Tilly True (16 page)

‘Well, that's never likely to happen seeing as how you spend most of your life flat on your back,' Wilson said, with an impatient toss of her head. ‘Anyway, I wasn't told you had a client this afternoon, which is why I put Miss Tilly in here for a bite to eat. So what am I supposed to do then?'

‘Mind your tongue for one thing, Wilson. Remember your place too, you uppity servant.' Florrie lay back against the velvet cushions and closed her almond-shaped eyes with a flutter of thick black eyelashes that lay on her cheeks in dark crescents. ‘And take the tray somewhere else, for heaven's sake. The smell of onions might put the judge off his stroke, and with things as they are we've got to keep the old codger sweet.'

‘It's a mystery,' Wilson said in a loud aside to Tilly, ‘it's a mystery why the old bloke asks for Frosty Florrie when there's a whole stable of lively ones to choose from.'

‘I remind his of his dear wife,' Florrie said, without opening her eyes. ‘Only I'm more available, so to speak. Apparently the good lady doesn't do afternoons.'

‘There's no accounting for taste.' Shooing Tilly out of the parlour, Wilson closed the door with her foot. ‘Personally, I think she's a stuck-up cow. Anyway, you follow me, miss. The girls have a snug at the back of the house which is a bit of a mess but quite cosy.'

The doorbell jangled just as Wilson opened a door at the far end of the passage. ‘That'll be the old bloke,' she said, thrusting the tray into Tilly's hands. ‘Best not keep him waiting on the front step. We don't want him dying of a heart attack before he's paid for his pleasure.'

Entering the room, Tilly almost choked in a fog of cigarette smoke.

‘Hello, I heard we'd got a new girl.' With a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, a buxom girl wearing nothing but her underwear, leapt to her feet holding out her hand to Tilly. ‘I'm Dolly. What's your name, love?'

Putting the tray down, Tilly shook hands. ‘How do, Dolly? I'm Tilly. But you got it wrong – I ain't working here.'

Sitting down again, Dolly took the cigarette from her mouth, flicking ash into an overflowing ashtray on the table. ‘So what are you then, ducks? A student in the university of life, studying us tarts?'

It was said without rancour and accompanied by a wide, gap-toothed grin and Tilly grinned back. ‘No, nothing like that. I needed a place to stay and Mr Barney . . .'

‘Oh, Barney. Say no more.' Taking another cigarette from an open packet, Dolly lit it from the stub of the one she had just smoked. ‘Barney's a love, ain't he? Generous to a fault, too – that's why he's always broke. Well, that and his liking for flash duds and good wine.'

‘D'you mind if I eat me dinner? I'm starving.'

‘No, ducks. You go ahead and feed your face. You look the naturally skinny type to me; you're lucky. I got to follow the Banting method, or else I blow up like one of them hot air balloons.' Taking a long drag on her cigarette, Dolly exhaled a plume of smoke above Tilly's head. ‘Smoking fags stops me from feeling hungry.'

With her mouth full of soup and bread, Tilly nodded.

‘One day, when I've saved enough money, or I've married a rich bloke to keep me in comfort, I'm going to eat cream cakes and chocolates until I get as big as a house.' Watching Tilly enjoying her meal and smoking as if her life depended on it, Dolly waited until the soup bowl was empty. Leaning her elbows on the table, she stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘Now then, ducks. Tell Auntie Dolly all about it.'

‘I – I'm sorry?'

‘Come off it, Tilly. You can tell Dolly the truth. I can see as how you're not up to this sort of thing and, by the way, that's my dress you're wearing.'

‘Wilson lent it me. I'll give it back as soon as me clothes are dry.'

‘Keep it, love. I was sick of that frock anyway.' With a casual wave of her hand, Dolly jumped to her feet and went over to a string of washing hung from the mantelshelf, feeling the toes of white cotton stockings to see if they were dry. ‘You got to watch some of the girls, though; light-fingered is what they are. Keep an eye on your duds or you'll not see them again, especially stockings.'

‘No, really, you don't understand. My lodging house caught fire last night; I only just escaped with me life. As soon as I find somewhere else to stay, I'll be off.'

Hopping about on one foot, Dolly pulled on a stocking. ‘Course you will, love. And I daresay you'll be looking for a job too.'

‘No – well, as a matter of fact, yes, just temporary. You see, I'm going to be a missionary lady, teaching in a school in India.'

