The Gilded Lily (25 page)

When Sadie heard the noise of the door latch, she patted down her skirts, half hoping that the friendly lad from downstairs might come upstairs again. But then she chided
herself. Why would he do that? He had taken the rent money already, so there was no good excuse for him to come up. She heard the door into Widow Gowper’s chambers opening and let out a small
sigh. The room was neat as a pin, the empty shelf scrubbed clean. In a rush of enthusiasm she had spring-cleaned the whole of their lodgings for something to do, not that you could call it
‘spring’-cleaning in the freezing sleet of the last few days. She had washed and combed her hair. He seemed good-hearted, the landlady’s son, it would have been nice to have a
little company. She missed listening to the banter in the wig shop already, any small noise echoed in the room – after the perruquier’s it was just too quiet.

She had tacked the curtain across the window and lit a fire ready for Ella coming home. A bundle of rushes from the store cupboard lay on the table. When the fat was melted she dipped the rushes
in one at a time, twirling them so they were well coated before leaving them standing in a ewer to set. Might as well make a goodly stock – Ella seemed to want to burn more and more. It was
extravagant, this sudden need for light. It was almost as if Ella was afraid of the dark. First thing she asked for when she came in from the Lily was always more light.

She had made about a dozen rushlights when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She knew it was not Ella because of the heaviness of the tread, but she was still surprised to hear a polite
knock on the door. She smoothed her hair and went to open it. It was him. She smiled and waited.

His hands were full of white pamphlets. He struggled to pull out something from amongst them. ‘The rent agreement,’ he said. ‘Ma likes to know what’s what, so one of you
will have to make your sign on here.’ He waved a folded parchment.

‘Best be my sister then, she’s the eldest and she can make a better sign.’

‘Today’s the twenty-sixth, isn’t it. Your birthday. See, I remembered.’

She smiled; she had forgotten all about it.

‘Many happy returns of this day,’ he said in a strangely formal tone. ‘I’ve brought you a few of my penny chapbooks, thought you might like to choose one as a gift, like.
I’ve been collecting them since I was a nipper.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t take one of your books. And besides I can’t barely read.’

‘Go on.’ He held them out. ‘There’s all sorts here. Some have pictures and all. I’ll show you.’

So she opened the door wide and let him in. He put his nose over the boiling pot and inhaled, grimacing.

‘What are you cooking?’

‘I’m not, it’s tallow – for the rushes.’ She stooped to take the pan off the fire and cleared a space on the table.

‘Look,’ he said, spreading out the dog-eared booklets, ‘there’s tales here would make your hair stand on end. My father started this collection when he was at sea. To
while away the hours, like. All the villains are here – the cut-throats, the highway robbers, the bezzlers. See here, this one’s about James Hind, you know, the highwayman?’ He
picked out a crumbling-edged pamphlet and handed it to her. It showed a line-drawn portrait of a swaggering royalist next to a prancing horse.

‘He was a master of disguise. Folk say he even hid the king,’ Dennis said. ‘What a rogue – fair terrified the ladies. No one dared take a coach up Ludgate whilst he was
abroad – you had to take the long way round till they caught him. And here, oh, you’ll like this one – Mull Sack.’

‘Is that his name?’ asked Sadie picking up the pamphlet and staring at the black-faced man on the cover.

‘He was called that because he liked a tipple, and they say he was often bamboozled with it and all.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Pickpocket. But very clever. Used to be a chimney sweep. This one’s from Newgate, shows him in his plumed hat. He was famous for that, just look at them feathers.’

Sadie scanned the table as Dennis talked, telling her in his lively voice about heroes and robberies, booty and plunder. She listened as he wove his tales, thought it was strange to hear these
stories of thieves and cut-throats, for were not she and Ella thieves too? But these thieves were heroes, they were fearless. When they were caught, they broke free of their fetters, scaled prison
walls, took on fantastical disguises and led the constables a merry dance.

It was nothing like real life, she thought, as he chattered on, nothing like looking over your shoulder all the time, like waking every morning afraid you might not see another. Nothing like
running through the muck of London with your chest so tight it might burst.

