The Gilded Lily

by Deborah Swift

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘I have ordered a pair of looking glasses from Venice – picture-sized glasses – for the Lily. Beautiful things with very fine gilded frames. I have half a mind to install one of them up here, as well as in the shop downstairs, so that you may make sure you do not have mud on your hem.’ He looked pointedly at her feet.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir. It’s difficult to stay clean and all, when I have to walk here in all weathers. But when I live here, I’ll be spotless, I promise.’

  ‘Spotless, is it now?’ He laughed, looking down his long nose at her. ‘I somehow don’t think so.’

  She laughed along with him as they went back downstairs, although she did not really understand why he seemed to find her so amusing. She didn’t want to be thought of as amusing, she wanted to be taken seriously. He did not laugh at the young lady customers who came into the Lily, he treated them with deference, even respect.

  During the afternoon she contemplated this, worrying it over in her mind. She barely listened as her visitors spoke, but handed them the phials and ointments with an absent smile. She thought back to the day she first set eyes on Jay in the wig shop. She knew straight away he was a man of consequence by the way Madame Lefevre treated him. But it was different now she was in his employ. She felt the weight of his authority now, his ability to dispense with her. She felt the press of power in him, and she did not like it. If someone told her what to do or gave her orders, it set off the urge in her to do the very opposite. Contrary, they had called her in the village. But she also sensed the hot flicker of her heart whenever she thought of him. She wanted to have a chance with him, to bring his power to herself, and for that she would bear anything. They were alike, she and him. He ran deep, just as she did. She could beguile him, if she lived here at the Lily, for she had never failed with a man yet. Men needed persuading a little, that was all. It was a question of willpower.

  During the afternoon she found several excuses to pop upstairs to see her chamber. She was already thinking of it as her chamber. The chamber with the proper wooden bed and the lime-painted walls, the long low windows with the stuff drapes, the washstand with the pretty blue and white basin and ewer. And fancy – now she was to have a fine looking glass with a gilded frame.

  She had no idea what to do about Sadie. Lord knows, she couldn’t bring her here, but nor could she send her back to Westmorland – either way she would be spotted in a moment and their lives would unravel. Yet she could not leave Sadie in the Gowpers’ lodgings; who would keep an eye on her? It was clear that she couldn’t be trusted to stay indoors. Hadn’t she warned her, plain as plain, not to go out? And then at the very first sign of an argument, what had she done – she’d run off into the street. It wasn’t even full dark. What if someone had seen her? It did not bear thinking about. Sadie didn’t understand, maybe did not feel death snapping at her heels. The world was a ruthless place. Sadie was weak, would probably blab if they pressed her. No, she must stay where she was, safe out of sight.

  Chapter 25

  Madame Lefevre pointed to the empty stool.

  ‘Where’s Mercy Fletcher?’

  Corey carried on knotting, focused intently on the work in front of her, but sharply aware of the other girls’ embarrassment and Madame Lefevre’s probing look.

  ‘I don’t know, madame,’ Alyson said. ‘We haven’t seen her.’

  Madame Lefevre tapped the measuring stick on her hand and walked between the benches. ‘Does anyone know where she is?’

  ‘No, madame,’ Betsy said. ‘Maybe it’s the weather.’

  Corey breathed a sigh of relief, they weren’t going to tell on her.

  ‘Been in a fist-fight, have we?’ Madame addressed Corey.

  ‘Fell over, madame. Slipped in the snow.’

  Madame Lefevre narrowed her eyes, and sniffed to show her disbelief.

  When she had gone Corey turned to Betsy. ‘Thanks, Betsy, for keeping quiet.’

  Betsy didn’t say anything, just smiled a rueful smile, and they all continued to knot peaceably in silence.

  Mercy did not return to work for the rest of the week. But the following Monday they heard the noise of boots on the scraper inside the front door and felt the sudden icy draught. When this happened the girls paused in what they were doing, to listen and see who the customer might be and what they wanted. Already they had overheard Madame Lefevre accept an order for four more footmen’s perukes, even though she had made a great fuss about orders only that morning, telling them they were overstretched with one less girl. They had looked at each other with raised eyebrows and shaken their heads.

