Tilly True (6 page)

Once again, her world of darkness turned upside down and the blood rushed to her head as she was hefted over Bert's shoulder. Although he didn't utter a single word, she would have known it was Bert from the rancid stench of his unwashed body and the odour of stale pipe tobacco that clung to his clothes. How could pretty little Emily, who had always been so fussy about cleanliness, have let this gross man touch her? The thought of Bert Tuffin violating her sister's innocent body and getting her in the family way made Tilly want to be sick. Her forehead crashed painfully against the back of Bert's thighs as he stopped and she heard the sound of a key grating in a lock, the squealing protest of a door swinging open on rusty hinges and the dull thud as it closed. They were on the move again and now the sounds were just those of Bert's hobnailed boots clattering across bare boards. The rhythm changed and Tilly realised that they were going down a flight of steps. He came to a halt and she was jerked forward, tossed into a void; she landed on what felt like a brick floor with a painful thud that wrenched a cry from her dry lips.

‘There ain't no clerical gent to save you this time.' Bert whipped the sack from her head. ‘You ain't so high and mighty now, are you, miss?'

Lying on her side, Tilly could see him in outline only, his huge body towering above her. ‘You won't get away with this, Bert Tuffin. Me dad will be out looking for me. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when he finds you.'

Bert growled in his throat and, for a moment, Tilly thought he was going to hit her, but he threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Your dad thinks you've gone to India with the parson. No one's going to come looking for you.'

It was true: Mum and Pops thought she was with the Palgraves and the Palgraves thought she had gone back to Whitechapel. Mum had always said her imagination would get her into trouble one day; that day had come with a vengeance. Shivering, Tilly clenched her teeth to stop them chattering. Bert was moving about the room, kicking at objects and mumbling beneath his breath. There was a tiny flare and a strong smell of sulphur as he struck a match, holding it over the stub of a candle stuck in a bottle.

‘Where have you brought me to?' Gazing around at the bare brick walls, oozing with damp, Tilly's heart sank as she answered her own question. They were in some sort of cellar, below ground, windowless and very cold.

‘No harm in telling you because you can't escape.' Bert set the candle down on an upturned tea chest. ‘This is my place in Wapping, and seeing as how you've turned your sister agin me, you'll have to take her place.'

‘You're mad.' The enormity of what he had just said shafted into Tilly's brain. ‘You can't keep me prisoner here. This is 1897; it ain't the bleeding Middle Ages. You just can't kidnap a person and keep them locked up.'

‘Hoity-toity, aren't you? Well, I likes a bit of spirit in a woman, although you ain't a patch on pretty little Emmie with her winning ways. It were harder to get into her bloomers than to get at the buggery Crown Jewels but I reckon I was more than fond of the little bird.'

‘You're a disgusting pig. You touch me and I'll kill you.'

Unsheathing a knife from his belt, Bert advanced on Tilly with his arm raised as though he meant to stab her.

Closing her eyes, Tilly stuck her chin out. ‘Go on then, you bugger, slit me throat. I'd as soon end up dead as bedded by the likes of you.'

Grabbing her by the hair, Bert dragged her to a sitting position. The pins that had confined Tilly's guinea-gold hair in a tight bun flew in all directions as he coiled a long tress around his hand. She couldn't move, her throat was exposed and she really thought her life was going to end, but Bert used the blade to slit the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. Tightening his grip on her hair, he jerked her to her feet.

‘It's your choice. After a few days down here with nothing to eat or drink you'll change your tune. I'll have you singing like a little canary and eating out of me hand afore I'm done. You'll make up to me for what I lost, Tilly True. You'll warm me bed and you'll keep house for me and me boys and you'll like it. See if you don't.'

‘You're insane,' Tilly said, turning her head away from his foetid breath. ‘You'll end up in Colney Hatch for sure.'

‘I wouldn't bet on it.' Bert let her go with a scornful snort. ‘You won't be alone long, dearie. The rats will keep you company; just mind they don't chew your fingers and toes off.' Chuckling, he stomped up the steps and slammed the door.

