Never Look Back (10 page)

She thought this church was lovely, especially the windows with colourful pictures on the glass. It smelled of polish and flowers, and it felt very good to be seated right up at the front with the gentry, instead of tucked away at the back with the other poor people. She wished she dared turn round and look at everyone, the rustle of silk gowns, the smells of scent were all so enticing, but she knew Lily would take her to task later if she didn’t appear to be engrossed in what the Reverend was saying.

His sermon was on the sin of avarice, a word she wanted to
understand, but she had long since lost the thread because Tabitha kept distracting her. She was sitting between Matilda and her mother, wriggling and pushing her feet at the pew in front. She looked a picture in a yellow dress with matching pantaloons and bonnet, but Matilda was now very well aware this little girl wasn’t as sweet as she looked, she needed a firm hand.

Lily was another who wasn’t all she seemed. She had a gentle manner, she was fair and kindly in most ways, but she was so very fussy. Nothing escaped her sharp eyes, not a wisp of hair coming from Matilda’s cap, not a speck of dust on the furniture. She checked all tradesmen’s bills several times, every item of clean laundry was scrutinized for remaining stains. For all Matilda knew perhaps all real ladies carried on this way, yet it seemed to her that Lily was in some way unhappy underneath, as if there was something wrong in her life so she had to work twice as hard to pretend everything was fine.

Aggie’s biggest complaint against Lily was the way she wouldn’t allow anything to be wasted. She said that a lady shouldn’t demean herself by being so frugal. Matilda wasn’t entirely sure which side she stood on. Having spent most of her life hungry she was glad to see that left-over meat and vegetables were made into soup, that stale bread made a pudding, yet she couldn’t help thinking that if she were Lily, she’d give those scraps to the starving beggars on the street.

Matilda was brought back to the sermon when she heard the word ‘gluttony’. She had been chastized several times during the week for what Lily called ‘an unladylike appetite’. But how could she help it when she’d spent so much of her life being hungry? The meals Aggie prepared made her mouth water long before she sat down to eat them, and there were so many wonderful tastes she’d never experienced before. Oxtail soup, so spicy and rich she wanted gallons of it. Meaty gravy poured over roast potatoes, rice pudding and chocolate cake. Even at night when she was called into the parlour for prayers, she found herself thinking about what Aggie had planned for the next day’s dinner.

Along with discovering that neither Tabitha nor Lily was quite what she expected, her duties had turned out to be a great deal heavier too. In fact at the end of the day she was often more
exhausted than she’d been as a flower-girl. Lily’s passion for cleanliness involved a tremendous amount of work. Hot water had to be carried upstairs in pails for washing, and then down again to be emptied. Every chamber-pot had to be scalded after emptying, linen had to be boiled.

It took a good hour to get Tabitha ready in the morning, washing her from head to foot after she’d done her business on the chamber-pot, brushing her hair, then dressing her in all those underclothes and petticoats, even before her dress. If she wet herself during the day, which she often did, everything had to come off again.

Mealtimes were a long, tedious torture when she found herself under close scrutiny from Madam. While trying to suppress her desire to wolf down her own food, she had to remember the countless rules. She could hardly believe there were so many: knives only to be used for cutting and pushing food on to the fork, the right hand for a glass, lips closed while chewing, fruit pips to be put on the spoon, not spat out. On top of this she also had to help Tabitha, and she had to be cajoled into eating anything.

It had crossed Matilda’s mind many times in the last week that the upper classes could learn a lot from the poor, especially where children were concerned. Very small children soon learned the folly of wetting themselves once they were uncomfortable. They ate anything put in front of them because they didn’t know when they’d get the offer of food again, and they would play a lot more happily without so many clothes hampering them. Poor Tabitha in all her petticoats could barely sit down on the nursery floor to play with her doll, and when out in Regent’s Park or Primrose Hill in the afternoons, she couldn’t run off any steam. It was no wonder she could be so fractious.

Of course Matilda wouldn’t dare voice such thoughts, any more than she’d dare show any irritation when Lily constantly kept coming into the nursery to check what she was doing. Instead she counted her blessings, whether that was being instructed in ironing while Tabitha had a nap before dinner, or an hour of washing up with Aggie while Tabitha spent some time with her parents. She was learning skills every minute she spent in the house.

