Paying Guests (30 page)

‘I DOUBT IT will come as so much of a shock to her,’ Silas ventured after they had travelled halfway back to Brompton again, and she roused herself from her reverie and looked at him.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Polly,’ Silas said. ‘I have no doubt she has guessed that his fate was as we found. She said as much to you, you told me. That he was an ailing man.’

‘Oh, Polly,’ Tilly said. ‘Yes, I dare say.’

‘So you need not be so sad for her,’ Silas went on, watching her as closely as he could in the dark interior of the rocking cab as the driver whipped up his tired horse to send it careering along the Strand on its way westwards, ‘need you? It does your tender heart credit, of course, but you should not be so very distressed.’

She bent her head to look down at her gloved hands on her lap. She had not given more than the most perfunctory thought to the way Polly might react to the news that her father had died within six months of his imprisonment, as had been recorded in the ledger; it had been her own feelings about finding Dorcas Oliver’s name that preoccupied her, and it was shameful to have Silas thinking so well of her concern for Polly when she was, in truth, being thoroughly wicked, wondering how it would be possible to handle this piece of news about Dorcas in a way that would benefit her, Tilly, and more importantly, Duff.

Ever since she had allowed Sophie to move into Quentin’s and had watched her conquer Duff’s heart, her feelings had been mixed.
On the one hand she was deeply grateful to discover that her fears regarding the nature of Duff’s attachment to his friend Patrick Paton had been unfounded. Clearly, she had decided, watching her son positively mooning over Sophie, he was every inch a woman’s man. Whatever adolescent feelings had been involved when he was at school, now he was out in the world all that had been forgotten. She had not even been particularly anxious when Duff had made it clear he had every intention of accepting Paton’s latest invitation; she had actually permitted herself to think such a connection could do her boy nothing but good, in a world where the quality of one’s friends was of such importance.

On the other hand, her feelings about Sophie were sometimes less than kind. She seemed to Tilly to be altogether too charming to be trusted. Every one of the guests in the house adored her. Even the usually acerbic Miss Fleetwood had come under her spell; and more significantly so had the servants. In Tilly’s now wide experience they were a class of people who were very good indeed at seeing through pretension and deceit. There had been previous guests who had seemed charming and likeable to their fellows, and to Tilly herself, but who had been loathed and despised by Eliza and all her staff, and Tilly had learned to see their reaction as a very accurate measure of people’s true character. There was Mr Greenwall who had decamped one night by the window of his room, bag and baggage, leaving three months’ bills unpaid, and Miss Carter, who had been discovered to be the root cause of the disappearance of several pieces of other guests’ property. The servants had not been taken in by those two at all, when those above stairs had been quite hoodwinked.

Yet now, here was a guest she distrusted, yet they did not. Could she be behaving in a most unfair way, tarring Sophie with the brush not only of Tilly’s own memories of her mother, but of her grandmother? Tilly had hated and feared Mrs Leander, Sophie’s grandmother, who had been her father’s mistress all those years ago, a jumped-up housekeeper who had abused her position in the house to – well, Tilly would not think about that again. Think instead of Dorcas, who was still very much to be thought about,
going by that entry in the ledger at Clerkenwell Magistrate’s Court. Imprisoned for two years for the separate crimes of common prostitution and obtaining money by trickery, she would soon be released. The dates on the ledger had made Tilly shiver with anxiety. Another month, that was all, and Dorcas would be free.

And what had Sophie been using for money in the meantime? She had been but a child of sixteen when her mother was imprisoned. Had she really left her mother’s care because she chose to, which was the impression she had given Tilly? Hardly, not at that age. Her mother must have left her to survive as best she could, and find money where she could. Yes, she had worked as a dancer, but why had she only now admitted this fact? Why had she not told Tilly sooner? The questions came thick and fast, and the hardest for Tilly to consider was, had Sophie been living on ill-gotten funds?

At that thought Tilly had felt herself go white. Had she herself been taking, as rent, money Dorcas had filched in some unspeakable manner? It was all too confusing and painful and it was small wonder that now she sat in the cab with Silas’s anxious eyes on her, thinking her upset about Polly. She would have to make herself a better dissembler, she thought with some panic, and managed to smile at Silas.