Laughing until she cried and with one stocking still clasped in her hand, Dolly hopped over to Tilly and slapped her on the back. ‘You're a comic turn and no mistake. That's a good one, that is. Wait until I tell the girls.'

‘No, it's the truth. I am going to India with my friend Harriet Palgrave and her brother the Reverend.'

‘Yes, love, of course you are.' Sitting down to pull on the second stocking, Dolly paused, staring hard at Tilly. ‘Tell me honestly, Tilly. Have you ever – done it? D'you know what I mean?'

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and Tilly sipped her rapidly cooling coffee, avoiding Dolly's curious stare.

‘I take that as a no then. I'll say this for Jessie, she can spot a little treasure when she sees one. A virgin what wants to be a missionary. Gawd's strewth, Tilly, they'll be queuing up from Ludgate Hill to Marble Arch to be the first to shag you.'

Tilly opened her mouth to speak but the door opened and Jessie swept in, waving her hand in front of her face and scowling at Dolly. ‘Gawd above, Dolly, the engine room on the Woolwich Free Ferry smells better than this place. And what are you doing half dressed? Your three o'clock has been waiting for ten minutes. Get on upstairs.'

‘Keep your hair on,' Dolly said, winking at Tilly as she shrugged on a lace wrap. ‘It'll give the old codger time to get his engine going.'

‘She's a one,' Jessie said, as the door closed on Dolly. ‘But the gents like her, especially the older ones. She's quite an artiste in her own way.'

Swallowing hard, Tilly got to her feet. ‘I really appreciate you giving me a bed last night, Miss Jessie. I think I'd best be on me way now.'

Hands on hips, Jessie angled her head. ‘And where will you go?'

‘I got friends.'

‘You'll need them, ducks, with no job and no money. But, for Barney's sake, I'll keep the room for you. You can come back if your friends don't come up good.'

Determined never to return to Blossom Court, Tilly made a bundle of her old clothes, tucked it under her arm, and set off for Bunbury Fields. Harriet would help her, she was certain of that, and hopefully they would soon be moving into the vicarage.

When she finally arrived at her destination, dusk was already cloaking Bunbury Fields and phantoms of mist hovered above the cemetery wall. The tips of Tilly's fingers burned and tingled with the cold as she thumped on the brass doorknocker. She glanced up at the shabby façade, and was uncomfortably aware that there was no light filtering through the grimy windows of the Palgraves' rooms. Eventually she heard footsteps plodding towards the door and it opened just a crack. Mrs Henge's clay pipe appeared first, followed by the red tip of her nose and a wary eye.

‘Who is it?'

‘Miss True, I've come to see Miss Harriet and the Reverend Palgrave.'

‘Too late.' Mrs Henge was about to slam the door but Tilly stuck her foot over the threshold.

‘I must see them.'

‘They've gone, moved out. No forwarding address. Bugger off.'

With a spiteful kick, Mrs Henge dislodged Tilly's foot and she slammed the door in her face.

Chapter Eight

‘I thought you'd be back.' Halfway down the staircase, Jessie stopped to give Tilly a searching look. ‘Your friends couldn't help, then?'

Too weary to lie, Tilly shook her head. ‘They wasn't there.'

‘Well, ducks, that's friends for you. There one minute and gone the next, especially when you need them. There's a fire in my sitting room. Go on up, and I'll send Wilson with a tray of supper.'

‘Why are you being so kind to me?'

‘I ain't kind, love,' Jessie said, with a throaty chuckle. ‘But don't worry your pretty head about it – we'll work out a way for you to repay me.'

Tilly could hear her laughing all the way down the stairs. Dragging her feet, she went up to the sitting room and huddled by the fire. Now she had time to think it over, she realised that she had gone about things in entirely the wrong manner. What she should have done was to go straight to Hay Yard; she had known that Harriet and the Reverend would soon be moving house and the one person who would know their address was Barney. Of course, that was it: tomorrow morning first thing, before any of Jessie's girls were up, she would go to Hay Yard and demand to see Barney. After all, he had got her into this mess. She would take great pleasure in giving him a piece of her mind.

