Ragged Rose

Rose was overtaken by a sudden wave of nostalgia as she breathed in the lingering aroma of Aunt Polly’s perfume, laced with the fumes of gin and overtones of brandy. She looked round the room with a feeling of deep affection. It was true that the furniture had been purchased in sale rooms and was well worn, but Polly said that gave each item a mystique and a history that was sadly lacking in anything brand-new. Polly’s favourite piece was a chaise longue, which was draped with exotic shawls, although the only occupant at this moment was a fat tabby cat of uncertain nature. He had wandered in from the street one night and taken up residence, bringing with him his feral dislike of all humans with the exception of Polly, whom he tolerated.

Cora was about to sit down when she spotted Spartacus, as Polly had named the animal, and she moved to a chair by the fire. The cat opened one eye, stretched and exposed his sharp claws, and then went back to sleep.

Rose began to undress. ‘Don’t get comfortable, Cora. We’ve got to get home before Pa sends out a search party. I can’t face an angry scene this evening.’

‘I’m tired,’ Cora complained bitterly. ‘My feet are sore and I don’t think I can walk another step.’

‘We can’t afford a cab. You’ll have to make the effort.’ Rose slipped off her blouse, sniffed it and shook her head. ‘It reeks of tobacco smoke and stale beer,’ she said, sighing. ‘I wouldn’t bother to change, but Ma would be sure to notice and demand an explanation.’

‘Couldn’t we say that the women here smoke and drink?’ Cora asked, smothering a yawn. ‘Aunt Polly would back us up. I know she would.’

‘Ma might be taken in, but Pa would know we were telling fibs. He has an uncanny ability to sniff out a lie. Neither you nor I have ever been able to look him in the face and fib.’

‘That’s not quite true,’ Cora insisted. ‘They think we spend our spare time helping the fallen women. Both Ma and Pa would have a fit if they knew what we were really doing. Especially Pa.’

‘And they mustn’t be allowed to find out,’ Rose said firmly. She picked up a grey linsey-woolsey gown and tossed it to her sister. ‘Come on, Corrie. Be a good girl and get changed. You know we’re doing this for a good cause.’

Cora raised herself to her feet and began undoing the buttons on her cotton blouse. ‘I know we’re doing it for Billy, but I wish he were here now.’ Her bottom lip trembled, but she sniffed and attempted a smile. ‘I miss him, Rosie. He’s the best brother a girl could have and I’ll never believe ill of him.’

‘Cora!’ Polly erupted into the room. ‘I’ve told you before not to mention William’s name in this house. You never know who might be listening.’

‘I – I’m sorry,’ Cora said, hanging her head. ‘But I do miss him and I want him to come home.’

‘That’s why we’re doing this.’ Rose slipped her gown over her head. ‘It will be worth it in the end, and who knows, we might become famous along the way.’ She turned to her aunt with a pleading look. ‘Don’t be cross with Cora, Aunt Polly. She’s tired and her feet hurt. We had to do two shows tonight.’

Polly threw herself down on the chaise longue, pushing the cat out of the way, to his obvious annoyance. Spartacus hissed and took a half-hearted swipe at her before settling down again on one of the velvet cushions. ‘Wretched animal,’ Polly said crossly. ‘I ought to throw you out on the street where you belong.’ She glanced up at Rose, who was eyeing her with a wry smile. ‘He’s useful. He keeps the rodent population under control.’ She leaned against the buttoned back rest. ‘Pour me a glass of gin, Cora. I’ve just had a tussle with two women who would like to slit each other’s throats.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Rose said, moving to the side table where Polly kept a selection of decanters. ‘You would think that they would support each other instead of falling out. They’ve all been abandoned by their husbands, and face the prospect of bringing up their children on their own. From what I’ve seen of the gentlemen who frequent the saloon, being married doesn’t stop a man having a roving eye.’

‘It’s true that most of my women have wedding rings.’ Polly stretched out her hand to take the drink from Rose. ‘But knowing those two upstairs, they’ve probably filched them from corpses.’

‘Why were they fighting?’ Cora asked.

Polly swallowed a mouthful of neat gin. ‘They’ve only just realised that they’ve been taken in by the same man, and he’s turned his back on both of them. They were at each other’s throats. I think they would have killed each other had they had a weapon other than a hairpin and a teaspoon. I must tell Ethel to lock away the kitchen knives tonight.’

