Ragged Rose

by Dilly Court

  The home for fallen women was situated on the corner of Old Street and City Road, directly oppos-ite St Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics and the City of London Lying-In Hospital. The sour smell from the vinegar works behind St Mark’s church hung in a damp cloud, grazing the rooftops as it mingled with the fumes from the gas works in Pear Tree Street, and the odours belched out by the manufactories alongside the City Road Basin. Shrieks from the inmates of the asylum were indistinguishable from the screams of the women in labour in the building next door, and, in stark comparison, laughter and voices raised in drunken singing emanated from a nearby pub.

  The door of the home opened just a crack in response to Rose’s rapping on the knocker.

  ‘Who is it?’ The young voice sounded wary.

  ‘It’s Rose and Cora,’ Rose said urgently. ‘Let us in, please, Sukey.’

  ‘You can’t be too careful,’ Sukey muttered as she let them into the dark hallway. ‘There’s one of them loonies escaped earlier today. We’ll all have our throats slit while we sleep in our beds.’ She closed the door and picked up an oil lamp.

  Cora patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure that the poor person will be far away from here by now.’

  ‘I imagine that the first thing people think about when they escape is to make their way home,’ Rose said in her most matter-of-fact voice. ‘So you need not be afraid.’

  Sukey slanted her a sideways look. ‘Yes, miss. I expects you’re right.’ She drew herself up to her full height, although her twisted spine gave her the look of a young sapling stunted in its growth. ‘Shall I tell Miss Polly that you’re here? Only she’s up in the dormitory sorting out a fight.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Cora said hastily. ‘We’ll go to the parlour.’

  ‘We can’t stay long,’ Rose added. ‘We’re late as it is.’

  ‘Your duds are laid out for you. I done it meself, so I know it’s done proper. You can’t trust the ser-vants to keep their traps shut or do things right.’

  Rose kept a straight face with difficulty. ‘We appreciate everything you do for us, Sukey. If you’d be kind enough to tell Miss Polly that we’re here when she’s free, that would be splendid.’

  Sukey puffed out her concave chest. ‘You can trust me, Miss Rose.’ She scuttled off with her lop-sided gait.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Cora sighed. ‘She’d be pretty if she didn’t have such a terrible disability.’

  Rose headed for the parlour. ‘She copes very well, and she’s lucky that she’s got a good home here with Polly. She might have ended up in a circus or a freak show, poor soul.’ She paused to glance at the steep flight of stairs, listening to the shouts and streams of invective that flowed with such fluency. ‘I wonder if we ought to go upstairs and help.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Cora hurried on ahead of her. ‘I think Aunt Polly can handle the situation.’ She opened the parlour door and went inside.

  The warmth from the coal fire enveloped Rose like a comforting blanket as she followed her sister into Polly’s inner sanctum, where nothing ever changed. Polly’s theatrical past was evoked by the play bills that covered the walls, and framed photographs of her in her heyday hung from the picture rail. Mementoes of her brief reign as queen of the London stage covered the entire surface of a large mahogany chiffonier, and sheet music of her most popular songs lay on the piano stool. One of her stage costumes was draped over a tailor’s dummy, standing proud between the two windows. It was faded, and moths had been feasting on the material, but Polly refused to pack it away. She clung to her memories, insisting that one day a theatre manager would come calling, and her star would shine again.

  It was not an elegant room, but Rose had always felt more at home here than in the neat parlour at the vicarage, where the atmosphere was so often uncomfortable. It was Aunt Polly who had looked after the infant Rose and Cora when their mother was suffering from frequent bouts of illness. It was in this room that Polly had given the girls singing lessons and taught them dance routines, unbeknown to their strict father. It was to Aunt Polly they had come recently when news of their brother’s troubles reached them in a letter that Billy had sent from Bodmin Gaol. It was Polly who had given the girls the courage to go out and earn money to pay for his defence lawyer, and now Polly was helping them to keep their mission secret.

