by Ruthie Lewis
She had written to Grace several more times since the letter announcing her illness, but had received no reply. Apart from the short letter to her mother asking after Mela’s health, there had been no word from Rotherhithe, and all three of the Clares were growing worried. As soon as the doctors had announced that Mela could go out once more, she had dressed in her warmest woollens and travelled down to see her friend.
She knocked at the door. There was no response at first, but then the door opened and she saw the street girl Grace had adopted standing and staring at her. ‘Miss Clare,’ the girl said, and Mela thought she sounded disapproving. ‘Grace is in the kitchen. I suppose you had better come in.’
Ignoring the rudeness, Mela walked into the kitchen and found Grace surrounded by piles of laundry. Her smile when she saw Mela was her old brilliant smile of delight. But Mela could not help noticing her sunken cheeks and the circles under her eyes, and when they embraced she could feel how thin Grace had become.
‘My dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘You are skin and bone! What have you been doing with yourself? Don’t tell me you too have been ill?’
‘I am perfectly well,’ Grace said, still smiling. ‘Sit down, if you can find a chair, and I will put the kettle on. Tell me, are you fully recovered?’
‘I have been recovered for weeks,’ Mela said, watching Grace fill the kettle from the water butt and put it on the stove. ‘But I couldn’t persuade those wretched doctors. Honestly, they were worse than gaolers.’
‘I’m sure they were trying to look after you,’ Grace said. ‘You were never a good patient.’
‘Fiddlesticks. There was nothing wrong with me. You, on the other hand, are working yourself to the bone.’
‘I am a little busy,’ Grace admitted. ‘I have taken on a partner.’ She explained about Brigit Doyle, and Mickey’s injury, taking a tea tin out of the larder and spooning tea into the pot. ‘With the doctor’s bills to pay, the poor things are only just scraping by.’
‘And you’re trying to help them, of course,’ Mela said. ‘But Grace, you can’t help other people if you don’t look after yourself.’
‘I am all right.’ Grace returned the tin to the larder and closed the door, standing for a moment with one hand resting on the doorknob. ‘Truly I am.’
She had started to sway. ‘You don’t look fine,’ said Mela sharply. ‘You look— Oh, Grace!’
Grace’s knees had begun to buckle. She clutched at the larder door for support, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the floor, falling onto her side. Mela hurried around the table and bent over her, and saw to her shock that Grace was unconscious.
Mary rushed into the kitchen. ‘I heard a noise. What is it? What is wrong?’
‘She has fainted,’ said Mela. ‘Help me get her into the other room.’
Mary was strong for her years, and Grace was so thin that she weighed very little. They carried her into the parlour room and laid her down on Mary and Joe’s cot, and the other children gathered around, looking frightened. Even little Edith, standing and clutching Albert’s hand for support, was concerned.
‘When did she last eat?’ Mela asked Mary.
‘Two days ago,’ said Mary. Her hands were clenched into fists. ‘She gives all the food to us. She says we need it more than her, as we are growing.’
Grace’s hand was cold and clammy to the touch. ‘Why is there no food?’ demanded Mela.
‘Because there is no money,’ said Mary, adding, ‘and she won’t let me steal.’
Mela reached into her reticule and took out a shilling. ‘Run to the market,’ she said, ‘and fetch me a boiling fowl.’
‘Do you know how to cook it?’ asked Mary.
‘No,’ said Mela, who had grown up with servants all her life. ‘But I will work it out.’
‘I know how to cook,’ said Albert.
‘Good,’ said Mela. ‘Go, Mary, as quickly as you can.’
By the time Mary returned, Albert had put a pot of water on the stove. Mary had helped Grace in the kitchen before and knew how to clean and joint the chicken. She did so now, handling the knife with a skill that Mela found both impressive and faintly worrying. Albert fed the stove until the water was boiling hard and they plunged the fowl into the pot and stood for a while, watching it cook.
‘We’ll make some broth,’ Albert said. ‘That will be good for Mummy.’
Mary looked at Mela and suddenly planted her hands on her hips. ‘You’re her friend,’ she said.
