‘Oh, that don’t matter none, Mum,’ Eliza cried. ‘Why, I –’
‘Hear me out,’ Tilly said. ‘And think before you speak. It is a serious matter. Now, this is my plan. You may recall your friend Charlie Harrod suggested he come here as a lodger –’
Eliza looked embarrassed and excited all at the same time. ‘That limb o’ Satan!’ she said virtuously. ‘Suggesting such things!’
‘It was an excellent idea. And I shall follow it,’ Tilly said firmly. ‘But not with him.’
Eliza stared, puzzled. ‘Not with – oh!’ And her disappointment was clear to see.
‘It would not be wise, I think, to allow a young man who clearly holds you in some regard to live under the same roof,’ Tilly said. ‘He is a young man rather than a boy, and at sixteen, which age he is I believe, not entirely to be trusted.’ She looked severe, or as severe as she could, considering she was speaking of a person only a year or so her junior. ‘I fear he might seek to – shall I say, take advantage of you.’
‘He’d not get far,’ Eliza said stoutly.
‘Would he not, Eliza?’ Tilly said gently. ‘You know you like the lad.’
Eliza was still for a moment and then went pink. ‘I suppose I do,’ she said and frowned. ‘That’s the way my Ma talks, sometimes. It makes me feel all – I don’t know. Uncomfortable.’
‘Well I dare say,’ Tilly said. ‘But sometimes such talk has to be endured. Now, as I was saying, he put the notion of lodgers into my head and it is that which will be our answer. But they cannot be male lodgers. Oh, no. That would never do.’
Eliza looked doubtful. ‘Do ladies lodge, Mum? I mean, I know young men does. In the village the blacksmith’s apprentice, he lodges, and the man what works at the inn, in the taproom, when there’s no space for him in the tavern itself he lodges with my Ma’s friend, Mrs Gentle, but I never knew no ladies. Do ladies go into lodgings here in London?’
‘Some of them must,’ Tilly said. ‘Surely? I have been thinking all the way home – what about ladies who are milliners or dressmakers or apprenticed to similar trades?’
‘They live in their workshops,’ Eliza said. ‘There’s some down in Middle Queen’s Buildings. I knows about them from Mr Jobbins. That’s different, Mum. This is a gentleman’s house, here in Brompton Grove. You can’t have milliner’s apprentices here.’
‘My father may have been a gentleman, and I may be a lady,’ Tilly said with some grimness, ‘but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to pay our way like anyone else. There have to be some ladies somewhere who need lodgings. Find them I shall. However, it will mean more work for you, especially once I’m –’ And she put her hand to her belly.
‘Once the baby comes, Mum, you’ll be busy enough,’ Eliza said. ‘But that’s no trouble to me, Mum. So I makes breakfast for a few more and dinner too, and make a couple of extra beds and clean the rooms – it won’t be that hard.’ She hesitated. ‘And then I suppose I might get some wages. Not that it matters, you understand, but –’
‘I knew the moment would come,’ Tilly leaned over and patted Eliza’s shoulder. ‘Have you seen a gown you like?’
‘I saw some stuff, Mum. A lovely bit of taffeta, all shot like in blue and green and it’d make a lovely afternoon gown for when I walk out.’ She reddened again. ‘I mean, young men mightn’t come here to lodge but they might want to walk out with me, mightn’t they, Mum?’
‘Indeed they might,’ Tilly said. ‘Yes, there would of course be wages for you. More work means wages for us all.’
Eliza nodded. ‘Then that’s settled.’ She looked over her shoulder to where the sun was slanting, in its last efforts of the day, to light the small sitting room that had been Mrs Leander’s. ‘I dare say you’ll want them to have a sitting room, Mum?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Tilly was feeling sleepy suddenly. It had been a long hard day.
‘I was thinking – they could have a sitting room. How many lodgers? If you does up the top rooms then you could have three. But if you do two of them and let them have a sitting room as well, you could get more pay for them, couldn’t you? And you could do up the attic rooms, make ’em not so servantlike but more for gentry, and maybe let them too, I don’t mind coming down here, to this room.’ She jerked her head towards Mrs Leander’s room. ‘It would make a nice enough bedroom for me, and it’d be handy, like.’
