Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Copyright © Dilly Court 2017

Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred (Girl); Shutterstock (background)

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Dilly Court asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008199555

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008199579

Version: 2020-10-09

Dedication

In loving memory of Harry House

2013–2016

Taken too soon but never forgotten

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Read on for an exclusive extract from Dilly’s next festive novel

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Dilly Court

About the Publisher

Chapter One

St Mary Matfelon Church, Whitechapel, London – Christmas Eve 1859

‘I found her in Angel Alley, Vicar.’ The verger cradled the infant in his arms, protecting her from the falling snow. ‘She was all alone and no one else in sight.’

‘Bring her into the warmth, Fowler, before she freezes to death.’ The Reverend John Hardisty stood aside, ushering the verger into the candlelit church. The bells were ringing out to summon worshippers to midnight mass, and the first of the faithful were already starting to arrive.

‘What will we do with her, Vicar?’ Jim Fowler gazed down into the blue eyes that regarded him with an unblinking stare. ‘She must be cold and no doubt she’ll be hungry soon. Where will we find someone to care for her at this time of night, and at Christmas, too?’

‘Take her to the vestry. My wife will know what to do.’

A married man himself, with nine little Fowlers to raise, Jim carried the infant to the vestry and as he pushed the door open he was greeted by the sound of female chatter, which stopped abruptly when the assembled ladies spotted the baby.

‘Good gracious, Jim, what have you got there?’ Letitia Hardisty surged towards him, peering at the baby with undisguised distaste. ‘Not another foundling, surely?’

‘Oh, Letty, that’s not a very Christian attitude.’ Cordelia Wilding, a plump woman wearing a fur-trimmed velvet bonnet and matching cape pushed past her to snatch the infant from the verger’s arms. ‘What a beautiful child. Just look at those soft golden curls and big blue eyes. She’s a little angel.’

The third woman, Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, plainly dressed in serviceable grey linsey-woolsey with an equally plain bonnet, leaned over to take a closer look at the baby. ‘A Christmas angel, to be sure. I believe she’s smiling, Cordelia.’

‘It’s probably wind.’ Letitia stood back, frowning thoughtfully. ‘If you’ll stop cooing over her, ladies, you’ll realise that we have a problem on our hands.’

Margaret touched the infant’s cheek with the tip of her finger. ‘Where did you find her, Fowler? Was there a note of any kind?’

Jim puffed out his chest, pleased to be able to tell the deacon’s wife something she did not know. Margaret Edwards was notoriously opinionated and very conscious of her husband’s standing in the community. ‘I took it to be of the female gender, ma’am. Judging by the lace dress, which must have cost a pretty penny, in my humble opinion.’ He glanced round the small group and he realised that they were unimpressed. He cleared his throat. ‘Ahem … I was taking a short cut through Angel Alley and I heard a sound. She weren’t crying, but sort of cooing, as if to call out to me.’

‘Very interesting,’ Letitia said sharply. ‘But was she on a doorstep? If so, the mother might have intended the householder to take her in. Or was she in some sort of shelter? It’s been snowing for several hours.’

Cowed by her supercilious stare and the caustic tone of her voice, he bowed his head. ‘She was left in a portmanteau, ma’am.’

‘A portmanteau?’ Margaret tapped her teeth with her fingernail, a habit that never failed to annoy Letitia.

‘I think we all know what a portmanteau is, Margaret.’ Letitia moved closer to the verger, fixing him a stern look. ‘Did you bring it with you? It might help us to identify the child. This is obviously a matter for the police.’

He shook his head. ‘It were sodden with snow, ma’am. I was too concerned about the little one to think of anything but getting her to safety.’

‘You stupid man. There might have been a clue as to who she is, if indeed it is a girl.’ Letitia cocked her head, listening. ‘The bells have stopped. It’s time for the service to begin. We can’t stay here talking all night.’

‘What will we do with the infant, Letty?’ Cordelia clasped her hands to her bosom, her grey eyes filling with tears. ‘Someone must take her in. I would, but I’m afraid Mr Wilding would object. We have visitors staying with us, important business contacts, you understand.’

‘I can’t have her,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘I must support the deacon during this busy time of the year. He has his duties to perform, as has the vicar.’

‘And for that reason I cannot have her either,’ Letitia added, nodding. ‘Besides which, the child needs a wet nurse.’ She turned to Jim. ‘You have a large family, Fowler. Surely one more would make little difference, and I seem to remember that your youngest is only a few months old.’

Jim took a step backwards, holding up his hands. ‘My Florrie has enough to do, ma’am. We can barely feed and clothe the young ’uns as it is. Maybe the Foundling Hospital would take her in, or else it will be the workhouse.’

‘Send for a constable,’ Letitia said hurriedly. ‘The police station in Leman Street is the best place for the child. They’re used to handling such matters, and you, Fowler, must go to Angel Alley right away and fetch the case in which you found the baby. It might prove to be vital evidence for the police to find and apprehend the mother who committed the crime of abandonment.’

‘Oh, no, Letty,’ Cordelia said tearfully. ‘The poor creature needs sympathy. Where is your compassion? It is Christmas Eve, after all. Remember the babe that was born in the stable.’

‘The stable in Bethlehem is not Angel Alley in Whitechapel, Cordelia.’ Letitia shooed the verger out of the room. ‘You had best stay with the child, Cordelia, since she seems to be taken with you. Come, Margaret, the service has started.’ She left the vestry with the deacon’s wife following in her wake.

Cordelia sank down on one of the upright wooden chairs – comfort was not the main purpose of the vestry furniture. She unfolded the woollen shawl, which was new and of the best quality. The flannel nightdress was trimmed with lace and the yoke embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds. Someone, perhaps the expectant mother, had put time and effort into making the garment. Cordelia was not the most imaginative of people, but it seemed unlikely that someone who had taken such trouble over a simple nightgown would desert a much-wanted infant. The baby had not uttered a sound, and that in itself was unnerving and seemed unnatural. Cordelia had long ago given up hope of having a child of her own, and although part of her longed to take the little one home and give her the love and attention she deserved, a small voice in her head warned her against such folly. Her husband, Joseph Willard Wilding, was a successful businessman who had bought a failing brewery and turned its fortune around. They entertained regularly and she was expected to be the perfect hostess. A child would not fit in with their way of life.

‘You are a beautiful little girl. If you were mine I would christen you Angel, because that’s what you are.’

The baby gurgled and a tiny hand grasped Cordelia’s finger with surprising strength. She felt a tug at her heartstrings and an ache in her empty womb.

How long Cordelia sat there she did not know, but she felt a bond growing with the child and the sweet, milky, baby smell filled her with unacknowledged longing. Then, just as Angel was becoming restive and beginning to whimper, the door burst open and Jim entered, carrying a large portmanteau. He was followed by a police constable. The last words of ‘Come All Ye Faithful’ echoed around the vestry as the policeman closed the door.

‘This is the infant, Constable Miller,’ Jim said importantly. ‘The one I found in Angel Alley, lying in this here case as if she was a piece of left luggage. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

Constable Miller took the portmanteau from him and proceeded to examine it in the light of a candle sconce. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a note of any kind, Mr Fowler.’ He raised his head, giving Cordelia a questioning look. ‘Was there a note pinned to the baby’s shawl, ma’am? The child’s name, maybe?’

Cordelia shook her head. ‘Nothing, Constable. The baby is well cared for and clean, and her garments are of good quality.’

Constable Miller ran his hands around the lining of the case. ‘Aha. As I thought. There is generally something personal to the mother left with foundlings.’ He held up a gold ring set with two heart-shaped rubies. ‘This might be valuable,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but I’m not an expert in jewellery. Anyway, it might help us to find the mother, or it’s possible she will have second thoughts and return to the place where she abandoned her baby. Women do strange things in such cases.’

‘What will happen to the child now?’ Cordelia asked anxiously. ‘You won’t lock her in a cell overnight, will you?’

A wry smile creased Constable Miller’s face into even deeper lines. ‘I doubt if the other occupants of the lock-up would appreciate a nipper howling its head off, ma’am. I’ll have to report back to the station, but I expect she’ll end up in the workhouse if the Foundling Hospital can’t take her.’

Jim backed towards the door. ‘I’ve got to go, Constable. The service has ended and I’ll be needed to tidy up ready for the Christmas Day services.’ He let himself into the body of the church, closing the door behind him.

‘Busy for all of us,’ Constable Miller said drily. ‘No doubt we’ll be scooping the drunks off the streets and arresting the pros—’ He broke off, his face flushing brick red. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I mean we’ll be keeping the streets as free from crime as possible in this part of the East End.’ He reached out to take the baby, but Cordelia tightened her hold on the tiny body.

‘I don’t like to think of Angel in such a place, Constable. Or in the workhouse, if it comes to that.’

‘She has a name, ma’am?’

Cordelia blushed rosily. ‘I’ve been calling her Angel because she was found in Angel Alley and because it’s Christmas, and she looks like an angel.’

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to take care of her for a couple of days, would you, ma’am? It would make my life easier and you obviously have some feelings for the little mite. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘I can understand, being the father of five. I’d take her myself, but for the fact that my wife is sick in bed and the nippers are having to look after themselves.’

‘I wish I could, Constable,’ Cordelia said with genuine regret, ‘but my husband wouldn’t agree, and anyway, she needs a wet nurse.’

‘Give her to me then, ma’am. I’m sure the sergeant at the station will know of some woman who’d like to earn a few pence for her labours.’

Cordelia hesitated. ‘I suppose that means some slattern who might be disease ridden and most certainly of low morals.’

‘That I can’t say, ma’am.’ Constable Miller kept his tone moderate but he was tired and coming to the end of his shift. His only wish was to take the tiresome infant to the station and see it safely settled before he went home to his family, left in the care of his eldest daughter, a child of ten. Whether or not they were asleep in bed was something he would discover when he opened the door of their two-up, two-down terraced house. No doubt they would have searched the cupboards for their presents, such as they were, but all he could afford on a constable’s pay were wooden toys made from offcuts by the carpenter who lived at number six, and rag dolls that his wife had spent many evenings sewing by the light of a single candle.

Cordelia rose to her feet, still clutching Angel, who was growing restive and her whimpering was rapidly growing in volume. ‘I must come with you, Constable. I have to make certain that this child is placed in safe hands.’ Cordelia turned her head as the door opened to admit Letitia, the vicar and Joseph Wilding, and judging by the expressions on their faces she realised that her decision was going to attract strong opposition. She explained hastily, but Joseph barely allowed her to finish speaking.

‘It’s ridiculous, Cordelia. The child has been deserted by her mother and goodness knows where it came from. The thing might be riddled with disease and you have a delicate constitution. Come away and leave the matter to the authorities.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ Letitia said smoothly. ‘Your caring attitude is admirable, but misplaced. There are institutions that care for this type of child.’

‘And what type is that?’ Cordelia demanded angrily. ‘Angel is an innocent, just like the Child whose birth we are supposed to be celebrating at Christmas.’

Shocked, Letitia stared at her wide-eyed. ‘That is blasphemous, Cordelia.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Pretend you didn’t hear that, John. Cordelia is obviously beside herself, and it’s very late. Time we were all tucked up in our beds so that we can be ready for tomorrow – or rather, later on today. Go home, Cordelia, and leave the matter in the hands of the police.’

Cordelia held the child closer as she rose to her feet. Rebellion was not in her nature and she would normally have complied with her husband’s wishes, but this was different. ‘No,’ she said firmly.

‘No?’ Letitia and Joseph spoke in unison.

‘It’s all right, ma’am,’ Constable Miller said hastily. ‘I will make certain that the child is well cared for.’

Cordelia shot a sideways look at her husband. ‘I am not abandoning this infant. I intend to accompany Constable Miller to the police station, and I will stay with Angel until I am satisfied that appropriate arrangements have been made for her care.’

