Tilly True (24 page)

Glancing at the list, Harriet's lips trembled. ‘Francis, can't you write to Dolph and beg him to help us out just a little. I'm certain he might have been more sympathetic if that woman hadn't been at his elbow all the time.'

‘I've already done so, although I don't expect a reply, and I've written to the Missionary Society telling them that we are ready to receive the call at the shortest notice. The slums of Delhi can be little worse than this dreadful place, where there is little respect for life, let alone for the church.'

‘India!' Harriet's sad expression was wiped away with a smile. ‘Oh, I do hope they'll find a place for us soon. I long to see India; the name has a magical ring to it, don't you think, Tilly?'

‘It does, miss.'

‘And there would be balls and parties at the Residency. So many of our old friends are colonials, it would be heaven.' Harriet's eyes shone and she did a twirl in the middle of the room.

‘Harriet, calm down. There's nothing definite.' Steepling his fingers, Francis eyed her severely. ‘And we would be working in a mission school, living a quiet life.'

‘Yes, Francis, of course. Is that all?'

‘Yes, but mind what I said about the housekeeping money, Harriet. We can live mainly on bread and cheese and vegetables until the end of the month. Which is a better diet than most of my poor parishioners can afford.'

Slanting a mischievous glance at Tilly, Harriet folded her hands meekly in front of her. ‘Francis, if you will tell Mrs Mabb that we no longer need her, then that will leave Tilly and myself free to go to the market.'

As if he were tired of the whole discussion, Francis bent his head over his papers with a wave of his hands. ‘Yes, all right, go to the market and I'll have a word with Mrs Mabb.'

Mindful of their depleted budget, Tilly suggested that instead of walking all the way to Spitalfields Market, where they usually bought their fruit and vegetables, they might try the local street markets. She was well aware that the area was rife with crime and violence but what possible harm could befall them in broad daylight? Having survived her terrible ordeals at the hands of Stanley Blessed and Bert Tuffin, Tilly decided that there was little left in the world to frighten her, and if they were going to manage on the pittance that Francis had meted out, then a certain amount of risk was acceptable. Easily convinced and apparently unaware of the darker side of street life, Harriet readily agreed to Tilly's plan.

Next morning they set off, holding up their skirts and treading carefully to avoid the piles of dog excrement and horse dung, vegetable matter and broken bottles. Tilly and Harriet picked their way between the handcarts and barrows that peddled bruised fruit and rotting vegetables, rancid cheeses huddling beneath shawls of blue-green mould, and meat and offal that was in such a state of decomposition that it deserved a decent burial. The stench was such that the feral cats and dogs sniffing around the stalls backed away when they caught a whiff of the mouldering meat, and it was only the blowflies that seemed to be having a good time. Harriet had turned green and was holding her handkerchief to her nose. Tilly was afraid that she was going to faint.

‘We've almost done, miss. We just need some flour and salt and then we can go home.'

‘I think I'm going to be sick,' Harriet said, leaning against the brick wall of a warehouse. ‘That meat had maggots crawling all over it.'

‘Don't look,' Tilly said, glancing warily over her shoulder. For the most part, they had attracted little interest from the people going about their daily business. Tilly had insisted that Harriet put on her plainest clothes and wrap an old shawl around her head so that they would not stand out in the crowd. But amongst the ragged, unwashed men, women and barefoot, vermin-ridden children, she now realised that they could not hope to be inconspicuous. Catching a movement out of the corner of her eye, Tilly had seen a couple of men skulking in the doorway and she didn't like the way they were staring. Their faces were half hidden beneath the peaks of the caps pulled down low over their brows, but one of them looked vaguely familiar.

‘Come along,' Tilly said, tugging at Harriet's arm. ‘I think we'd best start walking, quickly.'

‘Why? What's the matter?'

‘Don't look round, but I think I recognise that chap. He was one of the ones who attacked me and Clem. I said, don't look round. Walk quickly and we might just get away before they recognise me.'