Tilly roused herself. ‘You’re right. Of course that would be an excellent idea. I will see to it that we rearrange the furniture.’
‘Not you, Mum,’ Eliza said. ‘I’ll get Char – young Mr Harrod to give me a hand.’ She got to her feet. ‘The fact that you won’t have him as a lodger don’t mean I can’t speak to him.’
Tilly, sighed. ‘Be sensible then, Eliza.’
‘As if I’d be anything else!’ Eliza said. ‘I’ve got more respect for you and myself, Mum, than to be otherwise!’
It was amazingly easy, once they put their minds to it, to rearrange the house. Charlie Harrod came cheerfully enough to help, announcing that since Tilly had refused him he had found a very nice house to lodge in a bit nearer the shop, which was better than being at Brompton Grove (a dig that did not escape Tilly’s awareness, but to which she prudently said nothing). He buckled to generously with the shifting of beds and tables and small sofas, while Eliza worked herself to a shadow, though clearly enjoying every minute of the preparations. She made the two spare servants’ rooms on the top floor as charming as she could, as well as the attic rooms. The third room on the third floor made a tolerable sitting room and when it was all finished, Tilly surveyed their handiwork with pride.
‘All I have to do now,’ she said, ‘is find the tenants.’
It took her less time than she had feared. She started by putting a discreet notice on the doors of all the dressmaking and millinery establishments in the area, as far as Knightsbridge and well down into Kensington. However, that drew only one disagreeable female applicant to whom Tilly took such an instant dislike because she was so inquisitive and asked such personal questions in a high squeaking voice, that she told her on an impulse that the rooms were promised.
After that, afraid that all dressmakers and milliners would be horrid, she sent her notice to the three or four dame schools in the area, and this time drew a successful covert.
The two ladies who came together to call upon her were as like each other as peas in a pod, so much so that Tilly thought them sisters.
‘No, Mrs Quentin,’ the older one said. ‘We are not sisters except in our aspirations. We are close friends who are interested in education.’ She made the word sound like the blast of a trumpet and looked sternly at Tilly, who shrank back a little in her chair.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Education.’
‘It is our wish,’ said the younger lady, who seemed as stern as her friend, ‘to start a school for older girls. We already teach small boys, of course, and prepare them for their first days in the harsh reality of a boys’ school –’ she almost shuddered as she said it, ‘– but our interests lie elsewhere.’
The other leaned forwards and said earnestly, ‘We wish to teach girls, for as a general rule their education is sorely neglected. Mrs Quentin, did you go to school?’
‘Er – no,’ Tilly said, wondering if she should be ashamed and then straightening her back again, for once more she had shrunk back from the impact of these strong ladies. ‘But none of my friends did either. We had lessons together, with a governess, as I recall.’
‘Precisely,’ said the older woman triumphantly. ‘It is always so for girls. Well, we wish to teach girls in school to fit them for university.’
Tilly stared, amazed. ‘Girls at university? Are you sure – I mean –’
‘Oh, everyone is surprised,’ the other said severely, clearly pleased with her reaction. ‘But that is how it is to be. We shall start a school for females, a school of the highest academic standard. Meanwhile, we run our dame school and excellent it is.’ She frowned with some fer
ocity as though Tilly had said something slighting about it, and she nodded quickly in response.
‘I’m sure it is,’ she said. ‘And that is why –’
‘Indeed yes. That is why we are seeking accommodation for ourselves. The school has only just started but we are doing very well. We have fully twelve small pupils and hope to double that soon. There are many young families in this district.’ She looked quickly at Tilly and said, ‘Ladies like yourself who will soon be interested in schools for small children.’
Tilly went pink. She had not thought herself obvious in her crinoline, though of course she had to wear her stays very loose these days.
