THE THIRD AND FINAL SAGA IN EVIE GRACE’S MAIDS OF KENT TRILOGY.
East Kent, 1876
With doting parents and siblings she adores, sixteen-year-old Rose Cheevers leads a contented life at Willow Place in Canterbury. A bright future ahead of her, she dreams of following in her mother’s footsteps and becoming a teacher.
Then one traumatic day turns the Cheevers’ household upside-down. What was once a safe haven has become a place of peril, and Rose is forced to flee with the younger children. Desperate, she seeks refuge in a remote village with a long lost grandmother who did not know she existed.
But safety comes at a price, and the arrival of a young stranger with connections to her past raises uncomfortable questions about what the future holds. Somehow, Rose must find the strength to keep her family together. Above all else, though, she needs a place to call home.
Evie Grace was born in Kent, and one of her earliest memories is of picking cherries with her grandfather who managed a fruit farm near Selling. Holidays spent in the Kent countryside and the stories passed down through her family inspired her to write her Maids of Kent trilogy.
Evie now lives in Devon with her partner and dog. She has a grown-up daughter and son.
She loves researching the history of the nineteenth century and is very grateful for the invention of the washing machine, having discovered how the Victorians struggled to do their laundry.
A Place to Call Home is the third and final novel in the Maids of Kent trilogy, following on from Her Mother’s Daughter.
Also by Evie Grace
Half a Sixpence
Her Mother’s Daughter
To Tamsin and Will
‘You look well, my dear Rose.’
As Aunt Marjorie spoke the marble clock on the mantel in the dining room chimed four. It was a warm summer’s afternoon and the sunshine had roused the dumbledores into a frenzy on the fragrant honeysuckle outside the half-open window.
Rose caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She had pinched her cheeks to add some colour to her complexion and bound her dark brown hair up to the back of her head in a heavy plait.
‘I’ve always said she’s quite the aristocrat,’ Aunt Temperance joined in as they stood waiting to be seated. ‘With those cheekbones and striking blue eyes she could easily pass as a baronet’s daughter.’
Rose turned towards her tall, brown-eyed father who was giving his sister a look, meaning don’t give her ideas above her station.
Dear Pa, she mused fondly. He was the head of their family, their rock. Rose considered him a very handsome man for his age, with his loose curls of dark hair, side-whiskers and beard, run through with sparse strands of silver.
‘I remember the day you were born, Rose,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘The most angelic child has grown into a refined young lady. How time flies!’
Sixteen years had passed since her parents had blessed their tiny infant with the name of Rose Agnes Ivy Catherine Cheevers. She didn’t know what they’d been thinking of, but her parents said that they were family names and it was important to keep them alive. Her elder brother was plain Arthur Cheevers, and her younger siblings had but two forenames each.
‘I’m sorry that Mr Kingsley couldn’t join us,’ Pa said. Mr Kingsley was Aunt Temperance’s husband, and Rose’s uncle, but no one ever called him anything but Mr Kingsley.
‘He is sadly indisposed.’
This was Aunt Temperance’s usual response. Rose smoothed the front of her new dress made from pale muslin decorated with woven pink and green sprays of flowers. She knew that Mr Kingsley was more than likely to be in one of the local taverns.
‘It is unfortunate that he is some years my senior and not in the best of health,’ Aunt Temperance went on.
‘He is a little liverish again, I expect,’ Aunt Marjorie said with a wicked glint in her eye.
‘He is suffering from a touch of gout,’ Aunt Temperance responded sharply.
‘An affliction worthy of our sympathy. You must convey our best wishes for a full and prompt recovery – I hope to see him in the office as usual on Monday,’ Pa interrupted as Rose’s younger sister, Minnie, entered the room, her face flushed from the heat. ‘Please, do sit down.’
As the aunts took their places at the table, Rose watched and waited.
The dining room at Willow Place was roughly square, the outer wall sloping out at an angle as though, like Mr Kingsley, the builder had partaken in too much liquor when erecting the timber frame for the wattle and daub infill. The window with its diamond leaded lights was set deep into the wall, and an oak bookcase stood alongside it, crammed with leather-bound tomes on subjects ranging from natural history to travel and exploration, and Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, The Lady of the Lake and his Waverley novels. On top of the bookcase was a stuffed pike that Pa had caught from the river, and a medal presented to him by the dignitaries of Canterbury for rescuing two men from drowning.
Rose often wondered how Pa had felt risking his life in the filthy waters of the Stour.
‘Rose,’ Aunt Temperance said, jolting her from her reverie, ‘you would do well to remember in future that there is nothing wrong in marrying an older man – he is more likely to be settled in his preferences, financially solvent and grateful. It helps, of course, if it is a love match.’
Rose didn’t know how to respond. Family folklore said that her aunt had chosen her husband because she had thought the name Kingsley a great improvement on Cheevers. Rose couldn’t help thinking that Aunt Temperance, who was two or three years older than Pa, could have done much better for herself. According to Ma, she had been quite a beauty, with delicate features and chestnut hair.
Aunt Marjorie was in her fifties and had never married. Rose wondered if it was because she was rather plain. She had hair of silver and sienna, wore serge skirts and horn-rimmed spectacles that kept slipping down her nose.
‘Sit down, Rose,’ Pa said, gesturing towards the far side of the table where he had suspended a plank between two of the stick-back dining chairs to provide an extra perch.
