The Gilded Lily (45 page)

‘She’ll be safe somewhere, you’ll see. I can’t make sense of all this. Tell me it proper, from the beginning.’

So Sadie told her everything. Corey frowned and listened, interspersed with, ‘Well, I never did,’ and ‘You don’t say.’

When she got to the end of her tale, Sadie said, ‘So I’ve got to go back, to see what’s happened to Ella.’

‘No,’ said Corey. ‘You can’t go in at night. Not with them dogs. Promise me you won’t go back there.’

Sadie pressed her lips together in stubborn silence.

‘Go back in the morning when the yard’s open.’

‘I’ve got to find out where she is. And I can’t go when it’s light. I’m too easy to get a fix on.’

‘I know. But Whitgift’s is the first place to look. No point in doing anything until we know she’s not there. Tell you what, how’s about I go in soon as it’s open,
ask after her, like.’

‘Sorry, Corey, I didn’t mean to get you involved in it all.’

‘What else are friends for? I’ll go first thing in the morning, soon as they’re open and they’ve tied up the dogs.’

‘What will your mother make of it? Me staying here?’

‘Naught. She’s working nights. Don’t get back till four then she sleeps in. So long as the littlies are fed she won’t know. They’re asleep now in her
bed.’

Sadie patted Corey’s arm. ‘Thanks, Corey.’

‘Bloody Ella. She wants slapping. And I can’t believe you jumped out of that window. It’s a massive drop to the river. And fancy you fighting them dogs.’

‘It wasn’t anything. I was scared witless.’

‘I used to think you were a bit quiet, you know. Always in Ella’s shadow. Thought you’d not say boo to a goose. But breaking into Whitgift’s – everyone knows
it’s set like a man-trap at night with them dogs. That’s bold, that is. Just shows – appearances can be deceiving.’

‘We never did those things, you know.’

Corey squeezed her arm. ‘What things?’

Sadie dropped her gaze.

‘I know,’ Corey said.

Corey had fed her hot soup and bread and whey, and now Sadie was tucked in the bed in the garret next to Corey, top to tail. Nevertheless she hardly slept. She worried in case
Corey’s brothers woke and made a fuss. And her thoughts ran back to Ella, imagining her locked in some dark cell, or that she’d had an accident and there was nobody to help her. She
turned over again, wincing as the spoon put pressure on her torn wrist. Corey had replaced the kerchief with another piece of torn muslin and twisted a wooden spoon in it as a tourniquet, but all
night the blood continued to seep through. Dreams came, but they were confused and vague. By the morning the muslin was bright red, there was a wet patch of blood on her skirt and Sadie felt
alternately nauseous and faint. When the light came, she sat up shakily and touched Corey’s shoulder.

‘I’m worried about Ella,’ she whispered. ‘Sun’s up.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Don’t know. But it’s light and I heard the cocks going. Whitgift’s will be opening soon.’

Corey sat up and rubbed her eyes and forehead. ‘Oh, Sadie, there’s blood on your skirt.’

Sadie felt the dull red patch with her fingers.

‘That needs stitching,’ Corey said, seeing her grey face. ‘We’ll have to go down to the barber-surgeon’s.’

‘No. He might have seen the notices.’

‘You’ll have to. I’ll not go to Whitgift’s for you this morning unless you go to the surgeon’s first.’

‘But you promised—’

‘Only kidding. Course I’m going. Get up, let’s get you to the surgeon’s.’

‘I haven’t any money,’ Sadie said. She tried to stand, but almost keeled over. Corey hauled her to upright.

‘Come on, I’ll loan you. Shouldn’t be much, just a few stitches. It’ll be done quick. You can pay me back later, when you’re sorted out.’ Both of them knew
that was unlikely, but Corey wanted to be kind, and Sadie appreciated her tact.

‘If you find her, tell her I’m here, won’t you, and bring her home with you –’ She paused. ‘No, on second thoughts, what if the surgeon’s seen the
notices, or heard about me? He might hand me in, then it wouldn’t be safe to bring her.’

