The Pretty Girls

by Hazel Aitken

  “I shall take it to the door as soon as we have eaten. We have new bread and not so new cheese,” she laughed, “but it will do well enough. I shall make us a warming herbal tea. By the way, Mama, was poor little Sal in next door’s backyard?”

  “Not the child, but a young woman. I caught the merest glimpse and then she disappeared from view. Pale face, hair scratted back and she was wrapped around with a tartan shawl. That’s why I noticed particularly, it was the tartan, you see. But I saw her only once. Not a servant, I would say, but who knows? Here, my dear, we will wrap the dress later. I am waiting for my tea.”

  An hour or two passed before Hannah went downstairs with the dress neatly parcelled in brown paper unearthed from the trunk which held a multiplicity of belongings and useful items. There was no sign of their landlady or of Leary, who seemed to spend most of her time hidden away in the scullery.

  Dimly lit by fitful moonlight, the street outside seemed threatening in a way Hannah had not known when living in a village. On moonlit nights the cottages and fields had been illuminated and hid few secrets, and candles and oil lamps shone from cottage windows. Even on the darkest night and carrying a lantern, one had felt safe. Here, danger might lurk in any of the shadows and they were many as houses crowded together, yet despite their proximity, people seemed to scurry indoors and mind their own business. In this area nobody seemed to look to the needs of a neighbour. With swift steps she rounded the holly bushes and approached next door.

  No sooner had she knocked on the door than it sprang open, revealing a long dark hall lit by flickering candles and a large oil lamp; its proportions were the mirror image of Mrs Wilson’s, “You’re late. You was expected five-ish, soon as it got dark. What you playin’ at? We don’t suffer fools gladly, so don’t think it.”

  “It is me, Hannah Morley, from next door. We found something that might fit the little girl; Sal, isn’t it?” She held out the parcel.

  There was a momentary silence and then Hannah felt a hand push her in the ribs. “Don’t you come sticking your nose in here. I was expectin’ a friend. What’s that you say? Somethin’ for that little varmint? She don’t need nothing. Still, seein’ as you’ve gone to trouble…give it here, then get going. Like I say, we don’t welcome strangers.”

  “I doubt you welcome anybody.” The words slipped out before Hannah could stop them. “And if I had been a friend of yours, which God forbid, I’d have turned and walked away. Goodnight, whoever you are.”

  The door slammed in her face and with a fast beating heart, Hannah ran to Mrs Wilson’s door which was till ajar. The sooner she was earning and they might move from this area, the better.

  “It doesn’t do to make enemies,” Belle chided when she heard the story. “The woman sounds nasty and I can only hope the child is given the dress which was a labour of love.”

  “I know, and I am afraid if that horrible woman is angry with me, she will take it out on little Sal, and you’re quite right, of course. She may never see the dress, leave alone wear it. Why are people so ghastly?”

  Two days later, Hannah knew for certain that Sal would never wear the dress, for turning into a side street not a quarter of a mile from Blackfriar’s Lane, there it was hanging in the front of the pawnbroker’s window.

  ****************************************

  Chapter Five

  There was no mistaking her mother’s design and workmanship. The tartan material glowed amidst a sea of old boots, dusty jackets and faded skirts.

  You bitch, that was for Sal. The words arose in her mind before she could stop them and somewhat relieved her feelings. The child had so little and was almost certainly badly treated and now all Belle’s work and her own goodwill had been for nothing. On an impulse she entered the shop where a variety of odours assailed her, none of them pleasant. Becoming accustomed to the gloom, she saw a tall thin man behind a low counter which he grasped with a bony none-too-clean hand as if to steady himself.

  “So what can I do for you, pretty lady?” His tone was wheedling as if he expected her to produce a case of jewels from which he might take his pick and recompense her as little as possible.

  “You can tell me about the tartan dress in your window,” she began and then modified her tone as he bridled. “I mean, it is charming and looks new. I may wish to buy it for my niece so should like to know where it came from.”

  Hooded eyes surveyed her, weighing her up and his chances along with it.

