Tilly True (7 page)

‘Them what's coming in the door now.' Bert chuckled as though he had said something witty, cocking his head and listening to the heavy thud of feet coming down the passage. ‘That's my boys come home from night work. They'll want tea and food, so you'd better get busy.'

‘How can I cook if there's no food in the place?'

‘You tell Clem what you needs and he'll get it.' Picking his greatcoat off the floor, Bert shrugged it over his broad shoulders. ‘Don't try nothing funny,' he added as the door opened and two men stomped into the room. Bert jerked his thumb towards the taller and uglier of the pair. ‘Abel won't take no nonsense from you, so don't try nothing.'

‘So that's her, is it, guvner?' Abel said, studying Tilly from beneath thick brown eyebrows. ‘Looks like something washed up by the tide.'

‘She's had a night in the coalhole, so she knows what to expect if she don't do exactly what we says.' Bert jammed a cloth cap on his head. ‘I got work to do. Make sure she's locked in proper when you goes out. I got more than one use for Miss Tilly True.' Laughing, Bert strolled out of the room.

Abel stared hard at Tilly, a speculative look in his eyes that were the colour of pale ale. ‘So, you're the second prize, are you, Tilly? You ain't as tasty as young Emily, but you look as though you could manage a day's work. What d'you say, Clem?'

Shuffling his feet, Clem gave Tilly a sideways glance and then looked away. ‘She'll do.'

Standing her ground, Tilly decided that Clem was not an immediate threat. He had finer features and a less threatening manner than Abel, who had a brutish look about him. In fact, beneath the layer of grime and river mud that covered Clem from head to foot, he might even prove to be human. But the impression was fleeting and Clem had turned away and was searching for something in the pile of crockery on the table.

Abel picked up the teapot and thrust it into Tilly's hands. ‘Make yourself useful. We've been out on the river all night and we want feeding.'

‘You show me the food and I'll cook it, but as far as I can see there ain't enough to feed a mouse, let alone a rat like you.' The words were out before Tilly could stop herself and she knew instantly she had made a big mistake. Abel's hand caught her across the side of her head, sending her flying across the room, and she would have fallen if it had not been for Clem standing in the way. He steadied her but the lid flew off the teapot, covering them both in tepid tea and wet tea leaves. The lid hit the floor and broke into small shards. Abel leapt forward with his hand raised as if to strike Tilly for the second time.

Warding off the blow with his forearm, Clem shook his head. ‘Leave her, Abe. The guvner won't thank you for beating up on his totty.'

Abel's brows knotted in a scowl and his lips disappeared in a tightly drawn line. ‘What's up with you?'

‘I'm bleeding starving and you breaking the cook's arm ain't going to get us breakfast.' Clem put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of small change. ‘Here, you go and get some grub for her to fry up and I'll make sure she don't make a dash for it.'

Shaking tea leaves from her skirt, Tilly eyed them cautiously. Abel was definitely the one to watch. He had a mean, animalistic look about him. She had seen his type many times before amongst the labourers who toiled in the dockyards: men who had scant regard for women and would as soon black a girl's eye as look at her. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on the side of her head. Abel seemed the more dominant of the two brothers and yet, in a strange way, he appeared to pay heed to Clem. Pocketing the money, Abel pointed his finger at Tilly, looking down his arm as if it were the double barrel of a shotgun; he said nothing, but his threatening glance was enough. He swaggered out of the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.

Shrugging off his pea jacket, Clem went out into the yard. Through the open door Tilly could hear him pumping water. Perhaps he was washing himself, although neither brother looked as though they were much used to the habit of keeping clean. Seizing the opportunity, she ran to the front door, praying that Abel might have left it unlocked, but her hopes were in vain. She would not cry; she would not let them see that she was deeply anxious and afraid. Walking slowly back to the kitchen, she looked at the mess and her heart sank, but there was nothing for it – she rolled up her sleeves and began to clear the table.

‘That weren't half bad,' Abel said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his belly. ‘I say we keep this one, what d'you say, Clem?'

Chewing on a mouthful of bacon, Clem nodded.

Taking a packet of Player's Navy Cut from his pocket, Abel selected a cigarette and struck a match on the sole of his boot. He inhaled deeply, exhaling smoke with a satisfied sigh. ‘That's it for me. I'm going for a kip.' Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and let out a loud belch.