Rose picked up the much-darned woollen shawl that she had worn when she left home earlier that evening and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Hurry up, Corrie. The sooner we set out the sooner you’ll be tucked up in your bed at home.’

‘I wish there was some other way for you girls to raise money,’ Polly said, frowning. ‘Heaven knows what your father would say if he knew about all this, and Eleanor would never let me hear the last of it. She was always the bossy older sister … in the old days, anyway.’

‘I’m sure she will understand when Billy tells her the whole story.’ Cora picked up her bonnet and rammed it on her head.

Polly’s rouged lips curved in a wry smile. ‘I don’t know about that, Cora. Eleanor thinks the sun rises and sets in her first-born, and your father is convinced that William is following in his footsteps. How could you tell a man of the cloth that his precious son is in gaol, awaiting trial for killing his best friend? Especially when we’ve all kept up the fiction that Billy is a guest of the Tressidick family in Cornwall.’

‘They must never know,’ Rose said firmly. ‘We won’t allow their hearts to be broken. Come on, Cora Perkins. It’s time we were home.’

It was less than a mile from the home for fallen women to St Matthew’s church, and the walk was uneventful, notwithstanding a bunch of drunken youths who staggered out of The Eagle tavern on the corner of City Road and Shepherdess Walk. Rose grabbed Cora by the hand and marched past with her nose in the air, which seemed to work as the young men made no attempt to molest them, resorting instead to hurling insults and collapsing with drunken laughter. Rose came to a halt on the bridge over the City Road Basin, where the Regent’s Canal came to a sudden end. A young woman was standing on the parapet and seemed about to throw herself into the murky waters, which were stained with indigo dye, coal dust and industrial effluent.

‘Don’t do it,’ Rose said gently, ignoring Cora, who was tugging at her hand. ‘He’s never worth it, and you’ll spoil that pretty frock if you fall into that filthy water.’

The girl turned her head and in the light of the streetlamp Rose could see that she was very young. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, and her lips worked soundlessly. Rose held out her hand. ‘Nothing can be so bad that it can’t be made better by a nice hot cup of tea and a warm fire.’

‘Who are you? And what d’you want with the likes of me? I ain’t going back into service, not for no one. He done this to me, and now he don’t want to know.’

Rose and Cora exchanged knowing looks. They had both heard this story many times before.

‘What is your name?’ Rose kept her voice low, knowing that any sudden move or harsh tone could send the girl plummeting to her death.

‘M-Maisie. Now you know, so leave me be.’ Maisie held out her arms and raised herself on tiptoe, ready to jump.

Chapter Two

‘Don’t!’ Rose and Cora cried out as one, but it was Rose who lunged at Maisie and caught her round the waist. She dragged her back onto the pavement and they fell in a heap.

‘Rose, are you all right?’ Cora cried anxiously as she attempted to help her sister to her feet.

‘Yes, don’t fuss, Corrie. Catch hold of her – don’t let her run away.’

Cora seized Maisie by the scruff of her neck. ‘You silly girl. He’s not worth it, whoever he is, and you might have taken my sister with you.’

Rose scrambled to her feet. ‘It’s all right, Corrie. No harm done.’ She helped Maisie to stand. ‘Don’t cry. We’ll take care of you.’

‘I don’t need you, nor anyone.’ Maisie wiped her nose on the frayed cuff of her sleeve. ‘I can look after meself.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ Rose said, brushing the mud off her skirt. ‘But we all need a little help now and then. Why don’t you come to the vicarage with us? You can stay the night, and tomorrow morning you can decide what you want to do.’

Maisie looked from one to the other and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I ain’t religious. I don’t want no sermon.’

‘I promise you that won’t happen,’ Rose said, holding out her hand. ‘You’ll just have to trust us, and let’s face it – anything is better than drowning in filthy water.’

‘Yes, do come with us,’ Cora pleaded. ‘I’m so tired that I could sleep on the cold pavement and my feet are aching.’

Maisie nodded dully. ‘All right, but just for tonight. I ain’t a charity case.’

‘Of course not.’ Rose started off in the direction of St Matthew’s church, leading Maisie by the hand.

The vicarage was situated close to the church in a respectable middle-class area. The wide streets were lined with terraced houses built in the Georgian era, and the dwellings were well maintained. Unlike some of the surrounding streets, this part of Islington exuded an air of comfortable prosperity.