  Rose was overtaken by a sudden wave of nostalgia as she breathed in the lingering aroma of Aunt Polly’s perfume, laced with the fumes of gin and overtones of brandy. She looked round the room with a feeling of deep affection. It was true that the furniture had been purchased in sale rooms and was well worn, but Polly said that gave each item a mystique and a history that was sadly lacking in anything brand-new. Polly’s favourite piece was a chaise longue, which was draped with exotic shawls, although the only occupant at this moment was a fat tabby cat of uncertain nature. He had wandered in from the street one night and taken up residence, bringing with him his feral dislike of all humans with the exception of Polly, whom he tolerated.

  Cora was about to sit down when she spotted Spartacus, as Polly had named the animal, and she moved to a chair by the fire. The cat opened one eye, stretched and exposed his sharp claws, and then went back to sleep.

  Rose began to undress. ‘Don’t get comfortable, Cora. We’ve got to get home before Pa sends out a search party. I can’t face an angry scene this evening.’

  ‘I’m tired,’ Cora complained bitterly. ‘My feet are sore and I don’t think I can walk another step.’

  ‘We can’t afford a cab. You’ll have to make the effort.’ Rose slipped off her blouse, sniffed it and shook her head. ‘It reeks of tobacco smoke and stale beer,’ she said, sighing. ‘I wouldn’t bother to change, but Ma would be sure to notice and demand an explanation.’

  ‘Couldn’t we say that the women here smoke and drink?’ Cora asked, smothering a yawn. ‘Aunt Polly would back us up. I know she would.’

  ‘Ma might be taken in, but Pa would know we were telling fibs. He has an uncanny ability to sniff out a lie. Neither you nor I have ever been able to look him in the face and fib.’

  ‘That’s not quite true,’ Cora insisted. ‘They think we spend our spare time helping the fallen women. Both Ma and Pa would have a fit if they knew what we were really doing. Especially Pa.’

  ‘And they mustn’t be allowed to find out,’ Rose said firmly. She picked up a grey linsey-woolsey gown and tossed it to her sister. ‘Come on, Corrie. Be a good girl and get changed. You know we’re doing this for a good cause.’

  Cora raised herself to her feet and began undoing the buttons on her cotton blouse. ‘I know we’re doing it for Billy, but I wish he were here now.’ Her bottom lip trembled, but she sniffed and attempted a smile. ‘I miss him, Rosie. He’s the best brother a girl could have and I’ll never believe ill of him.’

  ‘Cora!’ Polly erupted into the room. ‘I’ve told you before not to mention William’s name in this house. You never know who might be listening.’

  ‘I – I’m sorry,’ Cora said, hanging her head. ‘But I do miss him and I want him to come home.’

  ‘That’s why we’re doing this.’ Rose slipped her gown over her head. ‘It will be worth it in the end, and who knows, we might become famous along the way.’ She turned to her aunt with a pleading look. ‘Don’t be cross with Cora, Aunt Polly. She’s tired and her feet hurt. We had to do two shows tonight.’

  Polly threw herself down on the chaise longue, pushing the cat out of the way, to his obvious annoyance. Spartacus hissed and took a half-hearted swipe at her before settling down again on one of the velvet cushions. ‘Wretched animal,’ Polly said crossly. ‘I ought to throw you out on the street where you belong.’ She glanced up at Rose, who was eyeing her with a wry smile. ‘He’s useful. He keeps the rodent population under control.’ She leaned against the buttoned back rest. ‘Pour me a glass of gin, Cora. I’ve just had a tussle with two women who would like to slit each other’s throats.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Rose said, mov
ing to the side table where Polly kept a selection of decanters. ‘You would think that they would support each other instead of falling out. They’ve all been abandoned by their husbands, and face the prospect of bringing up their children on their own. From what I’ve seen of the gentlemen who frequent the saloon, being married doesn’t stop a man having a roving eye.’

  ‘It’s true that most of my women have wedding rings.’ Polly stretched out her hand to take the drink from Rose. ‘But knowing those two upstairs, they’ve probably filched them from corpses.’

  ‘Why were they fighting?’ Cora asked.

