The Best of Sisters (2 page)

‘You said you promised our mum on her deathbed that you’d look after me,’ Eliza cried, dashing the tears from her eyes on the back of her hand. ‘You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.’

Before Bart could answer, there was a loud hammering on the door downstairs. ‘We know you’re in there, Bartholomew Bragg. Give yourself up or it’ll be the worse for you.’

Fear for his safety surmounted Eliza’s dread of losing him. She pointed to the skylight. ‘Get up on the roof and you can shin down the drainpipe, just like we used to do when Uncle Enoch locked us in with no supper.’

Bart stared at her for a moment and then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and rubbing his cheek against her hair. ‘Be brave, Liza. I swear I’ll send for you as soon as I can.’ With one last hug, he let her go, and hitching the ditty bag over his shoulder he leapt onto the
table beneath the skylight. He pushed it open and climbed out. Eliza could just make out his silhouette crouched against the purple night sky. A cloud had passed across the moon giving him a fleeting chance of escape. With a wave of his hand, Bart disappeared into the darkness.

Composing herself, she went back down the ladder and made her way slowly through the shop. ‘All right, no need to beat the door down. I’m coming.’

The thudding on the door persisted, accompanied by threats bellowed through the keyhole. Slowly, to give Bart more time, Eliza pulled back the bolts, one by one.

‘Open up, I say.’

She opened the door and was pushed back against the wall as two policemen barged in, their truncheons held at the ready. Outside, she could see a group of sailors, most of them the worse for drink, and she slammed the door.

One constable raced up the ladder and the other came towards Eliza, his black brows drawn together in a menacing frown. ‘We know he come in here, so where is he?’

‘I dunno what you’re on about,’ Eliza said, shrugging. ‘There’s been no one through that door since the shop closed.’

He caught hold of her ear, giving it a vicious tweak. ‘You’re lying, girl. He was seen heading this way.’

Before she could answer, the other man slid down the ladder. ‘There’s supper set for two up there, Reg.’

She could smell onions on the breath of her tormentor. His black walrus moustache and mutton chop whiskers quivered as he spoke. ‘Tell me the truth now.’

‘I am telling you the truth. Me brother is due home for his supper and that’s all I know.’

‘Leave her, Reg. Ten to one he’s given us the slip down one of the alleys. We’re wasting valuable time here.’

He released her with an exclamation of annoyance and Eliza staggered against a stand of shelves. They left the shop, banging the door behind them and she shot the bolts across, leaning against the wall and stuffing her hand in her mouth so that they would not hear her anguished sobbing. Without Bart her whole world felt as though it was crumbling into dust. He had been mother, father and brother to her since they were orphaned and now, suddenly he was gone; accused of a terrible crime and set on leaving the country for a far-off land. Somehow, Eliza managed to climb the ladder to the sail loft. She threw herself down on the straw palliasse that served as a bed and cried herself to sleep.

Next morning, she found that the rats had polished off the bread and cheese and there was nothing left to eat, but she was not hungry.
Downstairs she could hear Uncle Enoch hammering on the shop door and demanding to be let in. Climbing stiffly off the thin mattress, she made her way slowly down the ladder. She pulled back the bolts with a heavy heart, dreading Uncle Enoch’s reaction when he found out what had happened last night.

‘Lazy little good-for-nothing,’ Enoch said, pushing her out of the way. ‘I expect the shop to be opened and cleaned ready for business and I catch you sleeping. Just look at the state of you.’

‘Sorry, Uncle.’ Eliza bent her head, staring down at her bare feet.

‘And I’ve had the police round knocking on my door in the middle of the night. Where is he? Where’s that bastard brother of yours?’

So he knew; her heart sank. ‘I – I don’t know.’

Enoch glowered at her. His eyes narrowed into slits beneath beetling brows. ‘Don’t lie to me, girl. Unless you want your mouth washed out with soap. Where is he?’

‘Gone.’ Raising her chin defiantly, Eliza looked him in the eye. ‘He never done it. It were an accident and Bart’s gone off on a ship. They’ll never catch him.’

He caught her a blow across her cheek that knocked her to the ground. ‘I’ve raised a nest of vipers. Is this all the thanks I get for my Christian charity? I never wanted to take you in, but I did
it for the sake of my dead brother. Is this how you repay me?’

