The Mistletoe Seller Page 5

  Angel shielded her eyes from the sunlight and found herself looking up at an older girl with a freckled face and a mop of carroty curls escaping from a straw bonnet. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I asked first. You ain’t one of us, so what d’you think you’re doing taking my pitch?’

  Angel scrambled to her feet. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What place is this?’

  ‘Are you a bit of a simpleton? This here is Covent Garden Market. Where have you been all your life?’

  Angel eyed her warily. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Hoity-toity, ain’t yer? And you wearing duds what must have cost a pretty penny. Come on then, tell us who you are and what you’re doing here.’

  ‘To tell you the truth I’m lost. My name is Angel Winter and I ran away from the workhouse last night.’

  ‘You was in the workhouse?’

  ‘Only for a few hours. I told you, I ran away. I wasn’t going to stay in a place like that. Mr Galloway left me there, but he was supposed to take me to a family in Essex. I have to get to Maddox Street and tell my aunt what he did. She thinks he’s a nice man, but he isn’t. He’s bad and he’s cruel, and I worry about Aunt Cordelia.’ Angel’s voice broke on a sob and she turned her head away. She didn’t want this strange creature to see her cry.

  ‘Seems to me you’ve had a run of bad luck, nipper.’ The girl laid her hand on Angel’s shoulder. ‘I’m Dolly Chapman and I sell flowers, when I can get hold of ’em.’

  Angel looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Flowers cost money, stupid. I have to sell buttonholes and such to earn enough to keep body and soul together. I ain’t got no money to pay them hawkers what they ask.’

  Dolly’s snub-nosed face seemed to fade away and Angel closed her eyes.

  ‘Here, don’t pass out on me, nipper.’ Dolly gave her a shake. ‘You don’t look too good. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I think so. My tummy hurts.’

  ‘You’re a baby,’ Dolly said scornfully. ‘Sit there and I’ll see what I can do. I’m a bit peckish meself, as it happens.’ She sashayed off in the direction of a coffee stall and returned minutes later carrying a steaming mug and two bread rolls. She handed one to Angel. ‘Get that down yer and you can share my coffee.’

  ‘I’m not allowed coffee,’ Angel said before she could stop herself.

  ‘Hark at you, miss. I dunno where you come from, but it weren’t from round here. You’ll put up with coffee or you’ll have to go and find a horse trough and drink the water them big brutes have slobbered in.’

  Angel swallowed a mouthful of buttered roll. ‘I’m sorry. I’d be grateful for a sip of your coffee, please, Dolly.’

  Dolly handed her the mug. ‘I dunno how a young lady like you ended up in the workhouse, but it’ll make a good tale to tell the others of a night when we’re warming ourselves round the watchman’s brazier.’

  ‘Are there more of you?’

  ‘Lord love you, my duck. You might have dropped out of the sky like a real angel, for all I knows. Eat your grub and I’ll show you how to snatch some blooms, but you’ll have to look out for yourself. Them as come from east of Clare Market are the ones to watch – spiteful little cats, all of ’em. They’d do their own mothers down to pay for a tot of blue ruin.’

  ‘Blue ruin?’

  ‘Gin, my duck. Don’t you know nothing?’

  Angel took a sip of coffee. It was hot and sweet with an overlying hint of bitterness, but it warmed her stomach. ‘I’m a quick learner,’ she said hastily. ‘Thank you very much for the bread, and the coffee.’

  ‘Come on then. Stir your stumps, Angel. We’ve got work to do. You’ll need some brass to pay for a night’s lodging, otherwise you’ll be sleeping here again. It ain’t easy to survive on the streets.’ Dolly led the way across the cobblestones to the floral hall where the perfume of garden flowers mingled with that of more exotic blooms, and the explosion of colour made Angel gasp with delight. Despite her recent traumatic experiences she was transported to a world where peace and beauty abounded – but not for long. Dolly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside to where the blooms were being unpacked. A sea of heads and flailing arms, flying skirts and cat-like howls accompanied the frenzied actions of the women and girls who were snatching the fallen blossoms from the dusty ground. Dolly dived in head first.

