undertake that they will be no discomfort to you, or any of my guests. I will, of course, explain to all of them my wishes and assure them they will not be discommoded in the slightest. I have no doubt they will look kindly on my efforts. What do you think, Duff?’

  He was silent for a moment, looking from Sophie to Tilly and she could almost feel the tug he was experiencing from both directions. Then he shook his head and smiled.

  ‘I shall try both methods and assess them, Sophie. I shall join Silas in his Society’s meetings, if you’ll have me, Silas, and also help Mamma with her plans. There! I cannot be fairer than that!’

  Tilly laughed. ‘Indeed you can’t. Nor more diplomatic. I congratulate you! Now, I must be busy. If you will all excuse me, we shall meet again at dinner, I imagine?’

  ‘Unless you have time this afternoon to discuss the manner in which I might start my new branch of the Society, Tilly,’ Silas said and smiled at her. ‘And perhaps you too, Miss Oliver?’

  Sophie chuckled softly. ‘Oh, no, Mr Geddes! I must be about something of much greater importance to me. I have a new book to read, and I shall sit in the summer house and read it, if that is permitted, Aunt Tilly?’

  ‘Of course it is!’ Tilly said. The summer house has been scrubbed and equipped with comfortable chairs for that very purpose. Duff, perhaps you will take out one of the long chairs and arrange it for Sophie? You will be more comfortable on one of those, my dear!’ She smiled sweetly at the two young ones, as Duff, moving with alacrity, led the way to the dining-room door.

  ‘I’ll see to it at once,’ he said. ‘Sophie, may I join you in the summer house then? I could bring some cushions for you too, if you want them.’

  She said nothing, just dimpling at him as she left the room and he followed, leaving Silas still at the table.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said after a moment. ‘So that is your plan? I must say it sounds to me to be risky. Some of these children are, I am told, sadly debauched by their elders. They may be used as burglars’ aides, ready to creep inside respectable houses and let the robbers in.’

  ‘I shall risk that,’ Tilly said. ‘It will be better than doing nothing. Don’t you feel that, in your heart?’

  ‘Of course I do. Why else am I so determined to find a remedy for the cause of beggary? I just wish I could persuade you to devote your efforts to the matter in that safe sort of way, rather than –’

  ‘Well, Silas, I must tell you that my mind is quite made up!’ Tilly said and made for the door. ‘I shall take care of these children we met this morning, no matter what. Now, if you will forgive me, we must allow Rosie to clear the table. We are holding her back in her work, you know, and that would never do.’

  ‘No,’ Silas said and sighed. ‘Some things would never do.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘PLEASE BE ASSURED, Mrs Quentin,’ Mr Cumming said earnestly. ‘The best arrangements have been made. We have much experience of these matters at St George’s, for we draw on all the beggar population from Piccadilly as well as this side of the Town, and long ago sought measures for helping them. We have a most active committee of gentlemen who are concerned for their Christian welfare and the boys’ cases went to them this very afternoon, since happily, they were having their monthly meeting.’

  ‘But it seems so cruel to split a little family that way,’ Tilly said and Mr Cumming lifted his brows at her.

  ‘Little family, Mrs Quentin? Why, there are six of them! That is big enough in all conscience! While I applaud your notion of giving succour to the girl here, I cannot see that it would be of any value to your household to take in four boys and a baby, beside.’

  She looked at him in some surprise. The ebullient young man, much given to flirting with the younger lady guests and making a great deal of noise guffawing with his friend Mr Hancock, seemed very different now he was speaking of matters to do with his work. He had become, she thought, almost as pompous as she knew some senior physicians to be, and she sighed a little. She had hoped to find him more sympathetic to her plans than he had turned out to be; now he was looking at her with positive disapproval.

  ‘Let me explain a little more carefully, Mr Cumming,’ she said. ‘I am not proposing to take these children into my house in order to use them as servants. I believe they are too young for such things – they need care and feeding and a healthy life.’

  ‘Your philanthropic nature is a credit to you, Mrs Quentin, but it is not a very practical matter you’re suggesting. How long can such children be kept in idleness? They must earn their bread for the rest of their lives, if they are to have any, and the sooner they start to discover how to do so the better their chances. Boys generally start work on farms at the age of ten or thereabouts, you know, and these four boys are older than that. The youngest is already eleven and the others are in steps and stairs a year older. The fourteen year old will benefit most from being placed on a good farm, you know. There are some farmers who refuse to take a boy as old as that who has had no earlier experience of the work. To be too old is to handicap them. I repeat, your good heart does you credit, Mrs Quentin, but do let me assure you that you will do these boys a disservice if you bring them here and try to rear them as though they were children of your own class. They are not, and never will be. So do at least allow them to be reared to the station in life to which they are best suited.’

  She sat and stared at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, trying to think how she could argue with him. Then Silas, who had been sitting silently beside Mr Cumming, listening carefully, leaned forwards.

