‘You wicked girl! Am I cruel, like she says?’ she asked the children. ‘Or am I a kind, loving mother who only wants the best for all of you?’
They blinked at her.
‘You’re a kind, loving mother,’ Jenny blurted.
‘Thank you, Jenny,’ said Mildred.
‘Kind mother,’ Mary echoed quickly. ‘And loving – I forgot loving.’
‘Kind and loving mother,’ said Pete and Richie in unison.
And even little Bert joined in. ‘Muvver! Muvver!’ he said.
Mildred smiled triumphantly. ‘You see, Clover?’
I saw that the children were scared of her and willing to parrot any nonsense, but there was no point arguing. I badly wanted Megs beside me, slipping her hand in mine, showing me she was on my side.
I held on to Bert, but when Pete and Richie went back to arguing about their stick he wriggled to be set free so that he could lay claim to it too. During the few days I’d been locked in the cupboard under the stairs he seemed to have stopped being a baby and become a little boy. He didn’t really need me any more. Nobody needed me now. I didn’t have any full blood relatives left, apart from Pa.
He was late getting home from work, and when he eventually arrived he smelled of beer. He wasn’t usually a heavy-drinking man, stopping after a tankard or two, but tonight his voice was slurred, his steps unsteady. He didn’t feel like eating and spurned the boiled mutton, not even fancying Mildred’s bacon.
She was annoyed and nagged him, telling him he was a selfish drunken sot wasting good money on beer when the family had only pennies to live on.
‘For pity’s sake, hold your tongue,’ Pa moaned, clasping his head. ‘I’m grieving, can’t you see? I’ve lost my little girly, my own sweet Megs.’
‘Oh, Pa,’ I said, rushing to him and flinging my arms round his neck. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. I’m missing her so much too.’
He pulled me on to his lap and held me close. It was years since he’d held me like that and it felt so good and comforting.
‘Don’t you go making a fuss of that wicked girl,’ said Mildred furiously. ‘She’s been impossible today, flouncing off without so much as a by-your-leave, then coming back here and yelling abuse at me. She deserves a whipping.’
‘Stop shouting, woman, you’re making my head ache,’ said Pa. ‘And don’t be so hard on our Clover. She’s got a loving heart and it’s broken in two because she’s lost her sister.’
I took hold of his hand and squeezed it tight.
‘There now, pet,’ he said. ‘Bless you for wearing that scarf. It’s a shame to hide that pretty face but I suppose we can’t be too careful.’
‘It’s not her kerchief. She’s been hanging around that nasty crookback doll-maker yet again, after all I’ve told her,’ Mildred exploded.
‘Oh, Clover!’ said Pa reproachfully. ‘You’re not to spend your time with the likes of him. He fills your head with all sorts of nonsense. What sort of man is he anyway, making dollies for little girls? Now, you’re to be a good girl and stay in the alley where your mother can keep an eye on you.’
‘She’s not my mother,’ I said.
‘Quit that,’ said Pa, and he tipped me off his lap.
8
PA WENT OFF me after that. I couldn’t do anything right. He wouldn’t change his mind about my going to the funeral.
‘You can’t go, not if you haven’t got the right clothes. You’ll shame us,’ he said.
‘I might be able to get proper clothes,’ I said.
‘Don’t talk daft. And stop nagging at me in that shrill voice. You’re staying at home minding the little ones while your mother and I are at the funeral,’ he said. ‘And if you say another word against her I’ll give you a good hiding.’
I held my tongue but inside my head I was making plans. On Thursday I started up a game of hide and seek in the alley. The other children were allowed to play with us now that we still seemed to be in good health. Sukey and the twins and Angel and Jimmy Wheels and Daft Mo all joined in, though Mo never really got the hang of it. When it was his turn to hide he simply pulled up his shirt and hid his head, thinking that if he couldn’t see us then somehow we wouldn’t be able to see him. He didn’t seem to mind being tagged straight away so it didn’t matter.
I waited until they were all absorbed in the game, and Jenny was the seeker. She was always slow at finding anyone, especially hampered by Bert, who had chosen her as his pair of arms for the day. He was behaving like a saucy lad with two eager lady friends, playing Jenny and me off against each other.
