The Best of Sisters

by Dilly Court

  Eliza glanced up at the window of the sail loft where she caught a glimpse of two ginger heads. ‘We got to get away from here.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, of course. Come, Eliza. We have our work to do, healing the sick.’

  Just as they were about to move off, the window above them opened and Davy stuck his head out. ‘Best get away quick, Liza. The old bugger has sent Dippy Dan out the back way to fetch a constable.’

  In spite of her agitation, she managed a smile. ‘Ta, Davy.’

  ‘Ted’s out,’ Davy said, leaning dangerously over the windowsill. ‘He won’t know nothing about it if you move on quick.’

  She nodded. ‘See you later then.’

  ‘I think we might try Shadwell Market,’ Freddie said, striding off as if nothing had happened. ‘Come on, Eliza. Don’t dawdle.’

  Really, Freddie was the most exasperating man at times, she thought, as she trotted after him. He was homeless, and now the police would be looking for him as well as the Donatiello brothers, who had plenty of time on their hands until the beginning of the ice-cream season. She knew that they both had a soft spot for Beattie, and probably enjoyed her favours. In fact, either one of them could have fathered her little mistake. But Eliza did not fancy Freddie’s chances if the brothers caught up with him. It was just as well, she thought, that Basher Harris, the stevedore who lived in the upstairs back bedroom with his aged mother, was doing his day shift in the docks. One punch from him would knock Freddie into next week.

  They had reached the bridge in New Gravel Lane that crossed the polluted water oozing from the docks and emptying into the Pool of London. As they came to the middle of the bridge, Eliza looked down into the oily, tobacco-coloured water, and shuddered. The bloody bridge, as it was known locally, was a magnet to the poor desperate souls who threw themselves off the parapet seeking oblivion; their bloated corpses fished out nightly in the drag, a grim harvest of human detritus.

  A ragged woman slumped on the cobblestones held out her claw-like hand, begging for money. ‘For pity’s sake, mister, give us twopence,’ she cried, grabbing Freddie’s coat-tail. ‘A penny then, just a penny, for the love of God.’

  He hesitated, looking down at her raddled face and the empty bottle lying by her side.

  ‘Don’t stop, Freddie,’ Eliza said, glancing anxiously over her shoulder. ‘There’s two coppers coming down the street. Best move on quick.’

  ‘Save a poor soul, your worship,’ the woman cried, scrambling to her knees and steepling her fingers as if in prayer. ‘The water is cold but they say as how you don’t feel nothing much when it closes over your head for the third time.’

  Freddie gave her twopence. On an instant, seeming to recover miraculously, she leapt to her feet and headed towards the nearest pub, her bare, purple feet slipping and slithering on the icy pavement.

  ‘Hurry, Freddie,’ Eliza hissed in his ear. ‘Maybe they ain’t looking for us.’

  ‘I’m an innocent man, they have no cause to arrest me,’ Freddie said, hefting his cases beneath his arms. ‘Keep close to me, Eliza.’

  Before they had gone two steps, there was a shout from behind. ‘That’s him, constable. The one you’re looking for. Tried to bribe me to keep quiet, he did.’

  Eliza turned her head and saw to her dismay that the drunken woman was being supported between two policemen, and she was pointing at Freddie.

  ‘Run,’ Eliza screamed. ‘Oh, Freddie, run.’

  ‘Dr Frederick Prince does not run from the law.’ Freddie turned to face the constables as they strode towards him, swinging their truncheons. ‘I’ll sort this out, my dear. You must go home. Go now.’ Lifting the case that contained his pills and potions onto the top of the parapet, Freddie leaned back giving it an almost imperceptible shove with his shoulders so that it hurtled downwards, hitting the water with a loud splash. ‘Oops,’ Freddie said, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Eliza demanded, horrified to see the life-saving medicines sinking to the bottom of the cut.

  ‘That’s the evidence gone. It’s my word against Enoch’s now, Eliza.’

  ‘Let me speak for you, Freddie. Let me tell them what a good man you are,’ she cried, clasping his hand.

  ‘Good man?’ Freddie’s smile wavered. ‘Oh Eliza, my dear girl. I’ll miss you terribly. Now run away while I keep them talking, or do I have to throw you in the cut with the medicine chest?’