She moved round and sat down on one of the chairs on which Pa had placed a cushion for extra padding. Minnie took the other chair and left the plank for Donald. The aunts sat opposite with Arthur between them, while Ma and Pa sat one at each end of the table. Arthur had stuck his forelock of sandy blond hair to his forehead with Pa’s Macassar oil.
From Rose’s vantage point, she could see the globe, a beautifully decorated map of the world on a stand in the corner of the room. Pa had bought it as a present for Ma, but she had judged it too fine to be exposed to her pupils’ grubby fingers and had instead kept it in the house. Some evenings, she wheeled it on its castors into the parlour and made a game of finding the different parts of the British Empire, naming their capital cities.
She glanced towards Arthur who rolled his eyes in her direction. She smiled, sympathising for his plight.
‘Arthur, dear boy, you seem a little out of sorts,’ Aunt Marjorie observed, although he was a young man of twenty-three, not a boy any more.
‘He is missing his sweetheart,’ Ma said cheerfully. Her mouth was wide, her nose small, and she was beginning to run to fat. Sometimes her eyes looked green, sometimes hazel, depending on the light. She had tied her greying hair back, which had the effect of making her look rather austere. ‘I told him he must spend some time with us for a change. He will have plenty of time with her when they are married.’
‘I can speak for myself, Ma,’ Arthur countered.
‘He will go out later,’ Minnie chuckled. ‘He’s oiled his hair. Look how it glistens. And he is wearing his Sunday best on a Saturday.’
‘Do I hear the sound of wedding bells?’ Aunt Marjorie said, smiling, and Arthur blushed.
‘You have been walking out with the apothecary’s daughter for over a year,’ Aunt Temperance said. ‘Mind she doesn’t tire of you.’
‘Leave the young man alone. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. There’s no rush. You need to be sure that you can face Miss Miskin every day for the rest of your life, treating her with love and respect and without wearying of her.’ Pa looked fondly at Ma who smiled in response. Rose couldn’t imagine her parents ever tiring of each other’s company.
‘I can’t see any reason to delay once one has made the decision to enter the state of holy matrimony,’ Aunt Temperance said.
‘If you must know, we’ve been saving up for our future,’ Arthur said.
‘I’m delighted to hear it. Miss Miskin is a very lucky woman. You will make an excellent husband.’ Rose couldn’t help feeling that Aunt Marjorie was aiming this comment at Aunt Temperance, who pursed her lips as if she was sucking a lemon. Aunt Marjorie wasn’t their aunt by blood, but Pa’s cousin once removed. It wasn’t her only connection to the family – she had once been Ma’s nanny and governess. She’d aged considerably since she’d last visited Willow Place, and Rose couldn’t see how she could manage to care for her current employer’s children with her stoop, shuffling gait and stiff fingers.
‘I love a good wedding,’ Aunt Marjorie sighed.
‘Where is Donald?’ Ma changed the subject abruptly.
‘Have you seen your brother recently?’ Rose asked her little sister, except that Minnie wasn’t little any more. She was twelve and growing fast with dark brown eyes like Pa’s and hair that fell around her shoulders in soft blond ringlets.
‘Why is he always my brother, not ours, when he’s in trouble?’
‘I told him not to be late – I’ll have his guts for garters,’ Ma said.
‘I hope he’s here soon. I’m looking forward to my tea,’ Aunt Marjorie said.
‘I’ll go and find him,’ Rose offered.
‘Arthur should go, but thank you, Stringy Bean,’ Pa said before lowering his eyes in apology for calling her by her pet name in company.
‘Where can he be?’ Aunt Marjorie asked just as an object came flying through the window. Minnie screamed as it whistled past her ear and landed in the middle of Rose’s plate. Pieces of china flew in all directions and the object – a dark red ball – rolled to a stop in front of her. She grasped it and held it up, the leather smooth under her fingertips.
‘’Ow is that!’ said Arthur.
‘Donald!’ Pa stood up and roared through the open window. ‘Get yourself indoors this minute!’
‘Be gentle with him, Oliver,’ Ma said. ‘I’ll make sure he pays for what he’s broken. I’m sorry for his behaviour, but boys will be boys.’
‘There is a balance to be struck between allowing children to express themselves in order to develop their characters, and spoiling them, Agnes,’ Aunt Marjorie said, taking Pa’s side.
‘Indeed,’ Aunt Temperance agreed and Rose wondered how she knew when she had no children of her own. Aunt Marjorie had none either, but she had had plenty of experience of bringing up other people’s offspring.
‘I would make an example of him if he were mine,’ Aunt Temperance opined. ‘A beating would soon l’arn him to stop his impetuous ways.’
‘I’m not a believer in corporal punishment,’ Pa said firmly. ‘The expectation of a good hiding makes one more apprehensive of a repeat performance, but it doesn’t address the cause of the problem.’
‘Well, that boy is trouble. He’s already in training for the treadmill and oakum shed.’
‘Oh, Temperance,’ Ma sighed. ‘You do exaggerate. He’s in high spirits, that’s all. He knows very well the difference between right and wrong.’
Donald was slow to answer Pa’s call. Eventually, he sauntered into the dining room, wiping his hands on a white shirt that sported several grass stains. He was Minnie’s twin, and the younger one by virtue of having followed his sister into the world two hours behind, after midnight. Minnie was born on Tuesday, and, as the rhyme said, was full of grace, while Donald, born on Wednesday, was full of woe, although Rose felt that it was truer to say that Donald could create woe wherever he went.