  This time the voice was easily identified as Mr Ibbetson, the man who had been enquiring after Ella and Sadie. Last time he had been, Alyson said his slightly nasal voice sounded as if his mouth was full of false teeth. Fortunately for the listening girls, it was also the sort of voice that carried.

  ‘I was passing so I thought I would call. Is there any further news of the Appleby sisters?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Madame Lefevre’s voice replied.

  ‘You did not think to make further enquiries with the girls?’ He said it as if it was Madame Lefevre’s fault.

  ‘Have there been no sightings then?’

  ‘On the contrary. I had to go down to Newgate Gaol yesterday. There was a half-dozen waiting for me there. They kept the folk who’d brought them in waiting in the alley beyond, as well. Vultures, all of them. Some unscrupulous people will try anything for money. None of the girls in the cells was she. In fact I’ve never seen such a crowd of hapless cases. Would you credit it – there was even one poor soul languishing there who was sixty years old.’

  ‘Really? Well, I am afraid, Mr Ibbetson, that as far as I can see the trail is completely cold. Despite my best efforts on your behalf, it seems they are vanished into thin air.’

  ‘I shall not give up, you know.’

  ‘I’ll let you know, sir, if there’s anything further I can do . . .’ A draught caused the calico curtain to swing, and then the shop door closed.

  Madame marched into the room. ‘If anyone here knows anything, or sees hide or hair of Sadie or Ella Appleby, you are to come straight to me. Not to the Blue Ball, but to me. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, madame,’ they chorused, having no intention of doing any such thing.

  Corey hoped that Sadie was hidden safe somewhere and not one of those poor girls in the pits in Newgate. She was uneasy to think that old Feverface had been out sniffing after Sadie and Ella. All afternoon Corey could not shift Sadie and Ella from her mind, wondering what it felt like to have the spectre of the noose hanging over you.

  No wonder Sadie had shot off so quick when Mercy set her brother on her. And it must have taken some courage to come say her farewells. But oh my Lord, she sure and certain hoped Sadie was feeling brave now, with that cold fish Ibbetson out looking for her, and that killjoy Mercy Fletcher, and Old Feverface intent on claiming the reward and bringing her to the gallows.

  That night when Corey got home, she helped her mam get supper ready as usual before she went to work. Her mam worked in the Fox’s Brush tavern of a night, so Corey was always left in sole charge of the children. Three of them, Tom, Harry and Benny – all little terrors that’d test the mettle of a saint. When she had rounded Tom and Harry up, taken off their wet mitts and got them to the table, she shouted outside again for Benny, the youngest, to come in. He was always the last, couldn’t bear to leave his friends in case he missed something.

  When he finally did come in, hands and face filthy as always, he said, ‘What’s in the pot, sis?’

  ‘Beet and barley soup, same as usual. Now wash your hands.’

  ‘Good, I’m starving. Hey, there’s some new notices up by the wharf. I just seen ’em. There was a few folks gathered round so we went up for a look-see. A man was nailing them up whilst we stood by. He told us to sling it, but we hung round anyways. There’s one up asking after two maids. “Savage Sisters”, the
man said. What’s “savage”?’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Tom, the eldest. ‘What’ve they done?’

  Corey turned from adding salt to the pot. ‘Savage? It means sort of fierce, or cruel maybe. But maybes they’re not really like that. Do you know aught else?’

  ‘Nah. Only what the man said. Said one of them’s got a great red stain on her cheek. That they’re evil and round here some place.’ He looked round the parlour as if one of them might materialize any moment from a dark corner.

  Corey stirred the soup. Those notices must be about Sadie and Ella. It made her angry, her friends being hounded like this. Not that she really knew the truth of it, but no mistaking, Sadie and Ella were in trouble up to their necks. She tapped the wooden spoon briskly on the edge of the pot. ‘Less of your nonsense now, soup’s ready,’ she said.

  Benny ignored her and carried on chattering to his brothers. ‘After we come away Simon says he’s seen one of them, but we don’t believe him. He makes up porkies all the time. Anyhow, he said she was on the shore a-gatherin’ coal. Well, that’s cuckoo, ain’t it?’

