The River Maid Read online

  But there was no point dwelling on the past. Essie heaved a sigh and returned to the parlour where she used the last of the coal and kindling to light the fire.

  ‘Where’s me tea, Essie?’ Jacob demanded crossly. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘All in good time, Pa. I’ve only got one pair of hands.’ Essie sighed and scrambled to her feet. The pail, which was normally filled with water, was empty and that meant a short walk to the communal pump at the end of the street. Jacob normally undertook this, although it was done under protest. She left by the back door and went out through the tiny yard to the narrow passageway that separated White’s Rents from the ropeyard, the tarring house and the other buildings associated with rope making. The smell of hot tar lingered in the air, filling her lungs and making her cough, but she hurried to the pump and joined the queue of ragged women and barefoot children.

  ‘Looks as if it’s come straight from the river,’ the woman in front of Essie complained. ‘I dunno why we don’t just dip our buckets in Limehouse Hole and hope to catch a few fish as well.’

  ‘This water’s got legs.’ Her companion sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand as she stared at the murky water in her bucket. ‘Fish can’t live in this stuff.’

  Essie knew better than to join in the conversation, but she had no intention of drinking the water in its present state. An old woman who had survived the cholera epidemic of 1848 had told her to boil water before drinking it, and she had done so ever since. Pa had said much the same thing, only he used it as an excuse to sup more ale. Essie filled her bucket and returned home, but as she entered through the back door she heard the sound of male voices coming from the parlour.

  She stopped to fill the kettle before going to investigate, but the front door closed as she entered the room. ‘Who was that, Pa?’

  Jacob gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘The answer to our problems, girl. We’ve got a lodger and he’s willing to pay handsomely for a room, with no questions asked.’

  ‘We haven’t got a spare room, for a start, and who is this mysterious person?’

  ‘It’s only temporary, and I can’t get up the stairs while I’m like this, so I told him he can have mine. You’d best see to it. Put clean sheets on the bed, or whatever you need to do to make it comfortable.’

  ‘All right,’ Essie said slowly. ‘But I’d like to know who it is who’ll be sleeping in the room next to mine. I might be murdered in my bed, or worse.’

  ‘You don’t need to know his name, and you won’t be seeing anything of him. He’ll sleep all day and go out at night. It’s only for a short while, so don’t ask questions. Anyway, he’s paying good money for the privilege, so leave it at that.’ Jacob shifted on his seat and pulled a face, uttering a loud groan. ‘Where’s that laudanum? I’m in agony.’

  Essie returned to the kitchen and poured the last of yesterday’s boiled water into a tin mug, adding a few drops of laudanum. She took it to her father, holding it just out of his reach.

  ‘Don’t tease me, Essie. I’m in agony.’

  ‘I’ll give it to you when you tell me who this “lodger” is and why he’s hiding here.’

  Jacob glared at her, licking his dry lips and grimacing with pain. ‘His name is his own business, and that’s all you need to know. I’m not telling you anything else, girl, so give me my medicine.’

  Essie could see that this was getting her nowhere and she handed him the mug. ‘When do we expect him to arrive, Pa?’

  ‘Just leave the back door unlocked. He’ll come and go as he pleases. You don’t have to do anything other than keep out of his way.’

  ‘I dislike him already,’ Essie said bitterly. ‘He must be a criminal if he has to creep about in the darkness. I don’t like it, Pa. I really don’t.’

  ‘Here, take this.’ Jacob pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and placed it in her outstretched hand. ‘Maybe that will change your mind. Pay off that bloodsucking rent collector and get some proper food in, and some ale. What our friend does is none of our business.’

  ‘Friend!’ Essie tossed her head. ‘I’ll go along with it because there’s nothing else I can do, but I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  That night Essie lay in her bed, listening to every creak and groan of the old timbers as they contracted after the heat of the day. The background noise from overcrowded dwellings, street fights and infants wailing was always the same, whether it was noon or the early hours of the morning, but tonight was different. She had tried to elicit more information about their mysterious lodger from her father, but he had refused to be drawn, and now her mind was buzzing with questions and she was apprehensive. Life was difficult enough without getting directly involved in criminal activities. The night runs she had done with Pa had been testing, but work was hard to find and they had to eat. She dozed and eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, but was awakened suddenly.

