Читать книгу The Mistletoe Seller: A heartwarming, romantic novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller - Dilly Court, Dilly Court - Страница 10

Few words passed between Angel and Danny during the long walk back to Mother Jolly’s establishment. He carried a sack filled with mistletoe and Stumpy trotted along at his heels, but Danny paid little attention to Angel, even when she slipped on a particularly icy patch and fell to her knees. She scrambled to her feet and continued without saying a word, but her hands stung and she had torn her skirt.

‘Why don’t you like me?’ she demanded when they came to a halt on Mother Jolly’s doorstep.

Danny dropped the sack at Angel’s feet. ‘Who says I don’t like you?’

‘You’ve made it very obvious.’

‘I don’t like people taking advantage of my dad’s good nature. He’s always helping some lame dog or another and then they disappear and he never gets a word of thanks.’

‘I’m not like that,’ Angel protested. ‘I’ll pay you for the mistletoe when I’ve earned some money, and I’ll write a letter to your parents, thanking them for their hospitality.’

‘That’s what I find odd,’ Danny said warily. ‘You talk and act like a young lady, so why are you in this place? I don’t believe that story you told Pa. If your aunt loves you so much, why did she abandon you?’

Angel snatched up the sack, which for all its bulk weighed next to nothing. ‘It’s got nothing to do with you. You are a rude boy, just like your ma said. You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m younger than you, but I think I’m a lot more grown up than you are, Danny Wicks.’

She faced him angrily and he glared back at her. Then, to her surprise he threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re a funny little thing. But I never meant to hurt your feelings.’

‘Then you should watch your tongue,’ Angel said crossly. ‘I didn’t ask you to bring me home.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ He held out his hand, smiling ruefully. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Angel. My dad would kill me if he knew I’d been mean to you, and I didn’t mean half of it. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘I won’t tell him, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Angel tossed her head. ‘And I won’t bother you again.’ She let herself into the house and slammed the door behind her.

Forgetting everything other than Dolly’s welfare, Angel raced up the stairs to the dormitory. ‘Dolly, are you all right?’ She came to a halt at the sight of the empty bed, neatly made up, and her heart sank. Her worst fears were realised. ‘Oh, no …’ An empty bed meant one of two things: the occupant had recovered and gone to work, or she was heading for a pauper’s funeral. Abandoning her sack of mistletoe, Angel ran downstairs and hammered on the basement door.

‘Who is it and what d’you want?’ Mother Jolly wrenched the door open. She took the clay pipe from between her broken teeth and breathed smoke in Angel’s face. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d run off. You’re lucky I didn’t give your bed to someone else.’

‘Where’s Dolly?’

‘How would I know? She owes me for last night, and so do you. If I haven’t got the money by midday you’ll have to find another dosshouse.’

‘I will pay,’ Angel said urgently. ‘I’ve got mistletoe to sell. I’ll have plenty of money but maybe not until later on. Has Dolly gone to the market? She’s not …?’ Angel could not bring herself to speak the word.

‘Dead?’ Mother Jolly cackled with laughter. ‘She was well enough to get dressed and go out in the snow. Although who knows what’s happened to her since seven o’clock this morning. She might be frozen solid on the foreshore or floating down the Thames towards the sea.’

Angel turned her back on her landlady and took the stairs two at a time.

She found Dolly, barefoot and shivering, in Covent Garden market. She was slumped against the wall in the floral hall, surrounded by a collection of bruised and broken carnations and chrysanthemum petals.

‘What are you doing here?’ Angel was relieved to find her, but Dolly’s pallor was alarming. Her flame-red hair seemed to have sucked every last scrap of colour from her face and there were bruise-like shadows under her green eyes. ‘You’re not well, Dolly.’

‘I got no money to pay Mother Jolly. You never came back last night and I thought I might earn a penny or two here.’

Angel took off her shawl and wrapped it around Dolly’s thin shoulders. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold, sitting here on the bare stone. Can you get up?’

‘I can’t walk another step. Me feet are so numb I don’t think I can stand.’

