Tilly True (2 page)

City Road was a maelstrom of horse-drawn vehicles, handcarts and barrows; a pedestrian could have crossed the street, leaping from cart to cab to omnibus without their feet ever touching the ground. A short way along, Tilly found her way barred by a crowd that had gathered around two carts that had collided and, with their wheels locked, were blocking the carriageway.

The driver of the cart heading in the direction of Pentonville was standing in the footwell hurling abuse at the other carter. ‘Are you blind as well as bleeding stupid, Bert Tuffin? That old nag of yours is only fit for the glue factory. Stupid old bugger, call yourself a carter?'

‘Shut your trap or you'll be next.' Tuffin leapt off the driver's seat, grabbing the horse's bridle. Cursing and swearing, he raised the whip, bringing it down on the terrified animal's back. ‘I'll teach you manners, you brute.' But his vicious action only made things worse and the horse reared in the shafts, rolling its eyes in terror and lashing out with its hooves. This seemed to infuriate Tuffin even more and he brought the whip down hard across the animal's flank. Enjoying themselves as if they were at a dogfight or bear-baiting, the crowd started whistling, catcalling and shouting useless advice.

Infuriated by the cruelty to the poor horse and with the pain of a similar beating still uppermost in her mind, Tilly elbowed her way to the front and, leaping forward, made a grab for the whip. Tuffin rounded on her, his nostrils flaring and his mouth opened in an angry roar. A film of red mist came down over Tilly's eyes and she saw Martha Blessed about to bring the crop down on her own thin shoulders.

‘You're a bloody bully,' Tilly shouted, tugging at the whip. ‘Can't you see you're making it worse?'

‘Get out of me way, you stupid little tart.'

For a moment they tussled for possession of the whip, but Tilly was much the smaller and lighter and she was losing. Using her last ounce of strength to tug on the whip and kicking Tuffin hard on the shins, she gave him a shove, catching him off balance, sending him sprawling onto a pile of horse dung that the road sweeper had just deposited in the gutter. The crowd hooted and howled with laughter, clapping and roaring their approval. Taking the reins, Tilly stroked the horse's soft muzzle, whispering comforting words in its ear, but Tuffin clambered to his feet and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.

She could see his fist raised above her head, but she held on to the terrified horse. ‘Hit me then, you bastard,' she cried, closing her eyes and waiting for the blow to fall, ‘but don't you dare to lay a finger on this poor old nag.'

‘I wouldn't do that if I were you, my man.'

Opening her eyes Tilly saw a tall gentleman, dressed all in grey, wearing a clerical collar. The crowd parted in respectful silence as he made his way to the edge of the kerb.

‘She's the one out of order, guv,' Tuffin protested, dragging off his cloth cap. Turning to the onlookers, he held out his hands. ‘You all saw her go for me, didn't you?'

‘For Gawd's sake cut the cackle and move your bleeding cart,' shouted the other driver. ‘I ain't got all day, mate.'

‘You should do as he says and think yourself lucky that I don't call a constable. I could have you up before the magistrate for ill-treating this poor animal and attacking this young woman, who was only doing her Christian duty.' Turning his back on Bert Tuffin, who seemed to have lost the power of speech although his mouth was working silently, the clergyman stared at Tilly, his pale, grey eyes filled with concern. ‘Are you all right, my dear?' He held out his hand, smiling. ‘Francis Palgrave. And you are?'

‘Tilly, your worship.' Tilly bobbed a curtsey. ‘I'm nicely, thank you, sir.'

‘Here, guvner.' Tuffin changed his tone to a wheedling whine. ‘I'm losing money all the while we're stuck in this here street. What's an honest working man to do, then?'

‘You ain't the only one, mate.' The driver of the other cart leapt off his seat and came towards Francis, cap in hand. ‘You can see the problem, your reverence.'

‘Hold your horse steady, my man,' Francis said, taking the reins from Tilly. ‘Lead him slowly forward when I give you a sign.' Speaking softly to the agitated animal, he began stroking its neck until it grew calmer. ‘Now.'

Gradually, inch by inch, the two vehicles were eased apart with just the grazing of wheel hubs and a shower of wooden splinters. Once again, the crowd applauded.

