The Dollmaker's Daughters

by Dilly Court

  Afterwards, Billy held her to him, his lips pressed against her breast. ‘This is the new beginning, sweetheart. We’ll be all right now. You’ll see.’

  ‘Let me up, Billy. Mum and Granny will be here in a minute. What will they think?’

  Lying back on the pillow with his hands behind his head, Billy’s face split in a satisfied grin. ‘Hell’s teeth, Rose, they’ve both had husbands. They know what it’s all about.’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting.’ Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Rosetta slipped on her chemise and bent to retrieve her corsets from the floor. ‘Lace me up, quick. Tight as you can.’

  ‘I like you better as you are,’ Billy said, raising himself on his elbow.

  ‘Don’t talk daft. There’s work to do.’

  Rosetta had just finished dressing when Sarah arrived armed with a mop and bucket, followed by Granny Mole, grumbling as usual. Martha was howling dismally like a small, purple-faced banshee and Elsie was plainly agitated.

  ‘Baby’s hungry,’ Elsie said, thrusting Martha into Rosetta’s arms. ‘Been crying all the way down Spivey Street with folks staring at me like I was sticking pins into her.’

  ‘I’ll get on with the chores,’ Sarah said, rolling up her sleeves. ‘You see to the baby.’

  ‘Get on with it for Gawd’s sake,’ muttered Granny Mole. ‘Can’t stand listening to that noise. And why haven’t you got a fire going, Rose? What have you been doing all this time?’

  ‘Leave her be, Ma,’ Sarah said, getting down on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace. ‘Let Rose see to baby and I’ll light the fire. Elsie, go and fetch coal and kindling while I clean out the grate.’

  Shamed into working by Sarah’s gallant efforts, Rosetta spent all day scrubbing floors and cleaning out cupboards while Elsie looked after the baby and Granny sat by the fire, issuing instructions. Billy kept out of the way, remaining in the bakehouse with Ted, using the excuse that he was getting to grips with the ovens as he prepared for his first solo attempt at baking bread.

  Collapsing into bed that night in a state of exhaustion, Rosetta fell into a deep sleep. It was still dark when she woke up next morning, and Billy’s side of the bed was cold and empty. She had been dimly aware that he had risen in the early hours of the morning to start the day’s baking and she stretched out, luxuriating in having the bed all to herself. But her pleasure was short-lived as her warm feet touched the ice-cold sheets and she curled back into a ball, listening to the rumbling of carts and the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves coming from the street below. The tramp of hobnail boots on cobbles sounded like an army marching as the factory workers headed for work. Rosetta stretched and yawned, thinking of the women at Bronski’s who would be waiting in the dank alley for Vinegar Lil to let them in to start their daily grind. At least, now she was married to Billy, she was spared from returning to that particular hell.

  A thin mewling wail from upstairs told her that Martha had awakened and she could hear Elsie’s bare feet pitter-pattering across the floorboards as she went to pick up the baby. Rosetta sat up in bed, reaching for her shawl and shivering. Her breasts were heavy with milk and she could feel warm trickles oozing from her swollen nipples. There must be something seriously wrong with her, she thought, sighing heavily. She was a rotten mother and she had hated everything about being pregnant and giving birth. If she was one of those rich women she read about in the penny dreadfuls, then she would have been able to hand the baby over to a wet nurse and a nanny. But she wasn’t rich and no one seemed to be interested in how she was feeling. Billy was so daft about Martha you’d think she was his kid, and that made Rosetta feel even worse. She could hear Elsie coming down the stairs, chatting to Martha as though the baby could understand every word, but then Elsie was doolally and she probably expected Martha to answer her.

  The door opened and Elsie scuttled in with the baby swaddled in a shawl. ‘Are you ready for her, miss?’

  Reluctantly, Rosetta uncovered a breast, wincing as Martha latched onto her sore nipple like a hungry leech. ‘Fetch me some tea, Elsie, with lots of sugar, and then you can light the fire in the living room.’

