by Dilly Court
‘Drive on, please.’ Essie picked up her skirts and climbed in with as much dignity as she could muster. The cab pulled away from the kerb and she settled down to enjoy the luxury of being driven through the city, but the cabby’s words still rankled, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive, especially when they reached the exclusive world of the West End.
The elegant terraced house in Hill Street was as far removed from Essie’s home in White’s Rents as was possible: both were constructed of bricks and mortar with slate roofs, but here the similarity ended. There were no beggars hanging around in doorways or ragged urchins picking pockets. The street sweepers were hard at work keeping the thoroughfare free from the horse dung, straw and the general detritus that buried the East End roads beneath layers of filth. Maidservants wearing black dresses, spotless white aprons and white mobcaps, were busy buffing up the brass door furniture and shaking dusters out of upstairs windows. Even the air Essie breathed seemed different in this part of London, although the smell of fresh paint and polish did not quite mask the stench from the river on a hot summer day. It was like entering another world and Essie’s hand shook as she raised the gleaming doorknocker and let it fall. Moments later the door was opened by a liveried footman.
He looked her up and down. ‘Tradesman’s entrance is down the area steps.’
She put her foot over the threshold as he was about to close the door. ‘You don’t understand. I am expected. Please tell Lady Alice that Essie Chapman is here.’
He hesitated for a moment, but then he relented and stood aside. ‘You’d better come in. Wait there and don’t move.’ He stalked off, leaving her standing in the marble-tiled vestibule. Shallow steps led into a wide entrance hall with a grand staircase sweeping up to a galleried first floor. From the outside the house did not look enormous, but inside it seemed vast and magnificent. Scantily clad marble statues in artistic poses graced the hall, and frosty-eyed dignitaries stared down at Essie from oil paintings in ornate gilt frames. Long mirrors reflected the dancing prisms of light from crystal chandeliers, and slender plant stands supported urns filled with exotic flowers. Essie felt dwarfed and out of place amongst such opulence and grandeur. She was beginning to think that her offer to help Raven had been a huge mistake, and was about to make her escape when the footman reappeared.
‘Lady Alice will see you in the morning parlour.’
Essie followed him across the black and white tiled floor, stifling a sudden childish impulse to slide on the polished marble as if skating on ice. She managed to restrain herself and was ushered into the morning parlour. If she had been unsure of her welcome her doubts were immediately dispelled when Lady Alice rose from her seat by the window.
‘How good of you to come, Essie. I realise this must be difficult for you. You must be in need of refreshment after that tedious journey from the other side of the city.’ She turned to the footman who was still standing stiffly to attention in the doorway. ‘Bring coffee and cake for Miss Chapman, Fielding.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Fielding remained stony-faced as he bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Now we may speak freely.’ Lady Alice’s smile was replaced by a serious expression, and she motioned Essie to take a seat. ‘I have two appointments today, both of them on Raven’s behalf. The first one is with his lawyer, and the second with his bank. All of this is strictly between you and me, and my servants know nothing of what is going on, and it must be kept that way.’
‘How do I fit in, my lady?’ Essie asked anxiously. ‘I’m sure my presence here must raise questions.’
‘I’ve thought of that. I used to employ a sewing woman but she retired recently. Her eyesight had been failing for some time and her work was quite unacceptable. The sewing room is upstairs on the third floor.’ Lady Alice paused, giving Essie a searching look. ‘You can sew, I suppose?’
‘I can darn a sock, my lady. I can mend a tear, but I can’t do anything fancy.’
‘That will suffice. It’s only the servants’ uniforms that occasionally need a stitch or two, and I don’t really know what Moffatt did all day, but she seemed to keep busy.’
‘I see,’ Essie said slowly, although she was not convinced. ‘Won’t the servants think it’s odd that you’re employing someone like me to do a bit of mending?’
‘It doesn’t matter what they think, the main thing is that they don’t find out the real reason for your being here. I trust you not to gossip, Essie.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. But is that all I have to do?’
‘Your main task will be to take the information I gather to Raven. It might be in the form of documents for him to sign, or written notes from me, but secrecy is the most important thing.’ She broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps and the rattle of cups and saucers. Forgetting that she was a guest in Lady Alice’s house, Essie jumped up to open the door. A young maidservant staggered into the room carrying a tray laden with crockery and a silver coffee set. Fielding was close behind bearing a cake stand, and it was obvious from the superior expression on his face that he was above helping the girl, who was little more than a skinny child.
‘That’s far too heavy for a girl like you.’ Essie took the tray from her and placed it on a rosewood tea table next to the cake stand. She glared at Fielding, but he remained aloof and impassive.
The maid’s pale eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. ‘Please, miss. That’s my job.’
‘I’m a servant here, too,’ Essie said boldly. ‘Lady Alice has just taken me on to work in the sewing room, so it’s all right if I give you a hand.’ She turned to Fielding. ‘You might have helped her.’
‘Sit down, Essie,’ Lady Alice said in a bored tone. ‘And Fielding, that child should be working below stairs. I expect better from you.’
Fielding bowed and backed towards the door. ‘Be careful, Miss Chapman,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I’ve got your mark, and yours, too, Dixon.’
‘What is going on?’ Lady Alice demanded angrily.
Fielding stood to attention. ‘My apologies for Dixon, my lady. I’ll report her behaviour to Mrs Dent. She’ll deal with the girl.’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Essie protested. ‘This man is a bully.’
‘That’s enough.’ Lady Alice said coldly. ‘If anyone is to speak to my housekeeper it will be me. Tell Mrs Dent I want to have a word with her, Fielding.’ She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and he shooed Dixon out of the room, closing the door behind them.
Essie had a feeling that Fielding would make the poor child suffer, but there was nothing she could do to protect Dixon from his wrath.
‘That young man needs a lesson in manners. This would never have happened if I hadn’t sent my butler to the country house.’ Lady Alice picked up the coffee pot. ‘I won’t allow bullying in any shape or form amongst my servants, but you would be wise to hold your tongue, Essie. You need to be invisible as far as the rest of my staff are concerned.’
‘Yes, my lady. I’m sorry.’
Lady Alice reached up to tug on a silk-tasselled bell pull. ‘I’ll send for someone to show you where to go and give you instructions, Essie. You can say that you’re a distant relative of Moffatt’s, and it was she who recommended you. There’s no need to elaborate, just try not to offend Mrs Dent when you meet her. I can’t afford to have a rebellion in the servants’ hall.’
Essie glanced longingly at the tiny cakes and pastries that were arranged so prettily on the cake stand, but she did not like to take one, and Lady Alice had apparently forgotten about food. Essie had barely sat down again when a maid answered her summons.
‘Take Miss Chapman to the sewing room, Morrison. She’ll be replacing Miss Moffatt.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Morrison eyed Essie curiously. ‘Follow me, miss.’
The sewing room on the third floor of the town house overlooked the garden and the mews. Flies wandered tiredly up and down the glass panes, as if giving up all h
ope of escaping from their prison. Dust had settled on the work table and the seat of the upright wooden chair where Essie was to sit. The small space was hot and stuffy and she opened the window, releasing the captive insects. A waft of fresh air filled the room with the smell of the stables mingled with the scent of flowers from the well-tended beds below. A gardener was scything the grass into a velvety lawn, and in the small back yard a housemaid was beating a rug as if punishing it for disobedience. The household seemed to run on well-oiled wheels and Essie felt like an interloper. Morrison had been less than friendly and Fielding had been suspicious of her from the start, and now he held a grudge against her. Life in Hill Street was not going to be easy.
She turned with a start as the door opened and a middle-aged woman dressed in black bombazine entered the room. Even the smallest movement was accompanied by the jingling of a large bunch of keys attached to a chatelaine at her waist. She looked Essie up and down.
‘I am Mrs Dent, Lady Alice’s housekeeper.’
Remembering her manners, Essie bobbed a curtsey. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’
A shadow of a smile flickered across the housekeeper’s even features. Her smooth skin was unrelieved by laughter lines or furrows on her brow, but it was obvious from her shrewd expression that she missed nothing, and her firm chin suggested a steadiness of purpose and a stubborn nature. She placed a bundle of cloth on the table. ‘These garments need mending. I hope you’re more competent than poor Miss Moffatt. She should have retired years ago.’
‘I’ll do my best, ma’am.’
‘I hope so.’ Mrs Dent folded her arms, head on one side. ‘I gather you won’t be living in.’
‘No, ma’am. I’ll return home when I’ve finished my duties here.’
‘And where is home?’
Essie realised that she was being gently cross-examined and she did not want to give too much away. ‘I live in Limehouse, Mrs Dent.’
‘That’s a long way to travel each day. Why would you do that?’
‘My pa injured himself in a fall,’ Essie said truthfully. ‘I have to go home to look after him, and we need the money.’
‘I see.’ Mrs Dent turned as if to leave the room, but she paused in the doorway. ‘You won’t earn very much here. I wouldn’t have thought it worth your while. The cab fare would be very expensive, more than you could hope to make for a few hours’ work.’
‘I walk part of the way and then I catch a bus,’ Essie said, improvising wildly. She had no idea how much the fare would be, but it sounded reasonable and it seemed to convince Mrs Dent, who smiled vaguely and left, closing the door quietly.
Left to her own devices, Essie found needles and thread in a chest of drawers and a pair of scissors, and she settled down to work. Sewing was not her most favoured occupation, but it was easier than working the river in all weathers. It was the silence that was hardest to bear, used as she was to the constant noise both at home and at work. The house in Hill Street might have been deserted for all the sounds that could be heard on the third floor. No doubt the kitchen was buzzing with activity and chatter, but even the birdsong was muted at this level and the neighbours might have been a million miles away, not yelling and bawling at each other at the tops of their voices, as they did at home. If there were babies in the nurseries their nannies kept them from crying, and older children must be fully occupied in their school rooms, or perhaps taken out for long walks in Hyde Park by their tutors and governesses. Essie found herself in a different world – one where she did not feel at all comfortable.
She had no idea of the time, but judging by the position of the sun, it was well past noon and she was feeling hungry. The memory of the cake stand, laden with dainties, came back to haunt her and she wished that she had had the forethought to tuck one in her pocket before Morrison spirited her away. If this was how things were Up West, Essie decided that she preferred the rough and tumble, privation and poverty of the East End. At least you knew where you were with Miss Flower – you could smell her bucket of pure a mile off, but she always had a kind word and a smile. Josser the tosher was also less than fragrant, but he would give you his last farthing, if he had one, and Ben would be wondering where she was. Essie tried to forget her rumbling belly and stitched away, storing all her experiences up to tell Ben when she saw him next.
A timid tap on the door brought her back to earth and she jumped, pricking her finger and yelping as a tiny bead of blood broke surface. ‘Come in,’ she murmured.
Dixon put her head round the door. ‘I brought you some grub, miss. I think they must have forgot you below stairs.’ She glanced over her shoulder as if to ensure that the coast was clear before slipping into the room. She had her apron folded into a bundle, from which she produced a chunk of bread and a couple of slices of ham. ‘I managed to nick this off the kitchen table.’ She put her hand in her pocket and took out an apple and a piece of cheese. ‘Sorry it ain’t much, but you was kind to me earlier. No one has ever stood up for me before, so I wanted to do something for you.’
‘You are very kind, Dixon.’ Essie stared at the girl, frowning. ‘I can’t keep calling you that. I’m Essie – what’s your name?’
‘It’s Sadie, Miss Essie.’
‘Just Essie will do nicely.’ Essie gazed at the food and her mouth watered. ‘I hope this won’t get you into trouble downstairs.’
‘I’m used to it, miss. I gets the blame for everything from sour milk to Mr Fielding losing money on the horses. He’s a one for betting, is Mr Fielding, but he don’t tell Mrs Dent how he spends his afternoons off, or where he goes to on a Sunday when everyone else attends church.’
‘Where does he go?’ Essie made an effort to keep a straight face, but Sadie’s childish prattle made her want to laugh, if only for the sheer relief of speaking to someone friendly.
‘He’s sweet on Iris Morrison,’ Sadie whispered. ‘Only don’t tell no one I said so. Iris will lose her job if Mrs Dent finds out they’re stepping out together, but Mr Fielding will deny it and Morrison will get the sack. It ain’t fair, but that’s how it is.’
This was too much for Essie and she chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, but I was beginning to think that everyone here was stuck up and unapproachable. You are a breath of fresh air.’
Sadie’s pale blue eyes widened. ‘I ain’t never been called that before, either.’ She was suddenly alert, like a small animal that sensed a fox was on the prowl. ‘I got to go or I’ll be in even more bother. I was supposed to be scouring out the pans in the scullery.’
‘Well, I’m truly grateful for the food,’ Essie said earnestly. ‘But you mustn’t risk your job for me, Sadie, dear. I’ll brave the servants’ hall later on and make myself known to everyone. I’m sure someone will tell me what I’m supposed to do about meals.’
‘Cook is all right, miss. But she gets a bit upset when she burns things, and then you got to watch out for flying pans, and she can’t half swear when she’s in a state. Mr Barton ain’t here at the moment, but he’s a stickler for behaviour and clean fingernails. The kitchen maids are a funny lot. Sometimes they’re friendly and at other times they’re scratching each other’s eyes out like a lot of alley cats.’
‘It sounds a dreadful place to work,’ Essie said thoughtfully. ‘Can’t you go home to your family?’
‘Ain’t got one, miss. I was raised in the Foundling Home. There’s lots of us kids around. I suppose I’m lucky to have a roof over me head and three meals a day. It could be worse.’ She backed out onto the landing and her footsteps grew fainter as she raced towards the back stairs.
Having eaten every last scrap of food, Essie worked with renewed energy, and by late afternoon she had almost finished the pile of mending. Her back ached and her fingers were sore, having pricked them on the needle more times than she could remember, but there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the neatly patched and darned garments ready for wear. She had almost forgotten the reason for her being in Hill Street when Lady Alic
e breezed into the room.
‘I didn’t send for you, Essie, because it would arouse curiosity in the servants’ hall. I want you to be as inconspicuous as possible.’
‘I understand, my lady. Have you anything for me?’
Lady Alice nodded and handed her a sealed document. ‘Give this to Raven and tell him that the money is deposited in the bank. He knows which one, and I’ve arranged another meeting with his lawyer tomorrow at eleven o’clock, but this time he has to attend without me.’
‘I’ll tell him that, my lady.’
‘Good. We’re trusting you, Essie. This is extremely important – you might say a matter of life and death – so nothing must go wrong. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Then I’ll say no more.’ Lady Alice took a leather purse from her reticule and placed it on the table. ‘There’s enough money to pay your cab fares. I’ll expect you here after Raven’s appointment with his lawyer. It’s not safe for me to be seen with him, so you will take my place. Go now and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Essie walked part of the way, but it was hot and she grew weary of being jostled on the crowded pavements. Eventually she hailed a cab, alighting in Fore Street, and made her way along the wharves, hoping to bump into Ben. She owed him an explanation, but that might prove difficult without giving away her new position in Hill Street. She was deep in thought when she was accosted by Diggory Tyce. He loomed out of the shadow of a large crane.
‘So, you’ve returned to us, Essie Chapman. Where’ve you been all day? I believe Riley has been looking for you.’
‘It’s none of your business, Mr Tyce.’ Essie tried to sidestep him but Diggory Tyce was a big man and nimble for his size. He grabbed her by the arm.
‘Don’t try to humbug me, miss. I know there’s something going on. I saw the man you brought ashore the other night. What has that father of yours got you into now?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Essie struggled but he only tightened his grip on her arm. ‘Let me go or I’ll scream.’ She looked for a familiar face, but it was unusually quiet for the time of day.