by Danice Allen
“Tell Mum we’ve company, Danus,” ordered Will, whereupon the boy disappeared, and more murmurs and movement could be heard behind the blanket.
Gabrielle touched Will’s shoulder. “Is your mother well enough to get up? I don’t wish to cause any inconvenience. I just wanted to help where I could.”
Will blushed. “Me mum’s doin’ better. She’s gone t’ work at the bakery the last three days. But it’s been hard comin’ up with the blunt fer food.”
Gabrielle looked earnestly into his face. “But you’re doing worse, aren’t you? Your ears are bothering you? You can’t hear very well.”
If possible, Will blushed an even deeper shade of red. “’Twill get better.”
“Maybe not, Will, unless a doctor is consulted. Do your ears give you pain?”
Will acknowledged this with a glum nod.
“Poor boy,” said Gabrielle, but probably too low for Will to hear, and it was just as well he didn’t. He was proud. He was embarrassed just having her standing there in the midst of their poverty, in her somber but well-to-do clothes. He was staring down, digging the floor with the ragged toe of his boot. She touched his shoulder again. He looked up shyly. “I want to thank you for sending help the other night.”
His gaze shifted abruptly, embarrassment overcoming him once again, this time more for her than for himself. After all, she’d been in a whorehouse, for goodness’ sake. She bent close to his ear and said in low, succinct syllables, “You saved me from a terrible fate. I escaped with my friend with nary a scratch.” The same couldn’t be said of Zach, poor dear.
Relieved and gratified, Will looked up and smiled genuinely. “I’m glad of it, miss.” Then, screwing up his courage, he added, “She’s moved on, ye know. Mother Henn’s gone t’ who knows where, and we’re more’n glad t’ be rid o’ her. Ye needn’t worry ’bout seein’ the likes o’ her ’round here.”
Gabrielle breathed a relieved sigh. “Well, that’s good news!”
“Aye. Some say Blake and Wickham, them blokes what run the women’s shelter, met with the police and put a scare in ’er. But no one’s mentioned yer name, miss. No one knows it.”
Gabrielle’s brows knitted together. Surely she couldn’t have heard Will correctly. “What did you say, Will, about Mr. Wickham? He’s the friend who helped me escape from Mother Henn, you know. Did you say he runs the women’s shelter?”
“Well, not ’xactly, miss.”
“I thought not—”
“He owns it. Comes t’ visit now and then, so we hear.”
Gabrielle was incredulous. “Zach owns the women’s shelter?”
Will cocked his head, puzzled. “I thought ye said Mr. Wickham was yer friend, miss? Dinna ye know that he owned the shelter?”
“May I sit down, Will?”
Suddenly Mrs. Tuttle appeared from behind the tattered screen, tucking back her hair with one hand and smoothing her clean apron with the other. “Yes, miss, do sit down. Sorry t’ keep ye waitin’, but we stay abed till near time fer me t’ go t’ the bakery. Saves the fire. Will, where’s yer manners, son? Sit down, miss, here by the hearth, and I’ll light the wood.” Mrs. Tuttle bent to the task.
Gabrielle sat down in a narrow reed-backed chair by the fireplace, flabbergasted by this unexpected news concerning Zach. He owned the women’s shelter? That must be at least part of what comprised his business in Old Town. Was it located in Carubber’s Close? Was that woman Zach squired about in his carriage an inmate of the women’s shelter? What sort of a shelter was it, anyway? This was all very intriguing.
After Mrs. Tuttle had got the tiny fire started, she turned to Will. “Dinna ye think ye ought t’ introduce me to the lady, Will?”
“I dinna know her name, Mum,” Will confessed.
Mrs. Tuttle, a small, youngish woman with dark brown hair and a pinched, tired look about the eyes, seemed nonplussed by this pronouncement, standing, waiting, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Tuttle,” said Gabrielle, putting her thoughts of Zach aside to concentrate on the Tuttles. “I do know the children, though I’ve never introduced myself to them.” She stood up and extended her hand, smiling. “I’m Gabrielle Tavistock.”
Mrs. Tuttle diffidently shook hands, her pale lips tilted in a nervous smile. Gabrielle could see that Mrs. Tuttle was a pretty woman beneath her tired exterior.
“I met the children on Christmas Eve when they caroled on Princes Street.”