After delivering a tray of food and some good advice, namely that there were worse ways of earning a living than working for Miss Jessie, Wilson left Tilly to enjoy her supper. Unconvinced, Tilly tucked into the plate of roast lamb, mint sauce, roast potatoes and finely chopped cabbage laced with butter and caraway seeds doused with lashings of gravy. No one could accuse Jessie of starving her girls or being mean with the housekeeping. With junket to follow and crisp little biscuits that melted on her tongue, Tilly had never eaten such a delicious meal, but she couldn't help wondering if she was the Christmas goose being fattened up for the kill.

Next morning, as soon as the first pale grey light appeared in the sky, Tilly was out of bed and getting dressed. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, she left her old clothes piled neatly on the washstand and crept down the stairs. She could hear vague stirrings below stairs but she managed to get out of the house before Wilson surfaced to light the fires. It was a bitterly cold morning with a wild March wind rampaging across the city from the east, tossing pot-bellied clouds around the sky and hurling spiteful showers of sleet at the people hurrying to work. Tilly went first to Barney's lodgings and stood for a good quarter of an hour on the doorstep waiting for someone to answer the bell. Eventually the door opened and a man in a bowler hat with leather patches on his elbows pushed past her.

‘Excuse me, sir.'

He paused, peering at her with a puzzled expression. ‘Who? Me?'

‘I'm looking for Mr Barney Palgrave.'

‘You and half of London, I should think.'

‘Pardon?'

‘Go away, young lady. Nice girls shouldn't mix with libertines like Mr Palgrave.' Hurrying down the steps, he made for the alleyway but Tilly jumped the steps and ran after him.

‘Please, sir. Who is looking for him and where has he gone?'

The man stopped and turned to Tilly with an exasperated sigh. ‘The bailiffs for one and the police for another; if he's any sense at all he'll be on the next boat for the Continent. If you've got any sense you'll forget all about him.' Shaking off Tilly's hand, he hurried off, disappearing into the gaping maw of the alley.

Staring after him, Tilly decided that he must be mad or simply held a grudge against Barney. It was absurd to think that a man of his importance would be on the run from the authorities. She set off for Hay Yard, walking briskly, determined to discover the truth.

Bootle looked up from his desk, his round eyes popping out of his head at the sight of Tilly.

‘Miss Tilly, you shouldn't be here.'

‘Don't worry, Mr Bootle, I ain't come to cause trouble. I just want a quick word with Mr Barney.'

Climbing down from his stool, Bootle closed the office door. ‘There's been some trouble, miss. A matter of unpaid bills, apparently. Mr Barney's creditors have called in his debts and I believe he's seen fit to take a holiday, so to speak.'

‘But he can't have gone away.'

‘I'm afraid he has, miss.'

Desperate now, Tilly clutched Bootle's arm. ‘Could I see Mr Clarence, just for a moment? He might know where I can contact Mr Barney.'

‘Heavens above, no! Mr Clarence has washed his hands of the whole affair. He won't have anything to do with such a scandal. He can't, not in his position.'

‘This is terrible. But maybe you know where I can find Miss Harriet and the Reverend Palgrave?'

Bootle shook his head. ‘The last I heard they were in lodgings in Bunbury Fields. I'm sorry, Miss Tilly, but I can't help. You really must leave the premises before Mr Jenks catches you here.'

‘I ain't afraid of him or Bragg.'

‘Maybe not, but my Ethel has put it about that the police are looking for you and they'd be delighted to turn you in, so you'd best go, miss.'

‘Your Ethel is a spiteful cow, Mr Bootle, and I'm sorry for you.' Instantly ashamed of herself, Tilly bit her lip as Bootle's round baby face puckered up with distress. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Bootle, I shouldn't have said that. You been good to me and you can't help having a bitch for a daughter.' Patting his shoulder, Tilly marched out of the office.

Outside in the cold, her anger dissolved into a feeling of near panic. What would she do now and where would she go? Without references it was impossible to get a job in an office or even in service; without money she could not begin to look for alternative accommodation. She could not face going home and having to admit that her imagination had got the better of her yet again; that she did not know where to find Miss Harriet and the Reverend and that Mr Barney had absconded, abandoning her to the care of a brothel keeper. Sitting on a bench in Lincoln's Inn Fields she watched the sparrows pecking in the dirt and the pigeons hopefully crowding round her importuning for titbits. For a wild moment, she thought of Clem. He had been appalled at the thought of her lodging with Jessie and he had helped her once before; but that was a mad idea and she must be desperate to even think of asking a Tuffin for help.