Tilly True (14 page)

‘And if you're wise you'll keep it that way.' Jessie swung her legs up onto the sofa, leaning back against the cushions. ‘Barney isn't the sort you ought to get mixed up with, ducks. His sort spells trouble to women, that is unless you know how to handle him.'

Changing her mind, Tilly swigged a mouthful of brandy, choking as its strength momentarily robbed her of breath. ‘What's your point, Miss Jessie?'

‘Fetch me my cigarette box, there's a love.' Jessie pointed to a silver box on the mantelshelf next to a spill jar.

Tilly rose from the sofa and reached for the box, but she could feel Jessie's steely gaze boring into the back of her head. Handing the box to Jessie, Tilly watched as she took out a cigarette, tapped it on the lid and placed it between her lips.

‘Light, please.'

Tilly took a spill, holding it in the flames until it lit. She held it while Jessie inhaled a lungful of smoke, exhaling with a satisfied smile.

‘Have one yourself.'

‘Ta, but I don't smoke.'

‘You should. It's good for you, and very relaxing.' Drawing on her cigarette, Jessie watched Tilly with narrowed eyes as she continued to dry her hair. ‘You know, you're not half bad-looking when you're scrubbed up. Given three square meals a day you might even get some tits and arse. You're a bright girl, Tilly. I daresay I could find a job for you if you so wished.'

‘Ta all the same, but I think I'll stick at what I'm doing.'

‘You'd earn a bloody sight more working for me.'

‘And risk a dose of the clap or having an illegitimate kid? No offence meant, but no thanks.'

‘None taken,' Jessie said, holding out her empty glass. ‘Give us a refill, ducks. I got a long night ahead of me and I need a bit of sustenance.'

Tilly was in the middle of pouring Jessie's brandy when Wilson arrived with a supper tray. She whisked the chenille cloth off the polished table, set it with mats and laid out a meal for one.

‘Supper's ready, miss.'

‘I don't dine until midnight,' Jessie said, swallowing the brandy in one gulp and swinging her legs off the sofa. ‘And I got to get back downstairs to entertain the punters and see they're properly taken care of. Just ring the bell when you've finished your meal and Wilson will show you to your room.'

‘I appreciate all you done for me.'

Heaving herself off the sofa, Jessie waved her hands. ‘Don't thank me; I never do anything for nothing. I'll see that Barney makes it worth my while, one way or another. You'll be going to work in the morning, I suppose.'

Eyeing the plate of roast chicken with her stomach growling for food, Tilly nodded.

‘I and the girls don't get up before tea time, but Wilson will give you anything you want.' Jessie made for the door and stopped, glancing over her shoulder at Tilly who was about to attack the plate of food. ‘Just don't get any ideas about Barney. He's way out of your league.'

The house in Blossom Court was eerily silent next morning, in stark contrast to the noise that had kept Tilly awake until well into the small hours. After a breakfast of steaming porridge laced with brown sugar and cream, Tilly felt better than she had done for a long time. Dressed in borrowed clothes, she set off early for Hay Yard.

The rainstorm of the previous night had left the city streets surprisingly clean and a pale March sun filtered down between the grey buildings, but it was still cold and the lacy woollen shawl was no substitute for the one she had bought in the pawnshop. Walking at a brisk pace, Tilly felt her cheeks glowing by the time she reached Hay Yard. Bootle looked up from his ledger, but he did not smile.

‘I got to apologise for last evening,' Tilly said, thinking that he was still cross with her for cheeking his Susan. ‘I lost me temper and I shouldn't have.'

The frown lines over the bridge of Bootle's button nose deepened. ‘It ain't that, Miss Tilly.'

‘You're late, Miss True.'

Hearing Jenks's voice behind her Tilly jumped and spun round to face him. Glancing at the big brass clock on the wall, she shook her head. ‘Excuse me, Mr Jenks, but I'm dead on time.'

Taking a watch from his waistcoat pocket, Jenks studied it, his lips curved in a sneer. ‘Dead on time arriving, maybe, but you're supposed to start work at eight o'clock prompt so that means you're late.'