Dennis was pushing another pamphlet towards her now. ‘This is one of my father’s. It’s nigh on sixty year old. There were nineteen pirates, all hanged at Execution Dock, you
know, at Wapping. There’s the date, see, 1609.’ He patted it reverently to point out the figures. ‘For seamen, they take them there, not to the triple cross at Tyburn. They string
them up over the water, and three tides have to rise over them afore they can be cut down. My grandfather was there, actually there on the dock that day, and he passed the pamphlet on like, and now
it’s mine.’

Sadie felt faint. The illustration showed a man dangling by the neck, his feet dragged sideways by swirling water. She sat down heavily on the stool, her ears buzzing like flies, and put her
head low to her knees.

‘Oh, I say. Are you all right?’ He squatted down to look at her, eyes full of concern. Then a look of realization dawned on his face. ‘It’s me, ain’t it? I’ve
upset you. How could I be such a dolt? I don’t think of you like that – I mean, you and your sister, I believe you. I mean, I know the constable’s after you, but—’

‘It’s all right, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘Here, let me get you some ale.’ He hastily piled all the pamphlets together face down into a heap and taking a cup from the shelf, hurried to the jug.

She sat up again to take the cup and shakily took a sip, seeing him watching her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I always was bunglesome. Always putting my big feet right in it. It’s just – well, I thought you might like a present on your birthday,
and that’s all I’ve got. My chapbooks. I never thought—’

‘It’s a fine collection. Thank you for showing me it.’

He smiled, relieved. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘A little.’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘Fancy you remembering my birthday. Sixteen! I would never have thought this time last year I’d turn sixteen in
London.’

‘Born under the sign of the water carrier you are. I’m born under the sign of the lion. Pa Whitgift’s friend the astrologer says it makes me quick-tempered, but I think my
temper’s fair worn to a slither with seeing to Ma.’

They laughed. He stood up and put his cap back on, pressing the brim down towards his nose. ‘Well, I guess your sister will be home soon, to wish you many happy returns too. I can hear Ma
coughing again and she’ll be after her treacle. She thinks I’ve popped out to get some more, so I’d best go down the shop afore they pull the shutters down.’ He scooped up a
pamphlet and held it out.

‘This one’s pretty. It’s Barbary Bess. Keep this one.’

Sadie had never heard of Barbary Bess, but she took it from his hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘She’s a fine-looking woman.’

‘You needn’t worry. They transported her.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Something about his earnestness made her smile. He gathered up the rest of his booklets and stood awkwardly by the door. ‘Sorry if I upset you. I hardly ever get these out now,’ he
said, ‘but they’re grand tales, it’s good to share them with someone. You’re a good listener. My father always used to say a tale’s naught without a good
listener.’

‘You could tell me a bit more about your father,’ she said, emboldened by his compliment. ‘I like to hear stories, and I lack company all day now I can’t go
out.’

‘I’ll call another day then, after work, if I might,’ he said, as if suddenly aware of the proprieties. And then as an afterthought, ‘Your sister could sit with us too,
if you like.’

Sadie was touched at his attempt to provide her with a chaperone, but she did not want Ella to be there. Ella would scoff at him, at his bright-eyed interest in the sensational crimes of the
day. She would not find his enthusiasm endearing as Sadie had, she knew.

‘This time suits me,’ she said, instantly rewarded by his pleased expression.

‘Aye, your sister’s at Jay Whitgift’s beck and call, so I guess her hours will be a bit irregular. Happen it’ll calm down after the first few weeks. Every lady in London
seems to want a gawp at the Gilded Lily, ’cos it’s new. And Jay Whitgift’s got an eye for the decorations, it’s fair decked out like a palace inside.’

‘Yes, Ella told me.’

‘You know she told me her name was Corey.’

‘Yes. It’s just, she didn’t want anyone at Whitgift’s to know her real name, because – well, you know why.’

‘But Sadie’s your real name, ain’t it?’

‘Course.’ She blushed. To hide her embarrassment, she said, ‘Dennis is an unusual name. You don’t get many Dennises.’

‘Dennis Edward Gowper. Dennis after the French saint. My ma’s idea, guess she was hoping I might turn out to be less trouble.’ He chuckled. ‘No chance. Edward after my
pa.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dennis Edward.’

They smiled at each other.

