‘You share the privy – out the back – with meself and them the other side,’
‘We’d like to see the house before we decide,’ Rosie said.
The woman sighed loudly and stepped out onto the street dragging the door closed behind her. Pulling a key from her pinafore pocket, she unlocked the door to the house next to hers and walked inside.
‘Kitchen, living room and two bedrooms. No scullery. Rent to be paid on time – no excuses. You aint’ got the money, you’m out on yer ears. I want no trouble and upkeep is up to you.’ The woman’s demeanour was brash and she stood tapping her toe, her arms folded as the girls looked around the tiny residence.
Rosie looked at Lucy whose eyebrows raised slowly.
‘We’ll take it Mrs…?’ Rosie said finally.
‘Bright. Fanny Bright,’ the woman answered.
Bright by name but not by nature, Rosie thought a little unkindly.
‘Hang on, am you a gypsy?’ Fanny asked.
Rosie sighed inwardly as she nodded. She braced herself for the refusal to let the house she felt sure would come now.
Fanny’s head rocked up and down on her neck slowly as she looked from one girl to the other.
‘Do yer read palms and the like?’
‘Yes. I give “readings”,’ Rosie answered.
Fanny screwed up her mouth as she considered whether to rent her property to these young women. Then seeming to make up her mind she said, ‘As you see, there ain’t no furniture – you’ll have to provide yer own.
Rosie nodded. Please say we can stay here!
‘All right then, but I warn you – no nonsense or yer’ll be out!’ Fanny held out her hand for the money.
Rosie rummaged in her bag and produced the four shillings for the first month’s rent. As she placed it in Fanny’s hand a shudder ran through her.
‘You’ve been let down badly by a man, Mrs Bright.’ Rosie’s voice was a mere whisper.
The shock on the other woman’s face was evident as she passed over the door key.
‘’usband. Ran off with another woman he did, but folks ’ere think I’m a widow,’ she said at last.
Rosie held out her hand and Fanny laid hers on top. Closing her eyes, Rosie muttered, ‘He’s unhappy…’
‘Serves the bugger right!’ Fanny snapped.
Lucy stared in utter fascination at the scene before her.
‘There is upset ahead – an argument – but you will prevail. There will be a death but you will not mourn. Your financial future is secure.’ Rosie opened her eyes to see the older woman staring with open mouth.
Lucy laughed out loud then said, ‘Do me, Rosie – do me next!’
The spell was broken and Fanny gave what the girls thought might actually be a smile, although they couldn’t be sure.
‘Mrs Bright, would you mind if I gave my “readings” here?’ Rosie asked.
‘As long as it don’t bring no trouble, I don’t mind a bit,’ Fanny answered her whole demeanour having been changed by the reading.
‘Thank you. Now I suppose Lucy and I should get some food in. Oh Mrs Bright, I’m so sorry – I am Rosie Harris and this is Lucy Richards.’
Fanny nodded. ‘I’ve a couple of chairs and an old mattress – clean an’ all – in my spare room. You’m welcome to ’em if you fetch ’em.’
The girls struggled but eventually got the mattress upstairs and into one of the bedrooms.
‘Looks like we’m sharing,’ Lucy said as she stood back to look at the mattress lying on the floor.
‘I don’t mind if you don’t,’ Rosie said, ‘but let’s go and get something for supper. You know the area so you can show me around.’
With a spring in their step, the girls set off for the little shop at the end of the street.
Returning an hour later, Fanny was waiting for them on the doorstep.
‘There’s a kettle, a couple of pans, a bit of crockery, some cutlery and a battered table ’ere for you girls,’ she said.
‘That’s so kind of you, Mrs Bright,’ Lucy said.
‘Call me Fanny – I’ve a feeling we’m gonna get on right well.’ The woman nodded in a no-nonsense way.
‘Thank you, Fanny,’ Rosie said as she unlocked the door. ‘Will you stay and have tea with us?’
Fanny nodded again as she helped the girls carry her offerings indoors.
Twenty-four
Sarah Mitchell had walked slowly from the basin towards the town. She had lived in Bilston all her life so knew its layout well. Now she had to find herself somewhere to live and endeavour to earn some money.
