The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (13 page)

‘But it
may
work out, surely?’

‘It may,’ Nell conceded. ‘But I’d feel more confident if William Wilkes hadn’t already deflowered two such maidens and left them by the wayside.’

‘He has scandals against his name already?’ Eliza gasped.

Nell nodded. ‘And he’s only eighteen.’ She gave a shrug. ‘It would be nice to think that this time might be different, but I wouldn’t wager my petticoats on it.’ She smiled wryly. ‘She seems a delicate little thing – keep an eye on her will you, Eliza? I’ve too much already on my mind what with the king, the play and how to bid a fond fare-thee-well to Charles Hart.’

‘So where will Jemima stay?’ Eliza asked.

‘With Mrs Trott: one of the theatre seamstresses. She’ll be safe there – her father will never think of looking in a dingy hole like that. And then we’ll see if William comes and takes her away, or just robs her of what he can and leaves her.’

Eliza sighed. ‘Poor Jemima.’

‘Poor Jemima indeed.’ Nell slipped her arm through Eliza’s. ‘So be sure not to fall in love with one of the king’s gang of wits, for it can only lead to heartbreak.’

‘I won’t,’ Eliza promised, and vowed that she’d forget – or at least make some small effort to stop thinking of – Sir Valentine Howard.

The two of them stopped in a tavern to eat a plate of pork and roasted potatoes on their way home from the theatre, so it was almost dark by the time they approached their lodgings. When a little, grimy figure jumped out at them from behind a pile of rubble, Eliza screamed in fright.

‘Is it Eliza Rose?’ the figure piped, and Eliza saw that it wasn’t any sort of foul fiend at all, but a little boy of about eight.

She nodded, her heart beating fast.

‘I got to tell you that yer father come to Guild’all today and will be there tomorrer,’ he said.

For a moment Eliza was too overcome to speak, then she asked him to repeat what he’d just said.

‘Yer father come to Guild’all today and will be there tomorrer.’

‘Is he well? Did anyone tell him that I was looking for him? Does he lodge nearby?’

‘Yer father come to Guild’all today and will be there tomorrer,’ the boy said stubbornly.

Nell laughed. ‘He’s learned that as the parrots do,’ she said. ‘Best to go there tomorrow and see for yourself.’

‘Oh, I shall!’ Eliza said fervently, and didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Chapter Twelve

There were two reasons Eliza didn’t sleep. One was that she was excited because she might soon be able to go home; the other was that she didn’t actually
want
to go home at that moment.

One part of her thought longingly about the security and safety of her dear Somersetshire, about the pleasant, peaceful greenness and about being amongst her brothers and sisters, but the other part thought of the tedious life she’d lived there – of the sullen ways of her stepmother, of endless hours spent carding wool, minding children or helping with the washing at the big houses. She also mused on the fact that, living in such a small village with very little choice of beaux, she would probably be required to marry a red-necked farmer’s son; someone who wore rough wool clothes and worked on the land. Most people in Somersetshire never strayed far from the village where they were born, much less to London. As for the theatre – well, she doubted if they’d even heard that women were now allowed on the stage.

Here in London she’d long ago stopped crying every day. She loved being part of theatre life, found Nell excellent company, enjoyed the shops even if she couldn’t afford to buy much and looked forward with
great excitement to being at the opening of the new play when the king might be in the audience. And there was also Valentine Howard, of course …

Perhaps, she thought, she might ask her father if she could return home within a month or two. Or perhaps a little longer. But wouldn’t that sound strange? How could she make him understand that she
wanted
to go home, but not quite as desperately as she had done before. Could she ask, maybe, that her role as eldest daughter be left open, so that she could return when she’d had enough of London?

Sleepless still, she resolved to let her father’s reaction to her dictate what she said and did. If he was overjoyed to see her, said that he’d send a message forthwith to her stepmother to say that she must be allowed home – then go home she would. Very soon.

Dressing the next morning, Eliza decided to wear the second-best gown. Her father was, after all, a country man, and he might think the flowered one – which had a low neckline – improper. She’d have to wear the wig under her cap, of course. Suppose he thought what Nell had joked of, that she’d lost her hair when being treated for the pox? She’d get over that by telling him quickly that she’d sold it to enable her to buy food. Which was true, in a way. And it was best that he didn’t know about Clink prison, or about the mermaid, or discover that she was working in the theatre as an orange girl. He’d be bound to think the worst.

