The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose (7 page)

After a while one of the ladies – a small, voluptuous woman with a red silk dress – made towards the ladder, and Eliza jumped up quickly to hide herself. Reaching the room where she usually slept, she was struck by the notion that she should just go to bed. Why did she have to go into the closet? No one was going to come looking for her in her own bed, surely?

As she reached the threshold of her room she looked in and gave a little gasp, immediately aware that someone was already there. But not Susan, nor any of the tavern girls she sometimes shared with. No, this was a man, for by the light of the candle placed on the window sill she could see his surcoat hung over the door and his plumed hat resting on the chair.

But it wasn’t just a man there. As Eliza hesitated,
peering round the doorway, there came the low murmur of voices and a woman crossed the room, completely naked. She climbed on to the bed where the man was lying and they both began laughing, rolling over and over on the rough wool blanket.

Eliza felt herself flush. She knew what must be going on – and hadn’t she heard one of the prison turnkeys speak about a bawdy house? Here was the proof right under her nose.

The woman in red silk now arrived at the top of the ladder, closely followed by a man, and Eliza fled to the safety of the closet. Here she made herself a nest on the floor with some linens, pulled her cap over her ears and tried not to listen to what might be going on outside.

It proved impossible not to listen, however, as several couples climbed the ladder and used each of the three bedrooms as they became vacant. As she lay there trying – and failing – to sleep, Eliza’s thoughts went to home. To Stoke Courcey. She missed her brothers and sisters; were they, too, missing her? Was even her stepmother missing her and regretting having turned her out? No, Eliza concluded, she thought not. Her stepmother was a plain-speaking, no-nonsense woman who’d hardly seemed to miss Eliza’s father when he’d gone away. If her stepmother missed anything about Eliza not being there, it was probably her help with the little girls. Eliza thought of them now with affection: Patience and Margaret, the twins, with their blonde curls, wide smiles and own special twin-language that no one else understood, and Louise – a baby still, not yet walking, but already with the blonde curls and dimpled smiles of the other two. Her
elder brothers were very fair, too, with thick, straw-like hair that was only flat and neat on a Sunday when their heads were stuck under the yard pump as part of the ritual of being made tidy for church.

Many of their neighbours had made idle comments on the fact that Eliza, by contrast with her brothers and sisters, was so dark. Once, years ago when her mother had been alive, a jolly peddler had come to the house and, after selling a dozen clothes pegs, had paused in the cottage garden where Eliza and her brothers had been playing. He’d studied Eliza for a moment, and then lifted her aloft.

‘I think you’re a changeling child,’ he’d said, sitting her on the gate.

‘What does that mean?’ Eliza had asked.

‘It means, my pretty babe, that when your ma and pa weren’t looking, faeries came to the house and changed their own mortal child for a faerie one.’

‘
Did
they?’ Eliza had said, her eyes glowing. ‘And is that me?’

The peddler had nodded.

‘But how do you know?’

‘Well, you’re of the quality,’ the old man had said. ‘It’s writ all over you. And besides, only changelings have green eyes. But you must be ready with your bundle packed in case they ever want you back!’

Eliza, thrilled at the thought of being a faerie child, had run to tell her mother what he’d said. Her mother had been annoyed, though, saying that she shouldn’t have listened to such nonsense. Besides, she’d added crossly, seeing Eliza’s obvious delight in the idea, wasn’t her own family good enough for her? She wouldn’t have that peddler at the door again, indeed
she wouldn’t, if he went round telling such silly tales.

Remembering it now, Eliza smiled. A changeling child indeed …

At last, sheer tiredness overcoming both her uncomfortable surroundings and the constant merrymaking both downstairs and up, Eliza fell asleep. Before she did so, however, a dreadful thought struck her. All these girls coming and going from the rooms – was this what Ma Gwyn had planned for her? Did she intend Eliza to work in the bawdy house, too?

Chapter Seven

When, a few mornings later, Eliza rose and went downstairs, Old Ma Gwyn gave her a beaming, toothless smile and asked not only if she’d slept well, but if there was anything she needed.

Eliza shook her head, mystified at this sudden concern, then went to the conduit on the corner to draw water for washing. When she returned there was a fellow in the kitchen conversing with Ma Gwyn, and both were puffing at clay pipes so that the dim room was already half-filled with smoke.