  She sat up, straining her ears. The hinges on the back door were rusty and she was certain she had heard the scrape of boots on the flagstones in the kitchen. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and seized her wrap, slipping it around her as she stood up and went to open her bedroom door. Her heart was pounding and she hesitated as she heard the door at the foot of the stairs open and close again, as softly as a whisper. Then the shadowy outline of a man filled the narrow space and he was ascending the stairs, two steps at a time.

  ‘Stop.’ Essie barred his way. ‘Who are you?’

  He came to a halt, raising his head but in the darkness his face was a pale blur. ‘You were told to ignore my presence.’ His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, and she could not tell if he was young or old, but it was obvious from the way he spoke that this was no ordinary criminal.

  ‘You are in my home,’ Essie said boldly, although her knees were trembling and she was poised ready to retreat into her room and slam the door in his face. ‘I have the right to know your name at least, and what sort of business you have that can only be done by night.’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

  ‘Your name, sir. I refuse to share my house with someone who is afraid to make himself known to me.’

  ‘And what do you propose to do about it, Miss Chapman? Your father has agreed to this.’

  ‘But I have not.’ Essie folded her arms, staring down at him. ‘You might be a murderer, for all I know.’

  He mounted the last of the steps so that they were standing close together on the small landing. ‘Then perhaps you should be afraid. Your father is sound asleep – drugged with laudanum and ale, I should imagine from the smell downstairs. We are alone and I have you at my mercy. What do you intend to do about it?’

  The blood was drumming in her ears in a deafening tattoo, but she was not going to let him see that she was afraid. ‘You don’t frighten me, sir. My father has made an agreement with you, which I must honour for now, but if I discover that you are engaged in criminal activities I will have no hesitation in reporting you to the police.’

  ‘Which is my room?’ he asked, stifling a yawn. ‘I’m tired and I need to sleep.’

  ‘You haven’t answered any of my questions.’

  ‘And I don’t intend to. There are things that you don’t need to know.’ He stepped past her and opened the door to Jacob’s room. ‘The bed has not been slept in so I assume this must be mine.’

  As he pushed past her Essie had felt the warmth and a scent that was unforgettable. ‘I recognise you now. I brought you ashore from the foreign ship yesterday evening.’

  He glanced over his shoulder as he was about to enter Jacob’s room. ‘Very clever of you, but I’d advise you to put it from your mind.’

  ‘Who are you? You might do me the courtesy of telling me your name.’

  ‘You may call me Raven,’ he murmured, and shut the door.

  ‘Raven?’ she repeated dazedly. ‘What sort of name is Raven?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’
Jacob said crossly. ‘It’s better that you know nothing about our friend.’

  ‘He’s not my friend,’ Essie countered. ‘I don’t like it, Pa.’

  ‘Just get on with your work, girl. I want you to go to the wharfinger’s office and see if he’s got any jobs that you can do. I don’t know how long our guest will be staying or how long I’m going to be laid up. Don’t think I’m enjoying this, because I’m not.’

  Essie relented. Her father’s face was lined with suffering and he looked pale and ill. ‘All right, Pa. I’ll go out and get some fresh bread for breakfast and some coffee from the stall in Nightingale Lane.’

  ‘I haven’t got money to burn,’ Jacobs muttered. ‘You ought to make up the fire and put the kettle on.’

  Essie took a deep breath, praying for patience. ‘I would, Pa. But we’ve run out of coal and kindling.’

  ‘Oh, well, do what you must, girl.’ Jacob lay back and closed his eyes. ‘I can’t sleep properly on this thing. I miss my bed.’

  Essie snatched up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, biting back the sharp words that threatened to tumble from her lips. ‘I’ll be back soon, Pa.’

