The Beggar Maid (11 page)

‘Violet is a good girl,' Charity said, biting back a sharp retort. ‘She's very willing and she knows exactly what she has to do. If she needs help she'll come and ask you.'

‘I don't suppose she's read a book in her life.' Jethro reached for the glass of water laced with laudanum. ‘My heart is racing. I think I'm going to die.'

Charity picked up the glass and placed it in his hand. ‘You're just working yourself up, Mr Dawkins. Take a sip of this and it will calm you.'

He gulped the mixture and closed his eyes. ‘If I find there's a penny short in the day's takings it'll come out of your wages, miss.'

Charity sighed and rescued the glass from his limp hand before it crashed to the floor and smashed. She left him to sleep off the excess of the drug and went outside to call for Violet. If luck was on their side she would return from the warehouse before Jethro became fully conscious and could make things difficult. It was raining and bitterly cold. The raw east wind had carried the chill from Siberia over the flatlands of Essex and it slapped her cheeks and nipped at her ankles. The wooden steps were wet and slippery and she made her way carefully, holding up her skirts so that she did not catch the toe of her boot in the hem.

She had reached the first floor and was about to climb the next flight when the door opened and a hand shot out. She was dragged bodily into the narrow passage and her arms were clamped to her sides. Bert Chapman sought her lips in a rough embrace. She opened her mouth to scream but he was too quick for her and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, pressing her against the wall as he tore at her blouse, sending the buttons flying in all directions. She struggled and kicked out but he was a strong man, used to hefting barrels of beer onto the dray, and he rubbed himself against her in a frenzy of desire. A satisfied grunt escaped his lips and Charity seized the opportunity, nipping his bottom lip and causing the blood to run. He released her with a yelp of pain and she kicked him hard on the shin. She could hear a woman screaming and she realised that the sound came from her own throat as she staggered outside. She retched and gasped for breath but he was close behind her and had her round the waist before she had a chance to escape.

‘Leave her alone.' Violet's shout from above gave Charity the opportunity to break free and she hurtled down the steps, sliding down the last of them to land in a heap on the wet ground.

Violet was close behind her. ‘Are you hurt?'

Above them Bert was shouting and swearing. ‘You'll suffer for this, you stuck-up cow.' He turned on his wife, who had appeared in the doorway, and thrust her inside slamming the door.

‘I'm all right,' Charity said, clutching her torn blouse over her bare breast. ‘Thank goodness you distracted him, Violet. He almost had me.'

Violet helped her to her feet. ‘He's got his eye on you. He may be my dad but he's a wrong 'un.'

‘I'll have to change my blouse,' Charity said through chattering teeth. ‘I can't go to the warehouse looking like this.'

‘You nearly got raped and all you can think about is buying bloody books. What am I going to do with you, Charity Crosse?'

‘He won't catch me out again. I'll be extra careful from now on.'

They hurried inside and Violet took up her position in the shop while Charity changed her blouse. She was still shaken, and now that the shock was wearing off she was angry. Bert Chapman was the sort of man who ought to be locked up and punished for his treatment of women, but she knew very well that the law would do nothing. He would have to kill someone before the police would take allegations about him seriously. It was a man's world and women had to deal with it as best they could. She put on her bonnet and a jacket she had purchased at a good price in the dolly shop, and checked that Jethro was still sleeping. She pulled the coverlet up to his chin, thinking how defenceless he seemed as he slept, and she felt a surge of pity for him, despite the harsh treatment she had received at his hands. The world had not been kind to Jethro Dawkins, and he had fought back the only way he knew how. She was about to join Violet when she heard a familiar male voice, and she hurried into the shop. ‘Mr Barton, I thought it was you. Have you come to browse or to buy?'

He came towards her smiling. ‘I came to see you, but you are obviously on your way out.'

‘I've been entrusted with the task of visiting the warehouse in Cheapside to order more books,' she murmured, feeling suddenly shy.

‘As it happens, I'm going that way too and there's something very important I have to say to you. Perhaps we could share a cab?'

