The Beggar Maid (29 page)

‘I know that,' Charity said, glancing nervously at the heavy rainclouds that were billowing in from the west. ‘But we can eat again tonight and we'll stop on the way to buy a hundredweight of coal.'

‘With all due respect, miss, you can't eat coal.'

Jackson's lugubrious expression made her laugh for the first time that day. ‘I know, but I promised to take Dorrie out to buy our supper. I told her that she could have some toffee for staying at home and helping Violet.'

‘You spoil that nipper.'

‘She's just a little girl with no family of her own. I know what that feels like.'

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘You look done in with all that there reading and shouting. Let me take the barrow now. We'll get home all the quicker, and it's going to pour down any moment now. I don't reckon there's much call for soggy books.'

Charity accepted his offer without a murmur. She took Bosun's lead and they walked on in silence, but every time she heard the sound of heavy horses and the rumble of cart wheels she could not help glancing over her shoulder in case it was the brewery dray driven by Bert Chapman.

They ate well again that evening but next morning Charity awakened to the sound of rain beating against the windowpanes, and it was midday before they were able to go out. Trade was slow and she thought they might have to go home empty-handed, but at the last moment a clerical gentleman wandered over to the barrow and purchased a copy of
The Bride of Lammermoor
by Sir Walter Scott, and the ninepence it cost him paid for a meagre supper of bread and cheese and a marrow bone for Bosun.

Each day was a challenge but somehow they managed to exist on the few pennies that Charity managed to earn, and although she hoped the auction sale would bring a substantial sum she was not over-optimistic. She wished with all her heart that Harry had not been forced to flee the country. Despite his reputation for being a rake and a gambler, there was something about him that made her feel safe when she was in his presence. There had been no news from Bligh Park and she wondered how Daniel was coping with the responsibility that had been unexpectedly thrust upon him. She knew little of what happened when a will went to probate, but it seemed certain that Harry would be named as Sir Hedley's heir. The estate might be virtually bankrupt but if, in Harry's absence, Wilmot gained control of Bligh Park until Dan came of age, he would also have his eye on the house in Nevill's Court. If that happened they would all be evicted, including Mrs Diment and Jackson. They were existing in a fragile bubble that might burst at any minute, but that was a secret she must keep to herself until such a time when it became necessary to share it with the others. It was a heavy burden to carry but they depended on her and she must not let them down.

The auction was just two days away but trade had dropped off and she was lucky if she sold a single book. She had tried all the shops in the area without success and they were down to their last crust of bread. One of the hens had ended up in the stew pot with the addition of rotten vegetables that Dorrie had plucked from the gutter outside Covent Garden market. The old boiler had kept them from starvation for the last few days, but now the pot was empty and if Charity failed to make a sale that day the remaining hen would go the way of her sister and that would leave the skinny old cockerel to crow for nothing. He would be next and, as Jackson said, there was probably more meat on a sparrow. Bosun's ribs were showing through his thick coat and he stalked the cockerel daily, with a glint of expectation in his brown eyes. In response, the cockerel fluttered onto the roof of the hen house, crowing in a mocking way that made Jackson threaten to wring his neck before the day was out. Mrs Diment mourned the loss of her favourite hen and ran out into the yard every time she heard the cock crowing, flapping her apron and shouting at the dog. ‘Lord help us,' she said as Charity prepared to go out on her rounds, ‘if you don't make a sale today we'll have to eat the old bird raw, because there's no fuel for the fire. I can't even make a pot of tea.'

‘Don't worry, Mrs Diment,' Charity said with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘I've packed the barrow with the sort of books that the university students used to buy, and I plan to stand outside University College all day if necessary. Maybe some of them will remember me from the shop.' She did not add that she was taking a risk by returning to an area close to Liquorpond Street, doubling her chances of running into Bert Chapman. But they were all desperate and she could not bear to see Dorrie with stick-thin arms and legs, and Violet hollow-cheeked and pale in the late stages of her pregnancy.

