London Lodgings

by Claire Rayner

  It was still difficult to be quite comfortable with the changes in her house. Most of the rooms were the same size, of course, except for the dining-room on the ground floor, which had been provided with a great arch that connected it to the dining-room next door. This had created a most impressive chamber, and she stopped now and looked in, and bit her lip at the sight of it. It really was very splendid, almost too splendid, and she felt quite strange as she gazed at the great table, which would comfortably accommodate twenty diners at a time; the vast sideboard with its handsome mirrored back and the shelves so carefully laden with pieces of highly polished silver and sparkling crystal decanters, and the rows of chairs at the table to match those set against the walls. The rest of the room had the same effect; there were palms in pots between the two great windows, and heavily swagged and draped curtains made of the best red plush Jem Leland’s shop had been able to supply which framed them sumptuously so that the whole room breathed luxury at her. She was very proud of it, but oddly uncomfortable as well. It did not feel at all like home and she went on down to the kitchen, needing some sort of corrective to her state of mind.

  Eliza was busy at the stove, with Lucy beside her, as they pored over a large pot and Eliza raised a flushed face and said in a satisfied voice, ‘This is the best leg of mutton we’ve had from Mr Spurgeon this twelve month, and braising up a treat – it’s as tender as can be! And we’ve a lovely pair of roast fowl for a second course and lovely veal collops – they’ll be well found, I’ll be bound and more than satisfied. Come and look, Mum, and you’ll see –’

  ‘I’m sure it is excellent, Eliza,’ Tilly said absently. ‘And the burned creams too?’

  ‘Ready this past three hours, Mum, and cooling nicely in the larder. I got some ice for them from the fish man. And the apple pies, they’re baking now.’ She bent and opened the door of one of her ovens gingerly and peered in and a scent of hot apples and cloves drifted into the room. ‘Yes, that’ll do very nicely. Now, as to the breakfast ham – I’ve sent it back and told Mr Spurgeon it ain’t good enough, too fat by far. I’ll take a plate of cold veal collops to table tomorrow instead, Mum, but we’ll have an excellent ham by Friday and no one’ll be hard done by at all.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and jerked her head at Lucy. ‘Be on your way now, you and Kate, and see to it the extra bedrooms next door is all ready. They’ll be arriving any time now, will they not, Mum?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tilly sat at the table. ‘Any time now. I hope they are not late. The dinner will be spoiled if they are.’

  ‘Not it, Mum,’ Eliza said comfortably and set to making a pot of tea though Tilly had not asked for it. I chose to do a braised leg of mutton, like I told you, on account it can’t be spoiled with waiting and the same is so for the fowls. They’ll sit nice as you like keeping hot and not drying out if you set a good gravy to them. As to the vegetables, well, a little extra stewing of potatoes never did them no harm. There Mum, there’s your tea, now.’

  ‘Eliza, is Duff – does he ever speak to you of how he regards all this?’ She waved a comprehensive hand. ‘I’ve been so busy since the alterations began I’ve had little time to speak to him and even when I have he won’t – well, he seems not to wish to talk too much.’

  Eliza was silent for a moment and then said candidly, ‘Well.he’s angry with you, Mum, and there’s the truth of it. I’ve told him it’s wicked in a boy of barely seven to be angry with his good Mamma and he says as he ain’t, but he is, Mum, you take it from me. It’s her, do you see. They was good friends and he misses her.’

  ‘I know he does, I knew he would, but what else could I do?’ Tilly looked up at Eliza almost piteously and she patted her shoulder awkwardly.

  ‘Not a thing, Mum. I’ve told you over and over. You was right to do it and it’d have been a sight worse for all of us if you hadn’t got rid of her.’ She shook her head reminiscently. ‘Funny, ain’t it? Mr Freddy getting rid of her Ma the way he did and then you getting rid of her herself. I never did know the ins and outs of all that.’ And she looked sideways at Tilly a little hopefully.

