The Beggar Maid (8 page)

Dorrie chuckled. ‘I see the joke, Mrs Rose. The box is called a charity box and Charity needs a new frock.' She bit her lip, blushing. ‘I'm sorry, Charity. I weren't laughing at you.'

Charity slipped off her wet clothes and selected a clean cotton shift and a grey poplin dress. ‘It's all right, Dorrie. No offence taken.' She dressed quickly and immediately felt more comfortable. ‘I can pay for the clothes. I'm earning a wage at the bookshop.'

Mrs Rose picked up Charity's discarded garments and laid them over the back of a chair. ‘There's no need. All were given freely by people who are far better off than you or I. Dorrie will wash these and put them in the box for the poor and needy. No one will be any the wiser.

‘Ta,' Charity said doubtfully. Mrs Rose might think she was one of the poor and needy but in her own mind she had risen above that now. She was a working girl, employed in a respectable trade. ‘When do you expect Dr Marchant to return? I have to get back to the shop.'

Dorrie clutched her hand. ‘You can stay for a while, can't you? I wants to hear all your news. You mustn't go just yet.'

Mrs Rose opened the oven door and a gust of fragrant steam billowed out. ‘The doctor will be home for his midday meal, especially as it's collops of lamb with mint sauce and roast potatoes, which is his favourite. You must stay and eat with us, Charity. He would be very put out to think I'd sent you away with an empty stomach.'

Charity eyed the meat and her mouth watered in anticipation. ‘I should be getting back, but I have to collect payment. Mr Dawkins made that very clear.'

‘Then you'll stay and eat with us.' Mrs Rose closed the oven door. ‘Have you finished shelling the peas, Dorrie? I'll need to get them on soon, so hurry up you stupid child.'

‘I'll help.' Charity took a seat at the table.

‘I think I heard the doctor's key in the lock.' Mrs Rose hurried from the room leaving Charity and Dorrie to finish their task.

‘How are you?' Charity asked in a whisper. ‘She's not working you too hard, is she?'

Dorrie's bottom lip trembled. ‘I shouldn't complain. I got a bed and a full belly. What more could a workhouse girl expect?'

It was mid-afternoon when Charity left the doctor's house. She had eaten well and enjoyed every last morsel of Mrs Rose's excellent cooking. Dr Marchant had been pleased to see her and had questioned her at length about her situation at the bookshop. She had found herself telling him about Wilmot Barton's interest in her background and his offer to pay her for helping him with his research.

‘It's not uncommon,' he had said at length. ‘There are men with conscience who wish to make the lives of ordinary working people better, and for that they have to understand the way they live. I don't know Barton, but if he's a professor at University College, then I imagine he is a respectable fellow with your best interests at heart.'

‘So you think I ought to accept his offer?'

‘It would be worth further investigation. I think Dawkins is afraid of losing you, and that is why he was so adamant in his refusal to allow you to accept Barton's invitation.'

‘But I can't go against him, Dr Marchant. I'd lose everything and be out on the street.'

‘I might be able to persuade him. Next time I visit the shop I'll have a word.' Dr Marchant had then placed two silver crowns on the table. ‘That is what I owe Jethro. Take it to him now and tell him I'll be back very soon. Books are my one weakness, as you will realise.'

Charity quickened her pace, and the coins in her pocket clinked together, keeping time with her long strides. She hoped that the doctor would remember his promise to speak to Mr Dawkins and persuade him to change his mind. It was not simply the thought of earning sixpence an hour that made Wilmot Barton's offer so attractive, it was the opportunity to further her education. Working all day with books crammed with information had excited her imagination and made her even more eager to learn. She had been born into a middle-class family and her father had been an educated man: it was misfortune and the frailty of her grandfather that had dragged her down to the gutter. Now she was clawing her way up and she was determined to better herself and regain her rightful situation in life. Education was the way out of an existence dominated by toil and servitude, and who better to help her than a university professor?