Rose guided Maisie through the garden to the back of the house and Cora rapped on the kitchen door. It was opened almost immediately by their cook-housekeeper, Mrs Blunt. She was ready for bed, wearing a long robe, and her nightcap sat askew on her head.

‘Where have you been, young ladies? Your pa has waited up for you.’ She glared at Maisie. ‘Who is this?’

Cora stepped inside. ‘We’re so sorry to have kept you up, dear Mrs Blunt.’

‘But we were helping Aunt Polly,’ Rose added hastily. ‘And we came across this young girl who is in desperate need of warmth and comfort.’

Mrs Blunt stood arms akimbo, looking Maisie up and down. ‘Runaway servant, I’d guess. We can’t take in all the waifs and strays in the city, Miss Rose.’

‘It’s just for tonight, and I rather think it’s up to Pa to decide,’ Rose said firmly. She tempered her words with a persuasive smile. ‘A nice hot cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, and a slice of your seed cake would go down well, I’m sure.’ She turned to Maisie without giving Mrs Blunt a chance to refuse. ‘You have never tasted anything as good as Mrs Blunt’s caraway cake. She is the best cook in Islington.’

‘The best in London,’ Cora said, smothering a yawn. ‘Might I have a cup of warm milk, please? I’m ready for bed.’

‘Miss Day works you girls far too hard. That’s my opinion and I don’t mind saying so.’ Mrs Blunt hurried over to the range and moved the kettle to the hob. She turned to Maisie. ‘You can make yourself useful, child. Fetch the milk jug from the marble slab in the larder, and bring the cake as well.’ She pointed to the cupboard on the far side of the room. ‘Chop chop.’

Maisie stood like a statue, as if her limbs had suddenly turned to marble. ‘I’ll help you.’ Cora took her by the arm and guided her as she might a sleepwalker.

Rose could see that her sister had the situation in hand. ‘I’ll go and tell Pa that we’re home.’ She left them and made her way down the gaslit passage that led into the entrance hall of the draughty, rambling vicarage. The front parlour was to the right of the wide staircase, and it was where the family gathered in the evenings, and after church on Sundays. Rose entered the room to find her father pacing the floor.

‘Pa, I’m so sorry we’re late.’ She could tell by the strained expression on his deeply lined face that he had been angered by their lengthy absence, and for the first time she felt guilty even though she and Cora were carrying out their deception for the best of reasons. ‘I’m afraid it was unavoidable.’

Seymour Perkins glowered at his elder daughter. ‘It isn’t safe for you girls to be walking home un-escorted at this time of night. Polly ought to know better than to keep you so late, and I will tell her so in no uncertain terms next time we meet.’

‘It wasn’t Aunt Polly’s fault,’ Rose said quickly. ‘She had some trouble with two of the women, it’s true, but that didn’t hold us up.’ She moved to her father’s side, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Do sit down. You look worn to the bone, Pa. You work too hard.’

He subsided onto a chair by the fire, which had burned down to a few glowing embers. ‘The end of winter seems to accelerate the death rate amongst the frail and elderly. I’ve been attempting to comfort the dying and take care of the bereaved since dawn this morning.’

‘I know, Pa.’ Rose looked into his face, experiencing a surge of tenderness that made her throat constrict and her eyes sting with unshed tears. Her father seemed to have aged suddenly, or perhaps she had not noticed the passing of the years. The man who had been a strict disciplinarian when she, Billy and Cora were children had grown old, although he had not mellowed with age. ‘I’m truly sorry that we added to your worries.’

‘I applaud the fact that you and your sister work so tirelessly with the unhappy women in Polly’s care, but I cannot have you neglecting the poor of this parish. Your mama is too frail to undertake the duties my calling thrust upon her.’

A wave of shame made Rose look away. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and she could not look her father in the eye. ‘There’s another reason we were late, Pa. We came across a young girl who was about to hurl herself off the City Basin bridge. Cora and I persuaded her not to jump, and we’ve brought her home. I was hoping she could stay tonight and perhaps we could take her to Aunt Polly in the morning.’

Seymour’s lips hardened into a thin line of dis-approval. ‘I suppose it’s the usual story.’

‘I fear so. Maisie hasn’t told us much, but no doubt the whole sorry tale will come out as she begins to put her trust in us.’

‘She must remain here, where she is safe from temptation. It’s probably best if you make her comfortable for the night and I’ll see her tomorrow when she’s rested.’

