The Dollmaker's Daughters (33 page)

‘Why, sweetheart, you’re my best asset. You can serve in the shop and charm the customers while Elsie looks after Martha.’

Speechless with rage, Rosetta stared down at him, her hands fisted behind her back.

‘So what can I do, Billy?’ demanded Granny Mole.

‘You can give us the benefit of your good advice, Granny.’

‘Bah! As if anyone listens to me.’

Making a huge effort to keep calm, Rosetta glared at Billy. ‘So when is all this supposed to happen?’

‘We’ll move in on New Year’s Eve, that’s Sunday, and I’ll bake me first loaves for Monday the first of January, 1900,’ Billy said, slapping his hand on his knee. ‘The start of a new century and the beginning of a new life.’

‘Never!’ Rosetta cried, stamping up the stairs. ‘Never, never, never. I ain’t going to live above no bloody bakery.’

The shop was small, but spotlessly clean, with a faint aroma of freshly baked bread. The living accommodation upstairs was roomy. Although workmen had repaired the fire damage and repainted the woodwork, the lingering stench of smoke and charring was not completely disguised by the sharp smell of turpentine and the distinctive odour of linseed oil emanating from the newly laid linoleum. Standing in the middle of the living room, all Rosetta’s worst fears were realised. Empty except for a deal table and four kitchen chairs, the room was bleak and cold.

‘It’ll be fine when we get some proper furniture
in, pet.’ Billy hurried over to open the sash window. ‘It still smells a bit when it’s been shut up, but that will go as soon as it’s lived in.’

‘It’s horrible,’ Rosetta said, shuddering. ‘How could you bring me here, Billy?’

‘I got a mate down Stepney way what’s in the furniture business and he’s sorting out a sofa and a couple of armchairs. We’ll get a few rugs in the market and once we’ve got the fire going it will seem more like home.’

‘Home! It’s a hovel, Billy. I’d rather live in your old stable than here.’

Wrapping his arms around her, Billy gave her a hug. ‘Come and see the bedrooms, pet. At least I got us a nice comfy bed with that feather mattress you’ve always wanted.’ Billy took her by the hand leading her down a narrow strip of landing. Opening a door, he ushered her in. ‘This is our room.’

Rosetta glanced around, her lips folded in a tight line. The room was much bigger than the bedroom in Tobacco Court, furnished with an iron bedstead, a chair and a washstand.

Billy eyed her nervously. ‘And there’s more.’

Saying nothing, Rosetta followed him across the landing.

‘Now then, this is the big surprise,’ Billy said, flinging the door open. ‘What d’you think of that?’

Looking over his shoulder, Rosetta saw a white
but rather rusty bath standing on claw feet, a washbasin with hot and cold taps and a lavatory with a cast-iron cistern and a pull chain.

‘Not half bad, eh?’ Billy said, pulling the chain in demonstration. ‘I bet the queen herself don’t have a better bathroom in Buckingham Palace.’

‘I suppose it would be nice not to have to go out in the yard at night,’ Rosetta said grudgingly.

‘And a hot bath whenever you want one. I knew you’d like it when you’d seen everything.’

‘How do I do the cooking, then?’ Rosetta demanded, refusing to be pleased. ‘And the washing? Or do I do that in the bathtub?’

Running his fingers through his hair, Billy frowned. ‘Don’t be difficult, pet. There’s a scullery upstairs and the bakehouse downstairs with a washhouse in the back yard. All right, it ain’t a palace, but like I said it’s a start. Give me time, love, just give me time.’

Seeing his crestfallen expression, Rosetta hated herself. She knew that Billy was doing his best, but these days there seemed to be a devil inside her that made her say and do things to hurt him. ‘I daresay it will be all right,’ she said, smiling and patting his hand. ‘Show us the rest.’

‘Right then.’ Dragging her along behind him, Billy sprinted up the steep and narrow stairs to the attic rooms. ‘I thought this one would do for Elsie.’

Rosetta peered into the room beneath the
eaves, dimly lit by a roof window. A truckle bed occupied most of the floor space, leaving just enough room for a chest of drawers. ‘I daresay it’s a lot better than anything she’s ever had before.’

‘And this one,’ Billy said, throwing the door open to a much larger and brighter room, ‘we’ll make this into a room fit for a princess. Just for Martha.’

‘Babies don’t have rooms all to themselves. You’ll spoil her rotten.’

‘She’ll have everything she wants. And so will you, Rose.’