  “It’s a sad tale. The saddest. Bought by a mother for her daughter and now the woman left grieving and the dress unworn.”

  “May I examine the garment, please?”

  A moment later Hannah found what she was looking for. A length of tiny white stitches along the hemline.

  “I am not sure.” She glanced at the broker, who was almost certainly under the influence of alcohol or possibly drugs of some kind or another. “I mean if it was meant for a child now deceased, it might be unlucky.” Still, she thought, it might do for Leary and so save her mother’s eyesight sewing another dress in poor light. “How much is it?”

  He mentioned an exorbitant sum and Hannah took a step backwards. Really, she was a far better actress than she had ever imagined! “I will pay half that amount or we have no agreement.” From her reticule she produced a few coins and placed them on the counter.

  “Two pence more and you can take the item.” Hannah placed one penny next to the pile of coins and looked the man in the eye.

  “My final offer,” she said firmly and his fingers closed over the money. “Can you tell me who brought in the dress? You say she was a bereaved, poor soul, but what was her appearance?”

  “What’s that to you? You’ve got what you came for. How would I know any way? Folks come and go in this place.”

  “Mere feminine interest. My heart goes out to the woman. The dress is of good quality material so one can only assume she wished rid of it quickly because of its sad associations. A well-heeled person, maybe?”

  “Like I said, I don’t recall.” His gaze flickered away from her own. “If that’s all…”

  It was obvious he was going to divulge nothing more and Hannah sighed as he bundled the dress into a parcel.

  “I think I may know the lady in question. Tall and dark haired,” she lied. “Rather an elegant creature.”

  “Nobody like that comes in here. More like a squat monkey, and a face like a plate.” He laughed at what he considered to be his wit, followed Hannah to the door, and watched her as she walked away.

  *****

  “Mama, I am sure he spoke of that awful woman next door. You don’t think Sal is really dead, do you?”

  “She wasn’t this afternoon. I saw the mite out there in the bitter cold. I confess I shed a tear and willed her to look up that I might wave to her, just to let her know she was not entirely alone in this world.”

  Hannah put an arm around her mother. “There’s so little we can do. But if Mrs Wilson agrees, Leary may benefit. I shall take the dress downstairs this very minute. Say a little prayer that all goes well.”

  If her mother did as bidden, her prayer went unheard or was ignored. Tapping on the front parlour door, Hannah was told to enter the poorly lit room that was stuffed with oversized furniture. Her landlady rose from a fireside chair and her eyes widened when she saw the dress flung over Hannah’s right arm.

  "What’s the meaning…? she began and Hannah hastened to explain.

  “I…that is we, my mother and I, wondered if Leary might make use of this. We found it amongst our belongings.” The lie tripped off her tongue. She was almost beginning to believe it.

  Mrs Wilson crossed the wooden floor and snatched the dress, then eyed Hannah angrily.

  “And what use would a scullery maid, a workhouse foundling at that, have for such finery? Answer me that, if you can. She is here to learn her place in the world which is to serve others. How would I discipline her if she spent half her time prancing about in that gaudy outfit? You asto
nish me, you do really, interfering busybody that you are.” She flung the dress back at Hannah. “Take this thing and get back to your room. Oh, and let me tell you the dressing you applied to Leary’s thumb didn’t last two minutes.”

  “I daresay it became sodden. I can only hope there is no infection. Would you permit me to take a look?” She was certain the woman would refuse but instead she said grimly, “Very well. The child is no use to me whining that her hand hurts. You will find her in the kitchen.”

  “Where else would she be?” murmured Hannah sarcastically and knew she had been overheard as Mrs Wilson’s mouth tightened.

  As she made her way down a dark passage to the kitchen, there came a loud knocking at the front door and the murmur of voices. Then the front door slammed shut. It seemed that Mrs Wilson had been summoned away. Thank heavens for that.

  Leary was the picture of misery and when Hannah sat beside her at the kitchen table, she realised that the child must be in excruciating pain. Her thumb was red and swollen, and candlelight showed that poison was spreading into her hand.

