Ragged Rose. Dilly Court

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.’

      Rose and Maisie arrived at the house in Old Street and Sukey opened the door.

      ‘You’re early, miss.’ She gave Maisie a knowing look. ‘Another one, I suppose.’

      ‘Is my aunt up yet, Sukey?’

      ‘I don’t think so, Miss Rose. I’ll go and see.’

      Sukey shambled off towards the staircase and Rose ushered Maisie into the parlour.

      ‘Well, I never did,’ Maisie muttered as she gazed around the room. ‘I never seen nothing like this in all me born days.’

      Rose was used to the somewhat bizarre collection of memorabilia, but seeing it through a stranger’s eyes she had to admit that it was a little eccentric. ‘My aunt was a celebrated performer in her day,’ she said by way of an explanation. ‘She sang and danced on most of the great stages in London.’

      ‘Really?’ Maisie’s eyes widened and she stared at Rose open-mouthed. ‘I’d give anything to go to a music hall. I’ve seen buskers singing on street corners, but I’ve never been in a proper theatre, have you, Miss Rose?’

      ‘Well, I …’ Rose was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of Polly, who made a grand entrance wearing a diaphanous silk wrap and a frilled nightcap. She came to a halt, peering at Maisie through her lorgnette. ‘Who is this child, Rose?’

      ‘This is Maisie, Aunt Polly.’ Rose turned to Maisie, raising her eyebrows. ‘What is your surname? I’m afraid I forgot to ask.’

      ‘I’m Maisie Monday, and before you enquire as to how I come by such a moniker, they give it me at the foundling home because it was on a Monday morning when they come across me on the doorstep.’

      Polly shooed Spartacus off the chaise longue and took his place amongst the colourful cushions. The cat arched his back and his tail twitched angrily, but as if to show his independence he strolled over to Maisie and rubbed himself against her skirts. With a cry of delight she had scooped him up in her arms, before either Rose or her aunt could warn her that Spartacus bit and scratched, as the mood took him.

      ‘You’re a beautiful pussycat,’ Maisie cooed, rocking him in her arms like a baby.

      ‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ Rose said hastily, but Spartacus, contrary to the last, closed his eyes and began to purr.

      ‘Bless my soul, who would have thought it?’ Polly threw up her hands. ‘That creature can kill a rat with one bite, and now just look at him. You must have a way with animals, Maisie Monday. Can you charm the birds out of the trees?’

      ‘I dunno, miss. I never tried.’

      ‘Maisie is in need of your help, Aunt,’ Rose said calmly. ‘I’m sure she’ll tell you her story in time.’

      ‘First things first, Rose. Ring for Sukey, please. I’m in desperate need of sustenance. One of my girls went into labour after you left last night and it took three of us to get her over to the Lying-ln Hospital. Poor thing, she was convinced that they would take the baby from her and sell it to the highest bidder. Lord knows where she got such an idea, but she struggled back across the road at four in the morning with the child in her arms. One of the attendants from the hospital ran after her, trying to persuade her to return to her bed. It was quite a scene.’

      Rose tugged at the bell pull. ‘You must be fagged out, Aunt. I’m sorry I disturbed you but Maisie is in dire need of a place to stay until her baby is born. Her employer threw her out on the street, and when Cora and I came upon her last evening she was in a desperate state.’

      ‘Quite so,’ Maisie said emphatically. ‘I were about to jump off the bridge when the young