Trudging on, she knew she could not afford to rent a house or stay in lodgings, so she headed for the heath near the Lunt Colliery. Having closed down some years before, Sarah remembered there were a few tied cottages nearby. She just hoped one of them might be empty.
As she went, Sarah thought about all that had happened to her in such a short time. One minute she was living in relative luxury with her husband and sons, the next minute she was homeless, penniless and with no family.
She scowled as she recalled that day Bill’s parents had called yet again. Bloody Mitchells! If they had stayed away like she told them to, she wouldn’t be in this mess now. As for that Rosie Harris, who did she think she was to try and steal another woman’s husband?
Walking past the sewage works, Sarah wrinkled her nose at the foul odour floating on the air. Striding on she looked around her. She was surrounded by scrubby heathland, the only thing in sight being the old colliery building. She skirted the disused offices and presently came to a dilapidated building which was clearly unoccupied. As she approached, she saw the door was hanging off its lower hinges, and the once tidy garden was overgrown with weeds. Pushing the door open carefully she stepped inside. It was dirty and dusty in the small living room but amazingly only one window was cracked, all the others remained intact.
Sarah sighed and said aloud, ‘Obviously the kids haven’t come across this place yet, otherwise those panes would be gone.’
She checked out the kitchen and the two bedrooms, climbing the stairs warily. Once more in the living room she stuck her head up the chimney to ensure it was not blocked by nesting birds. Satisfied she could see daylight she then walked around the outside.
The privy block at the back wasn’t too bad and would be serviceable after a thorough clean. Back at the front door she thought, Yes, this will do. Needs a bit of work but at least I’ll have shelter.
Finding a besom in the kitchen, Sarah set to sweeping out her new home.
*
Whilst Sarah was settling in, Margy and Abner navigated the waterways, both wondering where Rosie was now and how she was faring.
Pulling into a stopping place, Margy served up lunch. As they ate they voiced their concerns.
‘I ’ope that girl is all right,’ Margy said.
‘She’ll be fine, she has a good ’ead on ’er shoulders. Besides, ’er knows how to get a message to us if needs be.’ Abner tried to comfort his fretting wife.
‘That’s true enough. I wonder what will ’appen to Sarah now,’ Margy muttered.
‘After all she’s put you through and still you worry about ’er. You’ve a big heart Margy Mitchell.’ Abner gave her a little smile.
‘Well we’re back in touch with our Bill now, and our grandsons, so as long as Sarah stays out of my way…’ Margy let the sentence hang in mid-air.
‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing Bill and the boys a lot more now. I also think Rosie will let us know how she’s managing.’
‘I reckon so. I still think it’s a shame our Bill is still married to that ’arridan cos I think Rosie would make ’im a wonderful wife,’ Margy mused.
‘I can’t argue with that, gel.’ Abner shook his head. ‘Right, best be on our way.’
Margy nodded and watched her man climb the three steps to the deck. Finishing her tea, her thoughts roamed around the girl she would have loved to have as a daughter-in-law.
&nbs
p; *
Rosie was thinking about her friend Margy too as she filled the kettle from the stand pipe in the communal area behind the houses. I need to let the Mitchells know where I am in case they’re worried, she thought.
Fanny had fetched a small bucket of coal from her own house and lit a fire while Lucy cut bread and cheese for their lunch.
Bringing the kettle indoors, Rosie hung it on the chimney crane and swung it over the fire.
‘I have friends who work the canal and I should send a message as to where I’m living now,’ Rosie said.
Fanny nodded, her mouth full of food.
‘Ooh that would make some nice sketches – the boats and suchlike,’ Lucy said excitedly.
‘’ow long have you two known each other?’ Fanny asked having finished her food.
‘Oh about three ’ours!’ Lucy quipped.
As they sat around the table, Fanny and Rosie on the chairs and Lucy on the floor, they each gave a brief outline of their lives to date.
Fanny then left the girls to settle in and went next door to her own fireside, where she contemplated her decision of renting to the gypsy girl and her friend.
