The Wildest Rake

‘Ellen?’ Cornelia stared. She remembered Ellen very well. She had been Mistress Brent’s stillroom wench for some years until she married a sailor and moved into the crowded tenements nearer the north side of London Bridge. ‘Is she ill?’

‘She has just been delivered of a child,’ he said gravely. ‘Her third in as many years. Her husband is on the high seas. She would take it kindly if you called.’ He looked down at her, his weary mouth lifting in a smile. ‘As a neighbour and old friend,’ he added softly.

‘I wonder if she remembers my grandfather,’ Cornelia said thoughtfully.

Andrew’s brows lifted. ‘Your grandfather?’ He looked puzzled.

Cornelia grinned at him.

‘He killed some pigs lately and sent us some fine salted pork. We have more than enough to last the winter. He had a fondness for Ellen. She came from Grandfather’s village, you know. We took her from there at fourteen.’

Andrew gently touched her cheek. ‘Clever girl,’ he said. ‘It was well thought of. I must go. I am bid to supper on Thursday. I think your father’s back is troubling him again.’

He grinned as he left, and Cornelia laughed. Alderman Brent, like many rich people, disliked spending money if he could avoid it, and whenever he felt slightly unwell would invite Andrew to supper, and somehow introduce the subject of his ailment, in the hope of getting free medical advice. Andrew knew, and was amused by, this foible.

Nan banged the door after him and came back to the bed, her hands on her hips in a defiant attitude. ‘He should be ashamed. Talking you into visiting in those slums. God knows what disease you’ll catch down there. Your mother won’t let you go, I hope.’

Cornelia ignored her. ‘Poor Ellen. She was so pretty when she first came to us. Rosy cheeks and merry eyes.’

‘She won’t be pretty now,’ said Nan, half maliciously, half angrily. ‘Three babes in three years.’

‘I wonder if I can find some old linen,’ Cornelia said. ‘I think I can put my hand on a torn sheet which would still be useful if it could be well darned.’

Nan screwed up her mouth. ‘Who is to darn it? Me, I suppose.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Cornelia said.

‘You’ll go to sleep,’ Nan snapped, pulling the curtains around her.

Long ago Cornelia had played spillikins with Ellen on the floor of the stillroom. Once the whole household had gone out, for a day’s pleasuring at the village of Old Ford, to enjoy the warm sunlight of a summer’s day; run in the long grass, tease the cows, pick wild flowers in the fragrant hedgerows. Ellen had played at pirates with Cornelia, dropping sticks into the narrow little stream and staging mock battles between them. There had been white stones on the stream bottom and sticklebacks darting in and out of the reeds at the bank.

It all seemed so long ago.

Staring up into the darkness, Cornelia remembered the sparkle of sunshine on clear water; a kingfisher, his wings like the flash of jewels in a willow; dragonflies hovering, exotic and beautiful, at the water’s edge.

The tenement in which Ellen lived was close to the Walbrook ditch, near the church of St Stephen.

Mistress Brent, when Cornelia mentioned the idea of visiting her old stillroom maid, frowned. ‘It is not a pleasant place. The foul air from the Walbrook makes it unhealthy and the people are idle and dirty.’

‘It will be safe enough if I take Nan and go before noon,’ said Cornelia pleadingly. ‘And Thomas can come, too.’

‘Thomas leaves this house today,’ her mother said.

Cornelia’s eyes flashed. ‘That is unjust. It would have been madness for him to attack those men. He is too old. My father should take on a younger man for such duties.’

‘He means to do so. That is why Thomas must go. We cannot keep more than one man. Heaven knows, we have maids enough to do the rest of the work.’

‘But how will Thomas live? He is too old to find new work. Father must not do it.’ Turning, Cornelia ran down the passage into her father’s counting-room, and found him frowning over his ledgers. He looked up, brow creased, as she burst in upon him, her yellow skirts brushing along the rush mats which lined the floor.

‘I am busy, child. I will see you at dinner. Ask your mother if you need money.’

‘Oh, Father,’ she said, kissing his forehead, ‘how often do I come to you for more money? You are always far too generous.’

He smiled. ‘What do you want, then?’

She sank down on her knees beside him and looked up into his face. ‘Father, you will not really turn Thomas out, will you?’

‘He is a toothless old dog,’ said the Alderman, his face darkening. ‘He must go.’