Clem looked up from his plate. ‘What'll we do about her?'

‘You keep an eye on her.' Abel turned to Tilly. ‘Don't try nothing, you.' He left the kitchen with a trail of cigarette smoke floating in his wake.

Having eaten a doorstep sandwich filled with bacon, Tilly was feeling a lot better. She filled a cup with tea and went to sit at the table opposite Clem. ‘Do you always let him tell you what to do?'

Wiping the remains of egg yolk and bacon fat off his plate with a hunk of bread, Clem gave her a quick glance and then looked away again. ‘No.'

Tilly tried again. ‘You know you can't keep me here against me will.'

Clem munched on the bread, saying nothing.

‘It's against the law to hold me prisoner. You'll end up in Newgate.'

‘It's not up to me.' Getting to his feet, Clem went to sit in the chair by the range. ‘Best get on with it. You'll get it in the neck if the guvner comes home and the place is still a mess.'

‘And you'd let him, would you?' Jumping up, Tilly faced him, hands on hips. ‘You'd stand by and let your old man leather me, would you?'

Clem eyed her, a dull flush rising from his throat to his cheeks. ‘I won't have no say in it. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep quiet and just get on with it.'

Now that he was clean, Tilly could see that Clem was much younger than she had at first thought; he couldn't be much above twenty-two or three. Scrubbed up, she thought, he might even look presentable if he wore tidy clothes and brushed his hair that was lighter than Abel's, although that did not make him fair. Clem's hair was the colour of burnt toffee and his hazel eyes were fringed with thick, dark lashes. Eyeing him more out of curiosity than interest, Tilly wondered if a better person lurked beneath his tough exterior. Abel had been quite happy to see her starve, but Clem had insisted that she would be able to do more work if she had a good breakfast inside her. Turning her back on him, Tilly set to work, but her brain was focused on planning her escape.

Having cleared the table, throwing rubbish in the fire and piling the dirty crockery on the wooden draining board in the scullery, she found a broom and began sweeping the floor. Clem sat in the chair by the range and it was obvious to Tilly that he was having difficulty in staying awake. His eyes kept closing and his head rolled to the side or flopped down onto his chest, then with a jerk he would pull himself upright and glare at her.

After a bit, Tilly stopped sweeping. ‘Look here,' she said, making an effort to sound friendly. ‘I can see as how you're fagged out. There ain't no way that I can escape, as far as I can see, so why don't you go to your bed?'

His eyes opening wide, Clem stared at her. ‘What's it to you?'

‘Nothing. I don't care if you falls onto the fire, but you're in me way. I can't get to that corner round your big plates of meat.'

Getting slowly to his feet, Clem shot her a suspicious glance. ‘This had best not be a trick.'

‘Get on with you. How can I get through a locked door or over a wall covered in broken glass?'

‘And don't forget, the windows is all barred. This drum used to be the manager's office what ran the tobacco warehouses; they kept the wages here. It's harder to get out of than Newgate.'

‘I'm not daft,' Tilly said, leaning on the broom. ‘I'm going to have a few words with your old man when he gets home. Make him see sense, like.'

Clem's hollow laughter echoed round the kitchen even after he had left the room.

‘You can laugh,' Tilly said to herself, stabbing at a pile of rotting food with the broom, ‘but I will get out of here, and you're going to help me, Clem Tuffin. You see if you don't.'

Although she had worked with a will, Tilly could see little difference in the state of the room and fatigue was overcoming her. Flopping down in the chair by the freshly stoked range, she put her feet up, just for a moment, and closed her eyes.

‘What's this then?'

Bert's loud roar awakened Tilly from a deep, dreamless sleep. It was quite dark in the room, with just a glimmer of light coming from the embers in the range. She yelped as Bert grabbed her ear, dragging her to her feet.

‘Lazy little bitch. I told you to clear this mess and you've been kipping.'

Dazed with sleep, Tilly's heart hammered inside her ribcage as if it were trying to force its way out. ‘I done me best. I ain't a blooming miracle worker.'

‘Where's me dinner? I don't smell nothing cooking.'

‘I can't cook if there ain't no food in the larder.'