Angel sat down beside her and took off her boots. ‘Put these on. They leak but they’re better than nothing.’

Dolly’s eyes widened in horror. ‘I can’t take your boots. How will you manage?’

‘I’ve got some money,’ Angel said, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘I’ll get another pair at the dolly shop, so don’t worry about me. We’ve got to get you back to the warmth.’

Dolly was too weak to offer much resistance, and eventually Angel managed to get her to her feet. They made their way slowly back to Mother Jolly’s, Dolly dragging her feet and Angel trying hard to ignore the pain of being barefoot in the snow. She helped Dolly into bed but it was only a few degrees warmer in the dormitory than outside, and Mother Jolly’s worn blankets offered little protection from the cold. Having made sure that Dolly was comfortable, Angel put on her boots and went out to find a coffee stall. She returned minutes later with a hot drink and a ham roll, but Dolly complained feebly that her throat was too sore to allow her to eat. She sipped the coffee and collapsed back onto the lumpy mattress.

‘It’s no good, she’ll turn me out on the street, Angel. I’m done for.’

‘Don’t say that. I’ve got plenty of mistletoe and I’m going out to sell it right away. I’ll earn enough to pay Mother Jolly for both of us. Keep warm and try to sleep. I’ll be back later, I promise and I’ll bring you some nice hot cocoa. You like that.’ She picked up the sack and slung it over her shoulder.

Trade was slow. The threat of more snow to come seemed to have kept many people indoors, and those who were out on the street were intent on getting to their destinations as quickly as possible. Even so, by the end of the afternoon, Angel had earned enough to pay Mother Jolly with some left over, which would pay for a pint of pea soup, a bread roll and, more importantly, a pennyworth of laudanum to ease Dolly’s aches and pains. Better still, there was enough mistletoe in the sack for another day’s trading. That night Angel crawled into bed beside Dolly with a feeling of achievement. Gradually their shared warmth lulled her to sleep, despite Maisie’s loud snoring and the scrabbling of vermin behind the skirting boards.

Next day the snow that had fallen during the night lay thick on the ground, although its pristine whiteness was rapidly degrading into slush as people walked to their places of employment. Angel made her way eastwards along the Strand towards Fleet Street, pausing occasionally to linger outside shop windows and peer longingly at the festive food. The sight of crusty pork pies, snowy iced cakes, mince pies and Christmas puddings, stuffed with dried fruit, made her mouth water. Costermongers’ barrows were decorated with sprigs of berried holly and piled high with rosy red applies, dimpled oranges, bunches of black and green grapes and heaps of crinkled walnuts. It seemed like another life when such food had been plentiful, and the scent of chestnuts roasting on a brazier at the roadside made her stomach growl with hunger. She quickened her pace, heading towards the City where she hoped to sell the remainder of the mistletoe before noon, and that would enable her to go round the street markets in the hope of finding a fresh supply at a reasonable price. Up West she could make more on each sprig than she could in the East End, and every farthing counted. She stood on the steps of St Paul’s barefoot and shivering, having had to discard her boots when the uppers finally parted from the soles. Her feet and legs were blue with cold, but oddly enough she felt no pain from the blisters that she had incurred during the long walk to and from Hackney. If she could just earn enough pennies she could buy herself a good stout second-hand pair of boots, and some woollen stockings would be a bonus. She cried her wares, hoping to attract the sympathy of City gentlemen who might take pity on a ragged girl in the season of peace and goodwill.

By mid-afternoon the light was fading and her purse was satisfyingly heavy. She had one last bunch of mistletoe to sell as she started on the walk back to her lodgings, but on Ludgate Hill she came across a group of ragged boys who taunted her and threw pebbles at her. She quickened her pace, but they followed and when she broke into a run, they caught her up and she was surrounded.

‘Give us yer money, nipper.’ The biggest boy grabbed her by the neck and another boy snatched the purse from her hand.