  ‘I fear he is right, you know,’ he said in a serious tone. ‘I have listened to all your discussions, as you so kindly asked me to do, and as you are fully aware I was in total sympathy with your aspirations when we started. You did not have to convince me that your plan was a good one – but now I have heard all that Cumming here has to say, I must admit that I see the force of his argument. To take such boys and keep them here in London when they can go and live and work on a farm and regain some health and where they will be excellently fed, for country people do eat well, is hardly an act of generosity. Sooner or later they will return to the streets if they live here, will they not? You could not intend to apprentice them out of your own pocket to a city trade – and even if you
did, and it would be a costly business for four of them, who would take them? They are of such poor background, I cannot see any city tradesman being at all interested in them, not when they can have their pick of better reared boys. If the hospital has this group of good men who are willing to take these boys to reliable farmers, why, I do think you should agree that they are wisest. There is much work to be done regarding children such as these – in prevention, you know, and education and so forth – but filling your home with the trouble such boys are all too likely to bring is not the right work for you.’

  ‘But –’ she began and then stopped. She could not argue with them, for what they were saying made clear, if unpalatable, sense, and she lifted her chin and said, ‘I may visit them on their farms and see they are well?’

  Mr Cumming looked relieved. ‘Of course,’ he said heartily. ‘The members of our committee are eager to obtain all the support they can get, and it pleases them greatly to have ladies who are willing to take an interest in the children they rescue. It is vital they have good caring ladies like yourself to support the goodwill of the farmers, who, excellent Christians though they all are, and acting out of the love of their religion as they do, still benefit from the approval of their betters.’

  She sighed deeply, dispirited. ‘I would have wished to do more with my own hands,’ she murmured and then lifted her head sharply to look at Cumming closely. ‘If I agree that I will not seek to take the boys into my home, but will visit them regularly and be their friend, what of their sister and the baby? You cannot be putting them to farm work.’

  Mr Cumming looked down at his hands, which had been resting on his knees which were akimbo. ‘As to that,’ he said after a moment, ‘I fear the problem with one of them will be solved for us. The infant is very sickly. I cannot see him surviving much longer.’

  ‘But surely not?’ Tilly cried. ‘While there is life all efforts must be made to –’

  ‘But who will make such efforts?’ Mr Cumming said reasonably. ‘The infant is an orphan. It would take a most devoted mother’s care to give the child the smallest chance of survival. And he has no mother –’

  ‘He has his sister,’ Tilly said heatedly.

  ‘But she will have her own living to earn!’ Mr Cumming said. ‘This infant will need constant care by day and night if it is to live.’

  ‘And it will have such care!’ Tilly said strongly. ‘From his sister. She seemed to me a sensible girl and much aware of her responsibilities. I shall take the girl and the baby and she will devote herself to getting him well. Then, in time, when the child has recovered – and I am determined he shall – we shall consider what we are to do for her in the future. How old is she?’

  ‘Fifteen,’ Mr Cumming said. ‘Hardly a child any longer, of course.’

  ‘Half starved as she is, you cannot call her a woman,’ Tilly said. ‘I never saw anyone in greater need of care.’

  ‘I grant you that,’ Mr Cumming said. ‘A poor specimen altogether.’

  Tilly opened her mouth to protest at such a term used of a living person, but closed it again. Clearly, she thought, Mr Cumming was too imbued with the attitudes of the surgeons and physicians with whom he spent his working time to see matters as she did; a man who could speak so dispassionately of a fellow human being as a ‘specimen’ was hardly one who would comprehend the way her own mind bent; and she stood up and folded her hands on her gown and looked at him as firmly as she could.

  ‘I will ask then that you arrange tomorrow for the girl and her infant brother to come here,’ she said. ‘Or shall I come to fetch them?’

  Mr Cumming looked at her and after a long moment shook his head. ‘You’re a very good, caring lady, Mrs Quentin,’ he said. ‘I knew myself to enjoy great comfort in your house and I had thought it all due to the efficiency of your manner of housekeeping, but I now see that much of it is due to the innate generosity of your spirit. I fear it will cost you dear one day, but I must admire it. Very well, I shall tell the hospital that the girl and the baby are to come to you. They will be glad enough not to have the responsibility, I dare say. They would have had to keep the child till it died, and to find a place for the girl. It is generally hard to get employment for beggar girls – people are unwilling to take them on, you know! They have no education in domestic matters, and hardly keep themselves clean, and often their morals are sadly low, because of the way they have lived on the streets. That is why your good heart does you so much credit –’

  ‘Please,’ she said and turned away. ‘It is not specially good. It is surely only that any person with eyes in their head must see what needs doing. Thank you for your efforts, Mr Cumming. I am much obliged to you.’

