A Mother's Courage

by Dilly Court

  'There you are, girl,' Poll said, dragging her out of the doorway. 'He's a bit on the elderly side, but that's all to the good. It'll be over all the quicker and he's not short of a bob or two, judging by them shoes. I always judge a man by his footwear, and I'd say they come from one of the best shoemakers in St James's.' She gave Eloise a hefty push. 'Go on. Do your stuff, Ellie. Remember what I taught you.'

  Eloise stumbled straight into the man's path and they collided. 'Excuse me, m'dear.' The gentleman's voice was slurred but he spoke in a cultured tone. He hesitated for a second, eyeing her through a monocle, and then he chuckled. 'Why, that was no accident, was it?'

  Paralysed with fright and sick with nerves, Eloise managed to nod her head. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Poll making encouraging gestures with her hand. 'N-no, sir.'

  'Well, by gad. You're not the usual sort of street woman one would expect to come across.' The gentleman chucked her under the chin, allowing his finger to wander down her throat to the hollow at the base of her neck. 'Most interesting. What say we find somewhere a little more private, m'dear?'

  The temptation to slap his hand away was almost too great for her and Eloise's stomach heaved. Her skin crawled at the touch of his bony fingers as he slid them down to caress her left breast. He licked his lips as saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. 'I know of a room nearby,' he said in a thick voice. 'Come, hurry. I have not much time to spare.' He seized her by the arm and hurried her towards the open doors of a public house. 'The landlord is a most amenable chap, as I'm sure you know.'

  The strong smell of beer, raw spirits and tobacco smoke, laced with the sweat of bodies packed together in a crowded taproom, hit the back of Eloise's throat, making her cough, and she thought she was going to be sick. The gaslights flickered and the babble of voices together with raucous laughter rose to a deafening crescendo as they neared the doorway. Someone was thumping a melody on an out of tune piano and drunken voices were singing a bawdy song. 'Come on, you little beauty,' the gentleman urged, slipping his arm around her waist. 'You can show me what you can do upstairs in the private salon.'

  'No!' The word was wrenched from her lips in a scream. She could not go through with it, even for the sake of her children. Their faces flashed before her eyes and Eloise broke free, gasping for air as if she had just awakened from a terrible nightmare. Whatever the consequences she could not give herself to a complete stranger. She would rather die than allow this man to violate her body.

  He was staring at her with an incredulous look on his face. 'Why, you little tease . . .'

  She did not wait to hear the rest. Eloise picked up her skirts and ran. She darted past Poll, avoiding her outstretched hand, and she barged through the crowded streets, pushing people out of the way if they attempted to molest her. Half blinded by tears and with her breath coming in ragged sobs, Eloise headed back the way they had come. She found her way more by instinct than anything else and she let herself into the house, closing the door behind her and leaning against it as if she feared that her disappointed client might have followed her home. It was unlikely, as it would have been impossible for a gentleman of his age and in his condition to run all the way from Shaftesbury Avenue to Church Lane, but Eloise was not thinking clearly. She managed to get as far as the basement kitchen before her legs gave way beneath her and she sank down onto one of the forms at the deal table, laying her head on her arms as she fought to regain control over her breathing.

  'Gawd above, look at the state of you.'

  Mother Hilton's strident voice made Eloise sit bolt upright, blinking as the beam of light from an oil lamp held close to her face momentarily dazzled her. She held her hand to her eyes. 'I – I didn't hear you come in.'

  Mother Hilton raised the lamp higher, staring down at Eloise with a scornful expression on her face. 'You look like something the cat dragged in.'

  Eloise rose unsteadily to her feet. 'I'm going to bed.'

  'No, not yet you ain't.' Mother Hilton held out her hand. 'You owe me two days' rent.'

  'I'll give it to you in the morning,' Eloise said with as much dignity as she could muster. She knew she must look a sight, but she was not going to let Mother Hilton crow over her distress and her all too apparent failure to earn any money.

  'You'd better, or it's the street for you and your brats. I'm not running a charity, missis. You pay up or you get out. It's as simple as that.'