Eliza bit her lip so that she would not cry. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her cheek. ‘It were an accident and I don’t know where he’s gone to.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘No, I ain’t. I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Don’t answer back. Haven’t you learnt anything in church on Sunday?’

‘I done nothing wrong, Uncle.’

‘Nothing wrong?’ Enoch’s voice rose to a roar. He went to search behind the counter, scrabbling around amongst the ledgers and receipts until he found a piece of card and a pencil. He wrote something on it and beckoned to Eliza. ‘You’ve helped a murderer to escape and you won’t say where he has gone. You are a liar and everyone shall know it. Come here.’

Reluctantly, Eliza went to him.

‘Turn round.’

Eliza turned her back to him and she could feel him pinning the card to her thin cotton blouse. The pin scraped her flesh but she did not cry out.

‘You’ll wear that until you’ve learnt your lesson. Now get about your business and clean the shop before the customers arrive.’ Enoch looked up as the door opened, and a ruddy-cheeked, bald-headed man strode in followed by four boys. ‘You’re late, Peck,’ Enoch said,
scowling. ‘Don’t expect me to lower the rent on the premises if you can’t fulfil your orders.’

Ted Peck, the sailmaker, strode past Enoch, heading for the ladder. ‘Don’t worry, old man, you’ll get your rent as usual.’

Eliza kept her head bowed so that she did not have to look at the youths as they filed past her. She did not know what Uncle Enoch had written on the placard but she could guess, and it wouldn’t be flattering. Ted stopped at the bottom of the ladder, waiting until the last apprentice had scampered up into the loft before following them at a more orderly pace. When he reached the top, he looked back over his shoulder. ‘Miserable old bugger,’ he said, scowling at Enoch. He closed the hatch with a bang.

Enoch looked up, frowning. ‘I’ll double his rent if he’s not careful. And you,’ he added, pointing his quill pen at Eliza, ‘get to your work or I’ll take you across the road to the workhouse and leave you there.’

The threat of the workhouse was enough to make Eliza run out to the back yard where she filled a bucket with water from the pump. She carried it back inside, walking slowly so that she did not spill water on the tiled floor. Having fetched a mop, scrubbing brush and a cake of lye soap from the store cupboard, she was about to start work when Ted wrenched the hatch open
and slid down the ladder. ‘How many times have I told you to clean up your mess before we start work?’

Enoch looked up from the ledger. ‘What’s this?’

Ted approached him with a belligerent outthrusting of his chin. ‘You may own the place, mister, but that don’t give your relations the right to leave my sail loft like a midden. There’s been food left out and that’s brought in the bleeding rats. They’ve had a go at the spanker we’ve been working on, and eaten half a pound of beeswax to boot. I tell you, Enoch, I ain’t running a home for waifs and strays up there and that’s a fact.’

Enoch turned on Eliza with a face like thunder. ‘You, girl. Go up there and sort it out. From now on you sleep under the counter. Don’t never bring food into the chandlery again.’

‘Come now, that’s a bit harsh.’ Ted cast an anxious glance at Eliza. ‘Maybe I spoke up a bit too hasty.’

‘You did not. I’ve been a sight too lenient with the girl and her feckless brother. Get up that ladder, Eliza.’

There was no point in arguing, and she climbed up into the loft where the apprentices were sitting cross-legged on the floor, working on the large piece of canvas that Eliza knew would eventually become a fore-and-aft sail,
called a spanker. Stepping carefully, and ignoring the taunts from the Tonks brothers, two of the older apprentices, she went over to the table to clear away the debris left by the rats. She was not in the mood to be picked on by anyone, least of all two cheeky boys only a few years her senior. Mostly the apprentices treated her with casual indifference, like a younger sister or an amusing puppy-dog, and the copper-headed Tonks brothers were all right if you kept them in their place. Dippy Dan Bullen was a bit simple and laughed a lot even when things weren’t funny. Only Davy Little was her real friend, and then he had to make certain that the other lads were not looking when he chatted to her, or gave her a fluff-covered humbug from his pocket. They would have teased him mercilessly had they seen him taking notice of a mere girl.

Ginger Tonks looked up and grinned. ‘What’s this we hear about your Bart then, young ’un?’

Carrots nudged Davy. ‘Your little friend’s brother is a murderer, Davy. Did you know that?’

‘He ain’t,’ Eliza cried, balling her hands into fists. ‘Don’t you dare say that. It were an accident and that’s the truth.’