‘Cordelia, I forbid you—’ Joseph broke off mid-sentence. The stubborn set of his wife’s normally soft jawline and the martial gleam in her large grey eyes both startled and confused him. Used as he was to commanding his army of workers at the brewery and generally getting his own way by simple force of his domineering nature, he was suddenly at a loss.

‘I am going with her,’ Cordelia said simply. ‘It’s Christmas Day and my little winter angel needs the comfort of loving arms. I will never know the joy of holding my own child, so please allow me this one small thing, Joseph.’

John Hardisty cleared his throat, touched to the core by the simple request of a childless woman. ‘I will accompany you, my dear Mrs Wilding. If Joseph feels he must tend to your guests then please allow me to be of assistance.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Vicar.’ Joseph moved to his wife’s side. ‘I’m sure my friends will understand. I don’t agree with what you’re doing, Cordelia, but I am prepared to humour you – just this once.’

She met his gaze with a steady look. For the first time in the twenty-five years of their marriage she knew that she was in control, and it was a good feeling. She said nothing as she followed the constable out of the church, wrapping her cape around the baby to protect her from the heavily falling snow.

‘Get into the carriage, Cordelia,’ Joseph said sternly. ‘Might I offer you a lift, Constable?’

‘I’m supposed to be walking my beat, sir.’ Constable Miller squinted up into the swirling mass of feathery snow. ‘But I suppose under the circumstances it would be appropriate.’

The desk sergeant dipped his pen into the inkwell. ‘Name, please?’

‘Cordelia Wilding.’

‘No, ma’am, the infant’s name, if it has one.’

‘Angel,’ Cordelia said firmly.

‘Angel?’ He looked up, frowning. ‘Surname?’

‘Really, Officer, is this necessary?’ Joseph leaned over the desk. ‘My wife knows nothing of this child. She’s simply caring for the infant until someone comes to take her away.’

A shaft of fear stabbed Cordelia with such ferocity that she could scarcely breathe. ‘Angel Winter. It’s the name I’ve given the poor little creature who’s been cruelly abandoned by her mother. She needs someone who can take care of her bodily needs, and a home where she will be loved.’

‘Don’t we all, ma’am?’ Sergeant Wilkes said drily.

‘I suggested the Foundling Hospital, Sergeant,’ Constable Miller took his notebook from his pocket. ‘The infant was found at approximately eleven forty-five in Angel Alley by a Mr James Fowler, the verger at St Mary’s church, and taken into the vestry where this good lady has been taking care of the said babe.’

The sergeant glanced at the clock. ‘It’s nearly half-past one in the morning, and it’s Christmas Day. I doubt if anyone would be happy to be awakened at this time.’

As if acting on cue, Angel began to cry and this time no amount of rocking or soothing words made any difference.

‘She’s hungry,’ Cordelia said apologetically. ‘A wet nurse must be found immediately.’

‘Lumpy Lil is in the cells, Constable Miller. Go and fetch her, if you please. She’s up for soliciting again.’ Sergeant Wilkes shot an apologetic glance in Cordelia’s direction. It was bad enough having a nipper howling its head off fit to bust, without the added complication of there being a lady present. He thought longingly of home and a warm fireside, a pipe of baccy and a glass of porter to finish off a long day. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’

‘Lumpy Lil,’ Cordelia repeated faintly. The image this conjured up made her shudder, but Angel’s cries were becoming more urgent, and she supposed that one mother’s milk was as good as another’s, even if the woman was of questionable morals.

Joseph moved closer to her, lowering his voice. ‘Come away now, Cordelia. You’ve done your best for the infant. Let the police deal with her.’

She turned on him in a fury. ‘You make Angel sound like a criminal. I won’t abandon her, and I intend to remain here until I’m satisfied that a good home has been found for her.’

‘This is ridiculous, my dear,’ Joseph said through clenched teeth. ‘You cannot stay here all night, and possibly all day too. I won’t allow it.’

Cordelia turned away in time to see Constable Miller escorting a large, raw-boned woman along the corridor that presumably led from the cells. Lumpy Lil lived up to her name – her torn blouse was open to the waist, exposing large breasts, purple veined and threatening to burst free from the confines of tightly laced stays.

‘Good grief!’ Joseph stared at her in horror. ‘Surely not this creature.’

‘Where’s the little brat then?’ Lil’s words were slurred. It was obvious that she had been drinking and was still under the influence, but Angel was screaming by this time, and much as Cordelia hated the thought of this unwashed, drunken woman laying hands on her pure little angel, she could see that there was little alternative. She cleared her throat, meeting Lil’s aggressive glare with an attempt at a smile.

‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you be kind enough to give sustenance to this poor little child, Miss Lumpy?’

‘It’s Miss Heavitree to you, lady.’ Lil tossed back her shaggy mane of mouse-brown hair. ‘You never told me the queen was visiting Leman Street nick, Constable Miller.’

‘Less of your cheek, Lil. You know what’s required of you.’

‘Give us the kid, missis.’ Lil held her arms out, exposing tattoos that ran from her bony wrists to her elbows. ‘I’ll be glad to get some relief from me sore titties. My babe only lived three days, and then the cops brought me in for trying to make a living.’ She spat on the floor at Constable Miller’s feet, narrowly missing his boots. ‘I provides a valuable service, they knows that.’

‘Less of your lip, Lumpy.’ Constable Miller poked her in the back. ‘If you’re willing to take care of the nipper you can use the inspector’s office. He’s at home with his family, where we all should be, and I’m going off duty, so don’t give me any trouble.’

‘All right, I’ll see to the little thing. What’s her name?’

‘I call her Angel.’

‘There’s no accounting for taste. I dare say she’ll be as much of a brat as the rest of ’em when she’s old enough to answer back.’ Lil flung the baby over her shoulder with careless abandon. ‘Lead on, Constable. You can stay and watch if it gives you pleasure.’ She winked at him, but Constable Miller merely shrugged and gave her a push in the direction of the office.

‘It would be nothing new to me, Lil. I’ve got five of my own, but I’ll be outside the door, so don’t try to escape.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ Cordelia volunteered as Constable Miller ushered Lumpy Lil and the baby into the inspector’s office.

‘You don’t want to mix with the likes of her, ma’am,’ he said in an undertone. ‘She’s not your sort at all.’

‘She most certainly is not.’ Joseph laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done your duty by the infant, Cordelia. It’s time to go home.’

Cordelia Frances Wilding had been brought up to be a dutiful daughter and a biddable wife, but at that moment something inside her snapped. The need to protect the infant was stronger than any other emotion she had felt in her whole life, and nothing anyone said or did would make a scrap of difference.

‘Go home, Joseph,’ she said firmly. ‘I intend to remain here until I am satisfied that Angel will be looked after properly.’

‘You are telling me to leave you here? In a police station with common prostitutes and villains of every kind?’

‘Yes, I am. I won’t move from this spot until I know what arrangements have been made.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Or else I’ll bring her home and hire Miss Heavitree as her wet nurse.’

‘This is ridiculous. Have you lost your senses, Cordelia?’ Joseph paled visibly. ‘What about my status in the business world – have you considered that?’

She turned her back on him. ‘I’m not listening.’

Joseph stared at her in horror. This angry person was not the docile wife who had run his household and acted as hostess to his business acquaintances for more than twenty-five years. He barely recognised the mutinous woman who was openly defying him, and worse still he felt a wave of sympathy emanating from the desk sergeant. There seemed to be little he could do other than admit defeat and save face by appearing to support his wife.

‘Very well, my dear. I can see that this means a lot to you, so I’ll do as you ask, but only if you promise not to do anything rash.’

‘I’ll do what I think best, Joseph.’

Defeated for the first time in his married life, Joseph turned to Sergeant Wilkes. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll send the carriage back to wait for my wife.’

‘Yes, sir. I understand.’

Joseph lowered his voice. ‘I would be prepared to make a generous donation to any charity of your choosing if a suitable home can be found for the infant. My wife will not leave until she is assured of this.’

‘I can’t promise, sir, but I’ll see what I can do.’

Joseph turned his head to see his wife looking directly at him and his heart sank. ‘You heard what I said, Cordelia?’

‘Yes, I did, and I’ll stay here until I’m satisfied that Angel will be loved and cared for, but don’t be surprised if I bring her home with me, Joseph. I will not be swayed on this matter. It’s Christmas Day – a time for children and families – I can’t abandon her, and I won’t.’

Chapter Two

Spital Square, Spitalfields – 1871

Angel put down her sampler and stared out of the window. The square was bustling with life and the sun was shining. She longed to go outside but she was forbidden to leave the house unless accompanied by Lil Heavitree, her nursemaid, although at eleven years of age she thought it ridiculous for a big girl like herself to be waited upon hand and foot by an old woman. Lil must be forty, if she was a day, and her large ungainly figure seemed to broaden with every passing year. Clumsy and prone to using bad language when she forgot herself, Lil was looked down upon by the other servants and Angel was constantly flying to her defence, particularly when her guardian’s personal maid, Miss Nixon, used her wiles to get poor Lil into trouble. Quite often, when Lil’s innate clumsiness had caused her to smash a valuable figurine or one of Mrs Wilding’s best Crown Derby dinner plates, Angel had taken the blame. Aunt Cordelia might grumble, but she would forgive Angel, whereas Lil would probably lose her job. There were times when Angel heard the underservants calling Lil names, referring to her as Lumpy Lil and taunting her about her former life. Angel was not sure what Lil’s crimes had been, but they haunted the poor woman even after nearly twelve years of devoted service.

Angel leaned forward, attracted by the cries of a young woman selling strawberries. Aunt Cordelia loved the sweet succulent fruit and the season when they were at their best was far too short. Angel leaped to her feet with a show of lace-trimmed pantalettes and a swirl of her silk taffeta tartan skirts, and she ran from the room, grabbing her reticule on the way out. The coins clanked together merrily as she raced down three flights of stairs, flying past the startled housemaid as she crossed the entrance hall and let herself out into the street, just in time to catch the strawberry seller before she moved on to Norton Folgate.

With a punnet clutched in her hand Angel went to find Aunt Cordelia, but her way to the drawing room was barred by Miss Nixon.

‘Where do you think you’re going, miss?’

Her enthusiasm dashed by Miss Nixon’s tight-lipped expression and sharp tone, Angel wafted the strawberries under the maid’s nose. ‘I bought these with my own money as a present for my aunt.’

‘Have you no sense, child?’ Miss Nixon’s voice was laced with acid. ‘The master is dead. Do you think that a few berries will mend a broken heart?’

Angel stared at her blankly. She heard the words but they made no sense. ‘He can’t be,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him yesterday and he greeted me with such a kind smile.’

‘That may be so but he was taken suddenly. An apoplectic fit, so the doctor said. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Go to your room and don’t bother Mrs Wilding. She’s prostrate with grief.’

Slowly, Angel ascended the stairs. The smell of the warm berries was suddenly nauseating, much as she loved the fruit, and she abandoned the punnet on one of the carved mahogany tables that were placed strategically on each landing. The old nursery on the third floor was now a schoolroom, but Angel’s governess had retired recently, leaving a gap in her life once filled with lessons on history, grammar and mathematics. Aunt Cordelia had insisted that Angel should receive an education fit for a young lady, although Uncle Joseph often stated within Angel’s hearing that filling girls’ heads with knowledge was a waste of time – and now he was dead. It was hard to believe that a large, ruddy-faced man, seemingly in the prime of life, should have been struck down so cruelly. Angel entered the schoolroom to find Lil waiting for her.

‘You’ve been told, have you?’

‘Miss Nixon said my uncle is dead. Is it true, Lil?’

‘Dead as a doornail, love. Felled like an ox, he was. Just got up from the breakfast table, so Florrie says, and collapsed at her feet, and her still holding the coffeepot. It’s a wonder she never spilled it all over him. Not that he’d have felt a thing. He were a goner for sure, and the missis screamed and fell down in a dead faint. Such a to-do.’

