Mermaids Singing

by Dilly Court

  ‘Leave her be,’ Kitty said, flying to Maggie’s defence. ‘It ain’t Maggie’s fault. Can’t you see she’s done in?’

  Betty stabbed the knife into a potato, glaring pointedly at Maggie. ‘Where were you when Kitty needed you, I like to know? And how can you live with that man after what he did?’ With an angry toss of her head, Betty marched towards the doorway. ‘I’m going to check on Polly. You’d best be gone by the time I come back, Maggie, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.’ Betty stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  Taking the brown teapot from the top of the range, Kitty filled a mug with the strong brew, adding a generous amount of sugar and a dash of fresh milk. Silently she handed it to Maggie and watched her drink. It was alarming to see Maggie looking so pale and drawn; she was even thinner now than she had been when Kitty last saw her and her eyes were sunken into her head, underlined with bruise-like shadows. Her hands trembled as she grasped the mug of tea and she seemed to have difficulty in swallowing.

  ‘Why did you come, Maggie?’ Kitty asked. ‘I never seen you in such a state.’

  ‘I know who done it,’ Maggie whispered, staring into the mug of tea. ‘I heard what happened to you and I know it was Sid what done it. You got to get away, girl, afore he comes looking for you.’

  ‘He wouldn’t dare. The police would get him for sure.’

  ‘That’s what he’s afraid of. He thinks you’ll split on him.’ Maggie grabbed Kitty’s hands. ‘Get back to Dover Street, for all our sakes.’

  ‘I didn’t tell the police nothing and I won’t neither,’ Kitty said, gently easing her hands free. ‘But you’ve got to leave him, Maggie, before he hurts you or the little ’uns.’

  ‘And end up in the workhouse?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘He don’t bother me that way now. I think he’s too ashamed of what he done. He gives me just enough money to pay the rent and the tallyman. He drinks away the rest, but at least he’s quiet when he falls unconscious from the booze.’

  ‘But you have to eat,’ Kitty said, frowning.

  ‘Your money keeps us going for some of the time. Then there’s the Sally Army soup kitchen, and I does a bit of ironing for Mrs Harman. I can manage, Kitty, but if Sid was sent to jail it would be the end of us all.’

  ‘So that’s the real reason you came here today.’ Kitty shivered as a new pain stabbed her heart. ‘Not for my sake, but to make sure I didn’t tell the police that it was that bugger you married.’

  Maggie’s head snapped backwards as though Kitty had slapped her face. She struggled to her feet. ‘I don’t say as I blame you for thinking that, but it ain’t so. Not a day goes by but I don’t blame meself for taking Sid’s side against you when I knew you was telling the truth.’

  ‘Oh! Maggie!’ Kitty cried, holding out her arms.

  ‘I got to go.’ Shaking her head, Maggie backed towards the door.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Kitty said, going to the mantelshelf, standing on tiptoe and reaching for the cocoa tin where she kept what was left of her wages. Counting the coins, Kitty took out three silver crowns and pressed them into Maggie’s hand. ‘Take this and spend it on food and coal. I’ll give you more when I can.’

  Maggie stared at the coins and tears gushed from her eyes. ‘You’re a good girl.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to put up with that vicious brute,’ Kitty said angrily. ‘I’ll get you and the nippers away from Sugar Yard, if it’s the last thing I ever do.’

  Maggie wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Don’t you set foot near Sugar Yard again. I’m more than grateful for your help but you got to keep away and forget about us.’

  ‘Never!’

  Maggie wrenched the kitchen door open and ran into the hallway, stopping at the front door and delving her hand into her pocket. ‘I nearly forgot. Is this yours?’

  Kitty stared in disbelief at the gold half-sovereign that glinted on Maggie’s outstretched palm. ‘I thought it was lost,’ she said, picking it up with trembling fingers. ‘Jem gave me this before he went back to sea.’

  ‘It was in Sid’s pocket. I thought he’d just stolen it. If I’d known the truth then I think I’d have stabbed him while he lay a drunken sot sleeping off the booze. Then, when I heard what had happened to you, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.’ Maggie grabbed Kitty by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You got to get away from here, Kitty. Go now, afore it’s too late.’ Maggie wrenched the door open and ran out into the street.