‘’Ere she is,’ said Ma as Eliza came in. ‘What do you think to ’er?’ And she bade Eliza put down the tin bowl of water on the table and walk up and down.

Eliza did so, immediately suspicious as to what was going on. Since the night of the party she’d been waiting for something like this.

‘Smile at the gentleman, sweeting!’ said Ma.

Eliza, embarrassed and uneasy at being shown off like a prize-winning cow at market, did as she was bid.

‘And let yer ’air down, girl!’ Ma Gwyn added.

Again Eliza obeyed, taking out the pins and letting her dark tresses tumble down her back. She eyed the man nervously. He was fat and ill-dressed, with a face
that ran with sweat even though the sun was hardly up. If Ma Gwyn was making some sort of bargain with him, if she was planning that Eliza should …

No!
She gagged at the very thought of it. She’d run away. She would! Even if she was friendless and penniless in London, she’d run away and live in the fields … in a pig sty if she had to.

‘Excellent … excellent,’ the man said approvingly. Even his voice was fat, Eliza thought, as if he was speaking through a mouthful of blubber.

‘See the ’air,’ Ma Gwyn said. ‘Black and slippery as seaweed!’ She beckoned Eliza to come closer. ‘And the eyes on ’er! Green as em’ralds.’

‘Green as the sea, you mean,’ the man said, tapping his nose, and they both laughed as if he’d made a fine joke.

Eliza was dismissed then and went away. Going upstairs to turn her mattress, however, she could still hear him and Ma discussing something in low voices, and once – though maybe it was just her fearful imagination – seemed to hear the chink of money exchanging hands.

Another week went by and the weather grew hotter. The fat man didn’t return, and Ma Gwyn refused to say what they’d been talking about, but other odd things happened. A woman appeared at the house, a seamstress, and Eliza was measured up for – well, for what she didn’t know. A gown, or a suit, or a waistcoat? Ma wasn’t saying. All she would say was that Eliza would know soon enough and it was going to be a most excellent garment.

Eliza didn’t know whether she should fret. A new
gown, a brand-new gown especially for her, was an undreamed-of treat. But for what occasion was it needed? Not for a wedding, surely?

Susan didn’t know either. ‘Maybe ’tis something for the Midsummer Fair?’ she suggested. ‘I’m having a new dress for that, too – but mine will be a newly ragged one so that I may earn
lots
from my begging!’

‘What happens at the Midsummer Fair?’ Eliza asked her.

Susan’s face grew rapt with excitement. ‘Oh, there’s a mighty crush of people all intent on entertainment. There’s a man tightrope walking – and another eats fire! There are pageants and waxworks and clever animals who do tricks. And there are the curiosities: last year there was a woman with three arms and another with two heads!’

‘There couldn’t possibly be!’ Eliza said, thinking how sad it was that the little girl was so disfigured that she’d never find a husband.

‘’Twas true!’ Susan assured her. ‘And there was a man covered all over in hair like a wolf – but you had to pay sixpence to see him and my ma wouldn’t – and a great many peddlers and stalls and things to buy: fairings and sweetmeats and ribbons and gloves. There’s a hiring fair where people go to seek positions, and apothecaries and travelling doctors. There’s a mint of money to be made from begging at the fair!’

‘Does everyone go?’ Eliza asked, wondering if she’d be allowed there.

‘
Everyone
,’ Susan assured her. ‘’Tis on for three days and all the great ladies and gentlemen go,
and
their servants – why, ’tis even said that last year the king and queen went!’

Eliza looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘The king and queen …’ she gasped. To her the words meant some remote, divine, God-like creatures. She’d never thought of them as being living and breathing people who could actually attend
fairs
.

‘But they always come in disguise,’ Susan went on earnestly. ‘They sometimes dress as coachmen and milkmaids and mix in with the crowd to hear what everyone’s saying about them.’ She dropped her voice, ‘So when you’re at the Midsummer Fair you must never, never say anything treasonous against the king, just in case he’s nearby.’

‘I would never!’ Eliza promised, for she’d been brought up as a Royalist and respected the Crown, and couldn’t understand how anyone would turn against the real and anointed king. Feeling some of Susan’s excitement about the Midsummer Fair, she hoped desperately that Ma Gwyn would let her out of the house for such an occasion. And maybe, too, there was a chance that her father might be there for the hiring fair.

