The River Maid

She snatched up the basket and headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll mix some laudanum in water and then I’ll get the fire going. I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

‘I’m dying for a sip of ale. You could have bought a couple of bottles. What if I give you the money and you take a jug to the pub and get it filled?’

Essie hesitated in the kitchen doorway. ‘What if you give me more money so that I can pay the rent on time every week, Pa?

‘You’re an ungrateful child, Esther Chapman. Your poor mother would turn in her grave if she could see how you treat me.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Essie said angrily. ‘I do my best.’ She closed the door on him and busied herself unpacking the contents of the basket. Her memories of her mother were hazy, and probably enhanced by time, but everyone said that Nell Chapman had been a remarkably pretty young woman. She had come from a good family and had married Jacob to spite her father, who had tried to come between her and the penniless boatman who had captured her heart. The only thing that Essie could recall clearly was the sound of voices raised in anger, and her mother’s tears when Jacob came home from the pub the worse for drink. The sickness that had taken her ma to live with the angels had almost claimed her own life, but Essie had survived, largely thanks to the care of her brother, George. She dashed her hand across her eyes – George had left home after a furious row with their father. She had been only six years old, but that day was etched in her heart for ever.

But there was no point dwelling on the past. Essie heaved a sigh and returned to the parlour where she used the last of the coal and kindling to light the fire.

‘Where’s me tea, Essie?’ Jacob demanded crossly. ‘I’m parched.’

‘All in good time, Pa. I’ve only got one pair of hands.’ Essie sighed and scrambled to her feet. The pail, which was normally filled with water, was empty and that meant a short walk to the communal pump at the end of the street. Jacob normally undertook this, although it was done under protest. She left by the back door and went out through the tiny yard to the narrow passageway that separated White’s Rents from the ropeyard, the tarring house and the other buildings associated with rope making. The smell of hot tar lingered in the air, filling her lungs and making her cough, but she hurried to the pump and joined the queue of ragged women and barefoot children.

‘Looks as if it’s come straight from the river,’ the woman in front of Essie complained. ‘I dunno why we don’t just dip our buckets in Limehouse Hole and hope to catch a few fish as well.’

‘This water’s got legs.’ Her companion sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand as she stared at the murky water in her bucket. ‘Fish can’t live in this stuff.’

Essie knew better than to join in the conversation, but she had no intention of drinking the water in its present state. An old woman who had survived the cholera epidemic of 1848 had told her to boil water before drinking it, and she had done so ever since. Pa had said much the same thing, only he used it as an excuse to sup more ale. Essie filled her bucket and returned home, but as she entered through the back door she heard the sound of male voices coming from the parlour.

She stopped to fill the kettle before going to investigate, but the front door closed as she entered the room. ‘Who was that, Pa?’

Jacob gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘The answer to our problems, girl. We’ve got a lodger and he’s willing to pay handsomely for a room, with no questions asked.’

‘We haven’t got a spare room, for a start, and who is this mysterious person?’

‘It’s only temporary, and I can’t get up the stairs while I’m like this, so I told him he can have mine. You’d best see to it. Put clean sheets on the bed, or whatever you need to do to make it comfortable.’

‘All right,’ Essie said slowly. ‘But I’d like to know who it is who’ll be sleeping in the room next to mine. I might be murdered in my bed, or worse.’

‘You don’t need to know his name, and you won’t be seeing anything of him. He’ll sleep all day and go out at night. It’s only for a short while, so don’t ask questions. Anyway, he’s paying good money for the privilege, so leave it at that.’ Jacob shifted on his seat and pulled a face, uttering a loud groan. ‘Where’s that laudanum? I’m in agony.’

Essie returned to the kitchen and poured the last of yesterday’s boiled water into a tin mug, adding a few drops of laudanum. She took it to her father, holding it just out of his reach.

‘Don’t tease me, Essie. I’m in agony.’

‘I’ll give it to you when you tell me who this “lodger” is and why he’s hiding here.’

Jacob glared at her, licking his dry lips and grimacing with pain. ‘His name is his own business, and that’s all you need to know. I’m not telling you anything else, girl, so give me my medicine.’

Essie could see that this was getting her nowhere and she handed him the mug. ‘When do we expect him to arrive, Pa?’

‘Just leave the back door unlocked. He’ll come and go as he pleases. You don’t have to do anything other than keep out of his way.’