Mrs. Tuttle’s eyes lit up. “Oh, now I know ye! Yer generosity got us through the worst of times! I was knocked up in bed fer the longest spell, too sick t’ go t’ work, too sick t’ even feed the bairns. But Will did the cookin’, with wee Bella helpin’ out.”
“Where is Bella?” asked Gabrielle, glancing toward the curtain. “I hope she isn’t sick?”
“Feelin’ shy, I expect. Would ye like to see the lot of ’em?”
“If I may,” Gabrielle admitted. “I see you haven’t started breakfast yet, so perhaps they’d enjoy having some warm scones I fetched at the bakery on my way. The smell of them has been teasing my nose for some time.”
Mrs. Tuttle’s face turned pink, and her eyes misted with gratitude. “Ye’re so kind, Miss Tavistock. I’ll put on a kettle and we’ll have tea. I’m afraid I dinna have any milk to go with the scones.”
Gabrielle suspected that she didn’t have much of anything in her larder, judging by the thinness of her. “I brought some milk,” Gabrielle told her, “but I’d still enjoy some tea.” Gabrielle wanted Mrs. Tuttle to feel as though she were contributing to the breakfast, and requesting tea seemed a good way to accomplish this. Mrs. Tuttle nodded and smiled and bustled about, filling the kettle from a bucket and hanging it from a hook over the fire. There were no handy conveniences in this home.
“Now I’ll fetch the bairns. Bella will want me t’ comb her hair afore ye see her, fine lady that ye are and so lovely. She said ye was a fairy princess, miss, and I begin to think so meself.” She smiled, then hurried away, disappearing behind the curtain. Will followed, probably too shy to stay and talk.
Suddenly Gabrielle remembered Ralph, who had been standing all this time by the door. He had set down the bundles and was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his wide chest. He no longer looked disgruntled, but rather bemused.
“Oh, Ralph, forgive me,” said Gabrielle, shaking her head and throwing up her hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to completely ignore you. I should have introduced you, too, but I was quite rudely caught up in my own thoughts. You will come and have a scone and some tea with us, as I am certain you didn’t get a bit of breakfast this morning, so early did I drag you from your bed!”
Ralph pushed away from the wall, surprised and clearly embarrassed. “Miss Tavistock, there’s no need t’ introduce me, as I’m only the servant come along to tote fer ye.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Ralph!” Gabrielle retorted briskly. “I’m sure the Tuttles feel as strongly averse to the idea of you standing there starving while we eat as I do.”
Still Ralph frowned, shifting from foot to foot. “Miss, it ain’t proper-like fer you and me t’ sit down t’gether t’ break bread—”
“If you must be stubborn, Ralph, I shall simply have to pull rank. I order you to join us for breakfast. Do you understand?”
Ralph scowled, and Gabrielle smiled. It was a standoff till the other children emerged from behind the curtain. Just like the first time she’d seen them, they stood in order of age, one blond head bobbing down to the next. Mrs. Tuttle recited their names. Will, Robby, Danus, and Bella. Her clothes were shabby, she was thin as a lamppost, but Bella’s face was scrubbed clean and her guinea-gold hair was pulled back in a shiny braid. Bella’s head was down, her eyes averted, but she was smiling.
“Hello, children,” said Gabrielle, her gaze irresistibly drawn to the little girl.
Nudged by her mother, Bella stepped forward and made a curtsy. “Good morning miss.”
Then she turned and bobbed another curtsy in Ralph’s general direction, saying, “Please, sir, will you take breakfast with us?” After this remarkable bit of bravery, Bella ran back to her mother and hung on her skirt, hiding her face in its folds.
Gabrielle looked at Ralph, smiling triumphantly. No one could resist such an invitation. Ralph grinned back, his broad face glowing with pleasure mixed with acute embarrassment. He shrugged, the slight roll of his hefty shoulders acknowledging his defeat as no words could. “I’d be pleased, little miss,” he told Bella, then gave her the merest ghost of a wink and disposed his considerable bulk in the chair next to Gabrielle.
Chapter Fifteen
From one of the heavily laden baskets, Gabrielle produced sweet butter, gooseberry jam, and a corked bottle of milk to go with the scones. She also instructed Ralph to build up the fire with a few pieces of coal they’d included in their bounty. Presently the fire crackled cheerily, the tiny apartment filled with warmth, and the tea kettle sang. There wasn’t room enough for everyone to sit around the small square eating table, so Ralph returned to his perch by the fire. When the tea was passed, he balanced the chipped dish on his knee and lifted the handleless cup to his mouth to down its contents in one lusty gulp. Gabrielle supposed he did this in order to eat his scone more easily without the worry of scalding himself with spilt tea.