  'Yes, in the morning,' Eloise said wearily. 'You shall have your money first thing.'

  'It's my last warning,' Mother Hilton called after her as Eloise left the kitchen. 'I want it in full.'

  Eloise could hear her going on even as she crossed the storeroom and lifted the latch on the door that led into her sleeping quarters. Ivy's bed was empty, but Old Aggie was lying flat on her back, snoring loudly and exhaling gin fumes. Fortunately, Joss and Beth were blissfully oblivious to everything as they slept, curled up together. Eloise bent down to cover them with the thin woollen blanket which was the only bedding that Mother Hilton supplied. She took off Ivy's bonnet and Poll's satin blouse and laid them on the floor by her palliasse; then, without disrobing further, Eloise lay down beside her children and wrapped her arms around them. Through the cracked panes of the area window, she could hear the tramp of booted feet and the sound of drunken laughter. Somewhere, in the distance, she could hear a woman screaming. No doubt she was receiving a beating from her husband or a jealous lover, but her cries would be ignored by the rest of the street. Tomorrow she might be bruised and have broken limbs, or she could even be dead. The police rarely ventured into this area at night; crimes went undetected and murders were rarely investigated.

  Eloise slid her hand beneath the palliasse until her fingers came in contact with the two envelopes containing her mother's letters. She eased them out carefully so that the crackle of paper did not disturb Joss and Beth, and she clutched the precious correspondence to her breast, closing her eyes and conjuring up a vision of Mama's beautiful face and her gentle smile. 'Be brave, Ellie, darling.' Eloise heard the words as clearly as if her mother was sitting by her side. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender that always clung to Mama's clothes and hair. Even though they were separated by thousands of miles, the bond between them could not be broken, and Eloise was very glad that her mother was not here to see her in this parlous state.

  She was awakened early next morning by the shuffling and grumbling of Old Aggie whose bed was closest to the wall. Ivy's bed looked as though it had not been slept in, and Eloise could only guess that she had met a punter who would pay for a whole night of passion. The older woman crawled off her mattress and pulled on her boots. Although very few words had passed between them, Eloise knew that she rose early in order to get to Covent Garden market where she scavenged for the broken blooms and made them into nosegays to sell on street corners. When at last she stumbled out of the room, Eloise sat up carefully so as not to disturb Joss, but Beth was moaning softly in her sleep and Eloise was alarmed to discover that her small body was unnaturally hot and it seemed that she was running a low fever. It might be nothing more than cutting another tooth or the onset of a cold, but Eloise was even more determined to beg Mother Hilton on her bended knees to give her more time to find the money for the rent. When Joss woke up some minutes later, she examined both children for spots or rashes and was only slightly comforted by the fact that their skin remained unblemished. Eloise dressed them in their day clothes, which were sadly worn and not very clean, and she sighed, thinking of the washhouse in the vicarage yard where, every Monday morning without fail, Janet would light the fire below the copper and do the family wash. The steamy air would be fragrant with the smell of Sunlight soap and filled with the musical sounds of washday: the bubbling of water boiling in the copper, Janet's energetic cranking of the mangle and the squishing sound as water was squeezed from the wet clothes and sheets. Sometimes, if she was in the right mood, Janet would allow Eloise to turn the handle and feed the washing throu
gh the giant rollers. It had been hard work, but a companionable activity, and was followed by the never varying Monday luncheon of cold meat and mashed potatoes, served with pickled beetroot and piccalilli. The homely memories brought tears to Eloise's eyes and she dashed them away quickly, before Joss could see them. This was not the time to be sentimental. Their very lives depended on how she handled Mother Hilton.

  Eloise waited until the time when the lodgers who worked by day had gone about their business, and the night people like Poll and Ivy would still be in their beds or someone else's, and then she went to look for Mother Hilton. She found her in the kitchen, sitting in her chair and shouting instructions to Minnie, her maid of all work, as she prepared vegetables to put in with the two large oxtails which would cook slowly all day on the range.

  'Well?' Mother Hilton said, raising her eyebrows so that they disappeared into her mobcap. 'Have you got the money?'