  Angel could only stand and stare, but in a heartbeat it was all over and the crowd dispersed, each of the women clutching handfuls of flower heads and sprigs of greenery. Dolly faced up to an older woman who attempted to snatch a rosebud from her grasp. Their colourful language made Angel recoil in a mixture of horror and admiration. She had heard costermongers and draymen swearing at each other, but the expletives used by these two would have made a sailor blush.

  Dolly surged towards her. ‘Don’t tangle with Smutty Sue. She’s a nasty bitch and she once bit a porter’s finger off when he tried to stop a fight.’

  Angel shot a wary glance in Smutty Sue’s direction and she was convinced. The woman had long pointed teeth that looked like fangs, and straggly grey hair that barely hid the scars on her cheek and neck. Smutty Sue hawked and spat, sending a pool of tobacco juice onto the cobblestones.

  ‘She scares me,’ Angel whispered.

  ‘Rightly so.’ Dolly jerked her head in the direction of a group of younger girls who were now seated cross-legged outside the floral hall. ‘They’re all right, so long as you don’t pinch their flowers or their men. C’mon, Angel. I’ll show you how to make buttonholes.’

  Angel shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I really ought to go and find my aunt. Do you know where Maddox Street is?’

  ‘It’s up West somewhere. Not my territory, duck. Go if you want to, but from what you told me I doubt if the old girl will be able to help. She’s either sweet on your Mr Galloway, or she’s scared of him, and if he holds the purse strings she’ll do what he wants.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Angel said, frowning. ‘She really loved Uncle Joseph and I’m sure she only did what Mr Galloway said because she was scared. He pretended to be nice and kind, but he was putting it on.’

  ‘Men are all the same. They’re like puppeteers and women are the ones dancing on strings. But not me. I seen many women beaten and driven to an early grave by their fellers and no man is going to do that to me.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. I suppose Aunt Cordelia did do exactly what Uncle Joseph said. It’s just the way things are.’

  ‘Not here it ain’t.’ Dolly winked and tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. ‘We suit ourselves.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better go and find a few flowers then,’ Angel said reluctantly. ‘Smutty Sue won’t mind, will she?’

  ‘Sue don’t run our lives. Anyway, she’s got what she wanted. You go and see what you can rescue.’

  Angel made her way back to the floral hall, keeping an eye out for anyone who might take exception to her. Lumpy Lil would give Smutty Sue a run for her money, but the memory of Lil brought tears to Angel’s eyes. She must not cry or the flower girls would laugh at her. She took a deep breath, turning her attention to finding anything that the others had missed. A waft of sweet scent reminded her of her aunt’s linen press, where crisp Egyptian cotton sheets were strewn with sprigs of lavender, and she stopped at the stall where the plant was on sale.

  ‘What’s a young lady like you doing in a place like this?’ The stallholder eyed her curiously.

  ‘Why do you ask, sir?’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well, well, so you are indeed a well-bred girl and not of the normal sort who fight and scrap and swear like troopers. I thought perhaps you’d stolen those fine duds, but it seems I was wrong.’

  ‘I’m looking for broken flowers, sir. I hope to sell them to pay for my lodgings.’

  ‘Where are your parents, or have you run away from home?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m an orphan.’

  ‘Do you have a name, Miss Orp
han?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his grin was infectious.

  Despite her fear that he might realise that she was a runaway and call a constable, Angel found herself returning his smile. ‘My name is Angel, sir.’

  ‘An Angel – aptly named, I’m sure.’ He plucked a few sprigs of lavender from a container and handed them to her. ‘Take these. You’ll find the sweet-smelling flowers go best. Pinks, carnations and stocks are popular.’ He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. ‘But take care. Some of those girls are bad ’uns. Don’t be led astray.’

  Angel bobbed a curtsey. ‘I won’t, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘Be gone with you, and if you come and find me tomorrow I’ll see that you have something to sell.’ He proffered his hand. ‘Jack Wicks.’

  She shook his hand. ‘Angel Winter. Much obliged to you, sir.’

  The girls were chatting and giggling as their nimble fingers turned the discarded blooms into pretty nosegays and buttonholes. Dolly made room for Angel.

  ‘Well, I’m blowed,’ she said, whistling through her teeth. ‘How did you get hold of all that lavender?’

