by Dilly Court
For two days and two nights Bertha had barely left the sickroom, but on the third morning she told Rosina that she had given the captain a dose of laudanum to make him sleep. His fever, she said, had abated enough to allow her to leave him for a while so that she could rest, but Rosina was still forbidden to enter his room. When she objected, Bertha pointed out that even if she was not afraid of catching the sickness herself, she might very well pass it on to Caddie and the children. When Bertha laid down the law, it was not to be flouted, and Rosina had to resign herself to doing as she was told and executing the mundane household chores. There was a pile of dirty linen in the scullery waiting to be taken out to the copper in the yard to be boiled clean, but she had only a hazy idea how to go about this, and so the pile had grown steadily higher. Rosina had never had to fend for herself, and Bertha had been adamant that young ladies did not need to learn even the most basic rules of cookery.
When the children had clamoured for breakfast, Rosina had been horrified to discover that the bread had gone mouldy, and the dripping had been used up: even the tasty brown bit at the bottom had been licked clean by a hungry Ronnie. There was nothing left in the larder other than a heel of cheese that the mice had nibbled, and a spoonful of tea that she had saved to make a brew when Bertha awakened from her nap. In the end, there was nothing she could do except take the boys to Gladys, who gave them food and invited them to stay and play with her own children. Rosina returned home determined to make sense of the housekeeping, a skill which had so far eluded her.
She listened outside her father's bedroom door, but his breathing was even, if a bit wheezy, and he seemed to be sleeping. She went up to the attic to check on Caddy, who was scarily silent now that the initial torrent of tears had stopped flowing. She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling while her restless fingers plucked at the coverlet. Poor Caddie. Rosina felt for her in her loss, and could think of little to comfort her, except to remind her that she needed to be strong for the sake of her children. The painful subject of the funeral had to be broached at some time, but perhaps not at this particular moment. Rosina did not know how to tell Caddie that her husband's coffin was resting in the parlour, and that the neighbours had been filing in to pay their respects. Walter had made all the arrangements for the interment, which was set for the next day. She would have to prepare Caddie for the ordeal, but one look at her ashen face and hollow cheeks convinced Rosina that it was best to leave it until the evening. She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Downstairs in the kitchen, she searched in the dresser for a bottle of ink, pen and paper. She sat at the table staring at the blank sheet on which she intended to write a shopping list. But the scent of the Indian ink brought back memories of the pirate, and she slipped into a daydream, reliving the last precious moment that they had shared. In spite of the circumstances, there had been a small part of her that had remained untouched by the tragic events of the past few days. It seemed to her as though she was leading a double life, and there was another and happier world, which she could enter at will. When she retreated into her memories of the gaslit fairyland that was Cremorne Gardens, she was deliriously happy dancing with her pirate; but sadness overcame her as she remembered her last meeting with him and their inevitable parting. The secure world that she had always known might be crumbling around her, but the dark man in the mask was constantly in her thoughts. The memory of his kisses lingered on her lips and in her heart. Would she ever see him again? She simply did not know. He had told her he loved her, and it was that thought that kept her going when everything about her seemed to be tumbling into chaos.
It was Walter who had been her silent saviour. She trusted him implicitly, never questioning his actions or making any demands on his time. She knew instinctively that he would do everything that was required of him, and more. Dear, reliable Walter. He was her rock, and as faithful as a much loved family dog – always there, and expecting nothing in return for his loyalty other than a kind word and a smile.
She came back to earth with a jolt. This was getting her nowhere and daydreaming would not put food on the table. She must not allow a recurrence of this morning's breakfast fiasco. The children needed proper food and so did Caddie if she was to regain her strength. She threw the pen down, rising to her feet. Taking the cocoa tin from the mantelshelf, she tipped the contents onto the table. She counted the pennies with a sinking heart: she had no idea how much it cost to buy food, candles, lamp oil and coal, but it was obvious that what few coins were there would not buy very much. She decided that she must pay a visit to the grocery emporium in Wapping Street. After all, it couldn't be too difficult to buy and prepare food. Bertha did it all the time. She took the wicker shopping basket from the scullery, put on her bonnet and gloves, and set off with a determined step.
Mr Hodge, the grocer, greeted her with a cheery smile. He was busy serving a customer, giving Rosina time to wander round the shop and examine the stock. When she was a child, she had been fascinated by the sacks filled with flour, sugar, rice, currants, raisins and potatoes, standing proud against the oak counter like a row of soldiers on guard duty. There were metal-lined tea chests that had come from Assam, Darjeeling and China, and boxes of broken biscuits exuding a tempting, sugary smell that mixed with the fragrance of tea, bacon and candle wax. The counter was stacked with round cheeses, slabs of yellow butter and legs of ham glistening with sugar and studded with cloves. Everything, including the tins, packets, jars and bottles on the shelves, was marked with the price. It was only then that she realised how little she could purchase and how much they needed.