Normally I felt hurt when he rejected me, but now it suited me. As soon as everyone else had hidden themselves in doorways and behind coal bunkers and the boys had hitched themselves up a drainpipe on to our roof, I ran quietly down the alleyway. Pete and Richie spotted me from their rooftop and cried out, but I didn’t turn round. I ran out of the alley and into the street. Then I went on running, making for Mr Dolly’s.
I hoped the boys wouldn’t tell on me straight away. Sooner or later the children would realize I wasn’t hiding. There would be a hue and cry and Mildred would find out. She’d know in an instant where I’d gone, and doubtless I’d get another hiding, but I didn’t really care. The worst thing in the world had happened to me and nothing else could hurt me as much.
I was out of breath when I reached Dolls Aplenty. I didn’t even pause to look at the window, though I saw there was a new display of dolls in a schoolroom setting. I burst straight in through the shop door – and then saw that Mr Dolly had a customer, a stout young mother in very unbecoming bright violet, with an even stouter small daughter in sickly pink, with pink kid boots to match. She had obviously spent last night in curl-papers because her hair was in tight glossy ringlets. She shook her head constantly to show them off.
Mr Dolly smiled at me but held up one finger to show he had to attend to his customers before he could talk to me. They took a very long time, wanting to examine practically every doll in the shop, even demanding that Mr Dolly disrupt his window display to let them examine each ‘pupil’ and the schoolteacher herself.
Mr Rivers had been almost as exacting, but he had been very polite and was simply trying to find the most perfect present for his daughter. Perhaps Mrs Violet Dress was intent on doing the same, but little Miss Sickly Pink didn’t seem particularly interested in anything, saying that she didn’t really care for old-fashioned wooden dolls, and would much prefer a proper French china doll with a trousseau of silk dresses.
‘Ah, but I have fine china dolls too, little missy,’ said Mr Dolly politely, though he caught my eye for a second, making it plain what he really thought of spoiled Sickly Pink.
He brought out Hyacinth and Violet and sat them side by side on the counter, but the child still wasn’t impressed.
‘Their dresses are the wrong colours,’ she said, shaking her ringlets dismissively. ‘I want them to have pink dresses exactly like mine.’
I wondered if she wanted the dolls to increase in girth and sprout ringlets from their china heads too. There was clearly no pleasing her, even when Mr Dolly produced a pink silk doll’s dress from a drawer and assured her it would fit either doll.
‘I dare say it would, but can’t you see it’s entirely the wrong shade of pink?’ she said pertly.
‘Oh, bless you, Araminta!’ said her mama fondly. ‘The child is so exacting. She’s got such style already.’
I thought Araminta had the exact opposite of style. I snorted before I could stop myself.
Mrs Violet Dress glanced over her shoulder at me, looking pained. ‘Mind your manners, little girl!’ she said sharply.
I knew I should bob her a curtsy and say sorry but I didn’t feel like it. Instead I looked over at the shelf of dolls, pursing my lips and pretending to whistle.
‘Insolent little brat!’ she said, catching hold of Araminta by her satin skirts and pulling her close as if I might contaminate her. If she knew I’d been in contact with the fever
she’d expire on the spot.
‘No, no, that’s my dear friend Clover. She’s a tremendous help to me,’ said Mr Dolly.
‘You befriend street children?’ said Mrs Violet Dress. ‘Dear, dear, I think we had better leave straight away, Araminta.’
They swept out, skirts rustling, Araminta’s ringlets flying up and down.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Dolly,’ I said, hanging my head. ‘Oh dear, I’ve cost you a customer, and clearly a rich one too.’
‘I don’t want that horrid woman’s money. And that child was such a spoiled madam I’m sure she’d never have chosen any of my dolls. But never mind those two creatures. How are you, my dear? Still well? No signs of fever or rash?’
‘No, none,’ I said.
‘I’m so relieved! You do feel well, don’t you? You look very wan.’ Mr Dolly looked at my face anxiously.
‘I have an ache here,’ I said, touching my chest. I’d been dimly aware of it for some days. It was like a constriction. At night it was sometimes hard to breathe. ‘Mr Dolly, do you think I have something wrong with my heart?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said gravely.