‘Well, what do you have to say for yourself?’ Pa barked from where he sat in the oak carver at the head of the table.
Donald looked at him sheepishly, gazing through a fringe of sandy-coloured curls. ‘I’m sorry, Father. Joe and I were practising.’
Joe was one of Donald’s friends. Rose had thought of him as a calming influence, but now she wasn’t so sure.
‘If it wasn’t for the presence of your mother and aunts, I would banish you to your room. Rose, give me the ball, please.’
Rose handed it over, aware of Donald’s frown of disapproval as Pa turned and placed it carefully in the bonbon dish that stood on top of the dark oak court cupboard, a hefty, Gothic-looking piece of furniture which used to belong to Pa’s grandfather.
‘When shall I be allowed to have it back?’ Donald asked, his brow furrowed.
‘When you’ve cleared the broken plate and paid for a replacement.’ Pa smiled ruefully. ‘Mr W. G. Grace has much to answer for.’
‘He is becoming a legend in his own lifetime,’ Aunt Marjorie said. ‘I’ve read that he’s the first man to pass a thousand runs and a hundred wickets – that must have been last year.’
‘He’s a giant,’ Donald said, his eyes filled with admiration. ‘Literally.’
‘I’ve heard that he’s a large man with a fair bird’s nest of a beard, but I don’t hold with cricket,’ Aunt Temperance cut in. ‘It’s a game that’s played by any Tom, Dick and Harry on the streets, and a complete waste of time. I don’t know how many winders have been broken around here because of it.’
‘It’s become the sport of gentlemen,’ Ma said, putting on a cut-glass accent.
‘When will we expect to see you playing at the Beverley Ground?’ Aunt Marjorie asked.
‘As soon as I’m old enough. There’s a lime tree there and I’m going to be the first cricketer to clear the tree to score a six.’ Donald tweaked the braces holding up his brown moleskin trousers as he moved round to sit with his sisters. The plank creaked ominously with the extra weight and Rose moved as far away from him as possible. She admired his ambition, but his clothes reeked of perspiration and a hint of the tan yard.
‘What’s for tea? I’m starving,’ he whispered, his dark brown eyes settling on the slices of fresh bread, cheese and jars of pickled onions, eggs and cucumbers. A grin spread across his face. ‘Oh, I can guess.’
‘We thought we would have ox tongue for a change,’ Ma said, straight-faced.
Rose glanced at her Aunt Marjorie, whose expression changed from joyful anticipation to consternation. Rose was confused, too, because she knew that Mrs Dunn, the housekeeper, had bought a pig’s head and soaked it in brine – she had shown Rose how to check the strength of the solution by floating a potato in it. Then she had drained the head, put it into a stew-pot with the ears, some chopped onions and herbs, covered it in cold water and brought it up to the boil, simmering it for hours and skimming off the scum, until the meat fell from the bone. She had let it cool, chopped the meat, added parsley and stirred it together with a little of the cooking liquor before placing it in a mould with a muslin and brass weights from the kitchen scales on top.
Rose remembered how there had been some discussion between Ma and the housekeeper about the best way of keeping it cool, the pantry being considered too warm. It had been placed in the cellar, but perhaps that hadn’t been right for it either. Had the brawn failed to set?
‘There is no brawn?’ Aunt Marjorie enquired.
‘I’m afraid that it’s gone off.’ Rose caught Ma smiling at Pa.
‘That is a disaster. Oh, what a terrible shame.’ Aunt Marjorie sounded distraught.
‘Do not distress yourself,’ Pa said, chuckling. ‘Of course, there is brawn.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Aunt Marjorie sighed. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to it.’
‘It’s the only reason she calls on us,’ Donald whispered.
‘Hush.’ Rose nudged him with her elbow. It wasn’t true.
‘I will do the honours,’ Pa said, getting up from his seat and disappearing from the room. He returned shortly afterwards, carrying a plate on which sat the trembling mound of brawn. He placed it in front of him, took up the carving knife and fork and began to slice it, the blade slipping through it as if it were butter.
‘Pass your plates. Ladies first, Donald,’ he said as Donald raised his platter.
The maid, dressed in her dark uniform and pristine white apron, came into the room with a replacement plate for Rose. Jane was eighteen and had been at Willow Place for six months. She was tall and slender with long, pale blond hair plaited and coiled beneath her cap. Ma and Mrs Dunn had found her to be kind, hard-working and quick to learn, and the family were already quite attached to her.
Once the brawn was served, they sat waiting for Jane to finish pouring the lemonade and beer into their glasses. Rose could hear Donald’s stomach rumbling. She could see Aunt Marjorie’s fingers hovering over her cutlery as she tried to restrain herself.
‘Thank you, Jane. That will be all for now,’ Pa said.
Jane gave a small curtsey – Pa had tried in vain to train her out of the demeaning habit which she’d learned at her previous place – and left the room.
As Pa said grace, Rose noticed how Donald’s eyes darted furtively around the room. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was plotting next.
‘Amen,’ she said, joining in with the others. Aunt Marjorie’s fingers made contact with her knife and fork, but flew off again when Pa said jovially:
‘I believe that a toast is in order. We’re very pleased that you have chosen to spend some of your precious annual holiday with us, Aunt Marjorie. And I’m delighted you were able to grace us with your presence, Temperance. Let’s raise a glass and drink to health and happiness, and the jolliest of times.’