Reaching Guildhall, she was told that her father was now working with a score or more masons on the rebuilding of St Columbus Church, which had gone down in the Fire. She couldn’t find out if anyone had
told him that his daughter was looking for him, however, so didn’t know if he’d be prepared for the meeting.

St Columbus Church was, as yet, little more than an odd-looking collection of walls and pillars, for the roof had not yet been put on and the windows weren’t in place.

Her father was within the shell of it, loading up a wheelbarrow with stone blocks as she approached. She called ‘Father!’ first and, when he didn’t turn, used his full name, ‘Jacob Rose!’

He turned and saw her, and she saw shock writ large on his face. He
didn’t
know of her mission, then, for he was rubbing his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

‘Yes, it’s me, Father!’ Eliza said joyfully. Whether or not she wanted to go home, it felt wonderful to see the long-familiar face and have that dear reminder of her childhood.

‘Eliza?’ he gasped. ‘Is it really you?’

Eliza nodded, smiling, taking in his every feature. Although pale with shock then, he had the same blue eyes and strong, straight nose as her brothers, the same golden thatch of hair, now mixed with grey.

‘How did you get here?’ he asked, looking at her as if she’d been transported by witchcraft.

Eliza shrugged. ‘Cart and boat and on foot. All sorts of ways!’

‘But why did you come?’ he asked urgently. ‘Is your stepmother ailing?’

Eliza shook her head. ‘No, no, indeed. She’s well.’

‘The children, then. Who is it? Is one of them –’

Eliza put her hand on his arm. ‘None of them are
ill, Father. They’re all perfectly well and happy. They send you their love.’

‘Then I cannot believe nor understand why …’

His voice trailed away and Eliza took a deep breath. She’d rehearsed this speech many times and had decided that it wouldn’t do to blame her stepmother too much nor speak disrespectfully of her, in case her father thought it was a mere case of them disliking each other.

‘I came to find you to ask you to intercede between me and my stepmother,’ she began. She coughed nervously. ‘As your oldest daughter –’

Here, she couldn’t help but notice how he suddenly started, as if he’d been stung.

‘As your oldest daughter,’ she repeated nonetheless, ‘I feel a special obligation towards you and my stepmother. I know it will be me who’ll tend you in your old age, and who’ll oversee the running of the house should any illness befall either of you.’

Her father didn’t speak, but a strange expression came over his face.

‘But my stepmother,’ Eliza continued, ‘seems not to want me to take this role in the household, nor indeed wants me at home at all, for she’s forbidden me the house. She told me to leave!’

Still her father didn’t speak, although when Eliza had rehearsed the speech to herself she’d always thought he would query things here, ask her if there had been an argument between the two of them which had caused her stepmother to say such a thing.

Slightly discomfited, Eliza went on, ‘And so I resolved to come to London and find you, so that you could send a message to her that I must be allowed
home again and … and must be …’ She faltered and stopped, because her father’s lips had formed themselves into a straight, grim line and he was shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ he said gruffly, ‘but your stepmother spoke to you on my orders.’

Eliza was struck dumb.

‘She spoke as I had requested. She carried out my instructions.’

‘No! You can’t mean that!’ Eliza cried.

‘’Tis true and I’m sorry for it, but there it is.’

He went to turn away, but Eliza held on to his arm. ‘You must tell me why … why you no longer want me in the house!’

He looked at her solemnly. ‘I’ve my reasons.’

‘But Father,
why?
’

‘
Why?
’ He hesitated, then said abruptly, ‘Because you’ve been a cuckoo in my nest since the day you were born and I no longer see any reason to let you lodge there.’

‘A cuckoo?’ Eliza repeated stupidly. ‘But Father –’

His eyes suddenly burned with fire. ‘Do not call me that!’ he said, stressing every word with terrible emphasis. ‘I am not your father and never have been!’

Eliza stared at him uncomprehendingly, then shook her head and burst into tears. Running beyond the confines of the church, she went to a corner of the churchyard, threw herself down and sobbed out her misery.

