The Christmas Rose Read online

  Then there was the question of finding more permanent accommodation. Cecilia’s friend had promised to make enquiries about the tenants of the Captain’s House, and Rose waited anxiously for the outcome. And then, to make matters worse, Eugene received the news that he had been waiting for. He had been accepted as an official correspondent even though hostilities in Egypt had ended some time since in victory for Adjutant-General Garnet Wolseley, and the country was now occupied by the British in order to bring stability to the region. Eugene was still keen to go, and, somewhat unwillingly, Arthur Radley had given him permission. It was a bitter blow to Rose, despite the fact that she was pleased for Eugene, but she was keenly aware that her days at the Leader were numbered. She had done her best to persuade Eugene to take her with him, but without success, and after a flurry of packing and making travel arrangements, she found herself on the station platform, waving goodbye to her friend and mentor.

  As the train chugged off, sending clouds of steam into the cold greyness of a November day, she knew that she would miss Eugene more than she would have thought possible. Standing on the dreary platform in the midst of a bustling crowd of travellers and people who had come to wish them on their way, she had never felt so alone and desperately lonely. There was nothing she could do other than to use the money Eugene had given her to take a cab back to the office, although she was certain of the outcome before she put a foot in the building.

  Nicholls shot her a triumphant look as she walked past him and the clerks turned their backs on her, but she could hear them muttering to each other and she knew that they were making fun of her. The reason for this became clear as she entered Eugene’s office to find Arthur Radley seated in Eugene’s chair, and a quick glance at her desk revealed nothing but a blank space. The typewriting machine was missing.

  ‘I’ve just seen Mr Sheldon off, sir,’ Rose said hastily.

  ‘You were absent without leave, Miss Munday. I’ve had nothing but complaints about your behaviour and your ability to do your work to the standard required. I’m sorry to say that your services are no longer needed.’

  ‘But Mr Sheldon promised that my job was safe, sir.’

  ‘Mr Sheldon was not in a position to say such a thing, and he will be away for some considerable time, so there is no place for you on my newspaper. You may collect your pay from the desk in reception, Miss Munday. That will be all.’

  ‘What have you done with the typewriting machine?’ Rose demanded angrily. ‘Mr Sheldon bought that with his own money.’

  ‘And he put it down on expenses, so it belongs to the company. Good day, Miss Munday.’

  Rose was left with no option but to retrace her steps through the outer office. She came to a halt in front of Nicholls’ desk.

  ‘I suppose you think you’ve won,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But you won’t find it so amusing when Mr Sheldon returns. I know you were responsible for this, Mr Nicholls, and I don’t forget an injustice.’ She stormed off without waiting for his response, although the sound of laughter followed her as she raced down the stairs, and, having collected her wages, she left the building. The sensible thing to do would be to take a cab back to Tavistock Square, but Rose was too upset to think logically and for some odd reason she found herself heading in the direction of Wapping. With her head bent she barely noticed the inviting shop windows filled with items to entice even the most pernickety customer to step inside and make a purchase. Not that Rose could afford to waste money on fripperies – she had been doing well, working in a man’s world, but it had all come to nothing and she was now unemployed. She would have to find work elsewhere, and that was going to prove difficult for someone without any formal training.

  The aroma of baking wafted out through the open door of a bakery, and the fragrance of hot pies and rich fruitcakes mingled with that of freshly baked bread. Rose’s stomach rumbled, but she walked on, resisting the temptation to purchase a meat pie from a street seller on the corner of Farringdon Street and Ludgate Hill. She continued, battling against a cold east wind, but she came to a halt at the sight of a barefoot waif, standing in a shop doorway, offering sprigs of dried lavender for a farthing apiece. Rose stopped to take a threepenny bit from her purse, which she handed to the child.

  ‘No, I don’t want any lavender, thank you. Buy yourself some food.’

  The girl, who could not have been more than eight or nine years old and was painfully thin and pale, tried to speak but her teeth were chattering so much that her words were inaudible. Rose took a silver sixpence from her purse, and pressed it into the little one’s cold hand. ‘Get yourself something warm to wear.’