‘I am her closest friend in the whole world,’ said Mela.
‘Then why?’ said the girl fiercely. ‘Why have you let her do this to herself? Why would a true friend let her work herself and starve herself? She has pawned her coat and most of her clothes, and she gives us food she should be eating herself. Much more of this and she will be dead. You do know that, don’t you?’
Mela stared at her in shock. ‘I didn’t know,’ she said after a moment. ‘I have been ill myself, so I could not come. I wrote to her, but . . . she never replied.’
‘She ran out of stamps,’ said Mary. ‘She used the last one to write to your mother, because she was worried you might have consumption. She worries for everyone, all of us, all the time, but no one ever worries for her. She would take care of the world, if she could. But who takes care of her?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Mela asked.
‘Help her,’ said Mary. ‘I know she doesn’t want help, I know how stubborn she is. But someone has to step in. I would do it myself, if I were older. But someone must help her now.’
Their eyes met. From next door they could hear the baby wailing, and Grace’s weak voice calling to her. Mela Clare reached into her reticule and took out two more coins, gold this time, and laid them on the table.
‘Give her the chicken broth when it is ready,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, here is money. Buy food and coal and lamp oil, pay the rent, do whatever must be done. This will tide you over until I return.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Mary asked.
‘What I should have done long ago,’ Mela said. ‘You are right, Mary, I am her friend, and I should have done more to help her, whether she wanted me to or not. I promised her I would say nothing about her situation, and I was wrong. But it is not too late. I will see you all safe and well, if it is the last thing I do.’
*
That evening, in the library of the comfortable house in Hackney, she told her parents what had happened. Mr Clare shook his head in despair. ‘I should have foreseen this,’ he said. ‘A woman on her own looking after six children was never going to find things easy, but I trusted Grace when she said she did not need help.’
‘We all did,’ said Mela. ‘You must not reproach yourself, Papa. We have offered her help, many times, and her response has always been that she cannot take charity from us.’
‘But it would not be charity!’ protested Mrs Clare. ‘We love her, and want to help her. Can she not see that?’
Mela shook her head. ‘She loves you too, Mama, and Papa. But she has this ludicrous notion that she is somehow in debt to us. I don’t know how to persuade her otherwise.’
Mrs Clare dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I am wounded to the quick,’ she said. ‘How could she even think of herself as a debtor, or us as creditors? Does she not know that we regard her as our own?’
Mr Clare patted his wife’s hand. ‘She is an honourable young woman,’ he said. ‘Her aunt, and we, raised her and educated her well. Perhaps too well. She believes so strongly in her duty to others that she does not think of herself.’
Mela remembered Mary’s words. She would take care of the world, if she could. ‘And if we try to help her now, it will be the same,’ she said. ‘I know her mind. Even weak and ill as she is, she will insist on continuing to teach her school and look after her family – and her neighbours, the poor Doyles – all on her own.’
‘What can we do for Grace?’ asked Mrs Clare. ‘For surely we cannot sit by and d
o nothing.’
‘No,’ said Mela. ‘But whatever comes to her must not come from us. At least, not directly.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Mr Clare asked.
‘She had a plan,’ Mela said. ‘She told me about it after the funeral. She wanted to move her school out of the railway arch and find a building to house it. She also wanted to set up a kitchen to feed homeless children, and perhaps even create a dormitory where some of them could live, a combination of school and orphanage. She was much inspired by the plight of this girl Mary and her brother, the ones she adopted. It would also give her own family a rent-free home.’
Mr Clare rubbed his nose. ‘And how would she raise the money for the lease?’
‘She intended to approach some local merchants to sponsor the venture,’ said Mela, ‘in exchange for which she would teach the children of their workers.’
‘Hmm. An interesting plan,’ commented Mr Clare. ‘And an ambitious one, too. How typical of our dear Grace, who never does anything by halves . . . Of course she could also have approached us.’
Mela sighed. ‘I did suggest it. But she said she wanted to ensure that local men and local firms were involved. As you know, the gangs have been threatening the Ragged Schools, both Grace’s school and Mr Ringrose’s establishment in Bermondsey. She wanted to use her school as a way of bringing the community together against gangs.’
