The Dollmaker's Daughters (29 page)

‘Miss Rose.’

Rosetta stopped pacing and spun round to see Elsie standing in the doorway. ‘If they’ve sent you to bring me home you’ve wasted your time.’

‘No, I guessed where you was and him in the baker’s shop told me where Billy lived. I brung you this.’ Shyly, Elsie held out a scrap of cloth wrapped round a hunk of bread and cheese.

It was a long time since breakfast and Rosetta was ravenous. ‘Ta, Elsie.’ As she bit into the bread, she realised that Elsie couldn’t take her eyes off the food. Suddenly guilty, Rosetta divided the bread and cheese in two, handing a share to Elsie. ‘This was for your dinner, wasn’t it?’

‘You was always good to me in Raven Street. I wanted to do something for you.’

‘Well, you can,’ Rosetta said, smiling. ‘You can go home and tell me mum that Billy’s looking after me now so she’s not to worry. I’ll come and see her when I’ve got me wedding band to flash in front of the neighbours. Can you remember all that?’

With her mouth full of bread and cheese, Elsie nodded.

Billy had not returned by the time Elsie set off for Tobacco Court and Rosetta decided to go looking
for him. It should be easy enough to find him if she kept her eyes open for his old piebald horse and brightly painted cart. It didn’t take her long to track him down in a pub at the end of Cable Street. Rosetta found him in the public bar doing a deal with a shifty-looking man over a pint of bitter.

‘Rose, what the bleeding hell are you doing here?’

Rosetta flashed him a dazzling smile. She could feel all eyes upon her and hear the murmurs of admiration as she strolled up to the bar. Sensing the appreciative audience, it was almost like being on stage at the Falstaff. Standing very close to Billy, Rosetta fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I couldn’t bear to be away from you, darling.’

A small cheer rippled round the bar, with a few whistles thrown in.

Pushing his cap to the back of his head, Billy took a bow. ‘Keep your mince-pies off her, lads. This lady’s took.’ Grabbing Rosetta by the arm, he pulled her to one side. ‘Are you mad? Walking out alone in this area? I thought you was staying at your mum’s.’

‘Well you thought wrong,’ Rosetta said, snatching her arm free.

‘Come outside.’ Still smiling, Billy wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her out into the street. ‘Now then, Rose?’

‘I ain’t going home and you can’t make me.’

‘But I thought we agreed …’

‘No, Billy. You and me mum agreed, but I never.’

‘What am I going to do with you, girl? You can’t stay at my place and that’s that.’

Spotting a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes, Rosetta cuddled up to him. ‘Let’s not wait for the wedding band, Billy. Find us a nice cosy room with a proper feather bed and a coal fire and bugger the rest of them.’ Reaching up, she brushed his set mouth with butterfly kisses until his lips parted in a reluctant smile.

‘Well,’ Billy said, drawing her closer. ‘I just done a good deal. I can afford it, although I was going to save the money for our honeymoon.’

‘Why wait?’ Rosetta whispered in his ear. ‘Let’s have the honeymoon first, shall we?’

Billy grinned. ‘There’s me trying to make an honest woman of you and now you’re leading a poor bloke astray. What am I going to do with you, Rosetta?’

‘I expect you’ll think of something, Billy.’

‘Saucy mare!’ Laughing, Billy lifted her onto the cart. ‘We’d best collect your things first. Don’t want to offend a respectable lodging house by turning up without any luggage.’

‘And a ring,’ Rosetta said, waving her left hand in front of his face. ‘I got to look the part.’

The lodging house in Aldgate was not exactly what Rosetta had in mind, but the room was
clean and reasonably comfortable. Mrs Wilkins, the landlady, took them in without asking any questions, having insisted on a month’s rent in advance. Small and wizened like a brown monkey, her hooded eyes were shrewd and button-bright.

‘No cooking in the room,’ she said, pointing to a list of house rules pinned to the back of the door. ‘No smoking and no spitting. Evening meal at six sharp. Those what turn up late don’t get nothing.’

‘Understood,’ Billy said, nodding. ‘I’m sure this will suit us fine.’

‘You won’t get no better, if I say so myself.’ Turning to go, Mrs Wilkins shot a piercing glance at Rosetta. ‘Breakfast is at seven, but I’ll make allowances for a woman in your condition. If he’s willing to bring it upstairs, you can have tea and toast in your room.’

Wondering how the woman could possibly know such a personal detail, Rosetta’s hand flew to her stomach.

‘Don’t worry, dearie. I ain’t no witch,’ Mrs Wilkins said, with a glint of humour in her dark eyes. ‘I just seen it all before. Just one thing though: no babies in this house. Nasty, squally things, babies. I can’t abide ’em.’