  He was smiling down at her with genuine tenderness in his eyes and she simply could not run away and leave him to his fate. Eliza faced the constables. ‘You got the wrong man, officers. This here is Dr Frederick Prince, a physician with a genuine diploma from the Paris Conserve – conservative. He done nothing but heal the sick and I won’t let you take him away. My uncle got what he deserved – you can’t blame Freddie for punching him on the nose.’

  Freddie shook his head, prising her fingers from his hand. ‘Go, Eliza. I insist you go now.’

  The elder and more senior of the two constables placed his burly body between them, turning to Eliza with a stern look. ‘Move on, missy, or we’ll have to take you in too.’

  ‘Come on, miss.’ The younger man took Eliza by the arm. ‘You’d best do as he says.’

  His superior officer took a pair of handcuffs from his belt. ‘Dr Prince, I’m arresting you in the name of the law.’

  Freddie offered his wrists for cuffing. ‘I’m sure we can sort this out, officer. I’ll come quietly, but I insist that you let this young person go. She has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie, how can you say such a thing?’ Eliza cried, struggling to get free. ‘You can’t arrest Dr Prince. I’m telling you, he ain’t done nothing wrong.’ She lashed out with her foot at the constable who had arrested Freddie, but he moved out of reach.

  ‘Send her on her way,’ he said, seizing Freddie by the scruff of his neck. ‘We got our man.’

  The young constable guided Eliza to the edge of the bridge, where an interested crowd had turned out of the pubs to enjoy the spectacle. ‘Go home, little girl. You shouldn’t mix with men like him; they’ll only get you into trouble.’

  She stood on the pavement, watching helplessly as the constables marched Freddie away. The crowd was jeering and there was nothing she could do to help him. She felt lost and alone. Blind panic, despair and anger raged within her breast. She turned in the direction of home, and, blinded by tears, Eliza broke into a run. A cold, sleety rain was falling from a solid sky as she reached Hemp Yard. Winter had reclaimed its territory, and she felt as though her heart had frozen into a block of ice. She came to a halt outside the house, shivering as much from shock as the chill that was seeping into her bones. Her first instinct had been to rush into the house, but a small voice in her head warned her to stop and think. Dolly had been so much better for taking the medicine that Freddie had made up for her. She was a changed woman from the sickly, housebound invalid that Eliza had known when she first came to Hemp Yard. Dolly thought the world of Freddie and to tell her that he had been arrested might cause her to relapse, and Ted would be furious. He would be angry with Freddie and he would be vexed because she had lost her job.

  Eliza stood on the pavement trying to decide what to do for the best. Then she caught sight of her reflection in a muddy puddle. Her beautiful blue bonnet was soaked and almost certainly ruined. The ostrich feather hung limply over her forehead and, as she brushed a salty mix of tears and sleet from her cheeks, she found that there was blue dye dripping down her face. She could not go into the house in this state; she must compose herself and think what to do next. But it was hard to think straight when she was shivering uncontrollably. She began to walk, wrapping her arms tightly around her body in an effort to keep warm. She must keep walking or she would freeze to death and she must find alternative work, at least until the police discovered that Freddie was innocent of any crime, other than punching Uncle Enoch on the nose. They would release him, she told herself, forcing her feet t
o move one in front of the other at a smart pace. Freddie was a healer, a doctor who gave hope to hundreds of poor people. He was a kind and wonderful man and she loved him.

  Eliza stopped at the bottom of New Gravel Lane, close to the workhouse where Millie had spent her first few miserable years. The realisation that she loved Freddie hit her in the stomach like a punch from a prizefighter. No, it was impossible: she was only thirteen – Freddie was a grown man who thought of her as a child. Uncle Enoch had accused her of being Freddie’s whore, a dreadful word that made Eliza feel sick with shame. As if Freddie would do anything as dishonourable as to take her in the way that he had taken the slut Beattie Larkin.

  If only Bart were here. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks in an unstoppable flow, as if a dam had burst within her. She was grieving for Bart all over again and now she had also lost Freddie. Sniffing and gulping, Eliza found her way into the churchyard and huddled on the tombstone where she had once sat with Freddie. He had explained the ways of love so gently and kindly, freely admitting his own weaknesses. In spite of the cold, she felt her cheeks burning with shame; her love for Freddie was pure and unsullied by the lusts of the flesh. She would have walked through fire for him. She would willingly devote her life to helping him in his crusade to bring health to the poor and needy. She did not want to do the vile things that Beattie had done with him, naked and brazen, making noises like beasts in the marketplace. Wrapping her arms around her knees, Eliza crouched on the stone slab and sobbed.