  ‘She’s right, Kitty,’ Betty said, coming slowly down the stairs. ‘Maggie’s right. Now you’re up and about, it’s not safe for you to stay here.’

  ‘I’m not frightened of Sid. I’ll not let him drive me away and I can’t go back to Dover Street until I hear from the mistress.’

  ‘Kitty, I love you like a daughter, but we’re poor people,’ Betty said, smiling ruefully. ‘Her ladyship hasn’t sent you any more wages and I’m losing money on the rent of your room.’

  ‘I’ll help you with sewing the dresses for your rich ladies. I can make the breakfasts for your gentlemen lodgers.’

  Betty shook her head. ‘I know you’d try and help, ducks, but the winter is here and Polly will sicken again for sure, and then there’ll be the doctor’s bills to pay. I hate to say it but, for all our sakes, you’ll have to go back to Dover Street and ask Mrs Brewster for your job back.’

  Large feathery flakes of snow were falling from a pewter sky as Kitty made her way, sliding and slipping down the area steps to the servants’ entrance. Olive opened the door and would have slammed it in Kitty’s face had she not put her booted foot over the sill. Kitty was cold, tired after her long walk, and in no mood to wrangle with Olive. She found Florrie in the scullery, up to her elbows in the stone sink, scouring out saucepans and, ignoring her open-mouthed gasp of astonishment and Olive’s protests, Kitty strode through the kitchen. George almost dropped the hod of coal he was hefting into the fiery throat of the kitchen range, but he gave her a friendly wink. Mrs Dixon uttered an outraged cry as Kitty walked straight past, heading for the housekeeper’s office.

  Mrs Brewster’s expression was hardly welcoming and she shook her head when Kitty told her that she had returned to work.

  ‘You’re not needed here now,’ Mrs Brewster said, eyeing Kitty over the steel rims of her spectacles. ‘Miss Lane looks after the child.’

  ‘Lady Mableton said I should come back when I was recovered,’ Kitty said, with a defiant lift of her chin.

  Mrs Brewster leaned across her desk, frowning. ‘Lady Mableton is still unwell and living in the country. You will have to find alternative employment.’

  ‘Lady Mableton would want me to stay.’

  ‘Don’t you defy me, Kitty Cox,’ Mrs Brewster said, her voice rising in anger. ‘I’ll not have you answering me back.’

  Kitty backed towards the door as Mrs Brewster rose to her feet and moved swiftly around the desk. She came at Kitty with her hand raised, but a sharp rapping on the door stopped her in her tracks.

  Maria marched into the room. ‘I could hear you shouting all the way down the passage, Mrs Brewster. Everyone could hear you.’

  ‘This is my business, Miss Lane. Not yours.’

  Maria folded her arms across her chest and Kitty watched in awe as the two women squared up to each other. Prizefighters in the boxing ring could not have eyed each other in a more threatening manner.

  ‘I need help in the nursery, Mrs Brewster. I’m a lady’s maid, not a nanny. Lady Mableton left instructions that Kitty was to come back as soon as her health had improved.’

  ‘Lady Mableton isn’t here, Miss Lane. I’m in charge of the female servants and don’t you forget your place.’

  ‘I’ll go to Sir Desmond then, and see what he has to say.’

  Mrs Brewster’s face flushed to deep purple and her bosom heaved. ‘There’s no need to do that. Sir Desmond doesn’t want to be bothered with household trivia.’

  ‘Then do as I say and take the girl on.’r />
  Kitty looked from one to the other; she could almost see the sparks flashing between their locked gazes. Maria folded her arms across her chest and Kitty could hear the toe of her boot tapping on the linoleum.

  Mrs Brewster was the first to look away. ‘Kitty can come back as scullery maid,’ she muttered, between clenched teeth. ‘If and when her ladyship returns, I’ll review the situation.’

  Maria slowly nodded her head. ‘Very well, but I shall be keeping an eye on her, Mrs Brewster. If there’s any sign of bullying I will take the matter straight to Mr Warner.’ She swept out of the office, leaving Mrs Brewster making gobbling noises.

  Eyeing her warily, Kitty was reminded of the Christmas turkeys in Smithfield Market.

  ‘Well, girl, what are you standing there for, gaping like an idiot? Get back to the scullery, give Mrs Dixon my compliments and ask her if she can spare me a moment or two.’

