‘Come now, daughter. I’m on a mission for God, collecting food for the poor.’
Eliza laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘Mr Little, maybe this isn’t the best time or place.’
Arthur peered at her and then his lined faced cracked into a smile. ‘Gawd’s strewth, Eliza. I hardly recognised you.’
‘You don’t recognise no one, Dad,’ Mary said. ‘You was so sozzled all the time that you hardly knew your own family.’
‘It’s true,’ Arthur said, dragging off his cap and clutching it to his chest. ‘I was a sinner and a drunkard, but now I’ve seen the light and I’m working for the Lord.’
‘Dad, if you go in there and start begging for food, cook will take it out on me and I’ll lose me job.’
‘The Lord will provide,’ Arthur said, lifting Mary out of his way.
‘He won’t find me another job if I loses this one.’ Mary cast a beseeching look at Eliza. ‘Say something, Liza.’
‘Mr Little. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get Mary into trouble.’
Arthur stared at her beneath lowered eyebrows. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Then, with respect, Mr Little, why don’t you try another house? One with a more Christian attitude to the poor and needy.’ Eliza dropped the bundle on the floor and slipped her hand through Arthur’s arm.
‘That’s right, Dad. You won’t get nothing from cook, she’s a mean old so-and-so.’ Mary lowered her voice. ‘And she’s a Catholic.’
‘But I was promised some boiled beef and carrots,’ Arthur protested as Mary and Eliza urged him towards the outer door. ‘And some taters.’
‘And a slap with a ladle too, don’t forget,’ Mary said, pushing him out into the area. ‘Dad, if you go back to the mission now, I promise to come round this evening and help with the soup kitchen, and whatever else Catherine has for me to do. Just go now, please.’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Mr Booth said the path of righteousness wouldn’t be easy. Now I got an ungrateful child telling me what to do.’
‘Consider it a test of your faith, Dad.’
Arthur went up the steps grumbling, with Mary pushing him from behind. Eliza snatched up the bolster case and followed them. At the top he paused, refusing to go any further. He fell to his knees and began praying in a booming voice that echoed round the square.
Eliza held her breath. They were already attracting unwanted attention from passers-by. If anyone from the house came out to see what the noise was all about, they would be discovered in possession of Miss Cynthia’s ruined gown. Then there would be real trouble.
‘Please go away, Dad,’ Mary begged. ‘Try another house in the square if you must, but please keep away from the Wilkins family or I’ll lose me job. After all, it’s not as if you’re bringing any money into our house, is it? Mum has to depend on us kids to keep food on the table.’
‘Ungrateful child!’ Arthur’s voice boomed out across the square, sending a host of sparrows chattering up into the trees. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’
Eliza laid her hand on his arm, speaking in what she hoped was a soothing voice. ‘Is that from the Bible, Mr Little?’
Arthur beamed at her. ‘Shakespeare, my dear Eliza. King Lear if I remember right. I was an educated man until the drink done for me. I was destined to be a lawyer’s clerk, but I got into bad company and bad habits and I had to find menial work on the river. But now I’ve seen the light and I’m joining the army of God along with Mr Booth. I repent of my sins. I am a changed man.’ Striding off down the street, Arthur announced his conversion to passers-by and the world at
large, getting some very funny looks, so Eliza thought. She was relieved when he disappeared down the area steps of a house on the other side of the square.
‘Oh my Gawd,’ Mary said with feeling. ‘I think I preferred the old man when he was swipey. At least you knew where you was then.’
‘Never mind that, Mary, we’re still in trouble,’ Eliza said. ‘Do you know a good dressmaker who could make a copy of Miss Cynthia’s gown?’
‘The dress! I’d almost forgotten, what with the old man going on and on about God and such. As it happens I was going to the dressmaker this morning to collect a couple of Miss Cynthia’s gowns that had to have the seams let out. The greedy cow never stops eating and she’ll end up as fat as her mother if she ain’t careful.’
‘Never mind Miss Cynthia. Where is this person?’
‘She lives quite near. I dunno what she’ll say about the wine stains, though. We might have to grease her palm a bit to keep her mouth shut.’
Half an hour later they were in the dressmaker’s squalid basement room. Mrs Dunne squinted at the damage through a spiral of tobacco smoke rising from a clay pipe clamped between her teeth. The room was dark with just a chink of light from the top of the barred window, and
smoke hung in wreaths around the beams. Eliza wondered how much Mrs Dunne could see in this poor light and, with sparks of lighted tobacco erupting from the bowl of the pipe, it seemed like a miracle that she had not set the house afire, or at the very least burnt holes in her work.