Laughing, they raced off, leaving Angel shaken and angry, but unhurt. All her work had been for nothing, and now she could not pay for their lodgings and she and Dolly would go hungry. She glanced down at her left hand and realised that she was still clutching the last bunch of mistletoe. One of the boys stopped to look back and for a moment she was afraid that he was going to return. The single bunch of mistletoe meant the difference between sleeping in the dosshouse and being cast out into the night. To someone in Dolly’s condition it would be a death sentence, and Angel was not prepared to allow that to happen. She dodged into Naked Boy Court, but discovered to her dismay that the narrow alley was a dead end with no way of escape. She flattened herself against an iron-studded door, hoping that her tormentors would not see her. The sound of their raucous voices taunting her grew closer with each passing second, and she held her breath, praying that the youths would not find her. The cold iron hinges pressed into her back and she was trembling with fear, but just as she thought all was lost the door swung open.

She found herself gazing into the snow-covered courtyard of a large house with mullioned windows and a portico over the front entrance. A tall gentleman wearing a broad-brimmed hat and black overcoat was about to place a bowl of scraps on the ground for two greyhounds. The dogs, clad in blue woollen coats, were better dressed for the snowy weather than Angel herself, and she found herself envying the animals. She knew it was wrong to spy on the gentleman and his pets, but the gentleness of his tone as he spoke to the dogs brought tears to her eyes. Overcome by a feeling of loneliness, she choked back a sob and the dogs sprang to attention, alerting their master to her presence.

Angel wanted to run but somehow her tired limbs would not obey the command of her equally exhausted brain. Lack of food and the intense cold had turned her temporarily to stone and she could not move a muscle. The gentleman straightened up and walked towards her, flanked by his faithful hounds. Angel could only stand and stare. He was handsome in a forbidding way, with dark eyes beneath heavy brows and a full moustache that reached to his chin. Over his arm he carried a red woollen blanket and in his hand he clutched a hunting whip with a long white thong. He advanced on Angel like the god of wrath and she knew she was in trouble, but she could hear the boys shouting insults, daring her to come out and face them, and she had nowhere else to go.

‘Well, what have we here?’ The gentleman clicked his fingers and the dogs came to a halt at his side. ‘Who are you, girl?’

‘Would you like some mistletoe, sir?’ She held the bunch up for his inspection. ‘It’s only a penny a bunch.’

He stared at her with a puzzled frown. ‘What the devil would I want with mistletoe? It’s pagan nonsense.’

Angel glanced nervously over her shoulder as two of the boys skidded to a halt outside the great oak door.

‘I see.’ The gentleman raised the whip and brought it down with an expert flick of his wrist. The crack of the leather thong echoed off the walls like a pistol shot. ‘Brave fellows, aren’t you? Chasing a little girl for sport. Get out of here or the next time I’ll lop your ears off.’ He raised the whip again and the boys fled. He slammed the door and bolted it.

Angel experienced a moment of sheer panic. The man with the whip was even more frightening than the street Arabs. ‘I – I should go, sir.’

He turned to give her a searching look. ‘Who are you, child? You look like a ragamuffin but your manner of speech is that of a young lady.’

Angel backed towards the door. ‘I’m a flower girl, sir. I was selling mistletoe to pay for a night’s lodging for me and my friend, Dolly, and those boys stole my purse.’ She bit back tears of fear and exhaustion, and one of the greyhounds licked her hand, its liquid brown eyes brimming with empathy, as if it too knew of hardship and cruelty.

‘It seems that Juno has taken to you, girl. What’s your name?’

Her teeth were chattering so much that she could hardly speak. ‘Angel Winter, sir.’

A hint of a smile flickered across his face. ‘An angel has landed in our midst, dogs. What shall we do with her?’ His expression changed. ‘You must go home, Angel Winter. Where do you live?’

‘M-Mother J-Jolly’s dosshouse, sir. If you will give me sixpence for the mistletoe I can pay for one night’s lodging for me and Dolly. She’s very sick, sir. I fear she might die.’

‘What the hell is a child such as yourself doing in a place like that?’ He wrapped the red blanket around her shoulders. ‘You’d better come indoors while I decide what to do with you.’