  At least Florrie and George were pleased to see Kitty back in her old job as scullery maid; Florrie confiding that the last girl only stuck it for a week and then took off without a by-your-leave.

  George was only too eager to fill Kitty in on all the events that had occurred in her absence. It seemed that after Lady Mableton’s departure, Sir Desmond had become morose and bad-tempered, complaining about everything to Mr Warner, who took out his frustrations on the servants below stairs. Miss Iris had lost her gentleman admirer and was, according to George, a wasp buzzing around and stinging anyone who got in her way. Mr Rackham hadn’t been seen in Dover Street since her ladyship went away and that, George said, tapping the side of his nose, was proof that something had been going on, or he was a Dutchman.

  Miss Leonie cried a lot, but then she was little more than a baby, and it was natural for her to want her mama. Miss Lane went about with a face like thunder, snapping at anyone who dared speak to her. A big, horrible black cloud had settled over the house in Dover Street and there didn’t seem to be much chance of Lady Mableton being allowed home, not while Sir Desmond was in this sort of humour.

  At first Olive and Dora kept their distance, keeping a watchful eye on Mrs Dixon, who was nifty with the rolling pin or soup ladle when annoyed. But after a couple of days of uneasy truce, Olive came into the scullery followed by Dora and they stood watching Kitty as she worked.

  ‘Not so hoity-toity now, are we?’ Olive said, sniggering. ‘You’ve sunk back to your proper place in the gutter.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dora added, grinning, ‘they say water finds its own level. You’re sewer water, Kitty Cox.’

  Ignoring them, Kitty continued scrubbing the copper saucepan.

  Dora nipped forward and tugged at the strings of Kitty’s apron, untying them. Shaking the water off her hands, Kitty tied the apron and returned to her work without saying a word.

  This time it was Olive who stepped forward and, scooping a handful of fat from a dirty pan, tossed it into the clean pan that Kitty had just set aside to dry. ‘Oh dear, you’ll have to do that one all over again.’

  Kitty turned on them, her temper at snapping point. They had been deliberately tormenting her since early morning and she had had enough. She advanced on them with her chin stuck out and her hands balled into fists. She had the satisfaction of seeing them back away in surprise, their smiles fading.

  ‘That’s it,’ Kitty said, waving her fists in front of their faces. ‘I ain’t a kid now. I’m as big as you two and I ain’t afraid of you neither. So who’s going to take me on then?’

  Olive and Dora backed towards the door.

  ‘Can’t you take a joke?’ Olive said, glancing over her shoulder into the kitchen. ‘Mrs Dixon will be back in a moment and she’ll sort you out.’

  ‘You’re cowards, the pair of you,’ stormed Kitty. ‘I wouldn’t waste my time giving you the slapping you deserve. But come near me again and I might change my mind.’

  ‘You showed ’em.’ George stood in the doorway with an empty coal bucket in each hand. He put them down on the flagstones, chuckling at the sight of Olive and Dora scuttling back into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m fed up with them,’ Kitty said, tucking a wayward curl back under her cap.

  ‘You got lovely hair, Kitty.’ Shuffling his feet, a flush rose from George’s throat, disappearing into his hairline.

  ‘Don’t talk rot, George.’

  The freckles on his nose stood out in brown clumps. ‘Well, you have and you’re pretty too.’

  ‘Kitty, come here.’ Mrs Dixon’s voice echoed round the steamy scullery.

  George pulled a face. ‘I bet they told on you, miserable bitches.’

  Kitty hurried into the main kitchen, ready for another fight. But Olive and Dora were nowhere in sight and the bell from the nursery suite was jangling on its spring. Mrs Dixon waved a floury hand at Kitty.

  ‘There’s no one left to take the nursery tray upstairs. You’ll have to do it, Kitty. Look smart.’

  Carrying the heavy tray up four flights of stairs left Kitty panting and breathless and she rapped on the nursery door. It was wrenched open and Maria dragged her into the room.

  ‘Thank God it’s you, Kitty.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Miss Lane?’

  Maria seized the tray, dumping it on the table. ‘It’s Leonie, she’s took sick. The doctor has just been and he says it’s the measles.’

  ‘We all had it at home,’ Kitty said, shuddering at the memory. ‘Our Violet nearly died of the fever.’

  ‘I’ll need you to help me look after her. But most of all, the child needs her mother. She keeps calling for her again and again. It’s driving me mad.’

