Fallen Grace

by Mary Hooper

  ‘From there, we were sent to a training establishment for young women, and it was this place that . . .’ Grace swallowed, feeling nauseous. ‘. . . that we didn’t like.’

  ‘Might I ask why?’ Mrs Beale replied.

  Grace shivered and seemed to feel again the weight of the man as he knelt on her, pinning her down. She took a deep breath. ‘There . . . there was a man who made himself objectionable to me,’ she said at last, her voice little above a whisper.

  ‘Oh!’ Mrs Beale’s tissue-paper cheeks went pink and she hurried to change the subject. ‘Forgive me, my dear, but how long ago did your poor mother die?’

  ‘Near ten years back,’ Grace answered.

  ‘Were there no other relatives who would take you in? What about your father?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘I’ve never known much about my father or his family,’ she said. ‘When Mama and he were married neither family approved of the match, and two years after that, when Lily was a year old and before Mama even knew she was expecting me, Papa went off to the Americas to seek his fortune.’

  ‘Your poor mother! To be left without a protector!’

  Grace nodded. ‘She brought us up on a little inheritance she’d had from her grandparents and taught me to read and write quite early, hoping that one day I’d make a good marriage and be able to keep Lily as my companion.’ She smiled wryly as she spoke, knowing that good marriages were not made in Seven Dials, and that the most a girl here might hope for would be to marry a coster with his own barrow. ‘I started my training as a teacher and Lily was to learn about domestic duties, but then we had to leave . . .’ Here Grace stopped and found it impossible to continue.

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘Some . . . some nine months ago.’

  ‘Nine months,’ Mrs Beale repeated, and if she made the obvious connection was refined enough not to say anything about it. ‘And you never heard from your father again?’

  ‘Never.’ Grace shook her head again. ‘Mama always used to say that sea travel was dangerous and that he might have perished, but perhaps he just didn’t love Mama enough to come back to her.’

  Mrs Beale squeezed her hand now. ‘My dear girl, I’m sure some other occurrence prevented his return from overseas.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ It was Grace’s turn to change the subject. ‘But I’m sorry you have to go into a workhouse.’

  ‘Neither of us want to, but another winter like the last one would kill Mr Beale. Life gets harder as you get older, you see.’

  Grace nodded and, as she wished Mrs Beale all the very best, mused that her and Lily’s lives seemed to be growing harder already, for the market in watercress hadn’t improved, especially since a rumour had spread that some of the big watercress rivers were unclean and might harbour cholera. She always came home with unsold cresses now, and sometimes struggled all day to sell even six bunches. Lily had tried her hand at selling combs and then matches, but whereas people often bought things from Grace because of her shy beauty, Lily had no such appeal. She had their mother’s dark auburn curls but had, unfortunately, inherited their father’s looks – his square jaw and deeply set eyes. (Their mother had painted a little portrait of their father which once, years ago, had stood beside her bed, and she had often remarked on Lily’s likeness to him.) Grace had now pawned Mama’s wedding bonnet and veil, and following this had taken a pillow and two blankets to a dolly shop – one of the unofficial pawnbrokers that had sprung up in the poverty-stricken locality.

  ‘We can manage perfectly well with one blanket,’ she’d said to Lily. ‘And by the time it’s really cold, things may have improved for us.’

  ‘And then we can buy some new blankets!’ Lily had said happily. ‘Or perhaps Papa will come back.’

  Grace didn’t reply, for she didn’t think it was right to encourage Lily in such thoughts and she’d stopped believing in Papa long ago. Besides, even with what she’d pawned she hadn’t managed to put aside their rent money for the following week and was more concerned about that than about a man whose very existence was in doubt.

  When Mrs Beale had gone, Grace looked around the room. What else could she pawn to keep them from starving? Could they manage without shoes? She sighed. Some folk did – the youngest Cartwright boy, a lad of about six, seemed to have neither shoes nor clothes of his own, since he only appeared outside when one of his brothers was indoors. Once, sent by his mother to beg a slice of bread from Grace, he’d appeared at their door wearing no more than a shabby shawl tied around his waist. After some thought, Grace decided that their petticoats and the last pillow could be pawned if absolutely necessary, but not their shoes.