‘Is that why you got LIAR written on your back?’ demanded Ginger, chuckling.

Davy leapt to his feet. ‘That’s enough. Leave her alone, can’t you? Whatever Bart’s done it ain’t Liza’s fault.’

‘Ooer!’ Dippy Dan jumped up and did a jig, giggling and chanting. ‘Davy’s sweet on Liza, Davy’s sweet on Liza. Bart’s going to have his neck stretched. Bart’s going to have—’

‘Shut up!’ Davy turned on him. ‘You ain’t funny, Dippy.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Ginger said, shoving the needle through the canvas with the aid of a sailmaker’s palm. ‘Best get on, Davy, or Peck will give you what for.’

‘Be quiet, all of you,’ Eliza said, piling the palliasses one on top of the other and shoving them in a far corner. ‘And don’t let me hear one bad word about Bart or I’ll …’

‘Or what, young Liza?’ Carrots got to his feet and struck a pose. ‘Want to take a big feller on then?’

‘She can’t, but I can,’ Davy said, squaring up to him. ‘Pick on someone your own size.’

‘Stop it.’ Eliza swept the remains of the supper into her apron. ‘I’ll tell you this once and for all: my brother never killed no one, at least not intentionally. He’s gone off on a ship to the other side of the world and …’ Choking on a sob, Eliza bunched up her apron and made for the ladder.

Davy followed her to the open hatch. ‘Don’t pay no heed to them idiots.’ Thrusting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out an apple and handed it to Eliza. ‘Here, take this. The rats ate your
supper and I bet you ain’t had nothing to eat this morning.’

Eliza hesitated, certain that this was Davy’s dinner, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings and she was extremely hungry. She took it with a smile and a nod. ‘Ta, Davy.’

At ten o’clock that evening, just as it was getting dark, Enoch emptied the till and put the takings into a leather pouch. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said, scowling at Eliza, ‘you sleep under the counter and I want the shop floor cleaned and everything nice and tidy when I arrive in the morning.’

‘Yes, Uncle.’ Dog-tired and fraught with worry about Bart, Eliza stood with her hands behind her back, digging her fingernails into her palms and biting back tears. Apart from the apple that Davy had given her, she had eaten nothing all day and now she was light-headed with hunger.

Enoch was about to leave, but he paused in the doorway, delving his hand into his pocket. He produced two pennies, tossing them onto the floor at Eliza’s feet. ‘Get yourself something to eat in the pie shop. I won’t have anyone say I neglect my duty. And make sure you lock up after me.’

After he had gone, Eliza bolted the door. Left alone in the gloom, she felt suddenly nervous. The stands of shelves seemed menacing as they loomed over her in the half-light; there were
creaks and scuffling sounds coming at her from all directions. It could have been the floorboards contracting in the cool of the evening, or it might be rats coming out to look for food. She had been forbidden to go upstairs to the familiar surroundings of the sail loft, but the shop at night was a frightening place. Even if Bart had been late home, at least she had always known that he would come eventually. How would she manage without Bart to comfort and protect her? All day, she had worried about him, wondering if he had managed to get a berth on a ship and praying that he had got away. Surely she would have heard if the police had caught him? The light was fading fast now and Eliza went behind the counter to look for a box of vestas, and having found one she lit a candle. Its flickering flame cast ghostly shadows on the walls and ceiling. Something brushed past Eliza’s cheek and she let out a scream, but it was only a moth attracted by the candlelight.

By now, she was trembling with fear, as well as hunger, and shielding the flame with her hand she went through to the back of the shop. She stuck the candle on the lid of a paint tin with a bit of melted wax, and unlocking the door to the back yard she went outside into the velvet warmth of the July night. The stench from privies, overflowing sewers, rotting detritus in the streets and the stinking mud from the river
made Eliza cover her nose with her hand, but within a few seconds she had accustomed herself to the noxious smell. She felt her way through the packing crates and other items that Uncle Enoch stored outside, to the heavily locked gate. She turned the iron mortice key in the lock and shot back the three strategically placed bolts. It would, she thought, be easier to escape from the Tower of London than Uncle Enoch’s back yard. As she stepped outside into the alley, something large and black ran across her feet. An unseen hand touched her arm and she screamed.

‘It’s only me, Liza.’

Spinning round to face him, Eliza slapped Davy on the shoulder. ‘You idiot, you frightened me half to death.’