  She let herself out of the house and hurried down the street, nodding to Gaffer Wiggins, the chimney sweep, who was mustering his gang of small apprentices ready for the day’s work. Essie smiled at the boys, all of them tiny, undernourished and very young, but they did not respond. She saw them nearly every day and, had it been in her power, she would have taken them home, given them a bath in the tin tub in front of the fire and fed them nourishing food. But they belonged to their master and the many attempts by those in power to improve their lot had been largely ignored.

  Essie sighed and walked on, heading for the wharfinger’s office. Maybe one day she would find herself in a position to help the poor and downtrodden, but now the need to find work was uppermost in her mind. And she did not trust the man who called himself Raven.

  Chapter Two

  Essie heaved the boat across the stony foreshore and secured it to an iron ring above the high-water mark. She had just returned from taking a junior dock official to Limehouse Hole Pier, a job too small to be considered worthwhile by the watermen, but there had been a degree of urgency from Saul Hoskins, who was afraid he might face the sack if he was late for work yet again. Saul lived in Thomas’s Rents and Essie knew his young wife, Marie, who was the mother of twin girls and had recently given birth to a boy. If Saul lost his job the family would face an uncertain future and Essie had been only too glad to help, even if Saul could only afford to reward her with a penny for her efforts. Rowing fiercely against the tide was exhausting work, but she had got him to work on time.

  It was a week since Raven, their mysterious lodger, had moved into Jacob’s room. Very little had changed in number seven White’s Rents, but Essie had to admit that Raven’s contribution to the housekeeping had made their lives easier. They had paid off the arrears on the rent and had eaten well every day, although Essie had kept some of the money aside, hiding it beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom. Their lodger would move on soon, or so she hoped, but Jacob was not yet fit to return to the river and she would have to earn enough money to keep them both until he was strong enough to work. She was still curious and not a little worried about Raven’s activities, but he kept himself to himself and neither she nor her father had seen him to speak to since that first night.

  Essie hitched up her damp skirts, wishing that she could wear breeches like the men, but it was difficult enough for a girl to find gainful employment, without shocking the male population and antagonising them. She had many acquaintances on the wharves and amongst the lightermen and watermen, but she knew that they tolerated her for her father’s sake, although he came in for a certain amount of criticism for allowing his daughter to take his place. She did not want to be an object of pity, but she was realistic enough to know her limitations when it came to physical strength. She had always thought of the turbulent River Thames as an entity in its own right, with a throbbing heart that would go on for ever: the river was to be respected, feared and never taken for granted. She climbed Duke Shore Stairs and had just reached the wharf when she spotted Ben, who was chatting to one of the crane operators. He broke off his conversation and hurried to meet her, dodging between piles of crates and coils of rope.

  ‘You’re looking very serious. Is anything wrong, Essie?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t managed to come round to see your pa, but we’ve been working day and night for the last week.’

  ‘That’s all right. Pa doesn’t feel up to having visitors.’

  ‘How is he doing? It’s going about that he might not walk again.’

  ‘Whoever is spreading such lies should mind their own business,’ Essie said sharply. ‘Pa’s improving every day. He’s moving about the house, although he can’t make the stairs yet, but he’ll be back to work soon.’

  ‘All right, don’t bite my head off. I was only asking.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I’m not having an easy time. It’s just hard to make a living with such a small boat. I’ve taken Saul to work again this morning, and he could only afford to give me a penny.’

  ‘If you’re short of money I might be able to help.’ Ben’s weather-beaten features creased into a worried frown. ‘You’ve only got to ask.’

  ‘Thank you, but we’ll manage.’ Essie glanced round, hoping to spot a likely customer. ‘Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be working?’

  ‘Engine trouble. These new-fangled steam engines break down too often. Sometimes I think we were better rowing the wherries, even if it was hard work.’

  ‘Will it take long to fix it?’

  ‘I dunno, but the guvnor told me to take the morning off, or what’s left of it.’ Ben gave her a searching look. ‘Have you eaten today?’