She walked on with her head down as she grappled with the problems that beset her. She realised that compared to young Dorrie she had an easy life, despite the restrictions placed upon her by Jethro Dawkins. Maybe sleeping beneath the counter was not ideal, but it was better than bedding down in a damp cellar or under the railway arches. She was about to cross Verulam Street when a gang of ragged boys appeared seemingly out of nowhere and surrounded her. ‘She works for the hunchback.' The biggest of the youths, who seemed to be the leader of the gang, picked up a stone and threw it, narrowly missing Charity's head.

‘Stop that,' she said angrily. ‘Go away and leave me alone.'

‘Give us your money.' He advanced on her with fists clenched and a menacing look on his face. ‘Give us your purse and you won't get hurt.'

‘Go away. I've got nothing.'

‘Then what's that clanking sound every time you take a step?' He grabbed her by the arm, and the rest of the pack surrounded her, chanting abuse.

‘Let go of me, you young villain.' She struggled in vain, calling for help, until a blow on the head sent her spiralling into a pit of darkness.

‘CHARITY.'

She could hear her name being repeated over and over again. They don't know who I am, she thought dazedly. She opened her eyes. ‘What happened?' She blinked and found herself gazing up into Daniel Barton's anxious face.

He helped her to a sitting position. ‘You were attacked by a gang of street arabs. Are you all right?'

She struggled to her feet. ‘Yes, I think so. I must have fainted.'

‘Have they taken anything?'

She put her hand in her pocket. ‘The money is gone. Mr Dawkins will go mad when he finds out. He'll blame me and it wasn't my fault.'

‘You've had a nasty shock. I'm taking you back to Doughty Street. Uncle Wilmot's housekeeper will look after you.'

‘No. Thank you all the same, but I'll have to face Mr Dawkins sooner or later. I'm all right now and it's not far to Liquorpond Street.'

‘I'm coming with you. Old Dawkins won't make too much of a fuss if I'm there.' Daniel tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Lean on me. You look a bit groggy.'

Charity could see that it was useless to argue. Despite her brave words, she felt shaky and was glad of his supporting arm as they made their way slowly towards the shop.

Jethro was perched on the high stool behind the counter, and his expression was that of a malevolent goblin. ‘Where've you been?' he demanded. ‘It's nearly closing time and you've been gone for hours.' He glared at Daniel. ‘Why are you here?'

Charity took a deep breath. ‘I was robbed, Mr Dawkins. I was set upon by a gang of hooligans and they took your money. Daniel just happened to be passing.'

‘And it's lucky that I was close by,' Daniel said without giving Jethro a chance to speak. ‘I was on my way here as a matter of fact, Mr Dawkins. My uncle asked me to find out if Charity had considered his request, and I saw the youths attacking a young woman. I chased them off and then I realised it was Charity who was lying on the pavement. Luckily she wasn't hurt.'

‘I've lost a lot of money, thanks to her incompetence.' Jethro climbed down from the stool and rounded the counter in two ungainly strides. ‘You can go back to your uncle and tell him that Miss Crosse isn't interested in his social studies. She's got plenty to do here and I can't spare her. I'm running a business, which is something that you academics don't understand. You've done your bit so you can just sling your hook and take that message back to Mr Barton.'

‘I'm so sorry, Daniel,' Charity said in a low voice. ‘Thank you for walking me home.'

‘I'm glad I was able to help.' His expression hardened. ‘As to you, sir, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for treating a young girl in such a cavalier fashion. She could have been seriously hurt by those young ruffians, and all you can think of is the money you've lost. Had you sent Charity to Doughty Street as my uncle requested, none of this would have happened.'

Jethro's misshapen jaw protruded at an ugly angle and he gave Daniel a shove that sent him staggering towards the door. ‘Get out and keep away from her in future. I know your sort and you've only got one thing on your mind when it comes to a pretty face.'

‘That's not fair, Mr Dawkins.' Charity stepped in between them, fearing that Daniel might retaliate, but it was Jethro who swung his fist, catching her on the side of her head and knocking her to the floor.