‘I am sorry to be so distrait,’ she said. ‘It is all so – that place was a great deal more unpleasant than I had expected. And the news of George Mitcham’s death and all – well, forgive me.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t wish to see you anxious unnecessarily. I do agree with you. It was quite dreadful to see so many unhappy people, most of whom I am certain are in the difficulties they find themselves because of poverty rather than because of any inherent wickedness.’ He brooded for a while. ‘I took as many notes as was possible before that officious creature turned us out –’ He almost snorted at the way the lordly being in buttons had shepherded them out of the building. ‘And I hope it will be enough to convince my Society that action must be taken for these poor wretches.’ He threw himself back against the leather padding of the cab and glowered. ‘It is a little short of disgusting that some of our fellow creatures should have to suffer
so much when out here –’ and he gestured out of the window at the handsome new stucco-fronted houses which had been built along the road that led to Brompton ‘– out here is comfort and decency and every incentive to live a virtuous life. I am fast reaching the conclusion that virtue is entirely to be bought. It is certainly hard to come by for those who lack enough to feed and clothe themselves.’

‘Yes,’ Tilly said and leaned across and touched his hand. ‘You are a good man, Silas, and I must thank you warmly for your help this afternoon. I have been less than gracious in being so preoccupied with my own concern. It is good of you to spend so much time on my behalf and on that of the poor people for whom you show so much compassion.’

‘Oh, it is no effort at all,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘Caring for you, that is. To take care of and to help you, Tilly, is a privilege. It is one I hope to enjoy for as long as you will permit me. For always, if you will consider it.’

She drew back. ‘Really, you must not –’ She stopped. ‘I mean, I was complimenting you on your work for the poor through your Society as much as – well, I am sure they appreciate you.’

‘I don’t do the work for appreciation,’ he said and drew back into his corner. ‘But because it needs to be done. Ah, here we are. Another few yards and you may rest a little before you talk to Polly.’

The moment had passed and she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Had be been about to declare himself, to make a proposal? It had seemed so, and she was startled at how fluttery such a thought made her. Did she want him to do so? If so, why had she choked him off so quickly? She was a little old at thirty-five to behave like a foolish girl; a widow such as herself should surely be a little more worldly-wise. And one who had twice been widowed – well, it did not suit her at all to behave in so missish a fashion. She was quite ashamed of herself.

He handed her out of the cab with his usual punctiliousness, and she smiled at him tentatively. ‘I cannot thank you too much,’ she said. ‘You have been –’

‘Please take it as read,’ he said a touch brusquely. ‘There need be
no more mention of it. Will you speak to Polly at once? Or accept my advice and rest in your room for a while first? It may be an emotional experience for her and therefore wearying for you.’

‘Of course I shall accept your advice,’ she said, feeling it was the least she could do and in truth glad of an excuse to escape to be on her own for a little while. It would soon be time to busy herself about the normal work of the late afternoon, supervising the preparation of dinner and the arrangement of the dining room, and after that there would be no time to do anything until she fell into bed at night, once the last guest had sought his or her room. No time for anything – not even thinking about Sophie. Or Silas.

In her room she rang her bell, using the code she had devised to tell Eliza it was she who was wanted and not one of the junior staff, and then kicked off her boots and her gown and stretched herself on her
chaise longue
, wearing a wrap.

Eliza arrived rather red in the face, and buttoning her cuffs as she came in. ‘I was choppin’ fish for the dumplings, Mum. It’s a receipt as I was given by Madame Salinas and we’re tryin’ it for the first time. Five kinds of fish – hake and halibut and a bit o’ cod and bream and so forth – all to be chopped together till it’s like dough. It does take time.’

‘I hope they will enjoy it and warrant all your work, Eliza,’ Tilly said, knowing better than to try to deflect her when she was embarked on a description of a dish.

‘Oh, Mum, they’ll enjoy it and don’t you doubt it! I’ve the almonds ready pounded – it does take a lot – and a fine fish souchy to cook it in – I had far more o’ the broth than I needed from the fish I cooked this mornin’ – and once I get it all mixed, a few eggs you know, and some fine chopped onion and the souchy’ll set to a nice jelly, for I used some bones of sea bream to give it a bit o’ body, why, it’ll taste fit for the Queen. Madame Salinas, she’ll come and check I got the balance right in the seasoning – a bit of garlic you know, they do like their garlic, these Frenchies – and it’ll beat the rest of the dinner tomorrow hands down.’

