The door opened and Lucetta acknowledged his warning with a nod of her head.
Edwin stepped over the threshold, handing his hat and gloves to the uniformed maidservant, who shot Lucetta a deprecating glance beneath sandy eyelashes.
‘Is my wife in the parlour or the dining room, Ruby?’
‘In the parlour, sir.’
‘That will be all for now, Ruby.’ Edwin beckoned to Lucetta. ‘Follow me, Miss Cutler.’
Lucetta hesitated for a moment. She could sense the maidservant’s animosity towards her, which Ruby underlined with a scornful curl of her lip and a twitch of her thin shoulders as she placed her master’s hat and gloves on the hallstand. Lucetta knew that she was being watched closely as she followed her new protector along the narrow hallway with its highly polished oak floorboards and white walls lined with mezzotints, etchings and watercolours of rural scenes.
Edwin entered a room at the end of the passage but Lucetta hesitated on the threshold. She was suddenly nervous, wondering if Mrs Wilkinson might recognise her where her husband had failed. Her whole fate seemed to hang in the balance and she held her breath.
‘You’re late, Edwin.’
The sharp tone of Fanny Wilkinson’s voice was not encouraging, but Edwin seemed unperturbed as he crossed the floor to kiss his wife on her leathery cheek. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but I was delayed at the office.’
‘Who is that ragged creature hovering in the doorway?’ Fanny raised a lorgnette to her eyes and
peered myopically at Lucetta. ‘You haven’t brought one of your charity cases home again, I hope, Edwin.’
‘This young woman has fallen on hard times, Fanny,’ Edwin said mildly. ‘Come in, Miss Cutler. I want you to meet my lady wife, who I am sure will be well disposed towards someone who is genuinely down on their luck.’
Hardly daring to hope that Mrs Wilkinson would see some resemblance to the schoolgirl she had been when they last met, Lucetta stepped into the room and was almost overpowered by the heat. Despite the sweltering June weather, a fire burned in the grate and the curtains were half drawn, excluding most of the natural light. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Lucetta could see that the room was crammed with furniture that might have come straight from a shop window. She would not have been surprised to see price tags dangling from the arms of the chairs. A black marble clock ticked sonorously from the mantelshelf where porcelain figurines of shepherds and shepherdesses seemed to elbow each other, jostling for position with grinning pot dogs, spill jars and candlesticks complete with dangling lustres. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender beeswax and pot pourri and Lucetta was finding it increasingly hard to breathe.
Resplendent in royal purple, Mrs Wilkinson sat bolt upright on a chair which resembled a throne, while her husband stood dutifully at her side like an obedient consort.
Lucetta approached her with a sinking feeling in
her heart. She saw no hint of recognition in those melt-water eyes and no evidence of kindness in the thin lips that were drawn together in a pencil line.
‘What has this young person’s ill-fortune to do with us, Edwin?’ Fanny demanded.
‘Miss Cutler came to me seeking employment, and I know that Cook needs more help in the kitchen.’
‘Our domestic arrangements are my domain, Edwin. I wish you would not interfere,’ Fanny retorted in a low voice.
‘Miss Cutler assures me that she is a good worker, and you are known for your charitable deeds, my love. Perhaps a week’s trial might be appropriate?’
Lucetta clasped her hands demurely in front of her, keeping her eyes cast downwards to hide the bitter disappointment raging in her breast. All her hopes of finding an ally in the mistress of the house were fading fast.
‘How old are you, girl?’
Fanny’s sharp voice made Lucetta jump and she looked up. ‘Seventeen, ma’am.’
‘Too old to train,’ Fanny snapped. ‘Show me your hands.’
Lucetta held her hands out for inspection, but she knew that they would give her away. She had seen the calloused fingers and palms of the kitchen maids and tweenies in her parents’ house, although she had taken little notice of them at the time. It had never occurred to her that their reddened and rough skin was due to hard work; it had simply been a fact of life amongst the lower classes.
‘This girl has never done a hard day’s work,’ Fanny announced triumphantly. She leaned towards Lucetta, eyes narrowed. ‘You have never worked in a kitchen, have you, Miss Cutler?’
‘No, ma’am.’ Lucetta cast a despairing glance at Edwin, but he answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
‘I thought as much,’ Fanny said with obvious satisfaction. ‘Leave the room, if you please. I want a word in private with my husband.’