  There was laughter round the table. Corey ladled the soup into his bowl as he talked. ‘Catch one of them gatherin’ coal! No, she’d be out slitting people’s throats with her other half. Peter says they’ve done all sorts. There was another washed-up body by the bridge only the day afore yesterday, all bloated, and Peter says he bets it’s them as strangulated her.’

  ‘Who are Simon and Peter?’ Corey said. ‘Do I know them?’

  ‘Yes, sure you do, the costermonger’s sons. Peter and Simon Reed. Peter’s the eldest, and Simon’s his brother—’

  ‘Are they in the ginnel now?’

  ‘Yep, I asked ’em to wait up whilst I had this.’ He was already sliding off the stool, his bread and dripping still in his hand, anxious to be back outside playing with his friends.

  ‘Hold on, Benny. If you bring Simon and Peter inside, I’ll give them a currant patty to share.’

  ‘I’ll get ’em.’

  A few moments later her kitchen was even more full of grubby children. She soon picked out Simon and asked him if he’d wait and tell her about what he’d seen.

  ‘It were only one of ’em,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure it were her because even though it were dark I could see she had a great big patch on her face. Like Uncle Seth’s dog it were – from here to here. She seemed friendly-like. Course then I din’t know she was savage and she’d cut your heart out, so I din’t know to be scared.’

  ‘Where was this, Simon?’

  ‘Not far. Just round the corner. Old Swan Stairs, near enough. On the shore there. She was pretending to be an ornary girl. And I’ve seen her again since. Looking out a window, and laughing at me. That’s twice I seen her. But I ain’t going back.’

  ‘If I come with you now, will you show me which window?’

  ‘No. Not on your life. I was just lucky the first time that she was acting friendly. But that might have been to trick me. She stared at me last time and then she laughed. It gives me the creeps now when I remember it, that laugh.’

  ‘You’ll be safe with me. I would really like to see where you saw her – because once I had a friend with a patch on her face, and she wasn’t savage at all. I’ve lost track of my friend and I’m still looking for her.’

  ‘I know. Peter says everyone’s looking for her. But he says not to tell, ’cos she might come after me and slit my throat.’

  ‘Where was this, Simon?’

  ‘I dunno. I can remember it, I think. But what if she sees me? She might come and get me. Peter says she can shift shape like a witch and fly in your window at night.’

  ‘I’ll be with you, so you needn’t be scared. I’ll hold your hand if you like.’

  ‘Nah,’ he backed away, ‘don’t need nobody to hold my hand.’ Corey could see he was not keen, but an offer of a few more currant buns soon tempered his resistance.

  ‘Tom, pass me my togs from the hook.’ Tom reached behind him and passed her cloak and hat over.

  She shouted back through the door. ‘I’m just bobbing out a while. You’d better all be washed up and said your prayers by the time I get back, or there’ll be trouble – you hear me?’

  Silence.

  ‘D’you hear me?’ she yelled.

  A chorus of mumbles from the other children.

  ‘Come on then, Simon.’

  He ran ahead, looking back over his shoulder for reassurance she was still there, whilst they hurried towards Old Swan Stairs.

  When they got to Thames Street they turned off down the alley to the shore and the lad hid behind Corey and pointed. The window was on the upper floor, and black, like a hole in a tooth. The house looked like any other, a rickety jumble of timbers and beams part suspended over the water. Icicles hung in festoons from the half-timbering. Corey led him across the frozen boards of the wharf and up the side alley of the house so she could get a better look. There seemed to be nobody at home, the house was lightless.

  ‘It’s all right. There’s nobody home.’

  ‘Phew. I was scared she’d see me again – three times is powerful bad luck.’

  ‘Can you find your way home?’

  Simon nodded. ‘I used to come here a lot, with Dad’s bogey, getting washed-up pickings from the barges. It’s only a step or two.’

  ‘Thanks, Simon. Run along home then.’

  He hesitated a moment. ‘Please, miss, what about my currant patty?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh yes, come along tomorrow for your share.’

  She watched him run off, fleet-footed as a rabbit, racing past the upturned boats, dodging the ropes and quay stones with nimble leaps.

