Mabel’s coat and hat flung over it, and in one corner stood the range. A broom stood propped against one wall and beside it a couple of old tea chests with a few things sticking out. One looked like a picture frame. Apart from that the place was empty.
Mabel was soon down again. She stooped to stoke the range, saying defensively, ‘I’ve only been in ’ere a few days,’ as if sensing Mercy’s horrified gaze lighting on the place.
‘Oh Lor’!’ she exclaimed suddenly, leaping up. To Mercy’s astonishment she started unfastening her clothes and stripping them off, first the tight green jacket, then the skirt, wriggled down over her meaty hips. She made grunting sounds of relief.
‘That’s better. Can’t go shovelling coal in this get-up – that’s going to Chubb’s tomorrow.’
Mrs Chubb, as Mercy would soon know well, ran the local pawnshop round the corner.
‘Got ’em off a lady sells second-hand rags in Balsall Heath.’ Mabel grinned in satisfaction at her own trickery. ‘Got your gaffer believing you’re living with a proper lady, din’it?’ She laid the skirt over her chair, standing in a grey corset and torn petticoat. ‘Shame ’aving to ’ock it, but there we are.’
‘You got anything to eat?’ Mercy dared ask. The room was so cold she hadn’t even taken her coat off yet.
‘Eat?’ Mabel was struggling into a shapeless brown dress. I’ve only just got the fire going, what d’you think I am? I’m hungry as well, yer know. Just sit down and shurrup for a bit.’
Mercy sat on the spare chair. She felt overwhelmingly tired, and shivery as if she was getting a fever. All the day’s changes had taken it out of her and though she was used to a meagre diet she was starving. Mabel though, did seem to be making an effort to get some dinner ready.
‘You going to open that package then?’ she said from by the range, giving Mercy a sly look. ‘Let’s see if it’s anything worth ’aving.’
Mercy pulled the loose string away from the parcel and slowly tore off the paper as Mabel breathed heavily over her shoulder.
The first thing to fall out was a small white handkerchief. On the corner Mercy saw that her name had been embroidered neatly in mauve silk. A parting gift from the home? She wondered if Dorothy had sewn it for her. With it was a book with a pale brown cover, designs of black and orange flowers printed on it, the title embossed into a panel of gold. It was by a Dr J.W. Kirton. Cheerful Homes , the title read. How to Get and Keep Them .
Chapter Five
Mabel heated up a meagre amount of scrag-end. When it was ready, she fished around in the scullery at the back and came out with a new candle which she lit and fixed on a saucer. Taking a plate of stew and a spoon she said, ‘Back in a tick,’ and climbed the stairs.
A moment later Mercy heard her voice, apparently talking to someone. Mercy frowned. She was sure it was Mabel. But then the walls of these houses were wafer-thin. From next door she could hear plates rattling and people talking. Someone was snoring. Then a woman’s voice, ‘Get in there. I said get in there, will yer!’ very loud and angry. Whoever it was didn’t ‘get in there’ and this was followed up by more yells. A man’s voice snapped, ‘Oh leave off, yer nagging bitch . . .’
‘Who’s that up there?’ Mercy asked when Mrs Gaskin reappeared, minus the plate and spoon.
‘You’ll see soon enough.’
They sat at the table together. The sight of the stew was disgusting, the grey meat nearly all fat and bone but it tasted better than it looked and Mercy ate everything she could actually chew, despite her sore throat. She had an uneasy feeling though, about this unseen person upstairs, and strained her ears to hear any sound.
Mrs Gaskin made tea and gave her a cup and she began to feel warmer.
‘Where will I sleep?’
‘Upstairs, where d’yer think?’
‘Have you got a bed?’
‘Don’t you worry about it, there’s beds all
Mabel was soon down again. She stooped to stoke the range, saying defensively, ‘I’ve only been in ’ere a few days,’ as if sensing Mercy’s horrified gaze lighting on the place.
‘Oh Lor’!’ she exclaimed suddenly, leaping up. To Mercy’s astonishment she started unfastening her clothes and stripping them off, first the tight green jacket, then the skirt, wriggled down over her meaty hips. She made grunting sounds of relief.
‘That’s better. Can’t go shovelling coal in this get-up – that’s going to Chubb’s tomorrow.’
Mrs Chubb, as Mercy would soon know well, ran the local pawnshop round the corner.
‘Got ’em off a lady sells second-hand rags in Balsall Heath.’ Mabel grinned in satisfaction at her own trickery. ‘Got your gaffer believing you’re living with a proper lady, din’it?’ She laid the skirt over her chair, standing in a grey corset and torn petticoat. ‘Shame ’aving to ’ock it, but there we are.’
‘You got anything to eat?’ Mercy dared ask. The room was so cold she hadn’t even taken her coat off yet.
‘Eat?’ Mabel was struggling into a shapeless brown dress. I’ve only just got the fire going, what d’you think I am? I’m hungry as well, yer know. Just sit down and shurrup for a bit.’
Mercy sat on the spare chair. She felt overwhelmingly tired, and shivery as if she was getting a fever. All the day’s changes had taken it out of her and though she was used to a meagre diet she was starving. Mabel though, did seem to be making an effort to get some dinner ready.
‘You going to open that package then?’ she said from by the range, giving Mercy a sly look. ‘Let’s see if it’s anything worth ’aving.’
Mercy pulled the loose string away from the parcel and slowly tore off the paper as Mabel breathed heavily over her shoulder.
The first thing to fall out was a small white handkerchief. On the corner Mercy saw that her name had been embroidered neatly in mauve silk. A parting gift from the home? She wondered if Dorothy had sewn it for her. With it was a book with a pale brown cover, designs of black and orange flowers printed on it, the title embossed into a panel of gold. It was by a Dr J.W. Kirton. Cheerful Homes , the title read. How to Get and Keep Them .
Chapter Five
Mabel heated up a meagre amount of scrag-end. When it was ready, she fished around in the scullery at the back and came out with a new candle which she lit and fixed on a saucer. Taking a plate of stew and a spoon she said, ‘Back in a tick,’ and climbed the stairs.
A moment later Mercy heard her voice, apparently talking to someone. Mercy frowned. She was sure it was Mabel. But then the walls of these houses were wafer-thin. From next door she could hear plates rattling and people talking. Someone was snoring. Then a woman’s voice, ‘Get in there. I said get in there, will yer!’ very loud and angry. Whoever it was didn’t ‘get in there’ and this was followed up by more yells. A man’s voice snapped, ‘Oh leave off, yer nagging bitch . . .’
‘Who’s that up there?’ Mercy asked when Mrs Gaskin reappeared, minus the plate and spoon.
‘You’ll see soon enough.’
They sat at the table together. The sight of the stew was disgusting, the grey meat nearly all fat and bone but it tasted better than it looked and Mercy ate everything she could actually chew, despite her sore throat. She had an uneasy feeling though, about this unseen person upstairs, and strained her ears to hear any sound.
Mrs Gaskin made tea and gave her a cup and she began to feel warmer.
‘Where will I sleep?’
‘Upstairs, where d’yer think?’
‘Have you got a bed?’
‘Don’t you worry about it, there’s beds all
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