The best bits of the day were the afternoon walk, and the hour
before Tabitha’s bedtime. Then she could be herself, telling the little girl stories, playing with her, just like she’d done with her brothers. The evenings were the worst time. Even when she wasn’t asked to clean silver or mend something, and she could read, she still felt dreadfully lonely. It was then she’d think about her family and worry about how they were managing without her. Sometimes she even missed the noise in the court and wished she was back there.

But now as she sat here in the church, clean, well fed, and with Tabitha’s small hand in hers, she felt happy. She was sure Lily was beginning to trust her. Once she’d learnt to eat and talk like her, and stopped being greedy, Madam might even get to like her.

Catching something about ‘sharing what you have with those less fortunate’, she glanced up again at the Reverend and found he was looking right at her, a faint smile on his lips. She smiled back. Lily might have turned out to be difficult to please, and very puzzling, but he was a real gent. He didn’t go on about God as she’d expected, and he always thanked her for anything she did for him, even if it was only taking his coat and hat when he came in. Many times this week he’d sought her out alone to see how she was getting on and he seemed pleased she was learning so fast. He’d even lent her his leather-bound book of
Oliver Twist
to read, because she’d confided she’d only read the first instalment and was desperate to read the rest. She liked his soft, dark eyes, the fullness of his lips, and his long, slender fingers. She thought Lily must be the luckiest woman in the world to have him as her husband.

‘Hold Tabby’s hand securely and wait for me,’ Lily ordered Matilda as they left the church after the service. ‘I have to speak to some of the parishioners.’

Matilda was delighted to wait in the churchyard while Lily joined her husband by the door. It was an ideal opportunity to study the people Giles called ‘his flock’.

They did bear a similarity to sheep she’d seen over on the south side of the river. They were herded close together, and they bleated greetings to the parson and his wife as they passed them. She wondered fleetingly if any of the fine-looking gentlemen in their shiny top hats, tail-coats and crisp white linen were the same ones she’d sometimes observed in the Haymarket
with a ‘gay girl’ on their arm. If they were, she could hardly blame them for the wives seen here were a drab bunch. Their gowns were disappointingly sombre, greys and blues in the main, one or two had flower-trimmed bonnets and hats, but she’d seen far prettier ones in the Haymarket.

A tugging on her hand made her look down at Tabitha. ‘We go home now, Matty,’ she said, her small face screwed up with indignation at being forced to stand and wait.

‘We have to wait for your mama and papa,’ Matilda replied, but bent down and picked the little girl up in her arms. ‘Just be good a little longer. Smile nicely at the people.’

Matilda was very aware she was being observed from all quarters and it made her feel very uncomfortable. Aggie had told her in confidence that everyone around here knew Lily wouldn’t take on a nursemaid before because of her terrible fear of disease being brought into the house. The curious stares and half-smiles suggested that she would be a subject of gossip over dinner. She hoped no one would speak to her, if they heard her voice they’d immediately guess her origins. Yet even as she thought that she wondered why it should matter to her. A week ago it had never even crossed her mind to pretend she was anything but a waterman’s daughter. Was she getting ideas above her station?

It was very warm on Tuesday when Matilda left the parsonage for her first afternoon off. She was wearing another new dress that Lily had given her that morning, and it was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen – pale blue sprigged with white flowers, pin-tucks on the bodice and little pearl buttons. Maybe it was faded in places and worn around the hem and under the arms, but with the straw bonnet her father had given her she felt grand and ladylike. She almost wished she could go to Finders Court just so all the neighbours would stare at her. But she didn’t dare disobey her father.

She took her time, looking in shop windows as she went, more to admire her appearance in the reflection of the glass than from interest in the goods on display. It was almost five as she approached St Joseph’s Church, or Holy Joe’s as everyone she knew called it. Her father was there already, sitting on a bench outside. The church was bordering on the notorious Seven
Dials district, an area of the very worst tenements and rookeries, far more dangerous and squalid than Rosemary Lane, but she supposed he’d chosen to meet her here in the leafy sanctuary of the churchyard because the roads which led to it were wide and comparatively safe. She broke into a run to greet him and he got up to hold out his arms as he did when she was small.