‘Is it failing?’ I asked, frightened.
‘It’s not failing. It’s broken, my dear. I know just how much that little sister meant to you. But you are young and in time your heart will mend, I promise you.’
‘I’m not going to forget Megs though, not ever,’ I said.
‘Of course you’re not. And are you still sure you want to attend her funeral?’ asked Mr Dolly.
‘Of course, but Mildred and Pa forbid it. I can’t see why it matters so much that I haven’t got the right clothes. They say it wouldn’t be respectful but I think that’s nonsense,’ I declared.
‘I do too – but I’ve done my best to make sure you can go,’ said Mr Dolly. ‘Come with me.’
He led me behind the counter, opened the door to his workshop and pointed upwards. I saw all his half-finished dolls pegged to the line, but there was also a padded hook at the end of the row, with a set of clothes swinging from it. It was an outfit too large for even the biggest doll but too small even for little Mr Dolly. A black outfit. A wondrously cut, seemingly brand-new, black cord coat with brass buttons, with a black cotton frock to go underneath and even knitted black stockings. On the floor underneath was a pair of soft black boots.
‘Oh, Mr Dolly!’ I cried, and I burst into tears.
‘There now, I think those poor pink eyes of yours are sore enough already,’ he said, finding me yet another handkerchief.
It was harder than ever to stop – now I was howling with gratitude as well as grief. I only stopped sobbing when Mr Dolly made us both a pot of tea and forced me to take a few sips from his proffered cup.
‘I wish I had cake to offer you, my dear, but perhaps you’d fancy a slice of bread and butter?’
I shook my head, but he insisted. ‘In fact, I’ll make you two. You’ve always been a slight child, but now you’re desperately thin,’ he said, circling my wrist with his bony fingers. ‘Look at you! I’ll swear you’ve got smaller wrists than most of my dolls.’
I was worried I was depriving him of his supper, but the bread and butter tasted wonderful. I’d hardly eaten since Megs died. When I’d finished the last mouthful I wiped my fingers very carefully on Mr Dolly’s handkerchief and went to examine my funeral outfit.
‘How did you magic it, Mr Dolly?’ I asked in awe, stroking the fine black cord. ‘Are they brand new?’
‘Oh yes, my dear. I went straight to Whiteley’s of Bayswater and asked them to supply me with their very best mourning outfit,’ said Mr Dolly. He chuckled when he saw that I believed him. ‘I made them, Clover. Long ago I used to wear a voluminous black cape, but then I had an unfortunate encounter with a bunch of lads who thought it hysterically funny to throw a can of pigswill at my back. The cape was ruined, though I sponged it all evening.’
‘Oh, Mr Dolly, how dreadful!’
‘Ah well, such things happen. Especially to me. And perhaps it was just as well, because I did rather resemble a huge black bat when I was wearing it. Anyway, I salvaged what I could and occasionally used it to make a sturdy coat or cloak for one of my dolls. It was a little tricky fashioning a pattern for you, dear, as I didn’t have your measurements, but I took a guess and I think it will fit quite well. I cut you a fancy beret too. I thought you’d prefer it to a conventional bonnet – I’m not much of a milliner in any case.’
‘And the dress and the stockings and the boots?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘The dress was a simple cotton print from a bolt of material I use for my standard penny doll. I simply steeped it in a ha’p’orth of black dye – that, and the felt I’ve used for your boots. They’re very flimsy, I’m afraid. Let’s hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow. I’ve made the soles from the stoutest cardboard I could find.’
‘And the stockings?’ I touched them, looking at the even stitches. ‘Did you make the stockings yourself, Mr Dolly?’
‘Oh, they were the easiest task. I’m used to tiny needles and knitting with silk thread for many pairs of little wooden feet. It was a joy to use real needles and two-ply wool. I must say I’m proud of my knitting skills. Look how finely I’ve turned those heels,’ said Mr Dolly, holding a stocking in either hand and making them twirl comically.
‘You must have worked day and night on my outfit,’ I said.
‘Well, I must say it’s just as well my dolls are made of wood, else many would be shivering by now. They’ve been waiting days to be decently clad.’