Mrs Dunne shook her head, grinding her teeth on the stem of the pipe. ‘Ruined!’
‘Yes, we know that,’ Eliza said, making an effort to curb her impatience. ‘But can you do anything in three days? It’s a matter of great urgency.’
Mrs Dunne gave her a sideways glance, her small eyes gleaming. ‘And what if Miss Cynthia was to find out? I daresay there’d be a bit of a fuss.’
‘Yes, a bit of a fuss,’ agreed Mary. ‘I’d lose me job and worse. Can you do anything, missis?’
‘I might, but it would cost you.’
‘I can pay,’ Eliza said, fingering the coins in her pocket. ‘How much did you have in mind?’
Taking the pipe from her mouth and drawing air through her teeth with a hissing sound, Mrs Dunne gave Eliza a sly look. ‘How much you got, dearie?’
‘Tell me first what you can do.’
‘Me? I can do anything with a needle and thread. A true professional I am. And, as it happens, I made this gown for Miss Cynthia and
there’s a bit of the same silk left that might just make a new bodice.’
Mary shot her a suspicious glance. ‘You crafty old mare, I bet you charged Mrs Wilkins for the full yardage.’
‘Perks of the trade, dearie,’ Mrs Dunne replied, seemingly unbothered. ‘I couldn’t do the job for less than two guineas.’
‘Too much,’ Eliza said, shaking her head. ‘Fifteen shillings and that’s being generous.’
‘Fifteen shillings? Come on, dearie, have a heart. I’m a poor widow woman trying to make an honest living.’
‘Yes, and you diddled Mrs Wilkins out of the price of a couple of yards of silk, so the material ain’t going to cost you nothing.’
Mrs Dunne shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s me expertise you’re paying for. One pound fifteen and that’s my last offer.’
Eliza picked up the ruined dress, taking a step towards the door. ‘I’m sure I can find another dressmaker to do it for less.’
‘Ah, but not one with the exact matching piece of silk and the skilful hands to make it right. After all, Mr Wilkins, being a silk merchant, he’s going to know the difference between good and shoddy material.’ Mrs Dunne picked up her pipe and sucked on it. Angling her head, she stared pointedly at Eliza’s shabby dress. ‘Tell you what. You seem like a young woman what’s got her
head screwed on right, even if you do look like a ragbag. Give us one pound fifteen and I’ll throw in a dress and shawl what was made, and paid for, but the young lady went and died of smallpox and had no need of said garments. She was about your size, before she passed away, that is.’
Before Eliza could answer, Mrs Dunne hobbled over to a bed in the corner of the room that was piled with garments, and after rummaging around for a while she pulled out a dress and a shawl. ‘Here, you can try this on and see if it fits, but I got a good eye and I can tell you for nothing that it will look as if it was made for you.’
Fingering the fine poplin, Eliza felt a sensual shiver run down her spine. The deep, ultramarine colour was rich and vibrant, quite unlike anything she had ever possessed in her life. The high collar, bell-shaped sleeves and skirt cunningly drawn flat over the stomach and full at the back was made in the latest fashion. A gown like this would have cost all of one pound ten, more than a week’s wages for a working man, and it would be just the right garment to wear when she wanted to make an impression on cynical businessmen.
‘She died of the smallpox,’ Mary whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t touch it, Liza.’
‘Would I risk catching the foul disease?’ demanded Mrs Dunne, knocking the bowl of her
pipe on the sole of her boot and scattering ash on the flagstones. ‘No, the poor lady never had it on her back, not after the final fitting, and she was as fit as a fiddle then.’
Eliza stared at the garment, struggling with her conscience. The dress was too elegant for a girl from Hemp Yard: with money so short, every penny counted. She ought to haggle and get a cheaper rate for repairing Miss Cynthia’s gown, never mind treating herself to such an extravagance. She closed her eyes, holding the fabric to her cheek and imagining how she would look wearing such a fine gown. ‘All right,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘And the shawl?’ Mrs Dunne held up a cobweb of finely crocheted, silvery-blue wool. ‘It’d match your eyes.’