  Billy dashed upstairs at midday, flushed and triumphant, having sold out of everything and wanting Rosetta to mind the shop while he and Sarah prepared a fresh batch of loaves and cakes. In the middle of feeding Martha, Rosetta sent Elsie down in her place, but she returned almost immediately, sobbing and shaking, terrified of being left alone to deal with strangers.

  Hoisting Martha over her shoulder, Rosetta turned to Granny Mole for help.

  ‘I ain’t working in no shop; I’m too old for that lark,’ Granny said, glowering. ‘And anyway, I can’t do nothing on an empty stomach. Here we are in a bakery and I ain’t had no nourishment since breakfast. I’m fading away and no one cares.’

  Biting back an angry retort, Rosetta jumped to her feet, thrusting Martha into Elsie’s arms. ‘Here, you look after baby. I’ll sort this out once and for all.’

  Marching into the bakehouse, Rosetta stopped as the heat hit her in the face, sucking the air from her lungs. Inhaling the fine white flour, Rosetta sneezed and coughed. Sarah was up to her elbows in cake mixture and Billy, looking more like a snowman than a baker, was kneading bread dough.

  ‘I can’t look after baby and see to the customers,’ Rosetta said, arms akimbo. ‘Elsie is useless in the shop and Granny is grumbling because she’s hungry.’

  Snatching up a tray of buns, Sarah thrust it into Rosetta’s hands. ‘Here, give them these and a cup of tea. I been so busy I forgot all about food.’

  ‘It’s only our first day, pet,’ Billy said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘We’ll work it out.’

  Rosetta stared at him. Where was the dapper, good-looking Billy Noakes who was good for a laugh and always seemed to have money to spend? This red-faced, sweating man with his face streaked with flour looked like a circus clown. Hating him and hating herself even more, Rosetta went into the shop to serve.

  As she had known she would, Rosetta hated having to serve the poorest of the poor in Whitechapel. Slatternly women, snotty-nosed kids and old people smelling like bad cheese wandered daily in a raggle-taggle procession through the door, with nothing but farthings, halfpennies and pennies to spend. Rosetta knew she ought to feel compassion for the half-starved urchins who came in begging for stale bread, but it was hard to love the poor when they dropped fleas in showers onto the sawdust and scratched lice-ridden heads with filthy fingers. It was worth the odd crust or stale bun simply to get them out of her shop.

  There were plenty of disasters in the bakehouse when the yeast refused to rise or the oven was too hot or too cold and the bread was ruined. On those days, when all she had to stock the counter were Sarah’s cakes, customers grumbled but they queued outside for hours waiting for the fresh batch of bread. Some chose to walk to the nearest bakery in Spitalfields but many were too old, sick or weak from near starvation to make the distance. Rosetta grew to dread those mornings, when the line of white-faced, bone-thin women and children peered at her through the window with reproachful eyes.

  Billy worked harder than anyone, getting up long before dawn and going to bed late, too exhausted to make any demands on Rosetta. She had waited anxiously for the start of her monthlies, terrified that she might have conceived again, and weeping tears of relief when she discovered one morning that she had worried for nothing. Having washed and dressed, Rosetta tiptoed downstairs to the small kitchen behind the shop, treading on the edge of the stairs to avoid loud creaks that might disturb Martha, who slept so lightly that a bat’s sneeze would wake her. She had just made a pot of tea when the shop door rattled, and Rosetta hurried to let Sarah in before she rang the doorbell.

  ‘You look more cheerful this morning,’ Sarah said, angling her head like an inquisitive robin.

  It was still pitch dark outside, with feathery flakes of snow swirling in the yellow shafts of gaslight. Rosetta shut the door and locked it. ‘Where
’s Granny?’

  ‘Took to her bed. She says she’s caught her death coming out in the cold every morning so I told her to stay in the warm.’

  ‘It is a bit parky. Come and have a cup of tea before you start.’

  Taking off her bonnet and shawl, Sarah followed Rosetta through to the kitchen. ‘You’ll never guess what, Rose. I found a letter from Ruby on the mat when I got home yesterday. All the way from South Africa it come. Can you believe that?’