Lucetta was only too glad to get away from the stifling atmosphere of the parlour, but she left the door ajar, eavesdropping unashamedly.
‘The girl is obviously up to no good,’ Fanny said angrily. ‘It’s obvious that she has never done manual work. What cock and bull tale did she tell you, Edwin?’
‘She is unemployed through no fault of her own, Fanny. She is destitute and needs our help.’
‘She was probably dismissed for pilfering her mistress’s jewellery or having an illicit liaison with one of the male servants,’ Fanny hissed. ‘I won’t have a girl like that in my household, Edwin. She will corrupt our maids and most probably do a moonlight flit with the best silver plate.’
‘I think you are being a little harsh in your assessment of Miss Cutler’s character, my love.’
‘Harsh? I am the most public spirited of women, as you well know, Edwin. I work tirelessly for charity, but there are limits. Send her on her way and don’t encourage her by giving her money.’
Lucetta backed away from the door as she heard Edwin’s heavy tread on the floorboards. He emerged
from the room with an apologetic smile. ‘I expect you heard most of that, Miss Cutler.’
‘I did, sir. I’m sorry I put you in such an awkward position.’
He regarded her with a thoughtful frown. ‘I don’t know what your true story is, but I can see that you have come down in the world.’
For a moment she thought he might have seen just a little similarity to her former self and she met his gaze without blinking. ‘What I told you was the truth, Mr Wilkinson.’
‘I’m sorry, but I see no resemblance between you and the person you claim to be. I think my wife may have been closer to the truth when she said you were a lady’s maid. Perhaps you were on the
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and your mistress was drowned, leaving you without a character or the means by which to live. Perhaps you saw this as an opportunity to better yourself, and who could blame you. I have eyes in my head and I know what a harsh world it can be, especially for young females such as yourself.’ He put his hand in his pocket and produced two silver crowns, pressing them into her hand. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you more, but this will pay for a few nights’ lodgings, and enable you to seek employment elsewhere. Good luck, Miss Cutler.’
The sun blazed down from a clear sky and sparrows skittered about on the grass, pecking and squabbling over minute scraps of food. Lucetta stared up at the house where once she had been a welcome guest, but the door was firmly closed to her and she was alone, friendless and homeless. She shivered despite the
heat, and her belly growled with hunger. She had not eaten since last evening and then it had only been a doorstep of bread smeared with what was left of the dripping after Stranks and Guthrie had had their fill. She had not completely recovered from her illness and the living conditions in the basement room had not been conducive to a speedy convalescence. Her knees trembled and she feared that she might faint.
Taking a deep breath she forced her weary legs to move, although she had no idea where she was going. For some unknown reason she found herself heading back towards the City Road Basin. Perhaps she hoped to find Guthrie, who seemed to be her one friend in the whole of London. She was tired, hungry and confused and one way seemed as good as another. Most important of all, she knew that she must find food quickly before her strength ebbed away. Within minutes, she found herself walking alongside the Regent’s Canal in Frog Lane. The smell of beer and tobacco smoke belched out of open pub doorways, mingling with the enticing aroma of hot savoury pies and roasting meat, but the raucous sound of male voices and laughter made her think twice before entering such alien territory. The coins were hot in the palm of her hand, and she clutched them tightly as she tried to choose between the Fox and Cub, the Flower Pot or the inn facing her with an intriguing sign of two frogs pulling a plough. Suddenly their bowed green legs began to move and their pop-eyes bulged as they attempted to pull the heavy farm implement. Lucetta blinked and looked again. She must be delirious. The fever had returned. She must get food …
Something wet was trickling down her face. She was drowning. She struggled for breath and opened her eyes with a strangled cry for help, but it was not the dark waters of the Thames that met her terrified gaze, but a swarthy face masked with a beard, moustache and sideboards that merged into a head of curly black hair.
‘The frogs,’ Lucetta murmured dazedly. ‘They were moving.’
‘She’s either mad or out of her head with fever, Bob.’
Another face, this time a woman’s, peered down at her. Lucetta made a feeble attempt to sit up but a further bout of dizziness made her collapse back onto the hard wooden settle. ‘I must have fainted. I’m all right now.’
The man called Bob jerked upright, staring down at her as if she had just spoken in a foreign tongue. ‘This ain’t no guttersnipe, Peg. What have we here, I wonder?’