‘You are the dearest, kindest, loveliest man in the whole world,’ I said, and I reached up and kissed him on either cheek. ‘These clothes are worth fifty shillings, not five!’
‘No, no, the five shillings is still yours, Clover. The clothes are a gift. I shall be highly offended if you insist otherwise,’ said Mr Dolly.
He packed up the clothes in brown paper, folding them neatly over the beautifully fashioned felt boots so that the parcel wasn’t too bulky. I still didn’t know how to get it home without Mildred spotting it.
She’d guess that Mr Dolly had made me my outfit and stop me wearing it. She seemed determined to prevent me going to the funeral. I needed to hide the clothes and then put them on secretly in the morning. I planned to run to the church by myself, and skulk at the back if necessary. Mildred could hardly make a scene at the actual burial. She couldn’t start shrieking at me while poor Megs’s coffin was being lowered into the earth. So where, where, where could I hide my precious parcel of clothes?
I used to have hiding places in our bedroom. I’d stow things behind the curtain or tuck them amongst Bert’s baby blankets or stuff them in an old cushion. But the infection men had taken the curtains, the blankets, the cushion. Our bedroom was bleak and bare.
I couldn’t think of anywhere downstairs to hide the parcel. I wondered about the privy, but it was so dark and disgusting out there, and the floor was often wet. I could try the yard, but what if it rained in the night?
I was so wrapped up in my worries that I didn’t look where I was going. I stepped on something small and skittery, and then something bigger that started squealing.
‘Oi! Watch where you’re going, Clover Moon!’ It was Jimmy Wheels, who had been quietly playing marbles by himself until I’d blundered into him. ‘I’ll have a blooming great bruise on my side now from where you kicked me!’
‘I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t see you,’ I said, squatting down beside him.
‘What’s that you’ve got in that parcel?’ he asked.
‘Oh, just some butcher’s meat for tomorrow,’ I said quickly.
‘That’s never butcher’s meat.’ Jimmy gave it a poke. His finger was sharp and the paper tore a little. ‘That’s clothes,’ he said. ‘Black clothes. For your Megs’s funeral.’
‘Ssh!’ I said, peering around to see if any of the other children were lurking. ‘Mildred mustn’t find out. She doesn’t want me to go.’
‘So
where did you get them then?’
‘Stole them,’ I said.
‘You never!’
‘Yep – I went to some other child’s funeral and there was this girl all dressed up in black, and I waited till they were all praying and jumped on her, hand over her mouth to stop her squealing, and took her in the bushes and tore off all her clothes and bundled them up for myself,’ I said.
‘My legs might not be any good, but my brain’s in full working order,’ said Jimmy, laughing. ‘You got them from the Dolls Aplenty man, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did – but you won’t tell, will you?’
‘Cut my throat if I do,’ said Jimmy, miming it.
‘Trouble is, I don’t know where to hide them. If Mildred sees them she’ll snatch them off me and I’ll doubtless end up in that blooming cupboard again,’ I said.
‘Give them to me. I’ll stow them with my stuff,’ said Jimmy.
‘Would you really? Won’t your ma find them?’
‘She’d not say a word. She doesn’t like Mildred any more than you do. Ma don’t think it’s fair – she’s got all the love in the world and she’s only got half a child to give it to, and Mildred’s got a whole houseful of kids and doesn’t seem to care for any of them. I’m glad she’s not my ma.’
‘Well, she’s not mine either. You wait, Jimmy. I’ll be out of here soon enough,’ I vowed.
‘Good on you, Clover. Give us these clothes then. And what will you do – come calling for them tomorrow?’
‘The minute Mildred and Pa leave for the funeral I’ll rush over to yours. They’ll be going the long way round in the funeral carriage, and they always go slow to show respect. I’ll nip along the back alleys and be at the church first.’
‘That’s the ticket, Clover. You show them,’ said Jimmy.
I handed my precious parcel over. He clutched it carefully to his side and wheeled himself off to his house. His ma had fashioned a little ramp out of a plank of wood and nailed it to the front step, so as long as Jimmy gathered enough speed he could wheel himself up and in through the open door.