“We’ve no’ had such a fire fer the whole of winter,” Robby commented solemnly, his eyes fixed on the healthy blaze, his cheeks pink with reflected heat. The other children stared at the flames, too, as if they hadn’t remembered how good a brisk fire could feel. And they ate and ate, not a crumb left for a mouse by the time they were through, or a drop of milk or a dab of jam. Gabrielle loved to watch them, and she encouraged them, between bites, to talk. The children chatted genially about the things children are most likely to be interested in: their chums, the dog upstairs that danced on his back legs for a nip of cheese, and the funny man down the street who told stories.
“Did you know that Ralph tells stories?” Gabrielle interjected. All four of the children turned their wide-eyed gazes on Ralph, who had been caught in mid-chew and appeared frozen with alarm. “Isn’t that right, Ralph?” Gabrielle prompted.
Ralph hastily swallowed. “Well, miss, I—”
“It would be such a treat for the children if you told them a story while Mrs. Tuttle and I had a comfortable chat on our own.” She raised her brows and leveled Ralph a significant look he couldn’t possibly misunderstand. His mouth clamped shut in stubborn refusal. He looked about as likely to sprout feathers and fly as he was to tell a story.
Gabrielle knew she could only push the fellow so far, and was cudgeling her brain for an alternate way of achieving a private conversation with Mrs. Tuttle before she left for work at the bakery, when Bella climbed off her chair and moved to stand by Ralph, placing her hand on his knee. “I’d like a story very much, sir,” she said in a voice just above a whisper, and so sweetly she might easily melt Ralph’s heart, which Gabrielle suspected was pretty soft to begin with.
As soon as the children were settled around Ralph, full of food and feeling toasty-warm for a change, Gabrielle and Mrs. Tuttle, by tacit unspoken agreement, moved to a far corner of the room.
“I canna tell ye how much I appreciate all ye’ve done, Miss Tavistock,” Mrs. Tuttle began fervently. “Yer generous gift at Christmas paid our rent through January and bought the bairns clothes they needed badly, and kept food on the table whilst I was too sick t’ work. And then all ye’ve brought t’day—”
“But it’s not enough, Mrs. Tuttle,” said Gabrielle. “Somehow I don’t think what they pay you at the bakery can possibly cover all the needs of your growing brood.” She hesitated, then pushed on. “I hope you don’t think I’m indelicate, but I want to help, and I need to know how matters stand. If you don’t mind telling me … are you married?”
Mrs. Tuttle did not seem to take umbrage. “I am. But me husband left several months ago.”
“Left?”
“Aye. He just up and left one day, and we’ve not seen hide ner hair of ’im since,” she continued, not at all in a self-pitying voice.
“Do the children miss him?”
“No, nor do I,” was her simple but significant reply. She did not elaborate, and Gabrielle did not pry.
“But without a man about the house to help with money, you’re going to have the devil of a time making ends meet. Is there nothing else you can do?”
Mrs. Tuttle shook her head. “I’m not sure what ye mean, miss. I canna do much ’cept cook and clean, like I do at the bakery shop, back in the scullery. Will sometimes finds a bit o’ work t’ do, here and there.”
Gabrielle did not tell her that he also sometimes snatched reticules. He should be in school. This brought to Gabrielle’s mind another of the worrisome consequences of the Tuttles’ poverty.
“Since you can’t afford to send the children to school or hire a tutor, the boys’ abilities to pursue worthwhile vocations will be seriously hampered. It also certainly lessens Bella’s chances of marrying into a desirable situation. This concerns me.”
Mrs. Tuttle clicked her tongue. “Dinna ye think, miss, that it concerns me, as well? But I’m no’ about t’ bring another man into the place jest t’ help with the money. He’s got t’ be a good man, and I’ve got t’ love ’im. I’m no’ about t’ make that mistake again! Besides which, in the eyes o’ the kirk, I’m still married to the bairns’ father—God rot ’is soul!”
Gabby was glad to see Mrs. Tuttle had some pepper in her, as made evident by her flashing brown eyes as she expressed her heartfelt wishes for her husband’s eternal condition. “Actually I hadn’t meant to suggest that you remarry. I was wondering if you have family, in the country perhaps?”