  Someone was shaking her by the shoulder and calling her name. Eliza opened her eyes. ‘Oh, Davy, it’s you.’

  ‘It’s me all right and a good thing I come looking for you,’ Davy said, taking off his ragged jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘Another hour and they’d have been digging a hole to plant you in, Liza. What was you thinking of? It’s freezing cold and you’re soaked to the skin.’

  ‘They’ve arrested Freddie,’ she said, choking on a sob. ‘T-took him away like a common criminal and all because he punched Uncle Enoch.’

  Davy grinned. ‘I know, I saw it. We all saw it and we cheered. That were one of the best punches I’ve ever seen. Broke his nose it did.’

  ‘It was Uncle Enoch’s fault. He said horrible things and Freddie bashed him.’

  ‘I know. And I’d have had done the same.’

  She shivered, wrapping his jacket closer around her shoulders. ‘How did you find me? And why aren’t you at work?’

  ‘Ted sent me out on an errand when he come back to the sail loft. I was worried sick about you. I thought the cops might have got you too, and so I went to your house, but you wasn’t there. I was just on me way back to work when I seen you huddled on the tombstone. Fair give me a turn you did, I thought you was frozen stiff.’

  ‘I can’t feel me feet. Help me up, Davy.’

  He put his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. ‘Lean on me, Liza. Take one step at a time.’

  Very slowly, Davy guided Eliza’s steps until the feeling began to return to her limbs. ‘I’m all right now,’ she said, biting her lip as her lower limbs burned and tingled. ‘I can walk on me own.’

  ‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘No! Not yet. I can’t tell them what’s happened.’

  ‘You’re frozen to the marrow, girl. At least let me take you to me mum, she’ll look after you until you feel a bit better.’

  ‘I d-don’t want to be no b-bother,’ Eliza said, through chattering teeth.

  ‘Don’t talk soft. You know me mum’s always pleased to see you. Come on, Liza, or you’ll get me into trouble with old Peck for being late back.’

  Too cold and wet to put up an argument, Eliza allowed Davy to link his arm in hers and they made their way to the cellar room in Farmer Street where the Little family lived. Ada was sitting on an upturned orange crate with the youngest child, Sammy, suckling at her breast. Toddlers Eddie and Artie were on the floor at her feet attacking a bowl of bread sops and growling at each other like hungry puppies.

  Ada looked up with a tired smile. ‘What are you two doing home at this time of day?’

  ‘I brought Liza here to get dry, Mum. She’s had a bit of a to-do as you might say. Anyway, I got to get back to work or I’ll be in trouble. I’ll see you later.’ With a cheery wink in Eliza’s direction, Davy left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Well, ducks, you’d best take them wet things off,’ Ada said, shifting the baby from one breast to the other. ‘It’s lucky we got a bit of a fire today. Go and get warm, while I finish feeding Sammy. Then I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’

  Huddling closer to the fire where two lumps of coal were feebly hissing out a modicum of heat, Eliza took off her wet shawl and spread it across the hearth. ‘Things must be looking up then, Mrs Little.’ She hesitated, realising that it was a bit rude to make a reference to Arthur Little’s habitual condition of being too drunk to go to work. ‘I mean, is Davy’s dad well enough to …?’ Eliza stopped, biting her lip. She was just making matters worse.

  Ada shook her head, sighing. ‘No, ducks. My Alf is a martyr to his bad back. The only thing what helps him is a few beers down the pub. I can’t begrudge him that, now can I?’

  Eliza shook her head, wishing she had never raised the subject. But Ada did not seem at all put out.

  ‘My Davy went down the docks last night and he found a pile of coal what must have fallen off a collier while they was unloading. He keeps an eye on the wharves to see when a coal boat comes in. He’s a good boy, is Davy.’ As if in agreement, baby Sammy unlatched his mouth from his mother’s nipple, made a satisfied mewing sound, hiccuped and spewed milk from his mouth. Ada covered her bare breast and hitched him over her shoulder, rubbing his back until he let out a loud burp. ‘That’s better out than in. You hold him for me, ducks. I’ll make a brew. It’ll help warm you up and keep you from going down with a chill.’ Ada rose to her feet, handing the baby to Eliza.

  She watched in silence as Ada scooped up some of the used tea leaves that had been left to dry on a piece of newspaper close to the fire and tipped them into a cracked china teapot with half its handle missing. Using her skirt as a potholder, she lifted a soot-blackened kettle from the trivet and poured boiling water onto the leaves. While she waited for the tea to brew, Ada took two tin mugs from a shelf and wiped them on her apron. ‘Sorry, love, we ain’t got no sugar or milk. I give the last of it to the little ’uns,’ she said, filling a mug and handing it to Eliza. She bent down to separate the boys who were squabbling over who was going to lick out the bowl. ‘Behave yourselves. We got company.’

  Mercifully, Ada did not seem at all curious as to the reason for Eliza’s bedraggled state and, although the fire did little to dry her wet clothes, the weak tea warmed her stomach. She sat on an upturned beer crate, sipping her tea and listening to Ada, who seemed delighted to talk about her family. She was so proud of Davy and his prowess as Ted’s apprentice. Then there was Janet, his younger sister, who had been taken on as a scullery maid in a big house in Golders Green and was doing quite nicely, thank you. Pete was just twelve, and he had got a job in the brewery sticking labels on bottles, although to be truthful the pay was very poor. Nine-year-old Ruth was also working, and had found employment in a sweatshop in Leman Street where she picked up fluff, cotton and pins for a few pence a day.

  As she nursed the sleeping baby and listened to Ada recounting her children’s exploits with such love and pride, Eliza looked round the gloomy cellar, wondering how she managed to keep so cheerful and positive in these dank, vermin-infested surroundings. It was not pity that she felt, but deep admiration for Ada’s courage in the face of such abject poverty. She thought about her comfortable, although by no means luxurious, home with Dolly and Ted, and suddenly all her problems seemed as nothing when compared with Ada’s daily struggle for existence. One day, Eliza thought, when she was grown-up and had made her way in the world, she would do something to help Davy’s fami
ly.

  ‘And Mary’s really clever,’ Ada said, continuing the one-sided conversation. ‘Mary can read and write and she’s not yet eight.’ She took the baby from Eliza and held him close to her sagging bosom. ‘Maybe one day she’ll be a schoolteacher and we’ll be ever so proud of her. My nippers will amount to something in this world, just you see if they don’t.’

  Eliza stayed with Ada until Millie and Mary returned from school. By that time she had calmed down enough to face going home, and even managed to keep up the pretence that all was well. During a sleepless night, with Millie curled up at her side, snoring softly, Eliza thought hard about what Bart would advise in this situation. In the cold, early hours of the morning, she decided that he would tell her not to give in and to take positive action.

  Next morning, she went out as usual, as if going to work. It took her the best part of the morning to walk to the City Police Office in Old Jewry Street. At first the sergeant at the desk refused to give her any information. Eliza allowed her bottom lip to tremble and just thinking of Freddie in a prison cell brought tears to her eyes. Eventually, after telling a downright lie, and saying that Freddie was her brother, she discovered that his case was being heard next day at the court in East Arbour Street, Stepney. In spite of her pleas to be allowed to see him, the sergeant was adamant in his refusal, and there was nothing Eliza could do except start out on the long walk home.

  Next day, leaving at the usual time with her faded, water-stained bonnet on her head, minus the feather that had suffered irreparable damage, she set out for Stepney. She took a seat in the public gallery and waited nervously for Freddie’s case to be heard. When he walked into the dock, looking tired and strained but holding his head high, she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from calling out to him. Perhaps he would be bound over to keep the peace, she thought, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. At first, after the charge of public disorder was read out, she thought that the proceedings would be over quickly, but to her dismay the clerk of the court summoned Uncle Enoch to the witness stand. She listened in horror as Enoch Bragg denounced Freddie as a charlatan and a mountebank who sold fake medicines to an unsuspecting public. Then, as if that was not bad enough, he accused Freddie of abducting an innocent young girl, his orphaned nice, Eliza Bragg. That blackguard, he said, had stolen a mere child away from her legal guardian and now he was using her for his own sinful purposes. He was guilty of corrupting morals and despoiling innocence, and he had assaulted her legal guardian into the bargain. ‘He is a sinner,’ Enoch roared, pointing his finger at Freddie. ‘A vile rogue who uses women for his own pleasure and then abandons them.’