by Penny Jordan
The three children crowded closer, trying to get a better view as they inspected the stranger now frowning slightly under their scrutiny.
‘Is he coming in ’ere?’
‘No, he’s just lookin’.’
‘What’s he doin’ lookin’?’
‘I dunno, do I?’ Frank answered his sisters impatiently. ‘I ain’t a mind-reader, am I?’
‘You gonna open the door?’
‘No, ’cos he ain’t knocked yet!’
‘Children! What are you doing?’ a voice called from across the room. The curtain immediately fell back into place and all three heads bounced to attention.
‘There’s a gent on the steps, Miss Tilly.’ It was Frank who pulled his two sisters beside him and added anxiously, ‘And a bigwig by the looks of him. Got a pair of shoes you can see yer boat race in. He might be one of them children’s inspectors, do you fink?’
Tilly frowned at her three charges, her very blue eyes hidden slightly by her shining fringe of straw coloured hair. ‘Not very likely at this time of night, Frank,’ she assured him, causing all three to let out a big sigh.
‘Is someone gonna come and ’ave us all locked up, then?’ Cessie demanded dramatically, her brown eyes as big as saucers.
‘No, course not, Cess,’ Frank assured his little sister. ‘Not if we’ve got Miss Tilly to speak up for us.’
‘But Dr Tapper don’t approve of us livin’ down here,’ Molly added worriedly. ‘And it ain’t like we got somewhere to hide, is it? We ain’t got no parents and no ’ome either!’
Tilly’s kind heart squeezed with pity, just as it had when she’d first seen the children, two months ago. They had stumbled through the surgery door awash with lice and scabs. Cessie had been running a fever, and all three had been half starved. Her orphans of the storm, as she called them, were unwanted, unloved and utterly dependent on her now. How could she turn them out? Hadn’t life been cruel enough already? Their father had abandoned them and their mother had died from tuberculosis. They had been passed from one distant relative to another and finally thrown on the streets.
Molly still suffered nightmares, and Cessie’s health had only just improved. If Frank hadn’t had the presence of mind—and the courage—to bring them to the surgery, Cessie at the very least would be dead by now.
But even Dr Tapper, as good and compassionate a man as he was, had warned her they couldn’t stay at Tap House. It was all very well taking them in whilst Cessie recovered. But to provide a permanent roof over their heads was out of the question. For how could she, Tilly, of no great means herself, hope to feed and clothe them on her small wage?
Yet she still hoped for a miracle to turn up, just as it had twenty-six years ago for herself. Only a few days old, and left in a filthy sack to die of the cold at Tiller’s Wharf, she had been found by the kind Sisters of Mercy and taken under their wing. She’d been given a second chance at life. Now she wanted these orphans to have one too.
A loud rap came on the door. Three sets of brown eyes gazed up at her.
‘He knocked, then!’
‘He wants to come in!’
‘He might be an inspector after all!’
Tilly smiled reassuringly. ‘Stop fretting, Cessie. Of course he’s not. Now, run along all of you, and put on your nightclothes.’
Reluctantly, they all trooped past her and disappeared along the passage to their room.
Pressing her hair neatly into place, Tilly went to see who was at the door.
‘Good evening.’ A tall young man stood there. His dark hair and even darker features were only just illuminated in the light. She noted, as had Frank, how well dressed he was, in fashionable narrow trousers and a single-breasted jacket fastened over a broad chest.
Tilly was a little put out to be caught in her uniform. After a busy day’s nursing the starch had all but disappeared from her white apron. ‘Yes?’ she asked politely. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I’m sorry to disturb you and your family…’ He faltered as he glanced over her shoulder. A raindrop fell from the gutter above and landed on his nose. With a fine large hand he carefully removed it. ‘But I’m looking for Dr Tapper.’
Tilly gave him another discreet inspection. Without doubt this man was not the usual sort of visitor to the surgery. Dr Tapper’s patients consisted entirely of the poor and destitute of the Isle of Dogs: a horseshoe shaped piece of land surrounded on three sides by water, and the heart of London’s East End.