The seamstress making the outfit for Eliza came back to Coal Yard Alley with some materials to show to Ma Gwyn, the like of which Eliza, used to country tweeds, rough calico and cheesecloth, had never before seen. There were bolts of deep green brocade, shiny blue taffeta, emerald-green tulle, silver tissue and sumptuous silk that shimmered in the sunlight. Some of these were embellished with sparkling beads of sea-blue, tiny spangles of silver or buttons of pearl.

The seamstress flung different lengths of material over Eliza in turn, then she and Ma stood back to look at the results and chose which should be used.

‘These are the best and finest materials in the land,’ said the seamstress. ‘And I think you’ll agree they’ll suit your purpose.’

‘Indeed!’ said Ma. ‘Our Eliza is going to be the talk of London town.’

‘But
why?
’ Eliza asked, excited in spite of the frisson of fear which ran through her. ‘And what exactly is it I’m to have made?’

‘You’ll know soon enough,’ Ma said.

‘Will I be wearing it to the Midsummer Fair?’

Ma’s mouth gaped with astonishment and her pipe fell out. ‘There’s a cunning girl!’ she said. ‘You have worked out the very thing.’ And she and the seamstress exchanged smiles and conspiratorial glances.

‘Am I really to go there?’ Eliza asked, suddenly very excited.

‘You are,’ Ma nodded.

‘But what about all the people that will see me? Don’t you care about that now?’ Eliza asked, wondering at this sudden change in her benefactor’s conduct.

Ma and the seamstress snorted with laughter.

‘What is it?’ Eliza asked, frowning.

‘Well, it’s like this, my sweeting,’ Ma said. ‘You’ll be in disguise, you see. So you needn’t worry about being seen.’

‘
Disguise?
’

‘Like a masquerade,’ Ma explained. ‘All the quality masquerade now.’

And although Eliza asked several times what she’d actually be called upon to
do
, Ma wouldn’t say.

Eliza was instructed to wash her hair every other day with rosemary and thyme to scent it and make it shiny, and Susan was given the job of brushing it a hundred times a day. Sometimes when people came to the house Ma would ask Eliza to let her hair down and show it – and when she did so they’d nod sagely and say it would do very well indeed.

Eliza was pleased that they all found favour with her hair, of course, but knew there must be more to it than that. There was something else … something else going on that she didn’t understand.

On Midsummer Day Ma Gwyn came into Eliza’s room very early, as soon as the sun was up. Eliza, yawning, protested that she wanted to go back to sleep, but then remembered what day it was.

‘Are we to go out and collect greenery and branches to decorate the house?’ she asked, for this had been the custom in Somersetshire.

‘God help us – there’s no time for such foolery this morning,’ Ma said, pulling off the sacking from the window.

‘Then why are we up so early?’

‘To ready ourselves for the Midsummer Fair, of course!’

Eliza, sitting up now, saw that Ma had an outfit of some sort over her arm, a swathe of greeny-blue.

‘You’re to come downstairs and I’m to help you get into your new gown ready for the Fair,’ Ma said. ‘Now, what d’you think to that?’

Eliza looked at her nervously. ‘But will you tell me now what I’ll be doing there?’

‘Just looking yer luvverly best, my kitling.’

Eliza hesitated. ‘I’m not … you’re not giving me to that fat man, are you?’

Ma gave a guffaw of laughter. ‘Indeed not. When your time comes, ’twill be to a far wealthier man than he!’

Eliza did not find this very comforting. Rising, however, she went downstairs, splashed her face with water, and then turned to Ma.

‘And now am I to put on my new dress?’

Ma nodded, shaking out the material she’d been holding and displaying it before her. Looking at it, Eliza gasped, for it was a most unusual and sumptuous blue-green taffeta which shone and shimmered in the light from the window. The dress – or whatever it was – appeared to be very small, though, and hardly long enough to cover her. It was the most beautiful – yet also the very strangest – gown she’d ever seen in her life …

Chapter Eight

An hour later, Eliza was at the Midsummer Fair. She wasn’t walking around enjoying the sideshows and curiosities, however, but was inside a large, square, canvas tent. A notice above the entrance to the tent read: