by Dilly Court
‘You are such a cynical man, Jack Starke. There are people who do things for others without wanting to be paid for their services.’
‘There are plenty of fools in this world, but I’m not one of them.’ He opened the door. ‘Are you coming, or do I have to leave you here?’
‘I’m coming and you’re going to pick Gertie up and carry her to my house, which isn’t too far away.’ Once again she spoke without giving herself time to think, but there did not seem to be any alternative and her conscience would not allow her to abandon a sick girl. Ernestine had taken her daughters to the dressmaker where Mirabel knew from experience they would spend hours poring over fashion plates, discussing the latest styles and going through the possible choices of materials, no doubt squabbling over each item. Jacob would not be home until it was time for dinner. He had taken to spending long hours in his office, longer Mirabel suspected than was strictly necessary, but the dingy counting house close to St Katharine’s dock was probably a great deal more peaceful than a house crowded with argumentative females. She had spoken hastily but her quick mind was already formulating a plan. Wiley would be cloistered in his cubbyhole, drinking her father’s brandy, and Mrs James would be taking advantage of a quiet time and napping in her room, as would Flossie, who seemed to be half asleep at the best of times.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Jack demanded, frowning. ‘The girl might have something catching.’
‘I’m sure I’ve had almost all the diseases the city has to offer, apart from cholera and typhoid, but I don’t think she has either of those. If you’re prepared to carry her, we’ll take her to Cutler’s Castle.’
As Mirabel had hoped, there was no one in the kitchen. Wiley was nowhere in sight, but even though the door of the butler’s pantry was closed Mirabel could still smell the fumes of alcohol. She motioned Jack to follow her as she made her way up the back stairs, pausing in the entrance hall with her head on one side as she listened for sounds of life, but all was quiet. She beckoned to him. ‘Are you all right to carry her up to the top floor?’
‘Isn’t that where the servants sleep? Not that I’m accustomed to living in a castle.’
‘That’s not funny. I wish Gertie hadn’t told you about that silly name.’ She glanced anxiously at the unconscious girl. ‘I hope she doesn’t come round until we’re in my room.’
‘You sleep with the servants?’
His look of genuine surprise made her regret her decision to allow him into the house, but it was only momentary. Putting pride aside she led the way to her dreaming place.
Jack laid Gertie on the bed and straightened up, stretching his back and shoulder muscles. ‘She might be frail but I wouldn’t care to carry her much further.’ He looked round slowly, taking in the details of the comfortless room. ‘Are you sure you’re the daughter of the house and not a maidservant?’
‘Not that it’s any business of yours, but my father is Jacob Cutler.’
‘And he treats you like this?’ His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled. ‘Have you done something wicked and this is your punishment?’
‘If you must know, this is my stepmother’s idea of keeping me in my place. She has two daughters who come before me in everything.’ Once again she had spoken without thinking. She was angry with herself and even angrier with him for drawing the truth from her with seemingly no effort. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I’m quite happy up here on my own.’
Gertie stirred and uttered a low moan.
‘I think you’d better go.’ Mirabel moved to open the door, taking a quick look outside in case Cook or Flossie happened to have risen from their beds. ‘Please don’t make a noise. I’d never hear the last of it if you were seen leaving the house.’
He tipped his hat and the laughter returned to his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want to compromise your good name, Miss Cutler.’ His smile faded. ‘And I’m sorry you find yourself in such a position. You deserve better.’ He was about to leave, but he paused for a moment staring at her with an inscrutable expression. ‘Goodbye, Mirabel.’
She closed the door and the room seemed suddenly smaller without his presence, but he was gone now and they were unlikely to meet again. Moving swiftly to the window she knelt on the cushions, looking down on the street below, and waited until she saw him emerge from the porch. It seemed typical of him that he let himself out through the front door instead of creeping down the back stairs to the basement. She watched him swaggering along the cobbled court towards Great Tower Hill as if he owned the world, and she experienced a pang of envy for his freedom to come and go as he pleased. Their acquaintance had been brief and fraught with arguments, and yet she would have liked to know him better. It would be wonderful to hear of his travels around the world, and to learn about the places that she longed to visit but never would.
A soft moan from the bed brought her back to reality. Gertie was feverish and her nightgown was drenched with sweat. With little experience of nursing sick people, other than tending to her father when he suffered the crippling pain of gout after an excess of food and wine, Mirabel followed her instincts. She went downstairs to fill a ewer with water from the pump in the back yard. Cook and Flossie had not yet put in an appearance and she took the opportunity to fill a bowl with some of the porridge left from breakfast, which in all likelihood had been put aside for Flossie’s supper. She watered it down so that it formed a thin gruel and on her way upstairs she stopped at the linen cupboard to collect a clean towel.
It took almost an hour, but eventually Mirabel managed to wash most of the grime from Gertie’s emaciated body, and dressed her in a clean nightgown. It was a difficult process with Gertie unable to help in any way, but the cool water seemed to revive her a little, and she even managed to swallow a few spoonfuls of the gruel. Exhausted by her efforts, Mirabel sat back on her heels with a sigh of relief, but she knew that this was only the beginning. How she was going to take care of a sick girl and keep her presence in the house a secret was something she had not yet worked out. If Ernestine or the girls discovered Gertie’s presence there would be repercussions, and Mirabel suspected that her stepmother would take delight in throwing both her and Gertie out on the street. She had, she realised, little faith in her father’s ability to stand up against Ernestine’s forceful nature.
That night Mirabel slept on the floor, waking at the slightest sound and raising herself to give Gertie sips of water. At breakfast next morning Charity drew attention to the dark circles under Mirabel’s eyes, and Prudence was quick to add her voice. ‘My bed is so comfortable,’ she said slyly. ‘I sleep like a princess. What about you, Charity?’
‘I love my room.’ Charity darted a spiteful look in Mirabel’s direction. ‘And my bed is better than yours, Prudence Mutton.’
‘Moo-ton,’ Ernestine said automatically. ‘I should hope you are both very grateful to your dear stepfather for giving you such a lovely home.’ She blew a kiss to Jacob, who was attempting to hide behind his newspaper. ‘Did you hear me, husband?’
Jacob folded the paper and laid it on the table. ‘Whatever you say, dearest.’ He rose from his seat. ‘I’m late for work.’
‘My darling, it’s your business. You employ people to do the work for you.’ Ernestine puffed out her chest. ‘You do as you please.’
‘That’s not how business is run, my love,’ Jacob said mildly. He left the table, pausing by Mirabel’s chair. ‘You do look tired, my dear. Are you quite comfortable on the top floor?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Pa.’ Mirabel smiled valiantly even though every bone in her body ached from sleeping on the hard floorboards.
‘Perhaps your girls could share a room, Ernestine . . .’ Jacob faltered, and came to a halt beneath his wife’s stony stare. ‘It was just an idea.’
‘And a very silly one,’ Ernestine snapped. ‘Mirabel has had her chance to find a rich husband so it doesn’t matter if she has bags under her eyes, but my little girls have their whole lives in front of them. I intend them to mar
ry well, and no man wants a wife who looks as though she’s been up all night weeping.’
Charity and Prudence sniggered, hiding behind their damask table napkins, and Jacob opened his mouth as if to protest, but Mirabel rose quickly from the table. ‘I’m quite content the way things are, Pa. You mustn’t worry about me.’ She turned to face Ernestine, holding her head high. ‘But I am a bit tired, stepmother. There will be no lessons this morning as I have a headache. If the girls wish to work alone I’ll set them a poem to learn.’
‘Jacob, did you hear that?’ Ernestine cried angrily, but Jacob had fled leaving the door to swing shut behind him. She pointed a shaking finger at Mirabel. ‘Don’t try my patience too often or you’ll be sorry. I’m mistress of this house now and you’re only here on sufferance. The sooner I find a husband for you the better.’