‘I’ll do that, and you must get some sleep, too. You look exhausted.’ Rose kissed him on the cheek, but the sudden look of suspicion on her father’s face made her withdraw hastily as she realised her mistake.

He gave her a reproachful look. ‘Have you taken up smoking, Rose? I can smell it in your hair.’

‘No, certainly not, Pa.’ She struggled to think of a convincing reason for her exposure to such a substance. ‘It must have come from the home, Pa. Polly allows the women to smoke if it calms them down. They have little enough enjoyment in life.’

‘It seems to me that they’ve had a little too much enjoyment for their own good,’ he said, frowning. ‘I should have known better than to accuse you of such a thing. You have always tried to be a good daughter.’

She made a move towards the doorway. ‘I’ll see to Maisie, and then I’m going to bed. Things will look better in the morning.’

Maisie was seated at the kitchen table, devouring cake as if it were her last meal on earth, and in between each bite she swallowed a mouthful of hot tea. Cora looked up, meeting Rose’s gaze with a shrug. ‘Mrs Blunt will have to make another seed cake in the morning. I told her to go to bed; the poor old thing looked worn out.’

‘Don’t let her hear you calling her old,’ Rose said, chuckling. ‘Mrs Blunt is in her prime, or so she keeps telling me, but I think it has something to do with Mr Spinks, the butcher. Ma told me that he delivers the meat in person these days, instead of sending his boy. I think he’s sweet on Mrs Blunt.’

‘Or maybe he likes her cooking.’ Cora put her cup of warm milk aside. ‘I have to go to bed, Rose. I’m dead on my poor aching feet.’

‘I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble,’ Maisie said through a mouthful of cake. ‘I can sleep on the floor by the range. It’s what I’m used to.’

‘Not while you’re in our house.’ Rose picked up the teapot and filled a cup, adding a dash of milk. ‘You can have the boxroom. It’s small but the bed is quite comfortable, and tomorrow we’ll have a proper talk and decide what is to be done.’

Cora rose to her feet. ‘Come with me, Maisie. I’ll take you to your room and I’ll lend you a nightgown. Everything will look brighter in the morning.’

Maisie stuffed the last few crumbs of cake into her mouth and drained her teacup. She stood up, covering her mouth in an attempt to quieten a loud belch. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bolted me grub, but I ain’t eaten since yesterday and that cake was bloody good.’ She blushed and lowered her gaze. ‘Begging your pardon for the bad language.’

‘That’s all right, Maisie.’ Rose sank down on the nearest chair, overcome by a sudden wave of fatigue. ‘Sleep tight and wake bright.’

Next morning Rose was up early as usual. She had taken it upon herself to be first in the kitchen, where she set about riddling the ashes in the range and encouraged the remaining embers to burst into flame with the addition of some kindling. In days gone by the Perkins family had employed a scullery maid, but economies had had to be made as Rose’s mother’s delicate state of health necessitated spending money on doctor’s visits and medicines. Eleanor had continued her parish duties for as long as possible, but these days she relied more and more on help from her daughters. Rose loved and respected her mother, but she had seen her mother bend beneath her husband’s strong will, and fade like a flower in the desert. Seymour Perkins was a good man, but he had had little sympathy for weakness in others, and, Rose thought privately, he reserved his compassion for this flock.

As she entered the kitchen Rose discovered Maisie sound asleep, curled up on the mat in front of the range, but she awakened with a start and snapped into a sitting position, staring round bleary-eyed.

‘You give me a turn, miss,’ she said, yawning. ‘I couldn’t think where I was for a moment.’

‘Did you sleep here all night?’ Rose asked curiously. ‘Weren’t you comfortable in your bed?’

‘I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but I ain’t used to such softness. I felt more at home here.’ Maisie scrambled to her feet. ‘Here, let me see to the fire for you. I can’t pay for me night’s lodgings so I should do something to help.’

Rose smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Maisie. Why don’t you go outside and fetch some water? There’s a bucket in the scull-ery and the pump is in the yard. You’ll feel better for a wash. I’ll put the kettle on, we’ll have some breakfast and you can tell me all about yourself.’

Maisie clasped her hands tightly in front of her, staring down at her scuffed boots. ‘There ain’t much to tell, but I suppose you guessed that I got a bit of a problem.’

‘I’m sure we can sort something out, so try not to worry.’

‘Ta, miss. You’re a good ’un and no mistake.’ Maisie headed for the door that led into the scullery and Rose picked up the bellows. She applied them vigorously until flames licked around the coals. When she was satisfied with the result she followed Maisie out into the back yard, snatching a towel from the airing rack as she went past.