Mr Hodge finished serving a plump matron with a pound of streaky bacon and a half-pound of cheddar cheese, and he turned his attention on Rosina. 'Good morning, Miss May. And how may I assist you today?'
'Um, I'd like a . . .' She glanced round at the goods displayed on the shelves behind the counter and a feeling of panic assailed her. What did one need to make a proper dinner? Everything was so expensive. She wished that she had paid more attention when out shopping with Bertha. 'I'd like a pound of wheatmeal biscuits, please. And two ounces of tea.' She thought hard, fingering the coins in her purse. 'And half a pound of bacon.' She pointed to the cheapest cut, which seemed to be mostly fat, but would probably be just as tasty as the more expensive kind. She watched nervously as Mr Hodge weighed out the items and wrapped them in brown paper bags.
'Will that be all, Miss May?'
'Some potatoes, please.'
'How many pounds would you like?'
She had no idea. 'Er, ten.'
'Ten pounds of potatoes it is then.' Mr Hodge began tipping potatoes into the large brass bowl of the scales.
'No, I think I might not be able to carry all those. Perhaps half a dozen potatoes would be better.'
'Certainly.' The urbane smile on Mr Hodge's face did not falter as he tipped most of the potatoes back into the sack. 'And where is Miss Spinks today. Is she unwell?'
'No, she's quite well, thank you. I'm just doing the shopping for her.' She did not want the whole of Wapping to know their business. 'How much is that, Mr Hodge?'
She went home with an empty purse, and when she spread out her purchases on the kitchen table she realised that she had omitted to buy such staples as bread, butter and sugar. There had been no money left to buy candles and lamp oil, but she decided that she would think about it later. In the meantime, she needed to speak to Walter.
She found him in the counting house with his head bent over a ledger. He looked up when she entered the room, but there was a strained look about his eyes when he smiled at her. 'Good morning, Rosie.'
'Is it, Walter? Yes, I suppose it is a lovely day, but I've just been shopping in the High Street, and I really had no idea how much food costs. It's really shocking.'
His lips twitched. 'I'm sure no one would argue with that statement.'
'I need some more housekeeping money.'
'I'm afraid there is nothing left in the cas
h box.'
She stared at him in horror. 'Nothing? Oh, come, Walter. There must be something. We've never been that short of money before.'
'I've been going through the books, but things couldn't be worse.'
Rosina sat down as her legs went weak at the knees. 'Are you telling me that we're bankrupt, Walter?'
He set his pen down on the inkstand. 'It looks very like it. There are a few debts that I can call in, and there will be enough to settle the funeral expenses, but with the boat laid up and your papa ailing, there is no way that we can continue in business. I cannot commission the shipwright to make the necessary repairs to the Ellie May unless we can raise the funds to pay for it.'
'Oh, my goodness. What will we do?'
He rose to his feet. 'Don't look so worried. Leave it to me, and I'll see what I can do.'
Looking up into his earnest face, she was slightly reassured. 'I trust you, Walter. If anyone can save us, I know it will be you. And when Papa recovers his strength, things will be as they always were.'
'Be sure that they will,' Walter said, smiling. He took his cap from the peg behind the door, and put it on his head. 'I'll be back soon.'
'Thank you, Walter.'
He tipped his hat, but he was not smiling as he left the room. She heard the front door open, followed by the murmur of male voices, and just as she was about to leave the office, Harry entered. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. 'My darling, how are you today?'
She pulled away from him. 'Harry, don't.'
'Don't what, my love? We're on the brink of announcing our engagement, so why can't I kiss my bride-to-be?'
'You presume too much. I haven't accepted your proposal. Besides which, my papa is ill in bed, and I really cannot think about anything as serious as marriage at the moment.'
'But, my darling.' Harry took her hand in his. 'Now is the perfect time for you to consider my proposal. Your father's business is ruined. I'm sorry to put it to you so bluntly, but he cannot trade with the Ellie May laid up and the repairs are going to be costly.'
'I know all that, Harry. I'm not a child. But my papa will find a way.'
'He's an old man, Rosie. Old and sick. I am young and healthy and, above all, I have the money to save the Ellie May and to keep your father in business. Just say the word and I will make funds available. You need never worry again.'