‘Well, you’ll be dead soon enough anyways if you don’t get that stitched. It’s bad. We’ll have to hope he’s not heard. And it’s only round the corner,
you’ll be back here in no time. They won’t know you’re here if you can get back upstairs before Ma wakes.’

‘Come straight away if you’ve any news, won’t you?’

‘Soon as I can, but it might have to be in my snap break.’

Corey lent Sadie a clean bodice and skirt. They were a little roomy, and far too short, but it felt good to be clean. She put her own apron on over the skirt to keep it from getting messed up.
Corey twisted her arm in Sadie’s to keep her steady as they set off.

‘I’ll leave you at the barber’s,’ Corey said, ‘then I’ll have to go back and feed the littlies.’

‘Won’t they ask me what I’m doing there?’

‘No, I’ll send them out – up to the bridge, to the Frost Fair. The river’s set like a road. Hurry up now. I’ll have to run like the clappers to Whitgift’s or
I’ll be mortal late for work, and you know what old Feverface is like.’

The house looked like every other house in the street – a two-roomed dwelling, half-timbered in the old-fashioned way, with an oak-panelled door sprayed with mud and
gobbets of sleet from passing horses and carriages. When they knocked, he took his time opening up, and when he did they saw he was still eating, his mouth greasy with egg. He had a piece of bread
in one hand. He looked at them morosely over his glasses, took in Sadie’s blood-soaked wrist with the wooden spoon protruding and beckoned them in, still chewing. Sadie shook her head so her
hair fell over her face.

The house was similar to Corey’s, but with the open fire burning and a table containing the remains of the breakfast. He sat down, ignoring them, and slurped at the remains of his pot of
ale and wiped the bread round the earthenware plate with relish. Sadie could not help looking at the other things on the table, a collection of tools such as a carpenter might have –
fearsomely sharp knives, a fretsaw, a handled drill. There were several razors glinting in the light from the fire, and some strops for sharpening them. The sight of them set up a buzzing sensation
in her head; she heard her breath grow shallow and fast.

She steadied herself and looked around like a nervous horse orientating itself in a new stable. A grinding whetstone operated by a treadle stood in the corner. Hanging by grubby strings on a row
of pegs on the wall were a series of brushes – hogshair and black bristle – and long-handled combs. She saw a basket of blood-stained cloths in one corner, and a basket of clean ones in
another. There was a strong smell of vinegar and something else, like urine.

Corey pressed a coin into Sadie’s hand. ‘Go straight home after. Tiptoe up, though, when you go in. Ma’ll be sleeping, like as not, and snoring like a mule, but it would be
better if I did the explaining.’

The barber-surgeon looked from one to the other. ‘In trouble with your ma, are you? Been stopping out too late?’

Corey laughed as if sharing the joke.

Sadie pulled on Corey’s sleeve. ‘Come and tell me, remember, when you have news.’

‘Don’t fret.’ She squeezed her good hand and was gone.

‘Suppose you want it stitching. Open it up then.’

Sadie fumbled to untie the bandage with her other hand, but Corey had tied it tight and it was too awkward. The barber-surgeon cleared his plate with a glum air, and wiped his hands on his
behind.

‘Suppose I’ll have to do it then,’ he said. He indicated a chair behind the table with a swipe of his head, and she sat down, placing her arm in front of him. The chair had
webbing straps nailed to it. Sadie had heard of people having to be tied down when they had their teeth pulled. Some of the webbing bore the dark stains of dried blood. The knives made her feel
even more queasy now she saw them at close range.

He unwrapped her wrist in a business-like way, paying no attention to her, his eyes focused on the wound and his work ahead. When the spoon came free and she saw her own blood dribble again from
her wrist, it made her head swim.

‘Hmm. Hold it tight whilst I get my needle.’ He pressed her hand down hard on the wound, which smarted and throbbed.

‘You’ll need this,’ he said, handing her a wad of cotton.

‘What for?’

‘To bite on. It’ll only need about five stitches. Dog, was it?’

‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘Seen ’em before. Now hold still. Bite down.’