‘To health and happiness,’ Ma echoed.
‘And the jolliest of times,’ Pa repeated, beaming widely as he drained his glass.
‘Thank you very much for your hospitality. It’s lovely to be back in the family fold, albeit for a brief visit,’ Aunt Marjorie said before Pa finally released her from her misery, saying, ‘Let’s eat.’
Rose helped herself to bread and butter and a pickled onion before trying the brawn. It was delicious, the meat soft and flavoursome and the jelly succulent. Aunt Marjorie could certainly tuck it away, she thought as she watched Pa serve her a second helping.
‘The sea air seems to agree with you, Marjorie,’ Ma said eventually. ‘How are your charges in Ramsgate?’
‘They are well, thank you, although I find it more tiring chasing after them now – I’m not getting any younger. Occasionally I think of retiring, but I enjoy being a governess too much to give it up just yet, and besides, what would I have to talk about? I can’t imagine myself settling to a daily routine of a little light gardening and games of Patience.’
‘It’s a shame that one has to work to make oneself interesting,’ Aunt Temperance observed.
‘How is the school, Agnes?’ Aunt Marjorie went on, ignoring the slight.
‘It’s much the same,’ Ma said. ‘Rose is a willing and able pupil teacher.’
‘Thank you,’ Rose said, her cheeks growing warm at Ma’s compliment.
‘She will be ready to take it on when I retire,’ Ma said.
Rose felt awkward on hearing the pride in her mother’s voice. She liked teaching the younger children, but she didn’t see education as her future. She would like a husband and family of her own, and it would take a very special man to allow his wife to work instead of keeping house, as Pa did with Ma. Equally, she didn’t want to end up on the shelf like her spinster aunt.
‘Tell me, Oliver, how is business at the tannery?’ Aunt Marjorie asked.
‘Ah, life is good. The leather market is as buoyant as a cork – the butts are selling more briskly than ever.’ Pa grinned and Rose smiled back. ‘Our leather is always in great demand, and only yesterday, I met with two potential new customers. In fact, I’m looking to increase the supply of hides as a consequence. We can’t depend on our local suppliers to keep pace with our requirements.’
‘Mr Kingsley says that the availability of imported hides threatens to wreck the home market,’ Aunt Temperance said.
‘I have no issue with it. I’ve heard that the hides from Argentina are bigger and of better quality than those I can get here. Our grandfather would have embraced change if it was for the good of the business.’ Pa smiled again. ‘I’ll never weary of seeing the butts lifted out of the pits and hung up to dry until they’re ready to be made into boots fit for our beloved Queen Victoria, and portmanteaux fit for gentlemen.’ He looked at Minnie and Rose, his expression suddenly stern.
‘Remember, my dears, that there are true gentlemen and then there are those who purport to be gentlemen.’
‘How do you tell the difference, Pa?’ Rose asked.
‘Well, it isn’t as simple as looking at the label on his luggage to see where it was made and by whom. Having the means to purchase a luxury item made by royal warrant is no guarantee of a person’s manners and character. You have to observe how he interacts with his acquaintances and treats his servants. You have to take time to dig deep and find out what’s really in his heart.’
‘Well said,’ Aunt Marjorie exclaimed, clasping her hands together.
‘They are wise words,’ Aunt Temperance agreed. ‘I disagree, though, on using one’s attitude to one’s servants as a measure of manners. One shouldn’t treat servants as friends. There should always be a respectful distance maintained between employer and maid.’
‘They are people, made from the same flesh and blood as anyone else,’ Ma said. ‘I shall treat our servants as I see fit. I must be doing something right, mustn’t I? Mrs Dunn has been housekeeper at Willow Place since Evie left.’
‘How long ago was that? Remind me,’ Aunt Marjorie said.
Ma paused to think for a moment. ‘Evie married and moved away to be nearer her family when Rose was about three, if I remember rightly. We’re still in touch.’
Rose had a vague recollection of their previous housekeeper, a kind woman who had spoken with a country accent.
‘Please may I trouble you for a little more brawn?’ Aunt Marjorie asked.
‘Of course.’ Pa served her two more slices. ‘Minnie?’ The brawn was soon demolished.
‘Mrs Dunn has done us proud,’ Aunt Marjorie said, scraping her plate.
‘What shall we do tomorrow after church?’ Pa asked, changing the subject and reminding Rose that her aunt was staying for two more nights before returning to Ramsgate by train.
‘Oh, you must come with us to worship at the cathedral,’ Aunt Temperance said. ‘You don’t want to go to St Mildred’s. Oliver, I have no idea why you continue to frequent that church when you have your position to maintain.’
‘What position?’ Pa said, trying not to smile.
‘You are an esteemed member of society – look at your medals and the recognition you’ve received for your charitable deeds – your work for the Sanitary Society, for example. You should make the most of it.’ Her voice rose with excitement. ‘You could end up an alderman of the city, even mayor.’
‘I like St Mildred’s. It’s where our grandfather worshipped and where he took us every Sunday when we were younger and before you got this bee in your bonnet about the cathedral. I feel welcome there. One may worship wherever one feels close to God.’
‘Oh, suit yourself.’ Aunt Temperance shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘You are a fool.’
‘And you are misguided in thinking that I would seek fame in return for my services to the poor and disadvantaged in our society,’ Pa said a little sharply.
