by Dilly Court
Away from all this, as though in a different world, it was quiet and peaceful inside the stable, and comparatively warm. Sally Suggs worked tirelessly to keep the stalls spotlessly clean, and the two animals stabled there were fed only the best hay, with plenty of fresh water to drink. Pa always teased Sally, saying it was because she had been born in the stable that she had such an affinity with horses, but she was convinced that she had inherited her talent as a horsewoman from her late mother. Emily Tranter had been a famous equestrienne, who had delighted audiences at Astley’s Amphitheatre until she met and fell in love with young Edward Suggs, the rag-and-bone man.
‘Ain’t you done here yet, girl?’ Ted hobbled in from the yard and took off his cap, sending a dusting of snow onto the floor.
‘Nearly finished, Pa. Then I’ll go to the shop and get us something for our supper.’
‘It’ll be dark soon, love. You know I don’t like you walking out on your own at night, and it’s snowing harder than ever.’
Sally turned to him with a chuckle. ‘Pa, I’m nearly twenty. I’m not a little girl any longer.’
‘You are to me, my duck. You always will be, and I ain’t as fit and healthy as I used to be. My old pins ache something chronic, especially when it’s bitter cold like this.’
‘You should be in the parlour sitting by the fire,’ Sally said severely. ‘You’ve done your bit for today. I won’t be long, I promise.’ She reached up to pat Flower’s sleek neck as the horse nuzzled her shoulder.
‘You’d bring that blooming animal upstairs if she could manage them.’ Ted grumbled but his grey eyes were twinkling. ‘You wrap up warm if you’re going out,’ he added as he opened the door that led to a narrow flight of stairs. His heavy footsteps echoed round the stable, and then there was silence.
‘I would stay with you all night, Flower,’ Sally said, kissing the horse’s soft muzzle. ‘But I have Pa to look after as well as you.’
Flower whickered gently as if in reply, and with a last loving pat, Sally turned her attention to Boney, the heavy old horse who had pulled their cart through the London streets for the last fifteen years. He was still eager to work, but age was catching up on him and sometimes his joints were stiff, causing him to lumber over the cobblestones as if each step caused him pain. Sally had tried all manner of remedies, including poultices and doses of celery seeds, but in reality she knew that Boney’s working days were numbered, and in a year or two he ought to be put out to pasture – the alternative was the knacker’s yard, and that was unthinkable. Her dream would be a country cottage where her father could enjoy a long retirement, and Boney could end his days in peace.
Sally finished her work in the stable and went outside to make sure that the gates were locked and bolted. Although the items in the yard had been discarded by the former owners they still had a market value, and there were always those who preferred to steal rather than earn their living by honest toil. She hurried back to the warmth of the stable and extinguished the candles. Fires were all too common in places such as this, and everything had to be kept out of reach of the horses. A lamp left burning might easily be overturned by a frisky horse, and the whole place would go up in flames.
Sally gave Flower a last affectionate pat before slipping on her well-worn tweed jacket, and tucking her hair into one of her father’s old caps. Fashion had little or no place in Paradise Row, especially when working in the scrap yard or the stable. Ever practical, Sally wore a pair of patched breeches that she had come across in one of the sacks, and a pair of lace-up boots that had also seen better days. She picked up a wicker basket and let herself out into the street, locking the door behind her. A cold wind sent wisps of hay, rotting cabbage leaves and scraps of paper scudding down the road, adding sharp teeth to the swirling snow, and she pulled up her collar, wrapping her arms around her thin body.
Sally made her way to the grocer’s shop on the corner. Old man Jarvis was behind the counter as usual, and his gloomy expression seemed to have been painted indelibly on his wrinkled features. His bald patch gleamed in the lamplight as did the tip of his red nose. Sally had always suspected that he kept a bottle of spirits hidden beneath the counter, taking a nip or two when he thought no one was watching. The smell of gin hung in the cloud above his head, mingling with the aroma of roast coffee beans and the sawdust that was scattered over the bare floorboards.
Sally purchased a loaf of bread and two meat pies.
‘Will that be all?’ Jarvis demanded testily. ‘Got some fresh eggs brought in from a farm today. You won’t get none tastier than these.’
Sally hesitated. Pa was always partial to a boiled egg for his breakfast and that justified the extra expenditure. ‘I’ll take two, please.’
Jarvis wrapped the eggs in a page torn from yesterday’s copy of The Times and placed them in Sally’s basket. ‘That’ll be elevenpence ha’penny.’
Sally placed a shilling on the counter and waited for the ha’penny change. It was the last of money that Pa had given her from the profit he made selling the last lot of rags to Rags Roper, the cloth merchant. She put the halfpenny in her purse.
‘Good evening, Mr Jarvis.’
‘Good evening, Miss Suggs.’
She left the shop and pulled her cap down over her forehead in an attempt to shield her eyes from the driving snow. The horse-drawn traffic rumbled past and the clock on the St Pancras Church was booming out the hour. It was no wonder she failed to hear the approaching footsteps. She cannoned into the man who was struggling to open his umbrella, and the force of the encounter sent her purchases flying out of the basket onto the snowy pavement.
‘Look where you’re going!’ Sally cried angrily. ‘That’s my supper lying on the ground.’