Tilly's heart sank as she heard the key turn in the lock. At least he had left the candle, but maybe that had been part of his plan. Its flickering beam cast weird shadows on the walls, moving and shifting in a ghostly dance. Part of the cellar was used to house sacks of coal and the remaining space was littered with rubbish. As she peered into the dark corners, Tilly thought she saw something move, catching a glimpse of what looked like a gleaming red eye. Chafing her sore wrists, she forced herself to walk round her prison, kicking over broken boxes, bits of old harness, a chair with three legs and a bucket that had lost its handle. Her searches disturbed several colonies of cockroaches, sending them scuttling for cover across the brick floor. Shaking with revulsion, Tilly continued to look for a means of escape and found none, but it was a relief to find that the gleaming eye had been nothing more than the candlelight reflecting on a broken bottle.

She was cold, so cold that she had lost all feeling in her feet and lower limbs, and her stomach growled with hunger. Climbing the steep stone steps, Tilly hammered on the door with her fists, shouting for help, but no one came. Thirst was becoming her biggest problem and it was all she could do to stop herself from panicking. She must keep a level head or Bert would have won. Sinking down on the bottom step, she felt the cold stone striking through her clothes and she wrapped her arms around her knees, huddling up as small as she could in order to keep warm. An inky stain was spreading across the floor of the cellar and she realised that it was water seeping up through the cracks. They must, she thought, be very close to the river and the tide was coming in; common sense told her that the water would not rise more than a few inches, but panic was beginning to numb her brain. She was all alone, the candle would not last long and soon she would be in total darkness. The terrible truth gradually dawned upon her: Bert had been right. She had told her family that she was going to work for the Palgraves and she had made up the story about going off to India; they would have no cause to doubt her. That's what you get, my girl, for telling lies; she could hear Ma's voice in her head as clearly as if she were standing right beside her. And Miss Hattie and the Reverend thought she had returned to Red Dragon Passage. It was true; no one would know she was missing and so no one would come to her rescue.

Getting to her feet, Tilly knew she had to keep moving in order to keep the blood flowing through her veins. Glancing at the candle, she guessed that it would last for another couple of hours before it guttered and went out. She would be in the dark then, listening for the scuffling of rats and mice, waiting for the roaches to run over her face and body. Frantically, she began to tidy the cellar, stacking the rubbish in neat piles and filling the four corners so that the centre was clear. The floor needed a good sweep but there was not so much as a hand brush, let alone a broom, and anyway the debris was beginning to float. She needed to relieve herself and there was no alternative but to use the bucket, which afterwards she placed as far away as possible.

By piling the broken boxes against one wall, Tilly made a makeshift pallet that was just big enough to allow her to lie down if she curled up in a foetal position. Bert had said he was going to leave her down here until she gave in to him, and she didn't doubt that he meant what he said. She lay down, closed her eyes and said a prayer.

She must have fallen asleep as suddenly, in the middle of a wild dream in which she was running away from an unseen terror, Tilly woke up with a start. She couldn't see a thing, not even a chink of light, but she could hear scrabbling and scratching coming from a far corner. Scrambling to her feet, she landed in a pool of stinking river water that had come in with the tide, bringing with it the overflow from flooded privies. Stumbling across the room, she barked her shins on the stone steps as she clambered up them on all fours. Sobbing with relief she reached the door and beat upon it with her fists, shouting, screaming; a hysterical bubble rising in her throat. No one answered her cries for help. She sank down onto the top step, curled up with her arms around her knees and buried her face in her damp skirt.

How long she remained like this, she did not know. Disorientated in the darkness, Tilly had no concept of time passing; she didn't know if she was in a waking nightmare or asleep. At times she thought she was going to die, but a small insistent voice in her head nagged her not to give way; don't let that brute win. Use your loaf, Tilly, that's what Pops would have said. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, she heard footsteps approaching and the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened and Tilly raised her arm to shield her eyes, blinking in the unaccustomed light.