Turning away, Rosetta made for the stairs, but Billy caught her by the hand, drawing her to him. ‘I know it’s not perfect, but I love you, Rose, and I just want you to be happy.’

Closing her eyes and imagining for a brief moment that it was Jonas who was pledging his love for her, Rosetta relaxed against Billy’s tense body. ‘I’m sorry, I know I’ve been a bit difficult lately. I don’t mean to hurt you, Billy.’

Holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe, Billy’s mouth claimed hers with the hunger of a starving man. Sliding her arms around Billy’s neck, Rosetta opened her lips with a sigh, responding to him for the first time in months, but all the time her heart was crying out for another man. If only it was Jonas who was kissing her with such need and urgency, she
would not turn away from him at night in the marriage bed. Repeating her name over and over again, Billy’s voice was thick with desire and his fingers shook as he unbuttoned her blouse. Burying his face in the soft swell of her breasts he pinned her against the wall, his hands searching beneath her skirt, stroking, caressing and tantalising until Rosetta gasped with pleasure. Blotting Billy out of her mind, she tried to convince herself that it was Jonas who was arousing her to a frenzy of desire. She did not protest when Billy lifted her in his arms and carried her down the stairs to their bedroom, throwing her down on the feather mattress and taking her roughly with all the pent-up emotion of enforced abstinence. Coming too late to her senses, there was nothing Rosetta could do to stop him and her struggling and fighting only seemed to excite him further, until he climaxed with an exultant shout. With silent tears running down her cheeks, she prayed that her mistake would not result in another unwanted pregnancy.

Afterwards, Billy held her to him, his lips pressed against her breast. ‘This is the new beginning, sweetheart. We’ll be all right now. You’ll see.’

‘Let me up, Billy. Mum and Granny will be here in a minute. What will they think?’

Lying back on the pillow with his hands behind his head, Billy’s face split in a satisfied
grin. ‘Hell’s teeth, Rose, they’ve both had husbands. They know what it’s all about.’

‘Don’t be disgusting.’ Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Rosetta slipped on her chemise and bent to retrieve her corsets from the floor. ‘Lace me up, quick. Tight as you can.’

‘I like you better as you are,’ Billy said, raising himself on his elbow.

‘Don’t talk daft. There’s work to do.’

Rosetta had just finished dressing when Sarah arrived armed with a mop and bucket, followed by Granny Mole, grumbling as usual. Martha was howling dismally like a small, purple-faced banshee and Elsie was plainly agitated.

‘Baby’s hungry,’ Elsie said, thrusting Martha into Rosetta’s arms. ‘Been crying all the way down Spivey Street with folks staring at me like I was sticking pins into her.’

‘I’ll get on with the chores,’ Sarah said, rolling up her sleeves. ‘You see to the baby.’

‘Get on with it for Gawd’s sake,’ muttered Granny Mole. ‘Can’t stand listening to that noise. And why haven’t you got a fire going, Rose? What have you been doing all this time?’

‘Leave her be, Ma,’ Sarah said, getting down on her hands and knees in front of the fireplace. ‘Let Rose see to baby and I’ll light the fire. Elsie, go and fetch coal and kindling while I clean out the grate.’

Shamed into working by Sarah’s gallant efforts, Rosetta spent all day scrubbing floors and cleaning out cupboards while Elsie looked after the baby and Granny sat by the fire, issuing instructions. Billy kept out of the way, remaining in the bakehouse with Ted, using the excuse that he was getting to grips with the ovens as he prepared for his first solo attempt at baking bread.

Collapsing into bed that night in a state of exhaustion, Rosetta fell into a deep sleep. It was still dark when she woke up next morning, and Billy’s side of the bed was cold and empty. She had been dimly aware that he had risen in the early hours of the morning to start the day’s baking and she stretched out, luxuriating in having the bed all to herself. But her pleasure was short-lived as her warm feet touched the ice-cold sheets and she curled back into a ball, listening to the rumbling of carts and the clip-clopping of horses’ hooves coming from the street below. The tramp of hobnail boots on cobbles sounded like an army marching as the factory workers headed for work. Rosetta stretched and yawned, thinking of the women at Bronski’s who would be waiting in the dank alley for Vinegar Lil to let them in to start their daily grind. At least, now she was married to Billy, she was spared from returning to that particular hell.