‘Well!’ Rosetta said, giggling as the door closed behind their new landlady. ‘I bet she is a witch.’

Lifting her off her feet, Billy carried Rosetta
over to the bed. ‘Never mind the old girl, let’s give the bed a go and see if it’s as comfy as it looks.’ Dumping her down on the coverlet, Billy sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots.

‘Not now, Billy,’ Rosetta said, struggling to a sitting position. ‘You heard the old bat. Supper is at six sharp and I’m starving.’

‘Come on, love. We got a good quarter of an hour to get downstairs. You can’t act all coy and virginal now.’

Pressing her down amongst the feather pillows, Billy tried to kiss her, but Rosetta turned her head away. ‘Get off me.’

‘Don’t act soft,’ Billy said, holding her down and unbuttoning her blouse. ‘You wanted this, Rose, you said so. You can’t go back on it now.’

His mouth sought hers, his kisses laced with anger and frustration as Rosetta struggled, attempting to push him off. She knew that she had flirted outrageously, had given him the idea that she wanted him to make love to her, but she was not ready. This was not how it was supposed to be; she wanted romance, just like in the penny dreadfuls. She wanted lover-like words, wine and flowers. She didn’t want to be treated as Alf had treated her, like a whore; she wanted to feel like a beautiful lady, not a tart. In the end, there was nothing she could do but lie still, waiting for Billy’s pent-up passion to reach a climax that she could not share. He was telling
her again and again that he loved her, but it was too late, the words meant nothing now. When it was over he lay beside her, stroking her hair and promising her that he would always love and take care of her. Turning her head away, Rosetta felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She knew then that she did not love Billy; she had deluded herself, confusing liking with loving.

Billy sat up, patting her on her bare flank. ‘Come on, love. I thought you was starving. I know I am.’

They were to be married on 28 July in the local church with Ruby, Sarah and Granny Mole in attendance. Billy had managed to persuade Sarah that a quiet wedding was the best option, although how he had done this Rosetta did not know. She had kept well out of the way until she was certain that a visit home would not incur long arguments and lectures. Surprisingly, Granny Mole had backed Billy up. He had related the story to Rosetta on his return, mimicking Granny’s voice with deadly accuracy. Father Brennan’s nose, she had crowed, would be put well and truly out of joint, and leaving her out of things would be a slap in the face for that Carlottie, the Eyetie tart. It would show her, once and for all, that the Moles had more pride than to accept her ill-gotten gains.

‘Rosetta! What are you doing up so early?’

Opening her eyes with a start, Rosetta looked round to see Mum standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing her nightgown and a worried frown. ‘I couldn’t sleep, Mum. It was too hot and Granny snores like a stuck pig.’

Sarah’s brow cleared and she smiled. ‘I know, ducks, but I’ve had a lifetime to get used to it. You are feeling all right, aren’t you?’

‘I’m fine,’ Rosetta lied. ‘But I could murder a cup of tea.’

‘Of course you could,’ Sarah said, bustling over to the fireplace. ‘I’ll soon get the fire going and we’ll have some tea and toast. Got to keep your strength up on your big day. I wish your dad was here to see you get married, Rose. He’d have been proud of you in spite of everything.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Biting back tears at the mention of Poppa’s name, Rosetta went to get up but Sarah motioned her to sit.

‘You stay there and rest, there’s a good girl. You’re going to be the prettiest bride that Tobacco Court’s ever seen and I don’t want you looking peaky.’ Riddling the embers of the fire, Sarah chattered on. ‘We’re going to see you get hitched in style, all proper like so that the gossips haven’t got anything to talk about. If I’d left it to you and Billy, you’d have bowled up together for the wedding and everyone would have known you’d been living in sin. As it is you’re not
showing too much, not if we drape Lottie’s Spanish shawl round your shoulders.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Rosetta said, thinking that she would rather die than be seen in that hideous black thing, never mind what the neighbours said about her.

Wearing the floral-patterned cretonne dress that Sarah and Granny Mole had run up for her, Rosetta walked down the aisle on Billy’s arm, forcing her lips into a smile when all she really wanted to do was cry. Casting a sideways glance at Billy she saw, with a stab of irritation, that he was grinning like an idiot. Rosetta was still fuming inwardly, having discovered that Billy had bought himself a sharp, chequered suit for the occasion, topped with a brown bowler hat. He must have spent a small fortune on it and yet she, the bride, was walking down the aisle in a homemade dress made out of material bought from a stall in Petticoat Lane. She had refused point-blank to wear the black shawl, declaring that she would faint with the heat, but that was not much consolation. Rosetta had barely heard the vicar’s words as he droned through the marriage ceremony. She had responded to her vows in little more than a whisper, with Billy squeezing her hand and making his responses in a bold, clear voice that bounced off the stone pillars in a mocking echo.