‘How awful,’ Angel said sadly. ‘It must have come as a terrible shock. I ought to comfort her. Do you think I should go to her now, Lil?’

‘Not at this minute, my lovely. The doctor’s been and given her a strong dose of laudanum, and the undertaker will be here any minute. Just stay up here until the missis sends for you.’

‘I bought her some strawberries.’ Angel walked over to the window and peered out. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’

‘It don’t matter whether it’s raining or sunny – when your time is up, that’s it. The master has gone to his Maker, and I don’t doubt that worry was partly to blame.’

‘Worry?’ Angel was quick to hear the change in Lil’s tone. ‘Why was he worried?’

‘Well, whatever it was he’s out of it now.’ Lil smoothed her starched white apron with her work-worn hands. ‘I can’t dawdle about here all day. There’s work to do. I just came to make sure you was all right.’ Lil gave her a searching look. ‘You ain’t going to pipe your eye, are you?’

‘No, I feel sad, but somehow I can’t cry for Uncle Joseph. I know he never wanted me to come and live here.’

Lil twisted her lips into a crooked smile. ‘That was true at the outset, but he came round in the end. The missis can be very persuasive when she puts her mind to it. Now I really must get my carcass downstairs and offer to help or I’ll never hear the last of it.’ She waddled to the door, but she hesitated and turned to give Angel an encouraging smile before leaving.

Left to her own devices there was little that Angel could do other than wait for her aunt to send for her, but the call did not come. Luncheon was normally brought to the schoolroom at midday, unless Angel was invited to take the meal with her aunt, but she waited until she heard the clock in the hall strike one, and then she took matters into her own hands and went downstairs to the basement kitchen.

Cook and the young housemaid, Gilly, stared at her as if she were a ghost.

‘You should be upstairs in the nursery, miss,’ Cook said severely.

‘It’s not the nursery now,’ Angel countered. ‘It’s the schoolroom, and I’m hungry. Where’s Lil?’

‘She went to the pharmacy to purchase some laudanum for madam – doctor’s orders. She’s to be kept quiet in a darkened room, and she don’t want to be bothered with the likes of you.’

Angel was taken aback by Cook’s response. She had never been a cheery soul, but now her tone was belligerent and downright disrespectful. Angel had known from an early age that she was not related to the Wildings by blood, and that she had been adopted by Aunt Cordelia when she was just a baby, but the servants had always treated her with due deference, until now.

‘I would like my food sent to the schoolroom, Cook. When Lil returns, please send her to me.’ Angel shot a withering look at Gilly, who was giggling helplessly. ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. This is supposed to be a house of mourning.’

Gilly’s jaw dropped and she backed into the scullery. ‘Sorry, miss.’

‘On second thoughts, I’ll help myself,’ Angel said, ignoring Cook’s tight-lipped expression as she cut several slices from a freshly baked loaf of bread. ‘Is there any ham or meat left from dinner last evening?’

Reluctantly Cook opened the larder door and took out a plate of cold beef. She placed it on the table. ‘Is there anything else, miss?’

‘You wouldn’t treat me so rudely if my uncle were still alive.’ Angel added some meat to her plate and a pat of butter. ‘My aunt will hear of this.’

‘You’ve got a nasty surprise coming to you, miss. You won’t be so high and mighty when the bailiffs arrive.’

Angel hesitated in the doorway. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Cook turned her back on Angel and returned to the range where she had been stirring a bubbling pan of soup.

Angel took the plate to her room, but as she nibbled a slice of bread and butter her appetite deserted her and she left the remainder of the food untouched. She wanted to go to her aunt and comfort her, but Lil’s words of warning made her hesitate, and just when she had made up her mind to ignore them anyway, Lil burst into the room. She trailed her woollen shawl behind her and her straw bonnet was askew, allowing wisps of hair to cling damply to her forehead.

‘I’ve just run all the way from the pharmacy, Angel. The undertaker’s arrived, love. Mrs Wilding is prostrate with grief and there’s no one but you from above stairs to tell him what’s required.’

Angel leaped to her feet. Something to do at last. ‘I’ll speak to him.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lil followed Angel out of the room, clumping down the stairs in her wake. ‘I’ll come with you so that he doesn’t take advantage of your tender years.’

‘I’ll deal with it, Lil. Don’t worry about me.’ Angel hurried to the ground floor where she found the undertaker. He clutched his top hat in his hands, but as he turned to greet her his conciliatory smile faded.

‘I’m sorry, miss, but I really need to see your mother. Will you tell her that Jeremiah Chancellor is here to await her convenience?’

‘Mrs Wilding is my aunt and she is resting at the moment, sir. She must not be disturbed but she will let you have her instructions as soon as possible.’

‘If you would be kind enough to tell her that I called, I’ll come again tomorrow.’

‘Just you wait a minute,’ Lil said brusquely. ‘You ain’t going and leaving the dead body here, are you? The master is stretched out on the dining-room table. It took me and Cook to heave him off the floor and he’s no lightweight.’

‘I have a coffin in the hearse, which is at your disposal,’ Mr Chancellor said stiffly. ‘But it’s customary for the loved ones to rest at home until the funeral.’

‘There is the morning parlour,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I’m sure that would be suitable, but you aren’t going to leave him here for long, are you?’

He looked over the top of Angel’s head, addressing himself to Lil. ‘There’s the question of the necessary arrangements to be made, and there are certain financial matters to discuss. I can only do that with the lady of the house or someone in authority.’

‘My aunt will see you when she is rested, but I’m sure she will agree to any suggestions you might care to make.’ Angel raised her voice, just a little, but even to her ears she sounded youthful and uncertain.

Mr Chancellor turned to Lil. ‘I can’t take instructions from a mere child. Tell your mistress that I’ll be pleased to call on her when she is feeling better.’

Angel could see that Lil was simmering with indignation and was flexing her hands as if at any moment she might seize Mr Chancellor by the collar and eject him from the house. Angel was well aware that Lil had once floored a would-be intruder with an upper cut that would not have disgraced Tom Cribb. It had been the talk of the servants’ hall for months after the event.

‘I can speak for my aunt, sir,’ Angel said firmly. ‘Please go ahead with the necessary arrangements, and if you would be kind enough to call tomorrow morning I am sure Mrs Wilding will be able to see you in person. You must understand that she is too upset to see anyone at the moment.’

Jeremiah Chancellor screwed up his face, as if calculating the risks of taking instructions from a minor, but after a quick glance at his surroundings and the obvious trappings of wealth, he managed a sickly smile. ‘Of course, miss. I’m sorry if I caused offence, but you must realise that in my line of business I have to be careful.’

‘I understand, sir.’ Angel inclined her head graciously, although secretly she would have been pleased to let Lil loose on him. She had a satisfying vision of the pompous gentleman flying down the front steps aided by a shove from Lil, but she managed to control a sudden desire to giggle. ‘Please see Mr Chancellor out, Lil.’

Angel waited until the door closed on him before making her way slowly up the stairs, but as she reached the first floor she could hear her aunt’s sobs through the closed bedroom door. If ever anyone was in need of loving care, it was Aunt Cordelia and, ignoring Lil’s advice, Angel entered the room. The curtains were closed and the four-poster bed loomed large in the shadows. Angel tiptoed over to stand at her aunt’s bedside.

‘Aunt Cordelia, it’s me, Angel.’ When there was no response, Angel lay down on the coverlet and cuddled up to her aunt. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you just as you took care of me when I was little.’ She rested her cheek against her aunt’s back, placing a protective arm around the slim body, racked with sobs. Angel’s tears, which had been so long in coming, fell unchecked.

Angel was considered to be too young to attend the funeral, despite her protests that she wanted to be there if only to support her aunt, but Cordelia was adamant. She had recovered enough from the shock of her husband’s sudden death to agree to Mr Chancellor’s arrangements for the interment. The day after Mr Chancellor’s visit Angel had accompanied her aunt to Jay’s Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street, where Cordelia was fitted out with her widow’s weeds. Angel was in the awkward stage where she was neither child nor adult, but she wanted to show her respect for her adoptive uncle and she chose a plain grey tussore gown, which she wore with black armbands, similar to those purchased for the servants.

At home the curtains were closed and black crepe ribbon tied to the door knocker indicated that the occupants were in deep mourning. The house in Spital Square had never been filled with music and laughter, but now it was a sad place and the only sounds that echoed throughout the building were the servants’ footsteps on the back stairs and the closing of a door or window.

Two days after the interment, Angel was on her way to her uncle’s study in search of something to read from his small collection of books, when the door flew open and a man hurried out, almost colliding with her.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you were there.’

Angel recognised the tall, thin gentleman whose balding head was compensated for by grey mutton-chop whiskers, a curly moustache and a goatee beard, which was a similar shade of ginger to his bushy eyebrows. Geoffrey Galloway was her aunt’s solicitor and when Angel was younger he used to bring her a poke of peppermint creams or a stick of barley sugar. He still treated her as if she were a charming five-year-old. Sometimes growing up was very hard, especially when people failed to see that she was on her way to adulthood.

‘I was going to borrow a book, sir.’ Angel kept her tone neutral and she met his amused gaze with a stony stare.

‘Admirable, young lady. Admirable.’ He smiled vaguely and crossed the hall to where Gilly waited, holding his hat and cane. ‘Good day.’

A warm draught laced with the smell of horse dung and fumes from the gasworks wafted in from the street, and Gilly closed the door after him. She shot a sideways glance at Angel, her mean little face contorted with spite. ‘You won’t be looking down your nose at us servants for much longer, so Cook says.’

Angel paused in the doorway. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Just you wait and see. Cook knows a thing or two.’ Gilly scurried off in the direction of the back stairs, leaving Angel staring after her.

‘Darling, is that you?’ Cordelia’s voice from the depths of the study brought Angel back to reality and she hurried into the room.

‘Are you all right, Aunt Cordelia? What did Mr Galloway want?’

Slumped in her late husband’s leather chair, Cordelia made an effort to smile, but her heart-shaped face was deathly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘We’re ruined, Angel. There’s no easy way to put this, but your uncle’s business venture failed miserably. The brewery has had to close and we’ve lost everything.’

Angel sank down on the chair recently vacated by Mr Galloway – the seat was still warm. ‘I don’t understand. How could that happen?’

‘I don’t pretend to understand business matters, dear. All I know is what Geoffrey just told me. Apparently Joseph played the tables to try to recoup his losses when the business was failing and his last gamble didn’t pay off. Everything has gone, and he mortgaged the house without my knowledge. I’m virtually penniless.’ She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved. ‘We’ll be living on the streets.’

‘No, that can’t be true,’ Angel said stoutly, but then Gilly’s spiteful words came back to her. How the servants could have found out was a puzzle, but then they always seemed to know things before she did. ‘There must be something we could sell to raise money. Perhaps we could find a smaller house to rent.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. Everything has to go – the furniture, my jewellery, the silver – all the things I treasure. The household bills haven’t been paid for months and if I can’t raise the money the bailiffs will come in and take everything. I can’t bear the disgrace.’

‘Isn’t there anyone who could help us?’ Angela asked in desperation. ‘Do you know anyone who could lend you some money to keep us going for a while?’

Cordelia raised her head, gazing at Angel with tears sparkling on the tips of her dark lashes. ‘There is one person who has offered to help, but I don’t think I can bring myself to accept his offer.’

‘Who is it, Aunt? What does he want in return for a loan?’

‘Geoffrey asked me to marry him,’ Cordelia said dully. ‘I’ve known him for years. He’s been Joseph’s solicitor for as long as I can remember, and he used to dine here quite often, but I can’t marry a man I don’t love, even for the sake of keeping a roof over our heads.’

