Mary Ann and Miss Mozart (9 page)

Gin with Mrs. Bolt

They divided up the takings on the waterfront. Mary Ann’s share was more than three guineas. She stowed the coins away in her pocket, and would have felt pleased if she had not been so anxious. It had all gone so well until they were attacked, but now…

They parted from Nick, who slipped away down a narrow street and disappeared. The school was close, but Jenny hesitated. “We need to clean you up, but we could be caught if we do it in the scullery: the noise of water, and the delay… Come to my ma’s place. It’s just along there, see –” she pointed along the waterfront – “by the Half Moon. We can wash there, and then go back to the school. Safer that way.”

Mary Ann followed her obediently. She was relying on Jenny now.

The cottage was tiny – and Jenny’s mother only rented the ground floor room. As they approached the door Jenny murmured, “With luck she’ll have passed out.”

Mary Ann was puzzled by this remark until they went in and she saw a large, dishevelled woman sprawled in a chair by the fireside, breathing heavily. The woman woke with a snort, turned and glared at Jenny.

“What are
you
doing here? Where have you been, dressed like that?”

“I’ve been to Ranelagh with Nick,” Jenny said, in a hard voice that Mary Ann had not heard from her before. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

The woman struggled unsteadily to her feet, and her eyes narrowed in her fleshy face. “Who’s this you’ve brought?”

A nearby curtain twitched open a crack, revealing a bed which seemed to contain several children. Two of them began coughing as they woke up. A young voice asked, “Have you brought anything for us, Jenny?”

“Now you’ve woken the brats,” the woman said; and, to the inhabitants of the bed, “Shut that curtain! And your noise!”

Mary Ann felt frightened and out of place. The room was lit by a single tallow candle, which stank of animal fat. Damp laundry hung in every available space: around the fire, on racks from the ceiling. Was it all their own, she wondered, or did Jenny’s mother take in washing? On a table was an end of a loaf, and on the floor by the woman’s feet an empty bottle – gin, Mary Ann supposed.

A slight sound from the shadows by the hearth drew her attention. A smaller bed had been placed there, open to the warmth of the fire, and she saw a pale face and tangled brown hair on the pillow.

Jenny dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Dinah, my pet,” she said – and her voice now was soft and concerned. “How are you? Poorly?” She looked up. “Ma, have you been giving her that cordial I bought from Mr. Green?”

“Course I did. And made broth, but she won’t take it, hardly any. Betty sat with her, spooning it.” A watery look came into her eyes. “She’s going, Jenny. She’s going fast.”

“Ssh! She’ll hear!” Jenny stroked Dinah’s hair. This must be the sister who was ill, Mary Ann realized. “It’s all right, Dinah. Jenny’s here.”

The girl drifted back to sleep.

“She smells,” said Jenny, reverting to her hard, accusing voice. “You ought to change her linen.”

“Can’t do everything, can I?” The woman frowned again at Mary Ann. “Who’s she?”

Jenny stood up and put an arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders, and drew her forward. “One of the young ladies from the school.” And she added sarcastically to Mary Ann: “My mother, Mrs. Bolt.”

“What’s she doing here?” Mrs. Bolt demanded.

But Jenny ignored her, lit another candle, and took Mary Ann out to a back scullery, where she filled a jug with water from a pail. Part of the main room had been partitioned off with a curtain. Jenny drew the curtain aside and led Mary Ann in. A bed took up most of the space. Next to it was a tiny washstand and a few inches of floor.

“This is
my
space – private,” said Jenny. “Any of them comes in here, they get my fist.”

Jenny’s bed was neat and fresh – a miracle in that house, Mary Ann thought. Her clothes hung on pegs, and the washstand was clean.

She poured water into the bowl. “I’m sorry it’s cold, but we can’t stop to heat it. Here –” She took a flannel, wetted it and wiped Mary Ann’s face, hands and arms in a way that made Mary Ann think she’d done this often, for younger brothers and sisters. The cut hand stung, and blood flowed into the water. Jenny washed it thoroughly, then tore a strip of cloth from something to make a bandage. “You can take that off in the morning. ’Tisn’t as bad as it looks. Now, that dress…”

With a dry cloth she brushed at the mud as best she could. “It needs proper cleaning. I’ll try and do it with the school wash. Your shoes are not too bad. But your hair…” She took the ribbons out and began combing Mary Ann’s hair.