The thick woollen cloth was still warm from contact with his body and it smelled of bay rum and cigars, bringing back memories of Uncle Joseph and her old home.

‘Thank you, sir, but I really must return to Monmouth Street.’

‘Monmouth Street? We’ll see about that. Come, dogs.’ He strode across the snow-covered courtyard and thrust the door open. ‘Don’t dawdle, child. Follow me.’ He stepped inside. ‘Baines, where are you? Come here, man.’

Juno nudged Angel’s hand with her velvety head and the two dogs followed their master into the house. Angel hesitated, but large flakes of snow were spiralling to the ground, and the warmth of the blanket was too comforting to surrender lightly. Her options were limited and surely someone who was kind to animals could not be all bad? She plucked up the courage to go inside.

The entrance hall was dark and cool, with a flagstone floor, oak wainscoting and a beamed ceiling. The gloomy atmosphere was far from welcoming, and Angel was nervous. She came to a halt.

‘Who are you, sir?’

‘What is that to do with you, child?’ He laid the whip on the carved top of an oak chest and took off his hat. His hair was dark and straight and it came to his shoulders, giving him the look of a tragic poet, but his military bearing and weathered features were those of a man used to command.

‘What’s up, Colonel?’ A man who appeared suddenly from the depths of the house came towards them wiping his large bony hands on a hessian apron covered with chicken feathers. ‘I was just plucking a nice fat capon when you called, sir.’

‘Take this child to the kitchen, Baines. Give her something to eat while I decide what to do with her.’

Baines glared at Angel beneath shaggy sandy eyebrows. ‘Who have we here, then, sir?’

‘Her name, it seems, is Angel Winter and she was set upon by a band of youths who stole her purse.’

‘I’d send her home, sir. Not wanting to tell you what to do, as it were, but nippers this age are nothing but lies and trouble.’

‘I’m not a liar,’ Angel protested. ‘I wanted to go, but he wouldn’t let me.’

‘Watch your tongue, nipper. That is Colonel Sir Adolphus Grantley you’re speaking of, and if he says you’re to stay here a while, then that’s what you’ll do. Come with me, and none of your lip.’

‘Take Thor and Juno with you, Baines. I’ll be in my study.’ Sir Adolphus walked away, leaving Angel with the disapproving Baines and the greyhounds for company.

Baines ambled off with a decided limp and the dogs followed him, leaving Angel little alternative other than to follow him too. The long passages were poorly lit and smelled damp and musty, but Angel was past worrying about such details. All she could think of was Dolly and the desperate need of a shilling to pay Mother Jolly for two nights’ lodgings. She was too cold and exhausted to worry about her empty belly, but when she walked into a kitchen the aroma of something savoury bubbling away on the range made her stomach rumble. Juno and Thor went to lie together on a pile of blankets in the inglenook, and Baines motioned Angel to take a seat at the pine table in the centre of the room. She sank down on the nearest chair. Outside the window feathery snowflakes clung briefly to the diamond-shaped panes and then melted and trickled down the glass like tears.

‘I have to go soon,’ Angel said firmly. ‘It’s very kind of Sir Adolphus to invite me in, but the boys will have gone now, and I need to get back to the lodging house. My friend Dolly’s life depends on me bringing home the money to pay Mother Jolly. You must understand that, Mr Baines.’

‘Sergeant Baines to you, girl.’ Baines filled a bowl with soup thickened with lentils and floury dumplings. ‘Here, get that down you. I seen healthier-looking corpses than you.’

Angel did not argue. She spooned the herb-flavoured potage into her mouth, burning her tongue in the process, but it tasted good and she felt the warmth of it seeping through her veins, bringing life back to her chilled body.

Baines resumed his position by the back door, sitting on a stool as he finished plucking the chicken. ‘There’s more in the pot, if you’re still hungry,’ he said grinning. ‘You polished that off quicker than old Thor, and he’s a fast eater.’

‘It was very tasty. Thank you.’