Towing Harriet by the hand, Tilly set off at a pace that was halfway between walking and running. Hampered by a wicker basket filled with root vegetables as well as a reluctant Harriet, Tilly could go no faster. The clatter of hobnail boots behind them forced her to look round; there was no mistaking them now and it would be impossible to outrun two young men.

Tilly stopped short, turning to face them, thrusting Harriet behind her and sticking her chin out. ‘Stop right there.' To her amazement they stopped. It seemed that she had taken them by surprise and Tilly pushed home her advantage. ‘You can bugger off. We ain't got no money so you're wasting your time.'

Pushing his cap to the back of his head, the ruffian who had been the first to jump on Clem's cart stuck his fingers in his belt and sauntered up to them. Tilly could see that he was much younger than she had at first supposed: little more than a swaggering youth.

‘Cheeky little cow, ain't yer?'

‘I ain't scared by the likes of you, cully.' Facing him, Tilly prayed that he could not see that she was shaking in her boots.

‘Where's your pal now when you needs him?' He took a menacing step forward so that his face was just inches from Tilly's.

His breath smelt worse than the putrid meat and the few teeth he had were blackened stumps. Summoning all her willpower, Tilly neither flinched nor backed away. ‘You touch me or my friend and my bloke will give you the hiding of your life.'

‘Yeah? Well me and the lads have a score to settle with that one. No one messes with the Old Stairs gang.' With a swift movement he ripped Tilly's cotton blouse so that it fell open to her waist.

His mate snorted with laughter. ‘That'll learn you to talk back to us.' Grabbing Harriet around the waist, he thrust his hand down the neck of her dress, fumbling her breasts. ‘Hello, darling. How about a knee-trembler in the alley?'

‘Take your hands off me.' Harriet slapped him round the face.

Holding his cheek, the youth raised his arm to strike back, but Tilly pulled Harriet out of the way. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves; two lads who ought to know better, behaving like hooligans. Ain't you got mothers or sisters? You're behaving like bleeding animals.'

Seemingly stunned by Tilly's verbal attack, the two youths hesitated for a moment, their dirty faces mirroring a multitude of emotions from shock to belligerence. Catching the eye of a burly butcher chopping up a carcass on his stall, Tilly cast him an imploring look and he lumbered across the street.

‘Here, you lads, leave them girls alone.' Standing with his hands on his hips, his leather apron dripping with blood, he scowled at the youths, who backed away.

‘Give over, Granddad. We'll set the gang on you.'

‘Clear off or you'll get my boot up your arses.' The butcher turned to Tilly and Harriet. ‘You was lucky this time, but I'd keep away from this area if I was you, missies.'

‘Ta, mister. Much obliged.' Gathering her torn blouse up to her neck, Tilly glanced anxiously at Harriet, who had turned alarmingly pale and was swaying on her feet. ‘Don't you dare faint, Harriet Palgrave. We've got to get away from here, toot sweet as Mrs Bootle would say.'

‘What?' Dashing her hand across her brow, Harriet looked dazedly at Tilly.

‘Never mind! Just run.' Taking Harriet by the hand, Tilly broke into a trot.

‘Stop, stop,' Harriet gasped. ‘I've got a stitch.' Digging her heels in, she stopped and bent double, holding her side.

‘Never mind that. You'll get worse than a stitch if those lads decide to follow us.' Tilly glanced over her shoulder; there was no sign of the youths, and their sudden flight seemed to have passed unnoticed. A fight had broken out between two seamen who had staggered out of a pub doorway. That was enough to attract and entertain the mob that had gathered around the brawling men.

‘Come on, we've got to get away from here. Be brave, Hattie. It ain't far now.'

‘He t-touched me,' Harriet sobbed, clutching her hands to her breast. ‘He put his filthy hands on me, Tilly. I think I'm going to be sick.' And she was.

Having put Harriet to bed with a stone hot water bottle wrapped in a towel, Tilly changed her blouse and went downstairs. Francis was pacing the hall, running his hands through his hair until it stood up in spikes giving him a comical look of a newly hatched chick, but he was not laughing.

‘It's partly my fault, I know, but I blame you the most, Tilly. You ought never to have taken Harriet to that place. You, who were born and bred in this hellish part of London, should have known better.'