“Ouch!”

“It’s all tangled with bits of twig,” said Jenny. “Got to get them out. There!” She surveyed Mary Ann. “You don’t look so bad now.” And as she began to tidy herself, she asked, “Pleased with your money, are you?”

“Yes.”

“They liked your singing. I reckon Nick would be happy to have you with him again!” She put a hand to her pocket. “I’ll be able to get some proper medicine for Dinah.”

Mary Ann felt troubled. She had never been in a house where people were so poor. Whatever Mrs. Bolt did for a living it seemed that she regularly got drunk and that they all relied on Jenny. It made her own anxiety to continue her singing, deportment and dancing lessons seem frivolous – like icing on a cake: delightful, perhaps, but hardly necessary. These were people who truly needed a few extra guineas. She reached into her own pocket and took out her money, all of it, and held it out to Jenny. “You have it, Jenny. Use it for Dinah, or the other little ones.”

“What? Don’t be silly.” Jenny pushed her hand away.

“But you need it more than I do.”

“Keep your money,” said Jenny. “You earned it. Come on now. I have to get you home.”

Getting back into the school was not as easy as climbing out. Jenny found a flowerpot, and used that to stand on and swing herself up to the sill, where she crouched and slid open the window. The pot scraped against the ground as Mary Ann followed, and they both froze, willing Mrs. Price not to have heard them. Once inside, Mary Ann felt safer. But they had still to creep upstairs in total darkness.

The ground floor was the easiest: only Mrs. Price slept on that floor, and she was on the other side of the house. But on the first floor were the dormitories, one of them close to the back stairs. Mary Ann’s heart beat fast every time a stair creaked. But no one stirred, and they set off more confidently for the second floor, feeling their way up. They were almost at the top when Jenny stumbled and slipped down onto the step below with a bump and a muttered curse. Mary Ann thought she would die of fright. Mrs. Corelli’s room was next to the stairwell. They waited. Had she heard anything? There was no sound from within.

Now they had reached the landing. Jenny had one more flight to go, up to the attic. Mary Ann had reached her own floor, but she must pass both Mrs. Neave’s and Mrs. Corelli’s doors before she reached the dormitory.

Jenny gave her a little push. “Go on,” she whispered. “I’ll wait and make sure you’re safe.”

They moved apart – and at that moment Mary Ann heard a door open. She gasped as a light appeared in the corridor: a candle, held up in a trembling hand to reveal the startled face of Mrs. Corelli under her nightcap.

“Who…?” she quavered; then, “Mary Ann! Jenny! Whatever is going on?”

Chapter Thirteen

Caught!

Doors opened all around: Mrs. Neave’s, the dormitory; there were even footsteps and voices on the attic landing above.

Then Mrs. Neave emerged, carrying a candle in a holder and wrapped in a dark-coloured robe. Lucy stood blinking and astonished at the end of the corridor.

“Go back to bed, Lucy,” said Mrs. Neave. “At once!”

Lucy vanished, pulling the dormitory door shut behind her. Mary Ann longed to be there, safe in the dormitory with Lucy and the others. But she was caught; she could not escape now.

Jenny began to gabble: “Young Miss was taken poorly. I heard her call, and came down. She’s better now…” And she edged Mary Ann towards the dormitory, away from the accusing light of the candles.

But Mrs. Neave caught Mary Ann by the shoulder and swung her round. “You have been
outside
!” she said.

Mary Ann knew there was no denying it: her dirty shoes and the mud all down her gown gave her away. Mrs. Neave raised the candle higher and looked at Jenny, who was backing towards the stairs: Jenny with her red dress and white neck and her hat with its jaunty feather. Jenny could hardly pretend she had come down from her bed to attend to a sick girl.

Mrs. Neave’s voice was cold: “Go to your room, Jenny, and report to me first thing in the morning, in my office.”