‘He seems like a nice man,’ Angel said slowly. ‘But if you don’t like him …’

‘I do like him, darling. I’ve always liked him, but I loved Joseph.’ Cordelia mopped her eyes with her sodden hanky. ‘I know he was domineering and sometimes impatient, but ours was a love match and I miss him terribly. Anyway, I’m in mourning, and I will be for a year or maybe two.’

‘You mustn’t give it a second thought.’ Angel leaned over the desk to grasp her aunt’s hand. ‘We’ll manage without him, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll find work and we’ll look for somewhere else to live. You won’t have to marry a man you don’t love. I’ll look after you now.’

‘My darling, you’re just a child. I wouldn’t think of placing such responsibility on your young shoulders. But you’re right, we will survive somehow, and the first thing I will do is take my jewellery to the pawnbroker. I won’t allow the bailiffs to take it.’

‘There is my ring, too,’ Angel said slowly. The thought of parting with the one thing that might have belonged to her mother was agonising, but she could not allow her aunt to make all the sacrifices.

‘No, Angel. That is yours and you must keep it always.’ Cordelia frowned, staring down at the jewels on her left hand. ‘I will part with everything other than my wedding ring. Joseph placed that on my finger when I was just twenty, and it will remain there until the day I die.’

Angel knew that at any moment her aunt would burst into tears and that would only make matters worse. She jumped to her feet. ‘There must be other things we can sell, Aunt Cordelia.’

‘The bailiffs will be here this afternoon. We must act quickly if we’re to salvage anything, and even then I dare say it’s against the law, but at this moment I don’t care.’

‘You must stay here,’ Angel said firmly. ‘I’ll go to the pawnshop with Lil. It would be a brave man who tried to get the better of her.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, my darling. I’m afraid I would give in too easily.’ Cordelia rose from the chair, patting the leather arm rests as if saying farewell to an old friend. ‘I have the onerous duty of informing the servants that they will have to find employment elsewhere, but first I’ll fetch my jewellery box. I have a fine gold chain, which you must keep. Thread it through your mama’s ring and hang it around your neck.’

Angel swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll treasure it always.’

Angel and Lil returned from their trip to the pawnbroker’s in White’s Row to find the bailiffs already at work. The dining-room table was being hefted onto a cart, together with the chairs, and the sideboard stood on the pavement waiting to be treated with equal lack of care. Angel would have run forward to snatch the portrait of her aunt as a young bride from the hands of a burly carter, but Lil restrained her.

‘Just go indoors, love,’ she said in a low voice that sounded more like a growl. ‘You can’t stop ’em, and they might start asking questions.’

Angel realised that her weighty reticule might cause comment and she tucked it under her arm as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was wide open and Gilly was ineffectually flapping her apron at a porter who was carrying a tea chest filled with Cordelia’s Crown Derby dinner service.

‘Robbers,’ Gilly cried hoarsely. ‘That belongs to the mistress.’

‘Not no more, my duck.’ The man winked at her and continued on his way. A second cart had drawn up outside and a second bailiff pushed past Angel as he entered the house.

Gilly screamed, ‘They’ll have the clothes off our backs next, miss.’

‘No, they won’t. You’ll be quite safe below stairs. We have to leave them to do their work.’ Angel pointed the distraught maid in the direction of the baize door. ‘Stay in the kitchen with Cook.’

‘I can’t, miss. Cook done a bunk and Miss Nixon went last night. I dunno how to cook dinner, and that’s a fact.’

Lil grabbed Gilly by the arm. ‘Do as Miss Angel says, you halfwit. There’s nothing to be done up here.’

‘What shall I do, Lil? I ain’t got no money, and me dad will skin me alive if I goes home.’

‘Just wait in the kitchen,’ Lil said with a surprising show of patience. ‘I’ll be down in a minute and we’ll decide what’s to be done.’ She gave Gilly a shove and the girl stumbled off in the direction of the back stairs.

Angel sidestepped two porters. ‘You’d best go after her, Lil. Goodness knows what she’ll do left on her own in the kitchen. She’ll probably burn the house down.’

‘She’s daft enough,’ Lil said grimly. ‘Leave her to me.’ She strode off with a determined set to her jaw.

Angel was about to go in search of her aunt when she heard someone call her name. Her heart sank as she recognised the voice and she turned slowly to see the Reverend John Hardisty and his wife standing in the doorway.

‘Angel, my dear child, what a sorry state of affairs, to be sure.’

‘Poor Cordelia, she must be distraught,’ Letitia said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Angel answered meekly, but she was not fooled by Mrs Hardisty’s words of sympathy. She suspected that Letitia harboured some kind of grudge against her aunt, although it was hard to imagine Aunt Cordelia merited such ill feeling. Whatever the cause – and Letitia Hardisty always managed to appear conciliatory and pleasant – Angel had often felt an undercurrent and on this particular day it was more obvious than ever.

‘Is there anything we can do?’ John Hardisty spoke with genuine concern.

‘I don’t think so, sir,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I think my aunt is resting. This has all come as a terrible shock.’

‘Is it true that you are losing everything?’ He looked round, shaking his head. ‘If so, where will you go?’

‘I dare say Cordelia has relatives who will take her in. Although I wouldn’t relish such a change after being mistress of my own house for so many years.’ Letitia pursed her lips and there was a malicious gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Poor thing,’ she added, clutching her husband’s arm. ‘We should leave, John. I fear we are intruding.’

He cleared his throat noisily as if about to embark on a sermon. ‘If there is any way I can be of assistance, Angel, please ask your aunt to contact me.’

Letitia dragged him towards the door, which was propped open to allow the bailiff’s men easy access. ‘A penniless widow is a pitiable object in the eyes of society. My condolences to your aunt, you poor child.’

The words that tumbled from Letitia’s lips should have given Angel comfort, but the reverse was true. She had attended church every Sunday for as long as she could remember, and there had been interminable tea parties either at the vicarage or here at home, when the ladies of the parish gathered together to discuss their charitable actions and exchange gossip. Even as a child it had been obvious to Angel that women like Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, and the good ladies who tried to alleviate the suffering of the poor, were all in awe of Letitia Hardisty, if not actually afraid of her and her sharp tongue.

Resisting the temptation to rush after the vicar and his wife and slam the door, shutting them out of her life for ever, Angel took a deep breath. Whatever befell her and her aunt in the future, the one good thing to come out of this terrible state of affairs was that Aunt Cordelia would be free to start her life again, away from the tittle-tattle and covert glances of those who were supposed to be her friends. Even so, the future looked bleak and for the first time in her life Angel was scared.

Chapter Three

Two days later, Angel stood in the middle of the entrance hall, glancing round at the walls. Ghostly patches on the wallpaper marked the places where paintings and gilt-framed mirrors had hung until the bailiff’s men took them away. The slightest sound echoed through the empty rooms like thunder, and the home she had known all her life was being ripped apart. Strange men had robbed them of everything that was much loved and familiar, and the house itself was to be sold by auction. Where they would go and what they would do was something that Angel had hardly dared to imagine, but now she was facing reality. Childhood was over and she must grow up fast. It was a terrifying prospect.

The bailiffs had left them with very little other than their personal belongings. Lil had stuffed those haphazardly into three large valises, and the pots and pans from the kitchen were piled into wicker baskets and a tea chest. Lil had packed these herself and had insisted that Gilly must guard them with her life, if necessary. Angel had heard the child sobbing and had gone down to the kitchen to investigate. She found her clutching the chest like a shipwrecked mariner clinging to a floating spar.

‘What are you doing?’ Angel demanded.

‘She told me not to let no one near this or she’d tan me hide. I know that Lumpy Lil would do it, too.’

‘You silly girl, she only meant for you to stop the bailiff’s men from taking everything. I doubt if they’d set much store by old saucepans and chipped china. Get up, for heaven’s sake.’

Gilly staggered to her feet. ‘I got cramp in me legs thanks to her.’

‘You won’t let Miss Heavitree hear you talking like that if you’ve got any sense, and don’t call her Lumpy Lil or she’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘Where did you hear that vulgar expression, Angel?’ Cordelia’s shocked tones made Angel spin round to see her aunt standing at the foot of the stairs.

‘I’m sorry, Aunt Cordelia. I didn’t know you were there.’

‘We mustn’t allow our standards to drop simply because we’re in a difficult situation,’ Cordelia said primly. ‘I want you to come upstairs, Angel. Mr Galloway is here and he has something to tell you.’

‘What is it?’ Angel asked anxiously.

‘I’ll allow him to tell you, darling. Come along, don’t keep him waiting.’

Dragging her feet, Angel followed her aunt up the steep staircase. Geoffrey Galloway was waiting for them in the study, which, denuded of its books and furniture, seemed like a different place. The only item left by the bailiff’s men was a chair with a threadbare seat and a castor missing off one leg. Cordelia perched on it, balancing with difficulty. ‘I haven’t told Angel anything, Geoffrey. I think it would be best coming from you.’

He stood with his back to the fireplace, feet wide apart, hands clasped. ‘You must be aware of the seriousness of the situation in which your aunt finds herself, Angel.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ve been thinking it over very carefully, you understand, and your aunt agrees with what I am about to say.’

Angel knew instantly that his solution was not going to benefit her. She shot a wary glance in her aunt’s direction, but Cordelia was studying the bare floorboards as if they were something new and interesting.

‘My sister, Mrs Adams, is also recently widowed,’ Galloway announced in a sonorous tone. ‘Rebecca owns a small house in Maddox Street and she is in need of a genteel lady to be her companion. I think it would suit your aunt admirably.’

Angel turned to her aunt. ‘Is this what you want, Aunt Cordelia?’

‘My darling, what choice do I have?’ Cordelia met Angel’s gaze with a tremulous smile. ‘It’s very kind of Mr Galloway to go to so much trouble on our account, and I have met Mrs Adams on a couple of occasions. She seems a very agreeable lady.’

‘Am I to go with you, Aunt?’

‘No, Angel,’ Galloway said firmly. ‘My sister is childless and she loves to travel. It would not be appropriate for you to live with your aunt, but of course you may visit her sometimes.’

‘What is to become of me, Mr Galloway?’ Angel met his stern gaze squarely, without flinching.

‘You are fortunate to have been brought up like a young lady. Mrs Wilding has been more than generous in making sure you have had a good education, and you know how to behave in polite society.’

‘What Mr Galloway is trying to tell you, my love, is that he’s found a suitable place for you with a good family, where I hope you will be as happy as you have been here, with me.’ Cordelia held out her hand. ‘I hate the thought of being parted from you, Angel, but I hope and pray that this is just a temporary arrangement.’

Angel refused to be placated. ‘Am I to be a servant like Lil?’

‘No, definitely not.’ Cordelia’s lips trembled. ‘I wouldn’t allow such a thing.’ She cast a beseeching look at Galloway. ‘Tell her, please. You know more about the Grimes family than I do.’

‘Phileas Grimes is a client of mine, known to me for many years. He is a wealthy man who’s made his fortune from buying tracts of land in the East End for building. He has a daughter about your age, and he is often away from home.’

‘So we are both to live with strangers,’ Angel said slowly. ‘Aunt Cordelia is going to stay with your sister, and I am going to …’ she paused. ‘Where exactly is this house? Is it in London?’

‘Ah, there you have spotted the best part of the plan.’ Galloway beamed at her, puffing out his chest. ‘Mr Grimes owns a lovely old house in the Essex countryside. You will have plenty of freedom and you will share lessons in art and music with his daughter. It will be an idyllic existence away from the dirt and disease of the East End.’

Angel threw herself down on her knees beside her aunt, clutching both her hands in a desperate grip. ‘Don’t let him separate us, Aunt Cordelia. You are more important to me than anyone who might claim to be my real mama. Please tell him that you will not be parted from me.’