  ‘From Ruby? What did she say? Let’s see it, Mum.’

  As she fumbled in her pocket, Sarah’s face crumpled with dismay. ‘Bother! I must have left it on the mantelpiece. I put it there special so I would bring it this morning. I was so busy running up and downstairs to your gran that I must have left it behind.’

  Pouring tea, Rosetta handed it to her mother. ‘Never mind. What did she say? Is she all right? Has she seen Joe?’

  Clasping the mug in her chilled hands, Sarah gave one of her rare smiles. ‘No, she ain’t seen Joe, but Africa’s a big place. It weren’t a long letter but she said she’s well and with them friends of hers, Pamela and that young doctor, what’s his name?’

  ‘Adam, the one she fancies! Adam Fairfax.’

  ‘No, ducks, you’re wrong there, he’s engaged to that Pamela. Anyway, they’re on the hospital train what Princess Christian sent out to look after the troops, waiting to go to that place what’s under siege and I can’t for the life of me remember its name.’

  ‘You mean Ladysmith? I read about it in the newspaper.’

  ‘That’s it. Ladysmith. Funny old name for a town, I thought. Anyway, I hope it’s all over soon so that Ruby and Joe can come home safe. I can’t sleep at night for worrying about them.’

  Before Rosetta had a chance to ask more questions, the door to the bakehouse opened and Billy came in on a gust of hot air. ‘Mother Capretti! I thought you wasn’t coming.’

  Casting an irritated glance at Billy’s flushed face, running with sweat, Rosetta frowned. ‘Give her a chance. She’s only just put her foot through the door.’

  ‘I’ll take me tea into the bakehouse,’ Sarah said, getting to her feet.

  ‘Give us a cup, Rose,’ Billy said, slipping his arm around her waist. ‘I’m parched.’

  Rose wriggled free. ‘Help yourself. I’ll open up.’

  ‘Good girl. We’ll catch the dockers on their way to work. You’ve got a good head for business, ducks.’

  By mid-morning the snow had melted into slush and the first rush of the day was over. Rosetta had shut the door to the stairs so that she did not have to listen to Martha’s outraged yelling as Elsie attempted to wean her on to cow’s milk. The shop was empty and, taking advantage of the temporary respite, Rosetta sat down on a stool behind the counter to study a copy of yesterday’s Daily Mail that someone had left behind. She was engrossed in an article about a meeting held in Mile End to protest at the war against the Boers that had ended in uproar, when the shop bell tinkled. Annoyed at the interruption, Rosetta glanced up and the newspaper slid to the floor as she jumped to her feet.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Noakes,’ Jonas said, tipping his hat.

  ‘Mr Crowe!’ Rosetta could hardly speak; her heart seemed to leap into her throat, almost choking her. ‘What – I mean, can I help you?’

  Tapping his kid-gloved hand with the ivory handle of his umbrella, Jonas looked around at the display of loaves and buns with a wry smile. ‘I haven’t come to buy a loaf. I need to contact your sister. Can you give me a forwarding address?’

  Suffocating with jealousy, Rosetta could barely speak. ‘She’s gone to Africa.’

  ‘I know that, but there must be a forwarding address.’

  ‘If there is, then I don’t know it.’

  ‘Perhaps Mrs Capretti has it? I really do need to contact Ruby; it’s important.’

  ‘She won’t be interested in anything what you’ve got to say, specially now she’s got herself engaged.’ The spiteful words were out before she could stop herself, but Rosetta had the satisfaction of seeing Jonas’s face frozen with shock. Having started, she couldn’t stop. ‘He’s a doctor, you know, from a well-to-do family. They’re madly in love and she said they might not even wait until they get back to England. In fact, they might have tied the knot already.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had all happened in such a rush. One minute it seemed to Ruby that she had been happily working on the wards at the London and the next she had found herself on a steam ship bound for South Africa. Strictly speaking she should not have been included in the ranks of the qualified nurses, but Sister Tutor had made an exception in recommending her. Still smouldering at the revelation that it had been Jonas and not Adam who had been instrumental in her being accepted as a nurse probationer, Ruby took some comfort from the knowledge that this time she had been chosen on her own merits. Justifying her reasons for wanting to be included on this dangerous mission, Ruby convinced herself that she would be a poor friend if she stayed safely at home while Pamela was risking her life to help the sick and injured. Adam would need people around him he could trust to keep to his high standards and Ruby knew that she had to be there, working at his side, no matter what personal danger she had to face. She might never be able to live with Adam as his wife, but she would gladly give her life for him.