  Tilly shook her head. ‘And you never will, Eliza, so you may stop your prying. Enough that she went when she did and we are left free of her. I only wish we had been able to keep Sophie here. The child would have been better with us, I suspect, than with such a mother –’ she stopped then and added doubtfully ‘– I think.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Eliza said stoutly. ‘She was a sly boots if ever there was one. But don’t you fret, Mum. Master Duff’ll get over her going when he moves on to his proper school, like the Misses K and F said. He’s a clever boy and learned his letters and his books that fast they was amazed. He’ll be away to his big school and meet other boys and it’ll all be different then.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Tilly said and drank her tea in silence. And then as she realized her mind was dwelling again on the long departed Dorcas, she shook her head and straightened her back.

  ‘Now, Eliza, let me be clear. We will be eleven tonight for dinner, will we not? There’s the new gentleman from the hospital here.’

  ‘Yes. And Mr and Mrs Grayling what’s arriving this afternoon at about six, they said. With the rest –’ and she began to count on her fingers: ‘The Misses K and F and Miss Cynthia and you – that’s four. And never did I think to see the day as those three would sit to table with gentlemen, but there you go! People do change their minds, and no error. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, and Mr and Mrs Grayling and Doctor Charnock, that’s seven, and Miss Barton and Miss Duke, that’s nine and who else is it? Oh yes, Mr Cotton and Mr Gee, that’s eleven. After tomorrow of course, it’ll be even more –’ And she took a deep breath. ‘It’ll be hard work, Mum, but don’t it do your heart good to see how well we’re getting on? Why, I said to Charlie Harrod only today when he came himself with the order, on account of it was such a big one. “Charlie,” I said. “We’ll be your best customer yet,” and he said, “Eliza, my girl, you’re our best customer already. If it’s for Quentin’s, I tell my shop-boys that it’s got to be the best of the best.” “And so it ought to be,” I told him, “Or I’ll know the reason why.” Now, Mum, you go and rest a bit. There’s no more you can do now the builders is all done at last. That painter, he’s just touching up and they’ll be gone in half an hour. You go and rest and don’t you fret more about Master Duff. I’ll see to his supper and cozen him out of his megrims in a trice. He’ll get over that Sophie – he’s only a child and they forget soon enough.’

  ‘It’s been six months already, Eliza,’ Tilly said. ‘And he hasn’t forgotten yet.’ But she got to her feet obediently. ‘Six months since they went.’

  ‘And good riddance,’ Eliza said. ‘And so Master Duff’ll learn all in good time. Now, just you –’

  ‘I’m going. I’m going,’ Tilly laughed. ‘You must not bully me so, Eliza! You may be housekeeper now as well as cook, but you really cannot bully me so!’

  ‘Someone’s got to, Mum, when you’re set on working too hard,’ Eliza said and shook her head irritably as the bell to the back door jangled. ‘Now, who can that be at this time of the day? All the orders in and none to come till tomorrow when the fish man’s due – oh, all right, all right. I’m coming!’ For the bell jangled again.

  Quite why Tilly lingered, she didn’t know. The comings and goings at the back door were very much Eliza’s affair and not hers and she knew better than to meddle. But for some reason she was interested now, and she stood and watched as Eliza opened the door. She couldn’t see the man outside on the doorstep but she could hear his voice.

  ‘Is this Quentin’s, Miss? Yes? I bin told the lady what lives ’ere was ‘askin’ after some items she was interested in. And I think I might just ’ave what it is she’s after.’

  ‘There’s no one here to buy any nonsense from pedlars!’ Eliza snapped. ‘We don’t want any trumpery jewellery here – be off with you.’

  Tilly frowned and moved back into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, I don’t
mean the stuff you can see ’ere, Miss! No, none of that. This is somethin’ special. I just thought as ’ow if I could talk to the lady she might be interested.’

  ‘Well, she isn’t,’ Eliza said and began to push the door to, but Tilly was too quick for her. She came to stand at the door and look at the man on the step.

  He was thin and far from young, bent of back and wearing a suit of so rusty a black that it seemed to glow in the late afternoon light. His hat was battered, worn well to the back of his head and his face could have been much improved by soap and water. He was carrying a tray before him on which glittering glass beads and brassy chains and crumpled ribbons had been set out in a would-be tempting array and Tilly looked at the tray and then at the man.

  ‘What is it you want to show me?’ she asked bluntly. ‘And who sent you?’