  ‘Not yet. I was hoping to find another job, but it looks a bit quiet.’

  ‘There’s a pie seller in Shoulder of Mutton Alley. Come on, Essie. I’ll treat you to a pork pie and a cup of coffee.’

  It was an offer that was too good to refuse. Someone had eaten the last crust of bread and had scraped out what remained of the dripping. Essie had two suspects in mind, but her father was sound asleep on the sofa and there was no sound of movement from Raven’s bedroom. She had heard him come in at dawn, but she had given up trying to find out anything more about him, and so far his stay in their house had been uneventful. It was not his fault that the milk had gone off, although he was guilty for using the last of the tea. She would have to go shopping later, but that could wait.

  ‘That sounds wonderful.’ Essie linked arms with Ben. ‘I’m starving after all that rowing. The river is in a funny mood today, full of eddies and cross-currents. It’s behaving like a grumpy old man.’

  Ben threw back his head and laughed. ‘The things you say, Essie Chapman. It’s a river, it can’t think. It just does what it has to do and flows down to the sea.’

  ‘You say that, Ben, but I grew up in Limehouse like you, and I know the river. It’s the heart and soul of London and despite its moods and tantrums, I love it.’

  He patted her hand as it lay on his sleeve. ‘You need food inside you, love. You’re light-headed.’

  The pies contained more gristle than meat, but the pastry was thick and filling, and the coffee was hot and comforting. With a full stomach Essie felt more optimistic as she parted from Ben and walked to the wharfinger’s office.

  Riley, the wharfinger, a stocky man with a broken nose and grizzled grey hair, had once been a bare-knuckle fighter. What he lacked in stature he made up for with lightness of foot and dogged aggression. He had floored many a would-be champion, and the dockers, crane operators and watermen all treated him with respect.

  Riley looked up from the ledger he had been studying and his lined face crumpled into a smile. ‘Essie, me darling, how are you today?’

  ‘I’m
well, thank you, Mr Riley. Have you any work for me?’

  ‘Is that father of yours still not able to work?’

  ‘He’s getting better each day,’ Essie said firmly. ‘He doesn’t like being idle.’

  ‘It’s true I haven’t seen him in the Grapes recently, so he must be poorly.’

  ‘But I can take his place, Mr Riley. I’m as good at rowing as any man and I know the river better than most.’

  ‘’Tis also true, me darling, but you have to admit that you cannot match the men for strength.’ Riley leafed through a pile of paperwork. ‘Nothing today, I’m afraid. Go home, Essie, there’s a good girl.’ He bent his head over the book on his desk and she was effectively dismissed.

  Essie knew what he said was true but it still rankled. ‘Thank you, Mr Riley. I’ll pop in this afternoon, just in case anything turns up.’ He did not look up and she left the office, acknowledging the cheery waves from one or two of the men on the wharf and ignoring the salacious comments of those who regarded her as fair game, Diggory Tyce being one such person. If it were not for Ben’s watchful eye and strong arm, Diggory might have become a nuisance, but Essie knew of the waterman’s reputation with women and she kept out of his way as much as possible. Not that it was easy in the relatively small world of the river people at Limehouse, where brawn ruled and the strongest came out on top. Essie knew from past experience when to stand up for herself and when it was better to back away. Women’s work, according to almost all the men of her acquaintance, was to stay at home, marry, keep house, bring up children and cook and clean. Whether it was their father or their husband, men were their masters and it was a woman’s duty to do as she was told. Essie refused to believe this. She was certain that there must be more to life than drudgery and giving birth every year. She made her way to the grocer’s shop and purchased a few necessities before making her way home.

  She had just reached the door of number seven when it opened and she was almost bowled over by a tall man wearing a reefer jacket. His cap was pulled down over his brow but she was aware of a pair of intelligent, startlingly blue eyes set beneath straight black brows. The lower half of his face was covered by a small moustache and neatly clipped beard, but even though she had only seen him in the dark she knew it was the man who called himself Raven. For a brief moment their eyes met and then he tipped his cap and strode off.