Mary Ann began, “Mrs. Neave, don’t blame—”

“As for you, Mary Ann, you will come downstairs now and explain yourself.”

Mary Ann reached out wordlessly to Jenny as the maid turned to go. Don’t leave me, she wanted to say. She was terrified at the thought of being interrogated alone. But Mrs. Neave gripped her by the shoulders and propelled her towards the stairs. Mary Ann knew from that grip that she was furious.

“I should be grateful if you would come too, Mrs. Corelli,” said Mrs. Neave.

As they began to descend Mary Ann heard the dormitory door click open again and voices whispering. Her friends. How she wished she was with them! She felt tears welling up.

She was taken to Mrs. Neave’s office. If she had not been so frightened she might have seen the ludicrous side of the situation: the two ladies in nightcaps and wraps facing her as inquisitors in the middle of the night. Mrs. Neave positioned herself behind her desk, but Mrs. Corelli, who had come down barefoot, sat to one side swathed in a lavender-coloured robe and with her hair – or as much of it as was showing – in curl papers. Mary Ann herself was obliged to stand alone in the middle of the floor. Her tears had spilled over on the way downstairs and now great sobs shook her. When Mrs. Neave demanded an explanation she was unable to speak.

“Calm yourself,” said Mrs. Neave – to no effect. Her frosty tone only made Mary Ann cry more. Mrs. Corelli suggested, “Perhaps a glass of water…?” and was permitted to fetch one from the decanter on the sideboard.

Mrs. Neave began a bombardment of questions: “Where have you been? Why? What
can
you have been doing? And how did you get so dirty?”

Mary Ann’s teeth clunked against the glass and tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried to explain about her plan to raise the money for her school fees.

“
Ranelagh?
” exclaimed Mrs. Neave. “Jenny took you to
Ranelagh
– on a masquerade night? How could the girl possibly afford tickets?”

“We…we broke in. Through a hole in the fence…” Mary Ann saw Mrs. Neave’s eyes widening in horror, but she could think of nothing else to tell except the truth. She was forced to explain how they had got out of school through the scullery window, how they had been attacked and robbed, how she had fallen; and all the time she knew she was betraying Jenny, who hadn’t wanted to do this at all.

“Please don’t blame Jenny!” she said. “I made her do it. I – talked her into it…” She’d been about to say “blackmailed” but that would have meant more betrayal, and she checked herself just in time. “If it wasn’t for me,” she said, smearing tears across her face with the back of her hand, “Jenny wouldn’t have needed to come back here at all. She could have gone home, to her mother’s. Sunday’s her day off.”

“Jenny may be free to go home,” said Mrs. Neave coldly, “but she is not free to break out of this house and leave a window unlocked – and especially –” her voice rose – “to take one of my charges with her!” She turned on Mary Ann. “Imagine if something worse had happened to you! If the police had been called? What would I have told your parents? Think of the school’s reputation! How many people saw you at Ranelagh?”

“I don’t know…a lot…”

“A large number of people who may have guessed where you came from!”

“They only spoke of my singing,” said Mary Ann, adding, “Some – several – of them…I don’t think they’d remember. They were drunk.”

“Drunk!” Mrs. Neave stood up. “And you were there, at night, performing to drunken people…” She turned to Mrs. Corelli: “You know what these masquerade evenings are like. If this becomes known we could be closed down.”

Mary Ann began to cry harder than ever. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” And Mrs. Corelli got up and patted her and gave her a handkerchief and said, “I think Mary Ann should go to bed now, Mrs. Neave.”

Mrs. Neave herself seemed suddenly to crumple and look weary. “Yes, indeed, you’re right.” She turned to Mary Ann and said brusquely, “Dry your eyes, child. At least you’ve come to no harm. And if you have any money in your pocket you had better give it to me for safekeeping.”

Mary Ann untied her pocket and handed it to Mrs. Neave.

She had been crying for so long that she had a lump of pain in her chest that caught at her with every breath. “I wanted – I only wanted – to earn some money,” she said, the words coming out in gasps. “Eight guineas. For next term. I don’t want to leave.”