Cinderella Sister

by Dilly Court

  ‘Ten pound four and sevenpence three farthings. Not a penny more nor a penny less.’

  It was a princely sum and Lily could hardly believe that anyone could spend that much on meat and game in a year, let alone in three months. ‘Surely not.’

  ‘’Tis true, miss. I can prove it in court if necessary, or I’ll take it in kind if you’ll let me in.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, miss,’ Prissy cried, tugging at Lily’s hand. ‘Tell him to sling his hook. Don’t let him in whatever you do.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t have that kind of money,’ Lily said, trying to sound firm but reasonable. ‘Please come back later. I’m sure that Mr Faulkner can sort this out.’

  ‘Not likely. I’m staying right here.’

  ‘Slam the door, miss,’ Prissy said urgently. ‘He’ll get fed up soon enough.’

  ‘I heard that,’ Jeb Colley shouted, moving his foot so that it was impossible to close the door without severing his lower limb.

  Lily was at a complete loss now and growing desperate. A small crowd had gathered and Jeb was relating his story to them and receiving sympathetic acknowledgement that he had a just cause.

  ‘Send for the bailiffs,’ a man suggested.

  ‘Or a copper.’ The woman at his side shook her fist at Lily. ‘Toffs, they think they can do as they please and us poor folk have to suffer.’

  Lily backed away. She had never been classed with the toffs before and in this instance she resented the implication that she might have anything to do with the butcher’s dilemma. If she were to be honest, she was in complete sympathy with him should he be telling the truth. She turned to Prissy. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Stamp on his toes, miss. That works sometimes.’

  ‘Do you mean this has happened before?’

  ‘Many times, miss. I lost count.’

  Lily was shocked. She could hardly believe that her mother or Everard would be party to what amounted to theft from honest working people, especially as they lived in such style. The silver alone must be worth a fortune, and if Ma’s jewels were real she could pay the butcher with ease. The situation was turning nasty and Lily was growing more anxious by the minute when a hackney carriage drew up, scattering the onlookers as they leapt to safety. The driver climbed down, shooing the rest of the bystanders out of the way as he helped Charlotte to alight. In her hands she held bandboxes bearing the names of large West End stores that Lily had heard of but had never visited: Derry and Toms, Peter Robinson and Lilley and Skinner.

  ‘Make way for the lady,’ the cabby said, gathering up even more packages from the interior of the cab.

  Charlotte smiled and acknowledged the crowd as though they were an admiring group of art lovers. She mounted the steps, coming face to face with an angry Jeb Colley.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but you are preventing me from entering my house.’

  ‘So it’s yours, is it, missis? Well then you can pay me what you owe.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, man. The tradesmen’s entrance is where you will be dealt with.’ Charlotte attempted to walk past him but Jeb caught her by the arm.

  ‘Not so fast, missis. If you got money to pay for them expensive duds then you can settle up with the likes of an honest hard-working butcher.’

  ‘I don’t carry cash on my person,’ Charlotte said haughtily. ‘Unhand me, sir, or I’ll be forced to send for a constable.’

  ‘You heard the lady,’ the cabby said belligerently. ‘Let her go, cully.’

  ‘Not until I get me money.’

  Lily flung the door wide open. ‘Come inside, Ma. Don’t let him bully you.’

  ‘He won’t let me go.’ Charlotte’s lips trembled. ‘Do you think it brave to terrorise innocent women, sir?’

  ‘Innocent my foot. You got ten pound four and sevenpence three farthings’ worth of meat and game off me, and I want me money. If you can afford to go on a spending spree, then you can stump up the reddies.’

  ‘Let her go, you big brute.’ Prissy charged past Lily and butted the butcher in the stomach.

  The air rushed out of his lungs in a loud bellow, raising a cheer from someone in the crowd. Jeb Colley released Charlotte’s arm as he doubled over, gasping for breath. Prissy seized the opportunity to yank her mistress unceremoniously over the threshold and Lily took the packages from the cabby. Doffing his cap to Charlotte he sauntered down the steps amidst boos from the bystanders, who made it obvious that they resented his partisan attitude which they suspected had been secured by a generous tip from his erstwhile passenger.