‘Have you knocked hard on the door above?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, indeed. But there was no reply.’
‘Well, that’s odd.’ Tilly was puzzled. ‘I left the doctor there not thirty minutes ago. We’d finished surgery and no one was left to see. And I’m certain he had no calls to make.’
‘And you are…?’ he asked politely.
‘I’m the doctor’s assistant—Mrs Dainty,’ Tilly replied a little haughtily, mirroring his slightly aloof air. She pulled herself up to her full five feet four inches, aware that for some reason this dark-eyed stranger wasn’t bringing out the best in her. And yet there was something about his handsome features, a long aquiline nose and generous mouth, that softened the contours of his face and added a gentle elegance to his bearing. ‘You’re sure you gave a hefty knock?’
‘Of course. Twice, as it happens.’
A man of very little warmth, Tilly decided as they eyed one another cautiously, although for a few moments as he stared at her she felt a little shiver go down her spine, and in confusion she blushed. Trying to compose herself, she saw no alternative but to go up to the house and investigate.
‘Please step in whilst I get my coat.’ She was trying hard to remember her manners, although it was not at all easy in the presence of this stranger, who had such a dark and enquiring gaze that she really didn’t feel quite herself.
Once inside, he stood stiffly as his gaze swept the room. All seemed to meet with his approval. Even though the ‘airey,’ or basement floor, of Tap House was not lavish, it was clean and cosy. All her beloved furniture was here, and the bits and pieces that she and her late husband, James, had saved so hard for.
‘A very charming room,’ he said admiringly.
‘Thank you.’ Tilly was proud of her small domain, with the fire burning brightly in the grate, and the two large armchairs either side, overflowing with cushions. Although the scarlet settle in the corner sprouted horsehair from its seams, it still looked gracious. Her big oak dresser opposite was stuffed with china and books. And Tilly was proud to say that she had read every one of them. At least once!
Leaving him to his thoughts, she made her way to the children’s room. On entering, she nearly knocked them flying.
She arched an eyebrow as they assembled themselves in front of her. ‘Well, I dare say you heard every word?’
As usual, all three heads nodded.
‘He ain’t an inspector,’ said Frank with a degree of relief in his voice. ‘He’s just looking for Dr Tapper.’
‘And he don’t like leaky gutters,’ said Molly.
‘And you’re going upstairs to let ’im in,’ Cessie added cheerfully, twirling round in her nightgown.
Tilly kept a straight face and clapped her hands. ‘In bed, all of you!’ She indicated the big iron bedstead the girls slept in and the single mattress on the floor that Frank used.
‘Do I ’ave to go too?’ Frank objected. ‘These two are much younger than me.’
‘A good night’s sleep won’t do you any harm,’ Tilly told him. ‘You’ve a long day ahead of you at the market tomorrow. Now, goodnight and sleep well.’
Last week Frank had found a temporary job. A boy had been needed to roast chestnuts on the market brazier. Now Frank often brought home a big bag of chestnuts for roasting on the fire. He always complained he had no privacy with his sisters, though quickly admitted the arrangement of sleeping in the same room was better than on the cold and draughty streets. He loved his sisters to distraction, an
d considered himself their protector. Tilly admired him greatly for his attitude.
In her own room, she took off her apron and put on her coat. Glancing swiftly in the mirror, she saw a slender young woman with a serious blue gaze. She hoped she looked presentable to the visitor outside. Though she had no real reason to care so much about her appearance—other than her pride! And in some strange way this young man was testing it.
They found the house in darkness. The three-storey building comprised the airey, Dr Tapper’s practice on the ground floor, and his living quarters above. It looked very gloomy without light.
Tilly knocked twice.
‘Just as I thought. No one is home,’ her companion observed.
Tilly could think of no reason why the doctor would be out. If an emergency arose he would always tell her first.
She opened the door with her key. A strange quietness filled the air. The surgery was to the right, and the passage regarded as the waiting area to the left, whilst a short staircase led up to Dr Tapper’s private quarters.
‘That’s very strange.’ Tilly put on the gaslights. Shadows cast themselves over the shabby walls and danced on the row of empty wooden chairs.