  She had said a hurried goodbye to the family, saddened by Rosetta’s stubborn refusal to speak to her or even wish her well. Billy had given her a brotherly hug and Mum had cried a lot, saying it was bad enough to lose a son to the bloody war let alone a daughter. Surprisingly, it had been Granny Mole who had told her she was a brave girl and doing the right thing, and that her poppa would have been proud of her. After that it had all been hustle and bustle, packing a few things in a suitcase and being taken to the docks to board the ship, finding the cabin she was to share with Pamela and two other nurses deep below the waterline and getting used to the way of life on board.

  Ruby was one of the lucky ones who had found her sea legs by the time the ship reached the turbulent waters of the Bay of Biscay, but Pamela had succumbed to seasickness almost as soon as the ship was under weigh. Ruby had tried to help, but when the weather was bad around the Cape Pam had been certain that she wanted to die, and it was only when they approached the calmer waters of the Indian Ocean that she had begun to recover just a little. Although conditions were hardly those of a cruise liner Ruby had enjoyed the trip, taking guilty pleasure in Adam’s company while Pamela was suffering in martyred silence in their stuffy, overcrowded cabin.

  On the last leg of its voyage, the ship was steaming towards Durban, expected to make landfall the following day. Ruby went for a walk on deck after the evening meal, hoping that she might – by accident, of course – meet Adam. The sun was plummeting like a fireball behind a purple stripe of coastline to the west, turning the sea to molten bronze. Seabirds wheeled and cried overhead and, for the first time since they left England, Ruby could smell land. Her stomach churned with excitement at the prospect of reaching their destination, but she was sorry that this voyage would soon be just a bittersweet memory. Tomorrow they would have to leave the well-ordered routine of living on board ship and face the grim realities of war. But whatever was to come, she knew that nothing could erase the pictures in her mind of a world where the sea met the sky in endless shades of green and blue. She would take to her grave the thrill of standing on deck with Adam watching dolphins swimming and leaping playfully out of the water. She would always treasure the conversations they had shared when he had told her of his hopes and dreams for the future. All this seemed a million magical miles from the filth and poverty of Whitechapel and the hell of the battlefield that was to come.

  She saw him, leaning on the ship’s rail, gazing out across the vast, violet expanse of the Indian Ocean and her heart did a somersault inside her chest. How fine Adam looked in army officer’s uniform, with the last rays of the sun glinting on his golden hair.

  Almost as though he se
nsed her presence, Adam turned his head and his smile pierced her heart like an arrow. ‘Ruby, come and watch our last sunset at sea. We should arrive in Durban late tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘Are you afraid?’

  ‘Yes, a bit.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘No!’ Ruby stared up into his face. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s not something I would admit to just anyone,’ Adam said, smiling ruefully. ‘I hate violence and I don’t believe that fighting a war will solve the basic problems.’

  ‘But you’ve got to stand up for what you think is right.’ Ruby stared at him, shocked by his words, struggling with the thought that Adam wouldn’t last long in the East End if he couldn’t handle himself in a rough-up.

  ‘I agree, but I’d rather do it with diplomacy than the sword.’

  Puzzled, Ruby frowned. ‘Then why did you come? Why didn’t you stay safe at home?’

  ‘Do you think I’m a coward, Ruby?’

  ‘No, but sometimes you’ve just got to fight,’ Ruby said, remembering the violence of the street gang attacking Bronski in his sweatshop, and Joe knocked to the ground and barely conscious. Big Biddy hadn’t been afraid to have a go, even if she had landed on the wrong bloke. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to show a bully what’s what.’