The Swan Maid. Dilly Court

trips from the kitchen to the bedrooms, carrying ewers of hot water, and there was always someone who wanted something extra. Lottie had been sent out to buy all manner of things, mainly for ladies on their travels who had forgotten to bring a hairbrush or a comb. Sometimes it was a bottle of laudanum for pain, or oil of cloves for toothache, and these were always needed as a matter of urgency. Lottie had once been sent out to purchase a gift for a man’s wife as he had forgotten her birthday. Sometimes guests tipped generously, while others gave nothing in return, not even a thank you.

      The only time the girls had to chat was during the brief period before they fell asleep on their straw-filled palliasses, and even then they might be awakened at any hour of the night and called upon to serve travellers who stopped at the inn.

      Such a call came in the early hours of the next morning. Lottie was in a deep sleep when she was shaken awake by Ruth. ‘Get up. We’re wanted in the kitchen.’

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      ‘Soldiers,’ Ruth said excitedly. ‘I leaned over the balustrade and saw their red jackets. I love a man in uniform. Come on, they’ll be in need of sustenance.’

      Half asleep, Lottie made her way downstairs, still struggling with the buttons on her blouse.

      The stable yard was illuminated by gaslight and filled with the sound of booted feet, the clatter of horses’ hoofs and men’s raised voices. Above them the night sky formed a dark canopy, creating a theatrical backdrop to the dramatic scene. An officer was issuing orders, and Shem Filby was standing in the midst of the chaos, bellowing instructions to the ostlers that seemed to countermand those given by the young lieutenant. It had become a competition to see whose voice was the loudest, and in the end it was Mrs Filby, wearing a dressing robe over her nightgown, whose strident tones were heard above all others.

      ‘Silence.’ She waded into their midst, seizing a young private by the collar and thrusting him out of her way. ‘Gentlemen, have a thought for our other guests.’ She faced the officer with a contemptuous curl of her lip. ‘You will be more comfortable in the dining parlour, sir. Ruth will show you the way.’

      ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ As meekly as a schoolboy caught scrumping apples, he followed Ruth into the building.

      ‘Take the men into the kitchen, May.’ Mrs Filby marched up to two soldiers who were supporting a comrade who appeared to be unconscious. ‘What’s the matter with him? Is he sick? If so, you can take him to hospital.’

      The elder of the two privates stood to attention. ‘If you please, ma’am, he’s suffered a knock on the head. A cracked skull ain’t catching.’

      ‘I don’t need any of your cheek, soldier.’ Mrs Filby peered at the injured man. ‘Has he been drinking?’

      ‘Only Adam’s ale, ma’am. We’ve been working on the telegraph lines in the Strand for two days, but now we’re heading for Chatham, and then on to the Crimea. All he needs is a bed for the night and some tender care, such as would be given by a kind lady like yourself.’

      ‘Well, then, I’m sure we can do something for one of our brave men who will soon depart for battle.’ Mrs Filby spun round to face Lottie. ‘Take them to my parlour. See that they have everything they need.’

      ‘Yes’m.’ Lottie made a move towards the doorway. ‘This way, please, gents.’

      ‘One moment.’ The lieutenant had obviously had second thoughts and had returned. ‘I’m grateful for your help, ma’am, but I am in charge of my men. Private Ellis needs medical attention.’

      ‘What is your name, sir?’ Mrs Filby bristled visibly. ‘You are on my property now, not the battlefield.’

      He doffed his shako with a bow and a flourish. ‘Lieutenant Farrell Gillingham, Corps of Royal Sappers and Miners, at your service.’

      ‘Well, Lieutenant Gillingham, if you wish to take your man to hospital, feel free to do so, but we cannot incur the expense of the doctor’s fees, unless, of course, you wish to stump up for them yourself.’

      ‘Perhaps we will wait until daylight, ma’am. If Ellis is not well enough to be moved, I’ll think again.’ Gillingham spoke in a tone that did not invite argument. He bowed smartly and followed Ruth into the building.

      ‘Go with the men, Lottie,’ Mrs Filby said in a low voice. ‘You’re a sensible girl, for the most part, anyway. See to their needs as best you can.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘But don’t make them too comfortable. Their sort don’t pay well.’ She glanced round the yard, which was empty except for the ostlers who were attending to the horses. ‘Filby, where are you? Speak to me.’

      Lottie beckoned to the soldiers. ‘Let’s get the poor fellow inside.’

      The Filbys’ parlour was dominated by a huge walnut chiffonier, upon which were set out Prudence Filby’s treasured china tea set and small ornaments that had no intrinsic value, but must surely have a meaning for her. Lottie knew each piece intimately, having had to dust them every day since her arrival at The Swan with Two Necks. For some reason best known to herself, Mrs Filby had made the cleaning of her private parlour Lottie’s responsibility, insisting that the hand-hooked rugs with vibrant floral designs had to be taken out into the yard and beaten daily, and the heavy crimson velvet curtains and portière had to be brushed free from dust and cobwebs at least once a week.

      Lottie held the door open, and while the soldiers settled Private Ellis on the sofa she raked the glowing embers of the fire into life.

      ‘What happened to him?’ she asked.

      The younger of the two men eyed her up and down. ‘What makes a pretty girl like you want to work in a place like this?’

      ‘I think we should send for the doctor.’ Lottie chose to ignore the compliment. ‘Your friend looks very poorly.’

      ‘You’ve got eyes the colour of the cornflowers in the fields at home,’ he said earnestly, ‘and hair the colour of ripe wheat. I never seen such a pretty face in all me born days.’

      ‘That’s enough of that, Frank. You’re a sapper, not a poet.’ The older man held his hand out to Lottie. ‘Private Joe Benson, miss. Don’t take no notice of my mate. He can’t help hisself when he meets a young lady.’

      Lottie smiled. ‘I don’t mind being called pretty, but I still think that your friend looks very unwell.’

      Benson leaned over to examine the unconscious man. ‘I’d say he’s got concussion. I seen it afore, miss. We was undergoing training at the Electric Telegraph Company, working on the underground wiring in the Strand, and Ellis was on the ladder when it gave way.’

      ‘He should have been taken straight to hospital,’ Lottie said worriedly.

      ‘He could die.’ Frank moved closer to the fire. ‘Is there any chance of a bite to eat and a drink, miss? We can’t do much for young Gideon, but the living has to be taken care of too.’

      Lottie turned on him. ‘How can you be so heartless? If you’re hungry go to the kitchen and Mrs Pretty will feed you.’

      Frank’s tanned features split into a wide grin. ‘Does she take after her name? Is she good-looking like you?’

      It was on the tip of Lottie’s tongue to put him straight, but she changed her mind. ‘The only way you’ll find out is to do as I say.’ She shot a sideways glance at Private Benson. ‘You look as though you could do with some sustenance. I’ll stay with your friend while you get some food, but don’t be too long.’

      Benson tipped his cap. ‘Ta, miss. Much obliged. We ain’t eaten since midday.’ He pushed Frank towards the door. ‘Hurry up, then. If we don’t hurry we’ll find the greedy gannets have ate everything in the kitchen.’

      Lottie stared down at the inert figure on the couch. A livid bruise marked his otherwise smooth forehead, and his light brown hair was matted with blood from a cut on the temple. He looked young