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘How has a well-spoken little miss like you landed up in such a fix?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Angel said wearily. ‘I’m very grateful for the food and the chance to get warm, but please let me go, Sergeant Baines.’ She fingered the ring hanging round her neck on Aunt Cordelia’s gold chain. Until now she had resisted the temptation to pawn it, knowing that she would never be able to redeem the only thing that connected her to her mother, but Dolly’s life hung in the balance, and there was no choice.

‘Why the hurry? The master won’t let you go unless he thinks you’ll be safe. He’s like that.’

‘I have to get to the pawnshop before it closes. If I can’t pay Mother Jolly we’ll be thrown out on the street, and I’m in desperate need of a pair of boots.’

Baines tossed the last of the feathers out onto the snow and closed the door. ‘Come with me, nipper. You’ll have to tell that to the Colonel. He’s a good man.’

Sir Adolphus was standing with his back to the fire in the book-lined study. ‘I thought I told you to keep her in the kitchen, Baines.’

‘She needs to get to a pawnshop, Colonel. I’d be inclined to ask her where she got a valuable ring from. The police might be interested in this young lady.’

‘Leave us, Baines. Bring me coffee and some hot milk for our fallen angel.’

Baines shuffled from the room with a grunt, closing the door behind him.

‘I didn’t steal it,’ Angel said angrily. She hooked her finger round the chain and showed him the ruby ring. ‘This is mine. It was left with me when I was abandoned as a baby. Aunt Cordelia gave me the chain, and I wouldn’t part with it unless I was desperate, which I am. Please let me go, sir. I fear for my friend’s life if she doesn’t get some food inside her and some medicine.’

He sat down in a leather wing-back chair by the fire. ‘Are you expecting me to believe such a cock-and-bull tale?’

‘I swear it’s the truth.’ Angel tucked the ring back inside her torn blouse. ‘It’s all I have of my mother’s, Colonel. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.’

He was silent for a moment, staring at her with an unreadable expression. ‘For some reason I believe you, girl.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me see the ring, if you please.’

Reluctantly Angel unhooked the chain and laid the ring on his palm. He examined it, holding it up to the firelight with a critical eye. ‘I’m no expert, but I’d say these are fine stones – worth quite a lot of money, I should imagine. Fetch me the magnifying glass off my desk. I’d like to take a closer look.’

Angel did as he asked and he studied the ring, turning it round in his fingers until Angel could have screamed with frustration.

He looked up. ‘Did you know there are initials engraved on the inner edge of the ring?’

‘No, sir.’

‘And you don’t know who your parents were?’

‘No, sir. I was found in Angel Court, Whitechapel on Christmas Eve twelve years ago. I was just a few weeks old. They named me Angel Winter.’

‘An apt name, indeed. I was going to send you back to the lodging house with enough money to keep you and your sick friend for a week or two, but I’ve changed my mind. You obviously came from a good family, Angel Winter. I’m intrigued, and that doesn’t happen very often.’

‘What are the markings, sir?’ Angel asked eagerly. Any link with her real mother would be wonderful.

‘J E M,’ he said, peering through the magnifying glass. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

‘No, sir. I know nothing of my true identity.’

‘A mystery, indeed. However, I can’t allow you to pawn the only thing that connects you to your real mother, and a pawnbroker would give you just a fraction of its worth.’

‘But, sir, I’ve already—’

He held up his hand. ‘You’ve told me several times of your desperate need to pay this blood-sucking woman her dues.’ Sir Adolphus leaned back in his chair, eyeing Angel with a speculative gaze. ‘What am I going to do with you, Angel Winter?’

‘Nothing, sir. Please let me go. I don’t want to cause you any bother, and the soup was delicious. I feel better already.’

‘Just look at you, child. Those rags won’t protect you from the cold and you certainly can’t go barefoot in this weather.’ He was silent for a moment, as if considering what course of action to take. ‘Are you literate, Angel?’

‘Yes, sir. Aunt Cordelia was very particular about my education. I had a governess until I was eleven.’

‘And where is this aunt of yours now?’