  ‘A kind man gave it to me.’

  Angel’s words were received with hoots of laughter.

  ‘What did you do to earn that, nipper?’ One of the older girls chortled with laughter and nudged her neighbour. ‘Did he put his hand up your skirt, love?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Angel said, horrified by the suggestion. ‘He’s a nice man.’

  ‘There’s no such thing. They’re all out for what they can get.’

  ‘That ain’t true, Nelly.’ One of the smaller girls spoke up. ‘My pa was ever so nice. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She began to snivel. ‘He were drownded when his lighter got mowed down in the dark by a steamer.’

  ‘Pay no attention to her,’ Dolly said hastily. ‘Nelly’s had a bad time, haven’t you, Nell?’

  That seemed to open the floodgates and before Nelly had a chance to tell her story they were all swapping experiences they had had at home and on the streets. Angel was shocked and alarmed by what she heard, but Dolly seemed to understand and she gave her a hug. ‘You just have to learn to be careful, my duck. Jack Wicks is all right, so you don’t have to be afraid of him, but be wary because they ain’t all like him.’ Dolly picked up a stem of pinks, discarding those blossoms that were crushed. ‘Now, watch what I do to make these into a buttonhole, and copy me. Then I’ll take you out on the streets and see how you do.’

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ Angel asked, bewildered by Dolly’s kindness.

  ‘I had a younger sister once.’ Dolly’s nimble fingers twisted the pinks into shape, adding a sprig of baby’s breath. ‘She was fair-haired like you and she had big blue eyes. Grace was always smiling, even though she was mortal sick. She were only ten when she went down with the fever that took Ma and me three brothers, all within days of each other. Dunno why I was spared, but here I am, and here you are, so let’s make the best of things and get on with our business.’

  ‘I know what you say is true,’ Angel said slowly, ‘but I must see my aunt again, and Lumpy Lil. I’m very grateful to you for helping me, Dolly, but I have to find them or die in the attempt.’

  Chapter Four

  Angel kept close to Dolly all day and she soon realised that she was in the hands of an expert when it came to persuading a reluctant public to part with its money. Dolly combined bare-faced cheek with friendly banter, which worked better with men than with women. By the end of the afternoon Angel had earned threepence, but that was not enough to pay for a night in the dosshouse used by many of the flower girls.

  ‘Don’t worry, my duck,’ Dolly said cheerfully. ‘I’ll help you out this once, but tomorrow you’ve got to stand on your own two feet. We’ll get to the market early and see what we can scrape off the floor, but you must make your own buttonholes and nosegays and you’ll have to find your own pitch.’

  ‘You mean I’ll have to go out on my own?’

  ‘You can do it, Angel. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you could use them big blue eyes to your advantage. Choose the older gents; they’ll be more likely to feel generous to a poor little orphan. The younger coves are a bit chancy. They might have other ideas, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘I think I do, but what about the girls? How do I know if I’m trespassing on someone’s pitch?’

  ‘You’ll have to use your loaf, and take my tip and talk a bit more like the rest of us. You talk like a toff and you dress like one too. We ought to get you some duds from a dolly shop, but that costs money. Anyway, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. The main thing now is to get something to eat and pay for a night’s snooze in Mother Jolly’s palace.’

  ‘A real palace?’

  Dolly sighed. ‘It’s a joke, Angel. You’ve got a lot to learn, my duck.’ She examined the contents of her pockets. ‘Sixpence – not a bad day. It costs fourpence a night at Mother Jolly’s, sixpence if we shares a bed. So if you add your threepence to my sixpence that comes to …’ Dolly started adding up on her fingers.

  ‘Ninepence,’ Angel said eagerly. ‘That leaves threepence for our supper.’

  ‘You’re a quick one, ain’t yer? You did that in your head.’ Dolly gazed at her with genuine admiration. ‘I wish I had more learning.’

  ‘You seem to do very well without it.’ Angel handed her three pennies. ‘What will we get for that?’

  ‘A pint of pea soup costs a ha’penny and a ha’penny for a mug of cocoa. That leaves us tuppence for breakfast. We can get by on that, but you’ll need to earn more tomorrow, nipper.’