Arthur started to choke. Ma patted him on the back and he coughed up a pickled onion.
‘You two are like Minnie and Donald, always bickering,’ Ma observed cheerfully. ‘Let’s have some cake. Mrs Dunn has been busy baking.’
Their attention turned to fruit cake with almonds, cups of tea and the gifts Aunt Marjorie had brought for their curiosity cabinet in the parlour at Willow Place. She fetched them from her luggage and passed them around the table: a tiny silver thimble; a jar of shells; a fine geode filled with rose quartz crystals. She brought sweets too, rose rock and mint drops, which they shared between them.
Pa always said they were a patchwork family stitched together by circumstance, and people could say what they liked about them because there was nothing wrong in that. The presence of her aunts, sparring like two gamecocks, their words like spurs, reminded Rose that they were a happy family, but no ordinary one.
Aunt Marjorie went back to Ramsgate and life returned to normal. On the first Monday morning of July, Rose was standing in the hall at Willow Place, waiting for Donald as she had on so many other Monday mornings in the past.
Minnie would never win a prize for attendance, nor would Donald win one for punctuality, she thought. He had disappeared after breakfast with Pa and Arthur while Ma had gone ahead to open the school. Eventually she gave up on him and went into the parlour to say goodbye to Minnie.
‘Donald is green with envy,’ Minnie said from the window seat where she was sewing buttons on to one of Arthur’s shirts. ‘He wishes Ma had given him the day off school.’
‘He’s a lazy tyke,’ Rose said. ‘Minnie, what’s wrong with you? Are you in pain?’
‘Ma said I looked peaky. She thought it best that I had a day off, although for my sins, she has left me with a pile of mending and socks to darn.’
Minnie had given them many frights: the ague, quinsy and croup. She had always been delicate, more fragile than the rest of them, and a little slow of thought, a feature that Ma had mourned for many years. Rumour had it that she had been dropped on her head on the day she was born. Rose suspected that it had been one of those mysteries created by families to cover up a weakness, a difference. No one had actually confessed to dropping her. Had it been Ma, under the influence of the chloroform she had been given for the pain of childbirth? Or had the doctor been so busy looking out for Donald that he had omitted to take proper care of Minnie?
‘Is Ma going to send for the doctor this time?’ Rose asked, throwing a shawl over her modest blue dress and tying the ribbons of her bonnet.
‘I told her she mustn’t.’
‘And I concur,’ Rose smiled as she fastened the buckles on her fine leather shoes. The last time Doctor Norris had attended her sister, he’d diagnosed lack of blood and costiveness. The cure for the former was a diet of meat and for the latter, a weekly laxative purgation. It was no wonder Minnie didn’t want to see him again.
Rose left her sister threading her needle. She walked out of the house and down the drive, glancing back briefly at the black and white timber-framed building. Willow Place had three storeys stacked unevenly on top of one another, giving the impression that they might topple over at any moment.
Rose crossed the street into the yard, passing the sign that read in freshly painted gold lettering on black: Cheevers’ Tannery: Estd 1798 for the best leather, natural and dyed. Enquire within, and slipped in through one of the high gates which had been opened for deliveries.
Two workers, dressed in stained leather aprons and carrying pipes and tea cans at their waists, were unloading hides from a cart, sending up clouds of flies. Rose pressed a handkerchief to her nose. She had never become completely accustomed to the smells and sights of Pa’s business.
Treading carefully across the slippery stones, she caught sight of Arthur who was tipping a bucket of powdered bark into one of the pits. Donald was there too, stirring the bark into the water with a wooden pole a head taller than he was.
‘Donald,’ she called. ‘It’s time you weren’t here.’
He paused, looked up and gave her a rueful grin.
‘Donald!’ she repeated more forcefully.
He laid down the pole and ambled across to her with his hands in his pockets.
‘Arthur said I could help him today,’ he muttered as she gently cuffed his ears.
‘Well, he shouldn’t have done,’ she said loudly for her elder brother’s benefit.
Arthur glanced at her, a glint of humour in his eyes.
‘Give the lad a break.’
‘You know what Ma says. The three R’s come before anything else.’
‘I can read and write, and recite my times tables,’ Donald said. ‘In’t that enow?’
Rose frowned at him and he quickly reverted to the Queen’s English.
‘I’m twelve years old and I’m ready to work all hours like Pa and Arthur here,’ he went on.
‘I think Ma places too much store by it,’ Arthur contributed. ‘I can’t see the point in l’arning unless it serves a purpose. I’ve never been asked to multiply seven hides by seven, for example. Although I’m sure Pa would appreciate it – if it were physically possible.’ He chuckled.
‘You see. Arthur agrees with me,’ Donald piped up.
‘You’re both wrong.’ Rose shared Ma’s view that you never knew when you might need a little learning. Her eyes settled on Donald’s collar. ‘Look at your shirt. It’s filthy.’
‘Who cares when I have to mix with the maggoty boys at school?’ he said, setting his mouth in a stubborn straight line.
‘You mean the boys from the Rookery? Baxter and his brothers?’
Donald nodded.
‘You mustn’t speak of them like that,’ Rose said.
‘It’s the truth.’
‘They are boys, the same as you, but they haven’t had much luck.’ Rose knew that their mother was a lunatic and their father was struggling to keep them fed and clothed with his meagre takings as a bone-picker and rag-gatherer.