‘Well, don’t you look a picture!’ he said once he’d disengaged himself from her fierce embrace. ‘I can see they are feeding you well, you look so bonny.’

He smelled strongly of the river, that curious oily scent which she’d scarcely noticed when she was at home.

‘Had a bit of an accident this mornin’,’ he said as he saw her looking down in surprise at his damp trousers and squelching boots. ‘Damn fool Lascar sailor, been on the opium pipe I shouldn’t wonder. He asked me to catch up with ’is ship what left ’alf an hour since in Wapping. I nearly killed meself to get ’im to it. Then just as I was pulling alongside, and ’is mates is throwing down one of them rope ladders from the side, he jumps up like a madman and topples the boat over.’

Matilda laughed. A day on the river was never without incident and such stories were once the best part of her day. ‘But you’re dry up ’ere,’ she said, touching his shirt and waistcoat – he wasn’t wearing his usual pilot’s coat.

‘I went ’ome and changed that part,’ he laughed. ‘A fine fool I looked too, soaked to the skin. Who’d want to get in a waterman’s boat wif ’im looking like that?’

‘What ’appened to the Lascar, did you leave ’im to drown?’ she giggled.

‘He scrambled up the side of the ship like a monkey,’ Lucas said. ’Good job I got his fare before we set off!’

‘’Ow’s business bin?’ she said, then, remembering Lily’s lessons, she repeated it correctly. ‘How has business been, Father?’

Lucas spluttered with laughter and offered her his arm in an exaggerated gesture of gallantry. ‘Just dandy, my fine young lady. Now, shall we find a suitable seat for quality folk?’

They found another bench in a secluded part of the graveyard. It seemed the police must have just done their rounds because there was no sign of the usual beggars and tramps curled up asleep in the bushes.

Matilda told him all her news in one long and excited monologue, her speech fluctuating between her old manner and the one her new mistress was training her to use. It took Lucas back to when Nell used to report on what the Captain ate for his dinner, who he entertained and how much wine they drank. For she too used to see-saw between her country girl’s speech and the way she heard English spoken in the Captain’s house. It was a jolt hearing Matilda speak of such things as sheets on her bed. Until now Lucas had forgotten that luxury Nell had introduced him to – she had grieved more about the loss of her bed linen than anything else after the fire.

‘Madam says I am to have a bath every week on Saturdays,’ she ended up, her eyes as big as mill-stones. ‘Every week, Father! I won’t have any skin left in a few months.’

Lucas laughed. Nell had been one for baths when they lived in Aldgate. One of his sweetest memories was coming in from the river one night and finding her half-asleep in it, all pink and rosy and sweet-smelling. He’d wanted to make love to her immediately, but she insisted he had to get into the water first. She’d washed him from head to foot like a small child. That night was one of the most memorable in their time together.

He pulled himself out of that reverie. It didn’t do to think too deeply about Nell, it only saddened him to remember what came in later years. And how lonely he felt now.

‘So you’re ’appy there?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I’m happy.’ She smiled because she’d remembered to sound the ‘h’, and her eyes shone. ‘But I do miss you and the boys.’

‘Don’t waste your time thinking about us,’ he said brusquely. ‘We’re doing fine without you.’

Her face fell at this and Lucas felt ashamed. Yet if he was to tell her the truth – that the boys had been out scavenging every day, that their room hadn’t been swept or a fire lit since the day she left – she’d only be distressed. Giving them a beating was pointless, they were looking for an excuse to slip off to one of the rookeries where they could get an apprenticeship in thieving and villainy.

‘Luke’s bin better since you went,’ he lied. ‘Reckon ‘e thinks ’e’s all grown up now. But tell me about this book you’ve bin reading.’

Matilda sensed he was hiding the truth and she wanted to tell him that Charles Dickens wrote about the poor like them, and that he fully understood the danger small boys could fall into in London. But to do so would only make him unhappy knowing she’d guessed the truth, and anyway her father knew those perils even better than she did, so instead she made him laugh with a description of Mr Bumble, the beadle.