  ‘Me d-d-dad will take the m-m-money off m-me.’ The blue eyes filled with tears, which ran down the girl’s thin cheeks making runnels in the grime.

  Rose hesitated. This poor man’s child was one of thousands who tried to grub a living in any way they could, but there was something about this little girl that touched Rose’s heart. She grabbed her by the hand. ‘We’ll see about that. Come with me.’

  ‘I weren’t doing nothing wrong, miss,’ the child sobbed. ‘Don’t take me to the police station.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m going to get you some decent clothes and a pair of boots.’ Rose retraced her steps to the second-hand clothes shop she had noticed a few doors down the street. ‘Come inside, we’ll sort something out. You don’t want catch your death of cold, do you?’ Rose lifted the child over the threshold and was appalled to discover how little the girl weighed, and the feel of her stick-thin limbs reminded Rose of a sparrow she had once tried to save after it had fallen from its nest. So long ago – she had been about this child’s age then.

  The dolly shop had the rank smell of garments well-worn and unwashed, but Rose had put her own problems behind her and she was on a mission to save a young life.

  A blowsy woman with a pipe clenched between her teeth emerged from a back room. ‘What d’you want, missis?’

  ‘Clothes for this child. Anything would be better than the rags she’s wearing.’

  The woman reached out a claw-like hand to clutch Rose by the arm. ‘You’re wasting your time, luv. I know this nipper. Her ma is never sober and whatever you buys her will be back here before nightfall.’

  ‘Surely a mother wouldn’t do that to her own flesh and blood?’ Rose protested.

  ‘Not her, missis. Sid Piggin, the man this kid calls her pa, will strip her naked and sell her things to pay for a pipe of opium. There’s no helping these sorts. Save your money.’

  Rose looked down at the child, who was sobbing quietly. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Of course it’s true,’ the woman snapped. ‘D’you think I’d do meself out of a sale? I got six nippers of me own, that’s why I’m telling you. Do the kid a favour and drop her off at the workhouse. At least she’ll get clothed and fed, and won’t be sold later for the pleasure of them what should know better.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Rose bent down, so that her face was on a level with the weeping child.

  ‘S-s-sparrow, m-miss.’

  ‘Is that your surname?’ Rose shot a questioning look at the pipe-smoking woman, who was regarding her with a squinty smile.

  ‘She don’t know what a surname is, luv. I heard the man call her that, so it’s probably the only thing she answers to.’

  Rose fought back tears of sympathy, and forced herself to be practical. ‘Please look out some decent clothes for her, and a damp flannel would help.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the nipper? You ain’t going to sell her down the market, are you?’

  ‘Would you care if I did?’ Rose took Sparrow’s hand in hers and gave it an encouraging squeeze. ‘I’m taking this poor child to a place where she’ll be looked after and treated like a human being.’

  ‘Not the workhouse then.’ The woman stomped off and began rifling through a rack of small garments. ‘Have a look at these duds. I keep them for special customers, but it’ll cost you.’

 
‘I don’t care. She needs warm clothing and I’ll pay.’ Rose fingered her reticule, knowing that her wages would not go far, but young Sparrow had touched her heart and she was not going to abandon her now.

  Somewhat begrudgingly the shopkeeper provided a damp cloth, and Rose managed to clean the worst of the dirt from Sparrow’s face and hands, but a warm bath was what the girl needed most and her lank hair, thick with grease and running with head lice, might prove to be mousy or blonde, it was impossible to tell.

  Twenty minutes later, Sparrow was almost unrecognisable in a red woollen frock and thick black stockings, with only a couple of holes that didn’t show beneath a red flannel petticoat. Rose helped her into a dark blue serge coat, adding a knitted woollen hat and mittens, and they had found a pair of boots that were almost perfect and fitted reasonably well. Sparrow had stopped shivering and if her cheeks weren’t exactly rosy, her lips were losing the blue tinge that had made her look so ill. Rose paid the money without a second thought.

