The Beggar Maid (17 page)

‘Who is he?'

‘It could have been Arthur or maybe it was Sid. They both promised me that I'd be all right.'

‘They were both wrong then. I don't know much about it, but I've seen a lot of girls get into trouble because they listened to blokes' sweet talk.' Charity gave her a hug and then released her with a sigh. ‘I thought you had more sense, Vi. But what's done is done.'

‘If that's all the sympathy I get from you I might as well throw meself in the Thames and be done with it.' Violet paced the floor, wringing her hands.

‘Come into the kitchen. I'll make you a cup of tea and we'll think what to do next.'

‘A cup of tea isn't going fix me up. I need to find someone who can get rid of it for me.'

‘No.' Charity raised her voice in alarm. ‘No, you mustn't even think of going to one of those old crones. They'll do more harm than good.' She glanced over her shoulder as someone rattled the door handle. ‘Go into the kitchen. I'll serve the customer and I'll be back in two ticks. Put the kettle on, it'll give you something to do.' She hurried to greet the man who had strolled in and was looking around with a baffled expression. ‘Can I help you, sir?'

‘I need a railway timetable. Do you keep them here, miss?'

‘You'll need to go to the station, I'm afraid, sir. I only sell books.'

‘You're no bloody good then, are you?' He marched out, slamming the door behind him.

‘Some people have no manners,' Charity muttered as she hurried into the kitchen. She found Violet slumped on the bed, sobbing. ‘Oh, Vi. This won't do. You have to face up to things.' She put the kettle on the hob. ‘You've got to tell the one you think might be the father. Perhaps he'll do the right thing by you.'

Violet raised her head to give Charity a scornful look. ‘They'd only deny it or blame each other. I'm done for. Ma will throw me out, if Pa don't kill me first.'

‘What do you want?' Charity said gently. ‘It's your baby and no one should tell you what to do.'

‘It's all right for you to talk,' Violet said bitterly. ‘You aren't three months gone.'

Charity busied herself making a pot of tea. ‘I'm trying to be practical, Vi. I'm only thinking of you.'

‘I know. I'm sorry, but I'm scared. I dunno what to do.'

‘There's one person who might be able to help you. We'll go and see Dr Marchant this evening after the shop closes. Can you get away without them suspecting anything?'

‘D'you really think he'd help a girl like me?'

‘He's a wonderful man. I don't know where I'd be without him.'

Violet managed a watery smile. ‘I'll come down as soon as I've given the nippers their supper. Ma's doing a shift in the workhouse kitchen tonight, and Pa will be in the pub, as usual.'

Charity closed the shop early. She had only had two customers all day, and the second one had been a student who was looking for cheap second-hand books. In the end she had taken pity on him and let him have the volume he needed at less than half price. She tried not to think of what Jethro would have said in the circumstances, but a few pennies here or there was not going to make much difference when Seth Woods came to call.

She went to the kitchen and snatched a hasty meal of bread and cheese while she waited for Violet to put in an appearance, but an hour went by and then another and there was no sign of her. Charity had almost given up hope when someone tapped on the back door. She hurried through the scullery and opened it to find Violet shivering on the step. ‘Come inside.'

‘I can't,' Violet said, clutching her shawl around her skinny shoulders. ‘I said I was going to the privy. Me dad came home early, and he was drunk but not the sort of drunk that makes him pass out. I've got to get back before he gets suspicious.'

‘Don't worry. We'll go tomorrow or whenever you can get away. I don't suppose another day or two will make much difference.'

‘I'm counting on him, Charity. It'll be the river for me if he can't do anything about my problem.' She backed away and was swallowed up by the darkness.

It was not until Thursday that Violet had a chance to get away. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and sleety rain had turned the snow into slush. Charity insisted on taking a cab to Old Fish Street, despite Violet's protests. ‘We'll both die of pneumonia if we walk there,' she said, hoping that Seth Woods would be sympathetic when he came to collect the rent next day. Somehow her own problems seemed small in comparison to what had happened to Violet. The world was cruel and unforgiving to unmarried mothers and their babies. At best it would be the workhouse for Violet and at worst she might carry out her threat to end it all.

‘You're too good to me. I don't deserve a friend like you.' Violet's bottom lip trembled ominously as she stood beside Charity on the pavement outside the shop.