‘I'm sorry, your reverence, but you was the one who wanted us to save money.'

‘I didn't mean that you should put poor Harriet in danger. Anything might have happened to you both.'

‘She wasn't hurt, sir. Just a bit shaken up.'

‘She might have been murdered or – or worse, and it would have been your fault.'

‘Here, hold on, your reverence.' Anger got the better of Tilly and tact was forgotten. ‘It was you what brought her to this place. It's you what put your own sister in danger. You must have known what sort of place this was before you took the job and yet you still brought her here.'

‘That's enough.' Francis pointed a shaking finger at Tilly, his lips pencilled into a thin line. ‘You're a bad influence, Tilly. You can pack your bag and leave right away.'

‘You can't do that. How will Miss Hattie manage without me?'

‘Don't you dare speak back to me. I pride myself on being a fair man and I'm aware that we owe you a certain debt of gratitude, but I have to put my sister's safety first and I want you out of my house.'

‘Francis, why are you shouting at Tilly?' Appearing at the top of the stairs, a ghostly figure in her white lawn nightdress, Harriet stood clutching the hot water bottle.

‘Your brother has just given me the sack. That's all the thanks I get for trying to help.'

Harriet came slowly down the stairs. ‘Francis, that's so unfair. Tilly was doing her best to help us.'

‘Go back to bed, Harriet, and leave this to me.'

‘No, I won't. It's not fair of you to send her away.' Harriet's voice broke on a sob. ‘I can't manage without Tilly.'

Looking from one to the other, Tilly could see by his implacable expression that Francis was not going to be moved by tears. Her nerves were jangling and, although she knew that an abject apology might sway Francis, her stubborn streak was well and truly to the fore. She would not apologise for something that had not been her fault; in fact she had saved Harriet from being molested and raped. She was a heroine and heroines did not lower themselves to plead.

‘Be quiet, Harriet, and don't be a fool. Tilly and her young man have fallen foul of one of the worst street gangs in London. We're all in danger as long as she stays under this roof.'

‘He's not my young man,' Tilly said angrily. ‘Clem Tuffin is nothing to me.'

‘It doesn't matter what you say.' Francis waved his hand dismissively. ‘The fact is that you and Tuffin have brought the Old Stairs gang to our door and, if only for that reason, I can't let you stay under my roof.'

‘But Tilly saved me, Francis,' wailed Harriet. ‘She saved me from them.'

‘I'm not listening to any more of this.' Francis turned on Tilly. ‘I'll give you five minutes to pack your bag and then you must leave.'

‘I come with nothing and that's how I'm leaving,' Tilly said, tossing her head. ‘You're a pompous, psalm-singing old skinflint and I wouldn't stay here even if you begged me to.'

Chapter Twelve

Arriving home yet again, with nothing but the clothes she was wearing, it seemed to Tilly that she had trodden this path too many times for comfort. As she opened the front door she was almost bowled over by her mother, pale-faced and clutching a sandwich.

‘Ma?'

‘Oh, it's you, Tilly. Thank Gawd. Look, love, you got to find a dog.'

‘Find a dog?' Tilly's stomach clenched with fear. ‘Who's sick?'

‘Winnie and Dan have come down with the scarlet fever. Feed this to the first dog you come across.'

Taking the two slices of bread between her fingers, Tilly prised them open and found two locks of golden hair. ‘Are you sure it's the scarlet fever?'

‘Yes, hurry. Find a dog and make sure it eats the sandwich, hair and all.'

‘Are you sure it'll work, Ma?'

‘Course it will. The dog will sicken and die and our little 'uns will get better.' Half closing the door, Nellie opened it again. ‘And best keep away for a bit, Tilly. I'm pleased to see you, of course I am, but you ain't had the fever and there's no sense in you going down with it too.'

‘But I come to stay for a while.'

‘You ain't lost your job again, have you?'

‘No, course not. Miss Hattie gave me a few days' holiday to see me family.'

‘Well, you'll have to spend it with Molly in Poplar or Emily in her new place in Wapping.'

‘You mean she's moved in with Bert Tuffin?'