  The shopkeeper tapped her pipe on the sole of her boot, sending a shower of dottle onto the dried earth floor. ‘You’d best get her away from here before Piggin turns up to collect her takings, and watch out he don’t send Regan looking for you, missis. You don’t want to meet up with the likes of him.’

  A shiver ran down Rose’s spine at the mention of Regan’s name. ‘Thanks for the warning.’ She grabbed Sparrow by the hand. ‘I’ll make sure that man doesn’t come anywhere near you again, you poor little soul.’

  ‘Good luck, missis.’ The shopkeeper slammed the door behind them.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Sparrow asked urgently. ‘You ain’t selling me body like the woman said, are you, miss?’

  ‘Certainly not. You can forget about things like that. I’m taking you to a nice lady who has two little children, younger than you, and then we’ll decide what’s best.’

  ‘He’ll beat me black and blue when he finds me, and he will.’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it. Fate must have guided my feet this way for a purpose,’ Rose said firmly. ‘Come along, Sparrow. I’m hungry and I expect you are too.’

  ‘I’m bloody starving.’

  ‘It would be better if you didn’t say words like that in future. It’s not very nice.’

  ‘I know worse words than that.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, but it’s probably best to keep them to yourself.’ Rose came to a sudden halt. ‘Perhaps I should speak to your mother before I take you away from here. Do you know where she is?’

  ‘In the pub. That’s where you’ll find her. I was to take me lavender money to her.’

  Rose thought quickly. It would be a risk, but she did not want to be accused of kidnapping someone’s child. ‘Take me there, Sparrow. You don’t have to go in with me, if you don’t want to. I’ll deal with this.’

  The pub was situated in a narrow alley that stank of urine and animal excrement, and the interior was squalid, low-beamed and gloomy. The air was thick with tobacco smoke, and great puffs of soot billowed from the chimney, sending showers of black flakes falling like rain on the drinkers. Rose clutched Sparrow’s hand as they moved from table to table, peering at the occupants in her search for the child’s mother. Eventually, in the inglenook by the desultory fire, Sparrow pointed a shaking finger at a woman who was slouched on a wooden settle. Her chin was resting on her chest and her straggly brown hair was straw-like and matted with dirt.

  ‘She’s drunk,’ Sparrow said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘You’ll have to prod her hard or she won’t answer you.’

  Rose glanced anxiously at the woman, who looked as though she could handle herself in a scrap, if the bruises on her knuckles were anything to go by, although she was now semi-comatose. Rose cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me, missis.’

  A loud snore escaped the woman’s lips and her large bosom lifted and fell like the incoming tide.

  ‘Prod her,’ Sparrow urged. ‘Poke her in the ribs.’

  Rose was not about to start a fight, but she needed to get the woman’s attention and she picked up the empty tankard and banged it hard on the table in front of her.

  ‘Eh? What?’

  ‘It’s me, Ma.’ Sparrow moved closer, tugging at her mother’s sleeve with her small hand.

  ‘What’s your mother’s name?’ Rose whispered. ‘What should I call her?’

  ‘Bitch,’ Sparrow said solemnly. ‘That’s what Piggin calls her. I calls her Ma.’

  Rose could see this conversation was going nowhere. She leaned over Sparrow’s drunken mother and shook her hard. ‘Excuse me, but I need to speak to you.’

  A pair of bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes opened, and the woman’s bleary gaze fell on her small daughter. ‘Where d’you get them duds? You don’t go thieving unless I tells you to.’ She shot a sideways glance at Rose. ‘If she’s stole them from you, lady, you can take her to the police station. I don’t want nothing to do with her no more.’

  ‘Is this your daughter?’

  ‘I ain’t saying nothing.’

  Rose tried again. ‘She says she’s your child.’

  The woman raised herself to a sitting position. ‘I took her in after her ma threw herself off London Bridge. She ain’t nothing to me, and I don’t want no trouble. Take her and good riddance.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Sparrow said calmly. ‘She’s a drunken whore, that’s what Regan says.’

  ‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.’ The woman’s hand flew out to grasp Sparrow by the throat.