She set off early but without her usual bodyguards. Jackson was unwell, having eaten the last of the chicken soup, which had smelled so rank even Bosun turned his nose up when it was offered to him. She could not manage the dog and the cart and she left on her own, pushing the barrow through the busy streets as she made her way to Gower Street. It was a long walk but she arrived just as most of the students were going in to attend their lectures. They hurried past her without giving her a second glance, and she could not help envying them their seemingly carefree existence.

Brisk footsteps behind her made her turn her head in the hope of seeing a prospective customer, but to her dismay the man walking purposefully towards her was none other than Wilmot. He seemed equally surprised as he came to a sudden halt. ‘By God, it's Charity.' His expression changed subtly as he took in her shabby appearance and the barrow laden with books. ‘So you've come to this, have you? You were a beggar maid when I first clapped eyes on you and you're little better now.'

‘I'm not doing anything wrong,' Charity protested. ‘These books are mine to sell. Jethro left them to me in his will.'

‘Have you got a street vendor's licence?'

She eyed him doubtfully, shaking her head. ‘I didn't know I needed one.'

‘And does the bailiff know that you helped yourself to the stock that should have gone to pay the back rent?'

‘It's none of your business,' Charity said angrily.

He leaned towards her with a wolfish smile. ‘But it is if you're living rent free in my house.'

‘But the house in Nevill's Court belongs to Harry. I'm sure that Sir Hedley would have left everything to him.'

‘Harry is a wanted man. He's in exile abroad and that makes Daniel the legal heir.'

‘Dan gave us permission to stay in his house.'

‘Daniel has not yet reached his majority. As his stepfather I take full responsibility for him and will look after his interests until he is of age.'

‘You're his stepfather?'

‘I wouldn't want tongues to wag and sully the good lady's name. We were married by special licence a week ago.'

‘You weren't so concerned about my good name when you propositioned me,' Charity said with feeling. ‘I suppose I don't count.'

‘You're no lady, Charity my dear.'

‘I was too much of a lady to be bought by you, Mr Barton.'

His eyes flashed angrily although his lips were stretched in a grim smile. ‘You'd best move on or I'll call a constable and have you arrested for trading without a licence and for passing on stolen property.'

‘You are a despicable person,' she said through clenched teeth. ‘I hope that Dan finds the Bligh Park treasure and cuts you off without a penny.' She seized the barrow and was about to walk on when Wilmot's hand shot out and he grabbed her by the arm.

‘What do you know about the treasure? What romantic nonsense did that boy tell you?'

‘Do you really think it's a secret?' She faced up to him even though she was quaking inwardly. ‘I should think the whole village knows about it by now. They also know that the Blighs have been searching for it for centuries, if it ever existed in the first place.'

He released her, wiping his hands together with an expression of disgust. ‘You are a common little slut and I'd advise you to keep your pretty mouth shut. If I discover that you've been spreading malicious rumours about the family I'll see to it that you end up in prison where you belong.'

Shaken but determined not to let him see that she was upset, Charity walked away, pushing the cumbersome barrow as fast as she could over the cobblestones. Despite her vow to keep away from Liquorpond Street she found herself walking towards Jethro's former shop. Her mind had been occupied with Wilmot's threats, and the knowledge that she had been trading illegally had come as a total shock. It was not until she stopped to gaze into the shop window that she realised it was still open for business. The bailiffs had not closed it down and there were new books in the window. She was mortified and angry to think that the rent collector had lied to her. If someone had taken over the premises it was obvious that the building was not going to be razed to the ground. She left her barrow outside and marched into the shop.

A tall thin man of indeterminate age stood behind the counter. He had a book open in front of him and was intent on reading but he looked up when the bell jangled and peered at her through the thick lenses of his spectacles. ‘Good morning, miss. May I be of assistance?'

Anger roiled in her belly. ‘Who are you? Why is the shop still open?'