‘Crikey,' Tilly said, impressed. ‘That were a blooming miracle.'

Glowering, Bert took the reins from Francis. ‘I'd have done it meself, given half a chance.'

‘Would you be the Albert Tuffin of Wapping, as indicated on the side of your cart?' Francis took a leather-bound notebook from his pocket, extracting a pencil from its spine.

‘What if I am?'

Francis wrote something in the book, closing it with a snap. ‘I suggest you treat this poor animal with a bit of human kindness and respect if you want it to serve you well, Tuffin. I have your name noted and I won't hesitate to pass it on to the appropriate authorities if necessary. Do we have an understanding?'

‘I'm an honest man, guvner, plying an honest trade.' Tuffin leaned towards Tilly, scowling. ‘Best keep out of me way. I don't forget easily.' Hawking and spitting in the gutter, he climbed back onto the driver's seat and flicked the reins. The horse shambled forward and the crowd began to disperse.

Tilly made a move to leave but Francis caught her by the hand. ‘You haven't told me your full name, my dear.'

‘Tilly True, sir.'

‘You're hurt, Tilly, and you're chilled to the marrow.'

‘I'm fine, your honour. I'd best be on me way.'

‘You won't get far in that state. Come with me. My lodgings are nearby.'

Tilly backed away, alarmed. Francis raised his hands and shook his head, laughing. Suddenly he looked quite young and, to Tilly's surprise, quite good looking, for a clergyman.

‘No, please. It's quite respectable. My sister will be only too happy to attend to your injuries and give you a hot drink. You were very brave today, Tilly True.'

Hesitating for a moment, Tilly realised that she must look a complete fright; she didn't want to turn up at home in a state and risk giving her mum a funny turn. ‘All right, don't mind if I do, but just for a minute or two mind. I still got a fair old walk home.'

‘Of course,' Francis said, striding forward. ‘I understand.'

Tilly had to trot to keep up with his long strides as he led the way along City Road, crossing Old Street and keeping on until they came to Bunbury Fields. The terrace of late Georgian town houses, their original white stucco now grey and crumbling and the paintwork blistered and peeling, had been built overlooking the municipal graveyard. The small-paned windows were opaque with cataracts of grime, staring blindly at the high wall of the cemetery. Tilly couldn't help wondering if the twenty-foot-high wall was to keep the spirits of the dead from roaming into the world of the living, or to keep the resurrection men from snatching the bodies. Realising that Francis had sprinted up the steps to the front door of a house in the middle of the row, she quickened her pace.

Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, Francis opened the front door. ‘Come along, Tilly.'

There was an unmistakeable odour of boiled mutton and damp rot lingering in the hallway. The carpet on the stairs was well worn and threadbare in places and the banister handrail glowed with the patina of constant use. The Palgraves' lodgings were on the first floor and Francis ushered Tilly into a sitting room at the front of the house, overlooking the burial ground. A fire burned in the grate but the room was cheerless and shabbily furnished. It looked to Tilly as though the entire contents were a collection of other people's cast-offs and the overall impression was brown, from the wallpaper hung with sepia tints to the faded velvet curtains that framed the windows.

‘Francis?' A young woman jumped up from a sagging wingback chair by the fire, dropping her sewing on the floor. Her smile of welcome wavered when she saw Tilly and was replaced by a look of concern. ‘Good heavens, who is this?'

Taking off his top hat, Francis set it down on a chair by the door and began methodically to peel off his kid gloves, one finger at a time. ‘Harriet, I want you to meet a very brave young woman. This is Tilly True who, with no apparent thought for her own safety, stood up to a bully of a man who was ill-treating his poor horse. Tilly, this is my sister, Miss Palgrave.'

Tilly bobbed a curtsey. ‘Honoured, I'm sure, ma'am.'

‘No, please don't,' Harriet said, smiling. ‘The days are gone when I was Miss Palgrave of Palgrave Manor. Everyone except Francis calls me Hattie.'

Tilly eyed her with growing suspicion. Toffs didn't encourage servant girls to be familiar and this young woman, although apparently living in straitened circumstances, was obviously a lady. ‘I just come in to get warm, miss. I'll be leaving in a minute or two.'

