The Beggar Maid (28 page)

Charity stumbled into the hall and slammed the door, leaning against it while she fought to catch her breath. ‘I'm all right,' she murmured. ‘Fetch Violet. I need to speak to her.' She sank down on the nearest chair, fanning herself with her hand.

Violet came running as fast as her condition would allow. ‘What's the matter? You scared Dorrie to death.'

‘Your dad. I saw him driving the brewer's dray in Fleet Street.'

Violet's face paled to ashen and her eyes widened with fear. ‘Did he see you?'

‘Yes. He called my name, but I ran. I don't think he followed me because of the traffic in Fleet Street, but he knows we must be somewhere in the vicinity. We have to be very careful from now on, Vi. He might give up or he might come back and try to find us.' Alarmed by Violet's pallor, Charity rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘You'd better sit down.'

‘What will we do? We've got to go out in order to sell books.' Violet sank down on the chair, fanning herself with her hand. ‘He'll kill me if he sees me like this.'

‘You mustn't venture outside the court.'

‘But he's seen you and I know my dad; he won't give up easily.'

‘Then I'll have to be extra careful.' Charity adjusted her bonnet, retying the strings that had come undone during her flight. ‘I didn't have any luck finding a cart, but there's a bookshop in the Strand. They may be interested in buying a couple of volumes. We have to have some money or we'll go to bed hungry.'

Violet reached up and caught her by the hand. ‘Don't go. My dad might still be around.'

‘He was doing his deliveries. I don't think he'd risk losing his job by hanging around.' She gave Violet what she hoped was an encouraging smile. ‘I'll pick a few of the best editions and see what I can get for them.'

‘Take Jackson with you. You'd be safe with him at your side.'

With Jackson trailing behind her like a faithful hound, and Bosun straining on his lead, Charity visited the bookshop and met with a modicum of success. She came away with half a crown, and even though the books in question were worth several times that amount she had the satisfaction of knowing that they would eat that night. On the way home she purchased two ounces of Darjeeling tea, a pat of butter and the final extravagance, hot meat pies from a street vendor.

When they had finished eating Jackson went outside into the yard to smoke his last pipe of baccy, and Mrs Diment put her feet up by the desultory fire. ‘That was a lovely supper, Charity, but what will we do tomorrow and the next day? Now we've got a man to feed as well as ourselves, I don't know how we'll manage.'

‘Jackson can have some of my food.' Dorrie stood on tiptoe to put a plate she had just dried in its place on the dresser. ‘I'm not very big and he's enormous.'

Violet and Charity exchanged amused grins as Dorrie indicated Jackson's size with a dramatic sweep of her arms. ‘No one will give up anything for anyone,' Charity said firmly. ‘I couldn't find a cart or a barrow but that doesn't mean we can't sell the books in a street market. With Jackson's help I'll hawk the books like any other street vendor. With a bit of luck we'll be able to keep going until the auction sale.'

‘Unless my dad puts his oar in,' Violet said, splashing about in the sink as she washed the last cup and saucer.

Mrs Diment had begun to doze off but she was suddenly alert. ‘What's that about your dad, Violet? From what you told me when you first came here he's a nasty bit of work.'

‘He saw me walking along Fleet Street,' Charity said, lowering her voice. ‘I escaped through Red Lion Court and I'm sure he didn't follow me, but we'll have to be careful in future. Vi shouldn't go far from the house until after the baby is born.'

‘Dad mustn't find out where I am.' Violet pulled the plug from the sink and stood back, wiping her reddened hands on her apron. ‘He's a violent man, Mrs Diment. And he had his eye on Charity from the start. I know all about him and his way with women. He can put on the charm if he chooses, and he can change in a flash and start using his fists. I dunno how Ma has put up with him all these years.'

‘Men have it all their own way. Your ma wouldn't have had much choice, young Violet.'

‘I'm not going to get married,' Dorrie said, sniffing. ‘I'm going to be like Charity and sell books for a living.'