‘Perhaps you would like to see the accommodation,’ she said hastily and got to her feet. ‘We are able to offer you two bedrooms with service, and a sitting room. Breakfast will be served there and you are free of course to use it in total privacy.’
‘It was that aspect of your notice we most liked,’ the younger woman said approvingly. ‘Privacy matters greatly to us. We would dine here as well?’
‘Oh,’ Tilly caught her breath. ‘I am not sure that will be –’
‘I would prefer we did not,’ the older woman said firmly. ‘We must devote our evenings to hard work, Sophia. Formal dining is not the way to be sure that we will do all the school work that is necessary. I prefer that we eat a good breakfast and share luncheon at school with the children. Then in the evenings we shall manage perfectly well on a little soup and perhaps some toast which we can contrive for ourselves in the school kitchens. Your charges, of course, will reflect the fact that we do not dine.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Tilly said and led the way to the upper floor, quite nervously, for they seemed such a strong-willed pair.
But they clearly liked the rooms and agreed to her rates at once with no argument. ‘I particularly liked the quietness of your house,’ said the older woman who had by now introduced herself as Miss Priscilla Knapp. ‘It will ensure that we are able to rest when we need to. No good work is done without adequate rest.’
Tilly caught her breath and said carefully, ‘Of course, I do understand that. But you may recollect that you noticed yourself that there will be an infant here in due course.’
The younger lady, Miss Sophia Fleetwood, looked a little scornful at that. ‘We are not concerned with the sound that children make, Mrs Quentin! We are accustomed to the bawling of the young, and hardly hear it when it happens. No, it is the noise of men when they sit at table and drink too much that we find objectionable. It fills the house with din. As does the smell of their cigars which creeps everywhere. The lack of men in this house is something we find most agreeable.’
‘Yes indeed,’ said Miss Knapp, and the two of them went away leaving Tilly a little startled, and somewhat uncertain as to whether these two formidable ladies would be agreeable to have in her home. But she told herself, I am now assured of a steady income of three pounds every week. There should be more than enough to feed them all and to give the Misses Knapp and Fleetwood excellent breakfasts; it would be sufficient for Eliza’s wages and even something to put aside against a bad time. Altogether, Tilly had found peace of mind at last.
And she revelled in it, spending the next four months in a comfortable domesticity, helping Eliza to improve her cooking skills – which she did very successfully, with only a few disasters – and feeling her baby grow within her. The ladies upstairs proved to be almost invisible, rising early, leaving immediately after eating their large breakfasts (‘Appetites like my Ma’s billy-goats they’ve got,’ Eliza said admiringly. ‘Eat anything they will, and come back for more’), and returning late. The memory of the early part of the year slid away into the past, and Tilly was happy. Totally and completely happy.
Until the evening, late in November, when the pains began.
Chapter Twenty-one
IT HAD BEEN a busy but pleasant day. Eliza had set her heart on making Christmas puddings, and although Tilly had small appetite for any sort of year’s end celebration, she allowed that a small Christmas dinner shared by the two of them might be agreeable, with perhaps an invitation extended to the Misses Knapp and Fleetwood. She ended the day rather more tired than she had expected to be (for helping Eliza in the kitchen was often hard work) but happy enough.
She went, as usual, to her Mamma’s room after dinner to see how she was, even though of course Henrietta was quite unaware of her. Tilly sat beside her for ten minutes or so, looking at the sagging old face and listening to her heavy breathing as she settled into the night, before going wearily to her own room to go to bed. Her back had been aching all day and she rubbed it as she stepped out of her wrapper – for she had long since given up wearing a day gown – and stretched herself on her bed. She would undress properly later, she told herself drowsily. To lie here in her chemise and drawers was no great crime, after all.
She woke suddenly, aware of the dragging pain inside her, deep in her belly, and stared up at the darkness overhead. She was a little befuddled for she had been dreaming, and a confused mélange of images still slid around inside her head. Alice, shouting at her and kicking her with sharp little shoes, and Freddy trying to stop her and Alice kicking even harder whenever he said anything, hitting Tilly’s middle over and over again, until at last Freddy had picked her up and hurled her into the air, like a great kite. In her dream Tilly had stood and watched Alice slowly turning and turning in the sky, silhouetted against a big moon; and as she fell towards earth again, trying to shriek at Freddy to catch her while he only smiled back at her.