  ‘I’ll try, Dolly. I’ll try really hard.’

  Mother Jolly’s lodging house in Monmouth Street was a four-storey building divided into a male section, on the top two floors, and a women’s section on the ground and first floors. Mother Jolly lived in the basement and put in an appearance only to take money or to throw an unruly tenant out onto the street. The women who paid fourpence for the privilege of sleeping in a wooden cot with a lumpy straw-filled mattress and a single blanket, regardless of the temperature outside, were mostly workers from Covent Garden market, but the male occupants were poor Irish migrant workers, and Angel’s first night was disturbed by the clumping of boots on the bare stair treads and even louder altercations. She huddled up against Dolly’s back and tried not to think of her old room in Spital Square and her comfortable feather bed. Perhaps this was all a bad dream, and when she awakened in the morning she would find herself at home with Lil grumbling as she drew back the curtains, and the aroma of the hot chocolate tempting her to sit up and drink from a bone-china cup.

  But next morning Angel was awakened by Dolly giving her a shake, and the smell of unwashed bodies filled her nostrils. She tumbled out of bed.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Time to get to work before the others wake up,’ Dolly whispered.

  Angel had slept in her shift and she retrieved her clothes from the end of the bed. ‘I think I’ve got measles or something, Dolly. I’m itching all over.’

  Dolly gave her a cursory look. ‘You ain’t sick, my duck. The bed bugs have been having a feast on you.’ Dolly pulled her ragged dress over her head and slipped her bare feet into her boots.

  ‘Bed bugs – that’s disgusting.’ Horrified, Angel stared at the red marks on her pale skin. ‘I’m not sleeping here again.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dolly said casually. ‘Come on. We’ve got enough money for a cup of coffee and a bread roll.’ Dolly tiptoed from the room and Angel hurried after her. She could not wait to get away from the bug-infested dosshouse, and the thought of another night in such a place made her even more determined to find her aunt.

  Dolly tried to dissuade her, but Angel would not be deterred. She made as many buttonholes as she could before the flower girls descended on the market like a flock of noisy seagulls, and kindly Jack Wicks loaned her a wicker basket.

  ‘You can return it to me in
the morning,’ he said, adding a few sprigs of lavender for good measure. ‘Just steer clear of the other flower sellers. They won’t tolerate anyone they think is trying to steal their pitch.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Angel said, nodding. ‘Can you direct me to Maddox Street, sir? My aunt is staying there and I need to find her.’

  ‘A well brought-up girl like you shouldn’t have to hawk buttonholes to all and sundry. I’d like to have a few words with that lady.’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. It’s not Aunt Cordelia’s fault. She thinks I’m safe in the country with a respectable family.’

  Jack Wicks stared at her, frowning. ‘I don’t know your story, girl, but if I had a daughter I wouldn’t want her to roam the streets and mix with the likes of those flower girls.’ He took a pencil from behind his ear and drew a sketch map on a scrap of paper. ‘You can read, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Wicks. I’m much obliged to you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’d take you there myself if I didn’t have to look after my stall. Good luck, Angel. I hope you find your aunt.’

  It was mid-morning by the time Angel reached Maddox Street. She had sold a couple of buttonholes, but most people were too busy going about their daily routine to be interested in purchasing such fripperies. She told herself it did not matter – she was going to find Aunt Cordelia and Lumpy Lil, and they would be reunited. Aunt Cordelia would realise that Mr Galloway was not to be trusted, and they would live happily ever after, just like in the storybooks. The only trouble was that she had no idea which house belonged to Mrs Adams, and the passers-by seemed reluctant to stop and answer her questions. Eventually, after waylaying an errand boy, she discovered that Mrs Adams owned a house in the middle of an elegant terrace.

  Angel struggled to control her excitement as she knocked on the door. Aunt Cordelia was so close she could almost smell the gardenia-scented perfume she always wore. But it was a prim housemaid who opened the door.

  ‘No hawkers or traders.’

  Angel put her foot over the threshold just in time to prevent the girl slamming the door in her face. ‘I’m not selling anything. I’ve come to see Mrs Wilding. I’m her niece, Angel Winter.’