Biting back a sharp retort, Tilly made an effort to look sorry. ‘It won't happen again, Mr Jenks.' ‘No, miss, it won't. Mr Bragg and me have had a word with Mr Clarence and we all agree that your work is not up to scratch. Your timekeeping is unreliable, and in short, Miss True – you're sacked.'

Chapter Seven

Stunned and disbelieving, Tilly made her way to the Embankment, giving herself time to think. She had tried reasoning with Jenks; she had appealed to his better nature and found that he had none. Bootle had kept his head down, saying nothing, except to confirm that Mr Barney would not be in for an hour at least and then he was due in court. Mr Clarence had made the decision and nothing Mr Barney could say would change his mind. Then Bragg had come into the office and one look at his stone features had been enough to convince Tilly that there was nothing for it but to leave with as much dignity as she could muster.

Leaning over the parapet, she stared down at the oily waters of the Thames snaking its way towards the sea. Downriver, Pops would be working on the lighter, transferring goods from ship to shore or taking the crew from shore to ship, using his strong back and arms to row the flat-bottomed barge. Suddenly homesick, Tilly made up her mind to go home; of course she couldn't tell Ma that she had lost her job, and she certainly would not admit that she had spent the night in a house of ill-repute, but she would think of something on the way. The sun was shining, the Thames was flowing and there was the first hint of spring in the air. Having paid Bootle what she owed for her lodgings, she had the remainder of her wages jingling in her pocket. Stepping out with her head held high, Tilly set off for Whitechapel.

She stopped only once on the way to go into a shop intending to buy some sweets for the nippers, but the smell of chocolate made her mouth water and her eyes were dazzled by regiments of glass jars filled with boiled sweets, humbugs, aniseed balls and toffees in cellophane wrappers that shone and sparkled like the crown jewels, and were just about as unobtainable. There were cunningly displayed tins made especially for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, decorated with portraits of Queen Victoria as she was in her youth and now, in her twilight years. There were boxes of Callard and Bowser's butterscotch, Murray's Diamond Jubilee chocolates and Ma's all-time favourite, Parkinson's Original Royal Doncaster Butterscotch at the exorbitant price of one shilling a tin. Tilly sighed, fingering the coins in her pocket, and reluctantly abandoned the idea as being too expensive; instead she bought two ounces of Indian toffee and two ounces of aniseed balls for the nippers and, with the penny change, she bought five Wills' Cinderella cigarettes for Pops.

Making the most of her free day, Tilly wandered round the stalls in Petticoat Lane picking over the second-hand clothes and boots, but they were all priced beyond her reach. Instead, she bought half a pound of broken biscuits to have with the inevitable cup of tea when she arrived home. Her spirits rose as she turned into Red Dragon Passage and she quickened her step, but when she opened the front door the smile froze on her lips and the brown paper bag of biscuits fell from her hands, spilling onto the piece of drugget that served as a mat.

Standing in the middle of the room, Bert Tuffin had his arm around Emily.

‘Bleeding hell!' Tilly cast an agonised look at her mother. ‘What's he doing here?'

‘Tilly, love, I never expected to see you today.'

‘How could you let that brute into the house, and what's he doing with his arm round Emmie?' With her feet crunching on broken biscuits, Tilly lunged at Bert, giving him a shove.

Holding up his hands, Bert gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Now, now, girl. I don't say as how I blame you for being a bit upset, but we got things sorted.'

‘Yes, you keep your nose out of my business,' Emily said, clutching her large belly. ‘Bert is my intended, as he would have been all along if you hadn't put your oar in.'

Turning to Nellie, Tilly shook her head in disbelief. ‘Ma, this ain't true, it can't be. You know what he done to me.'

Nellie opened her mouth to reply but Bert stepped between them. ‘I was out of order, Miss Tilly. I admit it and I beg your pardon. I got a temper that sometimes gets the better of me but I ain't a bad man and me feelings for your little sister is genuine.'

‘You're a disgusting old man,' Tilly said, curling her lip. She turned away from him, holding out her hands to Emily. ‘Don't let him take you in. He locked me in the coal cellar all night and he tried to force hisself on me.'

‘And I've been ashamed of meself ever since.' Staring down at his boots, Bert shuffled his feet. ‘I can only say it was the drink what made me do it. You ask Clem or Abel. They'll tell you I'm not a bad old stick.'