  Polly swallowed a mouthful of neat gin. ‘They’ve only just realised that they’ve been taken in by the same man, and he’s turned his back on both of them. They were at each other’s throats. I think they would have killed each other had they had a weapon other than a hairpin and a teaspoon. I must tell Ethel to lock away the kitchen knives tonight.’

  Rose picked up the much-darned woollen shawl that she had worn when she left home earlier that evening and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Hurry up, Corrie. The sooner we set out the sooner you’ll be tucked up in your bed at home.’

  ‘I wish there was some other way for you girls to raise money,’ Polly said, frowning. ‘Heaven knows what your father would say if he knew about all this, and Eleanor would never let me hear the last of it. She was always the bossy older sister … in the old days, anyway.’

  ‘I’m sure she will understand when Billy tells her the whole story.’ Cora picked up her bonnet and rammed it on her head.

  Polly’s rouged lips curved in a wry smile. ‘I don’t know about that, Cora. Eleanor thinks the sun rises and sets in her first-born, and your father is convinced that William is following in his footsteps. How could you tell a man of the cloth that his precious son is in gaol, awaiting trial for killing his best friend? Especially when we’ve all kept up the fiction that Billy is a guest of the Tressidick family in Cornwall.’

  ‘They must never know,’ Rose said firmly. ‘We won’t allow their hearts to be broken. Come on, Cora Perkins. It’s time we were home.’

  It was less than a mile from the home for fallen women to St Matthew’s church, and the walk was uneventful, notwithstanding a bunch of drunken youths who staggered out of The Eagle tavern on the corner of City Road and Shepherdess Walk. Rose grabbed Cora by the hand and marched past with her nose in the air, which seemed to work as the young men made no attempt to molest them, resorting instead to hurling insults and collapsing with drunken laughter. Rose came to a halt on the bridge over the City Road Basin, where the Regent’s Canal came to a sudden end. A young woman was standing on the parapet and seemed about to throw herself into the murky waters, which were stained with indigo dye, coal dust and industrial effluent.

  ‘Don’t do it,’ Rose said gently, ignoring Cora, who was tugging at her hand. ‘He’s never worth it, and you’ll spoil that pretty frock if you fall into that filthy water.’

  The girl turned her head and in the light of the streetlamp Rose could see that she was very young. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, and her lips worked soundlessly. Rose held out her hand. ‘Nothing can be so bad that it can’t be made better by a nice hot cup of tea and a warm fire.’

  ‘Who are you? And what d’you want with the likes of me? I ain’t going back into service, not for no one. He done this to me, and now he don’t want to know.’

  Rose and Cora exchanged knowing looks. They had both heard this story many times before.

  ‘What is your name?’ Rose kept her voice low, knowing that any sudden move or harsh tone could send the girl plummeting to her death.

  ‘M-Maisie. Now you know, so leave me be.’ Maisie held out her arms and raised herself on tiptoe, ready to jump.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Don’t!’ Rose and Cora cried out as one, but it was Rose who lunged at Maisie and caught her round the waist. She dragged her back onto the pavement and they fell in a heap.

  ‘Rose, are you all right?’ Cora cried anxiously as she attempted to help her sister to her feet.

  ‘Yes, don’t fuss, Corrie. Catch hold of her – don’t let her run away.’

  Cora seized Maisie by the scruff of her neck. ‘You silly girl. He’s not worth it, whoever he is, and you might have taken my sister with you.’

  Rose scrambled to her feet. ‘It’s all right, Corrie. No harm done.’ She helped Maisie to stand. ‘Don’t cry. We’ll take care of you.’

  ‘I don’t need you, nor anyone.’ Maisie wiped her nose on the frayed cuff of her sleeve. ‘I can look after meself.’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ Rose said, brushing the mud off her skirt. ‘But we all need a little help now and then. Why don’t you come to the vicarage with us? You can stay the night, and tomorrow morning you can decide what you want to do.’

  Maisie looked from one to the other and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I ain’t religious. I don’t want no sermon.’

  ‘I promise you that won’t happen,’ Rose said, holding out her hand. ‘You’ll just have to trust us, and let’s face it – anything is better than drowning in filthy water.’