Peg pushed him aside. ‘Get back to the bar, and serve the customers afore they goes next door for their ale.’ Wiping her hands on a none-too-clean apron, she helped Lucetta to a sitting position. ‘You collapsed in the road outside the pub, ducks. One of our regulars brought you in, although there’s plenty as would have
left you there thinking you was dead drunk. I hope you ain’t got nothing catching.’
Lucetta managed a wobbly smile. ‘No, I’m not sick, just hungry.’ The rich aroma of roasting meat and hot pastry made her stomach rumble as if to confirm her words. ‘Might I have something to eat, ma’am? I can pay.’ She unclenched her fingers but to her horror her palm was empty. ‘I – I had money. I must have dropped it outside.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘I must find it.’
Peg pushed her back down on the seat. ‘Even if that’s true, it won’t be there now, love.’
‘I’m not mad and I’m not lying,’ Lucetta protested. ‘I had two silver crowns in my hand. I felt dizzy and the frogs on your signboard were moving, I’d swear to it.’
Bob stuck his head round the kitchen door. ‘Two steak and kidney pies and mash with plenty of gravy, Peg.’
‘Coming up.’ Peg moved away to the range where a tray of hot pies was being kept warm beneath a piece of grubby cloth.
Lucetta’s mouth watered as she watched creamy mashed potato being heaped onto plates to accompany the pies, and she licked her lips as Peg ladled rich brown gravy to form a pool around the steaming food.
‘Don’t move from there,’ Peg said sternly. ‘I know exactly how much grub there is so don’t go picking bits off the crusts of me pies. I’ll see to you when I get back.’ She opened the door with the toe of her boot and backed into the taproom with a plate grasped in each hand.
Lucetta fumbled in the pocket of her skirt, hoping
that by some chance she had put the coins in a safe place before the dizzy spell had overtaken her, but her searching fingers found nothing. She sat staring numbly into space. Without money she was well and truly lost and she doubted if she had the strength to cross the flagstone floor, let alone walk out of the pub in search of work. She turned her head as the door opened and Peg staggered into the kitchen carrying a pile of dirty crockery.
‘I could wash those for you, in return for something to eat.’ Lucetta said hopefully. ‘A slice of bread and butter will do, and a cup of tea – anything.’
Peg cleared a space on the table with her elbow, setting the plates down with a clatter. ‘You ain’t no skivvy. I can tell by the way you speak. You look like a common drab, but you talk like a lady. Who are you, girl?’
The appetising smells were a torment and when she attempted to move her head swam. Lucetta knew there was no point in telling her story to this kindly but suspicious woman. ‘My name is Lucy Cutler,’ she said, eyeing a piece of crust that someone had left on their plate. She licked her lips and swallowed hard. ‘I was a lady’s maid and my mistress was drowned when the
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went down in the Thames a few weeks ago. I was saved but I lost all my possessions and now I have no money and no one left alive to give me a character.’
Peg’s eyes widened and she made sympathetic clucking noises. ‘Well now, there’s a pickle and no mistake.’ She spooned mashed potato onto a clean plate, covering it with a steady stream of gravy. ‘Eat
this, ducks. We’ll talk about payment later.’ She thrust the plate into Lucetta’s hands.
Lucetta murmured her thanks, spooning a little of the sticky mash and gravy into her mouth. It was not the type of meal that would have been served at home or at the British consulate in Bali, but it was undeniably tasty and much better than anything she had been given by her former captors. She abandoned table manners and began shovelling heaped spoonfuls into her mouth.
‘Slow down, you’ll choke yourself,’ Peg said, chuckling. ‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me what it’s like living with the toffs. We don’t get no carriage trade here in Frog Lane.’ She bustled about making the tea but was interrupted by Bob who poked his head round the door to demand five more pies with plenty of gravy and two servings of sausages and mash.
‘Rushed off me feet, I am,’ Peg grumbled as the door closed on him. ‘It’s like this every day of the week and that stupid workhouse girl has been took off to hospital with a quinsy. I haven’t had time to go for a replacement, but they’re a sickly bunch, always getting poorly with something or other.’ She rolled up her sleeves and began plating the food. ‘If you’ve finished, you could give us a hand, ducks. Then we’ll have that cup of split pea.’