Cordelia’s eyes filled with tears and she raised Angel’s hands to her lips. ‘If only I could, darling. I would do anything to keep us together, but you must see that it’s just not possible at the moment. I’m penniless, my love. The money from my jewellery has been spent on food and necessities and now everything has gone and I can’t support myself, let alone you, but Geoffrey has promised that Lil can go with you, and Mrs Adams has a place for Gilly in her household. We will all be taken care of, but I hope in the future we will be together again. This isn’t for ever, darling girl.’

Dazed and struggling to come to terms with the sudden change in events, Angel rose slowly to her feet. ‘And if I refuse? What happens then?’

Galloway’s lips tightened to a thin line beneath his quivering moustache. ‘You will comply with your aunt’s wishes if you know what’s good for you. You’re an orphan, Angel Winter. That isn’t even your real name, so how do you propose to manage if your aunt cannot look after you, as she has done for the last eleven years? Have you any idea how fortunate you are, little girl?’

Angel shook her head. ‘You are not a nice man, Mr Galloway. I hope my aunt never marries you, because you have a cruel nature. A kind man wouldn’t separate us, and you are not a kind man, even though you pretend to be.’

‘That’s enough, Angel. You must apologise for being so rude to Mr Galloway.’ Cordelia stood up, swaying on her feet and Galloway leaped forward to support her.

‘You see the real nature of the child now, Cordelia,’ he said angrily. ‘You do not know her pedigree and I think it’s becoming obvious that she came from the gutter. You’ve harboured romantic fantasies as to her birth, but she’s a child of the slums and needs a firm hand.’

Cordelia uttered a muffled cry and fainted in his arms.

‘You hateful man,’ Angel cried passionately. ‘You planned all this.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, child. Fetch your maid. I need her to accompany Mrs Wilding to my sister’s house. You will come with me.’

‘I won’t leave Aunt Cordelia.’

‘We’ll see about that.’ Galloway swept the unconscious Cordelia off her feet and carried her from the room. He came to a halt at the sight of Lil, who had a valise in each hand and a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm. ‘My carriage is outside. I need you to accompany your mistress to Maddox Street.’

Lil dropped the cases on the highly polished floorboards. ‘I ain’t going nowhere without Angel.’

‘It’s Miss Winter to you,’ Galloway snapped. ‘Do as you’re told. I’ll look after the young lady.’ He glanced at Gilly, who was cowering in a corner clutching a basket filled with kitchenware. ‘You, too. Get in the carriage.’

‘I ain’t moving until I knows what’s happening to Angel,’ Lil said angrily. ‘What’s up with the mistress, anyway? What have you done to her?’

Galloway chose to ignore her and he left the house, staggering beneath the voluminous folds of black crepe that enveloped Cordelia like a shroud.

Angel grasped Lil’s hand. ‘Look after Aunt Cordelia. He’s promised that you can come to me in the country. I don’t know where I’ll be but he gave his word you would be with me.’

‘And you believed him?’ Lil curled her lip. ‘I don’t trust that man, but for your sake I’ll see that the mistress is settled comfortably and then I’ll come and find you. It don’t matter where you are, you can trust me, Angel.’

‘I know I can. I wouldn’t go with him if he hadn’t promised that we’d be together.’

Lil beckoned to Gilly. ‘Come along, nipper. Let’s get this over and done with.’ She followed Galloway out of the house.

Seized by a feeling of panic, Angel ran after her but Cordelia was already in the carriage and Lil climbed in beside her, followed by Gilly.

‘Wave goodbye to your aunt, my dear,’ Galloway said loudly. He seized Angel’s arm and pumped it up and down so that from the carriage window it must have looked as though she was waving. ‘Smile,’ he said through clenched teeth as the coachman flicked the whip and the horses moved off.

Angel tried to break free but Galloway tightened his grip on her arm. ‘No you don’t.’ He gave Angel a shove that sent her stumbling backwards. ‘My sister doesn’t want to be troubled by a brat like you.’

‘Aunt Cordelia.’ The words were ripped from Angel’s throat in a hoarse cry of anguish. The only mother she had ever known had been taken from her in the cruellest way, and even Lil had deserted her. She faced Galloway with tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I hate you. You pretend to be kind but you’re a monster.’

She did not see the blow aimed at her head until too late and she crumpled to the ground, stunned and barely conscious. Then, before she had a chance to gather her wits, she was hoisted over Galloway’s shoulder like a sack of coal. In a haze of pain she heard him hail a cab and the next thing she knew she was in the vehicle and Galloway climbed in to sit beside her. Overcome by a feeling of nausea and a throbbing headache, she slumped against the leather squabs, taking deep breaths of the fetid air. The stench of the river and the manufactories on its banks was overpowering.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded angrily.

‘The workhouse in Bear Yard, if you must know.’

Angel stared at him in disbelief. Surely the bump on her head must have addled her brains. ‘The workhouse?’

‘That’s what I said. You’re a pauper now. You are the devil’s spawn and you’re going back where you belong. It’s a new building, opened only last year. You’ll be quite comfortable there.’

‘But you promised Aunt Cordelia that I would be taken care of. You said I was to be a companion to a girl my own age somewhere in Essex.’

‘I lied,’ he said complacently. ‘It comes naturally to a lawyer – you’ll learn not to believe everything you’re told. This is a valuable lesson in life.’

‘You can’t do this to me.’

‘There’s no such word as can’t. That’s what my old nanny used to tell me and she was right. You will do as I say or I’ll inform the workhouse master that you are a simpleton and must be tied to your bed for your own protection. You won’t get the better of me, Angel Winter, so don’t try.’

Despite Angel’s protests she was admitted to the workhouse and forced to undergo the humiliation of being stripped of all her fine clothes, scrubbed down with lye soap and her hair rinsed with vinegar. It trickled into her eyes and made her yelp with pain, but a quick slap from the older inmate charged with this task made Angel catch her breath, and she bit her lip, determined not to cry. Finally, after being given a coarse huckaback towel, she dried herself as best she could and with the greatest reluctance dressed herself in a shift and a shapeless, faded blue-and-white striped dress. A calico pinafore and a white mobcap completed the outfit and a pair of boots that had seen better days pinched her toes. When she tried to protest and ask for her own shoes, she received a clout on the ear that sent her sprawling onto the flagstone floor. In all her life she had never received anything more brutal than a smack on the wrist, and that was for a misdemeanour so small that she could not remember what she had done to deserve the punishment. Now in the space of a couple of hours she had been knocked to the ground, humiliated and imprisoned amongst total strangers. The comfortable life she had led in Spital Square seemed like heaven and now she was in hell. There was only one thing left that linked her to her past, and, when the woman turned away to hang up the towel, Angel took the ring and chain from inside her cheek where she had concealed it before the undignified assault on her body. She just had time to slip the chain around her neck and tuck the ring beneath her shift, before the older woman rounded on her. She yanked Angel to her feet.

‘Come with me.’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to or you’ll get another wallop.’

Angel had no alternative but to follow the hunched figure from the communal washroom into a long dark corridor that led, eventually, to a flight of stairs. An unpleasant odour of damp and dirty laundry wafted up from the basement in clouds of steam. The large room, little more than a dank cellar, ran the length of the building, and the heat from the coppers was stifling. The red-faced women worked silently, washing the bedding, rinsing it and feeding it through giant mangles, which they operated by hand. Huge baskets were piled high with sheets and blankets and taken to the drying room. The deafening sound of hobnail boots clattering on the stone floor combined with the bubbling noise from the coppers and the rhythmic grinding of the mangles. Added to all this was the constant chorus of coughing from diseased lungs. It was a horrific place, but this was where Angel was destined to spend the rest of the day, and, as far as she knew, the rest of her life.

Angel had missed the midday meal by a whisker and she had eaten very little at breakfast. As she worked on throughout the afternoon all she could think about was the bowl of thick, creamy porridge, sprinkled with golden sugar and slathered with thick cream that she had left barely touched. The boiled egg had fared little better, and she had only nibbled the buttered toast. Her stomach growled and by suppertime she was faint with hunger, dazed with exhaustion and could barely drag one foot after another as the inmates were marched to the dining hall. A hunk of dry bread accompanied a bowl of thin gruel, and this was eaten in silence with the matron watching every move.

That night, trying to sleep on a hard wooden bed with just a thin flock-filled mattress, one blanket and no pillow, Angel made up her mind to escape. The other girls in her dormitory ranged in age from seven to fifteen: the younger ones cried themselves to sleep and the older girls talked in hushed voices for a while. Sobs, snores and coughing filled the night air, and a strong smell of carbolic emanated from the floorboards, which were scrubbed each morning until they were bleached white. This, Angel had learned from Lizzie, the older girl who shared her bed, was the job of those who were too young to pick oakum or work in the laundry, and too old for the schoolroom.

Despite her aching limbs and physical exhaustion, Angel’s mind was surprisingly clear as she plotted her escape. The first thing she would need was her own clothes. She had seen them folded and placed on a shelf in the area next to the washroom. They were to be sold off to pay for her uniform, so Lizzie had said, and Angel had no reason to doubt her. Lizzie had been born in the workhouse and had never seen her brothers, who had been admitted with their mother. The unfortunate woman had died some years earlier, but what had happened to her father Lizzie could not say. The thirteen-year-old lived in hope that one day someone would come and take her from here. She smiled as she slept and Angel could only imagine what dreams her new friend must be enjoying. At least Lizzie could escape from the reality of her incarceration for a few hours each night. But it was not so for Angel; she kept her eyes open, waiting until all was quiet. She had no idea how she was going to make a break for freedom, but she was determined to try. Anything and anywhere would be better than this dire place.

At last it seemed that everyone slept. Angel raised herself carefully from the narrow bed so as not to wake Lizzie, and crept out of the dormitory, barefoot and still in her calico nightgown. At the sound of footsteps, she dodged into a cupboard and peered through a crack in the door as the light from an oil lamp bobbed up and down, and the sound of footsteps drew nearer. She held her breath until the woman was out of earshot. She had not bargained for the night watch, but this put her on the alert and made her even more determined to get away. The long corridor ran parallel to the dormitories and moonlight streamed in through the tall windows, its benevolent rays illuminating the way to the staircase.

She made it to the ground floor without mishap, although she had to hide from the night patrol several times. The reception area was deserted and silent and the doorkeeper had, for some reason best known to himself, deserted his post. To Angel’s intense relief she found her garments still neatly stacked on the shelf. Her fingers shook as she took off the nightgown and put on her own clothes. Her red flannel petticoat caressed her bare legs like a whisper after the coarse material of the workhouse uniform. She slipped the green silk bodice and overskirt over her head, fastening it with difficulty. Every second counted and she was about to put on her stockings when she heard approaching footsteps. She pushed her bare feet into her boots and tiptoed across the room to open the outer door. The bolts drew back with little more than a click and the door opened with just a sigh of well-oiled hinges. The night air enveloped her in a warm hug as she stepped out into Bear Yard. She picked up her skirts and ran. Where she was going she had no idea, her only aim was to get as far away from the workhouse as her legs would carry her.

But as she emerged into Vere Street she realised that night time in this notorious area of London was not a friendly place. The workhouse might be sleeping silently, but it was not so outside its walls. Gaudily dressed women bared their charms in doorways, while others hung out of upstairs windows, calling out to the men who staggered along the pavements, some with bottles clutched in their hands and all of them the worse for drink. Skeletally thin dogs rummaged in the gutters for scraps of food and feral cats howled and fought over the carcasses of vermin, while big black rats slunk from alley to alley, on the lookout for anything they might attack and gobble up. Gangs of ragged boys hung about beneath the gas lamps, smoking pipes and watching out for the unwary. Angel hid in a doorway as a youth plucked a wallet from a passing stranger’s pocket, but his victim rounded on him and a fight ensued. Everyone seemed to join in and there was much shouting and flailing of arms and legs. Angel took the opportunity to make a break for it and ran, dodging down alleys and avoiding the grabbing hands of men who lurched out of doorways, offering her money and promising her a good time. She had no idea what they were talking about, but she did not stop to find out.