  ‘Yes, do come with us,’ Cora pleaded. ‘I’m so tired that I could sleep on the cold pavement and my feet are aching.’

  Maisie nodded dully. ‘All right, but just for tonight. I ain’t a charity case.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Rose started off in the direction of St Matthew’s church, leading Maisie by the hand.

  The vicarage was situated close to the church in a respectable middle-class area. The wide streets were lined with terraced houses built in the Georgian era, and the dwellings were well maintained. Unlike some of the surrounding streets, this part of Islington exuded an air of comfortable prosperity.

  Rose guided Maisie through the garden to the back of the house and Cora rapped on the kitchen door. It was opened almost immediately by their cook-housekeeper, Mrs Blunt. She was ready for bed, wearing a long robe, and her nightcap sat askew on her head.

  ‘Where have you been, young ladies? Your pa has waited up for you.’ She glared at Maisie. ‘Who is this?’

  Cora stepped inside. ‘We’re so sorry to have kept you up, dear Mrs Blunt.’

  ‘But we were helping Aunt Polly,’ Rose added hastily. ‘And we came across this young girl who is in desperate need of warmth and comfort.’

  Mrs Blunt stood arms akimbo, looking Maisie up and down. ‘Runaway servant, I’d guess. We can’t take in all the waifs and strays in the city, Miss Rose.’

  ‘It’s just for tonight, and I rather think it’s up to Pa to decide,’ Rose said firmly. She tempered her words with a persuasive smile. ‘A nice hot cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, and a slice of your seed cake would go down well, I’m sure.’ She turned to Maisie without giving Mrs Blunt a chance to refuse. ‘You have never tasted anything as good as Mrs Blunt’s caraway cake. She is the best cook in Islington.’

  ‘The best in London,’ Cora said, smothering a yawn. ‘Might I have a cup of warm milk, please? I’m ready for bed.’

  ‘Miss Day works you girls far too hard. That’s my opinion and I don’t mind saying so.’ Mrs Blunt hurried over to the range and moved the kettle to the hob. She turned to Maisie. ‘You can make yourself useful, child. Fetch the milk jug from the marble slab in the larder, and bring the cake as well.’ She pointed to the cupboard on the far side of the room. ‘Chop chop.’

  Maisie stood like a statue, as if her limbs had suddenly turned to marble. ‘I’ll help you.’ Cora took her by the arm and guided her as she might a sleepwalker.

  Rose could see that her sister had the situation in hand. ‘I’ll go and tell Pa that we’re home.’ She left them and made her way down the gaslit passage that led into the entrance hall of the draughty, rambling vicarage. The front parlour was to the right of the wide staircase, and it was where the family gathered in the evenings, and after church on Sundays. Rose entered the room to find her father pacing the floor.

  ‘Pa, I’m so sorry we’r
e late.’ She could tell by the strained expression on his deeply lined face that he had been angered by their lengthy absence, and for the first time she felt guilty even though she and Cora were carrying out their deception for the best of reasons. ‘I’m afraid it was unavoidable.’

  Seymour Perkins glowered at his elder daughter. ‘It isn’t safe for you girls to be walking home un-escorted at this time of night. Polly ought to know better than to keep you so late, and I will tell her so in no uncertain terms next time we meet.’

  ‘It wasn’t Aunt Polly’s fault,’ Rose said quickly. ‘She had some trouble with two of the women, it’s true, but that didn’t hold us up.’ She moved to her father’s side, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Do sit down. You look worn to the bone, Pa. You work too hard.’

  He subsided onto a chair by the fire, which had burned down to a few glowing embers. ‘The end of winter seems to accelerate the death rate amongst the frail and elderly. I’ve been attempting to comfort the dying and take care of the bereaved since dawn this morning.’

  ‘I know, Pa.’ Rose looked into his face, experiencing a surge of tenderness that made her throat constrict and her eyes sting with unshed tears. Her father seemed to have aged suddenly, or perhaps she had not noticed the passing of the years. The man who had been a strict disciplinarian when she, Billy and Cora were children had grown old, although he had not mellowed with age. ‘I’m truly sorry that we added to your worries.’