Mrs Diment heaved herself out of her chair. ‘I never had much time for books myself, and I never imagined that Sir Hedley's collection would be of any use to the likes of me, but I'm going to my bed with a full stomach, so I say thank goodness for them.' She picked up a chamber candlestick and lit the candle from the one on the table. ‘That's the last of the coal,' she added, pointing to the copper scuttle. ‘You'd best bank up the fire before you go to bed, or we won't be able to enjoy a nice hot cup of tea in the morning. After that it'll be cold water from the pump and like it.' She left the kitchen and her footsteps echoed on the bare floorboards as she made her way to her room.

Dorrie covered her mouth with her hand and yawned. ‘I'm tired too, but I ain't going up them stairs on me own. I still think there are ghosts lurking round corners in this old house. I can hear the creaks and groans when you two are asleep.'

‘It's a very old house, that's why it makes those noises,' Charity said in an attempt to allay Dorrie's fears. ‘Will you take her upstairs, Vi? I'll see to the fire and make sure the doors are locked.'

‘I'm ready for bed too.' Violet hesitated in the doorway. ‘Don't forget that Jackson is still outside. I don't suppose he'd relish sleeping in the hen house. Come on, Dorrie, we'll go up together. If there are bogeys we'll scare them off.'

‘Ooh, don't say that,' Dorrie whispered as she followed Violet out of the room.

Charity had felt the creepy atmosphere herself but she was not going to admit such a thing to either Violet or Dorrie. The old house held the secrets of the past in its lath and plaster walls, and many generations of the Bligh family had lived, loved and died there. At night when the wind whistled through the cracks in the windowpanes she could imagine that voices from the past were whispering to her, and it was as if they were pleading with her to save their beloved home.

She banked up the fire and went to the back door to call Jackson. She could see him standing outside in the moonlight with curls of smoke billowing from his pipe as he puffed on the last scraps of tobacco from his pouch. She called out to him and he turned, walking slowly towards her. ‘It's a fine night, miss.' He stopped and tapped the bowl of his pipe on the wall, sending a shower of sparks and dottle floating to the ground. ‘That will have to last me,' he said, sighing, as he entered the kitchen followed by Bosun, who seemed to have adopted him as his new master.

She closed the door and locked it. ‘Bosun seems to have taken a fancy to you.'

‘Aye, he knows we're two of a kind. Neither of us has a master or a home. We've lost our way.'

She reached for the teapot and poured the last drops into a mug. ‘Here, drink this. It's not very hot and probably stewed, but it's a pity to waste it.'

He took the cup and slumped down in Mrs Diment's chair with Bosun curled up at his feet. ‘What shall us do, miss? Will the shop take more of the master's books?'

‘I doubt it, but I have other plans and they include you.' Charity pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘I'm going to try the street markets. I couldn't find a barrow or a handcart, but I thought we could carry quite a few books between us and set up somewhere, perhaps on the steps of a church. I'll be like the barker in a fairground and hawk them round one at a time while you stand guard over the rest so that the street arabs don't steal them.'

‘A barrow, miss? Is that all you need?'

‘Do you know where I can get one?'

He grinned, revealing broken teeth yellowed with nicotine. ‘There's one in the coach house. It ain't been used for donkey's years and it's probably worm-eaten, but I know where I can lay hands on it.'

Her expectations were dashed in a moment. ‘But you've been locked out of the stables.'

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a key. ‘They kicked me out but they forget to ask for this. If a barrow is what you need, a barrow you shall have.' He downed the tea in one thirsty swig and rose to his feet. ‘Come along, Bosun, old boy. You can keep me company.' He reached for his top hat. ‘I'll be back soon. This won't take long, miss.'

By moonlight the barrow looked to be in a reasonable condition, but next morning in full sunlight Charity could see that it was in a sorry state. Worm-eaten and with several spokes missing in one of its wheels, the contraption must have lain abandoned in the stables for many years. ‘Don't worry, miss,' Jackson said, rolling up his sleeves with a pleased grin. ‘Give me an hour or two and I'll have this little beauty ready for the road.'