‘You must go to school to learn to be kinder, Donald,’ Arthur said softly. ‘I remember being like one of those boys, starvin’ and without hope. I started work when I was seven, helping my dearly departed mother by collecting and delivering laundry, cutting the trimmin’s from the hides here at the tannery and selling them on, and running errands for the Spodes.’
‘Who were they? I don’t recognise the name,’ Rose said, shading her eyes from the sun.
‘They were screevers. They had years conning money out of innocent people with fakements and petitions, signed with false names. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that if it hadn’t been for Ma and Pa taking me in when my real ma passed, who knows what would have happened to me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Donald said, apparently contrite. He did have a heart, Rose thought fondly. He just found it harder than some to show it.
‘My older brother Bert started out the same before Pa gave him a proper job as a tanner.’
‘What happened to him then?’ Donald said, squinting.
‘He’s a few years older than me. There was some kind of trouble and he went to London to make his fortune out of bricklaying,’ Arthur said wistfully.
‘Did he succeed?’ Donald asked.
‘I think he must have done very well for himself with all the building works going on, but I haven’t heard from him – he isn’t one for writing letters.’
‘I’m sure that I’d make my fortune if I went to London,’ Donald said, rather too full of his self-importance. Ma spoiled him, in Rose’s opinion, or maybe being the youngest of the Cheevers family, he felt that he had to make himself noticed.
‘There’s no need for you to go running away to London, or anywhere else,’ Rose scolded him. ‘You and Arthur will end up running the business—’ After Pa has gone, she was going to add, but that seemed an impossible thought. ‘Come along.’ She held out her hand, but Donald didn’t take it. He was too old for that now, she thought with regret. She had helped Ma bring the twins up since they were infants and couldn’t count how many times Donald had linked his sticky fingers through hers. ‘Quickly.’
‘I’ll see you both later.’ Arthur picked up the pole that Donald had laid down. ‘I’d better stir my stumps.’
‘So you had. Never a truer word has been spoken.’
Rose turned at the sound of Pa’s deep guffaw. He was striding across the yard towards them, wearing a white coat over his suit.
‘Oh, here’s the gaffer,’ Arthur said. ‘Morning, Pa.’
‘What’s all this? Shouldn’t you and Donald be at the schoolhouse by now?’ their father went on, addressing Rose.
‘I’d have been there already if it wasn’t for this one.’
‘You’ve been of great help, Donald, but it’s time you left,’ Pa said. ‘Arthur, I need you in my office – I’d like you to sit in on this morning’s meeting with Mr Kingsley and the agent who’s calling to discuss the supply of hides from Argentina. Off to school, you two.’
‘I suppose we have to,’ Donald sighed.
‘Yes, we do,’ Rose said firmly, and they made their way back across the yard to the gates.
As they headed along the street, Donald – fearing Ma’s wrath – ran off around the corner towards number 4 Riverside, one of the terraced cottages that belonged to the tannery. Rose followed him, but the sound of conversation caught her ear.
A woman’s voice drifted from a narrow passageway between two of the unkempt houses on the far side of the road.
‘I’ve always found it odd that a wife goes out to work when she has a husband who makes a good living.’
‘If I were her and I had the chance of being a lady of leisure, I’d take it,’ came another voice.
‘She should be at ’ome with ’er children. That boy of theirs has been allowed to run riot on the streets for years. ’Is parents are far too soft on ’im.’
‘Perhaps Mrs Cheevers don’t want to spend more time than is necessary with ’er husband.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s a handsome man with a fine countenance.’
‘Don’t let ’er hear you say that, Mrs Couch. She’s an uncommon woman,’ said the other.
‘Do you mean rare in respect of being employed, or refined? For she is most respectable in her appearance and manners, and she speaks like a lady.’
‘It was strange how she ended up here with Mr Cheevers.’
‘Oh, you are a tattletale.’ Both women paused. ‘Go on.’
‘She fell on some kind of hard times – she were in the family way when they picked her up from by the Westgate.’
‘Really?’
‘You must have ’eard.’
‘It’s history. I don’t like to hear anyone talk badly of her when she’s bin so good to us. Our Michael couldn’t add two and two together before she gave him a place over the way there.’
‘Letters and numbers don’t mean nothing. What use is l’arning? While your Michael is in the schoolroom, he could be earning a few bob with his father on the barrer.’
‘He does his bit when he i’n’t at school. Mrs Cheevers said she’ll borrer us the money for ’im to buy a decent suit in future so he can apply to become a clerk. Just think of that.’ The women emerged from the passageway and Rose hurried on, feeling guilty for eavesdropping.
She knew her history. Arthur was adopted, while the twins were the offspring of Pa’s loins, and Rose was their half-sister. Ma was the common thread running through the fabric of their family.
Having arrived at school, Rose pushed the door open and walked straight into the classroom where the girls sat on one side and the boys on the other. The pupils, aged between five and fourteen, looked up from their slates and papers and Rose did a quick head count – there were only ten of the fifteen registered children there.
Ma tapped her stick against the blackboard.
‘Look this way,’ she ordered. ‘You’re supposed to be practising your letters.’
Rose noticed Donald pick up his pencil and start to write. When she had been a pupil of about ten years old, Ma had employed another teacher to work alongside her. Miss Clements’s cane had come down on the back of Donald’s hand with a loud crack for writing with his left hand, and Ma had sent her packing, saying it was in some people’s natures to be back to front.