‘Don't cry,' Charity pleaded. ‘There's a cab. We'll soon be there.' She stepped off the kerb and waved, heaving a sigh of relief when the cabby reined his horse in and it stopped. ‘Old Fish Street, please, cabby.'

‘I ain't never took a cab in me life,' Violet said breathlessly as she climbed in beside Charity. She glanced round furtively and wrapped her shawl around her head, covering her face. ‘I'll be a dead duck if anyone sees me.' She huddled down and refused to budge until the cab drew to a halt outside the doctor's house.

‘We're here,' Charity said, nudging her in the ribs.

Violet almost fell in her haste to alight from the cab. ‘I'm scared,' she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Maybe we should just go home.'

Charity paid the cabby and he drove off. She gave Violet an encouraging smile. ‘Be brave. We've come this far . . .' She broke off suddenly as she turned towards the house and realised that the curtains were drawn, and there was a wreath on the front door, tied with a black ribbon. It could only mean one thing and her heart was hammering against her stays as she raised the knocker and let it fall.

Dorrie opened the door and Charity knew by her red eyes and stricken expression that the worst had happened.

DORRIE THREW HERSELF
into Charity's arms. ‘He's gone. The doctor died yesterday morning. It were so sudden.'

Mrs Rose appeared in the hallway, dressed in deep mourning. ‘I was going to send word to you, Charity, but I haven't had time to think since . . .' Her voice trailed off and she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

Charity disentangled herself from Dorrie's frantic grip. ‘What happened? Was it an accident?'

Recovering her composure, Mrs Rose grabbed Dorrie by the arm. ‘Come inside, you silly girl.' She gave her a shake and pointed her in the general direction of the kitchen. ‘Get back to work. Mr Marchant wants his supper and you can take it to him. I'm leaving.'

Violet had started to sob hysterically and Charity had to drag her bodily over the threshold.

‘What's the matter with the girl?' Mrs Rose demanded impatiently. ‘If she's ill she'll have to find another physician.'

‘She's not sick, ma'am. We came to see Dr Marchant for advice.'

‘Well you won't be getting any of that here. The doctor took sick with cholera. He must have caught it on Christmas Day when he attended the homeless woman. I told him not to go but he wouldn't listen. Those people are little better than sewer rats. I don't doubt that he caught the infection there, breathing in the miasma from the filth and mud. Two days, that's all it took.'

‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Rose. I know you were devoted to him and I loved him too.' Charity struggled to support Violet's weight.

‘It's a pity his own flesh and blood didn't show him as much respect.' Mrs Rose pursed her lips as if she had been sucking a lemon, and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘His son never visited unless he wanted something. He didn't care for his father like I did, but he was quick enough to put in an appearance the moment he heard his pa had died. He's here now, going through the doctor's things.'

Violet made a choking sound and collapsed against Charity in a dead faint.

‘You say she's not sick, but she doesn't look too good to me, and you won't get any help from the doctor's son,' Mrs Rose said, curling her lip. ‘He works in a bank, and he intends to sell up and keep the money for himself. I'm no longer needed here, and I walk away without a penny. That's all the thanks I get for twenty years' faithful service.'

Charity's knees almost buckled beneath Violet's weight. ‘Would you be kind enough to pull up a chair, Mrs Rose? I can't support her much longer.'

Mrs Rose obliged with a disapproving sniff, and Charity settled Violet on the seat, fanning her vigorously with her hands. ‘She's in the family way, Mrs Rose. It's not catching.'

‘The silly girl's plight has nothing to do with me. I need to get to the station and catch a train for Brighton. I sent my sister a telegram this morning informing her of my impending arrival, but we were never close.' Mrs Rose picked up a suitcase and a carpet bag. ‘I don't know how she'll receive me.' She headed for the door, but Charity barred her way.

‘What about Dorrie? Will Mr Marchant look after her?'

‘He said she can stay on until morning and then she has to find another position.'

‘But she's just a child, Mrs Rose. How will she manage on her own in the middle of winter? Can't you take her with you?'

‘I'm not responsible for the girl. She'll have to take her chances like the rest of us. Now let me pass. I have to find a cab and it's getting late. I'd have left hours ago but Mr Marchant insisted that I cook his supper and made his bed up for the night. He's dining on lamb chops and cabbage as we speak, and his father's lying in the funeral parlour with no one to keep vigil during the night. I wouldn't work for that man if he paid me a king's ransom.' Mrs Rose put her cases down briefly while she opened the front door. It swung shut after her, as if the house itself were casting her out.