“No. I come from the country, though. I was raised by me da on a wee, sweet croft just outside the village of Aberlady. But he’s gone now and the croft, too.”
Gabrielle smiled. “You like the country.”
Mrs. Tuttle returned her smile. “I crave it—the clean air, the flowers, the grass, the burns gurglin’ down the hillsides, the sheep and the cows. Aye, Miss Tavistock, I like the country considerable. I wish I could raise me bairns there, ’stead of here in Auld Reekie. But ’tis no use wishin’ fer what’s never t’ be. I’m a practical woman, miss, and not a flibbertigibbet with me head in the clouds. And now, if’n ye’ll forgive me, I have t’ be goin’t’ work.” Mrs. Tuttle stood up.
Gabrielle stood, too. “One last thing, Mrs. Tuttle. About Will’s hearing…”
Mrs. Tuttle nodded gravely. “I’m worried sick about ’im.”
“I suspect he just needs to be seen by a physician. He probably has a bad infection that requires a particular treatment. I want you to summon a doctor for Will today.” She reached inside her reticule, found her purse and opened it, extracting several heavy coins. “This ought to pay for the doctor’s visit, the medicine, and a scuttle full of coal.”
As Will had done on Christmas Eve, Mrs. Tuttle just stared at the money being offered her and seemed incapable of holding out her hand to receive it. So Gabrielle put the coins in Mrs. Tuttle’s hand, folding her nerveless fingers carefully over the little cache of coins so she’d not drop them. Gradually Mrs. Tuttle regained her wits. “Miss Tavistock,” she said earnestly, “we canna keep takin’ yer money like this. Ye dinna even know us. Why are ye bein’ so kind?”
Gabrielle smiled. “I like your children. I like you, Mrs. Tuttle. You seem a deserving family that could use a little help. Besides, Will did me a huge favor the other day, and this is just one way of expressing my thanks.”
Mrs. Tuttle glanced over at Will, sitting with his elbows propped on his knees, as absorbed in the story as the younger children. Her eyes were loving, her voice soft with affection. “Did he, now?”
“Yes, but I shan’t tell you what he did. It was embarrassing for me. He helped extricate me from a very awkward situation. And as for the money, I don’t expe
ct I shall have to be helping you forever, though I’d not mind doing so. You’d never allow me, however, and—”
“Aye, ye’re right ’bout that, miss!”
“—I fully expect we shall come up with a plan so that you can earn a better living and make enough money to comfortably support your little family. Now I’ll leave so you can go to work, but I shall be in touch … one way or the other.”
Mrs. Tuttle probably thought Gabrielle was being overly optimistic, but she shook Gabrielle’s hand—her eyes bright with unshed tears—and thanked her again before disappearing behind the curtain to ready herself for work.
Gabrielle joined the group by the fire. Ralph had apparently risen to the occasion. He was even using exaggerated gestures and changing the pitch and volume of his voice for the different characters in his drama. It certainly was a drama, too, all about a bunch of hunters in the woods and a particularly large and vicious wolf. The hero of the story was a brave, cunning fellow named Ralph, of course, and the other hunters hadn’t the brain of a pea amongst the lot of them. The children were rapt, hanging on to every word.
Having noticed that Gabrielle was ready to go, and perhaps feeling a trifle self-conscious with an adult in the audience, Ralph hurriedly tied up the story by blowing a hole with a blunderbuss through the poor wolf’s head, then concluded with a moral, which, of course, was necessary to the ending of any self-respecting children’s tale. As Ralph’s explanation was rather convoluted, Gabrielle wasn’t sure exactly what the moral of the story was. Her best guess was this: don’t go into the woods with a parcel of fools.
Notwithstanding the vague moralism, the children seemed well pleased with the story and were very disappointed when Gabrielle announced that she and Ralph must leave. In a desperate effort to detain them, Bella threw herself onto Ralph’s leg, wrapping her skinny limbs around him like a monkey about to climb a coconut tree. Surprised, but flattered and pleased as well, Ralph gave a great, deep shout of laughter. The children all goggled at him at first, alarmed by the unexpected explosion of mirth that had rumbled up from his massive chest like lava from a volcano. Then they joined him, laughing at they knew not what, but laughing still the same.