‘That's what you get for insolence.' He barred Daniel's way as he rushed to Charity's aid. ‘I told you to get out. Do you want me to report your behaviour to the Dean? I could blacken your name so that he would have to send you down and that would put an end to your career. You'd end up digging graves for the newly dead instead of grubbing round in the earth for ancient bones.'

Charity struggled to her feet. She staggered to the counter and leaned against it, focusing her eyes with difficulty on Daniel's stricken face. ‘I'm all right,' she murmured. ‘Please go. You'll only make things worse.'

He wrenched the shop door open. ‘Get your things, Charity,' he said angrily. ‘I'm not leaving you here with a brute like Dawkins. Only a complete coward would strike a helpless girl.'

‘I'm all right, really I am.' Charity felt far from well, but she did not want to make the situation worse.

Jethro turned his back on Daniel. ‘Get back to work, girl. I'm hungry and I want my dinner,'

‘Don't do it, Charity,' Daniel said urgently. ‘Come with me. Uncle Wilmot will take you in, or at least he'll find you another position where you're not treated like a slave.'

Charity's head ached and her limbs seemed to have turned to lead. Her first instinct had been to walk out of the door and go with Daniel, but experience warned her against putting her trust in impulsive pledges. Her grandfather had lived his life making promises he could not keep and she suspected that this might be the case now. Daniel meant well, of that she was sure, but he was an impecunious student and she was by no means certain that she would be received on a permanent basis in Doughty Street. ‘Thank you for your concern,' she said in a low voice. ‘But you'd best go now, Daniel. I can look after myself.'

He shot a look of pure loathing at Jethro. ‘I don't want to leave you with this brute.'

‘I've been called worse.' Jethro shambled towards him.

‘I'll be back tomorrow, Charity.' Daniel stepped outside into the street. ‘I won't rest until I know you're all right.'

‘Good riddance.' Jethro slammed the door and put up the
Closed
sign. ‘Get on with it, girl, or you'll feel the back of my hand for a second time today.'

Charity retreated to the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Jethro had been harsh in his treatment of her but he had never lashed out with his fists as he had today. There was no one in authority to whom she could go for protection – the law would be on the side of her employer. She was a humble worker and he was entitled to chastise her as he saw fit. Men had been getting away with violence against women for centuries and there was little or nothing they could do to protect themselves. She doubted if either the doctor or Mr Barton would want to get involved. Daniel was an idealist and he was young, but she suspected that he too would realise the futility of trying to help her when he had had time to cool down. She set about preparing a meal despite her aching head and bruised body.

When she put his food in front of Jethro that evening he kept his gaze lowered as if afraid to look her in the eye. ‘You wasn't wearing that frock when you left here this morning,' he said suspiciously. ‘Did you spend my money on new duds and make up the story about being mugged by a street gang?'

‘I most certainly did not.' Stung by the unfairness of this accusation, Charity forgot to be humble. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing? This dress came out of the missionary barrel at the doctor's house.'

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘And why would the doctor give you a new dress. Did you ask for less money in order to get on his good side? Have you been cheating me, miss?'

‘You sent me all that way without the cab fare and I got caught in a thunderstorm. I was soaked to the skin and my dress and bonnet were ruined. Mrs Rose took pity on me and gave me a change of clothes, the same as she did when I first went there last winter. My name is Charity and I'm a charity case, as she pointed out.'

‘So where did my money go?'

‘I was set upon and robbed on my way back to the shop, as I told you. I'm not a liar, Mr Dawkins.'

‘The money you lost will come out of your wages,' he muttered. ‘And if that young fellow comes sniffing round I'll carry out my threat to report him to the authorities at the university. You'll keep away from young men while you're under my roof. Do you understand?'

‘I've no interest in Daniel Barton,' Charity said firmly. ‘But if you lay a finger on me once more I'll walk out of that door and you'll never see me again. I work hard and you need me, so don't think you can bully me and get away with it, Mr Dawkins.'

He met her angry gaze with a vicious snarl. ‘You'd better learn to hold your tongue, young lady. I'm not a violent man, unless roused beyond endurance.'

‘I'll stay for now, but don't count on my loyalty forever.'