Rosie and Lucy were excited at being so fortunate and decided to stroll down to the basin to ask that a message be passed to the Mitchells about where she was now living.
Lucy had taken her book and pencils and made a few outline sketches while Rosie chatted with boatmen and their wives.
Satisfied her message would travel with the canal people, Rosie suggested they return home; they had much to do regarding getting the house to their liking with what little they had.
It was a couple of days later when Fanny visited the girls again, a meat and potato pie in hand.
As they sat drinking tea, the conversation turned once again to their lives previous to them all meeting up.
‘I’ve lived ’ere all me life and I’ve seen folk come and go – including my old man,’ Fanny began. ‘’e used to buy and sell stuff – anything ’e could get ’is thieving ’ands on. He were a bad ’un, but I cared for ’im I did.’
Rosie and Lucy listened quietly.
‘Then he took up with another woman and did a “moonlight flit”. I told everybody I’d ’eard he’d died in an accident – well it ain’t likely he’ll ever come back now. ’Sides, I don’t want anybody gossiping be’ind my back.’
‘How did you come by these two properties, Fanny?’ Rosie asked.
‘Three, gel, I got the one at the other side of you an’ all. My old dad bought ’em up years ago with the money his dad left him. My granddad was an architect and designed a lot of buildings in this town. He was well off I can tell you. When ’e died ’is money went to my dad and ’e invested it in bricks and mortar. Now they belong to me,’ Fanny said simply.
‘Do you have children to pass your properties on to?’ Rosie asked.
Fanny shook her head, a sad glint in her eye. ‘Never was blessed with ’em. Ain’t sure why not – it just never ’appened.’ Fanny spoke resignedly.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’ Rosie flushed in embarrassment.
‘That’s all right, lovey, it was just never meant to be.’ Fanny gave the girl a reassuring smile.
‘Tell you what, Fanny, we’ll be your daughters if you want,’ Lucy said with a grin.
‘Well you just remember – sons take trouble away from the ’ome, daughters bring it to your door.’
‘We’ll bring nothing to worry you, Fanny,’ Rosie assured her new landlady. Turning to Lucy she asked, ‘What about you, Lucy, what brought you to living on the street?’
All mirth evaporated as the girl began her tale for Fanny’s benefit, Rosie having heard it already.
‘My dad died when I was just a kid and my mum married again. He was a bully and I ’ated him. The teachers at school said I was backward cos I couldn’t learn my letters and numbers. They seem to get all mixed up on the page some’ow. Anyway, my step-dad used to belt me when I got it wrong and one day I’d ’ad enough so I ran away. I’ve been living on the streets ever since.’
‘It’s a wonder you ain’t starved to death!’ Fanny exclaimed.
‘How did you manage to acquire your paper and pencils?’ Rosie asked.
‘The students who attend the Artists’ Gallery give me bits and pieces when they ’ave a class there. One of the girls gave me my book and I was over the moon but I’m careful with it. I can’t waste any of the pages.’
‘Let’s ’ave a look then,’ Fanny said.
Lucy pulled out the small sketchbook and passed it to the older woman.
‘Blimey, Lucy, these am really good!’ Fanny enthused as she turned the pages with the utmost care.
Rosie looked over Fanny’s shoulder at the drawings and sketches. The buildings of the town were depicted in black and white majesty, and the faces of the people appeared to come alive.
‘I wish I could sell ’em and then I could contribute to the ’ousehold funds,’ Lucy said in earnest.
‘Your day will come,’ Rosie comforted.
‘Rosie – will you do me a “reading”?’ Lucy asked tentatively.
Nodding, Rosie held out her hand and as Lucy placed hers on top, she felt the familiar shudder.
‘I see a queue of people outside a small shop, they’re waiting to see you.’ She felt Lucy’s excitement by the tremble of her hand. ‘You will paint one day too – I see colours swirling. There’s a name, it’s an odd one – LuRi. You will earn well from your work.’ Rosie’s eyes snapped open.
Fanny sat open mouthed and Lucy’s face sported the biggest grin.
‘LuRi is the name I want when I ’ave me own gallery! I don’t spell very well so I thought to take ’alf of both me names and put ’em together!’ Lucy explained.