  She glanced at the two small white cards still standing on the shelf above the fireplace. She loathed the thought of asking for charity, but she would if she had to. Anything to help prevent them from being taken to a workhouse. And she knew there were even worse fates than that: recently she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from looking with awful fascination at the sad young women who plied the oldest of trades in the slum that was Monmouth Street . . . those girls with matted hair, sores, bruises and utterly wretched expressions. Oh, pray that God hadn’t deserted her and Lily entirely and that that didn’t become their fate.

  x

  While Grace was speaking to Mrs Beale, Lily was standing with Alfie Pope watching a conjurer perform in a paved square off Oxford Street. The square held a good amount of people, for it contained several popular shops, two best-quality fruit stalls and a small swingboat of the type you might get at a fair. Just then it also contained the Magnificent Marvo, and it was in front of him that most of the crowd, including a dog and a man, were gathered.

  ‘Look, see that dog?’ Alfie hissed. ‘The beagle dog?’ He took Lily’s arm and pointed to the small brown and white hound waiting patiently beside its owner in the cobbled square. ‘It’s lost, see. All you gotta do is pick it up and take it to that fence over the back where my brother Billy is. He’ll take the doggie off you and see it gets to its rightful ’ome.’

  Lily frowned. She was tired and, after a day looking for bottles on the streets and earning only a penny, was anxious to get back to Grace. ‘Are you sure it’s lost?’ she said to Alfie. ‘That man’s got it on a lead.’

  ‘That’s not its real owner,’ Alfie said, running a grubby hand through his shock of black hair. ‘It’s been nicked. See, its real owner wants it back and is off’ring a reward. A big reward.’

  Lily’s eyes gleamed. ‘Did it say so in the newspaper?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Alfie said.

  ‘So why don’t you take it?’ Lily asked.

  ‘’Cos the cove’s going to be on the lookout for anyone gettin’ too close to his nice new doggie,’ Alfie explained diligently. ‘He’d be suspicious of me, but he won’t ’spect an helegant young gel like you.’

  Lily beamed at him.

  ‘You can easily cut the doggie’s lead an’ –’

  ‘Cut the lead?’

  ‘Yup. I got a sharp knife here,’ said Alfie. ‘Cut the lead, pick up the doggie and you’ll be orf before he knows it. Then you just goes to that fence over the back there and gives him to Billy and he’ll give you a shillin’.’

  ‘A shilling!’ Lily’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘Sure! Easiest money you’ll ever earn. ’Ere’s the knife.’ He pressed a small penknife into her hand. ‘Off you go now. Look smart.’

  Lily didn’t hesitate, for in all her life she had never before had the opportunity of earning a shilling. She concealed the penknife in her hand, slipped around the corner into the square and went to stand beside the dog in the heart of the crowd. Everyone was intent on watching the magician who was bringing out innumerable silk handkerchiefs from the sleeve of his jacket, colour upon colour, larger and larger, until the last emerged, as big as a flag. This achieved, he rolled all the flags into a bundle and threw them in the air, whereupon, to cheers and applause, they turned into a white rabbit. Lily could scarcely believe her eyes. A re
al rabbit! She looked towards Alfie, gasping and pointing, but he merely shook his head at her and urged her on. She immediately bent over, cut the dog’s lead, picked him up and ran out of the square with him.

  Amid the throng, it was some moments before the owner of the dog realised that he was holding half a lead with no dog on the end of it, and by this time Lily had the dog grabbed out of her hands by Billy, the second Pope boy.

  ‘Give ’im ’ere!’ he said urgently. He grabbed the beagle and turned in order to drop him over the fence, where a third brother was concealed.

  ‘Where’s my money?’ Lily asked.

  Billy pressed a coin into her hand and Lily scrutinised it. ‘Is this a shilling?’ she asked, for she didn’t think she’d ever seen one before.