  Lily slammed the door before the butcher had time to recover. She leaned against it breathing heavily. ‘What was all that about, Ma? Do you really owe him that much money?’

  Charlotte thrust her purchases into Prissy’s hands. ‘Take these to my room and unpack them, carefully. I don’t want any sticky fingerprints on my new gowns or my satin shoes, and if I find a bent feather on any of my hats you’ll be in trouble.’

  ‘Yes’m.’ Prissy bobbed a curtsey and hurried off as fast as she could when hampered by a pile of bandboxes and packages.

  ‘I need sustenance.’ Charlotte made her way to the morning parlour with Lily following close on her heels.

  ‘Ma, did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Darling, don’t bother your head with tradesmen,’ Charlotte said, flinging her mantle onto the nearest chair and snatching a decanter from the side table. She poured a large measure of brandy into a glass and drank deeply. ‘Pass me a cigarillo, darling girl. They’re in the silver box on my escritoire.’ She refreshed her drink and took another mouthful.

  Lily eyed her in astonishment. She had never seen a woman toss back alcohol in such a practised manner. She gazed helplessly round the room, wondering what an escritoire might be when it was at home, but a silver box gleamed at her from the top of what appeared to be a small desk. She fetched it obediently and handed it to her mother, watching in awe as Charlotte flicked it open and selected a small black cigar which she lit with a spill from the fire. Inhaling deeply and then exhaling with a satisfied sigh, she shot a challenging look at Lily. ‘What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen a woman smoke a cigarillo?’

  ‘No, Ma. I’m seeing and hearing things today that I never thought I’d witness.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the little man who sells meat. He’s of no account. Don’t worry your head about him.’ Charlotte drained the last drop of brandy in her glass and held it out to Lily with an appealing smile. ‘Pour me another, sweet child. Mama has had a frightful experience with that horrid little man.’

  ‘You owe him money, Ma. He has to make a living like the rest of us.’

  ‘You’ve a lot to learn, darling. Don’t be such a little bourgeoise.’

  ‘I dunno what that means, but today I was ashamed of you, and if that makes me one of them things, then I’m glad.’

  Charlotte’s amused smile froze into an expression of contempt. ‘You are your father’s daughter after all. I can see the Larkin common streak coming out. And I thought you were pure Delamare.’ She hurled the glass at Lily’s head but it missed and shattered harmlessly against the wall in a glittering shower of crystal shards. ‘Get out of my sight,’ she screamed. ‘Go to your room. I can’t bear to look at you a moment longer.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  In her room Lily perched on the edge of her bed, shaken to the core by what had just occurred. The image she had long cherished of her mother had been dashed into pieces like the glass that had just been hurled at her with such venom. Her dreams of a loving gentle Madonna had been tarnished by the revelation of her mother’s attitude to the tradesman, who was only claiming what was due to him, even if he had gone about it in the wrong manner. And then, before her eyes, Ma had changed into a screaming vitriolic harpy filled with hatred for her own daughter. Lily had seen Matt in a temper and Grandpa was always cross about something, but Nell would never have behaved like that, and even Molly at her worst was more temperate. Lily jumped as
someone tapped on her door.

  ‘Can I come in, miss?’ Prissy opened it a little way and peered at her with an anxious smile. ‘I brung you a cup of tea.’

  This simple act of kindness brought tears to Lily’s eyes. She had been too shocked and angry to cry until now, but her lips trembled uncontrollably and Prissy hurried into the room. ‘Oh lawks, don’t cry, miss. You’ll start me off.’ She placed the cup on the washstand and flung herself down beside Lily, wrapping her arms around her. ‘There, there, ducks. You’ll be all right. She’s a silly old besom. We heard the noise in the kitchen and Cook sent me up with the dustpan and brush. It ain’t the first time this has happened.’

  Lily sniffed and wiped her eyes on Prissy’s apron. ‘It isn’t?’

  ‘Lawks no, miss. The mistress has often thrown a vase or something similar at the master when she’s having one of her tantrums. I’d like a tanner for every time I’ve cleared up the broken glass or china. It’s a wonder there are any ornaments left in the parlour.’

  ‘She hates me, Prissy.’