Why should I dream of Freddy and Alice? she wondered as she rolled over on to her side before sitting up. It was the only way she could get upright now that her belly was so huge, and she sat there for a moment on the edge of the bed, catching her breath and with both hands resting high on the bump, feeling the hardness beneath her fingers. Freddy and Alice; they had not spoken to each other these past four months. Tilly had seen Freddy go by number seventeen, on his way into town she assumed, but there had been no sign of Alice; and she had come to the conclusion that Alice was deliberately avoiding her. Well, that was probably the best answer to their situation, she thought sadly; the close neighbours who might have been friends were completely out of her life now. Yet she had dreamed about them, and she shook her head to rid it of the last rags of unease that the dream had left there. Then she caught her breath, for the pain had returned, a deep creaking sort of pain and she thought for a moment that she was asleep again and Alice was kicking her. But it was real, very real, and she lifted her head in exultation. It had started. Her baby was about to be born, and she sat still as the pain heightened, then eased, and went away.
Well, she thought – that wasn’t so bad! She remembered Dorcas’s vivid and terrifying descriptions of what it was like to have a baby and shook her head at her own foolishness in believing her all that time ago and then thought – that’s someone else I haven’t thought about for a long time: Dorcas. I wonder whether she married her soldier? She must have had her baby by now. Perhaps she’s regretting the lies she told me?
But it was impossible to imagine Dorcas regretting anything, and she laughed softly under her breath at her own absurdity and slid off the bed to make her way to her fireplace, there to kneel down – for she could not bend – and stir the embers and feed them with a little coal. She was wide awake now, and it was a cold night; she would need the room warm for the baby when he was born. He? She? How exciting it all was, she thought, and then sat back on her heels as another of the pains struck her.
It seemed a little deeper this time, more creaking than the one before and she thought – I wonder how long this must go on before the baby is ready to come out of me? But she didn’t want to think about something that seemed so indelicate, and climbed awkwardly to her feet and took off the rest of her underwear and pulled on her nightdress.
The odd thing was that she felt so comfortable. She had thought often about this moment and how it would be, and had exp
ected herself to be anxious, calling for Eliza to come and help her. It had been agreed with a Mrs Elphinstone, who lived on the other side of Brompton Grove and who acted as a midwife and monthly nurse for the ladies of the area, that she would take care of young Mrs Quentin when her time came, and that Eliza would fetch her when she was needed.
Standing now on her hearthrug before her bedroom fire Tilly thought dreamily – I should send Eliza now. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to be alone, just herself and her baby in this special quiet time, before they were parted and then reunited when she took her infant into her arms, and she smiled at the strangeness of that notion. There was no hurry to send for Mrs Elphinstone. Surely Dorcas had told her long ago – and Eliza had confirmed it – that several hours of the pains had to go by before the baby could actually be born? Tilly had only the haziest notion of why that should be, but imagined she had to stretch somewhat to make it possible for the baby to emerge; and moving gingerly and aware of the improper nature of what she was doing, she touched herself where the baby would emerge to see how stretched she was. As far as she could tell nothing there had changed at all, and she relaxed. Clearly she had a long time to wait yet.
She pulled her armchair closer to the fire, which was beginning to burn up now, and then added more coal to the flames. She was about to sit down but became anxious about the state of her room. She would be mortified if Mrs Elphinstone should find it untidy, and she set to work to tidy her bed and rearrange her dressing-table.
It was odd. She felt so alive and so active, yet every little while she had to stand quite still and wait for the pain to flood its way through her body. She would stop whatever she was doing and put her hands on to her belly again, finding the hardening of it very peculiar, and concentrate her mind on the part of her body she imagined was stretching. But it didn’t seem to be stretching at all when she checked, and that puzzled her.
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