He brushed a thin strand of hair back from his forehead in an attempt to cover his bald pate. His fingers were ink-stained and she noticed that his hand shook. ‘I'm sorry, miss. I don't understand.'

‘This was my shop,' she said furiously. ‘I was tricked into leaving it and told that the whole building was going to be knocked down, but you're here and you're selling my books.'

‘Come now, miss, there must be some mistake.'

She wrenched the door open and dragged the barrow into the shop. ‘These were part of my inheritance from Mr Dawkins. He took me in and trained me as his assistant. These books were on the shelves over there.' She pointed to the section which had not yet been filled.

‘It had nothing to do with me, I can assure you of that.' He emerged from behind the counter. ‘I just bought the lease and paid extra for the stock. I was told that the person who was here before was a fly-by-night who left owing money and took what didn't belong to them. Was that you, by any chance?'

‘Was it a man called Seth Woods who told you all this?'

‘It was Mr Woods, yes.'

‘He forced me out, threatening me with the bailiffs, and these are some of the books I took because they were mine. Woods is a bad man and you need to watch him or he'll do the same to you.'

‘But you owed rent, miss. That was why he acted as he did.'

‘He doubled the rent at a time when he knew I couldn't raise that much cash.'

The man's face crumpled into worried lines. ‘Seth is my brother-in-law,' he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. ‘My wife will be very upset to hear you speaking ill of her brother.'

‘Who's there, Frank?' The kitchen door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered woman stepped into the shop. ‘I heard raised voices. Do I have to stop what I'm doing to sort out all your problems?'

‘No, my dear,' Frank said hastily. ‘It's all right. The customer returned some books but we've come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement.'

‘I'll have words with Seth when I see him. That's the second time this week this sort of thing has happened. Take a bookshop, he said. It will make your fortune, he said. Well, I beg to differ. I'll speak very sternly to Seth when he comes for the rent.' She retreated into the kitchen, slamming the door with such force that the windows rattled.

‘What do you want from me?' Frank seemed to have shrunk into his oversized black frock coat when his wife appeared, but the moment the door closed on her he peered over the starched points of his shirt collar, eyeing Charity with a scared look on his pinched features. ‘I need you to go quickly.'

‘Ten shillings the lot,' Charity said boldly. ‘Give me ten bob and you can restock the shelves and keep your wife happy.' She picked up a text book. ‘Students will buy these for their courses when they start next year. You'll soon make your money back.'

He scuttled behind the counter and produced the cash box that had once belonged to Jethro. He took out two silver crowns and pressed them into her hand. ‘Take it and leave the books.' He glanced at the kitchen door which remained firmly closed. ‘Anything for a quiet life. You're sure these will fetch a good price?'

Charity unloaded the books, piling them on a table beside the counter. ‘They will, and if I were you I'd stock plenty of penny dreadfuls. They'll fly off the shelves.' She made for the door, opened it and manoeuvred the empty barrow out into the street. ‘Good luck, Frank.' She walked off with the coins jingling in her pocket. It seemed like a small fortune and she felt ridiculously happy. Ten shillings would keep them until after the auction and they would have coal, candles and hot food. The old cockerel would be saved and Bosun would be fed.

The problems that had weighed her down since their return to London had been lifted, even if temporarily, and she had not lied to Frank. He could do well in the shop if he had the right stock and as long as he could earn enough when business was brisk to carry him through the dark days after Christmas.

She was so deep in thought that she had not noticed that the brewery gates were open, nor the pair of dray horses that were champing at their bits. She heard a shout and looked up to see Bert Chapman rise from the driver's seat and raise his whip. The loud crack caused the animals to shy and lunge forward. She started to run but one of the barrow's wheels caught in a rut and it tipped over, flinging her to the ground. Winded and unable to move, she looked up, and saw several tons of horseflesh rearing above her.

EVEN AS CHARITY
fought to get air into her lungs she had the sensation of flying through the air, clasped in a pair of strong arms, and then, with a sudden jolt, the world righted itself. She opened her eyes and took a few faltering breaths.