Read Online Mary Ann and Miss Mozart by Ann Turnbull - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann Turnbull
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to wash those cuts and tidy you up first. Don’t worry. We can use the scullery sink.”
But she looked shaken, and Mary Ann knew that she was worried.
Chapter Twelve
Gin with Mrs. Bolt
They divided up the takings on the waterfront. Mary Ann’s share was more than three guineas. She stowed the coins away in her pocket, and would have felt pleased if she had not been so anxious. It had all gone so well until they were attacked, but now…
They parted from Nick, who slipped away down a narrow street and disappeared. The school was close, but Jenny hesitated. “We need to clean you up, but we could be caught if we do it in the scullery: the noise of water, and the delay… Come to my ma’s place. It’s just along there, see –” she pointed along the waterfront – “by the Half Moon. We can wash there, and then go back to the school. Safer that way.”
Mary Ann followed her obediently. She was relying on Jenny now.
The cottage was tiny – and Jenny’s mother only rented the ground floor room. As they approached the door Jenny murmured, “With luck she’ll have passed out.”
Mary Ann was puzzled by this remark until they went in and she saw a large, dishevelled woman sprawled in a chair by the fireside, breathing heavily. The woman woke with a snort, turned and glared at Jenny.
“What are you doing here? Where have you been, dressed like that?”
“I’ve been to Ranelagh with Nick,” Jenny said, in a hard voice that Mary Ann had not heard from her before. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
The woman struggled unsteadily to her feet, and her eyes narrowed in her fleshy face. “Who’s this you’ve brought?”
A nearby curtain twitched open a crack, revealing a bed which seemed to contain several children. Two of them began coughing as they woke up. A young voice asked, “Have you brought anything for us, Jenny?”
“Now you’ve woken the brats,” the woman said; and, to the inhabitants of the bed, “Shut that curtain! And your noise!”
Mary Ann felt frightened and out of place. The room was lit by a single tallow candle, which stank of animal fat. Damp laundry hung in every available space: around the fire, on racks from the ceiling. Was it all their own, she wondered, or did Jenny’s mother take in washing? On a table was an end of a loaf, and on the floor by the woman’s feet an empty bottle – gin, Mary Ann supposed.
A slight sound from the shadows by the hearth drew her attention. A smaller bed had been placed there, open to the warmth of the fire, and she saw a pale face and tangled brown hair on the pillow.
Jenny dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Dinah, my pet,” she said – and her voice now was soft and concerned. “How are you? Poorly?” She looked up. “Ma, have you been giving her that cordial I bought from Mr. Green?”
“Course I did. And made broth, but she won’t take it, hardly any. Betty sat with her, spooning it.” A watery look came into her eyes. “She’s going, Jenny. She’s going fast.”
“Ssh! She’ll hear!” Jenny stroked Dinah’s hair. This must be the sister who was ill, Mary Ann realized. “It’s all right, Dinah. Jenny’s here.”
The girl drifted back to sleep.
“She smells,” said Jenny, reverting to her hard, accusing voice. “You ought to change her linen.”
“Can’t do everything, can I?” The woman frowned again at Mary Ann. “Who’s she?”
Jenny stood up and put an arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders, and drew her forward. “One of the young ladies from the school.” And she added sarcastically to Mary Ann: “My mother, Mrs. Bolt.”
“What’s she doing here?” Mrs. Bolt demanded.
But Jenny ignored her, lit another candle, and took Mary Ann out to a back scullery, where she filled a jug with water from a pail. Part of the main room had been partitioned off with a curtain. Jenny drew the curtain aside and led Mary Ann in. A bed took up most of the space. Next to it was a tiny washstand and a few
But she looked shaken, and Mary Ann knew that she was worried.
Chapter Twelve
Gin with Mrs. Bolt
They divided up the takings on the waterfront. Mary Ann’s share was more than three guineas. She stowed the coins away in her pocket, and would have felt pleased if she had not been so anxious. It had all gone so well until they were attacked, but now…
They parted from Nick, who slipped away down a narrow street and disappeared. The school was close, but Jenny hesitated. “We need to clean you up, but we could be caught if we do it in the scullery: the noise of water, and the delay… Come to my ma’s place. It’s just along there, see –” she pointed along the waterfront – “by the Half Moon. We can wash there, and then go back to the school. Safer that way.”
Mary Ann followed her obediently. She was relying on Jenny now.
The cottage was tiny – and Jenny’s mother only rented the ground floor room. As they approached the door Jenny murmured, “With luck she’ll have passed out.”
Mary Ann was puzzled by this remark until they went in and she saw a large, dishevelled woman sprawled in a chair by the fireside, breathing heavily. The woman woke with a snort, turned and glared at Jenny.
“What are you doing here? Where have you been, dressed like that?”
“I’ve been to Ranelagh with Nick,” Jenny said, in a hard voice that Mary Ann had not heard from her before. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
The woman struggled unsteadily to her feet, and her eyes narrowed in her fleshy face. “Who’s this you’ve brought?”
A nearby curtain twitched open a crack, revealing a bed which seemed to contain several children. Two of them began coughing as they woke up. A young voice asked, “Have you brought anything for us, Jenny?”
“Now you’ve woken the brats,” the woman said; and, to the inhabitants of the bed, “Shut that curtain! And your noise!”
Mary Ann felt frightened and out of place. The room was lit by a single tallow candle, which stank of animal fat. Damp laundry hung in every available space: around the fire, on racks from the ceiling. Was it all their own, she wondered, or did Jenny’s mother take in washing? On a table was an end of a loaf, and on the floor by the woman’s feet an empty bottle – gin, Mary Ann supposed.
A slight sound from the shadows by the hearth drew her attention. A smaller bed had been placed there, open to the warmth of the fire, and she saw a pale face and tangled brown hair on the pillow.
Jenny dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Dinah, my pet,” she said – and her voice now was soft and concerned. “How are you? Poorly?” She looked up. “Ma, have you been giving her that cordial I bought from Mr. Green?”
“Course I did. And made broth, but she won’t take it, hardly any. Betty sat with her, spooning it.” A watery look came into her eyes. “She’s going, Jenny. She’s going fast.”
“Ssh! She’ll hear!” Jenny stroked Dinah’s hair. This must be the sister who was ill, Mary Ann realized. “It’s all right, Dinah. Jenny’s here.”
The girl drifted back to sleep.
“She smells,” said Jenny, reverting to her hard, accusing voice. “You ought to change her linen.”
“Can’t do everything, can I?” The woman frowned again at Mary Ann. “Who’s she?”
Jenny stood up and put an arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders, and drew her forward. “One of the young ladies from the school.” And she added sarcastically to Mary Ann: “My mother, Mrs. Bolt.”
“What’s she doing here?” Mrs. Bolt demanded.
But Jenny ignored her, lit another candle, and took Mary Ann out to a back scullery, where she filled a jug with water from a pail. Part of the main room had been partitioned off with a curtain. Jenny drew the curtain aside and led Mary Ann in. A bed took up most of the space. Next to it was a tiny washstand and a few
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