A Mother's Courage (27 page)

'No, I haven't. And I'll never let my children
go. They're all I've got.'

'Widow woman are you? Or wasn't you
married to their dad?'

Eloise felt the colour rush to her cheeks. 'I'm a
respectable widow. My father is a missionary in
Africa and my wretched in-laws are trying to
steal my son from me.' Her voice broke on a sob
and she wrapped her arms around Joss and Beth,
who were strangely and unnaturally silent as
they took in their new surroundings.

'That's hard, love. But we've all had it rough.
My old man used to knock us kids about
something terrible. Battered me brother's brains
out, he did, and ended up with a noose round his
neck. Ma drank herself to death and the rest of us
were left to fend for ourselves on the streets, so
don't give me no hard luck story, because I ain't
interested.' Poll lit her cigarette and drew in a
lungful of smoke, then she seemed to relent and
she grinned. 'Don't look so tragic. You got your
health and strength so all you got to do is learn to
live in the real world. You can earn good money
at our trade, if you know what you're about. I'm
saving me cash and as soon as I got enough I'm
going to move to the country and set up in a
sweet shop, where I can eat peppermint creams
and chocolate all day if I wants to. That's me plan
anyway, and a plan is what you need, girl.' Poll
took another drag on her cigarette and offered
her pouch to Eloise.

'No, thank you. I don't smoke.'

Poll chuckled. 'You will, love. And you'll be
glad of a drop of tiddley on a Saturday night too
when you've been here as long as I have.' She
made for the door and paused with her hand on
the latch. 'Let me know if you change your mind
about coming out with me and Ivy. We'll see you
right.'

Eloise managed a weak smile. 'You're very
kind, Poll. But I won't be changing my mind.'

'Supper is at six. I'll bet them nippers is
starving and the old witch ain't a bad cook. Her
boiled cabbage and pig's head is one of the best
suppers in St Giles.' With that parting piece of
information, Poll went from the room leaving a
trail of cigarette smoke in her wake.

Eloise sat very still, cuddling Joss and Beth. She
murmured words of comfort to them as she
rocked them in her arms. Their sleepy heads
were heavy against her shoulders and their
drooping eyelids were translucent with fatigue
as they fought against sleep. A chill rose through
the stone floor and the walls that were beneath
ground level were oozing with damp. The smell
of fungus and mould hung heavy in the air and
Eloise struggled to hold back tears of exhaustion
and desperation. What had they come to? And
where would they go from here? Despite Poll's
earthy kindness, Eloise felt that they had left
purgatory and ended up in hell.

Despite all her concerted efforts, Eloise could not
find work. She had answered advertisements in
shop windows, and in the Situations Vacant
columns of newspapers which had been discarded
by other lodgers, but as soon as a
prospective employer saw Joss and Beth, the
door was closed in her face. She had walked
miles in her search for employment, knocking on
doors in the better areas of Bloomsbury and even
venturing into the fashionable streets of the West
End. This had proved to be a big mistake and she
had suffered both humiliation and embarrassment
when she was turned away from the
tradesmen's entrances as if she were a gypsy or a
vagrant begging for food. She had been forced to
pawn her wedding ring in order to buy secondhand
clothes from a dolly shop in Seven Dials for
both herself and the children, and she had
purchased a very old and extremely battered
perambulator from a pawnbroker in George
Street for Beth, who was only just beginning to
take her first unaided steps and was now too
heavy for Eloise to carry any great distance.
When Joss grew tired, Eloise sat him in the
perambulator next to Beth, and continued her
increasingly desperate quest to find a job.

At Mother Hilton's lodging house, Eloise's first
two days turned into four, then six, and at the
end of a fortnight she still had not found work,
and her money was all but gone. In this time she
had learned that Mother Hilton had a heart of
stone when it came to money, and if a tenant
could not pay they were evicted no matter how
much they pleaded their case. In just two weeks
Eloise had seen things in this part of London
which both shocked and appalled her. She was
used to living in the East End, but in St Giles the
old rookeries, which had been the haunts of
thieves and criminals of all classes, might have
been demolished, but it was still a savage place
where only the toughest survived. She had seen
barefoot and half-starved street urchins clad in
rags begging on street corners and prostitutes as
young as eleven. Some of these children had
been left to care for their infant siblings, most of
whom would succumb to starvation and disease
before they reached their first birthday. There
were men and women of all ages who were
ravaged by hideous diseases, all vying with feral
dogs and cats for scraps of food tossed out with
the rubbish that littered the streets. Prostitutes,
thieves, drunks and drug addicts inhabited this
twilight existence, and Eloise knew that she only
remained unmolested because the people of the
underworld judged by her down-at-heel appearance
that she was one of them. What hope did a
poor woman have of raising herself from the
gutter? It seemed to her that once a person had
sunk this far it was almost impossible to claw
their way back into decent society. Not for the
first time, she wondered why her papa had
thought it necessary to take his missionary zeal
to Africa, when there were people living just
a few miles from his old parish whose bodies
and souls were in desperate need of being
saved.

