Berlie Doherty - Far From Home - The sisters of Street Child

They threaded their way across the road and Emily hugged her sister as if she hadn’t seen her for a week; tight, tight, just as Ma used to do. “Never do that again,” she whispered. “Never run off without me, Lizzie.”

“My word, you gave us a fright. We thought you was lost for good. London is like a maze, girl. We could have been looking for hours,” Rosie said. “And, if Judd knows I’ve left the kitchen without her permission she’ll have me hung, drawn and quartered. It’s all my fault too. I should never have sent you up to the Dearies. They got you all jittery, I’ll be bound. And I should have warned you about that door. I’ve got the trick of it now, and so has Judd, but it comes shut on you like a charging bull if you don’t step out of the way quick enough.”

“But I broke all that china, and Judd said you’ve got to pay for it.”

“Poof! They never get given the best china, as Judd well knows, because they’ve got a habit of chucking it at the wall if the tea’s too hot or too cold or too weak or too strong. They must have it just right, or they just hurl it across the room! We keep a good stock in for them and we pick it up cheap in the market when we see it. Come on, girls, let’s get back, shall we?”

She hurried away, leaving Emily and Lizzie to try to keep up with her.

“What are the Dearies like, really?” Emily asked. “The dreary Dearies!”

“Ghosts and skeletons!” Lizzie giggled, making her voice wobble. “ Who is it? Give me more tea. Who is it? ” She skipped along, happy now. She was with Emily again, and nobody had told her off for anything. “ More tea! ”

Rosie turned round on her suddenly, her face snapped shut with anger. “Don’t you go making fun of the Dearies. They’re old, is all, a pair of old dears, and they can’t help that. And we’ll all be like that one day, even you, if you don’t keep barging into cart horses.”

Emily clasped Lizzie’s hand. “Don’t worry about Rosie. She’s upset,” she mouthed. “She should be busy in the kitchen by now.”

They had almost reached the Big House when a smart black and gold carriage drew up close to the main door. A liveried driver jumped down to open the carriage door, and two very tall women climbed out, dusting themselves down and complaining loudly that he had jolted them about like sacks of turnips. Two other women climbed out after them, clutching carpetbags as the driver handed them down from the back.

Rosie turned abruptly and put out her hands to stop the girls from going any further. She lowered her head. “Lor, oh lor, it’s the two mistresses. They weren’t due back till next week. Don’t look at them, whatever you do don’t let them notice you,” she hissed. “Turn round and go back. Have they gone inside yet?”

Emily risked a quick look over her shoulder. “They’re looking at us,” she whispered.

“Oh my, I could faint. I could pass out stone cold. They’ve seen me now, so I must go on as if I’ve been on an errand for Judd. That’s it. What you must do, you must carry on walking as if you don’t know me, and when the mistresses have gone in and the door’s shut behind them, run round quick and come in our door. Now scarper.”

Emily and Lizzie walked sharply away from her without looking back until they reached the corner. They paused as if they were waiting for someone, and Emily turned her head quickly towards the house. She saw Rosie walk steadily towards the women, bobbing to them as she passed, and then going down the steps to the servants’ quarters.

“Why was she so frightened?” Lizzie asked.

“I think she’s scared she might lose her job.”

“Because of us?”

Emily said nothing, just watched the trundling carts, the bustle of passers-by. The main house door closed, the driver climbed back into his seat and urged his pair of horses to walk on, and still they waited.

“I haven’t eaten anything yet,” Lizzie said.

Emily nodded. “All right. We’ll go in. It should be quite safe now.” She began to walk towards the house. “Poor Rosie. Poor Rosie. What have we done to her? If only you hadn’t run off like that, Lizzie! What were you thinking of?”

“It was because of yesterday. When Ma left us behind …”

“She had to. You know that. She had no choice.”

“Rosie said she’d speak up for you.”

“I know.”

“But she said she’d take me to her sister’s in Sunbury.”

“I know.”

They had reached the railings of the house. Six steps down, and they would reach the servants’ basement. Through the door, and they’d be in the kitchen, and Rosie would be there, and there’d be work to do. There would be no chance of a private talk.

Lizzie grabbed Emily’s arm. “You won’t let her, will you?” she blurted out. “You won’t let her take me away from you?”

“Of course I won’t.”

“Even if she gets you a job here, and you love it, and it’s Ma’s kitchen and everything? Even if Judd says you’re the very girl she wants?”

“Never,” said Emily firmly. She took both Lizzie’s hands in her own. “We’re sisters, aren’t we? Where you go, I go. I promise.”

The kitchen was grim with worry. The fire sulked in the grate, there was no sunlight coming through the window; even the pans had lost their sparkle. Rosie was on her hands and knees picking up the last of the shards of broken china. She hoisted herself up and handed Lizzie a small brush.

“Here, you can finish the job. And then you can soap the stairs down.”

“I haven’t eaten anything yet,” Lizzie reminded her timidly.

“Neither have I, neither has your sister. Get that job done first. Em’ly, you can be slicing up some bread and ham for us all. Forget breakfast, as we’re long past it now. I couldn’t stomach it anyway. Then we’ve got to get on with cooking that meal for supper. And there’s four more to cook for now: the Crabapple and the Crocodile and their two hoity-toities. Good job we bought plenty of meat this morning, Em’ly. And, Lizzie, when you’ve done the stairs you can take your bread and ham into the pantry. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to eat your meal in the dark. I daresay your hand can find its way to your mouth? If the mistresses come down, as well they might, I’ve got a story for them in my head. But it doesn’t include you just at the moment.”

An hour later the kitchen was oozing with the smell of juicy meat simmering in a pot over the fire. Emily was rolling pastry, in her quick, light way. She was using the wooden rolling pin that her ma would have worked with. Rosie was chopping carrots and onions. Neither of them spoke a word. Their ears were straining for the sound of Judd’s tread on the servants’ stairs; and at last it came. The door was flung open, and in she swept, with her black skirts brushing the floury tiles like a duster.

“Rosie, you are to go upstairs – now. Master and Mistress Whittle want to speak to you.”

“Yes, Judd.” Rosie put down her chopping knife and smoothed her hands clean on the apron. “Have I to take Em’ly with me?” Her breath came out like a trembling shudder.

“Certainly not. They want you on your own. They want you to explain why you have brought street children into the house.”

“Not street children, Judd. Didn’t you tell them they’re Annie’s daughters?”

“They didn’t ask me. It’s you they want to speak to.” Judd swept out of the kitchen, and the flour settled back into the cracks between the stones. Rosie said nothing. She tucked her hair under her cap, removed her working apron and slipped on a newly starched clean one and, without saying a word to Emily, followed Judd up to the main part of the house.