  'Not exactly,' Eloise murmured, setting Beth down on the floor and watching her crawl away towards Minnie, who was little more than a child herself and often gave the children a carrot or a piece of parsnip if her employer was not looking. 'What d'you mean, not exactly?' Mother Hilton demanded, scowling ominously. 'You either have or you ain't. You know what will happen if I don't get the cash on the nail, now.'

  'A few more days,' Eloise said, wringing her hands. 'I assure you that I will find work, and I will pay you in full.'

  'You wasn't much cop last night, according to what I've heard. Run away like a scared cat and the old geezer hadn't even put his hand up your skirt, so Poll said.'

  Eloise cast an anxious glance at Joss, but he was more interested in nibbling a piece of carrot that Minnie had surreptitiously passed to him than in listening to their conversation. 'I couldn't do it,' Eloise said in a low voice. 'You're a woman; you must understand.'

  'Oh, I understand all right. But according to what I heard yesterday in the pub, you wasn't so fussy when it come to a certain gent what lives in Clerkenwell Green.'

  Eloise caught her breath. 'Wh-what did you say?'

  'Don't look so innocent, lady. My friend Mrs Jarvis is a nurse, and we was enjoying a couple of drinks in the pub last night when she happened to tell me about a young woman who was took on to care for an old gent by the name of Hubble. I know all about you, missis. And I know that there's a private detective looking for you, and possibly a reward for them as turns you in.'

  Eloise felt her knees give way beneath her and she sat down heavily on the bench at the table. 'It's not me. It's someone else.'

  'Don't give me that, ducks. I ain't stupid and I see all sorts coming through my front door. I knowed there was something odd about you the moment I set eyes on you, and I was right.'

  'You don't understand . . .'

  'I understand that I'll be out of pocket if I let you stay any longer. You can't pay so you have to go, but I'm a fair woman, and I won't send Minnie round to Clerkenwell Green with a message for Mr Hubble until she's finished peeling the taters. If you leave now you'll have a head start over the detective chap, but you've left me out of pocket and I'm out to get that reward so you'd better run fast, Mrs Cribb.'

  With a sinking heart, Eloise met Mother Hilton's steely gaze, and she knew that this was no idle threat. It was an appalling coincidence that the old harridan knew Nurse Jarvis, but Eloise had always known that Pike was not the sort of man to give up on the case. She also knew that, whether or not Mother Hilton chose to disclose their whereabouts, it was just a matter of time before he discovered them for himself. Eloise rose shakily to her feet. 'Just give me time to collect my things and we'll go.'

  Mother Hilton chuckled deep in her throat. 'A head start – that's fair. Run, you little hare – the hounds will soon be after you.'

  Eloise had never moved so quickly in her whole life. She threw their few belongings into her valise and she put Beth, who seemed to have recovered a little, in the old perambulator with Joss, and they were out of the house in less than ten minutes. She had no plan and no idea where to go, so she headed northwards to the more familiar streets of Bloomsbury. The children were hungry and so was she, and Eloise stopped to count out the pennies in her purse. With just five pence left in the whole world, she spent three precious pennies on bread, butter and milk, most of which she fed to the children. It had begun to rain, soft steady drizzle that would soak them to the skin within a short space of time, and she headed for the British Museum as the only place she could think of where they could enter free and gain shelter.

