The Mistletoe Seller. Dilly Court

bread rolls. She handed one to Angel. ‘Get that down yer and you can share my coffee.’

      ‘I’m not allowed coffee,’ Angel said before she could stop herself.

      ‘Hark at you, miss. I dunno where you come from, but it weren’t from round here. You’ll put up with coffee or you’ll have to go and find a horse trough and drink the water them big brutes have slobbered in.’

      Angel swallowed a mouthful of buttered roll. ‘I’m sorry. I’d be grateful for a sip of your coffee, please, Dolly.’

      Dolly handed her the mug. ‘I dunno how a young lady like you ended up in the workhouse, but it’ll make a good tale to tell the others of a night when we’re warming ourselves round the watchman’s brazier.’

      ‘Are there more of you?’

      ‘Lord love you, my duck. You might have dropped out of the sky like a real angel, for all I knows. Eat your grub and I’ll show you how to snatch some blooms, but you’ll have to look out for yourself. Them as come from east of Clare Market are the ones to watch – spiteful little cats, all of ’em. They’d do their own mothers down to pay for a tot of blue ruin.’

      ‘Blue ruin?’

      ‘Gin, my duck. Don’t you know nothing?’

      Angel took a sip of coffee. It was hot and sweet with an overlying hint of bitterness, but it warmed her stomach. ‘I’m a quick learner,’ she said hastily. ‘Thank you very much for the bread, and the coffee.’

      ‘Come on then. Stir your stumps, Angel. We’ve got work to do. You’ll need some brass to pay for a night’s lodging, otherwise you’ll be sleeping here again. It ain’t easy to survive on the streets.’ Dolly led the way across the cobblestones to the floral hall where the perfume of garden flowers mingled with that of more exotic blooms, and the explosion of colour made Angel gasp with delight. Despite her recent traumatic experiences she was transported to a world where peace and beauty abounded – but not for long. Dolly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside to where the blooms were being unpacked. A sea of heads and flailing arms, flying skirts and cat-like howls accompanied the frenzied actions of the women and girls who were snatching the fallen blossoms from the dusty ground. Dolly dived in head first.

      Angel could only stand and stare, but in a heartbeat it was all over and the crowd dispersed, each of the women clutching handfuls of flower heads and sprigs of greenery. Dolly faced up to an older woman who attempted to snatch a rosebud from her grasp. Their colourful language made Angel recoil in a mixture of horror and admiration. She had heard costermongers and draymen swearing at each other, but the expletives used by these two would have made a sailor blush.

      Dolly surged towards her. ‘Don’t tangle with Smutty Sue. She’s a nasty bitch and she once bit a porter’s finger off when he tried to stop a fight.’

      Angel shot a wary glance in Smutty Sue’s direction and she was convinced. The woman had long pointed teeth that looked like fangs, and straggly grey hair that barely hid the scars on her cheek and neck. Smutty Sue hawked and spat, sending a pool of tobacco juice onto the cobblestones.

      ‘She scares me,’ Angel whispered.

      ‘Rightly so.’ Dolly jerked her head in the direction of a group of younger girls who were now seated cross-legged outside the floral hall. ‘They’re all right, so long as you don’t pinch their flowers or their men. C’mon, Angel. I’ll show you how to make buttonholes.’

      Angel shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I really ought to go and find my aunt. Do you know where Maddox Street is?’

      ‘It’s up West somewhere. Not my territory, duck. Go if you want to, but from what you told me I doubt if the old girl will be able to help. She’s either sweet on your Mr Galloway, or she’s scared of him, and if he holds the purse strings she’ll do what he wants.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Angel said, frowning. ‘She really loved Uncle Joseph and I’m sure she only did what Mr Galloway said because she was scared. He pretended to be nice and kind, but he was putting it on.’

      ‘Men are all the same. They’re like puppeteers and women are the ones dancing on strings. But not me. I seen many women beaten and driven to an early grave by their fellers and no man is going to do that to me.’

      ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. I suppose Aunt Cordelia did do exactly what Uncle Joseph said. It’s just the way things are.’

      ‘Not here it ain’t.’ Dolly winked and tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. ‘We suit ourselves.’

      ‘I suppose I’d better go and find a few flowers then,’ Angel said reluctantly. ‘Smutty Sue won’t mind, will she?’

      ‘Sue don’t run our lives. Anyway, she’s got what she wanted. You go and see what you can rescue.’

      Angel made her way back to the floral hall, keeping an eye out for anyone who might take exception to her. Lumpy Lil would give Smutty Sue a run for her money, but the memory of Lil brought tears to Angel’s eyes. She must not cry or the flower girls would laugh at her. She took a deep breath, turning her attention to finding anything that the others had missed. A waft of sweet scent reminded her of her aunt’s linen press, where crisp Egyptian cotton sheets were strewn with sprigs of lavender, and she stopped at the stall where the plant was on sale.

      ‘What’s a young lady like you doing in a place like this?’ The stallholder eyed her curiously.

      ‘Why do you ask, sir?’

      He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well, well, so you are indeed a well-bred girl and not of the normal sort who fight and scrap and swear like troopers. I thought perhaps you’d stolen those fine duds, but it seems I was wrong.’

      ‘I’m looking for broken flowers, sir. I hope to sell them to pay for my lodgings.’

      ‘Where are your parents, or have you run away from home?’

      ‘No, sir. I’m an orphan.’

      ‘Do you have a name, Miss Orphan?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his grin was infectious.

      Despite her fear that he might realise that she was a runaway and call a constable, Angel found herself returning his smile. ‘My name is Angel, sir.’

      ‘An Angel – aptly named, I’m sure.’ He plucked a few sprigs of lavender from a container and handed them to her. ‘Take these. You’ll find the sweet-smelling flowers go best. Pinks, carnations and stocks are popular.’ He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. ‘But take care. Some of those girls are bad ’uns. Don’t be led astray.’

      Angel bobbed a curtsey. ‘I won’t, sir. Thank you.’

      ‘Be gone with you, and if you come and find me tomorrow I’ll see that you have something to sell.’ He proffered his hand. ‘Jack Wicks.’

      She shook his hand. ‘Angel Winter. Much obliged to you, sir.’

      The girls were chatting and giggling as their nimble fingers turned the discarded blooms into pretty nosegays and buttonholes. Dolly made room for Angel.

      ‘Well, I’m blowed,’ she said, whistling through her teeth. ‘How did you get hold of all that lavender?’

      ‘A kind man gave it to me.’

      Angel’s words were received with hoots of laughter.

      ‘What did you do to earn that, nipper?’ One of the older girls chortled with laughter and nudged her neighbour. ‘Did he put his hand up your skirt, love?’

      ‘No, of course not,’ Angel said, horrified by the suggestion. ‘He’s a nice man.’

      ‘There’s no such thing. They’re all out for what they can get.’

      ‘That ain’t true, Nelly.’ One of the smaller girls spoke up. ‘My pa was ever so