  Kitty could hear Leonie’s muffled sobs coming from the night nursery. ‘Shall I go to her then, Miss Lane?’

  ‘Yes. No, first we must get a message to Bella and tell her she must come home. Can I trust you, Kitty?’

  ‘I’d do anything for her ladyship and Miss Leonie.’

  ‘Sir Desmond won’t have it, but we’ve got to bring Bella home before it’s too late.’ Wringing her hands, Maria began pacing the floor; her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. ‘This is a judgement on me, a dreadful judgement on the way I’ve lived, and Bella will never forgive me if anything happens to Leonie. I’ve done terrible things in my life but I can’t stand by and see the poor child suffer.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Kitty asked, watching helplessly.

  Stopping in her tracks, Maria gripped Kitty by the shoulders, her eyes blazing. ‘I’ve always said I’d like to see him go to hell, but there’s only one person I know who would dare go against Sir Desmond. I want you to slip out of the house without anyone seeing you and take a message to Mr Rackham.’

  Clutching the hastily scrawled note in her hand, Kitty crept through the entrance hall. James was busy polishing the brass door furniture and her heart sank; there was no way she could get past him without being seen. Hearing the patter of footsteps running down the main staircase, Kitty dodged behind a marble column.

  ‘James!’ Jane leaned over the banisters. ‘Miss Iris wants the carriage brought round right away.’

  Passing within a few feet of Kitty, James sauntered over to speak to Jane. Peeping round the column, Kitty saw them head to head and, thanking her lucky stars that James was sweet on Jane, she slipped out of the house unseen.

  It was raining and Kitty had come out as she was, without even a shawl to protect her from the weather. Barely noticing the chill of the rain soaking through her clothes, Kitty ran all the way to Rackham’s lodging, only to be told by his landlady that he was not at home. Refusing to be fobbed off, Kitty stood her ground until the woman grudgingly admitted that she might find him at his club in Pall Mall.

  Soaked to the skin by the time she reached Rackham’s club, Kitty argued fiercely with the doorman, who refused to let her in or even to take a message to Mr Rackham. Driven by desperation and the memory of Leonie’s pitiful, feverish cries for her mother, Kitty butted him in the stomach and barged into the cloistered quiet of the vestibule. Leapt upon by a cou
ple of footmen, Kitty opened her mouth and screamed Rackham’s name over and over again, biting, kicking and scratching as they tried to eject her from the premises. They had got her as far as the double doors when she saw Rackham coming towards them.

  Breaking free, Kitty ran to him. ‘Mr Rackham, you got to help.’

  ‘Do you know this young person, Sir?’ The affronted doorman grabbed Kitty by the scruff of the neck.

  ‘It’s all right, Hobson. I’ll deal with this.’ Rackham hooked his arm around Kitty’s shoulders and guided her out of the building. ‘Now then, young Kitty. What’s wrong?’

  Kitty thrust the note from Maria into his hand. ‘You got to come, Sir. Miss Leonie’s mortal sick with measles and my lady’s been sent off to the country.’

  Rackham’s black brows drew together in a frown. ‘She didn’t go willingly?’

  ‘Sir Desmond forced her to go and he wouldn’t let her take Miss Leonie. Now the poor little mite is off her head with fever and calling for her mummy.’ Shivering violently and barely able to control her chattering teeth, Kitty grabbed him by the hand. ‘We got to bring her ladyship back to London afore it’s too late. Are you going to help, Sir, or are you going to stand there asking bleeding silly questions?’

  Chapter Eight

  Bella shivered, huddling closer to the fire in the inglenook. It was, she thought dismally, large enough to roast a whole ox, but the flames curling around the damp logs sent most of their heat up the chimney, barely taking the chill off the oak-panelled room. Her feet were numbed with cold; chilblains made her legs itch and burn at the same time. Sleet was hurling itself against the leaded panes of the windows and a handful of ice came down the chimney, sputtering in the flames and sending a cloud of smoke into the room. Coughing and jumping to her feet, Bella paced the floor, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile effort to keep warm. Pausing by the window, she gazed out through the hailstorm to the mist-shrouded salt marshes, disappearing into the sea. Dusk was beginning to gobble up the land and sea alike, adding to the sense of isolation and the inescapable prison of her circumstances.