Ragged Rose. Dilly Court

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.’