Mirabel met her stepmother’s angry gaze with a steady look. ‘Say what you like, but you can’t make me do anything I don’t want to, and that includes marrying someone just to please you. As to your stupid and over-indulged daughters, I think you’d better find another governess, because I’m done with trying to instil learning into their wooden heads.’
Ernestine snatched up the hand bell and rang it. ‘Wiley, come here I need you.’
Mirabel left the room, ignoring Wiley as she passed him in the hall. She had done it at last. She had stood up to her stepmother, but at what cost to herself? At this moment she did not care, but she knew her rebellion would not go unpunished. She made her way upstairs to tend to Gertie, and found her still feverish and calling out for her errant brother. The heat beneath the roof was already stifling and would get worse towards midday, and the smell of the sickroom seemed to permeate everything. Mirabel let up the sash, but the stench from the river and the surrounding manufactories made her close it again. A trapped fly hurled itself against the window and she opened it a crack to release the insect, watching it soar into the air. How wonderful to be free, she thought, turning back to Gertie who had begun to moan. ‘Hush, my dear. It’s all right, you’re safe now.’
Gertie quietened at the sound of Mirabel’s voice, but they both jumped when someone hammered on the door. ‘Who’s there?’ Mirabel demanded angrily.
‘Ma says you’re to stop behaving like a spoilt brat and come downstairs to the schoolroom, or she’ll want to know the reason why.’ Charity did not disguise her pleasure in passing on the message.
‘I’m not coming, and that’s that.’
‘But you must.’ Charity sounded less sure of herself. ‘Ma will have a fit if you don’t do as she says.’
‘Go away, Charity.’
‘I’ll tell her what you said. She won’t be pleased.’
‘She never is,’ Mirabel muttered as Charity’s footsteps faded into the distance. She sat back, wondering who Ernestine would send next in an attempt to bully her into submission. She did not have long to wait. The sound of a heavy tread outside her door was followed by Wiley’s booming voice.
‘Miss Mirabel, I have a request from Mrs Cutler.’
‘The answer is still no, Wiley.’
‘Your father will be informed of your behaviour.’
Mirabel laid a soothing hand on Gertie’s forehead. ‘Do what you like. I don’t care.’
‘You’ve been warned, miss.’
She leapt to her feet and ran to the door. ‘Don’t threaten me, Wiley. You’re little better than a thief. I’ll tell Pa that you’re still stealing his wine, and if he doesn’t believe me I’ll go to the police.’
‘You can’t prove anything against me.’
‘Maybe not, but I suspect you have a shady past. Would it stand up to scrutiny by an officer of the law?’
‘I could ruin your father, and make your life unbearable. Don’t meddle with things you don’t understand.’
Gertie uttered a wild cry and Mirabel hurried back to her side, murmuring softly in an attempt to quieten her.
‘Who’s in there with you?’ Wiley banged on the door. ‘Open up at once, Miss Mirabel.’
‘There’s no one here but me. I banged my head on a rafter. Go away, Wiley. Leave me alone.’ She could hear him swearing as he retreated, but with the danger past even for a short while she heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You nearly gave the game away then, Gertie. What am I going to do with you?’
She sat on the floor beside the bed, hoping that Ernestine would give up her efforts to flush her out of her room, but now their mutual animus was out in the open and she realised that nothing would be the same. Ernestine had been looking for an opportunity to rid herself of her stepdaughter and Mirabel knew she had given her the perfect excuse. With Wiley on her side Ernestine had an even greater advantage; Jacob would crumble beneath their combined pressure.
Time seemed to have stood still in the stuffy attic room. Mirabel bathed Gertie with cold water in an attempt to bring down the fever, but there was little else she could do. The ewer was almost empty and the slop bucket had to be taken downstairs to be emptied in the privy. Mirabel had grown used to seeing to her own needs since being consigned to the top floor, but now she was trapped until such time as her stepmother decided to leave the house. With Gertie sleeping fitfully, she took up her position at the window and eventually her patience was rewarded by the sight of Ernestine and her daughters emerging from the porch, making their way towards Seething Lane. She waited for a while longer, giving Wiley time to settle down with the brandy bottle, and then she seized her chance.
