Dilly Court - Ragged Rose

‘I’m sure you can,’ Rose said, brushing the mud off her skirt. ‘But we all need a little help now and then. Why don’t you come to the vicarage with us? You can stay the night, and tomorrow morning you can decide what you want to do.’

Maisie looked from one to the other and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I ain’t religious. I don’t want no sermon.’

‘I promise you that won’t happen,’ Rose said, holding out her hand. ‘You’ll just have to trust us, and let’s face it – anything is better than drowning in filthy water.’

‘Yes, do come with us,’ Cora pleaded. ‘I’m so tired that I could sleep on the cold pavement and my feet are aching.’

Maisie nodded dully. ‘All right, but just for tonight. I ain’t a charity case.’

‘Of course not.’ Rose started off in the direction of St Matthew’s church, leading Maisie by the hand.

The vicarage was situated close to the church in a respectable middle-class area. The wide streets were lined with terraced houses built in the Georgian era, and the dwellings were well maintained. Unlike some of the surrounding streets, this part of Islington exuded an air of comfortable prosperity.

Rose guided Maisie through the garden to the back of the house and Cora rapped on the kitchen door. It was opened almost immediately by their cook-housekeeper, Mrs Blunt. She was ready for bed, wearing a long robe, and her nightcap sat askew on her head.

‘Where have you been, young ladies? Your pa has waited up for you.’ She glared at Maisie. ‘Who is this?’

Cora stepped inside. ‘We’re so sorry to have kept you up, dear Mrs Blunt.’

‘But we were helping Aunt Polly,’ Rose added hastily. ‘And we came across this young girl who is in desperate need of warmth and comfort.’

Mrs Blunt stood arms akimbo, looking Maisie up and down. ‘Runaway servant, I’d guess. We can’t take in all the waifs and strays in the city, Miss Rose.’

‘It’s just for tonight, and I rather think it’s up to Pa to decide,’ Rose said firmly. She tempered her words with a persuasive smile. ‘A nice hot cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, and a slice of your seed cake would go down well, I’m sure.’ She turned to Maisie without giving Mrs Blunt a chance to refuse. ‘You have never tasted anything as good as Mrs Blunt’s caraway cake. She is the best cook in Islington.’

‘The best in London,’ Cora said, smothering a yawn. ‘Might I have a cup of warm milk, please? I’m ready for bed.’

‘Miss Day works you girls far too hard. That’s my opinion and I don’t mind saying so.’ Mrs Blunt hurried over to the range and moved the kettle to the hob. She turned to Maisie. ‘You can make yourself useful, child. Fetch the milk jug from the marble slab in the larder, and bring the cake as well.’ She pointed to the cupboard on the far side of the room. ‘Chop chop.’

Maisie stood like a statue, as if her limbs had suddenly turned to marble. ‘I’ll help you.’ Cora took her by the arm and guided her as she might a sleepwalker.

Rose could see that her sister had the situation in hand. ‘I’ll go and tell Pa that we’re home.’ She left them and made her way down the gaslit passage that led into the entrance hall of the draughty, rambling vicarage. The front parlour was to the right of the wide staircase, and it was where the family gathered in the evenings, and after church on Sundays. Rose entered the room to find her father pacing the floor.

‘Pa, I’m so sorry we’re late.’ She could tell by the strained expression on his deeply lined face that he had been angered by their lengthy absence, and for the first time she felt guilty even though she and Cora were carrying out their deception for the best of reasons. ‘I’m afraid it was unavoidable.’

Seymour Perkins glowered at his elder daughter. ‘It isn’t safe for you girls to be walking home un-escorted at this time of night. Polly ought to know better than to keep you so late, and I will tell her so in no uncertain terms next time we meet.’

‘It wasn’t Aunt Polly’s fault,’ Rose said quickly. ‘She had some trouble with two of the women, it’s true, but that didn’t hold us up.’ She moved to her father’s side, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Do sit down. You look worn to the bone, Pa. You work too hard.’

He subsided onto a chair by the fire, which had burned down to a few glowing embers. ‘The end of winter seems to accelerate the death rate amongst the frail and elderly. I’ve been attempting to comfort the dying and take care of the bereaved since dawn this morning.’

‘I know, Pa.’ Rose looked into his face, experiencing a surge of tenderness that made her throat constrict and her eyes sting with unshed tears. Her father seemed to have aged suddenly, or perhaps she had not noticed the passing of the years. The man who had been a strict disciplinarian when she, Billy and Cora were children had grown old, although he had not mellowed with age. ‘I’m truly sorry that we added to your worries.’

‘I applaud the fact that you and your sister work so tirelessly with the unhappy women in Polly’s care, but I cannot have you neglecting the poor of this parish. Your mama is too frail to undertake the duties my calling thrust upon her.’

A wave of shame made Rose look away. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and she could not look her father in the eye. ‘There’s another reason we were late, Pa. We came across a young girl who was about to hurl herself off the City Basin bridge. Cora and I persuaded her not to jump, and we’ve brought her home. I was hoping she could stay tonight and perhaps we could take her to Aunt Polly in the morning.’

Seymour’s lips hardened into a thin line of dis-approval. ‘I suppose it’s the usual story.’

‘I fear so. Maisie hasn’t told us much, but no doubt the whole sorry tale will come out as she begins to put her trust in us.’

‘She must remain here, where she is safe from temptation. It’s probably best if you make her comfortable for the night and I’ll see her tomorrow when she’s rested.’

‘I’ll do that, and you must get some sleep, too. You look exhausted.’ Rose kissed him on the cheek, but the sudden look of suspicion on her father’s face made her withdraw hastily as she realised her mistake.

He gave her a reproachful look. ‘Have you taken up smoking, Rose? I can smell it in your hair.’

‘No, certainly not, Pa.’ She struggled to think of a convincing reason for her exposure to such a substance. ‘It must have come from the home, Pa. Polly allows the women to smoke if it calms them down. They have little enough enjoyment in life.’

‘It seems to me that they’ve had a little too much enjoyment for their own good,’ he said, frowning. ‘I should have known better than to accuse you of such a thing. You have always tried to be a good daughter.’

She made a move towards the doorway. ‘I’ll see to Maisie, and then I’m going to bed. Things will look better in the morning.’

Maisie was seated at the kitchen table, devouring cake as if it were her last meal on earth, and in between each bite she swallowed a mouthful of hot tea. Cora looked up, meeting Rose’s gaze with a shrug. ‘Mrs Blunt will have to make another seed cake in the morning. I told her to go to bed; the poor old thing looked worn out.’

‘Don’t let her hear you calling her old,’ Rose said, chuckling. ‘Mrs Blunt is in her prime, or so she keeps telling me, but I think it has something to do with Mr Spinks, the butcher. Ma told me that he delivers the meat in person these days, instead of sending his boy. I think he’s sweet on Mrs Blunt.’

‘Or maybe he likes her cooking.’ Cora put her cup of warm milk aside. ‘I have to go to bed, Rose. I’m dead on my poor aching feet.’