  She walked the great halls for the rest of the day, showing a largely uninterested Joss the Elgin marbles, the Rosetta stone and the wonders of the Assyrian galleries. Finally, at dusk, when the museum closed, Eloise was forced to leave, not knowing where to go or how they would survive the night without shelter. She stood on the steps of the museum as the door closed behind them. The rain had stopped but the streets were wet and carriage wheels sent up great sprays of water from deep puddles in the road. With two tired, hungry and increasingly fractious children, Eloise was at her wits' end. She had just tuppence in her purse and it would soon be dark. She started walking blindly, and when she came to the gardens in Russell Square she sat down on a bench under a large tree that was just beginning to shed its leaves. The lamplighter was on his rounds, and one by one the gas lamps fizzed and popped with their flickering flames trapped inside glass globes like agitated fireflies. Through the windows of the elegant houses Eloise witnessed scenes of domesticity and opulence that made her present homeless state even harder to bear. She could see maidservants bustling around inside the luxuriously appointed rooms, turning down beds and drawing curtains. She caught the occasional glimpse of the inhabitants and their guests, dressed for dinner and socialising with a drink before going in to dine. It was a different world and one which was as far away from her as the stars. Eloise cuddled her children, rocking them in her arms and murmuring words of comfort which she knew were just words – empty and baseless. How could she tell them that everything would be all right when she could not give them food and shelter for the night? She was lying to her own children, and she had brought them to this state. She was their mother and their lives depended upon her. She had let them down horribly, and she simply did not know what to do next.

  Eventually, worn out by hunger and tiredness, Joss and Beth fell into a fitful sleep and Eloise laid them side by side in the perambulator. She was about to stretch out on the bench when a constable on his beat came towards her with a measured tread and a stern look on his face. He told her that she must move on, and advised her to go home to her husband, as if she was an erring wife. There was no point in arguing and Eloise left the shelter of the square, trudging on and barely able to put one foot in front of the other, until she found herself once again in Guildford Street, outside the Foundling Hospital. It was comfortingly familiar and she pushed the perambulator into the deserted gardens, where she slumped down on a bed of fallen leaves beneath the tree under which she had last sat with Annie. It was not so long ago, but it seemed like another lifetime. She slept fitfully, waking at the slightest noise, the snap of a twig or the fall of a leaf. She could hear the sound of horse-drawn traffic in Guildford Street, and the lights in the Foundling Hospital windows went out one by one until the whole place was shrouded in darkness.

  In the early hours of the morning it began to rain again, and water dripped through the branches onto her head and face. Soon her skirts were clinging damply to her legs and she was stiff with cold. Eloise peeped beneath the hood of the perambulator and saw to her dismay that the rain had penetrated through cracks in the canvas. Beth's cheeks were flushed and she felt hot to the touch. Joss also seemed to be running a fever and Eloise's blood ran cold. She glanced up at the forbidding walls of the institution with a sinking heart. The very lives of her children were in danger. Without dry clothing, warm beds and adequate nourishment, they would almost certainly die. At this moment, she would gladly have sold her body to any man who was willing to
pay for her services, but it was too late for that now.

  Eloise rose unsteadily to her feet, barely able to move her cramped limbs. She walked the pathways between the flower beds where the last roses of summer were bowing their heads under the weight of last night's heavy rainfall. The rusty wheels of the perambulator squealed in protest and the gravel crunched beneath her feet. It was only a matter of time before Pike found them and snatched Joss from her arms. It would almost be better to allow the Cribbs to have him than to allow him to die of want on the streets of London. They would take Beth, too, even though they did not really want her. Was that the life she wanted for her children? When it came down to it, Eloise was forced to face the fact that they were now destitute.

  She walked in circles, pushing the perambulator before her as she wrestled with her maternal desire to keep her babies with her at all costs, and the small but insistent voice of common sense that told her that there was only one course of action open to her in this dire emergency. There was just one place where she could safely leave them in the certain knowledge that they would be taken in and cared for. She must let them go in order to save their young lives. What happened to her was immaterial. Her fingers were cramped with cold and trembling as she took their tiny garments from her valise and Eloise buried her face in their folds, drawing strength for what she was about to do from the knowledge that they would soon be safe.

  It was still dark, but the first signs of dawn were appearing in the east. Moving like an automaton, she pushed the perambulator towards the hospital entrance. She bent down to drop a tender kiss on Beth's hot cheek and another on Joss's forehead. With tears streaming from her eyes, Eloise lifted her hand and tugged at the doorbell. Its strident peal echoed through the whole building. She waited until she heard the tip-tap of leather-soled boots on a tiled floor, and then she backed away, struggling to control the sobs that racked her body. Hiding behind one of the pillars outside the gatehouse, Eloise waited for the great, iron-studded door to open.