Bert fisted his hands. ‘Cheeky little cow. I'll have to teach you some manners.'

‘Hey, guvner.' A voice from the doorway caused Bert to pause and glance over his shoulder. Clem strolled into the kitchen running his hand through his hair and yawning. ‘What's the matter?'

Bert scowled. ‘I caught this bitch napping, that's what's the matter. And there's nothing for supper. I thought I told you to keep an eye on her, you useless piece of shit.'

Holding her breath, Tilly watched Clem's face turn to stone and, for a moment, she almost felt sorry for him, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had come.

Clem's mouth widened in a grin, but his eyes remained narrowed and wary. ‘She probably can't cook anyway, guv. We'll go down the pub and get a pint and a pie.'

‘You're paying?'

‘I'm paying.'

‘You had a good haul then?'

‘A couple of dead 'uns, delivered to the beadle all right and proper, ready for the coroner.'

‘And they was well heeled?'

Clem patted his pocket. ‘Well enough, old man.'

‘Get your brother out of bed,' Bert said, slapping Clem on the back. ‘We'll go to the pub for our supper. I'll deal with her later.'

Trembling from head to foot, Tilly held her breath as they sauntered out of the kitchen. She heard Clem shout for Abel, the sound of footsteps on the bare stair treads and then the opening and closing of the front door. She was alone in the house and it was eerily silent. When her heart rate returned to something near normal, she ran to the door, turning the handle and finding it locked, kicking the wooden panels and cursing Bert Tuffin with all the expletives she had ever learned. She must keep calm; it was no use getting hysterical. Fetching a candle from the kitchen, Tilly went upstairs to the first floor landing. There were two bedrooms, both of them sparsely furnished with a bed and a single chest of drawers. Clothes littered the bare floorboards and the bedclothes were rumpled and filthy. The stale smell of unwashed bodies and unclean chamber pots made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. As Clem had said, the windows were barred, and slim as she was, Tilly knew that she could barely squeeze an arm between the iron bars, let alone her whole body. Walking more slowly up the second flight of stairs, she found two more rooms; one empty except for a truckle bed with a sagging palliasse and a small window close to the ceiling. She was about to shut the door when Tilly realised that there was a key in the lock. Snatching at it, she tucked it down the front of her blouse between her stays and her chemise. It might not be of any use, but it gave her a feeling of security. There was only one other room and, as she opened the door and went inside, she thought that this must belong to Bert. It was better furnished than the rest of the house, boasting a large iron bedstead, a tallboy and a washstand minus the washbasin and jug. Cobwebs trailing from the ceiling tickled her face and, as in the rooms downstairs, the strong musky smell of unwashed male hung in a pall over the rumpled bed. There were curtains at the windows, but these hung in tatters and would doubtless crumble to dust if anyone attempted to draw them. On the wall above the washstand there was a single picture. Holding the candle close to it, Tilly saw that it was a faded daguerreotype of a young woman with a sweet face and sad eyes, dressed in the fashion of some twenty years previously. It must, she thought, be Bert's wife, the mother of his two sons, but what struck her forcibly was a startling likeness to Emily. Was there, somewhere deep down, a soft core beneath Bert Tuffin's brutal exterior? Had Emily touched something in him that had lain dormant for such a long time that it had calcified into a stone? Tilly went downstairs, wondering if she could appeal to his better nature to let her go, but it was a forlorn hope and she shook with fear at the prospect of spending a night alone in this dreadful house with Bert.

Forcing herself to be practical, she raked the coals in the range and built the fire up to a cheerful blaze. She put the kettle on the hob, made a pot of tea and ate the last of the bread but, having tidied everything away, she could not settle. Pacing the floor, she waited nervously for the sound of the key in the lock. The hands on the white-faced clock on the mantelshelf barely seemed to move and Tilly was growing more and more apprehensive. She began rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen table searching for a suitable weapon, but the knives were all blunt and round-tipped; they would have a job to cut cheese, let alone stab a man to death. Then, at the very back of the drawer, she found a pair of scissors and she tucked them into her boot. She had barely stowed them away when she heard the front door opening and the sound of loud voices. Backing away towards the scullery, Tilly clasped her hands together to stop them shaking.