She did not doubt his sincerity, and once, not so very long ago, she had thought him charming and attractive, but her last encounter with the pirate had changed everything. She was fond of Harry, but to pledge her life to him was another matter, even if it meant that she would be able to save Papa's beloved boat and protect his livelihood. She gazed down at her small hand as it lay in his, and she remembered how it felt when the pirate held her thus. There was no comparison. But she might never see him again. Hadn't he warned her of that? She raised her eyes to meet Harry's expectant gaze. He was so confident that she would say yes. She attempted a smile; but she really wanted to cry. 'Will you give me a little more time to think about it?'
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. 'My darling girl, of course you may have more time, but please, don't keep me too long in suspense. I want to tell the world, and in particular my mama, that we are to be joined in matrimony.'
The mention of Mrs Gostellow sent a shiver down Rosina's spine that was not at all pleasurable. 'She doesn't like me, Harry.'
'Of course she does. She thinks that you are delightful, and extremely pretty. Mama is certain that she can mould you into the perfect wife for an up and coming young man like me.'
Rosina closed her eyes, trying to blot out an image of Mrs Gostellow training her like a puppy-dog. 'Really?' she murmured weakly. 'How – splendid.'
'I can see that you are touched, my love. As any young girl would be when honoured with the attentions of a woman like my mama.' Harry kissed her lightly on her closed eyelids. 'It will be a union quite literally made in heaven, my pet. As soon as Captain May is well enough, I will ask him for your hand in marriage.'
Her eyes flew open. 'I haven't said yes.'
He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger, smiling into her eyes. 'But you will, my sweet. I know you will. Even if you hated me, which I know you do not, you would not be so foolish as to pass up the opportunity to save your papa's business and make him a very happy man.'
'Would you really pay for the repairs to the Ellie May?'
'Of course I would.'
'And what about Captain Barnum? You seem to encourage him to compete with my papa.'
Harry shrugged his broad shoulders. 'That is good business, my dear.'
'Is it good business to abet two old men in a lifelong feud that is becoming dangerous in its intensity?'
'You worry too much, my darling. What happened on the river was an accident caused by the bad weather. I'm certain that Barnum would do nothing to endanger his own vessel.'
'But it was my papa's boat that was holed, Harry. And he was convinced that Captain Barnum was to blame.'
'My love, you must put all these thoughts out of your pretty little head. These are men's matters and should not concern you.'
She bit back an angry retort. 'You're forgetting that it is my business, Harry. One day the Ellie May will be mine.'
He laid his hand on hers. 'Ours, my love. As I've said before, when we're married, it will be ours.'
A vision of her life as Mrs Harry Gostellow flashed through her mind. She saw herself in the Gostellows' dark drawing room, working away at her embroidery under the eagle eye of her mother-in-law, while Harry and his father ran the company.
He raised her hand to his lips. 'Oh, my darling, I can see that the whole idea overwhelms you, but I can assure you that you will be a fitting wife for a Gostellow, and you will prove my mama wrong when she says that I ought to look higher for a bride.'
She snatched her hand away. 'Thank you, Harry. I'll remember that. Now, I really must go back to the kitchen. Gladys will be bringing the children home soon and I have the dinner to prepare.'
'What?' Harry frowned. 'No, this won't do at all, Rosie. Where is that servant woman? Cooking is her job, not yours.'
'Bebe is not a servant,' Rosina said indignantly. 'She is part of our family, and she is worn out with nursing my papa. And I can cook, or at least I will have a good try at it, so there.' She brushed past him and walked out of the office, not caring if he took offence at her abrupt departure. How dare he call her beloved Bebe a servant? She went into the kitchen and slammed the door. If he followed her now, she would give him a piece of her mind that he would not soon forget. But she heard the front door close with an emphatic bang, and she guessed that he had gone off in a mood like a sulky schoolboy. She shrugged her shoulders and set about peeling potatoes – at least she knew how to do that. Having put the saucepan on the range, she went outside into the yard intending to light the fire under the copper. But the kindling was damp and she was having difficulty in using the old-fashioned tinderbox. She had used the last of the vestas to coax the fire in the kitchen range into life this morning. That was another item which she had omitted from her shopping list. She stood back, wiping her damp forehead on the back of her hand. Who would have thought that it was so difficult to light a fire? She sniffed the air – something was burning. The acrid smell was coming from the house. She ran through the scullery into the kitchen. The air was blue with smoke and there were hissing noises coming from the pan on the range. She covered her mouth with her hand, and with streaming eyes made her way to the range. The pan had boiled dry and the potatoes were reduced to a black smelly mess in the bottom; when she tried to lift it she burned her fingers on the handle. She let it go with a yelp of pain and the saucepan fell to the ground. Tears ran down her cheeks as she surveyed the damage to the pan, and the mess of scorched potato that had splattered all over the flagstones. She had not heard the door open, and she turned with a start at the sound of Bertha's voice. 'Gawd almighty! Wh
at have you done, girl?'