Mrs James was up to her elbows in flour but she stopped rolling out the pastry to stare at Mirabel. ‘What a commotion you caused, miss. We thought that the mistress was going to have a seizure she carried on so, and those girls of hers were shouting and screaming fit to bust.’
‘Is Wiley in his room, Cook?’
‘Where else would he be when the master and mistress are out? That man is a drunken sot, but he gets away with it.’
‘I know he does, and I don’t understand it any more than you do.’ Mirabel moved to the range and lifted the lid on a large saucepan. ‘That smells delicious. I’ll take a bowl up to my room, and some bread and butter.’ She took a dish from the dresser and filled it with soup. ‘And I need some laudanum. Do you know where Mrs Cutler keeps it?’
‘Are you poorly, Miss Mirabel?’
‘It’s nothing more than a headache. A couple of drops of laudanum will make it go away.’
‘Yes, miss, of course. I don’t know if the mistress has any in her room. You could ask Flossie, she does the cleaning upstairs.’
‘I’ll do that. Where is she now?’
‘I sent her out to get some onions from the market, but she should be back any minute, that’s if she hasn’t stopped to gossip with someone. She’ll be the death of me.’
‘You manage magnificently,’ Mirabel said, smiling. ‘And this soup will set me up for the rest of the day.’
‘I could put some dinner on a tray for you, miss. I daresay you won’t be feeling up to taking your meal with the mistress and her hellcats. Begging your pardon, I shouldn’t say such things, I know.’
‘It’s the truth, Mrs James. You can’t be blamed for speaking your mind, and dinner in my room would be just the thing.’
‘Flossie will bring it up to you.’ Mrs James tapped the side of her nose and winked. ‘We got to stick together with that woman in charge.’
Mirabel put the bowl of soup on a tray, together with a chunk of bread and a pat of butter. ‘Will you send Flossie up with the slop bucket? I’ve emptied it but I need to take the pitcher of water up to my room.’
‘Yes, of course, miss.’
‘And if she can find the laudanum she could bring that too.’
‘I’ll see that she does. It’s a relief to know that you are on our side, Miss Mirabel, but I don’t know how long I can stand working for that woman.’
Gertie responded quickly to the laudanum, giving Mirabel the opportunity to leave her, safe in the knowledge that she would sleep peacefully for a couple of ho
urs. She slipped out of the house unnoticed and made her way to Crispin Street. With no particular plan in mind she had vague hopes of seeking help from Mrs Hamilton, who was well known for her charitable works. Mirabel did not think that Gertie’s life hung in the balance; she would recover from her illness with good care, but keeping her hidden in the attic room was not an option. Sooner or later her presence would be discovered and Mirabel was under no illusions when it came to her stepmother. She was well aware that her days living under her father’s roof were numbered. In defying Ernestine openly she had sealed her own fate.
She stopped outside the shabby building which housed the soup kitchen, staring up at the crudely painted sign offering a welcome to the poor and destitute. The main entrance was still locked and a queue of ragged people, including many children, stretched some way down the street. Mirabel let herself in at the side entrance.
Chapter Four
‘THERE YOU ARE, Mirabel. We thought you weren’t coming today.’ Lillian Marjoribanks thrust an apron into Mirabel’s hands and a welcoming smile brightened her flushed face. ‘You’re just in time to help serve the hungry hordes.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was detained.’ Mirabel looked round hopefully. ‘Is Mrs Hamilton in today?’
‘Not yet.’ Lillian thrust a ladle into her hand. ‘They’re opening the doors; get ready for the rush.’
Mirabel lifted the lid from the pan of soup and dipped the ladle, ready to serve the first person who shambled in from the street bringing with him the odours of the unwashed. They lined up, clutching their bowls, old and young alike, men, women and children all with one thing in common: the need to take nourishment or to face a slow and painful death by starvation. Mirabel had to wait until after the first rush had been served to continue the conversation. ‘Do you think that Mrs Hamilton will be in later?’
Lillian shook her head. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say.’ She shot a curious glance in Mirabel’s direction. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’