‘Bert come to find me in Poplar,' Emily said, slipping her hand through his arm. ‘He come as soon as he found out about the baby and he's told me everything.'

‘And you still want to be with him?' Tilly stared at Emily in astonishment. ‘He tried to rape me, Emmie.'

Clutching Bert's arm with both hands, Emily shook her head. ‘I know, and he's sorry for what he done. But we put all that behind us and he's promised to stand by me and the nipper. Anyway, I'm sick of living with Molly and Artie. I was just a skivvy out there in Poplar. Molly's a fat, lazy cow what sat all day reading magazines and romances while I looked after the babies and done all the work. She don't even cook nothing; her Artie brings in pies or fish and chips every night.'

‘Now, now, Emmie, don't speak unkindly of your sister. She's near her time so she's bound to be a bit tired.' Nellie's lean features creased in a worried frown and she bent down to retrieve the bag of biscuits. ‘I'll make a brew of tea and we'll talk this over like civilised people.'

‘I can't believe you've let him fool you like this,' Tilly called after her mother as she went out to the scullery. ‘He's an animal, not fit to speak to decent folks let alone marry my sister.' She tried to pull Emily away from Bert, receiving a smart kick in the shins for her pains. ‘You bitch, Emmie. That hurt.'

‘It were meant to. You're just jealous because I'm getting married afore you and you're older than me. You'll end up a sour old maid if you're not careful, Tilly.' Dodging Tilly's raised hand, Emily hid behind Bert. ‘Stop her, Bertie. Don't let her hit me. Think of our baby.'

Lifting Tilly off her feet, Bert set her down on a chair. ‘That's the nub of it, Miss Tilly. I'm going to be a father again and I got to look after little Emmie. I ain't a poor man and I can provide for her and the nipper. I've promised your dad that she'll have the best of everything.'

Jumping to her feet, Tilly wagged her finger in Bert's face. ‘You live in a midden. I wouldn't house a pig in that place.'

‘Stop it,' Emily cried, clutching her belly. ‘Keep your nose out of my business, Tilly.'

‘I've been there, Emmie. It's worse than anything I've ever seen. You marry him and you'll be a slave to him and his sons.'

Nellie came hurrying back into the room with the kettle, which she placed on the trivet over the fire. ‘Tilly you got to listen to reason. Emmie's seven months gone and her baby needs a father. Bert's spoken to your dad and me and we've come to know each other.'

‘He's fooled you good and proper, Ma.'

‘What went before was unfortunate,' Nellie said, staring at a point somewhere over Tilly's shoulder as if she could not look her in the eye. ‘What we got to think of now is Emmie and the baby. What future would they have living here with all of us?'

‘A perishing sight better than they'd have with him.' Shoving her hand in her pocket, Tilly brought out the pokes of sweets, dropping them on the table. ‘Forget the tea, Mum. I ain't stopping in the same house as him. These are for the nippers.'

‘Oh no,' Nellie said, her bottom lip quivering. ‘Don't go, love. I want everything to be right with the family. Won't you stay and tell us about your new job.'

Kissing her mother on the cheek, Tilly shot a glance at Bert that was meant to kill. ‘I'm doing very well. I got a job in a law firm in Lincoln's Inn and I been promoted to chief type-writer. Mr Jardine hisself gives his correspondence to me to be done on the typewriting machine. I got a room all to meself in the Bootles' lodging house and three square meals a day. And if I gets fed up with being an office lady, then Miss Harriet still wants me to go to India with her and the Reverend. I might even become a missionary, I ain't decided yet.'

‘Liar, liar pants on fire,' Emily said, sniggering.

Tossing her head, Tilly went to the door. ‘Yes, laugh while you can, Emmie, but you'll be laughing on the other side of your face when you finds out what he's really like.'

‘Don't go like this, Tilly.' Following Tilly, Nellie ran out into the bitter cold of the sunless alley.

‘I can't stay in the same house as that brute.' Seeing tears spring into her mother's eyes, Tilly brushed her cheek with a kiss. ‘Go inside, Ma, you'll catch your death of cold.' Without looking back, she put her head down and ran down the street. Cannoning round the corner she narrowly missed colliding with a man standing by a cart holding the reins of a horse.