‘I don’t know, sir. Mr Galloway, her solicitor, arranged for her to stay with his sister, a Mrs Adams who lives in Maddox Street. I went there because I wanted to tell Aunt Cordelia that Mr Galloway had gone back on his word, but she had left for the country with Mrs Adams, and the maid wouldn’t tell me where. I’ve been back several times since then, but there was no one at home, not even a servant.’

‘And where is this man Galloway now?’

Angel shuddered. ‘I don’t know, sir. He left me in the Bear Street workhouse, but I escaped and ran away. He’s a bad man.’

‘I see. Perhaps I ought to pay a visit to this Mr Galloway.’

‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, sir.’

‘You are not asking me, Angel. I dislike cheats and liars, and you have been badly done by.’ He leaned over to tug at a bell pull. ‘We will visit this Mother Jolly, and rescue your young friend. After that I think I might have a solution that would benefit us all.’ He looked up as the door opened to admit Baines.

‘Take Angel to Miss Susannah’s room. I think she might find some more suitable clothing there, and something to put on her feet.’ He fixed Angel with a piercing stare. ‘My niece stays here sometimes, although she lives in my country house. Find yourself something to wear and be quick about it. We’ll go to your lodging house directly.’

Angel was too stunned and surprised to argue. She followed Baines, who led her across the entrance hall and up the wide staircase to the upper floor. The light was fading fast despite the reflection of the snow outside, and the dark wood panelling and yellowed ceilings added to the sombre atmosphere. Susannah’s room was at the far end of the landing. Baines opened the door and stood aside. ‘There you are, miss. I dunno if you’ll find anything to suit, but take what you want. Miss Susannah won’t be needing any of the things you’ll find in the clothes press.’

‘Why not?’ Angel demanded anxiously. ‘Is she dead?’

‘Not that I know of. She doesn’t come here often these days and I doubt if any of the duds you’ll find would fit her now. Can you find your own way back to the master’s study?’

‘I think so.’

‘If not I’ll send the dogs to find you.’ Baines grinned and saluted as he closed the door, leaving Angel alone in the room that was dominated by a large four-poster bed. Heavy mahogany furniture slumbered in the shadows like sleeping giants and, to Angel’s imaginative mind, there was a lingering feeling of sadness in the still air. Dust lay like fuzzy blankets on all the surfaces and a faint waft of lavender seemed to float past her like a spirit of a long-departed lady of the house. Angel suppressed a shiver and concentrated on the task in hand.

The clothes press was packed with garments ranging in size from those that were suitable for a five-year-old to others that were on the large side for Angel, but were infinitely better than the rags she was wearing. She found a plain grey merino dress with a slightly yellow white collar and cuffs, a cotton shift and some woollen stockings. In a cupboard she discovered a selection of shoes, again in all sizes, and several pairs of boots that were hardly worn. Miss Susannah must have led a very sheltered existence and had never had to walk far. Angel discarded her rags and dressed herself in the new garments. The smell of camphor clung to them, but at least it had prevented the moths from feasting on the expensive cloth. She pulled on the stockings, revelling in their warmth, and slipped her feet into the boots, which fitted as if they had been made for her. Despite her hurry, she scraped a layer of dust off the cheval mirror and examined her reflection with a satisfied smile. A feeling of optimism surged through her as she tidied everything away and went downstairs to find Sir Adolphus. Why he had decided to help her was a mystery, but even if he changed his mind, as adults often did, she was warmly dressed, even if the cherry-red velvet cape she had selected made her feel like Little Red Riding Hood.

‘Good grief!’ Sir Adolphus stared at Angel, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘What a transformation from crushed rose petal to young lady.’

‘I’m glad you find my appearance amusing, sir.’

He rose to his feet. ‘I’m not laughing at you, silly girl. My instincts were correct, it seems. Underneath those rags there lurked a presentable young person. I think Susannah might warm to you, Angel Winter. You might very well be the answer to my prayers.’

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘No, of course you don’t, but you will.’ Once again he tugged at the bell pull and Baines appeared so quickly that Angel suspected he had been loitering outside the door.

‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’

‘Find me a cab, Baines. We’re going out.’