After Dennis had gone, Sadie sat at the table and turned the pages of the chapbook slowly. She felt different, special. Sixteen – a grown woman. She did not dare to think
he liked her. He was just being kind, that was all. Nobody could like a girl with a face like hers. He hadn’t stared though, like other people did, at least not at that part of her face. He
seemed to have been watching her lips as she spoke. She contemplated the picture of Barbary Bess, a woman dressed as a man, swaggering, her drillscrew curls floating out to the sides of her
head.

The door banged and Ella was home.

‘What’s that?’ she said, whipping it off the table. Sadie’s hands flew up after it but it was too late. ‘Where did you get this folderol?’

‘Dennis from downstairs brought it, when he brought the agreement.’

‘What for? You can’t read. Only your name and that. Not worth much, these. But maybe you could sell it on for a farthing.’

‘I’m keeping it. Give it over.’

Ella tossed it back onto the table. Sadie put her hand over it and pulled it into her lap. ‘He brought it up special. He had a whole pile of them, from his father.’

Ella wasn’t listening, she was unloading her basket and kicking off her shoes. ‘It’s turned right chilly. My feet are freezing. Where’s this agreement then?’

‘He brought it on account of it being my birthday.’

A pause, during which Ella looked discomfited. ‘How did he know it was your birthday?’

‘I must have said something last week.’

‘To him? What on earth for? Anyway, I’ve got you a present. Didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you? Look, here. Better than that old thing.’ Ella brought out a pot
tied with a yellow ribbon from the basket.

‘Face-whitener,’ she said.

‘Oh.’

‘It’ll cover everything, I’ve tried it. Don’t I get a “thank you kindly”, or an embrace?’

‘Course you do.’ Sadie stood and squeezed Ella round the waist. ‘Thank you, Ell.’ Ella’s stays made it feel as if she was embracing a wooden bucket.

‘Come on then, open it up.’

Sadie took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Ell, but you know I won’t use it. Remember.’

‘Go on – look, this is different. It’s made of starch. It will cover everything, make you bonny as a babe, honest.’ She licked her finger and circled it in the paste,
then rubbed a patch onto her arm where it glowed like a small coin on her skin. ‘Sit down. I’ll do your face.’

‘I don’t want my face doing.’

‘But them notices give a good description. I’ll bet half the world’s looking for a girl with a mark on her face; he’s offering fifty pound.’

Sadie was stunned, she could think of nothing to say. Ella carried on. ‘You want to get out of here, don’t you? Maybe get a position someplace like me?’

‘No. I don’t want my face covered in that stuff. Besides, it will rub off, and then where would I be?’

‘All the ladies are wearing it. I see them every day at the Lily. And I’m telling you, nobody will even look twice at you.’ Ella held the pot out towards her.

Sadie stood up and backed away, tucking the chapbook into her apron. ‘No. I told you, I don’t want to. It’s all very well for you – you have a pretty face and a fine
gown. You look like you should be wearing it. But I can’t walk round here like that, not in these clothes. I stick out too much. I can’t have a white face gathering wood or working at
the wig shop, you know I can’t. I’d look like a whore. I can’t have a white face and a mud-spattered apron.’

‘D’you know what, you’re right. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re going to need a proper gown like mine. I’ll have to save for one from my wage. I could see
what Whitgift’s have got in the rag market next sale day though. We’ll dress you up so fine, and do your hair, and nobody will guess what’s underneath the white. I promise,
you’ll look like a queen when I’ve done.’

‘And then won’t we stick out, two fine ladies living in a damp rats’ nest in Blackraven Alley.’ Sadie could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

‘What’s got into you? Is it that boy? Don’t forget it was you wanted to live here. And now we’re stuck with it. But I might be able to put a bit aside to buy a new
gown.’

‘Bet you won’t.’

‘I will. Cross my heart.’

Sadie just stared.

‘Mind, there’s not a deal left after food and lodgings and such, so it might take a few months.’

‘Months. Oh.’ Sadie picked up a dishcloth, wrung it out in the pail of water and wiped the table. She was unsure if she was disappointed or relieved. When she was small she had
wished and wished for some sort of magic, that someone would wave a wand and she would wake up and find the stain gone, but now the magic was here in the room it terrified her.