‘It ’as a nice ring to it,’ Fanny agreed.
‘So, Rosie, how come you were looking for lodgings?’
Rosie told them of being found on the doorstep by Maria and raised by her; of meeting the Mitchells after Maria’s death and travelling the canals with them, and finally of losing the boat she’d misguidedly bought from Betty Johnson.
‘I do have money coming in from the ‘Two Hearts’ but I have to do my “readings” too.’ She explained how her visions would stay with her until they were told to the appropriate person.
‘I can see as ’ow you’d want rid of ’em in that case,’ Fanny muttered with a frown.
‘What made you decide to rent to us, Fanny?’ Rosie asked.
‘I ain’t quite sure love, but I could see you’m both good gels.’
‘Blimey, you got the “sight” as well?’ Lucy asked with a grin.
‘No, otherwise I’d have seen what my old man was up to and put a stop to it!’ Fanny’s roar of laughter infected the girls and they all collapsed into fits of giggles.
By the end of that first week, all three had become firm friends. Lucy sat often on the towpath sketching and Rosie continued to do her ‘readings’ on the boats moored up.
It was early one morning when Lucy came bustling back from the wharf.
‘Rosie, there’s gypsies camped over the back of the saw mills and the owner’s going mad! He wants ’em off his land but they won’t go!’
‘I suppose this means I should have a word, is that your thinking?’
‘Can we go? Can we, Rosie? I’d love to sketch the caravans…’ The alacrity of Lucy’s words bubbled over. ‘Please, Rosie, say we can go!’
‘Vardos, Lucy, the ’vans are known as vardos. Yes all right, come on.’ Rosie smiled at the girl’s excitement.
They could hear the yelling as they neared the saw mills, and as they moved closer still, Rosie knew who was causing the furore.
Closing on the crowd, Rosie walked to stand between the mill owner and Jake Harding. In an instant the shouting stopped and everyone looked at the young girl shaking her head.
‘Rosie!’ Jake couldn’t believe his eyes.
‘Hello, Jake. Causing trouble again I see.’ Ros
ie made no effort to smile.
‘Hey am you with this lot?’ the mill owner asked.
‘Sir, I live across town with my friend, but I do know these people,’ Rosie answered.
‘Well see if you can talk sense to them and get ’em to move on. It’s dangerous round ’ere for their kiddies. I want ’em off my land!’
Rosie turned to Jake and raised her eyebrows.
‘The man’s right, Jake, you need to find another camp site. Please do as he asks and get your people to a safer place,’ Rosie pleaded.
‘There ain’t nowhere else,’ Jake said throwing a nasty look at the mill owner.
‘There’s a patch of land at the other side of Crescent Wharf; I can show you if yer like,’ Lucy offered.
Jake nodded once and strode back to his vardo. He hooked a finger for Lucy to join him on the driving seat.
‘Thank you, I appreciate your help,’ the mill owner spoke quietly to Rosie before turning and walking away.
Rosie climbed up on another vardo at the request of its driver and the procession moved off. The warm feeling of being home flowed through Rosie as they rode along. She had missed everything about being a traveller and as Maria came to mind she felt the hurt of her loss once more. Once a part of a tight knit community, she was now trying to integrate with the town folk. She had moved from one place to another and now she was static. Even on the canal with the Mitchells she had journeyed around. Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of loss settled on her and she was relieved when they reached their destination.
The vardos pulled into a circle and everyone began their routines of building their cooking fires. Rosie could see Lucy chatting nineteen to the dozen with Jake Harding, clearly her friend was excited by the adventure.
‘Rosie, Jake said I can come and sketch any time I want to!’ Lucy called as she ran to her friend.
Rosie smiled indulgently. She wondered whether Lucy had taken a liking to the gypsy leader, and if so, she would not encourage their meetings. It would be seen as a betrayal by the others if Jake took himself a sweetheart outside of the Romany blood.
‘You’re living here now?’ Jake asked as Rosie approached to watch him unhitch his horse.
The Girl on the Doorstep: from the bestselling author of The Workhouse Children (A Black Country Novel) Page 18