A moan from Violet made Charity turn her head. ‘Sit quiet for a moment, Vi. I'll fetch you a glass of water.' She tried to move, but her limbs felt leaden and she was unable to put one foot in front of the other. The shock of Dr Marchant's death was just beginning to sink in and had robbed her of the ability to move. She had lost the one person left in the world who cared about her and that doubled her grief, but she could not cry. She stood like a marble statue, hardly able to breathe.

‘Who the hell are you?'

The sound of a man's deep voice made Charity turn with a start. She knew it must be Dr Marchant's son, but somehow logic had deserted her along with the power of speech and she stared dumbly at him. He erupted from the dining room, repeating the question. ‘Who are you? Don't you know that my father is dead? The doctor is not here.'

‘H-he was my f-friend.' The words tumbled from her lips but her voice sounded strange even to her own ears. It was as if a stranger was speaking for her. ‘He was my dear friend, and now I'll never see him again.' She struggled to hold back a sudden rush of tears.

‘My late father was everyone's friend, except mine.' Mr Marchant glared at Violet. ‘What's the matter with her? If she's ill you've come to the wrong place. You must leave immediately.'

His harsh tone cut through the silken ties that had tethered Charity's emotions and she burst into tears. ‘Dr Marchant was a saint. You are a bad son.'

‘Get out.' He strode to the front door and opened it. ‘Get out now or I'll call a constable.'

Charity dashed her hand across her eyes, choking on a sob. ‘I – I'm going.' Fuelled by anger she dragged Violet to her feet. ‘Come on, Vi.'

Violet's eyes rolled back in her head and she slid to the floor in a dead faint.

‘For God's sake, what sort of play-acting is this?' Marchant's strident tones echoed throughout the house. ‘Dorrie! Fetch a bucket of cold water. That will bring the trollop round.'

Dorrie stepped out of the shadows, her face a pale oval in the half light. ‘You are a wicked man,' she cried, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘The doctor loved Charity like his own daughter. I heard him say so.'

‘Get out, all of you.' Marchant crossed the floor and hefted the unconscious Violet over his shoulder, ignoring Charity's protests. ‘I'm throwing you all out, and that goes for you, Dorrie, you useless child. I don't want you in my house a moment longer.'

He reached out with his free hand and grabbed her by the ear, dragging her after him as he headed for the front door. Charity tried to intervene but he elbowed her out of the way as he dumped Violet unceremoniously on the top step. He released Dorrie so suddenly that she stumbled and fell, landing in a heap on the pavement.

Charity hesitated in the doorway, drawing herself up to her full height, although she was still a head and shoulders smaller than her aggressor. ‘Your father would be ashamed of you,' she said icily.

He went inside and slammed the door in her face. She bent down to help Violet up. ‘Come on, Vi. Let's get you home.' She hooked her arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you hurt, Dorrie?'

Dorrie scrambled to her feet. ‘No, miss.' She brushed her fair hair back from her forehead, leaving a streak of mud on her face. ‘What'll I do, miss? I got nowhere to go. I'm frightened.'

‘You'll come home with us,' Charity said firmly. She looked up and down the street but there were no cabs in sight. ‘Take Vi's hand, Dorrie. We'll go and find a cab. You mustn't be afraid – I'll look after you.'

Outside the shop in Liquorpond Street Charity paid the cabby. She was uncomfortably aware that she would not be able to give Seth Woods the full amount of rent, let alone the extra five shillings he had demanded, and even worse, she had failed to get help for Violet, who had sunk into a deep depression. She had barely said a word during the journey home from Old Fish Street, although Dorrie had made up for her silence by chattering volubly. With a child's optimism she seemed to have taken it for granted that Charity would make everything turn out well. Charity herself was not so certain. Unless she could persuade Woods to give her more time to make up the difference the bailiffs would be sent in, and then she would have little or nothing to sell. She would spiral into bankruptcy and lose everything. She turned to Violet with an attempt at a smile. ‘Try not to worry, Vi. We'll think of something.' She took the key from her reticule and let them into the shop, locking the door behind her.