  ‘As to what I have to show you, if you’re the lady of the house, Mum?’ and Tilly nodded impatiently. ‘Well, as to who told me you might be interested, it was a colleague in the same line of business, you might say. Only a bit more suited as to accommodation than what I am. And what I got to show you is this.’

  He reached into a pocket inside his battered old coat and pulled out his hand with the fist firmly closed, and he held it out towards Tilly with his head on one side and an ingratiating grin on his face.

  ‘Now, lady, shall I show you, or shall I not? That is the question. Are you in the market for such a posy of pretties?’

  ‘I can hardly say until I’ve seen what it is you have to offer,’ Tilly said tartly and Eliza pulled on her elbow.

  ‘Come away, Mum, and let me shut the door in his face. Nasty street pedlar like what he is, he won’t have nothing that’d be of any good to a lady like you! Look at that stuff – crumpled ribbons I wouldn’t let even Lucy set her fingers on!’

  ‘But these ain’t ribbons, Mum,’ the man said and at last opened his fist and Tilly stared down at the grubby palm and caught her breath.

  There, glinting in the afternoon light, were the gleaming jewel colours, the fine ribbing, the soft gentle shapeliness of her mother’s spoons. And she put out her hand and took them and held them close and started to laugh, and then to weep. Eliza shook her head in great distress and led her inside. She reached into her pocket to give the man money and push him away from the door after some noisy bargaining, then came back to crouch beside Tilly at the table where she was now sitting with the spoons spread in front of her and tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ said Eliza. ‘I don’t know why you’re takin’ on so, but I wish you’d stop! Why should these silly spoons upset you so? Everything’s so good now, compared to what it was! You’ve got your lovely big house, well filled with tenants and safe as you like and me to look after you and there you sit, crying over a few spoons! There’s no need, Mum, truly there ain’t.’

  ‘Oh, Eliza,’ Tilly said and lifted her wet face to her, her eyes wide and shining. ‘Oh, Eliza, I know! I’ve never been so happy in all my life as I am at this moment. Because now I know it is all going to be all right. For Duff and for you and for me and for – oh, Eliza! Isn’t everything quite splendid? Quite perfectly splendid?’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Eliza said, as mystified as ever, but more than happy to agree. ‘Perfectly splendid. Now will you go and get yourself rested and changed for your dinner? Because Quentin’s won’t run itself, you know, and I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tilly. ‘Yes, Eliza. You’re quite right.’ And she picked up her spoons and went away upstairs.

  She stood in the doorway of her magnificent new dining-room, watching them; the Misses K and F positively flirting with Doctor Charnock from St George’s Hospital, as Cynthia Barnetsen watched with a sulky expression on her face; Mr and Mrs Grayling clearly enchanted with Mr Cotton, a tall and exceedingly cheerful man who dealt in the City in what he called loftily, ‘commodities’ and who shared with Mr Grayling a passion for the game of backgammon, which they were discussing in a very sprightly manner; Mr Gee who, despite his shyness, which Tilly had found very endearing in him when he had first enquired after a room for himself, ingratiating himself most successfully with Miss Barton and Miss Duke; and felt a great wave of affection for them all. They were the bedrock of her fortunes, she told herself, her own dear guests who offered her beloved Duff the future he was entitled to have. All her problems, all her worries, all her efforts, had been worthwhile. She had an establishment to be proud of, at last, and only peace and prosperity to come. It was a superb feeling and she revelled in it.

  Eliza appeared at her shoulder. ‘Now, Mum, get to your place, do, so’s I can send Lucy in with the stewed asparagus. I got them all done up fancy, I have, a real piece of resistance like what it says in the Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine. You’ll be real proud, you see if you aren’t! But I can’t bring ’em till you’re in your place, now, can I? It ain’t Quentin’s unless Mrs Quentin’s set in her place at table.’

  ‘I suppose not, Eliza.’ Tilly turned to smile at her. ‘And it must be Quentin’s, after all!’

  ‘Course it must,’ said Eliza, and lifted her chin at Lucy, who scuttled off to do as she was bid. ‘So take your place, Mum, do.’

  And Tilly did.