‘You barged into me, you stupid boy.’ The man lowered his umbrella, staring at her in the flickering light of the street lamp. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss. Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ Sally said reluctantly. ‘But the eggs are smashed and the pies are covered in slush. That’s our supper you’ve ruined and my pa will be furious.’ She tilted her head back to glare at the man, who was dressed like a country gentleman, which was decidedly out of place in this part of London. He was younger than she had supposed, and his rugged features were creased in a worried frown.
‘I am truly sorry.’ He held out his hand. ‘I was also at fault. You must allow me to reimburse you for the groceries.’
Sally looked down at the shattered eggs and even if she had wanted to rescue the pies, she was too late. Two half-feral dogs sprang from nowhere and pounced on the food, growling ferociously as they vanished into the shadows with their bounty. She had eaten very little that day and the temptation to accept his offer was overwhelming.
‘Thank you,’ she said reluctantly. ‘It cost me elevenpence ha’penny.’
He put his hand in his pocket and took out a handful of small change. ‘Here’s a shilling, with my apologies.’
She took the halfpenny from her purse and exchanged it for the shiny silver coin. ‘Normally I wouldn’t accept,’ she said gruffly. ‘But as it happens I’m a bit short of the readies at the moment, so thanks again.’ She turned away in case he changed his mind and she hurried back to the shop to repeat her order to a surprised Mr Jarvis.
‘You’ve taken your time.’ Ted looked up from the crumpled newspaper he had been attempting to read by the light of a candle stub and the glow from the coal fire. ‘I’m starving. What kept you?’
Sally placed her basket on the table and unpacked the contents. ‘I had a slight mishap on the way home from old Jarvis’s shop, so I had to go back and get two more pies and a couple of eggs.’ She took out a small cob loaf. ‘And he must have felt sorry for me because he threw in the bread for nuppence.’
‘It’s probably stale then. Frank Jarvis never gives anything away, the old skinflint.’ Ted smoothed the creased newspaper, peering short-sightedly at the print. ‘One day I’ll make enough money to buy a paper every day, instead of reading what oth
er folks have thrown out.’
‘Yes, that would be nice, Pa.’ Sally took off her sodden jacket and cap, shaking out her long, dark hair.
Ted eyed her curiously. ‘You still haven’t told me what happened between here and Jarvis’s shop.’
‘It was snowing so hard that we didn’t see each other until it was too late and he nearly knocked me over – well, to be fair I wasn’t looking either. Anyway, the food went flying and landed on the pavement, and then, to cap it all, a couple of stray dogs wolfed the pies.’
‘But you wasn’t hurt, love?’
‘Only my pride, Pa. And the fellow paid up, so I went back to the shop and we have supper after all.’
‘You was lucky to meet a gentleman, that’s all I can say. There’s many who wouldn’t be so generous.’
Sally took two plates from the dresser that her father had constructed from an old chest of drawers and some wooden shelving. ‘Here you are. Enjoy the pie and I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘You’re a good girl, Sal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She smiled and placed the kettle on the trivet in front of the fire. ‘You’ll never have to find out, Pa. We’re a team, you and me, not forgetting Boney and Flower, of course.’
‘Sit down and eat your supper.’ Ted shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I think you’ll have to take the cart out on your own tomorrow, love. My joints are playing up something terrible tonight. I doubt if I’ll be able to get downstairs in the morning, let alone do me rounds.’
‘It won’t be the first time, Pa. I know the route like the back of my hand.’
‘Just leave the heaviest things for Finn Kelly. He’ll love that,’ Ted added grudgingly. ‘He’s always trying to get one up on me.’
‘Don’t worry. I can handle Kelly. He won’t get the better of me. That’s a promise.’
Look out for Dilly’s brand-new festive saga …
Coming Autumn 2020, available to pre-order now!
Keep Reading …
Discover these other bestselling novels from Dilly Court – all available to buy now
If you enjoyed The Country Bride, why not find out how it all started in the first book in the trilogy, The Christmas Wedding
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And don’t miss the second book in the trilogy, the No.1 bestseller A Village Scandal
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Nettie has little but her dreams left to lose. Can she find the courage to trust in herself and pave the way for a brighter future?
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The first book in Dilly’s stunning River Maid series – will the river maid ever find her way back home?
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Read on with The Summer Maiden, the second book in the trilogy …
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The last book in the series and another festive treat from Dilly Court.
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About the Author
Dilly Court is the No.1 Sunday Times bestselling author of over thirty-five novels. She grew up in North East London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children, four grandchildren and a beautiful great-granddaughter. Dilly now lives in Dorset on the Jurassic Coast with her husband.
To find out more about Dilly, please visit her website and her Facebook page:
www.dillycourt.com
/DillyCourtAuthor
Also by Dilly Court
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
A Mother’s Promise
The Cockney Angel
A Mother’s Wish
The Ragged Heiress
A Mother’s Secret
Cinderella Sister
A Mother’s Trust
The Lady’s Maid
The Best of Daughters
The Workhouse Girl
A Loving Family
The Beggar Maid
A Place Called Home
The Orphan’s Dream
Ragged Rose
The Swan Maid
The Christmas Card
The Button Box
The Mistletoe Seller
Nettie’s Secret
The River Maid series
The River Maid
The Summer Maiden
The Christmas Rose
The Village Secrets trilogy
The Christmas Wedding
A Village Scandal
The Country Bride
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