Harriet's delicate brown eyebrows winged into two arcs. ‘My dear girl, you're hurt,' she said, touching the congealed blood on Tilly's forehead. ‘You're going nowhere until I've cleaned up that wound.'

‘There's blood on her back too,' Francis said, frowning. ‘It looks as though the poor girl has taken a terrible beating.'

Tilly backed away. ‘Mind your own business.'

‘Leave her alone, Francis. You're not in the pulpit now.' Harriet slipped her hand through Tilly's arm. ‘Come with me, Tilly. We'll clean you up and find you something dry to wear.'

‘And then I'm going.'

‘Of course, and I'll loan you a coat and an umbrella. Something truly awful must have happened to make you leave home without so much as a shawl. But we won't ask questions, will we, Francis?'

Francis nodded. ‘If you can manage on your own, Harriet, I'll finish what I set out to do.'

‘Of course I can manage. I'm not entirely useless.'

‘That's not what I meant and you know it.'

‘Yes you did. You know you did. It isn't my fault that I don't know how to keep house.'

‘This isn't the time or place to discuss our private business, Harriet.' Giving her a reproachful glance, Francis picked up his hat and gloves. ‘Goodbye, Tilly. It was a privilege to meet someone as plucky as you.' Placing his top hat on his head at a precise angle, he left the room.

There was a moment's embarrassed silence as they listened to his retreating footsteps on the stairs. Harriet was the first to recover. ‘We get along very well really,' she said, blushing. ‘It's just that things have been difficult lately.'

‘Maybe I'd better go.' Tilly glanced longingly at the door; she felt uncomfortable here with these toffs. They seemed nice enough but there was obviously something wrong and Tilly had enough problems of her own.

‘We haven't always lived like this,' Harriet said, seeming to pick up on Tilly's thoughts. ‘Things have been difficult since our father died. Our eldest brother inherited the estate, and Francis was granted a living in the East End, that is while we are waiting to go to India.'

‘India, miss?'

‘My brother hopes one day soon to teach in a missionary school. This is just a temporary lodging until the present incumbent moves out of the vicarage.'

‘Yes, miss. I'm sorry.'

‘But here am I going on about my own troubles when you've obviously had a dreadful experience. We must get you fixed up. I'm afraid we'll have to go down to the basement and beg our landlady, Mrs Henge, for some hot water. She's a frightful dragon and I hate to admit it, but she scares me to death. Come along, Tilly.'

Half an hour later, Tilly was back in the Palgraves' sitting room, seated by the fire, drinking a cup of hot cocoa laced with sugar. Her injuries had been cleaned and treated with salve and Harriet had insisted on lending her a clean blouse and skirt, both of which were much washed and darned in places, but were of considerably better quality than the cheap clothes provided by Mrs Blessed. Tilly had just finished answering Harriet's inevitable questions about how she had come to be in this sorry state.

‘That's truly terrible,' Harriet said, shaking her head. ‘We had dozens of servants when I lived at home in Palgrave Manor, but they were treated like human beings.'

‘So, if you don't mind me asking, why couldn't you stay in your old home?'

Harriet pulled a face. ‘My sister-in-law, Letitia, is not the easiest person to get on with, and with her ever increasing brood of daughters I suppose the house was getting a little crowded.'

‘How many?'

Harriet opened her eyes wide. ‘I'm sorry?'

‘How many nippers? I mean we only got a two-up and two-down house, and I'm one of ten, though two little ones didn't last long, poor little beggars, and Molly went and married Artie when she was fifteen. She's gone to live in Poplar now, so that give us a bit more room.'

‘Oh, my goodness, Tilly, you make me feel ashamed of myself. Francis is always saying that I should think before I speak. I am so sorry.'

‘Don't be,' Tilly said, setting the empty mug down on the hearth. ‘There's always someone better off than you and someone worse off too. I ain't always going to be poor, I made me mind up to that.'

‘I admire your spirit, I really do and you must keep the clothes.'

‘Ta, but I don't need charity,' Tilly said, getting to her feet. ‘I said I'd bring 'em back and I will.'

‘Very well, then I insist on lending you a coat and a hat and an umbrella too. You'll be no good to anyone if you catch your death of cold on the way home.'