  ‘’Course it is!’ Billy held the dog high above the fence and the obliging ‘Scout’ was dropped over with a yelp to George, the third brother. As George fled with the dog under his arm, Billy turned back to Lily, smiling genially, for all the world as if they were there just to enjoy the show. ‘It’s one of the new shillings,’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lily.

  ‘They changed, see. When did you last see one?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘There you are, then. That’s a shillin’ all right!’

  Suddenly, from the area in front of the magician there was a cry of ‘My dog! Someone’s taken my dog!’ and half of the crowd left the Magnificent Marvo (for anyway, he was about to pass his hat round) to seek out the lost dog.

  Had they glanced towards the fence they would have just seen Billy Pope leaning on it, quietly whittling a stick with the penknife he’d got back from Lily, and Lily herself, looking slightly disconcerted, walking home clutching the ‘shilling’.

  x

  ‘This is not a shilling!’ Grace said. ‘Whoever told you that?’

  ‘It’s one of the new ones,’ said Lily. ‘He said it was one of the new ones.’

  ‘Who did? You said you found it in the street.’

  Lily coloured. ‘Billy Pope said.’

  Grace looked at her sister sadly. She felt infinitely weary, having been out since five that morning with the cresses and only taking a few pence. The money she’d earned was going to be put towards the rent, and then she had to decide whether to buy stock the following day or something to eat that evening. ‘Why was Billy Pope giving you money?’

  Lily did what she normally did when things got too much: she burst into tears.

  ‘Lily! I hope it was nothing wicked.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t – it wasn’t at all. There was a dog, you see, and a man had taken it who shouldn’t have, and the Pope boys were going to return it to the proper owner and get a reward.’

  ‘But what did you do?’

  ‘I just took the dog off the man who’d stolen it!’ Lily sniffed. ‘I cut its lead and –’

  ‘You stole it!’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Lily, I’ve told you this before. There are many wicked thieves about – they steal a dog in the street and wait until the owner advertises a reward for finding it.’

  ‘Then what?’ said Lily sullenly.

  ‘Then they take it back and pretend they’ve found it running loose. The owner is usually so pleased to have it that he doesn’t ask too many questions.’ She went to the window, all the better to look at the coin. ‘Anyway, this is a ha’penny painted silver – and not painted all that well, either. Is this what they gave you?’

  Lily nodded.

  ‘I shall go and speak to the Popes. If anyone had seen you and caught you, you could have been arrested by the police and taken away from me, don’t you realise that?’

  Lily hung her head, looking suitably ashamed, but nevertheless feeling better. It wasn’t her fault; it was all to do with those Pope boys. Grace wasn’t really cross with her.

  Grace wrapped her shawl about her, brushed down her skirts and left the room, feeling agitated. Before she’d gone more than five steps down the passageway, however, she’d started to change her mind: there was only one of her against six Popes and she was bound to come off the worst. She sank down on to the bottom stair. Perhaps it was her own fault; Lily was easy prey for anyone and shouldn’t really have been allowed to go off on her own collecting bottles. Mama had impressed upon Grace – even when very small – that she must look upon herself as the older sister, rather than the younger. ‘I fear that Lily will always be a child,’ she’d said more than once, ‘and it will fall to you, Grace, to prevent people from taking advantage of her.’

  Thinking on all this, Grace began weeping. She’d let Mama down, she’d let Lily down, the watercress season was over, there was hardly anything left to pawn and winter was coming. What was to become of them?

  x

  Chapter Ten

  Before the Beales left Mrs Macready’s the following morning, Mrs Beale gave Grace her tattered shawl and apron, for they’d been told that they wouldn’t be allowed to enter the workhouse with any possessions of their own. Even the clothes they were wearing would be taken away and, after being hosed down, they’d have to wear crude workhouse garments made of sacking, with a number on their backs.