  He got to his feet and thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood there grinning at her, looking now much more like the young man she was accustomed to. ‘My pleasure. Ma’am. Only one thing I’d ask –’ He winked largely at Silas. ‘Make sure the infant’s housed well out of earshot of m’room! The bawling of the creatures goes on in my ears all day as it is.’ And he laughed heartily and turned to go, leaving Tilly standing beside her fire and staring down into the flames, with Silas sitting quietly in his chair watching her.

  They were in her private morning room and it was warm and quiet in there and after a while he got to his feet and came to stand beside her.

  ‘My dear Tilly,’ he said and there was great warmth in his voice. ‘I will not embarrass you as that rather noisy young doctor did by expatiating on your virtues. I don’t need to, for they are there for all to see. But I must say how grateful I am to whatever fate it was that led me to make my home in this house. I had intended my stay to be a short one, while I looked about for something more permanent, but there is no question in my mind now that this house is my home and will be so as long as you inhabit it. For you lend a fragrance to the very air that we breathe here.’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ she said after a moment, painfully aware of the way her colour had deepened, and to cover her confusion she bent over and seized the poker to attack the coals in the grate and send them flying into sheets of flame. His nearness was something she was very aware of and, she had to admit, liked. It was a strange way to feel, she told herself, very strange; while her secret private voice jeered at her and told her it wasn’t strange at all, but the most natural thing in the whole world.

  ‘You really must not speak so!’ she said as lightly as she could. ‘It is quite absurd in you!’

  ‘Not at all absurd,’ he said gravely. ‘I am a free speaker as I am a free thinker, Tilly, and I demand the right to say to you what I believe and feel. And I want to tell you that –’

  She caught her breath and turned and replaced the poker on its hook among the other fire irons with as much clatter as she could and cried, ‘No! I really would beg you, sir, to say no more. I have much to do in planning the arrival tomorrow of these children – and they are both children, no matter what Mr Cumming may say – and I really cannot stay here and chatter in this fashion. Do, please, return to the drawing room and amuse Sophie who must be languishing for some attention.’

  He laughed, a little tightly. ‘Miss Oliver, I think, will be far from languishing, at least while your son is about to entertain her! But all I wanted to say was –’

  ‘No time!’ she cried, with an attempt to seem merry. ‘No time at all! Do please, go and entertain the others as well as yourself. I shall be about my business – thank you so much for joining me in this discussion with Mr Cumming. I wished you to be here because you, of course, were with me when we first met the children, and so knew of their pathetic situation. I needed you to encourage Mr Cumming fully to understand – and you were a great help, indeed you were.’ And she picked up her skirts and sailed for the door, almost forcing him to walk ahead of her to open it and let her escape.

  She almost ran out and turned for the baize door that led down to the kitchen and Eliza’s domain; and gave him only a quick glance over her shoulder as she opened it and went throug
h. He was looking after her with a quizzical expression on his face that she could not fully read, but she feared it meant more than she could bring herself to think about at the moment. Or did it? Perhaps she should not have reminded him of Sophie? Oh, she thought then with awareness of her own daring in even thinking in such language, damn the man! damn me and my nonsense – I have more important things to do than think of him. So, for heaven’s sake, go and do them!

  Do them she did. She and Eliza spent the remainder of the evening planning precisely how the house would be arranged to accommodate the newcomers. Eliza was particularly happy to hear the news of who was to come and when, admitting with the greatest of candour that her heart had quailed at the thought of boys coming.

  ‘For I remember all too well what varmints my brothers was and I didn’t relish the notion at all,’ she said. ‘Even our Mr Duff gave us a fair bit of runnin’ around when he was a lad, and imagine that multiplied by four and no sensible training from a good Mamma to stand them in good stead! No, I ain’t sorry and that’s the truth and I hope as you don’t think me selfish, Mum.’

  ‘No,’ Tilly said. ‘Not selfish. Just sensible, I suppose. I wish I were always the same. However, this time it has been forced on me. We shall have just the girl and the infant. Now, I thought that if we took the big attic room at the back, in the old house, and set the new maid to the one on the other side where the wall is extra thick and she need not be disturbed if the baby cries in the night, we could take in the spare bed from the third room on the other side.’

  The following morning, by the time Tilly set out in a closed carriage, fetched from the livery stables, to collect the girl and the baby from St George’s Hospital, the room was ready.

  They had furnished it, she and Eliza, simply enough, finding some old chintz curtains for the long attic windows, and a strip of red drugget for the wooden floor. There was a bed, a small and narrow one, but well found enough and well supplied with blankets and a pair of coarse linen sheets and a ticking pillow. There was a crib, the one that had been Duff’s and which had lain unused in the loft ever since he had graduated to a bed when he was five, also well found with blankets and specially cut sheets that Tilly discovered tucked away in the loft too, and a small table and a cupboard. Once a wicker chair with arms had been added, there was space for little else, but the room looked snug enough and was indeed warm, for the heat of the house rose to it and kept it very cosy.