She led the way into the surgery, where the young man looked up in surprise at the variety of coloured bottles and jars filling the shelves. Tilly was quite used to the sight of Dr Tapper’s unique dispensary, the many herbs, lotions, creams and balms that were his armoury against disease. Tilly felt obliged to explain their contents, but then a loud groan came from the examination room.
They went in. An elderly man lay on the floor, struggling to sit up.
‘Uncle William!’ The young man rushed to help him to his feet. ‘What happened, Uncle?’
‘I don’t know, Harry. I must have blacked out.’
‘Let me get you to the chair.’
Tilly pushed a cushion behind his back as he sat down.
‘I’m all right now. Don’t worry.’ Dr Tapper looked up at the two concerned faces. ‘Tilly…this is Dr Harry Fleet, my nephew.’
‘Yes, we’ve met briefly.’
‘Uncle, I must examine you.’
‘That really isn’t necessary.’
‘Oh, it most certainly is. You’ve had quite a bump on the head, by the looks of it, and we must get to the bottom of why you passed out.’
Dr Tapper pushed back his dishevelled grey hair. He looked up at Tilly. ‘Could I ask you, my dear, to make us all a cup of tea upstairs, and we’ll join you soon?’
‘Of course.’ Tilly had never heard Dr Tapper mention his nephew before, but they rarely had time to discuss personal matters. Their lives were full enough as it was with their patients’ ills. But now poor Dr Tapper had ills of his own!
‘How are you feeling, Uncle?’
‘Better, thank you, Harry.’ Dr Tapper was sitting in his armchair, a bump on his forehead but no bones broken.
Tilly had built up the fire in the drawing room and it was bringing a little more colour to his cheeks. She had also made a pot of hot, sweet tea, which had been drunk and the pot replenished.
Dr Tapper lifted his hand weakly. ‘Please sit down, my dear. You’re making my head swim, fussing over me like this.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Harry Fleet, seating himself. ‘The fire is warming Uncle William and you have done all you can to make us both comfortable.’
Tilly sat in one of the big chairs. She had tried to insist her employer take a little time off during the day, but so many relied on him that he felt obliged to keep the doors open.
‘I’m so sorry I gave you a fright, Tilly, my dear,’ Dr Tapper apologised. ‘When you left this evening I had no idea that I was about to have one of my little turns.’ He sighed lightly. ‘It’s only to be expected at my time of life.’
‘Are you prescribing medication for yourself, Uncle?’
‘Yes, a little pick-me-up.’
‘Nothing from those shelves downstairs, I hope?’
This brought a smile to the elderly doctor’s face. ‘I know my dispensary must seem very antiquated to you, Harry, but my remedies have served me well over the years.’
‘Quite so. But please allow me to prescribe something for you myself—that is, after I’ve given you a thorough examination.’
‘That really won’t be necessary, Harry.’
‘I am sorry to disagree, Uncle, but if you don’t take greater care of yourself—your heart in particular—you may risk a much greater danger than just blacking out.’
Tilly gasped softly.
‘It’s all right, Tilly,’ Dr Tapper patted her hand. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’
‘But you should be resting!’ she exclaimed.
‘Mrs Dainty is quite right,’ Harry Fleet agreed. ‘You must indeed rest. I shall be happy to help you, as I’m on leave from work, and will gladly act as your deputy. The visit to my mother in Bath can be postponed.’
Dr Tapper sighed heavily. ‘But you’ve been abroad for so long, Harry, and your mother is expecting you.’
‘She will insist I stay here when she knows of the circumstances,’ Harry Fleet said firmly. ‘I’m sure I will manage perfectly as I shall have Mrs Dainty to help me.’
‘Tilly is a very good nurse,’ Dr Tapper agreed. ‘And a great tonic to the patients.’
‘I am sure we’ll get along well. Now, we mustn’t keep you any longer, Mrs Dainty.’
Tilly stood up. ‘I’ll make up a bed in the guest room before I leave.’