Her plight was becoming increasingly desperate
and the conditions under which they were
living were too awful to put down on paper.
Eloise had not written to her mother since they
came to Mother Hilton's lodging house. It would
break Mama's heart if she knew how low her
daughter had sunk, and Eloise could not lie to
her. She was living from day to day, not daring
to think what the future might hold, but her
money was dwindling faster than she could have
imagined possible, and the time was approaching
when she would have to leave this dire place
and face an even worse life on the streets. In
order to save money, she had stopped taking the
evening meal provided by Mother Hilton, and
she bought just enough food each day to feed the
children. She ate whatever they left, but it was
barely enough to survive on and she went to bed
hungry every night.

At the beginning of September the oppressive
heat of summer had given way to more mellow
temperatures with hazy golden days and cooler
nights. The evenings were drawing in fast. Soon
autumn would turn into winter and Eloise had
only pennies left in her purse. She had not eaten
at all that day, having given the children the last
of the bread soaked in a little milk, and she had
waited until Mother Hilton had gone off to meet
her cronies in the pub and the kitchen was
empty. Making certain that no one was about,
Eloise took Joss and Beth into the kitchen and sat
them on the floor at a safe distance from the
range, but close enough to enjoy its warmth. The
chill in their basement sleeping quarters rose
through the flagstone floor and the walls seeped
with foul-smelling water from overflowing
privies and slops thrown into the street. Eloise
was terrified that Joss and Beth might sicken
from cholera or typhus, and Beth already had a
cough and a runny nose. This was not a healthy
place for adults, let alone small children.

She took a small screw of paper from her
pocket. It contained a teaspoon of tea leaves
which had been used several times and carefully
dried. The resultant brew would be weak and
barely recognisable as tea, but it was better than
drinking plain water and safer too. Eloise went to
lift the teapot from the shelf and suddenly the
kitchen began to spin around her. The next thing
she knew, she was lying on her back on the floor
in the midst of shards of broken china. Joss and
Beth were screaming hysterically and someone
was bending over her. Something cold and wet
splashed her face and she attempted to sit up.

'What was you doing, you silly bitch?'

Poll's face hovered above her and Eloise sank
back onto the hard tiles. 'I don't know. Everything
went dark.'

'You're all right, girl. It was just a fainting fit.
Ups-a-daisy.' Poll heaved Eloise to her feet and
guided her to a chair. 'There, sit down and I'll
clear up the broken china before the old cow gets
back from the pub. We'll say that old Martin, the
French polisher, broke it. She don't like him
much anyway and she's always complaining
that he stinks of meths and shellac, so she'll be
happy to give him the elbow.'

Joss had run to his mother and was peering
anxiously up into her face, and Beth was about to
crawl over the broken china when Poll saw the
danger and swooped upon her. She dropped
Beth unceremoniously on Eloise's lap. 'Here,
take your kid before she cuts herself to bits, while
I clear up the evidence.'

'Thank you, Poll,' Eloise murmured, watching
her whisk a besom round the floor and then
sweep the broken pieces of the teapot into a
shovel. She disappeared from the room, returning
seconds later with a satisfied grin on her face.
That's that. Now I'll do what I come to do in
the first place and that was to make meself a cup
of tea and some toast. You look as though you
could do with some too.'

'I've got my own tea,' Eloise began, stopping as
she realised that she had spilt her precious tea
leaves in her fall. Tears spurted from her eyes
and she buried her face in Beth's soft curls.

'There, there,' Poll said brusquely. 'Don't take
on so. It's just a bit of spilt tea.'

Giving Beth a reassuring hug, Eloise wiped her
eyes on her sleeve. 'It's all I had left.'

Poll took another teapot from the dresser and
she produced a poke of tea from her pocket,
spooning the richly scented dark leaves into the
warmed pot. 'And when did you last eat, my girl?'
'I had something last night.'

'Liar!' Poll said dispassionately. 'Just take a
look at yourself, Ellie. You're a mass of skin and
bone. I bet you ain't had a proper meal since you
gave up eating supper with us. My guess is that
you're broke.'

Eloise nodded mutely.

'And you can't find work with two nippers
hanging round your neck.'

It was a statement rather than a question and
Eloise shrugged her shoulders. It was too painful
to admit the truth.

Poll handed her a cup of tea generously laced
with sugar. 'Get that inside you and I'll make
some toast. Come here, Joss. You can hold on to
the toasting fork and if you're a good boy I'll give
you some when it's done.'

She handed Joss a long brass toasting fork and
allowed him to brandish it while she took a loaf
of bread from the crock and cut several slices.
'There's a good chap. You watch Poll and see
how it's done.'

Eloise hesitated as the words stuck in her
throat. It pained her to admit the truth, but then,
she thought with a wry smile, it was just her
pride that was injured. Papa would have given
her a lecture on the sin of false pride. For once
she was glad that her parents were far away so
that they could not see the depths to which she
had plummeted. 'I can't pay you for the bread or
the tea, Poll.'