The narrow courts and alleys were unlit, but in the distance she could see a pool of light. Emerging from the darkness was like entering heaven – she could hear voices and the scent of fruit and flowers filled the air. Her feet barely seemed to touch the cobbled streets as she ran towards this oasis in the darkness of the wicked city. She came to a halt in a square where wagons were being unloaded by porters, who balanced baskets filled with produce on their heads. They added one on top of the other until their burdens reached improbable heights, but somehow they managed to deliver the fruit and vegetables to the stall owners without dropping a single apple. Angel watched, fascinated and excited by the bustling activity. She might have been invisible, for all the notice anyone took of her, and that was oddly comforting after the terrifying moments in Clare Market. Suddenly overcome by exhaustion, she made her way between the carts and barrows to the far side of the square and comparative safety beneath the portico of St Paul’s Church. She huddled in a corner and fell asleep.

She awakened to bright sunshine and a cacophony of noise. Cart wheels rumbled over the cobblestones and the clip-clop of heavy horses’ hoofs echoed off the surrounding buildings. The shouts of the traders bargaining for fruit and vegetables vied with the cries of the flower girls and the raucous laughter and chatter of the porters.

‘What are you doing here? This ain’t no place for the likes of you.’

Angel shielded her eyes from the sunlight and found herself looking up at an older girl with a freckled face and a mop of carroty curls escaping from a straw bonnet. ‘Who are you?’

‘I asked first. You ain’t one of us, so what d’you think you’re doing taking my pitch?’

Angel scrambled to her feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What place is this?’

‘Are you a bit of a simpleton? This here is Covent Garden Market. Where have you been all your life?’

Angel eyed her warily. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Hoity-toity, ain’t yer? And you wearing duds what must have cost a pretty penny. Come on then, tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.’

‘To tell you the truth I’m lost. My name is Angel Winter and I ran away from the workhouse last night.’

‘You was in the workhouse?’

‘Only for a few hours. I told you, I ran away. I wasn’t going to stay in a place like that. Mr Galloway left me there, but he was supposed to take me to a family in Essex. I have to get to Maddox Street and tell my aunt what he did. She thinks he’s a nice man, but he isn’t. He’s bad and he’s cruel, and I worry about Aunt Cordelia.’ Angel’s voice broke on a sob and she turned her head away. She didn’t want this strange creature to see her cry.

‘Seems to me you’ve had a run of bad luck, nipper.’ The girl laid her hand on Angel’s shoulder. ‘I’m Dolly Chapman and I sell flowers, when I can get hold of ’em.’

Angel looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Flowers cost money, stupid. I have to sell buttonholes and such to earn enough to keep body and soul together. I ain’t got no money to pay them hawkers what they ask.’

Dolly’s snub-nosed face seemed to fade away and Angel closed her eyes.

‘Here, don’t pass out on me, nipper.’ Dolly gave her a shake. ‘You don’t look too good. Are you hungry?’

‘I think so. My tummy hurts.’

‘You’re a baby,’ Dolly said scornfully. ‘Sit there and I’ll see what I can do. I’m a bit peckish meself, as it happens.’ She sashayed off in the direction of a coffee stall and returned minutes later carrying a steaming mug and two bread rolls. She handed one to Angel. ‘Get that down yer and you can share my coffee.’

‘I’m not allowed coffee,’ Angel said before she could stop herself.

‘Hark at you, miss. I dunno where you come from, but it weren’t from round here. You’ll put up with coffee or you’ll have to go and find a horse trough and drink the water them big brutes have slobbered in.’

Angel swallowed a mouthful of buttered roll. ‘I’m sorry. I’d be grateful for a sip of your coffee, please, Dolly.’

Dolly handed her the mug. ‘I dunno how a young lady like you ended up in the workhouse, but it’ll make a good tale to tell the others of a night when we’re warming ourselves round the watchman’s brazier.’

‘Are there more of you?’

‘Lord love you, my duck. You might have dropped out of the sky like a real angel, for all I knows. Eat your grub and I’ll show you how to snatch some blooms, but you’ll have to look out for yourself. Them as come from east of Clare Market are the ones to watch – spiteful little cats, all of ’em. They’d do their own mothers down to pay for a tot of blue ruin.’

‘Blue ruin?’

‘Gin, my duck. Don’t you know nothing?’

Angel took a sip of coffee. It was hot and sweet with an overlying hint of bitterness, but it warmed her stomach. ‘I’m a quick learner,’ she said hastily. ‘Thank you very much for the bread, and the coffee.’

‘Come on then. Stir your stumps, Angel. We’ve got work to do. You’ll need some brass to pay for a night’s lodging, otherwise you’ll be sleeping here again. It ain’t easy to survive on the streets.’ Dolly led the way across the cobblestones to the floral hall where the perfume of garden flowers mingled with that of more exotic blooms, and the explosion of colour made Angel gasp with delight. Despite her recent traumatic experiences she was transported to a world where peace and beauty abounded – but not for long. Dolly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside to where the blooms were being unpacked. A sea of heads and flailing arms, flying skirts and cat-like howls accompanied the frenzied actions of the women and girls who were snatching the fallen blossoms from the dusty ground. Dolly dived in head first.

Angel could only stand and stare, but in a heartbeat it was all over and the crowd dispersed, each of the women clutching handfuls of flower heads and sprigs of greenery. Dolly faced up to an older woman who attempted to snatch a rosebud from her grasp. Their colourful language made Angel recoil in a mixture of horror and admiration. She had heard costermongers and draymen swearing at each other, but the expletives used by these two would have made a sailor blush.

Dolly surged towards her. ‘Don’t tangle with Smutty Sue. She’s a nasty bitch and she once bit a porter’s finger off when he tried to stop a fight.’

Angel shot a wary glance in Smutty Sue’s direction and she was convinced. The woman had long pointed teeth that looked like fangs, and straggly grey hair that barely hid the scars on her cheek and neck. Smutty Sue hawked and spat, sending a pool of tobacco juice onto the cobblestones.

‘She scares me,’ Angel whispered.

‘Rightly so.’ Dolly jerked her head in the direction of a group of younger girls who were now seated cross-legged outside the floral hall. ‘They’re all right, so long as you don’t pinch their flowers or their men. C’mon, Angel. I’ll show you how to make buttonholes.’

Angel shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I really ought to go and find my aunt. Do you know where Maddox Street is?’

‘It’s up West somewhere. Not my territory, duck. Go if you want to, but from what you told me I doubt if the old girl will be able to help. She’s either sweet on your Mr Galloway, or she’s scared of him, and if he holds the purse strings she’ll do what he wants.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Angel said, frowning. ‘She really loved Uncle Joseph and I’m sure she only did what Mr Galloway said because she was scared. He pretended to be nice and kind, but he was putting it on.’

‘Men are all the same. They’re like puppeteers and women are the ones dancing on strings. But not me. I seen many women beaten and driven to an early grave by their fellers and no man is going to do that to me.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. I suppose Aunt Cordelia did do exactly what Uncle Joseph said. It’s just the way things are.’

‘Not here it ain’t.’ Dolly winked and tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. ‘We suit ourselves.’

‘I suppose I’d better go and find a few flowers then,’ Angel said reluctantly. ‘Smutty Sue won’t mind, will she?’

‘Sue don’t run our lives. Anyway, she’s got what she wanted. You go and see what you can rescue.’

Angel made her way back to the floral hall, keeping an eye out for anyone who might take exception to her. Lumpy Lil would give Smutty Sue a run for her money, but the memory of Lil brought tears to Angel’s eyes. She must not cry or the flower girls would laugh at her. She took a deep breath, turning her attention to finding anything that the others had missed. A waft of sweet scent reminded her of her aunt’s linen press, where crisp Egyptian cotton sheets were strewn with sprigs of lavender, and she stopped at the stall where the plant was on sale.

‘What’s a young lady like you doing in a place like this?’ The stallholder eyed her curiously.

‘Why do you ask, sir?’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well, well, so you are indeed a well-bred girl and not of the normal sort who fight and scrap and swear like troopers. I thought perhaps you’d stolen those fine duds, but it seems I was wrong.’

‘I’m looking for broken flowers, sir. I hope to sell them to pay for my lodgings.’

‘Where are your parents, or have you run away from home?’

‘No, sir. I’m an orphan.’

‘Do you have a name, Miss Orphan?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his grin was infectious.

Despite her fear that he might realise that she was a runaway and call a constable, Angel found herself returning his smile. ‘My name is Angel, sir.’

‘An Angel – aptly named, I’m sure.’ He plucked a few sprigs of lavender from a container and handed them to her. ‘Take these. You’ll find the sweet-smelling flowers go best. Pinks, carnations and stocks are popular.’ He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. ‘But take care. Some of those girls are bad ’uns. Don’t be led astray.’

Angel bobbed a curtsey. ‘I won’t, sir. Thank you.’

‘Be gone with you, and if you come and find me tomorrow I’ll see that you have something to sell.’ He proffered his hand. ‘Jack Wicks.’

She shook his hand. ‘Angel Winter. Much obliged to you, sir.’

The girls were chatting and giggling as their nimble fingers turned the discarded blooms into pretty nosegays and buttonholes. Dolly made room for Angel.

‘Well, I’m blowed,’ she said, whistling through her teeth. ‘How did you get hold of all that lavender?’

‘A kind man gave it to me.’

Angel’s words were received with hoots of laughter.

‘What did you do to earn that, nipper?’ One of the older girls chortled with laughter and nudged her neighbour. ‘Did he put his hand up your skirt, love?’

‘No, of course not,’ Angel said, horrified by the suggestion. ‘He’s a nice man.’

‘There’s no such thing. They’re all out for what they can get.’

‘That ain’t true, Nelly.’ One of the smaller girls spoke up. ‘My pa was ever so nice. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She began to snivel. ‘He were drownded when his lighter got mowed down in the dark by a steamer.’

‘Pay no attention to her,’ Dolly said hastily. ‘Nelly’s had a bad time, haven’t you, Nell?’

That seemed to open the floodgates and before Nelly had a chance to tell her story they were all swapping experiences they had had at home and on the streets. Angel was shocked and alarmed by what she heard, but Dolly seemed to understand and she gave her a hug. ‘You just have to learn to be careful, my duck. Jack Wicks is all right, so you don’t have to be afraid of him, but be wary because they ain’t all like him.’ Dolly picked up a stem of pinks, discarding those blossoms that were crushed. ‘Now, watch what I do to make these into a buttonhole, and copy me. Then I’ll take you out on the streets and see how you do.’

‘Why are you helping me?’ Angel asked, bewildered by Dolly’s kindness.

‘I had a younger sister once.’ Dolly’s nimble fingers twisted the pinks into shape, adding a sprig of baby’s breath. ‘She was fair-haired like you and she had big blue eyes. Grace was always smiling, even though she was mortal sick. She were only ten when she went down with the fever that took Ma and me three brothers, all within days of each other. Dunno why I was spared, but here I am, and here you are, so let’s make the best of things and get on with our business.’

‘I know what you say is true,’ Angel said slowly, ‘but I must see my aunt again, and Lumpy Lil. I’m very grateful to you for helping me, Dolly, but I have to find them or die in the attempt.’

Chapter Four

Angel kept close to Dolly all day and she soon realised that she was in the hands of an expert when it came to persuading a reluctant public to part with its money. Dolly combined bare-faced cheek with friendly banter, which worked better with men than with women. By the end of the afternoon Angel had earned threepence, but that was not enough to pay for a night in the dosshouse used by many of the flower girls.