‘I'll go and sort out the books.' Charity did not want to discourage him, but she thought he was being over-optimistic. She went back into the house and headed for the library to sort out editions that might sell to the general public, and that meant sacrificing the stock she had brought from Liquorpond Street as these were mostly novels, school primers and a box of penny dreadfuls. Jethro had refused to have them on his shelves but she had soon realised that they were popular and sold well. She would have no difficulty in shifting them, she just needed a site where she could set up and attract customers.

With the books sorted into neat piles she returned to the yard and found Jackson standing back surveying his work. ‘All done, miss,' he said proudly. ‘It should do the job well enough, providing we don't overload it.'

‘You've worked miracles. It looks like new.' She ran her fingers over the smooth woodwork. ‘If you'll give me a hand we'll load up and be off.'

Dorrie appeared in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘May I come too, Charity? I could help you.'

‘Not today, love. Maybe tomorrow, but we'll see how it goes.' Charity smiled and gave her a brief hug. ‘Violet needs you to help her, but when I get back with lots of lovely money you can come with me to buy what we need for dinner, and if I do really well you can have some toffee.'

Dorrie uttered a gasp of pleasure. ‘I ain't had a toffee since the doctor died. He kept a tin on his desk and he let me take one every evening when I brought him his cocoa.' Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I'm still sad that he's gone.'

‘And so am I, but he would want the best for you, Dorrie. I'm going to see that you get what you deserve.'

‘Toffee?'

‘Yes, if that's what you really want. I'll work hard to earn enough to buy you some toffee.'

‘You won't earn nothing unless we go now,' Jackson said gloomily. ‘It's no good going out at midday and expecting to find anyone with money to spare for luxuries like books. Most of them in the streets can't read anyway.'

‘We'll see about that.' Charity looked from Dorrie's flushed and happy face to Jackson's bewhiskered expression of doom. ‘I might read out loud to attract customers. Everyone loves a good yarn and I've got plenty of those. Come along, Jackson. We'd best hurry.'

‘That's what I just said,' Jackson grumbled as he followed her into the kitchen. He grabbed Bosun's lead off its hook. ‘We'll take the dog with us. He'll see off anyone who tries to take advantage of you, miss.'

Charity was excited but also nervous as she set off with the laden barrow. She instructed Jackson to follow at a discreet distance, in case his tough-looking appearance put off nervous customers or encouraged others to pick a fight. Brawling in public was common enough and there were some men who only needed to take a dislike to another man's looks to start throwing punches.

Selling books on street corners in the City was not a common practice. Charity tried to ignore the taunts of ragged street urchins and catcalls from costermongers as she searched for a suitable pitch. In the end she set up close to the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, hoping that clerks on their way to and from work in the financial institutions and counting houses might stop to browse and then make a purchase, but her hopes were dashed when a police constable told them to move on. Jackson's lantern jaw hardened and he looked mutinous, but the last thing she wanted was for him to start arguing with an officer of the law. It was a pity, Charity thought, but perhaps they would do better in a more commercial area.

Despite a few tussles with stall holders in Leadenhall Street, she managed to find a space close to the market, and they set up once again. Encouraged by the sale of three penny dreadfuls, Charity selected a copy of
Black Bess; or the Knight of the Road
, and began reading excerpts of the tale romanticising the exploits of the notorious highwayman Dick Turpin. It was snatched up by a young servant girl, who had no doubt just received her quarterly wages and should have been putting the money towards a new pair of boots, judging by the state of the ones she was wearing. But Charity was in business and she knew what it was like to sleep on the floor beneath the shop counter. She also knew what it was like to be hungry; her stomach rumbled for want of anything to eat since a slice of bread and scrape at breakfast, and she knew from experience that escaping into a world of fiction was sometimes the only way to deal with the harsh realities of life.

She selected another cheap edition and announced the title in a loud, clear voice, and in moments had an audience. By late afternoon the entire contents of the box of penny dreadfuls had been sold and Charity had two and fourpence in her purse, which was not far short of the half-crown she had received for two of the expensive volumes from Sir Hedley's library.

‘That's where the money is,' Jackson muttered as they walked homewards. ‘But you ain't gonna make your fortune by selling them cheap books, miss.'