  Despite the threadbare condition of these two items of Mrs Beale’s, Grace was able to get a penny for them at a rag fair and, with this and the painted ha’penny, to buy a large bunch of watercress (rather yellowing, hence the price) which she split into five. After managing to sell these bunches for a penny each, the two girls began making their way back to Mrs Macready’s, Grace hurrying because she had a job to do. Winter was fast advancing, and because one of the two small windows in their room was broken it was very draughty. She planned to beg a few old crates from a stall in Neal’s Yard, and a hammer and nails from one of the costermongers upstairs, and try and nail boards across the gaps. It would make it even darker in their little room, for the houses opposite were so close that little light penetrated anyway, but to be dark seemed better than being cold. Cold they surely would be, however, at some time in the coming months, for – now that everything they had of any value had been pawned – this winter there would be no money to buy firewood or coals.

  Coming close to the lane where they lived, with Mrs Macready’s house already in view, Grace was struck by the unusual number of people milling about – not only the normal stray children, hawkers, tinkers, peddlers and housewives going to and from market – but workmen in blue serge, and two or three men with top hats and dark suits. She turned to mention this to Lily, but her sister had wandered off, having seen a hawker with a kitten and puppy together in a cage, one of the ‘happy families’ – kittens with mice or ducklings, or cats and dogs together – that had recently become popular begging accessories. On Lily showing some interest in these, however, the cloth which covered the cage had been replaced, and the showman refused to let her see the animals unless she produced a ha’penny.

  Lily ran back to Grace. ‘Just a ha’penny!’ she pleaded. ‘Only a ha’penny to see the dearest kitten and puppy playing together.’

  Grace shook her head, intent on discovering why there were so many extra people in the area. She craned her head to see along Brick Place. What was happening?

  ‘And you can see them, too, at the same time!’ Lily persisted.

  ‘And pet them, miss, for just a small extra charge!’ called the showman, a gaunt individual, his coat tied up with string.

  ‘I’m sorry, I cannot. Lily, please come along!’ Grace waved the showman out of the way, but tried to do it in a civil manner, for she knew that he was only doing what everyone else in London was doing: trying to earn enough money to survive.

  Lily reluctantly left the animals and joined her sister, staring where she was staring. ‘What’s happening? Why has our house got wood over the windows?’

  They went closer. Mrs Macready’s house was the second along in a small terrace of four, all of which were in similar states of shabby disrepair – two were without chimney pots, s
everal had glass gone from their windows or their frames broken, and one had the front door missing entirely. Mrs Macready’s house also had a vast crack which ran across the brickwork in a diagonal line from the top to the bottom. These four decrepit dwellings were now in the process of being boarded up, with solid wooden planks criss-crossed over all the window apertures and doorways to prevent occupation.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Lily asked. ‘How will we get in?’ Thinking about the few worthless little things she kept in her cigar box, she began to cry. ‘I want my treasures!’

  ‘Wait here,’ Grace said to her firmly. ‘Don’t move!’ She approached who seemed to be the foreman; the man bearing the most paperwork, with the tallest hat. ‘We live here, my sister and I –’ she began.

  ‘Not any more you don’t,’ said the man, not even glancing up.

  Grace felt shock gust through her. ‘But what’s happening? We’ve paid our rent, we don’t owe anything, we haven’t been in trouble –’

  The man flattened his papers against his chest and looked at Grace for the first time, surprised at both her voice and her manner (for most of the other tenants of the houses had screamed, threatened and blasphemed). ‘Government orders,’ he said in a more conciliatory manner. ‘Slum clearance, see. Orders of Prince Albert. They’re going to build better homes here. They don’t want you to live twenty to a room and eighty to a privy any more.’

  ‘You mean, these houses are being improved?’

  ‘Not exactly, miss. They’re being pulled down. They’re going to build places with inside privies and water on tap, and when they’re all finished, you’ll be asked if you want to live here again. Always supposing you can afford the rent,’ he couldn’t resist adding.

  ‘But where shall we go in the meantime?’

  The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Haven’t you got any family who’d take you in?’

  Grace didn’t even bother to reply to this. ‘But where are all the others gone? The Popes and the Cartwrights and everyone?’

  ‘Blessed if I know,’ the man said. ‘They were all here earlier, running around like a family of dung beetles. Why, someone had a zoo in their room – dogs, cats, squirrels, birds – a regular menagerie!’ He looked about him, then pointed to the steps of the end house, where three ragged shapes were bent over, weeping. ‘There are some of them.’