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Authors: Dilly Court
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advance on Artie's next wage.'
'Thank you, miss.' Tears spilled from Caddie's eyes. 'You're too kind.'
'Nonsense. I can't bear to see you and the little ones living like this. I know it's none of my business, but how did things get so bad?'
'It's not my place to say, miss.'
'Come now, I won't have that. Your Artie works for my papa and I'm sure he would be horrified if he could see you in such a poor state.'
'Artie don't bring home so much in the way of wages since the captain and Captain Barnum have been competing for the trade. Artie says that Captain Barnum always wins and that he cheats, but I know nothing of such matters. All I know is that we've been living on half pay for months.'
Rosina stood up, automatically brushing the creases from her full skirts. 'This is shocking. I had no idea that things were so bad, but trust me, Caddie. I'll speak to Walter as soon as I get home and he'll give you some money.' The contents of her reticule were still laid out on the table and she picked up her purse. It was suspiciously light, but tucked in its silk lining she found a silver sixpenny bit. She pressed it into Caddie's hand. 'There, that will buy you some bread and milk for the children, and you must come to supper at my house this evening.'
'Ta for the money, but I don't think it would be fitting for us to impose on you. Ta, all the same.'
Rosina frowned. 'I can't see the sense of that, considering it was our fault that you had no money this week. You must come, Caddie. The children will enjoy it, I'm sure, and Bertha loves little ones. She'll be delighted to see you.'
Caddie bent her fair head, seemingly lost for words. Slightly embarrassed, Rosina scooped the rest of her belongings back into the reticule. 'I'll be off then, Caddie. Come to the house at six o'clock and I'll make sure that Walter sees you right.'
She was glad to get away from the lodging house with its unpleasant smells and depressing atmosphere. Even though she was well aware that poverty was a fact of life for many this part of London, it was still a shock to see someone quite close to her suffering in this way. As she walked briskly towards the Barnums' establishment, the image of the bare room and Caddie's hungry children haunted her thoughts. It occurred to her that her own life had been sheltered and cushioned from reality by the combined efforts of Papa and Bertha.
They were not wealthy like the Gostellows, but Papa had always said they were comfortably off, and she had never thought to question the fact. She had always had everything she wanted, within reason. She had nice clothes, a room all to herself filled with pretty things and relics of her childhood: a wooden rocking horse, a doll with a waxen head and glossy black hair, picture books and novelettes, fashion magazines, and, her favourite, a musical box that played the 'Blue Danube', which had belonged to her mother. Her safe, secure world was rocking on its axis – it was not a pleasant experience.
She entered the Barnums' house with a feeling of relief that here, at least, things were normal. Gertie, although her usual sullen self, seemed plump, well fed and smart in her cotton print gown and starched white apron. While she waited in the front parlour for Sukey, Rosina looked around with pleasure at the floral wallpaper, the tasselled velvet curtains and the gleaming mahogany furniture polished to a mirror sheen and scented with beeswax. The mantelshelf groaned with ornaments: two pot dogs glaring at each other from opposing ends, a spill jar, a brass clock, and china figurines of shepherds and shepherdesses. Papa would have said it was a vulgar show of new money, but it was solid and comforting.
The door burst open and Sukey flounced into the room, pouting and tossing her golden curls. If she had been a bird, Rosina thought, stifling the desire to giggle, Sukey would have been ruffling her feathers. Rosina held out her arms. 'I am so sorry.
'Thank you, miss.' Tears spilled from Caddie's eyes. 'You're too kind.'
'Nonsense. I can't bear to see you and the little ones living like this. I know it's none of my business, but how did things get so bad?'
'It's not my place to say, miss.'
'Come now, I won't have that. Your Artie works for my papa and I'm sure he would be horrified if he could see you in such a poor state.'
'Artie don't bring home so much in the way of wages since the captain and Captain Barnum have been competing for the trade. Artie says that Captain Barnum always wins and that he cheats, but I know nothing of such matters. All I know is that we've been living on half pay for months.'
Rosina stood up, automatically brushing the creases from her full skirts. 'This is shocking. I had no idea that things were so bad, but trust me, Caddie. I'll speak to Walter as soon as I get home and he'll give you some money.' The contents of her reticule were still laid out on the table and she picked up her purse. It was suspiciously light, but tucked in its silk lining she found a silver sixpenny bit. She pressed it into Caddie's hand. 'There, that will buy you some bread and milk for the children, and you must come to supper at my house this evening.'
'Ta for the money, but I don't think it would be fitting for us to impose on you. Ta, all the same.'
Rosina frowned. 'I can't see the sense of that, considering it was our fault that you had no money this week. You must come, Caddie. The children will enjoy it, I'm sure, and Bertha loves little ones. She'll be delighted to see you.'
Caddie bent her fair head, seemingly lost for words. Slightly embarrassed, Rosina scooped the rest of her belongings back into the reticule. 'I'll be off then, Caddie. Come to the house at six o'clock and I'll make sure that Walter sees you right.'
She was glad to get away from the lodging house with its unpleasant smells and depressing atmosphere. Even though she was well aware that poverty was a fact of life for many this part of London, it was still a shock to see someone quite close to her suffering in this way. As she walked briskly towards the Barnums' establishment, the image of the bare room and Caddie's hungry children haunted her thoughts. It occurred to her that her own life had been sheltered and cushioned from reality by the combined efforts of Papa and Bertha.
They were not wealthy like the Gostellows, but Papa had always said they were comfortably off, and she had never thought to question the fact. She had always had everything she wanted, within reason. She had nice clothes, a room all to herself filled with pretty things and relics of her childhood: a wooden rocking horse, a doll with a waxen head and glossy black hair, picture books and novelettes, fashion magazines, and, her favourite, a musical box that played the 'Blue Danube', which had belonged to her mother. Her safe, secure world was rocking on its axis – it was not a pleasant experience.
She entered the Barnums' house with a feeling of relief that here, at least, things were normal. Gertie, although her usual sullen self, seemed plump, well fed and smart in her cotton print gown and starched white apron. While she waited in the front parlour for Sukey, Rosina looked around with pleasure at the floral wallpaper, the tasselled velvet curtains and the gleaming mahogany furniture polished to a mirror sheen and scented with beeswax. The mantelshelf groaned with ornaments: two pot dogs glaring at each other from opposing ends, a spill jar, a brass clock, and china figurines of shepherds and shepherdesses. Papa would have said it was a vulgar show of new money, but it was solid and comforting.
The door burst open and Sukey flounced into the room, pouting and tossing her golden curls. If she had been a bird, Rosina thought, stifling the desire to giggle, Sukey would have been ruffling her feathers. Rosina held out her arms. 'I am so sorry.
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