‘I dislike him already,’ Essie said bitterly. ‘He must be a criminal if he has to creep about in the darkness. I don’t like it, Pa. I really don’t.’

‘Here, take this.’ Jacob pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and placed it in her outstretched hand. ‘Maybe that will change your mind. Pay off that bloodsucking rent collector and get some proper food in, and some ale. What our friend does is none of our business.’

‘Friend!’ Essie tossed her head. ‘I’ll go along with it because there’s nothing else I can do, but I hope you know what you’re doing.’

That night Essie lay in her bed, listening to every creak and groan of the old timbers as they contracted after the heat of the day. The background noise from overcrowded dwellings, street fights and infants wailing was always the same, whether it was noon or the early hours of the morning, but tonight was different. She had tried to elicit more information about their mysterious lodger from her father, but he had refused to be drawn, and now her mind was buzzing with questions and she was apprehensive. Life was difficult enough without getting directly involved in criminal activities. The night runs she had done with Pa had been testing, but work was hard to find and they had to eat. She dozed and eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, but was awakened suddenly.

She sat up, straining her ears. The hinges on the back door were rusty and she was certain she had heard the scrape of boots on the flagstones in the kitchen. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and seized her wrap, slipping it around her as she stood up and went to open her bedroom door. Her heart was pounding and she hesitated as she heard the door at the foot of the stairs open and close again, as softly as a whisper. Then the shadowy outline of a man filled the narrow space and he was ascending the stairs, two steps at a time.

‘Stop.’ Essie barred his way. ‘Who are you?’

He came to a halt, raising his head but in the darkness his face was a pale blur. ‘You were told to ignore my presence.’ His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, and she could not tell if he was young or old, but it was obvious from the way he spoke that this was no ordinary criminal.

‘You are in my home,’ Essie said boldly, although her knees were trembling and she was poised ready to retreat into her room and slam the door in his face. ‘I have the right to know your name at least, and what sort of business you have that can only be done by night.’

‘You ask a lot of questions.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘Your name, sir. I refuse to share my house with someone who is afraid to make himself known to me.’

‘And what do you propose to do about it, Miss Chapman? Your father has agreed to this.’

‘But I have not.’ Essie folded her arms, staring down at him. ‘You might be a murderer, for all I know.’

He mounted the last of the steps so that they were standing close together on the small landing. ‘Then perhaps you should be afraid. Your father is sound asleep – drugged with laudanum and ale, I should imagine from the smell downstairs. We are alone and I have you at my mercy. What do you intend to do about it?’

The blood was drumming in her ears in a deafening tattoo, but she was not going to let him see that she was afraid. ‘You don’t frighten me, sir. My father has made an agreement with you, which I must honour for now, but if I discover that you are engaged in criminal activities I will have no hesitation in reporting you to the police.’

‘Which is my room?’ he asked, stifling a yawn. ‘I’m tired and I need to sleep.’

‘You haven’t answered any of my questions.’

‘And I don’t intend to. There are things that you don’t need to know.’ He stepped past her and opened the door to Jacob’s room. ‘The bed has not been slept in so I assume this must be mine.’

As he pushed past her Essie had felt the warmth and a scent that was unforgettable. ‘I recognise you now. I brought you ashore from the foreign ship yesterday evening.’

He glanced over his shoulder as he was about to enter Jacob’s room. ‘Very clever of you, but I’d advise you to put it from your mind.’

‘Who are you? You might do me the courtesy of telling me your name.’

‘You may call me Raven,’ he murmured, and shut the door.

‘Raven?’ she repeated dazedly. ‘What sort of name is Raven?’

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Jacob said crossly. ‘It’s better that you know nothing about our friend.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ Essie countered. ‘I don’t like it, Pa.’

‘Just get on with your work, girl. I want you to go to the wharfinger’s office and see if he’s got any jobs that you can do. I don’t know how long our guest will be staying or how long I’m going to be laid up. Don’t think I’m enjoying this, because I’m not.’

Essie relented. Her father’s face was lined with suffering and he looked pale and ill. ‘All right, Pa. I’ll go out and get some fresh bread for breakfast and some coffee from the stall in Nightingale Lane.’

‘I haven’t got money to burn,’ Jacobs muttered. ‘You ought to make up the fire and put the kettle on.’