‘Don’t worry, my duck,’ Dolly said cheerfully. ‘I’ll help you out this once, but tomorrow you’ve got to stand on your own two feet. We’ll get to the market early and see what we can scrape off the floor, but you must make your own buttonholes and nosegays and you’ll have to find your own pitch.’

‘You mean I’ll have to go out on my own?’

‘You can do it, Angel. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you could use them big blue eyes to your advantage. Choose the older gents; they’ll be more likely to feel generous to a poor little orphan. The younger coves are a bit chancy. They might have other ideas, if you get my meaning.’

‘I think I do, but what about the girls? How do I know if I’m trespassing on someone’s pitch?’

‘You’ll have to use your loaf, and take my tip and talk a bit more like the rest of us. You talk like a toff and you dress like one too. We ought to get you some duds from a dolly shop, but that costs money. Anyway, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. The main thing now is to get something to eat and pay for a night’s snooze in Mother Jolly’s palace.’

‘A real palace?’

Dolly sighed. ‘It’s a joke, Angel. You’ve got a lot to learn, my duck.’ She examined the contents of her pockets. ‘Sixpence – not a bad day. It costs fourpence a night at Mother Jolly’s, sixpence if we shares a bed. So if you add your threepence to my sixpence that comes to …’ Dolly started adding up on her fingers.

‘Ninepence,’ Angel said eagerly. ‘That leaves threepence for our supper.’

‘You’re a quick one, ain’t yer? You did that in your head.’ Dolly gazed at her with genuine admiration. ‘I wish I had more learning.’

‘You seem to do very well without it.’ Angel handed her three pennies. ‘What will we get for that?’

‘A pint of pea soup costs a ha’penny and a ha’penny for a mug of cocoa. That leaves us tuppence for breakfast. We can get by on that, but you’ll need to earn more tomorrow, nipper.’

‘I’ll try, Dolly. I’ll try really hard.’

Mother Jolly’s lodging house in Monmouth Street was a four-storey building divided into a male section, on the top two floors, and a women’s section on the ground and first floors. Mother Jolly lived in the basement and put in an appearance only to take money or to throw an unruly tenant out onto the street. The women who paid fourpence for the privilege of sleeping in a wooden cot with a lumpy straw-filled mattress and a single blanket, regardless of the temperature outside, were mostly workers from Covent Garden market, but the male occupants were poor Irish migrant workers, and Angel’s first night was disturbed by the clumping of boots on the bare stair treads and even louder altercations. She huddled up against Dolly’s back and tried not to think of her old room in Spital Square and her comfortable feather bed. Perhaps this was all a bad dream, and when she awakened in the morning she would find herself at home with Lil grumbling as she drew back the curtains, and the aroma of the hot chocolate tempting her to sit up and drink from a bone-china cup.

But next morning Angel was awakened by Dolly giving her a shake, and the smell of unwashed bodies filled her nostrils. She tumbled out of bed.

‘What time is it?’

‘Time to get to work before the others wake up,’ Dolly whispered.

Angel had slept in her shift and she retrieved her clothes from the end of the bed. ‘I think I’ve got measles or something, Dolly. I’m itching all over.’

Dolly gave her a cursory look. ‘You ain’t sick, my duck. The bed bugs have been having a feast on you.’ Dolly pulled her ragged dress over her head and slipped her bare feet into her boots.

‘Bed bugs – that’s disgusting.’ Horrified, Angel stared at the red marks on her pale skin. ‘I’m not sleeping here again.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dolly said casually. ‘Come on. We’ve got enough money for a cup of coffee and a bread roll.’ Dolly tiptoed from the room and Angel hurried after her. She could not wait to get away from the bug-infested dosshouse, and the thought of another night in such a place made her even more determined to find her aunt.

Dolly tried to dissuade her, but Angel would not be deterred. She made as many buttonholes as she could before the flower girls descended on the market like a flock of noisy seagulls, and kindly Jack Wicks loaned her a wicker basket.

‘You can return it to me in the morning,’ he said, adding a few sprigs of lavender for good measure. ‘Just steer clear of the other flower sellers. They won’t tolerate anyone they think is trying to steal their pitch.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ Angel said, nodding. ‘Can you direct me to Maddox Street, sir? My aunt is staying there and I need to find her.’

‘A well brought-up girl like you shouldn’t have to hawk buttonholes to all and sundry. I’d like to have a few words with that lady.’

‘Oh, no, sir. It’s not Aunt Cordelia’s fault. She thinks I’m safe in the country with a respectable family.’

Jack Wicks stared at her, frowning. ‘I don’t know your story, girl, but if I had a daughter I wouldn’t want her to roam the streets and mix with the likes of those flower girls.’ He took a pencil from behind his ear and drew a sketch map on a scrap of paper. ‘You can read, I suppose.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Wicks. I’m much obliged to you.’

He shook his head. ‘I’d take you there myself if I didn’t have to look after my stall. Good luck, Angel. I hope you find your aunt.’

It was mid-morning by the time Angel reached Maddox Street. She had sold a couple of buttonholes, but most people were too busy going about their daily routine to be interested in purchasing such fripperies. She told herself it did not matter – she was going to find Aunt Cordelia and Lumpy Lil, and they would be reunited. Aunt Cordelia would realise that Mr Galloway was not to be trusted, and they would live happily ever after, just like in the storybooks. The only trouble was that she had no idea which house belonged to Mrs Adams, and the passers-by seemed reluctant to stop and answer her questions. Eventually, after waylaying an errand boy, she discovered that Mrs Adams owned a house in the middle of an elegant terrace.

Angel struggled to control her excitement as she knocked on the door. Aunt Cordelia was so close she could almost smell the gardenia-scented perfume she always wore. But it was a prim housemaid who opened the door.

‘No hawkers or traders.’

Angel put her foot over the threshold just in time to prevent the girl slamming the door in her face. ‘I’m not selling anything. I’ve come to see Mrs Wilding. I’m her niece, Angel Winter.’

The girl did not look convinced. ‘You might be the Angel Gabriel for all I know, but your aunt isn’t here.’

‘She must be,’ Angel insisted. ‘Mr Galloway brought her here the day before yesterday. He said she was to stay with Mrs Adams.’

‘Mrs Adams has gone to the country for the rest of the summer. She don’t like the heat of London.’

‘That can’t be true. Mr Galloway said—’

‘Get off the doorstep, girl, or I’ll call a constable. I told you, Mrs Adams and her guest have gone to the country.’

‘Did Miss Heavitree go too?’

‘If you mean that frightful creature who came with her – she was sent separate with the baggage and that stupid halfwit girl. They’ll be sacked for certain and left to find their own way back to London.’

Angel fought back tears of disappointment and frustration. ‘Where have they gone? Please tell me. I must find my aunt.’

‘I wouldn’t be allowed to say, even if I knew. Now go away and leave us in peace.’

‘Is there anyone in your household who might know my aunt’s whereabouts?’

‘There’s only me and the cleaning women here. The house is being shut up until the autumn, so come back then.’

‘Just a minute.’ Angel took the scrap of paper from her basket. Mr Wicks had written directions on the back of a receipt with his name printed in bold black letters and the number of his stall in Covent Garden. ‘Will you take this and give it to my aunt or Miss Heavitree when they return to London? It’s very important.’

The girl snatched it from Angel’s hand. ‘Anything, if you’ll just go away and leave me in peace. Now will you leave or do I call a copper?’

Angel sank down on the front step as the door closed. Her last hope had gone and she was alone in the great city, except for Dolly. How long she sat there she did not know, but eventually she rose to her feet and started retracing her steps, and after taking one apparently wrong turning after another, she found herself in Regent’s Circus, and was about to ask a gentleman the way to Covent Garden when the lady with him spotted the sprigs of lavender. With a cry of delight she plucked one from the basket.

‘Lavender, my favourite flower. It smells so sweet.’

The gentleman smiled down at her. ‘Just like you, my darling.’ He took a handful of small change from his pocket and dropped it into Angel’s basket. ‘I’ll take all the lavender.’

Angel gathered the sprigs into a bunch and handed them to him, hardly able to believe her luck. He presented them to his lady and she blushed and thanked him so prettily that Angel thought he was going to kiss her there and then, but he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they walked away, arm in arm. Angel gathered up the coins – sevenpence ha’penny in all – slipped the money into her reticule and picked up a nosegay.

‘Flowers, lovely flowers. Buy a buttonhole for your lady, sir?’

By late afternoon Angel had sold every single flower in her basket and was the richer by elevenpence ha’penny. Compared to a meagre threepence the day before, it seemed like a small fortune. She made her way back to Covent Garden with a smile on her face for the first time since she had been wrested from her home. She found Dolly chatting to one of the other flower girls. They stopped talking when Angel approached them.

‘Did you find your aunt?’ Dolly asked.

Angel’s smile faded. ‘No, they’d gone away and the maid didn’t know where.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Dolly gave her a hug. ‘I suppose that means I’m stuck with you for a bit longer.’ She eyed the empty basket. ‘How much did you make today?’

‘Elevenpence ha’penny,’ Angel said proudly.

‘Crikey, you done well.’ Dolly turned to her friend. ‘How much did you take, Ivy?’

‘Sixpence, and I thought that was good. Maybe the nipper has something we ain’t got.’

‘Big blue eyes and a la-di-dah manner of speaking,’ Dolly said, chuckling. ‘Never mind, Angel. You can pay me back by buying me a ham roll and a cup of tea for supper.’

Angel smiled and nodded, but inwardly she was crying for her aunt and her old life, which was fading into nothing but a happy memory. The realisation that this was how she was going to scratch a living from now on hit her like a thunderbolt, and there seemed to be no escape.

Gradually, day by day, Angel became accustomed to life in Covent Garden market. She learned the tricks of the trade from the other girls and soon became as adept at turning broken blooms into buttonholes and nosegays as the very best of them. But it was far from an easy way to earn a living and she was out on the streets in all weathers. Summer turned into autumn, when the chill turned the leaves on the London plane trees to shades of copper, bronze and gold, and icy winds rattled the windows of Mother Jolly’s dosshouse. Angel’s fingers and toes were numbed with cold as she stood on street corners. She managed to save a few pennies to purchase a rather moth-eaten woollen shawl from a dolly shop in Shorts Gardens, but the soles of her boots were worn into holes and leaked when it rained. It would take months to earn enough to buy a second-hand pair, and winter was on its way. Angel knew that she was not suffering alone – it was the same for all the flower girls – but that was little comfort. As the nights grew frosty and the evenings drew in, Dolly developed a cough that dampened even her normally buoyant spirits.

Summer flowers had long since vanished from the stalls, and hothouse blooms were hard to come by and costly. The girls were forced to find alternatives to hawk round the streets. Some of them chose watercress, oranges or even matches, and, in desperation, others took to the streets at night selling themselves.

Angel visited Maddox Street several times in the months following that first visit, but the house was always shuttered and empty. On the last occasion she slid a note under the door, giving her address as Mother Jolly’s, in the hope that one day her aunt would return to London. She had heard nothing since and times were hard. Gardenias and carnations made wonderful buttonholes, but they cost more than she could afford and she had taken to selling watercress. Even then, there were plenty of much younger children engaged in the trade, and their pinched faces, stick-thin limbs and bare feet, blue with cold, touched the kind hearts of many a housewife, whereas Angel found herself largely ignored.

She no longer had Jack Wicks to help her out with bunches of lavender as he had closed his stall until the spring, but on his last day he had given Angel his address in Hackney. With Dolly too sick to work, Angel scraped the money together to pay Mother Jolly, but selling watercress at four bunches for a penny brought in barely enough to keep them from starvation. Dolly insisted that she was getting stronger every day, but she was weak and simply walking to the washroom exhausted her. Angel knew that she must do something drastic or neither of them would survive the winter. She had an open invitation to visit the Wicks family, and she was in dire need of help. Perhaps Jack could find her work in his market garden. Winter was closing in and Angel was growing more desperate with each passing day.