Nodding her head, Eliza held out her hand but Mrs Dunne whipped the shawl away, holding it behind her back. ‘Another half-crown for the shawl.’
‘But we agreed on one pound fifteen shillings for both.’ Biting back tears of disappointment, Eliza shook her head. ‘Keep the shawl then.’
‘It’s a lovely piece of work and would finish off the outfit a treat. I’m robbing meself but give us an extra shilling and it’s yours.’ Mrs Dunne stroked the soft woollen material as if it were a small kitten. ‘Just an extra shilling, that’s all.’
The temptation was too great and Eliza snatched it from her. ‘All right, I’ll take it.’
With her new gown and shawl wrapped in a piece of butter muslin, Eliza followed Mary up the area steps to street level.
‘I got to get these duds back to the house,’ Mary said, peering over the top of her bundle. ‘Tell Millie I expects I’ll see her at the mission tonight. It’s not my idea of a high old time but then I ain’t as good a person as she is. Anyway, I promised the old man I’d go, so I’d better turn up.’
Eliza frowned. ‘I think she’s spending too much time with those drug addicts and boozers. She should be mixing with people of her own age.’
‘She misses Davy. She misses him an awful lot but she knows he’s sweet on you, Liza. It’s hard for her.’
‘She’s only sixteen; she’ll change her mind half a dozen times before she meets the man she’ll settle down with.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. As to the mission, why don’t you come tonight and see for yourself? I’m sure you’d like Mrs Booth, she’s a real lady.’
‘Maybe, I’ll think about it.’
Having said goodbye, Eliza set off for Hemp Yard with Mary’s words still echoing in her
mind. She had been so quick to pass Millie’s feelings for Davy off as an adolescent infatuation, but she remembered only too well the intensity of her feelings for Freddie when she had been a similar age: feelings that surfaced all too often and had not abated with the passage of time or enforced separation. Sometimes it was almost possible to imagine that she had put all that behind her, but the mere glimpse of a man with hair the colour of burnished bronze, the scent of cinnamon and sassafras, or a certain tone of voice could bring the emotions flooding back. The acute pain had passed but all the memories lingered on, playing over and over in her brain like the strains of a sad, sweet song. Even though she might never see Freddie again, Eliza knew that she would never forget him. She made up her mind to be more sympathetic to Millie’s feelings for Davy.
Hugging the precious bundle to her breast, Eliza hurried homeward, trying to imagine what she would look like in such an elegant gown. Her visit to the Millers’ opulent mansion had opened her eyes to a whole new world of wealth and luxury and, for the first time in her life, she was conscious of her own humble circumstances. Aaron had been kind and had treated her with respect, unlike his son, who seemed to think that she did not mind being slobbered over without a by your leave. Well, she did mind. She had been
shocked and offended by his action, but Eliza could not quite forget the sensation that his kiss had aroused in her breast. It was Brigham Stone’s cruel words that still rankled; he had called her a cheating little trollop and he had said that she spoke like a guttersnipe. He had propositioned her, even though he had made it clear that she was beneath him in every way. Eliza strode through the streets of Islington, heading south towards Wapping with her head held high. She would show those men who thought she was cheap and inferior. She would become a lady of business, and she would learn to dress and speak properly so that she could deal with the likes of Brigham Stone and Aaron Miller on equal terms. When she had her chandlery up and running again she would make a tidy profit. She would be successful and earn the respect of all the men who had looked on her as a slip of a girl with little brain and no determination. She would work hard to make a good life, not only for herself, but also for Dolly and Millie, and she would see that no harm came to Ada and the nippers while Davy was away at sea.
Eliza was tired by the time she reached Hemp Yard; her feet were sore and she could feel blisters popping up on her heels where her boots had rubbed. She paused for a moment, with her hand on the latch, glancing over her shoulder at
the narrow street festooned with lines of washing. This was home, her place of safety, and inside the house were the people she loved. She was instantly ashamed of wanting more. She opened the door and went inside. Dolly was fast asleep in her chair and Ada was kneeling by the range, attempting to coax flames from a couple of lumps of coal.
Eliza set her bundle down on the table. ‘Where’s Millie?’
Ada looked up and her face creased into deep crevices of worry. ‘What happened at the Wilkins’s house? Did Mary get into trouble?’
‘No need to worry, we got it sorted out.’ Eliza paused, frowning. ‘But why are you here, Ada? I left Millie to look after Dolly.’