Ragged Rose. Dilly Court

drunken singing emanated from a nearby pub.

      The door of the home opened just a crack in response to Rose’s rapping on the knocker.

      ‘Who is it?’ The young voice sounded wary.

      ‘It’s Rose and Cora,’ Rose said urgently. ‘Let us in, please, Sukey.’

      ‘You can’t be too careful,’ Sukey muttered as she let them into the dark hallway. ‘There’s one of them loonies escaped earlier today. We’ll all have our throats slit while we sleep in our beds.’ She closed the door and picked up an oil lamp.

      Cora patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure that the poor person will be far away from here by now.’

      ‘I imagine that the first thing people think about when they escape is to make their way home,’ Rose said in her most matter-of-fact voice. ‘So you need not be afraid.’

      Sukey slanted her a sideways look. ‘Yes, miss. I expects you’re right.’ She drew herself up to her full height, although her twisted spine gave her the look of a young sapling stunted in its growth. ‘Shall I tell Miss Polly that you’re here? Only she’s up in the dormitory sorting out a fight.’

      ‘It’s all right,’ Cora said hastily. ‘We’ll go to the parlour.’

      ‘We can’t stay long,’ Rose added. ‘We’re late as it is.’

      ‘Your duds are laid out for you. I done it meself, so I know it’s done proper. You can’t trust the ser-vants to keep their traps shut or do things right.’

      Rose kept a straight face with difficulty. ‘We appreciate everything you do for us, Sukey. If you’d be kind enough to tell Miss Polly that we’re here when she’s free, that would be splendid.’

      Sukey puffed out her concave chest. ‘You can trust me, Miss Rose.’ She scuttled off with her lop-sided gait.

      ‘Poor thing,’ Cora sighed. ‘She’d be pretty if she didn’t have such a terrible disability.’

      Rose headed for the parlour. ‘She copes very well, and she’s lucky that she’s got a good home here with Polly. She might have ended up in a circus or a freak show, poor soul.’ She paused to glance at the steep flight of stairs, listening to the shouts and streams of invective that flowed with such fluency. ‘I wonder if we ought to go upstairs and help.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Cora hurried on ahead of her. ‘I think Aunt Polly can handle the situation.’ She opened the parlour door and went inside.

      The warmth from the coal fire enveloped Rose like a comforting blanket as she followed her sister into Polly’s inner sanctum, where nothing ever changed. Polly’s theatrical past was evoked by the play bills that covered the walls, and framed photographs of her in her heyday hung from the picture rail. Mementoes of her brief reign as queen of the London stage covered the entire surface of a large mahogany chiffonier, and sheet music of her most popular songs lay on the piano stool. One of her stage costumes was draped over a tailor’s dummy, standing proud between the two windows. It was faded, and moths had been feasting on the material, but Polly refused to pack it away. She clung to her memories, insisting that one day a theatre manager would come calling, and her star would shine again.

      It was not an elegant room, but Rose had always felt more at home here than in the neat parlour at the vicarage, where the atmosphere was so often uncomfortable. It was Aunt Polly who had looked after the infant Rose and Cora when their mother was suffering from frequent bouts of illness. It was in this room that Polly had given the girls singing lessons and taught them dance routines, unbeknown to their strict father. It was to Aunt Polly they had come recently when news of their brother’s troubles reached them in a letter that Billy had sent from Bodmin Gaol. It was Polly who had given the girls the courage to go out and earn money to pay for his defence lawyer, and now Polly was helping them to keep their mission secret.

      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