‘Oh, this is for tomorrow?’ Tilly said. ‘Then what are we having tonight? Is it not as we planned? Have you changed it?’

‘No, Mum, not at all.’ Eliza was shocked at the very suggestion. ‘Julienne soup and some oxtail, removed with the fish I cooked in the souchy this morning – that’s perch and eels and flounders, the best Jerryman had – and for the third course there’s that cold game pie and a haunch of mutton with caper sauce and boiled fowl pudding. Before that the entrées, you remember, like what we said. I have a ragout of lobster and a riz of veau and some sautéed mushrooms and then there’s the wild duck which I shall have removed by apple pies with cheese and blackberry creams and a vanilla charlotte.’

‘Well, that all sounds very satisfactory. Sit down, Eliza.’

‘What?’ Eliza stared. ‘Me sit down in here, Mum? Whatever for?’

‘Because you are working too hard, considering your condition, and I must speak to you, and it will be easier for me to do so while you are in a chair so that I don’t have to crane my neck. And because I ask you to,’ Tilly said a little impatiently.

Eliza sat down and folded her work-reddened hands in her lap. ‘As to my condition, Mum, I’m fine and hearty,’ she said. ‘I don’t never feel sick now, and I’m as well set up as ever I was, though fattening up nicely.’ And she patted her belly proudly. ‘But that’s as it should be, I shall start wearing my bigger gowns soon, but there’s not a thing else to fret over. I never was better.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Country girls like me, we take it easier, this baby business, than you city ladies. We’re bred different.’

‘Not at all,’ Tilly said sharply. ‘Aren’t we all the same –’

‘In the eyes of God. That’s as may be,’ Eliza said tartly. ‘But in the world like what it is, it’s different. And there’s no escaping it, you’re more delicate than what we are.’

Tilly chose not to argue the point; there were other things to talk about. ‘Eliza, Polly’s father is dead. He died six months ago.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised to hear it,’ Eliza said. ‘And nor will she be. She’s talked a little to me, and I know the girl well enough. She’ll be all right as long as she’s got that baby to fret over –’ Eliza shook her head. ‘Is he to stay here for always, Mum?’

Tilly looked at her and made a grimace. ‘To tell the truth, Eliza, I hadn’t thought about it.’

‘P’raps you should, Mum. That child – well, she’s more of a girl now than a child – she’s all set to stay ‘ere. She knows as ‘er dad won’t never be back and the brothers are off to farms and all –’

‘And I must take her to visit them soon,’ Tilly remembered and put her hands to her head. ‘Oh dear. There’s so much to think about. I promised I would and I must. And then there’s – well,’ she had been about to speak of Dorcas but changed her mind for the present, ‘so much,’ she ended.

‘Well, Mum, let me say this. If we’re goin’ to have another baby here –’ and again she patted her belly, almost absentmindedly, ‘maybe it’s no bad thing to let young Georgie stay on. I can teach Polly to be a fair sort o’ nursery worker, I don’t doubt, and the child’ll do well enough. Then when there’s two of ‘em, Polly can be nursemaid, d’you see. As long as she’s as devoted to ours as she is to Georgie, we won’t have no arguments. Anyway, I’ll be there all the time to keep an eye.’

Tilly looked at her, and then shook her head and began to laugh, and Eliza looked back at her with her brows raised and with no laughter at all.

‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ she protested. ‘Really I don’t, Mum. I been thinkin’ and it strikes me that with Polly here to take care of both babies –’

‘That’s why I’m laughing, Eliza.’ Tilly managed to catch her breath. ‘It’s just so – well, so pat! We seem between us to have a way of looking at problems and finding answers to them that are as neat as – as neat as the pies you make. All the gravy and such that might make a splash and a mess tidily tucked away, and the pastry golden and neat on top, holding all trouble inside. The whole tasting quite splendid and no sign to anyone of the work that’s gone into it.’

Eliza looked doubtful. ‘I think that means you’re pleased enough, Mum?’

‘Of course I am. It is what I intended – an excellent plan, though perhaps I should not be so boastful! I laughed only because it is all so
pat
. You make it sound even more simple than perhaps it is.’