It was a long walk to Pratts Lane and it took Angel all morning to reach the red-brick cottage surrounded by market gardens. Her breath curled around her head and her cheeks tingled from the cold, but the air on the edge of the city was remarkably fresh and free from the worst of the smoke and stench from overflowing drains. She stopped to gaze out at the vast expanse of marshes that stretched as far as she could see, with the canal at Hackney Cut threaded through them like a silver ribbon. She knocked on the door and waited, hardly daring to breathe. Mr Wicks might have forgotten her or, even worse, he might regret having asked her to visit his home. The temptation to retrace her steps and hurry back to Seven Dials was almost irresistible, and she was about to turn on her heel when the door opened.

‘Good Lord. If it isn’t Angel Winter. You’d better come in out of the cold.’ Jack Wicks ushered her into the narrow hallway, and the warmth of the cottage and the smell of baking bread was almost too much for Angel. She leaned against the wall, struggling with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and Jack’s voice seemed to fade into the distance.

The next thing she knew she was seated in a chair by the range and someone was chafing her cold hands.

‘Are you feeling better, dear?’

Angel’s vision cleared as she met the woman’s concerned gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I felt a bit faint.’

‘Jack says you must have walked all the way from Seven Dials. Is that right, Angel?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come.’

Jack’s face loomed into view. ‘I invited you here on many an occasion back in the summer, so let’s not hear any more of that talk.’ He handed Angel a steaming mug of tea. ‘Here, love, take a sip of this. I dare say you haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast. Is that right?’

Angel did not want to admit that she had eaten nothing at all and very little had passed her lips the previous day, but she managed a nod as she sipped the hot, sweet tea.

‘I thought so.’ Jack exchanged meaningful glances with his wife. ‘Well, we can soon remedy that. Sally bakes the best bread you’ll ever have the luck to taste.’

Sally Wicks straightened up, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘We were about to eat, my dear, so I hope you’ll join us. But sit awhile first. You look done in.’ She turned away to stir the contents of a large black saucepan.

‘Thank you, but I don’t want to impose,’ Angel said anxiously. ‘I came to ask your advice, Mr Wicks. Things have been a bit tight lately.’

Jack pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘I can understand that very well. Winter is always hard for those who depend on the market for their living. That’s where we’re fortunate in having our own market garden. I dunno how we’d survive the cold months if we didn’t have a store of vegetables and the sale of the dried lavender to rely on.’

‘I wouldn’t have bothered you, but Dolly is sick, and selling watercress doesn’t pay well. I wondered if you could give me some work. I’ll do anything.’

‘There, there, don’t fret, love. We’ll talk about it after you’ve got some good vittles inside you,’ Sally said, waving the wooden spoon in the air and sending drips of hot soup onto the floor, which were immediately lapped up by a small terrier who had been asleep in the corner and suddenly awakened.

Angel handed the mug to Jack. ‘Thank you for the tea. I feel better already.’ She leaned over to stroke the dog, and it leaped onto her lap, licking her face and wagging his stumpy tail.

‘Well, then,’ Jack said, laughing. ‘Stumpy doesn’t always take to strangers, but he obviously likes you, Angel. You must have a way with dogs.’

‘I’ve never had a pet,’ Angel said, laughing at the animal’s enthusiastic greeting. She stroked Stumpy’s head and he settled down on her lap. Warmth was beginning to seep into her bones and the sweet tea was also having its effect. ‘I’d like to have a dog like him. He’d keep me warm at night.’

‘And he’s a first-class ratter.’ Jack rose to his feet. ‘We get plagued by vermin, particularly in the winter. Stumpy deals with them for us.’

Stumpy looked up, wagging his tail and panting.

‘He looks as if he’s laughing.’ Angel gave the terrier a hug. ‘You are a funny little fellow.’

Jack moved his chair to the table. ‘Come and sit down, Angel. Sally’s vegetable broth will set you up for the rest of the day.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Where’s Danny? Are we waiting for him?’

Sally shook her head. ‘No, love, he’s gone looking for holly and mistletoe. I doubt if he’ll be back before dark.’

Angel made a move to rise and Stumpy clambered unwillingly to the floor. Behaving like a sulky child, he made his feelings very clear as he threw himself down on the scrap of blanket that served as his bed. Angel took her place at the table and Sally passed her a bowl of soup.

‘Help yourself to bread, my dear. It’s still warm from the oven.’

‘Thank you.’ Angel took a slice and buttered it sparingly. The fragrant aroma of the broth made her stomach rumble with anticipation, but, mindful of the manners drilled into her in the old days, she waited for her hosts to take their seats before she tasted the soup.

‘You could make a little money before Christmas if you sold mistletoe, Angel,’ Jack said thoughtfully. ‘Holly is always popular.’

Angel gulped down a mouthful of hot soup. ‘I’d try anything, Mr Wicks, but where would I get a supply? I haven’t seen any in the market.’

‘Mistletoe grows on all manner of trees. It’s particularly prolific in orchards and easy to pick from fruit trees. Danny will have gone a long way to find enough to fill his cart. Those who are in the know guard their sources as if they was gold dust. It’s a short season so they have to make the most of it.’

‘Maybe Danny could help her there, Jack.’ Sally took a slice of bread and broke it into small pieces. ‘A young girl selling mistletoe might be very appealing.’

‘We’ll ask him when he comes home.’ Jack turned to Angel with a beaming smile. ‘You’ll stay to meet our son, won’t you?’

‘I’d like to, but it gets dark very early, so I should start out soon. Thank you, all the same. Maybe I’ll just stick to watercress. After all, mistletoe isn’t wanted after Christmas.’

‘There’s plenty more soup in the pot,’ Sally said, smiling. ‘Help yourself to more bread, too.’

‘Thank you. This is so good, Mrs Wicks. I haven’t tasted food like this since I left home.’ Angel’s voice broke on a sob and she looked away. The memory of Aunt Cordelia and Lumpy Lil still brought her to tears. She tried to put all thought of her former life behind her, but it was not always possible.

‘Jack told me something of your past, dear. You’re a brave girl.’

Angel stared down at her plate. Their kindness was overwhelming, and if she allowed herself to cry she was afraid she might not be able to stop.

Sally patted her on the shoulder. ‘It looks like snow, maybe you ought to stay here for the night. We can put you up with no trouble, and you do look quite done in.’

‘That makes good sense, Sally,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘I saw the signs earlier this morning. Let’s hope Danny gets home before it starts.’ He turned to Angel. ‘You won’t make it back to Seven Dials before the weather breaks. Stay here tonight and I’ll see you safely home in the morning.’

Angel was about to refuse but Sally forestalled her. ‘Yes, you must. You can sleep in the parlour. I’ll light a fire in there as soon as I’ve cleared the table, and it will be nice and warm.’

‘What about Dolly?’ Angel said anxiously. ‘Who will take care of her if I’m not there to make sure she has something to eat and drink?’

‘I’m sure she’ll survive for one night without you, dear.’ Sally rose from her seat. ‘You wouldn’t be any use to her if you got lost in a snowstorm, would you?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Good girl.’ Jack also stood up. ‘If you’ve finished your meal you can come outside and help put the tender plants under cover. I’ve built a lean-to shed so that the lavender can be protected from the worst of the winter weather. It’s our main source of income, so I can’t afford to lose a single plant.’

Angel could see that it was useless to argue, and the thought of being part of a family again, even for one night, was too tempting to refuse. She would have slept on the floor if necessary and the only thing that worried her was Dolly, but she had been a little better that morning, so perhaps she could manage on her own for a few more hours. Maybe one of the other girls would share their food with Dolly. Judy could be kind, if she was not in one of her sulks, and Maisie always seemed to have enough money to spend on feathers for her bonnet and ribbons for her hair. Dolly said that Maisie was not a good girl and would come to a sticky end, but Angel had not questioned her further. Although she had a vague idea how Maisie made her money, she preferred to remain in ignorance.

Outside the sky was the colour of slate and although it was early afternoon, darkness was creeping up on the marshes so that it was hard to tell the difference between land and the corpulent bank of cloud. Angel worked hard, helping Jack heft the large clay pots into the shelter of the lean-to, and they finished just as the first feathery flakes began to fall. At that moment the grating sound of a handcart’s wheels on the gravel path preceded Danny Wicks’ arrival. He stomped round the side of the house, stopping in surprise when he spotted Angel.

‘Who’s this, Pa?’

‘Where are your manners, son?’ Jack placed a protective arm around Angel’s shoulders. ‘This young lady is Angel Winter, one of the flower girls from Covent Garden. Angel, this rough fellow is my son, Daniel.’

‘How do you do?’ Angel said politely.

Danny glared at her. ‘She don’t sound like one of them girls, Pa.’

‘Never mind that. Put the cart away and come inside. Your ma has been fretting about you since noon.’

‘I’m fifteen, not five,’ Danny muttered as he pushed the laden cart under the sloping roof of the lean-to. ‘I’m doing a man’s job, aren’t I?’

Jack shrugged and opened the back door. ‘Go inside and get warm, Angel. I want a few words with my son.’

Angel was only too glad to return to the kitchen and was greeted by the aroma of hot cocoa. Sally handed her a mug. ‘Here, love. You’ll need this. You look frozen.’

‘Thank you.’ Angel wrapped her numbed fingers around the tin mug. ‘Your son has come home, Mrs Wicks. He’s got a big load of holly and mistletoe.’

‘Danny’s a good boy. He wanted to go to sea, but Jack managed to convince him that working the garden was a better life. I’m not too sure myself.’

Angel said nothing. She tucked herself away in a corner of the room, pulling up a three-legged stool to sit beside Stumpy. The dog nuzzled her hand and butted her with his head until she relented and made a fuss of him, but he lost interest when Danny walked into the house and he ran to him, jumping up and down and barking excitedly.

Danny picked the small dog up in his arms. ‘You silly fellow,’ he said fondly. ‘I’d have taken you with me, but I didn’t want to lose you down a rabbit hole like last time.’

Sally rushed forward to give her son a hug. ‘Come and sit by the fire, love. It’s freezing out there. Are you hungry?’

‘Don’t fuss, Ma.’ Danny shot a sideways glance at Angel. ‘What’s she doing here?’

‘Don’t be rude, Danny. Angel came all the way from St Giles to seek advice from your father, and I asked her to stay the night. It’s not fit for man nor beast out there in the snow.’

Danny put Stumpy back on the floor and the dog raced over to Angel and jumped onto her lap. ‘Just so long as you haven’t given her my room. I don’t want a kid meddling with my things.’ Danny accepted a mug of cocoa from his mother, giving Angel a withering look as he left the room.

Sally shook her head. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Angel. Danny doesn’t mean half of what he says. He’s a good, kind boy really.’

‘I’m sure he is,’ Angel said doubtfully. ‘I don’t mean to be a nuisance, Mrs Wicks.’

‘You are more than welcome here, Angel. Don’t let Danny upset you. He’s probably tired and hungry too.’ Sally made a move towards the door. ‘Come into the front parlour and see the bed I made up for you on the sofa. I’ve loaned you a nightgown, too. It will be much too big, but it will keep you warm, and tomorrow Danny will see you safely back to your lodging house. I’ll pack up some food for you to take to your poorly friend, so you mustn’t worry about a thing.’

Later, at the supper table, Jack persuaded Danny to part with some of his mistletoe so that Angel could have something to sell when she returned to St Giles. Danny agreed reluctantly and was even less enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing Angel safely home.

‘She got here on her own, didn’t she?’ he demanded crossly.

‘Danny, my son, you might think you’re a man, but you’ve got a lot to learn,’ his father said sternly. ‘You might take a leaf out of Angel’s book. She’s suffered more in her short life than you’ll ever know, so I want you to do this one thing for her. Is that understood?’

Chapter Five

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.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.