Spider Light(115)
‘Seven Dials, miss? You sure?’
‘Quite sure.’ Maud wondered whether to proffer the story of her sick mother again, or switch to the one about the housemaid ravished by the son of the house, but she remembered in time that people in London are too busy to be much interested, so she said nothing, and the cabman, clicking his horse, said, ‘Least it’s the daytime. You wouldn’t want to go there at night, miss.’
When finally they reached Seven Dials, Maud thought she would rather not have come here in the day either. She paid the cabman, who doffed his cap, and by way of friendly departure pointed out Paradise Yard.
‘Would you wait for me, please?’
‘Here? No bloomin’ fear, miss.’
‘Then,’ said Maud, ‘would you return for me? In–in half an hour’s time?’ She fished out a half-sovereign. Was it enough? Too much? She had no idea of the value of money in this situation, but it was several times’ the amount of the fare from the railway station. ‘I’ll pay you this if you return and take me–and a friend–back to the railway station.’
It seemed the half-sovereign was more than enough. ‘Half an hour,’ said the cabbie, doffing his cap. ‘I’ll be here.’
The cab clattered away over the cobblestones. Maud did not entirely trust him to return and she did not know if half an hour would be long enough for what she had to do, but she had done her best.
The noise, smells and sights of Seven Dials were like a series of violent blows. All round her was a jumble of streets and a seething mass of people. Some were scurrying along with anxious faces, some were propped against doorposts, staring at the world with despairing eyes, some were calling their wares from horrid mean little shops. Children ran along the streets, ragged and thin, with sharp, wise, little faces. The smaller ones played tip-cat and battledore and shuttlecock, but the older ones had an air of purpose.
Once the houses in some of these streets had been quite prosperous, lived in by merchants and city men, rather like George Lincoln. But by whatever curious alchemy governs such things, the houses and the streets had ceased to be prosperous and well cared for. They had slid grubbily down into extreme poverty, and the once imposing houses had been divided and sub-divided. Basements that had been intended for sculleries and servants’ quarters had turned into old clothes’ shops and shoe-menders and wig-makers. Despite the poverty, alehouses and gin shops of all kinds were everywhere. Maud thought it must be the most appalling place in the world.
Paradise Yard was an enclosed area just off one of the streets, and Number 17 was in one corner. Maud hesitated, looking up at it. It was as mean and as neglected as all the others, although tattered curtains hung at one or two windows as if someone had tried to make it slightly comfortable.
Stepping around the piles of squalid rubbish that strewed the cobblestones, Maud went towards the door of Number 17. She was nervous, but not actually frightened, and although she had no idea if this part of her plan was going to work, she knew what she was going to say.
She had thought she would knock on the door, which was what people in her world did, but this door was already open. Beyond it was a dank hallway, with doors opening off it. Were the rooms behind them all occupied by different people? If so, how would she find Catherine Kendal? Would she recognize her?
But Maud thought she would recognize her; firmly in her mind was that odd little conversation with Thomasina.
‘A girl who lives in a poor part of London,’ Thomasina had said. ‘She’s exactly your age, Maud.’ She had added, ‘There’s a sick sister–I think she’d do anything in the world for that sister.’
A girl who was exactly Maud’s age. A girl who had accepted Thomasina’s charity. And there was a sister who was sick, and for whom Catherine Kendal was prepared to do all kinds of things…
She had no idea which door to try first, but as she was trying to decide, there were sounds from overhead, a door slammed and quick light footsteps came along the landing and down the wide, once-beautiful staircase. The girl stopped halfway down and stared at Maud from suspicious, wide-apart eyes.
‘Catherine Kendal?’ Maud knew it was. (‘She resembles you a bit,’ Thomasina had said, that day. ‘If it wasn’t for the chance of birth, you might be in her shoes and she might be in yours.’)
And although this girl was not exactly a mirror image of Maud, she was very similar. She resembles you…She might be in your shoes…And if only the sister looked the same…
Maud scarcely waited for the girl’s nod of wary assent to her question. She said, in a firm voice, that she came from Miss Forrester, and that Miss Forrester wanted to offer medical help for Miss Kendal’s sister. No, she herself did not know the exact details, said Maud. Her tone suggested she was an employee of Thomasina’s: perhaps a companion or amanuensis, and that the medical details were not her concern. The thing was, the girl would have to come up to Amberwood. Well, yes, right away. She believed it was a matter of a specialist being in the area for a few days, and it was thought he might be able to help. Naturally Miss Forrester would pay for all the travelling and so on.
The girl listened to all this, not speaking. She put her head on one side, as if considering Maud in a way Maud did not much like. When Maud finished speaking, she said, ‘How do I know it ain’t a con?’ It was the accent of this dreadful world: this place of street urchins and poverty and evil smells.