  ‘No, don’t do that.’ Spurred on by anger and horrified to hear Regan’s name on a child’s lips, Rose grasped the woman’s thin arm and prised the bony fingers apart until she released her hold on Sparrow. ‘You’re not fit to look after a child.’

  ‘Take her – I can’t bear the sight of her.’

  ‘She might have relatives who would care for her. What was her mother’s name?’

  ‘If she had a family they must have thrown her out years ago, and then she got in with Regan. No wonder the poor bitch drowned herself.’

  ‘But if you knew her well enough to take care of her child, you must have a name for her.’

  ‘Ask Regan. He knows the names of all his girls. Now leave me alone and take the brat with you. I ain’t telling you nothing more.’ She glanced over Rose’s shoulder. ‘Talk of the devil. He’s just come through the door and he’s coming this way.’

  Chapter Ten

  Rose glanced over her shoulder and saw Regan heading towards the bar. Keeping her head down, she grabbed Sparrow by the hand and hustled her out of the taproom. They emerged from the pub to find that feathery flakes of snow had begun to fall from a cast-iron sky, and their breath curled around their heads as they ran.

  ‘I don’t think he saw us,’ Rose said breathlessly when they reached the relative safety of Cheapside.

  ‘It were a near thing.’ Sparrow gazed up at her wide-eyed. ‘Why are you doing this for me? What’s in it for you, miss? I don’t understand.’

  Rose gazed at the small, pointed face and large blue enquiring eyes. ‘I couldn’t bear to see you so badly treated, but if you’d rather go back to that woman and your old life, I can’t stop you.’

  ‘Not bloody likely.’ Sparrow’s hand flew to cover her mouth. ‘Sorry, miss. It just slipped out. I’ll try to watch me tongue, just don’t let me go back to Ma and Piggin.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’ Rose raised her hand to hail a cab. ‘We’re going to Wapping to see a friend of mine. You’ll like Maria, she’s a very nice lady.’ She waited until the vehicle came to a halt at the kerbside and lifted Sparrow onto the seat before climbing in beside her. ‘Great Hermitage Street, please, cabby.’

  Sparrow settled huddled up against Rose as the horse moved forward into the traffic. ‘I ain’t never been in one of these,’ she whispered. ‘I feels like a grand lady.’

  Rose smiled and slid her arm around the small body, holding her close as the cab swayed and rattled over the snow-c
overed cobblestones. Was she doing the right thing? Only time would tell, but she could not have left this small scrap of humanity to the mercy of people who cared nothing for her. But the reality of her situation began to dawn on her with every hoofbeat and each spin of the wheels as the cab made its way through the crowded city streets. Rose glanced down at Sparrow, who had been lulled to sleep by the motion of the cab and the fact that she was warm and well dressed, probably for the first time in her short life. Rose held her close, protecting her from the more violent lurching as the cabby shouted curses at pedestrians and other vehicles that crossed their path.

  When they eventually arrived outside Maria’s house it was Edna who answered Rose’s knock on the door. She stared pointedly at Sparrow. ‘Is this your sister, miss?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No, we’re not related. Is Mrs Barnaby at home?’

  ‘She’s in the back parlour. D’you want me to tell her you’re here?’

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ Rose struggled to keep a straight face. The contrast between the well-trained servants in Tavistock Square and Edna’s clumsy efforts made her want to laugh, but she did not want to hurt the woman’s feelings.

  ‘Shall I take your cape and gloves, miss?’ Edna shifted from one foot to the other. ‘And what about the nipper?’ She bent down, grinning at Sparrow. ‘What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Why d’you want to know?’ Sparrow asked suspiciously. ‘What’s it to you?’

  Edna straightened up, her smile fading. ‘Pardon me, I’m sure. Hang your own coat on the hallstand if that’s your attitude, young ’un.’

  ‘Mind your manners, dear.’ Rose sent a warning glance in Sparrow’s direction as she took off her mantle and handed it to Edna.

  ‘Spikey little thing, ain’t she?’ Edna eyed Sparrow warily. ‘I’ll count the silver spoons and things when you’ve gone, nipper. So don’t think you can get away with anything in Mrs Barnaby’s house.