  “Oh, you poor little thing. This needs a poultice. Let’s see, what have we got? A bread or potato poultice might do.”

  “There’s bread in the crock over there,” whispered Leary, and Hannah reached inside and brought out half a loaf that was past its best. Reaching for a knife she cut off a good slice. “Now for a little milk and I shall need a pan. You will learn something if you watch me.”

  It took a while for the milk to heat on the stovetop and then Hannah placed the bread in it and mashed it to a pulpy mass. “Oh dear, we have no clean cloth. I must improvise.” With that, she raised her skirts and ripped at the hem of her petticoat. “Beggars cannot choose, Leary.”

  Moments later, the poultice was applied to the child’s hand and bound with strips of cotton material. “You must keep it dry. I shall tell Mrs Wilson the same and if needs be, I shall offer to do your work. You look tired, my dear. Where do you sleep?”

  “In here. I gets the mattress out from under the cupboard and I settles on the floor. It’s all right, miss. I keep fairly warm, but the stove is always out and dead cold by the early hours.”

  “I am leaving you but I shall be back with a written note for your mistress. It is very important that you do as I say or there will be trouble.”

  “You mean I might die?” Leary’s tone was matter of fact. “I seen people die at the workhouse. Little ’uns. They was quite peaceful. Like they’d gone to sleep.”

  “I daresay, but peaceful or not you are not going to die.” With that, she turned and went upstairs to return minutes later with a note for Mrs Wilson. “See this, I have offered to undertake duties that would cause you to wet that dressing. Tomorrow I shall examine the thumb and re-apply a poultice. No arguments; and Leary…I should like to call you something else when we are alone. If you could choose a name, what would it be?”

  The little girl looked up at Hannah in astonishment and her cap fell off to reveal flattened hair that was black as pitch. She’s a little beauty, Hannah thought.

  “I don’t know, miss. Never thought about it.”

  “Well, Leary is an Irish name so what about Kathleen or Rosaleen? Something like that?”

  “I like the Rosa one. I can be Rosa when we are together. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Indeed I am. Rosa is a pretty name for a pretty girl. Now time for bed. When will Mrs Wilson be back, I wonder? I shall leave this note on the table and I shall be down early in the morning to relieve you of duties that would endanger that thumb.”

  “She won’t like it, miss. She’ll call it interference and get mad.”

  “Then that is too bad, Rosa.” She saw the shy smile and welcomed it. “I cannot say I am a match for Mrs Wilson, but I can be very determined.”

  “She’ll get even, miss. She knows how.”

  *****

  Hannah was as good as her word and appeared in the kitchen at six o’clock the next morning, a handful of linen dressings in her hand. Leary, already up and raking out ashes, greeted her with a wide smile and together they lighted the stove and set a kettle to boil.

  “First things first, Rosa,” and the child smiled, “I need to check your thumb and apply another poultice.”

  The thumb was no better but no worse either and that was a good sign, Hannah assured the child who was anxious that certain chores were completed before she took her mistress a cup of tea at seven on the dot.

  When Mrs Wilson appeared, her face was wan and weary. “I saw your note,” she greeted Hannah. “You say the thumb is poisoned. I suppose you know best and Lord knows we don’t want a corpse on our hands.”

  “You won’t have one. The wound must be kept dry, so with your permission I propose to wash the floors and prepare the vegetables if those chores would fall to R…I mean, Leary.”

  “As you wish.” She then addressed the child. “I shall take my breakfast as usual in the back parlour. Hurry with it. I have to go out.”

  “She goes out a lot,” remarked the child when they were alone and she was holding a piece of bread on a toasting fork to flickering flames. “Any old time and she’s off. Good riddance, I say.”

  “I am sure you do, Rosa. She is sharp and unkind and unfeeling, but I sense that she has come down in the world and it is just possible that as you acquire skills and try to please her, your life may improve. Do you know what I am saying?”

