The Gilded Lily (30 page)

‘Hmm.’ Ella arranged her skirts on the stool and eased herself to upright.

Sadie sat down opposite her, wiped her hands and said, ‘Let’s have a deek at your pay. We’ll count it out and put the rent aside. Then we can make a reckoning of what’s
left, for food and fuel.’

Ella did not open her purse. ‘There’s no need, I’ve paid the rent already. I called in on Ma Gowper on the way up.’

‘That’s good. How is she?’

‘What do you think of my new suit?’

‘Very fine.’ Sadie’s words were clipped.

‘It’s from Whitgift’s Yard. You know, another one from their closet. He gave me another, picked it out on purpose. Sorry, I’ve not enough put by yet to buy one for you
and I can’t pinch one – they watch me like a hawk.’

Sadie could scarcely bring herself to look at it, but when Ella came in she had noticed straight away the hem was perfectly clean, despite the snow, as if it had never been worn. She must have
held it up, all the way home. The green lent Ella’s face and chest a slightly unhealthy cast. The new dress was much less becoming than the other. Ella’s face was deathly pale, her
chest white and heaving, as if the stays were making her breathless. There were two spots of bright red cochineal on her cheeks. Of late her eyes had slid away from Sadie’s face whenever she
asked her anything about Whitgift’s.

Sadie cleared a space on the table and patted it with her hand. ‘Shall we count it now?’

Ella paused a moment before pulling out her purse and dropping it with deliberate carelessness onto the table. Sadie began to comb the coins across the table one by one, making neat piles. When
she had finished she looked up in concern.

‘Is this right? Did the Whitgifts dock your pay?’

‘No, he never. I told you, I’ve paid the rent.’

‘Even with that, there still looks to be a shortfall.’

‘I’ve told you. It’s right. The old baggage put the rent up. She’s that narrow she’d skin a flea for a ha’penny.’ Ella scooped the coins and tokens off
the table and crammed them back in the purse. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to keep account. I earn the money and I’m the one trailing the markets every day.’

‘Oh, Ell, that’s not fair. You know I’d be out that door in the shake of a tail, if I could.’

‘But you can’t. Your blasted description is all over those notices. Every last beggar in London is searching for you. Woe betide any other girl with a port wine stain on her face. A
few days ago even that old crow Madame Lefevre was asking at Whitgift’s after you.’

Sadie stood up. ‘You never told me that. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It’s all right. Sit tight. He sent her away. Said we’d moved on.’

‘How long do you think, before it dies down?’

‘God knows. It’s like a bloody beacon, that face of yours. I was daft. I should have thought on it, left you safe in Netherbarrow. But I can’t send you back. If they caught you
they’d fetch it all out of you somehow.’

‘How do you mean?’ Then realizing what she meant, Sadie bit her lip and reached out her hand tentatively towards Ella’s.

‘Ella, don’t be like that, give us a squeeze like we used to do.’

Ella stood up and moved away. ‘You’re too old for that soft nonsense now, Sadie. You have to stand on your own two feet, you can’t be hanging round my skirts no more like a
bairn.’

‘I’m not. I just want us to stick together, that’s all. Like you promised.’

‘You could go out. If only you’d see sense and whiten your face.’

‘I need a gown first.’

Ella shook her head wordlessly, then looked away towards the window.

Sadie picked up the dishcloth and wrung it. Her hands were trembling. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Old Feverface came to the yard? Everyone’s chasing us. I’m scared,
Ell.’

Ella turned back and snapped, ‘Do you think I don’t know? But there’s nothing I can do about it, can I? I can’t turn back time, we just have to sit it out. Wait for the
dust to settle.’

‘It’s been a long time settling. And we need another wage; I can scarce make a meal with what we’ve got.’ She stood up and paced the room, thinking at home she’d be
taking in mending. Surely she could do something like that. ‘I know, how’s about you bring me some piece work, Ell?’

‘For Christ’s sake, I’m too busy to be running round after you. I’ve got responsibilities now at the Lily. Somebody’s got to put bread on the table.’

‘But I could help,’ she said. ‘I could fill scent bottles, or make up nosegays or baskets. I’m good at that, I’ve a right neat hand. I could do that without going
out.’