‘It would be much to their advantage if you would assist the younger ones, Miss Cheevers,’ Ma said.
‘Of course.’ Rose removed her hat and shawl and hung them on one of the hooks at the far end of the schoolroom before joining her pupils. She helped them clean their slates with a rag, and started them off on writing their names in their best handwriting.
‘Well done, Ada,’ she said, admiring her copperplate letters. ‘There is definitely some improvement here, Baxter.’ She pointed to his letter B, feeling sorry for him because it wasn’t really very good. She was about to ask him to rub it out and start again, but stopped when she noticed his skinny arms, the nits crawling through his hair, and an angry purple bruise on his cheek. ‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Nothing, miss,’ he whispered.
‘Somebody has hurt you.’
‘I fell over.’ A tear rolled down his cheek.
‘’Is pa thumped him one,’ Ada interrupted. ‘I sin ‘im.’
‘Hold your tongue! ’E told me not to say nothin’,’ Baxter snapped furiously.
‘Is everything all right, Rose?’ she heard Ma ask from the front of the room.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, not wanting to draw any more attention to Baxter. She was shocked and upset – she knew that the boys from the Rookery lived in straitened circumstances, but hadn’t realised they were subject to beatings.
Once the younger children had practised their letters sufficiently, Rose took them out to the schoolyard for a drill. She put them through their paces then let them play and use the outside privy.
‘Why did your father hit you?’ she asked Baxter later, having drawn him away from the rest of the class.
‘He was angry because I took the end of the b-b-bread,’ he stammered as the other children danced in a circle, singing ‘Ring-a-ring o’ rosies’. ‘I di’n’t mean to steal it – I was faint with hunger and there was nothin’ else.’
‘It’s wrong to steal,’ Rose said, but then she felt bad because she didn’t know what it was like to be that desperate for food. There was always something – a piece of cake, cheese or bread – in the pantry at Willow Place. Ma insisted that Mrs Dunn should keep plenty of provisions in reserve.
‘I know that, miss, but when yer belly feels like it’s being gnawed by rats and your legs won’t ’old you up no more …’ His voice faded.
It wasn’t fair, she thought, that circumstances forced Baxter and his brothers to suffer like this. She had seen their father once or twice, a man with sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks and no teeth, his back bowed with cares. He was usually armed with a bag and a stick with a hook on the end that he used for scraping in the dirt looking for horseshoe nails or digging through the heaps of ash tipped out on to the street for anything to sell.
She wondered what had happened to have brought the family to that. In spite of Arthur’s argument that it was sheer misfortune that brought people low, she couldn’t help thinking that their own actions must have played a part in it.
Ma rang the bell, calling them back indoors so that the older pupils could take their turn to enjoy the summer sunshine. Rose returned to the classroom and as the day grew hotter, the stench of the tannery and the River Stour grew more intense, until it filled her throat and settled in her chest. She called Baxter up to help her demonstrate simple sums with the abacus, but his heart wasn’t in it.
‘Since when has five plus four equalled eleven?’ she said in exasperation when he failed to get it right for the third time in a row. He could hardly look at her. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t one of your better days, is it?’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘Ada, you take a turn.’
They broke off at midday when the pupils left for home. Rose went to check on Minnie while Ma attended to the school accounts. At two, they returned to their lessons.
‘You did well today, Rose. Just be wary of offering excessive praise,’ Ma reminded her later when they had locked up the school a little earlier than usual for the day and were making their way back home from Riverside. They crossed the road to avoid a puddle that had collected in the gutter as a man drove his cart past them, flicking his whip over his horse’s haunches while a cockerel crowed from a basket in the back. They turned the corner and Donald ran ahead, disappearing off to the right into the tan yard while Rose continued with Ma along the street to Willow Place. ‘Remember that it must be earned.’
‘Yes, Ma, but these were exceptional circumstances. I wanted to cheer Baxter up after I found out that his father had hit him for taking bread.’
‘Pa has already had a word with him about that. He says if we trouble him again, he’ll take the boys out of school altogether and set them to work.’
‘They aren’t yet twelve. It’s against the law.’
‘There is nobody willing to police it,’ Ma said as Rose opened the five-barred gate that fronted the pebbled drive leading to the house. ‘It’s generally understood that poor families can’t exist without support from their sons and daughters.’
‘I’m scared for him and his brothers,’ Rose said.
‘I know you are – I am too, but what else can we do, apart from encourage him to remain in education for as long as it takes for him to learn the skills to better himself? We must be thankful that he is still on the register.’
‘May I bring some food into school for him tomorrow?’ Rose asked, refusing to let the matter rest.
Ma thought for a moment. ‘Yes, that’s a kind thought. Have a word with Mrs Dunn. Run along now. I’m going to have a lie-down until Pa gets home.’
Rose watched her mother take off her shoes, put on her slippers and go upstairs. She heard the bedroom door close and the floorboards creak as she made her way to the bed.
‘Rose,’ she heard Arthur whisper to her left. ‘Will you give me your opinion?’
She looked across to where he had emerged into the hall from the kitchen.
‘You’re home early.’
‘I know. Pa let me go. I have an appointment with Tabby’s father at five.’
‘Oh, Arthur!’
‘I don’t know how it will go,’ he said apprehensively. ‘Do I look all right?’