Mrs Clare had dried her eyes, and now she reverted to her usual practical self. She nodded in approval. ‘That is a sound idea,’ she said. ‘These local merchants. How did they respond to her approach?’
Mela sighed. ‘They did not respond at all. She has not heard from them.’
‘Do you know who they are?’ asked Mrs Clare.
‘She mentioned Mr Crompton, of Crompton and Rhodes. And also a timber importer, Mr Gould, who helped her once before.’
Mrs Clare looked at her husband. ‘Giles Crompton? You know him well, my dear.’
Mr Clare nodded. ‘I saw him only last week, newly returned from Germany, and we discussed this recent unpleasantness between Prussia and France and what effect it might have on trade. He is a nervous man, but at heart a good one.’
‘Then you must go and speak to him,’ said Mrs Clare firmly. ‘And this Mr Gould.’
‘But what will I say to them?’ asked Mr Clare. ‘Angela, we must do more than just put a roof over the heads of Grace and her family. We must find a way to give them some sort of financial security.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Clare. ‘And I know how we shall do it. As chance would have it, I saw Lady Ringrose in Town earlier this week. She told me that her nephew is also seeking to expand his school, despite the threat from the gangs. Young Walter’s father is a clergyman, and poor as a church mouse; it is Hector who has the money in the family. Walter had approached him for a loan to buy a larger building, just as Grace wishes to do.’
Mela clapped her hands together. ‘Yes! I see it! And you want to invite Sir Hector to join forces with Mr Gould and Mr Crompton, and with us too, I hope, and jointly buy a building to house both their schools!’
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Clare with satisfaction. ‘In the morning, I shall seek out Sir Hector, while you, Wyndham, track down Mr Crompton and Mr Gould.’
‘What about me?’ asked Mela.
‘I have a role for you too, my dear, if you are willing. But it would mean you giving up your role at the Clare School, probably for quite some time. I shall miss your support, but Grace needs you.’
Mela smiled. ‘I know how you feel about Grace, Mother. I know how we all feel. If she needs my help, why then I shall walk across hot coals to give it to her. Now, tell me what you intend.’
Chapter 19
A week had passed since Grace’s collapse. She had spent most of it in bed, being looked after by Mary and by Brigit Doyle, who came in at least twice a day to make sure all was in order. When she was not there, Mary took charge of the house, with Albert in support. They went together to the market to buy food and came home to prepare meals, and when the landlord’s agent called for the weekly rent, Mary paid him. Where she got the money, she would not say, but she promised Grace she had not stolen it, and Grace had to believe her.
Gradually, Grace began to regain her strength and a little colour returned to her cheeks. She began to get up and move around the house and do a few chores, though she still did not feel well enough to resume either her laundry work or teaching. Her mind was cloudy, and she grew dizzy if she stood for too long, but most of all she seemed to have lost her impetus, like a clock that had been allowed to wind down. Outside the spring sun was bright, but nothing could lift the gloom from her spirits. Mary, watching her, asked what was wrong.
They were in the kitchen, the other children were playing in the parlour, out of earshot. ‘I think we are about to lose everything,’ Grace said quietly. ‘The house, the school, everything I have worked for. I thought I could do this on my own, teach and work and support all of you, but I was wrong. And now . . .’
She paused, leaning on the table while another dizzy spell passed. ‘Yes, you were wrong,’ said Mary with her usual directness. ‘One thing I learned on the streets is that you can’t do anything on your own. So long as Joe and I were with the Angels, we could survive. But once we were on our own, that’s when things got really bad.’
She faced Grace, looking up at her. ‘You have to let people help you,’ she said. ‘That’s another thing I learned. And what’s more, I learned it from you, too. Now you need to heed your own lesson.’
‘But who is going to help us?’ Grace asked.
‘Wait and see,’ said Mary, wondering where Mela Clare was. I will see you all safe and well, if it is the last thing I do, she had said, and Mary believed her. But she hoped that whatever Mela was planning, she would be quick about it.