A thin mewling wail from upstairs told her that Martha had awakened and she could hear Elsie’s bare feet pitter-pattering across the floorboards as she went to pick up the baby. Rosetta sat up in bed, reaching for her shawl and shivering. Her breasts were heavy with milk and she could feel warm trickles oozing from her swollen nipples. There must be something seriously wrong with her, she thought, sighing heavily. She was a rotten mother and she had hated everything about being pregnant and giving birth. If she was one of those rich women she read about in the penny dreadfuls, then she would have been able to hand the baby over to a wet nurse and a nanny. But she wasn’t rich and no one seemed to be interested in how she was feeling. Billy was so daft about Martha you’d think she was his kid, and that made Rosetta feel even worse. She could hear Elsie coming down the stairs, chatting to Martha as though the baby could understand every word, but then Elsie was doolally and she probably expected Martha to answer her.

The door opened and Elsie scuttled in with the baby swaddled in a shawl. ‘Are you ready for her, miss?’

Reluctantly, Rosetta uncovered a breast, wincing as Martha latched onto her sore nipple like a hungry leech. ‘Fetch me some tea, Elsie, with lots of sugar, and then you can light the fire in the living room.’

Billy dashed upstairs at midday, flushed and triumphant, having sold out of everything and wanting Rosetta to mind the shop while he and Sarah prepared a fresh batch of loaves and cakes. In the middle of feeding Martha, Rosetta sent Elsie down in her place, but she returned almost immediately, sobbing and shaking, terrified of being left alone to deal with strangers.

Hoisting Martha over her shoulder, Rosetta turned to Granny Mole for help.

‘I ain’t working in no shop; I’m too old for that lark,’ Granny said, glowering. ‘And anyway, I can’t do nothing on an empty stomach. Here we are in a bakery and I ain’t had no nourishment since breakfast. I’m fading away and no one cares.’

Biting back an angry retort, Rosetta jumped to her feet, thrusting Martha into Elsie’s arms. ‘Here, you look after baby. I’ll sort this out once and for all.’

Marching into the bakehouse, Rosetta stopped as the heat hit her in the face, sucking the air from her lungs. Inhaling the fine white flour, Rosetta sneezed and coughed. Sarah was up to her elbows in cake mixture and Billy, looking more like a snowman than a baker, was kneading bread dough.

‘I can’t look after baby and see to the customers,’ Rosetta said, arms akimbo. ‘Elsie is useless in the shop and Granny is grumbling because she’s hungry.’

Snatching up a tray of buns, Sarah thrust it into Rosetta’s hands. ‘Here, give them these and a cup of tea. I been so busy I forgot all about food.’

‘It’s only our first day, pet,’ Billy said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘We’ll work it out.’

Rosetta stared at him. Where was the dapper, good-looking Billy Noakes who was good for a laugh and always seemed to have money to spend? This red-faced, sweating man with his face streaked with flour looked like a circus clown. Hating him and hating herself even more, Rosetta went into the shop to serve.

As she had known she would, Rosetta hated having to serve the poorest of the poor in Whitechapel. Slatternly women, snotty-nosed kids and old people smelling like bad cheese wandered daily in a raggle-taggle procession through the door, with nothing but farthings, halfpennies and pennies to spend. Rosetta knew she ought to feel compassion for the half-starved urchins who came in begging for stale bread, but it was hard to love the poor when they dropped fleas in showers onto the sawdust and scratched lice-ridden heads with filthy fingers. It was worth the odd crust or stale bun simply to get them out of her shop.

There were plenty of disasters in the bakehouse when the yeast refused to rise or the oven
was too hot or too cold and the bread was ruined. On those days, when all she had to stock the counter were Sarah’s cakes, customers grumbled but they queued outside for hours waiting for the fresh batch of bread. Some chose to walk to the nearest bakery in Spitalfields but many were too old, sick or weak from near starvation to make the distance. Rosetta grew to dread those mornings, when the line of white-faced, bone-thin women and children peered at her through the window with reproachful eyes.

Billy worked harder than anyone, getting up long before dawn and going to bed late, too exhausted to make any demands on Rosetta. She had waited anxiously for the start of her monthlies, terrified that she might have conceived again, and weeping tears of relief when she discovered one morning that she had worried for nothing. Having washed and dressed, Rosetta tiptoed downstairs to the small kitchen behind the shop, treading on the edge of the stairs to avoid loud creaks that might disturb Martha, who slept so lightly that a bat’s sneeze would wake her. She had just made a pot of tea when the shop door rattled, and Rosetta hurried to let Sarah in before she rang the doorbell.

‘You look more cheerful this morning,’ Sarah said, angling her head like an inquisitive robin.