  ‘No she don’t, miss. That’s the brandy talking and that there stuff she sips from the brown bottle. She’s always having a crafty nip and sometimes it makes her happy and other times it makes her spiky as a holly leaf.’

  ‘What’s in that bottle? Is it medicine for some dreadful illness?’

  Prissy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Heavens, miss. I thought I was the simple girl just up from the country. No, it’s laudanum. Cook says that both the master and the missis and most of their arty friends are into taking things that make them go a bit mad. If my sainted ma knew I’d come to a house where they smoke cigars and enjoy strong drink, not to mention the drug-taking, she’d be spinning in her grave like a top, poor soul.’

  ‘Does Mr Gabriel do these things?’ The question had left her lips before Lily had time to consider whether it was appropriate to interrogate a servant about family matters.

  ‘I don’t think so. Cook says that’s why he left home when he did. She’s got a lot of time for Mr Gabriel.’ Prissy slid off the bed and went to the washstand to retrieve the cup of tea. She handed it to Lily with an encouraging smile. ‘Here, drink this and it’ll make you feel better. I’ll fetch a jug of warm water and you can wash your face. You don’t want to go down to dinner looking as though you’ve been crying your eyes out, now do you?’

  Lily sipped the tea. It was lukewarm but it was sweet and comforting. She managed a watery smile. ‘I think I’ll eat in my room. I don’t think I’ll be welcome downstairs.’

  ‘She’ll have forgotten all about it by the time she’s had a bath and changed into one of them fine gowns she’s just bought and not paid for.’

  Prissy made to leave the room but Lily called her back. ‘Wait a moment, Prissy. What do you mean – not paid for?’

  ‘She’s got an account at all them big departmental stores up West. Don’t you know nothing, miss?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ Lily murmured as the door closed on Prissy. She sipped her tea. Why was life so complicated? Why was nothing as it seemed? She wished she could go to Nell and pour out her troubles, but Nell was as angry with her as Ma had been. Perhaps it was she herself who was at fault. Maybe she said and did the wrong things without knowing what she was doing. Lily shivered. The fire had burned down to glowing embers and the coal scuttle was empty. She raised herself to put the cup and saucer back on the washstand and went to sit on the hearthrug, wrapping her arms around her knees. What she would do and where she would go were problems that loomed over her like thunderclouds. It was obvious that she could not remain here forever, nor could she go home. She did not even know where home was now, as the family might already have moved to the house that Armand had found them. A pang of regret speared her heart at the thought of the handsome Frenchman. She had long given up hope of anything romantic developing between them, but she still harboured tender feelings for him. She sighed, wishing that Gabriel had not gone off on his mysterious errand. She could do with his friendship now more than ever. Thinking about him now, and with the possibility that he had a sweetheart somewhere, only made her feel more lonely and alienated from all those for whom she cared. She closed her eyes and must have drifted off to an uneasy sleep as she was awakened by the door opening and Prissy staggering in with a bucket of coal in one hand and a jug of hot water in the other.

  ‘Get up off the floor, miss. I’ll get the fire going and then I’ll help you wash and dress for dinner.’

  Reluctantly, Lily scrambled to her feet. ‘I told you, I don’t want to go downstairs. I’ll eat here in my room.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense. You ain’t going to let them get you down, are you?’ Prissy set the bucket down in the hearth, and taking the jug to the washstand she filled the china bowl with warm water. ‘Where’s your fighting spirit, miss?’

  Lily smiled. ‘I don’t know, Prissy. I think it’s deserted me.’

  ‘You’ll go downstairs and act like you own the place, that’s what you’ll do,’ Prissy said with a determined toss of her head. ‘You and me is out of place here, but we’ll beat ’em yet. Now wash your hands and face like a good girl, and when I come back from filling her ladyship’s bathtub I’ll put your hair up just like them women what comes here for their dinners. You should see them all draped in furs and sparkling with jewels and I bet none of it’s paid for. But that’s how the arty people live, so Cook says, and I believe her.’ Prissy tipped the coal into the scuttle, and having tossed a few shiny black nuggets onto the fire she left the room, promising a speedy return.