She need not have worried. An hour later there came a knock at the door, and Grace opened it to find Mela standing on the doorstep, smiling brightly. She looked like a ray of sunshine, Grace thought.
‘How are you feeling?’ Mela asked.
‘Better,’ said Grace. Her own smile was rather wan and forced. ‘Thank you for rescuing me.’
‘Do you feel well enough to go out for a while?’
Grace hesitated. ‘You won’t have to walk far,’ Mela promised. ‘The coach is waiting for us at the end of the lane. And I have brought you a coat.’
Grace looked at the overcoat Mela held in her hands. ‘That is mine,’ she said slowly.
‘I know. I bought it out of pawn. You can repay me later.’
I don’t know how, Grace thought, but she let Mela help her put on the coat. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Mela said smiling. ‘Mary, will you look after everyone? I will bring Grace straight back, I promise.’
‘Please do,’ said Mary severely. ‘She still needs her rest.’
‘Honestly, there are times when I am not sure who is the mother in this household,’ Grace said to Mela as they walked slowly down the lane towards the waiting coach. ‘Where we are going?’
‘Not far,’ said Mela. ‘It is just a short ride to Paradise Row.’
Paradise Row was a street of older buildings just off Jamaica Road, a mixture of cottages and larger brick houses. The coach pulled up outside one of these and they stepped out into the sunlight. Mela led the way up the steps and inside, into a large hall with a polished wood floor, and then into a room that might once have been a drawing room.
Grace stopped in the doorway, looking around. The original furniture had been cleared out and now there were rows of school desks and benches, each desk already laid out with slate and chalk. Books stood in a shelf next to the fireplace. She recognised some of the books as her own, from the school under the railway.
Her mind was refusing to work properly. ‘What is this?’ she asked.
‘It is a school,’ said Mela proudly. ‘Do you like it? Agnes and I spent all day yesterday arranging t
he place and supervising the workmen. All your furniture has been moved from the railway arch, and we have bought more. There are three other classrooms like this on the ground floor, and upstairs there is an office and a comfortable flat. At the back there is a kitchen, and the workmen are turning the stable block and mews house into a dormitory. It is everything you wanted, I think.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Grace.
‘Perhaps we can explain,’ said a voice behind her.
Grace turned slowly. Mr and Mrs Clare stood in the hall, smiling at her. Sir Hector Ringrose was beside them, and Mr Crompton the carpet manufacturer and Mr Gould the timber merchant. With them too was Mr Solomon Raikes from the Ragged Schools Union. They were all smiling too.
‘Allow me to introduce the board of trustees of the Paradise Row Charitable School,’ said Mr Clare. ‘Mr Gould has kindly agreed to serve as chairman.’
Mr Gould bowed. ‘And I owe you an apology,’ he said. ‘My father died recently, and I had to go down to Weymouth for the funeral. Then I was detained sorting out our family affairs, which took much longer than I anticipated. I had intended to contact you once I returned, but unfortunately I only arrived home a few days ago. Before I could write to you, Mr Clare sought me out and informed me of the proposed project. Needless to say, I was happy to become part of it.’
‘And I also,’ said Mr Crompton, though Grace thought he still looked worried.
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Grace.
‘It is quite simple,’ said Mrs Clare. ‘We heard that Mr Ringrose was seeking new premises so he could expand his school. From Mela, I knew that you were contemplating a similar project. What could be more natural than to bring them together? We then approached Sir Hector, Mr Crompton and Mr Gould, who also were happy to join forces with us.’
‘And I, hearing of the proposal, approached one of the benefactors of the Ragged School Union and explained the situation,’ said Mr Raikes. ‘I am pleased to say that Baroness Burdett-Coutts has made a substantial donation towards the capital cost of the project, including helping us to acquire the lease on this building and fitting it out as a school. Thanks to her beneficence, we have been able to move quickly.’ He nodded towards the others. ‘Strictly speaking, this is now no longer a Ragged School, but your aims are so strongly aligned with our own that we are happy to continue our support. Lord Shaftesbury himself has consented to this.’