She was going to refuse, but the thought of walking such a long way overrode her reluctance. ‘That's kind of you, sir.' Charity gave Violet an encouraging smile. ‘I'll be as quick as I can. Mr Dawkins should sleep until I return.'

It did not take long to find a cab and Charity settled down beside Wilmot. ‘You said you wanted to speak to me, Mr Barton.'

‘I've been thinking, and it seems to me that you're wasted working in the shop with Dawkins as an employer. It's slave labour and you could do better. You're an intelligent girl, Charity.'

‘Thank you, sir. But I'm happy with matters as they stand at the moment.'

He turned his head to give her a searching look. ‘Are you really? You're Dawkins' nurse and housekeeper and you run his business for him, but you sleep under the counter in the shop and you're paid a pittance. He rules your life and keeps you from bettering yourself.'

She frowned. ‘I hadn't thought about it like that. I still remember the days when I had nothing and was forced to beg on the streets. I wouldn't want to go back to that.'

‘And you won't. I wouldn't allow that to happen, my dear girl. You've been a great help to me in my work, and I think you ought to further your education. I'm offering you the chance to attend some of my lectures and I will give you private tuition.'

‘Me?' Charity stared at him in amazement. ‘But I can't afford to pay for lessons, and Mr Dawkins wouldn't let me have time off to attend classes.'

‘The cost is the least of your concerns, Charity. I'm prepared to cover any expenses in order to give you the education that your late father would have wished for his daughter. You would, of course, have to leave Dawkins to fend for himself and it would be beneficial to both of us if you took a room in my lodging house so that I can supervise your studies. You owe him nothing.'

‘But I couldn't just walk out and leave him to cope on his own. He's a sick man.'

‘And he's not your responsibility. I'm sure we could find someone to take your place. There are plenty of people who would be glad of a roof over their head in return for a small wage.'

‘People like me,' Charity said, turning her head away. ‘I was aptly named Charity.' She shot him a sideways glance. ‘Why would you do this for me? And how would I live if I wasn't earning anything?'

‘I would give you an allowance.' He held up his hand as she was about to protest. ‘I'm a confirmed bachelor. I have neither wife nor children to care for, but suddenly I have an opportunity to do something good and I see in you a love of learning that should be nurtured.'

‘You have Daniel.'

A wry smile curved his lips. ‘I love the boy as if he were my own son, but he has parents who also love him. Daniel doesn't need me.'

‘He's very fond of you, sir. That's quite obvious.'

‘I'm useful to Dan, and we get on very well together, but he'll make his own way in the world without my assistance.'

Charity was silent for a moment, staring between the horse's ears as it trotted along the busy streets, weaving in and out between costermongers' barrows and horse-drawn vehicles of every shape and size from hackney cabs and brewery drays to private carriages and delivery carts. Wilmot's suggestion was tempting, but impossible. She shook her head. ‘It's very kind of you, sir. I'm touched that you should want to help me, but you must see that I couldn't accept money from you, and I have nothing other than my wage at the shop. I wouldn't be able to support myself, let alone buy books and all the things I would need as a student.'

‘I was serious when I said I could make you an allowance. I'm not a rich man but I have a small private income as well as my salary from the university, and with no dependants I could well afford to support you while you were studying.'

‘I couldn't impose on you like that, sir. I really couldn't.

‘You needn't be afraid that I would want anything very much in return,' he said hastily. ‘I would be doing it to make myself feel that I was doing some good in the world, which is quite a selfish aim. You would be doing me a favour by accepting.' He laid his hand on her knee. ‘And who knows? Maybe you could find a way to be a comfort to a lonely bachelor?'

To her intense relief the cab had pulled into a narrow street lined with warehouses. Charity called out to the cabby to stop. ‘I don't think that would suit me at all, Mr Wilmot,' she said, opening the low doors that protected them from the worst of the weather. ‘You've chosen the wrong person to proposition.' She opened her purse and was about to give him the fare but he shook his head.

‘Don't worry about that. I'm returning to Doughty Street.'

‘You didn't need to take a cab at all, did you?'