The young doctor stretched out his hand. ‘Please, don’t trouble yourself. I’m quite domesticated, and will see to everything when Uncle William has retired.’
Dr Tapper nodded. ‘You can be sure I’m in safe hands, Tilly.’
‘Please let me see you out.’
She rose to her feet. ‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Sleep well, my dear.’
‘What time am I to expect you in the morning?’ Harry Fleet asked as he escorted her downstairs.
‘Seven o’clock,’ she replied. ‘As you know I have a key, and can let myself in.’
‘Good grief! That’s dreadfully early! Surely you must see to your husband and children first?’
‘I’m a widow, Dr Fleet.’
He looked startled. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘The children aren’t mine,’ she added carefully, ‘and are only staying with me temporarily.’
He still looked very bewildered, but nodded all the same.
‘I always come up to cook breakfast and light the fire before surgery, so that Dr Tapper’s rooms are kept warm.’
He was silent for a moment, and then smiled. ‘Doing all that whilst I’m here will be quite unnecessary. I’ll make certain that Uncle William eats a healthy breakfast. As for the fire, it will take me no time at all to prepare. So if you’d like to delay your arrival until—say—eight, that would be most agreeable with me.’ Without waiting for a reply he opened the door. ‘Good evening, Mrs Dainty.’
Tilly felt very upset as she left. He seemed not to want her around. And yet she might be misconstruing his aloofness. After all, his suggestion for her to come in to surgery a little later would give her longer in the mornings to prepare herself and the children. What would tomorrow bring? she wondered a little anxiously. And how would the patients themselves react to this unexpected turn of events?
‘What’s he like, then, Miss Tilly?’ Frank demanded at breakfast next morning.
‘Is he rich?’ Cessie pushed more bread in her mouth than Tilly thought it humanly possible to swallow in one go.
‘Has he got a missus?’ Molly enquired, scooping the last of her porridge daintily on to her spoon.
‘I don’t know—times three,’ Tilly replied as she filled four large mugs with hot tea. ‘Now, hurry up and finish your breakfasts.’
‘Ain’t you going upstairs?’ Molly asked suspiciously.
‘No, not till eight o’clock today.’
‘I ain’t heard Dr Tapper speak of him ’afor
e,’ interrupted Frank as he wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. ‘He don’t sound much like our sort. Don’t reckon he’ll hang around long.’ He grinned under his bushy mop of chestnut curls.
‘Will Dr Tapper get better?’ Molly asked, voicing Tilly’s own thoughts.
‘Course he will!’ Cessie established, as Tilly dealt with a particularly fierce tangle in her hair. ‘ He’s only got a cold, I ’spect.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be better very soon,’ Tilly said diplomatically as she withdrew the comb from Cessie’s hair. She was inclined to agree with Frank, but had no intention of saying so.
‘If I said I had a belly ache, would you let me stay home?’ Cessie enquired as she pushed the last crumb of bread in her mouth.
‘No, I’d say if you did have a belly ache it was because you’d put too much in it.’
They all burst out laughing.
Tilly was a little nervous as she went upstairs. As she let herself in, all was quiet. Was Frank right? What if Harry Fleet was not their sort at all and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived?
Tilly turned her mind away from her worries and went to the scullery to prepare for the day ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
TILLY wrote the date—Tuesday October 9th 1928—on the top of the sheet and set it aside. In an hour that sheet would be full of names, and she would have turned it over and started to write on the other side. There were always more patients to see at the beginning of the week than at the end. This was because on Thursday and Friday the women were too busy trying to pay off their debts. They had to appease the tallyman or reclaim their Sunday best clothes from “Uncle”, the pawnbroker.
None of them expected much money from their husbands. Their pay packets were opened at the pub; a man and his ale could not be parted until time was called and only then did the men arrive home—if their legs were able to support them!
Tilly regarded herself as fortunate not to be one of those poor women. Her husband James had been teetotal, and a kindly man. Though he had been much older than herself, by fourteen years, they had been very happy. They had only been married four years when he’d stepped in front of a tram and been killed. It had been a dreadful shock and one she still hadn’t quite recovered from.