'Shut up!' Poll said, stabbing a slice of bread on
the toasting fork and directing Joss to hold it
close to the glowing embers behind the bars of
the range. 'Don't insult me, girl. I can spare a
slice of bread for a friend in need, can't I?' She
turned to Eloise with a stern look on her face.
'And you've got to pull yourself together unless
you want to end up living in the workhouse
across the way, because that's what will happen
if you don't start earning some money.'

'I know,' Eloise said miserably. 'I've tried so
hard, Poll. I've worn holes in my boots from
tramping the streets in search of work, but no
one will take me on.'

'What did you expect? I warned you from the
start that no one would want you and the
nippers.' Poll shook her head in exasperation
and she bent down to turn the slice of bread on
the toasting fork. She patted Joss on the shoulder.
'You're doing well, boy. The first slice will be for
you and the baby. I'll butter it and you can eat it
while I do one for your ma.'

Joss gave her a cherubic smile and puffed out
his small chest. 'I'm a good boy.'

'You're all right down one side,' Poll conceded.
She picked him up and sat him at the table while
she buttered the toast and cut it into soldiers,
which she divided between him and Beth. While
they were busy eating, she toasted another slice
for Eloise. 'You could still come out with Ivy and
me,' she said, shooting a sideways glance at
Eloise. 'You could earn enough in one night to
pay old Mother Hilton's rent for a week. Ivy and
me don't do knee-tremblers for the roughs who
hang around these parts. We go up West and
hang about outside the theatres. There's always a
few toffs with a bob or two to spare on the
lookout for a good time. How about it, ducks?'

Eloise opened her mouth to refuse, and then
she looked down at Beth's innocent face smeared
with butter as she chewed on a finger of toast,
and at Joss who was busily demolishing soldiers
with obvious enjoyment. Their well-being and
even their lives hung in the balance, for without
money she had no hope of supporting them. The
threat of the workhouse loomed over them in a
great, dark shadow. The thought of selling her
body to strange men was appalling, but a small
voice in her head reasoned that it could be no
worse than the pain and indignity that she had
suffered at the hands of Ephraim Hubble.

Poll shoved a thick slice of toast, dripping with
butter, into Eloise's hand. 'Get this inside you,
and think about what I just said.'

'I'll do it,' Eloise whispered. She took a large
bite of buttered toast, chewed and swallowed.
'I'll do it, Poll. I won't let my babies die of
starvation. I'll come with you tonight.'

Late that evening, when the children were asleep
in their bed, Eloise crept out of the basement
room to join Poll and Ivy in the kitchen. The heat
hit her as she entered the room. The mixed
odours of burning paraffin from the oil lamps
and the greasy smell of boiled mutton that had
been the lodgers' supper hit her already nervous
stomach, making her retch. Poll and Ivy were
sitting on a bench at the table, smoking and
drinking gin. Mother Hilton was sprawled in her
chair by the fire with her many chins resting on
her chest, which rose and fell in rhythmic snores.
Her mobcap sat askew on her iron-grey hair,
giving her a harmless and comical look in
slumber that she did not possess when awake.

Poll stubbed out her cigarette and exhaled a
plume of blue smoke which floated up to the
nicotine-stained ceiling. She rose to her feet and
drew Eloise into the circle of lamplight, shaking
her head and tut-tutting. 'You won't do like that,
ducks. You look like a servant girl on her day
off.'

Ivy studied Eloise's appearance with a practised
eye. 'I could lend you me second best
bonnet with the scarlet feathers that would perk
you up a bit, love.'

Poll took a small pot of rouge from her pocket,
opened it and proceeded to smear it on Eloise's
cheeks and lips. 'I got a red satin blouse that
would do a treat. You can take off that cotton
thing for a start, Ellie. Go and fetch it for me, Ivy,
together with your bonnet. We'll soon have her
looking like one of us.'

Chuckling, Ivy jumped to her feet and hurried
from the room. Eloise could feel her cheeks
flaming and it wasn't just the rouge that was
making them red. 'No. I mean, can't I go out like
this? After all, it will be dark . . .'

'Not where we're going, ducks. Shaftesbury
Avenue is lit up like a Christmas tree. We look
out for the stage-door Johnnies and mashers who
haven't managed to get off with chorus girls or
high-class tarts. They're the best payers.' Poll
hesitated, peering into Eloise's face. 'Are you all
right, girl? You ain't going to swoon again, are
you?'

'N-no. I'll be all right. Let's get it over with.'

But she was far from all right. As they made
their way towards Shaftesbury Avenue, Eloise
felt as though she had entered another world.
The costermongers, shopkeepers, carters and
street sweepers who plied their trades by day
had gone home to their beds and the streets were
now crowded with revellers intent on partying
until dawn. Lurking in the shadows were
thieves, pickpockets, card sharps, runners who
lured young men into hidden-away opium dens,
and pimps who offered young women and even
children to those who were willing to pay
handsomely for their services.