‘It seemed like the only way I could speak to you in private, my dear.' Wilmot climbed down to the pavement and helped her alight. ‘Doughty Street, please, cabby.' He leapt back into the cab. ‘Think about it, Charity. The offer still stands.'

The cabby flicked his whip and the cab pulled away, leaving Charity standing in the rain. She hurried into the warehouse, putting Wilmot's offer out of her mind as she concentrated on business matters.

It was not until she was on the return journey that she had time to mull over Wilmot's suggestion. Even so, by the time she reached the shop she had come to the same conclusion. It was an impossible dream, and she could not abandon a sick man any more than she could allow Wilmot to support her while she pursued her studies. Vague doubts as to his intentions had haunted her since that first night in his lodgings, despite her efforts to think the best of him. She paid the cabby and carried a box filled with books into the shop.

Violet leapt down from her perch behind the counter. ‘I'm so glad to see you. He woke up soon after you left and he was calling for you. I didn't know what to do, so I left him. He's gone quiet now, but I daren't go into the back room in case he starts shouting again.'

Charity dumped the box on the floor. ‘Don't worry, Vi. I'll see to him. I expect he just wants another dose of his medicine.' She hurried through to the kitchen, shedding her bonnet and shawl as she went.

At first she couldn't see him. Jethro was not in his bed, or his chair. Then she spotted his crumpled body lying on the floor behind the table.

‘Gawd love us, he's dead,' Violet gasped, clamping her hand to her mouth.

Charity threw herself down on her knees at his side. She laid her head on his chest but she could not hear a heartbeat, nor could she feel a breath when she held her hand over his mouth and nose. She sat back on her haunches, staring at him in disbelief. ‘Mr Dawkins.' She shook him gently but he did not stir. ‘Mr Dawkins, please wake up.'

Violet uttered a loud shriek. ‘He'd dead and gone and it's my fault. I should have answered his cries, but I was scared.'

‘He can't be dead. I thought he was getting better.' Charity scrambled to her feet, dazed with disbelief.

‘What's that?' Violet swooped on a medicine bottle that lay a few inches from Jethro's right hand. ‘It's empty.'

Charity took it from her. ‘It was almost full of laudanum. He must have crawled over to the table and helped himself to all of it.' She sat down suddenly as her knees buckled beneath her. ‘I shouldn't have left him, but I had to visit the wholesaler.'

‘I might have stopped him if I'd come when he called.' Violet burst into tears. ‘What shall us do?'

‘I suppose I should fetch the doctor,' Charity said slowly. ‘Yes, that's what I must do. I'll get Dr Marchant, he was his friend.' She rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Will you watch the shop while I go to Old Fish Street?'

Violet backed away, dashing her hand across her eyes. ‘Not me. I'm not staying here with a dead body.'

‘Then will you go, Vi?'

She shook her head. ‘I'd better get back to the nippers. Write a note and I'll give it to Emmie. She'll run all the way.'

Charity put her hand in her pocket and took out her purse. ‘No, better than that. Send her to me and I'll get a cab to take her there and bring the doctor back. It's Mr Dawkins' money, but he doesn't need it now.'

Dr Marchant examined the body. ‘It was definitely an overdose of laudanum,' he said, shaking his head.

‘If I'd been here I would have given him the right amount,' Charity said sadly. ‘It was too much to expect Violet to look after him and the shop.'

‘It wasn't your fault, my dear. I think Jethro wanted to end it all, and who could blame him? He knew that he wasn't going to get better and he couldn't stand the pain or the humiliation of being dependent on you.'

‘But I never complained, doctor. I tried to look after him the best I could.'

‘I'm sure you did, and he knew that too.' Dr Marchant handed her a crumpled envelope. ‘I found this under his body. I think he had it in his hand when he collapsed.'

‘What is it?'

‘It appears to be Jethro's last will and testament. It confirms my belief that he intended to end his life.'

Charity stared at the creased paper, but the words danced about like tiny black tadpoles as she tried to make sense of what had happened. ‘What will I do now, sir?'