‘Don’t be a goose. People would ask questions, wouldn’t they, about where they’d come from. And if there was trouble, we can’t shift from here again. We’d
never get another place to stay, you would be spotted straight away. You and your stupid face. You’ve not touched that cream. I can see you’ve not.’

‘Stop it.’ She put the dishcloth down gently on the table. ‘Don’t start on me again.’

‘I’d be clear and free if it wasn’t for you. I’m that scared someone’ll spot you, and then we’ll be done for.’

‘That’s not true, stop saying such things.’

‘I only brought you with me ’cos I was sorry for you. I couldn’t leave you there with
him
, could I?’

Sadie felt a lump in her throat. Ella’s dress creaked as she spoke. Sadie saw that some of the lacing was agape and a small roll of Ella’s white flesh was swelling out. Ella was
still speaking. ‘It’s hard looking out for you, I’m sick of having to worry myself to a fray. I don’t know what to do if you won’t even help yourself.’ Ella
stopped short. Her chest rose and fell as if she could not catch her breath.

Sadie felt her voice waver. ‘I didn’t make the trouble. It’s your fault we had to run away, not mine.’

Ella moved towards her, pointing a finger. ‘And whose fault is it that it keeps coming after us?’

She couldn’t mean it. And yet from her expression Sadie could see that she did. ‘That’s it. Why are you being so spiteful? It’s not my fault.’

Ella stared at her poker-faced, playing with the gold points of her laces. Her calmness made Sadie want to hit her. Perhaps Ella really meant it. A sob bubbled up from Sadie’s throat.
‘I’ve had enough. I don’t care if they do catch us, I don’t care if I burn, there’s no one cares enough to bother anyhow.’ She was crying now. Great tears rolled
down her face. She had to get out. She turned and clattered blindly down the stairs.

‘Oh Christ,’ Ella said. She stood uncertainly on the doorstep looking right and left up the street. Sadie was nowhere to be seen.

‘Miss Johnson,’ came the quavering voice from behind the Gowpers’ door, ‘is that you?’

‘Oh, put a gag in it,’ Ella shouted and thumped her fist loudly at the door panel. ‘Bloody stupid old hag.’ Behind the door she heard the old woman cry, ‘Help,
Dennis!’ Ella aimed a few vicious kicks at the door with her clog.

She sat on the stairs to organize her thoughts. She had a bad feeling pricking in the pit of her stomach. She knew that when she got angry the bile took over, that she’d say things
she’d regret. And maybe she’d been a bit harsh with Sadie, but she’d only spoken the truth. It would be foolish to go haring after her, the safest thing was to keep separate.
She’d come back anyway, there was nowhere else she could go. The snow was still slick on the ground so she’d be bound to come home.

Ella ignored Widow Gowper’s querulous calls and went back upstairs to wait. The room was oddly empty without Sadie there. Sadie had become as much a part of the furnishings as the dealwood
table and the oak stools. Ella went to the window. The landscape looked milky and pale, divided by the black Thames. As time went by and Sadie still had not returned, she began to fear that her
sister had been caught. If she had, how long would it be before the constable came for her too? She imagined she could hear shouting, footsteps coming up the alley. Her hands started to sweat. The
room seemed to grow smaller, to hem her in.

She peered out of the tiny window at the narrow ledge beneath. How on earth had Sadie balanced on that? She did not fancy her chances of escaping that way, if they came for her; there was a
sheer drop below, and no way down to street level. Fear snaked up her spine. She grabbed her cloak and threw it on, not caring it was inside out, and half ran, half tripped down the stairs again.
She looked quickly over her shoulder, to check she was not being watched or followed, then ran pell-mell, skidding down the dark alley.

Sadie huddled under the jetty, where it was thick dark and there was a little shelter. It was sleeting now, stinging icy water. She sat on a broken stone pillar from an older
wharf that must have been washed away in years gone by. Melting snow dripped through the gaps between the boards, and every now and then a wash from a passing ship threatened to swamp her feet. She
picked up a stick and stabbed through the snow to the mud, feeling the crust of ice break, over and over until the stick snapped. She scraped the mud into furrows and swirls with the broken
stump.