She saw him thread a curved needle with what looked like button thread and tie a knot in it. His fingers moved surprisingly quickly. He measured a tot of a dark liquid into a metal tumbler and
tipped a little into his mouth before dripping it over the wound. Sadie bit down on the pad as the liquid burnt and stung. The smell of alcohol hit the back of her nose. Suddenly she was back in
Westmorland in their tiny cottage where the smell of liquor and pain had always gone together.

‘Now then, maid, get ready.’ She looked the other way.

A searing so intense that Sadie shot up in her chair, her mouth open in an involuntary scream. She looked at her arm. It was smoking; the surgeon held what looked like a small poker in his hand.
The smell of burning flesh was acrid in her nostrils.

‘’Tis done now. It had to be cauterized first, to seal it. Now the middle can be stitched. The worst is over. Try to hold still now and bite down.’

She felt the stab and pull of the needle, but gritted her teeth. Her eyes watered freely, but it did not seem to be tears. Her arm throbbed and it jerked once or twice with the piercing of the
needle. The surgeon held her arm tight as it twitched like a landed fish. She could not distinguish one pain from the other. When it was over, he patted the top of her head.

‘’Tis well done. There won’t be much of a scar.’

Sadie looked. He wiped her wrist with a wet cloth dipped in urine. She winced, but when he had finished she turned her arm back and forth to test its movement. It moved fine, just a little
stiff. She looked at the tidy row of stitches – brown thread, just like her sampler.

‘Have you a sharp knife at home, maid?’

Sadie was unsure how to answer. She had no home now, no place to go, only Corey’s. She swallowed, and blinked back more water.

He looked at her for the first time, as though she were a halfwit. ‘The stitches will need to be cut, in about three weeks, when the wound has knitted. You just snip here,’ he
pointed, ‘and here, then pull the ends of the thread through. Can you manage that?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, holding out the half-shilling, trying to act brave.

‘Wait on, while I get change.’ He opened a lidded jar and counted out some coins. He put them on the table in front of her.

Sadie stood up shakily and scooped up the coins with her good hand, thrusting them into the pocket of her apron. She would have to pull out the threads. The thought of it made her feel strange.
The room whirled around her. She clung to the back of the chair, willing it to stop.

‘Are you all right to walk home? You’ve gone white as whey.’ He was staring at her face. She wondered if he had heard about the notices and the reward. She tossed her hair
forward, heat rushed to her cheeks.

‘Yes, thanking you,’ she stammered. ‘I’m much obliged to you for stitching it.’

‘’Tis good to help. It’s what makes it worthwhile, all this. Does it feel better?’

His face was kindly, fatherly, concerned. He did not know she was a thief on the run. She began to sob. It was like a big dam breaking. He put his hand out to comfort her but she stumbled to the
door in a great hurry and rushed out. She couldn’t bear it, that a stranger should be so kind. She hared away. Eventually she stopped running. The cold air was bracing and she leaned against
a wall gulping it in, until the stitch in her side had subsided.

She looked down at her arm. It wouldn’t leave much of a scar, he had said. Another scar. Something else to mark her out. But she had survived it. The pain, the fear. It felt like an
initiation. She was part of life again.

‘I cannot see their faces,’ Titus Ibbetson complained.

‘Line up,’ shouted the turnkey, ‘so the gent can get a look at you. Sooner he does, sooner it will be over.’

The maids shuffled into a rough line, the chains grating on the ground. They were docile as cattle. Titus’s stomach turned at the sight of them, every one with some malformation or mark on
their face. He cleared his throat, though he had no intention to speak, and cast his eyes down despite his desire to look them over. When he looked up again, his eye was caught by the smallest
maid, who looked to be six or seven years old, with a livid red weal down the side of her face.

Her terrified eyes stared at him through the gloom. He scanned the rest of the women, looking for the girl he had caught a glimpse of at Bread Street. The sight of all those disfigured faces
lined up before him made him feel peculiar. It was icy down below in the vault and the warmth drained from his body. He began to shiver despite himself.

‘She’s not there.’

‘You sure?’ the turnkey said. ‘Have a closer look. Go on, you can go clean up to the bars. Best make sure.’