  Not wanting to upset Prissy by ignoring her well-meaning advice, Lily stripped off her morning gown and splashed the rapidly cooling water on her face. She had barely noticed the light fading, but it was dark outside now, and the only light in the room came from the fire and the soft glow of the street lamp. Everard might have had gas put in the downstairs rooms but on the upper floors they had to rely on candles. As she lit the candles with a spill, the scent of warm wax reminded her of happier times in the dockmaster’s house. They might not have had money to spare, but they had enjoyed a comfortable standard of living. There had been laughter as well as tears in the family home, but it was, she thought sadly, impossible to turn back time. She must hold on to what was good in her life at the moment, and that was her art lessons with Gabriel. He had said she was improving every day and she clung to that like a drowning woman holding on to a spar.

  She glanced over her shoulder as Prissy entered the room.

  ‘Look at you, miss, standing there in your shift. You’ll catch a chill if you ain’t careful.’ Prissy held up a gown of shimmering emerald-green barège. ‘The missis has had her bath and she’s quite forgot your little spat. She sent this for you to wear tonight. She was throwing it out anyway since she’s bought new ones today, but it was always too small for her. She only wore it once and then I had to lace her in so tight that she fainted away afore she got to the bedroom door. Still, as my ma used to say, “pride feels no pain”. Anyhow, it’ll fit you a treat and bring out the colour of your eyes.’

  Before Lily had a chance to protest, Prissy had bundled her into the elegant garment and was busy doing up the tiny fabric-covered buttons down the back. ‘What did I say? It’s a perfect fit and you won’t swoon every time you eat more than a pea. The missis is always swooning, mainly because she don’t eat enough to keep a sparrow alive, but sometimes I think she does it to get out of an argument with the master. I has to keep the sal volatile handy and we’re forever picking her up off the floor.’

  With this new vision of her mother in her mind’s eye, Lily went downstairs wearing the almost new gown, and her hair piled high on her head in an elaborate coiffure. Despite being raised on a farm, Prissy had a natural talent as a coiffeuse, and as Lily had no jewellery to adorn her Prissy had snipped a few white camellias from one of the floral arrangements in the drawing room and pinned them in her hair. Lily felt grand enough to attend a ball but she was apprehensive despite Pri
ssy’s insistence that all was well with the missis now. She had reached the first floor landing and almost bumped into her mother as she glided out of the drawing room on Everard’s arm.

  Charlotte gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Darling girl, how fine you look.’ She shot a look at Everard beneath her lashes. ‘Doesn’t my baby girl look pretty, dearest?’

  Everard patted her hand as it lay in the crook of his arm. ‘Splendid, my love. Lily is a credit to you.’

  ‘We’re going out,’ Charlotte said with an airy wave of her hand. ‘We’re dining with dear Gabriel.’

  Lily’s heart gave an uncomfortable leap inside her breast. So that was why he had been so mysterious, and yet he could have told her that he was entertaining his father and stepmother. ‘In Gower Street?’ she said faintly.

  ‘Gower Street?’ Charlotte’s delicate eyebrows rose in twin arcs of astonishment. ‘Oh, I see. No, my sweet, not that Gabriel. We’re dining with the famous artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti who is known to his friends as Gabriel, and after whom Everard’s naughty son is named.’

  Lily stared at her mother, slightly nonplussed by this change in attitude. Charlotte’s eyes were suspiciously bright and her smile a little too dreamy; her pupils were dilated and Lily realised that what Prissy had said was true. Ma was not only slightly tipsy, but she had taken something that made her appear relaxed to the point of languor and had apparently obliterated all memory of their recent unpleasant encounter. Charlotte leaned forward to tap Lily on the arm with her tightly furled fan. ‘You must come with us one day, my sweet daughter. I want dear John Millais to meet you and maybe he will ask you to be a model for one of his paintings. Then there is Effie, his wife, and my bosom friend. We share so much in common, darling. We are both scarlet women according to stuffy polite society, although of course I was widowed when I married Everard, and Effie divorced Ruskin, her first husband. You’ve heard of him, no doubt. It was a complete and utter scandal, but I’ll tell you about it when I have more time. Now we must go. Do hurry up, Everard, or we’ll be late.’