He had bathed and trimmed his beard, and dressed in his suit, a white shirt and the shiniest shoes she had ever seen. His hair gleamed, his face glowed from where he’d been steaming his skin with sulphur to rid it of pimples and flesh-worms, and he had a nervous rash at the side of his neck.
‘You look very well,’ she said, moving forward to straighten his starched collar.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’d better go. I don’t want to be late.’
She wished him luck – not that he needed it, she thought as she closed the front door behind him. She had never seen him looking so handsome.
The evening passed slowly with everyone on tenterhooks waiting for Arthur to return.
After dinner, Rose and Minnie went up to the room they shared in the attic. Rose knelt on a chair, looking out of the open window and listening to the distant clatter of dishes in the scullery sink as Jane washed up.
‘There’s no sign of him,’ she said, turning to face her sister who was sitting on the edge of the bed, cutting scraps of patterned cotton into hexagons and spreading them across the coverlet.
They both looked up as the door flew open.
‘Donald!’ Rose exclaimed. ‘You know you aren’t allowed in here.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy. Ma and Pa are almost asleep in their chairs in the parlour, and I’m stuck indoors with nothing to do. It’s very dull.’
‘It serves you right for breaking your curfew last night,’ Rose said.
‘It wasn’t my fault that Joe got hit on the conk with the ball when we were playing cricket. It wouldn’t stop bleeding so I went to his ma’s to borrow a key to drop down the back of his neck.’
‘What for?’ Rose asked.
‘To stop it, of course. It worked a treat.’ He changed the subject. ‘Is Arthur back yet?’
‘There’s no sign of him.’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t passed muster with Mr Miskin,’ Donald said brightly. ‘Is that the same patchwork you started making months ago?’
Rose nodded. She and Minnie had begun the patchwork in the winter months, cutting and sewing by the light of an oil lamp, but Minnie had complained that her eyes hurt and they’d put their grand design aside for a while.
Donald grinned. ‘You’ll never finish it.’
‘Of course we will,’ Minnie said, sounding indignant.
‘I’ll eat my hat if you do.’ He meant his cloth cap with the japanned cardboard peak.
‘Aren’t you being a little hasty?’ Rose asked. ‘You know how Minnie’s fingers fly when it comes to sewing.’
‘Will you take your hat with salt and pepper?’ Minnie asked mischievously.
Donald chuckled. ‘I won’t need to. It will never happen. What can I do?’
‘You can take a turn being lookout.’ Rose moved away from the window and Donald rested his elbows on the sill. Minnie handed over the scissors so Rose could carry on with the cutting while she picked up a needle and thread, slipped Ma’s silver thimble on to her index finger and began to sew.
‘If Arthur brings good news, we will give the patchwork to him and Tabby as a wedding present,’ Minnie said, her eyes shining.
‘What if Mr Miskin sends him away with a flea in his ear?’ Donald asked.
‘I don’t think he’ll do that,’ Rose said. ‘For one, our Arthur is a good catch – he has prospects. Second, he has been courting Tabby for well over a year, and I can’t imagine that her father would have allowed that to continue if he thought he’d make an unsuitable husband. Third, Arthur is in love with her – Mr Miskin can have no doubt on that score.’
‘He’s on his way. He’s at the gate!’ Donald exclaimed.
Rose threw down the scissors, Minnie stuck her needle in the pincushion and they chased after their brother down the two flights of stairs to the hall where Ma and Pa had beaten them to the front door.
Arthur was on the step, his brow furrowed and his shoulders slumped. Rose’s heart sank. His appointment with the apothecary hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted.
‘Oh, Arthur,’ Ma gasped.
‘I’m sorry, son,’ Pa said sadly. ‘I never thought—’
‘I got you all then, didn’t I?’ Arthur said, breaking into a huge grin. ‘Tabby’s pa gave me permission to ask for her hand in marriage, and she said yes.’
‘Oh,’ Ma squealed. ‘How wonderful!’ She threw her arms around him, making him blush.
‘Tabby’s waiting at the gate,’ he said, extricating himself from Ma’s embrace. ‘Let me fetch her,’ he went on as Pa grasped his hand and pumped it up and down, but there was no need because she was already at the door.
Rose looked up to Miss Miskin – she was not what Ma described as a classical beauty with her mousy hair and slightly sallow skin, but she had lively eyes, an expressive mouth and a womanly figure. She was respectful and quietly spoken – in fact, Rose didn’t think she would say boo to a goose. Ma’s opinion was that this was a positive attribute, but Pa disagreed.
‘Come in, my dear,’ Pa said, releasing Arthur’s hand. ‘Congratulations! I look forward to welcoming you into our family.’
‘She will become Mrs Arthur Fortune,’ Arthur said, and Pa’s face fell.
Rose’s brow tightened. What did he mean?
‘You are right, of course,’ Pa said, growing more cheerful again. ‘I always think of you as one of us, by virtue of having brought you up from the age of eight.’
‘The name on my birth certificate remains that of my natural parents,’ Arthur said.
‘You don’t have to register a change of name,’ Pa said. ‘You can take whatever name you like as long as you don’t do it with intent to defraud or break the law. There is no reason why Miss Miskin shouldn’t become Mrs Arthur Cheevers. In fact, there is no compulsion to marry – it is society that dictates—’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that now,’ Ma said, interrupting. ‘Arthur, tell us what happened. What did Tabby’s pa say?’