Maisie had taken her at her word and had stripped off the borrowed nightgown and stood shivering in her chemise as she doused herself in cold water. Rose handed her the towel. ‘I was going to heat some water so that you could wash at the sink. It’s a bit chilly out here.’

Maisie tossed her wet hair back from her face and patted herself dry. ‘I’m used to it, miss. We had to wash outdoors even if it was snowing. The mistress was very strict about things like that.’

‘You’re soaked to the skin, Maisie. You’ll need dry clothes and I can help you there.’

‘Like I said before, I ain’t a charity case, miss,’ Maisie said through chattering teeth. ‘I’ll dry out in the warmth of the kitchen and me duds is wearable, thanks to you and the other young miss.’ Maisie’s lips curved in an irrepressible grin. ‘They would have been covered in stinking mud if it hadn’t been for you and your sister.’

‘Mrs Blunt came down after Cora put you to bed and took it upon herself to put them in to soak. They were a little grubby and in need of a patch or two. But there’s no need to worry, Maisie; we have a missionary barrel filled with perfectly good clothes.’ Rose picked up the bucket and headed indoors. ‘Kind-hearted people donate them for those in need, and at the moment you qualify without question. Let’s see what we can find, and then we’ll have some tea and toast.’

Under the mildly disapproving eye of Mrs Blunt, who had erupted into the kitchen ready to take control of her small empire, Rose sorted out a set of underwear from the overflowing missionary barrel, together with a cotton print frock and a woollen shawl. Maisie seemed to forget her troubles and pirouetted around the kitchen like the child she was. Rose watched her, smiling indulgently, but was conscious of the fact that Maisie was a fourteen-year-old who would soon become a mother. The vexing question was whether or not the father would take any responsibility for her and the baby. Rose waited until they were seated at the breakfast table before she asked Maisie anything, starting with her early life, which turned out to be in a foundling home.

‘I was left on the doorstep,’ Maisie said, licking jam off her fingers. ‘They told me I was about a month old, or thereabouts, but there weren’t no note or anything that would identify me, so I don’t know where I come from.’

‘Some mothers deserve horsewhipping,’ Mrs Blunt said in a low voice. ‘I was never blessed with a child, and yet some women have them like shelling peas. There’s no justice in this world.’

Rose sipped her tea, eyeing Maisie thoughtfully. ‘So you have no one to turn to now?’

‘No, miss. That’s why I was ready to jump.’

‘And the father isn’t prepared to help?’

Maisie threw her head back and laughed, but it was not a humorous sound. ‘Lawks, miss, that’s why I got the sack. The mistress noticed me belly was getting bigger and she made me tell her the truth, but when I said it were the master what got me in the family way she boxed me ears and turned me out on the street. Mind you, I never expected nothing more. The tweeny told me about one of the housemaids who caught the master’s eye. She ended up in the workhouse with her nipper. That’s not going to happen to me.’

‘It most certainly is not,’ Rose said firmly. ‘My aunt runs a home for girls who are in your unfortunate position.’ She held up her hand as Maisie opened her mouth to protest. ‘And she’s very kind and understanding. If you want to keep your baby she will do her best to make it possible, or, if you cannot see your way to bringing up a child on your own, she will find a family who will give the infant a loving home.’

Maisie toyed with a piece of buttered toast. ‘I wouldn’t want me kid to grow up not knowing who its mother was. My ma dumped me like a bundle of washing and never give me another thought. I used to sit in the window of the foundling home wishing that she would come and get me, but she never did. I don’t want that for my baby.’

Rose and Mrs Blunt exchanged worried glances. ‘You’ll have to do what’s best for the child,’ Mrs Blunt said sternly. ‘You’re young, Maisie. You’ll get over it in time.’

Maisie pushed her plate away and her eyes filled with tears. ‘But she won’t. I know it’s a little girl and I ain’t going to desert her.’

Rose stood up, holding out her hand. ‘Come with me, Maisie. I’m taking you to my aunt Polly. She’ll take care of you and your baby. She’s helped countless young women in your position.’

‘I dunno,’ Maisie said warily. ‘She’s not one of them women what—’

‘No, she most certainly is not. Put that idea out of your head, because I wouldn’t think of sending you to one of those backstreet practitioners. I’m going to fetch my bonnet and shawl and we’ll be off.’