  “If I get quicker and she goes out more, we might rub along.” She removed a piece of toasted bread and struck another slice on the fork.

  “Something like that. Don’t cross her. Here, I’ll butter that and brew a pot of tea. You may carry in the tray as usual. See what a good team we make.”

  “I like you, miss. I wish you worked here too.”

  “I may not always be here. I am looking for work and may have found something and then I shall find other lodgings for my mother.”

  Rosa’s little face fell. “That’s terrible, miss. I don’t want you to go.”

  “It’s something I have to do but I promise to keep in touch with you.” A thought crossed her mind. “Do you know or have you seen the little girl who lives next door in the house adjoining this one?” Was it naive to imagine the pair might become friendly?

  “I dunno who lives there, miss. I never seen a girl. How old is she?”

  “I am not sure. A bit younger than you. I saw her on one occasion and have caught the odd glimpse of her since.”

  “I don’t know anyone, miss. Not since I left the work’ouse. I had a friend there but I expect she’s gone somewhere else now. There, the tray’s ready.”

  Hannah rattled through the work, leaving vegetables prepared and the stone floor scrubbed. For good measure she took a wet mop over the hall tiles and down the stairs. “I shall help you clear the ashes in the front parlour and lay the fire and after that I am sure you will manage by yourself. You know what I am going to say…”

  “Keep that thumb dry!” Rosa almost shouted and they laughed together. It was good to see the child acting as a child should but her next words caused Hannah some concern.

  “I think I love you,” she said. Poor child, unloved and with nobody to love until now; but Hannah had plans to leave Blackfriar’s Lane. Was she doing more harm than good giving Rosa kindly attention?

  ****************************************

  Chapter Six

  The letter offering her employment as an assistant teacher was brought to the door by a messenger from the workhouse.

  “Mama, I am to present myself this very morning…” She scanned the official looking missive. “It is signed by Mr Gidley himself and he writes…let me see…The Guardians have approved your application made in person to Mrs Stannard and have examined the letters containing your references. I have since contacted both Mrs Mariah Simpson and the Reverend Horatio Lovatt-Browne, and we are satisfied that you are suited to the position. Isn’t it exciting?”

  “If you say so, my dear. B
ut what hours are you expected to work? Will they pay you weekly or quarterly? And how much? And what about me, alone all day?”

  “That concerns me, I admit. Could you perhaps tutor Rosa…you know, young Leary, when Mrs Wilson is absent? I could put it to her that the child would be kept out of mischief and might be more useful if she could read and write properly. And it won’t be for long if I can help it. As soon as I receive pay, I shall look for other lodgings, that I promise.”

  Dressed in a sober grey woollen dress trimmed with blue ribbon that matched her bonnet and cloak, Hannah set out in good time for a mid-morning meeting. On the way she called into the apothecary’s and whispered her good news to Sam who beamed. “It would be polite of me to inform your boss,” she told him and was soon doing so.

  His long nose quivered as usual but he seemed genuinely pleased to hear her news. “They say the Master is a new broom indeed, sweeping out every stinking corner and making free with public money, I shouldn’t wonder. Still, something needed doing. That place had a bad reputation, very bad.” He seemed on the point of saying more but his thin lips became a tight line. “Well, I wish you well, Miss Morley.”

  Feeling as if she had just taken her leave of friends, Hannah’s steps were light as she hurried along busy pavements to the forbidding building that was to become her place of work.

  “Wait here,” she was told when she had explained her business to the same surly woman who had admitted her on her first visit. Moments later, she returned to lead Hannah along a wide stone-floored passage and paused before a battered door. “You’re to see the Master.” With that she turned and went away, leaving Hannah to knock on the door. This she did smartly, the confident sound belying her nervousness.

  “Come along in.” The voice was almost jovial and the appearance of the little man who rose from behind a wide desk littered with papers and ledgers fitted the friendly voice. Two other men, taller than he and prosperous looking, flanked him and they too rose to greet her. Mrs Stannard was seated behind them, close to a window that overlooked one of the exercise yards.