She shivered in her thin sleeves, she had not picked up her cloak. Best stay in the dark where nobody could see her. It wasn’t her fault she was born this way, she thought. What had
happened to Ella? She didn’t seem like her sister any more. When had she turned so hard and mean? Sadie thought back to when they were small, and Ella slapping the baker’s boy when he
dared to taunt her about her face. At night Ella used to kiss her on the head, rumple her hair, tell her she was God’s favourite, and they had curled up close together under the knitted
blanket in the big creaking bed. She had fallen asleep listening to some tale of Ella’s, like the one about a beautiful girl who had married a monster. But then the monster had turned into a
prince, so he wasn’t a monster after all. In stories ugly people always turned into beautiful people in the end; there were no stories where the ugly person just stayed ugly.

Sadie’s shoulders heaved and she wiped a tear on her sleeve. She remembered her da, and the way bitterness seemed to have wormed into everything he did. Until she was eight, her da was
kept busy gardening for the squire. He took out his sorrow and anger at Ma’s death by digging and hefting and lugging. Then as if it had suddenly shifted out of kilter, the world turned into
a darker place. Cromwell came with his parliament, and there was to be no May merrymaking, and people were to be sober and quiet. The squire’s house had been ransacked, and her da was told
there would be no more garden work for him. He put away his yellow jerkin and began wearing temperance colours. Then somehow in their house the darkness and sadness had turned inwards, and like
many folks, they hid their troubles behind closed doors.

Da changed, and he’d leather them for no cause at all, but on account he’d had a skinful, had nothing to do and felt like it. And Ella’s pinching had started. Sometimes Ella
would be blithe and happy, but other times she would suddenly turn on her, scratch her or pinch her as if she hated the world, and Sadie was the butt of it. Ella was like two people at once. Sadie
had tried to be good and act small. She had tried to keep Ella merry, watching her face for any sign of a shadow. And if the shadow came, to dodge out of the way of her nipping fingers.

Despite this, when Ella had gone into service with the Ibbetsons she had missed her so badly. She prayed Ella would come for her, take her away from Da. She had forgotten about the pinching. But
now it came back to her in a wave of self-pity.

Sadie looked at the river. The surface of the water fluttered with the currents of all the different craft and glassy flakes of ice floated on its surface. It was deep and black underneath its
moving skin; it would be easy to walk into it and disappear. Then Ella would be free. They would both be free. Her da had not bothered to come looking. She stood up and walked towards the edge
where the snow had melted into streaks and the mudbank fell away. Fragments of ice in the wash slapped with a strange chink against the posts of the jetty. She stared at it in a trance.

A wash from a passing skiff slopped icy water over her ankle. The next wave came up to her knees. It was so cold it burnt. She shuddered and jumped back. A tall ship was approaching, gliding
slowly, its masts like glittering fingers in the light of the ship’s lantern. The wash made the surface ripple outwards with a tinkling sound as her skirts began to float up from her ankles.
Her feet were already numb. She took a few steps back to the shore. She wondered again what it would be like to wade in . . . just a few steps, she mused to herself, and it would be over, and Ella
would be free of her. What happened when you died, she wondered. How did Saint Peter decide who was fit for Heaven?

The bottom was uneven and the stones slippery. Suddenly she lost her footing, her arms flailed and her legs struggled to stay upright. She felt her body instinctively clinging to life, desperate
to right itself, not ready to give up. She staggered to stand.

Just then the ship unfurled its sails. Sadie gasped. The noise was like a gunshot. A crack of sailcloth and the ship pranced forwards. The great expanse of canvas, like a rolling cloud, pulled
the ship through the water. She turned her face towards it, her heart jolted in her chest.

She stood in the muddy water up to her knees, her skirts dragging heavier and heavier, but she could not move. She was entranced by the ship, ploughing its way downriver, its white sails filled
with wind. She thought of Dennis’s father, his adventures in foreign lands. The pictures swam in front of her eyes, all the colour and drama. And then she thought of Dennis, his slightly
furrowed eyebrows as he pointed to the pictures in his books. The ship was right opposite her now. It filled her with a sense of joy and freedom. It moved fast, slipping away through the water
towards the open horizon.

Sadie staggered up the bank. She hauled on her wet skirts, plunged noisily back towards the shore and the lamps of London, cursing her stupidity. She wrung out the dripping material as best she
could. She watched, shivering, as the ship’s sails became a mere pinprick in the dark, before turning her face and running hell for leather towards Old Swan Stairs and Blackraven Alley.