  When Simon had gone she looked at the front door of the house and was surprised to see it was open, just a crack, propped on the latch. She touched it with her hand and it creaked open. Unable to resist, she went in and looked around. There were two doors off the hall, one opposite and one on her right, open, with a staircase leading to an upper floor. The doors were dusty and the walls crumbling with flaking limewash. Though it looked unkempt and deserted, she could smell the soot of a fire so she called out anyway.

  ‘Hello?’

  A woman’s voice came from the door opposite. ‘Come in, Corey.’

  Corey started. She thought she had used her name. She put a foot on the stair but it creaked loudly.

  The woman’s voice called out, ‘Who’s that?’

  She stopped guiltily. ‘Sorry to bother you, my name’s Corey Johnson, I’m looking—’

  ‘I thought it was you. Well, don’t stand about out there, come in. I want a word with you, about the noise.’

  Corey hesitated, but the voice said ‘Come on in’ again, so she pushed open the door and went in. The room was warm, the remains of a coal fire glowed in the grate giving a little light. On the other side of the room was a wooden fourpost bed with the curtains drawn back and a confusion of blankets and linen piled over it. A middle-aged woman swathed in knitted shawls was perched there, pale as the sheets, her cheeks hollow and grey. She broke into a hacking cough the minute she saw Corey. When she had her breath back, she looked at her out of red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘Who the Devil are you?’

  ‘Corey Johnson, I—’

  ‘Don’t be funny with me. Corey Johnson lives upstairs, and you’re not her. What do you want?’ Then more weakly, ‘I’m warning you – my son will be home any minute and he’s got a knife.’

  ‘I am Corey Johnson. That’s my name, honest. I don’t know another Corey Johnson. I’m looking for two girls.’

  ‘What about them? There was a constable round here looking for them before. He talked to Miss Johnson from upstairs. But you’re confusing me. You said you were Miss Johnson. You’re not Miss Johnson.’ She started to struggle in the bed and become more agitated. ‘Dennis!’ she cried, ‘Dennis!’

  She must be lost in the wits, thought Corey, backing away. ‘Beg pardon, mistress, please don’t take on so, I’m going now.
’

  ‘Help!’ the woman said weakly, her frightened eyes peering over the scrambled bedclothes. But before she could call out again, she burst into another fit of racking coughs.

  ‘Oh please,’ Corey said, ‘don’t upset yourself, I’m going now. I’m so sorry to have bothered you.’ She retreated rapidly into the hall. Inside the coughing continued. As Corey went out of the front door she nearly bumped into a tall, long-faced young lad in a felt hat and knitted muffler.

  ‘Dennis?’ came the faint voice from inside. The lad stared at Corey questioningly, as if to ask her what her business was, but she lowered her head and pushed past him. If this was Dennis, the son with the knife, she had no desire to linger.

  Sadie stood at the window, staring out. She had heard Dennis’s voice from below and his mother’s cough, but Dennis had not been up, perhaps he was still sore at them for disturbing her. She had hoped when he saw the lock he might persuade Ella to take it off. It wasn’t that she’d go anywhere, but it was galling to think Ella did not trust her. Earlier she thought she heard Ella’s voice, talking with Mrs Gowper, but then nobody had appeared. It must have been her imagination, she thought. So the next time she heard Ella’s footsteps on the stairs she did not move, even when the door opened and the draught from the hall blew in.

  ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing in the dark?’ Ella said.

  A pause, during which Sadie heard the slight hiss of Ella’s skirts brushing the boards.

  ‘And look, the breakfast things are still unwashed,’ Ella said accusingly. ‘I’ve been hard at work all day and you’ve not even tidied yourself up or lit a fire.’ She must have found the flints for the room wavered into light.

  Sadie held herself very tightly with her arms folded over her chest. ‘I have tidied myself up,’ she said.

  ‘I said, what have you been doing all day? The dirty dishes are still here.’

  Sadie swivelled round. ‘You didn’t fetch in any water. So there’s none for boiling or for washing,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot. Never mind, I can go in a minute. What are you looking at out there?’