‘Gawd's strewth, look at the state of you!' Bert loomed above her, smirking. ‘Not so high and mighty this morning, I'll be bound.'

Backing away from him down the steps, Tilly stuck her chin out, determined not to let him see just how petrified she had been. ‘This ain't exactly the blooming Ritz.'

‘You got brass, Tilly, I'll give you that. Now are you going to be a good girl, or do you want to spend another night in me cellar?'

‘Not particularly.'

Bert backed into the narrow hallway. ‘Come on up then, but you try anything and I'll have you back in the cellar afore you can blink.'

Tilly followed Bert along the dimly lit passage to a room at the back of the house that appeared to serve as both kitchen and living room. The walls were lined with bulging sacks and tea chests piled one on top of the other. The flagstone floor was littered with muddy boots, torn newspapers, dirty socks and bits of food; it was obvious to Tilly that there had been no woman's touch in this dwelling for a very long time. A deal table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by four kitchen chairs, with a wheel-back chair sited close to a rusting black range. The tabletop had almost disappeared beneath a pile of dirty crockery, beer bottles, spilt matches and empty cigarette packets. The smell of stale food, tobacco smoke and sour beer hung in a miasma so thick that it made Tilly retch. The only good thing in the room was a fire burning brightly in the range and a kettle singing on the hob.

‘You can clear up in here after you've made us a brew,' Bert said, slumping down in the chair by the range.

‘This is a midden,' Tilly said, shaking her head. ‘You live like a pig.'

‘Here, you'd better watch your mouth if you don't want to go back down the cellar. You'll keep a civil tongue in your head and you'll do as I says. Now make us some tea and no more lip.'

Wrinkling her nose, Tilly picked up a china mug that had something furry growing in the bottom of it. ‘This is how you live, is it?'

‘Aye, until now – that's why I needed a woman in the house. You'll find a sink in the scullery and there's a privy in the back yard. Don't get no ideas about running off, though. There's a six-foot-high wall all round and the gate's padlocked. You behave proper, Tilly, and we may rub along all right.'

Reluctantly, Tilly took two cups into the scullery and found the clay sink piled high with pots and pans. The walls ran with damp and fungus grew from the cracks. There was a window but the glass panes were all broken and stuffed with brown paper and rags. Opening the door that led to the yard Tilly realised that Bert had not exaggerated; not only were the soot-blackened brick walls at least six feet in height, but the tops were spiked with shards of broken glass. Just getting to the wall would have been an almost impossible task: Bert obviously used the space to store items as diverse as cartwheels, kedges, coils of rope and chamber pots, perhaps with an eye to selling them. To get to the pump or the privy, she had to negotiate a narrow path between all these obstacles, and, if it was difficult in daylight, Tilly could only imagine the perils of going to the privy in the dark.

Although the temperature could not have been much above freezing and a dusting of frost softened the contours of the stark shapes, Tilly was desperate for a wash and she stuck her head beneath the pump, letting the ice-cold water run through her hair. She washed her face and hands, shaking the water off for want of a towel. Looking upwards, she realised why no one had heard her frantic cries for help. Bert's house was squashed in between tall, windowless warehouses. She could just see a forest of tall cranes and the masts of a ship in a narrow slit between the buildings and she could hear the familiar sounds of the river. Shivering, Tilly bit back tears. She couldn't be more than a mile or two from home and yet she was trapped. Years ago, peering into the window of a pawnbroker's shop, she had seen a fly trapped in a piece of amber; that was exactly how she felt at this moment. A shout from inside made her jump. All right, Bert Tuffin, she thought, gritting her teeth, I'll play you at your game, but you won't win. I'll get myself out of here if it's the last thing I do. Rinsing the cups beneath the pump, Tilly went back inside to make a pot of tea.

Having drunk three cups of the strong brew heavily laced with sugar, Bert belched and got to his feet. ‘I want this lot cleared afore I gets home this evening and I expects a hot meal waiting for me and the boys.'

Revived by a cup of sweet tea, Tilly chose not to argue. ‘What boys?'