Outside the church, Billy tossed a handful of pennies, halfpennies and farthings to a crowd of street urchins. ‘Now you’re properly Mrs Noakes,’ he said, kissing Rosetta in front of the whole street.

‘Give over, Billy. You’re making a show of me.’ Rosetta tried to break free, but Billy laughed and drew her hand through the crook of his arm.

‘I want the whole world to see what a lucky chap I am, Rose. You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat. Come on, everyone. Dinner’s on Mr and Mrs Billy Noakes.’

Leaning on his arm, clutching a posy of white carnations, Rosetta felt as though she were in the middle of a bad dream. The baby was jiggling around inside her belly as she walked beside Billy, her husband, and Rosetta knew that she was well and truly trapped. Life from now on would be the all too familiar struggle that she had seen her mother endure and from which there was no escape.

‘You look beautiful, Rose,’ Ruby said, quickening her pace to catch up with them. ‘It was a lovely wedding ceremony.’

Rosetta could hardly bear to look at her sister. Ruby was living with Jonas Crowe, simply because he had picked the wrong sister; it must have been a case of mistaken identity. Ruby was dressed in a shop-bought grey silk gown that was the very latest fashion, with a jaunty little
matching hat perched at an angle on her piled-up curls. Ruby’s trim figure was a sharp reminder that her own was spreading rapidly, her swollen breasts straining at her bodice above the tightly laced stays that could barely disguise her bulging belly. It was not fair, Rosetta thought, shutting her ears to Billy’s cheerful banter. It was just not fair.

‘Where are we going?’ demanded Granny Mole, hobbling along behind them. ‘I can’t walk much farther and I’m faint with hunger.’

‘Just round the corner, Granny,’ Billy said, over his shoulder. ‘I’ve booked a table at a chophouse. No one can say that Billy Noakes is a skinflint.’

Seated round the table that Billy had booked for the party, everyone except Rosetta tucked into the meal of brown Windsor soup followed by lamb chops with onion sauce, mashed potatoes, boiled cabbage and plenty of gravy.

‘If you don’t want your chop, pass it here,’ Granny Mole said, pointing her fork at Rosetta’s plate.

‘Ma, that ain’t good manners,’ hissed Sarah. ‘This ain’t a pie shop.’

‘Bah!’ Granny Mole’s hand shot out, stabbing the chop on her fork. ‘I hates to see good food go to waste. Rose is just like I was when I was carrying you. I lost me appetite, couldn’t look at food.’

‘All my eye and Betty Martin!’ Billy whispered in Rosetta’s ear.

Ignoring him, Rosetta pushed her plate across the table. ‘Eat it all. I don’t want it.’

‘Are you all right?’ Ruby asked anxiously.

‘I’m fine, ta. You needn’t come over all professional now you’re a nurse.’

‘Hey, Rose,’ Billy said, a slight edge in his cheerful voice. ‘Come off it, love. Ruby was just trying to help.’

Jumping to her feet, Rosetta knocked over a tumbler of water.

‘Sit down,’ Billy said, pulling her back onto the seat while Ruby did her best to staunch the flow of water with a starched white napkin. ‘It’s you who’s behaving badly, Rose. This is supposed to be our special day and you’re spoiling it.’

‘It’s all right. No harm done.’ Ruby handed the soggy napkin to a passing waitress.

‘I dunno what’s got into you, Rose,’ Sarah said, glancing anxiously around to see if any of the City gents eating their midday meals had seen the unfortunate incident.

‘Wedding nerves, Mum.’ Ruby put her arm around Rosetta’s shoulders, giving her a hug. ‘Just leave her alone for a bit.’

Sucking the chop bone, Granny Mole gave it up reluctantly as the waitress cleared the table, but her eyes lit up as the pudding was brought in on a big white dish: a steaming mound of suet
pudding with a glistening treacle cap, sitting in a pool of thick yellow custard. ‘Oh, my,’ she said, licking her lips. ‘Treacle pud. Me favourite.’

Serving Granny Mole first, Sarah divided the pudding with scrupulous attention to fairness, slicing it in geometrical triangles, but Rosetta refused hers, protesting it would make her sick. There was a strained silence as everyone else ate their dessert, Granny Mole and Billy having seconds, while Rosetta sat, silently staring into space. When the last of the pudding had been consumed, Billy insisted that they must have a toast and he ordered a glass of port for himself, port and lemon for the ladies.