‘Well, then,’ Nell said later that evening in their lodgings, ‘at least it’s made things easy for you. You were undecided about whether you should go home;
now you know you won’t.’

‘But where is my home?’ Eliza asked with a sigh. ‘I’ve no home to go to.’

‘Your home is here for the time being, but you’ll make another home for yourself soon! Some rich young man will set you up in a house and you’ll be a made woman.’

‘I don’t want –’ Eliza began, and then sighed again and burst out, ‘And who’s my father?’

‘Who’s mine?’ Nell retaliated calmly. She picked up a bowl containing sugar water and moved to sit on the chair before Eliza. Dipping a comb in the water, she held it up to her.

Eliza stopped crying. ‘You don’t know your father either?’

‘No,’ Nell shrugged. ‘And I never felt the lack.’

Eliza dabbed her eyes on a corner of her gown, then took up the comb to begin wetting Nell’s hair.

‘At least you had a happy childhood … did you not?’ Nell said.

Eliza nodded. ‘I believed so. I believed I was loved – but maybe I wasn’t! Maybe my father always resented my presence there.’

‘But if you didn’t know he resented you, then it’s as if he didn’t! I’m sure you had a cheerful time with your brothers – I’ve always longed for brothers. Tell me about them. What are their names?’

‘Richard, Thomas and John,’ Eliza began, now twisting a strand of hair around a strip of rag.

‘And are they like you?’

Eliza shook her head. ‘They’re not. And that’s why,’ she gasped with sudden realisation. ‘They aren’t my brothers, are they? I have no brothers!’

‘They’re your half-brothers. As Rose is my half-sister – and none the less for being that.’ Nell smiled ruefully. ‘It’s said that Ma lay with a whole army of men before having us, so there was no way of telling whose
we
were.’

‘So my mother …’ Eliza murmured, struggling to work things out as she rolled the hair, ‘… gave birth to Richard, Thomas and John, and Jacob was their father. Then she lay in another man’s bed and bore me.’

‘That’s right,’ Nell said matter-of-factly.

‘So I wonder if he, if Jacob, knew about this cuckoo in his nest as soon as I was born, or if he didn’t learn of it until my mother died?’

‘Maybe there was a deathbed confession.’

Eliza tried to think back to that terrible time just after her mother had fallen into the flood-swollen river. Had her father’s attitude towards her changed after that?

She couldn’t remember. She’d only been eight and it had been hard enough to accept that she had no mother; that she’d never again see that dear, careworn face. She hadn’t really thought about anything else.

Nell poked her to carry on with her hair. ‘Can you remember any man in particular – someone in the village – who was a friend to your mother? Someone who took a special interest in you?’ she asked.

Eliza shook her head slowly. ‘No one at all. And our family moved from south Somersetshire to the north of the county after I was born, anyway.’ She thought on; she could remember Richard talking about their old cottage, describing it, and saying that
they’d been very poor then, and she – on the rare occasions when she’d ever thought about it at all – had presumed that they’d got more money from somewhere and gone up in the world, to a better cottage. But perhaps they’d gone solely to get away from
him
, the man Eliza’s mother had lain with. Her real father.

‘You must make a new life for yourself now,’ Nell said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘You must make up your mind what you want, and think well on how you may get it. As I am doing with His Majesty,’ she added. Her eyes sparkled. ‘I yearn to be invited to court, Eliza, and live amid all that lavishness and luxury and treasure! I want to see the fops and gallants fawning around His Majesty, and the queen and all her ladies-in-waiting in their jewels and fine dresses. I even want to see the king’s mistresses at close hand so I may admire their fashions and their manners and see what I’ve to compete with.’ She patted her head, which was now full of rag curls. ‘Although none of them have got my lovely ringlets!’

Eliza managed a smile.

‘And at least that sort of life is possible for me and you, for we are blessed with – well, perhaps it is immodest of me to say we’ve more than our fair portion of attractiveness – but ’tis certain we have!’

‘I suppose we’re lucky not to be born like poor Susan,’ Eliza said after a moment’s thought. ‘For surely she will never secure a husband.’

‘Susan?’ Nell enquired.